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Copyright, 1909 
The Scienxe Press 

Press of 

The New era printing compact 

lancaster. p* 




JULY, 1910 




IT was in January and February of the misty Antarctic summer 
that we lingered for a month along the seven hundred miles of 
Magellan Strait and Smythe Channel. The delicate flowers of a 
December springtime were passing out of bloom giving place to flowers 
of longer duration, and young land birds were all out of their nests. 

The uneven plains of eastern Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego were 
green with grass and low shrubbery and the mountains along the 
western channels dark with unbroken forests of evergreen beech. Our 
course along salt-water passages was marked by somewhat gustier 
weather than would have been found a short distance inland, but it was 
not uncomfortably chilly for explorations ashore in daytime, and days 
are long in summer at fifty-three degrees latitude, both south and 
north. It was in fact pleasanter in the straits than we had found it 
shortly before at Montevideo and Buenos Aires — a thousand miles 
nearer the tropics — where " pamperos " had been blowing wildly along 
the great river. 

It was pleasant to escape from the unfriendly South Atlantic and 
enjoy the easy progress of a vessel on even keel. Still more agreeable 
was the panorama of passing shores and the abundant animal life of the 
channels and their islands. Best of all were the intimate observations 
of the aspects of nature, permitted by our daily explorations on land, 
the Albatross always within reach as a home camp, anchored in some 
protected harbor. 

To the naturalist a voyage of exploration through the Straits of 
Magellan is a rare privilege, not only on account of the strangeness of 
its animal and plant life and the wonders of its scenery, but also because 
of the records of scientific discovery associated with it. We were fol- 
lowing in the wake of Darwin and the Beagle, although more than half 

1 Illustrated by photographs made by Mr. Thomas Lee and the writer. 


U. S. S. Albatross in Borja Bat. Straits of Magellan. 

a century later, and had read the quaint descriptions of the region by 
Magellan, Drake, Cook and the hardy sea explorers who followed them. 

Out in the straits whales, porpoises and seals made their presence 
known at times, but sea birds were more constant objects of interest. 
The nesting places of cormorants were marked by masses of black- 
backed, white-breasted birds, acres in extent. From low island levels 
Cassin terns rose in clouds of protesting thousands when our boats 

" Steamer " ducks 2 kept well ahead of the active oarsmen, their 
flightless wings aiding their webbed feet in a manner suggestive of 
paddle wheels used as auxiliaries to screw propellers, trailing a foamy 
wake a hundred yards behind. The species belongs exclusively to 
southern South America and is altogether the most notable bird of the 
straits region. It is said to weigh over fifteen pounds. While it can 
not, or at least does not, fly, and is seldom inclined to dive, the rapidity 
of its progress over the surface long ago attracted the attention of 
explorers and navigators. Most observers are of the opinion that the 
wings move alternately when in motion. An occasional penguin — that 
flightless, burly diver, peculiar to Antarctic seas — only showed himself 
above water in porpoise-like leaps and was seldom easy to get. 

The diving petrel, 3 also Antarctic in range, was by special request 
a mark for all guns, but no specimens were taken. As a quick diver it 

2 Tachyeres cinercus. 
8 Pelccanoides vrinatrix. 


is a little brother to the northern auklet, which it resembles in appear- 
ance and to some extent in habits. When at large there is nothing in 
its actions to suggest the petrel. It strikes down into the water from 
full flight, emerging farther on, fairly bursting forth into the air with 
wings in rapid motion. 

There were also gulls, jaegers and grebes along the great waterway. 
Albatrosses and Cape Horn pigeons did not follow us into the straits, 
but we found them awaiting the ship when we emerged into the Pacific 
a month later. 

About the marshy places, ducks, geese, plovers and snipes of un- 
familiar kinds afforded sport as well as ornithological specimens on our 
trips ashore. The Paraguay snipe proved a good substitute for the 
Wilson snipe of North America. Most striking in appearance were 
the large kelp geese, the males of which are snowy white and the 
females dark. 

The barred Magellan geese, however, are more important on account 
of their abundance. This bird is a resident of the region throughout 
the year. It is an inhabitant of the open plains and mountain slopes 
and is a land rather than a water species. It occupies the open country 
of Tierra del Fuego in enormous numbers and has contributed more 
to the food of the white settlers now establishing sheep ranches in that 
country and in Patagonia than any other wild creature. 

With few exceptions both land and water birds were species of the 
southern hemisphere and of Antarctic distribution. 

The Magellan robin would have passed for the North American 
bird but for its gray tones and its disinclination to sing. There were 

Natives. Straits of Magellan. 



wrens, swallows, finches, flycatchers and hawks to be seen daily, but all 
in unfamiliar guise. 

The Great Magellan owl was enough like our great horned owl to 
be taken for the same bird. The same might be said of two pygmy 
owls shot at Laredo Bay, which closely resemble those of our western 
states and are among the smallest of known owls. The Magellan 
pygmy, notwithstanding the abundance of its fluffy plumage, is a mere 
featherweight of less than four ounces. The burrowing owl and spar- 

Glacieb Ice. Ayre Bound, Straits of Magellan. 

row-hawk did not differ appreciably from home species. In these lati- 
tudes the burrowing owl inhabits excavations made by the " viscacha," 
a rodent of the chinchilla family which lives in communities after the 
manner of our northern " prairie dog." Lacking the viscachas' burrow, 
it digs its own. The common barn owl and short-eared owl of world- 
wide distribution were both present. 

Kingfishers, woodpeckers and goldfinches were masquerading along 
the straits in strange garb, and best disguised of all, a meadow lark with 
bright crimson breast. 

A courageous species of humming-bird 4 penetrates southward into 
the chilly wilds of Fuegia, and we procured specimens within a few 
hours of a snow squall which greeted us in one of the western channels. 
The Patagonian burrowing parrot we found within a few miles of 
Punta Arenas, where it seemed as much out of place in the driving mist 
as it would in Alaska. 

In the dense forests along Smythe Channel we heard and obtained 

* Enstephanus paleritus. 


the " barking bird/' 5 a thrush-like ground bird whose sharp notes sug- 
gest the presence of a small dog. The condor and buzzard were fre- 
quently seen. 

One of the most interesting of the birds is the quail-like Attagis, a 
species of the Limicolae inhabiting the open uplands. Darwin refers to 
their rising and flying like grouse and says they occupy the place of 
ptarmigan of the northern hemisphere. 

The most familiar bird of the straits is a species of creeper 6 which 
follows the hunter constantly through the forest. The Cape Horn wren 
is as saucy as a wren can be, and the marsh wren creeping through the 
grass like a mouse, is almost familiar enough to be caught with a 
butterfly net. 

Of the hundred or more species of birds to be found along the 
straits we obtained about seventy, three of which belonging to the family 
of " wood-hewers " 7 were new to science. Our bird collection numbered 
one hundred and seventy specimens in all. The variety of migratory 
birds was greater than we had expected, but South America has a 
wonderfully varied bird fauna, and why should not the migrants fly 
southward in springtime if summer is to be found in that direction? 
One has but to get used to a reversal of the seasons. 

The natives had skins of puma, guanaco, deer and Patagonian 
ostrich, but none of these were observed alive, as our shore trips did not 
permit of extended journeys inland. The Magellan fox, otter and little 
striped skunk were easily obtained, the last going whole into a tank of 
alcohol sent ashore for the purpose, no one being sufficiently self-sacri- 
ficing to skin it. We could only hope that the alcohol would have a 
deodorizing effect, but I never had the courage to inquire of the curator 
of mammals of the Smithsonian Institution respecting an alcoholic 
specimen of Mephitis patagonica from the Straits of Magellan. 

The inquisitive fox watched us everywhere from the bluffs, but the 
crab-eating otter quickly slid from the rocks into the tangles of giant 
kelp so abundant along the shores of this region. 

From Punta Arenas a two days' journey was made in the steam 
launch to the Fuegian side in search of Antarctic fur seals. We met 
with these animals about thirty-five miles south of Punta Arenas, at 
St. Peter and St. Paul Rocks, where a number were lying on the rocks 
near the water. By landing on the opposite side the captain and I 
managed to stalk them, killing three with our Winchesters before they 
could take to the sea. After the seals had been skinned for museum 
specimens, the carcasses were eagerly appropriated by a canoe load of 
hungry and more than half-naked Fuegians. While the men were 
stowing their wind-fall of fresh meat in the canoe, one of the women 
went foraging among the nests of some cormorants near by, taking all 

5 Pieroptochvs. 

OxyvruH .v; ii icauiUi. 

7 I)p n d ro cc la ]. t iflrr. 


Fuegian Canoes. Straits of Magellan. 

the half-grown young she could carry, staying her appetite meanwhile 
with such raw eggs as could be found. Another woman was busy at the 
characteristic occupation of baling, for all Fuegian canoes leak, not 
being dugouts, but made of the roughest of native-hewn slabs lashed 
together with tough vines or rootlets and caulked with mosses. A third 
woman and a child seemed to be warming food over a fire and inci- 
dentally warming their own nearly naked bodies. The party had no 
knives and borrowed one of ours to cut up their meat. 

Their backs were partly protected by guanaco skins, tied around 
their necks with the hair side out. These primitive capes were not 
otherwise fastened and, when the hands were in use, left the body quite 
exposed to the wind. None of the canoe Indians that we saw had more 
clothing, except in a few cases where they used portions of cast-off sailor 
clothes, and none fastened their fur capes about the body with so much 
as a string. 

There is always a low fire burning on a bed of earth in the bottom 
of the Fuegian canoe wherever it may be met with, making possible the 
serving en route of smoked cormorant and baked mussels, but the indi- 
cations did not always point to that use of the fire, some of the food at 
least being eaten raw. It is doubtless necessary for these wandering 
shellfish gatherers to maintain a permanent camp fire ; to light it anew 
on their rain-saturated shores must tax their ingenuity to the utmost. 
A careful search of the canoes revealed neither flint nor matches, and 
the Fuegian has no pockets. This was our first meeting with the canoe 
Indians. Later we encountered them among the western channels, but 
never more than two canoes could carry. They were always eager to 
come aboard the ship and to trade their bone-pointed spears, bows and 


arrows, or rough paddles for ship biscuit and misfit clothing. They 
were even willing to trade their children. The canoe was apparently 
the only article not for sale. It seems to represent home and fireside, 
the few brush and leaf-covered bowers we saw on shore being merely 
hastily made night camps and wet ones at that. The canoe conveys the 
people from mussel bank to sea-bird rookery in the continual search for 
food. It is not likely that they often get seals, as their spears appear 
too rude — merely short poles with the bark on, the bone points being 
tied on in the roughest manner. Besides there never seemed to be 
enough seal skins to provide each member of the group with a cover 
for his shoulders. Naked children huddled close to their mothers for 
shelter from wind and rain. We made no measurements, but my recol- 
lection is that none of these savages exceeded five feet in height. The 
faces of the adults were all utterly barbarous. We saw but one dog 
among these people, where he may have been of more importance as 
possible food than as an aid in the capture of food. It is not unlikely 
that the natives get plenty of young seals during the season when the 
animals are breeding on the outlying rocks. 

In Punta Arenas I purchased from a trader a rough Fuegian basket, 
but did not ascertain from what tribe it was derived. 

Our photographs show Fuegians with clothing, but we had supplied 
it. We had at last found primitive man. It is doubtful if he exists in 
greater simplicity anywhere else to-day. 

The natives of Fuegia are quite different from the Patagonian 
tribes and are known as the Onas, inhabiting the interior of Tierra del 
Fuego proper and subsisting largely by the hunt of the wild guanaco; 

Fuegians. Otter Bay, Straits of Magellan. 


the Yahgans of the Cape Horn region and the more southern parts of 
the archipelago, and the Alaculofs of the western channels, who like 
the Yahgans, are canoe Indians. All are disappearing in the face of 
the long, irregular warfare maintained between themselves and the white 
race. In half a century they have diminished from perhaps forty or 
fifty thousand to certainly less than one thousand. It is to be regretted 
that the canoe Indians have not been the subject of more study by 
ethnologists, as they probably are the least known of wild tribes, and 
the lowest in the scale of intelligence and development. 

In the vicinity of Punta Arenas, which marks about the first third 
of the westward journey through the straits, the general aspect of the 
country undergoes a change. Hills and patches of forest appear. 
The climate also changes appreciably, the western part of the region 
being much more stormy and rainy. From this neighborhood may be 
seen to the southward on clear days the white summit of Mt. Sar- 
miento, nearly one hundred miles away. It is 7,000 feet in elevation 
— the highest peak in Tierra del Fuego — and its summit is as yet un- 
trodden by man. Sir Martin Conway succeeded in reaching a height 
of only 4,000 feet when his party was driven back by appalling storms 
of sleet. 

The resemblances to northern species which were noticeable among 
many of the birds, were traceable among the wild flowers. There were 
dandelions, buttercups, ground orchids, anemones, yellow violets, 
geraniums, gentians, yellow star-grass, primroses and marigolds, and 
probably hosts of others not observed because not in bloom. Many of 
those met with are unfortunately not namable except in botanical 
terms. Growing close to the ground and very striking was a large 
pink flower 8 of great beauty common along the western shores. There 
were ferns of many kinds. A barberry shrub 9 was found everywhere, 
and a fine currant bush 10 was often seen. Our greatest surprise was at 
the size and beauty of the Fuchsia, which forms thickets ten or 
twelve feet high and bears a wonderful abundance of flowers much 
frequented by humming birds. 

The contradictions presented by nature were remarkable: with 
cold rain storms blowing over the mountains and beating fiercely down 
into the channels, chilly mists and lowering skies perhaps most of the 
time, we must yet believe it summer where, at the same time, hum- 
ming birds, parrots and flamingoes, beautiful flowers and ripe berries 
are to be found. The line of perpetual snow is only 2,000 or 3,000 
feet above tide water, while the mean summer temperature is about 
50 degrees. 

However mild and bright occasional days might be, the forests 
were always damp to the point of saturation. The excessive moisture 

8 Philesia buxifolia. 

9 Em pet rum. 

10 Ribcs magellanieum. 


was favorable to certain large fungus growths on the trees, and used 
as food by the natives. 

The chief constituents of the Magellan forest are the Antarctic 
beech, 11 the evergreen beech, 12 and the "winters bark 13 (of the mag- 
nolia order) with laurel-shaped leaves nearly four inches long. A so- 
called cypress 14 is conspicuously abundant along the western channels. 

It was new and rich ground for the scientific prospector. The 
naturalists were not to be deterred by the weather, but penetrated the 
narrow side channels in the ship's boats, shooting, fishing, botanizing, 
shore-collecting at low tide, photographing, hammering mesozoic fos- 
sils from the rocks, digging in the ancient shell-heaps of the aborigines 
and bartering with the natives. 

Suitable beaches for dragging the seines were not easy to find, but 
the sailors usually secured enough smelt and mullet-like fishes for the 
table and a considerable variety of finny oddities for the ichthyol- 
ogist's alcohol tanks. The naval officers found sport for their trout 
rods, in taking a trout-like fish abundant in the small streams. They 
insisted on calling it a trout, but this peculiar genus, Haplo chiton, of 
the austral fresh waters differs noticeably from the boreal fish in lack- 
ing the adipose fin of the true trouts. To the angler it is equally 
gamy. The ichthyologist ignoring the rules of the true sportsman, 
swept many of the best pools with his nets. His " specimens," it is 
needless to relate, did not appear upon the mess table, much to the 
protest of the anglers. 

Collecting along shore at low tide yielded many interesting inverte- 
brates. A univalve of the genus Concholepas clings to the rocks like 
a limpet. It is as large as a man's fist and deep enough for a drinking 
cup. I saw one in a canoe where it may have been used as a boat 
bailer. It is also said to be used by the natives as food. The large 
Chilian mussel 15 is abundant and seems to be the principal item in the 
food supply of the natives. We found it excellent eating and obtained 
specimens fully seven inches long. The handsomest sea shell of the 
straits is Voluta Magellanica, which reaches a length equal to that of 
the large mussel. 

The most interesting crustacean was an isopod of the genus Serolis, 
which bears a superficial resemblance to the extinct trilobites and here 
takes the place of our North American horseshoe crab 16 as a notable 
zoological type. We obtained specimens of it in many localities along 
shore and also in our dredge hauls. 

We were scarcely prepared to find frogs in this latitude, but four 

11 Fagus antarctica. 

u Fagu8 betuloides. 

u D rimy s. 

14 Libocedrus. 

u Mytilus chilensis. 

18 Limulus polyphemus. 



very small specimens, representing three species, were secured, one of 
which proved to be new to science. 

Of insect life we learned little, and our collections were unimpor- 
tant. A few butterflies, moths and bees were seen, while beetles were 
more noticeable. Mosquitoes may be dismissed with the remark ap- 
plied to the snakes of Ireland : there are none. 

No exploring ship ever carried a more industrious scientific staff; 
its store of zoological and botanical plunder grew daily and the lab- 
oratory lights burned into the small hours for the identification of 
species and the preservation of specimens. The naval corps and the 
sailors also warmed up to the work, bringing in birds, mammals, fishes 

Cassius Tern. Straits of Magellan. 

and plants, some of them wielding the clumsy coal shovels from the 
fire-room, in digging ancient stone and bone implements from the 
shell heaps. Some of the shell heaps or " kitchen middens " as the 
archeologist called them, were several feet thick. Digging into them 
was laborious and the results called forth only contemptuous remarks 
from the sailors. A few arrow-heads, bone, flint and stone imple- 
ments with bones of seals, and mussel and limpet shells did not seem 
to them worth the effort. But the ancient camp sites showed to those 
who could read their story, that the native population of the past 
had lived as simply as their descendants of the present, had subsisted 
on the same food, used the same primitive tools and camped on the 
same spots. There were doubtless more of them as barbarians decrease 
in numbers after contact with the white race. 

Large mammals were, with the exception of fur seals and Antarctic 
sea lions, not common along the line of our operations, but foxes, 
otters, coypu, Ctenomys and other small fur bearers of the far south 



Straits of Magellan. White-breasted cormorants. 
Young birds In foreground. 

Santa Marta Island. 

were added to the ship's steadily increasing lists of the fauna and 
flora of the straits. 

In the captain's private log there is a reference to the activities of 
the scientific staff, in connection with notes on very stormy weather 
at one of our anchorages, where it was too rough to send boats ashore : 

It was fortunate for the naturalists, for it gave them a chance for a much- 
needed rest— they ceased work in the laboratory at 11:30 p.m. and were off at 
4 a.m. the following morning! 

But the latter hour did not mean starting before daylight, at that 

White-breasted Cormorants, Santa Marta Island. Straits of Magellan. 


season and in that latitude, and the naturalists did not consider that 
they were making any sacrifices. 

The weather during our "midsummer" month in the straits was 
of all sorts : it was very rainy or misty six days, very windy as many 
more, slightly snowy two days, really bright and pleasant four days. 
The remaining days could not well be classified, presenting all of the 
above-named varieties of weather in such rapid succession that the 
entries in the log book by each watch included them all, with an oc- 
casional fierce squall thrown in to take the kinks out of the cable and 
give the anchor something to do. The vessel sheered alarmingly as 
the squalls changed direction, but fortunately they were of only brief 

Explobino an ancient Shell Heap. Elizabeth Island, Straits of Magellan. 

duration. With all these wintry contrarities in the season of summer 
blooms, it was seldom squally enough to drive the hardy humming 
birds away from the fuchsias.- 

Our shore work, beginning at Dungeness Point at the eastern en- 
trance of the straits, covered the territory adjacent to seven different 
anchorages in the straits proper and six among the channels of west- 
ern Patagonia, terminating finally at Port Otway, where we entered 
the South Pacific Ocean. With the exception of Punta Arenas, these 
points were uninhabited save for the occasional presence of roving 
canoe Indians. 

At Elizabeth Island there were excellent opportunities for the ob- 
servation of water birds. A rookery of Cassin terns occupied several 
acres, the nests being close together, so that care was necessary to 
avoid stepping on them. Eggs and young birds covered the ground 
and countless thousands of old birds swarmed close overhead, actually 
clouding the sky, while the noise of their cries was tremendous in 
volume. The adjacent island of Santa Marta was largely occupied by 
white-breasted cormorants, the area covered by their nests being sev- 
eral acres in extent. The nests, about six inches high by eighteen in 


diameter, were placed close together. The great mass of old birds re- 
mained by their nests until cameras could be brought into play at a 
distance of fifteen or twenty yards. On being approached closer they 
shuffled off, not taking wing until more closely pressed, leaving the 
well-grown young behind. The latter had not developed the white 
breasts of the adults and were quite fearless. Another species of 
cormorant lacking the white breast, had nests along the low cliffs, 
while eggs and young of gulls were abundant on some elevations near 
the water. 

Our explorations were not confined to the shores; when the ship 
was under way, the large dredge, or beam trawl, was often lowered to 
drag on the bottom, once as deep as 370 fathoms. It was, in fact, 
dragged systematically through the inland passages of the straits and 
Smythe Channel from Cape Virgins on the Atlantic to Port Otway on 
the Pacific. This big iron-framed net, hauled by steam power, brought 
up fishes, shells, crustaceans, sea urchins, starfishes and many other 
sea forms whose scientific names are here somewhat out of place. 

Among the fishes we often got Macrurus, that strange, big-eyed, 
long-tailed genus distributed nearly everywhere over the ocean floor. 
Crustaceans were better represented in the dredge hauls, many deep 
sea types being brought up. Mollusks were plentiful in number and 
variety, living brachiopods — the " lamp shells " so well known as fos- 
sils — appearing frequently. 

There were many specimens of small octopus and a couple of 
burly squids nearly six feet long. The deep-water species were, as a 
whole, new to science. 

This whole region is an anciently depressed, sea-engulfed mass of 
mountains among which the voyager of the present carefully gropes 
his way. 

The navigation of the straits is confined to daylight work and the 
summer days are of course long, but even then heavy fogs have to be 
reckoned on. The short nights were always passed at anchor. While 
the straits are several miles wide in places, there are dangerous nar- 
rows which can only be passed at slack water. English Narrows are 
less than a quarter of a mile wide and the channel affords room for 
but one ship at a time. 

The only settlement worthy of mention here is Punta Arenas, the 
most southerly town on the globe. The region is too far south for 
agriculture, but garden vegetables can be grown in sheltered places. 
There is some gold digging carried on, but sheep raising has become 
an established industry. There was much in the climate to remind 
me of the Aleutian Islands, which lie nearly in the same latitude in the 

Our observations of water temperature in the straits varied from 
47° to 57° Fahrenheit, the higher temperature being found in the 

vol. lxxvi.i— 2. 


more northerly channels. The temperature of the air followed in a 
general way that of the water. 

While there was a great deal in the way of birds and flowers to 
suggest familiar objects, our surroundings in other respects were 
strange. The trees of the forest, the smaller forms of sea shore life, 
the utterly barbarous look of the natives, the wildness of the scenery, 
left strong impressions. Even the constellations were altogether un- 
familiar. The navigating officer pointed out the Southern Cross, the 
beautiful nebulous mass called the Cloud of Magellan, the " Coal Sack," 
that dark starless area close to the Milky Way, and the bright stars 
Canopus and Achenas. 

I know of no more forbidding headland than Cape Froward, the 
southern point of the continent. The scenery reminds one in many 
ways of the inland passage of Alaska and is probably finer, as there are 
more high cliflb of exposed rock. As in Alaska, the vegetation of the 
forest comes uniformly down to sea level, and here we find it actually 
overhanging and touching the surface at high tide. 

After passing through Magellan Straits and turning northward into 
Smythe Channel and the series of inland passages beyond, the channels 
become narrower and the scenery wilder. The evergreen coniferous 
forests of the north are here replaced by evergreen beeches, which give 
a new and strange aspect. There are, however, the same high, tumbling 
waterfalls in the foreground with snow-topped ranges beyond. 

No ordinary description can convey a clear idea of the generally 
impenetrable character of the forests, which are more tangled and diffi- 
cult than those of the tropics. Fallen trees and branches cover deeply 
the whole forest floor, these in turn being mostly concealed with mosses 
and large plants, the whole always saturated as if by a recent rain- 
storm. After clambering over decayed logs, heavily blanketed with 
mosses, one may land waist deep in boggy vegetation. Progress is pos- 
sible only by constant and laborious climbing over obstructions. 

In this western section of nearly four hundred miles, the open ocean 
is seen only once, so completely is the long stretch of coast protected by 
the lofty islands of the archipelago. Passing gradually northward, 
glimpses of lofty snow ranges become more frequent, and at the mouth 
of the last narrow channel the white Andes are exposed to full view 
and may be enjoyed during the forty-mile voyage across the Gulf 
of Penas. 

Before leaving Eyre Sound we made fast to one of the small icebergs 
drifting away from adjacent glaciers terminating in tide water, and 
took on board seven tons of ancient Andean ice for our voyage north- 
ward to the Galapagos Islands in the tropical Pacific. 



By Pbofessob T. D. A. COCKERELL 


EVOLUTION is not an orderly march along a well-defined high- 
way, to the slow time of the music of the spheres. In its 
details, it is an irregular process, sometimes so slow that millions of 
years seem to make no difference; sometimes so rapid that a single 
generation marks a notable advance. VMany of its most remarkable 
products come into existence only to perish shortly afterwards, because 
they are exclusively adapted to conditions which are not permanent. 
Rapid progress seems usually to go with a high percentage of failures, 
as though progress itself were only an attempt to dodge the stroke of 
doom. Out of all this man, the species Homo sapiens, zoologically 
speaking one of the higher apes, has in these latter days evolved. A 
creature in many ways inferior to his brother mammalia, but favored 
by the gods. Denuded of hair, he is obliged to spend much of his time 
and energy providing artificial clothing; slow of foot, he is compelled 
to devise means of travel not depending upon his muscular activities; 
so deficient in the sense of smell, that he does not know, as do the dog 
and the ant, that it is the most important of all the senses ; lacking a 
tail, and with no grasping power in his feet, he rarely ventures to 
climb the trees; a poor creature indeed, well-fitted to be the laughing 
stock of the rest of animal creation. 

All this would not be so bad if, like his sylvan ancestors, he could 
go on his way with a placid sense of his own sufficiency. Alas ! even 
this poor privilege is denied to him; in the Garden of Eden, at the 
very beginning of his career, he acquired the sense of sin, and was 
henceforth to be a wanderer in a spiritual as well as a physical sense. 
Hence it comes that we, in this year 1910, think it proper to enquire 
anxiously about the future of our species, an inquiry which would cer- 
tainly never occur to any other species of mammal. 

At the very outset we are bound to observe that without exception 
the species of mammalia are short-lived. The records of the Tertiary 
rocks show a continually changing panorama of mammalian life, in 
which genera and species come and go, while plants, mollusca and other 
lowly organisms remain almost unaltered. We further notice that the 
comparatively brief existence of these animals may be terminated in 
either of two ways — by extinction, or by change into something else. 
When the creatures are very highly developed in special ways, they 



seem nearly always destined to die out, being supplanted by the de- 
scendants of simpler and more plastic forms. Supposing the career of 
man to resemble that of other specialized mammalia, he might be ex- 
pected to have before him perhaps another hundred thousand years, 
and then in all probability the end of the world, so far as he was con- 
cerned with it as an animal. Even on this hypothesis, he would have 
as much occasion to prepare for his terrestrial future as a young child 
has for its adult life, but there are very good reasons for supposing 
that the fate of man need not necessarily be the same as that of the 
animals to which he is most nearly allied. Prior to the existence of 
man, living beings might have been divided roughly into two groups, 
those related to very simple or unchanging environments, such as the 
amoeba or the oyster, and those specially adapted to complex conditions, 
such as the yucca moth and the giraffe. The former have proved suc- 
cessful through their very simplicity, have been saved by their lack of 
progress; the latter are nature's masterpieces, often destined, as such 
things are, to go out of fashion. Any single man may be taken as a 
rather extreme example of the latter type; he is extraordinarily de- 
pendent upon a special set of conditions, but the race as a whole is rela- 
tively independent, and without sacrificing anything of its organic com- 
plexity, is able to meet and overcome the dangers which have destroyed 
so many of the higher mammals. If with this man can secure a genuine 
but moderate progress in his fundamental organism, not sufficient to 
break the continuity of tradition or destroy his essential specific unity, 
he may be assured a career such as no mammal ever had before. 

The causes of the extinction of other animals have been principally 
related to climate, food and natural enemies, including here the germs 
of disease. With regard to climate, man at first, through racial differ- 
entiation, became adapted to everything from tropical heat to arctic 
cold ; but here he was on the way to split up into a number of distinct 
species. Now through devices of housing and clothing he can almost 
create climatic environments for himself, and so single races, or mix- 
tures of races, are to be found nearly everywhere. At the same time, 
like the bird, he knows how to migrate when necessary, so that he will 
never be destroyed by changes confined to a single continent or even 

In the case of food, he is relatively unspecialized, and no doubt his 
omnivorousness has greatly aided his spread over the globe. So long 
as he had to depend upon the supplies furnished gratis by nature this 
was a necessary condition of his cosmopolitanism ; but now that he can 
so largely control his food supply, and can carry any given product to 
the opposite end of the earth, it is a question whether there will not be 
a distinct gain in a return to primitive simplicity in diet. 

Of natural enemies, the grosser and more tangible kind, like the 


lion and tiger, have in most places been destroyed; but the small in- 
sidious germs or bacteria remain with us. Through a process of nat- 
ural selection, we have acquired a comparative tolerance of or immun- 
ity from several of them, but they have at all times heavily taxed our 
resources, and have actually been the means of exterminating many 
races. It is perhaps not unlikely that man would have died out before 
this, had he been confined to any limited region ; but since his distribu- 
tion has always been wider than the prevalence of any one disease, he 
has managed to survive in spite of all of them. 

A very interesting discussion of the insidious parasites of disease 
has been given by Dr. Eonald Eoss in an address on "Malaria in 
Greece," delivered before the Oxford Medical Society. 1 

Until recent times, the success of mankind in weathering the 
dangers of disease has been mainly due to the precautions he has been 
able to take, along with the limited distribution of diseases, and the 
process of evolution against them. In the future with the aid of sci- 
ence there can be little doubt that the bacteria of many will be exter- 

x This is quoted, with much other pertinent matter, by Dr. L. O. Howard 
in Bulletin 78, Bureau of Entomology, U. S. Department of Agriculture (1909). 

We now come face to face with that profoundly interesting subject, the 
political, economical and historical significance of this great disease. We know 
that malaria must have existed in Greece ever since the time of Hippocrates, 
about 400 B.C. What effect has it had on the life of the country? In prehis- 
toric times Greece was certainly peopled by successive waves of Aryan invaders 
from the north— probably a fair-haired people— who made it what it became, 
who conquered Persia and Egypt, and who created the sciences, arts and philos- 
ophies which we are only developing further to-day. That race reached its 
climax of development during the time of Pericles. Those great and beautiful 
valleys were thickly peopled by a civilization which in some ways has not been 
excelled. Everywhere there were cities, temples, oracles, arts, philosophies and 
a population vigorous and well trained in arms. Lake Kopais, now almost 
deserted, was surrounded by towns whose massive works remain to this day. 
Suddenly, however, a blight fell over all. Was it due to internecine conflict or 
to foreign conquest? Scarcely; for history shows that war burns and ravages, 
but does not annihilate. Thebes was thrice destroyed, but thrice rebuilt. Or 
was it due to some cause, entering furtively and gradually sapping away the 
energies of the race by attacking the rural population, by slaying the new-born 
infant, by seizing the rising generation, and especially by killing out the fair- 
haired descendant of the original settlers, leaving behind chiefly the more 
immunized and darker children of their captives, won by the sword from Asia 
and Africa? . . . The whole life of Greece must suffer from this weight, which 
crushes its rural energies. Where the children suffer so much how can the 
country create that fresh blood which keeps a nation young? But for a hamlet 
here and there, those famous valleys are deserted. I saw from a spur of 
Helicon the sun setting upon Parnassus, Apollo sinking, as he was wont to do, 
toward his own fane at Delphi, and pouring a flood of light over the great 
Kopaik Plain. But it seemed that he was the only inhabitant of it. There 
was nothing there. "Who," said a rich Greek to me, "would think of going 
to live in such a place as that ? " I doubt much whether it is the Turk who has 
done all this. I think it is very largely the malaria. 


minated, and it will no longer be necessary to think of them as possible 
dangers to human life. Thus, in England, by the universal practise of 
muzzling the dogs for a sufficiently long period, hydrophobia has been 
eliminated; in the tropics by the quite feasible if somewhat difficult 
plan of destroying the mosquitoes, yellow fever and malaria may be 
utterly stamped out in some regions. Other diseases are much less 
easily controlled, but it does not appear more difficult to destroy them 
than it once did to get rid of the wolves in England. 

Along with the development of the medical and agricultural sci- 
ences, we may hope for great advances in social organization, reducing 
to a minimum the tremendous waste of life and property which goes 
on to-day. It is not too much to expect that every individual will be 
assured all the air, food, clothes and shelter necessary for a normal 
existence, and will find ample opportunities for exercising such talents 
as he may possess. Liberty will be curtailed in so far as it permits 
antisocial activities, but it will be tremendously extended, in the form 
of practical opportunities to develop ordinary or special abilities. All 
this may be a long way ahead, and there may exist great differences as 
to the program for the near future; but I suppose that few will deny 
that some such outcome as that indicated should logically follow from 
indefinite advance in the direction we are even now taking. 

If we picture human society thus relatively perfected, and free from 
many of the ills which now so fearfully decimate it, what have we left 
to desire? Very much, I venture to think. Is there one of us who 
could honestly say that, if he had been born into such a society, he 
would be without any serious defects of mind or body? In other words, 
given as good an environment as could well be devised, should we then 
be perfect? It is exceedingly obvious that we should not. 

Those who are enthusiastic, and very justly, concerning the possi- 
bilities of social reform, are somewhat too apt to assume that all defi- 
ciencies noted in people to-day are due to adverse external conditions. 
The student of heredity — even the farmer, when he is dealing with his 
crops — knows better than that. Figs do not grow on thistles, for all 
the fertilizers in the country. There is no doubt whatever that every 
year there are born thousands of persons who are not merely unfitted 
to succeed in the world as it now is, but would never be successful in 
any complete sense in any world which could be devised or imagined. 
Some of those who recognize this fact see in it the doom of all social 
amelioration. If to-day the tremendous destruction of the unfit which 
takes place leaves us so many incapables, what would happen if most of 
those who perish were to survive ? Would not society be buried beneath 
a load of incompetency, which would make even such organization as 
we have impossible? To this gloomy suggestion it may be replied, in 
the first place, that much of the present-day elimination is of those who 


would be eminently fitted to become useful members of society, could 
they be saved. Those who die of bacterial diseases may be unfitted to 
cope with those diseases, but this does not imply all other forms of 
unfitness. This has been recognized from time immemorial, in the 
phrase, " those whom the gods love die young." 

In the second place, it should be pointed out that while much of the 
elimination now occurring is desirable, it is no doubt preposterously 
haphazard, and those who so keenly recognize the need for elimination, 
should be the first to advocate a rational method of bringing it about. 
This rational method consists, not in the destruction, but in the pre- 
vention of the unfit. 

At this point it will be useful to leave mankind for a while, and 
consider some of the recent results of the study of heredity; results 
obtained mainly from investigations on plants and lower animals. 
Without going into detail, it may be said that through the researches 
of Mendel, Bateson, de Vries, Davenport and many others, we have 
come to a very clear recognition of unit-characters in inheritance. 
That is to say, particular characters, such as hairiness, eye-color or 
susceptibility to some disease, are inherited separately, passing from 
one generation to another much as atoms pass without change from one 
to another chemical compound. These unit characters may be lost, and 
sometimes the loss is real and final, sometimes it is illusory, due merely 
to non-potency. In very simple cases, it is found that the inheritance 
of these units follows easily recognized laws, the distribution being in 
accordance with the laws of chance. In others, this is not evident, and 
in man especially, the results are often perplexing. Thus the mulatto 
is virtually a blend between the white and black races, and at first sight 
it is not at all apparent that the racial characters are inherited as 
separate units. Nevertheless, we have indications of this in the remark- 
able differences sometimes observed within a single family of mulattoes, 
and it may well be inferred that further investigation will yield results 
in accordance with recognizable laws, and in so far predicable in 
advance. 2 

The absolute distinction which at first seems to exist between char- 
acters which are inherited as separate units and those which blend may 
not be real. When the units are obviously separate, but are fairly 
numerous, they will produce every sort of mosaic, in the most confusing, 
and at first sight wholly disorderly manner. Let them be somewhat 
more numerous still and it becomes practically impossible, by mere 
inspection, to disentangle the result. It is just as black and white balls, 
if of large size, will appear as separate things when mixed, but if suffi- 
ciently small will give an apparent blend, of uniform gray. Because 

* When twQ " opposing " units coexist after a cross, there not rarely occurs 
a blended result, due to what is called " imperfect dominance," but this does 
not prevent complete segregation in a later generation. 


of this possibility, we are not as yet entitled to explain all blending away 
as illusory; but we may bear in mind that this may be the case. It can 
at least be said, that scarcely a month passes without some case of 
inheritance, formerly seeming inscrutable, being brought into the field 
of well-ascertained law. 

With the incoming of the idea of unit characters, passes our former 
conception of continuous variability. Supposing every character to be 
at all times variable — that is in motion, as it were, away from its 
present center of stability — there is no doubt that continuous selection 
would be required to keep characters up to any particular standard. 
The extraordinary permanency of some organic characters should suffice 
to make us doubt this necessity. For millions of years, certain features 
in the lower animals have been handed down generation after genera- 
tion, practically without change. When we remember the tremendous 
complexity of the protoplasm molecule and the much greater complexity 
of the least imaginable bearer of heredity, and the fact that it has not 
been possible to break up and then reform the combination, as in 
inorganic chemistry, the permanency of these units in time is simply 
amazing. Least particles of protoplasmic jelly, they have stood while 
the rocks have been ground to dust, and made over many times. They 
are entitled to be ranked among the most permanent things in nature. 

What then of the facts of variability, as they appear to us? What 
is the use of denying continuous variability, in the face of the fact that 
no two human beings are alike? The paradox may be resolved, when 
we remember the extraordinary number of words in the English lan- 
guage, no two the same — yet made up of the undeniably unchanging 
letters of the alphabet. When we recall that, on the unit character 
theory, the units in man must be exceedingly numerous, and must be 
recombined in almost every conceivable way in bisexual inheritance, it 
is easy to see that the chances against any two individuals coming out 
exactly the same are so great that such a result is practically impossible. 
The only case which can come under this head are those of identical 
twins, where the resemblance is indeed amazing, throwing light on the 
extraordinary potency of inheritance. Such twins are believed to result 
from the division of a single fertilized ovum, and hence to be, in a 
biological sense, two halves of a single individual. 

Much light has been thrown on the permanence of unit-characters 
by studies among plants and protozoan animals of what are called pure 
lines. A pure line is one in which all the individuals have the same 
ancestry, uncontaminated by crossing. The most remarkable results 
have been obtained by Professor Jennings in his studies of Paramecium. 

He says : 

In a given "pure line" (progeny of a single individual) all detectible 
variations are due to growth and environmental action, and are not inherited. 


Large and small representatives of the pure line produce progeny of the same 
mean size. The mean size is therefore strictly hereditary throughout the pure 
line, and it depends, not on the accidental individual dimensions of the par- 
ticular progenitor, but on the fundamental characteristics of the pure line in 

All this indicates that if desirable qualities, represented by units in 
inheritance, are once obtained, and are not disturbed by crossing, they 
may continue from generation to generation indefinitely, without varia- 
tion other than that produced in the individual by the immediate 
influence of the environment. 

But, here, as Professor Jennings remarks, we have to ask how the 
different pure lines arise ? That is to say, whence the different qualities 
which assuredly did not all coexist in the original form of life? We 
have seen that the unit in inheritance is, to say the least, a very complex 
object from a chemical point of view. No doubt it is easily destroyed, 
but its usual character seems to be that of resisting molecular change 
short of disintegration. Thus it is carried on from individual to indi- 
vidual, virtually unaltered, or in the alternative cases, destroyed. 
Occasionally, however, it must be subjected to some subtle influence 
which merely disturbs its internal structure, or perhaps deprives it of 
something it possessed. When this occurs, we have an original varia- 
tion, the starting of something really new. Such original variations 
must be relatively rare, and we do not know what causes usually bring 
them about. Tower with beetles and MacDougal with plants seem to 
have produced them, in the one case by changes of temperature and 
moisture, in the other by chemical means. The fact that in some 
regions certain genera produce many species, as the asters in America, 
the brambles in Europe, seems to suggest that the disturbing influence 
may be different for different organisms, and may be locally distributed. 
Or it may be that, a line of disturbance once set up in some unknown 
manner, influences prevalent anywhere are sufficient to continue the 
line of change. 

It may be that coming generations will see the causes of original 
variation fully elucidated, and the phenomenon itself brought largely 
under control. While mankind would thus be furnished with a weapon 
of extraordinary value, one trembles to think of the damage it might 
do. It might be made the means of producing new and wonderful 
variations in plants and animals, even in man himself; but inasmuch 
as there is every reason to suppose that its results could not often be 
accurately foretold, there is no telling what evil might result, even sup- 
posing that the power was never used with intentionally malicious 

We are not at present, however, in any danger of being overrun 
with original variations; and it must be remembered that most of the 
recent wonders of Burbank and others, which are new in a practical 


sense, owe their origin biologically to recombinations of characters 
which have existed from time immemorial in separate races. No doubt 
the great men which arise in human societies from time to time may 
be explained in the same manner, so far as they are regarded as biolog- 
ical phenomena. 

This possibility of producing what is virtually new by recombination 
must now be considered. Through the work done by various breeders, 
beginning with Mendel, we know much about the manner of such com- 
binations, and how to get rid of undesirable units. Where the cases 
have been simple almost ideal success has been attained: and in com- 
plicated cases it has been possible to produce definite results by con- 
centrating attention on special characters. Thus Bateson in his presi- 
dential address before the zoological section of the British Association 
in 1904, said : 

There are others who look to the science of heredity with a loftier aspira- 
tion: who ask, can any of this be used to help those who come after us to be 
better than we are— healthier, wiser or more worthy! The answer depends on 
the meaning of the question. On the one hand, it is certain that a competent 
breeder, endowed with full powers, by the aid even of our present knowledge, 
could in a few generations breed out several of the morbid diatheses. As we have 
got rid of rabies and pleuropneumonia, so we could exterminate the simpler 
vices. Voltaire's cry, "Erraser l'infame," might well replace Archbishop 
Parker's " Table of Forbidden Degrees," which is all the instruction Parliament 
has so far provided. Similarly, a race may conceivably be bred true to some 
physical and intellectual characters considered good. 

We come then to the conclusion that in the case of man, as with 
domesticated animals and cultivated plants, it is possible to get rid of 
many undesirable qualities, to combine others which are desirable, and 
to maintain indefinitely that which has been once secured. Where 
there is bisexual inheritance we can not have strictly pure lines, to be 
sure, but it is possible to have lines which are pure within practical 
limits. That is to say, we may have a race of people none of whom 
have a certain hereditary taint, all of whom have a certain hereditary 
quality. Beyond this, we would not go, were it possible; for no one 
would wish to sacrifice the interesting diversity of human types which 
makes life chiefly worth while. In our national aspirations, we have 
recognized the ideal of a moderate unity of type ; thus all Englishmen 
will agree that a true, full-blooded countryman of theirs should possess 
certain attributes, and will admit that those who fail in this are not 
strictly of the elect. All Frenchmen, typically, should have a certain 
vivacity not found among the Englishmen, and so on throughout the 

Thus the ideal of a relatively pure race of high quality is by no 
means a new one; but what is new is the practical knowledge of how 
this may be brought about, with the certain expectation of much more 


light on the subject in the near future. The realization of such an 
ideal involves selective mating; but this again is nothing new, all mating 
among civilized people is selective, with a wide range of reasons for the 
selection. To these will now be added a new one, or rather an old one 
in a somewhat new light. 

Professor J. Arthur Thomson well says : 

As to the diffusion of disease by the intermarriage of badly tainted with 
relatively healthy families, we have this in our own hands, and we need not 
whine over it. The basis of preferential mating is not unalterable, in fact we 
know that it sways hither and thither from age to age. Possible marriages are 
every day prohibited or refrained from for the absurdest of reasons: there is 
no reason why they should not be prohibited or refrained from for the best of 
reasons— the welfare of our race. 

On the other hand, we have to consider the means of increasing and 
continuing good qualities. The economic burden of raising a family 
is at present such as to discourage many whose qualities should be 
continued to other generations, and there can be no doubt that it would 
pay society to furnish ample means for the industry of child raising to 
those who are especially fitted to engage in it. Mr. Francis Galton has 
tried to calculate the value of different classes of individuals : 

The worth of a + X -class baby would be reckoned in thousands of pounds. 
Some such " talented " folk fail, but most succeed, and may succeed greatly. 
They found industries, establish vast undertakings, increase the wealth of mul- 
titudes, and amass large fortunes for themselves. Others, whether they be rich 
or poor, are the guides and lights of the nation, raising its tone, enlighting its 
difficulties, and improving its ideals. The great gain that England received 
through the immigration of the Huguenots would be insignificant to what she 
would derive from an annual addition of a few hundred children of the classes 
-f to and -f w. 





IS middle and distance running as practised in our schools and col- 
leges injurious or is it not? The verdict of spectators at an in- 
tercollegiate or interscholastic track meet, as the contestants cross the 
finish line frequently exhibiting every evidence of exhaustion, would 
probably be in the affirmative. It is difficult for them to resist the be- 
lief that a contest which so drains a man of his strength must, of 
necessity, use up vitality that can never be completely restored, must 
permanently weaken the heart, and perhaps injuriously affect him in 
other respects. This investigation was undertaken in the hope of as- 
certaining whether there is adequate foundation for such a belief. 

In an experience extending over fifteen years, the writer has at- 
tended many track meets, has known personally hundreds of runners, 
has time and again questioned them in regard to their personal ex- 
perience. Curiously enough, he has never found a single man who 
would admit that he had been injured by racing. The incompatibility 
between the positive assertions of these men and the popular impres- 
sion as to the effects of distance running was so pronounced, and 
the subject is such an important one in its relation to schoolboys and 
college men, that an investigation became imperative. The investi- 
gation does not deal with the marathon running of the present day, 
but solely with the distances usually run in school and college — one 
half to two miles and cross-country seven miles. 

Athletes from all parts of the country have been consulted, prin- 
cipally men who quit running years ago, and who have had ample 
time to note in their own persons the after effects of the training 
they underwent; men whose youthful enthusiasm has been sobered by 
years of business or professional life and whose judgment is there- 
fore to be respected. Some of them quit running thirty years ago; 
others twenty-six, twenty-four, eighteen, twelve, etc. A few are still 
running, only eight in all. Seven have just quit, nine stopped a 
year ago and the great majority from two to thirty years ago, aver- 
aging eight and a half years. Nearly one half of the whole number 
ran for five or more years, training five to six days a week in two 
groups, one group averaging twenty-six weeks a year, the other ten 
weeks. Many trained six days a week, thirty to forty weeks a year. 
These men have been allowed to speak for themselves, first as to 


facts, t. e., the manner in which they have been affected by their run- 
ning; second as to their opinions, i. e., whether or not they consider 
distance racing and cross-country running safe and valuable forms 
of exercise. The facts to which they testify must be considered as 
final; the opinions they express, even if not accepted as conclusive, 
must be of greater value than opinions based merely upon theory, 
for they are the incarnation of living experience, formed through 
days, weeks and months of hard grueling work, through knowledge 
of the manner in which their team mates bore the drudgery of train- 
ing and the strain of contest, and shaped finally by their own physical 
condition during the years which have elapsed since they ran. 

Injuries to the Heart. — In view of the general belief that run- 
ning is apt to injure the heart, particular attention was given to this 
phase of the question. Contrary to expectation, permanent injury 
to the heart was found to be very rare, only three men testifying to 
this effect and in these three cases the injury manifests itself only 
in unusual exertion. Twelve others developed functional heart af- 
fections, irregularity, palpitation, etc. Further correspondence with 
these men shows that all of these functional irregularities have been 
entirely cured. Ten of these fifteen men had what is known as " ath- 
lete's heart," three of the cases persisting to this day, as stated above. 

Generally speaking, the term "athlete's heart" is very vaguely 
comprehended. In medicine, it is defined as compensatory car- 
diac hypertrophy — that is to say, it defines a heart which although 
it has become enlarged, still performs its functions perfectly. Such 
a heart is normal in an athlete or in any man who performs vigor- 
ous physical exercise, the fibers growing firmer and larger as the 
demands upon the organ increase, just as a man's muscles grow 
firmer and larger under a month's outing in the woods. In almost 
every instance a heart of this type will shrink to approximately its 
former size without injury to its tissues, after the exercise has been 
discontinued. When, however, a man pushes his exercise too far, 
his heart may develop valvular insufficiency, palpitation or other 
functional irregularity, and I am inclined to believe that this is what 
the average physician means when he tells a man that he has " ath- 
lete's heart." This was so in most of the cases mentioned above, 
nevertheless, all but three of the men have since been cured. "Ath- 
lete's heart" is usually a temporary condition and permanent injury 
from overwork is rarely found. In an experience with school boys in 
all branches of athletics extending over a period of fifteen years, I have 
met with but one case of true athlete's heart, and this boy's physician 
told him that if he would abstain from violent exercise for six months 
he would be entirely cured. This heart affection was brought about by 
two years of hard training for the mile, beginning at an early age. 
This case, together with the free expression of opinion from athletes to 


whom this inquiry was addressed, strengthens my conviction that 
unless a boy is unusually well developed, he should not take up dis- 
tance running in earnest until eighteen years of age, and leads me to 
believe, furthermore, that the practise of running school boys daily 
from the beginning of the school year in order that they may compete 
in the spring, is a bad one, as is also that of running them in so many 
races during the season. 

But there was found to be a credit as well as a debit side in the 
effects of running upon the heart. One man writes: "My train- 
ing and running caused previous heart and lung trouble to disap- 
pear "; another, " transformed a nervous heart into a normal one"; 
another, "transformed a heart beating 100 usually, with occasional 
palpitation, into a normal one and caused the palpitation to disap- 
pear"; another, "when I began running, I was so weak that I was 
supposed to go down stairs backward — at the last physical examina- 
tion I was found to have one of the best hearts in the school. Kan 
four years from 440 yards up to seven miles." 

Other Injuries. — In response to the question " Has racing ever in- 
juriously affected you, and how ? " eight men testify to temporary in- 
jury due to over training or to racing when in poor condition, such 
as weak stomach, run-down condition, nervous breakdown, etc., the 
bad effects lasting from several weeks to as long as twelve months in 
one instance. One of these men ran the half mile, mile and two 
miles in one afternoon several times each year of his course of four 
years. This, of course, was simply inviting disaster, and it is diffi- 
cult to understand how any college trainer could have permitted it. 
This brings us directly to a statement by one of the most famous 
athletes this country has ever produced, namely that 

The great trouble in my opinion is the lack of knowledge on the part of 
trainers. The tendency is to overdo. This is particularly true of the school 
boy who imagines that unless he runs himself clean out every day of practise, 
he is not getting in the proper condition for competition. This is where he 
makes a mistake, and where, in my mind, he is going to feel the effects in 
later years. 

Proper training means work suited to the strength and development 
of the individual, and if a man is so trained, is allowed to compete only 
when fit, and is fit to run when he begins training, such injuries would 
not occur. 

Benefits. — In answer to the question, " Has it benefited you in any 
way?" ninety per cent, answer "Yes," five per cent, do not know 
whether it has or not, and five per cent, reply, " It has not." The 
benefits said to have resulted are in general, strengthened heart and 
lungs, developed a rugged constitution, cured several weak hearts, 
"gave perfect health and endurance very beneficial in recent years," 
" cured frequent headaches," " effected a complete emancipation from 


doctors and medicines," etc., and the relatively minor one of increased 
muscular development. The usual benefits resulting from training 
for any branch of athletics are also emphasized, namely, regular 
hours and regular habits of living, how and what to eat, the incom- 
patability of dissipation with physical stamina, the moral lesson that 
hard work, and that alone, leads to success. These benefits, it will be 
noticed, are of the kind that contribute to increased constitutional 
strength, strength of heart, lungs and vital organs, and are permanent 
in character. The almost unanimous testimony to this increase in 
vital strength is worthy of special note. 

Cross-country Running. — Cross-country running is generally be- 
lieved to be one of the best exercises that young men can take. The 
testimony of Mr. Joseph Wood, the headmaster of Harrow, is of par- 
ticular value in this connection. He writes : 

We keep no actual record of our runners, but I have been a headmaster 
now for over forty years, and my experience certainly goes to prove that cross- 
country running does no harm but much good; second, that in long-distance 
racing much care is necessary. No boy should be allowed to compete unless 
certified as sound and fit by competent medical advisers. At Harrow we make 
this a rule. 

As Mr. Wood implies, there is a vast difference between cross- 
country running, in which a man swings along at a rate well within 
his powers, and cross-country racing, in which he must drive himself 
at high pressure from three to ten miles. There seems to be a pretty 
well-developed opinion among the runners that cross-country racing is 
injurious. An intercollegiate champion, the captain of a varsity team 

I have had considerable opportunity to observe the effect of track and cross- 
country racing on athletes in this section [the west[. I have yet to see the 

track man at who was injured by races over the half-mile, mile and 

two-mile courses, but cases have occasionally come to my notice of men whose 
vitality was drained severely by cross-country races over five-mile courses. 

Another captain and coach writes to the same effect. Information 
accidentally received relating to one of the eastern universities, reveals 
a belief among the students that the men on the cross-country squad 
drain themselves of vitality, and there is frequent expression of opinion 
to that effect from the athletes who responded to this inquiry. 

Interesting Facts. — The cross-country men began running later in 
life than the track men, the average being 18£ years, as compared 
with 17 i for two milers, 17 for milers and 16 for half milers. In the 
latter, the percentage of heart affections was greater than with the 
one and two mile men. In view of the immaturity of the boys who ran 
in the 880 class, this is not surprising. 

Two thirds of the athletes participated freely in general athletics 
when not in training for track — in football, baseball, basketball, tennis, 
hockey, gymnastics, etc., and were practically engaged in vigorous ex- 


ercise for a period of five and a half years. Their statistics do not 
show appreciable variation from those of the one third who engaged in 
running only. 

Naturally and yet unexpectedly the men who trained on an aver- 
age of about ten weeks a year, notwithstanding they numbered less 
than two fifths of the whole number, had nearly twice the percentage of 
injuries. In attempting to fit themselves for the strain of a distance 
race in such a short time, they overworked, with consequent bad effects. 
Curiously enough, the men who trained twenty-six weeks a year and 
continued running from seven to twelve or fifteen years, had no in- 
juries at all. It might be supposed that this vigorous exercise con- 
tinued for such a long time would drain their vitality. Exactly the 
contrary has been the case. With one exception, all claim to be more 
vigorous than the average man of their age, and the exception de- 
clares himself fully as vigorous. 

One half of the athletes began running as schoolboys, and 78.5 
per cent, made good in college, as compared with 75 per cent, of those 
who did not take up the sport until they entered college. Twice as 
many of the boys who ran only a year or two in school made good, as 
of those who ran three or four years. This seems to indicate that boys 
who begin at school, if they do not begin too young, and if they are 
brought along gradually, learning stride and pace and developing 
stamina, have a slightly better chance than even the more mature man 
who takes up the sport after he enters college. There is nothing sur- 
prising in this, as it requires several years to bring a distance runner 
to his best. C. H. Kilpatrick, winner of the American and Canadian 
championships, *94, '95 and '96, and until recently holder of the world's 
record for the half mile, began running while at school, as did also 
George Orton, intercollegiate mile champion for several years. Melvin 
Sheppard before becoming an Olympic champion was famous through- 
out the middle Atlantic states as a school-boy runner. It is a common 
saying, however, that school-boy stars usually "fall down" in college 
and unquestionably many runners of promise are spoiled before they 
get there, but, generally speaking, the school-boy star fails to develop 
into a college star because he has stepped from the narrow limits of 
school competition into the much greater range of college athletics. 
I am inclined to believe that unless he has been overrun, he equals in 
college his school records and usually surpasses them, and while the 
data to support it are not at hand, I should expect this to be particularly 
true of distance running, at which a man should get better and better 
the longer he keeps at it. The evidence shows, furthermore, that boys 
who were over sixteen years of age when they began running did twice 
as well after they entered college as boys who began under sixteen. Evi- 
dently the boy who begins too young is throwing away his chances in 


Breaking Training. — One hundred and twelve athletes quit run- 
ning abruptly, and all but one of them are in vigorous health to-day, 
apparently having experienced no ill effects, either from breaking 
training suddenly or from that overdevelopment of heart and lungs 
which is supposed to result from athletics. This seems to indicate, first, 
that unnecessary emphasis has been laid upon breaking training gradu- 
ally and, second, that abnormal development of the heart and lungs 
leading to serious affections of these organs is not to be feared. 

The entire physical organism is developed by training to a condi- 
tion of unusual efficiency in order to meet the demands made upon 
it. It is generally believed that when these demands cease suddenly 
— through abruptly breaking training — tissue degeneration follows, 
inducing physical ailments of greater or less severity. There is, un- 
doubtedly, an alteration in the tissues when the organism is no longer 
called upon for vigorous activity, but the theory that this change is a 
pathological one is not sustained by the facts, in so far at least as 
distance runners are concerned, save when it is aggravated by bad 
habits, dissipation or close confinement. It has not been sustained 
in my experience with school-boy athletes, for in fifteen years I can 
recall but two cases of indisposition after the season, both temporary, 
both in football men, big and full blooded, of the type that require an 
active life. I think it is not sustained by the experience of the vast 
majority of athletes graduated from our colleges year by year, who 
from choice or necessity engage in business activities which deny leis- 
ure for indulgence in sport, for, if so, it should by this time show 
negatively in the national health statistics, whereas, on the contrary, 
the spread of athletics in the past generation is believed to have raised 
the standard of national physical efficiency. It seems to me likely that 
the ordinary activities of life are sufficient to bridge over the transition 
period, especially as men who have been accustomed to a great deal 
of exercise, and who feel the need of it, will, as a rule, manage to 
get more or less of it into or in connection with their work. I am 
of the opinion that, save in rare instances, the development produced 
by college athletics is not abnormal — as is that of professional strong 
men, weight lifters, acrobats, etc., in whom vitality is sacrificed to 
muscular development — but that it is normal, and constitutional as 
distinguished from muscular development, for none of the college 
sports, except perhaps the hammer throw, develop great muscular 
strength. The character of the athlete's training supports this belief. 
He trains hard for a season or two (twelve to thirty weeks), but during 
the intermittent periods and the summer his exercise is much less 
severe, and is engaged in solely for pleasure. He works during the 
training season and plays in between, the mid-seasons in this way 
providing just the type of letting down that is supposed to be neces- 

VOL. LXXVH. — 3. 


sary, so that at the close of his college career, instead of cumulative 
abnormal development, as in the case of the professional strong man, 
he has built up an evenly-balanced physical machine. 

Expert Opinions. — The athletes are nearly unanimous in endors- 
ing cross-country running (as distinguished from cross-country 
racing), as a safe and valuable form of exercise, but the same unanim- 
ity is not shown when we come to the consideration of distance 
racing — 880 yards to two miles. Ten per cent, of the men oppose 
racing of any kind, on the ground that it involves too much strain. 
Eighty per cent, of them approve it, nearly one third of these, how- 
ever, qualifying their approval by saying, "if not overdone, if under 
proper training, if sound at the start, if sufficiently mature, etc." 
These various qualifications, insisted upon by so many of the athletes, 
indicate a pretty general feeling by men who know the game, a feeling 
arising from their own personal experience or through observation of 
others, that distance racing is not free from risk except under com- 
petent supervision. Their letters indicate that without such super- 
vision immature boys, and men physically and constitutionally weak, 
will take up the game; that they, as well as those who are fit to run, 
will train improperly and will be likely to overdo it. They insist upon 
a preliminary examination by a competent physician ; they are opposed 
to the practise of running more than one hard race on the same day, 
a practise common among school boys, who, as a rule, have no com- 
petent trainer to advise them; they are opposed to boys taking up the 
game until they are seventeen or eighteen years of age, although recog- 
nizing the difficulty of setting any fixed age limit, since the strength 
and development of an individual must determine his fitness. Many 
believe that one mile should be the limit for schoolboy contests. There 
is a very pronounced feeling among them that school-boys gener- 
ally overwork. These opinions, held by men who know, can not be 
disregarded in an effort to discover and set forth the facts. They point 
to the dangers which lie in the path of the inexperienced athlete, and 
which bring adverse criticism upon the sport. And yet, notwithstand- 
ing these dangers, all avoidable, it will be apparent to any one who 
reads their letters that they approve the sport if properly supervised, 
considering it in that case not only safe but of great benefit. Almost 
all of the men, even those who are opposed to racing, even those who sus- 
tained injury while at it, claim to have been benefited by their athletic 
experience. This can mean but one thing, namely, as one of them ex- 
presses it, "the increased health and vigor resulting from training 
more than compensated for any injury due to racing." The exceed- 
ingly small number of permanent injuries revealed by this investigation, 
and the vigorous health enjoyed to-day by the athletes almost without 
exception, sustain this view especially since it must be borne in mind 
that a large proportion of the men quit running years ago, before the 


highly specialized trainer of to-day was developed, and consequently 
must have trained under more or less imperfect methods. It should 
also be remembered that unlike football and crew men, runners are not 
select specimens of physical manhood, picked because of their strength 
and vigor. On the contrary, track men are fragile in comparison. 
Strip a group of football and crew candidates and place them side by 
side with a group of track men and no one could fail to be impressed 
by the contrast in strength and development. 

Vitality. — Whether distance running drains vitality or not can 
not be demonstrated in terms of percentage, as one may speak of the 
number of bodily injuries or of functional heart derangements. A 
conclusion must be reached deductively, if at all, from the statistics 
given by the men ; the character of the injuries they have received ; the 
nature of the benefits which accrued from their running; the probable 
effect of these injuries and benefits on their vital organs; the 
state of their health at the present time, etc. Vitality must be de- 
termined by the condition of the blood, and of the organs which main- 
tain life, the heart, lungs, stomach, kidneys, etc. If running has re- 
sulted in strengthening the heart and lungs of these athletes, in im- 
proving their digestion, in stimulating to greater efficiency the func- 
tioning of their vital organs, in endowing them with greater physical 
vigor, it has evidently given them greater vitality, greater resistance to 
disease; if, on the other hand, it has injured their hearts, weakened 
their lungs, injuriously affected their vital organs ; if a fair percentage 
of them have become broken down athletes, it has impaired their phys- 
ical vigor and drained vitality. Every one admits the value of run- 
ning per se. It is generally recognized as the exercise par excellence 
which develops vital strength, strength of heart and lungs, the kind of 
strength that carries a man to a green old age. No one of our athletic 
teams regularly presents to the eye such evidence of perfect physical 
condition as does the track team. The practical value from a physio- 
logical point of view of all the school and college sports is in direct 
ratio to the amount of running involved. Racing in itself may be 
injurious, ten per cent, of the men believe it is, although their letters 
show that half of these are opposed to it, not because of definite and 
positive injury known to result from it, but from the vague general 
feeling referred to on the first page of this inquiry, namely, the belief 
that it is too great a strain. And this investigation shows that certain 
injuries do result from it, though much less serious than is generally 
believed. On the other hand, a large majority of the men deny that 
racing is necessarily injurious, affirming that injury when incurred is 
caused by poor condition, and that if a man is fit when he toes the mark, 
he is not likely to injure himself, no matter how hard he runs. But it 
is impossible to consider racing alone, since running is inseparably 
connected with it. Boys can not race without training, and will not 


train without racing. There seems to be no doubt in the minds of the 
athletes themselves as to the effects of their running. Over ninety per 
cent, claim to have derived permanent benefits, in many instances of 
inestimable value, and only four of the entire number testify to perma- 
nent injury. Some of the letters have a direct bearing on the subject 
of vitality, others relate to it indirectly ; one man writes : 

Cornell University is distinguished above all other institutions for the 
development of runners at the distances you mention. I am in touch with all 
the 'varsity distance men graduated in the last ten years, and there is not a 
case of physical debility in the whole lot. Most of them are much more alive 
than the average man. 

A famous distance runner whose feats astonished men a few years 
ago, writes : . 

I have been running for over twenty-three years now, and feel in perfect 
physical condition. Have won races from seventy-five yards up, and have run 
over one hundred miles quite oicen. My heart has been examined by specialists 
in London, Paris, Boston and other places, and all say that it is in perfect 
working shape. 

Another writes : 

My father, who is sixty-two years of age, and an old distance runner, can 
now run a quarter mile consistently under sixty seconds. He has not been ill 
since he was a young man, and is as hale and hearty as a man of thirty. 

A quarter mile in sixty seconds is beyond the ability of ninety-nine 
out of a hundred men whom you and I meet in the streets. The aver- 
age boy of eighteen years can not do it, but the trained runner can with 
ease. A form of exercise which develops and maintains in a man 
sixty-two years of age vigor enough to perform a feat beyond the 
strength of the average man of half his years and which brings forth 
testimony such as I have just quoted, has strong claims to favorable 

The Jinrickisha Man. — As bearing upon the general subject of 
distance running, I have endeavored to ascertain how the jinrickisha 
men of Japan and the dak or post runners of India have been affected 
by their arduous occupations. Although the work performed by the 
jinrickisha man differs widely in character from that demanded by 
the college athlete training for distance racing, there is a parallel if 
not similar demand upon the heart and lungs, and the effect should 
be similar in character, differing only in degree. The jinrickisha man 
performs infinitely harder work than the college athlete. Twenty, 
forty and even sixty miles a day is no unusual performance, and while 
he does not run as fast as the college man, he adds to the burden of 
his running — which ordinarily is hardly more than a fast jog — the 
strain of drawing a heavy weight, so that in all probability the cumu- 
lative effect upon the vital organs is not only equal to but much beyond 
that of the college man. In addition to this, he is subjected to all 


kinds of temperature— drenched in perspiration one hour, shivering 
with cold the next, hauling his 'rickshaw in all kinds of weather, in- 
adequately fed, smokes and dissipates. His activities are irregular — he 
may have work several days in succession, then lie idle for as many 
more, to be suddenly called upon for a renewed strenuous task — and in 
general his mode of life is exactly opposite to that of the college ath- 
lete, who is required to keep regular hours, fed the most nourishing 
foods, forbidden tobacco and spirits, is bathed, massaged and runs for 
fixed periods of time, gradually increasing his performances under the 
careful eye of an experienced coach. It is extremely difficult to obtain 
definite information concerning the jinrickisha man. No traveler 
whose works I have read has been sufficiently interested to publish in- 
information of the kind that would be valuable in connection with our 
inquiry. At the most, but casual reference is made to him as one of 
the picturesque features of the flowery kingdom. Mr. E. G. Babbitt, 
American vice consul-general in charge at Yokohama, has been good 
enough to answer my inquiry, and his letter throws more light upon the 
subject than I have been able to obtain from any other source. He 

The imperial government publishes annually an elaborate report (statis- 
tics) concerning movements of the population, but the number of deaths, etc., 
are given by " age " and not by " occupation," and it would be a very difficult 
matter to find the death rate among any particular class. Each prefecture has 
its own laws and regulations concerning the jinrickisha men and in one of 
the prefectures the age of the applicants for the jinrickisha's man's license has 
been limited to fifty-five; in Tokio, this age limit came into force in 1907, at 
which time it was reported that there were over twelve hundred jinrickisha 
men over fifty-five years of age. Most of these men were healthy and strong. 
During the year 1907-1908, this consulate-general had two old janitors, both 
of whom were jinrickisha men over twenty-five years, they said. The superin- 
tendent of police of this district whom I interviewed on this subject attributes 
a comparatively high death rate among them to their irregular diet and exces- 
sive use of liquors, to which vice they appear to be more addicted than any 
other class of laborers. 

Dak and Kahar Runners, — In attempting to investigate the dak or 
post runner of India, I came into possession, through the courtesy of 
Mr. G. Lockwood Kipling, of information of especial interest concern- 
ing the Kahar caste, also known as Jhinwars in the Punjaub. Mr. 
Kipling writes that this caste "has for many centuries been village 
servants, appointed to be carriers, runners, watermen, fishermen, basket 
makers, water fowl catchers, etc.," and are trained runners from genera- 
tion to generation. Mr. T. C. Lewis, late director of public instruction, 
United Province, India, in enclosing to Mr. Kipling the story which 
follows, writes : 

This goes to show that the Kahars who are in a manner born to the work, 
and are trained to it from their youth up, can, if they do it regularly (the 


oftener the better, as the old man said), cover extraordinary distances and 
without dropping out of the running at an early age as folks seem to fancy. 
Mr. John Harvey, formerly assistant inspector of schools, Lahore 
Circle, who has had abundant opportunity for observation, writes that 
these people are not short lived and that they are known to have per- 
formed " most extraordinary feats of endurance, such as bearing palan- 
quins and doolies, in carrying bangi loads and in long distance running 
when laying a palki dak, i. e., arranging for a succession of bearers for 
an urgent palanquin journey." He says : 

I know that Kahars live to be old men, for it is from their own lips that 
I have heard of feats of long distance running, as sarbarais and proved them 
to be true. I could give you several instances of incredible endurance. 

The following story from Mr. Harvey illustrates the wonderful 
endurance of the Kahar : 


Scene— Amritsar, N. India. Circ. 1875. Time, 5 p.m. 

Dramatis Persona 

J. Harvey Asst. Inspt. Schools, Lahore Circle. 

Maghi Ram. Doolie chaudhri, Amritsar. 

Gangu Son of above. 

J. H. "Ah, chaudhri ji! It is necessary that I should have a doolie to 
start for Sialkot at 8 this evening. ,, 

M. R. " Very good, nourisher of the poor, here is the Order book : please 
write the order and pay the money Rs30, at the rate of 4J annas per bearer 
for six bearers, 1 sarbarai (forerunner) and 1 misalchi (torchbearer) for each 
of eleven stages, with Rs 5 for the doolie and ,the balance for oil." 

J. H. "There, count the money— is it all right ?" 

M. R. "Quite correct, noble presence— Take the Rs20, and be off with 
you. The doolie will be here at 7:30, Sahib. Salaam." 

J. H. "Stay, chaudhri— That Gangu is your son, I think; now will he 
go the whole distance to Sialkot (64 miles) before morning, laying my doolie 
dak and paying the bearers?" 

M. R. "O yes, noble presence, why not? That is nothing for a boy of 
his age (20 years). But kahars (doolie-bearer caste) are no longer in condi- 
tion since the railways came in, though their time was always surer." 

J. H. "Nonsense. But it is interesting to know that Gangu will do his 
64 miles in 9 hours, if he really does do so. How shall I prove it?" 

M. R. " Why, nourisher of the poor, Gangu will pay his respects to you, 
in duty bound, when you arrive in Sialkot, for he must return to me at once 
with your assurance that all went well on the journey." 

J. H. " Well, I know this is said to be the usual procedure, but is it not 
a trying piece of work for a young man, especially if he has to do it often?" 

M. R. "Great king, the oftener the better; for it is much more trying if 
undergone only occasionally, though we kahars are in a manner born to the 
work. Unburdened, we could go on forever, but burdened— well, fifty miles is 
nothing out of the way for a man in practise. Some of your own bearers will 
not change for three, four, five or more stages on the way to Sialkot. It will 
all depend on what men are obtainable on short notice. [This was subse- 
quently verified by J. H. who found one man of his bearers toiling under the 
doolie into Sialkot who started under it from Amritsar and who proved that 


he had the previous day reached Amritsar from Sialkot with a banghy (bamboo 
shoulder pole with burdens at either end) load of mangoes.] My grandfather 
was a famous long-distance kahar, and my father, an old man now, still carries 
his banghy all day. ,, 

J. H. "Is it so! But now, listen; how far could your Gangu go without 
rest on one stretch?" 

M. R. " Noble presence, there is no telling how far an unburdened kahar 
could not go, but Gangu should be able to do one hundred miles without food 
or rest." 

J. H. (cynically) "Ah, indeed! And you, I think, in your day could have 
done two hundred." 

M. R. "Great king, O more than that. Listen, incarnation of justice. 

Just at the mutiny time, Capt. of Mian Mir sent for doolie chaudhri 

Tika Ram, and after informing him that he had important despatches for 
Meerut, asked him if he could arrange for a doolie dak there. I need not tell 
you the distance, Sahib, three hundred miles as the crow flies— and have him 
carried with safety. Tika Ram was aghast at the very notion, but when Capt. 
said he had thought of every other means, and had come to the con- 
clusion that a continuous doolie journey through Patiala and Karnal would be 
speediest, that not only would the chaudri be well paid, but that the reward 
would be great if the dispatches could be delivered on the third day, and that 
if Tika Ram, son of Lalu Ram, could not manage it, no one else could, the 
chaudhri after considerable thought agreed to undertake it, as it was worth 
risking. So asking for the bare fare in advance, and stipulating for ten hours 
start for the sarbarai, he despatched his own son on the business of laying a 
cross-country doolie dak to Meerut. At the appointed hour, the doolie was at 

Captain *s door and bore him off to arrive without let or hindrance at 

Meerut on the third day, to be greeted on his arrival by the sarbarai, and to 
give him assurance that all was well." 

J. H. " Enough, enough, chaudhri, that will do. Go." 

M. R. "Your noble presence does not believe me. Here is the proof, 
always carried with me. There, great king, cast your eye over that. What is 
its purport, O mine of intelligence ? " 

J. H. (Reading No. 1.) This to certify that chaudhri Tika Ram, son 
of Lalu Ram arranged a doolie dak for me from Mean-Mi r to Meerut and that 
he fulfilled his engagement by having me safely brought with important 
despatches to my destination. 

Signed , Capt. Mianmir. 

Dated . 

No. 2. The bearer of this chaudhri Tika Ram, son of Lalu Ram, has been 
rewarded with the sum of Rs 1000 for etc., etc. 

Signed , General Commander Mianmir. 

Dated . 

No. 3. This is to certify that Maghi Ram, son of Tika Ram, doolie 
Chaudhri of Mianmir, laid my doolie dak successfully from Mian-Mir to 
Meerut, etc. 

Signed , Capt. Mianmir. 

Dated . 

Looking at the chaudhri — "Humph! I am to believe then that you are 
the same sarbarai that laid the dak from Mianmir to Meerut which arrived 
on the third day." 

M. R. "Incarnation of justice, your slave is the grandson of Lalu Ram, 
the son of Tika Ram, and the father of Gangu — Salaam." 



When one recalls the distances covered in the six-day go-as-you- 
please contests in vogue in this country some years ago, there is nothing 
incredible in this. If men of this day can average over a hundred 
miles a day for six days, what is there incredible in one of a race trained 
from childhood covering three hundred miles in three days? The 
interesting fact, in view of the scope of this article, is that the Kahars, 
trained from childhood to be distance runners, lived to be old men; 
that they were not only able to stand the strain of running great dis- 
tances under a heavy load, but thrived under it. 

I remember years ago of hearing that the post runners of India 
died at about the age of forty as a result of their exertions, but I have 
been unable to find any foundation for such a statement. Positive 
information in regard to the mortality of Indian post runners is un- 
available, as they are relatively very few in number and of inferior 
caste, so that they are not mentioned as a caste in health statistics. 
Mr. John Cornwall, late postmaster general in the United Provinces, 
India, writes, that the Indian mail runners cover fifteen to eighteen 
miles a day, that there is never any difficulty in getting men to under- 
take the duties and that he never heard of them succumbing at the early 
age of forty. The rumor may, he says, have arisen from " the arrange- 
ment that Sowcars (bankers or money dealers) and Bunyas (merchants 
and traders) made in pre-mutiny days, to obtain early information as 
to the markets, rates of exchange, etc. They employed private per- 
sons, trained runners, to outstrip the regular mail carriers and convey 
information up country from trade centers. It was no uncommon 
thing, fifty years ago to see these messengers " arriving with messages 
sealed up in quills, and with their leg sinews swollen and strained from 
their exertions," but there is no definite and authoritative statement 
that their lives were shortened by their work. 

Conclusions. — It seems to be an open question whether cross-country 
racing is safe for any but men of exceptional strength with the proba- 
bilities in the negative. It is evident that distance racing of any kind 
is attended with a certain amount of risk, which, however, can be re- 
duced to a minimum by proper training. There is nothing in the 
testimony given by the athletes to show that distance running depletes 
vitality. As a matter of fact the presumptive weight of evidence is to 
the contrary. The facts revealed concerning the jinrickisha men and 
the Kahar runner emphasize this conclusion. If, notwithstanding his 
irregular diet, excessive use of liquors, exposure to the elements, etc., the 
jinrickisha man can live to a reasonable age; if, as shown by Mr. Har- 
vey's testimony, Kahar runners live to be old men notwithstanding 
their extraordinary feats of endurance, we may safely conclude that the 
infinitely milder work of the college man, usually done under the best 
conditions, is not likely to injure him, and the evidence at hand appears 
to establish this beyond reasonable doubt. But the number of injuries 


shown, even though nearly all of them were temporary ones, indicate 
the need for better supervision. None worthy of the name is given the 
school-boy athlete, except in comparatively few preparatory schools and 
city high schools. Competent trainers are scarce, but medical supervi- 
sion can readily be had. If the boys were required to pass a prelim- 
inary examination by a competent physician and were examined there- 
after at intervals of three or four weeks to ascertain how they are stand- 
ing up under the training, liability to injury would be practically 

Twenty-two of the sixty or seventy colleges and large preparatory 
schools to which we wrote furnished lists of their athletes. These lists 
contained the names of two hundred and sixty men, two thirds of whom 
responded to our letters. The replies are so similar in tone and so 
emphatic as regards essentials that I believe the results shown will be 
confirmed by further investigation involving any number of athletes. 




THE dramatization of subjective elements of the personality, which 
contributes so largely to render our dreams vivid and interesting, 
rests on that dissociation, or falling apart of the constituent groups of 
psychic centers, which is so fundamental a fact of dream-life. That is 
to say, that the usually coherent elements of our mental life are split 
up, and some of them^-often, it is curious to note, precisely those which 
are at that very moment the most prominent and poignant — are recon- 
stituted into what seems to us an outside and objective world, of which 
we are the interested or the merely curious spectators, but in neither 
case realize that we are ourselves the origin of. 

An elementary source of this tendency to objectivation is to be found 
in the automatic impulse towards symbolism, by which all sorts of feel- 
ings experienced by the dreamer become transformed into concrete 
visible images. When objectivation is thus attained dissociation may 
be said to be secondary. So far indeed as I am able to dissect the 
dream-process, the tendency to symbolism seems nearly always to pre- 
cede the dissociation in consciousness, though it may well be that the 
dissociation of the mental elements is a necessary subconscious condi* 
tion for the symbolism. 

Sensory symbolism rests on a very fundamental psychic tendency. 
On the abnormal side we find it in the synesthesias which, since Galton 
first drew attention to them in 1883 in his "Inquiries into Human 
Faculty," have become well known and are found among between six 
to over twelve per cent, of people. Galton investigated chiefly those 
kinds of synesthesias which he called " number-forms " and " color asso- 
ciations." The number-form is characteristic of those people who 
almost invariably think of numerals in some more or less constant form 
of visual imagery, the number instantaneously calling up the picture. 
In persons who experience color-associations, or colored-hearing, there 
is a similar instantaneous manifestation of particular colors in connec- 
tion with particular sounds, the different vowel sounds, for instance, 
each constantly and persistently evolving a definite tint, as a white, 
e vermilion, t yellow, etc., no two forms, however, having exactly the 
same color scheme of sounds. These phenomena are not so very rare 
and, though they must be regarded as abnormal, they occur in persons 
who are perfectly healthy and sane. 

It will be seen that a synesthesia — which may involve taste, smell 


and other senses besides hearing and sight — causes an impression of one 
sensory order to be automatically and involuntarily linked on to an 
impression of another totally different order. In other words, we may 
say that the one impression becomes the symbol of the other impression, 
for a symbol — which is literally a throwing together — means that two 
things of different orders have become so associated that one of them 
may be regarded as the sign and representative of the other. 

There is, however, another still more natural and fundamental form 
of symbolism which is entirely normal, and almost, indeed, physiolog- 
ical. This is the tendency by which qualities of one order become 
symbols of qualities of a totally different order because they instinctively 
seem to have a similar effect on us. In this way, things in the physical 
order become symbols of things in the spiritual order. This symbolism 
penetrates indeed the whole of language; we can not escape from it. 
The sea is deep and so also may thoughts be ; ice is cold and we say the 
same of some hearts ; sugar is sweet, as the lover finds also the presence 
of the beloved; quinine is bitter and so is remorse. Not only our 
adjectives, but our substantives and our verbs are equally symbolical. 
To the etymological eye every sentence is full of metaphor, of symbol, 
of images that, strictly and originally, express sensory impressions of one 
order, but, as we use them to-day, express impressions of a totally dif- 
ferent order. Language is largely the utilization of symbols. This is 
a well-recognized fact which it is unnecessary to elaborate. 1 

An interesting example of the natural tendency to symbolism, which 
may be compared to the allied tendency in dreaming, is furnished by 
another language, the language of music. Music is a representation of 
the world — the internal or the external world — which, except in so far 
as it may seek to reproduce the actual sounds of the world, can only be 
expressive by its symbolism. And the symbolism of music is so pro- 
nounced that it is even expressed in the elementary fact of musical 
pitch. Our minds are so constructed that the bass always seems deep 
to us and the treble high. We feel it incongruous to speak of a high 
bass voice or a deep soprano. It is difficult to avoid the conclusion that 
this and the like associations are fundamentally based, that there are, 
as an acute French philosophic student of music, Dauriac (in an essay 
"Des Images Sugger6es par 1' Audition musicale") has expressed it, 
"sensorial correspondences," as, indeed, Baudelaire had long since 
divined ; that the motor image is that which demands from the listener 
the minimum of effort; and that music almost constantly evokes motor 
imagery. 2 

x Ferrero, in his "Lois Psychologiques du Symbol i sme " (1895), deals 
broadly with symbolism in human thought and life. 

*The motor imagery suggested by music is in some persons profuse and 
apparently capricious, and may be regarded as an anomaly comparable to a 
synesthesia. Heine was an example of this and he has described in " Florentine 


The association between high notes and physical ascent, between 
low notes and physical descent is certainly in any case very fixed. 8 In 
Wagner's "Lohengrin," the ascent and descent of the angelic chorus 
is thus indicated. Even if we go back earlier than the days of Bach 
the same correspondence is found. In the work of Bach himself — pure 
and abstract as his music is generally considered — this as well as much 
other motor imagery may be found, as is now generally recognized by 
students of Bach, following in the steps of Albert Schweitzer and 
Andr6 Pirro. It is sometimes said that this is "realism" in music. 
That is a mistake. When the impressions derived from one sense are 
translated into those of another sense there can be no question of 
realism. A composer may attempt a realistic representation of thunder, 
but his representation of lightning can only be symbolical; audible 
lightning can never be realistic. 

Not only is there an instinctive and direct association between 
sounds and motor imagery, but there is an indirect but equally in- 
stinctive association between sounds and visual imagery which, though 
not itself motor, has motor associations. Thus Bleuler considers it well 
established that among color-hearers there is a tendency for photisms 
that are light in color (and belonging, we may say, to the " high " part 
of the spectrum) to be produced by sounds of high quality, and dark 
photisms by sounds of low quality; and, in the same way, sharply- 
defined pains or tactile sensations as well as pointed forms produce 
light photisms. Similarly, bright lights and pointed forms produce 
high phonisms, while low phonisms are produced by opposite conditions. 
Urbantschitisch, again, by examining a large number of people who 
were not color-hearers found that a high note of a tuning fork seems 
higher when looking at red, yellow, green or blue, but lower if looking 
at violet. Thus two sensory qualities that are both symbolic of a third 
quality are symbolic to each other. 

This symbolism, we are justified in believing, is based on funda- 
mental organic tendencies. Piderit, nearly half a century ago, forcibly 
argued that there is a real relationship of our most spiritual feelings 

Nights" the visions aroused by the playing of Paganini, and elsewhere the 
visions evoked in him by the music of Berlioz. Though I do not myself ex- 
perience this phenomenon I have found that there is sometimes a tendency for 
music to arouse ideas of motor imagery; thus some melodies of Handel suggest 
a giant painting frescoes on a vast wall space. The most elementary motor 
relationship of music is seen in the tendency of many people to sway portions 
of their body — to " beat time " — in sympathy with the music. Music is funda- 
mentally an audible dance, and the most primitive music is dance music. 

•The instinctive nature of this tendency is shown by the fact that it per- 
sists even in sleep. Thus Weygandt relates that he once fell asleep in the 
theater during one of the last scenes of " Cavalleria Rusticana>" when the tenor 
was singing in ever higher and higher tones, and dreamed that in order to reach 
the notes the performer was climbing up ladders and stairs on the stage. 


and ideas to particular bodily movements and facial expressions. In a 
similar manner, he pointed out that bitter tastes and bitter thoughts 
tend to produce the same physical expression. 4 He also argued that 
the character of a man's looks — his fixed or dreamy eyes, his lively or 
stiff movements — correspond to real psychic characters. If this is so 
we have a physiological, almost anatomical, basis for symbolism. 
Cleland, 8 again, in an essay " On the Element of Symbolic Correlation 
in Expression," argued that the key to a great part of expression is the 
correlation of movements and positions with ideas, so that there are, 
for instance, a host of associations in the human mind by which 
" upward " represents the good, the great, and the living, while " down- 
ward" represents the evil and the dead. Such associations are so 
fundamental that they are found even in animals, whose gestures are, 
as F6r6 6 remarked, often metaphorical, so that a cat, for instance, will 
shake its paw, as if in contact with water, after any disagreeable 

The symbolism that to-day interpenetrates our language, and indeed 
our life generally, has mostly been inherited by us, with the traditions 
of civilization, from an antiquity so primitive that we usually fail to 
interpret it. The rare additions we make to it in our ordinary normal 
life are for the most part deliberately conscious. But so soon as we 
fall below, or rise above^ that ordinary normal level — to insanity and 
hallucination, to childhood, to savagery, to folk-lore and legend, to 
poetry and religion — we are at once plunged into a sea of symbolism. 7 
There is even a normal sphere in which symbolism has free scope and 
that is in the world of dreams. 

Oneiromancy, the symbolical interpretation of dreams, more espe- 
cially as a method of divining the future, is a wide-spread art in early 
stages of culture. The discerning of dreams is represented in the old 
testament as a very serious and anxious matter (as in regard to 
Pharoah's dream of the fat and lean cattle), and, nearer to our time, 
the dreams of great heroes, especially Charlemagne, are represented as 
highly important events in the medieval European epics. Little 
manuals on the interpretation of dreams have always been much valued 
by the uncultured classes, and among our current popular sayings there 
are many dicta concerning the significance, or the good or ill luck, of 
particular kinds of dreams. 

Oneiromancy has thus slowly degenerated to folk-lore and supersti- 

*T. Piderit, "Mimik und Physiognomik," 1867, p. 73. 

8 J. Cleland, "Evolution, Expression and Sensation," 1881. 

• Fe^, " La Physiologie dans les M§taphores," Revue Philosophique, October, 

T Maeder discusses symbolism in some of these fields in his " Die Symbolik 
in den Legenden: Marchen, Gebrauchen und Traumen," Psychiatrisch-Neurolo- 
gische Wochenschrift, Nos. 6 and 7, May, 1908. 


tion. But at the outset it possessed something of the combined digni- 
ties of religion and of science. Not only were the old dream-inter- 
preters careful of the significance and results of individual dreams in 
order to build up a body of doctrine, but they held that not every dream 
contained in it a divine message; thus they would not condescend to 
interpret dreams following on the drinking of wine, for only to the 
temperate, they declared, do the gods reveal their secrets. The serious 
and elaborate way in which the interpretation of dreams was dealt with 
is well seen in the treatise on this subject by Artemidorus of Daldi, a 
native of Ephesus, and contemporary of Marcus Aurelius. He divided 
dreams into two classes of theorematic dreams, which come literally 
true, and allegorical dreams. The first group may be said to corre- 
spond to the modern group of prophetic, proleptic or prodromic dreams, 
while the second group includes the symbolical dreams which have of 
recent years again attracted attention. Synesius, who lived in the 
fourth century and eventually became a Christian bishop without alto- 
gether ceasing to be a Greek pagan, wrote a very notable treatise on 
dreaming in which, with a genuinely Greek alertness of mind, he con- 
trived to rationalize and almost to modernize the ancient doctrine of 
dream symbolism. He admits that it is in their obscurity that the 
truth of dreams resides and that we must not expect to find any general 
rules in regard to dreams; no two people are alike, so that the same 
dream can not have the same significance for every one, and we have 
to find out the rules of our own dreams. He had himself (like Galen) 
often been aided in his writings by his dreams, in this way getting his 
ideas into order, improving his style, and receiving criticisms of extrava- 
gant phrases. Once, too, in the days when he hunted, he invented a 
trap as a result of a dream. Synesius declares that our attention to 
divination by dreams is good on moral grounds alone. For he who 
makes his bed a Delphian tripod will be careful to live a pure and noble 
life. In that way he will reach an end higher than that he aimed at. 8 
It seems to-day by no means improbable that, amid the absurdities 
of this popular oneiromancy, there are some items of real significance. 
Until recent years, however, the absurdities have frightened away the 
scientific investigator. Almost the only investigator of the psychology 
of dreaming who ventured to admit a real symbolism in the dream 
world was Schemer, 9 and his arguments were not usually accepted nor 

8 A translation of Synesius's "Treatise on Dreams" is given by Druon, 
" (Euvres de Synesius," pp. 347 et seq. 

9 K. A. Schemer, "Das Leben des Traumes," 1861. In France Hervey de 
Saint-Denis, in a remarkable anonymous work which I have not seen ("Lea 
Rfives et les Moyens de les Diriger," p. 356, quoted by Vaschide and PiSron, 
" Psychologie du R§ve," p. 26), tentatively put forward a symbolic theory of 
dreams, as a possible rival to the theory that permanent associations are set 
up as the result of a first chance coincidence. "Do there exist," he asked, 


even easy to accept. When we are faced by the question of definite 
and constant symbols it still remains true that scepticism is often called 
for. But there can be no manner of doubt that our dreams are full of 
symbolism. 10 

The conditions of dream-life, indeed, lend themselves with a peculiar 
facility to the formation of symbolism, that is to say, of images which, 
while evoked by a definite stimulus, are themselves of a totally different 
order from that stimulus. The very fact that we sleep, that is to say, 
that the avenues of sense which would normally supply the real image 
of corresponding order to the stimulus are more or less closed, renders 
symbolism inevitable. 11 The direct channels being thus largely choked, 
other allied and parallel associations come into play, and since the con- 
trol of attention and apperception is diminished, such play is often 
unimpeded. Symbolism is the natural and inevitable result of these 
conditions. 12 

It might still be asked why we do not in dreams more often recog- 
nize the actual source of the stimuli applied to us. If a dreamer's feet 
are in contact with something hot, it might seem more natural that he 
should think of the actual hot-water bottle, rather than of an imaginary 
Etna, and that, if he hears a singing in his ears, he should argue the 
presence of the real bird he has often heard rather than a performance 
of Haydn's " Creation " which he has never heard. Here, however, we 
have to remember the tendency to magnification in dream imagery, a 
tendency which rests on the emotionality of dreams. Emotion is nor- 

" bizarre analogies of internal sensations in virtue of which certain vibrations 
of the nerves, certain instinctive movements of our viscera, correspond to sensa- 
tions apparently quite different? According to this hypothesis experience 
would bring to light mysterious affinities, the knowledge of which might become 
a genuine science; . . . and a real key to dreams would not be an unrealizable 
achievement if we could bring together and compare a sufficient number of 

10 It is interesting to note that hallucinations may also be symbolic. Thus 
the Psychical Research Society's Committee on Hallucinations recognized a 
symbolic group and recorded, for instance, the case of a man who, when his 
child lies dying sees a blue flame in the air and hears a voice say " That's his 
soul" {Proceedings Society Psychical Research, August, 1894, p. 125). 

"Maeder states that the tendency to symbolism in dreams and similar 
modes of psychic activity is due to " vague thinking in a condition of diminished 
attention." This is, however, an inadequate statement and misses the central 

u In the other spheres in which symbolism most tends to appear, the same 
or allied conditions exist. In hallucinations, which (as Parish and others have 
shown) tend to occur in hypnagogic or sleep-like states, the conditions are 
clearly the same. The symbolism of an art, and notably music, is due to the 
very conditions of the art, which exclude any appeal to other senses. The 
primitive mind reaches symbolism through a similar condition of things, coming 
as the result of ignorance and undeveloped powers of apperception. In insanity 
these powers are morbidly disturbed or destroyed, with the same result. 


mally heightened in dreams. Every impression reaches sleeping con- 
sciousness through this emotional atmosphere, in an enlarged form, 
vaguer it may be, but more massive. The sleeping brain is thus not 
dealing with actual impressions — if we are justified in speaking of the 
impressions of waking life as " actual " — even when actual impressions 
are being made upon it, but with transformed impressions. The prob- 
lem before it is to find an adequate cause, not for the actual impression 
but for the transformed and enlarged impression. Under these cir- 
cumstances symbolism is quite inevitable. Even when the nature of 
an excitation is rightly perceived its quality can not be rightly perceived. 
The dreamer may be able to perceive that he is being bitten but the 
massive and profound impression of a bite which reaches his dreaming 
consciousness would not be adequately accounted for by the supposition 
of the real mosquito that is the cause of it; the only adequate explana- 
tion of the transformed impression received is to be found (as in a 
dream of my own) in a creature as large as a lobster. This creature is 
the symbol of the real mosquito. 18 We have the same phenomenon 
under somewhat similar conditions in the intoxication of chloroform 
and nitrous oxide. 

The obscuration during sleep of the external sensory channels and 
the checks on false conclusions they furnish is not alone sufficient to 
explain the symbolism of dreams. The dissociation of thought during 
sleep, with the diminished attention and apperception involved, is also 
a factor. The magnification of special isolated sensory impressions in 
dreaming consciousness is associated with a general bluntness, even an 
absolute quiescence, of the external sensory mechanism. One part of 
the organism, and it seems usually a visceral part, is thus apt to mag- 
nify its place in consciousness at the expense of the rest. As Vaschide 
and Pi6ron say, during sleep "the internal sensations develop at the 
expense of the peripheral sensations." That is indeed the secret of the 
immense emotional turmoil of pur dreams. Yet it is very rare for 
these internal sensations to reach the sleeping brain as what they are. 
They become conscious not as literal messages, but as symbolical trans- 
formations. The excited or laboring heart recalls to the brain no mem- 
ory of itself but some symbolical image of excitement or labor. There 

"The magnification we experience in dreams is manifested in their emo- 
tional aspects and in the emotional transformation of actual sensory stimuli, 
from without or from within the organism. The size of objects recalled by 
dreaming memory usually remains unchanged, and if changed it seems to be 
more usually diminished. " Lilliputian hallucinations," as they are termed by 
Leroy, who has studied them {Revue de Psychiatrie, 1909, No. 8), in which 
diminutive, and frequently colored, people are observed, may occasionally occur 
in alcoholic and chloral intoxication, in circular insanity and in various other 
morbid mental conditions. They are usually agreeable in character, and con- 
stitute a micropsia which is supposed to be due to some disturbance in the 
cortex of the brain. 


is association, indeed, but it is association not along the matter-of-fact 
lines of our ordinary waking civilized life but along much more funda- 
mental and primitive channels, which in waking life we have now aban- 
doned or never knew. 

There is another consideration which may be put forward to account 
for one group of dream-symbolisms. It has been found that certain 
hysterical subjects of old standing when in the hypnotic state are able to 
receive mental pictures of their own viscera, even though they may be 
quite ignorant of any knowledge of the shape of these viscera. This 
autoscopy, as it has been called, has been specially studied by P6r6, 
Comar and Sollier. 14 Hysteria is a condition which is in many respects 
closely allied to sleep, and if it is to be accepted as a real fact that 
autoscopy occasionally occurs in the abnormal psychic state of hypnotic 
sleep in hysterical persons, it is possible to ask whether it may not some- 
times occur normally in the allied state of sleep. In the hypnotic state 
it is known that parts of the organism normally involuntary may be- 
come subject to the will; it is not incredible that similarly parts nor- 
mally insensitive may become sufficiently sensitive to reveal their own 
shape or condition. We may thus indeed the more easily understand 
those premonitory dreams in which the dreamer becomes conscious of 
morbid conditions which are not perceptible to awaking consciousness 
until they have attained a greater degree of intensity. 

The recognition of the transformation in dream life of internal 
sensations into symbolic motor imagery is ancient. Hippocrates said 
that to dream, for instance, of springs and wells denoted some disturb- 
ance of the bladder. Sometimes the symbolism aroused by visceral 
processes remains physiological; thus indigestion frequently leads to 
dreams of eating, as of chewing all sorts of inedible and repulsive sub- 
stances, and occasionally — it would seem more abnormally — to agree- 
able dreams of food. 

It is due to the genius of Professor Sigmund Freud, of Vienna — 
to-day the most daring and original psychologist in the field of morbid 
psychic phenomena — that we owe the long-neglected recognition of the 
large place of symbolism in dreaming. Schemer had argued in favor 
of this aspect of dreams, but he was an undistinguished and unreliable 
psychologist and his arguments failed to be influential. Freud avows 
himself a partisan of Schemer's theory of dreaming and opponent of 
all other theories, 18 but his treatment of the matter is incomparably 

"Sollier, " L'Autoscopie Interne," Revue Philosophique, January, 1903. 
Sollier deals with the objections made to the reality of the phenomenon. 

"Freud, "Die Traumdentung," p. 66. This work, published in 1900, is 
the chief and most extensive statement of Freud's views. A shorter statement 
is embodied in a little volume of the " Grenzfragen " Series, " Ueber den Traum," 
1901. A brief exposition of ireud's position is given by Dr. A. Maeder of 
Zurich in " Essai d'lnterpretation de Quelques RCves," Archives de Psychologie, 

VOL. LXXVTI. — 4. 


more searching and profound. Freud, however, goes far beyond the 
fundamental — and, as I believe, undeniable — proposition that dream- 
imagery is largely symbolic. He holds that behind the symbolism of 
dreams there lies ultimately a wish; he believes, moreover, that this 
wish tends to be really of more or less sexual character, and, further, 
that it is tinged by elements that go back to the dreamer's infantile 
days. As Freud views the mechanism of dreams, it is far from exhibit- 
ing mere disordered mental activity, but is (much as he has also argued 
hysteria to be) the outcome of a desire, which is driven back by a kind 
of inhibition or censure (t. e., that kind of moral check which is still 
more alert in the waking state) and is seeking new forms of expression. 
There is first in the dream the process of what Freud calls condensation 
(Verdichtung), a process which is that fusion of strange elements which 
must be recognized at the outset of every discussion of dreaming, but 
Freud maintains that in this fusion all the elements have a point in 
common, and overlie one another like the pictures in a Galtonian com- 
posite photograph. Then there comes the process of displacement or 
transference ( Verschrebung), a process by which the really central and 
emotional basis of the dream is concealed beneath trifles. Then there is 
the process of dramatization or transformation into a concrete situation 
of which the elements have a symbolic value. Thus, as Maeder puts 
it, 16 summarizing Freud's views, "behind the apparently insignificant 
events of the day utilized in the dream there is always an important 
idea or event hidden. We only dream of things that are worth while. 
What at first sight seems to be a trifle is a gray wall which hides a great 
palace. The significance of the dream is not so much held in the dream 
itself as in that substratum of it which has not passed the threshold 
and which analysis alone can bring to light." 

"We only dream of things that are worth while." That is the 
point at which many of us are no longer able to follow Freud. That 
dreams of the type studied by Freud do actually occur may be accepted ; 
it may even be considered proved. But to assert that all dreams must 
be made to fit into this one formula is to make far too large a demand. 
As regards the presentative element in dreams — the element that is 

April, 1907 ; as also by Ernest Jones, " Freud's Theory of Dreams," Review of 
Neurology and Psychiatry, March, 1910, and American Journal of Psychology, 
April, 1910. For Freud's general psychological doctrine, see Brill's translation 
of " Freud's Selected Papers on Hysteria," 1909. There have been many serious 
criticisms of Freud's methods. As an example of such criticism, accompanying 
an exposition of the methods reference may be made to Max Isserlin's "Die 
Psychoanalytische Methode Freuds," Zeitschrift fur die Oesamte Neurologic 
und Psychiatric, Bd. I., Heft 1, 1910. A judicious and qualified criticism of 
Freud's psychotherapeutic methods is given by Lflwenfeld, " Zum gegenwartigen 
Stande der Psychotherapeutic," Milnchener medizinische Wochenschrift, Nob. 3 
and 4, 1910. 

M Loo. tit., p. 374. 


based on actual sensory stimulation — it is in most cases unreasonable 
to invoke Freud's formula at all. If when I am asleep the actual song 
of a bird causes me to dream that I am at a concert, that picture may 
be regarded as a natural symbol of the actual sensation and it is un- 
reasonable to expect that psycho-analysis could reveal any hidden per- 
sonal reason why the symbol should take the form of a concert. And, 
if so, then Freud's formula fails to hold good for phenomena which 
cover one of the two main divisions of dreams, even on a superficial 
classification, and perhaps enter into all dreams. 

But even if we take dreams of the remaining or representative class 
— the dreams made up of images not directly dependent on actual sen- 
sation — we still have to maintain a cautious attitude. A very large 
proportion of the dreams in this class seem to be, so far as the personal 
life is concerned, in no sense " worth while." It would, indeed, be sur- 
prising if they were. It seems to be fairly clear that in sleep, as cer- 
tainly in the hypnagogic state, attention is diminished, and apperceptive 
power weakened. That alone seems to involve a relaxation of the ten- 
sion by which we will and desire our personal ends. At the same time 
by no longer concentrating our psychic activities at the focus of desire 
it enables indifferent images to enter more easily the field of sleeping 
consciousness. It might even be argued that the activity of desire 
when it manifests itself in sleep and follows the course indicated by 
Freud, corresponds to a special form of sleep in which attention and 
apperception, though in modified forms, are more active than in ordi- 
nary sleep. 17 Such dreams seem to occur with special frequency, or in 
more definitely marked forms, in the neurotic and especially the hys- 
terical, and if it is true that the hysterical are to some extent asleep 
even when they are awake, it may also be said that they are to some 
extent awake even when they are asleep. Freud certainly holds, prob- 
ably with truth, that there is no fundamental distinction between 
normal people and psychoneurotic people, and that there is, for in- 
stance, as Ferenczi says emphasizing this point, " a streak of hysterical 
disposition in everybody." Freud has, indeed, made interesting an- 
alytic studies of his own dreams, but the great body of material accu- 
mulated by him and his school is derived from the dreams of the 
neurotic. Thus Stekel states that he has analyzed many thousand 

1T This is supported by the fact that in waking revery, or day-dreams, wishes 
are obviously the motor force in building up visionary structures. Freud at- 
taches great importance to revery, for he considers that it furnishes the key to 
the comprehension of dreams (e. g., " Sammlung Kleiner Schriften zur Neuro- 
senlehre," 2d series, pp. 138 et seq., 197 et seq.). But it must be remembered 
that day-dreaming is not real dreaming which takes place under altogether 
different physiological conditions, although it may quite fairly be claimed that 
day-dreaming represents a state intermediate between ordinary waking con- 
sciousness and consciousness during sleep. 


dreams, but his lengthy study on the interpretation of dreams deals 
exclusively with the dreams of the neurotic. 18 Stekel believes, more- 
over, that from the structure of the dream life conclusions may be 
drawn not only as to the life and character of the dreamer, but also as 
to his neurosis, the hysterical person dreaming differently from the 
obsessed person, and so on. If that is the case we are certainly justified 
in doubting whether conclusions drawn from the study of the dreams 
of neurotic people can be safely held to represent the normal dream- 
life, even though it may be true that there is no definite frontier be- 
tween them. 19 Whatever may be the case among the neurotic, in ordi- 
nary normal sleep the images that drift across the field of consciousness, 
though they have a logic of their own, seem in a large proportion of 
cases to be quite explicable without resort to the theory that they stand 
in vital but concealed relationship to our most intimate self. 

Even in waking life, and at normal moments which are not those 
of revery, it seems possible to trace the appearance in the field of con- 
sciousness of images which are evoked neither by any mental or physical 
circumstance of the moment, or any hidden desire, images that are as 
disconnected from the immediate claims of desire and even of association 
as those of dreams seem so largely to be. It sometimes occurs to me — 
as doubtless it occurs to other people — that at some moment when my 
thoughts are normally occupied with the work immediately before me, 
then suddenly appears on the surface of consciousness a totally unre- 
lated picture. A scene arises, vague but usually recognizable, of some 
city or landscape — Australian, Eussian, Spanish, it matters not what — 
seen casually long years ago, and possibly never thought of since, and 
possessing no kind of known association either with the matter in hand 
or with my personal life generally. It comes to the surface of con- 
sciousness as softly, as unexpectedly, as disconnectedly, as a minute 
bubble might arise and break on the surface of an actual stream from 
ancient organic material silently disintegrating in the depths beneath. 20 

"The special characteristics of dreaming in the hysterical were studied, 
before Freud turned his attention to the question, by Sante de Sanctis, " I Sogni 
e il Sonno neir Isterismo," 1896. 

"See also Havelock Ellis, "Studies in the Psychology of Sex," Vol. I.,- 
3d ed., 1910, "Autoerotism." 

*°Gissing, the novelist, an acute observer of psychic states, in the most 
personal of his books, "The Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft," has described 
this phenomenon: "Every one, I suppose, is subject to a trick of mind which 
often puzzles me. I am reading or thinking, and at a moment, without any 
association or suggestion that I can discover, there rises before me the vision of 
a place I know. Impossible to explain why that particular spot should show 
itself to my mind's eye; the cerebral impulse is so subtle that no search may 
trace its origin." Gissing proceeds to say that a thought, a phrase, an odor, 
a touch, a posture of the body, may possibly have furnished the link of associa- 
tion, but he knows no evidence for this theory. 


Every one who has traveled much can not fail to possess, hidden in his 
psychic depths a practically infinite number of such forgotten pictures, 
devoid of all personal emotion. It is possible to maintain, as a matter 
of theory, that when they come up to consciousness, they are evoked by 
some real though untraceable resemblance which they possess with the 
psychic or physical state existing when they reappear. But that theory 
can not be demonstrated. Nor, it may be added, is it more plausible 
than the simple but equally unprovable theory that such scenes do really 
come to the surface of consciousness, as the result of some slight spon- 
taneous disintegration in a minute cerebral center and have no more 
immediately preceding psychic cause than my psychic realization of 
the emergence of the sun from behind a cloud has any psychic preceding 

Similarly, in insanity, Liepmann in his study " Ueber Ideenflucht " 
has forcibly argued that ordinary logorrhea — the incontinence of ideas 
linked together by superficial associations of resemblance or contiguity 
— is a linking without direction, that is, corresponding to no interest, 
either practical or theoretical, of the individual. Or, as ClaparSde puts 
it, logorrhea is a trouble in the reaction of interest in life. It seems 
most reasonable to believe that in ordinary sleep the flow of imagery 
follows, for the most part, the same easy course. That course may to 
waking consciousness often seem peculiar, but to waking consciousness 
the conditions of dreaming life are peculiar. Under these conditions, 
however, we may well believe that the tendency to movement in the 
direction of least resistance still prevails. And as attention and will 
are weakened and loosened during sleep, the tense concentration on 
personal ends must also be relaxed. We become more disinterested. 
Personal desire tends for the most part rather to fall into the back- 
ground than to become more prominent. If it were not a period in 
which desire were ordinarily relaxed sleep would cease to be a period of 
rest and recuperation. 

Sleeping consciousness is a vast world, a world only less vast than 
that of waking consciousness. It is futile to imagine that a single 
formula can cover all its manifold varieties and all its degrees of depth. 
Those who imagine that all dreaming is a symbolism which a single 
cypher will serve to interpret must not be surprised if, however un- 
justly, they are thought to resemble those persons who claim to find 
on every page of Shakespeare a cypher revealing the authorship of 
Bacon. In the case of Freud's theory of dream interpretation, I hold 
the cypher to be real, but I believe that it is impossible to regard so 
narrow and exclusive an interpretation as adequate to explain the whole 
world of dreams. It would, a priori, be incomprehensible that sleeping 
congciousness should exert so extraordinary a selective power among 
the variegated elements of waking life, and, experientially, there seems 


no adequate ground to suppose that it does exert such selective action. 
On the contrary, it is, for the most part, supremely impartial in bring- 
ing forward and combining all the manifestations, the most trivial as 
well as the most intimate, of our waking life. There is a symptom of 
mental disorder called extrospection in which the patient fastens his 
attention so minutely on events that he comes to interpret the most 
trifling signs and incidents as full of hidden significance, and may so 
build up a systematized delusion. 21 The investigator of dreams must 
always bear in mind the risk of falling into morbid extrospection. 

Such considerations seem to indicate that it is not true that every 
dream, every mental image, is " worth while/' though at the same time 
they by no means diminish the validity of special and purposive methods 
of investigating dream consciousness. Freud and those who are fol- 
lowing him have shown, by the expenditure of much patience and skill, 
that his method of dream-interpretation may in many cases yield 
coherent results which it is not easy to account for by chance. It is 
quite possible, however, to recognize Freud's service in vindicating the 
large places of symbolism in dream, and to welcome the application of 
his psycho-analytic method to dreams, while yet denying that this is the 
only method of interpreting dreams. Freud argues that all dreaming 
is purposive and significant and that we must put aside the belief that 
dreams are the mere trivial outcome of the dissociated activity of brain 
centers. It remains true, however, that, while reason plays a larger 
part in dreams than most people realize — the activity of dissociated 
brain centers furnishes one of the best keys to the explanation of psychic 
phenomena during sleep. It would be difficult to believe in any case 
that in the relaxation of sleep our thoughts are still pursuing a delib- 
erately purposeful direction under the control of our waking impulses. 
Many facts indicate — though Freud's school may certainly claim that 
such facts have not been thoroughly interpreted — that, as a matter of 
fact, this control is often conspicuously lacking. There is, for instance, 
the well-known fact that our most recent and acute emotional experi- 
ences — precisely those which might most ardently formulate themselves 
in a wish — are rarely mirrored in our dreams, though recent occurrences 
of more trivial nature, as well as older events of more serious import, 
easily find place there. That is easily accounted for by the supposition 
— not quite in a line with a generalized wish-theory — that the ex- 
hausted emotions of the day find rest at night. 

It must also be said that even when we admit that a strong emotion 
may symbolically construct an elaborate dream edifice which needs 
analysis to be interpreted, we narrow the process unduly if we assert 
that the emotion is necessarily a wish. Desire is certainly very funda- 

* Extrospection has been specially studied by Vaschide and Vurpas in " La 
Logique Morbide." 


mental in life and very primitive. But there is another equally fun- 
damental and primitive emotion — fear. 22 We may very well expect to 
find this emotion, as well as desire, subjacent to dream phenomena. 28 
The wish-dream of the kind elaborately investigated by Freud may 
be accepted as, in what he terms its infantile form, extremely common, 
and, even in its symbolic forms, a real and not rare phenomenon. But 
it is impossible to follow Freud when he declares that the wish-dream 
is the one and only type of dream. The world of psychic life during 
sleep is, like the waking world, rich and varied; it can not be covered 
by a single formula. Freud's subtle and searching analytic genius has 
greatly contributed to enlarge our knowledge of this world of sleep. 
We may recognize the value of his contribution to the psychology of 
dreams while refusing to accept a premature and narrow generalization. 

"On the psychic importance of fears, see G. Stanley Hall, "A Study of 
Fears," American Journal of Psychology, 1897, p. 183. Metchnikoff (" Essais 
Optimistes," pp. 247 et seq.) insists on the mingled fear and strength of the 
anthropoid apes. 

"Foucault has pointed this out, and Morton Prince, and Giessler (who 
admits that th^ wish-dream is common in children), and Flournoy (who remarks 
that not only a fear but any emotion can be equally effective), as well as 
Claparede. The last admits that Freud might regard a fear as a suppressed 
desire, but it may equally be said that a desire involves, on its reverse side, a 
fear. Freud has indeed himself pointed out (e. g., Jahrbuch fiir Psychoan- 
alytische Forschungen, Bd. 1, 1909, p. 362) that fears may be instinctively 
combined with wishes; he regards the association with a wish of an opposing 
fear as one of the components of some morbid psychic states. But he holds 
that the wish is the positive and fundamental element: "The unconscious can 
only wish" ("Das Unbewusste kann nichts als wtlnschen"), a statement that 
seems somewhat too metaphysical for the psychologist. 





HISTOKY moves in a spiral, not in a circle. History does not 
accommodatingly repeat itself; but it does pass through cycles 
in which new eras contain social elements and forces which approxi- 
mate those of periods belonging to earlier cycles. The new is merely 
the old garbed in more modern attire. The United States is to-day 
entering upon an epoch in its history which will be marked, in the 
economic field, by many resemblances to the medieval period. The 
fundamental economic problems of medievalism clustered around just 
and fair prices and wages. At present the important and difficult eco- 
nomic problems relate to " reasonable rates," " fair prices " and " living 
wages." In the twentieth century when these old medieval questions 
clothed in a strange and youthful garb, appear in an industrial and 
nominally democratic country and age, the crux of the difficulty is 
found in the absence of a standard by means of which to measure fair 
prices, reasonable rates and living wages. The old and rigid status of 
the feudal regime has disappeared in a large measure under the pres- 
sure of the doctrines of free competition and of non-interference. 
Mobility, rather than fixity, is characteristic of to-day. 

The nineteenth century was a unique and transitional era; it consti- 
tuted the dark ages of economic history. During that eventful period, 
it was assumed that prices, rates and wages were fixed by the ceaseless 
action of free and untrameled competition. But, to-day, the existence 
of numerous rate and arbitration commissions is a concrete and unmis- 
takable warning that free competition does not act at the present 
moment as our theorists of the past have dogmatically argued that it 
did. Day by day the competitive field is being gradually narrowed. 
A strip is securely fenced in on this side; and another portion en- 
croached upon at an entirely different point. At the present moment 
great and important fields of industrial activity are clearly seen to be 
outside the competitive sphere. It must, however, be recognized that 
competition in the halcyon days of the laissez faire doctrine was not 
really free. It was modified and regulated by such legal conventions 
as private property, inheritance, laws in regard to contract, custom 
and a variety of other obstructions. The game of economic competi- 
tion among human beings has always been played according to certain 
rules. But these rules change. Custom is broken down, on one hand, 
while monopoly encroaches upon the competitive field, on the other side. 

The thinking public correctly recognizes that railway and street 
railway fares, gas, electric light, water, telephone and telegraph rates 
are not fixed by a competitive process. Insistent demand is made for 
fair and reasonable rates in this class of semi-public service. The labor 


unionist struggles for fair and living wages. Even the individualistic 
American farmers are earnestly striving to fix " fair " prices for their 
wheat, oats, corn, tobacco and other crops. Australia attempts to make 
the application of a protective tariff to a given establishment dependent 
upon the payment of " fair " wages to the employees of that concern. 
A Wisconsin commission is industriously placing a valuation upon the 
physical property of the public utilities corporations of that state, in 
order that " reasonable " rates may be promulgated by that official body. 
In this manner, the ground is being rapidly cut from under the com- 
petitive basis of price regulation. Our commercial edifice still rests on 
this substructure; but the foundation walls are crumbling, and ominous 
cracks which presage decay and demolition are appearing in the struc- 
ture. Society is impregnated with the idea that competition is no 
longer efficient and sufficient as a guide. From all sections of the 
country come reports of rate commissions, boards of arbitration, gentle- 
men's agreements, combinations and legal actions against restraint 
of trade. 

With the narrowing of the competitive sphere the question as to 
what is a just, accurate and scientific standard of measurement for 
wages, prices and rates becomes increasingly important; and, at the 
same time, it becomes more difficult to solve because the basis of com- 
petitive rates, prices and wages is being undermined. In fact, if no 
standard can be found, socialism or anarchy seem to be the only alterna- 
tives. Much of the discussion and theorizing as to the respective rights 
of labor and capital is worthless because either free competition is 
assumed, or reference is made to prices or wages paid in the past; or 
some arbitrary standard is postulated which has no reality outside the 
personal desires of certain individuals or classes. 

No court of arbitration or board of conciliation has as yet offered 
any definite and scientific formula by means of which disputes as to 
wages or conditions of labor may be adjusted. The findings of that 
famous board of arbitration, the Anthracite Coal Strike Commission, 
merely offered a compromise; the commission did not dig down to the 
roots of the difficulty. Neither did an anxious public receive any exact 
data or the formulation of any definite method of procedure which 
might be used as a basis for the work of future boards. A peace was 
patched up, and the mines were opened. The members of the strike 
commission honestly and faithfully tried to take into account the phys- 
ical, social and economic conditions then existing in the anthracite 
district. They investigated the home and working environment of the 
miner; his condition was compared with that of other workers. Yet 
after all, the principal value of this investigation consisted in empha- 
sizing the rights of the general public. The decisions of the Interstate 
Commerce Commission and of the various state railway and public 
utilities commissions as to reasonable rates are invariably determined 
by reference to profits received upon investments in competitive busi- 


nesses. An Ohio judge in dissolving a combination of ice dealers 
ordered the reestablishment of the price charged during the preceding 

The decision of this judge bears a close resemblance to the action 
of the English government as to wages immediately after the black 
death. The present movement toward the regulation of prices, rates 
and wages is distinctly a reversion to conditions preceding the nine- 
teenth century; and the importance and extent of the movement will 
necessitate a thorough search for a reliable and scientific standard for 
the determination of fair wages and fair prices. The medievalists 
had a very definite conception of fair price; men of to-day are not so 
favored. During the middle ages these problems were solved by means 
of the inelastic measuring rod of status, or of class demarkation. Each 
class in the community had its own rather definite and customary 
standard of living; and the summit of personal ambition was success 
within a limited social and economic sphere rather than that of progress 
from one class to the next higher. Ambition was curbed and chastened 
by the great fact of birth within a given social compartment. The 
attempt was made so to regulate prices as to maintain class immobility. 
With the advent of the era of competition the rigidity of class demarka- 
tion was destroyed; and a democratic form of government resting on 
broad suffrage requirements makes a return improbable. The modern 
student or statesman instead of resting his theory of fair price upon a 
basis of special privilege, must place it upon the firm foundation of 
equality of privileges, upon the abolition of artificial and inherited 
inequalities. This return to medievalism does not mean a return to 
artificial and unyielding class demarkations. Society is moving toward 
a point farther up on the spiral of history. The return to medievalism 
does mean the elimination of forced and monopoly gains; and is a 
natural and inevitable product of the progress toward democracy. 

If the cornerstone upon which medieval writers based their doc- 
trines regarding fair price has been removed by the increasing power 
of the non-privileged class; what is left upon which to build a new and 
democratic doctrine of fair price ? In the modern formulation of the 
doctrine, a fair price for an article or a service is one which will give 
to the workers who have any useful part in getting the article into the 
hands of the final consumer, whether that part be in obtaining the raw 
material, transforming or exchanging these materials, a "fair wage." 
A fair price will also give to capital a " reasonable rate " of interest, 
and to the entrepreneur or manager — the man whose genius guides and 
directs the business — such a return as will keep him in the business and 
will call forth his best efforts. A fair price does not contain elements 
which go to make up monopoly profits, or to reward the efforts of 
unnecessary workers in the complex system of modern industry. This 
is the basic principle upon which the new economic edifice must be 
anchored. Competition has led to combination, and combination to 


monopoly. A theory of price is needed which preserves the economic 
value of combination; and, at the same time, removes the evil features 
of special privileges and of monopoly. 

A fair wage is as yet a very elusive and indefinite concept. A fair 
wage for an unskilled worker would not be a fair wage for the skilled 
man. The needs of the man are, in the last analysis, the chief factors 
in determining fair wages. Subjective, rather than objective, consid- 
erations have the greatest weight in the eye of modern man. Here is 
a point of contrast between the modern and the medieval view point. 
Again, social considerations enter into the problem. How will the man 
make use of his income ? Society desires that a large income go to the 
man who will make the best use of it — the use which will tend to 
advance the progress of humanity. A multitude of different opinions 
will be expressed as to the best uses of income ; but certain fundamental 
conditions are almost universally accepted. Excessive luxury and 
wasteful consumption in living, in eating, in drinking and the like, are 
condemned at the bar of society. In general, it is for the good of 
society that expenditures for luxuries be sent for durable goods rather 
than upon highly perishable commodities. A fair price for all articles 
and services would tend to place wealth and income in the hands of 
those best fitted to handle it; those who would make the best use of it 
judged from the somewhat theoretical view-point of society as a whole, 
but not from the standpoint of any special class in the community. 
A fair wage in an ideal industrial organism would give to each accord- 
ing to his needs ; and needs would be proportional to efficiency. 

Distribution must now be considered from a non-competitive point 
of view; and the storm center of discussion will be found in the treat- 
ment of rents or monopoly gains. Wages are individual products ; but 
interest and rents must be held to be social, or at least semi-social, 
products. Social evolution has, it is true, made possible the existing 
rates of wages ; but a sharp line of demarkation may be drawn between 
wages on the one side, and rent and interest on the other. Individual 
traits and characteristics play an important part in fixing wages. On 
the contrary, rents accrue because of social progress, not because of 
individual efficiency. The man who invests capital is frequently able 
to gain a personally unearned income, to draw dividends, for example, 
upon watered stocks. But the man who furnishes his labor receives no 
extra or special gain. He runs no risk; but in a multitude of cases, 
the returns accruing to the capitalist or the promoter bear no discern- 
ible relation to the risk involved. Individuals are able magically to 
make capital — paper capital, but of a kind that bears interest. Labor 
is unable by any sleight-of-hand performance to double or treble its 
equipment. A dollar may through stock watering, aided by gifts of 
franchises and rights of way or by special privileges, be apparently 
changed into two dollars and draw the income of two; but the laborer 
in the same business can not make it appear that he has four hands or 


a dual personality as a worker, and thus double his pay check. In the 
matter of market opportunity the opportunity is with capital, not with 
labor. Extra income due to special advantages is capitalized in money, 
not in labor power. 

"Fair" interest and "fair" profits may be manipulated through 
capitalization of special privileges; but "fair" wages can not be so 
acted upon. The man stands out in the open. Fair wages are kept 
down because fair interest and fair profits are so elusive; and because 
rents are concealed under the guise of interest upon concrete capital, 
or of profits due to skilful management. If the capital of the country 
were expressed only in terms of concrete tangible goods, as is proposed 
by the Wisconsin law, the disproportion between fair wages and fair 
profits and interest would be evident. The enormous gains of monopoly 
would then inevitably attract such attention that they would be cut off 
to some extent at least, and the long distance, impersonal and indirect 
form of tribute taking would be reduced ; although a scientific basis for 
determining fair wages, interest and profits may not be found. 

But there are other tangible bits of evidence which bring to the 
nostrils of the investigator the musty smell of medievalism. A corpora- 
tion furnishing a municipality with water which is supposed to be taken 
from artesian wells, finds it feasible and perhaps cheaper to introduce, 
into the water mains, without notice to the consumers of the city, pol- 
luted water from a river. As a consequence, sickness and death invade 
many happy homes in the little city. Another company producing a 
food product uses a deleterious preservative to enable it to foist a par- 
tially spoiled article upon an ignorant and unsuspecting public. Sick- 
ness, ill-health, reduced efficiency and even death follow unnoticed in 
the wake of the packages sent broadcast over the land. A railway 
company neglects to guard its street crossings or to protect its trainmen 
because of the additional expense connected with such improvements. 
Again, dead and maimed men, women and children are the direct 
results of the policy of the heads of the company. This disregard for 
employees and consumers which is by no means confined to a few 
isolated cases, is not unlike the nonchalance with which the knight and 
baron of the middle ages directed the destruction of the homes and the 
crops of his adversaries and competitors. The toll of the monopolist 
collected in prices made arbitrarily high is not very different from the 
toll exacted at the point of the sword by the robber baron. 

In the medieval period, a multitude of evils resulted from the inter- 
ference of the church in secular affairs. To-day political chicanery and 
corruption are the fruits of the interference of big business interests 
in legislative affairs. The trust has replaced the church as a dangerous 
meddler in political affairs. And the alliance between capital and the 
state is as dangerous, as reactionary and as intolerant as was the 
medieval alliance of church and state. Economic heresy is now almost 
as bitterly condemned as was religious heresy in earlier centuries. 





THE earliest explanation of disease, corresponding to the ideas of 
nature which first impressed the dawning human consciousness, 
was that the usual working of the body had been upset by the entrance 
into it of an evil spirit. This spirit proceeded to disturb the " ease " 
of the body of the sick man, causing it to reject and eject food, racking 
it with pain, and burning it with the slow fire of fever, and even talking 
through its lips in incoherent or mysterious utterances. So satisfactory 
an explanation did this seem that, in modified form, it has a hold with 
the more superstitious even in the present day. 

Such being the cause for his sufferings, the primitive man was 
prompt to see that the cure should be the driving out of the evil spirit 
which had taken up its abode in the body, by the most appropriate 
methods. The medicine man of the tribe assumed a superior knowledge 
in such affairs and took upon himself the responsibility of dealing with 
these unseen powers. "Working upon the reasonable assumption that 
what appealed to human senses must also appeal to the dwellers in the 
spirit realm, that what was agreeable or disagreeable to one must be 
agreeable or disagreeable to the other, this healer proceeded to make it 
very unpleasant for the tormentor of the sick man by appearing before 
him in his most hideous garb, by the repetition of frightful cries and 
thunderous thumpings upon his tom-tom, while draughts made of the 
most vile and disgusting substances were poured down the throat of 
the victim in the hope that the spirit would be induced to let go his hold 
and depart. It was the most logical treatment imaginable, and it 
seemed so proved by the fact that the sick man very often recovered. 
Nor did the primitive mind stop at the mere driving out of the source 
of disease, but followed up its success in this direction by equally 
rational attempts at prevention by the wearing of some magic object 
to keep away the demon of sickness in the future. 

As men became more observant and thoughtful, it became apparent 
that certain physical conditions seemed to have much to do with the 
presence of sickness. While the spirit realm might be finally respon- 
sible for the singling out of the sufferer, yet extremes of heat and cold, 
dampness, lack of food, and some other agencies were seen to be get-at- 
able causes. Moreover, it was discovered, more or less accidentally, 
that the application of heat and cold, bathing, rubbing, and the use of 


certain plants often gave comfort and apparently often helped the sick 
man to recover. So arose the more materialistic cure of disease and 
the profession of physicians. 

By those who studied disease from the more material standpoint 
many theories were devised to explain the phenomena displayed by the 
sick. The lack of knowledge of the minute or even the gross structure 
of the body and its working in health, necessarily made all these 
attempts at explanation more or less crude and imperfect. Every con- 
ceivable "cure" was tried from age to age, and, no matter what the 
means employed, whether gold or clay, sassafras or tar water, whether 
the patient was bled or whether sharp hooks were applied to his flesh 
in order to "draw out the humors," always a certain percentage of 
patients recovered from the disease and survived the treatment. For 
the time, at least, the " cure " was apparently justified by the results, 
and held its place in practise until a change of theories or an unusually 
long list of failures threw it into disrepute, and it was relegated to the 
list of things which " have been used but are now found of little value." 

The more obvious causes of disease — intemperance, exposure to heat 
and cold, exhaustion, etc. — were early connected with certain forms of 
bodily ailments, and even diseases like malaria were known to depend 
somewhat on local conditions of living, but it is only within recent 
years that such common affections as pneumonia, tuberculosis, influenza, 
etc., have been found to have a tangible cause working within the body. 

With the discovery of bacteria and their poisons there still remained 
the questions, What is disease? Why, even in times of plague, are 
some persons exempt? and why do certain persons recover and others 
succumb even with the same treatment? 

We can no longer look upon sickness as due to the presence within 
or without us of an evil-natured personality. We must reverse the idea 
and say that disease is the manifestation of a good consciousness within 
us, a consciousness which seeks to maintain life by endeavoring to rid 
the body of a harmful material presence. We realize through abnormal 
sensations that we are sick — that the body has undergone a change from 
the condition of health, but within us is a more elemental intelligence 
of which we are not aware, an older body-mind which, whether we sleep 
or wake, and even before we are born into consciousness of self, looks 
after the highly complex and interdependent structures on which life 
depends, constantly directing its complicated affairs with unerring faith- 
fulness. Disease may be said to be the effort made by the body, directed 
by this deeper mind, in its attempt to rid itself in most appropriate ways 
of whatsoever it finds harmful to it, or that threatens its destruction. 
A fit of vomiting, in which the conscious mind takes a passive and even 
unwilling part, is but the wise attempt on the part of this inner con- 
sciousness to rid the body of that which it finds to be harmful. In the 


case of the presence of bacteria, they are at once detected by this bodily 
consciousness, though the higher consciousness is unaware of their pres- 
ence. The agencies within the blood, capable of destroying the germs 
and of neutralizing their poisons, are set to work at high pressure. To 
the higher consciousness and to the observing mind of another person 
these efforts become apparent in higher bodily temperature (fever), a 
more rapid pulse and increased respiration. The bodily machinery is 
stirred to higher activity, its fires are heightened, and its organs are 
quickened. Germ-destroying substances are being made in greatest 
possible amount. The " signs and symptoms " of the disease, or these 
outward manifestations of internal activity, differ with the kind of 
germs and with their numbers, the body working more or less character- 
istically in each case, so that for each germ the " symptoms and signs " 
are an index to the cause. 

Such a disease or body-fight must " run its course," and, no matter 
what the treatment, that course can at best only be shortened, or the 
struggle of the body with its enemy made less exhausting by help from 
without. Where the number of bacteria is large or especially vicious, 
or where the bodily powers are inadequate for promptly developing its 
resisting powers, the fight of the body may be of no avail, even with the 
most skillful aid. On the other hand, if the bacteria are few and the 
bodily powers are vigorous, the patient will recover even with the most 
absurd treatment. It is easy to see why the medicine man of primitive 
society and the miracle workers of a later age often succeeded in 
" driving out " disease and in effecting apparently marvelous cures. 

After once having an infectious disease, such as typhoid, or measles, 
the body is often exempt from an attack by the same germ. We now 
know it is not because of special divine favor bestowed upon the indi- 
vidual, but because the body, after passing through one struggle with 
the bacteria, keeps on hand afterwards a defensive material which 
quickly destroys any germs of the same kind which find an entrance. 

Even in times of epidemics and among those associated with the sick, 
a certain number of persons always escape without serious signs of the 
prevailing disease. While the germs no doubt often attack such per- 
sons, their protective powers are so perfect that the machinery of the 
body does not have to be put at work in such a degree as to produce any 
conscious outward signs of the disease. 

For some of these bacterial invasions modern medicine has invented 
the wonderful expedient of producing, in other animals, similar sub- 
stances to those which the human body manufactures in its fight against 
the germs. By inoculating these into the human body the microbes 
can be prevented from gaining a lodgment, or the body can be greatly 
aided in its fight against them. Although the body can be thus 
aided in diphtheria and meningitis, for the attacks of most germs it 


must still depend on its own resources in a successful fight against the 

Most of the infectious diseases are of short duration, the body 
triumphing or failing in its fight in from one to five or six weeks; yet 
some such fights are long drawn out, and, as in tuberculosis, may cover 
many years, the disease — the fight — varying in success with the re- 
sources of the body and with the amount of drain of bodily energy in 
other directions. Whether brief or long drawn out, whether acute or 
chronic, the bodily antagonists often leave scars in the shape of dam- 
aged organs — lasting ills which serve to render the body less perfect in 
its working than before, and also leave their impress on the higher con- 
sciousness in feelings of weakness and discomfort. 

Besides the bacteria and their poisonous products, other things pro- 
duce disease more or less insidiously. While the body naturally rids 
itself through certain organs of the waste matter — the ashes and smoke 
of its daily activities, continued excesses in eating or drinking throw 
extra work upon those organs, which in time wear out under added 
burdens. Exhausting work, excesses of heat or cold, and other unusual 
conditions also bring about reaction of the inner bodily consciousness 
to adjust the body to its surroundings. The body makes the best of a 
bad matter and does its utmost to bring itself into harmony with its 
outer conditions. 

Disease is, then, a life-saving effort of the body, directed by its inner 
consciousness, in ridding itself of harmful substances within, or of 
compensating for injured or overworked organs. It is the next best 
thing to health in that it is nature's way of attempting to bring the 
body back to that harmonious working of all parts which we call health, 
and often also of producing protecting substances which prevent future 
injury from the same source. 

While the treatment rendered by the earliest healer, the medicine 
man, must seem to us absurd, so far as any direct alleviation of suffering 
is concerned, we can not but guess that the hope which his presence and 
his, to us, useless efforts inspired in the sufferer, helped not a little to 
stimulate, through the mind, the failing bodily forces. Mind and body 
are so intimately related that what affects the one affects the other, and 
throughout the history of the treatment of disease mental influence has 
always been used directly or indirectly, consciously or unconsciously, to 
aid in restoring the body to its state of health. 

The higher conscious mind is intimately a part of, or a manifesta- 
tion of, the body, and is affected by bodily conditions of well or ill being. 
While it can take little part in directing the defense against foes which 
have gained an entrance to the body, the mental conditions — the emo- 
tions of hope or discouragement — indirectly support or depress the 
whole of the bodily fighting machinery, for the organ through which 


the mind works is closely connected with every other organ of the body 
and so influences digestion, circulation and all other functions. Like- 
wise the mind is affected by the bodily states. The ill working of 
damaged organs may produce a mental state of pain or depression. 
These feelings may be heightened or diminished by mental effort, or 
may be more or less forgotten, for the time at least, by directing con- 
sciousness into some other channel of activity. Disease is, in every 
case, modified more or less by the mind, and the mental state may some- 
times help to determine the success or failure of bodily fight against 
destructive agencies. If appeal to the mind seems to cure the bodily 
ill, it does not indicate that the patient would not have recovered any- 
how, and does not signify that the mind itself effected the return to 
health. No amount of faith or other mental state can take the place 
of insufficient body-resources — can restore a damaged lung or a miss- 
ing limb. 

Disease being thus the attempt of the body to restore itself to its 
usual condition by ridding itself of destructive agents, the treatment 
of disease must be directed toward helping the body to this end, by 
putting the mental and muscular forces at rest, by proper nourishment 
and by such antitoxins or drugs as aid it in its natural efforts to rid 
itself of harmful conditions. Better still are the efforts toward pre- 
vention of infectious and other injuries by the avoidance of intem- 
perance in eating and drinking, by breathing fresh air, by cleanliness, 
and by such other means as the body demands to keep it at its best 
working power. Lastly, the mind should be trained not to meddle too 
much with bodily affairs, save as it observes the laws of hygiene, and 
it should be educated to deal readily with the trials and vexations of 
life in a way that will not affect the general health through depressing 
emotional discharges. 

It will be seen that our modern faith healers make no difference 
between diseases as regards their cause. In their ignorance, comparable 
only to that of the primitive medicine man, they deal with all sickness 
alike. While the condition of the mind has much to do with some 
diseases, with others it has little or no part in the cure, and the body 
itself must work out its salvation through that wise inner body-directing 
intelligence which the higher mind can not know nor — but to a slight 
extent — influence. The faith curist in the conceit of his ignorance 
takes the credit for the cures which, through good fortune plus a grain 
of mental stimulus, often come to pass under his administrations, while 
he who has studied into the physical nature of disease is perfectly aware 
that when his patient recovers he has only assisted nature more or less 
in what she would probably have accomplished without his help though 
usually not so easily and completely and sometimes not at all. It is 
this humble knowledge of the limitations of his art that makes the 

vol. lxxvii.— 5. 


physician the more anxious, in this age, to prevent disease, for he realizes 
it is much easier to remove the cause than to help the body in its efforts 
to throw off the attack. By the purification of drinking water he has 
greatly reduced the amount of disease from typhoid; by furnishing 
pure milk the sickness and death of infancy have become much less ; by 
recommending life in pure air tuberculosis is less frequent, etc. Mere 
faith or mind cure has done and can do nothing of the sort. Medical 
teaching has also warned against intemperance of all kinds, and against 
other insidious destroyers of bodily harmony. 

The physician has in all ages made use of mental treatment, for, 
no matter what his remedy in physical form, there has always gone 
with it a grain of hope. Where he finds the mind especially at fault 
he may even appeal to it directly, and thus relieve suffering which had 
its origin chiefly in mental depression or in a too exuberant and untu- 
tored imagination. He often succeeds in producing more harmony in 
bodily working by establishing a happier mental and moral view of life. 

As the prevention of the entrance of bacteria or of any other 
injurious agent into the body is far more ecQnomical than the helping 
to overcome the damages these may produce, so the prevention of 
unhappy and unhealthy mental states is far better than an attempt to 
restore a mind to right habits from which it has lapsed. 

In primitive times one minister looked after both the spiritual and 
bodily health of the individual. As the doctor of medicine later as- 
sumed the cure of the body, so the doctor of divinity took as his special 
province the cure of the soul. Mind and body react upon each other, 
and he who ministers to the one can not but influence the other to some 
extent. While the priest has abundant opportunity for helping to 
heal soul-injuries, his larger work, like that of the physician, lies in 
surrounding those he would help with better social conditions, and in 
developing, through religious and philosophic training, their individual 
powers of resistance to the stresses to which the moral nature is daily 
subjected. For both physical and spiritual ailments prevention is far 
easier and better than cure. 





TO every one climate is an interesting theme. The climates of the 
past, especially when they can be shown to differ in character 
or distribution from those of the present, attract the attention of the 
general public, and they are of importance to the special student of 
geologic history whether his researches deal with the purely physical 
aspects of the subject or include some branch of paleontologic study. 

The evidence as to former climates comes from many sources. The 
records of deposition and denudation in themselves sometimes give 
more or less definite indications concerning variations in temperature 
or moisture or both; the land floras when compared with those now 
living by their general characters and by the details of their structure, 
show more or less clearly the climatic conditions under which they 
lived ; the land animals, especially the higher vertebrates, afford a good 
basis for inferring their habits and hence indirectly their environment, 
including climate; marine invertebrates give trustworthy evidence of 
differences in temperature of oceanic littoral waters at least in the later 
periods. It is obvious, however that the data furnished by any one of 
these lines of evidence will make only unconnected fragments of the 
history of past climates and that the evidence on the climate of any 
particular epoch, if derived from a single source, is seldom so complete 
or so convincing that corroborative testimony from other sources is not 
desirable. .The subject is one in which general cooperation is essential. 

It should be stated at the outset that the most abundant and most 
definite evidence comes from paleobotany, and will be outlined in Mr. 
White's paper. The discussion of the data derived from fossil verte- 
brates must also be left for some one who is qualified to present it, and 
the whole Paleozoic era may be passed over with the statement that so 
far as indications from the animal life are concerned the climate of 
the whole earth was mild and equable. The proof of local exceptions 
to this statement comes from other sources. 

All inferences from paleontologic evidence as to former climatic 
conditions rest in the final analysis on a comparison with the present 
distribution of animals and plants with reference to climate. Such 
comparisons may be general or specific, direct or indirect, and the con- 


elusions that may be drawn from them vary greatly in positiveness. 
To take a familiar example,, the reef-building corals are now restricted 
to shallow waters in which the mean temperature during the coldest 
month in the year is not less than 68° F., and such conditions are not 
found in the northern hemisphere north of latitude 32°. Since late 
Tertiary corals differ but little from those of the present time it is 
justifiable to assume that coral reefs in late Tertiary rocks indicate 
waters of about the temperature stated. But when Jurassic coral reefs 
are found as far north as latitude 53° it is by no means so certain that 
they indicate a minimum monthly mean temperature of 68° F., and 
concerning Devonian and Silurian coral reefs in high latitudes the 
doubt must be still greater. At the present time large reptiles are 
mainly confined to hot moist climates, but that fact alone can not be 
considered proof that the Mesozoic dinosaurs required the same kind 
of a climate. 

The impress of climate on the present fauna is shown in various 
ways. A tropical fauna contains the greatest number of species and 
exhibits its luxuriance in other ways. Thus, taking shell-bearing 
marine mollusks to illustrate the general law, Dall has shown in Bul- 
letin 84, U. S. Geological Survey, that the average tropical fauna in 
shallow waters consists of over 600 species, while the temperate fauna 
has less than 500 species, and the boreal fauna only 250. Again, there 
are certain genera that are characteristic of particular zones, and as- 
semblages of forms that are recognized as belonging only to frigid, or 
temperate, or tropical waters, and in genera that have a wide range 
many of the species are restricted to certain limits of temperature. 

In the late Tertiary faunas which contain a large proportion of 
living genera and many living species justifiable inferences as to climate 
may be made from direct comparison with living faunas. By one or 
another of the tests just indicated, or by a combination of them, Dall 
has produced convincing evidence that the Oligocene fauna of the 
Atlantic states was subtropical and that the Oligocene maintains its 
subtropical character even as far north as Arctic Siberia. He has also 
shown that the Miocene fauna of Maryland indicates a temperate 
climate and that a similar cool-water fauna extended at that time as 
far south as Florida. 1 The fossils of the raised Pliocene beaches at 
Nome, Alaska, according to the same investigator, furnish evidence of 
warmer climate during Pliocene time even at that high latitude. By 
similar methods, in a paper published in the Journal of Geology, Vol. 
XVII., Arnold has recently argued for a series of climatic changes in 
the late Tertiary and Pleistocene of California. 

When the investigation is carried back to the Mesozoic and earlier 

1 See especially DalPs " Contributions to the Tertiary Fauna of Florida," 
published as Vol. III. of the Transactions of the Wagner Free Institute of 
Science, Philadelphia, and a chapter in the Miocene volume of the Maryland 
Geological Survey. 


faunas in which few of the genera and none of the species are identical 
with those now living the problem becomes more difficult and the con- 
clusions are much less definite, as the comparisons must be more gen- 
eral. Proofs of actual temperatures as measured in degrees should not 
be expected unless the botanists can furnish data. There is, however, 
great local differentiation of faunas and it is fair to ask the question 
to what extent this is due to differences in climate. One of the earliest 
discussions of this question was by Ferdinand Roemer, who more than 
fifty years ago in " Die Kreidebildungen von Texas " noted the fact 
that the Cretaceous of the highlands in Texas is lithologically and 
faunally much like the Cretaceous of southern Europe and the Medi- 
terranean region, that it differs from the Cretaceous of New Jersey in 
about the same way that the southern European Cretaceous differs from 
that of England and northwestern Germany, and that in each case the 
European deposit is approximately 10° farther north than its American 
analogue. He concluded that the differences between the northern and 
southern facies were due to climate and that the climatic relations be- 
tween the two sides of the Atlantic were about the same in Cretaceous 
time as they are now. Eoemer's conclusion that there were climatic 
zones in the Cretaceous may be true, but his reasoning was based on 
false premises so far as the American deposits are concerned, for the 
New Jersey type of marine Cretaceous extends with little change all 
the way from New Jersey to the Eio Grande, and the " Cretaceous of 
the highlands " with which he contrasted it, now known as the 
Comanche series, is not represented by marine beds on the Atlantic 
coast. This shows the necessity for careful stratigraphic and areal 
work as well as for good paleontology before such broad conclusions 
can be safely made. 

The more general work of Neumayr 2 recognized in the Jurassic 
and Cretaceous of Europe three faunal provinces designated as boreal, 
central European, and alpine or equatorial, which on account of their 
zonal distribution he regarded as indicating climatic differences. He 
believed that these zones are recognizable throughout the northern 
hemisphere and cited evidence to show that similar zones exist south of 
the equator. In recent years Neumayr's conclusions have been ques- 
tioned by many because in so many instances genera supposed to be 
characteristic of one zone have been found mingled with those of 
another. For example, the alpine ammonite genera Lytoceras and 
Phylloceras occur in Alaska (lat. 60°) associated with the boreal 
Aucella, and Aucella itself ranges from the Arctic Ocean to the torrid 
zone. Still, in spite of such exceptions and anomalies in distribution, 
there is much evidence for a real distinction between boreal and south- 
ern faunas in the Jurassic and in the Cretaceous which may indicate 
a zonal distribution of temperature in Mesozoic time. It should be 

• " Erdgeschichte," Vol. II., p. 330 et seq. 


remembered, however, that a boreal climate probably did not then mean 
a frigid climate, and that the differences in temperature were probably 
not so great as at the present time. 

The conclusions justified by the evidence from fossil invertebrates 

1. In the Paleozoic there is practically no faunal evidence of cli- 
matic zones comparable with those that now exist. 

2. In the Mesozoic there is a more or less definite zonal distribution 
of faunas which may be in part due to differences in climate but this 
conclusion in each case should be checked by the study of the floras and 
all other available lines of evidence. 

3. From the middle of the Tertiary on through the Pleistocene trust- 
worthy conclusions as to climatic conditions and changes can be made 
by direct comparisons with the distribution of living faunas. 




IN the year 1881 I presented before the American Association for 
the Advancement of Science the first definite announcement of 
the theory of recurrent faunas, applying it to the fauna of the Mar- 
cellus, Genesee and Ithaca black shales of New York, which I then 
conceived to be represented by the continuous fauna of the black shales 
of Ohio, Indiana, Kentucky and Tennessee ; and also in the same paper 
the theory of shifting of faunas was applied to the Hamilton and Che- 
mung faunas of central New York. 1 Since that time a large amount of 
evidence has been accumulated confirming these hypotheses. 

The two hypotheses are correlated. Recurrence, or the departure of 
a fauna, its replacement by another and its final reappearance in the 
same section at a higher level, become the facts upon which the hypoth- 
esis of shifting of the faunas is based ; and only on the assumption of 
the continuance and shifting of a fauna without losing its character- 
istics can we satisfactorily explain its recurrence. 

The following facts are among the more important which have come 
to light in the course of my studies : 

§ 1. The Catskill sedimentation was shown to be thicker and to start 
lower down in the geological column in eastern New York than in 
middle and western New York. In eastern New York it began while 
the Hamilton marine fauna was still present and cut it off, bringing in 
estuarian conditions with a brackish water and land fauna and flora. 
In middle New York no Catskill sedimentation is present until after 

1 Proc. American Association for the Advancement of Science, Vol. XXX., 
p. 186, etc. 


the arrival of the Chemung fauna; and in western New York no trace 
of the Catskill type of sediments appears till after the close of the 

These facts are direct evidence of shifting of the environmental 
conditions of the edge of the continent westward as the deposits of the 
middle and upper Devonian were being laid down. With this shifting 
westward of the off-shore conditions of the sea, there went on a corre- 
sponding shifting of several faunas that were adjusted to each phase of 
those conditions. 

These facts were stated in a paper on the classification of the upper 
Devonian published in 1885. 2 

§ 2. The Appearance of Dominant Species of a General Fauna in 
Reversed Order of Succession at the Close of a Fossiliferous Zone. — 
The case of Spirifer Icevis in the Ithaca Zone and of the frequent ap- 
pearance of Leiorhynchus at the opening and close of a fossiliferous 
zone were among the earliest observed facts suggesting the actual shift- 
ing of the body of the fauna entering the area in one order of succession 
and its departure in the reverse order. In the Ithaca section there 
occurs at the base of the fossiliferous zone of the Ithaca member a bed 
containing abundance of Spirifer (Reticularia) Icevis. The discovery 
of the same species at the top of the fossiliferous zone as the normal 
Ithaca fauna become sparse gave the first suggestion that the faunas 
were moving or shifting. The Reticularia zone marked the first trace 
of the fauna to enter and the last to leave the area. Confirmatory evi- 
dence was also found in the order of succession of the dominant species 
of the Ithaca fauna. These facts were reported in 1883. 8 

§ 3. The study of the mode of occurrence of Leiorhynchus still fur- 
ther drew attention to the definite order in which series of species came 
in and went out of any given area. The species of the genus were 
generally found abundantly at the base or at the top of the fossiliferous 
zones rich in the brachiopods in the midst of which Leiorhynchus was 
rare. 4 

§ 4. The reappearance in a single or few strata of several represen- 
tatives of an earlier fauna long after the formation to which they were 
normal had ceased. 

Slight traces of this fact were observed in the first survey of the 
Devonian section passing through Ithaca, reported in 1883, Bull. 3, 
U. S. G. S., and the fauna No. 14 N (p. 15) was called a recurrent 
Hamilton fauna because of the appearance there of such species as 
Spirifer fimbriatus, S. augustus, Pleurotomaria capillaria and others; 

* Proc. American Association for the Advancement of Science, XXXIV., 
p. 222. 

» Bull. 3, U. S. G. S., p. 20, and 1885 Proc. A. A. A. S., Vol. XXXTV., p. 
222, etc. 

* See Bull. 3, U. S. G. S., pp. 16 and 17, 1883. 


and higher up in the midst of the Chemung section at Chemung nar- 
rows Tropidoleptus carinatus and Cypricardella bellistriata, Phacops 
bufo and DcUmanites calliteles were found. 

The discovery of such traces of an earlier fauna led to further 
search; and as the evidence accumulated an elaboration and definite 
formulation of the theory of recurrence of faunas was made which has 
been set forth in several papers, and is illustrated in detail in the folio 
of the Watkins Glen-Catatonk quadrangles, which is now in press, for 
the TL S. Geological Survey (December, 1909). 

The facts there brought out are substantially as follows: There are 
exhibited in the sections mapped for the quadrangles two series of fos- 
siliferous zones; the separate zones of the two series alternate in suc- 
cession; the zones of one series dominate the western sections of the 
area and thus thin out or disappear on tracing them eastward ; the zones 
of the second series dominate the eastern sections and particularly the 
whole eastern New York sections, but thin out westward and in some 
cases are entirely wanting in sections west of the Watkins Glen quad- 
rangle. The first set of faunal zones includes the faunas of the Gene- 
see shale, the Portage formation and the several divisions of the 
Chemung formation. 

The second set of zones includes the Hamilton fauna proper and 
recurrent representatives of that fauna which I have named the Para- 
cyclas lirata zone, the Spirifer mesistrialis zone, the Leiorhynchus 
globuliformis or Kattel Hill zone. These zones are represented by the 
typical Ithaca group of Hall in its typical sections at Ithaca ; and above 
them appear the first, second and third recurrent Tropidoleptus faunas 
(which I originally named the Van Etten, the Owego and the Swart- 
wood Tropidoleptus zones, respectively) . All of these several fossilif er- 
ous zones of the second set become decidedly thin on passing westward 
across the region. The Ithaca fauna is, occasionally, detected west of 
the Watkins Glen quadrangle, but is confined to less than 100 feet thick- 
ness at Watkins, is recognized for three hundred feet at Ithaca and 
ranges through at least 600 feet along Tioughnioga Eiver. 

Only a slight trace of the Paracyclas zone is seen as far west as 
Ithaca, but it is well expressed in the section on the east side of the 
area. The Van Etten, Owego and Swartwood Tropidoleptus zones 
appear in thin tongues of strata as far west as the Waverly quadrangle 
and are seen in occasional traces as far west as the Elmira quadrangle. 
When followed eastward they appear to blend together as a modified 
Hamilton fauna sparsely appearing in the strata up to the income of 
the Catskill type of sedimentation. 

Where the Hamilton recurrent zones are seen in sharpest expression 
the recurrent species range through only a foot or a few feet of strata, 
hold in abundance four or five characteristic Hamilton species such as 


Tropidoleptus carinatus, Cypricardella bellistriata, Rhipidomella van- 
uxemi, Spirifer marcyi and Delthyris mesacostalis (= Z>. consobrinus) 
and others; and the Owego and Swartwood zones appear in the midst 
of a characteristic Chemung fauna both above and below them. In the 
Owego recurrent zone both Phacops rana and Dalmanites calliteles 

The Van Etten recurrent zone lies entirely below the range of 
Spirifer disjunctus and associated species of the Chemung formation. 
On following the sections eastward from the Waverly quadrangle the 
species of the Chemung fauna become scarce, and east of the Chenango 
Eiver very few species of the typical Chemung fauna have been detected 
— although they are still abundant in the Chemung rocks to the south- 
east and southward across Pennsylvania, Maryland and Virginia. 

§ 5. These facts have been interpreted as evidence not only of a 
general shifting of faunas coincident with a rising of the land along 
the eastern edge of the present continent, but of oscillation of condi- 
tions and alternate occupation of the area by two sets of faunas coming 
from opposite directions and temporarily living in abundance in the 
area of central New York. 

§ 6. The lithologic changes in the sediments containing the different 
faunas are not sufficient to account for the change in fauna. In quite 
a number of sections there is no appreciable difference in lithologic 
constitution between the strata which for a hundred feet thickness 
have been filled with characteristic Chemung species and the imme- 
diately following thin zone (of a foot or two) with scarcely a trace of 
the Chemung species, but holding, in great number, species which if 
found by themselves would be undisputed evidence of the Hamilton 

§ 7. It becomes necessary therefore to suppose that the controlling 
cause determining the presence of one or other fauna is not the char- 
acter of the bottom on which the sediments which preserved the fauna 
were laid. We are thus led to conclude that the qualities of the ocean 
water have determined the shifting or migration of the faunas. The 
conditions to which the faunas were adjusted were evidently those of 
depth, salinity or temperature of the waters in which the species lived ; 
and their change of habitation was occasioned by change in the direc- 
tion, path or extent of flow of oceanic currents. 

This leads us to consider the principles of migration as affecting 
marine organisms. 

§ 8. Migration of Species and Shifting of Faunas. — Migration as 
commonly applied in natural history means the movement of large 
numbers of the same species from one place to another in a general 
definite direction at more or less regular periodic times. So birds mi- 
grate northward with the advance of warm weather; some fish migrate 


from sea up rivers in breeding seasons; pigeons fly eastward or west- 
ward in great flocks, or grasshoppers invade a rich country devouring 
the vegetation in their path, or lemmings migrate across country in 
great quantities. 

The term in these cases has to do with movements of one kind of 
animal in relation to the comparatively stable range of feeding-ground 
for the remainder of the fauna inhabiting the areas concerned. The 
term is rarely if ever applied to the slower movement of the whole body 
of animals of a fauna, coincident with great changes of climate, such 
as the advance of the glacial cover over the northern parts of Europe 
or America produced during the glacial age, or the advance of an 
Asiatic fauna across the Bering Straits and down the west coast of 
North America at some Pleistocene time when an ice bridge furnished 
means of communication by land from one continent to the other. 
Perhaps there is no impropriety in extending the application of the 
term migration to these latter cases in which the whole fauna and 
flora of a region is affected instead of single or a few species; and in 
which the change of position of habitat is slow and spread over a great 
period of time instead of being coincident with annual change of sea- 
sons. The term may equally well be applied to movements in the 
seas and movements on the lands. 

There is, however, one reason for choosing a separate name for the 
movements of the latter kind to distinguish them from typical migra- 

In the first class of cases the migration is voluntary and is per- 
formed by those organisms which have the power of more or less rapid 
locomotion. They may be said to do the migrating themselves. In 
the second case the movements are involuntary and the movement is 
forced upon all the living organisms of the region and the change in 
position may be supposed to take place by the contracting on one side 
of the area of the conditions of possible existence for the species and 
the extension on the other side of favorable conditions of environment. 
The movements extend over many generations of life so that relatively 
sedentary species may gradually adjust their locus habitans to a given 
direction of migration. To this latter process of migration I have been 
accustomed to apply the term " shifting of faunas." 

Migration of species is an expression of the ability of some organ- 
isms to appreciate slight changes of favorable conditions of environ- 
ment and to take advantage of the better conditions during the life- 
time of an individual. Shifting of faunas is an expression of the 
necessity for the perpetuation of the race of certain conditions of en- 
vironment and the dying out of the whole fauna in the areas from 
which the favorable conditions are removed with corresponding spread 
of the fauna into new areas into which the favorable conditions have 
been shifted. 


Shifting of faunas is an expression of the inability of the species 
of the fauna to survive under the changed conditions of environment 
which have overwhelmed them in the original habitat; but of an abil- 
ity on the part of all those which migrate to follow the favorable con- 
ditions as they shift from one area to another. 

In both typical migration of species and shifting of faunas change 
in the environmental conditions of life constitute the stimulus to change 
of habitat on the part of the organisms ; and the movement of the or- 
ganisms is a direct response to the stimulus — those organisms in the 
first case which migrate showing their greater vitality compared with 
their neighbors who stay at home; while those who stay at home show 
a greater power of endurance and organic adjustment to wider range 
of environmental conditions. 

In the case of the shifting faunas those which endure without 
change of characters exhibit an acquired closeness of adjustment to 
some particular combination of environmental conditions which they 
are forced to follow or die and suffer annihilation. The evidence of 
their endurance is indicated by return and reoccupation of the same 
area at a later geological stage when by their reappearance, the orig- 
inal condition of environment may be assumed to have recurred. 

In the case of living organisms evidence of migration is found in 
the actual presence of the species at one time in a region at a consider- 
able distance from its ordinary locus habitans; and in some cases by see- 
ing the species in the process of migration, as for instance the temporary 
alighting in fatigued condition of flocks of northern land birds on 
Bermuda Island on their migration southward. 

In the case of fossil species the shifting of a fauna is expressed by 
the presence of a number of species representing an earlier fauna in a 
stratum in the midst of rocks containing a different and dominantly 
later set of species. 

The fauna is then said to recur and it is the recurrence of the 
fauna which forms the basis for the inference that the fauna has 
shifted its locus habitans during the period of time represented by the 
sedimentary deposits separating the formation in which the fauna is 
dominant from the zone in the higher formation in which the recur- 
rent species are found. 

This theory of the shifting of place and the recurrence in time of 
the same fauna involves certain conceptions as to the nature of species 
and the laws of evolution which it is important to consider. 

§ 9. Evidence of Continuity. — To establish evidence of motion in 
migration as in any other kind of motion it is all important to know 
that the body or bodies to which the motion is ascribed is continuously 
the same. 

In the Devonian case I have been studying the moving body is a 


fauna; not only have I found it necessary to establish identity of the 
species in the recurrent zones with those of the initial zones, but it is 
essential to show that the faunas as a whole are the same. 

To put this in another form of statement we must establish the fact 
that not only the individual species have retained their specific char- 
acters, but the further fact that the equilibrium of adjustment to each 
other in the faunal community has not been changed, in order to prove 
that the recurrent fauna is the direct successor of a fauna represented 
in the rocks at a lower horizon. 

This has led to such distinction as rare and dominant species of the 
fauna, and only as some such comparative frequency of the species in 
the faunal combination is apparent can we be sure that we are not 
considering an accidentally accumulated sample of a general fauna. 

The presence of occasional associated species belonging to the 
normal fauna of the formation in which the recurrent zone appears is 
not antagonistic to the theory, because the theory proposes an invading 
of the territory occupied by the normal fauna, and whatever were the 
causes which brought about the shifting of the fauna they were not 
so completely different as to annihilate all evidence of the fauna previ- 
ously occupying the ground. Hence it is only necessary to find an 
abrupt change of the grand majority of species to make the induction 
that the faunas have shifted their habitat. 

The theory involves the further conception of grand general faunas 
which have their center of habitat and distribution in permanent 
oceanic basins, as distinguished from the special and (in geological 
strata) temporarily expressed faunas such as we are accustomed to as- 
sociate with individual geologic formations. 

In the case before us two such general faunas are in evidence, one 
of which in its dominant characteristics is traced westward into Iowa, 
Idaho and Arizona and up the Mackenzie Kiver valley to the north and 
across the polar regions to Eussia and northern Europe. The other 
is traced eastward and southward into central and southern Europe 
and also dominantly into South America. 

Although, with our present knowledge, it is not possible to deter- 
mine in any temporary expression of marine faunas those particular 
species which were derived from one from those derived from the other 
grand source, it is possible to recognize numerous species which belong 
to one center of distribution and others that belong normally to the 

§10. Interpretation of the Facts. — It is also important to keep our 
heads clear in interpreting the facts. 

It is only by close examination and comparison of the fossils them- 
selves that identity of species or identity of faunas can be established. 

The fixed characters of species are not only the characters by which 


one species is distinguished from another, but they are of generic, 
ordinal and even class value, and they may be of immense age in the 
race and mark no special, narrow stage of its history. 

It is a question of interpretation whether each particular phase of 
expression of fluctuating characters is a matter of time or of environ- 

I have reached the conclusion that it is those species which have 
the greater degree of normal and persistent fluctuation of character 
which migrate and follow the shifting conditions of environment, and 
their life period is correspondingly longer. 

On the other hand species whose plasticity of characters is narrow, 
are more closely adjusted to their environment, are local in their range 
of habitat, and temporary in their geological life-period. 

Interpreting the facts on this basis it is the phases of continuously 
fluctuating characters in species of wide geographic distribution and 
long geologic range which furnish the most satisfactory evidence of 
temporary stages in the life history of faunas. 

Another question of interpretation arises when we attempt to re- 
construct the physical condition of the environment at successive 
stages of time. 

In a single vertical section we have positive evidence of succession 
in time. If we were sure that no recurrence of the same fauna could 
take place we could correlate two vertical sections strictly upon the 
fauna contained in the strata, on the basis of the supposition that the 
single fauna appeared but once in the section and that when it ceased 
in a given section its whole life period was expressed. But the facts 
show us that this is not the case in nature. In geological times as in 
the present, we know that many distinct faunas are living on the face 
of the earth at the same time, even for very similar conditions of en- 
vironment. It becomes therefore a very complex matter to correlate 
two sections in which the order of faunas and the character of the 
sediments differ; which is generally the case for any two sections sepa- 
rated by fifty miles from each other, although on stratigraphic evi- 
dence they may be properly interpreted as covering the same interval 
of time. 




THE law of adaptive radiation 1 is an application of paleontology 
of the idea of divergent evolution as conceived and developed 
successively in the studies of Lamarck, Darwin, Huxley and Cope. It 

1 Osbora, H. F., " The Law of Adaptive Radiation," Amer. Naturalist, Vol. 
XXXVI., No. 425, pp. 353-363. 



is more than divergence because it implies evolution in every direction 
from a central form. The idea of radii, or radiations from a central 
form greatly assists the imagination, because a distinctive feature of 
paleontology is that we are constantly dealing with fragments of his- 
tory. The radiations which have been discovered must be supple- 
mented by those which remain to be discovered, and it is very remark- 
able how in group after group of animals these missing " radii " have 
turned up. 

Eadiation actually begins in certain single organs, and the first 
principle to be observed, as shown in the accompanying diagram, is 





Short-limbed, plantigrade, 
pentadactyl, unguicu- 
late Stem 





Digit igrade 







Dentition reduced 

Main Lines of Adaptive Radiation of (a) limbs and feet, (b) teeth among mammals. 


that radiation of different parts of the body is not necessarily cor- 
related ; that is, that the adaptive divergence of the feet and limbs may 
take one direction, while that of the teeth and skull may take another 
direction. Thus great variety in combinations of characters may arise, 
bringing about the very antithesis of Cuvier's supposed "law of cor- 
relation " ; for we find that while the end results of adaptation are such 
that all parts of an animal conspire to make the whole adaptive, there 
is no fixed correlation either in the form or rate of development of 
parts, and that it is, therefore, impossible for the paleontologist to 
predict the anatomy of an unknown animal from one of its parts only, 
unless the animal happen to belong to a type generally familiar. For 
example, among the land vertebrates the feet, which are associated with 
the structure of the limbs and trunk, may take one of many lines of 
adaptation to different media or habitats, either aquatic, terrestrial, 
arboreal or aerial ; while the teeth, which are associated with the struc- 
ture of the skull and jaws, also may take one of many lines of adapta- 
tion to different kinds of food or modes of feeding, whether herbivorous, 
insectivorous or carnivorous. Through this independent adaptation of 
different parts of animals to their specific ends there have arisen among 
vertebrates almost unlimited numbers of combinations of food and tooth 

Alternations of Habitat. — In the long vicissitudes of time and 
procession of continental changes animals have been subjected to alter- 
nations of habitat either through their own migrations or through the 
"migration of the environment itself, " to employ Van den Broeck*s 
epigrammatic description of the profound and sometimes sudden en- 
vironmental changes which may take place in a single locality. The 
traces of alternations of anatomical adaptation corresponding with 
these alternations of habitat are recorded both in paleontology and 
anatomy. For example, Huxley in 1880 briefly suggested the arboreal 
origin of all the marsupials, a suggestion which has been confirmed 
abundantly by the detailed studies of Dollo and Bensley, according to 
which we may imagine that the marsupials have passed through a series 
of phases, as follows: (1) a very early "terrestrial or ambulatory" 
phase, (2) a "primary arboreal" phase as exemplified by the tree 
phalangers of the present day, (3) a "secondary terrestrial" phase 
as exemplified by the kangaroos and wallabies, (4) a "secondary ar- 
boreal " phase as exemplified by the tree kangaroos. 

Each one of these phases has left its anatomical record in the struc- 
ture of the feet and limbs, although this record is often obscured by 

Louis Dollo especially has contributed most brilliant discussions of 
this theory of "alternations of habitat" as applied not only to the 
interpretation of the anatomy of the marsupials but of many kinds of 


fishes, and to such reptiles as the herbivorous dinosaurs of the Upper 

This brief consideration of the external features of adaptation leads 
us to glance at groups of animals. We here observe the influence of 
geographic distribution; we observe the adaptive radiation of groups 
both continental and local. 

Continental Adaptive Radiation. — Among the Tertiary mammals 
we can actually trace the giving off of radii in several, sometimes in all, 
directions for the purpose of taking advantage of every opportunity to 
secure food, to escape enemies, and to reproduce kind, the three phe- 
nomena of the struggle for existence. Among such well-known quad- 
rupeds as the horses, rhinoceroses and titanotheres the modifications 
involved in these radiations can be clearly traced. Thus the history of 
the life of continents presents a picture of contemporaneous radiations 
in different parts of the world. We observe the contemporaneous and 
largely independent radiations of the hoofed animals in South America, 
in Africa and in the great continent comprising Europe, Asia and 
North America. 

Through the laws of parallelism and convergence each of these 
radiations produced a greater or less number of analogous groups. 

While originally independent, the animals thus evolved separately as 
autochthonous types in many cases finally mingled together as migrant 
or invading types. 

We may thus work out gradually the separate contributions of the 
great land masses of North America, South America, etc., to the mam- 
malian fauna of the world. As a rule the greater the continents the 
more important and fundamental the orders or larger groups of mam- 
mals which have radiated in them; the lesser land masses and conti- 
nental islands, like Australia, have been less favorable to wide adaptive 
radiation. One of the most interesting features of adaptive radiation is 
that it may also occur locally. 

Local Adaptive Radiation. — On a smaller scale are the local adaptive 
radiations which occur through segregation of habit and local isolation 
in the same general geographic region wherever physiographic and 
climatic differences are sufficiently great to produce local differences in 
food supply or other local factors of change. This principle is well 
known among living animals, and it is now being demonstrated among 
many of the Tertiary mammals, remains of four or five distinct genetic 
series having been discovered in the same geologic deposits. 

The existence of multiple phyla of related animals, as of the rhi- 
noceroses, horses and titanotheres in the same localities is due partly 
to the operation of the law of local adaptive radiation. 

This is conspicuously the case among the titanotheres, for example, 
the chief evolution of which can be traced in the Eocky Mountain 


region. In the Eocene we discover four or five independent local 
phyla; again in the Oligocene we discover five or six independent local 
phyla. The evolution of these animals appears to have been chiefly 

In other cases, however, the polyphyletic condition appears to have 
been through the mingling with local phyla of phyla evolved in other 
countries. This is illustrated in the case of the Middle Miocene rhi- 
noceroses of America, which are invaded by rhinoceroses of Eurasiatic 
or European origin. 

In studying the herbivorous quadrupeds, therefore, we must keep 
in the imagination constantly the production of local phyla through 
local radiation and the intermingling of foreign phyla through migra- 
tion. There are a few very striking and profound differences between 
quadrupeds which recur so frequently that where we discover one form 
we may surely anticipate the discovery of the opposite or antithetic 
form: in other words, there are extremes of structure shown in the 
proportions of the skull, of the teeth, of the limbs, and groups of 
quadrupeds are constantly tending through adaptive radiation to reach 
these extremes. Some of the contrasting extremes are the following: 
brachyodonty vs. hypsodonty, dolichocephaly vs. brachycephaly, dolicho- 
pody vs. brachypody. 

For example, a local adaptive radiation observed in the horses is 
that the forest-living types are brachyodont, or possess short-crowned 
teeth, while the desert-living horses are hypsodont, typically grazers, 
with long-crowned teeth. 

Extremes of long-headedness and short-headedness, of long-foot- 
edness and of short-footedness, comprise a very large part of the mech- 
anism of adaptive radiation; but we have to do also with long-necked 
and short-necked types, and with many other chances of proportion 
which are correlated with different feeding habits. 

vol. lxxvii.— 6. 





rTIHE cyclical instincts of birds, present, as we have seen, a well- 
-*- ordered series, rising and waning in due course, until the re- 
productive cycle is complete. Nevertheless, the order and harmony 
which commonly prevail are subject to many disturbances of a tran- 
sient, or of a more lasting character. When variations in the cycle, 
whatever their nature, become regular and permanent, any consequent 
loss or injuiry to the species seems to be counterbalanced by the rise 
of new instincts in both young and adult, which may involve marked 
structural changes, as shown in the parasitic cuckoos of the old world 
and their non-parasitic relatives of the new. If transient merely, 
there is more or less individual loss, according to the nature and ex- 
tent of the disturbance. 

We shall now consider some of these variations in the cyclical series, 
and we may assume, though with little exact knowledge, that when 
any character of the sort to be described has become general or perma- 
nent this has been effected through a gradual process of selection, with 
or without environmental influence and other unknown agencies. We 
may further assume that all modern birds originally built proper nests, 
and there can be little doubt that many either falter or fail in this 
work at present through the loss of an instinct which they once pos- 
sessed; but this question aside, we can be reasonably assured that all 
originally concealed or guarded their eggs. 

The nest, in the first instance, tends to secure a more equable dis- 
tribution of warmth and moisture for eggs or young; incidentally it 
may conceal and therefore protect both young and adult, and add to 
the comfort of the whole family. There would seem to be a vast dif- 
ference between digging a hole in the warm, moist sand, as we see the 
turtle, or the moleo, one of the brush turkeys, doing, and weaving 
through the unremitted efforts of many days, a beautiful pouch like the 
oriole's, so admirably adapted for protection, both by its form and by its 
position. Yet it is by no means certain that the fundamental nest- 
building instinct is entirely wanting in the moleo, the peculiar habits 
of which will be later considered. 

Nest-building of one kind or another is found in all classes of 
vertebrates, and the guarding and fighting instincts at nesting-time 
are as strong in some of the fishes as in birds, but while the practise is- 


clearly of ancient origin, it is by no means universal ; it seems in every 
case to be related to the needs of the animal, and to be a refinement of 
more simple means of securing both concealment and protection. 

The causes of the disturbances, which we have to describe, are 
wholly obscure. We can only surmise that they may have their origin 
in changes in the central nervous system, which, as one result, bring 
about disturbances in nutrition, leading now to a premature, now to a 
belated development of the reproductive cells. At all events there arises 
what may be crudely described as an " overlap " or " blending " of in- 
stincts. Or, we may say that in the struggle of conflicting impulses 
victory now goes to one side, now to the other. The only facts that are 
really known are that the egg sometimes anticipates the nest, instead 
of the nest the egg, or that the migratory impulse may emerge too soon, 
and nip the proper parental instincts in the bud, before they have run 
their course. We do not doubt that the sifting process of selection 
would soon curb any tendency, like the last, in every species which was 
destined to survive. 

The eccentricities of behavior, which we attribute to disturbances 
in the breeding cycle, will be examined under the following heads: 
(1) Beginning a new cycle, and scamping an old; (2) multiple and 
superimposed nests; (3) eccentric behavior due to conflicting instincts; 
and (4) premature laying of eggs, omission of nest-building and para- 

II. Beginning a New Cycle or Scamping the Old 

When the cyclical instincts rise and wane in their proper order, 
they may be represented by a series of circles tangent to each other, or 
with but little overlap (Fig. 15). Beginning at term 3 or 4, a cycle 1 is 

Mi f . Mot. N. Zg E Inc. C.Y.mN. CY.outN. 

Fig. 15. Diagram to illustrate the serial instincts op the Reproductive Cycle, 
with types of activities expressed in eight terms. 

completed up to term 7 for each brood successively reared. Most wild 
birds in this part of the world have but a single brood in the season. 
The success of any individual pair depends upon circumstances. 
Storms and predaceous animals of all kinds break down the nests or 
destroy the eggs, when a fresh start is usually taken. 

In very timid birds like the cedar waxwing, the cycle is often 
1 That is, when it is limited to the direct reproductive activities, the rela- 
tion of which to migration is not important in this discussion. 


abruptly ended at term 3 or 4, as a result of fear, through discovery or 
disturbance of the nest, and a new series is promptly begun at 3. This 
is the simplest type of disturbance which we can record (Fig. 16). 

CY.nN. CWN. 

Fig. 16. Diagram op any given Repboductive Cycle — A-B, interrupted by fear or 
accident at term 4, and a new cycle, A l B l , begun at term 3. 

The old nest may be torn down by tjie little builders, and its materials 
used again, but this does not commonly happen. Since fear is rapidly 
depressed, with the rise of the brooding instinct, beginning at term 5, 
interruptions are less liable to occur after this point is reached, but 
wherever the thread is dropped, it is usually picked up again at stage 3. 

Of far greater interest is the fact that a new cycle may be begun 
at the very close of the breeding season, when it seldom goes far, and 
is bound to fail for lack of time. Probably no stronger witness to 
the instinctive basis of the behavior of birds could be found than this 
recrudescence of the reproductive activities at a time when most must 
answer the fatal summons of the migratory impulse. It is typically 
illustrated by the great herring gulls, which toward the close of their 
usual cycle in mid-July begin to build new nests, and will even lay eggs 
in them, though all are eventually abandoned. It would not be sur- 
prising to find that many young were also left to their fate, but my 
observations have never extended late enough to determine this defi- 
nitely. At the Great Duck Islands, Maine, where these facts were 
gathered, the birds arrive early in March, and depart about September 
1, according to the warden and lighthouse keeper, Captain Stanley, 
who has found that the first eggs are laid about the middle of May, 
while the first young begin to appear the second week in June. 

In a census of one hundred nests of this gull taken on the island 
July 17, 1902, at the close of the breeding season, some interesting 
facts were brought out, which may be summarized as follows: 

Abandoned empty nests, from which young have been reared 64 

Abandoned nests with addled eggs 8 

Nests with chicks outside 5 

Nests with newly hatched chicks or pipped eggs 1 

Nests with fresh or slightly incubated eggs 5 

New nests, begun or completed 17 

Total 100 



Fig. 17. Imperfect nest of Great Herring Gull, illustrating the beginning 
of a new breeding cycle, when too late to be finished. Chips, grass, and roots have 
been brought to the new site. Great Duck Island, Maine, July 20. 

Of the seventy-seven nests which had seen service in the season, 
eight only contained addled eggs. It was certain that none of the new 
nests, with or without eggs, could ever come to anything, and probably 
most were never finished. They are made to be abandoned, sooner or 
later, with the rise of stronger instincts. A new cycle is begun, but 

Fig. 18. Nest of Gull, Illustrating the same tendency as that shown in Fig. 
17, but where the old nest was " repaired," or used as a site for the new one. The 
body of a dead chick was worked into this nest, and the old bird was incubating an 
addled egg. July 22. 



Fig. 19. Gull's Nest on Rotten Log, with eggs starred and nearly ready to 
hatch, probably belonging to a bird which had earlier failed, but had renewed Its 
activities in time to sucessfully rear young. July 20. 

stayed at terms 3 or 4. Now it might be supposed that those nests 
which appear in middle or late July (Figs. 17-18) were the work of 
young birds, or of others which for some cause had not met with earlier 
success, but this is certainly not always the case. For the space of 
several days I watched a pair of gulls, which had large chicks to feed, 
and repeatedly saw them leave their young and begin the construction 
of a new nest about a rod from the old one. The female would split 

Fig. 20. White-headed Eagle's Nest of the First Year, built in 1900, by 
the owners of the eerie shown in Fig. 21, which was destroyed the previous winter. 
The nest is considerably broader than tall. 



chips, carry them to the chosen site, and go through the instinctive 
moulding and turning movements in the most approved and character- 
istic manner. The male even mounted the female, and was borne on 
her back like a circus-rider, in his evident attempt to perform an act 

Fig. 21. JErib op Eagle occupied Fifteen Yeabs, and nearly twice as tall as 
broad; the predecessor of the nest shown In Fig. 20 In dead sycamore, three and 
one half feet in diameter at base ; top of nest 77 feet from ground. 

which is usually necessary. In this case, however, eggs were not des- 
tined to appear, and the new nest was eventually given up. This 
sporadic attempt at nest-building, while there are still chicks to be 
nursed, illustrates what we have described as the conflict of opposing 

At the beginning of the breeding season in the gull, old nests are 
frequently reclaimed, and possibly by the same birds, though this has 
not been determined, or a new site is chosen, and a new nest built. 
If an addled egg is left after the others have hatched, "repairs" to 
the nest are frequently undertaken, and the old egg is either incubated 
for several days longer or it is buried out of sight. A pair of gulls, 
which was watched from the tent, had a single chick, and this one 


lived only long enough to crawl out of its shell, while a second egg was 
bad. No sooner was the little one dead, than the work of reconstruc- 
tion, that is building on the old site was begun, and the body of the 
chick, treated as so much nesting material, was soon buried under new 
layers of grass and chips (Fig. 18). This labor lasted for four days, 
or as long as I was able to watch it, but as in the other cases described, 
it was sure to be futile owing to the lateness of the season. 

Fish hawks and eagles are known to return to their old nests year 
after year, adding fresh materials, that is, building on the old site, each 
season. An eagle's nest of the first year (compare Figs. 20 and 21) 
is broader than tall, but with the yearly increment of stubble and sticks 
added to its top, it gradually rises in vertical height, until becoming 
so much taller than broad, in certain situations it tends to topple over 
from sheer weight. The older of the two nests of the white-headed 
eagle, which are here shown (Fig. 21), was begun in the crotch of a 
dead sycamore, 77 feet from the ground at North Springfield, Ohio, 
in 1885, and occupied for fifteen years, or until January, 1900, when 
this ancient landmark was laid low in a storm. With the aid of photo- 
graphs, taken in May, 1899, 2 and by actual measurements which I later 
made on the prostrate tree, the dimensions of this great nest were 
exactly determined. It was nine feet high and six feet in diameter, 
or three feet taller than broad, and contained rather more than three 
cubic yards of wood, earth and stubble. The new nest (Fig. 20), 
which was built in the spring of 1900, was examined and photographed 
in June of the same year ; now after the lapse of a decade, it has much 
the appearance of the older nest, having risen greatly in height. Such 
a structure might be regarded as a kind of " multiple nest," being com- 
posed of increments, corresponding in number to the years of occupa- 
tion, the last "nest" being built on the site of that of the previous 

But a more interesting fact, if true, is the statement of Audubon 8 
and others that ospreys and eagles often repair their nests in the 
autumn, as if in anticipation of the needs of the coming year. We can 
readily accept the fact, but not the interpretation, for if such a practise 
really occurs, it is plainly due to the rise of a new reproductive cycle, 
which is begun but soon checked. The sporadic return of the nest- 
building instinct at the close of the season is essentially the same in 
hawk or gull, and can imply no more intelligent forethought in one 
case than in the other. 

1 By Mr. H. E. Denio, of Milesgrove, Pa., to whose kindness I am indebted 
for their present as well as a former use. 

•Audubon speaks only of the fish hawks, which he says but seldom alight 
on the ground, as " when they collect materials for the purpose of repairing 
their nest at the approach of autumn." " Ornithological Biography," Vol. I., 
p. 419, Edinburgh, 1831. 



Desertion of the Young under the Impulse of Migration 
The struggle of conflicting instincts is clearly shown when the 
normal cycle is brought prematurely to a close by the rise of the 
instinct of migration, when eggs or young are left in the nest to perish. 

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Fig. 22. A Multiple — four-storied Nest op the Yellow Warbler (Dendroica 
/Estiva), with a "parasitic" cowbird's egg in each compartment, but with proper 
eggs in the first story only, illustrating the successive breaking of the breeding cycle 
through fear, the beginning of three new cycles In succession, the new nest being built 
in each case, and probably through association, on the site of the old, thus admirably 
" concealing " the successive parasitic eggs. Original in the Field Museum of 
Natural History, Chicago. 

The migratory impulse seems to " overlap," and finally to replace the 
proper parental instincts. The cycle is scamped near its close. 


A classical illustration of this struggle of instincts was furnished 
by Dr. Jenner, in his " Essay on the Migration of Birds," published in 
1824, and by the more circumstantial account given by Dr. John Black- 
wall in 1834, who called particular attention to " the occasional deser- 
tion of their last hatched broods by the swallow and house martin." 
Blackwall was a keen and discriminative observer, but his work 4 is so 
little known that I shall give a summary of his valuable and interesting 
results, under this head. 

The swallow arrives at Manchester, England, about April the fif- 
teenth, and the house martin on the twenty-fifth of the same month. 
They produce from two to three broods in the season, and are commonly 
found with nestlings in October, at a time when most of the migratory 
species have left the country. Many of these young which are led out 
of the nest, are deserted before they are able to follow their parents 
south, and have been found in a state of semi- or total exhaustion, late 
in the year. This, as Blackwall ingeniously suggests, may have given 
rise to the queer notion that the European swallows passed the winter 
season in a state of torpidity. 

Blackwall's observations were begun as early as 1821, and when on 
November 11, 1826, twenty-two nests under the eaves of a barn in 
the Chapelry of Blakeley were carefully inspected, it was found that 
thirteen of this number contained either eggs or dead nestlings; five 
nests held eggs in every stage from the freshly laid to those at the 
hatching point, while the eight with young showed nestlings in every 
condition from that of hatching up to the nearly fledged state. 

While the female swallow may exceptionally linger longer than the 
male, it should be noted that both parents commonly abandon their 
young at the same time. The same fatal conduct was also frequently 
observed in the sand martin, and Gilbert White, of Selborne, has given 
an interesting account of a swift, originally noted by him in 1781, 
which renders it practically certain that this bird may also desert its 
young, when the migratory impulse is strong. According to Pennant, 
who is quoted by Blackwall, the puffin is in like case also. The parental 
instincts of the puffin are strong, and the first young, which appear 
early in July, are guarded with the utmost care. But strong also is the 
instinct of migration, and when this emerges punctually at about the 
eleventh day of August, any young puffins which can not fly are left 
to the tender mercies of the peregrine falcon. This vigilant plunderer 
watches at the mouths of their holes, ready to seize them with mailed 
foot the moment hunger forces them to surrender. We may be quite 
sure that the young of the species enumerated above are not the only 
victims of the struggle of conflicting instincts. I have heard of similar 
behavior on the part of the domestic pigeons. 

* " Researches in Zoology, Illustrative of the Manners and Economy of 
Animals," London, 1834; 2d ed., London, 1873. 


III. Multiple and Superimposed Nests 

We have referred to the towering aerie of the eagle and osprey as 
being, so far as instinct is concerned, a series of superimposed nests; 
indeed, any nest built on the site or over the ruins of a former abode, 
might be regarded in this light. When attachment to the site is strong, 
the bird, like the peasant in ancient Egypt and many of the earlier 
races of mankind, builds anew on the ruins of his former home, with- 
out taking care to clear the ground or raze such parts as still exist. 
The result is similar in either case — a series of superimposed structures 
of different ages, the height to which the pile may rise, depending upon 
the number of times the same site has been used. 

The building of nest on nest, or of new nest on the site of the old, 
according to this interpretation, gives rise to the wonderful storied 
structures sometimes produced by the yellow warbler, or vireo, when 
plagued by the cowbird. That the intruding egg is buried out of sight 
is not due, however, to a feat of reason on the part of the suffering 
bird, but is the curious result of a nearly pure instinct, modified only 
by association. Fear breaks the cycle, but it is not always strong 
enough to break the habit of going to the old site. Instead of two or 
more supernumerary nests, more than one of which may contain eggs, 
and even stand side by side, as has been reported in the case of the 
phcebe, we have a series of superimposed nests, as is clearly illustrated 
in the remarkable four-storied structure of the summer or yellow 
warbler, here shown (Fig 22 ). 8 Each section of this composite, more- 
over, is seen to contain an egg of the parasitic cowbird, that in the 
first story being partially concealed by the warbler's eggs present. 

According to this view, the new nest is not built to conceal the 
cowbird's egg, although it does so perfectly, any more than the addition 
of new materials to an osprey^s nest in the fall is of the nature of 
repairs, although it may answer such a purpose admirably. The nest 
is built or " repaired" because the bird is at the opening of a new 
cycle, and is impelled to action by the rise of the building instinct. 
Whether the new nest is built upon the remains of the old, or close 
beside it, or half a mile away, must be attributed to the ordinary work- 
ings of instinct, modified by association and fear, when for some cause 
the normal cycle has been disturbed. 

The so-called " cock nests " of the little marsh wrens may prove to 
be only another illustration of the supernumerary nests given above, 
but no opportunity has yet been offered to study these interesting 
structures. The fact that they may be used secondarily as sleeping 
apartments, if this is really the case, has no special significance. I have 
seen the abortive hole of a kingfisher so used, but a few rods from the 

• For the use of this photograph I am indebted to the courtesy of Mr. F. J. 
V. Skiff, director of the Field Museum of Natural History, Chicago. 


bank, which was later successfully drilled and occupied by the same pair. 
The subject of compound nests is too long and involved for full 
discussion here, but from the builder's standpoint, which is that of 
instinct, I think there is ground for regarding such a composite struc- 
ture as that reared on the cooperative plan by the ani or Savanna 
blackbird, as in reality a multiple nest. 

IV. Eccentric Behavior; Robin offering String to Young 

Under this head we shall describe a special case of what we have 
frequently referred to as the "overlap" or struggle of competing 
instincts. The incident happened in a neighbor's yard on One Hun- 
dred and Second Street, Cleveland. A pair of robins had nested in this 
yard, and successfully reared young, which were then hopping about in 
the speckled-breasted stage, and begging for food. On a certain occa- 
sion one of the parents was seen offering a long piece of twine to one 
of the youngsters, and trying to cram it into its throat. This robin 
would repeatedly gather up the string, as it would the coils of an 
angleworm, and offer it in the usual way, but string not being to the 
taste of this fledgling, it was as often rejected. After a time the old 
robin flew with the string into a tree. 

With these facts in view, how shall we interpret such extraordinary 
behavior? We consider this case of the robin a most unusual and 
interesting exhibition of the conflict of opposing instincts, for according 
to this idea, the bird was at the close of an old reproductive cycle, and 
the beginning of a new one. She had fallen, as it were, between two 
stools. Impelled by the rising instinct of nidification, she gathered 
the string, when aroused by the calls and sight of her young she was 
induced to offer it ; again under the sway of the building instinct, she 
flew with the string to a tree. We can judge of the sequel, although 
unfortunately observation on the robin's conduct stopped at this point. 
The popular interpretation that the bird was crazy gives place to some- 
thing which we can measurably understand, or coordinate with other 
related facts. On the other hand, what a commentary such an act 
furnishes upon the effective intelligence of birds, when under the sway 
of powerful instincts. Does not the robin know a "hawk from a 
handsaw," or a worm from a piece of string? The behavior of the 
great herring gull with chicks still requiring her care, in going through 
all the motions of nest-building, and returning to her young again, 
would seem to be similar in all essential respects. 

V. Premature Laying of Eggs, Omission of Nest-building 
and Parasitism 

Lack of attunement between the appearance of the nest and eggs, 
or terms 3 and 4 of the cycle is very common. Too frequently the egg 


" anticipates " the nest. Every one who has given much attention to 
the activities of birds in the field must have found isolated eggs lying 
on the ground. Such prize packages are probably more common than 
we might be led to suppose, for they can not long exist wherever snakes, 
rodents and other prowling animals abound. 

With most birds the act of prematurely dropping an egg can be 
only a sporadic or casual variation. Without doubt, in the course of 
time a proper nest is built; eggs are laid, and the normal cycle is 
rounded out to completion. It is quite possible, on the other hand, 
that all such eggs are not immediately neglected, but that they are 
sometimes carried away, and " concealed " by dropping them in another 
bird's nest, although we have no observation to support such a view 
directly. It is known, however, that certain birds, such as the black- 
billed cuckoo, will upon disturbance remove its eggs from the old nest 
to a new one or to a place of safety. 6 It is also certain that the prema- 
ture egg is at times laid direct in another bird's nest, which the in- 
truder will often strive to possess by force, and may even succeed. 
Thus, Davidson, who is quoted by Bendire, found a black-billed cuckoo 
and a mourning dove sitting on a robin's nest together. This nest 
was in reality double, and contained two eggs each, of the cuckoo and 
dove, and one of the robin. The cuckoo managed to get possession of 
the nest before the robin had finished her work, and filled it with 
rootlets, but the robin held its ground long enough to deposit an egg. 
The fact that the cuckoo had " filled it nearly full of rootlets " is a 
very interesting circumstance, for it shows how completely instinct held 
the reins of action. This robin's nest seems to have served as a site 
on which the cuckoo strove to erect one of its own. The dove, noted 
for its strong parental instincts, had evidently come last, and her eggs 
were the only ones in which incubation had not begun. 

Such a case seems to present us, as in a picture, with one of the 
steps in the process through which the most remarkable of all the 
known instincts of birds, that of parasitism, has been brought about. 

Certain cowbirds of the new world and cuckoos of the old steal the 
nests of other birds, but usually only long enough to deposit an egg of 
their own, which is left to its fate. If tolerated, as is apt to be the 
case, the stranger is hatched with the other eggs, and the owner of the 
nest assumes the role of nurse or foster-parent. If a cowbird, the 
foundling soon smothers the proper young, and if a cuckoo, it evicts 
them. The cuckoo seems to react to a contact stimulus of a disagree- 
able kind, and when from one to three days old, while still blind, it 
strives to get egg or nestling on its broad, depressed back, and 

•That other species of birds occasionally remove their eggs when disturbed 
can not be doubted, and they probably do it with their bills. The king penguins 
of the Antarctic are said to guard their single egg by carrying it in a pouch 
or fold of the skin, developed in either sex, between the legs. 


hitching its way, thus laden, up the wall of the nest, throws them 
overboard. If such a bird is replaced afte* a time, the same move- 
ments are repeated. With the coast thus clear, the little " parasite " 
can monopolize the attention of its nurse, and grows apace, being 
attended with all the care which is bestowed on a legitimate child. 
As Philemon Holland has quaintly rendered the account of the elder 

" And this yong Cuckow being greedy by kind, beguiling the other yong 
birds and intercepting the meat from them, groweth hereby fat and faire-liking: 
whereby it comes into speciall grace and favour with the dam of the rest, and 
nource to it. She joieth to see so goodly a bird toward: and wonders at her 
selfe that she hath hatched k reared so trim a chick. The rest, which are her 
owne indeed, she sets no store by, as if they werr changelings: but in regard 
to that one, counteth them all bastards and misbegotten." Having followed 
our elder worthy thus far, we should give his sequel also, even if he steps from 
observation to fable: "yea, and suffereth them to be eaten and devoured of the 
other even before her face: and this she doth so long, until the yong cuckow 
being once fledge & readie to flie abroad, is so bold as to seize on the old Titling, 
and to eat her up that hatched her." 

It is evident that this practise of nest-stealing, somewhat ambigu- 
ously called "parasitism," could never become very popular or wide- 
spread, for it would soon break down of its own weight. 

For over two thousand years, or since the time of Aristotle, who 
was the first to leave a permanent record of this propensity in the 
European cuckoo, the question has been asked, How could such a habit 
arise? and the answers have been various, and far from satisfactory. 
The key to the matter lies, as we believe, in the cyclical instincts, and 
in the disturbances to which they are prone. When the normal rhythm 
is generally disturbed or permanently changed, new instincts and even 
new structures may arise, which serve as a counterbalance to the 
changes wrought. 

We believe that the instinct of parasitism got its start through lack 
of attunement in terms 3 and 4, of the reproductive cycle, and that it 
has passed through essentially the following stages: (1) The egg 
forthcoming before there is a nest ready to receive it, a condition 
sporadic in very many, if not in most modern birds, due to unknown 
causes, such as lead to a premature growth of the ovary, or to a dis- 
turbance of certain instincts. There is a loss of eggs, although a nest 
may be eventually built, and young reared in the season. (2) The 
eggs are ready before the nest, and many are lost by dropping them 
on the ground, while others are laid in stolen nests. A proper nest is 
sometimes built, but whether young are ever reared, will depend upon 
circumstances. This stage is exemplified by the Argentine cowbird 
(Molothus badius), described by Hudson, which commonly wastes its 
eggs, scattering them in all directions, yet it will steal a nest upon 


occasion, or build one of its own. It even laid eggs in artificial nests, 
which Hudson placed in trees to test its propensities in this direction. 
(3) The common practise of stealing nests of other birds, but of hold- 
ing them, as a rule, only for laying its own eggs, as illustrated to-day 
by the North American cowbird (Molothrus pecoris). The instincts of 
the intruder seem to be satisfied by " concealing " its eggs, or simply 
laying them against the wall of another bird's nest, and leaving them. 
At this stage the European cuckoo, we may suppose, not only frequently 
dropped its eggs on the ground, but occasionally tried to incubate them, 
and may have even attempted a rough nest. At this stage also the 
normal tendency to lay eggs at daily intervals was possibly disturbed, 
and the interval became irregular, with the gradual establishment of a 
longer rhythm. 

At this point several roads would seem to be open, for the resources 
of nature are not limited to one course. Parasitic or non-brooding 
cuckoos have " chosen " one, so to speak, the brooding American species 
another, and if we are to accept the accounts, certain owls, which breed 
in the far north, successfully rear young in the short Arctic summer, 
with an interval of a week or more between each egg. Yet there can 
be little doubt that an undue lengthening of this interval would seri- 
ously interfere with nest-life in many species, and break the tendency 
to guard the egg. All would seem to depend upon the correlated 
instincts of parent and child. With an interval of from five to seven 
days, which has been credited to Cuculus canorus, self-brooding would 
be impracticable without a change in its instincts, for it migrates in 
July. While it is certain that the egg-laying interval was gradually 
extended in this bird, it is not known at what corresponding point the 
parasitic practise was finally established. Certain it is, however, that 
then as now, the egg, whether laid direct in a nest or dropped on the 
ground and subsequently conveyed to one, was abandoned. The Amer- 
ican brooding cuckoos (Coccygus erythropthalmus and C. americanus), 
although suffering a similar disturbance in the brooding interval (of 
one to three days), have adjusted these differences by another course. 
The young which are hatched in succession, also leave the nest in suc- 
cession, when one week old, and enter upon a climbing stage which lasts 
a fortnight. In this way the brood is divided into two groups, and any 
untoward effects which might result from a marked difference in age 
of the nestlings, is avoided. The greatest disadvantage of such a mix- 
ture, in the nest of this species, would seem to lie in the fact that the 
oldest and strongest usually succeed in holding up most of the food. 
We may add that the American cuckoos have never advanced far be- 
yond the first stage, as designated above, although they have suffered a 
disturbance in the normal rhythm of egg-production, and that the 
parental instincts are as strong with them as in passerine birds. The 


study of their habits gives no support to the idea advanced by Darwin, 
in his " Origin of Species," that they are passing along the same road 
to parasitism already traversed by their European relative. I do not 
know whether the American cuckoos ever built a better nest or not, but 
it is certain that the present structure is adequate to their needs, and 
affords no evidence of a waning instinct of nidification. (4) The final 
stage of the parasitic instinct among the Cuculidse is presented by their 
famous European representative, Cuculus canorus, in which the in- 
stincts of both young and adult have become so specialized that to 
describe them at all adequately would require many pages. One hun- 
dred and nineteen different species of birds have been the prey of this 
parasite, the eggs of which have become reduced in size and highly 
variable in form and color. The commonest dupes are birds of small 
size, like the hedge sparrow and titlark ; but one egg is laid in the same 
nest by the same bird, and this is often similar in size and coloring to 
those of the prospective nurse. The egg is deposited stealthily in the 
stolen nest, and in the absence of the owner, either just before or just 
after the proper eggs have appeared, or it is first dropped on the ground 
and conveyed to the nest in bill or gullet, by which the range of acces- 
sible nests is greatly increased. These and other remarkable practises 
of this bird have been fully described in a paper on the "Life and 
Instincts of the Cuckoo," shortly to appear. 

All travelers who have studied the ostriches of South America 
and Africa in the field speak of the great numbers of their eggs which 
are annually wasted both in and out of season by dropping them over 
the plains or around their nests. If this is a secondary character, it 
must have come from a disturbance of the normal cycle, quite similar 
to what we have found in cuckoos and starlings. In this case adjust- 
ment seems to have been effected in quite a different manner, for we 
find the male taking upon himself almost the whole duty of incubation 
and care of the young. Even the wasted eggs, at least in the neighbor- 
hood of the nest, serve a secondary use as food, for the young soon break 
them open and devour them. 

We can not discuss with much profit the remarkable breeding habits 
of the megapodes of Australia and the East Indies, referred to earlier 
in this paper, until naturalists have made more detailed studies upon 
the various species. The notes which follow are purely tentative, and 
are offered by way of suggestion. The true megapodes build huge 
mounds of earth and leaves, which serve as incubators for their eggs, 
and the young, which may or may not be subsequently tended by their 
parents, are in most cases able to run or fly from birth, or when they 
emerge from their mound. The moleos or " maleos " deposit theirs in 
black volcanic sand which is both damp and warm, either by the sea- 
shore or in the vicinity of warm springs in the interior. In any case 


both birds instinctively secure the two requisites for successful incuba- 
tion — even warmth and moisture — though in different ways. 

That the brush turkeys are descended from stock which possessed 
the instinct of incubation is rendered probable from the fact that they 
are gallinaceous birds, allied to the curassows, wild turkeys and grouse, 
all of which build some kind of a nest and brood their young at the 
present time. Further, the fact that the same mound is used con- 
tinuously by the same birds, whether by more than one pair or not, and 
is added to year after year, like the aerie of an eagle, and that in the 
ocellated megapode, at least, the adults remain in the vicinity of their 
mound and tend their young after leaving it, all suggest that this 
mound must be regarded in the light of a nest, however modified from 
the typical structure. From the stage seen in the ocellated magapode, 
it is only a step or two to that found in others, where the parents never 
see their young, for which they make ample provision, any more than 
does a turtle or a mud-dauber wasp. 

More aberrant still, but in the same direction, is the behavior of the 
moleo, in which as in the parasitic cuckoos, other changes have arisen, 
which would render self-brooding difficult if not impracticable. Their 
large eggs, six to eight in number, are said to be deposited at the 
extraordinary interval of ten to twelve days, so that a period of three 
months would elapse, between the laying of the first and last. Again, 
unlike the fowls and birds generally, no turning of the eggs during 
incubation is necessary. 

While nothing is certainly known concerning the history of these 
peculiar instincts of the megapodes, it is not unlikely that, as in 
cuckoos and cowbirds, they have arisen through the modification of 
earlier and more uniform instincts which the ancestors of all modern 
birds seem to have possessed in common. 

vol. lxxvii. — 7. 








The authorities of the Johns Hop- 
kins University have issued a pamphlet 
in the interest of the endowment and 
extension fund which they need and 
should have. The General Education 
Board has undertaken to contribute 
$250,000, on condition that $750,000 
be obtained from other sources: but 
the university aims at more than this. 
It would remove to its new site and 
would complete its university organiza- 
tion by the establishment of a school 
of higher engineering, a law school 
maintaining the standards of its med- 
ical school, and a school for the train- 
ing of teachers. It would also obtain 
an endowment fund for its college, es- 
tablish a department of preventive 
medicine and erect a building for 

■ When the Johns Hopkins University 
celebrated the twenty-fifth anniversary 
of its foundation in 1902 a site was 
given to it which cost $500,000, and is 
now worth twice as much. The hun- 
dred and twenty acres, finely situated 
two miles from the center of Balti- 
more, admit of picturesque develop- 
ment beyond the possibilities of any 
other city university. We reproduce 
a plan of the site with pictures of two 
of the buildings which it is intended 

to erect first and of the Carroll man- 
sion on the grounds, which is to serve 
as a model for the architecture. A 
botanical laboratory and garden and an 
athletic field are already in use. The 
administration and academic buildings, 
| shown in the illustration, and labora- 
• tories tor chemistry ,\ physics, geology 
| and botany must be erected promptly, 
i These with the power plant, grading, 
etc., will cost about $1 200,000, towards 
which can be used the proceeds of the 
sale of the present site and buildings. 
So long as a national university is 
not established in Washington, there 
i is needed a great university at Balti- 
; more. The states to the south and 
! west are not adequately supplied with 
institutions of higher learning, and for 
a long while the Johns Hopkins Uni- 
versity will set a model for that region, 
! whose industrial development will 
surely be followed by an intellectual 
1 renaissance. 

I The Johns Hopkins University de- 
serves well not only of Baltimore and 
Maryland and the south, but of the 
j whole country. When it was opened 
I on October 3, 1876, there were colleges 
I in this country, but no universities. 
I The idea of the university was doubt- 
less in the air, but it was first placed 
on a solid foundation at Baltimore. 
I Remarkable wisdom was shown by 




The Cabboll Mansion at Home wood, built In 1803, the architecture of which will 
be the key-note for the new buildings. 

President Gilman and his advisers, not 
only in deciding that the Johns Hop- 
kins should be a university rather than 
a college, but also in adopting stand- 
ards and ideals, which have not else- 
where been paralleled. The smallest 
possible amount of money was spent on 
buildings, and no attempt was made 
to cover all kinds of subjects. A small 
group of professors, each a man of dis- 
tinction — Rowland, Remsen, Sylvester, 
Martin, Brooks, Gildersleeve — were 
brought together, adequately paid and 
given complete freedom. Fellowships 
and means of research and publication 
were provided; the ablest students in 
the country were drawn to Baltimore. 
These men are now in nearly every 
academic center of the country, and 
the influence of the Johns Hopkins and 
of the university ideal is everywhere. 
Not only in 1876, but again in 1893, 
and again with comparatively modest 
resources, the Johns Hopkins set uni- 
versity standards by the establishment 
of its school of medicine. Again a 
small group of distinguished men — 
Welch, Osier, Howell, Mall — were 

brought together, and for the first time 
in this country there was a school of 
medicine on a proper university basis. 
Like the graduate faculty of philos- 
ophy this school has set a model, which 
other institutions are now following. 
The country can only in slight meas- 
ure repay the Johns Hopkins Univer- 
sity for its great service by giving it 
the money it now needs. Columbia 
and Princeton have each received $5,- 
000,000 within the past year; the 
Johns Hopkins should have as much. 
If the writer of this note — who is one 
of those who came under the influence 
of the university in its great days — 
had despotic control of the vast wealth 
of the country, he would assign to the 
Johns Hopkins University as many 
millions as it might ask. But it would 
not be for new buildings and new de- 
partments. It would be on condition 
that the standards set in 1876 and 
1893 snould be maintained, that we 
shoula have a university where every 
teacher is a great man, free to do his 
own work in his own way. 




The Oarnegie Foundation has issued 
a bulletin on medical education in 
America, which is likely to do good 
service in attracting attention to the 
low standards and inadequate endow- 
ment of many of the medical schools 
of the United States. On behalf of the 
foundation, Mr. Abraham Flexner has 
visited every one of the 155 medical 
schools, and gives a brief description 
of each. The conditions in each state 
are summarized, and plans are pro- 
posed for their improvement. This de- 
tailed report is preceded by an intro- 
duction by President Pritchett and by 
fourteen chapters by Mr. Flexner on 
the whole subject of medical education 
in this country, beginning with a his- 
torical sketch and ending with the 
education of the negro. The bulletin, 
which extends to 347 pages, may be 
obtained by sending seventeen cents 
for postage to the foundation. 

The conditions of medical education 
in the United States have been investi- 
gated with equal thoroughness by the 
council on education of the American 
Medical Association, and are well un- 
derstood by experts. There are too 
many inadequately trained physicians 
in the country, and one of the prin- 
cipal difficulties is the existence of 
proprietary schools dependent on the 
fees of students. Physicians are ready 
to be professors in medical schools for 
the title and connections. When the 
school depends for its support on the 
fees, low standards are likely to be 
adopted in order to attract students. 
It was at one time possible to conduct 
a proprietary school with tolerable 
efficiency, as can now be done in the 
case of law, but with the development 
of laboratory and clinical methods, the 
cost of a satisfactory medical educa- 
tion can not be met by fees. It is 
certainly a scandal that one third of 
our medical schools have incomes be- 
low $10,000, all from fees, that in some 
cases there are as many professors as 

students, and that many students do 
not have even a high school education. 
One school actually exists with twenty- 
six professors and a total income of 

But while every one knows and ad- 
mits the evils, the remedy is not clear. 
Though Dr. Pritchett and Mr. Flexner 
have obtained their medical education 
by a short course, they have had expert 
advice and their general point of view 
is sound. We need several university 
schools of medicine emphasizing re- 
search and demanding long preliminary 
preparation, the schools for the train- 
ing of the great mass of practising 
physicians should require a training in 
science and the languages equal to two 
years of college, the schools in the 
south can not at present reach this 
standard, but should require a prepara- 
tion equal to a four-year high school 
course. Each school should have ade- 
quate laboratories for anatomy, physi- 
ology, chemistry and pathology under 
the charge of professors and instructors 
who give their whole time to the work 
of teaching and research. The clinical 
departments should be under the 
charge of professors whose practise 
does not interfere with their teaching, 
and there should be a suitable hospital 
and dispensary controlled by every 

But how are we to reach these stand- 
ards? We are slowly approaching 
them. When the Johns Hopkins Med- 
ical School was opened seventeen years 
ago, it was the only well-organized 
department of medicine in the country. 
With Harvard it still maintains pre- 
eminence; but there are now some 
thirty schools which give adequate 
training for the medical profession. 
The commercial schools are closing and 
being merged every year, for by the 
nature of things they can not last 
when they do not pay. When good 
schools are adequately endowed in all 
sections of the country, students will 
naturally frequent them. The states 
can accomplish more for the profession 
of medicine and the people by support- 



ing good medical schools than by sup- ' 
pressing those that are poor or by for- 
mal restrictions making it difficult to 
enter the medical profession. 


In the death of Robert Koch, the 
world loses one of its greatest men, 
whose service to it has been beyond all 
measure. It is not easy to realize the 
changes in bacteriology and in medi- 
cine which have taken place in the 
course of the past thirty or forty years, 
or how largely these are due to this 
one man. Koch was preceded by Pas- 
teur and Lister, but bacteriology and 
the germ theory of disease scarcely 
existed when in 1876 he published his 
paper announcing the isolation of the 
bacillus of anthrax. He was at that 
time a country physician, but had had 
the advantage of studying medicine at 
Gottingen under Wagner and Henle. 
One wonders whether the hundred and 
twenty-five thousand physicians now 
practising in the United States would 
not produce some men of the type of 
Koch if they had been turned in the j 
right direction at the university. If 
so, how small would be the cost of such 
schools in comparison with their value. 

Koch published in 1878 a second 
important paper on infectious diseases, 
and was in 1880 given opportunity to , 
devote himself to research work by 
being appointed to the Prussian de- 
partment of public health. In his 
small laboratory at Berlin, with 
Loeffler and Gaffky as assistants, he 
developed the methods of bacteriology 
by cultures and disinfection, and in 
1882 made announcement of the far- 
reaching discovery of the bacillus of 
tuberculosis. A year later he visited 
Egypt and India and discovered the 
comma bacillus of cholera. 

Koch continued his study of tubercu- 
losis, cholera and other diseases, not 
only from the point of view of labora- 
tory science, but devising and applying 
means to combat them. In 1880 came 
the discovery of tuberculin, the cura- j 

tive power of which was exaggerated, 
not so much by Koch as iy the general 
public. Koch was fully justified by 
its diagnostic value; his statement of 
its curative properties was cautious, 
and if it has not fully justified even 
these modest claims, it has led to the 
whole subject of vaccine therapy, in- 
cluding diphtheria anti-toxin, and may 
still fully confirm such claims as Koch 
made for its curative value in tubercu- 
losis. Koch was again criticized when 
in 1901 he announced the discovery 
that human and bovine tuberculosis are 
not identical, but time appears to have 
proved that he was correct in his facts 
and also in his claim that the main 
efforts should be directed toward pre- 
venting human contagion. 

In later years Koch devoted himself 
largely to tropical diseases and accom- 
plished much by his studies in Africa 
and Asia of parasitology, bacteriology 
and hygiene, investigating rinderpest 
and surra, the bubonic plague, malaria 
and sleeping-sickness. 

Such rewards as a scientific man 
may have were given to him. He was 
appointed in 1885 professor of hygiene 
in the University of Berlin and di- 
rector of the Hygienic Institute, then 
newly established. In 1891 he was ap- 
pointed director of the new Royal In- 
stitute for Infectious Diseases, and 
became an honorary professor in the 
university. This institute now forms 
a part of the Rudolf Virchow Hospital, 
and is known as the Koch Institute. 
Koch received the Nobel prize in medi- 
cine in 1905. But the rewards that 
could be given to him were insignifi- 
cant beside his services. 

Of the world's debt to Koch the 
Journal of the American Medical Asso- 
ciation says : " But death has claimed 
the master and the world has lost its 
leader in the struggle against infec- 
tion. Endowed with a mind of the 
first oraer, and animated, beneath a 
quiet, impassive and meditative ex- 
terior, by a spirit of unceasing but 
wonderfully well-regulated activity, 
which drove him on as by an internal 



Robert Koch. 

fire from achievement to achievement, 
he made his own age preeminent over 
all the ages that have gone before for 
advances in the exact knowledge of the 
causation ana prevention of infectious 
diseases. Rarely, if ever, have so 
many discoveries of such decisive im- 
portance to mankind emanated from 
the activities of one person; yet he 
served with all humility of mind. He 
simply tried to do his duty, being, as 
he said, fortunate to find sometimes 
the gold among the gravel of the road 
which is open to every one. When we 
consider the advancement medicine 
owes to Robert Koch and the endless 
and inestimable blessing which has 
come to mankind through his work 
and life, there comes an overpowering 
sense of admiration, reverence and 


We record with regret the deaths of 
Dr. George Frederic Barker, emeritus 
professor of physics in tne University 
of Pennsylvania; of General Cyrus 
Ballou Comstock, U. S. A. (retired), 
the eminent engineer; of Professor 
William P. Blake, known for his con- 
tributions to geology; of Professor 
Stanislau Cannizzaro, the distin- 
guished Italian chemist, and of Lieu- 
tenant Boyd Alexander, the African 

New YoRit University has given 
its doctorate of laws to Dr. Henry 
Mitchell MacCracken, who retires from 
the chancellorship of the university. — 
Sir David Gill, K.C.B., F.R.S., has been 
appointed a knight of the Prussian 
Order of Merit.— Lord Rayleigh has 
been promoted from a corresponding to 



a foreign member of the Berlin Acad- 
emy of Sciences. 

Following the advice of its advisory 
board, the Wistar Institute of Anat- 
omy has established a department of 
embryology, and Professor G. Carl 
Huber, of the University of Michigan, 
has been called to this chair. 

By the will of Isaac C. Wyman, of 
Salem, Mass., a graduate of Princeton 
College, most of his estate is be- 
queathed to Princeton University, to be 
used for a graduate school. Mr. John 
M. Raymond, of Salem, Mass., and Pro- 
fessor Andrew F. West, dean of the 
Graduate School, are the trustees. The 
value of the bequest is estimated at 
$3,000,000. Mr. W. C. Procter has re- 
newed his gift of $600,000 for the 
Graduate College. A great graduate 
school is thus assured at Princeton. 

At a meeting of the trustees of the 
General Education Board, held on May 
24 in New York City, $682,450 in ap- 
propriations was voted. Of this sum 
$538,000 was appropriated condition- 
ally for the endowment funds of eight 
colleges, $113,000 for the furtherance 
of demonstration work in agriculture 
throughout the southern states, and 
$31,450 for the salaries and expenses 
of special professors of secondary edu- 
cation in the several state universities 
of the south. The appropriations 
voted in support of college endow- 
ments raised to $5,177,500 the sum 
already spent in this direction. The 
seventy colleges that have received 
these endowments during the last four 
years of the board's activities have 
each raised sums in endowment which, 
taken with the board's gifts, aggregate 




AUGUST, 1910 



IN a recent letter to the New York Nation, Professor William James, 
in describing the philosophy of M. Emile Boutroux, makes the 
statement that "theories result from psychological variations, just as 
Roosevelts and Rockefellers result from biological variations." Of the 
entities of science he says : 

The creative touch of human reason was needed in each case for the extrica- 
tion; and that those particular creations resulted rather than a hundred others 
just as possible, is one of those selective interactions between living minds and 
their environment which can be " understood " when once it has occurred, but 
which no acquaintance with the previous conditions can show to an outsider 
that it was the sole thing possible. 

Considering the prevalence of such philosophical views, and the 
fact that many persons believe that physics is now undergoing a sort 
of crisis, in which many of our most cherished ideas are about to be 
relegated to the scrap-heap, I believe it to be not without profit to con- 
sider the past and present condition of our views with regard to the 
luminiferous ether, and to cautiously forecast their future. 

Certainly the postulate of the existence of the ether has been until 
very recently one of the fundamentals of physics (including astron- 
omy). At the congresses of arts and sciences held at St. Louis in 
1904, the subject of physics was, like all Gaul, divided into three parts, 
physics of matter, physics of ether, physics of the electron, and al- 
though this division was, I believe, not made by a physicist, this must 
have made little difference. In an interesting book published less than 
a year ago by Sir Oliver Lodge, entitled " The Ether of Space," the 
properties of the ether are set forth with a concreteness and dogmatic 
manner that is now becoming unfashionable, and relieves that writer 

1 Read at a meeting of the American Philosophical Society, April 22, 1910. 

VOL. LXXV1I. — 8. 


from any suspicion of being called a pragmatist. For him the ether un- 
doubtedly is a real thing. In a more ambitious treatise published ten 
years ago, by Sir Joseph Larmor, entitled "Ether and Matter," we 
have a thoroughgoing mathematical investigation of the properties of 
the ether, and, as the subtitle states, a development of the dynamical 
relations of the ether to material systems. And yet, since the publica- 
tion of the latter work there have been voices heard with ever-growing 
distinctness, declaring in not dubious terms the lack of necessity of 
any such conception as that of the ether, and threatening the belief in 
its existence with relegation to the company of phlogiston in the morgue 
of dead theories. That we can not dismiss such voices with contempt 
is evident if among them are to be counted those of such leaders of 
physical science as Henri Poincar6, Sir J. J. Thomson and Professor 
Max Planck. 

Before we can discuss the question of the existence of the ether, we 
must first determine what we mean by that term. This is undoubtedly 
the main difficulty with the whole matter. The article in the "En- 
cyclopaedia Britannica," written over thirty years ago by Maxwell, as 
competent an authority as could have been named at that time, begins 
with the definition, " a material substance of a more subtle kind than 
visible bodies, supposed to exist in those parts of space which are ap- 
parently empty," and ends with the statement, "Whatever difficulties 
we may have in forming a consistent idea of the constitution of the 
ether, there can be no doubt that the interplanetary and interstellar 
spaces are not empty, but are occupied by a material substance or body, 
which is certainly the largest, and probably the most uniform body of 
which we have any knowledge." This is certainly flat-footed enough, 
but how different from the conclusions of Lodge, one of the present 
survivors of the same school, we may see from his book above mentioned. 

The need for the idea of an ether is well shown by the following 
quotation from Newton, who, after describing an experiment of two 
thermometers, one in a vessel filled with air and the other in vacuo, 
being carried from a cold place into a warm one, both rising at the same 
rate, says : 

Is not the heat of the warm Room conveyed through the Vacuum by the 
Vibrations of a much subtiler Medium than Air, which after the Air was drawn 
out remained in the Vacuum? And is not this Medium the same with that 
Medium by which Light is transmitted, and by whose Vibrations Light com- 
municates Heat to Bodies? 

And yet Newton did not accept the wave theory, but by the influ- 
ence of his great name bolstered up the emission theory for a hundred 
years. It was his contemporary Huygens, who must be credited with 
the invention of the ether in order to explain the propagation of light. 
Huygens's ideas of the properties of the ether were, however, very dif- 


ferent from those that have now been held for a century. In order to 
cover all the different notions that have been held, without being so 
definite in making the ether a substance as was Maxwell, we need only 
ask the question, Since we know that light travels with a speed of about 
three hundred thousand kilometers per second, and takes about eight 
minutes to come from the sun, what is the state of the light after it 
has left the sun and before it has reached the earth? We reply, it is 
traveling through the ether. A similar definition was given by the 
late Lord Salisbury who said that the noun ether was the subject of the 
verb to undulate. But why undulations? The undulatory theory, as 
a successful explanation of optical phenomena, is just about a century 
old, and was propounded by Dr. Thomas Young, in two Bakerian lec- 
tures before the Royal Society in 1801 and 1803. The reason that con- 
vinced Young, and later the scientific world, of the undulatory nature 
of light, was the fact of interference, or the production of darkness by 
the simultaneous action of two beams of light, carefully investigated 
by Young. These views were savagely assailed by Lord Brougham, in 
a scurrilous article in the Edinburgh Review, in which he says that 
u it is a metaphysical absurdity, to assert that qualities can move in 
concentiic surfaces." The violence of the attack may be seen from the 
quotation : 

ii.e lung silence which he (Young) has since preserved on philosophical 
ma tiers, led us to Hatter ourselves, either that he had discontinued his fruitless 
case after Hypotheses, or that the Society had remitted his effusions to the 
more appropriate audience of both sexes which throngs around the chairs of the 
Royal institution. 

It is evident that Young had an excellent understanding of the 
analogy between sound and light waves, but he did not follow out the 
tlieory with the mathematical exactness bestowed upon it by Augustin 
Fiesnel, whose superb researches, beginning in 1815, have made his 
name a classic of optical investigation. Both Young and Fresnel rec- 
ognized, as Huygens had not, the fundamental difference in the nature 
of waves of light and sound, namely, that since by turning the proper 
appaiatus traversed by light about the direction of the beam as an 
axis, the light is capable of alternate extinction and transmission, the 
undulations must be transverse to the direction of propagation. Fres- 
nel introduced into his mathematical treatment certain mechanical 
principles, notably that one which we now call the conservation of 
energy, but he did not attempt to find a mechanical structure, in terms 
of properties of ordinary matter inertia and rigidity, which would ex- 
plain the nature of the ether. This was done by George Green, who as- 
similated the ether to an elastic solid, which is capable of transmitting 
transverse waves in all directions with the same velocity. Unfortu- 
nately, such a solid transmits equally well longitudinal waves, like those 


of sound, but with a different velocity from that of transverse waves. 
But such longitudinal waves have no place in any optical phenomenon, 
and therefore constitute a difficulty for the theory. In order not to have 
them it was necessary for Green to suppose the ether incompressible. 
Thus the theory did very well for the propagation of light on free space. 
When light passes from free space to a transparent substance, however, 
it is partially reflected and partially refracted, travelling with a differ- 
ent velocity in the new medium. This change of velocity could be ex- 
plained by a difference of either density or rigidity in the two media. 
Green chose one hypothesis, in fact the same as that of Fresnel, Neu- 
mann and McCullagh the other. This difference gave rise to a contro- 
versy over the direction of the vibration, as to whether it was in or 
perpendicular to the plane of polarization, a controversy vainly sought 
to be settled by experiment. Although reflection and refraction could 
thus be explained, there remained a very grave difficulty. The condi- 
tions to be satisfied at the surface between two different media are too 
many to be satisfied by a transverse wave alone, so that had there been, 
originally only a transverse wave, it would give rise to a longitudinal 
wave on striking the surface limiting the media. To avoid this diffi- 
culty a mechanical theory was proposed by McCullagh, in which the 
elasticity was not like that found in any known substance, but was 
called into play when a portion of the medium was rotated, quite inde- 
pendently of whether neighboring portions were rotated or not. This 
theory gave a very satisfactory explanation of reflection and refraction, 
but long met with opposition on account of its postulating elastic 
properties not found in any substance. 

Probably the person who took most seriously the view of the ether 
as having the properties of some familiar sort of matter was Lord Kel- 
vin, who devoted a large portion of his life to the attempt to find a 
suitable mechanical representation of the ether. In fact he stated on 
the occasion of his jubilee that for forty years this question had not 
been absent from his mind for a single day. Lord Kelvin frequently 
uses the term ^ jelly ^ as typical of Green's elastic substance, and did 
finally, by a very ingenious assumption, succeed in assimilating the 
ether to such a substance. But in spite of all these attempts, we may 
agree with the opinion of Lord Rayleigh, who concludes that for many 
reasons " the elastic solid theory, valuable as a piece of purely dynam- 
ical reasoning, and probably not without mathematical analogy to the 
truth, can in optics be regarded only as an illustration." 

Such was the condition of affairs at the close of what I may call 
the medieval period in optics, when, in 1864, Maxwell gave affairs an 
entirely new turn by the presentation of his famous paper on " A Dy- 
namical Theory of the Electromagnetic Field." In this he was guided 
by the conjecture of Faraday that the same medium which is concerned 


in the propagation of light might also be the agent in electromagnetic 
phenomena. Faraday says : 

For my own part, considering the relation of a vacuum to the magnetic 
force, and the general character of magnetic phenomena external to the magnet, 
I am much more inclined to the notion that in the transmission of the force 
there is such an action, external to the magnet, than that the effects are merely 
attraction and repulsion at a distance. Such an action may be a function of 
the ether, for if there be an ether, it should have other uses than simply the 
conveyance of radiation. 

This expression of Faraday is the key-note of Maxwell's theory. In 
examining the properties of the medium necessary to transmit electric 
and magnetic forces, he concentrates his attention on two quantities 
having direction, namely, the magnetic and electric polarization of the 
medium at every point. He shows that these states of polarization are 
propagated in waves, and that these waves have all the properties of 
light-waves. They are transverse, no longitudinal wave occurs, and 
•moreover for the first time the conditions at the surface of separation 
of two media are exactly sufficient to give the proper explanation of 
reflection and refraction. Everything accomplished by any undulatory 
theory was accomplished by the electromagnetic theory, with this in 
addition, so that it is perhaps surprising that it remained for the ex- 
perimental production in 1888 by Hertz of undoubtedly electromag- 
netic waves having all the properties predicted by Maxwell to give this 
theory the overwhelming preponderance that it has since maintained. 

We may now touch upon the question, what is a mechanical theory. 
A mechanical theory is one that can be stated in terms of the principles 
of mechanics. The laws of mechanics, as they have been held since 
their exact statement by Newton, are all embraced in the single 
mathematical principle of least action, best comprised in the enuncia- 
tion of Hamilton. In this enunciation occur two functions repre- 
senting the two forms of energy, kinetic and potential. If these de- 
pend in a certain simple manner on two quantities having direction, or 
vectors, irrespective of their physical nature, the differential equations 
follow, which lead to wave propagation. Maxwell's field vectors have 
this property, and consequently Maxwell's theory is a mechanical theory. 
I will now define the properties of the ether, as they seem to me to be 
required by our present-day notions. The ether connotes those proper- 
ties of space in virtue of which a change in either of two field vectors 
at any point gives rise to a field of the other sort, the lines of which tend 
to symmetrically surround the lines of the original and varying vector 
in circles. In addition the direction of these surrounding lines is con- 
trary according to the field that we begin with. This is a qualitative 
statement in plain English of what is quantitatively stated in the six 
differential equations of Maxwell's theory, and it avoids the use of the 


electromagnetic terminology. It thus applies exactly to Fitzgerald's 
and Larmor's resuscitation of McCullagh's rotational elastic theory, 
which is found to be identical with the electromagnetic theory. 

I believe that I have thus given that definition of the ether which 
best agrees with what Boltzmann calls the phenomenological view in 
physics which attempts to exactly describe phenomena, without any 
hypothesis, or any attempt at mechanical model to assist the imagina- 
tion. This was the view of Kirchhoff, Helmholtz, Hertz and Boltz- 
mann, and I believe it to be the most scientific. The English method, 
of which Lord Kelvin was the leading example, demands concrete 
models, which resemble the phenomena more or less, and which are 
frequently changed. In the words of an acute French critic, M. 
Duhem, for a geometer of the school of Laplace or Amp&re, it would 
be absurd to give for the same law two theoretical explanations and to 
maintain that the two explanations hold simultaneously; for a phys- 
icist of the school of Kelvin or Maxwell, there is no contradiction in 
the same law being represented by two different models. I may also 
quote Fitzgerald's words: 

I can not conclude without protesting strongly against Sir William Thom- 
son's speaking of the ether as like a jelly. It is in some respects analogous to 
one, but we certainly know a great deal too little about it to say that it is like 
one. I also think that Sir William Thomson, notwithstanding his guarded 
statements on the subject, is lending his overwhelming authority to a view of 
the ether which is not justified by our present knowledge, and which may lead 
to the same unfortunate results in delaying the progress of science as arose from 
Sir Isaac Newton's equally guarded advocacy of the corpuscular theory of optics. 

I feel that this protest is a very mild one, and that the attempt made 
by Kelvin to determine the density and elasticity of the ether, from 
very questionable assumptions, together with the recent attempts of 
Lodge, based on equally naive conceptions of the nature of the ether as 
a concrete substance, are greatly to be deplored. 

We come now to the most modern development of the ether theory. 
Maxwell had, as has been said, accurately described the propagation 
of the electromagnetic waves, and had given the differential equations 
governing their propagation. It remained to add to these equa- 
tions terms expressing the genesis of the waves, to show how these 
resulted from the motion of charges of electricity. This was done in 
an important series of papers begun in 1892 and continued until the 
present by H. A. Lorentz, who may be characterized as the legitimate 
successor of Maxwell. Not only did Lorentz add terms shown to be 
necessary by the experiments of Eowland on the magnetic effect of 
moving electric charges, and later by the deflection of the cathode rays 
by a magnet, but he succeeded in showing for the first time how the 
potentials determining the field were propagated in time through the 
field, a result vainly sought by Gauss, Weber and Eiemann, and almost 


reached by the latter. The object of Lorentz in his papers was to 
explain the transmission of waves in moving media, beginning with the 
explanation of astronomical aberration. Singularly enough this was 
the one phenomenon which was better explained on the emission than 
on the undulatory theory, and which had proved a stumbling-block 
for the latter. If the ether is a substance, the question arises whether 
it is carried along by the earth in its motion, or whether it remains 
fixed. Lorentz assumed that it remains fixed, and thus satisfactorily 
explained aberration. But if the earth moved through the ether, the 
velocity of light between terrestrial points should be affected in the 
same way that the velocity of sound is affected by the wind. To test 
this a celebrated experiment was made by Michelson in 1881, repeated 
by Michelson and Morley in 1887, and several times later, which showed 
the failure of the earth's motion to influence the velocity of light from 
a terrestrial source. This classical experiment may prove to be the 
beginning of the end of the ether. It is evident that if light is propa- 
gated through the ether in waves which have a velocity peculiar to the 
ether, and not influenced by the velocity of the source, then light will 
take longer to reach a point a given distance from it when both are 
moving in the direction of the line joining them when the second point 
is ahead than when it is behind, in the ratio of the sum of the velocities 
of the source and the waves to their difference. The time for the light 
to go to the forward point and come back is greater than it would be if 
the system stood still by an amount inversely proportional to 1 — ft 2 where 
P is the ratio of the speed of the source to that of light. In the case of 
the earth this is about one part in one hundred millions, and it was 
shown by Michelson that no such effect existed. Michelson assumed 
that this showed that the ether was fixed to the earth. For the contrary 
explanation, Lorentz adopted an hypothesis already proposed by Fitz- 
gerald, namely, that all bodies in motion are thereby shortened in the di- 
rection of their motion, in precisely this ratio. This hypothesis, though 
startling, has now obtained great weight. In connection with it, 
Lorentz introduced the idea of local time, which is different for dif- 
ferent points of the same system moving with a uniform velocity of 
translation. The modification, by the motion, of both distance and 
time leads to a most fundamental principle for all our physical notions, 
called the principle of relativity, which, though brought about by 
Lorentz, was most clearly expounded by Einstein, who is probably the 
high priest of the ultra-modern school. The principle of relativity 
assumes as a postulate that all phenomena are the same if observed 
with reference to a body moving with constant velocity with respect to 
the ether as if with respect to a body at rest. If this is so, and no 
experiments have contradicted it, we have as much right to suppose the 
ether at rest with respect to one body as another. It seems then unnat- 
ural to characterize one body as moving relative to a fixed ether. Hence 


Einstein abandons the ether, which he declares to be the totally unneces- 
sary conception. Einstein makes two postulates which are sufficient to 
explain all phenomena now known. The first has been stated, the other 
is that the velocity of light is the same when measured in any system. 
By measures of this velocity, we can, therefore, not determine whether 
the system is moving or at rest. Clothed in a more mathematical form, 
such as has been given by Minkowski, we may state the principle as 
follows : If instead of the distance x measured in the direction of the 
motion of the system, and of the time t measured by a clock standing 
still, we substitute a quantity x* denoting a new length and V a new 
time, then all the equations of electro-dynamics and presumably all 
those of physics admit of a so-called linear transformation of the 
variables x and t to the variables x* and t\ Under this transformation, 
the equations remain, therefore, absolutely unchanged. It is accord- 
ingly impossible by any observations to determine whether the time 
measured by the clock is t or V or whether the distance measured by the 
scale is x or x f . As has already been said, this proposition is of the most 
startling nature and results in connecting the notions of time and space 
in a most unexpected manner. In fact we may briefly sum up by saying 
that we can not tell where a point is until we know when, and we can 
not tell the time when until we know the place where ! If we accept this 
principle it may be necessary to totally abandon the hypothesis of the 
ether. Certain writers, such as Ritz in France, have established a system 
of electrodynamics in which the conceptions of the ether and of the 
magnetic and electric fields have totally disappeared. Ritz, for instance, 
bases his whole theory upon the so-called retarded potentials of Lorentz, 
by means of which the action of any electric charge, fixed or in motion, 
is calculated at any other time and place by means of definite integrals. 
This conception has been vigorously maintained: in England I may 
mention the name of Mr. Norman Campbell, who in a recent article in 
the Philosophical Magazine, as in his excellent modern treatise on elec- 
tromagnetic phenomena, has vigorously assailed and even ridiculed the 
school of those whom he calls the " etherealists," as making use of a 
totally useless and hindering conception. 

In 1900 Professor PoincarS had already asked the question, " does 
the ether exist ? " This I may characterize as now the question of the 
hour. To sum up what I believe to be the state of the case, certain 
phenomena concerning radiation and the distribution of energy in the 
spectrum have led to the necessity of certain assumptions which seem 
difficultly explained on the ether hypothesis. Sir Joseph Thomson also, 
in order to explain certain phenomena connected with the emission of 
electrons from metals under the action of ultra-violet light and other 
phenomena with which he is particularly competent to deal, has pro- 
pounded the hypothesis that a wave of light is not uniform but is some- 
what of a fibrous nature. I find it difficult to see how such a hypothesis 


is to be reconciled with the hypothesis of the ether or the differential 
equations at all. In fact, the views of Sir Joseph are to me in many 
places incomprehensible. In his lectures recently delivered at the Eoyal 
Institution on the electromagnetic theory of light, however, Sir Joseph 
categorically expresses himself as of the opinion that the electromag- 
netic theory of light is one of the great achievements of modern science. 
To me this means that he approves of the ether. To take the extreme 
argument of Kitz, who employs as a fundamental necessity the retarded 
potential, seems to me to be exactly the same thing as to say that the 
ether exists, for since nothing whatever is propagated withfrfinite 
velocity, this is the same to me as saying that it is propagated in the 
ether. In the first part of this paper, I have defined what I mean by 
the ether in very guarded form. This definition I see no reason to 
change. Whether we begin with the retarded potential and find that 
it satisfies a differential equation, or whether we begin with the differ- 
ential equation and find that it is satisfied by a retarded potential is to 
me a matter of utter indifference and implies an ether. I admit that 
we still have to find a hypothesis for the ether which makes it give rise 
to this differential equation. The hypothesis of Maxwell seems to me 
the easiest one yet proposed. I will therefore close by stating my 
present opinion, that the ether is as good to-day as it ever was, but #iat 
apparently the notions of time and space have had to be modified in the 
method suggested by Lorentz and splendidly developed by Einstein and 
Minkowski. At the same time, we can not deny that there exists to-day 
what we may call la crise de V ether, and we are far from being able to 
say with Lord Kelvin, " It is absolutely certain that there is a definite 
dynamical theory for waves of light, to be enriched, not abolished, by 
electromagnetic theory/' 





THERE are probably but few if any of the readers of this magazine 
who have not seen and admired at least one of the many mani- 
festations of "physiologic light," of which the most common to us is 
the firefly. Indeed, from the earliest times the phenomenon of the 
emission of light by animals and plants has attracted man's attention, 
and a large amount of scientific work has been done upon the subject. 
An attempt to compile a complete bibliography of the subject hfts 
resulted in the remarkable discovery that there are over seven hundred 
references to the literature bearing on the emission of light by organ- 
ized bodies, and "the end is not yet/' The work has embraced the 
physical, chemical, physiologic, histologic and entomologic sides, and 
much valuable information and many interesting facts have been se- 
cured. Among the names of the early writers who refer to some phase 
of this phenomenon are Aristotle, Pliny the Younger and Josephus; 
the more recent names include those of Robert Boyle, Sir Humphry 
Davy, Faraday, Pasteur, Kolliker, Dubois and the late S. P. Langley, 
and indeed a host of others whose names are more or less widely known. 
Several extensive treatises on the subject have appeared, some of which 
are really quite good, though regrettably they are for the most part out 
of date at this time. For the benefit of those who may care to read 
further, the names of a few of these are given below. 1 

The phenomenon of physiologic light has been variously termed 
" phosphorescence," " luminosity," " photogenic function," etc., by dif- 
ferent authors. As these are, for the most part, interchangeable in 
meaning, they will be used in this paper to refer to the same thing. 
The term " phosphorescence " is unfortunate, since it implies that the 
light is due to the presence of the element phosphorus — which it is not 
— and has become still more objectionable recently owing to its applica- 
tion by physicists and chemists to another totally different phenomenon 
of light emission. 

It was my good fortune during the summer of 1909 to be associated 
with Professor J. H. Kastle, of the University of Virginia (then chief 

1 Holder, C. F., "Living Lights," Scribner's, 1886, New York; Gadeau de 
Kerville, "Les Insectes Phosphorescent*," Rouen, 1881, 1887; Gadeau de Ker- 
ville, "Les Animaux et les Vegetaux Lumineux," Paris, 1891 (German edition 
by Marshall, Berlin, 1893); Dubois, "Les Elaterides Lumineux," Paris, 1886; 
Dubois, " Physiological Light," Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D. C., 
Report for 1895, pp. 413-431. 


of the Division of Chemistry of the Hygienic Laboratory, of the XL S. 
Public Health and Marine Hospital Service), in a study of the effects 
of various chemical agents on the emission of light by the common 
firefly of the country around Washington, Photinus pyraiis K. In the 
progress of this work we had occasion to review the available literature 
quite thoroughly, and were struck with the lack of acquaintance of 
people generally with the theories which had been advanced to explain 
the phenomenon, and with the work which had already been done upon 
it. The results of this investigation will be published at an early date. 
In spite of this great amount of work which has been done, the firefly 
still preserves its secret of "the cheapest form of light," and seems 
likely to do so for some time yet. 

Although the most common and brilliant manifestations of physi- 
ologic light are exhibited by the fireflies, this property is by no means 
confined to the animal kingdom. Various vegetable forms, from the 
lowest to the highest, have been reported as producing light. There are 
many varieties of luminous bacteria and molds, whose activity is seen in 
the luminous decay of fish and wood. Certain agarics and other of the 
higher fungi are luminous, and the light given by the underground 
rhizomorphs of fungus growths is among the first of these phenomena 
to be reported in scientific literature. Of the higher plants, the mari- 
gold, the nasturtium and other garden and wild flowers have been said 
to emit flashes of light — a circumstance attributed by Phipson to elec- 
tricity. But, for the most part, the light of vegetable forms seems to 
be pale and often hard to discern, as compared with the brilliancy and 
glitter of the firefly and other animal forms. 

To those not living on the sea-coast, the most common manifesta- 
tion of the photogenic function is that produced by some variety of the 
firefly ; but there are a large number of marine forms of varying degrees 
of organization which possess this property, and some of these are com- 
mon on certain coasts. For the purpose of discussion, the animal forms 
will be grouped as marine and land forms. 

The simplest marine form which emits light is the "Noctiluca" 
(Noctiluca miliaris), a tiny globule of protoplasm scarcely a milli- 
meter in diameter, which when present — as it usually is — to the ex- 
tent of millions upon millions, produces the appearance known as the 
" milky sea " or " phosphorescent sea." Many interesting studies have 
been made on this little organism, the principal importance of which 
lies in the fact that it seems to give practically the same reactions as 
other more highly organized luminous forms. Besides the Noctiluca, 
certain Beroe and other Ctenophores are often present in immense 
numbers, and give rise to the same appearance of the milky sea. 
Higher still, there are a number of Salpae, and other marine forms 
which give light, and interesting studies upon them have been made 


by Panceri, Quatrefages and other scientific men. But perhaps the 
most remarkable luminous marine organism is the bivalve, Pholus 
dactyluSj known to the French as the " Pholade," and to the Germans as 
the " Bohrmuschel." This creature has definite luminous organs, whose 
tissue and secretions are strongly photogenic. It has been the subject of 
interesting researches by Dubois, and has been shown to react in a man- 
ner similar to that of other luminous forms. More recently, certain 
peculiar organs possessed by deep-sea fish have been determined to be 
light organs, and thus it appears that in the depths of the sea they need 
" artificial " light, when the sun's light fails to penetrate, just as on 
land when the sun is hid. 

By far the most brilliant and most commonly known form of 
physiologic light is that given by the so-called fire-flies; this term em- 
braces a large number of species of insects, mostly Coleoptera (beetles) 
of two or three genera. Besides these Coleoptera, there are a few 
luminous forms distributed among the other insects, together with cer- 
tain myriapods, worms and other occasional forms. In a very few 
instances luminosity of more highly organized forms has been re- 
ported, but for the most part these appear questionable at least. Of 
the non-coleopterous insects, Diptera (Chironomus) and Hemiptera 
(Fulgoridse) are said to be luminous; the hills of the South American 
termites (Neuropterae) have also been observed to be luminous. 

The majority of the insects commonly called fireflies belong to the 
genus Lampyridse, including the Italian luciole (Luciola italica), 
the English and continental glow-worm (Lampyris noctiluca), the 
continental firefly (Lampyris splendidula) , the American fireflies and 
" lightning-bugs " (Photinus pyralis, Photuris pennsylvanica, etc.), 
and a vast number of other luminous insects. Further south, as in 
Cuba, Mexico and Brazil, the more brilliant insects belong to the genus 
Elateridse, and embrace the cucuyo (Pyrophorus noctilucus) and the 
cucuyana (Pyrophorus physoderus). In India there is said to be a 
luminous buprestid beetle. 

Thus it will be seen that, so far from being a rare phenomenon, the 
emission of physiologic light is one of well-nigh universal distribution, 
and appears to be an important function in the life of those organisms 
possessing photogenic activity. 

While most of the facts here given apply primarily to the fireflies, 
they may, in great part, be taken as true for the entire phenomenon of 
physiologic light. Different forms may show variations in color, in- 
tensity and mode of emission of the light, but basically it all seems to 
revert to the same cause — a cause as yet, however, unknown. 

The light given by luminous insects is usually stated by authors to 
be greenish or yellowish; a few have claimed to observe insects to emit 
a reddish or bluish light, and marine forms have been reported to emit 


a large variety of colors, — red, blue, violet, green, etc. — but the colors 
are in most cases pale and dim. 

Perhaps a dozen investigators have submitted some form of physio- 
logic light to analysis by the spectroscope, and with a few exceptions 
the results have agreed very well. The best known of these spectro- 
scopic investigations was that of Langley and Very, in 1890. These 
authors worked with the Cuban cucuyo; briefly, they found that 
the prism of their spectroscope resolved the light into a narrow band 
in the yellow and green region of the spectrum, ending somewhat 
abruptly and showing few red or blue rays; they were unable to find 
that the light was accompanied by any evolution of heat, such as we 
ordinarily associate with light produced by combustion or by electric 
heating, and hence they called the paper presenting their results " The 
Cheapest Form of Light." This valuable research has recently been 
confirmed by Drs. Ives and Coblentz, working in the National Bureau 
of Standards, in Washington, and using more sensitive instruments 
than were available to Professor Langley and his coworker. Ives and 
Coblentz found that the light of the common firefly (Photinus pyralis 
K.), was resolved by the spectroscope into "an unsymmetrical, struc- 
tureless band " in the red, yellow and green, but not extending further 
than wave length 0.67/a toward the red end of the spectrum, nor than 
wave length 0.51/i toward the violet end. From the facts at hand it 
seems extremely unlikely that the spectrum could be discontinuous and 
renewed in the infra-red or ultra-violet non-visible portions of the solar 

The remarkable fact which these researches bring out is the ex- 
tremely high luminous or radiant efficiency of the light. This was esti- 
mated by Langley and Very at 100 per cent., and has been shown by 
Ives and Coblentz to be about 96 per cent. In other words, 96 per cent, 
of the total energy radiated by the firefly is exclusively illuminating 
radiation, and does not embrace heat or other subordinate effects. This 
is the more remarkable when it is considered that the best artificial 
illuminant has a luminous efficiency of only 4 per cent., and most of 
them run less than 1 per cent. Of course, this does not mean that the 
mechanical or chemical processes resulting in the production of the 
light have an equally high efficiency — that is quite another matter. 
But it does mean that for a given amount of radiation, the firefly pro- 
duces the greatest amount of luminous radiation. 

But even if we should discover the means by which the firefly pro- 
duces its light, we should hardly care to use it in our homes. The in- 
sect has indeed reached the highest possible radiant efficiency, but it 
has been accomplished at a sacrifice of color variety that makes the light 
worse for color effects than even the ghastly green of the mercury 
vapor arc. Anything not within a very limited range of yellow and 
green tones would appear black. 


The spectrum of the light of some of the organisms which have 
been reported to give reddish, bluish or other variously colored lights, 
is said to differ from that of the firefly. 

Another very interesting fact brought out by these observers (Ives 
and Coblentz) is that there may be extracted from the common firefly 
(Photinus pyralis K.) a substance which is fluorescent in certain 
lights, and that the spectrum of the bluish fluorescent light of this sub- 
stance is complementary to that of the light emitted by the insect itself 
— that is, the spectrum of this fluorescent light occupies that portion 
of the spectrum lying between the green and the violet. The presence 
of this fluorescent substance may, of course, be merely a coincidence; 
these same authors found a similar substance in a non-luminous species 
of the same genus, and various observers have extracted fluorescent 
substances from different organisms; but if it is a coincidence, it is 
certainly a remarkable one. Dubois has also discovered a fluorescent 
substance in the blood of the cucuyo (Pyrophorus noctilucus) . 

Luminous animals and their photogenic tissues are extremely sen- 
sitive to irritants, whether mechanical, electrical or chemical ; in other 
words, these tissues are very irritable. Almost any schoolboy is fa- 
miliar with the fact that pinching a firefly will result in the production 
of light from its luminous organ. Any other mechanical irritation, 
such as scratching or pricking with a pin, light taps or blows with a 
splinter of wood, etc., will produce a similar effect, and this is true not 
only of the live insect, but also of the luminous organ immediately 
after removal from the body of the insect; as it dries, however, the 
luminous organ gradually loses its sensitiveness, and when completely 
dry it will not respond to mechanical stimuli. 

The electric current acts as a stimulus to light production. The 
passage of the current through the body of a firefly causes it to flash, 
and sea water containing the Noctiluca shows luminous activity during 
the passage of a current. Light may also act as an irritant or stimu- 
lus; Henneguy records that the admission of light to the darkened 
cabinet wherein were some Noctiluca in sea water, caused the evolution 
of light from these infusoria, and the local firefly has been known to 
flash following the turning on of an electric light in a darkened room 
where the insects were confined, the phenomenon being repeated several 

The most extensive observations upon the irritability of photogenic 
tissue, however, have been made with chemical substances. These have 
included a large number of gases and vapors, acids, alkalis and salts, 
alkaloids, and a vast number of miscellaneous compounds. In general, 
chemical substances may be divided into three classes with reference to 
their action upon the photogenic tissue: (1) Those which tend to pro- 
duce the evolution of light, and which may therefore be classed as 


stimulants to light production; examples of this class are mononitro- 
benzene, carbon disulfide and carbon tetrachloride; (2) those sub- 
stances which are neutral in their action, neither provoking lumines- 
cence nor inhibiting it; examples of this class are hydrogen and nitro- 
gen; (3) substances which poison the tissue and permanently prevent 
the production of light ; examples of this class are bromine, sulfur diox- 
ide and iodine cyanide. Strychnine and other alkaloids cause the pro- 
duction of light, as do also certain poisons; oxygen appears to activate 
the production of light somewhat. 

Probably the most interesting fact so far developed by the chem- 
ical study of this phenomenon is that when photogenic tissues have 
been dried out, the dry tissue glows again when moistened with water 
in the presence of air. Carradori mentioned this fact in 1808, and 
quoted Spallanzani and Reaumur as having made the same observa- 
tion at earlier dates. Carus reported the same observation in 1864, and 
Dubois confirmed it some twenty years later. Professor Kastle and the 
writer have been able to perform the same experiment with the Ameri- 
can firefly; it is indeed a fact that the photogenic tissue of this insect 
may be dried, the dry material powdered, and the dry powder kept for 
some time away from access of moisture, and it will, when moistened in 
the presence of air or oxygen, glow again ; indeed, by careful redrying, 
the same result may be obtained two or three times on the same speci- 
men of the dry material. Moreover, this dried tissue gives, when mois- 
tened, many of the same phenomena with chemical reagents as do the 
living insect and its freshly detached luminous organ. The property of 
thus glowing upon moistening after having been dried, does not appear 
to be confined to the luminous organ of the firefly, but appears to be a 
constant characteristic of luminous tissue as a class. The main deduc- 
tion from this fact is that at least three factors are necessary for the pro- 
duction of light by photogenic forms — water, oxygen and some ma- 
terial, as yet unknown, whose oxidation in the presence of water pro- 
duces light. 

Several theories have been advanced from time to time to account 
for the production of physiologic light. Probably the earliest view was 
that it was due to the presence of the element phosphorus. That this 
is not the case is best evidenced by the fact that there are only traces of 
this element present in the luminous tissues, and that which is present 
is in the form of phosphates. Yet this is the commonly accepted view 
of the cause of the phenomenon, and even as recently as 1880, Jousset 
de Bellesme suggested that the light might be produced by the spon- 
taneous combustion of phosphine. Carradori assumed that the luciole 
was capable of absorbing from the air or from its food, the " material of 
light," and of then emanating it again at pleasure. 

The fact that the light is unaccompanied by the evolution of meas- 


urable amounts of heat certainly shows that if it is indeed a combus- 
tion, it is a most remarkable one and one which differs from any 
analogous process known to us. The view that the light might be the 
result of oxidation has, however, long been held. Bobert Boyle made 
experiments on this point in 1667, and concluded that the light pro- 
duced by shining wood and fish was not affected by the absence of air, 
and was therefore not what we now call a combustion or oxidation. 
Spallanzani, as the result of his studies on luminous sea forms, came to 
the opposite conclusion, in which he was opposed by Macartney and 
Carradori. More recently this phase of the subject has been studied by 
Dubois, WatasS and Townsend, all of whom have published very inter- 
esting observations. As a. result of these several observations the con- 
clusion must be drawn that oxygen is essential to the process of the 
production of physiologic light, and that we have in this phenomenon 
a true but remarkable form of combustion. Of the mechanism of this 
process we are still very ignorant. Dubois's theory is that the light is 
produced as the result of the action of an "oxidase" (oxidizing fer- 
ment), to which he has given the name " Lucif erase," upon a substance 
of unknown composition, which he calls " Luciferin," the latter being 
oxidized by the atmospheric oxygen through the agency of the ferment. 
It is a little early to accept this hypothesis finally, although it cer- 
tainly presents some analogy to known processes — for example, the pro- 
duction of the black pigment melanin through the action of the oxidase 
tyrosinase upon the organic compound tyrosin. Phipson had already 
described a substance he called "Noctilucin" as the active principle 
of physiologic light; it seems possible that Phipson isolated and ana- 
lyzed a culture of photogenic bacteria. 

In this connection the structure of the light organs of various ani- 
mal forms has been given special attention. In general, the results of 
studies on those forms having special photogenic organs have been es- 
sentially similar. Briefly, the luminous organs appear to be masses of 
cells of some special kind, possibly a fat-derivative, or according to 
Macaire and Kolliker, an albuminous substance penetrated by a net- 
work of trachea (tracheoles), and as the result of some chemical ac- 
tion, apparently oxidation, taking place in these tissues, the light is 
produced. Whether these tracheoles are in life filled with air or with 
a liquid seems doubtful; the evidence is contradictory so far as given, 
but it seems quite probable that they convey air. 

What is the purpose of this production of light? Of what value is 
it to the forms which possess it ? This is another side of the " secret of 
the firefly," which has yet to be solved. Quite probably the function 
bears some relation to the reproductive life of the insect. The females 
of the local species (Photinus pyralis K.) give a very much less bright 
light than, and are quite rare as compared with, the males; one female 


to from seven to fourteen males seems to be about the proportion. The 
same condition appears to hold with other species of Lampyridae also. 
King states that the female of the Texan form Pleotomus fallens 
is much more luminous, and rather less active than the male. In addi- 
tion to the photogenic power, the common firefly is possessed of a 
strong and characteristic odor; Carradori also notes that the Italian 
luciole has an odor like that of garlic. Many insects indeed possess 
odors, but that of the Lampyridse appears to be especially character- 
istic of the group. 

In conclusion, we may say that while a vast amount of work has 
already been done on this interesting problem, the production of physi- 
ologic light still presents many mysteries which science has yet to ex- 
plain. Nature keeps her secrets wel], but this one seems well worthy of 
solution; the immediate practical and economic importance may not 
be so great as has been sometimes assumed, but it is a problem of in- 
terest alike for the physicist, the chemist, the biologist and the ento- 
mologist, and the scientific world awaits its solution with much curi- 

•vol. LXXVII. 





IN earlier papers we have tried to show how the behavior of wild 
birds is moulded upon instinct and how some of their instincts 
have been modified on a large scale, or specialized in a peculiar manner. 
We shall now examine the other side of the shield, in order to ascer- 
tain how intelligently they work, and in relation to their intelligence 
it will be necessary to consider the growth of the young, and the de- 
velopment of certain instincts, more particularly that of fear. 

Many birds, like some mammals, have been lauded by idealists, as 
paragons of virtue, and endowed with all the human or even angelic 
powers of intelligence and reason; others, again, have regarded them 
as the slaves of a blind or stupid instinct, whose lives are stereotyped, 
and run in grooves, determined largely by heredity. " Do not speak 
of blind instinct," says Michelet, the historian, " facts demonstrate how 
that clear-sighted instinct modifies itself according to surrounding 
conditions; in otheT words, how that rudimentary reason differs in its 
nature from the lofty human reason." " Through the thick calcareous 
shell, where your rude hand perceives nothing," the bird-mother " feels 
by a delicate tact the mysterious being which she nourishes and forms. 
. . . She sees it delicate and charming in its soft down of infancy, 
and she predicts with the vision of hope that it will be vigorous and 
bold, when, with outspread wings, it shall eye the sun and breast the 

While we are not over-zealous in applying the rule of parsimony, 
like most modern students, we are compelled to take a middle course. 
When the degrees of intelligence can be more justly weighed, the 
mental powers of birds, as well as of mammals, will be better under- 
stood. At present the balance does not seen to swing very far on the 
side of intelligence. It is certain that the instincts of birds are modi- 
fied at every step by association, and that the automatism of habit is 
•quite as striking as that due to heredity, which it sometimes replaces. 
Many birds learn readily from experience; some remember long, when 
past experience serves as guide to future conduct. It may well be 
doubted if they ever attain to the level of analogical reasoning, or of 
deliberately inventing the means in order to attain a definite aim. 

Every observer is no doubt unduly influenced by the force of 


isolated facts, and too often falls into temptation by trying to interpret 
them without a full knowledge of their history. The act in question 
may appear irretrievably stupid or exceptionally intelligent, while upon 
fuller knowledge, either view might prove wholly erroneous. Illustra- 
tions could be multiplied, but the few which follow, may be of interest. 

Shrike Impaling Prey. — The great northern shrike is well known 
to impale its prey, such as grasshoppers, small birds and rodents, on 
thorns, and it presumably returns to them when in need of food, 
although I am not aware that the bird has ever been actually seen in 
the act of reclaiming its booty. According to some accounts the shrike 
impales its prey in order to rend it with the greater ease, but still goes 
on killing after it has satisfied its appetite. 

On April 8 of last year I happened to witness a futile attempt at 
impalement under such favorable conditions of seeing all that tran- 
spired, that any mistake as to the meaning of the actions would seem 
to be impossible. A harsh piercing cry attracted my attention to the 
bird, which almost at the same moment dived into the stubble of an 
adjoining field, and came up with a large object in its bill. Fortu- 
nately it flew directly towards me, and alighted on the bare, lower 
branch of a maple tree, less than ten feet from my eye, as if completely 
preoccupied, and indifferent to observation. I could now see plainly 
that it held a little shrew, about three and a half inches long, and in a 
strangle grasp by the nape of the neck, for the body was as limp as a 
rag. The shrike at once proceeded to walk along the branch and try 
to impale the rodent, extending its head and drawing the body of the 
animal in a peculiar manner, against the soft twigs of the tree. It 
tried the terminal twigs, and the equally soft lateral shoots, and went 
through the same motions on two different branches. After several 
minutes of this ineffective effort, with a loud rasping call of a different 
character, it flew off in the direction of some woods, and was seen to 
descend to the ground. 

The interpretation of such behavior seems obvious — that the shrike, 
when under the spell of a strong impulse, does not know a thorn-bush 
from a maple tree. Must it try tree after tree, until one of the right 
sort is found? If it can return to its tree by memory, why can not it 
find one suited to its puposes by intelligence; or, was this a bird with 
inherited instinct to impale, but with no previous experience with 
thorns ? 

Robin " Tying Knots" — So far as I have observed, the robin in 
nest-building, ties no proper knots, unless the present case (Fig. 23) 
be exceptional, although strings are coiled more or less effectively 
about adjoining twigs. This nest was placed in a crotch of a pine tree, 
and one of its supporting branches bore the peculiar double loop or 
"knot" which is here shown. It seems that a piece of string over two 



feet in length was brought to the nest-site, and passed five times round 
the larger, and twice about the smaller of the two twigs, with overlaps 
due to working each string-end independently. Having thus fixed it 
firmly at the middle, the intelligent course would have been to have 
incorporated the loose ends with the nest. Instead, they were both left 
flying free, so that this labor, however begun, was not intelligently 
finished. The eighteen inches of free string really served to render the 
nest conspicuous. 

Woodpecker Drilling for Insects. — While in the Maine woods on 
August 13, my attention was drawn to the freshly drilled hole of a 

Fig. 23. Double •• Loop-knot " made by Robin about Pine-branch close to 
its Nest, illustrating an act probably instinctively begun, but not intelligently finished, 
since the ends of the twine were not Incorporated with the structure, but left hang- 
ing free. 

woodpecker (Fig. 24), in a pine tree, which was two feet in diameter 
at the base, and apparently sound. This hole, which was remarkable 
for its size, had been cut at a point seven feet up, through nearly five 
inches of solid sap wood, to the heart of the tree, and was 9} inches 
long, 5% inches wide, and 8 inches deep. These dimensions would 
imply the removal of over three hundred cubic inches of wood, and the 
chips, some of which were four inches long (Fig. 25), were plainly the 
work of our largest northern species, the pileated woodpecker or log 

A moment's inspection showed that this woodpecker had tunneled 



9" -^jr^p 

r ^H^HMF '■' * jMZMP t T ^V " 


|1 ; ? ^mP 


7 "-3E. / j^ % ' i^^^l 

Fig. 24. Huge boring op Pileated Woodpecker in a white pine two feet in 
diameter, to reach galleries of the carpenter ants, seven feet from the ground, where 
the insect gained entrance ; illustrating either instinct to follow sounds, or Intelligence 
in adapting means to end. 

Fig. 25. Sodnd Pine Chips from Workshop of Pileated Woodpecker, shown 
in Fig 24 ; some are bent or broken with the wrenching stroke of the bill. Nat- 
ural size. 


to reach the big carpenter ants (Camponotus herculeanus) , which had 
extended their galleries up into the tree's heart, and some of which 
were already entrapped in the exuding pitch. Now one of the chief 
points of interest in this case was that the ant-borings were few, and 
the tree itself so large and solid that it would seem to be impossible 
for any bird to detect their presence by sounding with the bill. On the 
opposite side at the base, a long ant-hole was plainly seen, and at this 
point the observations of the woodpecker had evidently begun. A few 
feet above this opening it had attacked the harder wood in three 
different places, but desisted after making wells a few inches deep. 
The woodpecker then went up seven feet, where the wood was pre- 
sumably softer, and made the drilling, which led to success. With 
these facts only known, this might appear like a case of reasoning by 
analogy, but there is still one sense unaccounted for, that of hearing, 
for the olfactory sense must be ruled out. It is possible, or even 
highly probable that such birds either instinctively or habitually follow 
the sounds in wood — sounds of wood-borers at work — and unless it 
could be shown that the boring of carpenter ants cannot be heard 
through five inches of solid wood, I should be inclined to accept this 

This case suggests another practise of woodpeckers, the interpreta- 
tion of which is clear. The president of a large university recently 
compared the futile efforts of certain reformers with these of a flicker 
which was seen to be repeatedly engaged in the vain attempt to " drill 
a hole through a copper gutter." The comparison may be apt to point 
a moral, but is a trifle unfair to both the instincts and intelligence of a 
useful bird, which will drum on any resonator, either to call its mates 
or for the pleasure of the sound, and by habit will come to the same 
place daily for more than a week, as in a case which we recently noticed. 
In this instance the resonant body was the roof of a bird house, one 
shingle thick, to pierce which, had that been its object, one or two blows 
of its strong bill would have sufficed. 

II. Intelligence in Young Birds 
The dawn of intelligence in young birds is seen, as we have earlier 
shown, 1 through the inhibition of the food-response by association — 
association with the parent, the nest or the vibration imparted to the 
tree by the touch of the parental foot. 

For the first twenty-four hours, or longer, the altricious nestling 
behaves like a mechanical toy, and in relation to the food-response is a 
well-nigh perfect reaction-machine. It responds to every kind of a 
tactile or auditory stimulus, and within the limits of fatigue its 

1 See also " The Relation of Instinct to Intelligence in Birds," Science, N. S., 
Vol. XXVII., 1908. 


responses are about as uniform and predictable as those of an electric 
bell. Remove the blind and naked cedarbird from its nest, and the 
complex food-reaction is given as regularly and as continuously as 
before (Fig. 26). By the second or third day, however, all this has 
changed, and it is difficult to get any food-response if the bird be out 
of its nest with which association has become established. If the young 
are not removed, however, the feeding reaction is usually regularly 
given, unless checked by satiety or the rise of the instinct of fear. 
Association in the early life of young birds thus tends, as we have seen, 

Fig. 26. Young of Cedar Waxwing, blind and naked; but little over twenty- 
four hours old : a, typical prone position, when at rest ; b, typical food-reaction, or 
reflex response to sound or contact-stimulus. 

to cut out a lot of useless reactions, and to limit their responses to those 
which count. 

Growth in Relation to the Development of the Instincts and Intelli- 
gence. — We have used the term " instinct " as synonymous with com- 
pound reflexes, that is, as reflexes involving relatively complex coordi- 
nations of the muscles and other organs. Although the sign or 
manifestation of an instinct may be suddenly given, the instinct itself, 
like every other power, seems to be unfolded gradually, and in correla- 
tion with the organs upon which its action depends. 

In many precocious birds, which run, swim or fly at birth or 
shortly after, some of the instincts are relatively perfect at the moment 
of emergence from the shell, or according to certain observers even be- 
fore this event, as when the young, which remain for hours with the 
shell chipped, are thought to respond instinctively to the warning 
cries of their parents. In rare cases, as in certain megapodes, they are 
born masters of their own destiny, and receive no care from parents 
which they never see. At the other extreme stand the common altrices, 
like the robin or cedarbird, which are blind at birth, and so helpless 



that they would shortly succumb without that parental care and pro- 
tection which is so faithfully rendered. Growth and development are 
continued after hatching, but under new conditions, and at the age of 
two weeks, when the nest is commonly deserted, the young so far as 
instincts and intelligence are concerned are at about the same stage as 
many of the precoces at birth. 

Between these extreme types every intermediate stage is found. 
The American black and yellow-billed cuckoos have a place near the 
middle of the series, but as we have already seen, they are exceptional 
in many ways, not alone in the possession of great muscular strength, 
but in their equally remarkable muscular control, being able to grasp 

)Yt in s tans 


10 11 12 13 14 15 

Fig. 27. Gbowth-cobves of the Cedabbird and Black-billed Cuckoo, as repre- 
sented by the daily Increase in body-weight from hatching to flight from nest, illus- 
trating an initial stage of relatively slow growth (in cedar bird first to third day), a 
period of maximum Increase (third to ninth day), and a final stage of retarded growth 
or shrinkage in weight. See table. 

a twig, and with both feet pull themselves up when but four hours old, 
or possibly less. This ability is closely related to the climbing stage 
which is entered on the seventh day, when they leave the nest in succes- 
sion, and ascend into the branches, where they remain for a period of 
two weeks before ready for flight. 

In the cuckoo the curve of growth, as indicated by body-weight, 
appears to be quite even and regular after the beginning of the second 
day (Fig. 27). In these particular birds the highest rate was regis- 
tered on the third day, and this proceeded without appreciable inter- 
ruption until the last day in the nest, when it was slightly checked. 
The power of muscular coordination, association and the instincts of 
fear and of preening seem to develop gradually after the first day. 



Thus the initial attempt to preen, which involves the complicated act 
of drawing the mandibles over the feather-tubes, may be witnessed on 
the fifth day; thereafter it is repeated more and more frequently, until 
on the sixth day it is an established practise, and the movements have 
become very precise. Gradual also is the development of fear, an early 
premonition of which is crouching and hugging the floor of the nest, 
although its final manifestations, such as bristling and spreading, giv- 
ing a high-pitched alarm, or jumping out of the nest, may seem to 
mature suddenly, partly no doubt because the stimulus which provokes 
them is suddenly received. 

In the altricious cedarbirds, a single family of which was weighed 
and measured in 1901, there was (1) an initial period of relatively 
slow growth, lasting three days, followed by a second period (2) of 

L.rrine in mm. 


x 2 3 4 D b c o 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 


Fig. 28. Gbowth-cdbves of the Black-billed Cuckoo and Cedabbibd, based on 
dally increase in length of wing from hatching to climbing stage or flight. See table. 

maximum increase, of six days, and a final interval (3) of fluctuating 
or retarded growth, extending from three to six days before flight, the 
birds even losing weight either before or after this event. 

The growth-curve of the most vigorous member of this cedarbird 
family (Fig. 27), the first to hatch and to fly, is seen to start with a 
higher initial rate, and to maintain it from the third to the ninth day, 
at the age of flight. Fortunately this bird, which was then lost, was 
recaptured on the fifteenth day, when it is seen to have shrunk very 
perceptibly. It had, in fact, lost nearly three grams, or seven per cent., 
in body-weight. The curves showing the rate of wing-growth in both 
cuckoo and cedarbird (Fig. 28) follow those of body- weight very closely, 


but there is possibly a variation in other organs, such as the leg or 
tarsus, but it is difficult to obtain reliable measurements on some of 
these parts. The most vigorous nestling (No. 1) more than doubled 
in weight on the first day, more than trebled on the second, and more 
than quadrupled on the third, while on the twelfth day, when it left 

Fig. 29. Young Cedarbird, No. 1 of table, shortly after hatching, lying on side, 
cicatrix of umbilicus showing on abdomen ; weight 5 grams. August 10, 1901. 

the nest it had increased its initial weight seventeen-fold. What ten 
days will do for the young cedarbird on the score of appearance may 
be seen by comparing Figs. 29 and 30, the first of which shows nestling 
No. 1 when about two hours old. The data on which these curves are 
based are given in the following table. 

Fig. 30. The same Cehakbird (on left) as shown In Fig. 29, ten days later with 
birds Nos. 2 and 3 from the same nest. All show the crouching tendency, In evidence 
of fear. 

Kuhlmann, 2 who has recently published an interesting study of the 
development of the instincts and intelligence in certain altricious birds, 
in particular the turtle dove, the brown thrush and the red-wing 
blackbird, finds the rate of growth quite similar to that shown for the 

* The Psychological Review, Monograph Series, No. 44, November, 1909. 


13 1 

Growth -records in Cedabbirds and Cuckoos, from Hatching to Flight, 
or Climbing Stages 








7 | 8 9 








r 1 , 2.41 



10.44 17.28 



29.16 34.56 39.24 39.60 40.32 41 .04 



VVt. in J 2 1 2.41 



7.92 11.52 17.28 

20.16 24.12 28.08 30.90 

32.76 33.48 



34.20 36.72 

R. ] 3 2.41 


6.66 8.28 12.2417.64 


21.72 27.72 31.68 

33.84 33.12 



35.28 33.84 

U 2.26 




W t iD J2^ 


11.1616.20 21.24 





g ' L 3 6.66 



19.80 22.68 




Cedarbird. \ 



14.00 15.00 




29.30 37.00 38.50 

L. wing J 2 


13.00 15.00 



24.80 33.00 38.00 

in mm. ] 3. 


13.50 14.00 

17.00 20.00 


26.50 33.00 36.50 





L. wing f\\ 



25 31 




in mm. 1 X 


23 28 131 




Cedarbird No. 4 was probably starved by its more vigorous mates, after the 
second day. Cuckoo No. 2 fell out of its nest. " " indicates the egg. 

cedar waxwing, and has based his results upon a much larger number 
of cases. He also considers that the three stages enumerated correspond 
to stages in the development of muscular coordination, of association 
and the instinct of fear. During the first period, when the power of 
motor coordination is weak, according to this observer, " the first crude 
discriminations a,nd associations are made," and the first signs of in* 
stinctive fear noted. In the intermediate period (fourth to seventh 
day), discrimination improves, and association is perfected, while from 
the beginning of the last period " there is an abrupt change in all the 
reactions, the food-reaction ceasing for all the artificial stimuli, except- 
ing occasionally for the visual, and fear begins to develop rapidly 
through several forms of manifestations." 

Kuhlmann recognizes five different manifestations of fear, begin- 
ning with " cessation of the food-reaction to stimuli that at first aroused 
it," and ending with " escape from the nest when approached." Dis- 
crimination and the formation of associations between the food and 
certain stimuli are thought to develop simultaneously, and " all stimuli 
with which no pleasant associations are already formed are then at the 
same time instinctively feared." The food-reaction is not only modified 
by association, but is inhibited by fear, and while the development of 
association is gradual, the passage of one manifestation of fear to the 
next in order is often very abrupt. Such animals, he says, "come to 
fear particular things not so much because of unpleasant associations 
that are connected with them, as because the taming process has not 
been completed." 


We can not accept the conclusion of the writer quoted above, that 
" fear for particular things remains in the main instinctive." Fear and 
association, as we have seen, are without doubt developed, like all else, 
by a gradual process, however abrupt certain reactions of fear may 
appear. The normal and usual reactions of daily life seem to go 
through a sifting process; the usual pass readily through the sieve of 
experience and are stamped as harmless by association, provided they 
are really harmless, or at least not disagreeable. Further, there seems 
to be left a residue of strange or unusual sights, sounds or tactual 
stimuli, ready to produce the fear manifestation, at a moment's call, 
when this particular stage in the developing instinct has been reached. 
The reaction is instinctive, but in no true sense would it seem to be the 
inherited fear of any particular object or thing. Fear of objects having 
particular, inherent qualities, which are harmful or unpleasant can 
come only from experience of their harmful or disagreeable effects. 

Habits of Young Kingfishers. — In my work on " The Home Life of 
Wild Birds," I have described some curious habits which kingfishers 
show when taken from their underground nest at an early age, espe- 
cially the habit of sitting still, and of walking backwards. The earlier 
observations were made over ten years ago, and thinking that some 
other questions might be involved, such as the rising instinct of fear, 
experiments were repeated on another family of these birds in the sum- 
mer of 1908. When dug out of the ground on July 8, the five young 
in this case were found lying twenty-eight inches below the surface, at 
the end of a six-foot tunnel ; they were in " pin-feathers," and according 
to my estimate about eight days old. Experiments were made on the 
ninth, fourteenth, twentieth and twenty-third days, when the young 
were at an age approximately corresponding to the date, with the fol- 
lowing results; fear did not seem to play any part as a disturbing or 
inhibitory factor in their behavior during the first two days ; they would 
go forward or backward, rather indiscriminately, whatever their position 
might be with reference to the observer, and whatever the nature of the 
surface upon which they were placed. On subsequent days, the tend- 
ency to walk backward increased, and though fear was rising, they were 
readily quieted, and when placed in certain positions they would sit 
quiet for long intervals. 

The following notes were made on the behavior of these kingfishers 
on the last day of observation, July 23 ; when placed on the pine carpet, 
all began to make off with fluttering wings, going forward with crests 
erect and rattles sounding. When recovered and placed in line, they 
soon quieted, and the backward walking movements began (see Figs. 
31 and 32). All showed the same tendency, and one, in which it was 
especially marked, would retreat four feet before the camera could be 
focused, and this was repeated for the twentieth time. The same per- 



formance was given on level ground, or an incline, and whether facing 
the observer or away from him, though with variable movements in many 

Fig. 31. Five Kingfishers about twenty-three days old, removed from under- 
ground and placed In line, to Illustrate habit of keeping still, and of walking back- 

Fig. 32. The same Kingfishers one minute after the position assumed in 
Fig. 31 was photographed, showing that Nos. 1 and 5 have each taken a few back- 
ward steps, while the pose of Nos. 2 to 4 has not appreciably changed. 

cases. When placed in head-to-tail line, and in contact, the line would 
remain unbroken for a surprising length of time, with hardly the turn 
of a head, which seems to be due to their habit of sitting still, with 


wings often interlocked, during their long imprisonment in a dark, 
subterranean chamber. When, after a good rest in this position, they 
were brought to right-about-face, two immediately moved backward a 
few steps, and came to rest again (Figs. 31 and 32). Move around 
them in circle, and not a head is turned ; make a pass of the hand sud- 
denly towards them, and sometimes there is a slight backward move- 
ment, but sometimes there is none; reverse again with heads turned 
away, and two turn part way around, one of which repeats the move- 
ment when repeatedly reversed. If placed on their backs, they will 
slowly right themselves, though if in the nest-hole they were sometimes 
contented with this position for a longer time. 

I am now convinced that the earlier conclusion was correct, and 
that the peculiar actions described are due to habit, learned under- 
ground, and in relation to getting their food, although I was probably 
in error in supposing that their instinct of fear was ordinarily delayed 
until they were ready to leave the tunnel. When such birds are handled 
daily there can be little doubt that this instinct is liable to be checked. 
The arched chamber of sand in which these kingfishers lay was 11£ 
inches in diameter, and 6£ inches high, while the tunnel leading to it 
had a 3-inch bore. Its temperature stood at 77° F., and was seven 
degrees cooler than that of the air outside. Since these five birds were 
each about six inches long it is evident that they were closely packed, 
and that once in the tunnel, no turning movement would be possible, 
any more than for the adult which after feeding always backs out of 
the hole. Now we have earlier noticed a tendency among the older 
young to crawl down the passageway, and meet the parent at the mouth, 
but that they are hustled back and presumably fed at the nest, hence 
the probable association between walking backwards and getting food, 
and hence the curious habit displayed by these birds when they are 
taken from the ground. 

III. Intelligence in Adult Birds 
There seems to be little intelligence displayed by birds in regard to 
the quantity of food served at the nest. What one of the altricious 
kinds really does in effect is to " test " the reaction of the throat of its 
nestling, and to await the response. If this is not forthcoming the 
food is quickly withdrawn, and another is tried.. The most responsive 
bird gets the food, and there is no distribution on any other basis than 
this. The same bird may thus be fed twice or even three times in 
succession, the strongest usually getting the most, and the amount 
which it can take being reflexly determined by the gullet. 

On the other hand, intelligence is certainly shown in the kind of 
food served, and in the treatment which it often receives. Thus a gull 


chick when but a half-hour old gets only small bits of predigested fish, 
but at the age of three weeks it may be invited to bolt an entire squid. 
Again a bird like the black-billed cuckoo, which has repeatedly tried to 
serve a large insect and failed, has been seen to quickly withdraw it, 
mince it fine with her bill, and then offer it with success. 

Birds quickly acquire a habit of going to their nest, by a definite 
path, through association, and if the branch which holds it is suddenly 
removed, they try to follow the established course, and will hover at the 
point in space which the nest formerly occupied, even when their young 
are in full sight, and these actions may be repeated many times, until 
the old habit is broken by an actual visit to the new position (compare 

Fig. 33. Flicker feeding Young, with nest-hole opened at the back, illustrating- 
the force of old habit. The bird for some time continued to enter the hole by the 
usual course. 

Figs. 33 and 34). The habit of entering the nest from a certain side, 
of facing the same way while sitting over the eggs, of grasping the same 
branch when inspecting and cleaning the nest, and of leaving it in a 
definite manner, are all more or less fixed by habit in a brief course of 
time. In the same way drinking and bathing places, perches, spots for 
dusting, sun-bathing and sleeping are resorted to by habit for longer or 
shorter periods, according to the other conditions which modify be- 

Do birds discriminate their own eggs and proper young? Very 
many do not, yet some do, sooner or later. The success of the European 


cuckoo and the American cowbird, the young of which are reared by 
foster-parents of many diverse species, would argue for little power in 
this direction. Yet, in some cases, the foreign body is promptly re- 
moved, when the nest is not summarily deserted through fear. 

The freedom with which certain finches and grosbeaks learn to 
imitate difficult notes, and the fair degree of precision with which some 

Fig. 34. The same Flicker as shown in Fig. 33, after new habit of entering 
opened nest was formed. 

of the parrots, crows, jays, jackdaws and magpies reproduce spoken 
words, or even short sentences, show that they readily discriminate 
differences in the pitch of sounds, although they do not possess a cochlea 
of the complexity of structure found in mammals, and it is the cochlea 
in which this power is supposed to reside in man. It is interesting to 
note that the magpie, though a star performer in this art, never exhibits 
it, according to Blackwall, in a state of nature. 

The bower birds of Australia show a decided liking for bright and 
colored objects of various kinds, which they work into their remarkable 
" runs," bowers, or " play-houses," and the crow, and other members 
of his tribe, which are commonly regarded as the most intelligent of 
birds, can seldom be trusted in the presence of any small and shining 
objects whatsoever, which they will steal, and either carry off and hide, 
or work into their nests. To mention a trivial case — a tame young 
crow once entered my room, made off with some objects on the dressing 
table, and deposited them on a belfry-roof hard by. Again, the hooded 


crow in Egypt and India, where from a long and undisturbed inter- 
course with man, it has come to build its nests in the city streets, and 
in Cairo even before the foliage of the lebbek trees is out, often gives 
free rein to this propensity, as was well shown by the experience of an 
optician in Bombay, who lost a large store of steel spectacle-frames, 
and later found them in a ruined state, worked into a nest of this 
familiar bird. The propensity to seize bright objects, and to hide and 
store food by burying it in the ground, a practise attributed to the 
European crow, raven, magpie and rook, is undoubtedly instinctive in 
origin. Their ability to find it again would depend more upon intelli- 
gence than in the dog, which has the same tendency, for they are pre- 
sumably without the guiding power of scent. The Californian wood- 
pecker (Melanerpes formicivorus) is noted for the autumnal stores of 
acorns which it embeds in the bark of trees, but the strong instinctive 
impulse which shapes its conduct is accentuated by the reported fact 
that the holes so nicely drilled are occasionally filled up with stones. 

That color plays an important part in the lives of birds seems highly 
improbable, although it is a commonplace fact that the nest in many 
cases harmonizes perfectly with its surroundings. For several seasons 
I made a practise of offering colored yarns, such as blue, brown, green 
and bright red, to various species of birds, for building purposes, and 
especially to robins and cedar waxwings; as a rule, all colors were taken 
indiscriminately, with very bizarre nests as a result. When white 
threads or long streamers of cotton cloth were added, these were usually 
taken first, and in greater quantity, apparently because they were more 
conspicuous, and sometimes to the detriment of the builders. Thus, 
one of the least flycatchers took and dropped so much of the cloth that 
a white trail was finally laid from field to nest, in the construction of 
which five times more was used than needed. The quaint structure 
which resulted was too obvious to escape destruction, and it did not 
endure many hours. 

The docility of birds is well illustrated by the trainer's power over 
many species, and by the tricks which, through a system of rewards 
and punishments, they can be made to perform. A classical illustra- 
tion is furnished by the art of falconry, the popular sport of middle-age 
Europe, in which the young of the wild peregrine falcon, or of some 
other hawk, was trained to limit its instinct to kill to a particular kind 
of game, to follow the falconer afield, to stoop to the quarry, and return 
to its master's call. After a similar fashion the instincts of the cor- 
morant have been molded to the will of man, and successfully used in 
taking fish, a practise which I am informed may still be witnessed in 
certain remote fishing communities in Japan, the trained birds descend- 
ing from father to son. 

Modern experiments in the laboratory, which have been conducted 

vol. lxxvii.— 10. 


by students in recent years, by the Hampton Court maze or labyrinth 
method, upon young chicks, and various wild species, show an ability 
to learn more or less rapidly, according to the simplicity of the path 
to be traversed. They always seem to be guided in large measure by 
sight. Their educability has been further tested by Thorndike and 
others, by placing food within sight, but enclosed in a wire box, access 
to which can be reached only by working some simple contrivance, with 
bill or foot, such as pecking or pulling at a string. The animal is thus 
induced to do an unusual thing, or to do it in an unusual way, but some 
species, like the house sparrow, have proved apt to learn, and though 
success may come first through accident, by the tenth or some later trial, 
the new act is learned, and unnecessary movements are in time elim- 
inated. The effect of the acts performed, as in the case of exit from 
the labyrinth, is remembered for days or weeks, according to the strength 
of the habit, or the ability of the learner. Whether the memory in- 
volved in these and similar acts is of a visualized character, involving 
a memory idea, image or picture, may be doubted, though Edinger 
among others is not inclined to admit this. We might ask why a bird, 
with a memory image of the position of her nest, does not always strike 
a direct path to it, after reaching her tree. Why should she slavishly 
follow the track stamped in by previous associations, walking along a 
certain branch, and grasping a certain twig, before landing at the nest- 
side, a practise very commonly followed ? Such behavior certainly can 
not always be attributed to the inhibitory effect of fear. 

All the intelligence which birds may on occasion exhibit seems to 
give way under the spell of any of the stronger instincts, as when the 
male canary, as related by Blackwell, plucked the feathers from the 
necks and backs of its own young in order to line a newly built nest, 
although ether feathers were supplied to it in abundance. They seldom 
meet emergencies by doing the intelligent act, and, in spite of the anec- 
dotes, probably but seldom come to the effective aid of their compan- 
ions when in distress. On the other hand, I have more than once seen 
a mother bird try to pluck a hair or piece of grass from the mouth of 
a nestling. 

It has been asserted that only birds can be frightened from fields by 
scarecrows, but to most birds any strange object is a " scarecrow," which 
may in time, and often brief at that, become familiar through associa- 
tion, as shown by the many devices used by farmers to frighten crows 
from their fields of newly planted corn. The genuine scare crow is a 
subject worthy of further study. 

At this point I wish to notice certain anomalous actions of peculiar 
interest in birds, and to refer particularly to the wood swallows (Ar- 
tamidae) of Australia, the hornbills (Bucerotidae), of the East Indies, 
and to the honey-guides (Indicatorinae), of the East Indies and Africa. 


The wood swallows are social, gregarious birds of rather small size, 
characteristic of the tropical forests, where they feed upon insects, and 
often "hawk" them, like the swallows and swifts. Many have the 
curious habit of " swarming," or clustering in cold or wet weather in 
sheltered places or under trees, possibly for the purpose of keeping 
warm, though this appears to be an assumption; when thus bunched, 
they crowd one upon another, all heads up, thus forming a great ball- 
like mass several feet in diameter; if disturbed they go off with start- 
ling effects produced by the whirring of many wings, often leaving, it 
is said, a few dead ones behind, which might have been smothered in the 
press. All this is suggestive of rheotropism, or the tendency shown by 
many fish, insects and other invertebrates to orient themselves in re- 
sponse to currents of air or water, and in particular of the clustering 
tendency shown by the young of many aquatic animals, as well as by 
many flying insects. Whatever its history may prove to be, no one can 
doubt that the act is purely instinctive in origin. We are reminded of 
the swarming habits of chimney swifts, which have been known to enter 
hollow trees in great numbers for the purpose of roosting and passing 
the night, especially after their arrival in spring and before their fall 

Hornbills are large birds of peculiar structure, and wide distribu- 
tion in the old world, being noted for their great serrated bills, which 
in many of the species are surmounted by a remarkable casque or hel- 
met. But it is in the cyclical instincts of their reproductive period 
that we find the most extraordinary departure from the common type. 
Before she is ready to lay her eggs, the female hornbill enters some 
suitable cavity, in a dead tree or branch, and with or without the assist- 
ance of the male, proceeds to wall herself in, closing the opening with 
mud or excreta, or with both, with the exception of a hole large enough 
to admit the bill, and the food which is passed in by the male. While 
thus confined, the female lays the eggs, incubates them, and through 
the cooperation of her mate their naked and helpless young are reared 
until ready for flight; then the prison-house is suddenly burst open, 
the enfeebled mother and the young are liberated, and the happy 
family united in the bright world outside. Further, at intervals dur- 
ing this period the male casts off and regurgitates an inner layer of 
the gizzard, which with all the contained food comes up like a dump- 
ling, that is to say, a package or thin-walled sac, three inches long by 
two inches in diameter, and upon this generous food-supply the female 
is able to subsist for some little time. 

The practise of closing the opening to the nest is to be regarded as 
a modification of the nest-building instinct, and while its history has 
no doubt been lost in the remote past, it may be compared with a not 
wholly dissimilar practise of the European nuthatch, which also nests 


in natural cavities, and when the entrance is large regularly blocks the 
passage with mud until it will barely admit her body. The hornbills 
have possibly lost the cleaning instinct, if they were ever possessed of it, 
and the singularity of their present activities must be attributed to in- 
stinct alone. 

The little honey-guides are related to the barbets, and hoopoes, 
rather than to cuckoos, although like many of the latter they are thought 
to regularly steal the nests of other birds, and never rear their proper 
young. But aside from this diversion, they are said to conduct the pass- 
ing traveler to bees' nests, to call his attention to the important busi- 
ness in hand by hisses and shrill cries, and to even fly in his face " as 
if enraged at not being followed." That such efforts are not wholly 
altruistic may be gathered from the fact that they will eat the bees, 
grubs and honey alike. According to the accounts, the honey-guides 
are the "pointers" among birds, for when the woodsman is encoun- 
tered, they flutter up to him and point the way to a nest, and if fol- 
lowed, go on and on, but halt when hot on the trail. They will also 
point to empty nests, or even to a domestic hive, but more significant 
than this, they will follow a dog, or lead the confiding traveler to a 
leopard, cat or snake, showing clearly that, whatever the origin of this 
practise, whether concerned with the instinct to sound the alarm at a 
common enemy, and to follow it and keep it in view, or not, we are 
dealing with an instinct; and probably one of very pure type. 

We will close this account by giving one or two reputed instances of 
bird-intelligence which stand out in a marked degree from others of 
their kind, on account both of the acts themselves and the credibility 
of the witnesses. Thus Montagu, whose excellence as an observer is 
abundantly proved in his " Ornithological Dictionary of British Birds," 
states that he once saw two crows (Corvus cor one), by the seashore 
" busy in removing small fish beyond the flux of the flowing tide, and 
depositing them just above high-water mark, under the broken rocks, 
after having satisfied the calls of hunger." It seems to me that too 
much has been made of this instance, since it may with equal justice 
be interpreted as an illustration of the instinct to hide, the circum- 
stance of the tide being fortuitous, for it does not follow that these 
birds knew that the tide would surely advance and sweep away their 
prize. The incident, however, is interesting in relation to another, told 
of the hooded crow (Corvus splendens), by the worthy Blackwall, who 
saw these birds " on the eastern coast of Ireland, after many unavail- 
ing efforts to break with their beaks some of the mussels on which they 
were feeding, fly with them to a great height in the air, and, by letting 
them fall on the stony beach, fracture their shells, and thus get posses- 
sion of the contents." Perhaps it would not be easy, says Blackwall, 
" to select a more striking example of intelligence among the feathered 


tribes than this, where, on one expedient proving unsuccessful, after a 
sufficient trial had been made of it, another was immediately resorted 

A similar habit has been attributed to the gull, but with how much 
truth I am unable to say ; the exact history of its origin, in either case, 
would be of much interest. It would seem to have arisen either from 
accident or from ideas, for the question of imitation can here be ruled 
out, so far as the initial performance in a given individual is con- 
cerned. The very rarity of the habit, attested by the fact that it has 
been so seldom reported, seems to clearly point to an accidental origin, 
and to the conclusion that it does not rise above the level of associative 






THE inquiry into the position of anatomy and physiology in in- 
vertebrate paleontology seems very appropriate at present, since 
paleontology is steadily becoming more closely affiliated to zoology, and 
the sphere of zoology is at present dominated by comparative anatomy 
and physiology. 

Since, however, invertebrate paleontology has only the hard parts, 
mostly outer shells, at its disposal, the view still prevailing among 
zoologists that little is to be expected from it in regard to the solution 
of the problems of anatomy and physiology of the lower animals seems 
natural. Nevertheless, the results already attained prove that if paleon- 
tologists do not approach their material with a geological knowledge 
only, as has been done in the past altogether too often, most gratifying 
results may be obtained, at least in some classes, for it must be con- 
ceded that the connection of the hard parts with the fleshy parts is very 
unlike in different classes; it is very intimate in some, as the crinoids 
and brachiopods, and again more indifferent, as in the gastropods. 

But it is not claiming too much for invertebrate paleontology if we 
say that where the hard parts are of great structural importance, 
paleontology has earlier taken cognizance of this fact and consequently 
gone ahead of zoology. As an instance I may cite Zittel's investigations 
of the skeleton of the hexactinellid sponges which have taught the 
fundamental importance of the form of the spicules and the structure 
of the skeleton in that class and whose results have been readily 
adopted by zoologists. In classes which, as the brachiopods and crinoids, 
are to-day mere shadows of their former greatness, paleontology has its 
greatest chance, and it would fail in its task if it would there not be- 
come the instructor of the affiliated science ; and it is gratifying to see 
that this fact is finding recognition, as, for instance, in Eay Lankester^s 
"Treatise of Zoology," where the chapter on the crinoids has been 
entrusted to Bather, a paleontologist and one of the best authorities on 

It is apparent that in such classes as those just mentioned, of which 
only the last ends of the branches are still alive, the origin and nature 


of many structures can not be elucidated, even by the embryology and 
comparative anatomy of the recent forms, but only by paleontology. 
Such a structure is, for instance, the mystifying stem of the crinoids 
which, by a study of the primitive ancestors of the crinoids among the 
cystids, is readily recognized as a dorsal evagination of the body. 
Likewise, to cite another example, the siphuncle of the recent Nautilus, 
which is obscure as a wholly rudimentary organ, is in such primitive 
Paleozoic cephalopods as Nanno and Piloceras, still seen in its original 
form and thereby recognized in its nature. 

Since that which has already been accomplished in fossil anatomy 
is proof that there are still larger fields to be ploughed and harvested, 
it is proper to inquire into the best methods of this work before us. 

We first need more extensive and more intensive or more detailed 
purely descriptive anatomical researches of the invertebrate fossils. 
There are many species that, when investigated in their smallest detail, 
are bound to give important results. I may cite here, as examples of 
such accomplishments, Hudson's minute study of the strange Bias- 
ioidocrinus of our Chazy rocks with its 90,000 ossicles, or that of the 
Eurypterus fischeri by Holm. Of this archaic fossil marine arachnoid, 
a relative of the scorpion and of the king crab, it can be fairly said that, 
as far as its chitinous integument is concerned, it is as well known as 
any recent species. We know, through Holm, its gills, its complex 
genital appendages of both sexes, and even its fine hairs and bristles. 
Dr. Clarke and myself have lately continued these investigations in 
the American eurypterids, and there observed the structure of the com- 
pound eyes, the pore system of the segments, the genital apertures, the 
mode of moulting, the arrangement of some of the principal muscles 
and other anatomical facts of interest. 

It can be said that this field of detailed descriptive anatomy has 
been merely touched thus far, as far as our fossil invertebrates are con- 
cerned, and altogether too much neglected. This is not only true as to 
the gross anatomy, but still more so as to the microscopic structure. 
It must be conceded that owing to the secondary changes in the rocks, 
this latter line of investigation meets with great obstacles not fully ap- 
preciated by the zoologist, and that it is only in its infantile stage in 
some classes. But the results obtained by the microscopic research of 
the Paleozoic bryozoans in this country may be considered as a striking 
example of what persistency and enthusiasm may still accomplish. In 
microscopic anatomy of the fossils the training of a geologist is as 
much required as that of a zoologist and the history of these investi- 
gations shows that a zoologist without geologic training may be badly 
misled by the deceptive states of preservation of the fossils. . 

The main object of anatomical research is to result in comparative 
anatomy and to determine what parts are fundamental or primary and 


what have undergone modifications due to functional changes. It is 
obvious that here invertebrate paleontology is in a position to answer a 
host of questions that could not be successfully approached by compar- 
ative anatomy of recent forms, by the direct observation of successive 
changes. Its methods of investigation have already been applied with 
wonderful success to large parts of our Paleozoic crinoids, brachiopods, 
bryozoans and cephalopods. And I do not doubt that the time has 
come when the preliminary stage of mere description of fossils is passed, 
and a monographic treatment of each class that would fully enter into 
the comparative anatomy of all structures preserved, could be profitably 

It is only by this work that paleontology can hope to make those 
contributions to philosophical anatomy in revealing the causes of the 
different structures which it is especially fitted and called upon to 
furnish by its ability to study the gradual development of the struc- 
tures. Wherever a class of fossils has been thus thoroughly treated, it 
has given a fruitful crop of new hypotheses and principles, as is in- 
stanced by Hyatt's investigation of the fossil cephalopods. Most 
classes, and especially the corals, echinoids and trilobites, await such 
treatment by competent investigators. 

Since physiology is that branch of biology that treats of the laws of 
phenomena of living organisms, it might seem hopeless to expect any 
information from the fossil world. This is apparently the more true 
in regard to the invertebrates, since a special physiology exists thus far 
only for men and the higher invertebrates and the recent invertebrates 
are largely a virgin field. For this reason also, only the most general 
foundations of comparative physiology have been laid, and an inverte- 
brate fossil physiology would get as yet but little support from that 
side. Moreover, the main source of exact information in recent physi- 
ology is the experimental method, and this is wholly inapplicable to 
the fossil world. 

And yet it seems to us that the empiric method upon which physi- 
ology has so long flourished promises also rich fruit in paleontology. 
I can do no more now than briefly mention the problems that most 
readily suggest themselves here. Invertebrate paleontology will be 
especially competent to furnish contributions to the mechanics of 
physiology by throwing light on the development of the means and 
modes of locomotion. In connection with this problem invertebrate 
paleontology also shows most clearly the deep-reaching influence of 
secondary fixation on the structure of the organism, as in the case of 
the strange Richthofenia among the brachiopods and the Kudistae 
among the lamellibranchs. It can not fail that the progress in recent 
invertebrate physiology will stimulate inquiry into the physiology of 
the fossils ; and further that, as invertebrate fossil anatomy progresses, 
the data for such inquiry will also come forth. 


Another problem closely connected with that of '■he mode of loco- 
motion is that of the origin of the organs of sense, and plx> upon this, 
as far as the organs of seeing at least are concerned, the fossil inverte- 
brates are able to throw some light, as in the trilobites and eurypterids. 

Another line of inquiry is that of the mode of nutrition as recog- 
nizable by the appendages, and its influence upon the general structure. 
Under this heading such interesting minor problems as that of the 
origin of parasitism arise and may be solved, as indicated by a recent 
publication as to the time of beginning, causes and gradual changes of 
parasitism, to its very complex present conditions. 

Probably also the physiology of respiration will in time receive 
important additions as far as the echinoderms, crustaceans, scorpions 
and eurypterids are concerned. 

The widest scope, however, will have those problems that are con- 
nected with the reactions of the organisms to their physical and chem- 
ical surroundings. The invertebrate paleontologist meets forever, in 
sight of the ever-changing faunules, the question, what exterior influ- 
ences caused these changes ? Often they can be directly recognized, as 
in the dwarfed faunules of the Devonic pyritiferous Tully limestone or 
of the bituminous Marcellus and Genesee shales or the eurypterid 
faunas of the Salina lagoons. The systematic investigation of these 
reactions through the series of formations is an inviting task. 

A special problem of singular interest connected with the reaction 
of the organisms to the chemical surroundings is that of the composi- 
tion of the shell of the invertebrates. There is good evidence for the 
view that the shells were at first chitinous and that but gradually they 
became calcareous or siliceous. This important question again is 
intimately connected with that of the original composition of the ocean, 
and this line of inquiry again leads us to the highly fascinating paleo- 
physiological problem, lately so happily dealt with by Professor Lane, 
as to the geological evidence on the original composition and origin 
of the vital liquid, the original body temperature and the physiological 
origin of the hard parts of the invertebrates in general. 




OUR knowledge of the morphology both of the animal and plant 
kingdoms has been largely extended by the work of the paleon- 
tologist. Mention needs only to be made of the many species, genera 
and families, even orders and classes, established solely for fossil forms 


to show how much we owe to paleontology. There is not a single sub- 
kingdom but has been immensely enriched from this source. 

Some of the fossil species possess morphological characters so closely 
allied, on the one hand to earlier, and on the other to later, forms as to 
indicate that they occupy a position in the line of descent, and phylo- 
genetic series have been established frequently on this basis. As ex- 
amples we have the well-known developmental series of the horse and 
the camel. Other illustrations may be found in the Paludinas of the 
Slavonian Pliocene and in the Planorbis types of Steinheim. 

Still other fossil forms combine in the same species several morpho- 
logical features which later become segregated and characterize different 
types. Such " synthetic types " serve to show the common origin of 
the forms in question if not their actual ancestors and have greatly 
enlarged our knowledge of the morphology of the several groups in- 
volved. These early forms are, for the most part, highly generalized, 
while their descendents are variously specialized. Take, for example, 
the mammalian Condylartha, small, generalized Ungulata with an 
astragalus shaped almost as in the Carnivora; or the reptilian Anomo- 
dontia with intermediate skeletal characters between the highest 
labyrinthodonts and the lowest mammals ; or again, the early Paleozoic 
cystoids with generalized characters in their calyx plates which appear 
in more specialized forms in later crinoids and Mastoids. An almost 
indefinite number of such illustrations might be cited. 

Still other fossil forms present morphological characters so dif- 
ferent from other fossil or living species that the genetic relationships 
may not be determined accurately. Some of these are possible of refer- 
ence to already defined orders, while others present so many diverse 
morphological characters as to require the establishment of new divi- 
sions for their reception. 

A survey of the known fossil and living forms shows that not only 
have old species constantly become extinct during the progress of 
geological time, but new species have been as frequently appearing. 
This is equally true of genera, families, orders or even classes. Some 
forms have appeared and disappeared, as the case may be, suddenly; 
others slowly. The great group of the Ammonites, for example, dis- 
appeared suddenly at the close of the Cretaceous after showing many 
degenerate characters, while the Trilobites gradually declined during 
late Paleozoic time before their final extinction. One of the most 
striking features in the developmental history of plants and animals is 
found in the great number of fossil types which have left no descendants. 

Both the animal and plant kingdoms furnish a wealth of material 
with which to demonstrate the aid which paleontology has rendered to 

The contributions of invertebrate paleontology are numerous and 
striking : 


The Protozoa afford in the Carboniferous Fusulinidae and in the 
Tertiary Nummulinidae forms with very different morphological char- 
acters from those living to-day, while the numerous extinct species of 
the Lituolidae and Textularidae in the Cretaceous and of the MiliolidaB 
and Globigerinidae in the Tertiary have greatly widened our knowledge 
of the entire subkingdom. 

The Ccelenterata in the Paleozoic Tabulata and Graptoloidea show 
types so different from living forms that the systematist has never 
been able to satisfactorily assign them to a position within the limits 
of the phylum. Many external and internal characters appear that are 
quite unknown in later forms. On the other hand, the paleontological 
subclass of the Tetracoralla long imperfectly understood is now re- 
garded with a fuller knowledge of the morphology as affording the 
probable ancestors of the later Hexacoralla. 

The Echinodermata have furnished two classes, the Cystoidea and 
the Blastoidea, unknown after the Paleozoic, whose morphology aids 
very materially in an interpretation of later and more highly differen- 
tiated forms among the Pelmatozoa. Thus the cystoids, which have 
been regarded as the ancestral type from which the crinoids have 
sprung, afford forms like the Camarocystites, in which the arms are 
similar to those of the crinoids although the calyx plates are irregularly 
arranged and thus cystoidean in character. Both the Asterozoa and 
Echinozoa are represented in the fossil state by many species that greatly 
widen our knowledge of the morphology of this group. Take for 
example, the Echinocystites, regarded as belonging to the Palechinodea 
which has a valvular pyramid of calcareous anal plates so highly char- 
acteristic of the cystoids. 

The Molluscoidea, to which phylum belong the Bryozoa and Brachio- 
poda, would be but imperfectly understood from a morphological stand- 
point but for the vast number of fossil forms. The Brachiopoda have 
been estimated to have less than 150 living species, while probably more 
than 6,000 fossil species have been described. Of the 31 families only 
7 have living representatives. We are dependent, therefore, largely on 
the fossil forms for our knowledge of the morphology of this class. 

The Mollusca with their varied forms, although so well represented 
to-day, have furnished in the fossil state one of the most interesting 
and important orders in the animal kingdom, the Ammonoidea with 
its 5,000 and more species ranging from the Devonian to the Cretaceous. 
Even the allied Nautiloidea, although containing living forms, attained 
its chief development in the Paleozoic, and it is from these ancient forms 
that we obtain our chief knowledge of the morphology of this group 
with their early straight and irregularly coiled types. 

The Arthropoda afford in the Paleozoic the important groups of the 
trilobites and euripterids, forms that have aided greatly in the inter- 


pretation of the entire phylum. The trilobites from their morpholog- 
ical features have been generally regarded as entomostracous crusta- 
ceans with relationships on the one hand to the Phyllopoda and on the 
other to the Merostomata, while the coalescing of the caudal segments 
suggests also a relationship to the Isopoda. 

Vertebrate paleontology has also furnished much to morphology. 

The Fishes would be but imperfectly known in their wonderful 
variety but for the fossil types. The problematical group Agnatha 
found only in the Silurian and Devonian affords no certain evidence 
of a lower jaw or paired limbs, and in some of the genera of the Ostra- 
coderma mimic in a curious way the contemporaneous euripterids, 
which has led some to erroneously ally them with the Merostomata. 
The dermal armor of most of these forms is also a striking morpholog- 
ical feature. 

Woodward divides the fishes proper into Elasmobranchii, Holo- 
cephali, Dipnoi and Teleostomi, and considers that the common an- 
cestors of all were Elasmobranchs. Numerous fossil forms among the 
Elasmobranchs and Dipnoids as well as the Crossopterygians which 
have been thought by many to bridge the gap between the Telelostomi 
and Dipnoi have added largely to our knowledge of the phylum. 

The Batrachians which consist to-day largely of diminutive forms 
were represented in the later Paleozoic and early Mesozoic by the Stego- 
cephalia which contain the giant labyrinthodonts with their highly 
complex infolding of the walls of the teeth. 

The Reptilians which began their existence toward the close of the 
Paleozoic became so numerous and diversified during the Mesozoic that 
this division of geological time has been referred to as the age of 
reptiles. Several orders of Saurians containing many giant types 
flourished during this time, but became practically extinct before the 
close of the period. With the adaptation of some for walking on their 
hind legs, of others for swimming, and still others for flight we have 
developed a great variety of morphological features that would never 
have been suspected from a study of living forms. 

The Birds which are recognized as possessing certain dinosaurian 
relationships and were doubtless derived from one of the reptilian orders 
are unknown prior to the Jurassic. The Mesozoic forms are general- 
ized, the tail at first not being atrophied and the pelvis imperfectly 
developed as in later forms. The vertebrae also had not acquired their 
saddle-shaped articulation while teeth were present in the jaws of the 
adults. Such forms certainly add greatly to our knowledge of the 
morphology of this class. 

The Mammals which began in the early Mesozoic were represented 
throughout the Cenozoic time by highly diversified forms, many of 
which have left no descendants. The gradual evolution of the mam- 


malian skeleton has brought about many morphological modifications 
from those shown in the Batrachia and Eeptilia. We find' the skull 
loses the prefrontal and postfrontal bones, the mandible is simplified, 
the limb bones show a development of terminal epiphyses with ossifica- 
tion to the center of the vertebrae and the bones of the pelvic arch are 
ossified. From the beginning of the Tertiary time a marvelous variety 
of morphological characters appears, and without the fossil types we 
should have but an inadequate conception of this great phylum. 

The contributions of paleobotany to morphology are in some re- 
spects quite as striking as those of paleozoology. 

The fossil Thallophytes have not furnished any very striking varia- 
tions from their present morphological features, while the Bryophytes 
are scarcely represented as fossils except in very recent deposits. 

The remaining phyla, the Pteridospermatophytes, the Pteridophytes 
and the Spermatophytes have their oldest known beginnings as far 
back as the Devonian and their study has enormously widened the 
bounds of plant morphology. 

The Pteridospermatophytes, which are confined to the Paleozoic, 
are in habit and vegetative morphology ferns — in methods of repro- 
duction and in the morphology of their reproductive organs typical seed 
plants. They alter our whole conception of ferns and seed plants and 
in their significance are comparable to archetypal vertebrata, the acqui- 
sition of the seed habit in plants and the vertebral column in animals 
probably marking the culmination of the transfer of vital activity from 
aquatic to terrestrial conditions. 

In the Pteridophytes the extinct Paleozoic class, the Sphenophyllales, 
is significant, since the morphology of the distinct lycopod and Equi- 
setum lines seems to merge in this group. The lycopod type, itself 
represented in the existing flora by six or seven genera of herbaceous 
plants, monotonously uniform in their morphology, is found in the 
Paleozoic to constitute one of the chief units in the arborescent flora 
with numerous species of complex organization, whose stem, foliar and 
reproductive morphology was quite unknown to botanists (Lepido- 
dendron, Sigillaria, etc.). The Equisetum type furnishes a like 
case. With few existing species of minor importance and uniform 
morphology we find in the Paleozoic a host of forms, many of them 
arborescent and of varied and complex structure (Catamites, Archceo- 
calamites, etc.). Similar examples could be drawn from the fossil 
representatives of the true ferns. 

In the Spermatophytes another wholly extinct class, the Cordaitales, 
embraces a curiously organized group of conifers extending back to the 
oldest horizons from which land plants are found, and continuing to 
the close of the Paleozoic as one of the most abundant as well as the 
highest type of pre-Mesozoic plant. In the older Mesozoic we find two 


groups of plants which have made similar great contributions to 
morphology- The Cycadales or cycad-like plants, which to-day are an 
inconspicuous group, were one of the dominant Mesozoic types, and any 
understanding of the modern forms rests entirely upon a study of their 
immensely abundant Mesozoic ancestors. The other group, the Gink- 
goales, represented in the existing flora by a single species, the ginkgo, 
is found in the Mesozoic to have been represented by many genera and 
species of great diversity. 

The dominant plants of to-day, the conifers on the one hand, and 
the angiosperms on the other, have each afforded many extinct genera, 
the former with more fossil than recent species, and only understand- 
able in the light of their fossil ancestors. Vegetable morphology based 
only upon existing plants abundantly demonstrated its sterility before 
the relative recent study of fossil plants placed it upon an altogether 
new basis. 




THE problem of recapitulation among vertebrates gives by no means 
as accurate results as among invertebrate forms, for while a single 
adult shell, if perfectly preserved, will often display the entire life 
history or ontogeny of the individual, a bone, or even a complete 
skeleton, is rarely retrospective and if at all only in some minor detail. 
The vertebratist, therefore, in his study of ontogeny, for comparison 
with racial history must needs follow either the entire growth of one 
animal, a thing manifestly impossible when the embryonic stages are 
considered, or study a long series of individuals in various stages of de- 
velopment, the securing of which in the great majority of cases is largely 
the result of a number of happy accidents. When one comes to weigh 
the evidence offered by the actual embryos of fossil vertebrates he will 
find a very great dearth of material, for fossil embryos — that is, the 
stages in the life history before birth or hatching — are extremely rare. 
Recent embryology, on the other hand, is more productive of results 
and the earlier stages of certain organs often suggest those of equivalent 
development in animals of the past. In his interpretation of a given 
structure, however, one has to bear in mind whether it may not have 
been modified to suit some modern need in the life history of the indi- 
vidual, and thus no longer give us a true image of bygone structure. 
These coenogenetic organs are not historic, but as Wilder says, " have 
to do with such immediate environmental problems as nutrition or 
protection." Again, if the organ has approximately the same form 


and character in the ancestral type at the same stage of its development, 
it represents an actual repetition of past history and is therefore palin- 
genetic. Sometimes it is not quite clear, however, under which caption 
the embryonic structure comes, and its interpretation must be attempted 
with caution. 

Osborn in his lectures to his students speaks of the three-fold evi- 
dence for evolution which stands firmly like a tripod, the legs of which 
are comparative anatomy, embryology and paleontology; and the evi- 
dence of each should correspond, provided the interpretation be correct. 
Of these, however, embryology is manifestly the weakest member, while 
paleontology is a tower of strength ! 

The reptiles are so rare as embryos and withal so ancient a group 
that their ontogeny throws but little light upon paleontology. Among 
the fossil forms a number of specimens of Ichthyosaurus have been 
found with young contained within the body of the adult. Many of 
these are in the normal position for fceti-in-utero ; others are displaced, 
with the head directed forward. These latter Branca thinks may be 
young that have been eaten. There is also, at times, a very great 
difference in the size of the contained young. Aside from a slight dif- 
ference in proportions, especially that of head to trunk, and a less degree 
of hardness of the embryonic bones, as indicated by their being crushed 
over the parent's ribs, the young teach us nothing as to ancestral struc- 
ture as they are in every way perfect ichthyosaurs. They do prove, 
however, when the evidence of viviparity which they offer is taken in 
connection with the supreme degree of aquatic adaptation indicated, 
that the ichthyosaurs were high sea-forms, never coming ashore even 
for egg-laying. 

That certain of the dinosaurs were also viviparous may be proved 
by an embryo contained in the unique specimen of Compsognathus 
longipes from the Jurassic of Bavaria. So far as I am aware this 
embryo gives no other evidence of ontogenetic value. 

The turtles have been made the subject of exhaustive study by Hay 
and from the embryological point of view by Clark under L. Agassiz. 
Anatomically they are the most remarkable of reptiles, having under- 
gone during their career an extreme modification in many directions 
while retaining a number of very primitive characters. The most 
remarkable feature is the development of the shield or carapace, which 
contains what are generally considered as the homologues of the ribs of 
other vertebrates, but, strangely enough, here lying outside of the 
shoulder girdle, a feature wherein the turtles are utterly unique. The 
embryology, which is well known, ought to throw some light upon the 
origin of this important feature. In their earlier stages of develop- 
ment the Chelonia resemble the Lacertilia, the chief pecularity being 
caused by the development of this carapace which appears in the form 


of two longitudinal folds extending above the line of insertion of the 
fore- and hind-limbs which have already made their appearance. Hence 
the carapace grows outward and over the limb-girdles which come to lie 
within the rib-like osseous supports. This ontogeny shows us clearly 
how the ancestral carapace may have been formed. Paleontology has 
not as yet confirmed this, but doubtless will do so. 

Among birds one of the most interesting features is the occurrence 
of vestigial tooth papillae in the jaws of certain embryo parrots and owls 
— reminiscent of Mesozoic days when birds were toothed in their adult 

Mammalian evidence is very striking in many details and much of 
it has recently been summarized by Hubrecht, who makes much of the 
character of the placentation and derives from it and other features 
some remarkable conclusions. Hubrecht abandons the idea of the 
derivation of the mammalia from the reptilian-insectivorean stem, but 
on the contrary derives them from amphibia-like animals of the Car- 
boniferous. The character of the placentation, moreover, places man, 
the Anthropomorphae and the hedgehog among the most archaic of 
living mammalian types, an idea also borne out by comparative anatomy 
and one which paleontology may some day confirm. 

The most primitive mammals, the Prototheria, are still very sug- 
gestive of their old reptilian ancestry in many ways, especially in the 
method of producing the young inclosed within an eggshell. The posi- 
tion of the Marsupials is surely low in the scale of mammalian life, 
although they show in many respects remarkable specializations. Wilder 
compares them with the Prototheria in that they also bring forth their 
young at a very early state of development, though not protected by an 
eggshell. The period during which they are permanently attached to 
the nipples within the pouch is actually post-embryonic and properly 
larval. Vestiges of placentation have been found in at least one mar- 
supial, a fact which gives color to the belief that in this respect they 
may be degenerate rather than primitive. Broom has shown that the 
modern marsupial shoulder girdle passes through a prototherian stage 
implying a relationship which is strongly supported in other ways. 

The foetal Sirenia and Cetacea, so far as known, show no greater 
development of hind-limbs than do the post-natal individuals. They 
do show a marked neck construction and the head bent at right angles 
with the trunk in a normal quadrupedal posture. The head of the 
fcetal manatee is very suggestive of the modern ungulate. Eyder has 
tried to prove the homology of the caudal flukes in the Sirenia and 
Cetacea with the integument of the hind feet, drawing his evidence 
largely from comparison with the seals. In the embryo the flukes 
appear as lateral expansions near the end of the tail, giving it a lance- 
like form when viewed from above. These flaps by transverse expan- 


sion develop into the powerful swimming flukes of the adult. They 
may be compared with lateral flanges on the tail of the sea otter 
Enhydris, but in the latter the flaps are elongate, while in the Cetacea 
they are short and situated toward the end of the tail. Nevertheless, 
the homology of the two types of flange structures appears true, the 
posterior position and concentration in the whale being a mechanical 
adaptation which has become accelerated in its appearance so as to be 
embryonic. The presence of hair on the body of the foetal whale and 
of distinct calcareous tooth germs in both upper and lower jaws of the 
unborn young of whalebone whales are both reminiscent. 

The horses, our knowledge of which is so complete owing to the 
pioneer work of Marsh and later of Osborn, show some interesting 
points of comparison between foetus and ancestor. The skulls of pre- 
natal modern horses resemble those of Mesohippus or even of Eohippus 
in the proportions of face and cranium, the short-crowned grinding 
teeth, lesser angle between basi-cranial and basi-facial axes and the fact 
that the orbit is incompletely ringed with bone. The feet of the unborn 
foal are also somewhat reminiscent of old-time conditions. 

One of the most difficult points to be reconciled in the acceptance 
of the Cope-Osborn theory of the origin of molar cusps was the apparent 
non-agreement of cusp ontogeny with the interpreted phylogeny which 
this theory upheld. The difficulty has been met in two ways : by the 
supposition that coenogenesis has entered into the embryogeny, or that 
the paleontological record as shown by the trituberculists is open to a 
different interpretation. The present great exponent of the idea claims 
that the matter is still sub judice and thus the problem stands. 

In conclusion, the paleontological student of the higher vertebrates 
can hope to find in embryology a host of valuable suggestions, much 
verification of his work and sundry apparent inconsistencies which must 
in some way be reconciled. He should ever bear in mind the influence 
of nature and nurture, the latter often giving rise to perplexing con- 
flicts between the two records. He will on the whole have in embry- 
ology a fair mirror of the past wherein, even though the image be some- 
what distorted and the more remote reflections dimmed by time, he can 
view the striking features of the long procession of the ages. 

VOL. LXXVII.— 11. 



By Professor J. A. UDDBN 


EARTHQUAKES are infrequent in the upper part of the Missis- 
sippi Valley, and observations on earthquake phenomena in this 
part of the world have a peculiar interest, not only on account of the 
special bearing they may have on seismological questions, but also on 
account of the light they throw on the psychology of an observant public 
which is unacquainted with seismic phenomena. The writer wishes to 
present some observations on the earthquake which occurred in this 
region on the twenty-sixth of May, 1909. They are based on notices 
which appeared in the public press, and which were secured from fifty 
daily and weekly newspapers immediately after the earthquake. The 
collected reports contained in all some three hundred observations on 
incidents which occurred during a few moments shortly before nine 
o'clock in the morning, when the earth waves rapidly traversed the states 
of Illinois, Iowa, Wisconsin, Michigan, Indiana, Missouri and Min- 

The reports collected indicate that the mesoseismal area of this 
earthquake lay in northern and north central Illinois, and reached 
slightly beyond the south boundary of Wisconsin. It appears also that 
there were no less than three epicentral tracts, one near Dubuque in 
Iowa; one near Waukegan, and another near Bloomington, in Illinois. 
At all of these places the shock was strong enough to slightly damage 
a few buildings. From this unusually large triangular mesoseismal 
area the earthquake waves spread in all directions, sensibly as far north 
as to Rochester in Minnesota and to Muskegon in Michigan, east as 
far as to Muncie in Indiana, westward to DesMoines in Iowa, and 
southward to Hannibal in Missouri, affecting an area of some five 
hundred thousand square miles. 

In the central region, where the earthquakes are most complex, one 
report states that a distinct raise, or upward motion, was first felt, and 
that this was followed by a trembling. In other cases, houses and 
floors are said to have " heaved." In Beloit the houses are said to have 
been "jostled out of plumb." Violent shaking and rocking is also 
reported. Farther out from the central area there is a more frequent 
use by the reporters of such terms as " shaking," " rocking," " swaying " 
and "jarring," while toward the outer margin of the disturbed area 
houses are more often said to have been gently rocked and shaken, or 
to have "trembled" or "quivered," indicating the more gentle and 





Isoseismals of thb Earthquakes in thb Upper Mississippi Valley, May 26, 1910. 

more regularly undulating nature of the free and gradually vanishing 
oscillations of the earth. 

The greater number of earthquakes are now known to be due to 
slipping of enormous blocks of the earth, along fissures or joints of 
great depths, and thus forming the dislocations known to geologists as 
faults. In the case of the earthquakes with two maxima of disturbance, 
the slipping occurs first at one point in such a fissure, and then at 
another. There can be no doubt that this Illinois earthquake was of 
the nature of such a compound slip, although the exact position of the 
fault can not be correctly located from the data at hand. In most 
descriptions of the shock no mention is made as to whether there was 
one maximum or more. Such particulars were naturally overlooked. 
The people of the upper Mississippi Valley are not trained in making 
observations on earthquakes. Nevertheless, nine observers make men- 
tion of more than one commotion. One account from each of eight 
localities states that two distinct shocks were felt. These places are 
Bushnell, Canton, Champaign, Chicago, Geneva and Sterling in Illi- 
nois, and Davenport and Dubuque in Iowa. In the latter place the 
first disturbance lasted about ten seconds, after which there was a short 
pause and then again a shock of short duration. But the reports from 
Chicago, Springfield and Champaign, which places lie on the other side 
of the mesoseismal area, all agree in stating that the first shock was of 
brief duration, and that the second lasted several seconds. One ob- 
server is reported as having noted three distinct shocks, and this was 
Professor W. H. Hobbs, at the time on a visit in Madison, Wis. He is 


one of America's prominent seismologists, and his testimony may be 
regarded as specially competent. The three shocks he noted may have 
been three separate impulses coming from the three epicenters pre- 
viously mentioned, at Dubuque, Waukegan and Bloomington, started 
by slippings closely following each other in each of these places. 

This inference is in a measure strengthened by some observations 
made on the duration of the earthquake. There are in all fifty-eight 
such observations, showing a range of estimates from one second to 
three minutes. Thirty-eight of these estimates vary from one to eight 
seconds and average four seconds. In six places the disturbance is 
reported to have lasted ten seconds; in five places, fifteen seconds, and 
in one, twenty. An average of these twelve estimates is about thirteen 
seconds. In two places the shock is reported as lasting a half minute; 
in three places, one minute ; in one, a minute and a half, while in Dixon 
and Joliet the disturbance continued for three minutes. No great 
accuracy can be claimed for these estimates, but it will be observed that 
they fall into three groups, one with an average of four seconds, one 
with an average of about thirteen seconds and another with an average 
of about sixty seconds. We may suppose that the shortest average 
represents places where only one of the three shocks was sensible, while 
the two larger averages represent places where two or where all three 
shocks were strong enough to be felt. All places where the disturbance 
lasted more than a minute are somewhat centrally located, and may 
hence very well have been exposed to the effects of all the three shocks, 
each of which increased the total length of the period of the disturbance. 

No less than sixty-six observations are reported on the time at which 
the earthquake was felt. These are of interest chiefly in showing how 
great is the difference in accuracy of time measurements required for 
general purposes, and for the purpose of seismic investigations. They 
also illustrate our general preference for round numbers. The reports 
range from eight o'clock in the morning to twenty minutes after nine. 
More than half of them give the numbers thirty, thirty-five, forty and 
forty-five minutes after eight. Discarding these figures, which are 
multiples of five, twenty-two observations range from thirty-seven to 
forty-one minutes after eight. The time recorded by the seismometer 
in the office of the United States "Weather Bureau in Peoria, no doubt 
more reliable, was thirty-eight minutes after eight. The time marked 
by another government seismometer in "Washington was forty-one and 
a half minutes after eight. If the velocity of the earthquake wave in 
traveling from Peoria to "Washington, be calculated from these last two 
figures, we find that it approached three and three tenths miles per 
minute. For the purpose of determining the velocity of earthquake 
waves the data furnished by the press reports are of course entirely 

The location of the epicentral tracts and of the mesoseismal area is, 


however, clearly indicated by reports from which the intensity of the 
motion may be estimated, and from which isoseismal lines may be 

The data contained in the press reports can be readily compared 
with the Eossi-Forel scale of intensities. The greatest intensity shown 
is in the falling of chimneys and in the cracking of walls, which barely 
approximates eight in the scale. It is not practical to separate these 
localities of greatest intensity from a more extended region where the 
earthquake had an intensity more nearly comparable with seven in the 
scale. Within this area furniture was overthrown, plaster fell from 
ceilings and from walls, and hanging pictures and other suspended 
ornaments were jerked loose from their fastenings. Outside of this 
most severely disturbed mesoseismal area there is a belt from ten to a 
hundred miles wide where the intensity approximates the next lower 
point in the scale. Here lighting fixtures, chandeliers and bookcases 
are reported to have swayed, dishes were broken, chairs rocked or were 
moved or overthrown, houses were rocked, chimneys cracked and clocks 
were stopped. Beyond this again is a zone where the evidence of the 
earthquake consisted in the more subdued motions described as shaking 
of houses and of furniture, rattling of dishes, bottles and tinware and 
swinging of suspended objects. This zone has a width of from fifty 
to a hundred and fifty miles and marks the location of the fifth iso- 
seismal. Continuing the diminuendo, the earthquake next announced 
its rapid passage by the rattle of windows, the jarring and quivering 
of houses, and by gentle shaking and trembling of furniture. This is 
the fourth intensity, and characterizes a zone that merges imperceptibly 
into the next, where few people noticed the disturbance, and where it 
appeared as a merely perceptible jar, or a slight undulation, most fre- 
quently noted only in the upper stories of high buildings. In this 
gentle form it disappeared to human senses at a distance, in all direc- 
tions, of some four hundred miles from the central region. How much 
farther did it speed, unseen, unheard and unf elt ? You will remember 
that it left a record on the seismometer in Washington. This city is 
nearly four hundred miles beyond the zone where the waves ceased to 
be perceptible to the unaided human senses. From this record we may 
infer that in the brief span of two or three minutes the earthquake 
waves spread over a circular area about sixteen hundred miles in 

A classified review of the little things that happened in the upper 
Mississippi Valley, when a block of the earth slipped in the northern 
part of Illinois may perhaps be of interest. The phenomena reported, 
affected at least five of the human senses, the senses of general well- 
being, of touch, of equilibrium, of hearing and of sight. 

A rheumatic woman in the zone where the disturbance was very 
feeble "felt the vibrations keenly and told others of the earthquake, 


before it was generally known." Another woman, in poor health, 
ascribed the peculiar feeling that she experienced to an attack of heart 
disease, and sank frightened in bed. Experiences of this kind have 
been noted in other earthquakes and appear to be due to a morbidly 
excitable condition of the ill-defined and unspecialized sense of general 
well being. Some people perceived the earthquake chiefly through the 
sense of touch, as when a man, seated in a chair and resting his legs 
on a railing, " felt his legs shake," or as when a chief of police, also 
seated, felt that his chair shook. In several other cases the earthquake 
was likewise merely " felt." No doubt the sense of touch entered as 
an important element in a far greater number of instances when men- 
tion is made that something shook, trembled, quivered or rocked, or 
when there was a jar or a tremor. The sense of equilibrium or of 
poise was evidently involved in the case of a man who felt "dizzy," 
and in the case of people who " wabbled on the streets," in cases where 
occupants of houses noted a " heaving," " rocking " or a " swaying " 
motion, and when people "were thrown down," or "nearly tumbled 
over," or " found difficulty in keeping on their feet." 

The reports mention only five instances of sounds accompanying 
the earthquake. Such sounds are general in the mesoseismal area in all 
severe earthquakes in all parts of the world, except in Japan, and one 
noted seismologist believes that their absence in that country is due to 
a racial inability among the Japanese to hear sounds of very low 
pitch. The general absence of sounds in the Illinois earthquake is 
readily accounted for by its comparative weakness. It was faintly 
audible only in three epicentral tracts. Some parties claim to have 
heard a distinct rumbling before the shock in Dubuque. In Waukegan 
one man described the quake as a rush of wind, and said that he had 
heard it. This swishing noise is one of the many known characteristic 
forms of earthquake sounds. In Springfield, 111., a faint rumbling 
was heard, and a janitor in one of the school buildings in Peoria made 
a similar observation. One man heard a sound like the " bumping of 
a locked door." This is another variation of earthquake noises, which, 
when more powerful, resemble volleys of musketry and artillery, and 
which, like the other noises, originate under the ground. Many ob- 
servations involve sounds which are, as it were, proxies of the quake, 
induced by secondary events, such as the rattling of windows and 
dishes, the crash of falling brick and the like. The student of earth- 
quakes depends, as we have seen, on such noises for much of his in- 
formation on the progress of the earth waves in the peripheral region 
of the disturbed area. 

The sense that gives us the most reliable information on earth- 
quakes, as on most other physical phenomena, is the sense of sight. 
Visible earth waves are, however, rarely seen except in severe disturb- 
ances. It is uncertain whether they appeared anywhere in this case, 


but there is a suggestion that they were noted in Waukegan, where the 
sidewalks were seen to "heave." A high bridge near Dubuque, la., 
and some old buildings in Plattsville, in Wisconsin, were seen to 
" sway." But motions of such structures, as well as motions of smaller 
objects, indoors and outdoors, are merely the effects of the earth's 
motion and not a part of the earthquake itself. It is unnecessary to 
enumerate them here. 

Another classification of the earthquake phenomena takes into con- 
sideration the different objects giving evidence of the seismic motion 
and the terms used by the observers in stating how these objects were 
affected. It presents simultaneously in this case, a study in journalistic 
diction and in mechanics. Forty reports relate the varied behavior of 
buildings and houses. These are said to have shaken (17), rocked 
(7), trembled (4), swayed (3), cracked (3), to have been jarred (2), 
to have quivered (2) and to have creaked and heaved, respectively in 
as many cases as indicated by the inserted figures. Observations on 
dishes, bottles and tinware are next in number. These mostly rattled 
(15), or were broken (8). Some were dashed to the floor (6), others 
merely fell (3), some were shaken (3), were moved (2), or they 
rocked, trembled, wabbled and were disturbed. A crockery store in 
Dubuque sustained a damage of some eight hundred dollars. The 
words used in describing the motions of furniture present a turbulence 
of performances of almost kaleidoscopic variety. Chairs, tables, beds, 
bookcases, even sedate stoves shook (8), were moved (6), were over- 
turned (3), swayed (2), quivered (2), trembled (2), broke, were up- 
set, tipped over, threatened to tumble over, rattled, rolled back and 
forth, rocked, heaved and "had the glass shattered." Windows and 
doors rattled (12), and shook (3), and one door was "sprung so it 
would not close." Hanging pictures and mirrors engaged in a variety 
of diversions. Some swung (3), some were shaken from the walls (3) 
and some were thrown from their fastenings. One mirror " trembled 
on the wall," and another " fell from the wall." One is said to have 
"jumped around" and one was "demolished." Light fixtures and 
lamps swayed (4), heaved, shook, were shaken from their rests, were 
overturned, fell and broke, or were knocked down, and one gas flame 
was "shaken out." Chimneys fell (4), toppled over (2), were razed, 
shaken down and cracked. Water and milk in tumblers and pans were 
spilled (5) and tippled. At Sabula a wave was thrown up against the 
bank of the Mississippi Eiver. Bric-a-brac was shaken off, tipped off 
and thrown down from mantles (6) or simply fell to the floor. Four 
clocks were stopped. Heavy machinery rattled or "shook in good 
shape." An elevator swayed and some linotype machines swayed 
violently. Telephone wires were seen to sway, a telephone receiver was 
knocked off its hook, and a telephone instrument was " put out of com- 
mission." Other public utilities suffered serious damage, several thou- 


sand dollars being needed for the repair of disjointed gas pipes in Chi- 
cago and its suburbs. Goods were thrown from the shelves in some 
stores. In the watch works in Elgin some delicate instruments were 
thrown out of gear, and in a printer's office in Dubuque some type, 
locked in a form, was pied. A kitten was thrown across a room. 

There was one class of accidents, some serious and others comical, 
which could not have been foreseen as the results of an earthquake. 
These involve some trigger-like arrangements. Falling stoves and dis- 
jointed stove flues caused several fires in Aurora and Chicago. In 
"Waukegan the shock disarranged the bins in a feed store, and some of 
the grain was let out through a crack between the boards. The leg of a 
piano was loosened and fell in a school in Oak Park. The whole 
instrument was in this way upset and tumbled down on the floor, and 
the accompanying crash and noise naturally frightened the children. 

Many reports describe the mental state and the behavior of people 
on experiencing the unusual sensation of the earthquake. In the epi- 
central tracts some were terrified, many left, or fled or rushed from 
their homes, or from buildings where they were working. There were 
several small panics among laborers and among employees in factories. 
People were alarmed and excited and ran on the streets. Some schools 
were dismissed for the day and instruction was interrupted in two uni- 
versity classes. From farther out in the disturbed region some papers 
state that the people in the upper stories of some high buildings were 
frightened, and from still further out reports mention that people 
were surprised or merely that they perceived the physical sensation, 
evidently unattended by any emotion. 

The tendency of the human mind to make inferences and draw 
conclusions is pointedly illustrated by many of the reports. In cases 
where the earthquake was not recognized, the disturbance noted was 
nevertheless invariably ascribed to some cause, more or less remote, but 
suggested through the bias of previous experience. Many people 
thought the jar they felt was due to an explosion or a blast in some 
quarry, and others thought it was due to the moving of some heavy ob- 
ject in the building they occupied. A janitor in a school building 
thought that a man engaged to repair the flag pole had fallen on the 
roof. A grocer who had piled up some sacks of flour in the second 
story, went up to see if these had fallen down. People living near car 
lines and railroads referred the commotion to passing cars or trains. 
Residents in the cities were reminded of the passing of heavy vehicles. 
Two unsophisticated children jumped out of a bed that shook, ran 
crying to their mother and reported that the bed was falling to pieces. 
A young lady stenographer in Chicago, more versed in the ways of the 
world, felt her chair rocking and promptly rebuked a supposed offender 
at her back with the command : " You stop that." 

Projected forward instead of backward, reasoning results in the 


vision of things impending. Here also the bias of earlier experience 
and of training plays an important role. Kemembering the recent dis- 
asters in Europe, Italian laborers in Chicago quit work to fall on their 
knees and pray. Eecalling a prophecy of the coming of the end of the 
world three days later, some Zionists are reported to have concluded 
that the earthquake was the beginning of the fulfillment of the proph- 
ecy. Some persons who had left their houses, refused for hours to enter 
them again, fearing a repetition of the earthquake. A prisoner in a 
jail is said to have speculated on his chances of getting away, in case 
the walls of the jail would fall, and some people in Chicago feared the 
coming of a " tidal " wave from Lake Michigan. 

It is well known that afferent impulses, especially if they are pow- 
erful, have the effect of inhibiting or interfering with central psychic 
activities. Such inhibition was probably responsible for the forgetful- 
ness of a reporter who sent in his account of the earthquake in a 
neighboring city to a newspaper in Clinton, but forgot to affix his 
signature. It explains also the action of a woman in a hospital, who 
was walking on crutches and who ran out without them, to escape "from 
the building. With the inhibition of man's reason, his instincts take 
its place, and it would seem that many of our instinctive actions are 
not much different from those of the brute. They are exemplified in 
the panics that took place in a few factories and schools. When people 
rushed from buildings and started to run on the streets, they acted on 
instinctive impulses. These actions must have been prompted by a 
nervous mechanism quite like the mechanism that started several run- 
away horses in places where the earthquake was sufficiently severe to 
appear alarming. The launching of sensational rumors during a gen- 
eral excitement is traceable to a related instinct, only more refined and 
exclusively human. The reflex was started on this occasion by a fire in 
a kitchen in Aurora, and the reaction announced that "Aurora is 
burning up." 

One phenomenon in this connection is almost embarrassing to 
mention, in view of the present growing sentiment in favor of women's 
rights and woman suffrage. It appears from the effects of the recent 
earthquake on the American people, that human reason is more readily 
inhibited in the gentler sex and in children, than in men. The state- 
ment may be worded in another, and perhaps a better way, by saying 
that human instincts are relatively stronger in woman than in man. 
This statement will hardly pass as anything new. This distinction is 
implied in the wording of one report, which states that "men were 
excited, women and children frightened." It is stated that in Du- 
buque a panic was narrowly averted in a shop where women worked. 
In an office building in the same city it happened that the women 
rushed in a panic to the stairs, and that men met them and quieted 
them. In a home for young women the jar is said to have " scared the 


occupants out." Several panics occurred in schools. One man relates 
that his wife and sister " rushed to him." Nurses were alarmed in a 
hospital. Telephone girls left the switch-boards in Chicago, and 
"were scared" in Clinton. A particular mention is made of a seam- 
stress who was alarmed, and of another woman who sank frightened 
on a bed. But in no case is a man specially mentioned as having been 
afraid. In places where men were scared, fright was general, and 
there was then no cause for such special mention. The evidence of 
this difference can hardly be charged to an unconscious discrimination 
by the reporters in favor of the stronger sex. It must be regarded as a 
noteworthy incident in this earthquake that its intensity was near 
that limit, which is strong enough to scare women but not men. This 
limit must approximate seven in the Kossi-Forel scale, and the un- 
sentimental seismologist may hence add another criterion for correctly 
locating the seventh isoseismal. 

One general observation which has a practical bearing should per- 
haps not be left unmentioned. It is that the earthquake was more 
strongly felt in the upper stories of high buildings than on the ground 
floors. In Dubuque "the upper part of the high buildings swayed." 
A -reporter in Burlington says that the shock was "felt most in the 
upper stories of tall buildings." " The floors shook in the upper stories 
of large buildings" in Clinton, and in Davenport "the tremors were 
mostly noted in high office buildings." In Chicago the shock was not 
felt on the ground floors, but mostly " only in the higher stories." The 
top floors are especially mentioned as having shaken in some of the 
university buildings in Evanstown and in a college building at Cedar 
Eapids. In the architecture produced by the demands of industry and 
business in this part of the world, the eventuality of a severe earth- 
quake has not entered as an element of consideration. The experience 
of a half century shows that this neglect is probably justified. Never- 
theless, it is appalling to contemplate how different the story of this 
recent jar would appear if the intensity of the disturbance had been 
just a little greater than it was. From our past experience we may safely 
infer that the valley of the upper Mississippi is in a region where earth- 
quakes are not frequent. Are we also justified in believing that when 
such disturbances do occur, they will not be severe? The violence of 
the New Madrid earthquakes a hundred years ago makes the answer to 
this question uncertain. Time alone will tell. 





THE average public museum contains natural history specimens of 
two categories — those which are displayed within glass cases con- 
stantly open to the light, so as to be continually in the view of visitors ; 
and of those which are stored away in various appropriate containers, 
ordinarily protected from the light, and which are not open for -the 
inspection of the general public, though they may be freely handled 
and examined by the special student in the field to which they pertain. 
The former category of specimens constitutes what is usually referred 
to as the museum proper, or exhibition museum ; while the latter forms 
what may be termed the research museum. 

The functions of an exhibition museum haye been discussed at 
length, and its claim to recognition as a valuable factor in public edu- 
cation as well as amusement has been too well established to require 
further proof. It should be remembered, however, that much of the 
material on display may at the same time be of direct value in research ; 
for it consists in part of such objects as skeletons which are not af- 
fected injuriously by light and which may be encased with a view to 
easy access by the osteologist who wishes to examine them minutely. 

It is in the research department of the museum that I believe lies a 
great value, even though the sight-seeing visitor may know nothing of 
its existence. The maintenance of a research department on a large 
scale is certainly justifiable, as I purpose to show, by the importance of 
the results to be obtained through it from the standpoint of pure 
science. In an institution, like the Museum of Vertebrate Zoology, 
which is an integral part of a large university, it may even be war- 
rantable to emphasize the importance of research over exhibition. For 
the presence of the research museum serves as a stimulus to the univer- 
sity student and as a source of material and information usable in the 
work of other departments in the university. 

In discussing at length the functions of a research museum, in 
order to have something concrete to use in illustration, I will refer 
constantly to the institution with which I am connected. Here, al- 
though it has been little more than two years since its inauguration, 
enough of methods and policies have been formulated to furnish data 
for the basis of this paper. 

The functions of our research department, in other words the 


energies of our curators and the expenditure of our money allowances, 
are directed along the following lines : 

Our most obvious activity, though not necessarily the most impor- 
tant one, lies in the accumulation of the preservable remains of ani- 
mals of the vertebrate classes with the exception of those below the 
Batrachia. I am sure that no one will disagree with me in the claim 
that the results of our work will be of far greater moment in thus nar- 
rowing down the object of our work to a portion of the animal kingdom 
than if we were to spread it thinly over a greater range of subjects. 

The field of our work is the region immediately about us. In other 
words, it is much less effective to attempt to secure a representation of 
the animals of the world than to exploit the fauna of a limited area. 
The Pacific coast is practically inexhaustible, is naturally of easiest 
access and should be of greatest interest to this institution. 

Our collections consist of the skins and skulls of mammals, each 
individual collected being ordinarily represented by its skin, together, 
of course, with all dermal structures attached, and the entire skull, 
cleaned and preserved separately. The entire skeletons of a much 
smaller proportion of the specimens secured are also preserved; and 
of the smaller forms the entire animal, a few of each species, is pre- 
served in alcohol for anatomical purposes. 

In the class of birds the ordinary study skin is the chief portion 
preserved. However, the endeavor is made to secure complete skeletons 
representative of each family at least; and also portions of skeletons of 
a greater number, consisting of skulls and sterna chiefly. As with the 
mammals, alcoholic preparations are saved, especially of young birds. 
The expense and mechanical inconvenience of collecting and storing 
alcoholics impose a practical limit upon the quantity of material to be 
cared for in this way. 

Eeptiles and batrachians are preserved entire as alcoholics. Skele- 
tons should also be prepared and saved, but the difficulty of properly 
obtaining them has proved so great that as yet we have but few. At 
any rate, with the entire animal preserved in alcohol it is possible for 
the special student at any time to take out the skeleton of the reptile 
or batrachian that it is desired to study. 

The museum's policy is, and should be everywhere, liberal as re- 
gards the loaning of material to non-resident as well as near-by special- 
ists. Material of any sort is loaned freely to any responsible person 
any where for the purpose of aiding in his investigations, or as basis 
of any special study. The value of a museum's hoard of specimens 
and facts increases in direct ratio to the extent to which they are used. 
No museum is a success as long as it remains a cold-storage warehouse, 
closed to ready access by the general student whether he be remotely 
situated or located within easy reach. 


The museum curator only a few years since was satisfied to gather 
and arrange his research collections with very little reference to their 
source or to the conditions under which they were obtained. In fact it 
is surprising to find how little information is on Tecord in regard to 
collections contained in certain eastern institutions as accessioned 
previous to about 1885. The modern method, and the one adopted and 
being carried out more and more in detail by our California museum, is 
to make the record of each individual acquired, whether it comes in 
from an outside donor or whether, as is the most usual case, it is se- 
cured by the trained museum collector, as complete a history as prac- 

The field collector is supplied with a separate-leaf note-book. He 
writes his records on the day of observation with carbon ink, on one 
side of the paper only. The floral surroundings are recorded, espe- 
cially with respect to their bearing on the animal secured. The be- 
havior of the animal is described and everything else which is thought 
by the collector to be of use in the study of the species is put on record 
at the time the observations are made in the field. The camera is as 
important a part of his outfit as the trap or gun. These field notes and 
photographs are filed so as to be as readily accessible to the student in 
the museum as are the specimens themselves. 

Furthermore, a rather elaborate system of card cataloguing is main- 
tained in the museum. Three sets of cards, namely, accession, depart- 
ment and reference, which are kept up as a part of the regular work of 
the curators, enable the enquirer to determine quickly what material is 
on hand, in what form it is, when and where obtained, and, by follow- 
ing up the cross references to the field note-books, the conditions under 
which each animal was obtained. 

As a matter of routine, each specimen as it is obtained in the field 
is at once tagged, the label being inscribed in India ink with the exact 
place of capture, date, collector and field number. The original field 
number is the same as that under which the animal is at the same time 
recorded in the field notes. Its original tag is never detached from the 
specimen, no matter what disposition is made of the latter in arranging 
the collections in the museum; and so, reversely, the student may 
quickly trace back again from any particular specimen its history, by 
referring to the card catalogue and field note-book. In addition to the 
original collector's number there is added on each label a separate de- 
partment number by which it is referred to in the museum records and 
any published articles specifically mentioning it. 

It will be observed, then, that our efforts are not merely to accumu- 
late as great a mass of animal remains as possible. On the contrary, 
we are expending even more time than would be required for the col- 
lection of the specimens alone, in rendering what we do obtain as per- 


manently valuable as we know how, to the ecologist as well as the sys- 
tematist. It is quite probable that the facts of distribution, life history, 
and economic status may finally prove to be of more far-reaching 
value, than whatever information is obtainable exclusively from the 
specimens themselves. 

At this point I wish to emphasize what I believe will ultimately 
prove to be the greatest value of our museum. This value will not, 
however, be realized until the lapse of many years, possibly a century, 
assuming that our material is safely preserved. And this is that the 
student of the future will have access to the original record of f aunal 
conditions in California and the west wherever we now work. He will 
know the proportional constituency of our faunae by species, the rela- 
tive numbers of each species and the extent of the ranges of species as 
they exist to-day. 

Perhaps the most impressive fact brought home to the student of 
geographical distribution, as he carries on his studies, is the profound 
change that is constantly going on in the faunal make-up of our coun- 
try. Eight now are probably beginning changes to be wrought in the 
next few years vastly more conspicuous than those that have occurred 
in ten times that length of time preceding. The effects of deforesta- 
tion, of tree-planting on the prairies, of the irrigation and cultivation 
of the deserts, all mean the rapid shifting of faunal boundaries, the ex- 
tension of ranges of some animals, restriction in the ranges of others, 
and, with no doubt whatever, the complete extermination of many 
others, as in a few cases already on record. 

If we now had the accurate record of faunal conditions as they were 
in the Atlantic states a century ago, how much might we not be able 
to adduce from a study of the changes which have taken place. Now is 
the opportunity to make such records in our western region. Compar- 
ative studies of conditions in the same area at different successive times 
is bound to bring important generalizations in the field of evolution. 
It will be seen here how valuable also will prove the collections pre- 
served at corresponding intervals. Changes in conditions will doubtless 
bring about changes in the habits and physical characters of the ani- 
mals enduring them. 

Another grave danger from the standpoint of the student of natural 
speciation lies in the introduction of exotic animals. This evil is grow- 
ing rapidly in the effort to restock regions with more hardy or prolific 
game animals. If successful from the sportsman's basis, either of two 
things will happen : the original, native species will become extinct by 
competitive replacement, or, where the relationships are close, crossing 
will take place so that the original species will be spoiled through 
hybridization. There are already instances of both in different sec- 
tions of the United States. It is highly desirable that a good repre- 


sentation of specimens of the pure, native stock be properly preserved 
in our museums, for future comparison. 

I wish here to register an objection to the prevalent idea that ex- 
perimental methods upon the higher animals under artificially im- 
posed conditions may be expected to lead invariably to the satisfactory 
solution of evolutionary problems. I have in mind some experiments 
recently made upon birds. Certain species were kept captive in en- 
closures in which a relatively high atmospheric humidity was main- 
tained. The experimenter found that within the life of an individual, 
in fact within a few months, successive molts resulted in the plumages 
of some of the birds becoming darker. Feathers which were normally 
marked lightly with black became solid black. The increase of pig- 
ment throughout the plumage brought about a conspicuous change in 
the appearances of the birds, as great a difference as one finds between 
two near-related species under natural conditions, the one occupying 
an area of arid climate, the other a region of humidity. 

The conclusion from these few experiments, quite generally, but, I 
feel confident, too hastily, drawn, has been that there may be a " direct 
influence" of the atmospheric humidity sufficient to bring about the 
color characters of the different species as we find them under the 
varying natural conditions; in other words, that it is not a matter of 
gradual adaptive acquisition subject to inheritance. It is even being 
maintained widely among biologists that natural selection may have 
very little to do with the characters of animals as we find them in na- 

I believe that the above experiments, among others carried on in 
the same way, will, alone, lead to inductions largely inapplicable to 
animals in the wild. My chief objection is that wild animals brought 
into confinement at once begin to show irregularities in various struc- 
tural respects. This is shown sufficiently by studies upon the skeletons 
of animals dying in zoological parks, a very large proportion of which 
are abnormally modified in various particulars. This diseased condi- 
tion undoubtedly begins just as soon as the animal is taken out of its 
natural surroundings. For the cessation of any one set of muscular 
activities is bound to bring about immediate changes in quantitative 
metabolism in the system. Change in food supply directly affects the 
entire organism, and unusual invasion by parasites ensues with con- 
comitant irregular growths. How then can we expect to get a knowl- 
edge of the processes of species formation under natural conditions 
from the extraordinary physical development or behavior of such 
animals ? 

I would urge that it is only through the close and long-continued 
study of animals in the wild state, that is, under perfectly natural 
conditions, that we can hope to gather conclusive evidence as to the 


causes and methods of evolution. Our research museum has assumed 
the role of recorder of faunal conditions as they are in this age. I 
reiterate, for emphasis, that I believe its greatest ultimate value will 
not, therefore, be fully realized until a later period. 

But to return to our immediate activities and their justification: 
The mass of information already at hand brings us face to face with 
numerous problems of distribution and variation. As our field work 
is carried on, we learn more and more in detail of the extent of the 
range of each species of animal, and we are able to recognize more 
clearly the correlated factors. We are able with more accuracy to de- 
fine the characters of the local races or subspecies. The study of these 
" small species " I believe is leading to a better understanding of the 
relationships of animals and the causes of evolution than if we ignored 
the slight varieties and contented ourselves with dealing systematically 
only with the species differentiated so far as to be distinguishable at a 

Systematists, either as members of our museum staff or students 
from elsewhere, who make use of our material, are putting on pub- 
lished record the more important facts of distribution and variation as 
they come to light. All of this activity leads to the more thorough 
knowledge of animals necessary for any sort of wider generalization. 
Our institution is a repository of facts; and no matter what may be 
said to the contrary by those who undervalue the efforts of the hoarder 
of facts, it must always be the mass of carefully ascertained facts upon 
which the valid generalization rests. I have lately learned from no 
less than three zoologists of prominence that the published scientific 
paper which does not include some induction or generalization is not 
worth while. The result, it seems to me, of such a sentiment as this, 
which is being promulgated among the younger students, is to en- 
courage premature conclusions. The object, in the view of the young 
research student, becomes the discovery of generalizations, and he is 
liable to be content with a wholly insufficient basis of facts. We can 
not expect satisfactory inductions from scanty data any sooner than 
from inaccurate data. At the same time I do realize that the ultimate 
value of the facts lies in their service as indicators of general truths. 
The amassing of detailed facts in any field of science is certainly a 
commendable pursuit; and if generalizations of wide application are 
early indicated, so much the better. Our research museum is a re- 
pository of facts. 

There is a more widely-appreciated function of our institution 
which is already asserting itself as an important one in the research 
museum's activities, especially in its connection with a state univer- 
sity: People want to know whether or not a reptile is poisonous; 
whether or not a bird is beneficial or injurious; whether or not a 


" wild animal " is to be feared. People instinctively want to know the 
names of things. There is the mere curiosity, perfectly laudable, 
which brings such questions as these to the museum in greater and 
greater number. It is as a popular source of information that no small 
part of the curator's time is occupied. 

The economic value of birds and mammals to the agricultural in- 
terests of the state is one of practical importance. In our field work 
we obtain a great amount of information applicable along this line; 
and, further, our staff keeps posted as to the results of the important 
work carried on by our national government to ascertain the beneficial 
or injurious effects of wild animals. Either from knowledge acquired 
directly by ourselves, or from that published elsewhere, we are often 
able to give the information asked for. The museum is thus constituted 
a popular bureau of information as regards the higher vertebrate ani- 
mals of the region with which we are familiar. 

The functions of a research museum may be summarized as follows : 
Collecting and preserving animals of certain groups from a limited 
region; recording in permanent form all obtainable information in re- 
gard to their distribution, variation, economic status and habits; serv- 
ing as a bureau of popular information as regards the animals of the- 
region worked in; the description and analysis of ecologic and faunal 
conditions as they are to-day; the publication of the immediately im- 
portant data obtained, calling attention to whatever generalizations, 
these facts may point towards. 

vol. lxxv.— 12. 





THE question of the effects of tobacco upon the smoker has re- 
ceived much attention from moralists, educators, physicians and 
scientists. The literature on the subject is voluminous. Numerous 
investigators have experimented upon animals, mainly to determine 
the effects produced by nicotine. The results of these experiments 
show that nicotine when injected in animals acts as a strong poison, 
causing disturbances of the nervous, circulatory and respiratory func- 
tions. The problem of determining the effects of smoking upon human 
beings presents far greater difficulties than the effects of nicotine in- 
jections on animals. There is very little agreement in the conclusions 
reached by the many physiologists and physicians, who have investi- 
gated this problem. 

Professor Lombard, of the University of Michigan, has shown that 
in from five to ten minutes after beginning to smoke an ordinary cigar 
muscular power began to diminish, and in an hour when the cigar was 
burned, it had fallen to about 25 per cent, of its initial value. The 
total work of the time of depression compared with a similar normal 
period was as 24.2 is to 44.8. 

According to Dr. Woodhead, of Cambridge University: 
Cigarette smoking in the case of boys, partly paralyzes the nerve cells at 
the base of the brain and this interferes with the breathing and heart action. 
The end organs of the motor nerves lose their excitability, next the trunks of 
the nerves and then the spinal cord. In those accustomed to smoking, it has 
a soothing effect upon the nervous system, but often acts as a nervous stimulant 
to mental work, as in reading. In those cases -the effect is not due to nicotine 
itself but to the stimulus of the smoke on the sensory nerves of the mouth, 
which reflexly stimulate the vaso-motor system and dilate the vessels of the 
brain. There appears to be less irritation of the brain structure and motor 
nerves than of the sensory nerves, but the power of fine coordination is de- 
cidedly lost. 

Dr. Clouston, the eminent English physician, writes on tobacco as 
follows : 

The use of tobacco has become the rule rather than the exception among 
the grown men of Europe and America and of some parts of Asia. If its use is 
restricted to full-grown men, if only good tobacco is used, not of too great 
strength, and if it is not used to excess, then there are no scientific proofs that 
it has any injurious effects, if there is no idiosyncrasy against it. Speaking 
generally, it exercises a soothing influence when the nervous system Js in any 


way irritable. It tends to calm and continuous thinking, and in many men 
promotes the digestion of food. To those good results there are, however, 
exceptions. It sometimes sets up a very strong desire for its excessive use; 
this often passing into a morbid craving which leads to excess and hurt. Used 
in such excessive quantity tobacco acts injuriously on the heart, weakens 
digestion, and causes congestion of the throat as well as hindering mental 
action. In many people its use tends towards a desire for alcohol as well. 
I have repeatedly seen persons of a nervous temperament where the two excesses 
in tobacco and alcohol were linked together. Tobacco, properly used may, in 
some cases, undoubtedly be made a mental hygienic 

Dr. Pereria says : 

I am not acquainted with any well-ascertained ill effects resulting from the 
habitual practise of smoking. 

Dr. Kichardson writes of tobacco in the London Lancet: 

It is innocent as compared with alcohol; it is in no sense worse than tea. 

In the Fourth Annual Keport of the Henry Phipps Institute, 1908, 
Dr. Lawrence P. Flick reports that of 443 male patients treated for 
pulmonary tuberculosis, 72.68 per cent, used tobacco. The result of 
the treatment was favorable in 38.28 per cent, of the patients who used 
tobacco, as against 47.42 among* non-users. Unfavorable results oc- 
curred in 61.7 per cent, of the users of tobacco, and in only 52.62 per 
cent, of the non-users. Dr. Flick concludes : 

Here again, as with alcoholism, we have merely evidence as to the influence 
of tobacco on the development and mortality of tuberculosis and not upon im- 
plantation. . . . The statistics here given, if they have any meaning at all, 
would seem to indicate that the use of tobacco by males may be one of the 
explanations why tuberculosis is at present as much more prevalent among 
males than among females. Tobacco undoubtedly depresses the heart and inter- 
feres Jto some extent with vigorous circulation. It is generally conceded that 
anything which depresses the circulation interferes with nutrition. 

Under the title " The Effects of Nicotine," Dr. Jay W. Seaver pub- 
lished an article in the Arena, for February, 1897, in which he gives 
some statistics of the differences in the physical measurements of 
smokers and non-smokers among Yale College students. Unfortunately, 
Dr. Seaver does not give any figures of the actual measurements or the 
number of cases that he observed. He says : 

A tabulation of the records of the students who entered Yale in nine years, 
when all of the young men were examined and measured, shows that the 
smokers averaged fifteen months olde r than the no n-smoker s, but that their 
size, except In weight , which was one and four-tenths kilograms more, was 
inferior in Height to the extent of seven millimeters (about i inch), and in 
lung capacity to the extent of eighty cubic centimeters. 

In explanation of the difference in age between the smokers and the 
non-smokers, Dr. Seaver says : 

The difference in age in the two groups points^to an age limit to parental, 
restraint, and raises the inquiry as to what might supplement this influence. 

In regard to the influence of smoking on the increase of physical 
measurements of college students, Dr. Seaver says : 



The effect of nicotine on the growth is very measurable, and the following 
figures are presented as a fairly satisfactory demonstration of the extent of the 
interference with growth that may be expected in boys from sixteen to twenty- 
five years of age, when they are believed to have reached full maturity. For 
purposes of comparison the men composing a class in Yale have been divided 
into three groups. The first is made up of those who do not use tobacco in any 
form; the second consists of those who have used tobacco regularly for at least 
a year of the college course; the third group includes the irregular users. 
A compilation of the anthropometric data on this basis shows that during the 
period of undergraduate life, which is essentially three and a half years, the 
first group grows in weight 10.4 per cent, more than the second, and 6.6 per 
than the second, and 11 per cent, more than the third; in girth of chest the 
first group grows 26.7 per cent, more than the second, and 22 per cent, more 
than the third; in capacity of lungs the first group gains 77 per cent, more 
than the second, and 49.5 per cent, more than the third. ' 

These figures have been widely quoted, and generally conside/ed as 
affording positive proof that college students who do not use tobacco 
make far greater progress in physical development than is the case 
with smokers. Without actual figures of increment in measurements, 
these percentages signify little or nothing. For instance, the difference 
of 24 per cent, in stature increment reported might mean that the 
smokers increased 17 millimeters and the non-smokers 21 millimeters, 
but no one would attach any significance to a difference of 4 millimeters 
in stature measurement. ^ 

A recent study by E. L. Clarke, published in the Clark College 
Record for July, 1909, shows that 46.3 per cent, of 201 students smoke. 
The smokers exceed the non-smokers a little in strength and lung- 
capacity, and 26. per cent, of the smokers won athletic insignia against 
16 per cent, of the non-smokers. But in the matter of scholarship, 
68.5 per cent, of the non-smokers won honors as against onjy 18.3 per 
cent, of the smokers. Mr. Clarke concludes: \ 

1. As a rule the non-smoker is mentally superior to both the occasional 
and the habitual smoker. 

2. As a rule the non-smoker is equal, and probably slightly superior, phys- 
ically, to all members of the smoking classes except the athletes. It may well 
be queried as to whether the smoking athlete does not make his gain at too 
high a mental cost to make it pay. No one would contend for a moment that 
smoking is the sole cause of these differences. There are numerous other factors 
that are inseparably linked with it. 

The question may be approached from the physiologic, the moral 
or the economic view-point. In this article, the chief aim will be to 
determine if smoking exerts any influence upon the physical and mental 
characteristics of college students; the moral question involved will be, 
considered only incidentally; no attempt will be made to present the 
economic view-point. The writer, with the cooperation of his assistant, 
Mr. Hyman Cohen, A.M., made a detailed study of 223 college students 
from two classes, including all for whom records could be obtained. 



Percentage of Smokers 

115 smokers or 52 per cent. 

108 non-smokers or 48 per cent. 

Age when Smokers acquired the Habit 
Age 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 U 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 

Number 10 2 2 11 11 18 30 23 16 1, 

Average Measurements of 145 College Students at the Beginning of 
Freshman Year and End of Sophomore Year 

68 Smokers, 1st 

68 Smokers, 2d. 


77 Non-smokers, 1st. 

77 Non-smokers, 2d. 
















170 4 


61.6 i 



2.6 1 




4 S 02 

4.28 s 




The smaller number of observations in the physical measurements 
is due to two causes: first, the physical examinations are optional for 
students entering with advanced standing in physical education; these 
students usually take only the first examination; second, a number of 
students in this group had not yet taken their second physical exam- 
ination when this study was made. The selection is therefore purely 

4 It appears from these tables that there is no appreciable difference 
between the measurements of the smokers and of the non-smokers 
except in the matter of age. The slight advantage in the average meas- 
urements of the smokers at the first examination is undoubtedly due to 
the fact that they are 8 months older. The slightly larger gain made by 
the smokers in weight, height, and total strength during the first two 
years in college is really too small to have any significance. 

Scholarship Records of the 223 Students 

Average Marks Marks during Failures during 
at Entrance first 2 years first 2 years 

223 students 90 per cent. 66 per cent. 7 per cent. 

115 smokers 89 per cent. 62 per cent. 10 per cent, 

108 non-smokers ... 91 per cent. 69 per cent. 4 per cent. 

The differences in scholarship standing between the smokers and 
non-smokers are distinctly in favor of the non-smokers. 

If the only difference between these two groups of students is that 
the members of one group use tobacco and the members of the other 
group abstain from it, then it would appear that there is a direct rela- 
tion between smoking tobacco and scholarship. A further study of 
these two groups brings out differences between smokers and non- 
smokers in athletic and social activities. 


Students who Won a Place on One or More Varsity Athletic Teams 

Of 223 students 84 or 37.6 per cent. 

Of 115 smokers 47 or 41 per cent. 

Of 108 non-smokers 37 or 34 per cent. 

This table shows that 41 per cent, of smokers and only 34 per cent, 
of non-smokers achieved success in varsity athletics. 

Of varsity athletes 56 per cent, are smokers as compared with 52 per 
cent, of all students. 

The following table illustrates the same point in another way, giving 
a percentage of 57.3 for the number of smokers on the various varsity 
athletic teams during one college year. 

Percentage of Smoeers on Varsity Athletic Teams during the 

Season of 1908-09 

No. of Men No. of Smokers Per Cent. 

Baseball 13 11 84 

Soccer 11 7 63 

Swimming 14 11 74 

Crew 12 4 33 

Hockey 7 4 67 

Lacrosse 12 6 50 

Basketball 6 1 17 

Wrestling 7 4 57 

Gymnastic 11 5 45 

Fencing 3 2 67 

Total 96 55 Average, 5T3 

Participation in the social activities o? college life is best measured 
by membership in college fraternities. The following table shows the 
relation between smoking and membership in fraternities : 

Students who Belong to College Fraternities 

Of 223 students 66 or 29.4 per cent. 

Of 115 smokers 49 or 42.6 per cent. 

Of 108 non-smokers 17 or 15. f per cent. 

This table shows a very close relation between smoking and mem- 
bership in college fraternities. 

Scholarship of Students who Belong to College Fraternities 

Average Marks Average Marks Average failures dur- 
at Entrance during first 2 years Ing first 2 years 

223 students 90.0 66.0 . 7.0 

66 fraternity members 85.4 59.1 12.8 

49 fraternity members smokers 1 . . . 84 J) 56.6 14.4 

17 fraternity members non-smokers 89,4 66.5 8.1, 

In order to show more clearly the facts brought out in the previous 
tables, the following comparisons are made : 


Of 223 students 115 or 52.0 per cent, are smokers 

Of 96 athletes 55 or 57.3 per cent, are smokers 

Of 66 fraternity men 49 or 74.2 per cent, are smokers 

There are more smokers among athletes and a great many more 
among fraternity men than among all students. 

Of 223 students 84 or 37.6 per cent, made varsity teams 

Of 115 smokers 47 or 41.0 per cent, made varsity teams 

Of 66 fraternity men 41 or 62.1 per cent, made varsity teams 

There are more athletes among smokers and a great many more 
' among fraternity men than among all students. 

Avenge Marks Average Marks Average failures 

at Entrance in first 2 years in first 2 years 

223 students 90 per cent. 66 per cent. 7 per cent. 

115 smokers 89 per cent. 62 per cent. 10 per cent. 

84 athletes 90 per cent. 63.2 per cent. 8.4 per cent. 

66 fraternity men 85.4 per cent. 59.1 per cent. 12.8 per cent. 

Smokers, athletes and fraternity men have lower scholarship records 
than other students. > 

There is some definite relation existing between smoking, partici- 
pation in athletics, membership in college fraternities and low scholar- 
ship. These relations indicate that the factor of smoking can not be 
isolated from other related factors which may account for differences in 
age and scholarship. It is very clear, however, that students who use 
tobacco invariably rank lower in scholarship than students who do not 

Those who are conversant with present conditions in American col- 
leges, recognize two distinct types of students. President Butler, in 
his annual report for 1908-09, devotes several pages to a discussion of 
this subject ; among other things he says : 

Not so many years ago there were few boys who went to college without a 
serious, definite purpose more or less scholarly in character. They were looking 
forward to the ministry, to teaching or to the practise of law or medicine. 
Not many of them had in mind a career as merchant, financier or corporation 
official. With the lapse of time and the increasing wealth of this country, this 
condition has been very much changed. It is now fashionable to go to college, 
at least to some colleges, and the attractions of college life and companionship 
are powerful motives in leading young men to strive to surmount the barrier 
of college admission. This new type o'f college student, whether he knows it or 
not, goes to college primarily for a social, not for an intellectual, purpose. His 
wish is to share in the attractive associations of an American college; he desires 
to participate in athletic sports; he hopes in after life to mingle freely and on 
terms of equality with college-bred men. It is a good thing that boys of this 
type should go to college, provided that the college will recognize their exist-, 
ence as a type and will deal with them accordingly. To try to turn such men 
into scholars is a hopeless task. They are not fitted for high scholarship and 
they do not desire it. 


The type of student referred to by Dr. Butler is a good fellow, lie 
dresses well, has a generous allowance, belongs to a fraternity and tries 
to " make " some varsity team ; he elects courses partly because they are 
easy and partly because the instructor is popular ; he spends much time 
in social intercourse and athletics, and gets few high marks, mainly 
because he does not try to get them. This is the student who smokes, 
because he has the time, the money and the opportunities to indulge in 
the practise. 

The non-smoker usually belongs to another type of student. He is 
the scholar who is ambitious for rank. Many students of this type earn 
part or all of their expenses by tutoring and other remunerative work; 
many of them hold free scholarships and must maintain high rank in 
their studies to retain them. Students of this type have little time for 
athletic training or social life of fraternities, and therefore few oppor- 
tunities and incentives for indulging in the practise of smoking. 

There are three points of interest brought out by this study : 

1. College students who acquired the smoking habit before entering 
college are about eight months older at entrance than the non-smokers. 
Three factors are probably responsible for this difference in age: (a) 
all scientists who have studied the physiological effects of tobacco upon 
man and animals are agreed that it has a depressing influence upon 
the heart and circulation, also, that anything which interferes with 
the vigor of the circulation has a retarding effect upon growth. It is 
therefore possible that smoking may retard both physical and mental 
development; (6) the age seventeen is the time when most boys begin 
to smoke, if for any reason a boy is older than the average when he 
enters college, there is more than an even chance that he will have 
acquired the smoking habit in the secondary school, and (c) the type 
of student described above who is primarily interested in social life 
and athletics, is found in secondary schools as well as in college; three 
out of four of such students smoke, and they are usually graded low in 
their studies, these facts would account for a higher average age among 
entering freshmen who are smokers. 

2. The physical measurements of freshman smokers are slightly 
above those of the non-smokers, and the smokers gain more than the 
non-smokers during the first two years in college, except in lung capac- 
ity. These figures are susceptible of misinterpretation unless three im- 
portant facts are taken into consideration. (1) The smokers are 8 
months older than the non-smokers; their measurements should be 
slightly larger on that account. (2) It was shown that smokers belong 
to a class of students having larger means and therefore a more favorable 

ffonment— better nutrition, etc. — than the non-smokers; 
einents should be larger on that account. (3) It was shown 
[participate in athletic exercises more than the non-smok- 

thj^H fuvm 
tn!H ■;>; 


era; their measurements should be larger on that account. That the 
smokers are not appreciably heavier, taller and stronger than the non- 
smokers may be due to the depressing influence of nicotine on the cir- 
culation and the consequent interference with normal growth. 

3. The scholarship standing of smokers is distinctly lower than that 
of non-smokers. The intimate connection existing between the smoking 
habit and participation in- the social and athletic activities of college 
life makes it impossible to determine how much, if any direct influence 
the smoking habit exerts upon scholarship, but the results of this study 
and the similar results obtained at Clark College indicate very clearly 
that the smoking habit is closely associated with idleness and lack of 
ambition for scholarly achievement. 

Conclusions. — The writer has no desire to defend the use of tobacco. 
The motive in making this study was to ascertain the facts concerning 
the effects of tobacco upon college men. The teaching of hygiene is 
making rapid progress ; quantities of new books are being published in 
which the large volume of new scientific facts on nutrition, muscular 
exercise, and the effects of alcohol take the place of the dogmatic state- 
ments and easy moral of the old books; a similar change is desired in 
the treatment of the problem of the effects of tobacco. 

A study of the literature on the effects of smoking, years of medical 
examinations of boys and men, experience in teaching hygiene and the 
results of this study have led the writer to the following conclusions: 

1. All scientists are agreed that the use of tobacco by adolescents 
is injurious; parents, teachers and physicians should strive earnestly to 
warn youths ^against its use. 

2. There is no scientific evidence that the moderate use of tobacco 
by healthy mature men produces any beneficial or injurious physical 
effects that can be measured. 

3. There is an abundance of evidence that tobacco produces injurious 
effects on (a) certain individuals suffering from various nervous affec- 
tions; (6) persons with an idiosyncrasy against tobacco; (c) all persons 
who use it excessively. 

4. It has been shown conclusively in this study and also by Mr. 
Clarke that the use of tobacco by college students is closely associated 
with idleness, lack of ambition, lack of application, and low scholarship. 





rr^WO human streams pour ceaselessly into the sea of American 
-*- industry. One of these brings to us the immigrant, the man 
of foreign stock, alien in blood and customs, and more and more from 
the backward and " beaten " peoples of eastern Europe. The sources 
of the other stream are in our own life, and upon it are borne America's 
own children who, in the passing of years, are to face the duties of 
manhood and womanhood. These two streams fill the vast national 
reservoir of labor upon which depends in large measure the future of 
American industry and American moral welfare. This is the first fact 
to which attention is directed. 

The second fact is the changing character of industry, aside from its 
human element. We are in the midst of the great mechanical revolu- 
tion whose beginning in America goes back to the early years of the 
nineteenth century, but which since the civil war has been uprooting 
the old order, supplanting its simpler methods with marvelous rapidity 
and tremendous power. 

The human consequence of this revolution is the driving out of the 
man by the machine, on the one hand, and the increasing specialization 
of labor on the other. And the labor supplanted by the machine, if it 
is to fit into the resulting more specialized employments, must have 
skill. Primitive man was unspecialized and his skill was of the 
slightest, his knowledge being insignificant. The man of to-day finds 
that sheer muscle is at a discount, and his weaker but better trained 
fellow passes him in the race. It is not meant that there is not a great 
demand for unskilled labor, but the unskilled laborer works under a 
constantly growing handicap. 

In our earlier national history, it was possible for us to rely for 
prosperity upon the resources of nature. Force of body and character 
sufficient to brave the hardships of a raw and untrained world, and to 
pluck from nature the bounties which she furnished in abundance, was 
the quality most essential. Each man or family was a unit in produc- 
tion ; cooperation or combination on any extended scale involving train- 
ing, was not found or needed. Individualism and the overthrow of 
nature, and her exploitation, were the important features of our national 
life which assured success; and it was just these qualities of endurance, 
courage, force, assertiveness, aided by sheer muscle, which the selective 


process of our early immigration brought to us. Only men and women 
of such qualities could and would face the long and dreary sea voyage 
and brave the peril of the unknown new world. Only the man of hope, 
of ambition, poor in the wealth of the world, but rich in determination, 
force and foresight, was suited for such migration. So too, it often 
was the leader of the advance movement of civilization in Europe who, 
because of political oppression, led a vanguard of the best blood of his 
country to share the bounties of nature in America. 

But the day in which we can rely for prosperity upon nature's 
bounty is past. Her resources have been explored and divided up. 
And while new resources continue to be brought to light, they are the 
possession of the few, and offer little of hope to the hungry immigrant 
from the old world. * 

We can not, therefore, depend exclusively upon nature and the raw 
force and determination of our people to maintain or continue the old- 
time progress and high position of America. More and more our 
dependence must be placed upon ourselves rather than upon nature 
alone, and in particular upon a character acquired through training. 
The new industrial life, it has been said, demands skill. If America 
is to advance in industry, she must face this demand; her people must 
be trained and trained industrially. 

If such is a true statement of the general character of the productive 
process of to-day, it is pertinent to inquire if the two streams of 
humanity, which furnish the labor necessary to production, are fitted 
to the more specialized demands of this process. Is our labor skilled ? 
And what are its means of attaining skill ? 

Let us consider first the stream of immigration. The report of the 
commissioner general of immigration for 1907 shows that out of the 
total number of 1,285,000 coming to this country from other parts of 
the world in the year 1906, about eighty-three per cent, were without skill 
requisite to enter a skilled industry. If we eliminate from this number 
the women, children, aged and such other persons as are described as 
having no occupation at all, there remains fifty-nine per cent, of the 
total who are of industrial age and sex and yet are distinctly unskilled 
laborers. A large number, too, of those excluded are women who will 
enter unskilled trades, and many are children who will begin to .earn at 
the earliest possible time in unskilled employments. 

The fact that such a large proportion of the immigrant population 
is unskilled is inevitable. It is necessary only to recall that the great 
influx of the present and recent past is from central and southern 
Europe, from regions in which the opportunity to acquire skill is com- 
paratively slight, and where the call for skill is not yet dominant. 

If it be agreed, then, that the stream of immigration is pouring a 
mass of unskilled labor into our country, consider what is the case in 


regard to the second source of our industrial life. What is the tend- 
ency to skill and the opportunity to acquire it among our own children 
who must soon enter industry? It is impossible to state this problem 
in a statistical fashion; but a fair idea may be obtained from a study 
of the industrial situation. Skill may be gained through two, and only 
two, methods. It must come either in connection with industry itself 
or in some way of preparation outside it; either through a system of 
apprenticeship or by way of vocational schools or school studies. In 
the older state of industry, the apprentice system of the guilds con- 
stituted a logical and efficient method of training. Boys became skilled 
workers under direction of a master and in the actual work of produc- 
tion. The apprentice system was the great industrial school of the past, 
and not only because it led to industrial skill, but also because" it gave 
at least something of that mental discipline and power which we asso- 
ciate with the idea of a school. 

This system, as is well known, is largely a thing of the past. It is 
true that apprentices are now received in some industrial plants, but 
the number so received is entirely inadequate to furnish a supply of 
skilled labor for the many lines of trade and industry. It is enough 
to say that the modern factory with its great specialization, is not as 
a rule, willing to train its skilled workers. It wishes its workers to 
come to it already skilled. 

If training can not be gained as a part of the actual productive 
process, may it be acquired outside that process? Or, to state it dif- 
ferently, does our school system give the members of the growing gen- 
eration a training which fits them to enter the industrial life as skilled 
workers ? 

We have in this country a considerable and growing number of 
trade schools and technical schools. We also find evening schools where 
vocational training may be obtained ; and there are other opportunities 
of a similar sort. But it is not necessary to prove that there is but a 
scant beginning in this direction, as this is admitted by all students of 
the subject. It is clear that our present means of training for trade 
and industry through special schools is entirely inadequate, and it is 
equally well admitted that our common school system does not meet the 
need in this direction. Its curriculum has been determined by other 
interests than the economic needs of a constantly increasing industrial 

In the excellent study by Professor Thorndike, 1 based upon returns 
from schools of twenty-three cities having a population of 25,000 or 
more, it is demonstrated beyond a doubt that the lack of opportunity 
for vocational training is a great cause of that heavy dropping out of 
school in early grades which thereby closes school education to a large 

ia The Elimination of Pupils from School," p. 118 ff. 


proportion of our children. Dr. Thorndike finds that only twenty- 
seven per cent, of those entering the first grade of the common school 
continue into the first year of the high school; and of these, thirty- 
seven per cent, drop out by the end of the first high-school year. The 
main cause of this enormous elimination from the high school has to 
do with the nature of the high-school course of study. Evidently a 
considerable number begin the high school at the age of fourteen or 
fifteen, an age at which little skill has been gained, yet which is favor- 
able to its acquisition, but are discouraged by the lack of opportunity 
in this direction and so leave school altogether. 

As is well known, it was found by the Massachusetts Commission 
on Industrial and Technical Education that " 25,000 children between 
fourteen and sixteen years of age are at work or idle," that is, not in 
school ; and the result of this careful investigation was to make entirely 
certain that these children had dropped out of school because they did 
not find there any possibility for training along lines which would 
prepare for the making of a livelihood. 

We must conclude, therefore, that neither within the organization 
of industry itself, nor outside of it, in schools of any type, is there 
opportunity for the stream of growing boys and girls to gain in an 
economic manner that degree of vocational training which the con- 
ditions of modern industry demand. 

What then is the situation which we face? First, the demand of 
our specialized commercial and industrial life for a larger and larger 
percentage of skilled workers. Secondly, a stream of foreign immi- 
gration pouring upon our shores an unskilled population much of which 
could not acquire skill readily, even if opportunity were presented, and 
which must inevitably supply largely the demand for unskilled labor. 
Third, a stream of growing boys and girls who must earn their living 
through our present complex and specialized forms of industry. Fourth, 
a comparatively slight chance of their gaining skill after they enter the 
industrial life, and no adequate opportunity to gain skill through the 
school before entering upon this work. What is the result ? A demand 
for trained men and women, on the one hand, and on the other a vain 
beating against the bars which defend the skilled positions, by a mass 
of desponding, dissatisfied unskilled workers, with only the most ven- 
turesome and aggressive pushing through into skilled positions in a 
manner harmful and exhausting to themselves and weakening to the 

It is at this point that the real menace of unskill becomes clear. 
Much has been written and spoken about the retarding effect of unskill 
upon our national production, and this is indeed serious. But the real 
danger is more fundamental. Of greater importance than the product 
of labor is the worker himself. The effect upon our people of such a 


situation as has been described, is the real danger. The problem is not 
primarily industrial but social. TJnskill in the face of a demand for 
skill leads to degeneracy. In this fact lies its greatest menace. In his 
admirable study of " Misery and its Causes," Dr. Devine wisely suggests 
that the great cause of misery is maladjustment, and there is strong 
reason to think that his conclusion is correct. But just in so far as it 
is true that economic facts lie back of and condition the progress of 
civilization, to that extent failure to meet the fundamental economic 
facts involved in advancing stages of industry must constitute or lead 
to the greatest social maladjustment and consequent degradation and 
misery. It is maladjustment in respect to the most vital phase of life. 
A great proportion of the young people of our country must enter 
an industrial calling. In what way does this unfitness for it affect 
their lives? The result is best shown by the often-quoted finding of 
the Massachusetts Commission on Industrial and Technical Education, 
for 1906. Out of 25,000 young people of from fourteen to sixteen 
years of age in that state not in school, it is reported that thirty-three 
per cent, were in absolutely unskilled trades and sixty-four per cent, 
in what are called low-grade industries, where the skill of the work- 
ers is very slight. Only less than two per cent, had found their way 
into really skilled industries. What does it mean, humanly speak- 
ing, to have a child employed in an unskilled industry? Simply 
that the child usually has come to the end of its development. 
On the side of industry it means a permanently small production 
and low earning power; on the side of the individual life, it 
means a stagnant mind and the consequences which flow from 
it. For it is not true that children remain in these low-grade oc- 
cupations for a brief time, and from them pass to higher and more 
skilled employment. The nature of industrial and commercial 
technic is such that there is a chasm between unskilled and skilled 
employments. There is no passage from one to the other. The elevator 
boy or messenger boy is not being trained to be a mechanic or a 
telegrapher or any other more or less skilled worker. These and other 
low-paid juvenile employments represent a class of work of a special 
sort from which there is no exit and which rather unfit than fit one for 
better work. In the street trades, in candy-making, in cotton, woolen, 
knitting and other mill work, and in many other places such work is 
found. To a considerable extent it is work which should be done by 
machines and not by growing boys and girls. The child who leaves 
school to enter one of these positions, condemns himself in the majority 
of cases to an unskilled life. He passes from one unskilled position 
to another, becoming more and more discontented as he finds it impos- 
sible to advance in wages and responsibility. Discontent, hopelessness, 
shiftlessness, take the place of ambition and progressive force. The 


unskilled employment is not disciplinary and it does not lead to a 
skilled employment which is disciplinary. In the organization of 
industry, the avoidance of waste is a great aim; yet the lessening of the 
greatest of all wastes — the waste of life — receives scanty attention. 

The writer of " The Long Day," 2 in drawing upon her own experi- 
ence as an unskilled girl, looking for employment in a great city, sum- 
marizes the situation in these works : 

For sad and terrible though it be, the truth is that the majority of 
" unfortunates," whether of the specifically criminal or of the prostitute class, 
are what they are, not because they are inherently vicious, but because they 
were failures as workers and wage earners. They were failures as such, 
primarily, for no other reason than that they did not like to work. And they 
did not like to work, not because they are lazy — they are anything but lazy — 
but because they did not know how to work. 

And again the same writer records her conclusions in regard to the 
educational need of girls in view of the modern demand for skill : 

And there -are other things more important than the "three ITs" which 
she should be taught. She should be taught how to work — how to work intel- 
ligently. She should be trained young in the fundamental race activities, in 
the natural human instincts for making something with the hands or of doing 
something with the hands, and of taking infinite pleasure in making it perfect, 
in doing it well.* 

And it may be added that what is true of girls is equally true of 
boys. The great cause of failure and resulting degeneracy is lack of 

It must be recognized that the vocational impulse is deep-seated, 
and as the child advances into youth he begins to look to the doing of 
his life's work. He is restless with simply academic subjects, however 
valuable. He is concrete in his demands. He wishes to do and earn. 
But it is an interest in the deep human instincts and forces which must 
be laid hold of, if we are to develop a healthy, hopeful life; and among 
these we must recognize the economic instinct leading to the desire to 
earn and to make a place in the world of production. How much of 
progress flowed from the development resulting from the vocational 
education of the apprentice of the guild organization, it is not possible 
to say; but it certainly was a factor of no small import. And the close 
association of the wonderful expression of artistic genius in Italy with 
the development of the skilled artisan and craftsman, is a feature of 
social history which should lead to serious reflection. 

But, further, lack of skill means insecurity of employment for adult 
workers; and no greater danger threatens labor than this. Every 
slackening of trade, every depression of business, every interference with 
industrial progress, every mistake of judgment of the organizers of 
industry, falls with heaviest force upon the unskilled. Their value in 

•Page 277. 
•Page 294. 


industry is least, their tenure of employment is most easily imperilled. 
The past two winters with armies of unemployed in every large city, 
recruited largely, we are told by competent observers, from the un- 
skilled, bear witness to this fact. 

A consequence of economic insecurity is a weakening of moral tone 
and grip ; this is the greatest of all dangers to society. " Every great 
industrial crisis leaves behind it/' says Dr. Warner, " a legacy of indi- 
vidual degeneracy and personal unthrift." 4 " Involuntary idleness 
intensifies and perpetuates incapacity." Nothing so begets failure as 
the consciousness of failure. The discipline of regular and continuous 
occupation is a support which few can do without. At the recent 
meeting of the British Association for the Advancement of Science, a 
member of the Eoyal Commission on the Poor Laws held that pauperism 
arises mainly from the casual worker class, that is, in the main, the 
unskilled class whose security of employment is slightest and whose 
mental attitude is therefore least hopeful and healthy. To live on the 
edge of social existence blinds the eyes to the social order which is not 
near the edge. Hopefulness of mind is a social force impossible to 
measure. It is hope which marks the difference between slavery and 
freedom, between stagnation and progress. But insecurity weakens and 
destroys hope, and if employment continues to be insecure, the result 
must be an increasing body of hopeless men and women, feeding, in- 
evitably, the ranks of criminal and pauper degeneracy. 

Viewed from this point, the significance of unskill becomes tre- 
mendous. Lack of skill stands as the bar to mental progress even in 
an unskilled age; but in an age demanding skill, the lack of it is itself 
a condition leading to degeneration. Through unskill, labor is con- 
demned to low wages, a narrow outlook, an inability to meet the modern 
demands of industry; by remaining economically unfit, men become 
socially unfit and are forced for themselves and their children into the 
ceaseless round of struggle for bare subsistence, with consequent hope- 
lessness, bodily decay and resultant misery. It should be clear that in 
refusing to meet the industrial needs of our age for skilled workers the 
nation is condemning a considerable part of its population to an in- 
evitable economic unfitness and resultant mental sterility, since eco- 
nomic well-being is essential to mental stability and progress. Degen- 
eracy, thus, is born of the unskilled hand and the untrained mind. 

There is one further position which needs to be considered. It is 
becoming clear, as investigation into social life proceeds, that human 
progress depends largely upon society's creative minds, its " inventors," 
its originators, whose fertile ideas are passed on to the mind of the mass 
of mankind. It is these suggestive and fruitful ideas which mark the 
stages of advancement and which constitute the essence of civilization. 

4 A. G. Warner, "American Charities," pp. 103 and 97. 


And it may be said, further, to be a matter of at least large proba- 
bility that these creative minds may be brought forth in any stratum 
of society. Whether they shall develop and give to civilization the 
benefit of their talent, depends upon the conditions surrounding them. 
They may grow and become mentally fruitful, or be repressed and 
become sterile, according as social environment is favorable or the 
contrary. It would seem that society should make every effort, in its 
own interest, to encourage their nurture and preservation. But, as 
Dr. Ward has so well shown, 5 education i3 the greatest social agency 
for providing that the mind, strong by nature, shall develop and give 
its ideas to the world. How great therefore is the urgency that society 
should afford educational opportunity to all classes of its people. How 
great a part of the possible progress of the race or nation is hindered 
by the social waste of its creative ability which never arrives at its 
period of fertile productiveness for lack of suitable social opportunity. 

It should, however, be clear from what has already been said that 
the only education which can reach the masses of a nation and hold 
them long enough to be of educational service to them, is that which 
looks toward vocation. And it therefore follows that only by making 
our school system, to some degree, industrial and vocational, and thereby 
holding our children under educational influences for a longer period, 
can the great number of productive minds, born in poverty or other 
unfavorable conditions, be preserved and brought to that stage of devel- 
opment in which they may advance the nation. 

Here, then, is the real danger of unskill. Modern industry calls for 
skill. In the face of this demand, lack of skill leads to unemployment 
and so to social weakness. Lack of skill leads, also, to poor employment; 
and so, likewise, carries men into shiftlessness, discontent and degenera- 
tion. On the other hand, skill breeds hope and hence mental develop- 
ment. It opens new avenues of activity and draws out otherwise buried 
talent, and thus preserves the originators to the race. But our two 
streams of labor are inadequately trained for the economic demand. 
What we should do in regard to the stream of immigrants is a problem 
by itself. But as for our own children, the demand for opportunity to 
gain that skill, which will enable them to fit the economic life of to-day, 
is a very urgent and vital one. 

5 " Applied Sociology," chapter X. 

vol. lxxvii. — 13. 





DURING the last ten years the sciences of bacteriology and para- 
sitology have been established beyond previous expectation. 
To-day these sciences are so far-reaching that they not only have to do 
with medicine but extend into the realm of hygiene, agricultural sci- 
ences and the industrial arts. The advances made in connection with 
the life histories of the various microscopic animal parasites and the 
studies which have led to a general understanding of the relation 
between parasite and host have done much toward unearthing mysteries 
of diseases which attack domestic fowls and menace the poultry in- 
dustry. Bacteriologists have enabled the avian pathologist to study 
and control these fatal diseases. 

Practical applications of bacteriology to the arts and industries are 
only instances of the ramification of this science. In agriculture and 
closely allied science, bacteriology and also parasitology have been 
immediately and intelligently employed to set forth new facts and 
expose new problems. During the last few years bacteriology has held 
close relations with medical science. By the application and extension 
into the field of protozoon pathology one of the latest and most helpful 
developments in the study of infectious diseases has evolved. This is 
not alone true of human pathology, but must include avian, insect (such 
as bee and silkworm), sheep, swine and cattle diseases and possibly the 
diseases of plants. 

In the poultry yards epidemics of the so-called " white diarrhoea," 
"black-head" of turkeys, and tape-worms, have demanded scientific 
study for remedial help. The loss to the poultryman is at present 
almost incalculable. The etiology of many diseases is understood 
only by the discovery of some bacteria or parasite. The mode of en- 
trance of the invading microorganisms to the avian body, the study of 
the original source of the infectious material and the possibilities of 
transmission and infection can be apprehended only through prosecu- 
tion of detailed bacteriological and parasitological studies. Individual 
birds may suffer from malnutrition and be afflicted with ailments which 
may be the result of inability to utilize food properly, but when a whole 
flock becomes droopy, listless and unable to maintain normal life, we 
must resort to the field of parasitology or bacteriology for the cause. 


In the warfare against the ravages of disease a most rational 
hygiene of the poultry yards must be observed, and in order to under- 
stand thoroughly those factors which have to do primarily with elim- 
inating the trouble, it is to the use of disinfectants and antiseptics that 
we must resort. Here again the science of bacteriology lends a helping 
hand, for data concerning the efficiency of disinfectants can be ascer- 
tained only by bacteriological technique. It then becomes the duty of 
the scientist to direct his entire attention to those factors which in 
themselves are sufficient to allow a foothold for many an infectious 
disease. It is no less a fact among domestic birds than with human 
beings, that infection may take place by contaminated food, the par- 
ticular parasite or organism being transmitted in such manner. All 
the modes of spread are recognized, and just as the spread of human 
diseases are held to be matters of public concern and preventive measures 
are instituted by expert bacteriologists, so also should the spread of 
diseases among domestic fowls be of the same great concern to the 
poultryman if he is desirous of maintaining his birds in a healthy 

Probably one of the most difficult problems in relation to avian 
diseases lies in the prompt recognition of the cause, so that measures 
may be employed immediately to allay the trouble. With the large 
poultry farms it may appear that careful observation of hygienic meas- 
ures involve too much time, but under many circumstances and espe- 
cially at this infant stage in our knowledge concerning avian diseases 
the application of searching and delicate parasitological and bac- 
teriological tests are often necessary to determine the proper method 
of procedure. 

The great losses to poultrymen from the disease known as "black 
head " or " coccidiosis of turkeys " has called scientific men to make 
thorough investigation and a specific parasite known as a coccidium 
has been claimed to be the cause. Dr. Geo. B. Morse, of the Bureau of 
Animal Industry, United States Department of Agriculture, 1 states that 
this coccidium may infect turkeys, ducks and pigeons. It has a defi- 
nite life cycle. He describes it as a certain circular, sometimes slightly 
oval, cyst, 12 to 25 microns in diameter, containing granular matter 
which may fill the cyst or occupy only a portion of it. These are per- 
manent cysts and may be voided in the feces of the bird. These only 
require warmth and moisture for their development into sporozoites by 
which the disease is transmitted to other birds. By the destruction of 
the malarial parasite within the body of man, we may break the life 
cycle and thus interrupt the continuity of the transfer between man and 
mosquito in the transmission of this disease. In like manner, the 
scientist can plan to break the cycle of these avian parasites within the 

1 Circular 128 (1908), Bureau of Animal Industry, Dept. of Agriculture. 


body of the bird and consequently eliminate infection. Contributions 
from the Division of Biology of the Rhode Island Experiment Station 
have furnished us interesting facts concerning parasitism of Cytodites 
nudus, a mite and Hcsmaphysalis chordeilis, a tick and these are but a 
beginning to the study of such parasites affecting birds. It demon- 
strates the field for research in parasitology and what contributions 
from this realm of science would mean in determining the cause of so 
many diseases, the etiology of which at the present time is unknown. 

Fowl typhoid, cholera, tuberculosis and hosts of other afflictions were 
discovered through the aid of scientific bacteriologists. In a very 
recent publication 2 Professor Bettger, of Yale University, has demon- 
strated the value of bacteriology, by his valuable contribution to the 
study of white diarrhoea. He has been able to demonstrate the r61e of 
bacteria in the etiology of this disease. We need no better example of 
the usefulness of such a science in planning investigations of this na- 
ture. By thorough bacteriological methods he has been able to give 
us the results of his work and has shown how infection may occur, 
what it means to the poultry industry, and methods of prevention. 
This also demonstrates how bacteriological methods have been used to 
study epidemiology. It has given a procedure based on bacteriological 
facts and with such methods at hand we are supplied with the means 
of suggesting treatments which undoubtedly will do much toward 
solving the problems which have heretofore been unsolved. These 
studies have shown that the function of pure water and food and san- 
itary conditions are essential to the daily life of domestic birds. If 
diseases of the poultry yards are to be suppressed, hygienic measures 
must be observed here as with human beings. It was not until after 
the introduction of hygienic measures such as a proper sewage dis- 
posal, and water filtration that the death rate of typhoid fever was 
perceptibly diminished in this country and Europe. 

Conspicuous as the achievements have been in bacteriology, it can 
not be said that the field is exhausted. There is hardly an infectious 
disease of the poultry yards which does not have to do with some bac- 
terium or parasite, and the variations and adaptations of these patho- 
genic forms is to-day one of the difficult problems with which the avian 
pathologist has to deal. It is for the scientist to determine whether 
certain bacteria and parasites owe their pathogenic action to the organ- 
isms themselves or to their toxic or poisonous by-products. The field 
of immunity as related to avian pathology is unexplored. This would 
be among the most complicated that the scientist could undertake, yet 
the fields of bacteiiology and parasitology with its many perfected 
methods of attack would indicate that it is not impossible. Not only 
human medicine, but also veterinary science owe much of their ad- 

2 Bulletin 60, Conn. Agr. Exp. Station. 


vancement to these two fields of knowledge. The scientific contribu- 
tions of Neuman on parasites show that such organisms are the cause 
of many a dreadful disease, not only with man and animal, but with 
all avian life. The careful study of their life histories should appeal 
to our protozoologists and inspire them to contribute to our knowledge 
of those parasites which are causing an enormous mortality of our 
most valuable birds. 

After the removal of a sick fowl from the flock a diagnosis is 
usually made. Very often the specific organism causing the infection 
is readily discovered, while, on the other hand, the most diligent scien- 
tific efforts may fail to reveal the character of the disease. Many fail- 
ures are accountable because there is a lack of sufficient knowledge or 
a lack of thoroughness in making the investigation. 

The fundamental difficulty in ascertaining more definite knowledge 
about our poultry diseases is the lack of enough scientific men to take 
hold of the situation. To-day we have no rational system of medical 
treatment for birds, nor can one be looked for until scientists, who are 
busy on anatomy and physiology of avian life, offer to the layman a 
definite plan of procedure, when these parasites and bacteria have made 
their way into the body and brought about pathological lesions. 

The relation of bacteriology and parasitology to the infectious 
avian diseases as mentioned before, is fundamental. If bacteriologists 
and protozoologists will enter upon this field of avian diseases as a 
basis for their research in their respective fields, the results of their in- 
vestigations will lead to an improvement in the conditions of our 
poultry yards, and give facts which are necessary before any treatment 
can be found. With men of this character at work upon avian pathol- 
ogy, success is inevitable. 



By Professor E. M. EAST 


WHEN one attempts to give some idea of the principles and of the 
methods and scope of plant breeding, the matter falls naturally 
into two parts, the role of selection and the role of hybridization. This 
is not because the subject is really thus separable, but because the meth- 
ods in use fall into these categories. One must, of course, use selection 
after hybridization, but there are a number of plants of great agricul- 
tural value, in which either the flowers are too small for artificial cross- 
ing or in which other reasons make it desirable to use simply selection 
in their improvement. It is of these that this paper will treat. 

The particular work discussed has been selected because it will il- 
lustrate certain principles, not because it is regarded as more important 
than other work of like nature. The work of many quiet men who are 
striving for the good of mankind by their efforts toward the improve- 
ment of plants deserves to be mentioned, but unfortunately the limits 
of a single paper are too narrow to discuss principles and to say much 
about practise, and knowledge of the former should be made more 
widespread in order that the latter may be appreciated. 

The non-botanical public can not be blamed if it receives compara- 
tively worthless productions with greater acclaim than those of value 
when the former obtain all the publicity and no voice is raised in pro- 
test. Exploitations of new plant introductions of little value have 
certainly been numerous in the past few years. Perhaps this has been 
a public benefit, for it has increased the general interest in plant breed- 
ing and has stimulated many laymen to study the subject in order to 
be able to separate the wheat from the tares when dealing with new 
varieties. It is strange, perhaps, with our reputation for always look- 
ing for the dollar sign, that the new agricultural productions of great- 
est economic value have always received less notoriety than the pro- 
duction of horticultural novelties of limited use and small importance ; 
yet such is the case. It is doubtful whether the production of a new 
field corn that would increase the yield in the United States by ten 
per cent, would obtain more than a passing notice from the press; yet 
such an increase would add $100,000,000 per annum to the wealth of 

1 This paper is based on a series of poular lectures delivered at the Bussey 
Institution of Harvard University April and May, 1910. A second paper will 


the country, and the individual who was responsible would deserve to be 
ranked among the greatest benefactors of the commonwealth. 

This illustration serves to show something of the extent of the bene- 
fits that may be confidently expected from the improvement of culti- 
vated plants ; but the full extent of our rightful expectations is at least 
ten per cent, increase in both quality and quantity of all the great 
crops of the United States. In fact this is a very conservative forecast 
based upon what has been accomplished in the past. Men like Haynes 
with his "Blue stem" wheat and J. S. Learning with his "Learning" 
corn have perhaps made an even greater percentage increase in the 
value of the returns from the land upon which their productions have 
been grown. Their results were obtained largely in the latter half of 
the last century and even greater advances should be made in the fu- 
ture. This statement is made because, in the last quarter of the nine- 
teenth century, experimental biology was in the same relative position 
in which chemistry stood in its beginning. During the century chemis- 
try made wonderful advances; during this — the twentieth — century 
experimental biology will make similar progress. And one of the first 
and most important applications of the facts discovered will be to 
guide and direct man in producing new plants and animals by more 
direct and certain methods. 

When one speaks of producing new plants, however, he should not 
be misunderstood. Man has not yet actually produced new variations 
(although the time may come when even this is possible) ; he simply 
works with the variations which have occurred through natural causes 
of which little is known. The isolation of a varying plant and from it 
the production of a variety, or the combination of desirable characters 
from one strain with other desirable characters from different strains, 
comprises the total aim and desire of the plant breeder. The idea is 
simple; to put the idea into practise successfully is often a tedious and 
difficult task. 

As in hybridization the ease with which results can be obtained by 
selection depends largely upon flower structure. . In selection, how- 
ever, the relative facility with which artificial cross-pollination can be 
accomplished is of small importance. What one wishes to know is 
whether cross-pollination or self-pollination takes place naturally. 
Practically all plants are occasionally cross-fertilized naturally, and 
many of them have devices whereby they are nearly always crossed ; but 
we are coming to see that cross-fertilization is not as essential to plant 
life as Darwin endeavored to prove in his " Cross- and Self-fertilization 
in the Vegetable Kingdom." Wheat, for example, is almost always 
self-fertilized ; yet it has kept its vigor for thousands of years. The 
importance of this fact to the selectionist is easily seen. If seed from 
several varieties of wheat is mixed and planted, each variety remains 


true to its type because of self-pollination, and during the growing 
season the plants can be compared and any desirable type selected for 
future propagation. In a cross-pollinated plant like maize this is not 
the case. The pollen is carried by the wind through long distances and 
varieties planted close together are continually intercrossed. The iso- 
lation of a particular type is not simple as in the case of wheat, but may 
be prolonged through many generations. Each prize ear selected for 
future planting will have had at least a few and possibly many of its 
seeds fertilized by pollen from less desirable strains. When these seeds 
are grown they of course again fertilize the seeds of the desirable plants 
with a frequency proportionate to their number. 

In the case just cited recourse may be had to artificial self-pollina- 
tion. Several hundred seeds are thus produced at one operation and the 
work of isolating the new variety is made materially easier. But sup- 
pose we are dealing with red clover where the flowers are small, almost 
sterile with their own pollen and produce only one seed. In this crop, 
the long and tedious method of continuous selection just mentioned 
must be used, for there is no other way. This method is often called 
the pedigree-culture method. The main idea of the plan is that the 
seeds of single plants are grown in isolated plots, and the character of 
the mother plant judged by the characters of the progeny. This 
method has given much better results than the so-called German 
method, which consisted in planting a mixed lot of seeds from several 
of the best plants. For example, the German ^sugar-beet raisers have 
for years analyzed large numbers of sugar-beets and have grown their 
seed from the mother beets showing the highest percentage of sugar. 
No particular attention was paid to the general average of the progeny 
of each beet; those were bred from which appeared to be the best as 
shown by the polariscope sugar test. In this way the amount of sugar 
produced per acre was gradually increased, but progress was slow and 
cessation of selection immediately caused the sugar content to decline. 

To see the real reason of this we must go back to the time of Dar- 
win. The data from which Darwin proved the doctrine of descent 
came in large measure from domestic animals and cultivated plants. 
He saw that plants varied among themselves and that by selection of 
the variants new types were gradually produced. From these facts he 
argued that all evolution had taken place by the selection of minute 
variations and generally through the selective agency of a contest for 
life taking place among all living organisms. This he called the agency 
of natural selection. Later, however, Bateson, Korshinsky and de Vries 
called attention to the fact that many new types of animals and plants 
are known to have originated suddenly. There was no gradual evolu- 
tion of the type; it simply appeared fully formed. This hypothesis, 
called the " mutation theory," found great favor among plant breeders 


for they knew that many times they had noticed and isolated plants 
showing new characters from their cultures, and had carefully made 
selections for further improvement of the new strain, but that genera- 
tion after generation showed no further progress. LeCouteur, whom de 
Vries cites as the first known user of the pedigree culture method, had 
a case in point. From the heterogeneous lot of wheat plants which he 
was growing, he isolated a uniform type of great merit which he called 
" Bellevue de Talavera." For years after, this strain was subjected to* 
selection in order to bring about further improvement, but the efforts 
were made in vain, for no new heritable variations were produced. Yet 
something was lacking from this theory. Sometimes there did appear 
to be a gradual improvement by selection. De Vries said that this was 
merely a temporary improvement made by selection of quantitative 
variations. He believed that when selection ceased, sooner or later 
the improved types would return to the original type of the variety 
from which it had been produced. The real interpretation of the facts 
and one which fitted all the parts of the puzzle together, came from the 
work of Johannsen and later investigators. It is an explanation that 
should have been thought of before, but like many other important dis- 
coveries, it was too simple for ordinary minds to grasp. Weismann had 
shown years before that the inheritance of characters acquired through 
outside influences during the development of the body was probably 
mythical. His investigations led him to believe that there is a continu- 
ity between the reproductive or germ cells of different generations, and 
that the body is nothing but a temporary house built to shelter them. 
Injuries to the house have no effect on the future generations unless the 
germ cells themselves are affected. Later Boveri and others, through 
their cytological studies, showed that the future germ cells are laid down 
at a very early stage in certain animal organisms and that very few cell 
divisions take place before the maturation of the reproductive organs 
and the production of active germ cells. The body cells he found to be 
built up by continuous cell division of a very different part of the orig- 
inal fertilized egg. Since no biologist, however, had found or is likely to 
find similar cytological phenomena in plants, no one seemed to grasp 
the idea that here was the key to the question that had been puzzling 
the plant breeders. Johannsen, however, brought matters straight by 
his experiments on beans. He found that commercial varieties of 
beans, though pure in grosser characters, such as color, were actually 
very mixed types when such characters as length or weight were studied. 
Several investigations were undertaken on size characters, the char- 
acters most rapidly affected by changes in environment. He found that 
his commercial variety fluctuated around an average size and that when 
seeds larger or smaller than this type were selected they responded to 
it in whichever direction the selection was made. The progeny of the- 


selected beans were not so extreme, however, as their parents but re- 
gressed toward the average character of the parent race. This was 
nothing new. Galton had discussed the matter a decade before and had 
interpreted the regression as due to the " pull toward mediocrity " ex- 
erted by former ancestors that must have been on the average mediocre. 
Johannsen was not satisfied with this interpretation and in order to in- 
vestigate the subject more thoroughly introduced the individual pedi- 
gree culture method, or pure line method as he spoke of it, into his 
work. All of his plants under experiment were self-fertilized for suc- 
cessive generations, so that all of his future bean progeny were descend- 
ants of single individuals from the original commercial variety. Each 
pure line he found to fluctuate around a typical size just as the com- 
mercial variety had done. Some types were exactly the same as the 
original mixed type, but others fluctuated around averages that would 
have been considered more or less extreme variations in the original. 
He then grew extreme variants from each of his pure lines and made 
the discovery that no progress at all was made by repeated selections of 
this kind. The progeny of the high extremes and the progeny of the 
low extremes each were found to fluctuate around the same pure line 
average. It was quite evident then that in the first place he had been 
dealing with a mixed race. This mixture consisted of sub-races each with 
a heritable difference in the character size. These heritable variations, 
however, were obscured by size fluctuations produced by differences in 
moisture, sunlight and fertilizer received by the different individual 
plants. There was even a difference in the size of individual beans on 
the same plant, due probably to location of some pods in places on the 
plant more desirable than others for the utilization of the plant's sol- 
uble foods waiting to be stored in the seeds. These differences due to 
immediate environment were not inherited. They behaved exactly as 
the acquired characters of an animal. This made the role of selection 
clear. The only improvement that selection can achieve is to isolate a 
substrain if such a substrain or substrains exist in the variety under 
experiment. When this substrain has been isolated, selection has abso- 
lutely no effect, and even if continued for countless generations will 
have no effect until nature produces one of the heritable changes which 
are so much rarer than the fluctuations produced by environment. It 
is also evident that the older idea that improvements made by continued 
selection — i. e. y gradual isolation of a type — are inconstant, is wrong. 
The explanation is that since non-inherited fluctuations obscure the 
heritable variations, only a pure line method can absolutely isolate a 
pure strain; and in the German method of mass selection with poor 
control against mediocre pollen, the chances were overwhelmingly in 
favor of the selected type recrossing with the more commonly culti- 
vated and poorer type from which it came. 


To my mind this work should clear up the strife between the critics 
and the adherents of evolution by mutation. It is evident that there 
are variations that are inherited and variations that are not inherited. 
If we call the one a mutation and the other a fluctuation, we have a 
distinction that will stand analysis. Why should a further distinction 
be made? De Vries believes mutations to be qualitative, fluctuations 
quantitative. Nevertheless, quantitative changes that are transmis- 
sible occur in much greater numbers than do qualitative changes. Op- 
ponents of mutation believe wide jumps appear too seldom to have been 
a factor in organic evolution, but they can not deny that they do occur. 
There are too many authentic cases in variation under domestication. 
Yet no one who has had experience in breeding plants will deny that 
small variations (not fluctuations) occur with much greater frequency. 
While it is impossible to prove it, I believe that the mathematical law 
of error controls the transmissible variations as well as fluctuations. 
If one could collect a random sample of variations that are inherited 
he would probably find that a great many forces act as the causes, and 
therefore as in ordinary probability, the extreme changes — that is, the 
great variations — occur with less frequency. One should remember, 
however, that in our present state of physiological knowledge, he can 
not know with much certainty which of two changes that apparently 
differ greatly in magnitude is really the greater in the light of the 
plant's economy. 

It might be well before leaving this part of the subject to speak of 
one other point. In a strain that has been self-fertilized for several 
generations, gradual progress has sometimes been made by selection. 
This probably comes about because the parent plant is still hybrid in 
regard to certain characters, and it is to their recombinations that the 
intensification or reduction of certain apparently single characters but 
which are really combinations of separately heritable characters, is due. 
According to the law of chance with repeated self-fertilizations any 
strain approaches a constant condition in all of its characters when 
unselected, but one can not say when this state is reached unless he 
knows the exact number of hybrid characters in the beginning and can 
recognize each. 

If we were to take up the crops of the United States which owe their 
present excellence and future prospects in large measure to the isolation 
of superior strains by selection, we should cover a great majority of the 
agricultural wealth of the country. Of course natural cross-fertiliza- 
tion and even occasional artificial hybridization have played important 
parts by causing recombinations of characters, but selection has been the 
main cause of improvement. Two of the important crops, tobacco and 
wheat, are very seldom cross-pollinated naturally; nevertheless new 
types are continually appearing in the fields. To make new varieties 


Fig. 1. Types appeaking in a Single Field of Maize. A strain like the ear near 
the center has been isolated. 

it simply takes an alert eye for their detection, comparative tests to 
prove their merit and the time needed to produce a sufficient increase 
for commercial use. Some of our other important grain crops like oats 
and rye are more often cross-pollinated, as is also our chief grass crop, 
timothy. But as maize is probably the most difficult crop to deal with, 
and is a typical cross-pollinated plant as well as our most important 
cereal, perhaps it will be of interest to take a short survey of some of 
the problems with which one has to deal when endeavoring to improve 
it by selection. 

Maize is the only one of our cereals that is monoecious. The tassel 
contains the pollen or male element while the silks are the stigmas of 
the female flowers. In order that the pollination of the silks shall be 
relatively certain, each tassel produces about thirty million pollen 
grains; and as the ears average less than five hundred seeds apiece, there 
are about sixty thousand pollen grains produced for each kernel. With 
such a large amount of superfluous pollen floating around in the air, 
there is a great deal of inter-crossing between the neighboring plants. 
This fact has been an obstacle to the improvement of maize, but it has 
been offset by one advantage it possesses over the other cereals, that of 
producing large ears. Since each individual ear must be handled and 
its characters noted at husking time, it is not strange that ears with 
desirable variations sufficiently striking to catch the eye of the grower 
have become the parents of numerous distinct varieties. By selecting 
desirable seed ears and isolating them from other varieties, various 
strains have been produced that are remarkably uniform in characters 
such as color that have forcibly attracted the attention of the breeder. 
Even in these strains, however, there are many natural types growing 
side by side and continually crossing with each other. There are stalks 



Fig. 2. Inherited Abnormalities appearing in Maize. All pollen from these 
plants and from their normal sister plants must be prevented from maturing. 

which bear their ears high and stalks which bear them low, stalks with 
long and stalks with short ear shanks, stalks with different leaf mark- 
ings and with notably different tendencies to produce suckers. Differ- 
ences are everywhere present even in the ears, as is shown in the accom- 
panying photograph (Fig. 1). A large number of these differences are 
simply fluctuations produced by the environment and are not inherited. 
The obscuration of heritable variations by the fluctuations and the mixed 
condition of the natural types makes it a difficult task to isolate the most 
productive types. Many variations of technique have been proposed 



for the prosecution of the work, but are all based upon the idea of 
proving the capacity of a mother ear by the characters of the progeny 
produced. If a very large number of ears are included in the original 
stock, it is unquestionable that some of them will transmit more de- 
sirable characters than others. It only remains to test them out by 
growing the seed of each ear in marked plots or rows and gradually 
eliminating the undesirable types. 

The accompanying diagrams, showing the work of the Illinois 
Agricultural Experiment Station in their experiments in selecting 
for high and low protein content, and high and low oil content, 
admirably illustrate the rapidity with which progress can be made 
by selecting only from the maternal side, even in the face of con- 
stant intercrossing. This work the writer believes has given a com- 










8 9 10 11 

Fig. 3. Diagrammatic representation of the Results of the Illinois Agri- 
cultural Experiment Station In selecting for high and for low protein content. 
y, per cent, protein in crop ; X t generations ; h, high protein strain ; I, low protein 

plete corroboration of Johannsen's conclusions on pure lines. This 
interpretation has been made, however, from their published data, and 
the Illinois station should not be held responsible. This work of breed- 
ing to change the composition of maize was started in 1896 with a hazy 
Darwinian idea that as corn was known to vary in composition, con- 
tinuous selection of extreme variations would produce a continuous 
change in type. A very old type — Burr's White — furnished the foun- 
dation stock. A chemical analysis was made of parts of the individual 
ears each year, and the extreme ears planted. From the first, the four 
lines above mentioned were planted in isolated plots and were continu- 
ally selected in the same direction. After ten generations the average 
crop of the high protein line had reached 14.26 per cent., while the low 
protein line was only 8.64 per cent.; the high oil strain had reached 
7.37 per cent., while the low oil strain was reduced to 2.66 per cent. 
These facts clearly show the rapidity with which results can be obtained 



by this method of selection even with a crop that is often cross-fertilized. 
But the diagrams show other facts. The published records show that 
the variability of the race was but little, if any, reduced by continuous 
selection. With extreme variants comparatively as far removed from 
each year's type, available for planting in each successive generation, 
the gain each year should have been at the same rate, if the Darwinian 
interpretation of the role of selection were correct. On the contrary, 
we notice that the regular curve fitted to the crop averages for ten gen- 
erations, is first concave showing great progress made by selection, is 
later convex as progress becomes slower, and last becomes horizontal 





\ r " 

/ k 






s ^*— 


s w 



— — 







2 3 

6 7 8 9 10 11 

Fig. 4. Diagrammatic Representation of the Results of the Illinois Agri- 
cultural Experiment Station in selecting for high and for low oil content. Y, per 
cent oil in crop ; X, generations ; h, high oil strain ; I, low oil strain. 

as no more progress results. It is very evident that the original stock 
was a mixed race containing sub-races of various composition inter- 
mingled by hybridization. Selection rapidly isolated these sub-races. 
The isolation was practically complete at the eighth generation in the 
case of the protein strains and the ninth generation in the oil strains. 
After this selection accomplished nothing. That the effect of selection 
was simply the isolation of a sub-race and not a continuous response, 
is further demonstrated by the fact that in 1903 another plot was 
started with seed from the isolated high oil strain. After four years' 
cessation of selection, the average composition of the crop remained the 
same, showing that after complete isolation of a homogeneous type no 
retrogression of the selected character occurs unless intercrossing with 
mediocre strains takes place. Fluctuation in composition still appears, 
but this is the non-inherited kind produced by external conditions. 


It is sometimes somewhat difficult to see why selection of this kind 
should yield results slowly. There are indeed many points concerning 
which little is known. One may picture to himself, however, that 
where crossing is always likely to occur and where the apparent char- 
acter is in reality a combination of a number of separately inherited 
characters, many thousands or even millions of individuals would have 
to be grown to run a fair chance of obtaining the most desirable com- 
bination. By growing a few individuals in which the desired character 
is intensified in successive generations, the combination wanted may 
be obtained with the use of smaller numbers. 

I have stated that nothing can be accomplished by selection after a 
pure line or genotype as Johannsen calls them is isolated, unless a new 
transmissible variation is produced by nature. The questions then 
arise: how often may such changes be expected? and, what is their 
nature? Such changes are of two kinds, 2 progressive where a new 
character appears, or retrogressive where a character is lost. But little 
can be said as to their relative frequency. Undoubtedly some species 
are in a more unstable condition than others and give more of such 
variations, as de Vries has already suggested. On the other hand, cer- 
tain unknown combinations of external conditions may favor germ- 
cell changes. They are both rare, the progressive changes being rela- 
tively much less frequent than the retrogressive changes, but they are 
sufficiently common for several to have come within the knowledge of 
every experienced breeder. 

There is another type of variation much more closely related to 
changes occurring in " pure lines " than is generally supposed. I % refer 
to what is commonly known as bud variation or vegetative sports. 
Retrogressive variations of this kind are probably no rarer than the 
same kind of changes occurring in pure lines. No authentic progressive 
variations (as distinguished from digressive) are known. In my own 
experience in growing eight hundred species and varieties of tuberous 
solanums (largely potato varieties), fifteen retrogressive variations have 
been noticed, and the changes that occurred were exactly like those 
occurring in seed-propagated strains. 

The relative value of progressive and retrogressive variations is 
difficult to estimate. In organic evolution the former must have been 
far more valuable; commercially the latter are often of great worth. 
We may cite, for example, the great value of the bush or dwarf varieties 
of beans, peas and tomatoes that have originated as retrogressions. 

a De Vries also gives a third kind, digressive variations, such as occur when 
a character previously possessed by but latent in the plant appears. This class 
is unnecessary. Digressive characters appear either through the loss of a com- 
plementary inhibiting factor or the gain of a complementary factor necessary 
for it to become active. 



In closing I should like to call attention to a fact both of evolu- 
tionary and of commercial importance. The first generation of crosses 
between nearly related types generally grows more vigorously than the 
pure types themselves. If the fertility is not impaired, they even fruit 
more freely. This is undoubtedly the explanation of Burbank's quick- 
growing hybrid walnuts, but if they were self-pollinated and grown for 
another generation a large percentage of the progeny would lose this 
character. In naturally self -pollinated types like tobacco, one sees the 
phenomenon expressed as greater vigor in a cross ; in a continually inter- 
crossed species like maize the same thing is shown by a loss of vigor 
when the plants are self-pollinated. It is clear then that if pure strains 
of maize are gradually isolated by selection, by the same token they lose 
in vigor and productiveness. The original mixed strain may contain 

Fio 5. 

Effects of inbreeding in Maize. Outer ears Inbred four generations. 
Middle ear the result of their crossing, first generation. 

sub-strains some of which are much more productive than others. The 
less productive types may be discarded, but at the same time there is a 
loss of vigor from the fact that they are withdrawn from hybrid com- 
binations. The logical procedure, then, is to isolate two high-yielding 
types, combine them by hybridization, and grow only the first genera- 
tion of the cross. This is not mere theory, for by using such methods 
I have obtained from 100 to 200 bushels of shelled corn per acre on 
small plots. Unfortunately, this method can not be used to advantage 
on many crops, but in the case of maize the procedure is simple. There 
are many breeders using the isolation method of improvement. From 
vol. lxxii. — 14* 


. ■...- 


Fig. 6. Results op cbossino two Inbred Strains of Maize. At the right 
average of the parents after three generations inbreeding, 61 bushels per acre. At 
the left crop of first generation cross of the inbred strains, 101 bushels per acre. 

them the grower obtains two strains and plants them in alternate rows. 
At flowering time all of the male flowers or tassels are removed from 
one of the plants of the varieties before they shed their pollen. All the 
ears that these plants produce are crossed with the other variety. It is 
this seed that produces the vigorous plants. 

This method might be made the basis for some very valuable work 
in forestry. It is quite conceivable that many important timber trees 
might be found where nearly related species or varieties would cross 
readily. Experiment would show how great an increase in rapidity of 
growth could be expected, and whether such an increase would pay for 
the increased expense of hand hybridized seed. 

Fio. 7. Silver Hill. 

Normal at left. Bud variation isolated by selection at 
the right. 


One may summarize by saying that two important points cover the 
whole role of selection. The first point is that nature continually 
causes variations to appear in plants. The majority of these variations 
are simply accelerations or retardations of development of the whole or 
of certain parts of the plant due to good or bad environment at critical 
stages of the plant's growth. These variations are not inherited because 
the reproductive or germ cells are not affected. Other variations, how- 
ever, are being constantly produced by nature — though much more 
rarely — which do affect the reproductive cells and are transmitted to the 
plant's progeny. These variations are the basis of selection. They are 
constant from the beginning and remain so unless changed by a second 
variation affecting the same constituent in the reproductive cells that 
is due to develop the character in question. 

The second point to be remembered is that the whole aim and action 
of selection is to detect the desired heritable variants among the useful 
commercial plants and through them to isolate a race with the desired 
characters. When this is accomplished, selection can then do nothing 
until nature steps in and produces another desirable variation. 

In other words, the results of selection are not continuous. Selec- 
tion does not gradually perfect a character. The production of herit- 
able variations is intermittent and the intermissions may be long. If 
the practical results seem to be parts of a continuous process, it is 
because of the imperfect methods at hand to isolate the desirable varia- 
tions from their combinations with undesirable characters formed by 
natural hybridization. 





The Zoological Society has per- 
formed an important service for the 
city of New York by the establishment 
and conduct of a Zoological Park and 
later by taking charge of the Aqua- 
rium. The relations of the society to 
the city are similar to those of the 
trustees of the American Museum of 
Natural History, of the Metropolitan 
Museum of Art and the Botanical Gar- 
den, but are somewhat unusual. In 
each case the city provides the build- 
ings and the cost of maintenance, while 
a private corporation supplies the col- 
lections and is responsible for the con- 
duct of the institution. The plan 
appears to have worked very well, as 
each institution has had a strong or- 
ganization, free from any political 
control, but effective in obtaining large 
appropriations from the city and con- 
siderable private gifts. 

The fourteenth annual report of the 
Zoological Society lays emphasis on 
increasing the scientific work done both 

at the park and the aquarium. The 
institutions have been extremely suc- 
cessful in gathering and maintaining 
large collections of animals and inter- 
esting the public in them; but they 
have not as yet been able to undertake 
research work comparable in value. 
The director of the aquarium writes in 
his report, " The small aquarium at 
N'aples has made Naples famous." It 
is not, however, the exhibition tank's, 
hut the research work and publications 
of the station which have added to the 
fame of Naples. The entertainment 
and instruction of the public is an im- 
portant function for the city to under- 
I take, and the money devoted to these 
purposes at the Zoological Park and 
the Aquarium is well spent. But 
money used for research is not spent 
at all; it is invested for the perma- 
nent benefit of all the people. Zoolog- 
ical gardens have hitherto emphasized 
scientific work less than have botan- 
ical gardens, but there are problems of 
comparative psychology and compara- 
tive pathology to which collections of 

$Md M 







The Administration Building of the New York Zoological Society. 




,„^: : :;V- V-V"' 

■— <3» ' * r * ' * ' 

NEW YORK AQV\ar/tt. 

Preliminary plan for the enlargement of the New York Aqcarium. 

animals might be made to lend them- 
selves admirably; and there are many 
kinds of research work in experimental 
morphology and heredity which might 
be carried on to advantage. While 
paying their cost in exhibits of general 
interest and unusual instructiveness to 
the public, they would at the same 
time advance science and its applica- 

The report of the executive com- 
mittee begins with the paragraph: 
" With this year closes the first period 
of the Zoological Park development, 
and from now on the work of the 
society will be, to an ever increasing 
degree, in the direction of the remain- 
ing objects of the society. Briefly 
stated, those objects are, scientific 
work in connection with the collec 
tions, and the protection and preserva- 
tion of our native fauna." The di- 
rector of the aquarium also urges t!;e 
desirability of establishing a small 
staff of scientific curators. We may 
consequently expect that in a short 
time the contributions to science from 
the Zoological Park and the Aquarium 
will rival those from the Museum of 
Natural History and the Botanical 

The director of the Zoological Park 
urges the need of additional bear dens, 
a zebra house and an aviary for eagles 
and vultures. He expresses the hppe 
that these three buildings may be ob- 
tained during the present year and 
states that with these the animal 
buildings and other installations for 
exhibits will be practically complete. 
During the past year an administra- 
tion building has been erected at a 
cost of $75 000. It is intended for 
executive offices and as a meeting place 
for the members, and is to contain a 
library and art gallery. At present a 
collection of some 600 heads and horns, 
in which the director has taken much 
interest, is housed in this building, but 
a separate building open to the public 
is planned. 

The attendance at the park last year 
was 1,014,953. an increase of 200,000 
over the preceding year. There were 
5.000 animals on exhibition represent- 
ing 1,117 species, of which 812 were 
mammals. 2,880 birds and 1,308 rep- 
tiles. This is an increase over 1908 
of 155 species and 421 specimens, in- 
cluding many of special interest. 

The attendance at the aquarium 
reached the remarkable record of 3,- 



Photograph hy <iut(*kunst. 

George Frederick Barker. 

803,501, an increase of a million and a 
quarter in a single year, and probably 
a larger number of persons than vis- 
ited any other institution in the world 
for scientific entertainment and in- 
struction. There were no increases in 
the collections, as there is no room for 
them. The director very properly 
urges the desirability of enlarging the 
aquarium and providing laboratories 
for scientific work and men to carry it 


Since the death of Mr. Alexander 
Agassiz. in April, we have lost three 
other American scientific men officially 
placed among the hundred who are 
most eminent by their membership in 
the National Academy of Sciences. 
They are Professor George Frederick 
Barker, General Cyrus Ballou Com- 
stock and Dr. Charles Abiathar White. 

Professor Barker, who was both a 



Charles Abiathar White. 

chemist and a physicist, wa9 born in 
1835 and graduated from Yale in 1858 
and later in medicine from the Albany 
Medical School. He held various posi- 
tions, including the chair of physiolog- 
ical chemistry at Yale until 1873, when 
he became professor of physics at the 
University of Pennsylvania, and for 
thirty-seven years', latterly as pro- 
fessor emeritus, held a leading position 
in the university, when Philadelphia 
had a more dominant position in sci- 
ence than it has been able to maintain. 

Professor Barker was an admirable 
lecturer and the author of widely-used 
text-books of chemistry and physics; 
he served as expert in important legal 
cases and carried forward research 
work of consequence. He was elected 
to the National Academy in 1876 and 
was president of the American Asso- 
ciation for the Advancement of Science 
in 1879. 

General Comstock, born in 1831, 
graduated from West Point in 1855 
and taught physics in the academy. 



He was actively engaged in the civil 
war, first in the defenses of Washing- I 
ton and later as chief engineer and j 
senior aide-de-camp to General Grant, i 
Later he became superintendent of the | 
geodetic survey of the great lakes and 
of the improvements at the mouth of 
the Mississippi, and published works 
on these and other engineering topics. 
He was elected to the National Acad- 
emy in 1884, and in 1907 gave the 
academy a fund of $10,000 for the i 
promotion of researches in electricity 
magnetism and radian energy. 

Charles Abiathar White born in ' 
1826, though early interested in sci- ' 
ence, was late in beginning professorial 
work. He received a degree in medi- 
cine at the age of thirty-seven and 
three years later became state geologist 
of Iowa and professor of natural his- 
tory in the state university. He ac- j 
cepted a chair in Bowdoin College in 
1873 and two years later became geol- 
ogist in the surveys of Powell and 
Hayden. For many years he was con- 
nected with the Geological Survey, the 
National Museum and the Smithsonian 
Institution. He was elected to the 
National Academy in 1889. He pub- , 
lished over two hundred contributions 
to geology, zoology and botany, main- 
taining his scientific activity to the 
end, as is indicated by an article in a 
recent volume of this journal. 

Mr. Agassiz and Professor Barker 
died at the age of seventy-five, Gen- 
eral Constock at the age of seventy- 
nine, Dr. White at the age of eighty- 
five. Another American scientific man 
who played an important part during 
the second half of the last century and 
died with his life work fully accom- 
plished was Professor William Phipps 
Blake. He was born in 1826 and made 
valuable studies in the mineral de- 
posits and geological structure of the 
Rocky Mountain and Pacific coast 
regions. Dr. Amos Emerson Dolbear, 
for thirty-six years professor of phys- 
ics at Tufts College, known for inven- 

tions and other work in physical sci- 
ence, has died at the age of seventy- 
three years. Professor Robert Parr 
Whitfield, of the American Museum of 
Natural History, eminent as a geol- 
ogist, has died at the age of eighty-two 
years. Dr. Cyrus Thomas, archeologist 
in the Bureau of American Ethnology 
since 1882, well known for his con- 
tributions to anthropology, has died at 
the age of eighty-five years. 

More grievous than the death of 
veteran men of science is the loss of 
those whose work is not accomplished. 
Charles Reid Barnes, professor of plant 
pathology in the University of Chicago, 
dying after a fall at the age of fifty- 
two, was among our leaders in botany 
in both performance and promise. Dr. 
H. T. Ricketts, also of the University 
of Chicago, but called to the Univer- 
sity of Pennsylvania, died in Mexico 
City at the age of thirty-nine years 
from typhus fever contracted as a re- 
sult of research work on that disease. 
Even this partial list shows how severe 
have been the losses by death from 
among American men of science during 
the past six months. 


The Paris Academy of Sciences has 
conferred the Janssen Prize, consisting 
of a gold medal, on Director W. W. 
Campbell, of the Lick Observatory. — 
Professor Theodore W. Richards, of 
Harvard University, has been invited 
by the Chemical Society (London) to 
deliver the next Faraday lecture. This 
will be the tenth Faraday lecture, the 
others having been given as follows: 
Dumas, 1869; Cannizzaro, 1872; Hof- 
mann, 1875; Wurtz, 1879; Helmholtz, 
1881; MendelSef, 1889; Rayleigh, 1895; 
Ostwald, 1904; Emil Fischer, 1907.— 
Dr. John Benjamin Murphy, professor 
of surgery in Northwestern University, 
has been elected president of the Amer- 
ican Medical Association, for the meet- 
ing to be held next year at Los Angeles. 







TWENTY centuries ago the rain of ashes and pumice-stone from 
Vesuvius buried Pompeii, and, at the same time, a stream of 
mud sealed up Herculaneum. Within the period of the last three 
hundred years, four times in succession, Torre del Greco has been 
covered by the flowing lava, but each time this town has been rebuilt. 
The great lava-stream of the eruption of 1906, lying just beyond Torre 
Annunziata, is an ominous demonstration of the evil possibilities still 
within old Vesuvius. To-day the small white cloud of smoke above the 
summit of the volcanic ash-cone merely hints of these latent forces that 
may again overwhelm some community at the base, while now the 
great mountain rests in its beauty and historic interest, overlooking the 
blue waters of the Bay of Naples. To the right are the massive build- 
ings of the city intersected by narrow passage-ways, all crowded between 
the shore and the high wall of the hills which stretch from the Pallazzo 
Capodimonte to the Posilipo. Far away at either side of the Bocca 
Grande are the islands of Capri and Ischia, at times clearly outlined, 
or again almost lost in the haze of opalescent mist. 

All through the day many groups of fishing-boats are scattered about 
the bay while the men cast and haul their nets. Over the stone sea- 
wall others pull on the end-ropes of a drag-net that has been set far 
from shore, until at last the great burden of fish is safely unmeshed. 
Here and there divers go down to scrape the rocks and sand of the 
bottom for mussels which are placed in a bag worn at the waist. From 
an anchored skiff a man dredges with a scoop-net attached to a long 
pole contented with many of the living things that appear, for strange 
creatures are welcome in the Neapolitan market. Thus, without plant- 
ing or cultivating, the people gather from the sea an unending harvest. 
But from under the cliff of Sorento, to the wave-eroded rocks of Ischia, 

VOL. LXXVII.— 15. 


whenever a fisherman finds a strange or curious creature he carefully 
brings it to the zoological station, sure of ready purchase in an institu- 
tion that uses every agency for the advancement of the knowledge of 
the life of the sea. 

The opening of the zoological station in 1874, realized the dream of 
Anton Dohrn of a laboratory for marine biological investigation, and 
now, in the high development of this institution, we mourn the death 
of its creator, which occurred on the twenty-sixth of September, 1909. 
Dohrn himself tells in an article in the Preuszische Jahrbucher for 
1872, how, during his travels to various European coasts, the necessity 
was impressed upon him for the erection of marine laboratories suitably 
equipped for research. In October, 1868, after a journey to Scotland 
rendered disappointing by bad weather, Dohrn sought the rich faunal 
region of lower Italy and Sicily where Johannes Muller and his stu- 
dents had been pioneers in marine zoology. Fully realizing that such 
an institution as he planned does not spring into being completely 
formed by generatio cequivoca, but rather develops like an organism, 
Dohrn began to collect money for the erection in Messina of a building 
which should contain rooms for investigation and also an aquarium for 
the entertainment of the public. The next step, in January, 1870, was 
to change the plan so as to locate in Naples where the larger numbers of 
tourists and citizens would justify a great aquarium, not only for 
popular education but as a substantial aid in support of the scientific 
work of the institution. In the Deutsche Rundschau for 1892, Dohrn 
tells the story of the preliminary work necessary to enlist the interest 
and support of the Prussian ministry and the government of Naples. 
Overcoming difficulties and interferences that would have utterly dis- 
couraged a less enthusiastic and steadfast nature and valiantly taking 
his patriotic part in the Franco-Prussian war, it was not until June, 
1872, that a contract with the city authorities was executed for the 
erection by Dr. Dohrn of a building for the zoological station. The 
original contract has since been modified, so that now the station occu- 
pies 4,000 square meters of ground in the Villa Nazionale and is to 
remain in the possession of the Dohrn family for ninety years, then 
reverting to the city of Naples, unless otherwise provided for. 

While devoting his own life and his estate to the building up of a 
great central station for marine biology in Naples, Dohrn urged the 
necessity for similar stations in all lands, to release investigators from 
the troubles and expenses otherwise involved. These advantages he 
especially desired for the young men fresh from the university, who 
might thus increase their powers, widen their knowledge and enlarge 
their general point of view. If it be possible to remain free from the 
pressing necessities of life for four or five years, such a young man 
could demonstrate whether he really had the call to be an investigator. 
The work would necessitate the wearisome uncovering of the smallest 

yj^/ A JlSE^ Jh^ 


facts, together with the placing of large problems before the mind for 
imagination and criticism to solve. An enthusiast for Darwinism and 
influenced by the philosophical writings of Leuckart and Milne- 
Edwards, from the very beginning, Dohrn's conception of the field of 
work broadly included the investigation of function as well as form, 
and the phylogeny of both. The dissection of animals, the study of 
their tissues by the aid of the microscope and the description of their 
life histories from the fertilized egg through all the changing embry- 
onic and larval stages, should be reinforced by physiological experiment 
and chemical analysis, together with the observation of the manner of 
living and behavior of the animals. 

The zoological station is situated on the shore of the bay in the Villa 
Nazionale, on the most beautiful and convenient site in Naples. One 
approaches by a long walk flanked by rows of stone-oaks whose over- 
arching, intertwining branches produce a grateful shade from the bril- 
liant sunshine. Here and there groups of phoenix palms, spreading, 
leafy palmettos and cycads, add the appropriate subtropical vegeta- 
tion. The renaissance architecture is perfectly adapted to the uses of 
the station, while the beautiful structure fits into the scene as naturally 
as the palms themselves. 

The oldest of the three buildings (A) of the zoological station was 
opened in 1874 and is now chiefly occupied by the public aquarium 
(a) and the library (6). The second building (#), finished in 1886, 
is connected to the western end of the first by bridges and contains the 
department for collecting and preserving organisms as well as indi- 
vidual laboratories for zoologists. The third addition (C) was built in 
1906 for the new science of comparative physiology. This laboratory 
lies to the east of the aquarium, being connected therewith by a building 
(D) surrounding a court. It is scarcely necessary to enumerate the 
rooms and describe them in detail. In fact no one at the station could 
tell me just how many rooms there are! It is sufficient that each 
investigator is provided with a laboratory containing large and small 
aquaria, tables, and all necessary reagents and apparatus for his work. 
There are also large general laboratories for zoology, physiology, botany 
and chemistry, with all the equipment necessary for research. The 
museum, now under charge of Dr. Gast, contains a faunal series of 
specimens so wonderfully preserved that often they are more beautifully 
expanded than the living animals themselves. 

From the brilliant sunlight one enters the semi-obscurity of the 
large aquarium hall. Great tanks, with plate-glass fronts, are around 
the sides of the room, and a double row in the middle partially divides 
the hall. The only light enters through the water, so that one has the 
impression of being in a submarine environment. The sea-water is 
stored in large tanks upon the upper floor, then, mixed with air, circu- 



Sectional Plan of the First Two Buildings of thb Zoological Station. 
A, building containing (a) aquarium and (b) library; B, individual laboratories. 

Sectional Plan of the Laboratory for Comparative Physiology (C) and 


lates through the aquaria and finally runs into a sand-filter in the base- 
ment to be again pumped into the upper tanks. Every fourteen days 
a fresh supply is pumped in from the sea. A perfectly developed system 
of collecting enables the institution to exhibit the most beautiful and 
interesting animals of the bay of Naples in large numbers and in the 
best condition. A little book published in Italian, German, French 
and English gives, in simple language, just such a description of the 
animals, their habitat and behavior, as will appeal to the public. There 
are many "happy families" formed upon long observation • of the 
different kinds of animals that may live together without acquiring too 
marked a taste for one another. The aquarium containing the coral 
animals is constructed like a grotto under the arch of which one sees 
the orange-colored polyps spread about like marigolds. Some of the 
related anemones are actually old, as is shown by their long, wrinkled, 
thick-skinned bodies, but their straight, or slightly curled tentacles of 
purple, or lavender, or cream-color, or brown, are most beautiful. 



Among the echinoderms the methods of feeding are interesting. The 
sea-cucumber holds fast to a rock by means of the suckers at the tips 
of its tube-feet, and, with tentacles widely expanded like the branches 
of a tree, waits for minute crustaceans and the larvae of all sorts of 
animals to comfortably settle themselves upon the hospitable branches. 
Then, with the least possible motion, the sea-cucumber very gradually 
bends a tentacle over and into the mouth, and, as it is again extended 
one of the two small tentacles scrapes off the resting organisms. So 
each tentacle, in rhythmical succession, takes its turn in the feeding 
process. Some species of star-fishes have large mouths and can swal- 
low snails and mussels whole, sometimes consuming as many as twenty- 
five or thirty mollusks of various kinds at one meal. Other star-fishes 
have mouths too small to receive the animals commensurate with their 
appetites and so they simply turn their stomachs inside out, covering 
over a clump of oysters, and thus forming a sort of external stomach 
into which the secretion from the digestive glands is poured. When 
the soft parts are thus dissolved and absorbed the star-fish pulls in its 
stomach and goes on in its devastating course. The sea-urchin has an 
apparatus known as Aristotle's lantern providing five strong teeth 
worked by powerful muscles with which it catches live worms and 
crabs. The sea-crawfishes, built like lobsters except for the absence 
of the large pincers, most perfectly convey the impression of life on 
the bottom of the sea. They seem like uncanny agents of evil as they 
solemnly stalk about over the rocks, poking their great antennae into 
each other's affairs and always having several claws out for a fight, 
yet seldom engaging with one another. Some of the veterans, however, 
have lost an antenna, or a leg, and the missing parts are being regen- 

The Palm-like Ringed Worms. 



One of the Happy Families in the Aquabium. 

erated. The semi-transparent squids, with posterior triangular fins, 
6wim back and forth as delicately poised as submarine monoplanes. 
When a live fish is placed in the water the squid darts at it, grasps it 
firmly with the suckers or the tentacles and cuts off the head, eating 
only the body. The cuttlefish, with broader body, striped like a zebra, 
and big elephantine head, constantly undulates a fin-like fringe around 
the border of its mantle, as it nervously drifts here and there. Fre- 
quently it wriggles into the sand which it throws upon its back, or, 
if much disturbed, ejects a cloud of ink in which it disappears. The 
large octopus has a body that suggests both a toad and a spider, with 
highly developed eyes and brain projecting above it. Generally this 
devil-fish lies sleeping in a corner of the rocks, or lazily reaching out 
and creeping about by means of eight long tentacles that express a 
giant's strength. With a spurt of water from its siphon the octopus 
may dart rapidly through the tank, and by directing the tube of its 
siphon, go whither it wills. Lying upon the bottom of an open trough, 
often buried in the sand, is the very interesting electric ray. If one 
presses the fingers upon the broad body where it runs into the tail he 
will, in the words of a Cook's guide, "get a strike." The electric tis- 
sues are descended from muscle fibers which in the course of evolution 
have come to produce electricity instead of motion. In the embryo 
ray the primitive muscle cells first appear, then they swell out anteriorly 
and shrivel up posteriorly until each loses the characteristic striated 
muscle structure and becomes an electric plate lying in a little com- 
partment embedded in a jelly-like substance. Electricity is produced 
by some chemical action upon innumerable minute granules stored up 
in the protoplasmic network pervading the electric plates. The shock 



is brought about by the stimulation of the electric nerve, which in turn 
acts upon very minute electric rods that release the electricity. 

Above the aquarium is the library. In the north room are found 
in complete series all the most important biological journals. In the 
south room are the separate volumes, monographs and authors' reprints. 
The current numbers of journals and the latest publications from all 
parts of the world are found upon central tables. The classification 
and arrangement of the books is simple and the card-catalogue complete. 
Each worker is given cards bearing his special number in the general 
list and he inserts one of these cards in the place of the book desired. 
Dr. Schoebel, the librarian, is always ready with assistance in case of 
need. On the walls are notable frescoes by Hans v. Marees, one of the 
group of four especial friends of Dohrn when, in 1871, he was Privat- 
dozent at the University of Jena. In the fresco on the east wall, Dohrn 
and these four friends, the biologist Kleinenberg, Charles Grant, the 
author of " Tales of Naples and the Camorra," the artist himself and 
the sculptor Hildebrand, are represented as grouped about a table at 
the ruins of the Palazzo di Donn' Anna on the Posilipo. In two other 
scenes, first Neapolitan fishermen are carrying the net from the shore 
and launching their boat and then four stalwart fishermen are rowing, 
standing in their characteristic manner and bending forward with each 
push upon the oar. On the south wall three ages of man are repre- 




Sea-crawfish and other Crustaceans, 
Medusa and Coralline Animals. 

sen ted in an orange grove; the child lying on the sand and playing, 
the man in his prime gathering the ripe fruit and the old man bending 
over his spade. The ornamental panels between the frescoes and the 
frieze, as well as impressive busts of Darwin and Von Baer, are by 

Three very important publications are issued by the zoological sta- 
tion under the able editorship of Professors Dr. P. Mayer and Dr. 
Giesbrecht. The Fauna und Flora des Golfes von Neapel consists of a 
series of more than thirty splendid monographs upon the animals and 
plants of the bay. Following the ideal sketched by Dohrn in 1880 as a 
foreword to the first volume, each monograph embodies the anatomy, 
histology, embryology and physiology, as well as the taxonomy, of the 
animals or plants of the group treated. Beginning with Chun's great 
work on the ctenophores, these monographs are models of a systematic 
zoology and botany based upon the whole range of biological science. 
They are beautifully illustrated by the authors themselves, often assisted 
by the talented artists of the station, Merculiano, Serino and Manzoni. 
The Mittheilungen aus der Zoologischen Station zu Neapel, now in its 
nineteenth volume, is a journal for the publication of shorter papers 
and contains the earlier annual reports of the director. The annual 
Jahresberichte contain admirable analyses of all the zoological literature 
of the year. While these publications contain many most important 
contributions, yet far beyond the limits of the station, almost every 
biological journal receives papers based upon investigations carried on, 
in whole or in part, in Xaples, or upon material furnished by the 

For the purpose of meeting current expenses, in addition to the 
receipts from visitors to the aquarium, Dohrn conceived and developed 
the " table" plan by means of which various governments, universities 



or associations may rent tables at which naturalists may work. By this 
means the station assumed an international character and remained 
free from governmental control, to develop under the wise direction and 
tireless energy of its founder, unimpeded by bureaucratic interference 
or the cumbersome machinery of a commission. At the cost of $500 a 
year a table may be taken and allotted to investigators in succession 
for the longer or shorter periods desired. All the resources of the 
institution are thus available to such an occupant without cost to him- 
self. At present fifty tables are under contract. Germany has twenty- 
two tables, of which eleven are provided for by an imperial grant of 
twenty thousand Marks, while, in addition, Prussia has four and 
Bavaria, Saxony, Wurttemburg, Baden, Hessen, Hamburg and the 
University of Strassburg, one each. Italy has twelve tables, Russia 
four, Austria two, Hungary, Holland, Belgium, Switzerland and the 
Roumanian Academy, each one. In England the universities of Oxford 

ROM AX AND Congkk Eki.s. 


View op Library, looking East. 

and Cambridge and the British Association for the Advancement of 
Science have each a table. In the United States, the Smithsonian 
Institution has one, the Carnegie Institution two, Columbia University 
and the Association for Maintaining the American Woman's Table at 
the Zoological Station in Naples, one each. 

For the erection of the new laboratory of comparative physiology 
citizens of Germany have given 300,000 Marks, and with also at present 
an annual payment of 20,000 Marks, this country has shown implicit 
faith in Dohrn and his work. Of the 2,000 workers up to 1910, more 
than one half have been Germans. Besides supporting her tables, Italy 
has contributed 100,000 francs to the second building, and for over 
thirty years has given 5,000 francs annually to the library. During 
the thirty-six years since the founding of the station biological research 
has been awakened in Italy, until now her workers stand in the foremost 
ranks. In the early stages of the station English naturalists, headed 
by Darwin, gave £1,000 and thus assured Dohrn of international sym- 
pathy and support in his splendid work. 

Dohrn, as owner and chief of the station, established the most com- 
plete system for the transaction of its business so that he always main- 
tained the utmost confidence of the contributing governments and 
institutions. By the death of the founder, the directorship of the 
zoological station has descended to Dr. Reinhard Dohrn. That this 
great trust will be faithfully executed in the spirit of the founder's 
high ideals and will continue its remarkable development is evident to 
any one who knows Dr. Reinhard Dohrn. Each department is under 


the direction of a member of the scientific staff, who is at the same time 
devoting his life to research in his own special field of natural history. 
At present the staff is organized as follows: Professor Dr. Mayer and 
Dr. Gross, morphology ; Dr. Burian, comparative physiology ; Dr. Henze, 
chemistry; Dr. Gast, the museum. One of the founder's first associates, 
Professor Dr. Eisig, now enjoying the benefit of the station's pension 
system, is still pursuing his life-work upon the annelids. The veteran 
secretary, Hermann Linden, assists in looking after the voluminous 
correspondence, and the local business with the city authorities, the 
railway, post and customs. A trained engineer and assisting machin- 
ists care for the electric motors, steam-engines, pumps and complicated 
network of gas, salt- and fresh-water pipes. In an especially equipped 
workshop a trained mechanic makes the instruments for experimental 
investigations. Dr. Lo Bianco developed beyond rivalry the depart- 
ment for the supply of animals and plants, either living for exhibition 
in the aquarium, or for the many workers in the various laboratories, 
or as perfectly preserved specimens for museums and investigators 
all over the world. Since the recent death of Dr. Lo Bianco his former 
assistant Sig. Santorelli has taken charge of this department. For 
collecting there is a fleet of well-manned boats, including the steamers 
Johannes Miiller and Francis Balfour supplied with steam winding- 
reel for the dredges and trawls, and all sorts of nets and other neces- 
sary apparatus. 

In 1885 Dohrn elaborated a plan of a floating laboratory for the 
extension of the work in marine biology. For this purpose a war-ship 
is too expensive to maintain and too ill adapted to the needs of inves- 
tigation besides generally involving political and other interests dis- 
tracting to biological research. An ordinary steamship would not be 
much better, so Dohrn planned a specially constructed and well-equipped 

View of the Libraby, looking West. 


The Laboratory of an Investigator. 

steamer of 300-400 tons of burden with an engine of from 150- 
200 horse-power and room for from six to ten investigators. Two 
laboratories, one above and the other below deck, completely outfitted 
for a six months' voyage together with a library would furnish ideal 
conditions for work. With such a floating biological station unknown 
regions could be entered with all the resources of modern equipment 
for both morphological and physiological work and investigations thus 
carried on which would not be possible upon land. To accomplish 
these results most economically the floating laboratory would be used, 
at first at least, in conjunction with the Naples Station, for the ex- 
ploration of the bay of Naples, and the neighboring waters of the bays 
of Salerno and Gaeta. During the day-time the great depths would 


be searched with dredge and trawl and fished with long lines, each 
bearing many baited hooks, and the pelagic animals caught from the 
side of the vessel. Small boats would be sent out to gather from the 
rocks and grottoes under the water-line such organisms as the sponges, 
corals, worms, echinoderms, mollusks and algae. A portion of the 
catch would be examined by the naturalists on board, another part kept 
in well aerated aquaria to be taken in the early morning by the 
Johannes Miiller to the Naples Station. In the night-time silk tow- 
nets would collect from the vast numbers of minute living things that 
then reappear after having gone below the surface waters to escape the 
intense sunlight. Stone-plates could be lowered to the sea-bottom in 
various places to be taken up and examined at regular intervals in 
order to study the assembling and growth of the sessile organisms that 
seek such locations. Then these stone-plates might be changed from 
one place to another, varying the depth, light and other conditions of 
existence in accord with the method of experimental zoology, with re- 
sults of the greatest value to the knowledge of the distribution and 
evolution of marine organisms and scarcely possible except by means 
of such a floating laboratory. After exploring the sea around Naples 
the floating laboratory might be taken to the coasts of Sardinia, Tunis, 
Crete, Cyprus and other. regions. The moment anchor is cast the vessel 
serves as dwelling house and laboratory from which would center all 
the activities of a marine station. If needed, a portable house, carried 
on board, could be quickly placed upon any desired shore. In connec- 
tion with biology other kinds of scientific work such as geology, paleon- 
tology and philology might be advanced, with the best possible conserva- 
tion of all the collections on board the ship, whereas it is often so diffi- 
cult and dangerous to transport such things from isolated regions by the 
ordinarily available means. It is easily seen that such a combination 
would greatly advance the various sciences concerned at the least cost to 
each. This plan, always in Dohrn's mind, was temporarily laid in the 
background by the more pressing need of the erection of the building 
for comparative physiology which absorbed much time in the last years 
of Dohrn's life. Through the death of F. A. Krupp his promise to 
build a 700-ton yacht for this deep sea investigation came to naught. 
Now, although the Prince of Monaco is devoting much time and money 
to the development of oceanography, and various governments are send- 
ing out vessels, yet the field is so large and so important that it is to be 
hoped Dohrn's plan will be carried out not alone at Naples, but in 
America and other countries. 

In spite of the time consumed in directing the affairs of the zoolog- 
ical station and in traveling and making addresses in its behalf, Dohrn 
was always an investigator of the foremost rank. During the half- 
century of continuous production his bibliography numbers eighty 
titles. Following in the footsteps of his father, the entomologist Karl 



August Dohrn, his first two papers, published in his eighteenth year, 
were upon Hemiptera. Until 1881 his work was mostly concerned 
with the insects and other arthropods including his monograph on the 
Pantopoda for the Fauna and Flora of the Bay of Naples. However, 
as early as 1876, appeared the first of Dohrn's brilliant and suggestive 
papers on the origin of the vertebrates. Working upon the basis of 
embryological studies in such forms as the Aseidians, Amphioxus, the 

The Zoological Station fbom the East. 

Cyclostomes, sharks, bony-fishes, and other vertebrates, Dohrn traced 
the phylogeny of the vertebrates to the annelid worms. Beyond their 
theoretical bearing upon a question still debatable, his discoveries con- 
stitute substantial additions to comparative anatomy and embryology. 
The investigators at the station find intellectual and esthetic en- 
joyment in historic Naples and its neighborhood. Among the marbles 
and bronzes of the National Museum one finds such masterpieces as 
the Hera Farnese and the Narcissus. In Pompeii the uncovered 
auditorium and the uncurtained stage of the great theater seem to voice 
the awful tragedy of 79 in spite of the roses and larkspurs blooming 


again in the peristyle of the house of the Vettii. In the present ex- 
cavations one sees the volcanic debris removed from an atrium wall 
revealing in its pristine freshness a fresco of the brief period of recon- 
struction after the earthquake of 63. After the excursions from 
Naples certain pictures will always linger in the mind. The wonderful 
panorama from the Camaldulensian monastery extending from the 
Ponza Islands in the west to Monte Santf Angelo in the southeast, 
and embracing the City of Naples with omnipresent Vesuvius in the 
background, and the islands of Nisida, Procida, Ischia and Capri. The 
view from the rose-garden of the Palazzo Eufolo, at Eavello, on the 
heights of Monti Lattari, with the fishing-boats of the bay of Salerno 
like winged creatures suspended just above the waves and gliding 
back to the gods who sent them forth. The temple of Neptune at 
Paestum, having withstood the devastation of wind and storm for 
twenty-five centuries, rising from the green meadows, with its massive 
yet graceful fluted Doric columns, sepia tinted by age, outlined against 
the blue sky and bluer sea. The blue grotto of Capri entered by a hole 
in the cliff so small that our little skiff scraped the rock, lighted by 
the sunshine which permeates the water from the one opening, and 
transformed into a great hall of fairyland with an atmosphere of 
silvery greenish-blue so clear that the primeval rock of the vaulted 
cavern is reflected in the shimmering depths below. The naturalists 
from many countries, all representing different phases of biological 
work and thought, create a cosmopolitan atmosphere most profitable 
and inspiring to each investigator. During the year ending March, 
1910, there were 163 workers at the zoological station. Thus there is 
a perpetually changing and yet permanent congress wherein the 
exchange of ideas is not by means of formal lectures but rather in the 
conversation of two or three workers in some nook about the buildings, 
or upon the deck of the Johannes Miiller. For the thirty-six years of 
its existence the Naples Zoological Station has been one of the most 
potent factors in the development of modern biology, and now this 
institution world-wide in its influence, stands as the chief monument 
to the remarkable personality of Anton Dohrn. 

VOL. LXXVXI.-— 16. 





RECENT visitors to the Metropolitan Museum of Art have been 
impressed by the wealth of the loan collections standing in names 
comparatively unknown to the general public. A two-million-dollar 
sale of works of art lately excited only passing comment — in spite of 
the fact that many priceless treasures were forever lost to America. 
The existence of this private gallery was made widely known only 
through the dispersal of its paintings — and the unfortunate story of its 
loss to New York City. There are many other storehouses of those 
things which we human beings prize in this great city. Fortunately not 
all of them need to be destroyed as collections before their significance 
and charm receive adequate recognition. So the Morgan library in its 
own somewhat permanent home is now numbered among the city's 
choicest possessions. 

The existence in the metropolis of an absolutely unrivaled collection 
of fifteenth and sixteenth century arithmetics has been brought to the 
attention of the scientific world by the publication of David Eugene 
Smith's " Kara Arithmetica." While the work purports to be a mere 
descriptive catalogue of the arithmetical books of the period mentioned 
which are in the library of G. A. Plimpton, it is in fact a comparatively 
complete bibliography of the subject, since this library contains prac- 
tically all the arithmetic books published in the first hundred and fifty 
years of printing. As the third, and by far the most complete, col- 
lection of arithmetical works of international fame the Plimpton books 
take a high place among modern private libraries. 

George A. Plimpton's interest in arithmetics grew out of his busi- 
ness as a publisher of text-books. The historical development of the 
school curriculum is exhibited by his library. Included are geographies 
from the invention of printing up to modern times, spellers, writing 
books with wonderful specimens of writing from all the world, geo- 
metries, reading books and representatives of the other subjects of the 
ordinary school program. But the gems of the collection are doubtless 
the mathematical works, for in these Mr. Plimpton's interest has been 
stimulated by Professor David Eugene Smith, himself an enthusiastic 
bibliophile. The bookshops of all the world have yielded their trea- 
sures to these indefatigable searchers. Professor Smith's recent trip 


around the world brought mathematical finds to the Plimpton and 
Smith collections in the shape of Arabic and Persian, Hindu and 
Chinese and Japanese manuscripts and rolls. 

Mention should also be made of the medallions of mathematicians, 
on exhibition in Teachers College, extending back nearly to the time of 
Pythagoras. The Smith collection of portraits of the devotees of num- 
bers is without parallel and the autograph letters and documents are 
priceless. Here is an original note-book from the hand of Newton, and 
the more prosaic receipt for his semi-annual annuity of fifty pounds 
granted by parliament. The diploma of the great physiologist E. H. 
Weber, signed by Carl Friedrich Gauss, probably the greatest mathe- 
matician of all time, will interest especially those who are familiar with 
the labors of these men. 

The invention of printing gave a tremendous stimulus to all sci- 
entific work by making possible the wide diffusion of knowledge, as 
well as by facilitating the intercourse of scholars. A potent indication 
of the really scientific spirit of the learned men of that day is the fact 
that the newly discovered art was used to give the older classics a wider 
circulation. Thus it need not surprise us to find in this bibliography 
of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries the names of the more ancient 

Archimedes (287-212 B.C.), whom we ordinarily recall as a geometer 
tracing figures in the sand and incidentally being killed while engaged 
in this harmless occupation, or as a master of applied mechanics de- 
fending Syracuse with his catapults and burning glasses, appears in the* 
" Eara Arithmetica " as the author of a work on numeration. Archi- 
medes explains how it is possible to obtain numbers sufficient to express 
the grains of sand in a sand-heap as large as the world and even as 
large as the universe, a problem which is also found in India. 

The arithmetic of Boethius (c. 480-524) involving that of Nico- 
machus of Gerasa (fl. c. a.d. 100) was the most widely used text-book 
in the monastic schools of the middle ages. Doubtless never again will 
any text-book be kept in use for approximately a thousand years, and 
yet an examination of the content of this text reveals not science, but 
hair-splitting philosophical discussions and extreme poverty of ideas. 
Boethius might have been expected to be a more practical philosopher, 
for he wrote his " Consolations of Philosophy " while he was in prison. 

The exchange of professors by the leading universities was more 
common in the early days of these institutions than it is even now. 
Thus the Englishman, John of Halifax, or Holywood, who was known 
in the middle ages by the Latin form of his name Sacrobosco, studied 
and probably lectured at Oxford before settling in Paris about 1250. 
Sacrobosco's " Algorism/' while by no means the first European work 
on the Hindu art of reckoning, was one of the most widely used and 


served largely to spread the knowledge of the numerals which we now 
employ. This " Algorism " was first published at Strassburg in 1488 
and at least thirteen other editions followed before fifty years had 
elapsed. In the first edition it appeared with a computus, the title ap- 
plied to works on the arithmetic of the church calendar. The Latin 
version of our rhyme " Thirty days hath September," etc., appears in 
this "Compotus Manualis" (in verse) and was written by Anianus, a 
Strassburg astronomer and poet. The name algorism was applied for 
some five hundred years to the arithmetic which explained the method 
of reckoning with the Hindu-Arabic numerals. The word is a cor- 
ruption from the name of Mohammed ben Musa, al- Khowarazmi, whose 
Arabic work on this subject was translated into Latin in the early 
twelfth century. Early manuscripts of Sacrobosco's classic are found 
in the Columbia Library as well as in the Plimpton collection. 

Many theologians and churchmen, among the earliest of these may 
be mentioned the Venerable Bede (c. a.d. 700), and Cassiodorus (c. 
a.d. 550), amused themselves by writing arithmetics, but this was in- 
evitable in the period when learning was so largely confined to church 
institutions. Thomas Bradwardin (c. 1290-134$), who was professor 
of theology at Oxford and later archbishop of Canterbury, wrote ex- 
tensively on mathematics. His name suffered, as did many others, at 
the hands of transcribers, being found as Bragwardine, Brandnardinus, 
Bredwardyn, Bradwardyn, de Bradwardina and de Bredwardina. 
Another of these professors of theology was Christian Ursinus (also 
known as Allassiderus, Allassisiderus, Wursteisen or Urstis) who pub- 
lished in 15-79 at Basel an arithmetic entitled "Elementa Arith- 

The surnames, as noted above, were rather shabbily treated from the 
modern point of view, since the first names were regarded as the im- 
portant ones. It was common, too, for scholars to Latinize their 
names, or more rarely to give the Greek equivalent. The reformer 
Melanchthon, who appears as a writer on the nature and value of mathe- 
matics, was baptized Schwarzerd. Schreiber (c. 1525) became as a 
writer of school texts Grammateus, but was also known as Scriptor. 
Melanchthon's friend, Camerarius, who was also a classical scholar, was 
born as Liebhard. Camerarius wrote a commentary on the arithmetic 
of Nicomachus. Conrad Dasypodius, whose family name was originally 
Eauchfus8 or Hasenfuss, wrote two works which should have been in- 
cluded in this catalogue. Copies of these rare books, both published at 
Strassburg in 1567-1570 and 1593-1596, respectively, are found in the 
Astor Library. The older one is entitled " First and Simplest Mathe- 
matics," and is partly in Greek and partly in Latin, treating of geom- 
etry, logistic (a Greek name for practical arithmetic), astronomy and 
geography. The writer was professor of mathematics at Strassburg 


towards the end of the sixteenth century and he designed the famous 
clock of the Strassburg cathedral. 

The unusually large number of physicians (eleven) appearing in 
the "Kara Arithmetical is at first sight rather surprising, until we 
recollect that the scientific training of the time was largely confined to 
medicine. Some of these men might be counted among the best mathe- 
maticians of their day, notably the Italian Hieronymus Cardan (1501- 
1576) who attained fame as an algebraist, and the German Johann 
Widmann (fl. c. 1490), who wrote one of the first arithmetics in the 
German language. An English goldsmith is the author of a practical 
arithmetic, of which there were many designed especially for merchants 
and tradespeople. Jurists and numerous professors of Greek and 
Hebrew mingle here with priests and bishops and even two cardinals, 
Petrus de Alliaco and Nicolaus Cusa. The reckoning masters so 
frequently mentioned as authors remind us that for many years arith- 
metic had no place in the schools, and that the reckoning masters taught 
the art of reckoning outside of school hours very much as music and 
dancing are taught to-day. 

Especial interest attaches, of course, to the first arithmetic to appear 
in print, the anonymous Treviso arithmetic of 1478. While there is no 
proper title page, the first page begins as- follows: "Here commences a 
practical treatise, very good and very useful for any one who wishes to 
learn the art of merchants, vulgarly called the art of the abacus." The 
last page states that it was printed at Treviso (just north of Venice) 
on the tenth day of December, 1478. There are 124 unnumbered pages, 
running about 32 lines each. The first page is reproduced in the 
"Kara Arithmetical in facsimile, together with three other pages. 
The author was evidently a teacher in Treviso, as he states that the 
book is written at the oft-repeated solicitation of his students; the 
printer's name is also unknown. Peculiarly enough this practical 
arithmetician applies four different names to the science, two as in the 
above title and further the art of " arismetrica " and algorism. This 
particular copy was in the Pinelli collection, and was acquired in 1790 
by a Mr. Wodhull. Later it found its way into the library of Brayton 
Ives and at the sale of that library became the property of Mr. Plimp- 
ton. The work is strictly speaking an " algorism" since that title 
implied the use of the Hindu-Arabic numerals for practical computa- 
tion, whereas "arithmetical designated a theoretical treatise based 
largely on the work of Nicomachus and Boethius. An "abacus," 
strictly speaking, would be a work involving the use of some ruled 
surface or device to separate by columns (or rows) the units, tens, 
hundreds and thousands, etc., from each other. However these terms 
were not strictly applied, Leonard of Pisa's extended explanation of 
the Hindu reckoning appearing under the title "Liber Abbaci" or 


" Book of the Abacus," while " Algorithmus Linealis " was applied to 
numerous works explaining the reckoning on lines which was a slight 
variation of the abacus idea. 

The beautifully printed Calandri arithmetic of 1491, the first in 
De Morgan's list, differs from its predecessors in having the traditional 
problems copiously illustrated. The slow-moving snail, who climbs up 
by day one seventh of a foot and slides back by night one ninth of a 
foot, is seen here with his head just emerging from the fifty-foot well 
and looking remarkably active after a climb of 1,575 days. The title 
page presents Pythagoras as " Pictagoras arithmetice introductor," the 
wholly erroneous but wide-spread notion being that this philosopher was 
the originator of the science of numbers. 

Of the eight or ten arithmetics (two being parts of compendiums) 
given by this catalogue as preceding Philippi Calandri's treatise the 
three following are of general interest. " Prosdocimi de beldamandes 
algorismi tractatus" (Padua, 1483) contains probably the first refer- 
ence to a slate ; Pietro Borghi, one of these successful text-book writers, 
wrote the most elaborate of the early books on the subject and more 
than any other set a standard for the arithmetics of the succeeding cen- 
tury. This text-book for the use of merchants, written in Italian, 
appeared at Venice in 1484 from the press of Eatdolt. Widman's 
German text of 1489 employs for the first time the + an d — signs, 
but simply as warehouse symbols of excess or deficiency. 

One of the rarest of the catalogued treasures is the " Arithmetics " 
or "Compendium of the Abacus" (Turin, 1492) of Francesco Pellos 
(Pellizzati). It appears that this native of Nice came very near to 
the invention of decimal fractions, writing almost a hundred years 
before the first complete explanation of the subject in "La Disme" 
or "The Decimal" by Simon Stevin the Hollander. Pellos actually 
used a decimal point to indicate division by such numbers as 100, but 
its full significance did not dawn on him. 

The first printed discussion of arithmetic in the English language 
is a chapter of Caxton's " The Mirrour of the World or Thymage of the 
same" (London, 1480) ; the section begins "And after that of Arsme- 
trike and whereof it proceedeth." An interesting sidelight is thrown 
on early American history by the announcement of the discovery in 
Madrid of the first arithmetic printed in the western hemisphere. 
Extensive printing was done in Mexico in the second half of the six- 
teenth century, and it was here that Juan Diaz Freyle published in 
1556 the Spanish " Compendium . . . with Certain Eules of Arithmetic." 

Of necessity many works apparently unrelated to arithmetic are 
introduced. The fine distinctions between the sciences did not then 
exist, so that an astronomer, a geometer, a philosopher or a writer on 
the Church calendar would not hesitate to bring into his subject a dis- 


eussion of arithmetic. Finger reckoning and a number game called 
Eithmomachia are other related subjects which received elaborate treat- 
ment. The first modern encyclopedia to appear in print is the 
" Epitome of all Philosophy" by the Carthusian monk Gregorius Reisch, 
the publication appearing in Strassburg in 1503. " Pythagoras " and 
" Boethius " adorn the first page of the part devoted to arithmetic. 

It would appear that scientists have, in the course of centuries, 
grown more modest in their published claims. Borghi's " Noble work 
of arithmetic treating all those things which are requisite for mer- 
chants" sounds like a boast. More seductive are "The Ground of 
Artes," "The Castle of Knowledge," "The Pathway of Knowledge" 
and "The Whetstone of Witte," mathematical works by Robert 
Recorde, the royal physician to Edward VI. and Queen Mary. Recorde 
was the first to use the present equality sign, stating that no two things 
can be more equal than two such lines. His were the most influential 
English mathematical publications of the sixteenth century. Equally 
enticing as the titles of Recorde was Humphrey Baker's " The Well 
spring of Sciences, Which teacheth the perfect work and practise of 
Arithmetick, both in whole Numbers and Fractions" (London, 1562). 

The most fitting name with which to terminate a discussion of the 
printed arithmetics of the sixteenth century is that of Adam Riese. 
So widely were his books used and so deep the impression which they 
made that even to-day, nearly four centuries after he wrote, the expres- 
sion to reckon " nach Adam Riese " is common in Germany. Riese's 
works quite supplanted the numerous editions of the Rechenbuch by the 
versatile Jakob Kobel, who was Reichenmeister, printer, engraver, wood- 
carver, public official, as well as a successful text-book writer. KobeFs 
"Rechenbuch" of 1514 bears silent but eloquent testimony to the 
tremendous inertia that must be overcome by any new system that 
revolutionizes the common processes of thought. KobeFs arithmetic, 
four hundred years after the Hindu- Arabic numerals had been explained 
in Europe, is wholly in Roman numerals, even to the fractions. Riese's 
work made the publication of any other arithmetic in Roman numerals 

Part II. of the " Rara Arithmetica " treats of the rich collection of 
mathematical manuscripts in the Plimpton library. The oldest of these 
is a beautifully written Latin Euclid (about a.d. 1260). This manu- 
script appears to be the copy given by the translator Campanus to 
Jacques Pantaleon when he was Patriarch of Jerusalem. Campanus 
was chaplain to Pantaleon both in Jerusalem and later when that 
churchman became Pope Urban IV. 

An arithmetic written about 1339 by Paolo Dagomari, also known 
as Paul of the Abacus, furnishes the clue to the derivation of our per 
cent, symbol. The sign is derived from the abbreviation c° for cento 


(hundred), and its evolution is traced through later manuscripts. As 
interesting, but not as conclusive, is an illustration from a fifteenth- 
century manuscript containing the possible progenitor of the dollar sign. 

A beautifully written and illuminated copy of the Boethius arith- 
metic, written on vellum about 1294, is one of the most valuable pieces ; 
the pigskin binding is of about the same date as the text. Just as 
valuable, because of the rarity of the material, is the copy of al-Kho- 
warazmi's Algebra, a Latin manuscript of 1456. The title is " Book 
of Mohammed on Algebra and Almuchabala, or Restoration and Oppo- 
sition." The word " algebra," like the words alchemy and almanac, is 
of Arabic origin, having the meaning "to restore." So a surgeon, 
restorer of broken bones, is called in Don Quixote an " algebrista." 
The word " almuchabala " contains the idea of balance. Both of these 
terms were applied to early algebras appearing in Europe. 

That no expense has been spared in the preparation of the " Kara 
Arithmetica " is shown by the 255 photographic reproductions, largely 
full-page, which constitute one of the most valuable features for bib- 
liophiles and librarians. The tremendous labor involved in searching 
out twelve hundred printed works, as opposed to De Morgan's one 
hundred, can be understood only by one who has tried to make a com- 
plete bibliography of any subject. The citations and references which 
have been given are sufficient to indicate the fundamental importance 
of the " Eara Arithmetica " in the history of the development of 
arithmetic. The actual additions in the notes, to our present knowl- 
edge, are entirely too numerous to mention. They show that the library 
offers a rich field for research in the history of mathematics. Biblio- 
graphically the " Kara Arithmetica " will always be an authority in so 
far as arithmetical books of the period treated are concerned and Amer- 
icans may justly be proud that this work, which in the nature of the 
subject might have been considered more properly the field of a Euro- 
pean scholar, has been so ably and finally done by a Columbia professor. 

The first of the great collections of mathematical works at all to be 
compared with Mr. Plimpton's was made by Guillaume Libri, the author 
of the "History of the Mathematical Sciences in Italy." The first 
volume of his great work was just off the press at the time of the great 
fire in Paris in 1835. Libri, who had been at the printer's, took a few 
copies home under his arm ; the rest were destroyed. One of the copies 
preserved, to which Libri made corrections for the second edition of 
1838, is on exhibition in the museum of Teachers College, having been 
bought in Italy by Professor Smith. 

Libri began his mathematical career as a boy prodigy, for at the 
early age of fifteen he was in correspondence with famous mathema- 
ticians, and at the age of twenty he was appointed professor of mathe- 
matics in the University of Pisa. Being exiled from Italy for political 


reasons when he was twenty-eight years old, he took up his residence in 
Paris and later became a French citizen. His remarkable ability won 
him in the brief space of three years the chair of mathematics in the 
College of France and admission to the Academy of Sciences as suc- 
cessor to the great French geometer, Legendre. His activity extended 
to the political field as inspector-general of public instructon and later 
as inspector-general of the libraries of France. Soon difficulties of 
another nature overtook him, as he was accused of appropriating books 
and manuscripts from French libraries to his own use, in spite of the 
fact that he had previously offered his valuable collection as a whole, 
consisting of some 30,000 books and 2,000 manuscripts to the Royal 
Library of Paris on the rejected condition that it be kept intact as the 
Libri Collection. His conviction of the misuse of the national libraries 
occurred, many say unjustly, in 1805 and he was again an exile, living 
in England as a fugitive from the law; we will not say justice. His 
library was sold at auction in England, many of the works finding their 
way into the hands of Prince Boncompagni and after the dispersal of 
his library into the Plimpton collection and the private library of 
David Eugene Smith. 

Prince Baldassarre Boncompagni, who gathered together a second 
famous collection of mathematical books and manuscripts, came nat- 
urally by his interest in scientific work, as he belonged to that same 
princely family as Pope Gregory XIII., who revised the calendar. 
While eminent as a contributor to mathematical literature, Boncom- 
pagni's greater service was as a patron of the science. At his own ex- 
pense he published the " Bulletin of the Bibliography and History of 
the Mathematical and Physical Sciences," running through twenty 
volumes, with many valuable contributions by German, French and 
Italian scholars to the history of mathematics and astronomy. Even 
more important were his numerous publications in regard to Leonard 
of Pisa, who flourished at the beginning of the thirteenth century and 
to whom was due in a large measure the spread of the Arabic numerals 
in Italy and Europe. The publications of Boncompagni included two 
large volumes of the writings of Leonard of Pisa and two Latin versions 
of the Arabic work of Mohammed ben Musa, al-Khowarazmi, who made 
the Hindu art of reckoning known to the Arabs in the early ninth 
century; these Latin versions were made by a Spaniard and an English- 
man, both of whom studied at that Moslem center of learning, Toledo, 
in the early twelfth century. Prince Boncompagni's magnificent col- 
lection was offered, on certain mild conditions, to the city of Rome, but 
was refused. While in printed works of the fifteenth and sixteenth 
centuries this library was not as complete as is the Plimpton, yet the 
equal of this collection of old mathematical manuscripts will doubtless 
never again be held by any private library. The sale at auction of these 
books took place as recently as 1898. 


The small collection of Augustus De Morgan is worthy of note, as it 
furnished the stimulus for the publication of the first work dealing 
wholly with the bibliograhy of arithmetic, De Morgan's " Arithmetical 
Books," published in London in 1847. Of the fifteenth and sixteenth 
centuries De Morgan described some seventy arithmetics, while the 
" Kara Arithmetica " describes well over four hundred. A quotation 
from the prefatory letter by the great English mathematician in which 
the book is inscribed to the Eev. George Peacock, a writer on the history 
of arithmetic, is worth giving : " The most worthless book of a bygone 
day is a record worthy of preservation. Like a telescopic star, its 
obscurity may render it unavailable for most purposes; but it serves, 
in hands which know how to use it, to determine the place of more 
important bodies." De Morgan's felicity of expression in his numerous 
publications — he was an extensive contributor to encyclopedias — sug- 
gests his kinship to the present popular novelist, William Frend De 
Morgan, his son. 

While the " Arithmetical Books " by De Morgan dealt wholly with 
arithmetical works, many others have treated the bibliography of mathe- 
matics. One of the earliest to give fairly extensive bibliographical 
references to mathematical literature is the " Kitab al-Fihrist," or 
" Book of Becords," an Arabic treatise written in a.d. 987. The mathe- 
matical section of this large book was translated into German by H. 
Suter and appeared in Leipzig in 1892. The author, who went by the 
melodious name of Abou'l-Faradsch Mohammed ibn Ishak, or more com- 
monly by the name Ibn Abi Ja'kub al-Nadim, included all the writers 
known to him, of whatever nationality. The Kitab al-Fihrist is of the 
greatest importance in the history of mathematics, as it is, indeed, in 
the history of the development of Christianity, for the writer describes 
various early sects of the christians. An appreciably large part of our 
knowledge of Greek mathematics comes from such Arabic sources, for 
the Arabs kept the spark of Greek learning alive while Europe was in 
the darkest of the dark ages. 

Our interest, however, is in the bibliographers who treated the early 
printed works. Gerard Joannis Vossius in 1650 published in Amster- 
dam his work, " On the Four Arts," which is an unreliable mixture of 
bibliographical and historical material. Naturally many histories of 
mathematics treated also the bibliography of the subject. The first 
German work to attempt a somewhat complete list of early printed 
books in mathematics was the " Einleitung zur mathematischen Biicher- 
kentnis," which J. E. Scheibel completed in 1769 and of which at least 
two editions appeared. Other German publications, purely bibliograph- 
ical, are F. G. A. Murhard's "Literatur der mathematischen Wissen- 
schaften" of 1797 and J. Bogg's "Handbuch der mathematischen 
Literatur," which catalogued and described books from the invention of 


printing up to 1830. The more general treatises on bibliography like 
those by Graesse and Hain and Copinger also touch this field, although 
of necessity only incidentally. 

Aside from these there have been some purely national works like 
the " Bibliography of the Lowlands " of the mathematical and physical 
sciences by Bierens de Haan and the "Biblioteca Mathematica Italiana," 
by Pietro Eiccardi. Professor Smith's " Kara Arithmetica " contains, 
for the period which it treats, more titles of Italian works than does 
Riccardi and more German than does Murhard or Rogg. In general, 
we may say, it is more complete for its specialty than any of the bib- 
liographies hitherto published. The " Kara Arithmetica " may be said 
to be, with the exception of slight additions, the final bibliography of 
this field. It may safely be predicted that for centuries to come no 
other authority will appear to contest its claim to first place. 





IT may be necessary to introduce this " faithful student of the school 
of verity," for his contribution to human thought was of the kind 
that is easily absorbed in the sum total of the period, while the man 
himself remains little known to any but his contemporaries. The 
writer's introduction to him was through his " fruitful preface " to the 
first translation of Euclid's " Elements " into English printed in 1570. 
That long preface is an interesting document in the development of 
intellectual freedom as well as in the history of science. It was ad- 
dressed not so much to learned men as to the author's countrymen at 
large, though there was an occasional side glance at the university 
pedants. It expresses ideas strikingly like those for which the name 
of Francis Bacon stands, though written when Bacon was a boy of nine 
years. In it the author makes a vigorous appeal to the men of the time 
to shake themselves free from the commentational habit of the middle 
ages — to consider that the Greeks and Romans, who were held in such 
reverence, had not achieved all that was to be achieved. "Master 
Dee " was fully aware of the state of opinion that must be contended 
against. He says : 

Well, I am nothing affrayde of the disdayne of some such, as thinke Sciences 
and Artes to be but Seven. Perhaps those such may, with ignorance and shame 
enough, come short of them seven also: and yet nevertheless they can not pre- 
scribe a certaine number of Artes: and in each certain impassable boundes, to 
God, Nature, and man's Industrie. New Artes dayly rise up: and there was 
no such order taken, that all Artes should in one age, or in one land, or of one 
man be made knowen to the world. 

The immediate and ostensible purpose of the preface was to attract 
attention to the newly translated " Elements." The author begins : 

Neither do I think it mete for so strange matter (as now is ment to be 
published) and to so strange an audience, to be bluntly, at first put forth with- 
out a peculiar Preface. 

In his pride in the achievements of England in the reign of 
Elizabeth, John Dee was at one with his countrymen, and whether 
consciously or unconsciously he appealed to men through the motive 
dominant in that period when he explained at great length how the 
" wonderful applications of mathematics " might be used for the glori- 
fication of the country. At the same time, the author sounds in 
advance a distinct seventeenth century note in suggesting that the laws 
governing natural phenomena might be better understood by being 
treated mathematically, and foreshadows the modern " Precisions and 
Approximations-mathematik " when he speaks of " allowing somewhat 


to the imperfection of Nature not answerable to the preciseness of 

The preface is framed for such 
who well can, (and also will) use their outward senses to the glory of God, the 
benefite of their Country, and their own secret contentation, or honest prefer- 
ment on this earthly Scaffold. To them I will orderly recite, describe and 
declare a great number of Artes, from our two Mathematical! fountaines, de- 
rived into the fields of Nature. Whereby such Sedes, and Rotes, as lye depe 
hyd in the ground of Nature, are refreshed, quickened, and provoked to grow, 
shote up, floure, and give frute, infinite, and incredible. ... At this time I 
define an Arte to be a Methodicall complete doctrine, having abundancy of 
sufficient, and peculiar matter to deale with, by the allowance of the Metaphys- 
icall Philosopher: the knowledge whereof, to humaine state is necessarye. And 
that I account, an Art Mathematical! derivative, which by Mathematicall dem- 
onstrative Method, in Numbers, or Magnitudes, ordereth and confirmeth his 
doctrine, as much and as perfectly, as the matter subject will admit. 

It seems certain that John Dee had also a conscious belief in the 
value to science itself of the application of its principles. He invites 
his reader to " consider the infinite desire of knowledge, and incredible 
power of man's Search and Capacitye how, they jointly have waded 
farder by mixtying of speculation and practise." Compare with this 
a sentence by Ernst Haeckel written three centuries later : 

We must welcome as one of the most fortunate steps in the direction of a 
solution of the great cosmic problems the fact that of recent years there is a 
growing tendency to recognize the two paths which alone lead thereto— 
experience and thought, or speculation to be of equal value, and mutually 
complementary. 1 

John Dee's long life covers a dramatic period in the history of the 
development of thought, and as the most widely known English scholar 
of his generation his education and wanderings are interesting. It was 
in 1526 that the books were burned in Oxford in the futile attempt to 
stop the new learning. In the following year John Dee was born of 
the ancient family of Dees of Radnorshire. His father, Rowland Dee, 
was by some accounts a vintner in London, by others he is described as 
gentleman sewer to Henry VIII. Whatever his occupation, he was a 
friend to the universities, and in 1542 sent his son to St. John's College, 
Cambridge. Here he remained, first as student, then as foundation 
fellow, until 1546. When in the same year Trinity College was founded 
by patent of Henry VIII., Dee was made one of the original fellows and 
was, as he says, assigned there to be the "under reader of the Greek 
tongue." At the same time he was occupied with mathematical and 
astronomical studies and on " going down " gave to Trinity his astro- 
nomical instruments. 

At that time the men of the universities seemed not to aspire to 
know more than was to be learned from Plato and Aristotle. That 
John Dee had a mental appetite beyond the ability of Cambridge to 
satisfy appears from his account of his wanderings. 

1 " Riddle of the Universe," p. 18. 


After I was Batchelor of Arts, I went beyond the seas (Anno 1547 — May) 
to speak and confer with some learned men and chiefly Mathematicians. . . . 
Anno 1548 I was made Master of Artes. I became a student at Lovain 1548 
midsummer, and there I made abode, till the 15th of July 1550. . . . From 
Lovaine I took my journey towards Paris Anno 1550, . . . where within a few 
days (at the request of some English Gentlemen, made with me to do some- 
what there for the honour of my Country) I did undertake to read freely and 
publicly Euclid's Elements Geometrical ... a thing never done publicly in any 
University of Christendome. My auditory in Rhemes College was so great . . . 
that the Mathematical Schooles could not hold them ; for many were fain, with- 
out the schooles at the windows, to be auditors and spectators as 1 they best 
could help themselves thereto. I did also dictate upon every proposition, 
besides the first exposition. 1 

John Dee was held in high esteem not only in Paris and Louvain, 
but at almost all the courts of Europe. He relates (and there is no 
reason to question the statement) that he might have served five Chris- 
tian emperors, namely, " Charles V, Ferdinand, Maximilian, this 
Rudolph and this present Moscovite," but Queen Elizabeth " very gra- 
ciously " took him into her service. Just what the service was that is 
referred to here is not evident, but the Queen called upon " Master 
Dee " for a great variety of services. At one time he instructed her in 
astrology, using the book which he had written for the Emperor Maxi- 
milian. Once he was sent for post-haste to prevent mischief to her 
majesty's person apprehended from a waxen image of her, found in 
Lincoln's Inn Fields with a pin stuck in its breast. In 1577 the queen 
sent for Dee to come to Windsor on account of a comet, and for three 
days she listened to his discourse and speculations on the subject. Five 
years earlier there had appeared a brilliant star in " Cassiopeiae " that 
caused such consternation among the people that John Dee and Thomas 
Digges united in an attempt to give an explanation and bring to an 
end the terror of the people. As a result Dee printed in 1573 his 
" Parallactic© commentationis praxeosque nucleum," but not content 
with that, he printed in the same year a work entitled "de Stella 
admiranda in Cassiopeiae asterismo ccelitus demissa ab orbem usque 
Veneris." Knowing the superstitions of the times, Dee frequently urges 
the desirability of man's understanding nature. After enumerating 
various natural phenomena, he asks : 

Is it not commodious for man to know the very true cause, and occasion 
naturall ? Yea, rather, is it not greatly against the Souverainty of man's nature, 
to be so overshot and abused, with thinges (at hand) before his eyes? 

In 1580 the queen desired to know her title to countries discovered 
in different parts of the world and Dee drew up for her two large rolls 
of description and maps which were approved by the queen and Lord 
Burleigh. Not only the queen, but explorers, men of affairs and the 
learned men of Europe sought him out. To him came Sir Humphry 
Gilbert and John Davis to talk of the Northwest Passage (John Dee 

■Dee's "Compendious Rehearsal." 


himself wrote two works on navigation). The East India Company 
called upon him to improve the compass. Certain large landholders in 
England who had mines extending under their boundary lines came to 
him to settle their controversy. In 1582 Dee was urging the Queen to 
improve the calendar, and two years later she and her ministers re- 
quested him to make the necessary calculations. The Eoman Church 
amended the calendar on the supposition that all that was done at the 
council of Nice with regard to chronology was correct and proposed the 
omission of ten days, but Dee's calculations led him to recommend the 
omission of eleven days. He agreed, however, to compromise for the 
sake of uniformity, providing the facts should be publicly announced. 
The plans were approved by the lay members of the committee, Thomas 
Digges, Henry Savile and Mr. Chambers, but opposed by the arch- 
bishop and bishops on the ground chiefly that the project of reforming 
the calendar emanated from the See of Rome. The reform was thus 
delayed one hundred and seventy years, but Dee's able treatise was 
preserved and was made use of when the change actually took place. 
The original has passed through the hands of many eminent mathe- 
maticians, and is now in the Ashmole collection at Oxford. 

This treatise on the calendar, the " Fruitful Preface " and the 
memorial to Queen Mary in regard to a royal library are the most 
significant of his seventy-nine works, many of which were never printed. 
In the last-named Dee called the queen's attention to the fact that with 
the destruction of the cloisters there was no longer any place of safety 
for manuscripts, and that these were now being destroyed or scattered 
broadcast. He set forth the loss this would be to history and science, 
and proposed that a commission should be appointed to establish a royal 
library — he himself undertaking to procure copies of famous manu- 
scripts at the Vatican. Whether because of his youth or because of the 
indifference of the Queen, he was not listened to, but in his own library 
at Mortlake he collected 4,000 books, of which he tells us " 700 were 
ancient manuscripts in Greek, Latin and Hebrew." 

John Dee early accepted the Copernican theory and was apparently 
among the first to understand and give due weight to the writings of 
Roger Bacon, to whom he refers as a" philosopher of this land native 
(the floure of whose worthy fame, can never dye nor wither) ." It was 
to him doubtless that Dee owed his high valuation of experiment in 
science. He begs of his readers to 

Esteeme one Drop of Truth (yea in Natural Philosophic) more worth, than 
whole Libraries of Opinions undemonstrated or not answering to Nature's Law, 
and your experience. . . . Words and arguments are no sensible certifying: nor 
the full and final frute of Sciences practi sable. 

That many of the opinions held by Dee were not common among 
even the learned of his countrymen is evident from the manner in which 
he exhorts them in his writings. He too held out a hand to " divine 


Plato," sometimes with an apology, but from his influence Dee had 
escaped farther than he himself perhaps knew. The amount of space 
given in the " Fruitful Preface" to the explanation of the uses of 
mathematics and the record of his varied activities give abundant proof 
that this scholar believed in making knowledge effective for the benefit 
of mankind. It is impossible to go through his writings without sus- 
pecting that here is one source of Bacon's ideas. John Dee preceded 
Francis Bacon at Cambridge by thirty years, and were there no positive 
proof of their acquaintance it would not be probable that a man known 
all over Europe for his learning and frequently called into service by 
the Queen and her ministers should remain unknown to a young courtier 
with the omnivorous intellect of a Francis Bacon. For many years Dee 
kept an intermittent diary on the margin of his almanac in which is 
found this note : 

Aug. 11 — 1582. Mr. Bacon and Mr. Phillips of the court called. 

Sir Nicholas Bacon was prominent at the court of Queen Elizabeth 
and his two sons, Anthony and Francis, were court favorites, while yet 
in their teens. As Sir Nicholas died in 1579 and Anthony Bacon was 
on the continent in 1582, the " Mr. Bacon of the court" could not well 
have been other than the young Francis. According to Bacon's own 
testimony, he wrote his first letter on the " Instauration of Philosophy " 
about 1583. 

Looking at this " faithful student of the school of verity," this " old 
forworne mathematician," as he styles himself, we see a scholar familiar 
with the contributions of all men up to his time, a pilgrim to every 
shrine of knowledge; we see a councillor of kings, an adviser of ex- 
plorers and men of affairs, a proud patriot, a profound believer in the 
ability of man to obtain sovereignty over the forces of nature, a cour- 
ageous man throwing down the gauntlet to authority. But there is a 
reverse side to the picture. The desire to force the secrets of nature, 
of which he had a deep presentiment, became a ruling passion. In the 
midst of a discussion of " Statike (experiment of the Balance) " he 
breaks off with this prayer : 

Oh that men wist what profit, (all manner of ways) by this Arte might 
grow, to the hable examiner and diligent practiser. Tho only, knowest all 
things precisely (0 God) . . . who hast created all things in Number, Waight, 
and Measure: and hath wayed the mountains and hils in a Balance: who hast 
peysed in thy hand both Heaven and Earth, . . . and being farther advertised 
by thy merciful goodness that, three principall wayes, were, of thee, used in 
Creation of all thy creatures, namely, Number, Waight and Measure, and for 
as much as of Number and Measure, the two Artes (ancient, famous, and to 
humaine uses most necessary) are, all ready, sufficiently known and extant: 
This third key, we beseche thee (through thy accustomed goodness) that it 
may come to the nedefull and sufficient knowledge of such thy servants, as in 
thy workmanship would gladly finde thy true occasions. . . . Amen. 

Mervaile nothing at this pang (godly friend, you Gentle and Zealous 
Student). An other day perchance, you will perceive, what occasion moved me. 


Could John Dee have lived another century he might have found in 
the work of Isaac Newton some answer to his prayer. The very in- 
tensity of the longing to understand the mysteries of the universe was 
in part the cause of the errors into which he fell. His belief in astrol- 
ogy and in the value of the alchemical experiments on which he spent 
so much of his energy and substance may be accounted an error of the 
time rather than of the individual, but his long connection with Edward 
Kelley — charlatan and magician — is not easily reconciled with his intel- 
ligence. Kelley, at first an apothecary, became an avowed dealer in 
magic and seems, for a time, to have made a complete dupe of Dee, who 
in all good faith admitted him as a valued assistant in his researches 
and travels. Between the years 1582 and 1589 they were making 
alchemical experiments, peering into crystals, communing with spirits, 
etc. — part of the time in England, part of the time on the continent — 
chiefly at Prague. When in 1590 the real character of his masterful 
assistant became apparent, Dee experienced the keenest sorrow over 
misplaced confidence. 

But for the time of his wardenship of Manchester College, 1596- 
1604, he spent the remaining years of his life at Mortlake in poverty 
and sadness. Queen Elizabeth, in passing to and from Richmond, often 
stopped to question and console him and sent her own physicians when 
he was ill. From the records of the time " Master " Dee seems to have 
made a deep impression on the people round about, both because of his 
learning and of his handsome presence. Aubrey speaks of him as a great 
peacemaker among his neighbors, and adds " a mighty good man was 
he." By some Dee was accounted a conjuror, and so oppressed was he 
by the charge that he petitioned James I. in 1604 that he might be 
tried and cleared of the horrible slander. After the king had inquired 
into the nature of his studies the petition was refused as unnecessary. 
Up to his death in 1608 Dee retained the profoundest interest in experi- 
ments. His magic crystal and cakes are preserved in the British 

Though his actual contribution to science was not great, John Dee 
belonged to and had an important part in the transition from the com- 
mentatorial period of the middle ages to that time of bold originality 
and vivid reality — the time of Bacon, Kepler, Galileo and of their young 
contemporary, Descartes. His eyes at least were above the plane on 
which Francis Bacon stood. Forerunners such as Dee prepared the 
way for the stupendous achievements of the seventeenth century — that 
century made notable by the introduction of the most powerful mathe- 
matical methods and by the use of these methods to obtain an under- 
standing of the laws that govern the phenomena of nature. 

vol. lxxvii.— 17. 





THE question is old but important, how far a man may influence 
his destiny and career by power of will and by training. Very 
often it is argued that his future lies entirely with himself, that he is 
modeling clay in his own hands. From this comes the expression of 
" the self-made man." Yet " there's a divinity that shapes our ends, 
rough hew them how we will/' a might that the biologist calls inherit- 
ance. For by no manner of endeavor can a man make himself a bird 
or fish, nor can he divorce his mind from his body. An organism may 
be introduced to new conditions of life, by volition or by circumstance, 
and though it may change to some extent, it can not become entirely 
different from what it was at the start and still continue to live. As the 
twig is bent the tree inclines, that is, bends off from the normal path, 
but it does not become another kind of tree. The gardener can change 
the growth of a flower by placing certain solutions in the soil, but he 
simply adds another substance to it ; or the experimenter can prevent a 
skeleton from developing by withdrawing from the medium certain 
salts, but he has only subtracted a certain substance. Some qualities 
may receive an added impulse, others may be retarded, monsters may 
be engendered, but no man has yet changed one being into a very dif- 
ferent one. 

Thus there are genetically diverse kinds of beings, and this is as 
true for men as for the rest of creation. What will be the outcome of 
any individual is to greatest extent a matter of his inheritance, it is 
blood that tells. All of us make our advent naked and helpless, all 
seemingly equally dependent upon the maternal care, all have to learn 
by experience. Yet no two human infants are alike, except to the inex- 
perienced eyes of an old bachelor, for because they are of different 
parentage they possess at the beginning different qualities, and it is 
probable that infants are as unlike as full-grown men and women, 
though in not the same ways. Indeed, every step in our growth has been 
conditioned by our ancestry. For the organism is much more than a set 
of substances and structures, it is a chain of processes linked continu- 
ously with the remote past and the outcome depends very largely upon 
the initial condition. This is the cardinal point that educators have 
grasped only recently, and about which some of them are still strangely 
in doubt. A man can not mold himself entirely, nor can his teachers 
wholly change him, for he is largely fashioned by his inheritance. 

But though inheritance handles the reins, the course of life depends 


much upon the finding of the right road. Only the Universalgenie, 
if such exist, could arrive at the goal by any of the divergent roads. 

The true aim and project of the university seems to me to be, in the 
first instance, to help the man to find himself, and only in the second 
instance to educate him. For the reason that this may appear an 
unusual view it should be explained. Universities arose out of the 
desire for freedom of thought, out of the wish to break the fetters of 
formalism. At various times, at Salamanca and Bologna, Strassburg, 
Paris and Oxford, assembled groups of men who had become dissatisfied 
with the crystallized curriculum offered by the church schools, who felt 
the curb on thought. Consequently they segregated, and from their 
number selected those men as teachers who had new and fertile ideas. 
Thus within such an assemblage all subjects came gradually to be pro- 
fessed, and each man chose his disciplines according to his inclinations. 
That is to say, universities in their inception were places for freedom 
of choice of subject, and this has remained the ideal in at least the more 
influential continental universities. One expression of it is our elective 
system, but it is pursued still more broadly in Germany. There the 
student comes from the fairly rigid curriculum of the Realschule, or the 
still narrower course of the gymnasium, to the university where he may 
select just as many courses and just what ones he cares for. The result 
is a double one : he frequently chooses as few lectures as possible, and 
then enjoys several Bummeljahre; but drones are no honey getters, and, 
provided he need a profession, he sooner or later comes to hear lectures 
on a great variety of subjects until he finds the one that most engrosses 
his attention, when he devotes himself to that. This system, in the 
nearly complete freedom of choice it allows, offers the fruits of all sci- 
ences, so that by browsing in this diverse orchard the student may find 
his peculiar taste. 

A graduate department is not an Eden simply because all are com- 
manded to eat of the fruit of the tree of knowledge. Men come to it 
from undergraduate courses where they have followed rather delimited 
curricula; in it they are free to make choice of the profession of their 
lives. It is the duty of the graduate school, the university proper as 
seen in the historical setting, to help each man to find himself, which is 
but a paraphrase of the Socratic " know thyself ." 

Students come with different innate propensities ; they should choose 
the fruit that comes nearest their hearts. The decisive step towards 
success is to choose wisely, which means simply to elect that which 
attracts most strongly. That is, one should place himself in the soil 
for which providence or his inheritance meant him, for only by so doing 
can one develop his capabilities to the full. And if there be one duty 
set upon us, a duty to our neighbors as well as to ourselves, it is to do 
that for which we are best fitted, granted only that a man be of sane 
social judgment. 


The occupation of a lifetime is not to be chosen by cold reason, but 
by the warmth of the heart. When friends go and the purse gets lean, 
a man may be kept warm by the enthusiasm for his work. When we 
always recur to our work with delight we make the most of our futures. 
Much of the success of an investigator lies in his choosing rightly, and 
the test of one's fitness is the durability of one's zeal. 

Many and varied temptations there are to lead one astray from such 
a choice, the most seductive of which is escape from financial care. All 
of us can appreciate this, and the more perhaps because the multitude 
is apt to measure social standing by material wealth. But we will not 
linger over this time-worn and hoary subject of dispute, beyond noting 
that such thinkers as Dante and Harvey, who added so marvelously to 
our understanding of man, were neither rich nor yet in society. What 
immediately concerns us is that the investigator requires all of his 
ability to achieve results, and he certainly will have less success if he 
sacrifice his stronger inclinations for any social or mercenary reason. 
Let our financial futures take care of themselves, let us guard our 
talents. There is room at the top; it is only the bottom rungs that 
seem insecure. 

Most men when they have obtained their doctor's degrees feel sud- 
denly helpless, thrown out upon a chilling world. As a result most feel 
they should secure at once some sort of a remunerative position, and they 
are apt to think the position better the more it pays. This seems to me 
to be on the whole a pitiable error, and the reason why is very simple. 
For if young men have decided upon scientific research they surely will 
require time for their researches. It is rarely the case that they can oc- 
cupy any school position and still have opportunity for their own work. 
Therefore the positions that are best for them are ones that make the 
least demands upon their time, and most of these are found only in 
universities. Suppose then a man should be given the choice of an 
instructorship at $1,500, in a high school or small college in which he 
would have no time for investigation, and of a graduate fellowship of 
$500, in which he would have every minute for his work, he should 
choose the latter no matter what worldly sacrifices he must make. For 
by this choice he would be gaining time, he would have opportunity to 
make a name for himself, and if he did not lose heart but remained 
true to himself he would certainly arrive at the proper kind of a posi- 
tion. If a man become side-tracked into a school teacher's chair, for 
the poor reason that he gets a living salary quicker, he will never be 
heard of and never get out of it to realize his ideals. The dollar may 
seem big, but time is more productive capital than money. 

Yet, at the same time, it should be noted that a certain amount of 
teaching is good for the investigator. For in the first place a body of 
students enables him to farm out parts of his problem, and by estab- 
lishing in this way a special school he is able to accomplish much more 


than he could single-handed. He can not by himself answer the whole 
of his problem, but with the help of a corps of students, each prosecuting 
some particular part, he may be able to; and the students themselves 
gain by cooperating in such a unified project. For no one man has the 
ability to follow out all the clues that suggest themselves to his mind. 
And in the second place, a certain amount of teaching is almost neces- 
sary to prevent a man from becoming narrow, and to keep him in active 
touch with all sides of his subject. It is particularly important for an 
investigator to teach undergraduate courses, though these are the most 
difficult to present well, for that keeps him in touch with the broader 
and more generally comprehensible parts of his work. The occasional 
meeting with younger and fresher minds is stimulating, and clear 
presentation of a subject to them often clarifies our own ideas. It is 
probably on account of their teaching that university men are generally 
broader than museum curators. 

Given then the opportunity to measure the different paths of knowl- 
edge, and supposing a man has made his choice congenial and has 
resolved to stick to it, a great step has been taken. Yet this is, after all, 
merely the planting of the right seed in the proper ground, much re- 
mains before the harvest. To make the simile true we should imagine 
that the case is one where a man is at once seed, farmer and harvest, 
limited and constrained by his inherited powers. We have to find our 
particular effective seed, to set it out with care, and to keep its nurture 
mainly in our hands. 

The subject matter of a science can be taught us, but we have to 
learn to investigate mainly through our own endeavors. The teacher 
out of his experience can indicate a problem awaiting solution; he 
should be able to decide whether it be soluble, but the real work, the 
research, is with us. One can learn investigation only by investigation, 
and each man must find his own path through the maze. 

Encyclopedic knowledge is often more an impediment than a help 
to investigation; the two are contradictory. The student may become 
so charged with scholastic learning that he has no room left for think- 
ing. And as we recall the creative thinkers of the past, we find they 
I were on the whole rather undertrained men, in consequence untired 
x and active in thought, picking up knowledge only when it was needed. 
For knowledge is not an end but only a tool. Yet there still lingers the 
idea that during the three or four years the student devotes to his 
doctorate, he should try to learn the whole of his subject ! University 
teaching, it seems to me, should be called successful only when it helps 
a man to independent thinking. It is wholesome to recognize our 
limitations, to realize that we can not carry heavy freight and at the 
same time make headway. The mind that has to interpret must be 
fresh and agile, not loaded with the thousand and one opinions of fore- 
runners. Let us avoid burdening our strength with laborious compila- 


tion. We sometimes think we are getting wise when we are only get- 
ting rusty. 

It is this consideration that indicates a man should receive very 
little help with his doctor's thesis, he should sink or swim without the 
help of a convenient raft — or professor. For then is the witching time 
when he is finding out whether he holds the power of research, and he 
alone can tell whether he has it; he can tell by a certain elation and 
undefined feeling of strength. The student should be given a soluble 
problem for his thesis, also certain technical aid, then left rather severely 
to his own devices. If he succeed he will have proved his ability; if he 
fail it is still well, for he will be saved from an ill-chosen career. While, 
on the other hand, the result of aid constantly given is what we may 
call the " one-thesis man," he who finishes his thesis, to be sure, and gets 
his degree, but who afterwards, when he is thrown upon himself, proves 
unable to carry out further investigation. The best test of a leader of 
a school of investigation is not the number of doctors graduated, but 
the number who afterwards actively continue to investigate. For their 
own good students should prosecute their problems so far as possible 
without extraneous help. 

The highest that graduate work can foster is independent thinking, 
not scholastic learning. A man may be led to knowledge, but he can 
not be made to think. 

There are three particular gifts that the investigator should cherish 
to his utmost, imagination, judgment and the maintenance of an ideal. 

As the insect stretches out his antennae, feeling and smelling at once, 
forming thereby an idea of what is ahead of him, so it is that by the 
help of our imagination we can reach out into the unknown. Blind 
searching for a clue is not profitable, and it is waste of time to expect 
some happy fortune to bring an answer to us. Science is not a game 
of chance. It is necessary to form tentative explanations, and the work- 
ing hypothesis is the outcome of the imagination much more than of the 
Teason. The reason deals with the known and experienced, it is the 
imagination that must as a pioneer leap into the unknown. Thus the 
scientist makes his soundings and feels the depths. He has to forecast 
various possibilities, and to test these severally. Yet the imagination is 
only a feeler and not a leg to stand upon. We must bear in mind that 
hypotheses are but suggestions, invaluable though they be in directing 
effort, and that the real labor of the scientist is the testing of his 
hypotheses. The immediate subject matter of all of us, physicist, 
mathematician, chemist, philologist, whatever our calling may be, is 
hypothesis, and out of hypotheses we have to reach explanations; an 
explanation so attained is a theory. We must not confuse hypothesis 
with theory, nor inflict upon suffering colleagues, much less publish, 
all our hypotheses. If, as Goethe says, all theory is gray, how colorless 
must hypothesis be until it has been turned to account. 


For these reasons the man of science may be very directly benefited 
by a study of the great poets, and he will learn thereby how close is the 
bond between science and art. Yet many still hold the strange idea 
that the scientist lacks all fancy, as though he could ever explain without, 
the help of it ! He who has no gift of imagination has no place in j 

It is by what we call judgment that we measure our hypotheses. 
This comes in the main from experience, is capable of nurture, and is 
well characterized as good sense. 

In his haste a man may try to run straight through a briar patch, 
but if he has common sense he will, like the renowned Br*er Rabbit, 
hunt out some trail; so he will reach the clearing quicker though he 
can not show so many honorable scars. Herein lies the main value of 
studying the lives of the masters of thought. Of each man who has 
markedly advanced knowledge we should make a hero, and humbly try 
to follow his footsteps by analyzing his methods of work. Indeed, 
this study of personalities should not be limited to the great, for from 
every man that we meet we may learn something to help our own work- 
ing method; that is, we may learn if we try to. Each of us realizes 
that we can not give a correct estimate of a man's work unless we 
know his personality, Shakspere always excepted. Therefore to judge 
of scientific data we can be greatly aided by measuring personalities. 
It is then suggested, to help us to a sound judgment, to analyze the 
individualities of others, to see how they came by their results. This 
is the chief value of all collegial intercourse in seminar and society 
meetings. A fellow student is often the best of all teachers. And for 
the same reason it is well worth the time both to study the history of 
one's subject, that is, the methods and especially motives of its found- 
ers, and to read reverently and lovingly classical monographs whether 
they be now fashinable or not. How many of us do actually read 
Aristotle, Newton and Helmholtz? It is such study that enables us 
to see modern discoveries in their proper perspective, and restrains us 
from fancying each mole hill to be a mountain. 

Breadth of judgment may be helped by catholicity of interest. 
Some men seem to do their best by devoting every energy to one 
problem, seeing nothing outside of it. Their mind is a short-focus 
lens with consequent penetration, but it can not see the garden for the 
weeds. It is perhaps more wholesome, however, and it certainly leads 
to a nicer mental balance, to respect all good endeavor and to try to 
understand at least the fundamentals of our sister subjects. This indi- 
cates the choice of a problem that is not circumscribed, but that leads 
into an ever-widening field. It further indicates that we should breed 
acquaintance with subjects quite apart from our own, to see the rela- 
tions of our work to that of others. Expression of contempt for any 


source of knowledge is an acknowledgment of ignorance, and meager- 
ness of ability is to be measured by narrowness. That investigator with 
a foreshortened horizon will find everything small. 

We hear it said that in science all facts have an equal value, just 
as all links in a chain have equal importance. If this were so, then 
all problems of science should have an equal significance and it would 
make no difference what choice of problems were made. But the 
premise is wrong, because we generally recognize that some phenomena 
have very wide bearings while others do not, or at least do not in our 
present understanding of them. Thus the phenomenon of the size of 
an animal has not nearly so much significance as the phenomena of its 
rate of growth or alternation of generations. We measure the value of 
a phenomenon by the number of ideas we associate with it, that is, its 
relative degree of complexity. As in art a painting of a basket of fruit, 
no matter how excellent the technique, can not be compared in value 
with a study of a human face, so in science the discovery and descrip- 
tion of a new muscle, no matter how accurately made, can not be paral- 
leled with an investigation of the process of formation of that muscle. 
The human face and the process of differentiation call up ever-widening 
associations, while the basket of fruit and the muscle suggest a meal. 
To be sure, a master artist might make the basket of fruit appear 
celestial, and a great anatomist make the muscle seem extraordinary, 
but they would still suggest a meal, even though a meal for angels or 
heroes. Men will differ as to the relative importance of any thing, and 
we have no right to prefer our estimates to others. But it is generally 
acknowledged in science that the investigation of a process is of a 
higher order than the contemplation of one particular step, the number 
of comparisons possible being the criterion of value. Thus it is certain 
that all problems are not of equal value, because they have very dif- 
ferent bearings. All need solution, they are of sufficient diversity to 
appeal to all types of mind, but a man should assure himself that his 
problem has really broad significance. And when the layman ap- 
proaches us on the manner of our work we should not tell him, as is 
often done, that he can not understand it because he is not a scientist; 
for if we can not make it intelligent to him it is clear we have no good 
comprehension of its bearings, and the fault is with us and not with 
him. Every scientific research has some connection with human inter- 
ests we should understand what the connection is ; if we do not under- 
stand this we are to blame for any lack of sympathy. It is a duty of 
the investigator towards his subject to make it comprehensible to the 
layman, and when he does so his merits will be acknowledged, but not 

Like every other process, so thought needs time, and by reflection 
is meant thought pursued at leisure. When a certain result has been 


won in our researches, and its bearings seem misty and uncertain, we 
gain nothing by filling the ink pot and knotting a cold towel around 
our heads in full determination to settle matters. Dogged does not 
always do it. Put the idea away in some corner of the mind to give it 
time to germinate, then bring it out at intervals for consideration. 
This mental chewing of the cud is wholesome because natural. When 
the way seems darkest and most beset with stumbling blocks we may be 
nearest the door, and it is best to go slowly in the dark. We attain our 
conclusions at unexpected moments and have generally to wait until 
they appear subconsciously, the time varying with the individual mind. 

It is often an aid to reflection to drop for a while the subject that 
has begun to worry us, to take up a different and fresh problem. This 
alternation of subject is a necessary mental recreation and frequently 
accomplishes more than long hammering. For any change of thought 
is stimulating. 

Yet the investigator need not be like Heine's " gray friend between 
two bundles of hay," slowly starving to death because he can not decide ; 
it is better that he choose unwisely than not choose at all, else he can 
not maintain himself in the arena of thought. After all, if he eats one 
of the bales of hay and learns later that the other was larger and 
sweeter, he has not gone hungry. 

It would seem to be on the average best for the general man to take 
rather a middle stand in his judgments, which means to see the good in 
both sides of any question. One should be neither too critical nor too 
tolerant. New ideas are constantly emerging, many of them contradic- 
tory to our own, and we have to cultivate a mode of meeting them, 
not to be bristling like the fretful porcupine, nor yet to embrace them 
eagerly because they are new. Also it is not safe to say an idea is 
wrong because it is new. We should react towards views as towards our 
fellow men, hunt for the best in them. Nothing is easier than to criti- 
cize, nothing less constructive. Life is too short for full achievement, 
unless Metchnikoff's prophecies may come true, and " Like as the waves 
move on the pebbling beach, so do our minutes hasten to their end." 
Then why misuse the moments in picking flaws ? In the orchard before 
us we may readily find the insect-bitten fruit if we look for it, but what 
pays is to gather the good. Whether it be right or wrong from the 
philosophical aspect, the optimistic standpoint is the most wholesome, 
and that man is happy who sees only the good in others — in their per- 
sonalities as well as in their opinions. We all shun* him who has the 
squinting mind of noting only mistakes. Let us be fair to other men 
even though we can not be impartial, if only for the reason that it is 
the best policy, as Franklin would have said. For if we are not so, the 
retort courteous will be harder than the blow we struck, and then will 
be our time to wince. 


We are least objective about ourselves and. that is why we can never 
decide what is our own merit and achievement. For while the ambi- 
tion to excel is both justifiable and desirable, the true mirror of success 
must be the eyes of others. Geniuses are really exceeding rare, yet 
every man is inclined at some period or other of his existence to think 
himself one, and a fool continues to think so. On Jhe whole, we do 
not deserve more praise than we get, the world's estimate being reason- 
ably fair; and in fact it is incorrect to talk of deserts since each man 
carves for himself his slice out of the cake of his own baking. Perhaps 
the happiest stand we can take is to lose consciousness of self, to think 
of results but not of our part in them, to come to comprehend that our 
subject and the sunlit world outside of us is much more engrossing 
than ourselves. From the philosophical side this attitude may be in- 
correct. But a new philosophy is gradually forging ahead, that men 
do not contain the whole universe in their minds, that phenomena are 
not wholly subjective, but that nature is one great unit of which we are 
only inconspicuous morsels. This is certainly the philosophy of biology. 
It places us in a truer perspective, and aids us to be more objective 
and therefore happier. Fortune is a fickle goddess who keeps beyond 
those who seek her, to touch those who made their work their grail. 
Thus what we accomplish, and how we have done it, is a matter to be 
decided by other men and usually by other men of a later generation. 
When we try to boost our own reputations they will surely receive a 
great fall. Therefore let us try to forget ourselves and not be troubled 
about our scientific levels. This will also save that waste of time and 
good paper given to polemics. When some one overlooks our writings 
or misrepresents them, we are apt to feel we should go him one better, 
which may force us into such extremes that we think we can not in 
honor back out. A published polemic is noisome, an airing of one's 
dirty linen, and springs from a condition of megalocephaly. Our 
work is with us, our repute with others. By being true to our work we 
may attain a dignity never to be reached by self pushing. Science is 
not a business market. 

In any scientific inquiry he rightly receives the most credit who 
presents a definite and positive solution. Such was the case with 
Pasteur, in many ways the master mind of the nineteenth century; what 
he undertook he definitely settled. Most men attain to only conjec- 
tures, but we should seek indisputable decisions. And a good method 
is that of Darwin, to formulate a working hypothesis and then try 
honestly to disprove it. Darwin gave as full and fair hearing to the 
objections made against the theory of natural selection as to the evi- 
dence for it. We may approximate this by using every check and 
control. For we do not want the elusive possible or probable, rather the 
decisive actual. 


But what especially lends dignity and strength is the maintenance 
of an ideal. German students in their expansive intimacies discuss 
their ideals quite openly, their " Lebensphilosophien " as they term 
them. We Anglo-Saxons are not inclined to talk of such matters. But 
a man should keep a noble aim in sight and never let it be hidden by the 
clouds of circumstance. That ideal must be something much grander 
than any detail we have immediately in hand, our several efforts only 
approximations towards it. We are, it seems to me, to consider the in- 
vestigations of science as all directed to one end, though no man 
will see its consummation, the interpretation of that great melody, the 
universe. Here is a subject without end, all human knowledge may be 
employed in its elaboration. Men of the world do not understand why 
we are busying ourselves with fixing the exact date of the first render- 
ing of a play, the number of times that a certain prefix occurs in the 
writings of Pindar, the exact length of a heat wave, or the behavior of a 
particular microscopic particle of one kind of organic cell. And in 
themselves these are not great things; an average man with patience 
and training might deal with them. They are on the whole so gen- 
erally uninteresting that each has the world over only a small group of 
devotees. But when they are seen as steps in a synthesis of explana- 
tions their value is at once apparent. Our business is to weld all these 
separated bits of knowledge together, to make of them a great sustain- 
ing wall. And when the utilitarian inquires what will be gained by 
this giant effort, be ready with the prompt reply: on this knowledge 
depends our control of ourselves and of nature. Scientific inquiries 
are not to be pursued wholly academically, as games to amuse. They 
are attempts to explain the processes of nature, in order that we may 
use this knowledge for the advancement of our kind. And it is as true 
as the night follows the day, that explanation must precede application 
and consequently human progress. 

This is the apology for the investigator. He has to do neither with 
the cataloguing and rearranging of facts, nor with their transmission, 
but with the enlargement of knowledge by discovery and intrepretation. 
Both stand for the development of character, but while the under- 
graduate work is for the transmission of knowledge, the graduate de- 
partment is for a higher aim, its increase. If it is difficult to garner 
and hand over knowledge, it is still harder to add to it, and no faint 
heart need try to be an investigator. 

Our project is to try to decipher the nature of man and of the 
universe, and for this there is full need of every iota of strength and 
determination and talent there may be in us. 




By Pbofbssob J. PEASE NORTON 


IT has been generally considered by the scholars of the social sciences 
that there is no fundamental cause in human societies for social 
progress. Indeed, the whole Malthusian theory is to the effect that the 
overwhelming rate of increase possible in human societies tends to keep 
a considerable percentage of the members of a society on the threshold 
of continuous poverty. A moral hopelessness characterizes the books of a 
great many economists, when they touch upon the subject of population. 
By reason of these gloomy chapters, political economy has been termed 
the dismal science. 

How many established doctrines of good writers have been swept 
away by the light of subsequent discoveries and later reasoning ! Were 
it not for the high improbability of any one scientific doctrine long 
standing without modification, I should hesitate seriously before ad- 
vancing these notes on the views held by me and which are so com- 
pletely at variance with the long-established and present theories of 
the science of political economy with respect to population and interest. 
Yet, because these views have greatly brightened my interest in all sub- 
jects of human history, I am interested in subjecting them to early 

There seems to exist in the tendency of populations to increase in 
numbers the cause of progress, which, if unimpeded by certain de- 
structive agencies, which I have termed to assist me in my thinking 
the "wastes of nations/' would carry along on the waves of comfort 
and prosperity an ever-increasing population up to an unassignable 
limit, so great is the possibility at which a stationary state could be 
maintained. These destructive agencies are not a product of the in- 
crease in numbers, but they constitute the elements of the hostile en- 
vironment against which progress has been continually made since the 
earliest historic times. 

Now a social group on any habitat at a given time exists through 
the application of a series of arts which are possessed by the society 
and are exercised over the environment. The arts existing at any time 
may be inventoried and logically classified. The arts are productive 
and are ways of doing things which bring a return. There are the arts 
of the food supply, such as hunting, fishing, agriculture, food preser- 


vation and eventually food production by synthetic chemistry in the 
broader classifications, of house building, of useful clothing, of hygiene, 
etc. These arts are known in varying degrees of detail to some mem- 
bers of the society. 

There may be two specific arts known at a given time useful for 
the accomplishing of the same result. We are apt to find that art in 
current exercise which accomplishes the result with the smaller cost of 
production. It is wonderful to contemplate how very closely cost of 
production has been studied at all times. In the same classifications, 
one art successively displaces another on the basis of reduction of cost 
of production or saving of human effort. 

But the art is very different from a material thing. The art is 
immaterial and useful. Wealth is commonly defined as material and 
useful. The art as well as the object of wealth may be possessed. The 
value of wealth, of the material things which are useful, is the shadow 
of the force of the arts, the immaterial things which create value. We 
must distinguish sharply some of the characteristics of the arts. Napo- 
leon once said : " But you can not outnumber the one brain." 

In a great problem, a thousand ordinary brains put to work on the 
same problem can not be added together. The results of all this medi- 
ocre thinking will not surpass the products of the brain of a Newton, a 
La Place, or a Napoleon. There is a degree or quality which can not 
be gained at random by addition. In the mental tug-of-war, it is true 
that we can not outnumber the one brain. The art is the product of the 
" one brain," 1. e., of the brain of a quality or degree slightly superior 
to the brains around it. We, therefore, note that a superior brain is a 
treasure for the community, provided the brain is put to work to solve 
the problems of the present life. 

Now, Professor Karl Pearson and Sir Francis Galton are wont to 
define the exceptional man as one in a certain proportion of the popula- 
tion. It is assumed that in a strain of the population, there is the " one 
brain " in a hundred, in a thousand, in a million and in a hundred 
million of persons, of increasing quality for each classification. Around 
the lives of the "one brains" are gathered the essential narrative of 
the history of their times. 

But, our first theorem is that the value of an art or of an invention, 
measured in a saving or a lessening of the previous cost of production, 
is theoretically commensurable, and that this value for the same new art 
varies with the population. In other words, the greater the population 
at a given time, when a new art is discovered, the greater will be the 
value of the art. If an art, say the invention of the sewing machine in 
the clothing trade, is equal to saving two dollars per capita per annum 
net over previous outlay, after making due allowance for new capital 
invested in the machine, etc., the value of the new art is plainly the 


savings per capita multiplied by the population and capitalized at the 
proper rate of interest for new industries. If the population is one 
hundred thousand and ten per cent, of a fair rate for capitalization, the 
above example would produce $2,000,000 as the value of the invention. 
If the population had happened to be one million, the value of the inven- 
tion would have been $20,000,000. Consequently, we note that the 
greater the population the greater will be the value of a new art. 

The second theorem is, that the capitalized value of the old arts 
in current exercise steadily increases with increasing population, since 
the savings are effected for more people. 

As a third theorem, we may assume that the new arts during any 
period are the products of the inventive or exceptional minds, and that 
the greater the population, the greater will be the number of exceptional 
minds of each degree for the various classifications, so that the value 
of the new arts during a year is the product of the exceptional minds 
and the average inventive productivity for each degree. 

Suppose that in a population of one million, we may expect that the 
" one brain " in the million will produce an invention capable of saving 
one dollar per capita per annum over existing arts. Capitalized at ten 
per cent, the value of one year's product of this mind is ten million of 
dollars. Now, let us assume that in two million of people, we shall find 
two such men. The capitalized value of two such inventions as above 
will be not twenty millions, but forty millions of dollars. In other 
words, the capitalized value of new inventions for a given time tends to 
vary at least as the square of the population, and, if we may imagine 
that the " one brain " in two millions is of higher degree than in the 
one million of population, the value of inventions will be at a greater 
rate than the square of the population. 

We, therefore, arrive at the conclusion that the comfort and the 
prosperity of a population tends to increase more rapidly than the popu- 
lation on which it depends; that society tends to progress under the 
law of increasing returns. It is also interesting to note that through 
the workings of our law of social progress, the per capita increment 
of value for arts varies with the population. In our illustrations above 
the savings for each person in a one million population would be one 
half that in a two-million population. We find in the above law an 
explanation of the rise in wages, inasmuch as exceptional men in all 
degrees tend to receive as wages or remuneration for services of the 
same per-capita saving a sum proportional to the total population. 

All this reasoning is theoretical. The same is true of the writings 
regarding the Malthusian theory. But it would appear that the steady 
progress made in average comfort by all nations of the world since the 
remotest antiquity would favor the former rather than the latter reason- 
ing. It would appear that there can be no more favoring circumstance 


than a steadily increasing population, provided the quality and fre- 
quency of exceptionality are not diminishing through an untoward 
reproductive selection. 

How carefully should statesmen strive to prevent all hindrances to 
the successful operation of this fundamental law of social progress 
which is imbedded in the very nature of knowledge. With what fore- 
thought should we strive to prevent the wastes of nations. To the 
wastes of nations such as disease, ignorance, vice, crime, injustice, bad 
government, lack of opportunity for the exceptional and war, must we 
ascribe the hideous catastrophes which have wrecked successively one 
nation after another. 

On account of the above law that there tends to be an annual in- 
crease in capital value of the new arts, and varying with the square of 
the population, we are led to the conclusion that herein lies the cause 
of interest. In those fields where inventions are being made most 
rapidly at any time, capital is needed. The savings in part effected 
by the new arts are paid over for the use of the capital. The existence 
of an interest rate which, eliminating the element of risk, probably 
varies between two per cent, and eight per cent, is the shadow of this 
law of progress which says in substance that the product of the annual 
work of the exceptional men tends to vary as the square of the popu- 
lation, and it follows that as population slowly increases, this surplus 
fund comes into existence out of which interest is paid. The above, 
then, seems to be the major cause of interest, and many known facts 
are in harmony with this theory. Interest has increased historically in 
times of rapid invention. It rules highest in industries where new 
inventions are taking place most rapidly. Interest is higher in new 
countries where population is rapidly increasing. Further, in the case 
of nations retrograding through disease, vice, bad government and 
decreasing population, commercial interest sinks to a very low figure. 
The elaborate agio theories of interest seem to me to throw no light on 
the cause of interest. A geometrical increase of wealth, which is so uni- 
versal, must have an adequate cause. I am aware that there are very 
many important considerations not touched upon in the foregoing, but 
in a series of notes, this must of necessity be so. 





TT is a fact weir recognized in biology that a functionless organ is 
-L not tolerated by nature. In the evolution of life, whenever any 
organic structure has fallen into disuse, it has forthwith come under 
the law of atrophy and elimination. Until this law of atrophy and 
elimination is satisfied, the useless organ is a drain upon the vitality of 
the organism as a whole. It gives no equivalent for the support it 
derives from the life of which it is a part. In other words, it is para- 
sitic. As a parasitic organ, moreover, it not only uses up energy that 
should go to the other organs that have a vital function to perform, 
but it also tends to become diseased and thus to impair the health of 
the entire organism. 

There are numerous illustrations in the human body of the disuse 
and atrophy of organs, as well as of the incomplete elimination and 
disease of such organs. Thus there are many muscular structures, such 
as those of the pinna, epicranius and the platysma myoides, that are 
at present functionless and far on the way to complete atrophy. These 
useless organs are comparatively harmless, though, in strict truth, they 
must be nourished at the expense of the rest of the organic life. There 
are other functionless organs, however, that are not so harmless. Such 
is the vermiform appendix, in man a useless and retrogressive structure, 
which is apt to become the seat of serious disease. Such also are various 
functionless ducts, as, for example, the parovarium, which frequently 
become the seats of tumors, more or less malignant and destructive 
of life. 

All these useless and, in a sense, parasitic organs of the human body, 
which modern research in the fields of physical anthropology, anatomy 
and embryology has brought to light and explained, point to laws of 
development that have a profound significance for every department of 
effort in which the control and improvement of man's life is an object. 
These laws are already beginning to be recognized by scientific edu- 
cators. It is seen that the education of the mind and of the body 
consists essentially in doing what nature has been doing throughout the 
biological ages — that is to say, producing favorable variations through 
adjusting individuals to a progressive environment, perpetuating and 
perfecting these variations as more efficient organs of life, and getting 
rid of outgrown and useless organs so that no energy may be diverted 


from the channels of vital usefulness. Nature is sternly and rigidly 
utilitarian, and yet she is splendidly idealistic. Her aim is always an 
enlarged, and ever enlarging, life, and to this end she can tolerate 
nothing in her economies that is functionless and therefore an obstacle 
to progress. 

Here, then, is the clue that modern education is beginning to accept 
for its guidance. As a result, the ideal of general culture in education 
is being subjected to standards of criticism that are as new as is our 
better understanding of the nature of life. Men have believed for cen- 
turies that certain studies, or forms of discipline, have the peculiar 
virtue of generating in the mind, or the body, a power, or wealth of 
resources, that may subsequently be available for any purpose to which 
mental or physical energy is applied. From the days of the renaissance 
to the present time, universities and colleges have contended for this 
ideal of general culture. Mathematics and the classical languages have 
been regarded as, in a special sense, indispensable to such culture. In 
the organization of secondary schools, these institutions have been sub- 
ordinated to university and college entrance requirements. And so 
throughout our educational system, above the elementary schools, and 
frequently in the elementary schools themselves, the culture ideal has 
largely determined the subject-matter and methods of instruction. 
Thus it is that in our very midst, every boy and girl who looks towards 
higher education in our standard institutions of learning is compelled 
to have certain courses in mathematics and the classical languages. 
Greek has at last been made an optional entrance requirement, but 
Latin and mathematics still hold their distinctive places. No difference 
what the ulterior life-purpose of the adolescent boy or girl may be, no 
difference what their tastes or aptitudes may be, Latin and mathematics 
they must have ; and Latin and mathematics they must look forward to 
pursuing even after they enter college. All for the sake of the general 
culture these subjects are supposed to give ! 

In the light of the biological law of wasted energy and disease, in 
connection with organs that are parasitic on the life, we are now pre- 
pared to estimate this ideal of general culture from a new point of view. 
And first of all, as being more obviously amenable to this biological law, 
let us consider the ideal of physical culture. Now it has been con- 
tended for generations, in accordance with the general culture ideal, 
that certain courses of discipline will give a fund of physical energy 
that may be available for all the demands of subsequent life. Thus 
physical culture has been separated from the natural, every-day func- 
tions of life, and made a matter of general courses of training in the 
gymnasium. Even since the play-idea of physical culture has come to 
the front, and the gymnasium has had to share its prerogatives with 
the athletic field, much of the justification of the undue absorption of 
vol. lxxvti.— 18. 


large classes of students in football, baseball and the like, and of the 
over-strenuous combats waged among them, has been found in the sup- 
posed advantage of athletics in storing up a fund of physical energy for 
subsequent use. The line of reasoning has been the same as in connec- 
tion with all phases of general culture; namely, that the discipline 
given, the power acquired, may be applied to all possible physical func- 
tions. In academic circles, this view of athletics, whether in the gym- 
nasium or on the athletic field, has not even yet been very generally 
questioned. While the popular mind, as reflected in the newspapers, 
universally consoles itself for the bruises and broken bones of the 
strenuous athletes, with the thought that there is fine discipline in all 
this, and that the results in subsequent life will amply compensate for 
present injuries. 

But here the accumulated observations and inductions of science 
have begun to suggest troublesome questions about this more or less 
artificial muscular development of boys and men. It has been observed 
by physicians that very frequently athletic types of manhood have weak 
hearts, weak lungs and weak vital organs generally. Often their health 
and efficiency in later life are poor ; and, in not a few cases, they break 
down prematurely. These observations have set both medical men and 
teachers of physical culture to thinking, and we are now being told that 
there is danger of over-developing the muscular system; that over- 
developed muscles impose a severe drain upon the rest of the organism ; 
and that all muscular development, unless it is utilized, becomes a tax 
upon bodily energy, and may give rise to disease. Only very recently a 
naval officer, who was an athlete while in the naval academy, is reported 
as having failed to meet the required tests of physical efficiency; and 
his physician ascribes his failure to his earlier muscular development 
in excess of the needs of his later life. That is to say, his vitality was 
reduced through parasitic muscular culture. 

All this suggests that we can not store up a fund of physical energy 
through specially devised forms of physical training. Indeed, the term 
"general culture " as applied to the organic life is probably a mis- 
nomer. The culture we get from gymnastic training and from the 
athletic field is really special in character, and is applicable mainly, or 
solely, to the types of physical activity that constitute the training. 
Hence the energy derived from such culture does not become available 
for the organism as a whole, but is limited to the special organs that 
have been trained; and unless these organs continue to perform the 
functions for which they were trained, they become useless and a detri- 
ment to the life. Functionless physical structures derived through the 
artificial exercises of any form of physical culture thus fall under the 
general biological law of atrophy, with all its attendant consequences of 
waste and disease. The only really economical form of physical culture, 


biologically speaking, is the culture derived through performing activi- 
ties associated with the natural, that is to say, fundamental and long- 
established, functions of life. These are, in general, the spontaneous 
play-activities of childhood, and the productive work-activities of man- 
hood and womanhood, each performed under normal conditions of 
stimulus and environment. Neither artificial gymnastics nor the feats 
of strength and skill performed under the stimulus of the prize-ring or 
athletic field come under these heads. 

How such considerations have begun to affect the thought of critical 
students of physical culture may be illustrated by the conclusions of 
Dr. Jules Payot, set forth in his book on " The Education of the Will " : 

The qualities of vital resistance are in no way dependent upon muscular 
strength. A man may be an athlete in a circus, or able to do the heaviest porter 
work, and yet have very poor health, while another man who lives in his study 
may have an iron constitution with mediocre muscular power. Not only have 
we no reason to aspire to athletic strength, but rather we ought to avoid it; 
because it can only be developed by violent exercise, and such exercises not only 
interfere with the regularity of the respiration, and cause very distinct conges- 
tion in the veins of the neck and brow, but they are undoubtedly weakening and 
exhausting. . . . We have come to the conclusion, therefore, that it is not Eng- 
land with her violent system of exercise which we ought to imitate in this con- 
nection, but rather Sweden who has completely given up such ruinous physical 
efforts for young people in her schools. There the object is to make young 
people strong and healthy, and they have perceived, that excessive physical 
exercises are more sure to lead to a breakdown than excessive study. 

Turning now to intellectual culture, we have to consider whether the 
law of waste and disease, operative throughout the biological world, 
applies to the unused organs of the mind that have been developed 
through stunts in mathematics and the classical languages, as there is 
accumulating evidence for believing it does to physical organs trained 
in the gymnasium and on the athletic field. Here, it must be acknowl- 
edged, our evidence may seem less tangible and conclusive. It is 
harder, even for minds familiar with the facts of neurology and psy- 
chology, to image the special processes of nervous stimuli, the building 
up of cortical neurones, and the establishing of association-centers 
involved in mathematical and linguistic study, than it is to image the 
enlarged biceps of the disciple of punching-bag or gridiron education. 
For minds unfamiliar with such facts, it is absolutely impossible. 
Hence the whole process of intellectual culture, both to the average 
student and to the average onlooker, be he teacher or parent, has no 
concreteness whatever. It is a mere matter of subjective impression 
and a priori opinion. But the difficulty of our problem need not deter 
us. Our evidence, however intangible and remote from average experi- 
ence, is sure to become clearer the longer it is considered in the light 
of the general scientific facts of life that are gradually becoming so 
extensively popularized. 


To present our problem definitely at the outset, I submit the fol- 
lowing proposition : The intellectual culture derived through standard- 
ized branches of education, as mathematics and Latin, for example, 
instead of having a general mental economy for the innumerable young 
men and women who study them, in reality becomes parasitic in the 
nervous and mental life, and thus is a cause of wasted energy and, pos- 
sibly, of disease. This proposition has its proper qualification, of course, 
in all cases where such intellectual culture is so related to the functions 
of life that it can be utilized. There are two questions that confront 
us in such a proposition: (1) Is culture, unused for the specific func- 
tion that called it into being, of no economy in performing other func- 
tions? And (2) is such culture, therefore, parasitic and wasteful of 
human energy? As has already been pointed out in connection with 
physical culture, it has long been assumed, and is still generally as- 
sumed, that culture acquired through any given discipline becomes a 
general fund of energy or skill, transferable to other organs and func- 
tions. And yet there has never been any really critical evidence in 
support of such an assumption. The belief in a hierarchy of culture- 
values, which has standardized the various branches of our academic 
curricula, like many other beliefs relating to the world of mind and 
the world of matter, belongs to the category of the naive, the uncritical 
and the prejudiced. In most of the learned decisions upon the con- 
stitution of this hierarchy, the judge, the advocates, and the jury have 
merely reflected the nature of their own training, and more especially 
the interests of their own calling. But we are now in a position to 
submit this question to the test of exact experiments. This has been 
done repeatedly within the last few years by experimental psychologists. 
Among such psychologists may be mentioned James, Gilbert, Fracker, 
Thorndike, Woodworth, Judd, Bair, Volkmann and Scripture. The 
net result of these men's studies may be stated in the words of Professor 
Thorndike, of Columbia University : 

A change in one function alters any other only in so far as the two func- 
tions have as factors identical elements. The change in the second function is 
in amount that due to the change in the elements common to it and the first. 
. . . Improvement in any single mental function need not improve the ability 
in functions commonly called by the same name. It may injure it. Improve- 
ment in any single mental function rarely brings about equal improvement in 
any other function, no matter how similar, for the working of every mental 
function-group is conditioned by the nature of the data in each particular case.' 

This is direct experimental evidence, and it is fairly conclusive 
against at least much of the indiscriminate championship of the general 
culture values of special subjects, like mathematics and the classical 
languages. Neurology, moreover, supplies additional indirect evidence 
no less conclusive to those familiar with the histology of the brain. 

* " Educational Psychology," Chapter VIII. 


The study of the development of cortical neurones and association fibers 
makes it probable that every mental process modifies these nervous ele- 
ments; so that education, whatever else it may be, is a matter of devel- 
oping specific nervous organs through which the mind may work. Thus 
the study of mathematics means, on the neurological side, the building 
up of cortical neurones, with their association fibers, which shall con- 
stitute a mathematical nervous mechanism. So, likewise, the study of 
Latin or Greek means the building up of nervous structures specifically 
adapted for those languages. The clinics of nervous and mental path- 
ology tend to show that this probable process of specialization of brain- 
structures, parallel with special mental activities, actually takes place. 
Thus when the centers of the brain having to do with mathematical 
relations are diseased, the subject may lose the power of perceiving 
mathematical symbols, or of thinking in them. So, too, when the 
centers of the brain having to do with language relations are diseased, 
the subject may lose the power of perceiving words, or of thinking in 
them. That is to say, the elements of mathematical and linguistic 
experience and culture may be lost, and meanwhile the other elements 
of experience and culture remain unimpaired. This would seem to 
prove that human experience is mediated by specialized nervous organs, 
and that the culture derived therefrom is special, and not general, in 
character. In fact, it but confirms the conclusions that all scientific 
students of nervous organs and of mind must reach, in any compre- 
hensive interpretation of the facts. 

Here then, is a body of facts and inferences supplied by experi- 
mental psychology, the histology of the brain, and nervous and mental 
pathology, which point to the conclusion that so-called "general cul- 
ture " is not general but specific, that it affects organs and functions 
appropriate to the particular study pursued, and that to be of any 
adequate advantage to the life such organs and functions must continue 
the activity through which they were developed. There is here, evi- 
dently, a vast territory of unknown and debatable ground, but the head- 
lands and mountain peaks stand out more and more clearly for the 
explorer who approaches the problems of education and life in a scien- 
tific spirit and with adequate command of scientific facts. It is clear, 
for example, that those educators who will subject an adolescent girl to 
five or six years of severe training in higher mathematics, should be 
peremptorily challenged as to why they do it. They should be asked to 
show, in terms more specific and modern than most of the vague 
opinions one commonly hears about "culture," just how the fund of 
power that is supposed to be generated by mathematical study, is, in 
fact, generated ; and how it becomes available throughout the girl's sub- 
sequent life. So, too, these same educators should be asked to give 
reason why they compel an adolescent boy to spend five or more years 
upon the study of Latin before they will accredit him as being educated. 


What is there in this comparatively immense expenditure of time and 
energy upon Latin that will develop organs and functions continuously 
available for the boy's mental efficiency and usefulness in the world? 
How does a nervous mechanism, with its infinitely complex system of 
neurones and connecting fibers, fashioned through and for the study 
of the Latin language, become adapted for all other mental processes? 
In short, it is time to read a new and compelling significance into the 
old query of instinctive common sense as to what is the value of the 
so-called culture that is doled out to our children in the secondary 
schools and colleges. 

Having thus answered the first question involved in our proposition, 
it remains to consider the further question of what becomes of useless 
organs of culture. What is the effect upon the girl's life of having to 
support an elaborate nervous mechanism for dealing with mathematical 
symbols and concepts which she never has occasion to use? What is 
the effect upon the boy's life of having to support a nervous mechanism 
for declining Latin nouns and adjectives, conjugating Latin verbs, and 
construing Latin sentences, which he never has occasion to use ? May 
not these unused nervous organs become parasitic upon the nervous 
vitality, just as the unused muscles of the athlete become parasitic 
upon the general organic vitality? It may seem to some little less 
than fantastic to suggest such a result. And yet, if we believe that 
life is a biological unit, and that the laws controlling it are identical in 
nature and operation, there is no escaping this conclusion. Moreover, 
there are many peculiarities in the nervous and psychic constitutions 
of a considerable number of educated men and women that await a 
plausible theory to account for them. The suspicion is harbored in 
many minds that academic communities are apt to become over-cultured. 
They are apt to lose that balance between perceptual and conceptual 
experience which is the supreme test of healthy-mindedness. At the 
very best, they suffer from an hypertrophy of the critical faculties, 
which reveals itself in philosophical and linguistic hair-splitting. At 
the worst, it may amount to a nervous tension and general intellectual 
straining after precision in scholarship and propriety in conduct that 
creates an atmosphere blighting to spontaneity of work and life in the 
students. This is frequently illustrated in schools and colleges for 
girls, where an excess of women teachers, with hypertrophied intellects 
and atrophied human interests, make education a process of mental 
arrest and disease instead of growth. 

Outside of academic communities, there are to be found everywhere 
a cultured flotsam and jetsam. Europe has long had its proletariat of 
culture, and America is rapidly developing one. In the more intense 
nervous life of America, moreover, there are appearing numerous types 
of nervous instability among educated men and women. This is illus- 
trated not only in the frequent neurasthenia of the cultured classes. It 


is also, and, perhaps, more characteristically, shown in the religions, 
social and other vagaries that often bring to light strange perversions 
of human energy. The movement towards the emancipation of women 
during the past few decades, with all its numerous and positive merits, 
abounds, nevertheless, with examples of mental and emotional distemp- 
ers that find their psychological explanation in the strangulated intellec- 
tual energies of its votaries. Much of the current unrest among intellec- 
tual women is probably due to specially cultivated mental organs that 
find no adequate function to perform. All these forms of neuropsychical 
strain and instability are, I submit, at least partially explicable in terms 
of the useless and parasitic culture, which has become more dangerous 
to modern society in proportion as it has been extended to the masses 
of men and women. In earlier generations, when fewer men and women 
were subjected to the artificial culture of the schools, the general detri- 
ment to society was not so obvious. But now that thousands and tens 
of thousands of boys and girls, and young men and young women, are 
having their nervous and mental lives fashioned for activities they never 
have a chance to perform, it may happen that higher education, instead 
of being a means of racial advancement, will become a means of racial 
To summarize: 

1. It is a law of the biological world that unused organs become 
parasitic upon the life, draining off the energy of the individual and 
tending to become diseased. 

2. It has been found that physical culture which leads to the hyper- 
trophy of special muscles, entails a drain upon the general vitality. As 
in life in general, so in physical education, organs that can perform 
no adequate function are wasteful of human energy. 

3. Experimental psychology is showing that the culture of particular 
intellectual organs and functions can not be transferred to other organs 
and functions, except where there are elements in common. Histology 
and pathology of the nervous system confirm the conclusions of psy- 
chology in this respect. 

4. Intellectual culture not being transferable must become parasitic 
and a cause of mental disorganization when it fails of application and 
usefulness in the life of the individual. Illustrations are to be found 
in the over-refinements of culture in academic communities, in the 
nervous instability frequently met with among educated men and 
women, and in the religious and social vagaries and perversions that 
crop out in the older and more highly cultivated centers of population. 

5. The artificial culture of the secondary schools and colleges in our 
democratic society, in proportion as it is diffused throughout larger 
sections of our population, is likely to develop a cultured proletariat, 
ill-balanced and inefficient as individuals, and a source of danger in our 





IT is somewhat embarrassing to appear on a program that I myself 
have assisted in devising. It demands an explanation. It is, in 
short, an instance of too highly centralized authority in this associa- 
tion in the hands of our lively general secretary. It seemed eminently 
desirable to the committee that this topic to which I am to address 
myself should have consideration. When the first draft of the program 
came into the hands of the secretary, with a blank left after this topic, 
he rashly placed my name after it, rushed to print and scattered it 
broadcast over the country. So I am here against my will but, I must 
confess, not wholly reluctantly. The topic is of immense importance. 
It was a vain endeavor to find the proper person who should address 
you on this theme. All presidents and all who aspire to such position 
of power were condemned to silence from the start. That cut off the 
flower of the genius of the nation at a single stroke. The presiding 
officer of our department had an intimate way of knowing that presi- 
dents, being under indictment, so to speak, could not be trusted with 
the topic. There has been much written and spoken latterly on the 
theme, but mostly by those whose ambition has been punctured, whose 
pride has been stung or whose wings have been clipped. Were any of 
these turned loose in this place, they might enact a bloody scene not 
entirely consistent with the proper spirit of a religious association. 
Our general secretary must have "known that I had no ax to grind, no 
grievance to right, no power except the power of righteousness to fear, 
and that I should speak in a wholly guileless manner. It is a tempta- 
tion to admit that this was another instance of his rare insight; for 
however much my judgment may be at fault and wisdom limited, I 
shall address myself to this most delicate topic entirely without animus. 
I might follow the example, indeed, of one of our periodicals which 
recently declared that, with a single exception, theirs was the only 
sheet in the nation that is not subsidized. If I lay claim to being, with 
but an exception or two, the only mind in the nation that is dispas- 
sionate on this question, then every member in the audience will con- 
gratulate himself that he is that other person and we shall all be think- 
ing through the subject helpfully to one another. 

1 Read at the meeting of the Department of Universities and Colleges of the 
Religious Education Association, Nashville, March 9, 1910. 


There can be no question that American universities and colleges 
are highly centralized in respect to their organization and control. 
The power legally is in the hands of some kind of a board of education, 
mostly composed of business and professional men who are in no sense 
organically a part of the institutional life of the university. Practi- 
cally, the power centers in a president and faculty. In all matters that 
refer to the running of the institutional life of the place, these are 
autonomous bodies. They make their own laws; set their own stand- 
ards; inflict their own penalties, and exercise their influence without 
asking anybody any questions. Their constituency, so to speak in state 
and church has little power. President and faculty are considerate of 
their constituents — sometimes tenderly so, when the budget is in excess 
of the available means, or when the normal percentage of increase of 
attendance is not attained. Otherwise these good people are expected 
to be silent well-wishers. Perhaps that is as it should be ; at least I see 
no way to change it. Our chief consideration at this time, however, is 
that students have almost no voice in the control of the institution 
they attend, little feeling of responsibility for its destiny, almost no 
sense that their personalities are caught up into it, or that they are 
an organic part of its best life. The ordinary student feels himself to 
be an attach^, a recipient, an appendage at best, and lucky for him if 
he is not a sort of parasite — a foreign body, drawing vitality from the 
institution for a time and then going away with it. If I am right in 
believing that the ordinary student has a sense that he is a sort of in- 
mate of the institution, who must obey the rules and get what he can ; 
who does not have a stimulating sense of partnership in the place ; who 
can talk with zest about my fraternity or our team, but who never can 
talk with the same warmth about our college spirit, or our curriculum, 
or our faculty, or our institution; if the bulk of students at the end 
of the four years' course have any feeling deep down that the center 
and core of their own wills are aloof from the deepest, warmest currents 
of the institutional life, then something is wrong; for the university 
exists solely for the student — indeed, it has no other reason for being. 
I fear, however, that our universities have become bulky institutions 
that exist chiefly for themselves — to perfect their own machinery, to 
preserve their own lives; they are closed systems busy with inner ad- 
justments, rather than with the problem of how they can cultivate the 
soul-life of those entrusted to their care, and burning with a passion to 
be of service, through the students, to church, state and humanity. 
Our higher institutions have been developing, during recent decades, 
rapidly in the direction of an imperialistic attitude toward students. 
Professor Stratton, who first set our minds going in a lively manner 
in this direction, points out the anomaly existing in our political ideals 
and our university practises, and also the anomaly of anomalies that 


Germany reverses the inconsistency, being politically imperialistic, but 
educationally democratic. Speaking of our own nation he says: 

Among a people so jealous of private rights, university governments have 
assumed a form that we might have expected to see in a land of kings. Euro- 
pean universities have a constitution that might have come from some American 
theorist. American universities are as though founded and fostered in the 
bourne of aristocracy. Europe and America are each harboring what would 
seem properly sacred only to the other. 

There are four or five causes that have brought about too great a 
centralization of authority in the hands of president and faculty, and 
along with it a cleavage of interest of faculty and student body until 
they stand off from one another in a relationship that is not wholesome 
for either. 

1. In the first place, a historic strain of autocracy has come down 
from the old-fashioned schoolmaster. In the early days of America, 
the schoolmaster, with rod and rule if need be, usually a man — not a 
lad of eighteen or a woman or much less a frail girl — was a monarch 
in his realm. He was built, and for a reason, on the lines of a sturdy, 
stern Anglo-Saxon father. He has left us as a heritage his custom and 
conception of imperialistic authority in education along with his in- 
effaceable three " r*s." The secondary schools were differentiated from 
the common schools. The " head master " developed out of the parent 
stem, the schoolmaster, under the rule that like produces like. He 
was well named, for he was expected to be superior in wisdom and 
masterful in bearing. The college is a specialization of the old acad- 
emy and high school, and has inherited from these many of its ideas 
about curriculum, form of organization and centralized authority. 

2. In the second place, as Professor Stratton has pointed out, our 
higher institutions have received a strain from the form of government 
of the early colonies. These were under the rule of the mother country, 
which rule was effected through a corporation, or a governor, or both. 
They were never elected by the colonists nor selected from among their 
number, but superimposed on them from the mother country. Our 
boards of education are descendants of the early corporations, and the 
university presidents are built after the pattern of the early governors. 

In imperialistic Europe the democratic life of the faculty and the 
university generally, on the contrary, is the direct historical conse- 
quent of the old guilds that were established around the idea of equal- 
ity, fraternity and mutual helpfulness. 

3. In the third place, the higher institutions have reaped the bless- 
ings and also the ills of the naive democracy in which each individual 
is turned loose to do as he pleases, and, being human, chooses to be un- 
duly self regardful. There are many indications that the earlier col- 
leges, established by people whose passion was for equal opportunity, 


incorporated unconsciously and as a matter of course, much of the 
spirit of democracy into their organization. The spirit of common 
fellowship often pervaded the life of the faculty and students. They 
were intellectual brotherhoods like families or fraternities in spirit. 
The gradual, quiet transformation that now has made of them, perhaps, 
the most imperialistic educational institutions in the world is not so 
difficult to account for. This has been a land of freedom and oppor- 
tunity. There have been all kinds of things lying around loose in 
America — virgin soil, virgin forests, virgin mineral lands, virgin so- 
ciety and virgin politics. The liveliest and strongest have gone after 
the benefits, appropriated them, taken means to hold possession against 
the covetous, and then, alas! have found themselves unwittingly, as a 
result of wealth, social preferment and political power, proud, arro- 
gant and irresponsible, and pitted against their fellows. Those who 
have not been lucky themselves have nevertheless had something of 
hero-worship in their veins. They have admired Napoleonic success 
and Anglo-Saxon strenuousness. They have passively paid tribute and 
so have had their part in the immoderate inequalities that have sprung 
up. The inevitable outcome of it all has been a harvest of captains of 
industry, captains of wealth, captains of politics and captains of edu- 

Do I dare say aught in this place about college presidents ? If so, 
it would be in the " spirit of sweet charity ." They have had their temp- 
tations and trials; they are subject to weakness of the flesh; they have 
been battered and buffeted, and whatever is said about them must be 
spoken in kindly sympathy. They are not vicious, they are not "ex- 
ploiters of genius " ; they are not worshippers at the shrine of mammon, 
nor devotees of the God Thor with his symbol of the arm and hammer; 
they are just human. Like all of the other citizens in our primitive 
republic, with its free opportunity, they have seen a good many things 
lying around loose. This time it has not been some irrigation stream 
or mineral deposit that they saw lying unclaimed, but the opportunity 
for power. No one else had been exercising it, and why not they ? In- 
deed, they have gathered of the treasure in large measure, and why not ? 
Men do love power if they are normal. There is no better thing in the 
moral order than a will that can produce, create and help things along. 
There is not a more righteous joy than the feeling of that fine tension 
of a strong will that can be a living force in the world. But enough is 
a sufficiency, and too much, even of a good thing, is dangerous. And 
men are human. Let us say, with gracious compassion, that it is the 
fault of the times, of our social order, that has placed in the hands of 
presidents the power of life and death over the professional career of 
members of the faculty and also the shaping of the destinies of our 
educational institutions. 


Members of faculties are also human. They have acquired all the 
power that has been relegated to them by constituencies and boards of 
education, and have picked up whatever else they could acquire on 
their own account. They have sometimes watched their chances 
to share the responsibilities of the institution with the president, 
lest it should weigh too heavily upon him. Some one has happily 
said that no Irishman could be found in Ireland so poor but that he 
has not some other Irishman dependent upon him. Presidents and 
faculties together have come into the position of almost entire separa- 
tion from the student body. They have the attitude of ruler and ruled. 
They march in stately parades, begowned in robes of dignity and state 
before the admiring eyes of the students; they run the institution; 
they dispense grades and degrees as parsimoniously as possible to stu- 
dents who devote their college career to earning these marks and badges 
as economically as possible. 

4. In the fourth place, competition has played its part in bringing 
about centralized authority. It has been necessary for institutions to 
act and act quickly in the raising of funds, in the employment of in- 
structors and in appeals to the public. The matter of winning out in 
the contest has led us to do much as a hive of bees in creating a queen. 
We have done everything in our power to produce presidents who are 
masterful, who can appear well, who can be " drawing cards " in tempt- 
ing into our institutions the guileless youth of the land. There is no 
one who will dispute that our university and college presidents are of 
the noblest of our people. But we are creating them at too high a cost. 
It is the fundamental axiom of our entire educational system that the 
end is not so much to produce leaders as to lift the level of all. It is 
growing too late in the history of democracy in the world to need to 
argue the point. Still an analogy will be in place. Christianity, dur- 
ing the first century, was a spiritual brotherhood. In the second and 
third centuries, they began to have conventions, and it was the custom 
for a bishop and at least one layman to represent a church or diocese. 
By the fourth century, the laymen had been almost forgotten in their 
councils ; and from that time on the power became more and more cen- 
tralized in the hands of a few of the highest officials of the church. The 
consequence is a familiar fact of history. From the fifth century, for 
several centuries following, the organization of Christendom was a 
closed system with neither change nor progress. It existed not for 
mankind as persons, but for itself and its own institutional ideals. 
In our educational system the laity, the students in our universities, 
have long since lost their voice. Our educational elders, let us say, 
that is, members of faculties, have been little consulted in our national 
association of universities that are taking upon themselves the right to 
determine the educational policies of the country. We are living in a 


later age, and must not allow the history of the first five centuries to 
repeat itself. 

The spirit of competition has magnified out of all proportion the 
value of quantity instead of quality. Bigness has bred looseness of 
organization and aloofness of person from person and group from group. 
The tendency toward manifoldness has been augmented by the natural 
law of differentiation, of which specialization is an instance, until our 
institutions are atomistic. Each person has relegated to everybody else 
all responsibility for everything except his own little sphere of interests. 
This differentiation amounts in the long run to radical individualism 
and approximates indifferentism, the worst disease that can affect the 
life of higher institutions. The only excuse for the large university is 
that it may have a more highly organic and intense life than a smaller 
one can have. Growth at the expense of inner coordination, refinement 
of articulation and intensification of the individuality of the whole, is 
a disease, whether in plant, animal or institution. We have grown 
like a boy in his teens as fast as our health would allow. The rapid 
differentiation in general has naturally widened the gap between stu- 
dent and faculty, who are made for each other like eyes and hands. 
The next step, in order to get safely through our stalking educational 
adolescence, must be in the direction of binding up into the life of our 
colleges again, the personal lives of students. 

5. Still another fact must be mentioned that has made of our facul- 
ties against their own will, ruling or governing bodies who are set off 
against a pack of persons supposing themselves to have antithetical 
interests to those of the university as an institution. Through the 
hasty expansion, already referred to, the machinery of the university — 
teaching, looking over papers, grading, giving credits, establishing 
standards, etc. — has grown into such proportions that there is little 
time and energy left for anything else. The enforced result is that 
the prevailing point of contact between students and instructors has 
come to be in terms of their proper advancement and'grading in the 
curriculum, and what they must and must not do while resident in the 
institution. I appeal to those present who have spent a number of 
years as instructors in colleges and universities whether nine tenths of 
the time of the faculty meetings is not given up to such questions as 
marking systems, giving of grades, granting degrees, penalties for 
delinquencies, admission and classification of students, control of ath- 
letics, regulation of social affairs, and the like, which have nothing to 
do, except indirectly, with the inner personal life of students. From 
the University of Plato in Athens, Plotinus in Eome, Abelard in Paris, 
and the College of Mark Hopkins in America, we have traveled far. 
"We catch glimpses in the New England days of what was called among 
professors, a hunger for the souls of students. Those days will never 


return; but we have suffered a loss that is irreparable, if there is not 
preserved in our colleges and universities the equivalent of the things 
they did, as shown in reverence for the divine beauty of personality in 
the lives of our students. 

There can be no question but tliat our attitude toward students is 
conventional, mechanical and institutionalistic. Behind us, to hold us 
firmly in our chosen course, besides the causes we have been describing, 
is the wish of anxious parents who forget that their young men and 
young women are not still children and who say gracious things about 
their favorite institution if their sons are held in check, and if their 
daughters are tenderly " guarded " and pampered. 

What are we to do about it? How can the student body and faculty 
be brought into closer relationship ? How may our universities escape 
a cold institutionalism ? What changes will move in the direction of 
most surely catching up the personal loves and enthusiasms of the 
average student into the warm, vigorous, purposeful life of the institu- 
tion ? There are many things to do, certainly. I shall confine myself 
to a simple urgent suggestion that leads, I believe, towards the heart 
of the situation. The spirit of democracy should prevail. Not a senti- 
mental democracy that preaches equality and cooperation, and prac- 
tises autocracy. Students should be given a part, however small, in the 
control of our institutions. It is not my purpose to determine specific- 
ally what their powers should be. That has been so delightfully and 
convincingly discussed in the paper preceding my own that nothing 
further need be said. It is in itself a suggestive fact that Professor 
Fiske, like every one I have met who was connected with the Amherst 
attempt at self-government, believes in it thoroughly. Indeed I know 
of no one who has observed intimately any of the various experiments 
in student participation in student affairs, who has for it other than 
words of commendation. My contention would be that the kind of 
thing students undertake is more or less indifferent, if only they feel 
that it is worth doing and that they do it with a will. It may be the 
matter of honor in examinations. Students can do this successfully, as 
several happy instances prove, while instructors are powerless to cope 
with it, except at a cost in moral and social attitudes toward students 
that is hopelessly disastrous. Let it be the regulation of social activi- 
ties, over which faculties distress themselves and still do their work so 
bunglingly that students wink at it and smile at their own cunning. 
In some institutions students have undertaken the control of the daily 
paper, monthly literary sheet, and a comic sheet, from which they learn 
the meaning of free speech and the virtue of controlling it, derive les- 
sons in collective ownership and the joy of building for the future. In 
some instances they have been given a controlling voice in athletics, 
with advantage to the spirit of the institution. One spontaneous 


impulse of students toward pure sportsmanship that grows out of 
facing a concrete situation with responsibility is worth a half dozen 
lectures by a professional moral dictator. These are only instances of 
the many possible lines along which student activity may express itself. 
President Drinker, who has, with remarkable success, encouraged self- 
government at Lehigh University, says: "It has been my experience 
that the more responsibility is placed upon students, provided they are 
willing to assume it, the better it is for all concerned." Even a small 
duly that students enter upon heartfully is enough to transform their 
attitude into one of partnership. It is an old rule that interests follow 
activities as the shadow the body. Sympathies and enthusiasms apart 
from deeds are pale and shallow. When students undertake anything 
in concert they must have organization. This creates unity of action 
and solidarity of sentiment. The fact of positions of emolument to be 
filled and the need of officers, leads to college politics with its fine ten- 
sion of rivalry and its tang of victory and defeat. Let us grant there 
will arise occasional abuses and mistakes. There are instances on 
record. The number is, however, relatively small. The redeeming 
feature of it is that whatever failures and successes they make, there is 
in it a preparation for citizenship. They are meeting in college life 
exactly the problems and difficulties that they will have to face later. 
We preach the gospel of learning to do by doing in the lower grades of 
our common schools, but are full of the notion of the value of learning 
to do by obeying, during the choice years of young manhood and woman- 
hood, which are above all others the time for preparation for the duties 
and responsibilities of citizenship. The educational world has had its 
prophets this long time of the value of social and family ideals among 
tiny children; but by a strong irony of fate, we have been slow in taking 
seriously the same problem during the critical formative years of a 
college course. 

The root of the difficulty is in the need of more democracy in our 
institutions. That would come in a day if all concerned could apply 
the golden rule. There is a sort of mental near-sightedness in human 
nature by which it is hard to see through the other person's eyes and 
feel his problems. All are, furthermore, intensely human — biologically 
human — and want all they can get of power and prestige. Universities 
have differentiated into about four types of personages: a board of 
education, a president, a faculty and a student body. All except the 
last would dominate everything if it could. The best results will come 
only when each participates slightly in the whole, but specializes upon 
its own function. The board are specialists upon finance and should 
exercise a fairly free hand in all the material interests of the university, 
with only a negative control, through the power of veto, upon scholastic 
affairs. The faculty are specialists upon institutional questions. All 


matters of the formation of the curriculum, standardization, election 
and dismissal of instructors and the like, belong naturally to the fac- 
ulty, with board and student representatives, under normal conditions 
exercising advisory influence. It is as hazardous for boards of educa- 
tion to assume responsibility for the complicated institutional life of a 
university and exercise the fine shades of judgment needed for its suc- 
cess, as it would be for the ordinary university professor without the 
requisite years of preparation to run a bank or department store. The 
president should be chairman of the faculty. His proper function is 
primarily an executive one, and in no sense legislative or judicial. But 
the prerogatives of students — what are they? I recently asked a pro- 
fessor in a state university what power, in his judgment, students ought 
to have in an educational institution. He replied, " Power? Why, 
the power to work and work like thunder." When I argued that they 
were already in possession of such freedom, he retorted emphatically, 
" But they do not seem to know it ! " No one has to urge a graduate 
student, interested in his problem and inspired by personal contact, 
to work. Usually, on the contrary, he must be restrained from too 
continuous application on account of his bodily health. His attitude 
toward instructors, tasks and institution is different. Student bodies 
have rarely come into possession of their own. Why should they not 
have full responsibility for student enterprises and social activities? 
How much power of the faculty, which is legally the responsible agent 
in such matters, should be in evidence, is an open question. Professor 
Payne, of the University of Virginia, where for more than a century 
students have successfully regulated questions of student honor, honesty 
and propriety, assures me that the plan is working well, just because the 
faculty keep their hands off entirely. Under such circumstances stu- 
dents are glad to regulate their own affairs, and they do it well. I know 
of no instance in which students have participated in the activities of 
an institution, wherein they have broken faith or usurped power. Still 
they are treated as underlings, while instructors keep school, hold exam- 
inations and administer grades. Under present conditions they are 
filled with ideals of military discipline rather than infused with social 
impulses. Why may not our universities be transformed into states in 
miniature or social communities, in which students are " the people," 
each of whom is tempted by the entire situation, to care, to lend a hand, 
to feel the thought currents of the time, to know men as well as books, 
to be efficient units in society? In this direction we must tend if our 
new ideals of social righteousness are to be woven into the texture of 
our common life. 

The problem would be easy were we not tempted by the luscious 
sense of power and blinded by a highly developed institutionalism. The 
university exists for the students, and not the students for the university. 


No one would care to depreciate the conservation of race life that is 
accomplished through the mere fact of the existence of a group of 
teachers, a body of college customs, and well-equipped laboratories and 
libraries. But they are not finished products. They are means to an 
end in a living, growing organism. The end is the best life of all and 
the fullest life of the future. There is a distortion when the rich 
inheritance of the past that the university represents is not directed 
wholly and purposefully toward the students who are to be the race of 
to-morrow. To this end the university may well exert itself to have 
them feel that they are organically a part of it. Each student when he 
goes out should be, not a recipient from the institution, but a real incar- 
nation of its best life. He must be in it and of it. The form of organ- 
ization should tempt him into closer and closer heart relation with his 
school. Let it not be, either, a seeming act of charity or missionary 
enthusiasm on the part of instructors, or the best is lost. The advantage 
is mutual. Each student has some original endowment from nature to 
bring to the institution. I have heard it sometimes expressed that part 
of the fascination of the life of a teacher is in the personal enrichment 
and the multicolored quality of truth that come from mingling with 
many types of student minds when each is allowed to be at his best. 
In order to bring out the riches of his nature, generally as yet undiscov- 
ered even to himself, the attitude of the university toward the student v 
and his attitude are almost everything. It can not reach him from the 
outside in; it can inspire and educate him only from the inside out. 
Let our universities be decentralized from their organization about, 
institutionalism, and recentralized in the personal lives of students. 

TOL. LXXVU.— 19. 



Bt W J McGEE, LL.D. 

ORGANIZATIONS, like organisms, are products of development. 
Governmental organizations, like most others, are increasingly 
designed and shaped in the light of conscious experience. Thus, the 
constitution of the United States epitomized the lessons of history so 
far as recognized by its framers, whereby the instrument became the 
embodiment of governmental practise and theory gained through known 
experience. Naturally, by reason of the ability of the framers and the 
stress under which they wrought, the instrument is notable — certainly 
among the most notable ever produced, whatever be thought of Glad- 
stone's view as to the divinity of its inspiration. Naturally, too, the 
framers specified most clearly those governmental powers with which 
they were familiar and which they most desired to adopt : and, no less 
naturally, their action was guided quite as much by the wish to elimi- 
nate that which they thought objectionable as by the aim to perpetuate 
that which they deemed desirable. Seeing that government is an ex- 
pression of law, their first care was to provide for the framing of laws, 
the second to provide for the execution of these laws, and the third to 
provide for the interpretation of law ; and in this way arose what came 
to be known as the " three coordinate branches " of the United States 
government. The branches are indeed coordinated, though they are far 
from coequal, since the power of creating the third is entrusted to the 
second " by and with the consent " of a part of the first; yet they by no 
means constitute the entire government — as becomes clear in the light 
of earlier phases of social organization made known largely since the 
instrument was framed, no less than in that of discussion before and 
during the framing of the constitution. 

Early in that primitive social type in which tribal organization rests 
on consanguinity traced in the female line, the elder-woman is both law- 
giver and judge, while her elder-brother acts as an executive in case 
of need, and the two jointly or severally exercise administrative author- 
ity throughout the clan; later the elder-women become priestesses or 
seeresses still giving and interpreting the clan laws, and their elder- 
brothers form an avuncular council of gradually increasing executive 
and administrative powers; yet at every step all primary power is 
imputed to a mystical pantheon of which the beldames are only vicars 
and the sages merely indirect agents. In the next stage of development 


(i. e., in the patriarchate, in which organization rests on consanguinity 
traced in the male line), the elder-man becomes vicar or priest, and 
hence law-giver and judge as well as both administrative and executive 
— as when a patriarch communes with his deity over sacrificing a son 
or daughter, or a kalif commands of his own impeccability, sits in judg- 
ment, awards and rewards, imposes and deposes, and (like a later 
emperor) personifies the state ; yet his primary power is imputed mainly 
or solely to that supernatural source of which he is deemed but the 
agent. With the growth of cities and those civic usages in which the 
organization arises in proprietary right (especially in lands), rulers 
long remain vicars of mystical or spiritual powers manifested in symbols 
and ceremonies though often exercised through arms and armies; and 
until within recent centuries each monarchy was virtually a hierarchy 
whose king or emperor stood — panoplied in the "divinity which doth 
hedge about a king " — as the source and exponent of both temporal and 
spiritual power, performing so much as he would of all governmental 
functions, his rule ranging from hierarchic to autocratic according to 
the faith and custom of the time. Gradually (the rate being vastly ac- 
celerated by the American Ee volution) the monarchs surrendered legis- 
lative functions, delegated judicative powers, divided administrative 
and executive duties with the agents of parliaments and courts, some- 
times shared their vicarial powers with ecclesiastic potentates, and began 
yielding to the inevitable growth of petition into suffrage ; yet no mon- 
arch was ever quite independent of putative supernatural powers resid- 
ing within or conveyed through his own personality, or of the symbolism 
or ceremonial tending to perpetuate the imputation. 

In brief, during each stage of governmental growth from the sim- 
plicity of primal clan to the pomp and circumstance of gilded empire, 
the primary functions remain much the same despite sweeping changes 
in structure. In logical order the functions are (I.) initiatory, and 
(II.) directive, the former connoting the source and the latter the aim 
or control of institutional power. In genetic sequence, or in that order 
of successive manifestation illustrated, e. g., in the natural family of 
which the clan, gens, city and nation are outgrowths, they are (1) 
administrative, or concerned with the current regulation of every-day 
affairs; (2) legislative, or concerned with the establishment of rules 
of conduct (always finally adopted only through common consent) ; (3) 
judicative, or concerned with the peaceful settlement of disputes in 
accordance with custom and established rules; (4) executive, or con- 
cerned chiefly with the carrying out of rules and judicative decisions; 
and as the natural source of power gradually comes into ratiocinative 
view in the light of the general good, (5) determinative, or concerned 
with the primary expression of common judgment and desire. 

Now when the founders of the American nation undertook to frame 


a governmental organization, little was known of the natural stages in 
the course of human development. The notable works of Maine and 
McLennan on primitive law, of Fustel de Coulanges on " The Ancient 
City," of Lewis H. Morgan and Herbert Spencer and Auguste Comte 
on early society, and of Taylor and Powell and Brinton on lowly re- 
ligion had not been written — indeed the epoch-marking investigations 
of these and other writers run back to the unprecedented efforts of the 
American revolutionists to ascertain the ultimate foundations of human 
government, efforts not disparaged but only accentuated by the rapid 
growth of human knowledge since they were made. Since then, science 
has come into being on the earlier foundation laid by Bacon and Linne 
and a few others: of the five cardinal principles of science, 1 the first 
(the indestructibility of matter) was established by a contemporary of 
the Eevolution, Lavoisier; the second (the persistence of motion) grew 
out of Rumford's experiments begun under the influence of this Amer- 
ican rennaissance ; while the others (the development of species, the 
uniformity of nature, and the responsivity of mind) came scores of 
years later — indeed nearly all of the current branches of science have 
arisen since the revolution. Since then, too, historical knowledge has 
been both expanded and refined; geographic knowledge has extended 
over the full half of the earth then practically unknown; invention has 
revolutionized industries, largely through the American example ; steam 
and electricity and high explosives have been harnessed; the world's 
population has doubled; man's conquest over nature has advanced 
further than during all earlier time ; statecraft in the modern sense has 
taken form, and diplomacy has been reconstructed, both largely through 
the world-touching influence of the seventh and eighth decades of the 
eighteenth century; and the American governmental model has been 
adopted in spirit if not in form by far the greater part of the nations 
of the earth. In the light of the vast advance since 1776, the sagacity 
and courage displayed by the signers of the declaration and the articles 
of confederation, and especially by the framers of the constitution, 
shine forth among the greater marvels of human history. 

The founders included eminent scholars and statesmen, yet they 
were practical men confronted by problems of which the issue meant 
life or death ; and on surveying the field of experience in governmental 
organization within their reach, they seized on the essentials and wisely 
withheld their hands from both the collateral and the controvertible. 
Dwelling long on the pressingly practical (as shown by the record of 
discussion in the constitutional convention), they defined clearly the 
legislative and executive and judicative functions of the nascent gov- 

1 Outlined in an address of the president of the Anthropological Society of 
Washington, delivered before the Washington Academy of Sciences and affiliated 
societies February 19, 1900 (Proceedings of the Washington Academy of Sci- 
ences, Vol. 2, 1900, pp. 1-12). 


eminent, leaving the then relatively unimportant details of administra- 
tion — over which controversy arose whenever the subject was approached 
— to the sense of their successors ; while they proceeded so circumspectly 
as to reveal implicitly rather than by explicit statement their chief — 
and history's greatest — contribution to governmental principle, i. e., the 
substitution of human power exercised through an electorate for the 
inscrutable might manifested through a hierarchy as the basis of gov- 
ernment. Strong as is the constitution in every feautre and depart- 
ment, its chief strength lies in that last-written but first-placed para- 
graph, " We, the people of the United States, ... do ordain and estab- 
lish this Constitution." With this utterance the mysticsm of the ages 
fell away, and the foundation of humane government became fixed 
forever; and the new light has already gone around the world and 
entered every land. 

Now in addition to the specific powers expressed in the first, second 
and third articles of the constitution, others are so clearly implied or 
expressed inter se that they were unhesitatingly exercised from the day 
the instrument was adopted. These embrace the administrative power 
implied throughout, together with that primary power ranking all the- 
others combined (since they rest on and arise from it), t. e., the de- 
terminative (or elective) power implied in the first, second, fourth,, 
fifth and sixth articles and expressed in the preamble. So any com- 
plete enumeration of the powers of our government (or any other of 
representative type) necessarily comprises those pertaining to the five 
innate and coordinate functions involved in all governmental organiza- 
tions from the most primitive to the most advanced ; in logical order — 
which is that reflected in the constitution — they may be denoted (1) 
elective, exercised by the people; (2) legislative, exercised by the con- 
gress; (3) administrative, exercised by the president and his cabinet 
officers; (4) judicative, exercised by the court, and (5) executive, exer- 
cised primarily by the president. 


The popular movement for the utilization of our waterways 2 first 
marked an awakened public sentiment; now it is stirring the national 
conscience in a manner not unlike the movement of 1776. A round 
century of public indifference since Gallatin followed Washington in 
pointing a way, and a half-century of national incompetence attested 
by the decline of river and canal navigation — these unwittingly set the 
alarm now ringing. As befits democracy, the awakening began with 
the extremities of the body politic ; yet signs are not lacking that it is 
reaching the somnolent centers. When the declaration and the con- 

a Described in "Our Great River/' World's Work for February, 1907 (Vol. 
XIII., pp. 8576-8584), and "Our Inland Waterways/' Popular Science 
Monthly for April, 1908 (Vol. LXXIL, pp. 289-303). 


stitution were framed, the sense of citizenship still lay dormant in all 
but a few leading minds, and in some of these soon turned sluggardly 
for longer slumber; then the legion prodigals were fed with the swine 
on husks of party welfare rather than the sound corn of public weal 
until a shadowy " no-man's-land " grew up between citizen and state 
and a " twilight zone " spread between state and nation. Yet, stirred 
at last by the waterway movement and a forest policy uniting in the 
cult of conservation, the people are at last preempting the shadowy 
middle ground, and thus coming into their own as citizens. Two years 
ago the governors — the actual sponsors for the welfare of their com- 
monwealths — felt the stir ; they responded vigorously, and now they and 
their people are moving together against a tyranny of regnant apathy 
not greatly different from that of his ease-loving and privilege-giving 
majesty George III. 

Within a few months the congress began to respond to the popular 
demand by authorizing the publication of the reports of the Inland 
Waterways Commission and National Conservation Commission and the 
Proceedings of the Conference of Governors ; then the senate created a 
strong committee on the conservation of natural resources; and within 
a month this committee reported favorably a bill for the establishment 
of a "National Commission for the Conservation of Natural Kesources." 
The report 3 meets the popular movement half way. Declaring that 
" The measure is designed to conform with various actions, both legis- 
lative and administrative, growing out of one of the strongest popular 
movements in the history of our country," the document outlines the 
movement, summarizes the nature and extent of our natural resources, 
indicates the leading wastes and the industrial diversions attending 
development of the resources, and concludes with a plan for action 
framed to meet the people's will. Even more significant than the body 
of the report is the appendix; for at last the senate has yielded to the 
voice of the people sufficiently to print the expressions adopted in great 
conventions of citizens — among others, the declaration of the Fourth 
Deep Waterway Convention (adopted in New Orleans November 2 
last) "comprising duly appointed delegates to the number of 5,000 
from 44 of the 46 states of the union, including the governors of a 
majority of the states," which finally turned over a new leaf by recog- 
nizing and declaring the rights of citizenhood to " demand and direct " 
action by their representatives — in lieu of the far lesser rights of sub- 
jecthood to "petition" or "submit" or "respectfully request" or 
" forever pray " with which Americans have been content for a century 
— and then nailed down the new leaf by the public pledge of personal 
honor proper to full citizenship ! Surely if these 5,000 delegates mean 

•Calendar number 733, Sixty-first Congress, second session, Senate Report 
No. 826, pp. 1-50; ordered printed June 11, 1910. 


what they say — and who can doubt their sincerity? — no more signifi- 
cant utterance has been made on American soil since the declaration 
of July 4, 1776. The final paragraph of the declaration reads: 

Believing in our hearts that the needs of the country and the fundamental 
principles of our government set forth herein involve moral no less than 
material issues, and agreeing that the time has come for us and the other 
citizens we represent to exercise our constitutional powers by the means pro- 
vided when the constitution of the United States was framed, we, the delegates 
in this convention assembled, representing more than half the people and three 
fourths the productive energy of the United States, do hereby deliberately and 
firmly, and in the full realization of our duties and responsibilities, demand 
and direct that a definite and vigorous policy of waterway improvement, 
beginning with the Lakes-to-Gulf Deep Waterway, be adopted and put into 
operation by the national government without delay. To the enforcement of 
this demand we pledge our individual effort and our united support; and we 
hereby publicly pledge our personal honor, each for himself and to each other, 
to support no candidate for public office who will not unqualifiedly indorse and 
maintain that policy. 

Academically, such an utterance is in so full accord with the con- 
stitution and with the principles of popular government as to be com- 
monplace; yet actually it is so far out of accord with current govern- 
mental methods that the third of the representatives and senators in 
attendance at the convention generally (except perhaps a dozen pro- 
gressives) repudiated and condemned the utterance more or less openly 
as " socialistic " or "anarchistic." Still the voice of the people has 
echoed and reechoed; and at last it has reached print in a public 

The spirit of the Lakes-to-the-Gulf Deep Waterway Association 
expressed in their declaration has cropped out in various conventions 
other than those noted in the senate report. During the past two years 
the question has been growing more and more incisive, Is this nation 
competent to protect the interests of its people ? The question has been 
pressed in non-partisan assemblies held in every section, including 
citizens of every state, and with constantly increasing directness and 
pointedness ; and it is a sign of the times that it is put with a sense of 
power and a realization of responsibility unprecedented in the century 
and a quarter since Washington moved toward the constitution. Amer* 
ica — the collective mass of ninety million souls — is a long-suffering if 
not lethargic giant, slow to wrath and show of strength; yet as to its 
power when aroused — who can doubt? Its full strength lies in the 
spirit of the ninety millions; the force of a first effort lodges in some 
eighteen million voters, a half temporarily tied by one special interest 
or another — but nine millions are full freemen, and five millions more 
are ready to follow their lead. Now that the giant is aroused, in con- 
science no less than in sentiment, the demand of the people is attracting 
attention. Already the waterway advocates can point to a partial re- 


sponse to their demands in enlarged provision for river surveys, in 
provision for a national waterways commission empowered to extend 
and apply plans framed by the last administration, and in a recent 
declaration of the administrative and legislative authorities that " pork- 
barrel " appropriations must cease — indeed, to the longest steps in the 
right direction since Washington prevised and Gallatin planned and 
Windom pleaded for rational waterway development. Verily, the water- 
way workers have not wrought in vain ! 

The significant fact lying behind the past and prospective legisla- 
tion is the power of the people when once aroused — a power not to be 
confounded for a moment with that of tumult or mob, but inhering in 
the very spirit and lodging in the innate structure of democracy. True, 
this power is too often ignored by those for the moment responsible for 
the public welfare, too little felt by its own possessors; it is seldom 
stirred save by war or rumors of war, rarely tempted to exercise save 
by partisan calls at times of political stress; yet although a virtually 
neglected factor of our national life, it is worthy of weighty con- 


The first, second and third articles of the constitution, respectively, 
define the legislative, the executive (including the administrative) and 
the judicative functions of the government. The specifications of the 
executive function are general to the point of vagueness — naturally 
enough, in view of the then current antipathy to concentrated authority- 
Few matters were so faithfully discussed during the constitutiontl con- 
vention as the powers of the president; 4 and few of the discussions 
better exemplify the superlative caution which constantly led the dele- 
gates away from definite specifications and toward bare generalities in 
compromising mooted points. So, just as the instrument is silent on 
the primary governmental function save in the preamble, the common- 
place functions of administration are implied rather than explicitly 
stated in the second article — being most clearly (or most nearly) de- 
fined in the oath or affirmation by the president-apparent that he will 
" faithfully execute the office of president," which " office " manifestly 
covers minor governmental affairs not otherwise specified. The indefi- 
niteness was not due to inattention or indifference concerning the 
administrative function, as the debates clearly show. Mid-course of the 
deliberation, " Mr. Gouverneur Morris " thus expressed what seems to 
have been a prevailing view : 

One great object of the executive is to controul the Legislature. The 
legislature will continually seek to aggrandize & perpetuate themselves; & 
will seize those critical moments produced by war, invasion or convulsion for 

4 The index to the discussion occupies a page in the recent edition of 
"Madison's Journal" (edited by Gaillard Hunt; Putnam's, New York and 
London, 1908). 


that purpose. It ier necessary then that the Executive Magistrate should be 
the guardian of the people, even of the lower classes, ag"*- Legislative tyranny, 
against the great & the wealthy who in the course of things will necessarily 
compose the legislative body. Wealth tends to corrupt the mind to nourish its 
love of power, and to stimulate it to oppression. History proves this to be the 
spirit of the opulent. The check provided in the 2 d branch was not meant 
as a check on legislative usurpations of power, but on the abuse of lawful 
powers, on the propensity in the l Bt branch to legislate too much to run into 
projects of paper money & similar expedients. It is no check on legislative 
tyranny. On the contrary it may favor it, and if the 1st branch can be seduced 
may find the means of success. The executive therefore ought to be so consti- 
tuted as to be the great protector of the mass of the people. It is the duty of 
the executive to appoint the officers & to command the forces of the republic: 
to appoint 1. ministerial officers for the administration of public affairs. 
2. officers for the dispensation of Justice. Who will be the best judges whether 
these appointments will be well made? The people at large, who will know, 
will see, will feel the effects of them. Again who can judge so well of the 
discharge of military duties for the protection & security of the people, as the 
people themselves who are to be protected & secured? 5 

Unhappily, the indefiniteness begat uncertainty, which has multi- 
plied with the growth of the country; for public affairs requiring ad- 
ministrative attention tend to increase geometrically (just as do trans- 
portation lines) with the number of individuals and communities 
touched. Under the natural desire to protect prerogatives (so clearly 
foreseen by Morris), and with a facility due to the weight of numbers, 
the congress gradually grew inattentive to the first duty of the presi- 
dent under the constitution (" He shall, from time to time, give to the 
congress information of the state of the union, and recommend to their 
consideration such measures as he shall judge necessary and expedi- 
ent"), and drifted into the habit of obtaining "information of the 
state of the union" by more cumbrous methods directly through their 
own committees or indirectly (and of course unconstitutionally) from 
the administrative departments. Moreover, they increasingly ignored 
the warning of George Washington (the presiding officer and moving 
spirit in the constitutional convention) in that ever-memorable fare- 
well address read annually in their hearing : " Let me . . . warn you 
in the most solemn manner against the baneful effects of the spirit of 
party generally. . . . The alternate domination of one faction over 
another, sharpened by the spirit of revenge natural to party dissention 
. . . serves always to distract the public councils and enfeeble the public 
administration" — so that the nominally representative congress has 
virtually ceased to act in behalf of the people and come to act instead 
in behoof of party, in ways for which no shadow of constitutional war- 
rant exists. It would appear that the gravest apprehensions of Wash- 
ington and Morris have been realized in a policy of special legislation 
so pronounced that — mirabile dictu! — fully 99 per cent, of the bills 
•lbtd. t Vol. II., pp. 1-2. 


introduced during an ordinary session are special, local or personal in 
whole or in part, while far the larger part of the committee work and 
public debate appears to be devoted to special or local interests ! Nat- 
urally little time and thought are left for general laws, touching alike 
the entire citizenry; and naturally the custom of special legislation 
under party control opens easy way for such machine organization that 
a half-dozen shrewd manipulators may assume leadership in either 
house and completely dominate legislation. So far has this tendency 
run that it is to-day a grave question — the gravest in our history — 
whether our current laws are framed in the interests of our ninety mil- 
lions or in the interests of special privilege reducible in the last analysis 
to a scant dozen " captains of industry " : and hence whether after all 
representative government is inherently and permanently stable. The 
" propensity " of the congress " to legislate too much " has indeed been 
checked from time to time in the manner forecast by Morris ; for while 
some administrations acquiesce, others hold out for a stricter conform- 
ity with the constitution. George Washington sought to carry out the 
intent of the instrument framed under his chairmanship, and was so 
savagely assailed for "usurpation" that he declared death preferable 
to public service; Abraham Lincoln carried forward the administrative 
affairs of his terms through sheer force of personality, aided indirectly 
by the military activity of the time ; no less competent authority than 
the present president of the United States once signalized Grover Cleve- 
land's insistence that the presidency carries power coequal with those 
of the congress as the notable feature of his administrations ; and Theo- 
dore Roosevelt's policy was consistently parallel and still more vigorous, 
even to his final and most trenchant presidential message pointing out 
the unconstitutionality of an item in the sundry civil act passed as his 
term closed. Meantime some heads of executive departments shrank 
from assuming administrative responsibilities; yet under growing 
necessity they have gradually become our chief administrative officers. 
Verily the price of indefiniteness as to the administrative function 
in our fundamental law has been large ! Not only have confusion and 
friction arisen, with enormous attendant expense, but the relatively 
simple duties of administration are ill-performed. The advocates of 
waterway improvement were among the first to notice that nearly all 
our waterway enactments to date are special, and tend to magnify rather 
than merge sectional and political interests; and that the flood of spe- 
cial bills and local items has so far diverted effort from general legisla- 
tion that even unto this day the country lacks fundamental laws relating 
to waters, and is weakly perpetuating monarchial common-law doctrines 
not only unsuited to current conditions but such as the constitution was 
designed to annul or forestall ! The waterway workers are no longer 
slow to condemn methods which have permitted — if indeed they have 


not caused — the decline and disappearance of navigation from the 
finest river system of the world in a country suffering from the lack of 
transportation facilities. Already a majority of the states are moving, 
and many citizens in every state are astir ; and the prevailing sentiment 
runs along the lines forecast century-before-last by Gouverneur Morris 
and George Washington. 


When popular assemblies " demand and direct" action relating to 
waterways, regardless of party and under a suffrage penalty, the 
awakening means more than mere recognition of bad legislative and 
administrative methods; it extends to that innate and primary power 
seized on by the founders as a substitute for the " divine right of 
kings " — i. e., the power of the people defined in the preamble of the 
constitution and exercised through the suffrage. While this power has 
existed throughout our history, the act of suffrage is the last to be 
realized as essentially governmental — indeed as the supreme function 
of democratic government. The spirit of free citizenship arises slowly ; 
to the anthropologist it is the latest self-conscious attribute acquired 
by mankind in that long course of human progress stretching from the 
prime to the present. Even in our Atlantic tidewater states, the real 
home of democracy, few citizens feel the franchise as in and of itself 
a function of government; in oratorical flights they hear and even 
declare that ours is a government of the people by the people for the 
people, yet only the exceptional citizen actually senses the casting of 
his ballot as a function no less governmental in character than those 
delegated thereby to his fellow-citizens acting as president and repre- 
sentative and judge. Now this is the sense stirred by the non-partisan 
waterway and other conventions, particularly in the newer states west 
of the Appalachians; it is the sense stirred as well in DesMoines and 
other municipalities governed by the commission system carrying pro- 
vision for initiative and referendum and recall — the sense of innate 
power exercised through the elective function. 

Concurrently with the sense of power the realization of rights is 
arising; and naturally enough, first as to the waters. Finding nation 
and most states apathetic, the more progressive waterway advocates 
looked into fundamental questions for themselves ; and now, as a member 
of the supreme bench recently declared half querulously, " The country 
is full of constitutional lawyers." Five years ago, few citizens cared to 
consider the ownership of water in itself ; to-day tens of thousands are 
familiar with the tenth amendment (" The powers not delegated to the 
United States by the constitution, nor prohibited by it to the states, are 
reserved to the States respectively or to the people"), and hold that 
since this resource was never granted to the nation or conveyed to the 
states it necessarily belongs to the people as a heritage no less inde- 


feasible than the common title to sunlight and air, or indeed the equal 
rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness; and three great 
conventions during last year adopted in substance the water plank made 
public by the senate committee on the conservation of natural resources. 

We adhere to the principle arising in our constitution and incorporated in 
statutes recently enacted in several states that the waters belong to the people, 
and maintain that this right of the people is inherent and indefeasible; and 
while recognizing the necessity of administering this invaluable possession of 
the people by state and federal agencies, each within its appropriate jurisdiction, 
we deny the right of municipalities or of state and federal governments to 
alienate or convey water by perpetual franchises or without just consideration 
in the interests of the people. 

With the sense of power and the realization of rights, the conscious- 
ness of duty is spreading. Until recently, provision for waterway im- 
provement or other public works otherwise than by direct appropriation 
was commonly deemed chimerical; and citizens were led by advice of 
their representatives and the policy of congress to look on local appro- 
priations as spoils of conquest rather than general contributions to the 
public good — whereby the " pork-barrel " was kept open and the appro- 
priations went for " works " with little regard for actual navigation of 
the waters. Now, seeing that despite the expenditure of hundreds of 
millions on waterway "works" navigation of the rivers has declined, 
the people demand business-like methods whereby public funds shall be 
expended only for commensurate public benefits; and since the people 
have spoken, presidents, governors and probably a majority of the con- 
gress are concurring in the wisdom of issuing bonds to cover the cost 
of continuously and increasingly beneficial public improvements. 
Almost never before has the issue of bonds been contemplated without 
more or less open guarantee from Wall Street; but now legion citizens 
clamor for opportunity to share public burdens directly on a patriotic 
basis rather than indirectly through the expensive medium of special 
interests — for in the end the people pay. Under this pressure bills 
have already been introduced in the congress providing for waterway 
improvement on the basis of bonds issued in small denominations 
bearing interest too low to tempt bankers and brokers ; and the adoption 
of this popular policy promises to mark America's most definite step 
toward making her citizens joint owners rather than passive tenants 
of their common country, and thereby at once raising patriotism to a 
higher plane and insuring stability of the nation. 

The recognition of rights and duties respecting the waters leads 
to juster appreciation of other resources, which were of no account when 
the constitution was framed but have acquired value through the natural 
growth and orderly development of our population and industries ; and 
to-day several of our forty-odd state conservation commissions hold that 
in legislative or other action looking toward wiser use and conservation 


of the natural resources the people are but protecting their own. The 
growth of the sense of common welfare has been greatly impeded by 
court decisions based on common-law doctrines which the constitution 
was designed to displace, decisions sometimes tincturing later legisla- 
tion ; yet several courts have fairly kept pace with the growing sense of 
eternal equities among the people — they who adopted the constitution 
partly to provide a judicative mechanism adapted to their own needs 
and subject to their own supreme will: The decision of the supreme 
court of Maine that the public are entitled to a voice in the management 
of forests affecting stream-flow; the finding of the New Jersey court 
of errors and appeals, sustained by the supreme court of the United 
States, that the people have a residuary right in the waters ; the opinion 
of the supreme court in the Eio Grande case that the government may 
maintain navigability by protecting the source waters — these and other 
decisions tending toward closer unity of interest among all the people 
are signs of the times. So, too, are the enactments by the congress for 
reclaiming lands and constructing canals under the " general welfare " 
clause of the constitution, and providing for the Panama Canal and for 
operations in the insular possessions under the same constitutional 
warrant— enactments viewed askance by ultra-strict constructionists, 
yet amply sustained by that court of final appeal, the judgment of the 
people expressed through their franchise and sustained by their own 
paramount power. 


The waterway and conservation movements are still young, and may 
reasonably be expected to contribute continuously to that public welfare 
by which they were inspired. Whatever they may do in the future, they 
have already done much. They have revealed to the ^people a growing 
sense of their own powers and rights and duties as citizens. They have 
brought to light and started toward rectification our ineffective if not 
actually repressive methods of administration by legislative machinery. 
They have shown the inherent rights of the people in and to those 
material resources given value by their own work, and on which their 
own prosperity and perpetuity depend; and thereby they have warmed 
the spirit of unity among citizens and states. They have stirred patriot- 
ism more than any peaceful issue before, deeply as only bloody wars 
have done in the past. Incidentally, they are surely establishing the 
elective function as the primary power of representative government, 
and will no less surely establish the administrative function as correla- 
tive with those of legislative and judicative character. 





TWO papers on "Foreign Associates of National Societies" were 
published in The Popular Science Monthly, Vol. 73, p. 372, 
and Vol. 74, p. 80, in which the foreign membership of the seven great 
scientific societies of the world was discussed. It is the object of the 
present paper to make a similar study of the associate and honorary 
membership of the leading American societies, based on the latest 
printed lists. To avoid confusion, members paying fees will be called 
residents, those who live at a distance and pay no fees, associates, and 
foreigners, honorary members. All of the American members of the 
National Academy and the honorary members of the New York Acad- 
emy, if Americans, will be included in the second class. 

The oldest of American scientific societies is the American Philo- 
sophical Society held at Philadelphia for Promoting Useful Knowledge. 
It was founded in 1743, on the initiative of Franklin. Its membership 
consists of 165 residents, who live within thirty miles of Philadelphia, 
224 associates and 113 honorary members. The number of persons 
elected each year is limited to fifteen Americans and five foreigners. 

The American Academy of Arts and Sciences, founded in 1780, 
with its headquarters in Boston, is the second oldest scientific society. 
The numbers of residents (citizens of Massachusetts), associates and 
honorary members are 193, 87 and 63, and are limited to 200, 100 and 
75, respectively. 

The New York Academy of Sciences was founded in 1817. The 
numbers of residents, associates and honorary members are 468, 139 
and 48, respectively. The numbers of the last two classes are limited 
to 200 and 50, respectively. 

The National Academy of Sciences was founded in 1863, with its 
headquarters in Washington. Its membership consists of 113 associates 
and 45 honorary members. The number of the latter class is limited 
to 50. 

Lists were next prepared of the associates and honorary members 
of these societies. Table I. contains a list of those Americans whose 
names appear on two or more of these lists. The successive columns 
give the name, place of birth, college, residence, specialty, date of birth 
and age at the time of election into each of the four societies. Place 
of birth and residence are indicated by states, or countries, except in the 



TABLE I American Associates 











Abbe, C. 

N. Y. City 






Abbot, H. L. 


West Point 







Abbott, C. C. 


M.D. Penn. 







Allen, J. A. 


— Harvard 

New York City 







Ames, J. S. 


A. B.J.Hopkins 








Angell, J. B. 
Bafley, L. H. 

R. I. 

A.B. Brown 

Ann Arbor 








B.S. Michigan 








Barnard, E. E. 


— Vanderbilt 

Williams Bay 







Barns, C. 


— Columbia 








Becker, G. F. 

N. Y. City 

A.B. Harvard 








Bell, A.G. 


— London 








Billings, J. S. 
Boas, F. 


A.B. Miami 

New York City 








— Heidelberg 
A.B. Harvard 

New York City 







Bowditch, H. P. 


Jamaica Plain 







Branner, J. C. 
Brush, G. J. 


B.S. Cornell 









Ph.B. Yale 

New Haven 






Campbell, D. H. 


Ph.M. Mich. 







Campbell, W. W. 


B.S. Michigan 

Mt. Hamilton 






Cattell, J. McK. 


A.B. Lafayette 








Chamberlin, T. O. 


A.B. Beloit 


New York City 







Chandler, C.F. 


— Harvard 






Chittenden, R. H. 


Ph.B. Yale 

New Haven 







Choate, J. H. 


A.B. Harvard 

New York City 







Clarke, F. W. 


S.B. Harvard 


Chem is. 





Comstock, C. B. 
Coulter, J. M. 


West Point 

New York City 








A. B. Dartmouth 








Dall, W. H. 


— Harvard 







Dana, E. S. 


A.B. Yale 

New Haven 







Davenport, C. B. 


B.S. Brooklyn 
A.M.MU. H.S. 

Spring Harbor 
San Francisco 






Davidson, G. 








Davis, W. M. 


S.B. Harvard 








Dutton, C. E. 


A.B. Yale 

Engl e wood 





Emmons, S. F. 


A.B. Harvard 

New York City 






Farlow, W. G. 


A.B. Harvard 







Flexner, S. 


M.D. Louisville 






Frost, E. B. 


A. B. Dartmouth 

Williams Bay 






Furness, H. EL 


A.B. Harvard 







Gilbert, G. K. 

New York 

A.B. Rochester 








Gill, T. N. 

N. Y. City 

A. M. Columbia 







Gooch, F. A. 


A.B. Harvard 

New Haven 






Goodale, G. L. 


A. B. Amherst 








Hadley, A. T. 


A.B. Yale 

New Haven 







Hague, A. D. 
Hale, G. E. 


Ph.B. Yale 









B.S. Mass. Inst. 








Hastings, C. S. 
Hilgard, E. W. 
Hill, G. W. 


Ph.B. Yale 

New Haven 






— Zurich 






N. Y. City 

A.B. Rutgers 
— Cornell 

West Nyack 







Hillebrand, W. F. 








Holden, E S. 

St Louis 

B.S. Washing. 

West Point 






Holmes, W. H. 


B.S. McNealy 








Howell, W. H. 


A.B. J.Hopkins 
M.S. Cornell 







Jordan, D. S. 

New York 








Koenig, G. A. 


M.E. Pol. Carl. 








Libbey, W. 

N. Y. City 









Mahan. A. T. 
Mall, F. P. 

New York 

Naval Academy 

New York City 







M.D. Michigan 







Mallett, J.W. 
Mark, E. L. 


Ph.D. Gott 







New York 

A.B. Michigan 






Mendenhall, T. C. 








Merriain, C. H. 

N. Y. City 

— Yale 







Merriman, M. 


Ph.B. Yale 

New York City 





Michelson, A. A. 


Naval Academy 








Minot, C. 8. 


B.S. Mass. Inst 








Mitchell, 8. W. 


— Pennsylvania 




















Moore, E. H. 


A.B. Yale 




Morley, E. W. 

New Jersey 

A.B. Williams 








Morse, E. S. 


— Harvard 








Morse, H. N. 


A.B. Amherst 








Monroe, C. E. 


S.B. Harvard 








Nef. J. N. 
Nichols, E. L. 


A.B. Harvard 








B.S. Cornell 








Nichols, E. F. 


B.S. Kansas 








Osborn, H. F. 


A.B. Princeton 

New York City 







Peckham, S. F. 

R. I. 

— Brown 








Peirce, B. O. 


A.B. Harvard 








Peirce, C. 8. 


A.B. Harvard 







Pickering, E. C. 


S.B. Harvard 

New York City 







Prodden, T. M. 


A.B. Yale 






Pumpelly, R. 

New York 

A.B. Yale 








Pupin, M. I. 


A.B. Columbia 







Putnam, F. W. 


S.B. Harvard 








Remsen, I. 

N. Y. City 









Richards, T. W. 


S.B. Harvard 








Royce, J. 


A.B. California 

Jamaica Plain 







Sargent, C. S. 


A.B. Harvard 







Scott, W. B. 


A.B. Princeton 








Scudder, S. H. 


A.B. Williams 








Sherwood, A. 


— Chicago 

Ph B. Columbia 

Portland, 0. 







Smyth, C. H. 

New York 








Stephens, H. M. 


A.B Dickineon 







Stevens, W. L. 


A.B. S Carol. 

Lexington, Va. 







Thomson, E. 


A.B. Phil. C.S. 








Trelease, W. 

New York 

B.S. Cornell 

St. Louis, Mo. 







Trowbridge, J. 


8. B. Harvard 








Van Hise, C. R. 


B.M.E. Wis. 








Verill, A. E. 


S.B. Harvard 

New Haven 







Walcott, C. D. 
Webster, A. G. 
Welch, W. H. 

New York 








A.B. Harvard 






A.B. Yale 








White, A. D. 

New York 

A.B. Yale 








White, I. C. 


A.M. W. Virg. 

Morgan town 







Whitman, C. 0. 


B.A. Bowdoin 








Wood, H. C. 


M.D. Penn. 






Woodward, R. S. 


C.E. Mich. 








Wright, A. W. 


A.B. Yale 

New Haven 







case of a few large cities. The four societies are indicated by the 
initials of the headquarters of each, P, B, N and W. Eesident mem- 
bership is indicated by italics. 

The discussion of Table I. is complicated by the fact that several 
men were elected as residents, and later moving to another state, were 
made associates. Three men were made honorary members of the New 
York Academy. In all these cases, the first election is that entered in 
the table. Twenty-one men, including the three just mentioned, are 
members of all four societies, and will be designated below as of class A. 

From the second column, it appears that the birthplaces are dis- 
tributed as follows: Massachusetts, 22; New York, 18; Connecticut, 10; 
Pennsylvania, 7; Maine and Ohio, 4 each; Michigan and Vermont, 3 
each; foreigners, 13, of whom 5 came from Great Britain, and 4 from 
Germany. The only cities furnishing more than one member are 


Boston, 11 ; New York, 8; Philadelphia, 5; Cincinnati, 2. Of 105, 41 
come from New England and 26 from the Middle States, making nearly 
two thirds, in all. Of class A, 6 were born in New York, including 3 
in New York City; 5 in Massachusetts, 4 of them in Boston; 3 in 
Maine, and 2 in Connecticut. 

A grouping of the colleges where these men got their education led 
to unexpected results, as follows : Harvard College, 12 ; Lawrence Scien- 
tific School, 12; Yale College, 9; Sheffield Scientific School, 6; Cornell, 
Michigan and common schools, 5 each ; Columbia and Princeton, 3 each. 
Nine colleges educated 2 each. Harvard and Yale, therefore, educated 
39, or rather more than a third of the whole. The numbers of living 
graduates in the four institutions, Harvard College, Lawrence Scientific 
School, Yale College and Sheffield Scientific School, are about 12,000, 
1,200, 8,000 and 4,000. Accordingly, the proportion is 1 out of 1,000, 
100, 900 and 700, for the four institutions, respectively. The average 
numbers of societies are 2.5, 3.3, 2.6 and 2.5, respectively. Evidently 
the greatest possible number is 4.0, and the least, 2.0. The number of 
graduates of the other institutions is too small to determine averages 
with accuracy. The average 3.3 for the Lawrence Scientific School is 
only surpassed by the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 2 mem- 
bers, average 4.0, and Williams College, 2 members, average, 3.5. Of 
class A, 5 are graduates of the Lawrence School, 2 of Yale College and 

2 as just stated of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. 

The present residence of these men according to cities is as follows : 
Boston, New York and Washington, 15 each; New Haven, 8; Balti- 
more and Chicago, 6 each ; Princeton, 4 ; Berkeley, Ithaca and Stanford, 

3 each; Philadelphia, Williams Bay and Worcester, 2 each. The sub- 
urbs of each city are included in it. Thus, Boston includes Cambridge, 
and represents, practically, Harvard College. Of class A, 6 are resi- 
dents of Boston, 3 of New York, 3 of Washington, 2 of Chicago and 
2 of New Haven. While birthplaces indicate conditions of about sixty 
years ago, and colleges forty years ago, residences indicate nearly pres- 
ent conditions. 

The other columns of Table I. are better discussed in connection 
with the corresponding columns of Table II. The latter gives a list 
of the foreigners who are honorary members of two or more of these 
societies. The successive columns give the name, residence, specialty, 
year of birth, age at time of election into each of the four societies and 
number of the seven national societies of which each man is a member. 
The numbers in the last column are taken from the article already 

In Table II. the residences are distributed as follows: Germany, 
16, of which 8 are in Berlin and 3 in Leipzig; England, 15, of which 
7 are in London and 4 in Cambridge ; France, 4, all in Paris ; Holland, 

VOL.LXXVH.— 20. 



3; Austria, 2, both in Vienna; Edinburgh, Palermo, Berne and Stock- 
holm, 1 each. Eight men are members of all four societies, and of 
them five are residents of England. 

Honorary Members 










Auwers, A. 








Baeyer, A. von 








Bornet, E. 







Broegger, W. C. 








Bryce, J. 

Camhri age 






Darwin, G. H. 







Delitsch, F. 






DeVries, H. 








Dewax, J. 







Diels, EL 






K lie lor, A. 








Fischer, E. 









Geikie, A. 









Geikie, J. 







Gill, D. 








Haeckel, E. 








Hann, J. 







Hoff.J.H. yan't 








Hooker, J. D. 









Kapteyn, J. C. 







Klein, F. 








Kohlrausch, F. 







Kronecker, II. 







Lankester, E. K. 









Larmor, J. 






Lister, J. 








Lockyer, J. N. 







Lorentz, H. A. 

Ley den 






Maspero,G. C. C. 






Nansen, F. 







Ostwald, W. 








Penck, A. F. K. 







Pfeffer, W. F. 









Picard, E. 









Poincar£, H. 









Ramsay, W. 








Rayleigh, J. W. 









Retzius, N. G. 







Roscoe, H. E. 







Stoney, G. J. 






Strasburger, E. 








Suess, E. 







Thomson, J. J. 









Unwin, W. C. 






Waldeyer, W. 






Wundt", W. 







Considering now the 105 Americans in Table I., and the 46 foreign- 
ers in Table II., we find that the four societies, as already stated, con- 
tain 224, 87, 142 and 113 associates, and 113, 63, 48 and 45 honorary 
members. The numbers of these included in Table I. are 96, 70, 48 
and 82, and in Table II., 36, 31, 27 and 32. 


Sciences are not easily grouped, since many are closely connected. 
An approximate grouping of Table I. gives: geology, 20; zoology, 15; 
astronomy, 15; physics, 14; chemistry, 13; physiology, 10; botany, 7; 
miscellaneous, 11. Class A gives: geology, 7; zoology, 6; astronomy, 
3; physics, 3; chemistry, 1; botany, 1. Table II. gives: astronomy, 9; 
physics, 7 ; chemistry, 7 ; geology, 6 ; botany, 5 ; zoology, 3 ; physiology, 
3 ; miscellaneous, 6. The large number of geologists and zoologists in 
Table I., and especially in class A, is remarkable, and the reversion of 
this condition in Table II. Of the 20 geologists in Table I. there is 
only 1 mineralogist, while in Table II., of 6 geologists, there are 4 min- 
eralogists. Table I. contains but 1 mathematician, while Table II. 
contains 4. 

Important conclusions may be drawn from the order of election, but 
the discussion is beset with unusual difficulties. A society which chose 
members who were later elected into all the other societies would dis- 
play remarkable skill. In class A, the number of members first elected 
by the four societies is 2, 10, 8 and 1, respectively. But it is much 
easier to become a resident than an associate, and 13 members were 
elected as residents of the American Academy, and 2 of the New York 
Academy. Omitting these, the numbers become 3, 0, 13 and 5. 
Accordingly, the New York Academy appears to have shown extraor- 
dinary skill in selecting early, men of such ability that later they were 
chosen by all the other societies. This result is confirmed by the eight 
foreigners who are members of all four societies. Four of these were 
first elected by the New York Academy, in two cases before they were 
elected by either of the seven leading European societies. The last col- 
umn of Table II. shows that 32 men are members both of the European 
and American societies; of these, 23 were first elected by a European 
society, 6 by an American Society and 3 in the same year by both. 
Of the 9 in the last two classes, 6 were chosen first by the American 

The numbers elected in the different societies, during the last ten 
years, differ greatly. Thus, for associates, we have from 1901 to 1905, 
26, 15, and 20, and for 1906 to 1910, 17, 1, 1 and 13. For honorary 
members no such differences occur, the numbers for 1901 to 1905 being 
8, 11, 9 and 12, and for 1906 to 1910, 11, 5, 3 and 9. Only 2 honorary 
members were elected into the National Academy before 1896, both in 
1883. In the New York Academy, 11 associates were elected in 1876. 
Of course all of these numbers relate only to the selected lists contained 
in Tables I. and II. 




By Pbofes80B F. B. LOOMIS 


IN this paper I want to study what value is to be given to the prin- 
ciple that ontogeny is a brief recapitulation of phylogeny, when it 
comes to the concrete determination of the ancestry of a given genus. 
For the purpose three types have been studied carefully and several 
more for confirmations, the principal study being between the young 
and adult of the pig, cat and man, the differences being noted to see if 
they suggested the forms considered ancestral. 

First let us consider the skull of a six weeks' pig in comparison with 
that of the adult, the two having been drawn to the same length. The 
first and most marked variation is in the brain case, that of the young 
being relatively vastly larger. The same is especially true of the sense 
capsules of the ear and eye. The later growth is much greater in those 
parts of the skull designated as facial, or having to do with the jaws and 
their supports. Then there is a change in the axis of the skull, this 
being due to the growth of the maxilla region, and lastly where there 
is any cellular bone or bone spaces they are developed in later life. 
This factor is especially well shown in the development of the elephant 
skull and in ruminants. It is coincident with high crests and marked 

While most of the features have been indicated in the pig, the same 
comparison in the cat reveals the same excessive development of the 
brain case and sense organs, the same weakness of the jaws and change 
in the axial relations, and this may be further confirmed in looking at 
the contrast between a three-year-old child's skull and that of an adult. 

The conclusions then to be drawn from this hasty comparison of 
the two skulls are, first, that the shape of the skull in the young shows 
the excessive development of the brain and sense capsules, so that the 
appearance is not that of a primitive animal, but exactly the contrary, 
the appearance which the genus would assume were its mental or 
nervous development carried to a much higher degree than is the case. 
The embryonic development of the brain and sense organs is pushed 
far toward the beginning, and is matured, as far as size is concerned, 
the earliest of any of the systems. The skull is first an envelope for 
the brain and sense organs and is therefore profoundly modified by this 
embryonic peculiarity, and the younger the individual the less like the 
adult or ancestor the skull is shaped. 


Secondly, the change of axis is not in the ancestral direction, the 
excessive weak condition of the jaws being again an embryonic adapta- 
tion and not an ancestral one. 

Lastly, in the development of cancellous tissue is a condition which 
more nearly approximates the phylogenetic development, but here even 
the use of young features is deceptive, for it is seldom that this cellu- 
lar bone is developed in the immediate ancestor but is rather found in 
several genera back, being usually an accompaniment of the develop- 
ment of the heavy facial portion of the skull. So much for form. 

Turning to the dentition. The milk set of the pig and those of the 
adult are drawn side by side, and it is seen that while the front teeth 
of the young approximate those of the adult, the comparison is between 
the complicated premolar and molar sets. Briefly, of the four pre- 
molars, if all present, in the young (and often but three are developed) 
the two in front resemble the premolars to succeed them in the perma- 
nent set, while the two rear milk premolars resemble the permanent 
molars, the last milk premolar being especially like the last molar. 
This granted, the interest centers around whether the pattern of the 
milk teeth is such as to indicate the ancestry. A glance at the pig and 
its young will show that while the detail is not exactly the same in young 
and old, yet they are so alike that no one would identify a single milk 
molar as Hyotherium or any other suine genus, but would have to put 
it in the genus Sus. Taking other cases among the TJngulata, the his- 
tory of the naming of the Miocene genera of horses gives a good ex- 
ample. There are, according to Gidley, four genera, Hyohippus, Para- 
hippus, Merychippus and Protohippus; of these, three were founded on 
young teeth, i. e., the first three named. When it was recognized that 
they were young teeth, they were by Cope assigned to Protohippus, but 
when the adult teeth were found it was clear that the distinctive features 
of these young teeth were the distinctive features of the adult. For the 
genus Merychippus there is a difference in that the young teeth are not 
cemented, while the adult are. That is ancestral. In analyzing the 
descriptions of several genera of horses usually some feature can be 
found in the milk tooth which is ancestral. 

In the Carnivora there is the carnassial tooth which is specialized ; 
in the upper jaw it is the third milk premolar and the fourth in the 
adult; in the lower jaw it is the fourth milk premolar, and the first 
molar of the adult. Thus it is clear that it is a different dental follicle 
which forms the young and the adult carnassial. In the case of the dog 
the permanent and milk carnassials are approximately alike, but in the 
case of the cat the inner lobe or protocone occupies a very different 
place in the young from that of the adult, a position characteristic of 
none of the Felidae and suggests some of the apparently unrelated 


In the matter of the succession of teeth the follicles which form the 
last two — the milk premolars — form teeth in the first set of a totally 
different and usually more advanced character than the teeth to be 
formed from the same follicles in the permanent set. As a general 
thing then the conclusion would be that the milk teeth tend to have 
the same characters as mark the permanent set, but when they vary 
they often retain characters of the phylogenetically ancestral form. 
Weber adds that the later the succession the less the difference between 
the milk and permanent sets. 

Turning to the limbs, there are again several distinctly ontogenetic 
characters, which are by no means ancestral. First, the formation of 
epiphyses, so that a bone ossifies from three or more centers. This is 
purely an ontogenetic adaptation and has no phylogenetic significance. 
Then the articular ends of all the limb bones are greatly enlarged as 
compared with adults. This again is not phylogenetic but an adapta- 
tion, the joints and their ligaments being early approximated to their 
permanent conditions. Then the length of limbs seems to be ef- 
fected as an embryonic adaptation. First take the case of man born 
with disproportionately short arms and legs. The legs have been inter- 
preted as representing a phylogenetic condition, but the same rule does 
not apply to the arms which were ancestrally long. This feature of 
short limbs is also characteristic of carnivora and I feel that it is an 
embryonic adaptation ; certainly the ancestral limb can not be deduced 
from the young condition. Quite the reverse of conditions obtains 
among the TJngulata where the young at birth have disproportionately 
long limbs, which with equal certainty does not represent any ancestral 
condition recapitulated, for the ancestral limb in ancestral forms is 
shorter. Again, I believe the anomalous legs are adaptations to either 
the necessity for speed on the part of the young, or for height to reach 
the teats, suckling being while the parent is standing. 

In the cases of the reduction of digits, greater portions of the re- 
duced digits are usually found in the young animals than in the adults, 
but in the case of the entire loss of a digit it is also lacking in the 
young and embryo. 

The general conclusion of the whole matter would then be that the 
young give us very little which is not deceptive in reconstructing an- 
cestral forms. In certain cases, namely in the teeth and in reduction 
of digits, confirmatory points may be obtained, but these must be 
used with care, the valuable constructive evidence being rather found 
in adult skeletons, and in morphological comparisons. While allowing 
that many stages are recapitulated in the development of an individual, 
the vast number of adaptations impressed on the young to be used after 
birth, make their skeletons specialized even from birth, and such dif- 
ferences as exist are seldom reminiscent. 



By Pbofesssob A. W. GRABAU 


ONTOGENY, or the life history of the individual, is commonly 
interpreted by zoologists as its embryology, the later stages of 
development, from infancy to old age, being deemed of little or no 
importance. This was the case fifty years ago ; this is largely the case 
to-day. From the days when Agassiz first called the attention of zool- 
ogists to their one-sided attack of the problem of ontogeny, and urged 
them to pay attention to the important post-embryonic stages, down to 
our own time, students of recent animals have for the most part been 
content to follow the beaten path. They have left to the paleozoologist 
the study of the later stages in the life history of the individual, and 
the latter's endeavors in this direction have developed the science of 
zoontogeny as to-day understood. There was, perhaps, a natural cause 
for this separation, in the fact that the student of soft tissues finds few 
changes which he deems worthy of attention, between the embryo and 
the adult; whereas the student of hard structures generally sees an 
abundance of such changes. This is especially true of invertebrates, 
more particularly of such as build external hard structures in which 
successive additions are marked by the lines of growth. Vertebrates, 
and invertebrates without permanent hard parts, such as the Crustacea, 
require series of individuals showing the successive steps in develop- 
ment. But mollusks, brachiopods and corals show, by their incremental 
lines, the steps in the life history during the post-embryonic period, so 
that one perfect individual suffices to present these later stages in 

It is not infrequently urged that the hard parts of invertebrates, 
especially the shells of mollusks, are not reliable indices of ontogenetic 
development, since they represent only the integument, which is subject 
to ready modification under the influence of the environment. Such an 
argument is based on a total ignorance of the relation of the shell or 
other hard structure to the soft parts of the animal. The paleontolo- 
gist is convinced that the hard parts of animals are the best indices of 
its development, since they record in a permanent form all the minute 
modifications which are not even recognizable in the soft parts. More 
than this, I believe that shells, those of mollusks at any rate, furnish 
us with a record of changes wholly independent of the environment, and 
referable entirely to an inherited impulse towards progressive modifica- 
tion, along definitely determinable lines. I am well aware that I am 
not expressing the opinion of all paleontologists in this statement, and 
that this view, moreover, is strongly opposed by some of our ablest 
European conchologists. But here again I contend that this difference 


of opinion is due to a difference of method. When the student of shells 
directs his attention chiefly to adult characters, this definitely directed 
variation, independent of environment, is not recognized by him. But 
no one can study the details of shell ontogeny, especially in the earlier 
stages, without quickly realizing that ontogenetic development is ortho- 
genetic, and that the inherited impulse towards determinate modifica- 
tions is the most powerful controlling factor of the animal's life history. 

So far as invertebrates are concerned, the study of post-embryonic 
development was first seriously undertaken by the immortal Hyatt, in 
his work on the ammonites. To be sure, others before him — notably 
d'Orbigny — noticed that a distinct series of changes was recognizable in 
the shell of ammonites, but no one before Hyatt actually employed this 
method. He himself once told me that when, in the early sixties, he 
first realized the importance of this method of study when actually 
applied to shelled organisms, and its value as a guide in phylogeny, 
it seemed so marvelously simple that he felt sure that the method and 
its application must be fully understood by all working naturalists. 
" But," he added, " I soon found that I practically stood alone, and I 
have spent my life since in the endeavor to convert them to my point 
of view." 

This misunderstanding, on the part of many zoologists, of the onto- 
genetic method has given rise to their false attitude towards the doc- 
trine of the recapitulation of ancestral characters. This subject will 
be adequately treated by some of my successors, but I can not forbear 
to anticipate them to the extent of pointing out this fact: When the 
embryologist seeks for proof or disproof of this concept in the enor- 
mously condensed record of the stages between the ovum and birth, he 
is bound to be grievously disappointed; for this record, necessarily 
modified by eliminations, can only furnish general resemblances of the 
embryo to earlier types, and can not be said to actually recapitulate the 
life history of the entire race. When, however, the student of post- 
embryonic ontogeny compares the youthful stages of an individual with 
the adult of immediately preceding species of the same genetic series, 
the fact of recapitulation becomes at once apparent. 

The post-embryonic life history of an individual falls readily into 
stages, of which four major ones have been recognized and named, 
chiefly by Hyatt. These are: (1) the infant or nepionic stage; (2) 
the adolescent or neanic stage; (3) the adult or ephebic stage, and 
(4) the senile or gerontic stage, followed by death. These onto-stages, 
as they may be called, are further divided into substages, designated by 
the prefixes ana, meta and para, and they may be observed in the ontog- 
eny of all individuals. Moreover, in closely related members of one 
genetic group, the duration of these stages and substages is approxi- 
mately uniform. Change in form, however, may vary greatly, and have 


no necessary relation to the onto-stages, even if they coincide with them. 
We have thus a second group of stages, which we may designate form 
stages, or morphic stages, and there will be required distinct designa- 
tions in each case. The best method of naming these stages is to refer 
them to the adult ancestral iype which they represent. 

Thus, in all species of the gastropod shell Fusus, the earliest morphic 
stages are a close recapitulation of the adult of Fusus porrectus of the 
Eocenic. These stages may therefore be called the F. porrectus stage. 
It may be continued for a considerable period of the early life history, 
covering several onto-stages, or it may be condensed into a short por- 
tion of one stage or substage, in accelerated individuals. 

It is of considerable importance that onto-stages and morphic stages 
should be discriminated, so I will introduce another illustration. 

In the Miocenic of the Atlantic coast we have the gastropod genus 
Fulgur well represented. Fulgur fusiformis is normally characterized, 
in the adult, by the possession of a pronounced flat shoulder, which is 
separated from the body of the shell by an angulation carrying rounded 
tubercles. Some of the more specialized individuals lose the angula- 
tion and tubercles in the last whorl and become rounded. Thus, while 
normally the species is tuberculated in the ephebic onto-stages, special- 
ized individuals acquire a new morphic stage through the loss of orna- 
mentation. This morphic stage is prophetic of the normal adult of 
Fulgur maximum, and hence may be called the F. maximum stage. 
F. maximum itself has in its nepionic onto-stage the characters of 
adult F. fusiformis; hence it may be designated the F. fusiformis stage. 
Some individuals acquire a new stage, namely, a spinous stage, char- 
acteristic of the adult of F. carica. In the type designated as F. 
tritonis, the nepionic stage is characterized by a fusiformis morphic 
stage, the neanic largely by the maximum stage, though some of the 
later neanic stages may actually acquire the carica stage. In less 
specialized individuals the maximum stage may continue into the early 
ephebic in more specialized ones it ceases early in the neanic, the carica 
stage taking its place. Finally, Fulgur carica is characterized by the 
elimination of the maximum morphic stage, so that the neanic as well 
as the ephebic onto-stages are characterized by the spines of the carica 
stage, which may even begin in the late nepionic. 

In the foregoing, the different morphic stages are shown to be 
telescoped with the onto-stages, appearing either earlier and earlier in 
the ontogeny of successive individuals, through the operation of the 
law of acceleration or tachygenesis ; or later and later, through the 
operation of the complementary law of retardation or bradygenesis. 
These laws are, of course, only applicable to an orthogenetic series, but 
in such a series they are competent to produce, by interaction, all 
conceivable combinations of characters. 


The paleontologist, more than any other naturalist, is concerned 
with the product of these interactions, and to him, oftener than to 
others, has come the question, Are these results species ? and, if so, what 
are the criteria for the separation of species? The student of hard 
structures appreciates the difficulty of drawing sharp lines, and one of 
his most trying tasks is to satisfy the idiosyncrasies of his colleagues in 
the making of species, subspecies, varieties, etc. The student of hard 
parts finds transitional forms the rule, and he dare not grind them to 
powder under his heel with the remark credited to Stimpson, that 
" that is the proper way to dispose of those damned transitional f orms." 

The philosophic paleontologist recognizes more readily than any one 
else the truth of the dictum that nature knows only individuals, and 
that species are special creations, called into being by the fiat of the 
naturalist. He is concerned not so much with the origin of species as 
with the origin of individuals; and while he makes use of the artificial 
divisions called species, and sometimes finds his chief joy in multiplying 
and subdividing them, he still recognizes their non-existence, and turns 
to individuals. He may, perhaps, prefer to speak of mutations, mean- 
ing individuals, nevertheless. 

But individuals are complex entities, and the paleontologist can not 
investigate their genesis before he has thoroughly investigated the origin 
of the parts composing it. As Professor Osborn has said, the paleo- 
zoologist is concerned primarily with the origin of structures. He 
alone is able to trace their development, for he is present at their birth, 
he follows their whole history, and will be present also at their extinc- 
tion, for the paleontologist alone is immortal. 




BATHER once said that " If the embryologists had not forestalled 
them, the paleontologists would have had to invent the theory 
of recapitulation." This may be considered as a fair sample of the 
attitude of at least the Hyatt school of paleontologists toward the theory. 
It is doubtful if any paleontologist could be found who wholly rejects it. 

In violent contrast with the more or less complete acceptance of 
the theory by paleontologists, is the attitude of many embryologists 
and zoologists. Montgomery and Hurst have perhaps put the case 
against recapitulation more strongly than any one else. The former 
says, for example, 

The method is wrong in principle, to compare an adult stage of one organism 
with an immature stage of another. 


And again : 

Therefore we can only conclude that the embryogeny does not furnish any 
recapitulation of the phylogeny, not even a recapitulation marred at occasional 
points by secondary changes. 

Hurst is even more emphatic. He says : 

The ontogeny is not an epitome of the phylogeny, is not even a modified 
or " falsified " epitome, is not a record, either perfect or imperfect of past 
history, is not a recapitulation of evolution. 

It would seem as though two statements could scarcely be more 
flatly contradictory than those of Bather and Hurst, just quoted. 
Nevertheless, I venture to make the assertion that both parties to the 
recapitulation controversy are right, for the simple reason that they are 
not talking about the same thing. Grabau has called attention to this, 
by implication, in one of his papers on gastropods. He states that the 
recapitulation theory has been placed in an evil light by the habit of 
embryologists of comparing embryonic stages with the adults of exist- 
ing representatives of primitive types, and that they have commonly 
neglected to compare the epembryonic stages with the adults of geolog- 
ically older species. In other words, paleontologists have usually dealt, 
in their comparisons, with epembryonic stages, and embryologists with 
embryonic stages. 

There arises here a question of definition: does the biogenetic law 
mean that the ontogeny is a recapitulation of the phylogeny, or does 
it mean that the embryogeny is a recapitulation of the phylogeny? 
If we take the general consensus of opinion, we shall find for the former 
definition; and if we take the words of Haeckel, whose statement of 
the law is the one usually quoted, we shall again find for the former 

It is certainly true, at any rate, that the epembryonic stages may 
and do show recapitulation, even when the embryonic stages do not, or 
when the embryogeny is so obscured by secondary adaptations as to be 
untrustworthy. There are many reasons why adaptations should occur 
in intra-uterine or larval life to obscure the ancestral record. These 
have often been stated and discussed, and I shall pass them with this 
mere mention. That the record of remote ancestors, contained in the 
embryogeny, may be lost or obscured, while the record of nearer ances- 
tors, contained in the epembryogeny, is still clear and convincing, is 
my contention; and I hold that this contention is substantiated by the 
studies of a host of paleobiologists. 

While contrasting the views of biologists and paleobiologists, I do 
not wish to create the impression that all of the former have turned 
against the theory of recapitulation. Several recent studies of the 
development of extant forms seem to afford very satisfactory evidence 
that the theory is not wholly rejected in the house of its fathers. Of 


these I may mention the very interesting papers by Griggs on juvenile 
kelps, Zeleny on the development and regeneration of serpulids, and 
Eigenmann on the blind vertebrates of North America. 

Griggs especially criticizes the views of such critics of recapitula- 
tion as His, who holds that the reason why ontogeny seems to recapitu- 
late phylogeny is because the developing organism must from physiolog- 
ical necessity pass from less to more complex stages, more or less 
resembling ancestral forms; and the views of Morgan, who holds that 
only embryonic stages of ancestors are repeated. This is the so-called 
"Bepetition Theory." To both of these critics Griggs objects that 
they confuse physiology and morphology. "The recapitulation the- 
ory," he says, " has nothing to do with physiology; it is purely a matter 
of morphology." 

On the first point, that the developmental stages are merely the 
physiologically necessary steps in the development of the adult organ- 
ism, the conclusions of Eigenmann and Zeleny are of especial interest. 
Eigenmann shows that in the blind fish, Amblyopsis, the development 
of the foundations of the eye is normal, and is phylogenic, while the 
stages beyond the foundations are direct. Zeleny concludes that the 
ontogenesis of the opercula of serpulids is phylogenic, and recapitulates 
ancestral characters; but the regeneratory development of the organ is 
direct, and may be very different from the ontogenetic development. 
We may ask, therefore, if development takes a certain course only be- 
cause that is the physiologically necessary way in which the individual 
or the organ must develop, why should a condition of perfect blindness, 
with almost total loss of all the eye structures, be attained only by the 
round-about method of first developing the foundations of a normal 
eye? Why, again, if there is any physiologically necessary course of 
development, should the serpulid be able to regenerate the opercula in 
a manner entirely different from their ontogenesis ? 

Hatschek, Hurst, Montgomery and others maintain that, if two 
individuals differ in the adult, they must also differ in the egg, and 
consequently must be different at all stages between. From this thesis 
they draw the conclusion that organisms can not recapitulate adult 
ancestral characters, because any change in the adult stage of an indi- 
vidual, causing it to be different from its parents, involves a change in 
the entire ontogeny — "the entire row of cells" from the egg to the 
adult. That there is some sort of change in the entire row of cells we 
grant; but that this change necessarily affects the morphology of the 
individual or of its organs, up to the adult stage, we do not grant. 
We have here again a confusion of morphology and physiology. The 
cell energies may indeed be changed; but unless a change in the cell 
energies inevitably necessitates a change in the morphology of all the 
cells or of all the organs which they compose, the argument of Mont- 
gomery proves nothing. 


If inheritance were perfect, the individual would take exactly the 
same course in development as its ancestors. That it does not do this 
in all cases is a more remarkable fact than that in so many cases it 
follows the ancestral mode of development so closely. This loss of 
inheritance is due to a progressive condensation of ontogeny, or as it is 
commonly called, acceleration. Most embryologists misconceive the law 
of acceleration, limiting it to the omission of characters or stages. 
With the classic formulation of the law by Hyatt we are all familiar. 
According to Hyatt, acceleration involves not only omission, but con- 
densation without omission, through the earlier inheritance of char- 
acters acquired in the adult or adolescent stages of life. By the un- 
equal acceleration of characters an overlapping, or telescoping, as 
Grabau calls it, may be introduced. It follows, therefore, that accel- 
eration may be by elimination, by condensation without change in the 
order of appearance of characters, and by condensation with change in 
the order of appearance, or telescoping. As conceived by the paleo- 
biologist, the law of acceleration is an explanation of recapitulation, as 
well as an explanation of the failure to recapitulate. 

Another factor in inheritance is retardation, so named by Cope. 
By the operation of this law, characters that appear late in the ontogeny 
may disappear in the descendents, because development terminates 
before the given characters are reached. In this way the ontogeny 
may be shortened and simplified, and many ancestral characters may be 
lost entirely. The result of the continued operation of retardation is 
retrogression, since the loss of the characters of nearer ancestors, with 
the continued repetition in early ontogeny of the characters of remote 
ancestors, must eventually cause the species to resemble the remote, 
rather than the nearer, ancestors. 


Of the numerous cases adduced by paleontologists, in which there 
is clear evidence of recapitulation, I shall mention a few only. 

Probably the best known examples of recapitulation are those made 
known by the researches of Hyatt, Branco, Wiirtenburger, Buckman, 
Smith and others among the Cephalopoda. It is shown that Ammon- 
ites pass through a goniatite stage, and that, as phrased by Zitttel, 
" The inner whorls of an ammonite constantly resemble in form, orna- 
ment and suture line the adult condition of some previously existing 
genus or other." The nautilus grows at first straight or orthocera- 
form, then arched or cyrtoceraform, and finally at the close of the first 
volution of the shell, becomes close coiled. The impressed zone appears 
in ancient nautiloidea in the neanic stage, where the whorls first come 
into contact, and is indeed a result of contact. In modern nautilus, 
and in Mesozoic and Tertiary nautilus the impressed zone appears in 


the nepionic stage, before the whorls come into contact. It has been 
carried back in the ontogeny by acceleration. Smith concludes from a 
study of the development and phylogeny of Placenticeras, an Upper 
Cretaceous ammonoid, that "the development of Placenticeras shows 
that it is possible, in spite of dogmatic assertions to the contrary, to 
decipher the race history of an animal in its individual ontogeny." 

Among the Gastropoda, Grabau and Burnett Smith have pointed 
out numerous beautiful cases of recapitulation. In Fusus and its allies, 
the higher forms quite constantly resemble in their earlier stages the 
adults of ancestral forms. Even in profoundly modified gerontic types, 
the young resemble the ancestors. Smith has brought to light in 
Athleta (Volutilithes) of the Eocene, an almost perfect example of even 
and regular acceleration, with its correlative, the recapitulation in the 
young of the Upper Eocene forms of the adult characters of the Lower 
Eocene forms. The stages passed through by this group of shells are, 
beginning with the earliest, a smooth, curved rib, cancellated, spiny 
and sometimes a senile stage. In the ancestral species (A. limopsis) 
the curved rib stage comes in at the close of the fourth whorl, whereas 
in the Upper Eocene form (A. petrosa), this stage comes in at the 
beginning of the third whorl. 

Among the Pelecypoda the classic researches of Jackson are familiar 
to all. He shows that the modern Pecten passes through, in its on- 
togeny, a series of stages resembling adult Rhombopteria, Pterinopecten 
and Aviculopecten, and that the geologic order of these genera is the 
same as the ontogenetic order in Pecten. In such monomyarian genera 
as Ostrea, the initial shell, or prodissoconch, is dimyarian, and resembles 
the primitive Nuculu. Again, in various more or less widely separated 
genera, the condition of complete cemented fixation has produced the 
ostreaform shape. Each one of these genera, however, except where 
the modification of shape due to fixation appears very early in ontogeny, 
recapitulates the adult characters of its respective ancestor. The ex- 
amples of this are Mulleria, a member of the Unionidae — like Anodon 
in the young; Hinnites, a member of the Pectinacea — like Pecten in 
the young; Spondylus, another member of the Pectinacea — like Pecten 
in the young. 

Beecher*s various studies of the Brachiopoda not only brought out 
the fact that the initial shell or protegulum of the brachiopod is remark- 
ably similar to the most primitive known Lower Cambrian brachiopods, 
but have supplied in addition numerous other remarkable examples of 
recapitulation. One of the most striking of these is the case of the 
Terebratellidae. In both the boreal and austral subfamilies a very com- 
plete series of genera correspond to the ontogenetic stages of the ter- 
minal or highest genera. Another interesting case is that of Orbicu- 
loidea. This discoid shell has at first a straight hinge like Iphidea. 


It next resembles Obolella, then at a later stage it is like Schizomania, 
and finally adult growth brings in the characters of Orbiculoidea. 
Eaymond has shown the remarkable similarity of the neanic stage of 
Spirifer mucronatus to the adult S. crispus of the Niagara. Shimer 
and Grabau found in the upper Hamilton of Thedford, Ontario, a 
variety of Spirifer mucronatus that is very mucronate in the young 
and not at all so in the adult. The derivation of this form from 
S. mucronatus is beyond question. I have pointed out a precisely 
similar case in Platystrophia acutilirata var. senex. This variety, 
which occurs in the upper Whitewater beds of Indiana and Ohio, has 
a hinge angle of nearly 90° in the adult. In the young, however, the 
outlines of the shell are exactly like the typical P. acutilirata, from 
which it is beyond any question descended. Greene has shown that 
Chonetes granulifer of the Carboniferous is, in the neanic stage, like 
the Devonian Chonetes, and that the hinge-spines come in at a consid- 
erably earlier stage in the Carboniferous than in the Devonian and 
Silurian forms, showing the acceleration of this character. 

In the Bryozoa 1 have pointed out the fact that the colony behaves 
as an individual, and like an individual recapitulates in its ontogeny 
(astogeny) ancestral characters. This is beautifully shown in Fenes- 
tella, in which the earlier zocecia are strikingly like the adult zocecia of 
the Cyclostomata. The adolescent zocecia of Devonian Fenestella are 
similar to the adult zocecia of Niagara forms. Lang has brought 
together numerous cases of recapitulation among Jurassic and Creta- 
ceous Stomatopora and Proboscina. The method of dichotomy in the 
earlier portions of the colony is constantly more like the normal dichot- 
omy of ancestral species. 

In graptolites the remarkable researches of Euedemann clearly 
indicate that the graptolite colony recapitulates ancestral characters, 
the proximal thecae being similar to ancestral adult thecae. He says : 

The rhabdosomea in toto and their parts, the branches, seem also to pass 
through stages which suggest phylogenetically preceding forms. 

Among the trilobites the studies of Beecher, Walcott and Matthew 
are classic. Beecher has shown that there is a common larval form, 
the protaspis, and that in higher genera characters appear in the pro- 
taspis that are known only in the adults of more primitive genera. 
For example, the " main features of the cephalon in the simple protaspis 
forms of Solenopleura, Liostracus and Ptychoparia are retained to 
maturity in such genera as Carausia and Acontheus." Larval Sao has 
characters that occur in the adult of Ctenocephalus. The larval stages 
of Dalmanites and Proetus have characters that appear only in the adult 
of ancient genera. 

Among the corals Beecher and Girty show that such genera as 
Favosites have early stages that suggest Aulopora. Lang, in a recent 


paper, records very interesting cases of recapitulation in the genus 
Parasmilia of the Cretaceous. Bernard concludes that the coral colony, 
like the graptolite colony and the bryozoan colony, behaves as an 

In the echinoderms the likeness of the stem ossicles and the devel- 
opment of the anal plate of Antedon, to Paleozoic and Mesozoic forms 
has become one of the stock illustrations of recapitulation. Jackson 
has found interesting examples of recapitulation in the development of 
the ambulacral and inter-ambulacral plates of echinoids. Miss Smith 
has shown that the young Pentremites is exactly similar in form to the 
adult Codaster. This is an extremely interesting case, for Bather has 
independently, and from quite different data, come to the conclusion 
that Pentremites is derived from Codaster. 

The idea of recapitulation has been one of the most fertile in the 
whole realm of biology, and its usefulness to the paleobiologist has been 
almost incalculable. But while there can be no doubt that recapitula- 
tion is a fact, the paleontologist should observe all due care not to 
assume too much for it. That there are various sorts of adaptations, 
arising at all stages of life, and that these may greatly obscure the 
ancestral record, is a fact too well known to require more than mention. 
There is also always acceleration, sometimes affecting different char- 
acters very unequally ; and there may be retardation. All of these fac- 
tors complicate the record of ontogeny. Nevertheless, after all of these 
have been taken duly into consideration, the parallel between ontogeny 
and phylogeny remains a powerful aid to investigation for the pale- 




AFTER the careful papers of Professors Loomis and Lull in which 
the doctrine of recapitulation was so fully set forth from the 
standpoint of vertebrate paleontology, I can perhaps do no better than 
devote part of the time allotted me to showing how certain leading 
vertebrate paleontologists have viewed this question. Then I will cite 
one or two illustrations of this principle drawn from among the lower 

Passing over the period of pre-Darwinian paleontology — the pale- 
ontology of Cuvier, Owen and Louis Agassiz — we come to the time of 
Leidy, who, as Professor Osborn has recently shown, 1 was one of the first, 

1 In his address on " Darwin and Paleontology " printed in " Fifty Years 
of Darwinism." Centennial addresses in honor of Charles Darwin, New York, 
1909, p. 209. 


if not the first, to bring the fruits of paleontology to the support of 
evolution. But Leidy, as far as a hasty search through his writings 
could reveal, nowhere expressly advocated the doctrine of recapitula- 
tion. Indeed, he gave but little attention to the philosophical bearings 
of paleontology, generally partly because of temperament and partly 
because in those pioneer days material to serve as a basis for generaliza- 
tion was still scanty. 

Gaudry, one of the first European paleontologists to champion the 
cause of evolution, 2 likewise did not specially advocate the doctrine 
of recapitulation. An examination of his " Philosophic Paleontolo- 
gique " fails to reveal any definite belief in this doctrine. 

Huxley, as far as I can gather from his papers and essays, be- 
lieved in this doctrine, though with certain implied reservations as to its 
general applicability. In his presidential address to the Geological 
Society of London on " Paleontology and the Doctrine of Evolution " 
delivered in 1870, we find some interesting comment on the signifi- 
cance of the splints of the living horse, which he regards as indicative 
of the presence of three complete digits in the horse ancestor. But 
Huxley was never an out-and-out advocate of the biogenetic law. 

Cope and Marsh, as we all know, were staunch upholders of evolu- 
tion ; and Cope, at least, was also a staunch upholder of the doctrine of 
recapitulation. In his " Primary Factors of Organic Evolution," his 
last contribution to philosophical paleontology, he devotes considerable 
space to proving this doctrine. He says : 8 

The representatives of each class passed through the stages which are 
permanent in the classes below them in the series. 

And he backs up this proposition with evidence derived from the 
ontogeny and phytogeny of batrachia, the antlers of deer and the blood 
trunks of vertebrates generally. For all that, Cope recognized the 
justice of certain criticisms which had been brought against the doc- 
trine of recapitulation and urged caution in its application. 

An example or two of recapitulation may now be cited from the 
field of the lower vertebrates. 

The mode of development of the teeth in Xeoceratodus has some- 
times been adduced as an illustration of recapitulation. It is well 
known that the Devonic dipnoans (e. g., Dipt cms) had teeth com- 
posed of rows of denticles, those in each row being more or less fused 
at their bases. During the history of the dipnoans since the Devonic 
period, the separate denticles have merged more and more until in 
Ceratodus and the living Xeoceratodus, the rows of denticles are, in 

3 According to a letter from Darwin to Gaudry dated January 21, 1868. 
"The Life and Letters of Charles Darwin," edited by his son Francis Darwin, 
New York, 1899, Vol. II., p. 269. 

'"Primary Factors of Organic Evolution," Chicago, 1896, p. 195. 

VOL. lxxvii.— 21. 


the adult, replaced by almost smooth ridges. Now, Semon in his 
beautiful studies on the development of Neoceratodus* has shown that 
the teeth of this fish at one stage in ontogeny, are represented by rows 
of denticles even more discrete than the denticles in the Devonic Dip- 
terus; then the denticles gradually merge at their bases, the separate 
cusps, however, still showing — a stage comparable with the Carbonifer- 
ous Ctenodus; then they merge still more and assume the ridge-like 
form seen in the adult Neoceratodus. 

Another example: In many sharks the alimentary canal is 
longer in the embryo than in the adult, the anal opening being situ- 
ated near the posterior end of the trunk. From such cases one is in- 
clined to believe that in the ancestral sharks this must have been the 
condition in the adult form ; that is to say, the anal opening probably 
was near the posterior termination of the trunk. We may therefore 
ask: are there any early fossil sharks which show such a condition? 
Eecently Professor Dean has described 5 a remarkable specimen of 
Cladoselache from the Upper Devonic of Ohio which seems to indicate 
such a condition. In this specimen remnants of both kidneys are pre- 
served. They extend in the posterior half of the fish and by their direc- 
tion indicate that they were drawn together, toward their external 
opening, not far from the posterior termination of the trunk. This 
shows that the anal opening in this ancestral shark was very much as in 
the early shark embryo to-day. 

In conclusion perhaps I may venture to make one other point 
in regard to this question. A vast amount of skepticism concern- 
ing the doctrine of recapitulation is to be found in the literature 
of to-day; and if we study the reasons for this skepticism we find 
that it is in some measure justified. It is clearly established that among 
vertebrates as well as among invertebrates there are many examples of 
structures appearing during embryonic growth which are identical 
with structures found in the adult of some remote ancestor. But 
when we reflect on the amount of adaptation which any embryo 
has undergone in its long evolutional history; when we remember 
how palingenetic characters are on every hand overlaid by ceno- 
genetic ones; who will say that recapitulation is a principle of gen- 
eral application, or that it is safe to draw conclusions from all em- 
bryos concerning their long extinct ancestors? Who will believe that 
a bony fish which runs through its embryonic development in a few 
days repeats its ancestral history, when we see at every stage of its 
ontogeny how it has been adaptively modified for this and for that 
special need? Only when series of related forms have certain onto- 

4 " Die Zahnentwickelung des Ceratodus forsteri," " Zool. Forsrch. in Austral, 
u. Malay. Archipel.," 1899, pp. 115-135, pis. xviii-xx. 

'Mem. Amer. Mus. Xat. Hist., Vol. IX., p. 232. 


genetic stages in common are we justified in inferring that their 
racial ancestor may have had such characters in the adult state. But 
it should never be lost sight of that this inference is only a provi- 
sional hypothesis which may or may not be verified when the paleonto- 
logic record is more complete. It is no surprise that the efforts of 
some earnest paleontologists have been discredited in some quarters, 
especially among zoologists. Some of them have invoked recapitula- 
tion as a sort of magic spell by which they can conjure up ancestral 
forms from almost any embryonic series, forgetting the limitations of 
this doctrine. As far as the attitude of vertebrate paleontologists is 
concerned, their view has been aptly summarized by Professor Charles 
DepSret in his book " Les Transformations du Monde Animal " and I 
can do no better than close with a quotation from him: 

If we appeal to paleontology, it must be recognized that this hypothesis 
[recapitulation] is by no means verified. There do exist here and there certain 
fossil genera, which all their lives have retained certain youthful characteristics 
apparent in their living descendants ; but when it comes to reconstructing whole 
series chronologically continuous, grave contradictions are met with, and it is 
only in the groups of the mammals and perhaps of the reptiles [and, we may 
add, fishes] that it becomes possible to present a few examples sufficiently 

•"Les Transformations du Monde Animal," Paris, 1907, p. 117. 




The colleges first established in this 
country prior to the revolution, apart 
from the two in Virginia, have all be- 
come great universities within the past 
forty years. Harvard, Yale, Columbia 
and Pennsylvania have preceded 
Princeton in this development, and for 
a period it was doubtful whether 
Princeton should be ranked among the 
universities or among the colleges. 
When, on the occasion of its sesquicen- 
tennial celebration in 1896, the official 
name of the College of New Jersey was 
changed to Princeton University, it 
was not so much a measure of what 
had been accomplished as a promise of 
things hoped for but unseen. The 
prophecy is now, however, in course of 
fulfilment. Princeton, it is true, has 

no professional schools, except its de- 
partments of civil and electrical engi- 
neering. A law school was once estab- 
lished, but it lasted only two years. 
Xo school of medicine is in contempla- 
tion, though the first two years of a 
medical course could be given to ad- 
vantage. The theological seminary in 
the village has supplied a large propor- 
tion of the students registered in the 
graduate department, but it has no 
official connection with the university 
and is too narrowly denominational to 
be regarded as a graduate school of 

In most of our universities, however, 
the professional schools scarcely form 
an integral part of the institution and 
the graduate school is the place in 
which university and research work is 
accomplished. Such work has been 

Holder Hall, ji dormitory erected by Mrs. Sage. 



Guyot Hall. 

gradually developed at Princeton in 
the course of the past few years, and 
there is likely to be now a mutation 
which will place the university among 
those where productive scholarship and 
creative research are most cultivated. 
The difficulties in regard to the grad- 
uate school which have been so widely 
exploited are in fact rather trivial and 
are now fairly solved, as the university 
has not only money for a residence hall 
but also for the men who are the real 
university. The Swan bequest of 
$300,000, the gift of $500,000 from Mr. 
Proctor, once withdrawn but now re- 
newed, and the Wyman bequest, 
amounting probably to over $2,000,000, 
are all for the graduate school and 
give it a free endowment scarcely 
equaled at any other university. 

Like all our institutions Princeton 
has spent relatively too much money 
on buildings and too little on men. 
But the money has come freely and the 
architectural setting at Princeton will 
appeal to the alumni and to the gen- 
eral public as the worthy exterior 
manifestation of a great university. 

It is also true that Princeton has done 
much for its men. In the preceptorial 
system it ha? undertaken to extend the 
personal contact between teacher and 
student which is one of the most 
marked advantages in the teaching of 
the sciences, to the departments not 
having laboratories, and has brought 
to Princeton some fifty selected men of 
the younger generation with the rank 
of assistant professors. The method 
adopted may be open to certain criti- 
cisms, but this group of men has added 
greatly to the strength of the univer- 
sity. In the meanwhile the laboratory 
departments have been developed both 
by buildings and by men. The depart- 
ment of physics has been made one of 
the strongest in the country and one 
of our leading zoologists has been 
called as head of the department of 

The buildings recently erected for 
physics and for natural science are 
shown in the accompanying illustra- 
tions. In both of them the academic 
Gothic style has been well adapted to 
laboratory construction. The Palmer 



Physical Laboratory, erected and 
equipped by Mr. S. S. Palmer, and 
endowed with $200,000 by Mr. D. B. 
Jones and Mr. T. D. Jones, is ad- 
mirably adapted for work in physics 
and electrical engineering. The three 
floors have an area of approximately 
two acres for the work of instruction 
and research, and every need in the 
way of appliances and apparatus is 

Guyot Hall, completed last year at 
a cost of $425,000, is divided about 
equally between biology and geology, 
giving the latter science probably the 
best provision in the country. The 
building contains over a hundred 
rooms, including a large museum. 
Biology has in addition a separate 
building as a vivarium for the study 
of living plants and animals. The 
aquaria have both sea and fresh water, 
and there is provision for insects, am- 
phibians, reptiles, birds and mammals. 
Near by is a pond and stream where 
animals may be kept under natural 

Princeton offers opportunities for 
study and research in the natural and 
exact sciences which are in some ways 
unique. The situation in the country, 
but within easy reach of New York 
and Philadelphia, offers many advan- 
tages. With its peculiar attractions, 
Princeton takes its place with the 
great universities so closely lining 
the eastern seaboard — Harvard, Yale, 
Columbia, Princeton, Pennsylvania and 
the Johns Hopkins. 


The last number of the Zeitschrift 
fur Psychologie devotes twenty-two 
pages to a review of the recent litera- 
ture of comparative psychology. This 
review covers more or less adequately 
the material for the years 1907, 1908 
and 1909. Twenty-eight articles are 
noted of which nineteen are by Amer- 
ican authors, one by an Englishman 
and the remaining eight by Germans. 

This review emphasizes the fact that 

comparative psychology is largely an 
American branch of science. It began, 
in so far as the study of higher ani- 
mal forms in this country is concerned, 
in 1898, with the classical work of 
Thorndike on "Animal Intelligence, ,, 
which was followed three years later 
by his study of the "Mental Life of 
the Monkeys." Shortly afterwards 
small comparative laboratories were 
added to the already existing experi- 
mental laboratories of Clark, Harvard 
and Chicago, and in these the great 
bulk of the animal work has since been 
done. Recently a fairly adequate ani- 
mal-behavior laboratory has been added 
to the psychological department of the 
Johns Hopkins University. It has 
been an interesting fact in the develop- 
ment of this field that the work has 
not been confined wholly to specially 
developed technical laboratories. Sev- 
eral important pieces of work have ap- 
peared under psychological auspices 
from the universities of Cornell, Illi- 
nois and Stanford and from the zoolog- 
ical laboratories of the universities of 
Chicago, Harvard and Johns Hopkins, 
and of the Carnegie Institution. 

The work in this country has been 
characterized by systematic and long- 
continued studies of certain groups of 
problems; while that in foreign coun- 
tries has been more sporadic. The 
work of Pfangst on " Der kluge Hans," 
which has been translated by Mr. Carl 
Rahn and that of Katz and Revesz on 
the light sense of the chick are the two 
conspicuous examples of systematic 
and careful work in Germany. In the 
United States work has been centered 
around three problems : ( 1 ) the gen- 
eral method of learning (problem 
boxes, mazes, etc.) which gives ac- 
quaintance with the animal's instinct- 
ive capacities and prepares the way 
for a study of (2) imitation (and the 
effect of tuition) and (3) the deter- 
mination of the delicacy and complete- 
ness of its sense-organ equipment. 

The first problem received the great- 
est amount of attention during the first 

3 1 * 


few years. We now know something 
at least of the learning process, to 
mention mammals alone, of several 
of the monkeys (Thorndike, Kinne- 
man, Watson, Haggerty) ; dogs and 
cats (Thorndike, Hamilton); raccoons 
(Davis and Cole) ; the rat (Small, 
Watson, Berry, Richardson) ; the 
dancing mouse (Yerkes); the guinea- 
pig (Allen) and the grey squirrel 
(Yoakum). Other forms have not 
been neglected, and we have to-day as 
a result of the ten years' work a fairly 
respectable body of knowledge on the 
learning methods and capacities of 
animal forms ranging from the amoeba 
to man. This work has shown that 
even the lowest organisms possess 
plasticity. Jennings has been chiefly 
responsible for challenging the conti- 
nental idea (Loeb, Bethe, Beer, Bohn 
and others) that the behavior of the 
invertebrates is of the fixed and non- 
plastic type. 

The second problem, that of imita- 
tion, has been largely studied. Unfor- 
tunately the work in this direction has 
been characterized by a marked differ- 
ence in experimental results. Thorn- 
dike (dogs, cats, monkeys) and Watson 
(monkeys) have been convinced by 
their results that learning by imita- 
tion is not an important function in 
animal adjustment. Haggerty (mon- 
keys). Porter (birds) and Berry (rat, 
and manx cat) reach opposite conclu- 
sions. Haggerty's recent work on the 
chimpanzee and ourang shows clearly 
that imitation of a complex character 
is present in the anthropoid apes. 
There is still room for doubt in the 
case of other animal forms. 

Careful work on the sensory equip- 
ment of animals is only just beginning. 
The American Psychological Associa- 
tion has appointed a committee for the 
determination of standard methods of 
testing vision in animals. The appear- 
ance of this report will probably lead 
to renewed interest in this problem. 

It ought to have the effect of making 
the work of the different investigators 
directly comparable and to lead to safe 
conclusions concerning the phylogenetic 
development of sense organ processes. 
In conclusion, the renewed interest 
in field observation may be mentioned. 
: The establishment of laboratories for 
| the study of animal behavior at first 
| drew interest away from field work. 
I Recently animal psychologists have 
been forced to admit partially the 
truth of the claims of Wesley Mills, 
1 John Burroughs, Hobhouse and Mor- 
gan, viz., that animal experimentation 
ought not to be carried out under too 
rigorous and unnatural conditions. 
Studies in the field in the last ten 
years have been made by the Peckhams 
, (insects), Newman (amphibia) and 
Watson (birds). Interesting possibili- 
ties in field observation are offered in 
studies of the beaver, the prairie dog 
and lizards. 

We regret to record the deaths of 
Dr. Johann Gottfried Galle, the emi- 
nent German astronomer, at the age 
of ninety-eight years, and of the Rev. 
Robert Harley, F.R.S., an English con- 
gregational clergyman, known for his 
contributions to mathematics and sym- 
bolic logic, at the age of eighty-three 

At a meeting of the Berlin Academy 
of Sciences on June 30, commemorative 
addresses were made on Friedrich 
Kohlrausch, by Professor Rubens; on 
Hans Landolt, by Professor van't Hoff, 
and on Robert Koch, by Professor 
Rubner. — On October 2 the unveiling of 
the statue of Johann Gregor Mendel 
will take place at Gregor-Mendel-Platze 
in Altbriinn. — A tablet in memory of 
Richard Hakluyt, the navigator, was 
unveiled in Bristol Cathedral on July 
7, the address being made by Sir 
Clements Markham. 




OCTOBER, 1910 



By President WILLIAM H. TAFT 

CONSEEVATION as an economic and political term has come 
to mean the preservation of our natural resources for econom- 
ical use, so as to secure the greatest good to the greatest number. In 
the development of this country, in the hardships of the pioneer, in the 
energy of the settler, in the anxiety of the investor for quick returns, 
there was very little time, opportunity, or desire to prevent waste of 
those resources supplied by nature which could not be quickly trans- 
muted into money; while the investment of capital was so great a de- 
sideratum that the people as a community exercised little or no care to 
prevent the transfer of absolute ownership of many of the valuable 
natural resources to private individuals, without retaining some kind 
of control of their use. 

The impulse of the whole new community was to encourage the 
coming of population, the increase of settlement, and the opening up of 
business; and he who demurred in the slightest degree to any step 
which promised additional development of the idle resources at hand 
was regarded as a traitor to his neighbors and an obstructor to public 
progress. But now that the communities have become old, now that the 
flush of enthusiastic expansion has died away, now that the would-be 
pioneers have come to realize that all the richest lands in the country 
have been taken up, we have perceived the necessity for a change of 
policy in the disposition of our national resources so as to prevent the 
continuance of the waste which has characterized our phenomenal 
growth in the past. To-day we desire to restrict and retain under pub- 
lic control the acquisition and use by the capitalists of our natural re- 

The danger to the state and to the people at large from the waste 

vol. lxxvil — 22. 


and dissipation of our national wealth is not one which quickly im- 
presses itself on the people of the older communities, because its most 
obvious instances do not occur in their neighborhood, while in the newer 
part of the country, the sympathy with expansion and development is 
so strong that the danger is scoffed at or ignored. Among scientific men 
and thoughtful observers, however, the danger has always been present; 
but it needed some one to bring home the crying need for a remedy of 
this evil so as to impress itself on the public mind and lead to the 
formation of public opinion and action by the representatives of the 
people. Theodore Roosevelt took up this task in the last two years of 
his second administration, and well did he perform it. 

As president of the United States, I have, as it were, inherited this 
policy, and I rejoice in my heritage. I prize my high opportunity to do 
all that an executive can do to help a great people realize a great na- 
tional ambition. For conservation is national. It affects every man of 
us, every woman, every child. What I can do in the cause I shall do, 
not as president of a party, but as president of the whole people. 

Conservation is not a question of politics, or of factions, or of per- 
sons. It is a question that affects the vital welfare of all of us — of our 
children and our children's children. I urge that no good can come 
from meetings of this sort unless we ascribe to those who take part in 
them, and who are apparently striving worthily in the cause, all proper 
motives, and unless we judicially consider every measure or method 
proposed with a view to its effectiveness in achieving our common pur- 
pose, and wholly without regard to who proposes it or who will claim 
the credit for its adoption. The problems are of very great difficulty 
and call for the calmest consideration and clearest foresight. Many of 
the questions presented have phases that are new in this country, and 
it is possible that in their solution we may have to attempt first one 
way and then another. What I wish to emphasize, however, is that a 
satisfactory conclusion can only be reached promptly if we avoid acri- 
mony, imputations of bad faith, and political controversy. 

The public domain of the government of the United States, in- 
cluding all the cessions from those of the thirteen states that made 
cessions to the United States and including Alaska, amounted in all 
to about 1,800,000,000 acres. Of this there is left as purely government 
property outside of Alaska something like 700,000,000 of acres. Of 
this the national forest reserves in the United States proper embrace 
144,000,000 acres. The rest is largely mountain or arid country, offer- 
ing some opportunity for agriculture by dry farming and by reclamation, 
and containing metals as well as coal, phosphates, oils and natural gas. 
Then the government owns many tracts of land lying along the margins 
of streams that have water power, the use of which is necessarily in the 
conversion of the power into electricity and its transmission. 


I shall divide my discussion under the heads of (1) agricultural 
lands; (2) mineral lands — that is, lands containing metalliferous min- 
erals; (3) forest lands; (4) coal lands; (5) oil and gas lands; and (6) 
phosphate lands. 

I feel that it will conduce to a better understanding of the problems 
presented if I take up each class and describe, even at the risk of tedium, 
first, what has been done by the last administration and the present one 
in respect to each kind of land ; second, what laws at present govern its 
disposition ; third, what was done by the present congress in this mat- 
ter; and fourth, the statutory changes proposed in the interest of con- 

Agricultural Lands 

Our land laws for the entry of agricultural lands are now as follows : 

The original homestead law, with the requirements of residence and 
cultivation for five years, much more strictly enforced than ever before. 

The enlarged homestead act, applying to non-irrigable lands only, 
requiring five years* residence and continuous cultivation of one fourth 
of the area. 

The desert-land act, which requires on the part of the purchaser the 
ownership of a water right and thorough reclamation of the land by 
irrigation, and the payment of $1.25 per acre. 

The donation or Carey act, under which the state selects the land 
and provides for its reclamation, and the title vests in the settler who 
resides upon the land and cultivates it and pays the cost of the reclama- 

The national reclamation homestead law, requiring five years' resi- 
dence and cultivation by the settler on the land irrigated by the gov- 
ernment, and payment by him to the government of the cost of reclama- 

There are other acts, but not of sufficient general importance to call 
for mention unless it is the stone and timber act, under which every 
individual, once in his lifetime, may acquire 160 acres of land, if it has 
valuable timber on it or valuable stone, by paying the price of not less 
than $2.50 per acre fixed after examination of the stone or timber by a 
government appraiser. In times past a great deal of fraud has been 
perpetrated in the acquisition of lands under this act; but it is now 
being much more strictly enforced, and the entries made are so few in 
number that it seems to serve no useful purpose and ought to be re- 

The present congress passed a bill of great importance, severing the 
ownership of coal by the government in the ground from the surface- 
and permitting homestead entries upon the surface of the land which, 
when perfected, give the settler the right to farm the surface, while the 
coal beneath the surface is retained in ownership by the government 
and may be disposed of by it under other laws. 


There is no crying need for radical reform in the methods of dis- 
posing of what are really agricultural lands. The present laws have 
worked well. The enlarged homestead law has encouraged the success- 
ful farming of lands in the semi-arid regions. Of course, the teachings 
of the agricultural department as to how these sub-arid lands may be 
treated and the soil preserved for useful culture are of the very essence 
of conservation. Then conservation of agricultural lands is shown in 
the reclamation of arid lands by irrigation, and I should devote a few 
words to what the government has done and is doing in this regard, 


By the reclamation act a fund has been created of the proceeds of 
the public lands of the United States with which to construct works for 
storing great bodies of water at proper altitudes, from which, by a 
suitable system of canals and ditches, the water is to be distributed over 
the arid and sub-arid lands of the government to be sold to settlers at a 
price sufficient to pay for the improvements. Primarily, the projects 
are and must be for the improvement of public lands. Incidentally, 
'where private land is also within the reach of the water supply, the 
burnishing at cost or profit of this water to private owners by the gov- 
ernment is held by the federal court of appeals not to be a usurpation of 
power. But certainly this ought not to be done except from surplus 
water, not needed for government land. 

About thirty projects have been set on foot distributed through the 
public land states in accord with the statute, by which the allotments 
from the reclamation fund are required to be as near as practicable in 
proportion to the proceeds from the sale of the public lands in the 
respective states. The total sum already accumulated in the reclama- 
tion fund is $60,273,258.22, and of that all but $6,491,955.34 has been 

It became very clear to congress at its last session, from the state- 
ments made by experts, that these thirty projects could not be promptly 
■completed with the balance remaining on hand or with the funds likely 
to accrue in the near future. It was found, moreover, that there are 
many settlers who have been led into taking up lands with the hope and 
iinderstanding of having water furnished in a short time, who are left 
in a most distressing situation. I recommended to congress that au- 
thority be given to the secretary of the interior to issue bonds in antici- 
pation of the assured earnings by the projects, so that the projects, 
worthy and feasible, might be promptly completed and the settlers 
might be relieved from their present inconvenience and hardship. In 
authorizing the issue of these bonds, congress limited the application 
of their proceeds to those projects which a board of army engineers, to 
be appointed by the president, should examine and determine to be 


feasible and worthy of completion. The board has been appointed and 
soon will make its report. 

Suggestions have been made that the United States ought to aid in 
the drainage of swamp lands belonging to the states or private owners, 
because, if drained, they would be exceedingly valuable for agriculture 
and contribute to the general welfare by extending the area of cultiva- 
tion. I deprecate the agitation in favor of such legislation. It is 
inviting the general government into contribution from its treasury 
toward enterprises that should be conducted either by private capital 
or at the instance of the state. In these days there is a disposition to 
look too much to the federal government for everything. I am liberal 
in the construction of the constitution with reference to federal power ; 
but I am firmly convinced that the only safe course for us to pursue 
is to hold fast to the limitations of the constitution and to regard as 
sacred the powers of the states. We have made wonderful progress 
and at the same time have preserved with judicial exactness the restric- 
tions of the constitution. There is an easy way in which the constitu- 
tion can be violated by congress without judicial inhibition, to wit, by 
appropriations from the national treasury for unconstitutional purposes. 
It will be a sorry day for this country if the time ever comes when our 
fundamental compact shall be habitually disregarded in this manner. 

Mineral Lands 
By mineral lands I mean those lands bearing metals, or what are 
called metalliferous minerals. The rules of ownership and disposition 
of these lands were first fixed by custom in the west, and then were 
embodied in the law, and they have worked, on the whole, so fairly and 
well that I do not think it is wise now to attempt to change or better 
them. The apex theory of tracing title to a lode has led to much liti- 
gation and dispute and ought not to have become the law, but it is so 
fixed and understood now that the benefit to be gained by a change is 
altogether outweighed by the inconvenience that would attend the in- 
troduction of a new system. So, too, the proposal for the government 
to lease such mineral lands and deposits and to impose royalties might 
have been in the beginning a good thing, but now that most of the 
mineral land has been otherwise disposed of it would be hardly worth 
while to assume the embarrassment of a radical change. 

Forest Lands 
Nothing can be more important in the matter of conservation than 
the treatment of our forest lands. It was probably the ruthless destruc- 
tion of forests in the older states that first called attention to a halt in 
the waste of our resources. This was recognized by congress by an act 
authorizing the executive to reserve from entry and set aside public 


timber lands as national forests. Speaking generally, there has been 
reserved of the existing forests about 70 per cent, of all the timber lands 
of the government. Within these forests (including 26,000,000 acres 
in two forests in Alaska) are 192,000,000 of acres, of which 166,000,000 
of acres are in the United States proper, and include within their 
boundaries something like 22,000,000 of acres that belong to the state 
or to private individuals. We have, then, excluding Alaska forests, a 
total of about 144,000,000 acres of forests belonging to the government 
which is being treated in accord with the principles of scientific forestry. 

The law now prohibits the reservation of any more forest lands in 
Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Montana, Colorado and Wyoming, except 
by act of congress. I am informed by the department of agriculture 
that the government owns other tracts of timber land in these states 
which should be included in the forest reserves. I expect to recom- 
mend to congress that the limitation herein imposed shall be repealed. 

In the present forest reserves there are lands which are not properly 
forest land, and which ought to be subject to homestead entry. This 
has caused some local irritation. We are carefully eliminating such 
lands from forest reserves, or where their elimination is not practicable, 
listing them for entry under the forest homestead act. Congress ought 
to trust the executive to use the power of reservation only with respect 
to land covered by timber or which will be useful in the plan of refor- 
estation. During the present administration 6,250,000 acres of land, 
largely non-timbered, have been excluded from forest reserves, and 
3,500,000 acres of land principally valuable for forest purposes have 
been included in forest reserves, making a reduction in forest reserves 
of non-timbered land amounting to 2,750,000 acres. The Bureau of 
Forestry since its creation has initiated reforestation on 5,600 acres. 

A great deal of the forest land is available for grazing. During the 
past year the grazing lessees numbered 25,400, and they pastured upon 
the forest reserves 1,400,000 cattle, 84,540 horses and 7,580,400 sheep, 
for which the government received $986,715 — a decrease from the pre- 
ceding year of $45,470, due to the fact that no money was collected or 
received for grazing on the non-timbered lands eliminated from the 
forest reserve. Another source of profit in the forestry is the receipts 
for timber sold. This year they amounted to $1,043,000, an increase 
of $307,000 over the receipts of last year. This increase is due to the 
improvement in transportation to market and to the greater facility 
with which the timber can be reached. 

The government timber in this country amounts to only one fourth 
of all the timber, the rest being in private ownership. Only 3 per cent, 
of that which is in private ownership is looked after properly and 
treated according to modern rules of forestry. The usual destructive 
waste and neglect continues in the remainder of the forests owned by 


private persons and corporations. It is estimated that fire alone de- 
stroys fifty million dollars' worth of timber a year. The management 
of forests not on public land is beyond the jurisdiction of the federal 

If anything can be done by law it must be done by the state legisla- 
tures. I believe that it is within their constitutional power to require 
the enforcement of regulations in the general public interest, as to fire 
and other causes of waste in the management of forests owned by private 
individuals and corporations. Exactly how far these regulations can 
go and remain consistent with the rights of private ownership, it is 
not necessary to discuss; but I call attention to the fact that a very 
important part of conservation must always fall upon the state legis- 
latures, and that they would better be up and doing if they would save 
the waste and denudation and destruction through private greed or 
accidental fires that have made barren many square miles of the older 

I have shown sufficiently the conditions as to federal forestry to 
indicate that no further legislation is needed at the moment except an 
increase in the fire protection to national forests, and an act vesting the 
executive with full power to make forest reservations in every state 
where government land is timber-covered, or where the land is needed 
for forestry purposes. 

Other Land Withdrawals 
When President Roosevelt became fully advised of the necessity for 
the change in our disposition of public lands, especially those contain- 
ing coal, oil, gas, phosphates, or water-power sites, he began the exercise 
of the power of withdrawal by executive order, of lands subject by law 
to homestead and the other methods of entering for agricultural lands. 
The precedent he set in this matter was followed by the present admin- 
istration. Doubt had been expressed in some quarters as to the power 
in the executive to make such withdrawals. The confusion and injus- 
tice likely to arise if the courts were to deny the power led me to appeal 
to congress to give the president the express power. Congress has com- 
plied. The law as passed does not expressly validate or confirm previous 
withdrawals, and therefore as soon as the new law was passed, I myself 
confirmed all the withdrawals which had theretofore been made by both 
administrations by making them over again. This power of withdrawal 
is a most useful one, and I do not think it is likely to be abused. 

Coal Lands 
The next subject, and one most important for our consideration, is 
the disposition of the coal lands in the United States and in Alaska. 
First, as to those in the United States. At the beginning of this ad- 


ministration there were classified coal lands amounting to 5,476,000 
acres, and there were withdrawn from entry for purposes of classifica- 
tion 17,867,000 acres. Since that time there have been withdrawn by 
my order from entry for classification 77,648,000 acres, making a total 
withdrawal of 95,515,000 acres. Meantime, of the acres thus with- 
drawn, 11,371,000 have been classified and found not to contain coal, 
and have been restored to agricultural entry and 4,356,000 acres have 
been classified as coal lands; while 79,788,000 acres remain withdrawn 
from entry and await classification. In addition 336,000 acres have 
been classified as coal lands without prior withdrawal, thus increasing 
the classified coal lands to 10,168,000 acres. 

Under the laws providing for the disposition of coal lands, the mini- 
mum price at which lands are permitted to be sold is $10 an acre; but 
the secretary of the interior has the power to fix a maximum price and 
to sell at that price. By the first regulations governing appraisal, ap- 
proved April 8, 1907, the minimum was $10, as provided by law, and 
the maximum was $100, and the highest price actually placed upon any 
land sold was $75. Under the new regulations, adopted April 10, 1909, 
the maximum price was increased to $300, except in regions where there 
are large mines, where no maximum limit is fixed, and the price is 
determined by the estimated tons of coal to the acre. The highest 
price fixed for any land under this regulation has been $608. The 
appraised value of the lands classified as coal lands and valued under 
the new and old regulations is shown to be as follows : 4,303,921 acres, 
valued under the old regulation at $77,644,329, an average of $18 an 
acre; and 5,864,702 acres classified and valued under the new regulation 
at $394,203,242, or a total of 10,168,623 acres, valued at $471,847,571. 

For the year ending March 31, 1909, 227 coal entries were made, 
embracing an area of 35,331 acres, which sold for $663,020.40. For 
the year ending March 31, 1910, there were 176 entries, embracing an 
area of 23,413 acres, which sold for $608,813; and down to August, 
1910, there were but 17 entries, with an area of 1,720 acres, which sold 
for $33,910.60, making a disposition of the coal lands in the last two 
years of about 60,000 acres for $1,305,000. 

The present congress, as already said, has separated the surface of 
coal lands, either classified or withdrawn for classification, from the 
coal beneath, so as to permit at all times homestead entries upon the 
surface of lands useful for agriculture and to reserve the ownership in 
the coal to the government. The question which remains to be con- 
sidered is whether the existing law for the sale of the coal in the ground 
should continue in force or be repealed, and a new method of disposition 
adopted. Under the present law the absolute title in the coal beneath 
the surface passes to the grantee of the government. The price fixed 
is upon an estimated amount of the tons of coal per acre beneath the 


surface, and the prices are fixed so that the earnings will only be a 
reasonable profit upon the amount paid and the investment necessary. 
But, of course, this is more or less guesswork, and the government parts 
with the ownership of the coal in the ground absolutely. 

Authorities of the Geological Survey estimate that in the United 
States to-day there is a supply of about 3,000 billions of tons of coal, 
and that of this, 1,000 billions are in the public domain. Of course, the 
other 2,000 billions are within private ownership, and under no more 
control as to the use or the prices at which the coal may be sold than 
any other private property. If the government leases the coal lands 
and acts as any landlord would, and imposes conditions in its leases like 
those which are now imposed by the owners in fee of coal mines in the 
various coal regions of the east, then it would retain over the disposition 
of the coal deposits a choice as to the assignee of the lease, a power of 
resuming possession at the end of the term of the lease, or of readjust- 
ing terms at fixed periods of the lease, which might easily be framed to 
enable it to exercise a limited but effective control in the disposition 
and sale of the coal to the public. 

It has been urged that the leasing system has never been adopted in 
this country, and that its adoption would largely interfere with the 
investment of capital and the proper development and opening up of 
the coal resources. I venture to differ entirely from this view. My 
investigations show that many owners of mining property of this coun- 
try do not mine it themselves, and do not invest their money in the 
plants necessary for the mining, but they lease their properties for a 
term of years varying from twenty to thirty and forty years, under 
conditions requiring the erection of a proper plant and the investment 
of a certain amount of money in the development of the mines, and 
fixing a rental and a royalty, sometimes an absolute figure and some- 
times one proportioned to the market value of the coal. Under this 
latter method the owner of the mine shares in the prosperity of his 
lessees when coal is high and the profits good, and also shares to some 
extent in their disappointment when the price of coal falls. 

I have looked with some care into a report made at the instance of 
President Roosevelt upon the disposition of coal lands in Australia, 
Tasmania and New Zealand. These are peculiarly mining countries, 
and their experience ought to be most valuable. In all these countries 
the method for the disposition and opening of coal mines originally 
owned by the government is by granting leasehold, and not by granting 
an absolute title. The terms of the leases run all the way from twenty 
to fifty years, while the amount of land which may be leased to any 
individual there is from 320 acres to 2,000 acres. It appears that a 
full examination was made, and the opinions of all the leading experts 
on the subject were solicited and given, and that with one accord they 


approved in all respects the leasing system. Its success is abundantly 
shown. It is possible that at first considerable latitude will have to be 
given to the executive in drafting these forms of lease, but as soon as 
experiment shall show which is the most workable and practicable, its 
use should be provided for specifically by statute. 

The question as to how great an area ought to be included in a 
lease to one individual or corporation is not free from difficulty; but 
in view of the fact that the government retains control as owner, I think 
there might be some liberality in the amount leased, and that 2,500 
acres would not be too great a maximum. 

By the opportunity to readjust the terms upon which the coal shall 
be held by the tenant, either at the end of each lease or at periods dur- 
ing the term, the government may secure the benefit of sharing in the 
increased price of coal and the additional profit made by the tenant. 
By imposing conditions in respect to the character of the work to be 
done in the mines, the government may control the character of the 
development of the mines and the treatment of employees with reference 
to safety. By denying the right to transfer the lease except by the 
written permission of the governmental authorities, it may* withhold 
the needed consent when it is proposed to transfer the leasehold to per- 
sons interested in establishing a monopoly of coal production in any 
state or neighborhood. As one third of all the coal supply is held by 
the government, it seems wise that it should retain such control over the 
mining and the sale as the relation of lessor to lessee furnishes. The 
change from the absolute grant to the leasing system will involve a good 
deal of trouble in the outset, and the training of experts in the matter 
of making proper leases; but the change will be a good one, and can 
be made. The change is in the interest of conservation, and I am glad 
to approve it. 

Alaska Coal Lands 

The investigations of the geological survey show that the coal prop- 
erties in Alaska cover about 1,200 square miles, and that there are 
known to be available about fifteen billion tons. This is, however, an 
underestimate of the coal in Alaska, because further developments will 
probably increase this amount many times; but we can say with con- 
siderable certainty that there are two fields on the Pacific slope which 
can be reached by railways at a reasonable cost from deep water — in one 
case of about fifty miles and in the other case of about 150 miles — which 
will afford certainly six billion tons of coal, more than half of which is 
of a very high grade of bituminous and of anthracite. It is estimated 
to be worth, in the ground, one half a cent a ton, which makes its value 
per acre from $50 to $500. The coking-coal lands of Pennsylvania are 
worth from $800 to $2,000 an acre, while other Appalachian fields are 
worth from $10 to $386 an acre, and the field in the central states from 


$10 to $2,000 an acre, and in the Eocky Mountains $10 to $500 an acre. 
The demand for coal on the Pacific coast is for about 4,500,000 tons a 
year. It would encounter the competition of cheap fuel oil, of which 
the equivalent of 12,000,000 tons of coal a year is used there. It is 
estimated that the coal could be laid down at Seattle or San Francisco, 
a high-grade bituminous, at $4 a ton, and anthracite at $5 or $6 a ton. 
The price of coal on the Pacific slope varies greatly from time to time 
in the year and from year to year — from $4 to $12 a ton. 

With a regular coal supply established, the expert of the geological 
survey, Mr. Brooks, who has made a report on the subject, does not 
think there would be an excessive profit in the Alaska coal mining be- 
cause the price at which the coal could be sold would be considerably 
lowered by competition from these fields and by the presence of crude 
fuel oil. The history of the laws affecting the disposition of Alaska 
coal lands shows them to need amendment badly. Speaking of them, 
Mr. Brooks says : 

" The first act, passed June 6, 1900, simply extended to Alaska the 
provisions of the coal-land laws in the United States. The law was 
ineffective, for it provided that only subdivided lands could be taken 
up, and there were then no land surveys in Alaska. The matter was 
rectified by the act of April 28, 1904, which permitted unsurveyed 
lands to be entered and the surveys to be made at the expense of the 
entrymen. Unfortunately, the law provided that only tracts of 160 
acres could be taken up, and no recognition was given to the fact that 
it was impracticable to develop an isolated coal field requiring the ex- 
penditure of a large amount of money by such small units. Many claims 
were staked, however, and surveys were made for patents. It was rec- 
ognized by everybody familiar with the conditions that after patent 
was obtained these claims would be combined in tracts large enough 
to assure successful mining operations. No one experienced in mining 
would, of course, consider it feasible to open a coal field on the basis of 
single 160-acre tracts. The claims for the most part were handled in 
groups, for which one agent represented the several different owners. 
Unfortunately, a strict interpretation of the statute raised the question 
whether even a tacit understanding between claim owners to combine 
after patents had been obtained was not illegal. Remedial legislation 
was sought and enacted in the statute of May 28, 1908. This law per- 
mitted the consolidation of claims staked previous to November 12, 
1906, in tracts of 2,560 acres. One clause of this law invalidated the 
title if any individual or corporation at any time in the future owned 
any interest whatsoever, directly or indirectly, in more than one tract. 
The purpose of this clause was to prevent the monopolization of coal 
fields; its immediate effect was to discourage capital. It was felt by 
many that this clause might lead to forfeiture of title through the acci- 


dents of inheritance, or might even be used by the unscrupulous in 
blackmailing. It would appear that land taken up under this law 
might at any time be forfeited to the government through the action of 
any individual who, innocently or otherwise, obtained interest in more 
than one coal company. Such a title was felt to be too insecure to war- 
rant the large investments needed for mining developments. The net 
result of all this is that no titles to coal lands have been passed." 

On November 12, 1906, President Roosevelt issued an executive 
order withdrawing all coal lands from location and entry in Alaska. 
On May 16, 1907, he modified the order so as to permit valid locations 
made prior to the withdrawal on November 12, 1906, to proceed to 
entry and patent. Prior to that date some 900 claims had been filed, 
most of them said to be illegal because either made fraudulently by 
dummy entrymen in the interests of one individual or corporation, or 
because of agreements made prior to location between the applicants to 
cooperate in developing the lands. There are 33 claims for 160 acres 
each, known as the "Cunningham claims," which are claimed to be 
valid on the ground that they were made by an attorney for 33 different 
and bona-fide claimants who, as alleged, paid their money and took the 
proper steps to locate their entries and protect them. 

The representatives of the government in the hearings before the 
land office have attacked the validity of these Cunningham claims on 
the ground that prior to their location there was an understanding be- 
tween the claimants to pool their claims after they had been perfected 
and unite them in one company. The trend of decision seems to show 
that such an agreement would invalidate the claims, although under 
the subsequent law of May 28, 1908, the consolidation of such claims 
was permitted, after location and entry, in tracts of 2,560 acres. 

It would be, of course, improper for me to intimate what the result 
of the issue as to the Cunningham and other Alaska claims is likely to 
be, but it ought to be distinctly understood that no private claims for 
Alaska coal lands have as yet been allowed or perfected, and also that 
whatever the result as to pending claims, the existing coal-land laws of 
Alaska are most unsatisfactory and should be radically amended. 

To begin with, the purchase price of the land is a flat rate of $10 
per acre, although, as we have seen, the estimate of the agent of the 
geological survey would carry up the maximum of value to $500 an 
acre. In my judgment, it is essential in the proper development of 
Alaska that these coal lands should be opened, and that the Pacific 
slope should be given the benefit of the comparatively cheap coal of fine 
quality which can be furnished at a reasonable price from these fields; 
but the public, through the government, ought certainly to retain a wise 
control and interest in these coal deposits, and I think it may do so 
safely if congress will authorize the granting of leases, as already sug- 


gested for government coal lands in the United States, with provisions 
forbidding the transfer of the leases except with the consent of the 
government, thus preventing their acquisition by a combination or 
monopoly and upon limitations as to the area to be included in any 
one lease to one individual, and at a certain moderate rental, with 
royalties upon the coal mined proportioned to the market value of the 
coal either at Seattle or at San Francisco. Of course, such leases should 
contain conditions requiring the erection of proper plants, the proper 
development by modern mining methods of the properties leased, and 
the use of every known and practical means and device for saving the 
lives of the miners. 

The government of the United States has much to answer for in not 
having given proper attention to the government of Alaska and the 
development of her resources for the benefit of all the people of the 
country. I would not force development at the expense of a present or 
future waste of resources; but the problem as to the disposition of the 
coal lands for present and future use can be wisely and safely settled in 
one session if congress gives it careful attention. 

Oil and Gas Lands 

In the last administration there were withdrawn from agricultural 
entry 2,820,000 acres of supposed oil land in California; about a mil- 
lion and a half acres in Louisiana, of which only 6,500 acres were known 
to be vacant, unappropriated land; 75,000 acres in Oregon, and 174,000 
acres in Wyoming, making a total of nearly four millions of acres. In 
September, 1909, I directed that all public oil lands, whether then 
withdrawn or not, should be withheld from disposition pending con- 
gressional action, for the reason that the existing placer mining law, 
although made applicable to deposits of this character, is not suitable 
to such lands, and for the further reason that it seemed desirable to 
reserve certain fuel-oil deposits for the use of the American navy. Ac- 
cordingly the form of all existing withdrawals was changed, and new 
withdrawals aggregating 2,750,000 acres were made in Arizona, Cali- 
fornia, Colorado, New Mexico, Utah and Wyoming. Field examina- 
tions during the year showed that of the original withdrawals, 2,170,- 
000 acres were not valuable for oil, and they were restored for agri- 
cultural entry. Meantime, other withdrawals of public oil lands in 
these states were made, so that July 1, 1910, the outstanding withdraw- 
als then amounted to 4,550,000 acres. 

The needed oil and gas law is essentially a leasing law. In their 
natural occurrence, oil and gas can not be measured in terms of acres, 
like coal and it follows that exclusive title to these products can nor- 
mally be secured only after they reach the surface. Oil should be dis- 
posed of as a commodity in terms of barrels of transportable product 


rather than in acres of real estate. This is, of course, the reason for 
the practically universal adoption of the leasing system wherever oil 
land is in private ownership. The government thus would not be enter- 
ing on an experiment, but simply putting into effect a plan successfully 
operated in private contracts. Why should not the government as a 
land owner deal directly with the oil producer rather than through the 
intervention of a middleman to whom the government gives title to the 

The principal underlying feature of such legislation should be the 
exercise of beneficial control rather than the collection of revenue. As 
not only the largest owner of oil lands, but as a prospective large con- 
sumer of oil by reason of the increasing use of fuel oil by the navy, the 
federal government is directly concerned both in encouraging rational 
development and at the same time insuring the longest possible life to 
the oil supply. The royalty rates fixed by the government should 
neither exceed nor fall below the current rates. But much more im- 
portant than revenue is the enforcement of regulations to conserve the 
public interest so that the convenants of the lessees shall specifically 
safeguard oil fields against the penalties from careless drillings and of 
production in excess of transportation facilities or of market require- 

One of the difficulties presented, especially in the California fields, 
is that the Southern Pacific Railroad owns every other section of land 
in the oil fields, and in those fields the oil seems to be in a common 
reservoir or series of reservoirs, communicating through the oil sands, 
so that the excessive draining of oil at one well, or on the railroad terri- 
tory generally, would exhaust the oil in the government land. Hence it 
is important that if the government is to have its share of the oil it 
should begin the opening and development of wells on its own property. 

In view of the joint ownership which the government and the ad- 
joining land-owners like the Southern Pacific Railroad have in the oil 
reservoirs below the surface, it is a most interesting and intricate ques- 
tion, difficult of solution, but one which ought to address itself at once 
to the state lawmakers, how far the state legislature might impose 
appropriate restrictions to secure an equitable enjoyment of the common 
reservoir, and to prevent waste and and excessive drainage by the vari- 
ous owners having access to this reservoir. 

It has been suggested, and I believe the suggestion to be a sound 
one, that permits be issued to a prospector for oil giving him the right 
to prospect for two years over a certain tract of government land for 
the discovery of oil, the right to be evidenced by a license for which he 
pays a small sum. When the oil is discovered, then he acquires title to 
a certain tract, much in the same way as he would acquire title under a 
mining law. Of course, if the system of leasing is adopted, then he 


would be given the benefit of a lease upon terms like that above sug- 
gested. What has been said in respect to oil applies also to government 
gas lands. 

Under the proposed oil legislation, especially where the government 
oil lands embrace an entire oil field, as in many cases, prospectors, 
operators, consumers and the public can be benefited by the adoption of 
the leasing system. The prospector can be protected in the very ex- 
pensive work that necessarily antedates discovery; the operator can be 
protected against impairment of the productiveness of the wells which 
he has leased by reason of control of drilling and pumping of other 
wells too closely adjacent, or by the prevention of improper methods as 
employed by careless, ignorant or irresponsible operators in the same 
field which result in the admission of water to the oil sands ; while, of 
course, the consumer will profit by whatever benefits the prospector or 
operator receives in reducing the first cost of the oil. 

Phosphate Lands 

Phosphorus is one of the three essentials to plant growth, the other 
elements being nitrogen and potash. Of these three, phosphorus is by 
all odds the scarcest element in nature. It is easily extracted in useful 
form from the phosphate rock, and the United States contains the 
greatest known deposits of this rock in the world. They are found in 
Wyoming, Utah and Florida, as well as in South Carolina, Georgia 
and Tennessee. The government phosphate lands are confined to 
Wyoming, Utah and Florida. Prior to March 4, 1909, there were 4,- 
000,000 acres withdrawn from agricultural entry on the ground that 
the land covered phosphate rock. Since that time, 2,322,000 acres of 
the land thus withdrawn was found not to contain phosphate in profit- 
able quantities, while 1,678,000 acres was classified properly as phos- 
phate lands. During this administration there has been withdrawn 
and classified 437,000 acres, so that to-day there is classified as phos- 
phate-rock land 2,115,000 acres. 

This rock is most important in the composition of fertilizers to 
improve the soil, and as the future is certain to create an enormous 
demand throughout this country for fertilization, the value to the public 
of such deposits as these can hardly be exaggerated. Certainly with 
respect to these deposits a careful policy of conservation should be fol- 
lowed. Half of the phosphate of the rock that is mined in private 
fields in the United States is exported. As our farming methods grow 
better the demand for the phosphate will become greater, and it must 
be arranged so that the supply shall equal the needs of the country. 

It is uncertain whether the placer or lode law applies to the govern- 
ment phosphate rock. There is, therefore, necessity for some definite 
and well-considered legislation on this subject, and in aid of such legis- 


lation all of the government lands known to contain valuable phosphate 
rock are now withdrawn from entry. A law that would provide a 
leasing system for the phosphate deposits, together with a provision 
for the separation of the surface and mineral rights as is already pro- 
vided for in the case of coal, would seem to meet the need of promoting 
the development of these deposits and their utilization in the agricul- 
tural lands of the west. If it is thought desirable to discourage the 
exportation of phosphate rock and the saving of it for our own lands, 
this purpose could be accomplished by conditions in the lease granted 
by the government to its lessees. Of course, under the constitution the 
government could not tax and could not prohibit the exportation of 
phosphate, but as proprietor and owner of the lands in which the phos- 
phate is deposited it could impose conditions upon the kind of sales, 
whether foreign or domestic, which the lessees might make of the phos- 
phate mined. 

The tonnage represented by the phosphate lands in government 
ownership is very great, but the lesson has been learned in the case of 
such lands that have passed into private ownership in South Carolina, 
Florida and Tennessee that the phosphate deposits there are in no 
sense inexhaustible. Moreover, it is also well understood that in the 
process of mining phosphate, as it has been pursued, much of the lower 
grade of phosphate rock, which will eventually all be needed has been 
wasted beyond recovery. Such wasteful methods can easily be pre- 
vented, so far as the government land is concerned, by conditions 
inserted in the leases. 

Watee-poweb Sites 

Prior to March 4, 1909, there had been, on the recommendation of 
the reclamation service, withdrawn from agricultural entry, because they 
were regarded as useful for power sites which ought not to be disposed 
of as agricultural lands, tracts amounting to about 4,000,000 acres. 
The withdrawals were hastily made and included a great deal of land 
that was not useful for power sites. They were intended to include the 
power sites on twenty-nine rivers in nine states. Since that time 3,- 
475,442 acres have been restored for settlement of the original 4,000,- 
000, because they do not contain power sites ; and meantime there have 
been newly withdrawn 1,245,892 acres on vacant public land and 211,- 
007 acres on entered public land, or a total of 1,456,899 acres. These 
withdrawals made from time to time cover all the power sites included 
in the first withdrawals, and many more, on 135 rivers and in 11 states. 

The disposition of these power sites involves one of the most difficult 
questions presented in carrying out practical conservation. The forest 
service, under a power found in the statute, has leased a number of these 
power sites in forest reserves by revocable leases, but no such power 
exists with respect to power sites that are not located within forest 


reserves, and the revocable system of leasing is, of course, not a satisfac- 
tory one for the purpose of inviting the capital needed to put in proper 
plants for the transmutation of power. 

The statute of 1891 with its amendments permits the secretary of 
the interior to grant perpetual easements or rights of way from water 
sources over public lands for the primary purpose of irrigation and such 
electrical current as may be incidentally developed, but no grant can be 
made under this statute to concerns whose primary purpose is gener- 
ating and handling electricity. The statute of 1901 authorizes the 
secretary of the interior to issue revocable permits over the public lands 
to electrical-power companies, but this statute is wofully inadequate 
because it does not authorize the collection of a charge or fix a term of 
years. Capital is slow to invest in an enterprise founded on a permit 
revocable at will. 

The subject is one that calls for new legislation. It has been 
thought that there was danger of combination to obtain possession of 
all the power sites and to unite them under one control. Whatever the 
evidence of this, or lack of it, at present we have had enough experience 
to know that combination would be profitable, and the control of a great 
number of power sites would enable the holders or owners to raise the 
price of power at will within certain sections ; and the temptation would 
promptly attract investors, and the danger of monopoly would not be a 
remote one. 

However this may be, it is the plain duty of the government to see 
to it that in the utilization and development of all this immense amount 
of water power, conditions shall be imposed that will prevent monopoly, 
and will prevent extortionate charges, which are the accompaniment of 
monopoly. The difficulty of adjusting the matter is accentuated by 
the relation of the power sites to the water, the fall and flow of which 
create the power. In the states where these sites are the riparian owner 
does not control or own the power in the water which flows past his 
land. That power is under the control and within the grant of the 
state, and generally the rule is that the first user is entitled to the 
enjoyment. Now, the possession of the bank or water-power site over 
which the water is to be conveyed in order to make the power useful, 
gives to its owner an advantage and a certain kind of control over the 
use of the water power, and it is proposed that the government in deal- 
ing with its own lands should use this advantage and lease lands 
for power sites to those who would develop the power, and impose con- 
ditions on the leasehold with reference to the reasonableness of the rates 
at which the power, when transmuted, is to be furnished to the public, 
and forbidding the union of the particular power with a combination 
of others made for the purpose of monopoly by forbidding assignment 
of the lease save by consent of the government. Serious difficulties are 

VOL. LXXVH.— 23. 


anticipated by some in such an attempt on the part of the general gov- 
ernment, because of the sovereign control of the state over the water 
power in its natural condition, and the mere proprietorship of the gov- 
ernment in the riparian lands. 

It is contended that through its mere proprietary right in the site, 
the central government has no power to attempt to exercise police juris- 
diction with reference to how the water power in a river owned and con- 
trolled by the state shall be used, and that it is a violation of the state's 
rights. I question the validity of this objection. The government may 
impose any conditions that it chooses in its lease of its own property, 
even though it may have the same purpose, and in effect accomplish 
just what the state would accomplish by the exercise of its sovereignty. 
There are those (and the director of the geological survey, Mr. Smith, 
who has given a great deal of attention to this matter, is one of them) 
who insist that that this matter of transmuting water power into elec- 
tricity, which can be conveyed all over the country and across state 
lines, is a matter that ought to be retained by the general government, 
and that it should avail itself of the ownership of these power sites for 
the very purpose of coordinating in one general plan the power gener- 
ated from these government-owned sites. 

On the other hand, it is contended that it would relieve a compli- 
cated situation if the control of the water-power site and the control of 
the water were vested in the same sovereignty and ownership, viz., the 
states, and then were disposed of for development to private lessees under 
the restrictions needed to preserve the interests of the public from the 
extortions and abuses of monopoly. Therefore, bills have been intro- 
duced in congress providing that whenever the state authorities deem a 
water power useful they may apply to the government of the United 
States for a grant to the state of the adjacent land for a water-power 
site, and that this grant from the federal government to the state, shall 
contain a condition that the state shall never part with the title to the 
water-power site, or the water power, but shall lease it only for a term 
of years not exceeding fifty, with provisions in the lease by which the 
rental and the rates for which the power is furnished to the public shall 
be readjusted at periods less than the term of the lease, say, every ten 

The argument is urged against this disposition of power sites that 
legislators and state authorities are more subject to corporate influence 
and control than would be the central government; in reply it is claimed 
that a readjustment of the terms of leasehold every ten years would 
secure to the public and the state just and equitable terms. Then it is 
said that the state authorities are better able to understand the local 
need and what is a fair adjustment in the particular locality than would 
be the authorities at Washington. It has been argued that after the 


federal government parte with title to a power site it can not control 
the action of the state in fulfilling the conditions of the deed, to which 
it is answered that in the grant from the government there may be easily 
inserted a condition specifying the terms upon which the state may part 
with the temporary control of the water-power sites, and, indeed, the 
water power, and providing for a forfeiture of the title to the water- 
power sites in case the condition is not performed; and giving to the 
president, in case of such violation of conditions, the power to declare 
forfeiture and to direct proceedings to restore the central government 
to the ownership of the power sites with all the improvements thereon, 
and that these conditions may be promptly enforced and the land and 
plants forfeited to the general government by suit of the United States 
against the state, which is permissible under the constitution. 

I do not express an opinion upon the controversy thus made or a 
preference as to the two methods of treating water-power sites. I shall 
submit the matter to congress and urge that one or the other of the two 
plans be adopted. 

At the risk of wearying my audience I have attempted to state as 
succinctly as may be the questions of conservation as they apply to the 
public domain of the government, the conditions to which they apply, 
and the proposed solution of them. In the outset I alluded to the fact 
that conservation had been made to include a great deal more than what 
I have discussed here. Of course, as I have referred only to the public 
domain of the federal government I have left untouched the wide field 
of conservation with respect to which a heavy responsibility rests upon 
the states and individuals as well. But I think it of the utmost impor- 
tance that after the public attention has been roused to the necessity of 
a change in our general policy to prevent waste and a selfish appropria- 
tion to private and corporate purposes of what should be controlled for 
the public benfit, those who urge conservation shall feel the necessity of 
making clear how conservation can be practically carried out, and shall 
propose specific methods and legal provisions and regulations to remedy 
actual adverse conditions. 

I am bound to say that the time has come for a halt in general 
rhapsodies over conservation, making the word mean every known good 
in the world; for, after the public attention has been roused, such 
appeals are of doubtful utility, and do not direct the public to the 
specific course that the people should take, or have their legislators take, 
in order to promote the cause of conservation. The rousing of emo- 
tions on a subject like this, which has only dim outlines in the minds 
of the people affected, after a while ceases to be useful, and the whole 
movement will, if promoted on these lines, die for want of practical 
direction and of demonstration to the people that practical reforms are 


I have referred to the course of the last administration and of the 
present one in making withdrawals of government lands from entry 
under homestead and other laws and of congress in removing all doubt 
as to the validity of these withdrawals as a great step in the direction 
of practical conservation. But it is only one of two necessary steps to 
effect what should be our purpose. It has produced a status quo and 
prevented waste and irrevocable disposition of the lands until the 
method for their proper disposition can be formulated. But it is of 
the utmost importance that such withdrawals should not be regarded 
as the final step in the course of conservation, and that the idea should 
not be allowed to spread that conservation is the tying up of the natural 
resources of the government for indefinite withholding from use and 
the remission to remote generations to decide what ought to be done 
with these means of promoting present general human comfort and 
progress. For, if so, it is certain to arouse the greatest opposition to 
conservation as a cause, and if it were a correct expression of the pur- 
pose of conservationists it ought to arouse this opposition. Real con- 
servation involves wise, non-wasteful use in the present generation with 
every possible means of preservation for succeeding generations; and 
though the problem to secure this end may be difficult, the burden is on 
the present generation promptly to solve it and not to run away from it 
as cowards, lest in the attempt to meet it we may make some mistake. 
As I have said elsewhere, the problem is how to save and how to utilize, 
how to conserve and still develop ; for no sane person can contend that 
it is for the common good that nature's blessings should be stored only 
for unborn generations. 

I beg of you, therefore, in your deliberations and in your informal 
discussions, when men come forward to suggest evils that the promotion 
of conservation is to remedy, that you invite them to point out the 
specific evils and the specific remedies; that you invite them to come 
down to details in order that their discussions may flow into channels 
that shall be useful rather than into periods that shall be eloquent and 
entertaining, without shedding real light on the subject. The people 
should be shown exactly what is needed in order that they make their 
representatives in congress and the state legislature do their intelligent 



By Pbofbssob D. P. PBNHALLOW 


THE history of plant life has been the central idea in all botanical 
studies from the very earliest times, whether expressed in the 
imperfect methods of the early German and Dutch botanists who de- 
sired simply to establish natural affinities on the basis of external re- 
semblances, or in the ambitions of Caesalpino to arrive at a classifica- 
tion of plants which should satisfy the conditions of relationship 
through the structure of all parts, and especially of the reproductive 
organs. For nearly four hundred years the external organs have been 
employed as the chief basis of those numerous systems of classification 
which have appeared from time to time. The idea that the reproduc- 
tive organs and the minute interior structure of plants were of primary 
importance as first advocated by Caesalpino, was for a long time lost to 
view, although it reappeared now and then in the works of later writers. 
Eventually it gained recognition and became a factor of increasing im- 
portance, until the most advanced systems are now employed involve an 
acceptance of both the external parts and the internal anatomy as es- 
sential factors. 

From the time of Malpighi and Grew, to Goeppert and Corda, our 
knowledge of the interior structure of plants madfc great and rapid 
progress, and was later applied successfully by various investigators in 
the direction of establishing relationships. To no one are we more 
fully indebted for an elaboration of this idea than Williamson, whose 
researches into the structure of fossil plants from the Coal Measures 
of Great Britain, during the latter part of the last century, laid the 
real foundation of modern paleobotany. 

In so brief a treatment as that which is now employed, it is impos- 
sible to more than touch upon some of the salient features in the rela- 
tions of paleobotany to the course of phylogeny, but it is, nevertheless, 
worth while to give special emphasis to the now well-recognized fact 
that a thorough knowledge of the interior structure of the plant, and 
especially of the stem, leads to a more comprehensive and exact ac- 
quaintance with relationships than that of any other part. This arises 
from the fact that the minute anatomical details have a greater degree 
of stability than any other portion of the body, doubtless due to the fact 
that in its adjustment to the land habit, the environmental influences 


present the least variable features in those factors which determine re- 
lations to mechanical stress and physiological needs. 

External organs are notoriously subject to variation, even under 
slight alterations of surrounding conditions, within the limits of the 
species or even within various stages of development of the same indi- 
vidual. From this it is clear that organs such as leaves must be very 
unreliable for phylogenetic purposes. It is, unfortunately, true that 
much of the paleobotanical work based upon a study of such parts must 
be of inferior value, and the conclusions drawn will require extensive 
revision when the more rigid tests to be applied through a knowledge 
of the stem structure are brought to bear. 

The value of paleobotanical evidence consists in its ultimate corre- 
lation with known types of plants, and it is obvious that all such studies 
should be prosecuted with direct reference to the broader require- 
ments of plant biology. This involves a comprehensive knowledge of 
the history of plant life from its earliest development; that the data 
derived from a study of living species should be correlated with the evi- 
dence obtained from fossilized remains. Existing vegetation shows a 
very incomplete record of plant life as a whole. Its history as known 
until very recent times, and even now to a very large extent, is dis- 
played only through the medium of detached groups, and relates chiefly 
to the most highly organized types. Through the perspective afforded 
by paleobotany, it becomes possible to not only supply missing facts, 
but to establish what theory has for so long a time required a satisfac- 
tory demonstration of — a more or less continuous series of phenomena 
from the rudimentary forms to the most advanced organisms. 

Until a very recent date the Linnaean division of plant life into two 
great phyla, the cryptogams and the phanerogams, was the prevailing 
conception of the constitution of the plant kingdom. This division 
recognized no connection between the two great groups, but regarded 
them as wholly distinct in origin as in character. But the rapid ad- 
vances in a knowledge of plant anatomy, developed toward the middle 
of the last century, and especially the remarkable and epoch-making 
observations of Hofmeister respecting the process of reproduction, 
enabled him to break down the old barriers erected by the doctrine of 
the constancy of species, and prove a genetic connection between the 
primary divisions of Linnaeus. With this starting-point, the crypto- 
gams and the phanerogams were subjected to a severe scrutiny from an 
entirely new point of view, with the result that each underwent a re- 
vision which led to such a rearrangement of subdivisions as to present 
an entirely fresh conception of their relations to one another. The 
logical result was finally expressed in the subdivision of the plant world 
into four great phyla, which, in their evolutional sequence, came to be 
known as I., Thallophyta ; II., Bryophyta; III., Pteridophyta; IV., 


Admirable as this scheme is, and scientifically acceptable as it has 
proved to be, it nevertheless presents certain well-recognized defects 
with respect to the requirements of theory, although at the time of its 
formulation and as late as 1899 it represented the sum of available 
knowledge. It was just at this time that paleobotany became available 
as a means of meeting those deficiencies which a knowledge of living 
plants could not overcome. For a long time botanists have been famil- 
iar with certain Paleozoic remains having a fern-like aspect which were 
generally accepted as ferns; but because of their want of direct con- 
nection with stems or fruit, there remained a serious doubt as to their 
real character. In the same horizons, detached fragments of stems 
were also observed with increasing frequency. The study of their 
anatomy disclosed a structure which, in some respects, was curiously 
like that of ferns, while in other respects it approximated to the anat- 
omy of the higher plants as presented in some of the gymnosperms. 
This combination of filicinean and cycadean characters was noted by 
Potoni6, who succeeded in correlating them and expressing their phylo- 
genetic position in the name of a new order which he called the Cyca- 

There yet remained to be considered certain remarkable fruits for 
which no relationship has as yet been determined until, through the 
work of Scott, Oliver, Kidston and others, it was shown that they were 
of the nature of seed-bearing organs which could be correlated with the 
Cycadofilices. It thus became evident that there was a hitherto un- 
known group of plants combining the characters of ferns in their foli- 
age and stem structure with those of primitive gymnosperms as pre- 
sented in their stems and fruits. On the whole, however, these plants 
approached most nearly to the pteridophytes in their external features. 
To this new phylum, of which the Cycadofilices formed the most con- 
spicuous member, Scott and Oliver in 1904 assigned the most appropri- 
ate name, Pteridospermae. This result was based entirely upon paleon- 
tological evidence through comparative anatomy, and it compels us to 
recognize the existence of five, instead of four great phyla. The far- 
reaching significance of this achievement can not be overestimated. It 
is not only of the utmost importance as proving the general course of 
evolution and bringing into the realm of proved facts what had previ- 
ously been a working hypothesis only, but it offers an entirely new point 
of departure for the botanist of the future. Attention may also be 
directed to one other effect. The tendency of this discovery is to co- 
ordinate, unify and strengthen all branches of botanical knowledge, 
bringing to us the conviction that the more extended and thorough our 
knowledge of the earlier forms of vegetation becomes, the more satis- 
factory will be our knowledge of the science as a whole; for while the 
example selected is probably the most important for our special pur- 
poses, the general utility of paleontological research in relation to the 


history of development is enforced upon our consideration in a great 
many subordinate ways. 

Eecognizable plant remains first occur in the Silurian in the form 
of certain highly organized algae, the ancestral forms of which are un- 
known. Nevertheless, the history of Nematophycus shows that in the 
Silurian and extending through the Devonian, members of the brown 
algae directly comparable with the modern kelps, both in general char- 
acter and in detailed structure, had attained to a development unknown 
to any of the marine algae of to-day. Arborescent forms with stems two 
feet in diameter and a corresponding height lead to the inference that 
they not only represent the culmination of the phylum at that time, 
but that they must have been preceded by a long line of ancestral forms, 
extending far back into the earlier horizons, possibly into the Eozoic 

Parka decipiens from the old Red Sandstone of Scotland affords 
striking illustration of the very early period at which heterospory was 
developed among vascular plants, which, according to the evidence now 
available, are comparable with the genus Marsilea among existing types. 
In these remains we meet with prostrate stems often one to two inches 
in diameter, from which slender, upright branches are produced, bear- 
ing in turn conceptacles containing both micro- and mega-sporangia. 
Some of these latter further contain prothalli in various stages of de- 

The earliest form of gymnosperm is that which we recognize in the 
genus Cordaites from the Devonian. The highly developed and dicoty- 
ledonous character of the stem affords abundant evidence that the 
ancestral type must be looked for in some remote and earlier horizon, 
but, taken as an isolated case, it affords no clue whatever to the origin 
of that particular phylum, although the subsequent course of develop- 
ment may be traced with considerable certainty to comparatively recent 

The obvious conclusion to be drawn from the geological relations 
presented by such illustrations as those recited, is, that the evolution of 
even very simple forms from the most primitive plants must have 
called for enormously lengthy periods of time. Even the most liberal 
application of the law of mutation would fail to adequately account for 
the extensive gaps which are recognized as occurring between the 
simpler types and those which lie in the same general line of succes- 
sion, but with greatly advanced organization. 

We are now led to ask, how far have paleontological studies carried 
us in our knowledge of plant life from the earliest times, that is, do 
they enable us to trace an unbroken series of steps from- the first to the 
last? To this the answer must be that, while paleobotany has been of 
the greatest service in supplying missing data, in filling great gaps in a 
supposed sequence and in giving the fullest support to the law of evo- 


lution, it is as yet by no means adequate with respect to meeting all that 
theory demands. For this there is an intelligible explanation based in 
part upon the fact that the necessary material is available only under 
conditions of great difficulty; and that the character of the remains 
upon which research is based is conditioned by the original nature of 
the structure and its ability to survive in an unaltered form, the re- 
markable conditions of decay, infiltration, compression, upheaval and 
often of volcanic influences to which it has been subjected. The earliest 
type of vegetation was that which we now find in hot springs, continued 
with the algae found in cool or cold waters, all of which possessed a deli- 
cacy of structure which permitted speedy decay. The great abundance 
of such organisms probably afford an adequate explanation of the 
Laurentian and later forms of graphite which is regarded by many as 
the remains of former vegetation. While this hypothesis may be ac- 
cepted provisionally, paleobotany is nevertheless wholly unable to fur- 
nish any clue to the life history of the individuals, or even to inform 
us as to the specific types. Such knowledge as we possess in this direc- 
tion is the result of inference from parallel conditions and structures 
as now found. 

It might be assumed that with an increasing perfection in the pres- 
ervation of fossil remains, as found especially in the later formations, 
it should be possible to trace the course of descent with accuracy and 
completeness. This is, in a measure, true, but although the general re- 
quirements of theory may be verified, yet the haphazard conditions 
involved in the collection of plant remains make it a very difficult mat- 
ter to secure a complete narrative, and there remain many gaps which 
it is difficult to fill. The evolutional position of the Bryophytes de- 
mands that the origin of these plants should lie somewhere in the early 
Silurian or even in the Eozoic age, but we have no certain knowledge 
of them until the middle Mesozoic, and their remains do not become 
familiar or abundant until the later Tertiary. So important a devia- 
tion from what theory demands should lead us to caution in drawing 
conclusions from the direct testimony which is thus presented. Unless 
otherwise disposed of through paleontological evidence, it would be 
more correct to infer that the delicacy of the plants, and the conditions 
of their fossilization, have not admitted of their preservation in a recog- 
nizable condition ; while there is also the further probability that many 
of their remains have been overlooked through resemblance to certain 
Pteridophyta for which they might well be mistaken. 

In spite of such apparent contradictions, the evidence everywhere 
points with great force to the idea that each of the lesser phyla had its 
origin in some ancestral form, followed by growth and culmination. 
This latter was, in some cases, abrupt, as in many of the Pteridophytes ; 
in other instances there was a gradual decline, as in the lycopods or the 
horsetails, which attained their highest development in the later Paleo- 


zoic, but have since been in a state of degeneracy, their present repre- 
sentatives being few in number and of a depauperate character. The 
application of this law throughout the enormously lengthy periods re- 
quired for the evolution of existing species, has led to the survival of 
some of the most ancient types until the present day; to the absolute 
obliteration of others which at one time gained great prominence; and 
to the gradual dying out of yet others, some of which are now found in 
the last stages of their existence. But through the entire course of 
change, the evolution of higher and yet higher forms has been the most 
conspicuous fact. Furthermore, it is undoubtedly true that the general 
course of evolution is in progress to-day as in the past, since all the 
potentialities of such evolution exist now as always, though conditioned 
by the fact that owing to continued changes in the physical character 
of the earth's atmosphere as well as of its crust, the possibilities of evolu- 
tion are steadily diminishing and will eventually cease. 

There is one direction in which paleobotany gives well-defined as- 
surance that the evidence derived from existing species leads to correct 
conclusions. In tracing the succession of types, we are led to the belief 
that there is no direct sequence. Conterminous evolution is in accord 
with neither theory nor ascertained facts, and it is, therefore, impossible 
to conceive of a figure which shall in any way represent a single and 
unbroken line of succession. If paleontology teaches us anything, it is 
that each great phylum, as well as its various subdivisions, finally reaches 
its culmination in a terminal member from which no further evolution 
is possible. But that from some inferior member, possessing high 
potentialities, a side line of development arises. There is thus, in the 
early life of each member of the series, a certain recapitulation of 
ancestral characters. This conception of a continuance of the main 
line of descent through a succession of lateral members is both logical 
and fully in accord with the evidence derived from both recent and 
extinct forms of plant life, as well as with our present theory of 




THE notion of isolation as a factor in variation, as I am using the 
term, is that of geographic separation exclusively, the concep- 
tion expressed most clearly by Wallace, Moritz Wagner and Jordan. 
I take it that while this influence has been carefully estimated in the 
geographical distribution of living species, it has not often been ex- 
pressed in its own terms in the analysis of extinct faunas. With in- 
creasing accuracy in the record of ancient continental lines and bar- 


riers, we are coming to a point where the efficiency of this factor can 
be safely taken into account. The outcome of free interbreeding, as 
Jordan has pointed out, is to unify species and obliterate variations. 
Per contra, isolation checks this process and gives freer play to tend- 
encies arising from other factors in variation. The effect is thus, as 
a general rule, negative, but expresses itself freely enough in geo- 
graphic provinces severed by some barrier or condition which has the 
effect of a barrier. Among existing species the formative effects of 
segregation have been very largely illustrated from restricted areas 
such as the subdivisional valleys and forests of Hawaii with its dis- 
tinctive forms of the Helicidae and other terrestrial snails — a case that 
is paralleled in paleontology by the snails of Steinheim. But the effect 
is to be reckoned with in larger or continental areas between which 
there has been at one time opportunity of interchange, especially in 
the case of marine species, with which we chiefly deal, along the epi- 

I have particularly in mind phenomena which have been brought 
to my notice by a somewhat extended study of the Devonian faunas 
of the southern hemisphere and the broader application of the factor 
is best enforced and illustrated by this instance. I may say that this 
broader notion seems to be that entertained by Darwin so far as he 
specified the conception of geographic segregation as an element in 
natural selection and it was his work in South America that formed 
the basis of his conclusions. 

With other students we recognize the existence during the Devon- 
ian of austral continental lands which have been variously designated 
and variously outlined. By some this land has been posited as a north 
and south Atlantis lying in the meridional axis of the present ocean, 
by others a broken land mass partly crossing the southern Atlantic 
from east to west. But now we begin to see its continuity and the ex- 
tent of its strands, with something of its changes in outline during 
its early history. It was the precursor and the nucleus of Gondw&na- 
land. With it began, so far as we now know, the long history of that 
continental land and the successive records of life developing under 
continued conditions of geographic isolation from the northern strands. 

From Argentina, Bolivia and northern Brazil we have very lucid 
evidence, on the basis of paleontology, that in the late Silurian the 
shore lines were continuous with those of the north. We have no de- 
pendable knowledge of these earlier faunas at the east and indeed 
their entire absence is indicated by stratigraphy; but with the sub- 
mergence of the Silurian at the west, there entered from the African 
east upon this south Atlantic field, a positive diastrophism whose axis 
was well nigh normal to that of the present Atlantis, and along the 
shores of this growing land bridge entered an invasion of marine life 


at the opening of the Devonian time. It seems to have come west- 
ward from a dispersion area in Africa and it evidently disseminated 
itself without interruption of continuity from the strands which now, 
as the Bokkeveld beds of Cape Colony, constitute the only evidence 
of marine life in the South African Paleozoic, to those of the Falkland 
Islands, two far distant regions which have much more of organic 
content in common than do the Falklands and the nearer regions of 
ParanA, Argentina and Bolivia. 

This fauna with its special and peculiar features is, however, spread 
through Bolivia, western Argentina, southern Brazil, including Parani 
and as far north as Matto Grosso, thence eastward by way of the Falk- 
lands to South Africa. From the boreal strands of the period it was 
separated by a barrier, often narrow and constituted only of deeper 
water, so that of the boreal Devonian we find no evidence much south 
of the equator in Brazil nor of the austral Devonian north of that line. 
This barrier I believe to have been overpassed at times during the early 
part of the Devonian by species which are of wider distribution south 
and north but these passages seem to have become rarer as time passed 
and as more complete geographic isolation was effected. 

There are many evidences in this southern fauna that the land 
bridge was accompanied by insular strands which are evidenced by 
varying percentages in community of species and by bathymetrical 
variations. Apart from these possible island masses, there was clearly 
a Devonian land bridge extending from South Africa to the Falklands, 
westward into Argentina and northward into Bolivia, embracing also 
as continental or island lands parts of the states of ParanA, Matto 
Grosso and even of Pari. 

By virtue of the evident derivation of the fauna of this time from 
the east along newly forming strands which were, throughout the 
period of the Devonian, kept asunder from the Atlantic-European 
lands at the north, and by its further development under conditions 
of isolation, the fauna presents fundamental contrasts to any develop- 
ment of the Devonian elsewhere in the world. It is in itself a unit and 
a unit also in relation to the sediments in which it is involved. There 
is no earlier Devonian in this southern region nor is there any later 
Devonian, for wherever the succession has been determined this austral 
fauna, bearing no evidence in itself of a later time stamp than early 
Devonian, is overlain by Carboniferous deposits without demonstrated 
unconformities between. Deposits and faunas which at the north we 
are accustomed to regard as of later Devonian age, are absent at the 
south, either because this austral land was broadly above the sea dur- 
ing these stages and its strands now lie buried or, as seems much more 
probable, this sedimentation represents the total Devonian sedimenta- 
tion and this fauna the total Devonian fauna at the south. 


I can not in this place analyze the peculiarities which give the 
austral fauna of these " Falklandia " strands their special impress but 
I may specially cite the trilobites which are astonishingly developed. 
I presume any competent student of northern faunas, being shown a 
series of these without knowledge of their origin, would pronounce 
them of early Devonian age and yet they are neither northern species 
nor, in any large degree, northern genera. While they bear the im- 
press of boreal genera and resort to morphologic equivalencies thereto 
in fugitive epidermal structures which so richly characterize the boreal 
trilobites at this time, they are on the whole constructed on a series of 
modified types which hold their fundamental expression while de- 
veloping minor details with the chronology normal to their succession 
at the north. The Phacopes are seldom true Phacopes, the Dalma- 
nites seldom true Dalmanites, yet the same structural decorations and 
extravagances we are familiar with at the north, are distributed freely 
through the group. This is all equally true, in qualifying terms, of 
the other groups of this fauna, save for the fact that in these we can 
hardly venture to insist so entirely on generic distinctions south and 
north. The species deferences declare themselves on every hand and 
taken as a whole the fauna presents fairly conclusive evidence of hav- 
ing derived its distinctiveness through its isolation from the boreal 
fauna from which it ancestrally took origin. Yet while it has de- 
veloped this character it has also proceeded to maintain a faunal com- 
position which declares its age, and a morphological stamp which 
shows that it developed all its parts in the proper time and place in the 

In predicating geographic isolation as the prime factor in this 
regional development of the Devonian fauna, its efficiency should not 
be made to seem qualified by an illustration which is striking by 
virtue of its contrast with the already well known. There are evi- 
dences in plenty that geographic isolation has played a similar r61e 
with even more diverse effect in the development of the boreal faunas 
of the same geologic stage. The north Atlantic land bridge was con- 
tinuous at this time, as evidenced not alone by the presence of the 
Coblentzian fauna in the Atlantic coast rocks but by an array of addi- 
tional facts ; and it seems very probable that the primary movement of 
these northern faunas was from the same African dispersion area as 
that of the south. 



By Pbofessob B. M. EAST 


THE word hybridization has been used with many meanings. The 
term is used here to denote the crossing of any two plants that 
differ from each other in a heritable character, whether they are of the 
same or of different species. 

There is intimate connection between the r61e of hybridization and 
the r61e played by selection. It comes about in this way. Inherited 
variations are produced by nature with considerable profusion. New 
characters appear and old characters are lost: these form the working 
basis of selection. But whether they are large or small they are usually 
inherited completely. They are the units of heredity; or, if they 
are sometimes transmitted in units of lesser degree, they may be 
compared to chemical radicals. 

The main object of hybridization then is the shuffling of these units 
in the first hybrid generation and their recombination in the next 
generation. There are, however, various phenomena attending hybridi- 
zation, and I will endeavor to illustrate the following as those of most 
importance: (a) Recombination of characters and their fixation, (6) 
production of desirable combinations in the first hybrid generation and 
their continuation by asexual propagation, (c) production of fixed first 
generation hybrids, (d) production of blends. 

If we begin at the real beginning in this discussion, we must say a 
few words concerning the actual mechanical operations of crossing. 
The first foundation stone to be laid is a knowledge of the flowering 
habits and flower structure of the plants to be used. Of course a careful 
examination of the flowers will show the easiest and surest method of 
removing the stamens of the flowers that are to be pollinated and of 
protecting them from foreign pollen. What is not so easily determined 
are the precise conditions under which the cross should be made to be 
successful. The proper preparation of the breeding plot even before 
the plants are grown is necessary. One takes it for granted that some 
fertilizer will be used, for the plants must be normal to seed well. The 
three essential elements of soil fertility are nitrogen, potassium and 
phosphorus, and to get the best results compounds of these elements 
must be present in proper proportions. First, available potash must be 

1 This paper is based on one of a series of popular lectures delivered at the 
Bussey Institution of Harvard University, April and May, 1910. 


present in normal quantity although a certain excess will not be harm- 
ful. If nitrates are present in excess, however, vegetative growth will 
be over stimulated and seed production will be small. A lack of phos- 
phates will produce the same effect upon seed production, but for a 
different reason. Phosphorus is an essential constituent of the proteid 
compounds found in large quantities in the seed. Therefore, if the 
plants are to be in the best condition for crossing, the soil should con- 
tain just the right amount of nitrates for normal growth and a generous 
supply of potash and phosphates. The exact amounts must be deter- 
mined by experience for each soil and each species of plant. 

Other necessary knowledge that can be obtained only from experience 
is which are the best flowers on the plant to serve as parents of the cross 
and what is the proper time for their pollination. For example, in the 
grasses the first flowers that appear usually form larger, healthier seed 
than the later blossoms. In most of the Solanaceae, the petunias, browal- 
lias, etc., the exact opposite is true. The time when the individual 
flower is most receptive to pollen is even more narrowly limited. Both 
premature and delayed pollination is the cause of many failures and the 
optimum time should be accurately determined. Having exercised these 
precautions, it remains to study carefully the structure of the flower 
in order that it may be emasculated — t. e., the anthers removed before 
the pollen is shed — with sufficient adroitness that neither the anthers 
shall be opened nor the parts of the pistil injured. Only a few buds 
upon a single flower spike should be operated upon if they are to be 
given the best chance of development. If the buds are very small and 
some pollen unavoidably reaches them, it may be washed off with com- 
parative safety with a dental syringe if done immediately. It is often 
recommended that the calyx and corolla be cut away when emasculating. 
This should be avoided if possible and the floral envelopes left as a 
protection to the pistil. After emasculation the buds should be pro- 
tected from foreign pollen until time for pollination, and again after 
pollination at least until the fruits have begun to form. This protection 
may be an ordinary paper bag when the crossing is done in the field. 
In the greenhouse I find that a square of thin celluloid rolled around 
the flower and caught with two rubber bands, each end being protected 
with absorbent cotton plugs, is a better device. It gives excellent pro- 
tection and allows transpiration. 

But enough of the technique of hybridizing ; the phenomena attend- 
ing it are of more importance. After the pollen is placed upon the 
stigma it begins to grow until it reaches the ovule. Down this tube 
comes the male cell which contains the potentialities of its parent plant. 
This cell fuses with the female cell in the ovule and fertilization is ac- 
complished. Prom this combination the seed and later the hybrid 
plant results, half of its characters coming from the plant which fur- 


nished the pollen and half from the plant to which it has been applied. 
If one studies the characters of several such hybrids, he finds many sur- 
prising f acts. It usually makes no difference which plant is the mother 
plant, the result is the same. Certain characters are found in the hybrid 
that are identical with those possessed by the male parent and other 
characters the same as those possessed by the female parent. Other 
characters appear to have resulted from the blending of those of the 
two parents, while still others appear to be entirely new. The plant 
may be sterile if the cross is between widely differing species, but if it 
is fertile and the flower of the hybrid is self-fertilized, the plants re- 
sulting from this seed present still more surprises. For example, if 
one has crossed a pear-shaped yellow tomato with a round red tomato, in 
the second hybrid generation he will find individual plants bearing fruit 
of four kinds, pear-shaped yellow and round red, as were the two parents, 
and in addition pear-shaped red and round yellow. In other words 
all possible combinations occur and in definite proportions. Stated as 
a principle it may be said that where either of the parent plants pos- 
sesses characters absent from the other, the potential characters remain 
pure in the germ cells of the hybrid and recombine as if by chance. 
This is the most important feature of the only law of heredity of which 
there is any exact knowledge — the law of Mendel. Let us illustrate the 
action of the law. Such a character as starchiness, as shown in " flint " 
maize, is either present or it is not present. The flinty appearance of 
the seed is due to the possession of some character that causes the 
maturation of plump starch grains. When this character is absent, the 
seeds dry up without maturing their starch grains, and present 
the wrinkled appearance common to sweet maize. Pairs of char- 
acters such as these, affecting a certain plant structure, are called con- 
trasted or allelomorphic pairs. When a sweet maize is crossed with a 
flint maize, the resulting seeds are all flint like. That is, the dominant 
character or the character that calls for the presence of the structure 
or compound in question, manifests itself in the first hybrid generation. 
Complete dominance, however, is not a general phenomenon in crosses 
and as its importance is slight as compared with the second law, that 
of segregation of the pure characters (potentially) in the germ cells 
of the hybrid, we will discuss it no further. The second law predicts 
that in the generations succeeding a cross, plants grown from the self- 
fertilized seeds of the hybrid reproduce both contrasted characters in 
the proportion of three of the dominant or " presence " characters to 
one of the recessive or absent character. Furthermore, inbred or self- 
fertilized plants bearing the recessive character continue ever after to 
breed true, while of those plants bearing the dominant character one 
third are pure and breed true while two thirds are hybrids and again 
throw the recessive character in one fourth of their offspring. 




1. Castration of Buds of Xicotiana tabacum before Crossing, a, correct 
stage for custration ; b, method of slitting the corolla ; c, castrated bud. 

The theory supposes that when a dominant and a recessive char- 
acter meet in a cross, the germ cells which are produced in the hybrid 
do not blend these characters, but possess either the one or the other; 
and as the possession of either character is a matter of chance, on the 
average 50 per cent, will bear the dominant and 50 per cent, will bear 
the recessive character. In a plant, for example, 50 per cent, of the 
pollen cells would bear the dominant and the other 50 per cent, would 

Fig. 2. 

Castrated Bid of Impatient sultani showing Method of Protection in 


vol. iiXXVii.— 24. 



bear the recessive character. One half of the egg cells, likewise, con- 
tain the dominant, and one half the recessive character. 

Now, if we could pick out at random any one hundred pollen or 
male cells to fertilize any one hundred egg or female cells, we can see 
that there are equal chances for four results. A dominant male cell 
might meet a dominant female cell, a dominant male cell a recessive 
female cell, a recessive male cell a dominant female cell, and a recessive 
male cell a recessive female cell. 

We have (D + D), (D + R), (R + D), and (R + R) plants 
formed in equal quantities, but as the two middle terms are the same, 
we can reduce the formula to one (D + D) to two (D + R) to one 
(R + R). But wherever there is a D present in the germ cell, the 

Fig. 3. The Course op the Pollen-tube in a Rock-rose (Helianthemum mari- 
folium). After Kerner and Oliver. 1, single flower; 2, essential organs of flower: 
course of pollen tubes shown dlagrammatically ; 3, pollen tubes penetrating the tissue 
of the pistil ; 4, dried pollen grain ; 5, pollen grain germinating ; 6, ovule. 

dominant character shows, while the recessive character is hidden. The 
one part or 25 per cent, of the individuals showing the character 
(D + D) will appear just like the two parts or 50 per cent, of the 
individuals having the character (D + R). Therefore, there will be 
75 per cent, of the individuals which will show the dominant or D 
character, while 25 per cent, will show the recessive or R character. 
These 25 per cent, showing the R character will ever after breed true, 
because they contain nothing but the recessive character; while of the 
75 per cent, showing the dominant character, one third or those having 
the pure (D + D) character will breed true in succeeding generations, 
while the other two thirds having the (D + R) or hybrid character 
will again split in the next generation. 

For all practical purposes in plant breeding the mere fact of segre- 
gation is of greatest importance and the complexity of recent Mendelian 


interpretations need not bother us. Suffice it to say that most plant 
breeders have accepted the explanation that the recessive character is 
simply the lack or absence of the character in question, while the dom- 
inant character is its presence. This is simply a slightly different in- 
terpretation of the same facts and simplifies some of the more complex 
results of crossing. Instead of 50 per cent, of the germ cells bearing 
the flint character and 50 per cent, bearing the sweet character when 
sweet corn is crossed with flint corn, one should think of all of the 
germ cells bearing the ability to produce the wrinkled sweet corn seeds, 
but that 50 per cent, of them contain in addition the presence of a flint 
or starch producing character. In other words, the " starchy " char- 
acter is superimposed upon the " sweet " character. The dominant and 
recessive characters in such a cross, then, are simply the presence and 
absence of the starchy character. 

When several character pairs differentiate the two parent plants in 
a cross, all possible recombinations are formed, the relative frequency 
with which the combinations occur being simply the algebraic product 
of as many of the simple ratios as there are character pairs. 

The importance of these Mendelian facts to the commercial plant 
breeder is great. In crossing plants differing in several simple char- 
acters that segregate after hybridization he may rest assured of two 
things. First, that with a sufficient number of progeny in the second 
hybrid generation, every possible recombination of the characters pres- 
ent will be represented by at least one pure specimen. Second, that 
these pure specimens when selfed, or pollinated with their own pollen, 
will breed true. It should be remembered, however, that one may have 
to self a number of plants to get the combination desired with all 
characters pure, for if any dominant characters are concerned, their 
purity can be ascertained only by breeding for another generation. 
As an illustration we may take the snap dragon, Antirrhinum. There 
is a long series of colors that segregate. There is also a type called the 
"Delilah," where the tube of the corolla is uncolored. Starting with 
this form in only one color, the whole color series of Delilah forms may 
be reproduced by crossing with the self colored strains. Or, one may 
combine the dwarf habit of growth of the Dwarf Champion tomato, 
with any of the various colors and shapes now on the market which 
have the ordinary tall habit of growth. Sometimes a very simple re- 
combination is of very great commercial value. The so-called Havana 
type of wrapper tobacco grown in the Connecticut River valley has 
large leaves and a short stocky habit of growth. It produces from 
nineteen to twenty-one leaves. There is another type grown under 
cheese cloth shade which has a tall habit of growth with about twenty- 
six smaller leaves. The tall slender habit of growth makes it an undesir- 
able type to grow in open fields where it is apt to be blown down. Mr. 



Fio. 4. Showing Absolute Segregation in Second Hybrid Generation. These 
red and white ears grew from a single self-pollinated ear of the first hybrid genera- 
tion of a cross between red and white maize. 

A. D. Shamel, of the Ignited States Department of Agriculture, crossed 
these two types. A new type called the Halladay has heen produced 
with the higher number of leaves of the Cuban parent and the stocky 
habit of growth and large leaves of the Havana parent. The first inter- 
pretation of this result was that an entirely new variation had appeared, 
for the Cuban type usually has but twenty-two or twenty-three leaves. 
The writer has been able to show, however, that the actual strain of the 
Cuban used as the parent of the cross has on the average twenty-six 
leaves, and data have now been collected that show that the new variety 
is a simple recombination of the characters possessed by the two parents 
giving an out-door type averaging thirty per cent, greater yield than 
the old Havana strain. In a similar way Biffen has produced a rust 
resistant high-yielding wheat by crossing two varieties each of which 
possessed but one of these desirable qualities. Orton has combined the 
edible quality of the watermelon with the wilt resistance of the citron, 
and AVebber has increased the ability of the orange to resist cold by 
crossing with the hardy trifoliate orange. 

l\ecent accurately controlled investigations in hybridization have 
shown that many apparently complex results yield to simple explana- 


Red Maize Kar with I^ekicaki* removed, showing Begregation of yellow and 
white endosperm henenth it. 



tions by use of the Mendel ian theory. For example, two or more 
hereditary factors may be necessary for the production of an actual 
tangible character. If factors A and B must be present for its pro 
duction, then a plant carrying only factor A and another carrying only 

Fig. 6. Mendelian Segregation in Maize, a and b, the two parents, starchy 
and sweet maize ; c, the first hybrid generation showing dominance of starchiness ; 
d, the second hybrid generation showing segregation with the ratio of three starchy 
to one wrinkled seed. Lower row daughters of d. v, f and g, results of planting 
starchy seeds. One ear out of three is pure starchy, h, result of planting sweet 
seeds. Ear is pure sweet. 

factor B do not possess the character. But let the two plants be crossed 
and the character appears. There are two white varieties of sweet peas; 
each, however, contains one of the two factors necessary for the pro- 



Fig. 7. At left " Havana " Parent, at right " Cuban " Parent of Cross 
shown in Fig. 8. The " Havana " has short habit of growth, large leaves averaging 
19 to 21 in number. The " Cuban " has tall habit of growth and averages 26 medium- 
sized leaves. 

duction of a purple variety. When these two white varieties are crossed, 
the purple variety results. The second generation, however, produces 
seven whites to every nine purples. Such segregation into purples and 
whites may not be desirable; all purples may be wanted. This brings 
us to a consideration of class B of the four classes of phenomena at- 
tending hybridization, the production of desirable character combina- 
tions in the first hybrid generation and their continuation by asexual 
propagation. This class really includes several distinct types of oc- 
currences. The purple sweet pea produced from the two "whites will 
serve as an illustration of the first type. In certain plants (not mean- 
ing the sweet pea, however) it is as simple to reproduce by cuttings as 
by seed. The cuttings are simply parts of the plant from which they 
come and are identical with it in character. 2 If in a species of this 
kind a desirable character is formed by the union of two or more 
hereditary factors and one wishes to reproduce the character indefi- 
nitely, asexual reproduction by cutting serves the purpose admirably. 

2 There are certain cases like variegation that are exceptions to this rule. 


There is another case of a different kind. Sometimes the hybrid 
character is different from the character of the parents, even though 
the exact parental characters are reproduced by segregation in succeed- 
ing generations. The commercial carnation form is the result of cross- 
ing the single carnation with the huge worthless doubles called 
" busters." Eeproduced by seed the commercial carnation throws both 
singles and busters, showing that segregation of the parental characters 
takes place ; but as these plants are easily reproduced by cuttings, and 
the cuttings are all of the commercial type, sexual reproduction is only 
resorted to for the sake of producing new varieties. Another common 
phenomenon attending hybridization is sterility. Many very beautiful 
flowers produce no seed at all. This is even an advantage in some cases, 
because the plants flower more profusely than* if they were spending 
their energies in the production of seed. Here again, cuttings are re- 
sorted to to reproduce the hybrid, or, as in the case of seedless oranges, 
the cuttings are grafted into an older rootstock instead of being rooted. 

I stated at the beginning that there were two other classes of 
hybridization phenomena, the production of fixed first-generation 
hybrids and the production of blend hybrids. It is probable in the last 
analysis that the true explanation of these cases is the same ; so we will 
consider them together. It is believed by many that there are kinds of 
inheritance other than Mendel ian, that is, inheritance where no segrega- 
tion occurs. Far be it from me to deny this; I simply state the fact 
that there are no exact data extant proving other kinds of inheritance. 
Such data may be found, but it is useless to speculate upon other laws 
without such evidence. There are several cases in which either new 
characters that breed true or blended characters that breed true 
appear to have been formed, but they have not been studied with 
sufficient care for an analysis of their mode of inheritance to be accurate 
and final. It is in crosses between true species that hybrids have been 
formed seemingly as constant and uniform as their parent species. Janc- 
zewsky has produced several such hybrids. Perhaps the most famous, 
however, are the blackberry-raspberry crosses first produced by the late 
E. S. Carman, editor of the Rural New-Yorker and later by Luther Bur- 
bank and others. Several hybrids having a commercial value have been 
made in this genus (Rubus), and all of them reproduce approximately 
true from seed. These are the facts and show what may sometimes be 
expected by hybridizers when crossing true species ; but I wish to point 
out that this does not necessarily mean that we are dealing with a new 
mode of inheritance. Bramble species produce seedlings that are quite 
variable and in which the variations are extremely difficult to describe; 
there is, therefore, no exact information as to the relative variability of 
the hybrid seedlings as compared to that of the two parents. It may be 
said, then, that it is yet unknown whether there is partial segregation. 


Fig. 8. First hybrid Generation of Cross between " Havana " and " Cuban " 
Varieties of Tobacco shown in *io. 7. Plant Is taller than either parent showing 
the increased vigor due to a cross. Size of leaf of 4t Havana " is dominant. Habit 
of growth of " Cuban " is dominant. Number of leaves is intermediate, but ap- 
proaches the " Cuban." 

But why should there not he complete segregation to the types of each 
parent? In the first place, because it is likely that numerous sepa- 
rately heritable characters are concerned, and when n pairs of characters 
are concerned it takes four to the nth power seedlings to run an even 
chance that there will be one plant like each of the parents. When we 
consider that with ten pairs of characters, this means over 1,000,000 
individuals, we can see with what enormous numbers one has to deal. 
In the second place these hybrids are only partially fertile, and as I 
have suggested in former papers, some consideration must be given 
the fact that there may be selective fertilization that works against ex- 



Fig. 0. Recombination of characters of Plants shown in Fig. 7, occurring 
In the second hybrid generation. This is a uniform and constant type having the 
short habit of growth and large leaves of the " Havana " parent, combined with the 
high number of leaves of the " Cuban " parent. It is now grown in the Connecticut 
River valley and yields 40 per cent, more than the Havana type. 

treme segregation. To take a hypothetical case, suppose two plants are 
crossed in which the flowers of one are twice as long as the flowers of 
the other and that this extra length is controlled by three or four sepa- 
rately heritable factors. If only a few of the egg cells can be fertilized 
on account of dissimilarity from the pollen cells, one would expect only 
those seeds to be formed that would come from the fusion of the germ 
cells nearest alike. Intermediates would therefore be more likely to be 
formed than extremes. There is one other possible way of accounting 



Fiq. 10. Segregation of size Characters. At left Xicotiana rustica brazilia. 
This plant was crossed with N. rustica scabra shown at left in Fig. 11. At right is 
a segregate of the second hybrid generation which is exactly like its parent. Unfor- 
tunately it has branched at the base or the similarity would be more striking. 

Fig. 11. Segregation in size Characters. At left yicotiana rustica scabra. 
This plant was crossed with .V. rustica brazilia shown at left in Fig. 10. At right 
is a segregate of the second hybrid generation exactly like its parent in size of plant, 
leaf and flower and in habit of growth. 


for constant intermediate hybrid races which I think has never before 
been mentioned. In crossing species of the genus Nicotiana, I have 
had plants develop from seed that have apparently been formed 
apogamously, that is, formed from an immature egg cell without fer- 
tilization. It is evident that this is induced by the extraordinary irri- 
tation of foreign pollen. The true hybrid plants that are formed are 
generally blends in the first generation. The question, then, arises: 
May not the difficulty of maturing sexual cells in a wide cross some- 
times cause apogamous development and therefore a continued propa- 
gation of a constant and uniform race? 

All but the last of these suggestions may also be pertinent in the 
case of varietal crosses where there is said to be a blending of char- 
acters that deal with size. I am not certain, however, that all the so- 
called blend hybrids might not show segregation if studied in large 
numbers. I have found such segregation in size characters in crosses of 
both maize varieties and of tobacco varieties. 3 

* In the writer's paper " The ROle of Selection in Plant Breeding " in the 
August number of this journal, the legends for figures three and four unfor- 
tunately were interchanged in printing. 





Introduction — Natural History 

IN this most important and interesting phenomenon of nature — a 
truly protective phase — let us first briefly consider the natural-his- 
tory side of the subject, describing how hibernation is peculiar to, and 
differs, in the various animals possessing this function of protective 
winter sleep. Then we will consider the various physiological phe- 
nomena characteristic of this torpid state. Let us first make clear the 
meaning of some of the terms used in connection with this condition. 

The term " hibernation " is used by scientists and naturalists to 
signify the peculiar somnolent or torpid state in which many animals, 
both warm- and cold-blooded, inhabiting cold and temperate climes, 
pass the winter. On the other hand, in hot and dry countries, various 
animals pass into a similar condition during the hottest and dryest 
season of the year, and this state is called " aestivation." 

Many of the animals which hibernate during the winter are liable 
to fall into a similar state at intervals during milder seasons — Dr. 
Marshall Hall considers the day sleep of bats as a species of hiberna- 
tion and has called it " diurnation." 

In man it is a question if true hibernation ever occurs — a similar 
condition may exist, however, but it is very rare either for a prolonged 
or short period. Cases of hibernation (?) in man are most frequently 
found in India, where some religious ascetics are stated, upon unim- 
peachable authority to possess the power of throwing themselves into a 
state closely resembling hibernation (trance?) for an indefinite period. 
Many curious cases have been recorded by Mr. Braid in his treatise on 
" Human Hibernation " ; the most celebrated and best known is that of 
a " fakir," who, in the presence of Sir Claude Wade, the English gov- 
ernor, was buried alive at Lahore in 1837, was exhumed and restored to 
consciousness after remaining in the ground for several months, the 
grave being guarded and every precaution taken, in the meantime, to 
prevent any interference or disturbance of the body. 

One of the largest groups of hibernating animals we have is that 
of bats — Dr. Marshall Hall claims that the bat when hibernating, prac- 
tically never wakes, but when disturbed will breathe naturally, 1 for a 
few minutes, hut will then return to its former state of quiescence. 

1 /. e., as in a fully wakened state, quieker and deeper. 


Earlier or later in the autumn, according to the species, the bats 
retire to caves and hollow trees and similar places, where they cluster 
together, hanging by their hind claws, head downward, and clinging 
to one another as well as to the walls of their retreat. Such masses may 
comprise various species, yet all species do not retire at the same time. 

The noctule is seldom seen abroad later than July — while the pipis- 
trelle may be seen flying any warm evening during the spring, summer . 
and autumn months. 2 

Owing to the difference in the flying season of these different bats, 
it is only natural to suppose that the hibernation of the former species 
(noctule) is much deeper and longer than in the latter (pipistrelle), 
which may feed all the year round. Here in North America some bats 
may, and probably do, migrate southward to avoid the too intense cold, 
and among these is probably the noctule, which is the first to come and 
the first to go. 3 These " flitter mice " 4 are insectivorous, and before 
discussing some of the other mammalia, it may be advisable to call 
attention to some points of difference existing, during the hibernating 
state, between the carnivorous and herbivorous animals. 

Bears come out of the hibernating condition as fat, or nearly so, 
as when they retired in the fall ; marmots, ground squirrels, etc., emerge 
in poor condition, in some cases quite emaciated; this in spite of the 
fact that they are functionally torpid, while bears and skunks are not. 
Female bears even bring forth their young while hibernating and suckle 
them from about the beginning of February to April, while they obtain 
no nourishment themselves. 

The bear and badger, in our northern and western climates, retire 
to their winter quarters and pass the greater part of their time in sleep, 
yet neither the brown bear 5 nor the badger falls into a true state of 
hibernation. On the other hand, the black bear of Xorth America is 
aroused with difficulty from his winter sleep, and this gives ground for 
the belief that he differs from the other species of bears in that he 
hibernates while the others do not. 

The most perfect hibernating animal we have in Canada is the 
ground-hog (woodchuck), which hibernates in a burrow of its own 

2 These names — noctule and pipistrelle — are the common names of two 
species of European bats; the genus Pipistrelle is represented in Xorth America, 
but only in the extreme southern portion of the United States, by three species 
and two subspecies. The common bats of eastern North America are the hoary, 
brown, silvery, red and the little brown bat, all of which are found here in 
British Columbia except the red variety. 

3 Bats undoubtedly migrate; see Miller, "North American Fauna," No. 13. 

4 Old term. 

•The "brown bear" is a very loose term — the cinnamon bear is only a 
color phase of the common black bear. The grizzly may be any color and are 
fiubgenerically distinct from the black bear. It is doubtful if any bear is 
completely torpid during hibernation; the grizzly is much less so than the black 
bear, the period of hibernation being shorter. 


making. In Europe the hedge-hog 6 (an insectivorous animal) is most 
complete. It retires to a hole among rocks, under a tangled mass of 
roots of trees or sometimes into an old disused drain, there it remains 
for the winter, seldom or never awakens until spring, and during this 
time it takes no food. In Canada it wakens to eat. If disturbed, it 
draws a deep sononous breath, followed by a few weak respiratory move- 
ments, returning almost immediately to its deep state of torpor and 
quiescence. The tuerec, an allied animal, found in Madagascar, sleeps 
similarly in its burrow for three months during the hottest period of 
the year. 

None of the American (or European) squirrels truly hibernate 7 
except the chipmunks (Entamicae) and the ground squirrels (sper- 

The dormouse hibernates in the strictest form and its torpid condi- 
tion is much deeper than that of the squirrels, its favorite bed for its 
long slumber being an old bird's nest or a mass of dried moss or feathers. 
In captivity, this little animal has been known to sleep for several days 
during the summer. The myoxus, an allied animal, when brought to 
Europe from Africa, hibernated in the winter seasons as if it were its 
usual and natural habit, without sustaining any harm. 

The hare will lie beneath deep snow for several weeks at a time, in a 
cavity just large enough to contain its body. In a similar manner, 
sheep, without any apparent injury, have been known to live for several 
weeks, buried in huge 6now drifts or slides. 

All the amphibia hibernate in cold and temperate climes. Land 
tortoises bury themselves in holes in the ground, while the fresh-water 
tortoises bury themselves in the mud at the bottom and sides of lakes 
and ponds. They obtain a deeper condition of torpidity than that of 
hibernating mammals, digestion and respiration (lung) being entirely 
suspended. Frogs hibernate in masses in the mud at the bottom of 
stagnant pools and if awakened from the hibernating state by warmth, 
can remain underwater, without drowning, considerably longer than 
they can during the breeding season. That frogs (toads?) can remain 
in a state of hibernation for an indefinite period remains to be proved, 
but too many circumstantial accounts have been reported of the dis- 
covery of live toads in masses of solid coal or rock formations to allow 
the idea to be dismissed as fabulous. 8 

Eeptiles, fish and batrachians exhibit little change from their usual 

•Hedge-hog; this term hedge-hog is confusing; it is the term applied in 
Maine and New Brunswick to the common porcupine. 

T In Canada, both the porcupine and squirrel store up food for winter con- 
sumption, rousing themselves at irregular intervals* to eat. 

8 " Our common toad hibernates in the ground, as does the wood frog (Rana 
8ylvaticus) and the small jumping frogs {Hyla). Our newts also hibernate in 
the ground." — John Burroughs (private communication). 


condition ( ?). Lizards and snakes retire to holes in trees, under stones, 
dead leaves, and many species may congregate together in large num- 
bers. They are in a quiescent and somnolent state, not true hibernation. 

Fish of the temperate zone do not fall into a state of complete tor- 
pidity, but their vital functions are diminished and they retire to shel- 
tered holes and cease to go abroad in search of food. In the tropics 
(Africa and India) large numbers of fish are known to survive long 
and severe droughts during which the streams and ponds are completely 
dried up. This, they do, by passing the dry season embedded in 
the mud. 

Most of the species of molluscae hibernate. The land snails bury 
themselves in the ground or conceal themselves under the bark of trees ; 
in fact in almost any sort of a cavity to be found. They close the 
mouth of their shells with a calcareous plate technically known as the 
" epiphragm," and this is perforated by a minute hole to permit breath- 
ing. The substance forming this plate they secrete in their mouths. 
During the dry weather in summer, the snails bury themselves in the 
ground and cover the opening of their shells with this protective shield, 
but it is much thinner than the one used in winter. This they do to 
protect themselves from the drought, t. e., by checking evaporation. 
Slugs bury themselves but do not enter into a complete state of hiber- 
nation. Fresh-water molluscae go into a state of hibernation in the fall, 
burying themselves in the mud until spring. It is believed that salt- 
water molluscae hibernate in a similar manner, but practically nothing 
is known concerning them. 

Many butterflies and moths hibernate in the perfect state as well 
as in the form of imagos, but not in the larval state ( ?). Most insects 
which pass the winter in a state of larvae hibernate during the period 
when they can not obtain any food. Insects which hibernate do not 
pair until spring and bees do not hibernate at all. It is well known to 
bee-keepers that these insects need plenty of food during the winter 

In the seeds of plants and in the eggs of many of the lower animals, 
life may remain dormant for years in cold climates, until heat or mois- 
ture awakens them. Many plants die down, while their roots remain 
alive during the winter season (perennials and biennials), coming to 
foliage and blossom in the spring. In the same way trees shed their 
leaves in the autumn and the sap returns to the roots. Similar phe- 
nomena take place in tropical countries during the hot season, when- 
ever the amount of humidity in the atmosphere is sufficient to maintain 
perennial vegetation during the entire year. 

These phenomena in the vegetable world are regarded generally as 
being analogous to those of hibernation in animals and therefore the 
terms " hibernation of plants " is sometimes applied to them. 



In this article, so far, we have dealt with the natural-history side of 
hibernation, explained what is meant by the various terms used in con- 
nection with this state and in what respect the condition itself differs 
in the various animals subject to its peculiar manifestations: a condi- 
tion provided by nature to tide an animal over a period when its very 
existence, owing to scarcity of food, becomes too difficult or even impos- 
sible to maintain; so by preserving the animal's life allows it to per- 
petuate its species. 

We will now pass on to consider the purely physiological phases and 
phenomena of this state. 

In hibernation all the activities of the body are greatly reduced, the 
temperature of the animal is lowered and even falls to a point slightly 
above that of the surrounding media. As it has been pointed out above, 
animals which hibernate do not belong to any one class, but examples 
are met with in mammals, reptiles (?), amphibians, insects, molluscae, 
but curiously enough, no case is known among birds. 

In some cases, previous to entering the hibernating state, the animal 
stores up food in its den or nest, on which it feeds when it wakes at 
intervals during its winter sleep. This is hardly pure hibernation, as 
in the true cases there is a special accumulation of fat in the animal's 
body before the commencement of the torpid state (the animal not 
waking to feed) and this serves as food during the hibernating period. 
A peculiar physiological change is here involved — a herbivorous animal 
becomes carnivorous, this being caused by the animal living on its own 
flesh, hence the excretions (small) of the animal become profoundly and 
completely altered in their chemical characters. 

A low temperature is the cause generally assigned for the production 
of hibernation, but a more careful consideration of the facts long ago 
showed that cold could not be the sole cause of the phenomenon. Most 
observers who have worked on the subject have found that extreme cold 
will not cause an active animal to hibernate; although Saissy has ob- 
served that continued cold, and a limited amount of air for respiration 
caused a marmot to pass into a typical hibernating condition, even in 
summer. Against this we have Vernon Bailey's experiments with 
spermophiles (first cousins of the marmots or ground-hogs), which 
showed that in the case of hibernating animals a few degrees lower 
temperature changed the torpid state into one of death. 

Mangili found that torpid marmots and bats were awakened by 
exposure to severe cold and that lessened or confined air would not cause 
hibernation. Dormice have been kept in a warm room throughout the 
winter and yet they hibernated and were not aroused when the extreme 
temperature was 20° C. The warmth, however, delayed the onset of 
torpidity by two months and made it less profound. Again, as has been 
mentioned before, hibernation may take place in the dry hot season. 


The supply of food may also be a factor producing this condition, as 
torpidity in dormice and groundhogs is delayed or prevented when the 
food supply is plentiful. I question this for the following reasons: 
Spermophiles and marmots retire for their winter sleep when their food 
supply is at its best; they only remain active until the full coating of 
fat is acquired. Here in British Columbia they will retire a month or 
more earlier in the low lands than they do at the timber line. In the 
latter regions they have not acquired enough fat until the end of Sep- 
tember, as they come out of hibernation later in the spring. 

In this connection it is interesting to note the influence of the food 
supply on man, protectively causing a condition closely resembling 
hibernation. For instance, there is in Eussia a certain class of peasants 
who suffer from a chronic state of famine which becomes more acute 
at the end of the year and more or less severe according to circum- 
stances. In these cases, when the head of the family sees, towards the 
end of autumn, that by a normal consumption of their supply of wheat 
it will not last the family through the winter, he makes arrangements 
to diminish the rations as much as possible. Knowing that it will be 
difficult to preserve their health and keep up the physical force neces- 
sary for their work in the spring, he and his family plunge themselves 
into a condition known as " lejka " which means that everybody simply 
goes to bed, lying down on the top of the flat stove, and there they stay 
during the four or five months of winter. They get up, during this 
time, only to replenish the fire, eat a small piece of black bread and 
take a small drink of water. The peasant and his family try to move 
as little as possible and sleep as much as they can — stretched out on the 
stove top, they preserve almost complete immobility. Their only care 
during the long winter is to keep down the body metabolism, to waste 
as little as possible of their animal heat, and for that reason they try 
to eat and drink less, move less, and to generally reduce the activities 
of their bodies. Their instinct commands them to sleep as much as 
possible — obscurity and silence reign in the hut where, in the warmest 
place, either singly or crowded, the occupants pass the winter season in 
a condition closely resembling hibernation. 

The following observations are purely physiological phenomena, 
occurring in mammals only. 

The frequency of respiration is greatly diminished, the rhythm is 
irregular and often of the Cheyne- Stokes type. 9 What little respira- 

•In the Cheyne-Stokes type of respiration, there is a pause in the respi- 
ratory act, then a small respiration occurs, to be followed by a deeper one; 
then a still deeper act and so on until the maximum is reached, when the 
respirations begin to gradually diminish until they die away altogether. This 
is followed by a prolonged pause, then they gradually begin again. 

VOL. lxxvil— 25. 


tion (t. e., interchange of gases in the lungs) there is, when the thoracic 
muscles and diaphragm are not acting (i. e., complete cessation of move- 
ment) is maintained principally by the " cardio-pneumatic " move- 
ment. 10 A hibernating dormouse may not give a single respiration for 
ten minutes, then takes from ten to fifteen breaths, at the end of which 
it again lapses into a state of quiescence for a period of several minutes, 
when the spasmodic respiratory act again occurs. The same animal, 
when in a normal waking state, breathes at the rate of eighty or more 
respirations a minute. Similar results are obtained in other animals. 
It has been observed that hibernating bats and marmots could be kept 
for hours in an atmosphere of carbon dioxide gas, without suffering any 
ill effects, whereas a bird or rat placed in the same chamber died almost 
at once, thus showing that in the hibernating state the consumption of 
oxygen is extremely small or in other words very little oxygen is re- 
quired by the hibernating animal (owing to the quiescence and lowered 
metabolism of the animal and naturally for the same reasons very little 
carbon dioxide is given off). Saissy has observed that the amount of 
oxygen taken in by a dormouse varied according to the activity of the 
animal, and so in true hibernation the amount of the intake of oxygen 
is naturally very small. 


During hibernation, the force and frequency of the heart-beat is 
greatly reduced. In the case of the bat and dormouse, it is as low as 
fourteen or sixteen per minute, while in these animals in the active 
state it is one hundred and over. Hill and Pembry by applying a 
stethescope to the chest of a hibernating bat, make the observation that 
no sound of the heart-beat could be heard, I can confirm this observa- 
tion as applying to the hibernating ground-hog in British Columbia, 
also, whereas with the animal awake and active, the sounds were bo 
loud that they could be heard distinctly when the ear was an inch away 
from the animal. 

I have found, and can confirm other observers, that the blood during 
hibernation has an arterial hue (bright red) in the veins, and, on the 
other hand, Marshall Hall states that it has a venous color in the ar- 


The activities of the digestive organs vary according to the habits 
of the different animals. Some, much as the dormouse, marmot (?) 
and hamster, store up food in the autumn which they consume during 
the winter in their waking intervals. Naturally, then, their digestive 

10 Cardio-pneumatic movement. Here the visible movements of respiration, 
dilation and contraction of the thorax, have ceased, but still air (a very small 
amount) is drawn into and expelled from the lungs. This is due to the heart's 
action, it also being contained in the thoracic cavity, hence its contraction and 
dilation so alters the pressure in the thorax that an interchange of respiratory 
gases is produced in the lungs. 


organs are intermittently active. In the black bear, however, digestion 
is completely suspended and his intestines become plugged up with an 
indigestible mass composed chiefly of pine leaves. This mass is not 
discharged until the bear wakes in the spring. 

It may be well to note here the important part played by the liver 
during hibernation in maintaining the animal's life; it acts as a store- 
house, storing up energy in the form of glycogen, often called animal 
starch — a substance derived principally from starchy or carbohydrate 
food. This glycogen is converted in the liver into sugar and poured 
into the circulation, which carries it to the tissues, where it is consumed 
during hibernation, as well as in the waking state. The presence of 
glycogen in the liver-cells of the frog and other animals may actually 
be seen by the aid of the microscope, immediately before hibernation, 
and its absence, more or less complete, at the end of this period, demon- 
strated in the same manner. (This is disputed by Weinland and Eichl 
— they claim that the amount of glycogen in the body remains constant 
during hibernation. 

Nervous System 

The excitability of the whole nervous system is greatly depressed. 
Physiologically, it resembles, as do the other tissues, that of cold- 
blooded animals in general, in that all the tissues (muscular, particu- 
larly) retain their excitability for a long time after they are removed 
from the body. 


A warm-blooded animal during hibernation loses all control (re- 
flex) over its temperature-regulating mechanism, and acquires all the 
characteristics of a cold-blooded organism, that is, instead of its body 
having a regular, normal and steady temperature, its temperature be- 
comes about the same as the surrounding media, and as this rises or 
falls, so does that of the animal. On the other hand, by arousing a 
dormant animal from its stupor, it is possible to make it exercise 
enough to bring its temperature up to normal, t. e., what it would be 
in its ordinary walking and active circumstances, or in other words to 
bring it back to warm-blooded conditions again. 

On studying the changes in external temperature, we find that the 
output of carbon dioxide and the temperature vary with the activity 
of the animal. If the animal is very active, it responds to a fall in 
external temperature by more muscular activity, and by this way main- 
tains the normal heat of its body. If, however, this animal is in a 
sleeping condition and there is a sudden fall in temperature, it some- 
what arouses at first, becomes active, and this causes an increase in the 
output of carbon dioxide, but after a few minutes it coils itself up 
again and returns to its former somnolent condition, and from which 
it is not so readily aroused. It has also been observed that when the 
surrounding temperature has been raised, the temperature of the 


hibernating animal does not keep much above it, until a point is 
reached when the animal wakens. Then its temperature rushes up 
many degrees in a few minutes and at the same time the excretion of 
carbon dioxide becomes enormously increased. 

Immunity and Formation op Antitoxinb 

Hansmann describes the influence of temperature on the incubation 
period and the formation of antitoxine. He found much greater resis- 
tance to infection and lengthened incubation time and no production of 
the various antibodies during hibernation. Blanchard and Blatin made 
the observation that in the hibernating condition the marmot was im- 
mune to parasitic maladies. 


It may be stated and accepted that when hibernation has been fully 
investigated, all degrees of cessation of functional activity of the vari- 
ous organs and tissues will be found represented, from the normal sleep 
of man and other animals to the lowest degree of activity manifested 
in life. Though some observers claim that in true hibernation there is 
complete cessation of function in some organs, as, for example, the 
lungs and movements of respiration, this is extremely doubtful. The 
awakening of an animal from its winter sleep is never sudden, but 
slow and gradual, often lasting for hours. This gradation from a pas- 
sive to an active condition is no doubt protective to the vital machinery, 
as it has been noticed that when bats have been awakened suddenly they 
have quickly died. 

We have spoken of hibernation in man, and by some authorities, 
sleep in man is closely allied to a state of hibernation. Natural daily 
sleep is favored by moderate exhaustion, the cravings of hunger being 
satisfied, and the absence of all peripheral stimuli. Sleep is a rhythmic 
diminution of the activities of all the tissues, but especially of the 
nervous system, which has control of all the others. As we have men- 
tioned before, Marshall Hall and others have shown that the gaseous 
interchange in a hibernating animal is greatly lessened and so too it is 
in sleep. It has also been shown by experiments that hibernation, like 
daily sleep, is not a series of fixed and rigid phenomena, but is varied 
in depth and in season and its main use is that of protecting and con- 
serving life. 

All forms of profound winter and summer sleep are protective, both 
of the individual and of the species. If it were not for this act of 
hibernation, many of the mammalia, amphibia, as well as some other 
groups of animals, would be utterly destroyed from the face of the 



Br Pbofbssob A. M. REESE 


IT has twice been my privilege to visit the wilds of Florida under 
the auspices of scientific societies, the first trip being to the 
Everglades, while the second expedition, under the auspices of the 
Smithsonian Institution, took me to the flat-wood and prairie regions 
in the center of the state, far from railroads and other signs of 
civilization. # 

From the pleasant little town of Orlando, with its orange groves and 
numerous small lakes, we plunged almost immediately into the " piney- 
woods," where the road is scarcely more than a trail, and is strewn with 
numberless huge pine cones that produce constant and nerve-racking 
jolting to passing vehicles. 

For about thirty miles we drove, slowly on account of heavy loads, 
through the pines, where but few and widely separated houses, and no 
villages, worthy of the name, were to be seen. The monotony, and lone- 
liness of these almost perfectly level forests, broken only by an occa- 
sional cypress swamp, sluggish stream, or tiny cabin, becomes, to one 
accustomed to a thickly-settled, rolling country, quite oppressive; and 
we were glad to come suddenly to the edge of the forest where we could 
look out for miles upon the open prairie. The prairie proved to be 
much nlore interesting, though no less lonely, than the pine woods. 
The ground is here covered with either grass, upon which large herds 
of cattle feed, or with the "scrub palmetto" which is, apparently, 
gradually spreading its useless foliage over the entire prairie. 

These scrub palmettoes, especially where they grow in taller, denser 
groups, are the home of numerous diamond rattle-snakes, the most 
deadly of American reptiles. As we drove past the palmettoes we 
frequently saw, and al\*ays captured alive if possible, these deadly 
rattlers, my guide being very expert and perfectly fearless in handling 
them. If they were coiled when found, he would simply reach out his 
hand slowly and pick them up by the back of the neck, sometimes 
attracting their attention by dangling a handkerchief in front of their 
eyes with one hand while he seized them with the other. If they 
attempted to escape, he would tap them with a carriage whip until he 
made them crawl where he could get at them easily. It is femarka&le 
the amount of teasing and rough handling to which a rattler will sub- 
mit without attempting to bite. His rattle may whirr violently and 

3 66 


A Typical Florida " Hammock." 

The Interior of a Florida " Hammock.' 



he will look as threatening and deadly as any animal could, but, unless 
he be shedding, he will seldom strike if he can avoid it by escaping from 
his tormentors. 

Although he had been handling and collecting snakes for thirty 
years, my guide had, until this trip, never been bitten by a rattler. One 
morning he had caught, in a noose at the end of a pole, a large rattler 
that was shedding and was, therefore, very vicious. Where a snake 
was lying in an inaccessible place, or was, as in this case, unusually 

Leaves of the " Cabbage Palmetto." 

vicious, a noose was generally used and the snake thus transferred to 
a, bag carried for the purpose. As he was being lowered into the bag, 
this particular snake gave a sudden twist and one of his poison fangs 
cut a long gash in the hand of his captor. Fortunately for the man, 
only the extreme tip of the fang penetrated the skin, so that little or no 
poison was injected. The guide always carried a hypodermic syringe 
for just such emergencies, so that a dose of potasium permanganate 
was soon injected into the wound, and no ill effects from the bite 
were felt. 

Although the bite of these rattlers is not necessarily fatal to man, 
almost any one in that region can tell of one or more cases where death 
has followed within a few hours of the time that the wound was 

3 68 


Capturing a Diamond Rattler. 

villages would Ije in other states : 
Camp Hammock, Hickory Ham- ' 
mock and Jack Hammock are 
familiar names in that region. 
They serve as camping places 
for men, and as shelters from 
the noonday sun for cattle. 
Some of them, when entered, are 
veritable fairy-lands: from the 
branches of the huge live oaks 
are festooned great masses of 
beautiful, gray, hanging moss, 
while here and there is stationed 
a stately palmetto, with its great 
head of green leaves, each leaf 
nearly twice as tall as a man. 
From the lower growth may pro- 
ject the gaunt, bare branches of 
a dead oak, on which a group 
of turkey-buzzards and carrion 
crows are likely to be seen. 

The much smaller ground 
rattlers are also numerous on the 
prairie, but, on account of their 
small size, one to two feet instead 
of six to eight, they are not feared 
as are the diamond rattlers. 

The monotony of the prairie is 
broken by an occasional clump of 
trees, known as a " hammock " 
(probably derived from "hum- 
mock"). These hammocks are 
sometimes composed merely of a 
small group of palm trees, called 
"cabbage palmettoes" from the 
edible, cabbage-like core at the 
tip; or they may cover several 
acres and contain moss-hung oaks 
and a dense undergrowth. The 
hammocks serve as landmarks and 
milestones for the traveler and 
cowboy, and many of them are 
named, just as streams, hills or 

k Group of Carrion Crows. 


3 6 9 

Except for the flatness of the country, which makes the drainage 
uncomfortably slow in wet weather, a more delightful place to pitch 
one's tent could hardly be found than one of these Florida hammocks. 
To be sure there are numerous snakes (we caught no less than twenty- 
three in a hammock where we camped for about a month), but they are 
mostly of harmless varieties and are really very graceful and interesting 

Dotted over the prairie are numerous small swamps and sluggish 
water-courses: the latter are called "sloughs" (pronounced " slews "), 
and differ from the former in containing, at least during wet seasons, 
running water. These swamps and sloughs are the home of the alli- 
gator and the deadly cotton-mouth moccasin. While searching for the 

A Typical 'Gator Hole of Central Florida. 

nests of the former, the latter were frequently seen, but were left 
severely alone, as they are quite deadly, are much more aggressive than 
the rattlers, and have no warning rattle to indicate the state of their 

In these swamps we collected not only several hundred alligator 
eggs, but also numerous alligators themselves, both large and small. 
The baby 'gatoTs were hooked up out of the water with a wire noose 
on the end- of a bamboo pole, while the large ones were either shot 
directly or were pulled out of their caves under the banks and killed 
by a rifle bullet in the back of the neck. 



A Nest of the Florida Alligator, made of a mass of flags and grasses. The nest 
has been opened to show the pile of eggs within. 

In the tall grass about the swamps deer are frequently seen, while 
on other parts of the prairie wild cats, skunks and other animals are 
met with; and rabbits are so abundant and so tame that they may be 
killed with a long pole or snared with the noose used for capturing 
young alligators. 

Herons, cranes, ibis and other beautiful and interesting birds are 
constantly seen, so that the naturalist has something of interest before 
his eyes at every turn. 

For the ornithologist, professional or amateur, who wishes to study 
and photograph an interesting bird colony, as has been done by Chap- 
man with the flamingoes and by other naturalists, there is, on a small 

An Eight-Foot Florida Alligator. 



Four Nests of the White Ibis, within a radius of three feet, on Bird Island. 
Several nestlings, which are black at this age, are to be seen. 

island near the center of Lake Kissimmee, an excellent opportunity. 
Lake Kissimmee, which is about thirty miles long by five wide, lies at 
almost the exact geographical center of the state of Florida. It may be 
reached by driving, as in the present case, or by motor-boat from the 
town of Kissimmee on the Atlantic Coast Line Eailroad, at the head 
of Lake Tohopekaliga. 

The island in question is well named " Bird Island," for it is the 
nesting place of thousands of white ibis, and not a few other birds. 
Its situation in the center of the lake makes it a safe retreat from 
the wild-cats and other destructive animals of the mainland, while 
the neighboring swamps furnish an endless supply of food for both old 
and young birds. For miles in all directions flocks of ibis, from three 
or four to as many dozens in number, may be seen feeding in the 
swamps and sloughs, or flying, single file, with their characteristic 
alternate flapping and sailing, to and from the rookery on the island. 

The island itself is covered with a dense jungle of reeds and under- 
growth, with areas of bushes and small trees. When one pushes 
through the reeds into one of the bushy areas, there is a startling whirr 
of wings as thousands of the ibis take to flight, circling about overhead 
in a perfect cloud, and making a most beautiful spectacle. 

At the time of our visit to the rookery, about the middle of July, 



nesting was in full swing, and in all stages, from the egg to the nearly 
full-grown bird, The nests, crude affairs, each made of a handful of 
small sticks, were everywhere — in every available situation on the bushes 

and small trees, and scattered over 
the ground in such numbers that 
one had to walk with care to avoid 
stepping on them. In some nests 
were eggs, as has been said, while 
in others were birds of all sizes, the 
larger of which scrambled away 
awkwardly at our approach. With 
a proper shelter it should be an easy 
matter to get any number of photo- 
graphs, at closest range, of these in- 
teresting birds. Circling overhead 
was a flock of crows, watching for 
opportunities to swoop down, in the 
absence of the parents, and carry 
off the young birds from the nests. 
For studying reptiles and birds 
there is probably no more interest- 
ing locality in the United States 
than this subtropical region of cen- 
tral Florida; and if the ubiquitous 
gun sportsman can be kept away, 
the hunter with the camera may 
there enjoy his harmless and in- 
structive sport for many years to come. 

The writer will be glad to furnish information as to equipment, 
guides, etc., to any camera sportsman who may be interested ; powder- 
and-shot sportsmen need not apply. 

A. Heron Posing for his Pic- 
ture. The Bird Island Rookery, Lake 
Kissimmee, Florida. 





ANY one who is familiar with the workings of governmental de- 
partments of health such as exist abroad, who has seen or ex- 
perienced the sanitary benefits bestowed upon the people by the Beichs- 
gesundheitsamt of Germany (imperial department of health), the Con- 
seil Superieur de Sant6 Publique de France, and the similar institutions 
of most European governments, can not help feeling amazed that any 
opposition should exist to the establishment of a federal department of 
health in this country. This amazement becomes all the greater when 
one considers some of the elements of which the opposition to that 
measure is composed. There is, for example, the New York Herald, a 
large and influential newspaper with an honorable career and a brilliant 
record for advocating everything that is conducive to the public wel- 
fare. Only in this particular instance has it allowed itself to become 
the mouthpiece of principles to which it is in general opposed, that is 
to say, principles and measures whereby the good of the people at large 
and the progress and welfare of mankind are hindered, and the lives 
of individual American citizens endangered. This particular news- 
paper is independent of any political party, or professional or religious 
association which might prejudice its point of view, and still it opposes 
a measure whereby all citizens of the country would benefit. The writer 
can not help thinking that this powerful news organ has not informed 
itself thoroughly of the real purpose and function of a federal depart- 
ment of health, and in its attack upon a large body of men such as com- 
pose the American Medical Association, the American Public Health 
Association, the National Association for the Study and Prevention of 
Tuberculosis, the American Association for the Advancement of Science 
and the various medical academies of the country, it is certainly mis- 
guided. It is to be hoped that the distinguished editors of the New 
York Herald will soon see that in their attitude toward the Owen bill 
they are not on the side of the people but are working against the wel- 
fare and interests of the masses. 

The principle of the Owen bill, establishing a department of health, 
has been endorsed by the president of the United States, by General 
George M. Sternberg, surgeon-general of the army, retired, and Bear- 


Admiral Charles F. Stokes, surgeon-general of the navy, by General 
Walter Wyman, of the Public Health and Marine Hospital Service, by 
Dr. Harvey W. Wiley, of the bureau of chemistry, by governors of states, 
by the Conference of State and Territorial Boards of Health, by the 
United Mine Workers of America, by the National Grange, by the 
republican and democratic platforms, and by numerous other organ- 

What is the principle of this bill which is advocated by thousands 
of men trained in medicine or sanitary science and interested in the 
public welfare? 

Section 7, which embodies the main purpose of the Owen bill, reads 
as follows : " That it shall be the duty and province of such a depart- 
ment of public health to supervise all matters within the control of 
the federal government relating to public health and to diseases of 
animal life." 

Section 2 of this bill deals with the unification under a secretary 
of public health of the various agencies now existing which affect the 
medical, surgical, biological or sanitary service. 

There has recently been formed an organization which calls itself 
" The National League for Medical Freedom." It has for its purpose 
to combat the Owen bill ; it is opposed to the establishment of a federal 
department or bureau of health. The name of this organization is 
certainly, if not intentionally, misleading. It can not claim to battle 
for medical freedom, for there is not a word in the entire bill which 
could be interpreted as limiting the practise of medicine to any par- 
ticular school. Their claim that the establishment of such a bureau 
of health would have any resemblance to a medical trust is entirely 

The life insurance and industrial insurance companies which advo- 
cate this bill certainly have no desire to limit medical freedom or to 
repress any system which offers the chance of lengthening human life. 
These companies do not favor medical partisanship and their sole in- 
terest is to prolong the lives of their policy-holders by whatever means 
possible. Their actuaries state specifically that they believe human 
life could and would be lengthened by the establishment of a federal 
department of health. 

Lee K. Frankel, Ph.D., representing the Metropolitan Life In- 
surance Company, is a member of the Committee of One Hundred, 
appointed by the American Association for the Advancement of Science 
to further the propaganda for the establishment of such a department. 
Neither the above-mentioned great newspaper nor any of the leading 
spirits of the " National League for Medical Freedom," all of whom, 
I regret to say, have allowed themselves to ascribe the worst motives to 
the members of the committee, will deny that the names of the officers 


of this committee show that it is thoroughly representative of the 
highest type of American citizenship. The officers of the Committee 
of One Hundred are : 

President: Irving Fisher, Ph.D., professor of political economy at 
Yale University. 

Secretary: Edward T. Devine, Ph.D., LL.D., professor of social 
economy, Columbia University, and secretary of the New York Charity 
Organization Society. 

Vice-presidents: Eev. Lyman Abbott, D.D., LL.D., emeritus pastor 
of Plymouth Church, editor of The Outlook; Jane Addams, A.M., 
LL.D., founder and head worker of the Hull House Settlement, ex- 
president of the National Conference of Charities and Correction; 
Felix Adler, Ph.D., professor of political and social ethics, Columbia 
University, leader of the N. Y. Society for Ethical Culture ; James B. 
Angell, A.M., LL.D., professor of modern languages and literature and 
president emeritus of the University of Michigan; Joseph H. Choate, 
LL.D., D.C.L. (Oxford), diplomat and United States senator; Charles 
W. Eliot, A.M., LL.D., president emeritus of Harvard University ; Et. 
Eev. John Ireland, LL.D., archbishop of St. Paul; Ben. B. Lindsey, 
judge, reformer and author, Denver, Colo. ; John Mitchell, president of 
the labor union of America ; William H. Welch, M.D., LL.D., professor 
of pathological anatomy, Johns Hopkins University. 

Need I say anything in defense of the Committee of One Hundred 
after having given the names of its officers ? 

Direct and most unkind comments, not to use a stronger term, 
have been directed especially against one vice-president of the com- 
mittee representing the medical profession. I refer to Dr. William 
H. Welch, M.D., LL.D., president of the American Medical Associa- 
tion. Those who know Dr. Welch and even those who only know of 
him, would justly think it absurd if I should see the need to say even 
a word in defense of this master of medical science. To us it is indeed 
difficult to understand that there would be any man or woman in this 
land capable of speaking ill of Dr. Welch. There is no name in the 
medical world which is more honored in this country and abroad, no 
medical teacher more admired, no one who has a larger following than 
this Johns Hopkins professor of pathology, and no physician more be- 
loved and looked up to as representing all that is best and noblest in 
the profession than Dr. Welch. If there is any rpan in the American 
medical profession who is unselfishly devoting his high intelligence, 
his time and his means to the public welfare it is Dr. Welch. Gladly 
do we acknowledge him as our leader. 

To accuse the president and members of the American Medical 
Association of selfish motives in advocating the establishment of a 
federal department of health is absurd. If there ever was an unselfish 


movement inaugurated, it is this one. It is a movement by physicians 
for the reduction of disease, which ipso facto means a movement 
against their financial interests. 

The writer is a member of the regular profession; he nevertheless 
would not wish for a moment to limit the freedom of any citizen to 
choose his physician from some other school or cult, providing the 
individual assuming the function and responsibilities of a physician 
had the training necessary to prevent him from endangering the life 
of his patient by lack of medical knowledge or skill. 

The official mouthpiece of this "National League for Medical 
Freedom " is Mr. B. 0. Flower, who has had heretofore the reputation 
of a fighter for everything involving the spiritual, social and physical 
progress of humanity, and it is inexplicable to many of his admirers 
how he can lead a movement opposed to the improvement of the 
health of the nation. The vast majority in the ranks of this so-called 
"league," though they may be well-meaning, noble, and earnest, are 
not men and women who have toiled patiently for years in order to 
acquire the thorough scientific medical training which enables one to 
assume that great responsibility of the care and treatment of the sick. 
They are unable to appreciate the inestimable value of federal help in 
preventing disease. These people are blindly following certain indi- 
viduals who designate the regular profession as a medical trust, and 
accuse the thousands of noble men and women who are devoting their 
lives to the alleviation of human ills of a desire to monopolize medical 
practise. The establishment of a federal department of health would 
mean pure food, pure medicine, control of plagues and epidemics, the 
advancement of medical science and through it the improvement of 
the health and increase of material wealth of the nation. It is said 
that many of the individuals opposing the Owen bill are commercially 
interested in the manufacture of drugs or patent medicines, of which 
latter the American people swallow about $200,000,000 worth annually. 
Whether it is true or not that the National League for Medical Free- 
dom is backed financially by drug manufacturers and patent medicine 
concerns, I am not prepared to say; yet even these men have nothing 
to fear from a federal department of health if the drugs they put on 
the market are pure and the claims made for patent medicines do not 
delude the public or endanger its health. The element which clamors 
most loudly for medical freedom is composed in many instances of men 
and women who have attended one or two courses of lectures or got 
their " degrees " without any training at all, and have developed into 
" doctors " and " healers " in a most remarkably short space of time. 

Because the American Medical Association has always advocated a 
thorough medical education, is pleading constantly for pure drugs, is 
opposed to quackery, patent medicines and nostrums, its 40,000 mem- 


bers are considered a medical trust. Yet it is in the ranks of this very 
American Medical Association that are found the greatest number of 
unselfish devotees to preventive and curative medicine. It is within 
this association that are found the men who have added the greatest 
glory to the medical and scientific reputation of this country. Amer- 
ica's greatest surgeons — Marion Simms, Gross, Sayer, O'Dwyer, Bull 
— were members of this association. McBurney, Jacobi, Stephen Smith, 
Welch, Osier and Trudeau have graced this association by their mem- 
bership for nearly half a century. The heroes in the combat against 
yellow fever — Eeed, Lazare and the hundred of others who have de- 
voted their best energies and knowledge and often sacrificed their lives 
for the sake of medical science — were members of the American Medical 

One of the most illustrious members of the American Medical As- 
sociation is its former president, Col. William C. Gorgas, of the XJ. S. 
Army, chief sanitary officer at Panama, an adherent to the regular 
school. It is thanks to the genius, the scientific and thorough medical 
training of Dr. Gorgas that the formerly deadly Isthmus of Panama 
has now become as sanitary a region as any. A great patriotic enter- 
prise, important to commerce and the welfare of nations, was made pos- 
sible by this man. He has labored and is constantly laboring for the 
establishment of a federal department of health because he knows the 
inestimable benefit which such a department would bestow upon the 

Whatever advance has been made in medical science in America or 
in Europe has been made by scientifically trained men or by physi- 
cians not without but within the ranks of the regular profession. The 
greatest benefactors of mankind are those who diminish disease by 
prevention and cure. As another illustrious example of medical bene- 
factors, may I be permitted to cite that great trinity of scientific giants 
who through their labors have accomplished so much in reducing dis- 
ease and lessening human misery in all parts of the globe? They are 
Pasteur of France, Lister of England and Koch of Germany; all of 
them aided their governments by direct participation in the govern- 
mental health departments. We are still mourning the death of per- 
haps the greatest of the three — Robert Koch. I do not believe that 
there is, even in the camp of our opponents in this so wrongly called 
" League for Medical Freedom," a single intelligent individual who 
will deny the inestimable benefits which Koch has bestowed upon man- 
kind through his discovery of the germs of tuberculosis, of cholera, of 
the spores of anthrax, of tuberculin, and through his many other 
equally important scientific labors. Yet, had it not been for the Im- 
perial German Reichsgesundheitsamt, which is the equivalent of the 
institution we are striving for — a federal department of health — Koch 

vol. lxxvii.— 26. 


never would have been able to devote his life, energy and great genius 
to those important discoveries through which thousands of lives have 
been saved in all civilized countries during the past few decades. It 
was while working in this governmental institution, which is doing 
exactly the work the Owen bill asks the federal department to do, that 
Koch discovered the tubercle bacillus and the bacillus of cholera. Be- 
cause of the discovery of the comma bacillus, we no longer have those 
fearful cholera epidemics which formerly decimated our own and other 
countries. This disease can now be easily diagnosed and by proper 
quarantine its mortality can be reduced to a minimum. And what 
shall we say of the progress that has been made in the fight against 
tuberculosis because the federal department of health of Germany en- 
abled Koch to do research work and thus discover the bacillus of tuber- 
culosis to be the primary and only direct cause of the disease? As 
director of the hygienic institute and member of the Reichsgesund- 
heitsamt he inaugurated that wonderfully effective campaign against 
tuberculosis whereby the mortality from this disease in Germany has 
been reduced to nearly one half of what it was prior to the discovery 
of the tubercle bacillus. 

Under Koch's inspiration and guidance and in the same institute 
many great scientific discoveries of incalculable value to humanity were 
made. Foremost among them are the works of Ehrlich, one of Koch's 
most celebrated pupils, who recently gave to the world a new remedy 
which promises to prove a specific in an affliction from which mankind 
has suffered for centuries. 

As co-worker in the Kaiserliche Gesundheitsamt and the Institute 
for Infectious Diseases, affiliated therewith, we must also mention Behr- 
ing, the discoverer of the anti-diphtheritic serum. Thanks to the dis- 
covery of this serum thousands of young lives are now saved which would 
formerly have fallen victims to the terrible disease known as malignant 
diphtheria. This was made possible by the opportunity given to the 
workers in the Reichsgesundheitsamt and Imperial Institute for Infec- 
tious Diseases. 

Can there be any better argument in favor of the establishment of 
a federal department of health? 



By Pbofessob PERCY HUGHES 


THE terms liberal and technical do not distinguish two types of 
educational practise, but two tendencies in and functions of any 
part of the educational process. For at the present time any type of 
liberal education includes of necessity education for efficiency in some 
art, in the broadest sense of that term; while the existent types of tech- 
nical education involve training that goes far to realize liberal ideals. 

But, in any education, the tendency to emphasize the technical at 
the cost of- the liberal function of that education is confronted with the 
reciprocal striving of the liberal tendency and ideal to maintain its 
ancient eminence and prerogative. The technical aim is to fit the indi- 
vidual to take his place in the social scheme of toil through efficiency in 
some art, whether it be teaching or engineering, medicine or " business." 
The liberal purpose is the realization in each individual of the highest 
manhood, of those ideals of character and personality which alone make 
the toil and sacrifice of society meaningful and worth while. It is pos- 
sible that these two tendencies should cooperate and indeed proceed 
along identical lines of educational effort now, as they have done in 
times past. But it seems that under modern conditions which the 
school can neither at once change nor at all afford to disregard, the 
demand for technical efficiency is necessarily antagonistic to liberal 
aspiration — not indeed at all points, but in many respects. 

I believe that it is of the greatest importance clearly to formulate 
and contrast these two tendencies in modern education, so that, in 
answer to the perfectly clear and exceedingly insistent demands for 
technical efficiency, there may be set forth ideals of liberal education 
which shall be well understood by all interested in education, and shall 
appeal to all as imperative and urgent. 

Disregarding, therefore, accidental, partial and temporary phases 
of liberal education, we note, in the first place, that in styling an educa- 
tion liberal we thereby associate it with liberalism in politics, in philos- 
ophy and theology, and in men's personal relations to each other. In 
each case liberalism seems fundamentally to denote freedom, that is, the 
conditions that make for the development and realization in each indi- 
vidual of that character and personality which is his true nature. A 
similar argument leads to the conclusion that the technical in educa- 


tion is directed toward efficiency in some art. (Here the term art is 
used in its original and broadest sense, to include any method of action 
that is recognized and adopted as the means appropriate to achieve some 
definite, specific purpose.) We may then conclude that an education is 
liberal in so far as it makes for manhood and personality, technical in 
so far as it makes for efficiency in some art. And we proceed to con- 
sider why it is that at the present time we find the liberal opposed to 
and contrasted with the technical trend of education. 

In ancient Athens the aim set before each citizen was, fundamen- 
tally, to be a good citizen; and in mastering that art he realized also 
personality and manhood. Here the technical and the liberal in educa- 
tion seemed in perfect accord. And it was so in the Eome of Cicero 
and Quintilian, when the education of the orator was looked on as the 
fullest development of personality. And, in primitive and medieval 
Christianity, the fullest realization of the soul in that life-long educa- 
tion which should bring salvation in the knowledge and love of God was 
the very education which should fit the man also for the one supreme 
art, the extension of God's kingdom here upon earth. So too the 
knight, the warrior of the medieval system, could not distinguish the 
education which should make him a perfect knight, from that which 
should make him a perfect man. 

During the renaissance there appeared and flourished a type of 
education which had in view the cultured gentleman, rather than the 
perfection of any art to which he might or might not apply his powers. 
But even here the liberal was not contrasted with the technical, though 
in later times there developed from this renaissance ideal the still per- 
sistent concept of a "gentleman" who might best attain culture when 
aloof from the general life of toil. But what is most noteworthy in the 
renaissance, whether we consider its birth in the free Italian cities, its 
culmination in Luther and Bacon, or its close in Milton, is not un- 
worthily summed up in the ideal of education which Milton himself 
thus expressed: "I call therefore a complete and generous education 
that which fits a man to perform, justly, skillfully and magnanimously, 
all the offices both private and public of peace and war." Still then it 
was thought that a man might attain efficiency in every art and therein 
find his perfect freedom and full realization. 

The sense of opposition between the liberal and the technical in 
education is not to be found in Huxley or in Spencer, who best express 
to us the scientific in contrast with the humanistic vision of liberal 
education. Indeed, both these men were criticized, even in their own 
day, for failure to see that to be " in harmony with nature " or to strive 
after a comprehensive knowledge of the various fields of science is not 
the best preparation for most occupations, and is indeed hardly possible 
in view of the necessity for the thorough acquaintance with some limited 
field of science and knowledge which modern conditions seem to demand. 


For, as the development of the sciences has led to the elaboration 
and multiplication of the arts, and to consequent specialization in each 
field of art, even the gifted man finds himself forced to abandon the 
scientific and humanistic aspirations which have been identified with a 
liberal education, in order that he may attain some small success in a 
selected realm of practical art and achievement. Without for the pres- . 
ent assuming that such specialization does indeed mean dwarfing and 
distorting of personality, we clearly have to recognize that it introduces 
a*new factor into the situation, which at least tends to turn technical 
education from liberalizing paths, or seems to do so. 

Another influence seems more obviously and directly to turn tech- 
nical education from liberal ideals, viz., the fact that most arts now 
demand for their prosecution great sums of money. For this and for 
other reasons, no doubt, all arts have come to be looked on as in the 
first place parts of "business," and are followed and studied chiefly 
from the business point of view, in which the first consideration is to 
do that for which people will pay, and to make a profit. " Business " 
itself may be called an art; perhaps the art of money-making. But, 
while of other arts it often is true that they require of the efficient artist 
that he be very much of a man, no one cla