^ UCNRLF

I

UB/?ARY

UNIVC-ITY OF

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THE LIBRARY

OF

THE UNIVERSITY

OF CALIFORNIA

__ PRESENTED BY

PROF. CHARLES A. KOFOID AND
jy^'H (^/■(f-m, MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID

Id-^n

(Q(^f^!^itr^ ^^< S^^j^i-<^^/

*««/ Q^tc^f. /, Z^^'-

/%-v

r

THE SATURDAY LECTURES,

HKI-IVKUKU IN IIIK

k'ctui'c-Rooiii of tli(' U. S. Xational Museum,

unhfji tmr atspicks ok thk

AiitliropolofficalaiiilBiokii'alSiii'idi

0 0

liO

OF WASHINGTON,

IN MARCH ANr> APRIT.. 1882.

D. T.OTIIROP & CO.
30 ^: ;;2 FRANKT.IN STREKT. BOSTON. M.\SS.

WASIIINriTON, I). ('. :

JUDD &. DKTWETLF.R, PUINTP:KS AND I'l' lU.ISHEU.^.

1882.

//

^i^y^p/^^n Mu

CONTENTS.

InlioliKtory Addros. lU Major J. \V. I'owell. Director U. S. Gcoloi^icnl

Survey . '

Scientific ami Pojmlar Views of Nature (^ontrasterl. By Prof. TIu-o. Ciiil. 5

What i- Antl)roiX)lo}jy ? By I'rnf. Otis T. Mason .i 25

Contrast> of the Appalachian Mountains. By Prof. J. \V. Chickcrinjj. Jr. 44

Outlines of Socioloijy. P.y Major J. W. I'oweil '>0

Little Known Facts aliout Well Known AnininU. By Prof. C. V. Riley. S3

Paul Broca and the French School of Anthropolojjy. By Dr. I<ol>ert

Fletcher - I';,

Deci)-Sea Explorations. By Prof. Wni. II. D.ill
IIow we See. Bv Dr. Swan M. Biirnelt ..

>4.5
•63

(iii)

j7,3-o7G8

INTKODUCTORY ADDRESS

My J. \V. I'owi II.
Director, U. S. Geoloi^ieal Survey.

On the occasion of the delivery of the first of tiie Saturday Lectures, the fol-
lowing remarks were made by Major J. W. PowElx :

For luuuy years tlic Geue-nil Lrovernnient lias been proseculiiig
scieutific research through various agencies. The field of these in-
vestigations is wide.

For a long time geological surveys have existed iu various forms.
In the study of the structure of the earth's crust — the mountains
and j)lain.s, the hills and valleys have been traversed, and rocks,
iniiierals and fossils collected ; and by these fos.sils we come to a
knowledge of the way in which the ancient earth was clothed with
vegetation, and of the animals that lived in the ancient seas, lakes,
and rivers, and roamed over the lands.

During all these years biologists have been at work stuflying
the plants and animals that now live upon the earth and collecting
biologic materials from every laud.

During all these years anthropologists have been at work study-
ing the native races of America and collecting their works of art.

Since the foundation of the Smithsonian lustitution, it also has
in all these dej)artments promoted research and collected scientific
materials tor study, enlisting in its corps of collaborators men or
every part of the United States — yes, of every land and every clime.

Since the organization of the Fish Commission, the nations of the
seas, and the tribes of tin; lakes and the rivers, have been studied.
Through these agencies, and yet many others, there has accumulated
in Washington, in the custody of the Smithsonian Institution, a large
bodv of material which has been the basis of a vast .system of scien-
tific research and publication. The General Government is now
annually publishing from 20 to oO large volumes — the monographs
and memoirs of scientific research — and the rate of publication is
rapidly increasing.

These materials have already performed an important purpose —
greater than can be estimated, but tJteir value is perennial.

2 INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS.

With every advance made iu science the old material must be
re-examined for new facts, and to discover new relations. In this
manner all are to go on increasing in value from decade to de-
cade with the advance iu human knowledge. In future years the,
scientific men of the world must resort to the National Museum at
Washington, to pursue or to complete their studies. It was, there-
fore, the part of wisdom for the National Legislature to provide
means for the preservation of this great collection, and to provide
also, for its re-examination and increase.

These materials are not alone of interest to the scientific speci-
alist. They have an interest and value to all intelligent people
under whose eyes they fall — a value that depends largely on their
orderly arrangement and classification ; so that the great facts and
principles of the many sciences represented, may be presented in
birds-eye views to inquiring students.

Such are the functions of the National Museum, and the Insti-
tution is destined to exert an ever-increasing influence in the pro-
gress of science.

In order that all possible benefits may accrue from the enterprise
it is proposed to establish a series of popular science lectures in this
hall. Here, then, are presented the simpler lessons taught by the
works of nature.

It is no easy task to explain the subject-matter of the various
branches of science iu such a manner that facts and principles may
be easily grasped by those who are not specialists. A clear com-
prehension of any scientific subject is always accompauied by a
power to clearly present the subject to scholars iu the same depart-
ment. A failure to present science to scientific men is fundamental
evidence of failure in comprehension. But to present a scientific
subject to those who are themselves not specialists or scholars in the
specific department in such manner that they will be interested and
instructed is no easy task. The man with this power, with this
genius, is rare. He must be ready with illustration, apt iu the
selection of non-technical words, clear and forcible in his presenta-
tion, and especially must he be devoid of that pedantry which loves
to revel in a wealth of details and technicalities, and he must so
master his subject as to be thoroughly saturated with it. Then
every word, every tone, and every gesture, will convey a thought.

The course is inaugurated this afternoon by a lecture on Scientific
and Popular views of Nature Contrasted.

Since man first inhabited the earth, two methods of thought have

IN'lHoDirroKV ADhllKSS. 3

fxi>t«(l >iiie l)v ^n\v — two \vay.< ot" cxplaiiiiiit; tliiiiL'-. In tin- Kucky
Mi)iintains you may hear an liulian explain llic raiiihow with all
ils beautiful colors as the serpent that ahrade-s the tirnianu'nt of ice
to give us snow in Winter and rain in Sununer. He sees itd coil,
he sees its stripes, he sees it against the sky of ice, arttl he sees it as-
sociated with rain which falls from above, and so he calls it the Great
.Serpent of the .Storm. The metiiod of thought by which he arrives
at this <-onclusiou is subjective ami superficial analogies arejjsed as
the basis of conclusions. The man of science .sees in the rainbow
the analysis of white light into it^ constituent colors.

The method of thought is objective, and essential iiomologies are
used as the basis of his explanation. But these two methods of
thought appear in all stages of civilization and among all peoples.
Subjective thought aud anal.>gic reasoning appear on the oue hand,
objective thought and homologic reasoning ou the other ; aud it thus
happens that in all the domain of Nature there is a vast body of
phenomena that receives two explauation.s — a popular aud a scien-
tific. But,gra<lually, the scientific method is becoming the popular
method, and scientific methods are being accepted and understood
more aud more, as the years pass, by the intelligent people of civil-
ization ; and it is the purpo.se of the lectures inaugurated this day
to bring popular and scientific thought into harmony. Such is the
tjisk Professor Gill proposes for himself. May lie abundantly suc-
ceed.

Ladies aud geutlemeu : 1 have the honor to present the learued
aud eloquent lecturer, Professor (iill.

SCIENTIFIC AM) POI'CLAR VIKWS OF NATURE
CONTRASTED.

Lecture (Iclivircil in the National Museum, W.ishinj^ton. I). C. March ii. 1882,
l>v Prof. TiiKo. Gii.i .

LaDI KS a M • (I KN IIJCM KN :

I feci lotli to (oniiiu'iici- my Icctinf iiltcr the flattering
introdiKticui of Major Powvll, for ho has led yon to expect
more thiui yon will rocoivc. and to believe that what you
receive will 1m- adorned with the uraees of oratory ; but this,
I assure you. will not be the case. At the out.set, I shall be
obli<ied to e.\))lain as to the title of the lecture of the after-
noon. A title had to be given, and that title had to be
pith> . Exactly what ground is to be covered is not, however,
evident from it. What 1 do i>ropose is to treat of a very
limited field, and in a very plain and conversational manner
discourse concerning those relations which exist Ijotween
certain groups of animals, and the opposite phases under
which they are contemplated by the .scientific mind on the
one hand, and by the [)oj)ular mind on the other. In doing
tiiis I shall take concreU- examples, and, after considering
the animals adduced, derive; from the facts presented some
deductions which aj.pear to be legitimate. I will now^ only
anticipate by the statement that the dictum, which is .so
prevalent in morals and social life — not to trust to appear-
ances— is equally true for and applicable to the animal and
vegetable kingdoms. The popuhn- mind in.stinctively clas-
sities animals according to external manifestations and adap-
tations, and especially with reference to the elements in
which they live, be it earth, water, or air. This system of
ela.ssification i.s, perhaps, almo.st coeval with the intellectual
history of our race. Over eighteen centuries ago Ovid, the
Latin poet, gave expression to such ifleas in the first book
of his Metamorpho.^es which I beg to recall to vou in
Dryden's version ;

•' IJefore the seas and this terre>trial h.ill.
.\ncl heaven's high canopy that covers all,
( )ne wa.s the face of nature ; if .i fcce :
Rather a nulc and undigested mass :

b SATURDAY LECTUKES.

No sun \va^ lii^lucd up tlie world to view.

No moon did yet her Ijlunted hours renew,

Nor yet was earth suspended in the sky.

Nor poised, did on her own foundation lie.

Nor seas about the shores their arm~ had thrown

But earth, and air, and water were in one.

Thus air was void of light, and earth unstable.

And water's dark abyss unnavigable.

No certain form on any was impressed :

All were confusion, and each disturb'd the rest.

For hot and cold were in one body fix'd,

And soft with hard, and light with heavy, mix'd

Thus disembroird, they take their proper place ;

The next of kin contiguously embrace ;

And foes are sunder" d by a larger space.

The force of fire ascended first on high,

.\nd took its dwelling in the vaulted sky :

Then air succeeds, in lightness next to fire,

Whose atoms from unactivc earth retire."*

As to the mode in which the various elements were
peopled, hear also Ovid :

" Then, every void of nature to supply,
With fonns of Gods he fills the vacant sky ;
New herds of beast«i he sends the plains to share;
New colonies of birds to people air ;
And to their oozy beds the finny fish repair.
A creature of a more exalted kind
Wa> wanting yet, and then was man designed."'

In such words the great })oet has embodied the popular
conception of the divisions of nature and of the relations
thereto of the animals which i)eople the world — one set for
the earth, a different creation for the land, and a third for
the air. These views, or some not essentially differing, were
current until within a comparatively recent period.

It is easy by a merely superficial examination to convince

*.4nte mare ettellus, et, quod tegit omnia, cojlum,
Unus erat toto-naturse vnltus in orbe,
Quem dixere Chaos; rudis indigcstaque moles;

Hanc Deus et melior litem natura diremit ;
Nam ccclo terras, et terris abscidit tindas ;

Neu regio foret uUa suis animantibiis orba ;
Astra tenent ccclestc solum, formteqne deorum ;
Cesserunt nitidis habitandie piscihns undoe;
Terra f eras cepit; colucres .igitabilis oiir.

—Ovid Met. I, I. 5-7, 21-22, 72-76.

viicws or N.vn KK iontkastki). 7

ourselves that this tripartite division ol aiiiinal life is very
incorrect. We sec i)roniinent about us, it is true, certain
animals that seem es[)ecially adaj)tecl to specilic elements —
the quadrupeds for the land, the birds for the air, and fishes
for the water ; but as soon as we proceed to a more detailed
review, and attempt to collocate with them the other animals
that live on the earth we comcupon stnniljliiiL^-blocks in
every direction and arc soon forced to modily and change
our ideas. Without takin<i; into account the hosts of lower
animals, naturalists soon reco.<;nized that even the verte-
brates could not be combined under the tripartite division.
Linnanis gave the name Amphibia to those forms inter-
mediate between the land animals and the water animals,
including the reptiles and hatrachians — frogs, salamanders,
<fec. But it was not till a long time afterwards that even
Linnaeus became convinced that this was not going far
enough. Only in the later editions of his work published
toward the end of his life did he teach that animals must
needs be regrouped, and in a manner that would be foreign
to popular opinion. He first clearly recognized that whales
were not fishes, but essentially agreed with the viviparous
hairy quadrupeds, and under the name of Mammalia he
first combined the two types in one class. I presume that
the major portion of my audience recognize in a sort of
way the fact that whales are not fishes, but mammals, or
animals, as most people i)lcase to call" them. At the same
time there is a fear that many accept the dictum without
understanding the why and wherefore they are so consid-
ered. It will, therefore, be my task this afternoon to give
some of the reasons why the whales are not regarded as
fishes, and why they are considered to be mammals. After-
wards it will appear that, by parity of reasoning, there will
flow a series of deductions, applicable not only to the forms
about to be treated of, but also to animated nature generally.
I doubt not that if the question "are whales fishes?"
were put to jtopular vote, there would be an overwhelming
assent to the ancient belief. Indeed the proposition that
such is the case has l>cen sanctioned bv that "bulwark ot

8 SATURDAY LECTUliKS.

our institutions" — a jury in a court of law. About sixty-
years ago, a case was brought up in tlio New York courts,
involving that question. It was a revenue case, and the
suitor was one Maurice Judd. It Avas decided with all
the formality of law that the whale was a fish ! Times and
ideas have changed since then, but not so much as to forbid
us to believe that essentially the same views are prevalent
at the present day, and I presume that the old verdict ex-
pressed the opinion of the majority of mankind at this
time. Indeed, it may seem presumptuous in me to differ
from such high authority as a court of law.

But without further preface, I shall now invite your con-
sideration of the skeletons at my side, one of a porpoise,
which is simply a kind of a whale, and the other of a
swordfish, which is a true fish. I will contrast the differ-
ences between the two ; first, as they appear in the flesh, and
then those which become manifest on dissection.

As to form : of course, superficially there is a great deal
of resemblance between a whale and an ordinary fish, and
it is this superficial resemblance which has impressed upon
the popular mind the idea that the wdiale is a fish. But,
even if we consider onl}^ this external form closely, we find
that material differences occur, and those differences are
the indications of very much greater dissimilarity of ana-
tomical structure. In the fish, the tail, you will see, is ver-
tical; in the cetaceans it is horizontal.

In the skeleton of the fish, the tail is composed of many
bones diverging from the tail vertebrae, and forming a
framework for the vertical fin. The fish in its progress
through the water moves this fin to and fro, sideways. In
the skeleton of the cetacean, there are no bones in the tail,
but the vcrtebrrc taper backward, and have nothing com-
parable to the bones of the fish. The fin is represented
simply by a mass of fibrous tissue and muscles, and it is
inserted horizontally, so that the animal, in progressing,
propels its tail upward and downward.

These are the indices of very important differences. The
whale's tail is not at all like the fish's tail. The latter is a

VIKWS nV NAT! Ki: < • >.NrK ASTKI). 9

peculiar organ, inserted at the end of tlu; vertebral column,
and has a frame work of bones, developed amund the last
vertebra^ and appended to them.

Before proceeding further to discuss the character of the
caudal fin of a whale, let mo call your attention to the fins
which are developed under the belly or middle of the body
in the carp and trout, and although absent in the sword-
fish, in ordinary lishes present. You will lind nothing eoi--
responding to these in ]iosition in the whales, but I will now
attempt to show that these tins, which are called ventral
fins, inserted under the back, far forward, are represented
by the flukes of the tail of the whale, which must, therefon;,
be entirely different from the tail of a true fish. But how
can this be ?

You are all acipiainted with the external appearance of
the seal, in which the posterior feet are obviously present, but
are thrown far backward, and are to a great extent horizontal
beyond the body. Now, imagine these fins, flippers, or feet,
whatever you may call them, with the bones atrophied, or
greatly decreased in size, and the integuments and soft tissues
greatly hypertrophied, that is, enlarged, and you will* see
that no great diflercnce exists between such fins hori-
zontally extended backward, and the flukes of the whale.
In fact, it is known, not only from anatomical, but from
embryological and ])aleontological data, that the tail of a
whale is essentially the result of an excessive development
of the integuments surrounding the posterior feet, and the
atrophy, or diminution of, or even in some cases the entire
loss of the posterior limbs, so far as the bones are concerned.
But the bones of the posterior limbs are not absent, or even
insignificant, in all si)ecies of whales. In the right whale
(that whence the whalebone is derived) we have not only the
pelvic or haunch bones, but also the proximal bones — those
next to the pelvic — developed ; that is, we have not only the
bones representing those which constitute the pelvis in man,
but we also have other bones connected with these boners
which represent the femur or thigh bone, and the .succeed-
ing or leg bones. Those bones are d.-veloped still more in

10 SATURDAY LECTURES.

certain forms that are in some measure intermediate be-
tween the cetaceous and ordinary quadrupeds ; that is, in
extinct forms known under the name of Zeuglodonts which
have not existed since the eocene epocli, and in ancient
forms of the group, (Sirenians,) to which tli(3 Manatee, and
the Dugong of the present time belong.

Reverting now to the ventral fins of the fishes, 3^ou will
perceive that they correspond in position with the hind legs
of tadpoles. If we compare the ventral fins of certain fishes
of a very generalized kind, as it is called — that is, like
those forms from which other fishes and amphibians are
supposed to have alike descended — with certain extinct
amphibians, also of a generalized kind we are prepared to
recognize a similarity, and ultimately an equivalency of
those ventral fins with the hind feet of quadrupeds. (The
equivalency, let me state here, is called homology.) The
so-called generalized fish which is most instructive in its
indications is the Polypterus, (there is no common English
name,) of the Nile, and other African rivers. The general-
ized amphibians are known as Lab^a-inthodonts, etc.

You will, I think, have no hesitation in recognizing the
expanded vertical membrane of the tail of the tadpole as
equivalent, so far as use is concerned, at least, with the tail or
caudal fin of the fish. Let me further direct your atten-
tion to the fact, that the fish's tail and the tadpole's tail is
median as well as vertical. If you are now prepared to
concede all the propositions enunciated, you will be pre-
pared likewise to give assent to the proposition, that the
whale's flukes in horizontal position, and in being paired,
are more like the seal's flippers, and therefore comparable
with the hind limbs ; and therefore unlike the tail of a fish.
Inasmuch, further, as the seal's flippers are modified hind
legs, and the ventral fins are also representatives of the hind
legs, the whale's flukes are also modified hind limbs, and
therefore the flukes and the ventral fins are equivalent, in
a homological sense, to each other.

But how about the fore fins or pectoral feet ? Are not
thev much alike in whales and true fishes?

VIKWS OK NATinr. rONTKASTKI). 11

Externally, the pectoral fins do look at lirst sight very
much alike, hut you will on lookint; closer perceive that tus
in the tail lin, tiie fish's jn^-loral has rays visible externally
connected hy a thin mciiihranc. while none such arc visible
in the whale's lin.

On taking;- the Uesh I'roui these i)ectoral lin>, and layin;;
bare the bones, you will at once perceive how utterly unlike
the framework of the limbs arc. in our two types— the jior-
poisc and the swordlish.

In the porpoise we hav(> not the least ditiieulty in at
once recognizing; the bones corresponding to the linger
bones and metacari)al bones of man and quadrupeds ; next
Ave also plainly see bones answering to the carpal or wrist
bones; then there are two bones evidently comparable with
the Viones of the forearm, that is, the radius and ulna ; and
tinallv. next to the body, we see a single bone which is
plainly the c<|uivalcnt of the arm-bone or humerus of man.
Connected with the arm we lind a wide; Hat bone above,
and this, it is easily perceived, answers to the scapula or
shoulder blade. Unlike then as the pectoral tin of a
whale seems to be externally to the fore limb of man or
quadrupeds, it is very much alike in the skeleton.

Now, let us turn to the fish's pectoral fin and its connec-
tions, and .see how different they are from the whale's. Let
us take a salmon's fiii and compare it, or rather contrast
it with the whale's. In the; salmon, far from iinding great
similarity between its parts and the porpoise's, we meet with
great difHculty in seeing any approximate agreement even :
lin ravs are first noticeable which are quite unlike digits or
fing(>r bones; at their ixise are four loiigi-h and ncarlv
parallel but diverging bones, which remind us somewhat of
metacar[)als, and serve as a sort of peduncle to tlu; lin.
Next wc find a chain of bones extending from the sides of
the skull behind, and uniting below with its fellow of th(^
opposite side ; the pair are known as the shoulder ginlle,
or scapular arch ; and remind us somewhat of the wish-
. bone or clavicles of a fowl. To the inside of the largest of
these bones we see attached thriM l....,,-: wbieh intervene l)e-

12 SATi:i;l)AY I.IXTIKES.

tween it and the (juasi-peduiK-ulatcd tin. Y\'hat are these, and
how are they comparable with the anterior members and
appendages of a wliale? [ am eom])elled to admit at once
that we cannot compare them directly, and if we attempted
to do so, we would almost inevitably fall into gross error;
indeed, the old anatomists who made the attemp^t did so.
Men, illustrious in science, like Cuvier, Agassiz, and Owen,
considered the i\mv longish bones we have noticed as carpals,
and the two externally fiattish bones which support them
as the radius and ulna. To ascertain their true nature, we
have to avail ourselves of extraneous evidence. I am,
therefore, compelled, in justice to you as well as to myself,
to make a .slight digression.

Let us now examine for a moment the skeleton of polyp-
terus, to which we have before referred.

The pectoral fin oi polypterus has rays which are essentially
similar to those of the salmon, and at the base of those
rays are a number of nearly parallel longish bones which
resemble the four at the base of the rays in. the salmon. In
polypterus we also find a shoulder girdle which is not unlike
that of the trout. But now please direct your attention to
the inner side of the principal bone of that girdle and
instead of three bones, as in the salmon, you will find there
is a single large piece ; that piece has a peculiar kind of
projection which is divided b}^ a partial constriction from
the body of the bone and reminds one of a ball. Ar-
ticulating with this are two long diverging processes.
Between these processes is to be especially observed a flat
cartilaginous mass which also intervenes between them and
the parallel longish bones.

To understand the structure thus revealed, examine now
the pectoral fin and shoulder girdle of the common gar-pike
of the Potomac river — the lepidosteus osseus of naturalists.
The fin has rays like those of the polypterus and salmon; it
has also the longish bones at the base. The shoulder girdle
is developed as in them, but with special characters of its
own. But the inner piece attached to the chief bone of the
girdle is especially noteworthy. As in the polypterus, it is

VIKWS OK NATlMtK < ONTKASTKI). 13

siiugle, but it otlioiwi.sc reseiiible.s the tliix-o hoiiu.s c'oml>ine<l
of the salmon, and the three elements of that type evidently
are the (lisint(;;:;rated representatives of the solid eartilage of
the ti^ar. Note also that two diverging; cartilages partly
b(»und and partly intervene between the basal bones and the
pectoral tin an<l earlilagiinous pieces just described. If now.
time and the occasion ]»ermitted, I might submit to you
other forms, but I trust I have adduced sufiicicnt to render
it possil)le for your judgments to acce])t the following jtroji-
ositions as at least not inii)rob:iMi .

The pectoral fin and sustaining arch of the lishes in its
several elements are referable to two categoriiis.

The rays, the longish bones at their bases, and the bones
or cartilages that bound or inclose them must be considered
as the equivalents of the fore limb of quadrupeds.

The shoulder girdle is to be considered as representing
the scapula of land animals, but with certain additions.

The projecting l)a]l-likc tubercle of jwli/ptcriis is of es-
* pecial signiticance.

Look, now, at the pectoral tin oi' pal i/pterui^, and compare
ii with the fore lind.) of a (juadruped : you can appreciate
some resemblance, I think, between (1) the diverging pro-
cesses thereof and radius and ulna. (2) The wrist or carpus
may be formed out of the included and succeeding cartilage
of polijptcrus. (o) The metacarpals are at lea.st simulated
by the longish parallel l)ones at the base of the rays. (4)
The phalanges may be represented by the pectoral rays.
Tlie humerus is still to be accounted for, and I am inclined
to believe that it is represented by the constricted peduncle
that supjiorts the first named bones. Whether the relations
thus indicated are true homological exjuessions has to be
still ]»roved, but they are, I venture to think, probable.
But the very doubt, still involving the (juestion is, at least,
one o\ the most cogent evidences of th(! great gap between
the whales and the fishes.

If I am right in the conjectures thus ad<luced you will
now see that while the fore limb, bone lor bone, is tlu; .same
in the whale as in the quailruped, it is only j)artially repre-

14 SArri;i)AY i.ecturk«.

sented in the fish, the digits being i)r(jbably, but only very
distantly, repeated in the salmon by the rays, and the meta-
carpals by the bones at the base thereof; the bones of the
arm — the radius and ulna as well as liumorus — are entirely
wanting. The single scapular or blade bone of the whale,
on the other hand, is represented by at least four pieces, and
connected ^yith the arch of the fish are several other and
accessory pieces.

I have thus dwelt upon the fins because if any part in
the whale would show fish-like modifications, these parts
would, from their relations to the surrounding medium, be
naturally most liable to exhibit such adaptation. Upon the
other points in the structure of the two types we cannot delay
so long.

The shoulder girdle, as we have seen, is connected with
the skull in the fishes, and let us take up the consideration
of that next.

Look first at the whale's skeleton ; note that the skull, as
in man's, is one compact mass, composed of many bones^
but all closely connected with their neighbors save the
lower jaw. The lower jaw is directly articulated with the
skull, and it is also especially to be noticed that its branches
are undivided or single bones. Let me add as an item of
information which I must ask you to take on trust that
there are ear bones which, though much modified, agree
essentially with those of quadrupeds.

Turn now to the fish's skull ; you will at once perceive that
the skull, contrasted with the mammal's, is much broken
up. It has a brain box, but that does not at all represent
the entire skull of the mammals. The upper jaw bones, the
palate bones, and others, are separate. The lower jaw has
each of its branches composed of four separable elements,
and those branches, you will see, have no direct connection
with the brain-box, but are separated by the intervention of
a chain of large bones which are not to be seen at all in the
whale's skull. But, nevertheless, those bones are repre-
sented in the whale's head, and the bones forming the sus-
ponsorium, as it is called, of the lower jaw have their repre-

VIKWS OF NATURK CONTKASTKH. 16

sont.uivt> ill part in the car honrsof tho cetaceous as of all
otiier maininals.

Tluis wc lind tlio same bones subscrvii.'iit lu very diUcr-
«nt functions in the two types: in the mammal to hearinp^ : in
tho lisii servinLi ehiolly for the -connection of parts. The
statement may evoke your skepticism, but I must ask you
to accept it on trust, for time will not allow mc to demon-
strate its truth. [ can only pledge myself that it has, I
think, been clearly demonstrated that such is the case by
the study of the comparative structure, and development of
many forms, and by the collation of data derived from
various types consecutively considered.

Connected with the skull you will perceive certain other
bones or appendages. In the cetacean you may see pendant
from the skull the articulation for the lower jaw, an appar-
atus composed of three bones on each side connected by a
central one, reminding one somewhat of a pair of hooks or a
card-rack. These bones arc known as the hyoid. In the fish
you will of course at once recognize the gills, which are on
four arches on each side, but observe also another arch in
front, and which performs the function of sustaining a
membrane attached to the gill covers. Further observe
that all these arches arise from a median row of bones to
which the tongue is attached in front. Let me recall now
a fact which you have doubtless heard of before — that even
man as well as all other mammals have gillcts in the foetal
stage of life, and of such gills the hj'^oid bones are the modi-
fied vestiges and reminders, and they roughly represent the
gills and appendages which are developed so largely in tho
fishes.

Please direct your attention now to tho organs which serve
for the aeration of the blood in the cetacean, and to that which
corresponds in the fish. You will notice that in the for-
mer there are lungs on each side, as well developed and as
obviously lung-like as those of man, and that they arc con-
nected with the mouth by a tracheal tube which has an-
teriorly a thyroid apparatus, also as in man. On the other
hand in the salmon there is nothing like a lung, but in its

16 SATURDAY LECTURES.

place you will see an unpaired membranaceous air bladder,
which is connected by a simple, narrow tube with the oesoph-
agus, and in the swordtish, the tube, even, is entirely wanting,
and the air bladder is shut off from communication with the
mouth, direct or indirect. Nevertheless, did time permit,
1 could easily convince you that the lungs and air bladder
graduate into each other, and that the two truly represent,
or, in the language of the anatomist, are homologus with
each other. On the one hand, our common gar has an air
bladder so cellular as to be somewhat lung-like ; polypterus
has a still more lung-like bladder, and its relation to the
intestinal canal, also approximates that of a lung ; next a
remarkable fish of Australia, named ceratodus, has what
may more properly be called lungs than air bladder, and
related forms of South America and Africa, known as Lepi-
dosirenids, have as true lungs as amphibians. On the other
hand, the amphibians, reptiles, and mammals show a gra-
dation from the simple to the complex form manifest in the
last.

Thus it will be apparent that the respiration of fishes and
whales are effected by entirely different organs, and that
the same organs may be modified and adapted for very dif-
ferent purposes. Nature is economical of her material, but
most ingenious and versatile in the use of it, and employs
the same stuff in many ways.

In connection with the respirator}^ apparatus we very
naturally consider the heart, which receives the blood which
has coursed through the bodv, and sends it to be purified
and aerated b}^ the respiratory process.

In the whale, the heart is partitioned into four cavities or
chambers — a right auricle and a ventricle, and a left auri-
cle and a ventricle — as in man. The right auricle receives
the blood which has circulated through the veins, and the
right ventricle transmits it to the lungs where it is oxygen-
ated and thence goes bright and purified to the left auricle,
and by the left ventricle is transmitted to again course
through the vessels of the body. In the fish, the heart
has onlv two chambers; an auricle collects the blood that

vii:\v> <»i N.virui: ( on ij;asti;i). 17

has ludirisheil tlic body, a vnitriclc sends it to bo vivilicd
by tho oxy;;cn in tin- water, whieb UKjistens tlic ^ill liia-
nionts ; from the ^^ills it eonnncnccs in a dorsal vessel a
lonj^; course tbroui^b the body, before a;^ain returning to the
heart. The bbuxl in the ectaeeans is warm, in tlie lishes it
is called cold. Tin dillercnccs which do exist have been
generally exair.m'J'ated. however, and I only mention them
because so much importance is j)0|>ularly attached to them.
The important orj^ans we have been last con.siderinii —
tho heart antl tho lungs — are inclosed in a special cavity of
tlu' chest, and separated by a partition or diaphragm from
the other viscera, alike in the whales and other mammals.
Heart and air bladder or lungs arc far apart, and separated
by — not iVom — other viscera in the fishes, and there is notli-
ing like a diaphragm to partition off a special cavity for
them.

We will next consider the brains of a whale and of a
fish. They are entirely dissimilar. The brain of a whale
is essentially the same as that of a man. and extremely
dift'erent from that of a iish. 1 exhibit the brains of a
porpoise and a man. and you can contrast them with the
enlarged figure of the brain of a salmon.

These illustrations will give an adequate idea — at least so
far as we are at present concerned — of tho structure of all
i)rains in the two widely separated classes comprising man
and the whales on one hand, and the fishes on the other.
Not only are the first two superficially essentially the same,
but all the ])arts are readily comparable, and tho closer you
examine the more you will be struck by theii" similarity
rather than their dillerence. when you taki' into account
the diffenMices in the form of the body. lint compare with
the brain of that, or any other cetacean, the brain of a Iish,
and the differences are very marked.

In the mammal brain the optic lobes arc represented by
sntall tubercles or lobe, while in the Iish they are of |)re-
ponderating development. The olfactory lobes and nerves
are entirely concealed by the cerebrum and even almost
wanting in the cataceans, l)ut they are very large, and ad-

18 SATURDAY LECTURES.

vanced forwards in tlic fish. The cerebellum of the fish
and cetacean have an entirely different structure, and as to
differences of detail, they are innumerable.

Those parts which are concerned in tlie reproduction and
perpetuation of the species, are equally noteworthy on
account of the close resemblance between such parts in the
whales and in viviparous quadrupeds on the one hand, and
on the other, the differences from fish's. Their char-
acteristics, however, we must pass over. Suffice it to say,
that as in man, the whales are viviparous, and the young
are nourished by milk secreted by the mother. But it is
proper to add that such characteristics are of less importance
than many others connected with the organs of reproduction.

Many fishes are also viviparous. Viviparity or oviparity
is of minor value. It is the mode in which the eggs and
young are developed that is most significant for tlie two
classes.

Thus have we gone over the various parts of the economy
of the whale and the fish, and in every case we have seen
that the structure of the whale and man is very much
alike, and that of the fishes very different.

If this superficial examination may be sufficient to con-
vince us of the similarity of the whale and all other
mammals, a more detailed examination would simply add
force, and the cogency of cumulative evidence to the argu-
ment, and would still more impel belief.

Let us now take into consideration another set of facts.
There are certain forms known as marsupials, represented
in this country b}'^ the opossum. In Australia that order is
largely developed, and is manifested in a number of differ-
ent forms. There are, for example, species very much like
wolves, others like mice, and they are so called by the Aus-
tralian colonists. Now, if we considered simply external
form, we should be compelled to separate those species from
each other, and refer them to widely different groups. For
example, we should have to take the mice-like marsupials,
and approximate them to the true rats and mice, and the
Tasmanian wolf we would have to approximate to the gen-

VIKWS oi" NATIMK • < »NTU AS ri;i •. U*

uiiir wolves jiiid «lo^s. Hui a considoratioii of their anat-
omy— that is. of tlicir luaiu, skull and its snvcral parts, the
hyoid aj.paratns. llic ])clvis. the bones of the feet, and
the htarl — in fact, all the parts of their organization —
forees ns to reeo^Mii/.e that external form is of very little
eonse(juenee in the appreciation of the relations of the ani-
mals, and that we arc not only justified, but eomi)elled, if
we wouhl express nature, to brintr them ton;ether and keep
them as the constituent*; of one natural ^roup in contra-
distinction to all the other groups that are represented by
forms which have a similar external appearance.

1 need only remind you that every one now recognizes
the bats as animals.

In brief, then, mammals may be described as animals
which have no gills, which breathe by means of lungs,
have a quadrilocular heart, sending the blood to the
lungs, and receiving it thence and returning it to the rest
of the body ; a skull which has two condyles for articu-
lation with the vertebral column and which has all its
bones connected by siiture with or contained in the brain
case, except the lowei- jaw ; and the lower jaw itself is com-
prised of simple branches which articulate directly with
the brain case; the inner ear has three principal ear bones;
the females are viviparous and the emltryo developed from
a very small egg.

In contrast, fishes can be characterized as animals which
are branchiate or l)reath by means of gills, whose heart is
bilocular, sending from one of its chambers the blood to the
gills to be there aerated by contact with the water, which
contains oxygen, an<l thence to the remaining portions of
the body, to be in turn taken by the other cavity of the
heart: the skull has an impaired median and circular
articulation for the vertebral column ; the upi»er jaw, pala-
tine, and other bones are free from the brain case, and inter-
vening between it and tlie lower jaw is a suspensorium of
well-developed bones ; the lower jaw is composed of several
pieces; the females are oviparous or ovoviviparous.

20 SATUllDAY LECTURES.

Such are, in brief, a few of the distinctions between fishes
and mammals.

The class of mammals contains forms fitted for progres-
sion on land, as bipeds (man) and quadrupeds; for flight in
the air, i\s bats; and for exclusive life in the water, as
whales.

The class of fishes comprises not only animals with the
usual fish-like form exemplified in the salmon and perch,
but broad flattened fishes like the angler or goose-fish, and
others of snake-like form as the eels.

Mere form, then, is of no consequence in the determina-
tion of the major relations of animals and is of importance
only in ascertaining the relations of minor groups. Every
t3^pe of nature which we examine brings to us evidence of the
truth of this proposition. Animals which have the great-
est external resemblance may be, when anatomically con-
sidered, most unlike, and vice-versa, animals which are
very different in external appearance, may exhibit great
similarity in internal structure. I might adduce very num-
erous illustrations of the prevalence of this truth, but the
advancing moments warn me that I must bring my re-
marks to a termination. I shall, therefore, conclude with
certain deductions that are to be derived from the studies
in which ^ye have been engaged, and justify the title which
1 have selected for the discourse, by a contrast of the
methods involved in the classification of the animals we
have been examining.

The uninstructed observer instinctively considers animals
with regard to their external form.

The naturalist has learned to distrust external form, and
to consider internal structure as paramount.

The ordinary observer regards as of great moment the
relation of an animal to its surroundings and mode of
progress — whether in land, in water, or through air.

The zoologist has learned that the adaptations for different
modes of life may coexist with slight differences in the in-
ternal economy.

vii:\\s i»i NAii i;k itiNi |{a.>%ti.;ij. 21

I*()|)uljir (»|iiiii(»n iin-lincs t(» llic Ixlict' that physiolotry is
tlu' bet^t ^uidc to the classiiicat ioii ot aiiiiiial>

Science iirDclaiin- that |>liysii>l();xy i^ '''(• iii(»>l delusive
Uiient for the (lisro\rry >>{' tlic true i-clati')iiv of (.I'^aniztMl
beings.

Ill popular loiiic, a^aiii, ilcilihl ion isilic |)i-iiiic clciiu'iil
involved, it is assumed (hat eei'taiu thiuiis arc, aud tVoni
this assuuij)tion tlie reasoner proceeds to aj)proxiniate
successively and without sufficient i-eason. the forms thai
ixvc ])rescnted for examination,

111 science, on the other hand, it is iiuluetion wliich is
principally employed in mental processes; for example, we
take a series of forms, compare tliem toj^ether, contrast all
the elements of the several parts, and are jj^uided by the
detailed cumulative evidence of the marshalled facts.

The people use a noiiieiiclature based on adaptations of
parts for similar |»urposes, as the feet for walkino;, th(> win^rs
for llit;ht. the tins for swimming.

Science, while availiiiii itself of the ])opular nomenclature
to express one class of relatioiishii) — analogies — is compelled
to resort to one of its own coin in." to express another set of
ri'lationships — homologies.

Now both of the words I have just used are constantly
employed in scientific works, and all of you who have read
such to any extent must have often come across them. But
I trust to be i)ardoned if I explain their meaning, for it is
impos.sible to begin to understand the problems of biology
unle.<s their -ignitication is clearly apprehenderl.

Analogy is the adaptation of jiarts to similar functions but
tlujse parts may have no relation to each other nor be devel-
oped f.iom the .same ]»artsof the body. The gills of the fish
are analogous to the lungs of the whale, inasmuch a- both
are subservient to the otlice of resi»iratioii ; but they are
not homologous. The tail lin of the lish and the tail fin
of the whale are also analogous, but they are not homolo-
gous.

Homology is similarity or rc|)ctition of structure, indcjien-
dent of the uses of the parts. The ventral tins of the lish.

22 SATUJIDAY LKCTUIJKS.

the posterior limbs of ordinary quadrupeds, the legs of the
human subject, the hind flippers of seals, and the caudal or
tail fin of the whale are homologous. Several of the bones
of the suspensorium of the lower jaw of the fishes and the
ear bones of man are also homologous, although, be it re-
membered, they have no functions corresponding, being in
that respect entirely dissimilar. Yet, again, homology is
seen in the air-bladder of the fish and lungs of mammals ;
and, further, in the gills and branchiostegal bones of fish
and the hyoid apparatus of man and other mammals. In
all cases their functions are very dissimilar.

But do not infer that there is any necessary contrast be-
tween analogy and homology. Of course those parts which
are formed of the same elements, and have the same func-
tions, are both homologous and analogous.

It is by a strict attention to the principles thus expressed
that natural history has attained its present high state, and
we may, therefore be pardoned for believing that the tree of
biological knowledge which has grown to its present height,
and which is attaining maturity by attention to such meas-
ures is justified by its fruits.

But as the hour which we agreed to devote to our sub-
ject has been considerably exceeded, I shall not detain you
longer, but, with thanks for your attention, retire from the
platform.

i

WHAT IS ANTllRurOLor.Y?

Lecture dclivcreil in the National Museum, Washington, I). C, March i8, 1882.
I)V Prof. Otis T. Mason.

I.AhiKs .vNi) Ukntlkmkn :

Tlie course of lectuR'.s now piomv.s^in^ in tliis hall \\ni<
for its design the bringing about of a l^etter understanding
between scientific .<j)ecialists and intelligent readers and
thinkers. With this oiiject clearly before ine I shall en-
deavor, as well as my limited time will allow, to give such
an explanation of Anthropology that my hearers will com-
prehend the extent and boundaries of its territory and the
various operations which constitute its daily life.

The word anthropology, from antkropos, man; and logon,
science, has run through a great variety of meanings, as
those who have pursued it have shifted their ground or
extended their researches. From 1501 to 1700 the word
was used to signify "the study of the laws whicli govern
the union between the body and the mind." In .some theo-
logical seminaries it signifies " that manner of expres.-jiun
by wliich the inspired writers attribute human parts and
passions to the Divine Being." In Dr. Hodge's "Theol()u:y."
all that relates toman is called Anthropology. In 177"J.
Diderot and D'Alembert defined it as '' a treati.^e upon man."'
In 17S8, Kant wrote a work entitled '' .Vn iCssay U[)on .\n-
thropology." Latham in his "Natural X'arieties of Man."
(Loud. 1830, p. ooO,) .says, "Anthropology determines the
relations of man to the other mammalia; ethnology, the
relations of the different varieties of man to cacli other."
In the .'schools of Germany up to a very few years, the term
covered only what is included in the third sub-division of
the subject given on page 5 of this lecture. Not .*!0 now.
Paul Broca tells us "Anthropology has for its object the
study of humanity in its entirety, in its details, and in its
relation with the rest of nature. "

Anthropology, therefore, while it excludes murh that is
human, includes whole territories of knowledge that are not

2«;

26 SATURDAY LECTURES.

directly liumun. Biography, as such, is not anthropology,
unless it connotes generic data. History, the biography of
political societies, is only anthropological so far as it is not
merely biographical.

Physicians were the first and are now the best anthro-
pologists, yet not all in medicine belongs to the science.
The same is true of every other profession and craft of men
and women under the sun, each has in it a great deal that
is not, but more that is anthropological.

Anthropology is the natural history of man in its widest
sense. It embraces all that we mean by such terms as
humanity, mankind, the human species, human nature.
Nay, more. As we cannot study any species as a detached
group, so we must include in our science all those natural
objects, relations, forces, and facts, that have furnished the
material, the impulse, or the limitation to human progress.

What human events and products are anthropological ?
I answer, those that are human, generic, tribal, capable of
scrutiny over large areas, by statistics or by instruments of
precision ; whatever is customary, whatever can be shown
to be a child of the past or a parent of the future. Elimi-
nating those local eddies of thought and action which begin
and end with the individual, and which constitute his bio-
graphy, it takes notice only of those great currents of human
phenomena that echo round the world. It therefore both
includes and excludes, — includes, and day by day increas-
ingly— all phenomena, material and psychical, related to the
development of our race; excludes even human activities
that are onl}^ the dust upon the mosaic of civilization.

By what methods does the anthropologist prosecute his
work? I answer, by the most vigorous and exacting
methods. By careful observation of multitudes of facts,
by judicious discrimination of those marks which have
true scientific value, by careful induction or classification,
by cautious and modest deductions he plods his weary way.

Who may be an anthropologist? Every man, woman,
and child that has sense and patience to observe, and that
can honestly record the thing observed. There is not

WllAl' IS ANTIIKOl'OLOGY? 27

another scioncf that has not hccn maid of honor to this
queen of sciences. If the rank of any branch of knowl-
edi^e is to be judged by the intrinsic value of its object-
matter, and by the number of other sciences ancillary to
it, then anthropology must be advanced to the head of the
line, — having no less a function than to exj)lor(^ the secrets
oJLinun's origin, progre;:js, and destiny.

Having said thus mucli upon the scope and intension of
anthropology, it becomes us to examine its sub-divisions,
which represent especially the various classes of men en-
<3ngaged in its pursuit.

TIIK DINISIONS OF ANTHROPOLOriV.

T. The origin of ujan, iucjuiries into the time and the
location of that event, as well as the natural pro-
cesses involved, and his pristine condition. An-
riiKopoGENY, {AntJiropos, man, and genea, descent.)

II. 'i'he early history of the race. ARCHiEOLOGY, {Archaios,

ancient, and logoi<, science.)

III. The human species as a member of the animal king-

dom. Antpiropo-Biology, (Bios, life, the life history
of mankind.)

IV. The races of men, descriptive=KTHNOGKAPHY ; de-

ductive=ETHNOLOGY, {Ethnos, people, and grapho, to
describe, or logos, science.)

V. Mind in the lower animals and in man. Psychology,

(Psuclic, the soul, and logos, science.)

^' 1 . The origin, growth, and diversity of language. ( ri.oss-
ology, [Glussa, a tongue, and logos, science.)

\'ll The elaboration of liunian art and industries. Tech-
nology, {Tcchiu\ art, ;ind logos, science.)

VIII. Social structures and functions. Sociology. {Socius,
an associate, and logos, science.)

28 SATURDAY LECTURES.

IX. Beliefs and practices with reference to the spirit world.

Comparative Mythology.

X. The relations of the physical universe and social en-

vironment to human history. Hexiology, {Hexis^
habit, and logos, science.)

By your permission 1 will now take up briefly these
divisions and state, not what my own opinion may be, but
the struggles and the difficulty which engage the students
of anthropology the world over.

1. — Aiitlirojmgeny.

The great battle which has been fought with reference to
the origin and the antiquity of the universe, is now being
repeated with reference to the origin of man. As in astro-
nomical observations each observer has his personal equa-
tion, which must ever be kept in view by those who would
utilize his material, so into this discussion have men brought
their theistic conceptions. We have, therefore, many theo-
ries of man's origination, a few of which I will give you.

I. Special creation by Almighty fiat.

II. Atheistic agnosticism, (a not, and gnosis, knowledge,)

denies the Creator, and aiSirms ignorance of man's
origin.

III. Theistic agnosticism. Affirms the Creator, but denies

knowledge of the method of human origin.

IV. Pantheism, {pan all, and theos god). God is all and

all is God.

V. Atheistic Darwinism. Denies the Deity and affirms

natural selection as the cause of nature.

VI. Theistic Darwinism, (God not immanent.) Affirms

the Deity, but denies his constant presence.

VII. Theistic Darwinism, (God immanent.) x4ffirms the
Deity, and also his presence ever in his works.

u n A I IS \N rmjni'oi.<><;Y ? 29

\' 1 1 1 A u^nostir Darwinism. Allirms uiitunil selection aiid
ignorance dI" a Creator.

riierc are live distini't t[uostions re;^ar<ling ttie origin of
man whidi nearly everybody eonfonnds. They are a.s fol-
lows :

1 l\\ which of the processes indicated above did the hu-
man species have its origin? Were they created, or did
they descend from some ape-like ancestry.

II. When did that event take place? W a- it six thou-
sand years ago? Was it just on the hither verge of the latest
geological epoch? Was it at the end of the glacial epoch,
in its middle, or just before its beginning, or was it further
back, at the beginning of the Tertiary that the first being
worthy to be called a man appeared on earth? It would
take far more than my liour to discuss this cpiestion of the
antiquity of man alone, and, furthermore, I am not invited to
discu.ss. but to define.

III. The third inquiry is, where did the tir.st man alight
upon this planet?

According to Moses and Haeckel, followed by nearly all
modern anthropologists, our first parents lived somewhere
near the Persian Gulf. But there is hardly a spot of the
habitable globe that has not been looked upon as the favored
iiirthplace of man. As no (juestion in science is closed as yet,
if anyone of my hearers is disposed to have his pet theory
regarding this matter he will not be excommunicated so
far as I am concerned.

IV. Bordering closely upon the last (piery, and allecting
it. is the j»rol)lem of the unity of the species. We are all
aware that our distinguished countryman, Dr. Morton, fol-
lowed by Aga-ssiz and many others, held that our specias
had its origin, not in one, but in .several creations. The
weight of authority at the present time is in favor of a
single origin. Professor Henry wrote, in ISOli. '' The s|)ont«-
neous generation of either plants or animals, although a

30 SATUIIDAY LKCTUliES.

legitimate subject of human inquiry, is as yet an unverified
hypothesis. If, however, we assume that a living being will
be spontaneously produced when all the phj^sical conditions
necessary to its existence are present, we must allow that in
the case of man, with his complex and refined organization,
the fortuitous assembly of the multiform conditions required
for his appearance would be extremely rare, and from the
doctrine of probabilities could scarcely occur more than at
one time and at one place on this planet."

V. The last question concerning the origin of man is well
represented in the controversy of Sir John Lubbock with
Archbishop Whately. The former maintained that man
was at first a low savage, and that the course of history has
on the whole been a progress towards civilization. Accord-
ing to the latter, man has always been pretty much what he
is at present.

II. — Archseology.

Bordering close upon anthropogeny is archaeology, whose
province it is to discuss the first efforts of the last child of
nature to walk forth into the broad world. The data are
far from c-omplete, but are becoming more adequate to show
the advance from rude stone to polished stone, to bronze,
and finally to iron, as the material of human implements.

In this study the geologist, the linguist, the anatomist,
technologist, and the sociologist meet to reconstruct priscan
society. As the present epoch epitomizes all preceding-
epochs of the world in its fauna ; so does the ensemble of
humanity to-day comprehend all past histories. It is no
more difficult to reconstruct an ancient tribe from a few
human bones and implements than for the comparative
anatomist to re-edify an extinct animal from a few of its
fossil remains. I could give you no more convincing proof
of what I say than to invite you to study carefully Professor
Rau's archaeological collection, in the Smithsonian Building.

WIIAI IS ANTIIU()P(M.(inY ? 'M

III. — A nth ropo- Biology.

So far as man resembles the livin<; beings around him, re-
yiro(hices his kind, arrows from intancv to maturity, is amen-
•,\\\\v to the hiws of material nature, dies an<l returns to
inorjxanic matter, he is an animal. Aj^ain, a minute com-
paris<»n of his body witli that of animals shows a strikinn^
resemblance, if not genetic relationship. But my flittino:
hour would warn me from this tempting field even if T did
not know that Dr. Fleteher's lecture would be devoted en-
tirely to tbi< ilivision of anthropology.

W . — Ethnology.

Thus far we have spoken of all mankind. We come now
to inquire what notice anthropology takes of the varieties
of men. .\t first thought you would say that it is the
easiest matter in the world to <listinguish a white man, a
negro, an Indian, a Chinaman, and a brown Malay. As we
were told in Dr. Gill's lecture, poi)ular notions are altogether
at fault. If we could stand all the men of the world in a
row, it would be pos.sible to an-ange them in such a manner
that you could not tell where one race left off", and another
began, and yet .students of art have always recognized race
idiaracters. Two thousand years before Christ, the Egyptian
sculptors faithfully portrayed the Negro, the S^ernite. aiid
the Egyptian countenance.

The same theories that have been relied on to explain
the origin of man, have been invoked to explain the diverse
races. By various gateways stnidents have .sought to enter
the mystery, — by the color of the skin, the section and
appearance of the hair, the facial angle, the ratio of the
length to the width of the skull, the projection of the jaws,
language, customs, beliefs, etc. Now 1 am sure that all
present are too scientific to suppose for a moment that men»
classifying is science. If I were to separate you l>y your
dress, or facial beauty, or residence in the city, such arrange-
ment would have no valuta whatever. .\ true; scientific
classification is based, first, on imnnitable attributes, and,

32

SATURDAY LECTURES.

second, seeks to ascei-tain relations, affinities, and consan-
guinity. LinnoBus (1741-1783) made four divisions of man,
Blumenbacli (1752-1840) established the five classes which
are kept up in our geographies to this day. I should only
weary you repeating catalogues of authors and their schemes
of mankind. I give you a table by the latest authority'
Dr. Topinard, based on the hair, the skull, and the com-
plexion, (Paul Topinard, Revue d'Anthropologie, 1878, p.
509.) It is very far from satisfactory, however, and the
classification of mankind is still an open question.

■ Dolichocephalic,*
(long-heads.)

Kskimo.

" Red.

Red-Skins.

Hair round in
straight.

sfction.

Brachycephalic,
(short-heads.)

Olive.
Yellow.

Blonde.

Mexicans and Peruvians

Guaranis, Caribs.
■ Samoycedes.

Mongols, Malays.

Cimmerians.
• Scandinavians.
, Anglo-Saxons.

Hair roundish
tion ; waved,

in sec-
frizzed.

Dolichocephalic,
(long-heads.)

Brown.
Black.

j' Mediterraneans.
1^ Semites,
j' Australians.
( Indo-Abyssinians.

»

Red.

C Foulbes.

( Red Barabras.

Brachycephalic,
(short-lieads.)

Blonde.
Chestnut

■ Fins.

■ Celts, Slavs.
Iranians.

Brown

Yellowish

Bushmen.

Hair elliptical
tion, woolly.

in sec-

Dolichocephalic,
(long-head?.)

Black.

j Papuans.
( Caffre,<.

Brachycephalic,
(short-heads.)

Black.

Negrito.s.

* Dolichocephalic :::= dolicJwf, long, and kcphalc, head ; brachycephalic =
bracfuis, sh6rt, and kephale, head. The angle of the jaw gives rise to orthogna-
thous = £7r//zoj, erect, and gnathos, jaw; and prognathous =/;'o, forward, and
gnathos, jaw. See Topinard'.s " L'Anthropologie." Paris, 1876, pp. 254, 261,
299.

W II A I' IS .i.N'illi;n|'(»|,()(iV ■/ '-V-'t

I may say. Imwivt r. thai lUissia. Austria, ( iciiiiaiiy.
I'raiuv, Enj^laud. and t lie United States have eacli orgaii-
izcil special bureaus lor tlir iniuutc cxaiiiinatioii of the
))eoples within tlieir limits.

\'. — J^si/rliiilof/i/.

What has anthmpology to do with metaphysics? Just
two things. The science of metaphysics itself has had a his-
tory. Mm did not always hxdc upon the intellectual facul-
ties as they do now. The evolution of psychological studies
is certainly as interesting as the life history of any living
thinir. l>ut. auain, mind is horn and <j;rows : there are race
psychologies as well as race anatomies: and the whole
Inuiian intellect has had its progress by stages. Every
mother before nu-, had she leisure from her burdeneil life,
could write a mo.st wonderful chapter in anthro[>ol(>gy, by
recording minutely, day by day, how a little child eniei-ged
from the chaos of ignorance and })rogrcssed in the unfold-
ing of its mind by the acquisition of knowledge. I shall
have spoken in vain if I have not clearly shown that the
average history of the individual is the history of the Kdce,
and that tliis great giant of humanity took on ideas just as
does the little child.

Again, i>rutes have minds. Anthropology is making the
most exhaustive investigations into the (juestion whether
they differ from us in (piality of mind or only in degree;
whether the instincts of the brute are the i)arents of human
thoughts. In this ])ortion of the subject is involved the
vexed inquiry whether the brain generates thought as the
liver does l)ile ; or whether there is a spirit in man which
constitutes his true individuality, for which hi< bodv i< oidy
a temporary abiding place.

\' I . — (tli)ssolo(j!/.

Thf dejtartment of anthropology which investigates lan-
guage is variously termed, linguistics, philology, glossology,
and the science of laniruag* . It has for its object to inquire
3

34 SATURDAY LECTURES

into the origiu of language, and many hard-fought battles
attest the energy with which the various champions have
entered into the subject. Languages have changed and
differentiated. How, and through what causes ? They
mix, and new languages arise. They have their anatomy
and physiology. They have their purely physical side,
being composed of muscular gestures and vocal utterances,
purely physiological. They have their psychological side,
" Sound is but the curtain behind which is concealed the
mystery of thought." As before stated, the whole his-
tory of man is the unfolding of mind, and language
thus becomes a historical science. The anthropologist does
not stop with vocal speech. For him bodily attitudes,
animal voices, the gestures of the dumb, and of lower races
are language. We have in this very building a Bureau of
Ethnology, where, under the direction of Major Powell, such
specialists as Mailer}^ Dorsey, Gatschet, Hinman, and Riggs
are wrestling with the American Indian languages. The
same zeal characterizes the cultivated nations of Europe.
The vocal and written speech of man is found to have kept
pace with the progress of his thoughts.

The growth of language is spoken of as having passed
through three stages, or as occurring in three fundamental
types :—

1. The Holophrastic, {holos, whole, phrasis, phrase,) in
which whole phrases or sentences were thrown into a single
utterance; or polysynthetic {pohis, much, and synthesis,
compounding.)

2. Agglutinative, {agglutino, to fasten or glue to,) in which
the words are much compounded, but only one of the word-
elements retains the ancient forms, the others being pared
down to mere appendages.

3. The Inflected, in which relations are indicated by
endings, which no longer have any meaning, but serve
merely to indicate the function of their stem. The whole
subject is thoroughly and freshly worked up in Major
Powell's " Introduction to the Study of Indian Languages,"
which I would advise you all to read.

wiiAi IS AN rnu«>r<>i.t)(i^- ■/ 3;")

The rcconliu.u of spci'di. also, ha^ had its i>ocuHar and
iutoresting course of life. IJcginninji with more tally sticks,
hunting and ganihling scores, and such mneniotcchnic de-
vices, the student may carefully thread his way through
rock-carving and jticture writings to hieroglyphics. The
abbreviation of hieroglyphic symbols to words and syllables,
and even to sound symbols took j)lace very slowly, but the
process may be traced in the older and later Egyi)tian and
Chaldean writings. The art of jirinting is the last .stage in
the journey of grajdnc repre.-;entation. The .•^tudy of Indian
jjictographs, as well as the .sculptures of Mexico and Central
America, promises to furnish some very impoitant chapters
in the history of linguistics.

\\\. — Technology.

The portion of my subject in which most of my hearers
are interested, however, is the evolution or the elaboration
of industries, or comi)arative technology. As archaeology
reveals the progress of invention in time, so technology re-
veals the diffusion of the grades of culture over the earth.
The two are twin sisters of the operative or material side of
anthropology. You cannot imagine the smile of satisfac-
tion which stole over the face of a Patent Office friend
when convinced that .<ome of the most important materials
of anthropology passed through his hands every day. He
exclaimed, '" I an anthropologist ! I thought I was only an
examiner. I am going to write a paper on anthropology."
There is not a phase of civilization that has not had its
tools, its edifices, its paraphernalia. There is not a tool, or
building, or garment, that has not pas.sed through a series
of transformations most interesting to trace. These objects
may l)e looked upon as species in natural history. They
cross an«l interlace so as to form the gorgeous taj)estry of
human culture.

To my lady iViends 1 would say this .subject is of thrill-
ing interest. There is not a thing that you wear, or eat,
or enjoy, that has n&t come down to you through a wonder-
ful experience. Tlie worship <>\' the beautiful did not origi-

36

SATTTRDAY I.ECTUKES.

nate with Oxford students in the XlXth century. " Woman
was the first potter and embroiderer. She is everywhere
the primitive decorative artist, and it is the exception that
man occupies himself with ornamental art, even in civilized
countries. Woman covers with ornament everything her
hand touches, and the lady in her boudoir industriously
embroiders on some article of mere luxury, the same series
of frets and scroll borders which, on the Amazonas, the sav-
age, unclothed squaw as diligently, and with as firm a hand,
traces with a spine on the damp surface of the clay she is
fashioning." It is as if they sang the same simple song, like
a silver thread binding all lovers of the beautiful into a
common sisterhood. Could we find the missing links, the
arts of Egypt, Assyria, Greece, and Rome would not stand
out like green islands of the sea, but would form the neces-
ar}^ parts of one homogeneous structure.

The idea has seized the fruitful mind of Professor Goode,
Assistant Director of this grand Museum, and you will read
in Professor Baird's Circular No. 2, as follows :

In the new building will be concentrated all the industrial collections, and all
the ethnological specimens, except the reserve series of pre-historic stone imple-
ments. In the old building will be kept those collections which are most im-
portant as material for purely scientific investigation, such as the main collection
of birds, the fishes and reptiles in alcohol, the marine invertebrates, etc. The
new building will, however, contain the collections in economic natural history.

The collections in the new building are intended to form an Anthropological
Museutn, organized upon the broadest and most liberal interpretation of the term
" anthropology," and illustrating the characteristics of civilized as well as savage
races of mankind and their attainments in civilization and culture. The central
idea will be man, and the manner in which he adapts the products of the earth
to his needs. All useful and noxious animals, plants, and minerals will be shown,
industries by means of which they are utilized — by both method and finished
product — and finally, the various objects which men use for any purpose, what-
ever. A place is provided for every object loJiich has a name*

"At this point several series of objects were exhibited to the audience to illus-
trate the two \Aea.<i, progress and adaptation. Among them was the growth of
the ship from the dugout through the skin boat (variety : birch-bark canoe) to the
steamer Fish Hawk ; the evolution of the knife, the hammer, the bottle, the
saddle, food, and ceramics.

W II A I l< WTlIKoPoI.or.Y*' 37

\'f II. — Sociolof/!/.

Tile next <livi>i(tii of <iui- subject is scx-iology. Tin- iiis-
torv of civili/.atioii is nally the history of society. Littl(^
do we think in our Christian honn-s. where one man and
one woman through mutual love devote themselves to their
oft'spriuLi : in our wtll-ordertd <itirs where Hfeand jiroperty
are protected and every eonvenienee of puhHe life furnished
to rieh and poor alike : in our ;;rand nationalities and world-
cmbracin<2; exehanges. how humhle an<l rude were the begin-
nings. We must go back to a gregarious state, where
brotljers and sisters intermarried, where the bond of union
was fragile, where eliihheii belonged to the group, and tlu;ro
was no magistracy or |)ublie spirit. We thence pass upward
to the Australians, in whose .social sy.stem there is a ([uad-
rupK' classitication (jf male and female for marriag*' and
other purposes. The North American Indians furnish the
ni'xt grade, with their curious elan organization, and descent
in the female line.* Passing onward through Semitic poly-
gamv, we are brought to our own jdatform of social life in
all its eomplexity. There are vast territories of knowledge,
including ceremonial institutions, ethical codes, morality,
and legislation, whicli 1 ean only mention in this connec-
tion, but which liave engros.sed the greatest |)liilo<opli"T- of
the world in all ages.

I have prepared a chart in order to indicate to tlie eye
how the progress and adaj)tations of culture in the various
categories may have taken place. At the top are Morg/m's
seven periods, the second horizontal line gives a typical
event of the period, the third, a representative race, taken
at random, the succeeding lines refer to the cat(>gorie< of
cidtun-.

The whole subject is of commanding interest to the legis-
lator and the student of history, but as we are to hear from
Major Powell upon thi< topic 1 pass t«» the next division,
the Spirit World.

* The Rev. Oven Dorsey's charts r>( DnkiMa clans were exhihiteil in illustration.

38

. SATUllDAY IJ::CTU'11ES.

CATEGORIES.

GRADES OP CULTURE.

Mouoan's Scheme.,
< 'haractekistics...,

Rack

Food

Lower Savage ,

No fire, rude stone.,
St. Aeheul

Raw products of the
earth.

Clothing None, or a wind shield

Hai;itations.,

Implements.,

We.vpoxs .

Caves and shelters.

Palaeolithic..

Clubs and stones..

Locomotion No appliances

.ffisTHETic Products..

Domestication..

Middle Savage.
Fish diet, fire...,
Australians

Painted bodies, strings
of shells, whi.stlesand
wooden drums.

None ,

IxDUSTUiES Hunting unci lishing....

LAXGUAfiK.

Kxo\vledge..

Beliefs..

Wor.SHip..

MonALS.

Interjectional and by
signs.

The habits of game, a
little about tlie stars
and the weather.

Everything animated..

Appeasing everything.

Conformity to clan use.
No code.

Indigenous products,
roasted and stone-
boiled food.

Capes of skin or coarse
mattine.

Temporary huts and
wind-breaks.

Charred spears, ham-
mers, knives, nets,
dug-outs, fire-drills.

Spears, clubs, boomer-
angs, throw-sticks,
shields.

Trails and landmark.s

Feathers and paint,gor-
gets and limb trap-
pings, stick and skin
drums.

Upper Savage

Invention of the bow.
Nomadic Indians

The doc?..

Social Stuucture I Promiscuity.

Social Rites ' Not known...

Supplying wants, little
division or barter.

Guttural, clicking, re-
duplicative.

Count four, predict
yveather. Judge local-
ity and distance,
name species.

Ghosts, hero ancestors,
animal soul in things.

Sorcery, rain-making,
fetish worship.

Conjugal and parental
duties not enforced,
hospitable, improvi-
d,ent.

Punaluan marriage in
groups.

IMarriage by capture,
greetings formal, ta-
bu, deposit burial.

Dried menis and plants,
dug-out vessels for
cooking.

Caps, body clothes, moc-
casons, of the se.xes
much alike.

Tents and wigwams in
elan-groups.

Slvin-dressing, basket-
weaving, bow-dressing.

Bows and arrows in great
variety, scalping knives.

Snow-shoes, sledges, dug-
outs, rafts, and skin-
boats.

Tattoo and paint, embroi-
dery and fringes, rat-
tles and bells.

Dogs, ponies, deer. In
the south, bifds.

Hunting, fishing, gather-
ing, barter, wampum.

Agglutinative, prone to
dialectic change.

Decimal notation, time,
genera of object.'^, natu-
ral phenomena.

Sorcery, future life like
this, good and evil pow-
ers, myths.

Medicine pow-wow, invo-
cation by smoke, fast-
ing, mutilation.

Chastity of wives en-
forced, generous, cruel.

Ganowanian marriage,
mother-right, cian-sy,s-
tem.

Marriage rite wealc, Pot-
laich feasts, burial Ta-
rious.

WHAT IS ANI lIHOlMtl.OOY

30

GRADES OF CULTURE.

Lower Barbarous Middlo Hiirbarous Upper Barbarous..

The art of i>ottery Domcstifintlon.coreals. Smelting, writing..

Iroquois;, Muslvolii Zufiois, Aztecs Semitic Races

Food partly raised, Tortillas, pruols, cacao, | Porridge, milk, dococ

corn, beans, Ac.
Uriiilis. l''ood boiled.

Shirt, uproii, robe, leg-
^injis, mocassons,
head-dress.

Long-lmuses ami per-
manent villages.

Poli.'«hcd-stone, mor-
tar.", wood- working,
pottery.

Bow, club, tomahawk,
scalping-knife.of bet-
ter make.

Canoes, litters, carry-
ing places.

chile, iiito.xicants..

Varied with rank,
highly ornamented,
shoos.

.Stone, adobe, lime. Hat
rools, public build-
ings, no arch.

Digging-stick, clay
workinp tools, mule
trappings.

Obsidian ax, spear, ob-
sidian knife, darts,
slings, shields.

Canals, roads, cause-
ways, bridges, llamas,
and, later, mules and
horses.

Paint and toggery,
carving in stone and
wood, embroidei-y,
drums, shell-horns,
Hutes.

Deer, rabbits, fish,
many birds, cochineal.

Weaving, felting, dye-
ing, stamping, ceram-
ics, stone cutting.

Paint and pendants,
te.\tlle, stone, shell
and feathers, ttute of
10 notes, drums, rat-
tles.

Same as last. Noothers
to domesticate.

Taking from nature,
raising crops, making
utcnsds, exchange.

More and softer sounds,
holoplirasms longer,
wo<xl and rock carv-
ings.

Count ino, wampum in | Vigesimal oount-
historic narration, I ing, calendar, natural
the stars, use of med- ; histor>-, medicine,
icine. maps. I

Dreams, wandering I Supersfititions, throe- 1

f hosts, (ire:it and I foldavernus.elenicnt
;vil Spirit, minor de- I worship, seven great I
ities and heroes. j gods. I

tiona, leaven, metal
dishes, fruit trees
raised.

Of cotton, linen, and
woollen stuffs, varied
with rank and occa-
sion.

Sun-dried bricks,8tone,
wood, less communal,
shops, arches, streets.

Herding, weaving,
mealing, and farming,
rude handicraft.

Flint-locks, wall and
moat, sword and
lance.

Bea-sts of burden, floats,
open ships, camel
trails.

.Jewelry and scents,
massive structures, j
music varied, poetry 1
ornate.

Camel, cow, horse, dog,
sheep, goat, poultry. |

Metallurgy, caravan |
and ship trade, mar- j
kets, fairs.

Forty sounds, polysyn- Highly inflectional,
thetisms euphonic, writing syllabic or at-
symbolic writing. j phabetic," literature.

Astronomy, geography, i
medicine, history, I
law. (

.Monotheistic or poly- |
theistic anthropb- i
morphism. I

Religious order sepa-
rate, offerings, festi-
vals, dances, nature
worship.

Priestly caste, panthc- Sacred books, preach-
on, human sacrifices, I ing, prayer, fasting,
oaths, vows, fasts, | alms, chants
penance^.

Labor degrading to i Submissive, unchaste
men, digiiiti<-d, kinil ' aiul drunkards pun-
to aged and children, '■. ishcd, true, kind, chi-
cruel. valrous

Temperate, lewd, po-
lite, hospitable,
shrewd, brave, trea-
cherous.

Civilized.

Printing.

Later .Aryan.

Everv variety, animal
and vegetable.

DifTerentiatod for sex,
rank, and occasion.

Strictly family, exceod-
iagly varied, gas, water
pipes.

Stimulation of invention
by protection and pat-
ent laws.

Fire arms perfected, iron
clads, signal &ervice,Ac.

Steam carriage added.

Architecture, sculpture,
music, painting, Del e-
lettres.

Every branch of the ani-
mal kingdom.

Work in land,
mines, waters,
merce.

forest,
Com-

Inflected, writing, print-
ing, telegraph.

Science, metaphy.-ics,
history, technology,
politics.

God, angels, spirits, fu-
ture life, retribution,
agnosticism, atheism.

Public and private. The
spirit above the form.

To love Go<l supremely
and our neighbor a.H
our.-elves.

The same, father-right The same, father-right. Patriarchal family, po- | Monogamic family, futh-
begins. au'i personal prop«-rty more iiidi- | lyganiv, property in i er-nght. Free State
property. | viduali/.ed j sevcnilty, despotism. I

Marriage by presents,
ball g.imes, ossuaries.

Marriage elaborate, | Uarems, games, bath- i Marriage by priest, sur-

games, ceremonious- 1 ing, burial near | vival» i)f ceremony,

ness, attendants shrines. i burial iu graves and

killed at the grave. ! • I tombi*.

40 SATIIKDAY I.KCTURKS,

IX . — Coniparafive Mi/tJi ologi/.

It is very difficult to tiud a word to cover exactly the
ground which the anthropologist includes in the word re-
ligion. Among Christian people, the term is applied to
certain beliefs, forms, and conduct ; and the adjective, re-
ligious, would not be understood if applied to discussions
merely ; but let it pass.

There never was a people so rude as not to observe nature
and to assign causes for everything that passed through the
avenues of their senses. Into those causes life is projected
and human or animal attributes added until a pliilosophy
or theology is built up.

Secondl}^, in some form or other men early begin to
believe in a future life, to people an unseen world with in-
numerable beings, good or bad, and to separate these beings
into classes with functions. This forms a creed.

Further, certain actions on our part are due to these beings
— will please, displease, or appease them. Men fast, chant,
pray, dance, and sacrifice ; thty deny, Aveary, and mutilate
themselves, for this purpose. They set apart a class to wait
upon the gods, build costly edifices in their honor, in which
the continual sacrifice and savory incense ever attest the fear,
or the devotion of the worshippers. Among any people
this constitutes their cult.

By the testimony of missionaries and others, who, like Mr.
Gushing, have lived among a lowly people long enough to
win their confidence, we are in possession of the facts which
will enable us roughly to outline the world's theologies,
creeds, and cults. The anthropologist, far from being
shocked by the seeming absurdities of these lower forms of
religion, beholds in them the germs of all our beliefs. I have
frequently thought, while reading of the bloody and cruel
fetish worship of the dark-skinned African, that a kind
providence had effected the whitening of the human skin co-
ordinately with the purifying of religious conceptions. At

WHAT T< A\ I 1IK()1'«»|.(»(.Y

41

any rate ihvw lias hem prouros in < oiiuliiicss iitid inii'rovc-
ment in ivli^Mon.

At first, cju-h individual tliini: was tli(.uudit to he ensouled.
A little after there wore ^host-ixods, which ini^ht he iuflii-
eneed hy fetishes or incantations. W<»rshii.of thing's, places,
animals, and ))lants follow in (|ui(k succession. Another
step hrinjLTs us to the deification of the powers of nature,
under symbols, barbarous or chaste according' to the taste ol
a people, which constitute the world's idolatries.

How ])leasantly we mi*jjht s|»end hours tracing; through
its mazy windings the conception of personal causation,
from the gross forms of savage philosophy to that grand
idea which traces all creative power and providential con-
trol to majestic law, "that has its seat in the bosom of God,
and its voice is the harmony of the universe." With Major
Powell. Mr. Gushing, Mr. Dorsey, and Mr. Ilinman, we
should sit down at the Indian's hearthstone and hear in
their simple myths echoes of the cliildhood of the world.
With Professor Ander.son we shouM visit the i)risean home
of the Anglo-Saxon race, and recline under tlu- shadow of
the tree Ygdrasil, at the feast of Tuisco and Wo<len, Thor
'and Fria. Our survey could not omit Chalda^a, Assyria,
Persia, India, China, or Egypt. Much more, the gods, the
myths, the sculptured forms and world-surpassing temple
architecture of Greece, and the i>ure monotheism, exalted
poetry, and pathetic history of Judiea would engro.ss our
serious thoiights. Rising above all, yet not contemptuous
of any, at last would shine refulgent that undeliled Chris-
tianity which declares the fatherhood of (Jod an<l the uni-
versal brotherhood of niaii.

X. — Ilc.riitlit;/!/.

We come at last to sjieak of that chapti'r in anthropology
which treats of the recii>rocal actions of man and his en-
vironment. In every thing that comes to be what it is.
there are two sets of forces at work, the internal and the
external, the constructive and the destructive, the impell-

42 SATUllDAY LFX'TURES.

ing and the restraining. We see it in the sea and the shore,
the breath of the glass-blower and the mould in which the
bottle is formed, the vitality and the favorable or unfavora-
ble location of the plant, the habitat and the vigor of ani-
mal species, and finally in the races of men and their
inorganic and organic surroundings. The anthropologist
has no more difficult problem before him than to ascertain
the influence of climate, outlook, food, and social environ-
ment, to produce varieties in man, to set in motion that
great current called "the migration of nations," and to
bring about from nothing, all that constitutes the various
civilizations of the world. Inasmuch as the poorest far-
mers buy the least productive lands, the sterile districts of a
county even will be less cultured than the most fertile ; and
living upon such ground soon reacts upon the people, only
to increase their poverty and to decrease their vitality.
How much more, then, may we expect to find the abject
races of man living in the suburbs of the world, where
squalor is engendered by the surroundings, until there is
a harmony or ec[uilibrium between the unpropitious skies
and their wretchedness. On the other hand, the contact,
the rivalries, and even the bloody wars of favored races have
awakened an emulation productive only of good.

It is the business of the anthropologist to trace out these
subtle causes and influences which advance or retard civili-
zation, which have covered the earth here with prosperity,
there with melancholy ruins. So far from being beneath
the consideration of the highest and most gifted intellects,
this and not petty expedients should be the subject of serious
inquiry by the statesman, the political economist, and the
philanthropist.

My task is nearly finished. My object has been to define
a science in which there is no priesthood and laity, no sacred
language ; but one in which you are all both the investiga-
tor and the investigated, — the judge, the jury, and the pris-
oner at the bar. I have endeavored to portray in outline
the work of the anthropologist, so that you may intelligently
follow my successors who will treat of special themes.

NVIIAI IS ANTHROPOLOGY? 4tj

1 shall iioi liavo spoken wholly in vain if 1 have indi-
cated the lines of all soeial j)rop;ress and led yon to see,
however faintly, the value and indissoluhlc union of the
humhlest human phenomena —

" That nolliin<^ walUs with aimless feel ;
That not one life will be destroyed,
Or cast as rubbish to the void,
When God hath made the pile complete.

That (jod which ever lives and loves,
One God, one law, one clement,
And one far-off, divine event,
To which the whole creation moves."

CONTRASTS OF THE APPALACHIAN MOUNTAINS.

Lecture delivered in the National Museum, Washinj^ton, I). C, March 25, 1882,
by Prof. J. W. ChickeriN(;, Jr.

Science pertains to that which is known, not that which
is conjectured or guessed at. It is based on facts, and not
on theories. A hypothesis may oftentimes be useful in
scientific investigation — just as is the scaffolding in the
erection of a building, it may even, at length, come to be
built in, may become part of the temple of science, but
then it has ceased to be a mere hypothesis, and has become
itself a fact.

The science of to day, entitled to the name, rests upon a
solid foundation of fact, is an induction, not a deduction.

Science, therefore, and especially advancing science, is
omnivorous as regards facts. It is a veritable Gradgrind.
''Nihil fadi alienum est a sciential

One fact alone does not prove much. It may, if new,
interest or surprise, but its chief value will be in its power
to stimulate to the collection of other new and kindred
facts.

" One swallow does not make a summer," but when the
flock has arrived, and the nests are in proc3ss of building,
we know the summer has come.

We need, therefore, first of all, a multitude of facts, and
then we need to have them collated, compared, classified
according to their resemblances and their contrasts. The
observation of facts is, for a time, the first duty, the chief
employment of the scientist. Tt precedes all else, all theo-
ries, all classification, all order.

To observe, and as far as may be to collect facts, are ex-
peditions sent out, and thousands of observers at Avork. This
Museum is, and is to be filled with concrete facts.

Now, fortunately many men are born fact-collectors, fact-
mongers, with taste and aptitude for the pursuit of facts.

(44)

Al-I'AI \i IllAN MiM \ I \1\-. 45

Tlu'V :iif null wlio arc ready i(» reply In ridieiile ni- (pies-
tioninii. as «ii<l tlic astronomer \u flie (|iiery. why lie was
<'X|)eii(liiii: so nmeli time, money and troulde, in entleavor-
in«r to ivetity his eomjiutatioii <il the distance from the sun
to the eartli. — ' licc-auso 1 want to know."

Those men are the advance uuard of science, tiie |»i(ineers,
tile ori,ii;inal iiive<tii:at(>r^. the sa|>|)crs and miner- nf the
scii'ntitie army.

All lioiKM- to those who have thus wrouuht. and aic now
■\voikinii amid t<»rrid heat and arctic c(.)ld. who have tlis-
covered the s(»iirces of the Nile, or sou;j:lit the o)»en I'olar
►Sea. not a few of whom ha\e sacrili<'e<l their live- to their
lahors.

Ihit these facts must he interrogated, made to till their
story, ami that the true one, or they are of hut little worth,
and the Mu.^eum is little more than an '"0101 Curicsity JShoi),'
a museum instead of a museum.

It has heen said that '' tifrures cannot lie." Hut 1 think
few would admit the truth of that saying, on the eve of a
])oj)ular election, as they read the opposing papers.

1 think there have been even scientific discussions, in
Mliicli the same facts were made to tell very ditterent stories.

A master mind, capable of classifying and generalizing is
needed to mar-hal these facts, to make them speak, to make
them tell the truth.

•lust as in this Muscuni we are beginning to see how
order can be evolved out of confusion, and lio|>e eventually
to .see cla.ssified and j>roj>erly labeled facts on these shelves,
telling us the story of man. hi- enviroimieiit. .md his
a( hievemcMits.

l*'or while to one ni.nn a fad may l)e an iiltimaie thing.

• .\ priinro^i.- on tin; ri\er> l)iin)
.\ sin»|i!c primrose is to liim."

to another it sugge.sts j)roblems, iiuiuiries. investigations.

Whatever progre>s has been made in science has been
mainly due to the persistent asking of three (|Uestions:
•'What?" "How?" "Why?" and to theecpially pei-sistent at-
tempt to answer them.

46 SATURDAY LECTURES.

The man who takes no interest in these questions will
never make a scientist.

When, then, we have been able, in a measure, to answer
the question " What?" and have the facts before us in records
or in museums, there presents itself to the scientific mind
the second query, "How?" How came this to pass? What
have been the processes? Can they be repeated or varied?

Here comes in, the so-called practical, economic appli-
cation of scientific knowledge, the use of facts, nowhere
more earnestly studied than in our own land.

The jNIuseum calls into existence the Institute of Tech-
nology.

But while some are content to stop here, to others comes
irresistibly the query, " Why ? " What are the underlying
principles? And the query divides itself into two — causal
and teleological. What is the reason, the cause, the state-
ment in terms of law ? What is the object, the final result,
the end to, or for which?

And here in this Smithsonian Institution are gathered
men who are giving their lives to the answering of these
questions.

The museum, with its facts, both in biology and anthro-
pology, has rendered possible the two lectures to which we
have already listened with so much of interest and profit.

Now, in this scientific army, it were well if we all were
enrolled, according to our talents and our opportunities, and
it is, I suppose, one object of this course to interest, if pos-
sible, all who attend, in scientific subjects; to instruct in
scientific methods ; to give information as to what has been
done, and to suggest what remains to do.

I shall now attempt, in accordance with the principles
thus enunciated, to state a few facts, possibly some of them
new to some of you, to make a few generalizations, to sug-
gest some things to be observed, and some results of obser-
vation among the Appalachians.

Out upon the watery waste of the Archean Ocean, as the
Eozoic age was drawing to its close, looked here and there a

Al'l'ALACIIIAN MOUNTAINS. 47

few scattered peaks, '' rari nantcs in gi.rgitc vasto," outlining
what we now call llie A[)))alachian Mountain System.

It was at the time when, as we learn I'roni the earliest
written geological record, " God said : ' Let th 3 waters under
the heaven be gathered together unto one place, and lot the
dry land appear;' and it was so."

For countless ages, '' chaos and old night," had enwrapped
the globe. Its molten billows had surged and tossed in mad
turmoil, while enveloping clouds of murky vapors hid the
fiery mass from sight.

But as ages pass away, and radiation into space cools the
glowing sphere, the vapors become less dense, the light di-
vides from the d;irkness, and a crust forms over the liquid
globe, soon to be rent by internal convulsion, upheaved or
.submerged by the gigantic forces at work, partially melted
and again solidilicil. till at length a continental basis is as-
sured.

Now, with still diminishing heat, the aqueous vapor be-
gins to condense, forming oceans, and this first great and
final differentiation into land and sea is accomplished.

The V-shaped Laurentian Highlands appear, constitu-
ting the back bone of the continent, and determining the
direction of its future extension, while parallel with the
eastern arm, emerge the peaks now seen in the Adirondacks
of New York, the Highlands of New Jerse)^ portions of the
Blue Ridge of Pennsylvania, Virginia, and the regions far-
ther southwest, including the Black Hills of North Taro-
lina.

Around the bases of these peaks was doubtless, even then,

*a great mass of gneissoid and quartzose rocks, making

great shoals and forming a long line of barrier reefs, }>ro-

tecting the quiet interior basin l'r<>ni flic fmv of the jiplaizif

waves.

As succeeding ages rolled away, in the slowly sinking
trough on the west, were deposited during Silurian, Devo-
nian and Carboniferous ages, strata of sandstones, lime-
stones, conglomerates, shales, beds of iron and coal, aggre-
gating in some places 40.<*0() feet, till at the close of

48 SATURDAY LIX'TIKES.

Paleozic time came a mighty convulsion, the overbur-
dened crust giving way under the enormous pressure from
above, and the hiteral pressure of a cooling globe, and
Hexing, fracturing, tilting, uplifting these strata, sometimes
to the height of more than 10,000 feet.

Then and thus was the great mass of the xVppalachian
System permanently raised above the ocean, and unimpor-
tant have been the changes since, except by erosion, as on
the east the waves thundering against its rocky base have
pulverized and spread out the sand which lines our coast
from Cape Cod to Florida ; and on the west the rains and
the rivers have prepared and distributed the fertile soil of
the Mississippi Valley, and then woven over it a net-work of
water courses.

This mountain mass, this great continental fold, extends
from the promontory of Gaspd on the Gulf of St. Lawrence,
to northern Georgia and Alabama, for about 1,300 miles, in
an undulating line, with a general trend from northeast to
southwest, and presents very different a.spects in different
parts of its course.

On the east, a genth' sloping plain extends from the
mountains to the ocean, about 50 miles wide in New Eng-
land, almost disappearing near the Hudson, and then in the
Pine Barrens of New Jersey, and the Eastern Shore, gradu-
ally widening, till in North Carolina, South Carolina, and
Georgia, it attains a width of 200 miles, while seaward, it
extends from 20 to 100 miles farther, forming those extensive
shoals which line the coast from Newfoundland to Florida.

Its elevation above tlie sea, at the foot of the mountains,
is, in New England, from 300 to 500 feet. In the valley of
the Hudson, it rises but little above the sea level, but as we
go farther south, into Virginia, the Carolinas and Georgia,
it attains an altitude of over 1,000 feet, forming a plateau of
considerable extent, known as the Piedmont Region, and
presenting like tlie similar plateaus between the parallel
mountain chains, a most attractive combination of beautiful
scenery, fertile soil, and a climate, for comfort and healthful-
ness, unsurpassed on the globe.

.\1-|'AI.A< 111 AN \|(il STAINS. 40

A niiiarkaMf Ifatiiic <»r this system is a large central
\allrv running its eiitiu' leii^^lh from north t(i south, called
l»y Mr. Ko,uers, the (Jreat Ai)j)alaehiaii N'alley.

It he^rins with the hasin of l.ake ( 'haiiii>laiii ami the val-
Icv.ofthe Hudson: in I'ennsylvania is known as the Kit-
latinny or Cumberland Valley: in \'ir«;inia, the Great \'al-
lev widenin<; out at last into the \alley of East Tennessee.

But wliilr there i< this coutiimity. there is also much of
contrast .

Tiie Apitalaehian system naturally divides into three
sections, each di tiering in many respects from the others.

The first division extends from Gaspe to tlie Hudson,
mainly a single range, known in its different portions, as the
Canadian Highlands, Green Mountains, and Highlands of
New York, with the outlying groups of Katahdin in Maine,
and the White Mountains of New Hampshire on the east,
and the Adirondacks of New York on the west.

Thi> chain is broken through Ijy the Hudson and Mohawk,
and attains its minimum of altitude and width, in the vicin-
ity of these rivers.

Four himdred feet rise in the waters of the ocean would
.separate all tliis northern division from the American conti-
nent ; one hun(h-ed and forty feet would make an island of
all'New England and the British possessions as far as Gaspe,
for the bottom of the valley occupied by Lake Cham])lain
and the Hudson does not, anywhere, exceed this level.

This was the lir-t i-oute across the country traversed by
canal and railroad. Jt seems probable that this de)»ression
i< the result of a subsidence of that portion of the system,
at a period subsequent to that of its original elevation, and
it i< i)roved that all New .h-rsey. from Cape Ahiy to New
\n\k. is midergoing a gradual subsidence. Along portions
ot the coast the remains of submerged forests are now visi-
ble- under water, and the soundings of the Coast Survey have
determined the existence of an ancient channel, a continu-
ation of tiiat of the Hmlson. leading far out to .n-a. which
could have been excavated only wlun the ]>resent bottom
of the sea occupie-d a higher level.

50 SATURDAY LECTURES.

The central portion extends for about 450 miles, from the
Hudson to the New River in Virginia, known farther along
in its course as the Great Kanawha, is connnonly spoken
of as the Alleghanies, and consists of many long, parallel
chains, separated by fertile valleys, and interrupted here
and there by notches and gaps, through which the rivers
find their way to the sea.

It is in threading these mountain defiles, and now and
then crossing a ridge by zigzag approaches, that the Balti-
more and Ohio, and Pennsylvania railroads afford the pas-
senger, views of such surpassing beauty and grandeur.

The system attains its greatest width in Pennsylvania,
gradually narrowing ftirther Fouth, but attaining greater
elevation, rising from 800 to 1,500, 2,000, 2,500 feet, and in
the Peaks of Otter, in A^irginia, reaching an altitude of 4,000
feet.

In Virginia the eastern chain is called the Blue Ridge,
the extreme western range the Cumberland, while the higher
range or ranges between is known as the Alleghanies. Thus
far the system, though no longer single, is composed of simi-
lar parallel wave-like ridges, separated by longitudinal val-
leys.

From the New River south, this is changed, and the system
becomes greatly complicated.

The main chain, hitherto known as the Blue Ridge, is de-
flected to the southwest, and in a circuitous line for 250 or
300 miles, under the names of Iron, Stone, Bald, Great
Smoky, and Unaka mountains, forms the boundary line be-
tween North Carolina and Tennessee, rising frequently to
heights exceeding 6,000 feet.

While the more easterly range, thence bearing the name
of Blue Ridge, and finding its southern terminus at Cesar's
Head, in South Carolina, where the ridge turns abruptly to
the northwest, reaches even loftier attitudes, Mitchell's High
Peak rising to 6,717 feet.

In North Carolina, these two ranges are more than 50
miles apart, and for more than 100 miles they constitute a
great central i)lateau like that of Colorado, on a small scale.

Al'l'AI A( n I AN \t<MNIAINS. ')1

Instead, howi-wr. uf m ((Hitinuous Idiiiiitiulinal valle\' be-
tween these chains. Hkethe (_lieat Vallt^v »)t\'ir'j:inia, we lind
them connected bv transverse (;hains wliich lilccwisc "divide
this valley into ju^reat basins, at the i)ottoni of each one of
which runs one of those monntain tributaries of the Ten-
nessee, which by the abundance of their waters, merit the
name of the true sources of that noble river."

Thus the l\o;in and Bijjj Yellow chains .separate the basin
of the Watauiia. from that of the Nolechucky. while the
northwest riili^e of the Black Mountains makes a • divide "
between this last, and the Fi-ench l]roa<l.

Between the New Found and the ( ireat Balsam Mountains,
rises the Big Pigeon River, wliile from the basin between
the Great Balsam, and the Cowee ranges, Hows out the Tuck-
asegee.

Next comes the J.ittle Tennessee, and then beyond the
Nantahela range, the Iliwassec river, separated by tin
Stansbury Mountains from the Toccoa, tlu' last of these
mountain tributaries of the Tennessee.

And, as all these, with many other rivers, rise in tin
northwestern slope of the Blue Ridge, draining that large
area, and are then forced to cut their way through the gaps
and gorges and defiles of the central chain, with its average
altitude of nearly 0,000 feet, it is not strange that here is
found some of the grandest and most jiicturesquc scenery to
be found in the Union.

On the Atlantic slope, the Roanoke, Catawba, Savannah,
and other rivers rea<'h the lower levels witli much less diffi-
culty.

Says Prof Gyjyof' who has devoltd much time to moun-
tain exploration, and done more, perhaps, than any other
man to make us acquainted with our own mountains, and
to wdiom 1 would here acknowledge my indebtedness for
many of the facts and not a few of the generalizations and
descriptions of this lecture — ' Here, then, through an cx-

*Article on the Appal.ichian Mountain system, .\nicrican Journal of Science,
March. iSoi.

52 SATURDAY LECTURES.

tent of more than 150 milc.-^, the mean height of the valley
from which the mountains rise is more than 2,000 feet ;
the mountains which reach 6,000 feet are counted by scores,
and the loftiest peaks rise above 6,700 feet, while at the
north, in the group of the White ^^lountains, the base is
scarcely 1,000 feet, the gaps 2,000 feet, and Mount Wash-
ington, the only one which rises above 6,000 feet, is still 400
feet below the height of the Black Dome of the Black
Mountains.

"Here then is, in all respects, the. culminating region of
the vast Appalachian sj'stem."

We will now consider somewhat more in detail, the con-
trasts already in part suggested, between the northern and
the southern divisions, and will take as a representative of
the one, Mouiit Washington, in New Hampshire, with an
altitude of 6,288 feet, and for the other. Roan ^Mountain,
North Carolina, reaching 6,391 feet.

First, we will contrast the modes of approach. From
Portland, Maine, a railroad trip of about 100 miles carries
us through a rolling country, becoming hilly as we approach
the mountains, and exhibits a flora characteristic of the lati-
tude, and changing but little till one is half way up the
mountain ; a railway takes us to the very summit.

From Norfolk, Ya., for 100 miles of railroad through the
tide-water region to Petersburg, we pass over a sandy plain
nowhere 100 feet above the sea level, and at Petersburg only
11 feet. Thence another 100 miles brings us to L3aichburg,
through a rolling countr}^ rising as high as 800 feet — and
from there on we plunge among and climb up mountains
and plateaus, the railroad reaching an elevation of 1,500
feet within the first 60 miles, and for the next 150 miles
nowhere descending lower than that, but attaining in places
an altitude of over 2,500 feet, till at Johnson City, Tenn.,
steam power deserts us. A rough stage ride of 25 miles,
crossing the state line into North Carolina, exhibits a strik-
ing contrast in the flora.

Following Buffalo Creek for 10 miles in a southwesterly
direction, parallel with Buffalo mountain, we travel through

Ai'i'Ai ..uiiiAN .\hm;ntains. 53

a liinosloiu' rruioii. the water s<» hard that <l rangers arc ul'teu
made .sick by its aso, and the vciijetation ii<>t unlike that of
X'iri^inia — forests, wild flowers. ero])s aixi wee<ls, sassafras
l»at(lKs, hlacklu'rry briars, and all.

Tlun we turn abruptly to the southeast, over limestone
ridges, across a sli<rht water-shed, half a mile in width and
oU feet in hciiiht, and we are in a ([uart/ite. or as they call it
there, " freestone" re<,d«»n. the water eouK <lear. and i)ure,
an<l in a few moments we }»lunge into a ii,ro\-e of hemlocks,
pines, s|)ruces, and sugar-maples, with huckleberries and
wintergreen beneath, that reminds us of Xew England, wliile
the thickets of rhododendron, leucothoe, calycanthus, oxy-
dendron, and magnolia prove to us that wc are still in
Dixie.

Over the Iron Mountain range, climbing wearily up and
then rattling furiously down its 1,500 feet of elevation, and
we come to the base of Roan Mountain, standing out in the
sunshine more than 3,000 feet above us. For seven miles
we wind in and out among cliffs and around the heads of
ravines, over a road skillfully engineered, but far from reas-
suring to weak nerves, and at length we stand on the sum-
mit, upon the boundary line between North Carolina and
Tennessee, looking olV upon these two States, and, in a<ldi-
tion, catching glimpses of Virginia. West \'irginia. South
Carolina. Georgia, and Kentucky.

In strong contrast, likewise, to the spacious Tip-Top liou.se
of Mount Washington, securely anchored by huge chains to
its granite foundations, is the rough log-house of Cloudland
Hotel nestled among the firs, wdiere, two years ago, a party
of twenty-five Washingtonians found comfortable quarters
for two months, spending the coolest summer of our lives,
and to some of us, at least, the most enjoyable.

Contra.sting the mountains them.selvcs, we begin the ac-
cent of Mount Washington, in a Ibrest identical with that
of the surrounding country. When we n^aeh 3,()00 feet, all
the trees have grown perceptildy smaller, an<l all the decidu-
ous trees, except, perhaps, the dwarf birches and mountain
ashe-s, have «lisappeared. In anoth<r 1,000 feet the ever-

54 SATl'RDAY LECTURES.

greens have become dwarfed to shruljs,. three or four feet
high, so dense that you may often walk for rods upon their
tops. At 5,000 feet, onh^ a few creeping shrubs remain, and
for the remaining 1,200 feet we have only a ridge of barren
rocks, with liere and there a few grasses and sedges, and a
few heaths and mosses with the arctic sandwort, Arenoria
Groenlandica, keeping up the struggle for existence.

Ascending Eoan mountain, at l^etween 3.000 and 4,000
feet of altitude, we pass through a belt of giant trees. One
chestnut measured 24 feet in circumference at five feet from
the ground ; one black cherry iPrunus serotina) measured 10
feet, and as straight as a pine, rose 70 feet without a lirnl),
while hundreds of chestnuts, sugar maples, lindens, and
tulip trees were seen from four to seven feet in diameter,
and 70 or 80 feet to the first limb.

During the next 2,000 feet the deciduous trees gradually
disappear, till hemlocks, firs, and spruces alone remain.

At length, emerging from the belt of evergreens surround-
ing, and in j^laces coming to the ver}"- summit, we come out
upon a grass}^ slope of 1,000 acres, the soil rich, black, and
a foot or two deep, largely composed of vegetable humus,
the grass of a most vivid green, and dotted here and there
with clumps of mountain alder, {Alnus viridis,) and moun-
tain laurel, {Rhododendron Cafcnvbiense,) the latter one of the
most beautiful shrubs that can be imas-ined, formino- svm-
metrical domes of dark pink, from 6 to 8 feet high. Add
to this large areas of mountain honeysuckle, (Rhododendron
calendulaceum,) with great masses of bloom, varying from
golden 3'ellow to deep crimson, so that the hillside seems a
flame of fire, and you can cease to wonder that Dr. Gray,
who first explored this mountain in 1841, pronounces it the
most beautiful of American mountains.

These grassy summits or " balds," are a marked feature of
these southern Appalachians, giving a name to one long
range, and raise an interesting question as to what climatic
or other changes, have sufficed, first, to stimulate a forest
oTOwth of deciduous trees sufficient to account for such an

AI'l'AI \<1IIA\ M(M NIAINS. 55

arcUlllulatiull of Vt'L!;(.'tul»li' HKMiM. ai|(| then >n colniilrtclv

Id (lostrov these forests as to leave no traee behind.

At either eiul, this grassy sloj)C is terminated l»y a loiky
>unimit, on which, however, shrubs, grasses, and llowcrs grow
in prolusion, but rising some 70 or 80 feet above the plain
below, tliesi' sinumits lieing about two miles apart, and the
southern one terminating in clill's, hundreds of feet in [)er-
]>endieular lieight.

As regards the ilora on Mount Washington, for the first
o.OOO feet we lind but few sj)ecies Avhich are not observed
ar(iun<l the base, but al)OVe that oeeur some GO alpine or
sub-alpine sjieeies not met with at lower levels, till we aj)-
proaeh Labrador or even Greenland.

As we ascend from 3,000 to 5,000 feet on Roan mountain
we lind the Ilora recalling that of tlie thick woods of Maine
and New Hampshire. Twenty characteristic species of the
northern woods are abundant, while closely associated with
them are some 30 species distinctively southern.

Perhaps .'>(► spt'cics more are confined to the upjier 1,000
feet.

iSome of these are sub-alpine, and replace those of Mount
AVashington witli different species of the same or kindred
genera, as Arcuaria (jlahru in place of J. GrocnJandka ; Prc-
nantlics Boaiicnsis, in place of 7^. nanus nud Iloottii ; Vac-
ciniuiii fn/tJimcai'pon, a straggling shi-ub three or four feet
high, in place of V. Vitts-idaca, a compact creeping mass;
Rhododendron Cataivbiensc, with its magnificent domes of
bloom, in place of the little B. Lapponicum, only three or
four inches in height; Carer aestivalis i\w(\ jancea, in place of
C. airata, scirpoidca, and others.

The beautiful Solidago tltj/rsoidea of the lower slopes of
Mount AVashington is replaced on the sujnmit of lloan, by a
kindred species, in similar luxuriance and abundance, S.
glomerata. Paronychia argyrocomaj'imwd only in the Willey
Notch of the White Mountains, occurs on iJoan oidy on the
summit of Eagle Clill'.

Three species, Alnus viridis, Vcrairum viride. and Li/copo-

56 SATURDAY LECTflJKS.

dium Selago, are found in similar situations on tho two moun-
tains, only about 1,000 feet lower on Mount Washington.

As would be expected from the flora, the contrast between
the temperatures of these different mountains is very strik-
ing.

On one of my last visits to Mount Washington, July 12.
the mercury stood at 36°, and the wind was blowing at tho
rate of' 40 miles an hour.

While on Roan, during nine weeks from June to Septem-
ber, the mercury once indicated 75°, seven times only was
it above 70°, once it was 45°, and only three times was it
below 50°. Three days out of five the daih' extremes
would bo comprised between 55° and 65°.

The equability of barometrical pressure was noteworthy,
the mean height of the mercurial column being a little less
than 24 inches, while the highest was 24.19, the lowest
23.87, or a variation of only .32. The corrected mean of all
the observations compared with those of the nearest station
of the Weather Service, at Knoxville, Tenn., gave 6,391 feet
as the height of the summit.

As a result of this equability of barometric pressure, was
noticed an absence of high winds quite remarkable at
that altitude, and quite in contrast with my experience at
Mount Washington. At no time, so far as I could judge,
did it reach a velocity of 20 miles an hour, and seldom
more than from 5 to 10.

Nor, except in one place, was there any indication of the
occurrence of a tornado in the past.

It is not surprising that this absolute exemption from heat,
with the slight variation in barometric pressure should be
found to give absolute exemption from " hay fever." And
it is not, perhaps, beyond the limit of scientific induction to
hazard the prediction, that among these southern Appa-
lachian mountains and plateaus will be established many a
sanitarium, located as regards altitude and exposure, to meet
the needs of those afllicted with various forms of pulmon-
ary, bronchial and nervous diseases.

AI'r.M.At III.W Mill STAINS. •'<

The only icinaiuiiii; coiitriisl that I >liall notice will i)e
that of the scenery.

The White ^[oiintaiiis are at one side of the main chain.

In the distanei' we see on the west the (Jreeii M(»nnlains
stretchinii" alonii the Imii/on.

Immediately an>nn<l aw the sister jx-aks iA' the White
Mountain and l"'iancnnia ranues. hut neither on the north,
ea.st, ur the south, are any lofty mountains in siuht ; while
in all these directions lakes, ponds, rivers. an<l streams <li-
versify and heautify the landscaije.

From Roan, the view is widely different. " Mountains to
rioht of us, mountains to left of us," stretching away on
every side to the liorizon, mountain monarchs every one,
scores over (>,000 feet in height, hardly a level acre in sight,
even tlie valleys 2,000 or 3,000 feet above sea level, and in
all this wide expanse, only one little glimpse of water, where
a tlozen miles away, the Xoleehucky is hurrying on to the
'Ft iinessee.

On the south we look up to the Black >hjuntain range,
with Mitchell's High Peak, on which rest the hones of its
intrepid explorer, rising more than 3,000 feet above us.

(.)n the east and southea.st the Blue Ridge is in sight with
Grandtather and Grandmother mountains and countless un-
named peaks.

(Jn the north and west, the great plateau of Tennessee,
with the (Clinch and other ranges, or rather plateaus, twenty
or more in number, stretching away in long parallel lines,
as level as .so many railroad emhankment.s, .sometimes for
40 or ."iO miles with n(» apparent gap or peak, till in the dim
distance the blue line of the Cumberland range outlines the
horizon.

The cloud views are grand beyond description. < )Uen in
the early morning the whole country will be covered with
a mass of pure white vapor, like the waters of a shoreless
sea, with only here and there a monntain top. like an island,
emerging from the billows.

And then as the ravs of tin- rising sun fall ujion tlieni.

58 SATir.DAY I.ECTUrvES.

they assume tints of ]nnk and crimson and gold, and soon
with the morning breezes they melt away and the landscape
stands revealed in all its freshness and beauty.

Rarely on the clearest day can you stand for half an hour
upon one of the high peaks without seeing showers and local
storms sweeping over the countr}' in various directions.
Often several may be seen at once ; not unfrequently one
takes a turn and comes over us with most unwelcome sud-
denness, though ver}^ often they are below us.

On two sides of the mountains, deej) gulfs or ravines come
nearly to the mountain top, so that you may stand on an al-
most perpendicular precipice and look down into a gulf from
1,000 to 2,000 feet deep, at your very feet, and see the clouds
form far below, as a moist air from the valley sweeps up the
gorge and meets the cooler temperature of the upper height.

It were well if many of us, citizens of this great Republic,
could look upon both the northern and southern divisions
of this might}' chain, which has been for so many ages the
rampart of our easte^'n coast, and learn that neither section
has a monopoly of nature's gifts.

It were well, if we would learn to contrast and enjoy these
varieties of mountain sublimit}^ ; that there are mountains
and mountains; that, as the stars, one mountain clifFereth
from another mountain in glory.

It were well, if we would learn to study mountains, to ac-
quaint ourselves with their peculiarities, to make them our
friends, to know and to love them.

It is well for us, as scientific observers, noting all the facts
alike in anthropology and biology, to note and carefully to
remember that fact of all history, that mountains have not
only deflected the winds and influenced the temperature
and rainfall, but have also had a powerful influence upon
the dwellers among them; that patriotism has ever flour-
ished most vigorousl}^ when nourished by mountain air :
that freedom has ever loved to make her home amid moun-
tain peaks; that " men, highminded men, who know their
rights, and knowing, dare maintain," \\'hether in Greece, in

All' MM 111 AN MolNlAINS. ")".)

S\vit/.i'rl;m<l. ur in «»iir<»\vii comitrv, have so olleii coiiU! forth
IVoiii luotiiitaiii liMiiM's.

And in Niiwoltliis lact. wr shall liave no cause to wonder
tliat men have loved (lie mountains, and in so many hearts
ii responsive chord is struck when they licar I lie rinjring
periods of the mountaineers hymn:

•' For the .slrcngtli of the hills \vc bless Thee,

Our Clod ; our father's God !
Tiiou hast made Thy children mighty

By the touch of the mountain sod.
The rocks yield founts of courage,

Struck forth, as by Thy rod —
For the strength of the hills we bless Thee,

Our God, our father's flod I"

OUTLINES OF SOCIOLOGY.

Lecture delivered in the National Museum, Washington, D. C, April i, 1882
by Major J. W. POWEI^L.

By organized association men live together in bodies
politic. That men may live in peace, render each other
assistance and act togetjier as units for mutual protection,
is the purpose subserved by organized association. In order
that men may associate their conduct must be regulated.
For the regulation of conduct there must be organization,
and the plan upon which a body politic is organized de-
pends upon the nature of the regulation for which it is
used — organ is adapted to function.

The organization of the body politic constitutes the state.

Again, there must be —

First, some method of determining the particulars of con-
duct that require regulation and the quality and (juantity
of the regulation recjuired.

Second, there must be means of enforcing regulation.

Third, there must be means of determining whether con-
duct conforms to rule. The machinery established by a
society for accomplishing these purposes constitutes govern-
ment.

Yet again, there are the rules which the body politic de-
termines to be necessary for peace, mutual assistance, pro-
tection, and the common welfare, and these constitute the
law.

The science of sociology from the nature of the functions
of social organization may be fundamentally divided into
three subjects — the constitution of the state, the form of the
government, and the regulation embodied in the law — the
state, the government, the law.

THE STATE.

A state is a body politic — an organized group of men
with an established government and a body of determined

(60)

<H TI.INKS Ol" SO('H»I.(>«iV. 'il

law. In the (»ii:aiii/:iti<»ii of societies units ot" diHereut
ordorsaredisfovercd. A society of the hijxhostor first orderis
made iipof a nuinberof societies or j;rouj»s of a second order,
and tliese may ai,^ain he made ujt of a number of groups of a
third or fourtii ordei'. The term state as liere used em-
luaces tlie entin- hody of men included in the lart^est unit,
and conseriuently all the men of each subordinate unit,
when it refer- to tli(' body politic as a <i"roup of men, and
when it refers to the oruanization it in<-ludesthe constituent
plan of the largest and its included units. It should l)e
noticed that this use of the term state is not consistent with
a common practice in this country, but we may illustrate
by reference thereto. The term state would tlius be synony-
mous with United States, including its several units of
States, counties, townships, cities, wards and all other sub-
ordinate divisions. The term state, then, is used to desig-
nate an organized body of people of the higliest order em-
bracing all its subsidiary organizations.

SOCIOLOGIC CLASSES.

In tlie foregoing characterization of the state it has been
considered as a body politic organized for civil government,
that is, for the regulation of the conduct of the individuals
of the state as they are related to each other. But the con-
duct of the members of the state, or of tlie entire body
politic, may have relations to other bodies politic: so that
conduct must be regulated in its internal relations and its
external relations.

Now, the relations of state to stale may be i-egulated. by
<-ommon agreement, and they are thus regulated to a large
i'xtent. I>ut thi'i regulation is imperfect and weak Irom the
fact that no common government is organized to which all
the states are alike obedient. The lack of such a common
government for states leads to the settlement of disputes by
war. Each state {)repares itself to enforce its'wishes or de-
fend its rights by resort to arms. It seems prol)able that in
the earliest stages of society all able-bodied men take part
in its militarv aflairs. Riit verv (\irlv a <liirerentiation is

62 SATURDAY LECTURES.

discovered by which u pait only of the men belong to the
army ; and thus we have the military class as distinguished
from the civil class.

In all governments which have hitherto existed, human
conduct has been regulated in its relations to supernatural
beings. It has always been believed that the welfare of man-
kind depends largely or even primaril}- upon the will of the
gods, or of one god — the Supreme Ruler of the Universe.

The relation of man to his god gives rise to religion.
The conduct involved is religious conduct ; and hence reli-
gion comes to be an important factor in determining the
constitution of the state, the nature of the government, and
the character of the law.

Thus in the constitution of the state we find three classes of
people more or less distinctly differentiated : The civil, the
military, and the priestly class. As these classes appear in
the constitution of the state they also affect in varying de-
grees the form of the government, and the relations arising
therefrom are regulated by law.

.SOCIAL RANKS.

In many stages of society grades or ranks of people are
discovered based upon heredity, possession of land, wealth
and other circumstances giving rise to aristocracies — com-
mon people and slaves — patricians and plebeians.

CORPORATIONS.

In many states two grand classes of organizations are
found — the first class is directly related to government and
embraces the organizations mentioned above as grouped
in different orders. The second class is indirectlj'^ related
to government. These organizations serve a variety of
purposes. Men are organized into societies for religious,
charitable, educational, industrial, and other ends, and
such societies will here be called corporations. These
organizations of the minor class, unlike those of the major
class, do not constitute a part of the government, but
they form a part" of the state and must necessarily be

rUTI.INKS Ol' SOCIOI.OCY. 63

considered in tlir plan of the state. While not a part of
the jjovernment in an important way tlicy are connected
therewith. Tlie rc';i;nhition of conduct involved in the suc-
resslul workinjjf of sucli corporations may be immediately
dctrrniined by the bodies of men severally involved and
expressed in rharters, constitutions, by-laws, and rules of
order. Ihit (.\. r all iliosr is the law of the government
with which the rules or laws of the .several minor organiza-
tions must conform, and for the ultimate entbrcement of
which government is to a large extent responsible. Thus
we have the major and minor organizations of the state, the
major and minor laws of the state, and the government of
the state directly enforcing the major laws and indirectly
enforcing the minor laws.

The science called sociology in its three great divisions —
the .state, the government, and the law — deals with all orga-
nizations of the people for whatsoever purpose they may be
formed.

A part of (he regulation of a .state belongs to the major,
another part to the minor organizations of the state, but
the functions of the two classes of regulation are not clearly
and permanently differentiated. A particular system of
regulation may be relegated now to the government, and
now to a .society of the minor class, or the .system of regu-
lation may be divided between them. For example, the
government may entirely control a system of education, or
the .system of education may be entirely controlled by minor
societies; or, again, a part of the educational system may
belong to the government, and a part to minor societies.
The boundary lines between major an«l minor regulation
are ever shifting.

A ST.VFE IS .\ PLKXUS OF ORCAM/ATK >NS.

In the foregoing statement it is .-^een that the grand unit
of social organization, the state, is itself composed of many
minor organizations forming units in a descending series,
so that the state has a compound structure. It also has a
complex structure. Before defining this complexity an
illustration from biology may be in place.

64 sA'ri liDAY ij:ctui{es.

An animal i.s composed of many organs performing dif-
ferent functions. Thus i.s found the brain — the organ of
lliought, the organ of breathing, the organs of digestion, the
organs of circuhition, the organs of locomotion, and so forth.
Running through all these organs and forming a plexus
"svith them, are the systems of tissues. Thus avc find the
nervous, vascular, and muscular systems, the whole forming
a. complex tissue of organs, and systems of organs, rendering
the organism excessively complex in pln'sical constitution.

In the examination of the constitution of any particular
state, it will usually be found that one S3''stem of organiza-
tion permeates and' pervades other systems in such a manner
that the individual state is found excessivelj^ complex.
Through the series of units into which the state is organ-
ized for the purposes of government, both classes and ranks
are interwoven, and through the government units — the
classes and the ranks— corporations are interwoven.

In the Muskoki Confederacy there are forty-nine tribes,
each one having a government of its own. But these forty-
nine tribes are organized in such a manner that a common
government is provided for the whole. Now, the confed-
eracy is the grand unit, the tribes are units of a second
order. But the clans of one tribe are also the clans of
another, so that each clan is distributed through many
tribes, and each clan has a government of its own, subsid-
iary to the government of the tribe, and again subsidiary
to the government of the confederacy. The organization
for a clan is woven through the organization for a tribe in
such a manner as to make the constitution of the state com-
plex.

In those states where the organizations which we have
here called corporations are highly developed, the corpora-
tions themselves render the constitution of the state com-
plex. , Church organizations do not run parallel with state
lines, but extend their operations and their control over
their own members regardless of political divisions.

All states that have been studied have been thus found,
both compound and complex. Such are the essential char-
acteristics of the social oroanization of mankind into states.

(>l I'llM^ ni SIM |(i|.i»(;y. ').)

THK (;()VKKNMr.\T.

Tlu' (I i tic re lit iat ion Iroin tin- .staU-of an organized >y.stcm
ot iv<:;iilation gives rise to government. If a condition of
society (.on Id exist in whieli eaeli member in the state should
take an equal and like part with all the others in the regu-
lation of eondu<-t, the state would he without a government
in the sense in which that term i> here us(^d : hut in iIk
bodies politii- whieh are known certain individuals arc
selected l>v one or other process to periorm special func-
tions in the regulation of the conduct of the people com-
posing the state. The government is tlu- sociologic organ
differentiated from the state for the regulation of conduct.

The function'^ to he performed by a government are of
three clas.scs — legislative, executive, and judi'ial — lor if
conduct is to be regulated it is necessary —

First, to determine in what ])articulars, and to establish
the rules. This gives the law-making i)Owei'. which will
here be denominated the Iq/islatiir dei)artment.

Second, it is necessary to provide macliinery for the en-
forcement of the law. This i< hi-rc denominated the cxccn-
(ivc department.

Third, in society the parti<ulars of conduct and the rela-
tions of conduct are va.stly multifarious, approaching infinity.
The formulated rules of conduct — the law — can never keej>
pace with con<luct itself, .^o that every specific act of social
life shall have its corresponding fornnilated iide. It is there-
fore necessary that the general rules embraced in the lawl)e
interpreteil and a|)plied to the specific act. This is usually
done by tlie individual, who is sujiposed and whose
duty it is, to know the laws of the .state ; but the individual
may yet have imperfect knowledge. Yet liis conduct as a
meml)er of the body jiolitic has its efiect upon others wiio
themselves may have imperfect knowledge of the law and
its application to specific acts. This imperfection of knowl-
edge necessitates an interj)retation of the law.

Again, bias of interest, bias of prejudice, and bias of pas-
sion— all have their effect in m<Mlityinu indixidu.d opinion

(')() SATURDAY LECTIKES.

relating to the law. Under these circumstances, it is found
necessary for the state to devise, as a part of its govern-
ment, some organ for the interpretation of the law in its ap-
plication to specific acts. This gives rise to the judicial de-
partment of government.

These three great functions have never been clearly
differentiated in the organization of a government ; but the
distinctions have usually been perceived and a partial
differentiation of organs is ever found.

In the constitution of the. state, it has been seen, three
grand classes arise — the civil, the military, and the religious.
Wherever in the state sitch classes appear, the form of gov-
ernment is adapted to the regulation which the constitution
of the state demands, and in this manner the functions of
government may be classified as civil, militarj'', and religi-
ous— ^the military government inhering in the arm}', the
religious government in the priesthood — and armies and
jjriesthoods are constituent parts of such governments.

Usuall}' in all stages of society, military government is
entire!}' subordinate to civil government, but there are
times in the middle stages of society when the military gov-
ernment assumes inordinate proportions, so that the civil
government becomes subsidiary thereto ; but such military
governments performing civil functions are ei^hemeral.

Again, in the constitution of the state, religious organiza-
tions invariably constitute an important factor. In the low-
est tribes a priesthood is a part of the government. In
certain stages of society a priesthood sometimes acquires in-
ordinate j)Owers, and ecclesiastical or religious governments
are organized ; but such governments arise only occasionall}^
and are ephemeral.

In the constitution of the state two classes of organiza-
tions are found — those relating directly to the government,
called the major organizations, and those relating indirectly
to the government, called the minor organizations, or corpo-
rations, and each corporation develops from its own body
of members a government of its own, through which, in
part, it is related to the government of the state, and to

<»ri'i.iM:s tii- siKidi.odv. ii7

other i>rLi;iiii/.;it ioiis n|' tlif miiKtr i-lass. Tlicsc minor
ortjaiiiziitioii"^ an' al>o idalcfl |o tlic ^ovciimiciil of (Ik-
slate, and to (>acli other directly lliroiiiili llie indivi(hials ol
w hieh thov are eoiiiposed.

< loverinnenl is the specialized oruaii lor the leL^iilation of
th(> conchiet oi tlie iiulividuals of the state, and is lunction-
ally divided into the h'uishilive. e\ecnti\'e. and judicial de-
{•ai'tments, with a still I'lirlliei runction.-d di\i>ion nniinni;-
throui^li llieso _u,ivini;' eivil. military, and religious go verji-
nient. To the government ot" llio state, in its several units
and classes, the government of eorporations is subsidiary
and obedient.

Tin: i..\w.

The law. is composed of the rides ot" conduct which the
government endeavors It) enforce. These rules of conduct
control the individuals of the state in their relations to each
other. Conduct, in its relation to the individuals involved,
is either directly or indirectly jjcrsonal. Conduct may be
<lirectly personal in its I'elations to two or more individuals,
or it may be indirectly ])ersonal in that it afi'ects the rela-
tions of the individuals through the medium of property.
The lu'st gives ri.se to what J shall <lenoniinate pergonal law,
the sccoikI io propryfi/ law.

Again, in the organization of the l>ody politic, minor
bodies have been d,escribe(l, an<l designated as corporation.^,
including in the term all bodies jtoliticof the minor class, 2. f.,
all jirivate corporations as distinct from municipal or govern-
ment corj)orations. The relations of in<lividuals to each
other, as members of a coi-poration, aie controlled by tiie
corporations them.selves in their organized capacities, but
these regulations nmst conform to the law of the .state, and
are ultimately relegated for their enforcement to the govern-
ment. But the control of corporations in their relations to
each other, in their relations to the government, and in
their relations to tlie indivi<luals of the stat(>, gives rise to a
body of corporatio'ii law.

Again, since government is diU'eicnti.ited .is the organ of

08 SATIUDAY i.ixTrr.E?.

reiiulation. the organ itself must be controlled — the con-
duct of the government must be regulated. This gives rise
to what I shall denominate government law.

It has been seen that the conduct of a state, and of the
individuals of a state, has relation to other states. The rules
for the regulation of this conduct gives rise to international
law.

As no common government exists between states to en-
force international law, armies are organized, and for the
regulation of their conduct militar}/ law is developed.

The conduct relating to the relation which exists between
men and deity gives rise to the organization of ecclesiastical
bodies. For the government of these bodies, and for the en-
ibrcement of the rules of conduct which religion imposes,
religious law appears.

Tlie law, then, which is the bod}^ of rules which the state
endeavors directly or indirectly to enforce, may be properly
classed, as follows :

1. Personal law.

2. Property law.

3. Corporation law.

4. Government law.

5. International law.

6. Military laAv.

7. Peligious laAv.

In addition to this classification of law on the basis of
the particulars of conduct to be controlled, another funda-
mental classification is found running through and inter-
woven with each of the others. This classification de-
pends upon the method l)y which regulation is accom-
plished. General rules of conthict are established, and
these general rules are applied to specilic acts. Thus duties
and rights, or rights active and passive, are determined.
Usually, to these rules determining rights, the individuals
of the state conform their conduct; but to an important ex-
tent they do not. To the extent that conduct is conforma-
tory to the law, right is done ; to the extent that conduct is

nril.lNKS or SOiKH.tiiJY. 'il>

iiut ill (•(inrniiiiily wiili llic l;iw, wntii^ i> iIoih'. Now, ^ov-
cniiiu'iit tluc'S not att(iiii»t to control comluct l)y <lirc'ctly en-
Jorcinij liiilit-doiiin. hut indirectly, l>y punishin;;- wroni;-
<loin,ii-, and this oivcs rise to a hody of hiws rchitinu- t(»
wrongs which may he designated as rrlDiinal hiw.

Crimes may l>e committi'd aij;ainst pcM'^onal law, pro|Mri \
law. <-orj)oratioii law. iioveriiiiiciit law. iiiti'inational law,
military law. and itliuioiis law: so thai the classilication of
law relating to rights and duties furnishes the proper basis
for the classilication of law relating to wrongs, i. c. crime.s.

(•<»iKsi-: OI-" i:vni.ri io\ m- ini-; sr.vn:.

In considering the particulars of conduct that states have
attempted to regulate we lind they can be classified on still
anotlier basis than that presented in considering the subject
of law. Conduct may relate to the perpetuation of the
species, or conduct may relate to the welfare of the in-
dividual. Though this cla.ssilication serves no imi)ortant
j)uri>ose in the study of the subject of laM', yet it is necessary
in considering the constitution of the state and tlie form of
the government.

Tn the earlier and lower stages of .society conduct relating
to the perpetuation of the species is held to be of ])rimary
importance, while conduct relating to the welfare of in-
dividuals is held to be of .secondar}^ importance, in such ;i
manner that the organization of the state is based i)rimarily
on the former and secondarily on the latter.

In the periKHuation of the species the functions of re-
production are dependent ujton the biologic organization of
mankind, dividing the human race into two classes — male
and female — and the very earliest states yet discovered have
their ])lans of organization based on sex. and <om|»osed of
cla.«siticd bodies of kindred.

This maybe stat<<l in jinothcr way. In the earliest forms
of societv conduct involving tlu; relations of the sexes an<l
the relations of kindred arising therefn»m was first brought
under regulation. The primary and principal .source of
disagreement among primitive men at the incej)tion of oi-

70 SATUKDAV IJJCTUItES.

ganized society grew out of their desires for the possession of
women. Men first came into conflict with each other on
account of women, and to live together in peace it became
necessary to organize government and enact law regulating
marriage and kinship relations arising therefrom.

The government and the law relate i)rimarily to kinship,
regulating the relation of the sexes, and the relation of the
several members of bodies of kindred; that is, the state is
organized on kinship. Governmental functions are per-
formed by men wliose positions in the government are
determined b}^ kinship, and rules relating to kinship and
the reproduction of the species constitute the larger body of
the law. The law regulates marriage and the rights and
duties of the several members of a body of kindred to each
other. Individuals are held responsible only to their kin-
dred, and certain groups of kindred are held responsible to
other groups of kindred. When other conduct, such as the
distribution of game taken from the forest or fisli from the
sea is regulated, the rules or laws pertaining thereto involve
considerations of kinshij), and this is extended so far that a
large body of rights to property are kinship rights. In this
manner all the earlier forms of the state of which we have
knowledge are based on kinship. This gives us kinship
societ}^ and tribal government.

In the highest forms of social organization discovered in
the nations of civilization the regulation of conduct discov-
ered in the government and the law. relates chiefly and pri-
marily to the welfare of the individual, and secondarily to
the perpetuation of the species; and of the conduct relating
to the welfare of the individual that which relates to prop-
erty has an overwhelming predominance.

In the earliest stages of society small wealth is accumu-
lated, and industries for the production of property and
Avealth are comparatively undeveloped. In the higher
stages of society greatly accumulated wealth is found, and
industries are differentiated and industrial organizations
multiplied beyond all others. As therefore the organs of
government must be adapted to its functions, the plan of

oi ri,iNi;s OK S(>ci(>[.<»(;Y. 71

government in such ti state must be based upon [tioperty.
Thus property, society, and national uovcinincnt are consti-
tuted.

In kinship states the I'unihiniental chissification of tlie
people for the purposes of govennnent is by kindred : in the
projierty state tlie fundamental classification of people for
purposes of government is by territory. Between these
staiTcs — the lowest and the highest — many interme<liate
forms are found. No hard and fast lines can be drawn. A
cli-ar distinction can be made only between the lowest and
the hijihest. Survivals of kinship societv exist in all gov-
crnments where i»osition, i. e. office, in the government is
hereditary, and property society with the government of the
highest civiHzation is reached only by republics. The his-
tory of the constitution of the state is the history of the
evolution of kinship society into property society.

There is yet another way by which this evolution may be
characterized, namely, by the progressing differentiation of
the organs of the state, and by the }>rogressing integrations
of states.

The differentiation of organs in the state is represented

in three ways —

First, by the multiplication of organs of government — a
subject which will be considered under the head of govern-
ment :

Second, by the multiplication of the orders of units and
the specialization of the subordinate units so that subordi-
nate organizations i)erform special functions. Thus cities
may be divided into wards, counties into towns : and

Third, by the multiplication of corporations for specific
purposes. Such organizations appear in the lowest .stages
of society only in a crude form, but as society advances
they are perfected, and greatly multiplied, until in modern
civilized society a state becomes a va.st plexus of cor[)ora-
tions.

In the earlier stages of society each state is small, being
composed only of a body of kindred by consanguinity and
affinity, actual or artificial. As each .state is small many
states are Ibund. In order that unification of states may pro-

72 SATIIIDAV I.KCTIIIKS.

gress organization l»y kinsliij) niu^t give way, and gradually
it does give way, to be re])laced ])y organization on a prop-
erty basis. Organization on a jiropcrty basis appears in
many ways, but chiefly in two — lirst, ea])tives in war and
otlier persons ai'e made slaves, and become property them-
selves; and, second, a ]>articular form of pn>[)crty — land —
gradually comes to be of prime importance, and is at last
taken as the basis of the primary classification of the state,
which is territorial.

By various jn'ocesses of alliance, by conquest, by develop-
ment of feudalities, and by slavery, states are integrated,
and by the development of the organs of government and
private corporations, the classes of the state are differentiated,
and with this the plan of the state is changed from a kin-
ship to a property basis.

COURSE (3F INVOLUTION OF GOVERNMENT.

The earliest form of government of which we have
knowledge consists of an assembly composed of men, from
>vhich are excluded all deemed too young or too old to ex-
hibit due wisdom. This assembly is the law-making power,
i. c, the legislature, and the law applying power, i. e., the
court. It is, in fact, the body of able men meeting to confer
and decide upon conduct, and is essentially legislature and
judiciary undifferentiated. This assembly has a presiding
officer who obtains the position by common consent or for-
mal choice, and who sometimes acts as an executive officer
in carrying out the decisions of the assembly. But this
executive power, though it may sometimes, does not invari-
ably inhere in the presiding officer.

Sometimes, and perhaps usually, the executive power is
delegated to a committee of the assembly. The committee
may be appointed temjwrarily to carry out a specific deter-
mination of the assembly, or it may be a standing com-
mittee to carry out a class of determinations. The form
of government thus described probably exists at present
in some of the tribes of Australia and elsewhere, as such
accounts are given by travelers and students of ethnol-

()ITI.im;s iti' s(>( Kn.oiiY. 73

ogy ; l>ut those aiToiints ,uc ini()iii|ilctc. :iii<l have been
niadi' l>y |)ersons iidI tlioiuii^lily ti-aino(l in this hrancli of
anthiojtologic rt'.sfai\li, s(» that altojjctlicr \\\v existence ol"
siu-h a «j[Overnmont is at present uncertain. It is also prolj-
able that this Inrni of ^ovcinnient has existed in })ast times
anions; tribes whu have ni»\v atlvanced l)eyond it. Tlir lino
ot" aruunient i»n wliich this is based eannot hen' lir |»re-
sente(l, and it i- but fair to say that |iositi\"c concln.-iKns
have not Iteen readied.

A somewhat hiiiher form of ( iovcrnmeiit has been dis-
covered in Anieiiea and eUewiierc wldeli may l)e more
thorouiihly describe<l. in tbi- the assembly of the })eo[)le
is more definitely organizetL The [tresiding officer is Ibrni-
ally selected, and his tenure of office is for life, unless other-
wise formally determined by the asseml)ly for cause. In
addition to this, a chief or system of ehiefs is found whose
duties are executive. The chief is also a member of the as-
sembly, but is not a chief Ijy virtue of such membership but
by choice of the p(^ople. The chieftaincy is never here-
ditary.

In the UK^st highly developed governments the three
great classifications of governmental functions are highly,
though not comjjletely, dilferentiated, giving rise to legisla-
tive, executive, and judicial departments, represented by the
asscmbb/, the ruler, and the court.

The a.ssembly itself is elaborately organized and tlillercn-
tiated into two or more correlated divisions. I'^xecutive
functions are highly differentiated and distributed among
various cla-^ses of officers over wliom the ruler [>resides. The
judicial functions jtlso are differentiated, and su})erior and
subordinate courts are organized. fJetween the two forms
thus described, many intermediati! forms are<li.<covered, and
the course of progress is waywaid and various. In the ear-
lier part of this course, Jufhcial function-^ are to ;i gi-eater or
less extent assumed by the executive, anil Ibr a long time
this division of the functions of the couit between the two
departments of government continues — being clainnil, now
by one, now by the other. .\t tinie<. too. in the course of

74 SATURDAY LECTURES.

progress, legislative functions are assumed by the executive
department, and a conflict is waged for supremacy. At
last, by various processes, the court is organized.

Three of these processes must here be mentioned. As
states increase in size the business of adjudication becomes
so great that proper attention cannot be given to the mul-
tiplicity of cases arising. Under these circumstances com-
mittees of the assembly are appointed with judicial powers,
at first extremely limited but gradually enlarged, until
courts are developed. On the other hand, where judicial
power has to a greater or less extent been assumed by the
executive department, the rulers find themselves over-
whelmed with business and appoint subordinates in the first
instance to adjudicate specific cases, but gradually the powers
of these subordinates are enlarged, until courts are thus
established.

Again, ecclesiastical bodies claiming superior virtue and
wisdom sometimes assume to adjudicate, but such adjudica-
tion is gradually relegated to specified officers of the body,
• and thus ecclesiastical courts are developed.

The courts originating from the assembly from the ruler
and from the ecclesiastical body alike, may be more or less
multifarious. When they spring up in the same state their
jurisdiction is at first imperfectly defined. Each strives
for supremacy, and thus jurisdiction overlaps jurisdiction.
This conflict ultimately results in the organization of a S3's-
tem of courts integrated in a superior court, and differen-
tiated by the establishment of a variety of inferior courts
with jurisdiction more carefully defined — the function of tlie
inferior courts being controlled and restricted within proper
bounds by appeal to the superior.

Thus, at last, the functions of the primitive assembly,
originally legislative, executive, and judicial, are differen-
tiated, and the legislature, the ruler, and the court are
established.

THE COURSE OF EVOLUTION OF LAW.

In the development of the tribe into the nation, conduct
develops from extreme simplicity to extreme complexity,

OLTI.INKS OF riO('IOI,0<;Y. <•>

and tor the ivirulatioii of ruiKliict tin- hnv iiiu~( likfwiso de-
velop.

PERSONAL LAW

A liirge part of pergonal law lM'lonp;s to family law. Per-
haps the earliest and lowest form ((f the family is that in
which brothers in a uroup marry their own sisters in a
irroup : all the brothers are the liii<bniid> <>f all the sisters.
The family i^ thus eonipo.><ed of husbands an»l wives, parent-
and children. <rrand parents an<l grand children and brother.-
and sisters. Collateral lines of kinship are not established.
There are no uncles and aunts, no male cousins and no ie-
male cousins, and no nephews and neices. This is known
as the Punaluan family or system of kinship.

-Vnothor form, known as the Malayan family or system of
kinship, is found involvintr a larger tribe and a higher or-
gani/.atiftn. In this, a group of men being brothers, marry a
group of women, sisters to each other, but not sisters to the
men whom they marry. For the regulation of this form of
communal ma. viage. a tribe is divided into clas.ses. Often
there an three classes wliieh are divided into male and fe-
male— making in all. six. Let the.se be represented by let-
ters : A represents a male cla.ss, and A' a femaU' class. The
class A are brothers and the class A' are sisters. B repre-
sents a class, and IV a class, brothers and sisters; and C and
C are like clas.ses. Then the class A, beinu brothers to
each other, may not marry their sisters A', but marry the
lias- nf women IV who' are sisters to each otiier. The
.lass II marry the class C, and the cla.ss C marry the class
.v. Now. in tiiis family, di'scent is in the female line. The
. hildnn then of A and B' will belong to the class liand B'.
the ( hildren of B an<l ( '' will belong to the class (' and C.
and the children of (" and A' will belong to the class A and
A', and through tht»se cycles the generations pass.

The kinship .system is furthei- developed in this family,
and gives brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers, sons and
daughters, grandfathers and grandm<iih( i.-. and grandsons

76 SATUltDAV l.i:(TrEES.

and (Uuightcrs. It also gives aunts and uncles. The children
call their father and father's brothers, all fathers, and their
mother and mother's sisters, all mothers ; but their father's
sisters are aunts, and their mother's brothers are uncles.
The children of their father's brothers they call brothers,
the children of their mother's sisters they call sisters ; but
the children of their father's sisters they call cousins, and
the children of their mother's brothers they call cousins.

This famil}^ is widely spread in Australia and elsewliere
and the kinship system is still more widely spread as it ex-
ists among all the tribes of North and South America and
elsewhere in Europe, Asia, and Africa, and in some of the
islands of the sea.

The Punaluan system of kinship at first described is
known to exist, but the form of communal marriage is not
known. The Malayan system of kinship and marriage is
known. "

The simplest and most common form only has been given.

The development of this into the polj^gamic and mon-
ogamic systems of marriage is accomplished in diverse ways
among many tribes. The group of husbands and group of
wives constituting one family comes to be very large and
narrower restrictions are adopted, thus boys of one mother
will be married in a group to the daughters of another
mother, and various other restrictive regulations will appear,
but all involving a common principle, namely, that the
husbands and wives have no choice. Selection is made by
legal appointment. Legal appointment develops into indi-
vidual selection through three processes :

First, the parties interested consulting their own wishes,
elope; and marriage by elopement though illegal at first,
is made legal on the day of jubilee. This procedure widely
prevails among the North American Indians.

Second, it ofttimes happens that in the vicissitude of life
certain groups of families of sisters increase in number,
while the group of brothers to whom they belong decrease
in number, and vice versa. Under these circumstances a
few men are entitled to many wives, and the law holds this

(•rii.iM;s nv s(K loi.otiv. < i

to Ik- justiff. Ill >urli cjiH- it iiiav li;i|>|Mii tliat a man
wlio lu'loiius to a laiur male liioup. liav-iii^ riiilits ol' mar-
riage in a small IrmaN- liioui). will, with his IViciids.
rajiturc a initlr liom xhik- larger i:r<)U|» iA' women. This
is always ivsistcd. and conliict i-nsues. If tiic capturini;
parly succeed the law then holds that the waiiare was tlie
final arhitrameni an<I the controversy ends: and if the
capturing party fail (he contest nuisl. in like manner, cease.

Third, ^hlrria,^l' l>v capture develops into a third form.
A man heinii entitled to mori' than one woman is chal-
lenticd liy a man who. hy the vicissitudes of life and
death, is entitled to none, and the ri^ht to a woman is thus
decided by wa<i,er of battle l)etween tlm two men immedi-
ately interested. This duel is gradually reuulate<l hy law
in such a manner tliat fatal results do not ensue, and the
conflict ends controver.sy, and thereafter the disputants are,
themselves, friends.

These three forms of marriaiic — by elopement, by cap-
ture, and by duel, are uradually reGfulated, and come to
be recoj^nized as legal, and so communal marriage is
developed into i)olygamic and monogamic marriage; and
thus by a long i)rocess the Malayan system of marriage and
the ^hdayan system of kinship are developed into the mono-
gamic family and kinship. 15ut it usually happens that the
.sy.stem of kinship remains longer than the .system of mar-
riage, that is. the evolution of language does not keep pace
with the evolution of customary law, so we find many tribes
having the Malayan .system of kinshij). yet not having the
Malayan .sy.stem of marriage, but having jtolygamic mar-
riage, and marriage by legal appointment, and with these
marriage by elopement, by capture, and by duel.

In the family law of very early society we discovered that
descent is in the female line, that the control of the
children belongs to the mother ami hei- consanguineal kin-
dred, and that the fatluM- and his kindred have no e«jntrol
over the family. The husband is but the guest of the wife
an<l her friends.

During the process of develoj>ment from conununal mar-
riage, and the system of kinship involved, to monogamic

78 SATURDAY LK(:TUiU-:S.

marriage and its system of kinship, a change from descent
in the female to descent in the male line occurs, and with
this change the control of the family is relegated to the hus-
band and father, and rapidly this control becomes absolute,
and the patriarchal family is established, in which the father
has power of life and death over his wives and children and
all their descendants, but gradually this power is regulated
by law.

A method by which descent is changed from the female
to the male line, that is, by which mother-right is changed
to father-right, appears among the North American Indians.

When the gentes of which a tribe is composed do not live
in a compact village but are spread over a large area of
country, so that each gens lives alone separated b}^ miles of
distance from the others, the consanguineal relatives of the
wives, who are the guardians and masters of the family^ are
not present and cannot exercise control. Under such cir-
cumstances authority is gradually assumed by the husbands
and the line of descent is ultimately changed. There may
be other methods by which this change is made.

PROPERTY LAW.

Property law is naturally divided into two classes — prop-
erty in chattels and property in land.

To a large extent in primitive society chattel property is
communal — owned by classes or clans, but a few articles,
such as clothing, ornaments, some implements and utensils
are owned by individuals, yet no large accumulation of
these things is permitted to the individual. Under these
circumstances barter and sale are clogged because individ-
uals cannot freely exchange — the consent of two bodies of
persons being necessary therefor. As industries are differ-
entiated, that is, in the first beginning of the differentiation
of labor, articles are exchanged by regulation — the price is
always the legal price. Inheritance is by clan, not from
parent to child.

In the progress of social organization communal chattels
become personal property. Inheritance by clan gradually
becomes inheritance by nearest of kin, and, finally, wills are

OITI.INKS OK S()(lor,0(iV. ~\)

iuvfiitecl, ami inlicrilaiKi' liv dosigiiatioii »»t" th(> ouiier is
(Icvtlopcd. TIr'h with the dcveloitnu'iit of inoncv, barter
is changod into sale, and legally lixed price by certain curi-
ous processes is changed into competitive price.

In the most }>rimitive society the land is held by tlie
state and used only as a hunting ground, or as the source
of vegetal food naturally grown thereon . while the streams
and coasts are held as lisheries,- but where rude cultivation
begins very small areas are re<leemed, and usually cultivated
land is held by tribe or dan. Thus, tenure to cultivated
land is communal.

Communal ownershij) is gradually developed into owner-
ship'in severalty by a variety of processes interesting in
themselves, but multifarious and complex, so that the sub-
ject may not here be treated at large.

With tlie change in the character of tenure to property
from communal to individual ownership), there grows up a
large body of law relating to contract.

[The consideration of the evolution of corporation law is
omitted.]

GOVERNMENT LAW.

In lower tribes, government law consists of a few simple
rules, regulating the mannerof calling the assembly, the order
of deliberation, and the method of announcing the decision^
while the chief or committee executes the law in obedience
to a few e([ually simple rules. In higher nations, where
the legislature, the ruler and the court appear, government
law is greatly elaborated. The legi.slature is organized by
processes provided by law, and controlled by organic or con-
stitutional law, and a body of [Xirliamentary law is devel-
oped regidating its method of proceedure. The executive
department is governed by organic law, by law emana-
ting from the legislature and i)y a large body of rules origi-
nating within itself The judicial department is also con-
trolled by organic law, by directory laws emanating from
the legislature, and by the rules of the court, involving a
complex .system of procedure. From such simplicity to
such complexity <lo we arrive l»y the proce.s.ses of evolution.

80 SATUKDAY J.KCTURES.

CRIMINAL LAW.

Of crimes resulting from the regulation of the relations of
the sexes, marriage within the prescribed group is held to
be the most heinous in primitive society. It is never con-
doned, never compounded. Infidelit}' after marriage may
be condoned or compounded.

Crimes relating to i)ersonal injuries include murder
maiming, and slander. Murder may be punished by the
taking of life — not necessarily the life of the murderer, but
one of his clan. But murder may be compounded and
primitive law fixes the value of individuals according to
sex and rank. Murder may be atoned for b}^ substitution,
that is, the murdered man may be expatriated, driven from
his family, and thus become dead to his own people, and
then he may be adopted by the injured famil}- and made to
replace the murdered person. Thus the wife of the mur-
dered man may adopt the murderer for her husband, and,
in so doing, he loses his own name and all relations of kin-
ship, and accepts the name and kinship relations of the
murdered man.

Maiming is punished by maiming — " an eye for an eye
and a tooth for a tooth " — and maiming may be compounded,
and the value of the several parts of the bodv is specified
by law.

Slander is punished the same as the crime alleged in the
slander, and slander may be pleaded as a justifying cause
for murder and maiming; slander may also be compounded.

In primitive society by far the largest body of crimes is
included under the practice of witchcraft, and this is ter-
ribly punished. Abnormal conditions of body, aberrations
of mind, and infelicities of temper are all interpreted as ev-
idences that the possessors thereof are uncanny j^eople, and
to a large extent deafness and blindness before old age from
causes that cannot be readily understood, and all loathsome
or strange diseases are likely to be attributed to sorcery, so
that the practice of witchcraft is everywhere believed in,
and witches and wizards are multiplied. Witchcraft is
punished by death, but after conviction in the court, ap-

oiri.iNKs or socioi.ixiY. 81

peal 1«» sui»riiialunil (lf(isii>ii is always ju-rmittod, and tluis
we liavo tlir (»riuiii ot" trial by ordeal.

Ci-iininal law in tin- lii,i,dii.'r stay;(.'s of society need not l)f
(.•liamtterized, l>ut certain lines of evolution may be pointed
out. The «;roui>s in wliieli marriage is proliibited, Ki^''"K
rise to the erime of incest, change from artificial groups to
groups cofistituted by degrees of consanguineal kinship,
male and female. Thus ela.ssifications by artificial and
analogous characteristics give place to ela.ssifications by os-
.>;ential and homologic characteristics. CJradually too, in
the progress of society, from the earliest to the latest stages,
the motive of the murderer is considered, and accidental
killing antl maiming are ditierentiated from willful murder
and other personal injuries, and such willful injuries being
es.sential crimes are, in the higher stages of .society, not com-
pounded or atoned for by substitution.

In the crimes which come from the unlawful acquisition of
property the punishment l)y multi[)le restitution found in
the lower states is superseded by lines which go to the state
and by imprisonment. In the lower stages of society
property crimes are thefts ; in the higher stages, property
crimes are thefts and frauds.

In the lower stages of society a large body of the crime
is witchcraft, and tins gradually disappears with the progress
of culture. It should be noticed that in early society there
is a very large body of artificial crimes — especially those
relating to .sorcery.

Again, there is a large body of such artificial crimes re-
lating to })ersonal injuries, from the fact that willful injury
is not diflerentiated Inuii accidental injury. In the course
of evolution such artificial crimes are eliminated from tin-
law : on the other hand, by reason of the ever increasing
complexity of the relations of men, the classes of real crimes
are multiplied.

There is yet another line of progress. In primitive so-
ciety two i»rincii)les are found to exist side by side as funda-
mental theories in the administration of the law.

The first is that ju.stice nuist be dom — that justice which
the primitive law recognizes.

82 SATURDAY LECTURES.

The second, that there mu.st be end to controversy — that
peace may prevail and society be not disorganized; and this
must be accompHshed though the former faih

To secure end to controversy, there is resort to two
methods —

First, days or other periods of jubilee are apjjointed at
which all crimes, except murder and incest, afe forgiven.
In the lowest societies it is a day of jubilee, coming once a
year ; in the highest societies, it is a year of jubilee, coming
at longer periods. With progressing society this method of
ending controversy is adopted in the case of crimes which
are manifestly artificial in the state of culture to which the
people have arrived, and by this means willful murder is at
first differentiated from accidental killing.

Still another method of terminating controversy and
avoiding punishment for artificial crime, is provided for in
the establishment of cities of refuge.

Now" cities of refuge come to be such in a curious manner.
In the early history of mankind, cities are states and auto-
nomous; one state does not punish the crimes committed in
another; and men committing crimes flee from their own
states to others, and become incorjoorated therein by adop-
tion, and thus secure immunity from punishment.

When on the first organization of nations, two or more
city-states are consolidated and placed under one general
government, certain cities often remain as places of refuge,
but with an important restriction, namely, that the crimes
belong to the classes which have been here described as arti-
ficial.

Tlius days of jubilee and cities of refuge are important
agencies in the evolution of criminal law.

The groAvth of law in its entire course is governed in
man}' important respects bj^ the theory of the origin of law
and the source of its authority. This subject involves the
discussion of the evolution of philosoph}'^ and cannot now
be undertaken. It is the highest and most important
subject with which the mind of man can grapple, as it in-
volves the whole theory of human conduct — the ethics of
mankind.

LITTLE KNOWN FACTS A150UT WELL KNOWN ANLMALS.

Lecture delivered in the National Musenni, Washington, I>. C, April 8, 1SS2,
l.vProf. C. V. RILEY.

Lakiks and ( Jknti.kmkx :

It lias ali-ca<ly bcfii fxplaiiicil tlial those locliin.'s are iii-
triidt'd to i»oi»ularize .science. Major Powell, in opening the
course, very well remarked that to treat scientific subjects in
such manner that an ordinary audience may clearly under-
stand is no ea.sy task. Every trade, every art, every pro-
lessinn, has its peculiar vernacular, without which it cannot
well V)e understood or communicated. Condensed techni-
cality that most directly ajjpeals to tjie intelligence of the
s[iecialist is hut a mist to becloud the average understand-
ing. Tyndall. in pliN^sical science, Agassiz and lluxley in
natural lii>t<iry. Troctor in asti'onomy. and several of our
younger American scienti.sts, in various de]iartments, have,
it is true, of late years demonstrated that science may be
clearly expounded to popular audiences, and that she rather
gains in attractiveness by being disroljcd of as much as possi-
ble of the technicality with which she is generally enveloped ;
but their success was proportionate to their substitution of
object lessons, experiments, or illustrations, for the oidinarv
tochnical tools of the under.standinir.

Without further preface I .shall, in order to be intelligible,
choose as subjects for my remarks a few animals with which
all of you must be more or less familiar and which have com-
mon names, and I will endeavor to convey to you Ijy illus-
tration the meaning of such uiiconniiou terms as cannot
well be avoided.

To begin, let us go to the ocean, that vasty deep which
seems so desolate and yet which teems with curious life
maintained only by fierce incessant warfare that makes its
bed an o.ssuary, recording, however feebly, the life it had
contained.

Most of you have probably been on the ocean, or have

S3

84 SATURDAY LECTUKES.

■wandered along its shores ; but I will lirst speak of an animal
that all are familiar with in anv event.

THE OYSTER.

The oyster in this country forms one of the most common
and most esteemed articles of diet, and if you wish to get
an accurate idea of the vast importance of the oj^ster indus-
try, I would refer you to Mr. Ernest Ingersoll's report recently
issued from the Census Office. How many persons, while
enjoying their oysters — stewed, fried, broiled, scalloped, or
from the shell — ever pause to consider anything but the
flavor? How many dream that the lifeless and almost
shapeless thing so grateful to their palate was at one time
a free and active creature, swimming about in the ocean
with considerable rapidity !

The oyster is older than man. Evolutionists recognize
that stability of life-conditions induces permanency of t3'pe,
and as the conditions under which the oyster lives must
have prevailed at a ver}^ early period of the Earth's history
we find that the fossil shells of its ancestors are scattered
throughout the world wherever ancient oceans had their
shores, while they particularly abound in the cretaceous
formation. Prof. White, curator of ^lollusca in this mu-
seum, has kindly loaned me some fossil forms which he
finds abounding in the cretaceous of the West. The^^ do not
differ materially from others found in the INIiocene, and you
will see that in all of the hundreds of thousands of years
that have passed since then, while, as Prof. Marsh, has so
well shown us, the present horse was evolving through the
various forms of Eohippus, Orohippus, Miohippus, etc., from
a typically five-toed ancestor, quite unlike its present self
and common to it and other ungulate mammals ; while other
terrestial animals were undergoing like mutations, the 03'ster
retained essentiallv the same form.

However much they ma}' differ in size, appearance and
flavor, the present 03' sters of North America are all referable
to one species, scientificall}'' known as Ostrea virginiana Lister,

FACTS Al'.ol r \\"i;i.l. KNUW.N ANIMALS.

85

while tlial of luiropr is s|KrirRially (lilUivul and known as
Ostrea edulis L.

Fig. I. — Gettealogy of the hofsc : /^Orohippus; ,-, Miohippii^; </, Pliohippus ;
(T, Equus. (After Marsh. )

The oyster has generally been considered lieiinaphrodite,
/. (.. eonihining both sexes in one individual ; and the
young are said to be at first hatched and then [)rotected inside
the mantle cavity of the i)areut. Though this may be true
of the Euro])ean species, Dr. \V. K. Brooks, of Johns Hop-
kins Tniversity, by recent admirable researches, has clearly
shown that our American oyster has tlic sexes separated
antl that the young are hatched in the free water, and have
to take their chance without parental care or protection.
Independence is of quicker development in this free coun-
try as well in the oyster as in man. Without going into
anatomical details I would state that what we know as the
" fat " of the oyster forms the reproductive part. The milky
llui<l fidin it, in a gravid female, when spread out in a thin
tilm will ^how innumerable white ovarian specs, even with-
out the aid of a microscope ; while that iVom a well-devel-
oj)ed male is more homogeneous and moic adhesive. This
tluid is exj)elled in the water at the bree<]ing season, and
the egg, once adrift, must meet a male cell or perish. The
average number of (»va produced by a single female is per-
haps ten millions, and a large sized cme may produce as
many as sixty millions. So you can imagine at what an
immense rate they would multiply did they not, in the egg
state, form the principal food of hundreds of other creatures;
and had they not, in all stages of growth, numerous ene-
mies.

l*robablv not w\^^xv than one in -cveral millions reaches

86

SATUKDAY Lia.'TURES.

maturity. In nature it is u fundamental principle that the
individual should be sacrificed without limit to secure the
good and perpetuity of the race, and the principle might be
kept in mind to advantage by those who discuss social prob-
lems that concern man.

Fig. 2. — Yoim<^ of American Oyster: A, surface view of "spat" at first swim-
ming stage, with' external opening [d) and cilia; B, do., somewhat older, show-
ing beginning of shell (s) ; C, dorsal view of same still older, showing shell {s) much
increased in size — all highl)- magnified. (After Ijrooks.)

But to our young oyster. Here you have its figure (2) — a
soft, irregularly-shaped object, with numerous feelers or cilia,'
by rotating which it swims about quite rapidly. These
young are called "spats" or "spawn" by fishermen, and they
swim about till they come in contact with some submarine
body, on which they settle, when they are known as " blis-
ters." They will adhere to any hard, clean object, but not
to mud or dirt. No sooner is the young oyster fixed than
it begins to elaborate its shell, which is composed chiefly of
carbonate of lime. The food of the oyster consists of va-
rious minute creatures, such as diatoms, rhizopods, and in-
fusoria, wliicli abound everywhere in water or in mud at
the bottom thereof.

You would hardly suppose that this lymphatic mass was
endowed with extreme nervous sensibilitv. Yet it will close

FACTS AIJOIT WKI.I. KNOWN ANIMALS?. > (

its slull at tilt" sli«;lit(.'st vil>rati(»ii ami dies t'loiii a sudden
jar, so that a loud tliundti-<la|i will kill, instantly, a whole
hoat loa<l. TiuTe is nood evidence that oysters attain the
a.ue ot" thirty years, and no one knows how nnich l(jnii;er they
may live.

Knkmiks. — Prolilieaey usually decreases as we descend the
scale of organic life, and yet, as Darwin has forcil)ly re-
nuirke^, oven tlie slow-l»reedinn- elei)iiant, if left unchecked,
wt)uld soon i)eoi>le the earth to the exclusion of all other
animals. Hence all creatures have enemies of one kind or
another — checks to their undue multiplication. The oyster
has many such. In the free swinnnini; stage the young are
devoured by all sorts of animals, and even after it becomes
fixed it is preyed upon by many, while others are truly para-
sitic, boring or drilling holes through its shell.

Certain sea-worms, (Branch Annelides,) and even a boring-
sponge, ( Cliona mlpJiurea Verrill,) help to perforate the shell,
while small boring univalve mollusks belonging to its own
Branch do the same thing. They are known in common
laniiuace as '" drills" or " borers." and thev work l)v means of
a tongue ribbon, which is su[iplied with flinty teeth. The
large spiral mollusks known l»y the names of '"winkle'" and
*' conch," of which 1 exhibit an example, })rey upon the
oyster and crush its shell by sheer muscular power of the
large '' foot," by which they grasp it. The commonest of
these is Fiilgur carica. They all have an interesting life-his-
tory of their own, but I have time only to show you the curi-
ous egg-cases of the last named species, which many of you
have doubtless found cast upon the beach, strung together
as they are in a series of itarchment-like disks, diminishing
in size toward either end of the string.

There is one enemy of the oyster, however, which, on
account of its great destructiveness and its universal occur-
rence along the seashore, requires more than a pa.ssing
notice. 1 allude to the —

.STAK-IISII.

Here you have one of these singular creatures, a mere
skeleton of its former plump .self, when filled with water.

88

SATIKDAV I,K( '1 IJJKS.

but still .showing the general character of the animal with
its five fingers or rays, each having, in a median groove
beneath, a number of fleshy, disc-tipped tubes, or ambulacrse,
^vhich perform the function of feet, and with its central
mouth, a mere circular opening. The common star-fish of
the Atlantic coast {listerias vulgaris Htimpson,'^ fig. 3) is the

Si

Fir

Asfcrias 77i/<''i7r/s

After A. Airassiz.'!

most destructive to the oyster, and may be taken as a type of
the radiate animals. The sexes are separate, and the ova are
fertilized in the water just as are those of the oyster. The
analog}^ goes yet further, for the young starfish bears no
resemblance to its parent, and swims about by means of ro-
tating cilia. At first it is a mere spherical mass, and then be-
comes bilateral. This first stage is known as the Bvpinnaria
stage, (Fig. 4, A, B, C,) and as it grows older a series of arms
develop until Ave have what is know^n as the Brachiolaria
stage, (Fig. 4 D,) a name given to it when its real character was
unknown, a bit of zoological ignorance which, upon com-
paring these figures with the adult, you will agree with me
was quite excusable. Those who are curious to learn more

Asteracd7ithion pallidiis A. Agassiz.

FACTS AlJori" \Vi:i.I. KNOWN ANIMALS.

SO

of tlie woiuUirul tiaii>rorinatious wliidi this llnirJtloUwia \n\-
dergocs should lonsuU the niagnilicont works of Alexander
Agassi/, on the subjert. 1 have only time to state that the
star-fish i)n)i)er develops on the ah-oral end of the larva,
whieh it linally absorbs, and that the adult star-Hsh, with
its long arms, is not developed for two or more years, the
form meanwhile remaining eonieal or disc-shaped.

Fig. 4. — Diagramatic view of young Starfish : A, /»', C, Bipinnaria stage in
different ages; D, Braciiioiaria stage. (The black lines represent ciliated bands;
the shading the space between the pnv-oral and post-oral bands ; w, the mouth;
an the anus. (After Miiller. )

The star-fish swallows the younger oysters shell and all.
and after the soft parts are absorbed the shell is cast out of
the stomach by eversion : but older oysters are not so easily
managed. To tackle one the. star-fish grasps it in his five
arms and then little by little breaks ofl' the margin of the
shell 1>y the muscles at the entrance of his stomach, and
when a sufHcient opening has been efiected the distensile
mouth is intruded until tin- «;oft oyster is seized and T-on-
sumcd.

Thestar-fishmust live to an old age, as, according to Agassiz,
.some 14 years are required for full growth and development.
Its ability to reproduce lost members is well known. Certain
species like the Ophiurans, or brittle-stars, have, in fact, a
faculty for dismemberment which is truly marvelous, for
they break their limbs to pieces when irritated. The rays,
when broken, are renewed, but the stomach, if severed, or

90 SATURDAY LECTURES.

divided, cannot be renewed. The idea, therefore, that oyster
fishermen, in cuttino; up the star-fish, "make two or three
star-fishes out of each captive," is evidently erroneous. This
insensibility to mutilation is common to a large number of
the lower animals found on the coast. The sea-anemones
{Actinozoa) accomplish even that mathematical paradox,
multiplication by division; for when they move from one
part of a rock to another, they often leave fragments of them-
selves behind, and these fragments soon become smooth and
spherical, and are transformed to perfect, though minute,
anemones. The flat-worms {Eurylepta) offer a still more
remarkable instance. When cut to pieces, each piece not
only continues moving in the direction in which the whole
animal was moving at the time, but gradually becomes com-
plete in all its parts — a veritable " chip of the old block." It
is related that two polyps often attempt to swallow the same
pre}^, and when this is not easily severed the largest polyp
gapes and swallows his antagonist. This last seems, how-
ever, to be the gainer by the operation, as, after lying in the
conqueror's body for an hour or so it issues unhurt and often
in possession of the, original bone of contention.

THE CRAB.

Next to the 03^ster few animals are more often on the tables
of the Washingtonian than the crab, and I will ask you to
bear his form in mind — whether as vou have seen him
scampering along sidewise on the sand or dished up " dev-
iled," or in "soft shell;" while I rapidly trace his develop-
ment. The crab undergoes such changes that it has been
known by different names at different periods of its growth,
and has been placed in distinct orders. The species most
used here and southward is known as Callinedes hastatus, but
as its early history has not 3^et, so far as I am aware, been
critically studied, I will take the common shore crab {Can-
cer irroratus) as an example, for it is closely allied to the
European table crab. Here we have a picture of the newly-
hatched or Zoea form. (Fig. 5.) You will agree with me
that in this singular, long-bodied, long-spincd affair there

I'ACTS ABOUT WKI.I. KNOWN ANIMALS.

01

is littlr 1(1 rceall tlif * rcatiuc >(> familiar t«i you, tlioii^ili the
slnu'luii' i> far Ix'ttrr ailaptrd In suinnning IVeely in tlic

Fiir. 5. — ZoeaofCrab. (After Smith.)

Fig. 6. — Meg.ilops of Crali. (After Smith.)

92 SATURDAY LECTURES.

water. In some crabs belonging to the genus Porcellana
the anterior spine or rostrum is supple, and many times
longer than the body. After a few months the form changes
material!}', the month-parts, which before were swimming
legs, are now fitted for i)reparing the food, and we have
what is known as the Megalops condition, which looks much
like a lobster, but in which the mature crab is sufficiently
foreshadowed. (Fig. 6.)

Let us now leave the ocean and talk of a few of the com-
moner animals inland.

THE FROG.

The common frog, {Rana temporaria,) which occurs both
here and in Europe, passes the winter buried in the mud of
stagnant waters, in a torpid condition; aye, and it may even
be frozen till it is so brittle as to chink, without the loss of
life. The frogs are now issuing forth to join with their pe-
culiar croak in the zoological concert of spring. The ac-
companying figures will aid us in understanding the trans-
formations of the frog. They are poor coj)ies of the admira-
ble originals of Roesel von Rosenhof, generally credited to
Mivart, because this last author failed to credit them to the
proper source. Hatching from dark globular eggs enclosed
in a transparent, gelatinous fluid which agglutinates them
and enables them to float in masses on the water, the young
tadpole congregates under the leaf of some aquatic plant,
where it feeds by suction. It has prominent external
branchiae, and is in every respect admirabl}^ adapted to
aquatic life. The legs are firsl seen as mere buds, the front
pair hidden under the 02:)ercular membrane. As they de-
velop the gills are absorbed ; the mouth loses its suctorial
character; the e3'es, instead of being concealed, become ex-
posed, and the front limbs are uncovered. The tail is next
gradually absorbed, and the animal is now truly amphibi-
ous, for the lungs, Avhich have replaced the gills, enables it
to live out of water. From a vegetarian it has become car-
nivorous and now comes on land in search of worms and

FACTS Aiiorr \\i:i.i. known ani.maf.s.

!tr,

insects, and in such niinihcis in (lanip wratlier as to give
rise to the Ix'Hof, still jK)|)ulaily adhered (u in many sections,
that it has rained IVotis.

Fig. 7. Tiansformations of frog : a, newly hatched tadpoles ; b, >ame enlarged,
showing extemil gills ; c, d, e, later stages, the gills enclosed by the opercular
membrane ; /, stage with hind limbs developing; g, after molt with both pairs of
limbs showing; //, partial atrophy of tail ; »', full formed young frog. (.After Rosel. )

They iilun.i;e into the nuid auain at the approach of
winter, hut next year and each successive year, go through
a performance of which many of you are not prohahly
aware. They cast off their old frozen skin each si>ring,and
\\\\< is the way in whicli it is done, as related by an eye wit-
ni'ss. Let us imagine we arc on the edge of some swamp
and are watching some large fellow who is ahout to undress
himself. Like the rest of his hretlncn lie has had sudi a
shamefully long .sleep, that on awakening he feels dull and

94 SATURDAY LECTURES.

stifif, and does not like to appear in society till he has thrown
off his old worn-out garments and put on new ones, never
hesitating about the fashion, but following the pattern of
his ancestors for generation upon generation. He begins by
pressing his elbows hard against his sides, and rubbing
downwards ; he keeps on until the skin on his back bursts,
and lie then works it into folds on his sides and hips. Now,
grasping one hind leg with Ijoth his hands, he hauls off one
leg of his pants, and there I almost before 3'ou can count
three, the other goes in the same wax. He now takes the
cast-off cuticle before him, between his legs, into his mouth
and swallows it, and even while it yet descends the gullet,
he has torn off the skin underneath, and brought it to his
fore legs or hands, and grasping one of these with the other,
by considerable pulling he strips them, just as we should
strip off a shirt, and by a single motion of the head he
draws the skin from the neck and swallows the whole with
a c-r-r-r-oak of satisfaction, for he knows full well, tliat such
a dainty morsel he can get but once a year.

]Most frogs and toads go through the tadijole development
in the water, but in some terrestrial species where marshes
are scarce or lacking, the development takes place either
before birth or in a marsupium or sac on the back of the
parent. The tadpole state may also be indefinitely pro-
longed, as Jeffries Wyman kept one, of the bullfrog, for seven
years, or many more than the natural period of larval ex-
istence. The frog is a true vertebrate, belonging to the same
great Branch of the animal kingdom as man. Yet the
changes it undergoes after birth are as remarkable as are
those we have already noticed in the lower Branches. In
some allied animals, indeed, development is permanently
arrested in the tadpole .state, and I will, before passing to a
few well-known insects, briefly refer you to a rather re-
markable animal which occurs in our brackisli Western lakes
of high altitudes. I refer to it in order to show how greatly
form is influenced by conditions. Here we have figures of
it. (Fig. 8.) It was described b}' Prof Baird as Siredon
lichenoides, and, as you will note, has mauv of the character-

FACTS AP.OIT \VK[,I. KNOWN ANIMALS.

96

istics of the tadpole of the frog, its external brancliia) and
nioinl)ranous back ami tail, well fittini!; it for aquatic life.
Now this Siredon will either retain this larval form iM-rma-

Fig. S. Amblysfoma mavortium Baird : a, larval form or SireJon lichenoides
Baird, side view; b, do., dorsal view ; c, mature form partially developed and cor-
responding lo ./. inncnlatiiin Hall. — all one-half natural size. (After Marsh.)

nently and perpetuate itself, or else may become transformed
into a perfect salamander, under wliicli form it has been re-
ferred to another ^enus and described as Amhli/sloma mavor-
(inm. Not only are the dorsal and caudal membranes and
the external branchitc absorbed in the process, but the color
• •hanges, the size decreases, and profound changes take i)lace
in the external and bony structure. An allied sj)ecics from
the table-lands of Mexico, normally remains and breeds in
the Siredon state, but will sometimes cluinge, especially if

96 SATl^JJDAY LECTURES.

brought uiuler chaii^ed iiiiluciK-cs. Tlic Siredon form of
this hist is known by the rather un})r()UOunceable name of
Axolotl, or Awahgolotel as the Mexicans speak it, and the
mature form is Amblystoma mexicanum.

It greatly resembles the species first mentioned, and since
this has been referred b}' different authors to three or four
difibrent genera and varies so as to have had at least half a
dozen specific names given to it, we may pretty safely as-
sume that the INIexican form is also but a well-marked va-
riety. Most re})tiles, and especially batrachians, vary much
in color, and have the power in greater or less degree of
simulating that of their surroundings. Tlie common tree-
toad is a familiar example ; so that the discussion about
species may sometimes be likened to the quarrel of the
knights who were looking on different sides of the same
shield. Before leaving the Siredon I desire to say, in justice
to the able and beloved director of this Museum, that
already in 1849, or long before their specific connection had
been established by experiment, he correctly inferred that
Siredon would prove to be the larva of Amblystoma.

THE HOUSE-FLY.

The most persistent companion of man is, perhaps, the
house-fly. It has followed him everywhere in his own con-
veyances, and is found, so far as we know, wherever civilized
man has established himself. Our American house-fl}^ was
described as a distinct species {Musca harpyia) by Harris,
but Packard found it, after critical comparisons, specifically
identical with the Linnaeali species. Already, with the
growing warmth of this beautiful spring month, the fly be-
gins to show its familiar form in our houses, and to inspire
the careful housekeeper with feelings anything but agreeable.
Whence comes it ? How has it passed the winter ? Such
questions are often asked. Let us answer them. Not all v/ho
have watched the fly poising or darting noiselessly and
gracefully in mid-air, or deftly making its toilet, have real-
ized that at one time it was a crawling maggot, as unlike its
perfect self as two things well can be. The eggs are about

1 ACTS ABOUT WKLL KNOWN ANIMALS. ".»<

tour-liuiulri'dtlis of an inch loni;, one-fourth as wide, (hill
white in i-olor, and pitted with elongate, hexagonal dcpres-
sjions — mere whitish sspees to the unaided eye, laid in little
agglutinated i)ilcs in warm manure or in deeom[>osmg vege-
tation, especially tliat about our stables and barn-yards.
From SO to 100 are laid at a time, and probably at three or
four dill'erent intervals by the same fly, though on this point
we have no I'xai-t data. Within 24 bonis, in summer, they
hatch into footless maggots, which, after rioting in filth till
their tender skins seem ready to burst from repletion be-
come full-fed in less than a week and, descending into the
earth or sheltering under some old board, contract to brown,
shining objects, rounded at both ends, and technically
known as puparia. Within the darkness of this hardened
skin piofoiin<l changes rapidly take place, and the insect
passes through the pupa to the perfect state, and finally, in
about five days, liie anterior end of the puparium is j)U.shed
oil and the fly quickly crawls out. At first its parts are
pale and soft, and its wings arc crum[)led and useless, but
these soon expand, and suddenly, without practice or teach-
ing the new-fledged fly wings its way to your table to mock
your displeasure — to share your rejiast. The length of time
required from hatching to maturity varies with the season
and temperature, but will not exceed ten days in midsum-
mer, while the life of the perfect fly lasts about three weeks
at the same .season. As cold weather approaches j>ropaga-
tion ceases, and the older flies perish. A few of ihe more
vigorous females, however, retreat to some nook or cranny
where, in a state of torpor, they survive till the ensuing
sea.son — links 'twixt the summer gone by and to come. The
in.sect may also hibernate in the pupa state in the ground,
as I have fouinl the jmparia quite late in the fall. In
rooms kept continuous!}- warm, or in more .southern lati-
tudes, the fly remains active all winter, and our palace
sleeping-cars bring them daily to us from Florida during
the coldest months of the year.

I have no figures of the house-fly in its difierent states

98

SATURDAY LECTURES.

with me, but they bear a general resemblance to those of
the flesh-fly. (Fig. 9.)

Fig- 9- — Sarcophaga san-accnia- : a, larva, b, pupa, c, fly, the hair lines show,
ing average natural lengths ; d, enlarged head and first joint of larva, showing
curved hooks, lower lip {g), and prothoracic spiracles; e, end of body of same-
showing stigmata (/) and pro-legs and vent ; h, tarsal claws of fly with protect-
ing pads ; /, antenna of same — enlarged. (After Riley.)

You will notice that the larva tapers toward the head,
which is retractile, and armed with two black hooks. It is
blunt and truncate behind, and breathes principally through
a pair of spiracles situated on this truncate, anal end.

AVhilo I must pass over the complicated mouth, the stereo-
scopic eyes, with their 4,000 facets, and many curious details
in the structure of the fly, it will be well to dissipate two
quite widespread popular errors in regard to it. Most of
the old authors tell us that the fly walks on the ceiling, and
in other Avays defies the laws of gravitation, by suction. You
will notice from the figure of the foot of the flesh-fly (and
that of the house-fly has a similar construction) that it ends
in a pair of strong hooks and a pair of pads or cushions,
technically termed pulvilli. These were supposed to act as
sucking disks by creating a vacuum, on the same principle
as does the piece of circular leather used by school-bo3's for
a similar purpose. In reality, how^ever, these pads are beset
with innumerable knobbed hairs, which are kept moist by
an exuding fluid. In short, we have here a repetition, after
a fashion, of the ambulacra! suckers of the star-fish. The
smoother the surface, the greater the adhesion of the digituli.
This you will at once understand by gently pressing or
drawing the moist finger ends over a glass window, or other
polished surface. The adhesion is very sensible, whereas,

FACTS AllOlT WKI.r. KNuWN ANIMALS. !IU

on a rougher siirfact' likr rlotli or ;i wlatewashod wall, tlicrc
will l>e nono.* On such .surlact's the tarsal hooks, by catch-
ing in the minutest irregularity, take the ]»laee of the [nvh
in assisting the fly's locomotion.

The other })revalent fallacy is that the smaller flies often
noticed in our houses are young flies. In the fly, as in all
other insects, real growth takes ])lace only in the larva state.
Tt ends with the issuing from the pupa and the expansion
of the wings. Individuals diiler in size at maturity just as
they do in man and other animals, and various other species
of Diptera are often associate<l witli the house-fly, but they
arc all full-grown.

A word as to the fly's parasites. It has several. Probably
the most common is the microscopic plant or fungus, {Empma
musciv,) which so often sheds a misty halo around it in
autumn, and fastens it securely to the window pane; but
the title to these remarks excludes its consideration in de-
tail. A true internal parasite has been found in the pupar-
ium by Dr. Packard, the charactgr of which puzzled him,
but which is pi'obably a rove-beetle (family Stapliylinidse)
and probably of the genus Oleochara, a species of which is
known to be parasitic on an allied genus ( Anthomyia) of
flies. The parasite most noticed, however, is the little red
mite which so often attaches to it near the base of the wings.
Here vou have it when first hatched, (Fig. 10,) and in the

Fig. lo. — Larva of Trotnbidiutn mtiscarum. (After Riley. )

six-legged or Astoma form, having been referred to that
genus before its larval character was understood. After
attaching to the fly its body swells and its legs get relatively

* Prof. E. D. Cope mentions that on this principle, even the Amblystoma wc
have just talked about climbs a plate of glass with great ease by adhering closely
to its surface with the moist abdomen.

100

SATURDAY LECTURES.

smaller until we have a mere bag, which finally I'alls to the
ground, and there lies helpless for a few weeks, during which
the mature form which I have described as Tromhidium
muscarum, and which has eight instead of six legs, develops
under the Astoma skin. The spherical red eggs are laid in
loose masses in the ground, and the young Astoma, upon
hatching, crawls upon the first fly which offers it an op-
portunity.

To show the transformations I exhibit illustrations (Fig.

Fig. II. — Trombidium locustartim. — ^r, mature larva when about to leave the
wing of a locust ; ^, pupa; c, male adult when just from the pupa; d, female —
the natural sizes indicated to the right; e, palpal claw and thumb ; /, pedal claws;
g, one of the barbed hairs ; h, the striations on the larval skin. (After Riley.)

11) of an allied species ( Trombidium locustaruvi Riley,) which
similarly affects locusts or "grasshoppers," and I would
parenthetically remark that man is as much subject to an-
noyance from these red mites as are the fly and locust ; for
the irritating pustules so common in late summer and
autumn on the limbs of persons who walk in rank grass or
along rivers are caused bj^ a minute red mite, {Leptus irritans
Riley,) popularly denominated " Jigger," and evidently the
six-legged larva of some eight-legged form not yet ascer-
tained.

PARASITISM.

This external parasitism in insects is, however, less remark-
able than that which is internal.

If I should tell you that I know certain kinds of birds

FACTS Ar.di r \vi:i,i, knuwn am.maf.s.

Hil

wliirli ltor(' holts into lliu bodies ol" cuws, slicep, aii<l other
lu'rbivorous aiiinuils, and tlicri'iii deposit eggs; that those
eggs luituli into li/.ards ; that these li/.anis grow fat at tlie
exi)ense of the sheep, but without ininiediately killing them;
that, in faet, a sheep so affected could live without eating for
years, where otherwise it wouhl die in a few days without
tbod ; that the li/.ards in time leave the body of the sheci)in
nundjcrs and Imii'ow into the ground: and that, linally,
after the lapse of an indi'tinite })eriod, they issue forth in
tile Ibrm of birds like their parents, wh}-, not one of you
would believe nio ! But, it is only by drawing some such
striking picture that I can hope to convey to you any cor-
rect iilea of the remarkable facts of parasitism in the insect
world. Most insects have primary parasites, but in some
eases these are themselves prej'ed on by secondary parasites
and these again by tertiary ones ; so that a worm may be a
})eripatetic banqueting hall for several other insects at the
same time.

To be more explicit and exact, let us take a familiar ex-
ample. The typical female Ichneumon-fly has something

Fig. 12. — Pinipla annulipis : Outline side view of female .ami of male abdo-
men. (After Riley. )

of tins form which I will draw on the blackboard, (see
Fig. 12, Pimpla annnlipis Br.,) its chief charticteristics be-
ing the long ovipositor with the two sheath.s, }>ossessed by
the female but not by the male.

102 SATURDAY LECTURES.

Let US take for examples the large Potato- worm or any
other Sphinx larva with the horn near its end (which seems
to have no other purpose that to frighten superstitious
people who erroneously believe it to be capable of inflicting
a })oisonous sting,) and one of its commoner Ichneumon para-
sites belonging to the genus Microgaster. Our female Ichneu-
mon-fly hovers about the worm while it quietly feeds. Set-
tling finally on its back, generally behind the head where
its mouth cannot reach her, she deliberately thrusts her ovi-
positor through the skin of her victim and oviposits within
its body. Ilcr young are soft, whitish larvEe which, ujDon is-
suing, spin upon the poor worm's back a number of egg-
shaped cocoons (Figure 13,) often mistaken for eggs by the

Fig. 13. — Shrunken larva of Cha'rocampa pampinatrix, with Microgaster co-
coons. (After Harris.)

uninitiated. Within these the transformations are under-
gone, and the perfect flies cut a lid through the top of the
cocoon and escai)e, sometimes while yet their victim shows
faint signs of life. Now such a parasitized worm will drag
out a paralyzed kind of existence without food for several
wrecks, where, normally, it would starve to death in as many
days, and the parasite may, in its turn, be infested with a
secondary species, etc., as above stated.

THE MOSQUITO.

There is another little lady whom you have fed and re-
galed at your own expense, and very unwillingly withal.
She is by no means modest, but steals unbidden into your
room. She generally heralds her coming with song that is
anything but soothing, and she is so persevering that even
the strong " bars " with which you protect j'-ourself are not
proof against her persecutions. You have all, no doubt, at
times exercised a little strategy with the mosquito, and

FACTS ABOUT WKLF. KNOWN ANIMALS.

103

when the little torment was fairly settled, made a dexterous
movement of the hand, and with a slap exclaimed, "I've
got him this time!" No such thing; you never got him in
your life, but probably have often succeeded in crushing
her, for the male mosquito is a considerate gentleman. In
lieu of the piercer of the female he is decorated with u
beautiful plume, and has such a love of home that hesel.dom
sallies forth from the swamp where he was born, but con-
tents himself with vegetal rather than animal juices. (I
do not wish to make any reflections, but in the insect world
it is always the females which sting !)

But to its history. The mosquito was not born a winged
fly, and if you will examine a tub of rainwater that has
stood uncovered and unmolested for a week or more durinir
any of the summer months, you may see it in all its vari-
ous forms. You may sec the female supporting herself on
the water with her four front legs and crossing the hinder
pair like the letter X. In this support made by the legs
she is depositing her eggs, which are just perceptible to the
naked eye. By the aid of a lens they are seen to be glued to-
gether so as to form a little boat, which knocks about on the
water till the young hatch. And what hatches from them?
Why those very wrigglers (Fig. 14,/) which jerk away every

Fig. \i,.—Culex pipiens : a, male; b, head r.f fcmaU- : ,-. j'»im^ of male an-
tenna ; /. lana ; g, pupa— all enlai^cd. r After Wc^twood. ^

time you touch the water. They are destined to live a
certain period in this watery element, and cannot take

104 SATURDAY LECTURES.

wing and join their parent in her war song and house in-
vasions, till, after throwing oft" the skin a few times, they
have become full-grown, and then with another molt have
changed to what are technically known as pupae {g) In
this state they are no longer able to do anything but
patiently float with their humped backs at the surface of
the water, or to swim by jerks of the tail beneath, after the
fashion of a shrimp or a lobster. At the end of about three
days they stretch out on the surface like a boat, the mosquito
bursts the skin and gradually works out of the shell which
supports here during the critical operation. She rests with
her long legs on the surface for a few moments, till the
wings have expanded and become dry, and then flies away
to fulfill her mission, a totally different animal to what she
was a few hours before, and no more able to live in the
water as she did then, than are any of us ! Is it not
wonderful that such profound changes should take place in
so short a time? Even the bird has to learn to use its
wings by practice and slow degrees, but the mosquito uses
her newly acquired organs of flight to perfection from the
start !

In this transformation from an aquatic to an aerial life,
the mosquito has first breathed from a long tube near the
tail ; next through two tubular horns near the head, and,
finally, through a series of spiracles along the wdiole body.

From a calculation, made by Baron Latour, the mosquito
in flight vibrates its wings 3,000 times in a minute — a
rapidity of motion hardly conceivable.

Those who have traveled in summer on the lower ]\Iissis-
sippi or in the Northwest have experienced the torment
which these frail flies can inflict : at times they drive every-
one from the boat, and trains can sometimes only be run
with comfort on the Northern Pacific by keeping a smudge
in the baggage car and the doors of all the coaches open to
the fumes.

The bravest man on the fleetest horse dares not cross
some of the more rank and dank prairies of Northern Min-
nesota in June. It is well known that Father De Smit once

FACTS AIJOIT \Vi;i.l, KNitWN ANIMALS. 1<).")

nearly ilit'd tVoni iii(>s(|uitt> hilcs. his (K'sh luino- so swollen
around the arms and l(\i>s that, it literally hurst.

Mosquitoes have i-iuscmI the rout of armies and the de-
sertion of eities, and 1 would eounsel all wiio desire to learn
how tlu' hum of an iusignilicant ynat may insj>ir(> more
terror than the roar of the lion, to consult Kirhy and
Spenee's history of the former.

There are many species of the mosquito, all ditieriiii;
somewhat in habit aud season of a[»i)earance, and doubtless
also in mode of development, which, in fact, has been studied
in but few. They oicur everywhere, whether in the torrid
or the arctic /one. and are nowhere more numerous or tor-
mentiuii; than in Lajiland.

lioth the fly and the mosquito are great scavengers in
infancy, the one purifying the air we breathe, the other the
water we drink. They {)erform, in this wa}', an indirect
service to man which lew, perhaps, appreciate, and wliieh
somewhat at<^nes for their ba<l habits in maturity.

II 11". i;.\Ki"iI-\V()RM.

The next well-kn(jwn animal that 1 shall speak of is the
earth-worm. There are several species in dill'erent parts of
the world and I am not aware that any one has critically
determined our connnon North America species to be the
Lnnibricns tcrrc.<itris of Euroj)e, which, however, we will, as
others have done, assume it to be. It belongs to the great
branch ]Wriics, of which it is typical, and its general habits
are too well-known to need detailing. If you have ever had
occasion to catch worms for some pet bird or for baiting pur-
poses, you have learned that this creature is by no means .so
sluggish and weak as is conunonly supposed, for it can re-
treat within its burrow like a Hash and can .secure such a
tirm hold therein as to abnost defy extraction intact. Place
one u[)on your hand and its movements will cau.^e a slight
tingling roughness. Examine the l)ody with a lens and von
di.scover that each of the numerous rings or joints hito which
it is divi<led is furnisjied with four i)airs of minute tractile
hooks or points which take the place of legs and by means
of which its movements are aided, and it is enabled to hold

106

SATURDAY LECTURES.

to its burrow as above indicated. The earth-worm is her-
maphrodite. Yet the junction of two individuals is neces-
sary to liberate and fructify the ova. At certain seasons a
few of the rings, generally near the anterior third of the
body, swell so as to look much like a healing wound. Two
individuals join at these swollen parts, a glutinous secretion
aiding the conjugation.

Fig. 15. — Lumbricus terrestris : a, worm with pale, swollen rings; b, two
conjoined; c, egg, natural size; d, do., enlarged, (after Curtis;) e, a few rings;
f, transverse section, showing spines, enlarged. (After Samuelson.)

The young worm is born much like its parent, either free or
in a cyst-like covering, which subsequently bursts-r-the
nature of the soil having apparently something to do with
the difference. In some species a number of eggs are enclosed
in a single capsule. The worm, though living in the earth,
is really semi-aquatic. It will live a long while in water,
but soon dies when exposed to the dry air. It delights most
in damp soil, and takes advantage of rains to travel at night
on the surface, and in earfy spring it is often allured in great
numbers on to the warm pavements of our city, where many
perish if the weather becomes suddenly cold or the pave-
ment dries out too rapidl3^ The earth-worm hibernates at
the bottom of its burrow, which may extend from three to
six feet in a light soil ; it also remains coiled up in a state
of torpor during very dry weather. It is by no means de-
void of sense or intelligence ; but it is as an agent in indi-
rectly promoting man's welfare that this humble creature
performs a part that few suspect. The same genius who so
profoundly influenced modern scientific thought by the

I'ACTS ADOUT Win. I. KNOWN' ANIMALS. H »7

"Orip:in of Sptx-io.<," lias recently ;i,ivtii us a treatise on the
earth-worni. wherein its iiuftortant work is admirably set
forth. Worms are in reality the uri^inal tillers of the soil,
and the present mold-hnilders of the world. Darwin i)roves
the correctness of the position he maintained some forty-five
Years ajjo in a jiaper read l)efore the Royal Geo<>rai)hical
Society of London, viz: that "the farmer is only imitating
in a clumsy manner, without being able to bury the ])eb])les
or sift the line from the coarse soil, the work which nature
is daily performing by the agency of the earth-worm." By
their castings they liave been known to raise a field 13 inches
in 80 years, and they have not only helped materially in
burying small superincumbent objects; but have, according
to Darwin, played an important part in the burial of ancient
buildings. The celebrated seedsman, Mr. J. J. II. Gregory,
of Marblehead, Mass., carefully collected the castings daily
for one season over a given area, and they measured nearly
a quart to the s(|Uare foot, or enough to raise the surface ot
the land half an inch. lie also, by exiicrimcnt, .'^hows that
an acre of land may contain six tons of worms; Yon Ilen-
sen estimated 53,7(37 worms to the acre, and that they would
make 37 jtounds of mold every 'i-l hours. As agents in aid-
ing denudation they are also powerful.

Who, remembering the gigantic work })erformed by the
coral polyp in transforming, so to speak, ocean into land —
the important part it has played in the configuration of con-
tinents, can doubt the wonderful services of the earth-worm
as Darwin has so forcibly i)resented them ? In some respects
he has, perhaps, underrated the results of fro.'^t and of atmos-
l>heric dust and dej)osit, in burying objects and increasing
superficial soil, and 1 am inclined to think that the value of
worms from the agricultin-al standpoint is overrated, since
they are a well recogni/,e<l nuisance in lawns and pots,* tend
to deatlen the soil where excessive, and do not occur in the
very .-^oils that most need the digested humus or decompos-
ing vegetation which they cast up; but allowing this, the

* Grated horse-chestnut or lime mixed in the soil will relieve llic same of \\ orm\

108 SATURDAY LECTURES.

worms' part in the history of the world, and in a geological
sense, is still amazing.

There are, indeed, very good reasons for believing that all
genuine loam is produced solely by worms..

" Think naught a trifle, though it small appear;
Small sands the mountain, moments make tiie year.
And trifles life!"'

And now, ladies and gentlemen, the limit of time which
custom and a due regard for your feelings have established
for these lectures has been reached. I had hoped to say
something of the scale-insects which are so common and
destructive on our fruit trees and other plants, and which
give us the lac and tlie cochineal of commerce as they gave
the manna to the people of Israel ; to show you how perfect
a parallelism may be traced in the history of some of them
and that of the oyster: — the active young; the degrada-
tional development ; the formation of the shell ; the way it
is perforated by parasites, etc., oifer a remarkable instance
of the existence of that misleading analogy of function
which Prof Gill so abl}' dealt with, in creatures which be-
long to different branches of the animal kingdom, and
which possess no possible homologies with each other. I
had hoped to give you some details of the remarkable
hyper-metamorphoses and life-habits of the blister-beetle,
of which Ave annualh^ import large quantities under the
name of cantharides, when we have a number of indigenous
species with as good or better vesicatory properties. But,
above all, I wanted to treat of the butterfly, for if the trans-
formations of the animals I have already spoken of are re-
markable, those of the butterfly from the caterpillar, through
the chrysalis, transcend them all, and have always excited
the greatest curiosit}^ and wonder; while the feat which the
caterpillar in some instances performs in the change to the
suspending chr3^salis is really marvelous, and was first prop-
erly explained, a little more than two years ago, before the
Philosophical Society of this city. I have been able only
in the most imperfect manner to treat of the more salient
facts in the lives of some half dozen of the numerous ani-

FACTS AIJOUT \VI;LI. KNiiWN ANIMALS. Kt'J

nulls laniiliar to all, ami it I have succeeded in investing;
these with a new interest in your eyes, the elloi-t will not
have heen in vain. 1 Ik'^' to assure you. also, that there is
no reflection in the assumption that you knew little of .some
of tlie facts stated, because, in truth, several of them have
hut very recently heen learned by naturalists, and every
year's investii^ation adds something to the general store of
knowledp' in natural science.

in elosinu, peruiil me to ofler a few thoughts that i^eem
naturally to How liom the matter of this lecture. We have
seen that in every one of the great Cuvierian Branches of
the animal kingdom — even in that winch contains man —
suri)rising develo})ment,i)rofound metamorphoses, are under-
gone during the life of the individual. From the maggot
to the fly ; from the tadpole to the frog, astounding changes
take place in form, structure, and adaptation to surround-
ings within a few days or months, and before our very eyes.
We have seen how mighty results may follow in time from
the slowly-accumulating yet scarcely perceptible labor of so
seemingly insignificant an object as the earth-worm. With
such facts before you can you doubt that changes like those
experienced by the individual in so short a time may have
been exi)erieneed by the race in unlimhed time. Can you
longer wonder when nature thrusts upon him at every turn
such and a thousand other evidences of development that
the evolutionist believes in it as a principle — a law — the
only mode of creation I It permits us

" To paint the past, yet in tlic past portray
Such shapes as seem <lim prophets of to-day."

and had not pala?ontology recently given us absolute proof
of its truth, evolution, even as a mere conception of crea-
tion, infinitely transcends all former conceptions. The tree
grows from the root upward, not from the leaf and flower
downward. Man has grf>wn u[) from a past savagery, not
from i)erfection downward. \\'ere I to a.ssure you that you
were all created full-bearded and full-dressed by some
miraculous fiat, instead of having been born of ])arcnts and

110 SATURDAY LECTURES,

developed from infancy through childhood to maturity, yo\i
would flout the assertion as that of a crazy man. Yet I do
assure you that the similar miraculous creation of a species
out of nothing so persistent!}- believed in by many even
to-day, appears not one whit less absurd to the well-informed
naturalist.

In reflecting on what I should say to you to-day, I found
this question constantly running through my mind: "Why
is it that so little is known in the most intelligent commu-
nities of the commonest things around them ? " It is, I take
it, because, first, the teaching of natural science is .so gener-
ally neglected in our public schools and other educational
institutions. The child is taught something of the elephant,
the lion, the tiger, and of other tropical quadrupeds which
it is rarel}^ destined to see except in some menagerie, and
nothing of the many that it meets with in every day life ; so
that many a man is inclined, with Carlyle, to lament in after-
life that no schoolmaster of his had taught him the grasses
that grow by the wayside and the little neighbors that are
continually meeting him with a salutation which he cannot
answer as things are. The importance of things is too
often measured by their size. Yet the unseen worlds in the
starry firmament whicli the astronomer explores with his
telescope are no more marvelous than the unseen minims of
creation which the naturalist may explore with his micro-
scope ! What is true of animals is true of plants and of all
other organisms. Happily much progress has been made
in this direction during the past few j^ears, the tendency of
the times being strong in the direction of more science in
our schools ; in other words, of that education that will give
more perfect knowledge of ourselves and the world we live in.

Education should be a living thing, animated by modern
impulses, molded by modern thought, and governed by
modern wants, and I think the people of the country are to
be congratulated on the establishment of this National
Museum, which is foundecf on so broad a bases that it can-
not fail to exert a marked influence in promoting such edu-
cation as I have indicated.

FACTS AIJOUT W1:M, KNOWN ANIMALS. Ill

Again, the ordinary man of aflairs is vory apt to look
upon tlic study of natural science as trivial because of no
possibk' use to liini in his business. The cry of ciii bono is
constantly raised against it, but ou equal grounds it might
be raised against history, polite literature, and many other
studies. To those — if such there be among my autlitors —
who take so narrow a view of the subject, I would say that
to the larger portion of our population, wdiich represent the
agricultural industry on which all our prosperity as a
nation depends, a knowledge of natural science is of the ut-
most practical value, while to all it will afford both health
and pleasure as a recreation from the cark and grind of
business life. In tins country, more particularly, the mind
of busy man finds no relief in idleness, and on all sides we
see men who, indifferent alike to the noblest works of art
and the sul:»limest teaching of nature, accumulate fortune
only to find that they are physical wrecks and mentally in-
capable of deriving pleasure or stimulus from anything
but still further accumulating — slaves, in fact, to a sordid
habit. How many women, also, drift into a Sybaritic life
and come to find relief from ennui only in one constant
round of artificial pleasure which ends too often in mental
and physical misery. There is no better prophylactic
airainst such dangers; no surer cure for that tedium litos
which haunts so many, than the study of natural science.
There is an inexpressible charm in animated nature for
those who have learned to unlock her secrets. They, in-
deed, " find tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
sermons in stones, and good in everything." They see every-
where around and about them — in earth, air, sky, and
water — volumes ins[)ircd by the great author of our being;
significancies, harmonies, causes and elfects that give glimp.ses
of the very thought of the Creator. 1 1 1 Williamson's words :
"Those who have the power of understanding the wonders
of nature derive great hapitiness from learning to employ it.
It is like the pleasure which a nianof healthy and vigorous
frame experiences in cUmbing a mountain peak, and in en-

112 SATURDAY LECTURES.

joying, ill proportion as he rises, a wider and more com-
manding view of things below."

" This is human happiness I
Its secret and its evidence are writ
In the broad book of nature. 'Tis to liave
Attentive and believing faculties.
To go abroad rejoicing in the joy
Of beautiful and well-created things ;
To love the voice of waters, and the sheen
Of silver fountains leaping to the sea;
To thrill with the rich melody of birds,
Living their life of music ; to be glad
In the gay sunshine, reverent in the stonn,
To see a Ijeauty in the stirring leaf.
And find calm thought beneath the whispering trees ;
To see and hear and breathe the evidence
Of God's deep wisdom m the natural world ! "

I hope I have said enough to show that deep insight into
Nature's truths is not only of practical value, but that it is
in other ways beneficial and elevating. Nor is it satiating !
One never tires of the recurring seasons, and one never tires
of any scientific research, for the simple reason that there is
never any end, but always something new to learn — some-
thing more wonderful to unfold.

Says Lowell :

I grieve not that ripe knowledge takes away

The charm which Nature to my childhood wore.
For with the insight Cometh day by day,

A greater bliss than wonder was before.
To win the secret of a weed's plain heart,

Reveals the clue to spiritual things ;
The soul which looks within for truth, may guess

The presence of some unknown heavenliness !

PAUL BROCA
AND THl' PRHNCIl SCHOOL i)V ANTHROPOLOGY

Lecture delivered in tlie National Museum, Washington. I >. C April 15, 1SS2.
l.v Dr. ROKERT FLETCHER.

L.vniKs .vNi) Gentlkmkx :

You have hoard a threat doal in thet^e lalter days ol" llie
Scicnc-o of Aiithropolon;y, and wliile many of you, doubtless,
havi' hevu followinij its investigations and discoveries with
interest and profit, otherswill l)e }>rompted to inquire: What
is Anthropology, and when, and hy whom, was it disc-ovei-cd
or invented? To the first i>art of tlic (pu-stion it is lui-
neeessary for me to reply, as Professor Ma.^on, in the .'^eeond
lecture of this course, gave a lucid exi)osition of what
constitutes the science in question: hut the reason of its
existence, and the circumstances attending its establishment
and recognition in the scientific world, it is the purpose of
this lecture concisely to explain.

Taking a comprehensive view of the subject, it would be
correct to say that anthropology has existed since the earliest
days of human civilization. Classical literature shows
us Strabo and the geographers describing races — ethnog-
rapliers : Galen and his followers as anatomists and physi-
cians— biologists, as we should call them now ; and Plato
and the metaphysicians as psychologists. We go back to
Justinian for the first records of an important branch of
.^ociolotrv, the orijrin of law. and the technoloiiist cannot
afford to overlook \'itruvius and X'egetius in tracing out
the early history of tools, arms and weapons. But it is not
with the separate sciences which together form what wc now
call anthropology, tempting as the subject is, that we have
to do. for thi' theme is much to(» vast for the time at our
disposal.

I must remind you that the tirni itself has been used
with very different meanings by tiie theologian, the anato-
mist, and ])hysician. '* Journals of Anthro|)ology," of which
there wt-re many in Germany a hundred years ago. were
mostly devoted to nifdieine an<l .surgery. It- use in its
present comprehensive sense arose with the establishment
8 I " .? I

114 SATURDAY LECTURES.

of the Paris Society of Anthropology, about twenty-five
years ago, and its fitness for the purpose was so manifest
that it lias superseded to a great extent the narrower titles
of ethnology and archaeology. At the present day there are
Societies of Anthropologj^ in nearly all the capital cities of
the world. They were all founded, more or less, upon the
model of the Paris society, which is acknowledged as the
parent from which this flourishing progeny has sprung.

It will be more convenient for our purpose to begin with
a description of these associations as they now exist, and
then, in a brief biography of the eminent Frenchman who
founded the Paris society, show you in what manner the
science of anthropology received its- birth and baptism.

The fir.st French Society which made the study of man-
kind the especial object of its enquiries, was founded in
Paris in the year 1800, and was known as La societe des
observateurs de Vliomme — the Society of Observers of Man.
From their programme, and from the meagre reports of
their transactions which appeared from time to time in the
Magasin encydopedique, it is evident that the natural history
of man chiefl}^ occupied their attention. In 1803, this
association was united with The Philanthropic Society {La
societe philanthropique) and lost its scientific identity. In
1838, there was founded in London, under the presidency of
Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton, the leader of the party advo-
cating the abolition of slavery in British dominions, a Societ}-
for the Protection of the Aborigines. The object of this
association was political and not scientific, but one of its
members, a Mr. Hodgkin, visited Paris a year later for the
purpose of establishing a French society on the same basis,
and came into communication with many eminent men,
among whom was the celebrated naturalist, William
Edwards. The attempt to found a French abolition societ}'
failed, but the interest excited in the cognate subject of race
led Edwards and his friends to establish the Ethnological
Society of Paris, (a,) whose existence was officially authorized
by the Minister of the Interior, in August, 1839. This
society published two volumes of memoirs, and one, of its

TArr, I5KOCA. 1 1.)

tran.^iu'tions. The work it ;uliitvcil was oxc-elli'iit in kind,
but its inc'inbcrsliip was never laij^'o, and n<» ;;i-(;al <U-;;rco
of /cal was evinced hv those beloiigin;^ to it. In 1.S42, the
Anieiican l>tlinolo;j:it-al Society (b) was founded by Albert
( lallatin.and in bS4l.the Ktlni<)lo,u:ical Soeiety of J.ondon (o)
was established, both after the model of the French Society.

Possessing" no uuiseuiii tor the accumulation of specimens,
the Kthnolo|[;ieal Society of Paris devoted itself mainly to
the investigation of certain races, their habits and customs.
Unfortunately, too, for its prosperity, it toi)k up with great
heat the subject of slavery, which was being fiercely debated
in France in the years 1847-8. The society was interested
only in the question of race, and of the single or multiple
origin of mankind, but an absurd belief became general
that ethnology was, in some mysterious manner, another
name lor abolitionism, and this prejudice survived to be an
obstacle in the establishment of the Anthropological Society,
ten vears iatei'.

What tlie circumstances were that led to the foundation:
of the latter society, through what discouragements and
obstructions it forced its way onward, and what success was
at last achieved, will be described in the biographic sketch
of Broca which will be presently attempted.

The time was ripejor the undertaking. The society was
established in 183U, {d,} and in the years immediately i)re-
ceding rapid advances had been made in the various
branches of knowledge which constitute anthropology. In
England, Davis and Thurnam had Ijegun their great work,
the Crania Britannica : inSwe(len, Ret/.ius was carrying on
his remarkable studies in craniology ; Morton, of Pliiladel-
j)hia, having ama.s.sed the collection of skulls which was,
for many years, the richest craniological collection in the
world, had produced his important work, the Crania Amer-
icana. Boucher de Perthes, after eighteen j'cars of labor in
the quaternary deposits of Abbeville, had at last triumphed
over ridicule and malice, and had .^een his proofs of the
great anti([uity of man accepted by the leading paheontol-
ogists of the world. In Demnark. the Kitchen-middens,

IIG SATURDAY LIX'TUEES.

those sileiit chronologieal iveords of the devouring- appetite
and j)rogressive luxury of primeval man, had been explored
and described by AVorstiae and Thomsen. Tn Switzerland,
the unusual subsidence of the waters of the lakes had
brought to light the relics of the lake-dwellers; and, not
less memorable, on the 24th November, 1S59, there appeared
in London a modest looking volume which has probably
exerted more influence on scientific workers than any one
book ever i)ublished — its title was : The Origin of Species,
by Charles Darwin.

Prof. Huxley, speaking of this occurrence twenty years
later, said :

" It was only subsequent to the publiqation of the ideas
contained in that book that one of the most powerful in-
struments for the advance of anthropological knowledge—
namely, the Anthroi)ological Society of Paris— was found-
ed ; afterward, the Anthropological Institute of this country
and the great Anthropological Society of Berlin came
into existence, until it may be said fhat, now, there is
not a branch of science which is represented by a larger or
more active body of w^orkers than the science of anthropol-
ogy. But the whole of these workers are engaged, more or
less intentionally, in providing the data for attacking the
ultimate great problem, whether the ideas which Darwin has
put forward, in regard to the animal world, are capable of
being applied in the same sense, and to the same extent, to
man. That question, I need not say, is not answered."

It may seem almost sui)erfiuous to explain the allusion to
the lake-dwellings and the kitchen-middens, but some of
the younger members of this audience may be glad to learn
what is meant by those terms.

In Switzerland the winters of ISolJ and 1854 proved to be
so dry and cold that the usual spring freshets in the rivers
were ^vanting, and the level of tlie water in the great lakes
was lower than had ever before been recorded. Accident
led to the discovery of some ancient piles, and other evi-
dences of man's work. The result of long-continued inves-
tigations may be briefly stated, as follows : The Pfahlbauten,
or pile-works of Switzerland, were villages built on piles

rAlI, I'.KitCA. 1 17

ilrivi'ii into tlir water on [\iv ed^csot" the lakes. 'I'licy coni-
nuinicateil with \\\o hind hy one or more hridixes, and there
is no doiiht that iK'I'enee auainsf Aviid animals as well as
hnnian enemies was the motive lor this method of ereetin^'
habitations. The tlehris of the ln»usehold neces.saril}' fell
into the water, toy,ether with tools, weapons and ornaments,
and thousands of sm-h artieles have been recovered from the
soil of the lakes around these idles, to<^ether with the bones
of animals which had served for food. The larger number
of these pile-works were erected during the stone age, before
the use of metal was known to man ; but in Western
Switzerland the remains belong to the bronze age, vast
numbers of bronze imi)lenu'nts and ornajnents having been
recovered from them. From one settlement alone 500
bronze hair-pins, such as peasant women adorn their hair
with, were obtained. Troyon has made an estimate of the
poi>ulation of tliese lake-dwellings; his figures are 32,000
for the stone age^ and 42,000 for the bronze period. The
addition to our knowledge of pre-historic man obtained
from these Pfahlbauten has been of incalculable value.

Accident, in like manner, drew attention to the real im-
port of certain shell-heaps in Denmark. They had been
regarded as raised beaches, the results of upheaval ; but
with such an origin the shell-tish must necessarily have been
of kinds which would live together. They would be of all
sizes, and would be mi.xed with sand and gravel. In the
•shell-heai»s — now known as kitchen-middens, from the
Danish Ki<')kkenmodding, kitchen-refuse heaps — the shells
are nearly all of full-grown individuals, and ot' kinds which
do not live together, and no .sand or gravel was found in
them. Flint implements and bones of animals, binls and
tishes abound in them, and it became evident that these
shell-heaps had been sites of villages of neolithic man, and
that the shells and other remains had accunudated in con-
sequence. Results as interesting as those obtained from the
exploration of the lake-dwellings followed, and the museums
of Copenhagen are rich with the spoils of the kitchen-mid-
dens. Similar shell-heaps have been found in almost all
countries.

118 SATURDAY LECTURES.

It was under the auspices thus outlined that the Society
of Anthropology of Paris began its career. Its success was
assured as the Cjuality of its work became known, and within
ten years, in all the chief kingdoms of Europe, societies of
like purpose were organized, and are in the full tide of
j)rosperity and active occupation at the present day.

And here it may be well to ex]5lain why the term " ethnol-
ogy" has been so generally superseded by the term "an-
thropology." The former, as you are aware, is the science
which treats of the races of men. Linnaeus and Buffon
were its chief founders, but Blumenbach moulded it into
the shape which it yet preserves. It is to him that we owe
the five divisions of the human race which still maintain
their place in our school-books, though they have long since
been discarded from scientific description. Ethnology
classifies mankind according to certain resemblances of
features, color, hair, dress, weapons, and the like ; anthropol-
ogy takes his anatomical structure as the basis of comparison.
Broca, speaking of the two, says : " Ethnologists regard man
as the primitive element of tribes, races, and peoples.
The anthropologist looks at him as a member of the fauna
of the globe, belonging to a zoological classification, and
subject to the same laws as the rest of the animal kingdom.
To study him from the last point of view only would be to
lose sight of some of his most interesting and practical re-
lations ; but to be confined to the ethnologist's views is to
set aside the scientific rule which requires us to proceed
from the simple to the compound, from the known to the
unknown, from the material and organic fact to the functional
phenomena."

You were told in a preceding lecture that ten distinct
sciences were included under the name of anthropology;
ethnology, much shorn of its significance, being one of them.
You will see then that the more comprehensive term was
necessary to indicate the scope of the investigations pursued.

I propose next to give you a succinct account of the
societies which Avere founded after the model of the Paris
association.

TAT I. r.Kol'A. irj

In 18(U. l\uilt»l|)li Wiimicr of (}(')ttiii^cii and Di-Iiai-r of
St. Petersburgh organi/.id a (lorman Anthropological Asso-
ciation, {(',) which was tt) nici-t every sccoml year in a
German city. Its lirst meeting was held at (iiHtingcn, hut
the death ol' Warner, which took place soon after. interru|'ted
its further progress.

In 1S63, arose the Anthro]>ulogieal Society of London (/.)
It was formed l)y the secession of a large number of mem-
bers of the I'^thnological Society, and speedily became so
successful that it at one time numbered 800 members. It
continued to exist under its original title until 1871, when
the Ethnological Society consented to unite itself with its
ambitious oiispring and the designation assumed by the
united associations was: The Anthropological In.stitute of
Great Britain and Ireland (g.) The Ethnological Society
published 13 volumes of Transactions; the Anthropological
Society published *-> volumes, and the Journal of the An-
thropological Institute has now entered on its twelfth year.

In 1805, the Anthropological Society of Madrid (h) was
established, its first meeting being held on December 17.
Owing to political complications, so common in that un-
happy country, and to the opposition of the jtricsthood, no
further meetings were permitted, and the Society, which
had attained a membership of 300, continued in a languish-
ing condition until February, 18G9, when its second meeting
took place.

In Moscow, in 186G, the Society of the Friends of Nature
{i) established a .section of anthropology. Endowed with
ample revenues this .section has been as efficient as if it had
been an inde|)endent society. It possesses a valuable museum
and. in 18()7. a brilliant exposition of anthropology took
phuH' under its management.

In 18G8, the Berlin Society (tf Anihroi)ology (/» was or-
ganized and speedily attained foremost rank from thr im-
jtortance and extent of its investigations. Vinhow, the
illustrious physiologist, statesman and .scholar, still presides
over its meetings. The Society publishes the .lournal of
Ethnology.

120 SATUltDAY LECTURES.

In 1870, the Anthropological Society of Vienna (1) was
founded, and at their first meeting, February 13, the open-
ing address was delivered by Rokitansky. The fSociet}^
publishes its own transactions.

Ital}^ was next to continue the good work, and, in 1871,
was established the Italian Society of Anthropology and Eth-
nology {m.) Their transactions are reported in the Archives
of Anthropology and Ethnology, a monthly journal, hand-
somely illustrated, which is published at Florence under the
editorship of Mantegazza.

In 1871, in the city of Xew York, there was founded a
society known as the Anthropological Institute of New
York (n.) Its sole work was the publication of its Journal,
"Whom the Gods love, die young," says the Greek proverb :
the " Journal of the Anthropological Institute of New York"
must have been the especial object of celestial regard as it
expired with its first number.

In 1877, Poland entered the field, and the Academy of
Sciences of Cracow (o) established a section of anthropology
which publishes its own journal.

In 1879, the Anthropological Society of Washington, D.
C, ip,) Avas founded, and has continued to thrive.

During the present 3^ear, Dr. Aurele de Torek, of Hun-
gary, who had been for some time studying at the Paris
school, was placed in charge of a section of anthropology in
the University of Buda-Pesth, with instructions to form a
museum.

There are many subordinate societies besides those de-
scribed; they are generally affiliated with the societies of
the capitals. For example, there is an Anthropological
Society at Liverpool, another at Oxford, another at ^lan-
chester ; one at Lyons, one at Bordeaux, and even in the
Isle of iNLan there is a section of anthropology in the Manx
Society of Sciences.

Another important result of the interest felt in these pur-
suits has been the organizing of congresses of anthropol-
ogy, meeting in different cities at .stated intervals.

There is the German Association for Anthropology (g)

r.M I i;i;ttcA.

IJl

loan. led in 1S70; tluir lirst iii.-ct in-- was held in l)crlin. an<l
tlu'ir transactions appear in a goodly (juarto, the Ardiivrs
lor AnthroiK)lo<2;y, imltlishcd at lirunswick.

But tlie most important coiij^ress. in vi<\v of its achitvc-
monts. is the International Congress of Antliropolo.iry, and
Pro-lnstorie Arelueology (/••) Their lirst meet in.^- was held
at NeutVhatel in ISC.C; the seeond at Paris in iSf.T; the
third at Xorwieh. Knuland. in 18()S; the fourth at ( opeii-
haoen in 1800; the lifth at IJologna in 1871 ; the sixth at
Brussels in 1872: the seventh at Stoekholm in 1874; the
eij^hth at Buda-Pesth in 1870; and the ninth at Lishon in
1880. I believe the next meeting is to be held at Venice
this year. The transactions of this association are published
after each congress.

Finally, it must be added that the British Association for
the Advancement of Science, after much contention, ha.s
establi.shed a .section of anthropology. The French Asso-
ciation of the same name began with such a -eetion as j)art
of its original organization.

I have no doubt that my hearers are rea.sonably grateful
that this dry enumeration of societies and their productions
has come to an end ; but it has been shown that all of these
associations, congresses and sections owe their origin to the
Paris School of Anthropology, and as that school, in its
turn, derived its very existence from the genius and energy
of one man, we are brought naturally to the point where a
sketch of the life and work of the founder of European an-
thropology comes properly into our jdan.

Piqrre Paul Broca was l)orn at b'ainte Foix-la-Grande, in
182i. The town which announces it.self to the world under
this pretentious title is situated in the department of the
(iironde, on the bank <»f tlu' Dordogne, forty miles from
Bonleaux, and contains ai>out 1,000 inhabitants. It was
the birthplace al.so of Gratiolet, ilistingui^heii. like Broca,
in anthropology as well as in medicine.

It is always interesting, and. indeed, e.s.sential to the due
estimation of a distinguished man, to state what may be

122 SATURDAY LECTURES.

known of his parentage, and of what it is now the fashion
to call his earl}^ environments.

Broca's father, Dr. Benjamin Broca, was an army surgeon,
and had served throughout the memorable war in Spain
under the first Napoleon. The campaigns over, he returned
to his native town where he married and settled down to
practice his profession. He was a man of marked traits of
character ; of unflinching probity and courage, and charit-
able to an extreme. ' From him his son derived his taste for
the natural sciences as well as a grave irony which charac-
terized them both The son used to quote an ironical re-
mark of his father's which is amusing enough to be related.
The elder Broca flourished in the time when the doctrines
of Broussais attained such astonishing popularity, and
blood-letting and rigorous diet were the treatment in vogue.
Against these views. Dr. Broca fought valiantly, and it is
told of him that after a consultation over a patient prostra-
ted with typhoid fever, hearing the physician in charge
prescribe, as the only nutriment, a broth to be made of frog's
feet, Broca turned back from the doorway and said, " and
above all things, be sure to skim off the fat ! "

Dr. Broca, senior, acquired a large country practice, but
which was not very lucrative, for his rule was to charge the
rich but little, while to the poor he gave his services and
paid for their medicines. When, in later years, after the
death of his wife, he removed to Paris to reside in the house
of his distinguished son, the whole country round was in
sorrow for his loss, and his indigent clientage presented him
with a silver-gilt cup inscribed " To the physician of the
poor."

An amusing story is still told in Sainte-Foix of this
excellent man which exemplifies his unfeiling benevolence.
At a late hour, one cold and dark winter night, a peasant
requested him to visit a person taken seriously ill, in a
distant hamlet. The good doctor left his comfortable fire-
side without hesitation and accompanied the man along a
lonely pathway, inaccessible to all but pedestrians. Arriv-
ing, at length, at a small cluster of cottages, the man turned

I'.Vn. HKdCA. 12.'>

to him and >aitl, "Many thanks, doctor. You sec; I was
afraid to come along tliese lonely heaclics by mysoir, in (he
middle of the night, so I invented the little story of the
silk person to get you to come with me; nuich obliged for
yuur comjtany." And the fellow disai)i)eared in the dark-
ness, K'aving the doctor to return us best he could.

I liave been told by Dr. Ford Thomp.son of this city that
when in Taris attending theclinique under Professor Broea
at the ho.spital of La Pitic. he wasjstruck with the a])pear-
ance of an aged gentleman who, with edifying punctuality,
formed one of the large class which followed the professor
through the wards. Tliis venerable man would listen with
cijual interest and admiration to the luminous explanations,
the subtle diagnosis, or the fecund illustrations which the
accomplished surgeon would give utterance to, at the bedside-
This was Dr. Broca, the father, finding his chief enjoyment,
in tlu' evening of his days, in watching the daily work of
the son who had so far outstripjK'd him in fame.

Broca 's mother was the daughter of a Protestant preacher,
named Thomas. She was an excellent woman, of great
intelligence, and endowed with a lu'odigious memory. This
latter quality was inheriteil by her .son. The Brocas were
of old Huguenot stock, and traditions were rife among them
of the persecutions which the grandfather and great-grant 1-
father had suflfered in the days of the drarjonnades.

There is no doubt that his early training by the kind,
manly father and the clear-sighted .sensible mother, together
with the traditions of their family hi.story. bred in the young
Paul the courageous love of truth and hatred of injustice
and oppression which marked his entire career.

Ill ls;;-J. he entered the college of Saintc-Foix which was.
at that time, the re.sort of the dlite of the Protestant youth
of France. Some of the most distinguished men of the
reformed ciiurch were educated atiSainte-Foix ; among whom
were >ronod, Coquerel, an<l Pressense. When .seventeen
years old, Paul Broca obtained the three di])lomasof baclu--
lor of letters, mathematics, and physical sciences. In 184"2,
he presented himself for examination at the Polvteehnic

124 SATUKUAY LIX'TURES.

School, intending to make physical sciences the Ijasis of his
future work, but his father, loth to see his own practice lost
to the family, persuaded his son to adopt medicine as his
profession. An additional motive for his compliance was
the recent death of his only sister, a very lovely girl of great
promise, whose loss made the parental home very lonel5'.
Broca did not trouble himself about his career ; he used to
say, in after life, that in any occupation, he could have
made such a place as his abilities merited ; and with his
healthy organization and unparalleled capacity for work, it
is probable that he was right.

He went to Paris, and entered liis name at the Faculty of
Medicine, and thus began a career unequalled for the rapidity
of its progress. In 1S43, he became an extern e at the
hospitals, and in 1844, he became an interne. He was then
twenty years of age, a period at which most students of
medicine have only entered themselves. In 1848, he became
prosector of anatomy, and obtained the silver medal of tlio
Public Assistance. He graduated as Doctor of Medicine in
1849 ; the Academy of Medicine decreed him the Portal
prize in 1850, and, in 1853, he was i\amed Assistant Prof-
fessor of the Faculty of Medicine, and Surgeon of the
Central Bureau, being then only twenty-nine years old.

In 1847, he was elected a member of the Anatomical
Societ}' of Paris, and for many years he was the most active
of the distinguished young men who raised thnt society to
its present pre-eminence. His researches into the histology
of cartilage and bone, with the aid of the microscope, of
the use of which in anatomical researches he was one of
the strongest advocates, have remained unsurpassed of their
kind to the present day.

In the Society of Surgery he was equally active, and its
transactions bear witness to his zealous labors.

It is not within the scope of this lecture to describe his
surgical or physiological work ; the general result, in the
number of his productions, will be given at the close. It
must be said, however, that his brilliant investigations into
the localities of the functions of the brain led the way to

I'Aii, miocA. 125

the discoveries mikI ajiplicjitions of Ilitzig, Femer, and
Charcot ; of his hu«icr works, the Treatise on Tumors, and
the Treatise oil Aneurisms, still hold foremost rank. liroca's
devotion ti» anthropological studies, duriujLC the last twenty
years of his life, have tended to overshadow his work in
surgery and j>liysi(tloi::y. A _ij;oo<1 judm* said of him, that in
no eoiuitry or aui' had any man of thiity produced so much
of value in surnerv as he.

lie was associated with l>eau and rxmamy in the pro-
du<tion (tf their si)lendi(l Atlas of De-^eriptive Anatomy,
and the third voluim- of that work. comiM-j^in^ s]ilan(hnol-
ojiy, is entirely his work.

It is scarcely necessary to .^ay that thi> hrilliant com-
mencement of his career soon .settled the question of his
return to the hanks of the Dordoijjne. The father was
•proud of his son's success, and the <;ood mother, when told
of liis achievements, sacrificed her own wishes, as motliers
do, and .said, "my pride is gratified, hut not my heart."

Honors continued to How in ujton him. He was made
secretary and then vice-president of the Anatomical Society;
secretary and then president of the .Society of Surgery. The
Academy of Medicine a<lmitted him in ISO*}; he was their
vice-pre.sident in ISSO, and president-elect for 18M. In
l.SrjT, the Faculty of Medicine appointed him to the chair
of pathology which he exchanged for that <if ilinii;il sur-
gery.

It remains now to speak of BrocaV connection with the
Society of Anthropology of Paris. II.e was its founder and,
in the words of one of his jianc^gyrists, "the very soul of it
for one and twenty years."

In 1.S47. he was one of a commission appointed i>> rx-
amine the bones discovered in excavations made in the
ancient church of the C'elestins. In drawing up this re-
]»ort, (which was afterwards puldished in the first volume
of his Memoirs on Anthropology.) he was led to read all the
hooks he could find, and they were not many, ujX)n the sub-
ject of craniology. In those days ethnology was confined
to a narrow circle of iiKp.iiry. chiefly to debates upon mon-

326 SATUKDAY LECTURES.

ogeny and polygeny, or tlie doctrine of the origin of the
human race from one source or from many. The Ethno-
logical Society of Paris, founded, as I have before stated,
by William Edwards, having ended its discussions upon
this subject, and finding nothing more to say, itself came
to an end in 1848. Ten years later, Broca, who had arrived
at some conclusions upon human hybridity which he de-
sired to make known, communicated them to the Society of
Biology. But the 3'oung discoverer had yet to learn what
jmsillanimity could do to retard investigation. His re-
markable memoir demonstrated the unlimited fecundity of
human hybrids, and as this was opposed to the doctrines of
the monogenists, Rayer, the President of the Society, re-
Cjuested Broca to desist from further communications. The
memoir " On animal hybridity in general, and on human
hybridity in particular," was published in the Journal de.
la physiologie. It was afterward translated by Dr. Carter
Blake for the London Society of Anthropology, and was
published in their memoirs. This condition of things made
it evident that a new society was needed, and Broca con-
ceived the idea of a Society of Anthropology.

Broca's plan was to start with not less than twenty mem-
bers. Six from the Society of Biology joined him, but
others, including the members of the defunct Society of
Ethnology, turned a deaf ear to his solicitations. After a
year's efforts, he had onl}^ nineteen signatures, including his
own. He met with every obstacle from those in authority ;
M. Rouland, the Minister of Public Instruction, sent him to
the Prefect of Police, who, in turn, sent him to the Minister
of Public Instruction. Their purpose was to weary him
out, for with the perspicacity usual in such functionaries,
they firmly believed that the novel term, anthropology,
covered some form of political conspiracy. Finally, thanks
to the intervention of Professor Tardieu, a chief of division of
the prefecture of police was induced to authorize the nineteen
to form their society and hold meetings. He held Broca,
however, personally responsible- for anything which might
be said by his associates which should appear to be an

PA 11. i;kuca. ' 127

attack upon government, i('li<.jion, or social order; and, to
ensure the realization ol" these prudent precautions, ho
directed that a police officer, in plain clothes, should attend
each meet inu" and report to the prefect the teiuiie of, the
proceedings.

Does not this sound as it' we were diseoursing of somc-
tiiing that took ])lace under Louis (piatorze, or IMiilip the
second? And yet it occurred in our own day, .■^onie twenty
years ago, in the most civilized city of Paris. We are ac-
customed io look upon our own absolute freedom in such
atiairs as a matter of course, but it may not be unjJroHtable
to occasionally stop to consider it in the light of comparison.

It was under the conditions described that the Society of
Anthropology of Paris held its first meeting, on the 10th
May, 1859. The woi-<l anthropology was substituted for
ethnology to show the far wider scope proposed. It in-
cluded, in effect, the entire natural history of the human
race, whether in the present, in the past, in its general char-
acters, in its subdivisions into races or varieties, in its oriirin,
or in its relations with the rest of nature. This ])rogramme
comitrehended not only ethnology, or the .study of human
races, but anthropology, or the study of mankind. It in-
cluded, also, a great number of auxiliary sciences: zoology,
comjnirative anatomy, geology. i>alieontologv, prehistoric
and protohistoric arclueolog}', linguistics, mythology, his-
tory, psychology, and medicine itself And as among all
these diverse and divergent studies it was necessary to es-
tablish some central basis, the founders of the society, who
were all young physicians, determined, in accordance witli
the views of their leader, to select that which is most fixed
in man, namely, his organization and functions; in a word,
his anatomy and i)hysiol(>gy.

With such a va.st field before it, there was no reason to
fear that the new .society would perish for want of susten-
ance like its predecessor, the Society of Ethnology. As its
programme became known, new mend)ers eagerly joine<l it,
and when the first vohnne of its bulletins was j»ul»lished,
the detiance and distrust which it had excited rafiidlv sub-

1

128 SATUKDAY LKCTfEES.

sided. M. Rouland, the Minister of Public Instruction,
deigned to authorize it in 18G1, cand, in 18G4, it was recog-
nized formall)^ as a society of pubhc utihty, by a decree of
the Council of State. After this date, the attendance of the
special police agent at its meetings was discontinued.

During the first three years of the existence of the society,
Broca filled the office of secretary. It was a burdensome
task for a man of his numerous avocations to undertake,
but it was of the highest importance that the transactions
of the 3"oung society should be edited with talent and ap-
pear with punctuality. He excelled in the difficult art of
giving the integral meaning, but without prolixity, of Avhat
was said in the ardor of debate. He was skillful in ignor-
ing the common-places of the chronic speaker ; the man
who always " rises to give his views," though he has gene-
rally nothing to communicate. These comptes rendus are
master-pieces of their kind, especially when it is considered
that they were written from memory', for he took too active
a part in discussion to have time to take notes.

In 1863, the increase of the Society made it necessary to
appoint a General Secretary, electable for three j^ears ; Broca
held the office till his death. Professor Pozzi sa^^s, " Broca
was the soul of the Society of Anthropology. • It was he
who founded it, he who made it live through its first trying
3'ears, and that by the })reponderating influence of his
incessant labor and the communicable ardor of his love for
the growing science. The povrerful influence of Broca,
especially visible at the beginning of its career, was not less
real to the very close, in spite of the care which he took to
avoid the appearance of personal control. Even when he
abstained from taking part in any irritating debate, his
attitude, the few words which might escape him, his vote,
infallibly indicated to doubting minds, upon which side
reason, moderation, and justice were to be found."

Upon the establisment of his Society, Broca began a
craniological collection and, thanks to the surgeons of the
navy, with whom he kept up an active correspondence, it
soon attained respectable dimensions. Nevertheless, a

r.MI. I'.IIOCA.

129

musruni raniiot Ik- well luaiiilaiiictl witluiut a lahoratory,
and tlu- (liffirultic's in the way of ohtaiiiiii.u tlic latter were
vi'iy mvat, fur tlic law Ibrbadc the takiu;; Mibjci-is for
<lissvction anywhere exeej)! to the rooms of the l-'aciiliy of
Medieine. In 1S(^>7, however, IJroea was nominated as one
of the professors of the Faeulty of Medieine and the dilH-
eultv was solved. He was entitled to a lal»oratory lor his
personal investigations, and two small rooms were assij^iied
liim for the i>uri)ose. It was here, with M. Ilamy for ids
as.sistani. that he began his researehes in the eomparative
anatomy of the primates. It wa< here, too, that lie invented
manv ingenious instruments to be employed in eraniometry,
or the measurement of tlie skull. In eonneetion with this
espeeial work of Broea's, it may be well to give some ex-
planation of what eonstitutes eraniometry. without doubt,
the most important i)art of our laboratory work. Crani-
ometry comprises measurements of the <hy skull, both its
external and internal surfaces, its various angles, its relation
to the si)inal column, its internal capacity and the propor-
tion and weight of the brain; external measurements are
to be made, whenever possible, in the living person also.
Moreover, these measurements, to be of value, must be made
in large nundjers. so that the average, or mean, may be
trustworthy. To obtain these dimensions, many complicated
and costly instruments have l)een invented, the greater
nundjcr of those now in use having been devised by Broca.
I had inten<le(l to bring some of these instruments here in
order to give you an illustration of the manner in which
they are used but I found that it would oceupy more time
than we can spare. I shall read you the names of Broea's
craniometrie inventions.

In 1800, he invented the cruiii<tf/rapli ; an instrument tor
giving tlic profile of the skull.

In 1.S04, the new goniometer. The instrument in use, for
many years, for taking the facial angle was the one invented
by Dr. Morton of Philadelphia ; Jacquart made a vastly im-
proved instrument, but Broea's goniometer had the merit of
simplicity and <heapness.

130 SATURDAY LECTURES.

Ill 1867, he produced the stereograph.

In 1869, the cadre a maxima and the micrometric compass^

In 1870, he invented the occipital goniometer, an instru-
ment for ascertaining the angle of the back of the skull.

In 1873, he brought to perfection a surprising number of
instruments mostly for the investigation of the endocranium,
or interior of the skull. A perplexing obstacle in the pur-
suit of craniology was the difficulty, or rather, impossibil-
ity, of obtaining measurements of the interior without saw-
ing open the cranium. This would spoil the specimen and
could not, of course, be permitted. The instruments about
to be mentioned were to be introduced through the occipital
foramen, the large aperture in the base of the skull.

The cranioscope enabled a bright light to be thrown upon
the interior of the skull by means of a mirror and lamp.

The porte-envpreinte intra-cranien, or intra-cranial molder,
is an instrument charged with a piece of wax by which a
mold can be obtained of various portions of the interior.

The eridograph is an ingenious contrivance for tracing on
paper the curvatures and outlines of the endocranium for
comparison with the external surface.

The millimetric roulette is a small wheel, graduated in
millimetres, for measuring the curved outlines on tracings.

The endometer is an instrument for measuring internal
diameters.

He invented, also, the sphenoidal crochet and ojjtic sound;
the pachymctcr, an instrument for measuring the thickness
of the skull at any point ; the turcica crochet; the acoustic
sounds; the craniophore; the craniostat; the facial demi-go-
nlometer ; the au7^lcular goniometer; the flexible bi-aurlcular
square; the cyclometer; the facial median goniometer; the
orthogon; the flexible goniometer ; the goniometer of inclination;
and the tropometer for measuring the degree of torsion, or
twisting, of the humerus, or arm bone, a racial characteristic
of importance.

I fear this list of names has been rather tedious, but it is
not only pertinent to the subject as illustrating Broca's
mechanical ingenuity, but it ma}^ enable those present who

PAIL nuocA. 1:U

have no special accjii;iintanrr u illi (•raiiiolo«j;y to Ibrm some
r()iK'i'j)tion of thr iiuiiR-nsc and inti-icate lal>or iiivolvod in
aci.iinit«.' uieasureimnts of the skull. Professor Huxley,
speakinu;; of these elaborate instruments, says, "One can
not mention the name <il' Tudca wilhout the «rreatest
gratitude."

This, then, \\a-> the l)e.uinnin;; of the Laboratory of An-
throi)(»loi;y. In 180S, the Mini.ster of rublic Instruction,
M. Duruy, conceive<l the happy thou«,dit of establishing
the practical school of hij;h studies — L'ccole pratique des
Jtautes Hvdes — by giving an annual allowance and an offi-
cial character to the various laboratories connected with in-
stitutions of learning. Hroca's laboratory was included.
He at once instituted a .sy.stem of teaching which attracted
so large a class that he was obliged to ask the dean for per-
mission to u.se a larger theatre.

The progress of the school was interrupted by the Franco-
German war of 1870-1. Broca was, at that time, professor
of clinical surgery at the hospital of La Pitie, which was
from the very beginning of the siege of Paris crowded with
wounded men. To these and to the care of the hospital he
devoted himself exclusively, and his laboratory was for-
saken. He had been one of the thi'ce directors appointed
to take charge of the Public Assistance. During the days
of the Commune, for which, as sterling republican and
patriot, he had a supreme detestation, he remained at his
post in Paris, taking care «>f the patients still in his hos-
pital, but busying himself in taking plaster-casts of brains,
thus beginning the superb collection of cerel)ral molds which
is now to be seen in the Musee l>r<jea. The I'ri'sident of the
Council of Public Assistance fled to \'ersailles without no-
tifying Broca, who was the vice-president, and leaving the
money and securities in charge of the cashier. The danger
of a seizure of these valuables by the communists was im-
minent, and Broca determined to save them, if })ossible.
He, himself, carried them away, night after night, in cari)et-
bags, and concealed them at the ho.spital of La Charite. by
the aid of the director. He was careful to leave three or

lo2 SATURDAY LECTURES.

•

four thousand Iraiies in the saiV, and, much to the disap-
pointment of the insurgents, this was all that they found
when, a day or two later, they made the anticipated raid.
Apprehensive that the treasure might, in some way, be
traced, Broca devised a bold scheme for its removal to Ver-
sailles. A wagon loaded with potatoes started for the hos-
pital of Ivry with the precious carpet-bags concealed under-
neath them, and as soon as it had safely passed the outmost
guard, the wagon was turned toward Versailles, which it
reached in safety, and the bags were duly delivered to the
over-prudent president. The amount thus saved to the
government by Broca's firmness was seventj^-'five millions
of francs, ($15,000,000.) After the victory and the return
to Paris, the directory of the Public Assistance was dis-
solved, and not even a vote of thanks was offered for this
eminent service.

Broca was not the man to trouble himself about com-
pliments. He had done his duty and now all his energies
were devoted to bringing forward his beloved science. He
founded the Revue d'anthropologle, the first number of which
appeared in 1872, and this journal he continued to edit as
long as he lived. His next undertaking was to establish a
School of Anthropology, and so irresistible were the ardor
and persuasion he brought to bear that in May, 1875, the
Dean of the Faculty assigned him the second story over the
Musee Dupuytren for the new school. For the purpose of
furnishing and starting it, the sum of thirty-five thousand
francs was subscribed by twenty-three members of the so-
ciety. The work was commenced iri July and completed in
the following spring. The new scliool, however, was not to
escape its share of opposition. The clerical party denounced
the project without ceasing, branding its professors as
atheists and materialists, and so thoroughly did they succeed
in alarming the Minister of Public Instruction that that
functionary was, with great difficult}^ persuaded to author-
ize the scliool to proceed ; when he, at last, did so, it was
only for a year, and every difficulty and discouragement
was thrown in the wav.

I'At I, i;i;<»(A. 1."):]

I>i*oca pcrsrvcri'tl tliit»iii;li il all ami, on the l.")tli Dccom-
licr, 1S7C>. tlu' Sijiool of Anthroj)oloj,^y was (»J)(ih'(1 l>y liiin
Avitli a (lisi'oursc entitled "Tlie Pro^rainineor Aiitliropolo.iiV,''
wliieh lia.s been translated into many lan^nages. " Tt was."'
says Pozzi, "an eloquent plea pj'o c/onjo sif'," and eerlaiidy
it was his own edifice, the school wliich he opened that day.
Unlike most institutions in I'^-ancc, it had heen estahlished
■without the aid <»r the jj,overnnient, and l)y the personal
eflorts of the founder alone. Some time later, so brilliant
was the success of the new school, the Municipal Council of
Paris, and the Council-General of the Seine, spontaneously
allotted it an annual .subsidy of twelve thousand francs.

Still the ministry maintained its old position of distrust
and almost hostility, livery year, it was necessary to apply
for a new authorization which it re([uired n-newed efforts
and influence to obtain. It was even then ;j;ranled only for
another year, and individually ; that is to .<ay, each profes.>;or
was authorized, by name, to teach, but they were forbidden
to call themselves a .school, as indicating their solidarity.
At length, the election of 1S78 con.solidated the republic
and placed all institutions, contending for progress, in their
rightful position. The School of Anthropology was <luly
and permanently authorized. I'urther, the Chambers voted
it an annual subsidy of twenty thousand francs, which
joined to its other resources, raised its annual income to
thirty-four thousand francs, or nearly $7,000.

The Society of Anthropology, the Laboratory and the
School, all united in the same locality, t'ormed, thus, a con-
federation known as the Anthropological Institute. The
students from the school were admitted to the laboratory,
where measurements and dissections weic ma<le under the
direction of Paul Topinard, assistant director, and of Chud-
zinski and Kuhll, eurators. In the neighborhood is the
important library of the Society, and the finest anthropo-
logical museum in the world. Since the death of its founder,
it has been appropriately named La Musee Broca.

It may be imagined with what .sitisfaction Broca wit-
nessed the completion of his labors to establisii his favorite

134 SATURDAY LECTURES.

science on a permanent basis. Of his own work in Anthro-
pology, it is impossible, in the limits of a lecture, to give any
adequate account. His friend, Professor Pozzi, has attempted
a bibliography of his writings which he admits to be im-
perfect, and which yet covers seventeen pages, in double
columns of small type of the Revue d'anthropologie, which
is a large octavo in size. I have been able to add some few
articles to Pozzi's list, and, of the whole, have made the fol-
lowing enumeration :

Broca's contributions to the medical sciences, embracing
anatomy and physiology, both normal and pathological, and
surgery, number 243 articles and volumes. His papers on
the anatomy and functions of the brain are 53 in number.
His last and most important work on this subject, a treatise
on the morphology of the brain, was left unfinished.

In anthropology, I find 109 articles and volumes upon
comparative anatomy and general anthropology ; 48 papers
on general craniology, and 35 on special craniology ; 27
papers on ethnology, and 19 on miscellaneous subjects.
The total number of his printed articles and volumes, so
far as ascertained, is 534. It is to be remembered that a
large part of these papers "are quite extensive, running-
through several numbers of the journals in which they ap-
peared. Man}" of them were reprinted in pamphlet form,
and he, himself, commenced a collection of his anthropo-
logical memoirs, of which three large volumes were pub-
lished. Among the more important of these contributions
may be mentioned his paper on Linguistics and Anthro-
pology ; his General Instructions for Observations on An-
thropology. This last was a codification of the rules neces-
sary to be observed by travelers and investigators; it was
issued in 1865, and was completed ten years later bj'" the
Instructions in Craniology and Craniometry. This very
valuable and original work had immense success, and was
translated into nearly every modern language. Of his
writings on the brain, the more important are his memoir
upon cranio-cerebral topograph}'; on the great limbic lobe;
on the olfactory centres, and his admirable treatise on cer-

I'AiL HHocA. i::.')

ebral noinenclature. <)iic of his (liscovcriis in tliis coii-
iicction is assoc-iated lu-nuaiiciitly with his name. Cfitain
patients who preserve thi' ineninry of words, have full use
of the larynx, mouth ami lijis, Imvc yet lost the powei- of
artieulation. The disease is ealled aphemia or aphasia.
Broca observed that in the autopsies of these patients there
was invariably present a diseased condition of a portion of
the third frontal eonvolution of the brain on the left side.
This convolution, thus inferred to be the .'^eat of lan<ruage,
is known as "the convolution of Broca." In a vast number
of cases, the prediction has been made, during life, that a
certain portion of this convolution, the surface of its lower
tliird, would be found diseased, and it has been fulfilled
with mathematical precision. There are some exceptions
in which the disease is found in the third convolution on the
rigid side. Sini^ularly enough, in most of these cases, it was
found that the patients had been left-handed, and in these
the right side of the brain is generally more develoiied than
the left. The subject of the localization of the functions of
the brain — by which we mean the discovering of the portic-
iilar convolutions or other portions of the brain in which re-
side the functions of animal life — is of the highest interest;
but is still to be considered as under investigation.

When, in 1S72, it was determined to found a French
Association for the Advancement of Science, after the model
of the English Association, Broca took an active part in the
orgaiuzation. He was one of the provisional council of
which Claude Bernard was the President. He established
the section of anthroi)ology, which has be<n briiliantlv
successful, the need of such a section not being denied in
France as it had been in the English A.ssociation.

While all this work was being done in anthropology, it
must be borne in mind that Broca was a i)rofe.-<.sor of the
Faculty of Medicine and a Surgeon of Hospitals, and that
liis duties in these conneetions re«iuirfd some Imurs of every
day for their discharge. He was an imaniation of work.
Naturally, the (piestion arises, what was the (juality of this
amazing cpiantity of work performed, and would it have

136 SATURDAY LECTUllES.

been better for his fame if he had concentrated his energies
upon fewer subjects ? In some persons, production is a slow
process, accompanied with extreme tension of the brain ;
the thought dwells a long time in the mind before it assumes
the form in which it is to appear; such persons bring forth
in sorrow and in pain. This was not Broca's ease. To
express his thoughts with extreme rapidity, whether by
speech or pen, was, to him, the most facile of functions. It
seemed play rather than work. And yet, Trelat, a critical
Judge, said of him, " Broca never wrote anything that came
down to mediocrity." His mind was essentially many-sided,
of restless activity and well sustained by the admirable
physical organization which he possessed. His intense love
of truth and the ardor of his convictions, at times, led him
to too great vehemence of expression. He was impatient
with those who did not see the truth as he saw it, or did not
see it as rapidly as he did. His work in anatomy, physiol-
ogy, and surgery stands, to this day, mostly unquestioned.
His qualifications for anthropology are forcibly stated by
one of his pupils. Professor Ball, who says : " Anthropology
is a compound of so many other sciences that the interven-
tion of a grasping and encyclopsedic mind like Broca's is
almost invaluable to form the connecting link between so
many different branches of human knowledge. An excel-
lent mathematician, a first-rate anatomist, a good Greek
scholar, Broca combined in himself that diversified knowl-
edge which the subject requires, with the synthetical ten-
dencies which condense these disseminated forces, and make
them converge upon a single point."

In person, Broca was of the middle height arid strongly
built. His broad forehead and lustrous brown eyes gave a
very noble expression to his face. In private life, his re-
lations were in every way admirable. Benevolent and
generous, he was adored by liis family, and those who were
once his friends were his friends for life, — he " grappled tliem
to his soul with hooks of steel." He was a delightful com-
panion in his social hours. He had traveled much, and
would relate his adventures and observations with great

v\v\. iu:ucA. 137

humur. I may be allowed to iiuotc one iucident which he
loved to recount.

While traveling' in JSpain he came to .Seville and, desiring
to be shaved, sent for the nearest barber. Fij;aro ap{)eared
and, knowing that his customer was a famous surgeon, re-
fused to receive any recompense. "Sir," said he, with a
lofty air, " that is never allowed between professional breth-
ren!" The class of barber-surgeons exists to-day, in Sj)ain,
as it did when Cervantes wrote.

The crowning {)ublic honor of IJroca's life remains to be
told. In 1879, the Senate nominated him as permanent
Senator, representing Science. lie was proposetl, of course,
by the left. The right, or monarchical, side, made tierce op-
position. He was an unyielding Republican, the founder
of the Antliroi)ological Institute, which meant free-think-
ing and athei.sm. They searched his writings for doctrines
to convict him and, with great joy, published this quotation,
•' I would rather be an ai)e brought to perfection than a de-
generate Adam." But this proved to have been a saying
of Claparede's and not of Broca's. A sentence was taken
from his Programme of Anthropology, "There is no faith,
however respectable, no interest, however legitimate, which
must not accommodate itself to the ])rogre.<s of human
knowledge and bend before truth, if the truth be demon-
strated." Even this scarcely orthodox doctrine, it .seemed,
was qualified by the preceding sentence which .said that
"science must keep aloof from anything not within its
province."

Broca, with characteristic independence, took no part,
whatever, in the proceedings, but he was elected. On the
10th February, 1880, a banquet was given him by some of
his most attached friends, members of the Faculty of Medi-
cine, of the Academy of Medicine, of the Society of Anthro-
pology, of the Senate, of the Chamber of Deputies, &c., in
commemoration of the high honor bestowed upon him.
It was the grandest banquet ever given to a scientific man.
The long tabh' was tilled with those who had shared Ids
struggles and labors at dilfereiit \)Avi< of lii>^ career from the

138 SATURDAY LECTURES.

College of Suiiite-Foix to the Senate. Professor Verneuil,
liis life-long friend, said to him, "If we are in great strength
around thee, it is because thou hast continually made new
friends, and hast never lost a single one."

In his speech of acknowledgment, Broca said, "the}^
would not have thought of me if they had not known with
what certainty they could count upon my devotion to
republican principles ; and if, among many others not less
trustworthy and more skilled in political knowledge, they
have chosen a man of science, it is because they hold science
in high consideration, and believe that to serve science is to
serve one's country best."

His speech was one of the most eloquent he had ever
delivered, and ended Avith a sentence that proved strangely
pathetic, in-the light of the after occurrence. He said, " were
I superstitious, I should believe, from the great hajipiness
I experience to-day, that some great danger was threatening
me."

Five months later, these now sorrowing friends followed
him to the grave. On Tuesday, the 6th July, 1880, he was
in his seat at the Senate and was attacked suddenly by
faintness. The next day, he had apparently recovered, and
Thursday evening was passed in work with his friend,
pupil, colleague, and successor, Dr. Paul Topinard. Toward
midnight, he was suddenly attacked with difficulty of
breathing, he rose from his bed and, in ten minutes, he ex-
pired. The post mortem examination discovered no lesion
of any organ, — no cause for this sudden taking-o.ff. " Cere-
bral exhaustion '' was the medical periphrasis, which im-
plied two things; — that the man had worked himself to
death and that how he died was a mystery. He died at the
comparatively early age of 50, in the very plenitude of his
powers and the height of his renown.

He was buried in the cemetery of the old church of the
Celestins, in which his first labors in craniology had com-
menced thirty-three years before, and which led to his long
course of studies in anthropology. The Vice-President of
the Senate, M. Eugene Pelletan, in his oration at the grave.

I'Air. HHOCA. 139

said, altiT an rl<>(|Uoiit enlo^iv iipon the dead, "A new science,
human palieontology, lias just originated under our feot;
at hundreds of ages of depth, our fore-fathers have been, in
some way, surprised, lying pell-mell in the midst of the
giant fauna of a vanished creation. Broea was one of the
valiant pioneers who penetrated the foremost into the sub-
terranean world of humanity, and wl»o understood best how
to thnnv light on such history as is left of it.''

His work is continued by those who were his disciples
and colleagues. Gavarret is the director of the School of
Anthropology, Matthias Duval is director of the Laboratory,
and Dr. Paul Topinard is the General Secretary of the So-
ciety and director of the Revue d'anthropologie.

The museum, now the Musee Broca, continues to increase
its treasures; a recent number of the Review states that
there are more than seven thousand specimens in craniology
alone.

Broca left an enormous quantity of notes and drawings;
also, two (piarto volumes which contain the measurements
of crania made by him during twenty years. These are
divided into sixty -four series of different races, and record
more than 185,000 measurements.

Madame Broca, liis widow, has devoted a sum of momy
to found a '' Broca prize" — Ic prix Broca. The subject of
competition is " human and comparative anatomy in relation
to anthropology." Writers of all nations may compete but
their papers must be written in French. The prize is 1,500
francs, and it is to be bestowed every two years.

There is not much more that needs to be said of Broca
and his work. If Europe be now garrisoned with societies
of anthropology composed of earnest workers, loyally co-
operating witii the votaries of othe'r sciences, and daily
adding to the vast mass of facts and observations wiiiih
have been accumulated concerning man, it is indisputable
that it is to I>roca we are indebted for their existence. Of
his remarkable litne.«;s for the task which it fell to liim to
undertake, there can be no d<)ul)t. but it was one predom-
inating quality of his moral nature which gave him Ids

140 SATUllDAY LECTURES.

great influence over other men, and which has made his
work so authoritative and enduring, and that was his un-
swerving love of truth. In science, he was always the
judge — never the advocate. Pure and lofty-minded, he
stood aloof from intrigues, and honors came to him unsought.
The laureate's words may well be said of liiiii, —

" Who never sold the truth to serve the liour. "

In conclusion, allow me to remind you that there is what
may be termed a moral side of the science whose history
we have been considering. To sj^end our hours in the
stud}'' of man — to reflect upon his marvelous metamorphosis
from the grimy savage of the cave to the gentleman of to-
daj'' — to ponder upon his curious devices, his laws, his
marriage-customs, his battles, his religions, is to All our
minds with a belief in a common brotherhood more con-
vincingly than peace societies or missionaries can teach,
and to lead us to repeat with Terence : — " I am a man —
therefore all human things concern me."

*^* I desire to acknowledge my obligation to Prof. Pozzi's article in the
Revue d'anthropologie for much of the details of the founding of the Institute.

PA I I. r.itocA. 141

]SrOTES.

(a) La Soci^t^ ethnologique (le Paris. (1839.)

Ptihlications : — Mimoires cle la Soci^ti ethnologiciue. 2 vols., 8vo.
Paris, 1841-5.

Pulliliii de la Society ethnolojjiqiie cle Paris. Vol. I, 8vo. Paris, 1847.

(6^ The American Ellinologit-al Society. (1842.)

Publications : — Transaction^ of the .-Vnicrican Iithnoloj.jical Society. Vols.
I, 2, 8vo. N. York, 1S45; '^48.

Bulletin of the American Ethnological Society. 8vo. N. York, i860.

A/so : The Gospels, written in the Xej;ro jjatois of English, with Arabic
characters, by a Mandingo slave in Georj^ia. \V. B. Hodgson. 8vo., 1857,
pp. 16.

Report on the Iluacals or ancient graveyards of Chiri(iui. By J. K. Mer-
ritt. 8vo.. i860, pp. 14.

(c) The Ethnological Society of Loudon. (1844.)

Publications : — Journal of the Ethnological Society, 4 vols., 1848-56.
Transactions, etc., 7 vols., 1859-69. Journal, (new series,) 2 vols.. 1869-71.
13 vols., 8vo., London, 1848-71.

(d) La Societc (rantliropologie de Paris. (1859.)

Publications : — I'.ulletins de la Societe d'anthropologie de Paris. lat
series, vols. 1-6. 1860-5; 2d series, vols. 1-12. 1866-77; 3d series, vols.
1-5. 1878-82. 8vo., Paris. Current.

Memoires de la Society d'anthropologie de Paris, ist series, vols. 1-3,
1860-72; 2d series, vols. 1-2, 1875-82. 8vo., Paris.

(e) Versianunhiiig der Anthropologen in Gottingeu in 1861.

(/) The Anthropological Society of London. (^186o. »

Publications : — The Anthropological Review and Journal of the Anthro-
pological Society of London. 8 vols.. 1863-1870. Journal of Anthropol-
ogy. I vol., 1S70-I. 8vo.. London.

ijg) The Aiithrop(il<>;,M<'al Iiisiitiitf of Great Uiitaiii and lrelan<l.
(1871..
Publications : —Joumz\ of the .\nthropological Institute, etc. 1871-82.
,8vo., London. Current.

(A I Sociedad de antropoltigia <!(' Madrid. ' 1M>').

(i) Iniper. Ob:?lie?tvo ljid)iteli je-stestwosnanya, antropologii i etno-
grafii. Moscow. l.'^nn. .

142 SATURDAY LECTURES.

{k) Berliner Gesellschaft I'iir Anthropologie, Ethuologie uud Urge-
schichte. (1868.)
Publications : — Zeitschrift fiir Ethnologic. Organ der Berliner Gesell-
schaft, etc. Berlin, 8vo., vols. 1-14,1869-1882. Current.

(I) Authropologische Gesellschaft in Wien. (1870.)

Publications : — Mittheilungen der anthropologischen Gesellschaft in Wien.
Wien, 8vo., vols. 1-12,1871-82. Current.

(m) Societa italiana di antropologia e di etnologia. (1871.)

Publications : — Archivio per I'antropologia e la etnologia. Organo della
Societa italiana, etc. Firenze, 8vo., vols. 1-9, 1871-79.

Oi) The Anthropological Institute of New York. (1871.)

Publicatio7is : — The Journal of the Anthropological Institute of New
York. 1 87 1-2, 8vo., New York, Vol. I, No. i.

(0) Komisya autropologii Akademii Umiejetnosci w Krakowie.

(1877.)

Ptiblications : — Zbi6r wiadmosci do antropologii Krajowej wydawany
Staranien komisyi antropologicznej Akademii Umiejetnosci w Krakowie.
Vols.' 1-4, 8vo., Krakow, 1 877-80. Current.

(p) The Anthropological Society of Washington, D. C. (1879.)

Publications : — Abstract of Transactions of the Anthropological Society of
Washington, D. C, for the ist year, ending Jan. 20, 1880, and for the 2d
year, ending Jan. 18, iSSi. 8vo. Washington, D. C, 1881.

{q) Deutsche Gesellschaft fiir Anthropologic, Ethnologic und Urge-
schichte. (1870.)
Publications : — Correspondenzblatt der deutschen Gesellschaft, etc. Braun-
schweig, 4to, Vols. 1-12, 1871-82. Appears (with separate pagination) in
the : Archiv. fiir Anthropologic ; Zeitschrift fiir Naturgeschichte und Urge-
schichtc des Menschen. Braunschweig, 4to., Vols. 1-14. 1866-82.

*^* This society meets annually in some German city. The first meeting
took place in Berlin in 1870.

(r) Congres international d'anthropologie et d'archeologie prehis-
torique. (1865.)

Congres l. Ncufchatel, 1866. Compte rendu 8vo. Paris, 1866.

2. Paris, 1867. CogLpte rendu. 8vo. Paris, 1868.

3. Norwich, 1868. Compte rendu. 8vo. London, 1869.

4. Copenhagen, 1869. Compte rendu. 8vo. Copenhagen, 1870.

5. Bologna, 1871. Compte rendu. Svo. Bologna, 1873.

6. Bruxelles, 1872. Compte rendu. 8vo. Bruxelles, 1873.

7. Stockholm, 1874. Compte rendu. Svo. Chalons, 1875.

8. Buda Pesth, 1876.

9. Lisbon, 1880.

DE1-P-S1'.\ I-XI'I.OKATION

Lecture delivered in the United States Nationcl Muscnni, April 22, iSS^. !>>'
I'rof. Wm. H. Dali..

Ladies and Gkntlemkn:

The siibjoi't of tliis Icetuic may be defined as covering the
investigation of all that relates to the ocean and its inhabi-
. tants, considered as a wliole, with the exception of those
features which are due to the influence of external causes,
such as the tides, and those which are exhibited solely in
shallow water, and therefore are in one sense characteristic
rather of the coasts themselves than of the sea.

The field naturally divides itself into two areas of re-
search, the ]>hysical and the biological. The physical fea-
tures inelude the temperature of the sea-water in different
geographical regions and at different depths ; the compoHition
of the water and investigations into the relative amounts of
mineral .salts, organic impurities, air, or other gases contained
in it, and upon which its weight or density depends; the
motions of the water contained in the bed of the ocean,
whieh, apart from the tides, dei)cnd largely on its variations
in temi)crature and density, and which, when tolerably con-
stant and sufficiently well marked to attract the attention of
navigators, are commonly known as ocean currents; and,
lastly, of the deptJi of the sea or the topogra])hy and physi-
cal features of the bed in which it is contained.

The biological features include the capture and classilica-
tion of the animals living in the sea, especially on its bottom,
and the circumstances attending their existence there, both
as regards their food and manner of living, and the results,
if any, produced by the presence of their r.'inniiK .ifttr
death. •

It is evident that the field is too large to be treated in
detail within the limits of a single lecture, and therefore I
shall conline myself to a general <lescription of the means
used in exploring the bed of the ocean, of the conclusions
whicli ai)j>ear to be warranted by the discoveries so far

«43

144 SATURDAY LECTURES.

iiiade, and a l)rief review of the history of such explorations
and the part taken in them by our own country.

The determination of the depth of the sea, at least to a
certain distance from the surface, is a necessary preliminary
to navigation, and hence has grown with commerce from
the time when the primitive savage tirst launched his rude
canoe in the Nile delta until the project of an Atlantic
cable rendered it necessary to plumb the depths of ocean.
The use of a weighted line for this purpose probably long
antedates the historic period. The ordinary mariner's lead-
line is familiar to nearly everybody, and consists simply of
an elongated piece of lead with a slight indentation in its
bottom, and a hole in its smaller end by which is attached
a stout cord, large enough not to cut the hands when being
hauled in, marked at regular intervals with tufts of red,
white, and blue flannel, or small leather tags, to indi-
cate the length of line run out. In the cavity in the bot-
tom of the lead is usually placed a little tallow or hard
soap, Avhicli will bring up a few particles serving to indicate
the kind of mud, sand, or gravel, of which the bottom is
composed. In ordinary depths the line runs out rapidly
until the bottom is reached, and the thump of the lead on
hard sand is distinguishable in still water at a depth of
nearly a quarter of a mile.

But in greater depths and in waters, or from a vessel, more
or less in motion, the accurac}^ of the soundings possible by
the common method becomes rapidly less, and at depths of
1,000 fathoms (about a mile) the determination becomes
quite untrustworthy.

This was not at first realized by investigators, and more
or less confidence was placed in depths, such as those re-
ported by Walsh, Denham, and Parker, who ran out from
six to ten miles of line, in the Atlantic without recognizing
that the bottom had been reached, in regions where we now
know the depth does not vary much from two miles. The
mystery and uncertainty which thus became associated with
the conception of the depths of ocean had, as will be shown
hereafter, an important effect in retarding attempts at ex-'
ploration of the deep sea.

i>i;i:r-si;.\ i:.\i'i,(ti;A i ion. 115

Sciciitilk- navigators, ill an early |»cri()il. hruan to att(iii|it
ini|ti(>vrincnts in sounding apparatus lor i^ivat dcittlis. In
this Held tho offic-ers of our own navv havi* stood easily lirsl,
not only in order of [)riority of invention, but also in the
porfcM'tion of the results attained up t(» the present time.

An early inii>roveinent was the substitution, in i)laee of
the ordinary U-ad-iine, of a very line lini' and a very heavy
weifj^ht. whieli ran out ra|)idl\', and wa< not intendei] to be
rei'overed, l»ut was eut at the surfaee. The chan;j;e in the
rate of runniuii- out of the line indieatcs when bottom is
reaehcd. I have thus sounded in depths of over a mile
witjj satisfaetory results. But the nature, as well as the dis-
tanee, of the bottom, is an important feature in such investi-
gations, and .sounding instruments, which would {)ick up a
good-sized sample of tlie bottom at the depth of a mile or
more, and bring it safely to the surface, were tlie next in
order of invention. Sir John Ross, as early as 1818, in-
vented a " elamm " something like an old fashioned i)air of
.sugar tongs, which should be closed by a falling weight on
striking the bottom. The same idea, in different forms, has
since been tried l)y several inventors, but it has never
proved satisfactory in the long run. A piece of gravel or
shell gets between the edges of the tongs, hold them apart,
and the contents are washed out while hauling in. Sir
.lohn Ross, however, succeeded in several cases in briuEfins:
up several i)Ounds of the bottom, once with some animals
contained in it, from depths of over five hundred and pos-
sibly one thousand fathoms. Modifications of this princi-
ple are found in the .so-called '" Bulldog " and " Fitzgerald "
.M)unding instruments, both of which have been well .spoken
of for their performances on certain occasions, but which
have not ijorne the test of greater use.

The first important advance in this direction was made
by Midshipman .lolni M. Brooke, U.S. N., in 1854. It should
be stated that in addition to the difficulty of getting the
weight and line perpendieularly to the bottom, and know-
ing when the bottom has l)een reached, another important
featiu-e in .sounding work is the recovery of the line and

in

14(3 SATURDAY LECTURES.

lead. When sounding is done with hempen-line, and a
sounding Aveight of fift}^ or one hundred pounds, it will be
apparent that the friction of two or three miles of line, with
its tags and instruments attached, inust be enormous, even
if it could be hauled up perpendicularly in still water. But
when the vessel, as she alwa^'s must, drifts a little, and the
line comes up in a diagonal direction, the friction, added to
the weight, renders the safe recovery of the line, sounding-
cup, and thermometers or w^ater bottles attached to it — a
matter of great difficulty, some uncertainty, and several
hours of time. In anything but the best of weather such
work becomes almost impracticable.

Mr. Brooke's invention included an ingenious and simple
apparatus for detaching the weigjit at the bottom of the sea,
and leaving it there. Having thus to haul up only the line
and the light tube containing the sample of the bottom,
the labor was greatly diminished, and the time of hauling
in much shortened. Brooke's apparatus has formed the
basis of the only really successful sounding-cups which are
now in use either by our own or foreign navigators. Im-
provements on the original form were successively made by
Capt. Shortlancl, of the British navy, Capt. Belknap, of
our own nav}^, and lastly by Lieut. Com. Sigsbee, U. S. N.,
while engaged in the service of the Coast Survey. The in-
strument, as perfected by Belknap and Sigsbee, does not
seem capable of much further improvement, and works to a
charm. The accessory machinery for use in deep-sea sound-
ings, such as small engines, reels for the line, blocks, and
elastic arrangements of rubber or steel springs to guard
against the effect of sudden jerks upon the line, have been
improved from time to time, and are fully described in pub-
lications on the subject by Sir Wyville Thomson and Lieut.
Com. Sigsbee. The most important improvement of recent
date is due to the distinguished Professor Sir William Thom-
son, of Glasgow, in 1872. This consists partly in the em-
plo^anent of fine steel piano-wire for the line inst,ead of rope,
and partly in the method of its use. Instead of the tags on
the line to determine the length run out, the latter is known

DKKP-SI^V 1:\1'I.oi;atI()N. 1 17

])y the number ol" rrvoliitioii-^ iiindi' I»y (lu- reel iVoiii wliidi
it uncoils, thus savint,^ ji vast amount ol" IVietion between
the water and tlie wire-Hne. The moment of touehin<f bot-
tom is also nuu'h more clearly indicated by the light reel
employeil, which, assisted by the absence of friction on the
wire, ceases to turn almost as soon as the weiji^ht touches
bottom. It is im|)ossibl(', in the brief account I can give
you, to go into the minuter details wliich iiia\' be found in
the publications })reviously mentioned.

This invention has i)roved to be of the greatest import-
ance, and, singularly enough, though invented before the
celebrated voyage of the Challenger, sent out by the British
government, and immediately taken up by Belknap in our
own sounding expeditions in the North Pacific, where its
value was thoroughly demonstrated, the countrymen of
the inventor continued throughout their three years' cruise
to use the cumbersome hemp rope in all their sounding and
• Iredging work, thereby diminishing the efFectiveness of
their operations by at least sixty per cent.

Partly from the tact that the expense of deep-sea sound-
ing expeditions is so great as to place them beyond the
means of private individuals or scientific .societies, and
partly from the unsatisfactory results and enormous depths
reported by naval officers of several countries, governments
and scientific bodies remained, until recent years, indifferent
or sceptical as to the })racticability of making re.searches in
the deep-sea which should produce results at all adequate to
the expense involved.

It was only when the subject of telegraphic communication
by cable under the sea assumed a commercial importance
which could no longer be ignored, tliat a knowledge of the
conditions of the sea bottom, especially in the North At-
lantic, became a necessity. Deep-sea exploration may
therefore be said to have commenced systematically only
about 1850. The survey of the " telegra]>hic plateau" began
about this time by the aid of the British and American
navy, and even with the comparatively imperfect means
then available, a very large amount of information was
gathered in the course of the succee<ling four or tive vears.

148 SATURDAY LECTURES.

I have alread}' spoken of the attempts at securing speci-
mens of the bottom which accompanied sounding by vari-
ous methods. It is evident that the amount of material
which can be obtained by even the best modern sounding
apparatus is too small to give any adequate idea of plants
or animals which might exist on the sea bottom. This fol-
lows both because only the smallest animals could find en-
trance into the tubes intended to bring up .specimens of
bottom, and also because the apparatus is not fitted nor in-
tended for the purpose of capturing living animals, and if
any existed on the spot struck by the lead the blow would
probabl}^ reduce them to fragments.

Other means are then necessary for this purpose, and
since deep-.sea explorations have lately included both dredg-
ing and sounding as well as temperature observations and
collection of water-samples, I shall proceed to describe the
various instruments used for these purposes before consider-
ing the work accomplished by them.

The dredge and trawl are instruments which have been
used from time immemorial by fishermen, and which, in a
modified form, are employed in the deep sea for the capture
of its inhabitants. The naturalist's dredge was designed in
nearly its present form by O. F. Mliller, of Denmark, a very
distinguished early naturalist, more than a century ago.
It has been made more convenient and effective, but the
modifications are very slight. The best form seems to be
that adopted thirty years ago by Dr. Stimpson, and used by
American naturalists ever since. It comprises a frame of
heavy iron forming a parallelogram, the two long sides bev-
eled outward to act as scrapers ; it is perforated along the
hinder edge with a row of small holes, into which a net
and two flaps of canvas are laced with copper Avire. The
canvas is outside of the net and longer than the latter, and
protects it from being cut by sharp stones on the bottom as
it drags half full of mud behind the frame. Two movable
arms project forward from holes in the short sides of the
iron frame, coming together about two feet in front of it, to
one of which the dredge-rope is attached ; but the other is

DEEP-SKA KXI'I i)|;.\ I loN. 11'. •

umIv laslu'.l tt» liu' lii-l witii |>;i( k llirca<l. Tims, in «lra^-
<iin«'- oviT tlu' liottoni, if tlu' ilr('»ljj;c latthcs on an inmiov-
ablo rock, tlio strain breaks the pack thread, the two arms
straij^'hten out. ami tiie (lredt;;e can usually be pulled away
<rom the rock without loss of frame or rope.

The trawl, as used by the En<2;lish exi>editions, is almost
precisely the same as the ordinary tisherman's beam-trawl,
in whii h the material is collected tVom the bottom by the
wei.iihted edge of a net which draus behind an iron bar or
beam which goes upon two runners of Hat iron. For deei>-
sea work, however, American investigators, especially Sigs-
bee. Prof. Alexander Agassi/., and Prof. Verrill, have intro-
duced important modifications, not only of the trawl, but ot
the dredge, rakes, and scrapers for the bottom, and various
seives and otiier apparatus for cleansing and assorting the
material collected.

A very important addition to the means of collecting in
deep water was invented by Captain Calver, R. N., during
the voyage of the Porcupine. This consisted in employing
•• swabs " or " tangles," large mops of shredded rope-yarns,
to sweep the bottom with, attached to the dredge to an iron
bar or to a weight, ^^any of the deep-sea animals^ such as
cru<tacca, sponges, starfish, and sea urchins, are rough or
prickly, and the long mops of wet threads entangled them
by hundreds, and came up covered with organisms when
the dredge had nothing but mud and a few small creatures
in it. A very large proportion of the animals collected
from the sea bottom has been obtained by the use of these
tangles or swabs, though many of the animals come up in
a masiied or broken state.

To obtain samples of water from any dc[»th, without ad-
mixture of other water, brass cylinders with poppet valves
at top and bottom have been used. These are very heavy,
and, as they descend, the pressure of the water raises the
valves an<l the water passes steadily through until the re-
• piircil depth is reached. Then the line is haule<l in, re-
lieving the upward pie.ssure on the valves, which fall ami
the enclosed water is thus kept intact for analysis.

150 SATURDAY LECTURES.

Several devices more complicated than the ordinary
" water bottle " have been employed for the same purpose
with success, especially one invented by Captain Wille, of
the Norwegian navy, and the Sigsbee water-cup, but all em-
body essentially' the same principle.

Most of you have seen thermometers which register the
greatest rise or fall of the fluid in their tubes by means of a
little enclosed index like a double-headed pin, and which
are known as self-registering. Such an apparatus is evi-
dently necessary to obtain a knowledge of the temperatures
of the deep sea, since no one can read the thermometers
when submerged, and the height of the column when hauled
in will necessaril}' represent only the latest temperature
near the surface.

All attempts to use ordinary self-registering thermometers
in deep-sea work failed as soon as tried ; not only because
the immense pressure of the sea water at great depths com-
pressed the bulb of the thermometer, thus forcing the fluid
in the tube to a point far above that which would register
the actual temperature, but because the pressure was usually
sufficient to crush the bulb and tube into fragments at a
comparatively moderate depth. At 2,500 fathoms, which is
the average depth of the ocean, the pressure is over three
tons to the square inch, which is far beyond the endurance
of any ordinar}^ thermometer bulb. To overcome this
difficulty, sometimes the entire thermometer and sometimes
the bulb of the thermometer has been surrounded by a sec-
ond bulb nearly filled with alcohol, so that the outer bulb
was supported by the fluid and the air bubble by yielding
to compression would relieve the interior bulb from its evil
effects. This method has proved completely successful and
the thermometers now in use for deep-sea work arc entirely
of this description. Those with an exposed stem and double
bulb are preferred as responding more readily to the tem-
perature, though subject to a slight correction for pressure
from which the totally enclosed instrument is free.

Sir John Ross, on his remarkable voyage in 1818, was
supplied with thermometers of this sort, and took the first

i»i:i:i'-sKA Kxn.oitATiox. ].")!

dccp-sea tenipcratuivs. But tla- instrument .sufni.s to have
been forgotten even in England, lor, in tlie subsequent
voyages of Beeehcy (1825) and LUtke, (182(;) only common
thermometers were supplied, and the device seems to have
been inde|)endently re-invented by Glaishcr, Xegretti, and
Miller, within the last twenty years. As the thermometei-s
most commonly used for this purpose are made by the firm
of Casella, in London, they are usually called Casella ther-
mometers; Xegretti and Zambra, of London, have invented
another form of thermometer less convenient in size and
shape than the Casella. but which offers a meritorious ad-
vance in some other directions.

Metallic thermometers, registering temperatures by the
unequal contraction and ex[)ansion of different metals com-
bined in one instrument, have been invented, and, while
perfect in theory, have not been found satisfactory, except
in moderate dej,)ths, when put to actual test.

Having described the various instruments employed, it
remains to indicate briefly the manner in which they are
used, premising that, for the minute det-ails of operations of
some complexity, it will be necessary for those interested to
refer to special treatises on the subject.

For good work in great depths of water a steam vessel is
ab.^olutely necessary. It is important that the lead line,
whether of rope or not, should descend pcrpcntlicularly, as
otherwise the length of line run out does not indicate the
true depth of the water, and greater strain on the line is in-
volved in hauling in. Now at sea there is always some
wave motion or swell, even in the calmest weather, and un-
less the ves.sel can be kept in her original position by a
gentle use of the propelling machinery she will certainly
drift away from the spot at which the lead was dropped into
the water. In running lines of .soundings the u.se of .^^tc^rn
is also necessary to continue on the desired course irrei^pect-
ive of the winds. The distance between any two staitons,
not tixed by astronomical observation or bearings on land,
can also be determined more accurately in the case of a ves-
sel under steam. A steam-engine is also re(piired to haul

152 SATURDAY LECTURES.

in the line, which in dredging would otherwise require the
labor of many seamen.

The operation of sounding is sufficiently simple, and re-
quires no explanation. A thermometer is usually attached
to the line at a short distance above the lead or sounding
cup. If serial temperatures are desired several thermome-
ters may be attached to different parts of tlie line, or several
water bottles if water samples are required.

In dredging or trawling the dredge or trawl is lowered to
the bottom by a line of sufficient strength. This, in the
work of the Coast Survey, is of wire rope, as suggested by
Prof. Alex. Agassiz, which, as compared with the rope used
on the Challenger expedition, saves much friction, much
room in stowing on the vessel, and easier handling, with no
loss of strength, and a great gain in the time occupied in
reaching the bottom and hauling in. In order that the
motion of the vessel in drawing the dredge over the bottom
may not tend to raise its mouth off the bottom, a weight is
usually attached to the line at some distance in advance of
the dredge and some slack line is run out, the resulting po-
sition of the ship, weight, and dredge being shown on the
diagram exhibited.

On the 1st of September, 1818, Sir John Ross, R. N., ran
out 1,000 fathoms of line, and in the mud, brought up by
the sounding-cup, were tubicolous worms, while at 800
fathoms was entangled a fine brittle star-fish, sometimes
known as a " Medusa's Head " on account of its many arms.
This shoAvs that the actual depth could not have exceeded
800 fathoms (since star-fish do not swim,) and was probably
less, but it is the first recorded instance of the capture of
animals from any such depth.

In 1817, Sir James Clarke Ross, R. N., published an ac-
count of his antarctic voyage, in Avhich he states that seve-
ral shell-fish Avere brought up from 1,000 fathoms on that
expedition, and that he believes the bed of the ocean to
be teeming Avith animal life.

■ In spite of such testimony the existence of life on the sea
bottom, at a depth beyond tAvo or three hundred fathoms^

DEEP-SEA j:\I'I.<)i;ation. 1')3

was generally doubted or denied u\> to a comparatively re-
cent time.

Between 1840 and l.S.")(), I'n.f. ]:d\vard I\)rbes, of Britain,
prosecuted extensive researches into the fauna of the ocran
around Great Britain. and also in the .Egean sea durin^^ the
Mediterranean survey. Assisted by Jetlreys, MacAndivw,
Ball, and otlurs, dredging in moderate depths was energeti-
cally pro.secuted and facts gathered together. Forbes was
the first to philosophically treat these question.s, and was a
true pioneer in this work. But some peculiarities of the
particular part of the Mediterranean, in which his researches
were conducted, led him to the belief, true only for that
locality, that animal life dies out in the region between two
hundred and three hundred fathoms in depth, and that a
zero of life is reached about the latter point.

The j)remature death of Forbes l)rought to an untimely
end those studies which would have doubtless modified his
views, while the weight of his oiiinion, and the i)eculiar
charm of his personality fingered after him with such eflect
as to render naturalists, in general, incredulous or indifferent
to evidence which gradually accumulated to show that he
was in error.

In LS4G, Admiral 8pratt, K. X., dredged in olO fathoms
several shell-fish, in the vicinity of Malta.

In 1850, the veteran professor Michael Sars enumerated
nineteen kinds of animals, obtained by him otl" the coast of
Norway, in more than 300 fathoms.

In 1800, Dr. G. G. Wallich, naturalist to a Briti.sh sound-
ing exi»edition in the North Atlantic, in H. M. S. Bulldog,
commanded by Gai>tain Sir Leojiold McClintock, obtained a
mnnber of star-li<hes whirh had attached themselves to a
sounding-line which ha<l re-^ted on the bottom at a tlepth of
1,2<)0 fathoms. On his return hi. Wallich i»ui)lished the
tirst part of a work on " The Atlantic Sea-bed,' in which he
warmly advocated the view of the existence of life at great
depths. About the same time a broken cable was taken up
from a depth of 1.200 fathoms, in the Mediterranean, u[M)n
which a small true coral had ;:rown ~^i>"" tlir cal)le was laid.

154 SATURDAY LECTURES.

This was discussed by Milne-Edwards, the distinguished
French naturalist. Meanwhile the energetic Scandinavian
naturalists were pushing their researches into the deeper
water along the Norwegian coast.

Still these facts failed to secure that general consideration
which was necessary, in order that they should have their
appropriate effect on scientific opinion. Individual natu-
ralists, it is true, were more or less impressed; the views of
Forbes were occasionally called in question, but it was re-
served for American naturalists and hydrographers to initi-
ate that series of researches which has revolutionized scien-
tific opinion, remodelled our views of the physical conditions
of the deep sea, and culminated in the most remarkable and
fruitful scientific expeditions of any age.

In May, 1867, under instructions from the Superintendent
of the Coast Survey, Assistants Henry Mitchell and L. F.
de Pourtales explored the narrow part of the Gulf stream
between the northwest end of Cuba and the American coast.
Dredgings were undertaken in depths extending nearly to
five hundred fathoms, and representatives of all branches
of the animal kingdom below the fishes were brought up.
The work was interrupted by an outbreak of yellow-fever
on board, but the main facts were sufficiently verified, and
their important bearings fully set forth in the report of
Pourtales. The depths from which these animals were ob-
tained were not greater than those from which Sars had
obtained living organisms on the Norwegian coast, but those
collected by Sars were mostly animals common to the adja-
cent shore, or which might be expected to be found in shal-
low water by fuller search. But the Gulf-stream dredgings
revealed an entirely new and beautiful series of forms, many
of them like nothing which had previously been known to
naturalists — corals, sponges, crinoids, starfish, echini, shells,
worms, crustaceans — all offered new and elegant representa-
tives which attracted the attention of specialists in every
branch of marine zoology. In the following year six lines
of dredgings were run b}^ the Coast Survey observers across
the Gulf stream, from the Florida reefs to the deep sea be-

DKEP-.Si:.\ I.Xri.nKATION. 155

voiul tlio sLrcani. Nciirly one lniiuln'<l hauls of tin- dredge
wc'iv made in all, aud (iruanL^ins were l)n)ii<,dit up 1)V the
bushel, espeeially iVoui a region averaging somewhat less
than three liundred fathoms, but also to some extent from
the <lecper waters.

The work of 18(i7, however unimi^orlanl in the actual
bulk of the eolleetions made and the depth reached, when
eom|)ared with more recent investigations of the same kind,
was really the initiation of a new era in research. When
we look back at. the history of deep-sea exi)loration we see
that this need not have been so, perhaps we may say ought
not to have been so, but as a i)lain matter of fact it was so,
in spite of tlie absence of any emphasis upon it in foreign
accounts of the progress of such investigations.

In 1808, fresh publications were made by 8ars, father and
son, whose researches on the Norwegian coasts have l)een
alluded to. On the coast of Portugal, Bocage and Perceval
AVright dredged in nearly live hundred fathoms from an
open boat, obtaining the remarkable "glass sponge," ILj-
alonema. Wyville Thomson and Carpenter in the Lightning
explored the sea-bed south of the Faroe Isles, and reached
a deptli of 550 fathoms. In 1800, the intense interest ex-
cited l)y these discoveries led to the voyages of the British
naval vessel Porcupine, with Dr. J. Gwyn Jcflreys, Professor
Wyville Thomson, and Dr. W. B. Carpenter, in charge of
the scientilic operations, and dredgings were made in 2,435
fathoms, or nearly three miles, reaching nearly the deepest
{)art of the North Atlantic. Smitt and Ljungmans, in the
Swedish frigate Josephiiie. dredged from the coast of Por-
tugal to the Azores, and then across the Atlantic to America.
The third cruise of the T. S. Coast Survey steamer Bibb.
1 Robert Piatt, U. S. N. commanding, was made, with Pour-
tales in charge of the dredging operations, lie was later
in the season joined by Prof. Louis Agassi/, whose report on
the work to the Superintendent of the Survey states that
• we owe to the Coast Survey the first broad and compre-
hensive basis for an exi)loration of tiie sea bottom on a
lart^e scale, opening a new era in /oological and geological

15G SATURDAY LECTURES.

research." In 1870, the Porcupine was again sent out by
the British Government, and, under the supervision of
Jeffreys and Carpenter, work was done between Britain and
Gibraltar, and thence into the Mediterranean.

In 1871 the Coast fSurvey hiunched a new steamer, the
Blake, especially adapted for hydrographic work in the
deep sea, which, under the command of Lieut. Commander
Howell, at once began work in the Gulf of Mexico. Another
steamer, the Hassler, for work on the Pacific coast, was pre-
pared, and sailed for California via Cape Horn with Prof.
Agassiz, Pourtales, Dr. Thos. Hill, Dr. Franz Steindachner
and others, as a scientific corps. Much natural history
work was done, but deep-sea ^vork was rendered impracti-
cable by unforeseen circumstances after the voyage began.
In 1872 the voyage of the Challenger, now of world-wide
celebrity, was begun under the scientific supervision of Sir
Wyville Thomson and the naval superintendence of Capt.
Sir G. Nares, R. X. This voyage extended to both oceans;
soundings were made to 4,475 fathoms, dredgings to 3,875
fathoms, and the trawl was used in over 3,000 fathoms.
This expedition occupied three years and five months, and
the scientific results are being published by the British
Government in a magnificent series of quarto volumes.
During the year 1872 the Coast Survey continued its syste-
matic development of the hydrography of the Gulf of Mex-
ico and the adjacent sea, the dredgings being taken under
the supervision of Dr. W. Stimpson. They formed the last
scientific work of that lamented iiaturalist, whose dredgings
and investigation of the marine fauna of the Eastern United
States had extended over twenty years.

The deep water work of the United States Fish Commis-
sion, organized during the preceding year, began this season,
and has steadily grown in importance and extent from year
to year, under the direction of Prof S. F. Baird and the im-
mediate supervision of Prof A. E. Verrill.

In 1873 Capt. Geo. E. Belknap, U. S. N., undertook his
now celebrated sounding cruise across the North Pacific, in
the U. S. S. Tuscarora. No dredging was done, though sev-

DEEP-SKA i:Xl'I.ni;ATI()N. IGT

I'lal animal- \vri(« l.roiiulit up l»y llu- sounding-ciiji, l)ut tlic
expedition is nieniorahle as liavini; been the oceasion (tillic
lirst i)raelieal use of wire in sounding, for the important
improvements introduced hv the eommander into sounding
instruments and methods, and for tlie great depths obtained
in the norljjwestern j/art of the Paeilie. being 4,0")') fathoms,
the greatest depth ever measured by reliable means, and one
\\liieh is jirobably itttle, if at all, exeeedcd in any part of
tlu' oeean. This eruise terminated in August, 1X74. Since
then expeditions have multiplied, and to enumerate them
with the >\KUv at my eonniiand would be h.irdly more in-
teresting than the ineorporation of a statistical table into
this already, (in spite of its titli',) I fear, rather dry di.s-
conrsc. 1 cannot avoid, however, a reference to the hydro-
gra})hic work of the Baehe under Sigsbee and J5artlett, in
the GwU and ("aribl)ean sea, in i.S74-l879. Not only was
a greater area of deej) water more thoroughly worked out
l>y these otfici-is than has yet been equally explored in any
other ]»art of the globe, but the improvements in sounding
and <lredging apparatus made during the progress of the
work have almost revolutionized such investigations. These
have been in part alluded to already. During parts of 1877,
1878, and 187'.>, Professor Alex. Agassiz made one of the
j)arty, witli su})ervision over the dredging work. To him is
due, among many other details, the substitution of wire-
cable for hemi»-line in drc^'dging, which bore especially im-
})ortant fruit; and by him the most important scientific
results of these cruises were aiuiounced to naturalists.

The historic i)art of this lecture nuist close with a mere
reference to the valuable work of the Norwegians, Sars,
Friele, Daniels.sen,etc., in the North Atlantic, on the steamer
X'iuingcn, (1870-8;) of Jeffreys, in II. M.S. \'alorous, (1875;)
Murray, in H. M. S. Knight Errant, (1880;) and the French
ex])edition of 1881, on the Travailleur.

This model of the (hdf of Mexico, from the work of tlie
Coast-Survey hydrograi)liers, illustrates the topograpiiy of
that part of the sea bottom. You will observe the singular
plateau which extend- about the peninsula of Yucatan and

158 SATURDAY LECTURES.

west from Florida. Formerly it was sif^posecl that the
peninsula of Florida was due to alluvium from the rivers
of the Mississippi valley and other sources settling against
a barrier of coral reefs which grew toward the south and
west, as their northern portions were smothered by sediment.
This shows, however, that the coral reefs have simply availed
themselves of the advantages presented by the steep edge of
the above-mentioned plateau so abundantly supplied with
iood for them by ocean currents; and that, in its main
features, Florida was outlined hj different and far older
agencies than the now existing coral reefs. The same is
evidently true of Yucatan.

•To another point I would call your attention as of econ-
omic interest. We know that by most engineers it is be-
lieved that experience has proved that channel-making by
the jetty process is a mere temporary alleviation of bars and
other obstructions to commerce. The j)ermanent success of
the Eads' jetties is even now a matter of doubt, and there is
no doubt that in time extensions will be called for. But it
w411 be observed that at no other point on the Gulf coast of
the United States is the 100 fathom line so near the actual
coast as here, and the inference is, perhaps, not too far
fetched that, therefore, not only is it probable that with
certain extensions of the jetties (other circumstances per-
mitting) a point will eventually be reached where the slope
seaward is so steep that a bar can hardly form or be main-
tained, but also that at no other point on the whole Gulf
coast could the jetty system have been applied to the im-
provement of a river mouth with any reasonable prospect
of maintaining a permanent channel.

It may also be observed, from an examination of this
model, what we should find confirmed by an equally thorough
survey of the ocean at large, (as Ave know from recent exam-
inations of the Atlantic sea-bed,) namely, that while the
sea-bed, like the dry land, has its irregularities, the}' differ
in character from the irregularities of the dry land. It is
true that sharp peaks and elevated rocky areas have been
discovered in both the Atlantic and Pacific, though none

DKKT-sKA i:xri.<>i;.M I<>.\. 159

appear in tin- (JfillOt" Mcxii". lUit, exclusive of these,
wliicli probably jtiojcct Irom a (.oinparativoly oven slope,
tiio topo«?rai)hy of the sea-bed in deep water is carved in
broad and easy curves, which lind no parallel on land.
This results from the absence of denudation in the sea. On
the land, torrents, storms, rivers, winds, all modify the sur-
face, which must have originally been much like that of
the sea-beil. (Jullies.f avines, terraces, sharit-weathered rock
face.s, peaks, and jiinnacles, are formed in air by the denud-
ing agencies. In the dee]) sea there can be no sharply limited
currents or denuding agencies. Such currents as may exist
will have ill-dehned margins, will move at slow rates, and
cannot be conceived of as ploughing sharp grooves or gullies
in the floor of ocean. It is probable that the very deep sea
is for the most part a region of profound quiet, where the
waters are and remain unmoved, either by the compara-
tively superficial ocean currents and tides, or the pulses of
the waves as they beat on distant shores. The great deeps
which you see represented on this model and in the chart
of the Atlantic sea-bed here exhibited are not paralleled
by anything on dry land, except the basins of the Great
Lakes. Were they above the sea they would become lakes
at once, and would gradually be filled by sediments. Their
existence here in the deep sea disposes of the hypothesis
rashly advanced by some glacialists, that great lake basins
are due only to the action of glaciers; and that without the
previous existence of land-ice there \vould be no large lakes
on the earth's surface. It would be a bold man who would
l>ropose to locate glaciers on the bottom <>f tb.. r.nlf of
^h'xico.

The circulation of the waters in the sea has been ihco-
retically accounted for by differences of density due to
evaporation and consequent over-salt ness, and to differences
of temperature between the water at the poles and at the
equator. This theoretical circulation doubtless exi.sts in a
more or less modified form, and allects the actual motion of
the waters. F>ut tlir existing oceanic circulation in its
greatest part is due directly to the influence of the trade-
winds, and is, comparativ) Iv -iMakiiii:. superficial.

160 SATURDAY LECTURES.

Wc know that the deep sea is very cold. Cold water
sinks, and a submarine polar indraught of cold water must
replace the constant streams of tropical surface water which
floW' away from the equator, in order that an equilibrium
may be maintained. The warmest water that has been
found in the deep-sea (over 100 fathoms) is at 50°. 5 F. in
2,550 fathoms ; the ordinary temperature is but little above
the freezing point. This, however, d^es not affect the life
of organisms existing there, which are all cold blooded,
many of them coming into shallow water in the Arctic
regions.

That many problems in regard to the deep-sea are still
unsolved, goes without sajang. Time does not permit me
to discuss them here. In conclusion, I will briefly sketch
the conditions of life at the bottom of the deep-sea.

In the first place, fishes and organisms of almost every
marine group lower in the scale than fishes, are to be found
in the deeps. In order that these animals may exist where
the pressure of the water may be several tons to the square
inch, it is indispensable. that their fleshy tissues shall be so
loosely constituted that the water shall be able to permeate
them thoroughly, and thus itself equalize the external
pressure. Hence, the fishes and other large animals in-
habitating the abysses are, so far as their flesh is concerned,
of an almost gelatinous consistency. While they might
probabl}^ survive a ver}'- gradual change of pressure and be
able to live in shallow water, yet when they are rapidly
brought up from the depths in a dredge, they are invariably
dead, their internal organs usually turned inside out, their
eyes starting from their heads, and their forms more or less
altered from the sudden decrease of pressure and expansion
of the tissues.

Other inhabitants of the sea-bed have rigid exoskeletons
or shells, but the soft parts are always permeable.

While most of the deep-sea animals are small, fishes,
certain spider-like Crustacea and some echinoderms attain
a considerable size.

As the depths must be almost entirely dark unless lighted

DEEP-SEA EXF1,(>1{ATI()N. KU

by j>liosj)horoscont animals, \vc ini<^ht expect to liiul those
creatures blanched or generally white. This is true of many
of them, but others of all groups, are more or less brilliantly
colored. From disuse in some forms, the eyes have become
abortive or entirely lost ; others have very large and delicate
eyes, suitable lor .seeing by a very small amount of light ;
yet still others have eyes of about the <haracter normal in
the groups to which they belong. The extreme quiet and
uniformity of the environment at the sea-bed is favoraldo
to the development of delicate markings, and details of
sculpture in the hard parts of shells, etc., and the abyssal
animals are notable for their extreme grace and beauty in
this particular, and singularly enough, also in many species
for the remarkable elegance of their pearly lustre. With
no struggle for existence, a wonderful range of variation
developes, unchecked by natural selection, and it is hard to
say in certain groups what is a species.

Sea-weeds do not grow at great depths, hence these an-
imals are all carnivorous. At first sight it would seem as if
they would destroy one anotlier, but it must be remembered
that even in the o[)en ocean there is a constant rain of an-
imal and vegetable matter slowly falling from the surface
toward the bottom. Mr. Moseley judges from experiment
that small marine animals {salpa) fall at the rate of about a
mile in two days, while the saltness of the water prevents
rapid decay. I have found grass roots, land and fresh water
shells in dredgings from 800 fathoms. It is still a matter of
some doubt whether certain little shells belonging to the
Foram in if era and found in incalculable numbers on the sea-
bed (which in many cases is made up of their remains)
actually ever live at the bottom, or wliether they, too, are
derived from tlie vicinity of the surface and sink oidy when
dead or dying.

Hut I have already trespassed too long on your good
nature, and will conclu<le this discourse by referring those
who would pursue the subject further to the authorities
previously mentioned, from wiiom I have derived much as-

11

1G2 SATURDAY LECTURES.

sistanco in the preparation of tliis lecture, and to whom the
exploration of the sea-bed is chief!}'- due.*

* Depths of the Sea: C. Wyville Thomson; New York and London, Macmil-

lan & Co., 1873.
Deep-Sea Exploration: a Lecture by J- Gwyn Jeffreys; London, 8vo., Van

Voorst, 1 88 1.
Deep-Sea Sounding and Dredging: C. D. Sigsbee, Lieut. Com. U. S. N.,

Asst. U. S Coast Survey; Washington, Gov't Printing Office, 1880.
U. S. Coast Survey Reports, 1867- 1880.
Bulletins Museum Comparative Zoology, Cambridge, Mass., Vols. I-IX, 1867-

1S82.
Reports of Jeffreys, Carpenter, Thomson and others in the Proceedings of the

Royal Society, 1868- 1880.
The Norwegian North Atlantic Expedition— Zoology, (etc.) Collett, Koren

and Danielssen, &c., Christiania, folio, 1880-81.
Thalassa, an Essay on the Depth Temperature and Currents of the Ocean, by

John James Wild; London, Marcus Ward & Co., 1877.

HOW W'V. SI'l:.

Lecture delivere.l in the United States Nationcl Muscnni, April 2<t. 1.S.S2, liy
Dr. Swan M. Burneti-.

LaDIKS and (lENTLK.NfKN:

WIhmi man Hrst IuuikI liiiusclf capable of forming a proper
judiiinoiit of the wurkinjj^s of Nature, the sense of vision
must luive excited in his mind an emotion of the greatest
wonder. That he was co<;-ni/,ant of o]>jects situated at dis-
tances very remote and hcvond tiic reach of his touch, and
throu^li a medium the very exislence-of which was a mys-
tery al)()ve his compreiiension, must liavc seemed to him a
prol)leni whicli <Ietied even an attempt at sohition. We are
not aware that any effort lias been made by savage or har-
l>arous tribes to account for any of the phenomena of sight.
They give I'cady explanations of the cause of thundei- and
lightning, of the origin of men and animals, the creation
of hre and other natural i)henomena, but the sense of sight
is so wholly unlike anything else with which they are
familiar that they have no analogies t.o fall back on, and
must accept it as a jaimary gift of the Divine Spirit. It is
only when the intellect has developed to such a degree as to
enable it to consider things as related to each other, and
analyse phenomena as they ])resent them.selvcs to the mintl,
reducing them as far as possible to their constituent ele-
ments, that the senseof vision is considered a subject within
the scope of human investigation. The i)hysiology of vision,
therefore, belongs preeminently to the .scientific era in the
hi.^tory of intelleitnal development. It lind-^ no |tlace, so far
as I know, in the era of superstition. T(. tell you what the
scientific; method of thought has accomplished in this field
is the object of the remarks we shall make this afternoon.

In the study of the phenomena jMcsented by the sense of
vision we find four separate links in a chain of .sequences.
If any one of these links is missing there can be no .sensa-
tion of sight.

The fir^t link in the chain, naturally, is the object to be
seen; the second, the medium connecting this object with

163

104 SATUPwDAY LKCTUKES.

the eye; the third, the eye itself; and the fourth, the ner-
vous center which converts the impression made on the eye
into a sensation.

Of the object to be seen, but Uttle need be said. All that
is necessary being that it be foufid in the medium which
brings it in relation with the eye, that is to say, it must be
placed in what we call the light. As you well know, no ob-
ject situated in what we call darkness can be seen. The
object may be luminous within itself, that is, it may gener-
ate the light which it gives off, as in the case of the sun,
candle, lamp, fire, &c. ; or it may merely reflect or throw
off the liirht which comes from some other source, as in the
ease with the large majority of objects by which we are sur-
rounded ; but it is absolutely necessary for the purposes of
vision that light proceed from it.

This light is the second link in our chain, and it is one of
the most wonderful and mysterious of the workings of Na-
ture. What is light? Is it a something, oronly an essence
or a spirit? What are the laws governing its action?
These are ciuestions which the earlier philosophers asked
themselves and sought, for a long time in vain, to answer.

We will not occupy your attention with any of the
theories before the time of Newton, as it was his genius
which first placed the study of the operations of light on a
solid basis.

His theory was that all luminous bodies gave off minute
impalpable corpuscles which passed directly into the eye
and affected the retina and optic nerve. This hypothesis
was, of course, not susceptible of demonstration, but he suc-
ceeded by it in accounting for many of the manifestations
of light in a manner more satisfactory than had been done
by any other theory then known. The corpuscular or
" emission" theory, having the weight of the great name of
Newton attached to it, was accepted by most philosophers of
his time, and, with the additional weight of tradition, af-
fected many w^ho came after him. All theories respecting
the ultimate facts of any phenomenon in nature must be
based largely on a priori reasoning, for no ultimate knowl-

I low w !•; SHI':. h;.")

od_m' is })r()val)lc. ( )iii- liuls ivucli back (jiily to a ccrtiiin
j)oint — never to the hejjfinning. Hciencc is constantly pusli-
in<:,- hack lur line of priniordial data, Ijiit it is hardly
l)robablc ibaL the tiine will ever come when the essence, so
to speak, of any nianifestiition in natun; can be demonstrated.
Nature's Jaws, we can study and unravel — the origin of
these laws will probably ever remain an unsolved mv.stery.
The nature of light is one of these mysteries which can be
apj)roaclied by speculation alone, and as none of the po.'*-
tulates need be demonstrated, the Held for the exerci.se of
the speculative faculty is j)ractically unlimited. Newton
adopted his corpuscular theory, not because he could dem-
onstrate the existence of the corpuscles, but because by so
doing he thought he was explaining the phenomena with
the least violence to known laws and the scientific princi])les
of the time.

There was one great original mind, however, which came
after him, that refused to accept any theory on any other
man's authority, however great that man might be. This
was Thomas Young, probably the most universal genius
England has given to the world. Thomas Young did not
consider the corpuscular theory of light satisfactory, a!id pro-
ceeded to revive and modify what is called the undulatory
theory, which had been broached by Huygens Ijefore the time
of Newton. By this theory he was enabled to account in a
more consistent and .satisfactory manner for some of the
manifestations of light than could be done by the corpus-
cular theory of Newton. This undulatory hypothesis as pro-
mulgated by Young, is the basis of all modern speculations
as to the nature and laws of light. In common with all
theories dealing with the essential nature of things, it draws
largely upon our credulity, and asks us to accept as data
as many postulates which have never been and which can,
from the very nature of the case, never be i)roven as does
tlie corpuscular theory of Newton.

In the first place, we are recjuircd to su})i»ose the existence
of an ether which is coextensive with the universe. It tills
the interstellar space to the farthest fixed star, whose distance

166 SATURDAY LECTURES.

is incalculable, and insinuates itself into the infinitesmally
minute interstices of the hardest known substances. It ex-
ists alike in a vacuum and in the substance of the diamond.
It is of such extreme tenuitj^ that a mass of it as large as
the earth weighs only a few grains. It is the least material
of all substances, and yet it possesses a tension or elasticity
far in excess of any matter of which we have any knowledge.

This is the medium through which that form of force
we call light is supposed to act. It has, as you see, no ex-
istence whatever as a fact capable of demonstration by any
of the ordinary methods of proof It exists alone in that
highest faculty of the mind which, by its creative power,
sets man above the beasts of the field — the imagination.

But our task does not end here. We have the medium,
but we have not the manner in which this is acted on to
produce the effect we know as light. Again the imagina-
tion must be brought into action. The mind which first
conceived of light as being a force, the result of wave mo-
tion, gave us the key which has unlocked some of the deep-
est mysteries of Nature, and made modern physical science
and all that belongs to it, and has resulted from it possible;
for th^ foundation of the physical science of the present
day is the fact that all energ}^ is but a mode of mo-
tion. I think it can be broadly stated that all forms of
energy, whether in the organic or inorganic world, are but
modes of motion. The ancient philosopher, when asked to
define Life, moved his arms, drew the air into his lungs,
and expelled it, and said, " This is life," meaning that all
we knew of life were its phenomena. But he explained bet-
ter than he was aware of. He expressed thus the idea
which underlies the modern concepts of Nature and her
laws, that life is motion. Without energy, as expressed by
some form of movement, there can be no life; and life is
but one form of energy, one particular kind of force. All
other forces in Nature are likewise but representations of
some kind of motion — they are not Things. The whole of the
teaching of modern science tends to the demonstration of
the fact that .there are but two Things in nature — matter and
its motion.

HOW WK sEi:. 167

Applying this principle to the other, Young supposed
that the light force was due to an undulatory motion set up
in it by the vibrations of the molecules of luminous bodies-
It is now a pretty well demonstrated fact that when bodies
get into the condition known as "hot," a change takes place
in the ultimate i>articles of the matter comjKjsing them.
They are set in vibration. The more heated they become
the more extensive will these molecular vibrations be; and
as the space occupied by the molecules in a state of vibra-
tion is greater than when they are at rest, the substance
when heated is larger than when cool. The motion of these
ultimate molecules is communicated to the ether by which
they are surrounded, and it is set in undulatory motion,
just as waves are produced on the surface of water when a
body is let fall upon it, which disturbs the relation of its
molecules. As the motion of the molecules of the heated
body is regular, the wave motion communicated to the sur-
rounding ether will also be regular, that is, the waves will
follow each other at regular intervals of time.

Up to this point everything must be taken for granted,
for, as I have said, not one of the accepted facts is capable
of experimental demonstration. Accepting this much, how-
ever, we can deduce certain laws which are capable of sub-
stantiation by ex])eriment, and by them we are able to ex-
plain all or nearly all the phenomena of light and vision.
Though we have shown you that light is only a form of
force — a mode of motion — it will be more convenient to
speak of it as a Thing, without reference to the ether or
wave motion. Thus, wlien we say that light travels at the
rate of 1SG,00U miles per second, we mean that the motion
communicated by the luminous body to the ether is felt
180,000 miles away at the end of a second of time. There
are a few fixed laws governing the action of ligiit, to which
we briefly call your attention, because on them dci)ends all
our knowledge of the physiology of vision.

In the first place, we know that light moves in straight
lines, and never turns out of its course unless it meets with
some substance having the property of deflecting it. There

168

SATURDAY LECTURES.

are two forms of deflection. In one the light is thrown
back by the surface of the interposing body in the direction
from which it came ; that is to say, it is reflected. In the
other it passes through the body, but its course after its
passage is not the same as before ; in which case it is said
to be refracted. It is with this latter we have especially to
do in treating of the physiology of vision. Without enter-
ing into a detailed consideration of all the laws of refrac-
tion, we will state that when the refracting body has a cer-
tain form, which we call a lens, all the rays coming from
any one point of an object are, after refraction, brought to-
gether in another point. Such a lens is shown in the ac-
companying figure.

Fig. I.

All rays proceeding from the point A are, after their pass-
age through the lens, united in the point a, and all rays
proceeding from the point B are, after refraction, united in
the point b, and raj's proceeding from all points between A
and B are united at points between a and h. The result of
this is that in ah we have an image of the object AB. There
are two peculiarities of this image to which I want to call
your attention. The first is that it is much smaller than
the object AB, and the second is that it is turned upside
down. Xow, when we come to regard the eye as an optical
instrument, we will find it to differ in principle in no essen-
tial particular from this simple lens. The whole function

iiow \\i: si;i:.

169

ot" the oyi', tVttin ;iii optic;!! point of view, is to fonii :i siuall,
clearly cletiiUHl, but inverted image of external objects on
the expansion of the oi)tic nerv(>. We will now proceed to
see in what manner it does this. This leads us, tirst.to a
brief description of tlic ucnt ral anatomy of the eye.

As the human eye has to be moved in various directions,
indei)endent of the movements of the head, it must be more
or less globular in shape. It is thus allowed to lit more
easilv in the bony orbit in which it is encasetl, and the six
muscles which move it can more readily control its motions.
The ball of the eye is a hollow globe containing the lenses
neeessary for producing images of external objects and the
expansion of the optic nerve on which these images are to
fall.

There are certain physical conditions which have to be
fulfilled in order that the image produced by any optical
apparatus shall be clear and distinct. We will take the
])liotographer's camera as an illu.stration. In the first place
we find that the whole apparatus is encased in a box for the
protection of the more essential parts. We observe further
that this box is lined with black in order that no light shall
be reflected from its sides that will mar the distinctness of
the image formed by the lens. The lens is placed in front,
and at the back there is a screen of ground-glass on which
the image formed by the lens f(dls. When sitting for your
I)hotogra[)h you will also have noticed that the operator was
at great pains to properly focus the instrument so that the
image should be clearly formed on the ground-gIa.ss plate at
the back, and if you take the pains to examine his instru-
ment you will find just l)ehind the lens a black diaphragm
with a circular hole much smaller than the lens. This lat-
ter is for the purpose of cutting off those rays which pass
through the parts of the lens near the edge. These rays,
unless the lens is ground in the most accurate manner, add
nothing to the di.stinctne.<s of the image, l»ut, on the con-
trary, detract from its clearness of outline.

All these conditions are carefully fulfilled in the eye, as
vou will see by reference to the accompanying diagram.

170

SATURDAY LECTURES.

Fig. 2. «

You have in the first place tlie outer box or shell in the
sclerotic coat, (S,) which is a tough membrane forming the
posterior four-fifths of the ball. The anterior, one-fifth, is
formed by the cornea, (C,) which is only a continuation of
the sclerotic with the remarkable and highly important dif-
ference that it is transparent. This cornea being a curved
surface, acts upon the light in the same manner as the lens
in Fig. 1, and forms one of the two refracting surfaces which
produce the images of objects. in the external world upon
the expansion of the optic nerve (On) at the back of the
eye called the retina, (R.) The other refracting body is
the crystalline lens, (L.) The iris (I) represents the dia-
phragm, and the hole in it is the pupil. The choroid coat,
(Ch,) while holding the greater part of the blood-vessels
which nourish the eye, also contains a large quantity of
pigment, which serves the purpose of the black lining of
the photographer's camera. We have thus all the essential
parts of a perfect optical instrument, and by the large ma-
jority of persons the eye is considered the most nearly per-
fect of all instruments of its class from a. merely physical

now WK SEE. 1 / 1

standpoint. This is, however, a <:;rcat error. Considered as
an optical instrument, wliose function it is to form the clear-
est possible imaj;e, it is defective in almost all its parts, and
does not hoggin to aj)proach the best work of the same kind
as done by man. Ilelmnolt/., the jjijreat German physicist,
lias saicl that if an optician were to send him an instrument
so badly constructed as tlie eye, he would return it to him
with a severe reprimand for liis carelessness. But we must
bear in mind that the eye is an or^an of sense as well as an
optical hislrument, and with all its defects, is caj)al)l(! of ren-
dering us most efficient service.

As I have said, the function of the e^'e proi)er is to form
elcarly-delined inverted images on the retina. The impres-
sion or changes produced b^'this image are convej'ed to the
brain by means of the optic nerve, and are there converted
into a .sensation. A confused image will cause a confused
sensation, and a clearly-defined image a corresponding sen-
sation. It is, therefore, of the highest importance that we
always haveretinal images whose outlines are sharp and dis-
tinct. This is very easily accompushed when the object
and the retina occupy certain rekitive positions to each
other. It is one of the laws of optics that when the object
is at a certain di.stance (within specified limits) from the
lens the image will be formed at a certain distance from
it on the other side. If the distance of the object is changed,
the distance of the image from the lens will also be altercl.

Now. in using the eyes, give look at objects within a few
inches of us and also at those at immense distances. The
range of acconnnodation, as it is called, extends from four
inches from the eye to infinity. If we are to have clearly
defined images of all objects in this extensive range some
<hange must take place in the eye corresponding to t.iie
change in the distance of the object. Now this can be ac-
complished in ohe of two ways — either by a change in the
distance between the lens and the retina, or by an increa.se
in the curvature of the refracting surfaces. The first of
these cannot be readily accomplished, because the eye can-
not be made longer, (though it was once supposed that it

172

SATURDAY LECTURES.

could.) The adaptation or accommodation of the eye, there-
fore, for distinct vision at different distances is affected by
the other method ; that is, by a change in the curvature of
one of its two refracting surfaces. It has been abundantly
demonstrated by observation that this change is effected by
an increase in the curvature of the crystalline lens, brought
about by the action of a muscle situated on the interior of
the eye called the ciliary muscle, (Cm, Fig. 2.) By the con-
traction of this muscle the lens is rendered more convex,
and objects lying nearer the eye have their objects formed
more clearly on the retina. A reference to the diagram
(Fig. 3) will show how this is accomplished. When the ob-
ject is situated at A the image is formed on the retina, R, at
a, when it is at B it is formed t)ehind the retina at b. In
order, therefore, when the object is at B, to have its image
at a, the lens, L, must be made more convex, as shown by
the dotted line.

Fig. 3-

It is this failure of the power of accommodation or adap-
tation of the eyes to objects close at hand wliich constitutes
presbyopia or old eyes. With ffdvancing age the ciliary
muscle becomes stiff and less powerful, and the lens becomes
harder and alters its shape less readily, and the consequence
is that near vision is rendered less perfect. This is reme-
died by placing in front of the eye a lens which represents
the power that has been lost by the crystalline lens. Quite
the contrary of the generally accepted belief the eye does
not become materially flatter with age.

We have now the image of the external object pictured
clearly and distinctly upon the expansion of the optic nerve
at the bottom of the eye, and with this the whole of the
function of the eye as an optical instrument is ended.

How \VK SEK.

173

In a gcncnil way the- cvc is considercfl by tlu- large
majority of persons as bein*; the ortjjan of vision, whereas,
in truth, it is only one of the organ> eoncerned in bringing
about the sensation of sight. The eye may be anatomically
in a perfectly healthy condition, and the images of objects
niav be formed with the greatest clearness and distinctness
on thr ntina. and. yet, the power of seeing be wanting.
TIk image formed on the retina produces only an imprca-
sioii, and this must be converted into a sensation before the
act of vision is accomplished. This conversion takes place
in the brain. That there is a certain portion of the brain
which presides over the function of vision, and turns all
the impression sent to it from the retina through the oi)tic
nerve into sensations, seems (f early demonstrated by numer-
ous experiments on the lower animals. The eye. therefore,
is only one of the instruments of vision.

Let us HOW i)roceed to inquire what it is we learn by the
act of seeing — what knowledge of the external world is
brought to the mind through the medium of the eye. We
learn, tirst, the j)Osition of objects in space; their distance
from us and eacli other ; their form, size, and color.

It may be premised that very little of our knowledge ob-
tained by the .sense of vision is furnished alone by the
images formed on the retina. In the development of the
intellect the .scn.ses of sight ami touch go hand in hand.
In fact some recent speculations seem to point to the fact
that sight is ordy a highW developed sense of touch. Be
that as it may, this important fact is clearly established,
that the sense of sight is an educated sense. It is not in-
born; it is not in.stinctivc, at least, in the higher forms of
l)eings. Every child that is born into the world must learn
to see for it.self. As .soon as an infant opens its i-yes an im-
age is formed on its retina, but that conveys to its young
mind no definite knowledge except, probably, as to outline.
Supi)Ose, for example, a rattle, with a ring at one end, and
a ball at the other, is held before it. The image of this ob-
ject is formed on the retina, but it is upside down, as are all
retinal images. How then is the child to learn the true re-

174 SATURDAY LECTURES.

lation of this object to itself? This is a question which
puzzled philosophers for a. long time, and many explana-
tions were given to account for it. By some it was supposed
that in some way the image was "righted " before it reached
the retina, by others, it was thought that it was turned right
side up on its passage from the retina to the brain. But it
is by no means necessary to assume any such mysterious
processes. The explanation, when we once find it, is sim-
ple enough. The image, as we have before remarked, is
undoubtedly formed upside down on the retina. But we
must bear in mind that this image only produces an im-
pression— the interpretation of this impression is made b}'-
the brain through the faculty we call the judgment. Now
the judgment is often the result of several impressions, re-
ceived, it may be, from several different sources. In the
case of the rattle, the impression made by the image must
be verified by the impression of touch. The infant reaches
out its hand and finds that the globular end of the rattle
corresponds in direction to its feet or downward, while the
ring end corresponds to an upward direction or towards its
head. It does not make any difference that the lower or
round end of the image corresponds to the upper part of
the object, and vice versa. The position of the retinal image
is a matter of no importance, so long as the judgment,
guided by touch, places the object in its proper relation with
the individual and surrounding objects. Physiologists call
this placing of objects properly in space the "law of pro-
jection," which, being interpreted, means that all impres-
sions made on the upper parts of the retina are "projected"
01' referred downward, and all impressions made on the
lower parts of the retina are projected upward ; and as the
relative position of the objects in the external world are in
no wise affected by their inverted images on the retina, no
confusion can arise.

The same principle applies when we judge of the distance
and size of objects. The size of a retinal image gives us no
idea whatever of the size of the object or its distance from
us. These two ideas are inseparably connected in the

HOW \VI'; SEE. 17t)

mind. 'V\\o .listaiu-e of an oltjcct from us gives us impor-
tant datu fur tV>rniing judiinient as to its size and thu size
of it if known, enables us to form an idea of its distance.
You will readily see the truth of thit^, when you know
that a live cent piece, held a few inches from the eye,
forms as lar^e a retinal imaue as the sun which is many
millions of miles further oil. Physiologists would tell you
that they both subtend the same visual angle. So if we wish
to have a definite idea of the actual size of an object we
must know its distance from us; and, on the other hand, in
order to judge of the distance of an object, by the size of the
retinal image, we must know its size as compared with other
objects. In the judgment of distance, however, there are
other factors not to be overlooked. One of the most im-
portant of these is what is called the " muscular sense." In
looking at objects close at hand we bring into play the ac-
commodation of the eye which, as I have already told you,
is brought about by the jtction of the ciliary muscle. The
nearer objects are to us the stronger must be the action of
the muscle in order that we see distinctly, and we come
naturally to associate a strong effort of the accommodation
power with nearness of the object. The amount of conver-
gence of the two eyes, which is necessary in order that both
be fixed upon the same object, also furnishes us with im-
portant knowledge of the distance of objects from us.

We come now to consider one of the most remarkable at-
tributes of objects, a knowledge of which is given us through
the eye. We allude to that wonderful quality called color.
In the .strict sense of the word, however, no object is colored.
Color is a property of light, while those objects whicli aj)-
pear to us colored simply decompose the light falling on
them into its different color constituents, sending to the eye
some one or more and absorbing the others. For ordinary
purposes, however, it is more convenient to consider color
a.s belonging to the object, but we must bear in mind, at tlie
same time, that each color is represented physically by a
certain number of vibrations of the luminiferous ether.
Thus, 451 million million vibrations of the ether in a

176

SATURDAY LECTURES.

second of time represent the color we call red, while 789
million million vibrations correspond to violet, and so on.
An object we call red, therefore, sends to us from the white
light falling upon it those waves of the ether which make
451 million million vibrations per second. All the other
wave lengths of the ether are lost, and most probably by-
having their motion converted into a molecular vibration
of the substance of the object.

When we call to mind the great number of separate colors
and the infinite variety of their shades, which we recognize
as distinct sensations, we at once appreciate the extraordi-
nary delicacy of perception by the visual apparatus.

The satisfactory explanation of color perception has al-
ways been among the most difficult problems with which
the physiologist has had to deal. The theory on this sub-
ject which has held the longest sway over the largest num-
ber of minds is that of Young, as revived by Helmholtz.
Until within the last few years few or no physiologists had
the temerity to doubt the sufficiency of this hypotliesis.

This theory starts out on the basis that there are three
fundamental or primary colors, by the proper admixture of
which all other colors and shades of colors can be produced.
It is now the popular opinion, wdiich Avas formerl}^ upheld
by scientific authority, that these so-called primary colors
are red, yellow, and blue, because from a mixture of pig-
ments of these colors the painter can produce a large num-
ber of the colors he finds of use in the practice of his art.
When, however, we come to deal with the pure colors of- the
spectrum we find that these are not the fundamental colors.
It has been found that from the mixture of spectral red,
green, and violet, all the other colors of the spectrum can be
produced, and, also, that when these colors are mixed in due
proportion white is the result. For this reason, red, green,
and violet have been accepted as the primary colors by
most modern scientists.

Newton believed that the particles representing the indi-
vidual colors (according to his emission theory) affected the
retina " according to their nature and bigness," but Young

now \VK SKE. 1 , /

tliouj^lit it inipossiMc thnt tlif iitiiiii -lumld l>f aide t<» re-
ceive or the optic iicivc should caiiy so man}' .sepanitc and
distinct impressions to the hrain. He, therefore, assnnied
that there were in the retina three iieive lihres which were
affected principally l»y the wave lengths ot' ether i'ej)rescnting
red, ureen, and violet. Thesi' lihres we will call the wd
lihre, tiie ••reen libre, and the violet tibre. When all of
these fibres are afieeted in eijual proportion the sensation
jirodueed is wliite, the absence of all sensation is Idack.
When the red tiljre is aftectctf we have a sensation of red;
when tlje fjiven Hl)re is affected the sensation is green; when
the red and green fibres are afieeted together the sensation
is yellow: and so on for all the colors with their coinbina-
tions and shades. Xow this is all very sirjiple and plausi-
ble. It is true no one has ever seen the fibres, but, so much
has t(» he taken for gi-anted in this department of scientific
investigation, that this point might readily he conceded if
there were no other obstacles in theway of an acceptance
of the theory. Nearly all the })henomena of colored vision
can be accounted for on this hypothesis if we so modify it
as to allow of some action on both the green and violet
fibres by the red rays, and some action on the green by the
red and violet, and on the violet bv the red and srrcen- For
myself, this necessary admission destroys the simplicity and
l)cauty of the hypothesis, for T hold that tlie phenomena of
vision, when thoroughly understood, will be found to be ex-
tremely simple in their character and in keeping with the
kno\Tn laws of light and its action on simple bodies.

But the great and insurmountable objection to the hypoth-
esis is that it cannot account in a satisfactory manner for
all the phenomena of color-blindness. An acceptable theory
in regard to the function of an organ in liealth must account
al.^^o for all the derangements of that function.

Without entering into any details, it may be hrieHy stated
that there are some phenomena presented by the color-blind,
which cannot be satisfactorily explained by the Young-
Helmholtz hypothesis. Physiologists are, therefore, becom-
ing dissatisfied with it. an<l are seeking for one which shall
12

178 SATURDAY LECTURES.

be more in keeping with known facts, and more in accord-
ance with operation of analogous functions in the human
body.

The theor}' of Prof. Hering, of Prague, has received most
attention from those who have been bold enough to reject
the hypothesis of Young.

This theory presupposes the existence in the retina of
three chemical substances, which, on account of their pre-
sumed functions, are called the red-green substance, the hlue-
yellow substance, and the hlach-wliite substance.

An action of light on the red-green substance, which tends
to decompose it, produces red; wdiile an action which tends
to regenerate it produces green. A decomposing action
of light on the blue-yellow substance causes a sensation of
yellow; a regenerating action, the sensation of blue; while
a destruction of the white-black substance produces white,
its regeneration black. According to this theory there are
three pairs of opposing colors, (including white and black,)
and the fundamental colors are four, red, green, blue, and
yellow, and the so-called complementary^ colors are in reality
antagonistic. Thus you see Hering's theory is more com-
plicated than that of Young, likewise demands the accept-
ance of unproved and unprovable postulates, and makes
even greater draughts upon our scientific faith. It has this
advantage over its rival, however, that it explains in a
much more satisfactory manner some of the phenomena of
color-blindness.

The fundamental objection to this theory, as to thtt of
Young-Helmholtz, is that it presupposes the existence of
new tissues, the like of wdiich are not found in any other
part of the human body, and novel reactions of these tissues
to light. It may be accepted as a law of universal applica-
tion that Nature always works in the simplest manner pos-
sible, and we have no right to suppose that the function of
vision forms any exception to the rule. Is it possible to ac-
count for the perception of colors in a simple and direct
manner ? I think it is, and that, too, without doing any
violence to laws, the existence of w^hicli has been estab-

now wr: sek. 179

lishod by proof as positive as science can furnish us. I
have endeavored to do this in a paper read before the Philo-
sophical Society of this city, in December, 1880.

It NVituld not be pertinent, at this time, to enter into an
elaborate exposition of this theor}'. Let it suffice to say
that the two fundamental facts on which it is based are:
1st. The evidence which com|)arative anatomy and physi-
ology furnish that the eye is but a highly specialized nerve
of common sensation. It is a fact which has been thoroughly
well established by observation that certain of the lower
animals are affected by light over the whole extent of their
external surface. As wc ascend higher in the scale of exis-
tence the differentiation of function becomes greater, and
while the grosser effects of the ether vibration are still felt
in the form of heat on the surface of the body, tlu; liner
vibrations are appreciated only in certain restricted locali-
ties known as eyes; for it is a fact which is disputed, 1 think,
by no one that heat and light are both due to vibrations of
the same ether, differing in degree onl}^ and not at all in
kiml.

Prof. Preyer, of Jena, has, within the last few months,
advanced very similar views, and shows that the sense of
heat and the sense of sight bear a very strong analogy to
each other. The second fact is the reaction of simple sub-
stances to hght, as manifested by a change in their molecu-
lar structure. It has long been known that certain colors
have greater chemical powers, for instance, than others.
Th* so-called actinic power of blue or violet is greater than
that of yellow. This is only a short method of stating the
fact that the change in the molecidar structure of the afi'ected
body is much greater by light rays of short-wave lengths
than it is by light rays of longer-wave lengths. The action
of light on the metal silenium, and on other substances
used in the construction of the photophone, is an example
more to the point. Not only is the electric conductability
of these substances modified by slight changes in the inten-
sity of the light waves, but Prof. Bell has found that this
variation in conductability, which only re])resents change

180 SATURDAY LECTURES.

ill molecular structure, is also different for the different
colors. Moreover, the effect of this change in molecular
structure is conve3'ed to great distances through other
media, and there makes itself manifest under the same or
some other form.

It is thus evident that in the inorganic world the light
rays do produce different affects, as manifested by molecular
change, according to their different wave-lengths. We have
only to apply this law to the action of light on the retina
to have a theor}" of colors at once simple, and strictly in
accordance with known })rinciples, and without the necessity
of inventing new tissues or extraordinary reactions of tissues
to light. In this theory variation in sensation will have its
basis, not in complexity of tissue, but solel}' in the varying
action of the affecting agent.

In accordance with this hypothesis we have onl}- to sup-
pose the retina to be a body whose molecular structure is so
delicately fashioned as to allow it to respond promptly to
the slightest variation in the wave-lengths of light raj'^s.
We know that up to a certain point we can discriminate
between fine shades of intensity of light. The educated eye
of an artist can detect as minute differences in shading as
he can in colors. This we must suppose is due to the judg-
ment which has been educated to discriminate between
small differences as to quantity, and there can be no reason
for not supposing that we can learn in like manner to dis-
tinguish between small differences in qualit}'' as manifested
in the slight alteration in the molecular arrangement of the
retina brought about by the different colors. Eveiy impres-
sion, therefore, produced by each color will be conve3'ed in-
dependently of other impressions to the brain, and will there
be turned into a distinct and individual sensation. But
even in this theory there is no necessity for supposing that
all the color sensations are primary. We can have here, as
in the other theories, a mixture of sensations in the produc-
tion of some colors, and the numerous combinations which
are known under the name of secondary colors. Purple,
for example, will be the sensation resulting from a combi-

HOW SVK SHK. ISI

nation of till' two sensations of n-d ami Muc. Tlio same
liolds triu' for tlir browns, and tho various otlu-r tints of
that ordor. TIic coinhination, however, is made in the
ln'niii and not in the retina.

We have now linally traced the ehan<ijes whieh enter into
the })roduetion of the fmiction of vision to the brain. If
these changes stop anywhere slu)rt of there, we have no sen-
sation, no lii^ht. In fact, it is not vision at all, for it is the
brain which overrules all. and transforms impressions into
thouglit and consciousness. We see — not with the eye — hut
with the brain — the eye bein>5 only one of the instruments
which the brain uses to bring to it knowledge of the changes
whieh tiike place in the outer world. This knowledge it
arranges and classifies under the superintendence of the
judgment, and we give to it the comprehensive name of
vision. This knuls us to wliat was, for a long time, consid-
ered the boundary not only of our actual knowledge, but
even of legitimate s[)eculation. ("onsciousness was consid-
ered not only a terra incitgnitd, but also a Urra sacra, within
whose hallowed i)recincts even the boldest materialist dare
not venture with his unholy atoms and molecules. But
true science is always fearless, and pushes its way with irri-
sistable force into ever}' avenue where honest investigation
offers for its labor tlie smallest modicum of new truth.

Anatomical science lias traced, by its numerous and pa-
tient di.-^sections, the optic nerve to its termination in a
certain portion of the brain. As nothing in the workings
of Nature is ever purpo.seless, we are bound to believe that
as the nerves always end in the same part of the brain, the
lirain in that immediate vicinity mu.st have .some connec-
nection with transformation of liglit waves into vision.
Then the vivisi'ctionist came forward with that knife, whose
supposed cruelties have been so elo<[Uently sung by a thou-
sand sentimental tongues, and lemoved that particular {»or-
tion of the brain from the living creature, and the animal
became completely blintl. Thus one more stone of trutii
was added to the slowly growing temple of human knowl-
edge, and to-day every physiologist will tell you that the

182 SATURDAY LECTURES.

sense of vision resides in the cortical substance of the pos-
terior cerebral lobes.

But the human mind, ever unsatisfied with its present
knowledge, inquires still further, and asks what are the
alterations which take place in that particular portion of
the brain when the changes Avrotight by the light waves on
the retina are brought to it through the medium of the
optic nerve?

Let us, for a moment, look at it dispassionately and with-
out prejudice, as becomes all seekers after the truth. Let us
remember in the first place that we have been all the while
dealing with matter. The object to be seen is material, the
ether, if it exists, must be material ; and we know that the
optic nerve and retina are matter, and the brain is a sub-
stance analogous to these in anatomical structure.

If we take a self-luminous body as the object, we know
that molecular change, in the form of motion, forms the
first link in the chain of sequences of which we spoke at
the outset of this lecture as necessary for the function of
vision. These motions are communicated to the surround-
ing ether, and by it are carried to the retina. Have we any
right to suppose that the molecular motion stops there?
Certainly not. There is no fact yet demonstrated which
militates against it, and in this hand to hand warfare of
Science against the hidden secrets of Nature we claim all'
to be for us which is not positively against us. On this
principle, therefore, we are amply justified in assuming that
the ether has only been the medium of transference of mol-
ecular motion from the body to the retina. This motion is
then transferred through the optic nerve to the demonstrated
center of vision in the brain. Does molecular change in
the form of motion end even then? Having followed it
thus far we can see no satisfying reason why it should.
And the last link in the chain which is discernable by our
short-sighted vision is a change, manifested by a form of
motion in the ultimate molecules of the brain. How this
motion of the molecules is converted into consciousness is a
problem for the solution of which we have not even the

now \VK SKE.

183

rudiment of a t'aruliy. Wc only know that the phenomenon
beiran as motion, and that as motion it ended. But beyond —
ah, beyond — is an imi)enctrable (hirkness. We emerged from
an eternity of ignorance, we end at the brink of an eternity of
the unknowable. In the infinitesmally short span between
tlK'se two mighty eternities we are permitted to examine
into tlu' workings of Nature's hiws. to follow out their rela-
tions to each other, and ajiply them, as far as we are able,
to the ex[)lanation of the phenomena l)y which we are sur-
rounded; but of the origins of these laws we are, as scien-
tist.s, in utter ignorance. Wc have not been i)rovided with
a power to grasp at even the l)eginning of an idea which
would lead us nearer a solution of these problems than we
now are. And as at the beginning so at the end. There
are some things which are not only unknown but unknow-
able. It is utterly impossible that we can ever know how
light waves or sound waves are converted by the material
organ of the brain into consciousness and thought. That
this is accomi>lishod by the brain we know, and that it is
throuuh a change in its molecular structure admits hardly
of a doubt, but there we must pause. We have reached the
limits of our {possible knowledge, and from any attempt at
penetrating the darkness beyond even the imagination
shrinks, overwhelmed by the consciousness of its utter
powerlessness and incapacity.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, we have tinished all we
designed to tell you of what we know of one of the most
important and wonderful faculties with which we are en-
dowed, and we have also given you some concei)tion of the
amount we do not know, and from the very nature of things
can never know. This latter, as compared with the former,
is inmiense, but when we come to consider how wonderful
and surprisingly beautiful it all is, we can only be glad that
we are permitted to know and enjoy as much actual knowl-
edge as we do. I could have confmod myself, in these re-
marks, to a description and experimental demonstration of
some of the beautiful laws of light and vision which science
has unraveled out of the eternal mv.sterv, and we could have

184 SATURDAY LECTURES.

boasted of the numerous secrets wrested from nature's hidden
store-house of facts Iw the patient and persistent inquirers
in this department of scientific investigation. But true
science never exalts itself — is never puffed up. It is as dili-
gent in seeking out error as it is in finding a new fact. It
holds no opinion to be final. The mind of the true scientist
is always in a plastic condition, ready to take that form and
shape which well-founded data warrant, and is ever willing
to change it as the facts demand. The scientific gentlemen
who have preceded me in this cour.se of lectures have laid
before you knowledge gained from many widely-differ-
ing fields of research, but they have never insisted on the
acceptance of a single opinion that was not laid in facts, or
was not in strict accordance with well-demonstrated laws.
Theories and hj^potheses are, it is true, not to be discarded
because in the present imperfect state of human knowledge
positive ideas are often impossible, but only that one should be
accepted which comes nearest to the truth as we know it. Dog-
matism and bigotry should find no place in the intellectual
make up of the scientific mind. And if I understand aright
the purpose of these Saturday scientific lectures, it is not only
that you shall become acquainted with the discoveries and
advances of modern science — most of which you could learn
by a study of books and the reading of the scientific periodi-
cals of the day — but that you might feel and understand
t"he attitude of Science towards man and his intellectual and
moral advancement. The time was when .science was con-
sidered the greatest enemy of mankind, when scientists were
imprisoned and put to death, and to seek the truth as it was
to be found in Nature was considered blasphemy. But the
new era is dawning, and it is the scientist who has opened
up the way. The Avatchword of the hour is Truth ! and to
whom is this more dear than to the man of science. His
whole life is spent in an untiring search after it. The ob-
jective point of his every action and thought is the truth.
He never fears what effect any new fact may have upon
any preconceived opinion, however dear it may be to him.
He only asks, is it true ? The truth in nature is the idol of

iiDW \VK ski;. 185

his afrcctions, ami In; loves it, with a lovo surpassing,' that, of
woman. Wc do not claim lor the whole bod}' of s<i(;ntili(:
men such singlc-mindedncss of purpose, but we do claim
that the tendency of scientific investigation is to develop
these higher and better faculties of man. What more com-
pletely rounded character can be fouiul that was embodied
in him whose recent death has carried a sense of irreparable
loss to the heart of the whole civili/.ed world. In after ages
when the world makes up its roll of great and perfect men,
the name of Charles Robert Darwin will be found high
on the list. Tndilferent to the scoffs and jeers of his detrac-
tors, he ke{)t his eye single to the eternal vei'ity of Nature.
With that he was content, and in it he found his all-sufhcient
reward.

And when a few days ago he was carried to his last rest-
ing place in the mausoleum of England's great dead, and
placed by the side of her immortal Newton, science might
justly consider that her hour of triumph had come, and that
she had won the recognition she claims. That the man
whose theory on its first promulgation was considered a by-
word of reproach, should have his name mentioned with
reverence, and his greatness and worth acknowledged from
places which denounced him but twenty years ago, is a
spectacle which is without a parallel in the history of
science.

It may be truly said of him. as one of our poets has said
of our beloved Wyman. that il was his high [>rivilcge —

" To feel mysterious Nature ever new.
To touch, if not to grasp, her erniless clew.
And learn by each discovery how to wait;
To widen knowledge and escape the praise
Wisely to teach, because more wise to learn ;
To toil for science, not to draw men's ga/c.
But for her lore of self-denial stern ;
That such a nuin could spring from our decays.
Fans the soul's nobler faith until it burn."

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