ALVMNVS BOOK FVND

LIFE AND SENSE

WORKS BY ANDREW WILSON, F.R.S.E.

CHAPTERS ON EVOLUTION : a Popular History of the

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STUDIES

IN

LIFE AND SENSE

BY

ANDREW WILSON, F.R.S.E.

AUTHOR OF 'LEISURE-TIME STUDIES' 'CHAPTERS ON EVOLUTION
'LEAVES FROM A NATURALIST'S NOTE-BOOK' ETC.

A NEW EDITION, WITH THIRTY-SIX ILLUSTRATIONS

LONDON

CHATTO & WINDUS
1898

PKINTED BY

SPOTTISWOOUE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
LONDON

o

TO

R. M. P.

IN DEEP GRATITUDE FOR MUCH LOVING KINDNESS

Pcbicaic tfyis

G\

•

PREFACE.

THE ESSAYS included in this volume have appeared from time to
time in various magazines. I may discover justification, if such be
needed, for their publication in their present form, in the fact that
this method of rendering permanent views and opinions which would
otherwise vanish away with magazine " back stock," finds favour in
the eyes of many readers, and has besides become a common prac-
tice of our day. The sole aim of the Essays now collected will be
fulfilled if they succeed in explaining, to those " willing to know,"
some of the great facts and laws which underlie the every-day life both
of man and his lower neighbours — animals and plants alike. There
are many less effective things, in the way of modem culture, than a
popular training in biology. To aid such culture in its own small
measure is the chief object of the present volume.

To Messrs. Longmans & Co. I have to express my best thanks
for kindly permitting the reprinting of the articles on "Human
Resemblances to Lower Life " and " Some Economics of Nature,"
which originally appeared in " Longman's Magazine."

A. W.

EDINBURGH: February 1887.

CONTENTS.

PAGE

I. HUMAN RESEMBLANCES TO LOWER LIFE i

II. SOME ECONOMICS OF NATURE 22

III. MONKEYS 37

IV. ELEPHANTS 62

V. THE PAST AND PRESENT OF THE CUTTLEFISHES ... 84

VI. THE MIGRATION OF ANIMALS 115

VII. THE PROBLEMS OF DISTRIBUTION AND THEIR SOLUTION . . 129

VIII. SONGS WITHOUT WORDS 181

IX. THE LAWS OF SPEECH . . . . . . . . 194

X. BODY AND MIND ......... 209

XI. THE OLD PHRENOLOGY AND THE NEW 226

XII. THE MIND'S MIRROR 250

XIII. WHAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF 270

XIV. COINAGES OF THE BRAIN 289

XV. THE INNER LIFE OF PLANTS 315

XVI. AN INVITATION TO DINNER 337

STUDIES

IN

LIFE AND SENSE.

i.

HUMAN RESEMBLANCES TO LOWER LIFE.

" IT is dangerous to show man how much he resembles the beasts,
without at the same time pointing out to him his own greatness.
It is also dangerous to show him his greatness, without pointing
out his baseness. It is more dangerous still to leave him in ignor-
ance of both. But it is greatly for his advantage to have both
set before him." So far, Pascal in the "Pense'es." There is a
considerable deal of sound philosophy in these words. Whilst we
might legitimately enough object to the term " baseness " as above
used to indicate comparatively the gulf betwixt man and his lower
neighbours, the conclusion of Pascal's meditation may sufficiently
satisfy both the moralist and the student of science. That which
Pascal declares is greatly to our advantage — namely, to have both
man's likeness to, and differences from, lower animals duly set before
us — is in a fair way of being realised in these latter days. Biological
science, which was formerly regarded as closing its investigations when
it approached the human domain, has now boldly entered the precincts
of man's own and special order. In a sphere within which biology
was formerly regarded as an intruder, it is now welcomed by the latest
culture as a friend. As a race, we are beginning to overcome, by an
exercise of robust common sense, the feeble foibles and objections
which in the early days of Mr. Darwin's fame were urged against any
approaches on the part of our " poor relations." The social preju-
dices which still exist here and there, and which are engendered
chiefly by popular studies of quadrumanous manners at the Zoo',
have died away in sensible and unprejudiced minds. The great dis-
covery— only made, it should be added, after nearly a quarter of a
century of misconception — that Mr. Darwin and his friends did not

B

STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

J t/i iet©gm<;kin ShJ?\ gorilla or orang even a far-off cousin of humanity,
" brought "a "serise" of 'deep consolation and comfort to many minds.
The additional statement that the kinship between man and apes was
limited to an ancient connection placed very far back on the tree of
life, and existent long before men were men, or even respectable
monkeyhood had appeared, conveyed still deeper satisfaction to those
who sympathised with the opening expression we have quoted from
the "Pensdes." Willing to concede that humanity was certainly
nearer the quadruped races at large than had been previously sus-
pected, the thoughtful amongst us began at the same time to perceive
clearly enough that the conclusions of Darwinism, after all, only
tended to throw human characteristics into bolder relief, against the
lower substratum on which these traits are founded. Recognising
the animal basis, so to speak, it was seen that all in humanity's own
sphere which was worth extolling and valuing had been left unaffected
by the bath of evolution through which the nature of mankind had
been passed.

The attitude of objectors to the scientific exposition of man's
place in nature has thus undergone a material change. It is no
longer deemed heretical to assert our near relations with the quad-
ruped-stock ; and no social ostracism is involved in the intelligent
acceptation of even the furthest conclusions advanced by the up-
holders of the theory of evolution. There are not a few persons, in
truth, who, at first alarmed by the apparently incongruous declara-
tions of man's kinship with lower forms, expected a fearful fall from
the secure position of human dignity ; such persons, to quote Mr.
Leslie Stephen's remark, having found that, after all, they were hang-
ing not on the brink of a vast precipice, but merely from a rocky
ledge with the toes, all unknown to themselves, nearly touching the
ground. And we have heard of still more cheerfully disposed people,
who, finding, to their relief, that humanity and its affairs remained
perfectly undisturbed by Mr. Darwin's views, became converted to
scientific ways of thinking, and even contrived to find a cheering
proof of man's lower kinship in the metaphorical declaration of Job
that man is the descendant of the worm.

But if the general opinion that, after all, evolution is by no means
such a dreadful conception as was formerly supposed, has rapidly
gained ground amongst us, there yet remains a considerable lack of
information concerning the exact fashion in which man's resemblance
to lower forms of life are demonstrated by nature. Objections to the
views of science on this hand, proceed as often as not from inability
to comprehend the relationships which, apart from all theories,
actually exist between man and other animals. The knowledge of
these relationships lies in a perfectly elementary study of natural
history. There need be no difficulty in the ready comprehension of

HUMAN RESEMBLANCES TO LOWER LIFE. 3

the chief points involved in such a study. Just as the comparative
psychologist can point to mental traits which no one denies are
common to man and lower animals, so the anatomist can demonstrate
a like connection between the bodily belongings of humanity and
lower tribes of living beings. Resemblances in mind are, in truth,
paralleled by likenesses in body between the human and lower estates,
which are even more convincing in their demonstration of our natural
kinships than the traits of mental life.

One of the earliest fruits of the labours of Cuvier consisted in
the demonstration of the fact, that, viewed by the science of his day,
no animal had a type or plan of body peculiar to itself, but, on the
other hand, presented a striking similarity in its general structure to
a greater or less number of other animal forms. There might be
no actual likeness perceptible between two animals, or two groups, or
there might exist differences apparently so great and so palpable that
their disagreement in nature could be readily prophesied ; and yet, it
could be shown, as Cuvier demonstrated, that underlying the obvious
dissimilarity of outward details, there might be found a more obvious
and more striking community and likeness of type. Now, that which
Cuvier demonstrated at the beginning of the present century, still
remains a sure article of zoological faith. That is to say, we are
aware that no animal has a type or build of body peculiar to itself.
Any animal we care to select from the varied array of the children of
life must fall into one or other of certain broad groups or types,
whereof Cuvier laid for us the solid outlines arid foundations. It is
true that naturalists may not agree concerning the exact number or
constitution of their " types " of animals ; and it is likewise correct
to affirm that the limits of these " types " have been frequently
changed, and are even now altered and revised, like the boundaries
of parishes and electoral districts, to suit the exigencies of increasing
wisdom. But Cuvier's main principle stands practically where it did
at the beginning of our century, and certain of his original " types "
represent, with comparatively little change, the existing and received
constitution of the animal world, as defined by the zoological science
of to-day. It is a striking enough fact, that the apparently endless
variety of form we behold in a great museum of zoology should be
capable of being arranged in a certain, and by no means large,
number of " types." Yet that such is the case is readily enough
proved } and it will be found that the appreciation of this wholesome
zoological truth renders the position of humanity in the animal series
a matter of very clear and unmistakable definition. ^

A shrimp and a butterfly are animals, which, in respect of the
dissimilarities in their appearance, habits, and presumably in struc-
ture as well, present us with two types, apparently as diverse in
nature as could well be selected from the zoological series. The

B 2

4 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

comparatively slow movements of the shrimp contrast forcibly with
the aerial life of the insect, and the points of likeness might, indeed,
be assumed to be non-existent for the non-technical mind. An
examination of shrimp anatomy would reveal much that was interest-
ing and curious in the way of animal belongings. The appendages
of the body, for example, which begin with the big, compound eyes
on their movable stalks, as we pass backwards become first jaws,
then jaw-feet, and legs, and finally end by appearing as the curious
flappers or " swimmerets " of the tail. These appendages, therefore,
present us with a curious study in Nature's ways of adapting one
and the same type of organ to an amazing variety of uses. Then,
we should note also, that the shrimp-body, which seems all head and
tail, is really resolvable into a head and chest united firmly together,
and a jointed tail ending in the broad tail-fin. We should further
observe our shrimp to be built like the steamships of to-day, in
"compartments" so to speak, or in "joints" to the number of
twenty or so. An inquiry into the internal constitution of shrimp
existence would reveal the fact that the cuirassed hopper of our
sands is well provided with the organs and possessions through
which life of a type much higher than his own is maintained. He
possesses a heart situated in his back ; a digestive apparatus, includ-
ing a stomach, liver, and intestine, occupying the middle line of his
body ; and a nervous system, consisting typically of a double chain
of nerves and nerve-masses, lying on the floor of his frame. So far,
then, shrimp existence appears to be well provided in the matter of
organs and parts necessary for the maintenance of its by no means
inactive life. We may perceive in the arrangement of parts just
described — the heart on the back, the digestive system in the middle
of the body, and the nervous system below — something more than an
accidental occurrence. On the contrary, it would require no special
gift of prophecy, scientific or otherwise, to predict that all other
shrimps, and all lobsters and crabs likewise, not to speak of the
hundreds of lower relations of the shrimp class — water fleas, bar-
nacles, and the like — would possess an essentially similar arrange-
ment of their parts. Actual examination of the animals just named
would show us that our prophecy was founded, according to the
advice of Hosea Biglow, on an actual knowledge of affairs. The
whole shrimp-race and the varied tribes of crabs, lobsters, and lower
crustaceans, are built on one and the same plan, namely, on that
seen in the familiar denizens of our sandy reaches.

But a further thought will unquestionably suggest itself, namely,
whether or not this type or build of body is peculiar to the shrimp
class and its neighbours. To answer this query, we may profitably
enough, perhaps, turn to our butterfly ; a quest which, at first sight,
certainly seems anything but promising in its nature. The know-

HUMAN RESEMBLANCES TO LOWER LIFE. 5;

ledge of butterfly -anatomy, however, soon dispels any doubts one
may have entertained regarding the relationship of the insect with
the shrimp. For we discover, firstly, that the body of the butterfly
is constructed of segments or joints, corresponding in structure, as
they practically agree in number also, with those of the shrimp.
Again, the appendages of the butterfly, though specially modified
for its aerial life and for its work of flower-visitation, present us
with a type which is essentially that seen in the curious jaws, jaw-
feet, and legs of the armoured crustacean. Lastly, but by no means
the least convincing proof of the unity of type which underlies
the apparent dissimilarity in form and life, we find the personal
belongings of the butterfly to present us with an exactly similar
arrangement to that seen in the shrimp. The insect-heart pulsates
just beneath the covering of its back ; the digestive system occupies
the middle region of its frame ; and the nervous system, presenting
us again with the double-chain type, lies along the floor of the insect-
body. Not only does our discovery of the remarkable similarity of
type teach us that the Crustacean host and all butterflies possess
bodies which are built up on one and the same type, but we also
learn that what holds true of the relations of one shrimp to others
and to all its neighbour crustaceans is likewise true when we con-
sider how butterflies are related to their insect neighbours. Each
one of the thousands of existing insect species presents us with a
body essentially similar to that of our butterfly in its broad details.
Where differences exist, they are referable to the modifications of one
and the same plan, and are not produced by the inauguration of new
plans or fresh types. All insects are therefore found to be modelled
on the type we discover underlying the butterfly's personal anatomy.
It is therefore no transcendental dream, but a sober fact of zoology,
that by constructing the figure of a jointed animal with its appen-
dages, with a back-heart, a nervous system below, and a digestive
tube running through the middle of its body, we should represent
the archetype, so to speak, at once of the insect class and of the
crustacean tribes. Furthermore, it would be easy to add other
important facts which rest on a similar basis to those just described.
All worms, spiders, mites and scorpions, and centipedes, conform to
the plain archetype we see in shrimp and butterfly. So that when,
to return to Cuvierian axioms, we speak of the "Articulated" or
" Annulose " animals, forming one of the chief and primary divisions
or " types " into which the animal kingdom has been parcelled out
by Nature, we are only reiterating the facts taught us by our examina-
tion of the shrimp and butterfly. One and the same fundamental
idea is thus found to underlie the often wide dissimilarities of animal
life ; and it is puzzling to say whether we are most liable to be struck
by the unity which prevails beneath the diversity of the animal

6 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

forms just noted, or by the countless modifications into which one
and the same plan, has, undoubtedly, through the ages of the past,
been evolved.

This digression into the regions of lower life has fitted us for a
profitable return to the domain which claims humanity as the flower
of its flock. Man's frame, the most complex which the anatomist
knows, is commonly believed to be constructed on a type peculiar to
itself. It is, at least, a matter of common belief that we stand on
a structural platform that is peculiarly our own. It is this tacit
belief which causes us to regard any obvious approach to our own
structure and conformation — as in the apes, for example — in the
light of a natural burlesque, rather than as a sober reality, depending
upon causes and laws written unmistakably in the constitution of
living things. Yet there is no truth further removed from the region
of fiction or hypothesis, than that which asserts that man has no type
peculiar to himself, any more than a shrimp or butterfly possesses a
bodily plan essentially and peculiarly its own. On the contrary, we
see in the human frame, merely the most specialised and distinct
form of a particular type or plan, which agrees in its broad details, as
a plan, with that seen in every fish, frog, reptile, bird, and quad-
ruped or mammal. Humanity rears its head erect at the top of
the animal tree, but it exists after all only at the end of its own
particular branch, which we know scientifically as the Vertebrata,
or, familiarly, as the " backboned " type. Every feature which, in
man, is to be regarded as most purely distinctive and human in its
nature, can be shown to represent simply the extreme development
or modification of characters or organs belonging to the type as a
whole. From man's liver to his brain, from the bones of his wrist to
the structure of his eye, there is nothing to be found that is not fore-
shadowed in type in the quadruped class, or even in lower verte-
brates still. Later on we shall have occasion to show that, as Mr.
Darwin remarks, man bears in his body undeniable traces of his
lowly origin. So that those philosophers who may feel inclined to
grumble at the clear evidences which anatomy presents of man's
relationship to, and place in, a great common type of animal life,
will require, after all, to bear a grudge not against the anatomist, but
against Nature herself, and against the constitution of the animal
world. It is hardly worth our while in truth to feel aggrieved, for
example, at the knowledge that the highest apes possess a hand
which, bone for bone and muscle for. muscle, resembles our own in type,
when we discover that man's " third eyelid " — existing in a rudi-
mentary state — is in reality a relic of a complete structure, possessed
by animals as low down in the vertebrate scale as the fishes. If we
are to be unphilosophical enough to consider questions of dignity,
when some obvious resemblance between ourselves and our nearest

HUMAN RESEMBLANCES TO LOWER LIFE. ^

neighbours, the quadrupeds, is pointed out, we must be bordering
on despair when zoology teaches us the plain fact that, as regards the
general type of our body, it is that common alike to fish, frog, rep-
tile, fowl, and quadruped. If we are to wring our hands because it is
suggested that man's place in nature is seriously impugned by the
revelations of zoology concerning his near alliance with other quad-
rupeds, we should be prepared to clothe ourselves in sackcloth when
the truth creeps out, that not merely are our bodies built up on the
common "backboned" plan, but that the bones in the body and
limbs of frog, reptile, and bird, find their obvious reflex in the
skeleton of creation's lord.

Suppose, for example, that we examine the body of a fish. We
find its nervous system — brain and spinal marrow — enwrapt within a
bony tube, formed by the skull and spine — the latter chain of bones
forming, as every one is aware, a salient feature of vertebrate life at
large. The nervous system, just noted, is further observed to lie in
che back region of the animal. The digestive apparatus of the fish,
again, is situated in the middle line of its body, whilst the heart lies
lowest as the fish swims. Above the digestive system, and below the
spine, we should lastly find a second nervous system, named the
4i sympathetic." This latter apparatus consists essentially of a double
chain of nerves and nerve-masses, and reminds us somewhat of the
nervous belongings of the shrimp and butterfly. Now this disposi-
tion of matters, it need hardly be remarked, is peculiar to no one
fish. It is seen in its plain details in every member of that class,
here and there showing elaboration, or, on the other hand, exhibit-
ing simplification, but preserving intact throughout, all the essentials
which constitute it a veritable type or plan. The frog-class exhibits
a like build of body. Every frog or newt resembles the fishes in the
placing of its nervous system, in the situation of its heart, in the con-
stitution of its spine, digestive apparatus, and sympathetic nerves.
So also with the cold-blooded reptiles, and with the warm-blooded
birds. However far removed these animals may appear to be from
the fish, the one type seen in the latter, remains as that which is
paramount in the denizens of earth and air. And, last of all, coming
to the quadrupeds or mammals, highest of the children of life, we
can discern in them the same build of body seen in fish and fowl.
We discover that man, in virtue of all his characters, falls naturally
to be included within the quadruped class, and remains as at once
" the paragon of animals," and head of this group. In this position,
man is, therefore, an undoubted " mammal," and shares firstly all the
purely essential characters of the group, with forms so lowly as the
" duck-billed water-mole" (Ornithorhynchiis} of Australia, or its
neighbours the kangaroos, and also with mammals of highly elaborated
nature, such as the bats and the apes. But along with the host of

8 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

mammals, man also exhibits a community of broad type and plan,
which demonstrates that in the build of his body he is at one with
even fish and frog. There is no escape from this plain, healthy
recognition of " man's place in nature." So far, therefore, from our
being able to discover within the sphere of humanity any special
possessions which entitle man to claim a structural kingdom for him-
self, we see, on the contrary, that he simply shares a position in the
animal world to which every other " backboned" form has a legitimate
claim. His more special features are, in reality, the outcome and
elaboration of traits which lower life exhibits in germ form long
before the human domain is reached. So that, whilst man stands a
veritable " lord of the creation," he truly occupies this elevated niche
only because he represents in himself the concentrated and elaborated
development of the type and belongings of existences infinitely lower
than his own.

Turning now to the investigation of more minute and specialised
points wherein the resemblances which exist between man and lower
forms may be more distinctly seen, we may first enter that region of
comparative anatomy which has for its aim the investigation of what
have been named " rudimentary organs." In former decades of
natural history study, biologists were not given to trouble themselves
concerning the existence or nature of such parts. In truth, the
existence of many rudimentary organs in animals and plants has only
been brought to light as a relatively recent discovery in biology.
The naturalists of old, with very special views of teleology and creation
before their eyes, were given to discuss in detail the uses and purposes
of the various organs and parts of living beings. Nowadays, we are
quite as much concerned with the study of the " purposelessness " of
certain parts, as with the evident functions of others. A philosophy
of by no means shallow character, but which, on the other hand, lies
at the root and foundation of our modern theory of nature, is bound
up with this study of parts which have become purposeless and useless.
It is the idea that they have become so, that in reality constitutes the
gist of the philosophy which explains their being ; since on all other
theories of their existence, the presence of useless and degenerated
organs in animals and plants constitutes an unexplained mystery of life.

That humanity possesses within the compass of its frame a con-
siderable number of examples of useless parts, which, as G. H. Lewes
remarked, have a reference " to a former state of things," is readily
proved. If, for instance, we make a superficial examination of the
muscular surroundings of the human ear, we may discover certain
plain examples of the rudimentary organs, to which the modern
anatomist attaches a high importance as clues and guides to the past
history of the race that exhibits them. The power to move our ears
is, of course, non-existent in the vast majority of mankind. Now

HUMAN RESEMBLANCES TO LOWER LIFE. 9

and then we meet with an individual who can fulfil one of Lord
Dundreary's tests of superiority in that he "can wag his left ear," and
can move his right ear also. At will, such individuals can produce
feeble though distinct movements of the ear. This power depends
upon an unusual development of muscles which, in ordinary indi-
viduals, exist in a rudimentary state. The ability to move the ear is
held to be a relic . of a power once well developed in the ancestry
from which the human race has sprung. Darwin tells us that he saw
" one man who could draw the whole ear forwards ; other men," he
continues, "can draw it upwards," another "could draw it back-
wards ; " and, adds Mr. Darwin, "from what one of these persons told
me, it is probable that most of us, by often touching our ears, and
thus directing our attention towards them, could recover some power
of movement by repeated trials." Three little muscles, named in
anatomy the attolens^ attrahens, and retrahens aurem, respectively (or
the k< raiser," " forward-drawer," and " back-drawer " of the ear), are
found associated with the outer ear in man. They are so small as to
be useless for any purpose of ear-movement, as we have seen; but
that their former and ancestral function was that of moving the ears
admits of no question. In lower animals, we find corresponding
muscles well developed ; whilst we may also discover additional
muscles to be represented in the belongings of the ears of many
quadrupeds. In the ear of the horse there are such additional
muscles ; and we can readily conceive that the wonderful pliability
and range of movement of the outer ear in this and other animals
would demand an increased muscular supply over that found in higher
quadruped life, where ear-movement becomes of less importance than
in lower existence. Thus we discover that in such apes as the
chimpanzee and orang, whose ears closely resemble those of man in
form, the ear-muscles are well-nigh as feebly developed as in the
human subject; and the ears of these animals do not appear to be
capable of any greater range of movement than is exhibited by man.
But the ear-muscles do not constitute the only muscular anomalies
to be found within the human domain. In the belongings of man's
nose are to be found certain feeble or useless muscles, which are,
however, well developed in lower quadrupeds. For example, there
exist within the confines of human anatomy, muscles which can par-
tially close our nostrils. The complete command of these muscles
over the nostrils has been lost ; but in such an animal as the seal,
which in diving requires to close its nostrils firmly against the
entrance of water, the corresponding muscles are very largely deve-
loped. Another interesting peculiarity of our muscular system con-
sists in the comparatively feeble and rudimentary development of
these muscles, which belong to the category of so-called "skin-muscles."
These latter organs derive their name from the fact that they possess

io STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE

a special action on the skin and superficial parts or appendages
which the skin may develop. In man, what is known as "goose-skin,"
results from fear, or, it may be, from the effects of cold. The little
papillae of the skin stand out more prominently in consequence of
the contraction of minute muscles. When the hair "stands on end,"
the phenomenon is due to a similar cause, namely, the action of the
small muscles attached to the hair-sacs. In birds these muscles are
found to be very largely developed, and are used for the erection
and depression of the feathers ; so that it forms a curious but
veritable truth of biology, that the symptoms of fright in humankind
simply form an exhibition of feeble and diminished powers which
are seen in the full flush of their development in birds and in other
vertebrates.

But the list of the skin-muscles, which man possesses in a
rudimentary state as legacies from a far back ancestry, is by no
means exhausted, or even fully illustrated by the foregoing observa-
tions. There are two muscles in man which have always excited
attention from their anomalous nature. The one muscle is called
the ocdpito-frontaliS) and may be described as the great scalp-muscle,
through the action of which certain persons are able to move the
hairy scalp backwards and forwards with great rapidity. Ordinarily,
we use this muscle to wrinkle our eyebrows, and to raise the eye-
brows in the act of expressing surprise. Whoever has seen a
Macaque monkey in a rage will require no further illustration of
the fact that the power of movement in the muscle just named is
possessed in all its typical development by the quadrumanous tribes.
In the monkeys, the brow can be deeply wrinkled, and the scalp is
made to contract under the influence of emotion with singular
dexterity. It is curious to observe that the power possessed by
some human beings over their scalps is capable of being transmitted,
like other features of bodily organisation, to posterity. Such a fact
illustrates very powerfully the innate and intrinsic nature of the
powers in question. Mr. Darwin tells us that M. A. de Candolle
communicated to him a very typical case of the transmission and
inheritance of an unusual power of using the scalp-muscle. The
head of a family, when a youth, could pitch several heavy books from
his head by the movement of the scalp alone ; and he won wagers
by performing this feat. His father, uncle, grandfather, and his three
children, possess the same power to the same unusual degree. This
family became divided eight generations ago into two branches ; " so
that the head of the above-mentioned branch is cousin in the
seventh degree to the head of the other branch. This distinct
cousin resides in another part of France, and on being asked
whether he possessed the same faculty, immediately exhibited his
power." The transmission of such a peculiarity merely illustrates

HUMAN RESEMBLANCES TO LOWER LIFE. ir

the existence of that variation in living beings to which we owe all
our supremacy over lower forms. Acting in one fashion, it is this
variation, aided by use and " selection," which deprives us of the
powers possessed by the muscles of lower life. In another aspect
of its operation, it is this same principle of variation which, acting
through " reversion " or the return to former and lower states, renews,
within the children of light and leading, the traits of the ancestry of
those far back aeons when the world of life was but in its teens.

More extraordinary still, is the history of the second of the " skin-
muscles," to which allusion has been made. In lower animals is
found a peculiar muscle which rejoices in the name of the panniculus
carnosus. When we see a lively porpoise disporting itself in the
waves, rolling head over heels, and otherwise exhibiting that pro-
pensity for aquatic gambols which is a characteristic of its race, we
may credit the muscle just named, with a full share of work in pro-
ducing the movements of the lithe fish-like frame. It would not be
incorrect to describe the body of the porpoise as being literally
swathed in this great muscle, so thoroughly developed are its pro-
portions in that animal. When that modest but bristly quadruped
the hedgehog contrives in a moment of surprise to roll head and tail
together, and to present an impregnable surface to the gaze of his
enemy, human or canine, as the case may be, we must credit his
" panniculus " with the work of suddenly transforming him from an
active quadruped into an inanimate ball of spines. A dissection of
a hedgehog would show us that the great skin-muscle can be split
into nine pairs of muscles, and that one of these pairs represents the
" scalp-muscle " of humanity. Or again, when we see the horse
" shaking his coat," or the retriever dog which has just left the sea,
sending the water from off his skin in the effective fashion of his race,
we are simply witnessing the action of the " panniculus "-muscle in
another phase of its action.

Ascending now to humanity, how, let us inquire, is the "pan-
niculus " developed in man, and what are the functions it can
be shown to possess? As our previous studies will have led us
to expect, the " panniculus " of man exists, firstly, in a condition
which may truly be described as "rudimentary" when compared
with its development in lower life. The "scalp-muscle" has just
been noted to represent part of the " panniculus," which in man
thus becomes split up into separate and detached portions. Another
part of the great "skin-muscle" of the hedgehog is found in that
muscle which in human anatomy receives the name of the pla-
tysma. This latter muscle exists as a broad sheet of fibres, lying
just beneath the" skin on each side of the neck. In man it serves to
wrinkle the skin of the neck, and it also aids in depressing the
lower jaw. In other parts of man's body, traces of the division of

12 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

the " panniculus " are also to be found. In the proportion of about
three per cent, in upwards of 600 bodies examined, Professor Turner
tells us that a muscle of man's trunk, usually regarded by anatomists
as of ordinary type, is really a fragment of the great " skin-muscle."
Again, a curious muscle in man, known as the palmaris brevis, lying
imbedded in the fat of the inner or little finger side of the palm of
the hand, and which passes to be attached to the skin covering the
ball of the little finger, is to be regarded as a relic of the skin-muscle
of lower life. This muscle also occurs in the lemurs, and is found
even in the kangaroo order. It may therefore represent a very early
development of the "skin-muscle," which became separated from
the great bulk of that structure long before the other portions assumed
a distinct individuality. So far, therefore, as man's muscular arrange-
ments are concerned, he may be said to exhibit no peculiarities which
cannot be accounted for on grounds compatible with the belief that
his most characteristic belongings represent either special develop-
ments, or on the other hand degenerations, of the fibres of lower forms.
From the " skin-muscles " and face to the eye is but a brief step ;
and in certain structures connected with the organ of sight in man
we may discover other links relating man to lower life. The " third
eyelid " of animal life has already been cursorily alluded to. This
structure is the " nictitating membrane " of comparative anatomists.
As low down in the vertebrate series as the sharks, this curious
structure is to be found ; amongst the frogs and reptiles it is far from
uncommon ; and in birds it assumes a high prominence amongst the
belongings of the eye. Amongst the quadrupeds, it occasionally
exhibits a tolerable development. In the walrus, for instance, it is
seen in perfection, whilst amongst the lowest mammals — the kangaroo
order and that of the " duck-billed water mole " of Australia — it is
specially developed. Of higher quadruped life as a whole, the " third
eyelid," however, cannot be said to be characteristic. In the birds,
in which the " third eyelid " is specially developed, this structure
exists as a membrane which sweeps across the surface of the eyeball
from the inner to the outer side, somewhat after the fashion o£ a
shutter. In many birds, this eyelid is of a white hue, in others it is
transparent. Two special muscles assist its movements. These
muscles pull the eyelid over the globe of the eye, and upon their re-
laxing their action, the membrane returns through its own elasticity
to the inner corner of the eye-cavity, where it lies folded until again
called into use. In man and the apes, no third eyelid is developed ;
a feature in which they agree with the great bulk of the quadrupeds.
But when the eyes of man and his nearest allies are carefully ex-
amined, a curious, little, half-moon-shaped fold (plica semilunaris} is
seen to exist at the inner corner of the eye-border. Between the
two layers of which this little fold is composed, there is developed a

HUMAN RESEMBLANCES TO LOWER LIFE. 13

small plate of cartilaginous gristle. Traced backwards to the ante-
cedents which it owns, this fold is seen to represent the third eyelid
in a degraded and deteriorated condition. From its highly developed
shutter-like function in birds, where it sweeps over the eye-surface
and cleanses the globe from foreign bodies, or from its development
amongst lower quadrupeds, to the degradation it exhibits even before
the sphere of humanity is approached, many links of the chain may
be wanting in truth. But for the mind of the anatomist there remains
only one natural explanation of the occurrence of the useless fold in
the corner of the human eye. Like the rudimentary ear-muscles, it
carries us in imagination to a far back past, when, in the pre-human
ancestry, the third eyelid possessed functions as important as that
exhibited by its representative in the bird to-day.

The teeth of animals form a series of structures, subject, as
even the tyro in zoology knows, to literally immense variations,
which bear, as a rule, a relation to the habits of life of their posses-
sors. Man's teeth are undoubtedly peculiar in that they form a con-
tinuous series, and are not separated throughout their extent in
either jaw by an interval, such as we see very familiarly irr the mouth
of a horse or rat. It is true that man shares this peculiarity with a
little lemur called Tarsius, and with an extinct quadruped the Anoplo-
therium ; this fact serving naturally to diminish somewhat the
special character of the human teeth-array. The "eye-teeth," or
4 'canines" of humanity, although not specially prominent, are yet
sufficiently developed to prove that they have assumed their present
place in the jaw only by protest, as it were, and that at no very
remote period they were much more obtrusive than now. In the
apes, we see these teeth highly developed, reminding us of their
prominence in the carnivorous tribes. So also, when man sneers, he
uncovers his upper canine of one side, after the fashion of the enraged
dog, and employs similar muscles for the display of the tooth. Mr.
Darwin is, therefore, speaking within the bounds of a scientific
philosophy when we find him saying that a sneer reveals the animal
descent of man ; " for no one," he continues, " even if rolling on the
ground in a deadly grapple with an enemy, and attempting to bite
him, would try to use his canine teeth more than his other teeth.
We may readily believe from our affinity to the anthropomorphous
(or manlike) apes that our male semi-human progenitors possessed
great canine teeth, and men are now occasionally born having them of
unusually large size, with interspaces in the opposite jaw for their re-
ception. We may further suspect," concludes Mr. Darwin, " notwith-
standing that we have no support from analogy, that our semi-human
progenitors uncovered their canine teeth when prepared for battle,
as we still do when feeling ferocious, or when merely sneering at or
defying some one, without any intention of making a real attack with

I4 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

our teeth." In other words, the mere gesture, once probably pursu-
ing a very definite use in the battle of attack, has, like the tooth
concerned in its exhibition, become a mere shadow of former reali-
ties. Other teeth, besides the canines in man, appear to afford
means of tracing his kinship with lower forms. That the last molar,
or "wisdom" teeth, are probably smaller in the men of to-day than
in the races of the past, appears to be a credible assertion. That
the last molars are becoming rudimentary, and are tending to dis-
appear in civilised races of men, is a well ascertained fact. Con-
trariwise, it is in savage races that these teeth are found in perfect
development, just as, in lower men, the intermaxillary bone of
animals is found occasionally to be represented. The wisdom teeth
appear to be of larger size in those races of men whom we justly
esteem of lower nature than ourselves ; and if this observation be
correct, it would appear to show that our dental belongings, like
our muscles, are not beyond the reach of those modifications to
which we owe, in part at least, our ascent from lower ancestry to the
crown and acme of life's development.

The race of jokers who, once upon a time, were fond of levelling
caustic remarks at the evolutionists' beliefs were accustomed to find
great comfort and consolation, amidst possible troubles engendered
by the thought of a low human ancestry, in the consideration that
man at least wanted one characteristic trait of lower life in the shape
of a tail. The hopes of the perturbed were somewhat shaken by the
discovery that, firstly, as man certainly possesses four rudimentary
tail-vertebrae tacked on to the extremity of his spine, Lord Mon-
boddo's supposition concerning the disappearance of the caudal ap-
pendage of humanity, might, after all, be more tenable than was
generally supposed. It was something, at least, to have discovered
that humanity still possesses the rudiment of a tail, and that the ques-
tion was not one of " tail or no tail," but the more important question
of the why and how of the tail's disappearance. The magot, or
Barbary ape, has fewer bones in his "tail " than man ; and^of course
the highest apes — gorilla, chimpanzee, orang, and gibbon — possess
a tail no longer than is found in humanity, whilst the " tail-muscles,"
as in man, are rudimentary or altogether wanting.

The disappearance of a tail is not, however, limited to quadruped
life. A crab's tail, well developed in the young state, grows "small
by degrees and beautifully less," until it becomes tucked up under the
head and chest, and forms the well-known " purse " of that familiar
crustacean. On this ground alone, the crab might claim to rank as
a higher and more modified animal than its tailed neighbour the
lobster. Similarly, the tailed tadpole develops into the tailless frog,
which is undoubtedly a more specialised animal than its near neigh-
bour the tailed newt.

HUMAN RESEMBLANCES TO LOWER LIFE. 15

Passing backwards in animal history, we discover that the
true story of living beings is often to be compiled by the aid of
development alone. In truth, the investigation of tails as they are,
reveals very little about tails as they were. We may safely apprehend
that the human tail represents a degenerate appendage. It remains
for development to show us that our supposition implies a fact. If
we trace human individual history backwards to a period very early
in the development of our frame, we shall find that the extremity of
the spine is not only a very prominent feature in human anatomy,
but projects distinctly beyond the lower extremities. The human
tail in an early stage of our development, is, in fact, twice as long as
the legs. At the corresponding period in the development of the
highest apes, the tail is equally prominent. As development advances,
however, the caudal extremity begins to decline, and comes to assume
its human characters, or rather to assume these features which, in
this respect, man shares with the higher apes. Only in rare cases,
does the "tail" persist in its early condition, and in such instances
the individual is born in possession of an external rudiment of a
caudal appendage. In the degraded "tail" of normal humanity,
the rudiment of the " extensor " muscle of the tail is, however,
still to be found ; this muscle linking us to the lower stages, in
which the tail-movements are a characteristic feature of life. Curi-
ously enough, at the tip of the human tail, there is known to exist
a very singular structure, the exact nature of which was for long
doubtful. But as this structure was believed to correspond to the
tail-bloodvessel in a modified condition, search was made for a
similar structure in lower life, with the result that in the cat and
in a Macaque monkey, a similar body was found, although in these
animals it was not situated as in man, at the extremity of the appen-
dage. The occurrence of such a body in a true and well-developed
tail shows how clearly the terminal point of man's spine falls within
the category of " caudal" structures.

One of the most striking features of human anatomy leads us
to investigate very briefly the structure of the intestine, which, as
every reader knows, is simply the digestive tube continued onwards
from the stomach. The digestive system of any animal may in
fact be described as a tube, whereof the stomach itself is merely
a distended part. In most animals, the intestine can be divided
into a " small " and " large " portion ; the former becoming con-
tinuous with the latter. At the junction of the small and large
intestine of humanity, there is found a pocket-like portion, forming,
in fact, the first part of the large intestine, named the ccecum.
Attached to and opening from this pocket, is a small tubular appen-
dage, which, at first sight, suggests a structure of rudimentary and use-
less kind. That the coecum itself is of rudimentary kind in man, is

1 6 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

readily provable. In the hare or horse it assumes an immense size,
and it is very large likewise in that near neighbour of the kangaroos,
the koala. The explanation of the small ccecum of man and its
tubular appendage appears to be readily found, when we take into
consideration the development of this structure in lower life. Even
in some lemurs, these lower kith and kin of the monkeys, the
coecum is large and yet possesses the tubular addendum ; a fact show-
ing us that probably the extremity of the ccecum first degenerates,
and that the ccecum itself lastly becomes rudimentary as a whole.
Occasionally, in man, the tubular appendage of this part of the
intestine may present us with a tolerable development ; Nature in
such a case reverting to the primitive condition. But as it exists
normally in man and the apes, we simply see in this modified part of
the digestive apparatus an additional proof of the work of variation
as that process has operated in the production of the highest forms
of quadruped life.

Allied in its nature to the foregoing modification seen in the
production of man's frame, is another characteristic, wherein bone
and bloodvessel unite to produce a feature of higher existence. In
the bone called the humerus, which forms the single bone of the
upper arm in man, there is occasionally found a distinct passage
through which pass the great nerve and artery of the fore-arm. In
the normal and usual condition of the bone, a mere trace of the
passage in question exists ; but it becomes interesting to note that
the abnormal in man is the normal in lower life. That is to say,
even certain of the monkeys, not to speak of carnivorous animals
and the kangaroo tribe, possess the passage in its complete state for
protecting the artery and nerve of the lower part of the forelimb.
Occurring, as it occasionally does, in man, we see in the presence of
this passage another proof of reversion to a lower ancestry, So also,
another passage in the same bone is now and then seen in man, and
is a constant possession of lower quadrupeds, and often of some
monkeys. But the curious fact remains, that in the men of old, and
in primitive races, this latter passage was a very constant feature.
The plain inference seems to be that ancient man, standing nearer
to the animal ancestors of his race, naturally exhibited in fuller
details the belongings of his ancestry ; just, indeed, as Professor
Owen remarks, that the muscles of the human ear, already discussed,
" probably existed in normal size and force " in the primitive men of
the stone period.

The early stages of human development, and the first beginnings,
so to speak, of the individual frame, present to the eye of science
certain very marvellous proofs of man's kinship with lower life.
Away backwards in the dim ancestral periods, when the lower types
were evincing their special tendencies towards the evolution of the

HUMAN RESEMBLANCES TO LOWER LIFE. 17

" paragon of animals," the evidences of that lower life gradually
began to pale and to disappear, as first the pre-human, and then the
human, characters were outlined. The projecting face-bones, still
seen to-day as a lingering survival in lower races of men, began to
be compressed and concentrated, as the work of making the " human
face divine" with its overhanging brain proceeded apace. The massive
teeth and muscles of lower life were gradually modified to form the
more modest structures our race exhibits to-day ; and the erect
posture, sustained without an effort, likewise began to be assumed as
a special feature of the developing tribes of humanity. This much
we can see by the lawful scientific use of the imagination in a back-
ward glance along the lines of the past. It would appear to the eye
of the biologist as though the human characters had been laid over
the features of the lower life that preceded them — as if the picture of
humanity's progress had been painted over and upon the design
which the cumulative life of the vertebrate had furnished as a foun-
dation for the best and highest work of all. If such a simile holds
good, we might expect, in examining closely the latest figures on the
canvas, that here and there we should obtain a glimpse of the artist's
first outlines, and of the preliminary sketches which served for the
realisation of the more perfect ideal. As from the erasures and blots
of the finished manuscript, we may gain a clue to the genesis of th
writer's thoughts, so we may read between the lines of the warp and
woof of life, and may detect occasional glimpses of the fashioning of
lower types into that of humanity itself. The glimpses we do obtain,
are often blurred and indistinct, and their very nature is frequently
obscure. But there is no doubting the significance of the ancient
finger-posts which, half buried in the mists of antiquity or erased by
the busy fingers of time, still point the pathway along which man's
race has fought and won its way to the supremacy of the animal
hosts.

It is in the study of the early phases of human development that
the most significant clues to man's past history are to be found.
Biological science in this respect but repeats the scientific methods
of common history ; and the genesis of human motives, ethical and
political, is most truly construed when the knowledge of their growth
and development is within the historian's grasp. A marked similarity
of development, then, is firstly found to characterise the earliest
phases of development throughout the vertebrate series. Human
existence steps forth upon the stage of time, potentially endowed
with the cumulative powers of its ancestry no doubt, but likewise
exhibiting a lowliness of actual garb and substance which places our
beginning at the veritable root stock of the tree of life. The earliest
germ of the human frame is a structureless mass of protoplasm, attain,
ing a diameter of the one-hundred- and-twentieth part of an inch,

c

i8 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

and being in this guise practically undistinguishable from the germ
which is to develop into that of any other vertebrate form. What-
ever this germ or "ovum" may become, it presents in substance,
chemical composition, and microscopic characters, no features which
are other than those seen with equal distinctness in that of every
fish, frog, reptile, bird, or quadruped. Humanity thus, as a matter
of bare, unadorned fact, starts from a structural platform which is
common to all the members of the great " backboned " group. The
primitive changes which occur in the history of this germ are next
noted to run in strictly parallel lines with those viewed in the develop-
ment not merely of all other vertebrates, but it may be added of all
other animals from the Sponges to the " backboned " series. The
changes in question are collectively termed the " segmentation " of the
germ. By this term is meant the division of the protoplasm of the
" germ " — which in itself is one " cell " — into a large number of
similar and smaller cells. This result has been very aptly compared
to the process of fashioning many similar bricks from the common
clay of a field. The primitive "germ" is such a field in miniature,
and the cells which result from its division are the units, through
the subsequent arrangement of which, the animal house in general,
and the human edifice in particular, are respectively built. There is
no reason to doubt that what has been seen to occur in the course
of the frog's development, and what is known to occur in the fashion-
ing of the developing rabbit — a member of man's own class — likewise
occurs in the outlining of the human form. As the course of develop-
ment therefore proceeds, we discover that the cells arising from the
division of the primitive germ arrange themselves to form a rounded,
and in lower forms cup-shaped body, whose wall is double, and
which has been named the gastrula. Here ensues an important
observation in so far as the genesis of animal forms is concerned.
It is known that in the developmental history of every class of
animals, from the Sponges to the " backboned " series, this cup-stage
or "gas trula" is represented. Hence, biological opinion, regarding
this universally occurring landmark in animal history, assigns to it
a high rank in the list of the guides which point out the paths of our
development and evolution in the past. We know of certain
animals among the Sponges and Zoophytes, which, never advancing
beyond this cup-stage, appear before us as permanent "gastrulas."
That which is a transitory stage in our own early history becomes,
when arrested, a permanent and adult stage of lower life. If, there-
fore, the story told us by our development is to be construed at all,
it must be held as showing that " once upon a time " our most
primitive ancestry began under the guise of a protoplasm -speck
represented to-day by the germ which forms the initial stage in our
history. Whilst the recital also clearly shows us that the first rise in

HUMAN RESEMBLANCES TO LOWER LIFE. 19

life with which this remote ancestral stock was favoured, occurred
when the structureless animal of the first period became the "gastrula-
cup " of the second. It is in this fashion that we are led to see in
the development of man or of any other animal form, a panorama of
the evolution of its race. We can thus also conceive how meaning-
less on any other supposition in the eyes of naturalists, are all those
interesting stages which herald the genesis and production of each
individual animal or plant that is born into the world.

An interesting episode in the history of human genesis and of
vertebrate development at large, consists in the further observation
that at an early period after the " gastrula stage," and, indeed, even
contemporaneously with the appearance of that stage itself, the cells
of the primitive body arrange themselves in two layers, an outer and
inner, whilst a third layer is in due time formed between them.
From these three layers, and by their subsequent elaboration to
form the fundamental body-substance, all the organs and parts of
animals are formed. The outer layer is named the epiblast. From
this tissue are formed the outer or " scarf-skin," and the brain and
spinal cord. It is exceedingly curious to note that the most super-
ficial layer of our bodies, and the deeper nervous centres, are formed
from one and the same layer. The inner layer is known as the
hypoblast ; and from it are elaborated the lining membrane of the
digestive canal and that of the lungs. The middle layer receives
the name of the mesoblast. This latter structure may be credited
with forming the great bulk of the body. To it the bones, muscles,
bloodvessels, and viscera generally, owe their origin. Tracing back
our progress in the matter of individual formation, we thus arrive at
the conclusions that, to begin with, our bodies, however complex
they may appear, sprang each from a single cell, that this cell begets
many others, and that these cells, finally arranging themselves in
three layers, form the entire frame. And these facts, it may be
noted, apply with equal force to the genesis of a worm or a snail, and
to the fashioning of the human frame.

Later on, the progress of human development is found to exhibit
certain features which, equally with the foregoing stages, testify to
the far back ancestry to which humanity owes its being. A survey
of one or two features of special interest in the development of lower
Vertebrates will preface in a natural manner the brief study of the
peculiarities of lower life in which man is found to share. When the
development of the fish is studied, we observe that at an early stage in
his history certain clefts appear in the sides of the neck, these clefts
being separated from each other by solid bars or partitions. The
clefts are known as the "branchial clefts" or "gill clefts," and the
bars as the " branchial" or "gill arches." From four to six pairs of
these clefts exist in the fish, and as fishes breathe by means of gills

C 2

20 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

the development of the structures just described, must be regarded
as an occurrence of the most natural description. In such animals
also as the frogs, which breathe by gills in early life, or those curious
efts, the Proteus and its neighbours, which breathe by gills through-
out life and develop lungs in addition, the appearance of gill clefts
and arches in their early existence must be regarded as a perfectly
normal and natural feature. Here, however, the apparently regular
course of gill development ends. For, when we ascend to the three
highest classes of vertebrate animals — reptiles, birds, and mammals
— we discover that lungs, and lungs alone, form the breathing organs
of these groups ; gills having no share whatever in their respiration.
Yet the puzzle of life waxes apparently intricate enough in its details,
when we discover that in the early life of each reptile, bird, quad-
ruped, and man, the gill clefts appear with as unfailing regularity as in
the gill-breathing fish or frog. Whatever may be their ultimate fate,
it is, at least, certain, that the gill clefts and arches of humanity are
a veritable possession of our early life. Their further history is
simply one of obliteration, united with a degree of modification in
which they become elaborated into structures useful to higher life,
but unknown, of course, in the lower tribes which retain their gill
arches as supports for their gills. We find that the first of these gill
clefts becomes converted into part of the ear structures. The outer
canal of the ear, the " drum," and the Eustachian tube which places
ear and throat in communication, represent the modified first gill
cleft of our early life. As has been remarked, it is a curious fact of
human development that the foregoing parts in the ear of man repre-
sent the last survivals of the gill-opening of a fish-like ancestry.
The " arches " which separate the " clefts " are likewise elaborated in
human development. The bone (hyoid} which supports the tongue,
and the small bones of the internal ear, are the ultimate representatives
of the gill arches of our early life.

Thus we may read, with more than common interest, the story
of the genesis of our race, which is written in the progress of our
early development, and which should possess for humanity an at-
traction far exceeding that contained in any other recital connected
with the history of our species. If the facts of our development and
of our bodily structure are to be interpreted in a rational sense, the
inferences which we may draw from the recital are by no means of
doubtful nature. For they tell us at once of descent and ascent — of
a long ancestry, and of a rise and progress from lower life to the
rank and title which humanity legitimately claims as sovereign of
the animal kingdom. Such a study not only clearly shows us the
perfection to which, as a species, we have attained, but likewise
accounts, in the conclusion it formulates respecting our genesis, for
the imperfections and rudiments of lower life which, like the re-

HUMAN RESEMBLANCES TO LOWER LIFE. 21

echoes of the past, still dwell with us, and remind us of the length
of our pedigree. Nor do such studies remind us only of the antiquity
of our origin. They recall to mind with equal force the nobility with
which such an ancestry invests our race, because they show us that
we are the highest products of laws of development which invest and
rule the whole of the animated universe. To stand at the head of a
creation of such surprising and almost incomprehensible extent, and
which has been fashioned by laws and powers of such exceeding
complexity, must surely confer a patent of nobility upon our race,
compared with which all the prepossessions of the past appear of
sordid order. There is the ring of truest wisdom in the words with
which Mr. Leslie Stephen closes his reflections regarding the effect
of the newer ideas of human origin on the moral progress of the
race. "If Darwinism demonstrates that men have been evolved
out of brutes," says Mr. Stephen, " the religion which it takes into
account will also have to help men to bear in mind that they are now
different from brutes."

22 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

II.

SOME ECONOMICS OF NATURE.

AMONG the views of living Nature, and indeed of the inorganic uni-
verse as well, which receive tacit acceptance and sanction from ordi-
nary thinkers, there are certain phases deemed incontrovertible in
their plain, every-day demonstration. Before our eyes, for instance,
we see Madre Natura spending her wherewithal in apparent thrift-
lessness and woeful waste. The proverb, " Waste not, want not," so
thoroughly and repeatedly dinned into youthful ears, would seem to
have no application to the works and ways of the prodigal All-mother
that surrounds and encompasses us. The flower that "blooms unseen
and wastes its sweetness on the desert air," is a very mild illustration
of a nature-spirit which appeals in more forcible ways to the mind as
an example of needless contrivance, wasted effort, and useless prodi-
gality. We fly to Tennyson for that apt quotation concerning the
fifty seeds produced, and whereof only one comes to the full fruition
of its race. Every summer day shows us how true apparently the
poetic axiom holds. Every spring-time seems to teach us the same
truism. The pines and other cone-bearing trees discharge their pollen
or fertilising matter in clouds. The winds, as Nature intends, sweep
this pollen from their branches, on the " flowers " of which it has been
produced. Carried through the air for miles, so much of the pollen-
cloud will fall on the receptive " cones," fertilise the ovules, and thus
convert them into seeds, whence a new dynasty of trees may arise.
But countless showers of pollen are spent in vain, irrecoverably lost,
and sent abroad to no purpose whatever. They fall on barren
ground ; they litter the earth miles away from their parent trees, or
cover the surface of lakes for miles with a yellow film — their purpose
futile and their production vain. True it is, as the botanist will tell us,
that more pollen must be produced in the case of wind-fertilised
plants than is found in that of insect-impregnated flowers. It is a
case of " hit or miss " with the wind-fertilised trees, while it is an
illustration of an exact calculated aim with the flowers. Hence
Nature has to provide for the contingency which awaits her efforts in
the former instance by providing a very copious supply of pollen.
She is in the position here, not of the marksman who takes deliberate
aim at the bull's-eye with his rifle and single bullet. Contrariwise,,
she uses, her Gatling gun or her mitrailleuse in the act of fertilising
the trees. She showers her bullets at the object in the hope that

SOME ECONOMICS OF NATURE. 23

some of them will hit, and with the equally plain expectation that
many must miss altogether. The whole process appears to be waste-
ful in the extreme — natural affairs notwithstanding ; and the Tenny-
sonian couplet is practically realised when the spectacle of tons of
wasted pollen is beheld, discharged as these are at the mercy of any
wind that blows, and sent into the air to accomplish at haphazard
what in other plants is often effected by deliberate and carefully cal-
culated mechanism.

The notion that Nature possesses any system of economics at all
might well be questioned by the observer who discerns the apparent
waste through which many natural works and ways are carried out.
But here, as in the case of so many other phases of life, the two sides
of the medal must be carefully studied. It is not the case that
Nature is uniformly neglectful of her resources, any more than it is
correct to say that she is always saving or perennially economical.
Circumstances alter cases in the phases of natural things as in human
affairs, and we may readily enough discover that in several instances
a very high degree of well-calculated prudence and foresight, speak-
ing in ordinary terms, is exercised in the regulation of the universe
of living and non-living things alike.

Take as a broad example of the close adjustment of ways and
means to appointed ends the relationship between animals and green
plants in the matter of their gaseous food. That the animal form
demands for its due sustenance a supply of oxygen gas is, of pourse,
a primary fact of elementary science. Without oxygen, animal life
comes to an end. This gas is a necessary part of the animal dietary,
It supplies the tinder which kindles life's fuel into a vital blaze, and
in other ways it assists not only the building-up but the physiological
''breakdown" of the animal frame. Part of this "breakdown" or
natural waste accompanying all work, like the inevitable shadow,
consists of carbonic acid gas. This latter compound is made up of
so much carbon and so much oxygen. It arises from the union of
these two elements within the body, and is a result of the produc-
tion of heat, representing, in this way, part of the ashes of the bodily
fire. Viewed as an excretion, as a something to be got rid of, and as
a deadly enough element in the animal domain, this carbonic acid
is a thorough enemy of animal life. It is not only useless in, but
hurtful to the animal processes. Ventilation is intended as a prac-
tical warfare against the carbonic acid we have exhaled from lungs
and skin ; and " the breath, rebreathed," is known to be a source
of danger and disease to the animal populations of our globe.
Here, however, the system of natural economics appears to step in
and to solve in an adequate fashion this question of carbonic acid
and its uses. Just as the chemist elaborates his coal-tar colours
from the refuse and formerly despised waste products of the gasworks,

24 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

so Dame Nature contrives a use for the waste carbonic acid of the
animal world. She introduces the green plants on the scene as her
helpmates and allies in the economical work. Every green leaf we
see, is essentially a devourer of carbonic acid gas from the atmo-
sphere. That which the animal gives out, the green plant takes in.
Not so your mushrooms and other grovellers of the vegetable king-
dom, which, having no green about them, refuse to accept the cast-
off products of the animal series, and despise the carbonic acid as a
poor but proud relation discards the gift of our old garments. The
green plant is the recipient of the animal waste. The leaves drink
in the carbonic acid which has been exhaled into the atmosphere by
the tribes of animals. They receive it into their microscopic cells,
each of which, with its living protoplasm and its chlorophyll or green
granules, is really a little chemical laboratory devoted to the utilisa-
tion of waste products. Therein, the carbonic acid gas is received ;
therein, it is dexterously split up, " decomposed," as chemists wouki
have it, into its original elements, carbon and oxygen ; and therein
is the carbon retained as part of the food of the plant, while the
oxygen, liberated from its carbon bonds, is allowed to escape back
into the atmosphere to become once again useful for the purposes
of animal life.

There would thus appear to be a continual interchange taking
place between the animal and plant worlds — a perpetual utilisation
by the latter of the waste products of the former. It is immaterial
to this main point in natural economics that the reception of carbonic
acid by green plants can only proceed in the presence of light. It is
equally immaterial that by night these green plants become like
animals, and receive oxygen (an action which, by the way, they also
exhibit by day) and emit carbonic acid. These facts do not affect
the main point at issue, which is the direct use by the plant of
animal waste, and a very pretty cycle of operations would thus appear
to have been established when botanical research showed the inter-
actions to which we have just alluded.

Going a step further in the same direction, we may find that this
utilisation of animal waste is by no means limited to the mere recep-
tion and decomposition of carbonic acid gas by green plants. It
may be shown that the economical routine of Nature is illustrated in
other phases of the common life of the world. The general food of
plants is really animal waste. We fructify our fields and gardens
with the excretions of the animal world. The ammonia which plants
demand for food is supplied by the decay of living material, largely
animal in its nature ; and even the sordid fungi flourish amid decay,
and use up in the system of natural economy many products for
which it would be hard or impossible to find any other use. What
we, in ordinary language, term "putrefaction" or " decay," is really a

SOME ECONOMICS OF NATURE. 25

process of extermination of the decomposing matter. No sooner
does an organism— animal or plant — part with vitality and become as
the "senseless clod," than thousands of minute organisms — the
"germs" of popular science — make it their habitation and their
home. The process of putrefaction, unsavoury as it may be, is really
Nature's way of picking the once living body to pieces, of disposing it
in the most economical way. So much of it is converted into gas,
which, mingling with the air, feeds the green plants as we have noted.
So much of the dead frame is slowly rendered into nothingness by
the attack of the microscopic plants which are the causes of decom-
position. Nature says to these lower organisms, " There is your
food. In nourishing yourselves, accomplish my further work of rid-
ding the earth of yon dead material." And so much, lastly, of the
once living frame — assuming it to have been that of the higher animal —
as is of mineral nature, and therefore resists mere decay, will in due
time be dissolved away by the rains and moisture, and be carried into
the soil, to enter into new and varied combinations in the shape of
minerals which go to feed plants. Shakespeare must surely have
possessed some inkling of such a round of natural economics when
we find him saying —

Imperial Coesar, dead and turn'd to clay,
May stop a hole to keep the wind away.
Oh ! that that earth which kept the world in awe,
Should patch a wall t' expel the winter's flaw.

Continuing the study, we may see yet further glimpses of the
great system of general regulation which guards Nature from over-
drawing her accounts in connection with the arrangement of living
things. Not only in beings of high degree, but in animals of low
estate, do we meet with illustrations of the economy of power and
the saving of needless expenditure of force and energy which Dame
Nature practises. The study of human anatomy, which of course is
one in many points with the comparative science as applied to lower
life, reveals not a few instructive examples of this saving tendency in
life's ways. The human head, for example, is nicely balanced on
the spine. Compared writh heads of lower type, this equipoise
forms a prominent feature of man's estate. The head-mass of dog,
horse, or elephant requires to be tied on, as it were, to the spine.
Ligaments and muscular arrangements of complex nature perform
their part in securing that the front extremity of these forms should
be safely adjusted. But in man there is an absence of effort apparent
in Nature's ways of securing the desired end. The erect posture,
too, is adjusted and arranged for on principles of neat economy.
The type of body is the same as in lower life. Humanity appears
before us as a modification, an evolution, but in no sense a new
creation. Man rises from his " forelegs " — arms being identical, be

26 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

it remarked, with the anterior pair of limbs in lower life — and
speedily there ensues an adaptation of means to ends, and all in the
direction of the economical conversion of the lower to the higher type
of being. The head becomes balanced, and not secured, as we have
seen, and thus a saving of muscular power is entailed. Adjustments
of bones and joints take place, and the muscles of one aspect, say
the front, of the body, counterbalance the action of those of the other
aspect, the back ; and between the two diverging tendencies the
erect position is maintained practically without effort. So, also, in
the petty details of the work Nature has not been unmindful of her
" saving clause." We see this latter fact illustrated in the disposition
of the arrangements of foot and heel. One may legitimately an-
nounce that man owes much to his head ; but the truth is he owes a
great deal of his mental comfort and high physical economy to his heels.
The heel-bone has become especially prominent in man when com-
pared with lower forms of quadruped life. It projects far behind the
mass of foot and leg, and thus forms a stable fulcrum or support,
whereon the body may rest. Here, again, economy of ways and
means is illustrated. There is no needless strain or active muscular
work involved in the maintenance of the erect posture in man. It is
largely a matter of equipoise, wrought out through a scheme of
adaptation which takes saving of power and energy as its central idea.

Physiological research lays bare many other points in human and
allied life which bear out the contention and principle that natural
economics is a powerful and prevailing reality of life. Muscles are
ordered, for example, on the plain principle of single acts and of
divided tasks. Thus a man bends his forearm on the upper arm
largely by aid of the familiar " biceps." This done, the " biceps "
retires from the field of work. The arm is straightened by the action
of a different muscle, the " triceps." So, also, with the shutting and
opening of the hand. While the "flexors" of the fingers placed on
the front palm or surface of the limb close the hand, it is the " ex-
tensors " of the opposite aspect of the forearm (whose sinews we see
in the back of the hand) which open or extend our digits. There
may be multiplication of organs here, it is true ; but, given ' the
original power to produce them, there is a clear economy of vital
wear and tear exercised in the avoidance of too onerous tasks being
laid upon any one muscle.

It is something of this principle which we find reflected also in
the circulation of the blood. Here we see the heart's left ventricle
(or larger cavity of the left side) driving blood, as does a force-pump,
out into the great system of arteries, which everywhere throughout
the body carry the nutrient stream. No sooner, however, has the
blood-stream, impelled by the contraction of the muscular walls of
the heart's ventricle, passed into the great main artery (the aorta)

SOME ECONOMICS OF NATURE. 27

which arises from the heart, than an economical principle of an im-
portant kind comes into play. This principle is represented by the
elasticity of the arteries which bear the blood to the body. They
possess a circular coating of muscle which diminishes in thickness as
the vessels grow smaller and smaller, and are therefore removed from
the influence of the pumping-engine of the circulation. The arterial
coating is itself elastic, and the whole system of these vessels is thus
endowed with a high amount of resiliency. Their internal coats are
smooth and shining, as also is the lining of the heart's cavities ;
friction being thus reduced to its minimum. The united sectional
area of the branches of the dividing artery is larger than the same
area of its stem, so that the collective capacity of the vessels increases
markedly as we pass from the heart outwards to the minuter channels
of the circulation.

The blood is thus driven through an elastic set of tubes presenting
the least possible resistance to the flow of fluid through them, and
economy of power is thus again witnessed in the details of the human
estate. Nor is this all. That there exists resistance to the flow of
blood is, of course, a necessary condition in any system wherein
large tubes or arteries branch out into small tubes (the capillaries),
and these, again, unite to form larger or return vessels — the veins.
The problem of living Nature would here appear to resolve itself
into the inquiry, how the apparently intermittent, or spasmodic,
work of the heart may be converted into a constant and continuous
action.

If we suppose that a pump drives water through a rigid pipe, we
see, in such a case, just as much fluid to issue from the pipe's end as
entered it at the stroke of the pump. Practically, also, the escape
of the water from the pipe takes place almost simultaneously with its
entrance therein. If we place some obstacle or resistance to the free
flow through the pipe, while the pump acts as before, the quantity of
water expelled will be less, because less fluid enters the pipe. Just
as much water will leave the tube as enters it under the two condi-
tions of no resistance and of the presence of such obstacle to the
flow. If now we substitute for our rigid pipe an elastic one, the
resistance to the water-flow is diminished no doubt, but the fluid
will, as before, issue in jets ; that is, in an intermittent and not
continuous fashion. There is " easy come and easy go " in the elastic
tube, as in the rigid one where no resistance exists. The elasticity,
in other words, is not called upon to act in modifying the flow
because the course of the fluid is clear and open. Suppose now,
that some obstacle or resistance is introduced into the elastic tube.
The fluid cannot escape as readily as before, and it tends, as a matter
of course, to accumulate on the near or pump side of the obstacle.
The tube gives, so to speak, and accommodates the water which is

28 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

forced to wait its turn for exit. Each stroke of the pump, it is true,
sends its quantity into the tube, but between the strokes, the swollen
and expanded tubes in virtue of their elasticity, act as an aid to the
pump, and by exercising their power, force the accumulated fluid
past the point of resistance. There is rest in the rigid tube between
the pump-strokes. There is, contrariwise, activity in the elastic tube,
due to the overcoming by its elasticity of the obstacle to the flow,
and to its work of keeping the fluid moving and of avoiding disten-
sion and blockage. It is possible, moreover, to conceive of the
elastic reaction of the tube being so great that the accumulated fluid
will be made to pass the knotty point before the next stroke of the
pump occurs. Let us imagine, lastly, that the strokes succeed one
another in rapid succession, and that the elasticity of the tube is
powerful enough to overcome the resistance opposing the flow of
fluid, and we shall arrive at a state of matters wherein not only will
the obstacle become practically non-existent while as much fluid
leaves the tube as enters it, but the flow from the far end of the tube
will also be converted into a continuous and stable stream.

This latter condition of matters is exactly reproduced in the
circulation of the blood. There is great resistance found on the
arterial side of the heart. Each impulse has to send blood into a
vessel which is elastic in itself, as we have seen ; but immediately on
the first stroke of the heart succeeds a second. Hence the blood
accumulates on the heart's side before that propelled by the first
stroke has been completely disposed of. Distension and strain of
the vessel succeed, and one of two results must follow. Either
the circulating arrangements must collapse, or the elasticity of the
tubes into which the blood is being perpetually forced, will acquire
power sufficient to overcome the resistance, and to propel onwards
the amount of blood with which each stroke of the heart charges the
circulation. Here the true meaning of the rapid work of the heart
and of the elasticity of the arteries becomes apparent. The otherwise
intermittent flow of blood is converted into a continuous stream.
The heart keeps the arteries over-distended on the near side of the
resistance; while these elastic tubes, so treated, discharge them.selves
in turn onwards, and at a rate which corresponds to that with which
the force-pump action of the heart charges them from behind. And
so, tracing the hydraulics of the circulation through its phases, we see,
firstly, the heart over-distending the elastic arteries. We witness the
arteries emptying themselves into their minute continuations, the
capillaries, and through these latter into the veins or return vessels.
The economy is witnessed here in the easy means adapted for con-
verting without complications a spasmodic flow of blood into a con-
tinuous stream ; insuring also that the amount of blood which flows
from the arteries to the veins during the heart's stroke and pause

SOME ECONOMICS OF NATURE. 29

exactly equals that which enters the circulation at each contrac-
tion of the ventricle. In other words, the tremendously high pres-
sure of the arteries of our bodies, saves at once the multiplication
of bodily pumping-engines, and conserves the force of the heart
itself.

There are other points connected with the circulation, more or
less intimately, to which a passing allusion may be made. The low-
pressure flow of blood in the veins upwards to the heart from the
lower parts of the body is thus favoured by the high pressure of the
arterial system, and natural economy of energy is thus again exem-
plified. The arteries seem to be intent on the work of getting rid of
their contents through the capillaries into the veins. There is no
resistance, in fact, to the venous flow which is carried on at low
pressure. Again, the ordinary muscular movements of the body are
utilised in the economy of life, to favour the return of the venous
blood. For the veins are compressed in the muscular movements,
and, as they are provided with valves which prevent back-flow, the
compression can act in one way only — namely, to aid the upward or
backward return of blood to the heart's right side.

The overplus of the blood is known as lymph, and is gathered from
the tissues by vessels known as absorbents or lymphatics. These return
the lymph to the blood-current for future use. Nature "gathers
up the fragments " here as elsewhere, and sees that the lymph or
excess of the blood supply is once more garnered into the vital
stream of the circulation. If we ask how this lymph-flow is main-
tained from all parts of the body towards the great vein in the neck
where the lymph joins the blood, we again light upon the question
of high pressure in one side of matters and low pressure in the other
side. All the ordinary movements of our bodies are economically
pressed by Nature into the service of the lymph-flow. As in the
veins, the valves of the lymphatics prevent backward movement, and
as in the veins the muscles compress the vessels, and common move-
ment thus assists a special end. Even the motions of breathing
favour the return of the lymph. For when we inspire, the pressure
in the great veins becomes negative in character, and lymph is thus
capable of being sucked into the circulation from the main tube or
duct of the lymph-system. When we "breathe out" the pressure in
the large veins increases it is true, but a valve guards the entrance,
which in inspiration is free, and untoward consequences are thus
prevented. It is a notable fact that in many animals organs known
as lymph-hearts are developed. As in the frog, these contractile
organs assist the lymph in its return to the circulation. It therefore
becomes of interest to note how in the higher walks of existence,
the mechanical contrivances and actions of the body undergo an
evolution which not only avoids multiplication of parts and organs,

30 STUDIES IX LIFE AND SENSE.

but also conserves and economises the energy which has to be
expended in the maintenance of life.

The function of breathing has been incidentally alluded to in the
course of the foregoing remarks, and, in considering the details of
this paramount duty of life, we find additional proof of the fact that
Nature's economics in higher life are frequently expressed in terms
of admirable mechanical contrivance. Primarily, in the case of
respiration, we find the bony elements of the chest fitly developed
in view of certain physical qualities, of which elasticity forms perhaps
the chief. The front wall of the chest is practically composed of
cartilage or " gristle." The " costal cartilages," or those of the ribs,
intervene between the upper seven ribs and the " sternum" or breast-
bone. The eighth, ninth, and tenth pairs of ribs also possess carti-
lages, but these run into and join the gristly extremity of the seventh
pair -, while the last two pairs of ribs (eleventh and twelfth) spring
from the spine behind, but are not attached in front at all. Essen-
tially, the chest is a bony cage, possessed of high elasticity. Even in
the dried skeleton, pressure from above, downwards or backwards,
applied to the front of the chest shows this quality of its structures
in a marked fashion.

If we study, even superficially, the mechanism involved in breath-
ing, we may gain an idea of the keynote of the process in so far as
economy of force is concerned. "Breathing in," if we reflect upon
the nature of the act in our individual persons, is a matter of some
trouble. It involves a large amount of labour ; it gives us much
muscular trouble, so to speak. In the case of a deep inspiration, we
exaggerate the effort seen in normal breathing, and we may therefore
appreciate still more exactly the expenditure of energy required to
carry on this necessary function of vitality. But " breathing out " is
a widely different matter. We let the chest " go," as it were, at the
close of inspiration, and, without an effort, it returns to its position
of rest. We expend force in " breathing in " • we appear to exert
none in " breathing out." The former is a muscular act performed
by a complex series of muscles, and participated in by the lungs and
other structures connected with the chest. The latter is an act
which partakes, even to the common understanding, of the nature of
a recoil ; and in this latter supposition we perceive how economy of
labour in the human domain is again subserved.

Breathing, then, means that we enlarge the chest by the action of
certain muscles, that the pressure of air in the lungs becomes reduced
as compared with that outside, and that in consequence air rushes
into the lungs through the windpipe until an equality of air-pressure
inside and outside the lungs is produced. This is the act which is
accomplished forcibly, against gravity, and by aid of very consider-
able muscular power. We are said to perform no less than twenty-

SOME ECONOMICS OF NATURE. 31

one foot tons of work by means of our respiratory muscles in twenty-
four hours — that is to say, the work of these muscles, extending over
twenty-four hours' period, if gathered into one huge lift, would raise
twenty-one tons weight one foot high.

By a little additional muscular labour we take in a deep breath,
still further enlarge the chest, and inhale an additional quantity of
air. The great muscle named the diaphragm or " midriff," which
forms the floor of the chest, is the chief agent involved in the act of
inspiration. It descends while the ribs are elevated, and as the chest
enlarges, the inflow of air takes place. The lungs themselves are
highly elastic bodies. They follow the movements of the chest
walls, and thus expand and contract — they suffer dilatation and com-
pression— as the chest walls move in the acts of respiration. But,
when ordinary " breathing out " is studied, we see that it is as clearly
a matter of recoil, as has been stated, as "breathing in" is a matter
of exertion. Here elastic reaction steps in to complete the full act
of breathing. Nature saves her energies and husbands her strength
in this truly physiological division of labour. When we inspire, the
lung-substance, elastic in itself, is put on the stretch ; the cartilages
of ribs and breast-bone are similarly elevated and expanded, and the
whole chest is, so to speak, forced into its position of unrest. Then
comes the reaction. The muscles of inspiration cease their action ;
they relax, and the elastic lungs recover themselves and aid in
forcing out the air they contain. So, also, when the rib-muscles have
come to the end of their tether in elevating these bones, the elastic
recoil of the ribs and breast-bone serves to diminish the capacity of
the chest, and to further expel the air from within its contained lungs.
Laboured or excessive breathing, as most readers know, calls into
play extra help from muscles not ordinarily used in natural respira-
tion. This fact takes us out of the normal way of life into the con-
sideration of abnormal or diseased states, and demonstrates that the
economy of Nature disappears when phases of morbid action fail to
be subserved. In natural breathing, however, we see conservation
once more in the easy recoil which follows the muscular labour of
inspiration. The physiology of a sigh and its relief can be readily
appreciated on the basis which shows how the easy act of expiration
is correlated with the more laboured action and duty of enlarging the
chest.

A phase of Nature which is by no means foreign to the foregoing
illustration of the conservation of power in the human body is pre-
sented to us in several aspects of lower life. In the breathing of
certain, animal forms, belonging to the Molluscan races, we may
discover equally admirable examples of economy in natural work.
Among the Cephalopods or cuttlefishes we observe such features.
Any one who has seen an octopus resting in its tank in an aquarium,

32 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

must have been struck by the puffing and blowing movements of the
sack- like body, the nature of which excited Victor Hugo's imaginative
powers in the " Toilers of the Sea." The octopus is seen to inspire
and expire with great regularity. The soft body expands and con-
tracts rhythmically enough to excite a natural comparison between
its respiratory acts and our own. If we could dye the water so that
our eye could follow the currents which the octopus inhales and ex-
hales, we should perceive that at each inspiration the soft body ex-
pands, and water is drawn in two currents into the neck-openings.
These openings lead directly each, into a gill- chamber of the animal.
Here, enclosed in its own cavity, we find a plume-like gill. In its
nature, this structure is simply a mesh-work of blood-vessels, and
thus comes to resemble a lung in its essential features. Impure
blood — that is, blood laden with the waste materials of the octopus-
body, with the products of the vital wear and tear — is driven into
the gill on one side. Subjected to the action of the oxygen gas con-
tained in the water breathed in, the blood is purified Its waste
materials are given forth to the water, and it is passed onwards out
of the gill on its way to the heart for recirculation throughout the
cuttlefish-frame.

Breathing in oxygen entangled in the water is, therefore, in the
case of the cuttlefish, an analogous act to that seen in higher animals,
which inhale oxygen directly from the air. The octopus, however,
performs an expiratory act likewise. Placed below the head is a
short tube, named in zoological parlance the " funnel." When
cuttlefish inspiration has come to an end, expiration begins. The
body contracts, and the water, which a moment before was drawn
into the gill-chambers by the neck-openings, is expelled from the
"funnel." The openings of entrance are guarded by valves. These
close when expiration begins, and the water has no choice save to
find a forcible exit by the tube just named. So far, in octopus exis-
tence, it would seem as though there was no economy of power
exhibited in the act of breathing. Muscular action expands the soft
body, and muscular force contracts it. There is' exhibited here a
plain difference between the octopus and the higher vertebrate.

But the story of cuttlefish-economy is not yet completed. A
moment more and your octopus, which sat crouched in the bottom
of the tank, is seen to wing its way through the water. It skims like
a living rocket through the clear medium in which it lives, as if
impelled by some marvellous and invisible agency. The secret ol
this flight is the solution of cuttlefish-economy and reserve force.
So long as the resting mood prevails, the water used in breathing is
ejected slowly, or at least without any marked display of force. But
when locomotion has to be subserved, and when the cuttlefish
desires to swim, it propels itself through the water by aid of a

SOME ECONOMICS OF NATURE. 33

veritable hydraulic engine. The effete water from the gills is ejected
with force from the funnel, and by the reaction of this jet d'eati upon
the surrounding medium, the animal is enabled to execute its aquatic
flights. Economy of a very rigid order is illustrated clearly enough
in octopod existence. The otherwise useless " breath " of the animal
becomes converted into a means of locomotion.

A still closer parallel to the human chest-recoil, perchance, may
be found in the case of certain poor relations of the octopus. These
lower forms are the mussels, oysters, cockles, clams, and other bivalve
shell-fish which frequent our own and other coasts of the world.
Encased in its shell, a mussel or oyster, all headless as it is, and
possessing in its way a strictly "local habitation," in that it is a
fixture of the coast or sea-depth, presents us with the type of an ap-
parently vegetative life. But there is abundant activity illustrated
within the mussel or oyster-shell. There are millions of minute
living threads — the cilia of the naturalist — perpetually waving to
and fro as they crowd the surface of the gills. These cilia, acting
like so many microscopic brooms, draw in the currents of water
necessary for food and breathing, while the same incessant movement
which draws in the fresh water circulates it over the gills, and in turn
sweeps it out as waste material from the shell. The oyster implanted
in its bed, or the mussel attached by its " byssus " or " beard " to
the rock, exhibits a half-open condition of the shell as its normal
state. The animal lives — as may be seen on looking at a tub of
oysters as they lie amid their native element — with the shell un-
closed for purposes of nutrition and breathing. If, however, we tap
the living oyster or mussel ever so lightly, we find the shell to close
with a snap that renders the persuasion of the oyster-knife necessary
for its forcible unclosure. In such a case the animal's senses, warned
of possible danger by the tap on the shell, communicate to its mus-
cular system a nervous command, resulting in a movement which,
as regards the oyster, reminds one of nothing so forcibly as the cry
and action of " shutters up " in a Scotch university town when snow-
balling begins.

The muscular system of these shell-fish is disposed in simple
fashion. Look at the inside of an oyster-shell, and note the thumb-
like impression you see occupying a nearly central position. This is
the mark of the " adductor " muscle of the oyster, or that which
draws the shells together. The secret of successful oyster-opening is
simply the knowledge, acquired by much practice, of hitting the
exact position of the " adductor " muscle, and of dividing its fibres
with the knife. The enormous power of this muscle to keep the
valves in apposition can be appreciated most readily, perhaps, by the
amateur " opener " of these bivalves. In the mussel there are two
such " adductors," one at either extremity of the shell, and we note

D

34 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

the impressions which these structures leave on the shell's interior.
The latter animal has thus a double holdfast, whereas the oyster has
but a single one. If the function of these structures is thus con-
cerned with the cloture aspect of bivalve life, how, it may be asked,
is the opening of the shell provided for ? This is exactly the point
to which Nature directs her energies in arranging her economical
disposition of the oyster or mussel constitution. We have seen that
the natural and persistent state of oyster life is a condition of un-
closure, while the opposite action of shutting the shell is only a
transitory and infrequent phase of bivalve existence at the best.
There is afforded a chance for the exercise of mechanical expediency
in making the open state of the shell a matter of ease and one car-
ried out without effort or exercise of energy. And so is it contrived.

Suppose that, placing two oyster-shells in their natural position, we
insert a piece of india-rubber between the valves at the point where
they are hinged together. If we now forcibly close the shells by
pressure, the india-rubber is compressed. When we release the
pressure of our fingers, the elasticity and recoil of the india-rubber
forces the valves apart. In such a fashion, then, does Nature provide
for the constant maintenance of the unclosed condition. The
"ligaments" of the shell are natural elastic pads existing at the
hinge-line. By their elasticity they keep the valves unclosed. There
is no strain involved in the action, which is a merely mechanical one
after all. But when the more infrequent act of closure has to be
performed, then muscular energy requires to be displayed. The
quick snap of the valves reminds us that muscular exertion, even if
necessitating vital wear and tear, has its corresponding advantage in
the rapidity and effectiveness with which it provides for protection
against the entrance of disagreeable or noxious elements into the in-
ternal arrangements of oyster or mussel life. There is illustrated
here, a clear saving of life-force and a persistent system of vital
economics in the substitution of a mechanical for a muscular strain
where the maintenance of the open state of the shell is concerned.

Returning to the human domain for a final glance at our subject,
there are found in the spheres of digestive nervous actions many
facts and examples proving the exercise of a constant economic sur-
veillance of our life. The digestive duty may be defined as that
whereby our food is converted into a fluid capable, when added to
the blood, of repairing and replenishing that fluid. To this end, as
is well known, the nutriment has to pass along the tube known as the
digestive system, and to be subjected to the chemical action of the
various fluids or secretions which are poured upon it in the course of
its transit. In the stomach, for example, certain important food-
principles — those of nitrogenous kind — are first selected as it were
from the nutriment, chemically altered by the gastric juice, and ren-

SOME ECONOMICS OF NATURE. 35

dered capable of being absorbed into the system. Instead of waiting
for a lengthened period for the arrival of this important part of its
commissariat, the body receives such food-elements soon after diges-
tion begins. The fats, starches, and sugars are, on the contrary,
passed onwards to be digested in the intestine. They become
available for nutrition only after several hours of digestive work.
The principle of "small profits and quick returns" — itself an econo-
mical and commercially satisfactory mode of doing business — is
illustrated in the digestive transactions of the body. That which is
urgently required for the frame is quickly supplied, while the, in one
sense, less important foods are left for later absorption.

In this economical work the liver plays an important part. Long
ago in physiological history that organ was regarded simply as a bile-
making machine. The bile, thrown upon the food just after it leaves
the stomach, was regarded as an all-important digestive fluid. To-day
we have entered upon entirely new ideas of the liver's work. As
Dr. Brunton has aptly put it, the liver is no more to be regarded as
a mere bile-maker than the sole use of an Atlantic liner is to be
found in the manufacture and display of the water-jets which issue
from the sides of the ship as the waste products of her engine-work.
The liver is really a physiological constable placed at the entrance of
the blood circulation. Into it are swept digested matters. These
are further elaborated and changed so as perfectly to fit them for
entrance into the blood. When the functions of the liver are sup-
pressed or rendered inactive, elements of deleterious kind are appar-
ently allowed to enter the circulation, and thus produce all the
symptoms of the body poisoning itself. This being so, we begin to
see that the bile is really a mere by-result of the liver's work, as the
condensed water of the steamer is the consequence of the real func-
tion of the vessel. Bile is a waste product, and as such it is
discharged into the intestine and thus excreted.

But natural economics rule life's actions here as elsewhere. For
the apparently useless bile, Nature finds a use. It is discharged
upon the food, and mingles with the half-digested nutriment. It
has come to exercise a digestive or dissolving action upon fats, a
function aptly illustrated by the household use of the " ox-gall " to
remove grease stains in the house-cleaning periods of human exist-
ence. Moreover, the bile would appear to aid in promoting the
muscular contractions of the intestine, and in thus expediting diges-
tive action. It may possess other duties still ; but enough has been
said to show that the economy which rules living functions is pro-
bably nowhere better illustrated than in the utilisation of bile, as a
waste-product, in the normal discharge of the digestive act.

Turning, lastly, to the nervous system and its work, we may find
exemplified equally manifest phases of economical action. When

D 2

36 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

we reflect upon the fact that higher life is a tremendously complex
matter in its nervous and mental phases alone, we may well be
tempted to wonder that we really find time for all the acts involved in
the exercise of even our ordinary work. The condition of the brain
and nervous apparatus at large might at first sight appear to represent
that of an overworked signal-box at an important railway junction.
Questions of commissariat, of threatening danger, of demands for
information, of difficulties to be cleared away, are perpetually pre-
senting themselves to the nervous apparatus for solution. Yet it is
plain that many complex acts, the knowledge of which costs us a deal
of trouble to acquire in early life, are not only performed correctly
in the absence of all that we may name conscious thought or atten-
tion, but are discharged the more efficiently because they are so un-
thinkingly performed. What we term " automatic " action in human
and in lower animal life, is only another name for an economical
dispensation of bodily work and of the time that work demands for
its performance. Reading and writing do not " come by nature,"
but require to be taught, and from the " A-B-C " stage of the one,
the " pothooks-and-hangers " stage of the other, both demanding
thought and care, we work our way slowly upward to a phase when
we neither need to think about our " p's " and " q's " in writing or
our syllables or sounds in reading. In other words, the intellectual
operations of early life have become the " automatic acts " of adult
existence. The immense saving of nerve-power — or at least of the
highest powers we may collectively name lt thought "—involved in
such an arrangement may readily be understood. We have not
even to waste brain-work in the conduct of our steps in walking.
We avoid our neighbours and the lamp-posts without concerning
ourselves about either. How large a part of our life is automatically
ordered a superficial glance at the history of the nervous system will
disclose. The digestion of food, the circulation of the blood, breath-
ing, and many other functions on the due performance and nervous
regulation of which the continuity of life depends, are all discharged
in this automatic manner.

There is implied herein a large saving of that vital wear and tear
of which we have already spoken. Life would indeed be far too
short for the safe and satisfactory discharge of the duties of even the
humblest life— to say nothing of the performance of merely physical
duties of existence — had we to " mark, learn, and inwardly digest "
every act in our daily round of labour. We may grumble as we
please at overwork, and criticise rightly the evil effects of overstrain ;
but we should also bear in mind that the nature we own has saved
us many a worry and many a pang by the exercise of that system of
rigid economy which is traceable, in one form or another, in well-nigh
every phase of the life universal.

37

III.

MONKEYS.

THERE is little doubt that our " quadrumanous " neighbours are
by no means viewed with favour, or held in high esteem, by the
vast majority of mankind. Probably with the exception of inter-
ested zoologists, possessed of an inherent weakness for the study
of man's nearest allies, or of certain Eastern sects whose veneration
of the monkey-race forms an obligatory part of their creeds, the
genus homo regards his " poor relations " in a zoological sense, with
the same disfavour with which, in his most civilised aspect, he looks
upon the same relatives in a social sense. Curiosity and disgust are,
in fact, the ruling ideas of ordinary mankind, when it surveys the
monkey-tribes " from China to Peru " as literally represented in our
collections of living animals, or when respectably preserved for
national instruction in our museums. Why this should be so, is per-
haps more difficult to trace than most of us would imagine. There
are more unlikely theories than those which attribute the proverbial
hostility of near relatives as the cause of the common repudiation
by mankind of the "chattering ape" and "mischievous monkey."
Poetry, ever the earliest teacher of mankind, has never viewed the
Simian race with favour ; and popular culture has been largely content
to travel in the poet's wake. Too much the reflex of humanity itself,
on the one hand, to be readily accepted as a desirable acquaintance,
and too little human — in the best sense of that term — in some of
its ways, on the other, to expedite a close alliance with mankind,
the ape-type has been ostracised, whilst the rat and mouse have
been petted, the hare domesticated, the pig fondled, and even the
cruel octopus itself lionised. There exist German legends which
picture rats and mice under the guise of human souls. He would
have been a bold man, who would have dared to have placed the ape
or monkey in the position of the familiar rodents. Myth and tradi-
tion, tender to the birds on the whole, and even treating the insects
with loving kindness, have been worse than brutal to the nearest
allies of man which living Nature knows. Even the Laureate himself,
with no prepossessed views of the base in nature, cannot avoid the
employment of the " ape " idea as a simile for a something in
humanity without which mankind would be both nobler and wiser.

Move upward, working out the beast,
And let the ape and tiger die,

38 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

is a sentiment entirely in accord with popular ideas. It finds a
re-echo in hearts that love Nature wisely and well ; but, all the same,
it is the echo of a false note, in so far at least as the ape is concerned.
Contrast with the poetic declamation against the Quadrumana, Mr.
Darwin's recital of the heroic monkey who defended his keeper
against the attack of a baboon. " Several years ago," says Mr.
Darwin, " a keeper at the Zoological Gardens showed me some deep
and scarcely healed wounds on the nape of his own neck, inflicted
on him, whilst kneeling on the floor, by a fierce baboon. The little
American monkey, who was a warm friend of this keeper, lived in
the same large compartment, and was dreadfully afraid of the great
baboon. Nevertheless, as soon as he saw his friend in peril, he
rushed to the rescue, and by screams and bites so distracted the
baboon that the man was able to escape, after, as the surgeon
thought, running great risk of his life." Such an account of what
the ape-character may exhibit in the way of gratitude and recognition
of past kindness, may serve to show that there may be depths of
philosophy existent in the Monkey-house at the Zoo' undreamt of in
the experience of the humanity that streams through the dwelling-
place of the ape tribes.

The terms " monkey " and •" ape " are often applied indiscrimi-
nately to indicate any member of the great order of mammals which
ranks next to man's group in point of structure and function. The
name " Quadrumana," applied by naturalists to this group, is also
tolerably well known to depend for its application on the fact that
monkeys appear to be. " four-handed " animals. Scientifically em-
ployed, the term " ape " is limited to the highest members of the
monkey-order, which, it may be noted, includes within its limits
animals of very varied ranks, when their organisation, physical and
mental, is taken into account. The name " Quadrumana," given
to the group by Cuvier, it may be noted, is by no means correctly
descriptive of the monkey-race. They are " four-handed," it is true, in
the sense that whilst their hands essentially resemble our own in their
grasping powers, their feet are also endowed with hand-like functions.
But they are not " quadrumanous," if by that term is implied, what
is often popularly believed, that a monkey's lower or hind limbs end
each in a veritable hand. At the most, the foot of the monkey
becomes hand-like in function through the adaptation of the toes to
form a "hand." The essential feature of any hand is, of course,
the power of throwing the thumb off the plane of the other
fingers, and the adaptation of its muscular arrangements to bring
it into opposition to the fingers so that objects of very varied
sizes may be grasped between them. Regarded in this aspect,
the hand of man is undoubtedly the most perfect instrument of
its kind we know. The human thumb can "oppose" the other

MONKEYS. 39

fingers either singly or when they are combined ; and the perfection
of its muscular arrangements assists the digits in the work of grasp-
ing large or small objects with precision, and also expedites the
performance of the most delicate manipulations which mankind can
undertake. Now, the hand of the monkey is constructed on a type
essentially similar in all respects to that seen in the hand of man.
There are certain monkeys, it is true — the genus Ateles or that of the
" Spider Monkeys" of the New World, and the African genus
Colobus — in which the thumb is imperfect and rudimentary ; but in
ordinary monkeys, the hand is as truly a " hand," of wrist and fingers,
as is the "manus" of man. Conversely, the foot of a monkey
possesses all the structures which we find in our own pedal ex-
tremities. The anatomist finds ankle-bones, instep-bones, and toe-
bones in the foot of the ape, exhibiting the closest similarity to those
of man. In function alone, is the foot of the ape removed from that
of mankind. For in the monkey-tribes, whilst the animals rest upon
their feet, these extremities become also utilised for grasping, as we
have seen.

That the hand of the monkey is applied to purposes allied to
those for which man uses his hands is, of course, a well-known fact.
Whoever has watched a monkey, such as the Bonnet Monkey
(Macacus radiatus), carefully separate the diseased parts of an apple
from the eatable parts, or pick out the kernel of a nut from the shell
piece by piece, with care and dexterity, must have been struck by the
close approximation to the human means of effecting like tasks.
Some writers have denied that the hand of the monkey is, in any
way, utilised as is that of man. It has been stated that a monkey will
not seize a nut with the forefinger and thumb as we do. But from
close and long-continued personal observation of such a monkey as
the "Bonnet" species, I can certainly affirm that a nut or object of
small size is received in quite a natural fashion— judged, that is, by
human standard — by forefinger and thumb. The truth is, there are
exhibited amongst monkeys, as amongst men, very varied degrees of
manual dexterity and intelligence ; and it is always unsafe to lay down
general rules concerning the habits of one or a few species as if these
rules represented exact axioms applying to the class at large. Of
the intelligence of the ape-tribe the same remark holds good ; and I
may add that I have seen enough in my personal study of the
monkey-race to convince me that the variations noticeable between
the mental traits and powers of different species of monkeys, are as
great as any which exist between different races of men, or between
ignorant and cultivated individuals of the same race.

With regard to the assumption of the erect posture, it may be
said that the familiar and typical human attitude is seldom assumed
by monkeys, and then only temporarily, or by the aid of fictitious

40 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

supports. There seems little doubt that the habitual attitude of the
ape is on " all-fours." A monkey will often raise itself on its hind
legs when prompted by curiosity and for the convenience of looking
at any object ; but the position is a constrained one, and the animal
soon returns to its " all-fours," or to its sitting posture. The con-
formation of the monkey's body, and the muscular arrangements of
its haunch, loins, and hind limbs, are not adapted for the mainte-
nance of the erect posture. Indeed, if we consider for a moment
the adaptation of the animal's foot to the uses of a hand, we may
readily enough conceive why the erect posture is one for which the
monkey-race is absolutely unfitted. Probably any cause which
lessened the use of the foot for grasping, would tend towards the
development of the powers and faculties through which the erect
posture could be assumed. But the entire organisation of the ape
militates against the idea that this posture can be readily or easily
assumed by the quadrumanous tribes: since not only muscles, but
bones also, and indeed the entire framework of the animal, would
require to undergo very considerable modification before the human
posture could be readily or without effort maintained.

The order of monkeys was included by Linnaeus along with the
human group under the common designation of Primates. To this
arrangement, as expressive of real and natural affinities between the
two orders, modern zoology has returned. The structural gaps
between man and apes may seem wide and yawning to those who do
not realise that one and the same type of structure runs unbrokenly
through the Vertebrate races, from fish, through frog, reptile, and bird,
up to quadruped and man. As the same general type characterises
all the Vertebrate animals, so that mere special modification of it
which marks the whole quadruped-class is again reflected with equal
clearness in forms so divergent as the whale, dog, horse, bat, ape, and
man. And as, lastly, the quadruped-form exhibits its own rise and
advance as we proceed from its lower to its higher forms, so again
we must note that the same high development is reflected not singly
in human structure, but conjointly in the quadrumana and in man.
In other words, ape-structure is an advance upon that seen in other
quadrupeds, but it is an advance in which humanity has shared and
beyond which human development has, in turn, proceeded. Only
some such ideas as these, which bargain for the idea of an unbroken
and continuous development of quadruped-life, and, indeed, of life
of every grade likewise, can satisfy the modern scientific aspiration
after a true cause at once of life's likenesses and of living variety.

Natural historians have divided the monkey-tribe into three well-
known groups. These subdivisions are characterised each by highly
distinct variations in structure, and in habits as well. The lowest of
the three groups includes animals which are only doubtfully classified

MONKEYS. 41

with the monkeys, and which in revised arrangements of the quadru-
ped group will probably receive a different position in that group, and
be ranked with lower forms than their present associates. These
democrats of the monkey-tribe thus alluded to, are popularly known
as " Lemurs " or " Half- Apes," whilst the African species are often
named " Madagascar Cats " — so feline is the aspect of their forms. A
glance at the lemur-cages in the monkey-house will show that the latter
cognomen has not been misapplied. The lemurs constitute the section
of the monkey-group, known to naturalists as the Strepsirhina — a name
readily enough translated into the exact English equivalent of " twisted
nostrils." Each of the three main groups of monkeys possesses a
well-marked geographical range. The lemurs are thus limited to the
Old World, and are limited in their distribution to Madagascar (as
their headquarters), Southern Africa, and Eastern Asia. As they exist
to-day, the naturalist notes that they merely represent the detached
survivals of a once widely-distributed race of animals. In their struc-
ture there are to be found very clear traces of affinity with the mole,
shrew, and hedgehog order (Insectivora), and with the rat order
(Rodentia) as well. The lemurs walk habitually on their four legs,
and their skin is furry or woolly ; the body-covering, in this respect,
exhibiting a decided variation from that seen in the typical monkeys.
No lemur has the "cheek-pouches," seen so familiarly in many
monkeys such as the "Bonnet monkey," in which food can be
stored. The aspect of a greedy " Bonnet," with its stuffed " cheek-
pouches," forcibly reminds the spectator of an unfortunate patient
suffering from toothache in each jaw, and presenting the usual
swollen addenda of that distressing malady. Again, the lemurs do
not exhibit any of those curious bare patches of skin, named
" callosities," or " seat-pads," and which are so frequently seen in the
Old World monkeys. Their fore-limbs exceed the hind-limbs in
length, and the great-toes are always " opposable " to their neighbour
digits ; that is, can be utilised for hand-like functions. The second
toe has a claw-like nail ; and the fourth digit, both in hand and foot,
is longer than its neighbours. In none of the lemurs do we find
the cavities known as " air- sacs," so well developed in many of the
monkeys, and by means of which the resonance of the voice is so
largely increased. The bones of the face are also prolonged to a
greater extent than in other monkeys. A distinctively human cha-
racteristic is that seen in the fact that the brain overshadows the face,
which is in turn shortened, and not prolonged outwards as in the
lower animals. We see the tendency towards face-prolongation in
the lower races of mankind, when we compare their skull- conforma-
tion with that seen in the higher races. And in the ape-tribe this
distinction is also apparent ; the higher monkeys possessing shortened
facial bones as compared with the lower forms. In the lemurs, the

42 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

muzzle also is distinctly pointed, and the face is covered with hair,
unlike that of the more typical apes. The tail varies in length.
Whilst disappearance and modification of the tail is witnessed in
the highest apes, and in the highest life we know, that of man himself,
this feature may also be seen exemplified amongst these lowest of the
monkey-group. Thus, whilst the lemurs proper, such as the " Ruffed
lemur " and " White-fronted " species, possess a long woolly tail, the
Loris possesses a short tail, whilst the genus Nycticebus is tailless.

Certain peculiarities of structure mark the lemurs in addition to the
general characteristics just mentioned. Prominent ears and large eyes,
are amongst their characteristic possessions. Their teeth vary greatly
from the human standard, which is represented in the typical Old
World monkeys. But it is at the same time a peculiar fact that in
one little lemur (Tarsius] found in Celebes and Borneo, a distinctly
human character is seen in the want of any interruption or interval
between the teeth of each jaw. Such intervals are common enough
in quadrupeds, but save the Tarsier just mentioned, and an extinct
form — Anoplotherium — there is no other known quadruped which
exhibits this peculiarity. The Tarsier and certain other lemurs also
show a marked peculiarity of structure in that their ankle-bones are
much elongated, after the fashion seen in the hind-limbs of frogs and
their neighbours. If the foot of a quadruped is lengthened, it is usually
the instep-bones which become modified so as to increase the
structure. In a few lemurs, as in the frog-group, however, the ankle-
bones themselves undergo the process of alteration. It is thus a
curious fact that for a parallel to this peculiarity of lemur life we
must go backwards to the amphibian class. Such a step, however,
it should be noted, by no means implies relationship between quad-
rupeds and frogs. It merely presents the naturalist with another
example of those coincidences in structure which research is con-
tinually bringing under our notice, and which have probably arisen
entirely independently of each other, through possible similarities in
the laws or tendencies which have directed the development of living
beings in the past.

One of the most curious forms included amongst the Lemurs,
demands a special notice. This is the Aye-Aye or Chiromys of
Madagascar, which was described in 1780 by Sonnerat. In 1844 it
was practically re- described, and in the latter year was brought to
Paris. Its anatomy has been specially investigated by Professor
Owen. The chief peculiarities of the Aye- Aye are found in its teeth,
which differ from those of all other lemurs and all other monkeys
indeed, and resemble those of the Rodents or " Gnawers." Only
one pair of front or cutting teeth exist in each jaw, but these teeth,
like the front teeth of Rodents, and the tusks of the elephant, spring
from " permanent " pulps. They thus grow throughout life ; such a

MONKEYS. 43

method of increase making ample provision for their use as gnawing
instruments. Like the front teeth of the Rodents, those of the Aye-
Aye are covered on their front surfaces with enamel, which being
harder than the hinder ivory of which the bulk of the tooth is com-
posed, provides for a sharp edge being continuously kept up on these
teeth. As in the Rodents also, no " eye-teeth" are' found in the Aye-
Aye. The thumb is scarcely opposable to the other fingers, and it
has a claw-like nail. The middle is the longest finger, and appears
to be specially adapted for picking insect food from beneath the
bark of trees. The ears are prominent, and the tail is bushy ; the
Aye-Aye thus resembling a squirrel in appearance. In its entire
structure, we witness a series of modifications adapting it for a life
amongst trees, and for an insect- dietary. Its affinities relate it deci-
dedly to the Rodents or rat-tribe and separate it from the lemurs ;
and the mere existence of this curious form serves to show how
the work of modification may proceed apace when the surroundings
of an animal favour its departure from the type of its race.

The second great subdivision of the monkey-order is known as
that of the Platyrhini, or " broad-nosed " monkeys, which, without
a single exception, inhabit the New World. In the dense forests of
South America these monkeys are thoroughly at home. They are
eminently fitted for an arboreal life, and their whole organisation
indicates that the modifications to which their race has been subjected
have been chiefly directed towards their adaptation for a habitation
among the trees. Included within the limits of the " broad-nosed "
tribe we find such monkeys as the well-known Marmosets, the Spider
Monkeys, the Howlers, and the little Capuchins, whose tricks and
gentle ways endear them to all lovers of animals. In many respects
the marmosets stand alone amongst the New World forms. Their
fur is thick and woolly ; they are typically " four-legged " as regards
their walking movements ; and their tail is long and not adapted for
grasping. No cheek-pouches exist, nor are any " callosities " developed.
The ears are very prominent and are covered with hairs, whilst the
nostrils, as in all American monkeys, are broad and possess a wide
" septum," or partition, from the presence of which conformation
their " Platyrhine " cognomen is derived. The marmosets possess
short front limbs when these members are compared with the hind
limbs ; but their thumbs are not " opposable " to the other digits,
and the essential character of a " hand " is therefore hardly repre-
sented in these animals. The thumb, in fact, cannot be separated from
the other fingers, and to the great-toe much the same remark applies.
The sole of the foot in the marmosets is disproportionately long ;
and the great-toe is small and provided with a flat nail, whilst the
nails of the other toes are curved. The marmosets, as has been

44 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

remarked, are not " quadrumanous " in any sense. A curious fact,
however, remains to be noted. Although the thumb is "unoppos-
able" to the other fingers, the muscles which, in the typical " hand,"
give to the thumb its well-known powers of movement, are repre-
sented in the fore-limb of the marmosets. Such a fact would seem
to indicate either extensive modification of a once-useful hand, or
the beginnings and possibilities, under suitable conditions, of hand-
like functions being assumed by these animals. In respect of their
teeth, whilst the marmosets possess the same number of teeth as man
and the Old World apes — namely, thirty-two — these organs are dif-
ferently arranged from those of their higher neighbours. The
marmosets possess four front teeth, two eye teeth, six premolars, and
four molars or grinders in each jaw ; whereas in man and higher
apes four premolars and six molars are found in the jaw-armature
above and below. Squirrel-like in appearance, the marmosets
resemble these familiar quadrupeds in their habits. They are
fruit-eaters, but do not disdain an insect-diet, and they appear to
live in families in the trees. Whilst monkeys produce, as a rule, but
one young at a birth, the marmosets may produce as many as three.
A singular fact of their anatomy is found in the large size of their
true brain (or cerebrum\ the halves of which overlap the lesser brain
(or cerebellum] so as to cover the latter, when the brain is viewed
from above. Such a conformation is usually associated with a high
type of brain, but its occurrence in the marmosets does not appear to
be accompanied by any special development of intelligence.

The remaining representatives of the Platyrhine, or New World
monkeys, agree in possessing for the most part " prehensile " tails ;
that is, a tail, the extremity of which can be utilised to grasp such
objects as the boughs of trees. The tail may lose this power, as in
the Sakis and squirrel monkeys (Callithrix, &c.); and it may be
short, as in the Brachyuri\ but no New World monkey absolutely
wants the tail — a condition typically seen in certain of the Old World
apes. In such monkeys as the Ateles^ one of the spider monkeys,
and the howlers (Mycttes), the tail attains its highest development as
a prehensile organ. It is less powerful in the little Sapajous or
Capuchins. So powerful is the tail in the Ateles, that its designation
of a " fifth hand " is seen at once to be well merited. By its aid,
this monkey can suspend itself from the bough of a tree, with hands
and feet free to grasp any object and useful for the performance of
any function. It is naked beneath at the tip in the Ateles, and
thus serves the more efficiently as an organ of seizure j whilst in the
Capuchins the tail is hairy at the extremity. The adaptation to a
life amongst trees, is well seen in such a conformation as that found
in the tail of these Platyrhine monkeys. That such adaptation has
been of general and universal character is proved by the fact that

MONKEYS. 45

other quadrupeds of the continent exhibit similar or analogous
structures assisting the free exercise of an arboreal life. The sloths
illustrate forms which have been thus modified, and the American
porcupines also possess prehensile tails which are unknown in their
Old World neighbours.

No New World monkey possesses either cheek-pouches or
callosities, and the ears are bare in the typical forms now under
consideration. In most of these monkeys, the hind limbs are longer
than the fore limbs ; but in the spider monkeys the latter exceed the
hind limbs in length. As regards the hands and feet, the thumb on
the whole is less specialised and distinct from the other fingers than
in the Old World apes. The great-toe is large and possesses very
free powers of movement, but the thumb can hardly be said to be
" opposable." In the spider monkeys, the perfection of tail appears
to be counterbalanced by the rudimentary condition of the thumb.
A well-known form, the Coaita, has no thumb at all ; and the
Chameck possesses the merest vestige of this digit. But, strange to
say, whilst the thumb in these cases is rudimentary, all the charac-
teristic muscles which move it in other forms are represented. Such
a fact would appear to point to the degradation of the thumb, and
to its functional abrogation and probable disappearance from the
hand of the spider monkeys. In due time the thumb-muscles now
represented, may also be expected to disappear. It would seem,
indeed, as if the " balance of power," which forms a ruling prin-
ciple in the world political, was also an important factor in the
world of life. The extreme development of the tail to serve the
functions of a hand may, perhaps, legitimately enough, be credited
with having played a part in the modification of the thumb of these
apes.

In the New World monkeys, the teeth differ in number from those
of man and of the Old World apes. Thus, whilst the latter possess
thirty-two teeth, the Platyrhines are provided with thirty-six — the
presence of an additional premolar tooth on each side of each jaw
accounting for the increase in number. In respect of their diet, the
American monkeys are, for the most part, fruit-eaters, although some
species appear to eat insects as a regular part of their dietary. In
form, size, and appearance, as well as in many details of their internal
anatomy, the New World monkeys exhibit immense variations. Thus,
for example, the brain varies greatly in different members of this
group, both in respect of absolute size and of relative development.
Some are smooth-brained (e.g. squirrel monkeys) ; whilst others
(e.g. Sapajous) possess convoluted brains. If the doctrine that com-
plexity of brain-convolutions bears a direct relation to the intelligence
of the animal be true, we may possibly on this ground account for the
remarkable intelligence of the Sapajous, as on the same ground we

46 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

may account for the increased and special mental calibre of man
himself.

The special features of the Platyrhine apes are so numerous, that
the most superficial notice of the more prominent forms can alone
be attempted here. The howlers (Mycetes\ for example, derive
their popular name from their loud voice, which resounds for
immense distances through the South American forests. These
monkeys are the largest of the New World apes, and their special
peculiarity consists in the possession of a bony " drum " connected
with the larynx or organ of voice. Through this drum, which acts
like a sound-chamber, the voice of the Mycetes is rendered trebly
powerful, and resounds through the Amazonian forests for miles.
The agile spider monkeys of America remind us of the gibbons of
the Eastern Archipelago in their agility and in the possession of
long slender limbs. It is the spider monkeys which are credited
with linking themselves together from the bough of a tree by the
fore limbs and tails so as to form one animated chain. This chain
is then set swinging until the individual which represents the end of
the chain is enabled in the course of the oscillations to grasp the
branch of a tree on the opposite side of the river or ravine which
the tribe desires to cross. Amongst the Sakis certain very curious
features in the hairy covering of the body are to be noticed. One
form, the Couxio, possesses a well-developed beard, which, being of
a deep black hue, gives to the monkey a most singular appearance.
The Yarke presents a still more curious feature in that the head of
the females alone is covered with long hair. Another form is bald-
headed, and possesses a rubicund face, whilst the body is covered
with white hair. The night monkeys {Nyctipitheti) possess the face
surrounded by a ruff of hair, and the eyes, as is usual in animals of
nocturnal habits, are of very large size.

Turning now to the last group of the monkey-order, we find the
apes of the Old World (excepting the lemurs already noticed) to be
included in the division known as that of the Catarhina. This latter
name has reference to the oblique or slanting conformation of the
nostrils in these apes. The nostrils, as one may readily see on look-
ing at a baboon, a bonnet monkey, or a common macaque, slope
from the brow to the lips. They are placed close together, and
the broad partition seen in the New World apes is replaced by a
narrow one. We enter the domain of the " anthropoid," or man-like
apes, when we commence the investigation of the Catarhine monkeys.
It is in this group that we certainly discover the nearest approach to
human structure as a whole ; although it should not be forgotten that
this division includes forms of widely varying degrees of organisa-
tion, and by no means exhibits a uniformly high structure through-

MONKEYS. 47

out its extent The characters of the group are readily discoverable.
In addition to the oblique nostrils, we find that Old World monkeys
possess the arrangement and number of teeth seen in man himself.
The tail may be long, short, or rudimentary, but in no case is it
" prehensile " ; and the Old World apes are thus seen to want one
of the chief characters of their New World neighbours. In this
group also, cheek-pouches are common, and the bare patches, " seat-
pads" or " callosities," already alluded to, are frequently developed.
The Catarhine apes fall into two natural divisions, of which the
first includes by far the vast majority of these animals; whilst the
second division contains the aristocracy of the ape-group in the
shape of the four highest forms — namely, the Gorilla, Chimpanzee,
Orang, and Gibbons. The first or lower division is represented by
the great race of the Macaques, of which the common Macaque or
Jew Monkey (Macacus cynomologus) and the Bonnet Monkey (M.
radiatus] are the most familiar forms. Also included in this group
are the Semnopitheci, the long-tailed Indian monkeys, of which the
Semnopithecus entellns, or the Sacred Monkey of the Hindoos, is a
familiar example. Africa possesses many representatives of the
lower Catarhine apes. The genus Colobus is a notable African
group, distinguished as the only Catarhine tribe in which the thumb
is rudimentary. The Gibraltar ape is a species of Macaque (M.
Inuus\ and an allied form (M. speciosus] is found in Japan. The
curious Proboscis Monkey (Presbytis nasalis\ known by its elongated
nose, and found in Borneo, belongs to the group under review ; as
also does the Cercopithecus genus, including long-tailed African
monkeys. Indeed, all the smaller monkeys of the Old World are
zoologically located in this subdivision of the Catarhine group. The
Macaques are limited in their distribution to Asia, and possess both
" cheek-pouches," well-developed thumbs, and "seat-pads." Their
tails vary in length, being long in some species, but short and rudi-
mentary in others. These monkeys naturally walk on all-fours, and
present in this respect a marked variation from their higher neigh-
bours. The baboons may also be regarded as belonging to the
present group, although they possess certain special characters, which,
in the opinion of some zoologists, serve to separate them from the
smaller monkeys of the Old World. The name Cynocephali, or
" dog-headed," applied to the Baboon-group, indicates that their
skull is more " brutal " in its characters than that of their neighbour
apes. Their jaws project to an extent unknown in the smaller forms,
and the dog-like aspect of the head forms indeed one of their most
readily-recognised features. The tail is short, and may be rudi-
mentary. The "eye-teeth" are specially prominent, and remind the
observer of the similar teeth in carnivorous animals. The " seat-
pads " are, as a rule, brilliantly coloured, and the cheek-pouches are

48 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

large. Whilst the baboons possess well-developed thumbs, and
whilst the legs are nearly of equal length, they seem to walk on
all-fours more persistently perhaps than any other apes. In habits
they are fierce and predatory, and are said to associate themselves
together in bands, which make common cause in the case of attack
upon or defence from an enemy.

The second and higher division of the Catarhine Apes introduces
us to four forms, ranked by naturalists under three genera. These
forms are the Gorilla and Chimpanzee (Troglodytes), the Orang
(Pithecus\ and the Gibbon (Hylobate$\ The two former inhabit
Western Africa, whilst the orang is found only in Borneo and
Sumatra, and the gibbons in Eastern Asia and the Malay Archipelago.
Of the three groups, the gibbons are those most nearly related to the
other monkeys of the Old World. They alone possess seat-pads,
and only the nails of the great toes and thumbs are broad.
The orang, gorilla, and chimpanzee do not possess " seat-pads," and
all the fingers and toes possess flat nails. Regarding the higher apes,
including the gibbons, as a whole, we see in these animals a tendency
towards the semi-erect posture which is not habitual in other mon-
keys. When an orang or gorilla assumes the posture in question, it
supports the weight of its body upon the knuckles of the fingers ;
and it is in the higher apes alone that this highly characteristic
position is assumed. No tail is developed in these apes, and it is
important to note that the muscles of the tail are of rudimentary
nature ; this latter fact indicating that the modification of the caudal
appendage has been by no means a recent event in the history of
these apes. The thigh and leg are shorter than the arm and forearm
respectively. The teeth do not merely resemble those of man in
number and arrangement, but even present a close likeness in the
special development and proportions of the human teeth above and
below. The gibbons themselves are most notable for the extra-
ordinary length of their arms. The tips of the fingers touch the
ground when the animal stands erect. These apes not merely stand
erect with ease, but run swiftly and without effort. Like the spider
and howler monkeys of the New World, the gibbons spend their exist-
ence amongst the forests of Eastern Asia and the adjacent Archipelago.
Their long arms enable them to swing from one branch to another
with the greatest possible ease ; and we may thus observe how
Nature adapts different creatures by varied means for a similar or allied
life. It is chiefly to the prehensile tail that the New World monkeys
owe their dexterity in their forest flights ; whilst the equally agile
gibbons, possessing no tail, find in their elongated limbs the necessary
adjuncts for an existence amongst the trees.

The orang is perhaps one of the most celebrated of apes. The
average height is about four feet and a half. The arms are relatively

MONKEYS. 49

long, but the legs are by no means disproportionately developed.
The thumb and great-toe are shortened, and the foot cannot be placed
flat on the ground. The orang is a vegetable feeder, and appears to be
of quiet and peaceful disposition, although, when driven to bay, as in
incidents related by Mr. A. R. Wallace, this ape may prove itself to be
a most formidable opponent. The chimpanzee and gorilla are included
in one genus (Troglodytes], and inhabit the same region, namely, the
intertropical parts of Western Africa. The gorilla {Troglodytes gorilla)
is by far the largest of the man-like apes ; the average height being
about five feet, or even more. The erect posture is readily assumed
by the gorilla, the foot being broad, and capable of supporting the
weight of the body. The aspect of the gorilla is both terrifying and
repulsive. The great shaggy head ; the over-arching eyebrows and
their ridges ; the full glaring eyes ; the prominent and widely sepa-
rated nostrils, and the implied muscularity of jaws and body, justly
serve to render this great ape a formidable antagonist to his higher
neighbour, man himself. The two living specimens of the gorilla
which I have had the opportunity of inspecting were both young
forms. One of these was the famous " Pongo," which was exhibited
in London some years ago. The other specimen was a still younger
gorilla, whose acquaintance I made in Liverpool in 1881. Both
specimens were tame, "Pongo" being particularly playful and de-
monstrative. But even in the young condition, there was no mistaking
the air of latent ferocity which these apes possessed ; and the un-
certain tempers of each specimen bore testimony to the strongly and
purely animal nature which a few additional years would doubtless
have developed in all its typical strength. The chimpanzee (Troglo-
dytes niger) attains an average height of four and a half feet, and is
usually larger than the orang. In many respects, and especially in its
mental aspect, this ape is the most man-like of the anthropoid species.
The erect posture is readily assumed either in standing or in walking;
and the habitual attitude of these apes, namely, that of resting on
the knuckles, is perhaps most typically seen in the chimpanzee. The
thumb and great-toe exhibit a full development.

Summing up the characters of these man -like apes in which they
respectively approach the human type of structure, comparative
anatomy declares firstly, that the gibbons, of the three genera, are
furthest removed from man's order. The orang exhibits the nearest
approach to man in the shape of the cerebrum or brain proper,
and in the number of ribs. The gorilla most resembles the
human subject in the shape and curves of its spine, and in the
form of the pelvis or haunch. The actual size of the brain-case in
the gorilla, also comes nearest of all the apes to that of man ; and
in the size of the heel, as well as in the proportions which its leg
bears to its body, and its foot to its hand, this great ape is most

E

50 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

human. The gorilla and chimpanzee possess each 13 pairs of ribs ;
the gibbons may have 14 pairs ; whilst man and the orang possess but
12 pairs. Occasionally a thirteenth pair of ribs, however, is found
to be developed in the human subject. The chimpanzee, lastly,
most closely approaches to man in three points ; namely, in the
general characters of the teeth, in the characters of its skull, and in
the relative size of its fore limbs. All three groups of apes agree
with man in possessing a flat and broad breast-bone, whence is
derived the name of " latisternal" apes, often applied to them. It
is also an interesting fact that, when young, the head of the orang
closely resembles that of the average European infant As adult life
is attained, however, the bones of the face in this ape assume their
characteristic shape. They become prolonged forwards, beyond the
brain-case ; whilst in the human subject the face does not undergo any
marked elongation, and, as already noted, is overshadowed by the brain.
The foregoing description of the chief divisions of the monkey-
group will serve to familiarise us with the natural constitution
of the Quadrumanous family, and will also enable us to study to
greater advantage the important question of the mental attributes
and general mental development of these interesting animals. A
naturalist, whose opinions are deservedly treated with the respect
with which his eminence as a scientist naturally invests his ideas,
has recently declared that the monkey-race as a whole is much too
highly placed in the group of quadrupeds. The writer in question,
Mr. A. R. Wallace, remarks, that whilst the monkeys form an isolated
group of animals, they also show relations to the lower mammals.
Mr. Wallace also adds, that these relations open up the question
whether the position of the monkeys at the head of the mammals
" is a real superiority, or whether it depends merely on the obvious
relationship to ourselves. If," continues Mr. Wallace, " we could
suppose a being gifted with high intelligence, but with a form totally
unlike that of man, to have visited the earth before man existed in
order to studyf the various forms of animal life that were found there,
we can hardly think he would have placed the monkey-tribe so high
as we do. He would observe that their whole organisation was
specially adapted to an arboreal life, and this specialisation would be
rather against their claiming the first rank among terrestrial creatures.
Neither in size, nor strength, nor beauty," continues Mr. Wallace,
" would they compare with many other forms ; while in intelligence
they would not surpass, even if they equalled, the horse or the
beaver. The Carnivora> as a whole, would certainly be held to sur-
pass them in the exquisite perfection of their physical structure,
while the flexible trunk of the elephant, combined with his vast
strength and admirable sagacity, would probably gain for him the
first rank in the animal creation."

MONKEYS. 51

Again, Mr. Wallace remarks that " if this would have been a true
estimate, the mere fact that the ape is our nearest relation does not
necessarily oblige us to come to any other conclusion. Man is
undoubtedly the most perfect of all animals, but he is so solely in
respect of characters in which he differs from all the monkey-tribe
— the easily erect posture, the perfect freedom of the hands from all
part in locomotion, the large size and complete opposability of the
thumb, and the well-developed brain, which enables him fully to
utilise these combined physical advantages. The monkeys have
none of these ; and without them the amount of resemblance they
have to us is no advantage, and confers no rank." Remarking next
that we are too much biassed by the considerations of the man-like
apes, Mr. Wallace adds that the remaining monkeys would probably
be classified in a lower group than that in which they are at present
included. "We might then dwell more on their resemblances to
lower types — to rodents, to insectivora, and to marsupials, and should
hardly rank the hideous baboon above the graceful leopard or stately
stag. The true conclusion appears to be," says Mr. Wallace,
" that the combination of external characters and internal structure
which exists in the monkeys, is that which, when greatly improved,
refined, and beautifieda was best calculated to become the perfect
instrument of the human intellect, and to aid in the development of
man's higher nature ; while on the other hand, in the rude, inharmo-
nious, and undeveloped state which it has reached in the quad-
rumana, it is by no means worthy of the highest place, or can be held
to exhibit the most perfect development of existing animal life."

The foregoing statements are deserving of close attention, not
only because they proceed from a naturalist of high reputation, but
because they present certain ideas concerning the place and posi-
tion of the monkey-tribe which are susceptible, in my opinion,
of very important modification, if not of absolute refutation, in
certain respects at least. When Mr. Wallace speaks of the monkeys
as not comparing in size, strength, or beauty with many other forms,
and as not surpassing, even if they equal, the horse or the beaver in
intelligence, we may well question whether his statements are not
open to legitimate denial. If the collective strength of any group of
quadrupeds — save perhaps such an exclusively limited order as the
elephants — is taken into account, it may be maintained that such a
group will inevitably present its weaklings as well as its giants to the
view of the naturalist. If the lower monkeys, or even the intelligent
Old World forms, are by no means physically strong, we must not
forget that the monkeys own not only their powerful baboons, which
may well rival the Carnivora in strength, but also the gorilla and
orang, whose physical power ranks extremely high. But it may fairly
be objected that strength is no criterion of zoological rank ; and I

E 2

52 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE •

would add, neither can we take beauty into account in arguments
concerning the zoological position of the apes ; although Mr. Wallace
apparently forgets that amongst the monkeys, and in New World
groups especially, there are species to which the terms beautiful and
comely may with all justice be applied. The birds are more
beautiful than most quadrupeds : and an elegant kangaroo would
certainly be preferred by the aesthetic eye to the hippopotamus, rhi-
noceros, giraffe, or elephant. If we reject strength and beauty, there
remains, according to Mr. Wallace, " intelligence " as a criterion
of monkey rank. I shall presently endeavour to show that in this
latter respect the apes must claim to rank high in the mammalian
scale. But I would fain ask those who offer us the alternative of the
horse, elephant, and dog, as examples of sagacity and intelligence,
whether they are not choosing illustrations to which there exists a
grave logical objection on the score of unequal comparison. That
dogs and horses owe their sagacity and intelligence to human culture,
and to continual association with man, cannot I think for a moment
be questioned. Every horse and dog is really reaping to-day the
cumulative benefit of a civilised ancestry, so to speak. When we
speak of the intelligence of these animals, we must bear in mind, if
we are to gain the credit for logical consistency, that this intelligence
has been developed and fostered through their employment by man,
and through their ministering to his wants, and their participation in
his works. It would, in truth, be a thing to excite our wonder, if the
horse and dog did not exhibit the intelligence we see illustrated in
their family circle. We can hardly fail to own — and the result of my
own observations, to be presently noted, serves to support the con-
tention— that had the apes and monkeys been domesticated by man,
and had they possessed the advantage of continual association with
him, their intelligence and sagacity would have far exceeded that of
any other animal group. What I certainly maintain, and what the
study of monkey life demonstrates, is that the wild and untrained
monkey, when compared with the wild horse, dog, or elephant, is a
creature of higher brain-power and greater intelligence than these
latter animals. To argue otherwise would simply amount to the
assertion of the incongruous statement, that an animal, such as an
orang or chimpanzee, a bonnet monkey or a capuchin, possessing a
type of brain nearly allied to that of man, would, when its kind was
domesticated, exhibit less intelligence than a quadruped which, like
horse or dog, possesses a brain far removed from that of man in
respect of its development.

It is difficult to reconcile the first part of Mr. Wallace's conclu-
sion with his final words. " The combination of external characters
and internal structures" which is seen in the monkeys, and which, Mr.
Wallace rightly remarks, is that which under a higher guise makes

MONKEYS. 53

the sum-total of human life and structure, is also said to exist in the
apes in "a rude, inharmonious, and undeveloped state." If even
we admit the justice of the latter statement — and I am very far
from making any such admission — it is scientifically tenable, that,
however " rude " or " inharmonious " the characters and life of
the apes, as a class, may be, from allied or similar characters the
higher human life has been evolved. As a matter of fact, there
is no combination of characters to be found in any other group
of the quadrupeds more harmonious or more elaborated than that
seen in the apes. If the actual structural perfections of the monkey-
tribe be taken into account, it will be found, I think, on the whole,
to excel that of any other group of mammals. There is practically
no order of the quadruped class which does not include within its
limits beings of low and high organisation. Hence in all com-
parisons of the ape order with other orders of animals we must take
this fact into account ; and it is exactly this latter consideration which
Mr. Wallace seems to me to have tacitly ignored. Leaving the
highest apes out of the question, it may be shown, that in the
monkey-tribes which people the Old and New Worlds, there are re-
presented characters, both of body and mind, which certainly equal
and often excel anything we find in dogs, horses, elephants, or other
animals. Lastly, if we even consider the ways and works of the
lowest races of men, we may discover that the sphere of humanity
itself may be found to include much that is the reverse of harmo-
nious, and many features which represent the antipodes of beauty.
Beyond all such considerations, however, there remains the plain con-
tention that, as a group, the apes exist at the upper confines of the
quadruped class, and that, in their mental phases, they fully realise
the utmost expectations of the naturalist. To quote the words of
Dr. G. J. Romanes, " Notwithstanding the scarcity of the material
which I have to present, I think there is enough to show that the
mental life of the Simiadce is of a distinctly different type from any
that we have hitherto considered, and that in their psychology, as in
their anatomy, these animals approach most nearly to Homo sapiens."
To the investigation of the mental phases of ape character, we may
now direct our attention.

Some three years ago, I began to keep a number of monkeys
in confinement in a large and roomy cage in my house. I instructed
my servants to note carefully any special actions of the monkeys
which they might observe ; and the animals were also watched
from day to day by members of my family circle on whose accounts
I could place implicit reliance. I may add, that in nearly every
instance I have been able to verify the observations of others re-
garding the habits of my pets. The first two monkeys I selected
for domestication were purposely chosen of widely different species,

54 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

in order that I might be presented with an opportunity of com-
paring their habits. These two first additions to my family circle
consisted of a clever little Bonnet Macaque (Macacus radiatus\ who
was duly named " Jenny," and a Brown Capuchin ( Cebus fatuelhis),
who was christened " Paddy," from certain facial characteristics
which suggested the appropriateness of an Hibernian cognomen. I
soon added to these two monkeys, a third — a somewhat aged
common Macaque (Macacus cynomologns), which I obtained from
the keeper of a public-house in the North of England, and whose
deteriorated habits in the way of a fondness for becoming intoxicated
on beer would have merited the reprobation of a temperance re-
former. A visit to Jamrach's resulted in the purchase of a very
fine Sooty Mangabey ( Cercopithecus fuliginosus], which was named
"Cetchy," from a decided resemblance borne by this monkey to
the Zulu Chief. At varying intervals, when death had thinned the
ranks of my monkey-family, I bought other two common Macaques,
respectively named " Rosy" and "Polly" ; another Bonnet Monkey,
" Salaam " (so named from his habit of salutation), and a second
beautiful Brown Capuchin ( Cebus fatuelhts\ known as "Sammy."

The careful observation of these monkeys convinced me that
the opinion I had before formed of the varying mental powers to be
found amongst the individuals even of one and the same species was
a thoroughly correct one. Thus, to select the two bonnet monkeys,
" Jenny " and " Salaam," I found that, whilst the former exhibited
(and I ought to say still exhibits) a high intelligence and acute
perception, the latter was dull and even stupid, and could with
difficulty be made to perform such simple acts as the other monkeys
readily understood. After noticing how varied were the mental
powers of my monkeys, I could the better realise the force of the
illustration which Mr. Darwin cites in his " Descent of Man "
regarding the variability of the faculty of attention in monkeys. Mr.
Bartlett, of the Zoological Gardens, informed Mr. Darwin that
"a man who trains monkeys to act in plays used to purchase
common kinds from the Zoological Society at the price of five
pounds for each ; but he offered to give double the price if he might
keep three or four of them for a few days in order to select one.
When asked how he could possibly learn so soon whether a parti-
cular monkey would turn out a good actor, he answered that it all
depended on their power of attention. If, when he was talking and
explaining anything to a monkey, its attention was easily distracted,
as by a fly on the wall or other trifling object, the case was hopeless.
If he tried by punishment to make an inattentive monkey act, it
turned sulky. On the other hand, a monkey which carefully attended
to him could always be trained." Mr. Darwin, remarking on the
diversity of the mental faculties in men of the same race, says, " So-

MONKEYS. 55

it is with the lower animals. All who have had charge of
menageries admit this fact : we see it plainly in our dogs and other
domestic animals. Brehm especially insists that each individual
monkey of those which he kept tame in Africa had its own peculiar
disposition and temper. He mentions one baboon remarkable for
its high intelligence ; and the keepers in the Zoological Gardens
pointed out to me a monkey, belonging to the New World division,
equally remarkable for intelligence. Rengger also insists on the
diversity in the various mental characters of the monkeys of the
same species which he kept in Paraguay ; and this diversity, as he
adds, is partly innate and partly the result of the manner in which
they have been treated or educated." My own experience endorses
these opinions ; but I believe that innate disposition, and not
education or training, is the chief factor in producing the particular
mental character of any given monkey.

I thoroughly agree with Dr. Romanes in his declaration that in
monkeys " affection and sympathy are strongly marked — the latter,
indeed, more so than in any other animal, not even excepting the
dog." The monkey "Jenny" in particular exhibited a strong
affection for myself, and likewise showed a maternal care of her
neighbours in the cage. The instance given by Mr. Darwin, and
already quoted, of the little American monkey who rushed to the
rescue of the keeper who was attacked by a baboon, appears to me
to illustrate a common trait of monkey-character. When any one,
and even a person for whom " Jenny " showed a liking, made
believe to strike me, " Jenny " would rush to the front of the cage,
would shake the door, snarl and cry, and exhibit the most intense
rage. If liberated, she would rush to bite the offender, flying
generally at the face, but invariably retreating to my arms to be
fondled, and to be quieted by gentle stroking and soothing words.
Any attempt to renew the offence was at once followed by renewed
rage and defensive attitudes. Mr. Darwin remarks the fact noticed
by Mr. Sutton, that the face of the Macacus rhesus , when much
enraged, grows red. Mr. Darwin himself saw the face of this
monkey redden when attacked by another monkey ; and he also
adds that the " seat-pads " also seemed to redden under the influence
of anger, although he could not " positively assert that this was the
case." My monkey " Jenny," when in a rage, blushed most
distinctly. A red hue shot over and obscured the normal yellow
tint of the skin of the face, and I noticed that the " seat-pads "
occasionally also grew redder. Another curious fact concerning
this monkey's behaviour when enraged consisted in the variations
she exhibited when she was irritated by myself and by another
person. If irritated by another person, she behaved as already
described j she shook the cage and chattered, whilst her face flushed

55 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

like that of a human being in anger. If, on the other hand, I had
occasion to reprove her, she darted down to the bottom of the cage,
lay down on her belly, and, as often as not, concealed her face in
the straw. The analogy between that ineffective or suppressed rage
in a human being, which is shown by the person throwing himself
down on the ground — a feature seen familiarly in some children —
and the behaviour of " Jenny," under my reproof, appears to me to
be too exact to escape notice. " Paddy," the Capuchin, on the
contrary, when enraged or frightened, used to retire to a corner
of the cage and stand on his head, uttering meanwhile the most
plaintive cries in the well-known shrill but musical voice of the race.
On one occasion, when a servant had allowed " Paddy " to imbibe
nearly half a glassful of champagne, he showed his alcoholic
dissipation by standing inanely on his head and vainly endeavouring
to emit his familiar cry. Mr. Darwin mentions the case of a young
female chimpanzee, who, when enraged, "presented a curious
example to a child in the same state. She screamed loudly with
widely open mouth, the lips being retracted, so that the teeth were
fully exposed. She threw her arms wildly about, sometimes clasping
them over her head. She rolled on the ground, sometimes on her
back, sometimes on her belly, and bit everything within reach."

A curious fact in connection with the expression of rage by my
monkeys is to be noted in the different fashions in which the emo-
tions were exhibited. " Jenny," when enraged, chattered ; her ears
were depressed, her brows were wrinkled, and her teeth were fully
exposed, as in the chimpanzee above described. When " Mammy,"
the old macaque, or " Polly " was enraged, she showed her anger
chiefly by protruding the lips to an extreme degree, in an exag-
gerated pout, and in trumpet-fashion, giving vent to a sharp, short
" hooh." Mr. Darwin gives a drawing of a sulky chimpanzee in his
" Expression of the Emotions ;; (page 141, tenth thousand), which
accurately represents the act of the common macaque when enraged.
The varied methods of thus expressing the emotions in nearly related
monkeys constitutes in itself a powerful argument in favour of the
advance of mental evolution even within a limited range. Amongst
the ingenious expedients of my monkeys, in the way of utilising their
surroundings for various purposes, may be mentioned the feat per-
formed by " Polly," the little macaque, of utilising the bars of the
perch as a gymnastic pole, around which she, in company with
" Jenny," used to spin, like an agile acrobat, for lengthened periods.
" Polly," more ingenious still, used to twist the straw of her cage
into a rope. This she attached to one of the projecting bars of her
perch, and then, seizing the extemporised rope, would swing round
and round after the fashion of a roasting-jack ; evidently utilising and
enjoying the recoil of the straw as a means of continuing her amuse-

MONA'EYS. 57

ment. A more difficult feat was that of " Polly," in her imitation of
an acrobat, in a backward spring. Jumping forwards from the perch
to the side of the cage, she sprang backwards, and in an instant
regained the perch. " Jenny " was observed to watch the performance
of this feat with interest, and to essay its execution ; but her attempts
were clumsy and unsuccessful when compared with those of hei more
agile neighbour.

The trait of curiosity has, of course, been frequently noted as a
prominent mental character of most monkeys. I can vouch for the
fact that my entire monkey-family became at once interested in any
novel or unusual operation which was being carried on in the kitchen
in which they resided. " Jenny " in particular, and the others in a
less degree, were also extremely quick to notice any new article of
attire which the members of my household might exhibit. Articles
of jewelry, seen for the first time, attracted especial notice. A new
pair of earrings, or a new cap, was at once recognised as novel ; and
efforts were usually made to grasp the desired object. Strangers
introduced to the monkeys were often surprised at the varying recep-
tions they received. I soon noticed the curious fact that certain
persons were received from the first with dislike, whilst others appa-
rently made a favourable impression on the inmates of the cage.
One individual appeared to be hated by the collective cage ; whilst
another friend was played with and evidently fondled by " Paddy,"
the capuchin, who as a rule was singularly shy of strangers. For a
dead newt from my aquarium, or a live grass-snake, the entire cage
entertained an extreme horror. The mere sight of the snake elicited
scr earns from the whole family, and a retreat to the sleeping box was
the invariable result of the ophidian's appearance. The abhorrence
exhibited by monkeys for snakes is, of course, a perfectly natural
instinct of these animals ; in their native haunts, they must learn to
fear and avoid these reptiles. " Sammy," the capuchin, exhibited a
high degree of curiosity, and performed a large number of clever
tricks. He played with a ball like a child ; shook hands with visitors ;
and when provided with a cloth and water, he washed his dish, a feat
also performed by a capuchin named " Tommy," which lived for a
very short time only in my possession. " Sammy," if furnished with a
hammer and tacks, duly utilised both in the familiar fashion, thus
showing a faculty of imitation of the purest kind.

Various writers have spoken of the behaviour of monkeys to their
ailing and dead companions. Mr. Darwin gives instances of the
grief of female monkeys for the death of their young. Certain female
monkeys kept by Brehm, in North Africa, died from grief conse-
quent on the death of their young. An instance is narrated in which
a female monkey having been shot, the leader of the troop came to
the door of the tent and mourned for the body, after indulging in a

58 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

series of threatening gestures. The body was given him, and there-
after he retreated, bearing it away with every expression of sorrow in
his arms. The Gibbons are said to attend carefully to injured com-
panions, but to take no notice of dead friends. A monkey has also
been known to extend a cord to another which had fallen overboard
from a vessel. I observed that when one of their dead companions
was shown to the remaining occupants of my cage, they did not
appear to be frightened, but seemed to regard the dead body with
indifference, and to exhibit very little curiosity on seeing the still
form of their companion. When, however, one of the family was
ailing, the others paid it a great amount of attention, not always,
so far as I could see, of a friendly or sympathetic nature. When
" Paddy," the capuchin, was ill, and in fact just before his demise,
his friends appeared to me to endeavour to raise him from the
recumbent posture in which he lay. Whether this was done in
anxiety for the sufferer, or from mere curiosity, I am unable to say.
Perhaps both ideas animated the survivors in their attentions to their
sick friend.

On one occasion I observed in " Cetchy," the sooty mangabey, a
singular example of what I conclude may legitimately be called the
reasoning faculty in the truest sense of that term. Seeing his anxiety
to obtain a small piece of apple which I held in my hand, I resolved
to test his powers of reason and of discrimination in the following
way. I showed him the piece of apple, and as he tried to grasp it
I allowed it to slip down the sleeve of my coat, after the familiar
fashion of the childish conjuring trick. " Cetchy " viewed the dis-
appearance of the apple with surprise, and minutely examined my
hand — unclosing my fingers, to see if I had concealed it therein.
Allowing the morsel to again come into view, but being careful to
avoid showing its place of concealment, I again passed it up my
sleeve. " Cetchy " again narrowly examined my hand, turning it
over so as to see the back of the hand, but of course without success.
The peculiar dissatisfied grunt with which "Cetchy" greeted his
want of success was both characteristic and amusing. I then
repeated the operation for the third time, when " Cetchy " at once,
and without examining my hand again, passed his hand into my
sleeve, and extracted from its hiding-place the coveted morsel, which
I may add was entirely concealed from the monkey's view. As time
passe^l, it is important to note that " Cetchy " did not trouble himself
to investigate the hands in search of the missing apple. Repetition
of the trick acquainted him with its rationale, and his hand went
directly to the sleeve for the coveted morsel. In this case we may, I
think, safely conclude that the hiding-place of the morsel was first
detected simply by an exercise of that common and tacit " reason "
through which we ourselves gain a knowledge of the unknown. In

MONKEYS. 59

the human subject, it is almost needless to add, such " reason " may
be exercised as unconsciously as, no doubt, it was put in force by the
mangabey.

Recognition of friends and places, through the exercise of memory ',
is a faculty eminently possessed by monkeys. A baboon recognised
Sir Andrew Smith at the Cape of Good Hope, after an absence of
nine months. " Sammy," the capuchin, was deposited by me in the
Zoological Society's Monkey-house, and was visited thereafter by
several friends and myself at intervals. The friends were resident in
London, and, as they saw him at tolerably frequent intervals, it was
not surprising that he should at once recognise them on their
entering the Monkey-house. My first visit to, " Sammy " was paid
after an interval of between two and three months. I approached his
cage amongst the crowd of visitors and waited. " Sammy," at that
moment, was perched high up on a cross-bar. All at once he
apparently spied me ; for rushing down with a scream of joy, he
came to the spot where I stood, and, thrusting his hands through the
bars of the cage, embraced my hands in his own, and screamed so
loudly that the keeper hurried round in alarm to investigate the
cause of the commotion. At frequent intervals, I was similarly
recognised ; indeed, up to the date of his death, the memory of this
kind little monkey was active and clear, as his affection for his friends
was unabated. My experience agrees with that of Mr. Romanes
described in his recent work on " Animal Intelligence," from which
I quote the following account : " I returned the monkey" (a Brown
Capuchin), says Mr. Romanes, "to the Zoological Gardens at the
end of February, and up to the time of his death, in October 1881,
he remembered me as well as the first day that he was sent back.
I visited the monkey-house about once a month, and whenever I
approached his cage he saw me with astonishing quickness — indeed,
generally before I saw him — and ran to the bars, through which he
thrust both hands with every expression of joy. He did not, how-
ever, scream aloud; his mind seemed too much occupied by the
cares of monkey-society to admit of a vacancy large enough for such
very intense emotion as he used to experience in the calmer life that
he lived before. Being much struck with the extreme rapidity of his
discernment whenever I approached the cage, however many other
persons might be standing round, I purposely visited the monkey-
house on Easter Monday, in order to see whether he would pick me
out of the solid mass of people who fill the place on that day.
Although I could only obtain a place three or four rows back from
the cage, and although I made no sound wherewith to attract his
attention, he saw me almost immediately, and with a sudden intelli-
gent look of recognition ran across the cage to greet me. When I
went away he followed me, as he always did, to the extreme end of

60 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

his cage, and stood there watching my departure as long as I
remained in sight." More recently, " Jenny," the macaque, at present
resident in the Zoo', has recognised me, although with less demon-
stration than " Sammy " exhibited. " Polly," the little common
macaque, on my first visit after her translation to the Zoo', rushed
from the centre of the cage on seeing me, without my having in any
way attracted her notice, and stretched her hand out as if in friendly
recognition.

An interesting and every way affecting incident occurred in the ex-
periences of two little Hamadryad baboons, which I kept at home for
a short period. Owing to the baboons being persecuted by the other
inmates of the cage, I removed them from the large cage and con-
fined them in a smaller habitation. One afternoon, the male baboon
being taken ill, I removed him from the society of his partner, and
placed him in a basket near the fire for the sake of the warmth. The
female, left in her cage, began to utter low whines of complaint, and
appeared to be distressed at the enforced separation from her partner.
The male was left for the night in his basket. In the morning, being
sufficiently recovered, he was restored to the cage. Immediately on
his entrance he was seized by his partner, who placed her arms
round his neck, stroked his face, and exhibited the liveliest affection
at his restoration to his domestic hearth. Anything more affecting,
or more exactly imitative of human affection, could not have been
imagined; and the occurrence of such a trait of character in the
baboons seems to show that these " hideous " animals, as Mr. Wallace
terms them, are by no means destitute of at least some share of the
cerebration of higher forms.

That the full mental and social history of the apes has yet to be
written admits of no doubt ; and that renewed and extended observa-
tions will more than repay the labour of the naturalist is an idea
which is confirmed by the knowledge already at our command. On
the whole, I maintain that the intelligence of monkeys is, firstly, of a
markedly human type in most respects ; whilst, secondly, their mental
life appears to me to represent that of the childish stage of human
mind-development. In many of the acts of certain monkeys we see
a picture of human life and manners at a stage before reason has
asserted her full sway over the actions of the individual, and when
such traits and faculties as curiosity, imitation, wonder, &c., are promi-
nently represented in our existence. As the naturalist maintains that
certain animals represent " permanent larval forms " in the groups to
which they belong, so the monkeys may be held to illustrate a perma-
nent embryo or initial stage of that higher life seen in man — a life
built up, confessedly, of emotions ; traits and faculties often seen in
germ -form in groups of quadrupeds of lower rank than that held by
the despised apes. The close observation of the ape-tribe, in fact,

MONKEYS. 6 1

tends to demonstrate that, instead of our being led to rank these
animals as psychically low, and as taking a humble place in respect
of their intelligence, we must assign to them the highest rank among
quadrupeds, when judged by the standard applied to other animals,
or even to man himself. It is no wild dream, but a sober vision of
science, that the causes which have tended to raise the ape-family in
the scale of being, are largely identical with those to which man owes
his proud designation as "the paragon of animals."

62 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

IV.

ELEPHANTS.

THE interest which attaches to the modern representatives of the
mammoth, host is by no means limited to the zoological world, but
extends throughout all classes of society, who find something to
wonder at even in the huge proportions and ungainly ways of the
elephant family. A remarkably limited family circle is that which
includes the elephants as its typical representatives. The past history
of the race, like that of not a few other groups of animals and plants,
is exactly the converse of its present-day phases, as regards numerical
strength at least As the existing pearly nautilus is the sole survivor
of the immense hordes of four-gilled and shelled cuttlefishes which
swarmed in the primitive seas and oceans of our earth ; or as the few
living " lampshells," or Brachiopods, represent in themselves the
fulness of a life that crowded the Silurian seas, so the two existing
species of elephants with which we are familiar to-day, stand forth
among quadrupeds as the representatives of a comparatively plentiful
past population of these mammalian giants. The causes which have
depopulated the earth of its elephantine tenants may be alluded to
hereafter ; but it is evident that neither size nor strength avails
against the operation of those physical environments which so power-
fully affect the ways and destinies of man and monad alike. One
highly important feature of elephant organisation may, however, be
noted even in these preliminary details respecting the modern scarcity
of elephantine species, namely, that the slow increase of the race,
and, as compared with other animals at least, the resulting paucity of
numbers, must have had their own share as conditions affecting the
existence of these huge animals. The elephants are, of all known
animals, the slowest to increase in numbers. At the earliest, the
female elephant does not become a parent until the age of thirty
years, and only six young are capable of being produced during the
parental period, which appears to cease at ninety years of age j the
average duration of elephant life being presumed to be about a
hundred years. But it is most interesting, as well as important in
view of any speculation on the increase of species and on the ques-
tion of competition amongst the races of animal life, to reflect that,
given favourable conditions of existence, such as a sufficiency of food,
a freedom from disease and from the attack of enemies — and the
elephant race, slow of increase as it is, would come in a few thousand

ELEPHANTS. 63

years to stock the entire world with its huge representatives. On the
data afforded by the foregoing details of the age at which these
animals produce young, and of their parental period, it is easy to
calculate that in from 740 to 750 years, 19,000,000 of elephants
would remain to represent a natural population. If such a contin-
gency awaits even a slowly increasing race such as the elephants
unquestionably are, the powerful nature of the adverse conditions
which have ousted their kith and kin from a place amongst living
quadrupeds, can readily be conceived. In the face of such facts, the
contention that the " struggle for existence," in lopping off the weak
and allowing the strong to survive, accomplishes in its way an actual
good, becomes clear. And the important biological lesson is also
enforced, that there is a tolerably deep meed of philosophy involved
in the Laureate's pertinent remark concerning the " secret meaning "
of the deeds of Nature, through

finding that of fifty seeds
She often brings but one to bear.

Reference has already been made to the paucity of existing
species of elephants, only two distinct species being included in
the lists of modern naturalists. These are the African elephant
(Loxodon [or Elephas\ Africanus] and the Indian elephant (Elcphas
Indicus). But the elephantine race is not without its variations and
digressions from the ordinary type. We discover that amongst the
elephants of each species "varieties" are by no means uncommon.
These varieties appear as the progeny of ordinary animals. Thus the
Sumatran elephant and that of Ceylon are regarded as constituting
a distinct species, one authority, Schlegel, indeed, affixing to it the
distinctive appellation of Elephas Sumatrensis. The balance of
zoological opinion, however, is in favour of the Ceylon form being
simply a " variety " of the Indian species ; in other words, the differ-
ences between these two forms are not accounted of sufficient merit
to elevate the former to the rank of a distinct animal unit. The
famous " white elephants," whose existence has given origin to the
proverbial expression concerning the disadvantage of unwieldy pos-
sessions, have a veritable existence. In Siam, as is well known,
these animals are regarded with the utmost reverence, and are held
in sacred estimation and kept in royal state by sovereign command.
They are to be regarded, however, merely as an albino or colourless
"variety" of the Indian species. Their production depends, like
that of albinos or white varieties of birds or other animals, on some
undetermined conditions affecting development. We occasionally
find white varieties of birds — even including that paradoxical anomaly,
a white blackbird — and albino cats are as familiar objects as are albino
rabbits and white mice. Darwin remarks on the fact that albinism
is very susceptible of transmission to offspring, and it is so even in

STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

the human race. It is not known whether the white elephants exhibit
any special peculiarity of structure or life ; but the interesting corre-
lation has been observed, that almost all white cats which possess
blue eyes are deaf. The nature and origin of this association of
characters are unknown, but the occurrence of such apparently
unconnected states serves to remind us that great as yet are the
mysteries which environ the becoming of the living worlds.

The characters of the Indian and African elephants respectively,
are by no means difficult to bear in mind. The Indian elephant
(fig. i, i) has a concave or hollowed forehead, and the ears are of

relatively moderate size.
The eye is exceptionally
small, whilst there are
four nails or hoofs on
the hind feet ; the num-
ber of toes on each foot
being five in all ele-
phants. The colour of
the Indian species is
L_ moreover a pale brown,
and is of a lighter hue
than that of the African
species ; and whilst the
former has "tusks" in
the males alone, the
latter possesses tusks in
both sexes. The African
elephant (fig. i, 2) has a rounded skull and a convex forehead, and
the ears are of very large size. It possesses only three nails on the hind
feet, and four hoofs on the front tees. Certain important differences,
to be presently noted, also exist between the teeth of these species.

The limits of size of the two species of elephants appear to
have afforded subject-matter for considerable discussion. The
average height of the male Indian elephant is from eight to ten feet,
and that of the females from seven to eight feet. The African
species, according to the most generally recorded testimony, attains
a larger size than its Indian neighbour. Sir Emerson Tennent,
quoting a source of error in the measurement of elephants, gives the
remarks of a writer who says : — " Elephants were measured formerly,
and even now, by natives, as to their height, by throwing a rope over
them, the ends brought to the ground on each side, and half the
length taken as the true height. Hence the origin of elephants
fifteen and sixteen feet high. A rod held at right angles to the
measuring rod, and parallel to the ground, will rarely give more than
ten feet, the majority being under nine."

FIG. i.— HEADS OF (i) AFRICAN AND
(2) INDIAN ELEPHANTS.

ELEPHANTS. 65

As regards the number of elephants captured annually, a recent
return gives us 503 as captured in the three years ending 1880, in
the forests of Assam, by the Indian Government.

There exist a few points in the special anatomy of the elephants
of which it may be permissible to treat briefly, and of these points,
the skeleton presents several for examination. First in interest,
perhaps, comes the enormous size of the skull, and the modifications
wherewith this huge mass of bone is rendered relatively light and
more easily supported on the spine. The skull of the elephant is
unquestionably large, even when considered in relation to the huge
body of which it forms such an important part ; but when the skull
is seen in section, we discover that, instead of presenting us with a
solid mass of bone, its walls are hollowed out in a remarkable fashion,
so as to materially reduce its weight. In order to thoroughly under-
stand how the elephant's skull is thus modified, it is necessary for a
moment to refer to the structure of the ordinary quadruped cranium.
It is a well-known fact that as the skull advances towards maturity,
its bones undergo certain changes with the view of adapting them-
selves to the growth and protection of the brain and organs of sense.
The increase of that part of the skull which forms the brain-case
naturally takes a direction in which the thickness of the bones parti-
cipates ; but the adaptation of skull to brain is also wrought out
through the development of certain " cells " or spaces— often also
named sinuses — between the two layers or "tables" of which the bones
consist. An example of such spaces in man is found in the so-called
" frontal sinuses," which exist between the layers of the frontal or fore-
head bone, just above the nose. In other quadrupeds (e.g. dog) these
spaces also exist, and they occur in other parts of the skull as well.

Now, it is by a huge and extreme modification of the " sinuses "
of the skull that the elephant's cranium is rendered light and
more easily borne. It is evident that a demand exists in these
animals for a skull of great strength, which not only shall be equal
to the task of giving origin to muscles of power sufficient for the
animal's movements, but which may also adequately support the
great " tusks." And Nature has succeeded accordingly, by a most
interesting modification, in uniting size and strength to a minimum of
weight. If we examine the skull of a young elephant, in the sixth
month of its life, the skull-bones are well-nigh solid, and certainly
present no trace of the curious alteration of which they ultimately
become the subjects. But in the adult skull great spaces, correspond-
ing to the "sinuses" of man and other animals, are seen to exist,
these spaces in some cases actually separating the two layers of the
skull-bones to an extent of twelve inches. Nor are these spaces
limited to the frontal bones, for they exist in the upper jaw bones,
and extend even to those forming the animal's palate ; whilst the

F

66 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

spaces of the distinct bones are frequently seen to unite and thus to
throw the cavities of these bones into one. Such a modification
implies a far back adaptation of structure acting through countless
generations of elephantine forms ; and it is equally important to note
that the essential features of such modification are to be found in
other quadrupeds — that, in short, the peculiarities of elephantine
skulls are not special and original creations, but merely modifications
of the ordinary quadruped cranium.

A very short but strong neck, and powerful bony processes borne
on the joints thereof, serve as support and holdfasts respectively for
the huge cranium. In other parts of the skeleton, such as in the
shape and form of the shoulder-blade, the elephants resemble the
Rodent quadrupeds, such as the hares, rabbits, rats, beavers, &c. ;
and it has long been a notable fact of elephantine anatomy, that
this resemblance is by no means limited even to the bones. But a
somewhat ludicrous peculiarity of the elephants, readily noted by the
observer, and one referred to by both classic and modern poets, is
their awkward gait ; and this again depends upon a readily understood
anatomical modification. It is such a peculiarity that is referred to
in " Troilus and Cressida," in the lines —

The elephant hath joints, but none for courtesy.
His legs are legs for necessity, not for flexure.

And again, the phrase —

I hope you are no elephant, you have joints,

evidently refers to the curious and ungainly movements of these
quadrupeds. The explanation of the elephantine gait rests primarily
with the length of the thigh-bone, and with the facts that this bone
is very long and lies perpendicularly to the line or axis of the spine ;
the thigh not forming an acute angle with the spine, as in other
quadrupeds. Thus, the "ham'^of the animal stretches half-way
down the thigh, and when the animal walks the bend of the knee or
leg at the latter point imparts a decided clumsiness to the gait. The
great body rests, not so much upon the toes, as upon the great pads
which unite the toes, and which in fact constitute a broad, flat sole
behind these members. Similar pads in the rhinoceros and hippopo-
tamus support the weight of the body. No collar-bones are deve-
loped in the elephant race ; a fact which, of course, bears a relation
to the absence of those movements, such as climbing, &c., in which
these bones play an important part, as serving to fix the limb em-
ployed. The brain of the elephant reveals certain points of anato-
mical interest. For example, the lesser brain or " cerebellum " is
not covered by the brain proper or " cerebrum ; " but the surface of
the latter is deeply convoluted or folded. The existence of deep
brain-convolutions in man is believed to be associated with a high

ELEPHANTS.

measure of intellectual power, and the elephants do not seem to
belie the statement, as applied to lower life, when their sagacity is
taken into consideration. The proportion borne by the weight of
the brain to that of the body has always formed an interesting topic
of physiological nature. As a matter of fact, great variations exist
when the ratio of brain to body is examined in different animals.
Thus in man, as is the case with lower animals, the ratio diminishes
with increasing weight and height. In lean persons the ratio is often
as i : 22 to 27, and in stout persons as i : 50 to 100. In the Green-
land whale the ratio is given as i to 3,000 ; in the ox as i to 160 ;
in the horse as i to 400 ; in the dog as i to 305 ; in the elephant
as i to 500 ; in the chimpanzee as i to 50, and in man as i to 36.

The absolute weight of brain in an elephant which was seven and
a half feet high, and eight and a half feet in length from forehead to
tail, was 9 Ibs. The brain of an Indian elephant was found to weigh
10 Ibs. ; and Sir Astley Cooper gives the weight of the brain of
another specimen as 8 Ibs. T oz. 2 grs., whilst that of an African
elephant seventeen years old was found by Perrault to weigh 9 Ibs.

The muscular system of the elephant necessarily partakes of the
massive character adapted for the work of moving and transporting
the huge frame. But the
anatomy of the "proboscis"
or "trunk" constitutes in
itself a special topic of in-
terest, and one, moreover,
which gives to the probos-
cidian race one of its most
notable characteristics. The
" trunk " is, of course, the
elongated nose of the ele-
phant. It is perforated by
the nostrils which open at
its tip, and above the aper-
tures is a curious finger-
like process, which, when
opposed to a small pro-
jection somewhat resem-
bling a thumb in function, constitutes a veritable hand, and is utilised
by the animal in almost every detail of its life. With the exception
of the snout of the tapirs, the trunk of the elephant has not even a
distant parallel in the animal series. Its muscles form two sets
of fibres, one set of which compressing its substance also extends
its length, whilst the second set shortens the organ and enables it
to bend freely in any direction. When we add to the possession
of this extreme muscularity, a high degree of sensitiveness, the

r 2

FIG. 2. — VARIOUS USES OF THE PROBOSCIS.

68 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

proboscis of these animals may be regarded in the light of one of the
most useful as well as most interesting features of their organisation.
Its use is not limited to the prehension of food (fig. 2, i, 2), however,
or even to the additional function of an organ of touch. Occa-
sionally, water is drawn up into the trunk, and is then squirted over
the body as from a flexible hose (fig. 2, s), thus serving as a kind
of shower-bath apparatus ; and stories have been recorded wherein
such a use of the proboscis has played a prominent part in the act
of elephantine revenge on some over-bold or offending human.

The teeth of the elephantine race, as already remarked, form a
highly characteristic feature of their anatomy. In the mouth of a
higher quadruped, such as man, the bat, or ape, no less than four kinds
of teeth are represented. These are the front teeth or incisors, the
" eye-teeth " or canines, the premolars, and the molars or " grinders."
Furthermore, the growth of any individual tooth of ordinary kind
is of limited extent. As the roots of the "milk-teeth" disappear
by a natural process of absorption, and as these teeth fall out to
make room for their permanent successors of the second set, so the
latter teeth in their turn, when old age creeps upon us, fall out by
the decay and disappearance of their roots. Thus the growth of a
tooth, like that of the body at large, is confined to a certain period,
and by no means extends throughout the entire life of the individual.
But there are other teeth in the animal world which do not so termi-
nate their growth. The latter teeth continue to grow throughout the
entire life of their possessors. They spring from what is known as
a " permanent pulp ; " a structure which, devoted to the original
formation of the tooth, continues to add to its substance as long as
life lasts. In the Rodent animals, such as the rats, mice, beavers,
porcupines, squirrels, and their allies, the front teeth grow from
" permanent pulps," the action of which supplies the loss of tooth-
substance which results from the inevitable tear and wear incurred in
the act of gnawing. So, also, in the walrus, the upper " eye-teeth "
grow from " permanent pulps," and develop into the well-known ivory
tusks of that animal ; and although the prominent "eye-teeth" of
the pigs do not increase throughout life, they yet exhibit a structure
nearly approaching the persistent type of tooth-growth.

In the elephants, only two kinds of teeth are represented, these
being the incisors or front teeth, and the molars or grinders : whilst
the front teeth themselves only exist in the upper jaw. The incisors
grow from " permanent pulps," and hence they increase during the
whole life of the animal, or nearly so. A large pair of tusks may weigh
from 150 to 200 Ibs., and as regards structure they are found to con-
sist of dentine or " ivory " and of " cement ; " whilst the enamel,
which forms such a characteristic feature of ordinary teeth, may or
may nof be represented. The tusks vary, according to Darwin, " in

ELEPHANTS. 69

the different species or races according to sex, nearly as do the horn.
of ruminants. In India and Malacca, the males alone are provided
with well-developed tusks. The elephant of Ceylon," adds Mr.
Darwin, " is considered by most naturalists as a distinct race ; there,
' not one in a hundred is found with tusks, the few that possess them
being exclusively males.' The African elephant is undoubtedly dis-
tinct, and the female has large well-developed tusks, though not so
large as those of the male." The molars or grinding teeth exhibit an
equally curious structure. In the lifetime of an elephant twenty-foui
molar teeth are developed in all ; six on each side of each jaw. But
at any one time in the life of the animal, not more than two of these
teeth are to be seen in each side of the jaw. A curious succession
of these molars takes place in the elephants ; for they are found to
move from behind forwards ; the teeth in use being gradually ousted
from their place by their successors, as the former are worn away
Thus the whole set of molars in due time moves forwards in the jaw,
and each successive tooth is, as a rule, larger than its predecessor.
In structure, the molars of the elephant are highly peculiar, each
exhibiting the appearance rather of a compound than of a single
tooth. Each tooth is built up of a series of plates set perpendicu-
larly in the tooth, and consisting of ivory or '• dentine " covered by
enamel, whilst " cement " fills up the interspaces between the plates.
As the tooth wears in its work, the enamel comes to project above
the surface of the tooth, and a characteristic pattern is thus developed
on the surface of the molars of each species of living elephant.
Thus, in the Indian elephant, the molars exhibit a series of cross
ridges, which are more numerous than those of the African species ;
whilst in the latter form, the enamel plates form a distinctly lozenge-
shaped pattern. It sometimes happens that in elephants kept in
captivity the succession of the teeth is disarranged, from the fact
that the molars are not worn away fast enough, and the succeeding
teeth are displaced, thereby causing deformity of the jaws.

The elephants were included in the older systems of classification
in a somewhat heterogeneous group of quadrupeds named the Pachy-
dermata. That this order — now abolished and divided to form several
new groups — was motley enough in its representation, is readily seen,
when we discover that the rhinoceroses, hippopotami, and other forms
were included within its limits along with the elephants themselves.
The technical name "Pachydermata" related to the thick skin which
invests the bodies of the animals just mentioned, and in the elephants
this characteristic is, of course, extremely well represented. The
thick skin hangs in folds on the body, whilst the typical hair-covering
which by natural right all quadrupeds possess is but sparsely developed.
It would seem, however, that the young elephant possesses a much
more profuse covering of hairs than the adult. Such a statement is

70 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

consistent with the general biological law which holds that the young
form exhibits the primitive characters of the race more typically than
the adult. In this view of matters, the young elephant is nearer the
type of its ancestors than the adult ; and in the young whales the
same remark holds good ; since the youthful cetaceans may possess
a sparse covering of hairs such as the adults do not exhibit.

Speaking of the comparative hairlessness of the elephant and
rhinoceros, Mr. Darwin remarks that, "as certain extinct species
(e.g. mammoth) which formerly lived under an Arctic climate, were
covered with hair, it would almost appear as if the existing species of
both genera had lost their hairy covering from exposure to heat.
This appears the more probable, as the elephants in India which live
on elevated and cool districts are more hairy than those on the
lowlands."

The social history and psychology of the elephant race form of
themselves topics wide enough to fill a volume. From the earliest
cimes, these animals have been enlisted by man in the service of war,
or as beasts of burden, as aids in the chase, or even in the brutal and
demoralising sports of the ancient arena. The value of ivory in the
earliest ages must have given rise to elephant-hunting as a source of
gain and profit; and the inroads of man upon the species have
naturally caused not merely a limitation in the numbers of these
animals, but have likewise served to modify in a very marked fashion
their geographical distribution. But the utility of these great animals
to man, depends as much upon their docility and tractable nature, as
upon their manufacture of ivory. Probably there is no more sagacious
animal than a well-trained elephant, and the development of such
high instincts as these animals exhibit, may form an additional
illustration of the marked influence of association with man in inducing
the growth of intelligence and reasoning powers in the animal creation.
No one may doubt that the dog, for instance, has benefited to a
marked degree from such association with human surroundings ; and
that the comparatively low mental powers of many other animals are
susceptible of higher development through domestication, is an idea
fully supported by all that is known of instances where a wild race,
or individual animal of wild habits, has been brought in contact with
man. The " learned pigs " and tame hares, are cases in point ; and
the relatively low mental powers of many of the apes may be largely
attributed to that want of interest in "poor relations" with which
humanity, as a body, views the quadrumanous tribes.

The records of popular natural history teem with examples of the
sagacity of elephants; a mental quality which, it may be added, is
likely to owe much to the relatively long life, and corresponding
opportunities of acquiring experience, which these animals possess :
whilst it has been also remarked, that as the elephant, unlike the dog,

ELEPHANTS. 71

rarely breeds in captivity, and as each individual elephant has to
acquire, independently of heredity, its own knowledge of the world
and of man, so to speak, these great animals present infinitely more
remarkable examples of animal sagacity than the dog. One specially
interesting feature of elephant life consists in the aid given by the
domesticated elephant to man in the capture of the wild species.
The fact of these animals entering into an offensive and, from its very
nature, an intelligent alliance with man against their own race, may
be regarded either as illustrating the desire to benefit the race by
conferring upon them the blessings of civilised life and employment,
or as exemplifying a process of demoralisation and treacherous
development which might afford an argument against the universally
beneficial effects of domestication upon the animal form. Nor is the
problem rendered any the less attractive to the metaphysician and
moralist, when it is discovered that it is through the caresses and
blandishments of the false females that the wild elephants are tempted
into the snare : the parallelism betwixt the experiences of lower and
higher life being too obvious in this instance to escape remark.

Probably no animal exhibits a greater knowledge or instinctive
apprehension of danger than an elephant. Instances are numerous,
for example, where an elephant has refused to cross a bridge esteemed
safe by his human guides, but which has collapsed with the animal's
weight, when, goaded and tortured to proceed, he has advanced in
despair, only to find himself immersed in the water below. But
cases are also recorded in which the danger experienced by the
elephant itself has apparently not rendered it insensible to the
safety of its keeper. " The elephant," says Darwin, " is very faithful
to his driver or keeper, and probably considers him as the leader of
the herd. Dr. Hooker informs me that an elephant which he was riding
in India, became so deeply bogged that he remained stuck fast until,
the next day, when he was extricated by men with ropes. Under
such circumstances elephants will seize with their trunks any object,
dead or ulive, to place under their knees to prevent their sinking
deeper in the mud ; and the driver was dreadfully afraid lest the
animal should have seized Dr. Hooker and crushed him to death.
But the driver himself, as Dr. Hooker was assured, ran no risk.
This forbearance under an emergency so dreadful for a heavy animal,
is a wonderful proof of noble fidelity." Swainson gives a description
of the sagacity of an elephant under such circumstances, which is
worth quoting in the present instance. "The cylindrical form of an
-elephant's leg — which is nearly of equal thickness — causes the animal
to sink very deep in heavy ground, especially in the muddy banks of
small rivers. When thus situated, the animal will endeavour to lie
on his side, so as to avoid sinking deeper ; and, for this purpose,
will avail himself of every means to obtain relief. The usual mode

72 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

of extricating him is much the same as when he is pitted ; that is, by
supplying him liberally with straw, boughs, grass, &c.; these materials
being thrown to the distressed animal, he forces them down with his
trunk, till they are lodged under his fore-feet in sufficient quantity to
resist his pressure. Having thus formed a sufficient basis for exertion,
the sagacious animal next proceeds to thrust other bundles under his
belly, and as far back under his flanks as he can reach ; when such a
basis is formed as may be, in his mind, proper to proceed upon, he
throws his whole weight forwards, and gets his hind feet gradually
upon the straw, &c. Being once confirmed on a solid footing, he
will next place the succeeding bundles before him, pressing them
well with his trunk, so as to form a causeway by which to reach the
firm ground. . . . He will not bear any weight, definitely, until, by
trial both with his trunk and the next foot that is to be planted, he
has completely satisfied himself of the firmness of the ground he is to
tread upon. . . . The anxiety of the animal when bemired, forms a
strong contrast with the pleasure he so strongly evinces on arriving
at terra firma" Such an account becomes extremely interesting, as
convincing us that much, if not all, of the sagacity which is called
forth by such circumstances, must be inherent and original, as
opposed to that gained by experience. It cannot be supposed that
the accident described can form such a frequent experience of
elephant-existence in a wild state, as to constitute a certain basis for
acquired knowledge of what to do in the exigency. On the contrary,
it seems more reasonable to suppose that the inherent and intuitive
sagacity of the animal is simply called forth by the threatened danger,
and that such an exigency brings into play mental acts analogous to
those whereby, through mechanical and similar contrivances to those
employed by the elephant, man might rescue himself or his property
from immersion in the swamps.

The memory of elephants is of highly remarkable nature, both as-
to its duration, and in its operation as enabling the animal to recog-
nise friends and foes. I am fortunate in being able to place on
record an instance of elephant memory of very interesting kind, and
one which serves to show in a highly typical manner the remembrance
by these animals of kindness, and also of the reverse treatment. In
1874, Wombv\ ell's menagerie visited Tenbury in Gloucestershire, and
on that occasion the female elephant, " Lizzie " by name, drank a
large quantity of cold water when heated after a long walk ; the
animal, as a consequence, being attacked with severe internal spasms.
A local chemist, a Mr. Turley, being called in as medical adviser,
succeeded in relieving the elephant's pain, the treatment including
the application of a very large blister to the side. The menagerie in
due course went its way, but in May 1879, ^ again visited Tenbury,
and as Mr. Turley stood at his shop door watching the zoological

ELEPHANTS. 73

procession pass down the street, the elephant stepped out of the
ranks, crossed from one side of the street to the other, and having
advanced to Mr. Turley, placed her trunk round his hand, and held
it firmly, at the same time making, as Mr. Turley informs me, a
peculiar grunting noise, as if by way of welcome. Thus it was clear
that after an interval of five years, "Lizzie" had recognised an old
friend in Mr. Turley, and that, moreover, she remembered him with
a sense of gratitude for his successful endeavours to relieve the pain
from which she had suffered. At night, Mr. Turley visited the
menagerie, when the elephant again made every demonstration of
joy, and embraced him with her trunk. She drew Mr. Turley's
attention particularly to the side whereon the blister had been applied,
thus showing that all the circumstances of five years previous were
fresh in her memory. Observing that in 1881 the menagerie had
again visited Tenbury, I wrote to Mr. Turley inquiring if " Lizzie "
had again recognised her old friend. That gentleman replied, his
letter bearing date May 1881, that she had again recognised him,
beginning to " trumpet " whenever she beheld Mr. Turley amongst
the spectators in the menagerie. On his speaking to his patient, she
placed her trunk round his legs and lifted him from the ground, but
in the gentlest manner possible. On Mr. Turley proceeding to ex-
amine one of her hind-legs which had been under treatment, the
elephant kept holding one of her fore-legs towards him in such a
fashion as to draw his attention to the limb. As Mr. Turley, however,
had had no concern with the fore- leg, he was puzzled to account for
the animal's movement ; but the keeper explained that the fore-leg
in question had been treated by a veterinary surgeon for an injury,
and that the latter had used his lancet to afford relief. The elephant
was irritated by the operation, and expressed her resentment on
again seeing the veterinary practitioner by striking at him with her
trunk. The act of calling Mr. Turley's attention to the fore-leg was
simply an expression of admiration for the gentler treatment to
which he had subjected his patient ; the quieter medical treatment
contrasting apparently with the rougher surgical measure to which
the fore leg had been subjected. It is thus clear not merely that the
elephantine nature is endowed with an active memory, but that a
lively sense of gratitude for past kindness is also represented in the
list of mental attributes of this giant race.

A parallel instance of elephant memory is afforded by the case
of an elephant which, having broken loose from the stables on a
stormy night, escaped into the jungles. Four years thereafter, when a
drove of wild elephants was captured in the " keddah " or enclosure,
the keeper of the lost elephant went to inspect the new arrivals, and
climbed on the railings of the " keddah " to obtain a satisfactory
view of the captured animals. Having fancied that amongst the

74 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

animals he recognised the escaped elephant — an idea ridiculed by
his comrades — he called his lost charge by its name. The animal
at once came close to the barrier, and on the keeper proceeding into
the enclosure and commanding it to lie down, the elephant obeyed,
and the man led his former charge triumphantly forth from amongst
its wild companions. But the memory of kindnesses is equalled in
the elephant by that which recalls acts of injury to remembrance.
The well-known story of the Indian elephant which, on being pricked
by a native tailor near whose stall it had wandered, returned and
deluged the man with a shower-bath of dirty water, finds many
parallels in the history of elephant character. An elephant which
was kept at Versailles by Loiiis XIV., was in the habit of revenging
himself for affronts and injuries. A man who, feigning to throw
something into his mouth, disappointed him, was beaten to the
ground with the trunk and trampled upon. On a painter desiring
to sketch this elephant with trunk erect and mouth open, his servant
was instructed to feed the elephant for the purpose of inducing the
animal to assume the desired attitude. But the supply of food
falling short and elephantine chagrin being aroused, the elephant
drawing up water into his trunk, coolly showered it down upon the
unfortunate painter and his sketch, drenching the one, and rendering
the other useless.

The pugnacity of the elephant is very great, and the determina-
tion with which contests are carried on between these animals is
highly remarkable. Mr. Darwin, on the authority of the late Dr.
Falconer, tells us that the Indian species fights in varied fashions,
determined by the position and curvature of his tusks. "When they
are directed forwards and upwards, he is able to fling a tiger to a
great distance — it is said to even thirty feet ; when they are short
and turned downwards, he endeavours suddenly to pin the tiger to
the ground, and, in consequence, is dangerous to the rider, who is
liable to be jerked off the howdah " — for it is on

Elephants endors'd with towers,

as Milton has it, that the great carnivore of India is hunted.

A most remarkable trait of elephant existence, and one which
parallels the proverbial "red rag" and bovine fury, is the apparent ani
mosity of the race to white colour. Sir Samuel Baker says that both
the African elephant and the rhinoceros attack grey or white horses
with fury. The explanation of such traits of character probably lies
hidden in that philosophy of colour in relation to sex and animal
development which the researches of Darwin and others have so far
unravelled.

As a final observation regarding the psychology of the elephant,
Mr. Darwin's statements concerning the "weeping" of these animals

ELEPHANTS. 75

may be quoted. Remarking that the Indian species is known to
weep, Mr. Darwin quotes Sir Emerson Tennent, who says that some
" lay motionless on the ground, with no other indication of suffering
than the tears which suffused their eyes and flowed incessantly."
Another elephant, "when overpowered and made fast," exhibited
great grief; "his violence sank to utter prostration, and he lay on
the ground, uttering choking cries, with tears trickling down his
cheeks." " In the Zoological Gardens," says Darwin, "the keeper of
the Indian elephants positively asserts that he has several times seen
tears rolling down the face of the old female when distressed by the
removal of the young one." Mr. Darwin also makes the interesting
observation that when the Indian elephant " trumpets," the orbicular
muscles of the eyes contract : whilst in the " trumpeting " of the
African species these muscles do not act. Hence, as Mr. Darwin
believes that in man the violent contraction of the muscles round the
eyes is connected with the flow of tears, it would seem by analogy
to be a legitimate inference that the Indian elephant has attained
a higher stage in the expression of its emotions than its African
neighbour.

The social history of the elephants includes several somewhat
melancholy incidents connected with the despatch of these animals,
rendered necessary from their dangerous condition. The best known
of these incidents is that connected with the death of Chunee, the
Exeter Change elephant, reported in the " Times " for March 2,
1826. The account of the death of Chunee is as follows : — "The
elephant was a male, and had been an inmate of the Exeter
Change Menagerie for seventeen years. He was brought from
Bombay, where he was caught when quite young, and was supposed
to be about five years old when purchased by Mr. Cross ; conse-
quently his present age is twenty-two. The effect of his unavoidable
seclusion had displayed itself in strong symptoms of irritability
during a certain season from the first, and these symptoms had been
observed to become stronger during each succeeding year as it ad-
vanced toward maturity. The animal was altogether kept at this
season very low, and also plentifully physicked, for which latter
purpose no less than one hundredweight of salts was frequently given
to him at a time. Notwithstanding these precautions, the animal
within the last few days had shown strong proofs of irritability,
refusing the caress of his keepers and attempting to strike at them
with his trunk on their approaching him, also at times rolling himself
about his den and forcibly battering its sides. About i P.M. he
became more ungovernable than ever, and commenced battering the
bars of his den with his trunk. These bars are upwards of three
feet in girth, and are composed of oak, strongly bound on all sides
with iron, and are placed about a foot asunder. For some time they

76 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

resisted the ponderous blows which he almost incessantly directed
against them, but by 2 P.M. one of them was found to be started
from the massive cross beam into which it was mortised ; and as at
that time the animal still continued as violent as ever, serious fear
began to be entertained lest he should break out, in which event the
amount of damage or loss of life which he might occasion would
have been incalculable. In these circumstances, although the value
of the animal was at least i,ooo/., Mr. Cross at once determined on
having him destroyed, and after some consideration it was resolved to
give him some corrosive sublimate in a mess of hay. However, the
animal no sooner smelt the mixture than he rejected it, and it was
then determined to shoot him. Accordingly a messenger was sent
to Somerset House, where two soldiers were on guard, who, on a
suitable representation being made, were allowed to go over to the
menagerie, taking with them their muskets. Several rifle guns were
also obtained from different places in the neighbourhood and put
into the hands of such of the persons about the establishment as had
courage enough to remain in the room. In this manner, in all about
fourteen persons were armed, but before commencing operations it
was deemed prudent to secure the front of the den, by passing cords
around those bars against which the animal's violence had been princi-
pally directed. This having been done and the muskets loaded,
about a third of the party advanced to the front of the den till
within about five yards of the animal and discharged their pieces at
the tender part of the neck below the ear, and then immediately
retreated to a recess at the lower end of the room for the purpose of
reloading. The animal on finding himself wounded uttered a loud
and piercing groan, and advancing to the front of the den struck his
trunk several times with all his fury against the bars, another of which
he succeeded in forcing out of its place. Having thus exhausted his
fury, he became quiet, upon which another detachment of the party
approached his den, and after firing upon him, retired into the recess
as before ; the animal on receiving the fire plunged again most
violently against the front of the den, the door of which he actually
lifted from off its' uppermost hinges, but was prevented from getting
out by the strong manner in which the ropes bound the different bars
together. On his becoming more tranquil, preparations were made
for firing a third volley ; but no sooner were the muskets about to be
levelled, than the animal, as if conscious of their being the cause of
his wounds and also of the vulnerable parts against which they were
intended to be directed, turned sharp round and retreated into the
back of the den and hid his head between his shoulders. It hence
became necessary to rouse him by pricking him with spears, which
being effected, the muskets were discharged at him, and although
several balls evidently took effect in the neck on this as well as on the

ELEPHANTS. 77

former occasion, still he did not exhibit any signs of weakness, beyond
abstaining from those violent efforts which he had previously made
against the front of his den ; indeed, from this time he kept almost
entirely at the back of his den, and although blood flowed profusely
from the wounds he had received, he gave no other symptoms of
passion or pain than an occasional groan. For about an hour and a
half in this manner a continuous discharge of musketry was kept up
against him, and no less than 152 bullets were expended before he
fell to the ground, where he lay nearly motionless, and was soon
despatched with a sword, which, after being secured upon the end of
a rifle, was plunged into his neck. The quantity of blood that
flowed was very considerable, and flooded the den to a great depth.
This was the same elephant who was the accidental cause of its
keeper's death, whose ribs it crushed four months back while in the
act of turning round in its den."

After reading this account, we may well feel tempted to endorse the
opinion of a correspondent of " Land and Water " who remarks that
the like of it " can never occur again, thank God, in England/'

The history of the elephants 'would be manifestly imperfect, even
when detailed in the briefest manner, without a reference to their
present distribution and to the biography of the race in the past.
As in the case of many other groups of animals and plants, we can
only fully appreciate the modern relations of the elephants when
some knowledge of their development in the geological ages has
been obtained. In the eyes of the modern naturalist, the present of
any living being is not merely bound up in its past development, but
the existing conditions of any race become explicable in many cases
only when the former range of the group in time has been ascer-
tained. This holds especially true of the elephants; for the existing
species represent the remnants of a once larger and far more extensive
distribution of proboscidian life. Hence it behoves us to make the
acquaintance, firstly, of their present distribution, and secondly of
their distribution and development in past ages, if we are to under-
stand with any degree of completeness and mental satisfaction the
relations of the elephantine races.

The distribution of the elephants on the earth as it now exists
may be disposed of in a very few words. The Indian species occurs
in Asia, from the Himalayas to Ceylon, whilst its range extends east-
wards to the Chinese borders, and southwards to Sumatra and
Borneo as well. The African species possesses as localised a habitat.
It was Swift who, remarking on the customs of geographers in his
day, said,

So geographers in Afric maps
With savage pictures fill their gaps,
And o'er unhabitable downs
Place elephants for want of towns.

STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

The witty Dean's lines show at least that the geographers did not
mistake the wide distribution of the giant animal in the Ethiopian
continent. For, south of the Sahara — the territory north of which
is zoologically a part of Europe — the African elephant is widely
found, forming one of the most characteristic features at once of the
African landscape and of the Ethiopian fauna, and dividing the
sovereignty of the land with the lion himself.

Turning now to the past history of the elephant race, one may
primarily note the more prominent members of the group which rank

amongst the curiosities
of the geologist. First
in order comes the ex-
tinct Mammoth — \\\zEle-
phas primigenius (fig. 3)
of the naturalist. Of this
huge elephant we possess
a considerable know-
ledge, inasmuch as speci-
mens have been ob-
tained, literally packed
amid the Siberian ice,
and so perfectly pre-
served that even the de-
licate tissues of the eyes
could be inspected. This was the case in the famous specimen
found in the frozen soil of a cliff at the mouth of the Lena in 1799.
The skin of this huge elephant was then seen to be clothed with a
thick coating of reddish wool interspersed with black hairs. The
skeleton, removed in 1806 by Mr. Adams, and preserved in St.
Petersburg, measures 16 feet 4 inches in length, the height is 9 feet
4 inches, and the tusks measure each 9 feet 6 inches along their
curve. The mammoth's tusks appear to have had a wider curvature
(fig. 3) than those of existing elephants ; and probably, like the
African species, both male and female mammoths possessed these
great teeth. The measurement of mammoth tusks from recent
deposits in Essex gives a length of 9 feet 10 inches along the outer
curve, and 2 feet 5 inches in circumference at the thickest part.
Another specimen weighed 160 Ibs. ; and a dredged specimen taken
off Dungeness was 1 1 feet long. The mammoth's tusks have long
formed articles of commerce and barter in Siberia ; the ivory, as
Professor Owen remarks, being " so little altered, as to be fit for the
purposes of manufacture." The mammoth's extensive range forms
not the least noteworthy point in its history. It certainly roamed
farther abroad, so far as we know, than any other elephantine form.
Its remains occur in Britain and in Europe generally ; they have

FIG. 3. — SKELETON OF MAMMOTH.

ELEPHANTS.

79

been found on the Mediterranean coast and in Siberia ; and they are
met with in North America as well. In Scotland and in Ireland the
mammoth was apparently less plentiful, but its remains occur in these
countries, where, indeed, no other elephantine remains are found. It
may be added, that the molar teeth of the mammoth are by no means
unlike those of the Indian elephant in the arrangement and pattern
of its enamel plates.

Another extinct elephant, equally famous with the mammoth, was
the Mastodon — a name given to these animals in allusion to the
nipple-like projections seen on the surface of the molar teeth. Their
remains occur in Europe, Asia, and in North and South America.
In the morasses of Ohio and Kentucky, for example, whole skeletons
of these interesting elephants have been discovered. The length of
the mastodon in some cases exceeded 16 feet ; and the tusks have
been found to measure 12 feet in length. Over a dozen species of
mastodons have been described, but they agree in certain important
characters which serve to distinguish them from other elephants.
Thus, the roughened teeth appear to have been adapted for bruising
coarse herbs and leaves — indeed, associated with mastodon remains
in America, collections of leaves have been found occupying the
situation in which the stomach of the animal would have been
situated, and thus indicating the dietary of these extinct giants.
Furthermore, a most important difference between the mastodons
and other elephants is found in the fact that these animals possessed
two tusks springing from the lower jaw, in addition to the tusks with
which, as in ordinary elephants, the upper jaw was provided. But it
would seem that these lower tusks never attained a large size, whilst
it is probable that they
fell out when the animal
attained the adult period
of its existence.

More extraordinary
still, in respect of its
variations from the or-
dinary structure of the
elephants, was the Dei-
notherium (fig. 4), the
fossil remains of which
occur in Europe and in
India. The skull of a
deinotherium has been found to measure 4 feet in length, whilst a
thigh-bone was 5 feet 3 inches long. Thus, in so far as size is
concerned, the deinotherium may claim a foremost place amongst
its elephantine cousins. But various circumstances seem to suggest
that the latter animal departed from the elephant type in certain

FIG. 4.— RESTORATION OF DEINOTHERIUM.

So STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

important particulars, whilst some authorities have been even found
to suggest that it represents a connecting link between the elephants
and the sea-cow or manatee order (Sirenta). The tusks of the deino-
therium spring from the lower jaw (fig. 4) ; and instead of being
curved forwards and upwards, they bend abruptly downwards and
backwards. The use of these tusks is extremely difficult to deter-
mine, but it has been suggested that the deinotherium was an aquatic
animal, living in shallow waters, and that these huge teeth may have
enabled it to root up the plants on which it fed, or have enabled it
to' climb, as does the living walrus, from the sea on to the river banks.

In addition to these latter elephants, which are essentially distinct
from the living species, certain extinct forms may be mentioned
which, in their essential characteristics, resembled existing probosci-
dians more or less closely. Thus, we know that elephants closely
related to the Indian species, existed in Asia in Miocene times, the
remains of at least six species being obtained from Indian deposits
of that age ; and we also know that Europe boasted of elephants in
that period of geology known as the " Pliocene ; " for in the deposits
of France and Italy, as well as in the formations of that age in
Britain, elephant remains occur. Later in point of time come the
curious " pigmy elephants " of Malta, whose remains exist in that
island, and whereof one (Elephas Melitensis) attained the size of a
donkey, whilst another (Elephas Falconeri) was smaller still, and
averaged 2\ or 3 feet in height.

The geological order and the succession in time of these various
elephants is important to trace ; for the unravelling of so much of
the past history of the elephants as is known to us depends upon the
knowledge of their succession and of the periods of their appearance
and extinction. If we tabulate the rocks wherewith the past of the
elephants is concerned, we may render their arrangement clear
thus :—

QUATERNARY f Recent (Soils> &c-)

QUATERNARY -> prtcf_ pi- __. / r-.

TERTIARY ROCKS
including

I Post-Pliocene (Ice Age).

MIOCENE
EOCENE

Thus the oldest and lowest of the Tertiary rocks — which are them-
selves collectively the most recently formed — is the " Eocene," and
the succeeding " Miocene," " Pliocene," and " Quaternary," are
given in their due order; the latter formations bringing us to the
soils and surface accumulations of our own day. The " Ice Age," or
"Glacial Epoch," we may also note, occurred during the Post-Pliocene
period, as shown above.

Turning now to the past history of the elephants, we find the first
chapter of that biography to open in the " Miocene " age. The

ELEPHANTS. Si

earlier or " Eocene " period contains no elephant fossils, and it may
have been that in this Eocene age, which beheld the first beginnings
of nearly all the existing quadruped races, the evolution of the
elephant stock from its ancestry was taking place. Leaving for the
present the consideration of the probable root of the elephantine
tree, we thus discover in the Miocene period the first beginnings of
elephant existence. In this period the mastodons roamed over
Europe and India, whilst in this age also the deinotheriums, with
their great lower tusks, made their first appearance on the stage
of time. As the geological series progressed, and as the Pliocene
age succeeded the Miocene times, we discover the elephants in
increasing numbers. The Miocene, with its relatively few elephantine
forms, contrasts forcibly with the increase of those animals in the
succeeding age. Europe and India harbour its Pliocene elephants,
as we have seen ; whilst both Europe and America in this latter age
possessed the mastodons. The Post-Pliocene period, however,
dawns in turn, to find the mastodons still existent in North America,
but unknown in Europe ; whilst the mammoth now appears as a
representative form, along with survivals of the European elephants
of the Pliocene time. The " pigmy elephants " of Malta also belong
to the Post-Pliocene age.

It is, therefore, tolerably clear that a distinct succession of types of
elephantine forms has appeared on the earth's surface, beginning with
elephants which, like the deinotherium and mastodon, differ from
existent species, and ending with elephants which, like the mammoth
or the European elephants of the Pliocene, more or less closely
resembled the quadruped giants of to-day. It becomes interesting,
further, to trace out the later history of the race before the bearings
of these facts on the origin of the elephant race are discussed. The
mammoth, for example, certainly survived the "ice age," to the
irruption of which was probably due the extinction of the other
elephantine forms. We know of this survival because its remains
occur in " recent " or " post-glacial " deposits. We are also certain
that early man must have beheld the mammoth as a living, breathing
reality, for its remains have been found associated with the rude
implements of early men, and a rough portrait of the great red-
haired elephant has been discovered, scratched on one of its tusks —
a rude but unquestionable tribute of early art to the science of
zoology. Its woolly hair, protecting it against the rigours of the ice
age, may have enabled it to survive that period, which was apparently
so fatal to elephant life at large.

Summing up the details we have thus collated, from the geological
side, we may now face the problem of the origin of the elephant
race. Not that the problem itself is fully answerable, for our know-
ledge of the elephant race in the past is yet of comparatively limited

G

82 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

extent ; but the main lines of the biological argument are clear
enough to those who will consider, even casually, the evidence
already at hand. It is thus probable that the true elephants, which
belong to the Pliocene period, were ushered into existence, so to speak,
by forms that are less typical elephants — mastodon and deinotherium
— when judged by the standard of existent elephantine structure.
There are various species of mastodons known to geologists, which
exhibit a gradation in the matter of their teeth, and presumably in
other structural aspects as well, towards the ordinary elephant type.
As the mastodons precede the ordinary elephants in time, we shall
not be deducing an unwarrantable inference if we maintain that the
origin of the true elephants, both fossil and living forms, may safely
be regarded as arising from the mastodon stock. The elephants of
to-day are connected by links of obvious nature with the Pliocene
and Post-Pliocene forms ; and when the " ice age" cleared the earth
of the vast majority of the species, the progenitors of our living ele-
phants must have escaped destruction and have survived the cold,
possibly in the regions wherein they now exist, just as the mammoth,
in its turn, survived the rigours of the ice period, through the presence
of its woolly coating and its hardier constitution. There seems thus
to be no special difficulty, either of purely geological or of intellectual
nature, in conceiving that the elephants of to-day are simply survivals
of that elephantine host, whose existence was well-nigh terminated
by the ice age, and which left the mammoth, and the progenitors of
our living elephants, to replenish the earth after a catastrophe as
sweeping and fatal in its nature as any deluge.

But if the origin of the modern and later elephants may thus be
accounted for, and if their geographical birthplace may be assumed
to exist within the confines of the Old World, a more fundamental
and anterior query may be put with reference to the origin of the
mastodon stock, which we have supposed, and with reason, is the
founder of the existing elephant races. From what stock, in other
words, did the mastodons themselves arise ? The chain of organic
causation, to be perfect and complete, cannot assume the mysterious
origin of the mastodon. That stock must, in its turn, have originated
in an ancestry less like the elephants than itself. It is not improbable
that the evolutionist of the future will seek and find the mastodon
ancestry in the deinotherium group, or in some nearly related forms.
For, as we have seen, the deinotherium exhibits a structure which
appears to relate the elephants to other and lower quadrupeds, such
as the sea-cows and their neighbours.

If this supposition be permissible, then a further stage still awaits
our intellectual journey in the search after the origin of the elephant
races. In the Eocene rocks of North America, occur the fossil
remains of some extinct quadrupeds of which the Dinoceras is the

ELEPHANTS. 83

best known form. These animals unite in a singular fashion the
characters of elephants and ordinary " hoofed " quadrupeds. Whilst
they possessed horns, they also developed tusks from the eye-teeth ;
and from a survey of their complete organisation, Professor Marsh
tells us that the position of these unique quadrupeds is intermediate
between the elephants themselves and the great order to which the
hoofed quadrupeds belong. Dinoceras and its neighbours precede
the deinotherium and mastodon in time, and this fact alone is
important as bearing on the assumed relationship of these forms.

It may thus at present be assumed with safety that the evolution
of the elephants has taken place from some ancient Eocene quad-
ruped stock, represented by the Dinoceras group, which belongs to
no one group of living quadrupeds, but is intermediate in its nature,
as we have already observed. From some such stock, then, we may
figure the deinotherium and mastodon races to have been in due
time evolved. The New World in this light must have been the
birthplace of the elephant hosts; for the Dinoceras and its neighbours
are of North American origin ; migration to the Old World having
taken place by continuous land-surface then existent, and the further
evolution of the living species and their fossil neighbours having
occurred in the Eastern Hemisphere. Thus once again we arrive at
the existing races of elephants. These are simply the survivals of
an ancient line of quadrupeds, whose history is simply that of every
other living being — animal or plant — a history which, like the un-
folding of a flower, leads us from form to form, along pathways of
variation and change, and which, at last, as the ages are born and
die, evolves from the buried and forgotten races of past monsters, the
no less curious and unwieldy quadruped giants of to-day.

G 2

84 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

V.

THE PAST AND PRESENT OF THE
CUTTLEFISHES.

FEW groups of the animal kingdom possess a greater interest, either
for the zoologist or for the general investigator, than that selected as
the subject of the present article. From the earliest ages in which
human curiosity concerning external nature began to develop into
scientific observation, the cuttlefishes have formed subject-matter of
remark. In the writings of the classic naturalists they receive a due
meed of attention. Their peculiarities of form and habits attracted
the notice of Aristotle and Pliny ; and even their development, in
its more readily observed phases, was studied in the days when
biology was but an infantile science. Tracing the lines of cuttlefish
lore onwards through the centuries of growing culture, we discern the
mediaeval spirit of exaggeration and myth seizing upon the group as
a likely subject for enlargement and discussion. In the fabulous
history and " folklore " of zoology, the cuttlefishes have over and over
again played a more than prominent part. In the days of their
mythical history they have swallowed whole fleets of ships ; they
have been credited more than once with the destruction of even an
armoured navy ; and on more than one occasion there can be little
doubt that they have played the parts of Sindbad's floating island,
and of the "great unknown,'' the sea-serpent itself.

To the modern zoologist, however, eager in his search after the
causes which have wrought out the existing order of animal nature, the
cuttlefishes present themselves as an unusually interesting group. Re-
garded merely as to their structural details, there is no lack, but on the
contrary an overflowing amount of instructive lore in their anatomical
history. Their physiology is equally curious. The details of cuttle-
fish existence, from the consideration of their vital processes to that
of their ordinary habits and outward mode of life, present a well-nigh
endless variety of curious facts and unusual features. The establish-
ment of aquaria has naturally led to the better acquaintance of the
public with the cuttlefishes — or rather with certain members of this
class, of which the octopus is the most notable example. Victor
Hugo's "Toilers of the Sea" may possibly be credited with the first
prominent introduction of the octopus to popular notice ; indeed of
the cuttlefish class it may be said, as was remarked of Byron
himself, that one morning they awoke to find themselves ranked
amongst the lions and celebrities of the day. It is sincerely to be

THE PAST AND PRESENT OF THE CUTTLEFISHES. 85

hoped that the interest evoked by the exhibition of the cuttlefishes
41 at home " will not be allowed to exhibit the ordinary and ephemeral
fate of popular exhibitions, but that, on the contrary, the germs of a
lasting interest in scientific study may be sown by the aquarium-
movement at home and abroad. Not less interesting is the history
of their distribution in existing seas, or their life in the oceans of the
past as revealed by the study of their fossil remains. Their etiology
or evolution — forming, in their case, as in that of every other group
of organisms, the crowning question and focus of all scientific re-
search— is, last of all, a part of their history that teems with special
interest. Even if the materials for constructing the genealogy of the
race are still of meagre amount ; even if the pathways of cuttlefish
descent in time past are often obscure, and sometimes completely
hidden from the furthest gaze of modern biology ; even if the lines
of their development, as that phase of their personal history is
traceable from the egg to-day, are frequently puzzling and indefinite,
the evolution of the race according to the general principles of descent
is yet an unquestioned fact. It is merely the exact lines and pathways
of their progress in time which form matter of dispute ; the fact of
their evolution and progressive modification from pre-existing forms
is never questioned by the modern biologist. Thus, on every hand,
the group of the cuttlefishes may be said to be encompassed by
circumstances which place them in the first rank of curious and
in many respects abnormal forms. In this article we may endeavour
to obtain a general, even if in many respects a brief and cursory,
idea of the place in nature which these beings may be said to hold.

The zoological position of the cuttlefishes remains, in one sense,
unaltered amidst the general revolution to which the classifications and
arrangements of past decades of zoology have been subjected. Their
position as the veritable aristocrats of the Molluscan sub-kingdom, or
that including the familiar " shellfish " as its representative, was well
denned by Linnaeus himself. In that position the cuttlefishes still
remain, although, indeed, the general constitution of the sub-kingdom
in question has been widely altered. In bygone days, under the
term "mollusc" were included such animals as the "sea-mats" or
Polyzoa, the " sea-squirts " or tunicates, the Brachiopods or " lamp-
shells ; " and the ordinary groups of shellfish proper, such as the
oysters, mussels, and their kin (JLamellibranchiata) \ the Gasteropods
or whelk and snail group ; the -Pteropods or " sea-butterflies ; " and
finally the cuttlefishes, or Cephalopoda as they are technically named.
From the Mollusca, the Polyzoa and Tunicata have been eliminated.
The former now assert themselves as relatives of the worms ; whilst
the development of the sea-squirts has plainly betokened their rela-
tionship to lower vertebrates. The " lampshells," whilst of generally
lower structure than the ordinary "shellfish" races, still retain their

86 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

position as "molluscs," and the Lamellibranchs, gasteropods, and
cuttlefishes therefore remain in close structural and developmental
relationship to represent the molluscan branch of the great genea-
logical tree of the animal world. It is most important, at the outset
of our study, to bear clearly in mind the systematic position of the
cuttlefishes in the series. Their apparently marked affinities in
several respects with vertebrated animals might lead to the supposi-
tion that the cuttlefishes possessed a relationship with the highest
type of animals. But, as we shall hereafter note, such likenesses are
explicable on other grounds than that of a common origin. Standing
at the far extremity of a " phylum " or branch of the animal series,
the cuttlefishes possess neither structural nor other direct affinity
with the vertebrates, whose root-stock, lying in the tunicate group,
has but the remotest affinity with the beginnings of molluscan
development. In a word, the Cephalopoda exist in that most natural
classification of animals, which, as Darwin remarks, is the embryo-
logical or developmental, at the tip of one branch of the animal tree.
The vertebrates, on the other hand, have developed along a different
and widely divergent branch, whose lines of growth are in nowise
parallel to, and attain a far higher rank than, those of the molluscan
twig. The mere consideration of the relative position of the cuttle-
fishes in the series thus impresses the all-important truth, that the
classification of living beings can in no sense be represented by the
linear arrangement of former scientific periods. The constitution of
both animal and plant worlds is not that of simple even growth in
one direction ; nor does each round of the ladder fall into its natural
place as beneath a higher and above a lower group respectively. We
cannot in nature begin with the monad, and advance by successive
stages in a straight line through every known form, upwards and
onwards, to man. The natural arrangement of animals or plants is
that indicated by their development. The groups of living beings
are the divergent branches of a tree ; all of which branches have
something in common with the parent stem, but present us with
divergent lines of growth and with wide variations in the height or
rank to which they attain.

The definition of the Cephalopoda, or cuttlefish class, is largely a
matter of commonplace observation. Linnaeus, naming them " cepha-
lopods," or " head-footed " molluscs, indicated the structural feature
which was calculated to appeal most plainly even to non-technical
minds. The circlet of arms, feet, or tentacles crowning the head-
extremity of a cuttlefish, thus presents us with a personal character
of unmistakable nature. It is necessary, however, to bear in mind
that the ordinary and to a certain extent natural fashion of represent-
ing a cuttlefish head upwards is, in zoological eyes, a complete
reversion of its surfaces. To understand clearly why to speak of a

THE PAST AND PRESENT OF THE CUTTLEFISHES. 87

cuttlefish head as its lower, and of its tail as its upper, extremity, is a
correct zoological designation, we must enter upon a comparison of
the cuttlefish body with the forms of its neighbour molluscs. The
contemplation of such a familiar being as a snail or whelk, intro-
duces us to a characteristic example of molluscan form and anatomy.
The head of the snail or other gasteropod is clearly enough defined ;
and no less plainly discernible is the enlarged and broadened sur-
face on which the animal walks. This surface is known as the
"foot." In one shape or another, this "foot" is a characteristic
possession of the molluscan tribes. In a section of a mussel or
cockle, we perceive the " foot " to exist as a muscular mass developed
in the middle line of the body below, and variously used in the
mussel-class as a spinning organ, a leaping pole, and a boring
apparatus. Here we note the natural development of the foot in the
middle line of the animal. Let us suppose this foot to be extended
downwards, and to be broadened so as to form a surface of progres-
sion, and we may conceive readily of the modification whereby a
simple foot like that of the mussel becomes developed to form the
enlarged disc of the gasteropod. In the latter case, we observe that
the foot occupies the floor of the body ; the bulk of the body, and
the head in particular, being borne above.

Cuttlefish development can be shown to run, so far, in parallel
lines to those of the personal evolution of mussel and snail. But
divergent paths soon appear in cuttlefish development ; and these
variations, whilst they indicate an ancient departure from the ordi-
nary molluscan type, likewise give to the subjects of our present
study their most characteristic features. When a mussel or snail is
watched -in its earlier stages of development, the embryo is seen,
sooner or later, to produce an appendage highly characteristic of
molluscan young at large, and named the velum. By aid of this
ciliated fold, such an organism as a young cockle, for instance, swims
freely through its native waters. This velum undergoes varied
changes and alterations in the after stages of molluscan develop-
ment ; but when cuttlefish development is studied in its fullest
details, no velum is found amongst the possessions of the larval
body. Such an omission has naturally been made the subject of
remark by naturalists. Some authorities — Grenadier, for instance —
have insisted upon the recognition of the arms of the cuttlefish head
as the representatives of the missing velum. But as the latter organ
always exists on the dorsal or upper side of the mouth, and as the
arms are placed originally behind and under the cuttlefish mouth, the
correspondence of arms and velum has not been accepted by zoolo-
gists, On the other side stands out the opinion of Huxley, who
regards the " arms " of the cuttlefish head as more truly correspond-
ing with the " foot " of the mussel, snail, and other molluscs.

88

STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

The margins of the foot, in this view of matters, have been pro-
longed in the young cuttlefish to form eight, ten, or more arms, and
the front and sides of the foot, having overgrown the mouth, are
united in front, so that the mouth appears to be placed in the centre
of the foot, instead of in front and above it, as in other molluscs.
So, also, most naturalists maintain, and with every appearance of
correctness, that the characteristic " funnel " of the cuttlefishes — to
be hereafter referred to — is an organ formed by two side processes
of the foot, named epipodia. Adopting the view thus sanctioned by
competent authority, we may trace in a cuttlefish the highly modified
form of a snail or whelk, and the still more modified form of the
mussel tribes. The foot, instead of growing backwards and down-
wards as in the snail, and thus forming a broad walking disc, comes
to grow over the mouth in front. So that, placing a cuttlefish in
structural comparison with a whelk or mussel, we should have to set
it head downwards, when the foot (or arms) would be lowest, and
the great bulk of the body, with the heart uppermost, would be
situated, as in the snail, above the foot.

The group of the cuttlefishes may be said to divide itself in the
most natural fashion into two main divisions. The first of these

groups includes all
living cuttlefishes save
one — the pearly nau-
tilus. This first divi-
sion is that of the
Dibranchiates, or two-
gilled cuttlefishes. The
familiar octopus (fig.
5), the loligos or
squids, the sepias, and
the argonauts or paper
nautili, are amongst
the best known of its
representatives. The
second group is repre-
sented by a single
living cuttlefish, the
pearly nautilus (Nau-
tilus Pompilius), just
mentioned, and by
many fossil and extinct forms. These are the Tetrabranchiates,
or four-gilled cephalopods, which, in respect of their general
anatomy, their development in time, and their distribution in space,
may be said to stand apart in the most marked fashion from the
two-gilled cuttles which throng the seas of to-day. We shall dis-

FIG. 5. — CUTTLEFISH SWIMMING.

THE PAST AND PRESENT OF THE CUTTLEFISHES. 89

cover that the clues to the evolution of the cuttlefish race emerge in
greater part from the fossil history of the four-gilled forms. But as
the two-gilled members of the group constitute well-nigh its whole
living population, the general nature of these animals may be most
satisfactorily investigated if, in the first instance, we deal with the
common representatives of the class. Thereafter we may profitably
attempt the consideration of the pearly nautilus and the general re-
latives of the cephalopods in time past and in the geological aeons
wherein lies the childhood as well as the past perfection of the
race.

Amongst the ordinary or two-gilled cuttlefishes, various diver-
sities of external form are readily discernible. The elongated body
of the squids, or Teuthidce — a group first defined by Aristotle himself —
terminated by its arrow-shaped fin, presents us with a characteristic
cuttlefish form. The sepias, in which the body is of rounded form
and bordered by a soft fin, constitute a second familiar type, and the
octopi, in which the body is of globular shape and of which the arms
are connected by intervening webs for a considerable portion of their
extent, represent a third illustration of the variety of external con-
figuration in these animals. But under the relatively slight variations
in form exhibited by the cuttlefishes, there exists a general agreement
in bodily structure which renders their examination a tolerably easy
matter. The body in all, for example, is enclosed in a muscular
mantle-sac — the " mantle " being the name given to the general
investing skin or integument of the molluscs at large. It is this
" mantle," or " pallium," as it is technically named, which forms the
" shell," wherever that structure is found, and under whatever guise
it is represented. When we regard an octopus or squid, we are
looking at the outer surface of the " mantle," which thus, by its dis-
position and arrangement, practically forms the body of these
animals. Where an external and true shell exists in cuttlefishes,
we shall find that this structure simply represents the outer pro-
tection of the mantle or integument which has secreted and pro-
duced it.

One of the most remarkable traits of cuttlefish existence is the
curious play of " shot " colours which takes place in their integument.
I have seen a loligo, or squid, stranded on the sea-beach make
glorious its dying agonies by a play of colours of the most astound-
ing description. The natural purplish tint of the body was now and
again deepened to well-nigh a dark blue ; the slightest touch served
to develop a patch of angry pink ; and continually over the whole
surface of the body the hues and tints, ranging from dark purple to
light red, succeeded each other in rapid array. This chameleon-like
property of the skin of the cuttlefishes was familiar to the classical
poets and naturalists. Oppian speaks of the cuttles, when

90 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

New forms they take, and wear a borrowed dress,

Mock the true stone and colours well express ;

As the rock looks, they take a different stain,

Dapple with grey, or mock the livid vein ;

Thus they, concealed, the dreaded danger shun,

By borrowed shapes obscured, and lost in seeming stone.

So, also, another classic writes —

Remark the tricks of that most wary polypus,
Which always seems of the same colour and hue
As is the rock on which he rests.

The assimilation of an animal's colour to the surfaces on which
it rests forms a notable circumstance of zoology, which has been de-
nominated " mimicry." Under this head are included all phenomena
which enable an animal to assume the form, likeness, or colour of
another animal; of a plant, or of an inorganic object. That cuttle-
fishes possess such a power is well known. The hue of an octopus
may so closely resemble that of the rock to which it attaches itself,
that the observer can with difficulty say which is rock and which is
animal. A flounder's colour is in the same way assimilated to the
sand on which it rests, although in the fish the alteration of colour
seen in the cuttlefishes is not represented.

The manner of production of the changes of hue and play of
" shot " colours in the cuttlefishes is really analogous to that whereby
the famed chameleons effect their alterations of hue. Beneath the
thin and transparent cuticle or outer integument, and embedded in
the dermis or under-skin itself, lie certain contractile colour-cells
which receive the name of chromatophores. These, by alteration of
their granular colour-granules under the stimulation of light or imita-
tion, produce the changes of hue. Rapid diffusion and extension of
these cells will produce the appearance of the diffused play of colour
so familiarly seen in these animals, whilst certain highly refractive
corpuscles, named Flitterchen by German physiologists, aid in pro-
ducing the shot colours, by light- interference. It is interesting to
note that in the common frog changes of colour are perceptible in
the skin, and are effected by analogous methods to those which pro-
duce the variations in hue of the cuttlefishes. Thus the pigment-cells
of the frog's skin contract under the stimulus of light, their colour-
granules are huddled into the centre of the cell, and the skin becomes
blanched. When the stimulus is removed, the pigment-cell ex-
pands, its granules are diffused, and the frog's skin resumes its normal
coloration. It is noteworthy that in groups of animals so distinct as
those just mentioned, one should find closely allied means for attaining
a similar end. This remark holds good of other structures in cuttle-
fishes, which, although of independent origin, subserve functions allied
to those performed by the structures and organs of Vertebrata.

The locomotion of the cuttlefishes forms a point of interest in

THE PAST AND PRESENT OF THE CUTTLEFISHES. 91

connection with their general structure and physiology. Any one
who has attentively watched the movements of an octopus in its tank
must have been struck by the literally acrobatic ease with which it
accommodated itself to the exigencies of its life and surroundings. In
their lithe, muscular, and flexible arms, the cuttlefishes possess an
apparatus which is equally serviceable for the capture of prey, and
for walking mouth downwards — that is, in their structurally natural
position. They possess, likewise, the power of swimming upper side
forwards — or popularly stated " backwards " — by means of the jets of
water which, by forcible contractions of the muscular mantle-sac, are
projected from the tube or "funnel," situated on the hinder face of
the body. These jets d'eau consist of the effete water which has
been used in breathing, so that the act of expiration and the effete
water of respiration together become utilised, in the economical
wisdom of nature, as a means of propulsion. The mysterious back-
ward flight of an octopus through its tank (fig. 5) when, detaching
itself from its hold on the rock, it swims gracefully and swiftly
through the water, is effected in the manner just described. This
form of hydraulic apparatus, imitated in experiments in marine en-
gineering, serves but to strengthen the wise man's adage concerning
the utter lack of novelty in terrestrial and mundane things.

It is equally interesting to note that some of the squids or loligos
— named popularly "flying squids" — appear to be able to rise from
the surface of the sea and to spring into the air after the fashion of
the flying-fishes. Pliny, in his "Natural History," says, " Loligo
etiam volitat, extra aquam se efferens, quod et pectunculi faciunt
sagittae modo ; " whilst Varro insists that the name "loligo " is itself
a corruption of " voligo." The initial velocity of these cuttlefishes,
acquired by their rapid propulsion through the water, enables them
thus to career for a short distance through the air. Instances are
mentioned of the flying squids having occasionally landed them-
selves on the decks of ships in their atmospheric leaps.

The " arms " or " feet ;' demand, however, a somewhat detailed
mention, on account of their armature. In all cuttlefishes, save the
exceptional pearly nautilus, the arms are either eight or ten in
number, and are provided with acctabida, or " suckers." Those'
cuttles in which ten arms are present — and of these the squids and
sepias form good examples — have two of these appendages produced
beyond the remaining eight in length. Aristotle noted in his day
this peculiarity of the ten-armed cuttles. Speaking on this point, he
remarks that all of these animals "have eight feet provided with a
double series of suckers, except in one genus of Polypi " — the genus
Eledonc, in which there is but a single row of suckers. " The sepia,
teuthides, and teuthi (that is to say, the sepias and squids) have
besides two long proboscides, the extremities of which are beset with

STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

FIG. 6. — SUCKERS OF
THE CUTTLEFISH.

a double series of suckers." The two " proboscides " of Aristotle
are the " tentacles " of the modern naturalist ; and Pliny, speaking
of the uses of these tentacles, remarks that they may be used for the
capture of prey at a distance, or may be employed to anchor their
possessors safely amid the boisterous waters. The " suckers " (fig. 6, A),
which constitute a most noteworthy armament of
the arms, are borne on short stalks in the ten-
armed cuttlefishes, but are unstalked in the
eight-armed species. Each sucker (fig. 6, B) ex-
hibits all the structures incidental to an appa-
ratus adapted to secure effective and instan-
taneous adhesion to any surface. It consists of
a horny or cartilaginous cup (#), within which are
muscular fibres converging towards its centre,
where they form a well-defined plug or piston (b).
By the withdrawal of this plug a partial vacuum
is produced, and the suckers adhere by atmo-
spheric pressure to the surface on which they are
placed. The sucker is released by the projection
of the plug and by the consequent destruction of
the vacuum. The number of the suckers varies,
but is always considerable ; and when we reflect
that the array of suckers can be instantaneously applied, and that
their hold is automatically perfect, the grasp of the cephalopods is
seen to be of the most efficient kind. In some cuttlefishes, and most
notably in the so-called "hooked squids" (Onychoteuthis}, the pistons
of the suckers are developed to form powerful hooks, by means of
which the prey may be secured with additional facility ; and in the
common squids the margin of the sucker is provided with a series
of minute horny hooks. The " arms " themselves, it need hardly be
remarked, are extremely mobile ; they are highly muscular, and can
be adapted with .ease to the varied functions of prehension and
movement they are destined to subserve. As regards their arrange-
ment, they are arranged in four pairs — a dorsal and a ventral pair,
and two lateral pairs ; the two elongated tentacles, when developed,
being situated between the third and fourth pairs of arms on the
ventral or lower surface.

The systematic examination of any single animal form, or of any
one group of animals, resolves itself into a consideration of the
various systems of organs whereby the work (or physiology) of the
being or beings is carried on. Primarily, the scientific pathway con-
ducts us to the animal commissariat or alimentary system as a fair
starting-point ; thence to the blood-circulating system ; thirdly, to
the excretory apparatus, consisting of the breathing organs, kidneys,
and like glands ; fourthly, to the nervous apparatus, exercising the

THE PAST AND PRESENT OF THE CUTTLEFISHES. 93

function of " relation ; " fifthly, to the reproduction and development
of the organism, as demonstrating not merely its affinities with other
beings, but likewise its evolution ; and lastly, to the distribution -of
the animal or group in the world as it at present exists, and likewise
in the epochs of the past Our study of the present of the cuttle-
fishes may, therefore, resolve itself into a brief notice of these succes-
sive features ; the consideration of their present history leading us
naturally to correlate that present with their past, in considering the
probable evolution of the race. Incidental to such a systematic
survey of cuttlefish structure and physiology, we may touch now
and then upon matters which have served more than once as the
starting-points of a philosophy leading from the consideration of a
mere group of interesting animals, to questions bearing upon the
origin and modification of the whole universe of life.

The alimentary tract or digestive system of the cuttlefish race is
in every respect of well- developed and complete character. Lower
down in the molluscan series the commissariat department is sub-
served by a very perfect digestive apparatus, including representa-
tives of most of the organs familiar enough to us in higher or
vertebrate existence. In the cephalopods we should naturally ex-
pect the standard of lower molluscan organisation to be further
elaborated ; and this anatomical expectation is justified by the
actual details of cuttlefish structure. The mouth opens on the upper
surface of the head — a disposition of matters already accounted for
when considering the relations of the cuttlefish body to that of other
molluscs. The mouth-opening is usually bounded by a raised lip,
and leads into a cavity containing an elaborate apparatus, analogous
to the jaws of higher animals, and by means of which the food of
these animals is triturated and divided. An inspection of the masti-
cating apparatus of a cuttlefish readily solves the question, " How
are the hard shells of their crustacean food broken down? " There
exists within the mouth, firstly, a hard horny beak, resembling closely
in shape the beak of a parrot, and consisting of two chief divisions,
whereof one — the front — is the smaller, and is overlapped by the
hinder beak. Set in action by appropriate muscles, these beaks
divide the hard parts of the food with the greatest ease. But a
second apparatus of more typical nature likewise exists in these
animals. This is the cdontophore, a structure popularly named the
"tongue," and which is common to the whelk and snail class, to the
sea-butterflies, and to the cuttlefishes. It consists essentially of an
elongated ribbon-like structure, bearing hooked teeth, generally dis-
posed in transverse rows. This apparatus, set in action by special
muscles, and worked after the fashion of a chain-saw, is used to rasp
down the food ; whilst new growths of its substance from behind
serve to repair the loss caused by the friction to which it is subjected.

94 STUDIES IN- LIFE AND SENSE.

From the mouth-cavity leads the gullet, which may dilate to form
a crop in some cases (octopus, argonaut ', nautilus ; £c.), and which
terminates in the stomach. This latter, again, is usually of capacious
extent, and as a rule has its gullet opening in close proximity to the
intestinal aperture. It is besides extremely muscular. The intestine
is bent upon itself ; it may possess a spirally twisted portion at its
commencement. It is as a rule relatively short, and destitute of the
convolutions commonly seen in this part of the digestive tract in
higher animals. It terminates in the " funnel " through which, as
already remarked, the effete water of respiration is ejected.

If the digestive system of any animal be legitimately described
as merely a tube passing through the body of the organism, such
a definition must likewise take account of certain lateral appendages
or " glands " which secrete, from the blood, fluids required for the
digestion of the food. Such are the salivary glands, the liver, and
the pancreas or sweetbread of higher animals. These glands are re-
presented in the cuttlefishes by organs of definite nature. Thus the
salivary glands open into the mouth-cavity, and number two or four.
The liver is proportionately large in cuttlefishes, its bile being
conveyed into the digestive tract by two bile-ducts, around which
are clustered certain structures regarded as the representatives of the
" sweetbread " or pancreas. The digestive system of the cuttlefishes
is thus seen to be of very perfect nature, and to partake of that high
degree of specialisation which, from their position in the molluscan
type, we should naturally expect their internal economy to exhibit.

The products of digestion pass directly from the digestive system
into the bloodvessels. There exists in no invertebrate, any repre-
sentative of the absorptive system of vessels whereby the fluid which
is to form the blood is removed from the digestive tract and poured
into the blood current. But the circulation of the blood itself — which
is colourless and, curiously enough, contains copper — is carried on in
cuttlefishes by a well-developed system of vessels connected with a
central heart. The heart itself consists practically of three chambers
or compartments — one ventricle or propelling chamber and two
auricles. Like every other heart, that of the cuttlefishes is a hollow
muscle — hollow, to allow blood to pass through it, and muscular,
to propel the blood from its precincts. Two main bloodvessels arise
from the ventricle, which by its constant action is thus distributing
pure blood — which it has received from the gills (and auricles) —
through the body. The arteries appear to end in capillary vessels,
but, according to Milne Edwards, the veins possess more the cha-
racter of sinuses or irregular channels than of well-defined vessels.
By the veins, the blood, rendered impure by its circulation through
the body, is returned to the gills for purification. The great veins
carrying blood to the gills expand at the base of each gill to form two

THE PAST AND PRESENT OF THE CUTTLEFISHES. 95

cavities, named ''branchial hearts" or "gill-hearts," which contract
in a rhythmical manner and correspond in function to the right side
of the human heart, in that they propel venous blood into the organs
of respiration. According to Huxley, these " branchial hearts " pul-
sate in Loligo media about sixty times per minute. The work of ex-
cretion, or the elimination of the waste materials produced by the
actions of existence, is effected in cuttlefish-existence, as in human
physiological history, by the organs of respiration and by the kidneys
or their representatives. The skin-surfaces, of importance as an
excretory apparatus in man, do not appear to be associated with the
elimination of waste materials in the cuttlefishes. The impure blood
gathered from all parts of the body is at last received by two main
or terminal veins, one for each gill. Each of these veins appears to
pass through a chamber or cavity which in turn opens into the cavity
of the mantle, whence the effete water of respiration is ejected by
the funnel. That part of each vein which lies within this cavity, and
which is bathed in the water the compartment contains, has a
glandular structure. Hence it becomes clear that, as the blood
traverses this glandular portion of the vein, certain waste matters are
removed from it, and transferred to the water of the mantle cavity
and thus got rid of. The glandular parts of these veins, in a word,
represent the kidneys of higher animals, and earthy matters contain-
ing phosphate of lime are found in the chambers traversed by the
veins in question. These mineral concretions have doubtless been
eliminated as waste materials from the blood.

The gills, as already noted, number two in all cuttlefishes except
the pearly nautilus, and may demand a special notice. Each gill is
a conical organ, consisting essentially of a dense network of blood-
vessels, in which impure blood brought by the great veins is exposed
to the action of the oxygen contained in the water which is being
continually admitted to the gill-chambers. Each gill is contained
within a kind of chamber, to which water is admitted by the front
edge of the mantle-sac. This opening being closed by a valve
against the exit of the water, the forcible contraction of the body-
walls ejects the water, as previously described, from the "funnel."
The gills are themselves contractile, but they do not possess the
armament of minute vibratile processes or cilia^ so typical of the
gills of other Mollusca. The need for these cilia as organs provid-
ing for the circulation of water over the gill-surfaces is of course re-
moved, in view of the very perfect means existent in the cuttlefishes
for the renewal of the water used in breathing. As a living octopus
or other cuttlefish is watched, the movements of inspiration and ex-
piration are plainly indicated by the expansion and contraction of
the body -walls, and they imitate in a singularly exact fashion the
analogous movements of the highest animals. Observers have like-

96 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

wise described in certain members of the cuttlefish class a series of
minute pores, by which water enters the great veins and mixes with
the blood. It is also certain that water enters the general body
cavity and bathes the organs of the animal, thus converting that
cavity into a physiologically active space, possessing an influence on
the circulation in that its contained water presents a medium for the
conveyance of oxygen into, and for the reception of waste materials
from, the blood.

Connected on the one hand with the digestive system, and on
the other with the more purely glandular structures of the body, is
the organ known familiarly as the " ink-bag " of these animals. The
cuttlefishes are well known to utilise the secretion of this sac as a
means of defence, and for enabling them to escape from their
enemies. Discharging the inky fluid through the "funnel," into
which the duct of the ink-sac opens, it rapidly diffuses itself through
the water, and enables the animal to escape under a literal cloak of
darkness. The force of the simile under which an over-productive
writer is likened to a cuttlefish, may be understood and appreciated
when the physiology of the ink-sac is investigated. It is this feature
of cuttlefish organisation which Oppian describes when he informs
us that —

Th' endangered cuttle thus evades his fears,

And native hoards of fluid safely wears ;

A pitchy ink peculiar glands supply,

Whose shades the sharpest beam of light defy ;

Pursued, he bids the sable fountains flow,

And wrapt in clouds, eludes th' impending foe.

The exact nature and relationship of this ink-sac to the other organs
of the cuttlefish have long been disputed. According to one authority,
the ink-bag represented the gall-bladder, because in the octopus it is
embedded in the liver. From another point of view, it was declared
to represent an intestinal gland ; whilst a third opinion maintained
its entirely special nature. The ink-sac is now known to be deve-
loped as an offshoot from the digestive tube ; and, taking development
as the one infallible criterion and test of the nature of living structures,
we may conclude that it represents at once a highly specialised part
of the digestive tract, and an organ which, unrepresented entirely in
the oldest cuttlefishes, has been developed in obedience to the
demands and exigencies of the later growths of the race. It is this
ink-sac which is frequently found fossilised in certain extinct cuttle-
fish shells. Its secretion forms the original sepia colour, a term
derived from the name of a cuttlefish genus. The fossilised sepia
has been used with good effect when ground down. The late Dean
Buckland gave some of this fossil ink to Sir Francis Chantrey, who
made with it a drawing of the specimen from which it had been taken ;
and Cuvier is said to have used this fossilised ink in the preparation

THE PAST AND PRESENT OF THE CUTTLEFISHES. 97

of the plates wherewith he illustrated his " Mollusca." At the present
time, recent cuttlefish ink is said to be utilised in the manufacture of
ordinary artist's " sepia."

The due regulation of cuttlefish existence is determined by the
action of its nervous apparatus. Every living being exercising the
functions of a nervous system may be said to perform the function of
" relation ; " that is to say, it is brought, through the operation of its
nervous apparatus, into relation with the outer world. The higher
the nervous system, the more perfect are the relations between its
possessor and the outer world. In comparing a mussel with a snail,
and the latter or both with a cuttlefish, the differences between a low
and a high nervous apparatus may be plainly seen. The mussel,
possessing a distinct nervous system, lives, nevertheless, a vegetative
existence. It exhibits little activity ; it has no distinct head ; its
energies are cabined, cribbed, and confined within the compass of its
shell ; it may " hear " dimly, it is true ; but its relations with the
outer world are limited to the sweeping in and to the reception of food
particles in the water it receives, and to the occasional closure of its
shell when alarmed. Mussel life passes, therefore, through an un-
eventful history.

The snail, on the other hand, exhibits a livelier interest in the
affairs of the universe. Possessed of head, sense-organs, and motor
powers, its means of relating itself to the outer world are of an
infinitely superior kind to those possessed by the mussel. It quickly
retires into private life and into the cavity of its shell when alarmed';
it hears and sees, and its capacities for acting and reacting upon
its surroundings are of a tolerably advanced nature. The cuttlefishes
in turn present us with a marked advance upon the innervation of
the snails and their allies. The cephalopods are infinitely more
active, in turn, than the slow-moving gasteropods, and their nervous
axis exhibits additional specialisation and development, as becomes
their more elevated position.

The ordinary type of molluscan nervous system undergoes in the
cuttlefishes a decided change of form. In a snail or whelk, for ex-
ample, the nervous system exhibits an arrangement of three chief nerve-
masses or "ganglia," connected by nervous cords. Of these three nerve-
centres, one is situated in the head, a second in the " foot " or organ
of movement, and a third in the neighbourhood of heart and gills, or
amidst the viscera generally. Increased concentration of this type
of nerve- arrangement awaits us in cuttlefish organisation. Just as
the spider possesses a more concentrated and localised nerve-axis
than the insect, or as the gangliated chain of the latter becomes the
fused nerve-mass of the spider ; so in the cuttlefish, the molluscan
nerve-system, scattered and diffused in the snail, whelk, or mussel,
becomes localised in adaptation to the increased nerve-control and

H

98 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

to the wider instincts of cuttlefish existence. This process of nerve-
localisation and concentration is accompanied by certain important
modifications affecting other regions and structures of cuttlefish
economy. Thus the nerve-centres are found to be protected and
enclosed within a gristly or cartilaginous case, that foreshadows the
functions of the vertebrate skull, though in no sense connected with
that structure ; and the structure of the cuttlefish eye is likewise
peculiar, and presents a noteworthy feature of the economy of these
animals. Altogether, the disposition of the nervous axis presents us
with one of the most characteristic studies in cuttlefish history, and
offers at the same time, perhaps, more interesting problems in con-
nection with the evolution of the race than any other system of
organs included in the list of their bodily possessions.

~ The first modification to which attention may be directed is the
massing of the nerve-centres around the gullet in the cuttlefishes.
Gathered up, as it were, from the foot and viscera, we find the chief
nervous masses disposed within the head region, and further enclosed
within the cartilaginous case or " skull " already mentioned. This
concentration of nerve-masses in the cephalic or head region is in
itself noteworthy. It teaches us that the tendency to " cephalisa-
tion," as Professor Dana has termed the process of head-develop-
ment, is largely associated with, if not directly induced by, this
nervous concentration ; and it likewise reveals one of the main
causes of superiority and advance in the animal series. But the
presence in the head of the cuttlefishes of the cartilaginous " skull,"
in addition to sundry other masses of gristle scattered through the
substance of the " mantle," has just been mentioned as a feature of
interest. No possible lines of connection, genetic or otherwise,
exist between cuttlefishes and vertebrates ; yet this " skull " cha-
racter would at first sight seem to indicate resemblance and relation-
ship of a definite kind between the two groups. But the case before
us merely adds one to already known instances in which structures
of analogous or similar nature have originated in a perfectly inde-
pendent fashion. Such a result, however, does not, as has been
argued, lie outside those normal laws of progressive development
through the operation of which the universe of life has become the
wondrously complex thing it is. The vertebrates themselves exhibit
a progress of skull development leading us from that skull-less,
spineless, boneless fish the lancelet (Amphioxus], through the im-
perfectly differentiated crania of the lampreys and their allies, to the
complex skulls of our common fishes, and upwards by diverging
lines to crania of higher type still. Is it any the more anomalous to
find in the cuttlefishes the progressive development of a protective
case for the modified and concentrated nerve-centres? Considering
that the cephalopods stand at the extreme limit of molluscan deve-

THE PAST AND PRESENT OF THE CUTTLEFISHES. 99

lopment, it becomes a postulate of evolution that in them we should
find the cumulative increase and progress of their type. Thus
cuttlefish specialisation, so far from placing any difficulties in the
way of evolution, supplies additional proof of the growing applica-
bility of that doctrine to unravel the complexities of living structures.
Furthermore, as we advance from the older to newer types of cuttle-
fish life, the " skull " becomes better developed. It is better developed
in the two-gilled cuttlefishes, which are forms literally of the geological
yesterday, than in the pearly nautilus, which presents us with a cuttle-
fish type of vast antiquity. In the nautilus the skull consists of two
pieces, surrounding the gullet at its commencement ; but in the two-
gilled cuttlefishes it exhibits a middle portion, through which the
gullet passes, and likewise shows side-processes that form cavities or
" orbits," enclosing the eyes as in higher animals. Within this case
the three localised nerve-masses exist. Here, again, we discover that
in the later cuttlefishes the nervous axis is more concentrated than in
the earlier forms — modification of, and progress in, structure accom-
panying development in time. A large nerve-mass, consisting of the
three closely connected centres, thus subserves the function of a
cuttlefish brain. Not the least interesting feature of this localised
mass of nervous matter is the fact that it exhibits the same arrange-
ment of grey and white nerve-matter that is seen in the highest brains.
An outer grey and an inner white layer are discernible in the nerve-
ganglia of cephalopods, as in the cerebrum of man ; and, as in the
highest animals, the cuttlefish grey matter is found to consist of nerve-
cells, whilst the white matter is chiefly composed of nerve-fibres.
Thus the laws of developmental progress affect the microscopic and
intimate structure of the living form as well as the more obvious
details of structure. From the main nerve-mass of the cuttlefishes
nerves arise to supply the body at large. Nerves of special sense
supply eyes, ears, and olfactory organs ; whilst the viscera and the
"mantle" or general body- covering are also well provided with the
means of innervation.

Cuttlefish existence possesses in all probability the five "gate-
ways of knowledge," through which the impressions of the outer
world are received, and by which these impressions are modified
and transmitted to the brain-masses as sensations of sight, hearing,
smell, touch, and taste. There is little need to draw upon hypothesis
in the assumption that the arms or tentacles are efficient organs of
touch in Cephalopoda, or that the structures of the mouth may sub-
serve taste, in so far as the latter sense may be required to satisfy the
demands of cuttlefish existence. An organ of smell is definitely
situated behind or above the eyes. There, two small projections
or, as frequently, two minute pits or depressions, occur. These pits
are ciliated, and between the cilia " olfactory cells " are situated

H2

100 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

These cells in turn represent the similar structures which occur in
higher animals, and which in man himself form the characteristic
terminations to his olfactory nerves. That the cuttlefishes can literally
scent their prey from afar off, is an idea confirmed by the facts of
their every-day life. A well-developed organ of smell necessarily
confers upon them a great advantage in the struggle for food in which,
along with the other tribes of the sea, they unquestionably share.

The " ears " of the cuttlefishes present us with two sacs — named
"auditory sacs" — which may, as in the nautilus, either be attached
to the chief nerve-mass itself, or, as- in the two-gilled cuttles, be lodged
in special cavities in the gristly "skull." A cuttlefish "ear" is essen-
tially a sac or bag, called an "otocyst," containing either one or many
" otoliths n or " ear-stones," suspended in a watery fluid. This,
indeed, is the primitive type of "ear" we may find even in the
Medusidce or "jelly-fishes" themselves. The manner in which this
hearing sac exercises its functions is not difficult to trace. Vibrations
of sonorous kind, transmitted to its substance, set the otoliths in
motion. This motion, along with that of the contained fluid of the
otocyst, is communicated to the " end cells " — bearing delicate pro-
cesses known as " auditory hairs " — in which the fibres of the auditory
nerves end. Thus the " ear-sac " of a cuttlefish is simply a body
adapted for the reception of sound-waves, and for the modification
of these waves, which, as they impinge upon the fine ends of the
nerve-fibres of the sac, become transformed into impressions of sound.
These impressions are in due course transmitted to the brain; or
ganglionic mass of the animal, which, like that of other organisms,
acts upon the " information received " with an intelligence and com-
pleteness proportionate to the perfection of its structure and functions.
The ear-sacs of many cuttlefishes open on the external surface of the
body by two fine canals, named " Kolliker's ducts," after their dis-
tinguished discoverer. Occasionally these ducts end blindly, and do
not open on the body surface. These facts lend additional support
to the opinion that in the ear of the cuttlefish we find primitive
structures proper to the ears of vertebrates, the minute canals of
Kolliker corresponding with the recessus vtstibuli of the vertebrate
organ of hearing. Once again, therefore, we find the progressive
development of cephalopods and vertebrates running in parallel, but
nevertheless in distinct and independent, lines ; and this likeness is
further strengthened when we discover that not merely the ear, but
the eye likewise, of these two groups of animals is formed or developed
in an essentially similar fashion. The ear of the cuttlefish presents
us with a permanent example of an early and transitory stage in the
development of the vertebrate ear, and a common plan of ear-produc-
tion is thus seen to traverse a wide extent of the animal world.

Those who are acquainted with even the superficial details of the

THE PAST AND PRESENT OF THE CUTTLEFISHES.

history and progress of the theory of evolutiop/^rrridst ''the j
warfare through which in the days of its youth' it was fated 'to pass/
will remember the somewhat famous controversy regarding the eyes
of cuttlefishes and their relations with vertebrate eyes, in which Mr.
Darwin and Mr. St. George Mivart took part. The latter, insisting
upon the likeness of the cuttlefish eye to the vertebrate eye, laid stress
upon this likeness to enforce his argument that, as such likeness
could not be "due to inheritance from a common progenitor, it would
be difficult if not impossible to explain such likeness as arising by
the slow variation postulated by Darwin's theory of natural selection."
Mr. Mivart's words are clear enough. Speaking of the presumed

ONI

FIG. 7. — DEVELOPMENT OF THE CUTTLEFISH EYE.

A, Section of eye of Nautilus ; B, of Two-gilled Cuttlefish ; c, of a Snail ; D and E, Early stages
in formation of eye. References correspond in all the figures : L1 L2, lens ; I R, iris ; S s,

cornea ; R, retina ; o N, optic nerve.

likeness between the eyes of vertebrates and cuttlefishes, he says,
" There can hardly be any hesitation in saying that for such an exact,
prolonged, and correlated series of similar structures (sclerotic, retina,
choroid, lens, &c., of the eye) to have been brought about in two
independent instances by merely indefinite and minute accidental
variations, is an improbability which amounts virtually to impossi-
bility."

The primary difficulty, that of the development of the eye
in any group by gradual and progressive modification, is, however,
solved and obliterated by the history of the individual development
of any single eye in that group. Mr. Mivart's specific difficulty, that
of the causes of the likeness between cuttlefish eyes and vertebrate
eyes, vanishes away when the progress of research demonstrates that
the likeness in question is only apparent. For in truth there exists

, V t &3T&DIJBS IN LIFE AND SENSE.

4 just that amount of distinction and variation

wHich' tHe evolutionist would expect to find in products and structures
of two varied and divergent twigs of the tree of descent. Darwin
remarks, in reply to Mr. Mivart, that Hensen's memoir on the cuttle-
fish eye incontestably shows the difference between that organ and
the eye of Vertebrata. The only likeness is that implied in vision
of all kinds — a transparent organ, containing a lens " for throwing an
image at the back of a darkened chamber." When the two eyes are
carefully compared, the differences become prominent and apparent.
Thus, as Mr. Lankester has shown, the eye of the cuttlefish begins
its development as a pit (fig. 7, D) in the epiblast or outer layer of the
embryo. Around this pit grows a fold which, as its edges meet in
the middle line (E), shuts off the pit from the exterior. The epiblast
lining the front of the pit or vesicle becomes the ciliary body and
processes of the eye, whilst that lining the back of the vesicle gives
origin to the retina (R). Then the pit becomes a closed sac, and a
third layer (mesoblast) grows between the outer epiblast and its wall.
The lens of the eye now forms in two pieces. The inner piece grows
from the front wall of the pit or vesicle into its cavity, and ultimately
the lens exhibits the characteristic double structure (B, L1 L2) of the
adult cuttlefish eye. The iris (IR) grows outside the optic vesicle in
front, in the shape of two folds, whilst external to the iris other two
folds (s s) form the front chamber of the eye. This front chamber
may or may not remain closed ; usually it opens externally by a small
aperture (B) which persists in the middle of the cornea.

Thus there can be little hesitation in affirming that a study of the
eyes of the cuttlefishes teaches two important lessons : Firstly, that
their development adds another proof to the already overwhelming
amount of testimony which supports the doctrine of evolution. In
the course of its development the eye of one of the higher or two-
gilled cuttlefishes (B) passes through stages which correspond with
the permanent condition of the eye in the nautilus (A), in which
there is neither lens, vitreous humour, nor cornea, the eye being
merely a vesicle or sac lined by the retina (R), and opening ex-
ternally by a very small aperture. Just before the optic pit becomes
closed (E), the permanent state of the nautilus eye is duly figured
forth. Again, at a later stage, when the vesicle is closed (c) and
when the lens (L) projects into it, the condition of eye common in
the adult gasteropod is imitated. The development of a single
higher cuttlefish eye (B) is, in fact, a panorama of the evolution of
molluscan eyes at large.

A second lesson taught us by the investigation of the organ of
sight in cuttlefishes is that of hesitation in assuming or rejecting the
genetic relationship of living forms, or in criticising the possibilities
of evolution, until exact research has placed the determination of

THE PAST AND PRESENT OF THE CUTTLEFISHES, 103

these relationships and of the ways of development within our grasp.
Thus a study of the cuttlefish eye proves that, whatever its com-
plexities, it represents the advanced and modified result of the de-
velopment of lower molluscan eyes. Such a study also corrects
erroneous notions of the genealogy of the animal world. The pre-
sumed relationship between vertebrate and cuttlefish eyes disappears
at once under the light of Hensen's researches. As Darwin so well
puts it, in speaking of the difference between these two eyes, " The
crystalline lens in the higher cuttlefish (fig. 7, B) consists of two
parts (L1, L2), placed one behind the other like two lenses, both
having a very different structure and disposition from what occurs in
the Vertebrata. The retina is wholly different, with an actual inver-
sion of the elemental parts, and with a large nervous ganglion in-
cluded within the membranes of the eye." Then, in further detailing
the disappearance of the difficulties started by Mr. Mivart, Darwin
says, " It is of course open to any one to deny that the eye in either
case (cephalopods or vertebrates) could have been developed through
the action of natural selection of successive slight variations ; but
if this be admitted in the one case, it is clearly possible in the other ;
and fundamental differences of structure in the visual organs of two
groups might have been anticipated, in accordance with this view of
their manner of formation. As two men have sometimes indepen-
dently hit on the same invention, so in the several foregoing cases it
appears that natural selection, working for the good of each being,
and taking advantage of all favourable variations, has produced
similar organs, as far as function is concerned, in distinct organic
beings, which owe none of their structure in common to inheritance
from a common progenitor."

Passing now to consider the reproduction and development of
the cuttlefishes, we note that the two sexes are completely defined,
and that the young are developed, as are those of all other animals,
'from eggs. Certain curious details are connected with the act of
egg-fertilisation in this group. The males exhibit an unsymmetrical
condition of their arms in that one or more of these organs becomes
specially developed to form what is known as the hectocotylus^ and by
which fertilisation of the ova is effected. This arm is the third right
arm in octopus, and the third left in the argonaut (fig. 9, c, a). When
first discovered, this hectocotylised arm was regarded as a parasitic
organism. In sepia it is the base of the arm which undergoes altera-
tion, whilst in octopus it is the tip which is most modified, the extremity
of the arm being converted into a spoon-like process. In the argo-
nauts, and in Tremoctopus as well, the highest modification of the arm
for reproduction is witnessed. Here, the arm itself is formed within
a sac or vesicle, from which, at maturity, it is released. Its extremity
is prolonged to form a whip-like lash, and this modified organ is itself

104 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

ultimately destined to be detached from the head of its possessor,
and to be directly applied to the fertilisation of the ova.

The development of the cuttlefishes presents us with a subject of
exceeding interest. That of nautilus is unknown ; but the develop-
ment of the two-gilled forms shows us exactly what the theory of
their evolution would lead us to expect — namely, that, as representing
an extremely ancient and modified molluscan stock, the phases of
their development should be more or less obscured, concentrated,
and modified. A long ancestry leaves its mark on the development
of a class. The modifications of form, the shifting environments,
and the other conditions of organic change, to which an ancient race
must unquestionably have been subjected, undeniably tend to shorten
the developmental process, and to obliterate the ancestral phases so
plainly seen, as a rule, in life-histories of shorter extent. The egg
undergoes partial segmentation, and the blastoderm or germinal mem-
brane, from the substance of which the embryo is formed, beginning
to appear on one aspect of the egg, soon extends over the whole
egg-surface. This blastoderm soon develops its three characteristic
layers, hypoblast, mesoblast, and epiblast. Then, in the middle of
the blastoderm, appears a patch of substance representing the future
mantle or investing skin of the body. In the centre of this mantle
is a depression which gives origin to the shell, and is named the
" shell-gland." Two curved folds on each side become the " funnel."
In front the two eyes are developed. Behind the mantle are two
buds which ultimately develop into the gills. The arms likewise
begin to appear at an early stage of development, whilst the head-
fold, with which the arms are to be so intimately related, is developed
as two swellings, one on each side of the growing mass. Even after
the embryo has attained a tolerable size, the "yolk-sac" persists,
its substance being gradually absorbed to afford the wherewithal for
the building of the new and developing frame. On comparing the
development of a cuttlefish with that of an ordinary mollusc, such as
the whelk or mussel, grave differences in development, alluded to in
a former part of this discourse, are apparent. Thus the embryo
cuttlefish is exceptional in possessing an external yolk-sac ; it shows
no " foot " in the course of its development ; instead thereof it
develops the characteristic arms ; and it lastly has no " velum " or
ciliated disc, which forms such a prominent feature in the develop-
ment of other Mollusca. Cuttlefish development, exhibiting in its
phases a concentration of some and an obliteration of other molluscan
characters, testifies to the modification, as well as to the progressive
development, which the race in time has undergone.

The present history of the cuttlefishes may be concluded by the
briefest possible reference to their distribution and classification.
Over 2,000 species of cephalopods are known. But geology claims

THE PAST AND PRESENT OF THE CUTTLEFISHES. 105

the vast majority, some 300 species, or so, being included in the ranks
of living animals. The cuttlefishes are very widely distributed in
existing seas. They occur in the far north ; they are plentifully
represented in the colder seas by the squids which form the bait of
the Newfoundland cod-fishers; but in tropical regions they attain
their greatest size and numerical strength. Their classification is
both simple and natural. Their division into Dibranchiates (" two-
gilled") and Tetrabranchiates ("four-gilled") is a method of arrange-
ment which accurately reflects variations in their existing structure,
as it correctly indicates the main lines of their geological and past
history. Of four-gilled cuttlefishes there is but one living example —
the pearly nautilus (fig. 8). Its special and distinctive peculiarities
may be rapidly summed up in the statement that it has four gills,
numerous arms (c), no suckers, no ink- sac, an incompletely tubular
funnel (/), stalked eyes, and an external many-chambered shell, in

FIG. 8. — PEARLY NAUTILUS. (Shell in section.)

the last-formed and largest compartment (<?) of which the body is
lodged.

The absence of an ink-sac in the nautilus is a fact correlated
with its bottom-living habits and with the absence of any need or
requirement for the sudden concealment from enemies which the
more active two-gilled forms demand. The many-chambered shell
of the pearly nautilus exhibits a flat, symmetrical, spiral shape. Its
many-chambered state is explained by the fact that as the animal
grows it successively leaves the already-formed chambers, and
secretes a new chamber to accommodate the increasing size of body.
Each new chamber is partitioned off from that last occupied by a
shelly wall called a septum (g). Through the middle of the series of
septa runs a tube named the sipunde (s, s), whose function has been

io6 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

credited with being that of maintaining a low vitality in the disused
chambers of the shell.

All other living cuttlefishes possess, on the contrary, two gills,
never more than ten arms provided with suckers, an ink-sac, un-
stalked eyes, a completely tubular funnel, and an internal shell. If,
however, the nautilus represents in its solitary self the four-gilled
cuttlefishes of to-day, it likewise, like " the last of the Mohicans,"
appears as the descendant of a long line of famous ancestors. In
its distribution, the nautilus is limited to the southern seas. It is
still the rarest of animals in our museums, although its shells are
common enough. The scarcity of living nautili appears difficult to
account for, when we find Dr. Bennett informing us that the natives
of the New Hebrides dive for one species, and likewise capture it in
fish falls; the Fijians capturing Nautilus Pompilius with lobster-bait.
Mr. Moseley tells us that the " Challenger " expedition obtained but
a single specimen of the nautilus. It " swam round and round a
shallow tub in which it was placed, moving after the manner of all
cephalopods — backwards, that is, with the shell foremost. It floated
at the surface, with a small portion of the top of the shell just out
of the water, as observed by Rumphius." Remarking on the scarcity
of the living animal, as compared with the abundance of the shells,
Mr. Moseley says, " The circumstance is no doubt due to the fact
that the animal is mostly an inhabitant of deep water. The shells of
Spirilla (fig. n) similarly occur in countless numbers on tropical
beaches, yet the animal has only been procured two or three times.
We obtained one specimen during our cruise, which had evidently
been vomited from the stomach of a fish."

Mr. Moseley further expresses his opinion that " both Nautilus
and Spirula might be obtained in some numbers if traps, constructed
like lobster-pots, and baited, were set in deep water off the coasts
where they abound in from 100 to 200 fathoms." He adds, "The
fact that the living Nautilus was obtained from 320 fathoms shows
that it occurs at great depths. It is probably a mistake to suppose
that it ever comes to the surface voluntarily to swim about. It is
probably only washed up by storms, when injured perhaps by the
waves."

It is thus the pearly nautilus floats under certain circumstances
on the surface of the water. The argonaut (fig. 9), credited in
poetry and fiction with this power, never floats on the surface, as was
of old believed. It is simply a mundane cuttlefish, whose two ex-
panded arms are never used as sails, after the popularly supposed
fashion, but are employed solely to secrete and attach to the body
the false shell (fig. 9, A) with which it is provided. Pope's advice —

Learn of the little nautilus to sail,

Spread the thin oar and catch the driving gale —

THE PAST AND PRESENT OF THE CUTTLEFISHES. 107

is thus utterly wasted ; since his remarks apply to no cuttlefish what-
ever, and least of all to the argonaut, which, like its cephalopod
neighbours, creeps along the sea-bed by aid of its sucker-provided
arms, or shoots backwards in the sea by aid of the water-jets from
its funnel.

Amongst the two hundred odd living two-gilled cuttlefishes, con-
siderable diversity of external form may be seen ; but the general
type already described is at the same time closely adhered to ; and,
save in the case of the paper nautilus or argonaut, in which the
characteristic shape of body is concealed by the shell, the cuttlefish

FIG. 9. — PAPER NAUTILUS.

A, Female Argonaut showing shell, around which the two expanded arms are clasped : B, Female
removed from shell ; c, the Male Argonaut (shell-less).

characters are readily apparent. The shell of the paper nautilus
(fig. 9, A) is termed ''false" or "pedal/' because it is not formed by
the mantle, as all true shells are, but by the two expanded arms, as
already mentioned. In its homology it therefore coincides with foot-
secretions (such as the "beard " of the mussel), and not with the
shells of its neighbours. The female argonaut alone possesses a
" shell," the male (fig. 9, c) being a diminutive creature, measuring
only an inch or so in length.

io8 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

It is in the ranks of the two-gilled cuttlefishes that we discover
those phases of cuttlefish life which most characteristically appeal to
the popular mind. Thus, many species of two-gilled cuttles are eaten
and considered dainties by foreign nations ; it is from this group that
the sepia colour already mentioned is obtained ; their internal shells
gave us the "pounce" of long ago, and formed an article in the
materia medica of bygone days ; and, lastly, it is in this group that
the mythical and the real meet in the consideration of the giant
cuttlefishes which the myth and fiction of the past postulated, and
which modern zoology numbers among its realities.

Tales of giant cuttlefishes are plentifully scattered through the
pages of classic and mediaeval narrators. Pliny and ^Elian mention
cuttles of huge size as having devastated the fishings on the Medi-
terranean coasts. The Scandinavian legends teem with giant cuttle-
fishes. Pontopiddan the younger, Bishop of Bergen, if not the
inventor of the legend concerning the " Kraken " or colossal poulpe,
perpetuated the story of this giant cuttlefish which seized ships
in its capacious embrace and destroyed fleets by the score. Denys
de Montfort, a French naturalist, in a zoological work depicts the
Kraken at work. It is demolishing a three-masted vessel in a style
eminently calculated to impress the uninitiated with a due sense of its
power ; whilst it was this same De Montfort who, from the other side of
the Channel, started the story of the destruction of a British convoy and
six captured French men-of-war by the herculean cephalopod — the
facts of the case, including the safe arrival of the ships at Jamaica,
unfortunately for the ingenious raconteur, directly contradicting his
essay in zoological fable. One may pass by the narrative of Dens,
a trader of Dunkirk — also told by De Montfort — in which a giant
cuttlefish rose from the sea depths, when Dens's vessel lay between
St. Helena and Cape Negro, and seized three of his sailors. An
arm of the animal was cut off in valiant defence, and De Montfort
gives its length at 25 feet. But whilst Dens's narrative may have
been founded on fact, as recent circumstances prove, there seems
little doubt that to De Montfort it owed considerable embellishment.
Leaving these exaggerations to the fate which posterity invariably
reserves for them, we may next note that in the records of zoology,
dating from eighty years back, we meet here and there with instances
in which the actual remains of giant cuttles were encountered.
Peron, Quoy, and Gaimard, Captain Cook, Lander, Rang, and
others, detail cases in which cuttlefishes exceeding greatly all ordi-
nary species in size were seen and examined. In 1867, a French
war-steamer, when between Teneriffe and Madeira, encountered a
giant squid nearly 20 feet long in body alone and without estimating
the length of the arms. Within the past few years, however, a large
number of specimens of giant cuttlefishes have been met with on the

THE PAST AND PRESENT OF THE CUTTLEFISHES. 109

North American coast. These specimens have been made the
subject of scientific examination by Professor Verrill, and they
therefore indisputably prove that the cuttlefishes number amongst
their ranks forms which present us with living realisations of Victor
Hugo's "devil-fish," or even of the fabled Krakens themselves.
Thus one specimen found off the Newfoundland coast in 1873
is calculated to have measured 10 feet in length, 2 feet 5 inches
in diameter, its longest arms being estimated at 32 feet in length.
The body of another squid captured in Conception Bay in November
1874 was 7 feet long, its two tentacles each measuring 24 feet
and its short arms 6 feet in length. Specimens of giant squids
attaining a length of 19 or 20 feet have been met with off the
Irish coast. Professor Verrill describes a specimen cast ashore in
December 1874 on the Newfoundland coast as measuring 40 feet in
total length, the body alone being about 14 feet long. The longest
sucker of this specimen measured i inch in diameter. These speci-
mens belong to the squid family, and are included in the genus
Architeuthis. On the Alaska coast specimens of cephalopods
measuring 14 feet in length minus the extremities of the tentacles
have occurred ; these latter specimens being referred to the genus
Ommastrephes. Professor Verrill's detailed account of the giant
cuttlefishes of the American coast will be perused with interest.
There remains no doubt that the stories and legends of the older
narrators may have possessed at least a germ of fact. The surprising
fact remains that only within the past few years has science been
made acquainted with the existence of these giant members of the
race. In view of this long-delayed information it may well be
questioned whether the sea-serpent itself may not prove a reality of
the future ; whilst it may be safely assumed that these giant cuttle-
fishes have more than once played the part of the "great unknown"
of the sea-depths, and have been described under the title and
guise of unknown " sea-monsters."

The past history of the cuttlefishes unites in itself a knowledge
at once of their present position in the animal world and of their
progress towards that position. The history of their past begins with
the recognition of the pearly nautilus (fig. 8) as an animal which, being
a four-gilled cuttlefish and possessing an external many-chambered
shell, stands alone in the world of life. It is the tribes of two-gilled
cuttlefishes which people our ocean to-day, and which exhibit all the
gradations of form and size, from the minute Spirula (fig. n) to the
great Architeuthis of the American coasts. The history of the
cuttlefishes in time begins in the far-back epoch represented by the
Lower Silurian rocks of the geologist. There are entombed the first
fossil cuttlefishes, represented by their chambered shells. The genus
Orthoceras, represented by shells of straight form, is thus amongst

no

STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

the oldest members of the cuttlefish race. The Nautilus genus itself
begins in the Upper Silurian rocks ; we may trace the well-known
shells upwards to the Carboniferous strata, where they are best de-
veloped ; and we follow the genus onwards in time, as it decreases
in numbers, until we arrive at the existing order of things, in which
the solitary nautilus remains, as we have seen, to represent in itself

the fulness of cepha-
lopodlife in the oceans
of the past. The older
or Palaeozoic rocks
reveal a literal wealth
of these chambered
shells, and therefore

FIG. io.— SHELLS OF FOSSIL CUTTLEFISHES.
i, Turrilites ; 2, Baculites ; 3, Hamites ; 4, Scaphites.

FIG. ii. — SPIRULA.

of the existence of the four-gilled cuttlefishes as the founders of the race.
When we ascend to the Mesozoic rocks (ranging from the Trias to
the Chalk), we meet with new types of the chambered shells well-nigh
unknown in the Palaeozoic period. In the Mesozoic rocks appears
the fulness of Ammonite life. Here we find shells named after the
horns of the Egyptian god, Jupiter Ammon ; these, instead of being
tolerably plain like the Nautilidcz, exhibit beautifully sculptured out-
lines, and folded septa, or partitions, between the chambers of the
shell. The shells allied to Nautilus and occurring in the Palaeozoic
formations differ from Nautilus chiefly in their varying degrees of
curvature or straightness. Lituites is a curved form allied to Nautilus ;
whilst Ortto&rasat&d. Gomphoceras are groups representing the straight-
ened forms, But in the Silurian period more complex forms appear,
with elaborate and folded septa. These are the early Ammonites,
such as Goniatites and Bactrites. In the Secondary rocks we find
the still more complex true Ammonites themselves. Here the lobes
and saddles of the shells, as the edges of the septa are named, are
of the most elaborate patterns, whilst the shapes of shell are of
the most varied character (Baculites, Turrilites, Ammonites, &c.,
fig. io).

There is an advance and progression exhibited in the de-

THE PAST AND PRESENT OF THE CUTTLEFISHES, in

velopment of the four-gilled races which accords perfectly with the
theory of evolution and descent. The seas of the Trias, Oolite, and
Chalk periods must have literally swarmed with these striking forms
of cephalopod life ; but as the close of the Chalk period dawned,
and as the Secondary age came to an end, the fulness of the Am-
monite generations disappeared for ever. In the succeeding Tertiary
period not a single ammonite of any kind occurs ; the genus Nautilus
remaining in the Tertiary period — as it survived into the Mesozoic
or middle period— as the sole representative of a once plentiful four-
gilled population.

If the history of the four-gilled cuttlefishes is thus plainly told as
having its beginnings in the Palaeozoic period, its maximum develop-
ment in the Mesozoic period, and its lingering presence in the Ter-
tiary period, the two-gilled cuttlefishes may be said to possess an
equally interesting history. Compared with their four-gilled neigh-
bours, the two-gilled forms are late-comers upon creation's scene.
Not a single fossil two-gilled form occurs in all the Palaeozoic
period extending from the Laurentian to the Permian rocks. If they
existed in Palaeozoic seas, they have at least left no trace of their
presence. Their softness of body may perchance have contributed
to their elimination from the oldest fossil records ; but laying aside
mere conjecture, we find the first fact of the past history of the two-
gilled forms in the presence of the fossil shells of the extinct Belem-
nites in the Triassic rocks. The Belemnites themselves disappear at
the close of the Mesozoic period ; but fossilised shells of species allied
to our living sepias occur in the Oolite ; and the internal shells of
squids are found in the Lias or lower Oolites. In the Tertiary rocks,
argonaut (fig. 9) shells occur in the Pliocene deposits ; the Eocene
rocks also give us sepia remains ; and various other two-gilled fossils
(Beloptera, &c.) are found in Eocene and Miocene formations.

Briefly summarised, then, we find that the chief details in the past
history of the cuttlefishes are told when we are reminded that the
four-gilled forms are by far the more ancient of the two groups ; that
they first appear in the Silurian rocks, whilst the two-gilled forms
appear first in the Secondary rocks ; and, lastly, that the record of
the one group is the converse of the other. For, the four-gilled
species attained their maximum in the Primary and Secondary rocks,
and have practically died out, leaving the pearly nautilus as their sole
representative in existing seas. The two-gilled race, starting in the
Secondary rocks, and leaving the extinct belemnites as a legacy to
the past, have, on the other hand, flourished and progressed, and
attain their maximum, both in size and numbers, in the existing seas
and oceans of our globe.

What ideas concerning the origin and evolution of these animals
may be legitimately deduced from the foregoing facts of their struc-

112 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

ture and distribution in time ? In the answer to such a question,
asked concerning any group of living beings, lies the culminating
point of all biological science. That the cuttlefishes fall nominally
into their place in the scale of being indicated by evolution, and that
in their individual development, in the growth of their special organs
such as eye and ear, as well as in the general relations they bear to
each other as living forms, they illustrate the results of progressive
development, cannot for a moment be doubted. The further fact
that the existing four-gilled nautilus, despite its lengthy ancestry, as
regards its brain, its eye, its tentacles, and other features of its
history, is a less specialised and lower form than the two-gilled
cuttlefishes, clearly points to the evolution of the two-gilled from the
four-gilled stock. The preponderance of the latter race in time, and
its long and solitary representation of the class, as well as the rela-
tively late appearance of the two-gilled species, are facts which
collectively point to the two-gilled forms as derivatives of the older
four-gilled race. The more active and structurally higher races of
to-day, in other words, have sprung from the less specialised and
lower cuttlefishes of the geological yesterday. No question, then, of
the reality of progressive development, as a factor in evolving new
species and groups of cuttlefishes from the confines of already formed
species, can be entertained. It is easy, moreover, to show from the
researches of Wiirtenberger that even in one group — that of the am-
monites themselves — the evidence of evolution is full and complete.
The Planulate or " ribbed " ammonites have, according to this author,
given origin to the Armata, or spinous forms. The ribs of the one
pass by gradual modification, well represented in the fossil shells, into
the spines of the other. So closely are these species of ammonites
connected that, as Wiirtenberger remarks, it is almost hopeless to
define where one species ends and another begins. The modifica-
tions of form which connect one curious shape of shell with another
of different shape and species are not sought in vain in palaeonto-
logical records.

Turning more specifically to the shell in general, we may dis-
cover in the modifications of this single structure a clue to the entire
evolution of the cuttlefish race. The " shells" of the two-gilled
cuttlefishes exist for the most part as horny " pens" or as limy plates,
secreted by the " shell-gland " of the mantle which forms the true
shell of all molluscs. In considering the nature of the various shells
of cephalopods, " palaeontology," as Professor Ray Lankester puts it,
"crosses the path of embryology." Starting with the shells which
are certainly oldest in point of time, and therefore of development,
we find in the Nautili and their neighbours, structures which repre-
sent fulness of shell-growth. It appears a long hypothetical journey
from the well- developed shell of the nautilus- type to the limy plate

THE PAST AND PRESENT OF THE CUTTLEFISHES. 113

or horny " pen " shell of the common squid. But the halting-places
on the way diminish the apparent length of the journey, as they lessen
the seeming irregularity of the path. The simple rudimentary shells of
our two-gilled cuttlefishes, are to be regarded as the degenerate
remains of structures fully developed in their ancestors. To this idea,
their succession in time bears faithful witness ; and to its correctness
the connecting links, accessible to us, plainly testify.

Starting with the perfect four-gilled shells as ancestors of the
imperfect pens and shells of living cuttlefishes, we may find in some
such straight shell as that of Orthoceras — a type of shell persisting
onwards to the Trias from the Silurian — as likely a form as any other
to have evolved the newer races in part. We discover next in the ex-
tinct Belemnites of the Mesozoic rocks a first halting- place. Already
we are in the domain of the two-gilled cuttles ; for the belemnite was
a kind of squid or calamary, and possessed the ten arms of its race.
Evolved from some orthoceras-like or straightened nautiloid ances-
tor, the belemnite shell bears proof of its descent in its structure.
Here we discover a chambered portion resembling the straight nau-
tilus shell ; and, combined with the chambers, is an anterior part,
the pro-ostracum, and a posterior portion, the guard. Next in order
in the list of connecting forms comes the little Spirilla, in which an
originally outside shell becomes enclosed by the mantle. The shell
of Spirula (fig. n), often termed the " post-horn" shell from its shape,
exhibits a spiral form ; the coils lying in one plane, but not being
in contact as are the whorls of the nautilus shell. The shell of
Spirilla is practically a belemnite shell, minus &guard and pro-ostracum.
In Spirula, therefore, the transition from an external nautilus-like
shell to an internal shell is clearly to be witnessed. In Spirulirostra,
a fcssil and extinct form found in the Tertiary rocks, we have a shell
like that of Spirula, but possessing in addition a guard imitating that
of the belemnites. Within the actual domain of the zoologist, are the
shells we discover in the existing sepias. In these animals a limy
plate represents the result of degenerative action consequent upon
altered life and habits which no longer tend towards shell-perfection.
The chambers of the originally outside shell of the spirula type, and
the chambered part of the inside shell of the belemnite type, have
together disappeared in the limy plate or " cuttle-bone " of sepia and
its allies— a rudiment of its chambered portion being indeed still
recognisable in its so-called " mucro," and we have thus left to us in
the sepia, merely the rudiments of the belemnite's " chambers " and
"guard." The horny "pen" of the squid represents a still more
modified structure on which the laws of development have operated,
modifying and deleting the shell-rudiment until it remains merely as
an interesting landmark in the evolution of its possessors.

Thus the history of the cuttlefish shell forms an important chapter

H4 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

in the biography of the race. The rudimental shells of the two-
gilled cuttlefishes, like the teeth which never cut the gum in unborn
whales, have a reference not to their present life, but to a former state
of things. Contemplating the " pen " or " cuttle-bone " of a modern
squid or sepia, our thoughts become moulded in mental continuity
with the past. There rise to view before our mind's eye the ancient
nautili and their sculptured kith and kin the ammonites, crowding
the sea-beds of the far back Mesozoic, and still more remote Palaeozoic
ages. Then, through the operation of the inevitable laws of organic
progress and advance — making the ancient world then, as they con-
stitute our world to-day, the theatre of continual change — we see the
two-gilled stock arise in Secondary times from the four-gilled race.
First there is seen the modification of shell. Concurrently with the
decrease of shell comes increase of head-development and elaboration
of nerve-centres, tending to make the new two-gilled form what we
know it to be to-day — the wary, watchful organism, living in the
waters above, and occupying a sphere of vital activity immeasurably
superior to the dull existence passed by its four-gilled ancestors on
the ocean bed. The shell degenerates more and more as the cuttle-
fish race rises on its own branch of the animal tree. Development
in numbers succeeds individual advance. The cephalopod tribes of
the present time dawn fuller and fuller as the Tertiary period progresses.
Thus the fulness of cuttlefish life to-day, exhibited in all its strange
weirdness, is interwoven, like the lines of human history itself, with the
warp and woof of the past And not the least important clue to the
history of that past is found in the apparently insignificant " shell "
we have discussed ; since in its mere degeneracy, it leads us back-
wards in an instructive glance to those early times when the chiet
branches on life's tree had not reached their full fruition, and to the
days when the world itself was young.

VI.

THE MIGRATION OF ANIMALS.

THE peculiar instincts which lead certain kinds of animals, and most
notably certain groups of birds, to leave one country or region and
to pass to another on the arrival of certain seasons, has long formed
one of the best known facts of the natural history knowledge of
ordinary life. The migratory habits of animals, indeed, could hardly
escape the notice of even the most casual observer of the phenomena
of life at large ; and it is not surprising to find the accuracy of
ancient zoologists and philosophers well exemplified in the chronicles
they have left us regarding the seasons of migration of the birds with
which they were best acquainted. The " appointed times " of birds
were a subject of remark with observers even before the era of the
classic naturalists ; and on the regularity with which certain species
appeared and disappeared, a very natural argument respecting the
wisdom which presides over and regulates natural phenomena was
founded. As our knowledge of other groups of animals advanced,
the habit of migration was seen to be represented in fishes, in insects,
and in other classes of lower animals, and amongst mammals or
quadrupeds as well. The habits of birds, however, naturally at-
tracted the largest share of attention, because of their conspicuous
nature ; and, indeed, the explanation of migration and its causes is
chiefly drawn from what has been observed regarding migrating birds
and " the time of their coming." The interest attaching to this subject
has, moreover, largely increased within recent years, from the relation-
ship it possesses to the alteration of the physical universe around
us. Cases of migration and instances of the alteration of land sur-
faces become mutually explanatory, as we shall endeavour presently
to show ; and a study in natural history may thus be shown to relate
itself in a very important fashion to matters of the deepest interest to
all who recognise in the history of our universe and its living beings
a legitimate and absorbing theme for thought.

Some of the more prominent cases of migration in animals may
be first glanced at, by way of preliminary to the discussion of the
nature and causes of the instincts which prompt this curious habit.
There appears to be little doubt that the habit is possessed by certain
kinds of insects, although, obviously, the exact nature of the journey-
ings of these animals is more difficult of determination than that of

I 2

116 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

the migrations of higher forms of life. The swarms of locusts which
from time to time visit regions in which they are total or comparative
strangers, probably follow some law or habit of the kind under con-
sideration. Travellers have placed on record the interesting fact
that hordes of butterflies occasionally pass from one district or region
to another; this insect stream, numbering its gaudy members by
thousands, pursuing its course for days without cessation. In such
a case, the cause of migration is utterly unknown ; and, as in other
cases of animal journeyings, the somewhat irregular and erratic
nature of the habit only tends to render its elucidation the more
difficult The little beetles well known under the name of ladybirds,
.valued by the gardener as the enemies of the plant-lice, are known
occasionally to appear in some districts in immense swarms, and to
disappear as suddenly and as mysteriously as they appear. Regard-
ing the journeyings of insects from one country or region to another
there is an obvious difficulty of accounting for their movements
when we consider that neither considerations connected with food
and its scarcity, the breeding habits of the animals, or other condi-
tions of life, will account for their migration. Probably it might be
the more warrantable course to regard such journeyings as accidental
to a large extent, and as therefore partaking less of the true nature
of migration than instances where a regular and periodically recurring
journey is made from one country to another.

Cases of migration which have been, and still are, determined by
the recurrence of the breeding season and reproductive habits of the
animals concerned, are exemplified by certain fishes. Of these the
salmon, and herring are the best known, but the list might be aug-
mented by the addition of the mackerel, pilchards, cod, and other of
our food-fishes. The migrations of the salmon are thus perfectly
ascertained to correspond not merely with its gradual growth towards
maturity, but with the deposition of its ova or eggs. These fishes
ascend rivers to spawn, and then migrate once more to the sea.
They alternate in this way between fresh and salt water, not merely
during adult life, but also during their earlier stages of existence. As
the " parr," or form in which it leaves the egg, the young salmon in-
habits fresh water ; whilst as the silvery " smolt," which succeeds
the parr-epoch, it seeks the sea. So thoroughly necessary for the
growth and life of the smolt is the seaward migration, that the
" grilse " stage, or subsequent epoch of salmon-growth, is completely
delayed unless the smolt is allowed to pass to the briny deep ; whilst
the " parr," on the other hand, languishes and dies if placed in sea
water. Rapid growth succeeds the seaward journey ; the fish migrat-
ing, as the " grilse," to fresh water to spawn, and year by year
repeating this latter journey as the salmon. That such migration is
something more than a casual habit appears to be proved by the fact

THE MIGRATION OF ANIMALS. 117

that the salmon rarely, if ever, feeds whilst in the rivers— a case of
abstemiousness from food apparently paralleled by that of the fur
seals, which are currently believed to abstain from food during their
breeding season — a period extending over three months. The skill
of the salmon-fisher, indeed, is taxed by the care with which he has
to prepare the bait for the fishes whilst they inhabit the rivers, and
the remarkable habit of voluntarily depriving themselves of food,
correlates itself in a very singular fashion to the instinct which pri-
marily leads the salmon to seek a change of abode.

The migration of birds introduces us to instances of habit, not
only of regular and definite kind, but which moreover present a basis
for the exercise of that reasonable speculation which in its most
valued aspect leads us towards an appreciation of the "causes of
things." The periodical and for the most part regularly-timed flights
and disappearance of many birds from one land to another, were
noticed by the early observers of natural phenomena. So marvel-
lous, indeed, did the disappearance of many birds appear to their
minds, that theories which accounted for their absence on the
idea of their lying torpid at the bottom of lakes, or within the
kindly shelter of caves, were gravely discussed. And amongst
the thoughts concerning the causes of the flights of birds which
were ventilated, may be mentioned that of the Scandinavian
poet, who maintained that they migrated in the search for "light."
However poetic the fancy that birds sought " more light " may be, it
is unfortunately dispelled by a reference, not merely to the facts of
migration, but to those connected with the ordinary variation and
changes of the seasons. The southward flight of many birds begins,
or may even be ended, before the autumnal equinox ; the migrants
in such a case actually flying towards shorter days than towards
" more light." Similarly, many birds fly northwards before the spring
equinox, and thus find themselves in a land of shorter days and " less
light." Temperature is no doubt a very prominent and important
condition for consideration in connection with migration ; but this
subject has to be regarded in the light of other conditions, and in
any case is but one cause amongst many others which have operated
in producing and perpetuating the habits under discussion.

The cuckoo is probably one of the most curious of migratory
birds, as well as one of the most familiar. It presents the well-
known habit of depositing its eggs in the nest of another bird, and
departs immediately, after it has thus secured foster-parents for its
young. Northern Africa appears to be the principal home-centre of
the cuckoo, and from its Ethiopian residence it flies northward to
Britain in March or April. Some three months altogether are spent
in the north, and the cuckoo then flies southwards in the early
autumn to its African home. This bird, it must be noted, deposits its

US STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

eggs, at short intervals, in different nests, and the young are thus born
at different periods, a circumstance which favours the unimpeded
home-flight of the birds. The swallows and swifts are migratory
birds of world-wide fame. The swallows arrive in Britain at the
end of March or beginning of April, and appear to cross the Channel
either singly or in small groups. Two broods are produced in each year
by the swallow, and it has been occasionally observed that the young
of the second brood have been left to perish, owing to their imma-
ture state when the period for flying southward arrived, the migratory
instinct thus overruling the parental affection of the birds. The
swifts arrive in Britain at the end of April, leaving their home in
Northern Africa at a period when a genial climate prevails, and when
their insect food is plentiful. By the end of May the young are
hatched, and at the beginning of July parents and progeny are
circling rapidly in their graceful evolutions, as if preparing for their
southward flight, which occurs shortly after the date just named.
Amongst our common and smaller birds which present us with more
or less typical examples of migration are the skylarks, redbreasts,
song thrushes, blackbirds, and many other birds not usually regarded
as migrants. It is a well-ascertained fact, however, that these birds
fly southwards to the shores of the Mediterranean Sea and to
Southern Europe generally in winter, and the causes of their south-
ward movements are by no means clear, if we consider that the
conditions of existence in Britain during winter are by no means of
hard or unbearable nature to such species. The quails present
examples of migrants belonging to a group of birds widely different
from those which include the examples just mentioned. These birds
leave the North African and Mediterranean coasts in spring, and fly
to Europe in large numbers ; their plump condition at the migratory
period forming a quality of disadvantageous character to the species,
on which a constant war is made in the interests of gastronomy at
large.

Amongst more peculiar features in connection with the migration
of birds may be mentioned the attachment which many species exhibit
for their former habitations. Swallows are known to dwell year by
year in the same places, and the water-wagtail will select the same
spot annually for its nest. An instance is related of such attachment
being exemplified by two stone curlews ( (Edicnemus crepitans) — a
species of bird inhabiting the open country — which year by year
repaired to the same nest, and this, although the character of the
surroundings had become entirely altered. The nest had origi-
nally been situated in a rabbit warren, and in the lapse of years the
warren had been gradually replaced by a flourishing plantation of
young trees ; the curlews, however, remaining steadfast to their
annual quarters, despite the altered character of their home. The

THE MIGRATION' OF ANIMALS. 119

fact that many birds will repair year by year to the same spot is of
extreme interest, if we consider that the migratory habits must have
yearly led them on journeys of many hundreds or thousands of miles
in extent from their British nests. The possession of a very decided
and definite faculty of " locality " is thus apparently possessed by
many birds. In virtue of this faculty, and the memory and affec
tion they retain for their habitations, such migrants will fly unerringly
from the Mediterranean coasts to the northern parts of our land or oi
Europe at large ; or may even rest in their old homes after a flight
which had its beginning in regions lying beyond the equator. Dr.
Jenner's well-known experiment on the swifts fully confirms the
accuracy of the ideas regarding the return of migrants to their old
resting-places. The famous physician having procured several Glou-
cestershire swifts, cut two claws from a foot of each specimen, and
thereafter liberated the marked birds. The nests were examined
annually, and for three successive years the marked swifts were found
each in its own nest ; one of the marked specimens being actually
found in its accustomed locality after a lapse of seven years. Even
if it should be suggested that it is difficult or impossible to identify
the birds of each successive year as the veritable occupants of the
nest during the preceding years, or that possibly the birds arriving
each year to occupy a given nest were different individuals of the
same species, the circumstances become more puzzling and extra-
ordinary on account of these very suggestions. For then we should
have to explain how birds communicate with each other, and the
nature of the mysterious bond which would thus be presumed to link
together the different individuals in an affection for a particular home.
Even on the supposition that the young in course of time might
occupy the nest of their parents, we should also have to postulate a
wonderful accuracy of instinct and a tenacious memory of locality.

In connection with such instances of memory and affection for
particular localities, we must take into account the distances over
which birds have to travel— a feature casually alluded to in the pre-
ceding remarks. It is also worthy of note that the extreme length
and magnitude of the journeys of many migrants bear an important
relation to the nature and causes of the migratory habit. The idea
of a simple adaptation to surrounding conditions would fully explain
the migratory habits of animals, did we find that they moved back-
wards and forwards within a limited area, and according as the
seasons and food were respectively favourable and plentiful. But so
far is this from the true state of matters, that one of the chief puzzles
of the zoologist is to account for the apparently needless extent and
magnitude of the journeys of many migrants, their change of area
being inexplicable, as already noted, on the supposition of seeking
a genial temperature or a favourable feeding-ground alone.

120 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

No consideration of the latter nature, for instance, would satis-
factorily explain why swallows or swifts should leave the genial climate
of Northern Africa for the less genial north, at a period when their
insect food is as plentiful, if not more abundant, at home than in
Europe. The ruby-throat, one of the prettiest and smallest of the
humming-birds, flies annually from Mexico to Newfoundland, as a
summer migrant to the south. It thus apparently exchanges a land
of plenty for a comparatively unsatisfying Egypt, and in its extensive
flight certainly passes over lands better suited for its support than
the terminal area in which it rests. One of the most interesting
points in connection with the migration of birds naturally consists in
the determination of the rate or speed at which the migrants fly.
On the whole, surprising results may be said to follow the most
cursory inquiry into this subject. The common swift is said to wing
its flight at the rate of some 275 miles per hour; a speed which, if
maintained for six or seven hours, would suffice to transport it from
its summer to its winter quarters, or vice versa. The speed of the
swallow is said to average ninety miles per hour, and the famous pas-
senger pigeon of America can make its thousand miles per day with
ease. Of this latter bird it is recorded that pigeons have been killed
near New York having their crops filled with rice, the nearest rice-
fields to New York being those of Carolina and Georgia. These
fields are distant between 300 and 400 miles, and as digestion is
tolerably rapid in the pigeons, six hours may be regarded as a fair
average period for food to leave the crop. Within six hours, it may
therefore be calculated, these birds must have flown the distance
between New York and the rice-fields, the rate of speed being equal
to that of an express train.

The carrier-pigeons are equally notable for their speed, and for
the unerring accuracy with which they return to their haunts : this
latter faculty being apparently a special modification of that whereby
migrants return to their summer and winter quarters, and depending,
firstly, upon a knowledge of landmarks or some mysterious " flight-
faculty ; " and, secondly, upon the faculty of memory and locality.
A carrier-pigeon has been known to fly from Rouen to Ghent — a
distance, "as the crow flies," of 150 miles — in an hour and a half.
Recently a pigeon flown from the window of the Continental mail
train as it left Dover pier, was found in its home in the City long
before the arrival of the train in London. From the " Country " we
extract the following details of a remarkable pigeon-flight from
Reading, Berkshire, to Brussels, a distance of 238 miles. In
July 1878, Mr. Barker, of Brussels, sent to Reading some young
pigeons, accompanied by five adults, the latter being intended to fly
back to Belgium. The birds arrived in Reading at midday on
Thursday, the 25th of July, and were duly inspected by many of the

THE MIGRATION OF ANIMALS. 121

members of the local Ornithological Society, each bird being duly
marked with the Society's official stamp. On Friday morning at ten
o'clock, says the account from which we quote, in favourable weather,
the five birds were started. They dashed from the basket without
hesitation, and disappeared from sight in about one minute. A tele-
gram was received in Reading the same evening, announcing that all
the birds had reached home before four o'clock, the information also
remarking the official marks of the Reading Society, by way of sure
identification of the pigeons. Three of the five birds, it may be
mentioned, belonged to Mr. Barker, and two to a friend. The latter
were found in their loft-at Brussels shortly after half-past three o'clock ;
Mr. Barker, on reaching home a little before four o'clock, finding his
three pigeons there. The birds were feeding quietly, as if they had
been reposing at home throughout the day. The account adds
that the pigeons in question had " done a lot of work in other direc-
tions," but that their only journey before being sent to Reading was
one "toss" of about forty miles in extent. Allowing fifteen minutes
for difference of time, the duration of the flight from Reading to
Brussels was five hours fifteen minutes, the flight being at the rate
of 1,329 yards per minute.

The instincts or faculties in virtue of which birds are enabled to
fly over many hundreds of miles of land and sea, naturally bear the
closest possible relationship to the habit and means of migration.
What explanation can be given of the wondrous powers of guiding
flight possessed by birds at large ; and through what special sense or
senses is the " flight-faculty " exercised ? Any attempt which may be
made towards the solution of these questions may fitly be prefaced
by a confession of our almost complete ignorance of the means
whereby extensive flights alluded to are directed. A high authority
on matters ornithological has remarked that we are unable even to
approach the solution of the question. Carrier-pigeons possess the
" homing " faculty, as it has been termed, in a typical degree, but
when inquiry is made regarding the nature of this faculty, the answer
that these birds are guided by a knowledge of landmarks is made.
Admitting, however, that the " homing " faculty is so founded, the
admission demands the exercise of a sense of sight keener far than
that possessed by ordinary animals, and of a memory for locality which
almost excels our ideas of instinct as distinguished from reason—
although, indeed, there are not wanting numerous examples of a
" memory sense " in dogs, which find their way back to their homes,
and by paths unknown to them, with an instinct which may be
described as literally unerring. But the "homing" faculty of the
pigeon, resting, as is maintained, on a knowledge of landmarks, will
hardly suffice to explain the flight of birds over large tracts of sea
where guiding marks are non-existent. Then, again, many birds

122 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

pursue their journeys by night, when the sense of sight is either
practically unavailing, or may be regarded as being of comparatively
little use. The discussion of this subject may only be profitably
carried on in the light of higher knowledge ; but, as will presently
be noted, the consideration of the determining causes of migration
leads us to believe that the unerring flight of migratory birds, as
well as the exactitude of their arrival in their summer home, and
of their departure for their winter haunts, are regulated by the force
of long continued "habit," and by the influences of "inherited
instinct."

No two factors are of greater import, or exercise a more despotic
power over the fortunes of lower life, than " habit " and " instinct."
By their aid animals accomplish unerringly, and it may be uncon-
sciously, acts and labours which the educated experience of human
kind would perform but imperfectly, in which experience would alto-
gether fail. Witness in proof of this statement the perfection of the
acts and duties in which the bee, wasp, or ant engages from the first
moment of existence. The very perfection of the act as performed
by these unreasoning creatures is, as Dr. Carpenter has remarked, a
proof of the non-intelligent and purely instinctive nature of the
beings which perform it. Otherwise, indeed, the perfection of their
labours must be held to surpass that attained by the human reasoner.
And so is it, we opine, with birds, with the guidance of their flight,
and with the exactitude of their seasons. Admit the influence of
inherited habit, and we find a mysterious power of guidance sup-
plied by instinct to the migrating bird, just as the young worker-ant,
liberated from its swaddling-clothes, proceeds, without any training
other than the directive force of instinct and habit inherited from its
predecessors and progenitors, to discharge its duties with the punctu-
ality and perfection of the mature and adult insect. How the habits
which instinct directs, and which heredity, or the law of "like
parent, like child," propagates, have been acquired is a matter for
after consideration. Once, however, admit the acquirement of the
habit, and its continued performance by the species, and the laws of
descent and likeness will accomplish the rest. It is true that a wider
range of senses and faculties than that of which physiologists are as
yet cognisant in man, may be the property of many of the lower
animals. Sight and memory in their special phases of development—
as applied to the guidance of a carrier-pigeon, for example — must be
of a character much more acute and strong than we are accustomed
to regard these faculties as represented in human existence. And
if to acute senses we add the idea of the unconscious, but unerring,
direction of instinct and habit, strengthened by transmission through
extended epochs of time, we may perchance discover a rational
means of approaching the solution of the mystery whereby the bird

THE MIGRATION OF ANIMALS. 123

directs its way in the air, and passes unerringly to its destination
through the illimitable azure.

Allusion has been already made to the exactitude with which
migratory birds may arrive and depart from any given region, and
this punctuality has been cited in support of the exact regulation,
through instinct and habit, of the life of the birds. A bird almanac
might, indeed, be constructed through the observation of the " ap-
pointed times " of certain species, on the principle of constructing a
" floral clock " by watching the times of the opening and closing of
flowers. The vast majority of the migratory sea-birds and water-
fowl arrive punctually to a day on our coasts from the far north.
Amongst such birds none appear with greater exactitude than the
puffins ; and despite contrary winds and delaying storms, many
allied species of sea-birds arrive at their particular stations with
almost clockwork regularity. So also the periods of return to their
foreign quarters, or of departure from our shores, appear to be fixed
and adhered to with an undeviating punctuality which bespeaks a
regulation by unconscious instinct and automatic will. That the
periods of departure from our shores are in particular regulated by
the influence of such unconscious habit and inherited instinct is
clearly proved by two very notable circumstances, calculated to
attract the notice alike of the reflecting naturalist and of the un-
skilled observer of birds and their history. The first of these cir-
cumstances has already been referred to in the case of the swallows,
the migratory instinct in which is so strong, that the unfledged young
contained in the nest when the day of departure arrives have been
left to die by the retreat of their parents. In such a case a more
powerful incentive — that of inherited and obdurate instinct — has
triumphed over parental affection itself. Then, also, a curious and
perhaps more notable feature of bird life than the preceding circum-
stance is found in the fact that the caged young of migratory birds
exhibit a decided restlessness at the period of migration when their
free neighbours are leaving our shores. Such confined migrants,
which themselves have never migrated, will beat their wings against
the bars of their cages, and will show by every symptom and indica-
tion that they participate, by nature and instinct, in the movement of
migration, of which they have had no previous experience of any
kind. This latter fact is in itself a powerful argument in favour of
the idea that true migration is in itself instinctive and acquired by
heredity ; and the fact tells also in favour of the acquirement and
perpetuation of the migratory habit under circumstances to be
presently detailed.

The manner in which migration is performed varies with the
group of birds which exemplifies the habit. The best example of a
bird which leaves Britain en masse is the swallow, whilst the cranes,

124 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

storks, wild ducks, wild geese, and many other species also migrate
in bands. The cranes and stalks fly in a vast triangular cloud,
guided by a leader, who retires periodically, and whose place is suc-
cessively filled by other members of the band. Of birds which present
peculiarities in their mode of journeying, the skylarks may be cited.
These latter birds arrive on the Norwegian coast in "a straggling
stream " at first, whilst a little later enormous flocks appear. In the
case of many species of birds flying northwards in spring, the males
are the first to arrive, and precede the females by several days, or, it
may be, by several weeks. Such a peculiarity is not noticeable in the
southward migration taking place in autumn. It is likewise interesting
to note that many birds appear to wait for "favouring gales." The
quails select a favourable wind for their flight, although it happens
that these birds are annually drowned in large numbers in the passage
of the Mediterranean Sea. This sea is, in truth, the great Rubicon
of the migrants. It is crossed, by way of Greece and Cyprus, at
Sicily, at Malta, or from the South of Spain. By crossing at these
points, land is necessarily kept more or less constantly in sight. The
young birds of each year frequently migrate alone, their parents
having preceded them in their southward flight. It is a well-ascer-
tained fact that the young of some birds which spend the colder
season in the North of Africa may pass the first winter of their lives
in the South of Europe — this latter feature presenting us thus with
probably a recent modification of the migratory habits of the species.
The old birds lead the way in cases where the young brood accom-
pany their parents to the warm and autumnal residence. We may
lastly note that migratory habits, as just remarked, are themselves
susceptible of modification. Although human observation serves
but as a " brief chronicle " of a brief time, we yet know sufficient of
the alteration of the habits of certain species of birds to warrant the
assumption that, under favourable conditions, the journeyings and
range of habitat of birds may be altered. Mr. A. R. Wallace cites
a typical instance of this kind in the case of a Mexican swallow.
This bird first appeared in Ohio in 1815. Its range of habitat
gradually increased in extent, since the year 1845 found this bird
in Maine and Canada ; whilst at present it is found as far north as
Hudson's Bay. The cliff swallow of North America is regarded as
having extended its distribution eastwards from the Rocky Mountains
to the eastern coast of the continent within the past century or so.
Similarly a species of wren has extended its range northwards in
America in past years ; and the rice-bird, originally confined to a few
districts, has extended its range of distribution as its food was more
widely cultivated, and is now found wherever rice is grown.

. The facts relating to migration which occupy the preceding part
of this article may be regarded merely as a somewhat extended

THE MIGRATION OF ANIMALS. 125

introduction to the question, "How have migratory habits been
inaugurated and perpetuated in birds?" It is needless to say that
any answer which can be given to this query must be speculative in
its nature. No direct evidence of the beginning of this habit in any
animal is at hand, nor, from the very nature of the case, can such
testimony be procurable. Hence we have to correlate facts, to
marshal them in relation to one another, and to string them together
by aid of generalisation and theory. Such is the true relation of theory
to fact — a relationship which not only permits but demands, firstly,
the correspondence of facts and their connecting hypothesis ; and,
secondly, the ability and desire to modify the theory according as
new facts or higher interpretations dawn upon us. One or two
features in the case of birds seem in some degree to aid us in form-
ing a natural theory of migration. This habit, it should be remem-
bered, occurs in very varied and different groups of birds. Species,
genera, and families widely separated in structure, food, and habits,
exhibit the like instinct of periodically passing from one country to
another at certain seasons. Through such a fact the zoologist points
out that migration is an acquired habit, and not one originally or
from the first affecting uniformly great groups or large classes of
birds.

The observation that widely separated birds exhibit the same
habit further warrants the inference that the varied species have
acquired migratory habits through exposure to like conditions. Now,
what were these "conditions"? Suppose that, as in America, a
species of bird was presented with a continuous land surface running
north and south. Such a bird, subjected, it might be, to increasing
cold from the north, would pass easily and readily southwards. An
alteration of the temperature in favour of a more genial climate, and
the retreat of the cold, would be followed, on the other hand, by the
northward return of the birds. If we suppose the bird to have been
an insect-feeder, the case is presented still more feasibly to view,
inasmuch as the failure of the food supply from cold, and its revival
during the returning heat and geniality of climate, would constitute a
sufficiently powerful incentive to migrate southwards, and an equally
powerful inducement to the northward return. But is this case of
alternation of hot and cold epochs, or of cold with genial climates,,
anything more than supposition ? The geologist's reply bears that
in comparatively" recent " times, and in the Miocene period, Europe,
and the northern parts of the world generally, possessed a climate
which, if not exactly tropical, was the reverse of rigorous. Succeed-
ing the genial Miocene epoch, with its subtropical flora and fauna,
the great ice age slowly but surely dawned, blighting the plants
which had formerly flourished in plenty beneath a kindly sun, cover-
ing hill and dale with a great ice-sheet, and filling the valleys with its

126 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

glaciers and snows. Geology has no historical or absolute chronology,
and the duration of the ice age may not be set down in years. That
it was a period of extensive duration, however, there is no reason to
doubt, and when it passed' away it was succeeded in due time by the
temperate climate we now enjoy. The effect such alterations of
climate would have upon animal life may readily be conceived.
Retreat from north to south, as the ice age advanced its chilly
snow-sheet, would be the order of the day, and the extent of the
southward journeying would be determined conjointly by the rate of
advance of the ice-fields and by the failure of food. The renewal
of the genial climate would result in the northward journeying of the
birds, which, having become accustomed through long ages to a
larger area of habitation, would naturally journey to and fro within
that area — a region of habitation in the case of our own migratory
birds extending from the North of Europe to Central Africa, and
possibly further south still. Geology, it is true, does not prove much
to us from the fossil history of birds, for the remains of birds are few
and far between as compared with those of most other animals. But
if quadrupeds once denizens of European forests are now extinct
therein, and are found represented by living species only in southern
and warmer areas, we may readily enough conceive that birds would
similarly be driven southwards, and with greater powers of movement
and of dispersion by flight would more readily seek and regain their
ancient home when the genial climate of to-day succeeded the ice
age of the geological yesterday.

Nor is this all. The instinct which prompts and directs birds to
fly from one land to another may be thus regarded as being inaugu-
rated by the alternation of cold and warm climates, and as having
been inherited and promulgated in some birds, and altered or extin-
guished in others. We may, however, learn from geology the plain
reason why this instinct had, so to speak, an easier task before it at
the beginning of the habit of migration than apparently lies before
it now. Before, during, and after the ice age, the boasted inde-
pendence of Britain, as far as its isolation from other lands is con-
cerned, had no status or existence. Britain was then part of the
European continent, and although the broad basin of the Mediterra-
nean was probably sketched out, Europe and Africa were one, and
were locked together by connecting land. With succeeding years,
however, subsidence of land had done its work, and had broken up
Europe in the north, and dissociated Ethiopia from Europe in the
south. The birds, however, began their migrations over continuous
land surfaces, such as exist in the New World of to-day, and the
habit and instinct of flight overland thus came to serve the turn of
the animal when that land was here and there broken up and when
the deep rolled over the sunken world. The instinct acquired in the

THE MIGRATION OF ANIMALS. 127

former land flights is thus seen to operate in the after ages as an un-
erring guide over the changed aspect of affairs, and to lead the
migrants safely and securely over the pathless deep. In the case of
the carrier-pigeons we probably witness a high development of the
same instinct, associated with a special faculty of memory and with a
wondrous perfection of sight.

Inherited habits, induced by changes of food, and these latter in
turn produced by alterations in climate and accompanied by changes
in the distribution of land and sea, are thus noted to constitute the
factors in inaugurating the habit of migration. It seems admissible,
however, to suggest, by way of conclusion, the fashion in which
another and different set of circumstances in the life of birds might
give rise to the adoption of migratory habits, and cause a species to
assume a place in the list of migrants. Let us imagine a number of
birds to be carried — as some species not unfrequently are — by con-
trary winds into an area differing as widely in climate from their
native haunts as Britain does from Northern Africa. The result to
the birds, should such an event happen in winter, would be of the
most untoward description ; but if the northward and forced flight
were taken in summer, the birds finding abundance of insect-fare in
Britain, might find in the latter fact, and in the genial climate, an in-
ducement to prolong their visit. Imagine, further, that the breeding
season of these birds arrived in due course — an event which the
plentifulness of food might and probably would expedite— and we
should find the young to be born in the new land ; the production
of more than one brood (as in the swallows) being determined pro-
bably by the amount of food and the continued geniality of the
climate.

The fact of the young being reared in any particular locality
possesses of itself a sufficient and powerful effect in inducing
a close association between the bird and the locality. Hence the
production of the young in the new home would unquestionably
tend to impress the birds in favour of the new locality. The return-
ing cold of autumn and the scarcity of insect food would serve as a
sufficient cause accounting for the southward migration. And if to
the condition of temperature we add the consideration that land may
have prevailed where the Mediterranean Sea now exists, the original
home of the birds might readily enough be found. Admitting, as
before, that of the "finding instinct" of birds we know literally
nothing, the idea of a continuous land surface is geologically both
possible and probable. The arrival of the young brood, led by their
elders, in Africa, would conclude the preliminary conditions for the
establishment of the migratory propensity. Then comes the con-
sideration of the force of Jiabit and instinct. The instinct of having
bred in the northern land would serve as a sufficient incentive on the

128 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

part of the old birds to cause them to leave their native area once
again, and this time as willing emigrants. Not less strong would be
the instinct of the young brought up in the north, and thus with the
returning season of spring the birds would fly northwards, and repeat
the procedure of the previous year. Admitting these circumstances
and the undeniable force of habit, the theory that migration is the
strengthening of a chance and favourable association with a new
land becomes of likely and feasible kind. That young birds which
have never migrated participate by nature and instinct in the migratory
tendencies of their parents is proved by one of the most extraordi-
nary facts already mentioned in connection with this subject — namely,
that caged birds of a migratory species become restless, flap their
wings against the cage, and exhibit every sign of excitement at the
time when their free neighbours are flying homewards. And this
being so, the idea that the instinct of the first emigrants of a species
would be sufficient to guide them to their new home after a sojourn
in the native area of their species, is rendered by no means im-
probable.

The migrations of animals is thus seen to be a subject which
relates itself to the geographical distribution of living beings on the
one hand, and to the geological or past history of our globe on the
other. It also concerns the acquirement of new habits, and the modifi-
cation of the old habits of a species, and is thus calculated to teach us
some valuable truths concerning the modification of the ways of life
at large. To the more evident bearings of the subject on the
geographical distribution of animals and on geological change we
will return in a succeeding chapter. The present topic is, however,
not the least worthy or interesting of the lessons regarding our
universe which Nature, from her outspread pages, is continually
inviting us to peruse.

129

VII.

THE PROBLEMS OF DISTRIBUTION AND
THEIR SOLUTION.

PERSONS whose acquaintance with the methods of biological
study cannot be regarded as either extensive or profound, may
nevertheless regard themselves as perfectly capable of detailing
exactly and succinctly the four chief points involved in the considera-
tion of any living being. The history of an animal or plant, however
superficially that history may be viewed, presents a series of problems
which it is the business of the biologist to solve. These problems
resolve themselves sooner or later into four questions, the replies to
which, if given in full detail, supply us with a perfect knowledge of
the present and past life of the organism and its race. Query the
first, concerning the living being— animal or plant, monad or man —
resolves itself into the inquiry, ** What is it ? " To this question
the science of morphology, or that of structure, affords a reply.
The external form and the internal anatomy of the organism
are investigated under this primary question of the biologist. The
animal mechanism and the nature and relations of plant-tissues and
organs fall naturally within the scope of this question and its reply.
But the organism possesses its vital activities as well as its structural
details. In the essence of its nature, it presents for our study those
actions through which it maintains its own individual existence, and
that of its race or species likewise.

A second question thus becomes imperative, and inquires,
" How does it live ? " To this query it is the province of phy-
siology, as the science of functions, to reply. Summarising the
life of any organism, three terms may be found to denote the
sum total of its vital activity. It firstly nourishes itself, and thus
engages in the exercise of the function of nutrition. It thuswise
provides for the maintenance of its individual frame. But as the
death of individuals thins out the ranks of the species, the exer-
cise of a second function, that of reproduction, provides for the
continuance of the race in time. Then, lastly, the animal or plant,
whatever its sphere or place in the organic series, or in the world at
large, exhibits certain relations to its surroundings. Deprived of
the means for exhibiting this relationship, the living being becomes
practically as the dead things around it. It is the power of relating

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130 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

itself to its environments which gives to the living body its chief
characteristics. It is the action and reaction of the organism upon
the world around it, and its adaptation to its surroundings, which
impart to the animal or plant its plainest differences from the
inorganic things around. Hence we distinguish a third function of
the living being ; that of innervation or relation. Exercised through
the medium of a nervous system or its representative tissues, this
function of relation regulates and controls, whilst it connects and
harmonises, the other actions of which life's activities consist. The
animal or plant, regarded from a physiological standpoint, lives thus
a threefold existence, and performs a triple round of duties. It
nourishes itself, it reproduces its race, and it develops and exhibits
relations with its surroundings. The knowledge which demonstrates
how these functions are performed answers the second of our four
questions — " How does it live ? "

Structure and functions, all-important as their detail may be for
the understanding of animal and plant histories, do not, however,
constitute or bound the entire range of biological observation. The
inquiries of even the childish stage of man's culture concerning the
living as well as the non-living universe, include, above all other
points, the inquiry, " Where is it found ? " Especially natural does
such a question appear when applied to the living tenants of the
globe. When we ask ourselves where any organism is found, in
what quarter of the globe it is plentiful, where it is scarce, or where,
lastly, it is never to be discovered, we are in reality approaching
topics which lead us tolerably near to the ultimate questions of all
biological study. It is the science of distribution which professes
to answer the questions relating to the whereabouts of animals and
plants in the world as it now exists, and in anterior epochs of our
globe as well. Distribution thus includes two most natural divisions
or lines of inquiry. It summarises the existing life of the globe in its
inquiries regarding the geography of living things, or their distribu-
tion in space, as it is technically termed ; whilst it no less succinctly
attempts the solution of the problems relating to the past history of
animals and plants, when, proceeding to avail itself of the informa-
tion collected by geology, it pictures for us their distribution in time.

The knowledge of the structure, functions, and distribution of a
living being once comprehended all that science could hope to know
of its history. Contenting itself with the fact that living beings are,
biology might regard the knowledge which these three queries,
"what," "how," and "where," supplied, as all-sufficient for the
furthest mental demands. But the newer epoch of biology includes
a fourth question in its list of queries concerning living things. It
presents for solution yet another problem, in the terms of which is
focussed all the knowledge gained in other departments of biological

PROBLEMS OF DISTRIBUTION AND THEIR SOLUTION. 131

research. This fourth query is that which demands to know " how
the living being has come to be what it now is" — or "how it has
attained to its present place and position in the animal or plant
series." The mere terms of such a question presuppose that the
living population of our globe has undergone progressive develop-
ment. It postulates change and alteration as natural conditions of
existence, and it inquires how, in the case of each animal or plant,
such change has operated — in what direction it has sped, and how it
has affected and modified the living organism. Thus stated, there
can be no difficulty in recognising the theory of evolution or develop-
ment as that which purports to supply this mental demand, and to
reply to the inquiry concerning the past history of animals and plants
in relation to their present position and genealogical connections.
Time was when the need for such a question was non-existent. So
long as mankind regarded the world of life as presenting a fixity of
constitution, there could exist no question of wide organic change for
the biologist to meet and answer. With a firm and undisturbed
belief in the special and independent "creation" of each species of
living beings, the mind could experience no philosophic or other
necessity for any inquiry into a past of modification and change.
Possessing the idea that stability of organisation and form was the
rule of existence, men had not learned to look for a past wherein, as
in a glass darkly, might be discerned the birth of new species arising
through the modification of the old. But the germ idea of such an
evolution of life existed and prevailed long before the age which has
seen its full fruition. Here and there evidence is to be found that
even in classic ages, the great problem of problems concerning the
how and why of the universe itself was growing apace in the minds
of men. Aristotle, remarking that rain falls not to make the corn
grow, any more than it descends to spoil the crops, asks, " What there-
fore hinders the different parts (of the body) from having this merely
accidental relation in nature?" So also Lucretius, in another depart-
ment of inquiry, shadowed forth the atomic constitution of things,
and paved the way for the thoughts of the after ages, when Lamarck,
Erasmus Darwin, Goethe, and, in our own day, Charles Darwin,
Wallace, and others, have busied themselves with the problems of
the development of the teeming population of the globe. Thus
arises the philosophic necessity for a fourth question — that of
the <ztiology or causation of living beings. This question, utilising
all the knowledge gained by the sciences of structure, physiology,
and distribution, endeavours to show how the organic world has
grown and progressed towards the perfection it exhibits before our
waiting eyes to-day.

This brief sketch of the four great questions of biology may
serve to show the exact position which the study of Distribution

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132 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

bears to the other departments of natural- history research. Taking its
stand as a distinct branch of inquiry ; dealing with the causes which
have placed animals and plants in their distinct regions ; investigiting
the conditions which make for or contend against the diffusion of
animals and plants on the surface of the globe — the science of dis-
tribution presents problems and attempts the solution of questions
involving, it may be, the furthest knowledge of present and past alike,
which is at our command. Nor must we neglect to note that the
study of distribution relates that present history, in the most inti-
mate fashion, with the past of the globe. The continuity of the past
with the present is too much a ruling idea of the biological mind to
allow the importance of the geological factors in the world's problems
to be overlooked. Not a few of the knotty points of distribution are
soluble from the side of geology alone. If, therefore, for no other
reason than that it links present and past so intimately together,
thus making the unbroken continuity of causation a necessity in bio-
logical explanation, the study of distribution would take its place in
the first rank of the sciences of to-day. Bearing in mind this two-
fold division of distribution into that in space (or "geographical dis-
tribution ") and that in time (or "geological distribution"), we may
now profitably proceed to inquire into the history of the growth and
progress of this department of inquiry.

If we turn to text-books on natural history, written even some ten
years ago, we shall discover that, whatever may be the importance
of the study, the science of distribution is of comparatively recent
growth. The information dispensed in these manuals of biology
resolves itself for the most part into a brief recital of the countries in
which different animals and plants are found. Thus the facts of dis-
tribution, which an intelligent child is now taught in the nursery,
comprehend all that was known, even in recent science, respecting the
habitats of animals and plants. To know that lions occur in Africa,
and tigers in India ; to learn that the giraffe and the hippopotamus
are tenants of Ethiopia, and that rhinoceroses occur both in Asia and
Africa ; to be able to say definitely that kangaroos never occur
without the bounds of Australian islands, or that humming-birds are
found in the New World alone ; to know where palms grow or
where cacti abound — these were the only facts which the " distribu-
tion " of twenty years ago included. The plain enumeration of these
or any other facts, however, does not raise them to the rank of a
science. The mere mention of the detached countries in which
plants and animals occur, does not constitute a philosophical piece
of information calculated to explain either itself or any correlated
facts of natural history. That method alone converts any body of
details into a science, which places them in harmony with each
other, and which, connecting them by, it may be, even a transcen-

PROBLEMS OF DISTRIBUTION AND THEIR SOLUTION. 133

dental bond, links them together as parts of a whole. To know, for
example, that the existing horse walks upon the greatly developed
third toe of each foot, to become aware that the horse likewise
possesses two rudimentary toes on each foot, are mere facts,
valuable enough perhaps in themselves, but useless, so long as they
remain isolated, for any higher or philosophical reasoning concerning
the horse or any other animal form. Once, however, let these facts
be placed in true harmony with other details regarding the equine
race, and the science — that is, the true knowledge — of horses is
then constituted. Thus, if we discover that the horses of the present
are connected by a complete series of gradations with the horses of
the past ; and that we may pass by graduated stages from the one-
toed horse of to-day to the five-toed Mesozoic ancestors of the race,
we at once rise into the region of a philosophy which, through
correlated facts, seeks to teach us the origin of the equine species.
If, further, knowing that horses were believed to have first been in-
troduced into the New World at the Mexican Conquest, we suppose
that in its distribution the horse is a strictly Old World form, that
isolated fact tells us but little of the history of the race. Even it
we discover that the fossil remains of horses occur in the Tertiary
deposits of America as well as in those of Europe, the knowledge ot
that fact may certainly enlarge our ideas of the former distribution
of horses, but of itself the fact does not place us in possession of any
connected details concerning the general history of the form in
question. But when, by bringing these varied facts into relation with
each other, we seek to construct a pedigree of the equine race, we
then illustrate the higher use of our knowledge, in that we cause
that knowledge to explain itself.

Of all the facts of distribution, the same opinion may be expressed.
Formerly, to say that a given animal was found in this land or that,
was accounted the beginning and end of distributional science.
The influence of evolution, and the growth of newer ideas con-
cerning the modification of species, have together created for us a
literally new science of distribution. The ideas which prevailed a
quarter of a century ago regarding the fixity of species, and the
consequent fixation within certain limits of their habitats, demanded
no further exercise of scientific acumen than that necessary to say
from what region any given organism was derived, or from what
tracts it was absent. With altered ideas of the constitution of the
animal and plant worlds, higher and better because truer concep-
tions of the manner and causes of the distribution of life on the
globe grew apace. In the days of Edward Forbes, the doctrine of
" specific centres " held its own as representing the foremost science
of its day and generation. With the dogma of the special and
independent creation of each species of living beings left utterly

134 . STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

unquestioned, it was of all logical processes the most natural that
a " special centre " of creation should be sought and found for each
species. This theoretical " specific centre" was allocated, cceteris
jjanbus, in the region where the species was found to be most
abundantly represented. The diffusion of a species beyond its
centre was due, it was held, to such favouring influences as con-
tinuous land surfaces, the presence of food in surrounding regions,
favourable temperatures and climates, and like conditions. The
limitation of a species to its centre or original area was held,
conversely, to depend upon an absence of the conditions favouring
migration and dispersion. The presence of rivers, lakes, or seas, the
existence of land-barriers in the shape of mountain chains, extremes
of temperature and vicissitudes of climate and other causes, were
regarded as the means whereby a species was confined more or
less strictly within its area.

But the growth of the idea that the existing species of animals
and plants were the descendants, by ordinary generation, of pre-
existing species, wrought a wonderful and sweeping change in biolo-
gical opinions concerning distribution, as in every other department
of natural-history science. The theory of the separate and detached
placing of animals and plants here and there over the surface of the
earth, in obedience to no ascertainable law, was soon driven to the
wall as a weak invention possessing no logical standpoint whatever.
Affording no reason for,;the marvellous diversities of life's distribution,
the doctrine of " specific centres " was soon consigned to the limbo
reserved for the myths and traditions of biology. To say that provi-
dential reasons — namely, the necessity of a fatty dietary on the
part of the Esquimaux — accounted for the presence of seals and
whales in the Arctic regions, or similarly, that farinaceous plants grew
most plentifully in the tropics because the inhabitants thereof fed
upon their products, might indeed satisfy primitive minds, preferring
to bring scientific facts under the sway of dogma rather than to test
dogma by the logic of facts. Moreover, all such apologetic attempts
at correlating the facts of distribution with theoretical interpretations
of the designs of Providence missed their mark, because in placing
man in the first place, and the distribution of life in the second, they
reversed not merely the chronological order of affairs, but subverted
the real aspect of the case. Thus, clearly, no explanation of the
" whys " of distribution was forthcoming from former aspects of this
study, just as the "hows" of the science were equally neglected.
The newer era of research inaugurated by the publication and growth
of Mr. Darwin's opinions, derived no small share of its power and
progress from its ability to explain the " how " and " why," not
merely of distribution, but of other departments of biology. Evolu-
tion, for example, gave a reasonable explanation of the metamorphosis

PROBLEMS OF DISTRIBUTION AND THEIR SOLUTION. 135

or series of changes through which many animals pass, externally
to the egg, in their development. The tadpole, as every schoolboy
knows, grows to be a frog through successive changes converting it
from a fish-like organism into the type of the air-breathing terrestrial
adult. The caterpillar, through equally well-marked alterations of
form, becomes the butterfly or moth. Under the old idea of
zoological causation, either form undergoes metamorphosis, because,
to quote the words .of Kirby and Spence, "it is the will of the
Creator." "This, however," as Sir John Lubbock remarks, "is a
confession of faith, not an explanation of metamorphosis." Evolu-
tion satisfactorily and finally replaces the want of rational ideas of
metamorphosis by a higher idea of satisfactory causation, namely,
heredity. The frog passes in its development through a metamor-
phosis, because its ancestor was a fish-like organism. It repeats, as
an individual frog, the history of its race. So, also, an insect may
directly or indirectly be credited with demonstrating, by the course
of its development, its origin from lower stages of life. The develop-
ment of every animal is a brief recapitulation of the descent of its
species. Obscured, and often imperfect, that biography may be,
but nevertheless it is plainly outlined before the seeking eye and
understanding mind.

If evolution has thus assisted our comprehension of why an animal
passes through apparently useless stages in the course of its develop-
ment, no less clearly has that theory brought to light the meaning
of the previously isolated facts of distribution. It was evolution
which played to these facts the part of a guardian genius ; marshalling
their ranks into order and arrangement, and demonstrating that
relationship between them which it is the province of science to
explain. It is necessary to dwell upon the influence which evolution
has exerted upon the study of distribution, simply because the latter
science practically dates its origin from the day when the modifica-
tion of existing species as a means of natural creation of new races
of animals and plants was recognised. And it is with the greater
satisfaction that one may dwell upon this mutual relationship of
distribution and the theory of development, since the due apprecia-
tion of the clear explanation which the facts of distribution receive
from evolution at large, constitutes a powerful counterproof of the
truth of that theory. It is not surprising, therefore, to find Professor
Huxley saying that " no truths brought to light by biological in-
vestigation were better calculated to inspire distrust of the dogmas
intruded upon science in the name of theology, than those which
relate to the distribution of animals and plants on the surface of
the earth. Very skilful accommodation was needed," continues
Huxley, "if the limitation of sloths to South America, and of the
ornithorhynchus to Australia, was to be reconciled with the literal

136 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

interpretation of the history of the Deluge ; and with the establish-
ment of the existence of distinct provinces of distribution, any
serious belief in the peopling of the world by migration from
Mount Ararat came to an end. Under these circumstances, only
one alternative was left for those who denied the occurrence of
evolution — namely, the supposition that the characteristic animals
and plants of each great province were created as such within the
limits in which we find them. And as the hypothesis of ' specific
centres ' thus formulated was heterodox from the theological
point of view, and unintelligible from the scientific aspect, it may
be passed over without further notice as a phase of transition
from the creational to the evolutional hypothesis. In fact," adds
Huxley, " the strongest and most conclusive arguments in favour of
evolution are those which are based upon the facts of geographical,
taken in conjunction with those of geological, distribution."

Or if we turn for a moment to the opinion of Mr. Darwin him-
self, we shall find an equally clear expression of the futility of the
attempt to explain distribution on any other save an evolutionary
understanding. In his classical work, the "Origin of Species,'*
Darwin remarks the fact that " neither the similarity nor the dissimi-
larity of the inhabitants of various regions can be wholly accounted
for by climatal and other physical conditions." He secondly notes
the fact, " that barriers of any kind, or obstacles to free migration, are
related in a close and important manner to the differences between
the productions of various regions ; " and a third fact noted by
Darwin is " the affinity of the productions of the same continent or
of the same sea, though the species themselves are distinct at different
points and stations." Again, Darwin remarks that, " in discussing
this subject we shall be enabled at the same time to consider a
point equally important for us, namely, whether the several species of
a genus, which must on our theory all be descended from a common
progenitor, can have migrated, undergoing modification during their
migration, from some one area. If, when most of the species
inhabiting one region are different from those of another region,
though closely allied to them, it can be shown that migration from
the one region to the other has probably occurred at some former
period, our general view will be much strengthened, for the explana-
tion," adds Darwin, "is obvious on the principle of descent with
modification. A volcanic island, for instance, upheaved and formed
at the distance of a few hundreds of miles from a continent, would
probably receive from it in the course of time a few colonists, and
their descendants, though modified, would still be related by inherit-
ance to the inhabitants of that continent. Cases of this kind are
common, and are, as we shall hereafter see, inexplicable on the theory
of independent creation."

PROBLEMS OF DISTRIBUTION AND THEIR SOLUTION. 137

If further evidence were desirable concerning the influence of
evolution as explanatory of the distribution of living beings in the
past and present of the earth, such opinion might be culled from
Sir Charles Lyell. The late eminent geologist remarks, that Buffon,
when speculating on "philosophical possibilities," in 1755. urged,
" that whilst the same temperature might have been expected, all
other circumstances being equal, to produce the same beings in
different parts of the globe, both in the animal and vegetable king-
doms, yet it is an undoubted fact, that when America was discovered,
its indigenous quadrupeds were all dissimilar to those previously
known in the Old World." " Thus Buffon," says Lyell, " caught sight
at once of a general law in the geographical distribution of organic
beings, namely, the limitation of groups of distinct species to regions
separated from the rest of the globe by certain natural barriers." In
conformity with the doctrine of special centres of creation, as Lyell
remarks, the " natural barriers " of Buffon held a perfectly logical
place. Separate creations in the New World, and special creations
in the Old, separated by intervening oceans, served fully to explain
the reasons of the divergence between the animal populations in
question. " But," adds Lyell (in further alluding to the close corre-
spondence between the fossil forms and the living beings of any
given area), " the intimate connection between the geographical
distribution of the fossil and recent forms of mammalia, points to
the theory (without absolutely demonstrating its truth), that the
existing species of animals and plants .... are of derivative origin,
and not primordial or independent creations."

Last of all, Mr. Alfred Russel Wallace — to whose labours we owe
much, if not the greater part, of the light which has been thrown on the
lormerly obscure problems of distribution — testifies in the most direct
terms to the value of the theory of evolution. Towards the firm estab-
lishment of this theory he himself has made many important contribu-
tions, and has thus aided its place and power in explaining the laws
regulating the development of life on the surface of the globe. " We
further have to make use of the theory of * descent with modification,' "
says Mr. Wallace, " as the only possible key to the interpretation of
the facts of distribution ; and this theory," he adds, " has only been
generally accepted within the last twenty years. It is evident that so
long as the belief in 'special creations' of each species prevailed, no
explanation of the complex facts of distribution could be arrived at, or
even conceived ; for, if each species was created where it is now found,
no further inquiry can take us beyond that fact, and there is an end of
the whole matter." Again, we find a sentence worth quoting, and
worth bearing in mind, when Mr. Wallace remarks, that " if we keep
in view these facts — that the minor features of the earth's surface are
everywhere slowly changing: that the forms, and structure, and

138 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

habits of all living things are also slowly changing; while the
great features of the earth, the continents, and oceans, and loftiest
mountain ranges, only change after very long intervals, and with
extreme slowness ; we must see that the present distribution of
animals upon the several parts of the earth's surface is the final
product of all these wonderful revolutions in organic and inorganic
nature."

The proposition that in the existing world we may find a reflex
of those causes which have wrought out the scheme of life's distribu-
tion over the surface of the globe, has received the tacit sanction and
approval of all competent biologists. This result has been attained
through the slow but sure and progressive advance of modern ideas
concerning the uniformity of natural law and physical causation.
The teachings of evolution in biology are but the reflections of
" uniformity " in geology. As the doctrine of uniformity has taught
us that the physical forces represented in and by the internal heat,
water, frost, snow, and chemical action are the agencies which from
all time past have been sculpturing and moulding our earth's features
— as we trace in the physical actions of the present the key to the
activities of the past — so in biology we assume, and assume logic-
ally, that the ordinary activities of life, the processes of variation and
change and the influence of environments on the living form, are the
agencies which mould the world of life now, as in the earliest seons,
and as in the beginning itself. Rejecting the idea of uniformity in
science, we fall back on the catastrophism of primitive geology and
on the " special creation " of those early times of biology, when
fabulous theory represented the exact observation of to-day. Ac-
cepting, however, the theories of " uniformity " in the inorganic world
and of " evolution " in the living universe, we unite the sciences in
a circle, outside the magnificent unity of which no fact of inorganic
nature or of the living world can be presumed to exist.

The division of the world's surface for the purposes of ordinary
geography is obviously unsuited to the wants of the biologist. The
geographical survey of the earth is of necessity a matter of politics.
The greater nation tends to obliterate the smaller ; allocation of
territory is largely a matter of division of spoil ; and the outlines and
boundaries of the countries of the world reflect the kaleidoscopic
change which marks the arena of political strife and its concomitant
warfare for its own. For scientific purposes, then, the standpoints
of the political geographer are ".navailable. Save in so far as the
march of civilisation means and implies the destruction and repres-
sion of the animals and plants which are either useful or useless
and dangerous to man, the distribution of life on the globe is com-
paratively unaffected by the divisions whereby man demarcates his
territorial possessions from those of his neighbours. A rat may pass

PROBLEMS OF DISTRIBUTION AND THEIR SOLUTION. 139

as placid an existence under the Czar as under British rule : a
kangaroo will live as successfully beneath Dutch as under English
sovereignty ; but there may be more prospect of length of days
for the hippopotamus under existing circumstances than under an
extension of civilisation in the north of Africa. Neglecting, then,
the political divisions of the world, the biologist divides the earth's
surface into regions, the boundaries of which are determined solely
by the distribution of the animals and plants included within their
limits. Sweeping aside the lines of demarcation which human
powers and aims have constructed, the naturalist constructs a new
biological geography, whose continents and countries are under the
unceasing sway and sovereignty of those natural forces, agencies, and
laws which from all time past have affected the destinies of the earth
and its tenants. It is on the very threshold of distribution that we
begin to note the wide variations between the former and present
methods of studying life's development over the globe's surface.
Formerly, the range of any living being was denoted simply by the
name of the country or continent in which it occurred.

But it is evident that such a method of indicating an animal's
territory is in the highest degree indefinite. To speak, for instance,
of India as the habitat of the tiger, is to imperfectly indicate the
range of that animal, which extends over at least two-thirds of
the continent, besides being found in the Eastern Archipelago.
Or, if we select one or two common British quadrupeds, we
may find the anomalies of the common method of naming the
habitats of animals to be equally well represented. For instance,
the badger is commonly described as being found in Europe. Such
a method of denoting its range tends to imply that its distribution is
limited to that continent. But in point of fact, the badger ranges
eastwards from Central Asia to Amoor, and southwards to North
Africa as well. The otter's distribution ranges to North Africa, and
extends to Siberia ; the hedgehog is found from Central Asia to
Amoor, like the badger ; and the mole extends as far as Central
Asia. Certain of our birds fall equally without the common indica-
tions of distribution. Our grey wagtail (Motadlla sulphurea) extends
to North Africa, and occurs also in Central Asia, China, and
Malaya ; and the house-sparrow, fieldfare, starling, and crow, have a
distribution varying from Britain to North Africa and Central Asia.
The inadequacy of ordinary descriptive geography to indicate the
range of these animals can therefore be readily understood. In the
nature of things, the distribution of animals and plants follows certain
laws which have left their impress upon the boundaries of land-regions
likewise. It remains for us to see how the earth's surface has been
mapped out by these laws into natural continents or regions, each
characterised by its own characteristic fauna and flora. The popular

140 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

description of animal and plant distribution, moreover, besides
affording no exact details of the boundaries of its regions, gives no
information concerning the causes which limit an animal to a small
area in one case, or which extend an animal's range over a wide area
in another. On the contrary, when, taking as our guide the natural
divisions of earth's population, we discover the exact distribution of
animals and plants, we lay thereby the foundation of the knowledge
which shows how that distribution has been attained and regulated.

It is not sufficient, for instance,

"^^^•^^^^^, for any intellectual purpose, to know

why kangaroos are found in Aus-
tralia alone. The mind naturally
proceeds further, and inquires, why
should these animals be limited to
the region in question ? It by no
means conveys any adequate infor-
mation concerning the distribution
of the marsupial or " pouched "
order of quadrupeds to be told that
all known members of the group,
kangaroos included, are confined to
the Australian region, with the single
exception of the true opossums or Didelphida — these latter animals
occurring in the New World, but being absent from Australia. The
natural queries, why should kangaroos be confined to Australia, and
why should the opossums (fig. 12) alone of all marsupials be found
without the bounds of Australia, are not answered by the mere geo-
graphical descriptions of former days. Nor do these descriptions in-
dicate why, to select other examples, Australia is practically destitute
of all higher quadrupeds ; or why antelopes have their headquarters in
Africa, where, south of the great desert, deer do not typically occur,
whilst deer are found in all other regions save Australia. So also the
mere note of an animal's country as politically defined, and the mention
of the fact that bears inhabit Europe, Asia, and North America, gives
no explanation why these animals are absent from tropical and South
Africa.

The pigs, again, are common over Europe and Asia down to
New Guinea, yet Southern Africa knows not this race any more
than it includes the deer amongst its denizens. Nor can we explain
according to ordinary geographical notions, why tapirs should exist
in regions so far apart as Malaya and South Africa, or why camels
and llamas should inhabit the Asian deserts and the slopes of the
Andes respectively.- Or, last of all, how impossible of explanation,
on ordinary grounds, is the fact that the anthropoid or man-like apes
occur in regions so widely separated as Western Africa and Borneo.

PROBLEMS OF DISTRIBUTION AND THEIR SOLUTION. 141

It is clear, therefore, that our glance at the world's geography in
relation to the distribution of life must go deeper into the nature of
things than do the common descriptions of the countries tenanted by
animal and plant races. Here, as in other departments of scientific
inquiry, we require to refer to a former state of things, and to glance
backwards in time for the true solution of the problems of life's
development over the globe. The naturalist of to-day thoroughly
endorses Mr. Wallace's statement, that " to the older school of
naturalists the native country of an animal was of little importance

except in so far as climates differed A group of animals was

said to inhabit the * Indies ' ; and important differences of structure
were often overlooked from the idea that creatures equally adapted
to live in hot countries, and with certain general resemblances, would

naturally be related to each other To the modern naturalist,

on the other hand, the native country (or 'habitat,' as it is technically
termed) of an animal or a group of animals is a matter of the first
importance ; and as regards the general history of life upon the
globe, may be considered to be one of its essential characters."

That certain divisions, or " regions," bounded by distinct lines of
demarcation, exist to represent the natural method of distribution of
animals or plants on the earth's surface, is a fact readily provable.
For example, one of the most remarkable results attained through
the investigation of the distribution of animals and plants, is the fact
that a line passing between the little islands of Bali and Lombok in
the eastern archipelago, and separating Borneo, Java, and the Philip-
pines from Celebes, New Guinea, and Australia (see fig. 13), serves
as a boundary between two regions exhibiting the greatest diversity
in their animal and plant life. On the Borneo side of this line
we have a rich collection of higher quadruped life — man-like apes,
lemurs, monkeys, antelopes, tigers, rhinoceroses, and other forms —
along with the babblers, hill-tits, bulbuls, crows, hornbills, pheasants,
and jungle-fowl among the birds. On the Australian side, not a
single higher quadruped (if we except a few bats, and rodents of
recent introduction) is native; and the kangaroos and their neigh-
bours represent the fulness of quadruped life in the archipelago.
The special birds of the archipelago have for the most part disap-
peared. The bulbuls, pheasants, barbets, and vultures, find no place
in the Australian islands ; but in their place we find the curious
honeysuckers, the piping crows, the lyre-birds, the cockatoos, lories,
and parroquets, the brush-turkey and mound birds, emus and casso-
waries, and other characteristic forms. It is difficult to imagine a
change of fauna so complete as that which meets the eye of the
traveller as he passes across the narrow straits of Lombok to
enter the Australian region. Yet the divergence is of the most
characteristic nature, and depends upon the causes which lie at the

I42 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

root not merely of physical but of biological change. The remark-

able fact that the animals common to Europe and Central Asia pass
into Africa north of the desert, but are not, as a rule, found in India,

PROBLEMS OF DISTRIBUTION AND THEIR SOLUTION. 143

is similarly explicable on the ground that the distribution of life
shows us the natural divisions and natural geography of the globe.
It now remains to investigate the limits and boundaries of these
divisions (or " zoological regions," as they are named), to indicate
the more familiar types of life resident in each, and to ascertain, last
of all, the chief facts which, when brought into scientific relationship,
serve to explain how and why the life of the earth has been thus
distributed.

Mr. Sclater, the secretary of the Zoological Society of London,
proposed, from a consideration of the bird-life of the globe, to divide
the earth's surface into six provinces or regions. These regions,
whilst indicating the distribution of the birds, likewise serve to show
that of the quadrupeds ; whilst it is found that they also represent
the essential features of the distribution of still lower grades of life.
Mr. Sclater's six divisions have received, with one or two modifica-
tions, the common approval of naturalists. Professor Huxley, it is
true, has proposed a somewhat different division of the earth's
surface, and it may be convenient in the first place to note this
latter arrangement. Making four provinces from the consideration
of the distribution of fauna, Huxley divides the earth's surface as
follows : —

Zoological Province Geographical Equivalents

I. Ornithogosa or Nova-Zelanian . . New Zealand alone.

II. Antarctogcea or Australian . . | Australia, Tasmania, and Negrito

Islands.

III. Dendrogsea or Austro-Columbian . J South Africa, Central America,

\ and Mexico.

f(i) North America (N. of Mexico).

(2) Africa (S. of Sahara).

(3) Hindostan.

i (4) Europe, Asia (except India),
V and Africa (N. of Desert).

The effect of this arrangement is to bring prominently into view
the biological peculiarities of New Zealand, Australia, and South
America, and to relate more nearly together those quarters of
the globe (Europe, Asia, India, and Africa) which possess more
features in common than the other and more specialised provinces.
With all deference to such high authority as Professor Huxley in
himself represents, one objection to his system of zoological geo-
graphy may be found in the fact that the claims of New Zealand to
rank as a distinct zoological region are highly debatable. Again, in
the system propounded by Mr. Sclater, the geographical equivalents
of Huxley's Arctogcea are practically retained, and the not incon-
siderable merit of simplicity, as well as considerations relating to the
distinctness of the fauna, may weigh in the minds of naturalists as
favouring the adoption of Mr. Sclater's provinces of distribution.

144 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

These provinces or regions, depicted in fig. 13, are as follows : —

(includes Europe, Africa N. of the Desert,
and Asia (except India and the Eastern
Peninsula).

Hf\ - 4- i / Tr.^1- ^ -Porv- „ (includes India and the Eastern Peninsula
. Oriental (or Indian) Region -j -. A , . , U\*T n > T • »>

' b ( and Archipelago to " Wallace s Line.

(Australia, New Guinea, New Zealand, and
Eastern Archipelago S. of "Wallace's
Line."

IV. Ethiopian Region . . Africa S. of the Desert, and Madagascar.
V. Nearctic Region . . North America, down to Central America.

VI. Neotropical Region . . { *

Beginning with the Pal cearctic Region (fig. 13), or the first of the
six great provinces into which the biologist maps out the earth's sur-
face, we may, in each case, firstly define the geographical boundaries
of the province ; next note the leading groups of living beings which
characterise the region ; and finally discuss its sub-regions wherever
these latter present any features of striking interest. The con-
stitution and limits of the Palaearctic Region introduce us at once
to the revolution in geographical ideas which the study of distribu-
tion entails. We shall find therein a typical instance of that
apparently arbitrary division of continents and piecing together of
diverse lands, beneath which lies, in reality, the true relationship of
the land areas of our globe. The Paloearctic Region of the biologist
consists (i) of Europe in its entirety ; (2) Asia, except India and the
Eastern Peninsula, along with as much of Africa as lies north of the
Desert. In the " mind's eye " we must, therefore, separate out the
areas just mentioned from those with which, in ordinary geography,
they are so intimately associated, and, piecing them together, form a
great zoological province. This province is characterised, as are
the other five divisions, by the possession of animals and plants
which, for the most part, remain characteristic of its limits. Here
and there we may detect a commingling with the forms of adjoining
regions, and occasionally we may meet with a group which is common
to two or more regions. Sometimes we see groups — such as the
crows, swallows, owls, and pigeons among birds, or the rats and
mice among quadrupeds — which have representatives in every region,
and are thus cosmopolitan, or nearly so, in their distribution. But,
apart from these exceptional instances, the main zoological and
botanical features of each region are readily distinguishable; and
no less so, as a rule, are the sub-regions into which each province is
divided from considerations connected with the prevalence of special
groups of animals in certain localities.

The quadrupeds of the Palsearctic Region include many familiar
forms. As compared with the region most closely resembling it —

PROBLEMS OF DISTRIBUTION AND THEIR SOLUTION. 145

namely, the Nearctic — this first region possesses a much greater
variety of quadrupeds and birds. A very fair representation of all
the higher animals is found in the Palaearctic province. With the
exception of the monkey of Gibraltar — an importation from Northern
Africa — and the Japanese ape, no apes occur in this region. The
bats are not markedly peculiar, but the whole of the mole family,
save one American and two Oriental species, is included within its
limits. Of carnivora it has a fair share, although the larger beasts of
prey are well-nigh absent. There are numerous lynxes ; wolves,
foxes, and bears are plentiful but not peculiar ; the badgers occur
typically here, whilst Japan has a peculiar dog (Nyctereutes) and a
special otter (Lutronectes). The Ungulates, or hoofed animals, include
the camels, which are typical tenants of the Palaearctic Region ;
there are six genera of deer peculiar to the region, along with seven
peculiar genera of the ox family (chiefly antelopes), such as the
chamois and saiga. This region may be described as the head-
quarters of the sheep and goats, since but two species (one American
and one Indian) exist without its bounds. The Rodentia^ or
"gnawers," are well represented likewise. Twenty-seven rodents
occur nowhere else, and those genera occurring in other regions —
such as the voles, pikas, and dormice — still possess representatives
in the Palaearctic territory. The birds of this region, like the quad-
rupeds, present us with many well-known genera and species. The
true pheasants are wholly limited to this region, if we except one
species found in Formosa ; the corncrake, the great bustard, and the
sand-grouse, are specially Palaearctic. Of smaller birds this region
has likewise its typical representatives. The grasshopper-warblers
(Locustella\ the true warblers (including the robins), the bearded
titmouse, the wrynecks, the magpies, choughs, and nutcrackers are
characteristic of this region. The reptiles and amphibians are rela-
tively few. There are, however, at least two genera of snakes, seven
genera of lizards, eight frogs and toads, and eight newts and sala-
manders which the region claims as its own. The fresh-water fishes
peculiar to this territory, it may be added, number about twenty
genera. The sub-regions number four. Of these, Central and
Northern Europe, with their peculiar Desman-rat and chamois, form
one. The Mediterranean borders constitute another, and contain as
peculiar animals the fallow-deer, the elephant shrews, the hyaena, the
porcupine, and the coney. The Siberian sub-region forms a third,
and is the special home of the yak, or hairy bison of Thibet, the
Thibetan antelopes, and a peculiar mole ; whilst in the fourth sub-
region, formed by Japan and Northern China, we find special forms
of monkeys, moles, and other quadrupeds, the most notable being a
carnivorous animal, the dZluropus.

Turning next to the Ethiopian region, we discover this latter

L

I46

STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

FIG. 14. — LEMUR.

province to include Africa south of the Desert, whilst the island of
Madagascar forms a notable sub-region. In Ethiopia there are
many characteristic quadrupeds and peculiar birds which do not

occur outside the limits
of the region. On the
west coast occur two of
the four genera of anthro-
poid apes — the gorilla and
chimpanzee. Here also
are found the baboons ;
and the lemurs, having
their headquarters in
Madagascar, also occur on
the mainland. The lion
possesses the continent as
ruler of the carnivora ; the
spotted hysena is found
here alone ; the hysena-dog and aard wolf are likewise typically
Ethiopian. No less special to this territory are the zebras, giraffe,
hippopotamus; whilst the region has likewise its own species of
rhinoceroses. More than seventy species of antelopes (fig. 15) attest

the fact that the race
finds its home in this
territory; and the African
elephant is a peculiar
genus and species. But
the deficiencies in the
quadruped - population
of Ethiopia are like-
wise interesting ; and
we thus detect the ab-
sence of the deer, bears,
and oxen, so conspicu-
ous in other regions.
The birds of the region

FIG. 15.— ANTELOPE. T • • -i

are numerous. Limited

to Ethiopia are the plantain-eaters, ground hornbills, colies, secretary
bird, whydah-finches, ox-peckers, guinea-fowls, and the ostriches;
we look in vain for the wrens, creepers, nuthatches, pheasants,
and jungle-fowl in the lists of Ethiopian fauna. The reptiles,
amphibians, and fishes at present include three families of snakes,
one family of lizards, one of toads, and three of fresh-water fishes,
as absolutely peculiar to the region. The puff-adders and chame-
leons represent reptiles peculiar to the province under consideration.
Whilst the Palaearctic region possesses 35 genera of mammals

PROBLEMS OF DISTRIBUTION AND THEIR SOLUTION. 147

peculiar to itself, as well as 57 genera of birds, the Ethiopian boasts
of 90 peculiar quadruped genera, and 179 genera of land birds abso-
lutely confined within its limits.

The Ethiopian sub-regions number four — being named the East,
West, and South African, and Malagasay or Madagascar provinces,
respectively. Of these the Madagascar sub-region alone demands
a passing notice. Including, besides the great island from which
it derives its name, the Mauritius, Bourbon, Rodriguez, and the
Seychelles and Comoro Islands, the Madagascar sub-region becomes
notable in zoological eyes from its forming the headquarters of the
lemurs or lower apes, and of the Insectivora. In addition to these
quadrupeds, Madagascar possesses a few special carnivora (e.g.
Cryptoproctd] of small size ; but in this island the apes, lions,
leopards, antelopes, and other familiar quadrupeds of Africa are
entirely wanting. In Madagascar there are represented 12 families,
27 genera, and 65 species of quadrupeds. Of these 3 families and
20 genera are exclusively found in the island, and all the species of
these families and genera are similarly peculiar, except perhaps a few
of the bats. Extremely peculiar it is to find the lemurs so typical
(including 2 families and 34 species) of Madagascar; these animals
being represented on the west coast by two forms, and in Africa by one
group, whilst they flourish elsewhere in numbers only in the Eastern
Archipelago and in Southern India. As regards its bird-population,
Madagascar owns in species of land birds, of which only 12 are
identical with species inhabiting the adjacent continents. Thirty-
three genera of birds are peculiar to the island, these genera
including fifty species. Of Madagascar Mr. Wallace remarks, in
speaking of its quadruped fauna, "the assemblage of animals above-
noted is remarkable, and seems to indicate a very ancient connection
with the southern portion of Africa, before the apes, ungulates, and
felines had entered it. The lemurs (fig. 14), which are here so largely
developed, are represented by a single group in Africa, with two
forms on the west coast. They also reappear under peculiar and
isolated forms in Southern India and Malaya, and are evidently but
the remains of a once widespread group, since in Eocene times they
inhabited North America and Europe, and very probably the whole
northern hemisphere." Again, remarking of the birds of Madagascar,
Mr. Wallace says : "So many perfectly isolated and remarkable groups
are certainly nowhere else to be found ; and they fitly associate with
the wonderful aye-aye (Chiromys\ the insectivorous Centetidse, and
carnivorous Cryptoprocta among the mammalia. They speak to us
plainly of enormous antiquity, of long-continued isolation ; and not
less plainly of a lost continent or continental island in which so
many, and various, and highly-organised creatures could have been

L 2

148 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

gradually developed in a connected fauna of which we have here but
the fragmentary remains."

The Oriental region, formerly known as the " Indian" region, pos-
sesses boundaries of highly interesting nature. Comprising Asia south
of the Palsearctic region, it includes India, the Eastern Peninsula, and
the Malay archipelago as far as Borneo, Java, and the Philippines.
Its southern or lower boundary is marked by a special line —
"Wallace's line" — which passes through a narrow but extremely
deep channel — the Straits of Lombok — running between the little
islands of Bali and Lombok (fig. 13), and, extending northward
and eastward, leaves on its Australian side Lombok, Celebes, and
adjoining islands. No fact of distribution, as has been already
remarked, is more noteworthy than the sharp demarcation of the
Oriental from the Australian region. In the Oriental province itself
are found all the conditions for a rich development of life. There
is variety in its physical contour ; it is broken up into islands and
peninsulas ; it has its alternations of high mountain and valley,
of hill and plain ; its river-systems are many and extensive ; its
temperature is that of the equatorial zone, and its vegetation is in
consequence varied and profuse.

Peculiar to the Indian region are at least three families of
quadrupeds, that of the flying-lemurs, that of the Tarsiers, or spectre-
lemurs, and that of the Tupaias, or squirrel-shrews. There are also
many genera confined to this province, although possessing family
representatives elsewhere. Thus there are monkeys of the genus
Presbyter, and the special genera of true lemurs in this region ; twelve
peculiar civet cats find a home here; whilst three species of antelopes,
five rhinoceroses, and the flying-squirrels (Ptero?nys] are typically
Oriental in their distribution. Nor must we neglect the species
which are limited to this province. The orang-outangs and gibbons,
two of the four kinds of highest apes, are included amongst its deni-
zens; the tiger, the Indian elephant, sun-bears and honey-bears, the
tapir, and the chevrotains or mouse-deer, lend their presence to aid
in forming a diverse fauna of the most interesting kind.

Conspicuous among its birds are the tailor-birds, which are pecu-
liar to the region, as also are the laughing-thrushes. There are
peculiar genera of woodpeckers, cuckoos, and hornbills. The
minivets and grass-green fruit-thrushes are also characteristic Oriental
birds. The sun-birds are represented by three genera ; bee-eaters
and kingfishers are likewise included in the Oriental aviary; and
goatsuckers and whiskered swifts also fall to be enumerated. Only
two parrot-genera are Oriental in distribution ; the pigeons of the
province being the fruit-eating Treron and Carpophaga. It is in this
region that the races of " poultry " find their original home. The
true jungle-fowl, from one species of which all our domestic fowls

PROBLEMS OF DISTRIBUTION AND THEIR SOLUTION. 149

have sprung, occurs widespread in this region. The peacocks, argus
pheasants, and fire-backed pheasants, are also typical denizens of the
Oriental province, and may fitly close the list of its bird inhabitants.

The reptiles of the Indian region are numerous, but there are
only some three small families of snakes which are peculiar and
limited to the region. The reptile population, apart from its speci-
fically distinct character, is varied enough, however. It includes a
whole host of snakes ; amongst lizards it numbers the water-lizards
(or Varanid<z\ the skinks, the geckos, and the iguanas {Iguanida}.
The crocodiles are numerous, and fresh-water tortoises, amongst
other genera, abound. The tree frogs and true-frogs are well repre-
sented, and in its fresh-water fishes this region is peculiar. The
Oriental province, to sum up, possesses at least twelve families of
vertebrates peculiar to itself. Of the 118 genera of quadrupeds, 54
are confined to this province; and whilst 342 genera of land birds
inhabit the region, 165 are absolutely confined to it. There are
some four sub-regions included in the Oriental region. These do
not demand special mention here, but it may be remarked that the
Malayan sub-region — including the Eastern Peninsula, Borneo,
Sumatra, Java, and the Philippines — is to be accounted the most
typical area of the Oriental region. It is in the Malayan sub-region
that we see the features of the Oriental province in their most typical
development in most varied array.

Selecting as our fourth region the Australian province, the
striking characters of this region have already been commented
upon. Crossing "Wallace's line," we enter upon a biological
territory marked by more peculiar features and by more divergent
lines than those which separate the flora and fauna of any other two
regions from one another. In Australia and New Guinea — as was to
be expected from the fact of these islands presenting the chief areas
of the region — the specialised character of its animals and plants
is best seen. In Celebes this character is still preserved, although
the denizens of that island do not present the special features of
Australia, whilst the influence of Oriental migrations is clearly
traceable. Of the life of New Zealand, which along with Polynesia
falls within the Australian region, a more pronounced opinion may
be expressed. The animals and plants of the New Zealand islands
are in many respects so peculiar that, as we have seen, it has been
proposed to include these areas in a special region. But, as we shall
hereafter note, there exist other considerations, which, whilst ex-
planatory of the divergence of New Zealand from the Australian
types, nevertheless show its fundamental alliance therewith. Thus
New Zealand comes, logically enough, to form a part of the Austra-
lian region.

Primarily, then, in the Australian region we find at once

150 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

striking likenesses to, and differences from, the New Zealand flora.
Sir Joseph Hooker, speaking of the relations between the plant-life
of the two regions, says : " Under whatever aspect I regard the flora
of Australia and of New Zealand, I find all attempts to theorise on
the possible causes of their community of feature frustrated by anoma-
lies in distribution, such as I believe no two other similarly situated
countries in the globe present. Everywhere else I recognise a parallel-
ism or harmony in the main common features of contiguous floras,
which conveys the impression of their generic affinity at least being
affected by migration from centres of dispersion in one of them, or
in some adjacent country. In this case it is widely different. Re-
garding the question from the Australian point of view, it is impos-
sible, in the present state of science, to reconcile the fact of Acacia,
Eucalyptus, Casuarina, Callitris, &c., being absent in New Zealand,
with any theory of trans-oceanic migration that may be adopted to
explain the presence of other Australian plants in New Zealand ;
and it is very difficult to conceive of a time or of conditions that
could explain these anomalies, except by going back to epochs
when the prevalent botanical as well as geographical features of
each were widely different from what they are now. On the other
hand, if I regard the question from the New Zealand point of view,
I find such broad features of resemblance, and so many connecting
links that afford irresistible evidence of a close botanical connection,
that I cannot abandon the conviction that these great differences
will present the least difficulties to whatever theory may explain the
whole case." Thus, whilst there are clear botanical affinities be-
tween Australia and New Zealand, these likenesses are really limited
to plants which form the characteristic part of the New Zealand

flora ; and these plants, for the
most part, belong to temperate
species.

If the relations between New
Zealand and Australia in the
matter of their respective floras
are so intricate, the relations be-
tween the animal populations of
these areas are equally interest-
ing. We may briefly glance, in
the first place, at the New Zea-
land fauna, and then, by way of
contrast, concern ourselves more

especially with the animal life of Australia. The New Zealand islands,
in superficial area, attain a size nearly equal to that of Italy. Their
distance from Australia is about 1,200 miles; their vegetation is
abundant and well distributed, owing to the absence of desert-lands.

PROBLEMS OF DISTRIBUTION AND THEIR SOLUTION. 151

The zoology of New Zealand is peculiar. It has no native quad-
rupeds, if we except a couple of bats j it possesses an almost
Hibernian freedom from reptiles in that it has no snakes, only three
genera of lizards, and but one frog. There are 34 genera of land
birds, and of these 16 are absolutely confined to New Zealand ; and
to these are to be added five special genera of aquatic birds, making
21 marked genera in all. Amongst their birds, these islands include
the chief species of "wingless" forms. The Moas of New Zealand
represent an extinct wingless race, whilst the curious Apteryx (fig. 16)
remains to represent the wingless tribes of to-day. The winged birds
include special forms of starlings (Creadion : Heterolocha, &c.) ; the
curious crook-billed plovers (Anarhynchus), which alone of all birds
have the bill twisted to the side ; and species of swallows, fly-catchers,
&c., are also included in the ornithological catalogue of these islands.
In New Zealand is found the kakapoe (Stringops habroptilns] or owl-
parrot, which burrows in the ground, and whose powers of flight have
deteriorated ; and the curious JVotorms, a peculiar genus of rails,
likewise possessing short and useless wings, may be lastly mentioned
amongst the bird productions of these islands.

Included amongst the few lizards of New Zealand is the famous
Hatteria, which in reality forms a connecting link between lizards
and crocodiles, and even shows
bird-affinities in its ribs. Hat-
teria thus remains isolated and
solitary in its structure amid
the lizard -class.

Turning now to Australia
itself, we note that land to be
the abode of the lower quad-
rupeds comprised within the
two orders Monotremala and
Marsupialia, which are repre-
sented by the Ornithorhynchus
and Echidna^ and by the
kangaroos (fig. 17), wombats,
phalangers, and allied animals
respectively. No monotreme
whatever, and no marsupial
forms — save the single family
of the New World opossums —
exist without the boundaries of
Australia. These animals re-
present in their varied types the orders of higher mammals distributed
over the other regions of the earth ; and the Australian region thus
presents us with the home and headquarters of the lowest, and, in

FIG. 17. — KANGAROO.

152 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE

point of time or geological sequence, the earliest, quadrupeds. What-
ever higher quadrupeds — such as the sheep, oxen, horses, &c. — the
colonisation of Australia has been the means of introducing into
that region, it must be borne in mind that all the native mammals
of Australia are of the lower grades, and are, with the exception of
the American opossums (which do not occur in Australia), absolutely
limited to that region. Even the world-wide rodents, represented here
by a few rats and mice, are probably of relatively late introduction.

In ' respect of its birds, whilst Australia possesses species of the
familiar thrushes, warblers, shrikes, crows, &c., of the other regions,
it yet exhibits certain peculiar forms of bird-life. The bird- absentees
are of themselves typical, for Australia has no representatives of the
vultures, pheasants, woodpeckers, barbets, and other birds which are
so characteristic of even the Oriental territory. But it has, neverthe-
less, a rich ornithology of its own, in its birds of paradise, its most
typical honeysuckers, its lyre-birds, its scrub-birds, its parroquets,
its cockatoos, its mound-birds, and its cassowaries. These are
typically Australian forms; and there are bird-families sparingly
found in other parts of the world — such as the swallow-shrikes and
flower-peckers — but which are well represented in Australia. Lastly,
there are families of birds — such as the kingfishers, pigeons, weaver-
finches — well represented in other provinces, and which are, as a
rule, better represented in Australia than in other provinces.

The reptiles of Australia do not present any special features for
remark. Snakes and lizards are plentiful ; and the Australian
amphibians number frogs and toads, but no newts, in their ranks.
Thus the Australian region, to sum up, possesses representatives of
eighteen families of quadrupeds, eight of these families being
absolutely confined to this region. It has seventy-one families of
birds, sixteen being peculiar ; it possesses four peculiar families out
of thirty-one of reptiles ; and it has only one family of amphibians,
out of a total of eleven, confined within its limits.

Passing now to the Western Hemisphere, we find the New World
divided into the Nearctic and Neotropical regions (fig. 13). The former
includes North America in its arctic and temperate regions, and is
bounded on the south by a line running between Cape Lucas on the
west, and the Rio Grande del Norte on the east ; the boundary line
dipping southwards from this point in a tongue which extends well-
nigh to the Isthmus of Tehuantepec. Between the life of the
Nearctic and Palsearctic regions there is a striking resemblance.
In North American forests, the wolves, lynxes, foxes, bears, elks,
deer, beavers, hares, squirrels, pikas, and marmots of Europe are
represented often by similar species ; and the bison of Western
Europe represents the buffalo of the Nearctic prairies. But North
America has its own peculiar quadrupeds likewise. For instance,

PROBLEMS OF DISTRIBUTION AND THEIR SOLUTION. 153

the skunk and other two genera of weasels are found nowhere but in
Nearctic lands. Then there are the carnivorous racoons, which are
likewise special forms; and among the rodents, the pouched rats
{Saccomyida\ the jumping mouse, the tree porcupines, and prairie
dogs are peculiar. The Insectivora number three peculiar genera of
moles. The pronghorn antelope (fig. 18) and the mountain goat
are absolutely Nearctic. The opossums complete the list of
peculiar mammals of the region; whilst the absentees may be
summarised in the remark that the Nearctic region is chiefly
notable for its absence of wild horses and pigs, dormice, oxen,
and hedgehogs, and true mice and rats (Mus). The single native
sheep, as against the twenty species of sheep and goats of the
Palaearctic region, also typifies a remarkable deficiency of a widely
distributed quadruped family.

The small birds of the Nearctic region are, as a rule, well marked
off from those of the Palaearctic
province. The North American
warblers belong to different families
from the Palaearctic forms ; the
Nearctic flycatchers belong like-
wise to different groups from those
at home; and the starlings are
really " hangnests," or Icteridtz.
The birds peculiar to the Nearctic
region are in turn well defined.
The mocking-birds and blue-jays,
the special cuckoos and the
tanagers ; the humming-birds ; the
wild turkeys and turkey buzzards,
are all limited to this province.
The humming-birds of the New
World present certain extraordi-
nary limitations in their distribu-
tion within the limits of the two

regions comprising the Western Hemisphere. The peaks and valleys
of the Andes possess each its own species. On Pinchincha a
peculiar species occurs, 14,000 feet above the sea level, and nowhere
else ; another has been found only inside the crater of the extinct
volcano of Chiriqui in Veragua ; a third occurs only on Chimborazo ;
and of another species only one specimen has ever been seen, the
bird in question having been obtained, over forty years ago, in the
Andes of Northern Peru. Again, the presence of such distinct reptiles
as the rattlesnakes among serpents, and the true iguanas among lizards,
is highly characteristic of Nearctic lands. This region, lastly, may
be described as the home of the tailed amphibians or newt-tribe.

154

STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

Nine families — two peculiar to the region — and fifteen special genera
represent the newts and salamanders, which include in their ranks
the sirens, amphiumas, and two forms related to the European pro-
teus of the caves of Carniola and the giant salamander of Japan
respectively. There are also five families of fresh-water fishes —
including two families of the rare ganoids — to be enumerated amongst
the specific animal belongings of this large area.

There can be no question of the clear distinctness of the Nearctic
region from all other regions, including the Palsearctic, to which,
however, in the general characters of its animal life, it is so closely
allied. The species that are really common are northern or Arctic
forms, a fact which to some extent would seem to point to former
land connections in the north as a cause of the similarity. Not-
withstanding the likeness in question, the Palaearctic and Nearctic
regions are essentially distinct ; and there are no reasonable grounds

for any scheme of uniting
their varied interests in
one common biological
territory.

The Neotropical re-
gion extends from the
southern limits of the
Nearctic region, and in-
cludes the remainder of
the New World — that
is, Central and South
America — with the West
Indian Islands as a sub-
region of the territory.
No region of the world,
if we except the Austra-
lian province, presents
such a variety of inte-
resting biological fea-
tures as the Neotropical
province. Whether re-
garded in the light of its
existing life and of the
diversity of animal and
plant species it presents to view, or studied in the relations of its pre-
sent animals to the geological past, the Neotropical area equals, if,
indeed, it does not in some features excel in interest, the great
island-continent itself. The monkeys of the Neotropical region, for
example, are totally different from those of any other region of the
globe. They are broad-nosed, and usually possess prehensile tails,

FIG. 19. — SPIDER MONKEY.

PROBLEMS OF DISTRIBUTION AND THEIR SOLUTION. 155

FIG. 20- — ANT-EATER.

adapting them for an active life amid the dense forests of the region.
Those apes have no callosities; their thumbs are less perfectly
developed than in Old World apes; and cheek-pouches are also
wanting. They include (fig. 19) the spider monkeys, howlers, capu-
chins, marmosets, and many other peculiar and special forms. The
bats are likewise peculiar, in that they are represented by the famous
vampires and other blood-sucking species. The rodents are the
chinchillas, the curious capybara, the pacas, and agoutis and tree
porcupines, possessing, like the apes, prehensile tails. The carnivora
include the racoons,
which take the place
in this region of the
weasels of the Old
World. Deer and
llamas represent the
ruminants of the re-
gion; and the tapir
and peccaries represent
other forms of hoofed
quadrupeds. It is the
group of the Edentate quadrupeds, however, which finds in Neo-
tropical territory its peculiar home. If the marsupial kangaroos and
wombats characterise Australia as their headquarters, no less typically
in South America do the sloths, true ant-eaters (fig. 20), and armadillo
(fig. 21) represent the fulness of Edentate development. With the
exception of a few species of scaly ant-eaters or pangolins (fig. 22)
occurring in the Ethiopian and Oriental regions, and the " aardvark "
or ground hog of South
Africa, the Edentate
mammals are absolutely
confined to the Neo-
tropical region; and it
is in the recent deposits
of South America that
we likewise discover the
fossil remains of those
huge extinct edemata,
of which the Megathe-
rium, Mylodon, and
Glyptodon are well-
known representatives.
Last of all, the marsupial opossums, an apparent remnant of Australian
life, find their home in the Neotropical area. As remarkable excep-
tions and absentees from the lists of Suuth American quadrupeds
may be mentioned the Insectivora, of which order — represented by

C*7><

FIG. 2i.— ARMADILLO.

156 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

the moles, shrews, and hedgehogs — not an example exists in this
area, if we except a little shrew in the north, and one genus in the
West Indian Islands. Then, also, we may note the absence of
sheep and oxen ; there are none of the civets, so widely spread over
other areas ; and there is an absence of the large carnivora, and of
the elephants and rhinoceroses of the Old World.

Equally notable are the birds of the region. The smaller
Passerine birds of the region, curiously enough, want the singing
muscles of the larynx, as a rule. To this group belong the
ant-thrushes, tree creepers, tyrants, chatterers, and manakins.
Other typical birds of this area are the tanagers, toucans, puff-
birds, todies, and mot-
mots. No less typical
are the macaws, the
curious curassows and
tinamous, the sun bit-
terns and the horned
screamers ; and the
humming-birds are
likewise among the
veritable gems of
South American orni-
FIG. 22.— PANGOLIN. thology. The hum-

ming- birds, ranging

from Sitka to Patagonia, from the plains to the towering heights
of the Andes, are absolutely confined to the New World. "No
naturalist," says Mr. Wallace, " can study in detail this single family
of birds, without being profoundly impressed with the vast antiquity
of the South American continent, its long isolation from the rest of
the land surface of the globe, and the persistence through countless
ages of all the conditions requisite for the development and increase
of varied forms of animal life." The curassows are distant relatives
of the mound-birds of Australia, and the tinamous possess affinities
with the ostrich-tiibe itself; whilst in such peculiar Neotropical birds
as the Cariama of Brazil, the sun bitterns and horned screamers,
we see types of birds, either intermediate between other families, or
standing solitary and isolated in the bird class, testifying again by
these peculiarities of structure to the lapse of time which has passed
since their evolution from some common and now extinct type.

The snakes of the region are numerous and peculiar, and the
lizards are equally varied. The true crocodiles and the New World
alligators coexist in this region, and the tortoises attain consider-
able development in this region. The tailed newts are well-nigh
absent, however ; frogs and toads are abundant ; and the fishes of
South America present us with numerous types, many of the species

PROBLEMS OF DISTRIBUTION AND THEIR SOLUTION. 157

and 120 genera at least being confined to the waters of the
area.

Central America, as might be expected, shows less clearly the
characteristic features of the southern portion of the continent.
There we find a commingling ofNearctic with Neotropical forms, but
the latter predominate, and as far north as Mexico we may trace the
howling monkeys and armadillos of the southern region.

In the case of the West Indian Islands, forming \h&Antillean sub-
region of the Neotropical province, however, we meet with greater
variations from the fauna of the continent. No better instance of
the apparently arbitrary, but nevertheless logical and scientific,
method of mapping off the earth's surface for biological purposes,
could well be selected, than the zoologist's classification of the West
Indian Islands. For, encircling Cuba, Hayti, Jamaica, Porto Rico, St.
Vincent, Barbadoes, and many other islets in his biological line, he
places outside this line Tobago, Trinidad, Margarita, and Curagoa.
The elimination of these latter islands from the "zoological" West
Indies, whilst they form characteristic islands of the geographical
Antilles, is readily explicable. Trinidad and its three neighbouring
islands in their zoology differ entirely from the other West Indian
Islands, but agree with the adjoining coast of South America in the
character of their included animals and plants. Scientifically and
zoologically, they are therefore parts of South America ; they belong
to the Brazilian sub-region, and not to the West Indian sub-province.
Their affinity to the continent in the matter of their botany and
zoology, and their wide divergence from the other West Indian
Islands, point clearly to their relatively late detachment from the
South American coasts. Their constitution as islands was attained,
in other words, at a date much more recent than that at which the
other islands of the group received their status as independent
lands. Of Trinidad and its neighbouring islets nothing peculiar in
a zoological sense can be detailed. We may, therefore, turn to the
typical West Indies themselves.

Rich in vegetation and all that contributes to the support of
animal life, the West Indies are poor in representatives of the higher
groups. But they compensate the zoological mind for poverty in
numbers by peculiarities of type. No apes or carnivora are native to
the West Indies, and the characteristic edentates of South America
—the sloths, ant-eaters, and armadillos — are likewise wholly absent.
But bats are abundant, and the rodents are peculiar. Capromys, one
of these rodents, inhabits Cuba, Jamaica; and Plagiodontia is found
in Hayti alone. These two genera are thus exclusively limited to-
the West Indies. In addition, an agouti is found in St. Vincent, and
other islands ; and a rare species of mouse (Hesperomys) is found in
Hayti and Martinique. If the West Indian rodents are peculiar,

158 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

so likewise are the Insectivora belonging to the curious genus
Soknodon. Two species of Solenodon occur, one in Cuba, the other
in Hayti. These animals are allied to the Madagascar " tenrecs."
They possess an extremely elongated nose, a long and scaly tail, and
powerful claws. The fur is coarse, and the teeth are peculiar in some
respects.

The entire zoological history of the West Indian Islands tends to
show their distinctness as a biological region. Their fauna bears a
decidedly Neotropical character in its essential details, but it is like-
wise a fauna which has undergone extensive modification through a
Jong separation from the ancient mainland of which these islands
once formed part.

The biological divisions of the globe having thus been detailed,
the task of investigating the causes which have wrought out the
existing distribution of life on its surface yet remains. These pre-
liminary studies form the material facts whereupon we may erect a
solid hypothesis concerning the means whereby the living popula-
tion of the earth has been modified, assorted, and arranged. We
may accordingly marshal the facts in due order, that we may connect
them by a theoretical bond — using hypothesis, thus legitimately, as a
guide to the discovery of truth.

Having thus summarised the chief facts relating to the dis-
tribution of the higher animals on the surface of the globe, and
having indicated the boundaries of the six great regions into which,
from a consideration of the distribution of life, the biologist divides
the land areas of the earth, we may now enter upon the con-
sideration of the explanations which biology is prepared to afford
of the facts in question. It is necessary to bear in mind the
cardinal fact that only two theories are possible respecting the
distribution of life on the earth ; as, indeed only two explanations
may be offered concerning any other cosmical phenomena, whether
relating to the world of life or to that of inorganic matter. In
other words, we must either assume, in the first place, with re-
gard to the distribution of life, or to the origin of species itself,
that a supernatural, and therefore inexplicable, fiat in the beginning
of things, created each species separately and independently, and
placed it directly or indirectly in its special locality or home;
or, secondly, we may elect to believe, on the theory of evolution,
that the varied tribes of living beings are the descendants of pre-
existing species ; that variation and modification constitute great
and continuously operating factors in moulding the living form ;
that species extend or limit their range of habitat according to
the facilities or obstacles presented by their surroundings ; and
lastly, that physical and geological changes of the earth's surface
are continually operating and influencing at once the relations

PROBLEMS OF DISTRIBUTION AND THEIR SOLUTION. 159

of species, and the character and distribution of the life of any
given area.

Such are the two hypotheses which now, as of yore, appeal
for acceptance, as explanatory of the living universe and its
constitution. The first theory is entirely dogmatic and theolo-
gical in its terms. Stamped by the imprimatur of the churches,
it commended itself in a readily understood fashion to the un-
scientific mind. An exercise of that unquestioning faith which
the intellectual mind finds but chains and bondage in its en-
deavour to rightly interpret the facts of nature in their own light,
is all-sufficient to establish the theory of the special creation of
animal and plant species in their several localities, as a revelation of
Supreme power. But the mind which accepts special creation dare
not face nature. There is for such a mind no s,ppeal to the exter-
nal facts which surround it in the universe of life. There can be
no intellectual analysis of belief in such a case ; no intelligent
questioning of the why and wherefore of the phenomena which the
theorist endeavours to explain. The theory of evolution, on the
other hand, finds its glory and its strength in its fearless interpre-
tation of nature. There exists no peculiarity of life which it may
not seek to explain. It is fettered by no considerations save those
which foster reverence for truth, and which make for appreciation
of the knowledge that " grows from more to more." Best of all, it
has nothing to fear from the advancing tide of knowledge which
itself has created and fostered ; and it submits its deductions
fearlessly and fully to every new light which the increase of research
can direct upon them.

Sir Joseph Hooker has put the case of Evolution versus Special
Creation in the most forcible fashion, when, in speaking of the
origin of species, he says : " There are two opinions accepted
as accounting for this : one, that of independent creation, that
species were created under their present form, singly or in pairs
or in numbers ; the other, that of Evolution, that all are the
descendants of one or a few originally created simpler forms.
The first doctrine is purely speculative, incapable, from its very
nature, of proof; teaching nothing and suggesting nothing, it is
the despair of investigators and inquiring minds. The other,
whether true wholly or in part only, is gaining adherents rapidly,
because most of the phenomena of plant life may be explained
by it ; because it has taught much that is indisputably proved ;
because it has suggested a multitude of prolific inquiries, and
because it has directed many investigators to the discovery of new
facts in all departments of Botany." What Sir Joseph Hooker
says of evolution in its relations to botanical science may be more
than re-echoed by students of distribution. As already remarked,

160 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

the science of distribution has been actually created by evolution.
Before the idea of the modification of species was ventilated, no
science which could account for the diverse relationships of living
beings in sjrace was possible, because such explanation, on the theory
of special creation, was not required. Only, therefore, on the
hypothesis of evolution can any explanation of the distribution of
life be attempted. It may be likewise added that, in the facts of
distribution, the evolution hypothesis finds one of its strongest
supports.

In 1605 appeared a curious work, entitled "The Restitution of
Decayed Intelligence in Antiquities, concerning the most noble and
renowned English Nation." The author — one Verstegen — informs
his readers in one chapter of the reasons for believing that the " Isle
of Albion" had been connected by "firm land with Gallia, now named
France, since the Flood of Noe." One passage from this quaint work
interests exceedingly the student of distribution. It runs as follows :
" Another reason there is that this separation hath been made since
the Flood, which is also very considerable, and that is the patriarch
Noe, having had with him in the ark all sorts of beasts, these then,
after the Flood, being put forth of the ark to increase and multiply,
did afterward in time disperse themselves over all parts of the con-
tinent or mainland ; but long after — it could not be before — the
ravenous wolf had made his kind nature known to man ; and there-
fore no man, unless he were mad, would ever transport of that race
out of the continent into the isles, no more than men will ever carry
foxes (though they be less damageable) out of our continent into
the Isle of Wight. But our Isle, as is aforesaid, continuing since
the Flood fastened by nature unto the Great Continent, these wicked
beasts did of themselves pass over. And if any should object that
England hath no wolves on it, they may be answered that Scotland,
being therewith conjoined, hath very many ; and so England itself
some time also had, until such time as King Edgar took order for
the destroying of these throughout the whole realm."

That which to the contemporaries of Verstegen, as to many
persons ignorant of the teachings of geology even in our own day,
would seem a wild impossibility — namely, the junction of England
and France by land surface — is known to the tyro in geology to have
been a plain reality. Convulsions and disconnections, as well as
elevations and connections of land surfaces, are among the most
familiar facts of geological science, which views the land as an ever-
shifting quantity amid the factors of physical change.

A brief allusion to some of the more familiar instances in which
the association or connection of land surfaces serves to account for
a likeness of the contained life, may demonstrate that the author of
" The Restitution of Decayed Intelligence in Antiquities " was, in his

PROBLEMS OF DISTRIBUTION AND THEIR SOLUTION. 161

day and generation, groping successfully enough after the true cause
of the likeness between the animals of Albion and Gaul. In the
Neotropical region of the geologist, the Island of Trinidad presents
us with an excellent example of the bearing of geological change
over the distribution of life. Geographically, Trinidad is one of the
West Indian Islands ; zoologically, Trinidad is a part of South
America. Whilst the animals of the West Indian Islands are highly
peculiar, as we have seen, those of Trinidad resemble the animals
found in the neighbouring American area ; and along with Trinidad
we may class the islands of Tobago, Margarita, and Cura^oa as
zoologically belonging to the South American continent, and not to
the Antilles. Close to Trinidad lie Grenada, Barbadoes, and St.
Vincent ; yet the geographical nearness of these three latter islands
to Trinidad is completely overturned by the facts of distribution.
What theory of the constitution of living beings and of the earth at
large is competent to explain the immense differences which separate
Trinidad and neighbouring islets in a zoological sense from the
Antilles ? On the theory of special creation, no explanation is pos-
sible. On the hypothesis of evolution, the main outlines of the
problem and its solution are clear enough. The relations of Trinidad
and South America are in reality the counterpart of those which
Verstegen assumed existed between the " Isle of Albion" and Gaul.
At a relatively and geologically " recent " date, there was land con-
nection between Trinidad and the American continent — such is
the geological phase of the question. The biological aspect shows
us a sufficient reason for the likeness of the fauna of Trinidad to
South American life, by assuming that the processes of variation
and change in its species have not yet had time sufficient at their
disposal to establish differences of importance. Conversely, the
Antilles form, as we have seen, a highly peculiar region for the
opposite reason — namely, that these islands, once united to Central
America, became detached at a remote period. This ancient sepa-
ration prevented the inroad of the higher and later forms of life,
whilst it would specialise and intensify the characters of the forms
which these islands originally claimed as their own.

The case of other islands presents equally and in some cases
even more notable and characteristic examples of the influence of
isolation from or, conversely, of long-continued connection with con-
tinents upon the included life. Very interesting is it to note the
extreme differences which prevail between the islands of Bali and
Lombok in the Eastern Archipelago, each island being as large as
Corsica. They are separated by the Straits of Lombok, which are
about fifteen miles in width at their narrowest part. Despite the
narrowness of this channel — which, however, bears evidence of its
antiquity in its great depth — these islands differ far more widely in

162 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

the character of their animals and plants than do Britain and Japan.
On the Australian side of the straits we find Lombok, the outpost,
so to speak, of the strange Australian land that lies beyond. On the
Indian side lies Bali, essentially identical with the other islands of
the Archipelago in the life which has already been described. Does
the theory of special creation give any rational explanation amongst
its tenets for this extraordinary dissimilarity between two apparently
adjacent islands ? Or, if we look in vain for such explanation from the
side of special creation, does the theory of evolution, which postulates
the long separation of Bali from Lombok as the primary cause of
the divergence of their respective fauna, offer a satisfactory solution
of the problem? There can be no hesitation in our choice of
explanations ; since, whilst the former hypothesis presents only a
speculative faith as the reason of its being, the latter is founded upon
geological facts, and upon evidence derived from the distribution
of life at large.

Again, in the Oriental region, and within the limits of the Eastern
Archipelago itself, we may meet with abundant instances of the same
great truth, that the long isolation and separation of any land, how-
ever limited or however extended its area, must entail a corresponding
divergence and specialisation of its included animals and plants.
The history of islands becomes, in this view of matters, especially
instructive to the naturalist. Java, Borneo, and Sumatra are thus
regarded in a geographical sense as being nearly connected. Java
and Sumatra are geographically near, whilst Borneo is more remote
from the two former islands. But, curiously enough, whilst Borneo
is thus removed from the vicinity of Sumatra, its included life
resembles that of Sumatra, whilst the animals and plants of these
two islands taken together, differ materially from those of Java. Thus,
whilst at least 13 genera of quadrupeds are known to inhabit two or
often three of the other Oriental areas — Borneo, Sumatra, and the
Malay Peninsula — these genera are absent from Java, and they
include, as Mr. Wallace remarks, such typical forms as the elephant,
tapir, and Malayan bear. There are 25 genera of birds found as a
rule in Sumatra, Borneo, and the Malayan peninsula, which are
yet absent from Java ; these birds including the jays, gapers, horn-
bills, cuckoos, pheasants, partridges, and other equally familiar
forms A second fact of importance in considering the relations of
Java to its neighbour islands consists in certain marked similarities
which its animals are known to present to the Asiatic Continent.
The mammals and birds of Java, in a word, " when not Malayan,
are almost all Indian or Siamese." How, then, are these two series
of facts to be accounted for ? How are we to explain, firstly, the
dissimilarity of Java from Sumatra and Borneo, and its likeness to
Indian and Siamese in respect of its included life ? Again we appeal

PROBLEMS OF DISTRIBUTION AND THEIR SOLUTION. 163

to the facts of geological change for a solution of the difficulties in ques-
tion. If we suppose, firstly, that Himalayan species, driven southwards
by climatal or other changes, found a home in Java ; and, secondly,
that the separation of Java from the adjoining lands took place long
prior to the isolation of Borneo and Sumatra from the Malay penin-
sula, we may fully account at once for the persistence of Asiatic
animals in Java, and for its differences from Borneo on the one hand
and Sumatra on the other. In such an explanation, let us note, we
must likewise take the facts of organic variation, producing change
and modification of species, into account. The peculiarities of the
Philippine Islands, which were separated in their turn earlier than
Java from the mainland, can be accounted for on the same principle
of isolation, entailing a corresponding modification of the life of any
area.

No less interesting is the history of such islands as the Azores,
and Galapagos, which represent " oceanic" islands, never connected
with a continent or large land area ; or the history of such isolated
lands as the British Islands, which are clearly of " continental "
origin, and which once formed part of the larger land area to the
south and west : whilst such islands as Madagascar or New Zealand
present us with an instance of specialised land surfaces, whose con-
nection with continents is a thing of the very remote past. A
reference to each of these islands will serve to establish more firmly
and clearly in the mind the high importance of physical change as a
paramount condition in determining the distribution of life on the globe.

The Azores and Galapagos islands are typically "oceanic." San
Miguel, in the Azores, is 900 miles from the coast of Portugal as the
nearest continental area ; whilst the Galapagos are about 600 miles
from the west coast of South America. In these islands we see
exemplified the characters of " oceanic " islands. They are volcanic
in nature, and represent rock masses upheaved from the sea-depths.
As in oceanic islands, at large, there are no native quadrupeds, and
none of the frog or toad class {Amphibia}. In the Azores there is
not a single native, terrestrial vertebrate animal — no snake or lizard
being found in addition to the already specified omissions; and no
fresh-water fishes exist. The rabbits, weasels, rats, and mice of the
Azores, and a single lizard, occurring in Madeira and Teneriffe like-
wise, are all importations ; and of the eels and gold-fish in the lakes
of the Azores, the same opinion may be expressed. Birds, land-
shells, and insects constitute the animal population of these islands.
Of 53 species of birds, 31 are waders or swimmers; and whilst 20
aquatic birds are residents, 18 of the land birds are permanent
tenants. With three exceptions, the 18 land birds, however (including
the quail, robin, barn-owl, starling, wood-pigeon, &c.), are common
in Europe and North Africa; the exceptions being the Atlantic

M 2

1 64 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

chaffinch and the canary of the Madeira and the Canary Islands,
and the peculiar Azorean bullfinch. There are no difficulties in
the way of accounting satisfactorily for the existence even of these
latter species. The bird-population of the Azores, as a whole
originated in the storm-driven or chance stragglers from other lands.
The oriole, snow-bunting, and hoopoe even now are occasionally
found in the Azores ; and as the birds are most numerous in the
eastern islands of the Azores, Europe and Africa may be assumed to
be the chief sources of supply of the bird- emigrants. The bullfinch
of the Azores is, however, peculiar as well as interesting in its
history. This bullfinch is a marked variety of the European species,
just as other Azorean birds exhibit slight divergences from our own
species. We see in this bird, in fact, the beginning of that work of
modification, induced by the influence of new locality on the species,
to which is due the endless variety of the earth's population as a
whole. The insects and land-shells of these islands present clear
traces of European relationship ; and the botany of the Azores,
showing us 480 various species of flowering plants and ferns, also
declares that 440 of these species occur in Europe. Even of the
forty peculiar species of plants, all, save six, find a near relationship
in European plants ; and these six are related to the plants of the
Canaries and Madeira. Like the birds, the land-shells, insects, and
plants have reached the Azores as emigrants from the adjacent
continents and islands. Means of dispersal and conveyance are
abundant ; and Darwin has shown how common are the methods
whereby the lower and occasionally the higher forms of animals
and plants can be distributed often to vast distances from their
original home. Let us for a moment consider some of these casual
or accidental means of dispersal.

Many seeds will, for example, resist for lengthened periods
the action of sea-water. Out of 87 kinds of seeds, 64 germinated
in Mr. Darwin's hands after twenty-eight days' immersion ; and a
few survived after 137 days' immersion. Ripe hazel-nuts, when
dried, floated for ninety days, and then germinated; and "an
asparagus-plant with ripe berries floated for twenty-three days ;
when dried, it floated for eighty-five days, and the seeds afterwards
germinated." There is thus ample time and opportunity, so far as
the vitality of many seeds is concerned, to enable them to be trans-
ported safely by ocean-currents to far-distant shores. Seeds are,
again, often carried impacted in the earth of floating roots of
trees; and, as Darwin remarks, even the seeds of plants taken from
the crops of dead birds floating on the surface of the sea, germinate
when planted. Peas and vetches, " taken out of the crop of a
pigeon, which had floated on artificial sea-water for thirty days, to
my surprise," says Darwin, " nearly all germinated." Living birds,

PROBLEMS OF DISTRIBUTION AND THEIR SOLUTION. 165

next, act as efficient transporters of seeds. The hard seeds of many
fruits pass uninjured through the digestive system of birds, and
germinate thereafter. Even when a bird, containing seeds in its
digestive system, has been swallowed by a hawk or other bird of
prey, the seeds may be preserved intact during this double intus-
susception, and, on being disgorged by the flesh-eater, may germinate.
" Seeds of the oat, wheat, millet, canary, hemp, clover, and beet,
germinated after having been from twelve to twenty-one hours in
the stomachs of different birds of prey; and two seeds of beet
grew after having been thus retained for two days and fourteen hours."
As regards insects, locusts, says Darwin, " may be blown to great
distances from the land." A locust was caught 370 miles from the
coast of Africa. In November 1844, a swarm of locusts visited
Madeira, and Darwin remarks that, as from locust-dung he extracted
the seeds of seven grass plants, " a swarm of locusts such as that
which visited Madeira, might readily be the means of introducing
several kinds of plants into an island lying far from the mainland."
More curious still is it to discover a means of plant-dispersal in the
earth which adheres to the beak and feet of birds. From the leg of
a woodcock, a little cake of dry earth weighing nine grains was
removed by Mr. Darwin. In this earth a seed of the toad-rush was
contained, and this seed germinated. From the seeds contained in
the earth adhering to the leg of a partridge, which had been
kept for three years, Mr. Darwin obtained 82 plants. ''With such
facts before us," says Mr. Darwin, " can we doubt that the many
birds which are annually blown by gales across great spaces of ocean,
and which annually migrate — for instance, the millions of quails
across the Mediterranean— must occasionally transport a few seeds
imbedded in dirt adhering to their feet or beaks?" The agency
of icefloes and icebergs, which are frequently laden with earth, and
which have been known even to transport the nest of a land bird,
must likewise be considered as a means whereby transport of arctic
and antarctic species may have occurred. We must lastly add to
these artificial methods of plant-dispersal, the natural means which
exist in many plants for the diffusion of their offspring. Winged
seeds and fruits are by no means uncommon; the pappus or down
of the dandelion and other Composite present familiar examples of
natural contrivances for securing a wide distribution of their seeds ;
there are some flower-heads (Accena] which adhere to the fur of
animals or to the feathers of birds like our familiar "burrs"; and
other plants, again, possess more special contrivances still for securing
their adhesion to the animal integument.

The dispersal of animals in the same way is accomplished by
natural and casual means. The power of flight and of swimming
illustrate the former ; whilst the conveyance of an animal on drift-

1 66 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

wood, or the chance dispersal of their eggs by other animals or upon
plants, exemplify the accidental methods of diffusion. The minute
eggs of fishes have been known to adhere to the plumage of aquatic
birds ; even water-insects may transport fish-ova. The young of
shell-fish, like the cockle and oyster, at first swim freely in the sea,
and may migrate to vast distances ; and certain shell-fish (e.g. fresh-
water snails) deposit their eggs upon aquatic plants, which may like-
wise be conveyed for many miles by currents. That the feet ot
aquatic birds may convey minute or embryonic shell-fish to great
distances is rendered probable by observations of Mr. Darwin ; and
the same high authority remarks on the agency of aquatic birds in
conveying seeds which are contained in the mud of ponds adhering
to their feet. With regard to the dispersal of insects, the power of
flight is seen to confer obvious advantages upon this class of animals.
Even quadrupeds appear to possess occasional powers of dispersal,
which may account for their presence in situations that at first sight
would seem inaccessible to the race. The tiger is known to be a
powerful swimmer; and the pig, popularly credited with being
inefficient in the water, has been proved to be a swift swimmer
likewise. Quadrupeds may also be conveyed long distances on
driftwood, and may thus chance to be deposited in localities far
removed from their original habitat.

There is little difficulty in accounting for the mechanical means
and conditions whereby the dispersal of animals and plants is secured.
Hence, returning to the question of island-population, we find in the
Azores a collection of animals and plants, obviously derived from
adjoining areas, and which has as yet had but little time to develop,
through variation, a general distinctness of its own.

The Galapagos Islands present, as we have seen, the common
features of "oceanic" islands, in the absence of native quadrupeds
and amphibians, and in the fact that they are of volcanic origin.
They differ from the Azores, however, in that they possess two species
of snakes, lizards, and land-tortoises — the latter being of large size.
A single mouse exists in these islands ; but this quadruped belongs to
an American genus, and was probably introduced, since these islands
have been largely visited for 300 years back by sailors. The tortoises
are regarded as having been derived from the American continent,
and the lizards, of which there are five, are likewise typically American
in their character. That tortoises and lizards can travel for long
distances by water cannot be doubted ; and the fact that snakes
occur in the Galapagos, and may have reached these islands by
swimming — seeing that they are related to South American serpents —
is explained by the knowledge that snakes may swim for long distances.
A boa- constrictor has been known to swim to St. Vincent from the
South American coast, a distance of at least 200 miles. The birds

PROBLEMS OF DISTRIBUTION AND THEIR SOLUTION. 167

of the Galapagos number 57 species — 38 species being peculiar to
the islands. But the study of the birds is rendered extremely inter-
esting by the fact that we notice amidst their ranks all shades of
likeness and divergence from continental forms. Some species are
identical with American birds, whilst others are different from well-
nigh all other bird forms. Thus there is the rice-bird of Canada
and the United States remaining unchanged in the Galapagos Islands ;
whilst the short-eared owl, which, as Mr. Wallace says, " ranges from
China to Ireland," evinces a slight variation in its Galapagos form
from the familiar home bird. The finches and sugar-birds of the
Galapagos exist as distinct genera, and represent forms which, restricted
in range even in South America, have kept their chief peculiarities
intact, and have developed others sufficiently distinct to render their
race peculiar to these islands. Casual migration, along with a com-
paratively undisturbed residence in these islands, together explain
the distinct character of the bird-population, as well as of the lower
denizens of the Galapagos.

If the effects of land-separation and isolation are typically
witnessed in the case of the "oceanic" islands, the opposite results
of recent land-connections with continental areas are seen in the
history of the "continental" islands. Of these islands Great Britain
and Ireland form typical examples, as likewise do Japan, Borneo,
Java, and other areas. The "continental" islands evince a close
connection with the mother-land in the usually shallow sea — not as a
rule exceeding 100 fathoms in depth — which separates them from the
continent. They possess quadrupeds and reptiles, and these animals,
along with the remaining fauna, exhibit, as a rule, a close likeness to
the life of the larger area. All around the British Isles the 100-
fathom line persists, and joins Britain to Denmark, Holland, Belgium,
and France, as well as to Ireland on the west. The geological
proofs of our "recent" union with the continent are numerous and
indisputable. Probably after the greatest intensity of the glacial
epoch, Britain joined the continent for the last time ; and as our
quadrupeds are identical for the most part with those of France and
the continent, there can be little hesitation in endorsing the geological
opinion from the zoological standpoint. Possibly submergence after
Britain received its continental migrants, may account for our paucity
of species, when compared with continental life ; this subsidence
destroying and limiting what would otherwise have been an abundant
fauna. For we discover that whilst Belgium has 22 species of reptiles
and Amphibia, Britain possesses but 13, whilst Ireland has but 4
species — this latter result being due to the depth of the Irish Sea,
which is greater than that of the German Ocean: a fact pointing to the
more remote separation of Ireland, as compared with the continental
connections of Britain. Our islands possess, it must be remarked,

1 68 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

certain peculiar birds ; they are rich in peculiar fishes, and probably
in mosses of special kinds as well. But whilst these peculiarities
point to the existence of conditions which favour specialisation of
form, they do not in any sense oppose the idea — strengthened into
absolute fact by all the considerations of geology and biology —
namely, that at no remote date, but "recently " in a geological sense,
the " land of the free" itself had no special identity of its own, and
that all its future individuality was merged in its continuity with the
great continental area around.

A brief reference to the peculiarities of Madagascar and New
Zealand may serve to conclude our reflections on islands and
detached land areas, as illustrative of' the geological factors which
regulate the distribution of life on the earth's surface. The
peculiarities of New Zealand as a biological province have already
been discussed. Its want of native mammals and snakes, its single
frog, its peculiar lizard, and its living and extinct wingless birds, as
well as certain characters of its plant-life, mark it out as especially
peculiar. No less specialised and peculiar, on the other hand, is
Madagascar, the zoology of which has likewise been described.
The differences of its animals from those of the African continent ;
its peculiar lemurs ; its special insectivora and carnivora, and
rodents ; and its other biological features, render this great island a
highly specialised part of the world's surface. New Zealand and
Madagascar stand out prominently before us as examples of
"ancient continental islands." That "once upon a time" they
formed part of a continental area, no one may doubt ; but that
their separation has been so remote as well-nigh to justify the
appellation of " oceanic " islands, is also a logical deduction from
their biological history. In Madagascar and New Zealand are
beheld, in a word, the effects of isolation, which, depending in
turn upon geological changes and the submergence of land, gives
to the latter agencies their great power in modifying the life of the
globe. " Such islands," says Mr. Wallace, " preserve to us the
record of a bygone world — of a period when many of the higher
types had not yet come into existence, and when the distribution
of others was very different from what prevails at the present day."
It is in islands such as Madagascar and New Zealand, that we see
preserved to us the remnants of a fauna that may once have been
of world-wide extent. Mr. Wallace, again, remarks that " A
partial subsidence will have led to the extinction of some of the
types that were originally preserved, and may leave the ancient
fauna in a very fragmentary state ; while subsequent elevations
may have brought it so near to the continent that some immigration,
even of mammalia, may have taken place. If these elevations and
subsidences occurred several times over, though never to such an

PROBLEMS OF DISTRIBUTION AND THEIR SOLUTION. 169

extent as again to unite the island with the continent, it is evident
that a very complex result might be produced ; for, besides the relics
of the ancient fauna, we might have successive immigrations from
surrounding lands, reaching down to the era of existing species."
Thus, in the life of Madagascar, we see the results of isolation
interrupted by periods of connection with large continental areas.
The fact that the lemurs of Madagascar exist likewise in West
Africa, in the Indian region, Ceylon, and the Malay Archipelago, is
explicable— not by supposing a direct land-connection occupying
the site of the Indian Ocean — but by regarding these animals as
presenting us, in Madagascar, with the remnants, secured from harm
by isolation, of a once widely distributed lemur-population. This
group of animals, doubtfully classified to-day as the lowest order of
the monkey-tribe, as we know from the evidence of fossils, over-
ran Europe in the Eocene period of geology. We know that Africa
was separated from Europe and Asia in the Tertiary period by a large
sea-area. Thus, late in its history, were outlined the bounds of the
Ethiopia which the biologist has defined, and which, as we have seen,
has the desert region as its northern and natural boundary. Joined
to Africa in its earlier phases as an island, Madagascar doubtless
received from Africa the lower quadrupeds, reptiles, insects, and
other forms bearing evidence of a distant Australian or New World
relationship. Then came the separation of Madagascar from the
African continent — a phase of its history which left that island to
mature and develop the modified and peculiar species we see
within its limits to-day. At the same time this separation protected
it from the inroads of the higher animals coming from the north,
which we now find amongst the existing African fauna.

Similarly, the problem of the likenesses and differences between
the life of New Zealand and Australia are explicable only upon the
idea — supported by strong geological evidence — of land changes
of curious and complex character. Thus Eastern Australia must
have been separated from Western Australia in the Chalk period;
and whilst New Zealand was connected by shallow water with tropical
Australia, it was sharply demarcated from temperate Australia by
a deep sea. Thus is explained the fact of the plants which are
common to Australia and New Zealand being tropical and sub-
tropical in their nature. Direct land-connection between the two
countries, but a connection which at the same time was anything
but equivalent to continuity with existing Australia — seeing that
the latter was practically halved in the Chalk period — explains the
means whereby the underlying likeness between the life of these
islands was established.

By way of establishing still more firmly the truth of the axiom
that physical change forms one of the two main factors involved

170 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

in the regulation of life and its distribution, we may lastly glance
at the history of that peculiar race of quadrupeds, the Marsupials,
or " pouched " mammals, in their relations to Australia as their
headquarters and home. These animals, possessing the kangaroo
as their most familiar representative, are, with one exception, con-
fined to Australia, along with certain other and lower quadrupeds,
such as the Ornithorhynchiis and Echidna. The exception to
the rule that the two lowest orders of quadrupeds are confined to
the Australian region is the opossum family {Didelphid(Z\ which
occurs in the New World. Bearing in mind the facts that, firstly,
save a few recently introduced bats and a rodent or two, Australia
has no native mammals of higher grade ; that, secondly, the kan-
garoo and its neighbours represent in that land the fulness of quad-
ruped life elsewhere; and that, thirdly, save the opossums, those
animals are absolutely confined to Australia, — how, it may be asked,
are these peculiarities to be accounted for? If the theory of
special creation be appealed to, it would find it necessary to insist, in
virtue of its own terms, that the marsupials were created where we
now find them. Such a theory, however, supplies no intellectual
reason why the opossum, a typical enough marsupial, should have
been created in the New World, and thus have been left mysteriously
and arbitrarily outside the limits of the Marsupial or Australian
territory. Let us endeavour to ascertain what explanation of these
apparently anomalous facts the science of distribution can afford.

Firstly, from the geological side comes the evidence that Australia
has never possessed, at any time, any native quadrupeds of higher
type. All the fossil remains of the Tertiary and Post-Tertiary age
discovered in Australia are those of Marsupials, often of giant size,
but still allied to the existing quadrupeds of the region. But geology
opens up a new vista of thought before us when it reveals the fact
that in the earliest Tertiary period Marsupials occurred in Europe,
these being the remains of opossums. In older deposits — that is, in
the Oolite and Trias — of Europe, occur the remains of Marsupials,
some of which are well-nigh identical with the little banded ant-eater
(Myrmecobius] occurring in the Australia of to-day. Passing to
North America, we discover in the Triassic rocks of that continent
the Dromatherium, likewise an ally of the living ant-eater of Australia.
So far, therefore, from Marsupials having mysteriously sprung into
being in Australia, we discover that in Triassic times they existed not
only in Europe but in North America, and that, in fact, they may be
regarded as having possessed a wide Palaearctic range in that period
and in its succeeding Oolitic epoch likewise.

Let us note, again, that the marsupial and allied quadrupeds resem-
bling the ornithorhynchus were the oldest and earliest in time, as well
as the lowest in structure. The problem of the origin of the Australian

PROBLEMS OF DISTRIBUTION AND THEIR SOLUTION. 171

quadrupeds and of their distribution is not now difficult of solution.
We pass backwards in imagination to the Triassic and Oolitic times
to behold, then, the dawn of mammalian life. We see the Marsupial
tribes representing, in the ancient Palsearctic region, the fulness of the
quadruped life that was afterwards to dawn. No higher form of
mammalian existence was then to be seen. The carnivora and
rodents, the bats and apes, the hoofed quadrupeds, and the variety
of mammalian life that marks our day, was as yet unknown. But
Australia at this period is in geographical connection with the
Asiatic continent. Over a continuous land surface, these earliest
quadrupeds pass to people the Australian territory. Next comes the
separation of Australia from Asia. The Malay Archipelago repre-
sents the broken and divided land-connection, first severed probably
at the Straits of Lombok. The higher tribes of quadrupeds are
evolved from the lower tribes in the ancient Europeo-Asiatic con-
tinent. The defenceless lower Marsupials are worsted in the
" struggle for existence " that ensues. The higher " tooth and claw "
exterminate the lower races in the Palaearctic region ; but in Australia
the isolated, these Marsupials, free from the irruption of later carni-
vores with tooth and claw, and protected by the intervening sea from
the inroad of the higher quadruped- races, flourish and grow. As
time passes, the original species of Marsupials — that is, the first
emigrants to Australia — vary, and, through variation, produce new
races and species of these quadrupeds. Australia in due time
develops a quadruped population of its own, which repeats the
varied features of mammalian existence elsewhere. Thus again there
is presented to our view an illustration of the double work of land
alteration and specific or biological change, in developing a strange
and wondrous population on the surface of the earth.

Last of all, the history of the opossums and their distribution,
now limited to the New World, falls under the sway of the same
efficient explanation, supported by every fact of life and by all the
details of geological science.

Commencing their existence in the Palsearctic region — their fossil
remains occurring, for example, in the Eocene rocks of France — the
opossums represent a race which never at any period of their exist-
ence have dwelt in Australian territory. Their occurrence in
America is explicable, not on any theory of possible connection
between America and Australia, but on the plain hypothesis of their
migration to the New World by a continuous land surface in the
middle or towards the end of the Tertiary period, from Europe or
from Northern Asia as a centre. Their earliest fossils, in the New
World, occur in the American Post-Pliocene — that is, long after
their first appearance in European formations. Passing thus to the
New World, the opossums migrated southwards, where they flourished

172 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

and grew apace, comparatively unmolested by carnivora or other
enemies. Again extending their range northwards, they are found
in North America ; and they thus represent in the Western Hemi-
sphere a flourishing remnant of a race killed off from the Old World,
and driven, by stress of outward circumstances, to seek refuge in
the New.

Not less interesting is it to find that the existing life of Australia
at large fully endorses the biological dictum that in this island terri-
tory we find still represented the life which was once world-wide in
its extent in the Triassic and Oolitic period, in which period Australia
severed its connection with the Asiatic continent. As the marsupial
quadrupeds of the Oolite overran the existing land area of that day,
so they flourish, and flourish alone, in the Australia we ourselves know.
As the spine-bearing Port Jackson shark swims in the Australian
seas to-day, so the spiny fishes Acrodus and Strophodus swam in
the Oolitic seas that washed Palaearctic and other coasts. As the
shell-fish Trigoma lived in tbe seas of the Stonesfield Slate period
around our shores, so that Trigoma still persists on the Australian
coasts alone. And, lastly, as the Araucarian pines and cycads
grew in Oolitic times in our own area, so they grow now in Australian
territory — a remnant, like the quadrupeds and fishes, of a flora and
fauna once well-nigh universal, but now limited to the region of the
earth wherein alone the original conditions of their life are truly
represented.

If geological change isolating or uniting land areas, and the
variation and modification of species consequent upon such separa-
tion or union, be thus credited with constituting the great factors
and powers which have produced the existing distribution of animals
and plants, and which have regulated that distribution in all time
past, we may now briefly glance at the main features which the
great biological regions of the world have exhibited in relation to the
changes and alterations of their boundaries they have from time to
time undergone.

Whilst the late Sir Charles Lyell and other geologists were found
not so long ago to declare that the great continents of the world
" shift their positions entirely in the course of ages," a clearer under-
standing of geological evidence has completely established the doc-
trine of the permanence of the great continental areas, and of the
general stability in time of the main masses of the land. It is need-
ful to make ourselves acquainted with this fact, inasmuch as, if the
distribution of life depends primarily on the distribution of land and
sea, a clear understanding of the agencies regulating the develop-
ment of animals and plants on the globe will be gained only when
the physical changes in question are duly appreciated. The geolo-
gical evidence, then, goes to prove that, whilst the general mass of the

PROBLEMS OF DISTRIBUTION AND THEIR SOLUTION. 173

continents has remained unchanged, their minor features and more
intimate details have been subjected to frequent disturbance. Thus
in the past, as at present, the uniformity of geological action postu-
lates the work of rivers in eroding the land, of the sea in defacing
the coasts, of ice in carving the land surface, and of volcanic action
in depressing this area or elevating that, and in causing the sea to
flow here, or to repress its march there. Professor A. Geikie maintains
that the stratified rocks, instead of being formed in the beds of deep
oceans, " have all been deposited in comparatively shallow water."
And, again, this eminent geologist remarks of the manner in which
this earth's materials have been formed, that " From all this evi-
dence, we may legitimately conclude that the present land of the
globe, though formed in great measure of marine formations, has
never lain under the deep sea ; but that its site must always have
been near land. Even its thick marine limestones," adds Professor
Geikie, " are the deposits of comparatively shallow water."

Thus with the proofs of the general permanence and stability of our
great continents at hand, we can completely account for all the plainer
facts, and for many of the difficulties, of distribution. For example,
we infer that about the middle of the Tertiary period, Europe and
Asia, as at present, formed one continuous land surface, which con-
tained as its inhabitants the elephants, rhinoceroses, giraffes, apes,
and other forms now found only in the Oriental and Ethiopian
regions. Antelopes were then found in Southern Europe, and the
giraffes extended from the South of Europe to the North of India.
But we must likewise take account of those more intimate changes
of land and sea which accompanied the general permanence of the
continents. At the time we are considering, Africa south of the
Desert was a large island ; India and Ceylon were isolated by sea
from Asia; Northern Africa was united to the South of Europe ;
Asia Minor was joined to Greece ; — the outlines of the great zoolo-
gical regions of the Old World were, in short, actually mapped out
in the middle of the Tertiary period in the then existing lands and
seas. But neither the detached India nor the isolated Africa pos-
sessed the abundant quadruped life of Europe and Asia. They
possessed only the lower life of the Eocene time. When, however, the
next series of physical alterations took place, when land passages
arose between Europe and Asia together on the one hand, and
Africa and India on the other, the higher quadrupeds migrated to
these areas. There some adapted themselves to their new condi-
tions, ami flourished in their new localities, whilst others succumbed
to the more rigorous surroundings which faced them. The ante-
lopes, for instance, migrating to Africa, flourished in Ethiopia,
because there they found a plentiful vegetation and the other condi-
tions of life calculated to produce the development of new species

174 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

by the modification of the old. The bears and deer are unknown
in Africa, on the contrary, since they were later comers in European
territory, and because they found migration a difficult or impossible
task. The fauna which Europe then gave to Ethiopia was killed
off in the former by the climatal changes which succeeded these
Miocene times, and which left the region to be peopled after the
glacial cold, by the hardier forms which we now call our representa-
tive animals. Similarly, India as the Oriental province possessed
when detached from Asia its own lower Edentates, and its lemurs ;
but when it became united with the Asiatic continent, it received
from the north, like Africa, its new complement of animals — its
monkeys, tigers, elephants, and other forms — these animals arising
in the ancient Palsearctic land, whence, as we have seen, the earlier
marsupials themselves migrated to people the other quarters of the
globe.

The history of the New World is equally instructive, both as
regards the proofs it supplies of the permanence of the continents,
along with the evidences of the same laws of dispersal and migration
of life which the consideration of the Old World areas affords. The
first fact of importance in the scientific history of the New World
areas consists in the knowledge that in the Post-Pliocene times the
life of the Nearctic region approached very closely to that of the
Palsearctic province. In the Post- Pliocene formations of America,
we find the fossil remains of numerous carnivora, horses, camels,
bisons, and elephants. Of the living elephants, as we have seen, the
existing New World knows nothing. The horses were reintroduced
by man ; whilst the buffalo certainly represents the bisons, and the
llamas similarly represent the camels. Before the Post-Pliocene
time, geology reveals that America possessed rhinoceroses, special
forms of ruminants, and a porcupine decidedly of Old World type.
In the still earlier Miocene period, North America had its lemurs —
now limited to India, Africa, and Madagascar — many carnivora,
camels, deer, and tapirs. Earlier still, that is, in the Eocene period,
there lived in North America animals unlike any forms now existent.
There were the Tillodonts and Dinoceratidae of Professor Marsh,
which appear to have united in themselves the characters of several
distinct orders of quadrupeds. There is thus every reason to believe
that in the Post-Pliocene period, at least, and in earlier times like-
wise, there was free land communication between the Palsearctic
and Nearctic areas. So that it requires no stretch of hypothesis to
assume that the horses, camels, elephants, and other quadrupeds of
America — proved to be near allies of European fossil forms — must
have freely intermingled with those of Europe. That Europe, or,
more properly, the Palsearctic region, must have been the original
source whence the Nearctic land obtained its mastodons, porcupines,

PROBLEMS OF DISTRIBUTION AND THEIR SOLUTION. 175

deer, and other quadrupeds, is proved by the fact that these
animals are known to have lived and flourished in Europe long
before they occurred in America. So that, as Mr. Wallace puts it,
"As the theory of evolution does not admit the independent deve-
lopment of the same group in two disconnected regions to be
possible, we are forced to conclude that these animals have migrated
from one continent to the other. Camels, and perhaps ancestral
horses," adds Mr. Wallace, " on the other hand, were more abundant
and more ancient in America, and may have migrated thence into
Northern Asia." The physical difficulties of such a land connection
at Behring's Straits or across Baffin's Bay, are not, it may be remarked,
by any means insuperable.

Then, likewise, we must take into account the share which South
America, or the Neotropical region, has had in influencing the dis-
tribution of life in the New World at large. North America seems
in the Post-Pliocene epoch to have been a literal focus wherein
Palsearctic life commingled with life from the South. Thus the
North American Post-Pliocene deposits give us sloths and other
forms of Edentate mammals, llamas, tapirs, and peccaries, all of
which are typically South American ; whilst some are identical with
living Neotropical species. The bone-caves of South America show
us that this region, like Australia, possessed in Post-Pliocene times
the same description of quadruped life that now distinguishes it. As
giant kangaroos lived in Australia, so gigantic sloths and armadillos
lived in South America ; and its chinchillas, spiny rats, bats, and
peculiar monkeys were likewise existent then as now. In addition,
we find that, as North America possessed its peculiar groups of lower
quadrupeds in its tillodonts and other forms, so South America
likewise had its special types of life, such as the Macrauchenia^
resembling the tapirs, and the Toxodonts, related at once to the
hoofed quadrupeds and to other groups. But, whilst the quadruped
immigrations into North America likewise affected South America, it
must be borne in mind that the isolation and separation of South
America from the northern part of the continent, as indicated by its
regional distinctness, must have largely influenced the develop-
ment of its own peculiar life — just, indeed, as the peculiarities of
North America are due to its separation, in turn, from the Palaearctic
area. And when we further discover the all-important fact that the
fishes on each side of the Isthmus of Panama are identical, the
theory of the relatively recent continuity of sea at this point, and
the consequent separation of Neotropical from Nearctic land, rises
into the domain of fact. Thus we see in North America a region
which has repeatedly received and exchanged tenants with the great
Europeo- Asiatic continent ; which has, in consequence, developed a
close resemblance to the life of the Palaearctic region ; and which

176 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

has, likewise, been to a slight extent modified by the migration
northwards of southern forms. In the life of South America we
perceive, on the other hand, the results of longer isolation and
greater specialisation. There the development of special forms of
life has accordingly progressed to a much greater extent than in
North America ; and the effect of a commingling of types has been
largely prevented by its relatively recent junction with Nearctic land.
As in Australia the lower types of quadruped life have been preserved
by the isolation of that area, so in South America the preservation
of the sloths, armadillos, and ant-eaters, and the development of
special forms of monkeys and other quadrupeds, are to be regarded
as the fruits of that separation which secures protection to lower and
comparatively defenceless life.

A glance at some of the difficulties of distribution, and a reference
-to the influence of migration upon the distribution of life, may draw
our consideration of this topic to a close. The progress of any
science from the stage wherein it formulates its beliefs in theory, to
that when its theories rise through cumulative proof into the higher
region of fact, is not accomplished without trial and tribulation.
Criticism, destructive and constructive, is the lot of every scientific
theory. But the earnest and unbiassed mind welcomes the criticism
wherein the trial of its beliefs is contained, as the honest mind gauges
the tenability of its beliefs by the residue, large or small, of solid fact
which it is able to collect after the critical assault upon its stronghold is
overpast. Of the science of distribution it may be said that its evil days
are fairly past. Critics it has had, and biological opinions may even
now be found to differ regarding the minor details of its constitution.
But the larger and more fundamental propositions of distributional
science remain untouched. They have passed out of the sphere of
discussion, and have taken their place amongst the stable facts
of the scientific system. It is necessary, however, to detail one or
two examples of the difficulties which may still disturb the com-
plexion of the scientific mind, and which are ever welcome to the
devotees of a science, since they afford the means whereby the weak
points and the unsettled problems of the science may be strengthened
and solved.

Of such difficulties, then, let us specify a few instances, by way
o showing how readily their solution may, through careful considera-
tion, be obtained. Mr. Sclater has specified in a highly distinct
manner a few of the knotty points that await the student of distribu-
tion, and has thus afforded opportunity for the discussion of the
subject, and for their explanation or modification by the exercise of
scientific acumen and research. Taking the case of the lemurs —
those curious quadrupeds usually classified as lower monkeys — we
are presented with certain apparent anomalies in their distribution

PROBLEMS OF DISTRIBUTION AND THEIR SOLUTION. 177

over the surface of the globe. Thus the lemurs have their head-
quarters in Madagascar, as already remarked, but they also occur in
the Eastern Archipelago. They are scattered, to use the words ot
Mr. Wallace, " from Sierra Leone to Celebes, and from Natal to
Eastern Bengal and South China." How, it may be asked, can the
apparently erratic nature of the distribution of these animals be
accounted for ? and how can the facts of such a straggling population
be harmonised with those conceptions of orderly biological and
physical laws on which the science of distribution bases its existence ?
Mr. Sclater himself, in 1864, postulated the former existence
of a continent occupying the site of the existing Indian Ocean.
This continent, named Lemuria, he conceived might have formed
the headquarters of the lemur group, whence they became radiated
and dispersed east and west. Such an hypothesis is no longer
required, however, to account for the curious distribution of
the lemurs. In the light of new facts, and especially in the face
of geological evidence, the existence of the theoretical " Lemuria "
is rendered unnecessary. Mr. Sclater's perfectly justifiable sup-
position has simply been superseded by more natural explanations
of the distribution of the lemurs, whilst the views entertained
regarding the permanence of the great ocean basins and of the
continental land areas are likewise opposed to the theory of a
former land-connection between the Ethiopian and Oriental ter-
ritories. For what are the geological facts concerning the range of
the lemurs in the past ? Their fossil remains occur in the Eocene
rocks of France — that is, in the lowest and oldest of the Tertiary
deposits — the remains in question being those of a form allied to
the existing " potto" of West Africa ; and in North America, where
the lemurs exist to-day, the Lower Eocene rocks afford evidence
of their existence in the past of the New World. So that we find at
the outset our difficulties largely resolved by the bare mention of
the idea that the existing anomalies in the range of the lemurs
really depend upon their past history. In a word, as the "Marsupial "
population of Australia is to be regarded as a survival, owing to land
separation, of an animal class once world-wide in its range, so the
lemurs now found at distant points in Africa and Asia, are merely
the survivals of a lemurine family circle once represented both in
the Old World and in the New. We know of their existence in
Eocene times in Europe, and thence they probably spread in all
directions — to Africa, Madagascar, Asia, and elsewhere. Killed off
over the general area inhabited by their race, the lemurs have re-
mained in the environs of the earth, so to speak, because there, to
this day, the competition with higher forms is not too severe. Like
the American opossums, the lemurs represent to-day the mere
remnants of a once world-wide class. Their distribution has not

N

1 78 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

been one from Asia to Africa, or vice versa, through a once existent
" Lemuria," but has really been a diffusion from Europe, or from the
Palaearctic region probably to the adjoining regions and to the
New World.

A second case of difficulty in connection with the distribution of
quadrupeds is that of the peculiar animals forming the order Insedi-
vora, a group familiarly represented by the moles, shrews, and hedge-
hogs. This order of quadrupeds is highly singular in its range and
distribution. It is entirely unrepresented in Australia and South
America, and its representative species occur in the Palasarctic,
Oriental, and Ethiopian regions ; whilst North America also possesses
moles and shrews, probably of very recent introduction into that
continent. But more curious still is the fact that the Insectivora
include certain peculiar and isolated animals, which inhabit detached
regions, and which present problems for solution in the way of an
explanation of the how and why of their existence on the earth's
surface. For example, a curious animal (Solenodori) is found only in
two West Indian islands, namely, in Cuba and Hayti. Again, the
nearest relations of Solenodon occur in Madagascar, where, under the
name of the Centetidaz or " Madagascar hedgehogs," they flourish in
numbers. Thus we are required to explain the following facts :
Firstly, the detached existence of Solenodon in the Antilles ; secondly,
the similarly isolated distribution of the species of Centetes in Mada-
gascar ; and thirdly, the absence of any species of Centetes in the
intervening African continent.

In attempting to solve these problems we find that the way of
investigation lies along the same lines as those which lead to a
solution of the case of the lemurs. The existing Insectivora are
small animals, mostly living in areas where they are removed from
the direct effects of competition with other and stronger forms.
Their fossil history is fragmentary but important • for we discover a
link that connects Solenodott of the New World with Centetes of the
Old World, in the fossil Centetida which occur in European deposits
of Lower Miocene age. With even this solitary fact at hand, we
begin to discover that the problem before us is not the bridging of
the gulf between the West Indies and Madagascar, but the simpler
task of accounting for the survival in out-of-the-way corners of the
earth of a group once far more widely distributed. Thus Madagascar
obtained its species of Centetes just as the West Indies obtained their
Solenodon, namely, at a time when land-connection with a larger land
area permitted these insectivores to gain admittance to what was
shortly to become a detached island area. As has been pointed out,
the conditions of life which exist in Madagascar closely resemble
those of the Antilles, and both differ in turn from the conditions that
prevail on the adjacent continents. There is an absence of large

PROBLEMS OF DISTRIBUTION AND THEIR SOLUTION. 179

quadrupeds, a lack of carnivores, a complete separation from larger
areas by deep sea, and, in fact, a full representation of all the condi-
tions which suit these insectivores, just as conversely on the continents
the conditions are unfavourable to the prosperity and increase of their
race. We do not require to connect the Antilles and Madagascar on
account of these animals, any more than we need to postulate the
existence of a former Pacific land-connection between Asia and
America because the camels of the former continent are related to
the llamas of the latter. And when we further reflect that Madagascar
preserves a mouse nearly related to a New World type, and snakes
belonging to a typical American group, we at once note how the
principle of seeking to prove the former wide distribution of a race
of animals and its modern limitation by geological and biological
changes forms the best clue to many of the difficulties of this science.
It is a clue, moreover, which is at once originated and supported by
the fossil histories of the animals whose distribution is the subject of'
remark.

A third case which has excited the attention of students of dis-
tribution is that concerning the past history of the giant tortoises
found in the Mascarene and Galapagos Islands — the former belonging
to the Madagascar group, and the latter being situated 600 miles
from the South American coast. Of these tortoises, as Dr. G anther
has shown us, three chief groups exist. One of these inhabits the
Galapagos, a second occurs on the coral island of Aldabra to the
north of Madagascar, and a third, which has become extinct, inhabited
the Mascarene group of islands. But our difficulties are lessened in
this case — which demands the explanation of the existence of appar-
ently similar forms in widely removed areas — by the knowledge that
these tortoises, though apparently related, in reality belong to distinct
types, and that, therefore, the necessity for presuming a connection
between their distribution thus disappears. The Galapagos tortoises
may be presumed to have come from the American continent ; and as
these animals can survive long exposure to sea, and are tenacious of
life, their own conveyance or that of their eggs, on driftwood for
example, is an hypothesis involving no great demands upon a scientific
imagination. The Mascarene tortoises may have similarly been con-
veyed from Africa ; and there is no greater difficulty, therefore, in
accounting for the detached existence of these great reptiles, than in
explaining how their more diminutive kith and kin, belonging, like
the giant tortoises, to different groups, have acquired such an extensive
range over the earth's surface.

Indeed, the case of the tortoises may serve to remind us of that
of Hassans, an animal formerly regarded as a kind of weasel or civet,
but shown conclusively by Professor Flower to belong to the racoons
of the New World. Bassaris, however, inhabits California, Texas,

N 2

I8o STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

and Upper Mexico, and when it was regarded as a " civet" (Viver-
ridtz), an anomaly at once arose, since all known "civets" inhabit
the Old World. But when the supposed " civet " was proved to be
a member of the racoon group, all the difficulties of the case
vanished ; inasmuch as, being one of the Procyonida or racoons,
it fell naturally into its habitat, since all the members of this family
are limited in their distribution to the New World. An error in
classification may thus generate anomalies in distribution which
further research proves to have no real existence.

These illustrations of the manner in which the difficulties of dis-
tribution are resolved may serve to show besides the wide demands
which this science makes upon well-nigh every department of natural
science. The issues of distribution, in fact, involve an acquaintance
with the entire range of not merely biological study but of geological
investigation as well ; whilst the deductions of distributional science,
more perhaps than those of any other department of biology, open up
before us the widest possible vista of human knowledge, and link to-
gether the varied interests of workers in every field of natural-science
study. Nor is it in the grander aspects of this science that its far-reach-
ing extent is alone to be seen. Even the apparently trivial details that
constitute the story of the life existing on a barren and desolate
islet may play an important part in the solution of questions dealing
with the nature of life in its highest grades. Thus availing itself
of knowledge from every source, this department of biology, more
forcibly perhaps, as a whole, than any other branch of life-science,
demonstrates how the true history of the existing universe is a
history of variation and change — a chronicle, whereof the materials
for each fresh chapter are derived from the lessons and the teachings
of both the remote and the recent past.

iSi

VIII.

SONGS WITHOUT WORDS.

I AM spending a lazy holiday at the edge of a wood, and find life
under a summer sky and in a summer temperature endurable, but
nothing more. I recline on a mossy bank, and if not exactly sub
tegminefagi— for the tree overhead is a sturdy oak — I can yet appre-
ciate the coolness of the shadow cast by the foliage above. A clear
space in front, allows the eye to wander at will over meadow-land and
corn-field. Some idle cows, animated by like impulses to those
which impel humanity, are congregated beneath the beeches in an
adjoining meadow, and sweep with their tails the humming congrega-
tion of flies bent on annoying bovine existence, which placidly
ruminates, insects notwithstanding. The humming of the flies forms
well-nigh the only sound one can hear on this stillest of days, but
now and then a rook overhead will adjudicate some domestic diffi-
culty with a loud " caw," and after a circling flight will once more sink
to rest in the bosom of his family. Now and then a sleepy chirp
reminds one of bird-existence above, but the laziness of living nature
on a warm summer day is, to say the least of it, remarkable. In
the thicket and apple-orchard beyond, I could find busy life in all its
forms. I could show you my coleopterous friends the burying-beetles,
hard at work interring the mouse that has come somehow or other to
an untimely end ; and to watch them toiling in their cuirassed jackets
is a procedure exciting our sympathy much in the same way as you
pity a fatigue-party of soldiers doing duty on a sweltering day.
Bees, wasps, and flies, on their mission of pollen-distribution and
flower-fertilisation, are busy enough in their turn ; but the heat is
cogent argument against work, and, like the cows, one may profitably
rest and ruminate.

To-day one's thoughts glance off at a tangent, excited by no very
poetical stimulus perhaps, but by an incident which, however com-
monplace it may seem, nevertheless leads to the domain of the
natural, and, I will add, is somewhat within the vein of poesie also.
My stimulus has been the cawing of rooks, the humming of flies and
bees, and the chirping of a grasshopper — also lazily inclined, if I may
judge from the quiet and self-possessed manner in which it progresses
between the grass-blades close by. From the hearing of such sounds,
one's thoughts insensibly merge towards the diffusion of voice in lower
life at large. The faint tinkle of a piano reaches my ear through the

1 82 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE

open window of the adjoining house. It is my hostess amusing her-
self with musical snatches, reveries, and reminiscences. Now it is a
fragment of the last German waltz, musical, swinging, and so rhyth-
mical that feet insensibly and automatically begin to describe
imaginary circles, and the mind to conjure up visions of smooth
waxed-floors, and gas-lights and whirling couples, keeping pace to the
melody. Now, the waltz-phase has passed, and she strikes a sweeter
chord. I should know these notes. Of course — the Lieder ohne
Worte, most poetical of strains, wherein one can find sympathy and
consolation for many troubles of body and mind, and from which one
can weave words and phrases to suit the impassioned chords and the
fleeting moods of the listener's mind. Just so. Mendelssohn has
inspired me with a title at least. I shall shake off the languor of
laziness and hie me indoors ; and whilst my good hostess is pleasing
herself and unconsciously delighting me with Felix the divine, I will
indite me a little article on the " Songs without Words " one may
hear in halls with leafy canopies, and in cathedrals whose aisles are
flanked by massive columns of gnarled stems, and whose roofs are
formed by the blue vault of heaven itself.

In which classes of animals do we find sound to be produced in
lower life ? Such is a query not inappropriate in view of the nature
and extent of the fields over which our inquiries may travel. Our
starting-point will be found in the insects, and possibly, also, amongst
the nearly related but zoologically distinct spiders. Upwards we may
travel through the molluscs, or shellfish, without meeting with any
distinct example of sound-producing organs. Arriving at the lowest
confines of man's own sub-kingdom, we pass to the fishes and find
therein some few but notable examples of sound-producing animals.
The frogs, with a not unmusical croak — a sound expressive enough
in ears which are open to hear — come next in order ; and amongst
the reptiles which succeed the frogs we find voice, it is true, but of
indefinite type. Sweetest of all " songs without words " are those of
the birds ; and it is both curious and important to remark on the
structural nearness of the birds to the reptiles — these two classes
being related in a most intimate fashion in many points of structure
and development. Above the birds come the quadrupeds, with
voices high and low, for the most part unmusical and often harsh,
but possessing as their crowning glory the songs with words of
man. Thus we discover a wide field before us, in the investigation
of the voices which speak in the unknown tongues of lower life.
Let us see if the interest of the subject may be found to equal its
extent.

There is little need, I apprehend, to preface our discussion with
a discourse on elementary zoology, by way of informing readers that
only in the vertebrates or highest group of animals do we meet with

SONGS WITHOUT WORDS. 183

an approach to the vocal organs of man. Even in lower vertebrates
themselves, as in many fishes, an organ of voice may be altogether
wanting, and sounds, as we shall hereafter see, may be produced in
fashions other than those in which man produces vocal sounds.
What may have to be said of the voice of higher animals may be
left for our after-consideration. We may begin our researches in a
humbler vein, and investigate the " droning flight," the busy hum,
and the lover's chirpings of insect life. We find a suitable text in the
grasshoppers which chirp so loudly in the meadows around. A very
curious order of insects is that which includes the grasshoppers,
locusts, crickets, and earwigs as its chief representatives. They
possess mouths adapted for biting, hinder wings which have straight
ribs, and which are folded like fans, and, in the case of the first three
insects, greatly elongated hind legs, conferring upon them a marvel-
lous power of progressing by a series of leaps. As you hear the
" cricket on the hearth " call to its mate, or the cricket of the field
similarly attracting the notice of Mrs. Grasshopper, you might well be
tempted to believe that the insects possessed organs of voice analogous
to those of higher animals. But the song of the cricket is truly one
without words, inasmuch as it is produced by a mechanical process
of mere friction, and not through any more elaborate mechanism,
such as one expects to find in the vocal apparatus of higher life. It
is well to remark that in all cases the specialised sounds emitted by
insects are intended as " calls " to attract the notice of their mates.
It is a notable fact that the female insects, in the majority of instances,
do not possess the means for causing sounds, and when present in the
latter this apparatus remains as a rule in an undeveloped condition.
Aristotle of old was perfectly familiar with this fact as applied to the
classic cicada • and a not over-gallant poet, Xenarchus, hailing from
Rhodes, inspired possibly by the memories of many remonstrances
from the female side of the house, seizes the naturalist's text, and
declares —

Happy the cicadas' lives,

Since all-voiceless are their wives.

An observation of Mr. Bates, in his " Naturalist on the Amazons/'
clearly shows the purpose served of the " stridulation " — as the
faculty of producing sound is named in insects. A male field-cricket,
like some gay troubadour, has been seen to take up his position at
the entrance of his burrow in the twilight. Loud and clear sound
his notes, until, on the approach of a partner, his song becomes more
subdued, softer, and all-expressive in its nature, and as the captivated
and charmed one approaches the singer she is duly caressed and
stroked with his antennae as if by way of commendation for her ready
response 'to his love-notes. Thus insect courtship progresses much
as in higher life, although, indeed, the siren-notes belong in the

i84 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

present case to the sterner sex, and thus reverse the order of things
in higher existence.

The sound-producing apparatus in these insects consists of a
peculiar modification of the wings, wing-covers, and legs. Thus the
grasshopper's song is due to the friction produced by the first joint of
the hind leg (or thigh) against the wing-covers or first pair of wings
— a kind of mechanism which has been aptly compared to a species
of violin -playing. On the inner side of the thigh a row of very fine
pointed teeth, numbering from eighty to ninety or more, is found.
When the wing-covers or first wings are in turn inspected, their ribs
or " nervures " are seen to be very sharp and of projecting nature,
and these latter constitute the " strings," so to speak, of the violin.
Both " fiddles " are not played upon simultaneously ; the insect first
uses one and then the other, — thus practising that physiological
economy which is so frequently illustrated by the naturalist's studies.
Some authorities, in addition, inform us that the base of the tail in
these insects is hollowed so as to constitute a veritable sounding-
board, adapted to increase the resonance of the song. And this
latter faculty is still more plainly exemplified in certain exotic insects
allied to the grasshoppers ; these foreign relations having the bodies
of the males distended with air for the purpose of increasing and in-
tensifying the sound.. Again, whilst, as already remarked, it is the
gentlemen-insects which produce the sounds, there exist a few cases
in which the lady-insects appear to emulate the violin- playing instincts
of their mates.

The locusts are perhaps the most notable singers of their order.

The locust's song has been heard distinctly at night at a mile's distance

from the singers. In North America the katydid (Cyrtophyllus con-

cavus\ a well-known species of locust, is so named from the peculiar

sound of the song, which closely resembles the words " katy-did-she-

did," and a writer describes this insect as beginning its "noisy

babble " early in the evening as it perches on the upper branches of

a tree, " while rival notes issue from the neighbouring trees, and the

groves resound with the call of katy-did-she-did the livelong night."

In the locusts, the two front wings (or wing-covers, as they are called,

from their function of protecting the hinder and serviceable wings)

produce the song. The right wing is the fiddle, the left serving as

the bow. A special rib on the under side of the latter is finely

toothed, and is rubbed backwards and forwards over the upper ribs

of the right wing, thus producing the chirp. When the crickets are

examined, the disposition of the wing-covers is seen to resemble that

of the locusts, but with the difference that both wing-covers have the

same structure, each being alternately used as violin and bow. Of

the grasshopper tribe, the locusts have perhaps attained to the highest

pitch of musical efficiency ; the grasshoppers themselves come next

SONGS WITHOUT WORDS. 185

in order, whilst the crickets are the least specialised and most primi-
tive of all. It is a most noteworthy observation that in this group of
insects a special organ of hearing is developed, the production of
hearing powers thus taking place contemporaneously with the perfec-
tion of the song. Organs of hearing have been certainly discovered
only in the insects under consideration. By some naturalists, the
antennae or feelers, borne on the head, have been credited with the
performance of this function, but this view is problematical at the
best. In the grasshoppers the " ears " consist of two organs, some-
what resembling drums in general conformation. These are found
at the attachments of the last pair of legs. In the cricket and locust
the hearing organs are found on the fore-legs. Thus it is both curious
and interesting to find that the development of sounds and the pro-
duction of ears to hear have taken place together in this group of
insects, which geologically may claim to be one of the most ancient
of the insect class. And the fact in question best illustrates to us
that correlation between the varied ways and means of life which is
so continually exemplified by the researches of workers in science
byways.

We stray in pastures classical and especially Anacreon-wise,
when we endeavour to investigate the biography of the cicada,
whose marital happiness in the possession of a silent partner has
already been remarked. Says Anacreon of the cicada : —

Thee, all the muses hail a kindred being ;
Thee, great Apollo owns a dear companion ;
Oh ! it was he who gave that note of gladness,
Wearisome never.

The Greeks of old delighted, and the Chinese to-day find pleasure,
in the song of cicadas, imprisoned in cages like birds ; and as Kirby
and Spence tell us, the emblem of music was a cicada sitting on a
harp. This fashion of doing honour to the insect arose from the
legend that Eunomus and Ariston, two rival Orpheuses, were con-
tending for a prize in harp-playing. Eunomus broke a string of his
harp during the competition, but a cicada, who, doubtless through a
kindred interest in musical science, had been a spectator of the con-
test, flew to the instrument, and seating itself thereupon, supplied
with its note the place of the missing string. Little can we wonder,
of course, that Eunomus gained the prize in this legendary competi-
tion. The sound-producing apparatus of the cicada was formerly
believed to consist of a special modification of the breathing openings
of these insects. The breathing organs of insects consist of a com-
plicated arrangement of trachece or delicate air-tubes which ramify
throughout their bodies and convey air literally to every portion of
their frames. The air is admitted to this peculiar system of air-tubes
by means of apertures placed on the sides of the body and named

186 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

spiracles ; these openings being capable of closure at the will of the
insect — a matter of absolute necessity for its safety during the rapidity
of flight. The cicada sings during the day, and almost solely when
the sun shines brightly. Virgil himself remarks of the insect that it
sings, " sole sub ardente," and of the tropical species Mr. Bates
remarks that " one large kind, perched high on the trees around our
little haven, set up a most piercing chirp ; it began," continues our
author, "with the usual harsh jarring note of its tribe, but this
gradually and rapidly became shriller, until it ended in a long and
loud note, resembling the steam whistle of a locomotive engine."
Thus much by way of introduction to the cicada and its music.

Both sexes possess the musical apparatus, but that of the female
is comparatively simple as compared with the " drum " of her mate,
and is never used, as we have seen, for producing sounds. The
apparatus in question is situated in the last joint of the cicada's chest
and in the succeeding and front joints of its tail. Briefly described,
the "drum" or "timbale" of the insect consists of a tightly stretched
membrane and other structures, capable of being affected, stretched,
and otherwise manipulated, by certain muscles, along with certain
cavities destined to increase the resonance of the notes ; whilst we
may not omit to mention the spiracles or breathing apertures as
playing an important part in the production of the song. The drum
is the song-producer, which, through its vibrations, gives origin to
the characteristic sounds, and the accessory apparatus serves to
increase the intensity of the notes. And the spiracles or breathing
apparatus may be lastly noted to play an important part in this
process, since they serve to maintain the necessary equilibrium
between the external air and the atmosphere imprisoned in the
cavities already mentioned, as serving to increase and intensify the
sounds. Abundant evidence testifies to the fact of the song of the
cicada being used to allure the female insects, and voice is thus again
witnessed as a means of courtship. Is there, after all, not a strong
analogy betwixt the love-song and the low and tender accents of the
lover's part as played by humanity, and the song of the cicada with
its varying intonations and accents appealing as powerfully in favour
of the attractive swain as in the world of thought and mind ? And it
seems, indeed, a laudable enough inference, not merely that rivalry in
song is a stated and regular occurrence in cicada-life, but that, through
such competition in voice, the weakest go to the wall, whilst the
most musical insects come to the front in the " struggle for
existence."

An array of mailed forms,, including " the shard-borne beetle with
his drowsy hum," next demands attention. In no beetle, and indeed
in no other insects, do we meet with the perfection of vocalisation
seen in the grasshoppers and their relations. . And with the beetle we

SONGS WITHOUT WORDS. 187

approach more clearly to the region of " hums " and droning, and
leave that of specialised sounds, such as we have been metaphorically
hearing in the cicadas. To pass from the latter insects to the beetles,
bees, flies, and their neighbours, appears to be a transition almost as
wide as that between the articulate language or arithmetic of culture,
and the scanty vocabulary of the savage or the primitive mathematics
of the tribe who can count ten as represented on their fingers and
toes, but ask in amazement why there should be more things in the
world. In the beetles the sound-producing organ is comparable to a
kind of " rasp '; which moves upon an adjoining surface. The site of
the organ in question varies in different beetles. In some the rasps
are situated on the upper surface of one or two of the tail-segments,
and are rubbed against the hinder edges of the wing-covers. Some-
times the rasp is placed quite at the tip of the tail ; and in some
well-known beetles (such as the weevils) the rasps may be borne on
the wing-covers and may produce the stridulating sound by rubbing
against the edges of the joints of the tail. Amongst the sounds pro-
duced by beetles, the weird noise of the death-watch (Anobium)
stands pre-eminent. The sound produced by these beetles resembles
the ticking of a watch, and they may be made to respond by placing
a watch close by their habitats. The female death-watches are known
to tick in response to the sounds of the male insects. The noise is
produced apparently by the insect raising itself on its legs and by its
striking its chest against the adjoining wood. Thus the simple ex-
planation of an insect call explains away the superstition expressed
in Gay's line : —

The solemn death-watch clicked the hour she died.

Butterflies and moths are known occasionally to produce sounds,
which proceed in one or two cases at least from a drum- like membrane
analogous to that seen in cicada. Mr. Darwin, indeed, mentions that
one species (Ageroma feronid] "makes a noise like that produced by
a spring catch, which can be heard at the distance of several yards."
Amongst the bees, wasps, and other so-called Hymenopterous insects,
the production of the humming noise forms a fact of interest in the
history of the race. And one or two species possess a power of
emitting sounds of more definite nature, which correspond to the
" stridulation " of the grasshoppers and their kind. But it is a well-
known and at the same time interesting fact, that bees are known to
express emotional variations by aid of their humming sound. " A
tired bee," says Sir John Lubbock, " hums on E', and therefore
vibrates its wings only 330 times in a second." A bee humming on
A' will, on the other hand, increase its vibrations to 440 per second.
" This difference," says Sir John, " is probably involuntary, but the
change of tone is evidently under the command of the will, and thus
offers another point of similarity to a true ' voice.' A bee in pursuit

lS8 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

of honey hums continually and contentedly on A', but if it is excited
or angry it produces a very different note. Thus, then," concludes
this author, " the sounds of insects do not merely serve to bring
the sexes together ; they are not merely 'love-songs,' but also serve,
like any true language, to express the feelings."

Every one must have noticed that the humming or buzzing of flies
varies occasionally, and in accordance with the state of the insect ;
the sharp, high, excited "buzz" of the caught fly being markedly
different from the placid hum of its ordinary existence. Landois
maintains that a relatively low tone prevails during flight in flies ; that
the tone becomes higher when the wings are held to prevent their
vibration ; and that the highest tone of all is heard when all move-
ment in the body of the insect is prevented. This last, he maintains,
is that to which the term "voice," or, as we may put it, " song with-
out words," may be applied. As such, it is produced by the spiracles
or breathing apertures of the fly's chest, and it may be heard wrhen
every other part of the insect has been removed. The low note of
ordinary life is caused by the rapid vibration of the wings in the air
— the sound of F being produced by 352 vibrations of the wings per
second ; whilst when held captive a fly will move its wings 330 times
in the same space of time. The second sound, or that produced
when the fly is held captive by the wings, is caused, or at least is
accompanied, by conspicuous movements of the joints of the tail,
and by the frequent and rapid motion of the head against the front
of the chest.

Such are the most prominent facts which entomology brings to
view regarding the " voices " of insects. Spiders of certain species
are known to be attracted by music, a fact which, if of valid nature,
would appear to reverse the order of the tarantula's famed but legen-
dary procedure. And it is an unquestionable fact that some male
spiders possess the power of making a rasping noise by rubbing the
hinder part of the chest against the front of the abdomen or tail.

From the insect-class and from the great army of the invertebrates
at large, we pass to the confines of the sub -kingdom which claims
man as its head ; and in the course of an orderly survey of the field
before us we arrive at the fishes as the lowest of the vertebrate group.
To speak of "sound-producing" fishes appears to be an anomalous
proceeding, inasmuch as the silence of fish existence is usually ac-
cepted as an article of unquestioning faith. But clear evidence
exists that certain fishes do produce sounds of very definite character.
Amongst those large-headed fishes the gurnards, two, named the
" piper" and "cuckoo" species, are so named from the notes they
emit on being taken from the water. These sounds are due to the
muscular movements of the "swimming-bladder" of the fish, and are
said to range over nearly an octave. Certain male fishes of the genus

SONGS WITHOUT WORDS. 189

Ophidium are known to produce sounds by means of a curious chain
of bones connected to the air-bladder by muscles ; and the maigres
or umbrinas (Sciana aquila], one of the best known of Mediterranean
fishes, are, perhaps, more celebrated for their accomplishments in the
way of producing a drumming noise than in any other respect. Some
authorities have declared that the maigres produce flute-like notes,
and the sounds are said to be audible in twenty fathoms of water.
The male fishes alone make these noises, and Kingsley has recorded
that the fishermen of Rochelle find it possible to take them without
bait, by means of a skilful imitation of the noise. The drumfish
(Pogonias) of North American coasts obtains its name from the loud
and persistent noises it makes, and certain other fishes, belonging to
different species, imitate the latter fish in this respect. " To this
fish (P. chromis}" says Dr. Giinther in his recent work on " Fishes,"
" more especially is given the name of ' drum/ from the extraordi-
nary sounds which are produced by it and other allied Sciaenoids.
These sounds are better expressed by the word drumming than by
any other, and are frequently noticed by persons in vessels lying at
anchor on the coasts of the United States, where those fishes abound."
" It is still a matter of uncertainty," adds Dr. Giinther, " by what
means the 'drum' produces the sound. Some naturalists believe
that it is caused by the clapping together of the pharyngeal teeth,
which are very large molar teeth. However, if it be true that the
sounds are accompanied by a tremulous motion of the vessel, it
seems more probable that they are produced by the fishes beating
their tails against the bottom of the vessel in order to get rid of the
parasites with which that part of their body is infested." Dr.
Giinther's explanation of the production of the noise of the Pogonias
necessarily destroys any connection between that sound and the
mating instincts of these fishes. But in other cases, from the almost
universal absence of the sound-producing power in the female fishes,
we are forced to conclude that the faculty in question is used and
designed as a means of attracting the latter to their mates.

Perched on a comfortable log of wood is a frog, surveying nature
with the placid stare of contentment which as a rule amphibians
preserve under the most trying circumstances of life. I know that
Air. Rana Temporaria (as he is designated in scientific circles) possesses
a voice, but that he elects to let himself be heard, as a rule, only
when it suits himself. You may get round your frog, however, by an
ingenious physiological trick, much resembling the act of an unknown
benefactor who knows you are bound to laugh when he tickles you
under the arms. Did you ever hear of Goltz's experiment of the
" Quak-versuch " ? No : then suppose that Mr. R. Temporaria
Clammyskin, as he sits before you, could be deprived of the front
lobes of his brain. The mechanism of the experiment is simple in the

190 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

extreme. Draw your finger gently down the middle of his back, and
when you touch a given part of Clammyskin's surface, the frog, minus
the front lobes, will croak. He will not croak unless you stroke his
back : but regularly, as if you touched the " croaking- stop " in the
amphibian organ, he will emit his single note, whenever your finger
arrives at the stated spot. There is much that is obscure here, but
the rationale of the inscrutable croak is at least clear. It is produced
by an order of the part of the brain which governs the vocal organs
of Clammyskin, and which part is stimulated unerringly and unvary-
ingly by the outward stimulus supplied by the touch of the finger.
But when possessing his front lobes, the frog may still be made to
croak by the application of gentle stimulus to his back, whilst
naturally the male frogs are given to croak incessantly at the time of
egg-deposition. The male voice asserts itself in a very marked
manner over that of the female frogs, and in the scientific version of

A frog he would a-wooing go,

the croak counts for much, both as a sign of attractiveness in the
wooer, and of his progress in his suit. When we have attained to
such heights in the science of mind as may entitle the scientist of the
future to write the " Comparative Psychology of the Frog's Wooing,"
and of the Clammyskin tribe in general, the language of the croak
may prove to be more diverse and eloquent than we may now
suppose to be possible. There can be no doubt, even in the present
state of our knowledge, of the overwhelmingly powerful nature of
the oratory prevalent in our ponds and ditches in the months of
early spring.

Vocalisation of the highest types now awaits a brief review ;
and perchance, by way of introduction, you may not object to be
reminded of the nature of the vocal organs and of that curious
machinery wherewith the mind finds outward expression in so
many and varied ways. Every one knows that voice comes from a
region situated somewhere near " Adam's apple." To be sure, this
is no very definite way of expressing the anatomy of the organ of
voice, but it serves the purpose of localising the faculty, at any
rate. The human " larynx " or voice-organ, to be brief, exists at the
top of the windpipe, as a kind of gristly box, composed of elastic
and movable cartilages of which " Adam's apple " is both a prominent
and important example. This gristly box is placed in the direct
track of the air-currents passing to and from the lungs. Its entrance
is guarded above by a little lid (the epiglottis] which prevents food-
particles from "going the wrong way." Inside the box are two folds
of mucous membrane, named the true vocal cords ; other two folds
(thefa/se vocal cords) also exist, but the latter do not aid in the pro-
duction of voice. By the varying alterations and degrees of tension

SONGS WITHOUT WORDS. 191

produced upon these cords by means of special muscles, and pri-
marily through the outward passage of air-currents from the lungs,
voice and its variations are produced.

Such is an outline of a lesson in elementary physiology which may
be more fully learned, to the advantage of all herein concerned, from
a shilling primer such as we may see — thanks to the advance of true
culture — in use in very many of our secondary schools. The vocal
organs of birds are constructed on a type essentially similar to that
of man ; but were we to apply to a primer of zoology for further in-
formation concerning the bird-class and its voice-organs, we should be
told that birds actually possess two such organs — one situated as
man's is placed, at the top of the windpipe, and one at the root of the
windpipe, just before that tube divides into two to supply the lungs
with air. Thus birds have an upper larynx and a lower larynx ; and
it is the latter which is the true organ of voice. Of all points in the
history of birds, none is more surprising than the extreme variations
in their song. A warbler has just finished its trill, with a burst of
sweet melody that makes me long for a repetition of the song ; the
memory of the skylark's chaunt is ever-present with us as a morning
hymn ; and the night closes with a varied concert from the wooded
grove in front of the house. The notes of the ducks bring before us
another phase of bird- voice, the sharp poean cry of the peacock re-
sounds in our ears, and the clang of the swan reminds us of the harsh
and discordant as well as the sweeter lays of bird-life. " Why do
birds sing ? ;' asked the naturalists of old, and each supplied a diffe-
rent answer to the query. Says Montagu, the " business ;' of the male
songbirds " is to perch on some conspicuous spot, breathing out their
full and amorous notes, which by instinct the female knows, and
repairs to the spot to choose her mate." Once more the love-song
theory appears to view, and finds its support in facts. Bechstein,
careful observer and enthusiastic ornithologist, tells us that finches
and canaries will choose the best singer as a mate ; and the lady-
nightingales are known to place the same high estimate on a fine flow
of song. Then comes the "rivalry and emulation " theory, founded,
to my way of thinking, upon the too lax notion that birds are bound
to imitate the feelings of humanity, and which declares that birds
sing for the sake of vanquishing their fellows, and that in every wood
an "Eisteddfod" is held, with its exhibition of vainglory, jealousy,
and emulation in the musical art. But emulation, if it exist, may be
a part of the ordinary business of courtship, as one has every reason
to believe it forms no small part of the phenomena of love-making in
higher life, and the theory of rivalry in song may thus be included in
the larger theory that birds sing because they mate, and mate because
they sing.

Another important consideration remains to be noticed. It is

192 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

a curious fact that the bird-songsters are all of the smallest size.
Rarely, if ever, do we hear a melodious voice in a large bird ; the
Australian Menuras^ or lyre-birds — so named from the shape of the
tail-feathers — birds which may attain the size of a small turkey —
being the most notable exception to the general rule above-mentioned.
Then, too, we shall find that the songs of birds may and do improve
by culture. Sparrows will learn in time to sing most melodiously ;
and of course there is no end to the list of tunes or sounds a mock-
ing-bird may acquire. In addition to true song, some birds may, as
Darwin has it, practise " instrumental music." The turkeys " make
a joyful noise " in their own fashion by scraping their wings on the
ground, and the snipes, and grouse, " drum " with their wings, as also
do the male goatsuckers or " nightjars."

Our study draws to a close. I promised at the outset that it
could be nothing better than sketchy in its nature, and it has been
an easy matter to fulfil a promise of the kind in question. But out-
lines are preliminaries to complete pictures ; and if I have neither
the courage nor the temerity to fill in the sketch, I am well content
to have perchance paved the way for a fuller consideration of the
questions regarding the origin of songs with words and songs without
words which contribute so much to our rational and natural enjoy-
ment, and I will add instruction in the ways of living things likewise.

The evening begins to draw nigh ; and already the singers of the
day are leaving their leafy orchestra, and flitting homewards to rest.
That weird mammal the bat — vestige, as it seems to me, of the
great flying Pterodactyls of the middle ages (of geology) — is abroad,
looking after his interests in the way of gnats, moths, beetles, and
such belated flies as may have innately determined that they " won't
go home till morning," like certain rustic friends in the neighbour-
hood, who thus declare on leaving " The Swan with Two Necks " in
the village — but of whom a chief peculiarity is that once home they
won't leave home for work when the morning comes, a fact explicable
possibly on grounds connected with obscurity of the cerebral circula-
tion. The bat sweeps round and round, but is no singer of mine,
although it squeaks when caught. Possibly under training the bat,
like the mouse, might "sing" — and I heard a mouse sing sweetly
behind a wainscot once upon a time.

I hear a faint stirrage amongst the crows in the nests overhead ;
Mr. Crow possibly absorbing too much house-room, and Mother
Crow expostulating on behalf of herself and progeny. The beetles
are out for the evening, and now and then a late dragon-fly wheels
and sweeps along, regardless of certain active birds with wide gapes
that hover near like aerial spectres. I hear a frog croak now and
then — by way of assurance, I presume, that the Clammyskin family
"never nods," but is invariably active and alive to the exigencies

SONGS WITHOUT WORDS. 193

of life. The twilight deepens. There are sounds of stirring in the
adjoining room. I hear my hostess play a prelude to a favourite
ballad. She plays charmingly, and sings well ; this last the highest
expression of vocal development, and one which served doubtless in
days gone by to captivate the heart of my friend the host, as in re-
verse order the cricket's chirp enchants Miss Acheta, or as the sweet
song of Mr. Nightingale tells of his love for the listening beauty.
Very good. I shall wipe my pen. Now for "songs with words."
Good-night.

194 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

IX.

THE LAWS OF SPEECH.

AMONGST the many and diverse problems which the modern ten-
dencies of science have evolved, few possess for us a deeper interest
than those which deal with the origin and beginnings of language.
It is little to be wondered at that in early days the power of "wed-
ding thought to speech," to parody the Laureate's well-known ex-
pression, should be regarded as, of all gifts, that for which man was
directly indebted to the goodness of the gods. Nor is it a subject
for surprise to find the legendary punishment for presumptive enter-
prise at Babel taking the form of a confusion of tongues — thus
rendering impossible the further prosecution of that famous erection.
Of late years, the problem concerning the beginnings of speech has
acquired a special importance from its obvious relationship to other
questions intimately connected with the early conditions of mankind.
There exists hardly a single phase of the evolution hypothesis, as
applied to the explanation of humanity's ways and life, which does not
in some fashion or other touch upon the origin of speech and the be-
ginnings of that faculty whereby man has learned to express the ideas
of his mind — or, contrariwise, as some philosophers would insist, to
conceal his thoughts. To the moral philosopher, the power of speech
is the central pivot on which man's personality hangs. His opinion
of speech as related to thought is usually that of Plutarch, who, in
the "Life of Themistocles," tells us that "speech is like cloth of Arras,
opened and put abroad, whereby the imagery doth appear in figure ;
whereas in thoughts they lie but as in packs." It is not our intention
in the present paper to discuss those larger issues which arise from
the consideration of the later developments of speech as related to
the progress of human kind. Our special field of study lies rather in
the direction of the first beginnings of language, and in its early growth
and origin as viewed from the biological standpoint. We need
concern ourselves, therefore, with little speculation of purely meta-
physical kind, taking our stand primarily within the domain of life-
science, where, indeed, all legitimate research into man's early
history may be said to begin.

Through language, then, man maintains his personality, and
provides for the extension of his own influence, whilst thuswise he
also reciprocates the influence of others. This power of communi-
cating with his fellows constitutes the basis of the language-faculty,

THE LA WS OF SPEECH. 195

which, broadly regarded, is not necessarily associated with speech. The
savage in his contact with the civilised man, or one civilised man in
his relations with his equals, may employ the language of gesture,
and be perfectly understood, as one may daily prove by crossing the
English Channel and watching our unsophisticated neighbours in their
converse with the foreigner. In lower life, there is abundant evidence
that communication of a very distinct kind by means of signs or acts
is a common practice. Some species of ants, for instance, keep the
aphides, or plant-lice, of our gardens in their nests much as we keep
cows in dairies, or seek the plant-lice in their native haunts on the
bushes and flowers, where, to the gardener's disgust, they exist by the
score. Approaching its aphis-cow, the ant proceeds to milk it by
stroking the tail of the insect with its antennae or feelers. Thereupon
the " cow " emits a drop of a sweet secretion which the ant greedily
drinks, and then hurries off in search of a fresh subject. There has
evidently been induced arid perfected in this case a close relationship
between ants and aphides ; since we note that the latter are pro-
tected in many ways by the ants, and exhibit a perfect docility of
demeanour under the treatment to which they are subjected by these
impersonations of insect wisdom.

One species of ant (Lasins flavus\ indeed, is known to live
chiefly upon the honey of the plant-lice which feed upon the roots
of grasses. In this instance, the plant-lice are kept in the ants'
nest, their very eggs being tended by the ants with an evident desire
of securing future favours ; " an act," says Sir John Lubbock,
"which one is much tempted to refer to forethought, and which in
such a case implies a degree of prudence superior to that of some
savages." But that the mere touch of the ants' antennae possesses
all the significance of a sign-language is evident from the spontaneous
response which the plant-lice make to' the stimulus, and likewise
from tlie impossibility of imitating the ant's procedure. Mr. Darwin
tells us that on one occasion he "removed all the ants from a
group of about a dozen aphides on a dock-plant, and prevented their
attendance during several hours. After this interval I felt sure,"
continues Mr. Darwin, "that the aphides would want to excrete. I
watched them for some time through a lens, but not one excreted ;
I then tickled and stroked them with a hair in the same manner, as
well as I could, as the ants do with their antennae ; but not one
excreted. Afterwards I allowed an ant to visit them, and it imme-
diately seemed by its eager way of running about to be well aware
what a rich flock it had discovered ; it then began to play with its
antennae on the abdomen first of one aphis and then of another ; and
each, as soon as it felt the antennae, immediately lifted up its abdomen
and excreted a limpid drop of sweet juice, which was eagerly devoured
by the ant. Even the quite young aphides," adds Mr. Darwin,

o 2

196 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

"behaved in this manner, showing that the action was instinctive,
and not the result of experience." Here there has been developed
a series of responsive acts indicating a degree of relationship of a
highly intimate character, and illustrating the fact that communica-
tion by touch in lower life may be of very perfect kind. The
consideration of the utilitarian and instinctive nature of the act in
no sense invalidates the inference that a language of touch exists
and perfectly fulfils the requirements of the lower life which has
developed it.

The problem of the communication of lower animals by signs or
touch is of course of difficult nature, and in many of its phases im-
possible of solution. But that means for communicating intelligence
do exist, is an unquestionable fact. No doubt exists that ants recog-
nise their neighbours belonging to the same nest ; yet, considering
that in some nests the number of inhabitants may amount to one
hundred thousand, it seems well-nigh hopeless to undertake the
explanation of their means of communication, or their grounds
of recognition. Nor are these grounds rendered clearer by the
facts related by Sir John Lubbock concerning the recognition of
friends and strangers, even in the young state. " If the recognition,"
says this author, " were effected by means of some signal or password,
then, as it can hardly be supposed that the larvae or pupae would be
sufficiently intelligent to appreciate, still less to remember it, the
pupae which were entrusted to ants from another nest would have
the password, if any, of that nest, and not of the one from which
they had been taken. Hence, if the recognition were effected by
some password, or sign with the antennae, they would be amicably
received in the nest from which their nurses had been taken, but not
in their own" — unless, indeed, the knowledge of their own password
be regarded as a matter of inherited instinct like the chief acts and
details of ant, wasp, or bee life. A number of pupae were taken by
Sir John Lubbock from nests tenanted by two different species, and
placed in small glasses, " some with ants from their own nest, some
with ants from another nest of the same species." The result was,
that thirty-two ants of the two species taken from their nests in the
pupa (or chrysalis) state, " attended by friends, and restored to their
own nest, were all amicably received." In another case of twenty-
two ants which, as pupae, had been brought up by strangers and
afterwards returned to their own nest, "twenty were amicably re-
ceived, though in several cases after some hesitation." The result
of such experiments seems to show that ants of the same family
circle do not recognise each other by any password ; whilst, in some
cases, ants brought up by strangers, and then restored to their
friends, may be received by some of their relatives with hesitation.
It is, however, equally notable, that strangers placed in a nest

7 HE LAWS OF SFEECH. 197

under such circumstances would be unhesitatingly and invariably
attacked.

That ants undoubtedly possess a substitute for the language of
higher life, appears to be well-nigh certain. Possessing a power of
recognition, they exercise such a power in some fashion unknown to
us ; and they are able to communicate important and necessary
intelligence, say of the proximity of food, to their neighbours, Such
intelligence may be merely the result of the exercise of scent or
smell, as in some cases Sir John Lubbock's experiments seem
clearly to prove. But, in other instances, it is as clearly proved
that these insects transmit ideas. This latter fact was shown by an
experiment in which ants having access to many larvae brought 257
friends to assist in conveying their infants home ; whilst those which
were placed to few larvae only brought eighty-two coadjutors. The
inarticulate language of the ant is, however, paralleled by the audible
language of many of its insect brethren, in a form of communication
which may to all intents and purposes be named " the language of
love," since most of the distinctive sounds emitted by insects are
intended as "calls" from the male to the female, and as a means of
determining the locality of the callers. That the language of insects,
then, is an inarticulate form of speech no one may deny. Its
purport, however, is not only clearly understood, but the develop-
ment of specialised powers of hearing has occurred pari passu with
that of the plainest form of this insect-voice.

Passing now to higher animals, we find that the beginnings of a
system of communication with their fellows, more nearly approaching
that exercised by man, occurs in those animals which most nearly
approach the human type of structure. The forms of vocalisation
which are to be noted amongst our familiar animals are many and
varied, and are plainly recognisable as indicating different phases of
feeling. The angry neigh or scream of a horse in pain, or under the
influence of terror, is very different from the ordinary cry of the
animal ; and the howl of a suffering dog is as eloquent in its demon-
stration of pain as are the interjections of his master. But the range
of voice and expression in certain animals — a subject to which our
attention has not been sufficiently drawn— is not by any means of
limited nature. One monkey, the Cebus azartz. is known to utter at
least six different sounds, expressive of as many distinct states of
feeling and of as many varied emotions ; and this animal is by no
means singular in his modulation of voice to express the moods and
tenses of his life. The dog, according to Darwin, has learned to bark
in four or five different tones, and has thus unquestionably evinced
a decided advance upon his wild progenitors. There can be no
doubt that in early human existence a striking likeness to the habitual
modes of expression of lower animals exists. The infantile " crow "

198 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

of pleasure is analogous to the bark of the pleased canine, or the
" purr" of his feline neighbour ; just as the cry of the young child is
paralleled by the pained yelp of the dog. And if we only consider
it, there exists perhaps a still closer resemblance betwixt the inarticu-
late, spasmodic, and long-continued "cry" of the infant, and the long-
drawn-out howling in which a young puppy indulges, as compared
with the shorter and less demonstrative cry of the dog. Between
the early life of the man and the infancy of his faithful follower,
there is a closer likeness in respect of the expression of the emotions
than between the human infantile demonstrations and those of the
adult dog. This much every one admits, of course. The difficulties of
the question, however, really commence with the attainment of the
power of " articulation " — the joining of simple sounds to form words,
which in their turn are the outcome, firstly of " ideas," and secondly
of special powers of brain and nerve action. Archbishop Whately
long ago owned that man " is not the only animal that can make use
of language to express what is passing in his mind, and can under-
stand, more or less, what is so expressed by another." Here it is
clear the idea of "language" intended to be conveyed is simply that
of the audible expression of emotions or idea, and, thus defined, an
intelligent dog may be said to possess a language of his own, equally
with man himself.

" Articulate speech " is, however, the highest form of this common
faculty we name language, and it is the origin and development of
the power of forming words, and of stringing words together to
express ideas, which form the chief problem awaiting solution at
the hands of the theorists and investigators of the present and
future. The philologist, pure and simple, will naturally approach
the subject from his own special side by a comparison of existing
and extinct tongues, and by the endeavour to show their points of
resemblance, and to detect the causes on which their differences
depend. The mental basis of language does not form a controversial
ground, save, indeed, in so far as one authority may be held to differ
from another respecting the exact amount or kind of mental power
which is requisite to evolve ideas. On such a subject, as con-
nected with the differences or likenesses between the human and
lower intelligences, there may be considerable difference of opinion,
it is true. But all are agreed that language has arisen out of the
demand for expression, and the real battle-field lies within the
territory where the origin of such demand is discussed.

The " understanding ear " is not of course the exclusive property
of mankind, otherwise an intelligent collie must be presumed to receive
and obey the complex order of his master by some other channel
than that of hearing and consequent appreciation of his master's
commands— a supposition so absurd that no further mention need

7 HE LAWS OF SPEECH. 199

be made of the fact that many lower animals hear and understand
what is said to them. Here, again, the analogy between the infant's
appreciation of what is said to it, in the absence of any power of
speech, and the understanding of the speechless dog, is too close to
escape even casual notice. As respects the mere power of articulation,
an intelligent parrot, magpie, or starling will speak with a clearness
which often deceives humanity into the belief that a " brother man "
is addressing it. To say that such a power is merely that of accurate
imitation, neither explains the acquirement of this faculty by the bird,
nor elucidates what is an undeniable fact, namely, that a well-trained
parrot will frequently ask questions, give replies, or make remarks in
a fashion as appropriate as if its words were dictated by a human
understanding. Numerous verified accounts of such faculties are to
be found in the records of natural history. The writer remembers
seeing an old gentleman much perturbed j whilst in the act of wiping
a bald head with a banana handkerchief, by hearing a gruff voice
exclaim, " My ! what a head ! " The remark proceeded from a
parrot sitting on a perch close by. The owner of the bird being
duly interrogated, declared that the expression was one by no
means frequently used by the bird, but which had of course been
suggested by the sight of the hairless cranium. This bird was
also accustomed to discriminate in a highly remarkable fashion
between its other remarks, producing, as a rule, from its repertoire,
which was of a highly extensive nature, suitable answers for each
occasion. Mr. Darwin tells us that a parrot, of which he had
a verified account, was accustomed to call certain members of
its household and visitors by their names, and to say "Good
morning " and " Good night " at the proper times without con-
fusing the occasion and the expression. After the death of his
owner, a short sentence invariably spoken after the salutation " Good
morning " was never once repeated. Of a starling, nearly the same
remarks hold good, this bird saying "Good morning" and saluting
its visitors on leaving with unvarying correctness. In the case of
these birds, there must exist the power of associating sounds with
ideas, a power which in its highest development may be said to
confer upon man all the peculiarities and special features of the
human mastery of speech. If, as has been remarked, "the language
which expresses discrimination and judgment is a testimony for
mind," a parrot judged by this standard cannot be regarded as
destitute of mental powers. As " an index of mental procedure,"
the language of the parrot is indicative of a stage in the use of that
procedure far behind the development of the average human
intellect, it is true, but comparable, in certain of its phases, with the
low developments of association, discrimination, and speech met
with in the most primitive races of men.

200 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

As we have already remarked, with the mental processes, intricate
or otherwise, involved in the exercise of language we have nothing at
present to do. Admitting that, as is highly probable, the exercise of
speech implies and means the possession of an intricate power of mus-
cular co-ordination, with the transformation of ideas into words —
itself an intricate and inexplicable process — we may more profitably
inquire if general biology, aided by physiology and incidentally by
philology, can direct us toward the probable beginnings of the
language-faculty in man. We have seen that emotional states in
lower life become visible and audible through corresponding sounds
and expressions. Professor Whitney remarks that man possesses a
natural desire to communicate with his fellows, and that in such a
desire is to be found the chief condition which, in the development
of language, "works both unconsciously and consciously ; consciously
as regards the immediate end to be attained ; unconsciously as
regards the further consequences of the act." Max Miiller, in his
" Lectures on Mr. Darwin's Philosophy of Language," lays down the
axiom that " there is no thought without words, as little as there
are words without thoughts " ; but the great philologist must surely
in such a case be using the term " words " as implying the mental
images or concepts which stand as the unexpressed result of thinking,
and which the act of speech enables us to convey to the hearers.
Otherwise the aphorism hinges on a very special and peculiar idea of
the term "thoughts," the nature and discussion of which term
fortunately lies beyond our present aim. Whitney, remarking Bleak's
views respecting the impossibility of the existence of thought without
speech, says : — " Because on the grand scale language is the necessary
auxiliary of thought, indispensable to the development of the power
of thinking, to the distinctness and variety and complexity of
cognitions, to the full mastery of consciousness ; therefore he would
fain make thought absolutely impossible without speech, identifying
the faculty with its (human) instrument. He might just as reasonably
assert that the human hand cannot act without a tool. With such a
doctrine to start from," adds Professor Whitney, "he cannot stop
short of Miiller' s worst paradoxes, that an infant (in fans, not speak-
ing) is not a human being, and that deaf mutes do not become
possessed by reason until they learn to twist their fingers into
imitations of spoken words." The truth of the idea that, without
words to think, thought becomes impossible, has been a little over-
strained. We do not deny the power of thought to a dog, but we
admit he does not possess language — in which case we are simply
arguing concerning a true idea of language, which, the broader it is
made, will serve our purpose the better. It is not, however, a
rational idea that the necessity for the formation of word-concepts of
his thoughts forms the real foundation of speech. Would the thinking

THE LAWS OF SPEECH. 201

powers of a human being living a solitary existence, of themselves
develop a language ? There are of course but few facts to which we
may appeal on this head, but such facts as we do possess militate
powerfully against such a belief. Solitary man would be a speechless
creature ; and hence, may we not logically assign to social tendencies
and a gregarious nature a large share and a most undoubted influence
in the production of language ?

But by what theory can we urge that the language of man has
become developed from the acts, or roughly expressed emotions, of
lower existence ; seeing that, on any theory of development, we require
reasonably to believe that such a faculty as language, paralleled by
the " expressions " of lower life, must have originated in the higher
development of the latter ? Two theories find favour in the eyes of
philologists, being known respectively as the " ding-dong " and the
"bow-wow" hypotheses. Briefly stated, the "ding-dong" theory
founds its explanation of the origin of speech on the idea that the
conscious nature and mind of man responded to external impressions
very much as a bell responds when struck, and that in this way the
roots of language were formed in the shape of a number of " sound-
types." But the mental constitution of man is not analogous to the
bell. Each conception of mind would not necessarily give origin to
one stable and fixed sign or symbol of its presence and nature. More
reasonable by far is it to suppose that the choice of a sound to
represent an idea originated in some mental act responding to the
object suggesting the idea — much in the same manner as an infant,
on hearing a dog bark or a cow low, should thereafter indicate the
one by saying " bow-wow," and the other by the primitive "moo."
Nor must we lose sight of a distinction which has not been insisted
upon sufficiently, and in many cases overlooked entirely, in discussions
on this subject — namely, that the simple sounds of which a primitive
language must have consisted, would be derived primarily from the
comparatively few objects by which early man was surrounded. The
more complex combinations of sounds found in the language of after
ages would naturally be a later development, when primitive man's
concepts and thoughts increased in number and diversity of range,
and when he possessed a wider sphere of action, and lived in the
presence of multifarious and amid varied surroundings.

Sounds, then, were derived from the actions or objects they
were intended to indicate. Such is the "bow-wow" theory of the
origin of language, otherwise named the " mimetic " or " imitative "
— or, if we prefer the learned equivalent, the " onomatopoetic " —
hypothesis. Mr. Darwin states the general ground of the "bow-
wow " theory in plain terms when he says : — " I cannot doubt
that language owes its origin to the imitation and modification of
various natural sounds, the voices of other animals and man's own

202 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

instinctive cries, aided by signs and gestures." If one were disposed
to be critical in respectof this plain statement of the origin of speech,
such criticism might lie in the direction of assigning a higher
place to the " signs and gestures " of primitive man than Mr. Darwin
gives them. The movements of expression, as representing the most
patent results of certain thoughts, would contribute, I hold, quite as
much towards the association and stereotyping of certain sounds to
form language, as the cries or sounds which in themselves might be
held to represent the beginnings of speech. Indeed, if priority is to be
assigned to any of the contributing elements of language, the gesture
or sign may reasonably enough be regarded as the antecedent of the
sound. One objection to the "bow-wow" theory has been founded
on the observation that, were its main features true, and if the earliest
words were merely imitations of natural sounds, we should find
similar primitive concepts to represent the same objects under all
circumstances. But do we not frequently find such likeness? Witness
the word crow, its Latin corvus, Greek korone, Sanskrit kdrava, and
its root ru or kru, to call ; or the example cited against the " bow-
wow" theory by Max Miiller himself, namely, moo, the nursery name
for cow, Indian gu, Teutonic kuh, and Greek- Latin bon. Is not
" cuckoo " the exact representation of the bird's voice ? Is not the
"mu-mu" of the West African negro, meaning "dumb," the most
natural reproduction, like our own "mum," of a significant term for
silence, as "rap" and "tap" are obvious imitations of common
sounds ? Apart from the fact that such likeness as is demanded by
the " bow-wow " theory of language does exist, there still remains a
very obvious explanation of the dissimilarity which exists between
many primitive sounds and root-types of words. The early efforts
of the primitive mind did not seek a uniformity or aim at an
exact sameness of sound in constructing a representative word.
There existed at the most an attempt at a plausible imitation. As
the primitive sounds themselves were varied, so the mental powers
which received and imitated them were of diverse calibre. In
the beginnings of mental activity, there must have existed shades
and variations of receptivity, just as, in their later development,
mental phenomena vary with the individual and the race. So that
the differences existing between the primitive word-concepts may be
traced to natural variations in the mental skill or powers which
reproduce them, or to the process of phonetic decay. And thus
also existent likeness between word-concepts are only explicable in
a natural fashion, on the principle that primitive man imitated, as best
he could, the first sounds which presented themselves to his opening
ears and dawning intelligence.

This slight incursion into the domain of the philologist may be
excused on the ground that it furnishes us with the main points of

THE LAWS OF SPEECH. 203

the argument which it is the object of physiological evidence to
substantiate and support. The subject of speech in its physiolo-
gical relations has been needlessly complicated in certain quarters
by a tendency to overlook the very plain but important evidence
which the study of such conditions as idiocy and deaf-mutism in
man affords respecting the origin of language; whilst the observation
of lower life and its peculiarities may serve to aid us, as before, in
the further understanding of the evolution of words. Instinctively
we recognise the cry of pain or fear, in lower life, as distinguished
from the audible expression of joy ; and in human existence there
are analogous means for conveying to others precisely the same
information of our mental states and conditions. There can be little
difficulty in satisfying ourselves that an imitative tendency uncon-
sciously exercised, as man's intelligence awoke to its new and higher
duties, would amply suffice to develop and perfect the acquirement
of words and the enlargement of ideas.

Nor is such an involuntary tendency of the mind to excite intui-
tions and ideas unrepresented in ourselves, or in other mental acts
than those concerned in the production of words. "Each word,"
says Dr. Maudsley, " represents a certain association and succession
of muscular acts, and is in itself nothing more than a conventional
sign or symbol to mark the particular muscular expression of a
particular idea. The word has not independent vitality ; it differs
in different languages ; and those who are deprived of the power of
articulate speech must make use of other muscular acts to express
their ideas, speaking, as it were, in a dumb discourse. There is
no reason on earth, indeed, why a person might not learn to
express every thought which he can utter, in speech, by movements
of his fingers, limbs, and body — by the silent language of gesture."
Such remarks have a special and authoritative bearing on the
opinion expressed in a former part of this paper concerning the
importance of primary gestures and signs over sounds, as factors
in the production of language. The movements of speech, then,
do not differ in kind from those exhibited as the result of
other bodily actions ; their connection with the mind is simply
more intimate than that which is implied, say, in the act of
raising the hand to the mouth. The connexus which has been
established between brain and larynx is simply of a more deli-
cate nature, simply responds more accurately — because, perhaps,
more frequently — to the calls made upon it in the production of
words than the relation existing between brain and finger. There
is the closest of parallelisms to be drawn in respect of the action
and reaction of mind upon visible speech, between the production
of words and the reception of sensations of light by the eye or
of sounds by the ear. Delicate impulses transmitted to the brain

2CH S7'CDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

result in images of things seen, or in sensations of things heard ;
and as brain-fcrce or mind appreciates in this case, so does the same
force, when stimulated in another direction, become transformed
into the audible ideas whereby we know ourselves, and become
known of others. " We should be quite as much warranted," says
Dr. Maudsley, "in assigning to the mind a special faculty of writing,
of walking, or of gesticulating, as in speaking of a special faculty of
speech in it."

Mr. Darwin has been careful to point out that the relation exist-
ing between "the continued use of language and the development
of the brain " has formed an important factor in strengthening and
perfecting the power of speech. An increase of brain-power would
act favourably upon the use of words and ideas, and the practice of
speech, at first rude and imperfect, would react upon the brain in
turn. Trains of thought in ordinary life may be unaccompanied by
any outward manifestations or by words, it is true ; but the person
who, during a reverie, suddenly breaks out into speech, illustrates in
a very apt fashion the idea that the earliest attempts to frame word-
concepts of things must have originated in outspoken sounds ac-
companying the muscular actions and the vivid ideas which were
just struggling into existence. But the history of deaf mutes affords
much valuable evidence and many important hints regarding the
primitive condition of the language of mankind. Persons born deaf
are, as is well known, also dumb. A want of hearing prevents the
formation of concepts or impressions of distinct vocal sounds. The
case of neglected deaf mutes illustrates this fact ; for those un-
fortunates are as completely isolated from their fellow human beings
as are lower animals from man, and their minds, in respect of the
primitive nature of their ideas, may be held to represent the original
mental states of early mankind. When, on the other hand, such
persons are trained to speak, they evince in the course of their
education a series of advances which unquestionably bear some
analogy to the progress of man in the art of speech. What may be
said to be the condition of the mind in the deaf mute, isolated by
his infirmities from his fellows in the most complete manner, and
debarred from participating in those social or gregarious tendencies
which, as we have remarked, count for so much in the theoretical
understanding of the beginnings of language? These persons, in
thinking, use no abstract conceptions save of the very simplest
order. To use Mr. G. J. Romanes's description of the experiences of
an educated deaf mute, such persons think in pictures — so concrete
are their notions of the outer world. Abstract ideas, such as those
of God and heaven, are entirely absent. Religion, in the absence of
language, is also non-existent. One deaf mute told his teacher that
prior to his education he supposed the Bible to have been printed in

THE LAWS OF SPEECH. 205

the sky by printers of great strength : one interpretation of attempts
to teach the deaf mute, by gestures, that the Bible was believed to be
a revelation from God. Another deaf mute supposed that the primary
object of going to church was to honour the clergy — a primitive
conception which, by the way, seems by no means an unnatural
thought in days when medisevalism and extreme devotion to cleri-
calism reign rampant around us. If the deaf mute, with every claim
to the possession of a truly human brain and body, appears to be
well-nigh in the condition of the dog in the absence of abstract ideas,
it is not difficult to frame the important generalisation that to speech
the typical man owes most if not all of those qualities and traits which
so sharply demarcate him from lower forms of life, to which he never-
theless nearly approaches through the deaf mute, the idiot, and the
lowest savage. It is the presence of this descending ratio that gives
countenance to the details and ideas with which we have been
hitherto dealing, and in which the origin of man and man's language
from lower states of existence and from lower concepts of things has
been contended for.

The case of Laura Bridgman, born in 1829, reported by more
than one authority on mental diseases, presents us with an instruc-
tive illustration of the growth of the power of sign-language, and of
the evolution of ideas to correspond therewith. When two years
old this girl became blind and deaf from the effects of scarlet fever,
her sense of smell and of taste being blunted. At seven years of
age she was described as of lively disposition, and was then taken
by Dr. Howe to Boston, U.S , where for twenty years she pursued her
studies, and was enabled to speak readily and rapidly by signs, to
read books written in the raised characters of the blind, and to
write letters. In teaching her, Dr. Howe selected articles, such as a
pin, spoon, pen, and key, the names of which were monosyllabic.
Laura felt the articles, and then felt her instructor's finger, as he
traced the letters of the name on the raised alphabet. In this way
the letter-signs became familiar, and were associated with the things
indicated ; so that ultimately she could select the letters and place
them in order as the name of the object indicated. After a time
the principle of imitation which had hitherto alone guided her was
replaced by the use of written language. She began to form abstract
ideas, to think of the qualities and shapes of things as apart from
the things themselves, and hence arose the perfect exercise of a
language which, though spoken through signs, was nevertheless a true
and typically human method of using ideas and concepts as a means
of communication and expression. One of the most interesting
observations in this case was that, when asleep and dreaming, Laura
Bridgman spoke on her ringers, as she did when involved in a reverie
and when thinking alone ; such a fact demonstrating anew the conten-

206 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

tion that language is a necessary concomitant of perfect thought, even
when it can only be indirectly expressed in signs and symbols. The
interest which centres around such a case as the preceding is not
limited to the lesson it conveys regarding the possibility of educating
and evolving perceptions and language from a state of mind
compared with which the concepts of an intelligent dog are vastly
superior. Such a case also brings forcibly before us the con-
sideration, that if, in face of the possession of a truly human brain,
the faculty of language may be perfectly lapsed — as in the deaf
mute — it may not, conversely, be accounted a more wonderful fact
that changes of an opposite nature, resulting in increased growth of
brain-power acting upon the organ of voice, should have evolved
language from the germs of sound, sign, and gesture, in which it was
potentially contained.

" Imagine," says a philosopher of a school given to denying
the evolutionary view of things, in a recent work on "Mind
and Brain," "this experiment (alluding to the imitative action
of the lips in a deaf mute) tried with a monkey, the most imitative
in action, or with a dog, the most intelligent of animals ! " If
this author's declaration is meant to indicate the impossibility
of teaching either animal to form words, we quite agree with his
expression of ridicule — with this difference, however, that we should
transfer the expression to the philosopher who supposed that any
one conversant with the matter could have argued as to the possi-
bility of educating ape or dog. This is " barking up the wrong
tree " with a vengeance. Evolution postulates no such absurdity ;
and Mr. Darwin is careful to note that "the mental powers in
some progenitor of man must have been more highly developed
than in any existing ape, before even the most imperfect form of
speech could have come into use." It is well to note the latter
opinion, because the chief point at issue, namely, the origin of
language from the simple sounds and signs of long ago, is so fre-
quently discussed upon grounds which are very far from represent-
ing the true state of scientific opinion on this subject. Over and
over again one may meet with the argument, that the mental
belongings of man are immeasurably above those of the highest apes,
and that therefore the whole edifice, founded upon the presumed
origin of man and human instincts from lower forms and states, must
fall to the ground before the mention of the fact. Almost as
relevant to the point at issue would it be to maintain that man had
in his early days attended a meeting of the deities, and being, to
quote the words of Moth, " at a great feast of languages," had " stolen
the scraps."

To the assertion repeated ad nauseam by unscientific critics,
that the brain-power of the highest apes is vastly inferior to that

THE LAWS OF SPEECH. 207

of man, \ve reply, Quis negavit ? Only those ignorant of what evolu-
tion implies, could for a moment credit the upholders of that explana-
tion of the origin of man with holding such an opinion. What is more
to the purpose, is the task of investigating the question whether
or not there may be such likenesses between primitive tongues
and between the mental states of the lowest sane men, insane
or idiotic men, and of brutes, as to warrant the belief that
allowing for steps in the transition, now indistinct or absent, the
higher phases of mind and language have been evolved from the
instincts and emotions of lower life. The arguments drawn from
what we observe at present in lower life, and from what we see in
lower human existence to-day, are eloquent in their support of the
belief, that it is easier to assume such a development of language,
than to assent to its supernatural and occult origin. Nor does a full
consideration of human existence in its various phases militate
against the evolutionist's views. Take, for instance, the extended
period of human infancy, as compared with that of other animals,
in its influences upon the development of the higher intellectual
powers of man, the importance of such a consideration being specially
insisted upon by Mr. Fiske. Says this author : — " The increase
of intelligence in complexity and specialty involves a lengthening
of the period during which the nervous connections involved
in ordinary adjustments are becoming organised ; . . . the fact
remains undeniable, that while the nervous connections accom-
panying a simple intelligence are already organised at birth, the
nervous connections accompanying a complex intelligence are chiefly
organised after birth." And again : " This period, which only begins
to exist when the intelligence is considerably complex, becomes
longer and longer as the intelligence increases in complexity. In the
human race it is much longer than in any other race of mammals,
and it is much longer in the civilised man than in the savage. Indeed,
among the educated classes of civilised society its average duration
may be said to be rather more than a quarter of a century, since
during all this time those who live by brain- work are simply
acquiring the capacity to do so, and are usually supported upon the
products of parental labour."

Thus mankind, entering upon a long period of infancy, claims
time for the formation of new habits of brain, new combinations
of nervous acts. Whatever may be thought of this idea in its
application to other phases of human evolution, there can be no
doubt that its influence has been most marked in inducing the
growth of new mental powers in man. It is in some such soil, and
surrounded by some such conditions favourable to the growth of new
ideas, that the germs of language may be reasonably supposed to
have first made their appearance. The real difficulty attending the

208 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

question is to account for the first beginnings of association betwixt
objects and corresponding vocal sounds. In the origin of language,
as in many matters of later human existence, it is really le premier
pas qui coute. The bare consideration of usefulness and advantage
would be a more than sufficient reason for explaining why the habit
of associating objects and sounds should gain in strength and
persistence as time passed ; whilst, as the gregarious habits of early
man in turn became fixed and paramount, such habit would
acquire new force, and influence man's mental powers with
cumulative effect. If thus we may not solve the mystery which
surrounds even the theoretical beginnings of language, we may
yet sufficiently approach the environs of the subject to declare
with certitude that the growth of this " crowning mercy " of human
life has not lain outside those laws of development which alone
profess to lead us towards a conception of the "how" of living
nature in other and widely different aspects. Not only in the
intelligence of which language is one outcome, has man sped far
ahead of his Simian neighbours. The results which lower brains,
such as those of our canine friends, may accomplish in their way,
may teach us the ends to which the development of a higher and
more plastic mental organisation, under the benign influences of
an extended infancy, may lead. Mind-development, indeed, appears
ever to have been favoured over mere physical growth. It is in
virtue of this law that the gorilla and the prizefighter, excelling homo
sapiens of the purest type in brute strength, are nevertheless well-
nigh on a par when their share of this world's highest aims and
excellences are compared with his. Such a comparison is, perhaps,
after all by no means an unjust one ; inasmuch as it leads us
to perceive some of the more prominent qualities and powers which
have led man upwards to fulness of life, from the first beginnings
and from the dim childhood of his race.

209

X.

BODY AND MIND.

PERHAPS no fact of scientific advance is fraught with deeper mean-
ing than that which demonstrates to us the large amount of know-
ledge which recent research has been the means of throwing upon
the functions of the brain. The domain of mind, it is true, must
ever remain in many of its aspects a veritable arcanum, whose
mysteries may never fall within the grasp of erudition and research.
But the modern investigator has, at the same time, passed beyond the
old boundaries which were wont to deter his predecessors from
inquiring into the manner in which mind and brain co-operated in
the regulation of the body, and has advanced materially our under-
standing of many facts of brain function, which, but a few years ago,
represented the fastnesses and inaccessible regions of knowledge.
Nor are these gains of science unimportant, when viewed from the
purely social side of things. Rescued from the domain of the
unknown, such facts as those to which we refer repel those beliefs in
the mysterious and occult which lie at the root of so much that is
ignorant and of a vast deal that is superstitious even in these matter-
of-fact days. When, for instance, "mesmerism," the "electro-
biology" (high-sounding title!), and the phrenologies of the modern
Cagliostros, with their " hocus-pocus science," as Macklin would
have termed it, are resolved into so many abnormal actions of
brain, and into so much pseudo-scientific jugglery, the world at large
is unquestionably the gainer in respect of the new and rational
light which has been thrown upon phases of mind. Or, when the
hallucinations of the ghost-seer are proved to be subjects of
physiological study, and when the production of his inverted mental
images is capable of being duly explained on known principles of
life-science, we may congratulate ourselves on having snatched
another mystery from the charlatanism of ignorance, and on having
expelled so much superstition from the world. Thus, judging even
the most recondite study of mind from a rigidly utilitarian point of
view, we may discover that its effects must leave their wholesome
mark on the social life of our day, and on that of succeeding genera-
tions as well. The gains of knowledge are in fact amongst the saving
clauses which are now and then added to the large and complex roll
of the constitution of man.

It may be well to preface such a simple study of mind and body

p

210 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

as that on which we purpose now to enter by a glance at some of
those general relations between the material frame and its immaterial
emotions which serve to demonstrate the tacit harmony exhibited
by the powers which rule and the subject that obeys. No facts of
physiology stand out in bolder relief than those which deal with the
common and united action of brain and body, in the ordinary affairs
of e very-day existence. So perfectly adjusted is this co-operation
between body and mind we speak of, that in the vast majority of
instances we ourselves — the very subjects of its action — may be
utterly ignorant of the existence of any such league. Like the system
of secret espionage which in its most perfect phases moves and lives
with us and beside us all unsuspected and unknown, the operations
which issue from the head-centre of our corporeal government may
be absolutely hidden from us whilst continually we live and act
under their behests. We literally take no thought for the morrow of
our existence, because we are accustomed to have so much of that
existence regulated independently of consciousness, and certainly
without the exercise of will. The food upon which we subsist is
inspected, so to speak, on its presentation to the senses ; but its
preparation, and its elaboration to form blood, are matters which are
adjusted by that perfect system of control which the nerve-centre
exercises over the commissariat department. Even before that food
has become ours, we may experience unconscious or automatic
action of the bodily processes, when, at the sight of the dainty, the
salivary glands are stimulated to the manufacture of their fluid, and
the " mouth waters " — the digestive act in question being but the
natural, though somewhat ill-advised, prelude to the actual reception
by the mouth of the desired morsel. The circulation through our
body of the vital fluid, and the ceaseless thud of the central engine
of the blood-flow, similarly remind us of active processes on the
exact continuance of which our life depends, and which neverthe-
less are regulated apart from the will, and in greater part outside the
bounds of waking knowledge.

The consideration of this practically uncontrolled continuance
of these actions becomes, in one view at least, of highly gratifying
nature — since it is within the bounds of probability that, were the
control of such important processes a matter of unremitting at-
tention, the exigencies of human life, by withdrawing our attention
from their due regulation, might conduce to the premature ending of
life itself, whilst sleep itself in such an event would be an impossible
condition. In many other ways and fashions does the brief chronicle
of the bodily rule bring forcibly before us the independence of our
attention and consciousness in so far as the government of every-
day existence is concerned. The morning walk to business through
the crowded thoroughfares, when we are wrapt in the mantle of

BODY AND MIND. 211

deepest thought — with " eyes in the mind," although ostensibly bent
on outward things — and when we find our steps guided harmoniously
towards our appointed end, illustrates but another phase of the
unconscious ruling of our lives. And the phenomena of the sleep-
vigil, when, wrapt in the mantle of fancies and acted thoughts, we
may walk fearlessly on the house-tops, show us in another fashion the
action of active brain and body upon unconscious mind.

Thus it seems perfectly clear that in many of our daily actions
we pass automatically through existence, dreaming no more than
does the wound-up watch of the mechanism in virtue of which we
execute our common movements, but regulated at the same time by
an internal power which now and then asserts its sway over the vital
machinery, as if to remind us that we possess the higher attributes of
reason and will. If it be true, as we have shown, that over the
bodily processes brain asserts an autocratic sway, it is equally note-
worthy that under the influence of what, for want of a clearer term,
we may call conscious mind, the automatic rigour and regularity of
life may be suspended and overruled. Take as a fitting and as an
interesting example the difference between the ordinary unconstrained
action of the heart and its behaviour under the influence of mental
emotion. If, as Cowper figuratively puts it,

The heart
May give a useful lesson to the head,

it is no less true physiologically that the head may occasionally give
anything but a salutary lesson to the heart. It was Moliere and
Swift who, in their day, justly ridiculed, as physiology proves, the idea
that the heart's regular action depended upon some mysterious
"pulsific virtue." Within the heart's own substance— and it must
be borne in mind the centre of the circulation is simply a hollow
muscle — lie minute " sympathetic " nerves and nerve masses which
govern its ordinary movements, and are responsible for its uncon-
strained working. The regular motions of the heart thus present
little difficulty in the way of theoretically understanding their origin
and continuance. As other muscles — such as those of the eyelids or
of the breathing apparatus — possess a regular action, and are stimu-
lated at more or less definite intervals, so the heart itself simply acts
in obedience to the defined nervous stimulation it undergoes. But
it so happens, that other two sets of nerves are concerned more or
less intimately in the affairs of the heart. ' From the sympathetic
system, an important nerve trunk enters into the heart's substance.
This trunk is independent in nature of the sympathetic nerve masses
which control the ordinary movements of the heart. But the sys-
tem of nerves which owns the brain as its head, also possesses a
share in the heart's regulation. Nerves are supplied to the organ
from a very remarkable branch, which, with more respect for scien-

p 2

212 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

tific terminology, perhaps, than for the reader's feelings, we shall
name the " pneumogastric " or "vagus" nerve. This latter nerve
originates from the upper portion of the spinal cord, esteemed, and
justly so, as the most sensitive and important of the brain centres.
So much for an elementary lesson in the nervous supply of the
heart ; the outcome of such a study being, that the heart much re-
sembles a conjoint railway station, in which three companies possess
an interest, and whose lines enter the structure. The chief pro-
prietors of the station are represented by the small sympathetic
nerves and nerve-centres, which belong to the heart's own sub-
stance, whilst the fibres of the sympathetic nerve, and those of
the pneumogastric nerve, represent the other lines that traverse
the common territory, and affect the traffic carried on within its
bounds.

Now, in the relations borne by these various nerves to the work
and functions of the heart, we may find a very typical example of the
dominance occasionally assumed by the mind over a function of the
body which, under ordinary circumstances, is carried on without the
control of the head-centre of the frame — just, indeed, as the head
of a department may sometimes interfere with the placid way of life by
means of which his efficient subordinates may discharge the duties
they owe to the country at large. For, what has experimental physi-
ology to say regarding the explanation of the effects of joy or sorrow,
fear and anguish, and the general play of the passions on the heart?
Under the influence of the emotions, the organ of the circulation is
literally swayed beneath varying stimulation, just as in metaphor we
describe it as responding to the conflicting thoughts, which, whilst
they primarily affect the brain, yet in a secondary fashion rule the
heart and other parts of the body. The trains of thought in fact
despatch to the heart, along either or both of the nerve-lines already
mentioned, portions of their influence, with varying and different
effects. Take for instance the effects of fear upon the heart-throbs.
Who has not experienced the stilling of the heart's action which a
sudden shock induces? or that chilling sensation, accompanied by the
sudden slowing of the pulses, which every poet has depicted as the
first and most typical sign of the startled mind ? Such a familiar
result of strong emotion illustrates the effect of mind upon body in a
fashion of all others most clear and intelligible. Here an "inhibitory"
action has taken place, through the medium of the " pneumogastric "
nerves. By irritating or stimulating these nerves, we may slow the
heart's action, or may cause that action to cease. It is from some
such source also, that the influence of fear, or of that emotion which
holds us rapt " with bated breath," or which keeps us " breathless
with adoration," proceeds. Like the action of the heart, the process
of breathing responds to the will and sway of that mental counsellor

BODY AND MIXD. 2i\

who may sometimes not over-wisely strain his authority, and abuse
the prerogative with which he is invested. Similarly, " the sacred
source of sympathetic tears " rests in the mental emotion and
its effect upon the tear-glands of the eyes ; and such unwonted
stimulation of these latter organs has come to be associated with
certain emotions as the most stable expression of their existence.
In such a study we may well discover how the physical and material
basis whereon the expression of the emotions rests, is in reality
constituted by the action and interaction of like processes to
these we have been considering. An inhibition conveyed from
brain to heart, and its visible effects on the body, together form
the outcome of emotion, or expression, which, by long repetition
in the history of our race, has come to be recognised as a sure sign
and symptom of the thoughts and ways of mind.

This inhibition of the heart and its action, however, is not the
only influence which is brought to bear on the normal work of that
organ. If it is slowed by fear, it is stimulated by joy ; if it is chilled
by anguish, it is quickened by hope ; and if the pallid countenance be
an index of the one set of emotions, no less is the flushed visage and
mantling colour the true expression of the other. By what means
are the trains of thought laden with the hopes and joys of life nude
to affect the heart ? To what do

Sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood and felt along the heart,

owe their propagation and conveyance? The answer is found in a study
of the sympathetic system of nerves and its influence on the circulation.
Experiment and analogy clearly prove, that through these latter
nerves, the pulses of joy affect the throbs of the heart, and quicken
its pulsations. The sympathetic nerves are thus the antagonists of
the inhibitory fibres before-mentioned, which slow the heart's action,
and chill the pulses of life. True, they are not of such powerful kind,
and their action is not of such marked character as that of the fibres
which retard the throbs of the heart. Still, the influence of the lines
along which the impulses which quicken its action run, is marked and
distinct enough ; and it may be logically enough conceived, that in
the subject of the beaming eye, in whose breast hope ever renews her
"flattering tale/' the sympathetic impulses have acquired a power
unknown to the mind harassed by continual fears. And in a
manner similar to that in which the cheering influences of life pass
to quicken the action of the heart, are there more visible expressions
of the emotions produced, in the tell-tale blush and in the mantling
colour. Donne gives vent to no mere poetic phantasy, but declares
a veritable fact of physiology, when he declares, in his Funeral Elegy
" On the Death of Mistress Drury," that

214 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

We understood

Her by her sight ; her pure and eloquent blood
Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought
That we might almost say her body thought.

The natural blush is thus the offspring of the mind. Its physio-
logical explanation is simple enough. A larger quantity of blood
than usual is sent into the minute blood-vessels of the skin, these
vessels being in a state of temporary relaxation, and having had
withdrawn the natural stimulus to moderate contraction, which is part
of their ordinary duty. In what way has the head of the department
interfered with the ordinary routine of the body ? The answer is
supplied by the knowledge we have already gained respecting the
control of the forces which provide for the due circulation of the vital
fluid, and also by experimentation upon the rabbit's ear. When the
sympathetic nerves are affected, the heart's action, as we have
noted, is quickened, and a greater amount of blood is sent through
the vessels. When we divide the sympathetic nerve which supplies
the blood-vessels of the ear, these vessels become dilated, and the
rabbit's ear exhibits the same phenomena seen in the blushing coun-
tenance of the human subject. On the sympathetic system, then,
we must lay the burden of any complaints we have to make respecting
the " damask cheek " of every-day life. And conversely, to the same
lines of nerve which speed the heart's action we must give the credit
of causing the pallid countenance of fear or despair. When the cut
end of the sympathetic nerve in the rabbit's ear is irritated, we
perceive the ear to become pale, and its temperature to decrease.
This result arises from our conveying to the nerves of the blood
vessels some stimulus resembling that we have deprived them of,
so that they contract overmuch, and thus expel the blood from the
surface over which they are distributed. But the slowing of the
heart in the ordinary course of life is probably a matter with which
the inhibitory nerves have to do, and thus upon the pneumogastric
fibres we may rest the pale cast of the human face divine. Not to
be passed over without remark, are the consequences to our health
and physical well-being which flow from such overriding by the
nervcus system of the ordinary processes and acts of life. When an
influenza, or some still more serious internal disturbance of our
healthy equilibrium, occurs, we may trace the affection in question to
the influence of cold on the skin (as in a chill) acting upon nerves
which regulate the blood-vessels and their contraction. Thus, to
descend from philosophy to broad utilitarianism, it is not the least
important effect of studies dealing with the mechanism of body and
mind, that they may explain to us with equal facility the rationale of
the emotions or the reason why we " catch a cold."

The ordinary relations between body and mind may thus be

BODY AND MIND. 2i£

demonstrated by the study of some of the simplest actions of bodily
mechanism. On the other hand, this relationship may be equally
apparent, and may be even more forcibly shown in some of its
less understood phases, by a reference to states which as a rule
are known to the physiologist or physician alone. In proof of this
fact let us note the effect of some strong mental impressions upon the
physical constitution. Here we may meet with illustrations in them-
selves of literally wondrous nature, and which reveal a power of affecting
the body through the mind such as would scarcely be deemed possible
under well-nigh any circumstances. Some curious instances of the
effects of ill-governed rage, of violent temper, and of fear, upon the
frame may be first glanced at. Sir Astley Cooper long ago drew atten-
tion to the high importance of the mother preserving a quiet mind and
demeanour during the care and nurture of her child. This authority
illustrates his advice by several instances in which some remarkable
and unknown effects appear to have been produced in the maternal
frame by passion and by fright. An instance in point is given by Dr.
Andrew Combe. A soldier was billeted in the house of a carpenter,
and, having quarrelled with the latter, drew his sword to attack his
host. The wife of the carpenter interposed, and, in an excited
state, wrenched the sword from the soldier and broke it in pieces,
the combatants being thereafter separated by the interference of the
neighbours. Labouring under the strong excitement, the woman
took up her infant from the cradle where it lay playing in perfect
health, and gave it the breast. '• In a few minutes," says the narrator,
" the infant became restless, panted, and sank dead upon its mother's
bosom. The physician who was instantly called in, found the child
lying in the cradle, as if asleep, and with its features undisturbed ;
but all his resources were fruitless. It was irrecoverably gone."

In lower life also, it would seem that fear and rage possess a
similar influence on the bodily secretions in inducing a deleterious or
even deadly effect. A puppy has been known to die in convulsions
on sucking its mother after she had been engaged in a fierce dispute
with another dog. The effects of fear in modifying bodily processes
have been exemplified in the case of the heart's action j but they
receive an equally interesting illustration in the disturbing influence
of fear upon the secretion of the saliva. As the mouth " waters "
when the dainty morsel is perceived or even thought of, so the
opposite effect may be induced under the influence of a nervous
dread and fear. No better illustration of this last assertion is to be
found than in the case of the Indian method of discovering a thief.
The priest who presides at the ordeal in question necessarily, by his
mere presence, induces in the mind a superstitious horror of discovery.
The servants in the household being seated and duly warned of the
infallibility of the procedure, are furnished each with a mouthful of

2i 6 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

rice, which they are requested to retain in the mouth for a given
time. At the expiry of the period the rice is examined, when it is
generally found that in the case of the guilty person the morsel is as
dry as when he received it, the rice of his fellows being duly
moistened. The suspension of secretion under the influence of fear
may not be of universal occurrence. It is conceivable and probable
that a person of strong will, even although labouring under the
conviction of conscious guilt, might successfully pass through the
ordeal ; but the essential hold of the operator is in the influence of
fear and the terror of detection by a process which the guilty person
equally with his innocent neighbours believes to be all-powerful for
the designed end. The feeling of conscious innocence would tend to
promote the flow of saliva, whilst that of guilt would produce the
opposite effect. Thus the common complaint of feeling " out of
sorts " under the influence of worry and vexation, is but an illustra-
tion, drawn from every-day existence, of the effects of mental irrita-
tion upon the ordinary functions of the body, and an impaired
digestion may thus appear as the true product of a mental worry.
John Hunter's words, that "there is not a natural action in the
body, whether involuntary or voluntary, that may not be influenced
by the peculiar state of the mind at the time," may be viewed in the
light of a simple truism. And sagely Burton delivers himself in his
" Anatomy of Melancholy," when he remarks, that " Imagination is
the medium defens of passions, by whose means they work and
produce many times prodigious effects; and as the phantasie is
more or less intended or remitted and their humours disposed, so
do perturbations move more or less, and make deeper impression."

Most persons have heard of the idea which attributes the occur-
rence of jaundice to some strong disgust experienced by the subject
of the affection, which, as is well known, simply consists in suppres-
sion of the bile or secretion of the liver — although by physicians
jaundice is viewed rather as a symptom of other affections than as
constituting of itself a primary disease. The bile was accounted
in the early days of physiological research one of the humours,
wherein was stored black care, or that "green and yellow melan-
choly" of which Shakespeare speaks. The same ideas which referred
the passions to the various organs of the body — and which still
figuratively survive when we speak of "a fit of the spleen," of the
" meditative spleen " of Wordsworth, or of the " heart " as base,
wicked, grateful, or glad — assigned to the bile no very auspicious
office as the generator of melancholy and brooding care. " Achilles
hath no gall within his breast" is an Homeric expression, indicative
of a belief in the absence of melancholy or fear in the hero ; and
Juvenal asks : —

Quid referam quanta siccum jecur ardeat ira?

BODY AND MIND. 217

referring anger to the liver as its seat. Even Solomon makes mis-
guided passion to be typified by the " dart," which strikes through
the liver of the unguarded subject ; and Jeremiah similarly conveys
the idea of intense grief in the metaphor, " my liver is poured upon
the earth." These ideas have long since been exploded ; but there
remains with us the equally curious notion that the influence of the
mind upon the body may extend so far as to produce the serious
disturbance of function which results in jaundice. Is it not probable
that upon some such notion respecting the causation of jaundice,
the ancient belief regarding the connection between the bile and
mental states depended ? On some such belief hang Shakespeare's
words : —

Why should a man whose blood is warm within,

Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?

Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice

By being peevish ?

Unquestionably we may find very direct evidence of the near con-
nection between mental states and suppressed secretions when we
turn to medical records. An eminent authority in the practice of
physic writes : — "Certainly \\\e pathemata mentis play their assigned
parts ; fits of anger, and of fear, and of alarm have been presently

followed by jaundice A young medical friend of mine had a

severe attack of intense jaundice, which could be traced to nothing
else than his great and needless anxiety about an approaching exami-
nation before the Censors' Board at the College of Physicians.
There are scores of instances on record to the same effect." It seems
thus in the highest degree probable that there exist between mental
states and the functions of the liver, relations of the most intimate
kind. It is, ho\vever, equally important to avoid the fallacy post hoc
ergo propter hoc. As Dr. Carpenter remarks, " It is a prevalent, and
perhaps not an ill-founded opinion, that melancholy and jealousy
have a tendency to increase the quantity, and to vitiate the quality,
of the biliary fluid ; and amongst the causes of jaundice are usually
set down the indulgence of the depressing emotions, or an access of
sudden and violent passion. There <~an be no doubt, however, that
a disordered state of the biliary secretion is frequently rather the
cause than the consequence of a melancholic state of mind, the
blood being sufficiently vitiated by a deficient elimination of bile, to
have its due relations with the nervous system seriously disturbed,
before any obvious indications of that deficiency make their appear-
ance in the jaundiced aspect of the cutaneous surface."

Amongst the most remarkable effects of mental emotion in pro-
ducing curious and well-nigh inexplicable changes in the bodily
organisation, are those witnessed in the changes which the skin or
hair may undergo under the influence of care and fear especially.

2i8 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

Take firstly the case of the effects of wrinkled care. If " care will
kill a cat," as George Wither has it, despite the innumerable lives with
which the feline nature is usually credited, it is also certain that the
" ravell'd sleave of care " unquestionably affects the bodily processes
more plainly and lastingly than any of the other emotions. What
text has more frequently been made the subject of poetic comment
than the lean body and worn visage encompassing the harassed soul?
John Hunter has noted that even in the hen, the care attending the
upbringing of her numerous progeny keeps her body lean and
meagre. " A hen shall hatch her chickens," says the observant
founder of modern physiology, " at which time she is very lean ; if
these chickens are taken from her she will soon get fat, but if they
are allowed to stay with her, she will continue lean the whole time
she is rearing them, although she is as well fed and eats as much as
she would have done if she had had no chickens." Substitute the
worries of business or the cares and exigencies of life for the chickens,
and place mankind in the place of the bird, and the picture of the
physiologist would read equally true.

The influences of fear or care upon the skin and hair are equally
notable. The " Prisoner of Chillon's " is no fanciful case, but one
which medicine may show is of tolerably common occurrence. Bichat,
the physiologist, notes such a case. After a severe illness, often after
mental worry or temporary insanity, the hair may change its hue in a
gradual fashion towards the whiteness of age. And that " sudden
fears " may

Time outgo,
And blanch at once the hair,

is also a plain experience of the physician. In times of peril, such as on
the threat and expectation of an invasion, numerous cases of a sudden
change of the colour of hair have been recorded. The late Professor
Laycock mentions a singular case, in which a lady, after a severe
attack of neuralgia occurring in the night, found in the morning that
the inner portion of one eyebrow, and the eyelashes attached to the
part in question, had become of a white colour. There seems every
reason to believe in the correctness of Dr. Laycock's assertion, that
the natural greyness of old age is connected with certain changes in
nerve-centres and in the nerves which are connected with the hair-
bulbs, and presumably, therefore, with the conditions regulating the
nutrition of the hairs. If this view be correct, it certainly shows how
extensive and widespread are the influences which emanate from the
brain and nerve-centres as the head-quarters of mind. On the converse
side of things, we must not fail to note that occasionally, in a perfectly
natural fashion, and without any undue mental stimulus, the hair of the
aged may exhibit all the luxuriance and characteristics of youth. An
old gentleman, aged 75, says Dr. Tuke, whose bones even "were so

BODY AND MIND. 219

impregnated with a thorough disgust of the government of George
the Fourth that he threw up a lucrative situation in one of the Royal.
yards," induced his youngest son to go and do likewise. This
thoroughgoing Radical insisted, moreover, that his wife, aged 70,
" toothless for years, and her hair as white as the snow on Mont
Blanc, should accompany them to the land where God's creatures
were permitted to inhale the pure, old, invigorating atmosphere of
freedom. About six or seven years after their departure, a friend-
living in New York gave an excellent account of their proceedings.
Not only could the old man puff away in glorious style, and the son

do well as a portrait-painter, but old Mrs. had cut a new set of

teeth, and her poll was covered with a full crop of dark brown hair/"

Some of the most remarkable results of an unusual mental
stimulus upon the body, are witnessed in cases wherein specific
diseases have not merely been simulated, but have actually been
induced, by the lucid description of them in the hearing of the per-
sons who became thus mysteriously affected. Lecturers on the
practice of medicine in our universities and medical schools rarely,
if ever, deliver a statutory course to their students without exem-
plifying the truth of the foregoing observation. The writer well
remembers an instance in point, occurring in a class-fellow of his own
who attended the practice of physic class with him. During and
after the description of skin diseases, this student suffered extremely
from skin irritation, induced by his too vivid realisation of the sym-
ptoms described by the lecturer. These uncomfortable morbid feelings
culminated one day when the lecturer described the symptoms of a cer-
tain disease supposed to possess a special sphere of distribution in the
northern parts of Great Britain. For days afterwards, the student was
tormented by an uncomfortable and persistent itching between the
fingers, which no treatment seemed to alleviate ; but which passed
away when an eruption of a simple type appeared on his hands, the
latter induced by no known cause, but apparently as the result of the
morbid mental influences to which he was subject. Not a session
passes in our medical schools but the lecturer on physic has occa-
sion to quiet the nervous fears of nervous students, who simulate in
themselves the symptoms of heart disease, and require the gravest
assurances that their fears are ungrounded, ana that they have simply
been studying with a morbid interest the lecturer's remarks on heart
affections.

In his work entitled " De ITmagination," Demaugeon tells us
that Nebelius, lecturing one day upon intermittent fever, and lucidly
describing ague, noticed one of his pupils to become pale, to shiver,
and to exhibit at last all the symptoms of ague. This lad was laid
up for a considerable period with a true attack of the fever in ques-
tion, and recovered under the usual treatment for the disease. If,

220 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

however, it is found that the influence of the mind, and the vain
imaginings of a morbid fancy, may induce disease, it is no less
certain that a like action of the mind may occasionally cure an other-
wise stubborn malady. No better illustrations of such cases can be
cited than those in which a severe fright relieves a condition which
may have resisted every effort of treatment. An attack of tooth-
ache not unfrequently disappears when we seat ourselves in the
dentist's chair. A severe attack of the gout has been cured by the
alarm raised consequent upon the house of the patient being set on
fire ; whilst more than one case of severe pain has been cured by the
patient ignorantly swallowing the paper on which the surgeon's pre-
scription was written instead of the prescription itself.

There can be little doubt that certain phases of the imagination
possess a singular and at the same time valuable effect in inducing
the removal of diseased conditions. It is not certainly a satisfactory
use, when viewed from the moral side, of such knowledge, when we
find that a vast number of the cures said to have been effected by
the nostrums of quacks, are wrought in virtue of this influence of
mind over body. The " faith-healing " Bethshans, and allied
establishments for the cure of all diseases, grave or simple, by faith
in the power of prayer, present in the light of this remark a study of
physiological interest. Says Dr. Tuke, in the preface to his interest-
ing and classical work on the " Influence of the Mind upon the Body,"
the medical reader should "copy nature in those interesting instances,
occasionally occurring, of sudden recovery from the spontaneous
action of some powerful moral cause, by employing the same force
designedly, instead of leaving it to mere chance. The force is there,"
continues this author, "acting irregularly and capriciously. The
question is whether it cannot be applied and guided with skill and
wisdom by the physician. Again and again we exclaim, when some
new nostrum, powerless in itself, effects a cure, * It's only the
imagination ! ' We attribute to this remarkable mental influence a
power which ordinary medicines have failed to exert, and yet are
content with a shrug of the shoulders to dismiss the circumstance
from our minds without further thought. I want medical men who
are in active practice to utilise this force — to yoke it to the car of
the Son of Apollo, and, rescuing it from the eccentric orbits of
quackery, force it to tread, with measured step, the orderly paths of
legitimate medicine. 'Remember/ said Dr. Rush, in addressing
medical students, ' how many of our most useful remedies have been
discovered by quacks. . . . Medicine has its Pharisees as well as
religion ; but the spirit of this sect is as unfriendly to the advance-
ment of medicine as it is to Christian charity.' "

These words are full of practical wisdom and sound common
sense, and serve to explain the modus operandi of the nostrums

BODY AND MIND. 221

which flood the advertising columns of our newspapers, and
appeal to our varied senses at well-nigh every turn of modern
life. A patient, suffering from some intractable complaint, in
which a hopelessness of cure forms no inconsiderable obstacle to
the physician's efforts, procures some new nostrum. The very sight
of the invariable string of testimonials inspires confidence. There
are certain to be included in the list of cures similar cases to his
own. He reads and believes ; and the nostrum, possibly harm-
less as the bread pills prescribed by the physician for the hypo-
chondriac, receives another tribute of grateful praise. The analo-
gous case of Liebig, who, when a young man, had neglected to
prepare for his masters visitors the nitrous oxide, or " laughing-
gas " of the modern dentist, but filled the inhalers with atmospheric
air instead, illustrates once again the power of faith. The common
air produced all the symptoms of mild gaseous intoxication which
the laughing-gas was expected to induce. Venturing within the
region of household medicine and popular surgery, perhaps the
charming away of warts presents us with another instance of the
literally remarkable influence of the mind in modifying not merely
physical states but bodily structures. Every " wise woman " in
the remote districts of the country, to which the spread of educa-
tional sweetness and light has mostly confined such homely oracles,
possesses a " charm " for driving away the excrescences in question.
Even in the time of Lucian such female practitioners of a mild
species of occult art were celebrated for their successful treatment of
warts. Dr. Tuke gives a case in point, in which, through the effects
of the imagination, even in a cultured person, the growths in question
were made to disappear. A surgeon's daughter had about a dozen
warts on her hands, the usual modes of treatment having availed
nothing in their removal. For eighteen months, the warts remained
intractable, until a gentleman, noticing the disfigurement, asked her
to count them. Carefully and solemnly noting down their number,
he then said, " You will not be troubled with your warts after next
Sunday/' At the time named, the warts had disappeared, and did not
return. Here, the connection between the imaginative impression of
some occult or mysterious power, and the cure, was too close to leave
a doubt that, as in other cases of bodily ailment, the mind, which so-
frequently affects the body to its hurt, had in turn favourably
influenced the physical organisation.

No less a personage than Lord Bacon himself had a similar cure
performed upon his hands by the English Ambassador's lady at Paris,,
"who," he adds, "was a woman far from superstition." The lady's
procedure certainly betokened a belief in some occult effects or in-
fluences, for Bacon tells us that, taking a piece of lard with the skin ony
" she rubbed the warts all over with the fat side," and amongst the

222 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

growths so treated was one he had had from childhood. " Then,"
continues the narrative, " she nailed the piece of lard, with the fat
towards the sun, upon a post of her chamber window, which was to the
south. The success was that in five weeks' space all the warts went
quite away, and that wart which I had so long endured for company.
But at the rest I did little marvel," says Bacon, " because they came in
a short time, and might go away in a short time again; but the going
away of that which had stayed so long doth yet stick with me." The
miscellaneous character of the substances used in wart charms and in
incantations of like nature, at once reveals the fact of the real cure
lying in some direction other than that of the nostrum. Beneath the
material substance unconsciously used as a mere bait for the
imagination, work the forces of mind acting through the medium of
the nervous system. " The confident expectation of a cure" to use
Dr. Carpenter's expression, is the most potent means of bringing it
about ; and, as another writer remarks, " Any system of treatment,
however absurd, that can be 'puffed' into public notoriety for efficacy
— any individual who, by accident or design, obtains a reputation
for the possession of a special gift of healing — is certain to attract a
multitude of sufferers, among whom will be several who are capable
of being really benefited by a strong assurance of relief, whilst others
for a time believe themselves to have experienced it. And there is,
for the same reason," adds this author, "no religion that has attained
a powerful hold on the minds of its votaries, which cannot boast its
f miracles ' of this order."

The same spirit of popular belief and credulity which long ago
asserted that vaccination produced a growth of ''horns" on the heads
of the vaccinated subjects, from their being inoculated with the
matter obtained from the cow, was displayed in another but equally
unreasoning fashion in the assertion that the touch of a royal hand
could cure scrofula — a disease which to this day retains the popular
name of "king's evil." Macaulay relates that when William III.
refused to lend his hand and countenance to the cure of scrofula,
evidence of overwhelming nature as to the multitude of cures which
had been wrought by the royal touch was collected and submitted.
The clergy testified to the reality of the effects induced, as in earlier years
they had frequently been the chief propagators of superstitious myths
concerning healing powers of occult nature, whilst the medical pro-
fession testified that the rapidity of the apparent cures placed them
beyond the sphere of natural causation, and brought them within the
domain of faith — a lack of which virtue resulted in failure to effect a
cure. In the reign of Charles II. nearly one hundred thousand persons
were "touched" ; and King James, in Chester Cathedral, performed a
similar service to eight hundred persons. On William the conse-
quences of refusing to favour a popular delusion fell fast and heavy.

BODY AND MIND. 223

Jacobites and Whigs alike criticised his determination unfavourably;
but in the era we speak of began the decline of the sovereign virtue
of the royal toucli — a virtue which is scarcely spoken of, much less
demanded, in these latter days, which, however, countenance and
support delusions of equally absurd kind. Dr. Tuke quotes a
passage from Aubray to the effect that " The curing of the King's
Evil, by the touch of the King, does much puzzle our philosophers,
for whether our kings were of the House of York or Lancaster, it did
the cure for the most part. In other words," adds Dr. Tuke, " the
imagination belongs to no party, guild, or creed."

Within the domain of theology itself, the physiologist occasionally
finds it his duty to intrude ; since therefrom not a few illustrations
of very remarkable kind respecting the influence of mind upon body,
have been drawn. The more important do these instances become,
because, from a moral point of view, their influence tends often to
propagate as the " miracle " of the credulous, a condition or effect
readily explicable upon scientific grounds. In convents, not merely
have delusions resulting from diseased imagination been frequently
represented, but such delusions have affected in various remarkable
ways the bodies of the subjects in question, and have in turn
extended their influence to others. Thus, for instance, a tendency
to mew like a cat, seen in one inmate, has passed through an entire
convent. One of the best known instances of a disordered imagina-
tion tending to propagate a delusion, is that given by Boerhaave,
who was consulted with reference to an epidemic occurring in a
convent, and which was characterised by a succession of severe fits.
On the principle similia similibus curantur Boerhaave determined to
repress the disordered and, for the time, " dominant idea," by another
of practical kind, and accordingly announced his intention to use grave
medical measures in the shape of a red-hot iron on the first patient
who presented herself. Needless to remark, the dominant idea of
the physician replaced that arising from the abnormal action of mind,
and the peace of the convent was duly restored by this simple
expedient.

One of the most familiar cases which occurred within recent
times was that of Louise Lateau, a young Belgian peasant, whose
mental aberrations, aided by some very singular bodily defects,
gained for her the reputation of sanctity of a high order and un-
common origin. To begin with, Louise Lateau suffered from a
protracted illness from which she recovered after receiving the
Sacrament. Naturally enough, this circumstance alone affected
her mind, and stamped her recovery as a somewhat supernatural,
or at any rate as a highly extraordinary, occurrence. Soon there-
after blood began to flow from a particular spot on her side every
Friday. A few months later, bleeding points, or stigmata, began

224 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SE\SE.

to appear on the palm and back of each hand. The upper surface of
the feet also exhibited similar bleeding points, and on her brow a
circle of spots also appeared, the markings thus coming to imitate
closely the injuries familiar to all in connection with the Crucifixion.
Every Friday these points bled anew, the health of the subject of
these strange phenomena being visibly affected ; whilst the mere
nature of the condition was sufficient to stamp her case as peculiar
in the highest degree. At the period when the stigmata began
to be developed, Louise Lateau also commenced to exhibit that
condition of mind universally known under the term " ecstasy."
In this state, which might be described as that of abstraction plus
rapture, the mind is removed from its surroundings, as in som-
nambulism or the mesmeric state. Louise Lateau, however, could,
as in many cases of the mesmeric trance, describe after her return
to consciousness the sensations she had experienced. She described
minutely her experiences as consisting of the sensation of being
plunged into an atmosphere of bright light from which various forms
began to appear. The scenes of the Passion were then enacted
before her, and every detail of the Crucifixion was related by her,
down to a minute description of the spectators around the cross.
The successive pictures which were being represented to her mind
could be traced in her actions. Each emotion was accompanied by
a corresponding movement, and at 3 P.M. she extended her limbs in
the shape of a cross. After the ecstasy had passed away, extreme
prostration followed ; the pulse was feeble, breathing slow, and the
surface of the body bedewed with a cold perspiration. In about ten
minutes thereafter, she returned to her normal state.

Such is a brief recital of a case by no means unique in the history
of physiology, but which demonstrates in a singular fashion how
mind may act upon body in ways literally undreamt of. There is
little wonder that Louise Lateau should have been regarded as a
person around whom a special halo of sanctity had been miraculously
thrown ; whilst the peculiar fashion in which her body seemed to
follow the dreams or visions of her ecstasy in the production of
seeming duplicates of the injuries to the crucified body, served but to
raise the occurrence to a higher level of the miraculous. Such
ecstatic states, however, are well known in the history of science.
Maury points out that supernatural revelations were not the exclusive
property of the good, but appeared to the sinful likewise. Visions
of demoniacal scenes were once as frequent as dreams of heaven,
and hence it became necessary, as the last-named author points out,
to classify these occurrences as " holy " and " demoniacal." St.
Francis d'Assisi was the parent of these "stigmatic" visitations;
and M. Maury relates that saints' days and Fridays were the occa-
sions on which the " stigmata " almost universally appeared — a fact

BODY AND MIND. 22$

illustrated by such cases as those of Ursula Aguir (1592), and Sister
Emmerich (1824). Here, again, we have to face simply the oft-
repeated problem of the potent influence of mind over a special
region or part of the body, resulting from the extreme concentration
of the attention upon special features or objects of adoration or
worship. Emotional excitement produces cases allied to those of
the " stigmatics " of religion, under circumstances which suggest a
common causation for both. In -the case of a sailor related by
Paulini, large drops of perspiration of a bright red colour appeared
on the face, neck, and breast, after a severe fright. The man was
speechless from mental excitement, but as the bleeding points dis-
appeared the man recovered his speech. This case presents us with
the phenomena of Louise Lateau, the stigmatic, separated from the
halo of inspiration by which she was surrounded, but induced by a
like cause — the abnormal, concentrated, and unconscious action of
the imagination upon the circulation. No less interesting is the
occurrence of a similar phenomenon in lower life, in the august
person of a hippopotamus, which in a fit of rage was noted by the
late Mr. Frank Buckland to perspire profusely a fluid containing
blood. This latter fact serves to demonstrate not merely the com-
munity of these phenomena in man and animals, but also divests the
occurrence of that miraculous or occult nature which human credulity
or superstition, under certain circumstances, would assuredly attribute
to it.

226 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

XL

THE OLD PHRENOLOGY AND THE NEW.

THERE has ever lain a strange fascination for culture and ignorance
alike, in the attempt to diagnose the intellect and character of man
from the outward manifestations of his face and skull. The problem
of character and its interpretation is as old as Plato, and may prob-
ably be shown to be more ancient still. Egyptian soothsayers and
Babylonian astrologers were hardly likely to have omitted the index-
ing of character as a profitable and at the same time legitimate exer-
cise of their art. The forecasting of future events and the casting of
nativities were studies likely enough to bear a friendly relationship
to the determination of character from face, from fingers, or from
skull and brain itself. But the histories of palmistry and soothsaying,
with that of physiognomy, are they not all writ in the Encyclopaedias ?
We shall not occupy space with an historical resume of the efforts of
philosophy in swaddling clothes attempting to wrestle with the great
problem of mind and matter ; nor shall we at present venture to
oppose a scientific denial to Shakespeare's dictum that

There's no art
To find the mind's construction in the face.

Darwin's " Expression of the Emotions," the development of
facial contortions, and the interesting study of the genesis of smiles
and tears, and of the thousand and one signs which make up the
visible and emotional life of humanity, may form a subject for treat-
ment hereafter. Our present study concerns the deeper but not less
interesting problem of the indexing of mind, and of the relations of
brain-conformation and brain-structure to character and disposition.
If there exists no art " to find the mind's construction in the face,"
Lavater notwithstanding, may we discover " the mind's construction
in the skull " ? If the old phrenology, or the science of brain-pans,
be regarded as practically obsolete amongst physiologists and scien-
tific men at large, what hopes of successfully estimating the u coinage
of the brain" may the new phrenology be said to hold out? To this
interesting question, then, let us ask the reader's attention for a brief
period. We may premise, that if the march in ways phrenological be
somewhat bellicose, our journey shall not be wanting in those mental
elements which make for instruction in a field largely peopled with
human hopes and fears.

THE OLD PHRENOLOGY AND THE NEW. 227

The professions of phrenology are not by any means so correctly
appreciated as might be thought, considering how well known is the
name of the science, and how popular were its tenets within, com-
paratively speaking, a few years back. Although the name " phreno-
logy" is but an echo in the scientific class-rooms, its professors still
flourish, mostly in obscure localities in large towns, and often present
themselves as modern representatives of the Peripatetici, in that
they wander from town to town as travelling philosophers who
usually unite a little electro-biology to their phrenological talents,
and throw in an occasional mesmeric seance by way of offset to the
more serious business of the interpretation of character. There are, it
is true, phrenological societies and museums in several of our cities.
The latter are chiefly remarkable for the varied collection of mur-
derers' effigies and for the extensive assortment of casts of cranial
abnormalities ; the exact relationship of these contorted images to
phrenological science being rarely if ever made clear to the visitor
on the search for knowledge. Now and then in opticians' windows
one sees a wondrous china head whose cubic capacity is mapped off
into square inches, half inches, and quarters, of veneration, ideality,
comparison, benevolence, and many other so-called " organs " of
mind. The contemplation of such a work of art excites within the
mind of the ingenuous observer an idea of the literal awfulness of a
science which dispenses destructiveness by the inch, and which maps
out the bounds of our amativeness by the rule of three ; whilst the
profundity of its professors may by such a mind be compared only
to that of Butler's savant who

Could distinguish and divide
A hair, 'twixt south and south-west side.

Nor would the admiration of the ingenuous one be lessened were
he to enter the sanctum of the " professor " of phrenology, and sub-
mit his cranium to the ocular inspection and digital manipulation of
the oracle. The very furnishings of the apartment are often of
mystic order, and are calculated to impress or overawe the inquiring
mind. Pope's dictum concerning "the proper study of mankind "
embellishes the walls ; and the advice " know thyself," (meant to be
interpreted and taken in a phrenological sense,) is given gratis
through the medium of a conspicuous, and usually illustrated, poster.
The tattooed head of a New Zealander ; a few skulls, occasionally
supplemented by a collection of stuffed lizards and other reptilian
curiosities, and invariably flanked by busts of the ancient philosophers,
complete the aesthetic furnishings of the modern temple of the delin-
eator of character. To the proprietor, in due time, enters a certain
moiety of the British public in search of knowledge. And thence in
due season issue the clients of the professor of brain-pans, each pro-

Q2

228 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

vided (for a consideration) with a wondrous chart of their mental
disposition, wherein the moral quicksands are presumed to be duly
marked, and the obliquities of character stamped, with a view towards
future correction and improvement.

How may the phrenological professor succeed very fairly in
reading character ? may be asked at the outset by readers who have
had those parts of their disposition best known to themselves de-
lineated with a fair approach to accuracy by the oracle. The reply
is clear. Not through manipulating those mysterious " bumps," nor
through any occult knowledge of the brains of his votaries, but
simply from a shrewd talent for scanning the personal appearance
and physiognomy of his clients, and by the dexterous suggestion of
queries bearing on those traits of character which the features and
manner reveal. Your successful phrenologist is in truth a shrewd
physiognomist. His guide to character is in reality the face, not
the brain-pan. The dress, manners, and deportment of his clients,
and not the grey matter of the cerebrum, form the real basis of his
observations. If any one may be found to doubt how accurately
one's character may be mapped out from its outward manifestations,
let him endeavour to study for a while the acts and deportment of
those with whose " mind's construction " he may be even slightly
acquainted, and he will speedily discover numerous clues to the
mental disposition in common acts and traits which previously had
passed utterly unnoticed. Such a result accrues speedily to the
professed physiognomist and shrewd observer of men, who, passing
his fellows in professional review before him, speedily discovers
types of character to which, with allowance for special proclivities
or traits, his various clients may be referred. That character may
with tolerable success be determined even from handwriting, is a
well-known fact ; and it is difficult to see the superiority of the
pretensions and claims of phrenology as a guide to character over
those of the professor of caligraphic philosophy. One of the most
convincing illustrations that even a practical knowledge of brain-
structure is not necessary for the successful delineation of such
superficial traits of character as can alone be determined by the
casual observer, may be found in the fact, that very few "professors"
of phrenology have undergone any training in physiology, whilst a
large proportion may never have seen an actual human brain. A
notable example of a successful practice of phrenology being carried
on independently of any knowledge whatever of the brain, was
known to the writer, in the case of a worthy police-sergeant, who
attained tolerable accuracy in the art of reading " the mind's con-
struction," but who had never even seen a brain, and who had the
faintest possible idea of the appearance of that organ. Unless, there-
fore, one may logically maintain that ignorance of the furthest and

THE OLD PHRENOLOGY AND THE NEW. 229

latest science brain-pan is compatible with an accurate understanding
of its contents and mysteries, the successful practice of phrenology
must be shown to depend on other data and other circumstances
than are supplied by anatomy and physiology — these sciences ad-
mittedly supplying the foundation of all that is or can be known
regarding the brain, its conformation, structure, and functions. It
is, at any rate, a somewhat astounding proposition as modestly
advanced by the phrenologists themselves, that they alone possess
the clues to the true functions of the brain ; while the researches
and labours of the most accomplished physiologists and neuro-
logists, living and dead — Fritsch, Hitzig, Ferrier, Broca, Charcot,
and a score of others — are to be regarded as of no account when
set against the crude " science " of the charlatans who delineate a
fanciful mosaic of mind on the outside of the skull. Empirical
science — science falsely so called — will not hesitate to assert its
ability to accurately solve the deepest problems of character and
mind. But the more modest spirit of the true scientist will hesitate
before crediting itself with any such ability, or even before giving
assent to such general rules of character as are exemplified by the
saying, " Big head and little wit ; " or by that of the worthy Fuller,
who, in his "Holy and Profane State," remarks that "Often the
cockloft is empty in those whom Nature hath built many stones
high."

The fundamental doctrine of the old phrenology is well known,
to most of us. Its great doctrine is pictorially illustrated in the
china heads of the optician's windows, and may be summed up in
the statement that different parts or portions of the brain's surface
represent the organs of different faculties of mind. The brain thus
viewed is a storehouse of faculties and qualities, each faculty pos-
sessing a dominion and sphere of its own amongst the cerebral
substance, and having its confines as rigidly denned as are the
boundaries of certain actual provinces in the East, the status of
which has afforded matter for serious comment of late amongst the
nations at large. Thus, if phrenology be credited with materialising
mind in the grossest possible fashion, its votaries have themselves
and their science to thank for the aspersion. If it be maintained
that feelings of dcstrncttieness reside somewhere above the ear, then
must we localise the desire to kill or destroy in so much brain-substance
as lies included in the "bump" or "organ" in question. When we
are given to gluttony and high living, we are asked to believe that
it is the excess of brain-matter placed in front of the ear, and con-
stituting the bump of " alimentiveness " that incites to the life and
acts of the gourmand. When vainglory besets us, we must hold, if
we are phrenologists, that there is a molecular stirrage and activity
of brain-particles beneath a certain bump of " self-esteem " situated

230 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

somewhere about the vertex of the skull. Feelings of veneration,
of hope, or of wonder are each to be regarded as causing a defined
play of action in particular bumps and special quarters of the
brain.

Nay more ; in a chart of a phrenological professor which lies
before me, I discover among the areas set forth a bump of "human
nature " — whatever that expression may be taken to mean — another
of " inhabitiveness," said to mean " love of home " ; another of
" mirthfulness " ; another of " marvellousness " or " spirituality " ;
and yet another remarkable " organ " of " agreeableness." It would
seem that each phrenologist differs from his neighbours in respect of
the number of " organs " into which the brain's surface is capable of
being mapped out. This multiplication of qualities or propensities
is perchance not wonderful, seeing that as far as the reality of the
deductions is concerned, it matters not how many "bumps" can
be conglomerated on the china bust or chart of the professor of
phrenology. When, however, one finds an organ of "form" placed
somewhere about the top of the nose, one of "language" at or
about the eye, and a whole series of small areas over the eye,
mapped out into organs of "size," "order," "colour," "weight,"
and "calculation," it is high time for common sense to step in and
to inquire how it comes to pass that, in these days of educational
advance, any person short of qualifying for graduation in quackery,
can believe that the workings of mind should be capable of being
construed through thickness of skin and bone, upon minute areas
of the head, many of which have no direct connection at all with the
brain -surface, and not one of which, be it added, can be shown to
possess any existence at all in the brain itself.

Were the deductions of phrenology true, or were its claims to be
regarded as a science founded on definite grounds, mind could no
longer be regarded as a mystery, since it would be within the power
of the phrenologist to assert that, when swayed by emotions of one
kind or another, he could declare which part of the brain was being
affected. This declaration logically follows upon that which main-
tains the localisation of faculties in different parts of the brain ; but
it is a conclusion at the same time from which physiology simply
retires in outspoken disdain, as presenting us with an empirical
explanation of mysteries to which the furthest science has as yet
failed to attain.

That we may duly understand, not merely the falsity of the old
phrenology, but the bearings of the new aspects of brain-science as
revealed by modern physiology, we must briefly glance at the general
conformation of the brain. The organ of mind, contained within the
skull, and as seen in a superficial view of things, consists of the greater
brain or cerebrum (fig. 23, AA), and the lesser brain or cerebellum (B).

THE OLD PHRENOLOGY AND THE NEW.

231

The latter portion is situated at the back of the head, and forms the
hinder part of the brain ; the spinal cord (c), which, as every one
knows, runs through the spine (vv), being merely a continuation of
the nervous centres of which the brain is the chief. In addition to
the cerebrum and
cerebellum the brain,
it may be noted,
consists of several
very distinct masses
of nervous matter,
or "centres," each
possessing definite
functions of its own.
A brain, so far from
being a single organ,
is in reality a collec-
tion of nerve-cen-
tres, yet the phreno-
logists speak of it as
if it consisted of the
two parts above
noted alone. When
the surface of the
cerebrum is inspect-
ed, it is seen to
present a very un-
equal appearance,
due to the fact that
its substance

IS

thrown into a large
number of folds or

FIG. 23. — SIDE VIEW OF THE BRAIN AND SPINAL CORD.— (From
Bourgery). A, the cerebrum; B, the cerebellum; M.O., the
medulla oblongata ; V, the vertebrae, cut in halves ; C, the spinal
cord, and the origin of its nerves.

convolutions (see fig. 23), as they are technically named by the ana-
tomist. The cerebrum, however, is in reality a double organ,
formed of two similar halves or hemispheres, which are separated by
a deep central fissure, but which are also connected together below
by a broad band of nervous matter known as the corpus callosum. It
is this latter band which, in addition apparently to discharging other
functions, performs the duty of bringing the halves of the cerebrum into
relation with one another, and thus serves to produce identity and
correlation of action between its various parts.

To the nature of the " convolutions " our especial attention must
be directed. The brain-substance consists of grey and white nervous
matter. The grey matter forms the outermost layer of the brain-
substance, and encloses the white; the opposite arrangement being
seen, curiously enough, in the spinal cord. Now, one evident purpose

232 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE,

of the convolutions of the brain is to largely increase the amount of
its grey matter relatively to the space in which the organ of mind is
contained ; whilst the perfect nutrition of the brain is also thus
provided for through its convoluted structure permitting a fuller
distribution of the minute bloodvessels which supply the brain with
the vital fluid. It is a very noteworthy fact that the structure of the
grey matter differs materially from that of the white. In the grey
matter nerve-cells are found in addition to nervous y£#ra>. The ceils
originate nervous force, whilst the fibres are simply capable of con-
veying this subtle force. Thus it may be said that it is in the grey
matter that thought is evolved, and from this layer that purposive
actions spring. The white matter, on the other hand, merely conveys
nerve-force and nervous impressions, and is thus physiologically
inferior in its nature to the grey substance.

The observations of Gratiolet, Marshall, and Wagner seem to
leave no room for doubt that the convolutions of the brain increase
with culture, and are therefore more numerous and deeper in civilised
than in savage races of men. It is curious, however, to observe that
certain groups of quadrupeds are normally " smooth-brained," and
possess few or no convolutions. Such are rats, mice, and the rodents
or " gnawing " animals at large. It can hardly be maintained that
in these animals intelligence is normally low or instinct primitive —
although, indeed, the just comparison of human with lower instincts
must be founded on a broader basis than is presented by this single
anatomical fact.

A final observation concerning the anatomy of the brain relates
to its size and weight as connected with the intelligence. The phre-
nological doctrine of the disposition of faculties must be held to
include the idea, that the larger the brain, the better specialised
should be the mental qualities of the individual. The greater the
amount of brain-substance forming the good and bad qualities and
regions of the phrenologist, the more active should be the mental
organisation. Now, it is a patent fact that this rule tells strongly
against the phrenologist's assumption. True, various great men have
had large brains ; but cases of great men possessing small brains are
equally common, as also are instances where insanity and idiocy were
associated with brains of large size. The normal average human
male brain weighs from 49 to 50 ounces; man's brain being 10 per
cent, heavier than that of woman. Cuvier's brain weighed 64^-
ounces; that of Dr. Abercrombie 63 ounces; that of Spurzheim, of
phrenological fame, 55 ounces; Professor Goodsir's brain attained a
weight of 57^ ounces ; Sir J. Y. Simpson's weighed 54 ounces ; that
of Agassiz 53 '4 ounces ; and that of Dr. Chalmers 53 ounces. As
instances of high brain-weights, without corresponding intellectual
endowment, may be mentioned four brains weighed by Peacock, the

THE OLD PHRENOLOGY AND THE NEW. 233

weights of which varied from 67*5 to 61 ounces. Several insane
persons have had brains of 64^ ounces, 62 ounces, 61 ounces, and
60 ounces, as related by Bucknill, Thurnam, and others. With
respect to the brain-weights of the fair sex, anatomical authority
asserts that in women with brains weighing 55^25 ounces and 50
ounces, no marked intellectual features were noted. Below 30 ounces,
the human brain becomes idiotic in character, so that there appears
to exist a minimum weight, below which rational mental action is
unknown. The anatomist's conclusions regarding brain capacity and
mental endowments are therefore plain. He maintains that the size
and weight of the organ do not of themselves afford any reliable
grounds for an estimate of the mental endowments, whilst his re-
searches also prove that a large brain and high intellectual powers
are not necessarily or invariably associated together. It is quality,
not quantity, in other words, which determines mental capacity.

The foregoing details will be found to assist us in our criticism of
the pretensions of the old phrenology as a basis for estimating "the
mind's construction " and the mental habits of man. Primarily, let us
enquire if development — that great criterion of the nature of living
structure — lends any countenance to the idea that the brain is a
collection of organs such as the phrenologist asserts it to be. The
brain of man, like that of all other backboned animals, appears to
begin its history in a certain delicate streak or furrow which is devel-
oped on the surface of the developing germ. Within this furrow the
brain and spinal cord are at first represented by an elongated strip of
nervous matter, which strip, as the furrow closes to from a tube, also
becomes tubular, and encloses within it, as the hollow of the tube,
the little canal which persists in the centre of the spinal cord. The
front, part of this nervous tube, which soon exhibits a division into
grey and white matter, now begins to expand so as to form three
swellings named vesicles. From these three vesicles the brain and its
parts are formed. The foremost swelling soon produces the parts
known as the optic lobes, and also the structures which are destined
to form the hemispheres or halves of the cerebrum itself. The
middle swelling contributes to the formation of certain important
structures of the brain ; and finally the cerebellum or lesser brain,
along with the upper part of the spinal cord and other structures,
appear as the result of the full development of the hinder or third
swelling. Nor must we neglect to note that at first the human brain
is completely smooth and destitute of convulsions, and only
acquires its convoluted appearance towards the completion of devel-
opment.

It is now an appropriate duty to enquire if the history of the
brain's growth affords any countenance or support to its phreno-
logical division into the different organs and seats of faculties. The

234 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

query is further a perfectly legitimate one. The phrenologist main-
tains the actuality of his deductions respecting the " organs " of
mind, and it is only a fair and just expectation 'that, if the brain
be a congeries of such organs, the anatomist should be able to
see these parts as development has revealed them. The nature of
the brain is asserted by the phrenologist to exist in its composition
as a set of organs. That nature, argues the anatomist, if revealed at
all, should present itself in its development, which alone can show us
nature's true fashion of building a brain. What, therefore, is the
result of the anatomist's study of the manner in which the brain is
fashioned ? The answer is found in the statement that there is not
a trace of a single " organ " such as the phrenologist theoretically
maintains is represented in the brain. There is no division into
separate parts and portions, as the phrenologist's chart would lead
the observer to suppose. The scalpel of the anatomist can nowhere
discover in the full-grown brain an organ of veneration, or of hope, or
of language, or of destructiveness, or of any other mental feature :
nor can his microscope detect in nature's wondrous process of fashion-
ing the brain any reason for the belief that the organ of mind is a
collection of parts, each devoted to the exercise of a special quality
of mind. The arrangement which appears so clear on the phrenolo-
gist's bust is nowhere represented in the brain itself ; and the organs
of the phrenologist, in so far as their existence is concerned, may not
inaptly be described in Butler's words as being

Such as take lodgings in a head
That's to be let unfurnished.

But if development gives no support to the phrenological asser-
tion of the brain's division into organs of the mind, neither does
anatomy, human or comparative, countenance its tenets as applied to
the examination of the brain-pan 'itself. To select a very plain
method of testing the deductions of phrenology, let an anatomical
plate of the upper surface of the undisturbed brain be exhibited, and
having settled the position of certain " organs " on a phrenological
chart, let any one try to discover if the limits of any one organ can be
discerned on the brain-surface. He will then clearly appreciate the
hopeless nature of the task he has undertaken, and be ready to shrink
from the attempt to resolve the complex convulsions before him into
a square inch here of one faculty, or a square inch there of another.

Moreover, one very important consideration will dawn upon the
reflective mind which considers that- the convolutions of the brain
are not limited to the crown and sides of the head, but, on the con-
trary, extend over the entire surface of the cerebrum, and are devel-
oped also on its base (see fig. 24). No phrenologist has attempted,
it is true, to get at the base of the brain by inspecting the palate ; but

THE OLD PHRENOLOGY AND THE NEW.

235

it would be regarded as an absurd and unwarrantable statement to
assert that the base of the brain has no functions, and that the nervous
acts of man spring only from the top and from the sides of the head.
Yet the phrenologist is in the position of one making such an asser-
tion ; since his science takes no account of the base or internal parts
of the brain — situations, forsooth, in which anatomy and the newer
phrenology demonstrate the existence of very important organs.

FIG. 24.— THE BASE OF THE BRAIN.— (From Bourgery). C, under-surface of the
cerebrum ; c&, the cerebellum ; m. ob, the medulla oblongata. The nerves are
numbered i to 12. i, the olfactory nerve; 2, the optic ; 3, 4, and 6, nerves
which govern the muscles of the eyeball ; 5, the trigeminal, which arises as
shown by two roots ; 7, the facial ; 8, the auditory ; 9, the glosso-pharyngeal ;
10, the pneumogastric ; IT, the spinal accessory ; 12, the several roots of the
hypoglossal. The figure 6 is placed on the pons varolii ; the crura cerebri
are between the third and fourth nerves on either side. Just above are a,
the corpora albicanta, and P, the pituitary body.

The question of the relatively immense tracts of brain which lie
without the utmost ken of phrenology, even on its own showing, is
also illustrated by the observation, that the bulging or hollowing of
the skull at any point affords no criterion of the thickness of the grey

236 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

matter of the brain, a layer which we have already seen to constitute
the most important part of the brain-substance. This grey matter is
seen to exist in tolerable uniformity over large tracts of brain-substance.
and it is invariably in the hinder region of the brain that it attains its
greatest complexity and development. The form of the skull is
dependent on the amount and disposition of the white matter, and
not on that of the grey ; and the former, as we have seen, has but a
minor influence or part in the mental constitution, since its function
is merely that of conducting, and not of originating thoughts and
impressions. Since, then, phrenology lays so much stress on skull-
conformation as a clue to brain- structure, it must be regarded as
dealing rather with the results of the disposition of the white
matter than with that of the grey — and this latter assumption of
necessity involves a second, namely, that phrenology has no status as
a science of mind at all.

There is one consideration concerning the practical application
of the phrenologist's assertions too important to be overlooked,
namely, the difficulty of detecting or of mapping out on the living
head the various " bumps " or organs of mind which appear to be so
lucidly localised on the bust or chart. The observer, who might
naturally think the determination of the " bumps " an easy matter,
has but to try to reconcile with a phrenological chart or with the
brain-surface itself (fig. 23), the configuration of a friend's cranium,
and he will then discover the impossibility of distinguishing where
one faculty or organ ends and where another begins. How, for
instance, can the exact limits of the four or five organs of mind, to be
hereafter alluded to more specifically, which are supposed to exist in
the line of the eyebrow, be determined ? What is the criterion of
excessive or inferior development here, and how may we know when
one " encroaches " upon another to the exclusion, or atrophy of the
latter ? The practical and exact application of phrenology indeed
constitutes one of its gravest difficulties. Added to the difficulty or
impossibility of accurately mapping out the boundaries of the phre-
nologist's organs, we must take into account the fact that we are
expected to detail these organs through, in any case, a considerable
thickness of scalp, which veils and occludes, as every anatomist knows,
the intimate conformation of the skull-cap. At the most, the phreno-
logist may distinguish regions ; his exact examination of the living
head a la the phrenological chart or bust, is an anatomical impossi-
bility.

But the anatomist has also something of importance to say regard-
ing the actual existence of certain of the "organs" of mind mapped
out by the phrenologist. Leaning trustfully upon their empirical
deductions, the phrenologists have frequently localised faculties and
organs of mind upon mere bony surfaces separated from the brain by

THE OLD PHRENOLOGY AND THE NEW. 237

an intervening space of considerable kind. In so far as comparative
anatomy is concerned, phrenology receives no assistance in its attempt
to localise mind-functions in man. An elephant is admittedly a
sagacious animal, with a brain worth studying; just as a cat or tiger
presents us with a disposition in which, if brain -science is applicable,
as it should be, to lower forms of life exhibiting special traits of cha-
racter, destructiveness should be well represented and typically illus-
trated. Alas for phrenology ! the bump of destructiveness in the
feline races resolves itself into a mass of jaw muscles, and the
elephant's brain is placed certainly not within a foot or so of the most
skilful of phrenological digits. The " frontal sinuses " or great air-
spaces in the forehead bones of the animal intervene between the
front of the brain, the region par excellence of "intellect" and the outside
layer of the skull. So that an observer could no more accurately
construct a phrenological chart of an elephant than he could
diagnose the contents of a warehouse by scanning the exterior of the
building.

Not merely, however, are the difficulties of phrenology limited to
the lower animals. Suppose we make a cross section of a human
skull, through either the right or left side of the forehead, about half
an inch above the upper border of the orbit or eye-cavity. We may
then discover that man as well as the elephant possesses " frontal
sinuses" or air-spaces in his forehead-bone of considerable extent,
intervening between the exterior of the skull and the contained brain.
Now, in such a section of the human skull, what phrenological
" organs " shall we cut through ? Certainly those of " individuality,"
"form," "size," "colour," and "calculation." In placing such organs
across the eyebrows the phrenologist might naturally be regarded as
having proceeded on the assumption that he was mapping out on the
exterior of the skull a certain part of the brain- surface. What shall
be said of his procedure, however, when the reader learns that a
section of the skull made as indicated through these organs shows
that they— i.e. the "organs" as marked on the outside of the skull
— overlie the hollow spaces or " frontal sinuses," and are actually
separated from the brain by cavities of considerable extent, in some
cases exceeding an inch? Such a demonstration truly speaks for
itself, and no less so does the anatomist's discovery that the " organ "
of phrenologists known as "form " actually reposes in anything but a
noble position on the cavity of the nose ; that the organ of " calcula-
tion " is a solid bony (orbital] process ; and that the size of the organ
of " language " really depends upon the want of forward projection of
the eye depending on the special development of a bony process on
which the organ of sight rests, and which in any case has nothing
whatever to do with the brain. Of language more anon ; but enough
has been said to show that a connection with the brain is not an in-

238 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

variable or apparently necessary condition for the construction of a
phrenological "organ" of the mind — the fact that the brain is the
organ of mind notwithstanding.

Speaking of the " bumps " of the forehead, Mr. Holden, in his
classic work on " Human Osteology," remarks that they " are not
prominent in children, because the tables of the skull do not begin
to separate to any extent before puberty. From an examination of
more than one hundred skulls, it appears that the absence of the
external prominence, even in middle age, does not necessarily imply
the absence of the sinus (or air-cavity existing between the two
' tables ' of the bone), since it may be formed by a retrocession of the
inner table of the skull. In old persons, as a rule, when the sinuses
enlarge, it is by the inner table encroaching on the brain-case. The
skull wall follows the shrinking brain. The range of the sinuses may
extend even more than half-way up the forehead, and backwards for
an inch or more along the orbital plate of the bone. Sometimes one
sinus is larger than the other, and consequently the ' bump ' on one
side of the forehead may naturally be more prominent than that on
the other. ... In the Museum of the Royal College of Surgeons,
there is an instructive collection of horizontal sections through the
frontal bone at the level of the sinuses. In a specimen from a man
set. 32, it may be observed that though the sinuses are very extensive
there is no external protuberance. In another from a man set. 47,
there are no sinuses, yet there is a great external protuberance. One
obvious conclusion from all this is," says Mr. Holden, " that the
' bumps ' on the forehead mapped out in this situation by phrenolo-
gists, under the heads of 'locality/ ' form,' 'time,' 'size,' &c., do not
necessarily coincide with any convolutions of the brain."

But neither does the case for phrenology fare any better when it
is tested by the results of the examination of crania belonging to
persons whose family or personal history was well known, and whose
characters, in respect of their thorough and stable formation, would
therefore serve as a test of phrenological or any other system of mind-
explanation. In the heyday of phrenological discussion, and in
Edinburgh as the very focus and centre of the arguments pro and
con the system of Gall and Spurzheim, a Mr. Stone, then President
of the Royal Medical Society, read in 1829 a paper in which the
results of a most laborious and conscientious series of observations
on the crania of well-known persons were detailed. These results,
as will presently be shown, were fatal to any ideas which might have
been entertained regarding the authentic nature of the data on
which phrenological observations were founded. Fifty skulls were
selected for measurement from the famous collection of Sir William
Hamilton, fifty others being taken from that of Dr. Spurzheim
himself. In the case of the skulls of fifteen murderers, whose

THE OLD PHRENOLOGY AND THE NEW. 239

crimes had been marked by unusual brutality and violence, and who
might therefore be regarded as exemplifying cases in which the
largeness of the "organ" of destructiveness might be lawfully
postulated by a phrenologist, Mr. Stone demonstrated by careful
measurement and comparison that each of the fifteen had the organ
or surface of " destructiveness " absolutely less than the average of
ordinary heads, whilst thirteen of these skulls possessed this org;an
relatively less when compared with the whole contents of the brain-
pan. Nor was this all. Thirteen of these fifteen worthies possessed
a larger organ of " benevolence " than the average, and their " con-
scientiousness " was also as a rule well-developed. Their brains
were not markedly deficient in front of the ear — the region of the
intellectual faculties according to the phrenologist — nor were they
unusually developed behind the ear, where the animal faculties are
supposed to reside.

No less instructive were the comparisons instituted between the
faculties of Dr. David Gregory, once Professor of Mathematics in
the University of Edinburgh, and Savilian Professor of Astronomy at
Oxford, a friend and contemporary of Sir Isaac Newton. Professor
Gregory's character was well known as that of an amiable,
accomplished, intellectual man. In such a case the moral faculties
would be expected to present high development, whilst the animal
faculties and baser qualities would naturally be regarded as being
but poorly represented. Mr. Stone's measurements, duly verified by
independent observers, elicited the awkward fact that Dr. Gregory
should, according to the phrenological interpretation of his cranium,
have ranked in the criminal category, since his organ of " destruc-
tiveness " was found to exceed in size that of every murderer in the
collection under discussion ! In proportion to the general size and
form of the brain, Dr. Gregory's " destructiveness " was larger than
that of the notorious Burke, who was executed at Edinburgh for the
cold-blooded murder of men, women, and children, whose bodies,
along with his coadjutor Hare, he sold for purposes of anatomical
inspection. Not to enumerate in detail the startling results which the
fair and unbiassed examination of Dr. Gregory's cranium afforded,
it may simply be mentioned that the Professor's " combativeness "
was larger than that of any of the debased villains with whom his
faculties were compared. Burke equalled him in " benevolence ; "
in " secretiveness " he excelled the noteworthy fifteen ; his "acquisi-
tiveness" exceeded that of Haggart and other noted thieves ; his
" causality " — the power of reasoning closely, and of tracing the re-
lations between cause and effect, a faculty which as a mathematician
he should have possessed largely developed — was less than that of
the criminals ; and his intellectual faculties at large were of less
capacity than theirs, as his animal faculties were present in greater
force.

240 STUDIES IX LIFE AND SENSE.

No further illustration is required of the fact that, tested under
exceptionally favourable circumstances, the deductions of phrenology
are absolutely incorrect, not to say absurd. Nor is the case of the
phrenologists bettered by their exercise of apologetics in face of the
hard logic of the above and similar facts. Thurtell, with very large
" benevolence " and with well- developed " veneration," yet committed
an atrocious murder, and this without a special development of
" destructiveness." " Nothing can justify the murder," said the
phrenologists, but Thurtell imagined that he would " do a service
to society by killing his friend" (where his benevolence?), "and
hence his crime." Thus benevolence, by the exercise of phreno-
logical apologetics, becomes an excuse for and an active cause of
murder. Dr. Gregory's " destructiveness," said the phrenologists,
was held in check by some other qualities — by which qualities it
would be hard to say, seeing that, tested by phrenology, his whole
mental and moral organisation was below that of the average
murderer. So that we are to believe, in short, that "destructive-
ness," and the other base qualities of the Professor, being absolutely
useless, must have been intended simply for show and not for use.
Things, on this reasoning, truly are not what they seem ; and
phrenology thuswise cuts away from under itself its fundamental
propositions, that its " organs " are the seats of faculties, and that
their activity is proportional to their size.

But to proceed further would be to slay the slain. Thus much,
indeed, we have said of the phrenology which still lingers in our
midst, by way of contrast with the newer order of brain-interpretation
which the advance of physiology has caused to arise amongst us. In
the early days in which the battle of phrenology was fought and won
as against the science of brain-pans, physiological experimentation
upon the brain was an unknown and unworked source of information.
In due time came Flourens, Magendie, Fritsch, Hitzig, and Ferrier,
with their exact methods and results, enlarging the conceptions of
the brain and its powers, and throwing here and there a ray of light
upon the dark places and hidden corners in the domain of the
physiology of mind. Hence our new " phrenology " — for the word
itself is perfectly explicit as denoting a science of mind or brain
— is gradually being built up from sure data and accurate experi-
mentation ; the results arrived at by one worker being tested by a
host of fellow- experimenters ere his inferences become facts, and
before they are allowed to form part and parcel of the scientific
edifice. Let us briefly see what are the more prominent facts
concerning the brain and its functions which recent science has
elucidated.

No part of the brain has perhaps presented problems of such
interesting character as the cerebellum or lesser brain which, as already

THE OLD PHRENOLOGY AND THE NEW. 241

remarked, exists at the hinder and lower part of the head (see figs. 23 B,
and 24 cb\ and which moreover presents us with a structure differing
from that of the cerebrum itself. Phrenologists located in the
cerebellum the purely sensual or animal faculties. These faculties
are conspicuously exhibited by frogs, which possess but the merest
strip of cerebellum. "A man," as we remember hearing a phre-
nological lecturer say, "with a head bulging out behind, is going
backwards in the world ; " and there was indeed, as we shall see, a
modicum of truth (although he knew and understood it not) in the
lecturer's remark, since without the cerebellum we could probably
proceed neither forwards nor backwards. We now know that the
old phrenology of the cerebellum is utterly wrong and unfounded.
The new phrenology has shown us that in cases of diseased animal
appetites, which in our lunatic asylums are but too frequently re-
presented, the cerebellum is not found to be affected — a result
explained by the fact that the appetites referred to are indeed as
much part of our " mental " constitution as is the exercise of benevo-
lence or of any other mental faculty.

Furthermore, the new phrenology supplies positive evidence as
to the true functions of the cerebellum. When it is removed from a
pigeon, for instance, the animal retains its faculties. It will feed, it
can see and hear, but is utterly unable to maintain its equilibrium.
If thrown into the air, it flaps its wings in an erratic and aimless
fashion. In one word, it cannot " co-ordinate " its movements — that
is, it cannot so adjust the motions of one set of muscles, as to bring
them into . purposive harmony with another set or series. The
cerebellum thus appears to be the great brain-centre whence are
issued the commands and directions which harmonise the muscular
actions and movements of our lives. Contrariwise, the true functions
of the cerebellum are proved by experiments in which this part of
the brain has been left intact whilst the cerebrum or true brain has
been removed. A bird or higher animal in such a case will lose all
power of volition ; it will be deprived of sight, hearing, and other
senses ; it will die of hunger unless fed ; it will exhibit no desire
to move ; and will, in short, present a condition utterly opposed to
that seen when the cerebellum is removed and the true brain left
intact. But with its cerebellum present, and minus its true brain,
the bird or other animal can perfectly "co-ordinate" its movements.
It will fly straight if thrown into the air, it will walk circumspectly
enough if pushed forwards, and will exhibit in fact such perfect
muscular control, despite its want of volition and intellect, that the
functions of the cerebellum as a controller and co-ordinator of move-
ments are no longer matter of hypothesis, but have become staple
physiological facts.

As Professor Ferrier remarks (" Functions of the Brain," second

R

242 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

edition, 1886, p. 200) : — " Every form of active muscular exertion
necessitates the simultaneous co-operation of an immense assem-
blage of synergic movements throughout the body to secure steadi-
ness and maintain the general equilibrium ; and on the hypothesis
that the cerebellum is the centre of these unconscious adjustments,
we should expect the cerebellum to be developed in proportion to the
variety and complexity of the motor activities of which the animal is
capable. The facts of comparative anatomy and development are
entirely in harmony with this hypothesis. In the reptilia and am-
phibia, whose movements are grovelling and sluggish, or of the sim-
plest combination, the cerebellum is of the most rudimentary cha-
racter ; while in mammals it is richly laminated, and the lateral lobes
highly developed in proportion to the motor capabilities represented
in the motor zone of the cerebral hemispheres.

" If we compare the relative development of the cerebellum in
the several orders of the same class of animals, we find it highest in
those which have the most active and varied motor capacities,
irrespective of the grade of organisation otherwise ; and the cere-
bellum of the adult is, relatively to the cerebrum, much more highly
developed than that of the new-born , infant — a relation which evi-
dently coincides with the growth and development of the muscular
system."

If, however, the old phrenology has been displaced from the
cerebellum by the new, no less important is it to note that, regarding
the functions of the true brain, modem research has been equally
successful in deposing the old ideas of the " organs " and their atten-
dant faculties as exhibited on the phrenological charts and busts.
Experimentation on the brain of higher animals, quoad the brain
itself, is absolutely painless — contrary to popular notions and ideas.
True there are certain parts of the brain (e.g. the medulla, fig. 23, M. o.)
which are exceedingly delicate, and in which the point of a needle
would inflict at once a fatal injury. But the brain-substance itself is
utterly non- sensitive, as every hospital-surgeon can tell us. Persons
may actually recover from serious injuries of the brain in which
several ounces of brain-substance may have been lost, and recover
with good effect, and in many cases without any perceptible alteration
of their mental peculiarity.

The most notorious case of this kind is known as " the American
Crow-bar case." A bar of iron, accidentally shot off from a blast,
passed through the top of a young man's head at the left side of the
forehead, having traversed the front part of the left hemisphere or
side of the brain. The iron bar measured three feet in length, and
weighed fourteen pounds. After the accident he felt no pain, and
was able to walk without help in a few hours' time. The man made
a good recovery, and for twelve years made a livelihood by exhibiting

THE OLD PHRENOLOGY AND THE NEW. 243

himself in the United States, his skull being now preserved in the
museum of Harvard University. This patient undoubtedly lost a
relatively large portion of his brain-substance. At one fell swoop,
there must have been a considerable destruction of phrenological
organs. Yet he suffered from no apparent deprivation of intelligence ;
and few would dream of associating the drinking habits which finally
beset him, with his accident and with his loss of brain-matter, or
otherwise maintain that he was less rational before than after the
accident. Trousseau has also placed on record a case in which a
man who was shot in the head, had the front part of his brain tra-
versed by a bullet, and who, nevertheless, showed little or no apparent
alteration of bodily or mental action as the result of his injury. Thus
the misfortunes of existence and the experimentation of the physio-
logist positively contradict the old phrenology. They assert that
localisation of function does exist, it is true, but they also show that
the "organs" of the phrenologist are mere theoretical nonentities,
without a trace of substance to ensure their stability or real nature.

What amount of localisation, then, can be safely assumed to exist
in the human brain as revealed by recent experimentation ? It may
be known to the generality of readers that the movements, acts, and
probably ideas relating to one side of the body are regulated by the
opposite side or hemisphere of the cerebrum. Thus, convulsions af-
fecting one side of the body were shown by Dr. Hughlings Jackson to
be caused by disease of the opposite side, and the idea of the duality
of the brain's action followed in a natural sequence on the observation
of facts like the preceding. As a general rule, it may be affirmed
that brain- disease itself, or the ideas of natural existence, are so far
localised that their perfect effects are only visible and appreciated
when the same parts in both halves or hemispheres of the brain are
affected. To illustrate what the new phrenology has to say re-
garding the localisation of the brain-functions, let us inquire firstly
into the modes through which we obtain our knowledge of the brain
and its work. There are two means of ascertaining the functions
of the brain. Experiments may be performed on the living animal
when the brain is electrically stimulated ; while disease of the brain
— nature's experimentation in fact — affords a second method of
acquiring knowledge regarding the duties of different regions of the
great nervous centres.

Proceeding by the first or experimental method, Professor Ferrier
(to whom I am indebted for the use of figures from his work on
"The Functions of the Brain") has been enabled to map out the
surface of the cerebrum into definite areas. Thus in figs. 25 and 26
the cerebrum of the monkey is represented as mapped out into de-
finite areas corresponding with ascertained functions performed by
these regions. When the area marked i is stimulated, the animal

R 2

244

STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

FIG. 25.— THE LEFT SIDE OF MONKEY'S BRAIN (Ferrier).

advances the opposite hind limb, as in walking. Stimulation of the
region marked 2, gives complex movements of thigh, leg, and foot,
as in grasping with the foot, or scratching the chest or abdomen with

its foot ; 3, movements
of the tail, associated
with the preceding
actions ; 4, retraction
with extension and
abduction of the op-
posite arm, the hand
being pronated ; 5,
extension forwards of
the opposite arm and
hand as if to touch
something in front ;
a, b, c, d, individual
and combined move-
ments of fingers and
wrist ending in clench-
ing the fist, and illus-
trated in prehensile
movements of the op-
posite hand ; 6, supi-
nation and flexion
of the forearm, as in
raising the hand to
the mouth ; 7, action
of the zygomatic mus-
cles, by which the
angle of the mouth
is retracted and ele-
vated ; 8, elevation of
the sides of nose and
upper lip, exposing
the eye-teeth; 9 and
10, opening of the
mouth with protrusion
(9) and retraction ( i o)
of the tongue ; n,re-

FIG. 26.-MoNKEY's BRAIN VIEWED FROM ABOVE. traction of Opposite

angle of the mouth;

12, wide opening of eyes, dilatation of pupils, and head and eyes
turning to opposite side ; 13 and 13', movement of eyes towards
opposite side, with upward or downward deviation ; 14, pricking of
opposite ear, head and eyes turning to opposite side and pupils dilating

THE OLD PHRENOLOGY AND THE NEW. 245

widely ; 15, twisting of lip and nostril on the same side, causing
partial closure of nostril, as when a pungent odour is applied.

In figs. 27 and 28, the similar areas have been applied to
illustrate the functions of the human brain. Here, the results of brain-
disease in man serve as means of verifying the conclusions which
have been arrived at from experimentation on lower animals. The
figures indicating the areas on the brain of the monkey, have a cor-
responding significance on the brain of man. By way of briefly

FIG. 27.— FERRIER'S CENTRES MAPPED OUT IN HUMAN BRAIN (Left Side).

testing the correctness of the physiologist's views, the history of one
region may be noticed.

The regions 9 and 10 in the brain of the monkey are found to be
associated with movements resulting in opening the mouth and with
protrusion and retraction of the tongue. Now, in man, there is liable
to occur a singular disease to which the name of aphasia or " speech-
lessness " has been given.

Persons affected with this lesion understand perfectly what is said

246

STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

to them, but they are absolutely speechless, and cannot utter a single
word. It is a perfectly well-ascertained fact that aphasia, as a rule,
is associated with disease of Brocas' convolution, the front part of the
left half or hemisphere of the brain — a part which may therefore be
called the "speech centre," and which is figured 9 and 10 in the
illustrations of man's brain (figs. 27 and 28). The curious fact must
thus be emphasised, that aphasia is almost invariably associated with
disease of the left (9 and 10), and rarely with disease of the right side

FIG. 28.— FERRIER'S CENTRES ON HUMAN BRAIN (viewed from above).

of the brain. It is a noteworthy fact in brain-physiology, that when
an animal has been rendered blind by the destruction of the sight-
centre of one side, blindness disappears and sight gradually returns,
since the remaining and normal sight-centre of the opposite side

THE OLD PHRENOLOGY AND THE NEW. 247

assumes the functions of its neighbour. Complete blindness only
ensues when both sight-centres are diseased. The same remark holds
good of the movements of the mouth and tongue in speech, these
being " bilateral," so that the centre of these latter movements on
one side may be destroyed without causing paralysis of the tongue,
provided the centre of the other side is uninjured. Movements of
the hands and feet are, on the contrary, one-sided. Destruction of
one centre governing these latter movements, ensures complete cessa-
tion of the movements on the opposite side of the body.

Now, in aphasia or speechlessness, we merely perceive the results
of the destruction of the single speech-centre — the left — which man
normally uses to express his thoughts. Just as we use the right
hand in preference to the left in prehension, in writing, and in
performing all the delicate operations of our lives, and just as the
movements of the right hand are regulated by the left side of the
brain, so our faculty of articulation is also unilateral and single-handed,
so to speak. The memory of sounds and words forms the basis of
our speech — "the memory of words is only the memory of certain
articulations" — and those parts of the brain which regulate articulation
are also the memory-centres for speech or the result of articulation.
Thus, when the speech-centre is disorganised, not merely the power
of articulation disappears, but also the memory of words.

But whilst the left side is that of the speech-centre, there is no
reason, as Dr. Ferrier remarks, apart from heredity and education,
why this should necessarily be so. " It is quite conceivable," Dr.
Ferrier holds, " that a person who has become aphasic by reason of
total and permanent destruction of the left speech-centre, mayreacquire
the faculty of speech by education of the right articulatory centres."
We speak with the left side of our brains, in short, not because we
are unable to do so with the right side, but simply because habit and
the law of likeness together strengthen and perpetuate the custom of
speaking with the left. But it may be also supposed, that as a left-
handed person must regulate the movements of his arms chiefly by
the right side of his brain, so there may exist subjects who naturally
use the right instead of the left speech-centre.

Dr. Ferrier on this point remarks that "a person who has lost the
use of his right hand may, by education and practice, acquire with his
left all the cunning of his right. In such a case, the manual motor
centres of the right hemisphere become the centres of motor acquisi-
tions similar to those of the left. As regards the articulating centres,
the rule seems to be that they are educated, and become the organic
seat of volitional acquisitions on the same side as the manual (and
left) centres. Hence, as most people are right-handed, the education
of the centres of volitional movements takes place in the left hemi-
sphere. This is borne out by the occurrence of cases of aphasia with

248 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

left hemiplegia (i.e. paralysis on the left side) in left-handed people.
Several cases of this kind have now been put on record. These
cases," continues Professor Ferrier, u more than counterbalance any
exception to the rule that the articulating centres are educated on
the same side as the manual motor centres. The rule need not be
regarded as absolute, and we may admit exceptions without invali-
dating a single conclusion respecting the pathology of aphasia as
above laid down. An interesting case has been reported by Wadham
('St. George's Hospital Reports,' vol. iv.) of aphasia with left hemi-
plegia occurring in a young man belonging to a family of gauchers ;
yet this person had learnt to write with his right hand, so that as
regards speech he was right-brained, but as regards writing he was
left-brained."

The person who suffers from aphasia, it may be added, still
remains capable of understanding what is said to him, because his
sight, hearing, and other senses, as well as his intelligence, are intact.
The meaning of the sounds he hears is understood, although there is
inability to call up words in response. It is usual to find the aphasic
person also unable to write words by way of expressing his thoughts.
He then suffers from agraphia as well as aphasia, and this result is
explicable simply on the ground of the close connection which exists
between vocal speech and written speech. "By education," says
Dr. Ferrier, " and by the familiarity engendered of long practice in
expressing ideas by written symbols, a direct association becomes
established between sounds and ideas and symbolic manual move-
ments without the intermediation of articulation ; and in proportion
as the translation through articulation is dispensed with, in that pro-
portion will an individual continue able to write who is aphasic from
disease of his speech-centre."

In this fashion, then, we see how the facts of the new phrenology
supersede the childish deductions of the old. We note how the
exact experimentation of science serves to dispel the myth with which
the phrenologist once surrounded the question of mind-localisation.
In place of language — itself an ill-defined term — being situated in
the eye-region, as the phrenologist has placed it, we find the speech-
centre to be situated in Brocas' convolution on the third left frontal
lobe. We see in the frontal or forehead lobes of the brain the regions
which exercise the highest intellectuality, and which are the seat of
" mind," properly so called. The other parts of the cerebrum we
discover are devoted to the control of movements of various kinds,
which represent the results of the exercise of the mind and will. It
is in this fashion that science slays the old phrenological systems, and
replaces them by the definite knowledge which, founded upon experi-
ment and observation of man and animals, raises a superstructure of
fact upon a secure basis, capable of being further tried and tested by
the research of the future.

THE OLD PHRENOLOGY AND THE NEW. 249

Whatever results may in future accrue to human knowledge from
researches into the functions of the brain, no one may doubt the all-
important nature of the knowledge which literally enables man to
know himself, and to understand in some degree the mainsprings of
the actions which constitute his daily existence. The subject is
no less instructive in the sense in which it shows the displacement of
erroneous ideas by new and higher thoughts founded on accurate
observation of the facts of life. In a very direct fashion, also, such
higher knowledge may affect suffering humanity ; since an educated
medical science, furnished with secure data regarding the causes of
mental affections, may successfully "minister to minds diseased,"
and even in due time raze out the troubles which perplex many a
weary soul.1

1 It is interesting to note that as these sheets are passing through the press, cases
of surgical interference with the brain for the removal of tumours are being, day by
day, successfully recorded. A patient suffering severely from such brain lesion is now
capable of being cured completely, by the surgical art which is founded on experimen-
tation on living animals, discovering for us the true functions of the brain. Such
triumphs, in literally snatching hopeless cases of brain-disease from acute suffering
and death, form the best arguments against the ravings of anti-vivisectionists, whose
chief contention has always been that experiment on living animals could be of no
benefit to man.

250 STUDIES IN LlfE AND SENSE.

XII.

THE MIND'S MIRROR.

IN very varied fashions has philosophy endeavoured at various
stages of its career to solve the problem of the face as the mind's
mirror, and to gain some clue thereby to the ways and workings of
the brain. Often when philosophy was at its worst and vainest, has
the problem appeared most certain of solution. From classic ages,
onwards to the days of Lavater, Gall and Spurzheim, the wise and
occult have regarded their systems of mind-localisation as adapted
to answer perfectly all the conditions whereby an enquiring race
could test their deductions. But as time passed and knowledge
advanced, system after system of mind-philosophy has gone by the
board, and has been consigned to the limbo of the extinct and non-
existent. Now and then the shreds and patches of former years are
sought out by the curious to illustrate by comparison the higher and
better knowledge of to-day ; and occasionally one may trace in the
bypaths of latter-day philosophies, details which figured prominently
as the sum and substance of forgotten systems and theories of matter
and of mind. So that the student of the rise and decline of philoso-
phies learns to recognise the transient in science as that which is
rapidly lost and embodied in succeeding knowledge, and the perma-
nent as that which through all succeeding time remains stamped by
its own and original individuality.

Especially do such remarks apply to the arts which have been
employed to find "the mind's construction'*' in face or head. If
Lavatef's name and his long list of " temperaments " are things of
the far-back past in science, no less dim are the outlines of the ex-
tinct science of brain-pans, over which Gall and Spurzheim laboured
so long and lovingly, but for the name of which the modern student
looks in vain in the index of physiological works dealing with the
subjects "phrenology" once called its own. Pursued together in
out-of-the-way holes and corners, the systems of Lavater and Gall
are represented amongst us to-day chiefly by devotees whose ac-
quaintance with the anatomy and physiology of the brain is not that
of the scientific lecture-room, but that of the philosophers who deal
in busts, and to whom a cranium represents an object only to be
measured and mapped out into square inches of this quality and half-
inches of that. Neglected because of their resting on no scientific
basis, the doctrines of phrenology and physiognomy have died as

THE MIND'S MIRROR. 251

peacefully as the "lunar hoax" or the opposition to the theory of
gravitation. The occasionally prominent revival of their tenets in
some quarters, but represents the feeble scintillations which attend
the decay and announce the transient survivals of movements whose
days are numbered as parts of philosophical systems.

Whatever reasonable deductions and solid advances regarding
the functions of brain and mind either " science " tended to evolve,
have been long ago incorporated with the swelling tide of knowledge.
Phrenology has vanished in the general advance of research regard-
ing the functions of the brain ; a region which, apparently without
a cloud in the eyes of the confident phrenologist, is even yet im-
penetrated in many of its parts by the light of recent experiment
and past discoveries. Similarly the science of physiognomy has its
modern outcome in the cant phrases and common knowledge with
which we mark the face as the index to the emotions, and through
which we learn to read the broader phases of the mind's construction.
But the knowledge of the face —

as a book
Where men may read strange matters,

has been more fortunate than the science of brain-pans, in respect of
its recent revival under new aspects and great authority. From
Eusthenes, who "judged men by their features," to Lavater himself,
the face was viewed as the mask which hid the mind, but which, as a
general rule, corresponded also to the varying moods of that mind,
and related itself, as Lavater held, to the general conformation and
temperament of the whole body. So that the acute observer might
be supposed to detect the general character of the individual by the
conformation of the facial lineaments — crediting a balance of good-
ness here or a soul of evil there, or sometimes placing his verdict in
Colley Gibber's words, " That same face of yours looks like the title-
page to a whole volume of roguery." It argues powerfully in favour
of the greater reasonableness of the science of faces, over its neigh-
bour-science of crania, that we find even the vestiges of its substance
enduring amongst us still. Of late years the face and its changes
have become anew the subject of scientific study, although in a dif-
ferent aspect from that under which Lavater and his compeers re-
garded it. Now, the physiognomy is viewed, not so much in the
light of what it is, as of how it came to assume its present features.
Facial movements and " gestic lore " are studied to-day in the light
of what they once were, and of their development and progress.
Admitting, with Churchill, the broad fact that the face —

by nature 's made
An index to the soul,

modern science attempts to show how that index came to be com-
piled. In a word, we endeavour, through our modern study of

252 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

physiognomy, to account for how the face came to be the veritable
" Dyall of the Affections " which the science of yesterday and that
of to-day agree in stamping it.

Regarding the face as the chief centre wherein the emotions and
feelings which constitute so much of the individual character are
localised, common observation shows us, however, that the mind's
index is not limited to the play of features alone. A shrug of the
shoulders may speak as eloquently of disdain as the stereotyped curl
of the upper lip and nose. The " attitude " of fear is as expressive
as the scared look. The outstretched and extended palms of horror
are not less typical than the widely opened eyes and the unclosed
lips. Gesture language — the speech of the bodily muscles — is in
truth almost as much a part of our habitual method of expression as
the muscular play of the face ; and the emotions displayed by the
countenance gain immeasurably in intensity when aided by the
appropriate gestures which we have come tacitly to recognise as part
and parcel of our waking lives. No better portrait of the part which
muscular movements play in the enforcement of language and feelings
has been drawn than that of Shakespeare's Wolsey. Here the picture
teems with acts of gesture, each eloquent in its way, and testifying to
the conflicting passions and emotions which surged through the busy
brain of Henry's counsellor : —

Some strange commotion
Is in his brain ; he bites his lip and starts ;
Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground,
Then lays his finger on his temple ; straight,
Springs out into fast gait ; then stops again,
Strikes his breast hard ; and anon, he casts
His eye against the moon : in most strange postures
We have seen him set himself.

We thus obtain, from the full consideration of the means which exist
for the expression of the emotions, the knowledge that not the face
alone, but the common movements of body and limbs, have to be
taken into account in the new science of emotional expression which
has thus arisen amongst us. Properly speaking, the modern phy-
siognomy is one of the body as a whole, and not of face alone ; and
above all. it is well to bear in mind that the newer aspect of the
science deals not merely and casually with this gesture or that, but
with the deeper problem of how the gesture came to acquire its meaning
and how the " strange postures " of face and form were evolved.

By way of fit preface to such a subject as the expression of
the emotions in a scientific sense, we may, firstly, glance at the
emotions themselves and at their general relations to the bodily
and mental mechanism of which they form the outward sign and
symbol. It is well that, primarily, we should entertain some clear
idea as to the exact place which the emotions occupy in the list of

THE MIND'S MIRROR. 253

mental phases and states. Leaving metaphysical definitions as but
little fitted to elucidate and aid a popular study, we may feasibly
enough define an " emotion " as consisting of the particular changes
which peculiar states of mind produce upon the mind and body.
Such a definition, simple though it appear to be, really extends as
far as any mere definition can in the endeavour to present a broad
idea of what " emotions " imply and mean. By some authors, the
" emotion " is interpreted as the mental state which gives rise to the
bodily disturbance. But such a mode of treating the term is simply
equivalent to an attempt to define the shadow and ignore the sub-
stance. Says Dr. Tuke, whose authority in all matters relative to
the relation betwixt mind and body we must gratefully acknowledge,
" Every one is conscious of a difference between a purely intellectual
operation of the mind and that state of feeling or sentiment which,
also internal and mental, is equally removed from (though generally
involving) a bodily sensation, whether of pleasure or pain ; and
which, from its occasioning suffering, is often termed Passion ; which
likewise, because it moves our very depths, now with delight, now
with anguish, is expressively called Emotion — a true commotion of
the mind, and not of the mind only, but of the body." And in a
footnote, Dr. Tuke is careful to remind us that " it is very certain,
however, that our notion of what constitutes an emotion is largely
derived from its physical accompaniments, both subjective and ob-
jective." That is to say. the nature of the mental act — which is by
some authors exclusively named the emotion — may be, and generally
is, imperfectly understood by us ; and the name is given rather to
the obvious effects of the mind's action on the face and body, than to
the mental action which is the cause of these visible effects. Such a
result is but to be looked for so long as the mental acts are contained
and performed within a veritable arcanum of modern science. The
emotion renders us conscious "subjectively," or within ourselves, of
the mental states which cause the outward postures of body or phases
of face. "The modem student," says Mr. Fiske, in a charming volume,1
" has learned that consciousness has a background as well as a fore-
ground, that a number of mental processes go on within us of which
we cannot always render a full and satisfactory account." And whilst
the source of the common emotions of everyday life is no doubt to
be found in the ordinary sensations which originate from our contact
with the outer world, there are other emotions which arise from the
'* background of consciousness," and which are manifested in us as
actively and typically as are the common feelings of the hour which
we can plainly enough account for.

To descend from theory to example in this case is an easy task.
The blush which has been called into the cheek by a remark made

1 Darwinism and other Essays.

254 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

in our hearing, is as fair and simple an illustration of the objective
source of emotions as could well be found. The production of the
emotion in such a case depends upon the ordinary laws of sensation,
through the operation of which we gain our knowledge of the world
— nay, of ourselves also. Waves of sound set in vibration by the
voice of the speaker, have impinged upon the drum of the ear.
Thence converted into a nervous impression or impulse, the sound-
waves have travelled along the auditory nerve to the brain. There
received as a " sensation " — there appreciated and transformed into
"consciousness" — the brain has shown its appreciation of the know-
ledge conveyed to it by the ear, in the production through the nerve-
mechanism of the bloodvessels, of the suffused tint which soon over-
spreads the face. But this direct production of an emotion by
mental action, and from the foreground of consciousness, is opposed
in a manner by a second method which may be termed " subjective "
by way of distinction from the objective sensation derived from the
voice of the speaker, and giving rise to the blush. From the " back-
ground of consciousness," wherein Memory may be said to dwell, there
may come the remembrance of the occasion which gives rise directly
to the blush. Projected into the foreground of consciousness, the sub-
jective sensation may be as vividly present with us in the spirit as when
it was felt in the flesh. True to its wonted action, the brain may
automatically influence the heart's action, and suffuse the countenance
as thoroughly as if the original remark had that moment been made.
Ringing in the ears of memory, the subjective sensation may be as
powerful as when it was first received from the objective side of life.
As has well been remarked, the import and effects of sub-
jective sensations may not be lightly estimated in the production
of various phases of the mental life. ." When an exceedingly painful
event produces great sorrow, or a critical event great agitation, or an
uncertain event great apprehension and anxiety, the mind is under-
going a passion or suffering ; there is not an equilibrium between the
internal state and the external circumstances ; and until the mind
is able to reach adequately, either in consequence of a fortunate les-
sening of the outward pressure, or by a recruiting of its own internal
forces, the passion must continue ; in other words, the wear and tear
of nervous element must go on. Painful emotion is in truth psychical
pain : and pain here, as elsewhere, is the outcry of suffering organic
element — a prayer for deliverance and rest." And again, this author
— Dr. Maudsley — speaking of the rationale of emotion, which in its
graver exhibition may produce derangement of mind, says : " When
any great passion causes all the physical and moral troubles which it
will cause, what I conceive to happen is, that a physical impression
made upon the sense of sight or of hearing is propagated along a
physical path (namely, a nerve) to the brain, and arouses a physical

THE MIND'S MIRROR. 25$

commotion in its molecules ; that from this centre of commotion the
liberated energy is propagated by physical paths to other parts of the
brain, and that it is finally discharged outwardly through proper
physical paths, either in movements or in modifications of secretion
or nutrition (e.g. the influencing of heart and bloodvessels as in
blushing). The passion that is felt is the subjective side of the
cerebral commotion — its motion out from the physical basis, as it
were (e-motion), into consciousness — and it is only felt as it is felt by
virtue of the constitution of the cerebral centres, into which have
been wrought the social sympathies of successive ages of men ; in-
heriting the accumulated results of the experiences of countless
generations, the centres manifest the kind of function which is
embodied in their structure. The molecular commotion of the
structure is the liberation of the function ; if forefathers have habitu-
ally felt, and thought, and done unwisely, the structure will be un-
stable and its function irregular." So much for the nature of emotion,
for the connection of the emotions with sensation, and for the part
which the feelings may play in inducing aberration of mind. In the
concluding words of the paragraph just quoted lies the explanation
of the production of mind-derangements through an hereditary bias,
namely, the perpetuated effects of ill-regulated mental acts. In the
same idea, that of continued and transmitted habit, exists the key to
the understanding of the origin of emotions. Above all other causes,
habit has acted with extreme power and effect in inducing the asso-
ciation not merely of groups of actions expressive of emotions, but
also in forming and stereotyping trains of thought and ideas in har-
mony therewith. On some such plain consideration, the real under-
standing of many problems of mind may be said to rest ; and cer-
tainly in the subject before us it is one we cannot afford to lose sight
of throughout the brief study in which we are engaged.

Any such study, however limited its range, must devote a few
details to the question concerning the seat of the emotions in the
chief centre of the nervous system. Of old, the peculiar system of
nerves lying along the front of the spine, and called the " sympathetic
system," was believed to possess the function of bringing one part of
the body into relation with another part. To this system in modern
physiology is assigned the chief command of those processes which
constitute the " organic life" of higher animals, and which, including
such functions as digestion, circulation, &c., proceed under normal
circumstances independently of the direct operation of will and mind.
Liable to be influenced and modified in many ways by the will and
by the nervous acts which compose the waking existence of man,
the sympathetic nerves may nevertheless be regarded as the chief and
unconscious regulators of those processes on the due performance of
which the continuity and safety of life depends. But in the physio-

256 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

logy of past days these nerves were credited with the possession of a
much more intimate relation to the play of emotions. By some
authorities in a past decade of science, the seat of the emotions was
referred exclusively to the nerves in question and to the processes
which they regulate. Under the influence of these nerves and of the
emotions, argued these theorists, we see the functions of the body
gravely affected ; and in some " epigastric centre," as the chief nerve-
mass of this system was termed, the emotions were declared to reside.
But in such a theory of the emotions, results were simply mistaken
for causes. On the ground that disturbance of the heart's action, or
of digestion, occurred as a sign and symptom of emotion, the play of
feelings was assigned to the bodily organs, whither in classic ages had
been set the " passions " and " humours " residing in spleen, liver,
and elsewhere.

But in modern science nous avons change tout cela. If we are
not thoroughly agreed as to the exact location of the emotions
in the brain itself, we at least by common consent regard the central
organ of the nervous system as the seat of the feelings which
play in divers ways upon the bodily mechanism. Most readers
are conversant with the fact that all brains, from those of fishes to
those of quadrupeds and man, are built up on one and the same
broad type ; exhibiting here and there, as we ascend in the scale,
greater developments of parts which in lower, life were either but
feebly developed or otherwise unrepresented at all. To this plain
fact, we may add two others which lead towards the understanding
of the seat and locale of the emotions. In man and his nearest allies,
two of the five or six parts of which a typical brain may be said to
consist have become immensely developed as compared with the
other regions. And it is on this latter account that we familiarly
speak of man's brain as consisting of two chief portions — the big
brain, or cerebrum, filling well-nigh the whole brain- case ; and the
little brain, or cerebellum, which lies towards the hinder part of the
head. To these chief parts of the brain we may add — by way of
comprehending the emotional localities — the "sensory ganglia," or,
as they are collectively termed, the " sensorium." In these latter
nerve-masses or ganglia the nerves of special sense — those of sight,
hearing, smell, &c. — terminate. Impressions of sight, for instance,
received by the eyes, are transferred to the appropriate ganglia in
which the act of mind we term "seeing" is excited. And so also
with hearing and the other senses ; the organ of sense being merely
the " gateway of knowledge," and the true consciousness in which
knowledge resides being thus excited within the brain. Add to these
primary details one fact more, namely, that the spinal cord, protected
within the safe encasement formed by the backbone, possesses at its
upper or brain end a large nervous mass known as the " medulla ob-

THE MIND'S MIRROR. 257

longata," and our anatomical details respecting the nerve-centres may
be safely concluded. From the "medulla oblongata" the nerves
which in large measure regulate or affect breathing, swallowing, and
the heart's action, spring ; so that whatever be the importance of the
" medulla oblongata " as an independent centre of mind or brain,
there can be no question of its high office as a controller of processes
on which the very continuance of life itself depends.

In what part of the nerve-centres are the emotions situated — in
big brain, little brain, sensorium, or medulla? — is a query which
may now be relevantly asked. The ingenuous reader; imbued with
a blind faith in the unity of scientific opinion on matters of import-
ance, will be surprised to find that in the archives of physiology very
varied replies may be afforded to this question. Opinions backed
by the weight of great authority will tell us that " big brain " is the
seat of the emotions, intelligence, the will, and of all those higher
nerve functions which contribute to form the characteristic mental
existence of man. Such a view, say its upholders, is supported more
generally and fully by the facts of physiology and zoology, and by
those of sanity and insanity, than any other theory of the exact situa-
tion of the "mental light." Authority of equally eminent character,
however, is opposed to the foregoing view regarding the superiority
of the big brain over all other parts of the nervous centres ; and in
this latter instance our attention is directed to the claims of the
"sensorium" as already defined, and as distinguished from the big
brain itself, to represent the seat of the emotions.

The emotions of the lower animals, we are reminded, bear a relation
to the development of these sensory ganglia, rather than to that of the
big brain. Dr. Carpenter, for instance, insists that " it is the sensorium,
not the cerebrum, with which the will is in most direct relation." Big
brain, in the opinion of Carpenter, "is not essential to consciousness;"
it is insensible itself to stimuli — that is to say, the brain itself has no
sensation or feeling — and it further " is not the part of the brain
which ministers to what may be called the ' outer life ' of the animal,
but is the instrument exclusively of its 'inner life.' " Impressions of
sight are received by the sensory ganglia or masses in relation with
the eye ; and, adds Carpenter, it would seem probable that conscious-
ness of sight only happens when the impression sent from the sensory
ganglia to the big brain has returned to these ganglia, and has reacted
upon these latter as the centres of sight. Thus, according to Dr.
Carpenter's theory, we may hold the sensorium to be the true seat of
the emotions. Inasmuch as we only become conscious of a sight-
impression when it has been transmitted back to the sensory ganglia
from the big brain, in like manner we become cognisant of an emo-
tion only when the impression has been returned to the sensorium
after being modified in the big brain. The latter supplies the modify-

STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

ing effects, but it is left for the sensory masses of the brain to
excite consciousness and to further distribute the emotions through
the body. By way of fortifying his position, Dr. Carpenter gives
the following case quoted from Dr. Abercrombie's " Intellectual
Powers " : — " In the Church of St. Peter at Cologne, the altarpiece
is a large and valuable picture by Rubens, representing the martyr-
dom of the Apostle. This picture having been carried away by
the French in 1805, to the great regret of the inhabitants, a painter
of that city undertook to make a copy of it from recollection ; and
succeeded in doing so in such a manner, that the most delicate tints
of the original are preserved with the most minute accuracy. The
original painting has now been restored, but the copy is preserved
along with it ; and even when they are rigidly compared, it is scarcely
possible to distinguish the one from the other." Dr. Abercrombie
also relates that Niebuhr, the celebrated Danish traveller, when old,
blind, and infirm, used to describe to his friends, with marvellous
exactitude, the scenes amidst which he had passed his early days,
remarking " that as he lay in bed, all visible objects shut out, the
pictures of what he had seen in the past continually floated before
his mind's eye, so that it was no wonder he could speak of them as
if he had seen them yesterday." Thus, urges Dr. Carpenter, these
instances, equally with Hamlet's declaration that he beholds his
father in his " mind's eye," are only to be explained as ideational
or internal representations of objects once seen. The " background
of consciousness " has projected them forwards, in other words, into
the waking life in the form of subjective sensations.

The same "sensorial state" must have been produced in the case
of the painter and in that of Niebuhr as was produced by the ori-
ginal objects each had gazed upon — "that state of the sensorium,"
says Carpenter, "which was originally excited by impressions con-
veyed to it by the nerves of the external senses, being reproduced by
impressions brought down to it from the cerebrum (or big brain)
by the nerves of the internal senses." Lastly, it may be added that by
a third section of the physiological world the medulla oblongata, or in
other words the upper segment of the spinal cord, is to be regarded
as the seat of the feelings. The late Professor Laycock inclined
strongly towards this latter opinion. He held that the changes con-
nected with the receipt and transmission of impressions from the
outside world finally ended in the medulla, and there resulted in the
development of the higher feelings and sentiments ; whilst ordinary
and automatically adapted movements might take place entirely
unaccompanied by sensation or consciousness. The medulla in this
view is the seat "of all those corporeal actions — cries and facial
movements — by which states of consciousness are manifested," and
these movements " can be and are manifested automatically." Mr.

THE MIND'S MIRROR. 259

Herbert Spencer's views refer "all feelings to this same centre,
admitting also the co-operation of the other parts of the brain. By
itself, the medulla cannot generate emotion," but, adds Mr. Spencer,
"it is that out of which emotion is evolved by the co-ordinating
actions of the great centres above it.1' How, by way of conclusion,
can we account for the diversity of views thus expressed, and to
which side should we lean in our views regarding the seat of the
emotions? Probably, as a tentative measure, we may rest most
safely by assuming that the production of emotion is a compound
act in which not merely the big brain but the sensorium is likewise
concerned, as implied by Dr. Carpenter; and further, that through
the medulla the .effects of the emotions — or the emotions as we
behold them in the body — are ultimately evolved, " Much may be
said on both sides " of the argument, to use Sir Roger de Coverley's
phrase. The difficulty has nowhere been more fairly summarised
than in Dr. Tuke's declaration that "there are objections to the
attempt to dissever and separately localise the intellectual and the
emotional elements, mental states in which they are combined ; and
yet I cannot but think that such a special relationship between the
emotional element and the medulla must be admitted, as shall
explain why the passions act upon the muscles and upon the organic
functions in a way universally felt to be different from that in which
a purely intellectual process acts upon them. On the hypothesis
which refers the emotional and intellectual elements equally to the
hemispheres (big brain), or which does not at least recognise that
the power of expressing emotions is dependent upon the medulla
oblongata, it seems to me more difficult to account physiologically
for the popular belief of the feelings being located in the heart or
breast, and for the sensations at the pit of the stomach ; while the
recognition, in some form or other, of an anatomical or physiological
connection between the medulla oblongata and the emotions, brings
the latter into close relation with the ganglionic cells of the pneumo-
gastric (a nerve in part controlling the movements of the heart, of breath-
ing, and swallowing) and with the alleged origin of the sympathetic."
Thus far we have been engaged in the study of the physiology of
the emotions, and in the endeavour to comprehend the nature of the
feelings from the nervous side. Our next duty lies in the direction
of endeavouring to understand the development of the outward
signs of the emotions as displayed not merely in the mind's mirror —
the face itself — but in the body at large also. As the emotions are
expressed through muscular movements of various kinds — blushing
itself being no exception to this rule — our first inquiries may be
directed towards ascertaining the exact nature of the relationship
between mind and muscle. The ultimate question which awaits
solution will resolve itself into the query, " How has this relationship

s 2

260 STUDJES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

been developed and perfected ? " The emotion, as we have seen,
may be said to include in its production the outward and visible
expression of an idea, and in this light emotional movements not
merely express each its particular thought, but correspond to the
well-defined mental state which gave origin to the thought. Emo-
tional movements in others are thus capable of exciting similar and
corresponding thoughts in ourselves. Nay, even words and language
fall into their definite place in the expression of the emotions, simply
when viewed as corresponding to ideas. " Speak the word," says
Dr. Maudsley, "and the idea of which it is the expression is aroused,
though it was not in the mind previously ; or put other muscles than
those of speech into an attitude which is the normal expression of a
certain mental state, and the latter is excited."

Turning to the emotions, we see the marked correspondence
between ideas and muscular expressions. Language expresses our
meaning through "audible muscular expression;" and through
"visible muscular expression" the passions hold their outward sway.
Bacon's idea of the importance of the study of the expression of the
emotions is well known — " the lineaments of the body do disclose
the disposition and inclination of the mind in general : but the
motion of the countenance and parts do not only so, but do further
disclose the present humour and state of the mind or will." It is no
mystery, but the plainest of inferences, that the play of prominent
and oft-repeated emotions may thus come to determine a special
configuration of face, which may reappear in after generations in the
"types" to which Lavater and his contemporaries directed so much
attention.

For evil passions, cherish'd long,

Had plough'd them with impressions strong,

says Sir Walter Scott, in describing the features of Bertram ; and
the poet in such a case but repeats in aesthetic phrase the plain infer-
ences and facts of the science of life.

The muscular acts involved in the production of the most
common emotions are not difficult to comprehend, and merely
involve an easy anatomical study. My friend Professor Cleland of
Glasgow has in a recent paper given an excellent example of this
mechanism, and has incidentally shown how attitudes and gestures
of body express correlated workings of mind. In the expression of
movements of receiving and rejecting — of welcome and repulse — the
chief muscles are concerned. The pectoralis major, or chief muscle
of each side of the breast, is chiefly concerned in the act of embrace
and welcome ; a second (the latissimus dor si) being employed in the
act of rejection — this latter muscle might in fact, as Dr. Cleland re-
marks, " be called the muscle of rejection," a name which would ex-
press its action more accurately as well as more becomingly than that

THE MIND'S MIRROR.

261

given to it by old anatomists. The two conditions of muscle— con-
traction and relaxation — under varying circumstances and combina-
tions in different groups of muscles, may be held to be capable of
expressing the entire play of human feelings. The explanation of
the mechanism of expression consists merely in a knowledge — not as
yet possessed by us in perfect fashion— of the various relations which
may persist at one and the
same moment between se-
parate muscles in a given
region, or between groups
of these muscles. Look at
an anatomical plate — such
as may be found in Sir
Charles Bell's "Anatomy
of Expression," enhanced
for our present purpose by
the addition of a text which
has become of classic nature
— and mark oft" therein the
eyebrow muscles, called the
orbicularis palpebr arum (19)
and pyramidalis nasi (i).
When we speak of the
lowering expression fore-
boding rage and anger, the
lineaments are placed in
the expressive phrase just
indicated, by the contrac-
tion of the muscles in
question. It is the occipito-
frontalis muscle (20, 27,

32) which contracts in the FIG. 29.— MUSCLES OF HEAD, FACE AND NECK (Gray).

peering look Of inquisitive- i, Pyramidalis nasi : 2, Compressor naris ; 3, 4, 5, dilators

and compressors of the nose ; 6, depressor alae nasi ; 7.
levator labii superioris et alae nasi ; 8, orbicularis oris ;
9, levator anguli oris ; 10, levator labii superioris ; n, 12,
zygomatici ; i3,masseter; 14, buccinator ; 15, risorius ;
16, depressor anguli oris ; 17, depressor labii inferioris ;
18, levator ment

ness or in the hopeful aspect

of joy. And when the

space betwixt the eyebrows

becomes wrinkled, as in the

frown of displeasure or in

the act of solving a knotty

problem, it is the corrugator

(26) which produces the well-known sign of the mind's trouble.

The " grief muscles " of Mr. Darwin are the orbiculars, corrugators,

and pyramidals of the nose, which act together so as to lower and

contract the eyebrows, and which are partially checked in their

action by the more powerful action of the central parts of the

9, orbicularis palpebrarum ; 20, 27,
32, occipito-f rental is ; 21, temporal fascia ; 22, atollens
aurem ; 23, 24, attrahens and retrahens aurem ; 25, deep
part of masseter ; 26, corrugator ; 28, sterno-mastoid ;
29, trapezius ; 30, platysma ; 31, external jugular vein.

262 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

frontal muscles. These muscles induce an oblique position of
the eyebrows, characteristic of grief, and associated with a depres-
sion of the corners of the mouth. So, also, we witness correlated
muscular action in that most characteristic of expressions, whether
seen in man or in lower animals, the action of snarling or de-
fiance, wherein the canine or eye tooth is uncovered by the angle
or corner of the mouth being "drawn a little backwards, and at
the same time a muscle (7) which runs parallel to and near the nose
draws up the outer part of the upper lip, and exposes the canine
tooth, as in sneering, on this side of the face. The contraction of
this muscle," adds Mr. Darwin, "makes a distinct furrow on the
cheek, and produces strong wrinkles under the eye, especially at its
inner corner." The orbicular is palpebrarum (19) above mentioned
closes the eyelids in sleep, and in the act of winking it is the upper
fibres of this muscle which alone act On the other hand, in exe-
cuting the " knowing wink," when the lower eyelid comes into play,
the lower fibres of this muscle are put in action. The distension of
the nostrils (seen equally well in an overdriven horse and in an
offended man) is effected by levator and other muscles, whilst one of
these muscles (7), sending a little slip down to the upper lip, aids us,
as just mentioned, in giving labial expression to a sneer.

The mouth, like the eye, is encircled by the fibres of a special
muscle (18) (\hzorbicularis oris\ which closes the mouth and presses
the lips against the teeth, and this expresses the idea of " firm set
determination." The mouth is opened by other muscles (levato'rs
and depressors of the lips) (7, 10, 16, 17), and it is transversely
widened by the zygomatic muscles (n, 12) and by the risorius
muscles (15), which latter derive their name from the part they play
in the expression of laughter. It is interesting, lastly, to note that
in man's muscular system we find the remains and rudiments of many
muscles of the utmost importance to, and which have a high develop-
ment in, lower animals. For instance, our ear has at least three
small muscles (22, 23, 24) connected with it. These are rarely
capable of moving the ear in man, but in such an animal as the
horse they attain a great development, and effect those characteristic
movements of the ears that constitute such a large part of equine
expression. So also with the muscles which close the nostrils in
lower animals, these latter being rudimentary in man (3, 4, 5, 6), but
very highly developed in such animals as the seals, where necessity
arises for closing the nostrils' apertures against the admission of water.

Although it is impossible to lay down any fixed rules on the
subject, it may be affirmed as a general result that relaxation of the
muscles is as a rule associated with pleasurable states of mind, whilst
violent contraction generally accompanies the painful phases of
mental action. The state of dreamy contentment, for instance, best

THE MIND'S MIRROR. 263

illustrates such a general relaxation of the muscles as accompanies
pleasurable emotions. Even in active joy, as in laughing, additional
relaxation takes place, accompanied however by contraction of the
"zygomatic muscles " (n, 12), which draw the corners of the mouth
upwards and backwards.

The mere mechanism of muscular acts is thus not difficult of
comprehension, and in connection with this part of our subject it may
not be amiss to deal briefly with modes of expression subsidiary to
those of the " mind's index/' such as the movements of the hand and
of other regions of the body liable to be affected in a very definite
manner in the play of the passions. In the seventeenth century a
certain John Bulwer published a curious volume entitled " Chirologia,
or the Natural Language of the Hand." As the face was named the
" Dyall of the Affections," so Bulwer applies to the hand " the
Manuall text of Utterance." " The gesture of the hand," according
to Bulwer, "many times gives a hint of our intention, and speaks out
a good part of our meaning, before our words, which accompany or
follow it, can put themselves into a vocal posture to be understood."
Again, this quaint-spoken author remarks that "the lineaments of the
body doe disclose the disposition and inclination of the minde in
general!, but the motions doe not only so, but doe further disclose the
present humour and state of the minde and will, for as the tongue
speaketh to the ears, so Gesture speaketh to the eye, and therefore a
number of such persons whose eyes doe dwell upon the faces and
fashions of men, doe well know the advantage of this observation, as
being most part of their ability ; neither can it bee denied but that it
is a great discoverer of dissimulation and great direction of businesse.
For, after one manner almost we clappe our hands in joy, wring them
in sorrow, advance them in prayer and admiration : shake our head in
disdaine, wrinkle our forehead in dislike, crispe our nose in anger,
blush in shame, and so for the most part of the most subtile motions."

In some subsequent advice given in his " Philocophus ; or the
Deafe and Dumbe Man's Friend," Bulwer asks of his readers, " What
though you cannot express your mindes in these verball contrivances
of man's invention ;" (Bulwer really anticipated the most modern
view of the origin of language) ; " yet you want not speech who have
your whole body for a Tongue : having a language more naturall and
significant, which is common to you with us, to wit, Gesture, the
general and universall language of Humane Nature, which, when we
would have our speech to have life and efficacy, wee joyne in com-
mission with our wordes, and when wee would speak with most state
and gravity, we renounce wordes and use Nods and other naturall
signes alone." Thus does Bulwer vindicate the eloquence of silent
sign-speech, which in its earliest development probably aided very
largely in the formation and development of language itself. As the

264 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

infant's gesture precedes its speech, so in the early phases of man's
development the sign-speech probably served as a means of com-
munication ere the principle of imitating natural sounds led to the
first beginning of language. Besides the play of the hands, the
movements of breathing may be ranked as amongst the means for
the due expression of the emotions. Sir Charles Bell speaks of the
" respiratory " group of nerves as highly distinctive of man, and
maintains that they were developed to adapt the process and organs
of breathing to man's intellectual nature. Such an explanation
would, of course, be utterly rejected by the evolutionist, who main-
tains that the means possessed by man for the expression of the
emotions are explicable on utilitarian and allied grounds as having
been generated by outward favouring circumstances and perpetuated
by habit, or as having arisen from the perpetuation of traits of ex-
pression found in lower forms of life. The altered movements of
breathing seen in the paroxysm of terror or grief, are more or less
secondary effects of the emotions ; they are seen equally well in the
fear of many quadrupeds ; and they hardly fall into the category of
direct effects illustrated so markedly by the flitting shadows of the
face or by the gesture language of the hands and body. Not the
least interesting feature of the present subject exists in the obvious
connection between the formation of words expressive of certain
strong emotions, and the physical or bodily expression by the face of
similar feelings. Reference has already been made to this corre-
spondence, but the topic will bear an additional mention before we
pass to consider the probable origin of the modes of emotional ex-
pression, by way of summing up the present paper. As already
quoted from Dr. Maudsley, the fact of a spoken word relating itself
to the idea of which it is the expression, is a well-known feature of
our everyday mental existence. Many of our most primitive emo-
tional traits bear to the words whereby we express them the relation
of cause to effect. Take as an example the expression " Pooh ! "
What better explanation of this otherwise meaningless but at the
same time expressive term can be afforded, than that it arises from
the natural expiratory effort produced by, or at least naturally
associated with, the protrusion of the lips in the act of rejecting some
undesirable substance. The labial movement of expression gives
rise to a sound which becomes convertible into the term for disgust.
The " hiss " of contempt is explicable on similar grounds ; and the
word " ugly " is by no means the unlikely offspring of that " ugh "
which is so plainly associated with the expression of contempt and
disgust.

These observations regarding the nature and mechanism of the
emotions have already extended to a considerable length, and it
now behoves us to summarise them shortly in the question of their

THE MIND'S MIRROR. 265

development. The subject of the emotions and the origin of the
means whereby we express them, like so many other subjects of
physiological inquiry, received a decided impetus from the publi-
cation of Mr. Darwin's works. His " Expression of the Emotions "
has already become well-nigh as classic a work as Sir Charles Bell's
treatise; and the query how far Mr. Darwin's views assist us in
explaining the origin of the expressions, may best be answered by
showing the chief grounds upon which Mr. Darwin's explanations
are based. That his views do not overtake all the difficulties of the
subject, Mr. Darwin would be the first to admit ; but it is equally
undeniable that he makes out a strong case for the reception of his
views, namely, that inheritance of traits from lower forms of life,
together with modifying circumstances — such as the perpetuation ot
useful habits— acting upon human existence, have been the main
causes of the development of expression.

On three principles, according to Mr. Darwin, we may account for
most of man's gestures and expressions. The first, he terms that of
" serviceable associated habits." Under this first head, Mr. Darwin
remarks the influence of habit and custom in perpetuating acquired
movements, illustrated in the peculiar "step" of horses, and the
"setting" and "pointing" of dogs. Even gestures of the most unusual
type have been known to be perpetuated in human history. " A boy
had the singular habit," says Mr. Darwin, " when pleased, of rapidly
moving his fingers parallel to each other ; and, when much excited,
of raising both hands, with the fingers still moving, to the sides of his
face on a level with the eyes; this boy, when almost an old man,
could still hardly resist this trick when much pleased, but from its
absurdity concealed it. He had eight children. Of these, a girl,
when pleased, at the age of four and a half years, moved her fingers
in exactly the same way, and what is still odder, when much excited,
she raised both her hands, with her fingers still moving, to the sides
of her face, in exactly the same manner as her father had done, and
sometimes even still continued to do when alone. I never heard,"
concludes Mr. Darwin, "of any one excepting this one man and his
little daughter who had this strange habit ; and certainly imitation
was in this instance out of the question." Again, during sound
sleep, three generations of a particular family have been known to
raise the right arm up to the forehead and then allow it to drop
"with a jerk, so that the wrist fell heavily on the bridge of the
nose." Such an act — altogether without known cause — might some-
times be "repeated incessantly for an hour or more," and the
person's nose, as was naturally to be expected, gave palpable evi-
dence of the treatment to which it had been subjected. The son of
this person married a lady who had never heard of this incident,
but in her husband she chronicled the same history as did her

266 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

mother-in-law. One of this gentleman's daughters has inherited the
same peculiarity, modifying the action, so that the palm and not the
wrist strikes the nose. In lower animals many such illustrations of
truly serviceable habits might be given. The perpetuation of such
habits is simply a matter of "reflex nervous action" — as much,
indeed, as the unconscious act of drawing back the hand from a
burning surface, or of closing the eyes in a sudden flash of light.
On this first principle, then, we may explain many forms of ex-
pression, as depending upon sensations of varying nature which
first led to voluntary movements; and these latter, in turn, and
through the ordinary laws of nervous action, have become fixed
habits, notwithstanding that they may be perfectly useless to the
animal form. In their most typical development, 'such expressions
appear before us as the results of inheritance. No better illustrations
of such inherited habits in man could be found than in the numerous
acts which accompany furious rage and vexation, or the fighting
attitude in which an opponent is defied without any intention of
attack. And on some such principle as the foregoing may we
reasonably enough explain the act of uncovering the eye-tooth
before alluded to, in the act of snarling or defiance. " This act in
man reveals," says Mr. Darwin, "his animal descent, for no one,
even if rolling on the ground in a deadly grapple with an enemy,
and attempting to bite him, would try to use his canine teeth more
than his other teeth. We may readily believe," adds our author,
"from our affinity to the anthropomorphous apes, that our male
semi-human progenitors possessed great canine teeth, and men are
now occasionally born having them of unusually large size, with
interspaces in the opposite jaw for their reception."

Mr. Darwin's second principle on which the expression of the
emotions and their origin may be accounted for, he terms that of
"antithesis." By this term he means to indicate the fact that
certain mental states lead to certain definite acts, which, as just
explained by the first principle, may be serviceable to the animal —
or which may in time lose both their serviceable tendency and their
original meaning, as we have also seen. Now, if we suppose that a
directly opposite phase of mind to these first mental states is pro-
duced, actions may follow which will express the latter and not the
original states. These antithetical and antagonistic actions are of no
use, but at the same time they may be expressive enough. The dog
who approaches an intruder with irate growl, erect head and tail,
stiff ears, and a general attitude of attack, on discovering that he has
been menacing a friend, at once changes his expression. He fawns
upon the supposed antagonist, becomes servile to a degree, and
completely reverses his former attitude. Such is an example of the
antagonistic nature of certain modes of expression, which are ex-

THE MIND'S MIRROR. 267

plicable, Mr. Darwin holds, only on the supposition of their anti-
thetical nature. The servile or affectionate movements of the dog
are of no direct service to the animal, but represent the mere revul-
sion of feeling which represents nerve-force or emotion speeding into
channels of opposite nature from those into which in the angry
condition they had been directed. The shrugging of man's shoulders
may be selected as the best example of the antagonistic methods of
expression. Here we confess by sign language our inability to
perform an action, or as often exhibit a total indifference to the
matter in hand — the polite comme il vous plaira ! accompanied by
this gesture, placing the latter before us in its true significance. As
to the origin of the expression, it may perhaps be most clearly
explained, as Mr. Darwin holds, by regarding it as the antithetical
and passive phase of actions and expressions which had for their
object some very active and direct piece of business — most probably
that of attack.

The third and last principle used to explain the origin of the
emotions is more strictly a matter of pure physiology than the pre-
ceding conditions. Mr. Darwin terms this last a principle involving
"the direct action of the nervous system." It acts independently
of the will from the first, and is independent to a certain extent of
habit likewise. A strong impulse or steady impression sent through
the brain causes a correspondingly large expenditure or liberation
of nerve force, which escapes by those channels which are first
opened for its reception, and thus produces very varied and marked
expressions. In such a category we might place the remarkable
changes which grief is known to effect in the colour of the hair, as
for instance where, in a man led forth to execution in India, the hair
was seen to undergo a change of colour as the culprit walked.
Muscular tremor and the quaking of limbs — paralleled by the more
severe convulsions from fright of hysterical persons and young
children — are forms of expression which cannot be explained save
on the idea of nerve-force speeding along the channels, which,
through some unknown condition of the nervous system, have been
opened for its reception in preference to others. So also the phe-
nomena of blushing illustrate Mr. Darwin's third principle, which
might well be termed the diffusion of nerve force, modified by habit,
by inheritance, and by personal peculiarities. Here a mental emo-
tion is transferred to the skin-surface, and especially — but not invari-
ably —to the face, producing the well-known tinge which Wilkinson,
in his " Human Body and its connection with Man," describes as
the " celestial rosy red," and which he defines as the " proper hue "
of love : whilst " lively Shame blushes and mean Shame looks
Earthly." Carried to an extreme degree, as in the case of the
Belgian " stigmatics," the same emotion produces the bleeding

268 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

points of the religious devotees, of whom St. Francis himself is the
type. The earlier writers on expression contended that blushing
was specially designed from the beginning, that — according to one
author — "the soul might have sovereign power of displaying in the
cheeks the various internal emotions of the moral feelings." To
explain blushing on more reasonable grounds, it is necessary to have
recourse to the idea that a sensitive regard for the opinions of
others acts primarily on the mind — inducing a play of emotion
which, coursing through the nerves regulating the circulation of the
face especially, results in the dilatation of the minute bloodvessels
of the part to which attention has been directed. Concentration of
attention on the face lies at the root of the mental act involved in
blushing, and that such attention has not escaped the effects of
habit and inheritance is the safest of conclusions founded on the
common experience of our race.

It remains, finally, to direct attention to the general proofs
which the evolution theory, resting the origin of human emotions
chiefly upon the idea of our derivation and descent from lower stages
of existence, is entitled to produce by way of supporting the latter
conclusion. It is very noticeable that the will has, at the most, but
little share in the development of the emotions, just as in many cases
(e.g., the phenomena of blushing) it is powerless to hinder their ex-
pression. Nor have most of the typical modes of expression been
newly acquired — that is, they do not appear as our own and original
acts — since many traits are exhibited from our earliest years, and may
then be as typically represented as in later life. Equally valuable is the
evidence which the observation of abnormal phases of the human
mind reveals in support of the inherited nature of our chief emotions.
The blind display the typical emotions (e.g. blushing) equally with
those who see. Laura Bridgman, the educated deaf-mute, laughed,
clapped her hands, and blushed truly by instinct and nature, and not
from imitation or instruction. This girl likewise shrugged her
shoulders as naturally as her seeing and hearing neighbours, and
nodded her head affirmatively and shook it negatively by a similar
instinct. Not less remarkable, as testifying to the inherent nature of
human expressions, is the experience of the physician who labours
amongst the insane. The idiot will cackle like a goose as his only
language, or give vent to monosyllables which are little above the
simple cries of the animal world in complexity or meaning. Every
act and expression is not originally of the man but of the truly
animal. " Whence come the animal traits and instincts in man? . . .
Whence come the savage snarl, the destructive disposition, the
obscene language, the wild howl, the offensive habits, displayed by
some of the insane?" "Are these traits," asks Dr. Maudsley,
" really the reappearance of a primitive instinct of animal nature — a

THE MIND'S MIRROR. 269

faint echo from a far distant past, testifying to a kinship which man
has almost outgrown, or has grown too proud to acknowledge?
No doubt such animal traits are marks of extreme human degeneracy,
but it is no explanation to call them so ; degenerations come by law,
and are as natural as law can make them. . . . Why should a human
being deprived of his reason ever become so brutal in character as
some do, unless he has the brute nature within him ? " " We may,"
concludes this eminent authority, "without much difficulty trace
savagery in civilisation, as we can trace animalism in savagery ; and
in the degeneration of insanity, in the unkind ing, so to say, of the
human kind, there are exhibited marks denoting the elementary
instincts of its composition."

These are weighty words; but the grounds on which they are
uttered amply justify their conclusions. Turn in which direction
we will, we meet with evidences of man's lowly origin — now in a
plain proof of his kinship with lower forms, now in a mere suggestion
presented in some bypath of nature, showing us a possible connec-
tion with humbler grades — and even in the passing flash of emotion
which, sweeping across the mirror of the mind, reveals the workings
of the soul within, we may find, as in a random thought, a clue to
the origin of our race.

270 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

XIII.

WHAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF.

THAT our existence, in a physiological sense, may be regarded
as consisting of alternating periods of activity and repose is
an axiom which requires no very deep reflection or research for
the demonstration of its truth. The waking hours of the day are
succeeded by the resting hours of the night. The work of life is
followed naturally by the repose which, in its turn, is equally a part
of our normal existence; and there are too many obvious indications
that this succession of events is part and parcel of nature at large,
to leave room for doubt that sleep and wakefulness are simply the
evenly balanced ends of the vital " see-saw." It appears to be a
rule of physical life that, even in its most intimate and less apparent
phases, an alternation of rest and repose should be constantly exem-
plified. The work of life means, of course, the dissipation of energy.
The wear and tear inseparable from the mere act of living and being
necessitates proportionate repair. This much is contained in the
first pages of the scientific primer ; whilst a succeeding and equally
primitive study discloses the way of repair in the many processes of
nutrition which tend to preserve the form of the individual in its
stable aspect by counteracting the inevitable waste of life.

But there are other processes and functions which seem to contri-
bute to the latter end, and amongst them we may legitimately number
the influence of rest and repose. It is by no means paradoxical to as-
sume that the very act of nutrition or that of bodily repair, involving as
it does a large expenditure of energy, is in itself a source of bodily
wear and tear. The pulsations of the heart, directly concerned in the
distribution through the body of the products of nutrition, represent,
apparently, an amount of exertion and work which well-nigh induces
the belief that we subsist on a veritable " peau de chagrin," and that
even the gains of the body of necessity imply a loss. From the phy-
siological side of things, however, there comes a gleam of comfort in
the declaration that the nutrition of rest serves to counterbalance the
wear and tear involved in the mere fact of existence. In repose is
found, we are told, a highly perfect source of bodily repair. And it is
further impressed upon us that this cessation from labour may occur
in ways and fashions undreamt of by the casual observer of the lives
of men. Take as an example the heart itself. Next to the brain,

WHAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF. -71

which is credited with being the scene of a never-ending bustle and
traffic in ideas, the heart may be thought of as an organ whose duties
permit of no cessation or repose. Even in the ordinary undisturbed
performance of its functions, the rhythmical routine of the great
pumping-engine strikes us as resembling that of the galley-slave
chained to the oar, and as exhibiting day by day the same unflagging,
stereotyped way of life and action. The question of rest for such an
organ might at first sight appear non-existent. Its nutrition likewise
would seem to be a matter in arranging for which, conformably with
its perpetual round of duties, nature might experience some difficulty;
since, like the through railway guard on an extended journey, it must
feed as it runs.

But the dilemma in question is solved through the simple con-
sideration of the manner in which the heart's work is performed.
The action of the organ, as every one knows, is not continuous. Its
work is intermittent in character, as may be proved by listening to
the sounds it makes. It has its periods of repose, short as these may
be, between its strokes of work. It takes its rest in short alternate
naps ; and if we sum up its life history, and calculate its working hours,
we shall find that, in truth, the heart has rested for a longer period
than it has worked. Thus although the snatches of rest be short, in
the case of the heart they are really as frequent as its working moments,
and in the intervals betwixt its pulsations it may be said to gather
energy for its succeeding strokes. The case of the muscles used in
breathing — and it may be borne in mind that the heart itself is
simply a hollow muscle — is equally interesting, and certainly not less
typical than that of the central organ of the circulation. The periods
of work, so to speak, are longer in the case of the chest-muscles,
just as the intervals of repose are more protracted than in the
business of the circulation. And if the idea of rest alternating with
work be extended to other departments of bodily activity, we shall
find that the practice in question prevails throughout the living
organism. The chief differences between the action of one set of
muscles and that of another set consist in the varying duration and
succession of the periods of work and rest. In absolute cessation from
labour, then, we find a profitable source of repair of the body. Then
it is that the materials derived from the food can be perfectly applied
to the necessities and wants of the frame. The true justification of
sleep is found after all in the value of rest as a reparative measure.
And the after-dinner nap of well-favoured humanity, equally with the
somewhat prolonged post-prandial inactivity of the boa-constrictor,
are procedures separated, it may be, by an infinity of differences,
but which, perchance, derive much of their reasonableness from the
physiological considerations besetting the question of repose.

As a knowledge of the nature of sleep becomes a necessity for

272 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

the understanding of the why and wherefore of dreaming and allied
conditions, we may in the next place endeavour to gain some ideas
respecting certain curious states which in one way or another may be
said to border the " land of Nod." Such are the remarkable cases
of producing insensibility or of feigning death at will, and those
which relate to the production of unnatural states allied to sleep,
and which in some measure aid our understanding of dreams and
their causation. As in many other acts and phenomena connected
with brain and mind, the phenomena of sleep and dreams do not stand
alone or unconnected with other mental states. On the contrary, it
is possible to trace well-marked gradations leading from the day-
dream to the reverie, and from these common instances of abstraction
to the somnolent condition itself. Nay, it may also be said that the
full understanding of dreaming, in so far as that is possible at present,
can only be arrived at from a knowledge of the facts which a study
of the waking dream or the automatic patient teaches us. Through
morbid and unwonted conditions, as in so many other instances in
the search after knowledge, we arrive at a comprehension of the ill-
understood affairs of common life.

That there exists a power of producing at will conditions allied
in nature to sleep, or even extending to deep insensibility with appa-
rent cessation of the physical processes of life, is a well-known fact of
physiology. A condition approaching that of coma or insensibility thus
appears to be occasionally induced in man by an effort of the will. In
many animals a prolonged and periodical suspension of the activities of
ordinary existence normally occurs and is designated under the term
hybernation. The bear, squirrel, dormouse, and bat exemplify this con-
dition, in which, however, respiration is unimpeded, although its fre-
quency is reduced; and the animal, retiring to its winter quarters fat and
well favoured, emerges in spring in a lean condition. The nutritive
principal which was accumulated in the preceding summer has, in fact,
been converted into an account-current and used in the maintenance
of the slumbering organism. In such a case there is simply deep
somnolence and suspension of all ordinary activity and of the exer-
tions and waste attending the wakeful state. But a step further brings
us to the domain of pathology (or the science of disease) with its un-
wonted states, depending on disease or on conditions which approach
those of abnormal existence. Celsus speaks of a priest who could
separate himself from outward existence at will, and lie as one dead.
But the case of Colonel Townshend, related by Dr. George Cheyne —
in his quaint book entitled "The English Malady; or, a Treatise of
Nervous Diseases of all kinds, as Spleen, Vapours, Lowness of Spirits,
Hypochondriacal and Hysterical Distemper, &c., London, 1733" —
justly exceeds in interest any other known case of the kind, not
merely for the abnormal nature of the phenomena, but also from

WHAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF. 273

the exact account of the events in question, related by accurate
observers trained in the scientific methods of their day.

Dr. Cheyne's account of this case bears that Colonel Townshend
had suffered from some internal malady, of ascertained and well-
understood nature, and that he came in a litter from Bristol to Bath
in autumn for the purpose of obtaining medical advice. Attended
by a Dr. Baynard, a Mr. Skrine, his apothecary, and by Dr. Cheyne
himself— all three despairing of the Colonel's recovery — the patient
sent one morning for his medical attendants, and intimated that he
had made his will and set his house in order; "\\\* Senses? according
to Dr. Cheyne, being "clear, and his Mind calm" Colonel Towns-
hend next informed his doctors that he had sent for them that he
might give them details of " an odd Sensation he had for some Time
observed and felt in himself: which was," continues Dr. Cheyne,
"that, composing himself, he could die or expire when he pleased,
and yet by an Effort, or somehow, he could come to Life again,
which it seems," adds the author, " he had sometimes tried before
he had sent for us." On hearing such a recital, the doctors were
naturally astonished. As men of science, their natural scepticism of
the unusual, until proved by experiment to be likely or true, exhibited
itself in Dr. Cheyne's declaration that his hearers " could hardly
believe the Fact as he related it, much less give any Account of it,
unless," adds the narrator, " he should please to make the Experi-
ment before us, which we were unwilling he should do, lest, in his
weak Condition, he might carry it too far." The Colonel, however,
insisted on the trial being made, the preliminary duty of feeling his
pulse being duly performed, when it was found to be "distinct, though
small and threedy": whilst " his Heart had its usual Beating."

Dr. Cheyne may now be allowed to relate the sequel in his own
words: " He composed himself on his Back, and lay in a still posture
some time ; while I held his right Hand, Dr. Baynard\&\& his Hand on
his Heart, and Mr. Skrine held a clean Looking-Glass to his Mouth.
I found his Pulse sink gradually, till at last I could not feel any, by
the most exact and nice Touch. Dr. Baynard could not feel the least
motion in his Heart, nor Mr. Skrine the least Soil of Breath on the
bright Mirror he held to his Mouth ; then each of us by Turns
examined his Arm, Heart, and Breath, but could not by the nicest
Scrutiny discover the least Symptom of Life in him. We reasoned a
long Time about this odd Appearance as well as we could, and all of
us judging it inexplicable and unaccountable, and finding he still
continued in that Condition, we began to conclude that he had
indeed carried the Experiment too far and at last were satisfied he
was actually dead, and were just ready to leave him. This continued
about half an Hour. By Nine o'Clock in the Morning in autumn,
as we were going away, we observed some Motion about the Body,

T

274 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

and upon Examination found his Pulse and the Motion of his Heart
gradually returning ; he began to breath gently and speak softly : we
were all astonish'd to the last Degree at this unexpected Change, and
after some further Conversation with him, and among ourselves, went
away fully satisfied as to all the Particulars of this Fact, but con-
founded and puzzled, and not able to form any Rational Scheme that
might account for it." Thus far Dr. Cheyne. The sequel relates
that after calling for his Attorney and adding a codicil to his will,
Colonel Townshend "received the Sacrament, and calmly and
composedly Expir'd about five or six o'Clock that Evening."

Thus it appears to be proved beyond doubt that this patient had
the power of composedly and perfectly simulating death at will— for
Dr. Cheyne expressly mentions that Colonel Townshend had " for
some Time observed and felt in himself" the peculiar power of
which he gave his physicians such satisfactory demonstration. There
are few amongst ourselves who will not appreciate to the full Dr.
Cheyne's concluding remark, that, having "narrated the Facts,"
deliberately and distinctly, he may well " leave to the Philosophick
Reader to make what Inferences he thinks fit" In addition to all
the signs and symptoms of sleep, we have added in Colonel Towns-
hend's case the power of intensifying the conditions of somnolence
to an extent comparable only to the extinction of vital action itself.

A case reported in the Medical Times and Gazette and British
Medical Journal for 1863 may interest us as presenting us in some
measure with a case comparable in man to the hybernating habits of
lower forms, and which may also serve as a connecting link between
such a case as the previous one and the phenomena of ordinary sleep.
A man, aged forty- four years, began in 1842 or 1843, after a severe
cold, to exhibit a tendency to indulge in deep and prolonged sleep.
The affection returned in 1848, and again in 1860 and in 1866.
During the attack his appearance was natural, but the face and ears
were pale, feet often cold and livid, respiration scarcely perceptible,
and pulse feeble. The account adds that on awakening, the patient
felt refreshed. The longest period he passed in sleep was five days
and five nights. Frequently a period of three or four days was
passed in sleep, the average duration of the attacks being two days,
whilst he was awake during four or five hours out of the forty-eight.
He did not dream during the period of repose. These remarks apply
to his history up to 1860. In 1866 the curious phenomena were
again noticed. The patient slept from about 11.30 P.M. on January 2,
1866, to 2 P.M. on January 6. At 12 P.M. on February 4 another
period of repose began, which lasted until 4 P.M. on February 8 ;
when after a wakeful interval of seven hours he dozed off again until
the nth, when he remained awake for nine hours, but thereafter slept
for four days. From February 16 till February 26 he slept continu-

WHAT DXEAMS ARE MADE OF. 27$

ously, save for an interval of five hours; and beginning to sleep
on March 9 at 10 A.M., he slept until the i5th at four o'clock in the
afternoon. Nothing remarkably abnormal or in the least sufficient
to explain the anomalies of this patient's existence was revealed by
an examination of the brain after death, which occurred at the close
of the year last mentioned. Here the tendency to sleep was a
matter of abnormal action of some mysterious kind. There was no
power, as in Colonel Townshend's case, to induce the phenomena at
will ; but the nature of the conditions inducing or favouring the
peculiarities remains in either case an insoluble mystery.

The occurrence of such anomalous cases receives no direct ex-
planation from any of the conditions which are known to be charac-
teristic of normal sleep. The resemblance of the insensibility
produced by congestions and fulness of blood in the brain to natural
sleep long ago suggested that, in some such mechanical cause as a
normally recurring fulness of the vessels of the organ of mind, a cause
of sleep might be found. But the analogy between induced insensi-
bility and sleep is not complete or correct. There exist many and
wide differences between the production of coma or stupor and that
of a normal insensibility to outer affairs, which sooner or later resolves
itself into wakefulness ; and the conditions observed in the sleeping
brain were, moreover, widely at variance with the known symptoms
of abnormal insensibility. In 1821 a Dr. Pierquin, of Montpelier,
placed on record the observation that in a patient, part of whose
brain was exposed through disease, there was no movement of the
organ of mind in ordinary undisturbed and dreamless sleep. When,
on the contrary, the sleep was disturbed by dreams, the brain sub-
stance was elevated in proportion to the vivid nature of the dream.
In her waking state, this patient exhibited the same appearances ;
there was marked activity of the brain when she was engaged in
lively or excited conversation. Experiment has, however, proved to
us that without doubt the brain-substance receives less blood during
sleep than in the waking state, which latter is accompanied by an
increased flow of blood to the organ. Such a result is exactly that
which the general inductions of physiology might have foretold.
Blood passing to the brain is required and used for two purposes —
namely, for the nutrition and physical conservation of the organ,
and for supplying the potential energy, to be converted into thought,
nerve-force, and the acts of life. During sleep, therefore, blood will
be demanded for the first purpose alone. The wakeful activity
which demands and requires the larger blood-supply is no longer
represented, save, indeed, under abnormal conditions. And we
thus arrive at a basis for constructing a theory of sleep and its causa-
tion, just as, at the commencement of this paper, we discovered a
plain justification for its occurrence as an act and part of life.

T 2

276 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

Sleep is produced by those causes which favour the withdrawal of
blood from the brain, or rather by those which lessen the flow and
force of the circulation in that organ. As an indication of the need
of repair by rest, the bloodless condition of the sleeping brain appears
in perfect harmony with the opposite condition of the wakeful
state. And thus, also, it may be added, we may construct a reason-
able approach to a theory of dreams in the statement that whatever
favours an increase of brain-circulation during sleep will develop
the dream-instincts, and liberate those dream-children which,
Shakespeare notwithstanding, are not to be declared the offspring of
" an idle brain."

That we have a power or faculty of abstracting our thoughts — and
practically ourselves — from the external order of things by which we
are surrounded, is, of course, a statement which has but to appeal to
our common experience to attest its unquestioned veracity. It is im-
portant for our present purpose that we briefly glance at the subject
of reverie, inasmuch as we may find a striking analogy between this
state as experienced in our wakeful moments, and through the allied
state of " automatism," an explanation of the mechanism of dreams.
The ordinary sensation, received by an organ of sense from without,
is transferred to some part of the brain specially concerned with the
registration of such an impression, and is there converted into an
idea. This idea in turn may be reflected hither and thither through
the body, and appears in our waking life as a defined and purposive
action. Suppose, now, that ideas which have been registered in the
brain are capable of being despatched or evolved therefrom at will.
The production of thoughts thus-wise constitutes memory; and
association duly links them together to form " a train of thought."
But thought may be unattended by action. A whole train of ideas,
or a complicated chain of reasoning, may be thought out in a kind
of mental aside, and in that utter want of attention to our sur-
roundings which constitutes the essential feature of the "absent-
minded man" — a phrase applicable only in so far as the term
" absent-minded " applies to the immediate circumstances of the
individual. Here there is automatic action of the brain pure
and simple. The familiar instance of the rapid walk through the
crowded streets of a city, whilst the mind is engaged in the pursuit of
some recondite subject, is but another instance of the phenomena of
abstraction carried into practical effect, and exemplifies an inter-
mediate state between sleep and waking allied to somnambulism
itself. From our wakeful moments to the reverie in our arm-chair
is but a step. From such a reverie to the abstraction of our city
walk is only another advance ; and if we suppose the abstraction
to deepen whilst the mental activity becomes annihilated, we obtain
the dreamless sleep, as, on the other hand, with an increase of the

WHAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF. 277

mental activity, we ally ourselves to the dreamer and to the sleep-
walker himself.

It is a curious circumstance that in certain individuals the faculty
or habit of abstraction may become so thoroughly developed that the
subject is to all intents and purposes an automaton pure and simple,
and may be said to dwell on the borders of the somnambulistic state
itself. The latter opinion alone can be expressed regarding the well-
authenticated case of the clergyman who, engaged in an abstruse
mathematical calculation, was reminded by his wife that it was time
to dress for dinner. The gentleman in question proceeded upstairs
to his bedroom still deeply involved in his thoughts, with the result
of being found, soon thereafter, in the act of getting into bed — a
proceeding simply suggested to the semi-unconscious mind and
well-nigh absent volition by the act of entering his bedchamber and
commencing to undress. Only on the supposition of habit having
developed this awkward faculty of allying oneself to a species
of sleep in the hours of wakefulness can the doings of a late
well-known Scottish Professor be accounted for. This gentleman
passing out of college on one occasion ran against a cow. Pulling
off his hat amid his abstraction, he exclaimed, " I beg your pardon,
madam ! " Although aroused to a sense of his mistake, shortly
thereafter he stumbled against a lady under somewhat similar
circumstances, greeting his astonished neighbour with the remark,
" Is that you again, you brute ? " It was this gentleman who bowed
to his own wife in the streets, but remarked that he had not the
pleasure of her acquaintance ; whilst another vagary consisted in his
making his appearance at college in the costume of his day, dis-
playing on one leg a black stocking of his own, and on the other a
white stocking of his better half. Another narrative credits the Pro-
fessor with addressing a stranger in the street and asking this person
to direct him to his own house. "But ye're the Professor! " replied
the interrogated and astonished person. " Never mind," was the
reply, " I don't want to know who I am — I want to know where the
Professor lives !"

Such is a brief account of the condition we term Abstraction,
serving to bridge over the gulf between the waking state and sleep ;
and the analogy becomes closer still if we venture to compare a well-
authenticated case of so-called " automatism " in man, and thereafter
to compare the details of such a case with the acts and behaviour
of the absent-minded man, on the one side, and with those of
the somnambulist on the other. The best-authenticated case of
automatism pure and simple in man is the famous case of the French
Sergeant F., reported by Dr. Mesnet. When twenty-seven years of age
F. was wounded on the left side of the head by a ball. Immediately
thereafter, his right side being paralysed, he became senseless.

2; 8 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

Three weeks afterwards he awoke to consciousness in the hospital at
Mayence.

For a year the paralysis of the right side continued, but this con-
dition improved under treatment. Curious periodical aberrations of
the intellect, however, began to appear about three months after his
mishap. These latter symptoms occurred at intervals, varying from
fifteen to thirty days, and they lasted from fifteen to thirty hours.
His abnormal periods were therefore short, as compared with his
normal ones. The peculiarities of his abnormal period were very
marked. His eyes were wide open ; his movements were regular
but automatic ; he went wherever he was directed ; when he stumbled
over an object he felt about for the obstruction and then passed on
one side ; and he ate and drank as usual, and rose and retired to rest
at his accustomed hours. More curious was the fact that pins might
be run into his body without eliciting the slightest exclamation of
pain. To electricity he was equally insensible ; he heard not, but
rarely saw, and did not distinguish what he ate or drank. His sense
of touch alone was present, and that in an elevated degree ; but
curiously enough, when placed in an appropriate position, he might
be made automatically to express in pantomime the movements of
reconnoitring or skirmishing in an enemy's country. He could hum
a tune, and sang from a roll of paper placed in his hand as if it were
a vocal score ; and, as refreshment, swallowed between his songs,
without grimace, a mixture of strong vinegar and water. That the
sense of sight, although deficient, yet played a part in directing the
abnormal life of R, was apparent in an experiment of Dr. Mesnet's,
in which, when engaged in writing a letter, a screen was interposed
between his eyes and his letter. The sergeant proceeded for a little
time with his letter, finally, however, coming to a halt as his words
became illegible, but without exhibiting a sign of annoyance ; and
when sheet after sheet of a superimposed series was withdrawn as
he wrote, so that each sheet contained but a few words of his letter,
he continued to write on, signing his name on the last sheet as if
it contained the whole of his communication, and correcting the
imaginary writing which he supposed was represented before him.
His tobacco pouch being removed after the manufacture of a first
cigarette, he neither saw nor smelt the missing object, but when
placed in his hand the automatism of his nature asserted itself, and
another cigarette was duly manufactured.

The seats of the senses in the brain, or " sensory ganglia," as they
are named, may apparently serve as centres of action, even when the
purely intellectual functions of the brain proper (or " cerebrum ") are
practically in abeyance ; and such a remark, moreover, leads us to
understand how in the phases of somnambulism, when mind proper
is annihilated, there are performed movements and acts involving

WHAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF. 279

extreme caution, tact, and delicacy in their performances. From a
long list of interesting examples, tending to prove the power of the
sensory masses of the brain to guide the body in the absence of
normal power of thought and will, we may select the following.
Complete idiots, such as cretins of the first degree, spend their
whole time, says Dr. Carpenter, basking in the sun or before the fire,
but they nevertheless pass regularly, when excited by hunger, to the
sources of their food-supply. A man whose history is given by
Dr. Rush, being violently affected by losses in trade, was instantly
deprived of his mental faculties. He took no notice of anybody or
anything, nor did he express a desire to eat, but simply received his
food when placed in his mouth. He was dressed in the morning,
led to his chair, where he remained all day with inclined body, and
eyes fixed on the floor. For five years he remained thus, but re-
covered suddenly and completely.

A sailor who had sustained an injury to his head lived in much the
same condition for about a year. The fractured bone being raised, he
recovered ; but the whole period intervening between his injury and
the operation was a complete blank to his mind. The most notable
case of this kind, showing the likeness of the purely sensorial state of
life to the dream — and also giving the transition-stage connecting
the sensory state and the intelligent life of every day — thus linking
the dream with waking life, was that of a young woman who, pre-
viously in good health, fell into a river, lay insensible for six hours,
and in ten days' time lapsed into a fit of stupor. From this she
recovered in four hours, only to find that the power of speech
and the senses of taste, smell, and hearing were in total abeyance.
Sight and touch aroused no ideas, though automatically responsive
movements attended the operation of these two senses. Her vision
at short distances was quick, and her general sensibility exceedingly
acute. Friends and relations were unrecognised, and she ate, without
a sign of disgust, the most nauseous substances. She made no effort
to feed herself, but when the spoon had a few times been conveyed to
her mouth she automatically continued the act of feeding. Gradually
she appeared to acquire ideas, and formed imitations of flowers from
paper with which she was supplied ; and this process of educating
her mind as if she were still a child proceeded until she was able to
do worsted work. Ultimately ideas connected with her past experiences
began to dawn upon her. A picture of a troubled sea agitated her
from the dull remembrance of her unpleasant association with water ;
and the sight of a young man to whom she had been attached gave her
pleasure, whilst she became fretful when she did not see him at the
accustomed times. Thereafter she took notice of her surroundings,
began to articulate a few words, and exhibited in due course normal
symptoms of emotion when she knew that her lover was paying atten-

280 STUDIES IN LIFE^AND SENSE.

tions elsewhere. After a fit of stupor excited by jealousy she really
awoke from a sleep of a year's duration, to find herself surrounded
by her friends at Shoreham, and in the full possession of her natural
faculties, save hearing, but without the slightest remembrance of her
acts in her year of mind-abeyance.

There is little need to pursue these strange but instructive
histories further, and we may now profitably turn to consider the
parallelism between the automatic patient, the somnambulist, and the
victim of commonplace abstraction. The somnambulist has in all ages
excited the curiosity, often the fear, and not unfrequently the super-
stition of his fellow-men. By Horstius we ar.e told that sleep-walkers
were named " the ill-baptized," from an idea or belief that their acts
arose from part of the ceremony of baptism having been omitted,
and from the consequent misrule of evil spirits. This writer himself,
whilst opposing this view of matters, strongly leans to the belief that
somnambulists represented prophets and seers who were guided and
influenced by angels. In any case, it is by no means strange that
the incidents of the sleep-vigil should have impressed the early
mind with notions of a connection with an unseen universe. In the
study of the sleep-vigil, we meet as before with stages and gradations
which carry us from the waking dream or reverie to the more typical
form of somnambulism proper. A form of sleep- vigil is known, for
instance, in which the subject passes naturally, and without a dis-
turbing interval, from the abstraction of the waking state into true
somnambulism. Galen himself relates that he fell asleep whilst
walking, and was aroused by striking his foot against a stone. Other
cases are common enough in medical pages, in which persons have
continued to play a musical instrument for some time after falling
asleep, and similarly a reader and speaker has continued his recital
during the earlier part of a sound nap. Here there is exemplified
the passage, without a break, from abstraction to somnambulistic
action. It is difficult, indeed, to find adequate grounds for drawing
any hard-and-fast line of demarcation between the person who
" thinks aloud " in his day dream, and the speaker who, fast asleep,
continues his flow of oratory.

But the more typical cases of sleep-vigil present us with a further
development of practical wakefulness amid abstraction from outward
affairs of the most complete kind. To the consideration and ex-
planation of natural somnambulism we are aptly led by the details
of that artificial sleep-vigil which has received the popular name
of "mesmerism" or "hypnotism." It is not our intention to say
anything in the present 'instance regarding a subject which in itself
presents material sufficient for a lengthy and extended investigation :
we may, however, briefly glance at the essentials of this curious state in
its especial relations to somnambulism and dreams. All physiologists

WHAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF. 281

are agreed that the explanation of the curious phenomena, which
Mr. Braid, of Manchester, was the first to examine and report upon
scientifically, rests in the fact that the hypnotised subject is firstly
an easily impressed or susceptible person, and secondly, that the
attention is fixed and strained under the influence of a powerful
will and of a dominant idea or ideas proceeding from the operator.
In his trance-like state, the subject is completely dominated by the
ideas of the mesmeriser. As Dr. Maudsley remarks, " He feels,
thinks, and does whatever he is told confidently that he shall feel,
think, and do, however absurd it may be. If he is assured that
simple water is some bitter and nauseating mixture, he spits it out
with grimaces of disgust when he attempts to swallow it ; if he is
assured that what is offered to him is sweet and pleasant, though
it is as bitter as wormwood, he smacks his lips as if he had tasted
something pleasant ; if he is told that he is taking a pinch of snuff
when there is not the least particle of snuff on his finger, he sniffs
it and instantly sneezes ; if warned that a swarm of bees is attacking
him, he is in the greatest trepidation, and acts as if he were vigorously
beating them off. . . . His own name he may know and tell cor-
rectly when asked to do so, but if it is affirmed positively to be some
one else's name, he believes the lie and acts accordingly ; or he can
be constrained to make the most absurd mistakes with regard to the
identities of persons whom he knows quite well. There is scarcely
an absurdity of belief or of deed to which he may not be compelled,
since he is to all intents and purposes a machine moved by the
suggestions of the operator." So far as this exact description goes,
there would appear to be a close likeness between the French ser-
geant described by Dr. Mesnet and the mesmerised subject. In
both the same mechanical phases are apparent, and in both the life
and actions are distinctly automatic, and regulated essentially from
without and at the will of the external guide and counsellor.

The natural somnambulist, in turn, closely resembles in his acts and
habits the subject of the mesmerist's operations. It is a notable fact
that in the scientific study of somnambulism great differences are found
to exist in the relative activity of the senses. One sleep-walker may
see but does not hear ; a second may hear, but be blind to external
impressions. In some the eyes are closed ; certain objects in one
case may be seen, to the exclusion of others ; and one *sense — most
frequently, perhaps, that of touch — may become inordinately acute.
Such considerations lead us towards the explanation of the remark-
able dexterity with which a somnambulist will conduct himself in the
most untoward and dangerous situations. Like the mesmerised
subject, the sleep-walker will execute feats of strength, of manual
dexterity, or of acrobatic agility, such as in his waking state he would
never dream of attempting. There is present in such cases an in-

282 STUDIES IX LIFE AND SENSE.

creased flow of nerve-power towards the particular sense or senses
concerned in the direction of the sleep-walker. Everything that
concerns other senses or matters foreign to the exact business in
hand, so to speak, is excluded from the mental view. There is but
one idea animating the mind, and the whole brain-force may be
regarded as concentrating itself for the performance of the task in
hand. The somnambulist, in short, has become a temporary specialist
in the matter of his dream, and his whole frame becomes subservient
to the performance of the aim unconsciously set before him. On
some such principle may we account satisfactorily for the walk during
a sleep-vigil along the ledges of a house-roof, and the easy access to
situations of peril. Under this unwonted stimulation of a special
sense or senses, the difficult problems or unsolved tasks of the day
may be successfully and unconsciously achieved during the night.
The history related by Abercrombie in his " Intellectual Powers " of
the sleep- vigil of an eminent lawyer illustrates the latter observation.
A case involving the formation of an elaborate opinion had occupied
this gentleman's attention for a considerable period. Rising from
his bed in a sleep-vigil he was observed by his wife to pen a long
communication at a desk which stood in his bedroom, the paper
being carefully deposited in the desk, and the writer returning to bed.
In the morning he related to his wife the particulars of a remarkable
dream he had experienced, in which a clear train of thought re-
specting the case in question had occurred to him. To his regret,
he added, he could not recollect the details of his dream, but on
being referred to his desk the opinion in question was found clearly
and lucidly written out. Numerous instances of like successful solu-
tions of intricate problems in mathematics have been placed on
record, but the details teach the same lesson respecting the exalta-
tion of mental power, stimulated probably by the efforts of the day,
which may take place in the brain which retains its activity in the
watches of the night.

Persons have been known actually to swim for a considerable
time in the somnambulistic state without waking at the termination
of their journey ; others have safely descended the shaft of a mine,
whilst some have ascended steep cliffs, and have returned home in
safety, during a prolonged sleep-vigil. More extraordinary, perhaps,
as showing the close likeness between the abnormal and automatic
acts of the French sergeant with an injured brain, and the actions of
the somnambulist suffering merely from functional disturbance of the
organ of mind, is the case of a young French priest, related by the
Archbishop of Bordeaux in the " Encyclope'die Methodique." This
subject was accustomed to pen his sermons during his sleep-vigils,
and, having written a page, would read it aloud and duly correct it,
even extending his alterations to include important grammatical and

WHAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF. 283

rhetorical effects. A card held between his eyes and his manuscript
did not interfere with his work. After a page ;had been written it
was removed, and a blank sheet of paper of the same size laid in its
place, as in the experiment on Dr. Mesnet's patient. On this blank
sheet the unconscious writer made his corrections in the exact lines
in which they would have appeared in his manuscript — in this latter
respect imitating to the life the sergeant's procedure. In respect of
his sensations, the subject of the archbishop's notice evinced a more
acute disposition than Sergeant F., for his words bore only upon the
subject which was engrossing his thoughts, and he heard and saw
only such things as immediately concerned his work ; whilst he
detected the difference between brandy and water, when the latter
fluid was supplied instead of the former, which he had asked for.
The subjects and thoughts of one sleep-vigil were remembered
during the next, but he was entirely unconscious in his waking hours
of all that had taken place in his acted dreams.

It may thus be held that an injury of the brain may induce a condi-
tion closely allied in every respect to that exhibited in the natural sleep-
vigil; the differences between the condition of the priest and Sergeant F.
being those of degree and not of kind, and the superiority of intellect,
if so we may term it, being, as might naturally have been expected, on
the side of the somnambulist. The correlation of the acts of the auto-
matic patient with those of the dreamer is too plain to be mistaken.
In both cases there would seem on superficial consideration to have
been a power of discerning objects and of constructing a written
manuscript, well-nigh as wonderful as that of " second sight " itself.
But the explanation of such conditions is to be founded upon the
consideration that in somnambulism and in the automatic patient, as
in abstraction, reverie, and simple dreaming, there exists the power
of projecting outwardly from mind and brain a vivid conception of
the object engaging the attention of the dreamer — a power intensified
and accelerated, as we have already seen, by the concentration of the
faculties — wholly withdrawn from the outer world — upon the one
and engrossing subject of the vigil. It seems perfectly clear that, as
has well been expressed, we meet in the somnambulist the actor of a
dream, under conditions of mind produced by some functional
disturbance of brain. In the closely allied automatic state, also, we
find a condition of mind the result of direct alteration of brain-
structure, in which, as in the sleep-vigil, there exists a power of the
brain to guide the body in the absence of consciousness, as commonly
understood — such a power being perchance merely an exaggerated
form of that whereby the day-dreamer withdraws his Ego from 'the
outer world and communes with the universe which his fancy builds.

But we may now profitably study the dream pure and simple, as a
conclusion to these chronicles of the abnormal action of brain and

284 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

mind. The dream is not rigidly separated from the sleep-vigil, any
more than the latter is removed from abstraction and reverie by a
great gulf fixed. The transition-stage between the dream simple and
the dream acted is witnessed in the spasmodic movements which a
vivid dream produces in the limbs or person of the sleeper. The
dreamer engages in a fierce struggle, and twitchings of his legs and
arms indicate the feeble response of body to the promptings of mind
removed from its wonted power over the frame. Even the dog, as
he sleeps, apparently dreams of the chase, and gives vent to his
sensations by the short, sharp bark, or sniffs the air, and starts in his
slumber as if in response to the activity with which, in his dreaming,
he is hurrying along after the object of pursuit. But whilst dreaming
may thus be shown to link itself to more unusual states of mind, it
also presents us with a nearer approach to those fundamental condi-
tions which constitute the basis of all the phenomena presented to
us in the physiological history of sleep. From dreams we may start,
as from a common centre, to well-nigh any and every abnormal state
which mind and brain in their more unusual phases of action may
exhibit ; whilst conversely these phases may be often traced in their
broad outlines and in their undeveloped state in the dream.

To approach the understanding of the dream in a satisfactory
fashion, it is necessary to remind ourselves of the ordinary methods
by which sensations or impressions are received and retained by the
brain. Briefly detailed, and as already hinted at in a previous portion
of this paper, the organ of sense receives, modifies, and transmits
to the real seat of knowledge in the brain the conception of outer
things impressed upon the sensory surface — eye, ear, or touch-bodies,
as the case may be. From the brain the sensation converted primarily
into the consciousness and knowledge of every-day existence may be
reflected over the body to muscles or other organs, and therein
produces effects corresponding to the nature of the original impres-
sion, and to the demands such a sensation makes upon the body and
its interests. Just as often, however, impressions may pass from the
outer world into the brain, and, whilst causing molecular stirrage in
the seat of mind, may give no external sign or symptom of their
mental reception. Despite the want of such outward indication of
the brain's response to outer stimuli, there may ensue an internal
act on the part of the brain itself, by way of reaction upon the
sensation it has received and registered. Thus we have opened
up before us a new region for. thought. As the sensation received
by the brain may be reflected to the muscles and cause us to indulge
in a walk or in some other form of muscular activity, so the brain
may simply distribute its sensations within itself. We make
acquaintance in this fashion with the doctrine of the "reflex action
of the brain." Such a thought affords a clue of much value to the

WHAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF. 285

knowledge of the nature of dreams and the allied states we have
already considered. It is obviously not in any sense necessary that
consciousness should take part in this transmission, from one part of
the brain to another, of ideas and impressions. Indeed, if personal
experience is appealed to, we may urge that of the mere existence
of such action we are not likely to gain any knowledge from the
ordinary acts and method of our waking lives. And still less is the
will concerned in this reflex action of the brain. Admit that the
brain may act and react upon itself, in virtue of external impressions
received by it and retained within its mystic portals, and we are
furnished with a key which, if it may not unlock all the secrets of the
mental chamber, may nevertheless supply us with materials for a due
understanding of what dreams are made of.

We have seen that the faculty of abstraction and reverie passes
naturally into that of sleep, and in like manner we may suggest that
the presence of such a faculty depends on this power of the brain to
commune with itself which we have just been considering. Trains
of thought, received casually it may be and without awaking any
active mental response or the slightest glimmering of consciousness,
are thus reproduced in the dream, it may be with automatic faith-
fulness, or on the other hand distorted beyond such recognition as
we might have possessed of the original ideas. Such is the simple
dream. Carried to a further extent, the dream becomes associated
with action ; the reflex power of the brain extends its limits ; the
simulation of the every-day power of calling bodily action into play
takes place, and the ideas of the dream become acted. The way of
the sleep- vigil is thus inaugurated and produced as a temporary phase
of mental activity. Under other circumstances, it may be this reflex
action of the brain will project from its memory-stores the remem-
bered ideas of long ago or the unconscious registrations of past
years ; and thus the " hallucination" and " illusion " appear also as the
product of the same action which, in a modified degree, produces the
harmless visions of the night. Starting from the simple sensation or
impression, and beginning with its reception by the brain, we have
but to think of the organ of mind reacting upon itself to form a
starting-point for the outlines of a complete history of all mental
acts, and of our walks in those strange byways of thought and
action of which mention has been made in the context.

A very few considerations of interest, as bearing on the mechanism
of dreams, may be added by way of bringing this already extended
paper to a close.

Recent investigations into the functions of the brain point to
the central ganglia, or those nervous masses (corpus striatum and
optic thalamus] lying on the base of the brain, as the probable seat
of the actions we have just been considering. These particular brain-

286 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

ganglia appear to possess the direct function of converting intellectual
operations into automatic actions. Thus the musical composition
which at first requires the concentrated effort of mind to master
it, may in a few days be " played off." The latter accomplishment is
due to the " central ganglia," which, acting as private secretaries to
the purely intellectual (and frontal) portion of the brain, have repro-
duced automatically what at first was an intellectual act and one
demanding an exercise of attention and mental effort. The action
of these ganglia in the production of dreams and somnambulism is
readily understood, when we thus become aware of the facts that all
parts of the brain do not possess the same intellectual value, and that
these central masses are capable of forming reproductions and imita-
tions of our waking lives, during the hours of sleep. In sleep, or it
may be in illness or after injury, these lower brain-centres, in a word,
assume the functions of higher centres, and play strange pranks with
the rational slumbering existence, or with the waking but abnormal
life of the diseased brain.

Various distinguished writers remarking on the phenomena of
dreaming agree in affirming that the thoughts of our sleeping hours
must invariably bear some defined relation to the antecedent thoughts
and events of our lives — it may be to the acts of the previous day ;
or, on the other hand, to ideas separated from our last waking
moments by an interval whose years make up the best part of a life's
duration. To say that dreams may deal with subjects of which we
have never had any knowledge whatever is to suggest the indefen-
sible proposition that we can and do remember all the events and
ideas which have occurred and been present with us during our
entire existence, or, in one word, that memory is practically omni-
scient and infallible ; whilst against the idea just noted we must
place the opposing thought, that the brain's action being largely
unconscious in the common operations of receiving, and certainly in
those of registering and preserving, impressions, it is more logical to
conclude that dreams usually represent images and conceptions of
material things — these material ideas or events being often indis-
tinctly presented, frequently altered and transmogrified in their re-
production, and commonly projected within the range of our night-
thoughts in a fashion which may defy our recognition and compari-
son of them as parts of the waking-life of former days. There is no
lack of proof from many sides of the extreme probability that these
assumptions represent the whole or the greater part of the truth about
dreams. That the event suggesting a dream is one which may cause
us some trouble in identifying it with our distorted visions is easy of
proof from the side of practical experience. Impressions on some
special sense will produce very characteristic dreams, the origin of
which may take such trouble in its determination that we might well

WHAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF. 287

be tempted to deny the material origin of the vision Dr. Reid had a
blister applied to his head, and dreamt accordingly that he had been
scalped by Indians. Here the connection between the dream and the
outward impression, manipulated so to speak by the brain, was clear.
But that connection may be anything but patent in cases where a
person dreams of being frozen to death, the exciting cause having
been merely a deficiency of bedclothes on a chilly night. In a case
related by Dr. Carpenter, where an eminent judge dreamt of being
tormented by a crowd of lizards which were crawling over him, the
origin of the dream was still more difficult to trace. The cause of
his reptilian visitation was readily explicable, however, on his entering
the apartment in which he had spent the previous evening, when he
saw on the base of a clock a number of carved lizards. A similar
instance is afforded by a personal experience of the writer, in which
he dreamt that he was walking in a forest in which lizards of every hue
and kind were engaged in a combat with humming-birds. Puzzling
himself over the origin of this dream, it at last dawned upon his recol-
lection that some time previously he had travelled in a railway-car-
riage having for his vis-d-vis a lady whose hat was decorated with
humming-birds' plumage, fastened by a brooch accurately repre-
senting a lizard. By the same kind of association revived by memory,
and often projecting forgotten reminiscences into the mental fore-
ground, dreams are suggested which deal with events at first sight apt
to be mistaken for those of utterly spontaneous nature. Maury relates
that in early life he visited a village on the Marne named Trilport.
His father had built a bridge at this spot. The subject of one
dream was that his childhood days were again being spent at Tril-
port, and that a man in uniform, on being asked his name, told
Maury that he was the bridge gate-keeper and mentioned his name,
which Maury distinctly remembered when he woke. Of this name
he had no recollection whatever, but on inquiring of an old servant of
his father's if a person of the name in question was once gate-keeper
at Trilport bridge, she replied in the affirmative, and mentioned that
the man kept the gate when the bridge was built.

Thus does memory play strange tricks with our imagination,
especially when the latter faculty runs riot in the absence of will and
consciousness, and relates itself to the world of dreams. The super-
natural theory of dreams and warnings recently revived in our midst
is, after all, but a sop to the Cerberus of ignorance. It is easy — far
too easy for the peace and comfort of many minds — to convert a
mere coincidence between a dream and an event into a close relation-
ship which sees in the dream a foreshadowing of the event in question.
But in science, as in healthy common-sense, there is no justification
for the continuance of such superstition. If certain dreams are
warnings and portents, what shall we say of those to which no such

288 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

function can be attached ? And if of certain trivial events we are
forewarned, what is the explanation of the striking anomaly, that of
the grave disasters of life we usually receive no warning at all ?

Dr. Maudsley says, " It has been justly remarked that if we were
actually to do in sleep all the strange things which we dream we do,
it would be necessary to put every man in restraint before he went to
bed ; for, as Cicero said, dreamers would do more strange things than
madmen. A dream put into action must indeed look very much like
insanity (e.g. the ordinary sleep-vigil), as insanity has at times the
look of a waking dream."

Poets without number have invariably treated dreams as the best
type of the unrealities and idealities of life and nature. The physio-
logist, on the contrary, sees in the visions of the night no trifling
objects unworthy of serious study and reflection, but indications and
clues to the better understanding of the mysteries which beset our
waking lives. " The grave portents " of the night, in this view, cast
no 'shadow over the future, and exercise no sway over the destinies
of the modern mind. They serve, however, a nobler purpose, as aids,
through their revelations of the leisure-fancies of the brain, towards a
knowledge of the boundaries which separate the realm of body from
that of mind — boundaries which, in truth, " divide our being."

XIV.

COINAGES OF THE BRAIN.

THE means whereby we are enabled to form conceptions and judg-
ments of the outer world, and of our own relations thereto, form the
subject-matter of the most elementary study in the physiology of
nerves. But as the understanding of the deepest problems often
depends on the correctness of our primitive studies and on the
soundness of the beginnings of knowledge, it may be well that, in
studying the work of the brain, we should very briefly glance at the
manner and method in which body or outer world usually acts upon
mind, and mind in turn upon the frame it controls. Such a simple
study in sensation will suffice to introduce us to some interesting
phenomena of mind ; .and these last may prove of some service, even
if they may but aid us in some degree to comprehend the nature and
ways of our own being.

When, under ordinary circumstances, an impression from the
external world reaches the outward parts of our nervous system, or
passes through one of those "gateways of knowledge" which we term
an organ of sense, it is transmitted in due course to a special part of
the nervous system named a nerve-centre. There the impression
gives rise to actions or processes which result in the production of a
"sensation," and commonly also of "consciousness" — that is, the
knowledge of the why and wherefore of our acts and feelings. Apait
from metaphysical vagaries and subtleties, this much seems clear-
that any simple sensation, starting like an electric current from the
outer world, and passing along the wires we term nerves, to the head-
office or brain, gives rise therein to responsive feelings, and, it may
be, to corresponding and related actions in the body as well.

Example is more potent than precept; let us therefore turn to the
study of a common sensation such as that of touch, by way of illus-
trating the ways and methods of the ordinary government of life. A
person aims a blow at our head, and that important region is quickly,
and we may add automatically, withdrawn from the threatened con-
tact with the malcontent. The explanation of our action is perfectly
clear. The impression of the moving fist was caught by the eye,
was modified by its passage in the form of light-rays through that
organ, was converted into a " sensation," was transmitted through a
special (optic) nerve to the brain, was therein transferred to some
special region of the seat of mind, and finally gave rise to the

u

290 STUDIES 7,V LIFE AND SENSE.

"consciousness" or thought of the danger which threatened our
person.

Now, all of these actions took place so quickly that their accu-
rate analysis might well seem to be impossible. Still, the se-
quence of events proves the accuracy of the statement that the
seat of knowledge, and in this case the power of acting or walking
by sight, is resident in some part of the brain, to which it is the
function of the eye and optic nerve together to convey the impres-
sions and sensations on which our knowledge depends. But the
effects of the threatened blow end not thus with the declaration of
" information received " emanating from the brain. Like an active
and efficient official, the brain is prone to act upon such intelligence.
The head is withdrawn from the blow, the body itself is removed, it
may be some paces backward ; and unless discretion be deemed the
better moiety of valour, there may be responsive and co-ordinated
muscular actions of hands, arms, and possibly of legs or feet as well,
wherewith swift and sure retaliation may be made upon the sensi-
ferous organs and most tangent regions of our antagonist. In other
words, if an impression has been received by the brain, it is no less
plain that another — or it may be several impressions have issued
from the seat of mind. These have radiated, as directed by the
brain, to the muscles of our head and neck, and to those of our
limbs ; and our subsequent movements are the result of this secon-
dary brain-act which follows upon the reception of the previous
impression. Thus we begin to understand that, in their nature,
ordinary nervous acts are really double, and that all our ordinary acts
and our extraordinary actions as well are regulated by a kind of duplex
telegraphy on the part of the nervous system. It also becomes
apparent that even the confused heat and bustle of a severe scrim-
mage— or the whirling maze of heads, hats, and coat-tails which are
popularly believed to constitute an enlivening feature of festivals of
which Donnybrook remains the type — may, through a patient scien-
tific enquiry, be resolved into so many sensations received and acted
upon through the system of mind-telegraphy just described.

It remains, therefore, a plain doctrine of modern physiology that
our knowledge of the outer world is received and acted upon through
a very definite system of actions and reactions. True, we do not
know what constitutes an impression. We have measured the rate
at which nerve-force travels, but the exact nature of this force is
unknown. Consciousness — and the reception of impressions by the
brain — has not advanced materially in explanation since Hartley, in
his " Observations on Man," spoke of the "vibrations of the small,
and, as we may say, infinitesimal medullary particles," which he con-
ceived further to be " motions backwards and forwards of the small
particles " of the brain, and to present a similarity to " the oscilla-

COINAGES OF THE BRAIN. 291

tions of pendulums, and the tremblings of the particles of sounding
bodies." And of what takes place in the brain when the impression
from the outer world is converted into that proceeding from brain to
body and to the outer world again, we are likewise in the depths of
ignorance. But despite our inability to read between the lines of
the brain-work, the general nature of nerve-action remains as a clear
and patent basis for further research. Nervous acts are now spoken
of in physiology as being founded on the grand principle of " reflex
action/' with the name of which every schoolboy is familiarised by
his physiology-primer. The ordinary acts of living and being are
regulated on this duplex system. An impression (which we call
afferent or sensory) travels in \vard to the brain or other centre, and is
there converted into another impulse (named efferent or motor), which
passes outwards to muscles, to glands, to other organs, or it may be
to some other part of the brain itself. The original impression or
sensation is thus "reflected," as it were, from a nerve-centre to some
other organ or part. The sensation of withdrawal from danger, to
which the threatened blow gives rise in the brain, was duly "reflected,"
and thus passed onwards to the head and neck-muscles, and, in the
case of practical retaliation, to the muscles of the limbs. So that, in
this view of matters, the brain may be regarded as largely performing
the functions of a complex " clearing-house," where the varied busi-
ness-concerns of the frame are assorted, parcelled out, rearranged, and
finally transmitted to their proper destinations.

Other examples of this duplex system, and of the power of the
head-centre of the nervous system to receive and retransfer impres-
sions and sensations, may throw a further light upon some special
features and noteworthy characteristics of its action. Select, for
instance, the sensation of touch, and we shall have forcibly impressed
upon our understanding the fact that the brain or sensorium is the
true and actual seat of knowledge. This latter truism, plain as it
may appear, is not usually appreciated until the attention has been
directly called thereto. It is needful, in truth, for the correct under-
standing of the evolution of mind-phantasies and illusions, that such
a truth should be continually present in all its plainness to the mind.
We touch a table, and the rationale of the nervous acts therein
implied is readily explained. Thought — laying aside the question of
antecedent conditions and influences — begins the act, and deter-
mines the desire to touch the object. This thought next becomes
transformed into nerve-force — how, why, when, where, are details
all-important in their profundity, but immaterial to the plain issue
before us. This nerve-force passes, under the direction of the brain,
along definite nerve-tracts, leading, say, to the forefinger of the right
hand. On the way, it stimulates the appropriate muscles. Thus the
finger is brought in contact with that part of the outer world repre-

U 2

292 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

sented by the table, and a " sensation " (of touch) is the result of the
contact in question. Here ends the act, we may be disposed to say ;
but our previous knowledge of " reflex action " and its nature forbids
the supposition. " How do you know you touched the table ? " is
the pertinent query of physiology. The reply is, " Because I felt the
contact betwixt my nerves and the object in question." But, retorts
the physiologist, " feeling is a brain act ; it is an act wherein con-
sciousness or knowledge participates. The seat of knowledge is not
the tip of the finger, but the brain. And you must therefore reason-
ably assume that to the brain the sensation formed and produced in
the forefinger is transmitted." Thus we find logical justification for
the doctrine of "reflex action," in a common-sense study of the
results of touch. The motor impulse sent out from the brain, and,
putting the arm and hand in motion, is returned to the brain. It is
" reflected" back as a sensory impulse to the sensorium, and kindles
therein the knowledge we desire even whilst we are yet in mere
expectancy.

But is this induction founded upon anything more than a con-
sistent theory of brain control and bodily action? In 1811 Sir
Charles Bell published his first essay on the nerves which originate
from the spinal cord (hence called "spinal nerves") and which
supply the body generally with nervous power. The spinal cord
itself being a direct continuation downwards of the brain, it follows
that impulses from the brain pass at first along the main line of the
spinal marrow — lodged securely within the bony canal formed by
the spine — and thereafter pass along the nerves or branch lines to
various stations and termini in the body. To Sir Charles Bell
belongs the great and lasting merit of the discovery of the difference
in function between the two roots by which each spinal nerve arises
from the spinal cord. Each nerve passing outwards to the body,
thus consists in reality of two sets of nerve-fibres, indistinguishable
by microscopic investigation, similar in appearance, but widely dif-
ferent in use and function. Once for all settling, by vivisection on
rabbits, the meaning of the double-rooted origin of the nerves, Bell
laid the foundation of all subsequent knowledge of nerves and their
functions to which in these latter days we have attained. "On
laying bare the roots of the spinal nerves," says Bell, " I found I
could cut across the posterior fasciculus (or hinder root) of nerves,
which took its origin from the posterior portion of the spinal
marrow, without convulsing the muscles of the back ; but that, on
touching the anterior fasciculus (or front root) with the point of the
knife, the muscles of the back were immediately convulsed." Thus
was foreshadowed the great truth that those fibres of a nerve which
arise from the hinder part of the spinal cord endow us with sensa-
tion ; whilst the front roots give us power of motion. Turn now to

COINAGES OF THE BRAIN. 293

the phenomena of touch, and let us endeavour to see how Bell's
observation supplies the demonstration of the reflex or duplex theory
of nervous acts. When the impression which resulted in your
touching the table flashed down the spinal cord from your brain,
it was a motor impulse. As such, its definite track lay along the
anterior part of the spinal cord. It left the cord by the front roots
of the nerve-trunk passing to the arm ; and travelled along these
anterior fibres which unite with the fibres of the hinder root to form
apparently a uniform and single-fibred nerve. Reaching the limb,
the motor impression arrived at its terminus, and discharged its
duty by bringing the muscular arrangements of arm and hand into
co-ordination, and thus bringing finger and table into contact. A
" sensation " was thus brought into existence, but this latter impres-
sion— probably consisting of the transformed "motor" impulse
which the instant before had travelled down the limb — passed
rapidly backwards to the brain as a sensory impression. Along the
second set of fibres in the nerves of the limb it was duly conveyed.
Arriving at the grand junction where the branch nerve from the arm
joined the main line of the spinal cord, the impression passed along
the hinder root of the nerve into the cord, and ascended to the
brain by the hinder part of the great nerve-tract. In the brain-
centre, the " sensation " gave rise to consciousness and knowledge ;
and thus " reflex action " becomes demonstrated as a veritable entity
and as the method whereby the complex machinery of body is brought
into harmonious relation with the still more intricate mechanism of
brain and mind.

Next in order, and by way of close to these preliminary studies
in sensation, we should note that it is perfectly immaterial, in so far
as the universality of reflex action as the basis of nervous acts is
concerned, whether the original or primary impulse begins in the
brain as the result of thought, or arises directly from the outer world
itself; that is, it matters not whether the first impulse or sensation
be "motor" or "sensory" in its nature — the same sequence essen-
tially follows the initiation of any nervous action. The "mouth
waters " at the sight of a dainty — proportionately, in the experience
of most of us, as the chances of obtaining the desired morsel grow
few and far between. Here a sensory impulse has passed to the
brain through a nerve (the optic) which happens to be of purely sen-
sory kind. In the brain the sensation, or sensory impulse, has been
transformed into an afferent impulse — termed "secretory" in this
instance, because it is reflected to the salivary glands of the mouth,
with the familiar result just detailed of causing them to secrete their
characteristic fluid. In this case the "sensory" impulse therefore
begins the reflex act ; whilst in the case of touching the table it is a
"motor" impulse which first leaves the brain, and which is soon

294 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

converted into a sensory impression ending in consciousness or
knowledge. Equally important is the question, how does the brain
regulate the direction and transmission of the messages innumerable
which hour by hour flit in and out of its portals ? To such a query
no answer is possible. Why or how we are able to move this finger
or that, how we can lift this limb or the other, is a mystery of mys-
teries in modern physiology, dwelling as yet in the farthest Arcanum
of the science. Lord Dundreary's question, " why a dog wags his
tail," if placed in contrast to his lordship's companion and equally
grave query, "why does the tail not waggle the dog?" in reality
involves a physiological enigma of which not even the shadow of a
reply is yet visible. All that may be said on this head is, that the
brain must possess amongst its other attributes the pointsman-like
power of directing nerve-impulses into whatever channels the will
and mind may prompt. Thus the physiological mystery of the will
is as deep and insoluble, at present, as the metaphysical or theological
aspects of the question ; and thus appears before us a puzzle ex-
ceeding that of the Sphinx in its gravity — in plain language, we are
unable to tell the reason why we are able to do as we like.

Summing up the few details we have gleaned in our elementary
but highly essential study of the broad mechanism of nerves and
brain, we may thus learn to distinguish between sensory and motor
impressions and between the nerve-fibres along which each is con-
veyed. We note the power of the brain to reflect, rearrange, and
transmit such impulses as reach its substance. We have seen that
reflex action in reality forms the basis of our own life and habits, and
by a further extension of thought we may note the part it plays in
the life of all other beings. When a snail's tentacle is touched, that
modest gasteropod withdraws itself from public observation, and
retires at once into the quietude of private life. Reflex action, which
has transmitted the sensation of touch to the nearest nerve-centre
and thence to the muscles of the body, is clearly responsible for the
behaviour of the mollusc. Even a sea-anemone captures the crab
that has stumbled against its tentacles by a like or allied exercise of
nerve-acts ; and the sensitive plant, and Venus' Flytrap, exhibit the
essential features of nerve action in that information received is
transmitted elsewhere through the organism, and reacts upon the life
and existence of the plant.

For the due performance of reflex action three things are required.
First in point of importance comes a nerve-centre ; next in import-
ance we place a sensory, and then a motor nerve-fibre, leading respec-
tively to and from the nerve-centre. Concerning the nerve-centre we
have hitherto spoken as if the brain were the sole representative of the
chief office of the telegraphic system of the frame. Be it known,
however, that whilst the brain is such a centre, or rather collection

COINAGES OF THE BRAIN. 295

of centres and chief departments, there exist in the body numerous
other foci, so to speak, whence impressions may be reflected and
rearranged. Next in importance to the brain, we find the spinal cord
to act as a nerve-centre ; and it is perhaps the only focus of nerve
power, in addition to the brain, of which special mention need be
made at present. One observes how the cord may serve as a centre
in those too frequent cases of shock to the spine seen after railway
accidents and similar exigencies of life. The patient with a severely
injured cord is practically dead to sensation below the seat of injury,
is powerless to move his legs, and yet will have his limbs thrown into
violent convulsions when the soles of his feet are tickled. Over
this latter action he has no control, just as he has no knowledge of
the irritating cause beyond what his eyes reveal. Yet the explanation
is clear. The sensory impulse given to the soles of the feet passes
up the spinal cord to the nearest centre in the cord below the seat of
injury, and is therefrom reflected to the muscles of the legs, producing
the contortions in question. And more wonderful still is the case
of that physiologically useful animal the frog, which, lacking its head,
behaves itself as does a whole and sound amphibian ; wipes off with
one foot a drop of vinegar which has been placed on the other ;
manoeuvres its legs when in a difficulty regarding the removal of the
vinegar ; keeps its balance on your shifting hand ; preserves its
equilibrium with the agility of an acrobat ; and otherwise comports
itself in a fashion which strikes awe to the uninitiated mind, but which
demonstrates clearly enough the functions of the spinal cord as a
nerve-centre to the physiological understanding.

From the study of the mechanism of sensations in general we may
profitably turn to that of sensations in particular, wherein we shall
find our elementary knowledge not merely an aid, but an absolute
essential, towards a clear appreciation of the unusual and strange as
well as of the familiar in human existence. The thoughts and con-
cepts we entertain of the world around us may be regarded as the
impressions, more or less thoroughly fixed, of sensations which have
been conveyed to us by many and varied channels from that outer
universe. How the impressions became fixed, or how we are enabled
to reproduce them almost at will from the memory-chambers of the
brain, are subjects which may perchance be briefly glanced at later
on. Suffice it to remark that knowledge largely, if not completely,
consists in a physiological sense of " registered impressions," which
have become, in some mysterious fashion, part and parcel of the
cerebral substance, and which have been stamped more or less
indelibly on the organ of mind. " The coinage of the brain," in
very truth, derives its rough form and shape from the outer
universe ; it is the brain itself which thereafter stamps and issues
the refined products as the thoughts of men. These thoughts thus

296 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

arise wholly or in greater part from impressions, which, being
derived directly or indirectly from the objects and material world
around us, we may term objective sensations. They consist of the
mental photographs of the outer world, of ourselves, and of our own
relations to the world, which have been projected inwards so to
speak, and there fixed, to be printed off, as occasion requires, for
future use. The effort to recall reminiscences of past life and the
ineffective search after memories may be readily enough likened — to
pursue the same simile — to the attempts of the mental photographer
to find amidst his many negatives the particular one required by the
exigency of the moment. Now and then we give up the quest in
despair ; but just as frequently, at a time when the necessity for the
remembrance of the event has passed by, there dawns upon us the
missing recollection — the reproduction, by some sudden and inex-
plicable trait of mind-photography, of the mental positive, printed off
from its stored-up and long-hidden facsimile. I should maintain,
indeed, as a plausible enough theory of the memory- faculty and its
action, that no mental concept is ever lost entirely. Crowded out of
mind by the thoughts of later years, impressions of youth may never-
theless be suddenly resuscitated by a chance word or a passing
glance. And often unconsciously to ourselves, and in ways defying
logical conception, we may thus build veritable " haunted houses,"
wherein the phantoms that rise and walk and converse are not of
flesh and blood, but represent the figures, ways, and even speech of
those whose life is buried in the past, and whose time was that of the
long ago.

That, however, this memory-power of projecting from within out-
wards, upon the intelligence, impressions, and sensations — either of
real nature, or blurred and indistinct from causes beyond our ken —
possesses a further significance than merely that attaching to a feasible
speculation in physiology, may readily enough be made plain. We
sit down in some quiet nook on a still day, when hardly a sound
may be heard, and when the voices of the outer world appear to be
well-nigh hushed to silence ; and, favoured by outward conditions,
we fall into a reverie. Abstracted from that outer world, image after
image is projected from within outwards upon our intelligence, which
occasionally may actually fancy it sees vividly the objects it displays, or
that it hears the sounds which old memories so clearly bring before
it. A tune hummed softly awakens a thousand memories ; the
singer of olden days comes before us in all the reality of existence ;
the surroundings are reproduced with faithful exactitude ; the most
trifling detail comes boldly into the foreground of thought ; a ribbon,
a bracelet, the pattern of a carpet, the hue of a dress — these and a
thousand other details are pictured out with truest fidelity ; and the
story is acted before our eyes so faithfully, that it is with a start of

COINAGES OF THE BRAIN. 297

wonderment we suddenly come back to the workaday world, to find
" it was but a waking dream."

Nor can we refuse to consider the influence of repetition and
habit as a predominating cause of such abstraction and reveries.
Who does not know the "dreamer" of everyday life, or it may
be the poet or poetaster, wrapt in a mantle of thought ^ which
defies the penetration of mundane things, and within which he
sees and hears a universe of his own ? A near gradation, however,
brings us within range of the "hallucination" and "illusion," where
the creatures and coinages of the brain are projected with more
marked effect and in bolder relief than before. Now it is Satan
tempting a Luther — a very devil in the flesh, with whom the religionist
converses and argues, whom he defies loudly and persistently, and at
whose head the irate reformer throws his ink-horn — a proceeding
typical, indeed, of the extinction of many demons by the sweetness
and light of pencil and pen. Then it may be a St. Anthony strug-
gling with an evil spirit of sensuality, or with actual demons who
chastise him cruelly. Or it is Joan of Arc who is admonished by
" Our Lady of Bellemont " to succour her country, and to take to
arms for its defence : or it is the Hindu, prostrate in pious ecstasy
before the shrine of Brahmah, his visions, realities, and his fancied
converse with the Almighty One transformed thus into a dread
reality.

Such were the hallucinations of the age of Faith. But they have
not ceased in our own day. The religionist before whom the saintly
image moves, to whom it speaks, is a reality of the age we live in, no
less than is the insane being we seclude in our asylum. In truth,
the study of the former is as much a matter of interest as that of the
insane ; because, under certain phases of mind, the illusion or halluci-
nation of the one may become the mental disease of the other. Thus it
is plain that, given abstraction of thought and imaginative play, and
we may evolve from our inner consciousness that poetic fervour which

bodies forth
The forms of things unknown —

or we may revel, by a further development of the same faculty, in
the wildest dreams which ever peopled the fancies of an excited
visionary, or entranced the tottering intellect of the really insane.

It is, however, necessary that we should distinguish between an
" illusion " and an " hallucination " ; since, although both are stages
and gradations in the same series of mental actions, the moral and
actual significance of the one may be widely different from that of
the other. Under the general name of "hallucination," some au-
thorities include every mental phase or act which is founded upon
abnormal brain-action, and which tends to land its possessor and

298 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

subject on the shores and amid the quicksands of the unreal. Dr.
Tanner, in his careful general summary of insanity and its condi-
tions, distinguishes thus between an " hallucination " and a "delu-
sion " : " Almost every insane patient labours under hallucinations of
one or more of the senses — he sees or converses with imaginary
beings. When he is satisfied by the evidence of his other senses
that what he sees and hears is only an illusion^ he is said to labour
under an hallucination • whereas, when he believes in his false per-
ceptions, the hallucination becomes a delusion." The objection to
Dr. Tanner's definition is, that he starts apparently with the assump-
tion that all persons who surfer from illusions and hallucinations are
necessarily insane. The difference, however, between the two
latter conditions of mind is clearly and distinctly inferred in the
definition just recorded. An "illusion" may best be defined as a
disturbed state of the mental faculties, wherein the subject, sooner or
later coming to test his thoughts and impressions " by the evidences
of his other senses," determines that these impressions are unreal.
The " hallucination," on the contrary, is not so corrected, and the
belief in the appearances seen or heard being sustained, the hallucina-
tion deepens and merges into the "delusion." An "illusion" as
above defined, therefore, does not include or imply insanity. The
very fact that the powers of reason are brought into play to correct
the phantasies of the mind places the illusion beyond the sphere of
the maison de sante. Hence Dr. Tanner may be held to correct the
impression which his own words are calculated to convey when he
says, " Illusions are frequently observed in a state of mental health,
being thus corrected by the reason."

But over definitions, save for the purpose of defining the use
of the terms in question, it is needless to delay. Suffice it to
remark that the two may gradually be merged together, just as
the "hallucination" in its defined place may be said to link the
"illusion" of the sane with the mad thoughts, delusions, and
visions of the really insane. With the explanation of the latter
we have nothing at present to do. The person who wrote to Dr.
Conolly, demanding "A Holy Bible with engravings, &c., a Con-
cordance, a Martyrology with plates, some other religious books,
a late Geographical Grammar, a Modern Gazetteer, newspapers,
magazines, almanacks, &c., of any kind or date; musical instruments
and music ; large plans, guides, maps, directories," and many other
works; ending his epistle with a demand for " wines, fruit, lozenges,
tobacco, snuff, oysters, money — everything fitting to Almighty God,"
and who concluded his letter with the remark, " Answer this in three
days, or you go to hell. P.S. — A portable desk and stationery, and
a dressing-case " — such a correspondent — a monomaniac — no doubt
suffered from hallucinations, but of a type in which they had become

COINAGES OF THE BRAIN. 299

the delusions of a hopeless case of insanity. On the other hand, the
sane man who sees and hears things he knows to be nonentities and
to represent merely the coinages of his brain, despite their vividness
and apparent reality, is a subject of physiological and not of medical
study ; and the brief chronicle of such a history enables us also to
explain scientifically the visions of the ghost-seer, and the beatific
spectacles which greet the exalted senses of the religious devotee.

Through our study of sensation and its rationale we saw that
mental conceptions of outside objects, or of external sounds and
other material phenomena, were carried inwards to the brain and
there stored up for future use. We have likewise seen that in a day-
dream this formation of mental images — or of objective sensations, as
we termed them — appears to be superseded by another class of sen-
sations which may be appropriately named subjective^ since they are
produced by internal causes, by inward phases of mental action, and
are thus opposed to those sensations which are derived from the
outer world. Just as in ordinary nervous action the brain receiving,
as we have seen, an impression from the outer world, transfers that
impulse elsewhere, so we may conceive that sensations and ideas
which pass to the brain as a terminus may be reflected and returned
along the pathway by which they entered the kingdom of mind, and
thus give rise to impressions of the " subjective " class. Or, to quote
Fiske's happy remark, " Consciousness has a foreground as well as a
background." On the clear appreciation of this simple fact hangs the
explanation of a very grave and complex theme : for the illusions
of the visionary, and the waking dreams of the seer, are scientifically
explicable on the supposition of their " subjective " character. On
the belief that they represent images reflected outwardly from the
brain upon the organs of sense, we may well understand how things
not seen normally become realities to those who see them from
within.

Every day may be said to bring to the healthy mind practical
instances of the occurrence of subjective sensations, such as in more
typical development constitute the " illusions " of the curious. To
select an example within the practical reach of all who may be
disposed to try the experiment, suppose we allow the head to depend
for some time as in the stooping posture, we hear noises in the ears,
sounds of "singing" or "ringing," as we popularly term them;
flashes of light before the eyes— also beheld in cases of direct irrita-
tion of the organ of sight — and we may also experience a variety of
other sensations which are truly " subjective," in that they are pro-
duced by no outward noises or sights, but by an internal cause,
most probably temporary congestion of the nerve-centres. That
there should exist a perfectly natural tendency to speak of the phe-
nomena just mentioned as "heard" and "seen" respectively is a

300 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

matter exciting no comment. We continually refer to the outward
and usual sources of sensations, the impressions which may actually
be produced from within. The effect of this perfectly natural
method of discerning the origin of sensations becomes ludicrous in
practice when, through surgical circumstances over which the patient
has no control, a change of locality befalls the nerves in question.
A subjective sensation, for instance, refers pain at the extremity of
a stump to the portion of the limb which has been removed. A
patient who possesses no leg may thus feel pain in his toes. More
curious still are the results of the Taliacotian operation for the
restoration of the nose. In such a procedure, a flap of skin is
detached from the forehead and folded down so as to form the new
olfactory organ. So long as the flap remains connected with the
forehead, so long will the patient refer his sensations to the forehead
when the new nose is touched. That "things are not what they
seem " may thus be illustrated physiologically in a very perfect
fashion. Subjective sensation here refers the impression to the
original seat of the skin — namely, the forehead — although in time
the nose-flap adjusts its sensibility to its new position. So, also, in
the well-known experiment of crossing the fore and middle fingers
and feeling the tip of the nose with the crossed digits, the organ of
smell appears double. Here the surfaces of touch being altered and
transposed, the double sensation or illusion arises from the mind
referring the impression received by each finger to the natural and
separate position of the digits.

Still more remarkable are certain subjective sensations pro-
duced by a potent belief in the existence of the conditions which
give rise to actual (or objective) sensations of like kind. The
late Professor Bennett of Edinburgh relates a case in which a
procurator fiscal, or public prosecutor, in Scotland attended the
exhumation of a body in a case of supposed murder, and had
to withdraw from the scene on account, as he alleged, of the over-
powering odour attending the procedure, and emitted, as he be-
lieved, by the coffin. On the latter being examined, it was found
to be empty ! Another case illustrates, in an equally interesting
fashion, the ideational and internal origin of sensations through an
intense belief in the real nature of the external conditions which
ordinarily produce them. An Edinburgh butcher, engaged in
placing a heavy joint of meat on a hook situated above his head,
slipped so that the hook appeared to penetrate his arm and to
suspend him thereby. Carried into a druggist's shop close at hand,
he was pale, well-nigh pulseless, and suffering, as he said, acute
agony, which was intensified on the arm being moved. When,
however, the arm was examined, not a trace of injury was to be
observed. The hook had merely penetrated the sleeve of his coat ;

COINAGES OF THE BRAIN. 30!

yet his subjective sensations referring the injury to his arm were so
real that the pallor and shock were as typically represented as if he
had really been transfixed.

A still more remarkable instance of the paramount influence of
subjective sensation in determining effects which would result from
real or objective impressions is witnessed in the death of the surgical
patient from fright as he lay on the operating- table, when Mr. Listen
had merely happened to trace the line of incision with his finger.
And the imaginative person who in the early days of plate-glass
windows caught a severe cold from sitting, as he thought, at an open
window — his eye being deceived by the want of divisions in the
glass — likewise illustrated the power of subjective impressions.

From the normal creations of the brain in healthy existence we
pass by a gradual transition to those cases of subjective sensations
which appear as the result of some abnormal action of the brain,
and which therefore bring us to the borderland or neutral territory
between the domain of the sane and that of the insane. The sense
which appears to be most frequently subject to illusions or subjective
sensations is that of hearing. That actual injury will produce specific
derangement of this and other senses is a perfectly well-known fact
of physiology. A person, after a fall from his horse in which he had
sustained some brain-injury, was conscious until his death — which
occurred some years thereafter — of a bad odour. In another case
of similar nature, one of the membranes of the brain was found
diseased after death. Dr. Maudsley tells us in his " Pathology of
Mind " of an old gentleman " who, perfectly intelligent in other
respects, believed that offensive odours emanated from his body to
such a degree as to cause great distress to all who were brought near
him in his business, which," adds the author, " he nevertheless con-
ducted with skill and judgment." This person declared that his
next-door neighbours were greatly annoyed, and that even cab -horses
suffered from his presence. He slept so many hours in one room,
changing his bedroom during the night to avoid the concentration of
the poisonous odour ; yet during this period his business-partner
had not observed any one irrational feature in his conduct. Ulti-
mately he recovered from a somewhat serious illness, with the result
of being at the same time cured of his illusion.

The well-known historical case of Nicolai, the Academician and
bookseller of Berlin, read by himself before the Royal Society of
that city in 1799, presents us with a most typical instance of the
apparent reality of subjective sensations, arising from some alienation
of the sense of sight. After a period of mental disquietude conse-
quent upon a quarrel, Nicolai began to see various figures which he
was conscious were but illusory in nature. There appeared to him
the figure of a deceased person, which stood about ten yards off,

302 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

and remained for about eight minutes. The apparition was unseen
by his wife, to whom Nicolai appealed, and in about two hours after
the first phantom had appeared it was succeeded by several others.
Becoming accustomed to the incident, and recovering from the
natural surprise at their appearance, Nicolai set himself to examine
these new and unwonted incidents of his life, but failed to associate
it with any known cause or condition. When he passed into an
adjoining room, the first figure which had appeared, followed him.
After a day or so had passed, this first figure was succeeded by
others, amongst whom friends and strangers were commingled.
His intimate friends and associates but rarely appeared in the phan-
tom crowd. His sensations may best be understood from his own
words — " After I had recovered from the first impression of terror,
I never felt myself particularly agitated by these apparitions, as I
considered them to be what they really were — the extraordinary
consequences of indisposition \ on the contrary, I endeavoured as
much as possible to preserve my composure of mind, that I might
remain distinctly conscious of what passed within me." There was
no connection betwixt the phantoms and his thoughts ; nor, as he
tells us, could he produce at will spectral representatives of his
friends. " I tried," said Nicolai, " to reproduce at will the persons
of my acquaintance by an intense objectivity of their image ; but
although I saw distinctly in my mind two or three of them, I could
not succeed in causing the interior image to become exterior."
Neither solitude nor the presence of company affected the distinct-
ness of the images. By day and by night they were equally discern-
ible to Nicolai, and at home and abroad they appeared to his mental
gaze, whilst the act of closing the eyes had no constant effect in
causing their disappearance. Although resembling real figures, he
had no difficulty in distinguishing them from living persons ; and
although mixing with one another, the phantoms did not appear to
be of a social or communicative disposition.

In about four weeks after their first appearance, says Nicolai,
"the number of these apparitions increased ; I began to hear them
speak ; sometimes they spoke to each other, generally to me. Their
discourse was agreeable and short. Occasionally I took them for
sensible and tender friends of both sexes, who strove to soften my
grief : their consolatory speeches being in general addressed to me
when I was alone. These consolatory addresses consisted sometimes
of abrupt phrases, and at other times they were regularly executed.
Although my mind and body were at this period in a sound state,
and the spectres had become so familiar to me that they did not
cause me the least annoyance, I sought by suitable means to rid
myself of them.1 An application of leeches was made to my head
1 Nicolai, it may be mentioned, had neglected to undergo the periodical blood-

COINAGES OF THE BRAIN. 303

one morning (April 2oth, 1791) at eleven o'clock. The surgeon
was alone with me," continues Nicolai ; " during the operation the
room was filled with human figures of every kind : this hallucination
continued without interruption till half-past four, when I perceived
that the motion of the phantoms became slower. Soon afterwards
they began to grow pale, and at seven o'clock they had all a whitish
appearance ; their movements were slow, but their forms still dis-
tinct. By degrees they became vaporous, and appeared to mix with
the air, although some of their parts remained very visible for some
time. About eight o'clock they were all gone, since which time I
have seen nothing of them, although I have thought more than once
they were about to appear."

This interesting recital affords us not Only a very typical case
of spectral illusions, but suggests from certain of its details the
influence of continuance and habit in intensifying the appearances
presented by the phantom array. At first the spectres preserved
the usual ghostly silence ; and in about a month after their first
appearance Nicolai began to hear them speak, whilst they increased
in number as time advanced. These two latter phases of Nicolai's
case are highly instructive. They tend to prove, firstly, that sub-
jective sensations, like normal or objective impressions, increase in
number and distinctness with use and habit ; and they show, in the
second place, that a continuance of the sensations developed their
complexity and intensified the reality of the creatures of Nicolai's
brain. The apparent addition of speech on the part of the phantoms,
and the illusion of words, clearly showed that the affection had
become one of subjective hearing, as well as of subjective sight.
And thus illusions exhibit a tendency to develop or to disappear
like aberrations of bodily functions ; whilst the course and nature
of these " troubles of the brain," as a rule, are in perfect harmony
with the spirit of the age, with the special proclivities of the subject,
and with the times in which the sufferer lives— two facts to which
may be added a third, namely, the palpable influence of habits of
body or mind — such as religious fervour and belief— upon the pro-
duction and nature of the illusions in question.

The case of a Mrs. A., related by Sir David Brewster, is as
typical as that of Nicolai, in its description of the development of
these "coinages of the brain." On December 21, 1830, this lady
was startled to hear her husband's voice calling to her. After open-
ing every door in the neighbourhood of the hall in which she was
standing, she concluded that Mr. A. must have departed from the

letting in which our great-grandfathers and the succeeding generation indulged in
spring-time, on some curious and mistaken popular notion (probably founded upon
the periodic revival of nature and the returning growth of plants) that local depletion
was necessary for the preservation of health.

304 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

house, but was more than surprised to find, on Mr. A.'s return home,
that he had not been near the house on the occasion referred to.
Some days thereafter, on entering the drawing-room which she had
left a few minutes before, she saw Mr. A. standing with his back to
the fire. On asking him why he had returned so soon from his walk,
the figure looked fixedly at her, but did not speak. Thereupon,
thinking her husband involved in thought, she sat down in an arm-
chair close by, with the remark, " Why don't you speak? " Thereupon
the figure passed towards a window at the farther end of the room,
still gazing upon her, and in its progress she remarked that she heard
no noise of footsteps or any other of the usual sounds made in pro-
gression. She was now convinced that she was gazing upon a spec-
tral illusion. The figure soon disappeared, but while it remained
before her it appeared to conceal the objects before which it stood.
Similar illusions were noted by Mrs. A. in the case of the cat, which she
imagined she saw in the drawing-room, but which was at that parti-
cular moment in the housekeeper's apartment. Her husband was
witness of the latter incident. Amongst the other figures which ap-
peared to this lady was that of a female relative who was at the
period in question in Scotland in perfect health, but whose image
appeared enveloped in grave-clothes, and in the ghastly appearance
of death. And on another occasion, when alone in her bedroom,
and in the act of repeating a passage from the " Edinburgh Review "
which had captivated her notice and memory, she beheld seated in
an arm-chair a deceased sister-in-law. The figure was clad in a
gown of a peculiar pattern which had been vividly described to her
by a friend who had seen the deceased lady wear it. Here a domi-
nant idea — that of the description of the dress — had probably lent
its aid to increase the realism of, or even to produce, this particular
phantom. In the case of another illusion, the figure of a second
deceased friend sat down in a chair opposite Mrs. A., on an occasion
when several other persons were in the room. Mrs. A. was afraid
lest the fact of her staring persistently at what to her visitors would
appear empty space should be noticed ; and " under the influence of
this fear," says Sir David Brewster, and recollecting that Sir Walter
Scott in his " Demonology " had mentioned such a procedure, " she
summoned up the requisite resolution to enable her to cross the
space before the fireplace, and seat herself in the same chair with the
figure. The apparition remained perfectly distinct till she sat down,
as it were, in its lap, when it vanished."

The case of Mrs. A. presents some noteworthy resemblances to
that of Nicolai. She was a person of imaginative disposition, and
she was in feeble health at the period when the illusions appeared.
Her strong common-sense, aided, as Sir David Brewster tells us, by
a perusal of Dr. Hibbert's famous work on the " Philosophy of Appari-

COINAGES OF THE BRAIN. 305

tions" — wherein that learned author declares that ^" apparitions are
nothing more than morbid symptoms which are indicative of intense
excitement of the renovated feelings of the mind " — served to free
Mrs. A. from ideas of supernatural visitation, by which, it is not too
much to say, nine persons out of ten amongst ourselves would be apt
to explain the unwonted appearances. The physiological explanation
of cases of spectral illusions is, however) simple in the extreme when
the possibilities of morbid and deranged sensation are seen to relate
themselves in a very exact and plain fashion to the natural method
of receiving impressions. Those parts of Mrs. A.'s brain, eye, and
ear, and of Nicolai's brain and organs of sense, which, under normal
conditions, would have been concerned in the reception of actual
sights and sounds, were made active and operated under some
internal cause to produce the unwonted phenomena. As we have
already noted, it is highly probable that in so acting the sensory
organs and brain are but reproducing from the background, and pro-
jecting into the foreground of consciousness, images of which the
conscious memory retains no impression, but which have been
received at some past epoch of the individual history, and which,
under unwonted stimulation, are evolved so as to appear part and
parcel of our own personality.

That this latter conclusion — namely, that of the act in question
being essentially one of memory — is perfectly justifiable, is rendered
strikingly apparent by the case of Mrs. A., all of whose apparitions
were those of known persons, and thus were simple reproductions of
mental images, in one of which — that of the deceased sister-in-law —
a vivid description of a particular pattern of dress served to add to
the apparent reality of the illusion. In Nicolai's case, the strangers
\vho appeared to him were, in all probability, the images of persons
whom he had either seen in bygone days, and of whom he failed to
retain any recollection • or were those of people with whose figures
or appearance he was familiar from reading. In our own experience,
we can readily recall to mind instances of the sudden recollection of
faces, figures, scenery, &c., the details of which may have long been
forgotten, but which may be revived by the application of an appro-
priate mental stimulus. Such a thought serves to suggest the impor-
tant part which what may be termed " unconscious memory " plays
in the regulation of mind-affairs and in human existence at large.

This latter feature of the association with us as "ghosts" of
the figures of persons with whom we have been formerly familiar —
even when the fact of this familiarity has been forgotten — is very
aptly illustrated by the incident which is headed "An Antiquary's
Ghost Story/' I quote the interesting recital, signed " Augustus
Jessopp, D.D.," from the Athen&um, of date January 10, 1880 : —

"Little more than two months have passed since my own personal

x

306 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

i

experience of mental phenomena was strikingly enlarged by the
occurrence with which the following narrative deals. Yet already I
find that round the original story there has gathered a surprising
accumulation of the mythical element, and that I myself am in
danger of becoming a hero of romance in more senses than one. As
I object to be looked upon as a kind of medium to whom super-
natural visitations are vouchsafed, and, on the other hand, do not
wish to be set down as a crazy dreamer whose disorganised nervous
system renders him abnormally liable to fantastic delusions, I have
yielded to the earnest request of some who have begged me to make
public the following paper. I am told that there are those who busy
themselves in collecting similar stories, and, if it be so,- it is better
they should hear the facts from me than after they have passed
through other channels. The narrative was written, at the request
of a friend, not many days after the event, when all the circum-
stances were fresh in my recollection.

"On October 10, 1879, 1 drove over from Norwich to Mannington
Hall to spend the night at Lord Orford's. Though I was in perfect
health and high spirits, it is fair to state that, for some weeks pre-
viously, I had had a great deal to think about, some little anxiety,
and some considerable mental strain of one kind or another. I was
not, however, conscious of anything approaching weariness, irrita-
bility, or 'fag.' I arrived at 4 P.M., and was engaged in pleasant
and animated conversation till it was time to dress for dinner. We
dined at seven ; our party numbered six persons. Of these four at
least had been great travellers. I myself was rather a listener ; the
talk was general and discursive, and amused and interested me
greatly. Not for a single moment did it turn upon the supernatural ;
it was chiefly concerned with questions of art and the experiences of
men who had seen a great deal of the world, and could describe
intelligently what they had seen and comment upon it suggestively.
I have very rarely been at a more pleasant party. After dinner we
played a rubber. We 'left off as we began,' and as two of the
guests had some distance to drive we broke up at half-past ten.

"The main object of my going over to Mannington was to examine
and take notes upon some very rare books in Lord Orford's library,
which I had been anxiously wishing to get a sight of for some years,
but had never been fortunate enough to meet with up to this time.
I asked leave to sit up for some hours and make transcripts. His
lordship at first wished me to let his valet remain in attendance to
see all lights put out ; but as this would have embarrassed me and
compelled me to go to bed earlier than I wished, and as it seemed
likely that I should be occupied till two or three in the morning, it
was agreed that I should be left to my own devices and the servants
should be allowed to retire. By eleven o'clock I was the only person

COINAGES OF THE BRAIN. 307

downstairs, and I was very soon busily at work and absorbed in my
occupation.

"The room in which I was writing is a large one, with a huge fire-
place and a grand old chimney ; and it is needless to say that it is
furnished with every comfort and luxury. The library opens into
this room, and I had to pass out from where I was sitting into this
library and get upon a chair to reach the volumes I wanted to ex-
amine. There were six small volumes in all. I took them down
and placed them at my right hand in a little pile, and set to work —
sometimes reading, sometimes writing. As I finished with a book I
placed it in front of me. There were four silver candlesticks upon
the table, the candles all burning, and, as' I am a chilly person, I sat
myself at one corner of the table with the fire at my left, and at
intervals, as I had finished with a book, I rose, knocked the fire
together, and stood up to warm my feet. I continued in this way at
my task till nearly one o'clock. I had got on better than I expected,
and I had only one more book to occupy me. I rose, wound up my
watch, and opened a bottle of seltzer water, and I remember thinking
to myself that I should get to bed by two after all. I set to work at
the last little book. I had been engaged upon it about half an hour,
and was just beginning to think that my work was drawing to a close,
when, as I was actually writing, I saw a large white hand within a
foot of my elbow. Turning my head, there sat a figure of a some-
what large man, with his back to the fire, bending slightly over the
table, and apparently examining the pile of books that I had been
at work upon. The man's face was turned away from me, but I saw
his closely cut reddish-brown hair, his ear and shaved cheek, the
eyebrow, the corner of the right eye, the side of the forehead, and
the large high cheek-bone. He was dressed in what I can only
describe as a kind of ecclesiastical habit of thick corded silk or some
such material, close up to the throat, and a narrow rim or edging, of
about an inch broad, of satin or velvet serving as a stand-up collar,
and fitting close to the chin. The right hand, which had first at-
tracted my attention, was clasping, without any great pressure, the
left hand ; both hands were in perfect repose, and the large blue
veins of the right hand were conspicuous. I remember thinking that
the hand was like the hand of Velasquez's magnificent 'Dead
Knight' in the National Gallery. I looked at my visitor for some
seconds, and was perfectly sure that he was not a reality. A thou-
sand thoughts came crowding upon me, but not the least feeling of
alarm, or even uneasiness ; curiosity and a strong interest were
uppermost. For an instant I felt eager to make a sketch of my friend,
and I looked at a tray on my right for a pencil ; then I thought,
1 Upstairs I have a sketch-book—shall I fetch it ? ' There he sat,
and I was fascinated ; afraid, not of his staying, but lest he should go.

x 2

308 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

Stopping in my writing, I lifted my left hand from the paper, stretched
it out to the pile of books, and moved the top one. I cannot explain
why I did this^my arm passed in front of the figure, and it vanished.
I was simply disappointed and nothing more. I went on with my
writing as if nothing had happened, perhaps for another five minutes,
and I had actually got to the last few words of what I had deter-
mined to extract when the figure appeared again, exactly in the same
place and attitude as before. I saw the hands close to my own ; I
turned my head again, to examine him more closely, and I was
framing a sentence to address to him when I discovered that I did not
dare to speak. I was afraid of the sound of my own voice. There he
sat, and there sat I. I turned my head again to my work, and
finished writing the two or three words I still had to write. The
paper and my notes are at this moment before me, and exhibit not the
slightest tremor or nervousness. I could point out the words I was
writing when the phantom came and when he disappeared. Having
finished my task, I shut the book and threw it on the table ; it made
a slight noise as it fell — the figure vanished.

"Thro wing myself back in my chair, I sat for some seconds looking
at the fire with a curious mixture of feeling, and I remember won-
dering whether my friend would come again, and if he did whether
he would hide the fire from me. Then first there stole upon me a
dread and a suspicion that I was beginning to lose my nerve. I
remember yawning ; then I rose, lit my bedroom candle, took my
books into the inner library, mounted the chair as before, and
replaced five of the volumes ; the sixth I brought back and laid upon
the table where I had been writing when the phantom did me the
honour to appear to me. By this time I had lost all sense of uneasi-
ness. I blew out the four candles and marched off to bed, where I
slept the sleep of the just or the guilty — I know not which — but I
slept very soundly.

" This is a simple and unvarnished narrative of facts. Explana-
tion, theory, or inference," concludes Dr. Jessopp, " I leave to
others."

Upon reading this interesting recital, and taking clue from Dr.
Jessopp's closing words, a number of persons addressed letters to the
editor of the Athentzum in explanation of the antiquary's experi-
ences. Thus Dr. Wilks, F.R.S., of Guy's Hospital, wrote as
follows : —

" Putting aside the supposition of a trick, the story resolves
itself into the question whether the appearance of the man beside
him [Dr. Jessopp] was objective or subjective. Under ordinary
circumstances when we see an object the latter is material, and
forms an image on the retina ; this is mentally known through a
perceptive part of the brain ; the mere retinal image is not enough

COINAGES OF THE BRAIN. 309

to constitute vision, as pictures are constantly painted upon the retina
which are never discerned. Now it is possible for this perceptive
part of the brain to be thrown into an active condition quite inde-
pendent of the normal stimulus conducted to it from the retina, and
under these circumstances the person apparently sees an object
which, by the law of our nature, is projected by him a certain distance
before the eye. This is common enough in fevers and in delirium
tremens, where patients see people and animals around them whose
reality is such that the memory of these becomes a part of the
experience of their future lives. In mental derangements these
hallucinations are also common, and patients see objects and hear
voices which have no external existence. So it is in our dreams,
from which we may be suddenly aroused by a great noise where all
is still around, the auditory perceptive centre of the brain having been
abnormally excited.

" In normal conditions the sight of an object implies the painting
of it on the retina, as the hearing a noise implies the vibration of
the drum of the ear. If sight and hearing occur without these
normal excitants of the nerves, the brain must have been stimulated
from within, and the impressions are abnormal and subjective.

"At the present time we have no knowledge that anything in the
likeness of a ghost or anything that has not a material basis can
excite an image on the retina ; whereas we do know that under
abnormal conditions the brain may be stimulated so as to produce a
visual impression independent of any such image on the retina. The
probabilities are then immensely in favour of the appearance which
the Doctor saw being subjective rather than objective. We have
only to suppose that those very common abnormal conditions of
brain which are observed in bad health may occur under exceptional
circumstances in an otherwise healthy organ to account for the occa-
sional appearance of ghosts.

"The probabilities are also in favour of this view from other con-
siderations. First, there seems no reason why the spirits of another
world should prefer midnight for their visits, but the reasons are
obvious why we should conjure them up at that time. Then, again,
the want of individuality shown by this particular ghost : an ordinary
mortal would find it very difficult to put himself 'in exactly the same
place and attitude as before ' on his appearance a second time, as
this apparition did, and then so dependent was it upon the observer,
that when the latter put his arm up it was gone, and the same oc-
curred on the second occasion on another movement. How these
movements of the Doctor could have affected a real object does not
seem clear, nor why it could not be gazed at from different points
of view. It may be noticed, too, that its nearness -corresponded
with the focussing of the Doctor's eyes to objects close around him."

3io STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

In my own turn I wrote to the AtJienaum as follows : —

" As the narrator leaves explanation to others, will you permit
me to remark that his experiences very aptly illustrate to my mind a
simple and readily explicable case of ' subjective sensation ' ? As
such, Dr. Jessopp's ghost is explicable satisfactorily to the physio-
logical mind on the idea that an image has been retained and formed
in his sight-centres, and has been unconsciously projected forwards
from the background of consciousness to assume (to the subject of
the illusion) the veritable appearance of a human figure or spectre.
The well-known case of Nicolai, the Royal Academician and bookseller
of Berlin, is the best known recorded instance of similar visitations ;
and Sir David Brewster, in his history of ' Natural Magic,' gives the
case of a Mrs. A., who was a ghost-seer of somewhat remarkable kind.
Cases such as those illustrated by Dr, Jessopp are by no means un-
known in medical practice, and are explicable on the theory of re-
version of the ordinary phenomena and routine of sensation.

" The only point concerning which any dubiety exists concerns
the exact origin of the specific images which appear as the result of
subjective sensory action. My own idea is that almost invariably
the projected image is that of a person we have seen or read about.
It is not necessary that we should remember the incident to repro-
duce it thus ; for ' unconscious memory' is a notable fact of mental
life. In Dr. Jessopp's case there is one fact which seems to weigh
materially in favour of the idea that the * spectre ' which appeared to
him in Lord Orford's library was an unconscious reproduction of
some mental image or figure about which the Doctor may very likely
have concerned himself in the way of antiquarian study. He
describes the figure as dressed in the costume of a past age. Does
not this fact alone testify to the appropriateness of an antiquary's
' illusion ' being drawn by memory and imagination from the days of
old and from the forms of the past ? Mental physiology has not yet
sufficiently progressed to enable us to satisfactorily and fully explain
the rationale of the mental acts which evolve the spectral illusion,
but I would fain add, in conclusion, that such facts of mind as are
already within our ken place cases like that of Dr. Jessopp within the
pale of a rational explanation ; whilst our best thanks are due to
the narrator for his record as an aid to the diffusion of a plain under-
standing of ' ghosts ' on a scientific basis."

It formed a feature in the discussion of the highest interest to me
personally, to find my suggestions corroborated in a succeeding
number of the Athenczum by Mr. Walter Rye. This gentlemen
said : —

" Dr. A. Wilson's solution, viz. ' that the " spectre "... was
an unconscious reproduction of some mental image or figure about
which Dr. Jessopp may very likely have concerned himself in the

COINAGES OF THE BRAIN. 311

way of antiquarian study,' seems the right one, and I think I can
identify the 'ghost.'

" The ecclesiastically dressed large man with closely cut reddish-
brown hair and shaved cheek appears to me the Doctor's remem-
brance of the portrait of Parsons, the Jesuit father, whom he calls in
his ' One Generation of a Norfolk House' 'the manager and moving
spirit ' of the Jesuit mission in England, and who is described as
1 tall and big of stature, smooth of countenance, beard thick and of
a brown colour, and cut short' (p. 95). Dr. Jessopp, when he
thought he saw the spectre, was, at dead of night, alone in an old
library belonging to a Walpole, and Father Parsons was the leader of
Henry Walpole, the hero of his just-cited book. Small wonder,
therefore, if the association of ideas made him think of Parsons.

" Probably every one who has specially studied the history of any
family has framed for himself a vivid fancy portrait of one of its
members. Having been working for some years at the pedigree of
Isham of Lamport, I conceived just such a one of young Sir Thomas
Isham, who died in the year 1681, very shortly before the day fixed
for his marriage ; and one night, when in bed at Lamport Hall, the
reproduction of my idea visited me, sat by my bedside, and con-
versed for some time with me very affably, giving me various details
as to the cause of his death, &c., some of which I regret, for the sake
of the spectre's veracity, to say I have since found to be wholly in-
correct. I was certainly under the impression the next morning that
I had only had a very vivid dream, just such another, in fact, as that
which I shrewdly suspect Dr. Jessopp had whilst admittedly yawning
over his books in Mannington Hall. The fact, common to both our
experiences, that we were not at all afraid of our visitant seems to
strongly bear this out, for if, when undoubtedly wide awake, we were
to meet a conventional white-robed ghost in a dark lane, we should,
I do not doubt, be abjectly afraid of it. But there is great virtue in
the ' if.' The first disappearance of the ' spectre,' as it were with a
jerk, at a movement of the seer's arm, and its equally jerky disap-
pearance at the fall of a book, remind one much of incidents happen-
ing during those short, sweet snatches of sleep not unusually stolen
during dull sermons, snatches which cannot last more than a second
or two."

The case of Dr. Jessopp's ghost becomes of extreme interest,
therefore, when treated as a subjective and unconscious reproduction
of sensations or ideas with which he was familiar enough, but of
which at the time his memory apparently entertained no recollection.
We can readily imagine that had such an incident occurred in the
experience of an uneducated and superstitious person, how stoutly
would all attempts at rational explanation have been combated. It
is really because the spiritualist, the theosophist, the ghost-seer, and

312 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

the votary of " second sight," will net realise the possible conditions
of their own nervous acts, that such persons inflict upon the world
the tales of their mystic experiences, swaddled in the bonds and
trammels of the beliefs and mysteries which breed and grow only in
religions to which the light of scientific experience is not allowed to
penetrate.

A scientific theory of ghosts is thus not merely possible, but in
the highest degree probable, as resting on a scientific basis. But
there are other matters to which a study like the present intimately
relates itself. The vitiation of testimony by the aberration of the
senses — or even the variations between the evidence of one witness
and another, become explicable on the basis of varying sensations
thus laid down. Nor does the domain of religion escape physio-
logical attention. The mystic experiences of votaries and the
heroism of martyrs may alike be capable of explanation under the
belief of that exaltation of sense, and of the alteration of sensations
and feelings, which appear to affect every period of human history,
and which indeed often embody many of the peculiarities of each
individual epoch. No less intimately, however, does the present
subject concern that idealisation of material things in which the
highest genius of poet, painter, sculptor, and musician may be said
to reside. The creations of the brain are not wholly on the side of
phantasy ; and from the subjective side of human nature, the dis-
tilled and purified feelings of mankind may be evolved in thoughts
that live for aye. But the gradation betwixt the aesthetics of sensa-
tion and the abnormal play of impressions is still clearly marked
and plainly apparent. There are few higher missions or triumphs
than those of " star-eyed science," which, taking as its theme the
creatures and coinages of the brain, may show us the stern realities
and facts which beset and often underlie the veriest dreams and
phantoms of our life.

ADDENDUM. — The views offered in the preceding pages regarding
the real meaning of the " phantasms of the living," are not likely to
meet with the approval of a certain section of philosophers, whose
anxiety to explain the ghostly visitations on a supernatural basis stands
apparently in inverse ratio to their knowledge of mental physiology.
We hear of psychical societies and other bodies, instituted, as far as
one can discover, not for the purpose of calmly and scientifically in-
vestigating cases of apparitions so-called, but in order to square the
stories of ghosts with the views of believers in a ghost-world. It is
very satisfactory to be able to meet delusions of this kind by a series
of hard and fast facts. Dr. Henry Maudsley, in his recently published
work entitled " Natural Causes and Supernatural Seemings," gives a
very telling example, firstly, of the manner in which the apparition.

COINAGES OF THE BRAIN. 313

stories gain credence, and secondly, of the promptitude with which the
windbag of fiction is pierced and annihilated by the lance of fact.

In the Nineteenth Century for July 1884 appeared an article
written by the Secretaries of the "ghost-seeking society." In the
course of this article the ghost-seeing case of Sir Edmund Hornby,
late Chief Judge of the Supreme Consular Court of China and Japan,
is duly related. Sir Edmund "describes himself," says Dr. Maudsley,
" as a lawyer by education, family, and tradition, wanting in imagina-
tion, and no believer in miracles." Notwithstanding his unsusceptible
nature, Sir Edmund Hornby was evidently a personage with whom
the ghost-idea was a favoured institution. "It was his habit," says
Dr. Maudsley, " to allow reporters to come to his house in the evening
to get his written judgments for the next day's paper. On this occa-
sion he had written out his judgment, and left it with the butler for
the reporter, who was expected to call for it. Having gone to bed
and to sleep, he was awakened soon by a tap at the door, which
when he took no notice was repeated. In reply to his call ' Come in,'
the reporter solemnly entered and asked for the judgment. There-
upon ensued a dialogue between Sir E. Hornby — who reftrred him
again and again to the butler, protesting against the unwarrantable in-
trusion— and the reporter, who persisted in his earnest requests for the
judgment. Impressed at last by his solemn earnestness, and fearful
of awakening his wife (who had slept soundly during all the energetic
and animated dialogue), Sir Edmund gave him the gist of the judg-
ment, which he appeared to take down in shorthand, after which he
apologised for his intrusion and withdrew. It was then just half past
one. When Lady Hornby awoke, as she did immediately, the whole
incident was related to her.

"Next day, when Sir Edmund entered the Court, the usher
announced to him the sudden death of the reporter some time
between one and half past one. The cause of death, as ascertained
by a formal inquest, was heart-disease. The poor man had not left
his house the night before.

" Here, then, is a precise and circumstantial story related by a
person of eminence and ability, accustomed to weigh evidence, and
confirmed (for the writers say so) by his wife. Naturally it attracted
much attention, and much jubilant attention from those who were
specially interested in ghosts and apparitions. The Spectator saw in
it, I believe, incontestable proof of the reality of the spiritual world.
Amongst others, it attracted the attention of Mr. Balfour, the editor
of the North China Herald, who was well acquainted with Sir
Edmund and the reporter alluded to. In a letter to the Nineteenth
Century (November 1884) this gentleman asks the editor to compare
the story with the following remarks :

" ' i. Sir Edmund says Lady Hornby was with him at the time, and

314 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

subsequently awoke. I reply that no such person was in existence.
Sir Edmund's second wife had died two years previously, and he did
not marry again till three months after the event he relates.

" < 2. Sir Edmund mentions an inquest on the body. I reply, on
the authority of the coroner, that no inquest was ever held.

" ' 3. Sir Edmund's story turns upon the judgment of a certain case
which was to be delivered next day, January 28, 1875. There is no
record of any such judgment in the Supreme Court and Consular
Gazette, of which I am now Editor.

" * 4. Sir Edmund says that the Editor (reporter ?) died at one in
the morning. This is wholly inaccurate ; he died between eight and
nine A.M., after a good night's rest.'

" The Editor of the Nineteenth Century" Dr. Maudsley continues,
" having submitted Mr. Balfour's letter to Sir E. Hornby, subjoins
that gentleman's rejoinder, in which, after accusing Mr. Balfour of
want of good feeling and taste in not having written to him privately,
instead of amusing the public at his expense, he practically, though
ungraciously, admits the whole case against him.

"It is probable," concludes Dr. Maudsley, " that similar stories of
the kind would collapse in a similar manner were they tested properly
by independent observation and inquiry, and were some one willing
to take the trouble to make the inquiry, and, having made it, to take
the trouble of contradicting them and exposing them."

Comment on the above case is needless. The mental attitude also
of those whose belief in ghosts and apparitions can be bolstered up
into a state of profound sincerity by recitals of which the foregoing
is an example, lies practically beyond the region and field of sober
criticism.

5*5

XV.

THE INNER LIFE OF PLANTS.

THERE can exist no doubt that the popular idea of a plant in
respect of its living powers is that of an organism which merely
hovers, so to speak, on the verge of existence. The notions that
plants may possess sympathies and feelings — or, to speak more
physiologically, " sensations " — and that they are by no means the
inert beings which everyday-philosophy supposes, have not yet
dawned upon the popular intelligence. Yet the last decade of
science has certainly tended to raise the plant as a living, and
moreover as a sympathetic and active being, in the botanist's
estimation. The Linnaean maxim that " stones grow," that " plants
grow and live," and that " animals grow, and live, and feel," no longer
expresses the gist of botanical ideas concerning plant-life and its
varied interests. For one thing, we certainly know of many plants
that not only " feel " as accurately and as sensitively as many animals,
but exhibit a far higher range of sensation than animals of by no
means the lowest grade. And, as the sequel may show, we are
acquainted with many instances among plants of the selection and
pursuit of a particular way of life, as intelligent indeed as the
corresponding choice and pursuit of habit amongst many of their
animal neighbours.

It is true that we can hardly criticise the popular idea of the
inertness of plant-life too severely, when we consider that to the
uninitiated eye the world of plants does not present any signs
or symptoms of ordinary, not to say marked, activity. Although
Wordsworth long ago declared his belief that the flower was not
insensible to the enjoyment of the air it breathed, the idea thus
mooted of the active personality of plants was far too vague and
poetic to influence the popular mind in its estimate of the phy-
siological ways of the vegetable kingdom. Furthermore, it might
be asked, does not the evidence of the senses — constituting, as
every one knows, the sole but inefficient criterion of what is and
of what is not — convince us that the plant-world is simply a huge
repository of unfeeling organisms, whose right and title to the idea
of life is best expressed by the secondary meaning which has come
to be attached to the word " vegetate " ? Does the flower feel the
massacre of its petals as it is slowly vivisected beneath the hand of
its fair and unthinking possessor ? Or does the tree heed the axe

3i6 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

or saw which despoils it of its branches, or which may fell it in all
its glory to the ground ? So apparently negative are the replies to
these questions, that, in so far as the evidence of the senses is
concerned, the opinion that plants merely grow and nothing more
seems at first sight of most justifiable kind.

But the evidence of the senses does not terminate in scientific
investigation where it ends for the popular mind. The knowledge
that the best part of our universe is hidden from the " unassisted
sight," and that the " music of the spheres " is altogether unheard by
the ordinary ear, warns the botanist of possible and serious error
in the common estimate of the plant. Locked up within the tissues
of the living plant wherever found, and of whatever rank the plant
may be, the microscope, for example, discloses the curious
"protoplasm," through the substance of which never-ending currents
and tides are seen to pass. The busy streams that course up and
down the microscopic stinging hair of the nettle-leaf, and the tides
that throng the tissues of the lordly oak or giant Sequoia itself, show
clearly enough that, whatever plant-life may appear to the ordinary
observer, the stillness of the forest is after all more apparent than
real. Each plant is thus, at the very outset of the botanist's studies
in the minute, discovered to be the seat of vital activities of highly
complex order. It is through these protoplasmic currents that the
life of the plant is maintained, and it is by means of these hidden
activities that the various known aspects of plant-life are manifested.
The production of the embryo-plant, its gradual formation into the
likeness of the young organism, the production of the leaf and flower,
the mysterious fertilisation of the ovule, and the appearance of fruit
and seed as the final terms in the " ages " of the plant, are each and
all wrought out by means of the activities of its protoplasm.
Erasmus Darwin, writing in his day of the life of plants, says : —

Thus, while the vegetable tribes inhale
The limpid water from the parent vale,
Their vegetating organs decompose
The salutary compound as it flows ;
And by affinities unknown dispart
The subtle hydrogen with chemic art,
To blend it with the carbon of the air,
And form the rose, the pink, the lily fair.

Had that eminent philosopher been acquainted with the physio-
logy of plants as that topic is understood by us to-day, he would
have been enabled to refer his "affinities unknown " to the powers
of the living matter which, as we have seen, makes each plant, appa-
rently inert and stable, the repository of ceaseless action. On the
very threshold of botanical science, then, we discover that it is neces-
sary to prepare ourselves for a sweeping change of ideas regarding
the inner life of plants. It may, in fact, be laid down as a rule, desti-

THE INNER LIFE OF PLANTS 317

tute of the proverbial exceptions, that every phase of recent research
in botany has but served to show us that the world of plant-life is
not merely a universe of activity, but that it has even its own analogies,
in the way of likes and dislikes and of mental phenomena, to the
phases we see in the animal world, and, indeed, in ourselves.

One of the most interesting of those aspects of plants, in which
they may be regarded as approaching the animal world in their con-
stitution, relates to the marked influence of what may legitimately be
named habit. That the animal frame should present itself as the seat
of definite actions which become perpetuated and repeated in the indi-
vidual history, until they become part and parcel of the constitution of
the race, is, of course, tacitly admitted to be a common and familiar
feature of the animal constitution. It may in the same way be
shown that in plants the influence of " habit " is as powerfully exhi-
bited as in the neighbour-kingdom. For instance, in the earliest
phases of plant-growth, the influence of habit as affecting that growth
and development may be plainly observed. When the structure of
an ordinary seed, such as that of a pea or bean, is investigated, it
is found to consist of certain coverings, of two bodies called cotyle-
dons or " seed-leaves," of a young root or radicle, and of a youthful
stem, the plumule, of the botanist. The two latter parts, in fact,
form the young plant. Through their development, the plant will
ultimately appear in all the fulness of growth and perfection. Now,
when such a seed germinates, the radicle, or young root, is the first
structure to break, through the coverings of the seed, being followed
in due course by the youthful stem. It constitutes a remarkable and
at the same time interesting feature of plant-habit, to discover that
whatever the position of the seed, the young root invariably seeks
the ground, whilst the stem as invariably avoids the ground and seeks
the light If, for example, the root on emerging from the seed should
point upwards, it will gradually curve as it grows, so as to enter the
ground ; whilst the young stem in such a case, placed at first in the
position of the root, will, in its turn, adjust itself to the exigency
of its position and curve itself so as to grow upwards. Associated
with the tendency or habit on the part of the young root and stem
of growing each in its proper direction, we discover certain peculiar
structural conditions. That the growing parts of the plant are in-
fluenced by gravitation is, of course, unquestionable. It has been
ascertained that if a growing stem and root are laid horizontally, the
stem will bend so as to render its upper side concave and its under
surface convex. Thus its extremity comes to grow upwards ; but in
the root the reverse action takes place, and the under side becoming
concave whilst the upper surface is convex, causes the root-tip to
seek the ground. The influence thus exerted by gravity on the
growing parts of plants is termed " Geotropism ; " and it may readily

3i8 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

be understood how rigidly plant-habits must mould the life of the
vegetable world, with the stable force of gravitation serving as an all-
important condition in the formation and continuance of these habits.
We shall presently observe that the influence of light on the growing
plant is to be regarded as a second factor of importance in the form-
ation of the habits of the plant-universe.

But it might be urged that the fixation and rigidity of the habits
in question should preclude the plant from participating in those
modifying circumstances to which the worlds of life are now univer-
sally regarded as subject. If variation and change, as factors in pro-
ducing new species, are to be regarded as operating influentially
within the plant-domain, it must be shown that the instincts of the
plant should be capable of being affected by alterations of its envi-
ronment and surroundings. Such an expectation is amply fulfilled by
the result of botanical research. We know that it is the habit
of the plant-root to grow downwards in obedience to gravity, as, con-
trariwise, by the greater growth of the under side of the, at first, hori-
zontal stem, its point is forced upwards and from the earth towards
the light. But these natural habits may be interfered with and altered,
as already remarked. If seeds be placed amongst damp sawdust in
a perforated and suspended zinc frame, they at first obey the law
of habit which compels them to grow downwards into the air, as if
seeking their native earth. But the dry air presents less attraction
for the young roots than the moist sawdust. Starvation awaits them
below, whilst they have just grown through a land of plenty, as re-
presented by the moist sawdust of the frame. Hence, an instinct
which may appropriately enough be termed that of self-preservation
influences the rootlets ; and instead of continuing their profitless
downward increase, they return to the moist sawdust above. The
mere structural explanation of these movements, as connected with
greater growth above or below on root and stem, does not in the least
degree affect the question of the habit and instinct involved in plant-
life. The habit is merely manifested through such growth ; behind and
above the structural modification and growth are the forces or con-
ditions of which that growth is the result. Through similar habits,
plants are enabled to overcome the difficulties and disadvantages of
their lives, just as the animal may adapt itself to the exigencies of
any unwonted condition. Thus, when the field of wheat or corn is
laid by the storm, the habits of the plants may aid in recovering their
lost position. Resting horizontally on the ground, the under side of
the wheat-stalk grows more quickly than the upper side, and in this
fashion, adjusting itself to its difficulty, the recumbent stalk is forced
upwards to its erect posture.

More subtle, because the conditions are more difficult of inves-
tigation, are the relations between plants and light. That light plays

THE INNER LIFE OF PLANTS. 319

an all-important part in the economy of plants every school-boy
knows. The bleached, or, as it is technically named, " etiolated,"
appearance of the potato-leaves which have grown in a damp and
darkened cellar, is familiar to all. Instead of presenting their nor-
mally green appearance, the potato-leaves are yellow ; and instances
of the blanching of esculent plants by the gardener, through the
influence of darkness, are too familiar to require mention. It is
not too much to say. that light is absolutely necessary under
ordinary circumstances for the growth of plants. Only in the
presence of light can the green-colouring matter, or "chlorophyll,"
of plants be developed ; and, as this substance plays an important
part in the nutrition of plants, the absence of light simply means
starvation or death to all normally green plants. Curiously enough,
however, light is known to retard plant-growth, even whilst it is
essential for the performance of the chemical actions through which
ordinary plant-life is maintained. Potato-stems grown in a dark
cellar, for instance, are much longer than the ordinary stems grown
in the light. When a plant is subjected to light from a window, the
side of the stem farthest from the light grows longer than the oppo-
site side, and as a result the plant curves towards the light. Such a
feature is paralleled in the animal world by the habit of sea-anemones,
which, when confined in a clear glass vessel, shift their position
towards the light when they have been deprived of the light-rays by
changing the situation of the vessel ; and the little hydrae of the pools
and ditches similarly congregate invariably on the side of their glass
which is next the light. Most parts of plants, in their natural growth,
possess this habit of curving towards the light ; and such a habit has
been appropriately named " positive heliotropism " by the scientific
botanist. The well-known legend of the sunflower (Helianthus\ that

Mad Clytie, whose head is turned by the sun,

will naturally be brought to remembrance by the recital of the sober
facts of physiological botany. Churchill's description of the sun-
flower as —

The proud giant of the garden race,
Who, madly rushing to the sun's embrace,
O'ertops her fellows with aspiring aim,
Demands his wedded love, and bears his name,

forms, after all, by no means an inapt commentary on this curious
plant-habit, which is paralleled by the observation of the equally curious
habit of the corn, the ripe ears of which incline to the south, and rarely,
if ever, turn northwards. So also the curious " compass-plant " of
America (Silphtum) may be said to illustrate a similar or analogous
habit. It is this plant which Longfellow speaks of as —

320

STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE

The compass flower, that the finger of God has suspended
Here on its fragile stalk to direct the traveller's journey
Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of the desert.

The plant is alleged to set the edges of its leaves directly north and
south, and Sir Joseph Hooker adds that, from his observations,

he believes that the leaves pre-
sent their faces parallel to the
meridian Jine.

The effect of varying light-
rays on plant-life presents
several interesting features for
remark. The varied light-rays
of which daylight is composed
do not, as might be expected,
possess the same effects on
plant life and growth. Plant-
habit, in a word, again shows
itself very markedly in its vary-
ing susceptibility to different
light-rays. Thus, a green plant
largely subsists on the carbonic
acid gas which it decomposes, in
the presence of light, into its
carbon and oxygen, retaining
the former for food, and setting
free the latter. Now, it has
been experimentally proved that,
in respect of the influence of the
light-rays on this chemical pro-
cess, the red and orange rays are
most powerful ; next succeed the
yellow rays ; the green rays come
next in order ; whilst the blue
and violet rays rank as the least

powerful in the scale. But if the yellow rays are the most powerful
in aiding the plant to obtain its carbon-food from the air, these rays
are least effective in producing mechanical alterations in plant-
structure. For it is the refrangible violet rays which in the formation
of plant-habit have operated most powerfully in the production of
plant-movements, whilst the red rays have no effect. When stems
and branches are influenced by and drawn towards the light, the
blue and violet light- rays are paramount. On sensitive plants, these
rays also exert a stimulating action, but the red and orange rays
cause such plants to assume the position and attitude customary to
them in darkness.

FIG. 30.— LEAVES OF SENSITIVE PLANT
(expanded above and closed below).

THE INNER LIFE OF PLANTS.

321

When a plant, such as the Mimosa (Fig. 30), or sensitive plant,
whose leaves droop when they are touched, is placed for some time
in darkness, the movements disappear completely ; and when such
a plant is placed in the light, the power of movement is not restored
for some hours, or it may be days. A sensitive plant, which is very
liable to be affected by alternations of light and darkness, may be
rendered motionless by being simply placed in a feeble light. In

FIG. 31.— OXALIS, OR WOOD SORREL, WITH CLOSED LEAVES

such a case, or when placed in the dark, the plant becomes rigid.
In the Wood Sorrel, or Oxalis (Fig. 3 1 ), the leaves of which open and
close under stimulation, light causes the leaves to expand. In the
still more curious Desmodium gyrans (Fig. 32), or Moving Plant of
India, whose small lateral leaflets exhibit continual movements, both
vertically and in a circular direction, the motion continues even in the
dark, provided a proper temperature be maintained. This plant>

Y

322

STUDIES IX LIFE AND SENSE.

often named the " Telegraph Plant," ceases its movements when the
temperature is below 22° Cent. Desmodium appears, therefore, to
have overcome that dependence on light to which other plants are
subject, and exhibits a tendency to regard temperature as the ruling
condition of its life.

There exists a striking analogy between the health and growth of
man or other animal and that of a plant, in respect of the influence

exerted upon either by
light and darkness. As
the child grows stunted,
pale, and weak when bred
in the close, dark city
court or alley, and ap-
pears in striking contrast
to the healthy, ruddy-
complexioned country ur-
chin, so the plant, grown
in the darkness, contrasts
unfavourably with the
normal organism grown
in the daylight. Habit
and instinct in the ordi-
nary plant have apparently
moulded its normal con-
stitution in accordance
with the same laws which

regulate the well-being of the animal. Experimentally treated,
the topic of the influence of light on plant-growth is best illustrated
by an experiment in which twelve seeds of Indian cress were placed
in three pots — four seeds in each pot. The first pot was placed in
complete darkness, with the result that the seeds germinated only to an
extent compatible with the usage of the nourishing matter originally
inherent in their substance. Like a man living on capital, and deriving
no income from active work, these first seeds perished as soon as
that capital came to an end. In the absence of light, the chemistry
of the plants could not be exercised. Surrounded by soil and food,
they were unable in the absence of light to avail themselves of the
nutriment at hand. The second pot was, however, daily placed for
seven hours in daylight. At the end of three months, the plants had
gained in weight by five grammes. The third pot had continual
exposure to light, with an afternoon share of sunlight, and, in the
same space of time as that accorded to pot number two, the plants
had gained twenty grammes of dry weight.

All parts of a plant, however, do not appear to require light as
a vital necessity, and this declaration may be extended to include

FIG. 32. — DESMODIUM, THE MOVING PLANT OF INDIA.

THE INNER LIFE OF PLANTS. 323

those plants each of which as a whole does not contain green- colouring
matter. A seed itself germinates in the dark ; and the work of
bulbs and tubers in producing their characteristic plants takes
place, as every one knows, independently of light Even the annual
layers of new wood that increase the growth of a tree, are produced
beneath the bark, and necessarily in darkness. Again, the habits of
plants, like the habits of the highest life, may exhibit strange
contradictions in the matter of the necessity or demand for light.
Thus, the seed-leaves of many members of the pine order become
green notwithstanding the darkness, and the same remark holds good
of the fronds of ferns. But a far wider generalisation may still be
made regarding the question of light and no light in the habits of
plants. Any plant which in its natural state does not develop
green colour is, of course, practically independent of light as a
condition of successful vitality. A mushroom, toadstool, or other
fungus, for example, does not require light for the performance of
its vital functions. Many fungi grow in the dark. The familiar
" truffles " are underground livers, and " moulds " certainly love the
darkness rather than the light. These plants, curiously enough, and
low as they are regarded in the botanical scale, exhibit a nearer
relationship with the animal world than do their green and higher
plant- neighbours. For instance, a non-green fungus inhales oxygen
gas and exhales carbonic acid like an animal ; whereas, as we have
seen, its green neighbour absorbs the latter gas for food, and exhales
oxygen under the combined influence of light and its green-colouring
matter, and only at night, or in darkness, imitates the animal
respiration. And, whilst the green plant lives on water, minerals,
ammonia, and other lifeless material, the fungus, or non-green plant,
demands " organic" matter — that is, matter which has been elabo-
rated by a living being — for its support. As a matter of familiar
observation, fungi and their neighbours possess the habit of locating
themselves near decaying organic material, and in this respect prove
themselves possessed of a " selective " power to which more particular
reference will be made later on.

The hidden currents of plant-life have, however, developed
certain remarkable instincts in the choice not merely of food, but
also of habitat, which clearly prove that the plant-world is the seat
of actions and habits that form a striking parallel to those of the
animal world. It might, for instance, form an interesting inquiry to
determine how and why certain fungi have come to select the human
skin and that of lower animals as a habitation. A very large number
of skin diseases are known to be the products of the growth and deve-
lopment, within the skin -tissues, of special forms of fungi. Even the
silkworm and the fly appear to be infested by specific and " unbidden
guests " in the form of lower plants, which firstly disease, and finally

Y 2

324 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

exterminate, these insect races. The parasitic habit is one which is
thus by no means confined to the animal kingdom, and it is further
illustrated in certain plants of by no means the lowliest grade. The
mistletoe, for instance, is a true parasite, since, sending its sucker-
like roots into the substance of the oak or apple to which it has
attached itself, it absorbs thereby the nutrient juices of its " host."
By aid of its own green leaves, however, the mistletoe can elaborate
a little food for itself, but its parasitic habits evidently supply it with
the largest share of its nutritive material. Even more typical as a
parasite is the Cuscuta, or dodder, which literally strangles flax,
clover, the hop, and many other plants. The dodder begins its
existence in a perfectly regular and normal fashion by germinating in
the ground. But sooner or later the parasitic habit comes .to the
front. Above ground, the sucking roots are developed wherever the
dodder comes in contact with its victim ; and finally leaving the
ground, this malignant growth fastens itself entirely upon the " host,"
and ultimately kills it by the strength and intricacy of its growth.
There appears to be developed in the case of these parasites, as
distinctive a series of habits as the animal world can show. In
respect of the so-called " instincts " which the parasitic animal is
believed to possess, it seems legitimate to claim for the plant at least
an equal, if not more elaborate, development of a guiding and
directing impulse towards a peculiar way of life. This latter
contention becomes the more reasonable when we reflect that the
assumption of the parasitic life has been attended in the case of
the plant with a far more sweeping alteration of original habit and
dietary than is usually the case with the animal which becomes a
lodger or boarder on a neighbour form.

In respect of the choice of food, the inner life of plants discloses
many curious examples of the " selective " habit already alluded to ;
whereby the plant appears to exhibit veritable "tastes," as capri-
cious and apparently as undeterminable as those of higher life.
The " bill of fare " of the ordinary plant naturally includes those
elements which constitute, and which therefore go to make, the living
protoplasm, on the presence of which the vitality of the animal and
plant alike depends. Thus it may be said that all plants absorb
carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, and sulphur, and to these
essential elements must be added a further instalment of " chemical
food/' in which iron plays an important part. Now, in this state-
ment of plant-dietary, there is nothing more remarkable than is
included in the nutrition of the animal. But the animal is usually
credited with its likes and dislikes, and is believed frequently to
exhibit a preference for a special diet, or for one article of diet over
another. Such a feature constitutes a perfectly normal phase of the
highest existences, but it may prove somewhat remarkable if we

THE INNER LIFE OF PLANTS. 325

discover that certain plants have likewise developed tastes and
predilections for special kinds of food. For example, it is interesting
to find that some plants will not flourish unless zinc is included in the
list of substances constituting their dietary. This metal is ordinarily
unknown in the list of food-stuffs demanded by plants ; yet Viola
calaminaria and Thlapsi calaminaris present us with examples of plants
for which zinc is a necessity in so far as healthy growth is concerned.
Whilst a minute quantity of iron is necessary, as already noted, for
plant-growth at large, certain plants appear to demand much larger
quantities of this metal than are ordinarily supplied by the soil.
Maize is an example of those plants, for the healthy growth of which
iron appears to be an absolute necessity ; and buckwheat will not
grow unless the elements potassium and chlorine are supplied. The
list of special proclivities in the way of choice of unusual food-
ingredients by plants might be well-nigh indefinitely prolonged.
Enough has been said, however, to show that there operate in the
world of plant-life habits and conditions determining food-supply
strikingly analogous to those which cause the animal to prefer one food-
material, and to reject another. That this selective power in plants
depends on what may be familiarly named "constitutional peculiarities "
appears tolerably evident from the results of experiments upon the
absorptive power of different plants when tested by the offer of a
varied range of material. Certain plants (e.g. Mtrcurialis annua)
have been known to exhibit a striking preierence for nitre when
that substance was mingled with common salt ; whilst, on the other
hand, a species of Satureia absorbed salt, but rejected the nitre.
Arsenic, as a rule, is fatal to vegetable life ; yet some fungi have been
known to grow in solutions of this substance, exhibiting thus an
adaptation to circumstances as typical as that afforded by any living
form. This selective power, which forms such a marked feature in
the inner life of plants, possesses naturally an economic and practical
interest for the agriculturist. The " rotation of crops " practised by
the farmer, is the result of a knowledge of the fact that one species of
plants prefers what another species rejects ; and it is the absence of
the knowledge or the lack of attention to its teachings which has
made the once fertile fields of Sicily and Spain utterly unproductive
in the present epoch.

Far exceeding in interest the foregoing details respecting the
development in plants of a predilection for special kinds of food,
are facts (which the patient industry of Mr. Darwin was mainly
incidental in bringing to light) respecting the extraordinary habits of
certain species of higher plants which feed upon organic matter, and
which appear to prefer such material when drawn and captured from
the world of animal life. No more typical instances of the develop-
ment of a special "habit" in plants could well be cited than the

326 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

case of these carnivorous plants. There can exist no doubt in the
mind of the scientist that the habit in question has been developed ;
that, in short, it is acquired, and not original in its nature. Varied
circumstances favour such an opinion, which is in perfect harmony,
it need hardly be added, with the general doctrine of evolution,
maintaining the production of new forms of life through the modi-
fication of the old. The carnivorous plants are thus discovered to
unite singularities of structure to peculiarities in the way of diet.
The modifications of habit which have made them animal-feeders
have been accomplished pari passu, and through the development of
structural changes in the leaf and in other features of their material
organisation. The deviation from the usual and ordinary course of
plant-life, here as elsewhere, betokens the beginnings of new and
altered phases of existence. The variation from the old species, in
a word, is but the prelude to the establishment of new species and of
new ways of life.

One of the most powerfully convincing facts connected with the
altered " habits " of the carnivorous plants and their allies, and
demonstrative of the gradual modification through which their
existent condition has been attained, consists in the observation that
between their animal-like habits and the ordinary life of common and
normal-living plants there are to be found many connecting links and
stages. The assumption of a parasitic life by the mistletoe and other
plants serves to show how an ordinary plant may acquire an abnormal
or unusual habit without sacrifice of the essential characters of its plant-
nature. It will be remembered that the mystic parasite of the oak
and apple has green leaves of its own, and that it elaborates certain
food-materials by aid of these organs. Although the mistletoe is by
no means the first term in the series of links whereby the unusual
is connected with the normal in plant-life, yet it serves physiologically
as an interesting half-way house between its common neighbours and
its carnivorous fellows. Mistletoe has developed the parasitic habit
of dependence upon another living being, and that a plant, for the
largest part of its dietary ; but its relations do not extend outside
the bounds of its own kingdom after all. Before, however, the
mistletoe stage can be reached, certain preliminary conditions must
have been represented and effaced in the development of the altered
phases of life we now behold. Probably the first step in the develop-
ment of a parasitic life in the higher plant began with mere attach-
ment to a neighbour-plant A weakly stem to-day climbs upon, or
twines around, a support. The ivy, hop, French bean, honeysuckle
and the like, illustrate not merely the stage of attachment by way
of mere support — each plant having its own root in the ground — but
we may also discover that in their ways and methods of climbing or
twining, as the case may be, there are represented fixed and defined

THE INNER _LIFE OF PLANTS 327

habits which prove how closely the modification of their lives has
affected their race and species. If we select the case of the ivy, for
example, we note a weak-stemmed plant, developing on that stem
clusters of small root-like processes, which, like the " hold-fasts " of
the gardener, serve to attach it to the wall over which it may extend
its growth, or to the tree on which it climbs. But the nourishment of
the ivy, like that of ordinary plants, is a matter of ordinary root and
leaf function. With leaves of its own, it can inhale and decompose its
aerial food, and by means of its root it can absorb from the ground
the food- materials which the soil supplies.

Let us now imagine the case of a plant in the ivy shape, with
its false "roots" adhering to another plant, and which becomes
accustomed to utilise these "roots" for nourishment. It is not
difficult to conceive of such roots, at first used for fixation alone,
becoming adapted for nutrition also. If we suppose that these
"roots," penetrating the tissues of a tree, acquired a habit of
absorbing nourishment in the shape of the tree's sap, we should thus
outline the preliminary stage in the development of a more typical
parasitic habit. As time progressed, that habit would assert itself
with greater force. The absorption of ready-made sap on the part
of any plant, is an easier and more satisfying process of nutrition than
the work of elaborating sap on its own account. A clear advantage
in the " struggle for existence " would thus be gained ; and the
effects of a rich and satisfying dietary would be sufficient to induce a
further perpetuation and a yet higher development of the parasitic
life. From the ivy stage, then, the plant might pass to the mistletoe
stage, in which the connection between root and ground has been
dissolved, and wherein the plant, whilst retaining its leaves, has
become wholly dependent for fixation and lodgment on its neighbour-
tree. How powerfully the case of the mistletoe has struck Mr.
Darwin as dependent upon a multiplicity of causes, which originate
and reside within the inner currents and constitutions of plant-life, may
be gathered from his own words. " In the case of the mistletoe," says
Mr. Darwin, "which draws its nourishment from certain trees, which
has seeds that must be transported by certain birds, and which has
flowers with separate sexes absolutely requiring the agency of certain
insects to bring pollen from one flower to another, it is equally pre-
posterous to account for the structure of this parasite, with its relations
to several distinct organic beings, by the effects of external conditions,
or of habit, or of the volition of the plant itself."

The case of the carnivorous plants and of their allies, which have
just been mentioned as illustrative of the peculiar conditions that
rule the inner life of plants, may be shown to exhibit an analogous
course of development to that which has given us the mistletoe and
its neighbours. Developing in another direction, it is true, and

328 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

eschewing the parasitic habit, the insect-eating plants have, never-
theless, certainly attained their present phases of existence through
graduated stages, and through modifications of habit, of which clues
and traces yet remain in the variations they exhibit before our eyes
to-day. Thus there are several plants which probably represent the
beginnings of the habit of feeding on other beings— animals or
plants — and which live upon the matter arising from the decay of
other plants. A peculiar orchid, the Neottia, or " bird's-nest " orchid,
illustrates this peculiarity, the origin of which is traceable on the face
of the habit itself. Mere growth amidst vegetable decay would suffice
to account for its beginnings ; and the absorption of such decaying
matter might readily be conceived to become fixed as a habit of
the species from the mere prevalence of the surroundings in question,
and from the adaptability of the plant to avail itself of such food.

A step in advance brings us to the case of higher plants
which feed on animal matter in a state of decay — a habit widely
prevalent, as already noted, amongst the fungi at large. No better
example of this condition can be found than the Utricularias, or
bladderworts, which, as a rule, inhabit foul ditches, amidst the decay
and putrefaction of which these plants flourish and grow. Here the
acquirement of such a habit is again easy of determination. It is
no unusual occurrence for insects and other varieties of animal life
to come to grief in the neighbourhood of water, nor is it an unlikely
circumstance that aquatic plants should present a convenient mor-
tuary for such victims. The bladderworts of to-day, it is true, capture
their insects or waterfleas, and even small fishes, on which they sub-
sist, by means of the "bladders" borne on the plants, and from which
they derive their familiar name. A peculiar valve closes the entrance
to the bladder and opens inwards. Hence, on the principle of the eel-
trap, or rat-trap, entrance to the bladder is easy, but escape impossible.
The victims which enter the fatal cavern are confined therein ; but it is
only when death has ensued, and when their bodies have undergone
the putrefactive process, that the absorptive powers of the plant come
into play. It is necessary to insist on the recognition of this latter
fact — namely, that the bladderv/ort lives upon the fruits of decay, and
not upon fresh meat, so to speak; because this feature reveals the
development and existence of a special habit in these plants, and one
which goes to support the idea that the ways of plant-life are as
remarkable for the adoption of favourable conditions as is the
animal constitution. Mr. Darwin, speaking of his expectation that the
bladders of Utricularia digested their prey, remarks that " to test
their power of digestion, minute fragments of roast meat, three small
cubes of albumen, and three of cartilage, were pushed through the
orifice into the bladders of vigorous plants. They were left from
one day to three days and a half within, and the bladders were then

THE INNER LIFE OF PLANTS. 329

cut open ; but none of the above substances exhibited the least
signs of digestion or dissolution, the angles of the cubes being as
sharp as ever." As the result of this experiment, Mr. Darwin adds,
" We may therefore conclude that Utricularia cannot digest the
animals which it habitually captures." It was further noted that in
most of the bladders examined, the imprisoned victims existed in
the form of a pulpy, decayed mass, although whether the process of
decay is simply a natural one, or whether, as some botanists suspect,
it is hastened by the influence of a special secretion from the bladder
itself, appears as yet to be undetermined.

Beyond the stage of the bladderworts, however, the inner life of
the plant-world discloses a still more wonderful modification of plant-
habit. There exists a goodly collection of plants which not merely
capture living insect-prey, and that in a manner far more elaborate
than is witnessed in the bladderworts, but which also literally digest
and absorb their insect-food as perfectly as does the spider or other of
its animal and insect- eating neighbours. The list of true carnivorous
plants is long and varied. It includes the Venus' fly-trap or Dioncea
(Figs. 35 and 36); the sundews (Drosera); the bu\.ter\vorts(Pmg?ttlu/a),
and other species of plants ; and it further contains within its limits
the most varied contrivances for effecting the capture of the prey.
Perhaps the most convenient starting-point for the brief examination
of the effects of plant-habit on the life of the organisms may be found
in the case of the butterwort itself. Here we discover a plant, found
as a rule in mountainous and marshy districts, and possessing short-
stalked leaves of oblong shape. The edges of the leaves are curved
inwards, and on their upper surfaces they bear numerous hairs, which
are named " glandular hairs," for the reason that " glands," or bodies,
adapted to secrete a fluid are associated with and included within their
structure. These hairs, it should be noted, are mere modifications
of the hairs so familiar on the leaves of most plants. The edges of
the leaves are destitute of these hairs. Upon these leaves captured
insects are commonly discovered ; but, as Mr. Darwin aptly remarks,
the mere fact of a leaf being capable in one fashion or another of
arresting insects, is itself no proof of the carnivorous nature of a
plant. At the same time, on the principle that it is le premier pas qui
co ute in the modification of plant-life as in the course of human affairs
themselves, it may be well to note that the beginning of the insect-
eating habit may have lain in the mere accidental capture of the
prey. We shall note that the simplest insect-eating plants lead us
towards the more complex forms ; and it is probable that in their
turn such simple insect-eaters as Pinguicula represent mere develop-
ments of extremely common conditions in plants. Thus in a plant
(Mirabilis} sticky hairs occur both on the leaves and stem. Further-
more, this plant continually captures insects by means of these

350 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

viscid hairs, but it exerts not the slightest power of digestion or
absorption of the rich food thus captured— in a word, it can make no
use whatever of the insect-prey, any more than the horse-chestnut
can utilise the flies which adhere to the gummy surface of the scales
which protect its leaf-buds.

But there are other plants, not ranked amongst the insect-eaters,
and which nevertheless appear to possess potential qualifications for
such a life. There are some species of the familiar Saxifrages, for
instance, the glands of whose leaves possess powers of absorbing
certain matters brought into contact with them ; and a species of
Primula has been experimentally proved by Mr. Darwin to be capable
of exercising a like action. So that, as Mr. Darwin remarks, it is
" probable that the glands of some of the above-named plants obtain
animal matter from the insects which are occasionally entangled by
the viscid secretion." Thus we are presented with a tolerably close
series of links leading us from ordinary plants towards their insect-
eating neighbours. Beginning with the plant which, like Mirabilis,
preserves merely the power of capturing insects, but which makes no
use of the food thus laid at its door, we pass to the saxifrage-stage,
in which the insect-material adhering to the leaves is probably
absorbed by the glands thereof, and this without any special modi-
fication of the plant-structure. Thence we arrive at the butterwort
itself, a true insect-eater, but one of simple type, and such as may be
held to represent merely a slight advance upon the saxifrage form.
Progressive modification, then, cannot be doubted to have occurred
in the development of these curious habits of plant-life ; and although
the exact lines and pathways of the modification are still hidden or
obscure, the possibilities seen in the life and structure of the common
plants around us testify plainly enough to the evolution of new structure
and habit through the variation of familiar types.

The butterwort's method of insect-capture is in itself simple, and
readily understood. When any object is placed near the incurved
edge of the leaf, the leaf margin curls inwards, and then after a
varying interval expands. This movement may be excited by
various causes. Thus, pieces of glass, insects, drops of beef- infusion,
and of carbonate of ammonia solution, produced the incurvation of
the leaves ; but drops of water, as well as drops of sugar or gum
solution, had no such effect. The leaf will not incurve upon pieces
of glass to the same extent as upon nutritive matters ; nor does
scratching the leaf produce any movement ; such an observation
appearing to indicate the existence of some amount of co-ordinated
habit. But an important observation regarding this plant is found
in the fact, that the period during which the leaf is incurved is
remarkably short, as compared with that during which the leaves of
other carnivorous plants remain closed. Thus twenty-four hours may

THE INNER LIFE OF PLANTS.

331

be taken as the average period of closure ; but Mr. Darwin points
out that very small objects, which may presumably be quickly
absorbed, can thus be utilised in a short space of time, whilst insects
are liable to be frequently washed under the incurved edges by rain,
and are thus utilised more frequently for food on account of the
comparatively short period of closure. Again, in the butterwort, if a
large object excites the movement of the edge of the leaf, that object
is pushed by the movement towards the middle of the leaf. It is
thus brought in contact " with
a far larger number of glands,
inducing much more secretion
and absorption than would
otherwise have been the case."
Lastly, it has been noted that
fragments of plant-tissues and
pollen-grains are also found
on the leaves of the butter-
wort, and that, cannibal-like,
the Pinguicula may therefore
devour parts of its neighbour-
plants. Relatively simple as
are the expedients of the butter-
wort, it nevertheless appears
to exemplify thoroughly the
animal-habit of feeding on
organic matter. Its roots are
proportionately small, and it
must therefore benefit largely
from the nourishing dietary
captured by its leaves, and ab-
sorbed by ihe glands borne on
their surface. As a further
proof of the development of
special habits in the race, we
may bear in mind that the
glands of the plant are not set
in action by mere contact with
matters affording no soluble nourishment ; whilst, when substances
containing nourishing principles are applied to the leaf, the process
of secretion from its glands is at once and profusely excited. Such
an action, discriminating, so to speak, even in a blind fashion betwixt
what is nutritive and what is innutritious, bears its own testimony to
the singular likeness between the acts of animal-life and those of the
specialised plant.

A word or two regarding the well-known Pitcher plants and Side-

FIG. 33. — LEAVES OF THE SARRACENIA, OR SIDE-
SADDLE PLANT, ONE OF THE PITCHER PLANTS.

332 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

saddle plants is permissible here. The latter, Sarracenias (Fig. 33),
are well known in the New World as fly-catchers. An attractive sur-
face on the leaf leads the fly to its fate ; a lower and glassy surface
prevents its exit, once it has entered the leaf; and still lower down,
is a surface studded with recurved hairs, which detains the captured
animals. The pitcher-like leaves of the " side-saddle " plants contain
fluid, but it seems pretty certain that the liquid in question does not
exercise any digestive functions. A sugary secretion attracts the insect
at the upper part of the pitcher, whilst below the true fluid of the leaf
is found, and this latter possesses undoubtedly an intoxicating effect on
insects. Experiment, indeed, has shown that this fluid intoxicates and
finally kills insects ; hence it is highly probable that the "side-saddles"
feed on the putrescent and decayed organic matter, into which the
bodies of the captured insects are finally resolved. The Nepenthes, or

FIG. 34. — LEAF OF NEPENTHES, OK PITCHER PLANT.

true " pitcher plants " (Fig. 34), inhabit the Old World. In these latter
plants it would seem that true digestion of the insect-food occurs.
The " pitchers " are certainly contrived and adapted for the capture
of insects, whilst the glands with which they are provided secrete a
digestive fluid, by means of which the prey is dissolved and finally
absorbed as food. The pitcher-plant's leaf is thus a veritable
" stomach," and we must therefore rank these plants with the Venus'
fly-trap and the sundew, as truly carnivorous in habit, and as
evincing a high and specialised development of that habit, through
which they become related to the animal world at large.

THE INNER LIFE OF PLANTS. 333

The Drosera^ or sundew of our own bogs, and the Dioncea, or
Venus' fly-trap (Figs. 35 and 36) of the North American marshes, in-
troduce us to plants wherein the highest stage of carnivorous habit has
been attained, and wherein special powers of sensibility and of reflex
action have been developed to fulfil the purposes which produced
and developed them. We are less concerned with the structure of
these plants than with the effects on their habits which that structure
is the means of producing. But it will be permissible very shortly to
enumerate the modifications which distinguish each species. In
both the seat of the modifications is the leaf. That of the sundew is
shaped like a battledore, and bears on its surface numerous clubbed hairs
or " tentacles," numbering from 150 to 250 on a single leaf. At the tip
of each hair is the " gland," and the glistening secretion of these
glands has given to the plant its popular name. When such an object
as an insect touches the tentacles, these latter close over it, so as to
pin it down upon the leaf surface, this process being really a
preliminary to the death and digestion of the animal. Moreover, as
if strictly imitative of the action of the animal in digestion, the
tentacles of the sundew pour forth upon the insect a secretion which
not merely, like the gastric juice of the animal, is antiseptic and
preservative, but has digestive and solvent properties. In due time,
therefore, the nutritive matters contained in the body of the prey
are absorbed by the glands, and the organic matter of the animal is duly
intussuscepted by the plant, which thus literally reverses the ordinary
rule that the plant feeds the animal. That the life of the sundew has
become permanently dependent upon this carnivorous habit, is clear
from the fact that when insects are excluded from these plants they
do not flower so perfectly, nor do they produce the number of seeds
found in natural, that is, insect-fed specimens. In the Venus' fly-
trap, the broad leaf blade (Figs. 35 and 36) is divided into two halves,

FIG. 35. — LEAF OF VENUS' FLY-TFAP (Open).

which close after the fashion of a rat-trap, and whose toothed edges fit
one into another. The sensitive surfaces consist of three hairs (Fig. 36,
a, b) on each half of the leaf, and upon these being irritated in any
way, the leaf closes, and, in the case of an insect, imprisons it. When

334

STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

the prey has been captured, the leaf-glands perform their digestive and
absorptive function ; its body is disintegrated, and its nutritive parts
absorbed ; such an operation requiring varying periods of time, ex-
tending from fifteen days to thirty-five days or more.

It remains now to show that the habits of these plants include
certain remarkable features which certainly resemble those phases ot

FIG. 36. — VENUS' FLY-TRAP.
(Leaf open at a ; partially closed at b ; and almost closed at c.)

the animal character that are commonly included under the term
intelligent choice and selection. The observation of the sundew's
life demonstrates that its tentacles will move and contract much
more quickly when a piece of animal-matter is placed on the leaf
than when any inorganic or mineral substance is offered to the plant.
Nor is this all, for, as Mr. Darwin has shown, the tentacles of this plant
will remain bent for an infinitely longer period over matters from
which nutriment of any kind is to be extracted, than over particles
which can afford no nourishment. So also the return of the ten-
tacles to what may be named their state of rest is quicker when an
inorganic particle has been the exciting cause, than when they have
been stimulated by the presence of something eatable. This observa-
tion seems strikingly analogous to that whereby the animal form,
after disappointment in the capture of prey, returns quickly to
its lair. Such results, verified repeatedly, appear to suggest that in
these plants there exists a discriminative power of by no means a
lowly type, and which loses none of its curious nature by the reflec-
tion that it is exercised through the living protoplasm of the plant.

THE INNER LIFE OF PLANTS. 335

The sensitiveness of the sundew's tentacles is also worthy of remark.
If a tentacle is touched once or twice only, it will not bend ; yet even
the slightest pressure, if prolonged, will cause its inflection. This
feature has the valuable result of rendering the sundew insensible to
the effect of raindrops ; whilst the observation that even light and
continued pressure affects the leaf, shows an adaptation admirably
adapted for the capture of the lightest insect.

The result of experimentation upon the Venus' fly-trap presents
us with equally instructive glimpses of the inner life of plants.
Here we meet with a plant, the leaf-hairs of which are endowed
with exquisite sensibility, even to the slightest and most momentary
touch. Darwin tells us, for example, that a human hair, fixed into
a handle, so that only an inch of its length projected, and used to
touch the tip of a fly-trap's tentacle, produced instantaneous closure of
the leaf. But it is equally interesting to discover that the hairs of
the fly-trap are by no means so sensitive to " prolonged pressure " as
are the tentacles of the sundew. The reasons for this difference in
sensibility are not difficult to discover. The sundew depends for
the capture of its prey, as we have seen, upon its ability to glue the
insect firmly to the surface of the leaf. Continuous pressure, how-
ever slight, is therefore the best indication of the probability of
a successful capture. But the fly-trap, depending upon sudden
closure of its whole leaf for the replenishment of its commissariat,
necessarily possesses an advantage over the sundew, but at the same
time demands a sensitiveness equal to the task of acting at once
and energetically upon the most momentary contact. Furthermore,
as if demonstrating a still closer adaptation to the environments of
its life, the fly-trap refuses to close its leaf on the mere stimulation of
drops of fluid allowed to impinge on the sensitive hairs from a height.
The raindrops in this case can therefore possess no effect on the
plant ; it is saved much useless contraction ; and the observation
likewise teaches us emphatically the highly specialised nature of the
sensitiveness of this plant. The analogy between its sensibility to
one set of impressions, and its indifference to others, reminds one
forcibly enough of the specialisation of the sense-organs in the
animal form. As the ear is excited only by sound-waves, or the eye
by waves of light alone, so the fly-trap and sundew in their turn
appear to possess special sensitiveness to those stimuli which are
calculated to benefit their species.

Enough has now been said, perhaps, to show that within the
plant economy there are included acts and habits strikingly
analogous to many of those phases which we are too much accus-
tomed to regard as the exclusive property of the animal. Our con-
ceptions of the plant, in truth, require to be considerably widened
in the light of recent research ; and certainly the ruling idea of the

336 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

inertness of the vegetable kingdom, as compared with the animal
world, can no longer on any ground be reasonably maintained.
The origin of these peculiar phases of plant-life remains obscure ;
but the biologist legitimately enough may be led towards considera-
tions connected with community of development, in his attempts to
explain the likenesses which exist between the two great series of
living beings. Despite the divergent lines along which the ordinary
course of vegetable-life pioceeds, when compared with the ways of
animal existence, the analogies of the two kingdoms are writ large
enough in the by-ways of plant-evolution.

337

XVI.

AN INVITATION TO DINNER.

AN invitation to dinner from Mr. and Mrs. Smith has just been
handed in by the postman, and the sight of the missive recalls
visions of pleasant company and an enjoyable menu. Smith is, in
the best sense of the term, a bon rivant. He takes care that "the
feast of reason and the flow of soul " are respectively represented by
the science and work of a chef who understands his business, and
by the presence at his table of sensible people who can talk of
something more elevating in tone than the pictures at the Grosvenor
Gallery, and less bewildering than the " correlation of forces " or the
" influence of heredity on developing organisms."

When I last dined at Smith's, even that eminent scientist Professor
Caudal (whose theories respecting the disappearance of the tail in man
and his poor relations are well known and appreciated at Burlington
House) forgot his scientific joys and his mundane sorrows in the
practical investigation of a lovely pain de volatile aux trujfes which
Smith's <://<?/" had elaborated to perfection. It is currently reported
that it was the Professor whose appreciation of Smith's filets de
maquereau grilles being disturbed by the clatter of a fair damsel
whom he had escorted to table, gave rise to the well-known witti-
cism of the comic papers. The lady in question had commenced
an argument on evolution with the soup (which was bonne femme,
and an especial joy of Caudal's), and had contrived a criticism of
Spencer by the time the Professor's beloved filets appeared on the
scene. Darwin and Huxley with the soup might be borne ; but
Spencer with the filets was too much for the Professor's prandial
tastes. " Madam," said he, "your knowledge of facts is com-
mendable"— this was Caudal's playful but porpoise-like fashion of
allowing the young lady to fall partly from her position of scientific
critic ; " but," continued the Professor, " there is one fact of which
you have failed to take due cognisance." "Ah, Professor," replied
the lady, " I shall be so delighted if you will supply me with any
facts which will aid my comprehension of evolution." Caudal's
sonorous reply came during one of those mysterious lulls in the
conversation which, as often as not, give the coup de grace to some
unfortunate and his opinions. "Madam," said the Professor, "you
seem to have overlooked one fact of great importance." "Dear
me !" replied the lady, "what is that?" "The fact, madam, that

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338 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

our host has the best French cook in London ! " I hear that the
Professor's name is never mentioned now by the fair evolutionist And
I also learn that Caudal, with a wondrous chuckle, in which possibly
a megatherium might have indulged in the days of its youth, is accus-
tomed to relate the effectual method whereby he was able at once to
silence a talkative neighbour and to ingest his dinner in peace.

Smith's dinner invitation, and the remembrance of the Caudal
episode, have together set one's thoughts flying off at a tangent.
Possibly it is the recollection of the professorial frame (which is
large and bulky), in relation to the enjoyment of the process of
nutrition at Smith's, which has caused me to think of dinners and
dining in the abstract rather than in the concrete view of things.
Be that as it may, I begin seriously to propound to myself the
question, " Why do we eat our dinner?" and I find the reply to the
question rather more difficult of solution than at first sight might
be supposed. For one thing, it cannot be denied that, if the con-
stitution of things human had been somewhat differently ordered,
the race might have been spared a considerable deal of trouble,
not merely in the work of dining, but primarily in the getting of
dinners. To persons like Smith and Caudal, the latter task is of
course a comparatively trivial matter. For them, the chief labour
is the variation of their menus, and the satisfactory digestive disposal
of the nutriment they imbibe. But what is an easy matter to many
of us, namely, the finding of food, is a tremendous task to millions
of our fellows. We are not yet beyond the possibilities of starvation ;
and the Oliver Twist maxim of asking " for more " is an actuality
that animates very forcibly indeed the nutritive actions of tens of
thousands of our race. There is no touch of cynicism in the idea
that were the work of food-getting superseded by some easier pro-
cess of sustenance, mankind at large would be saved a vast amount
of trouble, and a very considerable portion of misery besides. But
human bodies cannot grow like snowballs or stalactites. AVe cannot
add new matter to our outside surfaces, and thus end the process
and work of nourishment. Life everywhere is subject to the same
rule which regulates humanity's unceasing work of food-getting ;
and Smith's dinner-invitation is only an additional and precise piece
of evidence that, after all, Smith and his guests share the peculi-
arities of the animalcules and the special features of the plants.
In other words, my dinner party is only a physiological necessity
elaborated into a social display. Smith knows I must have my
dinner, like the rest of the animate creation, including himself; and
he is kind enough to ask me to give him my company in the per-
formance of a work which he appropriately enough styles " the great
event of the day."

The question, "Why do we eat our dinner?" is one worth

AN INVITATION TO DINNER. 339

propounding, if only from the consideration that a little physiolo-
gical discussion is necessary before we can completely or satisfac-
torily find its reply. Smith's dinner will be doubly enjoyable if I
can satisfy myself why " dinner," or, to put it more generally, " food,"
is a necessity of existence. Amongst the obvious uses of science,
I can conceive no more practical purpose than that which physio-
logy can subserve, in showing me not only that dinner is a sheer
necessity, but that the full enjoyment of that meal is a piece of
highest wisdom. One wants an answer to the ascetics who regard
the enjoyment of a good dinner as a "Philistine" proceeding, and
who profess to maintain, on reasonable grounds, that dining out
and dining well are equally barbaric and unnecessary customs.
Let us see whether or not we may find in the pages of physiology,
and in the daily experience of living and being, a full justification
for both of these practices. If I may justify the necessity for eating
dinner, and for enjoyment of the meal, as parts of the great order of
natural law, Smith's invitation and its inspiration will together not
have animated me in vain.

A glance at the flower-stand in the window supplies me with
a fair starting-point for the argument and voyage of discovery.
An hour ago my housemaid watered the flowers, plucked away
the dead leaves, and set the vegetable kingdom in order for the
day. My plants grow and thrive lustily. A few weeks ago that
young fern plant, whose frond you see drooping gracefully over the
edge of the pot, appeared above the earth as a curious little rolled-
up bud, which, as it grew, appeared to mimic the head of the
bishop's staff in shape. I could go back in the history of that
fern frond if you wished, and could even show you that it sprang
from a microscopic living "spore," which dropped one day last
autumn from the back of a parent-frond. That spore grew into
a green leaf, and from the under surface of this leaf the young
fern was in turn produced. Now it has grown into a broad green
frond, and there are others appearing beside it, which will grow
to form, in time, a mass of fern foliage. Evidently, growth and
enlargement are marked features of plant life, as they are plain
facts of animal existence. As clearly one can see that growth in
plants cannot take place without the presence and supply of matter
to grow upon. So that, at the outset of our inquiry, we seem to
arrive at the plain conclusion that plants demand food, for growth,
equally with ourselves.

Suppose, however, Smith could have invited my fern to dinner
instead of the fern's owner, the host would have discovered that the
tastes, desires, and necessities of fern-existence were somewhat sim-
pler, but not a whit less wonderful than his own. My plant would
not have been at home at Smith's hospitable board. It would have

z 2

340 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

been much more uncomfortable there than, say, a railway navvy,
whom Smith, in a moment of mistaken philanthropy, might have
invited to form one of his dinner party. The navvy would at least
have swallowed, by faith, the delicacies which Smith had provided,
and might have made sad havoc with every course that was set
before him. But my fern would have been unable to find anything
on Smith's dinner-table which it could ingest at all ; and, unlike the
navvy, it would have proved itself a total abstainer, and have con-
tented itself with aqua pur a throughout the evening. In a word, the
fern demands food of an utterly different order from that on which
Smith and his friends subsist. Its wants are modest, like those ot
the immortal Mrs. Gamp ; but, unobtrusive as they are, they must,
like Mrs. Gamp's demands, be supplied, if plant life is to jog along
on its accustomed course.

The fern, as type of the plant world at large, demands simply
lifeless or inorganic matter for its support. For instance, it requires
water, and my housemaid daily anticipates its wants in this respect.
Its menu, if Smith had invited it to dinner, and if he had consulted
Caudal (who is believed to know all about the proclivities of animals
and plants, and especially the wants of the human animal in the way
of food), would have been limited to four courses. Firstly, the fern
would have taken water as its potage. All plants require a constant
supply of water, which circulates through their tissues, and provides
them with the means for dissolving and elaborating the solid parts
of their food. These solid parts, it may be added, are always taken
in solution— that is, are dissolved in the watery parts or constituents
of the plant food. A plant has no mouth, hence its food must con-
sist of liquids and gases. In this respect, it is the opposite of that
eminent scientist Caudal, whose bodily presence is indicative of a
reliance upon food constituents of solid kind ; a peculiarity, it should
be remembered, which of course is shared by our race at large. It
is true that certain poor relations of the fern, like the corresponding
connections of humanity itself, are given to grope and grovel for food
in anything but aesthetic pastures ; and it is also true that these same
poor plant relations may, like animals, absorb solid nutriment. For
example, what are we to think of a host of lower plants which have
not a particle of green about them, and which, like ^Ethalium^ or
the " flowers of tan," growing in tan-pits, not merely absorb solid food,
but creep about their habitations as if they mimicked the lower forms
of animals ? In truth, such plants do resemble the lowest animals
in many aspects of their existence ; but my fern might retort that as
mere masses of living jelly, these lower neighbours of tan-pit society
are not to be regarded as typical developments of plant life — any
more, indeed, than a street Arab or a gutter child can be held to
represent the genteel part of human existence.

AN INVITATION TO DINNER. 341

So the fern's first course would be water. But dissolved in this
potage it would obtain a second article of diet, namely, the mineral
constituents of its food. Lime, potash, sodium, flint, and even zinc
are found in the plant bill of fare which the botanist compiles. One
member of the violet family has so far developed its special tastes in
the way of food and feeding, that it will only flourish where zinc is
contained in the soil. This Viola reminds one of Professor Caudal,
and other eminent diners-out, who never enjoy their entertainment,
unless their special brand of champagne, brut, is to the fore. Again,
there are certain plants which, having no green colour, live on dead
and decaying animal or plant matters. Such are the ftingi, of which
tribe the mushrooms are good examples. Then we also find plants
of higher rank than the fern, which capture insects for their food. A
" Venus's fly-trap" closes its leaves on the flies that alight upon them,
and eats and digests the fresh insects. A pitcher- plant drowns insects
in its hollow leaves, and. allowing them to putrefy, absorbs and grows
upon their decaying bodies. It is remarkable, to say the least, that
in plants we should find habits to vary in so marked a fashion ; and
it is also peculiar to discover that whilst, like some human beings,
certain plants eat their food fresh, other plants, like many people
we know, seem to prefer their food or game in a " high " condition.
The taste for " high " dainties, so far from being an exclusive trait of
culture in man, is an actual feature of many higher and lower plants.
Even Professor Caudal, in his taste for grouse passe, finds his nearest
analogy in the pitcher-plant and the mushroom.

But we are wandering from the diet of the fern. Its first course
was the water, and its second the minerals that fluid contains.
Without iron, we know the green colour or chlorophyll Q{ the botanist
cannot be developed ; and the analogy between iron in the plant,
and that metal as a blood-constituent and as a blood-tonic in our-
selves, is too clear to escape notice. The staple article of my fern's
food, however, next to water, proves to be a gas called carbonic acid.
Curiously enough, this gas is that which with every breath we give
out from our lungs, and which, naturally or artificially prepared as
the case may be, I shall ingest at Smith's dinner party in the spark-
ling wines with which our host favours us, and in the milder potash
water we may unite in the smoking-room to the stronger " fire-water "
of the civilised unit. For us, the carbonic acid in these forms is a
luxury, and not a necessity, however ; by the fern and by every other
green plant it is imperatively demanded. The green leaves are
greedily drinking in this gas, which, if inhaled into our lungs and
blood, would quickly asphyxiate us, and which, as a matter of fact,
converts an ill-ventilated room into a Black Hole of Calcutta in
miniature. But the green plant absorbs the carbonic acid, which,
by the way, consists of so much carbon and so much oxygen. The

342 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

former element is that which the fern covets. It drinks in the gas ;
then, through a chemical act, splits the gas into its component carbon
and oxygen ; and finally, keeping the carbon to form -the starch and
other compounds proper to plant life, liberates and returns the
oxygen to the atmosphere. Our green plant also absorbs a little of
the oxygen gas of the atmosphere by way of assisting it in the
chemical operations of its existence. But it is the carbonic acid
which the plant especially demands, and without which ordinary
plant life cannot flourish. It is only in the presence of light, how-
ever, that the green plant can treat and decompose the carbonic acid.
When darkness reigns, the fern and all its green allies literally con-
vert themselves into animals in so far as their gaseous transactions
are concerned. Then they absorb oxygen and give out carbonic
acid ; resuming their more purely plant life and reversing this action
when the light dawns and darkness disappears. To plants which,
like the mushrooms and their neighbours, are not green, the presence
or absence of light makes no difference. These plants habitually
and at all times resemble animals, in that they constantly absorb
oxygen gas, and emit carbonic acid. Last of all, our fern seems to
require a little ammonia — by way of dessert, so to speak. Summing
up the modest requirements of the plant, we may therefore say that
it demands four items in its bill of fare. These items are water,
minerals, carbonic acid gas, and ammonia. They are further dead or
" inorganic " matters, and the fern becomes a somewhat interesting
and curious being in our eyes when we reflect that it forms a type
of the wondrous in plant life. From the lifeless materials that form
its " food " it is able to build up the living structures which form its
frame. The beauty of the leaf, the fuller glory of the flower, and the
warmer radiance of the fruit, severally represent to the botanical eye
merely the result of the conversion, by the forces of the plant, of the
lifeless materials found in the food, into the living substance and
beauty which irradiate and brighten the world.

The fern thus flourishes on the food it absorbs from the soil and
the air around it. It therefore converts matter unlike itself into its
own tissues and organs. If deprived of this matter (or food) it dies,
and the plant presents in this respect the closest possible parallel to
the life of the animal, and to that of man himself. So far as the
struggle of food-getting is concerned, the lot of the fern may cer-
tainly be regarded as of an easier kind than that of the animal. For
the fern finds its food at hand, so to speak, whilst the animal, as a
rule, requires to search and to struggle for its pabulum. But the
analogies of animal and plant life are seen to run in parallel lines
when we regard the results of food-getting and of food-deprivation
respectively. With food at hand, animal and plant alike flourish and
grow ; and through want of food both perish. It remains for us now

AN INVITATION TO DINNER* 343

to endeavour to discover wherein the feeding of the animal differs
from that of the plant.

Smith's invitation may aid us in our search after the essential
features of the food of the animal hosts ; for it can be shown readily
enough that there exists a close parallel between the dietary on which
Professor Caudal and his fellow-guests contrive to exist, and that
which ministers to the well-being of all other animal forms. The
invitation given to an animal to partake of the bill of fare which we
have seen to be capable of satisfying the modest demands of the
plant, would be equivalent, as Professor Huxley has remarked, to
asking the former to attend a Barmecide's feast. The water,
minerals, carbonic acid gas, and ammonia, on which the ordinary
green plant thrives, present no attraction to the animal. Imagine
that deliberate gourmet, Caudal, being asked to dine off such fare !
We can understand the doubly effective objections — social and
scientific — which would issue from the professorial mind if such a
prospect were set before it. But the great scientific luminary who
will enjoy Smith's dinner a fortnight or so hence, is not a wit removed
from the animalcule in the superiority of his tastes and demands above
those of the green plant ; whilst he may discover that both animalcule
and man are not so very different, after all, in the essential nature of
their feeding from the fungus, or from the insect-eating vegetables.

If we sum up the materials which our dinner at Smith's will
present to view, we may very readily resolve them into a variety of
tolerably simple substances. Furthermore, these substances will
prove to be not over-numerous. Smith's dinner may begin with
potage aux choux, a form of liquid nutriment in favour at this season
in the Smith's cuisine. Yoifoisson we may, let us suppose, be pre-
sented with sole bouillie or titrbot ; the releve's may be Caudal's
special tit-bit before mentioned, filets de bceuf^ or even the haricot de
•venaison for which Smith's chef is famous. As for entree, the/atsan
bouilli, or a salmi de perdreaux, is a likely guess, and the rot and
entremets we may set down provisionally as becasses ou becassines, and
as foie gras and petites coquilles, respectively.

Now, the above list appears to represent a vast number of very
different substances. Chemically, it can be shown to be resolvable into
relatively few and simple elements. Smith and his chef together might
feel surprised to discover that their elaborate menu was capable of being
chemically shown to consist probably of three-fourths water in combi-
nation with the solids. The analysis of the menu might be roughly but
approximately indicated if I said that at Smith's dinner we will feed
upon water ; minerals ; certain " flesh-forming " substances containing
nitrogen as their characteristic element ; fats and oils ; and starches
and sugars of various kinds and qualities. The water is a necessity
for animal life, as for the existence of the plant. In one form or

344 STUDIES IN LIFE AArD SENSE.

other, as adults, we demand several pints of this fluid per day.
It enters into the composition of every fluid and tissues of our
bodies, and constitutes about 87 per cent, of the bulk of the human
frame. Without water we could not dissolve and digest the solids
in our foods, nor could the intricate and constant chemical opera-
tions— including the production of heat — of which our bodies are
the seat, be carried on without a due supply of this fluid. When
one learns that the brain itself — including even the ponderous organs
of Caudal and his fellow-scientists, which may be presumed to be of
the "hardest" description — consists at least of between 70 and 80
per cent, of water, and that this fluid requires constant replacement,
as we shall hereafter see, the importance of water as an article of
diet cannot be over-estimated. Lastly, when one recollects that on
water alone, and in the absence of any solid food whatever, human
subjects and lower animals have lived on for 50 or 60 days, the
necessity of water for animal existence at large is readily seen.

But our dinner includes, secondly, mineral matter in addition to
water ; and we might remark that, in so far as these two items are
concerned, mankind presents no superiority of necessities or tastes
over the plants. For man, as for the plant, water and minerals
appear to be essential for the continuance of existence. For the
perfection of our blood, we require to find iron in our food. Lime
must be found in the food, that the bones and other tissues may be
duly nourished. Phosphoric acid must exist in our nutriment, other-
wise the nerve-substance of brain and body will be imperfectly sus-
tained. Soda, magnesia, potash, and a host of other minerals are
detected in the fluids and structures of the body ; and so intimate
and complex are their relations to the composition of our frame,
that it appears certain that of any two minerals, one cannot replace
another, both being necessary for the continuance of health and life.
I must not neglect to bear in mind, also, that, like the fungi and
other non-green plants, I demand the oxygen of the air as a " respi-
ratory food." This gas, which in Smith's well-ventilated dining-room
will be supplied to me in perfection, will be inhaled into the lungs,
will thence pass into the blood, and there, uniting with carbons
derived from fats, starches, and like foods, will produce the heat
without which life is an impossibility. Like the plant, then, it is
clear we require food of a gaseous kind : the carbonic acid of my fern
is replaced in humanity by oxygen. Our food, however, contains
certain matters called nitrogenous principles, which, in the truest
sense of the term, may be named " flesh-forming " substances. A
very considerable part of our bodies consists of " nitrogenous "
matters — that is, matters which the chemist declares are composed
of the four elements, carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen, with
traces of sulphur and phosphorus in addition. The importance of

AN INVITATION TO DINNER. 345

the element " nitrogen " in the processes of animal bodies cannot be
over-estimated. A high authority in foods makes the remark that
" wherever living changes are carried on, nitrogenised matter is
present." We further discover that the most vital substance of
animal frames — the famous " protoplasm " itself — is a nitrogenous
compound. A speck of this nitrogenous matter, having much the
same composition as the " albumen," or white of egg itself, may con-
stitute of itself a perfect living being. The animalcules of the stag-
nant pool are such jelly-specks ; and the living protoplasm whereof
the vital parts of our own frames are composed, exhibits a close
identity of composition with the matter which constitutes the whole
structure of lower life, the actual and visible entity of the higher
animals, and the vital substance of the plant world at large. It can
therefore be understood that with this living matter and compounds
of allied nature entering into the structure of our frames, we should
demand a continual supply of like substances in our food. At
Smith's repast we shall obtain substances rich in " nitrogenous " foods
for the renewal of our protoplasm or living tissues, from well-nigh
every substance set before us. The juice of meat found, for example,
in soups, the fibres of meat themselves, the gravies and sauces which
decorate the viands, the milk which forms an element in the repast,
the eggs and vegetables that in one form or another figure in the
?nenu, and the fruits and cheese of the feast, each and all contribute
a proportion of the varied " nitrogenous " substances that go to form
the flesh and tissues of our bodies.

Next in order come the fats and oils. At dinner, it is hardly
necessary to say, we obtain a due proportion of these substances in
very varied forms. It is true we do not emulate the nutritive exist-
ence of the Esquimaux, whose dietary of blubber and fats consti-
tutes the summum bonum of a life spent amid perpetual snow. But
the quantity of fatty matters we daily contrive to ingest in one form
or another is very considerable. From animal foods, the fats are
readily obtainable, and from vegetables, oils of various kinds are
also elaborated. The necessity for fat as an article of diet is seen
when we learn from physiology that it not merely conserves heat —
a function seen in whales and fat persons generally — but supplies
material when it passes into the blood which affords our bodily
fuel. Fats and oils are " heat-producers," and it is when the fat
of the blood and the oxygen inhaled into that fluid from the air
come into chemical combination, that heat is produced. It is
needless to add that this process is being continually carried on in
the human body, and to a greater or less degree in that of all other
animals. The " starches and sugars " form the final materials into
which we may resolve our dinner. A large variety of substances
figure in the lists of chemists under the above designation. Common

346 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

observation demonstrates that we daily consume large quantities
of the starches and sugars in our food. A potato, for instance,
may legitimately enough be described as a mass of starch and
water ; rice and allied substances are three-fourths starch ; from
bread we obtain a large quantity of starchy matter : all vegetables,
in fact, contain starch in considerable proportions. Of the various
"sugars," chemically so called, the latter remark practically holds
good. Even milk — nature's typical food — contains a proportion
of sugar in the form of sugar of milk, or lactine ; and in the
muscles of animals another peculiar " sugar " is found. There can
be little doubt that from sugars and starches we obtain matters
which, in the economy of the body, are readily converted into fat.
If Professor Caudal should ever elect to "try Banting," he will
require to cut short his supply of starches and sugars as well as
his daily quota of fats and oils ; but the contingency of such an
exercise of professorial self-denial is too humiliating to contem-
plate, even in the light of a theoretical possibility. That which
happens to the geese of Alsace may be regarded as being illus-
trated in the human economy likewise. Morning and night, maize
is crammed down the throat of the unfortunate bird, which starts
on the experiment in a lean and meagre condition. Cramped up
within a narrow space, no exercise is permitted the goose, which
in about a month is killed, as the process of breathing becomes
well-nigh impossible. The liver alone then weighs between one and
two pounds, and the amount of fat which escapes from the tissues
of the animal when it is roasted is almost incredible. Persoz of
Strasburg, utilising the foie gras production as a physiologica.1
experiment, showed that the fattening of the goose is really due
to the formation of fat from the starches and sugars of the maize
on which it is fed. Thus the formation of fat, and probably also the
production of heat, are the functions served within our bodies by
the digestion of the starches and sugars we find in our food.

The differences between the food of the plant and that of the
animal — between the nutriment of my fern and of myself— may
now be appreciated. We see that whilst the plant is able, as already
remarked, to build up its tissues from lifeless materials, the animal
requires in addition a supply of organised or living matter. At
Smith's table, besides the water and minerals we require, and in
addition to the oxygen gas we respire in the air obtained from the
atmosphere, we shall ingest "nitrogenous" matters derived from
the animal and plant worlds. In the meats offered to us, we find
" ready-made " foods, so to speak, which correspond more or less
exactly in composition to our own flesh. The vegetable matters
will supply us with similar materials, and in addition the starches,
sugars, and fats will be purveyed us by both animal and plant

AN INVITATION 7V DINNER. 347

worlds. Although there are plants which, as we have seen, imitate
animals in feeding upon living matter, and which thus break down
the distinctions between animals and plants founded on food, yet
the general course of animal and plant life remains in each case
tolerably distinct. It is needless to add that, as represented at
Smith's board, the human race will be shown to demand a very con-
siderable amount of living matter, and to differ materially in this
respect from the plant world at large.

The information we have thus obtained regarding the nature
of the material benefits we may expect to obtain from our dinner,
prefaces in a thoroughly natural fashion the question already pro-
pounded, and which asks why we eat dinner at all. Smith's dinner,
and feasts of allied kind, serve to impress one with the idea that
probably human nature is given to eating too much, and that
repasts of less resplendent and varied character would equally well
serve — as, in fact, they do actually serve in the experience of the
majority — to sustain life in a perfect, or in other words a healthy,
condition. But, after all, variety is both necessary and pleasant in
food as in other details of life ; and it is the numerical strength of
Smith's dinner, so to speak, and not the quantitative aspects of the
mcmi, which constitutes an attractive aspect to the cultured mind.
The question " Why do we eat our dinner ? " involves in its reply
the whole philosophy of food-taking, and a large part of the philo-
sophy of life. To arrive in the speediest possible manner at the
conditions which render that reply possible, we must take a brief review
of certain general processes which may be said to constitute the
essence of the physical, and indeed of the mental part also of our
existence. The dictum that life is at all times inseparably con-
nected with changes of various kinds and degrees, forms an appro-
priate basis whereon to lay the foundations of the argument. The
changes in question are most clearly shown in such a series of
actions as those which constitute "growth." That increase of the
body which takes place from the first day of its existence until
maturity is reached, illustrates at least one phase of bodily altera-
tion which we can appreciate in its connection with food and
feeding. For it is obvious that from our food we must derive the
material for the increase of tissues and parts. " Food," in this light,
is simply matter derived from the external world, which, being incor-
porated with and transformed into our bodily substance, contributes
to that gradual physical enlargement which characterises early life
wherever existent.

That this, however, is not the only use of food becomes clear
if one reflects that around Smith's dinner-table there will be assembled
•no one guest whose growth is still a matter of vital activity. The
majority of us will present ourselves before the physiological eye as

348 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

adults whose physical belongings have long ago arrived at years of
maturity. A few of us may be verging on the " sere and yellow "
stage of vitality. Scientists tell us that in old age the tissues tend
to lessen and to decrease in size and extent. After the age of forty
years, the brain itself begins to decrease in weight, at the rate of
about one ounce in ten years. Even the Professor, with his won-
derful memory for facts and data, must, on this showing, have lost at
least a couple of ounces of his cerebral matter, and goodness knows
how much science as well — an idea which may possibly account for
the fact that he grows more and more prosy and forgetful, as succes-
sive years and a multitude of dinner parties mark the course of his
career. Around Smith's table, then, it seems clear our dinner will
not contribute to " growth " ; and it is plain that the missing brains
of the scientists, and of the plain people who are in their fifties and
sixties, cannot receive from Smith's choicest viands any material
wherewith to recuperate their lost belongings. " Why we eat our
dinner " is an inquiry that must be answered on a broader basis than
is afforded by any considerations of mere growth and increase of
body. We must, therefore, turn to a wider view of the vital pro-
cesses, in order satisfactorily to discuss the question of the why and
wherefore of food-getting and food-taking.

Such a view we may obtain when we reflect that the pursuit of
life involves, at all times and under all circumstances, a serious
expenditure of vital energy, and an appreciable loss of bodily and
material substance. It is a grave but interesting fact of science, that
no act of life, however trifling it may appear, can be performed with-
out being attended and accompanied by a corresponding loss of
energy and waste of substance. The machine that works, wears.
The waste of a machine bears a strict proportion to the work it per-
forms ; and the human body, as typical of the bodies of all animals,
is found to undergo wear and tear proportionate to the work dis-
charged by its organs and parts. There is no cessation from this
competition with vital waste and wear. The slightest act of life,
equally with the gravest action, is attended by its relative amount of
waste and loss of power and matter. The merest thought that
disturbs, as by a mental ripple, the surface of the mind's organ,
involves a certain amount of brain waste. The winking of an eyelid,
effected by means of muscular acts, is in the same way performed
only through a certain loss of substance. In each pulsation of the
heart, in each rise and fall of the chest in breathing, there can be no
escape from the perpetually enforced dictum of nature, that work
and waste are in constant and stable fellowship throughout the entire
range of living action.

We might go still further than this not unreasonable stage of life's
conditions. Smith's dinner, for example, will no doubt be an enjoy-

AN INVITATION- TO DINNER. 349

able repast. I may flatter myself that the "flesh-forming " and " heat-
producing " compounds, which physiology declares are necessary for
the support of my bodily belongings, will be represented to the full
in Smith's menu. The work of nutrition should be effected in the
most agreeable manner around Smith's hospitable board, where the
conversation of Caudal, for instance, may lend an additional and
mental zest to the physical delights implied in the repast proper.
But the physiologist steps in to inform me that even in the work of
food-taking there will be expended a very considerable degree of
energy. I shall be in the position of an engine which exhausts and
employs its steam, even in the act of laying in water and fuel for
future work. My digestion, I am informed — a work that proceeds for
hours together — will necessitate a large expenditure of nerve-force, and
of other forces as well. The act of converting food into a medium
(the blood) adapted to nourish every tissue, is thus in itself a piece of
tolerably hard work ; to say nothing of the labour performed by the
central engine of the circulation, the heart itself; or by the lungs and
chest in the act of breathing. Life would thus seem to be a kind
of process resembling that familiarly described as " burning the candle
at both ends." We " rob Peter to pay Paul," in our endeavour to
live wisely and well. One is reminded forcibly of that grim quota-
tion of Huxley from Balzac's " Peau de Chagrin," by the considera-
tion of the perpetual taking in and giving out which life seems to
involve. As the magic skin shrank with every wish of its possessor,
and ultimately vanished away together with the life it represented, so,
to quote Huxley, "all work implies waste, and the work of life
results, directly or indirectly, in the waste of protoplasm." And
again : " Physiology writes over the portals of life —

Debemur morti nos nostraque,

with a profounder meaning than the Roman poet attached to the
melancholy line. Under whatever guise it takes refuge, whether
fungus or oak, worm or man, the living protoplasm not only ulti-
mately dies, and is resolved into its mineral and lifeless constituents,
but is always dying, and, strange as the paradox may sound, could
not live unless it died."

One now begins to gain a glimpse of the fashion in which life
science answers the question, Why do we eat our dinner? When we
begin to conceive that the human body is, in one sense, a mere
machine, which performs elaborate and complex chemical and
physical work, and which, moreover, is always in action, more or less
completely, we are able to understand the basis on which physiology
rests its final reply concerning the philosophy involved in Smith's
invitation to dinner. But to render the position of the scientist still
more evident, we may inquire a little more exactly into some of the

350 STUDIES IN LIFE AATD SENSE.

details of bodily work — including under this latter term the mental
side of matters equally with the physical aspects of life. And firstly,
What, one may ask, are the proofs that this wear and tear of body
represent an actual fact of existence ? The candle, which disappears
as it burns, only changes the form of the materials of which it consists.
Chemically treated, weight for weight of waste products (gas, water,
&c.), into which the candle has been resolved, could be produced,
as evidence that the matter of the taper has merely undergone a
change of form after all.

An analogous experiment could be performed on the human
subject. If Professor Caudal could, for instance, be conceived as
placed in one scale of a balance — calculated to contain safely the
ponderous frame of that celebrated scientist — and a counterpoise in
the shape of a series of accurately adjusted weights placed in the
other scale, we might be able to determine with exactitude, first, that
the Caudal frame grew lighter as the eminent student of physiology
worked ; and, secondly, that, as the Professor refreshed and renewed
his inner man, the scientist in his scale would once again fall to the
balanced condition. If Caudal took to lifting loads, heaving wood,
or drawing water in his scale, we should find that the loss of weight
which he had previously exhibited would be increased proportionately
to the exertion his physical labours had entailed. To bring himself
and his scale back to equilibrium, he would require simply to eat the
requisite amount of food. Possibly if Caudal, sitting in his scale,
occupied his brain with the solution of some of those knotty problems
which a select audience at Burlington House occasionally meets to
discuss in his company, we might not see the Caudal scale rise with
loss of weight so distinctly and rapidly as if the Professor indulged in
mechanical pursuits. But that the mental work would entail waste,
an expenditure of force, and a loss and lightening of the Professor's
frame, there can be no question. The mental work simply differs
from the bodily labour in that its waste is, if anything, of a more
subtle character than that which results from physical toil ; and, one
might also add, in that the mental waste is not quite so readily made
good and repaired as the bodily wear and tear. If Caudal's income
in the shape of food were given him in excess of the expenditure of his
substance in work, we should find that his scale would alter daily or
hourly, but that it would constantly preponderate over the other scale,
and never tend to approach the beam. If the Professor were placed
on diminished allowance, we should, on the contrary, find that, like
a weighty " spirit medium," he would remain constantly in the air,
whilst the weighted scale would drop by comparison. But work and
repair being equal, we should note that Caudal simply rose and fell
as his substance was used up in the work he performed, arid as he
received his pabulum, respectively.

AN INVITATION TO DINNER. 351

The consideration, however, crops up before us, that if the fore-
going conclusions be correct, we should find our subject in the scales
to remain stationary so long as he performed no work at all. The
contention is a natural one ; but, unfortunately, it has no physio-
logical standing. There is no period of day or night during which
cessation .from work is possible to the body. If we suppose that the
Professor in the scales consented to trouble himself neither about to-
day nor concerning to-morrow, and to allow his muscles as well as
his cerebral organ to remain as thoroughly passive as might be, he
would still remind us of breakfast, lunch, and dinner; and, apart
from habit altogether, would feel perfectly ready and willing to join
us at table when the "joyful sound" of gong or bell reached his ears.
Nor would he be at any loss to reply to the obvious remark that,
as he had done no work, he could have no reasonable expectation of
participation in the delights of the table. He would require us to
note, firstly, that he had been working, even while resting ; secondly,
that this work was unavoidable ; and thirdly, that from its serious
nature it necessitated speedy repair. The Professor's heart — for,
contrary to the opinion of the female portion of his acquaintance,
the eminent scientist possesses such an organ — can be shown to per-
form in each twenty-four hours of his existence an amount of work
which can be legitimately termed of prodigious extent. Calculations
of very exact nature have been made regarding the work done by the
central organ of the circulation. The heart is a hollow muscle ;
hollow, to allow blood to pass through its chambers, and a muscle,
that it may contract to expel the blood forth into the vessels. The
heart's work is therefore as purely muscular work as is the lifting of
weights or the movements of walking. Now, the " unit of work," as
the basis of calculating the amount of labour expended in any given
action, is an expression which, plainly stated, may be taken to mean
that amount of energy (or " power of doing work ") required to raise
a unit of weight (i Ib.) through the unit of height (i foot).

The heart is composed of four compartments or chambers. Two
are " auricles," which receive blood from body and lungs respectively,
and which propel the blood each into the larger chamber (or " ven-
tricle ") with which the auricle of each side is in free communication.
If the weight of the blood which is expelled by the sharp contraction
of each ventricle is multiplied by the height to which the blood rises
in a tube placed in communication with the outlet of the ventricle,
we obtain in the result the work done by each of these larger
chambers of the heart. It has been found that the height to which
the blood is sent in the tube is about nine feet. The weight
of the blood expelled at each contraction of the left ventricle of the
heart is about four ounces. The multiplication of these numbers,
therefore, gives us 2 \ foot-pounds — that is, a force capable of raising

352 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

that number of pounds one foot high — as the work performed at each
contraction of the left ventricle. The right ventricle's work measures
only one-third that of the left ; the right side of the heart being less
powerful than the left, and being occupied with driving blood simply
to the lungs, whilst the left side propels blood through the entire
system. The addition of the work of right and left sides, therefore,
gives us three " foot-pounds " as the total work of the heart at each
beat or contraction. But in an adult person of Caudal's physique
there are performed at least some seventy-five or seventy-six such
contractions per minute. At this rate, in twenty-four hours the
heart must perform a startling amount of work. If we could gather
all the force expended by the human heart in twenty-four hours into
one huge lift, it would suffice to raise at least 120 tons weight one
foot high. After such a revelation, it would be easy for us to accept
Caudal's hunger and thirst as the perfectly rational symptoms of a
lazy man. With the fact at hand of a bodily pumping engine con-
stantly at work within his frame, he would require no further proof
of his right to replenish the wear and tear of his body by regular
attendance at meals. The idle man must needs eat and drink — for
common idleness has at least a physiological justification at its back
in the shape of the aphorism that whatever the hands find to do, the
bodily organisation knows no rest or cessation from its labour and
its toil.

It can be shown that the work of the heart is not the only labour
which the ordinary processes of life entail. The function of breath-
ing is practically as incessant in its operation as that of the heart. The
rise and fall of the chest include, and are effected through, the work
of a multiplicity of structures, such as ribs, chest-muscles, midriff,
and lungs. When we read that there pass in twenty-four hours
through the lungs of an adult at rest some 686,000 cubic inches of
air — a quantity increased in the same period to 1,568,390 cubic
inches in the hard-working subject — we may judge that the work and
labour of breathing may fitly enough be ranked with that of the
heart in respect of its magnitude. There exists a large amount of
natural resistance offered by the elastic nature of the lungs and chest,
and which has to be overcome by the muscles employed in breathing.
It has been shown that the force which has to be overcome by these
muscles in the act of breathing in 200 cubic inches of air exceeds
450 pounds. In ordinary breathing, the elastic force we require to
overcome equals at least 170 pounds. With these details at hand,
there is little need to further emphasise the fact that the stillest of
lives is in reality a long spell of continuous work. In twenty-four
hours the muscles of breathing alone, perform an amount of work
equal to the raising of twenty-one tons one foot high. Adding this
amount to the force exerted by the heart, we may understand that

AN INVITATION TO DINNER. 353

even the quiet moments of our lives are attended by and carried on
through work of a very severe character ; and this even when the
almost endless work of the brain in thought, and of the nerve-centres
in controlling the bodily actions, is entirely set aside and overlooked
in our calculation.

Returning for a moment to Caudal, whom we left in the scales,
we may be required to specify the exact form in which the bodily
substance of the subject experimented upon has disappeared in the
acts and processes of life. Briefly stated, so much of our material
substance is given off from skin and lungs, for example, in the form
of water ; part is excreted in the shape of carbonic acid gas, which
thus becomes available as food for green plants ; and part of the wear
and tear is likewise given off in the form of heat, a curious substance
called " urea," and as ammonia and mineral matters. In other words,
our bodies, as the result of the work they perform, are perpetually
being dissipated into so much heat, water, carbonic acid gas, and
other substances. The animal frame is constantly breaking down into
these inorganic matters, and is thus at once finding a lower level of
existence and supplying the plant world with the matters from which
the life of the vegetable kingdom will evolve new growths and fresh
generations. Well might Erasmus Darwin write —

Hence, when a monarch or a mushroom dies,
Awhile extinct the organic matter lies,
But as a few short hours or years revolve,
Alchemic power the changing forms dissolve ;
Emerging matter from the grave returns,
Fills new desires, with new sensation burns.

If it is true that " in the midst of life we are in death," it is no less
true that from the physiological charnel-house into which living beings
are perpetually doomed to pass, new forms take their origin. These
are fed by the matter which, having done duty in living bodies, is,
after a period of so-called decay, woven anew into the textures of
succeeding generations of animals and plants.

The answer to the question with which we began our scientific
journeyings should now loom plainly enough ahead. We eat our
dinner because, in the food of which that meal consists, we expect
to find materials capable of replacing those we have lost in the
acts and processes of life. " Food," in this view, from dry bread to
Smith's choicest dainties, is only matter which the body demands
for its sustenance and support ; and the perfect diet is simply that
which affords us the most complete epitome of our bodily belongings
in most condensed form, and in a shape susceptible of ready
conversion, by digestion, into ourselves. We eat, then, because we
waste, and we waste because we work. There is no escape from
the continual wear and tear which besets us. We receive so much

A A

354 STUDIES IN LIFE AND SENSE.

food as income, and we exert so much force and give off waste
matters as expenditure ; our profit in this transaction consisting of
the " energy" or power of doing work we obtain from our food.
It is true that we eat to live ; it would be a truer statement if we
said that we eat to work. We begin our physiological career
with work, and our dinners are the consequence of our exertion.

There is, after all, a considerable savour of an admirable social
philosophy in this view of matters. The knowledge that these
frames of ours periodically make reasonable and natural demands,
through hunger and thirst, for the wherewithal of life and work,
seems to lead to the plain conclusion that they deserve good and
wise treatment. There can be no hesitation in endorsing the
statement that living well means, other things being equal, living
long. Smith's dinner looming in the distance becomes thus in-
vested with a fresh charm in one's eyes, and the charm is all the
more aesthetic and satisfying because it is scientific. I shall feel
equal to the task of looking benignantly even at Caudal whilst I
listen to the platitudes wherewith he entertains us at the festive
board. The Professor represents a science which has administered
many grains of comfort to the bon vivant, and which does not add
any exceptional granum salts — except to assure us that chloride of
sodium (otherwise common salt) is a necessary component of the

gastric juice, and one without which But we are becoming too

scientific, and one has already found the true justification of a
good dinner. This is all. No; I had almost forgotten Smith's
invitation. Now for its reply : "Yes, with the greatest of pleasure;"
and may good digestion wait on appetite.

THE END.

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