



Produced by Sue Asscher





LECTURES AND ESSAYS

By T.H. Huxley


The People's Library


Cassell And Company, Ltd.


London, Paris, New York, Toronto & Melbourne.


MCMVIII.




EDITOR'S NOTE.

Of the great thinkers of the nineteenth century, Thomas Henry Huxley,
son of an Ealing schoolmaster, was undoubtedly the most noteworthy. His
researches in biology, his contributions to scientific controversy, his
pungent criticisms of conventional beliefs and thoughts have probably
had greater influence than the work of any other English scientist. And
yet he was a "self-made" intellectualist. In spite of the fact that
his father was a schoolmaster he passed through no regular course of
education. "I had," he said, "two years of a pandemonium of a school
(between eight and ten) and after that neither help nor sympathy in any
intellectual direction till I reached manhood." When he was twelve a
craving for reading found satisfaction in Hutton's "Geology," and when
fifteen in Hamilton's "Logic."

At seventeen Huxley entered as a student at Charing Cross Hospital, and
three years later he was M.B. and the possessor of the gold medal for
anatomy and physiology. An appointment as surgeon in the navy proved to
be the entry to Huxley's great scientific career, for he was gazetted to
the "Rattlesnake", commissioned for surveying work in Torres Straits. He
was attracted by the teeming surface life of tropical seas and his study
of it was the commencement of that revolution in scientific knowledge
ultimately brought about by his researches.

Thomas Henry Huxley was born at Ealing on May 4, 1825, and died at
Eastbourne June 29, 1895.



CONTENTS.


ON OUR KNOWLEDGE OF THE CAUSES OF THE PHENOMENA OF ORGANIC NATURE:

 THE PRESENT CONDITION OF ORGANIC NATURE.

 THE PAST CONDITION OF ORGANIC NATURE.

 THE METHOD BY WHICH THE CAUSES OF THE PRESENT AND PAST CONDITIONS OF
 ORGANIC NATURE ARE TO BE DISCOVERED.--THE ORIGINATION OF LIVING BEINGS.

 THE PERPETUATION OF LIVING BEINGS, HEREDITARY TRANSMISSION AND
 VARIATION.

 THE CONDITIONS OF EXISTENCE AS AFFECTING THE PERPETUATION OF LIVING
 BEINGS.

 A CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF THE POSITION OF MR. DARWIN'S WORK, "ON THE
 ORIGIN OF SPECIES," IN RELATION TO THE COMPLETE THEORY OF THE CAUSES OF
 THE PHENOMENA OF ORGANIC NATURE.


ESSAYS ON DARWIN'S "ORIGIN OF SPECIES":

 THE DARWINIAN HYPOTHESIS.

 TIME AND LIFE.

 THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES.

 CRITICISMS ON "THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES".


EVIDENCE AS TO MAN'S PLACE IN NATURE:

 ON THE NATURAL HISTORY OF THE MAN-LIKE APES.

 ON THE RELATIONS OF MAN TO THE LOWER ANIMALS.

 ON SOME FOSSIL REMAINS OF MAN.


ON THE ADVISABLENESS OF IMPROVING NATURAL KNOWLEDGE.


ON THE STUDY OF ZOOLOGY.


GEOLOGICAL CONTEMPORANEITY AND PERSISTENT TYPES OF LIFE.


CORAL AND CORAL REEFS.


YEAST.


THE CIRCULATION OF THE BLOOD.


*****




NOTICE TO THE FIRST EDITION.

The Publisher of these interesting Lectures, having made an arrangement
for their publication with Mr. J.A. Mays, the Reporter, begs to append
the following note from Professor Huxley:--

"Mr. J. Aldous Mays, who is taking shorthand notes of my 'Lectures to
Working Men,' has asked me to allow him, on his own account, to print
those Notes for the use of my audience. I willingly accede to this
request, on the understanding that a notice is prefixed to the effect
that I have no leisure to revise the Lectures, or to make alterations in
them, beyond the correction of any important error in a matter of fact."


*****




ON OUR KNOWLEDGE OF THE CAUSES OF THE PHENOMENA OF ORGANIC NATURE:




THE PRESENT CONDITION OF ORGANIC NATURE.

When it was my duty to consider what subject I would select for the
six lectures* ([Footnote] *To Working Men, at the Museum of Practical
Geology, 1863.) which I shall now have the pleasure of delivering to
you, it occurred to me that I could not do better than endeavour to put
before you in a true light, or in what I might perhaps with more modesty
call, that which I conceive myself to be the true light, the position
of a book which has been more praised and more abused, perhaps, than any
book which has appeared for some years;--I mean Mr. Darwin's work on the
"Origin of Species". That work, I doubt not, many of you have read; for
I know the inquiring spirit which is rife among you. At any rate, all
of you will have heard of it,--some by one kind of report and some by
another kind of report; the attention of all and the curiosity of all
have been probably more or less excited on the subject of that work. All
I can do, and all I shall attempt to do, is to put before you that kind
of judgment which has been formed by a man, who, of course, is liable
to judge erroneously; but, at any rate, of one whose business and
profession it is to form judgments upon questions of this nature.

And here, as it will always happen when dealing with an extensive
subject, the greater part of my course--if, indeed, so small a number of
lectures can be properly called a course--must be devoted to preliminary
matters, or rather to a statement of those facts and of those principles
which the work itself dwells upon, and brings more or less directly
before us. I have no right to suppose that all or any of you
are naturalists; and even if you were, the misconceptions and
misunderstandings prevalent even among naturalists on these matters
would make it desirable that I should take the course I now propose to
take,--that I should start from the beginning,--that I should endeavour
to point out what is the existing state of the organic world,--that I
should point out its past condition,--that I should state what is the
precise nature of the undertaking which Mr. Darwin has taken in hand;
that I should endeavour to show you what are the only methods by which
that undertaking can be brought to an issue, and to point out to you how
far the author of the work in question has satisfied those conditions,
how far he has not satisfied them, how far they are satisfiable by man,
and how far they are not satisfiable by man.

To-night, in taking up the first part of this question, I shall
endeavour to put before you a sort of broad notion of our knowledge of
the condition of the living world. There are many ways of doing this. I
might deal with it pictorially and graphically. Following the example of
Humboldt in his "Aspects of Nature", I might endeavour to point out the
infinite variety of organic life in every mode of its existence, with
reference to the variations of climate and the like; and such an attempt
would be fraught with interest to us all; but considering the subject
before us, such a course would not be that best calculated to assist us.
In an argument of this kind we must go further and dig deeper into the
matter; we must endeavour to look into the foundations of living Nature,
if I may so say, and discover the principles involved in some of her
most secret operations. I propose, therefore, in the first place, to
take some ordinary animal with which you are all familiar, and, by
easily comprehensible and obvious examples drawn from it, to show what
are the kind of problems which living beings in general lay before us;
and I shall then show you that the same problems are laid open to us by
all kinds of living beings. But first, let me say in what sense I have
used the words "organic nature." In speaking of the causes which lead
to our present knowledge of organic nature, I have used it almost as an
equivalent of the word "living," and for this reason,--that in almost
all living beings you can distinguish several distinct portions set
apart to do particular things and work in a particular way. These are
termed "organs," and the whole together is called "organic." And as it
is universally characteristic of them, this term "organic" has been very
conveniently employed to denote the whole of living nature,--the whole
of the plant world, and the whole of the animal world.

Few animals can be more familiar to you than that whose skeleton is
shown on our diagram. You need not bother yourselves with this "Equus
caballus" written under it; that is only the Latin name of it, and does
not make it any better. It simply means the common Horse. Suppose we
wish to understand all about the Horse. Our first object must be to
study the structure of the animal. The whole of his body is inclosed
within a hide, a skin covered with hair; and if that hide or skin be
taken off, we find a great mass of flesh, or what is technically called
muscle, being the substance which by its power of contraction enables
the animal to move. These muscles move the hard parts one upon the
other, and so give that strength and power of motion which renders the
Horse so useful to us in the performance of those services in which we
employ him.

And then, on separating and removing the whole of this skin and flesh,
you have a great series of bones, hard structures, bound together with
ligaments, and forming the skeleton which is represented here.

(FIGURE 1. Section through a horse.

FIGURE 2. Section through a cell.)

In that skeleton there are a number of parts to be recognized. The long
series of bones, beginning from the skull and ending in the tail, is
called the spine, and those in front are the ribs; and then there are
two pairs of limbs, one before and one behind; and there are what we
all know as the fore-legs and the hind-legs. If we pursue our researches
into the interior of this animal, we find within the framework of
the skeleton a great cavity, or rather, I should say, two great
cavities,--one cavity beginning in the skull and running through the
neck-bones, along the spine, and ending in the tail, containing the
brain and the spinal marrow, which are extremely important organs. The
second great cavity, commencing with the mouth, contains the gullet,
the stomach, the long intestine, and all the rest of those internal
apparatus which are essential for digestion; and then in the same great
cavity, there are lodged the heart and all the great vessels going from
it; and, besides that, the organs of respiration--the lungs: and then
the kidneys, and the organs of reproduction, and so on. Let us now
endeavour to reduce this notion of a horse that we now have, to
some such kind of simple expression as can be at once, and without
difficulty, retained in the mind, apart from all minor details. If
I make a transverse section, that is, if I were to saw a dead horse
across, I should find that, if I left out the details, and supposing I
took my section through the anterior region, and through the fore-limbs,
I should have here this kind of section of the body (Figure 1). Here
would be the upper part of the animal--that great mass of bones that we
spoke of as the spine (a, Figure 1). Here I should have the alimentary
canal (b, Figure 1). Here I should have the heart (c, Figure 1); and
then you see, there would be a kind of double tube, the whole being
inclosed within the hide; the spinal marrow would be placed in the upper
tube (a, Figure 1), and in the lower tube (d d, Figure 1), there would
be the alimentary canal (b), and the heart (c); and here I shall have
the legs proceeding from each side. For simplicity's sake, I represent
them merely as stumps (e e, Figure 1). Now that is a horse--as
mathematicians would say--reduced to its most simple expression. Carry
that in your minds, if you please, as a simplified idea of the structure
of the Horse. The considerations which I have now put before you belong
to what we technically call the 'Anatomy' of the Horse. Now, suppose
we go to work upon these several parts,--flesh and hair, and skin and
bone,--and lay open these various organs with our scalpels, and examine
them by means of our magnifying-glasses, and see what we can make of
them. We shall find that the flesh is made up of bundles of strong
fibres. The brain and nerves, too, we shall find, are made up of fibres,
and these queer-looking things that are called ganglionic corpuscles.
If we take a slice of the bone and examine it, we shall find that it is
very like this diagram of a section of the bone of an ostrich,
though differing, of course, in some details; and if we take any part
whatsoever of the tissue, and examine it, we shall find it all has a
minute structure, visible only under the microscope. All these
parts constitute microscopic anatomy or 'Histology.' These parts are
constantly being changed; every part is constantly growing, decaying,
and being replaced during the life of the animal. The tissue is
constantly replaced by new material; and if you go back to the young
state of the tissue in the case of muscle, or in the case of skin, or
any of the organs I have mentioned, you will find that they all come
under the same condition. Every one of these microscopic filaments
and fibres (I now speak merely of the general character of the whole
process)--every one of these parts--could be traced down to some
modification of a tissue which can be readily divided into little
particles of fleshy matter, of that substance which is composed of the
chemical elements, carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen, having such
a shape as this (Figure 2). These particles, into which all primitive
tissues break up, are called cells. If I were to make a section of a
piece of the skin of my hand, I should find that it was made up of these
cells. If I examine the fibres which form the various organs of all
living animals, I should find that all of them, at one time or other,
had been formed out of a substance consisting of similar elements; so
that you see, just as we reduced the whole body in the gross to that
sort of simple expression given in Figure 1, so we may reduce the
whole of the microscopic structural elements to a form of even greater
simplicity; just as the plan of the whole body may be so represented
in a sense (Figure 1), so the primary structure of every tissue may be
represented by a mass of cells (Figure 2).

Having thus, in this sort of general way, sketched to you what I may
call, perhaps, the architecture of the body of the Horse (what we term
technically its Morphology), I must now turn to another aspect. A horse
is not a mere dead structure: it is an active, living, working machine.
Hitherto we have, as it were, been looking at a steam-engine with the
fires out, and nothing in the boiler; but the body of the living animal
is a beautifully-formed active machine, and every part has its different
work to do in the working of that machine, which is what we call
its life. The Horse, if you see him after his day's work is done, is
cropping the grass in the fields, as it may be, or munching the oats in
his stable. What is he doing? His jaws are working as a mill--and a very
complex mill too--grinding the corn, or crushing the grass to a pulp. As
soon as that operation has taken place, the food is passed down to
the stomach, and there it is mixed with the chemical fluid called the
gastric juice, a substance which has the peculiar property of making
soluble and dissolving out the nutritious matter in the grass, and
leaving behind those parts which are not nutritious; so that you have,
first, the mill, then a sort of chemical digester; and then the food,
thus partially dissolved, is carried back by the muscular contractions
of the intestines into the hinder parts of the body, while the soluble
portions are taken up into the blood. The blood is contained in a vast
system of pipes, spreading through the whole body, connected with a
force pump,--the heart,--which, by its position and by the contractions
of its valves, keeps the blood constantly circulating in one direction,
never allowing it to rest; and then, by means of this circulation of
the blood, laden as it is with the products of digestion, the skin, the
flesh, the hair, and every other part of the body, draws from it that
which it wants, and every one of these organs derives those materials
which are necessary to enable it to do its work.

The action of each of these organs, the performance of each of these
various duties, involve in their operation a continual absorption of
the matters necessary for their support, from the blood, and a constant
formation of waste products, which are returned to the blood, and
conveyed by it to the lungs and the kidneys, which are organs that have
allotted to them the office of extracting, separating, and getting rid
of these waste products; and thus the general nourishment, labour, and
repair of the whole machine is kept up with order and regularity. But
not only is it a machine which feeds and appropriates to its own
support the nourishment necessary to its existence--it is an engine for
locomotive purposes. The Horse desires to go from one place to another;
and to enable it to do this, it has those strong contractile bundles of
muscles attached to the bones of its limbs, which are put in motion by
means of a sort of telegraphic apparatus formed by the brain and the
great spinal cord running through the spine or backbone; and to this
spinal cord are attached a number of fibres termed nerves, which proceed
to all parts of the structure. By means of these the eyes, nose,
tongue, and skin--all the organs of perception--transmit impressions
or sensations to the brain, which acts as a sort of great central
telegraph-office, receiving impressions and sending messages to all
parts of the body, and putting in motion the muscles necessary to
accomplish any movement that may be desired. So that you have here an
extremely complex and beautifully-proportioned machine, with all its
parts working harmoniously together towards one common object--the
preservation of the life of the animal.

Now, note this: the Horse makes up its waste by feeding, and its food
is grass or oats, or perhaps other vegetable products; therefore, in the
long run, the source of all this complex machinery lies in the vegetable
kingdom. But where does the grass, or the oat, or any other plant,
obtain this nourishing food-producing material? At first it is a little
seed, which soon begins to draw into itself from the earth and the
surrounding air matters which in themselves contain no vital properties
whatever; it absorbs into its own substance water, an inorganic body;
it draws into its substance carbonic acid, an inorganic matter; and
ammonia, another inorganic matter, found in the air; and then, by some
wonderful chemical process, the details of which chemists do not yet
understand, though they are near foreshadowing them, it combines
them into one substance, which is known to us as 'Protein,' a complex
compound of carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen, which alone
possesses the property of manifesting vitality and of permanently
supporting animal life. So that, you see, the waste products of the
animal economy, the effete materials which are continually being thrown
off by all living beings, in the form of organic matters, are constantly
replaced by supplies of the necessary repairing and rebuilding materials
drawn from the plants, which in their turn manufacture them, so to
speak, by a mysterious combination of those same inorganic materials.

Let us trace out the history of the Horse in another direction. After
a certain time, as the result of sickness or disease, the effect of
accident, or the consequence of old age, sooner or later, the animal
dies. The multitudinous operations of this beautiful mechanism flag in
their performance, the Horse loses its vigour, and after passing
through the curious series of changes comprised in its formation and
preservation, it finally decays, and ends its life by going back into
that inorganic world from which all but an inappreciable fraction of its
substance was derived. Its bones become mere carbonate and phosphate of
lime; the matter of its flesh, and of its other parts, becomes, in the
long run, converted into carbonic acid, into water, and into ammonia.
You will now, perhaps, understand the curious relation of the animal
with the plant, of the organic with the inorganic world, which is shown
in this diagram (Figure 3).

(FIGURE 3. Diagram showing material relationship of the Vegetable,
Animal and Inorganic Worlds.)

The plant gathers these inorganic materials together and makes them up
into its own substance. The animal eats the plant and appropriates the
nutritious portions to its own sustenance, rejects and gets rid of the
useless matters; and, finally, the animal itself dies, and its whole
body is decomposed and returned into the inorganic world. There is thus
a constant circulation from one to the other, a continual formation of
organic life from inorganic matters, and as constant a return of the
matter of living bodies to the inorganic world; so that the materials
of which our bodies are composed are largely, in all probability, the
substances which constituted the matter of long extinct creations, but
which have in the interval constituted a part of the inorganic world.

Thus we come to the conclusion, strange at first sight, that the MATTER
constituting the living world is identical with that which forms the
inorganic world. And not less true is it that, remarkable as are the
powers or, in other words, as are the FORCES which are exerted by living
beings, yet all these forces are either identical with those which exist
in the inorganic world, or they are convertible into them; I mean in
just the same sense as the researches of physical philosophers have
shown that heat is convertible into electricity, that electricity is
convertible into magnetism, magnetism into mechanical force or chemical
force, and any one of them with the other, each being measurable in
terms of the other,--even so, I say, that great law is applicable to
the living world. Consider why is the skeleton of this horse capable of
supporting the masses of flesh and the various organs forming the living
body, unless it is because of the action of the same forces of cohesion
which combines together the particles of matter composing this piece of
chalk? What is there in the muscular contractile power of the animal
but the force which is expressible, and which is in a certain sense
convertible, into the force of gravity which it overcomes? Or, if you go
to more hidden processes, in what does the process of digestion differ
from those processes which are carried on in the laboratory of the
chemist? Even if we take the most recondite and most complex operations
of animal life--those of the nervous system, these of late years
have been shown to be--I do not say identical in any sense with the
electrical processes--but this has been shown, that they are in some
way or other associated with them; that is to say, that every amount
of nervous action is accompanied by a certain amount of electrical
disturbance in the particles of the nerves in which that nervous action
is carried on. In this way the nervous action is related to electricity
in the same way that heat is related to electricity; and the same sort
of argument which demonstrates the two latter to be related to one
another shows that the nervous forces are correlated to electricity; for
the experiments of M. Dubois Reymond and others have shown that whenever
a nerve is in a state of excitement, sending a message to the muscles
or conveying an impression to the brain, there is a disturbance of the
electrical condition of that nerve which does not exist at other times;
and there are a number of other facts and phenomena of that sort; so
that we come to the broad conclusion that not only as to living matter
itself, but as to the forces that matter exerts, there is a close
relationship between the organic and the inorganic world--the difference
between them arising from the diverse combination and disposition of
identical forces, and not from any primary diversity, so far as we can
see.

I said just now that the Horse eventually died and became converted
into the same inorganic substances from whence all but an inappreciable
fraction of its substance demonstrably originated, so that the actual
wanderings of matter are as remarkable as the transmigrations of the
soul fabled by Indian tradition. But before death has occurred, in the
one sex or the other, and in fact in both, certain products or parts of
the organism have been set free, certain parts of the organisms of
the two sexes have come into contact with one another, and from that
conjunction, from that union which then takes place, there results the
formation of a new being. At stated times the mare, from a particular
part of the interior of her body, called the ovary, gets rid of a minute
particle of matter comparable in all essential respects with that which
we called a cell a little while since, which cell contains a kind of
nucleus in its centre, surrounded by a clear space and by a viscid
mass of protein substance (Figure 2); and though it is different in
appearance from the eggs which we are mostly acquainted with, it is
really an egg. After a time this minute particle of matter, which may
only be a small fraction of a grain in weight, undergoes a series of
changes,--wonderful, complex changes. Finally, upon its surface there
is fashioned a little elevation, which afterwards becomes divided and
marked by a groove. The lateral boundaries of the groove extend upwards
and downwards, and at length give rise to a double tube. In the upper
smaller tube the spinal marrow and brain are fashioned; in the lower,
the alimentary canal and heart; and at length two pairs of buds shoot
out at the sides of the body, which are the rudiments of the limbs. In
fact a true drawing of a section of the embryo in this state would in
all essential respects resemble that diagram of a horse reduced to its
simplest expression, which I first placed before you (Figure 1).

Slowly and gradually these changes take place. The whole of the body,
at first, can be broken up into "cells," which become in one place
metamorphosed into muscle,--in another place into gristle and bone,--in
another place into fibrous tissue,--and in another into hair; every part
becoming gradually and slowly fashioned, as if there were an artificer
at work in each of these complex structures that we have mentioned. This
embryo, as it is called, then passes into other conditions. I should
tell you that there is a time when the embryos of neither dog, nor
horse, nor porpoise, nor monkey, nor man, can be distinguished by any
essential feature one from the other; there is a time when they each and
all of them resemble this one of the Dog. But as development advances,
all the parts acquire their speciality, till at length you have the
embryo converted into the form of the parent from which it started. So
that you see, this living animal, this horse, begins its existence as
a minute particle of nitrogenous matter, which, being supplied with
nutriment (derived, as I have shown, from the inorganic world), grows up
according to the special type and construction of its parents, works
and undergoes a constant waste, and that waste is made good by nutriment
derived from the inorganic world; the waste given off in this way being
directly added to the inorganic world; and eventually the animal itself
dies, and, by the process of decomposition, its whole body is returned
to those conditions of inorganic matter in which its substance
originated.

This, then, is that which is true of every living form, from the lowest
plant to the highest animal--to man himself. You might define the life
of every one in exactly the same terms as those which I have now used;
the difference between the highest and the lowest being simply in the
complexity of the developmental changes, the variety of the structural
forms, the diversity of the physiological functions which are exerted by
each.

If I were to take an oak tree as a specimen of the plant world, I should
find that it originated in an acorn, which, too, commenced in a cell;
the acorn is placed in the ground, and it very speedily begins to absorb
the inorganic matters I have named, adds enormously to its bulk, and
we can see it, year after year, extending itself upward and downward,
attracting and appropriating to itself inorganic materials, which it
vivifies, and eventually, as it ripens, gives off its own proper acorns,
which again run the same course. But I need not multiply examples,--from
the highest to the lowest the essential features of life are the same,
as I have described in each of these cases.

So much, then, for these particular features of the organic world, which
you can understand and comprehend, so long as you confine yourself to
one sort of living being, and study that only.

But, as you know, horses are not the only living creatures in the world;
and again, horses, like all other animals, have certain limits--are
confined to a certain area on the surface of the earth on which we
live,--and, as that is the simpler matter, I may take that first. In its
wild state, and before the discovery of America, when the natural state
of things was interfered with by the Spaniards, the Horse was only to
be found in parts of the earth which are known to geographers as the Old
World; that is to say, you might meet with horses in Europe, Asia, or
Africa; but there were none in Australia, and there were none whatsoever
in the whole continent of America, from Labrador down to Cape Horn. This
is an empirical fact, and it is what is called, stated in the way I have
given it you, the 'Geographical Distribution' of the Horse.

Why horses should be found in Europe, Asia, and Africa, and not in
America, is not obvious; the explanation that the conditions of life in
America are unfavourable to their existence, and that, therefore, they
had not been created there, evidently does not apply; for when the
invading Spaniards, or our own yeomen farmers, conveyed horses to these
countries for their own use, they were found to thrive well and multiply
very rapidly; and many are even now running wild in those countries, and
in a perfectly natural condition. Now, suppose we were to do for every
animal what we have here done for the Horse,--that is, to mark off and
distinguish the particular district or region to which each belonged;
and supposing we tabulated all these results, that would be called the
Geographical Distribution of animals, while a corresponding study of
plants would yield as a result the Geographical Distribution of plants.

I pass on from that now, as I merely wished to explain to you what I
meant by the use of the term 'Geographical Distribution.' As I said,
there is another aspect, and a much more important one, and that is,
the relations of the various animals to one another. The Horse is a
very well-defined matter-of-fact sort of animal, and we are all pretty
familiar with its structure. I dare say it may have struck you, that
it resembles very much no other member of the animal kingdom, except
perhaps the Zebra or the Ass. But let me ask you to look along these
diagrams. Here is the skeleton of the Horse, and here the skeleton of
the Dog. You will notice that we have in the Horse a skull, a backbone
and ribs, shoulder-blades and haunch-bones. In the fore-limb, one upper
arm-bone, two fore arm-bones, wrist-bones (wrongly called knee), and
middle hand-bones, ending in the three bones of a finger, the last of
which is sheathed in the horny hoof of the fore-foot: in the hind-limb,
one thigh-bone, two leg-bones, anklebones, and middle foot-bones, ending
in the three bones of a toe, the last of which is encased in the hoof of
the hind-foot. Now turn to the Dog's skeleton. We find identically the
same bones, but more of them, there being more toes in each foot, and
hence more toe-bones.

Well, that is a very curious thing! The fact is that the Dog and the
Horse--when one gets a look at them without the outward impediments of
the skin--are found to be made in very much the same sort of fashion.
And if I were to make a transverse section of the Dog, I should find the
same organs that I have already shown you as forming parts of the Horse.
Well, here is another skeleton--that of a kind of Lemur--you see he has
just the same bones; and if I were to make a transverse section of it,
it would be just the same again. In your mind's eye turn him round,
so as to put his backbone in a position inclined obliquely upwards
and forwards, just as in the next three diagrams, which represent the
skeletons of an Orang, a Chimpanzee, a Gorilla, and you find you have no
trouble in identifying the bones throughout; and lastly turn to the end
of the series, the diagram representing a man's skeleton, and still you
find no great structural feature essentially altered. There are the
same bones in the same relations. From the Horse we pass on and on, with
gradual steps, until we arrive at last at the highest known forms. On
the other hand, take the other line of diagrams, and pass from the Horse
downwards in the scale to this fish; and still, though the modifications
are vastly greater, the essential framework of the organization remains
unchanged. Here, for instance, is a Porpoise: here is its strong
backbone, with the cavity running through it, which contains the spinal
cord; here are the ribs, here the shoulder blade; here is the little
short upper-arm bone, here are the two forearm bones, the wrist-bone,
and the finger-bones.

Strange, is it not, that the Porpoise should have in this queer-looking
affair--its flapper (as it is called), the same fundamental elements as
the fore-leg of the Horse or the Dog, or the Ape or Man; and here you
will notice a very curious thing,--the hinder limbs are absent. Now,
let us make another jump. Let us go to the Codfish: here you see is the
forearm, in this large pectoral fin--carrying your mind's eye onward
from the flapper of the Porpoise. And here you have the hinder limbs
restored in the shape of these ventral fins. If I were to make a
transverse section of this, I should find just the same organs that
we have before noticed. So that, you see, there comes out this strange
conclusion as the result of our investigations, that the Horse, when
examined and compared with other animals, is found by no means to
stand alone in nature; but that there are an enormous number of other
creatures which have backbones, ribs, and legs, and other parts arranged
in the same general manner, and in all their formation exhibiting the
same broad peculiarities.

I am sure that you cannot have followed me even in this extremely
elementary exposition of the structural relations of animals, without
seeing what I have been driving at all through, which is, to show you
that, step by step, naturalists have come to the idea of a unity of
plan, or conformity of construction, among animals which appeared at
first sight to be extremely dissimilar.

And here you have evidence of such a unity of plan among all the animals
which have backbones, and which we technically call "Vertebrata". But
there are multitudes of other animals, such as crabs, lobsters, spiders,
and so on, which we term "Annulosa". In these I could not point out to
you the parts that correspond with those of the Horse,--the backbone,
for instance,--as they are constructed upon a very different principle,
which is also common to all of them; that is to say, the Lobster, the
Spider, and the Centipede, have a common plan running through their
whole arrangement, in just the same way that the Horse, the Dog, and the
Porpoise assimilate to each other.

Yet other creatures--whelks, cuttlefishes, oysters, snails, and all
their tribe ("Mollusca")--resemble one another in the same way, but
differ from both "Vertebrata" and "Annulosa"; and the like is true of
the animals called "Coelenterata" (Polypes) and "Protozoa" (animalcules
and sponges).

Now, by pursuing this sort of comparison, naturalists have arrived at
the conviction that there are,--some think five, and some seven,--but
certainly not more than the latter number--and perhaps it is simpler to
assume five--distinct plans or constructions in the whole of the animal
world; and that the hundreds of thousands of species of creatures on
the surface of the earth, are all reducible to those five, or, at most,
seven, plans of organization.

But can we go no further than that? When one has got so far, one is
tempted to go on a step and inquire whether we cannot go back yet
further and bring down the whole to modifications of one primordial
unit. The anatomist cannot do this; but if he call to his aid the study
of development, he can do it. For we shall find that, distinct as those
plans are, whether it be a porpoise or man, or lobster, or any of those
other kinds I have mentioned, every one begins its existence with one
and the same primitive form,--that of the egg, consisting, as we have
seen, of a nitrogenous substance, having a small particle or nucleus
in the centre of it. Furthermore, the earlier changes of each are
substantially the same. And it is in this that lies that true "unity
of organization" of the animal kingdom which has been guessed at and
fancied for many years; but which it has been left to the present
time to be demonstrated by the careful study of development. But is it
possible to go another step further still, and to show that in the
same way the whole of the organic world is reducible to one primitive
condition of form? Is there among the plants the same primitive form of
organization, and is that identical with that of the animal kingdom?
The reply to that question, too, is not uncertain or doubtful. It is now
proved that every plant begins its existence under the same form; that
is to say, in that of a cell--a particle of nitrogenous matter having
substantially the same conditions. So that if you trace back the oak
to its first germ, or a man, or a horse, or lobster, or oyster, or any
other animal you choose to name, you shall find each and all of these
commencing their existence in forms essentially similar to each other:
and, furthermore, that the first processes of growth, and many of the
subsequent modifications, are essentially the same in principle in
almost all.

In conclusion, let me, in a few words, recapitulate the positions which
I have laid down. And you must understand that I have not been talking
mere theory; I have been speaking of matters which are as plainly
demonstrable as the commonest propositions of Euclid--of facts that must
form the basis of all speculations and beliefs in Biological science.
We have gradually traced down all organic forms, or, in other words, we
have analyzed the present condition of animated nature, until we found
that each species took its origin in a form similar to that under which
all the others commence their existence. We have found the whole of the
vast array of living forms, with which we are surrounded, constantly
growing, increasing, decaying and disappearing; the animal constantly
attracting, modifying, and applying to its sustenance the matter of the
vegetable kingdom, which derived its support from the absorption and
conversion of inorganic matter. And so constant and universal is this
absorption, waste, and reproduction, that it may be said with perfect
certainty that there is left in no one of our bodies at the present
moment a millionth part of the matter of which they were originally
formed! We have seen, again, that not only is the living matter derived
from the inorganic world, but that the forces of that matter are all of
them correlative with and convertible into those of inorganic nature.

This, for our present purposes, is the best view of the present
condition of organic nature which I can lay before you: it gives you
the great outlines of a vast picture, which you must fill up by your own
study.

In the next lecture I shall endeavour in the same way to go back into
the past, and to sketch in the same broad manner the history of life in
epochs preceding our own.

End of The Present Condition of Organic Nature.




THE PAST CONDITION OF ORGANIC NATURE.

In the lecture which I delivered last Monday evening, I endeavoured to
sketch in a very brief manner, but as well as the time at my disposal
would permit, the present condition of organic nature, meaning by
that large title simply an indication of the great, broad, and general
principles which are to be discovered by those who look attentively at
the phenomena of organic nature as at present displayed. The general
result of our investigations might be summed up thus: we found that the
multiplicity of the forms of animal life, great as that may be, may be
reduced to a comparatively few primitive plans or types of construction;
that a further study of the development of those different forms
revealed to us that they were again reducible, until we at last brought
the infinite diversity of animal, and even vegetable life, down to the
primordial form of a single cell.

We found that our analysis of the organic world, whether animals or
plants, showed, in the long run, that they might both be reduced into,
and were, in fact, composed of, the same constituents. And we saw
that the plant obtained the materials constituting its substance by
a peculiar combination of matters belonging entirely to the inorganic
world; that, then, the animal was constantly appropriating the
nitrogenous matters of the plant to its own nourishment, and returning
them back to the inorganic world, in what we spoke of as its waste; and
that finally, when the animal ceased to exist, the constituents of its
body were dissolved and transmitted to that inorganic world whence they
had been at first abstracted. Thus we saw in both the blade of grass and
the horse but the same elements differently combined and arranged. We
discovered a continual circulation going on,--the plant drawing in the
elements of inorganic nature and combining them into food for the animal
creation; the animal borrowing from the plant the matter for its own
support, giving off during its life products which returned immediately
to the inorganic world; and that, eventually, the constituent materials
of the whole structure of both animals and plants were thus returned to
their original source: there was a constant passage from one state of
existence to another, and a returning back again.

Lastly, when we endeavoured to form some notion of the nature of the
forces exercised by living beings, we discovered that they--if
not capable of being subjected to the same minute analysis as the
constituents of those beings themselves--that they were correlative
with--that they were the equivalents of the forces of inorganic
nature--that they were, in the sense in which the term is now used,
convertible with them. That was our general result.

And now, leaving the Present, I must endeavour in the same manner to put
before you the facts that are to be discovered in the Past history of
the living world, in the past conditions of organic nature. We have,
to-night, to deal with the facts of that history--a history involving
periods of time before which our mere human records sink into utter
insignificance--a history the variety and physical magnitude of whose
events cannot even be foreshadowed by the history of human life and
human phenomena--a history of the most varied and complex character.

We must deal with the history, then, in the first place, as we should
deal with all other histories. The historical student knows that his
first business should be to inquire into the validity of his evidence,
and the nature of the record in which the evidence is contained, that
he may be able to form a proper estimate of the correctness of the
conclusions which have been drawn from that evidence. So, here, we must
pass, in the first place, to the consideration of a matter which may
seem foreign to the question under discussion. We must dwell upon the
nature of the records, and the credibility of the evidence they contain;
we must look to the completeness or incompleteness of those records
themselves, before we turn to that which they contain and reveal. The
question of the credibility of the history, happily for us, will not
require much consideration, for, in this history, unlike those of human
origin, there can be no cavilling, no differences as to the reality and
truth of the facts of which it is made up; the facts state themselves,
and are laid out clearly before us.

But, although one of the greatest difficulties of the historical student
is cleared out of our path, there are other difficulties--difficulties
in rightly interpreting the facts as they are presented to us--which
may be compared with the greatest difficulties of any other kinds of
historical study.

What is this record of the past history of the globe, and what are the
questions which are involved in an inquiry into its completeness or
incompleteness? That record is composed of mud; and the question which
we have to investigate this evening resolves itself into a question
of the formation of mud. You may think, perhaps, that this is a
vast step--of almost from the sublime to the ridiculous--from the
contemplation of the history of the past ages of the world's existence
to the consideration of the history of the formation of mud! But,
in nature, there is nothing mean and unworthy of attention; there
is nothing ridiculous or contemptible in any of her works; and this
inquiry, you will soon see, I hope, takes us to the very root and
foundations of our subject.

How, then, is mud formed? Always, with some trifling exception, which
I need not consider now--always, as the result of the action of water,
wearing down and disintegrating the surface of the earth and rocks with
which it comes in contact--pounding and grinding it down, and carrying
the particles away to places where they cease to be disturbed by this
mechanical action, and where they can subside and rest. For the ocean,
urged by winds, washes, as we know, a long extent of coast, and every
wave, loaded as it is with particles of sand and gravel as it breaks
upon the shore, does something towards the disintegrating process. And
thus, slowly but surely, the hardest rocks are gradually ground down to
a powdery substance; and the mud thus formed, coarser or finer, as the
case may be, is carried by the rush of the tides, or currents, till it
reaches the comparatively deeper parts of the ocean, in which it can
sink to the bottom, that is, to parts where there is a depth of about
fourteen or fifteen fathoms, a depth at which the water is, usually,
nearly motionless, and in which, of course, the finer particles of this
detritus, or mud as we call it, sinks to the bottom.

Or, again, if you take a river, rushing down from its mountain sources,
brawling over the stones and rocks that intersect its path, loosening,
removing, and carrying with it in its downward course the pebbles and
lighter matters from its banks, it crushes and pounds down the rocks and
earths in precisely the same way as the wearing action of the sea waves.
The matters forming the deposit are torn from the mountain-side and
whirled impetuously into the valley, more slowly over the plain, thence
into the estuary, and from the estuary they are swept into the sea. The
coarser and heavier fragments are obviously deposited first, that is,
as soon as the current begins to lose its force by becoming amalgamated
with the stiller depths of the ocean, but the finer and lighter
particles are carried further on, and eventually deposited in a deeper
and stiller portion of the ocean.

It clearly follows from this that mud gives us a chronology; for it is
evident that supposing this, which I now sketch, to be the sea bottom,
and supposing this to be a coast-line; from the washing action of the
sea upon the rock, wearing and grinding it down into a sediment of mud,
the mud will be carried down, and at length, deposited in the deeper
parts of this sea bottom, where it will form a layer; and then, while
that first layer is hardening, other mud which is coming from the same
source will, of course, be carried to the same place; and, as it is
quite impossible for it to get beneath the layer already there, it
deposits itself above it, and forms another layer, and in that way you
gradually have layers of mud constantly forming and hardening one above
the other, and conveying a record of time.

It is a necessary result of the operation of the law of gravitation that
the uppermost layer shall be the youngest and the lowest the oldest, and
that the different beds shall be older at any particular point or spot
in exactly the ratio of their depth from the surface. So that if they
were upheaved afterwards, and you had a series of these different layers
of mud, converted into sandstone, or limestone, as the case might be,
you might be sure that the bottom layer was deposited first, and that
the upper layers were formed afterwards. Here, you see, is the first
step in the history--these layers of mud give us an idea of time.

The whole surface of the earth,--I speak broadly, and leave out minor
qualifications,--is made up of such layers of mud, so hard, the majority
of them, that we call them rock whether limestone or sandstone, or other
varieties of rock. And, seeing that every part of the crust of the earth
is made up in this way, you might think that the determination of the
chronology, the fixing of the time which it has taken to form this crust
is a comparatively simple matter. Take a broad average, ascertain how
fast the mud is deposited upon the bottom of the sea, or in the estuary
of rivers; take it to be an inch, or two, or three inches a year, or
whatever you may roughly estimate it at; then take the total thickness
of the whole series of stratified rocks, which geologists estimate at
twelve or thirteen miles, or about seventy thousand feet, make a sum
in short division, divide the total thickness by that of the quantity
deposited in one year, and the result will, of course, give you the
number of years which the crust has taken to form.

Truly, that looks a very simple process! It would be so except for
certain difficulties, the very first of which is that of finding how
rapidly sediments are deposited; but the main difficulty--a difficulty
which renders any certain calculations of such a matter out of the
question--is this, the sea-bottom on which the deposit takes place is
continually shifting.

Instead of the surface of the earth being that stable, fixed thing that
it is popularly believed to be, being, in common parlance, the very
emblem of fixity itself, it is incessantly moving, and is, in fact,
as unstable as the surface of the sea, except that its undulations are
infinitely slower and enormously higher and deeper.

Now, what is the effect of this oscillation? Take the case to which
I have previously referred. The finer or coarser sediments that are
carried down by the current of the river, will only be carried out a
certain distance, and eventually, as we have already seen, on reaching
the stiller part of the ocean, will be deposited at the bottom.

(FIGURE 4. Section through deposits on sea-bottom and shore.)

Let C y (Figure 4) be the sea-bottom, y D the shore, x y the sea-level,
then the coarser deposit will subside over the region B, the finer over
A, while beyond A there will be no deposit at all; and, consequently, no
record will be kept, simply because no deposit is going on. Now, suppose
that the whole land, C, D, which we have regarded as stationary, goes
down, as it does so, both A and B go further out from the shore, which
will be at yl; x1, y1, being the new sea-level. The consequence will be
that the layer of mud (A), being now, for the most part, further than
the force of the current is strong enough to convey even the finest
'debris', will, of course, receive no more deposits, and having attained
a certain thickness will now grow no thicker.

We should be misled in taking the thickness of that layer, whenever it
may be exposed to our view, as a record of time in the manner in which
we are now regarding this subject, as it would give us only an imperfect
and partial record: it would seem to represent too short a period of
time.

Suppose, on the other hand, that the land (C D) had gone on rising
slowly and gradually--say an inch or two inches in the course of a
century,--what would be the practical effect of that movement? Why, that
the sediment A and B which has been already deposited, would eventually
be brought nearer to the shore-level, and again subjected to the wear
and tear of the sea; and directly the sea begins to act upon it, it
would of course soon cut up and carry it away, to a greater or less
extent, to be re-deposited further out.

Well, as there is, in all probability, not one single spot on the whole
surface of the earth, which has not been up and down in this way a great
many times, it follows that the thickness of the deposits formed at any
particular spot cannot be taken (even supposing we had at first obtained
correct data as to the rate at which they took place) as affording
reliable information as to the period of time occupied in its deposit.
So that you see it is absolutely necessary from these facts, seeing that
our record entirely consists of accumulations of mud, superimposed one
on the other; seeing in the next place that any particular spots on
which accumulations have occurred, have been constantly moving up and
down, and sometimes out of the reach of a deposit, and at other times
its own deposit broken up and carried away, it follows that our record
must be in the highest degree imperfect, and we have hardly a trace
left of thick deposits, or any definite knowledge of the area that they
occupied, in a great many cases. And mark this! That supposing even
that the whole surface of the earth had been accessible to the
geologist,--that man had had access to every part of the earth, and had
made sections of the whole, and put them all together,--even then his
record must of necessity be imperfect.

But to how much has man really access? If you will look at this Map you
will see that it represents the proportion of the sea to the earth: this
 part indicates all the dry land, and this other portion is the
water. You will notice at once that the water covers three-fifths of the
whole surface of the globe, and has covered it in the same manner ever
since man has kept any record of his own observations, to say nothing of
the minute period during which he has cultivated geological inquiry.
So that three-fifths of the surface of the earth is shut out from us
because it is under the sea. Let us look at the other two-fifths,
and see what are the countries in which anything that may be termed
searching geological inquiry has been carried out: a good deal of
France, Germany, and Great Britain and Ireland, bits of Spain, of
Italy, and of Russia, have been examined, but of the whole great mass of
Africa, except parts of the southern extremity, we know next to nothing;
little bits of India, but of the greater part of the Asiatic continent
nothing; bits of the Northern American States and of Canada, but of
the greater part of the continent of North America, and in still larger
proportion, of South America, nothing!

Under these circumstances, it follows that even with reference to that
kind of imperfect information which we can possess, it is only of about
the ten-thousandth part of the accessible parts of the earth that has
been examined properly. Therefore, it is with justice that the most
thoughtful of those who are concerned in these inquiries insist
continually upon the imperfection of the geological record; for, I
repeat, it is absolutely necessary, from the nature of things, that
that record should be of the most fragmentary and imperfect character.
Unfortunately this circumstance has been constantly forgotten. Men of
science, like young colts in a fresh pasture, are apt to be exhilarated
on being turned into a new field of inquiry, to go off at a hand-gallop,
in total disregard of hedges and ditches, losing sight of the real
limitation of their inquiries, and to forget the extreme imperfection of
what is really known. Geologists have imagined that they could tell us
what was going on at all parts of the earth's surface during a given
epoch; they have talked of this deposit being contemporaneous with
that deposit, until, from our little local histories of the changes at
limited spots of the earth's surface, they have constructed a universal
history of the globe as full of wonders and portents as any other story
of antiquity.

But what does this attempt to construct a universal history of the globe
imply? It implies that we shall not only have a precise knowledge of the
events which have occurred at any particular point, but that we shall
be able to say what events, at any one spot, took place at the same time
with those at other spots.

(FIGURE 5. Section through two beds of mud.)

Let us see how far that is in the nature of things practicable. Suppose
that here I make a section of the Lake of Killarney, and here the
section of another lake--that of Loch Lomond in Scotland for instance.
The rivers that flow into them are constantly carrying down deposits of
mud, and beds, or strata, are being as constantly formed, one above the
other, at the bottom of those lakes. Now, there is not a shadow of
doubt that in these two lakes the lower beds are all older than the
upper--there is no doubt about that; but what does 'this' tell us about
the age of any given bed in Loch Lomond, as compared with that of any
given bed in the Lake of Killarney? It is, indeed, obvious that if
any two sets of deposits are separated and discontinuous, there is
absolutely no means whatever given you by the nature of the deposit of
saying whether one is much younger or older than the other; but you may
say, as many have said and think, that the case is very much altered if
the beds which we are comparing are continuous. Suppose two beds of mud
hardened into rock,--A and B--are seen in section. (Figure 5.)

Well, you say, it is admitted that the lowermost bed is always the
older. Very well; B, therefore, is older than A. No doubt, 'as a whole',
it is so; or if any parts of the two beds which are in the same vertical
line are compared, it is so. But suppose you take what seems a very
natural step further, and say that the part 'a' of the bed A is younger
than the part 'b' of the bed B. Is this sound reasoning? If you find any
record of changes taking place at 'b', did they occur before any events
which took place while 'a' was being deposited? It looks all very plain
sailing, indeed, to say that they did; and yet there is no proof of
anything of the kind. As the former Director of this Institution, Sir
H. De la Beche, long ago showed, this reasoning may involve an entire
fallacy. It is extremely possible that 'a' may have been deposited ages
before 'b'. It is very easy to understand how that can be. To return
to Figure 4; when A and B were deposited, they were 'substantially'
contemporaneous; A being simply the finer deposit, and B the coarser
of the same detritus or waste of land. Now suppose that that sea-bottom
goes down (as shown in Figure 4), so that the first deposit is carried
no farther than 'a', forming the bed Al, and the coarse no farther
than 'b', forming the bed B1, the result will be the formation of two
continuous beds, one of fine sediment (A A1) over-lapping another of
coarse sediment (B Bl). Now suppose the whole sea-bottom is raised up,
and a section exposed about the point Al; no doubt, AT THIS SPOT, the
upper bed is younger than the lower. But we should obviously greatly err
if we concluded that the mass of the upper bed at A was younger than
the lower bed at B; for we have just seen that they are contemporaneous
deposits. Still more should we be in error if we supposed the upper bed
at A to be younger than the continuation of the lower bed at Bl; for
A was deposited long before B1. In fine, if, instead of comparing
immediately adjacent parts of two beds, one of which lies upon another,
we compare distant parts, it is quite possible that the upper may be any
number of years older than the under, and the under any number of years
younger than the upper.

Now you must not suppose that I put this before you for the purpose of
raising a paradoxical difficulty; the fact is, that the great mass of
deposits have taken place in sea-bottoms which are gradually sinking,
and have been formed under the very conditions I am here supposing.

Do not run away with the notion that this subverts the principle I
laid down at first. The error lies in extending a principle which is
perfectly applicable to deposits in the same vertical line to deposits
which are not in that relation to one another.

It is in consequence of circumstances of this kind, and of others that I
might mention to you, that our conclusions on and interpretations of
the record are really and strictly only valid so long as we confine
ourselves to one vertical section. I do not mean to tell you that there
are no qualifying circumstances, so that, even in very considerable
areas, we may safely speak of conformably superimposed beds being older
or younger than others at many different points. But we can never be
quite sure in coming to that conclusion, and especially we cannot
be sure if there is any break in their continuity, or any very great
distance between the points to be compared.

Well now, so much for the record itself,--so much for its
imperfections,--so much for the conditions to be observed in
interpreting it, and its chronological indications, the moment we pass
beyond the limits of a vertical linear section.

Now let us pass from the record to that which it contains,--from the
book itself to the writing and the figures on its pages. This writing
and these figures consist of remains of animals and plants which, in the
great majority of cases, have lived and died in the very spot in which
we now find them, or at least in the immediate vicinity. You must all of
you be aware--and I referred to the fact in my last lecture--that there
are vast numbers of creatures living at the bottom of the sea. These
creatures, like all others, sooner or later die, and their shells and
hard parts lie at the bottom; and then the fine mud which is being
constantly brought down by rivers and the action of the wear and tear of
the sea, covers them over and protects them from any further change
or alteration; and, of course, as in process of time the mud becomes
hardened and solidified, the shells of these animals are preserved
and firmly imbedded in the limestone or sandstone which is being thus
formed. You may see in the galleries of the Museum up stairs specimens
of limestones in which such fossil remains of existing animals are
imbedded. There are some specimens in which turtles' eggs have been
imbedded in calcareous sand, and before the sun had hatched the young
turtles, they became covered over with calcareous mud, and thus have
been preserved and fossilized.

Not only does this process of imbedding and fossilization occur with
marine and other aquatic animals and plants, but it affects those land
animals and plants which are drifted away to sea, or become buried in
bogs or morasses; and the animals which have been trodden down by their
fellows and crushed in the mud at the river's bank, as the herd have
come to drink. In any of these cases, the organisms may be crushed or be
mutilated, before or after putrefaction, in such a manner that perhaps
only a part will be left in the form in which it reaches us. It is,
indeed, a most remarkable fact, that it is quite an exceptional case
to find a skeleton of any one of all the thousands of wild land animals
that we know are constantly being killed, or dying in the course of
nature: they are preyed on and devoured by other animals or die in
places where their bodies are not afterwards protected by mud. There are
other animals existing in the sea, the shells of which form exceedingly
large deposits. You are probably aware that before the attempt was made
to lay the Atlantic telegraphic cable, the Government employed vessels
in making a series of very careful observations and soundings of the
bottom of the Atlantic; and although, as we must all regret, up to the
present time that project has not succeeded, we have the satisfaction
of knowing that it yielded some most remarkable results to science.
The Atlantic Ocean had to be sounded right across, to depths of several
miles in some places, and the nature of its bottom was carefully
ascertained. Well, now, a space of about 1,000 miles wide from east to
west, and I do not exactly know how many from north to south, but at
any rate 600 or 700 miles, was carefully examined, and it was found that
over the whole of that immense area an excessively fine chalky mud is
being deposited; and this deposit is entirely made up of animals whose
hard parts are deposited in this part of the ocean, and are doubtless
gradually acquiring solidity and becoming metamorphosed into a chalky
limestone. Thus, you see, it is quite possible in this way to preserve
unmistakable records of animal and vegetable life. Whenever the
sea-bottom, by some of those undulations of the earth's crust that I
have referred to, becomes upheaved, and sections or borings are made,
or pits are dug, then we become able to examine the contents and
constituents of these ancient sea-bottoms, and find out what manner of
animals lived at that period.

Now it is a very important consideration in its bearing on the
completeness of the record, to inquire how far the remains contained
in these fossiliferous limestones are able to convey anything like an
accurate or complete account of the animals which were in existence
at the time of its formation. Upon that point we can form a very clear
judgment, and one in which there is no possible room for any mistake.
There are of course a great number of animals--such as jelly-fishes,
and other animals--without any hard parts, of which we cannot reasonably
expect to find any traces whatever: there is nothing of them to
preserve. Within a very short time, you will have noticed, after they
are removed from the water, they dry up to a mere nothing; certainly
they are not of a nature to leave any very visible traces of their
existence on such bodies as chalk or mud. Then again, look at land
animals; it is, as I have said, a very uncommon thing to find a land
animal entire after death. Insects and other carnivorous animals very
speedily pull them to pieces, putrefaction takes place, and so, out of
the hundreds of thousands that are known to die every year, it is the
rarest thing in the world to see one imbedded in such a way that its
remains would be preserved for a lengthened period. Not only is this the
case, but even when animal remains have been safely imbedded, certain
natural agents may wholly destroy and remove them.

Almost all the hard parts of animals--the bones and so on--are composed
chiefly of phosphate of lime and carbonate of lime. Some years ago, I
had to make an inquiry into the nature of some very curious fossils
sent to me from the North of Scotland. Fossils are usually hard bony
structures that have become imbedded in the way I have described, and
have gradually acquired the nature and solidity of the body with which
they are associated; but in this case I had a series of 'holes' in some
pieces of rock, and nothing else. Those holes, however, had a certain
definite shape about them, and when I got a skilful workman to make
castings of the interior of these holes, I found that they were the
impressions of the joints of a backbone and of the armour of a great
reptile, twelve or more feet long. This great beast had died and got
buried in the sand; the sand had gradually hardened over the bones, but
remained porous. Water had trickled through it, and that water being
probably charged with a superfluity of carbonic acid, had dissolved all
the phosphate and carbonate of lime, and the bones themselves had thus
decayed and entirely disappeared; but as the sandstone happened to have
consolidated by that time, the precise shape of the bones was retained.
If that sandstone had remained soft a little longer, we should have
known nothing whatsoever of the existence of the reptile whose bones it
had encased.

How certain it is that a vast number of animals which have existed
at one period on this earth have entirely perished, and left no trace
whatever of their forms, may be proved to you by other considerations.
There are large tracts of sandstone in various parts of the world, in
which nobody has yet found anything but footsteps. Not a bone of any
description, but an enormous number of traces of footsteps. There is no
question about them. There is a whole valley in Connecticut covered with
these footsteps, and not a single fragment of the animals which made
them has yet been found. Let me mention another case while upon that
matter, which is even more surprising than those to which I have yet
referred. There is a limestone formation near Oxford, at a place called
Stonesfield, which has yielded the remains of certain very interesting
mammalian animals, and up to this time, if I recollect rightly, there
have been found seven specimens of its lower jaws, and not a bit of
anything else, neither limb-bones nor skull, or any part whatever; not
a fragment of the whole system! Of course, it would be preposterous
to imagine that the beasts had nothing else but a lower jaw!
The probability is, as Dr. Buckland showed, as the result of his
observations on dead dogs in the river Thames, that the lower jaw, not
being secured by very firm ligaments to the bones of the head, and being
a weighty affair, would easily be knocked off, or might drop away from
the body as it floated in water in a state of decomposition. The jaw
would thus be deposited immediately, while the rest of the body would
float and drift away altogether, ultimately reaching the sea, and
perhaps becoming destroyed. The jaw becomes covered up and preserved
in the river silt, and thus it comes that we have such a curious
circumstance as that of the lower jaws in the Stonesfield slates. So
that, you see, faulty as these layers of stone in the earth's crust
are, defective as they necessarily are as a record, the account of
contemporaneous vital phenomena presented by them is, by the necessity
of the case, infinitely more defective and fragmentary.

It was necessary that I should put all this very strongly before you,
because, otherwise, you might have been led to think differently of the
completeness of our knowledge by the next facts I shall state to you.

The researches of the last three-quarters of a century have, in truth,
revealed a wonderful richness of organic life in those rocks. Certainly
not fewer than thirty or forty thousand different species of fossils
have been discovered. You have no more ground for doubting that these
creatures really lived and died at or near the places in which we find
them than you have for like scepticism about a shell on the sea-shore.
The evidence is as good in the one case as in the other.

Our next business is to look at the general character of these fossil
remains, and it is a subject which it will be requisite to consider
carefully; and the first point for us is to examine how much the
extinct 'Flora' and 'Fauna' as a 'whole'--disregarding altogether
the 'succession' of their constituents, of which I shall speak
afterwards--differ from the 'Flora' and 'Fauna' of the present day;--how
far they differ in what we 'do' know about them, leaving altogether out
of consideration speculations based upon what we 'do not' know.

I strongly imagine that if it were not for the peculiar appearance that
fossilised animals have, any of you might readily walk through a museum
which contains fossil remains mixed up with those of the present forms
of life, and I doubt very much whether your uninstructed eyes would
lead you to see any vast or wonderful difference between the two. If
you looked closely, you would notice, in the first place, a great many
things very like animals with which you are acquainted now: you would
see differences of shape and proportion, but on the whole a close
similarity.

I explained what I meant by ORDERS the other day, when I described the
animal kingdom as being divided in sub-kingdoms, classes and orders. If
you divide the animal kingdom into orders, you will find that there are
about one hundred and twenty. The number may vary on one side or the
other, but this is a fair estimate. That is the sum total of the orders
of all the animals which we know now, and which have been known in past
times, and left remains behind.

Now, how many of those are absolutely extinct? That is to say, how many
of these orders of animals have lived at a former period of the world's
history, but have at present no representatives? That is the sense in
which I meant to use the word "extinct." I mean that those animals did
live on this earth at one time, but have left no one of their kind
with us at the present moment. So that estimating the number of extinct
animals is a sort of way of comparing the past creation as a whole with
the present as a whole. Among the mammalia and birds there are none
extinct; but when we come to the reptiles there is a most wonderful
thing: out of the eight orders, or thereabouts, which you can make among
reptiles, one-half are extinct. These diagrams of the plesiosaurus,
the ichthyosaurus, the pterodactyle, give you a notion of some of these
extinct reptiles. And here is a cast of the pterodactyle and bones of
the ichthyosaurus and the plesiosaurus, just as fresh as if it had been
recently dug up in a churchyard. Thus, in the reptile class, there are
no less than half of the orders which are absolutely extinct. If we turn
to the 'Amphibia', there was one extinct order, the Labyrinthodonts,
typified by the large salamander-like beast shown in this diagram.

No order of fishes is known to be extinct. Every fish that we find in
the strata--to which I have been referring--can be identified and placed
in one of the orders which exist at the present day. There is not known
to be a single ordinal form of insect extinct. There are only two orders
extinct among the 'Crustacea'. There is not known to be an extinct order
of these creatures, the parasitic and other worms; but there are
two, not to say three, absolutely extinct orders of this class, the
'Echinodermata'; out of all the orders of the 'Coelenterata' and
'Protozoa' only one, the Rugose Corals.

So that, you see, out of somewhere about 120 orders of animals, taking
them altogether, you will not, at the outside estimate, find above ten
or a dozen extinct. Summing up all the orders of animals which have left
remains behind them, you will not find above ten or a dozen which cannot
be arranged with those of the present day; that is to say, that the
difference does not amount to much more than ten per cent.: and the
proportion of extinct orders of plants is still smaller. I think that
that is a very astounding, a most astonishing fact, seeing the enormous
epochs of time which have elapsed during the constitution of the surface
of the earth as it at present exists; it is, indeed, a most astounding
thing that the proportion of extinct ordinal types should be so
exceedingly small.

But now, there is another point of view in which we must look at this
past creation. Suppose that we were to sink a vertical pit through the
floor beneath us, and that I could succeed in making a section right
through in the direction of New Zealand, I should find in each of the
different beds through which I passed the remains of animals which I
should find in that stratum and not in the others. First, I should come
upon beds of gravel or drift containing the bones of large animals, such
as the elephant, rhinoceros, and cave tiger. Rather curious things to
fall across in Piccadilly! If I should dig lower still, I should come
upon a bed of what we call the London clay, and in this, as you will see
in our galleries upstairs, are found remains of strange cattle, remains
of turtles, palms, and large tropical fruits; with shell-fish such as
you see the like of now only in tropical regions. If I went below
that, I should come upon the chalk, and there I should find something
altogether different, the remains of ichthyosauri and pterodactyles, and
ammonites, and so forth.

I do not know what Mr. Godwin Austin would say comes next, but probably
rocks containing more ammonites, and more ichthyosauri and plesiosauri,
with a vast number of other things; and under that I should meet with
yet older rocks, containing numbers of strange shells and fishes; and in
thus passing from the surface to the lowest depths of the earth's crust,
the forms of animal life and vegetable life which I should meet with
in the successive beds would, looking at them broadly, be the more
different the further that I went down. Or, in other words, inasmuch
as we started with the clear principle, that in a series of
naturally-disposed mud beds the lowest are the oldest, we should come
to this result, that the further we go back in time the more difference
exists between the animal and vegetable life of an epoch and that which
now exists. That was the conclusion to which I wished to bring you at
the end of this Lecture.

End of The Past Condition of Organic Nature.




THE METHOD BY WHICH THE CAUSES OF THE PRESENT AND PAST CONDITIONS OF ORGANIC NATURE ARE TO BE DISCOVERED.--THE ORIGINATION OF LIVING BEINGS.

In the two preceding lectures I have endeavoured to indicate to you the
extent of the subject-matter of the inquiry upon which we are engaged;
and now, having thus acquired some conception of the Past and Present
phenomena of Organic Nature, I must now turn to that which constitutes
the great problem which we have set before ourselves;--I mean, the
question of what knowledge we have of the causes of these phenomena of
organic nature, and how such knowledge is obtainable.

Here, on the threshold of the inquiry, an objection meets us. There are
in the world a number of extremely worthy, well-meaning persons, whose
judgments and opinions are entitled to the utmost respect on account of
their sincerity, who are of opinion that Vital Phenomena, and especially
all questions relating to the origin of vital phenomena, are questions
quite apart from the ordinary run of inquiry, and are, by their very
nature, placed out of our reach. They say that all these phenomena
originated miraculously, or in some way totally different from the
ordinary course of nature, and that therefore they conceive it to be
futile, not to say presumptuous, to attempt to inquire into them.

To such sincere and earnest persons, I would only say, that a question
of this kind is not to be shelved upon theoretical or speculative
grounds. You may remember the story of the Sophist who demonstrated to
Diogenes in the most complete and satisfactory manner that he could not
walk; that, in fact, all motion was an impossibility; and that Diogenes
refuted him by simply getting up and walking round his tub. So, in the
same way, the man of science replies to objections of this kind, by
simply getting up and walking onward, and showing what science has done
and is doing--by pointing to that immense mass of facts which have been
ascertained and systematized under the forms of the great doctrines of
Morphology, of Development, of Distribution, and the like. He sees an
enormous mass of facts and laws relating to organic beings, which
stand on the same good sound foundation as every other natural law; and
therefore, with this mass of facts and laws before us, therefore,
seeing that, as far as organic matters have hitherto been accessible and
studied, they have shown themselves capable of yielding to scientific
investigation, we may accept this as proof that order and law reign
there as well as in the rest of nature; and the man of science says
nothing to objectors of this sort, but supposes that we can and shall
walk to a knowledge of the origin of organic nature, in the same way
that we have walked to a knowledge of the laws and principles of the
inorganic world.

But there are objectors who say the same from ignorance and ill-will. To
such I would reply that the objection comes ill from them, and that the
real presumption, I may almost say the real blasphemy, in this matter,
is in the attempt to limit that inquiry into the causes of phenomena
which is the source of all human blessings, and from which has sprung
all human prosperity and progress; for, after all, we can accomplish
comparatively little; the limited range of our own faculties bounds us
on every side,--the field of our powers of observation is small enough,
and he who endeavours to narrow the sphere of our inquiries is only
pursuing a course that is likely to produce the greatest harm to his
fellow-men.

But now, assuming, as we all do, I hope, that these phenomena are
properly accessible to inquiry, and setting out upon our search into the
causes of the phenomena of organic nature, or, at any rate, setting out
to discover how much we at present know upon these abstruse matters, the
question arises as to what is to be our course of proceeding, and what
method we must lay down for our guidance. I reply to that question,
that our method must be exactly the same as that which is pursued in any
other scientific inquiry, the method of scientific investigation being
the same for all orders of facts and phenomena whatsoever.

I must dwell a little on this point, for I wish you to leave this room
with a very clear conviction that scientific investigation is not, as
many people seem to suppose, some kind of modern black art. I say that
you might easily gather this impression from the manner in which
many persons speak of scientific inquiry, or talk about inductive and
deductive philosophy, or the principles of the "Baconian philosophy."
I do protest that, of the vast number of cants in this world, there are
none, to my mind, so contemptible as the pseudoscientific cant which is
talked about the "Baconian philosophy."

To hear people talk about the great Chancellor--and a very great man he
certainly was,--you would think that it was he who had invented science,
and that there was no such thing as sound reasoning before the time of
Queen Elizabeth. Of course you say, that cannot possibly be true; you
perceive, on a moment's reflection, that such an idea is absurdly wrong,
and yet, so firmly rooted is this sort of impression,--I cannot call it
an idea, or conception,--the thing is too absurd to be entertained,--but
so completely does it exist at the bottom of most men's minds, that this
has been a matter of observation with me for many years past. There
are many men who, though knowing absolutely nothing of the subject with
which they may be dealing, wish, nevertheless, to damage the author of
some view with which they think fit to disagree. What they do, then,
is not to go and learn something about the subject, which one would
naturally think the best way of fairly dealing with it; but they abuse
the originator of the view they question, in a general manner, and wind
up by saying that, "After all, you know, the principles and method
of this author are totally opposed to the canons of the Baconian
philosophy." Then everybody applauds, as a matter of course, and agrees
that it must be so. But if you were to stop them all in the middle of
their applause, you would probably find that neither the speaker nor his
applauders could tell you how or in what way it was so; neither the
one nor the other having the slightest idea of what they mean when they
speak of the "Baconian philosophy."

You will understand, I hope, that I have not the slightest desire to
join in the outcry against either the morals, the intellect, or the
great genius of Lord Chancellor Bacon. He was undoubtedly a very great
man, let people say what they will of him; but notwithstanding all that
he did for philosophy, it would be entirely wrong to suppose that the
methods of modern scientific inquiry originated with him, or with his
age; they originated with the first man, whoever he was; and indeed
existed long before him, for many of the essential processes of
reasoning are exerted by the higher order of brutes as completely and
effectively as by ourselves. We see in many of the brute creation the
exercise of one, at least, of the same powers of reasoning as that which
we ourselves employ.

The method of scientific investigation is nothing but the expression of
the necessary mode of working of the human mind. It is simply the mode
at which all phenomena are reasoned about, rendered precise and
exact. There is no more difference, but there is just the same kind of
difference, between the mental operations of a man of science and those
of an ordinary person, as there is between the operations and methods of
a baker or of a butcher weighing out his goods in common scales, and the
operations of a chemist in performing a difficult and complex analysis
by means of his balance and finely-graduated weights. It is not that
the action of the scales in the one case, and the balance in the other,
differ in the principles of their construction or manner of working; but
the beam of one is set on an infinitely finer axis than the other, and
of course turns by the addition of a much smaller weight.

You will understand this better, perhaps, if I give you some familiar
example. You have all heard it repeated, I dare say, that men of science
work by means of Induction and Deduction, and that by the help of these
operations, they, in a sort of sense, wring from Nature certain other
things, which are called Natural Laws, and Causes, and that out of
these, by some cunning skill of their own, they build up Hypotheses and
Theories. And it is imagined by many, that the operations of the common
mind can be by no means compared with these processes, and that they
have to be acquired by a sort of special apprenticeship to the craft.
To hear all these large words, you would think that the mind of a man of
science must be constituted differently from that of his fellow men; but
if you will not be frightened by terms, you will discover that you are
quite wrong, and that all these terrible apparatus are being used by
yourselves every day and every hour of your lives.

There is a well-known incident in one of Moliere's plays, where the
author makes the hero express unbounded delight on being told that he
had been talking prose during the whole of his life. In the same way, I
trust, that you will take comfort, and be delighted with yourselves, on
the discovery that you have been acting on the principles of inductive
and deductive philosophy during the same period. Probably there is not
one here who has not in the course of the day had occasion to set in
motion a complex train of reasoning, of the very same kind, though
differing of course in degree, as that which a scientific man goes
through in tracing the causes of natural phenomena.

A very trivial circumstance will serve to exemplify this. Suppose you
go into a fruiterer's shop, wanting an apple,--you take up one, and, on
biting it, you find it is sour; you look at it, and see that it is hard
and green. You take up another one, and that too is hard, green, and
sour. The shopman offers you a third; but, before biting it, you examine
it, and find that it is hard and green, and you immediately say that you
will not have it, as it must be sour, like those that you have already
tried.

Nothing can be more simple than that, you think; but if you will take
the trouble to analyze and trace out into its logical elements what
has been done by the mind, you will be greatly surprised. In the first
place, you have performed the operation of INDUCTION. You found that,
in two experiences, hardness and greenness in apples go together with
sourness. It was so in the first case, and it was confirmed by the
second. True, it is a very small basis, but still it is enough to make
an induction from; you generalize the facts, and you expect to find
sourness in apples where you get hardness and greenness. You found upon
that a general law, that all hard and green apples are sour; and that,
so far as it goes, is a perfect induction. Well, having got your natural
law in this way, when you are offered another apple which you find is
hard and green, you say, "All hard and green apples are sour; this
apple is hard and green, therefore this apple is sour." That train of
reasoning is what logicians call a syllogism, and has all its various
parts and terms,--its major premiss, its minor premiss, and its
conclusion. And, by the help of further reasoning, which, if drawn out,
would have to be exhibited in two or three other syllogisms, you arrive
at your final determination, "I will not have that apple." So that, you
see, you have, in the first place, established a law by Induction, and
upon that you have founded a Deduction, and reasoned out the special
conclusion of the particular case. Well now, suppose, having got your
law, that at some time afterwards, you are discussing the qualities
of apples with a friend: you will say to him, "It is a very curious
thing,--but I find that all hard and green apples are sour!" Your friend
says to you, "But how do you know that?" You at once reply, "Oh, because
I have tried it over and over again, and have always found them to be
so." Well, if we were talking science instead of common sense, we should
call that an Experimental Verification. And, if still opposed, you go
further, and say, "I have heard from the people in Somersetshire and
Devonshire, where a large number of apples are grown, that they have
observed the same thing. It is also found to be the case in Normandy,
and in North America. In short, I find it to be the universal experience
of mankind wherever attention has been directed to the subject."
Whereupon, your friend, unless he is a very unreasonable man, agrees
with you, and is convinced that you are quite right in the conclusion
you have drawn. He believes, although perhaps he does not know he
believes it, that the more extensive Verifications are,--that the more
frequently experiments have been made, and results of the same kind
arrived at,--that the more varied the conditions under which the same
results have been attained, the more certain is the ultimate conclusion,
and he disputes the question no further. He sees that the experiment has
been tried under all sorts of conditions, as to time, place, and people,
with the same result; and he says with you, therefore, that the law you
have laid down must be a good one, and he must believe it.

In science we do the same thing;--the philosopher exercises precisely
the same faculties, though in a much more delicate manner. In scientific
inquiry it becomes a matter of duty to expose a supposed law to every
possible kind of verification, and to take care, moreover, that this is
done intentionally, and not left to a mere accident, as in the case of
the apples. And in science, as in common life, our confidence in a law
is in exact proportion to the absence of variation in the result of our
experimental verifications. For instance, if you let go your grasp of
an article you may have in your hand, it will immediately fall to
the ground. That is a very common verification of one of the best
established laws of nature--that of gravitation. The method by which men
of science establish the existence of that law is exactly the same as
that by which we have established the trivial proposition about
the sourness of hard and green apples. But we believe it in such an
extensive, thorough, and unhesitating manner because the universal
experience of mankind verifies it, and we can verify it ourselves at any
time; and that is the strongest possible foundation on which any natural
law can rest.

So much by way of proof that the method of establishing laws in science
is exactly the same as that pursued in common life. Let us now turn
to another matter (though really it is but another phase of the same
question), and that is, the method by which, from the relations of
certain phenomena, we prove that some stand in the position of causes
towards the others.

I want to put the case clearly before you, and I will therefore show you
what I mean by another familiar example. I will suppose that one of you,
on coming down in the morning to the parlour of your house, finds that a
tea-pot and some spoons which had been left in the room on the previous
evening are gone,--the window is open, and you observe the mark of a
dirty hand on the window-frame, and perhaps, in addition to that, you
notice the impress of a hob-nailed shoe on the gravel outside. All these
phenomena have struck your attention instantly, and before two minutes
have passed you say, "Oh, somebody has broken open the window, entered
the room, and run off with the spoons and the tea-pot!" That speech is
out of your mouth in a moment. And you will probably add, "I know there
has; I am quite sure of it!" You mean to say exactly what you know; but
in reality what you have said has been the expression of what is, in all
essential particulars, an Hypothesis. You do not 'know' it at all; it is
nothing but an hypothesis rapidly framed in your own mind! And it is an
hypothesis founded on a long train of inductions and deductions.

What are those inductions and deductions, and how have you got at this
hypothesis? You have observed, in the first place, that the window
is open; but by a train of reasoning involving many Inductions and
Deductions, you have probably arrived long before at the General
Law--and a very good one it is--that windows do not open of themselves;
and you therefore conclude that something has opened the window. A
second general law that you have arrived at in the same way is, that
tea-pots and spoons do not go out of a window spontaneously, and you are
satisfied that, as they are not now where you left them, they have been
removed. In the third place, you look at the marks on the window-sill,
and the shoemarks outside, and you say that in all previous experience
the former kind of mark has never been produced by anything else but
the hand of a human being; and the same experience shows that no other
animal but man at present wears shoes with hob-nails on them such as
would produce the marks in the gravel. I do not know, even if we could
discover any of those "missing links" that are talked about, that they
would help us to any other conclusion! At any rate the law which states
our present experience is strong enough for my present purpose.--You
next reach the conclusion, that as these kinds of marks have not been
left by any other animals than men, or are liable to be formed in any
other way than by a man's hand and shoe, the marks in question have been
formed by a man in that way. You have, further, a general law, founded
on observation and experience, and that, too, is, I am sorry to say, a
very universal and unimpeachable one,--that some men are thieves;
and you assume at once from all these premisses--and that is what
constitutes your hypothesis--that the man who made the marks outside and
on the window-sill, opened the window, got into the room, and stole your
tea-pot and spoons. You have now arrived at a 'Vera Causa';--you have
assumed a Cause which it is plain is competent to produce all the
phenomena you have observed. You can explain all these phenomena only by
the hypothesis of a thief. But that is a hypothetical conclusion, of the
justice of which you have no absolute proof at all; it is only rendered
highly probable by a series of inductive and deductive reasonings.

I suppose your first action, assuming that you are a man of ordinary
common sense, and that you have established this hypothesis to your own
satisfaction, will very likely be to go off for the police, and set
them on the track of the burglar, with the view to the recovery of your
property. But just as you are starting with this object, some person
comes in, and on learning what you are about, says, "My good friend,
you are going on a great deal too fast. How do you know that the man who
really made the marks took the spoons? It might have been a monkey that
took them, and the man may have merely looked in afterwards." You would
probably reply, "Well, that is all very well, but you see it is contrary
to all experience of the way tea-pots and spoons are abstracted; so
that, at any rate, your hypothesis is less probable than mine." While
you are talking the thing over in this way, another friend arrives, one
of that good kind of people that I was talking of a little while ago.
And he might say, "Oh, my dear sir, you are certainly going on a great
deal too fast. You are most presumptuous. You admit that all these
occurrences took place when you were fast asleep, at a time when you
could not possibly have known anything about what was taking place. How
do you know that the laws of Nature are not suspended during the night?
It may be that there has been some kind of supernatural interference in
this case." In point of fact, he declares that your hypothesis is one
of which you cannot at all demonstrate the truth, and that you are by no
means sure that the laws of Nature are the same when you are asleep as
when you are awake.

Well, now, you cannot at the moment answer that kind of reasoning. You
feel that your worthy friend has you somewhat at a disadvantage. You
will feel perfectly convinced in your own mind, however, that you are
quite right, and you say to him, "My good friend, I can only be guided
by the natural probabilities of the case, and if you will be kind enough
to stand aside and permit me to pass, I will go and fetch the police."
Well, we will suppose that your journey is successful, and that by good
luck you meet with a policeman; that eventually the burglar is found
with your property on his person, and the marks correspond to his hand
and to his boots. Probably any jury would consider those facts a very
good experimental verification of your hypothesis, touching the cause
of the abnormal phenomena observed in your parlour, and would act
accordingly.

Now, in this supposititious case, I have taken phenomena of a very
common kind, in order that you might see what are the different steps in
an ordinary process of reasoning, if you will only take the trouble to
analyse it carefully. All the operations I have described, you will
see, are involved in the mind of any man of sense in leading him to
a conclusion as to the course he should take in order to make good a
robbery and punish the offender. I say that you are led, in that case,
to your conclusion by exactly the same train of reasoning as that which
a man of science pursues when he is endeavouring to discover the origin
and laws of the most occult phenomena. The process is, and always must
be, the same; and precisely the same mode of reasoning was employed by
Newton and Laplace in their endeavours to discover and define the causes
of the movements of the heavenly bodies, as you, with your own common
sense, would employ to detect a burglar. The only difference is, that
the nature of the inquiry being more abstruse, every step has to be most
carefully watched, so that there may not be a single crack or flaw in
your hypothesis. A flaw or crack in many of the hypotheses of daily life
may be of little or no moment as affecting the general correctness of
the conclusions at which we may arrive; but, in a scientific inquiry,
a fallacy, great or small, is always of importance, and is sure to be
constantly productive of mischievous, if not fatal results.

Do not allow yourselves to be misled by the common notion that an
hypothesis is untrustworthy simply because it is an hypothesis. It is
often urged, in respect to some scientific conclusion, that, after
all, it is only an hypothesis. But what more have we to guide us in
nine-tenths of the most important affairs of daily life than hypotheses,
and often very ill-based ones? So that in science, where the evidence of
an hypothesis is subjected to the most rigid examination, we may rightly
pursue the same course. You may have hypotheses and hypotheses. A man
may say, if he likes, that the moon is made of green cheese: that is an
hypothesis. But another man, who has devoted a great deal of time and
attention to the subject, and availed himself of the most powerful
telescopes and the results of the observations of others, declares that
in his opinion it is probably composed of materials very similar to
those of which our own earth is made up: and that is also only an
hypothesis. But I need not tell you that there is an enormous difference
in the value of the two hypotheses. That one which is based on sound
scientific knowledge is sure to have a corresponding value; and that
which is a mere hasty random guess is likely to have but little value.
Every great step in our progress in discovering causes has been made
in exactly the same way as that which I have detailed to you. A person
observing the occurrence of certain facts and phenomena asks, naturally
enough, what process, what kind of operation known to occur in nature
applied to the particular case, will unravel and explain the mystery?
Hence you have the scientific hypothesis; and its value will be
proportionate to the care and completeness with which its basis had been
tested and verified. It is in these matters as in the commonest affairs
of practical life: the guess of the fool will be folly, while the guess
of the wise man will contain wisdom. In all cases, you see that the
value of the result depends on the patience and faithfulness with
which the investigator applies to his hypothesis every possible kind of
verification.

I dare say I may have to return to this point by-and-by; but having
dealt thus far with our logical methods, I must now turn to something
which, perhaps, you may consider more interesting, or, at any rate,
more tangible. But in reality there are but few things that can be more
important for you to understand than the mental processes and the means
by which we obtain scientific conclusions and theories.* ([Footnote]
*Those who wish to study fully the doctrines of which I have endeavoured
to give some rough and ready illustrations, must read Mr. John Stuart
Mill's 'System of Logic'.) Having granted that the inquiry is a proper
one, and having determined on the nature of the methods we are to pursue
and which only can lead to success, I must now turn to the consideration
of our knowledge of the nature of the processes which have resulted in
the present condition of organic nature.

Here, let me say at once, lest some of you misunderstand me, that I have
extremely little to report. The question of how the present condition of
organic nature came about, resolves itself into two questions. The first
is: How has organic or living matter commenced its existence? And the
second is: How has it been perpetuated? On the second question I shall
have more to say hereafter. But on the first one, what I now have to say
will be for the most part of a negative character.

If you consider what kind of evidence we can have upon this matter, it
will resolve itself into two kinds. We may have historical evidence and
we may have experimental evidence. It is, for example, conceivable, that
inasmuch as the hardened mud which forms a considerable portion of the
thickness of the earth's crust contains faithful records of the past
forms of life, and inasmuch as these differ more and more as we go
further down,--it is possible and conceivable that we might come to
some particular bed or stratum which should contain the remains of those
creatures with which organic life began upon the earth. And if we did
so, and if such forms of organic life were preservable, we should have
what I would call historical evidence of the mode in which organic life
began upon this planet. Many persons will tell you, and indeed you will
find it stated in many works on geology, that this has been done, and
that we really possess such a record; there are some who imagine that
the earliest forms of life of which we have as yet discovered any
record, are in truth the forms in which animal life began upon the
globe. The grounds on which they base that supposition are these:--That
if you go through the enormous thickness of the earth's crust and get
down to the older rocks, the higher vertebrate animals--the quadrupeds,
birds, and fishes--cease to be found; beneath them you find only the
invertebrate animals; and in the deepest and lowest rocks those remains
become scantier and scantier, not in any very gradual progression,
however, until, at length, in what are supposed to be the oldest rocks,
the animal remains which are found are almost always confined to four
forms--'Oldhamia', whose precise nature is not known, whether plant or
animal; 'Lingula', a kind of mollusc; 'Trilobites', a crustacean animal,
having the same essential plan of construction, though differing in
many details from a lobster or crab; and Hymenocaris, which is also a
crustacean. So that you have all the 'Fauna' reduced, at this period,
to four forms: one a kind of animal or plant that we know nothing about,
and three undoubted animals--two crustaceans and one mollusc.

I think, considering the organization of these mollusca and crustacea,
and looking at their very complex nature, that it does indeed require a
very strong imagination to conceive that these were the first created of
all living things. And you must take into consideration the fact that
we have not the slightest proof that these which we call the oldest beds
are really so: I repeat, we have not the slightest proof of it. When you
find in some places that in an enormous thickness of rocks there are but
very scanty traces of life, or absolutely none at all; and that in other
parts of the world rocks of the very same formation are crowded with the
records of living forms, I think it is impossible to place any reliance
on the supposition, or to feel oneself justified in supposing that these
are the forms in which life first commenced. I have not time here
to enter upon the technical grounds upon which I am led to this
conclusion,--that could hardly be done properly in half a dozen lectures
on that part alone;--I must content myself with saying that I do not at
all believe that these are the oldest forms of life.

I turn to the experimental side to see what evidence we have there.
To enable us to say that we know anything about the experimental
origination of organization and life, the investigator ought to be able
to take inorganic matters, such as carbonic acid, ammonia, water, and
salines, in any sort of inorganic combination, and be able to build them
up into Protein matter, and that that Protein matter ought to begin to
live in an organic form. That, nobody has done as yet, and I suspect it
will be a long while before anybody does do it. But the thing is by no
means so impossible as it looks; for the researches of modern chemistry
have shown us--I won't say the road towards it, but, if I may so say,
they have shown the finger-post pointing to the road that may lead to
it.

It is not many years ago--and you must recollect that Organic Chemistry
is a young science, not above a couple of generations old,--you must not
expect too much of it; it is not many years ago since it was said to be
perfectly impossible to fabricate any organic compound; that is to say,
any non-mineral compound which is to be found in an organized being. It
remained so for a very long period; but it is now a considerable number
of years since a distinguished foreign chemist contrived to fabricate
Urea, a substance of a very complex character, which forms one of the
waste products of animal structures. And of late years a number of other
compounds, such as Butyric Acid, and others, have been added to the
list. I need not tell you that chemistry is an enormous distance from
the goal I indicate; all I wish to point out to you is, that it is by no
means safe to say that that goal may not be reached one day. It may be
that it is impossible for us to produce the conditions requisite to the
origination of life; but we must speak modestly about the matter, and
recollect that Science has put her foot upon the bottom round of the
ladder. Truly he would be a bold man who would venture to predict where
she will be fifty years hence.

There is another inquiry which bears indirectly upon this question,
and upon which I must say a few words. You are all of you aware of the
phenomena of what is called spontaneous generation. Our forefathers,
down to the seventeenth century, or thereabouts, all imagined, in
perfectly good faith, that certain vegetable and animal forms gave
birth, in the process of their decomposition, to insect life. Thus,
if you put a piece of meat in the sun, and allowed it to putrefy, they
conceived that the grubs which soon began to appear were the result
of the action of a power of spontaneous generation which the meat
contained. And they could give you receipts for making various animal
and vegetable preparations which would produce particular kinds of
animals. A very distinguished Italian naturalist, named Redi, took up
the question, at a time when everybody believed in it; among others our
own great Harvey, the discoverer of the circulation of the blood. You
will constantly find his name quoted, however, as an opponent of the
doctrine of spontaneous generation; but the fact is, and you will see it
if you will take the trouble to look into his works, Harvey believed
it as profoundly as any man of his time; but he happened to enunciate a
very curious proposition--that every living thing came from an 'egg'; he
did not mean to use the word in the sense in which we now employ it, he
only meant to say that every living thing originated in a little rounded
particle of organized substance; and it is from this circumstance,
probably, that the notion of Harvey having opposed the doctrine
originated. Then came Redi, and he proceeded to upset the doctrine in a
very simple manner. He merely covered the piece of meat with some very
fine gauze, and then he exposed it to the same conditions. The result
of this was that no grubs or insects were produced; he proved that the
grubs originated from the insects who came and deposited their eggs in
the meat, and that they were hatched by the heat of the sun. By
this kind of inquiry he thoroughly upset the doctrine of spontaneous
generation, for his time at least.

Then came the discovery and application of the microscope to scientific
inquiries, which showed to naturalists that besides the organisms which
they already knew as living beings and plants, there were an immense
number of minute things which could be obtained apparently almost at
will from decaying vegetable and animal forms. Thus, if you took some
ordinary black pepper or some hay, and steeped it in water, you would
find in the course of a few days that the water had become impregnated
with an immense number of animalcules swimming about in all directions.
From facts of this kind naturalists were led to revive the theory
of spontaneous generation. They were headed here by an English
naturalist,--Needham,--and afterwards in France by the learned Buffon.
They said that these things were absolutely begotten in the water of
the decaying substances out of which the infusion was made. It did not
matter whether you took animal or vegetable matter, you had only to
steep it in water and expose it, and you would soon have plenty of
animalcules. They made an hypothesis about this which was a very fair
one. They said, this matter of the animal world, or of the higher
plants, appears to be dead, but in reality it has a sort of dim life
about it, which, if it is placed under fair conditions, will cause it
to break up into the forms of these little animalcules, and they will go
through their lives in the same way as the animal or plant of which they
once formed a part.

The question now became very hotly debated. Spallanzani, an Italian
naturalist, took up opposite views to those of Needham and Buffon, and
by means of certain experiments he showed that it was quite possible to
stop the process by boiling the water, and closing the vessel in which
it was contained. "Oh!" said his opponents; "but what do you know you
may be doing when you heat the air over the water in this way? You may
be destroying some property of the air requisite for the spontaneous
generation of the animalcules."

However, Spallanzani's views were supposed to be upon the right side,
and those of the others fell into discredit; although the fact was
that Spallanzani had not made good his views. Well, then, the subject
continued to be revived from time to time, and experiments were made by
several persons; but these experiments were not altogether satisfactory.
It was found that if you put an infusion in which animalcules would
appear if it were exposed to the air into a vessel and boiled it, and
then sealed up the mouth of the vessel, so that no air, save such as
had been heated to 212 degrees, could reach its contents, that then no
animalcules would be found; but if you took the same vessel and exposed
the infusion to the air, then you would get animalcules. Furthermore, it
was found that if you connected the mouth of the vessel with a red-hot
tube in such a way that the air would have to pass through the tube
before reaching the infusion, that then you would get no animalcules.
Yet another thing was noticed: if you took two flasks containing the
same kind of infusion, and left one entirely exposed to the air, and
in the mouth of the other placed a ball of cotton wool, so that the air
would have to filter itself through it before reaching the infusion,
that then, although you might have plenty of animalcules in the first
flask, you would certainly obtain none from the second.

These experiments, you see, all tended towards one conclusion--that the
infusoria were developed from little minute spores or eggs which
were constantly floating in the atmosphere, which lose their power of
germination if subjected to heat. But one observer now made another
experiment which seemed to go entirely the other way, and puzzled
him altogether. He took some of this boiled infusion that I have been
speaking of, and by the use of a mercurial bath--a kind of trough used
in laboratories--he deftly inverted a vessel containing the infusion
into the mercury, so that the latter reached a little beyond the level
of the mouth of the 'inverted' vessel. You see that he thus had a
quantity of the infusion shut off from any possible communication with
the outer air by being inverted upon a bed of mercury.

He then prepared some pure oxygen and nitrogen gases, and passed them
by means of a tube going from the outside of the vessel, up through the
mercury into the infusion; so that he thus had it exposed to a perfectly
pure atmosphere of the same constituents as the external air. Of course,
he expected he would get no infusorial animalcules at all in that
infusion; but, to his great dismay and discomfiture, he found he almost
always did get them.

Furthermore, it has been found that experiments made in the manner
described above answer well with most infusions; but that if you fill
the vessel with boiled milk, and then stop the neck with cotton-wool,
you 'will' have infusoria. So that you see there were two experiments
that brought you to one kind of conclusion, and three to another; which
was a most unsatisfactory state of things to arrive at in a scientific
inquiry.

Some few years after this, the question began to be very hotly discussed
in France. There was M. Pouchet, a professor at Rouen, a very learned
man, but certainly not a very rigid experimentalist. He published a
number of experiments of his own, some of which were very ingenious, to
show that if you went to work in a proper way, there was a truth in
the doctrine of spontaneous generation. Well, it was one of the most
fortunate things in the world that M. Pouchet took up this question,
because it induced a distinguished French chemist, M. Pasteur, to take
up the question on the other side; and he has certainly worked it out
in the most perfect manner. I am glad to say, too, that he has published
his researches in time to enable me to give you an account of them. He
verified all the experiments which I have just mentioned to you--and
then finding those extraordinary anomalies, as in the case of the
mercury bath and the milk, he set himself to work to discover their
nature. In the case of milk he found it to be a question of temperature.
Milk in a fresh state is slightly alkaline; and it is a very curious
circumstance, but this very slight degree of alkalinity seems to have
the effect of preserving the organisms which fall into it from the
air from being destroyed at a temperature of 212 degrees, which is the
boiling point. But if you raise the temperature 10 degrees when you boil
it, the milk behaves like everything else; and if the air with which
it comes in contact, after being boiled at this temperature, is passed
through a red-hot tube, you will not get a trace of organisms.

He then turned his attention to the mercury bath, and found on
examination that the surface of the mercury was almost always covered
with a very fine dust. He found that even the mercury itself was
positively full of organic matters; that from being constantly exposed
to the air, it had collected an immense number of these infusorial
organisms from the air. Well, under these circumstances he felt that the
case was quite clear, and that the mercury was not what it had appeared
to M. Schwann to be,--a bar to the admission of these organisms; but
that, in reality, it acted as a reservoir from which the infusion was
immediately supplied with the large quantity that had so puzzled him.

But not content with explaining the experiments of others, M. Pasteur
went to work to satisfy himself completely. He said to himself: "If
my view is right, and if, in point of fact, all these appearances of
spontaneous generation are altogether due to the falling of minute germs
suspended in the atmosphere,--why, I ought not only to be able to show
the germs, but I ought to be able to catch and sow them, and produce
the resulting organisms." He, accordingly, constructed a very ingenious
apparatus to enable him to accomplish this trapping of this "germ dust"
in the air. He fixed in the window of his room a glass tube, in the
centre of which he had placed a ball of gun-cotton, which, as you all
know, is ordinary cotton-wool, which, from having been steeped in strong
acid, is converted into a substance of great explosive power. It is also
soluble in alcohol and ether. One end of the glass tube was, of course,
open to the external air; and at the other end of it he placed an
aspirator, a contrivance for causing a current of the external air to
pass through the tube. He kept this apparatus going for four-and-twenty
hours, and then removed the 'dusted' gun-cotton, and dissolved it in
alcohol and ether. He then allowed this to stand for a few hours, and
the result was, that a very fine dust was gradually deposited at
the bottom of it. That dust, on being transferred to the stage of a
microscope, was found to contain an enormous number of starch grains.
You know that the materials of our food and the greater portion of
plants are composed of starch, and we are constantly making use of it in
a variety of ways, so that there is always a quantity of it suspended
in the air. It is these starch grains which form many of those bright
specks that we see dancing in a ray of light sometimes. But besides
these, M. Pasteur found also an immense number of other organic
substances such as spores of fungi, which had been floating about in the
air and had got caged in this way.

He went farther, and said to himself, "If these really are the things
that give rise to the appearance of spontaneous generation, I ought to
be able to take a ball of this 'dusted' gun-cotton and put it into one
of my vessels, containing that boiled infusion which has been kept away
from the air, and in which no infusoria are at present developed, and
then, if I am right, the introduction of this gun-cotton will give rise
to organisms."

Accordingly, he took one of these vessels of infusion, which had been
kept eighteen months, without the least appearance of life, and by a
most ingenious contrivance, he managed to break it open and introduce
such a ball of gun-cotton, without allowing the infusion or the cotton
ball to come into contact with any air but that which had been subjected
to a red heat, and in twenty-four hours he had the satisfaction of
finding all the indications of what had been hitherto called spontaneous
generation. He had succeeded in catching the germs and developing
organisms in the way he had anticipated.

It now struck him that the truth of his conclusions might be
demonstrated without all the apparatus he had employed. To do this, he
took some decaying animal or vegetable substance, such as urine, which
is an extremely decomposable substance, or the juice of yeast, or
perhaps some other artificial preparation, and filled a vessel having a
long tubular neck with it. He then boiled the liquid and bent that
long neck into an S shape or zig-zag, leaving it open at the end. The
infusion then gave no trace of any appearance of spontaneous generation,
however long it might be left, as all the germs in the air were
deposited in the beginning of the bent neck. He then cut the tube close
to the vessel, and allowed the ordinary air to have free and direct
access; and the result of that was the appearance of organisms in it, as
soon as the infusion had been allowed to stand long enough to allow
of the growth of those it received from the air, which was about
forty-eight hours. The result of M. Pasteur's experiments proved,
therefore, in the most conclusive manner, that all the appearances of
spontaneous generation arose from nothing more than the deposition of
the germs of organisms which were constantly floating in the air.

To this conclusion, however, the objection was made, that if that were
the cause, then the air would contain such an enormous number of these
germs, that it would be a continual fog. But M. Pasteur replied that
they are not there in anything like the number we might suppose, and
that an exaggerated view has been held on that subject; he showed that
the chances of animal or vegetable life appearing in infusions, depend
entirely on the conditions under which they are exposed. If they are
exposed to the ordinary atmosphere around us, why, of course, you may
have organisms appearing early. But, on the other hand, if they are
exposed to air from a great height, or from some very quiet cellar, you
will often not find a single trace of life.

So that M. Pasteur arrived at last at the clear and definite result,
that all these appearances are like the case of the worms in the piece
of meat, which was refuted by Redi, simply germs carried by the air and
deposited in the liquids in which they afterwards appear. For my own
part, I conceive that, with the particulars of M. Pasteur's experiments
before us, we cannot fail to arrive at his conclusions; and that the
doctrine of spontaneous generation has received a final 'coup de grace'.

You, of course, understand that all this in no way interferes with the
POSSIBILITY of the fabrication of organic matters by the direct method
to which I have referred, remote as that possibility may be.

End of The Origination of Living Beings.




THE PERPETUATION OF LIVING BEINGS, HEREDITARY TRANSMISSION AND VARIATION.

The inquiry which we undertook, at our last meeting, into the state of
our knowledge of the causes of the phenomena of organic nature,--of the
past and of the present,--resolved itself into two subsidiary inquiries:
the first was, whether we know anything, either historically or
experimentally, of the mode of origin of living beings; the second
subsidiary inquiry was, whether, granting the origin, we know anything
about the perpetuation and modifications of the forms of organic beings.
The reply which I had to give to the first question was altogether
negative, and the chief result of my last lecture was, that, neither
historically nor experimentally, do we at present know anything
whatsoever about the origin of living forms. We saw that, historically,
we are not likely to know anything about it, although we may perhaps
learn something experimentally; but that at present we are an enormous
distance from the goal I indicated.

I now, then, take up the next question, What do we know of the
reproduction, the perpetuation, and the modifications of the forms
of living beings, supposing that we have put the question as to their
origination on one side, and have assumed that at present the causes of
their origination are beyond us, and that we know nothing about them?
Upon this question the state of our knowledge is extremely different; it
is exceedingly large, and, if not complete, our experience is certainly
most extensive. It would be impossible to lay it all before you, and the
most I can do, or need do to-night, is to take up the principal points
and put them before you with such prominence as may subserve the
purposes of our present argument.

The method of the perpetuation of organic beings is of two kinds,--the
asexual and the sexual. In the first the perpetuation takes place from
and by a particular act of an individual organism, which sometimes may
not be classed as belonging to any sex at all. In the second case, it is
in consequence of the mutual action and interaction of certain portions
of the organisms of usually two distinct individuals,--the male and the
female. The cases of asexual perpetuation are by no means so common as
the cases of sexual perpetuation; and they are by no means so common in
the animal as in the vegetable world. You are all probably familiar with
the fact, as a matter of experience, that you can propagate plants
by means of what are called "cuttings;" for example, that by taking a
cutting from a geranium plant, and rearing it properly, by supplying it
with light and warmth and nourishment from the earth, it grows up
and takes the form of its parent, having all the properties and
peculiarities of the original plant.

Sometimes this process, which the gardener performs artificially, takes
place naturally; that is to say, a little bulb, or portion of the plant,
detaches itself, drops off, and becomes capable of growing as a separate
thing. That is the case with many bulbous plants, which throw off in
this way secondary bulbs, which are lodged in the ground and become
developed into plants. This is an asexual process, and from it results
the repetition or reproduction of the form of the original being from
which the bulb proceeds.

Among animals the same thing takes place. Among the lower forms of
animal life, the infusorial animalculae we have already spoken of throw
off certain portions, or break themselves up in various directions,
sometimes transversely or sometimes longitudinally; or they may give off
buds, which detach themselves and develop into their proper forms. There
is the common fresh-water Polype, for instance, which multiplies itself
in this way. Just in the same way as the gardener is able to multiply
and reproduce the peculiarities and characters of particular plants
by means of cuttings, so can the physiological experimentalist--as was
shown by the Abbe Trembley many years ago--so can he do the same thing
with many of the lower forms of animal life. M. de Trembley showed that
you could take a polype and cut it into two, or four, or many pieces,
mutilating it in all directions, and the pieces would still grow up
and reproduce completely the original form of the animal. These are
all cases of asexual multiplication, and there are other instances,
and still more extraordinary ones, in which this process takes place
naturally, in a more hidden, a more recondite kind of way. You are all
of you familiar with those little green insects, the 'Aphis' or blight,
as it is called. These little animals, during a very considerable part
of their existence, multiply themselves by means of a kind of internal
budding, the buds being developed into essentially asexual animals,
which are neither male nor female; they become converted into young
'Aphides', which repeat the process, and their offspring after them,
and so on again; you may go on for nine or ten, or even twenty or more
successions; and there is no very good reason to say how soon it might
terminate, or how long it might not go on if the proper conditions of
warmth and nourishment were kept up.

Sexual reproduction is quite a distinct matter. Here, in all these
cases, what is required is the detachment of two portions of the
parental organisms, which portions we know as the egg and the
spermatozoon. In plants it is the ovule and the pollen-grain, as in
the flowering plants, or the ovule and the antherozooid, as in the
flowerless. Among all forms of animal life, the spermatozoa proceed from
the male sex, and the egg is the product of the female. Now, what is
remarkable about this mode of reproduction is this, that the egg by
itself, or the spermatozoa by themselves, are unable to assume the
parental form; but if they be brought into contact with one another, the
effect of the mixture of organic substances proceeding from two sources
appears to confer an altogether new vigour to the mixed product. This
process is brought about, as we all know, by the sexual intercourse of
the two sexes, and is called the act of impregnation. The result of this
act on the part of the male and female is, that the formation of a new
being is set up in the ovule or egg; this ovule or egg soon begins to
be divided and subdivided, and to be fashioned into various complex
organisms, and eventually to develop into the form of one of its
parents, as I explained in the first lecture. These are the processes by
which the perpetuation of organic beings is secured. Why there should be
the two modes--why this re-invigoration should be required on the part
of the female element we do not know; but it is most assuredly the
fact, and it is presumable, that, however long the process of asexual
multiplication could be continued, I say there is good reason to believe
that it would come to an end if a new commencement were not obtained by
a conjunction of the two sexual elements.

That character which is common to these two distinct processes is
this, that, whether we consider the reproduction, or perpetuation, or
modification of organic beings as they take place asexually, or as they
may take place sexually,--in either case, I say, the offspring has a
constant tendency to assume, speaking generally, the character of the
parent. As I said just now, if you take a slip of a plant, and tend it
with care, it will eventually grow up and develop into a plant like
that from which it had sprung; and this tendency is so strong that, as
gardeners know, this mode of multiplying by means of cuttings is the
only secure mode of propagating very many varieties of plants; the
peculiarity of the primitive stock seems to be better preserved if you
propagate it by means of a slip than if you resort to the sexual mode.

Again, in experiments upon the lower animals, such as the polype, to
which I have referred, it is most extraordinary that, although cut up
into various pieces, each particular piece will grow up into the form of
the primitive stock; the head, if separated, will reproduce the body
and the tail; and if you cut off the tail, you will find that that will
reproduce the body and all the rest of the members, without in any way
deviating from the plan of the organism from which these portions have
been detached. And so far does this go, that some experimentalists have
carefully examined the lower orders of animals,--among them the
Abbe Spallanzani, who made a number of experiments upon snails and
salamanders,--and have found that they might mutilate them to an
incredible extent; that you might cut off the jaw or the greater part
of the head, or the leg or the tail, and repeat the experiment several
times, perhaps, cutting off the same member again and again; and yet
each of those types would be reproduced according to the primitive type:
nature making no mistake, never putting on a fresh kind of leg, or head,
or tail, but always tending to repeat and to return to the primitive
type.

It is the same in sexual reproduction: it is a matter of perfectly
common experience, that the tendency on the part of the offspring always
is, speaking broadly, to reproduce the form of the parents. The
proverb has it that the thistle does not bring forth grapes; so, among
ourselves, there is always a likeness, more or less marked and distinct,
between children and their parents. That is a matter of familiar and
ordinary observation. We notice the same thing occurring in the cases
of the domestic animals--dogs, for instance, and their offspring. In
all these cases of propagation and perpetuation, there seems to be
a tendency in the offspring to take the characters of the parental
organisms. To that tendency a special name is given--it is called
'Atavism', it expresses this tendency to revert to the ancestral type,
and comes from the Latin word 'atavus', ancestor.

Well, this 'Atavism' which I shall speak of, is, as I said before, one
of the most marked and striking tendencies of organic beings; but, side
by side with this hereditary tendency there is an equally distinct and
remarkable tendency to variation. The tendency to reproduce the original
stock has, as it were, its limits, and side by side with it there is a
tendency to vary in certain directions, as if there were two opposing
powers working upon the organic being, one tending to take it in a
straight line, and the other tending to make it diverge from that
straight line, first to one side and then to the other.

So that you see these two tendencies need not precisely contradict one
another, as the ultimate result may not always be very remote from what
would have been the case if the line had been quite straight.

This tendency to variation is less marked in that mode of propagation
which takes place asexually; it is in that mode that the minor
characters of animal and vegetable structures are most completely
preserved. Still, it will happen sometimes, that the gardener, when he
has planted a cutting of some favourite plant, will find, contrary to
his expectation, that the slip grows up a little different from the
primitive stock--that it produces flowers of a different colour or make,
or some deviation in one way or another. This is what is called the
'sporting' of plants.

In animals the phenomena of asexual propagation are so obscure, that
at present we cannot be said to know much about them; but if we turn to
that mode of perpetuation which results from the sexual process, then
we find variation a perfectly constant occurrence, to a certain extent;
and, indeed, I think that a certain amount of variation from the
primitive stock is the necessary result of the method of sexual
propagation itself; for, inasmuch as the thing propagated proceeds from
two organisms of different sexes and different makes and temperaments,
and as the offspring is to be either of one sex or the other, it is
quite clear that it cannot be an exact diagonal of the two, or it would
be of no sex at all; it cannot be an exact intermediate form between
that of each of its parents--it must deviate to one side or the other.
You do not find that the male follows the precise type of the male
parent, nor does the female always inherit the precise characteristics
of the mother,--there is always a proportion of the female character in
the male offspring, and of the male character in the female offspring.
That must be quite plain to all of you who have looked at all
attentively on your own children or those of your neighbours; you will
have noticed how very often it may happen that the son shall exhibit the
maternal type of character, or the daughter possess the characteristics
of the father's family. There are all sorts of intermixtures and
intermediate conditions between the two, where complexion, or beauty,
or fifty other different peculiarities belonging to either side of the
house, are reproduced in other members of the same family. Indeed, it
is sometimes to be remarked in this kind of variation, that the variety
belongs, strictly speaking, to neither of the immediate parents; you
will see a child in a family who is not like either its father or its
mother; but some old person who knew its grandfather or grandmother, or,
it may be, an uncle, or, perhaps, even a more distant relative, will see
a great similarity between the child and one of these. In this way it
constantly happens that the characteristic of some previous member
of the family comes out and is reproduced and recognised in the most
unexpected manner.

But apart from that matter of general experience, there are some cases
which put that curious mixture in a very clear light. You are aware that
the offspring of the Ass and the Horse, or rather of the he-Ass and the
Mare, is what is called a Mule; and, on the other hand, the offspring
of the Stallion and the she-Ass is what is called a 'Hinny'. I never saw
one myself; but they have been very carefully studied. Now, the
curious thing is this, that although you have the same elements in
the experiment in each case, the offspring is entirely different in
character, according as the male influence comes from the Ass or the
Horse. Where the Ass is the male, as in the case of the Mule, you find
that the head is like that of the Ass, that the ears are long, the
tail is tufted at the end, the feet are small, and the voice is an
unmistakable bray; these are all points of similarity to the Ass; but,
on the other hand, the barrel of the body and the cut of the neck are
much more like those of the Mare. Then, if you look at the Hinny,--the
result of the union of the Stallion and the she-Ass, then you find it is
the Horse that has the predominance; that the head is more like that
of the Horse, the ears are shorter, the legs coarser, and the type is
altogether altered; while the voice, instead of being a bray, is the
ordinary neigh of the Horse. Here, you see, is a most curious thing: you
take exactly the same elements, Ass and Horse, but you combine the sexes
in a different manner, and the result is modified accordingly. You
have in this case, however, a result which is not general and
universal--there is usually an important preponderance, but not always
on the same side.

Here, then, is one intelligible, and, perhaps, necessary cause of
variation: the fact, that there are two sexes sharing in the production
of the offspring, and that the share taken by each is different and
variable, not only for each combination, but also for different members
of the same family.

Secondly, there is a variation, to a certain extent--though, in
all probability, the influence of this cause has been very much
exaggerated--but there is no doubt that variation is produced, to a
certain extent, by what are commonly known as external conditions,--such
as temperature, food, warmth, and moisture. In the long run, every
variation depends, in some sense, upon external conditions, seeing that
everything has a cause of its own. I use the term "external conditions"
now in the sense in which it is ordinarily employed: certain it is, that
external conditions have a definite effect. You may take a plant which
has single flowers, and by dealing with the soil, and nourishment, and
so on, you may by-and-by convert single flowers into double flowers,
and make thorns shoot out into branches. You may thicken or make various
modifications in the shape of the fruit. In animals, too, you may
produce analogous changes in this way, as in the case of that deep
bronze colour which persons rarely lose after having passed any length
of time in tropical countries. You may also alter the development of
the muscles very much, by dint of training; all the world knows that
exercise has a great effect in this way; we always expect to find the
arm of a blacksmith hard and wiry, and possessing a large development
of the brachial muscles. No doubt training, which is one of the forms
of external conditions, converts what are originally only instructions,
teachings, into habits, or, in other words, into organizations, to a
great extent; but this second cause of variation cannot be considered
to be by any means a large one. The third cause that I have to mention,
however, is a very extensive one. It is one that, for want of a better
name, has been called "spontaneous variation;" which means that when
we do not know anything about the cause of phenomena, we call it
spontaneous. In the orderly chain of causes and effects in this world,
there are very few things of which it can be said with truth that they
are spontaneous. Certainly not in these physical matters,--in
these there is nothing of the kind,--everything depends on previous
conditions. But when we cannot trace the cause of phenomena, we call
them spontaneous.

Of these variations, multitudinous as they are, but little is known with
perfect accuracy. I will mention to you some two or three cases, because
they are very remarkable in themselves, and also because I shall want to
use them afterwards. Reaumur, a famous French naturalist, a great
many years ago, in an essay which he wrote upon the art of hatching
chickens,--which was indeed a very curious essay,--had occasion to speak
of variations and monstrosities. One very remarkable case had come under
his notice of a variation in the form of a human member, in the person
of a Maltese, of the name of Gratio Kelleia, who was born with six
fingers upon each hand, and the like number of toes to each of his feet.
That was a case of spontaneous variation. Nobody knows why he was born
with that number of fingers and toes, and as we don't know, we call it a
case of "spontaneous" variation. There is another remarkable case also.
I select these, because they happen to have been observed and noted very
carefully at the time. It frequently happens that a variation occurs,
but the persons who notice it do not take any care in noting down the
particulars, until at length, when inquiries come to be made, the exact
circumstances are forgotten; and hence, multitudinous as may be such
"spontaneous" variations, it is exceedingly difficult to get at the
origin of them.

The second case is one of which you may find the whole details in the
"Philosophical Transactions" for the year 1813, in a paper communicated
by Colonel Humphrey to the President of the Royal Society,--"On a new
Variety in the Breed of Sheep," giving an account of a very remarkable
breed of sheep, which at one time was well known in the northern states
of America, and which went by the name of the Ancon or the Otter breed
of sheep. In the year 1791, there was a farmer of the name of Seth
Wright in Massachusetts, who had a flock of sheep, consisting of a ram
and, I think, of some twelve or thirteen ewes. Of this flock of ewes,
one at the breeding-time bore a lamb which was very singularly formed;
it had a very long body, very short legs, and those legs were bowed!
I will tell you by-and-by how this singular variation in the breed of
sheep came to be noted, and to have the prominence that it now has. For
the present, I mention only these two cases; but the extent of variation
in the breed of animals is perfectly obvious to any one who has studied
natural history with ordinary attention, or to any person who compares
animals with others of the same kind. It is strictly true that there are
never any two specimens which are exactly alike; however similar, they
will always differ in some certain particular.

Now let us go back to Atavism,--to the hereditary tendency I spoke
of. What will come of a variation when you breed from it, when Atavism
comes, if I may say so, to intersect variation? The two cases of which
I have mentioned the history, give a most excellent illustration of
what occurs. Gratio Kelleia, the Maltese, married when he was twenty-two
years of age, and, as I suppose there were no six-fingered ladies in
Malta, he married an ordinary five-fingered person. The result of that
marriage was four children; the first, who was christened Salvator, had
six fingers and six toes, like his father; the second was George, who
had five fingers and toes, but one of them was deformed, showing a
tendency to variation; the third was Andre; he had five fingers and five
toes, quite perfect; the fourth was a girl, Marie; she had five fingers
and five toes, but her thumbs were deformed, showing a tendency toward
the sixth.

These children grew up, and when they came to adult years, they all
married, and of course it happened that they all married five-fingered
and five-toed persons. Now let us see what were the results. Salvator
had four children; they were two boys, a girl, and another boy; the
first two boys and the girl were six-fingered and six-toed like their
grandfather; the fourth boy had only five fingers and five toes. George
had only four children; there were two girls with six fingers and six
toes; there was one girl with six fingers and five toes on the right
side, and five fingers and five toes on the left side, so that she was
half and half. The last, a boy, had five fingers and five toes. The
third, Andre, you will recollect, was perfectly well-formed, and he had
many children whose hands and feet were all regularly developed. Marie,
the last, who, of course, married a man who had only five fingers, had
four children; the first, a boy, was born with six toes, but the other
three were normal.

Now observe what very extraordinary phenomena are presented here.
You have an accidental variation arising from what you may call a
monstrosity; you have that monstrosity tendency or variation diluted in
the first instance by an admixture with a female of normal construction,
and you would naturally expect that, in the results of such an union,
the monstrosity, if repeated, would be in equal proportion with the
normal type; that is to say, that the children would be half and half,
some taking the peculiarity of the father, and the others being of
the purely normal type of the mother; but you see we have a great
preponderance of the abnormal type. Well, this comes to be mixed once
more with the pure, the normal type, and the abnormal is again produced
in large proportion, notwithstanding the second dilution. Now what would
have happened if these abnormal types had intermarried with each other;
that is to say, suppose the two boys of Salvator had taken it into their
heads to marry their first cousins, the two first girls of George, their
uncle? You will remember that these are all of the abnormal type of
their grandfather. The result would probably have been, that their
offspring would have been in every case a further development of that
abnormal type. You see it is only in the fourth, in the person of
Marie, that the tendency, when it appears but slightly in the second
generation, is washed out in the third, while the progeny of Andre, who
escaped in the first instance, escape altogether.

We have in this case a good example of nature's tendency to the
perpetuation of a variation. Here it is certainly a variation which
carried with it no use or benefit; and yet you see the tendency to
perpetuation may be so strong, that, notwithstanding a great admixture
of pure blood, the variety continues itself up to the third generation,
which is largely marked with it. In this case, as I have said, there
was no means of the second generation intermarrying with any but
five-fingered persons, and the question naturally suggests itself, What
would have been the result of such marriage? Reaumur narrates this case
only as far as the third generation. Certainly it would have been
an exceedingly curious thing if we could have traced this matter any
further; had the cousins intermarried, a six-fingered variety of the
human race might have been set up.

To show you that this supposition is by no means an unreasonable one,
let me now point out what took place in the case of Seth Wright's sheep,
where it happened to be a matter of moment to him to obtain a breed
or raise a flock of sheep like that accidental variety that I have
described--and I will tell you why. In that part of Massachusetts where
Seth Wright was living, the fields were separated by fences, and the
sheep, which were very active and robust, would roam abroad, and without
much difficulty jump over these fences into other people's farms. As
a matter of course, this exuberant activity on the part of the
sheep constantly gave rise to all sorts of quarrels, bickerings, and
contentions among the farmers of the neighbourhood; so it occurred to
Seth Wright, who was, like his successors, more or less 'cute, that if
he could get a stock of sheep like those with the bandy legs, they would
not be able to jump over the fences so readily, and he acted upon that
idea. He killed his old ram, and as soon as the young one arrived at
maturity, he bred altogether from it. The result was even more striking
than in the human experiment which I mentioned just now. Colonel
Humphreys testifies that it always happened that the offspring were
either pure Ancons or pure ordinary sheep; that in no case was there
any mixing of the Ancons with the others. In consequence of this, in
the course of a very few years, the farmer was able to get a very
considerable flock of this variety, and a large number of them were
spread throughout Massachusetts. Most unfortunately, however--I suppose
it was because they were so common--nobody took enough notice of them to
preserve their skeletons; and although Colonel Humphreys states that he
sent a skeleton to the President of the Royal Society at the same time
that he forwarded his paper, I am afraid that the variety has entirely
disappeared; for a short time after these sheep had become prevalent in
that district, the Merino sheep were introduced; and as their wool was
much more valuable, and as they were a quiet race of sheep, and showed
no tendency to trespass or jump over fences, the Otter breed of sheep,
the wool of which was inferior to that of the Merino, was gradually
allowed to die out.

You see that these facts illustrate perfectly well what may be done if
you take care to breed from stocks that are similar to each other. After
having got a variation, if, by crossing a variation with the original
stock, you multiply that variation, and then take care to keep that
variation distinct from the original stock, and make them breed
together,--then you may almost certainly produce a race whose tendency
to continue the variation is exceedingly strong.

This is what is called "selection"; and it is by exactly the same
process as that by which Seth Wright bred his Ancon sheep, that
our breeds of cattle, dogs, and fowls, are obtained. There are some
possibilities of exception, but still, speaking broadly, I may say that
this is the way in which all our varied races of domestic animals have
arisen; and you must understand that it is not one peculiarity or one
characteristic alone in which animals may vary. There is not a single
peculiarity or characteristic of any kind, bodily or mental, in which
offspring may not vary to a certain extent from the parent and other
animals.

Among ourselves this is well known. The simplest physical peculiarity is
mostly reproduced. I know a case of a man whose wife has the lobe of
one of her ears a little flattened. An ordinary observer might scarcely
notice it, and yet every one of her children has an approximation to the
same peculiarity to some extent. If you look at the other extreme, too,
the gravest diseases, such as gout, scrofula, and consumption, may be
handed down with just the same certainty and persistence as we noticed
in the perpetuation of the bandy legs of the Ancon sheep.

However, these facts are best illustrated in animals, and the extent
of the variation, as is well known, is very remarkable in dogs. For
example, there are some dogs very much smaller than others; indeed, the
variation is so enormous that probably the smallest dog would be about
the size of the head of the largest; there are very great variations in
the structural forms not only of the skeleton but also in the shape of
the skull, and in the proportions of the face and the disposition of the
teeth.

The Pointer, the Retriever, Bulldog, and the Terrier, differ very
greatly, and yet there is every reason to believe that every one
of these races has arisen from the same source,--that all the most
important races have arisen by this selective breeding from accidental
variation.

A still more striking case of what may be done by selective breeding,
and it is a better case, because there is no chance of that partial
infusion of error to which I alluded, has been studied very carefully by
Mr. Darwin,--the case of the domestic pigeons. I dare say there may
be some among you who may be pigeon 'fanciers', and I wish you to
understand that in approaching the subject, I would speak with all
humility and hesitation, as I regret to say that I am not a pigeon
fancier. I know it is a great art and mystery, and a thing upon which
a man must not speak lightly; but I shall endeavour, as far as
my understanding goes, to give you a summary of the published and
unpublished information which I have gained from Mr. Darwin.

Among the enormous variety,--I believe there are somewhere about a
hundred and fifty kinds of pigeons,--there are four kinds which may
be selected as representing the extremest divergences of one kind from
another. Their names are the Carrier, the Pouter, the Fantail, and
the Tumbler. In the large diagrams they are each represented in their
relative sizes to each other. This first one is the Carrier; you will
notice this large excrescence on its beak; it has a comparatively small
head; there is a bare space round the eyes; it has a long neck, a very
long beak, very strong legs, large feet, long wings, and so on. The
second one is the Pouter, a very large bird, with very long legs and
beak. It is called the Pouter because it is in the habit of causing its
gullet to swell up by inflating it with air. I should tell you that all
pigeons have a tendency to do this at times, but in the Pouter it is
carried to an enormous extent. The birds appear to be quite proud of
their power of swelling and puffing themselves out in this way; and I
think it is about as droll a sight as you can well see to look at a
cage full of these pigeons puffing and blowing themselves out in this
ridiculous manner.

The third kind I mentioned--the Fantail--is a small bird, with
exceedingly small legs and a very small beak. It is most curiously
distinguished by the size and extent of its tail, which, instead of
containing twelve feathers, may have many more,--say thirty, or even
more--I believe there are some with as many as forty-two. This bird has
a curious habit of spreading out the feathers of its tail in such a
way that they reach forward, and touch its head; and if this can be
accomplished, I believe it is looked upon as a point of great beauty.

But here is the last great variety,--the Tumbler; and of that great
variety, one of the principal kinds, and one most prized, is the
specimen represented here--the short-faced Tumbler. Its beak is reduced
to a mere nothing. Just compare the beak of this one and that of the
first one, the Carrier--I believe the orthodox comparison of the head
and beak of a thoroughly well-bred Tumbler is to stick an oat into a
cherry, and that will give you the proper relative proportions of the
head and beak. The feet and legs are exceedingly small, and the bird
appears to be quite a dwarf when placed side by side with this great
Carrier.

These are differences enough in regard to their external appearance; but
these differences are by no means the whole or even the most important
of the differences which obtain between these birds. There is hardly
a single point of their structure which has not become more or less
altered; and to give you an idea of how extensive these alterations
are, I have here some very good skeletons, for which I am indebted to my
friend, Mr. Tegetmeier, a great authority in these matters; by means
of which, if you examine them by-and-by, you will be able to see the
enormous difference in their bony structures.

I had the privilege, some time ago, of access to some important MSS. of
Mr. Darwin, who, I may tell you, has taken very great pains and
spent much valuable time and attention on the investigation of these
variations, and getting together all the facts that bear upon them.
I obtained from these MSS. the following summary of the differences
between the domestic breeds of pigeons; that is to say, a notification
of the various points in which their organization differs. In the first
place, the back of the skull may differ a good deal, and the development
of the bones of the face may vary a great deal; the back varies a good
deal; the shape of the lower jaw varies; the tongue varies very greatly,
not only in correlation to the length and size of the beak, but it seems
also to have a kind of independent variation of its own. Then the amount
of naked skin round the eyes, and at the base of the beak, may vary
enormously; so may the length of the eyelids, the shape of the nostrils,
and the length of the neck. I have already noticed the habit of blowing
out the gullet, so remarkable in the Pouter, and comparatively so in the
others. There are great differences, too, in the size of the female and
the male, the shape of the body, the number and width of the processes
of the ribs, the development of the ribs, and the size, shape, and
development of the breastbone. We may notice, too,--and I mention
the fact because it has been disputed by what is assumed to be high
authority,--the variation in the number of the sacral vertebrae. The
number of these varies from eleven to fourteen, and that without any
diminution in the number of the vertebrae of the back or of the tail.
Then the number and position of the tail-feathers may vary enormously,
and so may the number of the primary and secondary feathers of the
wings. Again, the length of the feet and of the beak,--although they
have no relation to each other, yet appear to go together,--that is, you
have a long beak wherever you have long feet. There are differences also
in the periods of the acquirement of the perfect plumage,--the size
and shape of the eggs,--the nature of flight, and the powers of
flight,--so-called "homing" birds having enormous flying powers;*
([Footnote] *The "Carrier," I learn from Mr. Tegetmeier, does not
'carry'; a high-bred bird of this breed being but a poor flier. The
birds which fly long distances, and come home,--"homing" birds,--and are
consequently used as carriers, are not "carriers" in the fancy sense.)
while, on the other hand, the little Tumbler is so called because of its
extraordinary faculty of turning head over heels in the air, instead of
pursuing a direct course. And, lastly, the dispositions and voices of
the birds may vary. Thus the case of the pigeons shows you that there
is hardly a single particular,--whether of instinct, or habit, or
bony structure, or of plumage,--of either the internal economy or the
external shape, in which some variation or change may not take place,
which, by selective breeding, may become perpetuated, and form the
foundation of, and give rise to, a new race.

If you carry in your mind's eye these four varieties of pigeons, you
will bear with you as good a notion as you can have, perhaps, of the
enormous extent to which a deviation from a primitive type may be
carried by means of this process of selective breeding.

End of The Perpetuation of Living Beings.




THE CONDITIONS OF EXISTENCE AS AFFECTING THE PERPETUATION OF LIVING BEINGS.

In the last Lecture I endeavoured to prove to you that, while, as a
general rule, organic beings tend to reproduce their kind, there is
in them, also, a constantly recurring tendency to vary--to vary to a
greater or to a less extent. Such a variety, I pointed out to you, might
arise from causes which we do not understand; we therefore called it
spontaneous; and it might come into existence as a definite and marked
thing, without any gradations between itself and the form which preceded
it. I further pointed out, that such a variety having once arisen,
might be perpetuated to some extent, and indeed to a very marked extent,
without any direct interference, or without any exercise of that process
which we called selection. And then I stated further, that by such
selection, when exercised artificially--if you took care to breed only
from those forms which presented the same peculiarities of any variety
which had arisen in this manner--the variation might be perpetuated, as
far as we can see, indefinitely.

The next question, and it is an important one for us, is this: Is there
any limit to the amount of variation from the primitive stock which can
be produced by this process of selective breeding? In considering this
question, it will be useful to class the characteristics, in respect of
which organic beings vary, under two heads: we may consider structural
characteristics, and we may consider physiological characteristics.

In the first place, as regards structural characteristics, I endeavoured
to show you, by the skeletons which I had upon the table, and by
reference to a great many well-ascertained facts, that the different
breeds of Pigeons, the Carriers, Pouters, and Tumblers, might vary in
any of their internal and important structural characters to a very
great degree; not only might there be changes in the proportions of the
skull, and the characters of the feet and beaks, and so on; but that
there might be an absolute difference in the number of the vertebrae of
the back, as in the sacral vertebrae of the Pouter; and so great is the
extent of the variation in these and similar characters that I pointed
out to you, by reference to the skeletons and the diagrams, that these
extreme varieties may absolutely differ more from one another in their
structural characters than do what naturalists call distinct SPECIES
of pigeons; that is to say, that they differ so much in structure that
there is a greater difference between the Pouter and the Tumbler than
there is between such wild and distinct forms as the Rock Pigeon or
the Ring Pigeon, or the Ring Pigeon and the Stock Dove; and indeed
the differences are of greater value than this, for the structural
differences between these domesticated pigeons are such as would be
admitted by a naturalist, supposing he knew nothing at all about their
origin, to entitle them to constitute even distinct genera.

As I have used this term SPECIES, and shall probably use it a good deal,
I had better perhaps devote a word or two to explaining what I mean by
it.

Animals and plants are divided into groups, which become gradually
smaller, beginning with a KINGDOM, which is divided into SUB-KINGDOMS;
then come the smaller divisions called PROVINCES; and so on from a
PROVINCE to a CLASS from a CLASS to an ORDER, from ORDERS to FAMILIES,
and from these to GENERA, until we come at length to the smallest
groups of animals which can be defined one from the other by constant
characters, which are not sexual; and these are what naturalists call
SPECIES in practice, whatever they may do in theory.

If, in a state of nature, you find any two groups of living beings,
which are separated one from the other by some constantly-recurring
characteristic, I don't care how slight and trivial, so long as it is
defined and constant, and does not depend on sexual peculiarities, then
all naturalists agree in calling them two species; that is what is meant
by the use of the word species--that is to say, it is, for the practical
naturalist, a mere question of structural differences.* ([Footnote] * I
lay stress here on the PRACTICAL signification of "Species." Whether
a physiological test between species exist or not, it is hardly ever
applicable by the practical naturalist.)

We have seen now--to repeat this point once more, and it is very
essential that we should rightly understand it--we have seen that
breeds, known to have been derived from a common stock by selection, may
be as different in their structure from the original stock as species
may be distinct from each other.

But is the like true of the physiological characteristics of animals?
Do the physiological differences of varieties amount in degree to those
observed between forms which naturalists call distinct species? This is
a most important point for us to consider.

As regards the great majority of physiological characteristics, there
is no doubt that they are capable of being developed, increased, and
modified by selection.

There is no doubt that breeds may be made as different as species in
many physiological characters. I have already pointed out to you very
briefly the different habits of the breeds of Pigeons, all of which
depend upon their physiological peculiarities,--as the peculiar habit of
tumbling, in the Tumbler--the peculiarities of flight, in the "homing"
birds,--the strange habit of spreading out the tail, and walking in a
peculiar fashion, in the Fantail,--and, lastly, the habit of blowing
out the gullet, so characteristic of the Pouter. These are all due
to physiological modifications, and in all these respects these birds
differ as much from each other as any two ordinary species do.

So with Dogs in their habits and instincts. It is a physiological
peculiarity which leads the Greyhound to chase its prey by sight,--that
enables the Beagle to track it by the scent,--that impels the Terrier to
its rat-hunting propensity,--and that leads the Retriever to its
habit of retrieving. These habits and instincts are all the results of
physiological differences and peculiarities, which have been developed
from a common stock, at least there is every reason to believe so.
But it is a most singular circumstance, that while you may run through
almost the whole series of physiological processes, without finding a
check to your argument, you come at last to a point where you do find
a check, and that is in the reproductive processes. For there is a most
singular circumstance in respect to natural species--at least about some
of them--and it would be sufficient for the purposes of this argument if
it were true of only one of them, but there is, in fact, a great number
of such cases--and that is, that, similar as they may appear to be
to mere races or breeds, they present a marked peculiarity in the
reproductive process. If you breed from the male and female of the same
race, you of course have offspring of the like kind, and if you make the
offspring breed together, you obtain the same result, and if you breed
from these again, you will still have the same kind of offspring; there
is no check. But if you take members of two distinct species, however
similar they may be to each other and make them breed together, you will
find a check, with some modifications and exceptions, however, which I
shall speak of presently. If you cross two such species with each other,
then,--although you may get offspring in the case of the first cross,
yet, if you attempt to breed from the products of that crossing, which
are what are called HYBRIDS--that is, if you couple a male and a female
hybrid--then the result is that in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred
you will get no offspring at all; there will be no result whatsoever.

The reason of this is quite obvious in some cases; the male hybrids,
although possessing all the external appearances and characteristics
of perfect animals, are physiologically imperfect and deficient in the
structural parts of the reproductive elements necessary to generation.
It is said to be invariably the case with the male mule, the cross
between the Ass and the Mare; and hence it is, that, although crossing
the Horse with the Ass is easy enough, and is constantly done, as far as
I am aware, if you take two mules, a male and a female, and endeavour to
breed from them, you get no offspring whatever; no generation will take
place. This is what is called the sterility of the hybrids between two
distinct species.

You see that this is a very extraordinary circumstance; one does not see
why it should be. The common teleological explanation is, that it is
to prevent the impurity of the blood resulting from the crossing of one
species with another, but you see it does not in reality do anything of
the kind. There is nothing in this fact that hybrids cannot breed with
each other, to establish such a theory; there is nothing to prevent the
Horse breeding with the Ass, or the Ass with the Horse. So that this
explanation breaks down, as a great many explanations of this kind do,
that are only founded on mere assumptions.

Thus you see that there is a great difference between "mongrels," which
are crosses between distinct races, and "hybrids," which are crosses
between distinct species. The mongrels are, so far as we know, fertile
with one another. But between species, in many cases, you cannot succeed
in obtaining even the first cross: at any rate it is quite certain that
the hybrids are often absolutely infertile one with another.

Here is a feature, then, great or small as it may be, which
distinguishes natural species of animals. Can we find any approximation
to this in the different races known to be produced by selective
breeding from a common stock? Up to the present time the answer to that
question is absolutely a negative one. As far as we know at present,
there is nothing approximating to this check. In crossing the breeds
between the Fantail and the Pouter, the Carrier and the Tumbler, or any
other variety or race you may name--so far as we know at present--there
is no difficulty in breeding together the mongrels. Take the Carrier and
the Fantail, for instance, and let them represent the Horse and the Ass
in the case of distinct species; then you have, as the result of their
breeding, the Carrier-Fantail mongrel,--we will say the male and female
mongrel,--and, as far as we know, these two when crossed would not be
less fertile than the original cross, or than Carrier with Carrier.
Here, you see, is a physiological contrast between the races produced
by selective modification and natural species. I shall inquire into the
value of this fact, and of some modifying circumstances by and by; for
the present I merely put it broadly before you.

But while considering this question of the limitations of species, a
word must be said about what is called RECURRENCE--the tendency of races
which have been developed by selective breeding from varieties to return
to their primitive type. This is supposed by many to put an absolute
limit to the extent of selective and all other variations. People say,
"It is all very well to talk about producing these different races,
but you know very well that if you turned all these birds wild, these
Pouters, and Carriers, and so on, they would all return to their
primitive stock." This is very commonly assumed to be a fact, and it is
an argument that is commonly brought forward as conclusive; but if you
will take the trouble to inquire into it rather closely, I think you
will find that it is not worth very much. The first question of course
is, Do they thus return to the primitive stock? And commonly as the
thing is assumed and accepted, it is extremely difficult to get anything
like good evidence of it. It is constantly said, for example, that if
domesticated Horses are turned wild, as they have been in some parts of
Asia Minor and South America, that they return at once to the primitive
stock from which they were bred. But the first answer that you make to
this assumption is, to ask who knows what the primitive stock was; and
the second answer is, that in that case the wild Horses of Asia Minor
ought to be exactly like the wild Horses of South America. If they are
both like the same thing, they ought manifestly to be like each other!
The best authorities, however, tell you that it is quite different. The
wild Horse of Asia is said to be of a dun colour, with a largish head,
and a great many other peculiarities; while the best authorities on
the wild Horses of South America tell you that there is no similarity
between their wild Horses and those of Asia Minor; the cut of their
heads is very different, and they are commonly chestnut or bay-.
It is quite clear, therefore, that as by these facts there ought to
have been two primitive stocks, they go for nothing in support of the
assumption that races recur to one primitive stock, and so far as this
evidence is concerned, it falls to the ground.

Suppose for a moment that it were so, and that domesticated races, when
turned wild, did return to some common condition, I cannot see that this
would prove much more than that similar conditions are likely to produce
similar results; and that when you take back domesticated animals into
what we call natural conditions, you do exactly the same thing as if you
carefully undid all the work you had gone through, for the purpose of
bringing the animal from its wild to its domesticated state. I do not
see anything very wonderful in the fact, if it took all that trouble to
get it from a wild state, that it should go back into its original state
as soon as you removed the conditions which produced the variation to
the domesticated form. There is an important fact, however, forcibly
brought forward by Mr. Darwin, which has been noticed in connection with
the breeding of domesticated pigeons; and it is, that however different
these breeds of pigeons may be from each other, and we have already
noticed the great differences in these breeds, that if, among any of
those variations, you chance to have a blue pigeon turn up, it will be
sure to have the black bars across the wings, which are characteristic
of the original wild stock, the Rock Pigeon.

Now, this is certainly a very remarkable circumstance; but I do not see
myself how it tells very strongly either one way or the other. I think,
in fact, that this argument in favour of recurrence to the primitive
type might prove a great deal too much for those who so constantly
bring it forward. For example, Mr. Darwin has very forcibly urged,
that nothing is commoner than if you examine a dun horse--and I had an
opportunity of verifying this illustration lately, while in the islands
of the West Highlands, where there are a great many dun horses--to find
that horse exhibit a long black stripe down his back, very often stripes
on his shoulder, and very often stripes on his legs. I, myself, saw
a pony of this description a short time ago, in a baker's cart, near
Rothesay, in Bute: it had the long stripe down the back, and stripes on
the shoulders and legs, just like those of the Ass, the Quagga, and the
Zebra. Now, if we interpret the theory of recurrence as applied to
this case, might it not be said that here was a case of a variation
exhibiting the characters and conditions of an animal occupying
something like an intermediate position between the Horse, the Ass, the
Quagga, and the Zebra, and from which these had been developed? In the
same way with regard even to Man. Every anatomist will tell you that
there is nothing commoner, in dissecting the human body, than to meet
with what are called muscular variations--that is, if you dissect
two bodies very carefully, you will probably find that the modes of
attachment and insertion of the muscles are not exactly the same in
both, there being great peculiarities in the mode in which the muscles
are arranged; and it is very singular, that in some dissections of the
human body you will come upon arrangements of the muscles very similar
indeed to the same parts in the Apes. Is the conclusion in that case to
be, that this is like the black bars in the case of the Pigeon, and that
it indicates a recurrence to the primitive type from which the animals
have been probably developed? Truly, I think that the opponents of
modification and variation had better leave the argument of recurrence
alone, or it may prove altogether too strong for them.

To sum up--the evidence as far as we have gone is against the argument
as to any limit to divergences, so far as structure is concerned; and
in favour of a physiological limitation. By selective breeding we can
produce structural divergences as great as those of species, but we
cannot produce equal physiological divergences. For the present I leave
the question there.

Now, the next problem that lies before us--and it is an extremely
important one--is this: Does this selective breeding occur in nature?
Because, if there is no proof of it, all that I have been telling you
goes for nothing in accounting for the origin of species. Are natural
causes competent to play the part of selection in perpetuating
varieties? Here we labour under very great difficulties. In the last
lecture I had occasion to point out to you the extreme difficulty of
obtaining evidence even of the first origin of those varieties which we
know to have occurred in domesticated animals. I told you, that almost
always the origin of these varieties is overlooked, so that I could only
produce two of three cases, as that of Gratio Kelleia and of the Ancon
sheep. People forget, or do not take notice of them until they come to
have a prominence; and if that is true of artificial cases, under our
own eyes, and in animals in our own care, how much more difficult it
must be to have at first hand good evidence of the origin of varieties
in nature! Indeed, I do not know that it is possible by direct evidence
to prove the origin of a variety in nature, or to prove selective
breeding; but I will tell you what we can prove--and this comes to the
same thing--that varieties exist in nature within the limits of species,
and, what is more, that when a variety has come into existence in
nature, there are natural causes and conditions, which are amply
competent to play the part of a selective breeder; and although that
is not quite the evidence that one would like to have--though it is
not direct testimony--yet it is exceeding good and exceedingly powerful
evidence in its way.

As to the first point, of varieties existing among natural species, I
might appeal to the universal experience of every naturalist, and of any
person who has ever turned any attention at all to the characteristics
of plants and animals in a state of nature; but I may as well take a few
definite cases, and I will begin with Man himself.

I am one of those who believe that, at present, there is no evidence
whatever for saying, that mankind sprang originally from any more than a
single pair; I must say, that I cannot see any good ground whatever, or
even any tenable sort of evidence, for believing that there is more than
one species of Man. Nevertheless, as you know, just as there are numbers
of varieties in animals, so there are remarkable varieties of men. I
speak not merely of those broad and distinct variations which you see at
a glance. Everybody, of course, knows the difference between a <DW64> and
a white man, and can tell a Chinaman from an Englishman. They each
have peculiar characteristics of colour and physiognomy; but you must
recollect that the characters of these races go very far deeper--they
extend to the bony structure, and to the characters of that most
important of all organs to us--the brain; so that, among men belonging
to different races, or even within the same race, one man shall have a
brain a third, or half, or even seventy per cent. bigger than another;
and if you take the whole range of human brains, you will find a
variation in some cases of a hundred per cent. Apart from these
variations in the size of the brain, the characters of the skull vary.
Thus if I draw the figures of a Mongul and of a <DW64> head on the
blackboard, in the case of the last the breadth would be about
seven-tenths, and in the other it would be nine-tenths of the total
length. So that you see there is abundant evidence of variation among
men in their natural condition. And if you turn to other animals there
is just the same thing. The fox, for example, which has a very large
geographical distribution all over Europe, and parts of Asia, and on the
American Continent, varies greatly. There are mostly large foxes in the
North, and smaller ones in the South. In Germany alone, the foresters
reckon some eight different sorts.

Of the tiger, no one supposes that there is more than one species; they
extend from the hottest parts of Bengal, into the dry, cold, bitter
steppes of Siberia, into a latitude of 50 degrees,--so that they may
even prey upon the reindeer. These tigers have exceedingly different
characteristics, but still they all keep their general features, so that
there is no doubt as to their being tigers. The Siberian tiger has a
thick fur, a small mane, and a longitudinal stripe down the back, while
the tigers of Java and Sumatra differ in many important respects from
the tigers of Northern Asia. So lions vary; so birds vary; and so, if
you go further back and lower down in creation, you find that fishes
vary. In different streams, in the same country even, you will find the
trout to be quite different to each other and easily recognisable by
those who fish in the particular streams. There is the same differences
in leeches; leech collectors can easily point out to you the differences
and the peculiarities which you yourself would probably pass by; so with
fresh-water mussels; so, in fact, with every animal you can mention.

In plants there is the same kind of variation. Take such a case even as
the common bramble. The botanists are all at war about it; some of
them wanting to make out that there are many species of it, and others
maintaining that they are but many varieties of one species; and they
cannot settle to this day which is a species and which is a variety!

So that there can be no doubt whatsoever that any plant and any
animal may vary in nature; that varieties may arise in the way I have
described,--as spontaneous varieties,--and that those varieties may be
perpetuated in the same way that I have shown you spontaneous varieties
are perpetuated; I say, therefore, that there can be no doubt as to the
origin and perpetuation of varieties in nature.

But the question now is:--Does selection take place in nature? is there
anything like the operation of man in exercising selective breeding,
taking place in nature? You will observe that, at present, I say nothing
about species; I wish to confine myself to the consideration of the
production of those natural races which everybody admits to exist. The
question is, whether in nature there are causes competent to produce
races, just in the same way as man is able to produce by selection, such
races of animals as we have already noticed.

When a variety has arisen, the CONDITIONS OF EXISTENCE are such as to
exercise an influence which is exactly comparable to that of artificial
selection. By Conditions of Existence I mean two things,--there are
conditions which are furnished by the physical, the inorganic world,
and there are conditions of existence which are furnished by the organic
world. There is, in the first place, CLIMATE; under that head I include
only temperature and the varied amount of moisture of particular places.
In the next place there is what is technically called STATION, which
means--given the climate, the particular kind of place in which an
animal or a plant lives or grows; for example, the station of a fish
is in the water, of a fresh-water fish in fresh water; the station of a
marine fish is in the sea, and a marine animal may have a station higher
or deeper. So again with land animals: the differences in their stations
are those of different soils and neighbourhoods; some being best adapted
to a calcareous, and others to an arenaceous soil. The third condition
of existence is FOOD, by which I mean food in the broadest sense, the
supply of the materials necessary to the existence of an organic being;
in the case of a plant the inorganic matters, such as carbonic acid,
water, ammonia, and the earthy salts or salines; in the case of the
animal the inorganic and organic matters, which we have seen they
require; then these are all, at least the two first, what we may
call the inorganic or physical conditions of existence. Food takes a
mid-place, and then come the organic conditions; by which I mean the
conditions which depend upon the state of the rest of the organic
creation, upon the number and kind of living beings, with which an
animal is surrounded. You may class these under two heads: there are
organic beings, which operate as 'opponents', and there are organic
beings which operate as 'helpers' to any given organic creature. The
opponents may be of two kinds: there are the 'indirect opponents', which
are what we may call 'rivals'; and there are the 'direct opponents',
those which strive to destroy the creature; and these we call 'enemies'.
By rivals I mean, of course, in the case of plants, those which require
for their support the same kind of soil and station, and, among animals,
those which require the same kind of station, or food, or climate; those
are the indirect opponents; the direct opponents are, of course, those
which prey upon an animal or vegetable. The 'helpers' may also be
regarded as direct and indirect: in the case of a carnivorous animal,
for example, a particular herbaceous plant may in multiplying be an
indirect helper, by enabling the herbivora on which the carnivore preys
to get more food, and thus to nourish the carnivore more abundantly;
the direct helper may be best illustrated by reference to some parasitic
creature, such as the tape-worm. The tape-worm exists in the human
intestines, so that the fewer there are of men the fewer there will be
of tape-worms, other things being alike. It is a humiliating reflection,
perhaps, that we may be classed as direct helpers to the tape-worm, but
the fact is so: we can all see that if there were no men there would be
no tape-worms.

It is extremely difficult to estimate, in a proper way, the importance
and the working of the Conditions of Existence. I do not think there
were any of us who had the remotest notion of properly estimating them
until the publication of Mr. Darwin's work, which has placed them before
us with remarkable clearness; and I must endeavour, as far as I can in
my own fashion, to give you some notion of how they work. We shall find
it easiest to take a simple case, and one as free as possible from every
kind of complication.

I will suppose, therefore, that all the habitable part of this
globe--the dry land, amounting to about 51,000,000 square miles,--I will
suppose that the whole of that dry land has the same climate, and that
it is composed of the same kind of rock or soil, so that there will be
the same station everywhere; we thus get rid of the peculiar influence
of different climates and stations. I will then imagine that there shall
be but one organic being in the world, and that shall be a plant. In
this we start fair. Its food is to be carbonic acid, water and ammonia,
and the saline matters in the soil, which are, by the supposition,
everywhere alike. We take one single plant, with no opponents, no
helpers, and no rivals; it is to be a "fair field, and no favour". Now,
I will ask you to imagine further that it shall be a plant which shall
produce every year fifty seeds, which is a very moderate number for a
plant to produce; and that, by the action of the winds and currents,
these seeds shall be equally and gradually distributed over the whole
surface of the land. I want you now to trace out what will occur, and
you will observe that I am not talking fallaciously any more than a
mathematician does when he expounds his problem. If you show that the
conditions of your problem are such as may actually occur in nature and
do not transgress any of the known laws of nature in working out your
proposition, then you are as safe in the conclusion you arrive at as
is the mathematician in arriving at the solution of his problem. In
science, the only way of getting rid of the complications with which a
subject of this kind is environed, is to work in this deductive method.
What will be the result, then? I will suppose that every plant requires
one square foot of ground to live upon; and the result will be that,
in the course of nine years, the plant will have occupied every single
available spot in the whole globe! I have chalked upon the blackboard
the figures by which I arrive at the result:--


                  Plants.                               Plants
                    1 x 50 in 1st year =                    50
                   50 x 50 "  2nd "    =                 2,500
                2,500 x 50 "  3rd "    =               125,000
              125,000 x 50 "  4th "    =             6,250,000
            6,250,000 x 50 "  5th "    =           312,500,000
          312,500,000 x 50 "  6th "    =        15,625,000,000
       15,625,000,000 x 50 "  7th "    =       781,250,000,000
      781,250,000,000 x 50 "  8th "    =    39,062,500,000,000
   39,062,500,000,000 x 50 "  9th "    = 1,953,125,000,000,000


51,000,000 sq. miles--the dry surface of the earth x 27,878,400--the
number of sq. ft. in 1 sq. mile = sq. ft. 1,421,798,400,000,000 being
531,326,600,000,000 square feet less than would be required at the end
of the ninth year.

You will see from this that, at the end of the first year the single
plant will have produced fifty more of its kind; by the end of the
second year these will have increased to 2,500; and so on, in succeeding
years, you get beyond even trillions; and I am not at all sure that I
could tell you what the proper arithmetical denomination of the total
number really is; but, at any rate, you will understand the meaning of
all those noughts. Then you see that, at the bottom, I have taken the
51,000,000 of square miles, constituting the surface of the dry land;
and as the number of square feet are placed under and subtracted from
the number of seeds that would be produced in the ninth year, you can
see at once that there would be an immense number more of plants than
there would be square feet of ground for their accommodation. This is
certainly quite enough to prove my point; that between the eighth and
ninth year after being planted the single plant would have stocked the
whole available surface of the earth.

This is a thing which is hardly conceivable--it seems hardly
imaginable--yet it is so. It is indeed simply the law of Malthus
exemplified. Mr. Malthus was a clergyman, who worked out this
subject most minutely and truthfully some years ago; he showed quite
clearly,--and although he was much abused for his conclusions at the
time, they have never yet been disproved and never will be--he showed
that in consequence of the increase in the number of organic beings in
a geometrical ratio, while the means of existence cannot be made to
increase in the same ratio, that there must come a time when the number
of organic beings will be in excess of the power of production of
nutriment, and that thus some check must arise to the further increase
of those organic beings. At the end of the ninth year we have seen that
each plant would not be able to get its full square foot of ground, and
at the end of another year it would have to share that space with fifty
others the produce of the seeds which it would give off.

What, then, takes place? Every plant grows up, flourishes, occupies its
square foot of ground, and gives off its fifty seeds; but notice this,
that out of this number only one can come to anything; there is thus,
as it were, forty-nine chances to one against its growing up; it depends
upon the most fortuitous circumstances whether any one of these fifty
seeds shall grow up and flourish, or whether it shall die and perish.
This is what Mr. Darwin has drawn attention to, and called the "STRUGGLE
FOR EXISTENCE"; and I have taken this simple case of a plant because
some people imagine that the phrase seems to imply a sort of fight.

I have taken this plant and shown you that this is the result of the
ratio of the increase, the necessary result of the arrival of a time
coming for every species when exactly as many members must be destroyed
as are born; that is the inevitable ultimate result of the rate of
production. Now, what is the result of all this? I have said that there
are forty-nine struggling against every one; and it amounts to this,
that the smallest possible start given to any one seed may give it an
advantage which will enable it to get ahead of all the others; anything
that will enable any one of these seeds to germinate six hours before
any of the others will, other things being alike, enable it to choke
them out altogether. I have shown you that there is no particular in
which plants will not vary from each other; it is quite possible
that one of our imaginary plants may vary in such a character as the
thickness of the integument of its seeds; it might happen that one of
the plants might produce seeds having a thinner integument, and that
would enable the seeds of that plant to germinate a little quicker
than those of any of the others, and those seeds would most inevitably
extinguish the forty-nine times as many that were struggling with them.

I have put it in this way, but you see the practical result of the
process is the same as if some person had nurtured the one and destroyed
the other seeds. It does not matter how the variation is produced, so
long as it is once allowed to occur. The variation in the plant once
fairly started tends to become hereditary and reproduce itself; the
seeds would spread themselves in the same way and take part in the
struggle with the forty-nine hundred, or forty-nine thousand, with which
they might be exposed. Thus, by degrees, this variety, with some slight
organic change or modification, must spread itself over the whole
surface of the habitable globe, and extirpate or replace the other
kinds. That is what is meant by NATURAL SELECTION; that is the kind of
argument by which it is perfectly demonstrable that the conditions of
existence may play exactly the same part for natural varieties as man
does for domesticated varieties. No one doubts at all that particular
circumstances may be more favourable for one plant and less so for
another, and the moment you admit that, you admit the selective power of
nature. Now, although I have been putting a hypothetical case, you must
not suppose that I have been reasoning hypothetically. There are plenty
of direct experiments which bear out what we may call the theory of
natural selection; there is extremely good authority for the statement
that if you take the seed of mixed varieties of wheat and sow it,
collecting the seed next year and sowing it again, at length you will
find that out of all your varieties only two or three have lived, or
perhaps even only one. There were one or two varieties which were best
fitted to get on, and they have killed out the other kinds in just
the same way and with just the same certainty as if you had taken the
trouble to remove them. As I have already said, the operation of nature
is exactly the same as the artificial operation of man.

But if this be true of that simple case, which I put before you, where
there is nothing but the rivalry of one member of a species with others,
what must be the operation of selective conditions, when you recollect
as a matter of fact, that for every species of animal or plant there
are fifty or a hundred species which might all, more or less, be
comprehended in the same climate, food, and station;--that every plant
has multitudinous animals which prey upon it, and which are its direct
opponents; and that these have other animals preying upon them,--that
every plant has its indirect helpers in the birds that scatter abroad
its seed, and the animals that manure it with their dung;--I say, when
these things are considered, it seems impossible that any variation
which may arise in a species in nature should not tend in some way or
other either to be a little better or worse than the previous stock;
if it is a little better it will have an advantage over and tend to
extirpate the latter in this crush and struggle; and if it is a little
worse it will itself be extirpated.

I know nothing that more appropriately expresses this, than the phrase,
"the struggle for existence"; because it brings before your minds, in a
vivid sort of way, some of the simplest possible circumstances connected
with it. When a struggle is intense there must be some who are sure to
be trodden down, crushed, and overpowered by others; and there will be
some who just manage to get through only by the help of the slightest
accident. I recollect reading an account of the famous retreat of
the French troops, under Napoleon, from Moscow. Worn out, tired, and
dejected, they at length came to a great river over which there was
but one bridge for the passage of the vast army. Disorganised and
demoralised as that army was, the struggle must certainly have been a
terrible one--every one heeding only himself, and crushing through the
ranks and treading down his fellows. The writer of the narrative, who
was himself one of those who were fortunate enough to succeed in getting
over, and not among the thousands who were left behind or forced into
the river, ascribed his escape to the fact that he saw striding onward
through the mass a great strong fellow,--one of the French Cuirassiers,
who had on a large blue cloak--and he had enough presence of mind to
catch and retain a hold of this strong man's cloak. He says, "I caught
hold of his cloak, and although he swore at me and cut at and struck me
by turns, and at last, when he found he could not shake me off, fell to
entreating me to leave go or I should prevent him from escaping, besides
not assisting myself, I still kept tight hold of him, and would not quit
my grasp until he had at last dragged me through." Here you see was
a case of selective saving--if we may so term it--depending for its
success on the strength of the cloth of the Cuirassier's cloak. It is
the same in nature; every species has its bridge of Beresina; it has
to fight its way through and struggle with other species; and when well
nigh overpowered, it may be that the smallest chance, something in its
colour, perhaps--the minutest circumstance--will turn the scale one way
or the other.

Suppose that by a variation of the black race it had produced the white
man at any time--you know that the <DW64>s are said to believe this to
have been the case, and to imagine that Cain was the first white man,
and that we are his descendants--suppose that this had ever happened,
and that the first residence of this human being was on the West Coast
of Africa. There is no great structural difference between the white man
and the <DW64>, and yet there is something so singularly different in the
constitution of the two, that the malarias of that country, which do not
hurt the black at all, cut off and destroy the white. Then you see there
would have been a selective operation performed; if the white man had
risen in that way, he would have been selected out and removed by means
of the malaria. Now there really is a very curious case of selection of
this sort among pigs, and it is a case of selection of colour too.
In the woods of Florida there are a great many pigs, and it is a very
curious thing that they are all black, every one of them. Professor
Wyman was there some years ago, and on noticing no pigs but these black
ones, he asked some of the people how it was that they had no white
pigs, and the reply was that in the woods of Florida there was a root
which they called the Paint Root, and that if the white pigs were to eat
any of it, it had the effect of making their hoofs crack, and they died,
but if the black pigs eat any of it, it did not hurt them at all. Here
was a very simple case of natural selection. A skilful breeder could not
more carefully develope the black breed of pigs, and weed out all the
white pigs, than the Paint Root does.

To show you how remarkably indirect may be such natural selective
agencies as I have referred to, I will conclude by noticing a case
mentioned by Mr. Darwin, and which is certainly one of the most curious
of its kind. It is that of the Humble Bee. It has been noticed that
there are a great many more humble bees in the neighbourhood of towns,
than out in the open country; and the explanation of the matter is this:
the humble bees build nests, in which they store their honey and deposit
the larvae and eggs. The field mice are amazingly fond of the honey and
larvae; therefore, wherever there are plenty of field mice, as in the
country, the humble bees are kept down; but in the neighbourhood of
towns, the number of cats which prowl about the fields eat up the field
mice, and of course the more mice they eat up the less there are to prey
upon the larvae of the bees--the cats are therefore the INDIRECT HELPERS
of the bees!* Coming back a step farther we may say that the old maids
are also indirect friends of the humble bees, and indirect enemies of
the field mice, as they keep the cats which eat up the latter! This is
an illustration somewhat beneath the dignity of the subject, perhaps,
but it occurs to me in passing, and with it I will conclude this
lecture. ([Footnote] *The humble bees, on the other hand, are direct
helpers of some plants, such as the heartsease and red clover, which are
fertilized by the visits of the bees; and they are indirect helpers of
the numerous insects which are more or less completely supported by the
heartsease and red clover.)

End of The Conditions of Existence.




A CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF THE POSITION OF MR. DARWIN'S WORK, "ON THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES," IN RELATION TO THE COMPLETE THEORY OF THE CAUSES OF THE PHENOMENA OF ORGANIC NATURE.

In the preceding five lectures I have endeavoured to give you an account
of those facts, and of those reasonings from facts, which form the data
upon which all theories regarding the causes of the phenomena of organic
nature must be based. And, although I have had frequent occasion to
quote Mr. Darwin--as all persons hereafter, in speaking upon these
subjects, will have occasion to quote his famous book on the "Origin of
Species,"--you must yet remember that, wherever I have quoted him,
it has not been upon theoretical points, or for statements in any way
connected with his particular speculations, but on matters of fact,
brought forward by himself, or collected by himself, and which appear
incidentally in his book. If a man WILL make a book, professing to
discuss a single question, an encyclopaedia, I cannot help it.

Now, having had an opportunity of considering in this sort of way the
different statements bearing upon all theories whatsoever, I have to lay
before you, as fairly as I can, what is Mr. Darwin's view of the matter
and what position his theories hold, when judged by the principles which
I have previously laid down, as deciding our judgments upon all theories
and hypotheses.

I have already stated to you that the inquiry respecting the causes of
the phenomena of organic nature resolves itself into two problems--the
first being the question of the origination of living or organic beings;
and the second being the totally distinct problem of the modification
and perpetuation of organic beings when they have already come into
existence. The first question Mr. Darwin does not touch; he does
not deal with it at all; but he says--given the origin of organic
matter--supposing its creation to have already taken place, my object is
to show in consequence of what laws and what demonstrable properties of
organic matter, and of its environments, such states of organic nature
as those with which we are acquainted must have come about. This, you
will observe, is a perfectly legitimate proposition; every person has a
right to define the limits of the inquiry which he sets before himself;
and yet it is a most singular thing that in all the multifarious, and,
not unfrequently, ignorant attacks which have been made upon the 'Origin
of Species', there is nothing which has been more speciously criticised
than this particular limitation. If people have nothing else to urge
against the book, they say--"Well, after all, you see, Mr. Darwin's
explanation of the 'Origin of Species' is not good for much, because, in
the long run, he admits that he does not know how organic matter began
to exist. But if you admit any special creation for the first particle
of organic matter you may just as well admit it for all the rest; five
hundred or five thousand distinct creations are just as intelligible,
and just as little difficult to understand, as one." The answer to these
cavils is two-fold. In the first place, all human inquiry must stop
somewhere; all our knowledge and all our investigation cannot take us
beyond the limits set by the finite and restricted character of our
faculties, or destroy the endless unknown, which accompanies, like its
shadow, the endless procession of phenomena. So far as I can venture
to offer an opinion on such a matter, the purpose of our being
in existence, the highest object that human beings can set before
themselves, is not the pursuit of any such chimera as the annihilation
of the unknown; but it is simply the unwearied endeavour to remove its
boundaries a little further from our little sphere of action.

I wonder if any historian would for a moment admit the objection, that
it is preposterous to trouble ourselves about the history of the Roman
Empire, because we do not know anything positive about the origin and
first building of the city of Rome! Would it be a fair objection to
urge, respecting the sublime discoveries of a Newton, or a Kepler,
those great philosophers, whose discoveries have been of the profoundest
benefit and service to all men,--to say to them--"After all that you
have told us as to how the planets revolve, and how they are maintained
in their orbits, you cannot tell us what is the cause of the origin of
the sun, moon, and stars. So what is the use of what you have done?"
Yet these objections would not be one whit more preposterous than the
objections which have been made to the 'Origin of Species.' Mr. Darwin,
then, had a perfect right to limit his inquiry as he pleased, and the
only question for us--the inquiry being so limited--is to ascertain
whether the method of his inquiry is sound or unsound; whether he has
obeyed the canons which must guide and govern all investigation, or
whether he has broken them; and it was because our inquiry this evening
is essentially limited to that question, that I spent a good deal of
time in a former lecture (which, perhaps, some of you thought might
have been better employed), in endeavouring to illustrate the method
and nature of scientific inquiry in general. We shall now have to put in
practice the principles that I then laid down.

I stated to you in substance, if not in words, that wherever there
are complex masses of phenomena to be inquired into, whether they be
phenomena of the affairs of daily life, or whether they belong to the
more abstruse and difficult problems laid before the philosopher, our
course of proceeding in unravelling that complex chain of phenomena with
a view to get at its cause, is always the same; in all cases we must
invent an hypothesis; we must place before ourselves some more or less
likely supposition respecting that cause; and then, having assumed an
hypothesis, having supposed cause for the phenomena in question, we must
endeavour, on the one hand, to demonstrate our hypothesis, or, on the
other, to upset and reject it altogether, by testing it in three ways.
We must, in the first place, be prepared to prove that the supposed
causes of the phenomena exist in nature; that they are what the
logicians call 'vera causae'--true causes;--in the next place, we
should be prepared to show that the assumed causes of the phenomena are
competent to produce such phenomena as those which we wish to explain by
them; and in the last place, we ought to be able to show that no other
known causes are competent to produce those phenomena. If we can succeed
in satisfying these three conditions we shall have demonstrated our
hypothesis; or rather I ought to say we shall have proved it as far as
certainty is possible for us; for, after all, there is no one of our
surest convictions which may not be upset, or at any rate modified by
a further accession of knowledge. It was because it satisfied these
conditions that we accepted the hypothesis as to the disappearance of
the tea-pot and spoons in the case I supposed in a previous lecture; we
found that our hypothesis on that subject was tenable and valid, because
the supposed cause existed in nature, because it was competent to
account for the phenomena, and because no other known cause was
competent to account for them; and it is upon similar grounds that any
hypothesis you choose to name is accepted in science as tenable and
valid.

What is Mr. Darwin's hypothesis? As I apprehend it--for I have put
it into a shape more convenient for common purposes than I could find
'verbatim' in his book--as I apprehend it, I say, it is, that all the
phenomena of organic nature, past and present, result from, or are
caused by, the inter-action of those properties of organic matter,
which we have called ATAVISM and VARIABILITY, with the CONDITIONS OF
EXISTENCE; or, in other words,--given the existence of organic matter,
its tendency to transmit its properties, and its tendency occasionally
to vary; and, lastly, given the conditions of existence by which organic
matter is surrounded--that these put together are the causes of the
Present and of the Past conditions of ORGANIC NATURE.

Such is the hypothesis as I understand it. Now let us see how it will
stand the various tests which I laid down just now. In the first place,
do these supposed causes of the phenomena exist in nature? Is it the
fact that in nature these properties of organic matter--atavism and
variability--and those phenomena which we have called the conditions of
existence,--is it true that they exist? Well, of course, if they do not
exist, all that I have told you in the last three or four lectures
must be incorrect, because I have been attempting to prove that they do
exist, and I take it that there is abundant evidence that they do exist;
so far, therefore, the hypothesis does not break down.

But in the next place comes a much more difficult inquiry:--Are the
causes indicated competent to give rise to the phenomena of organic
nature? I suspect that this is indubitable to a certain extent. It is
demonstrable, I think, as I have endeavoured to show you, that they
are perfectly competent to give rise to all the phenomena which are
exhibited by RACES in nature. Furthermore, I believe that they are
quite competent to account for all that we may call purely structural
phenomena which are exhibited by SPECIES in nature. On that point also
I have already enlarged somewhat. Again, I think that the causes assumed
are competent to account for most of the physiological characteristics
of species, and I not only think that they are competent to account
for them, but I think that they account for many things which
otherwise remain wholly unaccountable and inexplicable, and I may say
incomprehensible. For a full exposition of the grounds on which this
conviction is based, I must refer you to Mr. Darwin's work; all that I
can do now is to illustrate what I have said by two or three cases taken
almost at random.

I drew your attention, on a previous evening, to the facts which are
embodied in our systems of Classification, which are the results of
the examination and comparison of the different members of the animal
kingdom one with another. I mentioned that the whole of the animal
kingdom is divisible into five sub-kingdoms; that each of these
sub-kingdoms is again divisible into provinces; that each province may
be divided into classes, and the classes into the successively smaller
groups, orders, families, genera, and species.

Now, in each of these groups, the resemblance in structure among the
members of the group is closer in proportion as the group is smaller.
Thus, a man and a worm are members of the animal kingdom in virtue of
certain apparently slight though really fundamental resemblances which
they present. But a man and a fish are members of the same sub-kingdom
'Vertebrata', because they are much more like one another than either of
them is to a worm, or a snail, or any member of the other sub-kingdoms.
For similar reasons men and horses are arranged as members of the
same Class, 'Mammalia'; men and apes as members of the same Order,
'Primates'; and if there were any animals more like men than they
were like any of the apes, and yet different from men in important
and constant particulars of their organization, we should rank them as
members of the same Family, or of the same Genus, but as of distinct
Species.

That it is possible to arrange all the varied forms of animals into
groups, having this sort of singular subordination one to the other, is
a very remarkable circumstance; but, as Mr. Darwin remarks, this is a
result which is quite to be expected, if the principles which he lays
down be correct. Take the case of the races which are known to be
produced by the operation of atavism and variability, and the conditions
of existence which check and modify these tendencies. Take the case
of the pigeons that I brought before you; there it was shown that
they might be all classed as belonging to some one of five principal
divisions, and that within these divisions other subordinate groups
might be formed. The members of these groups are related to one
another in just the same way as the genera of a family, and the groups
themselves as the families of an order, or the orders of a class;
while all have the same sort of structural relations with the wild
rock-pigeon, as the members of any great natural group have with a real
or imaginary typical form. Now, we know that all varieties of pigeons of
every kind have arisen by a process of selective breeding from a common
stock, the rock-pigeon; hence, you see, that if all species of animals
have proceeded from some common stock, the general character of their
structural relations, and of our systems of classification, which
express those relations, would be just what we find them to be. In other
words, the hypothetical cause is, so far, competent to produce effects
similar to those of the real cause.

Take, again, another set of very remarkable facts,--the existence of
what are called rudimentary organs, organs for which we can find no
obvious use, in the particular animal economy in which they are found,
and yet which are there.

Such are the splint-like bones in the leg of the horse, which I here
show you, and which correspond with bones which belong to certain toes
and fingers in the human hand and foot. In the horse you see they are
quite rudimentary, and bear neither toes nor fingers; so that the horse
has only one "finger" in his fore-foot and one "toe" in his hind foot.
But it is a very curious thing that the animals closely allied to the
horse show more toes than he; as the rhinoceros, for instance: he has
these extra toes well formed, and anatomical facts show very clearly
that he is very closely related to the horse indeed. So we may say that
animals, in an anatomical sense nearly related to the horse, have those
parts which are rudimentary in him, fully developed.

Again, the sheep and the cow have no cutting-teeth, but only a hard
pad in the upper jaw. That is the common characteristic of ruminants in
general. But the calf has in its upper jaw some rudiments of teeth which
never are developed, and never play the part of teeth at all. Well, if
you go back in time, you find some of the older, now extinct, allies of
the ruminants have well-developed teeth in their upper jaws; and at
the present day the pig (which is in structure closely connected with
ruminants) has well-developed teeth in its upper jaw; so that here
is another instance of organs well-developed and very useful, in one
animal, represented by rudimentary organs, for which we can discover
no purpose whatsoever, in another closely allied animal. The whalebone
whale, again, has horny "whalebone" plates in its mouth, and no teeth;
but the young foetal whale, before it is born, has teeth in its jaws;
they, however, are never used, and they never come to anything.
But other members of the group to which the whale belongs have
well-developed teeth in both jaws.

Upon any hypothesis of special creation, facts of this kind appear to me
to be entirely unaccountable and inexplicable, but they cease to be so
if you accept Mr. Darwin's hypothesis, and see reason for believing that
the whalebone whale and the whale with teeth in its mouth both sprang
from a whale that had teeth, and that the teeth of the foetal whale are
merely remnants--recollections, if we may so say--of the extinct whale.
So in the case of the horse and the rhinoceros: suppose that both have
descended by modification from some earlier form which had the normal
number of toes, and the persistence of the rudimentary bones which no
longer support toes in the horse becomes comprehensible.

In the language that we speak in England, and in the language of the
Greeks, there are identical verbal roots, or elements entering into the
composition of words. That fact remains unintelligible so long as we
suppose English and Greek to be independently created tongues; but when
it is shown that both languages are descended from one original, the
Sanscrit, we give an explanation of that resemblance. In the same way
the existence of identical structural roots, if I may so term them,
entering into the composition of widely different animals, is striking
evidence in favour of the descent of those animals from a common
original.

To turn to another kind of illustration:--If you regard the whole
series of stratified rocks--that enormous thickness of sixty or seventy
thousand feet that I have mentioned before, constituting the only record
we have of a most prodigious lapse of time, that time being, in all
probability, but a fraction of that of which we have no record;--if you
observe in these successive strata of rocks successive groups of animals
arising and dying out, a constant succession, giving you the same kind
of impression, as you travel from one group of strata to another, as
you would have in travelling from one country to another;--when you find
this constant succession of forms, their traces obliterated except to
the man of science,--when you look at this wonderful history, and ask
what it means, it is only a paltering with words if you are offered the
reply,--'They were so created.'

But if, on the other hand, you look on all forms of organized beings as
the results of the gradual modification of a primitive type, the facts
receive a meaning, and you see that these older conditions are the
necessary predecessors of the present. Viewed in this light the facts of
palaeontology receive a meaning--upon any other hypothesis, I am unable
to see, in the slightest degree, what knowledge or signification we are
to draw out of them. Again, note as bearing upon the same point, the
singular likeness which obtains between the successive Faunae and
Florae, whose remains are preserved on the rocks: you never find any
great and enormous difference between the immediately successive Faunae
and Florae, unless you have reason to believe there has also been a
great lapse of time or a great change of conditions. The animals, for
instance, of the newest tertiary rocks, in any part of the world, are
always, and without exception, found to be closely allied with those
which now live in that part of the world. For example, in Europe,
Asia, and Africa, the large mammals are at present rhinoceroses,
hippopotamuses, elephants, lions, tigers, oxen, horses, etc.; and if
you examine the newest tertiary deposits, which contain the animals
and plants which immediately preceded those which now exist in the same
country, you do not find gigantic specimens of ant-eaters and kangaroos,
but you find rhinoceroses, elephants, lions, tigers, etc.,--of different
species to those now living,--but still their close allies. If you turn
to South America, where, at the present day, we have great sloths and
armadilloes and creatures of that kind, what do you find in the newest
tertiaries? You find the great sloth-like creature, the 'Megatherium',
and the great armadillo, the 'Glyptodon', and so on. And if you go to
Australia you find the same law holds good, namely, that that condition
of organic nature which has preceded the one which now exists, presents
differences perhaps of species, and of genera, but that the great types
of organic structure are the same as those which now flourish.

What meaning has this fact upon any other hypothesis or supposition than
one of successive modification? But if the population of the world, in
any age, is the result of the gradual modification of the forms which
peopled it in the preceding age,--if that has been the case, it is
intelligible enough; because we may expect that the creature that
results from the modification of an elephantine mammal shall be
something like an elephant, and the creature which is produced by the
modification of an armadillo-like mammal shall be like an armadillo.
Upon that supposition, I say, the facts are intelligible; upon any
other, that I am aware of, they are not.

So far, the facts of palaeontology are consistent with almost any
form of the doctrine of progressive modification; they would not be
absolutely inconsistent with the wild speculations of De Maillet, or
with the less objectionable hypothesis of Lamarck. But Mr. Darwin's
views have one peculiar merit; and that is, that they are perfectly
consistent with an array of facts which are utterly inconsistent with
and fatal to, any other hypothesis of progressive modification which
has yet been advanced. It is one remarkable peculiarity of Mr. Darwin's
hypothesis that it involves no necessary progression or incessant
modification, and that it is perfectly consistent with the persistence
for any length of time of a given primitive stock, contemporaneously
with its modifications. To return to the case of the domestic breeds
of pigeons, for example; you have the Dove-cot pigeon, which closely
resembles the Rock pigeon, from which they all started, existing at the
same time with the others. And if species are developed in the same way
in nature, a primitive stock and its modifications may, occasionally,
all find the conditions fitted for their existence; and though they come
into competition, to a certain extent, with one another, the derivative
species may not necessarily extirpate the primitive one, or 'vice
versa'.

Now palaeontology shows us many facts which are perfectly harmonious
with these observed effects of the process by which Mr. Darwin supposes
species to have originated, but which appear to me to be totally
inconsistent with any other hypothesis which has been proposed. There
are some groups of animals and plants, in the fossil world, which have
been said to belong to "persistent types," because they have persisted,
with very little change indeed, through a very great range of time,
while everything about them has changed largely. There are families of
fishes whose type of construction has persisted all the way from the
carboniferous rock right up to the cretaceous; and others which have
lasted through almost the whole range of the secondary rocks, and from
the lias to the older tertiaries. It is something stupendous this--to
consider a genus lasting without essential modifications through all
this enormous lapse of time while almost everything else was changed and
modified.

Thus I have no doubt that Mr. Darwin's hypothesis will be found
competent to explain the majority of the phenomena exhibited by species
in nature; but in an earlier lecture I spoke cautiously with respect to
its power of explaining all the physiological peculiarities of species.

There is, in fact, one set of these peculiarities which the theory of
selective modification, as it stands at present, is not wholly competent
to explain, and that is the group of phenomena which I mentioned to you
under the name of Hybridism, and which I explained to consist in the
sterility of the offspring of certain species when crossed one with
another. It matters not one whit whether this sterility is universal,
or whether it exists only in a single case. Every hypothesis is bound
to explain, or, at any rate, not be inconsistent with, the whole of the
facts which it professes to account for; and if there is a single one of
these facts which can be shown to be inconsistent with (I do not merely
mean inexplicable by, but contrary to) the hypothesis, the hypothesis
falls to the ground,--it is worth nothing. One fact with which it is
positively inconsistent is worth as much, and as powerful in negativing
the hypothesis, as five hundred. If I am right in thus defining the
obligations of an hypothesis, Mr. Darwin, in order to place his
views beyond the reach of all possible assault, ought to be able to
demonstrate the possibility of developing from a particular stock by
selective breeding, two forms, which should either be unable to cross
one with another, or whose cross-bred offspring should be infertile with
one another.

For, you see, if you have not done that you have not strictly fulfilled
all the conditions of the problem; you have not shown that you can
produce, by the cause assumed, all the phenomena which you have in
nature. Here are the phenomena of Hybridism staring you in the face, and
you cannot say, 'I can, by selective modification, produce these same
results.' Now, it is admitted on all hands that, at present, so far as
experiments have gone, it has not been found possible to produce this
complete physiological divergence by selective breeding. I stated this
very clearly before, and I now refer to the point, because, if it could
be proved, not only that this HAS not been done, but that it CANNOT
be done; if it could be demonstrated that it is impossible to breed
selectively, from any stock, a form which shall not breed with another,
produced from the same stock; and if we were shown that this must be
the necessary and inevitable results of all experiments, I hold that Mr.
Darwin's hypothesis would be utterly shattered.

But has this been done? or what is really the state of the case? It is
simply that, so far as we have gone yet with our breeding, we have
not produced from a common stock two breeds which are not more or less
fertile with one another.

I do not know that there is a single fact which would justify any one
in saying that any degree of sterility has been observed between breeds
absolutely known to have been produced by selective breeding from a
common stock. On the other hand, I do not know that there is a single
fact which can justify any one in asserting that such sterility cannot
be produced by proper experimentation. For my own part, I see every
reason to believe that it may, and will be so produced. For, as Mr.
Darwin has very properly urged, when we consider the phenomena of
sterility, we find they are most capricious; we do not know what it is
that the sterility depends on. There are some animals which will not
breed in captivity; whether it arises from the simple fact of their
being shut up and deprived of their liberty, or not, we do not know, but
they certainly will not breed. What an astounding thing this is, to
find one of the most important of all functions annihilated by mere
imprisonment!

So, again, there are cases known of animals which have been thought
by naturalists to be undoubted species, which have yielded perfectly
fertile hybrids; while there are other species which present what
everybody believes to be varieties* which are more or less infertile
with one another. ([Footnote] *And as I conceive with very good reason;
but if any objector urges that we cannot prove that they have been
produced by artificial or natural selection, the objection must be
admitted--ultrasceptical as it is. But in science, scepticism is a
duty.) There are other cases which are truly extraordinary; there is
one, for example, which has been carefully examined,--of two kinds of
sea-weed, of which the male element of the one, which we may call A,
fertilizes the female element of the other, B; while the male element of
B will not fertilize the female element of A; so that, while the former
experiment seems to show us that they are 'varieties', the latter leads
to the conviction that they are 'species'.

When we see how capricious and uncertain this sterility is, how unknown
the conditions on which it depends, I say that we have no right to
affirm that those conditions will not be better understood by and
by, and we have no ground for supposing that we may not be able to
experiment so as to obtain that crucial result which I mentioned
just now. So that though Mr. Darwin's hypothesis does not completely
extricate us from this difficulty at present, we have not the least
right to say it will not do so.

There is a wide gulf between the thing you cannot explain and the thing
that upsets you altogether. There is hardly any hypothesis in this
world which has not some fact in connection with it which has not been
explained, but that is a very different affair to a fact that entirely
opposes your hypothesis; in this case all you can say is, that your
hypothesis is in the same position as a good many others.

Now, as to the third test, that there are no other causes competent to
explain the phenomena, I explained to you that one should be able to say
of an hypothesis, that no other known causes than those supposed by it
are competent to give rise to the phenomena. Here, I think, Mr. Darwin's
view is pretty strong. I really believe that the alternative is either
Darwinism or nothing, for I do not know of any rational conception or
theory of the organic universe which has any scientific position at all
beside Mr. Darwin's. I do not know of any proposition that has been
put before us with the intention of explaining the phenomena of organic
nature, which has in its favour a thousandth part of the evidence which
may be adduced in favour of Mr. Darwin's views. Whatever may be the
objections to his views, certainly all others are absolutely out of
court.

Take the Lamarckian hypothesis, for example. Lamarck was a great
naturalist, and to a certain extent went the right way to work; he
argued from what was undoubtedly a true cause of some of the phenomena
of organic nature. He said it is a matter of experience that an
animal may be modified more or less in consequence of its desires and
consequent actions. Thus, if a man exercise himself as a blacksmith,
his arms will become strong and muscular; such organic modification is a
result of this particular action and exercise. Lamarck thought that by a
very simple supposition based on this truth he could explain the
origin of the various animal species: he said, for example, that the
short-legged birds which live on fish had been converted into the
long-legged waders by desiring to get the fish without wetting their
bodies, and so stretching their legs more and more through successive
generations. If Lamarck could have shown experimentally, that even races
of animals could be produced in this way, there might have been some
ground for his speculations. But he could show nothing of the kind, and
his hypothesis has pretty well dropped into oblivion, as it deserved
to do. I said in an earlier lecture that there are hypotheses and
hypotheses, and when people tell you that Mr. Darwin's strongly-based
hypothesis is nothing but a mere modification of Lamarck's, you will
know what to think of their capacity for forming a judgment on this
subject.

But you must recollect that when I say I think it is either Mr. Darwin's
hypothesis or nothing; that either we must take his view, or look upon
the whole of organic nature as an enigma, the meaning of which is
wholly hidden from us; you must understand that I mean that I accept it
provisionally, in exactly the same way as I accept any other hypothesis.
Men of science do not pledge themselves to creeds; they are bound by
articles of no sort; there is not a single belief that it is not a
bounden duty with them to hold with a light hand and to part with it
cheerfully, the moment it is really proved to be contrary to any fact,
great or small. And if, in course of time I see good reasons for such
a proceeding, I shall have no hesitation in coming before you, and
pointing out any change in my opinion without finding the slightest
occasion to blush for so doing. So I say that we accept this view as
we accept any other, so long as it will help us, and we feel bound
to retain it only so long as it will serve our great purpose--the
improvement of Man's estate and the widening of his knowledge. The
moment this, or any other conception, ceases to be useful for these
purposes, away with it to the four winds; we care not what becomes of
it!

But to say truth, although it has been my business to attend closely
to the controversies roused by the publication of Mr. Darwin's book,
I think that not one of the enormous mass of objections and obstacles
which have been raised is of any very great value, except that
sterility case which I brought before you just now. All the rest are
misunderstandings of some sort, arising either from prejudice, or want
of knowledge, or still more from want of patience and care in reading
the work.

For you must recollect that it is not a book to be read with as much
ease as its pleasant style may lead you to imagine. You spin through it
as if it were a novel the first time you read it, and think you know
all about it; the second time you read it you think you know rather less
about it; and the third time, you are amazed to find how little you have
really apprehended its vast scope and objects. I can positively say that
I never take it up without finding in it some new view, or light,
or suggestion that I have not noticed before. That is the best
characteristic of a thorough and profound book; and I believe this
feature of the 'Origin of Species' explains why so many persons have
ventured to pass judgment and criticisms upon it which are by no means
worth the paper they are written on.

Before concluding these lectures there is one point to which I must
advert,--though, as Mr. Darwin has said nothing about man in his book,
it concerns myself rather than him;--for I have strongly maintained on
sundry occasions that if Mr. Darwin's views are sound, they apply
as much to man as to the lower mammals, seeing that it is perfectly
demonstrable that the structural differences which separate man from the
apes are not greater than those which separate some apes from others.
There cannot be the slightest doubt in the world that the argument which
applies to the improvement of the horse from an earlier stock, or of ape
from ape, applies to the improvement of man from some simpler and lower
stock than man. There is not a single faculty--functional or structural,
moral, intellectual, or instinctive,--there is no faculty whatever that
is not capable of improvement; there is no faculty whatsoever which does
not depend upon structure, and as structure tends to vary, it is capable
of being improved.

Well, I have taken a good deal of pains at various times to prove this,
and I have endeavoured to meet the objections of those who maintain,
that the structural differences between man and the lower animals are of
so vast a character and enormous extent, that even if Mr. Darwin's views
are correct, you cannot imagine this particular modification to take
place. It is, in fact, easy matter to prove that, so far as structure is
concerned, man differs to no greater extent from the animals which
are immediately below him than these do from other members of the same
order. Upon the other hand, there is no one who estimates more highly
than I do the dignity of human nature, and the width of the gulf in
intellectual and moral matters, which lies between man and the whole of
the lower creation.

But I find this very argument brought forward vehemently by some. "You
say that man has proceeded from a modification of some lower animal, and
you take pains to prove that the structural differences which are
said to exist in his brain do not exist at all, and you teach that all
functions, intellectual, moral, and others, are the expression or the
result, in the long run, of structures, and of the molecular forces
which they exert." It is quite true that I do so.

"Well, but," I am told at once, somewhat triumphantly, "you say in the
same breath that there is a great moral and intellectual chasm between
man and the lower animals. How is this possible when you declare that
moral and intellectual characteristics depend on structure, and yet tell
us that there is no such gulf between the structure of man and that of
the lower animals?"

I think that objection is based upon a misconception of the real
relations which exist between structure and function, between
mechanism and work. Function is the expression of molecular forces and
arrangements no doubt; but, does it follow from this, that variation
in function so depends upon variation in structure that the former is
always exactly proportioned to the latter? If there is no such relation,
if the variation in function which follows on a variation in structure,
may be enormously greater than the variation of the structure, then, you
see, the objection falls to the ground.

Take a couple of watches--made by the same maker, and as completely
alike as possible; set them upon the table, and the function of
each--which is its rate of going--will be performed in the same manner,
and you shall be able to distinguish no difference between them; but let
me take a pair of pincers, and if my hand is steady enough to do it,
let me just lightly crush together the bearings of the balance-wheel, or
force to a slightly different angle the teeth of the escapement of one
of them, and of course you know the immediate result will be that
the watch, so treated, from that moment will cease to go. But what
proportion is there between the structural alteration and the functional
result? Is it not perfectly obvious that the alteration is of the
minutest kind, yet that slight as it is, it has produced an infinite
difference in the performance of the functions of these two instruments?

Well, now, apply that to the present question. What is it that
constitutes and makes man what he is? What is it but his power
of language--that language giving him the means of recording
his experience--making every generation somewhat wiser than its
predecessor,--more in accordance with the established order of the
universe?

What is it but this power of speech, of recording experience, which
enables men to be men--looking before and after and, in some dim
sense, understanding the working of this wondrous universe--and which
distinguishes man from the whole of the brute world? I say that this
functional difference is vast, unfathomable, and truly infinite in
its consequences; and I say at the same time, that it may depend upon
structural differences which shall be absolutely inappreciable to us
with our present means of investigation. What is this very speech that
we are talking about? I am speaking to you at this moment, but if you
were to alter, in the minutest degree, the proportion of the nervous
forces now active in the two nerves which supply the muscles of my
glottis, I should become suddenly dumb. The voice is produced only so
long as the vocal chords are parallel; and these are parallel only so
long as certain muscles contract with exact equality; and that again
depends on the equality of action of those two nerves I spoke of. So
that a change of the minutest kind in the structure of one of these
nerves, or in the structure of the part in which it originates, or of
the supply of blood to that part, or of one of the muscles to which it
is distributed, might render all of us dumb. But a race of dumb men,
deprived of all communication with those who could speak, would be
little indeed removed from the brutes. And the moral and intellectual
difference between them and ourselves would be practically infinite,
though the naturalist should not be able to find a single shadow of even
specific structural difference.

But let me dismiss this question now, and, in conclusion, let me say
that you may go away with it as my mature conviction, that Mr. Darwin's
work is the greatest contribution which has been made to biological
science since the publication of the 'Regne Animal' of Cuvier, and since
that of the 'History of Development' of Von Baer. I believe that if you
strip it of its theoretical part it still remains one of the greatest
encyclopaedias of biological doctrine that any one man ever brought
forth; and I believe that, if you take it as the embodiment of
an hypothesis, it is destined to be the guide of biological and
psychological speculation for the next three or four generations.

End of A Critical Examination of "On The Origin of Species".




THE DARWINIAN HYPOTHESIS.*

([Footnote] *'Times', December 26th, 1850.)




DARWIN ON THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES.

There is a growing immensity in the speculations of science to which no
human thing or thought at this day is comparable. Apart from the
results which science brings us home and securely harvests, there is an
expansive force and latitude in its tentative efforts, which lifts
us out of ourselves and transfigures our mortality. We may have a
preference for moral themes, like the Homeric sage, who had seen and
known much:--

    "Cities of men
    And manners, climates, councils, governments";

yet we must end by confession that

    "The windy ways of men
    Are but dust which rises up
    And is lightly laid again,"

in comparison with the work of nature, to which science testifies,
but which has no boundaries in time or space to which science can
approximate.

There is something altogether out of the reach of science, and yet the
compass of science is practically illimitable. Hence it is that from
time to time we are startled and perplexed by theories which have no
parallel in the contracted moral world; for the generalizations of
science sweep on in ever-widening circles, and more aspiring flights,
through a limitless creation. While astronomy, with its telescope,
ranges beyond the known stars, and physiology, with its microscope, is
subdividing infinite minutiae, we may expect that our historic centuries
may be treated as inadequate counters in the history of the planet on
which we are placed. We must expect new conceptions of the nature and
relations of its denizens, as science acquires the materials for fresh
generalizations; nor have we occasion for alarms if a highly advanced
knowledge, like that of the eminent Naturalist before us, confronts us
with an hypothesis as vast as it is novel. This hypothesis may or may
not be sustainable hereafter; it may give way to something else, and
higher science may reverse what science has here built up with so much
skill and patience, but its sufficiency must be tried by the tests of
science alone, if we are to maintain our position as the heirs of Bacon
and the acquitters of Galileo. We must weigh this hypothesis strictly
in the controversy which is coming, by the only tests which are
appropriate, and by no others whatsoever.

The hypothesis to which we point, and of which the present work of Mr.
Darwin is but the preliminary outline, may be stated in his own language
as follows:--"Species originated by means of natural selection, or
through the preservation of the favoured races in the struggle for
life." To render this thesis intelligible, it is necessary to interpret
its terms. In the first place, what is a species? The question is a
simple one, but the right answer to it is hard to find, even if we
appeal to those who should know most about it. It is all those animals
or plants which have descended from a single pair of parents; it is
the smallest distinctly definable group of living organisms; it is an
eternal and immutable entity; it is a mere abstraction of the human
intellect having no existence in nature. Such are a few of the
significations attached to this simple word which may be culled from
authoritative sources; and if, leaving terms and theoretical subtleties
aside, we turn to facts and endeavour to gather a meaning for ourselves,
by studying the things to which, in practice, the name of species is
applied, it profits us little. For practice varies as much as theory.
Let the botanist or the zoologist examine and describe the productions
of a country, and one will pretty certainly disagree with the other
as to the number, limits, and definitions of the species into which he
groups the very same things. In these islands, we are in the habit of
regarding mankind as of one species, but a fortnight's steam will land
us in a country where divines and savants, for once in agreement, vie
with one another in loudness of assertion, if not in cogency of proof,
that men are of different species; and, more particularly, that the
species <DW64> is so distinct from our own that the Ten Commandments have
actually no reference to him. Even in the calm region of entomology,
where, if anywhere in this sinful world, passion and prejudice should
fail to stir the mind, one learned coleopterist will fill ten attractive
volumes with descriptions of species of beetles, nine-tenths of which
are immediately declared by his brother beetle-mongers to be no species
at all.

The truth is that the number of distinguishable living creatures almost
surpasses imagination. At least a hundred thousand such kinds of insects
alone have been described and may be identified in collections, and the
number of separable kinds of living things is under estimated at half a
million. Seeing that most of these obvious kinds have their accidental
varieties, and that they often shade into others by imperceptible
degrees, it may well be imagined that the task of distinguishing between
what is permanent and what fleeting, what is a species and what a mere
variety, is sufficiently formidable.

But is it not possible to apply a test whereby a true species may be
known from a mere variety? Is there no criterion of species? Great
authorities affirm that there is--that the unions of members of the same
species are always fertile, while those of distinct species are either
sterile, or their offspring, called hybrids, are so. It is affirmed not
only that this is an experimental fact, but that it is a provision for
the preservation of the purity of species. Such a criterion as this
would be invaluable; but, unfortunately, not only is it not obvious how
to apply it in the great majority of cases in which its aid is needed,
but its general validity is stoutly denied. The Hon. and Rev. Mr.
Herbert, a most trustworthy authority, not only asserts as the result
of his own observations and experiments that many hybrids are quite as
fertile as the parent species, but he goes so far as to assert that the
particular plant 'Crinum capense' is much more fertile when crossed by a
distinct species than when fertilised by its proper pollen! On the other
hand, the famous Gaertner, though he took the greatest pains to cross
the primrose and the cowslip, succeeded only once or twice in several
years; and yet it is a well-established fact that the primrose and the
cowslip are only varieties of the same kind of plant. Again, such cases
as the following are well established. The female of species A, if
crossed with the male of species B, is fertile; but, if the female of
B is crossed with the male of A, she remains barren. Facts of this kind
destroy the value of the supposed criterion.

If, weary of the endless difficulties involved in the determination of
species, the investigator, contenting himself with the rough practical
distinction of separable kinds, endeavours to study them as they occur
in nature--to ascertain their relations to the conditions which surround
them, their mutual harmonies and discordances of structure, the bond of
union of their parts and their past history, he finds himself, according
to the received notions, in a mighty maze, and with, at most, the
dimmest adumbration of a plan. If he starts with any one clear
conviction, it is that every part of a living creature is cunningly
adapted to some special use in its life. Has not his Paley told him that
that seemingly useless organ, the spleen, is beautifully adjusted as
so much packing between the other organs? And yet, at the outset of his
studies, he finds that no adaptive reason whatsoever can be given for
one-half of the peculiarities of vegetable structure; he also discovers
rudimentary teeth, which are never used, in the gums of the young
calf and in those of the foetal whale; insects which never bite have
rudimental jaws, and others which never fly have rudimental wings;
naturally blind creatures have rudimental eyes; and the halt have
rudimentary limbs. So, again, no animal or plant puts on its perfect
form at once, but all have to start from the same point, however various
the course which each has to pursue. Not only men and horses, and cats
and dogs, lobsters and beetles, periwinkles and mussels, but even the
very sponges and animalcules commence their existence under forms which
are essentially undistinguishable; and this is true of all the infinite
variety of plants. Nay, more, all living beings march side by side along
the high road of development, and separate the later the more like they
are; like people leaving church, who all go down the aisle, but having
reached the door some turn into the parsonage, others go down the
village, and others part only in the next parish. A man in his
development runs for a little while parallel with, though never passing
through, the form of the meanest worm, then travels for a space beside
the fish, then journeys along with the bird and the reptile for his
fellow travellers; and only at last, after a brief companionship with
the highest of the four-footed and four-handed world, rises into the
dignity of pure manhood. No competent thinker of the present day dreams
of explaining these indubitable facts by the notion of the existence of
unknown and undiscoverable adaptations to purpose. And we would remind
those who, ignorant of the facts, must be moved by authority, that no
one has asserted the incompetence of the doctrine of final causes, in
its application to physiology and anatomy, more strongly than our own
eminent anatomist, Professor Owen, who, speaking of such cases, says
('On the Nature of Limbs', pp. 39, 40): "I think it will be obvious that
the principle of final adaptations fails to satisfy all the conditions
of the problem."

But, if the doctrine of final causes will not help us to comprehend the
anomalies of living structure, the principle of adaptation must surely
lead us to understand why certain living beings are found in certain
regions of the world and not in others. The palm, as we know, will not
grow in our climate, nor the oak in Greenland. The white bear cannot
live where the tiger thrives, nor 'vice versa', and the more the natural
habits of animal and vegetable species are examined, the more do they
seem, on the whole, limited to particular provinces. But when we look
into the facts established by the study of the geographical distribution
of animals and plants it seems utterly hopeless to attempt to understand
the strange and apparently capricious relations which they exhibit.
One would be inclined to suppose 'a priori' that every country must be
naturally peopled by those animals that are fittest to live and thrive
in it. And yet how, on this hypothesis, are we to account for the
absence of cattle in the Pampas of South America, when those parts
of the New World were discovered? It is not that they were unfit for
cattle, for millions of cattle now run wild there; and the like holds
good of Australia and New Zealand. It is a curious circumstance, in
fact, that the animals and plants of the Northern Hemisphere are not
only as well adapted to live in the Southern Hemisphere as its own
autochthones, but are in many cases absolutely better adapted, and so
overrun and extirpate the aborigines. Clearly, therefore, the species
which naturally inhabit a country are not necessarily the best adapted
to its climate and other conditions. The inhabitants of islands are
often distinct from any other known species of animal or plants (witness
our recent examples from the work of Sir Emerson Tennent, on Ceylon),
and yet they have almost always a sort of general family resemblance to
the animals and plants of the nearest mainland. On the other hand, there
is hardly a species of fish, shell, or crab common to the opposite sides
of the narrow isthmus of Panama. Wherever we look, then, living nature
offers us riddles of difficult solution, if we suppose that what we see
is all that can be known of it.

But our knowledge of life is not confined to the existing world.
Whatever their minor differences, geologists are agreed as to the vast
thickness of the accumulated strata which compose the visible part of
our earth, and the inconceivable immensity of the time of whose
lapse they are the imperfect, but the only accessible witnesses. Now,
throughout the greater part of this long series of stratified rocks are
scattered, sometimes very abundantly, multitudes of organic remains, the
fossilized exuviae of animals and plants which lived and died while the
mud of which the rocks are formed was yet soft ooze, and could receive
and bury them. It would be a great error to suppose that these organic
remains were fragmentary relics. Our museums exhibit fossil shells of
immeasurable antiquity, as perfect as the day they were formed,
whole skeletons without a limb disturbed--nay, the changed flesh, the
developing embryos, and even the very footsteps of primeval organisms.
Thus the naturalist finds in the bowels of the earth species as well
defined as, and in some groups of animals more numerous than, those that
breathe the upper air. But, singularly enough, the majority of these
entombed species are wholly distinct from those that now live. Nor is
this unlikeness without its rule and order. As a broad fact, the further
we go back in time the less the buried species are like existing forms;
and the further apart the sets of extinct creatures are the less
they are like one another. In other words, there has been a regular
succession of living beings, each younger set being in a very broad and
general sense somewhat more like those which now live.

It was once supposed that this succession had been the result of vast
successive catastrophes, destructions, and re-creations en masse; but
catastrophes are now almost eliminated from geological, or at least
palaeontological speculation; and it is admitted on all hands that the
seeming breaks in the chain of being are not absolute, but only relative
to our imperfect knowledge; that species have replaced species, not in
assemblages, but one by one; and that, if it were possible to have all
the phenomena of the past presented to us, the convenient epochs and
formations of the geologist, though having a certain distinctness,
would fade into one another with limits as undefinable as those of the
distinct and yet separable colours of the solar spectrum.

Such is a brief summary of the main truths which have been established
concerning species. Are these truths ultimate and irresolvable facts, or
are their complexities and perplexities the mere expressions of a higher
law?

A large number of persons practically assume the former position to be
correct. They believe that the writer of the Pentateuch was empowered
and commissioned to teach us scientific as well as other truth, that
the account we find there of the creation of living things is simply and
literally correct, and that anything which seems to contradict it is,
by the nature of the case, false. All the phenomena which have been
detailed are, on this view, the immediate product of a creative fiat and
consequently are out of the domain of science altogether.

Whether this view prove ultimately to be true or false, it is, at any
rate, not at present supported by what is commonly regarded as logical
proof, even if it be capable of discussion by reason; and hence we
consider ourselves at liberty to pass it by, and to turn to those views
which profess to rest on a scientific basis only, and therefore admit
of being argued to their consequences. And we do this with the less
hesitation as it so happens that those persons who are practically
conversant with the facts of the case (plainly a considerable advantage)
have always thought fit to range themselves under the latter category.

The majority of these competent persons have up to the present time
maintained two positions,--the first, that every species is,
within certain defined or definable limits, fixed and incapable of
modification; the second, that every species was originally produced by
a distinct creative act. The second position is obviously incapable
of proof or disproof, the direct operations of the Creator not being
subjects of science; and it must therefore be regarded as a corollary
from the first, the truth or falsehood of which is a matter of
evidence. Most persons imagine that the arguments in favour of it are
overwhelming; but to some few minds, and these, it must be confessed,
intellects of no small power and grasp of knowledge, they have not
brought conviction. Among these minds, that of the famous naturalist
Lamarck, who possessed a greater acquaintance with the lower forms
of life than any man of his day, Cuvier not excepted, and was a good
botanist to boot, occupies a prominent place.

Two facts appear to have strongly affected the course of thought of
this remarkable man--the one, that finer or stronger links of affinity
connect all living beings with one another, and that thus the highest
creature grades by multitudinous steps into the lowest; the other, that
an organ may be developed in particular directions by exerting itself in
particular ways, and that modifications once induced may be transmitted
and become hereditary. Putting these facts together, Lamarck endeavoured
to account for the first by the operation of the second. Place an animal
in new circumstances, says he, and its needs will be altered; the new
needs will create new desires, and the attempt to gratify such desires
will result in an appropriate modification of the organs exerted. Make
a man a blacksmith, and his brachial muscles will develop in accordance
with the demands made upon them, and in like manner, says Lamarck, "the
efforts of some short-necked bird to catch fish without wetting himself
have, with time and perseverance, given rise to all our herons and
long-necked waders."

The Lamarckian hypothesis has long since been justly condemned, and it
is the established practice for every tyro to raise his heel against the
carcass of the dead lion. But it is rarely either wise or instructive to
treat even the errors of a really great man with mere ridicule, and
in the present case the logical form of the doctrine stands on a very
different footing from its substance.

If species have really arisen by the operation of natural conditions,
we ought to be able to find those conditions now at work; we ought to be
able to discover in nature some power adequate to modify any given kind
of animal or plant in such a manner as to give rise to another kind,
which would be admitted by naturalists as a distinct species. Lamarck
imagined that he had discovered this 'vera causa' in the admitted facts
that some organs may be modified by exercise; and that modifications,
once produced, are capable of hereditary transmission. It does not
seem to have occurred to him to inquire whether there is any reason
to believe that there are any limits to the amount of modification
producible, or to ask how long an animal is likely to endeavour to
gratify an impossible desire. The bird, in our example, would surely
have renounced fish dinners long before it had produced the least effect
on leg or neck.

Since Lamarck's time, almost all competent naturalists have left
speculations on the origin of species to such dreamers as the author of
the 'Vestiges', by whose well-intentioned efforts the Lamarckian theory
received its final condemnation in the minds of all sound thinkers.
Notwithstanding this silence, however, the transmutation theory, as it
has been called, has been a "skeleton in the closet" to many an honest
zoologist and botanist who had a soul above the mere naming of dried
plants and skins. Surely, has such an one thought, nature is a mighty
and consistent whole, and the providential order established in the
world of life must, if we could only see it rightly, be consistent with
that dominant over the multiform shapes of brute matter. But what is the
history of astronomy, of all the branches of physics, of chemistry, of
medicine, but a narration of the steps by which the human mind has been
compelled, often sorely against its will, to recognize the operation
of secondary causes in events where ignorance beheld an immediate
intervention of a higher power? And when we know that living things are
formed of the same elements as the inorganic world, that they act
and react upon it, bound by a thousand ties of natural piety, is it
probable, nay is it possible, that they, and they alone, should have no
order in their seeming disorder, no unity in their seeming multiplicity,
should suffer no explanation by the discovery of some central and
sublime law of mutual connexion?

Questions of this kind have assuredly often arisen, but it might have
been long before they received such expression as would have commanded
the respect and attention of the scientific world, had it not been for
the publication of the work which prompted this article. Its author, Mr.
Darwin, inheritor of a once celebrated name, won his spurs in science
when most of those now distinguished were young men, and has for the
last 20 years held a place in the front ranks of British philosophers.
After a circumnavigatory voyage, undertaken solely for the love of
his science, Mr. Darwin published a series of researches which at
once arrested the attention of naturalists and geologists; his
generalizations have since received ample confirmation, and now command
universal assent, nor is it questionable that they have had the most
important influence on the progress of science. More recently Mr.
Darwin, with a versatility which is among the rarest of gifts, turned
his attention to a most difficult question of zoology and minute
anatomy; and no living naturalist and anatomist has published a better
monograph than that which resulted from his labours. Such a man, at all
events, has not entered the sanctuary with unwashed hands, and when he
lays before us the results of 20 years' investigation and reflection we
must listen even though we be disposed to strike. But, in reading his
work it must be confessed that the attention which might at first be
dutifully, soon becomes willingly, given, so clear is the author's
thought, so outspoken his conviction, so honest and fair the candid
expression of his doubts. Those who would judge the book must read
it; we shall endeavour only to make its line of argument and its
philosophical position intelligible to the general reader in our own
way.

The Baker-street Bazaar has just been exhibiting its familiar annual
spectacle. Straight-backed, small-headed, big-barrelled oxen, as
dissimilar from any wild species as can well be imagined, contended for
attention and praise with sheep of half-a-dozen different breeds and
styes of bloated preposterous pigs, no more like a wild boar or sow than
a city alderman is like an ourang-outang. The cattle show has been, and
perhaps may again be, succeeded by a poultry show, of whose crowing and
clucking prodigies it can only be certainly predicated that they will
be very unlike the aboriginal 'Phasianus gallus'. If the seeker after
animal anomalies is not satisfied, a turn or two in Seven Dials will
convince him that the breeds of pigeons are quite as extraordinary
and unlike one another and their parent stock, while the Horticultural
Society will provide him with any number of corresponding vegetable
aberrations from nature's types. He will learn with no little surprise,
too, in the course of his travels, that the proprietors and producers
of these animal and vegetable anomalies regard them as distinct species,
with a firm belief, the strength of which is exactly proportioned to
their ignorance of scientific biology, and which is the more remarkable
as they are all proud of their skill in ORIGINATING such "species."

On careful inquiry it is found that all these, and the many other
artificial breeds or races of animals and plants, have been produced
by one method. The breeder--and a skilful one must be a person of much
sagacity and natural or acquired perceptive faculty--notes some slight
difference, arising he knows not how, in some individuals of his stock.
If he wish to perpetuate the difference, to form a breed with the
peculiarity in question strongly marked, he selects such male and female
individuals as exhibit the desired character, and breeds from them.
Their offspring are then carefully examined, and those which exhibit
the peculiarity the most distinctly are selected for breeding, and this
operation is repeated until the desired amount of divergence from the
primitive stock is reached. It is then found that by continuing the
process of selection--always breeding, that is, from well-marked forms,
and allowing no impure crosses to interfere,--a race may be formed, the
tendency of which to reproduce itself is exceedingly strong; nor is the
limit to the amount of divergence which may be thus produced known, but
one thing is certain, that, if certain breeds of dogs, or of pigeons,
or of horses, were known only in a fossil state, no naturalist would
hesitate in regarding them as distinct species.

But, in all these cases we have HUMAN INTERFERENCE. Without the breeder
there would be no selection, and without the selection no race. Before
admitting the possibility of natural species having originated in any
similar way, it must be proved that there is in nature some power which
takes the place of man, and performs a selection sua sponte. It is the
claim of Mr. Darwin that he professes to have discovered the existence
and the modus operandi of this natural selection, as he terms it; and,
if he be right, the process is perfectly simple and comprehensible, and
irresistibly deducible from very familiar but well nigh forgotten facts.

Who, for instance, has duly reflected upon all the consequences of the
marvellous struggle for existence which is daily and hourly going on
among living beings? Not only does every animal live at the expense of
some other animal or plant, but the very plants are at war. The ground
is full of seeds that cannot rise into seedlings; the seedlings rob one
another of air, light and water, the strongest robber winning the day,
and extinguishing his competitors. Year after year, the wild animals
with which man never interferes are, on the average, neither more nor
less numerous than they were; and yet we know that the annual produce
of every pair is from one to perhaps a million young,--so that it is
mathematically certain that, on the average, as many are killed by
natural causes as are born every year, and those only escape which
happen to be a little better fitted to resist destruction than those
which die. The individuals of a species are like the crew of a foundered
ship, and none but good swimmers have a chance of reaching the land.

Such being unquestionably the necessary conditions under which living
creatures exist, Mr. Darwin discovers in them the instrument of natural
selection. Suppose that in the midst of this incessant competition some
individuals of a species (A) present accidental variations which happen
to fit them a little better than their fellows for the struggle in which
they are engaged, then the chances are in favour, not only of these
individuals being better nourished than the others, but of their
predominating over their fellows in other ways, and of having a better
chance of leaving offspring, which will of course tend to reproduce the
peculiarities of their parents. Their offspring will, by a parity of
reasoning, tend to predominate over their contemporaries, and there
being (suppose) no room for more than one species such as A, the weaker
variety will eventually be destroyed by the new destructive influence
which is thrown into the scale, and the stronger will take its place.
Surrounding conditions remaining unchanged, the new variety (which we
may call B)--supposed, for argument's sake, to be the best adapted for
these conditions which can be got out of the original stock--will remain
unchanged, all accidental deviations from the type becoming at once
extinguished, as less fit for their post than B itself. The tendency
of B to persist will grow with its persistence through successive
generations, and it will acquire all the characters of a new species.

But, on the other hand, if the conditions of life change in any degree,
however slight, B may no longer be that form which is best adapted to
withstand their destructive, and profit by their sustaining, influence;
in which case if it should give rise to a more competent variety (C),
this will take its place and become a new species; and thus, by 'natural
selection', the species B and C will be successively derived from A.

That this most ingenious hypothesis enables us to give a reason for
many apparent anomalies in the distribution of living beings in time and
space, and that it is not contradicted by the main phenomena of life and
organization appear to us to be unquestionable; and so far it must be
admitted to have an immense advantage over any of its predecessors.
But it is quite another matter to affirm absolutely either the truth
or falsehood of Mr. Darwin's views at the present stage of the inquiry.
Goethe has an excellent aphorism defining that state of mind which he
calls 'Thatige Skepsis'--active doubt. It is doubt which so loves
truth that it neither dares rest in doubting, nor extinguish itself by
unjustified belief; and we commend this state of mind to students of
species, with respect to Mr. Darwin's or any other hypothesis, as to
their origin. The combined investigations of another 20 years may,
perhaps, enable naturalists to say whether the modifying causes and the
selective power, which Mr. Darwin has satisfactorily shown to exist in
nature, are competent to produce all the effects he ascribes to them, or
whether, on the other hand, he has been led to over-estimate the
value of his principle of natural selection, as greatly as Lamarck
overestimated his vera causa of modification by exercise.

But there is, at all events, one advantage possessed by the more recent
writer over his predecessor. Mr. Darwin abhors mere speculation as
nature abhors a vacuum. He is as greedy of cases and precedents as any
constitutional lawyer, and all the principles he lays down are capable
of being brought to the test of observation and experiment. The path
he bids us follow professes to be, not a mere airy track, fabricated of
ideal cobwebs, but a solid and broad bridge of facts. If it be so, it
will carry us safely over many a chasm in our knowledge, and lead us to
a region free from the snares of those fascinating but barren Virgins,
the Final Causes, against whom a high authority has so justly warned us.
"My sons, dig in the vineyard," were the last words of the old man
in the fable; and, though the sons found no treasure, they made their
fortunes by the grapes.

End of The Darwinian Hypothesis.




TIME AND LIFE.*

([Footnote] *"Macmillan's Magazine", December 1859.)




MR. DARWIN'S "ORIGIN OF SPECIES".

Everyone knows that that superficial film of the earth's substance,
hardly ten miles thick, which is accessible to human investigation, is
composed for the most part of beds or strata of stone, the consolidated
muds and sands of former seas and lakes, which have been deposited
one upon the other, and hence are the older the deeper they lie. These
multitudinous strata present such resemblances and differences among
themselves that they are capable of classification into groups or
formations, and these formations again are brigaded together into still
larger assemblages, called by the older geologists, primary, secondary,
and tertiary; by the moderns, palaeozoic, mesozoic, and cainozoic: the
basis of the former nomenclature being the relative age of the groups of
strata; that of the latter, the kinds of living forms contained in them.

Though but a film if compared with the total diameter of our planet,
the total series of formations is vast indeed when measured by any human
standard, and, as all action implies time, so are we compelled to regard
these mineral masses as a measure of the time which has elapsed during
their accumulation. The amount of the time which they represent is, of
course, in the inverse proportion of the intensity of the forces
which have been in operation. If, in the ancient world, mud and sand
accumulated on sea-bottoms at tenfold their present rate, it is clear
that a bed of mud or sand ten feet thick would have been formed then in
the same time as a stratum of similar materials one foot thick would be
formed now, and 'vice versa'.

At the outset of his studies, therefore, the physical geologist had to
choose between two hypotheses; either, throughout the ages which are
represented by the accumulated strata, and which we may call 'geologic
time', the forces of nature have operated with much same average
intensity as at present, and hence the lapse of time which they
represent must be something prodigious and inconceivable, or, in the
primeval epochs, the natural powers were infinitely more intense than
now, and hence the time through which they acted to produce the effects
we see was comparatively short.

The earlier geologists adopted the latter view almost with one consent.
For they had little knowledge of the present workings of nature, and
they read the records of geologic time as a child reads the history of
Rome or Greece, and fancies that antiquity was grand, heroic, and unlike
the present because it is unlike his little experience of the present.

Even so the earlier observers were moved with wonder at the seeming
contrast between the ancient and the present order of nature. The
elemental forces seemed to have been grander and more energetic in
primeval times. Upheaved and contorted, rifted and fissured, pierced by
<DW18>s of molten matter or worn away over vast areas by aqueous action,
the older rocks appeared to bear witness to a state of things far
different from that exhibited by the peaceful epoch on which the lot of
man has fallen.

But by degrees thoughtful students of geology have been led to perceive
that the earliest efforts of nature have been by no means the grandest.
Alps and Andes are children of yesterday when compared with Snowdon and
the Cumberland hills; and the so-called glacial epoch--that in which
perhaps the most extensive physical changes of which any record
remaining occurred--is the last and the newest of the revolutions of the
globe. And in proportion as physical geography--which is the geology of
our own epoch--has grown into a science, and the present order of nature
has been ransacked to find what, hibernice, we may call precedents for
the phenomena of the past, so the apparent necessity of supposing the
past to be widely different from the present has diminished.

The transporting power of the greatest deluge which can be imagined
sinks into insignificance beside that of the slowly floating, slowly
melting iceberg, or the glacier creeping along at its snail's pace of
a yard a day. The study of the deltas of the Nile, the Ganges, and the
Mississippi has taught us how slow is the wearing action of water, how
vast its effects when time is allowed for its operation. The reefs of
the Pacific, the deep-sea soundings of the Atlantic, show that it is to
the slow-growing coral and to the imperceptible animalcule, which lives
its brief space and then adds its tiny shell to the muddy cairn left
by its brethren and ancestors, that we must look as the agents in
the formation of limestone and chalk, and not to hypothetical oceans
saturated with calcareous salts and suddenly depositing them.

And while the inquirer has thus learnt that existing forces--GIVE THEM
TIME--are competent to produce all the physical phenomena we meet with
in the rocks, so, on the other side, the study of the marks left in the
ancient strata by past physical actions shows that these were similar to
those which now obtain. Ancient beaches are met with whose pebbles are
like those found on modern shores; the hardened sea-sands of the oldest
epochs show ripple-marks, such as may now be found on every sandy coast;
nay, more, the pits left by ancient rain-drops prove that even in
the very earliest ages, the "bow in the clouds" must have adorned the
palaeozoic firmament. So that if we could reverse the legend of the
Seven Sleepers,--if we could sleep back through the past, and awake a
million ages before our own epoch, in the midst of the earliest geologic
times,--there is no reason to believe that sea, or sky, or the aspect of
the land would warn us of the marvellous retrospection.

Such are the beliefs which modern physical geologists hold, or, at any
rate, tend towards holding. But, in so doing, it is obvious that they by
no means prejudge the question, as to what the physical condition of the
globe may have been before our chapters of its history begin, in what
may be called (with that licence which is implied in the often-used term
"prehistoric epoch") "pre-geologic time." The views indicated, in fact,
are not only quite consistent with the hypothesis, that, in the
still earlier period referred to, the condition of our world was very
different; but they may be held by some to necessitate that hypothesis.
The physical philosopher who is accurately acquainted with the velocity
of a cannon-ball, and the precise character of the line which it
traverses for a yard of its course, is necessitated by what he knows of
the laws of nature to conclude that it came from a certain spot, whence
it was impelled by a certain force, and that it has followed a certain
trajectory. In like manner, the student of physical geology, who fully
believes in the uniformity of the general condition of the earth through
geologic time, may feel compelled by what he knows of causation, and by
the general analogy of nature, to suppose that our solar system was once
a nebulous mass; that it gradually condensed, that it broke up into
that wonderful group of harmoniously rolling balls we call planets
and satellites, and that then each of these underwent its appointed
metamorphosis, until at last our own share of the cosmic vapour passed
into that condition in which we first meet with definite records of
its state, and in which it has since, with comparatively little change,
remained.

The doctrine of uniformity and the doctrine of progression are,
therefore, perfectly consistent; perhaps, indeed, they might be shown to
be necessarily connected with one another.

If, however, the condition of the world, which has obtained throughout
geologic time, is but the sequel to a vast series of changes which took
place in pre-geologic time, then it seems not unlikely that the duration
of this latter is to that of the former as the vast extent of geologic
time is to the length of the brief epoch we call the historical period;
and that even the oldest rocks are records of an epoch almost infinitely
remote from that which could have witnessed the first shaping of our
globe.

It is probable that no modern geologist would hesitate to admit the
general validity of these reasonings when applied to the physics of his
subject, whence it is the more remarkable that the moment the question
changes from one of physics and chemistry to one of natural history,
scientific opinions and the popular prejudices, which reflect them in
a distorted form, undergo a sudden metamorphosis. Geologists
and palaeontologists write about the "beginning of life" and the
"first-created forms of living beings," as if they were the most
familiar things in the world; and even cautious writers seem to be on
quite friendly terms with the "archetype" whereby the Creator was guided
"amidst the crash of falling worlds." Just as it used to be imagined
that the ancient world was physically opposed to the present, so it is
still widely assumed that the living population of our globe, whether
animal or vegetable, in the older epochs, exhibited forms so strikingly
contrasted with those which we see around us, that there is hardly
anything in common between the two. It is constantly tacitly assumed
that we have before us all the forms of life which have ever existed;
and though the progress of knowledge, yearly and almost monthly,
drives the defenders of that position from their ground, they entrench
themselves in the new line of defences as if nothing had happened, and
proclaim that the NEW beginning is the REAL beginning.

Without for an instant denying or endeavouring to soften down the
considerable positive differences (the negative ones are met by another
line of argument) which undoubtedly obtain between the ancient and the
modern worlds of life, we believe they have been vastly overstated and
exaggerated, and this belief is based upon certain facts whose value
does not seem to have been fully appreciated, though they have long been
more or less completely known.

The multitudinous kinds of animals and plants, both recent and fossil,
are, as is well known, arranged by zoologists and botanists, in
accordance with their natural relations, into groups which receive the
names of sub-kingdoms, classes, orders, families, genera and species.
Now it is a most remarkable circumstance that, viewed on the great
scale, living beings have differed so little throughout all geologic
time that there is no sub-kingdom and no class wholly extinct or without
living representatives.

If we descend to the smaller groups, we find that the number of orders
of plants is about two hundred; and I have it on the best authority that
not one of these is exclusively fossil; so that there is absolutely not
a single extinct ordinal type of vegetable life; and it is not until we
descend to the next group, or the families, that we find types which are
wholly extinct. The number of orders of animals, on the other hand, may
be reckoned at a hundred and twenty, or thereabouts, and of these,
eight or nine have no living representatives. The proportion of extinct
ordinal types of animals to the existing types, therefore, does not
exceed seven per cent--a marvellously small proportion when we consider
the vastness of geologic time.

Another class of considerations--of a different kind, it is true, but
tending in the same direction--seems to have been overlooked. Not only
is it true that the general plan of construction of animals and plants
has been the same in all recorded time as at present, but there are
particular kinds of animals and plants which have existed throughout
vast epochs, sometimes through the whole range of recorded time, with
very little change. By reason of this persistency, the typical form of
such a kind might be called a "persistent type," in contradistinction
to those types which have appeared for but a short time in the course
of the world's history. Examples of these persistent types are abundant
enough in both the vegetable and the animal kingdoms. The oldest group
of plants with which we are well acquainted is that of whose remains
coal is constituted; and as far as they can be identified, the
carboniferous plants are ferns, or club-mosses, or Coniferae, in many
cases generically identical with those now living!

Among animals, instances of the same kind may be found in every
sub-kingdom. The 'Globigerina' of the Atlantic soundings is identical
with that which occurs in the chalk; and the casts of lower silurian
'Foraminifera', which Ehrenberg has recently described, seem to indicate
the existence at that remote period of forms singularly like those which
now exist. Among the corals, the palaeozoic 'Tabulata' are constructed
on precisely the same type as the modern millepores; and if we turn to
molluscs, the most competent malacologists fail to discover any generic
distinction between the 'Craniae', 'Lingulae' and 'Discinae' of the
silurian rocks and those which now live. Our existing 'Nautilus' has its
representative species in every great formation, from the oldest to the
newest; and 'Loligo', the squid of modern seas, appears in the lias, or
at the bottom of the mesozoic series, in a form, at most, specifically
different from its living congeners. In the great assemblage of annulose
animals, the two highest classes, the insects and spider tribe, exhibit
a wonderful persistency of type. The cockroaches of the carboniferous
epoch are exceedingly similar to those which now run about our
coal-cellars; and its locusts, termites and dragon-flies are closely
allied to the members of the same groups which now chirrup about our
fields, undermine our houses, or sail with swift grace about the banks
of our sedgy pools. And, in like manner, the palaeozoic scorpions can
only be distinguished by the eye of a naturalist from the modern ones.

Finally, with respect to the 'Vertebrata', the same law holds good:
certain types, such as those of the ganoid and placoid fishes, having
persisted from the palaeozoic epoch to the present time without a
greater amount of deviation from the normal standard than that which
is seen within the limits of the group as it now exists. Even among the
'Reptilia'--the class which exhibits the largest proportion of entirely
extinct forms of any one type,--that of the 'Crocodilia', has persisted
from at least the commencement of the Mesozoic epoch up to the present
time with so much constancy, that the amount of change which it exhibits
may fairly, in relation to the time which has elapsed, be called
insignificant. And the imperfect knowledge we have of the ancient
mammalian population of our earth leads to the belief that certain
of its types, such as that of the 'Marsupialia', have persisted with
correspondingly little change through a similar range of time.

Thus it would appear to be demonstrable, that, notwithstanding the great
change which is exhibited by the animal population of the world as a
whole, certain types have persisted comparatively without alteration,
and the question arises, What bearing have such facts as these on our
notions of the history of life through geological time? The answer to
this question would seem to depend on the view we take respecting the
origin of species in general. If we assume that every species of animal
and of plant was formed by a distinct act of creative power, and if the
species which have incessantly succeeded one another were placed upon
the globe by these separate acts, then the existence of persistent types
is simply an unintelligible irregularity. Such assumption, however, is
as unsupported by tradition or by Revelation as it is opposed by the
analogy of the rest of the operations of nature; and those who imagine
that, by adopting any such hypothesis, they are strengthening the
hands of the advocates of the letter of the Mosaic account, are simply
mistaken. If, on the other hand, we adopt that hypothesis to which alone
the study of physiology lends any support--that hypothesis which, having
struggled beyond the reach of those fatal supporters, the Telliameds
and Vestigiarians, who so nearly caused its suffocation by wind in early
infancy, is now winning at least the provisional assent of all the best
thinkers of the day--the hypothesis that the forms or species of living
beings, as we know them, have been produced by the gradual modification
of pre-existing species--then the existence of persistent types seems
to teach us much. Just as a small portion of a great curve appears
straight, the apparent absence of change in direction of the line being
the exponent of the vast extent of the whole, in proportion to the part
we see; so, if it be true that all living species are the result of the
modification of other and simpler forms, the existence of these little
altered persistent types, ranging through all geological time, must
indicate that they are but the final terms of an enormous series of
modifications, which had their being in the great lapse of pregeologic
time, and are now perhaps for ever lost.

In other words, when rightly studied, the teachings of palaeontology are
at one with those of physical geology. Our farthest explorations carry
us back but a little way above the mouth of the great river of Life:
where it arose, and by what channels the noble tide has reached the
point when it first breaks upon our view, is hidden from us.

The foregoing pages contain the substance of a lecture delivered before
the Royal Institution of Great Britain many months ago, and of course
long before the appearance of the remarkable work on the "Origin of
Species" just published by Mr. Darwin, who arrives at very similar
conclusions. Although, in one sense, I might fairly say that my own
views have been arrived at independently, I do not know that I can
claim any equitable right to property in them; for it has long been
my privilege to enjoy Mr. Darwin's friendship, and to profit by
corresponding with him, and by, to some extent, becoming acquainted with
the workings of his singularly original and well-stored mind. It was in
consequence of my knowledge of the general tenor of the researches
in which Mr. Darwin had been so long engaged; because I had the most
complete confidence in his perseverance, his knowledge, and, above all
things, his high-minded love of truth; and, moreover, because I found
that the better I became acquainted with the opinions of the best
naturalists regarding the vexed question of species, the less fixed
they seemed to be, and the more inclined they were to the hypothesis
of gradual modification, that I ventured to speak as strongly as I have
done in the final paragraphs of my discourse.

Thus, my daw having so many borrowed plumes, I see no impropriety in
making a tail to this brief paper by taking another handful of feathers
from Mr. Darwin; endeavouring to point out in a few words, in fact,
what, as I gather from the perusal of his book, his doctrines really
are, and on what sort of basis they rest. And I do this the more
willingly, as I observe that already the hastier sort of critics have
begun, not to review my friend's book, but to howl over it in a manner
which must tend greatly to distract the public mind.

No one will be better satisfied than I to see Mr. Darwin's book refuted,
if any person be competent to perform that feat; but I would
suggest that refutation is retarded, not aided, by mere sarcastic
misrepresentation. Every one who has studied cattle-breeding, or turned
pigeon-fancier, or "pomologist," must have been struck by the extreme
modifiability or plasticity of those kinds of animals and plants which
have been subjected to such artificial conditions as are imposed by
domestication. Breeds of dogs are more different from one another than
are the dog and the wolf; and the purely artificial races of pigeons,
if their origin were unknown, would most assuredly be reckoned by
naturalists as distinct species and even genera.

These breeds are always produced in the same way. The breeder selects
a pair, one or other, or both, of which present an indication of the
peculiarity he wishes to perpetuate, and then selects from the offspring
of them those which are most characteristic, rejecting the others. From
the selected offspring he breeds again, and, taking the same precautions
as before, repeats the process until he has obtained the precise degree
of divergence from the primitive type at which he aimed.

If he now breeds from the variety thus established for some generations,
taking care always to keep the stock pure, the tendency to produce this
particular variety becomes more and more strongly hereditary; and it
does not appear that there is any limit to the persistency of the race
thus developed.

Men like Lamarck, apprehending these facts, and knowing that varieties
comparable to those produced by the breeder are abundantly found in
nature, and finding it impossible to discriminate in some cases between
varieties and true species, could hardly fail to divine the possibility
that species even the most distinct were, after all, only exceedingly
persistent varieties, and that they had arisen by the modification
of some common stock, just as it is with good reason believed that
turnspits and greyhounds, carrier and tumbler pigeons, have arisen.

But there was a link wanting to complete the parallel. Where in nature
was the analogue of the breeder to be found? How could that operation
of selection, which is his essential function, be carried out by mere
natural agencies? Lamarck did not value this problem; neither did
he admit his impotence to solve it; but he guessed a solution. Now,
guessing in science is a very hazardous proceeding, and Lamarck's
reputation has suffered woefully for the absurdities into which his
baseless suppositions led him.

Lamarck's conjectures, equipped with a new hat and stick, as Sir Walter
Scott was wont to say of an old story renovated, formed the foundation
of the biological speculations of the 'Vestiges', a work which has done
more harm to the progress of sound thought on these matters than any
that could be named; and, indeed, I mention it here simply for the
purpose of denying that it has anything in common with what essentially
characterises Mr. Darwin's work.

The peculiar feature of the latter is, in fact, that it professes to
tell us what in nature takes the place of the breeder; what it is that
favours the development of one variety into which a species may run, and
checks that of another; and, finally, shows how this natural selection,
as it is termed, may be the physical cause of the production of species
by modification.

That which takes the place of the breeder and selector in nature is
Death. In a most remarkable chapter, 'On the Struggle for Existence',
Mr. Darwin draws attention to the marvellous destruction of life which
is constantly going on in nature. For every species of living thing,
as for man, "Eine Bresche ist ein jeder Tag."--Every species has its
enemies; every species has to compete with others for the necessaries
of existence; the weakest goes to the wall, and death is the penalty
inflicted on all laggards and stragglers. Every variety to which a
species may give rise is either worse or better adapted to surrounding
circumstances than its parent. If worse, it cannot maintain itself
against death, and speedily vanishes again. But if better adapted, it
must, sooner or later, "improve" its progenitor from the face of the
earth, and take its place. If circumstances change, the victor will be
similarly supplanted by its own progeny; and thus, by the operation of
natural causes, unlimited modification may in the lapse of long ages
occur.

For an explanation of what I have here called vaguely "surrounding
circumstances," and of why they continually change--for ample proof
that the "struggle for existence" is a very great reality, and assuredly
'tends' to exert the influence ascribed to it--I must refer to Mr.
Darwin's book. I believe I have stated fairly the position upon which
his whole theory must stand or fall; and it is not my purpose to
anticipate a full review of his work. If it can be proved that the
process of natural selection, operating upon any species, can give rise
to varieties of species so different from one another that none of our
tests will distinguish them from true species, Mr. Darwin's hypothesis
of the origin of species will take its place among the established
theories of science, be its consequences whatever they may. If, on the
other hand, Mr. Darwin has erred, either in fact or in reasoning, his
fellow-workers will soon find out the weak points in his doctrines,
and their extinction by some nearer approximation to the truth will
exemplify his own principle of natural selection.

In either case the question is one to be settled only by the
painstaking, truth-loving investigation of skilled naturalists. It is
the duty of the general public to await the result in patience; and,
above all things, to discourage, as they would any other crimes,
the attempt to enlist the prejudices of the ignorant, or the
uncharitableness of the bigoted, on either side of the controversy.

End of Time and Life.




THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES.*

([Footnote] *'The Westminster Review', April 1860.)

Mr. Darwin's long-standing and well-earned scientific eminence probably
renders him indifferent to that social notoriety which passes by the
name of success; but if the calm spirit of the philosopher have not yet
wholly superseded the ambition and the vanity of the carnal man within
him, he must be well satisfied with the results of his venture in
publishing the 'Origin of Species'. Overflowing the narrow bounds of
purely scientific circles, the "species question" divides with Italy and
the Volunteers the attention of general society. Everybody has read Mr.
Darwin's book, or, at least, has given an opinion upon its merits or
demerits; pietists, whether lay or ecclesiastic, decry it with the mild
railing which sounds so charitable; bigots denounce it with ignorant
invective; old ladies of both sexes consider it a decidedly dangerous
book, and even savants, who have no better mud to throw, quote
antiquated writers to show that its author is no better than an ape
himself; while every philosophical thinker hails it as a veritable
Whitworth gun in the armoury of liberalism; and all competent
naturalists and physiologists, whatever their opinions as to the
ultimate fate of the doctrines put forth, acknowledge that the work
in which they are embodied is a solid contribution to knowledge and
inaugurates a new epoch in natural history.

Nor has the discussion of the subject been restrained within the limits
of conversation. When the public is eager and interested, reviewers must
minister to its wants; and the genuine litterateur is too much in
the habit of acquiring his knowledge from the book he judges--as the
Abyssinian is said to provide himself with steaks from the ox which
carries him--to be withheld from criticism of a profound scientific work
by the mere want of the requisite preliminary scientific acquirement;
while, on the other hand, the men of science who wish well to the new
views, no less than those who dispute their validity, have naturally
sought opportunities of expressing their opinions. Hence it is not
surprising that almost all the critical journals have noticed Mr.
Darwin's work at greater or less length; and so many disquisitions,
of every degree of excellence, from the poor product of ignorance, too
often stimulated by prejudice, to the fair and thoughtful essay of
the candid student of Nature, have appeared, that it seems an almost
hopeless task to attempt to say anything new upon the question.

But it may be doubted if the knowledge and acumen of prejudged
scientific opponents, or the subtlety of orthodox special pleaders, have
yet exerted their full force in mystifying the real issues of the great
controversy which has been set afoot, and whose end is hardly likely
to be seen by this generation; so that, at this eleventh hour, and even
failing anything new, it may be useful to state afresh that which is
true, and to put the fundamental positions advocated by Mr. Darwin in
such a form that they may be grasped by those whose special studies lie
in other directions. And the adoption of this course may be the more
advisable, because, notwithstanding its great deserts, and indeed partly
on account of them, the 'Origin of Species' is by no means an easy book
to read--if by reading is implied the full comprehension of an author's
meaning.

We do not speak jestingly in saying that it is Mr. Darwin's misfortune
to know more about the question he has taken up than any man living.
Personally and practically exercised in zoology, in minute anatomy,
in geology; a student of geographical distribution, not on maps and
in museums only, but by long voyages and laborious collection; having
largely advanced each of these branches of science, and having spent
many years in gathering and sifting materials for his present work,
the store of accurately registered facts upon which the author of the
'Origin of Species' is able to draw at will is prodigious.

But this very superabundance of matter must have been embarrassing to
a writer who, for the present, can only put forward an abstract of his
views; and thence it arises, perhaps, that notwithstanding the clearness
of the style, those who attempt fairly to digest the book find much of
it a sort of intellectual pemmican--a mass of facts crushed and pounded
into shape, rather than held together by the ordinary medium of an
obvious logical bond; due attention will, without doubt, discover this
bond, but it is often hard to find.

Again, from sheer want of room, much has to be taken for granted which
might readily enough be proved; and hence, while the adept, who can
supply the missing links in the evidence from his own knowledge,
discovers fresh proof of the singular thoroughness with which all
difficulties have been considered and all unjustifiable suppositions
avoided, at every reperusal of Mr. Darwin's pregnant paragraphs, the
novice in biology is apt to complain of the frequency of what he fancies
is gratuitous assumption.

Thus while it may be doubted if, for some years, any one is likely to be
competent to pronounce judgment on all the issues raised by Mr. Darwin,
there is assuredly abundant room for him, who, assuming the humbler,
though perhaps as useful, office of an interpreter between the 'Origin
of Species' and the public, contents himself with endeavouring to
point out the nature of the problems which it discusses; to distinguish
between the ascertained facts and the theoretical views which it
contains; and finally, to show the extent to which the explanation it
offers satisfies the requirements of scientific logic. At any rate, it
is this office which we purpose to undertake in the following pages.

It may be safely assumed that our readers have a general conception of
the nature of the objects to which the word "species" is applied; but
it has, perhaps, occurred to a few, even to those who are naturalists ex
professo, to reflect, that, as commonly employed, the term has a double
sense and denotes two very different orders of relations. When we call a
group of animals, or of plants, a species, we may imply thereby, either
that all these animals or plants have some common peculiarity of form
or structure; or, we may mean that they possess some common functional
character. That part of biological science which deals with form
and structure is called Morphology--that which concerns itself with
function, Physiology--so that we may conveniently speak of these two
senses, or aspects, of "species"--the one as morphological, the other
as physiological. Regarded from the former point of view, a species
is nothing more than a kind of animal or plant, which is distinctly
definable from all others, by certain constant, and not merely sexual,
morphological peculiarities. Thus horses form a species, because the
group of animals to which that name is applied is distinguished from all
others in the world by the following constantly associated characters.
They have--1, A vertebral column; 2, Mammae; 3, A placental embryo; 4,
Four legs; 5, A single well-developed toe in each foot provided with a
hoof; 6, A bushy tail; and 7, Callosities on the inner sides of both
the fore and the hind legs. The asses, again, form a distinct species,
because, with the same characters, as far as the fifth in the above
list, all asses have tufted tails, and have callosities only on the
inner side of the fore-legs. If animals were discovered having the
general characters of the horse, but sometimes with callosities only
on the fore-legs, and more or less tufted tails; or animals having the
general characters of the ass, but with more or less bushy tails,
and sometimes with callosities on both pairs of legs, besides being
intermediate in other respects--the two species would have to be merged
into one. They could no longer be regarded as morphologically distinct
species, for they would not be distinctly definable one from the other.

However bare and simple this definition of species may appear to be,
we confidently appeal to all practical naturalists, whether zoologists,
botanists, or palaeontologists, to say if, in the vast majority of
cases, they know, or mean to affirm anything more of the group of
animals or plants they so denominate than what has just been stated.
Even the most decided advocates of the received doctrines respecting
species admit this.

"I apprehend," says Professor Owen,* "that few naturalists nowadays, in
describing and proposing a name for what they call 'a new species,' use
that term to signify what was meant by it twenty or thirty years ago;
that is, an originally distinct creation, maintaining its primitive
distinction by obstructive generative peculiarities. The proposer of the
new species now intends to state no more than he actually knows; as, for
example, that the differences on which he founds the specific character
are constant in individuals of both sexes, so far as observation has
reached; and that they are not due to domestication or to artificially
superinduced external circumstances, or to any outward influence within
his cognizance; that the species is wild, or is such as it appears by
Nature." ([Footnote] *On the Osteology of the Chimpanzees and Orangs:
Transactions of the Zoological Society, 1858.)

If we consider, in fact, that by far the largest proportion of recorded
existing species are known only by the study of their skins, or bones,
or other lifeless exuvia; that we are acquainted with none, or next to
none, of their physiological peculiarities, beyond those which can be
deduced from their structure, or are open to cursory observation; and
that we cannot hope to learn more of any of those extinct forms of life
which now constitute no inconsiderable proportion of the known Flora and
Fauna of the world: it is obvious that the definitions of these species
can be only of a purely structural, or morphological, character. It is
probable that naturalists would have avoided much confusion of ideas
if they had more frequently borne the necessary limitations of our
knowledge in mind. But while it may safely be admitted that we are
acquainted with only the morphological characters of the vast majority
of species--the functional or physiological, peculiarities of a few have
been carefully investigated, and the result of that study forms a large
and most interesting portion of the physiology of reproduction.

The student of Nature wonders the more and is astonished the less, the
more conversant he becomes with her operations; but of all the perennial
miracles she offers to his inspection, perhaps the most worthy of
admiration is the development of a plant or of an animal from its
embryo. Examine the recently laid egg of some common animal, such as a
salamander or newt. It is a minute spheroid in which the best microscope
will reveal nothing but a structureless sac, enclosing a glairy fluid,
holding granules in suspension. But strange possibilities lie dormant
in that semi-fluid globule. Let a moderate supply of warmth reach its
watery cradle, and the plastic matter undergoes changes so rapid, yet
so steady and purposelike in their succession, that one can only compare
them to those operated by a skilled modeller upon a formless lump of
clay. As with an invisible trowel, the mass is divided and subdivided
into smaller and smaller portions, until it is reduced to an aggregation
of granules not too large to build withal the finest fabrics of the
nascent organism. And, then, it is as if a delicate finger traced out
the line to be occupied by the spinal column, and moulded the contour
of the body; pinching up the head at one end, the tail at the other,
and fashioning flank and limb into due salamandrine proportions, in so
artistic a way, that, after watching the process hour by hour, one is
almost involuntarily possessed by the notion, that some more subtle aid
to vision than an achromatic, would show the hidden artist, with his
plan before him, striving with skilful manipulation to perfect his work.

As life advances, and the young amphibian ranges the waters, the terror
of his insect contemporaries, not only are the nutritious particles
supplied by its prey, by the addition of which to its frame, growth
takes place, laid down, each in its proper spot, and in such due
proportion to the rest, as to reproduce the form, the colour, and the
size, characteristic of the parental stock; but even the wonderful
powers of reproducing lost parts possessed by these animals are
controlled by the same governing tendency. Cut off the legs, the tail,
the jaws, separately or all together, and, as Spallanzani showed long
ago, these parts not only grow again, but the reintegrated limb is
formed on the same type as those which were lost. The new jaw, or leg,
is a newt's, and never by any accident more like that of a frog. What is
true of the newt is true of every animal and of every plant; the acorn
tends to build itself up again into a woodland giant such as that from
whose twig it fell; the spore of the humblest lichen reproduces the
green or brown incrustation which gave it birth; and at the other end of
the scale of life, the child that resembled neither the paternal nor the
maternal side of the house would be regarded as a kind of monster.

So that the one end to which, in all living beings, the formative
impulse is tending--the one scheme which the Archaeus of the old
speculators strives to carry out, seems to be to mould the offspring
into the likeness of the parent. It is the first great law of
reproduction, that the offspring tends to resemble its parent or
parents, more closely than anything else.

Science will some day show us how this law is a necessary consequence
of the more general laws which govern matter; but, for the present, more
can hardly be said than that it appears to be in harmony with them. We
know that the phenomena of vitality are not something apart from other
physical phenomena, but one with them; and matter and force are the two
names of the one artist who fashions the living as well as the
lifeless. Hence living bodies should obey the same great laws as other
matter--nor, throughout Nature, is there a law of wider application than
this, that a body impelled by two forces takes the direction of their
resultant. But living bodies may be regarded as nothing but extremely
complex bundles of forces held in a mass of matter, as the complex
forces of a magnet are held in the steel by its coercive force; and,
since the differences of sex are comparatively slight, or, in other
words, the sum of the forces in each has a very similar tendency, their
resultant, the offspring, may reasonably be expected to deviate but
little from a course parallel to either, or to both.

Represent the reason of the law to ourselves by what physical metaphor
or analogy we will, however, the great matter is to apprehend its
existence and the importance of the consequences deducible from it. For
things which are like to the same are like to one another; and if; in
a great series of generations, every offspring is like its parent, it
follows that all the offspring and all the parents must be like
one another; and that, given an original parental stock, with the
opportunity of undisturbed multiplication, the law in question
necessitates the production, in course of time, of an indefinitely large
group, the whole of whose members are at once very similar and are blood
relations, having descended from the same parent, or pair of parents.
The proof that all the members of any given group of animals, or plants,
had thus descended, would be ordinarily considered sufficient to entitle
them to the rank of physiological species, for most physiologists
consider species to be definable as "the offspring of a single primitive
stock."

But though it is quite true that all those groups we call species MAY,
according to the known laws of reproduction, have descended from a
single stock, and though it is very likely they really have done so,
yet this conclusion rests on deduction and can hardly hope to establish
itself upon a basis of observation. And the primitiveness of the
supposed single stock, which, after all, is the essential part of the
matter, is not only a hypothesis, but one which has not a shadow of
foundation, if by "primitive" be meant "independent of any other living
being." A scientific definition, of which an unwarrantable hypothesis
forms an essential part, carries its condemnation within itself;
but, even supposing such a definition were, in form, tenable, the
physiologist who should attempt to apply it in Nature would soon find
himself involved in great, if not inextricable, difficulties. As we have
said, it is indubitable that offspring TEND to resemble the parental
organism, but it is equally true that the similarity attained never
amounts to identity, either in form or in structure. There is always a
certain amount of deviation, not only from the precise characters of a
single parent, but when, as in most animals and many plants, the sexes
are lodged in distinct individuals, from an exact mean between the two
parents. And indeed, on general principles, this slight deviation seems
as intelligible as the general similarity, if we reflect how complex the
co-operating "bundles of forces" are, and how improbable it is that, in
any case, their true resultant shall coincide with any mean between
the more obvious characters of the two parents. Whatever be its cause,
however, the co-existence of this tendency to minor variation with the
tendency to general similarity, is of vast importance in its bearing on
the question of the origin of species.

As a general rule, the extent to which an offspring differs from its
parent is slight enough; but, occasionally, the amount of difference is
much more strongly marked, and then the divergent offspring receives the
name of a Variety. Multitudes, of what there is every reason to believe
are such varieties, are known, but the origin of very few has been
accurately recorded, and of these we will select two as more especially
illustrative of the main features of variation. The first of them is
that of the "Ancon," or "Otter" sheep, of which a careful account is
given by Colonel David Humphreys, F.R.S., in a letter to Sir Joseph
Banks, published in the Philosophical Transactions for 1813. It appears
that one Seth Wright, the proprietor of a farm on the banks of the
Charles River, in Massachusetts, possessed a flock of fifteen ewes and
a ram of the ordinary kind. In the year 1791, one of the ewes presented
her owner with a male lamb, differing, for no assignable reason, from
its parents by a proportionally long body and short bandy legs, whence
it was unable to emulate its relatives in those sportive leaps over the
neighbours' fences, in which they were in the habit of indulging, much
to the good farmer's vexation.

The second case is that detailed by a no less unexceptionable authority
than Reaumur, in his 'Art de faire eclore les Poulets'. A Maltese
couple, named Kelleia, whose hands and feet were constructed upon the
ordinary human model, had born to them a son, Gratio, who possessed six
perfectly movable fingers on each hand, and six toes, not quite so well
formed, on each foot. No cause could be assigned for the appearance of
this unusual variety of the human species.

Two circumstances are well worthy of remark in both these cases. In
each, the variety appears to have arisen in full force, and, as it were,
per saltum; a wide and definite difference appearing, at once, between
the Ancon ram and the ordinary sheep; between the six-fingered and
six-toed Gratio Kelleia and ordinary men. In neither case is it possible
to point out any obvious reason for the appearance of the variety.
Doubtless there were determining causes for these as for all other
phenomena; but they do not appear, and we can be tolerably certain that
what are ordinarily understood as changes in physical conditions, as in
climate, in food, or the like, did not take place and had nothing to do
with the matter. It was no case of what is commonly called adaptation
to circumstances; but, to use a conveniently erroneous phrase, the
variations arose spontaneously. The fruitless search after final causes
leads their pursuers a long way; but even those hardy teleologists, who
are ready to break through all the laws of physics in chase of their
favourite will-o'-the-wisp, may be puzzled to discover what purpose
could be attained by the stunted legs of Seth Wright's ram or the
hexadactyle members of Gratio Kelleia.

Varieties then arise we know not why; and it is more than probable that
the majority of varieties have arisen in this "spontaneous" manner,
though we are, of course, far from denying that they may be traced,
in some cases, to distinct external influences; which are assuredly
competent to alter the character of the tegumentary covering, to
change colour, to increase or diminish the size of muscles, to modify
constitution, and, among plants, to give rise to the metamorphosis of
stamens into petals, and so forth. But however they may have arisen,
what especially interests us at present is, to remark that, once in
existence, varieties obey the fundamental law of reproduction that like
tends to produce like; and their offspring exemplify it by tending
to exhibit the same deviation from the parental stock as themselves.
Indeed, there seems to be, in many instances, a pre-potent influence
about a newly-arisen variety which gives it what one may call an unfair
advantage over the normal descendants from the same stock. This is
strikingly exemplified by the case of Gratio Kelleia, who married a
woman with the ordinary pentadactyle extremities, and had by her
four children, Salvator, George, Andre, and Marie. Of these children
Salvator, the eldest boy, had six fingers and six toes, like his father;
the second and third, also boys, had five fingers and five toes,
like their mother, though the hands and feet of George were slightly
deformed. The last, a girl, had five fingers and five toes, but the
thumbs were slightly deformed. The variety thus reproduced itself purely
in the eldest, while the normal type reproduced itself purely in the
third, and almost purely in the second and last: so that it would seem,
at first, as if the normal type were more powerful than the variety.
But all these children grew up and intermarried with normal wives and
husband, and then, note what took place: Salvator had four children,
three of whom exhibited the hexadactyle members of their grandfather and
father, while the youngest had the pentadactyle limbs of the mother
and grandmother; so that here, notwithstanding a double pentadactyle
dilution of the blood, the hexadactyle variety had the best of it. The
same pre-potency of the variety was still more markedly exemplified in
the progeny of two of the other children, Marie and George. Marie (whose
thumbs only were deformed) gave birth to a boy with six toes, and three
other normally formed children; but George, who was not quite so pure a
pentadactyle, begot, first, two girls, each of whom had six fingers
and toes; then a girl with six fingers on each hand and six toes on the
right foot, but only five toes on the left; and lastly, a boy with only
five fingers and toes. In these instances, therefore, the variety, as
it were, leaped over one generation to reproduce itself in full force in
the next. Finally, the purely pentadactyle Andre was the father of many
children, not one of whom departed from the normal parental type.

If a variation which approaches the nature of a monstrosity can strive
thus forcibly to reproduce itself, it is not wonderful that less
aberrant modifications should tend to be preserved even more strongly;
and the history of the Ancon sheep is, in this respect, particularly
instructive. With the "'cuteness" characteristic of their nation, the
neighbours of the Massachusetts farmer imagined it would be an excellent
thing if all his sheep were imbued with the stay-at-home tendencies
enforced by Nature upon the newly-arrived ram; and they advised Wright
to kill the old patriarch of his fold, and install the Ancon ram in his
place. The result justified their sagacious anticipations, and coincided
very nearly with what occurred to the progeny of Gratio Kelleia. The
young lambs were almost always either pure Ancons, or pure ordinary
sheep.* ([Footnote] *Colonel Humphreys' statements are exceedingly
explicit on this point:--"When an Ancon ewe is impregnated by a common
ram, the increase resembles wholly either the ewe or the ram. The
increase of the common ewe impregnated by an Ancon ram follows entirely
the one or the other, without blending any of the distinguishing and
essential peculiarities of both. Frequent instances have happened
where common ewes have had twins by Ancon rams, when one exhibited
the complete marks and features of the ewe, the other of the ram. The
contrast has been rendered singularly striking, when one short-legged
and one long-legged lamb, produced at a birth, have been seen sucking
the dam at the same time."--'Philosophical Transactions', 1813, Pt. I.
pp. 89, 90.) But when sufficient Ancon sheep were obtained to interbreed
with one another, it was found that the offspring was always pure Ancon.
Colonel Humphreys, in fact, states that he was acquainted with only "one
questionable case of a contrary nature." Here, then, is a remarkable
and well-established instance, not only of a very distinct race being
established per saltum, but of that race breeding "true" at once, and
showing no mixed forms, even when crossed with another breed.

By taking care to select Ancons of both sexes, for breeding from, it
thus became easy to establish an extremely well-marked race; so peculiar
that, even when herded with other sheep, it was noted that the Ancons
kept together. And there is every reason to believe that the existence
of this breed might have been indefinitely protracted; but the
introduction of the Merino sheep, which were not only very superior to
the Ancons in wool and meat, but quite as quiet and orderly, led to the
complete neglect of the new breed, so that, in 1813, Colonel Humphreys
found it difficult to obtain the specimen, whose skeleton was presented
to Sir Joseph Banks. We believe that, for many years, no remnant of it
has existed in the United States.

Gratio Kelleia was not the progenitor of a race of six-fingered men, as
Seth Wright's ram became a nation of Ancon sheep, though the tendency of
the variety to perpetuate itself appears to have been fully as strong
in the one case as in the other. And the reason of the difference is
not far to seek. Seth Wright took care not to weaken the Ancon blood by
matching his Ancon ewes with any but males of the same variety, while
Gratio Kelleia's sons were too far removed from the patriarchal times
to intermarry with their sisters; and his grandchildren seem not to have
been attracted by their six-fingered cousins. In other words, in the one
example a race was produced, because, for several generations, care
was taken to 'select' both parents of the breeding stock from animals
exhibiting a tendency to vary in the same condition; while, in the
other, no race was evolved, because no such selection was exercised.
A race is a propagated variety; and as, by the laws of reproduction,
offspring tend to assume the parental forms, they will be more likely to
propagate a variation exhibited by both parents than that possessed by
only one.

There is no organ of the body of an animal which may not, and does not,
occasionally, vary more or less from the normal type; and there is
no variation which may not be transmitted and which, if selectively
transmitted, may not become the foundation of a race. This great truth,
sometimes forgotten by philosophers, has long been familiar to practical
agriculturists and breeders; and upon it rest all the methods of
improving the breeds of domestic animals, which, for the last century,
have been followed with so much success in England. Colour, form, size,
texture of hair or wool, proportions of various parts, strength or
weakness of constitution, tendency to fatten or to remain lean, to give
much or little milk, speed, strength, temper, intelligence, special
instincts; there is not one of these characters whose transmission is
not an every-day occurrence within the experience of cattle-breeders,
stock-farmers, horse-dealers, and dog and poultry fanciers. Nay, it
is only the other day that an eminent physiologist, Dr. Brown-Sequard,
communicated to the Royal Society his discovery that epilepsy,
artificially produced in guinea-pigs, by a means which he has
discovered, is transmitted to their offspring.

But a race, once produced, is no more a fixed and immutable entity than
the stock whence it sprang; variations arise among its members, and
as these variations are transmitted like any others, new races may be
developed out of the pre-existing one ad infinitum, or, at least, within
any limit at present determined. Given sufficient time and sufficiently
careful selection, and the multitude of races which may arise from a
common stock is as astonishing as are the extreme structural differences
which they may present. A remarkable example of this is to be found in
the rock-pigeon, which Dr. Darwin has, in our opinion, satisfactorily
demonstrated to be the progenitor of all our domestic pigeons, of which
there are certainly more than a hundred well-marked races. The most
noteworthy of these races are, the four great stocks known to the
"fancy" as tumblers, pouters, carriers, and fantails; birds which not
only differ most singularly in size, colour, and habits, but in the
form of the beak and of the skull: in the proportions of the beak to the
skull; in the number of tail-feathers; in the absolute and relative size
of the feet; in the presence or absence of the uropygial gland; in the
number of vertebrae in the back; in short, in precisely those characters
in which the genera and species of birds differ from one another.

And it is most remarkable and instructive to observe, that none of these
races can be shown to have been originated by the action of changes
in what are commonly called external circumstances, upon the wild
rock-pigeon. On the contrary, from time immemorial, pigeon-fanciers have
had essentially similar methods of treating their pets, which have
been housed, fed, protected and cared for in much the same way in all
pigeonries. In fact, there is no case better adapted than that of
the pigeons to refute the doctrine which one sees put forth on
high authority, that "no other characters than those founded on the
development of bone for the attachment of muscles" are capable of
variation. In precise contradiction of this hasty assertion, Mr.
Darwin's researches prove that the skeleton of the wings in domestic
pigeons has hardly varied at all from that of the wild type; while, on
the other hand, it is in exactly those respects, such as the relative
length of the beak and skull, the number of the vertebrae, and the
number of the tail-feathers, in which muscular exertion can have no
important influence, that the utmost amount of variation has taken
place.

We have said that the following out of the properties exhibited by
physiological species would lead us into difficulties, and at this point
they begin to be obvious; for if, as the result of spontaneous variation
and of selective breeding, the progeny of a common stock may become
separated into groups distinguished from one another by constant, not
sexual, morphological characters, it is clear that the physiological
definition of species is likely to clash with the morphological
definition. No one would hesitate to describe the pouter and the tumbler
as distinct species, if they were found fossil, or if their skins and
skeletons were imported, as those of exotic wild birds commonly
are--and without doubt, if considered alone, they are good and distinct
morphological species. On the other hand, they are not physiological
species, for they are descended from a common stock, the rock-pigeon.

Under these circumstances, as it is admitted on all sides that races
occur in Nature, how are we to know whether any apparently distinct
animals are really of different physiological species, or not, seeing
that the amount of morphological difference is no safe guide? Is there
any test of a physiological species? The usual answer of physiologists
is in the affirmative. It is said that such a test is to be found in
the phenomena of hybridization--in the results of crossing races, as
compared with the results of crossing species.

So far as the evidence goes at present, individuals, of what are
certainly known to be mere races produced by selection, however distinct
they may appear to be, not only breed freely together, but the offspring
of such crossed races are only perfectly fertile with one another. Thus,
the spaniel and the greyhound, the dray-horse and the Arab, the
pouter and the tumbler, breed together with perfect freedom, and their
mongrels, if matched with other mongrels of the same kind, are equally
fertile.

On the other hand, there can be no doubt that the individuals of
many natural species are either absolutely infertile if crossed with
individuals of other species, or, if they give rise to hybrid offspring,
the hybrids so produced are infertile when paired together. The horse
and the ass, for instance, if so crossed, give rise to the mule, and
there is no certain evidence of offspring ever having been produced by a
male and female mule. The unions of the rock-pigeon and the
ring-pigeon appear to be equally barren of result. Here, then, says the
physiologist, we have a means of distinguishing any two true species
from any two varieties. If a male and a female, selected from each
group, produce offspring, and that offspring is fertile with others
produced in the same way, the groups are races and not species. If, on
the other hand, no result ensues, or if the offspring are infertile with
others produced in the same way, they are true physiological species.
The test would be an admirable one, if, in the first place, it were
always practicable to apply it, and if, in the second, it always yielded
results susceptible of a definite interpretation. Unfortunately, in
the great majority of cases, this touchstone for species is wholly
inapplicable.

The constitution of many wild animals is so altered by confinement that
they will not breed even with their own females, so that the negative
results obtained from crosses are of no value; and the antipathy of wild
animals of the same species for one another, or even of wild and tame
members of the same species, is ordinarily so great, that it is hopeless
to look for such unions in Nature. The hermaphrodism of most plants,
the difficulty in the way of insuring the absence of their own, or the
proper working of other pollen, are obstacles of no less magnitude
in applying the test to them. And, in both animals and plants, is
superadded the further difficulty, that experiments must be continued
over a long time for the purpose of ascertaining the fertility of the
mongrel or hybrid progeny, as well as of the first crosses from which
they spring.

Not only do these great practical difficulties lie in the way of
applying the hybridization test, but even when this oracle can be
questioned, its replies are sometimes as doubtful as those of Delphi.
For example, cases are cited by Mr. Darwin, of plants which are more
fertile with the pollen of another species than with their own;
and there are others, such as certain fuci, whose male element will
fertilize the ovule of a plant of distinct species, while the males of
the latter species are ineffective with the females of the first. So
that, in the last-named instance, a physiologist, who should cross the
two species in one way, would decide that they were true species; while
another, who should cross them in the reverse way, would, with equal
justice, according to the rule, pronounce them to be mere races. Several
plants, which there is great reason to believe are mere varieties, are
almost sterile when crossed; while both animals and plants, which have
always been regarded by naturalists as of distinct species, turn out,
when the test is applied, to be perfectly fertile. Again, the sterility
or fertility of crosses seems to bear no relation to the structural
resemblances or differences of the members of any two groups.

Mr. Darwin has discussed this question with singular ability and
circumspection, and his conclusions are summed up as follows, at page
276 of his work:--

"First crosses between forms sufficiently distinct to be ranked as
species, and their hybrids, are very generally, but not universally,
sterile. The sterility is of all degrees, and is often so slight that
the two most careful experimentalists who have ever lived have come to
diametrically opposite conclusions in ranking forms by this test. The
sterility is innately variable in individuals of the same species, and
is eminently susceptible of favourable and unfavourable conditions. The
degree of sterility does not strictly follow systematic affinity, but is
governed by several curious and complex laws. It is generally different
and sometimes widely different, in reciprocal crosses between the same
two species. It is not always equal in degree in a first cross, and in
the hybrid produced from this cross.

"In the same manner as in grafting trees, the capacity of one species
or variety to take on another is incidental on generally unknown
differences in their vegetative systems; so in crossing, the greater
or less facility of one species to unite with another is incidental
on unknown differences in their reproductive systems. There is no more
reason to think that species have been specially endowed with various
degrees of sterility to prevent them crossing and breeding in Nature,
than to think that trees have been specially endowed with various and
somewhat analogous degrees of difficulty in being grafted together, in
order to prevent them becoming inarched in our forests.

"The sterility of first crosses between pure species, which have their
reproductive systems perfect, seems to depend on several circumstances;
in some cases largely on the early death of the embryo. The sterility of
hybrids which have their reproductive systems imperfect, and which
have had this system and their whole organization disturbed by being
compounded of two distinct species, seems closely allied to that
sterility which so frequently affects pure species when their natural
conditions of life have been disturbed. This view is supported by a
parallelism of another kind: namely, that the crossing of forms, only
slightly different, is favourable to the vigour and fertility of
the offspring; and that slight changes in the conditions of life are
apparently favourable to the vigour and fertility of all organic beings.
It is not surprising that the degree of difficulty in uniting two
species, and the degree of sterility of their hybrid offspring, should
generally correspond, though due to distinct causes; for both depend
on the amount of difference of some kind between the species which are
crossed. Nor is it surprising that the facility of effecting a first
cross, the fertility of hybrids produced from it, and the capacity of
being grafted together--though this latter capacity evidently depends
on widely different circumstances--should all run to a certain extent
parallel with the systematic affinity of the forms which are subjected
to experiment; for systematic affinity attempts to express all kinds of
resemblance between all species.

"First crosses between forms known to be varieties, or sufficiently
alike to be considered as varieties, and their mongrel offspring, are
very generally, but not quite universally, fertile. Nor is this nearly
general and perfect fertility surprising, when we remember how liable we
are to argue in a circle with respect to varieties in a state of Nature;
and when we remember that the greater number of varieties have
been produced under domestication by the selection of mere external
differences, and not of differences in the reproductive system. In
all other respects, excluding fertility, there is a close general
resemblance between hybrids and mongrels."--Pp. 276-8.

We fully agree with the general tenor of this weighty passage; but
forcible as are these arguments, and little as the value of fertility or
infertility as a test of species may be, it must not be forgotten that
the really important fact, so far as the inquiry into the origin of
species goes, is, that there are such things in Nature as groups of
animals and of plants, whose members are incapable of fertile union with
those of other groups; and that there are such things as hybrids, which
are absolutely sterile when crossed with other hybrids. For, if such
phenomena as these were exhibited by only two of those assemblages of
living objects, to which the name of species (whether it be used in its
physiological or in its morphological sense) is given, it would have
to be accounted for by any theory of the origin of species, and every
theory which could not account for it would be, so far, imperfect.

Up to this point, we have been dealing with matters of fact, and the
statements which we have laid before the reader would, to the best of
our knowledge, be admitted to contain a fair exposition of what is at
present known respecting the essential properties of species, by all who
have studied the question. And whatever may be his theoretical views, no
naturalist will probably be disposed to demur to the following summary
of that exposition:--

Living beings, whether animals or plants, are divisible into multitudes
of distinctly definable kinds, which are morphological species. They are
also divisible into groups of individuals, which breed freely together,
tending to reproduce their like, and are physiological species. Normally
resembling their parents, the offspring of members of these species are
still liable to vary; and the variation may be perpetuated by selection,
as a race, which race, in many cases, presents all the characteristics
of a morphological species. But it is not as yet proved that a race
ever exhibits, when crossed with another race of the same species, those
phenomena of hybridization which are exhibited by many species when
crossed with other species. On the other hand, not only is it not proved
that all species give rise to hybrids infertile inter se, but there
is much reason to believe that, in crossing, species exhibit every
gradation from perfect sterility to perfect fertility.

Such are the most essential characteristics of species. Even were man
not one of them--a member of the same system and subject to the same
laws--the question of their origin, their causal connexion, that is,
with the other phenomena of the universe, must have attracted his
attention, as soon as his intelligence had raised itself above the level
of his daily wants.

Indeed history relates that such was the case, and has embalmed for us
the speculations upon the origin of living beings, which were among the
earliest products of the dawning intellectual activity of man. In those
early days positive knowledge was not to be had, but the craving
after it needed, at all hazards, to be satisfied, and according to the
country, or the turn of thought, of the speculator, the suggestion that
all living things arose from the mud of the Nile, from a primeval
egg, or from some more anthropomorphic agency, afforded a sufficient
resting-place for his curiosity. The myths of Paganism are as dead as
Osiris or Zeus, and the man who should revive them, in opposition to the
knowledge of our time, would be justly laughed to scorn; but the coeval
imaginations current among the rude inhabitants of Palestine, recorded
by writers whose very name and age are admitted by every scholar to be
unknown, have unfortunately not yet shared their fate, but, even at
this day, are regarded by nine-tenths of the civilized world as the
authoritative standard of fact and the criterion of the justice of
scientific conclusions, in all that relates to the origin of things,
and, among them, of species. In this nineteenth century, as at the dawn
of modern physical science, the cosmogony of the semi-barbarous Hebrew
is the incubus of the philosopher and the opprobrium of the orthodox.
Who shall number the patient and earnest seekers after truth, from the
days of Galileo until now, whose lives have been embittered and their
good name blasted by the mistaken zeal of Bibliolaters? Who shall count
the host of weaker men whose sense of truth has been destroyed in the
effort to harmonize impossibilities--whose life has been wasted in the
attempt to force the generous new wine of Science into the old bottles
of Judaism, compelled by the outcry of the same strong party?

It is true that if philosophers have suffered, their cause has been
amply avenged. Extinguished theologians lie about the cradle of every
science as the strangled snakes beside that of Hercules; and history
records that whenever science and orthodoxy have been fairly opposed,
the latter has been forced to retire from the lists, bleeding and
crushed if not annihilated; scotched, if not slain. But orthodoxy is the
Bourbon of the world of thought. It learns not, neither can it forget;
and though, at present, bewildered and afraid to move, it is as willing
as ever to insist that the first chapter of Genesis contains the
beginning and the end of sound science; and to visit, with such petty
thunderbolts as its half-paralysed hands can hurl, those who refuse to
degrade Nature to the level of primitive Judaism.

Philosophers, on the other hand, have no such aggressive tendencies.
With eyes fixed on the noble goal to which "per aspera et ardua" they
tend, they may, now and then, be stirred to momentary wrath by the
unnecessary obstacles with which the ignorant, or the malicious,
encumber, if they cannot bar, the difficult path; but why should their
souls be deeply vexed? The majesty of Fact is on their side, and the
elemental forces of Nature are working for them. Not a star comes to the
meridian at its calculated time but testifies to the justice of their
methods--their beliefs are "one with falling rain and with the growing
corn." By doubt they are established, and open inquiry is their bosom
friend. Such men have no fear of traditions however venerable, and no
respect for them when they become mischievous and obstructive; but they
have better than mere antiquarian business in hand, and if dogmas, which
ought to be fossil but are not, are not forced upon their notice, they
are too happy to treat them as non-existent.

The hypotheses respecting the origin of species which profess to stand
upon a scientific basis, and, as such, alone demand serious attention,
are of two kinds. The one, the "special creation" hypothesis, presumes
every species to have originated from one or more stocks, these not
being the result of the modification of any other form of living
matter--or arising by natural agencies--but being produced, as such, by
a supernatural creative act.

The other, the so-called "transmutation" hypothesis, considers that
all existing species are the result of the modification of pre-existing
species, and those of their predecessors, by agencies similar to those
which at the present day produce varieties and races, and therefore in
an altogether natural way; and it is a probable, though not a necessary
consequence of this hypothesis, that all living beings have arisen from
a single stock. With respect to the origin of this primitive stock,
or stocks, the doctrine of the origin of species is obviously not
necessarily concerned. The transmutation hypothesis, for example, is
perfectly consistent either with the conception of a special creation of
the primitive germ, or with the supposition of its having arisen, as a
modification of inorganic matter, by natural causes.

The doctrine of special creation owes its existence very largely to the
supposed necessity of making science accord with the Hebrew cosmogony;
but it is curious to observe that, as the doctrine is at present
maintained by men of science, it is as hopelessly inconsistent with the
Hebrew view as any other hypothesis.

If there be any result which has come more clearly out of geological
investigation than another, it is, that the vast series of extinct
animals and plants is not divisible, as it was once supposed to be, into
distinct groups, separated by sharply-marked boundaries. There are no
great gulfs between epochs and formations--no successive periods marked
by the appearance of plants, of water animals, and of land animals,
en masse. Every year adds to the list of links between what the older
geologists supposed to be widely separated epochs: witness the crags
linking the drift with older tertiaries; the Maestricht beds linking the
tertiaries with the chalk; the St. Cassian beds exhibiting an abundant
fauna of mixed mesozoic and palaeozoic types, in rocks of an epoch once
supposed to be eminently poor in life; witness, lastly, the incessant
disputes as to whether a given stratum shall be reckoned devonian or
carboniferous, silurian or devonian, cambrian or silurian.

This truth is further illustrated in a most interesting manner by
the impartial and highly competent testimony of M. Pictet, from whose
calculations of what percentage of the genera of animals, existing in
any formation, lived during the preceding formation, it results that in
no case is the proportion less than 'one-third', or 33 per cent. It is
the triassic formation, or the commencement of the mesozoic epoch, which
has received the smallest inheritance from preceding ages. The other
formations not uncommonly exhibit 60, 80, or even 94 per cent. of genera
in common with those whose remains are imbedded in their predecessor.
Not only is this true, but the subdivisions of each formation exhibit
new species characteristic of, and found only in, them; and, in
many cases, as in the lias for example, the separate beds of these
subdivisions are distinguished by well-marked and peculiar forms of
life. A section, a hundred feet thick, will exhibit, at different
heights, a dozen species of ammonite, none of which passes beyond its
particular zone of limestone, or clay, into the zone below it or into
that above it; so that those who adopt the doctrine of special creation
must be prepared to admit, that at intervals of time, corresponding with
the thickness of these beds, the Creator thought fit to interfere with
the natural course of events for the purpose of making a new ammonite.
It is not easy to transplant oneself into the frame of mind of those who
can accept such a conclusion as this, on any evidence short of absolute
demonstration; and it is difficult to see what is to be gained by so
doing, since, as we have said, it is obvious that such a view of the
origin of living beings is utterly opposed to the Hebrew cosmogony.
Deserving no aid from the powerful arm of Bibliolatry, then, does the
received form of the hypothesis of special creation derive any support
from science or sound logic? Assuredly not much. The arguments
brought forward in its favour all take one form: If species were not
supernaturally created, we cannot understand the facts 'x' or 'y', or
'z'; we cannot understand the structure of animals or plants, unless we
suppose they were contrived for special ends; we cannot understand the
structure of the eye, except by supposing it to have been made to see
with; we cannot understand instincts, unless we suppose animals to have
been miraculously endowed with them.

As a question of dialectics, it must be admitted that this sort of
reasoning is not very formidable to those who are not to be frightened
by consequences. It is an argumentum ad ignorantiam--take this
explanation or be ignorant.

But suppose we prefer to admit our ignorance rather than adopt a
hypothesis at variance with all the teachings of Nature? Or, suppose for
a moment we admit the explanation, and then seriously ask ourselves how
much the wiser are we; what does the explanation explain? Is it any more
than a grandiloquent way of announcing the fact, that we really know
nothing about the matter? A phenomenon is explained when it is shown
to be a case of some general law of Nature; but the supernatural
interposition of the Creator can, by the nature of the case, exemplify
no law, and if species have really arisen in this way, it is absurd to
attempt to discuss their origin.

Or, lastly, let us ask ourselves whether any amount of evidence which
the nature of our faculties permits us to attain, can justify us in
asserting that any phenomenon is out of the reach of natural causation.
To this end it is obviously necessary that we should know all the
consequences to which all possible combinations, continued through
unlimited time, can give rise. If we knew these, and found none
competent to originate species, we should have good ground for denying
their origin by natural causation. Till we know them, any hypothesis is
better than one which involves us in such miserable presumption.

But the hypothesis of special creation is not only a mere specious
mask for our ignorance; its existence in Biology marks the youth and
imperfection of the science. For what is the history of every science
but the history of the elimination of the notion of creative, or other
interferences, with the natural order of the phenomena which are the
subject-matter of that science? When Astronomy was young "the morning
stars sang together for joy," and the planets were guided in their
courses by celestial hands. Now, the harmony of the stars has resolved
itself into gravitation according to the inverse squares of the
distances, and the orbits of the planets are deducible from the laws
of the forces which allow a schoolboy's stone to break a window. The
lightning was the angel of the Lord; but it has pleased Providence, in
these modern times, that science should make it the humble messenger of
man, and we know that every flash that shimmers about the horizon on a
summer's evening is determined by ascertainable conditions, and that
its direction and brightness might, if our knowledge of these were great
enough, have been calculated.

The solvency of great mercantile companies rests on the validity of the
laws which have been ascertained to govern the seeming irregularity
of that human life which the moralist bewails as the most uncertain of
things; plague, pestilence, and famine are admitted, by all but fools,
to be the natural result of causes for the most part fully within
human control, and not the unavoidable tortures inflicted by wrathful
Omnipotence upon His helpless handiwork.

Harmonious order governing eternally continuous progress--the web and
woof of matter and force interweaving by slow degrees, without a broken
thread, that veil which lies between us and the Infinite--that universe
which alone we know or can know; such is the picture which science draws
of the world, and in proportion as any part of that picture is in unison
with the rest, so may we feel sure that it is rightly painted. Shall
Biology alone remain out of harmony with her sister sciences?

Such arguments against the hypothesis of the direct creation of species
as these are plainly enough deducible from general considerations; but
there are, in addition, phenomena exhibited by species themselves, and
yet not so much a part of their very essence as to have required earlier
mention, which are in the highest degree perplexing, if we adopt the
popularly accepted hypothesis. Such are the facts of distribution in
space and in time; the singular phenomena brought to light by the study
of development; the structural relations of species upon which
our systems of classification are founded; the great doctrines of
philosophical anatomy, such as that of homology, or of the community
of structural plan exhibited by large groups of species differing very
widely in their habits and functions.

The species of animals which inhabit the sea on opposite sides of the
isthmus of Panama are wholly distinct;* the animals and plants which
inhabit islands are commonly distinct from those of the neighbouring
mainlands, and yet have a similarity of aspect. ([Footnote] *Recent
investigations tend to show that this statement is not strictly
accurate.--1870.) The mammals of the latest tertiary epoch in the Old
and New Worlds belong to the same genera, or family groups, as those
which now inhabit the same great geographical area. The crocodilian
reptiles which existed in the earliest secondary epoch were similar in
general structure to those now living, but exhibit slight differences
in their vertebrae, nasal passages, and one or two other points. The
guinea-pig has teeth which are shed before it is born, and hence can
never subserve the masticatory purpose for which they seem contrived,
and, in like manner, the female dugong has tusks which never cut
the gum. All the members of the same great group run through similar
conditions in their development, and all their parts, in the adult
state, are arranged according to the same plan. Man is more like a
gorilla than a gorilla is like a lemur. Such are a few, taken at
random, among the multitudes of similar facts which modern research has
established; but when the student seeks for an explanation of them from
the supporters of the received hypothesis of the origin of species,
the reply he receives is, in substance, of Oriental simplicity and
brevity--"Mashallah! it so pleases God!" There are different species
on opposite sides of the isthmus of Panama, because they were created
different on the two sides. The pliocene mammals are like the existing
ones, because such was the plan of creation; and we find rudimental
organs and similarity of plan, because it has pleased the Creator to set
before Himself a "divine exemplar or archetype," and to copy it in His
works; and somewhat ill, those who hold this view imply, in some of
them. That such verbal hocus-pocus should be received as science will
one day be regarded as evidence of the low state of intelligence in
the nineteenth century, just as we amuse ourselves with the phraseology
about Nature's abhorrence of a vacuum, wherewith Torricelli's
compatriots were satisfied to explain the rise of water in a pump. And
be it recollected that this sort of satisfaction works not only negative
but positive ill, by discouraging inquiry, and so depriving man of
the usufruct of one of the most fertile fields of his great patrimony,
Nature.

The objections to the doctrine of the origin of species by special
creation which have been detailed, must have occurred, with more or
less force, to the mind of every one who has seriously and independently
considered the subject. It is therefore no wonder that, from time to
time, this hypothesis should have been met by counter hypotheses, all as
well, and some better founded than itself; and it is curious to remark
that the inventors of the opposing views seem to have been led into them
as much by their knowledge of geology, as by their acquaintance with
biology. In fact, when the mind has once admitted the conception of
the gradual production of the present physical state of our globe, by
natural causes operating through long ages of time, it will be little
disposed to allow that living beings have made their appearance in
another way, and the speculations of De Maillet and his successors are
the natural complement of Scilla's demonstration of the true nature of
fossils.

A contemporary of Newton and of Leibnitz, sharing therefore in the
intellectual activity of the remarkable age which witnessed the birth
of modern physical science, Benoit de Maillet spent a long life as a
consular agent of the French Government in various Mediterranean ports.
For sixteen years, in fact, he held the office of Consul-General in
Egypt, and the wonderful phenomena offered by the valley of the Nile
appear to have strongly impressed his mind, to have directed his
attention to all facts of a similar order which came within his
observation, and to have led him to speculate on the origin of the
present condition of our globe and of its inhabitants. But, with all his
ardour for science, De Maillet seems to have hesitated to publish views
which, notwithstanding the ingenious attempts to reconcile them with the
Hebrew hypothesis contained in the preface to "Telliamed," were hardly
likely to be received with favour by his contemporaries.

But a short time had elapsed since more than one of the great anatomists
and physicists of the Italian school had paid dearly for their
endeavours to dissipate some of the prevalent errors; and their
illustrious pupil, Harvey, the founder of modern physiology, had not
fared so well, in a country less oppressed by the benumbing influences
of theology, as to tempt any man to follow his example. Probably
not uninfluenced by these considerations, his Catholic majesty's
Consul-General for Egypt kept his theories to himself throughout a long
life, for 'Telliamed,' the only scientific work which is known to have
proceeded from his pen, was not printed till 1735, when its author had
reached the ripe age of seventy-nine; and though De Maillet lived three
years longer, his book was not given to the world before 1748. Even then
it was anonymous to those who were not in the secret of the anagrammatic
character of its title; and the preface and dedication are so worded as,
in case of necessity, to give the printer a fair chance of falling back
on the excuse that the work was intended for a mere jeu d'esprit.

The speculations of the supposititious Indian sage, though quite as
sound as those of many a "Mosaic Geology," which sells exceedingly well,
have no great value if we consider them by the light of modern science.
The waters are supposed to have originally covered the whole globe; to
have deposited the rocky masses which compose its mountains by processes
comparable to those which are now forming mud, sand, and shingle; and
then to have gradually lowered their level, leaving the spoils of their
animal and vegetable inhabitants embedded in the strata. As the dry land
appeared, certain of the aquatic animals are supposed to have taken to
it, and to have become gradually adapted to terrestrial and aerial
modes of existence. But if we regard the general tenor and style of
the reasoning in relation to the state of knowledge of the day, two
circumstances appear very well worthy of remark. The first, that De
Maillet had a notion of the modifiability of living forms (though
without any precise information on the subject), and how such
modifiability might account for the origin of species; the second, that
he very clearly apprehended the great modern geological doctrine,
so strongly insisted upon by Hutton, and so ably and comprehensively
expounded by Lyell, that we must look to existing causes for the
explanation of past geological events. Indeed, the following passage
of the preface, in which De Maillet is supposed to speak of the Indian
philosopher Telliamed, his 'alter ego', might have been written by the
most philosophical uniformitarian of the present day:--

"Ce qu'il y a d'etonnant, est que pour arriver a ces connoissances il
semble avoir perverti l'ordre naturel, puisqu'au lieu de s'attacher
d'abord a rechercher l'origine de notre globe il a commence par
travailler a s'instruire de la nature. Mais a l'entendre, ce
renversement de l'ordre a ete pour lui l'effet d'un genie favorable
qui l'a conduit pas a pas et comme par la main aux decouvertes les plus
sublimes. C'est en decomposant la substance de ce globe par une anatomie
exacte de toutes ses parties qu'il a premierement appris de quelles
matieres il etait compose et quels arrangemens ces memes matieres
observaient entre elles. Ces lumieres jointes a l'esprit de comparaison
toujours necessaire a quiconque entreprend de percer les voiles dont
la nature aime a se cacher, ont servi de guide a notre philosophe pour
parvenir a des connoissances plus interessantes. Par la matiere et
l'arrangement de ces compositions il pretend avoir reconnu quelle est la
veritable origine de ce globe que nous habitons, comment et par qui il a
ete forme."--Pp. xix. xx.

But De Maillet was before his age, and as could hardly fail to happen
to one who speculated on a zoological and botanical question before
Linnaeus, and on a physiological problem before Haller, he fell into
great errors here and there; and hence, perhaps, the general neglect of
his work. Robinet's speculations are rather behind, than in advance
of, those of De Maillet; and though Linnaeus may have played with
the hypothesis of transmutation, it obtained no serious support
until Lamarck adopted it, and advocated it with great ability in his
'Philosophie Zoologique.'

Impelled towards the hypothesis of the transmutation of species,
partly by his general cosmological and geological views; partly by the
conception of a graduated, though irregularly branching, scale of being,
which had arisen out of his profound study of plants and of the lower
forms of animal life, Lamarck, whose general line of thought often
closely resembles that of De Maillet, made a great advance upon the
crude and merely speculative manner in which that writer deals with
the question of the origin of living beings, by endeavouring to find
physical causes competent to effect that change of one species into
another, which De Maillet had only supposed to occur. And Lamarck
conceived that he had found in Nature such causes, amply sufficient for
the purpose in view. It is a physiological fact, he says, that organs
are increased in size by action, atrophied by inaction; it is another
physiological fact that modifications produced are transmissible to
offspring. Change the actions of an animal, therefore, and you will
change its structure, by increasing the development of the parts newly
brought into use and by the diminution of those less used; but by
altering the circumstances which surround it you will alter its actions,
and hence, in the long run, change of circumstance must produce
change of organization. All the species of animals, therefore, are,
in Lamarck's view, the result of the indirect action of changes of
circumstance, upon those primitive germs which he considered to have
originally arisen, by spontaneous generation, within the waters of the
globe. It is curious, however, that Lamarck should insist so strongly*
as he has done, that circumstances never in any degree directly modify
the form or the organization of animals, but only operate by changing
their wants and consequently their actions; for he thereby brings upon
himself the obvious question, how, then, do plants, which cannot be said
to have wants or actions, become modified? To this he replies, that
they are modified by the changes in their nutritive processes, which
are effected by changing circumstances; and it does not seem to have
occurred to him that such changes might be as well supposed to take
place among animals. ([Footnote] *See 'Phil. Zoologique,' vol. i. p.
222, et seq.)

When we have said that Lamarck felt that mere speculation was not the
way to arrive at the origin of species, but that it was necessary,
in order to the establishment of any sound theory on the subject, to
discover by observation or otherwise, some 'vera causa', competent to
give rise to them; that he affirmed the true order of classification to
coincide with the order of their development one from another; that he
insisted on the necessity of allowing sufficient time, very strongly;
and that all the varieties of instinct and reason were traced back by
him to the same cause as that which has given rise to species, we have
enumerated his chief contributions to the advance of the question. On
the other hand, from his ignorance of any power in Nature competent to
modify the structure of animals, except the development of parts, or
atrophy of them, in consequence of a change of needs, Lamarck was led
to attach infinitely greater weight than it deserves to this agency,
and the absurdities into which he was led have met with deserved
condemnation. Of the struggle for existence, on which, as we shall see,
Mr. Darwin lays such great stress, he had no conception; indeed, he
doubts whether there really are such things as extinct species, unless
they be such large animals as may have met their death at the hands of
man; and so little does he dream of there being any other destructive
causes at work, that, in discussing the possible existence of fossil
shells, he asks, "Pourquoi d'ailleurs seroient-ils perdues des que
l'homme n'a pu operer leur destruction?" ('Phil. Zool.,' vol. i. p. 77.)
Of the influence of selection Lamarck has as little notion, and he makes
no use of the wonderful phenomena which are exhibited by domesticated
animals, and illustrate its powers. The vast influence of Cuvier was
employed against the Lamarckian views, and, as the untenability of
some of his conclusions was easily shown, his doctrines sank under the
opprobrium of scientific, as well as of theological, heterodoxy.
Nor have the efforts made of late years to revive them tended to
re-establish their credit in the minds of sound thinkers acquainted with
the facts of the case; indeed it may be doubted whether Lamarck has not
suffered more from his friends than from his foes.

Two years ago, in fact, though we venture to question if even the
strongest supporters of the special creation hypothesis had not, now
and then, an uneasy consciousness that all was not right, their position
seemed more impregnable than ever, if not by its own inherent strength,
at any rate by the obvious failure of all the attempts which had been
made to carry it. On the other hand, however much the few, who thought
deeply on the question of species, might be repelled by the generally
received dogmas, they saw no way of escaping from them save by the
adoption of suppositions so little justified by experiment or by
observation as to be at least equally distasteful.

The choice lay between two absurdities and a middle condition of uneasy
scepticism; which last, however unpleasant and unsatisfactory, was
obviously the only justifiable state of mind under the circumstances.

Such being the general ferment in the minds of naturalists, it is no
wonder that they mustered strong in the rooms of the Linnaean Society,
on the 1st of July of the year 1858, to hear two papers by authors
living on opposite sides of the globe, working out their results
independently, and yet professing to have discovered one and the same
solution of all the problems connected with species. The one of these
authors was an able naturalist, Mr. Wallace, who had been employed for
some years in studying the productions of the islands of the Indian
Archipelago, and who had forwarded a memoir embodying his views to
Mr. Darwin, for communication to the Linnaean Society. On perusing the
essay, Mr. Darwin was not a little surprised to find that it embodied
some of the leading ideas of a great work which he had been preparing
for twenty years, and parts of which, containing a development of the
very same views, had been perused by his private friends fifteen or
sixteen years before. Perplexed in what manner to do full justice both
to his friend and to himself, Mr. Darwin placed the matter in the hands
of Dr. Hooker and Sir Charles Lyell, by whose advice he communicated
a brief abstract of his own views to the Linnaean Society, at the same
time that Mr. Wallace's paper was read. Of that abstract, the work on
the 'Origin of Species' is an enlargement; but a complete statement of
Mr. Darwin's doctrine is looked for in the large and well-illustrated
work which he is said to be preparing for publication.

The Darwinian hypothesis has the merit of being eminently simple and
comprehensible in principle, and its essential positions may be stated
in a very few words: all species have been produced by the development
of varieties from common stocks; by the conversion of these, first into
permanent races and then into new species, by the process of NATURAL
SELECTION, which process is essentially identical with that artificial
selection by which man has originated the races of domestic animals--the
STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE taking the place of man, and exerting, in the
case of natural selection, that selective action which he performs in
artificial selection.

The evidence brought forward by Mr. Darwin in support of his hypothesis
is of three kinds. First, he endeavours to prove that species may be
originated by selection; secondly, he attempts to show that natural
causes are competent to exert selection; and thirdly, he tries to prove
that the most remarkable and apparently anomalous phenomena exhibited by
the distribution, development, and mutual relations of species, can be
shown to be deducible from the general doctrine of their origin, which
he propounds, combined with the known facts of geological change; and
that, even if all these phenomena are not at present explicable by it,
none are necessarily inconsistent with it.

There cannot be a doubt that the method of inquiry which Mr. Darwin
has adopted is not only rigorously in accordance with the canons of
scientific logic, but that it is the only adequate method. Critics
exclusively trained in classics or in mathematics, who have never
determined a scientific fact in their lives by induction from experiment
or observation, prate learnedly about Mr. Darwin's method, which is not
inductive enough, not Baconian enough, forsooth, for them. But even if
practical acquaintance with the process of scientific investigation
is denied them, they may learn, by the perusal of Mr. Mill's admirable
chapter "On the Deductive Method," that there are multitudes of
scientific inquiries in which the method of pure induction helps the
investigator but a very little way.

"The mode of investigation," says Mr. Mill, "which, from the proved
inapplicability of direct methods of observation and experiment, remains
to us as the main source of the knowledge we possess, or can acquire,
respecting the conditions and laws of recurrence of the more complex
phenomena, is called, in its most general expression, the deductive
method, and consists of three operations: the first, one of
direct induction; the second, of ratiocination; and the third, of
verification."

Now, the conditions which have determined the existence of species are
not only exceedingly complex, but, so far as the great majority of
them are concerned, are necessarily beyond our cognizance. But what Mr.
Darwin has attempted to do is in exact accordance with the rule laid
down by Mr. Mill; he has endeavoured to determine certain great facts
inductively, by observation and experiment; he has then reasoned from
the data thus furnished; and lastly, he has tested the validity of his
ratiocination by comparing his deductions with the observed facts of
Nature. Inductively, Mr. Darwin endeavours to prove that species arise
in a given way. Deductively, he desires to show that, if they arise in
that way, the facts of distribution, development, classification, etc.,
may be accounted for, i.e. may be deduced from their mode of origin,
combined with admitted changes in physical geography and climate, during
an indefinite period. And this explanation, or coincidence of observed
with deduced facts, is, so far as it extends, a verification of the
Darwinian view.

There is no fault to be found with Mr. Darwin's method, then; but it is
another question whether he has fulfilled all the conditions imposed by
that method. Is it satisfactorily proved, in fact, that species may
be originated by selection? that there is such a thing as natural
selection? that none of the phenomena exhibited by species are
inconsistent with the origin of species in this way? If these questions
can be answered in the affirmative, Mr. Darwin's view steps out of the
rank of hypotheses into those of proved theories; but, so long as the
evidence at present adduced falls short of enforcing that affirmation,
so long, to our minds, must the new doctrine be content to remain among
the former--an extremely valuable, and in the highest degree probable,
doctrine, indeed the only extant hypothesis which is worth anything in a
scientific point of view; but still a hypothesis, and not yet the theory
of species.

After much consideration, and with assuredly no bias against Mr.
Darwin's views, it is our clear conviction that, as the evidence stands,
it is not absolutely proven that a group of animals, having all the
characters exhibited by species in Nature, has ever been originate
by selection, whether artificial or natural. Groups having the
morphological character of species, distinct and permanent races
in fact, have been so produced over and over again; but there is
no positive evidence, at present, that any group of animals has, by
variation and selective breeding, given rise to another group which
was, even in the least degree, infertile with the first. Mr. Darwin is
perfectly aware of this weak point, and brings forward a multitude
of ingenious and important arguments to diminish the force of the
objection. We admit the value of these arguments to their fullest
extent; nay, we will go so far as to express our belief that
experiments, conducted by a skilful physiologist, would very probably
obtain the desired production of mutually more or less infertile breeds
from a common stock, in a comparatively few years; but still, as the
case stands at present, this "little rift within the lute" is not to be
disguised nor overlooked.

In the remainder of Mr. Darwin's argument our own private ingenuity
has not hitherto enabled us to pick holes of any great importance; and
judging by what we hear and read, other adventurers in the same field
do not seem to have been much more fortunate. It has been urged, for
instance, that in his chapters on the struggle for existence and on
natural selection, Mr. Darwin does not so much prove that natural
selection does occur, as that it must occur; but, in fact, no other sort
of demonstration is attainable. A race does not attract our attention
in Nature until it has, in all probability, existed for a considerable
time, and then it is too late to inquire into the conditions of its
origin. Again, it is said that there is no real analogy between the
selection which takes place under domestication, by human influence,
and any operation which can be effected by Nature, for man interferes
intelligently. Reduced to its elements, this argument implies that an
effect produced with trouble by an intelligent agent must, a fortiori,
be more troublesome, if not impossible, to an unintelligent agent. Even
putting aside the question whether Nature, acting as she does according
to definite and invariable laws, can be rightly called an unintelligent
agent, such a position as this is wholly untenable. Mix salt and sand,
and it shall puzzle the wisest of men, with his mere natural appliances,
to separate all the grains of sand from all the grains of salt; but a
shower of rain will effect the same object in ten minutes. And so, while
man may find it tax all his intelligence to separate any variety which
arises, and to breed selectively from it, the destructive agencies
incessantly at work in Nature, if they find one variety to be more
soluble in circumstances than the other, will inevitably, in the long
run, eliminate it.

A frequent and a just objection to the Lamarckian hypothesis of the
transmutation of species is based upon the absence of transitional forms
between many species. But against the Darwinian hypothesis this argument
has no force. Indeed, one of the most valuable and suggestive parts of
Mr. Darwin's work is that in which he proves, that the frequent absence
of transitions is a necessary consequence of his doctrine, and that
the stock whence two or more species have sprung, need in no respect be
intermediate between these species. If any two species have arisen from
a common stock in the same way as the carrier and the pouter, say, have
arisen from the rock-pigeon, then the common stock of these two species
need be no more intermediate between the two than the rock-pigeon is
between the carrier and pouter. Clearly appreciate the force of
this analogy, and all the arguments against the origin of species by
selection, based on the absence of transitional forms, fall to the
ground. And Mr. Darwin's position might, we think, have been even
stronger than it is if he had not embarrassed himself with the aphorism,
"Natura non facit saltum," which turns up so often in his pages. We
believe, as we have said above, that Nature does make jumps now and
then, and a recognition of the fact is of no small importance in
disposing of many minor objections to the doctrine of transmutation.

But we must pause. The discussion of Mr. Darwin's arguments in detail
would lead us far beyond the limits within which we proposed, at
starting, to confine this article. Our object has been attained if we
have given an intelligible, however brief, account of the established
facts connected with species, and of the relation of the explanation of
those facts offered by Mr. Darwin to the theoretical views held by his
predecessors and his contemporaries, and, above all, to the requirements
of scientific logic. We have ventured to point out that it does not, as
yet, satisfy all those requirements; but we do not hesitate to assert
that it is as superior to any preceding or contemporary hypothesis, in
the extent of observational and experimental basis on which it rests,
in its rigorously scientific method, and in its power of explaining
biological phenomena, as was the hypothesis of Copernicus to the
speculations of Ptolemy. But the planetary orbits turned out to be
not quite circular after all, and, grand as was the service Copernicus
rendered to science, Kepler and Newton had to come after him. What if
the orbit of Darwinism should be a little too circular? What if species
should offer residual phenomena, here and there, not explicable by
natural selection? Twenty years hence naturalists may be in a position
to say whether this is, or is not, the case; but in either event they
will owe the author of 'The Origin of Species' an immense debt of
gratitude. We should leave a very wrong impression on the reader's
mind if we permitted him to suppose that the value of that work depends
wholly on the ultimate justification of the theoretical views which it
contains. On the contrary, if they were disproved to-morrow, the book
would still be the best of its kind--the most compendious statement
of well-sifted facts bearing on the doctrine of species that has ever
appeared. The chapters on Variation, on the Struggle for Existence, on
Instinct, on Hybridism, on the Imperfection of the Geological Record, on
Geographical Distribution, have not only no equals, but, so far as
our knowledge goes, no competitors, within the range of biological
literature. And viewed as a whole, we do not believe that, since the
publication of Von Baer's Researches on Development, thirty years ago,
any work has appeared calculated to exert so large an influence, not
only on the future of Biology, but in extending the domination of
Science over regions of thought into which she has, as yet, hardly
penetrated.

End of The Origin of Species.




CRITICISMS ON "THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES".*

([Footnote] *'The Natural History Review', 1864.)

1. UEBER DIE DARWIN'SCHE SCHOPFUNGSTHEORIE; EIN VORTRAG, VON A.
KOLLIKER. Leipzig, 1864.

2. EXAMINATION DU LIVRE DE M. DARWIN SUR L'ORIGINE DES ESPECES. PAR P.
FLOURENS. Paris, 1864.

In the course of the present year several foreign commentaries upon Mr.
Darwin's great work have made their appearance. Those who have perused
that remarkable chapter of the 'Antiquity of Man,' in which Sir Charles
Lyell draws a parallel between the development of species and that of
languages, will be glad to hear that one of the most eminent philologers
of Germany, Professor Schleicher, has, independently, published a most
instructive and philosophical pamphlet (an excellent notice of which is
to be found in the 'Reader', for February 27th of this year) supporting
similar views with all the weight of his special knowledge and
established authority as a linguist. Professor Haeckel, to whom
Schleicher addresses himself, previously took occasion, in his splendid
monograph on the 'Radiolaria',* to express his high appreciation of,
and general concordance with, Mr. Darwin's views. ([Footnote] *'Die
Radiolarien: eine Monographie', p. 231.)

But the most elaborate criticisms of the 'Origin of Species' which
have appeared are two works of very widely different merit, the one
by Professor Kolliker, the well-known anatomist and histologist of
Wurzburg; the other by M. Flourens, Perpetual Secretary of the French
Academy of Sciences.

Professor Kolliker's critical essay 'Upon the Darwinian Theory' is,
like all that proceeds from the pen of that thoughtful and accomplished
writer, worthy of the most careful consideration. It comprises a brief
but clear sketch of Darwin's views, followed by an enumeration of the
leading difficulties in the way of their acceptance; difficulties which
would appear to be insurmountable to Professor Kolliker, inasmuch as
he proposes to replace Mr. Darwin's Theory by one which he terms the
'Theory of Heterogeneous Generation.' We shall proceed to consider first
the destructive, and secondly, the constructive portion of the essay.

We regret to find ourselves compelled to dissent very widely from many
of Professor Kolliker's remarks; and from none more thoroughly than from
those in which he seeks to define what we may term the philosophical
position of Darwinism.

"Darwin," says Professor Kolliker, "is, in the fullest sense of the
word, a Teleologist. He says quite distinctly (First Edition, pp.
199, 200) that every particular in the structure of an animal has been
created for its benefit, and he regards the whole series of animal forms
only from this point of view."

And again:

"7. The teleological general conception adopted by Darwin is a mistaken
one.

"Varieties arise irrespectively of the notion of purpose, or of utility,
according to general laws of Nature, and may be either useful, or
hurtful, or indifferent.

"The assumption that an organism exists only on account of some definite
end in view, and represents something more than the incorporation of a
general idea, or law, implies a one-sided conception of the universe.
Assuredly, every organ has, and every organism fulfils, its end, but its
purpose is not the condition of its existence. Every organism is also
sufficiently perfect for the purpose it serves, and in that, at least,
it is useless to seek for a cause of its improvement."

It is singular how differently one and the same book will impress
different minds. That which struck the present writer most forcibly on
his first perusal of the 'Origin of Species' was the conviction that
Teleology, as commonly understood, had received its deathblow at Mr.
Darwin's hands. For the teleological argument runs thus: an organ or
organism (A) is precisely fitted to perform a function or purpose (B);
therefore it was specially constructed to perform that function. In
Paley's famous illustration, the adaptation of all the parts of the
watch to the function, or purpose, of showing the time, is held to be
evidence that the watch was specially contrived to that end; on the
ground, that the only cause we know of, competent to produce such an
effect as a watch which shall keep time, is a contriving intelligence
adapting the means directly to that end.

Suppose, however, that any one had been able to show that the watch had
not been made directly by any person, but that it was the result of the
modification of another watch which kept time but poorly; and that this
again had proceeded from a structure which could hardly be called a
watch at all--seeing that it had no figures on the dial and the hands
were rudimentary; and that going back and back in time we came at last
to a revolving barrel as the earliest traceable rudiment of the whole
fabric. And imagine that it had been possible to show that all these
changes had resulted, first, from a tendency of the structure to vary
indefinitely; and secondly, from something in the surrounding world
which helped all variations in the direction of an accurate time-keeper,
and checked all those in other directions; then it is obvious that the
force of Paley's argument would be gone. For it would be demonstrated
that an apparatus thoroughly well adapted to a particular purpose might
be the result of a method of trial and error worked by unintelligent
agents, as well as of the direct application of the means appropriate to
that end, by an intelligent agent.

Now it appears to us that what we have here, for illustration's sake,
supposed to be done with the watch, is exactly what the establishment of
Darwin's Theory will do for the organic world. For the notion that every
organism has been created as it is and launched straight at a purpose,
Mr. Darwin substitutes the conception of something which may fairly be
termed a method of trial and error. Organisms vary incessantly; of these
variations the few meet with surrounding conditions which suit them and
thrive; the many are unsuited and become extinguished.

According to Teleology, each organism is like a rifle bullet fired
straight at a mark; according to Darwin, organisms are like grapeshot of
which one hits something and the rest fall wide.

For the teleologist an organism exists because it was made for the
conditions in which it is found; for the Darwinian an organism exists
because, out of many of its kind, it is the only one which has been able
to persist in the conditions in which it is found.

Teleology implies that the organs of every organism are perfect and
cannot be improved; the Darwinian theory simply affirms that they
work well enough to enable the organism to hold its own against such
competitors as it has met with, but admits the possibility of indefinite
improvement. But an example may bring into clearer light the profound
opposition between the ordinary teleological, and the Darwinian,
conception.

Cats catch mice, small birds and the like, very well. Teleology tells
us that they do so because they were expressly constructed for so
doing--that they are perfect mousing apparatuses, so perfect and so
delicately adjusted that no one of their organs could be altered,
without the change involving the alteration of all the rest. Darwinism
affirms on the contrary, that there was no express construction
concerned in the matter; but that among the multitudinous variations of
the Feline stock, many of which died out from want of power to resist
opposing influences, some, the cats, were better fitted to catch mice
than others, whence they throve and persisted, in proportion to the
advantage over their fellows thus offered to them.

Far from imagining that cats exist IN ORDER to catch mice well,
Darwinism supposes that cats exist BECAUSE they catch mice well--mousing
being not the end, but the condition, of their existence. And if the cat
type has long persisted as we know it, the interpretation of the fact
upon Darwinian principles would be, not that the cats have remained
invariable, but that such varieties as have incessantly occurred have
been, on the whole, less fitted to get on in the world than the existing
stock.

If we apprehend the spirit of the 'Origin of Species' rightly, then,
nothing can be more entirely and absolutely opposed to Teleology, as it
is commonly understood, than the Darwinian Theory. So far from being a
"Teleologist in the fullest sense of the word," we would deny that he
is a Teleologist in the ordinary sense at all; and we should say that,
apart from his merits as a naturalist, he has rendered a most remarkable
service to philosophical thought by enabling the student of Nature to
recognise, to their fullest extent, those adaptations to purpose which
are so striking in the organic world, and which Teleology has done
good service in keeping before our minds, without being false to the
fundamental principles of a scientific conception of the universe.
The apparently diverging teachings of the Teleologist and of the
Morphologist are reconciled by the Darwinian hypothesis.

But leaving our own impressions of the 'Origin of Species,' and turning
to those passages especially cited by Professor Kolliker, we cannot
admit that they bear the interpretation he puts upon them. Darwin, if we
read him rightly, does 'not' affirm that every detail in the structure
of an animal has been created for its benefit. His words are (p. 199):--

"The foregoing remarks lead me to say a few words on the protest lately
made by some naturalists against the utilitarian doctrine that every
detail of structure has been produced for the good of its possessor.
They believe that very many structures have been created for beauty in
the eyes of man, or for mere variety. This doctrine, if true, would be
absolutely fatal to my theory--yet I fully admit that many structures
are of no direct use to their possessor."

And after sundry illustrations and qualifications, he concludes (p.
200):--

"Hence every detail of structure in every living creature (making some
little allowance for the direct action of physical conditions) may be
viewed either as having been of special use to some ancestral form,
or as being now of special use to the descendants of this form--either
directly, or indirectly, through the complex laws of growth."

But it is one thing to say, Darwinically, that every detail observed
in an animal's structure is of use to it, or has been of use to its
ancestors; and quite another to affirm, teleologically, that every
detail of an animal's structure has been created for its benefit. On the
former hypothesis, for example, the teeth of the foetal 'Balaena' have
a meaning; on the latter, none. So far as we are aware, there is not
a phrase in the 'Origin of Species', inconsistent with Professor
Kolliker's position, that "varieties arise irrespectively of the notion
of purpose, or of utility, according to general laws of Nature, and may
be either useful, or hurtful, or indifferent."

On the contrary, Mr. Darwin writes (Summary of Chap. V.):--

"Our ignorance of the laws of variation is profound. Not in one case out
of a hundred can we pretend to assign any reason why this or that part
varies more or less from the same part in the parents...The external
conditions of life, as climate and food, etc., seem to have induced some
slight modifications. Habit, in producing constitutional differences,
and use, in strengthening, and disuse, in weakening and diminishing
organs, seem to have been more potent in their effects."

And finally, as if to prevent all possible misconception, Mr. Darwin
concludes his Chapter on Variation with these pregnant words:--

"Whatever the cause may be of each slight difference in the offspring
from their parents--and a cause for each must exist--it is the steady
accumulation, through natural selection of such differences, when
beneficial to the individual, that gives rise to all the more important
modifications of structure which the innumerable beings on the face of
the earth are enabled to struggle with each other, and the best adapted
to survive."

We have dwelt at length upon this subject, because of its great general
importance, and because we believe that Professor Kolliker's criticisms
on this head are based upon a misapprehension of Mr. Darwin's
views--substantially they appear to us to coincide with his own. The
other objections which Professor Kolliker enumerates and discusses are
the following*:--([Footnote] *Space will not allow us to give Professor
Kolliker's arguments in detail; our readers will find a full and
accurate version of them in the 'Reader' for August 13th and 20th,
1864.)

"1. No transitional forms between existing species are known; and
known varieties, whether selected or spontaneous, never go so far as to
establish new species."

To this Professor Kolliker appears to attach some weight. He makes the
suggestion that the short-faced tumbler pigeon may be a pathological
product.

"2. No transitional forms of animals are met with among the organic
remains of earlier epochs."

Upon this, Professor Kolliker remarks that the absence of transitional
forms in the fossil world, though not necessarily fatal to Darwin's
views, weakens his case.

"3. The struggle for existence does not take place."

To this objection, urged by Pelzeln, Kolliker, very justly, attaches no
weight.

"4. A tendency of organisms to give rise to useful varieties, and a
natural selection, do not exist.

"The varieties which are found arise in consequence of manifold external
influences, and it is not obvious why they all, or partially, should be
particularly useful. Each animal suffices for its own ends, is perfect
of its kind, and needs no further development. Should, however, a
variety be useful and even maintain itself, there is no obvious
reason why it should change any further. The whole conception of the
imperfection of organisms and the necessity of their becoming perfected
is plainly the weakest side of Darwin's Theory, and a pis aller
(Nothbehelf) because Darwin could think of no other principle by which
to explain the metamorphoses which, as I also believe, have occurred."

Here again we must venture to dissent completely from Professor
Kolliker's conception of Mr. Darwin's hypothesis. It appears to us to be
one of the many peculiar merits of that hypothesis that it involves no
belief in a necessary and continual progress of organisms.

Again, Mr. Darwin, if we read him aright, assumes no special tendency of
organisms to give rise to useful varieties, and knows nothing of
needs of development, or necessity of perfection. What he says is, in
substance: All organisms vary. It is in the highest degree improbable
that any given variety should have exactly the same relations to
surrounding conditions as the parent stock. In that case it is either
better fitted (when the variation may be called useful), or worse
fitted, to cope with them. If better, it will tend to supplant the
parent stock; if worse, it will tend to be extinguished by the parent
stock.

If (as is hardly conceivable) the new variety is so perfectly adapted
to the conditions that no improvement upon it is possible,--it will
persist, because, though it does not cease to vary, the varieties will
be inferior to itself.

If, as is more probable, the new variety is by no means perfectly
adapted to its conditions, but only fairly well adapted to them, it will
persist, so long as none of the varieties which it throws off are better
adapted than itself.

On the other hand, as soon as it varies in a useful way, i.e. when the
variation is such as to adapt it more perfectly to its conditions, the
fresh variety will tend to supplant the former.

So far from a gradual progress towards perfection forming any necessary
part of the Darwinian creed, it appears to us that it is perfectly
consistent with indefinite persistence in one estate, or with a gradual
retrogression. Suppose, for example, a return of the glacial epoch and a
spread of polar climatal conditions over the whole globe. The operation
of natural selection under these circumstances would tend, on the whole,
to the weeding out of the higher organisms and the cherishing of the
lower forms of life. Cryptogamic vegetation would have the advantage
over Phanerogamic; Hydrozoa over Corals; Crustacea over Insecta, and
Amphipoda and Isopoda over the higher Crustacea; Cetaceans and Seals
over the Primates; the civilization of the Esquimaux over that of the
European.

"5. Pelzeln has also objected that if the later organisms have proceeded
from the earlier, the whole developmental series, from the simplest to
the highest, could not now exist; in such a case the simpler organisms
must have disappeared."

To this Professor Kolliker replies, with perfect justice, that the
conclusion drawn by Pelzeln does not really follow from Darwin's
premisses, and that, if we take the facts of Palaeontology as they
stand, they rather support than oppose Darwin's theory.

"6. Great weight must be attached to the objection brought forward by
Huxley, otherwise a warm supporter of Darwin's hypothesis, that we know
of no varieties which are sterile with one another, as is the rule among
sharply distinguished animal forms.

"If Darwin is right, it must be demonstrated that forms may be produced
by selection, which, like the present sharply distinguished animal
forms, are infertile, when coupled with one another, and this has not
been done."

The weight of this objection is obvious; but our ignorance of the
conditions of fertility and sterility, the want of carefully conducted
experiments extending over long series of years, and the strange
anomalies presented by the results of the cross-fertilization of many
plants, should all, as Mr. Darwin has urged, be taken into account in
considering it.

The seventh objection is that we have already discussed (supra).

The eighth and last stands as follows:--

"8. The developmental theory of Darwin is not needed to enable us to
understand the regular harmonious progress of the complete series of
organic forms from the simpler to the more perfect.

"The existence of general laws of Nature explains this harmony, even if
we assume that all beings have arisen separately and independent of one
another. Darwin forgets that inorganic nature, in which there can be no
thought of genetic connexion of forms, exhibits the same regular plan,
the same harmony, as the organic world; and that, to cite only one
example, there is as much a natural system of minerals as of plants and
animals."

We do not feel quite sure that we seize Professor Kolliker's meaning
here, but he appears to suggest that the observation of the general
order and harmony which pervade inorganic nature, would lead us to
anticipate a similar order and harmony in the organic world. And this is
no doubt true, but it by no means follows that the particular order
and harmony observed among them should be that which we see. Surely the
stripes of dun horses, and the teeth of the foetal 'Balaena', are not
explained by the "existence of general laws of Nature." Mr. Darwin
endeavours to explain the exact order of organic nature which exists;
not the mere fact that there is some order.

And with regard to the existence of a natural system of minerals; the
obvious reply is that there may be a natural classification of any
objects--of stones on a sea-beach, or of works of art; a natural
classification being simply an assemblage of objects in groups, so as
to express their most important and fundamental resemblances and
differences. No doubt Mr. Darwin believes that those resemblances and
differences upon which our natural systems or classifications of animals
and plants are based, are resemblances and differences which have been
produced genetically, but we can discover no reason for supposing that
he denies the existence of natural classifications of other kinds.

And, after all, is it quite so certain that a genetic relation may not
underlie the classification of minerals? The inorganic world has not
always been what we see it. It has certainly had its metamorphoses,
and, very probably, a long "Entwickelungsgeschichte" out of a nebular
blastema. Who knows how far that amount of likeness among sets of
minerals, in virtue of which they are now grouped into families and
orders, may not be the expression of the common conditions to which that
particular patch of nebulous fog, which may have been constituted by
their atoms, and of which they may be, in the strictest sense, the
descendants, was subjected?

It will be obvious from what has preceded, that we do not agree with
Professor Kolliker in thinking the objections which he brings forward
so weighty as to be fatal to Darwin's view. But even if the case were
otherwise, we should be unable to accept the "Theory of Heterogeneous
Generation" which is offered as a substitute. That theory is thus
stated:--

"The fundamental conception of this hypothesis is, that, under the
influence of a general law of development, the germs of organisms
produce others different from themselves. This might happen (1) by
the fecundated ova passing, in the course of their development, under
particular circumstances, into higher forms; (2) by the primitive and
later organisms producing other organisms without fecundation, out of
germs or eggs (Parthenogenesis)."

In favour of this hypothesis, Professor Kolliker adduces the well-known
facts of Agamogenesis, or "alternate generation"; the extreme
dissimilarity of the males and females of many animals; and of the
males, females, and neuters of those insects which live in colonies:
and he defines its relations to the Darwinian theory as follows:--"It
is obvious that my hypothesis is apparently very similar to Darwin's,
inasmuch as I also consider that the various forms of animals have
proceeded directly from one another. My hypothesis of the creation of
organisms by heterogeneous generation, however, is distinguished very
essentially from Darwin's by the entire absence of the principle of
useful variations and their natural selection: and my fundamental
conception is this, that a great plan of development lies at the
foundation of the origin of the whole organic world, impelling the
simpler forms to more and more complex developments. How this law
operates, what influences determine the development of the eggs and
germs, and impel them to assume constantly new forms, I naturally cannot
pretend to say; but I can at least adduce the great analogy of the
alternation of generations. If a 'Bipinnaria', a 'Brachialaria', a
'Pluteus', is competent to produce the Echinoderm, which is so widely
different from it; if a hydroid polype can produce the higher Medusa;
if the vermiform Trematode 'nurse' can develop within itself the very
unlike 'Cercaria', it will not appear impossible that the egg, or
ciliated embryo, of a sponge, for once, under special conditions, might
become a hydroid polype, or the embryo of a Medusa, an Echinoderm."

It is obvious, from these extracts, that Professor Kolliker's hypothesis
is based upon the supposed existence of a close analogy between the
phenomena of Agamogenesis and the production of new species from
pre-existing ones. But is the analogy a real one? We think that it is
not, and, by the hypothesis, cannot be.

For what are the phenomena of Agamogenesis, stated generally? An
impregnated egg develops into an asexual form, A; this gives rise,
asexually, to a second form or forms, B, more or less different from A.
B may multiply asexually again; in the simpler cases, however, it does
not, but, acquiring sexual characters, produces impregnated eggs from
whence A, once more, arises.

No case of Agamogenesis is known in which, WHEN A DIFFERS WIDELY FROM B,
it is itself capable of sexual propagation. No case whatever is known
in which the progeny of B, by sexual generation, is other than a
reproduction of A.

But if this be a true statement of the nature of the process of
Agamogenesis, how can it enable us to comprehend the production of
new species from already existing ones? Let us suppose Hyaenas to have
preceded Dogs, and to have produced the latter in this way. Then the
Hyena will represent A, and the Dog, B. The first difficulty that
presents itself is that the Hyena must be asexual, or the process will
be wholly without analogy in the world of Agamogenesis. But passing over
this difficulty, and supposing a male and female Dog to be produced at
the same time from the Hyaena stock, the progeny of the pair, if the
analogy of the simpler kinds of Agamogenesis* is to be followed, should
be a litter, not of puppies, but of young Hyenas. ([Footnote] * If,
on the contrary, we follow the analogy of the more complex forms of
Agamogenesis, such as that exhibited by some 'Trematoda' and by the
'Aphides', the Hyaena must produce, asexually, a brood of asexual Dogs,
from which other sexless Dogs must proceed. At the end of a certain
number of terms of the series, the Dogs would acquire sexes and generate
young; but these young would be, not Dogs, but Hyaenas. In fact, we have
DEMONSTRATED, in Agamogenetic phenomena, that inevitable recurrence
to the original type, which is ASSERTED to be true of variations in
general, by Mr. Darwin's opponents; and which, if the assertion could
be changed into a demonstration would, in fact, be fatal to his
hypothesis.) For the Agamogenetic series is always, as we have seen, A:
B: A: B, etc.; whereas, for the production of a new species, the series
must be A: B: B: B, etc. The production of new species, or genera, is
the extreme permanent divergence from the primitive stock. All known
Agamogenetic processes, on the other hand, end in a complete return to
the primitive stock. How then is the production of new species to be
rendered intelligible by the analogy of Agamogenesis?

The other alternative put by Professor Kolliker--the passage of
fecundated ova in the course of their development into higher
forms--would, if it occurred, be merely an extreme case of variation in
the Darwinian sense, greater in degree than, but perfectly similar in
kind to, that which occurred when the well-known Ancon Ram was developed
from an ordinary Ewe's ovum. Indeed we have always thought that Mr.
Darwin has unnecessarily hampered himself by adhering so strictly to his
favourite "Natura non facit saltum." We greatly suspect that she does
make considerable jumps in the way of variation now and then, and that
these saltations give rise to some of the gaps which appear to exist in
the series of known forms.

Strongly and freely as we have ventured to disagree with Professor
Kolliker, we have always done so with regret, and we trust without
violating that respect which is due, not only to his scientific eminence
and to the careful study which he has devoted to the subject, but to the
perfect fairness of his argumentation, and the generous appreciation of
the worth of Mr. Darwin's labours which he always displays. It would be
satisfactory to be able to say as much for M. Flourens.

But the Perpetual Secretary of the French Academy of Sciences deals with
Mr. Darwin as the first Napoleon would have treated an "ideologue;"
and while displaying a painful weakness of logic and shallowness of
information, assumes a tone of authority, which always touches upon the
ludicrous, and sometimes passes the limits of good breeding.

For example (p. 56):--

"M. Darwin continue: 'Aucune distinction absolue n'a ete et ne pout etre
etablie entre les especes et les varietes.' Je vous ai deja dit que vous
vous trompiez; une distinction absolue separe les varietes d'avec les
especes."

"JE VOUS AI DEJA DIT; moi, M. le Secretaire perpetuel de l'Academie des
Sciences: et vous

    "'Qui n'etes rien,
    Pas meme Academicien;'

what do you mean by asserting the contrary?" Being devoid of the
blessings of an Academy in England, we are unaccustomed to see our
ablest men treated in this fashion, even by a "Perpetual Secretary."

Or again, considering that if there is any one quality of Mr. Darwin's
work to which friends and foes have alike borne witness, it is his
candour and fairness in admitting and discussing objections, what is to
be thought of M. Flourens' assertion, that

"M. Darwin ne cite que les auteurs qui partagent ses opinions." (P. 40.)

Once more (p. 65):--

"Enfin l'ouvrage de M. Darwin a paru. On ne peut qu'etre frappe du
talent de l'auteur. Mais que d'idees obscures, que d'idees fausses! Quel
jargon metaphysique jete mal a propos dans l'histoire naturelle, qui
tombe dans le galimatias des qu'elle sort des idees claires, des idees
justes! Quel langage pretentieux et vide! Quelles personifications
pueriles et surannees! O lucidite! O solidite de l'esprit Francais, que
devenez-vous?"

"Obscure ideas," "metaphysical jargon," "pretentious and empty
language," "puerile and superannuated personifications." Mr. Darwin has
many and hot opponents on this side of the Channel and in Germany,
but we do not recollect to have found precisely these sins in the long
catalogue of those hitherto laid to his charge. It is worth while,
therefore, to examine into these discoveries effected solely by the aid
of the "lucidity and solidity" of the mind of M. Flourens.

According to M. Flourens, Mr. Darwin's great error is that he has
personified Nature (p. 10), and further that he has

"imagined a natural selection: he imagines afterwards that this power of
selection (pouvoir d'elire) which he gives to Nature is similar to the
power of man. These two suppositions admitted, nothing stops him: he
plays with Nature as he likes, and makes her do all he pleases." (P. 6.)

And this is the way M. Flourens extinguishes natural selection:

"Voyons donc encore une fois, ce qu'il peut y avoir de fonde dans ce
qu'on nomme 'election naturelle'.

"'L'election naturelle' n'est sous un autre nom que la nature. Pour un
etre organise, la nature n'est que l'organisation, ni plus ni moins.

"Il faudra donc aussi personnifier 'l'organisation', et dire que
'l'organisation choisit l'organisation'. 'L'election naturelle' est
cette 'forme substantielle' dont on jouait autrefois avec tant de
facilite. Aristote disait que 'Si l'art de batir etait dans le bois, cet
art agirait comme la nature.' A la place de 'l'art de batir' M. Darwin
met 'l'election naturelle', et c'est tout un: l'un n'est pas plus
chimerique que l'autre." (P.31.)

And this is really all that M. Flourens can make of Natural Selection.
We have given the original, in fear lest a translation should be
regarded as a travesty; but with the original before the reader, we
may try to analyse the passage. "For an organized being, Nature is only
organization, neither more nor less."

Organized beings then have absolutely no relation to inorganic nature: a
plant does not, depend on soil or sunshine, climate, depth in the
ocean, height above it; the quantity of saline matters in water have no
influence upon animal life; the substitution of carbonic acid for oxygen
in our atmosphere would hurt nobody! That these are absurdities no one
should know better than M. Flourens; but they are logical deductions
from the assertion just quoted, and from the further statement that
natural selection means only that "organization chooses and selects
organization."

For if it be once admitted (what no sane man denies) that the chances of
life of any given organism are increased by certain conditions (A) and
diminished by their opposites (B), then it is mathematically certain
that any change of conditions in the direction of (A) will exercise a
selective influence in favour of that organism, tending to its increase
and multiplication, while any change in the direction of (B) will
exercise a selective influence against that organism, tending to its
decrease and extinction.

Or, on the other hand, conditions remaining the same, let a given
organism vary (and no one doubts that they do vary) in two directions:
into one form (a) better fitted to cope with these conditions than the
original stock, and a second (b) less well adapted to them. Then it
is no less certain that the conditions in question must exercise a
selective influence in favour of (a) and against ( b), so that (a) will
tend to predominance, and (b) to extirpation.

That M. Flourens should be unable to perceive the logical necessity of
these simple arguments, which lie at the foundation of all Mr. Darwin's
reasoning; that he should confound an irrefragable deduction from the
observed relations of organisms to the conditions which lie around
them, with a metaphysical "forme substantielle," or a chimerical
personification of the powers of Nature, would be incredible, were it
not that other passages of his work leave no room for doubt upon the
subject.

"On imagine une 'election naturelle' que, pour plus de menagement, on me
dit etre 'inconsciente', sans s'apercevoir que le contre-sens litteral
est precisement la: 'election inconsciente'." (P. 52.)

"J'ai deja dit ce qu'il faut penser de 'l'election naturelle'. Ou
'l'election naturelle' n'est rien, ou c'est la nature: mais la nature
douee 'd'election', mais la nature personnifiee: derniere erreur du
dernier siecle: Le xixe fait plus de personnifications." (P. 53.)

M. Flourens cannot imagine an unconscious selection--it is for him a
contradiction in terms. Did M. Flourens ever visit one of the prettiest
watering-places of "la belle France," the Baie d'Arcachon? If so, he
will probably have passed through the district of the Landes, and will
have had an opportunity of observing the formation of "dunes" on a grand
scale. What are these "dunes"? The winds and waves of the Bay of
Biscay have not much consciousness, and yet they have with great care
"selected," from among an infinity of masses of silex of all shapes and
sizes, which have been submitted to their action, all the grains of sand
below a certain size, and have heaped them by themselves over a great
area. This sand has been "unconsciously selected" from amidst the gravel
in which it first lay with as much precision as if man had "consciously
selected" it by the aid of a sieve. Physical Geology is full of such
selections--of the picking out of the soft from the hard, of the soluble
from the insoluble, of the fusible from the infusible, by natural
agencies to which we are certainly not in the habit of ascribing
consciousness.

But that which wind and sea are to a sandy beach, the sum of influences,
which we term the "conditions of existence," is to living organisms. The
weak are sifted out from the strong. A frosty night "selects" the hardy
plants in a plantation from among the tender ones as effectually as if
it were the wind, and they, the sand and pebbles, of our illustration;
or, on the other hand, as if the intelligence of a gardener had been
operative in cutting the weaker organisms down. The thistle, which has
spread over the Pampas, to the destruction of native plants, has been
more effectually "selected" by the unconscious operation of natural
conditions than if a thousand agriculturists had spent their time in
sowing it.

It is one of Mr. Darwin's many great services to Biological science
that he has demonstrated the significance of these facts. He has shown
that--given variation and given change of conditions--the inevitable
result is the exercise of such an influence upon organisms that one
is helped and another is impeded; one tends to predominate, another
to disappear; and thus the living world bears within itself, and is
surrounded by, impulses towards incessant change.

But the truths just stated are as certain as any other physical laws,
quite independently of the truth, or falsehood, of the hypothesis
which Mr. Darwin has based upon them; and that M. Flourens, missing the
substance and grasping at a shadow, should be blind to the admirable
exposition of them, which Mr. Darwin has given, and see nothing
there but a "derniere erreur du dernier siecle"--a personification of
Nature--leads us indeed to cry with him: "O lucidite! O solidite de
l'esprit Francais, que devenez-vous?"

M. Flourens has, in fact, utterly failed to comprehend the first
principles of the doctrine which he assails so rudely. His objections to
details are of the old sort, so battered and hackneyed on this side of
the Channel, that not even a Quarterly Reviewer could be induced to pick
them up for the purpose of pelting Mr. Darwin over again. We have Cuvier
and the mummies; M. Roulin and the domesticated animals of America; the
difficulties presented by hybridism and by Palaeontology; Darwinism a
'rifacciamento' of De Maillet and Lamarck; Darwinism a system without a
commencement, and its author bound to believe in M. Pouchet, etc. etc.
How one knows it all by heart, and with what relief one reads at p. 65--

"Je laisse M. Darwin!"

But we cannot leave M. Flourens without calling our readers' attention
to his wonderful tenth chapter, "De la Preexistence des Germes et de
l'Epigenese," which opens thus:--

"Spontaneous generation is only a chimera. This point established, two
hypotheses remain: that of 'pre-existence' and that of 'epigenesis'.
The one of these hypotheses has as little foundation as the other." (P.
163.)

"The doctrine of 'epigenesis' is derived from Harvey: following by
ocular inspection the development of the new being in the Windsor
does, he saw each part appear successively, and taking the moment of
'appearance' for the moment of 'formation' he imagined 'epigenesis'."
(P. 165.)

On the contrary, says M. Flourens (p. 167),

"The new being is formed at a stroke (tout d'un coup) as a whole,
instantaneously; it is not formed part by part, and at different times.
It is formed at once at the single 'individual' moment at which the
conjunction of the male and female elements takes place."

It will be observed that M. Flourens uses language which cannot be
mistaken. For him, the labours of von Baer, of Rathke, of Coste, and
their contemporaries and successors in Germany, France, and England,
are non-existent: and, as Darwin "imagina" natural selection, so Harvey
"imagina" that doctrine which gives him an even greater claim to
the veneration of posterity than his better known discovery of the
circulation of the blood.

Language such as that we have quoted is, in fact, so preposterous, so
utterly incompatible with anything but absolute ignorance of some of the
best established facts, that we should have passed it over in silence
had it not appeared to afford some clue to M. Flourens' unhesitating,
a priori, repudiation of all forms of the doctrine of progressive
modification of living beings. He whose mind remains uninfluenced by an
acquaintance with the phenomena of development, must indeed lack one
of the chief motives towards the endeavour to trace a genetic relation
between the different existing forms of life. Those who are ignorant of
Geology, find no difficulty in believing that the world was made as it
is; and the shepherd, untutored in history, sees no reason to regard the
green mounds which indicate the site of a Roman camp, as aught but part
and parcel of the primeval hill-side. So M. Flourens, who believes that
embryos are formed "tout d'un coup," naturally finds no difficulty in
conceiving that species came into existence in the same way.

End of Criticisms on "The Origin of Species".




EVIDENCE AS TO MAN'S PLACE IN NATURE

1863.

(entire page is illustration with caption as follows:)

Skeletons of the GIBBON. ORANG. CHIMPANZEE. GORILLA. MAN.
Photographically reduced from Diagrams of the natural size (except
that of the Gibbon, which was twice as large as nature), drawn by Mr.
Waterhouse Hawkins from specimens in the Museum of the Royal College of
Surgeons.




ON THE NATURAL HISTORY OF THE MAN-LIKE APES.

Ancient traditions, when tested by the severe processes of modern
investigation, commonly enough fade away into mere dreams: but it is
singular how often the dream turns out to have been a half-waking one,
presaging a reality. Ovid foreshadowed the discoveries of the geologist:
the Atlantis was an imagination, but Columbus found a western world: and
though the quaint forms of Centaurs and Satyrs have an existence only
in the realms of art, creatures approaching man more nearly than they
in essential structure, and yet as thoroughly brutal as the goat's
or horse's half of the mythical compound, are now not only known, but
notorious.

I have not met with any notice of one of these MAN-LIKE APES of earlier
date than that contained in Pigafetta's 'Description of the Kingdom of
Congo,'* drawn up from the notes of a Portuguese sailor, Eduardo Lopez,
and published in 1598. The tenth chapter of this work is entitled "De
Animalibus quae in hac provincia reperiuntur," and contains a brief
passage to the effect that "in the Songan country, on the banks of the
Zaire, there are multitudes of apes, which afford great delight to the
nobles by imitating human gestures." As this might apply to almost any
kind of apes, I should have thought little of it, had not the brothers
De Bry, whose engravings illustrate the work, thought fit, in their
eleventh 'Argumentum,' to figure two of these "Simiae magnatum
deliciae." So much of the plate as contains these apes is faithfully
copied in the woodcut (Figure 1), and it will be observed that they
are tail-less, long-armed, and large-eared; and about the size of
Chimpanzees. It may be that these apes are as much figments of the
imagination of the ingenious brothers as the winged, two-legged,
crocodile-headed dragon which adorns the same plate; or, on the other
hand, it may be that the artists have constructed their drawings from
some essentially faithful description of a Gorilla or a Chimpanzee. And,
in either case, though these figures are worth a passing notice, the
oldest trustworthy and definite accounts of any animal of this kind
date from the 17th century, and are due to an Englishman. ([Footnote] *
REGNUM CONGO: hoc est VERA DESCRIPTIO REGNI AFRICANI QUOD TAM AB INCOLIS
QUAM LUSITANIS CONGUS APPELLATUR, per Philippum Pigafettam, olim ex
Edoardo Lopez acroamatis lingua Italica excerpta, num Latio sermone
donata ab August. Cassiod. Reinio. Iconibus et imaginibus rerum
memorabilium quasi vivis, opera et industria Joan. Theodori et Joan.
Israelis de Bry, fratrum exornata. Francofurti, MDXCVIII.)

(FIGURE 1.--SIMIAE MAGNATUM DELICIAE.--De Bry, 1598.)

The first edition of that most amusing old book, 'Purchas his
Pilgrimage,' was published in 1613, and therein are to be found many
references to the statements of one whom Purchas terms "Andrew Battell
(my neere neighbour, dwelling at Leigh in Essex) who served under Manuel
Silvera Perera, Governor under the King of Spaine, at his city of Saint
Paul, and with him went farre into the countrey of Angola"; and again,
"my friend, Andrew Battle, who lived in the kingdom of Congo many
yeares," and who, "upon some quarell betwixt the Portugals (among whom
he was a sergeant of a band) and him, lived eight or nine moneths in
the woodes." From this weather-beaten old soldier, Purchas was amazed
to hear "of a kinde of Great Apes, if they might so bee termed, of the
height of a man, but twice as bigge in feature of their limmes, with
strength proportionable, hairie all over, otherwise altogether like men
and women in their whole bodily shape.* They lived on such wilde fruits
as the trees and woods yielded, and in the night time lodged on
the trees." ([Footnote] *"Except this that their legges had no
calves."--[Ed. 1626.] And in a marginal note, "These great apes are
called Pongo's.")

This extract is, however, less detailed and clear in its statements
than a passage in the third chapter of the second part of another
work--'Purchas his Pilgrimes,' published in 1625, by the same
author--which has been often, though hardly ever quite rightly, cited.
The chapter is entitled, "The strange adventures of Andrew Battell,
of Leigh in Essex, sent by the Portugals prisoner to Angola, who lived
there and in the adjoining regions neere eighteene yeeres." And the
sixth section of this chapter is headed--"Of the Provinces of Bongo,
Calongo, Mayombe, Manikesocke, Motimbas: of the Ape Monster Pongo, their
hunting: Idolatries; and divers other observations."

"This province (Calongo) toward the east bordereth upon Bongo, and
toward the north upon Mayombe, which is nineteen leagues from Longo
along the coast.

"This province of Mayombe is all woods and groves, so over-growne that
a man may travaile twentie days in the shadow without any sunne or heat.
Here is no kind of corne nor graine, so that the people liveth onely
upon plantanes and roots of sundrie sorts, very good; and nuts; nor any
kinde of tame cattell, nor hens.

"But they have great store of elephant's flesh, which they greatly
esteeme, and many kinds of wild beasts; and great store of fish. Here is
a great sandy bay, two leagues to the northward of Cape <DW64>,* which
is the port of Mayombe. ([Footnote] *Purchas' note.--Cape <DW64> is in 16
degrees south of the line.) Sometimes the Portugals lade logwood in
this bay. Here is a great river, called Banna: in the winter it hath no
barre, because the generall winds cause a great sea. But when the sunne
hath his south declination, then a boat may goe in; for then it is
smooth because of the raine. This river is very great, and hath many
ilands and people dwelling in them. The woods are so covered with
baboones, monkies, apes and parrots, that it will feare any man to
travaile in them alone. Here are also two kinds of monsters, which are
common in these woods, and very dangerous.

"The greatest of these two monsters is called Pongo in their language,
and the lesser is called Engeco. This Pongo is in all proportion like a
man; but that he is more like a giant in stature than a man; for he is
very tall, and hath a man's face, hollow-eyed, with long haire upon his
browes. His face and eares are without haire, and his hands also. His
bodie is full of haire, but not very thicke; and it is of a dunnish
colour.

"He differeth not from a man but in his legs; for they have no calfe.
Hee goeth alwaies upon his legs, and carrieth his hands clasped in the
nape of his necke when he goeth upon the ground. They sleepe in the
trees, and build shelters for the raine. They feed upon fruit that they
find in the woods, and upon nuts, for they eate no kind of flesh. They
cannot speake, and have no understanding more than a beast. The people
of the countrie, when they travaile in the woods make fires where they
sleepe in the night; and in the morning when they are gone, the Pongoes
will come and sit about the fire till it goeth out; for they have no
understanding to lay the wood together. They goe many together and kill
many <DW64>s that travaile in the woods. Many times they fall upon the
elephants which come to feed where they be, and so beate them with their
clubbed fists, and pieces of wood, that they will runne roaring away
from them. Those Pongoes are never taken alive because they are so
strong, that ten men cannot hold one of them; but yet they take many of
their young ones with poisoned arrowes.

"The young Pongo hangeth on his mother's belly with his hands fast
clasped about her, so that when the countrie people kill any of the
females they take the young one, which hangeth fast upon his mother.

"When they die among themselves, they cover the dead with great heaps
of boughs and wood, which is commonly found in the forest."* ([Footnote]
*Purchas' marginal note, p. 982:--"The Pongo a giant ape. He told me in
conference with him, that one of these pongoes tooke a <DW64> boy of
his which lived a moneth with them. For they hurt not those which they
surprise at unawares, except they look on them; which he avoyded. He
said their highth was like a man's, but their bignesse twice as great. I
saw the <DW64> boy. What the other monster should be he hath forgotten
to relate; and these papers came to my hand since his death, which,
otherwise, in my often conferences, I might have learned. Perhaps he
meaneth the Pigmy Pongo killers mentioned.")

It does not appear difficult to identify the exact region of which
Battell speaks. Longo is doubtless the name of the place usually spelled
Loango on our maps. Mayombe still lies some nineteen leagues northward
from Loango, along the coast; and Cilongo or Kilonga, Manikesocke, and
Motimbas are yet registered by geographers. The Cape <DW64> of Battell,
however, cannot be the modern Cape <DW64> in 16 degrees S., since Loango
itself is in 4 degrees S. latitude. On the other hand, the "great river
called Banna" corresponds very well with the "Camma" and "Fernand Vas,"
of modern geographers, which form a great delta on this part of the
African coast.

Now this "Camma" country is situated about a degree and a-half south of
the Equator, while a few miles to the north of the line lies the Gaboon,
and a degree or so north of that, the Money River--both well known to
modern naturalists as localities where the largest of man-like Apes
has been obtained. Moreover, at the present day, the word Engeco, or
N'schego, is applied by the natives of these regions to the smaller of
the two great Apes which inhabit them; so that there can be no rational
doubt that Andrew Battell spoke of that which he knew of his own
knowledge, or, at any rate, by immediate report from the natives of
Western Africa. The "Engeco," however, is that "other monster" whose
nature Battell "forgot to relate," while the name "Pongo"--applied
to the animal whose characters and habits are so fully and carefully
described--seems to have died out, at least in its primitive form and
signification. Indeed, there is evidence that not only in Battell's
time, but up to a very recent date, it was used in a totally different
sense from that in which he employs it.

For example, the second chapter of Purchas' work, which I have just
quoted, contains "A Description and Historicall Declaration of the
Golden Kingdom of Guinea, etc. etc. Translated from the Dutch, and
compared also with the Latin," wherein it is stated (p. 986) that--"The
River Gaboon lyeth about fifteen miles northward from Rio de Angra, and
eight miles northward from Cape de Lope Gonsalves (Cape Lopez), and is
right under the Equinoctial line, about fifteene miles from St. Thomas,
and is a great land, well and easily to be knowne. At the mouth of
the river there lieth a sand, three or foure fathoms deepe, whereon it
beateth mightily with the streame which runneth out of the river into
the sea. This river, in the mouth thereof, is at least four miles broad;
but when you are about the Iland called 'Pongo', it is not above two
miles broad...On both sides the river there standeth many trees...The
Iland called 'Pongo', which hath a monstrous high hill."

(FIGURE 2.--"<DW25> Sylvestris. Orang Outang." The Orang of Tulpius,
1641.)

The French naval officers, whose letters are appended to the late
M. Isidore Geoff. Saint Hilaire's excellent essay on the Gorilla,*
([Footnote] *'Archives du Museum', tome x.) note in similar terms the
width of the Gaboon, the trees that line its banks down to the water's
edge, and the strong current that sets out of it. They describe two
islands in its estuary;--one low, called Perroquet; the other high,
presenting three conical hills, called Coniquet; and one of them, M.
Franquet, expressly states that, formerly, the Chief of Coniquet was
called 'Meni-Pongo', meaning thereby Lord of 'Pongo'; and that the
'N'Pongues' (as, in agreement with Dr. Savage, he affirms the natives
call themselves) term the estuary of the Gaboon itself 'N'Pongo'.

It is so easy, in dealing with savages, to misunderstand their
applications of words to things, that one is at first inclined to
suspect Battell of having confounded the name of this region, where his
"greater monster" still abounds, with the name of the animal itself. But
he is so right about other matters (including the name of the "lesser
monster") that one is loth to suspect the old traveller of error; and,
on the other hand, we shall find that a voyager of a hundred years'
later date speaks of the name "Boggoe," as applied to a great Ape, by
the inhabitants of quite another part of Africa--Sierra Leone.

But I must leave this question to be settled by philologers and
travellers; and I should hardly have dwelt so long upon it except for
the curious part played by this word 'Pongo' in the later history of the
man-like Apes.

The generation which succeeded Battell saw the first of the man-like
Apes which was ever brought to Europe, or, at any rate, whose visit
found a historian. In the third book of Tulpius' 'Observationes
Medicae', published in 1641, the 56th chapter or section is devoted to
what he calls 'Satyrus indicus', "called by the Indians Orang-autang or
Man-of-the-Woods, and by the Africans Quoias Morrou." He gives a very
good figure, evidently from the life, of the specimen of this animal,
"nostra memoria ex Angola delatum," presented to Frederick Henry Prince
of Orange. Tulpius says it was as big as a child of three years old, and
as stout as one of six years: and that its back was covered with black
hair. It is plainly a young Chimpanzee.

In the meanwhile, the existence of other, Asiatic, man-like Apes became
known, but at first in a very mythical fashion. Thus Bontius (1658)
gives an altogether fabulous and ridiculous account and figure of an
animal which he calls "Orang-outang"; and though he says "vidi Ego cujus
effigiem hic exhibeo," the said effigies (see Figure 6 for Hoppius' copy
of it) is nothing but a very hairy woman of rather comely aspect, and
with proportions and feet wholly human. The judicious English anatomist,
Tyson, was justified in saying of this description by Bontius, "I
confess I do mistrust the whole representation."

It is to the last mentioned writer, and his coadjutor Cowper, that we
owe the first account of a man-like ape which has any pretensions
to scientific accuracy and completeness. The treatise entitled,
"'Orang-outang, sive <DW25> Sylvestris'; or the Anatomy of a Pygmie
compared with that of a 'Monkey', an 'Ape', and a 'Man'," published by
the Royal Society in 1699, is, indeed, a work of remarkable merit, and
has, in some respects, served as a model to subsequent inquirers. This
"Pygmie," Tyson tells us "was brought from Angola, in Africa; but was
first taken a great deal higher up the country"; its hair "was of a
coal-black colour and strait," and "when it went as a quadruped on all
four, 'twas awkwardly; not placing the palm of the hand flat to the
ground, but it walk'd upon its knuckles, as I observed it to do when
weak and had not strength enough to support its body."--"From the top
of the head to the heel of the foot, in a strait line, it measured
twenty-six inches."

(FIGURES 3 AND 4.--The 'Pygmie' reduced from Tyson's figures 1 and 2,
1699.)

These characters, even without Tyson's good figures (Figs. 3 and
4), would have been sufficient to prove his "Pygmie" to be a young
Chimpanzee. But the opportunity of examining the skeleton of the very
animal Tyson anatomised having most unexpectedly presented itself to
me, I am able to bear independent testimony to its being a veritable
'Troglodytes niger',* though still very young. Although fully
appreciating the resemblances between his Pygmie and Man, Tyson by no
means overlooked the differences between the two, and he concludes his
memoir by summing up first, the points in which "the Ourang-outang or
Pygmie more resembled a Man than Apes and Monkeys do," under forty-seven
distinct heads; and then giving, in thirty-four similar brief
paragraphs, the respects in which "the Ourang-outang or Pygmie differ'd
from a Man and resembled more the Ape and Monkey kind."

([Footnote] * I am indebted to Dr. Wright, of Cheltenham, whose
paleontological labours are so well known, for bringing this interesting
relic to my knowledge. Tyson's granddaughter, it appears, married Dr.
Allardyce, a physician of repute in Cheltenham, and brought, as part of
her dowry, the skeleton of the 'Pygmie.' Dr. Allardyce presented it to
the Cheltenham Museum, and, through the good offices of my friend Dr.
Wright, the authorities of the Museum have permitted me to borrow, what
is, perhaps its most remarkable ornament.

After a careful survey of the literature of the subject extant in
his time, our author arrives at the conclusion that his "Pygmie" is
identical neither with the Orangs of Tulpius and Bontius, nor with the
Quoias Morrou of Dapper (or rather of Tulpius), the Barris of d'Arcos,
nor with the Pongo of Battell; but that it is a species of ape probably
identical with the Pygmies of the Ancients, and, says Tyson, though it
"does so much resemble a 'Man' in many of its parts, more than any of
the ape kind, or any other 'animal' in the world, that I know of: yet by
no means do I look upon it as the product of a 'mixt' generation--'tis a
'Brute-Animal sui generis', and a particular 'species of Ape'."

The name of "Chimpanzee," by which one of the African Apes is now so
well known, appears to have come into use in the first half of the
eighteenth century, but the only important addition made, in that
period, to our acquaintance with the man-like apes of Africa is
contained in 'A New Voyage to Guinea', by William Smith, which bears the
date 1744.

In describing the animals of Sierra Leone, p. 51, this writer says:--

"I shall next describe a strange sort of animal, called by the white men
in this country Mandrill,* but why it is so called I know not, nor did
I ever hear the name before, neither can those who call them so tell,
except it be for their near resemblance of a human creature, though
nothing at all like an Ape. ([Footnote] *"Mandrill" seems to signify
a "man-like ape," the word "Drill" or "Dril" having been anciently
employed in England to denote an Ape or Baboon. Thus in the fifth
edition of Blount's "Glossographia, or a Dictionary interpreting the
hard words of whatsoever language now used in our refined English
tongue...very useful for all such as desire to understand what they
read," published in 1681, I find, "Dril--a stone-cutter's tool wherewith
he bores little holes in marble, etc. Also a large overgrown Ape and
Baboon, so called." "Drill" is used in the same sense in Charleton's
"Onomasticon Zoicon," 1668. The singular etymology of the word given by
Buffon seems hardly a probable one.) Their bodies, when full grown,
are as big in circumference as a middle-sized man's--their legs much
shorter, and their feet larger; their arms and hands in proportion. The
head is monstrously big, and the face broad and flat, without any other
hair but the eyebrows; the nose very small, the mouth wide, and the lips
thin. The face, which is covered by a white skin, is monstrously ugly,
being all over wrinkled as with old age; the teeth broad and yellow; the
hands have no more hair than the face, but the same white skin, though
all the rest of the body is covered with long black hair, like a bear.
They never go upon all fours, like apes; but cry, when vexed or teased,
just like children...."

(FIGURE 5.--"A Mandrill". Facsimile of William Smith's figure of the
"Mandrill," 1744.)

"When I was at Sherbro, one Mr. Cummerbus, whom I shall have occasion
hereafter to mention, made me a present of one of these strange animals,
which are called by the natives Boggoe: it was a she-cub, of six months'
age, but even then larger than a Baboon. I gave it in charge to one of
the slaves, who knew how to feed and nurse it, being a very tender sort
of animal; but whenever I went off the deck the sailors began to teaze
it--some loved to see its tears and hear it cry; others hated its snotty
nose; one who hurt it, being checked by the <DW64> that took care of it,
told the slave he was very fond of his country-woman, and asked him
if he should not like her for a wife? To which the slave very readily
replied, 'No, this no my wife; this a white woman--this fit wife for
you.' This unlucky wit of the <DW64>'s, I fancy, hastened its death, for
next morning it was found dead under the windlass."

William Smith's 'Mandrill,' or 'Boggoe,' as his description and figure
testify, was, without doubt, a Chimpanzee.

(FIGURE 6.--The Anthropomorpha of Linnaeus.)

Linnaeus knew nothing, of his own observation, of the man-like Apes of
either Africa or Asia, but a dissertation by his pupil Hoppius in the
'Amoenitates Academicae' (VI. 'Anthropomorpha') may be regarded as
embodying his views respecting these animals.

The dissertation is illustrated by a plate, of which the accompanying
woodcut, Fig, 6, is a reduced copy, The figures are entitled (from left
to right) 1. 'Troglodyta Bontii'; 2. 'Lucifer Aldrovandi'; 3. 'Satyrus
Tulpii'; 4. 'Pygmaeus Edwardi'. The first is a bad copy of Bontius'
fictitious 'Ourang-outang,' in whose existence, however, Linnaeus
appears to have fully believed; for in the standard edition of the
'Systema Naturae', it is enumerated as a second species of <DW25>; "H.
nocturnus." 'Lucifer Aldrovandi' is a copy of a figure in Aldrovandus,
'De Quadrupedibus digitatis viviparis', Lib. 2, p. 249 (1645), entitled
"Cercopithecus formae rarae 'Barbilius' vocatus et originem a china
ducebat." Hoppius is of opinion that this may be one of that cat-tailed
people, of whom Nicolaus Koping affirms that they eat a boat's crew,
"gubernator navis" and all! In the 'Systema Naturae' Linnaeus calls it
in a note, '<DW25> caudatus', and seems inclined to regard it as a third
species of man. According to Temminck, 'Satyrus Tulpii' is a copy of
the figure of a Chimpanzee published by Scotin in 1738, which I have
not seen. It is the 'Satyrus indicus' of the 'Systema Naturae', and
is regarded by Linnaeus as possibly a distinct species from 'Satyrus
sylvestris'. The last, named 'Pygmaeus Edwardi', is copied from the
figure of a young "Man of the Woods," or true Orang-Utan, given in
Edwards' 'Gleanings of Natural History' (1758).

Buffon was more fortunate than his great rival. Not only had he the rare
opportunity of examining a young Chimpanzee in the living state, but
he became possessed of an adult Asiatic man-like Ape--the first and the
last adult specimen of any of these animals brought to Europe for
many years. With the valuable assistance of Daubenton, Buffon gave
an excellent description of this creature, which, from its singular
proportions, he termed the long-armed Ape, or Gibbon. It is the modern
'Hylobates lar'.

Thus when, in 1766, Buffon wrote the fourteenth volume of his great
work, he was personally familiar with the young of one kind of African
man-like Ape, and with the adult of an Asiatic species--while the
Orang-Utan and the Mandrill of Smith were known to him by report.
Furthermore, the Abbe Prevost had translated a good deal of Purchas'
Pilgrims into French, in his 'Histoire generale des Voyages' (1748), and
there Buffon found a version of Andrew Battell's account of the Pongo
and the Engeco. All these data Buffon attempts to weld together into
harmony in his chapter entitled "Les Orang-outangs ou le Pongo et le
Jocko." To this title the following note is appended:--

"Orang-outang nom de cet animal aux Indes orientales: Pongo nom de cet
animal a Lowando Province de Congo.

"Jocko, Enjocko, nom de cet animal a Congo que nous avons adopte. 'En'
est l'article que nous avons retranche."

Thus it was that Andrew Battell's "Engeco" became metamorphosed into
"Jocko," and, in the latter shape, was spread all over the world, in
consequence of the extensive popularity of Buffon's works. The
Abbe Prevost and Buffon between them, however, did a good deal more
disfigurement to Battell's sober account than 'cutting off an article.'
Thus Battell's statement that the Pongos "cannot speake, and have no
understanding more than a beast," is rendered by Buffon "qu'il ne peut
parler 'quoiqu'il ait plus d'entendement que les autres animaux'"; and
again, Purchas' affirmation, "He told me in conference with him, that
one of these Pongos tooke a <DW64> boy of his which lived a moneth with
them," stands in the French version, "un pongo lui enleva un petit negre
qui passa un 'an' entier dans la societe de ces animaux."

After quoting the account of the great Pongo, Buffon justly remarks,
that all the 'Jockos' and 'Orangs' hitherto brought to Europe were
young; and he suggests that, in their adult condition, they might be as
big as the Pongo or 'great Orang'; so that, provisionally, he regarded
the Jockos, Orangs, and Pongos as all of one species. And perhaps this
was as much as the state of knowledge at the time warranted. But how
it came about that Buffon failed to perceive the similarity of Smith's
'Mandrill' to his own 'Jocko,' and confounded the former with so
totally different a creature as the blue-faced Baboon, is not so easily
intelligible.

Twenty years later Buffon changed his opinion,* and expressed his belief
that the Orangs constituted a genus with two species,--a large one, the
Pongo of Battell, and a small one, the Jocko: that the small one (Jocko)
is the East Indian Orang; and that the young animals from Africa,
observed by himself and Tulpius, are simply young Pongos. ([Footnote]
*'Histoire Naturelle', Suppl. tome 7eme, 1789.)

In the meanwhile, the Dutch naturalist, Vosmaer, gave, in 1778, a very
good account and figure of a young Orang, brought alive to Holland, and
his countryman, the famous anatomist, Peter Camper, published (1779)
an essay on the Orang-Utan of similar value to that of Tyson on the
Chimpanzee. He dissected several females and a male, all of which, from
the state of their skeleton and their dentition, he justly supposes to
have been young. However, judging by the analogy of man, he concludes
that they could not have exceeded four feet in height in the adult
condition. Furthermore, he is very clear as to the specific distinctness
of the true East Indian Orang.

"The Orang," says he, "differs not only from the Pigmy of Tyson and from
the Orang of Tulpius by its peculiar colour and its long toes, but
also by its whole external form. Its arms, its hands, and its feet are
longer, while the thumbs, on the contrary, are much shorter, and the
great toes much smaller in proportion."* ([Footnote] *Camper, 'Oeuvres',
i. p. 56.) And again, "The true Orang, that is to say, that of Asia,
that of Borneo, is consequently not the Pithecus, or tailless Ape, which
the Greeks, and especially Galen, have described. It is neither
the Pongo nor the Jocko, nor the Orang of Tulpius, nor the Pigmy of
Tyson,--IT IS AN ANIMAL OF A PECULIAR SPECIES, as I shall prove in the
clearest manner by the organs of voice and the skeleton in the following
chapters" (l. c. p. 64).

A few years later, M. Radermacher, who held a high office in the
Government of the Dutch dominions in India, and was an active member of
the Batavian Society of Arts and Sciences, published, in the second part
of the Transactions of that Society,* a Description of the Island of
Borneo, which was written between the years 1779 and 1781, and, among
much other interesting matter, contains some notes upon the Orang.
([Footnote] *Verhandelingen van het Bataviaasch Genootschap. Tweede
Deel. Derde Druk. 1826. The small sort of Orang-Utan, viz. that of
Vosmaer and of Edwards, he says, is found only in Borneo, and chiefly
about Banjermassing, Mampauwa, and Landak. Of these he had seen some
fifty during his residence in the Indies; but none exceeded 2 1/2 feet
in length. The larger sort, often regarded as a chimera, continues
Radermacher, would perhaps long have remained so, had it not been for
the exertions of the Resident at Rembang, M. Palm, who, on returning
from Landak towards Pontiana, shot one, and forwarded it to Batavia in
spirit, for transmission to Europe.

Palm's letter describing the capture runs thus:--"Herewith I send your
Excellency, contrary to all expectation (since long ago I offered more
than a hundred ducats to the natives for an Orang-Utan of four or five
feet high) an Orang which I heard of this morning about eight o'clock.
For a long time we did our best to take the frightful beast alive in the
dense forest about half way to Landak. We forgot even to eat, so anxious
were we not to let him escape; but it was necessary to take care that
he did not revenge himself, as he kept continually breaking off heavy
pieces of wood and green branches, and dashing them at us. This game
lasted till four o'clock in the afternoon, when we determined to shoot
him; in which I succeeded very well, and indeed better than I ever shot
from a boat before; for the bullet went just into the side of his chest,
so that he was not much damaged. We got him into the prow still living,
and bound him fast, and next morning he died of his wounds. All Pontiana
came on board to see him when we arrived." Palm gives his height from
the head to the heel as 49 inches.

(FIGURE 7.--The Pongo Skull, sent by Radermacher to Camper, after
Camper's original sketches, as reproduced by Lucae.)

A very intelligent German officer, Baron Von Wurmb, who at this time
held a post in the Dutch East India service, and was Secretary of the
Batavian Society, studied this animal, and his careful description of
it, entitled "Beschrijving van der Groote Borneosche Orang-outang of de
Oost-Indische Pongo," is contained in the same volume of the Batavian
Society's Transactions. After Von Wurmb had drawn up his description he
states, in a letter dated Batavia, Feb. 18, 1781,* ([Footnote] *"Briefe
des Herrn v. Wurmb und des H. Baron von Wollzogen. Gotha, 1794." that
the specimen was sent to Europe in brandy to be placed in the collection
of the Prince of Orange; "unfortunately," he continues, "we hear that
the ship has been wrecked." Von Wurmb died in the course of the year
1781, the letter in which this passage occurs being the last he wrote;
but in his posthumous papers, published in the fourth part of the
Transactions of the Batavian Society, there is a brief description, with
measurements, of a female Pongo four feet high.

Did either of these original specimens, on which Von Wurmb's
descriptions are based, ever reach Europe? It is commonly supposed
that they did; but I doubt the fact. For, appended to the memoir 'De
l'Ourang-outang,' in the collected edition of Camper's works, tome i.,
pp. 64-66, is a note by Camper himself, referring to Von Wurmb's papers,
and continuing thus:--"Heretofore, this kind of ape had never been known
in Europe. Radermacher has had the kindness to send me the skull of one
of these animals, which measured fifty-three inches, or four feet five
inches, in height. I have sent some sketches of it to M. Soemmering at
Mayence, which are better calculated, however, to give an idea of the
form than of the real size of the parts."

These sketches have been reproduced by Fischer and by Lucae, and bear
date 1783, Soemmering having received them in 1784. Had either of Von
Wurmb's specimens reached Holland, they would hardly have been unknown
at this time to Camper, who, however, goes on to say--"It appears that
since this, some more of these monsters have been captured, for an
entire skeleton, very badly set up, which had been sent to the Museum
of the Prince of Orange, and which I saw only on the 27th of June, 1784,
was more than four feet high. I examined this skeleton again on the
19th December, 1785, after it had been excellently put to rights by the
ingenious Onymus."

It appears evident, then, that this skeleton, which is doubtless that
which has always gone by the name of Wurmb's Pongo, is not that of the
animal described by him, though unquestionably similar in all essential
points.

Camper proceeds to note some of the most important features of this
skeleton; promises to describe it in detail by-and-bye; and is evidently
in doubt as to the relation of this great 'Pongo' to his "petit Orang."

The promised further investigations were never carried out; and so it
happened that the Pongo of Von Wurmb took its place by the side of
the Chimpanzee, Gibbon, and Orang as a fourth and colossal species
of man-like Ape. And indeed nothing could look much less like the
Chimpanzees or the Orangs, then known, than the Pongo; for all the
specimens of Chimpanzee and Orang which had been observed were small of
stature, singularly human in aspect, gentle and docile; while Wurmb's
Pongo was a monster almost twice their size, of vast strength and
fierceness, and very brutal in expression; its great projecting muzzle,
armed with strong teeth, being further disfigured by the outgrowth of
the cheeks into fleshy lobes.

Eventually, in accordance with the usual marauding habits of the
Revolutionary armies, the 'Pongo' skeleton was carried away from Holland
into France, and notices of it, expressly intended to demonstrate its
entire distinctness from the Orang and its affinity with the baboons,
were given, in 1798, by Geoffroy St. Hilaire and Cuvier.

Even in Cuvier's 'Tableau Elementaire', and in the first edition of his
great work, the 'Regne Animal', the 'Pongo' is classed as a species of
Baboon. However, so early as 1818, it appears that Cuvier saw reason to
alter this opinion, and to adopt the view suggested several years before
by Blumenbach,* and after him by Tilesius, that the Bornean Pongo
is simply an adult Orang. ([Footnote] *See Blumenbach, 'Abbildungen
Naturhistorichen Gegenstande', No. 12, 1810; and Tilesius,
'Naturhistoriche Fruchte der ersten Kaiserlich-Russischen
Erdumsegelung', p. 115, 1813.) In 1824, Rudolphi demonstrated, by the
condition of the dentition, more fully and completely than had been done
by his predecessors, that the Orangs described up to that time were all
young animals, and that the skull and teeth of the adult would probably
be such as those seen in the Pongo of Wurmb. In the second edition of
the 'Regne Animal' (1829), Cuvier infers, from the 'proportions of all
the parts' and 'the arrangements of the foramina and sutures of the
head,' that the Pongo is the adult of the Orang-Utan, 'at least of a
very closely allied species,' and this conclusion was eventually placed
beyond all doubt by Professor Owen's Memoir published in the 'Zoological
Transactions' for 1835, and by Temminck in his 'Monographies de
Mammalogie'. Temminck's memoir is remarkable for the completeness of the
evidence which it affords as to the modification which the form of the
Orang undergoes according to age and sex. Tiedemann first published an
account of the brain of the young Orang, while Sandifort, Muller and
Schlegel, described the muscles and the viscera of the adult, and gave
the earliest detailed and trustworthy history of the habits of the great
Indian Ape in a state of nature; and as important additions have been
made by later observers, we are at this moment better acquainted with
the adult of the Orang-Utan, than with that of any of the other greater
man-like Apes.

It is certainly the Pongo of Wurmb;* and it is as certainly not the
Pongo of Battell, seeing that the Orang-Utan is entirely confined to
the great Asiatic islands of Borneo and Sumatra. ([Footnote] *Speaking
broadly and without prejudice to the question, whether there be more
than one species of Orang.)

And while the progress of discovery thus cleared up the history of the
Orang, it also became established that the only other man-like Apes in
the eastern world were the various species of Gibbon--Apes of smaller
stature, and therefore attracting less attention than the Orangs, though
they are spread over a much wider range of country, and are hence more
accessible to observation.

Although the geographical area inhabited by the 'Pongo' and Engeco of
Battell is so much nearer to Europe than that in which the Orang and
Gibbon are found, our acquaintance with the African Apes has been of
slower growth; indeed, it is only within the last few years that the
truthful story of the old English adventurer has been rendered fully
intelligible. It was not until 1835 that the skeleton of the adult
Chimpanzee became known, by the publication of Professor Owen's
above-mentioned very excellent memoir 'On the osteology of the
Chimpanzee and Orang', in the 'Zoological Transactions'--a memoir which,
by the accuracy of its descriptions, the carefulness of its comparisons,
and the excellence of its figures, made an epoch in the history of our
knowledge of the bony framework, not only of the Chimpanzee, but of all
the anthropoid Apes.

By the investigations herein detailed, it became evident that the old
Chimpanzee acquired a size and aspect as different from those of the
young known to Tyson, to Buffon, and to Traill, as those of the old
Orang from the young Orang; and the subsequent very important researches
of Messrs. Savage and Wyman, the American missionary and anatomist, have
not only confirmed this conclusion, but have added many new details.*
([Footnote] *See "Observations on the external characters and habits
of the Troglodytes niger, by Thomas N. Savage, M.D., and on its
organization by Jeffries Wyman, M.D.," 'Boston Journal of Natural
History', vol. iv., 1843-4; and "External characters, habits, and
osteology of Troglodytes Gorilla," by the same authors, 'ibid'., vol.
v., 1847.)

One of the most interesting among the many valuable discoveries made by
Dr. Thomas Savage is the fact, that the natives in the Gaboon country at
the present day, apply to the Chimpanzee a name--"Enche-eko"--which is
obviously identical with the "Engeko" of Battell; a discovery which has
been confirmed by all later inquirers. Battell's "lesser monster" being
thus proved to be a veritable existence, of course a strong presumption
arose that his "greater monster," the 'Pongo,' would sooner or later
be discovered. And, indeed, a modern traveller, Bowdich, had, in 1819,
found strong evidence, among the natives, of the existence of a second
great Ape, called the 'Ingena,' "five feet high, and four across the
shoulders," the builder of a rude house, on the outside of which it
slept.

In 1847, Dr. Savage had the good fortune to make another and most
important addition to our knowledge of the man-like Apes; for, being
unexpectedly detained at the Gaboon river, he saw in the house of the
Rev. Mr. Wilson, a missionary resident there, "a skull represented
by the natives to be a monkey-like animal, remarkable for its
size, ferocity, and habits." From the contour of the skull, and the
information derived from several intelligent natives, "I was induced,"
says Dr. Savage (using the term Orang in its old general sense) "to
believe that it belonged to a new species of Orang. I expressed this
opinion to Mr. Wilson, with a desire for further investigation; and, if
possible, to decide the point by the inspection of a specimen alive or
dead." The result of the combined exertions of Messrs. Savage and Wilson
was not only the obtaining of a very full account of the habits of
this new creature, but a still more important service to science, the
enabling the excellent American anatomist already mentioned, Professor
Wyman, to describe, from ample materials, the distinctive osteological
characters of the new form. This animal was called by the natives of
the Gaboon "Enge-ena," a name obviously identical with the "Ingena"
of Bowdich; and Dr. Savage arrived at the conviction that this last
discovered of all the great Apes was the long-sought "Pongo" of Battell.

The justice of this conclusion, indeed, is beyond doubt--for not only
does the 'Enge-ena' agree with Battell's "greater monster" in its hollow
eyes, its great stature, and its dun or iron-grey colour, but the only
other man-like Ape which inhabits these latitudes--the Chimpanzee--is
at once identified, by its smaller size, as the "lesser monster," and is
excluded from any possibility of being the 'Pongo,' by the fact that
it is black and not dun, to say nothing of the important circumstance
already mentioned that it still retains the name of 'Engeko,' or
"Enche-eko," by which Battell knew it.

In seeking for a specific name for the "Enge-ena," however, Dr. Savage
wisely avoided the much misused 'Pongo'; but finding in the ancient
Periplus of Hanno the word "Gorilla" applied to certain hairy savage
people, discovered by the Carthaginian voyager in an island on the
African coast, he attached the specific name "Gorilla" to his new ape,
whence arises its present well-known appellation. But Dr. Savage, more
cautious than some of his successors, by no means identifies his ape
with Hanno's "wild men." He merely says that the latter were "probably
one of the species of the Orang;" and I quite agree with M. Brulle, that
there is no ground for identifying the modern 'Gorilla' with that of the
Carthaginian admiral.

Since the memoir of Savage and Wyman was published, the skeleton of
the Gorilla has been investigated by Professor Owen and by the late
Professor Duvernoy, of the Jardin des Plantes, the latter having further
supplied a valuable account of the muscular system and of many of
the other soft parts; while African missionaries and travellers have
confirmed and expanded the account originally given of the habits of
this great man-like Ape, which has had the singular fortune of being
the first to be made known to the general world and the last to be
scientifically investigated.

Two centuries and a half have passed away since Battell told his stories
about the 'greater' and the 'lesser monsters' to Purchas, and it has
taken nearly that time to arrive at the clear result that there are
four distinct kinds of Anthropoids--in Eastern Asia, the Gibbons and the
Orangs; in Western Africa, the Chimpanzees and the Gorilla.

The man-like Apes, the history of whose discovery has just been
detailed, have certain characters of structure and of distribution in
common. Thus they all have the same number of teeth as man--possessing
four incisors, two canines, four false molars, and six true molars in
each jaw, or 32 teeth in all, in the adult condition; while the milk
dentition consists of 20 teeth--or four incisors, two canines, and four
molars in each jaw. They are what are called catarrhine Apes--that
is, their nostrils have a narrow partition and look downwards;
and, furthermore, their arms are always longer than their legs, the
difference being sometimes greater and sometimes less; so that if
the four were arranged in the order of the length of their arms in
proportion to that of their legs, we should have this series--Orang (1
4/9: 1), Gibbon (1 1/4: 1), Gorilla (1 1/5: 1), Chimpanzee (1 1/16: 1).
In all, the fore limbs are terminated by hands, provided with longer or
shorter thumbs; while the great toe of the foot, always smaller than in
Man, is far more movable than in him and can be opposed, like a thumb,
to the rest of the foot. None of these apes have tails, and none of them
possess the cheek pouches common among monkeys. Finally, they are all
inhabitants of the old world.

The Gibbons are the smallest, slenderest, and longest-limbed of the
man-like apes: their arms are longer in proportion to their bodies than
those of any of the other man-like Apes, so that they can touch the
ground when erect; their hands are longer than their feet, and they are
the only Anthropoids which possess callosities like the lower monkeys.
They are variously . The Orangs have arms which reach to the
ankles in the erect position of the animal; their thumbs and great toes
are very short, and their feet are longer than their hands. They are
covered with reddish brown hair, and the sides of the face, in adult
males, are commonly produced into two crescentic, flexible excrescences,
like fatty tumours. The Chimpanzees have arms which reach below the
knees; they have large thumbs and great toes, their hands are longer
than their feet; and their hair is black, while the skin of the face
is pale. The Gorilla, lastly, has arms which reach to the middle of the
leg, large thumbs and great toes, feet longer than the hands, a black
face, and dark-grey or dun hair.

For the purpose which I have at present in view, it is unnecessary that
I should enter into any further minutiae respecting the distinctive
characters of the genera and species into which these man-like Apes
are divided by naturalists. Suffice it to say, that the Orangs and the
Gibbons constitute the distinct genera, 'Simia' and 'Hylobates'; while
the Chimpanzees and Gorillas are by some regarded simply as
distinct species of one genus, 'Troglodytes'; by others as distinct
genera--'Troglodytes' being reserved for the Chimpanzees, and 'Gorilla'
for the Enge-ena or Pongo.

Sound knowledge respecting the habits and mode of life of the man-like
Apes has been even more difficult of attainment than correct information
regarding their structure.

Once in a generation, a Wallace may be found physically, mentally, and
morally qualified to wander unscathed through the tropical wilds of
America and of Asia; to form magnificent collections as he wanders;
and withal to think out sagaciously the conclusions suggested by his
collections: but, to the ordinary explorer or collector, the dense
forests of equatorial Asia and Africa, which constitute the favourite
habitation of the Orang, the Chimpanzee, and the Gorilla, present
difficulties of no ordinary magnitude: and the man who risks his life by
even a short visit to the malarious shores of those regions may well
be excused if he shrinks from facing the dangers of the interior; if he
contents himself with stimulating the industry of the better seasoned
natives, and collecting and collating the more or less mythical reports
and traditions with which they are too ready to supply him.

In such a manner most of the earlier accounts of the habits of the
man-like Apes originated; and even now a good deal of what passes
current must be admitted to have no very safe foundation. The best
information we possess is that, based almost wholly on direct European
testimony respecting the Gibbons; the next best evidence relates to
the Orangs; while our knowledge of the habits of the Chimpanzee and the
Gorilla stands much in need of support and enlargement by additional
testimony from instructed European eye-witnesses.

It will therefore be convenient in endeavouring to form a notion of what
we are justified in believing about these animals, to commence with the
best known man-like Apes, the Gibbons and Orangs; and to make use of the
perfectly reliable information respecting them as a sort of criterion of
the probable truth or falsehood of assertions respecting the others.

Of the GIBBONS, half a dozen species are found scattered over the
Asiatic islands, Java, Sumatra, Borneo, and through Malacca, Siam,
Arracan, and an uncertain extent of Hindostan, on the main land of Asia.
The largest attain a few inches above three feet in height, from the
crown to the heel, so that they are shorter than the other man-like
Apes; while the slenderness of their bodies renders their mass far
smaller in proportion even to this diminished height.

Dr. Salomon Muller, an accomplished Dutch naturalist, who lived for many
years in the Eastern Archipelago, and to the results of whose personal
experience I shall frequently have occasion to refer, states that the
Gibbons are true mountaineers, loving the <DW72>s and edges of the hills,
though they rarely ascend beyond the limit of the fig-trees. All day
long they haunt the tops of the tall trees; and though, towards evening,
they descend in small troops to the open ground, no sooner do they spy
a man than they dart up the hill-sides, and disappear in the darker
valleys.

All observers testify to the prodigious volume of voice possessed by
these animals. According to the writer whom I have just cited, in one of
them, the Siamang, "the voice is grave and penetrating, resembling the
sounds goek, goek, goek, goek, goek ha ha ha ha haaaaa, and may easily
be heard at a distance of half a league." While the cry is being
uttered, the great membranous bag under the throat which communicates
with the organ of voice, the so-called "laryngeal sac," becomes greatly
distended, diminishing again when the creature relapses into silence.

M. Duvaucel, likewise, affirms that the cry of the Siamang may be heard
for miles--making the woods ring again. So Mr. Martin* describes the cry
of the agile Gibbon as "overpowering and deafening" in a room, and "from
its strength, well calculated for resounding through the vast forests."
([Footnote] *'Man and Monkies', p. 423.) Mr. Waterhouse, an accomplished
musician as well as zoologist, says, "The Gibbon's voice is certainly
much more powerful than that of any singer I have ever heard." And yet
it is to be recollected that this animal is not half the height of, and
far less bulky in proportion than, a man.

There is good testimony that various species of Gibbon readily take to
the erect posture. Mr. George Bennett,* a very excellent observer, in
describing the habits of a male 'Hylobates syndactylus' which remained
for some time in his possession, says: "He invariably walks in the erect
posture when on a level surface; and then the arms either hang down,
enabling him to assist himself with his knuckles; or what is more usual,
he keeps his arms uplifted in nearly an erect position, with the hands
pendent ready to seize a rope, and climb up on the approach of danger
or on the obtrusion of strangers. He walks rather quick in the erect
posture, but with a waddling gait, and is soon run down if, whilst
pursued, he has no opportunity of escaping by climbing...When he walks
in the erect posture he turns the leg and foot outwards, which occasions
him to have a waddling gait and to seem bow-legged." ([Footnote]
*'Wanderings in New South Wales', vol. ii. chap. viii., 1834.)

Dr. Burrough states of another Gibbon, the Horlack or Hooluk: "They
walk erect; and when placed on the floor, or in an open field, balance
themselves very prettily, by raising their hands over their head and
slightly bending the arm at the wrist and elbow, and then run tolerably
fast, rocking from side to side; and, if urged to greater speed, they
let fall their hands to the ground, and assist themselves forward,
rather jumping than running, still keeping the body, however, nearly
erect."

Somewhat different evidence, however, is given by Dr. Winslow Lewis:*
([Footnote] *'Boston Journal of Natural History', vol. i., 1834.)

"Their only manner of walking was on their posterior or inferior
extremities, the others being raised upwards to preserve their
equilibrium, as rope-dancers are assisted by long poles at fairs.
Their progression was not by placing one foot before the other, but
by simultaneously using both, as in jumping." Dr. Salomon Muller also
states that the Gibbons progress along the ground by a short series of
tottering jumps, effected only by the hind limbs, the body being held
altogether upright.

But Mr. Martin (l. c. p. 418), who also speaks from direct observation,
says of the Gibbons generally:

"Pre-eminently qualified for arboreal habits, and displaying among the
branches amazing activity, the Gibbons are not so awkward or embarrassed
on a level surface as might be imagined. They walk erect, with a
waddling or unsteady gait, but at a quick pace; the equilibrium of the
body requiring to be kept up, either by touching the ground with the
knuckles, first on one side then on the other, or by uplifting the arms
so as to poise it. As with the Chimpanzee, the whole of the narrow, long
sole of the foot is placed upon the ground at once and raised at once,
without any elasticity of step."

(FIGURE 8.--Gibbon ('H. pileatus'), after Wolf.)

After this mass of concurrent and independent testimony, it cannot
reasonably be doubted that the Gibbons commonly and habitually assume
the erect attitude.

But level ground is not the place where these animals can display their
very remarkable and peculiar locomotive powers, and that prodigious
activity which almost tempts one to rank them among flying, rather than
among ordinary climbing mammals.

Mr. Martin (l.c. p. 430) has given so excellent and graphic an account
of the movements of a 'Hylobates agilis', living in the Zoological
Gardens, in 1840, that I will quote it in full:

"It is almost impossible to convey in words an idea of the quickness and
graceful address of her movements: they may indeed be termed aerial, as
she seems merely to touch in her progress the branches among which she
exhibits her evolutions. In these feats her hands and arms are the
sole organs of locomotion; her body hanging as if suspended by a rope,
sustained by one hand (the right for example) she launches herself, by
an energetic movement, to a distant branch, which she catches with the
left hand; but her hold is less than momentary: the impulse for the next
launch is acquired: the branch then aimed at is attained by the right
hand again, and quitted instantaneously, and so on, in alternate
succession. In this manner spaces of twelve and eighteen feet are
cleared, with the greatest ease and uninterruptedly, for hours together,
without the slightest appearance of fatigue being manifested; and it
is evident that, if more space could be allowed, distances very greatly
exceeding eighteen feet would be as easily cleared; so that Duvaucel's
assertion that he has seen these animals launch themselves from one
branch to another, forty feet asunder, startling as it is, may be well
credited. Sometimes, on seizing a branch in her progress, she will throw
herself, by the power of one arm only, completely round it, making a
revolution with such rapidity as almost to deceive the eye, and continue
her progress with undiminished velocity. It is singular to observe how
suddenly this Gibbon can stop, when the impetus given by the rapidity
and distance of her swinging leaps would seem to require a gradual
abatement of her movements. In the very midst of her flight a branch is
seized, the body raised, and she is seen, as if by magic, quietly seated
on it, grasping it with her feet. As suddenly she again throws herself
into action.

"The following facts will convey some notion of her dexterity and
quickness. A live bird was let loose in her apartment; she marked its
flight, made a long swing to a distant branch, caught the bird with one
hand in her passage, and attained the branch with her other hand; her
aim, both at the bird and at the branch, being as successful as if
one object only had engaged her attention. It may be added that she
instantly bit off the head of the bird, picked its feathers, and then
threw it down without attempting to eat it.

"On another occasion this animal swung herself from a perch, across a
passage at least twelve feet wide, against a window which it was thought
would be immediately broken: but not so; to the surprise of all, she
caught the narrow framework between the panes with her hand, in an
instant attained the proper impetus, and sprang back again to the cage
she had left--a feat requiring not only great strength, but the nicest
precision."

The Gibbons appear to be naturally very gentle, but there is very
good evidence that they will bite severely when irritated--a female
'Hylobates agilis' having so severely lacerated one man with her long
canines, that he died; while she had injured others so much that, by
way of precaution, these formidable teeth had been filed down; but, if
threatened, she would still turn on her keeper. The Gibbons eat insects,
but appear generally to avoid animal food. A Siamang, however, was seen
by Mr. Bennett to seize and devour greedily a live lizard. They commonly
drink by dipping their fingers in the liquid and then licking them. It
is asserted that they sleep in a sitting posture.

Duvaucel affirms that he has seen the females carry their young to the
waterside and there wash their faces, in spite of resistance and cries.
They are gentle and affectionate in captivity--full of tricks and
pettishness, like spoiled children, and yet not devoid of a certain
conscience, as an anecdote, told by Mr. Bennett (l. c. p. 156), will
show. It would appear that his Gibbon had a peculiar inclination for
disarranging things in the cabin. Among these articles, a piece of soap
would especially attract his notice, and for the removal of this he
had been once or twice scolded. "One morning," says Mr. Bennett, "I
was writing, the ape being present in the cabin, when casting my eyes
towards him, I saw the little fellow taking the soap. I watched him
without his perceiving that I did so: and he occasionally would cast a
furtive glance towards the place where I sat. I pretended to write; he,
seeing me busily occupied, took the soap, and moved away with it in his
paw. When he had walked half the length of the cabin, I spoke quietly,
without frightening him. The instant he found I saw him, he walked back
again, and deposited the soap nearly in the same place from whence he
had taken it. There was certainly something more than instinct in that
action: he evidently betrayed a consciousness of having done wrong both
by his first and last actions--and what is reason if that is not an
exercise of it?"

The most elaborate account of the natural history of the ORANG-UTAN
extant, is that given in the "Verhandelingen over de Natuurlijke
Geschiedenis der Nederlandsche overzeesche Bezittingen (1839-45)," by
Dr. Salomon Muller and Dr. Schlegel, and I shall base what I have to
say, upon this subject almost entirely on their statements, adding, here
and there, particulars of interest from the writings of Brooke, Wallace,
and others.

The Orang-Utan would rarely seem to exceed four feet in height, but
the body is very bulky, measuring two-thirds of the height in
circumference.* ([Footnote] *The largest Orang-Utan, cited by Temminck,
measured, when standing upright, 4 ft.; but he mentions having just
received news of the capture of an Orang 5 ft. 3 in. high. Schlegel
and Muller say that their largest old male measured, upright, 1.25
Netherlands "el"; and from the crown to the end of the toes, 1.5 el; the
circumference of the body being about 1 el. The largest old female
was 1.09 el high, when standing. The adult skeleton in the College of
Surgeons' Museum, if set upright, would stand 3 ft. 6-8 in. from crown
to sole. Dr. Humphry gives 3 ft. 8 in. as the mean height of two Orangs.
Of seventeen Orangs examined by Mr. Wallace, the largest was 4 ft. 2
in. high, from the heel to the crown of the head. Mr. Spencer St. John,
however, in his 'Life in the Forests of the Far East', tells us of an
Orang of "5 ft. 2 in., measuring fairly from the head to the heel," 15
in. across the face, and 12 in. round the wrist. It does not appear,
however, that Mr. St. John measured this Orang himself.)

The Orang-Utan is found only in Sumatra and Borneo, and is common in
neither of these islands--in both of which it occurs always in low, flat
plains, never in the mountains. It loves the densest and most sombre of
the forests, which extend from the sea-shore inland, and thus is found
only in the eastern half of Sumatra, where alone such forests occur,
though, occasionally, it strays over to the western side.

On the other hand, it is generally distributed through Borneo, except in
the mountains, or where the population is dense. In favourable places,
the hunter may, by good fortune, see three or four in a day.

(FIGURE 9.--An adult male Orang-utan, after Muller and Schlegel.)

Except in the pairing time, the old males usually live by themselves.
The old females, and the immature males, on the other hand, are often
met with in twos and threes; and the former occasionally have young
with them, though the pregnant females usually separate themselves, and
sometimes remain apart after they have given birth to their offspring.
The young Orangs seem to remain unusually long under their mother's
protection, probably in consequence of their slow growth. While
climbing, the mother always carries her young against her bosom, the
young holding on by his mother's hair.* ([Footnote] *See Mr. Wallace's
account of an infant "Orang-utan," in the 'Annals of Natural History'
for 1856. Mr. Wallace provided his interesting charge with an artificial
mother of buffalo-skin, but the cheat was too successful. The infant's
entire experience led it to associate teats with hair, and feeling
the latter, it spent its existence in vain endeavours to discover
the former.) At what time of life the Orang-Utan becomes capable of
propagation, and how long the females go with young, is unknown, but it
is probable that they are not adult until they arrive at ten or fifteen
years of age. A female which lived for five years at Batavia, had not
attained one-third the height of the wild females. It is probable that,
after reaching adult years, they go on growing, though slowly, and that
they live to forty or fifty years. The Dyaks tell of old Orangs, which
have not only lost all their teeth, but which find it so troublesome to
climb, that they maintain themselves on windfalls and juicy herbage.

The Orang is sluggish, exhibiting none of that marvellous activity
characteristic of the Gibbons. Hunger alone seems to stir him to
exertion, and when it is stilled, he relapses into repose. When the
animal sits, it curves its back and bows its head, so as to look
straight down on the ground; sometimes it holds on with its hands by
a higher branch, sometimes lets them hang phlegmatically down by its
side--and in these positions the Orang will remain, for hours together,
in the same spot, almost without stirring, and only now and then giving
utterance to its deep, growling voice. By day, he usually climbs from
one tree-top to another, and only at night descends to the ground, and
if then threatened with danger, he seeks refuge among the underwood.
When not hunted, he remains a long time in the same locality, and
sometimes stops for many days on the same tree--a firm place among its
branches serving him for a bed. It is rare for the Orang to pass the
night in the summit of a large tree, probably because it is too windy
and cold there for him; but, as soon as night draws on, he descends from
the height and seeks out a fit bed in the lower and darker part, or
in the leafy top of a small tree, among which he prefers Nibong Palms,
Pandani, or one of those parasitic Orchids which give the primeval
forests of Borneo so characteristic and striking an appearance. But
wherever he determines to sleep, there he prepares himself a sort of
nest: little boughs and leaves are drawn together round the selected
spot, and bent crosswise over one another; while to make the bed soft,
great leaves of Ferns, of Orchids, of 'Pandanus fascicularis', 'Nipa
fruticans', etc., are laid over them. Those which Muller saw, many of
them being very fresh, were situated at a height of ten to twenty-five
feet above the ground, and had a circumference, on the average, of
two or three feet. Some were packed many inches thick with 'Pandanus'
leaves; others were remarkable only for the cracked twigs, which, united
in a common centre, formed a regular platform. "The rude 'hut'," says
Sir James Brooke, "which they are stated to build in the trees, would be
more properly called a seat or nest, for it has no roof or cover of any
sort. The facility with which they form this nest is curious, and I had
an opportunity of seeing a wounded female weave the branches together
and seat herself, within a minute."

According to the Dyaks, the Orang rarely leaves his bed before the sun
is well above the horizon and has dissipated the mists. He gets up about
nine, and goes to bed again about five; but sometimes not till late in
the twilight. He lies sometimes on his back; or, by way of change, turns
on one side or the other, drawing his limbs up to his body, and resting
his head on his hand. When the night is cold, windy, or rainy, he
usually covers his body with a heap of 'Pandanus', 'Nipa', or Fern
leaves, like those of which his bed is made, and he is especially
careful to wrap up his head in them. It is this habit of covering
himself up which has probably led to the fable that the Orang builds
huts in the trees.

Although the Orang resides mostly amid the boughs of great trees, during
the daytime, he is very rarely seen squatting on a thick branch,
as other apes, and particularly the Gibbons, do. The Orang, on the
contrary, confines himself to the slender leafy branches, so that he
is seen right at the top of the trees, a mode of life which is closely
related to the constitution of his hinder limbs, and especially to
that of his seat. For this is provided with no callosities, such as are
possessed by many of the lower apes, and even by the Gibbons; and those
bones of the pelvis, which are termed the ischia, and which form the
solid framework of the surface on which the body rests in the sitting
posture, are not expanded like those of the apes which possess
callosities, but are more like those of man.

An Orang climbs so slowly and cautiously,* as, in this act, to resemble
a man more than an ape, taking great care of his feet, so that injury of
them seems to affect him far more than it does other apes. ([Footnote]
* "They are the slowest and least active of all the monkey tribe, and
their motions are surprisingly awkward and uncouth."--Sir James Brooke,
in the 'Proceedings of the Zoological Society', 1841.) Unlike the
Gibbons, whose forearms do the greater part of the work, as they swing
from branch to branch, the Orang never makes even the smallest jump. In
climbing, he moves alternately one hand and one foot, or, after having
laid fast hold with the hands, he draws up both feet together. In
passing from one tree to another, he always seeks out a place where
the twigs of both come close together, or interlace. Even when closely
pursued, his circumspection is amazing: he shakes the branches to see
if they will bear him, and then bending an overhanging bough down by
throwing his weight gradually along it, he makes a bridge from the tree
he wishes to quit to the next.* ([Footnote] *Mr. Wallace's account of
the progression of the Orang almost exactly corresponds with this.)

On the ground the Orang always goes laboriously and shakily, on all
fours. At starting he will run faster than a man, though he may soon be
overtaken. The very long arms which, when he runs, are but little bent,
raise the body of the Orang remarkably, so that he assumes much the
posture of a very old man bent down by age, and making his way along by
the help of a stick. In walking, the body is usually directed straight
forward, unlike the other apes, which run more or less obliquely;
except the Gibbons, who in these, as in so many other respects, depart
remarkably from their fellows.

The Orang cannot put its feet flat on the ground, but is supported upon
their outer edges, the heel resting more on the ground, while the curved
toes partly rest upon the ground by the upper side of their first joint,
the two outermost toes of each foot completely resting on this surface.
The hands are held in the opposite manner, their inner edges serving as
the chief support. The fingers are then bent out in such a manner that
their foremost joints, especially those of the two innermost fingers,
rest upon the ground by their upper sides, while the point of the free
and straight thumb serves as an additional fulcrum.

The Orang never stands on its hind legs, and all the pictures,
representing it as so doing, are as false as the assertion that it
defends itself with sticks, and the like.

The long arms are of especial use, not only in climbing, but in the
gathering of food from boughs to which the animal could not trust his
weight. Figs, blossoms, and young leaves of various kinds, constitute
the chief nutriment of the Orang; but strips of bamboo two or three
feet long were found in the stomach of a male. They are not known to eat
living animals.

Although, when taken young, the Orang-Utan soon becomes domesticated,
and indeed seems to court human society, it is naturally a very wild and
shy animal, though apparently sluggish and melancholy. The Dyaks
affirm, that when the old males are wounded with arrows only, they will
occasionally leave the trees and rush raging upon their enemies, whose
sole safety lies in instant flight, as they are sure to be killed if
caught.* ([Footnote] *Sir James Brooke, in a letter to Mr. Waterhouse,
published in the proceedings of the Zoological Society for 1841,
says:--"On the habits of the Orangs, as far as I have been able to
observe them, I may remark that they are as dull and slothful as can
well be conceived, and on no occasion, when pursuing them, did they
move so fast as to preclude my keeping pace with them easily through
a moderately clear forest; and even when obstructions below (such as
wading up to the neck) allowed them to get away some distance, they were
sure to stop and allow me to come up. I never observed the slightest
attempt at defence, and the wood which sometimes rattled about our ears
was broken by their weight, and not thrown, as some persons represent.
If pushed to extremity, however, the 'Pappan' could not be otherwise
than formidable, and one unfortunate man, who, with a party, was trying
to catch a large one alive, lost two of his fingers, besides being
severely bitten on the face, whilst the animal finally beat off his
pursuers and escaped." Mr. Wallace, on the other hand, affirms that he
has several times observed them throwing down branches when pursued.
"It is true he does not throw them 'at' a person, but casts them down
vertically; for it is evident that a bough cannot be thrown to any
distance from the top of a lofty tree. In one case a female Mias, on
a durian tree, kept up for at least ten minutes a continuous shower of
branches and of the heavy, spined fruits, as large as 32-pounders, which
most effectually kept us clear of the tree she was on. She could be seen
breaking them off and throwing them down with every appearance of
rage, uttering at intervals a loud pumping grunt, and evidently meaning
mischief."--"On the Habits of the Orang-Utan," 'Annals of Nat. History,
1856. This statement, it will be observed, is quite in accordance with
that contained in the letter of the Resident Palm quoted above (p.
210).)

But, though possessed of immense strength, it is rare for the Orang to
attempt to defend itself, especially when attacked with fire-arms. On
such occasions he endeavours to hide himself, or to escape along the
topmost branches of the trees, breaking off and throwing down the boughs
as he goes. When wounded he betakes himself to the highest attainable
point of the tree, and emits a singular cry, consisting at first of
high notes, which at length deepen into a low roar, not unlike that of a
panther. While giving out the high notes the Orang thrusts out his lips
into a funnel shape; but in uttering the low notes he holds his mouth
wide open, and at the same time the great throat bag, or laryngeal sac,
becomes distended.

According to the Dyaks, the only animal the Orang measures his strength
with is the crocodile, who occasionally seizes him on his visits to the
water side. But they say that the Orang is more than a match for his
enemy, and beats him to death, or rips up his throat by pulling the jaws
asunder!

Much of what has been here stated was probably derived by Dr. Muller
from the reports of his Dyak hunters; but a large male, four feet high,
lived in captivity, under his observation, for a month, and receives a
very bad character.

"He was a very wild beast," says Muller, "of prodigious strength, and
false and wicked to the last degree. If any one approached he rose up
slowly with a low growl, fixed his eyes in the direction in which he
meant to make his attack, slowly passed his hand between the bars of his
cage, and then extending his long arm, gave a sudden grip--usually at
the face." He never tried to bite (though Orangs will bite one another),
his great weapons of offence and defence being his hands.

His intelligence was very great; and Muller remarks, that though the
faculties of the Orang have been estimated too highly, yet Cuvier, had
he seen this specimen, would not have considered its intelligence to be
only a little higher than that of the dog.

His hearing was very acute, but the sense of vision seemed to be less
perfect. The under lip was the great organ of touch, and played a very
important part in drinking, being thrust out like a trough, so as
either to catch the falling rain, or to receive the contents of the half
cocoa-nut shell full of water with which the Orang was supplied, and
which, in drinking, he poured into the trough thus formed.

In Borneo the Orang-Utan of the Malays goes by the name of "Mias" among
the Dyaks, who distinguish several kinds as 'Mias Pappan', or 'Zimo',
'Mias Kassu', and 'Mias Rambi'. Whether these are distinct species,
however, or whether they are mere races, and how far any of them are
identical with the Sumatran Orang, as Mr. Wallace thinks the Mias Pappan
to be, are problems which are at present undecided; and the variability
of these great apes is so extensive, that the settlement of the question
is a matter of great difficulty. Of the form called "Mias Pappan," Mr.
Wallace* observes, ([Footnote] *On the Orang-Utan, or Mias of Borneo,
'Annals of Natural History', 1856.) "It is known by its large size,
and by the lateral expansion of the face into fatty protuberances,
or ridges, over the temporal muscles, which has been mis-termed
'callosities', as they are perfectly soft, smooth, and flexible. Five
of this form, measured by me, varied only from 4 feet 1 inch to 4 feet
2 inches in height, from the heel to the crown of the head, the girth
of the body from 3 feet to 3 feet 7 1/2 inches, and the extent of the
outstretched arms from 7 feet 2 inches to 7 feet 6 inches; the width
of the face from 10 to 13 1/4 inches. The colour and length of the hair
varied in different individuals, and in different parts of the same
individual; some possessed a rudimentary nail on the great toe, others
none at all; but they otherwise present no external differences on which
to establish even varieties of a species.

"Yet, when we examine the crania of these individuals, we find
remarkable differences of form, proportion, and dimension, no two being
exactly alike. The <DW72> of the profile, and the projection of the
muzzle, together with the size of the cranium, offer differences as
decided as those existing between the most strongly marked forms of the
Caucasian and African crania in the human species. The orbits vary in
width and height, the cranial ridge is either single or double, either
much or little developed, and the zygomatic aperture varies considerably
in size. This variation in the proportions of the crania enables
us satisfactorily to explain the marked difference presented by the
single-crested and double-crested skulls, which have been thought to
prove the existence of two large species of Orang. The external surface
of the skull varies considerably in size, as do also the zygomatic
aperture and the temporal muscle; but they bear no necessary relation to
each other, a small muscle often existing with a large cranial surface,
and 'vice versa'. Now, those skulls which have the largest and strongest
jaws and the widest zygomatic aperture, have the muscles so large that
they meet on the crown of the skull, and deposit the bony ridge which
supports them, and which is the highest in that which has the
smallest cranial surface. In those which combine a large surface with
comparatively weak jaws, and small zygomatic aperture, the muscles, on
each side, do not extend to the crown, a space of from l to 2 inches
remaining between them, and along their margins small ridges are formed.
Intermediate forms are found, in which the ridges meet only in the
hinder part of the skull. The form and size of the ridges are therefore
independent of age, being sometimes more strongly developed in the less
aged animal. Professor Temminck states that the series of skulls in the
Leyden Museum shows the same result."

Mr. Wallace observed two male adult Orangs (Mias Kassu of the Dyaks),
however, so very different from any of these that he concludes them to
be specifically distinct; they were respectively 3 feet 8 1/2 inches
and 3 feet 9 1/2 inches high, and possessed no sign of the cheek
excrescences, but otherwise resembled the larger kinds. The skull has
no crest, but two bony ridges, 1 3/4 inches to 2 inches apart, as in
the 'Simia morio' of Professor Owen. The teeth, however; are immense,
equalling or surpassing those of the other species. The females of both
these kinds, according to Mr. Wallace, are devoid of excrescences, and
resemble the smaller males, but are shorter by 1 1/2 to 3 inches, and
their canine teeth are comparatively small, subtruncated and dilated
at the base, as in the so-called 'Simia morio', which is, in all
probability, the skull of a female of the same species as the
smaller males. Both males and females of this smaller species are
distinguishable, according to Mr. Wallace, by the comparatively large
size of the middle incisors of the upper jaw.

So far as I am aware, no one has attempted to dispute the accuracy of
the statements which I have just quoted regarding the habits of the two
Asiatic man-like Apes; and if true, they must be admitted as evidence,
that such an Ape--

Firstly, May readily move along the ground in the erect, or semi-erect,
position, and without direct support from its arms.

Secondly, That it may possess an extremely loud voice, so loud as to be
readily heard one or two miles.

Thirdly, That it may be capable of great viciousness and violence when
irritated: and this is especially true of adult males.

Fourthly, That it may build a nest to sleep in.

Such being well established facts respecting the Asiatic Anthropoids,
analogy alone might justify us in expecting the African species to offer
similar peculiarities, separately or combined; or, at any rate, would
destroy the force of any attempted a priori argument against such direct
testimony as might be adduced in favour of their existence. And, if the
organization of any of the African Apes could be demonstrated to fit it
better than either of its Asiatic allies for the erect position and
for efficient attack, there would be still less reason for doubting
its occasional adoption of the upright attitude or of aggressive
proceedings.

From the time of Tyson and Tulpius downwards, the habits of the young
CHIMPANZEE in a state of captivity have been abundantly reported and
commented upon. But trustworthy evidence as to the manners and customs
of adult anthropoids of this species, in their native woods, was almost
wanting up to the time of the publication of the paper by Dr. Savage,
to which I have already referred; containing notes of the observations
which he made, and of the information which he collected from sources
which he considered trustworthy, while resident at Cape Palmas, at the
north-western limit of the Bight of Benin.

The adult Chimpanzees, measured by Dr. Savage, never exceeded, though
the males may almost attain, five feet in height.

"When at rest, the sitting posture is that generally assumed. They
are sometimes seen standing and walking, but when thus detected,
they immediately take to all fours, and flee from the presence of the
observer. Such is their organization that they cannot stand erect, but
lean forward. Hence they are seen, when standing, with the hands clasped
over the occiput, or the lumbar region, which would seem necessary to
balance or ease of posture.

"The toes of the adult are strongly flexed and turned inwards, and
cannot be perfectly straightened. In the attempt the skin gathers into
thick folds on the back, shewing that the full expansion of the foot,
as is necessary in walking, is unnatural. The natural position is on all
fours, the body anteriorly resting upon the knuckles. These are greatly
enlarged, with the skin protuberant and thickened like the sole of the
foot.

"They are expert climbers, as one would suppose from their organization.
In their gambols they swing from limb to limb to a great distance, and
leap with astonishing agility. It is not unusual to see the 'old
folks' (in the language of an observer) sitting under a tree regaling
themselves with fruit and friendly chat, while their 'children' are
leaping around them, and swinging from tree to tree with boisterous
merriment.

"As seen here, they cannot be called 'gregarious', seldom more than
five, or ten at most, being found together. It has been said, on good
authority, that they occasionally assemble in large numbers, in gambols.
My informant asserts that he saw once not less than fifty so engaged;
hooting, screaming, and drumming with sticks upon old logs, which is
done in the latter case with equal facility by the four extremities.
They do not appear ever to act on the offensive, and seldom, if ever
really, on the defensive. When about to be captured, they resist by
throwing their arms about their opponent, and attempting to draw him
into contact with their teeth." (Savage, l. c. p. 384.)

With respect to this last point Dr. Savage is very explicit in another
place:

"BITING is their principal art of defence. I have seen one man who had
been thus severely wounded in the feet.

"The strong development of the canine teeth in the adult would seem
to indicate a carnivorous propensity; but in no state save that of
domestication do they manifest it. At first they reject flesh, but
easily acquire a fondness for it. The canines are early developed, and
evidently designed to act the important part of weapons of defence. When
in contact with man almost the first effort of the animal is--TO BITE.

"They avoid the abodes of men, and build their habitations in trees.
Their construction is more that of NESTS than HUTS, as they have been
erroneously termed by some naturalists. They generally build not far
above the ground. Branches or twigs are bent, or partly broken, and
crossed, and the whole supported by the body of a limb or a crotch.
Sometimes a nest will be found near the END of a STRONG LEAFY BRANCH
twenty or thirty feet from the ground. One I have lately seen that could
not be less than forty feet, and more probably it was fifty. But this is
an unusual height.

"Their dwelling-place is not permanent, but changed in pursuit of food
and solitude, according to the force of circumstances. We more often
see them in elevated places; but this arises from the fact that the
low grounds, being more favourable for the natives' rice-farms, are the
oftener cleared, and hence are almost always wanting in suitable trees
for their nests...It is seldom that more than one or two nests are seen
upon the same tree, or in the same neighbourhood: five have been found,
but it was an unusual circumstance."...

"They are very filthy in their habits...It is a tradition with the
natives generally here, that they were once members of their own
tribe; that for their depraved habits they were expelled from all
human society, and, that through an obstinate indulgence of their
vile propensities, they have degenerated into their present state and
organization. They are, however, eaten by them, and when cooked with the
oil and pulp of the palm-nut considered a highly palatable morsel.

"They exhibit a remarkable degree of intelligence in their habits, and,
on the part of the mother, much affection for their young. The second
female described was upon a tree when first discovered, with her mate
and two young ones (a male and a female). Her first impulse was to
descend with great rapidity, and make off into the thicket, with her
mate and female offspring. The young male remaining behind, she soon
returned to the rescue. She ascended and took him in her arms, at which
moment she was shot, the ball passing through the forearm of the young
one, on its way to the heart of the mother....

"In a recent case, the mother, when discovered, remained upon the tree
with her offspring, watching intently the movements of the hunter. As he
took aim, she motioned with her hand, precisely in the manner of a human
being, to have him desist and go away. When the wound has not proved
instantly fatal, they have been known to stop the flow of blood by
pressing with the hand upon the part, and when this did not succeed,
to apply leaves and grass...When shot, they give a sudden screech, not
unlike that of a human being in sudden and acute distress."

The ordinary voice of the Chimpanzee, however, is affirmed to be hoarse,
guttural, and not very loud, somewhat like "whoo-whoo." (l. c. p. 365).

The analogy of the Chimpanzee to the Orang, in its nest-building habit
and in the mode of forming its nest, is exceedingly interesting; while,
on the other hand, the activity of this ape, and its tendency to bite,
are particulars in which it rather resembles the Gibbons. In extent of
geographical range, again, the Chimpanzees--which are found from Sierra
Leone to Congo--remind one of the Gibbons, rather than of either of the
other man-like apes; and it seems not unlikely that, as is the case with
the Gibbons, there may be several species spread over the geographical
area of the genus.

The same excellent observer, from whom I have borrowed the preceding
account of the habits of the adult Chimpanzee, published fifteen years
ago,* an account of the GORILLA, which has, in its most essential
points, been confirmed by subsequent observers, and to which so very
little has really been added, that in justice to Dr. Savage I give
it almost in full. ([Footnote] *Notice of the external characters and
habits of Troglodytes Gorilla. 'Boston Journal of Natural History',
1847.)

"It should be borne in mind that my account is based upon the statements
of the aborigines of that region (the Gaboon). In this connection,
it may also be proper for me to remark, that having been a missionary
resident for several years, studying, from habitual intercourse, the
African mind and character, I felt myself prepared to discriminate and
decide upon the probability of their statements. Besides, being familiar
with the history and habits of its interesting congener ('Trog. niger',
Geoff.), I was able to separate their accounts of the two animals,
which, having the same locality and a similarity of habit, are
confounded in the minds of the mass, especially as but few--such as
traders to the interior and huntsmen--have ever seen the animal in
question.

(FIGURE 10.--The Gorilla (after Wolff).)

"The tribe from which our knowledge of the animal is derived, and whose
territory forms its habitat, is the 'Mpongwe', occupying both banks of
the River Gaboon, from its mouth to some fifty or sixty miles upward....

"If the word 'Pongo' be of African origin, it is probably a corruption
of the word 'Mpongwe', the name of the tribe on the banks of the Gaboon,
and hence applied to the region they inhabit. Their local name for the
Chimpanzee is 'Enche-eko', as near as it can be Anglicized, from which
the common term 'Jocko' probably comes. The Mpongwe appellation for its
new congener is 'Enge-ena', prolonging the sound of the first vowel, and
slightly sounding the second.

"The habitat of the 'Enge-ena' is the interior of lower Guinea, whilst
that of the 'Enche-eko' is nearer the sea-board.

"Its height is about five feet; it is disproportionately broad across
the shoulders, thickly covered with coarse black hair, which is said to
be similar in its arrangement to that of the 'Enche-eko'; with age it
becomes grey, which fact has given rise to the report that both animals
are seen of different colours.

"HEAD.--The prominent features of the head are, the great width and
elongation of the face, the depth of the molar region, the branches
of the lower jaw being very deep and extending far backward, and the
comparative smallness of the cranial portion; the eyes are very large,
and said to be like those of the Enche-eko, a bright hazel; nose broad
and flat, slightly elevated towards the root; the muzzle broad, and
prominent lips and chin, with scattered gray hairs; the under lip highly
mobile, and capable of great elongation when the animal is enraged, then
hanging over the chin; skin of the face and ears naked, and of a dark
brown, approaching to black.

"The most remarkable feature of the head is a high ridge, or crest of
hair, in the course of the sagittal suture, which meets posteriorily
with a transverse ridge of the same, but less prominent, running round
from the back of one ear to the other. The animal has the power of
moving the scalp freely forward and back, and when enraged is said to
contract it strongly over the brow, thus bringing down the hairy
ridge and pointing the hair forward, so as to present an indescribably
ferocious aspect.

"Neck short, thick, and hairy; chest and shoulders very broad, said to
be fully double the size of the Enche-ekos; arms very long, reaching
some way below the knee--the fore-arm much the shortest; hands very
large, the thumbs much larger than the fingers...

(FIGURE 11.--Gorilla walking (after Wolff).)

"The gait is shuffling; the motion of the body, which is never upright
as in man, but bent forward, is somewhat rolling, or from side to side.
The arms being longer than the Chimpanzee, it does not stoop as much in
walking; like that animal, it makes progression by thrusting its arms
forward, resting the hands on the ground, and then giving the body a
half jumping half swinging motion between them. In this act it is
said not to flex the fingers, as does the Chimpanzee, resting on its
knuckles, but to extend them, making a fulcrum of the hand. When it
assumes the walking posture, to which it is said to be much inclined, it
balances its huge body by flexing its arms upward.

"They live in bands, but are not so numerous as the Chimpanzees: the
females generally exceed the other sex in number. My informants all
agree in the assertion that but one adult male is seen in a band; that
when the young males grow up, a contest takes place for mastery, and the
strongest, by killing and driving out the others, establishes himself as
the head of the community."

Dr. Savage repudiates the stories about the Gorillas carrying off women
and vanquishing elephants and then adds:

"Their dwellings, if they may be so called, are similar to those of
the Chimpanzee, consisting simply of a few sticks and leafy branches,
supported by the crotches and limbs of trees: they afford no shelter,
and are occupied only at night.

"They are exceedingly ferocious, and always offensive in their habits,
never running from man, as does the Chimpanzee. They are objects of
terror to the natives, and are never encountered by them except on
the defensive. The few that have been captured were killed by elephant
hunters and native traders, as they came suddenly upon them while
passing through the forests.

"It is said that when the male is first seen he gives a terrific yell,
that resounds far and wide through the forest, something like kh-ah!
kh-ah! prolonged and shrill. His enormous jaws are widely opened at each
expiration, his under lip hangs over the chin, and the hairy ridge
and scalp are contracted upon the brow, presenting an aspect of
indescribable ferocity.

"The females and young, at the first cry, quickly disappear. He then
approaches the enemy in great fury, pouring out his horrid cries in
quick succession. The hunter awaits his approach with his gun extended:
if his aim is not sure, he permits the animal to grasp the barrel, and
as he carries it to his mouth (which is his habit) he fires. Should the
gun fail to go off, the barrel (that of the ordinary musket, which is
thin) is crushed between his teeth, and the encounter soon proves fatal
to the hunter.

"In the wild state, their habits are in general like those of the
'Troglodytes niger', building their nests loosely in trees, living
on similar fruits, and changing their place of resort from force of
circumstances."

Dr. Savage's observations were confirmed and supplemented by those of
Mr. Ford, who communicated an interesting paper on the Gorilla to
the Philadelphian Academy of Sciences, in 1852. With respect to the
geographical distribution of this greatest of all the man-like Apes, Mr.
Ford remarks:

"This animal inhabits the range of mountains that traverse the interior
of Guinea, from the Cameroon in the north, to Angola in the south, and
about 100 miles inland, and called by the geographers Crystal Mountains.
The limit to which this animal extends, either north or south, I am
unable to define. But that limit is doubtless some distance north of
this river (Gaboon). I was able to certify myself of this fact in a late
excursion to the head-waters of the Mooney (Danger) River, which comes
into the sea some sixty miles from this place. I was informed (credibly,
I think) that they were numerous among the mountains in which that river
rises, and far north of that.

"In the south, this species extends to the Congo River, as I am told by
native traders who have visited the coast between the Gaboon and that
river. Beyond that, I am not informed. This animal is only found at
a distance from the coast in most cases, and, according to my best
information, approaches it nowhere so nearly as on the south side of
this river, where they have been found within ten miles of the sea.
This, however, is only of late occurrence. I am informed by some of the
oldest Mpongwe men that formerly he was only found on the sources of the
river, but that at present he may be found within half-a-day's walk of
its mouth. Formerly he inhabited the mountainous ridge where Bushmen
alone inhabited, but now he boldly approaches the Mpongwe plantations.
This is doubtless the reason of the scarcity of information in years
past, as the opportunities for receiving a knowledge of the animal have
not been wanting; traders having for one hundred years frequented this
river, and specimens, such as have been brought here within a year,
could not have been exhibited without having attracted the attention of
the most stupid."

One specimen Mr. Ford examined weighed 170 1bs., without the thoracic,
or pelvic, viscera, and measured four feet four inches round the chest.
This writer describes so minutely and graphically the onslaught of the
Gorilla--though he does not for a moment pretend to have witnessed the
scene--that I am tempted to give this part of his paper in full, for
comparison with other narratives:

"He always rises to his feet when making an attack, though he approaches
his antagonist in a stooping posture.

"Though he never lies in wait, yet, when he hears, sees, or scents
a man, he immediately utters his characteristic cry, prepares for an
attack, and always acts on the offensive. The cry he utters resembles
a grunt more than a growl, and is similar to the cry of the Chimpanzee,
when irritated, but vastly louder. It is said to be audible at a great
distance. His preparation consists in attending the females and young
ones, by whom he is usually accompanied, to a little distance. He,
however, soon returns, with his crest erect and projecting forward,
his nostrils dilated, and his under-lip thrown down; at the same time
uttering his characteristic yell, designed, it would seem, to terrify
his antagonist. Instantly, unless he is disabled by a well directed
shot, he makes an onset, and, striking his antagonist with the palm of
his hands, or seizing him with a grasp from which there is no escape, he
dashes him upon the ground, and lacerates him with his tusks.

"He is said to seize a musket, and instantly crush the barrel between
his teeth...This animal's savage nature is very well shown by the
implacable desperation of a young one that was brought here. It was
taken very young, and kept four months, and many means were used to tame
it; but it was incorrigible, so that it bit me an hour before it died."

Mr. Ford discredits the house-building and elephant-driving stories, and
says that no well-informed natives believe them. They are tales told to
children.

I might quote other testimony to a similar effect, but, as it appears to
me, less carefully weighed and sifted, from the letters of MM. Franquet
and Gautier Laboullay, appended to the memoir of M. I. G. St. Hilaire,
which I have already cited.

Bearing in mind what is known regarding the Orang and the Gibbon, the
statements of Dr. Savage and Mr. Ford do not appear to me to be justly
open to criticism on 'a priori' grounds. The Gibbons, as we have seen,
readily assume the erect posture, but the Gorilla is far better fitted
by its organization for that attitude than are the Gibbons: if the
laryngeal pouches of the Gibbons, as is very likely, are important
in giving volume to a voice which can be heard for half a league, the
Gorilla, which has similar sacs, more largely developed, and whose
bulk is fivefold that of a Gibbon, may well be audible for twice
that distance. If the Orang fights with its hands, the Gibbons and
Chimpanzees with their teeth, the Gorilla may, probably enough,
do either or both; nor is there anything to be said against either
Chimpanzee or Gorilla building a nest, when it is proved that the
Orang-Utan habitually performs that feat.

With all this evidence, now ten to fifteen years old, before the world
it is not a little surprising that the assertions of a recent traveller,
who, so far as the Gorilla is concerned, really does very little more
than repeat, on his own authority, the statements of Savage and of Ford,
should have met with so much and such bitter opposition. If subtraction
be made of what was known before, the sum and substance of what M. Du
Chaillu has affirmed as a matter of his own observation respecting the
Gorilla, is, that, in advancing to the attack, the great brute beats his
chest with his fists. I confess I see nothing very improbable, or very
much worth disputing about, in this statement.

With respect to the other man-like Apes of Africa, M. Du Chaillu tells
us absolutely nothing, of his own knowledge, regarding the common
Chimpanzee; but he informs us of a bald-headed species or variety, the
'nschiego mbouve', which builds itself a shelter, and of another rare
kind with a comparatively small face, large facial angle, and peculiar
note, resembling "Kooloo."

As the Orang shelters itself with a rough coverlet of leaves, and the
common Chimpanzee, according to that eminently trustworthy observer
Dr. Savage, makes a sound like "Whoo-whoo,"--the grounds of the summary
repudiation with which M. Du Chaillu's statements on these matters have
been met are not obvious.

If I have abstained from quoting M. Du Chaillu's work, then, it is
not because I discern any inherent improbability in his assertions
respecting the man-like Apes; nor from any wish to throw suspicion
on his veracity; but because, in my opinion, so long as his narrative
remains in its present state of unexplained and apparently inexplicable
confusion, it has no claim to original authority respecting any subject
whatsoever.

It may be truth, but it is not evidence.

End of Man-like apes.




ON THE RELATIONS OF MAN TO THE LOWER ANIMALS.

Multis videri poterit, majorem esso differentiam Simiae et Hominis,
quam diei et noctis; verum tamen hi, comparatione instituta inter
summos Europae Heroes et Hottentottos ad Caput bonae spei degentes,
difficillime sibi persuadebunt, has eosdem habere natales; vel si
virginem nobilem aulicam, maxime comtam et humanissimam, conferre
vellent cum homine sylvestri et sibi relicto, vix augurari possent,
hunc et illam ejusdem esse speciei.--'Linnaei Amoenitates Acad.
"Anthropomorpha."'

The question of questions for mankind--the problem which underlies
all others, and is more deeply interesting than any other--is the
ascertainment of the place which Man occupies in nature and of his
relations to the universe of things. Whence our race has come; what are
the limits of our power over nature, and of nature's power over us; to
what goal we are tending; are the problems which present themselves anew
and with undiminished interest to every man born into the world. Most of
us, shrinking from the difficulties and dangers which beset the seeker
after original answers to these riddles, are contented to ignore them
altogether, or to smother the investigating spirit under the featherbed
of respected and respectable tradition. But, in every age, one or two
restless spirits, blessed with that constructive genius, which can
only build on a secure foundation, or cursed with the spirit of mere
scepticism, are unable to follow in the well-worn and comfortable track
of their forefathers and contemporaries, and unmindful of thorns and
stumbling-blocks, strike out into paths of their own. The sceptics end
in the infidelity which asserts the problem to be insoluble, or in
the atheism which denies the existence of any orderly progress and
governance of things: the men of genius propound solutions which grow
into systems of Theology or of Philosophy, or veiled in musical language
which suggests more than it asserts, take the shape of the Poetry of an
epoch.

Each such answer to the great question, invariably asserted by the
followers of its propounder, if not by himself, to be complete and
final, remains in high authority and esteem, it may be for one century,
or it may be for twenty: but, as invariably, Time proves each reply
to have been a mere approximation to the truth--tolerable chiefly on
account of the ignorance of those by whom it was accepted, and wholly
intolerable when tested by the larger knowledge of their successors.

In a well-worn metaphor, a parallel is drawn between the life of man
and the metamorphosis of the caterpillar into the butterfly; but the
comparison may be more just as well as more novel, if for its former
term we take the mental progress of the race. History shows that the
human mind, fed by constant accessions of knowledge, periodically grows
too large for its theoretical coverings, and bursts them asunder
to appear in new habiliments, as the feeding and growing grub, at
intervals, casts its too narrow skin and assumes another, itself but
temporary. Truly the imago state of Man seems to be terribly distant,
but every moult is a step gained, and of such there have been many.

Since the revival of learning, whereby the Western races of Europe were
enabled to enter upon that progress towards true knowledge, which was
commenced by the philosophers of Greece, but was almost arrested in
subsequent long ages of intellectual stagnation, or, at most, gyration,
the human larva has been feeding vigorously, and moulting in proportion.
A skin of some dimension was cast in the 16th century, and another
towards the end of the 18th, while, within the last fifty years, the
extraordinary growth of every department of physical science has spread
among us mental food of so nutritious and stimulating a character that
a new ecdysis seems imminent. But this is a process not unusually
accompanied by many throes and some sickness and debility, or, it may
be, by graver disturbances; so that every good citizen must feel bound
to facilitate the process, and even if he have nothing but a scalpel to
work withal, to ease the cracking integument to the best of his ability.

In this duty lies my excuse for the publication of these essays. For it
will be admitted that some knowledge of man's position in the animate
world is an indispensable preliminary to the proper understanding of his
relations to the universe--and this again resolves itself, in the long
run, into an inquiry into the nature and the closeness of the ties
which connect him with those singular creatures whose history* has been
sketched in the preceding pages. ([Footnote] * It will be understood
that, in the preceding Essay, I have selected for notice from the vast
mass of papers which have been written upon the man-like Apes, only
those which seem to me to be of special moment.)

The importance of such an inquiry is indeed intuitively manifest Brought
face to face with these blurred copies of himself, the least thoughtful
of men is conscious of a certain shock, due perhaps, not so much to
disgust at the aspect of what looks like an insulting caricature, as
to the awakening of a sudden and profound mistrust of time-honoured
theories and strongly-rooted prejudices regarding his own position in
nature, and his relations to the under-world of life; while that which
remains a dim suspicion for the unthinking, becomes a vast argument,
fraught with the deepest consequences, for all who are acquainted with
the recent progress of the anatomical and physiological sciences.

I now propose briefly to unfold that argument, and to set forth, in
a form intelligible to those who possess no special acquaintance
with anatomical science, the chief facts upon which all conclusions
respecting the nature and the extent of the bonds which connect man with
the brute world must be based: I shall then indicate the one immediate
conclusion which, in my judgment, is justified by those facts, and I
shall finally discuss the bearing of that conclusion upon the hypotheses
which have been entertained respecting the Origin of Man.

The facts to which I would first direct the reader's attention, though
ignored by many of the professed instructors of the public mind, are
easy of demonstration and are universally agreed to by men of science;
while their significance is so great, that whoso has duly pondered over
them will, I think, find little to startle him in the other revelations
of Biology. I refer to those facts which have been made known by the
study of Development.

It is a truth of very wide, if not of universal, application, that every
living creature commences its existence under a form different from, and
simpler than, that which it eventually attains.

(FIGURE 12.--A. Egg of the Dog, with the vitelline membrane burst, so
as to give exit to the yolk, the germinal vesicle (a), and its included
spot (b). B. C. D. E F. Successive changes of the yolk indicated in the
text. After Bischoff.)

The oak is a more complex thing than the little rudimentary plant
contained in the acorn; the caterpillar is more complex than the egg;
the butterfly than the caterpillar; and each of these beings, in passing
from its rudimentary to its perfect condition, runs through a series
of changes, the sum of which is called its Development. In the higher
animals these changes are extremely complicated; but, within the last
half century, the labours of such men as Von Baer, Rathke, Reichert,
Bischoff, and Remak, have almost completely unravelled them, so that
the successive stages of development which are exhibited by a Dog, for
example, are now as well known to the embryologist as are the steps of
the metamorphosis of the silkworm moth to the school-boy. It will be
useful to consider with attention the nature and the order of the
stages of canine development, as an example of the process in the higher
animals generally.

The Dog, like all animals, save the very lowest (and further inquiries
may not improbably remove the apparent exception), commences its
existence as an egg: as a body which is, in every sense, as much an egg
as that of a hen, but is devoid of that accumulation of nutritive matter
which confers upon the bird's egg its exceptional size and domestic
utility; and wants the shell, which would not only be useless to an
animal incubated within the body of its parent, but would cut it off
from access to the source of that nutriment which the young creature
requires, but which the minute egg of the mammal does not contain within
itself.

The Dog's egg is, in fact, a little spheroidal bag (Figure 12), formed
of a delicate transparent membrane called the 'vitelline membrane', and
about 1/130 to 1/120th of an inch in diameter. It contains a mass of
viscid nutritive matter--the 'yelk'--within which is inclosed a second
much more delicate spheroidal bag, called the 'germinal vesicle' (a). In
this, lastly, lies a more solid rounded body, termed the 'germinal spot'
(b).

The egg, or 'Ovum,' is originally formed within a gland, from which,
in due season, it becomes detached, and passes into the living chamber
fitted for its protection and maintenance during the protracted process
of gestation. Here, when subjected to the required conditions, this
minute and apparently insignificant particle of living matter becomes
animated by a new and mysterious activity. The germinal vesicle and
spot cease to be discernible (their precise fate being one of the yet
unsolved problems of embryology), but the yelk becomes circumferentially
indented, as if an invisible knife had been drawn round it, and thus
appears divided into two hemispheres (Figure 12, C).

By the repetition of this process in various planes, these hemispheres
become subdivided, so that four segments are produced (D); and these,
in like manner, divide and subdivide again, until the whole yelk is
converted into a mass of granules, each of which consists of a minute
spheroid of yelk-substance, inclosing a central particle, the so-called
'nucleus' (F). Nature, by this process, has attained much the same
result as that at which a human artificer arrives by his operations in a
brickfield. She takes the rough plastic material of the yelk and breaks
it up into well-shaped tolerably even-sized masses, handy for building
up into any part of the living edifice.

(FIGURE 13.--Earliest rudiment of the Dog. B. Rudiment further advanced,
showing the foundations of the head, tail, and vertebral column. C. The
very young puppy, with attached ends of the yelk-sac and allantois, and
invested in the amnion.)

Next, the mass of organic bricks, or 'cells' as they are technically
called, thus formed, acquires an orderly arrangement, becoming converted
into a hollow spheroid with double walls. Then, upon one side of this
spheroid, appears a thickening, and, by and bye, in the centre of the
area of thickening, a straight shallow groove (Figure 13, A) marks the
central line of the edifice which is to be raised, or, in other words,
indicates the position of the middle line of the body of the future
dog. The substance bounding the groove on each side next rises up into
a fold, the rudiment of the side wall of that long cavity, which will
eventually lodge the spinal marrow and the brain; and in the floor of
this chamber appears a solid cellular cord, the so-called 'notochord.'
One end of the inclosed cavity dilates to form the head (Figure 13,
B), the other remains narrow, and eventually becomes the tail; the side
walls of the body are fashioned out of the downward continuation of the
walls of the groove; and from them, by and bye, grow out little buds
which, by degrees, assume the shape of limbs. Watching the fashioning
process stage by stage, one is forcibly reminded of the modeller in
clay. Every part, every organ, is at first, as it were, pinched up
rudely, and sketched out in the rough; then shaped more accurately; and
only, at last, receives the touches which stamp its final character.

Thus, at length, the young puppy assumes such a form as is shown in
Figure 13, C. In this condition it has a disproportionately large head,
as dissimilar to that of a dog as the bud-like limbs are unlike his
legs.

The remains of the yelk, which have not yet been applied to the
nutrition and growth of the young animal, are contained in a sac
attached to the rudimentary intestine, and termed the yelk sac,
or 'umbilical vesicle.' Two membranous bags, intended to subserve
respectively the protection and nutrition of the young creature, have
been developed from the skin and from the under and hinder surface
of the body; the former, the so-called 'amnion,' is a sac filled with
fluid, which invests the whole body of the embryo, and plays the part
of a sort of water-bed for it; the other, termed the 'allantois,' grows
out, loaded with blood-vessels, from the ventral region, and eventually
applying itself to the walls of the cavity, in which the developing
organism is contained, enables these vessels to become the channel
by which the stream of nutriment, required to supply the wants of the
offspring, is furnished to it by the parent.

The structure which is developed by the interlacement of the vessels of
the offspring with those of the parent, and by means of which the former
is enabled to receive nourishment and to get rid of effete matters, is
termed the 'Placenta.'

It would be tedious, and it is unnecessary for my present purpose, to
trace the process of development further; suffice it to say, that, by
a long and gradual series of changes, the rudiment here depicted and
described becomes a puppy, is born, and then, by still slower and less
perceptible steps, passes into the adult Dog.

There is not much apparent resemblance between a barndoor Fowl and the
Dog who protects the farm-yard. Nevertheless the student of development
finds, not only that the chick commences its existence as an egg,
primarily identical, in all essential respects, with that of the Dog,
but that the yelk of this egg undergoes division--that the primitive
groove arises, and that the contiguous parts of the germ are fashioned,
by precisely similar methods, into a young chick, which, at one stage
of its existence, is so like the nascent Dog, that ordinary inspection
would hardly distinguish the two.

The history of the development of any other vertebrate animal, Lizard,
Snake, Frog, or Fish, tells the same story. There is always, to
begin with, an egg having the same essential structure as that of the
Dog:--the yelk of that egg always undergoes division, or 'segmentation'
as it is often called: the ultimate products of that segmentation
constitute the building materials for the body of the young animal;
and this is built up round a primitive groove, in the floor of which
a notochord is developed. Furthermore, there is a period in which the
young of all these animals resemble one another, not merely in
outward form, but in all essentials of structure, so closely, that the
differences between them are inconsiderable, while, in their subsequent
course, they diverge more and more widely from one another. And it is a
general law, that, the more closely any animals resemble one another
in adult structure, the longer and the more intimately do their embryos
resemble one another: so that, for example, the embryos of a Snake and
of a Lizard remain like one another longer than do those of a Snake and
of a Bird; and the embryo of a Dog and of a Cat remain like one another
for a far longer period than do those of a Dog and a Bird; or of a Dog
and an Opossum; or even than those of a Dog and a Monkey.

Thus the study of development affords a clear test of closeness of
structural affinity, and one turns with impatience to inquire what
results are yielded by the study of the development of Man. Is he
something apart? Does he originate in a totally different way from Dog,
Bird, Frog, and Fish, thus justifying those who assert him to have no
place in nature and no real affinity with the lower world of animal
life? Or does he originate in a similar germ, pass through the same
slow and gradually progressive modifications,--depend on the same
contrivances for protection and nutrition, and finally enter the world
by the help of the same mechanism? The reply is not doubtful for a
moment, and has not been doubtful any time these thirty years. Without
question, the mode of origin and the early stages of the development of
man are identical with those of the animals immediately below him in the
scale:--without a doubt, in these respects, he is far nearer the Apes,
than the Apes are to the Dog.

The Human ovum is about l/125 of an inch in diameter, and might be
described in the same terms as that of the Dog, so that I need only
refer to the figure illustrative (14 A) of its structure. It leaves the
organ in which it is formed in a similar fashion and enters the organic
chamber prepared for its reception in the same way, the conditions of
its development being in all respects the same. It has not yet been
possible (and only by some rare chance can it ever be possible) to
study the human ovum in so early a developmental stage as that of yelk
division, but there is every reason to conclude that the changes
it undergoes are identical with those exhibited by the ova of
other vertebrated animals; for the formative materials of which the
rudimentary human body is composed, in the earliest conditions in which
it has been observed, are the same as those of other animals. Some of
these earliest stages are figured below, and, as will be seen, they are
strictly comparable to the very early states of the Dog; the marvellous
correspondence between the two which is kept up, even for some time, as
development advances, becoming apparent by the simple comparison of the
figures with those on page 249.

(FIGURE 14.--A. Human ovum (after Kolliker). a. germinal vesicle.
b. germinal spot. B. A very early condition of Man, with yelk-sac,
allantois, and amnion (original). C. A more advanced stage (after
Kolliker), compare Figure 13, C.

Indeed, it is very long before the body of the young human being can be
readily discriminated from that of the young puppy; but, at a tolerably
early period, the two become distinguishable by the different form of
their adjuncts, the yelk-sac and the allantois. The former, in the Dog,
becomes long and spindle-shaped, while in Man it remains spherical; the
latter, in the Dog, attains an extremely large size, and the vascular
processes which are developed from it and eventually give rise to the
formation of the placenta (taking root, as it were, in the parental
organism, so as to draw nourishment therefrom, as the root of a tree
extracts it from the soil) are arranged in an encircling zone, while
in Man, the allantois remains comparatively small, and its vascular
rootlets are eventually restricted to one disk-like spot. Hence, while
the placenta of the Dog is like a girdle, that of Man has the cake-like
form, indicated by the name of the organ.

But, exactly in those respects in which the developing Man differs
from the Dog, he resembles the ape, which, like man, has a spheroidal
yelk-sac and a discoidal--sometimes partially lobed--placenta.

So that it is only quite in the later stages of development that the
young human being presents marked differences from the young ape, while
the latter departs as much from the dog in its development, as the man
does.

Startling as the last assertion may appear to be, it is demonstrably
true, and it alone appears to me sufficient to place beyond all doubt
the structural unity of man with the rest of the animal world, and more
particularly and closely with the apes.

Thus, identical in the physical processes by which he
originates--identical in the early stages of his formation--identical in
the mode of his nutrition before and after birth, with the animals which
lie immediately below him in the scale--Man, if his adult and perfect
structure be compared with theirs, exhibits, as might be expected, a
marvellous likeness of organization. He resembles them as they resemble
one another--he differs from them as they differ from one another.--And,
though these differences and resemblances cannot be weighed and
measured, their value may be readily estimated; the scale or standard
of judgment, touching that value, being afforded and expressed by the
system of classification of animals now current among zoologists.

A careful study of the resemblances and differences presented by
animals has, in fact, led naturalists to arrange them into groups, or
assemblages, all the members of each group presenting a certain amount
of definable resemblance, and the number of points of similarity being
smaller as the group is larger and 'vice versa'. Thus, all creatures
which agree only in presenting the few distinctive marks of animality
form the 'Kingdom' ANIMALIA. The numerous animals which agree only in
possessing the special characters of Vertebrates form one 'Sub-Kingdom'
of this Kingdom. Then the Sub-kingdom VERTEBRATA is subdivided into the
five 'Classes,' Fishes, Amphibians, Reptiles, Birds, and Mammals, and
these into smaller groups called 'Orders'; these into 'Families'
and 'Genera'; while the last are finally broken up into the smallest
assemblages, which are distinguished by the possession of constant,
not-sexual, characters. These ultimate groups are Species.

Every year tends to bring about a greater uniformity of opinion
throughout the zoological world as to the limits and characters of these
groups, great and small. At present, for example, no one has the
least doubt regarding the characters of the classes Mammalia, Aves, or
Reptilia; nor does the question arise whether any thoroughly well-known
animal should be placed in one class or the other. Again, there is
a very general agreement respecting the characters and limits of
the orders of Mammals, and as to the animals which are structurally
necessitated to take a place in one or another order.

No one doubts, for example, that the Sloth and the Ant-eater, the
Kangaroo and the Opossum, the Tiger and the Badger, the Tapir and
the Rhinoceros, are respectively members of the same orders. These
successive pairs of animals may, and some do, differ from one another
immensely, in such matters as the proportions and structure of their
limbs; the number of their dorsal and lumbar vertebrae; the adaptation
of their frames to climbing, leaping, or running; the number and form
of their teeth; and the characters of their skulls and of the contained
brain. But, with all these differences, they are so closely connected in
all the more important and fundamental characters of their organization,
and so distinctly separated by these same characters from other animals,
that zoologists find it necessary to group them together as members
of one order. And if any new animal were discovered, and were found to
present no greater difference from the Kangaroo and the Opossum, for
example, than these animals do from one another, the zoologist would not
only be logically compelled to rank it in the same order with these, but
he would not think of doing otherwise.

Bearing this obvious course of zoological reasoning in mind, let us
endeavour for a moment to disconnect our thinking selves from the mask
of humanity; let us imagine ourselves scientific Saturnians, if you
will, fairly acquainted with such animals as now inhabit the Earth, and
employed in discussing the relations they bear to a new and singular
'erect and featherless biped,' which some enterprising traveller,
overcoming the difficulties of space and gravitation, has brought from
that distant planet for our inspection, well preserved, may be, in a
cask of rum. We should all, at once, agree upon placing him among the
mammalian vertebrates; and his lower jaw, his molars, and his brain,
would leave no room for doubting the systematic position of the new
genus among those mammals, whose young are nourished during gestation by
means of a placenta, or what are called the 'placental mammals.'

Further, the most superficial study would at once convince us that,
among the orders of placental mammals, neither the Whales, nor the
hoofed creatures, nor the Sloths and Ant-eaters, nor the carnivorous
Cats, Dogs, and Bears, still less the Rodent Rats and Rabbits, or the
Insectivorous Moles and Hedgehogs, or the Bats, could claim our '<DW25>',
as one of themselves.

There would remain then, but one order for comparison, that of the Apes
(using that word in its broadest sense), and the question for discussion
would narrow itself to this--is Man so different from any of these Apes
that he must form an order by himself? Or does he differ less from them
than they differ from one another, and hence must take his place in the
same order with them?

Being happily free from all real, or imaginary, personal interest in the
results of the inquiry thus set afoot, we should proceed to weigh the
arguments on one side and on the other, with as much judicial calmness
as if the question related to a new Opossum. We should endeavour to
ascertain, without seeking either to magnify or diminish them, all the
characters by which our new Mammal differed from the Apes; and if
we found that these were of less structural value, than those which
distinguish certain members of the Ape order from others universally
admitted to be of the same order, we should undoubtedly place the newly
discovered tellurian genus with them.

I now proceed to detail the facts which seem to me to leave us no choice
but to adopt the last mentioned course.

It is quite certain that the Ape which most nearly approaches man,
in the totality of its organization, is either the Chimpanzee or the
Gorilla; and as it makes no practical difference, for the purposes of
my present argument, which is selected for comparison, on the one hand,
with Man, and on the other hand, with the rest of the Primates,* I shall
select the latter (so far as its organization is known)--as a brute now
so celebrated in prose and verse, that all must have heard of him, and
have formed some conception of his appearance. ([Footnote] *We are not
at present thoroughly acquainted with the brain of the Gorilla, and
therefore, in discussing cerebral characters, I shall take that of the
Chimpanzee as my highest term among the Apes.) I shall take up as
many of the most important points of difference between man and this
remarkable creature, as the space at my disposal will allow me to
discuss, and the necessities of the argument demand; and I shall inquire
into the value and magnitude of these differences, when placed side by
side with those which separate the Gorilla from other animals of the
same order.

In the general proportions of the body and limbs there is a remarkable
difference between the Gorilla and Man, which at once strikes the eye.
The Gorilla's brain-case is smaller, its trunk larger, its lower limbs
shorter, its upper limbs longer in proportion than those of Man.

I find that the vertebral column of a full-grown Gorilla, in the Museum
of the Royal College of Surgeons, measures 27 inches along its anterior
curvature, from the upper edge of the atlas, or first vertebra of the
neck, to the lower extremity of the sacrum; that the arm, without the
hand, is 31-1/2 inches long; that the leg, without the foot, is 26-1/2
inches long; that the hand is 9-3/4 inches long; the foot 11-1/4 inches
long.

In other words, taking the length of the spinal column as 100, the arm
equals 115, the leg 96, the hand 36, and the foot 41.

In the skeleton of a male Bosjesman, in the same collection, the
proportions, by the same measurement, to the spinal column, taken as
100, are--the arm 78, the leg 110, the hand 26, and the foot 32. In a
woman of the same race the arm is 83, and the leg 120, the hand and foot
remaining the same. In a European skeleton I find the arm to be 80, the
leg 117, the hand 26, the foot 35.

Thus the leg is not so different as it looks at first sight, in its
proportion to the spine in the Gorilla and in the Man--being very
slightly shorter than the spine in the former, and between 1/10 and 1/5
longer than the spine in the latter. The foot is longer and the hand
much longer in the Gorilla; but the great difference is caused by the
arms, which are very much longer than the spine in the Gorilla, very
much shorter than the spine in the Man.

The question now arises how are the other Apes related to the Gorilla
in these respects--taking the length of the spine, measured in the same
way, at 100. In an adult Chimpanzee, the arm is only 96, the leg 90, the
hand 43, the foot 39--so that the hand and the leg depart more from the
human proportion and the arm less, while the foot is about the same as
in the Gorilla.

In the Orang, the arms are very much longer than in the Gorilla (122),
while the legs are shorter (88); the foot is longer than the hand (52
and 48), and both are much longer in proportion to the spine.

In the other man-like Apes again, the Gibbons, these proportions are
still further altered; the length of the arms being to that of the
spinal column as 19 to 11; while the legs are also a third longer than
the spinal column, so as to be longer than in Man, instead of shorter.
The hand is half as long as the spinal column, and the foot, shorter
than the hand, is about 5/11ths of the length of the spinal column.

Thus 'Hylobates' is as much longer in the arms than the Gorilla, as the
Gorilla is longer in the arms than Man; while, on the other hand, it
is as much longer in the legs than the Man, as the Man is longer in the
legs than the Gorilla, so that it contains within itself the extremest
deviations from the average length of both pairs of limbs (See the
illustration on page 196).

The Mandrill presents a middle condition, the arms and legs being nearly
equal in length, and both being shorter than the spinal column; while
hand and foot have nearly the same proportions to one another and to the
spine, as in Man.

In the Spider monkey ('Ateles') the leg is longer than the spine, and
the arm than the leg; and, finally, in that remarkable Lemurine form,
the Indri ('Lichanotus'), the leg is about as long as the spinal column,
while the arm is not more than 11/18 of its length; the hand having
rather less and the foot rather more, than one-third the length of the
spinal column.

These examples might be greatly multiplied, but they suffice to show
that, in whatever proportion of its limbs the Gorilla differs from
Man, the other Apes depart still more widely from the Gorilla and that,
consequently, such differences of proportion can have no ordinal value.

We may next consider the differences presented by the trunk, consisting
of the vertebral column, or backbone, and the ribs and pelvis, or
bony hip-basin, which are connected with it, in Man and in the Gorilla
respectively.

In Man, in consequence partly of the disposition of the articular
surfaces of the vertebrae, and largely of the elastic tension of some of
the fibrous bands, or ligaments, which connect these vertebrae together,
the spinal column, as a whole, has an elegant S-like curvature, being
convex forwards in the neck, concave in the back, convex in the loins,
or lumbar region, and concave again in the sacral region; an arrangement
which gives much elasticity to the whole backbone, and diminishes the
jar communicated to the spine, and through it to the head, by locomotion
in the erect position.

Furthermore, under ordinary circumstances, Man has seven vertebrae in
his neck, which are called 'cervical'; twelve succeed these, bearing
ribs and forming the upper part of the back, whence they are termed
'dorsal'; five lie in the loins, bearing no distinct, or free, ribs, and
are called 'lumbar'; five, united together into a great bone, excavated
in front, solidly wedged in between the hip bones, to form the back of
the pelvis, and known by the name of the 'sacrum', succeed these; and
finally, three or four little more or less movable bones, so small as to
be insignificant, constitute the 'coccyx' or rudimentary tail.

In the Gorilla, the vertebral column is similarly divided into cervical,
dorsal, lumbar, sacral, and coccygeal vertebrae, and the total number
of cervical and dorsal vertebrae, taken together, is the same as in
Man; but the development of a pair of ribs to the first lumbar vertebra,
which is an exceptional occurrence in Man, is the rule in the Gorilla;
and hence, as lumbar are distinguished from dorsal vertebrae only by the
presence or absence of free ribs, the seventeen "dorso-lumbar" vertebrae
of the Gorilla are divided into thirteen dorsal and four lumbar, while
in Man they are twelve dorsal and five lumbar.

(FIGURE 15.--Front and side views of the bony pelvis of Man, the Gorilla
and Gibbon: reduced from drawings made from nature, of the same absolute
length, by Mr. Waterhouse Hawkins.)

Not only, however, does Man occasionally possess thirteen pair of
ribs,* but the Gorilla sometimes has fourteen pairs, while an Orang-Utan
skeleton in the Museum of the Royal College of Surgeons has twelve
dorsal and five lumbar vertebrae, as in Man. ([Footnote] *"More
than once," says Peter Camper, "have I met with more than six
lumbar vertebrae in man...Once I found thirteen ribs and four lumbar
vertebrae." Fallopius noted thirteen pair of ribs and only four lumbar
vertebrae; and Eustachius once found eleven dorsal vertebrae and six
lumbar vertebrae.--'Oeuvres de Pierre Camper', T. 1, p. 42. As
Tyson states, his 'Pygmie' had thirteen pair of ribs and five lumbar
vertebrae. The question of the curves of the spinal column in the Apes
requires further investigation.) Cuvier notes the same number in a
'Hylobates'. On the other hand, among the lower Apes, many possess
twelve dorsal and six or seven lumbar vertebrae; the Douroucouli has
fourteen dorsal and eight lumbar, and a Lemur ('Stenops tardigradus')
has fifteen dorsal and nine lumbar vertebrae.

The vertebral column of the Gorilla, as a whole, differs from that
of Man in the less marked character of its curves, especially in the
slighter convexity of the lumbar region. Nevertheless, the curves are
present, and are quite obvious in young skeletons of the Gorilla and
Chimpanzee which have been prepared without removal of the ligaments. In
young Orangs similarly preserved, on the other hand, the spinal column
is either straight, or even concave forwards, throughout the lumbar
region.

Whether we take these characters then, or such minor ones as those which
are derivable from the proportional length of the spines of the cervical
vertebrae, and the like, there is no doubt whatsoever as to the marked
difference between Man and the Gorilla; but there is as little, that
equally marked differences, of the very same order, obtain between the
Gorilla and the lower Apes.

The Pelvis, or bony girdle of the hips, of Man is a strikingly human
part of his organization; the expanded haunch bones affording support
for his viscera during his habitually erect posture, and giving space
for the attachment of the great muscles which enable him to assume and
to preserve that attitude. In these respects the pelvis of the Gorilla
differs very considerably from his (Figure 15). But go no lower than
the Gibbon, and see how vastly more he differs from the Gorilla than the
latter does from Man, even in this structure. Look at the flat, narrow
haunch bones--the long and narrow passage--the coarse, outwardly curved,
ischiatic prominences on which the Gibbon habitually rests, and which
are coated by the so-called "callosities," dense patches of skin, wholly
absent in the Gorilla, in the Chimpanzee, and in the Orang, as in Man!

In the lower Monkeys and in the Lemurs the difference becomes more
striking still, the pelvis acquiring an altogether quadrupedal
character.

But now let us turn to a nobler and more characteristic organ--that
by which the human frame seems to be, and indeed is, so strongly
distinguished from all others,--I mean the skull. The differences
between a Gorilla's skull and a Man's are truly immense (Figure 16).
In the former, the face, formed largely by the massive jaw-bones,
predominates over the brain case, or cranium proper: in the latter, the
proportions of the two are reversed. In the Man, the occipital foramen,
through which passes the great nervous cord connecting the brain with
the nerves of the body, is placed just behind the centre of the base of
the skull, which thus becomes evenly balanced in the erect posture; in
the Gorilla, it lies in the posterior third of that base. In the Man,
the surface of the skull is comparatively smooth, and the supraciliary
ridges or brow prominences usually project but little--while, in the
Gorilla, vast crests are developed upon the skull, and the brow ridges
overhang, the cavernous orbits, like great penthouses.

Sections of the skulls, however, show that some of the apparent defects
of the Gorilla's cranium arise, in fact, not so much from deficiency of
brain case as from excessive development of the parts of the face.
The cranial cavity is not ill-shaped, and the forehead is not truly
flattened or very retreating, its really well-formed curve being simply
disguised by the mass of bone which is built up against it (Figure 16).

But the roofs of the orbits rise more obliquely into the cranial cavity,
thus diminishing the space for the lower part of the anterior lobes of
the brain, and the absolute capacity of the cranium is far less than
that of Man. So far as I am aware, no human cranium belonging to an
adult man has yet been observed with a less cubical capacity than
62 cubic inches, the smallest cranium observed in any race of men by
Morton, measuring 63 cubic inches; while, on the other hand, the most
capacious Gorilla skull yet measured has a content of not more than
34-1/2 cubic inches. Let us assume, for simplicity's sake, that the
lowest Man's skull has twice the capacity of that of the highest
Gorilla.* ([Footnote] *It has been affirmed that Hindoo crania sometimes
contain as little as 27 ounces of water, which would give a capacity of
about 46 cubic inches. The minimum capacity which I have assumed above,
however, is based upon the valuable tables published by Professor R.
Wagner in his "Vorstudien zu einer wissenschaftlichen Morphologie und
Physiologie des menschlichen Gehirns." As the result of the careful
weighing of more than 900 human brains, Professor Wagner states
that one-half weighed between 1200 and 1400 grammes, and that about
two-ninths, consisting for the most part of male brains, exceed
1400 grammes. The lightest brain of an adult male, with sound mental
faculties, recorded by Wagner, weighed 1020 grammes. As a gramme equals
15.4 grains, and a cubic inch of water contains 252.4 grains, this is
equivalent to 62 cubic inches of water; so that as brain is heavier than
water, we are perfectly safe against erring on the side of diminution in
taking this as the smallest capacity of any adult male human brain. The
only adult male brain, weighing as little as 970 grammes, is that of an
idiot; but the brain of an adult woman, against the soundness of whose
faculties nothing appears, weighed as little as 907 grammes (55.3 cubic
inches of water); and Reid gives an adult female brain of still smaller
capacity. The heaviest brain (1872 grammes, or about 115 cubic inches)
was, however, that of a woman; next to it comes the brain of Cuvier
(1861 grammes), then Byron (1807 grammes), and then an insane person
(1783 grammes). The lightest adult brain recorded (720 grammes) was
that of an idiotic female. The brains of five children, four years old,
weighed between 1275 and 992 grammes. So that it may be safely said,
that an average European child of four years old has a brain twice as
large as that of an adult Gorilla.)

No doubt, this is a very striking difference, but it loses much of its
apparent systematic value, when viewed by the light of certain other
equally indubitable facts respecting cranial capacities.

The first of these is, that the difference in the volume of the cranial
cavity of different races of mankind is far greater, absolutely, than
that between the lowest Man and the highest Ape, while, relatively,
it is about the same. For the largest human skull measured by Morton
contained 114 cubic inches, that is to say, had very nearly double the
capacity of the smallest; while its absolute preponderance, of 52 cubic
inches--is far greater than that by which the lowest adult male human
cranium surpasses the largest of the Gorillas (62 - 34 1/2 = 27 1/2).
Secondly, the adult crania of Gorillas which have as yet been measured
differ among themselves by nearly one-third, the maximum capacity being
34.5 cubic inches, the minimum 24 cubic inches; and, thirdly, after
making all due allowance for difference of size, the cranial capacities
of some of the lower Apes fall nearly as much, relatively, below those
of the higher Apes as the latter fall below Man.

Thus, even in the important matter of cranial capacity, Men differ more
widely from one another than they do from the Apes; while the lowest
Apes differ as much, in proportion, from the highest, as the latter does
from Man. The last proposition is still better illustrated by the study
of the modifications which other parts of the cranium undergo in the
Simian series.

It is the large proportional size of the facial bones and the great
projection of the jaws which confers upon the Gorilla's skull its small
facial angle and brutal character.

(FIGURE 16.--Sections of the skulls of Man and various Apes (Australian,
Chrysothrix, Gorilla, Cynocephalus, Mycetes, Lemur), drawn so as to give
the cerebral cavity the same length in each case, thereby displaying
the varying proportions of the facial bones. The line 'b' indicates
the plane of the tentorium, which separates the cerebrum from the
cerebellum; 'd', the axis of the occipital outlet of the skull. The
extent of cerebral cavity behind 'c', which is a perpendicular erected
on 'b' at the point where the tentorium is attached posteriorly,
indicates the degree to which the cerebrum overlaps the cerebellum--the
space occupied by which is roughly indicated by the dark shading. In
comparing these diagrams, it must be recollected, that figures on so
small a scale as these simply exemplify the statements in the text, the
proof of which is to be found in the objects themselves.)

But if we consider the proportional size of the facial bones to the
skull proper only, the little 'Chrysothrix' (Figure 16) differs very
widely from the Gorilla, and, in the same way, as Man does; while the
Baboons ('Cynocephalus', Figure 16) exaggerate the gross proportions of
the muzzle of the great Anthropoid, so that its visage looks mild and
human by comparison with theirs. The difference between the Gorilla and
the Baboon is even greater than it appears at first sight; for the great
facial mass of the former is largely due to a downward development of
the jaws; an essentially human character, superadded upon that almost
purely forward, essentially brutal, development of the same parts which
characterizes the Baboon, and yet more remarkably distinguishes the
Lemur.

Similarly, the occipital foramen of 'Mycetes' (Figure 16), and still
more of the Lemurs, is situated completely in the posterior face of the
skull, or as much further back than that of the Gorilla, as that of the
Gorilla is further back than that of Man; while, as if to render patent
the futility of the attempt to base any broad classificatory distinction
on such a character, the same group of Platyrhine, or American monkeys,
to which the 'Mycetes' belongs, contains the 'Chrysothrix', whose
occipital foramen is situated far more forward than in any other ape,
and nearly approaches the position it holds in Man.

Again, the Orang's skull is as devoid of excessively developed
supraciliary prominences as a Man's, though some varieties exhibit great
crests elsewhere (See pp. 231, 232); and in some of the Cebine apes and
in the 'Chrysothrix', the cranium is as smooth and rounded as that of
Man himself.

What is true of these leading characteristics of the skull, holds good,
as may be imagined, of all minor features; so that for every constant
difference between the Gorilla's skull and the Man's, a similar constant
difference of the same order (that is to say, consisting in excess or
defect of the same quality) may be found between the Gorilla's skull
and that of some other ape. So that, for the skull, no less than for the
skeleton in general, the proposition holds good, that the differences
between Man and the Gorilla are of smaller value than those between the
Gorilla and some other Apes.

In connection with the skull, I may speak of the teeth--organs which
have a peculiar classificatory value, and whose resemblances and
differences of number, form, and succession, taken as a whole, are
usually regarded as more trustworthy indicators of affinity than any
others.

(FIGURE 17.--Lateral views, of the same length, of the upper jaws of
various Primates (Man, Gorilla, Cynocephalus, Cebus, Cheiromys). 'i',
incisors; 'c', canines' 'pm', premolars; 'm', molars. A line is drawn
through the first molar of Man, 'Gorilla', 'Cynocephalus', and 'Cebus',
and the grinding surface of the second molar is shown in each, its
anterior and internal angle being just above the 'm' of 'm2'.)

Man is provided with two sets of teeth--milk teeth and permanent teeth.
The former consist of four incisors, or cutting teeth; two canines, or
eyeteeth; and four molars, or grinders, in each jaw--making twenty in
all. The latter (Figure 17) comprise four incisors, two canines,
four small grinders, called premolars or false molars, and six large
grinders, or true molars, in each jaw--making thirty-two in all. The
internal incisors are larger than the external pair, in the upper jaw,
smaller than the external pair, in the lower jaw. The crowns of the
upper molars exhibit four cusps, or blunt-pointed elevations, and a
ridge crosses the crown obliquely, from the inner, anterior cusp to the
outer, posterior cusp (Figure 17 m2). The anterior lower molars have
five cusps, three external and two internal. The premolars have two
cusps, one internal and one external, of which the outer is the higher.

In all these respects the dentition of the Gorilla may be described in
the same terms as that of Man; but in other matters it exhibits many and
important differences (Figure 17).

Thus the teeth of man constitute a regular and even series--without any
break and without any marked projection of one tooth above the level of
the rest; a peculiarity which, as Cuvier long ago showed, is shared by
no other mammal save one--as different a creature from man as can well
be imagined--namely, the long extinct 'Anoplotherium'. The teeth of
the Gorilla, on the contrary, exhibit a break, or interval, termed the
'diastema', in both jaws: in front of the eye-tooth, or between it and
the outer incisor, in the upper jaw; behind the eyetooth, or between
it and the front false molar, in the lower jaw. Into this break in the
series, in each jaw, fits the canine of the opposite jaw; the size of
the eye-tooth in the Gorilla being so great that it projects, like a
tusk, far beyond the general level of the other teeth. The roots of the
false molar teeth of the Gorilla, again, are more complex than in Man,
and the proportional size of the molars is different. The Gorilla has
the crown of the hindmost grinder of the lower jaw more complex, and
the order of eruption of the permanent teeth is different; the permanent
canines making their appearance before the second and third molars in
Man, and after them in the Gorilla.

Thus, while the teeth of the Gorilla closely resemble those of Man in
number, kind, and in the general pattern of their crowns, they exhibit
marked differences from those of Man in secondary respects, such as
relative size, number of fangs, and order of appearance.

But, if the teeth of the Gorilla be compared with those of an Ape, no
further removed from it than a 'Cynocephalus', or Baboon, it will be
found that differences and resemblances of the same order are easily
observable; but that many of the points in which the Gorilla resembles
Man are those in which it differs from the Baboon; while various
respects in which it differs from Man are exaggerated in the
'Cynocephalus'. The number and the nature of the teeth remain the same
in the Baboon as in the Gorilla and in Man. But the pattern of the
Baboon's upper molars is quite different from that described above
(Figure 17), the canines are proportionally longer and more knife-like;
the anterior premolar in the lower jaw is specially modified; the
posterior molar of the lower jaw is still larger and more complex than
in the Gorilla.

Passing from the old-world Apes to those of the new world, we meet with
a change of much greater importance than any of these. In such a genus
as 'Cebus', for example (Figure 17), it will be found that while in
some secondary points, such as the projection of the canines and the
diastema, the resemblance to the great ape is preserved; in other and
most important respects, the dentition is extremely different. Instead
of 20 teeth in the milk set, there are 24: instead of 32 teeth in the
permanent set, there are 36, the false molars being increased from eight
to twelve. And in form, the crowns of the molars are very unlike those
of the Gorilla, and differ far more widely from the human pattern.

The Marmosets, on the other hand, exhibit the same number of teeth as
Man and the Gorilla; but, notwithstanding this, their dentition is very
different, for they have four more false molars, like the other American
monkeys--but as they have four fewer true molars, the total remains the
same. And passing from the American apes to the Lemurs, the dentition
becomes still more completely and essentially different from that of
the Gorilla. The incisors begin to vary both in number and in form. The
molars acquire, more and more, a many-pointed, insectivorous character,
and in one Genus, the Aye-Aye ('Cheiromys'), the canines disappear, and
the teeth completely simulate those of a Rodent (Figure 17).

Hence it is obvious that, greatly as the dentition of the highest Ape
differs from that of Man, it differs far more widely from that of the
lower and lowest Apes.

Whatever part of the animal fabric--whatever series of muscles, whatever
viscera might be selected for comparison--the result would be the
same--the lower Apes and the Gorilla would differ more than the Gorilla
and the Man. I cannot attempt in this place to follow out all these
comparisons in detail, and indeed it is unnecessary I should do so. But
certain real, or supposed, structural distinctions between man and the
apes remain, upon which so much stress has been laid, that they require
careful consideration, in order that the true value may be assigned to
those which are real, and the emptiness of those which are fictitious
may be exposed. I refer to the characters of the hand, the foot, and the
brain.

Man has been defined as the only animal possessed of two hands
terminating his fore limbs, and of two feet ending his hind limbs, while
it has been said that all the apes possess four hands; and he has been
affirmed to differ fundamentally from all the apes in the characters of
his brain, which alone, it has been strangely asserted and re-asserted,
exhibits the structures known to anatomists as the posterior lobe, the
posterior cornu of the lateral ventricle, and the hippocampus minor.

That the former proposition should have gained general acceptance is not
surprising--indeed, at first sight, appearances are much in its favour:
but, as for the second, one can only admire the surpassing courage
of its enunciator, seeing that it is an innovation which is not only
opposed to generally and justly accepted doctrines, but which is
directly negatived by the testimony of all original inquirers, who have
specially investigated the matter: and that it neither has been, nor can
be, supported by a single anatomical preparation. It would, in fact,
be unworthy of serious refutation, except for the general and natural
belief that deliberate and reiterated assertions must have some
foundation.

Before we can discuss the first point with advantage we must consider
with some attention, and compare together, the structure of the human
hand and that of the human foot, so that we may have distinct and clear
ideas of what constitutes a hand and what a foot.

The external form of the human hand is familiar enough to every one. It
consists of a stout wrist followed by a broad palm, formed of flesh, and
tendons, and skin, binding together four bones, and dividing into four
long and flexible digits, or fingers, each of which bears on the back of
its last joint a broad and flattened nail. The longest cleft between any
two digits is rather less than half as long as the hand. From the outer
side of the base of the palm a stout digit goes off, having only two
joints instead of three; so short, that it only reaches to a little
beyond the middle of the first joint of the finger next it; and further
remarkable by its great mobility, in consequence of which it can be
directed outwards, almost at a right angle to the rest. This digit is
called the 'pollex,' or thumb; and, like the others, it bears a
flat nail upon the back of its terminal joint. In consequence of the
proportions and mobility of the thumb, it is what is termed "opposable";
in other words, its extremity can, with the greatest ease, be brought
into contact with the extremities of any of the fingers; a property upon
which the possibility of our carrying into effect the conceptions of the
mind so largely depends.

The external form of the foot differs widely from that of the hand; and
yet, when closely compared, the two present some singular resemblances.
Thus the ankle corresponds in a manner with the wrist; the sole with the
palm; the toes with the fingers; the great toe with the thumb. But the
toes, or digits of the foot, are far shorter in proportion than the
digits of the hand, and are less moveable, the want of mobility being
most striking in the great toe--which, again, is very much larger
in proportion to the other toes than the thumb to the fingers. In
considering this point, however, it must not be forgotten that the
civilized great toe, confined and cramped from childhood upwards, is
seen to a great disadvantage, and that in uncivilized and barefooted
people it retains a great amount of mobility, and even some sort of
opposability. The Chinese boatmen are said to be able to pull an oar;
the artisans of Bengal to weave, and the Carajas to steal fishhooks, by
its help; though, after all, it must be recollected that the structure
of its joints and the arrangement of its bones, necessarily render its
prehensile action far less perfect than that of the thumb.

But to gain a precise conception of the resemblances and differences of
the hand and foot, and of the distinctive characters of each, we must
look below the skin, and compare the bony framework and its motor
apparatus in each (Figure 18).

(FIGURE 18.--The skeleton of the Hand and Foot of Man reduced from Dr.
Carter's drawings in Gray's 'Anatomy.' The hand is drawn to a larger
scale than the foot. The line 'a a' in the hand indicates the boundary
between the carpus and the metacarpus; 'b b' that between the latter and
the proximal phalanges; 'c c' marks the ends of the distal phalanges.
The line "a' a'" in the foot indicates the boundary between the tarsus
and metatarsus; "b' b'" marks that between the metatarsus and the
proximal phalanges; and "c' c'" bounds the ends of the distal phalanges;
'ca', the calcaneum; 'as', the astragalus; 'sc', the scaphoid bone in
the tarsus.)

The skeleton of the hand exhibits, in the region which we term the
wrist, and which is technically called the 'carpus'--two rows of closely
fitted polygonal bones, four in each row, which are tolerably equal in
size. The bones of the first row with the bones of the forearm, form the
wrist joint, and are arranged side by side, no one greatly exceeding or
overlapping the rest.

The four bones of the second row of the carpus bear the four long bones
which support the palm of the hand. The fifth bone of the same character
is articulated in a much more free and moveable manner than the others,
with its carpal bone, and forms the base of the thumb. These are called
'metacarpal' bones, and they carry the 'phalanges', or bones of the
digits, of which there are two in the thumb, and three in each of the
fingers.

The skeleton of the foot is very like that of the hand in some respects.
Thus there are three phalanges in each of the lesser toes, and only
two in the great toe, which answers to the thumb. There is a long bone,
termed 'metatarsal', answering to the metacarpal, for each digit; and
the 'tarsus', which corresponds with the carpus, presents four short
polygonal bones in a row, which correspond very closely with the four
carpal bones of the second row of the hand. In other respects the foot
differs very widely from the hand. Thus the great toe is the longest
digit but one; and its metatarsal is far less moveably articulated with
the tarsus, than the metacarpal of the thumb with the carpus. But a far
more important distinction lies in the fact that, instead of four
more tarsal bones there are only three; and, that these three are not
arranged side by side, or in one row. One of them, the 'os calcis' or
heel bone ('ca'), lies externally, and sends back the large projecting
heel; another, the 'astragalus' ('as'), rests on this by one face, and
by another, forms, with the bones of the leg, the ankle joint; while a
third face, directed forwards, is separated from the three inner tarsal
bones of the row next the metatarsus by a bone called the 'scaphoid'
('sc').

Thus there is a fundamental difference in the structure of the foot and
the hand, observable when the carpus and the tarsus are contrasted; and
there are differences of degree noticeable when the proportions and
the mobility of the metacarpals and metatarsals, with their respective
digits, are compared together.

The same two classes of differences become obvious when the muscles of
the hand are compared with those of the foot.

Three principal sets of muscles, called "flexors," bend the fingers and
thumb, as in clenching the fist, and three sets--the extensors--extend
them, as in straightening the fingers. These muscles are all "long
muscles"; that is to say, the fleshy part of each, lying in and being
fixed to the bones of the arm, is, at the other end, continued into
tendons, or rounded cords, which pass into the hand, and are ultimately
fixed to the bones which are to be moved. Thus, when the fingers are
bent, the fleshy parts of the flexors of the fingers, placed in the arm,
contract, in virtue of their peculiar endowment as muscles; and pulling
the tendinous cords, connected with their ends, cause them to pull down
the bones of the fingers towards the palm.

Not only are the principal flexors of the fingers and of the thumb long
muscles, but they remain quite distinct from one another through their
whole length.

In the foot, there are also three principal flexor muscles of the digits
or toes, and three principal extensors; but one extensor and one flexor
are short muscles; that is to say, their fleshy parts are not situated
in the leg (which corresponds with the arm), but in the back and in the
sole of the foot--regions which correspond with the back and the palm of
the hand.

Again, the tendons of the long flexor of the toes, and of the long
flexor of the great toe, when they reach the sole of the foot, do not
remain distinct from one another, as the flexors in the palm of the
hand do, but they become united and commingled in a very curious
manner--while their united tendons receive an accessory muscle connected
with the heel-bone.

But perhaps the most absolutely distinctive character about the muscles
of the foot is the existence of what is termed the 'peronaeus longus',
a long muscle fixed to the outer bone of the leg, and sending its tendon
to the outer ankle, behind and below which it passes, and then crosses
the foot obliquely to be attached to the base of the great toe. No
muscle in the hand exactly corresponds with this, which is eminently a
foot muscle.

To resume--the foot of man is distinguished from his hand by the
following absolute anatomical differences:--

1. By the arrangement of the tarsal bones.

2. By having a short flexor and a short extensor muscle of the digits.

3. By possessing the muscle termed 'peronaeus longus'. And if we desire
to ascertain whether the terminal division of a limb, in other Primates,
is to be called a foot or a hand, it is by the presence or absence of
these characters that we must be guided, and not by the mere proportions
and greater or lesser mobility of the great toe, which may vary
indefinitely without any fundamental alteration in the structure of the
foot.

Keeping these considerations in mind, let us now turn to the limbs
of the Gorilla. The terminal division of the fore limb presents no
difficulty--bone for bone and muscle for muscle, are found to be
arranged essentially as in man, or with such minor differences as are
found as varieties in man. The Gorilla's hand is clumsier, heavier, and
has a thumb somewhat shorter in proportion than that of man; but no one
has ever doubted its being a true hand.

(FIGURE 19.--Foot of Man, Gorilla, and Orang-Utan of the same absolute
length, to show the differences in proportion of each. Letters as in
Figure 18. Reduced from original drawings by Mr. Waterhouse Hawkins.

At first sight, the termination of the hind limb of the Gorilla looks
very hand-like, and as it is still more so in many of the lower apes,
it is not wonderful that the appellation "Quadrumana," or four-handed
creatures, adopted from the older anatomists* by Blumenbach, and
unfortunately rendered current by Cuvier, should have gained such wide
acceptance as a name for the Simian group. ([Footnote] *In speaking of
the foot of his "Pygmie," Tyson remarks, p. 13:--"But this part in the
formation and in its function too, being liker a Hand than a Foot: for
the distinguishing this sort of animals from others, I have thought
whether it might not be reckoned and called rather Quadru-manus than
Quadrupes, 'i.e.' a four-handed rather than a four-footed animal." As
this passage was published in 1699, M. I. G. St. Hilaire is clearly in
error in ascribing the invention of the term "quadrumanous" to Buffon,
though "himanous" may belong to him. Tyson uses "Quadrumanus" in several
places, as at p. 91... "Our 'Pygmie' is no Man, nor yet the 'common
Ape', but a sort of 'Animal' between both; and though a 'Biped', yet of
the 'Quadrumanus'-kind: though some 'Men' too have been observed to
use their 'Feet' like 'Hands', as I have seen several.") But the most
cursory anatomical investigation at once proves that the resemblance of
the so-called "hind hand" to a true hand, is only skin deep, and that,
in all essential respects, the hind limb of the Gorilla is as truly
terminated by a foot as that of man. The tarsal bones, in all important
circumstances of number, disposition, and form, resemble those of
man (Figure 19). The metatarsals and digits, on the other hand, are
proportionally longer and more slender, while the great toe is not only
proportionally shorter and weaker, but its metatarsal bone is united by
a more moveable joint with the tarsus. At the same time, the foot is set
more obliquely upon the leg than in man.

As to the muscles, there is a short flexor, a short extensor, and a
'peronaeus longus', while the tendons of the long flexors of the great
toe and of the other toes are united together and with an accessory
fleshy bundle.

The hind limb of the Gorilla, therefore, ends in a true foot, with a
very moveable great toe. It is a prehensile foot, indeed, but is in no
sense a hand: it is a foot which differs from that of man not in
any fundamental character, but in mere proportions, in the degree of
mobility, and in the secondary arrangement of its parts.

It must not be supposed, however, because I speak of these differences
as not fundamental, that I wish to underrate their value. They are
important enough in their way, the structure of the foot being in strict
correlation with that of the rest of the organism in each case. Nor can
it be doubted that the greater division of physiological labour in Man,
so that the function of support is thrown wholly on the leg and foot, is
an advance in organization of very great moment to him; but, after all,
regarded anatomically, the resemblances between the foot of Man and
the foot of the Gorilla are far more striking and important than the
differences.

I have dwelt upon this point at length, because it is one regarding
which much delusion prevails; but I might have passed it over without
detriment to my argument, which only requires me to show that, be the
differences between the hand and foot of Man and those of the Gorilla
what they may--the differences between those of the Gorilla, and those
of the lower Apes are much greater.

It is not necessary to descend lower in the scale than the Orang for
conclusive evidence on this head.

The thumb of the Orang differs more from that of the Gorilla than
the thumb of the Gorilla differs from that of Man, not only by its
shortness, but by the absence of any special long flexor muscle. The
carpus of the Orang, like that of most lower apes, contains nine bones,
while in the Gorilla, as in Man and the Chimpanzee, there are only
eight.

The Orang's foot (Figure 19) is still more aberrant; its very long
toes and short tarsus, short great toe, short and raised heel, great
obliquity of articulation in the leg, and absence of a long flexor
tendon to the great toe, separating it far more widely from the foot of
the Gorilla than the latter is separated from that of Man.

But, in some of the lower apes, the hand and foot diverge still more
from those of the Gorilla, than they do in the Orang. The thumb ceases
to be opposable in the American monkeys; is reduced to a mere rudiment
covered by the skin in the Spider Monkey; and is directed forwards and
armed with a curved claw like the other digits, in the Marmosets--so
that, in all these cases, there can be no doubt but that the hand is
more different from that of the Gorilla than the Gorilla's hand is from
Man's.

And as to the foot, the great toe of the Marmoset is still more
insignificant in proportion than that of the Orang--while in the Lemurs
it is very large, and as completely thumb-like and opposable as in
the Gorilla--but in these animals the second toe is often irregularly
modified, and in some species the two principal bones of the tarsus,
the 'astragalus' and the 'os calcis', are so immensely elongated as to
render the foot, so far, totally unlike that of any other mammal.

So with regard to the muscles. The short flexor of the toes of the
Gorilla differs from that of Man by the circumstance that one slip of
the muscle is attached, not to the heel bone, but to the tendons of the
long flexors. The lower Apes depart from the Gorilla by an exaggeration
of the same character, two, three, or more, slips becoming fixed to the
long flexor tendons--or by a multiplication of the slips.--Again, the
Gorilla differs slightly from Man in the mode of interlacing of the long
flexor tendons: and the lower apes differ from the Gorilla in exhibiting
yet other, sometimes very complex, arrangements of the same parts, and
occasionally in the absence of the accessory fleshy bundle.

Throughout all these modifications it must be recollected that the
foot loses no one of its essential characters. Every Monkey and Lemur
exhibits the characteristic arrangement of tarsal bones, possesses a
short flexor and short extensor muscle, and a 'peronaeus longus'. Varied
as the proportions and appearance of the organ may be, the terminal
division of the hind limb remains, in plan and principle of
construction, a foot, and never, in those respects, can be confounded
with a hand.

Hardly any part of the bodily frame, then, could be found better
calculated to illustrate the truth that the structural differences
between Man and the highest Ape are of less value than those between the
highest and the lower Apes, than the hand or the foot, and yet, perhaps,
there is one organ the study of which enforces the same conclusion in a
still more striking manner--and that is the Brain.

But before entering upon the precise question of the amount of
difference between the Ape's brain and that of Man, it is necessary that
we should clearly understand what constitutes a great, and what a small
difference in cerebral structure; and we shall be best enabled to
do this by a brief study of the chief modifications which the brain
exhibits in the series of vertebrate animals.

The brain of a fish is very small, compared with the spinal cord into
which it is continued, and with the nerves which come off from it: of
the segments of which it is composed--the olfactory lobes, the cerebral
hemisphere, and the succeeding divisions--no one predominates so much
over the rest as to obscure or cover them; and the so-called optic lobes
are, frequently, the largest masses of all. In Reptiles, the mass of
the brain, relatively to the spinal cord, increases and the cerebral
hemispheres begin to predominate over the other parts; while in Birds
this predominance is still more marked. The brain of the lowest Mammals,
such as the duck-billed Platypus and the Opossums and Kangaroos,
exhibits a still more definite advance in the same direction. The
cerebral hemispheres have now so much increased in size as, more or
less, to hide the representatives of the optic lobes, which remain
comparatively small, so that the brain of a Marsupial is extremely
different from that of a Bird, Reptile, or Fish. A step higher in the
scale, among the placental Mammals, the structure of the brain acquires
a vast modification--not that it appears much altered externally, in
a Rat or in a Rabbit, from what it is in a Marsupial--nor that the
proportions of its parts are much changed, but an apparently new
structure is found between the cerebral hemispheres, connecting them
together, as what is called the 'great commissure' or 'corpus callosum.'
The subject requires careful re-investigation, but if the currently
received statements are correct, the appearance of the 'corpus callosum'
in the placental mammals is the greatest and most sudden modification
exhibited by the brain in the whole series of vertebrated animals--it is
the greatest leap anywhere made by Nature in her brain work. For the
two halves of the brain being once thus knit together, the progress of
cerebral complexity is traceable through a complete series of steps from
the lowest Rodent, or Insectivore, to Man; and that complexity consists,
chiefly, in the disproportionate development of the cerebral hemispheres
and of the cerebellum, but especially of the former, in respect to the
other parts of the brain.

In the lower placental mammals, the cerebral hemispheres leave the
proper upper and posterior face of the cerebellum completely visible,
when the brain is viewed from above; but, in the higher forms, the
hinder part of each hemisphere, separated only by the tentorium (p.
281) from the anterior face of the cerebellum, inclines backwards and
downwards, and grows out, as the so-called "posterior lobe," so as at
length to overlap and hide the cerebellum. In all Mammals, each cerebral
hemisphere contains a cavity which is termed the 'ventricle,' and as
this ventricle is prolonged, on the one hand, forwards, and on the other
downwards, into the substance of the hemisphere, it is said to have two
horns or 'cornua', an 'anterior cornu,' and a 'descending cornu.'
When the posterior lobe is well developed, a third prolongation of the
ventricular cavity extends into it, and is called the "posterior cornu."

In the lower and smaller forms of placental Mammals the surface of the
cerebral hemispheres is either smooth or evenly rounded, or exhibits
a very few grooves, which are technically termed 'sulci,' separating
ridges or 'convolutions' of the substance of the brain; and the smaller
species of all orders tend to a similar smoothness of brain. But, in the
higher orders, and especially the larger members of these orders, the
grooves, or sulci, become extremely numerous, and the intermediate
convolutions proportionately more complicated in their meanderings,
until, in the Elephant, the Porpoise, the higher Apes, and Man, the
cerebral surface appears a perfect labyrinth of tortuous foldings.

Where a posterior lobe exists and presents its customary cavity--the
posterior cornu--it commonly happens that a particular sulcus appears
upon the inner and under surface of the lobe, parallel with and beneath
the floor of the cornu--which is, as it were, arched over the roof of
the sulcus. It is as if the groove had been formed by indenting the
floor of the posterior horn from without with a blunt instrument, so
that the floor should rise as a convex eminence. Now this eminence is
what has been termed the 'Hippocampus minor;' the 'Hippocampus major'
being a larger eminence in the floor of the descending cornu. What may
be the functional importance of either of these structures we know not.

As if to demonstrate, by a striking example, the impossibility of
erecting any cerebral barrier between man and the apes, Nature has
provided us, in the latter animals, with an almost complete series of
gradations from brains little higher than that of a Rodent, to brains
little lower than that of Man. And it is a remarkable circumstance that
though, so far as our present knowledge extends, there 'is' one true
structural break in the series of forms of Simian brains, this hiatus
does not lie between Man and the man-like apes, but between the lower
and the lowest Simians; or, in other words, between the old and new
world apes and monkeys, and the Lemurs. Every Lemur which has yet been
examined, in fact, has its cerebellum partially visible from above, and
its posterior lobe, with the contained posterior cornu and hippocampus
minor, more or less rudimentary. Every Marmoset, American monkey,
old-world monkey, Baboon, or Man-like ape, on the contrary, has its
cerebellum entirely hidden, posteriorly, by the cerebral lobes, and
possesses a large posterior cornu, with a well-developed hippocampus
minor.

(FIGURE 20.--Drawings of the internal casts of a Man's and of a
Chimpanzee's skull, of the same absolute length, and placed in
corresponding positions. 'A'. Cerebrum; 'B'. Cerebellum. The former
drawing is taken from a cast in the Museum of the Royal College of
Surgeons, the latter from the photograph of the cast of a Chimpanzee's
skull, which illustrates the paper by Mr. Marshall 'On the Brain of the
Chimpanzee' in the 'Natural History Review' for July, 1861. The sharper
definition of the lower edge of the cast of the cerebral chamber in the
Chimpanzee arises from the circumstance that the tentorium remained in
that skull and not in the Man's. The cast more accurately represents the
brain in Chimpanzee than in the Man; and the great backward projection
of the posterior lobes of the cerebrum of the former, beyond the
cerebellum, is conspicuous.)

In many of these creatures, such as the Saimiri ('Chrysothrix'), the
cerebral lobes overlap and extend much further behind the cerebellum,
in proportion, than they do in man (Figure 16)--and it is quite
certain that, in all, the cerebellum is completely covered behind, by
well-developed posterior lobes. The fact can be verified by every one
who possesses the skull of any old or new world monkey. For, inasmuch
as the brain in all mammals completely fills the cranial cavity, it
is obvious that a cast of the interior of the skull will reproduce the
general form of the brain, at any rate with such minute and, for the
present purpose, utterly unimportant differences as may result from the
absence of the enveloping membranes of the brain in the dry skull. But
if such a cast be made in plaster, and compared with a similar cast of
the interior of a human skull, it will be obvious that the cast of the
cerebral chamber, representing the cerebrum of the ape, as completely
covers over and overlaps the cast of the cerebellar chamber,
representing the cerebellum, as it does in the man (Figure 20). A
careless observer, forgetting that a soft structure like the brain loses
its proper shape the moment it is taken out of the skull, may indeed
mistake the uncovered condition of the cerebellum of an extracted and
distorted brain for the natural relations of the parts; but his error
must become patent even to himself if he try to replace the brain
within the cranial chamber. To suppose that the cerebellum of an ape is
naturally uncovered behind is a miscomprehension comparable only to that
of one who should imagine that a man's lungs always occupy but a small
portion of the thoracic cavity--because they do so when the chest is
opened, and their elasticity is no longer neutralized by the pressure of
the air.

And the error is the less excusable, as it must become apparent to
every one who examines a section of the skull of any ape above a Lemur,
without taking the trouble to make a cast of it. For there is a
very marked groove in every such skull, as in the human skull--which
indicates the line of attachment of what is termed the 'tentorium'--a
sort of parchment-like shelf, or partition, which, in the recent state,
is interposed between the cerebrum and cerebellum, and prevents the
former from pressing upon the latter. (See Figure 16.)

This groove, therefore, indicates the line of separation between that
part of the cranial cavity which contains the cerebrum, and that which
contains the cerebellum; and as the brain exactly fills the cavity of
the skull, it is obvious that the relations of these two parts of the
cranial cavity at once informs us of the relations of their contents.
Now in man, in all the old-world, and in all the new-world Simiae,
with one exception, when the face is directed forwards, this line of
attachment of the tentorium, or impression for the lateral sinus, as it
is technically called, is nearly horizontal, and the cerebral chamber
invariably overlaps or projects behind the cerebellar chamber. In the
Howler Monkey or 'Mycetes' (see Figure 16), the line passes obliquely
upwards and backwards, and the cerebral overlap is almost nil; while in
the Lemurs, as in the lower mammals, the line is much more inclined in
the same direction, and the cerebellar chamber projects considerably
beyond the cerebral.

When the gravest errors respecting points so easily settled as
this question respecting the posterior lobes can be authoritatively
propounded, it is no wonder that matters of observation, of no very
complex character, but still requiring a certain amount of care, should
have fared worse. Any one who cannot see the posterior lobe in an ape's
brain is not likely to give a very valuable opinion respecting the
posterior cornu or the hippocampus minor. If a man cannot see a church,
it is preposterous to take his opinion about its altar-piece or painted
window--so that I do not feel bound to enter upon any discussion of
these points, but content myself with assuring the reader that the
posterior cornu and the hippocampus minor, have now been seen--usually,
at least as well developed as in man, and often better--not only in the
Chimpanzee, the Orang, and the Gibbon, but in all the genera of the old
world baboons and monkeys, and in most of the new world forms, including
the Marmosets.* ([Footnote] *See the note at the end of this essay for a
succinct history of the controversy to which allusion is here made.)

(FIGURE 21.--Drawings of the cerebral hemispheres of a Man and of a
Chimpanzee of the same length, in order to show the relative proportions
of the parts: the former taken from a specimen, which Mr. Flower,
Conservator of the Museum of the Royal College of Surgeons, was good
enough to dissect for me; the latter, from the photograph of a similarly
dissected Chimpanzee's brain, given in Mr. Marshall's paper above
referred to. 'a', posterior lobe; 'b', lateral ventricle; 'c', posterior
cornu; 'x', the hippocampus minor.)

In fact, all the abundant and trustworthy evidence (consisting of the
results of careful investigations directed to the determination of these
very questions, by skilled anatomists) which we now possess, leads
to the conviction that, so far from the posterior lobe, the posterior
cornu, and the hippocampus minor, being structures peculiar to and
characteristic of man, as they have been over and over again asserted
to be, even after the publication of the clearest demonstration of the
reverse, it is precisely these structures which are the most marked
cerebral characters common to man with the apes. They are among the most
distinctly Simian peculiarities which the human organism exhibits.

As to the convolutions, the brains of the apes exhibit every stage of
progress, from the almost smooth brain of the Marmoset, to the Orang
and the Chimpanzee, which fall but little below Man. And it is most
remarkable that, as soon as all the principal sulci appear, the pattern
according to which they are arranged is identical with that of the
corresponding sulci of man. The surface of the brain of a monkey
exhibits a sort of skeleton map of man's, and in the man-like apes
the details become more and more filled in, until it is only in minor
characters, such as the greater excavation of the anterior lobes, the
constant presence of fissures usually absent in man, and the different
disposition and proportions of some convolutions, that the Chimpanzee's
or the Orang's brain can be structurally distinguished from Man's.

So far as cerebral structure goes, therefore, it is clear that Man
differs less from the Chimpanzee or the Orang, than these do even
from the Monkeys, and that the difference between the brains of the
Chimpanzee and of Man is almost insignificant, when compared with that
between the Chimpanzee brain and that of a Lemur.

It must not be overlooked, however, that there is a very striking
difference in absolute mass and weight between the lowest human
brain and that of the highest ape--a difference which is all the more
remarkable when we recollect that a full grown Gorilla is probably
pretty nearly twice as heavy as a Bosjes man, or as many an European
woman. It may be doubted whether a healthy human adult brain ever
weighed less than thirty-one or two ounces, or that the heaviest Gorilla
brain has exceeded twenty ounces.

This is a very noteworthy circumstance, and doubtless will one day help
to furnish an explanation of the great gulf which intervenes between the
lowest man and the highest ape in intellectual power;* but it has little
systematic value, for the simple reason that, as may be concluded from
what has been already said respecting cranial capacity, the difference
in weight of brain between the highest and the lowest men is far
greater, both relatively and absolutely, than that between the lowest
man and the highest ape. The latter, as has been seen, is represented
by, say twelve ounces of cerebral substance absolutely, or by 32:20
relatively; but as the largest recorded human brain weighed between
65 and 66 ounces, the former difference is represented by more than 33
ounces absolutely, or by 65:32 relatively. Regarded systematically, the
cerebral differences of man and apes are not of more than generic value;
his Family distinction resting chiefly on his dentition, his pelvis, and
his lower limbs.

([Footnote] * I say 'help' to furnish: for I by no means believe that
it was any original difference of cerebral quality, or quantity which
caused that divergence between the human and the pithecoid stirpes,
which has ended in the present enormous gulf between them. It is
no doubt perfectly true, in a certain sense, that all difference of
function is a result of difference of structure; or, in other words, of
difference in the combination of the primary molecular forces of
living substance; and, starting from this undeniable axiom, objectors
occasionally, and with much seeming plausibility, argue that the vast
intellectual chasm between the Ape and Man implies a corresponding
structural chasm in the organs of the intellectual functions; so that,
it is said, the non-discovery of such vast differences proves, not that
they are absent, but that Science is incompetent to detect them. A very
little consideration, however, will, I think, show the fallacy of this
reasoning. Its validity hangs upon the assumption, that intellectual
power depends altogether on the brain--whereas the brain is only one
condition out of many on which intellectual manifestations depend;
the others being, chiefly, the organs of the senses and the motor
apparatuses, especially those which are concerned in prehension and in
the production of articulate speech.

A man born dumb, notwithstanding his great cerebral mass and his
inheritance of strong intellectual instincts, would be capable of few
higher intellectual manifestations than an Orang or a Chimpanzee, if he
were confined to the society of dumb associates. And yet there might not
be the slightest discernible difference between his brain and that of
a highly intelligent and cultivated person. The dumbness might be the
result of a defective structure of the mouth, or of the tongue, or
a mere defective innervation of these parts; or it might result from
congenital deafness, caused by some minute defect of the internal ear,
which only a careful anatomist could discover.

The argument, that because there is an immense difference between a
Man's intelligence and an Ape's, therefore, there must be an equally
immense difference between their brains, appears to me to be about as
well based as the reasoning by which one should endeavour to prove that,
because there is a "great gulf" between a watch that keeps accurate
time and another that will not go at all, there is therefore a great
structural hiatus between the two watches. A hair in the balance-wheel,
a little rust on a pinion, a bend in a tooth of the escapement, a
something so slight that only the practised eye of the watchmaker can
discover it, may be the source of all the difference.

And believing, as I do, with Cuvier, that the possession of articulate
speech is the grand distinctive character of man (whether it be
absolutely peculiar to him or not), I find it very easy to comprehend,
that some equally inconspicuous structural difference may have been the
primary cause of the immeasurable and practically infinite divergence of
the Human from the Simian Stirps.)

Thus, whatever system of organs be studied, the comparison of their
modifications in the ape series leads to one and the same result--that
the structural differences which separate Man from the Gorilla and the
Chimpanzee are not so great as those which separate the Gorilla from the
lower apes.

But in enunciating this important truth I must guard myself against a
form of misunderstanding, which is very prevalent. I find, in fact, that
those who endeavour to teach what nature so clearly shows us in this
matter, are liable to have their opinions misrepresented and their
phraseology garbled, until they seem to say that the structural
differences between man and even the highest apes are small and
insignificant. Let me take this opportunity then of distinctly
asserting, on the contrary, that they are great and significant; that
every bone of a Gorilla bears marks by which it might be distinguished
from the corresponding bone of a Man; and that, in the present creation,
at any rate, no intermediate link bridges over the gap between '<DW25>'
and 'Troglodytes'.

It would be no less wrong than absurd to deny the existence of this
chasm; but it is at least equally wrong and absurd to exaggerate its
magnitude, and, resting on the admitted fact of its existence, to refuse
to inquire whether it is wide or narrow. Remember, if you will, that
there is no existing link between Man and the Gorilla, but do not forget
that there is a no less sharp line of demarcation, a no less complete
absence of any transitional form, between the Gorilla and the Orang, or
the Orang and the Gibbon. I say, not less sharp, though it is somewhat
narrower. The structural differences between Man and the Man-like apes
certainly justify our regarding him as constituting a family apart from
them; though, inasmuch as he differs less from them than they do from
other families of the same order, there can be no justification for
placing him in a distinct order.

And thus the sagacious foresight of the great lawgiver of systematic
zoology, Linnaeus, becomes justified, and a century of anatomical
research brings us back to his conclusion, that man is a member of the
same order (for which the Linnaean term PRIMATES ought to be retained)
as the Apes and Lemurs. This order is now divisible into seven families,
of about equal systematic value: the first, the ANTHROPINI, contains
Man alone; the second, the CATARHINI, embraces the old-world apes; the
third, the PLATYRHINI, all new-world apes, except the Marmosets; the
fourth, the ARCTOPITHECINI, contains the Marmosets; the fifth, the
LEMURINI, the Lemurs--from which 'Cheiromys' should probably be excluded
to form a sixth distinct family, the CHEIROMYINI; while the seventh,
the GALEOPITHECINI, contains only the flying Lemur 'Galeopithecus',--a
strange form which almost touches on the Bats, as the 'Cheiromys' puts
on a rodent clothing, and the Lemurs simulate Insectivora.

Perhaps no order of mammals presents us with so extraordinary a series
of gradations as this--leading us insensibly from the crown and summit
of the animal creation down to creatures, from which there is but a
step, as it seems, to the lowest, smallest, and least intelligent of
the placental Mammalia. It is as if nature herself had foreseen
the arrogance of man, and with Roman severity had provided that his
intellect, by its very triumphs, should call into prominence the slaves,
admonishing the conqueror that he is but dust.

These are the chief facts, this the immediate conclusion from them
to which I adverted in the commencement of this Essay. The facts, I
believe, cannot be disputed; and if so, the conclusion appears to me to
be inevitable.

But if Man be separated by no greater structural barrier from the brutes
than they are from one another--then it seems to follow that if any
process of physical causation can be discovered by which the genera
and families of ordinary animals have been produced, that process of
causation is amply sufficient to account for the origin of Man. In other
words, if it could be shown that the Marmosets, for example, have
arisen by gradual modification of the ordinary Platyrhini, or that
both Marmosets and Platyrhini are modified ramifications of a primitive
stock--then, there would be no rational ground for doubting that man
might have originated, in the one case, by the gradual modification of
a man-like ape; or, in the other case, as a ramification of the same
primitive stock as those apes.

At the present moment, but one such process of physical causation
has any evidence in its favour; or, in other words, there is but one
hypothesis regarding the origin of species of animals in general
which has any scientific existence--that propounded by Mr. Darwin. For
Lamarck, sagacious as many of his views were, mingled them with so much
that was crude and even absurd, as to neutralize the benefit which his
originality might have effected, had he been a more sober and cautious
thinker; and though I have heard of the announcement of a formula
touching "the ordained continuous becoming of organic forms," it is
obvious that it is the first duty of a hypothesis to be intelligible,
and that a qua-qua-versal proposition of this kind, which may be read
backwards, or forwards, or sideways, with exactly the same amount of
signification, does not really exist, though it may seem to do so.

At the present moment, therefore, the question of the relation of man to
the lower animals resolves itself, in the end, into the larger question
of the tenability, or untenability of Mr. Darwin's views. But here
we enter upon difficult ground, and it behoves us to define our exact
position with the greatest care.

It cannot be doubted, I think, that Mr. Darwin has satisfactorily proved
that what he terms selection, or selective modification, must occur, and
does occur, in nature; and he has also proved to superfluity that such
selection is competent to produce forms as distinct, structurally, as
some genera even are. If the animated world presented us with none but
structural differences, I should have no hesitation in saying that Mr.
Darwin had demonstrated the existence of a true physical cause, amply
competent to account for the origin of living species, and of man among
the rest.

But, in addition to their structural distinctions, the species of
animals and plants, or at least a great number of them, exhibit
physiological characters--what are known as distinct species,
structurally, being for the most part either altogether incompetent to
breed one with another; or if they breed, the resulting mule, or hybrid,
is unable to perpetuate its race with another hybrid of the same kind.

A true physical cause is, however, admitted to be such only on one
condition--that it shall account for all the phenomena which come
within the range of its operation. If it is inconsistent with any
one phenomenon, it must be rejected; if it fails to explain any one
phenomenon, it is so far weak, so far to be suspected; though it may
have a perfect right to claim provisional acceptance.

Now, Mr. Darwin's hypothesis is not, so far as I am aware, inconsistent
with any known biological fact; on the contrary, if admitted, the facts
of Development, of Comparative Anatomy, of Geographical Distribution,
and of Palaeontology, become connected together, and exhibit a meaning
such as they never possessed before; and I, for one, am fully convinced,
that if not precisely true, that hypothesis is as near an approximation
to the truth as, for example, the Copernican hypothesis was to the true
theory of the planetary motions.

But, for all this, our acceptance of the Darwinian hypothesis must be
provisional so long as one link in the chain of evidence is wanting; and
so long as all the animals and plants certainly produced by selective
breeding from a common stock are fertile, and their progeny are fertile
with one another, that link will be wanting. For, so long, selective
breeding will not be proved to be competent to do all that is required
of it to produce natural species.

I have put this conclusion as strongly as possible before the reader,
because the last position in which I wish to find myself is that of
an advocate for Mr. Darwin's, or any other views--if by an advocate is
meant one whose business it is to smooth over real difficulties, and to
persuade where he cannot convince.

In justice to Mr. Darwin, however, it must be admitted that the
conditions of fertility and sterility are very ill understood, and that
every day's advance in knowledge leads us to regard the hiatus in his
evidence as of less and less importance, when set against the multitude
of facts which harmonize with, or receive an explanation from, his
doctrines.

I adopt Mr. Darwin's hypothesis, therefore, subject to the production of
proof that physiological species may be produced by selective breeding;
just as a physical philosopher may accept the undulatory theory of
light, subject to the proof of the existence of the hypothetical ether;
or as the chemist adopts the atomic theory, subject to the proof of the
existence of atoms; and for exactly the same reasons, namely, that it
has an immense amount of prima facie probability: that it is the only
means at present within reach of reducing the chaos of observed facts
to order; and lastly, that it is the most powerful instrument of
investigation which has been presented to naturalists since the
invention of the natural system of classification, and the commencement
of the systematic study of embryology.

But even leaving Mr. Darwin's views aside, the whole analogy of natural
operations furnishes so complete and crushing an argument against
the intervention of any but what are termed secondary causes, in the
production of all the phenomena of the universe; that, in view of the
intimate relations between Man and the rest of the living world, and
between the forces exerted by the latter and all other forces, I can see
no excuse for doubting that all are co-ordinated terms of Nature's great
progression, from the formless to the formed--from the inorganic to the
organic--from blind force to conscious intellect and will.

Science has fulfilled her function when she has ascertained and
enunciated truth; and were these pages addressed to men of science only,
I should now close this essay, knowing that my colleagues have learned
to respect nothing but evidence, and to believe that their highest duty
lies in submitting to it, however it may jar against their inclinations.

But desiring, as I do, to reach the wider circle of the intelligent
public, it would be unworthy cowardice were I to ignore the repugnance
with which the majority of my readers are likely to meet the conclusions
to which the most careful and conscientious study I have been able to
give to this matter, has led me.

On all sides I shall hear the cry--"We are men and women, not a mere
better sort of apes, a little longer in the leg, more compact in the
foot, and bigger in brain than your brutal Chimpanzees and Gorillas.
The power of knowledge--the conscience of good and evil--the pitiful
tenderness of human affections, raise us out of all real fellowship with
the brutes, however closely they may seem to approximate us."

To this I can only reply that the exclamation would be most just and
would have my own entire sympathy, if it were only relevant. But, it is
not I who seek to base Man's dignity upon his great toe, or insinuate
that we are lost if an Ape has a hippocampus minor. On the contrary, I
have done my best to sweep away this vanity. I have endeavoured to show
that no absolute structural line of demarcation, wider than that between
the animals which immediately succeed us in the scale, can be drawn
between the animal world and ourselves; and I may add the expression of
my belief that the attempt to draw a psychical distinction is equally
futile, and that even the highest faculties of feeling and of intellect
begin to germinate in lower forms of life.* At the same time, no one is
more strongly convinced than I am of the vastness of the gulf between
civilized man and the brutes; or is more certain that whether FROM them
or not, he is assuredly not OF them. No one is less disposed to think
lightly of the present dignity, or despairingly of the future hopes, of
the only consciously intelligent denizen of this world.

([Footnote] * It is so rare a pleasure for me to find Professor Owen's
opinions in entire accordance with my own, that I cannot forbear from
quoting a paragraph which appeared in his Essay "On the Characters,
etc., of the Class Mammalia," in the 'Journal of the Proceedings of the
Linnean Society of London' for 1857, but is unaccountably omitted in the
"Reade Lecture" delivered before the University of Cambridge two years
later, which is otherwise nearly a reprint of the paper in question.
Prof. Owen writes:

"Not being able to appreciate or conceive of the distinction between the
psychical phenomena of a Chimpanzee, and of a Boschisman or of an Aztec,
with arrested brain growth, as being of a nature so essential as to
preclude a comparison between them, or as being other than a
difference of degree, I cannot shut my eyes to the significance of that
all-pervading similitude of structure--every tooth, every bone, strictly
homologous--which makes the determination of the difference between
'<DW25>' and 'Pithecus' the anatomist's difficulty."

Surely it is a little singular, that the 'anatomist,' who finds it
'difficult' to 'determine the difference' between '<DW25>' and 'Pithecus',
should yet range them on anatomical grounds, in distinct sub-classes!)

We are indeed told by those who assume authority in these matters, that
the two sets of opinions are incompatible, and that the belief in
the unity of origin of man and brutes involves the brutalization and
degradation of the former. But is this really so? Could not a sensible
child confute by obvious arguments, the shallow rhetoricians who would
force this conclusion upon us? Is it, indeed, true, that the Poet, or
the Philosopher, or the Artist whose genius is the glory of his age, is
degraded from his high estate by the undoubted historical probability,
not to say certainty, that he is the direct descendant of some naked
and bestial savage, whose intelligence was just sufficient to make him a
little more cunning than the Fox, and by so much more dangerous than
the Tiger? Or is he bound to howl and grovel on all fours because of the
wholly unquestionable fact, that he was once an egg, which no ordinary
power of discrimination could distinguish from that of a Dog? Or is the
philanthropist or the saint to give up his endeavours to lead a noble
life, because the simplest study of man's nature reveals, at its
foundations, all the selfish passions and fierce appetites of the merest
quadruped? Is mother-love vile because a hen shows it, or fidelity base
because dogs possess it?

The common sense of the mass of mankind will answer these questions
without a moment's hesitation. Healthy humanity, finding itself hard
pressed to escape from real sin and degradation, will leave the brooding
over speculative pollution to the cynics and the 'righteous overmuch'
who, disagreeing in everything else, unite in blind insensibility to
the nobleness of the visible world, and in inability to appreciate the
grandeur of the place Man occupies therein.

Nay more, thoughtful men, once escaped from the blinding influences
of traditional prejudice, will find in the lowly stock whence Man has
sprung, the best evidence of the splendour of his capacities; and will
discern in his long progress through the Past, a reasonable ground of
faith in his attainment of a nobler Future.

They will remember that in comparing civilised man with the animal
world, one is as the Alpine traveller, who sees the mountains soaring
into the sky and can hardly discern where the deep shadowed crags and
roseate peaks end, and where the clouds of heaven begin. Surely the
awe-struck voyager may be excused if, at first, he refuses to believe
the geologist, who tells him that these glorious masses are, after all,
the hardened mud of primeval seas, or the cooled slag of subterranean
furnaces--of one substance with the dullest clay, but raised by inward
forces to that place of proud and seemingly inaccessible glory.

But the geologist is right; and due reflection on his teachings, instead
of diminishing our reverence and our wonder, adds all the force
of intellectual sublimity to the mere aesthetic intuition of the
uninstructed beholder.

And after passion and prejudice have died away, the same result will
attend the teachings of the naturalist respecting that great Alps
and Andes of the living world--Man. Our reverence for the nobility of
manhood will not be lessened by the knowledge that Man is, in substance
and in structure, one with the brutes; for, he alone possesses the
marvellous endowment of intelligible and rational speech, whereby,
in the secular period of his existence, he has slowly accumulated and
organized the experience which is almost wholly lost with the cessation
of every individual life in other animals; so that now he stands raised
upon it as on a mountain top, far above the level of his humble fellows,
and transfigured from his grosser nature by reflecting, here and there,
a ray from the infinite source of truth.




A SUCCINCT HISTORY OF THE CONTROVERSY RESPECTING THE CEREBRAL STRUCTURE OF MAN AND THE APES.

Up to the year 1857 all anatomists of authority, who had occupied
themselves with the cerebral structure of the Apes--Cuvier, Tiedemann,
Sandifort, Vrolik, Isidore G. St. Hilaire, Schroeder van der Kolk,
Gratiolet--were agreed that the brain of the Apes possesses a POSTERIOR
LOBE.

Tiedemann, in 1825, figured and acknowledged in the text of his 'Icones'
the existence of the POSTERIOR CORNU of the lateral ventricle in
the Apes, not only under the title of 'Scrobiculus parvus loco cornu
posterioris'--a fact which has been paraded--but as 'cornu posterius'
('Icones', p. 54), a circumstance which has been, as sedulously, kept in
the background.

Cuvier ('Lecons', T. iii. p. 103) says, "the anterior or lateral
ventricles possess a digital cavity (posterior cornu) only in Man and
the Apes...its presence depends on that of the posterior lobes."

Schroeder van der Kolk and Vrolik, and Gratiolet, had also figured and
described the posterior cornu in various Apes. As to the HIPPOCAMPUS
MINOR Tiedemann had erroneously asserted its absence in the Apes; but
Schroeder van der Kolk and Vrolik had pointed out the existence of what
they considered a rudimentary one in the Chimpanzee, and Gratiolet had
expressly affirmed its existence in these animals. Such was the state of
our information on these subjects in the year 1856.

In the year 1857, however, Professor Owen, either in ignorance of these
well-known facts or else unjustifiably suppressing them, submitted to
the Linnaean Society a paper "On the Characters, Principles of Division,
and Primary Groups of the Class Mammalia," which was printed in the
Society's Journal, and contains the following passage:--"In Man,
the brain presents an ascensive step in development, higher and
more strongly marked than that by which the preceding sub-class
was distinguished from the one below it. Not only do the cerebral
hemispheres overlap and the olfactory lobes and cerebellum, but they
extend in advance of the one and further back than the other. The
posterior development is so marked, that anatomists have assigned to
that part the character of a third lobe; 'it is peculiar to the
genus <DW25>, and equally peculiar is the posterior horn of the lateral
ventricle and the 'hippocampus minor,' which characterise the hind
lobe of each hemisphere'."--'Journal of the Proceedings of the Linnaean
Society, Vol. ii. p. 19.

As the essay in which this passage stands had no less ambitious an aim
than the remodelling of the classification of the Mammalia, its
author might be supposed to have written under a sense of peculiar
responsibility, and to have tested, with especial care, the statements
he ventured to promulgate. And even if this be expecting too much,
hastiness, or want of opportunity for due deliberation, cannot now be
pleaded in extenuation of any shortcomings; for the propositions cited
were repeated two years afterwards in the Reade Lecture, delivered
before so grave a body as the University of Cambridge, in 1859.

When the assertions, which I have italicised in the above extract,
first came under my notice, I was not a little astonished at so flat a
contradiction of the doctrines current among well-indormed anatomists;
but, not unnaturally imagining that the deliberate statements of a
responsible person must have some foundation in fact, I deemed it my
duty to investigate the subject anew before the time at which it
would be my business to lecture thereupon came round. The result of my
inquiries was to prove that Mr. Owen's three assertions, that "the third
lobe, the posterior horn of the lateral ventricle, and the hippocampus
minor," are "peculiar to the genus '<DW25>'," are contrary to the plainest
facts. I communicated this conclusion to the students of my class;
and then, having no desire to embark in a controversy which could not
redound to the honour of British science, whatever its issue, I turned
to more congenial occupations.

The time speedily arrived, however, when a persistence in this reticence
would have involved me in an unworthy paltering with truth.

At the meeting of the British Association at Oxford, in 1860, Professor
Owen repeated these assertions in my presence, and, of course, I
immediately gave them a direct and unqualified contradiction, pledging
myself to justify that unusual procedure elsewhere. I redeemed that
pledge by publishing, in the January number of the 'Natural History
Review' for 1861, an article wherein the truth of the three following
propositions was fully demonstrated (l. c. p. 71):--

"1. That the third lobe is neither peculiar to, nor characteristic of,
man, seeing that it exists in all the higher quadrumana."

"2. That the posterior cornu of the lateral ventricle is neither
peculiar to, nor characteristic of, man, inasmuch as it also exists in
the higher quadrumana."

"3. That the 'hippocampus minor' is neither peculiar to, nor
characteristic of, man, as it is found in certain of the higher
quadrumana."

Furthermore, this paper contains the following paragraph (p. 76):

"And lastly, Schroeder van der Kolk and Vrolik (op. cit. p. 271), though
they particularly note that 'the lateral ventricle is distinguished from
that of Man by the very defective proportions of the posterior cornu,
wherein only a stripe is visible as an indication of the hippocampus
minor;' yet the Figure 4, in their second Plate, shows that this
posterior cornu is a perfectly distinct and unmistakeable structure,
quite as large as it often is in Man. It is the more remarkable that
Professor Owen should have overlooked the explicit statement and figure
of these authors, as it is quite obvious, on comparison of the figures,
that his woodcut of the brain of a Chimpanzee (l. c. p. 19) is a reduced
copy of the second figure of Messrs. Schroeder van der Kolk and Vrolik's
first Plate.

"As M. Gratiolet (l. c. p. 18), however is careful to remark,
'unfortunately the brain which they have taken as a model was greatly
altered (profondement affaisse), whence the general form of the brain
is given in these plates in a manner which is altogether incorrect.'
Indeed, it is perfectly obvious, from a comparison of a section of the
skull of the Chimpanzee with these figures, that such is the case; and
it is greatly to be regretted that so inadequate a figure should have
been taken as a typical representation of the Chimpanzee's brain."

From this time forth, the untenability of his position might have been
as apparent to Professor Owen as it was to every one else; but, so far
from retracting the grave errors into which he had fallen, Professor
Owen has persisted in and reiterated them; first, in a lecture delivered
before the Royal Institution on the 19th of March, 1861, which is
admitted to have been accurately reproduced in the 'Athenaeum' for the
23rd of the same month, in a letter addressed by Professor Owen to that
journal on the 30th of March. The 'Athenaeum report was accompanied by
a diagram purporting to represent a Gorilla's brain, but in reality so
extraordinary a misrepresentation, that Professor Owen substantially,
though not explicitly, withdraws it in the letter in question. In
amending this error, however, Professor Owen fell into another of
much graver import, as his communication concludes with the following
paragraph: "For the true proportion in which the cerebrum covers the
cerebellum in the highest Apes, reference should be made to the figure
of the undissected brain of the Chimpanzee in my 'Reade's Lecture on the
Classification, etc., of the Mammalia', p. 25, Figure 7, 8 vo. 1859."

It would not be credible, if it were not unfortunately true, that this
figure, to which the trusting public is referred, without a word of
qualification, "for the true proportion in which the cerebrum covers the
cerebellum in the highest Apes," is exactly that unacknowledged copy of
Schroeder van der Kolk and Vrolik's figure whose utter inaccuracy had
been pointed out years before by Gratiolet, and had been brought to
Professor Owen's knowledge by myself in the passage of my article in the
'Natural History Review' above quoted.

I drew public attention to this circumstance again in my reply to
Professor Owen, published in the 'Athenaeum' for April 13th, 1861; but
the exploded figure was reproduced once more by Professor Owen, without
the slightest allusion to its inaccuracy, in the 'Annals of Natural
History' for June 1861!

This proved too much for the patience of the original authors of the
figure, Messrs. Schroeder van der Kolk and Vrolik, who, in a note
addressed to the Academy of Amsterdam, of which they were members,
declared themselves to be, though decided opponents of all forms of the
doctrine of progressive development, above all things, lovers of truth:
and that, therefore, at whatever risk of seeming to lend support to
views which they disliked, they felt it their duty to take the first
opportunity of publicly repudiating Professor Owen's misuse of their
authority.

In this note they frankly admitted the justice of the criticisms of
M. Gratiolet, quoted above, and they illustrated, by new and careful
figures, the posterior lobe, the posterior cornu, and the hippocampus
minor of the Orang. Furthermore, having demonstrated the parts, at
one of the sittings of the Academy, they add, "la presence des parties
contestees y a ete universellement reconnue par les anatomistes presents
a la seance. Le seul doute qui soit reste se rapporte au pes Hippocampi
minor...A l'etat frais l'indice du petit pied d'Hippocampe etait plus
prononce que maintenant."

Professor Owen repeated his erroneous assertions at the meeting of the
British Association in 1861, and again, without any obvious necessity,
and without adducing a single new fact or new argument, or being able
in any way to meet the crushing evidence from original dissections of
numerous Apes' brains, which had in the meanwhile been brought forward
by Prof. Rolleston,* ([Footnote] *On the Affinities of the Brain of
the Orang. 'Nat. Hist. Review', April, 1861.) F.R.S., Mr. Marshall,*
([Footnote] *On the Brain of a young Chimpanzee. 'Ibid.', July, 1861.)
F.R.S., Mr. Flower,* ([Footnote] *On the Posterior lobes of the Cerebrum
of the Quadrumana. 'Philosophical Transactions', 1862.) Mr. Turner,*
([Footnote] *On the anatomical Relations of the Surfaces of the
Tentorium to the Cerebrum and Cerebellum in Man and the lower Mammals.
'Proceedings of the Royal Society of Edinburgh', March, 1862.) and
myself,* ([Footnote] *On the Brain of Ateles. 'Proceedings of Zoological
Society', 1861.) revived the subject at the Cambridge meeting of the
same body in 1862. Not content with the tolerably vigorous repudiation
which these unprecedented proceedings met with in Section D, Professor
Owen sanctioned the publication of a version of his own statements,
accompanied by a strange misrepresentation of mine (as may be seen by
comparison of the 'Times' report of the discussion), in the 'Medical
Times' for October 11th, 1862. I subjoin the conclusion of my reply in
the same journal for October 25th.

"If this were a question of opinion, or a question of interpretation of
parts or of terms,--were it even a question of observation in which
the testimony of my own senses alone was pitted against that of another
person, I should adopt a very different tone in discussing this matter.
I should, in all humility, admit the likelihood of having myself erred
in judgment, failed in knowledge, or been blinded by prejudice.

"But no one pretends now, that the controversy is one of the terms or
of opinions. Novel and devoid of authority as some of Professor Owen's
proposed definitions may have been, they might be accepted without
changing the great features of the case. Hence though special
investigations into these matters have been undertaken during the last
two years by Dr. Allen Thomson, by Dr. Rolleston, by Mr. Marshall,
and by Mr. Flower, all, as you are aware, anatomists of repute in this
country, and by Professors Schroeder Van der Kolk, and Vrolik (whom
Professor Owen incautiously tried to press into his own service) on
the Continent, all these able and conscientious observers have with
one accord testified to the accuracy of my statements, and to the utter
baselessness of the assertions of Professor Owen. Even the venerable
Rudolph Wagner, whom no man will accuse of progressionist proclivities,
has raised his voice on the same side; while not a single anatomist,
great or small, has supported Professor Owen.

"Now, I do not mean to suggest that scientific differences should be
settled by universal suffrage, but I do conceive that solid proofs must
be met by something more than empty and unsupported assertions. Yet
during the two years through which this preposterous controversy has
dragged its weary length, Professor Owen has not ventured to bring
forward a single preparation in support of his often-repeated
assertions.

"The case stands thus, therefore:--Not only are the statements made by
me in consonance with the doctrines of the best older authorities,
and with those of all recent investigators, but I am quite ready to
demonstrate them on the first monkey that comes to hand; while Professor
Owen's assertions are not only in diametrical opposition to both old
and new authorities, but he has not produced, and, I will add, cannot
produce, a single preparation which justifies them."

I now leave this subject, for the present.--For the credit of my
calling I should be glad to be, hereafter, for ever silent upon it. But,
unfortunately, this is a matter upon which, after all that has occurred,
no mistake or confusion of terms is possible--and in affirming that the
posterior lobe, the posterior cornu, and the hippocampus minor exist in
certain Apes, I am stating either that which is true, or that which
I must know to be false. The question has thus become one of personal
veracity. For myself, I will accept no other issue than this, grave as
it is, to the present controversy.

End of On the Relations of Man to the Lower Animals.




ON SOME FOSSIL REMAINS OF MAN.

I have endeavoured to show, in the preceding Essay, that the ANTHROPINI,
or Man Family, form a very well defined group of the Primates, between
which and the immediately following Family, the CATARHINI, there is, in
the existing world, the same entire absence of any transitional form or
connecting link, as between the CATARHINI and PLATYRHINI.

It is a commonly received doctrine, however, that the structural
intervals between the various existing modifications of organic beings
may be diminished, or even obliterated, if we take into account the long
and varied succession of animals and plants which have preceded those
now living and which are known to us only by their fossilized remains.
How far this doctrine is well based, how far, on the other hand, as our
knowledge at present stands, it is an overstatement of the real facts of
the case, and an exaggeration of the conclusions fairly deducible from
them, are points of grave importance, but into the discussion of which
I do not, at present, propose to enter. It is enough that such a view of
the relations of extinct to living beings has been propounded, to lead
us to inquire, with anxiety, how far the recent discoveries of human
remains in a fossil state bear out, or oppose, that view.

I shall confine myself, in discussing this question, to those
fragmentary Human skulls from the caves of Engis in the valley of
the Meuse, in Belgium, and of the Neanderthal near Dusseldorf, the
geological relations of which have been examined with so much care
by Sir Charles Lyell; upon whose high authority I shall take it for
granted, that the Engis skull belonged to a contemporary of the Mammoth
('Elephas primigenius') and of the woolly Rhinoceros ('Rhinoceros
tichorhinus'), with the bones of which it was found associated; and that
the Neanderthal skull is of great, though uncertain, antiquity. Whatever
be the geological age of the latter skull, I conceive it is quite safe
(on the ordinary principles of paleontological reasoning) to assume
that the former takes us to, at least, the further side of the vague
biological limit, which separates the present geological epoch from
that which immediately preceded it. And there can be no doubt that the
physical geography of Europe has changed wonderfully, since the bones
of Men and Mammoths, Hyaenas and Rhinoceroses were washed pell-mell into
the cave of Engis.

The skull from the cave of Engis was originally discovered by Professor
Schmerling, and was described by him, together with other human remains
disinterred at the same time, in his valuable work, 'Recherches sur les
ossemens fossiles decouverts dans les cavernes de la Province de Liege',
published in 1833 (p. 59, et seq.), from which the following paragraphs
are extracted, the precise expressions of the author being, as far as
possible, preserved.

"In the first place, I must remark that these human remains, which are
in my possession, are characterized like thousands of bones which I have
lately been disinterring, by the extent of the decomposition which
they have undergone, which is precisely the same as that of the extinct
species: all, with a few exceptions, are broken; some few are rounded,
as is frequently found to be the case in fossil remains of other
species. The fractures are vertical or oblique; none of them are eroded;
their colour does not differ from that of other fossil bones, and varies
from whitish yellow to blackish. All are lighter than recent bones, with
the exception of those which have a calcareous incrustation, and the
cavities of which are filled with such matter.

"The cranium which I have caused to be figured, Plate I., Figs. 1, 2, is
that of an old person. The sutures are beginning to be effaced: all the
facial bones are wanting, and of the temporal bones only a fragment of
that of the right side is preserved.

"The face and the base of the cranium had been detached before the
skull was deposited in the cave, for we were unable to find those parts,
though the whole cavern was regularly searched. The cranium was met with
at a depth of a metre and a half (five feet nearly), hidden under
an osseous breccia, composed of the remains of small animals, and
containing one rhinoceros tusk, with several teeth of horses and of
ruminants. This breccia, which has been spoken of above (p. 30), was a
metre (3 1/4 feet about) wide, and rose to the height of a metre and
a half above the floor of the cavern, to the walls of which it adhered
strongly.

"The earth which contained this human skull exhibited no trace of
disturbance: teeth of rhinoceros, horse, hyaena, and bear, surrounded it
on all sides.

(FIGURE 22.--The skull from the cave of Engis--viewed from the
right side. 'a' glabella, 'b' occipital protuberance, ('a' to 'b'
glabello-occipital line), 'c' auditory foramen.)

"The famous Blumenbach* has directed attention to the differences
presented by the form and the dimensions of human crania of different
races. This important work would have assisted us greatly, if the
face, a part essential for the determination of race, with more or less
accuracy, had not been wanting in our fossil cranium.

([Footnote] *Decas Collectionis suae craniorum diversarum gentium
illustrata. Gottingae, 1790-1820.

"We are convinced that even if the skull had been complete, it would not
have been possible to pronounce, with certainty, upon a single specimen;
for individual variations are so numerous in the crania of one and the
same race, that one cannot, without laying oneself open to large chances
of error, draw any inference from a single fragment of a cranium to the
general form of the head to which it belonged.

"Nevertheless, in order to neglect no point respecting the form of this
fossil skull, we may observe that, from the first, the elongated and
narrow form of the forehead attracted our attention.

"In fact, the slight elevation of the frontal, its narrowness, and
the form of the orbit, approximate it more nearly to the cranium of
an Ethiopian than to that of an European: the elongated form and the
produced occiput are also characters which we believe to be observable
in our fossil cranium; but to remove all doubt upon that subject I have
caused the contours of the cranium of an European and of an Ethiopian to
be drawn and the foreheads represented. Plate II., Figs. 1 and 2, and,
in the same plate, Figs. 3 and 4, will render the differences easily
distinguishable; and a single glance at the figures will be more
instructive than a long and wearisome description.

"At whatever conclusion we may arrive as to the origin of the man from
whence this fossil skull proceeded, we may express an opinion without
exposing ourselves to a fruitless controversy. Each may adopt the
hypothesis which seems to him most probable: for my own part, I hold it
to be demonstrated that this cranium has belonged to a person of limited
intellectual faculties, and we conclude thence that it belonged to a
man of a low degree of civilization: a deduction which is borne out
by contrasting the capacity of the frontal with that of the occipital
region.

"Another cranium of a young individual was discovered in the floor of
the cavern beside the tooth of an elephant; the skull was entire when
found, but the moment it was lifted it fell into pieces, which I have
not, as yet, been able to put together again. But I have represented the
bones of the upper jaw, Plate I., Figure 5. The state of the alveoli and
the teeth, shows that the molars had not yet pierced the gum. Detached
milk molars and some fragments of a human skull proceed from this same
place. The Figure 3 represents a human superior incisor tooth, the size
of which is truly remarkable.* ([Footnote] *In a subsequent passage,
Schmerling remarks upon the occurrence of an incisor tooth 'of enormous
size' from the caverns of Engihoul. The tooth figured is somewhat long,
but its dimensions do not appear to me to be otherwise remarkable.)

"Figure 4 is a fragment of a superior maxillary bone, the molar teeth of
which are worn down to the roots.

"I possess two vertebrae, a first and last dorsal.

"A clavicle of the left side (see Plate III., Figure 1); although it
belonged to a young individual, this bone shows that he must have been
of great stature.* ([Footnote] *The figure of this clavicle measures 5
inches from end to end in a straight line--so that the bone is rather a
small than a large one.)

"Two fragments of the radius, badly preserved, do not indicate that the
height of the man, to whom they belonged, exceeded five feet and a half.

"As to the remains of the upper extremities, those which are in my
possession consist merely of a fragment of an ulna and of a radius
(Plate III., Figs. 5 and 6).

"Figure 2, Plate IV., represents a metacarpal bone, contained in the
breccia, of which we have spoken; it was found in the lower part above
the cranium: add to this some metacarpal bones, found at very different
distances, half-a-dozen metatarsals, three phalanges of the hand, and
one of the foot.

"This is a brief enumeration of the remains of human bones collected
in the cavern of Engis, which has preserved for us the remains of three
individuals, surrounded by those of the Elephant, of the Rhinoceros, and
of Carnivora of species unknown in the present creation."

From the cave of Engihoul, opposite that of Engis, on the right bank of
the Meuse, Schmerling obtained the remains of three other individuals
of Man, among which were only two fragments of parietal bones, but many
bones of the extremities. In one case a broken fragment of an ulna
was soldered to a like fragment of a radius by stalagmite, a condition
frequently observed among the bones of the Cave Bear ('Ursus spelaeus'),
found in the Belgian caverns.

It was in the cavern of Engis that Professor Schmerling found, incrusted
with stalagmite and joined to a stone, the pointed bone implement, which
he has figured in Figure 7 of his Plate XXXVI., and worked flints were
found by him in all those Belgian caves, which contained an abundance of
fossil bones.

A short letter from M. Geoffroy St. Hilaire, published in the 'Comptes
Rendus' of the Academy of Sciences of Paris, for July 2nd, 1838, speaks
of a visit (and apparently a very hasty one) paid to the collection of
Professor 'Schermidt' (which is presumably a misprint for Schmerling)
at Liege. The writer briefly criticises the drawings which illustrate
Schmerling's work, and affirms that the "human cranium is a little
longer than it is represented" in Schmerling's figure. The only other
remark worth quoting is this:--"The aspect of the human bones differs
little from that of the cave bones, with which we are familiar, and of
which there is a considerable collection in the same place. With respect
to their special forms, compared with those of the varieties of recent
human crania, few 'certain' conclusions can be put forward; for
much greater differences exist between the different specimens of
well-characterized varieties, than between the fossil cranium of Liege
and that of one of those varieties selected as a term of comparison."

Geoffroy St. Hilaire's remarks are, it will be observed, little but an
echo of the philosophic doubts of the describer and discoverer of the
remains. As to the critique upon Schmerling's figures, I find that the
side view given by the latter is really about 3/10ths of an inch shorter
than the original, and that the front view is diminished to about
the same extent. Otherwise the representation is not, in any way,
inaccurate, but corresponds very well with the cast which is in my
possession.

A piece of the occipital bone, which Schmerling seems to have missed,
has since been fitted on to the rest of the cranium by an accomplished
anatomist, Dr. Spring, of Liege, under whose direction an excellent
plaster cast was made for Sir Charles Lyell. It is upon and from a
duplicate of that cast that my own observations and the accompanying
figures, the outlines of which are copied from very accurate Camera
lucida drawings, by my friend Mr. Busk, reduced to one-half of the
natural size, are made.

As Professor Schmerling observes, the base of the skull is destroyed,
and the facial bones are entirely absent; but the roof of the cranium,
consisting of the frontal, parietal, and the greater part of the
occipital bones, as far as the middle of the occipital foramen, is
entire or nearly so. The left temporal bone is wanting. Of the right
temporal, the parts in the immediate neighbourhood of the auditory
foramen, the mastoid process, and a considerable portion of the squamous
element of the temporal are well preserved (Figure 22).

The lines of fracture which remain between the coadjusted pieces of the
skull, and are faithfully displayed in Schmerling's figure, are readily
traceable in the cast. The sutures are also discernible, but the complex
disposition of their serrations, shown in the figure, is not obvious
in the cast. Though the ridges which give attachment to muscles are not
excessively prominent, they are well marked, and taken together with
the apparently well developed frontal sinuses, and the condition of the
sutures, leave no doubt on my mind that the skull is that of an adult,
if not middle-aged man.

The extreme length of the skull is 7.7 inches. Its extreme breadth,
which corresponds very nearly with the interval between the parietal
protuberances, is not more than 5.4 inches. The proportion of the length
to the breadth is therefore very nearly as 100 to 70. If a line be drawn
from the point at which the brow curves in towards the root of the nose,
and which is called the 'glabella' ('a') (Figure 22), to the occipital
protuberance ('b'), and the distance to the highest point of the arch of
the skull be measured perpendicularly from this line, it will be
found to be 4.75 inches. Viewed from above, Figure 23, A, the forehead
presents an evenly rounded curve, and passes into the contour of
the sides and back of the skull, which describes a tolerably regular
elliptical curve.

The front view (Figure 23, B) shows that the roof of the skull was very
regularly and elegantly arched in the transverse direction, and that the
transverse diameter was a little less below the parietal protuberances,
than above them. The forehead cannot be called narrow in relation to the
rest of the skull, nor can it be called a retreating forehead; on the
contrary, the antero-posterior contour of the skull is well arched, so
that the distance along that contour, from the nasal depression to the
occipital protuberance, measures about 13.75 inches. The transverse arc
of the skull, measured from one auditory foramen to the other, across
the middle of the sagittal suture, is about 13 inches. The sagittal
suture itself is 5.5 inches long.

The supraciliary prominences or brow-ridges (on each side of 'a', Figure
22) are well, but not excessively, developed, and are separated by a
median depression. Their principal elevation is disposed so obliquely
that I judge them to be due to large frontal sinuses.

If a line joining the glabella and the occipital protuberance ('a', 'b',
Figure 22) be made horizontal, no part of the occipital region projects
more than 1/10th of an inch behind the posterior extremity of that line,
and the upper edge of the auditory foramen ('c') is almost in contact
with a line drawn parallel with this upon the outer surface of the
skull.

A transverse line drawn from one auditory foramen to the other
traverses, as usual, the forepart of the occipital foramen. The capacity
of the interior of this fragmentary skull has not been ascertained.

The history of the Human remains from the cavern in the Neanderthal
may best be given in the words of their original describer, Dr
Schaaffhausen,* as translated by Mr. Busk. ([Footnote] *ON THE CRANIA OF
THE MOST ANCIENT RACES OF MAN. By Professor D. Schaaffhausen, of Bonn.
(From Muller's 'Archiv.', 1858, pp. 453.) With Remarks, and original
Figures, taken from a Cast of the Neanderthal Cranium. By George Busk,
F.R.S., etc. 'Natural History Review'. April, 1861.)

"In the early part of the year 1857, a human skeleton was discovered in
a limestone cave in the Neanderthal, near Hochdal, between Dusseldorf
and Elberfeld. Of this, however, I was unable to procure more than a
plaster cast of the cranium, taken at Elberfeld, from which I drew up
an account of its remarkable conformation, which was, in the first
instance, read on the 4th of February, 1857, at the meeting of the
Lower Rhine Medical and Natural History Society, at Bonn.* ([Footnote]
*'Verhandl. d. Naturhist.' Vereins der Preuss. Rheinlande und
Westphalens., xiv. Bonn, 1857.)

Subsequently Dr. Fuhlrott, to whom science is indebted for the
preservation of these bones, which were not at first regarded as human,
and into whose possession they afterwards came, brought the cranium from
Elberfeld to Bonn, and entrusted it to me for more accurate anatomical
examination. At the General Meeting of the Natural History Society of
Prussian Rhineland and Westphalia, at Bonn, on the 2nd of June, 1857,*
Dr Fuhlrott himself gave a full account of the locality, and of the
circumstances under which the discovery was made. ([Footnote] *'Ib.
Correspondenzblatt. No. 2.)

He was of opinion that the bones might be regarded as fossil; and in
coming to this conclusion, he laid especial stress upon the existence of
dendritic deposits, with which their surface was covered, and which
were first noticed upon them by Professor Meyer. To this communication
I appended a brief report on the results of my anatomical examination
of the bones. The conclusions at which I arrived were:--1st. That
the extraordinary form of the skull was due to a natural conformation
hitherto not known to exist, even in the most barbarous races. 2nd. That
these remarkable human remains belonged to a period antecedent to the
time of the Celts and Germans, and were in all probability derived
from one of the wild races of North-western Europe, spoken of by Latin
writers; and which were encountered as autochthones by the German
immigrants. And 3rdly. That it was beyond doubt that these human relics
were traceable to a period at which the latest animals of the diluvium
still existed; but that no proof of this assumption, nor consequently
of their so-termed 'fossil' condition, was afforded by the circumstances
under which the bones were discovered.

(FIGURE 23.--The Engis skull viewed from above (A) and in front (B).)

"As Dr. Fuhlrott has not yet published his description of these
circumstances, I borrow the following account of them from one of his
letters. 'A small cave or grotto, high enough to admit a man, and about
15 feet deep from the entrance, which is 7 or 8 feet wide, exists in
the southern wall of the gorge of the Neanderthal, as it is termed, at a
distance of about 100 feet from the Dussel, and about 60 feet above
the bottom of the valley. In its earlier and uninjured condition, this
cavern opened upon a narrow plateau lying in front of it, and from which
the rocky wall descended almost perpendicularly into the river. It could
be reached, though with difficulty, from above. The uneven floor was
covered to a thickness of 4 or 5 feet with a deposit of mud, sparingly
intermixed with rounded fragments of chert. In the removing of this
deposit, the bones were discovered. The skull was first noticed, placed
nearest to the entrance of the cavern; and further in, the other bones,
lying in the same horizontal plane. Of this I was assured, in the most
positive terms, by two labourers who were employed to clear out the
grotto, and who were questioned by me on the spot. At first no idea was
entertained of the bones being human; and it was not till several weeks
after their discovery that they were recognised as such by me, and
placed in security. But, as the importance of the discovery was not at
the time perceived, the labourers were very careless in the collecting,
and secured chiefly only the larger bones; and to this circumstance it
may be attributed that fragments merely of the probably perfect skeleton
came into my possession'

"My anatomical examination of these bones afforded the following
results:--

"The cranium is of unusual size, and of a long elliptical form. A
most remarkable peculiarity is at once obvious in the extraordinary
development of the frontal sinuses, owing to which the superciliary
ridges, which coalesce completely in the middle, are rendered so
prominent, that the frontal bone exhibits a considerable hollow or
depression above, or rather behind them, whilst a deep depression is
also formed in the situation of the root of the nose. The forehead is
narrow and low, though the middle and hinder portions of the cranial
arch are well developed. Unfortunately, the fragment of the skull that
has been preserved consists only of the portion situated above the
roof of the orbits and the superior occipital ridges, which are greatly
developed, and almost conjoined so as to form a horizontal eminence. It
includes almost the whole of the frontal bone, both parietals, a small
part of the squamous and the upper-third of the occipital. The recently
fractured surfaces show that the skull was broken at the time of its
disinterment. The cavity holds 16,876 grains of water, whence its
cubical contents may be estimated at 57.64 inches, or 1033.24 cubic
centimetres. In making this estimation, the water is supposed to stand
on a level with the orbital plate of the frontal, with the deepest
notch in the squamous margin of the parietal, and with the superior
semicircular ridges of the occipital. Estimated in dried millet-seed,
the contents equalled 31 ounces, Prussian Apothecaries' weight. The
semicircular line indicating the upper boundary of the attachment of the
temporal muscle, though not very strongly marked, ascends nevertheless
to more than half the height of the parietal bone. On the right
superciliary ridge is observable an oblique furrow or depression,
indicative of an injury received during life.* ([Footnote] *This, Mr.
Busk has pointed out, is probably the notch for the frontal nerve.) The
coronal and sagittal sutures are on the exterior nearly closed, and on
the inside so completely ossified as to have left no traces whatever,
whilst the lambdoidal remains quite open. The depressions for the
Pacchionian glands are deep and numerous; and there is an unusually
deep vascular groove immediately behind the coronal suture, which, as it
terminates in the foramen, no doubt transmitted a 'vena emissaria'. The
course of the frontal suture is indicated externally by a slight
ridge; and where it joins the coronal, this ridge rises into a small
protuberance. The course of the sagittal suture is grooved, and above
the angle of the occipital bone the parietals are depressed.

[Column 1: Anatomical Feature, Column 2: Measurement in] millimetres.*

([Footnote] *The numbers in brackets are those which I should assign to
the different measures, as taken from the plaster cast.--G. B.)

The length of the skull from the nasal process of the frontal over
the vertex to the superior semicircular lines of the occipital
measures...303 (300) = 12.0".

Circumference over the orbital ridges and the superior semicircular
lines of the occipital...590 (590) = 23.37" or 23".

Width of the frontal from the middle of the temporal line on one side to
the same point on the opposite...104 (114) = 4.1"--4.5".

Length of the frontal from the nasal. process to the coronal
suture...133 (125) = 5.25"--5".

Extreme width of the frontal sinuses...25 (23) = 1.0"--0.9".

Vertical height above a line joining the deepest notches in the squamous
border of the parietals...70 = 2.75".

Width of hinder part of skull from one parietal protuberance to the
other...138 (150) = 5.4"--5.9"

Distance from the upper angle of the occipital to the superior
semicircular lines...51 (60) = 1.9"--2.4".

Thickness of the bone at the parietal protuberance...8.

--at the angle of the occipital...9.

--at the superior semicircular line of the occipital...10 = 0.3"

"Besides the cranium, the following bones have been secured:--

"1. Both thigh-bones, perfect. These, like the skull, and all the other
bones, are characterized by their unusual thickness, and the great
development of all the elevations and depressions for the attachment
of muscles. In the Anatomical Museum at Bonn, under the designation of
'Giant's-bones,' are some recent thigh-bones, with which in thickness
the foregoing pretty nearly correspond, although they are shorter.

[First value =] Giant's bones, [Second value =] Fossil bones in mm.

Length...542 = 21.4"...438 = 17.4".

Diameter of head of femur...54 = 2.14"...53 = 2.0".

Diameter of lower articular end, from one condyle to the other...89 =
3.5"...87 = 3.4".

Diameter of femur in the middle...33 = 1.2"...30 = 1.1".

"2. A perfect right humerus, whose size shows that it belongs to the
thigh-bones.

mm.

Length...312 = 12.3".

Thickness in the middle...26 = 1.0".

Diameter of head...49 = 1.9".

"Also a perfect right radius of corresponding dimensions, and the
upper-third of a right ulna corresponding to the humerus and radius.

"3. A left humerus of which the upper-third is wanting, and which is
so much slenderer than the right as apparently to belong to a distinct
individual; a left 'ulna', which, though complete, is pathologically
deformed, the coronoid process being so much enlarged by bony
growth, that flexure of the elbow beyond a right angle must have been
impossible; the anterior fossa of the humerus for the reception of the
coronoid process being also filled up with a similar bony growth. At
the same time, the olecranon is curved strongly downwards. As the bone
presents no sign of rachitic degeneration, it may be supposed that an
injury sustained during life was the cause of the anchylosis. When the
left ulna is compared with the right radius, it might at first sight be
concluded that the bones respectively belonged to different individuals,
the ulna being more than half an inch too short for articulation with a
corresponding radius. But it is clear that this shortening, as well
as the attenuation of the left humerus, are both consequent upon the
pathological condition above described.

"4. A left 'ilium', almost perfect, and belonging to the femur: a
fragment of the right 'scapula'; the anterior extremity of a rib of the
right side; and the same part of a rib of the left side; the hinder
part of a rib of the right side; and lastly, two hinder portions and one
middle portion of ribs, which from their unusually rounded shape, and
abrupt curvature, more resemble the ribs of a carnivorous animal than
those of a man. Dr. H. v. Meyer, however, to whose judgment I defer,
will not venture to declare them to be ribs of any animal; and it only
remains to suppose that this abnormal condition has arisen from an
unusually powerful development of the thoracic muscles.

"The bones adhere strongly to the tongue, although, as proved by the
use of hydrochloric acid, the greater part of the cartilage is still
retained in them, which appears, however, to have undergone that
transformation into gelatine which has been observed by v. Bibra in
fossil bones. The surface of all the bones is in many spots covered with
minute black specks, which, more especially under a lens, are seen to
be formed of very delicate 'dendrites'. These deposits, which were
first observed on the bones by Dr. Meyer, are most distinct on the inner
surface of the cranial bones. They consist of a ferruginous compound,
and, from their black colour, may be supposed to contain manganese.
Similar dendritic formations also occur, not unfrequently, on laminated
rocks, and are usually found in minute fissures and cracks. At the
meeting of the Lower Rhine Society at Bonn, on the 1st April, 1857,
Prof. Meyer stated that he had noticed in the museum of Poppelsdorf
similar dendritic crystallizations on several fossil bones of animals,
and particularly on those of 'Ursus spelaeus', but still more abundantly
and beautifully displayed on the fossil bones and teeth of 'Equus
adamiticus', 'Elephas primigenius', etc., from the caves of Bolve and
Sundwig. Faint indications of similar 'dendrites' were visible in a
Roman skull from Siegburg; whilst other ancient skulls, which had lain
for centuries in the earth, presented no trace of them.* ([Footnote]
*'Verh. des Naturhist'. Vereins in Bonn, xiv. 1857.)

I am indebted to H. v. Meyer for the following remarks on this
subject:--

'The incipient formation of dendritic deposits, which were formerly
regarded as a sign of a truly fossil condition, is interesting. It has
even been supposed that in diluvial deposits the presence of 'dendrites'
might be regarded as affording a certain mark of distinction between
bones mixed with the diluvium at a somewhat later period and the true
diluvial relics, to which alone it was supposed that these deposits were
confined. But I have long been convinced that neither can the absence of
'dendrites' be regarded as indicative of recent age, nor their presence
as sufficient to establish the great antiquity of the objects upon which
they occur. I have myself noticed upon paper, which could scarcely
be more than a year old, dendritic deposits, which could not be
distinguished from those on fossil bones. Thus I possess a dog's
skull from the Roman colony of the neighbouring Heddersheim, 'Castrum
Hadrianum', which is in no way distinguishable from the fossil bones
from the Frankish caves; it presents the same colour, and adheres to the
tongue just as they do; so that this character also, which, at a former
meeting of German naturalists at Bonn, gave rise to amusing scenes
between Buckland and Schmerling, is no longer of any value. In disputed
cases, therefore, the condition of the bone can scarcely afford the
means for determining with certainty whether it be fossil, that is to
say, whether it belong to geological antiquity or to the historical
period.'

"As we cannot now look upon the primitive world as representing a wholly
different condition of things, from which no transition exists to
the organic life of the present time, the designation of 'fossil', as
applied to 'a bone', has no longer the sense it conveyed in the time of
Cuvier. Sufficient grounds exist for the assumption that man coexisted
with the animals found in the 'diluvium'; and many a barbarous race may,
before all historical time, have disappeared, together with the animals
of the ancient world, whilst the races whose organization is improved
have continued the genus. The bones which form the subject of this paper
present characters which, although not decisive as regards a geological
epoch, are, nevertheless, such as indicate a very high antiquity. It may
also be remarked that, common as is the occurrence of diluvial animal
bones in the muddy deposits of caverns, such remains have not hitherto
been met with in the caves of the Neanderthal; and that the bones, which
were covered by a deposit of mud not more than four or five feet thick,
and without any protective covering of stalagmite, have retained the
greatest part of their organic substance.

"These circumstances might be adduced against the probability of a
geological antiquity. Nor should we be justified in regarding the
cranial conformation as perhaps representing the most savage primitive
type of the human race, since crania exist among living savages, which,
though not exhibiting, such a remarkable conformation of the forehead,
which gives the skull somewhat the aspect of that of the large apes,
still in other respects, as for instance in the greater depth of the
temporal fossae, the crest-like, prominent temporal ridges, and a
generally less capacious cranial cavity, exhibit an equally low stage
of development. There is no reason for supposing that the deep frontal
hollow is due to any artificial flattening, such as is practised in
various modes by barbarous nations in the Old and New World. The skull
is quite symmetrical, and shows no indication of counter-pressure at the
occiput, whilst, according to Morton, in the Flat-heads of the
Columbia, the frontal and parietal bones are always unsymmetrical. Its
conformation exhibits the sparing development of the anterior part of
the head which has been so often observed in very ancient crania, and
affords one of the most striking proofs of the influence of culture and
civilization on the form of the human skull."

In a subsequent passage, Dr. Schaaffhausen remarks:

"There is no reason whatever for regarding the unusual development of
the frontal sinuses in the remarkable skull from the Neanderthal as an
individual or pathological deformity; it is unquestionably a typical
race-character, and is physiologically connected with the uncommon
thickness of the other bones of the skeleton, which exceeds by about
one-half the usual proportions. This expansion of the frontal sinuses,
which are appendages of the air-passages, also indicates an unusual
force and power of endurance in the movements of the body, as may
be concluded from the size of all the ridges and processes for the
attachment of the muscles or bones. That this conclusion may be drawn
from the existence of large frontal sinuses, and a prominence of the
lower frontal region, is confirmed in many ways by other observations.
By the same characters, according to Pallas, the wild horse is
distinguished from the domesticated, and, according to Cuvier, the
fossil cave-bear from every recent species of bear, whilst, according
to Roulin, the pig, which has become wild in America, and regained a
resemblance to the wild boar, is thus distinguished from the same animal
in the domesticated state, as is the chamois from the goat; and,
lastly, the bull-dog, which is characterised by its large bones and
strongly-developed muscles from every other kind of dog. The estimation
of the facial angle, the determination of which, according to Professor
Owen, is also difficult in the great apes, owing to the very prominent
supra-orbital ridges, in the present case is rendered still more
difficult from the absence both of the auditory opening and of the nasal
spine. But if the proper horizontal position of the skull be taken from
the remaining portions of the orbital plates, and the ascending line
made to touch the surface of the frontal bone behind the prominent
supra-orbital ridges, the facial angle is not found to exceed 56
degrees.* ([Footnote] *Estimating the facial angle in the way suggested,
on the cast I should place it at 64 degrees to 67 degrees.--G. B.)
Unfortunately, no portions of the facial bones, whose conformation is
so decisive as regards the form and expression of the head, have been
preserved. The cranial capacity, compared with the uncommon strength
of the corporeal frame, would seem to indicate a small cerebral
development. The skull, as it is, holds about 31 ounces of millet-seed;
and as, from the proportionate size of the wanting bones, the whole
cranial cavity should have about 6 ounces more added, the contents, were
it perfect, may be taken at 37 ounces. Tiedemann assigns, as the cranial
contents in the <DW64>, 40, 38, and 35 ounces. The cranium holds rather
more than 36 ounces of water, which corresponds to a capacity of 1033.24
cubic centimetres. Huschke estimates the cranial contents of a Negress
at 1127 cubic centimetres; of an old <DW64> at 1146 cubic centimetres.
The capacity of the Malay skulls, estimated by water, equalled 36, 33
ounces, whilst in the diminutive Hindoos it falls to as little as 27
ounces."

After comparing the Neanderthal cranium with many others, ancient and
modern, Professor Schaaffhausen concludes thus:--

"But the human bones and cranium from the Neanderthal exceed all the
rest in those peculiarities of conformation which lead to the conclusion
of their belonging to a barbarous and savage race. Whether the cavern in
which they were found, unaccompanied with any trace of human art, were
the place of their interment, or whether, like the bones of extinct
animals elsewhere, they had been washed into it, they may still be
regarded as the most ancient memorial of the early inhabitants of
Europe."

Mr. Busk, the translator of Dr. Schaaffhausen's paper, has enabled us
to form a very vivid conception of the degraded character of the
Neanderthal skull, by placing side by side with its outline, that of the
skull of a Chimpanzee, drawn to the same absolute size.

Some time after the publication of the translation of Professor
Schaaffhausen's Memoir, I was led to study the cast of the Neanderthal
cranium with more attention than I had previously bestowed upon it,
in consequence of wishing to supply Sir Charles Lyell with a diagram,
exhibiting the special peculiarities of this skull, as compared with
other human skulls. In order to do this it was necessary to identify,
with precision, those points in the skulls compared which corresponded
anatomically. Of these points, the glabella was obvious enough; but when
I had distinguished another, defined by the occipital protuberance
and superior semicircular line, and had placed the outline of the
Neanderthal skull against that of the Engis skull, in such a position
that the glabella and occipital protuberance of both were intersected by
the same straight line, the difference was so vast and the flattening of
the Neanderthal skull so prodigious (compare Figs. 22 and 24, A.), that
I at first imagined I must have fallen into some error. And I was
the more inclined to suspect this, as, in ordinary human skulls, the
occipital protuberance and superior semicircular curved line on the
exterior of the occiput correspond pretty closely with the 'lateral
sinuses' and the line of attachment of the tentorium internally. But
on the tentorium rests, as I have said in the preceding Essay, the
posterior lobe of the brain; and hence, the occipital protuberance, and
the curved line in question, indicate, approximately, the lower limits
of that lobe. Was it possible for a human being to have the brain thus
flattened and depressed; or, on the other hand, had the muscular ridges
shifted their position? In order to solve these doubts, and to decide
the question whether the great supraciliary projections did, or did
not, arise from the development of the frontal sinuses, I requested Sir
Charles Lyell to be so good as to obtain for me from Dr. Fuhlrott, the
possessor of the skull, answers to certain queries, and if possible a
cast, or at any rate drawings, or photographs, of the interior of the
skull.

(FIGURE 24.--The skull from the Neanderthal cavern. A. side, B. front,
and C. top view. One-third the natural size, by Mr. Busk: the details
from the cast and from Dr. Fuhlrott's photographs. 'a' glabella; 'b'
occipital protuberance; 'd' lambdoidal suture.)

Dr. Fuhlrott replied with a courtesy and readiness for which I am
infinitely indebted to him, to my inquiries, and furthermore sent three
excellent photographs. One of these gives a side view of the skull,
and from it Figure 24, A. has been shaded. The second (Figure 25, A.)
exhibits the wide openings of the frontal sinuses upon the inferior
surface of the frontal part of the skull, into which, Dr. Fuhlrott
writes, "a probe may be introduced to the depth of an inch," and
demonstrates the great extension of the thickened supraciliary ridges
beyond the cerebral cavity. The third, lastly (Figure 25, B.) exhibits
the edge and the interior of the posterior, or occipital, part of
the skull, and shows very clearly the two depressions for the lateral
sinuses, sweeping inwards towards the middle line of the roof of the
skull, to form the longitudinal sinus. It was clear, therefore, that I
had not erred in my interpretation, and that the posterior lobe of
the brain of the Neanderthal man must have been as much flattened as I
suspected it to be.

In truth, the Neanderthal cranium has most extraordinary characters.
It has an extreme length of 8 inches, while its breadth is only 5.75
inches, or, in other words, its length is to its breadth as 100:72.
It is exceedingly depressed, measuring only about 3.4 inches from the
glabello-occipital line to the vertex. The longitudinal arc, measured
in the same way as in the Engis skull, is 12 inches; the transverse
arc cannot be exactly ascertained, in consequence of the absence of the
temporal bones, but was probably about the same, and certainly exceeded
10 1/4 inches. The horizontal circumference is 23 inches. But this
great circumference arises largely from the vast development of the
supraciliary ridges, though the perimeter of the brain case itself is
not small. The large supraciliary ridges give the forehead a far more
retreating appearance than its internal contour would bear out.

To an anatomical eye the posterior part of the skull is even more
striking than the anterior. The occipital protuberance occupies the
extreme posterior end of the skull, when the glabello-occipital line
is made horizontal, and so far from any part of the occipital region
extending beyond it, this region of the skull <DW72>s obliquely upward
and forward, so that the lambdoidal suture is situated well upon the
upper surface of the cranium. At the same time, notwithstanding the
great length of the skull, the sagittal suture is remarkably short (4
1/2 inches), and the squamosal suture is very straight.

(FIGURE 25.--Drawings from Dr. Fuhlrott's photographs of parts of the
interior of the Neanderthal cranium. A. view of the under and inner
surface of the frontal region, showing the inferior apertures of the
frontal sinuses ('a'). B. corresponding view of the occipital region of
the skull, showing the impressions of the lateral sinuses ('a a').)

In reply to my questions Dr. Fuhlrott writes that the occipital bone
"is in a state of perfect preservation as far as the upper semicircular
line, which is a very strong ridge, linear at its extremities, but
enlarging towards the middle, where it forms two ridges (bourrelets),
united by a linear continuation, which is slightly depressed in the
middle."

"Below the left ridge the bone exhibits an obliquely inclined surface,
six lines (French) long, and twelve lines wide."

This last must be the surface, the contour of which is shown in Figure
24, A., below 'b'. It is particularly interesting, as it suggests that,
notwithstanding the flattened condition of the occiput, the posterior
cerebral lobes must have projected considerably beyond the cerebellum,
and as it constitutes one among several points of similarity between the
Neanderthal cranium and certain Australian skulls.

Such are the two best known forms of human cranium, which have been
found in what may be fairly termed a fossil state. Can either be shown
to fill up or diminish, to any appreciable extent, the structural
interval which exists between Man and the man-like apes? Or, on the
other hand, does neither depart more widely from the average structure
of the human cranium, than normally formed skulls of men are known to do
at the present day?

It is impossible to form any opinion on these questions, without some
preliminary acquaintance with the range of variation exhibited by human
structure in general--a subject which has been but imperfectly studied,
while even of what is known, my limits will necessarily allow me to give
only a very imperfect sketch.

The student of anatomy is perfectly well aware that there is not a
single organ of the human body the structure of which does not vary, to
a greater or less extent, in different individuals. The skeleton varies
in the proportions, and even to a certain extent in the connexions, of
its constituent bones. The muscles which move the bones vary largely
in their attachments. The varieties in the mode of distribution of
the arteries are carefully classified, on account of the practical
importance of a knowledge of their shiftings to the surgeon. The
characters of the brain vary immensely, nothing being less constant than
the form and size of the cerebral hemispheres, and the richness of the
convolutions upon their surface, while the most changeable structures
of all in the human brain, are exactly those on which the unwise attempt
has been made to base the distinctive characters of humanity, viz. the
posterior cornu of the lateral ventricle, the hippocampus minor, and
the degree of projection of the posterior lobe beyond the cerebellum.
Finally, as all the world knows, the hair and skin of human beings may
present the most extraordinary diversities in colour and in texture.

So far as our present knowledge goes, the majority of the structural
varieties to which allusion is here made, are individual. The ape-like
arrangement of certain muscles which is occasionally met with* in the
white races of mankind, is not known to be more common among <DW64>s or
Australians: ([Footnote] *See an excellent Essay by Mr. Church on the
Myology of the Orang, in the 'Natural History Review', for 1861.) nor
because the brain of the Hottentot Venus was found to be smoother, to
have its convolutions more symmetrically disposed, and to be, so far,
more ape-like than that of ordinary Europeans, are we justified in
concluding a like condition of the brain to prevail universally among
the lower races of mankind, however probable that conclusion may be.

We are, in fact, sadly wanting in information respecting the disposition
of the soft and destructible organs of every Race of Mankind but our
own; and even of the skeleton, our Museums are lamentably deficient in
every part but the cranium. Skulls enough there are, and since the time
when Blumenbach and Camper first called attention to the marked and
singular differences which they exhibit, skull collecting and skull
measuring has been a zealously pursued branch of Natural History,
and the results obtained have been arranged and classified by various
writers, among whom the late active and able Retzius must always be the
first named.

Human skulls have been found to differ from one another, not merely in
their absolute size and in the absolute capacity of the brain case,
but in the proportions which the diameters of the latter bear to
one another; in the relative size of the bones of the face (and more
particularly of the jaws and teeth) as compared with those of the skull;
in the degree to which the upper jaw (which is of course followed by
the lower) is thrown backwards and downwards under the fore-part of
the brain case, or forwards and upward in front of and beyond it. They
differ further in the relations of the transverse diameter of the face,
taken through the cheek bones, to the transverse diameter of the skull;
in the more rounded or more gable-like form of the roof of the skull,
and in the degree to which the hinder part of the skull is flattened or
projects beyond the ridge, into and below which, the muscles of the neck
are inserted.

In some skulls the brain case may be said to be 'round,' the extreme
length not exceeding the extreme breadth by a greater proportion than
100 to 80, while the difference may be much less.* ([Footnote] *In
no normal human skull does the breadth of the brain-case exceed
its length.) Men possessing such skulls were termed by Retzius
'brachycephalic,' and the skull of a Calmuck, of which a front and
side view (reduced outline copies of which are given in Figure 26) are
depicted by Von Baer in his excellent, "Crania selecta," affords a very
admirable example of that kind of skull. Other skulls, such as that of
a <DW64> copied in Figure 27 from Mr. Busk's 'Crania typica,' have a very
different, greatly elongated form, and may be termed 'oblong.' In this
skull the extreme length is to the extreme breadth as 100 to not more
than 67, and the transverse diameter of the human skull may fall below
even this proportion. People having such skulls were called by Retzius
'dolichocephalic.'

The most cursory glance at the side views of these two skulls will
suffice to prove that they differ, in another respect, to a very
striking extent. The profile of the face of the Calmuck is almost
vertical, the facial bones being thrown downwards and under the forepart
of the skull. The profile of the face of the <DW64>, on the other hand,
is singularly inclined, the front part of the jaws projecting far
forward beyond the level of the fore part of the skull. In the former
case the skull is said to be 'orthognathous' or straight-jawed; in the
latter, it is called 'prognathous,' a term which has been rendered, with
more force than elegance, by the Saxon equivalent,--'snouty.'

Various methods have been devised in order to express with some accuracy
the degree of prognathism or orthognathism of any given skull; most of
these methods being essentially modifications of that devised by Peter
Camper, in order to attain what he called the 'facial angle.'

But a little consideration will show that any 'facial angle' that has
been devised, can be competent to express the structural modifications
involved in prognathism and orthognathism, only in a rough and general
sort of way. For the lines, the intersection of which forms the facial
angle, are drawn through points of the skull, the position of each
of which is modified by a number of circumstances, so that the angle
obtained is a complex resultant of all these circumstances, and is not
the expression of any one definite organic relation of the parts of the
skull.

(FIGURE 26.--Side and front views of the round and orthognathous skull
of a Calmuck, after Von Baer. One-third the natural size.)

I have arrived at the conviction that no comparison of crania is worth
very much, that is not founded upon the establishment of a relatively
fixed base line, to which the measurements, in all cases, must be
referred. Nor do I think it is a very difficult matter to decide what
that base line should be. The parts of the skull, like those of the rest
of the animal framework, are developed in succession the base of
the skull is formed before its sides and roof; it is converted into
cartilage earlier and more completely than the sides and roof: and the
cartilaginous base ossifies, and becomes soldered into one piece long
before the roof. I conceive then that the base of the skull may be
demonstrated developmentally to be its relatively fixed part, the roof
and sides being relatively moveable.

(FIGURE 27.--Oblong and prognathous skull of a <DW64>; side and front
views. One-third of the natural size.)

The same truth is exemplified by the study of the modifications which
the skull undergoes in ascending from the lower animals up to man.

(FIGURE 28.--Beaver, Lemur and Baboon. Longitudinal and vertical
sections of the skulls of a Beaver ('Castor Canadensis'), a Lemur ('L.
Catia'), and a Baboon ('Cynocephalus Papio'), 'a b', the basicranial
axis; 'b c', the occipital plane; 'i T', the tentorial plane; 'a d', the
olfactory plane; 'f e', the basifacial axis; 'c b a', occipital
angle; 'T i a', tentorial angle; 'd a b', olfactory angle; 'e f b',
cranio-facial angle; 'g h', extreme length of the cavity which lodges
the cerebral hemispheres or 'cerebral length.' The length of the
basicranial axis as to this length, or, in other words, the proportional
length of the line 'g h' to that of 'a b' taken as 100, in the three
skulls, is as follows:--Beaver 70 to 100; Lemur 119 to 100; Baboon 144
to 100. In an adult male Gorilla the cerebral length is as 170 to the
basicranial axis taken as 100, in the <DW64> (Figure 29) as 236 to 100.
In the Constantinople skull (Figure 29) as 266 to 100. The cranial
difference between the highest Ape's skull and the lowest Man's is
therefore very strikingly brought out by these measurements. In the
diagram of the Baboon's skull the dotted lines 'd1 d2', etc., give
the angles of the Lemur's and Beaver's skull, as laid down upon the
basicranial axis of the Baboon. The line 'a b' has the same length in
each diagram.)

In such a mammal as a Beaver (Figure 28), a line ('a b'.) drawn through
the bones, termed basioccipital, basisphenoid, and presphenoid, is very
long in proportion to the extreme length of the cavity which contains
the cerebral hemispheres ('g h'.). The plane of the occipital foramen
('b c'.) forms a slightly acute angle with this 'basicranial axis,'
while the plane of the tentorium ('i T'.) is inclined at rather more
than 90 degrees to the 'basicranial axis'; and so is the plane of the
perforated plate ('a d'.), by which the filaments of the olfactory
nerve leave the skull. Again, a line drawn through the axis of the face,
between the bones called ethmoid and vomer--the "basifacial axis" ('f
e'.) forms an exceedingly obtuse angle, where, when produced, it cuts
the 'basicranial axis.'

If the angle made by the line 'b c'. with 'a b'., be called the
'occipital angle,' and the angle made by the line 'a d'. with 'a b'. be
termed the 'olfactory angle,' and that made by 'i T'. with 'a b'. the
'tentorial angle,' then all these, in the mammal in question, are nearly
right angles, varying between 80 degrees and 110 degrees. The angle 'e f
b'., or that made by the cranial with the facial axis, and which may be
termed the 'cranio-facial angle,' is extremely obtuse, amounting, in the
case of the Beaver, to at least 150 degrees.

But if a series of sections of mammalian skulls, intermediate between a
Rodent and a Man (Figure 28), be examined, it will be found that in the
higher crania the basicranial axis becomes shorter relatively to the
cerebral length; that the 'olfactory angle' and 'occipital angle' become
more obtuse; and that the 'cranio-facial angle' becomes more acute by
the bending down, as it were, of the facial axis upon the cranial axis.
At the same time, the roof of the cranium becomes more and more arched,
to allow of the increasing height of the cerebral hemispheres, which is
eminently characteristic of man, as well as of that backward extension,
beyond the cerebellum, which reaches its maximum in the South America
Monkeys. So that, at last, in the human skull (Figure 29), the cerebral
length is between twice and thrice as great as the length of the
basicranial axis; the olfactory plane is 20 degrees or 30 degrees on the
'under' side of that axis; the occipital angle, instead of being
less than 90 degrees, is as much as 150 degrees or 160 degrees; the
cranio-facial angle may be 90 degrees or less, and the vertical height
of the skull may have a large proportion to its length.

It will be obvious, from an inspection of the diagrams, that the
basicranial axis is, in the ascending series of Mammalia, a relatively
fixed line, on which the bones of the sides and roof of the cranial
cavity, and of the face, may be said to revolve downwards and forwards
or backwards, according to their position. The arc described by any one
bone or plane, however, is not by any means always in proportion to the
arc described by another.

Now comes the important question, can we discern, between the lowest and
the highest forms of the human cranium anything answering, in however
slight a degree, to this revolution of the side and roof bones of the
skull upon the basicranial axis observed upon so great a scale in the
mammalian series? Numerous observations lead me to believe that we must
answer this question in the affirmative.

The diagrams in Figure 29 are reduced from very carefully made diagrams
of sections of four skulls, two round and orthognathous, two long and
prognathous, taken longitudinally and vertically, through the middle.
The sectional diagrams have then been superimposed, in such a manner,
that the basal axes of the skulls coincide by their anterior ends, and
in their direction. The deviations of the rest of the contours (which
represent the interior of the skulls only) show the differences of the
skulls from one another, when these axes are regarded as relatively
fixed lines.

The dark contours are those of an Australian and of a <DW64> skull: the
light contours are those of a Tartar skull, in the Museum of the Royal
College of Surgeons; and of a well developed round skull from a cemetery
in Constantinople, of uncertain race, in my own possession.

It appears, at once, from these views, that the prognathous skulls, so
far as their jaws are concerned, do really differ from the orthognathous
in much the same way as, though to a far less degree than, the skulls
of the lower mammals differ from those of Man. Furthermore, the plane
of the occipital foramen ('b c') forms a somewhat smaller angle with the
axis in these particular prognathous skulls than in the orthognathous;
and the like may be slightly true of the perforated plate of the
ethmoid--though this point is not so clear. But it is singular to remark
that, in another respect, the prognathous skulls are less ape-like than
the orthognathous, the cerebral cavity projecting decidedly more
beyond the anterior end of the axis in the prognathous, than in the
orthognathous, skulls.

It will be observed that these diagrams reveal an immense range of
variation in the capacity and relative proportion to the cranial axis,
of the different regions of the cavity which contains the brain, in
the different skulls. Nor is the difference in the extent to which the
cerebral overlaps the cerebellar cavity less singular. A round skull
(Figure 29, 'Const'.) may have a greater posterior cerebral projection
than a long one (Figure 29, '<DW64>').

Until human crania have been largely worked out in a manner similar to
that here suggested--until it shall be an opprobrium to an
ethnological collection to possess a single skull which is not bisected
longitudinally--until the angles and measurements here mentioned,
together with a number of others of which I cannot speak in this place,
are determined, and tabulated with reference to the basicranial axis as
unity, for large numbers of skulls of the different races of Mankind,
I do not think we shall have any very safe basis for that ethnological
craniology which aspires to give the anatomical characters of the crania
of the different Races of Mankind.

At present, I believe that the general outlines of what may be safely
said upon that subject may be summed up in a very few words. Draw a
line on a globe from the Gold Coast in Western Africa to the steppes
of Tartary. At the southern and western end of that line there live
the most dolichocephalic, prognathous, curly-haired, dark-skinned of
men--the true <DW64>s. At the northern and eastern end of the same line
there live the most brachycephalic, orthognathous, straight-haired,
yellow-skinned of men--the Tartars and Calmucks. The two ends of this
imaginary line are indeed, so to speak, ethnological antipodes. A line
drawn at right angles, or nearly so, to this polar line through Europe
and Southern Asia to Hindostan, would give us a sort of equator, around
which round-headed, oval-headed, and oblong-headed, prognathous and
orthognathous, fair and dark races--but none possessing the excessively
marked characters of Calmuck or <DW64>--group themselves.

(FIGURE 29.--Sections of orthognathous (light contour) and prognathous
(dark contour) skulls, one-third of the natural size. 'a b', Basicranial
axis; 'b c, b1 c1', plane of the occipital foramen; 'd d1', hinder
end of the palatine bone; 'e e1', front end of the upper jaw; 'T T1',
insertion of the tentorium.)

It is worthy of notice that the regions of the antipodal races are
antipodal in climate, the greatest contrast the world affords, perhaps,
being that between the damp, hot, steaming, alluvial coast plains of
the West Coast of Africa and the arid, elevated steppes and plateaux of
Central Asia, bitterly cold in winter, and as far from the sea as any
part of the world can be.

From Central Asia eastward to the Pacific Islands and subcontinents
on the one hand, and to America on the other, brachycephaly and
orthognathism gradually diminish, and are replaced by dolichocephaly and
prognathism, less, however, on the American Continent (throughout the
whole length of which a rounded type of skull prevails largely, but
not exclusively)* than in the Pacific region, where, at length, on the
Australian Continent and in the adjacent islands, the oblong skull, the
projecting jaws, and the dark skin reappear; with so much departure, in
other respects, from the <DW64> type, that ethnologists assign to
these people the special title of 'Negritoes.' ([Footnote] *See Dr. D.
Wilson's valuable paper "On the supposed prevalence of one Cranial Type
throughout the American aborigines."--'Canadian Journal', vol. ii.,
1857.)

The Australian skull is remarkable for its narrowness and for the
thickness of its walls, especially in the region of the supraciliary
ridge, which is frequently, though not by any means invariably, solid
throughout, the frontal sinuses remaining undeveloped. The nasal
depression, again, is extremely sudden, so that the brows overhang and
give the countenance a particularly lowering, threatening expression.
The occipital region of the skull, also, not unfrequently becomes less
prominent; so that it not only fails to project beyond a line drawn
perpendicular to the hinder extremity of the glabello-occipital line,
but even, in some cases, begins to shelve away from it, forwards, almost
immediately. In consequence of this circumstance, the parts of the
occipital bone which lie above and below the tuberosity make a much more
acute angle with one another than is usual, whereby the hinder part
of the base of the skull appears obliquely truncated. Many Australian
skulls have a considerable height, quite equal to that of the average of
any other race, but there are others in which the cranial roof becomes
remarkably depressed, the skull, at the same time, elongating so much
that, probably, its capacity is not diminished. The majority of
skulls possessing these characters, which I have seen, are from the
neighbourhood of Port Adelaide in South Australia, and have been used
by the natives as water vessels; to which end the face has been knocked
away, and a string passed through the vacuity and the occipital foramen,
so that the skull was suspended by the greater part of its basis.

(FIGURE 30.--An Australian skull from Western Port, in the Museum of the
Royal College of Surgeons, with the contour of the Neanderthal skull.
Both reduced to one-third the natural size.)

Figure 30 represents the contour of a skull of this kind from Western
Port, with the jaw attached, and of the Neanderthal skull, both reduced
to one-third of the size of nature. A small additional amount of
flattening and lengthening, with a corresponding increase of the
supraciliary ridge, would convert the Australian brain case into a form
identical with that of the aberrant fossil.

And now, to return to the fossil skulls, and to the rank which
they occupy among, or beyond, these existing varieties of cranial
conformation. In the first place, I must remark, that, as Professor
Schmerling well observed ('supra', p. 300) in commenting upon the Engis
skull, the formation of a safe judgment upon the question is greatly
hindered by the absence of the jaws from both the crania, so that there
is no means of deciding with certainty, whether they were more or less
prognathous than the lower existing races of mankind. And yet, as we
have seen, it is more in this respect than any other, that human skulls
vary, towards and from, the brutal type--the brain case of an average
dolichocephalic European differing far less from that of a <DW64>,
for example, than his jaws do. In the absence of the jaws, then, any
judgment on the relations of the fossil skulls to recent Races must be
accepted with a certain reservation.

But taking the evidence as it stands, and turning first to the Engis
skull, I confess I can find no character in the remains of that cranium
which, if it were a recent skull, would give any trustworthy clue as
to the Race to which it might appertain. Its contours and measurements
agree very well with those of some Australian skulls which I have
examined--and especially has it a tendency towards that occipital
flattening, to the great extent of which, in some Australian skulls, I
have alluded. But all Australian skulls do not present this flattening,
and the supraciliary ridge of the Engis skull is quite unlike that of
the typical Australians.

On the other hand, its measurements agree equally well with those of
some European skulls. And assuredly, there is no mark of degradation
about any part of its structure. It is, in fact, a fair average human
skull, which might have belonged to a philosopher, or might have
contained the thoughtless brains of a savage.

The case of the Neanderthal skull is very different. Under whatever
aspect we view this cranium, whether we regard its vertical depression,
the enormous thickness of its supraciliary ridges, its sloped occiput,
or its long and straight squamosal suture, we meet with ape-like
characters, stamping it as the most pithecoid of human crania yet
discovered. But Professor Schaaffhausen states ('supra', p. 308), that
the cranium, in its present condition, holds 1033.24 cubic centimetres
of water, or about 63 cubic inches, and as the entire skull could hardly
have held less than an additional 12 cubic inches, its capacity may be
estimated at about 75 cubic inches, which is the average capacity given
by Morton for Polynesian and Hottentot skulls.

So large a mass of brain as this, would alone suggest that the pithecoid
tendencies, indicated by this skull, did not extend deep into the
organization; and this conclusion is borne out by the dimensions of the
other bones of the skeleton given by Professor Schaaffhausen, which
show that the absolute height and relative proportions of the limbs
were quite those of an European of middle stature. The bones are indeed
stouter, but this and the great development of the muscular ridges noted
by Dr. Schaaffhausen, are characters to be expected in savages. The
Patagonians, exposed without shelter or protection to a climate possibly
not very dissimilar from that of Europe at the time during which the
Neanderthal man lived, are remarkable for the stoutness of their limb
bones.

(FIGURE 31.--Ancient Danish skull from a tumulus at Borreby: one-third
of the natural size. From a camera lucida drawing by Mr. Busk.)

In no sense, then, can the Neanderthal bones be regarded as the remains
of a human being intermediate between Men and Apes. At most, they
demonstrate the existence of a man whose skull may be said to revert
somewhat towards the pithecoid type--just as a Carrier, or a Pouter, or
a Tumbler, may sometimes put on the plumage of its primitive stock, the
'Columba livia'. And indeed, though truly the most pithecoid of known
human skulls, the Neanderthal cranium is by no means so isolated as it
appears to be at first, but forms, in reality, the extreme term of a
series leading gradually from it to the highest and best developed of
human crania. On the one hand, it is closely approached by the flattened
Australian skulls, of which I have spoken, from which other Australian
forms lead us gradually up to skulls having very much the type of the
Engis cranium. And, on the other hand, it is even more closely affined
to the skulls of certain ancient people who inhabited Denmark during the
'stone period,' and were probably either contemporaneous with, or later
than, the makers of the 'refuse heaps,' or 'Kjokkenmoddings' of that
country.

The correspondence between the longitudinal contour of the Neanderthal
skull and that of some of those skulls from the tumuli at Borreby, very
accurate drawings of which have been made by Mr. Busk, is very close.
The occiput is quite as retreating, the supraciliary ridges are nearly
as prominent, and the skull is as low. Furthermore, the Borreby skull
resembles the Neanderthal form more closely than any of the Australian
skulls do, by the much more rapid retrocession of the forehead. On the
other hand, the Borreby skulls are all somewhat broader, in proportion
to their length, than the Neanderthal skull, while some attain
that proportion of breadth to length (80:100) which constitutes
brachycephaly.

In conclusion, I may say, that the fossil remains of Man hitherto
discovered do not seem to me to take us appreciably nearer to that lower
pithecoid form, by the modification of which he has, probably, become
what he is. And considering what is now known of the most ancient races
of men; seeing that they fashioned flint axes and flint knives and
bone-skewers, of much the same pattern as those fabricated by the lowest
savages at the present day, and that we have every reason to believe the
habits and modes of living of such people to have remained the same from
the time of the Mammoth and the tichorhine Rhinoceros till now, I do not
know that this result is other than might be expected.

Where, then, must we look for primaeval Man? Was the oldest '<DW25>
sapiens' pliocene or miocene, or yet more ancient? In still older
strata do the fossilized bones of an Ape more anthropoid, or a Man
more pithecoid, than any yet known await the researches of some unborn
paleontologist?

Time will show. But, in the meanwhile, if any form of the doctrine of
progressive development is correct, we must extend by long epochs the
most liberal estimate that has yet been made of the antiquity of Man.

End of On Some Fossil Remains of Man.




ON THE ADVISABLENESS OF IMPROVING NATURAL KNOWLEDGE.*

([Footnote] *A Lay Sermon delivered in St. Martin's Hall on Sunday,
January 7th, 1866, and subsequently published in the 'Fortnightly
Review'.)

This time two hundred years ago--in the beginning of January,
1666--those of our forefathers who inhabited this great and ancient
city, took breath between the shocks of two fearful calamities: one not
quite past, although its fury had abated; the other to come.

Within a few yards of the very spot on which we are assembled, so the
tradition runs, that painful and deadly malady, the plague, appeared in
the latter months of 1664; and, though no new visitor, smote the people
of England, and especially of her capital, with a violence unknown
before, in the course of the following year. The hand of a master has
pictured what happened in those dismal months; and in that truest of
fictions, 'The History of the Plague Year', Defoe shows death, with
every accompaniment of pain and terror, stalking through the narrow
streets of old London, and changing their busy hum into a silence broken
only by the wailing of the mourners of fifty thousand dead; by the woful
denunciations and mad prayers of fanatics; and by the madder yells of
despairing profligates.

But about this time in 1666, the death-rate had sunk to nearly its
ordinary amount; a case of plague occurred only here and there, and
the richer citizens who had flown from the pest had returned to their
dwellings. The remnant of the people began to toil at the accustomed
round of duty, or of pleasure; and the stream of city life bid fair to
flow back along its old bed, with renewed and uninterrupted vigour.

The newly kindled hope was deceitful. The great plague, indeed, returned
no more; but what it had done for the Londoners, the great fire, which
broke out in the autumn of 1666, did for London; and, in September of
that year, a heap of ashes and the indestructible energy of the people
were all that remained of the glory of five-sixths of the city within
the walls.

Our forefathers had their own ways of accounting for each of these
calamities. They submitted to the plague in humility and in penitence,
for they believed it to be the judgment of God. But, towards the fire
they were furiously indignant, interpreting it as the effect of the
malice of man,--as the work of the Republicans, or of the <DW7>s,
according as their prepossessions ran in favour of loyalty or of
Puritanism.

It would, I fancy, have fared but ill with one who, standing where I
now stand, in what was then a thickly peopled and fashionable part of
London, should have broached to our ancestors the doctrine which I now
propound to you--that all their hypotheses were alike wrong; that the
plague was no more, in their sense, Divine judgment, than the fire was
the work of any political, or of any religious, sect; but that they were
themselves the authors of both plague and fire, and that they must look
to themselves to prevent the recurrence of calamities, to all appearance
so peculiarly beyond the reach of human control--so evidently the result
of the wrath of God, or of the craft and subtlety of an enemy.

And one may picture to one's self how harmoniously the holy cursing of
the Puritan of that day would have chimed in with the unholy cursing and
the crackling wit of the Rochesters and Sedleys, and with the revilings
of the political fanatics, if my imaginary plain dealer had gone on
to say that, if the return of such misfortunes were ever rendered
impossible, it would not be in virtue of the victory of the faith
of Laud, or of that of Milton; and, as little, by the triumph of
republicanism, as by that of monarchy. But that the one thing needful
for compassing this end was, that the people of England should second
the effort of an insignificant corporation, the establishment of which,
a few years before the epoch of the great plague and the great fire, had
been as little noticed, as they were conspicuous.

Some twenty years before the outbreak of the plague a few calm and
thoughtful students banded themselves together for the purpose, as they
phrased it, of "improving natural knowledge." The ends they proposed
to attain cannot be stated more clearly than in the words of one of the
founders of the organization:--

"Our business was (precluding matters of theology and state affairs) to
discourse and consider of philosophical enquiries, and such as related
thereunto:--as Physick, Anatomy, Geometry, Astronomy, Navigation,
Staticks, Magneticks, Chymicks, Mechanicks, and Natural Experiments;
with the state of these studies and their cultivation at home and
abroad. We then discoursed of the circulation of the blood, the valves
in the veins, the venae lacteae, the lymphatic vessels, the Copernican
hypothesis, the nature of comets and new stars, the satellites of
Jupiter, the oval shape (as it then appeared) of Saturn, the spots
on the sun and its turning on its own axis, the inequalities and
selenography of the moon, the several phases of Venus and Mercury, the
improvement of telescopes and grinding of glasses for that purpose,
the weight of air, the possibility or impossibility of vacuities and
nature's abhorrence thereof, the Torricellian experiment in quicksilver,
the descent of heavy bodies and the degree of acceleration therein,
with divers other things of like nature, some of which were then but new
discoveries, and others not so generally known and embraced as now they
are; with other things appertaining to what hath been called the New
Philosophy, which from the times of Galileo at Florence, and Sir Francis
Bacon (Lord Verulam) in England, hath been much cultivated in Italy,
France, Germany, and other parts abroad, as well as with us in England."

The learned Dr. Wallis, writing in 1696, narrates in these words, what
happened half a century before, or about 1645. The associates met
at Oxford, in the rooms of Dr. Wilkins, who was destined to become a
bishop; and subsequently coming together in London, they attracted
the notice of the king. And it is a strange evidence of the taste for
knowledge which the most obviously worthless of the Stuarts shared with
his father and grandfather, that Charles the Second was not content with
saying witty things about his philosophers, but did wise things with
regard to them. For he not only bestowed upon them such attention as he
could spare from his poodles and his mistresses, but being in his usual
state of impecuniosity, begged for them of the Duke of Ormond; and, that
step being without effect, gave them Chelsea College, a charter, and
a mace: crowning his favours in the best way they could be crowned, by
burdening them no further with royal patronage or state interference.

Thus it was that the half-dozen young men, studious of the "New
Philosophy," who met in one another's lodgings in Oxford or in London,
in the middle of the seventeenth century, grew in numerical and in
real strength, until, in the latter part, the "Royal Society for the
improvement of Natural Knowledge" had already become famous, and had
acquired a claim upon the veneration of Englishmen, which it has ever
since retained, as the principal focus of scientific activity in our
islands, and the chief champion of the cause it was formed to support.

It was by the aid of the Royal Society that Newton published his
'Principia'. If all the books in the world, except the Philosophical
Transactions, were destroyed, it is safe to say that the foundations of
physical science would remain unshaken, and that the vast intellectual
progress of the last two centuries would be largely, though
incompletely, recorded. Nor have any signs of halting or of decrepitude
manifested themselves in our own times. As in Dr. Wallis's days, so
in these, "our business is, precluding theology and state affairs,
to discourse and consider of philosophical enquiries." But our
"Mathematick" is one which Newton would have to go to school to
learn; our "Staticks, Mechanicks, Magneticks, Chymicks, and Natural
Experiments" constitute a mass of physical and chemical knowledge, a
glimpse at which would compensate Galileo for the doings of a score of
inquisitorial cardinals; our "Physick" and "Anatomy" have embraced such
infinite varieties of being, have laid open such new worlds in time and
space, have grappled, not unsuccessfully, with such complex problems,
that the eyes of Vesalius and of Harvey might be dazzled by the sight of
the tree that has grown out of their grain of mustard seed.

The fact is perhaps rather too much, than too little, forced upon one's
notice, nowadays, that all this marvellous intellectual growth has a no
less wonderful expression in practical life; and that, in this respect,
if in no other, the movement symbolized by the progress of the Royal
Society stands without a parallel in the history of mankind.

A series of volumes as bulky as the 'Transactions of the Royal Society'
might possibly be filled with the subtle speculations of the Schoolmen;
not improbably, the obtaining a mastery over the products of mediaeval
thought might necessitate an even greater expenditure of time and of
energy than the acquirement of the "New Philosophy"; but though such
work engrossed the best intellects of Europe for a longer time than has
elapsed since the great fire, its effects were "writ in water," so far
as our social state is concerned.

On the other hand, if the noble first President of the Royal Society
could revisit the upper air and once more gladden his eyes with a sight
of the familiar mace, he would find himself in the midst of a material
civilization more different from that of his day, than that of the
seventeenth was from that of the first century. And if Lord Brouncker's
native sagacity had not deserted his ghost, he would need no long
reflection to discover that all these great ships, these railways, these
telegraphs, these factories, these printing-presses, without which the
whole fabric of modern English society would collapse into a mass of
stagnant and starving pauperism,--that all these pillars of our State
are but the ripples, and the bubbles upon the surface of that great
spiritual stream, the springs of which, only, he and his fellows were
privileged to see; and seeing, to recognise as that which it behoved
them above all things to keep pure and undefiled.

It may not be too great a flight of imagination to conceive our noble
'revenant' not forgetful of the great troubles of his own day, and
anxious to know how often London had been burned down since his time,
and how often the plague had carried off its thousands. He would have to
learn that, although London contains tenfold the inflammable matter that
it did in 1666; though, not content with filling our rooms with woodwork
and light draperies, we must needs lead inflammable and explosive gases
into every corner of our streets and houses, we never allow even a
street to burn down. And if he asked how this had come about, we should
have to explain that the improvement of natural knowledge has furnished
us with dozens of machines for throwing water upon fires, any one of
which would have furnished the ingenious Mr. Hooke, the first "curator
and experimenter" of the Royal Society, with ample materials for
discourse before half a dozen meetings of that body; and that, to say
truth, except for the progress of natural knowledge, we should not
have been able to make even the tools by which these machines are
constructed. And, further, it would be necessary to add, that although
severe fires sometimes occur and inflict great damage, the loss is very
generally compensated by societies, the operations of which have been
rendered possible only by the progress of natural knowledge in the
direction of mathematics, and the accumulation of wealth in virtue of
other natural knowledge.

But the plague? My Lord Brouncker's observation would not, I fear, lead
him to think that Englishmen of the nineteenth century are purer in
life, or more fervent in religious faith, than the generation which
could produce a Boyle, an Evelyn, and a Milton. He might find the mud
of society at the bottom, instead of at the top, but I fear that the
sum total would be a deserving of swift judgment as at the time of the
Restoration. And it would be our duty to explain once more, and this
time not without shame, that we have no reason to believe that it is the
improvement of our faith, nor that of our morals, which keeps the plague
from our city; but, again, that it is the improvement of our natural
knowledge.

We have learned that pestilences will only take up their abode among
those who have prepared unswept and ungarnished residences for them.
Their cities must have narrow, unwatered streets, foul with accumulated
garbage. Their houses must be ill-drained, ill-lighted, ill-ventilated.
Their subjects must be ill-washed, ill-fed, ill-clothed. The London
of 1665 was such a city. The cities of the East, where plague has an
enduring dwelling, are such cities. We, in later times, have learned
somewhat of Nature, and partly obey her. Because of this partial
improvement of our natural knowledge and of that fractional obedience,
we have no plague; because that knowledge is still very imperfect and
that obedience yet incomplete, typhus is our companion and cholera our
visitor. But it is not presumptuous to express the belief that, when
our knowledge is more complete and our obedience the expression of our
knowledge, London will count her centuries of freedom from typhus
and cholera, as she now gratefully reckons her two hundred years of
ignorance of that plague which swooped upon her thrice in the first half
of the seventeenth century.

Surely, there is nothing in these explanations which is not fully
borne out by the facts? Surely, the principles involved in them are now
admitted among the fixed beliefs of all thinking men? Surely, it is true
that our countrymen are less subject to fire, famine, pestilence,
and all the evils which result from a want of command over and due
anticipation of the course of Nature, than were the countrymen of
Milton; and health, wealth, and well-being are more abundant with us
than with them? But no less certainly is the difference due to the
improvement of our knowledge of Nature, and the extent to which that
improved knowledge has been incorporated with the household words of
men, and has supplied the springs of their daily actions.

Granting for a moment, then, the truth of that which the depreciators of
natural knowledge are so fond of urging, that its improvement can only
add to the resources of our material civilization; admitting it to be
possible that the founders of the Royal Society themselves looked for
no other reward than this, I cannot confess that I was guilty
of exaggeration when I hinted, that to him who had the gift of
distinguishing between prominent events and important events, the origin
of a combined effort on the part of mankind to improve natural knowledge
might have loomed larger than the Plague and have outshone the glare
of the Fire; as a something fraught with a wealth of beneficence to
mankind, in comparison with which the damage done by those ghastly evils
would shrink into insignificance.

It is very certain that for every victim slain by the plague, hundreds
of mankind exist and find a fair share of happiness in the world by the
aid of the spinning jenny. And the great fire, at its worst, could
not have burned the supply of coal, the daily working of which, in the
bowels of the earth, made possible by the steam pump, gives rise to an
amount of wealth to which the millions lost in old London are but as an
old song.

But spinning jenny and steam pump are, after all, but toys, possessing
an accidental value; and natural knowledge creates multitudes of more
subtle contrivances, the praises of which do not happen to be sung
because they are not directly convertible into instruments of creating
wealth. When I contemplate natural knowledge squandering such gifts
among men, the only appropriate comparison I can find for her is, to
liken her to such a peasant woman as one sees in the Alps, striding ever
upward, heavily burdened, and with mind bent only on her home; but
yet, without effort and without thought, knitting for her children.
Now stockings are good and comfortable things, and the children
will undoubtedly be much the better for them; but surely it would be
short-sighted, to say the least of it, to depreciate this toiling mother
as a mere stocking-machine--a mere provider of physical comforts?

However, there are blind leaders of the blind, and not a few of them,
who take this view of natural knowledge, and can see nothing in the
bountiful mother of humanity but a sort of comfort-grinding machine.
According to them, the improvement of natural knowledge always has been,
and always must be, synonymous with no more than the improvement of the
material resources and the increase of the gratification of men.

Natural knowledge is, in their eyes, no real mother of mankind, bringing
them up with kindness, and if need be, with sternness, in the way they
should go, and instructing them in all things needful for their welfare;
but a sort of fairy godmother, ready to furnish her pets with shoes of
swiftness, swords of sharpness, and omnipotent Aladdin's lamps, so that
they may have telegraphs to Saturn, and see the other side of the moon,
and thank God they are better than their benighted ancestors.

If this talk were true, I, for one, should not greatly care to toil
in the service of natural knowledge. I think I would just as soon be
quietly chipping my own flint axe, after the manner of my forefathers
a few thousand years back, as be troubled with the endless malady of
thought which now infests us all, for such reward. But I venture to
say that such views are contrary alike to reason and to fact. Those who
discourse in such fashion seem to me to be so intent upon trying to see
what is above Nature, or what is behind her, that they are blind to what
stares them in the face, in her.

I should not venture to speak thus strongly if my justification were not
to be found in the simplest and most obvious facts,--if it needed more
than an appeal to the most notorious truths to justify my assertion,
that the improvement of natural knowledge, whatever direction it has
taken, and however low the aims of those who may have commenced it--has
not only conferred practical benefits on men, but, in so doing, has
effected a revolution in their conceptions of the universe and of
themselves, and has profoundly altered their modes of thinking and
their views of right and wrong. I say that natural knowledge, seeking
to satisfy natural wants, has found the ideas which can alone still
spiritual cravings. I way that natural knowledge, in desiring to
ascertain the laws of comfort, has been driven to discover those of
conduct, and to lay the foundations of a new morality.

Let us take these points separately; and, first, what great ideas has
natural knowledge introduced into men's minds?

I cannot but think that the foundations of all natural knowledge were
laid when the reason of man first came face to face with the facts of
Nature; when the savage first learned that the fingers of one hand are
fewer than those of both; that it is shorter to cross a stream than to
head it; that a stone stops where it is unless it be moved, and that it
drops from the hand which lets it go; that light and heat come and go
with the sun; that sticks burn away to a fire; that plants and animals
grow and die; that if he struck his fellow-savage a blow he would make
him angry, and perhaps get a blow in return, while if he offered him a
fruit he would please him, and perhaps receive a fish in exchange. When
men had acquired this much knowledge, the outlines, rude though they
were, of mathematics, of physics, of chemistry, of biology, of moral,
economical, and political science, were sketched. Nor did the germ of
religion fail when science began to bud. Listen to words which though
new, are yet three thousand years old:--

    "...When in heaven the stars about the moon
    Look beautiful, when all the winds are laid,
    And every height comes out, and jutting peak
    And valley, and the immeasurable heavens
    Break open to their highest, and all the stars
    Shine, and the shepherd gladdens in his heart."*

([Footnote] *Need it be said that this is Tennyson's English for Homer's
Greek?)

If the half-savage Greek could share our feelings thus far, it is
irrational to doubt that he went further, to find, as we do, that upon
that brief gladness there follows a certain sorrow,--the little light of
awakened human intelligence shines so mere a spark amidst the abyss
of the unknown and unknowable; seems so insufficient to do more than
illuminate the imperfections that cannot be remedied, the aspirations
that cannot be realized, of man's own nature. But in this sadness, this
consciousness of the limitation of man, this sense of an open secret
which he cannot penetrate, lies the essence of all religion; and the
attempt to embody it in the forms furnished by the intellect is the
origin of the higher theologies.

Thus it seems impossible to imagine but that the foundations of all
knowledge--secular or sacred--were laid when intelligence dawned, though
the superstructure remained for long ages so slight and feeble as to be
compatible with the existence of almost any general view respecting the
mode of governance of the universe. No doubt, from the first, there were
certain phenomena which, to the rudest mind, presented a constancy of
occurrence, and suggested that a fixed order ruled, at any rate, among
them. I doubt if the grossest of Fetish worshippers ever imagined that
a stone must have a god within it to make it fall, or that a fruit had
a god within it to make it taste sweet. With regard to such matters
as these, it is hardly questionable that mankind from the first took
strictly positive and scientific views.

But, with respect to all the less familiar occurrences which present
themselves, uncultured man, no doubt, has always taken himself as the
standard of comparison, as the centre and measure of the world; nor
could he well avoid doing so. And finding that his apparently uncaused
will has a powerful effect in giving rise to many occurrences, he
naturally enough ascribed other and greater events to other and greater
volitions, and came to look upon the world and all that therein is, as
the product of the volitions of persons like himself, but stronger, and
capable of being appeased or angered, as he himself might be soothed
or irritated. Through such conceptions of the plan and working of
the universe all mankind have passed, or are passing. And we may
now consider, what has been the effect of the improvement of natural
knowledge on the views of men who have reached this stage, and who
have begun to cultivate natural knowledge with no desire but that of
"increasing God's honour and bettering man's estate."

For example, what could seem wiser, from a mere material point of view,
more innocent, from a theological one, to an ancient people, than that
they should learn the exact succession of the seasons, as warnings for
their husbandmen; or the position of the stars, as guides to their rude
navigators? But what has grown out of this search for natural
knowledge of so merely useful a character? You all know the reply.
Astronomy,--which of all sciences has filled men's minds with general
ideas of a character most foreign to their daily experience, and has,
more than any other, rendered it impossible for them to accept the
beliefs of their fathers. Astronomy,--which tells them that this so vast
and seemingly solid earth is but an atom among atoms, whirling, no man
knows whither, through illimitable space; which demonstrates that what
we call the peaceful heaven above us, is but that space, filled by an
infinitely subtle matter whose particles are seething and surging, like
the waves of an angry sea; which opens up to us infinite regions where
nothing is known, or ever seems to have been known, but matter and
force, operating according to rigid rules; which leads us to contemplate
phenomena the very nature of which demonstrates that they must have
had a beginning, and that they must have an end, but the very nature of
which also proves that the beginning was, to our conceptions of time,
infinitely remote, and that the end is as immeasurably distant.

But it is not alone those who pursue astronomy who ask for bread
and receive ideas. What more harmless than the attempt to lift and
distribute water by pumping it; what more absolutely and grossly
utilitarian? But out of pumps grew the discussions about Nature's
abhorrence of a vacuum; and then it was discovered that Nature does not
abhor a vacuum, but that air has weight; and that notion paved the way
for the doctrine that all matter has weight, and that the force which
produces weight is co-extensive with the universe,--in short, to the
theory of universal gravitation and endless force. While learning how
to handle gases led to the discovery of oxygen, and to modern chemistry,
and to the notion of the indestructibility of matter.

Again, what simpler, or more absolutely practical, than the attempt to
keep the axle of a wheel from heating when the wheel turns round very
fast? How useful for carters and gig drivers to know something about
this; and how good were it, if any ingenious person would find out the
cause of such phenomena, and thence educe a general remedy for them.
Such an ingenious person was Count Rumford; and he and his successors
have landed us in the theory of the persistence, or indestructibility,
of force. And in the infinitely minute, as in the infinitely great,
the seekers after natural knowledge, of the kinds called physical and
chemical, have everywhere found a definite order and succession of
events which seem never to be infringed.

And how has it fared with "Physick" and Anatomy? Have the anatomist,
the physiologist, or the physician, whose business it has been to devote
themselves assiduously to that eminently practical and direct end,
the alleviation of the sufferings of mankind,--have they been able to
confine their vision more absolutely to the strictly useful? I fear they
are worst offenders of all. For if the astronomer has set before us the
infinite magnitude of space, and the practical eternity of the duration
of the universe; if the physical and chemical philosophers have
demonstrated the infinite minuteness of its constituent parts, and
the practical eternity of matter and of force; and if both have alike
proclaimed the universality of a definite and predicable order and
succession of events, the workers in biology have not only accepted all
these, but have added more startling theses of their own. For, as the
astronomers discover in the earth no centre of the universe, but an
eccentric speck, so the naturalists find man to be no centre of the
living world, but one amidst endless modifications of life; and as the
astronomer observes the mark of practically endless time set upon
the arrangements of the solar system so the student of life finds the
records of ancient forms of existence peopling the world for ages,
which, in relation to human experience, are infinite.

Furthermore, the physiologist finds life to be as dependent for its
manifestation on particular molecular arrangements as any physical or
chemical phenomenon; and, whenever he extends his researches, fixed
order and unchanging causation reveal themselves, as plainly as in the
rest of Nature.

Nor can I find that any other fate has awaited the germ of Religion.
Arising, like all other kinds of knowledge, and out of the action and
interaction of man's mind, with that which is not man's mind, it has
taken the intellectual coverings of Fetishism or Polytheism; of Theism
or Atheism; of Superstition or Rationalism. With these, and their
relative merits and demerits, I have nothing to do; but this it is
needful for my purpose to say, that if the religion of the present
differs from that of the past, it is because the theology of the present
has become more scientific than that of the past; because it has not
only renounced idols of wood and idols of stone, but begins to see
the necessity of breaking in pieces the idols built up of books and
traditions and fine-spun ecclesiastical cobwebs: and of cherishing the
noblest and most human of man's emotions, by worship "for the most part
of the silent sort" at the altar of the Unknown and Unknowable.

Such are a few of the new conceptions implanted in our minds by the
improvement of natural knowledge. Men have acquired the ideas of
the practically infinite extent of the universe and of its practical
eternity; they are familiar with the conception that our earth is but an
infinitesimal fragment of that part of the universe which can be seen;
and that, nevertheless, its duration is, as compared with our standards
of time, infinite. They have further acquired the idea that man is but
one of innumerable forms of life now existing in the globe, and that
the present existences are but the last of an immeasurable series of
predecessors. Moreover, every step they have made in natural knowledge
has tended to extend and rivet in their minds the conception of a
definite order of the universe--which is embodied in what are called,
by an unhappy metaphor, the laws of Nature--and to narrow the range and
loosen the force of men's belief in spontaneity, or in changes other
than such as arise out of that definite order itself.

Whether these ideas are well or ill founded is not the question. No one
can deny that they exist, and have been the inevitable outgrowth of the
improvement of natural knowledge. And if so, it cannot be doubted that
they are changing the form of men's most cherished and most important
convictions.

And as regards the second point--the extent to which the improvement
of natural knowledge has remodelled and altered what may be termed the
intellectual ethics of men,--what are among the moral convictions most
fondly held by barbarous and semi-barbarous people.

They are the convictions that authority is the soundest basis of
belief; that merit attaches to a readiness to believe; that the doubting
disposition is a bad one, and scepticism a sin; that when good authority
has pronounced what is to be believed, and faith has accepted it, reason
has no further duty. There are many excellent persons who yet hold by
these principles, and it is not my present business, or intention, to
discuss their views. All I wish to bring clearly before your minds is
the unquestionable fact, that the improvement of natural knowledge
is effected by methods which directly give the lie to all these
convictions, and assume the exact reverse of each to be true.

The improver of natural knowledge absolutely refuses to acknowledge
authority, as such. For him, scepticism is the highest of duties; blind
faith the one unpardonable sin. And it cannot be otherwise, for every
great advance in natural knowledge has involved the absolute rejection
of authority, the cherishing of the keenest scepticism, the annihilation
of the spirit of blind faith; and the most ardent votary of science
holds his firmest convictions, not because the men he most venerates
hold them; not because their verity is testified by portents and
wonders; but because his experience teaches him that whenever he chooses
to bring these convictions into contact with their primary source,
Nature--whenever he thinks fit to test them by appealing to experiment
and to observation--Nature will confirm them. The man of science has
learned to believe in justification, not by faith, but by verification.

Thus, without for a moment pretending to despise the practical results
of the improvement of natural knowledge, and its beneficial influence
on material civilization, it must, I think, be admitted that the great
ideas, some of which I have indicated, and the ethical spirit which
I have endeavoured to sketch, in the few moments which remained at my
disposal, constitute the real and permanent significance of natural
knowledge.

If these ideas be destined, as I believe they are, to be more and more
firmly established as the world grows older; if that spirit be fated, as
I believe it is, to extend itself into all departments of human thought,
and to become co-extensive with the range of knowledge; if, as our race
approaches its maturity, it discovers, as I believe it will, that there
is but one kind of knowledge and but one method of acquiring it; then
we, who are still children, may justly feel it our highest duty to
recognise the advisableness of improving natural knowledge, and so to
aid ourselves and our successors in their course towards the noble goal
which lies before mankind.

End of On the Advisableness of Improving Natural Knowledge.

***




ON THE STUDY OF ZOOLOGY.*

([Footnote] *A Lecture delivered at the South Kensington Museum in
1861.)

Natural History is the name familiarly applied to the study of the
properties of such natural bodies as minerals, plants, and animals; the
sciences which embody the knowledge man has acquired upon these subjects
are commonly termed Natural Sciences, in contradistinction to other
so-called "physical" sciences; and those who devote themselves
especially to the pursuit of such sciences have been and are commonly
termed "Naturalists."

Linnaeus was a naturalist in this wide sense, and his 'Systema Naturae'
was a work upon natural history, in the broadest acceptation of the
term; in it, that great methodising spirit embodied all that was known
in his time of the distinctive characters of minerals, animals,
and plants. But the enormous stimulus which Linnaeus gave to the
investigation of nature soon rendered it impossible that any one man
should write another 'Systema Naturae,' and extremely difficult for any
one to become even a naturalist such as Linnaeus was.

Great as have been the advances made by all the three branches of
science, of old included under the title of natural history, there can
be no doubt that zoology and botany have grown in an enormously greater
ratio than mineralogy; and hence, as I suppose, the name of "natural
history" has gradually become more and more definitely attached to these
prominent divisions of the subject, and by "naturalist" people have
meant more and more distinctly to imply a student of the structure and
function of living beings.

However this may be, it is certain that the advance of knowledge
has gradually widened the distance between mineralogy and its old
associates, while it has drawn zoology and botany closer together; so
that of late years it has been found convenient (and indeed necessary)
to associate the sciences which deal with vitality and all its phenomena
under the common head of "biology"; and the biologists have come
to repudiate any blood-relationship with their foster-brothers, the
mineralogists.

Certain broad laws have a general application throughout both the animal
and the vegetable worlds, but the ground common to these kingdoms of
nature is not of very wide extent, and the multiplicity of details is so
great, that the student of living beings finds himself obliged to devote
his attention exclusively either to the one or the other. If he elects
to study plants, under any aspect, we know at once what to call him. He
is a botanist, and his science is botany. But if the investigation of
animal life be his choice, the name generally applied to him will vary
according to the kind of animals he studies, or the particular phenomena
of animal life to which he confines his attention. If the study of
man is his object, he is called an anatomist, or a physiologist, or an
ethnologist; but if he dissects animals, or examines into the mode in
which their functions are performed, he is a comparative anatomist or
comparative physiologist. If he turns his attention to fossil animals,
he is a palaeontologist. If his mind is more particularly directed
to the specific description, discrimination, classification, and
distribution of animals, he is termed a zoologist.

For the purpose of the present discourse, however, I shall recognise
none of these titles save the last, which I shall employ as the
equivalent of botanist, and I shall use the term zoology as denoting
the whole doctrine of animal life, in contradistinction to botany, which
signifies the whole doctrine of vegetable life.

Employed in this sense, zoology, like botany, is divisible into
three great but subordinate sciences, morphology, physiology, and
distribution, each of which may, to a very great extent, be studied
independently of the other.

Zoological morphology is the doctrine of animal form or structure.
Anatomy is one of its branches; development is another; while
classification is the expression of the relations which different
animals bear to one another, in respect of their anatomy and their
development.

Zoological distribution is the study of animals in relation to the
terrestrial conditions which obtain now, or have obtained at any
previous epoch of the earth's history.

Zoological physiology, lastly, is the doctrine of the functions or
actions of animals. It regards animal bodies as machines impelled by
certain forces, and performing an amount of work which can be expressed
in terms of the ordinary forces of nature. The final object of
physiology is to deduce the facts of morphology, on the one hand, and
those of distribution on the other, from the laws of the molecular
forces of matter.

Such is the scope of zoology. But if I were to content myself with the
enunciation of these dry definitions, I should ill exemplify that
method of teaching this branch of physical science, which it is my chief
business to-night to recommend. Let us turn away then from abstract
definitions. Let us take some concrete living thing, some animal, the
commoner the better, and let us see how the application of common sense
and common logic to the obvious facts it presents, inevitably leads us
into all these branches of zoological science.

I have before me a lobster. When I examine it, what appears to be the
most striking character it presents? Why, I observe that this part which
we call the tail of the lobster, is made up of six distinct hard rings
and a seventh terminal piece. If I separate one of the middle rings, say
the third, I find it carries upon its under surface a pair of limbs or
appendages, each of which consists of a stalk and two terminal pieces.
So that I can represent a transverse section of the ring and its
appendages upon the diagram board in this way.

If I now take the fourth ring, I find it has the same structure, and so
have the fifth and the second; so that, in each of these divisions of
the tail, I find parts which correspond with one another, a ring and
two appendages; and in each appendage a stalk and two end pieces. These
corresponding parts are called, in the technical language of anatomy,
"homologous parts." The ring of the third division is the "homologue" of
the ring of the fifth, the appendage of the former is the homologue
of the appendage of the latter. And, as each division exhibits
corresponding parts in corresponding places, we say that all the
divisions are constructed upon the same plan. But now let us consider
the sixth division. It is similar to, and yet different from, the
others. The ring is essentially the same as in the other divisions; but
the appendages look at first as if they were very different; and yet
when we regard them closely, what do we find? A stalk and two terminal
divisions, exactly as in the others, but the stalk is very short and
very thick, the terminal divisions are very broad and flat, and one of
them is divided into two pieces.

I may say, therefore, that the sixth segment is like the others in plan,
but that it is modified in its details.

The first segment is like the others, so far as its ring is concerned,
and though its appendages differ from any of those yet examined in the
simplicity of their structure, parts corresponding with the stem and one
of the divisions of the appendages of the other segments can be readily
discerned in them.

Thus it appears that the lobster's tail is composed of a series of
segments which are fundamentally similar, though each presents peculiar
modifications of the plan common to all. But when I turn to the forepart
of the body I see, at first, nothing but a great shield-like shell,
called technically the "carapace," ending in front in a sharp spine, on
either side of which are the curious compound eyes, set upon the ends of
stout movable stalks. Behind these, on the under side of the body, are
two pairs of long feelers, or antennae, followed by six pairs of jaws
folded against one another over the mouth, and five pairs of legs, the
foremost of these being the great pinchers, or claws, of the lobster.

It looks, at first, a little hopeless to attempt to find in this complex
mass a series of rings, each with its pair of appendages, such as I have
shown you in the abdomen, and yet it is not difficult to demonstrate
their existence. Strip off the legs, and you will find that each pair is
attached to a very definite segment of the under wall of the body; but
these segments, instead of being the lower parts of free rings, as in
the tail, are such parts of rings which are all solidly united and
bound together; and the like is true of the jaws, the feelers, and the
eye-stalks, every pair of which is borne upon its own special segment.
Thus the conclusion is gradually forced upon us, that the body of the
lobster is composed of as many rings as there are pairs of appendages,
namely, twenty in all, but that the six hindmost rings remain free and
movable, while the fourteen front rings become firmly soldered together,
their backs forming one continuous shield--the carapace.

Unity of plan, diversity in execution, is the lesson taught by the study
of the rings of the body, and the same instruction is given still more
emphatically by the appendages. If I examine the outermost jaw I find it
consists of three distinct portions, an inner, a middle, and an outer,
mounted upon a common stem; and if I compare this jaw with the legs
behind it, or the jaws in front of it, I find it quite easy to see,
that, in the legs, it is the part of the appendage which corresponds
with the inner division, which becomes modified into what we know
familiarly as the "leg," while the middle division disappears, and the
outer division is hidden under the carapace. Nor is it more difficult to
discern that, in the appendages of the tail, the middle division appears
again and the outer vanishes; while, on the other hand, in the foremost
jaw, the so-called mandible, the inner division only is left; and, in
the same way, the parts of the feelers and of the eye-stalks can be
identified with those of the legs and jaws.

But whither does all this tend? To the very remarkable conclusion that
a unity of plan, of the same kind as that discoverable in the tail or
abdomen of the lobster, pervades the whole organization of its skeleton,
so that I can return to the diagram representing any one of the rings of
the tail, which I drew upon the board, and by adding a third division to
each appendage, I can use it as a sort of scheme or plan of any ring of
the body. I can give names to all the parts of that figure, and then if
I take any segment of the body of the lobster, I can point out to
you exactly, what modification the general plan has undergone in that
particular segment; what part has remained movable, and what has become
fixed to another; what has been excessively developed and metamorphosed
and what has been suppressed.

But I imagine I hear the question, How is all this to be tested? No
doubt it is a pretty and ingenious way of looking at the structure of
any animal; but is it anything more? Does Nature acknowledge, in any
deeper way, this unity of plan we seem to trace?

The objection suggested by these questions is a very valid and important
one, and morphology was in an unsound state so long as it rested upon
the mere perception of the analogies which obtain between fully formed
parts. The unchecked ingenuity of speculative anatomists proved itself
fully competent to spin any number of contradictory hypotheses out of
the same facts, and endless morphological dreams threatened to supplant
scientific theory.

Happily, however, there is a criterion of morphological truth, and a
sure test of all homologies. Our lobster has not always been what we see
it; it was once an egg, a semifluid mass of yolk, not so big as a pin's
head, contained in a transparent membrane, and exhibiting not the least
trace of any one of those organs, whose multiplicity and complexity, in
the adult, are so surprising. After a time a delicate patch of cellular
membrane appeared upon one face of this yolk, and that patch was the
foundation of the whole creature, the clay out of which it would
be moulded. Gradually investing the yolk, it became subdivided by
transverse constrictions into segments, the forerunners of the rings of
the body. Upon the ventral surface of each of the rings thus sketched
out, a pair of bud-like prominences made their appearance--the rudiments
of the appendages of the ring. At first, all the appendages were alike,
but, as they grew, most of them became distinguished into a stem and two
terminal divisions, to which in the middle part of the body, was added
a third outer division; and it was only at a later period, that by the
modification, or absorption, of certain of these primitive constituents,
the limbs acquired their perfect form.

Thus the study of development proves that the doctrine of unity of plan
is not merely a fancy, that it is not merely one way of looking at the
matter, but that it is the expression of deep-seated natural facts. The
legs and jaws of the lobster may not merely be regarded as modifications
of a common type,--in fact and in nature they are so,--the leg and the
jaw of the young animal being, at first, indistinguishable.

These are wonderful truths, the more so because the zoologist finds
them to be of universal application. The investigation of a polype, of a
snail, of a fish, of a horse, or of a man, would have led us, though
by a less easy path, perhaps, to exactly the same point. Unity of plan
everywhere lies hidden under the mask of diversity of structure--the
complex is everywhere evolved out of the simple. Every animal has at
first the form of an egg, and every animal and every organic part, in
reaching its adult state, passes through conditions common to other
animals and other adult parts; and this leads me to another point. I
have hitherto spoken as if the lobster were alone in the world, but, as
I need hardly remind you, there are myriads of other animal organisms.
Of these, some, such as men, horses, birds, fishes, snails, slugs,
oysters, corals, and sponges, are not in the least like the lobster. But
other animals, though they may differ a good deal from the lobster, are
yet either very like it, or are like something that is like it. The
cray fish, the rock lobster, and the prawn, and the shrimp, for example,
however different, are yet so like lobsters, that a child would group
them as of the lobster kind, in contradistinction to snails and
slugs; and these last again would form a kind by themselves, in
contradistinction to cows, horses, and sheep, the cattle kind.

But this spontaneous grouping into "kinds" is the first essay of the
human mind at classification, or the calling by a common name of those
things that are alike, and the arranging them in such a manner as best
to suggest the sum of their likenesses and unlikenesses to other things.

Those kinds which include no other subdivisions than the sexes, or
various breeds, are called, in technical language, species. The English
lobster is a species, our cray fish is another, our prawn is another.
In other countries, however, there are lobsters, cray fish, and prawns,
very like ours, and yet presenting sufficient differences to deserve
distinction. Naturalists, therefore, express this resemblance and this
diversity by grouping them as distinct species of the same "genus." But
the lobster and the cray fish, though belonging to distinct genera, have
many features in common, and hence are grouped together in an assemblage
which is called a family. More distant resemblances connect the lobster
with the prawn and the crab, which are expressed by putting all these
into the same order. Again, more remote, but still very definite,
resemblances unite the lobster with the woodlouse, the king crab, the
water flea, and the barnacle, and separate them from all other animals;
whence they collectively constitute the larger group, or class,
'Crustacea'. But the 'Crustacea' exhibit many peculiar features in
common with insects, spiders, and centipedes, so that these are grouped
into the still larger assemblage or "province" 'Articulata'; and,
finally, the relations which these have to worms and other lower
animals, are expressed by combining the whole vast aggregate into the
sub-kingdom of 'Annulosa'.

If I had worked my way from a sponge instead of a lobster, I should have
found it associated, by like ties, with a great number of other animals
into the sub-kingdom 'Protozoa'; if I had selected a fresh-water
polype or a coral, the members of what naturalists term the sub-kingdom
'Coelenterata', would have grouped themselves around my type; had a
snail been chosen, the inhabitants of all univalve and bivalve, land and
water, shells, the lamp shells, the squids, and the sea-mat would have
gradually linked themselves on to it as members of the same sub-kingdom
of 'Mollusca'; and finally, starting from man, I should have been
compelled to admit first, the ape, the rat, the horse, the dog, into the
same class; and then the bird, the crocodile, the turtle, the frog, and
the fish, into the same sub-kingdom of 'Vertebrata'.

And if I had followed out all these various lines of classification
fully, I should discover in the end that there was no animal, either
recent or fossil, which did not at once fall into one or other of these
sub-kingdoms. In other words, every animal is organized upon one
or other of the five, or more, plans, whose existence renders our
classification possible. And so definitely and precisely marked is the
structure of each animal, that, in the present state of our knowledge,
there is not the least evidence to prove that a form, in the slightest
degree transitional between any of the two groups 'Vertebrata',
'Annulosa', 'Mollusca', and 'Coelenterata', either exists, or has
existed, during that period of the earth's history which is recorded by
the geologist. Nevertheless, you must not for a moment suppose,
because no such transitional forms are known, that the members of the
sub-kingdoms are disconnected from, or independent of, one another. On
the contrary, in their earliest condition they are all alike, and the
primordial germs of a man, a dog, a bird, a fish, a beetle, a snail, and
a polype are, in no essential structural respects, distinguishable.

In this broad sense, it may with truth be said, that all living animals,
and all those dead creations which geology reveals, are bound together
by an all-pervading unity of organization, of the same character, though
not equal in degree, to that which enables us to discern one and the
same plan amidst the twenty different segments of a lobster's body.
Truly it has been said, that to a clear eye the smallest fact is a
window through which the Infinite may be seen.

Turning from these purely morphological considerations, let us now
examine into the manner in which the attentive study of the lobster
impels us into other lines of research.

Lobsters are found in all the European seas; but on the opposite shores
of the Atlantic and in the seas of the southern hemisphere they do not
exist. They are, however, represented in these regions by very closely
allied, but distinct forms--the 'Homarus Americanus' and the 'Homarus
Capensis': so that we may say that the European has one species of
'Homarus'; the American, another; the African, another; and thus the
remarkable facts of geographical distribution begin to dawn upon us.

Again, if we examine the contents of the earth's crust, we shall find
in the latter of those deposits, which have served as the great burying
grounds of past ages, numberless lobster-like animals, but none so
similar to our living lobster as to make zoologists sure that they
belonged even to the same genus. If we go still further back in time,
we discover, in the oldest rocks of all, the remains of animals,
constructed on the same general plan as the lobster, and belonging
to the same great group of 'Crustacea'; but for the most part totally
different from the lobster, and indeed from any other living form of
crustacean; and thus we gain a notion of that successive change of the
animal population of the globe, in past ages, which is the most striking
fact revealed by geology.

Consider, now, where our inquiries have led us. We studied our type
morphologically, when we determined its anatomy and its development, and
when comparing it, in these respects, with other animals, we made out
its place in a system of classification. If we were to examine every
animal in a similar manner, we should establish a complete body of
zoological morphology.

Again, we investigated the distribution of our type in space and in
time, and, if the like had been done with every animal, the sciences
of geographical and geological distribution would have attained their
limit.

But you will observe one remarkable circumstance, that, up to this
point, the question of the life of these organisms has not come under
consideration. Morphology and distribution might be studied almost
as well, if animals and plants were a peculiar kind of crystals, and
possessed none of those functions which distinguish living beings so
remarkably. But the facts of morphology and distribution have to be
accounted for, and the science, whose aim it is to account for them, is
Physiology.

Let us return to our lobster once more. If we watched the creature in
its native element, we should see it climbing actively the submerged
rocks, among which it delights to live, by means of its strong legs; or
swimming by powerful strokes of its great tail, the appendages of whose
sixth joint are spread out into a broad fan-like propeller: seize
it, and it will show you that its great claws are no mean weapons
of offence; suspend a piece of carrion among its haunts, and it will
greedily devour it, tearing and crushing the flesh by means of its
multitudinous jaws.

Suppose that we had known nothing of the lobster but as an inert mass,
an organic crystal, if I may use the phrase, and that we could suddenly
see it exerting all these powers, what wonderful new ideas and new
questions would arise in our minds! The great new question would be,
"How does all this take place?" the chief new idea would be, the idea
of adaptation to purpose,--the notion, that the constituents of animal
bodies are not mere unconnected parts, but organs working together to
an end. Let us consider the tail of the lobster again from this point of
view. Morphology has taught us that it is a series of segments composed
of homologous parts, which undergo various modifications--beneath and
through which a common plan of formation is discernible. But if I look
at the same part physiologically, I see that it is a most beautifully
constructed organ of locomotion, by means of which the animal can
swiftly propel itself either backwards or forwards.

But how is this remarkable propulsive machine made to perform its
functions? If I were suddenly to kill one of these animals and to take
out all the soft parts, I should find the shell to be perfectly
inert, to have no more power of moving itself than is possessed by
the machinery of a mill when disconnected from its steam-engine or
water-wheel. But if I were to open it, and take out the viscera only,
leaving the white flesh, I should perceive that the lobster could bend
and extend its tail as well as before. If I were to cut off the tail, I
should cease to find any spontaneous motion in it; but on pinching any
portion of the flesh, I should observe that it underwent a very
curious change--each fibre becoming shorter and thicker. By this act of
contraction, as it is termed, the parts to which the ends of the
fibre are attached are, of course, approximated; and according to the
relations of their points of attachment to the centres of motions of the
different rings, the bending or the extension of the tail results. Close
observation of the newly-opened lobster would soon show that all its
movements are due to the same cause--the shortening and thickening of
these fleshy fibres, which are technically called muscles.

Here, then, is a capital fact. The movements of the lobster are due to
muscular contractility. But why does a muscle contract at one time and
not at another? Why does one whole group of muscles contract when the
lobster wishes to extend his tail, and another group when he desires to
bend it? What is it originates, directs, and controls the motive power?

Experiment, the great instrument for the ascertainment of truth in
physical science, answers this question for us. In the head of the
lobster there lies a small mass of that peculiar tissue which is known
as nervous substance. Cords of similar matter connect this brain of
the lobster, directly or indirectly, with the muscles. Now, if these
communicating cords are cut, the brain remaining entire, the power of
exerting what we call voluntary motion in the parts below the section
is destroyed; and on the other hand, if, the cords remaining entire, the
brain mass be destroyed, the same voluntary mobility is equally lost.
Whence the inevitable conclusion is, that the power of originating these
motions resides in the brain, and is propagated along the nervous cords.

In the higher animals the phenomena which attend this transmission have
been investigated, and the exertion of the peculiar energy which resides
in the nerves has been found to be accompanied by a disturbance of the
electrical state of their molecules.

If we could exactly estimate the signification of this disturbance;
if we could obtain the value of a given exertion of nerve force by
determining the quantity of electricity, or of heat, of which it is
the equivalent; if we could ascertain upon what arrangement, or other
condition of the molecules of matter, the manifestation of the nervous
and muscular energies depends (and doubtless science will some day or
other ascertain these points), physiologists would have attained their
ultimate goal in this direction; they would have determined the relation
of the motive force of animals to the other forms of force found in
nature; and if the same process had been successfully performed for
all the operations which are carried on in, and by, the animal
frame, physiology would be perfect, and the facts of morphology and
distribution would be deducible from the laws which physiologists
had established, combined with those determining the condition of the
surrounding universe.

There is not a fragment of the organism of this humble animal whose
study would not lead us into regions of thought as large as those which
I have briefly opened up to you; but what I have been saying, I trust,
has not only enabled you to form a conception of the scope and purport
of zoology, but has given you an imperfect example of the manner in
which, in my opinion, that science, or indeed any physical science,
may be best taught. The great matter is, to make teaching real and
practical, by fixing the attention of the student on particular facts;
but at the same time it should be rendered broad and comprehensive, by
constant reference to the generalizations of which all particular facts
are illustrations. The lobster has served as a type of the whole animal
kingdom, and its anatomy and physiology have illustrated for us some
of the greatest truths of biology. The student who has once seen for
himself the facts which I have described, has had their relations
explained to him, and has clearly comprehended them, has, so far, a
knowledge of zoology, which is real and genuine, however limited it may
be, and which is worth more than all the mere reading knowledge of the
science he could ever acquire. His zoological information is, so far,
knowledge and not mere hear-say.

And if it were my business to fit you for the certificate in zoological
science granted by this department, I should pursue a course precisely
similar in principle to that which I have taken to-night. I should
select a fresh-water sponge, a fresh-water polype or a 'Cyanaea', a
fresh-water mussel, a lobster, a fowl, as types of the five primary
divisions of the animal kingdom. I should explain their structure very
fully, and show how each illustrated the great principles of zoology.
Having gone very carefully and fully over this ground, I should feel
that you had a safe foundation, and I should then take you in the same
way, but less minutely, over similarly selected illustrative types of
the classes; and then I should direct your attention to the special
forms enumerated under the head of types, in this syllabus, and to the
other facts there mentioned.

That would, speaking generally, be my plan. But I have undertaken to
explain to you the best mode of acquiring and communicating a knowledge
of zoology, and you may therefore fairly ask me for a more detailed and
precise account of the manner in which I should propose to furnish you
with the information I refer to.

My own impression is, that the best model for all kinds of training in
physical science is that afforded by the method of teaching anatomy,
in use in the medical schools. This method consists of three
elements--lectures, demonstrations, and examinations.

The object of lectures is, in the first place, to awaken the attention
and excite the enthusiasm of the student; and this, I am sure, may
be effected to a far greater extent by the oral discourse and by
the personal influence of a respected teacher than in any other way.
Secondly, lectures have the double use of guiding the student to the
salient points of a subject, and at the same time forcing him to attend
to the whole of it, and not merely to that part which takes his fancy.
And lastly, lectures afford the student the opportunity of seeking
explanations of those difficulties which will, and indeed ought to,
arise in the course of his studies.

But for a student to derive the utmost possible value from lectures,
several precautions are needful.

I have a strong impression that the better a discourse is, as an
oration, the worse it is as a lecture. The flow of the discourse carries
you on without proper attention to its sense; you drop a word or a
phrase, you lose the exact meaning for a moment, and while you strive to
recover yourself, the speaker has passed on to something else.

The practice I have adopted of late years, in lecturing to students,
is to condense the substance of the hour's discourse into a few dry
propositions, which are read slowly and taken down from dictation;
the reading of each being followed by a free commentary expanding
and illustrating the proposition, explaining terms, and removing any
difficulties that may be attackable in that way, by diagrams made
roughly, and seen to grow under the lecturer's hand. In this manner you,
at any rate, insure the co-operation of the student to a certain extent.
He cannot leave the lecture-room entirely empty if the taking of notes
is enforced; and a student must be preternaturally dull and mechanical,
if he can take notes and hear them properly explained, and yet learn
nothing.

What books shall I read? is a question constantly put by the student to
the teacher. My reply usually is, "None: write your notes out carefully
and fully; strive to understand them thoroughly; come to me for the
explanation of anything you cannot understand; and I would rather you
did not distract your mind by reading." A properly composed course
of lectures ought to contain fully as much matter as a student can
assimilate in the time occupied by its delivery; and the teacher should
always recollect that his business is to feed, and not to cram the
intellect. Indeed, I believe that a student who gains from a course
of lectures the simple habit of concentrating his attention upon a
definitely limited series of facts, until they are thoroughly mastered,
has made a step of immeasurable importance.

But, however good lectures may be, and however extensive the course of
reading by which they are followed up, they are but accessories to the
great instrument of scientific teaching--demonstration. If I insist
unweariedly, nay fanatically, upon the importance of physical science as
an educational agent, it is because the study of any branch of science,
if properly conducted, appears to me to fill up a void left by all other
means of education. I have the greatest respect and love for literature;
nothing would grieve me more than to see literary training other than
a very prominent branch of education: indeed, I wish that real literary
discipline were far more attended to than it is; but I cannot shut my
eyes to the fact, that there is a vast difference between men who
have had a purely literary, and those who have had a sound scientific,
training.

Seeking for the cause of this difference, I imagine I can find it in the
fact that, in the world of letters, learning and knowledge are one, and
books are the source of both; whereas in science, as in life, learning
and knowledge are distinct, and the study of things, and not of books,
is the source of the latter.

All that literature has to bestow may be obtained by reading and by
practical exercise in writing and in speaking; but I do not exaggerate
when I say, that none of the best gifts of science are to be won by
these means. On the contrary, the great benefit which a scientific
education bestows, whether as training or as knowledge, is dependent
upon the extent to which the mind of the student is brought into
immediate contact with facts--upon the degree to which he learns the
habit of appealing directly to Nature, and of acquiring through his
senses concrete images of those properties of things, which are, and
always will be, but approximatively expressed in human language. Our
way of looking at Nature, and of speaking about her, varies from year
to year; but a fact once seen, a relation of cause and effect, once
demonstratively apprehended, are possessions which neither change nor
pass away, but, on the contrary, form fixed centres, about which other
truths aggregate by natural affinity.

Therefore, the great business of the scientific teacher is, to imprint
the fundamental, irrefragable facts of his science, not only by words
upon the mind, but by sensible impressions upon the eye, and ear, and
touch of the student, in so complete a manner, that every term used, or
law enunciated, should afterwards call up vivid images of the particular
structural, or other, facts which furnished the demonstration of the
law, or the illustration of the term.

Now this important operation can only be achieved by constant
demonstration, which may take place to a certain imperfect extent during
a lecture, but which ought also to be carried on independently, and
which should be addressed to each individual student, the teacher
endeavouring, not so much to show a thing to the learner, as to make him
see it for himself.

I am well aware that there are great practical difficulties in the way
of effectual zoological demonstrations. The dissection of animals is not
altogether pleasant, and requires much time; nor is it easy to secure an
adequate supply of the needful specimens. The botanist has here a great
advantage; his specimens are easily obtained, are clean and wholesome,
and can be dissected in a private house as well as anywhere else; and
hence, I believe, the fact, that botany is so much more readily and
better taught than its sister science. But, be it difficult or be it
easy, if zoological science is to be properly studied, demonstration,
and, consequently, dissection, must be had. Without it, no man can have
a really sound knowledge of animal organization.

A good deal may be done, however, without actual dissection on the
student's part, by demonstration upon specimens and preparations; and
in all probability it would not be very difficult, were the demand
sufficient, to organize collections of such objects, sufficient for all
the purposes of elementary teaching, at a comparatively cheap rate. Even
without these, much might be effected, if the zoological collections,
which are open to the public, were arranged according to what has been
termed the "typical principle"; that is to say, if the specimens exposed
to public view were so selected that the public could learn something
from them, instead of being, as at present, merely confused by their
multiplicity. For example, the grand ornithological gallery at the
British Museum contains between two and three thousand species of birds,
and sometimes five or six specimens of a species. They are very pretty
to look at, and some of the cases are, indeed, splendid; but I will
undertake to say, that no man but a professed ornithologist has ever
gathered much information from the collection. Certainly, no one of the
tens of thousands of the general public who have walked through that
gallery ever knew more about the essential peculiarities of birds when
he left the gallery than when he entered it. But if, somewhere in that
vast hall, there were a few preparations, exemplifying the leading
structural peculiarities and the mode of development of a common fowl;
if the types of the genera, the leading modifications in the skeleton,
in the plumage at various ages, in the mode of nidification, and the
like, among birds, were displayed; and if the other specimens were put
away in a place where the men of science, to whom they are alone useful,
could have free access to them, I can conceive that this collection
might become a great instrument of scientific education.

The last implement of the teacher to which I have adverted is
examination--a means of education now so thoroughly understood that
I need hardly enlarge upon it. I hold that both written and oral
examinations are indispensable, and, by requiring the description of
specimens, they may be made to supplement demonstration.

Such is the fullest reply the time at my disposal will allow me to give
to the question--how may a knowledge of zoology be best acquired and
communicated?

But there is a previous question which may be moved, and which, in
fact, I know many are inclined to move. It is the question, why should
training masters be encouraged to acquire a knowledge of this, or
any other branch of physical science? What is the use, it is said, of
attempting to make physical science a branch of primary education? Is it
not probable that teachers, in pursuing such studies, will be led astray
from the acquirement of more important but less attractive knowledge?
And, even if they can learn something of science without prejudice to
their usefulness, what is the good of their attempting to instil that
knowledge into boys whose real business is the acquisition of reading,
writing, and arithmetic?

These questions are, and will be, very commonly asked, for they arise
from that profound ignorance of the value and true position of physical
science, which infests the minds of the most highly educated and
intelligent classes of the community. But if I did not feel well assured
that they are capable of being easily and satisfactorily answered; that
they have been answered over and over again; and that the time will come
when men of liberal education will blush to raise such questions,--I
should be ashamed of my position here to-night. Without doubt, it
is your great and very important function to carry out elementary
education; without question, anything that should interfere with the
faithful fulfilment of that duty on your part would be a great evil; and
if I thought that your acquirement of the elements of physical science,
and your communication of those elements to your pupils, involved any
sort of interference with your proper duties, I should be the first
person to protest against your being encouraged to do anything of the
kind.

But is it true that the acquisition of such a knowledge of science as
is proposed, and the communication of that knowledge, are calculated to
weaken your usefulness? Or may I not rather ask, is it possible for you
to discharge your functions properly without these aids?

What is the purpose of primary intellectual education? I apprehend
that its first object is to train the young in the use of those tools
wherewith men extract knowledge from the ever-shifting succession of
phenomena which pass before their eyes; and that its second object is to
inform them of the fundamental laws which have been found by experience
to govern the course of things, so that they may not be turned out
into the world naked, defenceless, and a prey to the events they might
control.

A boy is taught to read his own and other languages, in order that he
may have access to infinitely wider stores of knowledge than could ever
be opened to him by oral intercourse with his fellow men; he learns to
write, that his means of communication with the rest of mankind may be
indefinitely enlarged, and that he may record and store up the knowledge
he acquires. He is taught elementary mathematics, that he may understand
all those relations of number and form, upon which the transactions of
men, associated in complicated societies, are built, and that he may
have some practice in deductive reasoning.

All these operations of reading, writing, and ciphering, are
intellectual tools, whose use should, before all things, be learned, and
learned thoroughly; so that the youth may be enabled to make his life
that which it ought to be, a continual progress in learning and in
wisdom.

But, in addition, primary education endeavours to fit a boy out with a
certain equipment of positive knowledge. He is taught the great laws
of morality; the religion of his sect; so much history and geography as
will tell him where the great countries of the world are, what they are,
and how they have become what they are.

Without doubt all these are most fitting and excellent things to teach
a boy; I should be very sorry to omit any of them from any scheme of
primary intellectual education. The system is excellent, so far as it
goes.

But if I regard it closely, a curious reflection arises. I suppose that,
fifteen hundred years ago, the child of any well-to-do Roman citizen
was taught just these same things; reading and writing in his own,
and, perhaps, the Greek tongue; the elements of mathematics; and
the religion, morality, history, and geography current in his time.
Furthermore, I do not think I err in affirming, that, if such
a Christian Roman boy, who had finished his education, could be
transplanted into one of our public schools, and pass through its course
of instruction, he would not meet with a single unfamiliar line of
thought; amidst all the new facts he would have to learn, not one would
suggest a different mode of regarding the universe from that current in
his own time.

And yet surely there is some great difference between the civilization
of the fourth century and that of the nineteenth, and still more between
the intellectual habits and tone of thought of that day and this?

And what has made this difference? I answer fearlessly--The prodigious
development of physical science within the last two centuries.

Modern civilization rests upon physical science; take away her gifts to
our own country, and our position among the leading nations of the
world is gone to-morrow; for it is physical science only, that makes
intelligence and moral energy stronger than brute force.

The whole of modern thought is steeped in science; it has made its way
into the works of our best poets, and even the mere man of letters, who
affects to ignore and despise science, is unconsciously impregnated with
her spirit, and indebted for his best products to her methods. I believe
that the greatest intellectual revolution mankind has yet seen is now
slowly taking place by her agency. She is teaching the world that
the ultimate court of appeal is observation and experiment, and not
authority; she is teaching it to estimate the value of evidence; she is
creating a firm and living faith in the existence of immutable moral and
physical laws, perfect obedience to which is the highest possible aim of
an intelligent being.

But of all this your old stereotyped system of education takes no note.
Physical science, its methods, its problems, and its difficulties, will
meet the poorest boy at every turn, and yet we educate him in such a
manner that he shall enter the world as ignorant of the existence of the
methods and facts of science as the day he was born. The modern world
is full of artillery; and we turn out our children to do battle in it,
equipped with the shield and sword of an ancient gladiator.

Posterity will cry shame on us if we do not remedy this deplorable state
of things. Nay, if we live twenty years longer, our own consciences will
cry shame on us.

It is my firm conviction that the only way to remedy it is, to make the
elements of physical science an integral part of primary education. I
have endeavoured to show you how that may be done for that branch of
science which it is my business to pursue; and I can but add, that I
should look upon the day when every schoolmaster throughout this land
was a centre of genuine, however rudimentary, scientific knowledge, as
an epoch in the history of the country.

But let me entreat you to remember my last words. Addressing myself to
you, as teachers, I would say, mere book learning in physical science is
a sham and a delusion--what you teach, unless you wish to be impostors,
that you must first know; and real knowledge in science means personal
acquaintance with the facts, be they few or many.* ([Footnote] *It
has been suggested to me that these words may be taken to imply a
discouragement on my part of any sort of scientific instruction which
does not give an acquaintance with the facts at first hand. But this is
not my meaning. The ideal of scientific teaching is, no doubt, a system
by which the scholar sees every fact for himself, and the teacher
supplies only the explanations. Circumstances, however, do not often
allow of the attainment of that ideal, and we must put up with the next
best system--one in which the scholar takes a good deal on trust from a
teacher, who, knowing the facts by his own knowledge, can describe them
with so much vividness as to enable his audience to form competent
ideas concerning them. The system which I repudiate is that which allows
teachers who have not come into direct contact with the leading facts
of a science to pass their second-hand information on. The scientific
virus, like vaccine lymph, if passed through too long a succession of
organisms, will lose all its effect in protecting the young against the
intellectual epidemics to which they are exposed.)

End of On the Study of Zoology.




GEOLOGICAL CONTEMPORANEITY AND PERSISTENT TYPES OF LIFE.*

([Footnote] *The Anniversary Address to the Geological Society for
1862.)

Merchants occasionally go through a wholesome, though troublesome and
not always satisfactory, process which they term "taking stock." After
all the excitement of speculation, the pleasure of gain, and the pain of
loss, the trader makes up his mind to face facts and to learn the exact
quantity and quality of his solid and reliable possessions.

The man of science does well sometimes to imitate this procedure; and,
forgetting for the time the importance of his own small winnings, to
re-examine the common stock in trade, so that he may make sure how far
the stock of bullion in the cellar--on the faith of whose existence so
much paper has been circulating--is really the solid gold of truth.

The Anniversary Meeting of the Geological Society seems to be an
occasion well suited for an undertaking of this kind--for an inquiry,
in fact, into the nature and value of the present results of
paleontological investigation; and the more so, as all those who have
paid close attention to the late multitudinous discussions in which
paleontology is implicated, must have felt the urgent necessity of some
such scrutiny.

First in order, as the most definite and unquestionable of all the
results of paleontology, must be mentioned the immense extension and
impulse given to botany, zoology, and comparative anatomy, by the
investigation of fossil remains. Indeed, the mass of biological facts
has been so greatly increased, and the range of biological speculation
has been so vastly widened, by the researches of the geologist and
paleontologist, that it is to be feared there are naturalists in
existence who look upon geology as Brindley regarded rivers. "Rivers,"
said the great engineer, "were made to feed canals"; and geology, some
seem to think, was solely created to advance comparative anatomy.

Were such a thought justifiable, it could hardly expect to be received
with favour by this assembly. But it is not justifiable. Your favourite
science has her own great aims independent of all others; and if,
notwithstanding her steady devotion to her own progress, she can scatter
such rich alms among her sisters, it should be remembered that her
charity is of the sort that does not impoverish, but "blesseth him that
gives and him that takes."

Regard the matter as we will, however, the facts remain. Nearly 40,000
species of animals and plants have been added to the Systema Naturae by
paleontologic research. This is a living population equivalent to
that of a new continent in mere number; equivalent to that of a new
hemisphere, if we take into account the small population of insects as
yet found fossil, and the large proportion and peculiar organization of
many of the Vertebrata.

But, beyond this, it is perhaps not too much to say that, except for the
necessity of interpreting paleontologic facts, the laws of distribution
would have received less careful study; while few comparative anatomists
(and those not of the first order) would have been induced by mere love
of detail, as such, to study the minutiae of osteology, were it not
that in such minutiae lie the only keys to the most interesting riddles
offered by the extinct animal world.

These assuredly are great and solid gains. Surely it is matter for no
small congratulation that in half a century (for paleontology, though
it dawned earlier, came into full day only with Cuvier) a subordinate
branch of biology should have doubled the value and the interest of the
whole group of sciences to which it belongs.

But this is not all. Allied with geology, paleontology has established
two laws of inestimable importance: the first, that one and the same
area of the earth's surface has been successively occupied by very
different kinds of living beings; the second, that the order of
succession established in one locality holds good, approximately, in
all.

The first of these laws is universal and irreversible; the second is an
induction from a vast number of observations, though it may possibly,
and even probably, have to admit of exceptions. As a consequence of
the second law, it follows that a peculiar relation frequently subsists
between series of strata, containing organic remains, in different
localities. The series resemble one another, not only in virtue of
a general resemblance of the organic remains in the two, but also
in virtue of a resemblance in the order and character of the serial
succession in each. There is a resemblance of arrangement; so that the
separate terms of each series, as well as the whole series, exhibit a
correspondence.

Succession implies time; the lower members of a series of sedimentary
rocks are certainly older than the upper; and when the notion of age was
once introduced as the equivalent of succession, it was no wonder that
correspondence in succession came to be looked upon as a correspondence
in age, or "contemporaneity." And, indeed, so long as relative age only
is spoken of, correspondence in succession IS correspondence in age; it
is RELATIVE contemporaneity.

But it would have been very much better for geology if so loose and
ambiguous a word as "contemporaneous" had been excluded from her
terminology, and if, in its stead, some term expressing similarity of
serial relation, and excluding the notion of time altogether, had been
employed to denote correspondence in position in two or more series of
strata.

In anatomy, where such correspondence of position has constantly to be
spoken of, it is denoted by the word "homology" and its derivatives; and
for Geology (which after all is only the anatomy and physiology of the
earth) it might be well to invent some single word, such as "homotaxis"
(similarity of order), in order to express an essentially similar idea.
This, however, has not been done, and most probably the inquiry will at
once be made--To what end burden science with a new and strange term in
place of one old, familiar, and part of our common language?

The reply to this question will become obvious as the inquiry into the
results of paleontology is pushed further.

Those whose business it is to acquaint themselves specially with the
works of paleontologists, in fact, will be fully aware that very few,
if any, would rest satisfied with such a statement of the conclusions of
their branch of biology as that which has just been given.

Our standard repertories of paleontology profess to teach us far higher
things--to disclose the entire succession of living forms upon the
surface of the globe; to tell us of a wholly different distribution of
climatic conditions in ancient times; to reveal the character of the
first of all living existences; and to trace out the law of progress
from them to us.

It may not be unprofitable to bestow on these professions a somewhat
more critical examination than they have hitherto received, in order to
ascertain how far they rest on an irrefragable basis; or whether, after
all, it might not be well for paleontologists to learn a little more
carefully that scientific "ars artium," the art of saying "I don't
know." And to this end let us define somewhat more exactly the extent of
these pretensions of paleontology.

Every one is aware that Professor Bronn's 'Untersuchungen' and Professor
Pictet's 'Traite de Paleontologie' are works of standard authority,
familiarly consulted by every working paleontologist. It is desirable to
speak of these excellent books, and of their distinguished authors,
with the utmost respect, and in a tone as far as possible removed from
carping criticism; indeed, if they are specially cited in this place,
it is merely in justification of the assertion that the following
propositions, which may be found implicitly, or explicitly, in the works
in question, are regarded by the mass of paleontologists and geologists,
not only on the Continent but in this country, as expressing some of
the best-established results of paleontology. Thus:--Animals and plants
began their existence together, not long after the commencement of the
deposition of the sedimentary rocks; and then succeeded one another,
in such a manner, that totally distinct faunae and florae occupied the
whole surface of the earth, one after the other, and during distinct
epochs of time.

A geological formation is the sum of all the strata deposited over the
whole surface of the earth during one of these epochs: a geological
fauna or flora is the sum of all the species of animals or plants which
occupied the whole surface of the globe, during one of these epochs.

The population of the earth's surface was at first very similar in all
parts, and only from the middle of the Tertiary epoch onwards, began to
show a distinct distribution in zones.

The constitution of the original population, as well as the numerical
proportions of its members, indicates a warmer and, on the whole,
somewhat tropical climate, which remained tolerably equable throughout
the year. The subsequent distribution of living beings in zones is the
result of a gradual lowering of the general temperature, which first
began to be felt at the poles.

It is not now proposed to inquire whether these doctrines are true
or false; but to direct your attention to a much simpler though very
essential preliminary question--What is their logical basis? what are
the fundamental assumptions upon which they all logically depend? and
what is the evidence on which those fundamental propositions demand our
assent?

These assumptions are two: the first, that the commencement of the
geological record is coeval with the commencement of life on the
globe; the second, that geological contemporaneity is the same thing as
chronological synchrony. Without the first of these assumptions
there would of course be no ground for any statement respecting the
commencement of life; without the second, all the other statements
cited, every one of which implies a knowledge of the state of different
parts of the earth at one and the same time, will be no less devoid of
demonstration.

The first assumption obviously rests entirely on negative evidence. This
is, of course, the only evidence that ever can be available to prove the
commencement of any series of phenomena; but, at the same time, it must
be recollected that the value of negative evidence depends entirely on
the amount of positive corroboration it receives. If A B wishes to prove
an 'alibi', it is of no use for him to get a thousand witnesses simply
to swear that they did not see him in such and such a place, unless the
witnesses are prepared to prove that they must have seen him had he
been there. But the evidence that animal life commenced with the
Lingula-flags, 'e.g.', would seem to be exactly of this unsatisfactory
uncorroborated sort. The Cambrian witnesses simply swear they "haven't
seen anybody their way"; upon which the counsel for the other side
immediately puts in ten or twelve thousand feet of Devonian sandstones
to make oath they never saw a fish or a mollusk, though all the world
knows there were plenty in their time.

But then it is urged that, though the Devonian rocks in one part of the
world exhibit no fossils, in another they do, while the lower Cambrian
rocks nowhere exhibit fossils, and hence no living being could have
existed in their epoch.

To this there are two replies: the first, that the observational basis
of the assertion that the lowest rocks are nowhere fossiliferous is an
amazingly small one, seeing how very small an area, in comparison to
that of the whole world, has yet been fully searched; the second, that
the argument is good for nothing unless the unfossiliferous rocks in
question were not only 'contemporaneous' in the geological sense,
but 'synchronous' in the chronological sense. To use the 'alibi'
illustration again. If a man wishes to prove he was in neither of two
places, A and B, on a given day, his witnesses for each place must be
prepared to answer for the whole day. If they can only prove that he was
not at A in the morning, and not at B in the afternoon, the evidence of
his absence from both is 'nil', because he might have been at B in the
morning and at A in the afternoon.

Thus everything depends upon the validity of the second assumption.
And we must proceed to inquire what is the real meaning of the word
"contemporaneous" as employed by geologists. To this end a concrete
example may be taken.

The Lias of England and the Lias of Germany, the Cretaceous rocks
of Britain and the Cretaceous rocks of Southern India, are termed by
geologists "contemporaneous" formations; but whenever any thoughtful
geologist is asked whether he means to say that they were deposited
synchronously, he says, "No,--only within the same great epoch." And if,
in pursuing the inquiry, he is asked what may be the approximate value
in time of a "great epoch"--whether it means a hundred years, or a
thousand, or a million, or ten million years--his reply is, "I cannot
tell."

If the further question be put, whether physical geology is in
possession of any method by which the actual synchrony (or the reverse)
of any two distant deposits can be ascertained, no such method can be
heard of; it being admitted by all the best authorities that neither
similarity of mineral composition, nor of physical character, nor even
direct continuity of stratum, are 'absolute' proofs of the synchronism
of even approximated sedimentary strata: while, for distant deposits,
there seems to be no kind of physical evidence attainable of a nature
competent to decide whether such deposits were formed simultaneously, or
whether they possess any given difference of antiquity. To return to an
example already given: All competent authorities will probably assent to
the proposition that physical geology does not enable us in any way to
reply to this question--Were the British Cretaceous rocks deposited at
the same time as those of India, or are they a million of years younger
or a million of years older?

Is paleontology able to succeed where physical geology fails? Standard
writers on paleontology, as has been seen, assume that she can. They
take it for granted, that deposits containing similar organic remains
are synchronous--at any rate in a broad sense; and yet, those who will
study the eleventh and twelfth chapters of Sir Henry De La Beche's
remarkable 'Researches in Theoretical Geology', published now nearly
thirty years ago, and will carry out the arguments there most luminously
stated, to their logical consequences, may very easily convince
themselves that even absolute identity of organic contents is no proof
of the synchrony of deposits, while absolute diversity is no proof of
difference of date. Sir Henry De La Beche goes even further, and adduces
conclusive evidence to show that the different parts of one and the same
stratum, having a similar composition throughout, containing the same
organic remains, and having similar beds above and below it, may yet
differ to any conceivable extent in age.

Edward Forbes was in the habit of asserting that the similarity of the
organic contents of distant formations was 'prima facie' evidence, not
of their similarity, but of their difference of age; and holding as
he did the doctrine of single specific centres, the conclusion was as
legitimate as any other; for the two districts must have been occupied
by migration from one of the two, or from an intermediate spot, and
the chances against exact coincidence of migration and of imbedding are
infinite.

In point of fact, however, whether the hypothesis of single or of
multiple specific centres be adopted, similarity of organic contents
cannot possibly afford any proof of the synchrony of the deposits which
contain them; on the contrary, it is demonstrably compatible with
the lapse of the most prodigious intervals of time, and with the
interposition of vast changes in the organic and inorganic worlds,
between the epochs in which such deposits were formed.

On what amount of similarity of their faunae is the doctrine of the
contemporaneity of the European and of the North American Silurians
based? In the last edition of Sir Charles Lyell's 'Elementary Geology'
it is stated, on the authority of a former President of this Society,
the late Daniel Sharpe, that between 30 and 40 per cent. of the species
of Silurian Mollusca are common to both sides of the Atlantic. By way of
due allowance for further discovery, let us double the lesser number
and suppose that 60 per cent. of the species are common to the North
American and the British Silurians. Sixty per cent. of species in common
is, then, proof of contemporaneity.

Now suppose that, a million or two of years hence, when Britain has
made another dip beneath the sea and has come up again, some geologist
applies this doctrine, in comparing the strata laid bare by the upheaval
of the bottom, say, of St. George's Channel with what may then remain of
the Suffolk Crag. Reasoning in the same way, he will at once decide the
Suffolk Crag and the St. George's Channel beds to be contemporaneous;
although we happen to know that a vast period (even in the geological
sense) of time, and physical changes of almost unprecedented extent,
separate the two.

But if it be a demonstrable fact that strata containing more than 60 or
70 per cent. of species of Mollusca in common, and comparatively
close together, may yet be separated by an amount of geological time
sufficient to allow of some of the greatest physical changes the world
has seen, what becomes of that sort of contemporaneity the sole evidence
of which is a similarity of facies, or the identity of half a dozen
species, or of a good many genera?

And yet there is no better evidence for the contemporaneity assumed
by all who adopt the hypothesis of universal faunae and florae, of a
universally uniform climate, and of a sensible cooling of the globe
during geological time.

There seems, then, no escape from the admission that neither physical
geology, nor paleontology, possesses any method by which the absolute
synchronism of two strata can be demonstrated. All that geology can
prove is local order of succession. It is mathematically certain
that, in any given vertical linear section of an undisturbed series of
sedimentary deposits, the bed which lies lowest is the oldest. In
many other vertical linear sections of the same series, of course,
corresponding beds will occur in a similar order; but, however great may
be the probability, no man can say with absolute certainty that the beds
in the two sections were synchronously deposited. For areas of moderate
extent, it is doubtless true that no practical evil is likely to result
from assuming the corresponding beds to be synchronous or strictly
contemporaneous; and there are multitudes of accessory circumstances
which may fully justify the assumption of such synchrony. But the moment
the geologist has to deal with large areas, or with completely separated
deposits, the mischief of confounding that "homotaxis" or "similarity of
arrangement," which 'can' be demonstrated, with "synchrony" or "identity
of date," for which there is not a shadow of proof, under the one common
term of "contemporaneity" becomes incalculable, and proves the constant
source of gratuitous speculations.

For anything that geology or paleontology are able to show to the
contrary, a Devonian fauna and flora in the British Islands may have
been contemporaneous with Silurian life in North America, and with a
Carboniferous fauna and flora in Africa. Geographical provinces and
zones may have been as distinctly marked in the Paleozoic epoch as
at present, and those seemingly sudden appearances of new genera and
species, which we ascribe to new creation, may be simple results of
migration.

It may be so; it may be otherwise. In the present condition of our
knowledge and of our methods, one verdict--"not proven, and not
provable"--must be recorded against all the grand hypotheses of the
paleontologist respecting the general succession of life on the
globe. The order and nature of terrestrial life, as a whole, are
open questions. Geology at present provides us with most valuable
topographical records, but she has not the means of working them into a
universal history. Is such a universal history, then, to be regarded as
unattainable? Are all the grandest and most interesting problems which
offer themselves to the geological student essentially insoluble? Is he
in the position of a scientific Tantalus--doomed always to thirst for
a knowledge which he cannot obtain? The reverse is to be hoped; nay, it
may not be impossible to indicate the source whence help will come.

In commencing these remarks, mention was made of the great obligations
under which the naturalist lies to the geologist and paleontologist.
Assuredly the time will come when these obligations will be repaid
tenfold, and when the maze of the world's past history, through which
the pure geologist and the pure paleontologist find no guidance, will be
securely threaded by the clue furnished by the naturalist.

All who are competent to express an opinion on the subject are, at
present, agreed that the manifold varieties of animal and vegetable
form have not either come into existence by chance, nor result from
capricious exertions of creative power; but that they have taken place
in a definite order, the statement of which order is what men of
science term a natural law. Whether such a law is to be regarded as an
expression of the mode of operation of natural forces, or whether it
is simply a statement of the manner in which a supernatural power has
thought fit to act, is a secondary question, so long as the existence of
the law and the possibility of its discovery by the human intellect are
granted. But he must be a half-hearted philosopher who, believing
in that possibility, and having watched the gigantic strides of the
biological sciences during the last twenty years, doubts that science
will sooner or later make this further step, so as to become possessed
of the law of evolution of organic forms--of the unvarying order of that
great chain of causes and effects of which all organic forms, ancient
and modern, are the links. And then, if ever, we shall be able to begin
to discuss, with profit, the questions respecting the commencement of
life, and the nature of the successive populations of the globe, which
so many seem to think are already answered.

The preceding arguments make no particular claim to novelty; indeed
they have been floating more or less distinctly before the minds of
geologists for the last thirty years; and if, at the present time,
it has seemed desirable to give them more definite and systematic
expression, it is because paleontology is every day assuming a greater
importance, and now requires to rest on a basis the firmness of which is
thoroughly well assured. Among its fundamental conceptions, there
must be no confusion between what is certain and what is more or less
probable.* ([Footnote] *"le plus grand service qu'on puisse rendre a la
science est d'y faire place nette avant d'y rien construire."--CUVIER.)
But, pending the construction of a surer foundation than paleontology
now possesses, it may be instructive, assuming for the nonce the general
correctness of the ordinary hypothesis of geological contemporaneity,
to consider whether the deductions which are ordinarily drawn from the
whole body of paleontologic facts are justifiable.

The evidence on which such conclusions are based is of two kinds,
negative and positive. The value of negative evidence, in connection
with this inquiry, has been so fully and clearly discussed in an address
from the chair of this Society,* ([Footnote] *Anniversary Address
for 1851, 'Quart. Journ. Geol. Soc.' vol. vii.) which none of us have
forgotten, that nothing need at present be said about it; the more, as
the considerations which have been laid before you have certainly
not tended to increase your estimation of such evidence. It will be
preferable to turn to the positive facts of paleontology, and to inquire
what they tell us.

We are all accustomed to speak of the number and the extent of the
changes in the living population of the globe during geological time
as something enormous: and indeed they are so, if we regard only the
negative differences which separate the older rocks from the more
modern, and if we look upon specific and generic changes as great
changes, which from one point of view, they truly are. But leaving
the negative differences out of consideration, and looking only at the
positive data furnished by the fossil world from a broader point of
view--from that of the comparative anatomist who has made the study of
the greater modifications of animal form his chief business--a surprise
of another kind dawns upon the mind; and under 'this' aspect the
smallness of the total change becomes as astonishing as was its
greatness under the other.

There are two hundred known orders of plants; of these not one is
certainly known to exist exclusively in the fossil state. The whole
lapse of geological time has as yet yielded not a single new ordinal
type of vegetable structure.* ([Footnote] *See Hooker's 'Introductory
Essay to the Flora of Tasmania', p. xxiii.)

The positive change in passing from the recent to the ancient animal
world is greater, but still singularly small. No fossil animal is so
distinct from those now living as to require to be arranged even in a
separate class from those which contain existing forms. It is only when
we come to the orders, which may be roughly estimated at about a hundred
and thirty, that we meet with fossil animals so distinct from those now
living as to require orders for themselves; and these do not amount, on
the most liberal estimate, to more than about 10 per cent of the whole.

There is no certainly known extinct order of Protozoa; there is but one
among the Coelenterata--that of the rugose corals; there is none
among the Mollusca; there are three, the Cystidea, Blastoidea, and
Edrioasterida, among the Echinoderms; and two, the Trilobita and
Eurypterida, among the Crustacea; making altogether five for the
great sub-kingdom of Annulosa. Among Vertebrates there is no ordinally
distinct fossil fish: there is only one extinct order of Amphibia--the
Labyrinthodonts; but there are at least four distinct orders of
Reptilia, viz. the Ichthyosauria, Plesiosauria, Pterosauria, Dinosauria,
and perhaps another or two. There is no known extinct order of
Birds, and no certainly known extinct order of Mammals, the ordinal
distinctness of the "Toxodontia" being doubtful.

The objection that broad statements of this kind, after all, rest
largely on negative evidence is obvious, but it has less force than may
at first be supposed; for, as might be expected from the circumstances
of the case, we possess more abundant positive evidence regarding Fishes
and marine Mollusks than respecting any other forms of animal life;
and yet these offer us, through the whole range of geological time, no
species ordinally distinct from those now living; while the far less
numerous class of Echinoderms presents three; and the Crustacea two,
such orders, though none of these come down later than the Paleozoic
age. Lastly, the Reptilia present the extraordinary and exceptional
phenomenon of as many extinct as existing orders, if not more; the
four mentioned maintaining their existence from the Lias to the Chalk
inclusive.

Some years ago one of your Secretaries pointed out another kind
of positive paleontologic evidence tending towards the same
conclusion--afforded by the existence of what he termed "persistent
types" of vegetable and of animal life.* ([Footnote] *See the abstract
of a Lecture "On the Persistent Types of Animal Life," in the 'Notices
of the Meetings of the Royal Institution of Great Britain'.--June 3,
1859, vol. iii. p. 151.) He stated, on the authority of Dr. Hooker, that
there are Carboniferous plants which appear to be generically identical
with some now living; that the cone of the Oolitic 'Araucaria' is hardly
distinguishable from that of an existing species; that a true 'Pinus'
appears in the Purbecks, and a 'Juglans' in the Chalk; while, from the
Bagshot Sands, a 'Banksia', the wood of which is not distinguishable
from that of species now living in Australia, had been obtained.

Turning to the animal kingdom, he affirmed the tabulate corals of the
Silurian rocks to be wonderfully like those which now exist; while even
the families of the Aporosa were all represented in the older Mesozoic
rocks.

Among the Molluska similar facts were adduced. Let it be borne in mind
that 'Avicula', 'Mytalis', 'Chiton', 'Natica', 'Patella', 'Trochus',
'Discina', 'Orbicula', 'Lingula', 'Rhynchonella', and 'Nautilus', all
of which are existing 'genera', are given without a doubt as Silurian
in the last edition of 'Siluria'; while the highest forms of the highest
Cephalopods are represented in the Lias by a genus, 'Belemnoteuthis',
which presents the closest relation to the existing 'Loligo'.

The two highest groups of the Annulosa, the Insecta and the Arachnida,
are represented in the Coal, either by existing genera, or by forms
differing from existing genera in quite minor peculiarities.

Turning to the Vertebrata, the only Paleozoic Elasmobranch Fish of
which we have any complete knowledge is the Devonian and Carboniferous
'Pleuracanthus', which differs no more from existing Sharks than these
do from one another.

Again, vast as is the number of undoubtedly Ganoid fossil Fishes, and
great as is their range in time, a large mass of evidence has recently
been adduced to show that almost all those respecting which we possess
sufficient information, are referable to the same sub-ordinal groups
as the existing 'Lepidosteus', 'Polypterus', and Sturgeon; and that a
singular relation obtains between the older and the younger Fishes;
the former, the Devonian Ganoids, being almost all members of the same
sub-order as 'Polypterus', while the Mesozoic Ganoids are almost
all similarly allied to 'Lepidosteus'.* ([Footnote] *"Memoirs of the
Geological Survey of the United Kingdom.--Decade x. Preliminary Essay
upon the Systematic Arrangement of the Fishes of the Devonian Epoch.")

Again, what can be more remarkable than the singular constancy of
structure preserved throughout a vast period of time by the family
of the Pycnodonts and by that of the true Coelacanths; the former
persisting, with but insignificant modifications, from the Carboniferous
to the Tertiary rocks, inclusive; the latter existing, with still less
change, from the Carboniferous rocks to the Chalk, inclusive?

Among Reptiles, the highest living group, that of the Crocodilia,
is represented, at the early part of the Mesozoic epoch, by species
identical in the essential characters of their organization with those
now living, and differing from the latter only in such matters as the
form of the articular facets of the vertebral centra, in the extent to
which the nasal passages are separated from the cavity of the mouth by
bone, and in the proportions of the limbs.

And even as regards the Mammalia, the scanty remains of Triassic and
Oolitic species afford no foundation for the supposition that the
organization of the oldest forms differed nearly so much from some of
those which now live as these differ from one another.

It is needless to multiply these instances; enough has been said to
justify the statement that, in view of the immense diversity of known
animal and vegetable forms, and the enormous lapse of time indicated by
the accumulation of fossiliferous strata, the only circumstance to be
wondered at is, not that the changes of life, as exhibited by positive
evidence, have been so great, but that they have been so small.

Be they great or small, however, it is desirable to attempt to estimate
them. Let us, therefore, take each great division of the animal world in
succession, and, whenever an order or a family can be shown to have had
a prolonged existence, let us endeavour to ascertain how far the later
members of the group differ from the earlier ones. If these later
members, in all or in many cases, exhibit a certain amount of
modification, the fact is, so far, evidence in favour of a general law
of change; and, in a rough way, the rapidity of that change will be
measured by the demonstrable amount of modification. On the other hand,
it must be recollected that the absence of any modification, while
it may leave the doctrine of the existence of a law of change without
positive support, cannot possibly disprove all forms of that doctrine,
though it may afford a sufficient refutation of any of them.

The PROTOZOA.--The Protozoa are represented throughout the whole range
of geological series, from the Lower Silurian formation to the present
day. The most ancient forms recently made known by Ehrenberg are
exceedingly like those which now exist: no one has ever pretended that
the difference between any ancient and any modern Foraminifera is of
more than generic value, nor are the oldest Foraminifera either simpler,
more embryonic, or less differentiated, than the existing forms.

The COELENTERATA.--The Tabulate Corals have existed from the Silurian
epoch to the present day, but I am not aware that the ancient
'Heliolites' possesses a single mark of a more embryonic or less
differentiated character, or less high organization, than the existing
'Heliopora'. As for the Aporose Corals, in what respect is the Silurian
'Paleocyclus' less highly organized or more embryonic than the modern
'Fungia', or the Liassic Aporosa than the existing members of the same
families?

The 'Mollusca'.--In what sense is the living 'Waldheimia' less
embryonic, or more specialized; than the paleozoic 'Spirifer'; or the
existing 'Rhynchonellae', 'Craniae', 'Discinae', 'Lingulae', than the
Silurian species of the same genera? In what sense can 'Loligo' or
'Spirula' be said to be more specialized, or less embryonic, than
'Belemnites'; or the modern species of Lamellibranch and Gasteropod
genera, than the Silurian species of the same genera?

The ANNULOSA.--The Carboniferous Insecta and Arachnida are neither less
specialized, nor more embryonic, than these that now live, nor are the
Liassic Cirripedia and Macrura; while several of the Brachyura, which
appear in the Chalk, belong to existing genera; and none exhibit either
an intermediate, or an embryonic, character.

The VERTEBRARA.--Among fishes I have referred to the Coelacanthini
(comprising the genera 'Coelacanthus', 'Holophagus', 'Undina', and
'Macropoma') as affording an example of a persistent type; and it is
most remarkable to note the smallness of the differences between any of
these fishes (affecting at most the proportions of the body and fins,
and the character and sculpture of the scales), notwithstanding their
enormous range in time. In all the essentials of its very peculiar
structure, the 'Macropoma' of the Chalk is identical with the
'Coelacanthus' of the Coal. Look at the genus 'Lepidotus', again,
persisting without a modification of importance from the Liassic to the
Eocene formations inclusive.

Or among the Teleostei--in what respect is the 'Beryx' of the Chalk
more embryonic, or less differentiated, than 'Beryx lineatus' of King
George's Sound?

Or to turn to the higher Vertebrata--in what sense are the Liassic
Chelonia inferior to those which now exist? How are the Cretaceous
Ichthyosauria, Plesiosauria, or Pterosauria less embryonic, or more
differentiated, species than those of the Lias?

Or lastly, in what circumstance is the 'Phascolotherium' more
embryonic, or of a more generalized type, than the modern Opossum; or a
'Lophiodon', or a 'Paleotherium', than a modern 'Tapirus' or 'Hyrax'?

These examples might be almost indefinitely multiplied, but surely they
are sufficient to prove that the only safe and unquestionable testimony
we can procure--positive evidence--fails to demonstrate any sort of
progressive modification towards a less embryonic, or less generalised,
type in a great many groups of animals of long-continued geological
existence. In these groups there is abundant evidence of variation--none
of what is ordinarily understood as progression; and, if the known
geological record is to be regarded as even any considerable fragment
of the whole, it is inconceivable that any theory of a necessarily
progressive development can stand, for the numerous orders and families
cited afford no trace of such a process.

But it is a most remarkable fact, that, while the groups which have
been mentioned, and many besides, exhibit no sign of progressive
modification, there are others, co-existing with them, under the same
conditions, in which more or less distinct indications of such a process
seems to be traceable. Among such indications I may remind you of the
predominance of Holostome Gasteropoda in the older rocks as compared
with that of Siphonostome Gasteropoda in the later. A case less open
to the objection of negative evidence, however, is that afforded by the
Tetrabranchiate Cephalopoda, the forms of the shells and of the septal
sutures exhibiting a certain increase of complexity in the newer genera.
Here, however, one is met at once with the occurrence of 'Orthoceras'
and 'Baculites' at the two ends of the series, and of the fact that one
of the simplest Genera, 'Nautilus', is that which now exists.

The Crinoidea, in the abundance of stalked forms in the ancient
formations as compared with their present rarity, seem to present us
with a fair case of modification from a more embryonic towards a less
embryonic condition. But then, on careful consideration of the facts,
the objection arises that the stalk, calyx, and arms of the paleozoic
Crinoid are exceedingly different from the corresponding organs of a
larval 'Comatula'; and it might with perfect justice be argued that
'Actinocrinus' and 'Eucalyptocrinus', for example, depart to the full
as widely, in one direction, from the stalked embryo of 'Comatula', as
'Comatula' itself does in the other.

The Echinidea, again, are frequently quoted as exhibiting a gradual
passage from a more generalized to a more specialized type, seeing
that the elongated, or oval, Spatangoids appear after the spheroidal
Echinoids. But here it might be argued, on the other hand, that the
spheroidal Echinoids, in reality, depart further from the general plan
and from the embryonic form than the elongated Spatangoids do; and that
the peculiar dental apparatus and the pedicellariae of the former are
marks of at least as great differentiation as the petaloid ambulacra and
semitae of the latter.

Once more, the prevalence of Macrurous before Brachyurous Podophthalmia
is, apparently, a fair piece of evidence in favour of progressive
modification in the same order of Crustacea; and yet the case will not
stand much sifting, seeing that the Macrurous Podophthalmia depart as
far in one direction from the common type of Podophthalmia, or from any
embryonic condition of the Brachyura, as the Brachyura do in the
other; and that the middle terms between Macrura and Brachyura--the
Anomura--are little better represented in the older Mesozoic rocks than
the Brachyura are.

None of the cases of progressive modification which are cited from
among the Invertebrata appear to me to have a foundation less open to
criticism than these; and if this be so, no careful reasoner would,
I think, be inclined to lay very great stress upon them. Among the
Vertebrata, however, there are a few examples which appear to be far
less open to objection.

It is, in fact, true of several groups of Vertebrata which have lived
through a considerable range of time, that the endoskeleton (more
particularly the spinal column) of the older genera presents a less
ossified, and, so far, less differentiated, condition than that of the
younger genera. Thus the Devonian Ganoids, though almost all members of
the same sub-order as 'Polypterus', and presenting numerous important
resemblances to the existing genus, which possesses biconcave vertebrae,
are, for the most part, wholly devoid of ossified vertebral centra. The
Mesozoic Lepidosteidae, again, have, at most, biconcave vertebrae, while
the existing 'Lepidosteus' has Salamandroid, opisthocoelous, vertebrae.
So, none of the Paleozoic Sharks have shown themselves to be possessed
of ossified vertebrae, while the majority of modern Sharks possess
such vertebrae. Again, the more ancient Crocodilia and Lacertilia
have vertebrae with the articular facets of their centra flattened
or biconcave, while the modern members of the same group have them
procoelous. But the most remarkable examples of progressive modification
of the vertebral column, in correspondence with geological age, are
those afforded by the Pycnodonts among fish, and the Labyrinthodonts
among Amphibia.

The late able ichthyologist Heckel pointed out the fact, that, while
the Pycnodonts never possess true vertebral centra, they differ in the
degree of expansion and extension of the ends of the bony arches of
the vertebrae upon the sheath of the notochord; the Carboniferous forms
exhibiting hardly any such expansion, while the Mesozoic genera present
a greater and greater development, until, in the Tertiary forms, the
expanded ends become suturally united so as to form a sort of false
vertebra. Hermann von Meyer, again, to whose luminous researches we
are indebted for our present large knowledge of the organization of the
older Labyrinthodonts, has proved that the Carboniferous 'Archegosaurus'
had very imperfectly developed vertebral centra, while the Triassic
'Mastodonsaurus' had the same parts completely ossified.* ([Footnote]
*As the Address is passing through the press (March 7, 1862),
evidence lies before me of the existence of a new Labyrinthodont
('Pholidogaster'), from the Edinburgh coal-field, with well-ossified
vertebral centra.)

The regularity and evenness of the dentition of the 'Anoplotherium', as
contrasted with that of existing Artiodactyles, and the assumed nearer
approach of the dentition of certain ancient Carnivores to the typical
arrangement, have also been cited as exemplifications of a law of
progressive development, but I know of no other cases based on positive
evidence which are worthy of particular notice.

What then does an impartial survey of the positively ascertained
truths of paleontology testify in relation to the common doctrines of
progressive modification, which suppose that modification to have taken
place by a necessary progress from more to less embryonic forms, or
from more to less generalized types, within the limits of the period
represented by the fossiliferous rocks?

It negatives those doctrines; for it either shows us no evidence of any
such modification, or demonstrates it to have been very slight; and as
to the nature of that modification, it yields no evidence whatsoever
that the earlier members of any long-continued group were more
generalized in structure than the later ones. To a certain extent,
indeed, it may be said that imperfect ossification of the vertebral
column is an embryonic character; but, on the other hand, it would be
extremely incorrect to suppose that the vertebral columns of the older
Vertebrata are in any sense embryonic in their whole structure.

Obviously, if the earliest fossiliferous rocks now known are coeval
with the commencement of life, and if their contents give us any just
conception of the nature and the extent of the earliest fauna and flora,
the insignificant amount of modification which can be demonstrated
to have taken place in any one group of animals, or plants, is quite
incompatible with the hypothesis that all living forms are the results
of a necessary process of progressive development, entirely comprised
within the time represented by the fossiliferous rocks.

Contrariwise, any admissible hypothesis of progressive modification must
be compatible with persistence without progression, through indefinite
periods. And should such an hypothesis eventually be proved to be true,
in the only way in which it can be demonstrated, viz. by observation
and experiment upon the existing forms of life, the conclusion will
inevitably present itself, that the Paleozoic, Mesozoic, and Cainozoic
faunae and florae, taken together, bear somewhat the same proportion to
the whole series of living beings which have occupied this globe, as the
existing fauna and flora do to them.

Such are the results of paleontology as they appear, and have for some
years appeared, to the mind of an inquirer who regards that study simply
as one of the applications of the great biological sciences, and who
desires to see it placed upon the same sound basis as other branches of
physical inquiry. If the arguments which have been brought forward are
valid, probably no one, in view of the present state of opinion, will
be inclined to think the time wasted which has been spent upon their
elaboration.

End of Geological Contemporaneity and Persistent Types of Life.




CORAL AND CORAL REEFS.*

([Footnote] *A Lecture delivered in Manchester, November 4th, 1870.)

The subject upon which I wish to address you to-night is the structure
and origin of Coral and Coral Reefs. Under the head of "coral" there are
included two very different things; one of them is that substance which
I imagine a great number of us have champed when we were very much
younger than we are now,--the common red coral, which is used so much,
as you know, for the edification and the delectation of children of
tender years, and is also employed for the purposes of ornament for
those who are much older, and as some think might know better. The other
kind of coral is a very different substance; it may for distinction's
sake be called the white coral; it is a material which most assuredly
not the hardest-hearted of baby farmers would give to a baby to chew,
and it is a substance which is to be seen only in the cabinets of
curious persons, or in museums, or, may be, over the mantelpieces of
sea-faring men. But although the red coral, as I have mentioned to you,
has access to the very best society; and although the white coral is
comparatively a despised product, yet in this, as in many other cases,
the humbler thing is in reality the greater; the amount of work which is
done in the world by the white coral being absolutely infinite compared
with that effected by its delicate and pampered namesake. Each of these
substances, the white coral and the red, however, has a relationship to
the other. They are, in a zoological sense, cousins, each of them being
formed by the same kind of animals in what is substantially the same
way. Each of these bodies is, in fact, the hard skeleton of a very
curious and a very simple animal, more comparable to the bones of such
animals as ourselves than to the shells of oysters or creatures of that
kind; for it is the hardening of the internal tissue of the creature, of
its internal substance, by the deposit in the body of a material which
is exceedingly common, not only in fresh but in sea water, and which
is specially abundant in those waters which we know as "hard,"
those waters, for example, which leave a "fur" upon the bottom of a
tea-kettle. This "fur" is carbonate of lime, the same sort of substance
as limestone and chalk. That material is contained in solution in sea
water, and it is out of the sea water in which these coral creatures
live that they get the lime which is needed for the forming of their
hard skeleton.

But now what manner of creatures are these which form these hard
skeletons? I dare say that in these days of keeping aquaria, of
locomotion to the sea-side, most of those whom I am addressing may have
seen one of those creatures which used to be known as the "sea anemone,"
receiving that name on account of its general resemblance, in a rough
sort of way, to the flower which is known as the "anemone"; but being
a thing which lives in the sea, it was qualified as the "sea anemone."
Well, then, you must suppose a body shaped like a short cylinder, the
top cut off, and in the top a hole rather oval than round. All round
this aperture, which is the mouth, imagine that there are placed a
number of feelers forming a circle. The cavity of the mouth leads into
a sort of stomach, which is very unlike those of the higher animals,
in the circumstance that it opens at the lower end into a cavity of the
body, and all the digested matter, converted into nourishment, is thus
distributed through the rest of the body. That is the general structure
of one of these sea anemones. If you touch it it contracts immediately
into a heap. It looks at first quite like a flower in the sea, but if
you touch it you find that it exhibits all the peculiarities of a living
animal; and if anything which can serve as its prey comes near its
tentacles, it closes them round it and sucks the material into its
stomach and there digests it and turns it to the account of its own
body.

These creatures are very voracious, and not at all particular what they
seize; and sometimes it may be that they lay hold of a shellfish which
is far too big to be packed into that interior cavity, and, of course,
in any ordinary animal a proceeding of this kind would give rise to a
very severe fit of indigestion. But this is by no means the case in the
sea anemone, because when digestive difficulties of this kind arise he
gets out of them by splitting himself in two; and then each half builds
itself up into a fresh creature, and you have two polypes where there
was previously one, and the bone which stuck in the way lying between
them! Not only can these creatures multiply in this fashion, but they
can multiply by buds. A bud will grow out of the side of the body (I am
not speaking of the common sea anemone, but of allied creatures) just
like the bud of a plant, and that will fashion itself into a creature
just like the parent. There are some of them in which these buds remain
connected together, and you will soon see what would be the result of
that. If I make a bud grow out here, and another on the opposite side,
and each fashions itself into a new polype, the practical effect will be
that before long you will see a single polype converted into a sort of
tree or bush of polypes. And these will all remain associated together,
like a kind of co-operative store, which is a thing I believe you
understand very well here,--each mouth will help to feed the body and
each part of the body help to support the multifarious mouths. I think
that is as good an example of a zoological co-operative store as you can
well have. Such are these wonderful creatures. But they are capable not
only of multiplying in this way, but in other ways, by having a more
ordinary and regular kind of offspring. Little eggs are hatched and the
young are passed out by the way of the mouth, and they go swimming
about as little oval bodies covered with a very curious kind of hairlike
processes. Each of these processes is capable of striking water like an
oar; and the consequence is that the young creature is propelled through
the water. So that you have the young polype floating about in this
fashion, covered by its 'vibratile cilia', as these long filaments,
which are capable of vibration are termed. And thus, although the polype
itself may be a fixed creature unable to move about, it is able to
spread its offspring over great areas. For these creatures not only
propel themselves, but while swimming about in the sea for many hours,
or perhaps days, it will be obvious that they must be carried hither and
thither by the currents of the sea, which not unfrequently move at the
rate of one or two miles an hour. Thus, in the course of a few days,
the offspring of this stationary creature may be carried to a very great
distance from its parent; and having been so carried it loses these
organs by which it is propelled, and settles down upon the bottom of the
sea and grows up again into the form and condition of its parents. So
that if you suppose a single polype of this kind settled upon the bottom
of the sea, it may by these various methods--that is to say, by cutting
itself in two, which we call "fission," or by budding; or by sending out
these swimming embryos,--multiply itself to an enormous extent, and
give rise to thousands, or millions, of progeny in a comparatively short
time; and these thousands, or millions, of progeny may cover a very
large surface of the sea bottom; in fact, you will readily perceive
that, give them time, and there is no limit to the surface which they
may cover.

Having understood thus far the general nature of these polypes, which
are the fabricators both of the red and white coral, let us consider a
little more particularly how the skeletons of the red coral and of
the white coral are formed. The red coral polype perches upon the sea
bottom, it then grows up into a sort of stem, and out of that stem there
grow branches, each of which has its own polypes; and thus you have a
kind of tree formed, every branch of the tree terminated by its polype.
It is a tree, but at the end of the branches there are open mouths of
polypes instead of flowers. Thus there is a common soft body connecting
the whole, and as it grows up the soft body deposits in its interior a
quantity of carbonate of lime, which acquires a beautiful red or flesh
colour, and forms a kind of stem running through the whole, and it is
that stem which is the red coral. The red coral grows principally at
the bottom of the Mediterranean Sea, at very great depths, and the coral
fishers, who are very adventurous seamen, take their drag nets, of a
peculiar kind, roughly made, but efficient for their purpose, and drag
them along the bottom of the sea to catch the branches of the red coral,
which become entangled and are thus brought up to the surface. They are
then allowed to putrefy, in order to get rid of the animal matter, and
the red coral is the skeleton that is left.

In the case of the white coral, the skeleton is more complete. In the
red coral, the skeleton belongs to the whole; in the white coral there
is a special skeleton for every one of these polypes in addition to that
for the whole body. There is a skeleton formed in the body of each of
them, like a cup divided by a number of radiating partitions towards the
outside; and that cup is formed of carbonate of lime, only not stained
red, as in the case of the red coral. And all these cups are joined
together into a common branch, the result of which is the formation of
a beautiful coral tree. This is a great mass of madrepore, and in the
living state every one of the ends of these branches was terminated by
a beautiful little polype, like a sea anemone, and all the skeleton
was covered by a soft body which united the polypes together. You must
understand that all this skeleton has been formed in the interior of the
body, to suit the branched body of the polype mass, and that it is as
much its skeleton as our own bones are our skeleton. In this next coral
the creature which has formed the skeleton has divided itself as it
grew, and consequently has formed a great expansion; but scattered
all over this surface there were polype bodies like those I previously
described. Again, when this great cup was alive, the whole surface was
covered with a beautiful body upon which were set innumerable small
polype flowers, if we may so call them, often brilliantly ;
and the whole cup was built up in the same fashion by the deposit of
carbonate of lime in the interior of the combined polype body, formed
by budding and by fission in the way I described. You will perceive that
there is no necessary limit to this process. There is no reason why we
should not have coral three or four times as big; and there are certain
creatures of this kind that do fabricate very large masses, or half
spheres several feet in diameter. Thus the activity of these animals
in separating carbonate of lime from the sea and building it up into
definite shapes is very considerable indeed.

Now I think I have said sufficient--as much as I can without taking you
into technical details, of the general nature of these creatures which
form coral. The animals which form coral are scattered over the seas of
all countries in the world. The red coral is comparatively limited, but
the polypes which form the white coral are widely scattered. There
are some of them which remain single, or which give rise to only small
accumulations; and the skeletons of these, as they die, accumulate upon
the bottom of the sea, but they do not come to much; they are washed
about and do not adhere together, but become mixed up with the mud of
the sea. But there are certain parts of the world in which the coral
polypes which live and grow are of a kind which remain, adhere together,
and form great masses. They differ from the ordinary polypes just in
the same way as those plants which form a peat-bog or meadow-turf differ
from ordinary plants. They have a habit of growing together in masses
in the same place; they are what we call "gregarious" things; and the
consequence of this is, that as they die and leave their skeletons,
those skeletons form a considerable solid aggregation at the bottom
of the sea, and other polypes perch upon them, and begin building upon
them, and so by degrees a great mass is formed. And just as we know
there are some ancient cities in which you have a British city, and over
that the foundations of a Roman city; and over that a Saxon city, and
over that again a modern city, so in these localities of which I am
speaking, you have the accumulations of the foundations of the houses,
if I may use the term, of nation after nation of these coral polypes;
and these accumulations may cover a very considerable space, and may
rise in the course of time from the bottom to the surface of the sea.

Mariners have a name which they apply to all sorts of obstacles
consisting of hard and rocky matter which comes in their way in the
course of their navigation; they call such obstacles "reefs," and they
have long been in the habit of calling the particular kind of reef,
which is formed by the accumulation of the skeletons of dead corals, by
the name of "coral reefs," therefore, those parts of the world in which
these accumulations occur have been termed by them "coral reef areas,"
or regions in which coral reefs are found. There is a very notable
example of a simple coral reef about the island of Mauritius, which I
dare say you all know, lies in the middle of the Indian Ocean. It is a
very considerable and beautiful island, and is surrounded on all sides
by a mass of coral, which has been formed in the way I have described;
so that if you could get upon the top of one of the peaks of the island,
and look down upon the Indian Ocean, you would see that the beach round
the Island was continued outward by a kind of shallow terrace, which
is covered by the sea, and where the sea is quite shallow; and at a
distance varying from three-quarters of a mile to a mile and a half from
the proper beach, you would see a line of foam or surf which looks most
beautiful in contrast with the bright green water in the inside, and the
deep blue of the sea beyond. That line of surf indicates the point at
which the waters of the ocean are breaking upon the coral reef which
surrounds the island. You see it sweep round the island upon all sides,
except where a river may chance to come down, and that always makes a
gap in the shore.

There are two or three points which I wish to bring clearly before your
notice about such a reef as this. In the first place, you perceive
it forms a kind of fringe round the island, and is therefore called a
"fringing reef." In the next place, if you go out in a boat, and take
soundings at the edge of the reef, you find that the depth of the water
is not more than from 20 to 25 fathoms--that is about 120 to 150 feet.
Outside that point you come to the natural sea bottom; but all inside
that depth is coral, built up from the bottom by the accumulation of the
skeletons of innumerable generations of coral polypes. So that you see
the coral forms a very considerable rampart round the island. What the
exact circumference may be I do not remember, but it cannot be less than
100 miles, and the outward height of this wall of coral rock nowhere
amounts to less than about 100 or 150 feet.

When the outward face of the reef is examined, you find that the upper
edge, which is exposed to the wash of the sea, and all the seaward face,
is covered with those living plant-like flowers which I have described
to you. They are the coral polypes which grow, flourish, and add to the
mass of calcareous matter which already forms the reef. But towards the
lower part of the reef, at a depth of about 120 feet, these creatures
are less active, and fewer of them at work; and at greater depths than
that you find no living coral polype at all; and it may be laid down
as a rule, derived from very extensive observation, that these
reef-building corals cannot live in a greater depth of water than about
120 to 150 feet. I beg you to recollect that fact, because it is one I
shall have to come back to by and by, and to show to what very curious
consequences that rule leads. Well then, coming back to the margin of
the reef, you find that part of it which lies just within the surf to be
coated by a very curious plant, a sort of seaweed, which contains in its
substance a very great deal of carbonate of lime, and looks almost like
rock; this is what is called the nullipore. More towards the land,
we come to the shallow water upon the inside of the reef, which has
a particular name, derived from the Spanish or the Portuguese--it is
called a "lagoon," or lake. In this lagoon there is comparatively little
living coral; the bottom of it is formed of coral mud. If we pounded
this coral in water, it would be converted into calcareous mud, and the
waves during storms do for the coral skeletons exactly what we might do
for this coral in a mortar; the waves tear off great fragments and
crush them with prodigious force, until they are ground into the merest
powder, and that powder is washed into the interior of the lagoon, and
forms a muddy coating at the bottom. Beside that there are a great many
animals that prey upon the coral--fishes, worms, and creatures of that
kind, and all these, by their digestive processes, reduce the coral to
the same state, and contribute a very important element to this fine
mud. The living coral found in the lagoon, is not the reef building
coral; it does not give rise to the same massive skeletons. As you go
in a boat over these shallow pools, you see these beautiful things,
 red, blue, green, and all colours, building their houses;
but these are mere tenements, and not to be compared in magnitude
and importance to the masses which are built by the reef-builders
themselves. Now such a structure as this is what is termed a "fringing
reef." You meet with fringing reefs of this kind not only in the
Mauritius, but in a number of other parts of the world. If these were
the only reefs to be seen anywhere, the problem of the formation of
coral reefs would never have been a difficult one. Nothing can be
easier than to understand how there must have been a time when the coral
polypes came and settled on the shores of this island, everywhere within
the 20 to 25 fathom line, and how, having perched there, they gradually
grew until they built up the reef.

But these are by no means the only sort of coral reefs in the world; on
the contrary, there are very large areas, not only of the Indian ocean,
but of the Pacific, in which many many thousands of square miles
are covered either with a peculiar kind of reef, which is called the
"encircling reef," or by a still more curious reef which goes by the
name of the "atoll." There is a very good picture, which Professor
Roscoe has been kind enough to prepare for me, of one of these atolls,
which will enable you to form a notion of it as a landscape. You have in
the foreground the waters of the Pacific. You must fancy yourself in the
middle of the great ocean, and you will perceive that there is an almost
circular island, with a low beach, which is formed entirely of coral
sand; growing upon that beach you have vegetation, which takes, of
course, the shape of the circular land; and then, in the interior of the
circle, there is a pool of water, which is not very deep--probably in
this case not more than eight or nine fathoms--and which forms a strange
and beautiful contrast to the deep blue water outside. This circular
island, or atoll, with a lagoon in the middle, is not a complete circle;
upon one side of it there is a break, exactly like the entrance into a
dock; and, as a matter of course, these circular islets, or atolls, form
most efficient break-waters, for if you can only get inside your ship is
in perfect safety, with admirable anchorage in the interior. If the ship
were lying within a mile of that beach, the water would be one or
two thousand feet deep; therefore, a section of that atoll, with the
soundings as deep as this all round, would give you the notion of a
great cone, cut off at the top, and with a shallow cup in the middle of
it. Now, what a very singular fact this is, that we should have rising
from the bottom of the deep ocean a great pyramid, beside which all
human pyramids sink into the most utter insignificance! These singular
coral limestone structures are very beautiful, especially when crowned
with cocoa-nut trees. There you see the long line of land, covered with
vegetation--cocoa-nut trees--and you have the sea upon the inner and
outer sides, with a vessel very comfortably riding at anchor. That is
one of the remarkable forms of reef in the Pacific. Another is a sort of
half-way house, between the atoll and the fringing reef; it is what is
called an "encircling reef." In this case you see an Island rising out
of the sea, and at two or three miles distance, or more, and separated
by a deep channel, which may be eight to twelve fathoms deep, there is a
reef, which encircles it like a great girdle; and outside that again the
water is one or two thousand feet deep. I spent three or four years
of my life in cruising about a modification of one of these encircling
reefs, called a "barrier reef," upon the east coast of Australia--one of
the most wonderful accumulations of coral rock in the world. It is about
1,100 miles long, and varies in width from one or two to many miles.
It is separated from the coast of Australia by a channel of about 25
fathoms deep; while outside, looking toward America, the water is two or
three thousand feet deep at a mile from the edge of the reef. This is an
accumulation of limestone rock, built up by corals, to which we have no
parallel anywhere else. Imagine to yourself a heap of this material more
than one thousand miles long, and several miles wide. That is a
barrier reef; but a barrier reef is merely as it were a fragment of an
encircling reef running parallel to the coast of a great continent.

I told you that the polypes which built these reefs were not able to
live at a greater depth than 20 to 25 fathoms of water; and that is the
reason why the fringing reef goes no farther from the land than it does.
And for the same reason, if the Pacific could be laid bare we should
have a most singular spectacle. There would be a number of mountains
with truncated tops scattered over it, and those mountains would have an
appearance just the very reverse of that presented by the mountains
we see on shore. You know that the mountains on shore are covered with
vegetation at their bases, while their tops are barren or covered with
snow; but these mountains would be perfectly bare at their bases, and
all round their tops they would be covered with a beautiful vegetation
of coral polypes. And not only would this be the case, but we should
find that for a considerable distance down, all the material of these
atoll and encircling reefs was built up of precisely the same coral rock
as the fringing reef. That is to say, you have an enormous mass of coral
rock at a depth below the surface of the water where we know perfectly
well that the coral animals could not have lived to form it. When
those two facts were first put together, naturalists were quite as much
puzzled as I daresay you are, at present, to understand how these
two seeming contradictions could be reconciled; and all sorts of odd
hypotheses were resorted to. It was supposed that the coral did not
extend so far down, but that there was a great chain of submarine
mountains stretching through the Pacific, and that the coral had grown
upon them. But only fancy what supposition that was, for you would have
to imagine that there was a chain of mountains a thousand miles or more
long, and that the top of every mountain came within 20 fathoms of the
surface of the sea, and neither rose above nor sunk beneath that level.
That is highly improbable: such a chain of mountains was never known.
Then how can you possibly account for the curious circular form of the
atolls by any supposition of this kind? I believe there was some one who
imagined that all these mountains were volcanoes, and that the reefs
had grown round the tops of the craters, so we all stuck fast. I may say
"we," though it was rather before my time. And when we all stick fast,
it is just the use of a man of genius that he comes and shows us the
meaning of the thing. He generally gives an explanation which is so
ridiculously simple that everybody is ashamed that he did not find
it out before; and the way such a discoverer is often rewarded is by
finding out that some one had made the discovery before him! I do not
mean to say that it was so in this particular instance, because the
great man who played the part of Columbus and the egg on this occasion
had, I believe, always had the full credit which he so well deserves.
The discoverer of the key to these problems was a man whose name you
know very well in connection with other matters, and I should not wonder
if some of you have heard it said that he was a superficial kind of
person who did not know much about the subject on which he writes. He
was Mr. Darwin, and this brilliant discovery of his was made public
thirty years ago, long before he became the celebrated man he now
is; and it was one of the most singular instances of that astonishing
sagacity which he possesses of drawing consequences by way of deduction
from simple principles of natural science--a power which has served him
in good stead on other occasions. Well, Mr. Darwin, looking at these
curious difficulties and having that sort of knowledge of natural
phenomena in general, without which he could not have made a step
towards the solution of the problem, said to himself--"It is perfectly
clear that the coral which forms the base of the atolls and fringing
reefs could not possibly have been formed there if the level of the sea
has always been exactly where it is now, for we know for certain that
these polypes cannot build at a greater depth than 20 to 25 fathoms, and
here we find them at 50 to 100 fathoms."

That was the first point to make clear. The second point to deal with
was--if the polypes cannot have built there while the level of the
sea has remained stationary, then one of two things must have
happened--either the sea has gone up, or the land has gone down.

There is no escape from one of these two alternatives. Now the
objections to the notion of the sea having gone up are very considerable
indeed; for you will readily perceive that the sea could not possibly
have risen a thousand feet in the Pacific without rising pretty much
the same distance everywhere else; and if it had risen that height
everywhere else since the reefs began to be formed, the geography of
the world in general must have been very different indeed, at that time,
from what it is now. And we have very good means of knowing that any
such rise as this certainly has not taken place in the level of the sea
since the time that the corals have been building their houses. And so
the only other alternative was to suppose that the land had gone down,
and at so slow a rate that the corals were able to grow upward as fast
as it went downward. You will see at once that this is the solution of
the mystery, and nothing can be simpler or more obvious when you come to
think about it. Suppose we start with a coral sea and put in the middle
of it an island such as the Mauritius. Now let the coral polypes come
and perch on the shore and build a fringing reef, which will stop when
they come to 20 or 25 fathoms, and you will have a fringing reef like
that round the island in the illustration. So long as the land remains
stationary, so long as it does not descend so long will that reef be
unable to get any further out, because the moment the polype embryos
try to get below they die. But now suppose that the land sinks very
gradually indeed. Let it subside by slow degrees, until the mountain
peak, which we have in the middle of it, alone projects beyond the sea
level. The fringing reef would be carried down also; but we suppose that
the sinking is so slow that the coral polypes are able to grow up as
fast as the land is carried down; consequently they will add layer upon
layer until they form a deep cup, because the inner part of the reef
grows much more slowly than the outer part. Thus you have the reef
forming a bed thicker upon the flanks of the island; but the edge of the
reef will be very much further out from the land, and the lagoon will be
many times deeper; in short, your fringing reef will be converted into
an encircling reef. And if, instead of this being an island, it were a
great continent like Australia, then you will have the phenomenon of a
barrier reef which I have described. The barrier reef of Australia
was originally a fringing reef; the land has gone slowly down; the
consequence is the lagoon has deepened until its depth is now 25 fathoms
and the corals have grown up at the outer edge until you have that
prodigious accumulation which forms the barrier reef at present. Now let
this process go on further still; let us take the land a further step
down, so as to submerge even the peak. The coral, still growing up, will
cover the surface of the land, and you will have an atoll reef; that is
to say, a more or less circular or oval ring of coral rock with a lagoon
in the middle. Thus you see that every peculiarity and phenomenon
of these different forms of coral reef was explained at once by the
simplest of all possible suppositions, namely, by supposing that the
land has gone down at a rate not greater than that at which the coral
polypes have grown up. You explain a Fringing Reef as a reef which is
formed round land comparatively stationary; an Encircling Reef as one
which is formed round land going down; and an Atoll as a reef formed
upon land gone down; and the thing is so simple that a child may
understand it when it is once explained.

But this would by no means satisfy the conditions of a scientific
hypothesis. No man who is cautious would dream of trusting to an
explanation of this kind simply because it explained one particular set
of facts. Before you can possibly be safe in dealing with Nature--who is
very properly made of the feminine gender, on account of the astonishing
tricks which she plays upon her admirers!--I say before you can be safe
in dealing with Nature, you must get two or three kinds of cross proofs,
so as to make sure not only that your hypothesis fits that particular
set of facts, but that it is not contradicted by some other set of facts
which is just as clear and certain. And it so happens, that in this case
Mr. Darwin supplied the cross proofs as well as the immediate evidence.
You have all heard of volcanoes, those wonderful vents in the surface of
the earth out of which pour masses of lava, cinders and ashes, and
the like. Now, it is a matter of observation and experience that all
volcanoes are placed in areas in which the surface of the earth is
undergoing elevation, or at any rate is stationary; they are not placed
in parts of the world in which the level of the land is being lowered.
They are all indications of a great subterranean activity, of a
something being pushed up, and therefore naturally the land either gives
way and lets it come through, or else is raised up by its violence. And
so Mr. Darwin, being desirous not to merely put out a flashy hypothesis,
but to get at the truth of the matter, said to himself, "If my notion of
this matter is right, then atolls and encircling reefs, inasmuch as they
are dependent upon subsidence, ought not to be found in company with
volcanoes; and, 'vice versa', volcanoes ought not to be found in company
with atolls, but they ought to be found in company with fringing reefs."
And if you turn to Mr. Darwin's great work upon the coral reefs, you
will see a very beautiful chart of the world, which he prepared with
great pains and labour, showing the distribution on the one hand of the
reefs, and on the other of the volcanoes; you will find that in no case
does the atoll accompany the volcano, or the volcano burst up among the
atolls. It is most instructive to look at the great area of the Pacific
on the map, and see the great masses of atolls forming in one region of
it a most enormous belt, running from north-west to south-east; while
the volcanoes, which are very numerous in that region, go round the
margin, so that we can picture the Pacific to ourselves a section of a
kind of very shallow basin--shallow in proportion to its width, with the
atolls rising from the bottom of it, and at the margins the volcanoes.
It is exactly as if you had taken a flat mass and lifted up the edges
of it; the subterranean force which lifted up the edges shows itself
in volcanoes, and as the edges have been raised, the middle part of
the mass has gone down. In other words, the facts of physical geography
precisely and exactly correspond with the hypothesis which accounts for
the infinite varieties of coral reefs.

One other point, before I conclude, about this matter. These reefs, as
you have just perceived, are in a most singular and unexpected manner
indications of physical changes of elevations and depressions going on
upon the surface of the globe. I dare say it may have surprised you to
hear me talk in this familiar sort of way of land going up and down;
but it is one of the universal lessons of geology that the land is
going down and going up, and has been going up and down, in all sorts
of places and to all sorts of distances, through all recorded time.
Geologists would be quite right in maintaining the seeming paradox that
the stable thing in the world is the fluid sea and the shifting thing is
the solid land. That may sound a very hard saying at first, but the more
you look into geology, the more you will see ground for believing that
it is not a mere paradox.

In an unexpected manner, again, these reefs afford us not only an
indication of change of place, but they afford an indication of lapse of
time. The reef is a timekeeper of a very curious character; and you can
easily understand why. The coral polype, like everything else, takes a
certain time to grow to its full size; it does not do it in a minute;
just as a child takes a certain time to grow into a man so does the
embryo polype take time to grow into a perfect polype and form
its skeleton. Consequently every particle of coral limestone is an
expression of time. It must have taken a certain time to separate the
lime from the sea water. It is not possible to arrive at an accurate
computation of the time it must have taken to form these coral islands,
because we lack the necessary data; but we can form a rough calculation,
which leads to very curious and striking results. The computations of
the rate at which corals grow are so exceedingly variable, that we must
allow the widest possible margin for error; and it is better in this
case to make the allowance upon the side of excess. I think that anybody
who knows anything about the matter will tell you that I am making a
computation far in excess of what is probable, if I say that an inch of
coral limestone may be added to one of these reefs in the course of
a year. I think most naturalists would be inclined to laugh at me for
making such an assumption, and would put the growth at certainly not
more than half that amount. But supposing it is so, what a very curious
notion of the antiquity of some of these great living pyramids comes out
by a very simple calculation. There is no doubt whatever that the sea
faces of some of them are fully a thousand feet high, and if you take
the reckoning of an inch a year, that will give you 12,000 years for the
age of that particular pyramid or cone of coral limestone; 12,000 long
years have these creatures been labouring in conditions which must have
been substantially the same as they are now, otherwise the polypes could
not have continued their work. But I believe I very much understate both
the height of some of these masses, and overstate the amount which these
animals can form in the course of a year; so that you might very safely
double the period as the time during which the Pacific Ocean, the
general state of the climate, and the sea, and the temperature has been
substantially what it is now; and yet that state of things which now
obtains in the Pacific Ocean is the yesterday of the history of the life
of the globe. Those pyramids of coral rock are built upon a foundation
which is itself formed by the deposits which the geologist has to deal
with. If we go back in time and search through the series of the rocks,
we find at every age of the world's history which has yet been examined,
accumulations of limestone, many of which have certainly been built
up in just the same way as those coral reefs which are now forming the
bottom of the Pacific Ocean. And even if we turn to the oldest periods
of geologic history, although the nature of the materials is changed,
although we cannot apply to them the same reasonings that we can to the
existing corals, yet still there are vast masses of limestone formed of
nothing else than the accumulations of the skeletons of similar animals,
and testifying that even in those remote periods of the world's history,
as now, the order of things implies that the earth had already endured
for a period of which our ordinary standards of chronology give us not
the slightest conception. In other words, the history of these coral
reefs, traced out honestly and carefully, and with the same sort of
reasoning that you would use in the ordinary affairs of life, testifies,
like every fact that I know of, to the prodigious antiquity of the earth
since it existed in a condition in the main similar to that in which it
now is.

End of Coral and Coral Reefs.




YEAST.


I have selected to-night the particular subject of Yeast for two
reasons--or, rather, I should say for three. In the first place, because
it is one of the simplest and the most familiar objects with which we
are acquainted. In the second place, because the facts and phenomena
which I have to describe are so simple that it is possible to put them
before you without the help of any of those pictures or diagrams which
are needed when matters are more complicated, and which, if I had to
refer to them here, would involve the necessity of my turning away from
you now and then, and thereby increasing very largely my difficulty
(already sufficiently great) in making myself heard. And thirdly, I have
chosen this subject because I know of no familiar substance forming part
of our every-day knowledge and experience, the examination of which,
with a little care, tends to open up such very considerable issues as
does this substance--yeast.

In the first place, I should like to call your attention to a fact with
which the whole of you are, to begin with, perfectly acquainted, I mean
the fact that any liquid containing sugar, any liquid which is formed by
pressing out the succulent parts of the fruits of plants, or a mixture
of honey and water, if left to itself for a short time, begins to
undergo a peculiar change. No matter how clear it might be at starting,
yet after a few hours, or at most a few days, if the temperature is
high, this liquid begins to be turbid, and by-and-by bubbles make their
appearance in it, and a sort of dirty-looking yellowish foam or scum
collects at the surface; while at the same time, by degrees, a similar
kind of matter, which we call the "lees," sinks to the bottom.

The quantity of this dirty-looking stuff, that we call the scum and the
lees, goes on increasing until it reaches a certain amount, and then
it stops; and by the time it stops, you find the liquid in which this
matter has been formed has become altered in its quality. To begin with
it was a mere sweetish substance, having the flavour of whatever might
be the plant from which it was expressed, or having merely the taste and
the absence of smell of a solution of sugar; but by the time that this
change that I have been briefly describing to you is accomplished the
liquid has become completely altered, it has acquired a peculiar smell,
and, what is still more remarkable, it has gained the property of
intoxicating the person who drinks it. Nothing can be more innocent than
a solution of sugar; nothing can be less innocent, if taken in excess,
as you all know, than those fermented matters which are produced
from sugar. Well, again, if you notice that bubbling, or, as it were,
seething of the liquid, which has accompanied the whole of this process,
you will find that it is produced by the evolution of little bubbles of
air-like substance out of the liquid; and I dare say you all know this
air-like substance is not like common air; it is not a substance which
a man can breathe with impunity. You often hear of accidents which take
place in brewers' vats when men go in carelessly, and get suffocated
there without knowing that there was anything evil awaiting them. And if
you tried the experiment with this liquid I am telling of while it
was fermenting, you would find that any small animal let down into the
vessel would be similarly stifled; and you would discover that a light
lowered down into it would go out. Well, then, lastly, if after this
liquid has been thus altered you expose it to that process which is
called distillation; that is to say, if you put it into a still, and
collect the matters which are sent over, you obtain, when you first heat
it, a clear transparent liquid, which, however, is something totally
different from water; it is much lighter; it has a strong smell, and it
has an acrid taste; and it possesses the same intoxicating power as the
original liquid, but in a much more intense degree. If you put a light
to it, it burns with a bright flame, and it is that substance which we
know as spirits of wine.

Now these facts which I have just put before you--all but the last--have
been known from extremely remote antiquity. It is, I hope one of the
best evidences of the antiquity of the human race, that among the
earliest records of all kinds of men, you find a time recorded when they
got drunk. We may hope that that must have been a very late period in
their history. Not only have we the record of what happened to Noah, but
if we turn to the traditions of a different people, those forefathers
of ours who lived in the high lands of Northern India, we find that they
were not less addicted to intoxicating liquids; and I have no doubt
that the knowledge of this process extends far beyond the limits of
historically recorded time. And it is a very curious thing to observe
that all the names we have of this process, and all that belongs to
it, are names that have their roots not in our present language, but in
those older languages which go back to the times at which this country
was peopled. That word "fermentation" for example, which is the title
we apply to the whole process, is a Latin term; and a term which is
evidently based upon the fact of the effervescence of the liquid. Then
the French, who are very fond of calling themselves a Latin race, have a
particular word for ferment, which is 'levure'. And, in the same way, we
have the word "leaven," those two words having reference to the heaving
up, or to the raising of the substance which is fermented. Now those are
words which we get from what I may call the Latin side of our parentage;
but if we turn to the Saxon side, there are a number of names connected
with this process of fermentation. For example, the Germans call
fermentation--and the old Germans did so--"gahren;" and they call
anything which is used as a ferment by such names, such as "gheist" and
"geest," and finally in low German, "yest"; and that word you know is
the word our Saxon forefathers used, and is almost the same as the word
which is commonly employed in this country to denote the common ferment
of which I have been speaking. So they have another name, the word
"hefe," which is derived from their verb "heben," which signifies to
raise up; and they have yet a third name, which is also one common in
this country (I do not know whether it is common in Lancashire, but it
is certainly very common in the Midland countries), the word "barm,"
which is derived from a root which signifies to raise or to bear up.
Barm is a something borne up; and thus there is much more real relation
than is commonly supposed by those who make puns, between the beer which
a man takes down his throat and the bier upon which that process, if
carried to excess, generally lands him, for they are both derived
from the root signifying bearing up; the one thing is borne upon men's
shoulders, and the other is the fermented liquid which was borne up by
the fermentation taking place in itself.

Again, I spoke of the produce of fermentation as "spirit of wine." Now
what a very curious phrase that is, if you come to think of it. The old
alchemists talked of the finest essence of anything as if it had the
same sort of relation to the thing itself as a man's spirit is supposed
to have to his body; and so they spoke of this fine essence of the
fermented liquid as being the spirit of the liquid. Thus came about
that extraordinary ambiguity of language, in virtue of which you apply
precisely the same substantive name to the soul of man and to a glass
of gin! And then there is still yet one other most curious piece of
nomenclature connected with this matter, and that is the word "alcohol"
itself, which is now so familiar to everybody. Alcohol originally meant
a very fine powder. The women of the Arabs and other Eastern people are
in the habit of tingeing their eyelashes with a very fine black powder
which is made of antimony, and they call that "kohol;" and the "al" is
simply the article put in front of it, so as to say "the kohol." And
up to the 17th century in this country the word alcohol was employed to
signify any very fine powder; you find it in Robert Boyle's works that
he uses "alcohol" for a very fine subtle powder. But then this name of
anything very fine and very subtle came to be specially connected with
the fine and subtle spirit obtained from the fermentation of sugar; and
I believe that the first person who fairly fixed it as the proper name
of what we now commonly call spirits of wine, was the great French
chemist Lavoisier, so comparatively recent is the use of the word
alcohol in this specialised sense.

So much by way of general introduction to the subject on which I have to
speak to-night. What I have hitherto stated is simply what we may call
common knowledge, which everybody may acquaint himself with. And
you know that what we call scientific knowledge is not any kind
of conjuration, as people sometimes suppose, but it is simply the
application of the same principles of common sense that we apply to
common knowledge, carried out, if I may so speak, to knowledge which is
uncommon. And all that we know now of this substance, yeast, and all the
very strange issues to which that knowledge has led us, have simply come
out of the inveterate habit, and a very fortunate habit for the human
race it is, which scientific men have of not being content until they
have routed out all the different chains and connections of apparently
simple phenomena, until they have taken them to pieces and understood
the conditions upon which they depend. I will try to point out to you
now what has happened in consequence of endeavouring to apply this
process of "analysis," as we call it, this teazing out of an apparently
simple fact into all the little facts of which it is made up, to the
ascertained facts relating to the barm or the yeast; secondly, what has
come of the attempt to ascertain distinctly what is the nature of the
products which are produced by fermentation; then what has come of the
attempt to understand the relation between the yeast and the products;
and lastly, what very curious side issues if I may so call them--have
branched out in the course of this inquiry, which has now occupied
somewhere about two centuries.

The first thing was to make out precisely and clearly what was the
nature of this substance, this apparently mere scum and mud that we
call yeast. And that was first commenced seriously by a wonderful old
Dutchman of the name of Leeuwenhoek, who lived some two hundred years
ago, and who was the first person to invent thoroughly trustworthy
microscopes of high powers. Now, Leeuwenhoek went to work upon this
yeast mud, and by applying to it high powers of the microscope, he
discovered that it was no mere mud such as you might at first suppose,
but that it was a substance made up of an enormous multitude of minute
grains, each of which had just as definite a form as if it were a grain
of corn, although it was vastly smaller, the largest of these not being
more than the two-thousandth of an inch in diameter; while, as you
know, a grain of corn is a large thing, and the very smallest of
these particles were not more than the seven-thousandth of an inch in
diameter. Leeuwenhoek saw that this muddy stuff was in reality a liquid,
in which there were floating this immense number of definitely shaped
particles, all aggregated in heaps and lumps and some of them separate.
That discovery remained, so to speak, dormant for fully a century, and
then the question was taken up by a French discoverer, who, paying
great attention and having the advantage of better instruments than
Leeuwenhoek had, watched these things and made the astounding discovery
that they were bodies which were constantly being reproduced and
growing; than when one of these rounded bodies was once formed and had
grown to its full size, it immediately began to give off a little bud
from one side, and then that bud grew out until it had attained the
full size of the first, and that, in this way, the yeast particle was
undergoing a process of multiplication by budding, just as effectual and
just as complete as the process of multiplication of a plant by
budding; and thus this Frenchman, Cagniard de la Tour, arrived at
the conclusion--very creditable to his sagacity, and which has been
confirmed by every observation and reasoning since--that this apparently
muddy refuse was neither more nor less than a mass of plants, of minute
living plants, growing and multiplying in the sugary fluid in which the
yeast is formed. And from that time forth we have known this substance
which forms the scum and the lees as the yeast plant; and it has
received a scientific name--which I may use without thinking of it,
and which I will therefore give you--namely, "Torula." Well, this was a
capital discovery. The next thing to do was to make out how this torula
was related to the other plants. I won't weary you with the whole course
of investigation, but I may sum up its results, and they are these--that
the torula is a particular kind of a fungus, a particular state
rather, of a fungus or mould. There are many moulds which under certain
conditions give rise to this torula condition, to a substance which is
not distinguishable from yeast, and which has the same properties as
yeast--that is to say, which is able to decompose sugar in the curious
way that we shall consider by-and-by. So that the yeast plant is a plant
belonging to a group of the Fungi, multiplying and growing and living in
this very remarkable manner in the sugary fluid which is, so to speak,
the nidus or home of the yeast.

That, in a few words, is, as far as investigation--by the help of one's
eye and by the help of the microscope--has taken us. But now there is an
observer whose methods of observation are more refined than those of men
who use their eye, even though it be aided by the microscope; a man who
sees indirectly further than we can see directly--that is, the chemist;
and the chemist took up this question, and his discovery was not less
remarkable than that of the microscopist. The chemist discovered that
the yeast plant being composed of a sort of bag, like a bladder, inside
which is a peculiar soft, semifluid material--the chemist found that
this outer bladder has the same composition as the substance of wood,
that material which is called "cellulose," and which consists of the
elements carbon and hydrogen and oxygen, without any nitrogen. But then
he also found (the first person to discover it was an Italian chemist,
named Fabroni, in the end of the last century) that this inner matter
which was contained in the bag, which constitutes the yeast plant, was
a substance containing the elements carbon and hydrogen and oxygen and
nitrogen; that it was what Fabroni called a vegeto-animal substance,
and that it had the peculiarities of what are commonly called "animal
products."

This again was an exceedingly remarkable discovery. It lay neglected
for a time, until it was subsequently taken up by the great chemists of
modern times, and they, with their delicate methods of analysis, have
finally decided that, in all essential respects, the substance which
forms the chief part of the contents of the yeast plant is identical
with the material which forms the chief part of our own muscles, which
forms the chief part of our own blood, which forms the chief part of
the white of the egg; that, in fact, although this little organism is
a plant, and nothing but a plant, yet that its active living contents
contain a substance which is called "protein," which is of the same
nature as the substance which forms the foundation of every animal
organism whatever.

Now we come next to the question of the analysis of the products, of
that which is produced during the process of fermentation. So far back
as the beginning of the 16th century, in the times of transition between
the old alchemy and the modern chemistry, there was a remarkable man,
Von Helmont, a Dutchman, who saw the difference between the air which
comes out of a vat where something is fermenting and common air. He was
the man who invented the term "gas," and he called this kind of gas "gas
silvestre"--so to speak gas that is wild, and lives in out of the way
places--having in his mind the identity of this particular kind of air
with that which is found in some caves and cellars. Then, the gradual
process of investigation going on, it was discovered that this
substance, then called "fixed air," was a poisonous gas, and it was
finally identified with that kind of gas which is obtained by burning
charcoal in the air, which is called "carbonic acid." Then the
substance alcohol was subjected to examination, and it was found to be
a combination of carbon, and hydrogen, and oxygen. Then the sugar which
was contained in the fermenting liquid was examined and that was found
to contain the three elements carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen. So that
it was clear there were in sugar the fundamental elements which are
contained in the carbonic acid, and in the alcohol. And then came that
great chemist Lavoisier, and he examined into the subject carefully,
and possessed with that brilliant thought of his which happens to be
propounded exactly apropos to this matter of fermentation--that no
matter is ever lost, but that matter only changes its form and changes
its combinations--he endeavoured to make out what became of the sugar
which was subjected to fermentation. He thought he discovered that the
whole weight of the sugar was represented by the carbonic acid produced;
that in other words, supposing this tumbler to represent the sugar, that
the action of fermentation was as it were the splitting of it, the one
half going away in the shape of carbonic acid, and the other half going
away in the shape of alcohol. Subsequent inquiry, careful research with
the refinements of modern chemistry, have been applied to this problem,
and they have shown that Lavoisier was not quite correct; that what he
says is quite true for about 95 per cent. of the sugar, but that the
other 5 per cent., or nearly so, is converted into two other things;
one of them, matter which is called succinic acid, and the other
matter which is called glycerine, which you all know now as one of the
commonest of household matters. It may be that we have not got to the
end of this refined analysis yet, but at any rate, I suppose I may
say--and I speak with some little hesitation for fear my friend
Professor Roscoe here may pick me up for trespassing upon his
province--but I believe I may say that now we can account for 99 per
cent. at least of the sugar, and that 99 per cent. is split up into
these four things, carbonic acid, alcohol, succinic acid, and glycerine.
So that it may be that none of the sugar whatever disappears, and
that only its parts, so to speak, are re-arranged, and if any of it
disappears, certainly it is a very small portion.

Now these are the facts of the case. There is the fact of the growth of
the yeast plant; and there is the fact of the splitting up of the sugar.
What relation have these two facts to one another?

For a very long time that was a great matter of dispute. The early
French observers, to do them justice, discerned the real state of the
case, namely, that there was a very close connection between the actual
life of the yeast plant and this operation of the splitting up of the
sugar; and that one was in some way or other connected with the other.
All investigation subsequently has confirmed this original idea. It has
been shown that if you take any measures by which other plants of like
kind to the torula would be killed, and by which the yeast plant is
killed, then the yeast loses its efficiency. But a capital experiment
upon this subject was made by a very distinguished man, Helmholz, who
performed an experiment of this kind. He had two vessels--one of them we
will suppose full of yeast, but over the bottom of it, as this might be,
was tied a thin film of bladder; consequently, through that thin film of
bladder all the liquid parts of the yeast would go, but the solid parts
would be stopped behind; the torula would be stopped, the liquid parts
of the yeast would go. And then he took another vessel containing a
fermentable solution of sugar, and he put one inside the other; and in
this way you see the fluid parts of the yeast were able to pass through
with the utmost ease into the sugar, but the solid parts could not get
through at all. And he judged thus: if the fluid parts are those which
excite fermentation, then, inasmuch as these are stopped, the sugar will
not ferment; and the sugar did not ferment, showing quite clearly,
that an immediate contact with the solid, living torula was absolutely
necessary to excite this process of splitting up of the sugar. This
experiment was quite conclusive as to this particular point, and has had
very great fruits in other directions.

Well, then, the yeast plant being essential to the production of
fermentation, where does the yeast plant come from? Here, again, was
another great problem opened up, for, as I said at starting, you have,
under ordinary circumstances in warm weather, merely to expose some
fluid containing a solution of sugar, or any form of syrup or vegetable
juice to the air, in order, after a comparatively short time, to see all
these phenomena of fermentation. Of course the first obvious suggestion
is, that the torula has been generated within the fluid. In fact, it
seems at first quite absurd to entertain any other conviction; but that
belief would most assuredly be an erroneous one.

Towards the beginning of this century, in the vigorous times of the old
French wars, there was a Monsieur Appert, who had his attention directed
to the preservation of things that ordinarily perish, such as meats and
vegetables, and in fact he laid the foundation of our modern method of
preserving meats; and he found that if he boiled any of these substances
and then tied them so as to exclude the air, that they would be
preserved for any time. He tried these experiments, particularly with
the must of wine and with the wort of beer; and he found that if the
wort of beer had been carefully boiled and was stopped in such a way
that the air could not get at it, it would never ferment. What was the
reason of this? That, again, became the subject of a long string of
experiments, with this ultimate result, that if you take precautions to
prevent any solid matters from getting into the must of wine or the wort
of beer, under these circumstances--that is to say, if the fluid has
been boiled and placed in a bottle, and if you stuff the neck of the
bottle full of cotton wool, which allows the air to go through and stops
anything of a solid character however fine, then you may let it be for
ten years and it will not ferment. But if you take that plug out and
give the air free access, then, sooner or later fermentation will set
up. And there is no doubt whatever that fermentation is excited only by
the presence of some torula or other, and that that torula proceeds in
our present experience, from pre-existing torulae. These little bodies
are excessively light. You can easily imagine what must be the weight of
little particles, but slightly heavier than water, and not more than the
two-thousandth or perhaps seven-thousandth of an inch in diameter. They
are capable of floating about and dancing like motes in the sunbeam;
they are carried about by all sorts of currents of air; the great
majority of them perish; but one or two, which may chance to enter into
a sugary solution, immediately enter into active life, find there the
conditions of their nourishment, increase and multiply, and may give
rise to any quantity whatever of this substance yeast. And, whatever
may be true or not be true about this "spontaneous generation," as it
is called in regard to all other kinds of living things, it is perfectly
certain, as regards yeast, that it always owes its origin to this
process of transportation or inoculation, if you like so to call it,
from some other living yeast organism; and so far as yeast is concerned,
the doctrine of spontaneous generation is absolutely out of court.
And not only so, but the yeast must be alive in order to exert these
peculiar properties. If it be crushed, if it be heated so far that its
life is destroyed, that peculiar power of fermentation is not excited.
Thus we have come to this conclusion, as the result of our inquiry, that
the fermentation of sugar, the splitting of the sugar into alcohol and
carbonic acid, glycerine, and succinic acid, is the result of nothing
but the vital activity of this little fungus, the torula.

And now comes the further exceedingly difficult inquiry--how is it
that this plant, the torula, produces this singular operation of the
splitting up of the sugar? Fabroni, to whom I referred some time ago,
imagined that the effervescence of fermentation was produced in just the
same way as the effervescence of a sedlitz powder, that the yeast was a
kind of acid, and that the sugar was a combination of carbonic acid and
some base to form the alcohol, and that the yeast combined with
this substance, and set free the carbonic acid; just as when you add
carbonate of soda to acid you turn out the carbonic acid. But of course
the discovery of Lavoisier that the carbonic acid and the alcohol taken
together are very nearly equal in weight to the sugar, completely upset
this hypothesis. Another view was therefore taken by the French chemist,
Thenard, and it is still held by a very eminent chemist, M. Pasteur, and
their view is this, that the yeast, so to speak, eats a little of the
sugar, turns a little of it to its own purposes, and by so doing gives
such a shape to the sugar that the rest of it breaks up into carbonic
acid and alcohol.

Well, then, there is a third hypothesis, which is maintained by another
very distinguished chemist, Liebig, which denies either of the other
two, and which declares that the particles of the sugar are, as it were,
shaken asunder by the forces at work in the yeast plant. Now I am not
going to take you into these refinements of chemical theory, I cannot
for a moment pretend to do so, but I may put the case before you by an
analogy. Suppose you compare the sugar to a card house, and suppose you
compare the yeast to a child coming near the card house, then Fabroni's
hypothesis was that the child took half the cards away; Thenard's and
Pasteur's hypothesis is that the child pulls out the bottom card and
thus makes it tumble to pieces; and Liebig's hypothesis is that the
child comes by and shakes the table and tumbles the house down. I
appeal to my friend here (Professor Roscoe) whether that is not a fair
statement of the case.

Having thus, as far as I can, discussed the general state of the
question, it remains only that I should speak of some of those
collateral results which have come in a very remarkable way out of the
investigation of yeast. I told you that it was very early observed that
the yeast plant consisted of a bag made up of the same material as that
which composes wood, and of an interior semifluid mass which contains
a substance, identical in its composition, in a broad sense, with
that which constitutes the flesh of animals. Subsequently, after
the structure of the yeast plant had been carefully observed, it was
discovered that all plants, high and low, are made up of separate
bags or "cells," as they are called; these bags or cells having the
composition of the pure matter of wood; having the same composition,
broadly speaking, as the sac of the yeast plant, and having in their
interior a more or less fluid substance containing a matter of the same
nature as the protein substance of the yeast plant. And therefore this
remarkable result came out--that however much a plant may differ from
an animal, yet that the essential constituent of the contents of these
various cells or sacs of which the plant is made up, the nitrogenous
protein matter, is the same in the animal as in the plant. And not only
was this gradually discovered, but it was found that these semifluid
contents of the plant cell had, in many cases, a remarkable power of
contractility quite like that of the substance of animals. And about
24 or 25 years ago, namely, about the year 1846, to the best of my
recollection, a very eminent German botanist, Hugo Von Mohl, conferred
upon this substance which is found in the interior of the plant cell,
and which is identical with the matter found in the inside of the yeast
cell, and which again contains an animal substance similar to that of
which we ourselves are made up--he conferred upon this that title of
"protoplasm," which has brought other people a great deal of trouble
since! I beg particularly to say that, because I find many people
suppose that I was the inventor of that term, whereas it has been in
existence for at least twenty-five years. And then other observers,
taking the question up, came to this astonishing conclusion (working
from this basis of the yeast), that the differences between animals and
plants are not so much in the fundamental substances which compose them,
not in the protoplasm, but in the manner in which the cells of which
their bodies are built up have become modified. There is a sense in
which it is true--and the analogy was pointed out very many years ago by
some French botanists and chemists--there is a sense in which it is
true that every plant is substantially an enormous aggregation of
bodies similar to yeast cells, each having to a certain extent its own
independent life. And there is a sense in which it is also perfectly
true--although it would be impossible for me to give the statement
to you with proper qualifications and limitations on an occasion like
this--but there is also a sense in which it is true that every animal
body is made up of an aggregation of minute particles of protoplasm,
comparable each of them to the individual separate yeast plant. And
those who are acquainted with the history of the wonderful revolution
which has been worked in our whole conception of these matters in the
last thirty years, will bear me out in saying that the first germ of
them, to a very great extent, was made to grow and fructify by the study
of the yeast plant, which presents us with living matter in almost its
simplest condition.

Then there is yet one last and most important bearing of this yeast
question. There is one direction probably in which the effects of the
careful study of the nature of fermentation will yield results more
practically valuable to mankind than any other. Let me recall to your
minds the fact which I stated at the beginning of this lecture. Suppose
that I had here a solution of pure sugar with a little mineral matter
in it; and suppose it were possible for me to take upon the point of a
needle one single, solitary yeast cell, measuring no more perhaps than
the three-thousandth of an inch in diameter--not bigger than one of
those little  specks of matter in my own blood at this moment,
the weight of which it would be difficult to express in the fraction
of a grain--and put it into this solution. From that single one, if the
solution were kept at a fair temperature in a warm summer's day, there
would be generated, in the course of a week, enough torulae to form
a scum at the top and to form lees at the bottom, and to change the
perfectly tasteless and entirely harmless fluid, syrup, into a solution
impregnated with the poisonous gas carbonic acid, impregnated with the
poisonous substance alcohol; and that, in virtue of the changes worked
upon the sugar by the vital activity of these infinitesimally small
plants. Now you see that this is a case of infection. And from the time
that the phenomenon of fermentation were first carefully studied, it
has constantly been suggested to the minds of thoughtful physicians that
there was a something astoundingly similar between this phenomena of
the propagation of fermentation by infection and contagion, and the
phenomena of the propagation of diseases by infection and contagion.
Out of this suggestion has grown that remarkable theory of many diseases
which has been called the "germ theory of disease," the idea, in fact,
that we owe a great many diseases to particles having a certain life of
their own, and which are capable of being transmitted from one living
being to another, exactly as the yeast plant is capable of being
transmitted from one tumbler of saccharine substance to another. And
that is a perfectly tenable hypothesis, one which in the present state
of medicine ought to be absolutely exhausted and shown not to be true,
until we take to others which have less analogy in their favour. And
there are some diseases most assuredly in which it turns out to be
perfectly correct. There are some forms of what are called malignant
carbuncle which have been shown to be actually effected by a sort of
fermentation, if I may use the phrase, by a sort of disturbance and
destruction of the fluids of the animal body, set up by minute organisms
which are the cause of this destruction and of this disturbance; and
only recently the study of the phenomena which accompany vaccination
has thrown an immense light in this direction, tending to show by
experiments of the same general character as that to which I referred as
performed by Helmholz, that there is a most astonishing analogy between
the contagion of that healing disease and the contagion of destructive
diseases. For it has been made out quite clearly, by investigations
carried on in France and in this country, that the only part of the
vaccine matter which is contagious, which is capable of carrying on its
influence in the organism of the child who is vaccinated, is the solid
particles and not the fluid. By experiments of the most ingenious kind,
the solid parts have been separated from the fluid parts, and it has
then been discovered that you may vaccinate a child as much as you like
with the fluid parts, but no effect takes place, though an excessively
small portion of the solid particles, the most minute that can be
separated, is amply sufficient to give rise to all the phenomena of
the cow pock, by a process which we can compare to nothing but the
transmission of fermentation from one vessel into another, by the
transport to the one of the torula particles which exist in the other.
And it has been shown to be true of some of the most destructive
diseases which infect animals, such diseases as the sheep pox, such
diseases as that most terrible and destructive disorder of horses,
glanders, that in these, also, the active power is the living solid
particle, and that the inert part is the fluid. However, do not suppose
that I am pushing the analogy too far. I do not mean to say that the
active, solid parts in these diseased matters are of the same nature as
living yeast plants; but, so far as it goes, there is a most surprising
analogy between the two; and the value of the analogy is this, that by
following it out we may some time or other come to understand how these
diseases are propagated, just as we understand, now, about fermentation;
and that, in this way, some of the greatest scourges which afflict the
human race may be, if not prevented, at least largely alleviated.

This is the conclusion of the statements which I wished to put before
you. You see we have not been able to have any accessories. If you will
come in such numbers to hear a lecture of this kind, all I can say is,
that diagrams cannot be made big enough for you, and that it is not
possible to show any experiments illustrative of a lecture on such a
subject as I have to deal with. Of course my friends the chemists and
physicists are very much better off, because they can not only show you
experiments, but you can smell them and hear them! But in my case such
aids are not attainable, and therefore I have taken a simple subject and
have dealt with it in such a way that I hope you all understand it,
at least so far as I have been able to put it before you in words; and
having once apprehended such of the ideas and simple facts of the case
as it was possible to put before you, you can see for yourselves the
great and wonderful issues of such an apparently homely subject.

End of Yeast.




WILLIAM HARVEY AND THE DISCOVERY OF THE CIRCULATION OF THE BLOOD.


THE CIRCULATION OF THE BLOOD.*

([Footnote] *A Lecture delivered in the Free Trade Hall, November 2nd,
1878.)

I desire this evening to give you some account of the life and labours
of a very noble Englishman--William Harvey.

William Harvey was born in the year 1578, and as he lived until the year
1657, he very nearly attained the age of 80. He was the son of a small
landowner in Kent, who was sufficiently wealthy to send this, his eldest
son, to the University of Cambridge; while he embarked the others in
mercantile pursuits, in which they all, as time passed on, attained
riches.

William Harvey, after pursuing his education at Cambridge, and taking
his degree there, thought it was advisable--and justly thought so, in
the then state of University education--to proceed to Italy, which
at that time was one of the great centres of intellectual activity in
Europe, as all friends of freedom hope it will become again, sooner or
later. In those days the University of Padua had a great renown;
and Harvey went there and studied under a man who was then very
famous--Fabricius of Aquapendente. On his return to England, Harvey
became a member of the College of Physicians in London, and entered into
practice; and, I suppose, as an indispensable step thereto, proceeded
to marry. He very soon became one of the most eminent members of the
profession in London; and, about the year 1616, he was elected by the
College of Physicians their Professor of Anatomy. It was while Harvey
held this office that he made public that great discovery of the
circulation of the blood and the movements of the heart, the nature of
which I shall endeavour by-and-by to explain to you at length. Shortly
afterwards, Charles the First having succeeded to the throne in 1625,
Harvey became one of the king's physicians; and it is much to the credit
of the unfortunate monarch--who, whatever his faults may have been,
was one of the few English monarchs who have shown a taste for art and
science--that Harvey became his attached and devoted friend as well
as servant; and that the king, on the other hand, did all he could to
advance Harvey's investigations. But, as you know, evil times came on;
and Harvey, after the fortunes of his royal master were broken,
being then a man of somewhat advanced years--over 60 years of age, in
fact--retired to the society of his brothers in and near London, and
among them pursued his studies until the day of his death. Harvey's
career is a life which offers no salient points of interest to the
biographer. It was a life devoted to study and investigation; and it
was a life the devotion of which was amply rewarded, as I shall have
occasion to point out to you, by its results.

Harvey, by the diversity, the variety, and the thoroughness of his
investigations, was enabled to give an entirely new direction to at
least two branches--and two of the most important branches--of what
now-a-days we call Biological Science. On the one hand, he founded
all our modern physiology by the discovery of the exact nature of the
motions of the heart, and of the course in which the blood is propelled
through the body; and, on the other, he laid the foundation of that
study of development which has been so much advanced of late years, and
which constitutes one of the great pillars of the doctrine of evolution.
This doctrine, I need hardly tell you, is now tending to revolutionise
our conceptions of the origin of living things, exactly in the same
way as Harvey's discovery of the circulation in the seventeeth century
revolutionised the conceptions which men had previously entertained with
regard to physiological processes.

It would, I regret, be quite impossible for me to attempt, in the course
of the time I can presume to hold you here, to unfold the history of
more than one of these great investigations of Harvey. I call them
"great investigations," as distinguished from "large publications." I
have in my hand a little book, which those of you who are at a great
distance may have some difficulty in seeing, and which I value very
much. It is, I am afraid, sadly thumbed and scratched with annotations
by a very humble successor and follower of Harvey. This little book is
the edition of 1651 of the 'Exercitationes de Generatione'; and if you
were to add another little book, printed in the same small type, and
about one-seventh of the thickness, you would have the sum total of the
printed matter which Harvey contributed to our literature. And yet
in that sum total was contained, I may say, the materials of two
revolutions in as many of the main branches of biological science. If
Harvey's published labours can be condensed into so small a compass, you
must recollect that it is not because he did not do a great deal more.
We know very well that he did accumulate a very considerable number of
observations on the most varied topics of medicine, surgery, and natural
history. But, as I mentioned to you just now, Harvey, for a time, took
the royal side in the domestic quarrel of the Great Rebellion, as it
is called; and the Parliament, not unnaturally resenting that action of
his, sent soldiers to seize his papers. And while I imagine they found
nothing treasonable among those papers, yet, in the process of rummaging
through them, they destroyed all the materials which Harvey had spent a
laborious life in accumulating; and hence it is that the man's work and
labours are represented by so little in apparent bulk.

What I chiefly propose to do to-night is to lay before you an account of
the nature of the discovery which Harvey made, and which is termed the
Discovery of the Circulation of the Blood. And I desire also, with
some particularity, to draw your attention to the methods by which that
discovery was achieved; for, in both these respects, I think, there will
be much matter for profitable reflection.

Let me point out to you, in the first place, with respect to this
important matter of the movements of the heart and the course of the
blood in the body, that there is a certain amount of knowledge
which must have been obtained without men taking the trouble to seek
it--knowledge which must have been taken in, in the course of time,
by everybody who followed the trade of a butcher, and still more so by
those people who, in ancient times, professed to divine the course of
future events from the entrails of animals. It is quite obvious to
all, from ordinary accidents, that the bodies of all the higher animals
contain a hot red fluid--the blood. Everybody can see upon the surface
of some part of the skin, underneath that skin, pulsating tubes, which
we know as the arteries. Everybody can see under the surface of the skin
more delicate and softer looking tubes, which do not pulsate, which are
of a bluish colour, and are termed the veins. And every person who has
seen a recently killed animal opened knows that these two kinds of tubes
to which I have just referred, are connected with an apparatus which
is placed in the chest, which apparatus, in recently killed animals,
is still pulsating. And you know that in yourselves you can feel the
pulsation of this organ, the heart, between the fifth and sixth ribs. I
take it that this much of anatomy and physiology has been known from the
oldest times, not only as a matter of curiosity, but because one of the
great objects of men, from their earliest recorded existence, has been
to kill one another, and it was a matter of considerable importance to
know which was the best place for hitting an enemy. I can refer you to
very ancient records for most precise and clear information that one of
the best places is to smite him between the fifth and sixth ribs. Now
that is a very good piece of regional anatomy, for that is the place
where the heart strikes in its pulsations, and the use of smiting there
is that you go straight to the heart. Well, all that must have been
known from time immemorial--at least for 4,000 or 5,000 years before the
commencement of our era--because we know that for as great a period as
that the Egyptians, at any rate, whatever may have been the case with
other people, were in the enjoyment of a highly developed civilisation.
But of what knowledge they may have possessed beyond this we know
nothing; and in tracing back the springs of the origin of everything
that we call "modern science" (which is not merely knowing, but knowing
systematically, and with the intention and endeavour to find out
the causal connection of things)--I say that when we trace back the
different lines of all the modern sciences we come at length to one
epoch and to one country--the epoch being about the fourth and fifth
centuries before Christ, and the country being ancient Greece. It is
there that we find the commencement and the root of every branch of
physical science and of scientific method. If we go back to that time
we have in the works attributed to Aristotle, who flourished between 300
and 400 years before Christ, a sort of encyclopaedia of the scientific
knowledge of that day--and a very marvellous collection of, in many
respects, accurate and precise knowledge it is. But, so far as regards
this particular topic, Aristotle, it must be confessed, has not got very
far beyond common knowledge. He knows a little about the structure of
the heart. I do not think that his knowledge is so inaccurate as many
people fancy, but it does not amount to much. A very few years after his
time, however, there was a Greek philosopher, Erasistratus, who lived
about three hundred years before Christ, and who must have pursued
anatomy with much care, for he made the important discovery that there
are membranous flaps, which are now called "valves," at the origins
of the great vessels; and that there are certain other valves in the
interior of the heart itself.

(FIGURE 1.--The apparatus of the circulation, as at present known. The
capillary vessels, which connect the arteries and veins, are omitted, on
account of their small size. The shading of the "venous system" is given
to all the vessels which contain venous blood; that of the "arterial
system" to all the vessels which contain arterial blood.)

I have here (Figure 1) a purposely rough, but, so far as it goes,
accurate, diagram of the structure of the heart and the course of the
blood. The heart is supposed to be divided into two portions. It would
be possible, by very careful dissection, to split the heart down the
middle of a partition, or so-called 'septum', which exists in it, and to
divide it into the two portions which you see here represented; in which
case we should have a left heart and a right heart, quite distinct from
one another. You will observe that there is a portion of each heart
which is what is called the ventricle. Now the ancients applied the term
'heart' simply and solely to the ventricles. They did not count the rest
of the heart--what we now speak of as the 'auricles'--as any part of the
heart at all; but when they spoke of the heart they meant the left and
the right ventricles; and they described those great vessels, which we
now call the 'pulmonary veins' and the 'vena cava', as opening directly
into the heart itself.

What Erasistratus made out was that, at the roots of the aorta and
the pulmonary artery (Figure 1) there were valves, which opened in the
direction indicated by the arrows; and, on the other hand, that at the
junction of what he called the veins with the heart there were other
valves, which also opened again in the direction indicated by the
arrows. This was a very capital discovery, because it proved that if
the heart was full of fluid, and if there were any means of causing that
fluid in the ventricles to move, then the fluid could move only in
one direction; for you will observe that, as soon as the fluid is
compressed, the two valves between the ventricles and the veins will be
shut, and the fluid will be obliged to move into the arteries; and,
if it tries to get back from them into the heart, it is prevented from
doing so by the valves at the origin of the arteries, which we now
call the semilunar valves (half-moon shaped valves); so that it is
impossible, if the fluid move at all, that it should move in any other
way than from the great veins into the arteries. Now that was a very
remarkable and striking discovery.

But it is not given to any man to be altogether right (that is a
reflection which it is very desirable for every man who has had the good
luck to be nearly right once, always to bear in mind); and Erasistratus,
while he made this capital and important discovery, made a very capital
and important error in another direction, although it was a very natural
error. If, in any animal which is recently killed, you open one of those
pulsating trunks which I referred to a short time ago, you will find, as
a general rule, that it either contains no blood at all or next to none;
but that, on the contrary, it is full of air. Very naturally, therefore,
Erasistratus came to the conclusion that this was the normal and natural
state of the arteries, and that they contained air. We are apt to think
this a very gross blunder; but, to anybody who is acquainted with
the facts of the case, it is, at first sight, an exceedingly natural
conclusion. Not only so, but Erasistratus might have very justly
imagined that he had seen his way to the meaning of the connection of
the left side of the heart with the lungs; for we find that what we now
call the pulmonary vein is connected with the lungs, and branches out in
them (Figure 1). Finding that the greater part of this system of vessels
was filled with air after death, this ancient thinker very shrewdly
concluded that its real business was to receive air from the lungs, and
to distribute that air all through the body, so as to get rid of the
grosser humours and purify the blood. That was a very natural and very
obvious suggestion, and a highly ingenious one, though it happened to be
a great error. You will observe that the only way of correcting it was
to experiment upon living animals, for there is no other way in which
this point could be settled.

(FIGURE 2. The Course of the Blood according to Galen (A.D. 170).)

And hence we are indebted, for the correction of the error of
Erasistratus, to one of the greatest experimenters of ancient or modern
times, Claudius Galenus, who lived in the second century after Christ. I
say it was to this man more than any one else, because he knew that the
only way of solving physiological problems was to examine into the facts
in the living animal. And because Galen was a skilful anatomist, and
a skilful experimenter, he was able to show in what particulars
Erasistratus had erred, and to build up a system of thought upon this
subject which was not improved upon for fully 1,300 years. I have
endeavoured, in Figure 2, to make clear to you exactly what it was he
tried to establish. You will observe that this diagram is practically
the same as that given in Figure 1, only simplified. The same facts may
be looked upon by different people from different points of view. Galen
looked upon these facts from a very different point of view from that
which we ourselves occupy; but, so far as the facts are concerned, they
were the same for him as for us. Well then, the first thing that Galen
did was to make out experimentally that, during life, the arteries are
not full of air, but that they are full of blood. And he describes a
great variety of experiments which he made upon living animals with the
view of proving this point, which he did prove effectually and for all
time; and that you will observe was the only way of settling the matter.
Furthermore, he demonstrated that the cavities of the left side of the
heart--what we now call the left auricle and the left ventricle--are,
like the arteries, full of blood during life, and that that blood was of
the scarlet kind--arterialised, or as he called it "pneumatised," blood.
It was known before, that the pulmonary artery, the right ventricle,
and the veins, contain the darker kind of blood, which was thence called
venous. Having proved that the whole of the left side of the heart,
during life, is full of scarlet arterial blood, Galen's next point
was to inquire into the mode of communication between the arteries
and veins. It was known before his time that both arteries and veins
branched out. Galen maintained, though he could not prove the fact, that
the ultimate branches of the arteries and veins communicated together
somehow or other, by what he called 'anastomoses', and that these
'anastomoses' existed not only in the body in general but also in the
lungs. In the next place, Galen maintained that all the veins of
the body arise from the liver; that they draw the blood thence and
distribute it over the body. People laugh at that notion now-a-days; but
if anybody will look at the facts he will see that it is a very probable
supposition. There is a great vein (hepatic vein--Figure 1) which rises
out of the liver, and that vein goes straight into the 'vena cava'
(Figure 1) which passes to the heart, being there joined by the other
veins of the body. The liver itself is fed by a very large vein (portal
vein--Figure 1), which comes from the alimentary canal. The way the
ancients looked at this matter was, that the food, after being received
into the alimentary canal, was then taken up by the branches of this
great vein, which are called the 'vena portae', just as the roots of a
plant suck up nourishment from the soil in which it lives; that then it
was carried to the liver, there to be what was called "concocted," which
was their phrase for its conversion into substances more fitted for
nutrition than previously existed in it. They then supposed that the
next thing to be done was to distribute this fluid through the body; and
Galen like his predecessors, imagined that the "concocted" blood, having
entered the great 'vena cava', was distributed by its ramifications all
over the body. So that, in his view (Figure 2), the course of the blood
was from the intestine to the liver, and from the liver into the great
'vena cava', including what we now call the right auricle of the heart,
whence it was distributed by the branches of the veins. But the whole of
the blood was not thus disposed of. Part of the blood, it was supposed,
went through what we now call the pulmonary arteries (Figure 1), and,
branching out there, gave exit to certain "fuliginous" products, and
at the same time took in from the air a something which Galen calls the
'pneuma'. He does not know anything about what we call oxygen; but it
is astonishing how very easy it would be to turn his language into the
equivalent of modern chemical theory. The old philosopher had so just
a suspicion of the real state of affairs that you could make use of his
language in many cases, if you substituted the word "oxygen," which we
now-a-days use, for the word 'pneuma'. Then he imagined that the blood,
further concocted or altered by contact with the 'pneuma', passed to
a certain extent to the left side of the heart. So that Galen believed
that there was such a thing as what is now called the pulmonary
circulation. He believed, as much as we do, that the blood passed
through the right side of the heart, through the artery which goes to
the lungs, through the lungs themselves, and back by what we call the
pulmonary veins to the left side of the heart. But he thought it was
only a very small portion of the blood which passes to the right side of
the heart in this way; the rest of the blood, he thought, passed through
the partition which separates the two ventricles of the heart. He
describes a number of small pits, which really exist there, as holes,
and he supposed that the greater part of the blood passed through these
holes from the right to the left ventricle (Figure 2).

It is of great importance you should clearly understand these teachings
of Galen, because, as I said just now, they sum up all that anybody knew
until the revival of learning; and they come to this--that the blood
having passed from the stomach and intestines through the liver, and
having entered the great veins, was by them distributed to every part of
the body; that part of the blood, thus distributed, entered the arterial
system by the 'anastomoses', as Galen called them, in the lungs; that
a very small portion of it entered the arteries by the 'anastomoses' in
the body generally; but that the greater part of it passed through the
septum of the heart, and so entered the left side and mingled with the
pneumatised blood, which had been subjected to the air in the lungs,
and was then distributed by the arteries, and eventually mixed with the
currents of blood, coming the other way, through the veins.

Yet one other point about the views of Galen. He thought that both the
contractions and dilatations of the heart--what we call the 'systole'
or contraction of the heart, and the 'diastole' or dilatation--Galen
thought that these were both active movements; that the heart actively
dilated, so that it had a sort of sucking power upon the fluids which
had access to it. And again, with respect to the movements of the pulse,
which anybody can feel at the wrist and elsewhere, Galen was of opinion
that the walls of the arteries partook of that which he supposed to be
the nature of the walls of the heart, and that they had the power of
alternately actively contracting and actively dilating, so that he is
careful to say that the nature of the pulse is comparable, not to the
movement of a bag, which we fill by blowing into it, and which we empty
by drawing the air out of it, but to the action of a bellows, which is
actively dilated and actively compressed.

(FIGURE 3.--The course of the blood from the right to the left side of
the heart (Realdus Columbus, 1559).)

After Galen's time came the collapse of the Roman Empire, the extinction
of physical knowledge, and the repression of every kind of scientific
inquiry, by its powerful and consistent enemy, the Church; and that
state of things lasted until the latter part of the Middle Ages saw the
revival of learning. That revival of learning, so far as anatomy
and physiology are concerned, is due to the renewed influence of
the philosophers of ancient Greece, and indeed, of Galen. Arabic
commentators had translated Galen, and portions of his works had got
into the language of the learned in the Middle Ages, in that way;
but, by the study of the classical languages, the original text became
accessible to the men who were then endeavouring to learn for themselves
something about the facts of nature. It was a century or more before
these men, finding themselves in the presence of a master--finding that
all their lives were occupied in attempting to ascertain for themselves
that which was familiar to him--I say it took the best part of a hundred
years before they could fairly see that their business was not to follow
him, but to follow his example--namely, to look into the facts of nature
for themselves, and to carry on, in his spirit, the work he had begun.
That was first done by Vesalius, one of the greatest anatomists who ever
lived; but his work does not specially bear upon the question we are
now concerned with. So far as regards the motions of the heart and the
course of the blood, the first man in the Middle Ages, and indeed the
only man who did anything which was of real importance, was one Realdus
Columbus, who was professor at Padua in the year 1559, and published a
great anatomical treatise. What Realdus Columbus did was this; once
more resorting to the method of Galen, turning to the living animal,
experimenting, he came upon new facts, and one of these new facts was
that there was not merely a subordinate communication between the blood
of the right side of the heart and that of the left side of the heart,
through the lungs, but that there was a constant steady current of
blood, setting through the pulmonary artery on the right side, through
the lungs, and back by the pulmonary veins to the left side of the heart
(Figure 3). Such was the capital discovery and demonstration of Realdus
Columbus. He is the man who discovered what is loosely called the
'pulmonary circulation'; and it really is quite absurd, in the face of
the fact, that twenty years afterwards we find Ambrose Pare, the great
French surgeon, ascribing this discovery to him as a matter of common
notoriety, to find that attempts are made to give the credit of it to
other people. So far as I know, this discovery of the course of the
blood through the lungs, which is called the pulmonary circulation, is
the one step in real advance that was made between the time of Galen
and the time of Harvey. And I would beg you to note that the word
"circulation" is improperly employed when it is applied to the course of
the blood through the lungs. The blood from the right side of the
heart, in getting to the left side of the heart, only performs a
half-circle--it does not perform a whole circle--it does not return
to the place from whence it started; and hence the discovery of the
so-called "pulmonary circulation" has nothing whatever to do with that
greater discovery which I shall point out to you by-and-by was made
by Harvey, and which is alone really entitled to the name of the
circulation of the blood.

If anybody wants to understand what Harvey's great desert really was,
I would suggest to him that he devote himself to a course of reading,
which I cannot promise shall be very entertaining, but which, in this
respect at any rate, will be highly instructive--namely, the works of
the anatomists of the latter part of the 16th century and the beginning
of the 17th century. If anybody will take the trouble to do that which
I have thought it my business to do, he will find that the doctrines
respecting the action of the heart and the motion of the blood which
were taught in every university in Europe, whether in Padua or in Paris,
were essentially those put forward by Galen, 'plus' the discovery of the
pulmonary course of the blood which had been made by Realdus Columbus.
In every chair of anatomy and physiology (which studies were not then
separated) in Europe, it was taught that the blood brought to the liver
by the portal vein, and carried out of the liver to the 'vena cava'
by the hepatic vein, is distributed from the right side of the heart,
through the other veins, to all parts of the body; that the blood of the
arteries takes a like course from the heart towards the periphery; and
that it is there, by means of the 'anastomoses', more or less mixed up
with the venous blood. It so happens, by a curious chance, that up to
the year 1625 there was at Padua, which was Harvey's own university, a
very distinguished professor, Spigelius, whose work is extant, and who
teaches exactly what I am now telling you. It is perfectly true
that, some time before, Harvey's master, Fabricius, had not only
re-discovered, but had drawn much attention to certain pouch-like
structures, which are called the valves of the veins, found in the
muscular parts of the body, all of which are directed towards the heart,
and consequently impede the flow of the blood in the opposite direction.
And you will find it stated by people who have not thought much about
the matter, that it was this discovery of the valves of the veins which
led Harvey to imagine the course of the circulation of the blood. Now
it did not lead Harvey to imagine anything of the kind. He had heard
all about it from his master, Fabricius, who made a great point of
these valves in the veins, and he had heard the theories which Fabricius
entertained upon the subject, whose impression as to the use of the
valves was simply this--that they tended to take off any excess of
pressure of the blood in passing from the heart to the extremities; for
Fabricius believed, with the rest of the world, that the blood in the
veins flowed from the heart towards the extremities. This, under the
circumstances, was as good a theory as any other, because the action of
the valves depends altogether upon the form and nature of the walls
of the structures in which they are attached; and without accurate
experiment, it was impossible to say whether the theory of Fabricius
was right or wrong. But we not only have the evidence of the facts
themselves that these could tell Harvey nothing about the circulation,
but we have his own distinct declaration as to the considerations which
led him to the true theory of the circulation of the blood, and amongst
these the valves of the veins are not mentioned.

(FIGURE 4.--The circulation of the blood as demonstrated by Harvey (A.D.
1628).)

Now then we may come to Harvey himself. When you read Harvey's treatise,
which is one of the most remarkable scientific monographs with which I
am acquainted--it occupies between 50 and 60 pages of a small quarto in
Latin, and is as terse and concise as it possibly can be--when you come
to look at Harvey's work, you will find that he had long struggled with
the difficulties of the accepted doctrine of the circulation. He had
received from Fabricius, and from all the great authorities of the day,
the current view of the circulation of the blood. But he was a man
with that rarest of all qualities--intellectual honesty; and by dint of
cultivating that great faculty, which is more moral than intellectual,
it had become impossible for him to say he believed anything which he
did not clearly believe. This is a most uncomfortable peculiarity--for
it gets you into all sorts of difficulties with all sorts of
people--but, for scientific purposes, it is absolutely invaluable.
Harvey possessed this peculiarity in the highest degree, and so it was
impossible for him to accept what all the authorities told him, and he
looked into the matter for himself. But he was not hasty. He worked at
his new views, and he lectured about them at the College of Physicians
for nine years; he did not print them until he was a man of fifty
years of age; and when he did print them he accompanied them with a
demonstration which has never been shaken, and which will stand till the
end of time. What Harvey proved, in short, was this (see Figure
4)--that everybody had made a mistake, for want of sufficiently accurate
experimentation as to the actual existence of the fact which everybody
assumed. To anybody who looks at the blood-vessels with an unprejudiced
eye it seems so natural that the blood should all come out of the liver,
and be distributed by the veins to the different parts of the body, that
nothing can seem simpler or more plain; and consequently no one could
make up his mind to dispute this apparently obvious assumption. But
Harvey did dispute it; and when he came to investigate the matter he
discovered that it was a profound mistake, and that, all this time, the
blood had been moving in just the opposite direction, namely, from the
small ramifications of the veins towards the right side of the heart.
Harvey further found that, in the arteries, the blood, as had previously
been known, was travelling from the greater trunks towards the
ramifications. Moreover, referring to the ideas of Columbus and of Galen
(for he was a great student of literature, and did justice to all his
predecessors), Harvey accepts and strengthens their view of the course
of the blood through the lungs, and he shows how it fitted into his
general scheme. If you will follow the course of the arrows in Figure 4
you will see at once that--in accordance with the views of Columbus--the
blood passes from the right side of the heart, through the lungs, to the
left side. Then, adds Harvey, with abundant proof, it passes through the
arteries to all parts of the body; and then, at the extremities of their
branches in the different parts of the body, it passes (in what way he
could not tell, for his means of investigation did not allow him to say)
into the roots of the vents--then from the roots of the veins it goes
into the trunk and veins--then to the right side of the heart--and
then to the lungs, and so on. That, you will observe, makes a complete
circuit; and it was precisely here that the originality of Harvey lay.
There never yet has been produced, and I do not believe there can be
produced, a tittle of evidence to show that, before his time, any one
had the slightest suspicion that a single drop of blood, starting in the
left ventricle of the heart, passes through the whole arterial system,
comes back through the venous system, goes through the lungs, and comes
back to the place whence it started. But that is the circulation of
the blood, and it was exactly this which Harvey was the first man to
suspect, to discover, and to demonstrate.

But this was by no means the only thing Harvey did. He was the first
who discovered and who demonstrated the true mechanism of the heart's
action. No one, before his time, conceived that the movement of the
blood was entirely due to the mechanical action of the heart as a pump.
There were all sorts of speculations about the matter, but nobody had
formed this conception, and nobody understood that the so-called
systole of the heart is a state of active contraction, and the so-called
diastole is a mere passive dilatation. Even within our own age that
matter had been discussed. Harvey is as clear as possible about it. He
says the movement of the blood is entirely due to the contractions of
the walls of the heart--that it is the propelling apparatus--and all
recent investigation tends to show that he was perfectly right. And from
this followed the true theory of the pulse. Galen said, as I pointed
out just now, that the arteries dilate as bellows, which have an active
power of dilatation and contraction, and not as bags which are blown
out and collapse. Harvey said it was exactly the contrary--the arteries
dilate as bags simply because the stroke of the heart propels the blood
into them; and, when they relax again, they relax as bags which are no
longer stretched, simply because the force of the blow of the heart
is spent. Harvey has been demonstrated to be absolutely right in this
statement of his; and yet, so slow is the progress of truth, that,
within my time, the question of the active dilatation of the arteries
has been discussed.

Thus Harvey's contributions to physiology may be summed up as follows:
In the first place, he was the first person who ever imagined, and still
more who demonstrated, the true course of the circulation of the blood
in the body; in the second place, he was the first person who ever
understood the mechanism of the heart, and comprehended that its
contraction was the cause of the motion of the blood; and thirdly, he
was the first person who took a just view of the nature of the pulse.
These are the three great contributions which he made to the science of
physiology; and I shall not err in saying--I speak in the presence of
distinguished physiologists, but I am perfectly certain that they will
endorse what I say--that upon that foundation the whole of our knowledge
of the human body, with the exception of the motor apparatus and the
sense organs, has been gradually built up, and that upon that foundation
the whole rests. And not only does scientific physiology rest upon
it, but everything like scientific medicine also rests upon it. As
you know--I hope it is now a matter of popular knowledge--it is the
foundation of all rational speculation about morbid processes; it is
the only key to the rational interpretation of that commonest of
all indications of disease, the state of the pulse; so that, both
theoretically and practically, this discovery, this demonstration of
Harvey's, has had an effect which is absolutely incalculable, and the
consequences of which will accumulate from age to age until they result
in a complete body of physiological science.

(FIGURE 5.--The junction of the arteries and veins by capillary tubes,
discovered by Malpighi (A.D. 1664).)

I regret that I am unable to pursue this subject much further; but there
is one point I should mention. In Harvey's time, the microscope was
hardly invented. It is quite true that in some of his embryological
researches he speaks of having made use of a hand glass; but that
was the most that he seems to have known anything about, or that was
accessible to him at that day. And so it came about, that, although he
examined the course of the blood in many of the lower animals--watched
the pulsation of the heart in shrimps, and animals of that kind--he
never could put the final coping-stone on his edifice. He did not know
to the day of his death, although quite clear about the fact that
the arteries and the veins do communicate, how it is that they
communicate--how it was that the blood of the arteries passed into the
veins. One is grieved to think that the grand old man should have gone
down to his tomb without the vast satisfaction it would have given to
him to see what the Italian naturalist Malpighi showed only seven years
later, in 1664, when he demonstrated, in a living frog, the actual
passage of the blood from the ultimate ramifications of the arteries
into the veins. But that absolute ocular demonstration of the truth of
the views he had maintained throughout his life it was not granted to
Harvey to see. What he did experience was this: that on the publication
of his doctrines, they were met with the greatest possible opposition;
and I have no doubt savage things were uttered in those old
controversies, and that a great many people said that these new-fangled
doctrines, reducing living processes to mere mechanism, would sap the
foundations of religion and morality. I do not know for certain that
they did, but they said things very like it. The first point was to
show that Harvey's views were absolutely untrue; and not being able to
succeed in that, opponents said they were not new; and not being able to
succeed in that, that they didn't matter. That is the usual course with
all new discoveries. But Harvey troubled himself very little about these
things. He remained perfectly quiet; for although reputed a hot-tempered
man, he never would have anything to do with controversy if he could
help it; and he only replied to one of his antagonists after twenty
years' interval, and then in the most charming spirit of candour and
moderation. But he had the great satisfaction of living to see his
doctrine accepted upon all sides. At the time of his death, there
was not an anatomical school in Europe in which the doctrine of the
circulation of the blood was not taught in the way in which Harvey had
laid it down. In that respect he had a happiness which is granted to
very few men.

I have said that the other great investigation of Harvey is not one
which can be dealt with to a general audience. It is very complex, and
therefore I must ask you to take my word for it that, although not so
fortunate an investigation, not so entirely accordant with later results
as the doctrine of the circulation; yet that still, this little treatise
of Harvey's has in many directions exerted an influence hardly less
remarkable than that exerted by the Essay upon the Circulation of the
Blood.

And now let me ask your attention to two or three closing remarks.

If you look back upon that period of about 100 years which commences
with Harvey's birth--I mean from the year 1578 to 1680 or thereabouts--I
think you will agree with me, that it constitutes one of the most
remarkable epochs in the whole of that thousand years which we
may roughly reckon as constituting the history of Britain. In the
commencement of that period, we may see, if not the setting, at any rate
the declension of that system of personal rule which had existed under
previous sovereigns, and which, after a brief and spasmodic revival in
the time of George the Third, has now sunk, let us hope, into the limbo
of forgotten things. The latter part of that 100 years saw the dawn
of that system of free government which has grown and flourished, and
which, if the men of the present day be the worthy descendants of Eliott
and Pym, and Hampden and Milton, will go on growing as long as this
realm lasts. Within that time, one of the strangest phenomena which I
think I may say any nation has ever manifested arose to its height and
fell--I mean that strange and altogether marvellous phenomenon, English
Puritanism. Within that time, England had to show statesmen like
Burleigh, Strafford, and Cromwell--I mean men who were real statesmen,
and not intriguers, seeking to make a reputation at the expense of the
nation. In the course of that time, the nation had begun to throw off
those swarms of hardy colonists which, to the benefit of the world--and
as I fancy, in the long run, to the benefit of England herself--have
now become the United States of America; and, during the same epoch,
the first foundations were laid of that Indian Empire which, it may be,
future generations will not look upon as so happy a product of English
enterprise and ingenuity. In that time we had poets such as Spenser,
Shakespere, and Milton; we had a great philosopher, in Hobbes; and we
had a clever talker about philosophy, in Bacon. In the beginning of the
period, Harvey revolutionized the biological sciences, and at the end of
it, Newton was preparing the revolution of the physical sciences. I know
not any period of our history--I doubt if there be any period of the
history of any nation--which has precisely such a record as this to
show for a hundred years. But I do not recall these facts to your
recollection for a mere vainglorious purpose. I myself am of opinion
that the memory of the great men of a nation is one of its most precious
possessions--not because we have any right to plume ourselves upon their
having existed as a matter of national vanity, but because we have a
just and rational ground of expectation that the race which has brought
forth such products as these may, in good time and under fortunate
circumstances, produce the like again. I am one of those people who
do not believe in the natural decay of nations. I believe, to speak
frankly, though perhaps not quite so politely as I could wish--but I
am getting near the end of my lecture--that the whole theory is a
speculation invented by cowards to excuse knaves. My belief is, that so
far as this old English stock is concerned it has in it as much sap
and vitality and power as it had two centuries ago; and that, with due
pruning of rotten branches, and due hoeing up of weeds, which will grow
about the roots, the like products will be yielded again. The "weeds"
to which I refer are mainly three: the first of them is dishonesty, the
second is sentimentality, and the third is luxury. If William Harvey had
been a dishonest man--I mean in the high sense of the word--a man who
failed in the ideal of honesty--he would have believed what it was
easiest to believe--that which he received on the authority of his
predecessors. He would not have felt that his highest duty was to know
of his own knowledge that that which he said he believed was true, and
we should never have had those investigations, pursued through good
report and evil report, which ended in discoveries so fraught with
magnificent results for science and for man. If Harvey had been a
sentimentalist--by which I mean a person of false pity, a person who
has not imagination enough to see that great, distant evils may be much
worse than those which we can picture to ourselves, because they
happen to be immediate and near (for that, I take it, is the essence of
sentimentalism)--if Harvey had been a person of that kind, he, being
one of the kindest men living, would never have pursued those researches
which, as he tells us over and over again, he was obliged to pursue in
order to the ascertainment of those facts which have turned out to be of
such inestimable value to the human race; and I say, if on such grounds
he had failed to do so, he would have failed in his duty to the human
race. The third point is that Harvey was devoid of care either for
wealth, or for riches, or for ambition. The man found a higher ideal
than any of these things in the pursuit of truth and the benefit of his
fellow-men. If we all go and do likewise, I think there is no fear for
the decadence of England. I think that our children and our successors
will find themselves in a commonwealth, different it may be from that
for which Eliott, and Pym, and Hampden struggled, but one which will be
identical in the substance of its aims--great, worthy, and well to live
in.







End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lectures and Essays, by T.H. Huxley

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