^ UCNRLF 
 
 I 
 
UB/?ARY 
 
 UNIVC-ITY OF 
 
 Any person residing temporarily in Machias may 
 take books at the rate of lo cents per week. 
 
 Non-residents at two dollars per year. 
 
 The time allowed for the retention of books 
 shall be two weeks for each volume ; but when any 
 bock is in great demand, the time may be limited 
 to ■ aie week, or less than one week. 
 
 No person receiving a book from the Library 
 shall lend it to any one not a member of the same 
 household. 
 
 Persons holding books beyond the specified time 
 shall pay two cents for each day's detention ; and 
 if detained five days beyond the time specified, the 
 book will be sent for and ten cents extra collected 
 from the delinquent. No book shall be delivered 
 to any person whose penalties remain unpaid. 
 
THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 __ PRESENTED BY 
 
 PROF. CHARLES A. KOFOID AND 
 jy^'H (^/■(f-m, MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID 
 
 Id-^n 
 
 (Q(^f^!^itr^ ^^< S^^j^i-<^^/ 
 
 *««/ Q^tc^f. /, Z^^'- 
 
/%-v 
 
 r 
 
THE SATURDAY LECTURES, 
 
 HKI-IVKUKU IN IIIK 
 
 k'ctui'c-Rooiii of tli(' U. S. Xational Museum, 
 
 unhfji tmr atspicks ok thk 
 
 AiitliropolofficalaiiilBiokii'alSiii'idi 
 
 
 
 liO 
 
 OF WASHINGTON, 
 
 IN MARCH ANr> APRIT.. 1882. 
 
 D. T.OTIIROP & CO. 
 30 ^: ;;2 FRANKT.IN STREKT. BOSTON. M.\SS. 
 
 WASIIINriTON, I). ('. : 
 
 JUDD &. DKTWETLF.R, PUINTP:KS AND I'l' lU.ISHEU.^. 
 
 1882. 
 
// 
 
 ^i^y^p/^^n Mu 
 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 InlioliKtory Addros. lU Major J. \V. I'owell. Director U. S. Gcoloi^icnl 
 
 Survey . ' 
 
 Scientific ami Pojmlar Views of Nature (^ontrasterl. By Prof. TIu-o. Ciiil. 5 
 
 What i- Antl)roiX)lo}jy ? By I'rnf. Otis T. Mason .i 25 
 
 Contrast> of the Appalachian Mountains. By Prof. J. \V. Chickcrinjj. Jr. 44 
 
 Outlines of Socioloijy. P.y Major J. W. I'oweil '>0 
 
 Little Known Facts aliout Well Known AnininU. By Prof. C. V. Riley. S3 
 
 Paul Broca and the French School of Anthropolojjy. By Dr. I<ol>ert 
 
 Fletcher - I';, 
 
 Deci)-Sea Explorations. By Prof. Wni. II. D.ill 
 IIow we See. Bv Dr. Swan M. Biirnelt .. 
 
 >4.5 
 •63 
 
 (iii) 
 
 j7,3-o7G8 
 
INTKODUCTORY ADDRESS 
 
 My J. \V. I'owi II. 
 Director, U. S. Geoloi^ieal Survey. 
 
 On the occasion of the delivery of the first of tiie Saturday Lectures, the fol- 
 lowing remarks were made by Major J. W. PowElx : 
 
 For luuuy years tlic Geue-nil Lrovernnient lias been proseculiiig 
 scieutific research through various agencies. The field of these in- 
 vestigations is wide. 
 
 For a long time geological surveys have existed iu various forms. 
 In the study of the structure of the earth's crust — the mountains 
 and j)lain.s, the hills and valleys have been traversed, and rocks, 
 iniiierals and fossils collected ; and by these fos.sils we come to a 
 knowledge of the way in which the ancient earth was clothed with 
 vegetation, and of the animals that lived in the ancient seas, lakes, 
 and rivers, and roamed over the lands. 
 
 During all these years biologists have been at work stuflying 
 the plants and animals that now live upon the earth and collecting 
 biologic materials from every laud. 
 
 During all these years anthropologists have been at work study- 
 ing the native races of America and collecting their works of art. 
 
 Since the foundation of the Smithsonian lustitution, it also has 
 in all these dej)artments promoted research and collected scientific 
 materials tor study, enlisting in its corps of collaborators men or 
 every part of the United States — yes, of every land and every clime. 
 
 Since the organization of the Fish Commission, the nations of the 
 seas, and the tribes of tin; lakes and the rivers, have been studied. 
 Through these agencies, and yet many others, there has accumulated 
 in Washington, in the custody of the Smithsonian Institution, a large 
 bodv of material which has been the basis of a vast .system of scien- 
 tific research and publication. The General Government is now 
 annually publishing from 20 to oO large volumes — the monographs 
 and memoirs of scientific research — and the rate of publication is 
 rapidly increasing. 
 
 These materials have already performed an important purpose — 
 greater than can be estimated, but tJteir value is perennial. 
 
2 INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS. 
 
 With every advance made iu science the old material must be 
 re-examined for new facts, and to discover new relations. In this 
 manner all are to go on increasing in value from decade to de- 
 cade with the advance iu human knowledge. In future years the, 
 scientific men of the world must resort to the National Museum at 
 Washington, to pursue or to complete their studies. It was, there- 
 fore, the part of wisdom for the National Legislature to provide 
 means for the preservation of this great collection, and to provide 
 also, for its re-examination and increase. 
 
 These materials are not alone of interest to the scientific speci- 
 alist. They have an interest and value to all intelligent people 
 under whose eyes they fall — a value that depends largely on their 
 orderly arrangement and classification ; so that the great facts and 
 principles of the many sciences represented, may be presented in 
 birds-eye views to inquiring students. 
 
 Such are the functions of the National Museum, and the Insti- 
 tution is destined to exert an ever-increasing influence in the pro- 
 gress of science. 
 
 In order that all possible benefits may accrue from the enterprise 
 it is proposed to establish a series of popular science lectures in this 
 hall. Here, then, are presented the simpler lessons taught by the 
 works of nature. 
 
 It is no easy task to explain the subject-matter of the various 
 branches of science iu such a manner that facts and principles may 
 be easily grasped by those who are not specialists. A clear com- 
 prehension of any scientific subject is always accompauied by a 
 power to clearly present the subject to scholars iu the same depart- 
 ment. A failure to present science to scientific men is fundamental 
 evidence of failure in comprehension. But to present a scientific 
 subject to those who are themselves not specialists or scholars in the 
 specific department in such manner that they will be interested and 
 instructed is no easy task. The man with this power, with this 
 genius, is rare. He must be ready with illustration, apt iu the 
 selection of non-technical words, clear and forcible in his presenta- 
 tion, and especially must he be devoid of that pedantry which loves 
 to revel in a wealth of details and technicalities, and he must so 
 master his subject as to be thoroughly saturated with it. Then 
 every word, every tone, and every gesture, will convey a thought. 
 
 The course is inaugurated this afternoon by a lecture on Scientific 
 and Popular views of Nature Contrasted. 
 
 Since man first inhabited the earth, two methods of thought have 
 
IN'lHoDirroKV ADhllKSS. 3 
 
 fxi>t«(l >iiie l)v ^n\v — two \vay.< ot" cxplaiiiiiit; tliiiiL'-. In tin- Kucky 
 Mi)iintains you may hear an liulian explain llic raiiihow with all 
 ils beautiful colors as the serpent that ahrade-s the tirnianu'nt of ice 
 to give us snow in Winter and rain in Sununer. He sees itd coil, 
 he sees its stripes, he sees it against the sky of ice, arttl he sees it as- 
 sociated with rain which falls from above, and so he calls it the Great 
 .Serpent of the .Storm. The metiiod of thought by which he arrives 
 at this <-onclusiou is subjective ami superficial analogies arejjsed as 
 the basis of conclusions. The man of science .sees in the rainbow 
 the analysis of white light into it^ constituent colors. 
 
 The method of thought is objective, and essential iiomologies are 
 used as the basis of his explanation. But these two methods of 
 thought appear in all stages of civilization and among all peoples. 
 Subjective thought aud anal.>gic reasoning appear on the oue hand, 
 objective thought and homologic reasoning ou the other ; aud it thus 
 happens that in all the domain of Nature there is a vast body of 
 phenomena that receives two explauation.s — a popular aud a scien- 
 tific. But,gra<lually, the scientific method is becoming the popular 
 method, and scientific methods are being accepted and understood 
 more aud more, as the years pass, by the intelligent people of civil- 
 ization ; and it is the purpo.se of the lectures inaugurated this day 
 to bring popular and scientific thought into harmony. Such is the 
 tjisk Professor Gill proposes for himself. May lie abundantly suc- 
 ceed. 
 
 Ladies aud geutlemeu : 1 have the honor to present the learued 
 aud eloquent lecturer, Professor (iill. 
 
SCIENTIFIC AM) POI'CLAR VIKWS OF NATURE 
 CONTRASTED. 
 
 Lecture (Iclivircil in the National Museum, W.ishinj^ton. I). C. March ii. 1882, 
 l>v Prof. TiiKo. Gii.i . 
 
 LaDI KS a M • (I KN IIJCM KN : 
 
 I feci lotli to (oniiiu'iici- my Icctinf iiltcr the flattering 
 introdiKticui of Major Powvll, for ho has led yon to expect 
 more thiui yon will rocoivc. and to believe that what you 
 receive will 1m- adorned with the uraees of oratory ; but this, 
 I assure you. will not be the case. At the out.set, I shall be 
 obli<ied to e.\))lain as to the title of the lecture of the after- 
 noon. A title had to be given, and that title had to be 
 pith> . Exactly what ground is to be covered is not, however, 
 evident from it. What 1 do i>ropose is to treat of a very 
 limited field, and in a very plain and conversational manner 
 discourse concerning those relations which exist Ijotween 
 certain groups of animals, and the opposite phases under 
 which they are contemplated by the .scientific mind on the 
 one hand, and by the [)oj)ular mind on the other. In doing 
 tiiis I shall take concreU- examples, and, after considering 
 the animals adduced, derive; from the facts presented some 
 deductions which aj.pear to be legitimate. I will now^ only 
 anticipate by the statement that the dictum, which is .so 
 prevalent in morals and social life — not to trust to appear- 
 ances — is equally true for and applicable to the animal and 
 vegetable kingdoms. The popuhn- mind in.stinctively clas- 
 sities animals according to external manifestations and adap- 
 tations, and especially with reference to the elements in 
 which they live, be it earth, water, or air. This system of 
 ela.ssification i.s, perhaps, almo.st coeval with the intellectual 
 history of our race. Over eighteen centuries ago Ovid, the 
 Latin poet, gave expression to such ifleas in the first book 
 of his Metamorpho.^es which I beg to recall to vou in 
 Dryden's version ; 
 
 •' IJefore the seas and this terre>trial h.ill. 
 .\ncl heaven's high canopy that covers all, 
 ( )ne wa.s the face of nature ; if .i fcce : 
 Rather a nulc and undigested mass : 
 
b SATURDAY LECTUKES. 
 
 No sun \va^ lii^lucd up tlie world to view. 
 
 No moon did yet her Ijlunted hours renew, 
 
 Nor yet was earth suspended in the sky. 
 
 Nor poised, did on her own foundation lie. 
 
 Nor seas about the shores their arm~ had thrown 
 
 But earth, and air, and water were in one. 
 
 Thus air was void of light, and earth unstable. 
 
 And water's dark abyss unnavigable. 
 
 No certain form on any was impressed : 
 
 All were confusion, and each disturb'd the rest. 
 
 For hot and cold were in one body fix'd, 
 
 And soft with hard, and light with heavy, mix'd 
 
 Thus disembroird, they take their proper place ; 
 
 The next of kin contiguously embrace ; 
 
 And foes are sunder" d by a larger space. 
 
 The force of fire ascended first on high, 
 
 .\nd took its dwelling in the vaulted sky : 
 
 Then air succeeds, in lightness next to fire, 
 
 Whose atoms from unactivc earth retire."* 
 
 As to the mode in which the various elements were 
 peopled, hear also Ovid : 
 
 " Then, every void of nature to supply, 
 With fonns of Gods he fills the vacant sky ; 
 New herds of beast«i he sends the plains to share; 
 New colonies of birds to people air ; 
 And to their oozy beds the finny fish repair. 
 A creature of a more exalted kind 
 Wa> wanting yet, and then was man designed."' 
 
 In such words the great })oet has embodied the popular 
 conception of the divisions of nature and of the relations 
 thereto of the animals which i)eople the world — one set for 
 the earth, a different creation for the land, and a third for 
 the air. These views, or some not essentially differing, were 
 current until within a comparatively recent period. 
 
 It is easy by a merely superficial examination to convince 
 
 *.4nte mare ettellus, et, quod tegit omnia, cojlum, 
 Unus erat toto-naturse vnltus in orbe, 
 Quem dixere Chaos; rudis indigcstaque moles; 
 
 Hanc Deus et melior litem natura diremit ; 
 Nam ccclo terras, et terris abscidit tindas ; 
 
 Neu regio foret uUa suis animantibiis orba ; 
 Astra tenent ccclestc solum, formteqne deorum ; 
 Cesserunt nitidis habitandie piscihns undoe; 
 Terra f eras cepit; colucres .igitabilis oiir. 
 
 —Ovid Met. I, I. 5-7, 21-22, 72-76. 
 
viicws or N.vn KK iontkastki). 7 
 
 ourselves that this tripartite division ol aiiiinal life is very 
 incorrect. We sec i)roniinent about us, it is true, certain 
 animals that seem es[)ecially adaj)tecl to specilic elements — 
 the quadrupeds for the land, the birds for the air, and fishes 
 for the water ; but as soon as we proceed to a more detailed 
 review, and attempt to collocate with them the other animals 
 that live on the earth we comcupon stnniljliiiL^-blocks in 
 every direction and arc soon forced to modily and change 
 our ideas. Without takin<i; into account the hosts of lower 
 animals, naturalists soon reco.<;nized that even the verte- 
 brates could not be combined under the tripartite division. 
 Linnanis gave the name Amphibia to those forms inter- 
 mediate between the land animals and the water animals, 
 including the reptiles and hatrachians — frogs, salamanders, 
 <fec. But it was not till a long time afterwards that even 
 Linnaeus became convinced that this was not going far 
 enough. Only in the later editions of his work published 
 toward the end of his life did he teach that animals must 
 needs be regrouped, and in a manner that would be foreign 
 to popular opinion. He first clearly recognized that whales 
 were not fishes, but essentially agreed with the viviparous 
 hairy quadrupeds, and under the name of Mammalia he 
 first combined the two types in one class. I presume that 
 the major portion of my audience recognize in a sort of 
 way the fact that whales are not fishes, but mammals, or 
 animals, as most people i)lcase to call" them. At the same 
 time there is a fear that many accept the dictum without 
 understanding the why and wherefore they are so consid- 
 ered. It will, therefore, be my task this afternoon to give 
 some of the reasons why the whales are not regarded as 
 fishes, and why they are considered to be mammals. After- 
 wards it will appear that, by parity of reasoning, there will 
 flow a series of deductions, applicable not only to the forms 
 about to be treated of, but also to animated nature generally. 
 I doubt not that if the question "are whales fishes?" 
 were put to jtopular vote, there would be an overwhelming 
 assent to the ancient belief. Indeed the proposition that 
 such is the case has l>cen sanctioned bv that "bulwark ot 
 
8 SATURDAY LECTUliKS. 
 
 our institutions" — a jury in a court of law. About sixty- 
 years ago, a case was brought up in tlio New York courts, 
 involving that question. It was a revenue case, and the 
 suitor was one Maurice Judd. It Avas decided with all 
 the formality of law that the whale was a fish ! Times and 
 ideas have changed since then, but not so much as to forbid 
 us to believe that essentially the same views are prevalent 
 at the present day, and I presume that the old verdict ex- 
 pressed the opinion of the majority of mankind at this 
 time. Indeed, it may seem presumptuous in me to differ 
 from such high authority as a court of law. 
 
 But without further preface, I shall now invite your con- 
 sideration of the skeletons at my side, one of a porpoise, 
 which is simply a kind of a whale, and the other of a 
 swordfish, which is a true fish. I will contrast the differ- 
 ences between the two ; first, as they appear in the flesh, and 
 then those which become manifest on dissection. 
 
 As to form : of course, superficially there is a great deal 
 of resemblance between a whale and an ordinary fish, and 
 it is this superficial resemblance which has impressed upon 
 the popular mind the idea that the wdiale is a fish. But, 
 even if we consider onl}^ this external form closely, we find 
 that material differences occur, and those differences are 
 the indications of very much greater dissimilarity of ana- 
 tomical structure. In the fish, the tail, you will see, is ver- 
 tical; in the cetaceans it is horizontal. 
 
 In the skeleton of the fish, the tail is composed of many 
 bones diverging from the tail vertebrae, and forming a 
 framework for the vertical fin. The fish in its progress 
 through the water moves this fin to and fro, sideways. In 
 the skeleton of the cetacean, there are no bones in the tail, 
 but the vcrtebrrc taper backward, and have nothing com- 
 parable to the bones of the fish. The fin is represented 
 simply by a mass of fibrous tissue and muscles, and it is 
 inserted horizontally, so that the animal, in progressing, 
 propels its tail upward and downward. 
 
 These are the indices of very important differences. The 
 whale's tail is not at all like the fish's tail. The latter is a 
 
VIKWS nV NAT! Ki: < • >.NrK ASTKI). 9 
 
 peculiar organ, inserted at the end of tlu; vertebral column, 
 and has a frame work of bones, developed amund the last 
 vertebra^ and appended to them. 
 
 Before proceeding further to discuss the character of the 
 caudal fin of a whale, let mo call your attention to the fins 
 which are developed under the belly or middle of the body 
 in the carp and trout, and although absent in the sword- 
 fish, in ordinary lishes present. You will lind nothing eoi-- 
 responding to these in ]iosition in the whales, but I will now 
 attempt to show that these tins, which are called ventral 
 fins, inserted under the back, far forward, are represented 
 by the flukes of the tail of the whale, which must, therefon;, 
 be entirely different from the tail of a true fish. But how 
 can this be ? 
 
 You are all acipiainted with the external appearance of 
 the seal, in which the posterior feet are obviously present, but 
 are thrown far backward, and are to a great extent horizontal 
 beyond the body. Now, imagine these fins, flippers, or feet, 
 whatever you may call them, with the bones atrophied, or 
 greatly decreased in size, and the integuments and soft tissues 
 greatly hypertrophied, that is, enlarged, and you will* see 
 that no great diflercnce exists between such fins hori- 
 zontally extended backward, and the flukes of the whale. 
 In fact, it is known, not only from anatomical, but from 
 embryological and ])aleontological data, that the tail of a 
 whale is essentially the result of an excessive development 
 of the integuments surrounding the posterior feet, and the 
 atrophy, or diminution of, or even in some cases the entire 
 loss of the posterior limbs, so far as the bones are concerned. 
 But the bones of the posterior limbs are not absent, or even 
 insignificant, in all si)ecies of whales. In the right whale 
 (that whence the whalebone is derived) we have not only the 
 pelvic or haunch bones, but also the proximal bones — those 
 next to the pelvic — developed ; that is, we have not only the 
 bones representing those which constitute the pelvis in man, 
 but we also have other bones connected with these boners 
 which represent the femur or thigh bone, and the .succeed- 
 ing or leg bones. Those bones are d.-veloped still more in 
 
10 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 certain forms that are in some measure intermediate be- 
 tween the cetaceous and ordinary quadrupeds ; that is, in 
 extinct forms known under the name of Zeuglodonts which 
 have not existed since the eocene epocli, and in ancient 
 forms of the group, (Sirenians,) to which tli(3 Manatee, and 
 the Dugong of the present time belong. 
 
 Reverting now to the ventral fins of the fishes, 3^ou will 
 perceive that they correspond in position with the hind legs 
 of tadpoles. If we compare the ventral fins of certain fishes 
 of a very generalized kind, as it is called — that is, like 
 those forms from which other fishes and amphibians are 
 supposed to have alike descended — with certain extinct 
 amphibians, also of a generalized kind we are prepared to 
 recognize a similarity, and ultimately an equivalency of 
 those ventral fins with the hind feet of quadrupeds. (The 
 equivalency, let me state here, is called homology.) The 
 so-called generalized fish which is most instructive in its 
 indications is the Polypterus, (there is no common English 
 name,) of the Nile, and other African rivers. The general- 
 ized amphibians are known as Lab^a-inthodonts, etc. 
 
 You will, I think, have no hesitation in recognizing the 
 expanded vertical membrane of the tail of the tadpole as 
 equivalent, so far as use is concerned, at least, with the tail or 
 caudal fin of the fish. Let me further direct your atten- 
 tion to the fact, that the fish's tail and the tadpole's tail is 
 median as well as vertical. If you are now prepared to 
 concede all the propositions enunciated, you will be pre- 
 pared likewise to give assent to the proposition, that the 
 whale's flukes in horizontal position, and in being paired, 
 are more like the seal's flippers, and therefore comparable 
 with the hind limbs ; and therefore unlike the tail of a fish. 
 Inasmuch, further, as the seal's flippers are modified hind 
 legs, and the ventral fins are also representatives of the hind 
 legs, the whale's flukes are also modified hind limbs, and 
 therefore the flukes and the ventral fins are equivalent, in 
 a homological sense, to each other. 
 
 But how about the fore fins or pectoral feet ? Are not 
 thev much alike in whales and true fishes? 
 
VIKWS OK NATinr. rONTKASTKI). 11 
 
 Externally, the pectoral fins do look at lirst sight very 
 much alike, hut you will on lookint; closer perceive that tus 
 in the tail lin, tiie fish's jn^-loral has rays visible externally 
 connected hy a thin mciiihranc. while none such arc visible 
 in the whale's lin. 
 
 On taking;- the Uesh I'roui these i)ectoral lin>, and layin;; 
 bare the bones, you will at once perceive how utterly unlike 
 the framework of the limbs arc. in our two types— the jior- 
 poisc and the swordlish. 
 
 In the porpoise we hav(> not the least ditiieulty in at 
 once recognizing; the bones corresponding to the linger 
 bones and metacari)al bones of man and quadrupeds ; next 
 Ave also plainly see bones answering to the carpal or wrist 
 bones; then there are two bones evidently comparable with 
 the Viones of the forearm, that is, the radius and ulna ; and 
 tinallv. next to the body, we see a single bone which is 
 plainly the c<|uivalcnt of the arm-bone or humerus of man. 
 Connected with the arm we lind a wide; Hat bone above, 
 and this, it is easily perceived, answers to the scapula or 
 shoulder blade. Unlike then as the pectoral tin of a 
 whale seems to be externally to the fore limb of man or 
 quadrupeds, it is very much alike in the skeleton. 
 
 Now, let us turn to the fish's pectoral fin and its connec- 
 tions, and .see how different they are from the whale's. Let 
 us take a salmon's fiii and compare it, or rather contrast 
 it with the whale's. In the; salmon, far from iinding great 
 similarity between its parts and the porpoise's, we meet with 
 great difHculty in seeing any approximate agreement even : 
 lin ravs are first noticeable which are quite unlike digits or 
 fing(>r bones; at their ixise are four loiigi-h and ncarlv 
 parallel but diverging bones, which remind us somewhat of 
 metacar[)als, and serve as a sort of peduncle to tlu; lin. 
 Next wc find a chain of bones extending from the sides of 
 the skull behind, and uniting below with its fellow of th(^ 
 opposite side ; the pair are known as the shoulder ginlle, 
 or scapular arch ; and remind us somewhat of the wish- 
 . bone or clavicles of a fowl. To the inside of the largest of 
 these bones we see attached thriM l....,,-: wbieh intervene l)e- 
 
12 SATi:i;l)AY I.IXTIKES. 
 
 tween it and the (juasi-peduiK-ulatcd tin. Y\'hat are these, and 
 how are they comparable with the anterior members and 
 appendages of a wliale? [ am eom])elled to admit at once 
 that we cannot compare them directly, and if we attempted 
 to do so, we would almost inevitably fall into gross error; 
 indeed, the old anatomists who made the attemp^t did so. 
 Men, illustrious in science, like Cuvier, Agassiz, and Owen, 
 considered the i\mv longish bones we have noticed as carpals, 
 and the two externally fiattish bones which support them 
 as the radius and ulna. To ascertain their true nature, we 
 have to avail ourselves of extraneous evidence. I am, 
 therefore, compelled, in justice to you as well as to myself, 
 to make a .slight digression. 
 
 Let us now examine for a moment the skeleton of polyp- 
 terus, to which we have before referred. 
 
 The pectoral fin oi polypterus has rays which are essentially 
 similar to those of the salmon, and at the base of those 
 rays are a number of nearly parallel longish bones which 
 resemble the four at the base of the rays in. the salmon. In 
 polypterus we also find a shoulder girdle which is not unlike 
 that of the trout. But now please direct your attention to 
 the inner side of the principal bone of that girdle and 
 instead of three bones, as in the salmon, you will find there 
 is a single large piece ; that piece has a peculiar kind of 
 projection which is divided b}^ a partial constriction from 
 the body of the bone and reminds one of a ball. Ar- 
 ticulating with this are two long diverging processes. 
 Between these processes is to be especially observed a flat 
 cartilaginous mass which also intervenes between them and 
 the parallel longish bones. 
 
 To understand the structure thus revealed, examine now 
 the pectoral fin and shoulder girdle of the common gar-pike 
 of the Potomac river — the lepidosteus osseus of naturalists. 
 The fin has rays like those of the polypterus and salmon; it 
 has also the longish bones at the base. The shoulder girdle 
 is developed as in them, but with special characters of its 
 own. But the inner piece attached to the chief bone of the 
 girdle is especially noteworthy. As in the polypterus, it is 
 
VIKWS OK NATlMtK < ONTKASTKI). 13 
 
 siiugle, but it otlioiwi.sc reseiiible.s the tliix-o hoiiu.s c'oml>ine<l 
 of the salmon, and the three elements of that type evidently 
 are the (lisint(;;:;rated representatives of the solid eartilage of 
 the ti^ar. Note also that two diverging; cartilages partly 
 b(»und and partly intervene between the basal bones and the 
 pectoral tin an<l earlilagiinous pieces just described. If now. 
 time and the occasion ]»ermitted, I might submit to you 
 other forms, but I trust I have adduced sufiicicnt to render 
 it possil)le for your judgments to acce])t the following jtroji- 
 ositions as at least not inii)rob:iMi . 
 
 The pectoral fin and sustaining arch of the lishes in its 
 several elements are referable to two categoriiis. 
 
 The rays, the longish bones at their bases, and the bones 
 or cartilages that bound or inclose them must be considered 
 as the equivalents of the fore limb of quadrupeds. 
 
 The shoulder girdle is to be considered as representing 
 the scapula of land animals, but with certain additions. 
 
 The projecting l)a]l-likc tubercle of jwli/ptcriis is of es- 
 * pecial signiticance. 
 
 Look, now, at the pectoral tin oi' pal i/pterui^, and compare 
 ii with the fore lind.) of a (juadruped : you can appreciate 
 some resemblance, I think, between (1) the diverging pro- 
 cesses thereof and radius and ulna. (2) The wrist or carpus 
 may be formed out of the included and succeeding cartilage 
 of polijptcrus. (o) The metacarpals are at lea.st simulated 
 by the longish parallel l)ones at the base of the rays. (4) 
 The phalanges may be represented by the pectoral rays. 
 Tlie humerus is still to be accounted for, and I am inclined 
 to believe that it is represented by the constricted peduncle 
 that supjiorts the first named bones. Whether the relations 
 thus indicated are true homological exjuessions has to be 
 still ]»roved, but they are, I venture to think, probable. 
 But the very doubt, still involving the (juestion is, at least, 
 one o\ the most cogent evidences of th(! great gap between 
 the whales and the fishes. 
 
 If I am right in the conjectures thus ad<luced you will 
 now see that while the fore limb, bone lor bone, is tlu; .same 
 in the whale as in the quailruped, it is only j)artially repre- 
 
14 SArri;i)AY i.ecturk«. 
 
 sented in the fish, the digits being i)r(jbably, but only very 
 distantly, repeated in the salmon by the rays, and the meta- 
 carpals by the bones at the base thereof; the bones of the 
 arm — the radius and ulna as well as liumorus — are entirely 
 wanting. The single scapular or blade bone of the whale, 
 on the other hand, is represented by at least four pieces, and 
 connected ^yith the arch of the fish are several other and 
 accessory pieces. 
 
 I have thus dwelt upon the fins because if any part in 
 the whale would show fish-like modifications, these parts 
 would, from their relations to the surrounding medium, be 
 naturally most liable to exhibit such adaptation. Upon the 
 other points in the structure of the two types we cannot delay 
 so long. 
 
 The shoulder girdle, as we have seen, is connected with 
 the skull in the fishes, and let us take up the consideration 
 of that next. 
 
 Look first at the whale's skeleton ; note that the skull, as 
 in man's, is one compact mass, composed of many bones^ 
 but all closely connected with their neighbors save the 
 lower jaw. The lower jaw is directly articulated with the 
 skull, and it is also especially to be noticed that its branches 
 are undivided or single bones. Let me add as an item of 
 information which I must ask you to take on trust that 
 there are ear bones which, though much modified, agree 
 essentially with those of quadrupeds. 
 
 Turn now to the fish's skull ; you will at once perceive that 
 the skull, contrasted with the mammal's, is much broken 
 up. It has a brain box, but that does not at all represent 
 the entire skull of the mammals. The upper jaw bones, the 
 palate bones, and others, are separate. The lower jaw has 
 each of its branches composed of four separable elements, 
 and those branches, you will see, have no direct connection 
 with the brain-box, but are separated by the intervention of 
 a chain of large bones which are not to be seen at all in the 
 whale's skull. But, nevertheless, those bones are repre- 
 sented in the whale's head, and the bones forming the sus- 
 ponsorium, as it is called, of the lower jaw have their repre- 
 
VIKWS OF NATURK CONTKASTKH. 16 
 
 sont.uivt> ill part in the car honrsof tho cetaceous as of all 
 otiier maininals. 
 
 Tluis wc lind tlio same bones subscrvii.'iit lu very diUcr- 
 «nt functions in the two types: in the mammal to hearinp^ : in 
 tho lisii servinLi ehiolly for the -connection of parts. The 
 statement may evoke your skepticism, but I must ask you 
 to accept it on trust, for time will not allow mc to demon- 
 strate its truth. [ can only pledge myself that it has, I 
 think, been clearly demonstrated that such is the case by 
 the study of the comparative structure, and development of 
 many forms, and by the collation of data derived from 
 various types consecutively considered. 
 
 Connected with the skull you will perceive certain other 
 bones or appendages. In the cetacean you may see pendant 
 from the skull the articulation for the lower jaw, an appar- 
 atus composed of three bones on each side connected by a 
 central one, reminding one somewhat of a pair of hooks or a 
 card-rack. These bones arc known as the hyoid. In the fish 
 you will of course at once recognize the gills, which are on 
 four arches on each side, but observe also another arch in 
 front, and which performs the function of sustaining a 
 membrane attached to the gill covers. Further observe 
 that all these arches arise from a median row of bones to 
 which the tongue is attached in front. Let me recall now 
 a fact which you have doubtless heard of before — that even 
 man as well as all other mammals have gillcts in the foetal 
 stage of life, and of such gills the hj'^oid bones are the modi- 
 fied vestiges and reminders, and they roughly represent the 
 gills and appendages which are developed so largely in tho 
 fishes. 
 
 Please direct your attention now to tho organs which serve 
 for the aeration of the blood in the cetacean, and to that which 
 corresponds in the fish. You will notice that in the for- 
 mer there are lungs on each side, as well developed and as 
 obviously lung-like as those of man, and that they arc con- 
 nected with the mouth by a tracheal tube which has an- 
 teriorly a thyroid apparatus, also as in man. On the other 
 hand in the salmon there is nothing like a lung, but in its 
 
16 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 place you will see an unpaired membranaceous air bladder, 
 which is connected by a simple, narrow tube with the oesoph- 
 agus, and in the swordtish, the tube, even, is entirely wanting, 
 and the air bladder is shut off from communication with the 
 mouth, direct or indirect. Nevertheless, did time permit, 
 1 could easily convince you that the lungs and air bladder 
 graduate into each other, and that the two truly represent, 
 or, in the language of the anatomist, are homologus with 
 each other. On the one hand, our common gar has an air 
 bladder so cellular as to be somewhat lung-like ; polypterus 
 has a still more lung-like bladder, and its relation to the 
 intestinal canal, also approximates that of a lung ; next a 
 remarkable fish of Australia, named ceratodus, has what 
 may more properly be called lungs than air bladder, and 
 related forms of South America and Africa, known as Lepi- 
 dosirenids, have as true lungs as amphibians. On the other 
 hand, the amphibians, reptiles, and mammals show a gra- 
 dation from the simple to the complex form manifest in the 
 last. 
 
 Thus it will be apparent that the respiration of fishes and 
 whales are effected by entirely different organs, and that 
 the same organs may be modified and adapted for very dif- 
 ferent purposes. Nature is economical of her material, but 
 most ingenious and versatile in the use of it, and employs 
 the same stuff in many ways. 
 
 In connection with the respirator}^ apparatus we very 
 naturally consider the heart, which receives the blood which 
 has coursed through the bodv, and sends it to be purified 
 and aerated b}^ the respiratory process. 
 
 In the whale, the heart is partitioned into four cavities or 
 chambers — a right auricle and a ventricle, and a left auri- 
 cle and a ventricle — as in man. The right auricle receives 
 the blood which has circulated through the veins, and the 
 right ventricle transmits it to the lungs where it is oxygen- 
 ated and thence goes bright and purified to the left auricle, 
 and by the left ventricle is transmitted to again course 
 through the vessels of the body. In the fish, the heart 
 has onlv two chambers; an auricle collects the blood that 
 
vii:\v> <»i N.virui: ( on ij;asti;i). 17 
 
 has ludirisheil tlic body, a vnitriclc sends it to bo vivilicd 
 by tho oxy;;cn in tin- water, whieb UKjistens tlic ^ill liia- 
 nionts ; from the ^^ills it eonnncnccs in a dorsal vessel a 
 lonj^; course tbroui^b the body, before a;^ain returning to the 
 heart. The bbuxl in the ectaeeans is warm, in tlie lishes it 
 is called cold. Tin dillercnccs which do exist have been 
 generally exair.m'J'ated. however, and I only mention them 
 because so much importance is j)0|>ularly attached to them. 
 The important orj^ans we have been last con.siderinii — 
 tho heart antl tho lungs — are inclosed in a special cavity of 
 tlu' chest, and separated by a partition or diaphragm from 
 the other viscera, alike in the whales and other mammals. 
 Heart and air bladder or lungs arc far apart, and separated 
 by — not iVom — other viscera in the fishes, and there is notli- 
 ing like a diaphragm to partition off a special cavity for 
 them. 
 
 We will next consider the brains of a whale and of a 
 fish. They are entirely dissimilar. The brain of a whale 
 is essentially the same as that of a man. and extremely 
 dift'erent from that of a iish. 1 exhibit the brains of a 
 porpoise and a man. and you can contrast them with the 
 enlarged figure of the brain of a salmon. 
 
 These illustrations will give an adequate idea — at least so 
 far as we are at present concerned — of tho structure of all 
 i)rains in the two widely separated classes comprising man 
 and the whales on one hand, and the fishes on the other. 
 Not only are the first two superficially essentially the same, 
 but all the ])arts are readily comparable, and tho closer you 
 examine the more you will be struck by theii" similarity 
 rather than their dillerence. when you taki' into account 
 the diffenMices in the form of the body. lint compare with 
 the brain of that, or any other cetacean, the brain of a Iish, 
 and the differences are very marked. 
 
 In the mammal brain the optic lobes arc represented by 
 sntall tubercles or lobe, while in the Iish they are of |)re- 
 ponderating development. The olfactory lobes and nerves 
 are entirely concealed by the cerebrum and even almost 
 wanting in the cataceans, l)ut they are very large, and ad- 
 
18 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 vanced forwards in tlic fish. The cerebellum of the fish 
 and cetacean have an entirely different structure, and as to 
 differences of detail, they are innumerable. 
 
 Those parts which are concerned in tlie reproduction and 
 perpetuation of the species, are equally noteworthy on 
 account of the close resemblance between such parts in the 
 whales and in viviparous quadrupeds on the one hand, and 
 on the other, the differences from fish's. Their char- 
 acteristics, however, we must pass over. Suffice it to say, 
 that as in man, the whales are viviparous, and the young 
 are nourished by milk secreted by the mother. But it is 
 proper to add that such characteristics are of less importance 
 than many others connected with the organs of reproduction. 
 
 Many fishes are also viviparous. Viviparity or oviparity 
 is of minor value. It is the mode in which the eggs and 
 young are developed that is most significant for tlie two 
 classes. 
 
 Thus have we gone over the various parts of the economy 
 of the whale and the fish, and in every case we have seen 
 that the structure of the whale and man is very much 
 alike, and that of the fishes very different. 
 
 If this superficial examination may be sufficient to con- 
 vince us of the similarity of the whale and all other 
 mammals, a more detailed examination would simply add 
 force, and the cogency of cumulative evidence to the argu- 
 ment, and would still more impel belief. 
 
 Let us now take into consideration another set of facts. 
 There are certain forms known as marsupials, represented 
 in this country b}'^ the opossum. In Australia that order is 
 largely developed, and is manifested in a number of differ- 
 ent forms. There are, for example, species very much like 
 wolves, others like mice, and they are so called by the Aus- 
 tralian colonists. Now, if we considered simply external 
 form, we should be compelled to separate those species from 
 each other, and refer them to widely different groups. For 
 example, we should have to take the mice-like marsupials, 
 and approximate them to the true rats and mice, and the 
 Tasmanian wolf we would have to approximate to the gen- 
 
VIKWS oi" NATIMK • < »NTU AS ri;i •. U* 
 
 uiiir wolves jiiid «lo^s. Hui a considoratioii of their anat- 
 omy — that is. of tlicir luaiu, skull and its snvcral parts, the 
 hyoid aj.paratns. llic ])clvis. the bones of the feet, and 
 the htarl — in fact, all the parts of their organization — 
 forees ns to reeo^Mii/.e that external form is of very little 
 eonse(juenee in the appreciation of the relations of the ani- 
 mals, and that we arc not only justified, but eomi)elled, if 
 we wouhl express nature, to brintr them ton;ether and keep 
 them as the constituent*; of one natural ^roup in contra- 
 distinction to all the other groups that are represented by 
 forms which have a similar external appearance. 
 
 1 need only remind you that every one now recognizes 
 the bats as animals. 
 
 In brief, then, mammals may be described as animals 
 which have no gills, which breathe by means of lungs, 
 have a quadrilocular heart, sending the blood to the 
 lungs, and receiving it thence and returning it to the rest 
 of the body ; a skull which has two condyles for articu- 
 lation with the vertebral column and which has all its 
 bones connected by siiture with or contained in the brain 
 case, except the lowei- jaw ; and the lower jaw itself is com- 
 prised of simple branches which articulate directly with 
 the brain case; the inner ear has three principal ear bones; 
 the females are viviparous and the emltryo developed from 
 a very small egg. 
 
 In contrast, fishes can be characterized as animals which 
 are branchiate or l)reath by means of gills, whose heart is 
 bilocular, sending from one of its chambers the blood to the 
 gills to be there aerated by contact with the water, which 
 contains oxygen, an<l thence to the remaining portions of 
 the body, to be in turn taken by the other cavity of the 
 heart: the skull has an impaired median and circular 
 articulation for the vertebral column ; the upi»er jaw, pala- 
 tine, and other bones are free from the brain case, and inter- 
 vening between it and tlie lower jaw is a suspensorium of 
 well-developed bones ; the lower jaw is composed of several 
 pieces; the females are oviparous or ovoviviparous. 
 
20 SATUllDAY LECTURES. 
 
 Such are, in brief, a few of the distinctions between fishes 
 and mammals. 
 
 The class of mammals contains forms fitted for progres- 
 sion on land, as bipeds (man) and quadrupeds; for flight in 
 the air, i\s bats; and for exclusive life in the water, as 
 whales. 
 
 The class of fishes comprises not only animals with the 
 usual fish-like form exemplified in the salmon and perch, 
 but broad flattened fishes like the angler or goose-fish, and 
 others of snake-like form as the eels. 
 
 Mere form, then, is of no consequence in the determina- 
 tion of the major relations of animals and is of importance 
 only in ascertaining the relations of minor groups. Every 
 t3^pe of nature which we examine brings to us evidence of the 
 truth of this proposition. Animals which have the great- 
 est external resemblance may be, when anatomically con- 
 sidered, most unlike, and vice-versa, animals which are 
 very different in external appearance, may exhibit great 
 similarity in internal structure. I might adduce very num- 
 erous illustrations of the prevalence of this truth, but the 
 advancing moments warn me that I must bring my re- 
 marks to a termination. I shall, therefore, conclude with 
 certain deductions that are to be derived from the studies 
 in which ^ye have been engaged, and justify the title which 
 1 have selected for the discourse, by a contrast of the 
 methods involved in the classification of the animals we 
 have been examining. 
 
 The uninstructed observer instinctively considers animals 
 with regard to their external form. 
 
 The naturalist has learned to distrust external form, and 
 to consider internal structure as paramount. 
 
 The ordinary observer regards as of great moment the 
 relation of an animal to its surroundings and mode of 
 progress — whether in land, in water, or through air. 
 
 The zoologist has learned that the adaptations for different 
 modes of life may coexist with slight differences in the in- 
 ternal economy. 
 
vii:\\s i»i NAii i;k itiNi |{a.>%ti.;ij. 21 
 
 I*()|)uljir (»|iiiii(»n iin-lincs t(» llic Ixlict' that physiolotry is 
 tlu' bet^t ^uidc to the classiiicat ioii ot aiiiiiial> 
 
 Science iirDclaiin- that |>liysii>l();xy i^ '''(• iii(»>l delusive 
 Uiient for the (lisro\rry >>{' tlic true i-clati')iiv of (.I'^aniztMl 
 beings. 
 
 Ill popular loiiic, a^aiii, ilcilihl ion isilic |)i-iiiic clciiu'iil 
 involved, it is assumed (hat eei'taiu thiuiis arc, aud tVoni 
 this assuuij)tion tlie reasoner proceeds to aj)proxiniate 
 successively and without sufficient i-eason. the forms thai 
 ixvc ])rescnted for examination, 
 
 111 science, on the other hand, it is iiuluetion wliich is 
 principally employed in mental processes; for example, we 
 take a series of forms, compare tliem toj^ether, contrast all 
 the elements of the several parts, and are jj^uided by the 
 detailed cumulative evidence of the marshalled facts. 
 
 The people use a noiiieiiclature based on adaptations of 
 parts for similar |»urposes, as the feet for walkino;, th(> win^rs 
 for llit;ht. the tins for swimming. 
 
 Science, while availiiiii itself of the ])opular nomenclature 
 to express one class of relatioiishii) — analogies — is compelled 
 to resort to one of its own coin in." to express another set of 
 ri'lationships — homologies. 
 
 Now both of the words I have just used are constantly 
 employed in scientific works, and all of you who have read 
 such to any extent must have often come across them. But 
 I trust to be i)ardoned if I explain their meaning, for it is 
 impos.sible to begin to understand the problems of biology 
 unle.<s their -ignitication is clearly apprehenderl. 
 
 Analogy is the adaptation of jiarts to similar functions but 
 tlujse parts may have no relation to each other nor be devel- 
 oped f.iom the .same ]»artsof the body. The gills of the fish 
 are analogous to the lungs of the whale, inasmuch a- both 
 are subservient to the otlice of resi»iratioii ; but they are 
 not homologous. The tail lin of the lish and the tail fin 
 of the whale are also analogous, but they are not homolo- 
 gous. 
 
 Homology is similarity or rc|)ctition of structure, indcjien- 
 dent of the uses of the parts. The ventral tins of the lish. 
 
22 SATUJIDAY LKCTUIJKS. 
 
 the posterior limbs of ordinary quadrupeds, the legs of the 
 human subject, the hind flippers of seals, and the caudal or 
 tail fin of the whale are homologous. Several of the bones 
 of the suspensorium of the lower jaw of the fishes and the 
 ear bones of man are also homologous, although, be it re- 
 membered, they have no functions corresponding, being in 
 that respect entirely dissimilar. Yet, again, homology is 
 seen in the air-bladder of the fish and lungs of mammals ; 
 and, further, in the gills and branchiostegal bones of fish 
 and the hyoid apparatus of man and other mammals. In 
 all cases their functions are very dissimilar. 
 
 But do not infer that there is any necessary contrast be- 
 tween analogy and homology. Of course those parts which 
 are formed of the same elements, and have the same func- 
 tions, are both homologous and analogous. 
 
 It is by a strict attention to the principles thus expressed 
 that natural history has attained its present high state, and 
 we may, therefore be pardoned for believing that the tree of 
 biological knowledge which has grown to its present height, 
 and which is attaining maturity by attention to such meas- 
 ures is justified by its fruits. 
 
 But as the hour which we agreed to devote to our sub- 
 ject has been considerably exceeded, I shall not detain you 
 longer, but, with thanks for your attention, retire from the 
 platform. 
 
i 
 
WHAT IS ANTllRurOLor.Y? 
 
 Lecture dclivcreil in the National Museum, Washington, I). C, March i8, 1882. 
 I)V Prof. Otis T. Mason. 
 
 I.AhiKs .vNi) Ukntlkmkn : 
 
 Tlie course of lectuR'.s now piomv.s^in^ in tliis hall \\ni< 
 for its design the bringing about of a l^etter understanding 
 between scientific .<j)ecialists and intelligent readers and 
 thinkers. With this oiiject clearly before ine I shall en- 
 deavor, as well as my limited time will allow, to give such 
 an explanation of Anthropology that my hearers will com- 
 prehend the extent and boundaries of its territory and the 
 various operations which constitute its daily life. 
 
 The word anthropology, from antkropos, man; and logon, 
 science, has run through a great variety of meanings, as 
 those who have pursued it have shifted their ground or 
 extended their researches. From 1501 to 1700 the word 
 was used to signify "the study of the laws whicli govern 
 the union between the body and the mind." In .some theo- 
 logical seminaries it signifies " that manner of expres.-jiun 
 by wliich the inspired writers attribute human parts and 
 passions to the Divine Being." In Dr. Hodge's "Theol()u:y." 
 all that relates toman is called Anthropology. In 177"J. 
 Diderot and D'Alembert defined it as '' a treati.^e upon man."' 
 In 17S8, Kant wrote a work entitled '' .Vn iCssay U[)on .\n- 
 thropology." Latham in his "Natural X'arieties of Man." 
 (Loud. 1830, p. ooO,) .says, "Anthropology determines the 
 relations of man to the other mammalia; ethnology, the 
 relations of the different varieties of man to cacli other." 
 In the .'schools of Germany up to a very few years, the term 
 covered only what is included in the third sub-division of 
 the subject given on page 5 of this lecture. Not .*!0 now. 
 Paul Broca tells us "Anthropology has for its object the 
 study of humanity in its entirety, in its details, and in its 
 relation with the rest of nature. " 
 
 Anthropology, therefore, while it excludes murh that is 
 human, includes whole territories of knowledge that are not 
 
 2«; 
 
26 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 directly liumun. Biography, as such, is not anthropology, 
 unless it connotes generic data. History, the biography of 
 political societies, is only anthropological so far as it is not 
 merely biographical. 
 
 Physicians were the first and are now the best anthro- 
 pologists, yet not all in medicine belongs to the science. 
 The same is true of every other profession and craft of men 
 and women under the sun, each has in it a great deal that 
 is not, but more that is anthropological. 
 
 Anthropology is the natural history of man in its widest 
 sense. It embraces all that we mean by such terms as 
 humanity, mankind, the human species, human nature. 
 Nay, more. As we cannot study any species as a detached 
 group, so we must include in our science all those natural 
 objects, relations, forces, and facts, that have furnished the 
 material, the impulse, or the limitation to human progress. 
 
 What human events and products are anthropological ? 
 I answer, those that are human, generic, tribal, capable of 
 scrutiny over large areas, by statistics or by instruments of 
 precision ; whatever is customary, whatever can be shown 
 to be a child of the past or a parent of the future. Elimi- 
 nating those local eddies of thought and action which begin 
 and end with the individual, and which constitute his bio- 
 graphy, it takes notice only of those great currents of human 
 phenomena that echo round the world. It therefore both 
 includes and excludes, — includes, and day by day increas- 
 ingly — all phenomena, material and psychical, related to the 
 development of our race; excludes even human activities 
 that are onl}^ the dust upon the mosaic of civilization. 
 
 By what methods does the anthropologist prosecute his 
 work? I answer, by the most vigorous and exacting 
 methods. By careful observation of multitudes of facts, 
 by judicious discrimination of those marks which have 
 true scientific value, by careful induction or classification, 
 by cautious and modest deductions he plods his weary way. 
 
 Who may be an anthropologist? Every man, woman, 
 and child that has sense and patience to observe, and that 
 can honestly record the thing observed. There is not 
 
WllAl' IS ANTIIKOl'OLOGY? 27 
 
 another scioncf that has not hccn maid of honor to this 
 queen of sciences. If the rank of any branch of knowl- 
 edi^e is to be judged by the intrinsic value of its object- 
 matter, and by the number of other sciences ancillary to 
 it, then anthropology must be advanced to the head of the 
 line, — having no less a function than to exj)lor(^ the secrets 
 oJLinun's origin, progre;:js, and destiny. 
 
 Having said thus mucli upon the scope and intension of 
 anthropology, it becomes us to examine its sub-divisions, 
 which represent especially the various classes of men en- 
 <3ngaged in its pursuit. 
 
 TIIK DINISIONS OF ANTHROPOLOriV. 
 
 T. The origin of ujan, iucjuiries into the time and the 
 location of that event, as well as the natural pro- 
 cesses involved, and his pristine condition. An- 
 riiKopoGENY, {AntJiropos, man, and genea, descent.) 
 
 II. 'i'he early history of the race. ARCHiEOLOGY, {Archaios, 
 
 ancient, and logoi<, science.) 
 
 III. The human species as a member of the animal king- 
 
 dom. Antpiropo-Biology, (Bios, life, the life history 
 of mankind.) 
 
 IV. The races of men, descriptive=KTHNOGKAPHY ; de- 
 
 ductive=ETHNOLOGY, {Ethnos, people, and grapho, to 
 describe, or logos, science.) 
 
 V. Mind in the lower animals and in man. Psychology, 
 
 (Psuclic, the soul, and logos, science.) 
 
 ^' 1 . The origin, growth, and diversity of language. ( ri.oss- 
 ology, [Glussa, a tongue, and logos, science.) 
 
 \'ll The elaboration of liunian art and industries. Tech- 
 nology, {Tcchiu\ art, ;ind logos, science.) 
 
 VIII. Social structures and functions. Sociology. {Socius, 
 an associate, and logos, science.) 
 
28 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 IX. Beliefs and practices with reference to the spirit world. 
 
 Comparative Mythology. 
 
 X. The relations of the physical universe and social en- 
 
 vironment to human history. Hexiology, {Hexis^ 
 habit, and logos, science.) 
 
 By your permission 1 will now take up briefly these 
 divisions and state, not what my own opinion may be, but 
 the struggles and the difficulty which engage the students 
 of anthropology the world over. 
 
 1. — Aiitlirojmgeny. 
 
 The great battle which has been fought with reference to 
 the origin and the antiquity of the universe, is now being 
 repeated with reference to the origin of man. As in astro- 
 nomical observations each observer has his personal equa- 
 tion, which must ever be kept in view by those who would 
 utilize his material, so into this discussion have men brought 
 their theistic conceptions. We have, therefore, many theo- 
 ries of man's origination, a few of which I will give you. 
 
 I. Special creation by Almighty fiat. 
 
 II. Atheistic agnosticism, (a not, and gnosis, knowledge,) 
 
 denies the Creator, and aiSirms ignorance of man's 
 origin. 
 
 III. Theistic agnosticism. Affirms the Creator, but denies 
 
 knowledge of the method of human origin. 
 
 IV. Pantheism, {pan all, and theos god). God is all and 
 
 all is God. 
 
 V. Atheistic Darwinism. Denies the Deity and affirms 
 
 natural selection as the cause of nature. 
 
 VI. Theistic Darwinism, (God not immanent.) Affirms 
 
 the Deity, but denies his constant presence. 
 
 VII. Theistic Darwinism, (God immanent.) x4ffirms the 
 Deity, and also his presence ever in his works. 
 
u n A I IS \N rmjni'oi.<><;Y ? 29 
 
 \' 1 1 1 A u^nostir Darwinism. Allirms uiitunil selection aiid 
 ignorance dI" a Creator. 
 
 riierc are live distini't t[uostions re;^ar<ling ttie origin of 
 man whidi nearly everybody eonfonnds. They are a.s fol- 
 lows : 
 
 1 l\\ which of the processes indicated above did the hu- 
 man species have its origin? Were they created, or did 
 they descend from some ape-like ancestry. 
 
 II. When did that event take place? W a- it six thou- 
 sand years ago? Was it just on the hither verge of the latest 
 geological epoch? Was it at the end of the glacial epoch, 
 in its middle, or just before its beginning, or was it further 
 back, at the beginning of the Tertiary that the first being 
 worthy to be called a man appeared on earth? It would 
 take far more than my liour to discuss this cpiestion of the 
 antiquity of man alone, and, furthermore, I am not invited to 
 discu.ss. but to define. 
 
 III. The third inquiry is, where did the tir.st man alight 
 upon this planet? 
 
 According to Moses and Haeckel, followed by nearly all 
 modern anthropologists, our first parents lived somewhere 
 near the Persian Gulf. But there is hardly a spot of the 
 habitable globe that has not been looked upon as the favored 
 iiirthplace of man. As no (juestion in science is closed as yet, 
 if anyone of my hearers is disposed to have his pet theory 
 regarding this matter he will not be excommunicated so 
 far as I am concerned. 
 
 IV. Bordering closely upon the last (piery, and allecting 
 it. is the j»rol)lem of the unity of the species. We are all 
 aware that our distinguished countryman, Dr. Morton, fol- 
 lowed by Aga-ssiz and many others, held that our specias 
 had its origin, not in one, but in .several creations. The 
 weight of authority at the present time is in favor of a 
 single origin. Professor Henry wrote, in ISOli. '' The s|)ont«- 
 neous generation of either plants or animals, although a 
 
30 SATUIIDAY LKCTUliES. 
 
 legitimate subject of human inquiry, is as yet an unverified 
 hypothesis. If, however, we assume that a living being will 
 be spontaneously produced when all the phj^sical conditions 
 necessary to its existence are present, we must allow that in 
 the case of man, with his complex and refined organization, 
 the fortuitous assembly of the multiform conditions required 
 for his appearance would be extremely rare, and from the 
 doctrine of probabilities could scarcely occur more than at 
 one time and at one place on this planet." 
 
 V. The last question concerning the origin of man is well 
 represented in the controversy of Sir John Lubbock with 
 Archbishop Whately. The former maintained that man 
 was at first a low savage, and that the course of history has 
 on the whole been a progress towards civilization. Accord- 
 ing to the latter, man has always been pretty much what he 
 is at present. 
 
 II. — Archseology. 
 
 Bordering close upon anthropogeny is archaeology, whose 
 province it is to discuss the first efforts of the last child of 
 nature to walk forth into the broad world. The data are 
 far from c-omplete, but are becoming more adequate to show 
 the advance from rude stone to polished stone, to bronze, 
 and finally to iron, as the material of human implements. 
 
 In this study the geologist, the linguist, the anatomist, 
 technologist, and the sociologist meet to reconstruct priscan 
 society. As the present epoch epitomizes all preceding- 
 epochs of the world in its fauna ; so does the ensemble of 
 humanity to-day comprehend all past histories. It is no 
 more difficult to reconstruct an ancient tribe from a few 
 human bones and implements than for the comparative 
 anatomist to re-edify an extinct animal from a few of its 
 fossil remains. I could give you no more convincing proof 
 of what I say than to invite you to study carefully Professor 
 Rau's archaeological collection, in the Smithsonian Building. 
 
WIIAI IS ANTIIU()P(M.(inY ? 'M 
 
 III. — A nth ropo- Biology. 
 
 So far as man resembles the livin<; beings around him, re- 
 yiro(hices his kind, arrows from intancv to maturity, is amen- 
 •,\\\\v to the hiws of material nature, dies an<l returns to 
 inorjxanic matter, he is an animal. Aj^ain, a minute com- 
 paris<»n of his body witli that of animals shows a strikinn^ 
 resemblance, if not genetic relationship. But my flittino: 
 hour would warn me from this tempting field even if T did 
 not know that Dr. Fleteher's lecture would be devoted en- 
 tirely to tbi< ilivision of anthropology. 
 
 W . — Ethnology. 
 
 Thus far we have spoken of all mankind. We come now 
 to inquire what notice anthropology takes of the varieties 
 of men. .\t first thought you would say that it is the 
 easiest matter in the world to <listinguish a white man, a 
 negro, an Indian, a Chinaman, and a brown Malay. As we 
 were told in Dr. Gill's lecture, poi)ular notions are altogether 
 at fault. If we could stand all the men of the world in a 
 row, it would be pos.sible to an-ange them in such a manner 
 that you could not tell where one race left off", and another 
 began, and yet .students of art have always recognized race 
 idiaracters. Two thousand years before Christ, the Egyptian 
 sculptors faithfully portrayed the Negro, the S^ernite. aiid 
 the Egyptian countenance. 
 
 The same theories that have been relied on to explain 
 the origin of man, have been invoked to explain the diverse 
 races. By various gateways stnidents have .sought to enter 
 the mystery, — by the color of the skin, the section and 
 appearance of the hair, the facial angle, the ratio of the 
 length to the width of the skull, the projection of the jaws, 
 language, customs, beliefs, etc. Now 1 am sure that all 
 present are too scientific to suppose for a moment that men» 
 classifying is science. If I were to separate you l>y your 
 dress, or facial beauty, or residence in the city, such arrange- 
 ment would have no valuta whatever. .\ true; scientific 
 classification is based, first, on imnnitable attributes, and, 
 
32 
 
 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 second, seeks to ascei-tain relations, affinities, and consan- 
 guinity. LinnoBus (1741-1783) made four divisions of man, 
 Blumenbacli (1752-1840) established the five classes which 
 are kept up in our geographies to this day. I should only 
 weary you repeating catalogues of authors and their schemes 
 of mankind. I give you a table by the latest authority' 
 Dr. Topinard, based on the hair, the skull, and the com- 
 plexion, (Paul Topinard, Revue d'Anthropologie, 1878, p. 
 509.) It is very far from satisfactory, however, and the 
 classification of mankind is still an open question. 
 
 
 
 ■ Dolichocephalic,* 
 (long-heads.) 
 
 
 
 Kskimo. 
 
 
 " Red. 
 
 
 Red-Skins. 
 
 Hair round in 
 straight. 
 
 sfction. 
 
 Brachycephalic, 
 (short-heads.) 
 
 Olive. 
 Yellow. 
 
 Blonde. 
 
 
 Mexicans and Peruvians 
 
 Guaranis, Caribs. 
 ■ Samoycedes. 
 
 Mongols, Malays. 
 
 Cimmerians. 
 • Scandinavians. 
 , Anglo-Saxons. 
 
 Hair roundish 
 tion ; waved, 
 
 in sec- 
 frizzed. 
 
 Dolichocephalic, 
 (long-heads.) 
 
 Brown. 
 Black. 
 
 
 j' Mediterraneans. 
 1^ Semites, 
 j' Australians. 
 ( Indo-Abyssinians. 
 
 
 
 » 
 
 Red. 
 
 
 C Foulbes. 
 
 ( Red Barabras. 
 
 
 
 Brachycephalic, 
 (short-lieads.) 
 
 Blonde. 
 Chestnut 
 
 
 ■ Fins. 
 
 ■ Celts, Slavs. 
 Iranians. 
 
 
 
 
 Brown 
 
 
 
 
 Yellowish 
 
 
 Bushmen. 
 
 Hair elliptical 
 tion, woolly. 
 
 in sec- 
 
 Dolichocephalic, 
 (long-head?.) 
 
 Black. 
 
 
 j Papuans. 
 ( Caffre,<. 
 
 
 
 Brachycephalic, 
 (short-heads.) 
 
 Black. 
 
 
 Negrito.s. 
 
 * Dolichocephalic :::= dolicJwf, long, and kcphalc, head ; brachycephalic = 
 bracfuis, sh6rt, and kephale, head. The angle of the jaw gives rise to orthogna- 
 thous = £7r//zoj, erect, and gnathos, jaw; and prognathous =/;'o, forward, and 
 gnathos, jaw. See Topinard'.s " L'Anthropologie." Paris, 1876, pp. 254, 261, 
 299. 
 
W II A I' IS .i.N'illi;n|'(»|,()(iV ■/ '-V-'t 
 
 I may say. Imwivt r. thai lUissia. Austria, ( iciiiiaiiy. 
 I'raiuv, Enj^laud. and t lie United States have eacli orgaii- 
 izcil special bureaus lor tlir iniuutc cxaiiiinatioii of the 
 ))eoples within tlieir limits. 
 
 \'. — J^si/rliiilof/i/. 
 
 What has anthmpology to do with metaphysics? Just 
 two things. The science of metaphysics itself has had a his- 
 tory. Mm did not always hxdc upon the intellectual facul- 
 ties as they do now. The evolution of psychological studies 
 is certainly as interesting as the life history of any living 
 thinir. l>ut. auain, mind is horn and <j;rows : there are race 
 psychologies as well as race anatomies: and the whole 
 Inuiian intellect has had its progress by stages. Every 
 mother before nu-, had she leisure from her burdeneil life, 
 could write a mo.st wonderful chapter in anthro[>ol(>gy, by 
 recording minutely, day by day, how a little child eniei-ged 
 from the chaos of ignorance and })rogrcssed in the unfold- 
 ing of its mind by the acquisition of knowledge. I shall 
 have spoken in vain if I have not clearly shown that the 
 average history of the individual is the history of the Kdce, 
 and that tliis great giant of humanity took on ideas just as 
 does the little child. 
 
 Again, i>rutes have minds. Anthropology is making the 
 most exhaustive investigations into the (juestion whether 
 they differ from us in (piality of mind or only in degree; 
 whether the instincts of the brute are the i)arents of human 
 thoughts. In this ])ortion of the subject is involved the 
 vexed inquiry whether the brain generates thought as the 
 liver does l)ile ; or whether there is a spirit in man which 
 constitutes his true individuality, for which hi< bodv i< oidy 
 a temporary abiding place. 
 
 \' I . — (tli)ssolo(j!/. 
 
 Thf dejtartment of anthropology which investigates lan- 
 guage is variously termed, linguistics, philology, glossology, 
 and the science of laniruag* . It has for its object to inquire 
 3 
 
34 SATURDAY LECTURES 
 
 into the origiu of language, and many hard-fought battles 
 attest the energy with which the various champions have 
 entered into the subject. Languages have changed and 
 differentiated. How, and through what causes ? They 
 mix, and new languages arise. They have their anatomy 
 and physiology. They have their purely physical side, 
 being composed of muscular gestures and vocal utterances, 
 purely physiological. They have their psychological side, 
 " Sound is but the curtain behind which is concealed the 
 mystery of thought." As before stated, the whole his- 
 tory of man is the unfolding of mind, and language 
 thus becomes a historical science. The anthropologist does 
 not stop with vocal speech. For him bodily attitudes, 
 animal voices, the gestures of the dumb, and of lower races 
 are language. We have in this very building a Bureau of 
 Ethnology, where, under the direction of Major Powell, such 
 specialists as Mailer}^ Dorsey, Gatschet, Hinman, and Riggs 
 are wrestling with the American Indian languages. The 
 same zeal characterizes the cultivated nations of Europe. 
 The vocal and written speech of man is found to have kept 
 pace with the progress of his thoughts. 
 
 The growth of language is spoken of as having passed 
 through three stages, or as occurring in three fundamental 
 types :— 
 
 1. The Holophrastic, {holos, whole, phrasis, phrase,) in 
 which whole phrases or sentences were thrown into a single 
 utterance; or polysynthetic {pohis, much, and synthesis, 
 compounding.) 
 
 2. Agglutinative, {agglutino, to fasten or glue to,) in which 
 the words are much compounded, but only one of the word- 
 elements retains the ancient forms, the others being pared 
 down to mere appendages. 
 
 3. The Inflected, in which relations are indicated by 
 endings, which no longer have any meaning, but serve 
 merely to indicate the function of their stem. The whole 
 subject is thoroughly and freshly worked up in Major 
 Powell's " Introduction to the Study of Indian Languages," 
 which I would advise you all to read. 
 
wiiAi IS AN rnu«>r<>i.t)(i^- ■/ 3;") 
 
 The rcconliu.u of spci'di. also, ha^ had its i>ocuHar and 
 iutoresting course of life. IJcginninji with more tally sticks, 
 hunting and ganihling scores, and such mneniotcchnic de- 
 vices, the student may carefully thread his way through 
 rock-carving and jticture writings to hieroglyphics. The 
 abbreviation of hieroglyphic symbols to words and syllables, 
 and even to sound symbols took j)lace very slowly, but the 
 process may be traced in the older and later Egyi)tian and 
 Chaldean writings. The art of jirinting is the last .stage in 
 the journey of grajdnc repre.-;entation. The .•^tudy of Indian 
 jjictographs, as well as the .sculptures of Mexico and Central 
 America, promises to furnish some very impoitant chapters 
 in the history of linguistics. 
 
 \\\. — Technology. 
 
 The portion of my subject in which most of my hearers 
 are interested, however, is the evolution or the elaboration 
 of industries, or comi)arative technology. As archaeology 
 reveals the progress of invention in time, so technology re- 
 veals the diffusion of the grades of culture over the earth. 
 The two are twin sisters of the operative or material side of 
 anthropology. You cannot imagine the smile of satisfac- 
 tion which stole over the face of a Patent Office friend 
 when convinced that .<ome of the most important materials 
 of anthropology passed through his hands every day. He 
 exclaimed, '" I an anthropologist ! I thought I was only an 
 examiner. I am going to write a paper on anthropology." 
 There is not a phase of civilization that has not had its 
 tools, its edifices, its paraphernalia. There is not a tool, or 
 building, or garment, that has not pas.sed through a series 
 of transformations most interesting to trace. These objects 
 may l)e looked upon as species in natural history. They 
 cross an«l interlace so as to form the gorgeous taj)estry of 
 human culture. 
 
 To my lady iViends 1 would say this .subject is of thrill- 
 ing interest. There is not a thing that you wear, or eat, 
 or enjoy, that has n&t come down to you through a wonder- 
 ful experience. Tlie worship <>\' the beautiful did not origi- 
 
36 
 
 SATTTRDAY I.ECTUKES. 
 
 nate with Oxford students in the XlXth century. " Woman 
 was the first potter and embroiderer. She is everywhere 
 the primitive decorative artist, and it is the exception that 
 man occupies himself with ornamental art, even in civilized 
 countries. Woman covers with ornament everything her 
 hand touches, and the lady in her boudoir industriously 
 embroiders on some article of mere luxury, the same series 
 of frets and scroll borders which, on the Amazonas, the sav- 
 age, unclothed squaw as diligently, and with as firm a hand, 
 traces with a spine on the damp surface of the clay she is 
 fashioning." It is as if they sang the same simple song, like 
 a silver thread binding all lovers of the beautiful into a 
 common sisterhood. Could we find the missing links, the 
 arts of Egypt, Assyria, Greece, and Rome would not stand 
 out like green islands of the sea, but would form the neces- 
 ar}^ parts of one homogeneous structure. 
 
 The idea has seized the fruitful mind of Professor Goode, 
 Assistant Director of this grand Museum, and you will read 
 in Professor Baird's Circular No. 2, as follows : 
 
 In the new building will be concentrated all the industrial collections, and all 
 the ethnological specimens, except the reserve series of pre-historic stone imple- 
 ments. In the old building will be kept those collections which are most im- 
 portant as material for purely scientific investigation, such as the main collection 
 of birds, the fishes and reptiles in alcohol, the marine invertebrates, etc. The 
 new building will, however, contain the collections in economic natural history. 
 
 The collections in the new building are intended to form an Anthropological 
 Museutn, organized upon the broadest and most liberal interpretation of the term 
 " anthropology," and illustrating the characteristics of civilized as well as savage 
 races of mankind and their attainments in civilization and culture. The central 
 idea will be man, and the manner in which he adapts the products of the earth 
 to his needs. All useful and noxious animals, plants, and minerals will be shown, 
 industries by means of which they are utilized — by both method and finished 
 product — and finally, the various objects which men use for any purpose, what- 
 ever. A place is provided for every object loJiich has a name* 
 
 "At this point several series of objects were exhibited to the audience to illus- 
 trate the two \Aea.<i, progress and adaptation. Among them was the growth of 
 the ship from the dugout through the skin boat (variety : birch-bark canoe) to the 
 steamer Fish Hawk ; the evolution of the knife, the hammer, the bottle, the 
 saddle, food, and ceramics. 
 
W II A I l< WTlIKoPoI.or.Y*' 37 
 
 \'f II. — Sociolof/!/. 
 
 Tile next <livi>i(tii of <iui- subject is scx-iology. Tin- iiis- 
 torv of civili/.atioii is nally the history of society. Littl(^ 
 do we think in our Christian honn-s. where one man and 
 one woman through mutual love devote themselves to their 
 oft'spriuLi : in our wtll-ordertd <itirs where Hfeand jiroperty 
 are protected and every eonvenienee of puhHe life furnished 
 to rieh and poor alike : in our ;;rand nationalities and world- 
 cmbracin<2; exehanges. how humhle an<l rude were the begin- 
 nings. We must go back to a gregarious state, where 
 brotljers and sisters intermarried, where the bond of union 
 was fragile, where eliihheii belonged to the group, and tlu;ro 
 was no magistracy or |)ublie spirit. We thence pass upward 
 to the Australians, in whose .social sy.stem there is a ([uad- 
 rupK' classitication (jf male and female for marriag*' and 
 other purposes. The North American Indians furnish the 
 ni'xt grade, with their curious elan organization, and descent 
 in the female line.* Passing onward through Semitic poly- 
 gamv, we are brought to our own jdatform of social life in 
 all its eomplexity. There are vast territories of knowledge, 
 including ceremonial institutions, ethical codes, morality, 
 and legislation, whicli 1 ean only mention in this connec- 
 tion, but which liave engros.sed the greatest |)liilo<opli"T- of 
 the world in all ages. 
 
 I have prepared a chart in order to indicate to tlie eye 
 how the progress and adaj)tations of culture in the various 
 categories may have taken place. At the top are Morg/m's 
 seven periods, the second horizontal line gives a typical 
 event of the period, the third, a representative race, taken 
 at random, the succeeding lines refer to the cat(>gorie< of 
 cidtun-. 
 
 The whole subject is of commanding interest to the legis- 
 lator and the student of history, but as we are to hear from 
 Major Powell upon thi< topic 1 pass t«» the next division, 
 the Spirit World. 
 
 * The Rev. Oven Dorsey's charts r>( DnkiMa clans were exhihiteil in illustration. 
 
38 
 
 . SATUllDAY IJ::CTU'11ES. 
 
 CATEGORIES. 
 
 GRADES OP CULTURE. 
 
 Mouoan's Scheme., 
 < 'haractekistics..., 
 
 Rack 
 
 Food 
 
 Lower Savage , 
 
 No fire, rude stone., 
 St. Aeheul 
 
 Raw products of the 
 earth. 
 
 Clothing None, or a wind shield 
 
 Hai;itations., 
 
 Implements., 
 
 We.vpoxs . 
 
 Caves and shelters. 
 
 Palaeolithic.. 
 
 Clubs and stones.. 
 
 Locomotion No appliances 
 
 .ffisTHETic Products.. 
 
 Domestication.. 
 
 Middle Savage. 
 Fish diet, fire..., 
 Australians 
 
 Painted bodies, strings 
 of shells, whi.stlesand 
 wooden drums. 
 
 None , 
 
 IxDUSTUiES Hunting unci lishing.... 
 
 LAXGUAfiK. 
 
 Kxo\vledge.. 
 
 Beliefs.. 
 
 Wor.SHip.. 
 
 MonALS. 
 
 Interjectional and by 
 signs. 
 
 The habits of game, a 
 little about tlie stars 
 and the weather. 
 
 Everything animated.. 
 
 Appeasing everything. 
 
 Conformity to clan use. 
 No code. 
 
 Indigenous products, 
 roasted and stone- 
 boiled food. 
 
 Capes of skin or coarse 
 mattine. 
 
 Temporary huts and 
 wind-breaks. 
 
 Charred spears, ham- 
 mers, knives, nets, 
 dug-outs, fire-drills. 
 
 Spears, clubs, boomer- 
 angs, throw-sticks, 
 shields. 
 
 Trails and landmark.s 
 
 Feathers and paint,gor- 
 gets and limb trap- 
 pings, stick and skin 
 drums. 
 
 Upper Savage 
 
 Invention of the bow. 
 Nomadic Indians 
 
 The doc?.. 
 
 Social Stuucture I Promiscuity. 
 
 Social Rites ' Not known... 
 
 Supplying wants, little 
 division or barter. 
 
 Guttural, clicking, re- 
 duplicative. 
 
 Count four, predict 
 yveather. Judge local- 
 ity and distance, 
 name species. 
 
 Ghosts, hero ancestors, 
 animal soul in things. 
 
 Sorcery, rain-making, 
 fetish worship. 
 
 Conjugal and parental 
 duties not enforced, 
 hospitable, improvi- 
 d,ent. 
 
 Punaluan marriage in 
 groups. 
 
 IMarriage by capture, 
 greetings formal, ta- 
 bu, deposit burial. 
 
 Dried menis and plants, 
 dug-out vessels for 
 cooking. 
 
 Caps, body clothes, moc- 
 casons, of the se.xes 
 much alike. 
 
 Tents and wigwams in 
 elan-groups. 
 
 Slvin-dressing, basket- 
 weaving, bow-dressing. 
 
 Bows and arrows in great 
 variety, scalping knives. 
 
 Snow-shoes, sledges, dug- 
 outs, rafts, and skin- 
 boats. 
 
 Tattoo and paint, embroi- 
 dery and fringes, rat- 
 tles and bells. 
 
 Dogs, ponies, deer. In 
 the south, bifds. 
 
 Hunting, fishing, gather- 
 ing, barter, wampum. 
 
 Agglutinative, prone to 
 dialectic change. 
 
 Decimal notation, time, 
 genera of object.'^, natu- 
 ral phenomena. 
 
 Sorcery, future life like 
 this, good and evil pow- 
 ers, myths. 
 
 Medicine pow-wow, invo- 
 cation by smoke, fast- 
 ing, mutilation. 
 
 Chastity of wives en- 
 forced, generous, cruel. 
 
 Ganowanian marriage, 
 mother-right, cian-sy,s- 
 tem. 
 
 Marriage rite wealc, Pot- 
 laich feasts, burial Ta- 
 rious. 
 
WHAT IS ANI lIHOlMtl.OOY 
 
 30 
 
 GRADES OF CULTURE. 
 
 Lower Barbarous Middlo Hiirbarous Upper Barbarous.. 
 
 The art of i>ottery Domcstifintlon.coreals. Smelting, writing.. 
 
 Iroquois;, Muslvolii Zufiois, Aztecs Semitic Races 
 
 Food partly raised, Tortillas, pruols, cacao, | Porridge, milk, dococ 
 
 corn, beans, Ac. 
 Uriiilis. l''ood boiled. 
 
 Shirt, uproii, robe, leg- 
 ^injis, mocassons, 
 head-dress. 
 
 Long-lmuses ami per- 
 manent villages. 
 
 Poli.'«hcd-stone, mor- 
 tar.", wood- working, 
 pottery. 
 
 Bow, club, tomahawk, 
 scalping-knife.of bet- 
 ter make. 
 
 Canoes, litters, carry- 
 ing places. 
 
 chile, iiito.xicants.. 
 
 Varied with rank, 
 highly ornamented, 
 shoos. 
 
 .Stone, adobe, lime. Hat 
 rools, public build- 
 ings, no arch. 
 
 Digging-stick, clay 
 workinp tools, mule 
 trappings. 
 
 Obsidian ax, spear, ob- 
 sidian knife, darts, 
 slings, shields. 
 
 Canals, roads, cause- 
 ways, bridges, llamas, 
 and, later, mules and 
 horses. 
 
 Paint and toggery, 
 carving in stone and 
 wood, embroidei-y, 
 drums, shell-horns, 
 Hutes. 
 
 Deer, rabbits, fish, 
 many birds, cochineal. 
 
 Weaving, felting, dye- 
 ing, stamping, ceram- 
 ics, stone cutting. 
 
 Paint and pendants, 
 te.\tlle, stone, shell 
 and feathers, ttute of 
 10 notes, drums, rat- 
 tles. 
 
 Same as last. Noothers 
 to domesticate. 
 
 Taking from nature, 
 raising crops, making 
 utcnsds, exchange. 
 
 More and softer sounds, 
 holoplirasms longer, 
 wo<xl and rock carv- 
 ings. 
 
 Count ino, wampum in | Vigesimal oount- 
 historic narration, I ing, calendar, natural 
 the stars, use of med- ; histor>-, medicine, 
 icine. maps. I 
 
 Dreams, wandering I Supersfititions, throe- 1 
 
 f hosts, (ire:it and I foldavernus.elenicnt 
 ;vil Spirit, minor de- I worship, seven great I 
 ities and heroes. j gods. I 
 
 tiona, leaven, metal 
 dishes, fruit trees 
 raised. 
 
 Of cotton, linen, and 
 woollen stuffs, varied 
 with rank and occa- 
 sion. 
 
 Sun-dried bricks,8tone, 
 wood, less communal, 
 shops, arches, streets. 
 
 Herding, weaving, 
 mealing, and farming, 
 rude handicraft. 
 
 Flint-locks, wall and 
 moat, sword and 
 lance. 
 
 Bea-sts of burden, floats, 
 open ships, camel 
 trails. 
 
 .Jewelry and scents, 
 massive structures, j 
 music varied, poetry 1 
 ornate. 
 
 Camel, cow, horse, dog, 
 sheep, goat, poultry. | 
 
 Metallurgy, caravan | 
 and ship trade, mar- j 
 kets, fairs. 
 
 Forty sounds, polysyn- Highly inflectional, 
 thetisms euphonic, writing syllabic or at- 
 symbolic writing. j phabetic," literature. 
 
 Astronomy, geography, i 
 medicine, history, I 
 law. ( 
 
 .Monotheistic or poly- | 
 theistic anthropb- i 
 morphism. I 
 
 Religious order sepa- 
 rate, offerings, festi- 
 vals, dances, nature 
 worship. 
 
 Priestly caste, panthc- Sacred books, preach- 
 on, human sacrifices, I ing, prayer, fasting, 
 oaths, vows, fasts, | alms, chants 
 penance^. 
 
 Labor degrading to i Submissive, unchaste 
 men, digiiiti<-d, kinil ' aiul drunkards pun- 
 to aged and children, '■. ishcd, true, kind, chi- 
 cruel. valrous 
 
 Temperate, lewd, po- 
 lite, hospitable, 
 shrewd, brave, trea- 
 cherous. 
 
 Civilized. 
 
 Printing. 
 
 Later .Aryan. 
 
 Everv variety, animal 
 and vegetable. 
 
 DifTerentiatod for sex, 
 rank, and occasion. 
 
 Strictly family, exceod- 
 iagly varied, gas, water 
 pipes. 
 
 Stimulation of invention 
 by protection and pat- 
 ent laws. 
 
 Fire arms perfected, iron 
 clads, signal &ervice,Ac. 
 
 Steam carriage added. 
 
 Architecture, sculpture, 
 music, painting, Del e- 
 lettres. 
 
 Every branch of the ani- 
 mal kingdom. 
 
 Work in land, 
 mines, waters, 
 merce. 
 
 forest, 
 Com- 
 
 Inflected, writing, print- 
 ing, telegraph. 
 
 Science, metaphy.-ics, 
 history, technology, 
 politics. 
 
 God, angels, spirits, fu- 
 ture life, retribution, 
 agnosticism, atheism. 
 
 Public and private. The 
 spirit above the form. 
 
 To love Go<l supremely 
 and our neighbor a.H 
 our.-elves. 
 
 The same, father-right The same, father-right. Patriarchal family, po- | Monogamic family, futh- 
 begins. au'i personal prop«-rty more iiidi- | lyganiv, property in i er-nght. Free State 
 property. | viduali/.ed j sevcnilty, despotism. I 
 
 Marriage by presents, 
 ball g.imes, ossuaries. 
 
 Marriage elaborate, | Uarems, games, bath- i Marriage by priest, sur- 
 
 games, ceremonious- 1 ing, burial near | vival» i)f ceremony, 
 
 ness, attendants shrines. i burial iu graves and 
 
 killed at the grave. ! • I tombi*. 
 
40 SATIIKDAY I.KCTURKS, 
 
 IX . — Coniparafive Mi/tJi ologi/. 
 
 It is very difficult to tiud a word to cover exactly the 
 ground which the anthropologist includes in the word re- 
 ligion. Among Christian people, the term is applied to 
 certain beliefs, forms, and conduct ; and the adjective, re- 
 ligious, would not be understood if applied to discussions 
 merely ; but let it pass. 
 
 There never was a people so rude as not to observe nature 
 and to assign causes for everything that passed through the 
 avenues of their senses. Into those causes life is projected 
 and human or animal attributes added until a pliilosophy 
 or theology is built up. 
 
 Secondl}^, in some form or other men early begin to 
 believe in a future life, to people an unseen world with in- 
 numerable beings, good or bad, and to separate these beings 
 into classes with functions. This forms a creed. 
 
 Further, certain actions on our part are due to these beings 
 — will please, displease, or appease them. Men fast, chant, 
 pray, dance, and sacrifice ; thty deny, Aveary, and mutilate 
 themselves, for this purpose. They set apart a class to wait 
 upon the gods, build costly edifices in their honor, in which 
 the continual sacrifice and savory incense ever attest the fear, 
 or the devotion of the worshippers. Among any people 
 this constitutes their cult. 
 
 By the testimony of missionaries and others, who, like Mr. 
 Gushing, have lived among a lowly people long enough to 
 win their confidence, we are in possession of the facts which 
 will enable us roughly to outline the world's theologies, 
 creeds, and cults. The anthropologist, far from being 
 shocked by the seeming absurdities of these lower forms of 
 religion, beholds in them the germs of all our beliefs. I have 
 frequently thought, while reading of the bloody and cruel 
 fetish worship of the dark-skinned African, that a kind 
 providence had effected the whitening of the human skin co- 
 ordinately with the purifying of religious conceptions. At 
 
WHAT T< A\ I 1IK()1'«»|.(»(.Y 
 
 41 
 
 any rate ihvw lias hem prouros in < oiiuliiicss iitid inii'rovc- 
 ment in ivli^Mon. 
 
 At first, cju-h individual tliini: was tli(.uudit to he ensouled. 
 A little after there wore ^host-ixods, which ini^ht he iuflii- 
 eneed hy fetishes or incantations. W<»rshii.of thing's, places, 
 animals, and ))lants follow in (|ui(k succession. Another 
 step hrinjLTs us to the deification of the powers of nature, 
 under symbols, barbarous or chaste according' to the taste ol 
 a people, which constitute the world's idolatries. 
 
 How ])leasantly we mi*jjht s|»end hours tracing; through 
 its mazy windings the conception of personal causation, 
 from the gross forms of savage philosophy to that grand 
 idea which traces all creative power and providential con- 
 trol to majestic law, "that has its seat in the bosom of God, 
 and its voice is the harmony of the universe." With Major 
 Powell. Mr. Gushing, Mr. Dorsey, and Mr. Ilinman, we 
 should sit down at the Indian's hearthstone and hear in 
 their simple myths echoes of the cliildhood of the world. 
 With Professor Ander.son we shouM visit the i)risean home 
 of the Anglo-Saxon race, and recline under tlu- shadow of 
 the tree Ygdrasil, at the feast of Tuisco and Wo<len, Thor 
 'and Fria. Our survey could not omit Chalda^a, Assyria, 
 Persia, India, China, or Egypt. Much more, the gods, the 
 myths, the sculptured forms and world-surpassing temple 
 architecture of Greece, and the i>ure monotheism, exalted 
 poetry, and pathetic history of Judiea would engro.ss our 
 serious thoiights. Rising above all, yet not contemptuous 
 of any, at last would shine refulgent that undeliled Chris- 
 tianity which declares the fatherhood of (Jod an<l the uni- 
 versal brotherhood of niaii. 
 
 X. — Ilc.riitlit;/!/. 
 
 We come at last to sjieak of that chapti'r in anthropology 
 which treats of the recii>rocal actions of man and his en- 
 vironment. In every thing that comes to be what it is. 
 there are two sets of forces at work, the internal and the 
 external, the constructive and the destructive, the impell- 
 
42 SATUllDAY LFX'TURES. 
 
 ing and the restraining. We see it in the sea and the shore, 
 the breath of the glass-blower and the mould in which the 
 bottle is formed, the vitality and the favorable or unfavora- 
 ble location of the plant, the habitat and the vigor of ani- 
 mal species, and finally in the races of men and their 
 inorganic and organic surroundings. The anthropologist 
 has no more difficult problem before him than to ascertain 
 the influence of climate, outlook, food, and social environ- 
 ment, to produce varieties in man, to set in motion that 
 great current called "the migration of nations," and to 
 bring about from nothing, all that constitutes the various 
 civilizations of the world. Inasmuch as the poorest far- 
 mers buy the least productive lands, the sterile districts of a 
 county even will be less cultured than the most fertile ; and 
 living upon such ground soon reacts upon the people, only 
 to increase their poverty and to decrease their vitality. 
 How much more, then, may we expect to find the abject 
 races of man living in the suburbs of the world, where 
 squalor is engendered by the surroundings, until there is 
 a harmony or ec[uilibrium between the unpropitious skies 
 and their wretchedness. On the other hand, the contact, 
 the rivalries, and even the bloody wars of favored races have 
 awakened an emulation productive only of good. 
 
 It is the business of the anthropologist to trace out these 
 subtle causes and influences which advance or retard civili- 
 zation, which have covered the earth here with prosperity, 
 there with melancholy ruins. So far from being beneath 
 the consideration of the highest and most gifted intellects, 
 this and not petty expedients should be the subject of serious 
 inquiry by the statesman, the political economist, and the 
 philanthropist. 
 
 My task is nearly finished. My object has been to define 
 a science in which there is no priesthood and laity, no sacred 
 language ; but one in which you are all both the investiga- 
 tor and the investigated, — the judge, the jury, and the pris- 
 oner at the bar. I have endeavored to portray in outline 
 the work of the anthropologist, so that you may intelligently 
 follow my successors who will treat of special themes. 
 
NVIIAI IS ANTHROPOLOGY? 4tj 
 
 1 shall iioi liavo spoken wholly in vain if 1 have indi- 
 cated the lines of all soeial j)rop;ress and led yon to see, 
 however faintly, the value and indissoluhlc union of the 
 humhlest human phenomena — 
 
 " That nolliin<^ walUs with aimless feel ; 
 That not one life will be destroyed, 
 Or cast as rubbish to the void, 
 When God hath made the pile complete. 
 
 That (jod which ever lives and loves, 
 One God, one law, one clement, 
 And one far-off, divine event, 
 To which the whole creation moves." 
 
CONTRASTS OF THE APPALACHIAN MOUNTAINS. 
 
 Lecture delivered in the National Museum, Washinj^ton, I). C, March 25, 1882, 
 by Prof. J. W. ChickeriN(;, Jr. 
 
 Science pertains to that which is known, not that which 
 is conjectured or guessed at. It is based on facts, and not 
 on theories. A hypothesis may oftentimes be useful in 
 scientific investigation — just as is the scaffolding in the 
 erection of a building, it may even, at length, come to be 
 built in, may become part of the temple of science, but 
 then it has ceased to be a mere hypothesis, and has become 
 itself a fact. 
 
 The science of to day, entitled to the name, rests upon a 
 solid foundation of fact, is an induction, not a deduction. 
 
 Science, therefore, and especially advancing science, is 
 omnivorous as regards facts. It is a veritable Gradgrind. 
 ''Nihil fadi alienum est a sciential 
 
 One fact alone does not prove much. It may, if new, 
 interest or surprise, but its chief value will be in its power 
 to stimulate to the collection of other new and kindred 
 facts. 
 
 " One swallow does not make a summer," but when the 
 flock has arrived, and the nests are in proc3ss of building, 
 we know the summer has come. 
 
 We need, therefore, first of all, a multitude of facts, and 
 then we need to have them collated, compared, classified 
 according to their resemblances and their contrasts. The 
 observation of facts is, for a time, the first duty, the chief 
 employment of the scientist. Tt precedes all else, all theo- 
 ries, all classification, all order. 
 
 To observe, and as far as may be to collect facts, are ex- 
 peditions sent out, and thousands of observers at Avork. This 
 Museum is, and is to be filled with concrete facts. 
 
 Now, fortunately many men are born fact-collectors, fact- 
 mongers, with taste and aptitude for the pursuit of facts. 
 
 (44) 
 
Al-I'AI \i IllAN MiM \ I \1\-. 45 
 
 Tlu'V :iif null wlio arc ready i(» reply In ridieiile ni- (pies- 
 tioninii. as «ii<l tlic astronomer \u flie (|iiery. why lie was 
 <'X|)eii(liiii: so nmeli time, money and troulde, in entleavor- 
 in«r to ivetity his eomjiutatioii <il the distance from the sun 
 to the eartli. — ' licc-auso 1 want to know." 
 
 Those men are the advance uuard of science, tiie |»i(ineers, 
 tile ori,ii;inal iiive<tii:at(>r^. the sa|>|)crs and miner- nf the 
 scii'ntitie army. 
 
 All lioiKM- to those who have thus wrouuht. and aic now 
 ■\voikinii amid t<»rrid heat and arctic c(.)ld. who have tlis- 
 covered the s(»iirces of the Nile, or sou;j:lit the o)»en I'olar 
 ►Sea. not a few of whom ha\e sacrili<'e<l their live- to their 
 lahors. 
 
 Ihit these facts must he interrogated, made to till their 
 story, ami that the true one, or they are of hut little worth, 
 and the Mu.^eum is little more than an '"0101 Curicsity JShoi),' 
 a museum instead of a museum. 
 
 It has heen said that '' tifrures cannot lie." Hut 1 think 
 few would admit the truth of that saying, on the eve of a 
 ])oj)ular election, as they read the opposing papers. 
 
 1 think there have been even scientific discussions, in 
 Mliicli the same facts were made to tell very ditterent stories. 
 
 A master mind, capable of classifying and generalizing is 
 needed to mar-hal these facts, to make them speak, to make 
 them tell the truth. 
 
 •lust as in this Muscuni we are beginning to see how 
 order can be evolved out of confusion, and lio|>e eventually 
 to .see cla.ssified and j>roj>erly labeled facts on these shelves, 
 telling us the story of man. hi- enviroimieiit. .md his 
 a( hievemcMits. 
 
 l*'or while to one ni.nn a fad may l)e an iiltimaie thing. 
 
 • .\ priinro^i.- on tin; ri\er> l)iin) 
 .\ sin»|i!c primrose is to liim." 
 
 to another it sugge.sts j)roblems, iiuiuiries. investigations. 
 
 Whatever progre>s has been made in science has been 
 mainly due to the persistent asking of three (|Uestions: 
 •'What?" "How?" "Why?" and to theecpially pei-sistent at- 
 tempt to answer them. 
 
46 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 The man who takes no interest in these questions will 
 never make a scientist. 
 
 When, then, we have been able, in a measure, to answer 
 the question " What?" and have the facts before us in records 
 or in museums, there presents itself to the scientific mind 
 the second query, "How?" How came this to pass? What 
 have been the processes? Can they be repeated or varied? 
 
 Here comes in, the so-called practical, economic appli- 
 cation of scientific knowledge, the use of facts, nowhere 
 more earnestly studied than in our own land. 
 
 The jNIuseum calls into existence the Institute of Tech- 
 nology. 
 
 But while some are content to stop here, to others comes 
 irresistibly the query, " Why ? " What are the underlying 
 principles? And the query divides itself into two — causal 
 and teleological. What is the reason, the cause, the state- 
 ment in terms of law ? What is the object, the final result, 
 the end to, or for which? 
 
 And here in this Smithsonian Institution are gathered 
 men who are giving their lives to the answering of these 
 questions. 
 
 The museum, with its facts, both in biology and anthro- 
 pology, has rendered possible the two lectures to which we 
 have already listened with so much of interest and profit. 
 
 Now, in this scientific army, it were well if we all were 
 enrolled, according to our talents and our opportunities, and 
 it is, I suppose, one object of this course to interest, if pos- 
 sible, all who attend, in scientific subjects; to instruct in 
 scientific methods ; to give information as to what has been 
 done, and to suggest what remains to do. 
 
 I shall now attempt, in accordance with the principles 
 thus enunciated, to state a few facts, possibly some of them 
 new to some of you, to make a few generalizations, to sug- 
 gest some things to be observed, and some results of obser- 
 vation among the Appalachians. 
 
 Out upon the watery waste of the Archean Ocean, as the 
 Eozoic age was drawing to its close, looked here and there a 
 
Al'l'ALACIIIAN MOUNTAINS. 47 
 
 few scattered peaks, '' rari nantcs in gi.rgitc vasto," outlining 
 what we now call llie A[)))alachian Mountain System. 
 
 It was at the time when, as we learn I'roni the earliest 
 written geological record, " God said : ' Let th 3 waters under 
 the heaven be gathered together unto one place, and lot the 
 dry land appear;' and it was so." 
 
 For countless ages, '' chaos and old night," had enwrapped 
 the globe. Its molten billows had surged and tossed in mad 
 turmoil, while enveloping clouds of murky vapors hid the 
 fiery mass from sight. 
 
 But as ages pass away, and radiation into space cools the 
 glowing sphere, the vapors become less dense, the light di- 
 vides from the d;irkness, and a crust forms over the liquid 
 globe, soon to be rent by internal convulsion, upheaved or 
 .submerged by the gigantic forces at work, partially melted 
 and again solidilicil. till at length a continental basis is as- 
 sured. 
 
 Now, with still diminishing heat, the aqueous vapor be- 
 gins to condense, forming oceans, and this first great and 
 final differentiation into land and sea is accomplished. 
 
 The V-shaped Laurentian Highlands appear, constitu- 
 ting the back bone of the continent, and determining the 
 direction of its future extension, while parallel with the 
 eastern arm, emerge the peaks now seen in the Adirondacks 
 of New York, the Highlands of New Jerse)^ portions of the 
 Blue Ridge of Pennsylvania, Virginia, and the regions far- 
 ther southwest, including the Black Hills of North Taro- 
 lina. 
 
 Around the bases of these peaks was doubtless, even then, 
 
 *a great mass of gneissoid and quartzose rocks, making 
 
 great shoals and forming a long line of barrier reefs, }>ro- 
 
 tecting the quiet interior basin l'r<>ni flic fmv of the jiplaizif 
 
 waves. 
 
 As succeeding ages rolled away, in the slowly sinking 
 trough on the west, were deposited during Silurian, Devo- 
 nian and Carboniferous ages, strata of sandstones, lime- 
 stones, conglomerates, shales, beds of iron and coal, aggre- 
 gating in some places 40.<*0() feet, till at the close of 
 
48 SATURDAY LIX'TIKES. 
 
 Paleozic time came a mighty convulsion, the overbur- 
 dened crust giving way under the enormous pressure from 
 above, and the hiteral pressure of a cooling globe, and 
 Hexing, fracturing, tilting, uplifting these strata, sometimes 
 to the height of more than 10,000 feet. 
 
 Then and thus was the great mass of the xVppalachian 
 System permanently raised above the ocean, and unimpor- 
 tant have been the changes since, except by erosion, as on 
 the east the waves thundering against its rocky base have 
 pulverized and spread out the sand which lines our coast 
 from Cape Cod to Florida ; and on the west the rains and 
 the rivers have prepared and distributed the fertile soil of 
 the Mississippi Valley, and then woven over it a net-work of 
 water courses. 
 
 This mountain mass, this great continental fold, extends 
 from the promontory of Gaspd on the Gulf of St. Lawrence, 
 to northern Georgia and Alabama, for about 1,300 miles, in 
 an undulating line, with a general trend from northeast to 
 southwest, and presents very different a.spects in different 
 parts of its course. 
 
 On the east, a genth' sloping plain extends from the 
 mountains to the ocean, about 50 miles wide in New Eng- 
 land, almost disappearing near the Hudson, and then in the 
 Pine Barrens of New Jersey, and the Eastern Shore, gradu- 
 ally widening, till in North Carolina, South Carolina, and 
 Georgia, it attains a width of 200 miles, while seaward, it 
 extends from 20 to 100 miles farther, forming those extensive 
 shoals which line the coast from Newfoundland to Florida. 
 
 Its elevation above tlie sea, at the foot of the mountains, 
 is, in New England, from 300 to 500 feet. In the valley of 
 the Hudson, it rises but little above the sea level, but as we 
 go farther south, into Virginia, the Carolinas and Georgia, 
 it attains an altitude of over 1,000 feet, forming a plateau of 
 considerable extent, known as the Piedmont Region, and 
 presenting like tlie similar plateaus between the parallel 
 mountain chains, a most attractive combination of beautiful 
 scenery, fertile soil, and a climate, for comfort and healthful- 
 ness, unsurpassed on the globe. 
 
.\1-|'AI.A< 111 AN \|(il STAINS. 40 
 
 A niiiarkaMf Ifatiiic <»r this system is a large central 
 \allrv running its eiitiu' leii^^lh from north t(i south, called 
 l»y Mr. Ko,uers, the (Jreat Ai)j)alaehiaii N'alley. 
 
 It he^rins with the hasin of l.ake ( 'haiiii>laiii ami the val- 
 Icv.ofthe Hudson: in I'ennsylvania is known as the Kit- 
 latinny or Cumberland Valley: in \'ir«;inia, the Great \'al- 
 lev widenin<; out at last into the \alley of East Tennessee. 
 
 But wliilr there i< this coutiimity. there is also much of 
 contrast . 
 
 Tiie Apitalaehian system naturally divides into three 
 sections, each di tiering in many respects from the others. 
 
 The first division extends from Gaspe to tlie Hudson, 
 mainly a single range, known in its different portions, as the 
 Canadian Highlands, Green Mountains, and Highlands of 
 New York, with the outlying groups of Katahdin in Maine, 
 and the White Mountains of New Hampshire on the east, 
 and the Adirondacks of New York on the west. 
 
 Thi> chain is broken through Ijy the Hudson and Mohawk, 
 and attains its minimum of altitude and width, in the vicin- 
 ity of these rivers. 
 
 Four himdred feet rise in the waters of the ocean would 
 .separate all tliis northern division from the American conti- 
 nent ; one hun(h-ed and forty feet would make an island of 
 all'New England and the British possessions as far as Gaspe, 
 for the bottom of the valley occupied by Lake Cham])lain 
 and the Hudson does not, anywhere, exceed this level. 
 
 This was the lir-t i-oute across the country traversed by 
 canal and railroad. Jt seems probable that this de)»ression 
 i< the result of a subsidence of that portion of the system, 
 at a period subsequent to that of its original elevation, and 
 it i< i)roved that all New .h-rsey. from Cape Ahiy to New 
 \n\k. is midergoing a gradual subsidence. Along portions 
 ot the coast the remains of submerged forests are now visi- 
 ble- under water, and the soundings of the Coast Survey have 
 determined the existence of an ancient channel, a continu- 
 ation of tiiat of the Hmlson. leading far out to .n-a. which 
 could have been excavated only wlun the ]>resent bottom 
 of the sea occupie-d a higher level. 
 
50 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 The central portion extends for about 450 miles, from the 
 Hudson to the New River in Virginia, known farther along 
 in its course as the Great Kanawha, is connnonly spoken 
 of as the Alleghanies, and consists of many long, parallel 
 chains, separated by fertile valleys, and interrupted here 
 and there by notches and gaps, through which the rivers 
 find their way to the sea. 
 
 It is in threading these mountain defiles, and now and 
 then crossing a ridge by zigzag approaches, that the Balti- 
 more and Ohio, and Pennsylvania railroads afford the pas- 
 senger, views of such surpassing beauty and grandeur. 
 
 The system attains its greatest width in Pennsylvania, 
 gradually narrowing ftirther Fouth, but attaining greater 
 elevation, rising from 800 to 1,500, 2,000, 2,500 feet, and in 
 the Peaks of Otter, in A^irginia, reaching an altitude of 4,000 
 feet. 
 
 In Virginia the eastern chain is called the Blue Ridge, 
 the extreme western range the Cumberland, while the higher 
 range or ranges between is known as the Alleghanies. Thus 
 far the system, though no longer single, is composed of simi- 
 lar parallel wave-like ridges, separated by longitudinal val- 
 leys. 
 
 From the New River south, this is changed, and the system 
 becomes greatly complicated. 
 
 The main chain, hitherto known as the Blue Ridge, is de- 
 flected to the southwest, and in a circuitous line for 250 or 
 300 miles, under the names of Iron, Stone, Bald, Great 
 Smoky, and Unaka mountains, forms the boundary line be- 
 tween North Carolina and Tennessee, rising frequently to 
 heights exceeding 6,000 feet. 
 
 While the more easterly range, thence bearing the name 
 of Blue Ridge, and finding its southern terminus at Cesar's 
 Head, in South Carolina, where the ridge turns abruptly to 
 the northwest, reaches even loftier attitudes, Mitchell's High 
 Peak rising to 6,717 feet. 
 
 In North Carolina, these two ranges are more than 50 
 miles apart, and for more than 100 miles they constitute a 
 great central i)lateau like that of Colorado, on a small scale. 
 
Al'l'AI A( n I AN \t<MNIAINS. ')1 
 
 Instead, howi-wr. uf m ((Hitinuous Idiiiiitiulinal valle\' be- 
 tween these chains. Hkethe (_lieat Vallt^v »)t\'ir'j:inia, we lind 
 them connected bv transverse (;hains wliich lilccwisc "divide 
 this valley into ju^reat basins, at the i)ottoni of each one of 
 which runs one of those monntain tributaries of the Ten- 
 nessee, which by the abundance of their waters, merit the 
 name of the true sources of that noble river." 
 
 Thus the l\o;in and Bijjj Yellow chains .separate the basin 
 of the Watauiia. from that of the Nolechucky. while the 
 northwest riili^e of the Black Mountains makes a • divide " 
 between this last, and the Fi-ench l]roa<l. 
 
 Between the New Found and the ( ireat Balsam Mountains, 
 rises the Big Pigeon River, wliile from the basin between 
 the Great Balsam, and the Cowee ranges, Hows out the Tuck- 
 asegee. 
 
 Next comes the J.ittle Tennessee, and then beyond the 
 Nantahela range, the Iliwassec river, separated by tin 
 Stansbury Mountains from the Toccoa, tlu' last of these 
 mountain tributaries of the Tennessee. 
 
 And, as all these, with many other rivers, rise in tin 
 northwestern slope of the Blue Ridge, draining that large 
 area, and are then forced to cut their way through the gaps 
 and gorges and defiles of the central chain, with its average 
 altitude of nearly 0,000 feet, it is not strange that here is 
 found some of the grandest and most jiicturesquc scenery to 
 be found in the Union. 
 
 On the Atlantic slope, the Roanoke, Catawba, Savannah, 
 and other rivers rea<'h the lower levels witli much less diffi- 
 culty. 
 
 Says Prof Gyjyof' who has devoltd much time to moun- 
 tain exploration, and done more, perhaps, than any other 
 man to make us acquainted with our own mountains, and 
 to wdiom 1 would here acknowledge my indebtedness for 
 many of the facts and not a few of the generalizations and 
 descriptions of this lecture — ' Here, then, through an cx- 
 
 *Article on the Appal.ichian Mountain system, .\nicrican Journal of Science, 
 March. iSoi. 
 
52 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 tent of more than 150 milc.-^, the mean height of the valley 
 from which the mountains rise is more than 2,000 feet ; 
 the mountains which reach 6,000 feet are counted by scores, 
 and the loftiest peaks rise above 6,700 feet, while at the 
 north, in the group of the White ^^lountains, the base is 
 scarcely 1,000 feet, the gaps 2,000 feet, and Mount Wash- 
 ington, the only one which rises above 6,000 feet, is still 400 
 feet below the height of the Black Dome of the Black 
 Mountains. 
 
 "Here then is, in all respects, the. culminating region of 
 the vast Appalachian sj'stem." 
 
 We will now consider somewhat more in detail, the con- 
 trasts already in part suggested, between the northern and 
 the southern divisions, and will take as a representative of 
 the one, Mouiit Washington, in New Hampshire, with an 
 altitude of 6,288 feet, and for the other. Roan ^Mountain, 
 North Carolina, reaching 6,391 feet. 
 
 First, we will contrast the modes of approach. From 
 Portland, Maine, a railroad trip of about 100 miles carries 
 us through a rolling country, becoming hilly as we approach 
 the mountains, and exhibits a flora characteristic of the lati- 
 tude, and changing but little till one is half way up the 
 mountain ; a railway takes us to the very summit. 
 
 From Norfolk, Ya., for 100 miles of railroad through the 
 tide-water region to Petersburg, we pass over a sandy plain 
 nowhere 100 feet above the sea level, and at Petersburg only 
 11 feet. Thence another 100 miles brings us to L3aichburg, 
 through a rolling countr}^ rising as high as 800 feet — and 
 from there on we plunge among and climb up mountains 
 and plateaus, the railroad reaching an elevation of 1,500 
 feet within the first 60 miles, and for the next 150 miles 
 nowhere descending lower than that, but attaining in places 
 an altitude of over 2,500 feet, till at Johnson City, Tenn., 
 steam power deserts us. A rough stage ride of 25 miles, 
 crossing the state line into North Carolina, exhibits a strik- 
 ing contrast in the flora. 
 
 Following Buffalo Creek for 10 miles in a southwesterly 
 direction, parallel with Buffalo mountain, we travel through 
 
Ai'i'Ai ..uiiiAN .\hm;ntains. 53 
 
 a liinosloiu' rruioii. the water s<» hard that <l rangers arc ul'teu 
 made .sick by its aso, and the vciijetation ii<>t unlike that of 
 X'iri^inia — forests, wild flowers. ero])s aixi wee<ls, sassafras 
 l»at(lKs, hlacklu'rry briars, and all. 
 
 Tlun we turn abruptly to the southeast, over limestone 
 ridges, across a sli<rht water-shed, half a mile in width and 
 oU feet in hciiiht, and we are in a ([uart/ite. or as they call it 
 there, " freestone" re<,d«»n. the water eouK <lear. and i)ure, 
 an<l in a few moments we }»lunge into a ii,ro\-e of hemlocks, 
 pines, s|)ruces, and sugar-maples, with huckleberries and 
 wintergreen beneath, that reminds us of Xew England, wliile 
 the thickets of rhododendron, leucothoe, calycanthus, oxy- 
 dendron, and magnolia prove to us that wc are still in 
 Dixie. 
 
 Over the Iron Mountain range, climbing wearily up and 
 then rattling furiously down its 1,500 feet of elevation, and 
 we come to the base of Roan Mountain, standing out in the 
 sunshine more than 3,000 feet above us. For seven miles 
 we wind in and out among cliffs and around the heads of 
 ravines, over a road skillfully engineered, but far from reas- 
 suring to weak nerves, and at length we stand on the sum- 
 mit, upon the boundary line between North Carolina and 
 Tennessee, looking olV upon these two States, and, in a<ldi- 
 tion, catching glimpses of Virginia. West \'irginia. South 
 Carolina. Georgia, and Kentucky. 
 
 In strong contrast, likewise, to the spacious Tip-Top liou.se 
 of Mount Washington, securely anchored by huge chains to 
 its granite foundations, is the rough log-house of Cloudland 
 Hotel nestled among the firs, wdiere, two years ago, a party 
 of twenty-five Washingtonians found comfortable quarters 
 for two months, spending the coolest summer of our lives, 
 and to some of us, at least, the most enjoyable. 
 
 Contra.sting the mountains them.selvcs, we begin the ac- 
 cent of Mount Washington, in a Ibrest identical with that 
 of the surrounding country. When we n^aeh 3,()00 feet, all 
 the trees have grown perceptildy smaller, an<l all the decidu- 
 ous trees, except, perhaps, the dwarf birches and mountain 
 ashe-s, have «lisappeared. In anoth<r 1,000 feet the ever- 
 
54 SATl'RDAY LECTURES. 
 
 greens have become dwarfed to shruljs,. three or four feet 
 high, so dense that you may often walk for rods upon their 
 tops. At 5,000 feet, onh^ a few creeping shrubs remain, and 
 for the remaining 1,200 feet we have only a ridge of barren 
 rocks, with liere and there a few grasses and sedges, and a 
 few heaths and mosses with the arctic sandwort, Arenoria 
 Groenlandica, keeping up the struggle for existence. 
 
 Ascending Eoan mountain, at l^etween 3.000 and 4,000 
 feet of altitude, we pass through a belt of giant trees. One 
 chestnut measured 24 feet in circumference at five feet from 
 the ground ; one black cherry iPrunus serotina) measured 10 
 feet, and as straight as a pine, rose 70 feet without a lirnl), 
 while hundreds of chestnuts, sugar maples, lindens, and 
 tulip trees were seen from four to seven feet in diameter, 
 and 70 or 80 feet to the first limb. 
 
 During the next 2,000 feet the deciduous trees gradually 
 disappear, till hemlocks, firs, and spruces alone remain. 
 
 At length, emerging from the belt of evergreens surround- 
 ing, and in j^laces coming to the ver}"- summit, we come out 
 upon a grass}^ slope of 1,000 acres, the soil rich, black, and 
 a foot or two deep, largely composed of vegetable humus, 
 the grass of a most vivid green, and dotted here and there 
 with clumps of mountain alder, {Alnus viridis,) and moun- 
 tain laurel, {Rhododendron Cafcnvbiense,) the latter one of the 
 most beautiful shrubs that can be imas-ined, formino- svm- 
 metrical domes of dark pink, from 6 to 8 feet high. Add 
 to this large areas of mountain honeysuckle, (Rhododendron 
 calendulaceum,) with great masses of bloom, varying from 
 golden 3'ellow to deep crimson, so that the hillside seems a 
 flame of fire, and you can cease to wonder that Dr. Gray, 
 who first explored this mountain in 1841, pronounces it the 
 most beautiful of American mountains. 
 
 These grassy summits or " balds," are a marked feature of 
 these southern Appalachians, giving a name to one long 
 range, and raise an interesting question as to what climatic 
 or other changes, have sufficed, first, to stimulate a forest 
 oTOwth of deciduous trees sufficient to account for such an 
 
AI'l'AI \<1IIA\ M(M NIAINS. 55 
 
 arcUlllulatiull of Vt'L!;(.'tul»li' HKMiM. ai|(| then >n colniilrtclv 
 
 Id (lostrov these forests as to leave no traee behind. 
 
 At either eiul, this grassy sloj)C is terminated l»y a loiky 
 >unimit, on which, however, shrubs, grasses, and llowcrs grow 
 in prolusion, but rising some 70 or 80 feet above the plain 
 below, tliesi' sinumits lieing about two miles apart, and the 
 southern one terminating in clill's, hundreds of feet in [)er- 
 ]>endieular lieight. 
 
 As regards the ilora on Mount Washington, for the first 
 o.OOO feet we lind but few sj)ecies Avhich are not observed 
 ar(iun<l the base, but al)OVe that oeeur some GO alpine or 
 sub-alpine sjieeies not met with at lower levels, till we aj)- 
 proaeh Labrador or even Greenland. 
 
 As we ascend from 3,000 to 5,000 feet on Roan mountain 
 we lind the Ilora recalling that of tlie thick woods of Maine 
 and New Hampshire. Twenty characteristic species of the 
 northern woods are abundant, while closely associated with 
 them are some 30 species distinctively southern. 
 
 Perhaps .'>(► spt'cics more are confined to the upjier 1,000 
 feet. 
 
 iSome of these are sub-alpine, and replace those of Mount 
 AVashington witli different species of the same or kindred 
 genera, as Arcuaria (jlahru in place of J. GrocnJandka ; Prc- 
 nantlics Boaiicnsis, in place of 7^. nanus nud Iloottii ; Vac- 
 ciniuiii fn/tJimcai'pon, a straggling shi-ub three or four feet 
 high, in place of V. Vitts-idaca, a compact creeping mass; 
 Rhododendron Cataivbiensc, with its magnificent domes of 
 bloom, in place of the little B. Lapponicum, only three or 
 four inches in height; Carer aestivalis i\w(\ jancea, in place of 
 C. airata, scirpoidca, and others. 
 
 The beautiful Solidago tltj/rsoidea of the lower slopes of 
 Mount AVashington is replaced on the sujnmit of lloan, by a 
 kindred species, in similar luxuriance and abundance, S. 
 glomerata. Paronychia argyrocomaj'imwd only in the Willey 
 Notch of the White Mountains, occurs on iJoan oidy on the 
 summit of Eagle Clill'. 
 
 Three species, Alnus viridis, Vcrairum viride. and Li/copo- 
 
56 SATURDAY LECTflJKS. 
 
 dium Selago, are found in similar situations on tho two moun- 
 tains, only about 1,000 feet lower on Mount Washington. 
 
 As would be expected from the flora, the contrast between 
 the temperatures of these different mountains is very strik- 
 ing. 
 
 On one of my last visits to Mount Washington, July 12. 
 the mercury stood at 36°, and the wind was blowing at tho 
 rate of' 40 miles an hour. 
 
 While on Roan, during nine weeks from June to Septem- 
 ber, the mercury once indicated 75°, seven times only was 
 it above 70°, once it was 45°, and only three times was it 
 below 50°. Three days out of five the daih' extremes 
 would bo comprised between 55° and 65°. 
 
 The equability of barometrical pressure was noteworthy, 
 the mean height of the mercurial column being a little less 
 than 24 inches, while the highest was 24.19, the lowest 
 23.87, or a variation of only .32. The corrected mean of all 
 the observations compared with those of the nearest station 
 of the Weather Service, at Knoxville, Tenn., gave 6,391 feet 
 as the height of the summit. 
 
 As a result of this equability of barometric pressure, was 
 noticed an absence of high winds quite remarkable at 
 that altitude, and quite in contrast with my experience at 
 Mount Washington. At no time, so far as I could judge, 
 did it reach a velocity of 20 miles an hour, and seldom 
 more than from 5 to 10. 
 
 Nor, except in one place, was there any indication of the 
 occurrence of a tornado in the past. 
 
 It is not surprising that this absolute exemption from heat, 
 with the slight variation in barometric pressure should be 
 found to give absolute exemption from " hay fever." And 
 it is not, perhaps, beyond the limit of scientific induction to 
 hazard the prediction, that among these southern Appa- 
 lachian mountains and plateaus will be established many a 
 sanitarium, located as regards altitude and exposure, to meet 
 the needs of those afllicted with various forms of pulmon- 
 ary, bronchial and nervous diseases. 
 
AI'r.M.At III.W Mill STAINS. •'< 
 
 The only icinaiuiiii; coiitriisl that I >liall notice will i)e 
 that of the scenery. 
 
 The White ^[oiintaiiis are at one side of the main chain. 
 
 In the distanei' we see on the west the (Jreeii M(»nnlains 
 stretchinii" alonii the Imii/on. 
 
 Immediately an>nn<l aw the sister jx-aks iA' the White 
 Mountain and l"'iancnnia ranues. hut neither on the north, 
 ea.st, ur the south, are any lofty mountains in siuht ; while 
 in all these directions lakes, ponds, rivers. an<l streams <li- 
 versify and heautify the landscaije. 
 
 From Roan, the view is widely different. " Mountains to 
 rioht of us, mountains to left of us," stretching away on 
 every side to the liorizon, mountain monarchs every one, 
 scores over (>,000 feet in height, hardly a level acre in sight, 
 even tlie valleys 2,000 or 3,000 feet above sea level, and in 
 all this wide expanse, only one little glimpse of water, where 
 a tlozen miles away, the Xoleehucky is hurrying on to the 
 'Ft iinessee. 
 
 On the south we look up to the Black >hjuntain range, 
 with Mitchell's High Peak, on which rest the hones of its 
 intrepid explorer, rising more than 3,000 feet above us. 
 
 (.)n the east and southea.st the Blue Ridge is in sight with 
 Grandtather and Grandmother mountains and countless un- 
 named peaks. 
 
 (Jn the north and west, the great plateau of Tennessee, 
 with the (Clinch and other ranges, or rather plateaus, twenty 
 or more in number, stretching away in long parallel lines, 
 as level as .so many railroad emhankment.s, .sometimes for 
 40 or ."iO miles with n(» apparent gap or peak, till in the dim 
 distance the blue line of the Cumberland range outlines the 
 horizon. 
 
 The cloud views are grand beyond description. < )Uen in 
 the early morning the whole country will be covered with 
 a mass of pure white vapor, like the waters of a shoreless 
 sea, with only here and there a monntain top. like an island, 
 emerging from the billows. 
 
 And then as the ravs of tin- rising sun fall ujion tlieni. 
 
58 SATir.DAY I.ECTUrvES. 
 
 they assume tints of ]nnk and crimson and gold, and soon 
 with the morning breezes they melt away and the landscape 
 stands revealed in all its freshness and beauty. 
 
 Rarely on the clearest day can you stand for half an hour 
 upon one of the high peaks without seeing showers and local 
 storms sweeping over the countr}' in various directions. 
 Often several may be seen at once ; not unfrequently one 
 takes a turn and comes over us with most unwelcome sud- 
 denness, though ver}^ often they are below us. 
 
 On two sides of the mountains, deej) gulfs or ravines come 
 nearly to the mountain top, so that you may stand on an al- 
 most perpendicular precipice and look down into a gulf from 
 1,000 to 2,000 feet deep, at your very feet, and see the clouds 
 form far below, as a moist air from the valley sweeps up the 
 gorge and meets the cooler temperature of the upper height. 
 
 It were well if many of us, citizens of this great Republic, 
 could look upon both the northern and southern divisions 
 of this might}' chain, which has been for so many ages the 
 rampart of our easte^'n coast, and learn that neither section 
 has a monopoly of nature's gifts. 
 
 It were well, if we would learn to contrast and enjoy these 
 varieties of mountain sublimit}^ ; that there are mountains 
 and mountains; that, as the stars, one mountain clifFereth 
 from another mountain in glory. 
 
 It were well, if we would learn to study mountains, to ac- 
 quaint ourselves with their peculiarities, to make them our 
 friends, to know and to love them. 
 
 It is well for us, as scientific observers, noting all the facts 
 alike in anthropology and biology, to note and carefully to 
 remember that fact of all history, that mountains have not 
 only deflected the winds and influenced the temperature 
 and rainfall, but have also had a powerful influence upon 
 the dwellers among them; that patriotism has ever flour- 
 ished most vigorousl}^ when nourished by mountain air : 
 that freedom has ever loved to make her home amid moun- 
 tain peaks; that " men, highminded men, who know their 
 rights, and knowing, dare maintain," \\'hether in Greece, in 
 
All' MM 111 AN MolNlAINS. ")".) 
 
 S\vit/.i'rl;m<l. ur in «»iir<»\vii comitrv, have so olleii coiiU! forth 
 IVoiii luotiiitaiii liMiiM's. 
 
 And in Niiwoltliis lact. wr shall liave no cause to wonder 
 tliat men have loved (lie mountains, and in so many hearts 
 ii responsive chord is struck when they licar I lie rinjring 
 periods of the mountaineers hymn: 
 
 •' For the .slrcngtli of the hills \vc bless Thee, 
 
 Our Clod ; our father's God ! 
 Tiiou hast made Thy children mighty 
 
 By the touch of the mountain sod. 
 The rocks yield founts of courage, 
 
 Struck forth, as by Thy rod — 
 For the strength of the hills we bless Thee, 
 
 Our God, our father's flod I" 
 
OUTLINES OF SOCIOLOGY. 
 
 Lecture delivered in the National Museum, Washington, D. C, April i, 1882 
 by Major J. W. POWEI^L. 
 
 By organized association men live together in bodies 
 politic. That men may live in peace, render each other 
 assistance and act togetjier as units for mutual protection, 
 is the purpose subserved by organized association. In order 
 that men may associate their conduct must be regulated. 
 For the regulation of conduct there must be organization, 
 and the plan upon which a body politic is organized de- 
 pends upon the nature of the regulation for which it is 
 used — organ is adapted to function. 
 
 The organization of the body politic constitutes the state. 
 
 Again, there must be — 
 
 First, some method of determining the particulars of con- 
 duct that require regulation and the quality and (juantity 
 of the regulation recjuired. 
 
 Second, there must be means of enforcing regulation. 
 
 Third, there must be means of determining whether con- 
 duct conforms to rule. The machinery established by a 
 society for accomplishing these purposes constitutes govern- 
 ment. 
 
 Yet again, there are the rules which the body politic de- 
 termines to be necessary for peace, mutual assistance, pro- 
 tection, and the common welfare, and these constitute the 
 law. 
 
 The science of sociology from the nature of the functions 
 of social organization may be fundamentally divided into 
 three subjects — the constitution of the state, the form of the 
 government, and the regulation embodied in the law — the 
 state, the government, the law. 
 
 THE STATE. 
 
 A state is a body politic — an organized group of men 
 with an established government and a body of determined 
 
 (60) 
 
<H TI.INKS Ol" SO('H»I.(>«iV. 'il 
 
 law. In the (»ii:aiii/:iti<»ii of societies units ot" diHereut 
 ordorsaredisfovercd. A society of the hijxhostor first orderis 
 made iipof a nuinberof societies or j;rouj»s of a second order, 
 and tliese may ai,^ain he made ujt of a number of groups of a 
 third or fourtii ordei'. The term state as liere used em- 
 luaces tlie entin- hody of men included in the lart^est unit, 
 and conseriuently all the men of each subordinate unit, 
 when it refer- to tli(' body politic as a <i"roup of men, and 
 when it refers to the oruanization it in<-ludesthe constituent 
 plan of the largest and its included units. It should l)e 
 noticed that this use of the term state is not consistent with 
 a common practice in this country, but we may illustrate 
 by reference thereto. The term state would tlius be synony- 
 mous with United States, including its several units of 
 States, counties, townships, cities, wards and all other sub- 
 ordinate divisions. The term state, then, is used to desig- 
 nate an organized body of people of the higliest order em- 
 bracing all its subsidiary organizations. 
 
 SOCIOLOGIC CLASSES. 
 
 In tlie foregoing characterization of the state it has been 
 considered as a body politic organized for civil government, 
 that is, for the regulation of the conduct of the individuals 
 of the state as they are related to each other. But the con- 
 duct of the members of the state, or of tlie entire body 
 politic, may have relations to other bodies politic: so that 
 conduct must be regulated in its internal relations and its 
 external relations. 
 
 Now, the relations of state to stale may be i-egulated. by 
 <-ommon agreement, and they are thus regulated to a large 
 i'xtent. I>ut thi'i regulation is imperfect and weak Irom the 
 fact that no common government is organized to which all 
 the states are alike obedient. The lack of such a common 
 government for states leads to the settlement of disputes by 
 war. Each state {)repares itself to enforce its'wishes or de- 
 fend its rights by resort to arms. It seems prol)able that in 
 the earliest stages of society all able-bodied men take part 
 in its militarv aflairs. Riit verv (\irlv a <liirerentiation is 
 
62 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 discovered by which u pait only of the men belong to the 
 army ; and thus we have the military class as distinguished 
 from the civil class. 
 
 In all governments which have hitherto existed, human 
 conduct has been regulated in its relations to supernatural 
 beings. It has always been believed that the welfare of man- 
 kind depends largely or even primaril}- upon the will of the 
 gods, or of one god — the Supreme Ruler of the Universe. 
 
 The relation of man to his god gives rise to religion. 
 The conduct involved is religious conduct ; and hence reli- 
 gion comes to be an important factor in determining the 
 constitution of the state, the nature of the government, and 
 the character of the law. 
 
 Thus in the constitution of the state we find three classes of 
 people more or less distinctly differentiated : The civil, the 
 military, and the priestly class. As these classes appear in 
 the constitution of the state they also affect in varying de- 
 grees the form of the government, and the relations arising 
 therefrom are regulated by law. 
 
 .SOCIAL RANKS. 
 
 In many stages of society grades or ranks of people are 
 discovered based upon heredity, possession of land, wealth 
 and other circumstances giving rise to aristocracies — com- 
 mon people and slaves — patricians and plebeians. 
 
 CORPORATIONS. 
 
 In many states two grand classes of organizations are 
 found — the first class is directly related to government and 
 embraces the organizations mentioned above as grouped 
 in different orders. The second class is indirectlj'^ related 
 to government. These organizations serve a variety of 
 purposes. Men are organized into societies for religious, 
 charitable, educational, industrial, and other ends, and 
 such societies will here be called corporations. These 
 organizations of the minor class, unlike those of the major 
 class, do not constitute a part of the government, but 
 they form a part" of the state and must necessarily be 
 
rUTI.INKS Ol' SOCIOI.OCY. 63 
 
 considered in tlir plan of the state. While not a part of 
 the jjovernment in an important way tlicy are connected 
 therewith. Tlie rc';i;nhition of conduct involved in the suc- 
 resslul workinjjf of sucli corporations may be immediately 
 dctrrniined by the bodies of men severally involved and 
 expressed in rharters, constitutions, by-laws, and rules of 
 order. Ihit (.\. r all iliosr is the law of the government 
 with which the rules or laws of the .several minor organiza- 
 tions must conform, and for the ultimate entbrcement of 
 which government is to a large extent responsible. Thus 
 we have the major and minor organizations of the state, the 
 major and minor laws of the state, and the government of 
 the state directly enforcing the major laws and indirectly 
 enforcing the minor laws. 
 
 The science called sociology in its three great divisions — 
 the .state, the government, and the law — deals with all orga- 
 nizations of the people for whatsoever purpose they may be 
 formed. 
 
 A part of (he regulation of a .state belongs to the major, 
 another part to the minor organizations of the state, but 
 the functions of the two classes of regulation are not clearly 
 and permanently differentiated. A particular system of 
 regulation may be relegated now to the government, and 
 now to a .society of the minor class, or the .system of regu- 
 lation may be divided between them. For example, the 
 government may entirely control a system of education, or 
 the .system of education may be entirely controlled by minor 
 societies; or, again, a part of the educational system may 
 belong to the government, and a part to minor societies. 
 The boundary lines between major an«l minor regulation 
 are ever shifting. 
 
 A ST.VFE IS .\ PLKXUS OF ORCAM/ATK >NS. 
 
 In the foregoing statement it is .-^een that the grand unit 
 of social organization, the state, is itself composed of many 
 minor organizations forming units in a descending series, 
 so that the state has a compound structure. It also has a 
 complex structure. Before defining this complexity an 
 illustration from biology may be in place. 
 
64 sA'ri liDAY ij:ctui{es. 
 
 An animal i.s composed of many organs performing dif- 
 ferent functions. Thus i.s found the brain — the organ of 
 lliought, the organ of breathing, the organs of digestion, the 
 organs of circuhition, the organs of locomotion, and so forth. 
 Running through all these organs and forming a plexus 
 "svith them, are the systems of tissues. Thus avc find the 
 nervous, vascular, and muscular systems, the whole forming 
 a. complex tissue of organs, and systems of organs, rendering 
 the organism excessively complex in pln'sical constitution. 
 
 In the examination of the constitution of any particular 
 state, it will usually be found that one S3''stem of organiza- 
 tion permeates and' pervades other systems in such a manner 
 that the individual state is found excessivelj^ complex. 
 Through the series of units into which the state is organ- 
 ized for the purposes of government, both classes and ranks 
 are interwoven, and through the government units — the 
 classes and the ranks— corporations are interwoven. 
 
 In the Muskoki Confederacy there are forty-nine tribes, 
 each one having a government of its own. But these forty- 
 nine tribes are organized in such a manner that a common 
 government is provided for the whole. Now, the confed- 
 eracy is the grand unit, the tribes are units of a second 
 order. But the clans of one tribe are also the clans of 
 another, so that each clan is distributed through many 
 tribes, and each clan has a government of its own, subsid- 
 iary to the government of the tribe, and again subsidiary 
 to the government of the confederacy. The organization 
 for a clan is woven through the organization for a tribe in 
 such a manner as to make the constitution of the state com- 
 plex. 
 
 In those states where the organizations which we have 
 here called corporations are highly developed, the corpora- 
 tions themselves render the constitution of the state com- 
 plex. , Church organizations do not run parallel with state 
 lines, but extend their operations and their control over 
 their own members regardless of political divisions. 
 
 All states that have been studied have been thus found, 
 both compound and complex. Such are the essential char- 
 acteristics of the social oroanization of mankind into states. 
 
(>l I'llM^ ni SIM |(i|.i»(;y. ').) 
 
 THK (;()VKKNMr.\T. 
 
 Tlu' (I i tic re lit iat ion Iroin tin- .staU-of an organized >y.stcm 
 ot iv<:;iilation gives rise to government. If a condition of 
 society (.on Id exist in whieli eaeli member in the state should 
 take an equal and like part with all the others in the regu- 
 lation of eondu<-t, the state would he without a government 
 in the sense in which that term i> here us(^d : hut in iIk 
 bodies politii- whieh are known certain individuals arc 
 selected l>v one or other process to periorm special func- 
 tions in the regulation of the conduct of the people com- 
 posing the state. The government is tlu- sociologic organ 
 differentiated from the state for the regulation of conduct. 
 
 The function'^ to he performed by a government are of 
 three clas.scs — legislative, executive, and judi'ial — lor if 
 conduct is to be regulated it is necessary — 
 
 First, to determine in what ])articulars, and to establish 
 the rules. This gives the law-making i)Owei'. which will 
 here be denominated the Iq/islatiir dei)artment. 
 
 Second, it is necessary to provide macliinery for the en- 
 forcement of the law. This i< hi-rc denominated the cxccn- 
 (ivc department. 
 
 Third, in society the parti<ulars of conduct and the rela- 
 tions of conduct are va.stly multifarious, approaching infinity. 
 The formulated rules of conduct — the law — can never keej> 
 pace with con<luct itself, .^o that every specific act of social 
 life shall have its corresponding fornnilated iide. It is there- 
 fore necessary that the general rules embraced in the lawl)e 
 interpreteil and a|)plied to the specific act. This is usually 
 done by tlie individual, who is sujiposed and whose 
 duty it is, to know the laws of the .state ; but the individual 
 may yet have imperfect knowledge. Yet liis conduct as a 
 meml)er of the body jiolitic has its efiect upon others wiio 
 themselves may have imperfect knowledge of the law and 
 its application to specific acts. This imperfection of knowl- 
 edge necessitates an interj)retation of the law. 
 
 Again, bias of interest, bias of prejudice, and bias of pas- 
 sion — all have their effect in m<Mlityinu indixidu.d opinion 
 
(')() SATURDAY LECTIKES. 
 
 relating to the law. Under these circumstances, it is found 
 necessary for the state to devise, as a part of its govern- 
 ment, some organ for the interpretation of the law in its ap- 
 plication to specific acts. This gives rise to the judicial de- 
 partment of government. 
 
 These three great functions have never been clearly 
 differentiated in the organization of a government ; but the 
 distinctions have usually been perceived and a partial 
 differentiation of organs is ever found. 
 
 In the constitution of the. state, it has been seen, three 
 grand classes arise — the civil, the military, and the religious. 
 Wherever in the state sitch classes appear, the form of gov- 
 ernment is adapted to the regulation which the constitution 
 of the state demands, and in this manner the functions of 
 government may be classified as civil, militarj'', and religi- 
 ous — ^the military government inhering in the arm}', the 
 religious government in the priesthood — and armies and 
 jjriesthoods are constituent parts of such governments. 
 
 Usuall}' in all stages of society, military government is 
 entire!}' subordinate to civil government, but there are 
 times in the middle stages of society when the military gov- 
 ernment assumes inordinate proportions, so that the civil 
 government becomes subsidiary thereto ; but such military 
 governments performing civil functions are ei^hemeral. 
 
 Again, in the constitution of the state, religious organiza- 
 tions invariably constitute an important factor. In the low- 
 est tribes a priesthood is a part of the government. In 
 certain stages of society a priesthood sometimes acquires in- 
 ordinate j)Owers, and ecclesiastical or religious governments 
 are organized ; but such governments arise only occasionall}^ 
 and are ephemeral. 
 
 In the constitution of the state two classes of organiza- 
 tions are found — those relating directly to the government, 
 called the major organizations, and those relating indirectly 
 to the government, called the minor organizations, or corpo- 
 rations, and each corporation develops from its own body 
 of members a government of its own, through which, in 
 part, it is related to the government of the state, and to 
 
<»ri'i.iM:s tii- siKidi.odv. ii7 
 
 other i>rLi;iiii/.;it ioiis n|' tlif miiKtr i-lass. Tlicsc minor 
 ortjaiiiziitioii"^ an' al>o idalcfl |o tlic ^ovciimiciil of (Ik- 
 slate, and to (>acli other directly lliroiiiili llie indivi(hials ol 
 w hieh thov are eoiiiposed. 
 
 < loverinnenl is the specialized oruaii lor the leL^iilation of 
 th(> conchiet oi tlie iiulividuals of the state, and is lunction- 
 ally divided into the h'uishilive. e\ecnti\'e. and judicial de- 
 {•ai'tments, with a still I'lirlliei runction.-d di\i>ion nniinni;- 
 throui^li llieso _u,ivini;' eivil. military, and religious go verji- 
 nient. To the government ot" llio state, in its several units 
 and classes, the government of eorporations is subsidiary 
 and obedient. 
 
 Tin: i..\w. 
 
 The law. is composed of the rides ot" conduct which the 
 government endeavors It) enforce. These rules of conduct 
 control the individuals of the state in their relations to each 
 other. Conduct, in its relation to the individuals involved, 
 is either directly or indirectly jjcrsonal. Conduct may be 
 <lirectly personal in its I'elations to two or more individuals, 
 or it may be indirectly ])ersonal in that it afi'ects the rela- 
 tions of the individuals through the medium of property. 
 The lu'st gives ri.se to what J shall <lenoniinate pergonal law, 
 the sccoikI io propryfi/ law. 
 
 Again, in the organization of the l>ody politic, minor 
 bodies have been d,escribe(l, an<l designated as corporation.^, 
 including in the term all bodies jtoliticof the minor class, 2. f., 
 all jirivate corporations as distinct from municipal or govern- 
 ment corj)orations. The relations of in<lividuals to each 
 other, as members of a coi-poration, aie controlled by tiie 
 corporations them.selves in their organized capacities, but 
 these regulations nmst conform to the law of the .state, and 
 are ultimately relegated for their enforcement to the govern- 
 ment. But the control of corporations in their relations to 
 each other, in their relations to the government, and in 
 their relations to tlie indivi<luals of the stat(>, gives rise to a 
 body of corporatio'ii law. 
 
 Again, since government is diU'eicnti.ited .is the organ of 
 
08 SATIUDAY i.ixTrr.E?. 
 
 reiiulation. the organ itself must be controlled — the con- 
 duct of the government must be regulated. This gives rise 
 to what I shall denominate government law. 
 
 It has been seen that the conduct of a state, and of the 
 individuals of a state, has relation to other states. The rules 
 for the regulation of this conduct gives rise to international 
 law. 
 
 As no common government exists between states to en- 
 force international law, armies are organized, and for the 
 regulation of their conduct militar}/ law is developed. 
 
 The conduct relating to the relation which exists between 
 men and deity gives rise to the organization of ecclesiastical 
 bodies. For the government of these bodies, and for the en- 
 ibrcement of the rules of conduct which religion imposes, 
 religious law appears. 
 
 Tlie law, then, which is the bod}^ of rules which the state 
 endeavors directly or indirectly to enforce, may be properly 
 classed, as follows : 
 
 1. Personal law. 
 
 2. Property law. 
 
 3. Corporation law. 
 
 4. Government law. 
 
 5. International law. 
 
 6. Military laAv. 
 
 7. Peligious laAv. 
 
 In addition to this classification of law on the basis of 
 the particulars of conduct to be controlled, another funda- 
 mental classification is found running through and inter- 
 woven with each of the others. This classification de- 
 pends upon the method l)y which regulation is accom- 
 plished. General rules of conthict are established, and 
 these general rules are applied to specilic acts. Thus duties 
 and rights, or rights active and passive, are determined. 
 Usually, to these rules determining rights, the individuals 
 of the state conform their conduct; but to an important ex- 
 tent they do not. To the extent that conduct is conforma- 
 tory to the law, right is done ; to the extent that conduct is 
 
nril.lNKS or SOiKH.tiiJY. 'il> 
 
 iiut ill (•(inrniiiiily wiili llic l;iw, wntii^ i> iIoih'. Now, ^ov- 
 cniiiu'iit tluc'S not att(iiii»t to control comluct l)y <lirc'ctly en- 
 Jorcinij liiilit-doiiin. hut indirectly, l>y punishin;;- wroni;- 
 <loin,ii-, and this oivcs rise to a hody of hiws rchitinu- t(» 
 wrongs which may he designated as rrlDiinal hiw. 
 
 Crimes may l>e committi'd aij;ainst pcM'^onal law, pro|Mri \ 
 law. <-orj)oratioii law. iioveriiiiiciit law. iiiti'inational law, 
 military law. and itliuioiis law: so thai the classilication of 
 law relating to rights and duties furnishes the proper basis 
 for the classilication of law relating to wrongs, i. c. crime.s. 
 
 (•<»iKsi-: OI-" i:vni.ri io\ m- ini-; sr.vn:. 
 
 In considering the particulars of conduct that states have 
 attempted to regulate we lind they can be classified on still 
 anotlier basis than that presented in considering the subject 
 of law. Conduct may relate to the perpetuation of the 
 species, or conduct may relate to the welfare of the in- 
 dividual. Though this cla.ssilication serves no imi)ortant 
 j)uri>ose in the study of the subject of laM', yet it is necessary 
 in considering the constitution of the state and tlie form of 
 the government. 
 
 Tn the earlier and lower stages of .society conduct relating 
 to the perpetuation of the species is held to be of ])rimary 
 importance, while conduct relating to the welfare of in- 
 dividuals is held to be of .secondar}^ importance, in such ;i 
 manner that the organization of the state is based i)rimarily 
 on the former and secondarily on the latter. 
 
 In the periKHuation of the species the functions of re- 
 production are dependent ujton the biologic organization of 
 mankind, dividing the human race into two classes — male 
 and female — and the very earliest states yet discovered have 
 their ])lans of organization based on sex. and <om|»osed of 
 cla.«siticd bodies of kindred. 
 
 This maybe stat<<l in jinothcr way. In the earliest forms 
 of societv conduct involving tlu; relations of the sexes an<l 
 the relations of kindred arising therefn»m was first brought 
 under regulation. The primary and principal .source of 
 disagreement among primitive men at the incej)tion of oi- 
 
70 SATUKDAV IJJCTUItES. 
 
 ganized society grew out of their desires for the possession of 
 women. Men first came into conflict with each other on 
 account of women, and to live together in peace it became 
 necessary to organize government and enact law regulating 
 marriage and kinship relations arising therefrom. 
 
 The government and the law relate i)rimarily to kinship, 
 regulating the relation of the sexes, and the relation of the 
 several members of bodies of kindred; that is, the state is 
 organized on kinship. Governmental functions are per- 
 formed by men wliose positions in the government are 
 determined b}^ kinship, and rules relating to kinship and 
 the reproduction of the species constitute the larger body of 
 the law. The law regulates marriage and the rights and 
 duties of the several members of a body of kindred to each 
 other. Individuals are held responsible only to their kin- 
 dred, and certain groups of kindred are held responsible to 
 other groups of kindred. When other conduct, such as the 
 distribution of game taken from the forest or fisli from the 
 sea is regulated, the rules or laws pertaining thereto involve 
 considerations of kinshij), and this is extended so far that a 
 large body of rights to property are kinship rights. In this 
 manner all the earlier forms of the state of which we have 
 knowledge are based on kinship. This gives us kinship 
 societ}^ and tribal government. 
 
 In the highest forms of social organization discovered in 
 the nations of civilization the regulation of conduct discov- 
 ered in the government and the law. relates chiefly and pri- 
 marily to the welfare of the individual, and secondarily to 
 the perpetuation of the species; and of the conduct relating 
 to the welfare of the individual that which relates to prop- 
 erty has an overwhelming predominance. 
 
 In the earliest stages of society small wealth is accumu- 
 lated, and industries for the production of property and 
 Avealth are comparatively undeveloped. In the higher 
 stages of society greatly accumulated wealth is found, and 
 industries are differentiated and industrial organizations 
 multiplied beyond all others. As therefore the organs of 
 government must be adapted to its functions, the plan of 
 
oi ri,iNi;s OK S(>ci(>[.<»(;Y. 71 
 
 government in such ti state must be based upon [tioperty. 
 Thus property, society, and national uovcinincnt are consti- 
 tuted. 
 
 In kinship states the I'unihiniental chissification of tlie 
 people for the purposes of govennnent is by kindred : in the 
 projierty state tlie fundamental classification of people for 
 purposes of government is by territory. Between these 
 staiTcs — the lowest and the highest — many interme<liate 
 forms are found. No hard and fast lines can be drawn. A 
 cli-ar distinction can be made only between the lowest and 
 the hijihest. Survivals of kinship societv exist in all gov- 
 crnments where i»osition, i. e. office, in the government is 
 hereditary, and property society with the government of the 
 highest civiHzation is reached only by republics. The his- 
 tory of the constitution of the state is the history of the 
 evolution of kinship society into property society. 
 
 There is yet another way by which this evolution may be 
 characterized, namely, by the progressing differentiation of 
 the organs of the state, and by the }>rogressing integrations 
 of states. 
 
 The differentiation of organs in the state is represented 
 
 in three ways — 
 
 First, by the multiplication of organs of government — a 
 subject which will be considered under the head of govern- 
 ment : 
 
 Second, by the multiplication of the orders of units and 
 the specialization of the subordinate units so that subordi- 
 nate organizations i)erform special functions. Thus cities 
 may be divided into wards, counties into towns : and 
 
 Third, by the multiplication of corporations for specific 
 purposes. Such organizations appear in the lowest .stages 
 of society only in a crude form, but as society advances 
 they are perfected, and greatly multiplied, until in modern 
 civilized society a state becomes a va.st plexus of cor[)ora- 
 tions. 
 
 In the earlier stages of society each state is small, being 
 composed only of a body of kindred by consanguinity and 
 affinity, actual or artificial. As each .state is small many 
 states are Ibund. In order that unification of states may pro- 
 
72 SATIIIDAV I.KCTIIIKS. 
 
 gress organization l»y kinsliij) niu^t give way, and gradually 
 it does give way, to be re])laced ])y organization on a prop- 
 erty basis. Organization on a jiropcrty basis appears in 
 many ways, but chiefly in two — lirst, ea])tives in war and 
 otlier persons ai'e made slaves, and become property them- 
 selves; and, second, a ]>articular form of pn>[)crty — land — 
 gradually comes to be of prime importance, and is at last 
 taken as the basis of the primary classification of the state, 
 which is territorial. 
 
 By various jn'ocesses of alliance, by conquest, by develop- 
 ment of feudalities, and by slavery, states are integrated, 
 and by the development of the organs of government and 
 private corporations, the classes of the state are differentiated, 
 and with this the plan of the state is changed from a kin- 
 ship to a property basis. 
 
 COURSE (3F INVOLUTION OF GOVERNMENT. 
 
 The earliest form of government of which we have 
 knowledge consists of an assembly composed of men, from 
 >vhich are excluded all deemed too young or too old to ex- 
 hibit due wisdom. This assembly is the law-making power, 
 i. c, the legislature, and the law applying power, i. e., the 
 court. It is, in fact, the body of able men meeting to confer 
 and decide upon conduct, and is essentially legislature and 
 judiciary undifferentiated. This assembly has a presiding 
 officer who obtains the position by common consent or for- 
 mal choice, and who sometimes acts as an executive officer 
 in carrying out the decisions of the assembly. But this 
 executive power, though it may sometimes, does not invari- 
 ably inhere in the presiding officer. 
 
 Sometimes, and perhaps usually, the executive power is 
 delegated to a committee of the assembly. The committee 
 may be appointed temjwrarily to carry out a specific deter- 
 mination of the assembly, or it may be a standing com- 
 mittee to carry out a class of determinations. The form 
 of government thus described probably exists at present 
 in some of the tribes of Australia and elsewhere, as such 
 accounts are given by travelers and students of ethnol- 
 
()ITI.im;s iti' s(>( Kn.oiiY. 73 
 
 ogy ; l>ut those aiToiints ,uc ini()iii|ilctc. :iii<l have been 
 niadi' l>y |)ersons iidI tlioiuii^lily ti-aino(l in this hrancli of 
 anthiojtologic rt'.sfai\li, s(» that altojjctlicr \\\v existence ol" 
 siu-h a «j[Overnmont is at present uncertain. It is also prolj- 
 able that this Inrni of ^ovcinnient has existed in })ast times 
 anions; tribes whu have ni»\v atlvanced l)eyond it. Tlir lino 
 ot" aruunient i»n wliich this is based eannot hen' lir |»re- 
 sente(l, and it i- but fair to say that |iositi\"c concln.-iKns 
 have not Iteen readied. 
 
 A somewhat hiiiher form of ( iovcrnmeiit has been dis- 
 covered in Anieiiea and eUewiierc wldeli may l)e more 
 thorouiihly describe<l. in tbi- the assembly of the })eo[)le 
 is more definitely organizetL The [tresiding officer is Ibrni- 
 ally selected, and his tenure of office is for life, unless other- 
 wise formally determined by the asseml)ly for cause. In 
 addition to this, a chief or system of ehiefs is found whose 
 duties are executive. The chief is also a member of the as- 
 sembly, but is not a chief Ijy virtue of such membership but 
 by choice of the p(^ople. The chieftaincy is never here- 
 ditary. 
 
 In the UK^st highly developed governments the three 
 great classifications of governmental functions are highly, 
 though not comjjletely, dilferentiated, giving rise to legisla- 
 tive, executive, and judicial departments, represented by the 
 asscmbb/, the ruler, and the court. 
 
 The a.ssembly itself is elaborately organized and tlillercn- 
 tiated into two or more correlated divisions. I'^xecutive 
 functions are highly differentiated and distributed among 
 various cla-^ses of officers over wliom the ruler [>resides. The 
 judicial functions jtlso are differentiated, and su})erior and 
 subordinate courts are organized. fJetween the two forms 
 thus described, many intermediati! forms are<li.<covered, and 
 the course of progress is waywaid and various. In the ear- 
 lier part of this course, Jufhcial function-^ are to ;i gi-eater or 
 less extent assumed by the executive, anil Ibr a long time 
 this division of the functions of the couit between the two 
 departments of government continues — being clainnil, now 
 by one, now by the other. .\t tinie<. too. in the course of 
 
74 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 progress, legislative functions are assumed by the executive 
 department, and a conflict is waged for supremacy. At 
 last, by various processes, the court is organized. 
 
 Three of these processes must here be mentioned. As 
 states increase in size the business of adjudication becomes 
 so great that proper attention cannot be given to the mul- 
 tiplicity of cases arising. Under these circumstances com- 
 mittees of the assembly are appointed with judicial powers, 
 at first extremely limited but gradually enlarged, until 
 courts are developed. On the other hand, where judicial 
 power has to a greater or less extent been assumed by the 
 executive department, the rulers find themselves over- 
 whelmed with business and appoint subordinates in the first 
 instance to adjudicate specific cases, but gradually the powers 
 of these subordinates are enlarged, until courts are thus 
 established. 
 
 Again, ecclesiastical bodies claiming superior virtue and 
 wisdom sometimes assume to adjudicate, but such adjudica- 
 tion is gradually relegated to specified officers of the body, 
 • and thus ecclesiastical courts are developed. 
 
 The courts originating from the assembly from the ruler 
 and from the ecclesiastical body alike, may be more or less 
 multifarious. When they spring up in the same state their 
 jurisdiction is at first imperfectly defined. Each strives 
 for supremacy, and thus jurisdiction overlaps jurisdiction. 
 This conflict ultimately results in the organization of a S3's- 
 tem of courts integrated in a superior court, and differen- 
 tiated by the establishment of a variety of inferior courts 
 with jurisdiction more carefully defined — the function of tlie 
 inferior courts being controlled and restricted within proper 
 bounds by appeal to the superior. 
 
 Thus, at last, the functions of the primitive assembly, 
 originally legislative, executive, and judicial, are differen- 
 tiated, and the legislature, the ruler, and the court are 
 established. 
 
 THE COURSE OF EVOLUTION OF LAW. 
 
 In the development of the tribe into the nation, conduct 
 develops from extreme simplicity to extreme complexity, 
 
OLTI.INKS OF riO('IOI,0<;Y. <•> 
 
 and tor the ivirulatioii of ruiKliict tin- hnv iiiu~( likfwiso de- 
 velop. 
 
 PERSONAL LAW 
 
 A liirge part of pergonal law lM'lonp;s to family law. Per- 
 haps the earliest and lowest form ((f the family is that in 
 which brothers in a uroup marry their own sisters in a 
 irroup : all the brothers are the liii<bniid> <>f all the sisters. 
 The family i^ thus eonipo.><ed of husbands an»l wives, parent- 
 and children. <rrand parents an<l grand children and brother.- 
 and sisters. Collateral lines of kinship are not established. 
 There are no uncles and aunts, no male cousins and no ie- 
 male cousins, and no nephews and neices. This is known 
 as the Punaluan family or system of kinship. 
 
 -Vnothor form, known as the Malayan family or system of 
 kinship, is found involvintr a larger tribe and a higher or- 
 gani/.atiftn. In this, a group of men being brothers, marry a 
 group of women, sisters to each other, but not sisters to the 
 men whom they marry. For the regulation of this form of 
 communal ma. viage. a tribe is divided into clas.ses. Often 
 there an three classes wliieh are divided into male and fe- 
 male — making in all. six. Let the.se be represented by let- 
 ters : A represents a male cla.ss, and A' a femaU' class. The 
 class A are brothers and the class A' are sisters. B repre- 
 sents a class, and IV a class, brothers and sisters; and C and 
 C are like clas.ses. Then the class A, beinu brothers to 
 each other, may not marry their sisters A', but marry the 
 lias- nf women IV who' are sisters to each otiier. The 
 .lass II marry the class C, and the cla.ss C marry the class 
 .v. Now. in tiiis family, di'scent is in the female line. The 
 . hildnn then of A and B' will belong to the class liand B'. 
 the ( hildren of B an<l ( '' will belong to the class (' and C. 
 and the children of (" and A' will belong to the class A and 
 A', and through tht»se cycles the generations pass. 
 
 The kinship .system is furthei- developed in this family, 
 and gives brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers, sons and 
 daughters, grandfathers and grandm<iih( i.-. and grandsons 
 
76 SATUltDAV l.i:(TrEES. 
 
 and (Uuightcrs. It also gives aunts and uncles. The children 
 call their father and father's brothers, all fathers, and their 
 mother and mother's sisters, all mothers ; but their father's 
 sisters are aunts, and their mother's brothers are uncles. 
 The children of their father's brothers they call brothers, 
 the children of their mother's sisters they call sisters ; but 
 the children of their father's sisters they call cousins, and 
 the children of their mother's brothers they call cousins. 
 
 This famil}^ is widely spread in Australia and elsewliere 
 and the kinship system is still more widely spread as it ex- 
 ists among all the tribes of North and South America and 
 elsewhere in Europe, Asia, and Africa, and in some of the 
 islands of the sea. 
 
 The Punaluan system of kinship at first described is 
 known to exist, but the form of communal marriage is not 
 known. The Malayan system of kinship and marriage is 
 known. " 
 
 The simplest and most common form only has been given. 
 
 The development of this into the polj^gamic and mon- 
 ogamic systems of marriage is accomplished in diverse ways 
 among many tribes. The group of husbands and group of 
 wives constituting one family comes to be very large and 
 narrower restrictions are adopted, thus boys of one mother 
 will be married in a group to the daughters of another 
 mother, and various other restrictive regulations will appear, 
 but all involving a common principle, namely, that the 
 husbands and wives have no choice. Selection is made by 
 legal appointment. Legal appointment develops into indi- 
 vidual selection through three processes : 
 
 First, the parties interested consulting their own wishes, 
 elope; and marriage by elopement though illegal at first, 
 is made legal on the day of jubilee. This procedure widely 
 prevails among the North American Indians. 
 
 Second, it ofttimes happens that in the vicissitude of life 
 certain groups of families of sisters increase in number, 
 while the group of brothers to whom they belong decrease 
 in number, and vice versa. Under these circumstances a 
 few men are entitled to many wives, and the law holds this 
 
(•rii.iM;s nv s(K loi.otiv. < i 
 
 to Ik- justiff. Ill >urli cjiH- it iiiav li;i|>|Mii tliat a man 
 wlio lu'loiius to a laiur male liioup. liav-iii^ riiilits ol' mar- 
 riage in a small IrmaN- liioui). will, with his IViciids. 
 rajiturc a initlr liom xhik- larger i:r<)U|» iA' women. This 
 is always ivsistcd. and conliict i-nsues. If tiic capturini; 
 parly succeed the law then holds that the waiiare was tlie 
 final arhitrameni an<I the controversy ends: and if the 
 capturing party fail (he contest nuisl. in like manner, cease. 
 
 Third, ^hlrria,^l' l>v capture develops into a third form. 
 A man heinii entitled to mori' than one woman is chal- 
 lenticd liy a man who. hy the vicissitudes of life and 
 death, is entitled to none, and the ri^ht to a woman is thus 
 decided by wa<i,er of battle l)etween tlm two men immedi- 
 ately interested. This duel is gradually reuulate<l hy law 
 in such a manner tliat fatal results do not ensue, and the 
 conflict ends controver.sy, and thereafter the disputants are, 
 themselves, friends. 
 
 These three forms of marriaiic — by elopement, by cap- 
 ture, and by duel, are uradually reGfulated, and come to 
 be recoj^nized as legal, and so communal marriage is 
 developed into i)olygamic and monogamic marriage; and 
 thus by a long i)rocess the Malayan system of marriage and 
 the ^hdayan system of kinship are developed into the mono- 
 gamic family and kinship. 15ut it usually happens that the 
 .sy.stem of kinship remains longer than the .system of mar- 
 riage, that is. the evolution of language does not keep pace 
 with the evolution of customary law, so we find many tribes 
 having the Malayan .system of kinshij). yet not having the 
 Malayan .sy.stem of marriage, but having jtolygamic mar- 
 riage, and marriage by legal appointment, and with these 
 marriage by elopement, by capture, and by duel. 
 
 In the family law of very early society we discovered that 
 descent is in the female line, that the control of the 
 children belongs to the mother ami hei- consanguineal kin- 
 dred, and that the fatluM- and his kindred have no e«jntrol 
 over the family. The husband is but the guest of the wife 
 an<l her friends. 
 
 During the process of develoj>ment from conununal mar- 
 riage, and the system of kinship involved, to monogamic 
 
78 SATURDAY LK(:TUiU-:S. 
 
 marriage and its system of kinship, a change from descent 
 in the female to descent in the male line occurs, and with 
 this change the control of the family is relegated to the hus- 
 band and father, and rapidly this control becomes absolute, 
 and the patriarchal family is established, in which the father 
 has power of life and death over his wives and children and 
 all their descendants, but gradually this power is regulated 
 by law. 
 
 A method by which descent is changed from the female 
 to the male line, that is, by which mother-right is changed 
 to father-right, appears among the North American Indians. 
 
 When the gentes of which a tribe is composed do not live 
 in a compact village but are spread over a large area of 
 country, so that each gens lives alone separated b}^ miles of 
 distance from the others, the consanguineal relatives of the 
 wives, who are the guardians and masters of the family^ are 
 not present and cannot exercise control. Under such cir- 
 cumstances authority is gradually assumed by the husbands 
 and the line of descent is ultimately changed. There may 
 be other methods by which this change is made. 
 
 PROPERTY LAW. 
 
 Property law is naturally divided into two classes — prop- 
 erty in chattels and property in land. 
 
 To a large extent in primitive society chattel property is 
 communal — owned by classes or clans, but a few articles, 
 such as clothing, ornaments, some implements and utensils 
 are owned by individuals, yet no large accumulation of 
 these things is permitted to the individual. Under these 
 circumstances barter and sale are clogged because individ- 
 uals cannot freely exchange — the consent of two bodies of 
 persons being necessary therefor. As industries are differ- 
 entiated, that is, in the first beginning of the differentiation 
 of labor, articles are exchanged by regulation — the price is 
 always the legal price. Inheritance is by clan, not from 
 parent to child. 
 
 In the progress of social organization communal chattels 
 become personal property. Inheritance by clan gradually 
 becomes inheritance by nearest of kin, and, finally, wills are 
 
OITI.INKS OK S()(lor,0(iV. ~\) 
 
 iuvfiitecl, ami inlicrilaiKi' liv dosigiiatioii »»t" th(> ouiier is 
 (Icvtlopcd. TIr'h with the dcveloitnu'iit of inoncv, barter 
 is changod into sale, and legally lixed price by certain curi- 
 ous processes is changed into competitive price. 
 
 In the most }>rimitive society the land is held by tlie 
 state and used only as a hunting ground, or as the source 
 of vegetal food naturally grown thereon . while the streams 
 and coasts are held as lisheries,- but where rude cultivation 
 begins very small areas are re<leemed, and usually cultivated 
 land is held by tribe or dan. Thus, tenure to cultivated 
 land is communal. 
 
 Communal ownershij) is gradually developed into owner- 
 ship 'in severalty by a variety of processes interesting in 
 themselves, but multifarious and complex, so that the sub- 
 ject may not here be treated at large. 
 
 With tlie change in the character of tenure to property 
 from communal to individual ownership), there grows up a 
 large body of law relating to contract. 
 
 [The consideration of the evolution of corporation law is 
 omitted.] 
 
 GOVERNMENT LAW. 
 
 In lower tribes, government law consists of a few simple 
 rules, regulating the mannerof calling the assembly, the order 
 of deliberation, and the method of announcing the decision^ 
 while the chief or committee executes the law in obedience 
 to a few e([ually simple rules. In higher nations, where 
 the legislature, the ruler and the court appear, government 
 law is greatly elaborated. The legi.slature is organized by 
 processes provided by law, and controlled by organic or con- 
 stitutional law, and a body of [Xirliamentary law is devel- 
 oped regidating its method of proceedure. The executive 
 department is governed by organic law, by law emana- 
 ting from the legislature and i)y a large body of rules origi- 
 nating within itself The judicial department is also con- 
 trolled by organic law, by directory laws emanating from 
 the legislature, and by the rules of the court, involving a 
 complex .system of procedure. From such simplicity to 
 such complexity <lo we arrive l»y the proce.s.ses of evolution. 
 
80 SATUKDAY J.KCTURES. 
 
 CRIMINAL LAW. 
 
 Of crimes resulting from the regulation of the relations of 
 the sexes, marriage within the prescribed group is held to 
 be the most heinous in primitive society. It is never con- 
 doned, never compounded. Infidelit}' after marriage may 
 be condoned or compounded. 
 
 Crimes relating to i)ersonal injuries include murder 
 maiming, and slander. Murder may be punished by the 
 taking of life — not necessarily the life of the murderer, but 
 one of his clan. But murder may be compounded and 
 primitive law fixes the value of individuals according to 
 sex and rank. Murder may be atoned for b}^ substitution, 
 that is, the murdered man may be expatriated, driven from 
 his family, and thus become dead to his own people, and 
 then he may be adopted by the injured famil}- and made to 
 replace the murdered person. Thus the wife of the mur- 
 dered man may adopt the murderer for her husband, and, 
 in so doing, he loses his own name and all relations of kin- 
 ship, and accepts the name and kinship relations of the 
 murdered man. 
 
 Maiming is punished by maiming — " an eye for an eye 
 and a tooth for a tooth " — and maiming may be compounded, 
 and the value of the several parts of the bodv is specified 
 by law. 
 
 Slander is punished the same as the crime alleged in the 
 slander, and slander may be pleaded as a justifying cause 
 for murder and maiming; slander may also be compounded. 
 
 In primitive society by far the largest body of crimes is 
 included under the practice of witchcraft, and this is ter- 
 ribly punished. Abnormal conditions of body, aberrations 
 of mind, and infelicities of temper are all interpreted as ev- 
 idences that the possessors thereof are uncanny j^eople, and 
 to a large extent deafness and blindness before old age from 
 causes that cannot be readily understood, and all loathsome 
 or strange diseases are likely to be attributed to sorcery, so 
 that the practice of witchcraft is everywhere believed in, 
 and witches and wizards are multiplied. Witchcraft is 
 punished by death, but after conviction in the court, ap- 
 
oiri.iNKs or socioi.ixiY. 81 
 
 peal 1«» sui»riiialunil (lf(isii>ii is always ju-rmittod, and tluis 
 we liavo tlir (»riuiii ot" trial by ordeal. 
 
 Ci-iininal law in tin- lii,i,dii.'r stay;(.'s of society need not l)f 
 (.•liamtterized, l>ut certain lines of evolution may be pointed 
 out. The «;roui>s in wliieli marriage is proliibited, Ki^''"K 
 rise to the erime of incest, change from artificial groups to 
 groups cofistituted by degrees of consanguineal kinship, 
 male and female. Thus ela.ssifications by artificial and 
 analogous characteristics give place to ela.ssifications by os- 
 .>;ential and homologic characteristics. CJradually too, in 
 the progress of society, from the earliest to the latest stages, 
 the motive of the murderer is considered, and accidental 
 killing antl maiming are ditierentiated from willful murder 
 and other personal injuries, and such willful injuries being 
 es.sential crimes are, in the higher stages of .society, not com- 
 pounded or atoned for by substitution. 
 
 In the crimes which come from the unlawful acquisition of 
 property the punishment l)y multi[)le restitution found in 
 the lower states is superseded by lines which go to the state 
 and by imprisonment. In the lower stages of society 
 property crimes are thefts ; in the higher stages, property 
 crimes are thefts and frauds. 
 
 In the lower stages of society a large body of the crime 
 is witchcraft, and tins gradually disappears with the progress 
 of culture. It should be noticed that in early society there 
 is a very large body of artificial crimes — especially those 
 relating to .sorcery. 
 
 Again, there is a large body of such artificial crimes re- 
 lating to })ersonal injuries, from the fact that willful injury 
 is not diflerentiated Inuii accidental injury. In the course 
 of evolution such artificial crimes are eliminated from tin- 
 law : on the other hand, by reason of the ever increasing 
 complexity of the relations of men, the classes of real crimes 
 are multiplied. 
 
 There is yet another line of progress. In primitive so- 
 ciety two i»rincii)les are found to exist side by side as funda- 
 mental theories in the administration of the law. 
 
 The first is that ju.stice nuist be dom — that justice which 
 the primitive law recognizes. 
 
82 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 The second, that there mu.st be end to controversy — that 
 peace may prevail and society be not disorganized; and this 
 must be accompHshed though the former faih 
 
 To secure end to controversy, there is resort to two 
 methods — 
 
 First, days or other periods of jubilee are apjjointed at 
 which all crimes, except murder and incest, afe forgiven. 
 In the lowest societies it is a day of jubilee, coming once a 
 year ; in the highest societies, it is a year of jubilee, coming 
 at longer periods. With progressing society this method of 
 ending controversy is adopted in the case of crimes which 
 are manifestly artificial in the state of culture to which the 
 people have arrived, and by this means willful murder is at 
 first differentiated from accidental killing. 
 
 Still another method of terminating controversy and 
 avoiding punishment for artificial crime, is provided for in 
 the establishment of cities of refuge. 
 
 Now" cities of refuge come to be such in a curious manner. 
 In the early history of mankind, cities are states and auto- 
 nomous; one state does not punish the crimes committed in 
 another; and men committing crimes flee from their own 
 states to others, and become incorjoorated therein by adop- 
 tion, and thus secure immunity from punishment. 
 
 When on the first organization of nations, two or more 
 city-states are consolidated and placed under one general 
 government, certain cities often remain as places of refuge, 
 but with an important restriction, namely, that the crimes 
 belong to the classes which have been here described as arti- 
 ficial. 
 
 Tlius days of jubilee and cities of refuge are important 
 agencies in the evolution of criminal law. 
 
 The groAvth of law in its entire course is governed in 
 man}' important respects bj^ the theory of the origin of law 
 and the source of its authority. This subject involves the 
 discussion of the evolution of philosoph}'^ and cannot now 
 be undertaken. It is the highest and most important 
 subject with which the mind of man can grapple, as it in- 
 volves the whole theory of human conduct — the ethics of 
 mankind. 
 
LITTLE KNOWN FACTS A150UT WELL KNOWN ANLMALS. 
 
 Lecture delivered in the National Musenni, Washington, I>. C, April 8, 1SS2, 
 l.vProf. C. V. RILEY. 
 
 Lakiks and ( Jknti.kmkx : 
 
 It lias ali-ca<ly bcfii fxplaiiicil tlial those locliin.'s are iii- 
 triidt'd to i»oi»ularize .science. Major Powell, in opening the 
 course, very well remarked that to treat scientific subjects in 
 such manner that an ordinary audience may clearly under- 
 stand is no ea.sy task. Every trade, every art, every pro- 
 lessinn, has its peculiar vernacular, without which it cannot 
 well V)e understood or communicated. Condensed techni- 
 cality that most directly ajjpeals to tjie intelligence of the 
 s[iecialist is hut a mist to becloud the average understand- 
 ing. Tyndall. in pliN^sical science, Agassiz and lluxley in 
 natural lii>t<iry. Troctor in asti'onomy. and several of our 
 younger American scienti.sts, in various de]iartments, have, 
 it is true, of late years demonstrated that science may be 
 clearly expounded to popular audiences, and that she rather 
 gains in attractiveness by being disroljcd of as much as possi- 
 ble of the technicality with which she is generally enveloped ; 
 but their success was proportionate to their substitution of 
 object lessons, experiments, or illustrations, for the oidinarv 
 tochnical tools of the under.standinir. 
 
 Without further preface I .shall, in order to be intelligible, 
 choose as subjects for my remarks a few animals with which 
 all of you must be more or less familiar and which have com- 
 mon names, and I will endeavor to convey to you Ijy illus- 
 tration the meaning of such uiiconniiou terms as cannot 
 well be avoided. 
 
 To begin, let us go to the ocean, that vasty deep which 
 seems so desolate and yet which teems with curious life 
 maintained only by fierce incessant warfare that makes its 
 bed an o.ssuary, recording, however feebly, the life it had 
 contained. 
 
 Most of you have probably been on the ocean, or have 
 
 S3 
 
84 SATURDAY LECTUKES. 
 
 ■wandered along its shores ; but I will lirst speak of an animal 
 that all are familiar with in anv event. 
 
 THE OYSTER. 
 
 The oyster in this country forms one of the most common 
 and most esteemed articles of diet, and if you wish to get 
 an accurate idea of the vast importance of the oj^ster indus- 
 try, I would refer you to Mr. Ernest Ingersoll's report recently 
 issued from the Census Office. How many persons, while 
 enjoying their oysters — stewed, fried, broiled, scalloped, or 
 from the shell — ever pause to consider anything but the 
 flavor? How many dream that the lifeless and almost 
 shapeless thing so grateful to their palate was at one time 
 a free and active creature, swimming about in the ocean 
 with considerable rapidity ! 
 
 The oyster is older than man. Evolutionists recognize 
 that stability of life-conditions induces permanency of t3'pe, 
 and as the conditions under which the oyster lives must 
 have prevailed at a ver}^ early period of the Earth's history 
 we find that the fossil shells of its ancestors are scattered 
 throughout the world wherever ancient oceans had their 
 shores, while they particularly abound in the cretaceous 
 formation. Prof. White, curator of ^lollusca in this mu- 
 seum, has kindly loaned me some fossil forms which he 
 finds abounding in the cretaceous of the West. The^^ do not 
 differ materially from others found in the INIiocene, and you 
 will see that in all of the hundreds of thousands of years 
 that have passed since then, while, as Prof. Marsh, has so 
 well shown us, the present horse was evolving through the 
 various forms of Eohippus, Orohippus, Miohippus, etc., from 
 a typically five-toed ancestor, quite unlike its present self 
 and common to it and other ungulate mammals ; while other 
 terrestial animals were undergoing like mutations, the 03'ster 
 retained essentiallv the same form. 
 
 However much they ma}' differ in size, appearance and 
 flavor, the present 03' sters of North America are all referable 
 to one species, scientificall}'' known as Ostrea virginiana Lister, 
 
FACTS Al'.ol r \\"i;i.l. KNUW.N ANIMALS. 
 
 85 
 
 while tlial of luiropr is s|KrirRially (lilUivul and known as 
 Ostrea edulis L. 
 
 Fig. I. — Gettealogy of the hofsc : /^Orohippus; ,-, Miohippii^; </, Pliohippus ; 
 (T, Equus. (After Marsh. ) 
 
 The oyster has generally been considered lieiinaphrodite, 
 /. (.. eonihining both sexes in one individual ; and the 
 young are said to be at first hatched and then [)rotected inside 
 the mantle cavity of the i)areut. Though this may be true 
 of the Euro])ean species, Dr. \V. K. Brooks, of Johns Hop- 
 kins Tniversity, by recent admirable researches, has clearly 
 shown that our American oyster has tlic sexes separated 
 antl that the young are hatched in the free water, and have 
 to take their chance without parental care or protection. 
 Independence is of quicker development in this free coun- 
 try as well in the oyster as in man. Without going into 
 anatomical details I would state that what we know as the 
 " fat " of the oyster forms the reproductive part. The milky 
 llui<l fidin it, in a gravid female, when spread out in a thin 
 tilm will ^how innumerable white ovarian specs, even with- 
 out the aid of a microscope ; while that iVom a well-devel- 
 oj)ed male is more homogeneous and moic adhesive. This 
 tluid is exj)elled in the water at the bree<]ing season, and 
 the egg, once adrift, must meet a male cell or perish. The 
 average number of (»va produced by a single female is per- 
 haps ten millions, and a large sized cme may produce as 
 many as sixty millions. So you can imagine at what an 
 immense rate they would multiply did they not, in the egg 
 state, form the principal food of hundreds of other creatures; 
 and had they not, in all stages of growth, numerous ene- 
 mies. 
 
 l*robablv not w\^^xv than one in -cveral millions reaches 
 
86 
 
 SATUKDAY Lia.'TURES. 
 
 maturity. In nature it is u fundamental principle that the 
 individual should be sacrificed without limit to secure the 
 good and perpetuity of the race, and the principle might be 
 kept in mind to advantage by those who discuss social prob- 
 lems that concern man. 
 
 Fig. 2. — Yoim<^ of American Oyster: A, surface view of "spat" at first swim- 
 ming stage, with' external opening [d) and cilia; B, do., somewhat older, show- 
 ing beginning of shell (s) ; C, dorsal view of same still older, showing shell {s) much 
 increased in size — all highl)- magnified. (After Ijrooks.) 
 
 But to our young oyster. Here you have its figure (2) — a 
 soft, irregularly-shaped object, with numerous feelers or cilia,' 
 by rotating which it swims about quite rapidly. These 
 young are called "spats" or "spawn" by fishermen, and they 
 swim about till they come in contact with some submarine 
 body, on which they settle, when they are known as " blis- 
 ters." They will adhere to any hard, clean object, but not 
 to mud or dirt. No sooner is the young oyster fixed than 
 it begins to elaborate its shell, which is composed chiefly of 
 carbonate of lime. The food of the oyster consists of va- 
 rious minute creatures, such as diatoms, rhizopods, and in- 
 fusoria, wliicli abound everywhere in water or in mud at 
 the bottom thereof. 
 
 You would hardly suppose that this lymphatic mass was 
 endowed with extreme nervous sensibilitv. Yet it will close 
 
FACTS AIJOIT WKI.I. KNOWN ANIMALS?. > ( 
 
 its slull at tilt" sli«;lit(.'st vil>rati(»ii ami dies t'loiii a sudden 
 jar, so that a loud tliundti-<la|i will kill, instantly, a whole 
 hoat loa<l. TiuTe is nood evidence that oysters attain the 
 a.ue ot" thirty years, and no one knows how nnich l(jnii;er they 
 may live. 
 
 Knkmiks. — Prolilieaey usually decreases as we descend the 
 scale of organic life, and yet, as Darwin has forcil)ly re- 
 nuirke^, oven tlie slow-l»reedinn- elei)iiant, if left unchecked, 
 wt)uld soon i)eoi>le the earth to the exclusion of all other 
 animals. Hence all creatures have enemies of one kind or 
 another — checks to their undue multiplication. The oyster 
 has many such. In the free swinnnini; stage the young are 
 devoured by all sorts of animals, and even after it becomes 
 fixed it is preyed upon by many, while others are truly para- 
 sitic, boring or drilling holes through its shell. 
 
 Certain sea-worms, (Branch Annelides,) and even a boring- 
 sponge, ( Cliona mlpJiurea Verrill,) help to perforate the shell, 
 while small boring univalve mollusks belonging to its own 
 Branch do the same thing. They are known in common 
 laniiuace as '" drills" or " borers." and thev work l)v means of 
 a tongue ribbon, which is su[iplied with flinty teeth. The 
 large spiral mollusks known l»y the names of '"winkle'" and 
 *' conch," of which 1 exhibit an example, })rey upon the 
 oyster and crush its shell by sheer muscular power of the 
 large '' foot," by which they grasp it. The commonest of 
 these is Fiilgur carica. They all have an interesting life-his- 
 tory of their own, but I have time only to show you the curi- 
 ous egg-cases of the last named species, which many of you 
 have doubtless found cast upon the beach, strung together 
 as they are in a series of itarchment-like disks, diminishing 
 in size toward either end of the string. 
 
 There is one enemy of the oyster, however, which, on 
 account of its great destructiveness and its universal occur- 
 rence along the seashore, requires more than a pa.ssing 
 notice. 1 allude to the — 
 
 .STAK-IISII. 
 
 Here you have one of these singular creatures, a mere 
 skeleton of its former plump .self, when filled with water. 
 
88 
 
 SATIKDAV I,K( '1 IJJKS. 
 
 but still .showing the general character of the animal with 
 its five fingers or rays, each having, in a median groove 
 beneath, a number of fleshy, disc-tipped tubes, or ambulacrse, 
 ^vhich perform the function of feet, and with its central 
 mouth, a mere circular opening. The common star-fish of 
 the Atlantic coast {listerias vulgaris Htimpson,'^ fig. 3) is the 
 
 Si 
 
 
 
 Fir 
 
 Asfcrias 77i/<''i7r/s 
 
 After A. Airassiz.'! 
 
 most destructive to the oyster, and may be taken as a type of 
 the radiate animals. The sexes are separate, and the ova are 
 fertilized in the water just as are those of the oyster. The 
 analog}^ goes yet further, for the young starfish bears no 
 resemblance to its parent, and swims about by means of ro- 
 tating cilia. At first it is a mere spherical mass, and then be- 
 comes bilateral. This first stage is known as the Bvpinnaria 
 stage, (Fig. 4, A, B, C,) and as it grows older a series of arms 
 develop until Ave have what is know^n as the Brachiolaria 
 stage, (Fig. 4 D,) a name given to it when its real character was 
 unknown, a bit of zoological ignorance which, upon com- 
 paring these figures with the adult, you will agree with me 
 was quite excusable. Those who are curious to learn more 
 
 Asteracd7ithion pallidiis A. Agassiz. 
 
FACTS AlJori" \Vi:i.I. KNOWN ANIMALS. 
 
 SO 
 
 of tlie woiuUirul tiaii>rorinatious wliidi this llnirJtloUwia \n\- 
 dergocs should lonsuU the niagnilicont works of Alexander 
 Agassi/, on the subjert. 1 have only time to state that the 
 star-fish i)n)i)er develops on the ah-oral end of the larva, 
 whieh it linally absorbs, and that the adult star-Hsh, with 
 its long arms, is not developed for two or more years, the 
 form meanwhile remaining eonieal or disc-shaped. 
 
 Fig. 4. — Diagramatic view of young Starfish : A, /»', C, Bipinnaria stage in 
 different ages; D, Braciiioiaria stage. (The black lines represent ciliated bands; 
 the shading the space between the pnv-oral and post-oral bands ; w, the mouth; 
 an the anus. (After Miiller. ) 
 
 The star-fish swallows the younger oysters shell and all. 
 and after the soft parts are absorbed the shell is cast out of 
 the stomach by eversion : but older oysters are not so easily 
 managed. To tackle one the. star-fish grasps it in his five 
 arms and then little by little breaks ofl' the margin of the 
 shell 1>y the muscles at the entrance of his stomach, and 
 when a sufHcient opening has been efiected the distensile 
 mouth is intruded until tin- «;oft oyster is seized and T-on- 
 sumcd. 
 
 Thestar-fishmust live to an old age, as, according to Agassiz, 
 .some 14 years are required for full growth and development. 
 Its ability to reproduce lost members is well known. Certain 
 species like the Ophiurans, or brittle-stars, have, in fact, a 
 faculty for dismemberment which is truly marvelous, for 
 they break their limbs to pieces when irritated. The rays, 
 when broken, are renewed, but the stomach, if severed, or 
 
90 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 divided, cannot be renewed. The idea, therefore, that oyster 
 fishermen, in cuttino; up the star-fish, "make two or three 
 star-fishes out of each captive," is evidently erroneous. This 
 insensibility to mutilation is common to a large number of 
 the lower animals found on the coast. The sea-anemones 
 {Actinozoa) accomplish even that mathematical paradox, 
 multiplication by division; for when they move from one 
 part of a rock to another, they often leave fragments of them- 
 selves behind, and these fragments soon become smooth and 
 spherical, and are transformed to perfect, though minute, 
 anemones. The flat-worms {Eurylepta) offer a still more 
 remarkable instance. When cut to pieces, each piece not 
 only continues moving in the direction in which the whole 
 animal was moving at the time, but gradually becomes com- 
 plete in all its parts — a veritable " chip of the old block." It 
 is related that two polyps often attempt to swallow the same 
 pre}^, and when this is not easily severed the largest polyp 
 gapes and swallows his antagonist. This last seems, how- 
 ever, to be the gainer by the operation, as, after lying in the 
 conqueror's body for an hour or so it issues unhurt and often 
 in possession of the, original bone of contention. 
 
 THE CRAB. 
 
 Next to the 03^ster few animals are more often on the tables 
 of the Washingtonian than the crab, and I will ask you to 
 bear his form in mind — whether as vou have seen him 
 scampering along sidewise on the sand or dished up " dev- 
 iled," or in "soft shell;" while I rapidly trace his develop- 
 ment. The crab undergoes such changes that it has been 
 known by different names at different periods of its growth, 
 and has been placed in distinct orders. The species most 
 used here and southward is known as Callinedes hastatus, but 
 as its early history has not 3^et, so far as I am aware, been 
 critically studied, I will take the common shore crab {Can- 
 cer irroratus) as an example, for it is closely allied to the 
 European table crab. Here we have a picture of the newly- 
 hatched or Zoea form. (Fig. 5.) You will agree with me 
 that in this singular, long-bodied, long-spincd affair there 
 
I'ACTS ABOUT WKI.I. KNOWN ANIMALS. 
 
 01 
 
 is littlr 1(1 rceall tlif * rcatiuc >(> familiar t«i you, tlioii^ili the 
 slnu'luii' i> far Ix'ttrr ailaptrd In sui nnni ng IVeely in tlic 
 
 Fiir. 5. — ZoeaofCrab. (After Smith.) 
 
 Fig. 6. — Meg.ilops of Crali. (After Smith.) 
 
92 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 water. In some crabs belonging to the genus Porcellana 
 the anterior spine or rostrum is supple, and many times 
 longer than the body. After a few months the form changes 
 material!}', the month-parts, which before were swimming 
 legs, are now fitted for i)reparing the food, and we have 
 what is known as the Megalops condition, which looks much 
 like a lobster, but in which the mature crab is sufficiently 
 foreshadowed. (Fig. 6.) 
 
 Let us now leave the ocean and talk of a few of the com- 
 moner animals inland. 
 
 THE FROG. 
 
 The common frog, {Rana temporaria,) which occurs both 
 here and in Europe, passes the winter buried in the mud of 
 stagnant waters, in a torpid condition; aye, and it may even 
 be frozen till it is so brittle as to chink, without the loss of 
 life. The frogs are now issuing forth to join with their pe- 
 culiar croak in the zoological concert of spring. The ac- 
 companying figures will aid us in understanding the trans- 
 formations of the frog. They are poor coj)ies of the admira- 
 ble originals of Roesel von Rosenhof, generally credited to 
 Mivart, because this last author failed to credit them to the 
 proper source. Hatching from dark globular eggs enclosed 
 in a transparent, gelatinous fluid which agglutinates them 
 and enables them to float in masses on the water, the young 
 tadpole congregates under the leaf of some aquatic plant, 
 where it feeds by suction. It has prominent external 
 branchiae, and is in every respect admirabl}^ adapted to 
 aquatic life. The legs are firsl seen as mere buds, the front 
 pair hidden under the 02:)ercular membrane. As they de- 
 velop the gills are absorbed ; the mouth loses its suctorial 
 character; the e3'es, instead of being concealed, become ex- 
 posed, and the front limbs are uncovered. The tail is next 
 gradually absorbed, and the animal is now truly amphibi- 
 ous, for the lungs, Avhich have replaced the gills, enables it 
 to live out of water. From a vegetarian it has become car- 
 nivorous and now comes on land in search of worms and 
 
FACTS Aiiorr \\i:i.i. known ani.maf.s. 
 
 !tr, 
 
 insects, and in such niinihcis in (lanip wratlier as to give 
 rise to the Ix'Hof, still jK)|)ulaily adhered (u in many sections, 
 that it has rained IVotis. 
 
 Fig. 7. Tiansformations of frog : a, newly hatched tadpoles ; b, >ame enlarged, 
 showing extemil gills ; c, d, e, later stages, the gills enclosed by the opercular 
 membrane ; /, stage with hind limbs developing; g, after molt with both pairs of 
 limbs showing; //, partial atrophy of tail ; »', full formed young frog. (.After Rosel. ) 
 
 They iilun.i;e into the nuid auain at the approach of 
 winter, hut next year and each successive year, go through 
 a performance of which many of you are not prohahly 
 aware. They cast off their old frozen skin each si>ring,and 
 \\\\< is the way in whicli it is done, as related by an eye wit- 
 ni'ss. Let us imagine we arc on the edge of some swamp 
 and are watching some large fellow who is ahout to undress 
 himself. Like the rest of his hretlncn lie has had sudi a 
 shamefully long .sleep, that on awakening he feels dull and 
 
94 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 stifif, and does not like to appear in society till he has thrown 
 off his old worn-out garments and put on new ones, never 
 hesitating about the fashion, but following the pattern of 
 his ancestors for generation upon generation. He begins by 
 pressing his elbows hard against his sides, and rubbing 
 downwards ; he keeps on until the skin on his back bursts, 
 and lie then works it into folds on his sides and hips. Now, 
 grasping one hind leg with Ijoth his hands, he hauls off one 
 leg of his pants, and there I almost before 3'ou can count 
 three, the other goes in the same wax. He now takes the 
 cast-off cuticle before him, between his legs, into his mouth 
 and swallows it, and even while it yet descends the gullet, 
 he has torn off the skin underneath, and brought it to his 
 fore legs or hands, and grasping one of these with the other, 
 by considerable pulling he strips them, just as we should 
 strip off a shirt, and by a single motion of the head he 
 draws the skin from the neck and swallows the whole with 
 a c-r-r-r-oak of satisfaction, for he knows full well, tliat such 
 a dainty morsel he can get but once a year. 
 
 ]Most frogs and toads go through the tadijole development 
 in the water, but in some terrestrial species where marshes 
 are scarce or lacking, the development takes place either 
 before birth or in a marsupium or sac on the back of the 
 parent. The tadpole state may also be indefinitely pro- 
 longed, as Jeffries Wyman kept one, of the bullfrog, for seven 
 years, or many more than the natural period of larval ex- 
 istence. The frog is a true vertebrate, belonging to the same 
 great Branch of the animal kingdom as man. Yet the 
 changes it undergoes after birth are as remarkable as are 
 those we have already noticed in the lower Branches. In 
 some allied animals, indeed, development is permanently 
 arrested in the tadpole .state, and I will, before passing to a 
 few well-known insects, briefly refer you to a rather re- 
 markable animal which occurs in our brackisli Western lakes 
 of high altitudes. I refer to it in order to show how greatly 
 form is influenced by conditions. Here we have figures of 
 it. (Fig. 8.) It was described b}' Prof Baird as Siredon 
 lichenoides, and, as you will note, has mauv of the character- 
 
FACTS AP.OIT \VK[,I. KNOWN ANIMALS. 
 
 96 
 
 istics of the tadpole of the frog, its external brancliia) and 
 nioinl)ranous back ami tail, well fittini!; it for aquatic life. 
 Now this Siredon will either retain this larval form iM-rma- 
 
 Fig. S. Amblysfoma mavortium Baird : a, larval form or SireJon lichenoides 
 Baird, side view; b, do., dorsal view ; c, mature form partially developed and cor- 
 responding lo ./. inncnlatiiin Hall. — all one-half natural size. (After Marsh.) 
 
 nently and perpetuate itself, or else may become transformed 
 into a perfect salamander, under wliicli form it has been re- 
 ferred to another ^enus and described as Amhli/sloma mavor- 
 (inm. Not only are the dorsal and caudal membranes and 
 the external branchitc absorbed in the process, but the color 
 • •hanges, the size decreases, and profound changes take i)lace 
 in the external and bony structure. An allied sj)ecics from 
 the table-lands of Mexico, normally remains and breeds in 
 the Siredon state, but will sometimes cluinge, especially if 
 
96 SATl^JJDAY LECTURES. 
 
 brought uiuler chaii^ed iiiiluciK-cs. Tlic Siredon form of 
 this hist is known by the rather un})r()UOunceable name of 
 Axolotl, or Awahgolotel as the Mexicans speak it, and the 
 mature form is Amblystoma mexicanum. 
 
 It greatly resembles the species first mentioned, and since 
 this has been referred b}' different authors to three or four 
 difibrent genera and varies so as to have had at least half a 
 dozen specific names given to it, we may pretty safely as- 
 sume that the INIexican form is also but a well-marked va- 
 riety. Most re})tiles, and especially batrachians, vary much 
 in color, and have the power in greater or less degree of 
 simulating that of their surroundings. Tlie common tree- 
 toad is a familiar example ; so that the discussion about 
 species may sometimes be likened to the quarrel of the 
 knights who were looking on different sides of the same 
 shield. Before leaving the Siredon I desire to say, in justice 
 to the able and beloved director of this Museum, that 
 already in 1849, or long before their specific connection had 
 been established by experiment, he correctly inferred that 
 Siredon would prove to be the larva of Amblystoma. 
 
 THE HOUSE-FLY. 
 
 The most persistent companion of man is, perhaps, the 
 house-fly. It has followed him everywhere in his own con- 
 veyances, and is found, so far as we know, wherever civilized 
 man has established himself. Our American house-fl}^ was 
 described as a distinct species {Musca harpyia) by Harris, 
 but Packard found it, after critical comparisons, specifically 
 identical with the Linnaeali species. Already, with the 
 growing warmth of this beautiful spring month, the fly be- 
 gins to show its familiar form in our houses, and to inspire 
 the careful housekeeper with feelings anything but agreeable. 
 Whence comes it ? How has it passed the winter ? Such 
 questions are often asked. Let us answer them. Not all v/ho 
 have watched the fly poising or darting noiselessly and 
 gracefully in mid-air, or deftly making its toilet, have real- 
 ized that at one time it was a crawling maggot, as unlike its 
 perfect self as two things well can be. The eggs are about 
 
1 ACTS ABOUT WKLL KNOWN ANIMALS. ".»< 
 
 tour-liuiulri'dtlis of an inch loni;, one-fourth as wide, (hill 
 white in i-olor, and pitted with elongate, hexagonal dcpres- 
 sjions — mere whitish sspees to the unaided eye, laid in little 
 agglutinated i)ilcs in warm manure or in deeom[>osmg vege- 
 tation, especially tliat about our stables and barn-yards. 
 From SO to 100 are laid at a time, and probably at three or 
 four dill'erent intervals by the same fly, though on this point 
 we have no I'xai-t data. Within 24 bonis, in summer, they 
 hatch into footless maggots, which, after rioting in filth till 
 their tender skins seem ready to burst from repletion be- 
 come full-fed in less than a week and, descending into the 
 earth or sheltering under some old board, contract to brown, 
 shining objects, rounded at both ends, and technically 
 known as puparia. Within the darkness of this hardened 
 skin piofoiin<l changes rapidly take place, and the insect 
 passes through the pupa to the perfect state, and finally, in 
 about five days, liie anterior end of the puparium is j)U.shed 
 oil and the fly quickly crawls out. At first its parts are 
 pale and soft, and its wings arc crum[)led and useless, but 
 these soon expand, and suddenly, without practice or teach- 
 ing the new-fledged fly wings its way to your table to mock 
 your displeasure — to share your rejiast. The length of time 
 required from hatching to maturity varies with the season 
 and temperature, but will not exceed ten days in midsum- 
 mer, while the life of the perfect fly lasts about three weeks 
 at the same .season. As cold weather approaches j>ropaga- 
 tion ceases, and the older flies perish. A few of ihe more 
 vigorous females, however, retreat to some nook or cranny 
 where, in a state of torpor, they survive till the ensuing 
 sea.son — links 'twixt the summer gone by and to come. The 
 in.sect may also hibernate in the pupa state in the ground, 
 as I have fouinl the jmparia quite late in the fall. In 
 rooms kept continuous!}- warm, or in more .southern lati- 
 tudes, the fly remains active all winter, and our palace 
 sleeping-cars bring them daily to us from Florida during 
 the coldest months of the year. 
 
 I have no figures of the house-fly in its difierent states 
 
98 
 
 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 with me, but they bear a general resemblance to those of 
 the flesh-fly. (Fig. 9.) 
 
 Fig- 9- — Sarcophaga san-accnia- : a, larva, b, pupa, c, fly, the hair lines show, 
 ing average natural lengths ; d, enlarged head and first joint of larva, showing 
 curved hooks, lower lip {g), and prothoracic spiracles; e, end of body of same- 
 showing stigmata (/) and pro-legs and vent ; h, tarsal claws of fly with protect- 
 ing pads ; /, antenna of same — enlarged. (After Riley.) 
 
 You will notice that the larva tapers toward the head, 
 which is retractile, and armed with two black hooks. It is 
 blunt and truncate behind, and breathes principally through 
 a pair of spiracles situated on this truncate, anal end. 
 
 AVhilo I must pass over the complicated mouth, the stereo- 
 scopic eyes, with their 4,000 facets, and many curious details 
 in the structure of the fly, it will be well to dissipate two 
 quite widespread popular errors in regard to it. Most of 
 the old authors tell us that the fly walks on the ceiling, and 
 in other Avays defies the laws of gravitation, by suction. You 
 will notice from the figure of the foot of the flesh-fly (and 
 that of the house-fly has a similar construction) that it ends 
 in a pair of strong hooks and a pair of pads or cushions, 
 technically termed pulvilli. These were supposed to act as 
 sucking disks by creating a vacuum, on the same principle 
 as does the piece of circular leather used by school-bo3's for 
 a similar purpose. In reality, how^ever, these pads are beset 
 with innumerable knobbed hairs, which are kept moist by 
 an exuding fluid. In short, we have here a repetition, after 
 a fashion, of the ambulacra! suckers of the star-fish. The 
 smoother the surface, the greater the adhesion of the digituli. 
 This you will at once understand by gently pressing or 
 drawing the moist finger ends over a glass window, or other 
 polished surface. The adhesion is very sensible, whereas, 
 
FACTS AllOlT WKI.r. KNuWN ANIMALS. !IU 
 
 on a rougher siirfact' likr rlotli or ;i wlatewashod wall, tlicrc 
 will l>e nono.* On such .surlact's the tarsal hooks, by catch- 
 ing in the minutest irregularity, take the ]»laee of the [nvh 
 in assisting the fly's locomotion. 
 
 The other })revalent fallacy is that the smaller flies often 
 noticed in our houses are young flies. In the fly, as in all 
 other insects, real growth takes ])lace only in the larva state. 
 Tt ends with the issuing from the pupa and the expansion 
 of the wings. Individuals diiler in size at maturity just as 
 they do in man and other animals, and various other species 
 of Diptera are often associate<l witli the house-fly, but they 
 arc all full-grown. 
 
 A word as to the fly's parasites. It has several. Probably 
 the most common is the microscopic plant or fungus, {Empma 
 musciv,) which so often sheds a misty halo around it in 
 autumn, and fastens it securely to the window pane; but 
 the title to these remarks excludes its consideration in de- 
 tail. A true internal parasite has been found in the pupar- 
 ium by Dr. Packard, the charactgr of which puzzled him, 
 but which is pi'obably a rove-beetle (family Stapliylinidse) 
 and probably of the genus Oleochara, a species of which is 
 known to be parasitic on an allied genus ( Anthomyia) of 
 flies. The parasite most noticed, however, is the little red 
 mite which so often attaches to it near the base of the wings. 
 Here vou have it when first hatched, (Fig. 10,) and in the 
 
 Fig. lo. — Larva of Trotnbidiutn mtiscarum. (After Riley. ) 
 
 six-legged or Astoma form, having been referred to that 
 genus before its larval character was understood. After 
 attaching to the fly its body swells and its legs get relatively 
 
 * Prof. E. D. Cope mentions that on this principle, even the Amblystoma wc 
 have just talked about climbs a plate of glass with great ease by adhering closely 
 to its surface with the moist abdomen. 
 
100 
 
 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 smaller until we have a mere bag, which finally I'alls to the 
 ground, and there lies helpless for a few weeks, during which 
 the mature form which I have described as Tromhidium 
 muscarum, and which has eight instead of six legs, develops 
 under the Astoma skin. The spherical red eggs are laid in 
 loose masses in the ground, and the young Astoma, upon 
 hatching, crawls upon the first fly which offers it an op- 
 portunity. 
 
 To show the transformations I exhibit illustrations (Fig. 
 
 Fig. II. — Trombidium locustartim. — ^r, mature larva when about to leave the 
 wing of a locust ; ^, pupa; c, male adult when just from the pupa; d, female — 
 the natural sizes indicated to the right; e, palpal claw and thumb ; /, pedal claws; 
 g, one of the barbed hairs ; h, the striations on the larval skin. (After Riley.) 
 
 11) of an allied species ( Trombidium locustaruvi Riley,) which 
 similarly affects locusts or "grasshoppers," and I would 
 parenthetically remark that man is as much subject to an- 
 noyance from these red mites as are the fly and locust ; for 
 the irritating pustules so common in late summer and 
 autumn on the limbs of persons who walk in rank grass or 
 along rivers are caused bj^ a minute red mite, {Leptus irritans 
 Riley,) popularly denominated " Jigger," and evidently the 
 six-legged larva of some eight-legged form not yet ascer- 
 tained. 
 
 PARASITISM. 
 
 This external parasitism in insects is, however, less remark- 
 able than that which is internal. 
 
 If I should tell you that I know certain kinds of birds 
 
FACTS Ar.di r \vi:i,i, knuwn am.maf.s. 
 
 Hil 
 
 wliirli ltor(' holts into lliu bodies ol" cuws, slicep, aii<l other 
 lu'rbivorous aiiinuils, and tlicri'iii deposit eggs; that those 
 eggs luituli into li/.ards ; that these li/.anis grow fat at tlie 
 exi)ense of the sheep, but without ininiediately killing them; 
 that, in faet, a sheep so affected could live without eating for 
 years, where otherwise it wouhl die in a few days without 
 tbod ; that the li/.ards in time leave the body of the sheci)in 
 nundjcrs and Imii'ow into the ground: and that, linally, 
 after the lapse of an indi'tinite })eriod, they issue forth in 
 tile Ibrm of birds like their parents, wh}-, not one of you 
 would believe nio ! But, it is only by drawing some such 
 striking picture that I can hope to convey to you any cor- 
 rect iilea of the remarkable facts of parasitism in the insect 
 world. Most insects have primary parasites, but in some 
 eases these are themselves prej'ed on by secondary parasites 
 and these again by tertiary ones ; so that a worm may be a 
 })eripatetic banqueting hall for several other insects at the 
 same time. 
 
 To be more explicit and exact, let us take a familiar ex- 
 ample. The typical female Ichneumon-fly has something 
 
 Fig. 12. — Pinipla annulipis : Outline side view of female .ami of male abdo- 
 men. (After Riley. ) 
 
 of tins form which I will draw on the blackboard, (see 
 Fig. 12, Pimpla annnlipis Br.,) its chief charticteristics be- 
 ing the long ovipositor with the two sheath.s, }>ossessed by 
 the female but not by the male. 
 
102 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 Let US take for examples the large Potato- worm or any 
 other Sphinx larva with the horn near its end (which seems 
 to have no other purpose that to frighten superstitious 
 people who erroneously believe it to be capable of inflicting 
 a })oisonous sting,) and one of its commoner Ichneumon para- 
 sites belonging to the genus Microgaster. Our female Ichneu- 
 mon-fly hovers about the worm while it quietly feeds. Set- 
 tling finally on its back, generally behind the head where 
 its mouth cannot reach her, she deliberately thrusts her ovi- 
 positor through the skin of her victim and oviposits within 
 its body. Ilcr young are soft, whitish larvEe which, ujDon is- 
 suing, spin upon the poor worm's back a number of egg- 
 shaped cocoons (Figure 13,) often mistaken for eggs by the 
 
 Fig. 13. — Shrunken larva of Cha'rocampa pampinatrix, with Microgaster co- 
 coons. (After Harris.) 
 
 uninitiated. Within these the transformations are under- 
 gone, and the perfect flies cut a lid through the top of the 
 cocoon and escai)e, sometimes while yet their victim shows 
 faint signs of life. Now such a parasitized worm will drag 
 out a paralyzed kind of existence without food for several 
 wrecks, where, normally, it would starve to death in as many 
 days, and the parasite may, in its turn, be infested with a 
 secondary species, etc., as above stated. 
 
 THE MOSQUITO. 
 
 There is another little lady whom you have fed and re- 
 galed at your own expense, and very unwillingly withal. 
 She is by no means modest, but steals unbidden into your 
 room. She generally heralds her coming with song that is 
 anything but soothing, and she is so persevering that even 
 the strong " bars " with which you protect j'-ourself are not 
 proof against her persecutions. You have all, no doubt, at 
 times exercised a little strategy with the mosquito, and 
 
FACTS ABOUT WKLF. KNOWN ANIMALS. 
 
 103 
 
 when the little torment was fairly settled, made a dexterous 
 movement of the hand, and with a slap exclaimed, "I've 
 got him this time!" No such thing; you never got him in 
 your life, but probably have often succeeded in crushing 
 her, for the male mosquito is a considerate gentleman. In 
 lieu of the piercer of the female he is decorated with u 
 beautiful plume, and has such a love of home that hesel.dom 
 sallies forth from the swamp where he was born, but con- 
 tents himself with vegetal rather than animal juices. (I 
 do not wish to make any reflections, but in the insect world 
 it is always the females which sting !) 
 
 But to its history. The mosquito was not born a winged 
 fly, and if you will examine a tub of rainwater that has 
 stood uncovered and unmolested for a week or more durinir 
 any of the summer months, you may see it in all its vari- 
 ous forms. You may sec the female supporting herself on 
 the water with her four front legs and crossing the hinder 
 pair like the letter X. In this support made by the legs 
 she is depositing her eggs, which are just perceptible to the 
 naked eye. By the aid of a lens they are seen to be glued to- 
 gether so as to form a little boat, which knocks about on the 
 water till the young hatch. And what hatches from them? 
 Why those very wrigglers (Fig. 14,/) which jerk away every 
 
 Fig. \i,.—Culex pipiens : a, male; b, head r.f fcmaU- : ,-. j'»im^ of male an- 
 tenna ; /. lana ; g, pupa— all enlai^cd. r After Wc^twood. ^ 
 
 time you touch the water. They are destined to live a 
 certain period in this watery element, and cannot take 
 
104 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 wing and join their parent in her war song and house in- 
 vasions, till, after throwing oft" the skin a few times, they 
 have become full-grown, and then with another molt have 
 changed to what are technically known as pupae {g) In 
 this state they are no longer able to do anything but 
 patiently float with their humped backs at the surface of 
 the water, or to swim by jerks of the tail beneath, after the 
 fashion of a shrimp or a lobster. At the end of about three 
 days they stretch out on the surface like a boat, the mosquito 
 bursts the skin and gradually works out of the shell which 
 supports here during the critical operation. She rests with 
 her long legs on the surface for a few moments, till the 
 wings have expanded and become dry, and then flies away 
 to fulfill her mission, a totally different animal to what she 
 was a few hours before, and no more able to live in the 
 water as she did then, than are any of us ! Is it not 
 wonderful that such profound changes should take place in 
 so short a time? Even the bird has to learn to use its 
 wings by practice and slow degrees, but the mosquito uses 
 her newly acquired organs of flight to perfection from the 
 start ! 
 
 In this transformation from an aquatic to an aerial life, 
 the mosquito has first breathed from a long tube near the 
 tail ; next through two tubular horns near the head, and, 
 finally, through a series of spiracles along the wdiole body. 
 
 From a calculation, made by Baron Latour, the mosquito 
 in flight vibrates its wings 3,000 times in a minute — a 
 rapidity of motion hardly conceivable. 
 
 Those who have traveled in summer on the lower ]\Iissis- 
 sippi or in the Northwest have experienced the torment 
 which these frail flies can inflict : at times they drive every- 
 one from the boat, and trains can sometimes only be run 
 with comfort on the Northern Pacific by keeping a smudge 
 in the baggage car and the doors of all the coaches open to 
 the fumes. 
 
 The bravest man on the fleetest horse dares not cross 
 some of the more rank and dank prairies of Northern Min- 
 nesota in June. It is well known that Father De Smit once 
 
FACTS AIJOIT \Vi;i.l, KNitWN ANIMALS. 1<).") 
 
 nearly ilit'd tVoni iii(>s(|uitt> hilcs. his (K'sh luino- so swollen 
 around the arms and l(\i>s that, it literally hurst. 
 
 Mosquitoes have i-iuscmI the rout of armies and the de- 
 sertion of eities, and 1 would eounsel all wiio desire to learn 
 how tlu' hum of an iusignilicant ynat may insj>ir(> more 
 terror than the roar of the lion, to consult Kirhy and 
 Spenee's history of the former. 
 
 There are many species of the mosquito, all ditieriiii; 
 somewhat in habit aud season of a[»i)earance, and doubtless 
 also in mode of development, which, in fact, has been studied 
 in but few. They oicur everywhere, whether in the torrid 
 or the arctic /one. and are nowhere more numerous or tor- 
 mentiuii; than in Lajiland. 
 
 lioth the fly and the mosquito are great scavengers in 
 infancy, the one purifying the air we breathe, the other the 
 water we drink. They {)erform, in this wa}', an indirect 
 service to man which lew, perhaps, appreciate, and wliieh 
 somewhat at<^nes for their ba<l habits in maturity. 
 
 II 11". i;.\Ki"iI-\V()RM. 
 
 The next well-kn(jwn animal that 1 shall speak of is the 
 earth-worm. There are several species in dill'erent parts of 
 the world and I am not aware that any one has critically 
 determined our connnon North America species to be the 
 Lnnibricns tcrrc.<itris of Euroj)e, which, however, we will, as 
 others have done, assume it to be. It belongs to the great 
 branch ]Wriics, of which it is typical, and its general habits 
 are too well-known to need detailing. If you have ever had 
 occasion to catch worms for some pet bird or for baiting pur- 
 poses, you have learned that this creature is by no means .so 
 sluggish and weak as is conunonly supposed, for it can re- 
 treat within its burrow like a Hash and can .secure such a 
 tirm hold therein as to abnost defy extraction intact. Place 
 one u[)on your hand and its movements will cau.^e a slight 
 tingling roughness. Examine the l)ody with a lens and von 
 di.scover that each of the numerous rings or joints hito which 
 it is divi<led is furnisjied with four i)airs of minute tractile 
 hooks or points which take the place of legs and by means 
 of which its movements are aided, and it is enabled to hold 
 
106 
 
 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 to its burrow as above indicated. The earth-worm is her- 
 maphrodite. Yet the junction of two individuals is neces- 
 sary to liberate and fructify the ova. At certain seasons a 
 few of the rings, generally near the anterior third of the 
 body, swell so as to look much like a healing wound. Two 
 individuals join at these swollen parts, a glutinous secretion 
 aiding the conjugation. 
 
 Fig. 15. — Lumbricus terrestris : a, worm with pale, swollen rings; b, two 
 conjoined; c, egg, natural size; d, do., enlarged, (after Curtis;) e, a few rings; 
 f, transverse section, showing spines, enlarged. (After Samuelson.) 
 
 The young worm is born much like its parent, either free or 
 in a cyst-like covering, which subsequently bursts-r-the 
 nature of the soil having apparently something to do with 
 the difference. In some species a number of eggs are enclosed 
 in a single capsule. The worm, though living in the earth, 
 is really semi-aquatic. It will live a long while in water, 
 but soon dies when exposed to the dry air. It delights most 
 in damp soil, and takes advantage of rains to travel at night 
 on the surface, and in earfy spring it is often allured in great 
 numbers on to the warm pavements of our city, where many 
 perish if the weather becomes suddenly cold or the pave- 
 ment dries out too rapidl3^ The earth-worm hibernates at 
 the bottom of its burrow, which may extend from three to 
 six feet in a light soil ; it also remains coiled up in a state 
 of torpor during very dry weather. It is by no means de- 
 void of sense or intelligence ; but it is as an agent in indi- 
 rectly promoting man's welfare that this humble creature 
 performs a part that few suspect. The same genius who so 
 profoundly influenced modern scientific thought by the 
 
I'ACTS ADOUT Win. I. KNOWN' ANIMALS. H »7 
 
 "Orip:in of Sptx-io.<," lias recently ;i,ivtii us a treatise on the 
 earth-worni. wherein its iiuftortant work is admirably set 
 forth. Worms are in reality the uri^inal tillers of the soil, 
 and the present mold-hnilders of the world. Darwin i)roves 
 the correctness of the position he maintained some forty-five 
 Years ajjo in a jiaper read l)efore the Royal Geo<>rai)hical 
 Society of London, viz: that "the farmer is only imitating 
 in a clumsy manner, without being able to bury the ])eb])les 
 or sift the line from the coarse soil, the work which nature 
 is daily performing by the agency of the earth-worm." By 
 their castings they liave been known to raise a field 13 inches 
 in 80 years, and they have not only helped materially in 
 burying small superincumbent objects; but have, according 
 to Darwin, played an important part in the burial of ancient 
 buildings. The celebrated seedsman, Mr. J. J. II. Gregory, 
 of Marblehead, Mass., carefully collected the castings daily 
 for one season over a given area, and they measured nearly 
 a quart to the s(|Uare foot, or enough to raise the surface ot 
 the land half an inch. lie also, by exiicrimcnt, .'^hows that 
 an acre of land may contain six tons of worms; Yon Ilen- 
 sen estimated 53,7(37 worms to the acre, and that they would 
 make 37 jtounds of mold every 'i-l hours. As agents in aid- 
 ing denudation they are also powerful. 
 
 Who, remembering the gigantic work })erformed by the 
 coral polyp in transforming, so to speak, ocean into land — 
 the important part it has played in the configuration of con- 
 tinents, can doubt the wonderful services of the earth-worm 
 as Darwin has so forcibly i)resented them ? In some respects 
 he has, perhaps, underrated the results of fro.'^t and of atmos- 
 l>heric dust and dej)osit, in burying objects and increasing 
 superficial soil, and 1 am inclined to think that the value of 
 worms from the agricultin-al standpoint is overrated, since 
 they are a well recogni/,e<l nuisance in lawns and pots,* tend 
 to deatlen the soil where excessive, and do not occur in the 
 very .-^oils that most need the digested humus or decompos- 
 ing vegetation which they cast up; but allowing this, the 
 
 * Grated horse-chestnut or lime mixed in the soil will relieve llic same of \\ orm\ 
 
108 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 worms' part in the history of the world, and in a geological 
 sense, is still amazing. 
 
 There are, indeed, very good reasons for believing that all 
 genuine loam is produced solely by worms.. 
 
 " Think naught a trifle, though it small appear; 
 Small sands the mountain, moments make tiie year. 
 And trifles life!"' 
 
 And now, ladies and gentlemen, the limit of time which 
 custom and a due regard for your feelings have established 
 for these lectures has been reached. I had hoped to say 
 something of the scale-insects which are so common and 
 destructive on our fruit trees and other plants, and which 
 give us the lac and tlie cochineal of commerce as they gave 
 the manna to the people of Israel ; to show you how perfect 
 a parallelism may be traced in the history of some of them 
 and that of the oyster: — the active young; the degrada- 
 tional development ; the formation of the shell ; the way it 
 is perforated by parasites, etc., oifer a remarkable instance 
 of the existence of that misleading analogy of function 
 which Prof Gill so abl}' dealt with, in creatures which be- 
 long to different branches of the animal kingdom, and 
 which possess no possible homologies with each other. I 
 had hoped to give you some details of the remarkable 
 hyper-metamorphoses and life-habits of the blister-beetle, 
 of which Ave annualh^ import large quantities under the 
 name of cantharides, when we have a number of indigenous 
 species with as good or better vesicatory properties. But, 
 above all, I wanted to treat of the butterfly, for if the trans- 
 formations of the animals I have already spoken of are re- 
 markable, those of the butterfly from the caterpillar, through 
 the chrysalis, transcend them all, and have always excited 
 the greatest curiosit}^ and wonder; while the feat which the 
 caterpillar in some instances performs in the change to the 
 suspending chr3^salis is really marvelous, and was first prop- 
 erly explained, a little more than two years ago, before the 
 Philosophical Society of this city. I have been able only 
 in the most imperfect manner to treat of the more salient 
 facts in the lives of some half dozen of the numerous ani- 
 
FACTS AIJOUT \VI;LI. KNiiWN ANIMALS. Kt'J 
 
 nulls laniiliar to all, ami it I have succeeded in investing; 
 these with a new interest in your eyes, the elloi-t will not 
 have heen in vain. 1 Ik'^' to assure you. also, that there is 
 no reflection in the assumption that you knew little of .some 
 of tlie facts stated, because, in truth, several of them have 
 hut very recently heen learned by naturalists, and every 
 year's investii^ation adds something to the general store of 
 knowledp' in natural science. 
 
 in elosinu, peruiil me to ofler a few thoughts that i^eem 
 naturally to How liom the matter of this lecture. We have 
 seen that in every one of the great Cuvierian Branches of 
 the animal kingdom — even in that winch contains man — 
 suri)rising develo})ment,i)rofound metamorphoses, are under- 
 gone during the life of the individual. From the maggot 
 to the fly ; from the tadpole to the frog, astounding changes 
 take place in form, structure, and adaptation to surround- 
 ings within a few days or months, and before our very eyes. 
 We have seen how mighty results may follow in time from 
 the slowly-accumulating yet scarcely perceptible labor of so 
 seemingly insignificant an object as the earth-worm. With 
 such facts before you can you doubt that changes like those 
 experienced by the individual in so short a time may have 
 been exi)erieneed by the race in unlimhed time. Can you 
 longer wonder when nature thrusts upon him at every turn 
 such and a thousand other evidences of development that 
 the evolutionist believes in it as a principle — a law — the 
 only mode of creation I It permits us 
 
 " To paint the past, yet in tlic past portray 
 Such shapes as seem <lim prophets of to-day." 
 
 and had not pala?ontology recently given us absolute proof 
 of its truth, evolution, even as a mere conception of crea- 
 tion, infinitely transcends all former conceptions. The tree 
 grows from the root upward, not from the leaf and flower 
 downward. Man has grf>wn u[) from a past savagery, not 
 from i)erfection downward. \\'ere I to a.ssure you that you 
 were all created full-bearded and full-dressed by some 
 miraculous fiat, instead of having been born of ])arcnts and 
 
110 SATURDAY LECTURES, 
 
 developed from infancy through childhood to maturity, yo\i 
 would flout the assertion as that of a crazy man. Yet I do 
 assure you that the similar miraculous creation of a species 
 out of nothing so persistent!}- believed in by many even 
 to-day, appears not one whit less absurd to the well-informed 
 naturalist. 
 
 In reflecting on what I should say to you to-day, I found 
 this question constantly running through my mind: "Why 
 is it that so little is known in the most intelligent commu- 
 nities of the commonest things around them ? " It is, I take 
 it, because, first, the teaching of natural science is .so gener- 
 ally neglected in our public schools and other educational 
 institutions. The child is taught something of the elephant, 
 the lion, the tiger, and of other tropical quadrupeds which 
 it is rarel}^ destined to see except in some menagerie, and 
 nothing of the many that it meets with in every day life ; so 
 that many a man is inclined, with Carlyle, to lament in after- 
 life that no schoolmaster of his had taught him the grasses 
 that grow by the wayside and the little neighbors that are 
 continually meeting him with a salutation which he cannot 
 answer as things are. The importance of things is too 
 often measured by their size. Yet the unseen worlds in the 
 starry firmament whicli the astronomer explores with his 
 telescope are no more marvelous than the unseen minims of 
 creation which the naturalist may explore with his micro- 
 scope ! What is true of animals is true of plants and of all 
 other organisms. Happily much progress has been made 
 in this direction during the past few j^ears, the tendency of 
 the times being strong in the direction of more science in 
 our schools ; in other words, of that education that will give 
 more perfect knowledge of ourselves and the world we live in. 
 
 Education should be a living thing, animated by modern 
 impulses, molded by modern thought, and governed by 
 modern wants, and I think the people of the country are to 
 be congratulated on the establishment of this National 
 Museum, which is foundecf on so broad a bases that it can- 
 not fail to exert a marked influence in promoting such edu- 
 cation as I have indicated. 
 
FACTS AIJOUT W1:M, KNOWN ANIMALS. Ill 
 
 Again, the ordinary man of aflairs is vory apt to look 
 upon tlic study of natural science as trivial because of no 
 possibk' use to liini in his business. The cry of ciii bono is 
 constantly raised against it, but ou equal grounds it might 
 be raised against history, polite literature, and many other 
 studies. To those — if such there be among my autlitors — 
 who take so narrow a view of the subject, I would say that 
 to the larger portion of our population, wdiich represent the 
 agricultural industry on which all our prosperity as a 
 nation depends, a knowledge of natural science is of the ut- 
 most practical value, while to all it will afford both health 
 and pleasure as a recreation from the cark and grind of 
 business life. In tins country, more particularly, the mind 
 of busy man finds no relief in idleness, and on all sides we 
 see men who, indifferent alike to the noblest works of art 
 and the sul:»limest teaching of nature, accumulate fortune 
 only to find that they are physical wrecks and mentally in- 
 capable of deriving pleasure or stimulus from anything 
 but still further accumulating — slaves, in fact, to a sordid 
 habit. How many women, also, drift into a Sybaritic life 
 and come to find relief from ennui only in one constant 
 round of artificial pleasure which ends too often in mental 
 and physical misery. There is no better prophylactic 
 airainst such dangers; no surer cure for that tedium litos 
 which haunts so many, than the study of natural science. 
 There is an inexpressible charm in animated nature for 
 those who have learned to unlock her secrets. They, in- 
 deed, " find tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 
 sermons in stones, and good in everything." They see every- 
 where around and about them — in earth, air, sky, and 
 water — volumes ins[)ircd by the great author of our being; 
 significancies, harmonies, causes and elfects that give glimp.ses 
 of the very thought of the Creator. 1 1 1 Williamson's words : 
 "Those who have the power of understanding the wonders 
 of nature derive great hapitiness from learning to employ it. 
 It is like the pleasure which a nianof healthy and vigorous 
 frame experiences in cUmbing a mountain peak, and in en- 
 
112 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 joying, ill proportion as he rises, a wider and more com- 
 manding view of things below." 
 
 " This is human happiness I 
 Its secret and its evidence are writ 
 In the broad book of nature. 'Tis to liave 
 Attentive and believing faculties. 
 To go abroad rejoicing in the joy 
 Of beautiful and well-created things ; 
 To love the voice of waters, and the sheen 
 Of silver fountains leaping to the sea; 
 To thrill with the rich melody of birds, 
 Living their life of music ; to be glad 
 In the gay sunshine, reverent in the stonn, 
 To see a Ijeauty in the stirring leaf. 
 And find calm thought beneath the whispering trees ; 
 To see and hear and breathe the evidence 
 Of God's deep wisdom m the natural world ! " 
 
 I hope I have said enough to show that deep insight into 
 Nature's truths is not only of practical value, but that it is 
 in other ways beneficial and elevating. Nor is it satiating ! 
 One never tires of the recurring seasons, and one never tires 
 of any scientific research, for the simple reason that there is 
 never any end, but always something new to learn — some- 
 thing more wonderful to unfold. 
 
 Says Lowell : 
 
 I grieve not that ripe knowledge takes away 
 
 The charm which Nature to my childhood wore. 
 For with the insight Cometh day by day, 
 
 A greater bliss than wonder was before. 
 To win the secret of a weed's plain heart, 
 
 Reveals the clue to spiritual things ; 
 The soul which looks within for truth, may guess 
 
 The presence of some unknown heavenliness ! 
 
PAUL BROCA 
 AND THl' PRHNCIl SCHOOL i)V ANTHROPOLOGY 
 
 Lecture delivered in tlie National Museum, Washington. I >. C April 15, 1SS2. 
 l.v Dr. ROKERT FLETCHER. 
 
 L.vniKs .vNi) Gentlkmkx : 
 
 You have hoard a threat doal in thet^e lalter days ol" llie 
 Scicnc-o of Aiithropolon;y, and wliile many of you, doubtless, 
 havi' hevu followinij its investigations and discoveries with 
 interest and profit, otherswill l)e }>rompted to inquire: What 
 is Anthropology, and when, and hy whom, was it disc-ovei-cd 
 or invented? To the first i>art of tlic (pu-stion it is lui- 
 neeessary for me to reply, as Professor Ma.^on, in the .'^eeond 
 lecture of this course, gave a lucid exi)osition of what 
 constitutes the science in question: hut the reason of its 
 existence, and the circumstances attending its establishment 
 and recognition in the scientific world, it is the purpose of 
 this lecture concisely to explain. 
 
 Taking a comprehensive view of the subject, it would be 
 correct to say that anthropology has existed since the earliest 
 days of human civilization. Classical literature shows 
 us Strabo and the geographers describing races — ethnog- 
 rapliers : Galen and his followers as anatomists and physi- 
 cians — biologists, as we should call them now ; and Plato 
 and the metaphysicians as psychologists. We go back to 
 Justinian for the first records of an important branch of 
 .^ociolotrv, the orijrin of law. and the technoloiiist cannot 
 afford to overlook \'itruvius and X'egetius in tracing out 
 the early history of tools, arms and weapons. But it is not 
 with the separate sciences which together form what wc now 
 call anthropology, tempting as the subject is, that we have 
 to do. for thi' theme is much to(» vast for the time at our 
 disposal. 
 
 I must remind you that the tirni itself has been used 
 with very different meanings by tiie theologian, the anato- 
 mist, and ])hysician. '* Journals of Anthro|)ology," of which 
 there wt-re many in Germany a hundred years ago. were 
 mostly devoted to nifdieine an<l .surgery. It- use in its 
 present comprehensive sense arose with the establishment 
 8 I " .? I 
 
114 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 of the Paris Society of Anthropology, about twenty-five 
 years ago, and its fitness for the purpose was so manifest 
 that it lias superseded to a great extent the narrower titles 
 of ethnology and archaeology. At the present day there are 
 Societies of Anthropologj^ in nearly all the capital cities of 
 the world. They were all founded, more or less, upon the 
 model of the Paris society, which is acknowledged as the 
 parent from which this flourishing progeny has sprung. 
 
 It will be more convenient for our purpose to begin with 
 a description of these associations as they now exist, and 
 then, in a brief biography of the eminent Frenchman who 
 founded the Paris society, show you in what manner the 
 science of anthropology received its- birth and baptism. 
 
 The fir.st French Society which made the study of man- 
 kind the especial object of its enquiries, was founded in 
 Paris in the year 1800, and was known as La societe des 
 observateurs de Vliomme — the Society of Observers of Man. 
 From their programme, and from the meagre reports of 
 their transactions which appeared from time to time in the 
 Magasin encydopedique, it is evident that the natural history 
 of man chiefl}^ occupied their attention. In 1803, this 
 association was united with The Philanthropic Society {La 
 societe philanthropique) and lost its scientific identity. In 
 1838, there was founded in London, under the presidency of 
 Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton, the leader of the party advo- 
 cating the abolition of slavery in British dominions, a Societ}- 
 for the Protection of the Aborigines. The object of this 
 association was political and not scientific, but one of its 
 members, a Mr. Hodgkin, visited Paris a year later for the 
 purpose of establishing a French society on the same basis, 
 and came into communication with many eminent men, 
 among whom was the celebrated naturalist, William 
 Edwards. The attempt to found a French abolition societ}' 
 failed, but the interest excited in the cognate subject of race 
 led Edwards and his friends to establish the Ethnological 
 Society of Paris, (a,) whose existence was officially authorized 
 by the Minister of the Interior, in August, 1839. This 
 society published two volumes of memoirs, and one, of its 
 
TArr, I5KOCA. 1 1.) 
 
 tran.^iu'tions. The work it ;uliitvcil was oxc-elli'iit in kind, 
 but its inc'inbcrsliip was never laij^'o, and n<» ;;i-(;al <U-;;rco 
 of /cal was evinced hv those beloiigin;^ to it. In 1.S42, the 
 Anieiican l>tlinolo;j:it-al Society (b) was founded by Albert 
 ( lallatin.and in bS4l.the Ktlni<)lo,u:ical Soeiety of J.ondon (o) 
 was established, both after the model of the French Society. 
 
 Possessing" no uuiseuiii tor the accumulation of specimens, 
 the Kthnolo|[;ieal Society of Paris devoted itself mainly to 
 the investigation of certain races, their habits and customs. 
 Unfortunately, too, for its prosperity, it toi)k up with great 
 heat the subject of slavery, which was being fiercely debated 
 in France in the years 1847-8. The society was interested 
 only in the question of race, and of the single or multiple 
 origin of mankind, but an absurd belief became general 
 that ethnology was, in some mysterious manner, another 
 name lor abolitionism, and this prejudice survived to be an 
 obstacle in the establishment of the Anthropological Society, 
 ten vears iatei'. 
 
 What tlie circumstances were that led to the foundation: 
 of the latter society, through what discouragements and 
 obstructions it forced its way onward, and what success was 
 at last achieved, will be described in the biographic sketch 
 of Broca which will be presently attempted. 
 
 The time was ripejor the undertaking. The society was 
 established in 183U, {d,} and in the years immediately i)re- 
 ceding rapid advances had been made in the various 
 branches of knowledge which constitute anthropology. In 
 England, Davis and Thurnam had Ijegun their great work, 
 the Crania Britannica : inSwe(len, Ret/.ius was carrying on 
 his remarkable studies in craniology ; Morton, of Pliiladel- 
 j)hia, having ama.s.sed the collection of skulls which was, 
 for many years, the richest craniological collection in the 
 world, had produced his important work, the Crania Amer- 
 icana. Boucher de Perthes, after eighteen j'cars of labor in 
 the quaternary deposits of Abbeville, had at last triumphed 
 over ridicule and malice, and had .^een his proofs of the 
 great anti([uity of man accepted by the leading paheontol- 
 ogists of the world. In Demnark. the Kitchen-middens, 
 
IIG SATURDAY LIX'TUEES. 
 
 those sileiit chronologieal iveords of the devouring- appetite 
 and j)rogressive luxury of primeval man, had been explored 
 and described by AVorstiae and Thomsen. Tn Switzerland, 
 the unusual subsidence of the waters of the lakes had 
 brought to light the relics of the lake-dwellers; and, not 
 less memorable, on the 24th November, 1S59, there appeared 
 in London a modest looking volume which has probably 
 exerted more influence on scientific workers than any one 
 book ever i)ublished — its title was : The Origin of Species, 
 by Charles Darwin. 
 
 Prof. Huxley, speaking of this occurrence twenty years 
 later, said : 
 
 " It was only subsequent to the publiqation of the ideas 
 contained in that book that one of the most powerful in- 
 struments for the advance of anthropological knowledge— 
 namely, the Anthroi)ological Society of Paris— was found- 
 ed ; afterward, the Anthropological Institute of this country 
 and the great Anthropological Society of Berlin came 
 into existence, until it may be said fhat, now, there is 
 not a branch of science which is represented by a larger or 
 more active body of w^orkers than the science of anthropol- 
 ogy. But the whole of these workers are engaged, more or 
 less intentionally, in providing the data for attacking the 
 ultimate great problem, whether the ideas which Darwin has 
 put forward, in regard to the animal world, are capable of 
 being applied in the same sense, and to the same extent, to 
 man. That question, I need not say, is not answered." 
 
 It may seem almost sui)erfiuous to explain the allusion to 
 the lake-dwellings and the kitchen-middens, but some of 
 the younger members of this audience may be glad to learn 
 what is meant by those terms. 
 
 In Switzerland the winters of ISolJ and 1854 proved to be 
 so dry and cold that the usual spring freshets in the rivers 
 were ^vanting, and the level of tlie water in the great lakes 
 was lower than had ever before been recorded. Accident 
 led to the discovery of some ancient piles, and other evi- 
 dences of man's work. The result of long-continued inves- 
 tigations may be briefly stated, as follows : The Pfahlbauten, 
 or pile-works of Switzerland, were villages built on piles 
 
rAlI, I'.KitCA. 1 17 
 
 ilrivi'ii into tlir water on [\iv ed^csot" the lakes. 'I'licy coni- 
 nuinicateil with \\\o hind hy one or more hridixes, and there 
 is no doiiht that iK'I'enee auainsf Aviid animals as well as 
 hnnian enemies was the motive lor this method of ereetin^' 
 habitations. The tlehris of the ln»usehold neces.saril}' fell 
 into the water, toy,ether with tools, weapons and ornaments, 
 and thousands of sm-h artieles have been recovered from the 
 soil of the lakes around these idles, to<^ether with the bones 
 of animals which had served for food. The larger number 
 of these pile-works were erected during the stone age, before 
 the use of metal was known to man ; but in Western 
 Switzerland the remains belong to the bronze age, vast 
 numbers of bronze imi)lenu'nts and ornajnents having been 
 recovered from them. From one settlement alone 500 
 bronze hair-pins, such as peasant women adorn their hair 
 with, were obtained. Troyon has made an estimate of the 
 poi>ulation of tliese lake-dwellings; his figures are 32,000 
 for the stone age^ and 42,000 for the bronze period. The 
 addition to our knowledge of pre-historic man obtained 
 from these Pfahlbauten has been of incalculable value. 
 
 Accident, in like manner, drew attention to the real im- 
 port of certain shell-heaps in Denmark. They had been 
 regarded as raised beaches, the results of upheaval ; but 
 with such an origin the shell-tish must necessarily have been 
 of kinds which would live together. They would be of all 
 sizes, and would be mi.xed with sand and gravel. In the 
 •shell-heai»s — now known as kitchen-middens, from the 
 Danish Ki<')kkenmodding, kitchen-refuse heaps — the shells 
 are nearly all of full-grown individuals, and ot' kinds which 
 do not live together, and no .sand or gravel was found in 
 them. Flint implements and bones of animals, binls and 
 tishes abound in them, and it became evident that these 
 shell-heaps had been sites of villages of neolithic man, and 
 that the shells and other remains had accunudated in con- 
 sequence. Results as interesting as those obtained from the 
 exploration of the lake-dwellings followed, and the museums 
 of Copenhagen are rich with the spoils of the kitchen-mid- 
 dens. Similar shell-heaps have been found in almost all 
 countries. 
 
118 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 It was under the auspices thus outlined that the Society 
 of Anthropology of Paris began its career. Its success was 
 assured as the Cjuality of its work became known, and within 
 ten years, in all the chief kingdoms of Europe, societies of 
 like purpose were organized, and are in the full tide of 
 j)rosperity and active occupation at the present day. 
 
 And here it may be well to ex]5lain why the term " ethnol- 
 ogy" has been so generally superseded by the term "an- 
 thropology." The former, as you are aware, is the science 
 which treats of the races of men. Linnaeus and Buffon 
 were its chief founders, but Blumenbach moulded it into 
 the shape which it yet preserves. It is to him that we owe 
 the five divisions of the human race which still maintain 
 their place in our school-books, though they have long since 
 been discarded from scientific description. Ethnology 
 classifies mankind according to certain resemblances of 
 features, color, hair, dress, weapons, and the like ; anthropol- 
 ogy takes his anatomical structure as the basis of comparison. 
 Broca, speaking of the two, says : " Ethnologists regard man 
 as the primitive element of tribes, races, and peoples. 
 The anthropologist looks at him as a member of the fauna 
 of the globe, belonging to a zoological classification, and 
 subject to the same laws as the rest of the animal kingdom. 
 To study him from the last point of view only would be to 
 lose sight of some of his most interesting and practical re- 
 lations ; but to be confined to the ethnologist's views is to 
 set aside the scientific rule which requires us to proceed 
 from the simple to the compound, from the known to the 
 unknown, from the material and organic fact to the functional 
 phenomena." 
 
 You were told in a preceding lecture that ten distinct 
 sciences were included under the name of anthropology; 
 ethnology, much shorn of its significance, being one of them. 
 You will see then that the more comprehensive term was 
 necessary to indicate the scope of the investigations pursued. 
 
 I propose next to give you a succinct account of the 
 societies which Avere founded after the model of the Paris 
 association. 
 
TAT I. r.Kol'A. irj 
 
 In 18(U. l\uilt»l|)li Wiimicr of (}(')ttiii^cii and Di-Iiai-r of 
 St. Petersburgh organi/.id a (lorman Anthropological Asso- 
 ciation, {(',) which was tt) nici-t every sccoml year in a 
 German city. Its lirst meeting was held at (iiHtingcn, hut 
 the death ol' Warner, which took place soon after. interru|'ted 
 its further progress. 
 
 In 1S63, arose the Anthro]>ulogieal Society of London (/.) 
 It was formed l)y the secession of a large number of mem- 
 bers of the I'^thnological Society, and speedily became so 
 successful that it at one time numbered 800 members. It 
 continued to exist under its original title until 1871, when 
 the Ethnological Society consented to unite itself with its 
 ambitious oiispring and the designation assumed by the 
 united associations was: The Anthropological In.stitute of 
 Great Britain and Ireland (g.) The Ethnological Society 
 published 13 volumes of Transactions; the Anthropological 
 Society published *-> volumes, and the Journal of the An- 
 thropological Institute has now entered on its twelfth year. 
 
 In 1805, the Anthropological Society of Madrid (h) was 
 established, its first meeting being held on December 17. 
 Owing to political complications, so common in that un- 
 happy country, and to the opposition of the jtricsthood, no 
 further meetings were permitted, and the Society, which 
 had attained a membership of 300, continued in a languish- 
 ing condition until February, 18G9, when its second meeting 
 took place. 
 
 In Moscow, in 186G, the Society of the Friends of Nature 
 {i) established a .section of anthropology. Endowed with 
 ample revenues this .section has been as efficient as if it had 
 been an inde|)endent society. It possesses a valuable museum 
 and. in 18()7. a brilliant exposition of anthropology took 
 phuH' under its management. 
 
 In 18G8, the Berlin Society (tf Anihroi)ology (/» was or- 
 ganized and speedily attained foremost rank from thr im- 
 jtortance and extent of its investigations. Vinhow, the 
 illustrious physiologist, statesman and .scholar, still presides 
 over its meetings. The Society publishes the .lournal of 
 Ethnology. 
 
120 SATUltDAY LECTURES. 
 
 In 1870, the Anthropological Society of Vienna (1) was 
 founded, and at their first meeting, February 13, the open- 
 ing address was delivered by Rokitansky. The fSociet}^ 
 publishes its own transactions. 
 
 Ital}^ was next to continue the good work, and, in 1871, 
 was established the Italian Society of Anthropology and Eth- 
 nology {m.) Their transactions are reported in the Archives 
 of Anthropology and Ethnology, a monthly journal, hand- 
 somely illustrated, which is published at Florence under the 
 editorship of Mantegazza. 
 
 In 1871, in the city of Xew York, there was founded a 
 society known as the Anthropological Institute of New 
 York (n.) Its sole work was the publication of its Journal, 
 "Whom the Gods love, die young," says the Greek proverb : 
 the " Journal of the Anthropological Institute of New York" 
 must have been the especial object of celestial regard as it 
 expired with its first number. 
 
 In 1877, Poland entered the field, and the Academy of 
 Sciences of Cracow (o) established a section of anthropology 
 which publishes its own journal. 
 
 In 1879, the Anthropological Society of Washington, D. 
 C, ip,) Avas founded, and has continued to thrive. 
 
 During the present 3^ear, Dr. Aurele de Torek, of Hun- 
 gary, who had been for some time studying at the Paris 
 school, was placed in charge of a section of anthropology in 
 the University of Buda-Pesth, with instructions to form a 
 museum. 
 
 There are many subordinate societies besides those de- 
 scribed; they are generally affiliated with the societies of 
 the capitals. For example, there is an Anthropological 
 Society at Liverpool, another at Oxford, another at ^lan- 
 chester ; one at Lyons, one at Bordeaux, and even in the 
 Isle of iNLan there is a section of anthropology in the Manx 
 Society of Sciences. 
 
 Another important result of the interest felt in these pur- 
 suits has been the organizing of congresses of anthropol- 
 ogy, meeting in different cities at .stated intervals. 
 
 There is the German Association for Anthropology (g) 
 
r.M I i;i;ttcA. 
 
 IJl 
 
 loan. led in 1S70; tluir lirst iii.-ct in-- was held in l)crlin. an<l 
 tlu'ir transactions appear in a goodly (juarto, the Ardiivrs 
 lor AnthroiK)lo<2;y, imltlishcd at lirunswick. 
 
 But tlie most important coiij^ress. in vi<\v of its achitvc- 
 monts. is the International Congress of Antliropolo.iry, and 
 Pro-lnstorie Arelueology (/••) Their lirst meet in.^- was held 
 at NeutVhatel in ISC.C; the seeond at Paris in iSf.T; the 
 third at Xorwieh. Knuland. in 18()S; the fourth at ( opeii- 
 haoen in 1800; the lifth at IJologna in 1871 ; the sixth at 
 Brussels in 1872: the seventh at Stoekholm in 1874; the 
 eij^hth at Buda-Pesth in 1870; and the ninth at Lishon in 
 1880. I believe the next meeting is to be held at Venice 
 this year. The transactions of this association are published 
 after each congress. 
 
 Finally, it must be added that the British Association for 
 the Advancement of Science, after much contention, ha.s 
 establi.shed a .section of anthropology. The French Asso- 
 ciation of the same name began with such a -eetion as j)art 
 of its original organization. 
 
 I have no doubt that my hearers are rea.sonably grateful 
 that this dry enumeration of societies and their productions 
 has come to an end ; but it has been shown that all of these 
 associations, congresses and sections owe their origin to the 
 Paris School of Anthropology, and as that school, in its 
 turn, derived its very existence from the genius and energy 
 of one man, we are brought naturally to the point where a 
 sketch of the life and work of the founder of European an- 
 thropology comes properly into our jdan. 
 
 Piqrre Paul Broca was l)orn at b'ainte Foix-la-Grande, in 
 182i. The town which announces it.self to the world under 
 this pretentious title is situated in the department of the 
 (iironde, on the bank <»f tlu' Dordogne, forty miles from 
 Bonleaux, and contains ai>out 1,000 inhabitants. It was 
 the birthplace al.so of Gratiolet, ilistingui^heii. like Broca, 
 in anthropology as well as in medicine. 
 
 It is always interesting, and. indeed, e.s.sential to the due 
 estimation of a distinguished man, to state what may be 
 
122 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 known of his parentage, and of what it is now the fashion 
 to call his earl}^ environments. 
 
 Broca's father, Dr. Benjamin Broca, was an army surgeon, 
 and had served throughout the memorable war in Spain 
 under the first Napoleon. The campaigns over, he returned 
 to his native town where he married and settled down to 
 practice his profession. He was a man of marked traits of 
 character ; of unflinching probity and courage, and charit- 
 able to an extreme. ' From him his son derived his taste for 
 the natural sciences as well as a grave irony which charac- 
 terized them both The son used to quote an ironical re- 
 mark of his father's which is amusing enough to be related. 
 The elder Broca flourished in the time when the doctrines 
 of Broussais attained such astonishing popularity, and 
 blood-letting and rigorous diet were the treatment in vogue. 
 Against these views. Dr. Broca fought valiantly, and it is 
 told of him that after a consultation over a patient prostra- 
 ted with typhoid fever, hearing the physician in charge 
 prescribe, as the only nutriment, a broth to be made of frog's 
 feet, Broca turned back from the doorway and said, " and 
 above all things, be sure to skim off the fat ! " 
 
 Dr. Broca, senior, acquired a large country practice, but 
 which was not very lucrative, for his rule was to charge the 
 rich but little, while to the poor he gave his services and 
 paid for their medicines. When, in later years, after the 
 death of his wife, he removed to Paris to reside in the house 
 of his distinguished son, the whole country round was in 
 sorrow for his loss, and his indigent clientage presented him 
 with a silver-gilt cup inscribed " To the physician of the 
 poor." 
 
 An amusing story is still told in Sainte-Foix of this 
 excellent man which exemplifies his unfeiling benevolence. 
 At a late hour, one cold and dark winter night, a peasant 
 requested him to visit a person taken seriously ill, in a 
 distant hamlet. The good doctor left his comfortable fire- 
 side without hesitation and accompanied the man along a 
 lonely pathway, inaccessible to all but pedestrians. Arriv- 
 ing, at length, at a small cluster of cottages, the man turned 
 
I'.Vn. HKdCA. 12.'> 
 
 to him and >aitl, "Many thanks, doctor. You sec; I was 
 afraid to come along tliese lonely heaclics by mysoir, in (he 
 middle of the night, so I invented the little story of the 
 silk person to get you to come with me; nuich obliged for 
 yuur comjtany." And the fellow disai)i)eared in the dark- 
 ness, K'aving the doctor to return us best he could. 
 
 I liave been told by Dr. Ford Thomp.son of this city that 
 when in Taris attending theclinique under Professor Broea 
 at the ho.spital of La Pitic. he wasjstruck with the a])pear- 
 ance of an aged gentleman who, with edifying punctuality, 
 formed one of the large class which followed the professor 
 through the wards. Tliis venerable man would listen with 
 cijual interest and admiration to the luminous explanations, 
 the subtle diagnosis, or the fecund illustrations which the 
 accomplished surgeon would give utterance to, at the bedside- 
 This was Dr. Broca, the father, finding his chief enjoyment, 
 in tlu' evening of his days, in watching the daily work of 
 the son who had so far outstripjK'd him in fame. 
 
 Broca 's mother was the daughter of a Protestant preacher, 
 named Thomas. She was an excellent woman, of great 
 intelligence, and endowed with a lu'odigious memory. This 
 latter quality was inheriteil by her .son. The Brocas were 
 of old Huguenot stock, and traditions were rife among them 
 of the persecutions which the grandfather and great-grant 1- 
 father had suflfered in the days of the drarjonnades. 
 
 There is no doubt that his early training by the kind, 
 manly father and the clear-sighted .sensible mother, together 
 with the traditions of their family hi.story. bred in the young 
 Paul the courageous love of truth and hatred of injustice 
 and oppression which marked his entire career. 
 
 Ill ls;;-J. he entered the college of Saintc-Foix which was. 
 at that time, the re.sort of the dlite of the Protestant youth 
 of France. Some of the most distinguished men of the 
 reformed ciiurch were educated atiSainte-Foix ; among whom 
 were >ronod, Coquerel, an<l Pressense. When .seventeen 
 years old, Paul Broca obtained the three di])lomasof baclu-- 
 lor of letters, mathematics, and physical sciences. In 184"2, 
 he presented himself for examination at the Polvteehnic 
 
124 SATUKUAY LIX'TURES. 
 
 School, intending to make physical sciences the Ijasis of his 
 future work, but his father, loth to see his own practice lost 
 to the family, persuaded his son to adopt medicine as his 
 profession. An additional motive for his compliance was 
 the recent death of his only sister, a very lovely girl of great 
 promise, whose loss made the parental home very lonel5'. 
 Broca did not trouble himself about his career ; he used to 
 say, in after life, that in any occupation, he could have 
 made such a place as his abilities merited ; and with his 
 healthy organization and unparalleled capacity for work, it 
 is probable that he was right. 
 
 He went to Paris, and entered liis name at the Faculty of 
 Medicine, and thus began a career unequalled for the rapidity 
 of its progress. In 1S43, he became an extern e at the 
 hospitals, and in 1844, he became an interne. He was then 
 twenty years of age, a period at which most students of 
 medicine have only entered themselves. In 1848, he became 
 prosector of anatomy, and obtained the silver medal of tlio 
 Public Assistance. He graduated as Doctor of Medicine in 
 1849 ; the Academy of Medicine decreed him the Portal 
 prize in 1850, and, in 1853, he was i\amed Assistant Prof- 
 fessor of the Faculty of Medicine, and Surgeon of the 
 Central Bureau, being then only twenty-nine years old. 
 
 In 1847, he was elected a member of the Anatomical 
 Societ}' of Paris, and for many years he was the most active 
 of the distinguished young men who raised thnt society to 
 its present pre-eminence. His researches into the histology 
 of cartilage and bone, with the aid of the microscope, of 
 the use of which in anatomical researches he was one of 
 the strongest advocates, have remained unsurpassed of their 
 kind to the present day. 
 
 In the Society of Surgery he was equally active, and its 
 transactions bear witness to his zealous labors. 
 
 It is not within the scope of this lecture to describe his 
 surgical or physiological work ; the general result, in the 
 number of his productions, will be given at the close. It 
 must be said, however, that his brilliant investigations into 
 the localities of the functions of the brain led the way to 
 
I'Aii, miocA. 125 
 
 the discoveries mikI ajiplicjitions of Ilitzig, Femer, and 
 Charcot ; of his hu«icr works, the Treatise on Tumors, and 
 the Treatise oil Aneurisms, still hold foremost rank. liroca's 
 devotion ti» anthropological studies, duriujLC the last twenty 
 years of his life, have tended to overshadow his work in 
 surgery and j>liysi(tloi::y. A _ij;oo<1 judm* said of him, that in 
 no eoiuitry or aui' had any man of thiity produced so much 
 of value in surnerv as he. 
 
 lie was associated with l>eau and rxmamy in the pro- 
 du<tion (tf their si)lendi(l Atlas of De-^eriptive Anatomy, 
 and the third voluim- of that work. comiM-j^in^ s]ilan(hnol- 
 ojiy, is entirely his work. 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to .^ay that thi> hrilliant com- 
 mencement of his career soon .settled the question of his 
 return to the hanks of the Dordoijjne. The father was 
 •proud of his son's success, and the <;ood mother, when told 
 of liis achievements, sacrificed her own wishes, as motliers 
 do, and .said, "my pride is gratified, hut not my heart." 
 
 Honors continued to How in ujton him. He was made 
 secretary and then vice-president of the Anatomical Society; 
 secretary and then president of the .Society of Surgery. The 
 Academy of Medicine a<lmitted him in ISO*}; he was their 
 vice-pre.sident in ISSO, and president-elect for 18M. In 
 l.SrjT, the Faculty of Medicine appointed him to the chair 
 of pathology which he exchanged for that <if ilinii;il sur- 
 gery. 
 
 It remains now to speak of BrocaV connection with the 
 Society of Anthropology of Paris. II.e was its founder and, 
 in the words of one of his jianc^gyrists, "the very soul of it 
 for one and twenty years." 
 
 In 1.S47. he was one of a commission appointed i>> rx- 
 amine the bones discovered in excavations made in the 
 ancient church of the C'elestins. In drawing up this re- 
 ]»ort, (which was afterwards puldished in the first volume 
 of his Memoirs on Anthropology.) he was led to read all the 
 hooks he could find, and they were not many, ujX)n the sub- 
 ject of craniology. In those days ethnology was confined 
 to a narrow circle of iiKp.iiry. chiefly to debates upon mon- 
 
326 SATUKDAY LECTURES. 
 
 ogeny and polygeny, or tlie doctrine of the origin of the 
 human race from one source or from many. The Ethno- 
 logical Society of Paris, founded, as I have before stated, 
 by William Edwards, having ended its discussions upon 
 this subject, and finding nothing more to say, itself came 
 to an end in 1848. Ten years later, Broca, who had arrived 
 at some conclusions upon human hybridity which he de- 
 sired to make known, communicated them to the Society of 
 Biology. But the 3'oung discoverer had yet to learn what 
 jmsillanimity could do to retard investigation. His re- 
 markable memoir demonstrated the unlimited fecundity of 
 human hybrids, and as this was opposed to the doctrines of 
 the monogenists, Rayer, the President of the Society, re- 
 Cjuested Broca to desist from further communications. The 
 memoir " On animal hybridity in general, and on human 
 hybridity in particular," was published in the Journal de. 
 la physiologie. It was afterward translated by Dr. Carter 
 Blake for the London Society of Anthropology, and was 
 published in their memoirs. This condition of things made 
 it evident that a new society was needed, and Broca con- 
 ceived the idea of a Society of Anthropology. 
 
 Broca's plan was to start with not less than twenty mem- 
 bers. Six from the Society of Biology joined him, but 
 others, including the members of the defunct Society of 
 Ethnology, turned a deaf ear to his solicitations. After a 
 year's efforts, he had onl}^ nineteen signatures, including his 
 own. He met with every obstacle from those in authority ; 
 M. Rouland, the Minister of Public Instruction, sent him to 
 the Prefect of Police, who, in turn, sent him to the Minister 
 of Public Instruction. Their purpose was to weary him 
 out, for with the perspicacity usual in such functionaries, 
 they firmly believed that the novel term, anthropology, 
 covered some form of political conspiracy. Finally, thanks 
 to the intervention of Professor Tardieu, a chief of division of 
 the prefecture of police was induced to authorize the nineteen 
 to form their society and hold meetings. He held Broca, 
 however, personally responsible- for anything which might 
 be said by his associates which should appear to be an 
 
PA 11. i;kuca. ' 127 
 
 attack upon government, i('li<.jion, or social order; and, to 
 ensure the realization ol" these prudent precautions, ho 
 directed that a police officer, in plain clothes, should attend 
 each meet inu" and report to the prefect the teiuiie of, the 
 proceedings. 
 
 Does not this sound as it' we were diseoursing of somc- 
 tiiing that took ])lace under Louis (piatorze, or IMiilip the 
 second? And yet it occurred in our own day, .■^onie twenty 
 years ago, in the most civilized city of Paris. We are ac- 
 customed io look upon our own absolute freedom in such 
 atiairs as a matter of course, but it may not be unjJroHtable 
 to occasionally stop to consider it in the light of comparison. 
 
 It was under the conditions described that the Society of 
 Anthropology of Paris held its first meeting, on the 10th 
 May, 1859. The woi-<l anthropology was substituted for 
 ethnology to show the far wider scope proposed. It in- 
 cluded, in effect, the entire natural history of the human 
 race, whether in the present, in the past, in its general char- 
 acters, in its subdivisions into races or varieties, in its oriirin, 
 or in its relations with the rest of nature. This ])rogramme 
 comitrehended not only ethnology, or the .study of human 
 races, but anthropology, or the study of mankind. It in- 
 cluded, also, a great number of auxiliary sciences: zoology, 
 comjnirative anatomy, geology. i>alieontologv, prehistoric 
 and protohistoric arclueolog}', linguistics, mythology, his- 
 tory, psychology, and medicine itself And as among all 
 these diverse and divergent studies it was necessary to es- 
 tablish some central basis, the founders of the society, who 
 were all young physicians, determined, in accordance witli 
 the views of their leader, to select that which is most fixed 
 in man, namely, his organization and functions; in a word, 
 his anatomy and i)hysiol(>gy. 
 
 With such a va.st field before it, there was no reason to 
 fear that the new .society would perish for want of susten- 
 ance like its predecessor, the Society of Ethnology. As its 
 programme became known, new mend)ers eagerly joine<l it, 
 and when the first vohnne of its bulletins was j»ul»lished, 
 the detiance and distrust which it had excited rafiidlv sub- 
 
1 
 
 128 SATUKDAY LKCTfEES. 
 
 sided. M. Rouland, the Minister of Public Instruction, 
 deigned to authorize it in 18G1, cand, in 18G4, it was recog- 
 nized formall)^ as a society of pubhc utihty, by a decree of 
 the Council of State. After this date, the attendance of the 
 special police agent at its meetings was discontinued. 
 
 During the first three years of the existence of the society, 
 Broca filled the office of secretary. It was a burdensome 
 task for a man of his numerous avocations to undertake, 
 but it was of the highest importance that the transactions 
 of the 3"oung society should be edited with talent and ap- 
 pear with punctuality. He excelled in the difficult art of 
 giving the integral meaning, but without prolixity, of Avhat 
 was said in the ardor of debate. He was skillful in ignor- 
 ing the common-places of the chronic speaker ; the man 
 who always " rises to give his views," though he has gene- 
 rally nothing to communicate. These comptes rendus are 
 master-pieces of their kind, especially when it is considered 
 that they were written from memory', for he took too active 
 a part in discussion to have time to take notes. 
 
 In 1863, the increase of the Society made it necessary to 
 appoint a General Secretary, electable for three j^ears ; Broca 
 held the office till his death. Professor Pozzi sa^^s, " Broca 
 was the soul of the Society of Anthropology. • It was he 
 who founded it, he who made it live through its first trying 
 3'ears, and that by the })reponderating influence of his 
 incessant labor and the communicable ardor of his love for 
 the growing science. The povrerful influence of Broca, 
 especially visible at the beginning of its career, was not less 
 real to the very close, in spite of the care which he took to 
 avoid the appearance of personal control. Even when he 
 abstained from taking part in any irritating debate, his 
 attitude, the few words which might escape him, his vote, 
 infallibly indicated to doubting minds, upon which side 
 reason, moderation, and justice were to be found." 
 
 Upon the establisment of his Society, Broca began a 
 craniological collection and, thanks to the surgeons of the 
 navy, with whom he kept up an active correspondence, it 
 soon attained respectable dimensions. Nevertheless, a 
 
r.MI. I'.IIOCA. 
 
 129 
 
 musruni raniiot Ik- well luaiiilaiiictl witluiut a lahoratory, 
 and tlu- (liffirultic's in the way of ohtaiiiiii.u tlic latter were 
 vi'iy mvat, fur tlic law Ibrbadc the takiu;; Mibjci-is for 
 <lissvction anywhere exeej)! to the rooms of the l-'aciiliy of 
 Medieine. In 1S(^>7, however, IJroea was nominated as one 
 of the professors of the Faeulty of Medieine and the dilH- 
 eultv was solved. He was entitled to a lal»oratory lor his 
 personal investigations, and two small rooms were assij^iied 
 liim for the i>uri)ose. It was here, with M. Ilamy for ids 
 as.sistani. that he began his researehes in the eomparative 
 anatomy of the primates. It wa< here, too, that lie invented 
 manv ingenious instruments to be employed in eraniometry, 
 or the measurement of tlie skull. In eonneetion with this 
 espeeial work of Broea's, it may be well to give some ex- 
 planation of what eonstitutes eraniometry. without doubt, 
 the most important i)art of our laboratory work. Crani- 
 ometry comprises measurements of the <hy skull, both its 
 external and internal surfaces, its various angles, its relation 
 to the si)inal column, its internal capacity and the propor- 
 tion and weight of the brain; external measurements are 
 to be made, whenever possible, in the living person also. 
 Moreover, these measurements, to be of value, must be made 
 in large nundjers. so that the average, or mean, may be 
 trustworthy. To obtain these dimensions, many complicated 
 and costly instruments have l)een invented, the greater 
 nundjcr of those now in use having been devised by Broca. 
 I had inten<le(l to bring some of these instruments here in 
 order to give you an illustration of the manner in which 
 they are used but I found that it would oceupy more time 
 than we can spare. I shall read you the names of Broea's 
 craniometrie inventions. 
 
 In 1800, he invented the cruiii<tf/rapli ; an instrument tor 
 giving tlic profile of the skull. 
 
 In 1.S04, the new goniometer. The instrument in use, for 
 many years, for taking the facial angle was the one invented 
 by Dr. Morton of Philadelphia ; Jacquart made a vastly im- 
 proved instrument, but Broea's goniometer had the merit of 
 simplicity and <heapness. 
 
130 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 Ill 1867, he produced the stereograph. 
 
 In 1869, the cadre a maxima and the micrometric compass^ 
 
 In 1870, he invented the occipital goniometer, an instru- 
 ment for ascertaining the angle of the back of the skull. 
 
 In 1873, he brought to perfection a surprising number of 
 instruments mostly for the investigation of the endocranium, 
 or interior of the skull. A perplexing obstacle in the pur- 
 suit of craniology was the difficulty, or rather, impossibil- 
 ity, of obtaining measurements of the interior without saw- 
 ing open the cranium. This would spoil the specimen and 
 could not, of course, be permitted. The instruments about 
 to be mentioned were to be introduced through the occipital 
 foramen, the large aperture in the base of the skull. 
 
 The cranioscope enabled a bright light to be thrown upon 
 the interior of the skull by means of a mirror and lamp. 
 
 The porte-envpreinte intra-cranien, or intra-cranial molder, 
 is an instrument charged with a piece of wax by which a 
 mold can be obtained of various portions of the interior. 
 
 The eridograph is an ingenious contrivance for tracing on 
 paper the curvatures and outlines of the endocranium for 
 comparison with the external surface. 
 
 The millimetric roulette is a small wheel, graduated in 
 millimetres, for measuring the curved outlines on tracings. 
 
 The endometer is an instrument for measuring internal 
 diameters. 
 
 He invented, also, the sphenoidal crochet and ojjtic sound; 
 the pachymctcr, an instrument for measuring the thickness 
 of the skull at any point ; the turcica crochet; the acoustic 
 sounds; the craniophore; the craniostat; the facial demi-go- 
 nlometer ; the au7^lcular goniometer; the flexible bi-aurlcular 
 square; the cyclometer; the facial median goniometer; the 
 orthogon; the flexible goniometer ; the goniometer of inclination; 
 and the tropometer for measuring the degree of torsion, or 
 twisting, of the humerus, or arm bone, a racial characteristic 
 of importance. 
 
 I fear this list of names has been rather tedious, but it is 
 not only pertinent to the subject as illustrating Broca's 
 mechanical ingenuity, but it ma}^ enable those present who 
 
PAIL nuocA. 1:U 
 
 have no special accjii;iintanrr u illi (•raiiiolo«j;y to Ibrm some 
 r()iK'i'j)tion of thr iiuiiR-nsc and inti-icate lal>or iiivolvod in 
 aci.iinit«.' uieasureimnts of the skull. Professor Huxley, 
 speakinu;; of these elaborate instruments, says, "One can 
 not mention the name <il' Tudca wilhout the «rreatest 
 gratitude." 
 
 This, then, \\a-> the l)e.uinnin;; of the Laboratory of An- 
 throi)(»loi;y. In 180S, the Mini.ster of rublic Instruction, 
 M. Duruy, conceive<l the happy thou«,dit of establishing 
 the practical school of hij;h studies — L'ccole pratique des 
 Jtautes Hvdes — by giving an annual allowance and an offi- 
 cial character to the various laboratories connected with in- 
 stitutions of learning. Hroca's laboratory was included. 
 He at once instituted a .sy.stem of teaching which attracted 
 so large a class that he was obliged to ask the dean for per- 
 mission to u.se a larger theatre. 
 
 The progress of the school was interrupted by the Franco- 
 German war of 1870-1. Broca was, at that time, professor 
 of clinical surgery at the hospital of La Pitie, which was 
 from the very beginning of the siege of Paris crowded with 
 wounded men. To these and to the care of the hospital he 
 devoted himself exclusively, and his laboratory was for- 
 saken. He had been one of the thi'ce directors appointed 
 to take charge of the Public Assistance. During the days 
 of the Commune, for which, as sterling republican and 
 patriot, he had a supreme detestation, he remained at his 
 post in Paris, taking care «>f the patients still in his hos- 
 pital, but busying himself in taking plaster-casts of brains, 
 thus beginning the superb collection of cerel)ral molds which 
 is now to be seen in the Musee l>r<jea. The I'ri'sident of the 
 Council of Public Assistance fled to \'ersailles without no- 
 tifying Broca, who was the vice-president, and leaving the 
 money and securities in charge of the cashier. The danger 
 of a seizure of these valuables by the communists was im- 
 minent, and Broca determined to save them, if })ossible. 
 He, himself, carried them away, night after night, in cari)et- 
 bags, and concealed them at the ho.spital of La Charite. by 
 the aid of the director. He was careful to leave three or 
 
lo2 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 • 
 
 four thousand Iraiies in the saiV, and, much to the disap- 
 pointment of the insurgents, this was all that they found 
 when, a day or two later, they made the anticipated raid. 
 Apprehensive that the treasure might, in some way, be 
 traced, Broca devised a bold scheme for its removal to Ver- 
 sailles. A wagon loaded with potatoes started for the hos- 
 pital of Ivry with the precious carpet-bags concealed under- 
 neath them, and as soon as it had safely passed the outmost 
 guard, the wagon was turned toward Versailles, which it 
 reached in safety, and the bags were duly delivered to the 
 over-prudent president. The amount thus saved to the 
 government by Broca's firmness was seventj^-'five millions 
 of francs, ($15,000,000.) After the victory and the return 
 to Paris, the directory of the Public Assistance was dis- 
 solved, and not even a vote of thanks was offered for this 
 eminent service. 
 
 Broca was not the man to trouble himself about com- 
 pliments. He had done his duty and now all his energies 
 were devoted to bringing forward his beloved science. He 
 founded the Revue d'anthropologle, the first number of which 
 appeared in 1872, and this journal he continued to edit as 
 long as he lived. His next undertaking was to establish a 
 School of Anthropology, and so irresistible were the ardor 
 and persuasion he brought to bear that in May, 1875, the 
 Dean of the Faculty assigned him the second story over the 
 Musee Dupuytren for the new school. For the purpose of 
 furnishing and starting it, the sum of thirty-five thousand 
 francs was subscribed by twenty-three members of the so- 
 ciety. The work was commenced iri July and completed in 
 the following spring. The new scliool, however, was not to 
 escape its share of opposition. The clerical party denounced 
 the project without ceasing, branding its professors as 
 atheists and materialists, and so thoroughly did they succeed 
 in alarming the Minister of Public Instruction that that 
 functionary was, with great difficult}^ persuaded to author- 
 ize the scliool to proceed ; when he, at last, did so, it was 
 only for a year, and every difficulty and discouragement 
 was thrown in the wav. 
 
I'At I, i;i;<»(A. 1."):] 
 
 I>i*oca pcrsrvcri'tl tliit»iii;li il all ami, on the l.")tli Dccom- 
 licr, 1S7C>. tlu' Sijiool of Anthroj)oloj,^y was (»J)(ih'(1 l>y liiin 
 Avitli a (lisi'oursc entitled "Tlie Pro^rainineor Aiitliropolo.iiV,'' 
 wliieh lia.s been translated into many lan^nages. " Tt was."' 
 says Pozzi, "an eloquent plea pj'o c/onjo sif'," and eerlaiidy 
 it was his own edifice, the school wliich he opened that day. 
 Unlike most institutions in I'^-ancc, it had heen estahlished 
 ■without the aid <»r the jj,overnnient, and l)y the personal 
 eflorts of the founder alone. Some time later, so brilliant 
 was the success of the new school, the Municipal Council of 
 Paris, and the Council-General of the Seine, spontaneously 
 allotted it an annual .subsidy of twelve thousand francs. 
 
 Still the ministry maintained its old position of distrust 
 and almost hostility, livery year, it was necessary to apply 
 for a new authorization which it re([uired n-newed efforts 
 and influence to obtain. It was even then ;j;ranled only for 
 another year, and individually ; that is to .<ay, each profes.>;or 
 was authorized, by name, to teach, but they were forbidden 
 to call themselves a .school, as indicating their solidarity. 
 At length, the election of 1S78 con.solidated the republic 
 and placed all institutions, contending for progress, in their 
 rightful position. The School of Anthropology was <luly 
 and permanently authorized. I'urther, the Chambers voted 
 it an annual subsidy of twenty thousand francs, which 
 joined to its other resources, raised its annual income to 
 thirty-four thousand francs, or nearly $7,000. 
 
 The Society of Anthropology, the Laboratory and the 
 School, all united in the same locality, t'ormed, thus, a con- 
 federation known as the Anthropological Institute. The 
 students from the school were admitted to the laboratory, 
 where measurements and dissections weic ma<le under the 
 direction of Paul Topinard, assistant director, and of Chud- 
 zinski and Kuhll, eurators. In the neighborhood is the 
 important library of the Society, and the finest anthropo- 
 logical museum in the world. Since the death of its founder, 
 it has been appropriately named La Musee Broca. 
 
 It may be imagined with what .sitisfaction Broca wit- 
 nessed the completion of his labors to establisii his favorite 
 
134 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 science on a permanent basis. Of his own work in Anthro- 
 pology, it is impossible, in the limits of a lecture, to give any 
 adequate account. His friend, Professor Pozzi, has attempted 
 a bibliography of his writings which he admits to be im- 
 perfect, and which yet covers seventeen pages, in double 
 columns of small type of the Revue d'anthropologie, which 
 is a large octavo in size. I have been able to add some few 
 articles to Pozzi's list, and, of the whole, have made the fol- 
 lowing enumeration : 
 
 Broca's contributions to the medical sciences, embracing 
 anatomy and physiology, both normal and pathological, and 
 surgery, number 243 articles and volumes. His papers on 
 the anatomy and functions of the brain are 53 in number. 
 His last and most important work on this subject, a treatise 
 on the morphology of the brain, was left unfinished. 
 
 In anthropology, I find 109 articles and volumes upon 
 comparative anatomy and general anthropology ; 48 papers 
 on general craniology, and 35 on special craniology ; 27 
 papers on ethnology, and 19 on miscellaneous subjects. 
 The total number of his printed articles and volumes, so 
 far as ascertained, is 534. It is to be remembered that a 
 large part of these papers "are quite extensive, running- 
 through several numbers of the journals in which they ap- 
 peared. Man}" of them were reprinted in pamphlet form, 
 and he, himself, commenced a collection of his anthropo- 
 logical memoirs, of which three large volumes were pub- 
 lished. Among the more important of these contributions 
 may be mentioned his paper on Linguistics and Anthro- 
 pology ; his General Instructions for Observations on An- 
 thropology. This last was a codification of the rules neces- 
 sary to be observed by travelers and investigators; it was 
 issued in 1865, and was completed ten years later bj'" the 
 Instructions in Craniology and Craniometry. This very 
 valuable and original work had immense success, and was 
 translated into nearly every modern language. Of his 
 writings on the brain, the more important are his memoir 
 upon cranio-cerebral topograph}'; on the great limbic lobe; 
 on the olfactory centres, and his admirable treatise on cer- 
 
I'AiL HHocA. i::.') 
 
 ebral noinenclature. <)iic of his (liscovcriis in tliis coii- 
 iicction is assoc-iated lu-nuaiiciitly with his name. Cfitain 
 patients who preserve thi' ineninry of words, have full use 
 of the larynx, mouth ami lijis, Imvc yet lost the powei- of 
 artieulation. The disease is ealled aphemia or aphasia. 
 Broca observed that in the autopsies of these patients there 
 was invariably present a diseased condition of a portion of 
 the third frontal eonvolution of the brain on the left side. 
 This convolution, thus inferred to be the .'^eat of lan<ruage, 
 is known as "the convolution of Broca." In a vast number 
 of cases, the prediction has been made, during life, that a 
 certain portion of this convolution, the surface of its lower 
 tliird, would be found diseased, and it has been fulfilled 
 with mathematical precision. There are some exceptions 
 in which the disease is found in the third convolution on the 
 rigid side. Sini^ularly enough, in most of these cases, it was 
 found that the patients had been left-handed, and in these 
 the right side of the brain is generally more develoiied than 
 the left. The subject of the localization of the functions of 
 the brain — by which we mean the discovering of the portic- 
 iilar convolutions or other portions of the brain in which re- 
 side the functions of animal life — is of the highest interest; 
 but is still to be considered as under investigation. 
 
 When, in 1S72, it was determined to found a French 
 Association for the Advancement of Science, after the model 
 of the English Association, Broca took an active part in the 
 orgaiuzation. He was one of the provisional council of 
 which Claude Bernard was the President. He established 
 the section of anthroi)ology, which has be<n briiliantlv 
 successful, the need of such a section not being denied in 
 France as it had been in the English A.ssociation. 
 
 While all this work was being done in anthropology, it 
 must be borne in mind that Broca was a i)rofe.-<.sor of the 
 Faculty of Medicine and a Surgeon of Hospitals, and that 
 liis duties in these conneetions re«iuirfd some Imurs of every 
 day for their discharge. He was an imaniation of work. 
 Naturally, the (piestion arises, what was the (juality of this 
 amazing cpiantity of work performed, and would it have 
 
136 SATURDAY LECTUllES. 
 
 been better for his fame if he had concentrated his energies 
 upon fewer subjects ? In some persons, production is a slow 
 process, accompanied with extreme tension of the brain ; 
 the thought dwells a long time in the mind before it assumes 
 the form in which it is to appear; such persons bring forth 
 in sorrow and in pain. This was not Broca's ease. To 
 express his thoughts with extreme rapidity, whether by 
 speech or pen, was, to him, the most facile of functions. It 
 seemed play rather than work. And yet, Trelat, a critical 
 Judge, said of him, " Broca never wrote anything that came 
 down to mediocrity." His mind was essentially many-sided, 
 of restless activity and well sustained by the admirable 
 physical organization which he possessed. His intense love 
 of truth and the ardor of his convictions, at times, led him 
 to too great vehemence of expression. He was impatient 
 with those who did not see the truth as he saw it, or did not 
 see it as rapidly as he did. His work in anatomy, physiol- 
 ogy, and surgery stands, to this day, mostly unquestioned. 
 His qualifications for anthropology are forcibly stated by 
 one of his pupils. Professor Ball, who says : " Anthropology 
 is a compound of so many other sciences that the interven- 
 tion of a grasping and encyclopsedic mind like Broca's is 
 almost invaluable to form the connecting link between so 
 many different branches of human knowledge. An excel- 
 lent mathematician, a first-rate anatomist, a good Greek 
 scholar, Broca combined in himself that diversified knowl- 
 edge which the subject requires, with the synthetical ten- 
 dencies which condense these disseminated forces, and make 
 them converge upon a single point." 
 
 In person, Broca was of the middle height arid strongly 
 built. His broad forehead and lustrous brown eyes gave a 
 very noble expression to his face. In private life, his re- 
 lations were in every way admirable. Benevolent and 
 generous, he was adored by liis family, and those who were 
 once his friends were his friends for life, — he " grappled tliem 
 to his soul with hooks of steel." He was a delightful com- 
 panion in his social hours. He had traveled much, and 
 would relate his adventures and observations with great 
 
v\v\. iu:ucA. 137 
 
 humur. I may be allowed to iiuotc one iucident which he 
 loved to recount. 
 
 While traveling' in JSpain he came to .Seville and, desiring 
 to be shaved, sent for the nearest barber. Fij;aro ap{)eared 
 and, knowing that his customer was a famous surgeon, re- 
 fused to receive any recompense. "Sir," said he, with a 
 lofty air, " that is never allowed between professional breth- 
 ren!" The class of barber-surgeons exists to-day, in Sj)ain, 
 as it did when Cervantes wrote. 
 
 The crowning {)ublic honor of IJroca's life remains to be 
 told. In 1879, the Senate nominated him as permanent 
 Senator, representing Science. lie was proposetl, of course, 
 by the left. The right, or monarchical, side, made tierce op- 
 position. He was an unyielding Republican, the founder 
 of the Antliroi)ological Institute, which meant free-think- 
 ing and athei.sm. They searched his writings for doctrines 
 to convict him and, with great joy, published this quotation, 
 •' I would rather be an ai)e brought to perfection than a de- 
 generate Adam." But this proved to have been a saying 
 of Claparede's and not of Broca's. A sentence was taken 
 from his Programme of Anthropology, "There is no faith, 
 however respectable, no interest, however legitimate, which 
 must not accommodate itself to the ])rogre.<s of human 
 knowledge and bend before truth, if the truth be demon- 
 strated." Even this scarcely orthodox doctrine, it .seemed, 
 was qualified by the preceding sentence which .said that 
 "science must keep aloof from anything not within its 
 province." 
 
 Broca, with characteristic independence, took no part, 
 whatever, in the proceedings, but he was elected. On the 
 10th February, 1880, a banquet was given him by some of 
 his most attached friends, members of the Faculty of Medi- 
 cine, of the Academy of Medicine, of the Society of Anthro- 
 pology, of the Senate, of the Chamber of Deputies, &c., in 
 commemoration of the high honor bestowed upon him. 
 It was the grandest banquet ever given to a scientific man. 
 The long tabh' was tilled with those who had shared Ids 
 struggles and labors at dilfereiit \)Avi< of lii>^ career from the 
 
138 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 College of Suiiite-Foix to the Senate. Professor Verneuil, 
 liis life-long friend, said to him, "If we are in great strength 
 around thee, it is because thou hast continually made new 
 friends, and hast never lost a single one." 
 
 In his speech of acknowledgment, Broca said, "the}^ 
 would not have thought of me if they had not known with 
 what certainty they could count upon my devotion to 
 republican principles ; and if, among many others not less 
 trustworthy and more skilled in political knowledge, they 
 have chosen a man of science, it is because they hold science 
 in high consideration, and believe that to serve science is to 
 serve one's country best." 
 
 His speech was one of the most eloquent he had ever 
 delivered, and ended Avith a sentence that proved strangely 
 pathetic, in-the light of the after occurrence. He said, " were 
 I superstitious, I should believe, from the great hajipiness 
 I experience to-day, that some great danger was threatening 
 me." 
 
 Five months later, these now sorrowing friends followed 
 him to the grave. On Tuesday, the 6th July, 1880, he was 
 in his seat at the Senate and was attacked suddenly by 
 faintness. The next day, he had apparently recovered, and 
 Thursday evening was passed in work with his friend, 
 pupil, colleague, and successor, Dr. Paul Topinard. Toward 
 midnight, he was suddenly attacked with difficulty of 
 breathing, he rose from his bed and, in ten minutes, he ex- 
 pired. The post mortem examination discovered no lesion 
 of any organ, — no cause for this sudden taking-o.ff. " Cere- 
 bral exhaustion '' was the medical periphrasis, which im- 
 plied two things; — that the man had worked himself to 
 death and that how he died was a mystery. He died at the 
 comparatively early age of 50, in the very plenitude of his 
 powers and the height of his renown. 
 
 He was buried in the cemetery of the old church of the 
 Celestins, in which his first labors in craniology had com- 
 menced thirty-three years before, and which led to his long 
 course of studies in anthropology. The Vice-President of 
 the Senate, M. Eugene Pelletan, in his oration at the grave. 
 
I'Air. HHOCA. 139 
 
 said, altiT an rl<>(|Uoiit enlo^iv iipon the dead, "A new science, 
 human palieontology, lias just originated under our feot; 
 at hundreds of ages of depth, our fore-fathers have been, in 
 some way, surprised, lying pell-mell in the midst of the 
 giant fauna of a vanished creation. Broea was one of the 
 valiant pioneers who penetrated the foremost into the sub- 
 terranean world of humanity, and wl»o understood best how 
 to thnnv light on such history as is left of it.'' 
 
 His work is continued by those who were his disciples 
 and colleagues. Gavarret is the director of the School of 
 Anthropology, Matthias Duval is director of the Laboratory, 
 and Dr. Paul Topinard is the General Secretary of the So- 
 ciety and director of the Revue d'anthropologie. 
 
 The museum, now the Musee Broca, continues to increase 
 its treasures; a recent number of the Review states that 
 there are more than seven thousand specimens in craniology 
 alone. 
 
 Broca left an enormous quantity of notes and drawings; 
 also, two (piarto volumes which contain the measurements 
 of crania made by him during twenty years. These are 
 divided into sixty -four series of different races, and record 
 more than 185,000 measurements. 
 
 Madame Broca, liis widow, has devoted a sum of momy 
 to found a '' Broca prize" — Ic prix Broca. The subject of 
 competition is " human and comparative anatomy in relation 
 to anthropology." Writers of all nations may compete but 
 their papers must be written in French. The prize is 1,500 
 francs, and it is to be bestowed every two years. 
 
 There is not much more that needs to be said of Broca 
 and his work. If Europe be now garrisoned with societies 
 of anthropology composed of earnest workers, loyally co- 
 operating witii the votaries of othe'r sciences, and daily 
 adding to the vast mass of facts and observations wiiiih 
 have been accumulated concerning man, it is indisputable 
 that it is to I>roca we are indebted for their existence. Of 
 his remarkable litne.«;s for the task which it fell to liim to 
 undertake, there can be no d<)ul)t. but it was one predom- 
 inating quality of his moral nature which gave him Ids 
 
140 SATUllDAY LECTURES. 
 
 great influence over other men, and which has made his 
 work so authoritative and enduring, and that was his un- 
 swerving love of truth. In science, he was always the 
 judge — never the advocate. Pure and lofty-minded, he 
 stood aloof from intrigues, and honors came to him unsought. 
 The laureate's words may well be said of liiiii, — 
 
 " Who never sold the truth to serve the liour. " 
 
 In conclusion, allow me to remind you that there is what 
 may be termed a moral side of the science whose history 
 we have been considering. To sj^end our hours in the 
 stud}'' of man — to reflect upon his marvelous metamorphosis 
 from the grimy savage of the cave to the gentleman of to- 
 daj'' — to ponder upon his curious devices, his laws, his 
 marriage-customs, his battles, his religions, is to All our 
 minds with a belief in a common brotherhood more con- 
 vincingly than peace societies or missionaries can teach, 
 and to lead us to repeat with Terence : — " I am a man — 
 therefore all human things concern me." 
 
 *^* I desire to acknowledge my obligation to Prof. Pozzi's article in the 
 Revue d'anthropologie for much of the details of the founding of the Institute. 
 
PA I I. r.itocA. 141 
 
 ]SrOTES. 
 
 (a) La Soci^t^ ethnologique (le Paris. (1839.) 
 
 Ptihlications : — Mimoires cle la Soci^ti ethnologiciue. 2 vols., 8vo. 
 Paris, 1841-5. 
 
 Pulliliii de la Society ethnolojjiqiie cle Paris. Vol. I, 8vo. Paris, 1847. 
 
 (6^ The American Ellinologit-al Society. (1842.) 
 
 Publications : — Transaction^ of the .-Vnicrican Iithnoloj.jical Society. Vols. 
 I, 2, 8vo. N. York, 1S45; '^48. 
 
 Bulletin of the American Ethnological Society. 8vo. N. York, i860. 
 
 A/so : The Gospels, written in the Xej;ro jjatois of English, with Arabic 
 characters, by a Mandingo slave in Georj^ia. \V. B. Hodgson. 8vo., 1857, 
 pp. 16. 
 
 Report on the Iluacals or ancient graveyards of Chiri(iui. By J. K. Mer- 
 ritt. 8vo.. i860, pp. 14. 
 
 (c) The Ethnological Society of Loudon. (1844.) 
 
 Publications : — Journal of the Ethnological Society, 4 vols., 1848-56. 
 Transactions, etc., 7 vols., 1859-69. Journal, (new series,) 2 vols.. 1869-71. 
 13 vols., 8vo., London, 1848-71. 
 
 (d) La Societc (rantliropologie de Paris. (1859.) 
 
 Publications : — I'.ulletins de la Societe d'anthropologie de Paris. lat 
 series, vols. 1-6. 1860-5; 2d series, vols. 1-12. 1866-77; 3d series, vols. 
 1-5. 1878-82. 8vo., Paris. Current. 
 
 Memoires de la Society d'anthropologie de Paris, ist series, vols. 1-3, 
 1860-72; 2d series, vols. 1-2, 1875-82. 8vo., Paris. 
 
 (e) Versianunhiiig der Anthropologen in Gottingeu in 1861. 
 
 (/) The Anthropological Society of London. (^186o. » 
 
 Publications : — The Anthropological Review and Journal of the Anthro- 
 pological Society of London. 8 vols.. 1863-1870. Journal of Anthropol- 
 ogy. I vol., 1S70-I. 8vo.. London. 
 
 ijg) The Aiithrop(il<>;,M<'al Iiisiitiitf of Great Uiitaiii and lrelan<l. 
 (1871.. 
 Publications : —Joumz\ of the .\nthropological Institute, etc. 1871-82. 
 ,8vo., London. Current. 
 
 (A I Sociedad de antropoltigia <!(' Madrid. ' 1M>'). 
 
 (i) Iniper. Ob:?lie?tvo ljid)iteli je-stestwosnanya, antropologii i etno- 
 grafii. Moscow. l.'^nn. . 
 
142 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 {k) Berliner Gesellschaft I'iir Anthropologie, Ethuologie uud Urge- 
 schichte. (1868.) 
 Publications : — Zeitschrift fiir Ethnologic. Organ der Berliner Gesell- 
 schaft, etc. Berlin, 8vo., vols. 1-14,1869-1882. Current. 
 
 (I) Authropologische Gesellschaft in Wien. (1870.) 
 
 Publications : — Mittheilungen der anthropologischen Gesellschaft in Wien. 
 Wien, 8vo., vols. 1-12,1871-82. Current. 
 
 (m) Societa italiana di antropologia e di etnologia. (1871.) 
 
 Publications : — Archivio per I'antropologia e la etnologia. Organo della 
 Societa italiana, etc. Firenze, 8vo., vols. 1-9, 1871-79. 
 
 Oi) The Anthropological Institute of New York. (1871.) 
 
 Publicatio7is : — The Journal of the Anthropological Institute of New 
 York. 1 87 1-2, 8vo., New York, Vol. I, No. i. 
 
 (0) Komisya autropologii Akademii Umiejetnosci w Krakowie. 
 
 (1877.) 
 
 Ptiblications : — Zbi6r wiadmosci do antropologii Krajowej wydawany 
 Staranien komisyi antropologicznej Akademii Umiejetnosci w Krakowie. 
 Vols.' 1-4, 8vo., Krakow, 1 877-80. Current. 
 
 (p) The Anthropological Society of Washington, D. C. (1879.) 
 
 Publications : — Abstract of Transactions of the Anthropological Society of 
 Washington, D. C, for the ist year, ending Jan. 20, 1880, and for the 2d 
 year, ending Jan. 18, iSSi. 8vo. Washington, D. C, 1881. 
 
 {q) Deutsche Gesellschaft fiir Anthropologic, Ethnologic und Urge- 
 schichte. (1870.) 
 Publications : — Correspondenzblatt der deutschen Gesellschaft, etc. Braun- 
 schweig, 4to, Vols. 1-12, 1871-82. Appears (with separate pagination) in 
 the : Archiv. fiir Anthropologic ; Zeitschrift fiir Naturgeschichte und Urge- 
 schichtc des Menschen. Braunschweig, 4to., Vols. 1-14. 1866-82. 
 
 *^* This society meets annually in some German city. The first meeting 
 took place in Berlin in 1870. 
 
 (r) Congres international d'anthropologie et d'archeologie prehis- 
 torique. (1865.) 
 
 Congres l. Ncufchatel, 1866. Compte rendu 8vo. Paris, 1866. 
 
 2. Paris, 1867. CogLpte rendu. 8vo. Paris, 1868. 
 
 3. Norwich, 1868. Compte rendu. 8vo. London, 1869. 
 
 4. Copenhagen, 1869. Compte rendu. 8vo. Copenhagen, 1870. 
 
 5. Bologna, 1871. Compte rendu. Svo. Bologna, 1873. 
 
 6. Bruxelles, 1872. Compte rendu. 8vo. Bruxelles, 1873. 
 
 7. Stockholm, 1874. Compte rendu. Svo. Chalons, 1875. 
 
 8. Buda Pesth, 1876. 
 
 9. Lisbon, 1880. 
 
DE1-P-S1'.\ I-XI'I.OKATION 
 
 Lecture delivered in the United States Nationcl Muscnni, April 22, iSS^. !>>' 
 I'rof. Wm. H. Dali.. 
 
 Ladies and Gkntlemkn: 
 
 The siibjoi't of tliis Icetuic may be defined as covering the 
 investigation of all that relates to the ocean and its inhabi- 
 . tants, considered as a wliole, with the exception of those 
 features which are due to the influence of external causes, 
 such as the tides, and those which are exhibited solely in 
 shallow water, and therefore are in one sense characteristic 
 rather of the coasts themselves than of the sea. 
 
 The field naturally divides itself into two areas of re- 
 search, the ]>hysical and the biological. The physical fea- 
 tures inelude the temperature of the sea-water in different 
 geographical regions and at different depths ; the compoHition 
 of the water and investigations into the relative amounts of 
 mineral .salts, organic impurities, air, or other gases contained 
 in it, and upon which its weight or density depends; the 
 motions of the water contained in the bed of the ocean, 
 whieh, apart from the tides, dei)cnd largely on its variations 
 in temi)crature and density, and which, when tolerably con- 
 stant and sufficiently well marked to attract the attention of 
 navigators, are commonly known as ocean currents; and, 
 lastly, of the deptJi of the sea or the topogra])hy and physi- 
 cal features of the bed in which it is contained. 
 
 The biological features include the capture and classilica- 
 tion of the animals living in the sea, especially on its bottom, 
 and the circumstances attending their existence there, both 
 as regards their food and manner of living, and the results, 
 if any, produced by the presence of their r.'inniiK .ifttr 
 death. • 
 
 It is evident that the field is too large to be treated in 
 detail within the limits of a single lecture, and therefore I 
 shall conline myself to a general <lescription of the means 
 used in exploring the bed of the ocean, of the conclusions 
 whicli ai)j>ear to be warranted by the discoveries so far 
 
 «43 
 
144 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 iiiade, and a l)rief review of the history of such explorations 
 and the part taken in them by our own country. 
 
 The determination of the depth of the sea, at least to a 
 certain distance from the surface, is a necessary preliminary 
 to navigation, and hence has grown with commerce from 
 the time when the primitive savage tirst launched his rude 
 canoe in the Nile delta until the project of an Atlantic 
 cable rendered it necessary to plumb the depths of ocean. 
 The use of a weighted line for this purpose probably long 
 antedates the historic period. The ordinary mariner's lead- 
 line is familiar to nearly everybody, and consists simply of 
 an elongated piece of lead with a slight indentation in its 
 bottom, and a hole in its smaller end by which is attached 
 a stout cord, large enough not to cut the hands when being 
 hauled in, marked at regular intervals with tufts of red, 
 white, and blue flannel, or small leather tags, to indi- 
 cate the length of line run out. In the cavity in the bot- 
 tom of the lead is usually placed a little tallow or hard 
 soap, Avhicli will bring up a few particles serving to indicate 
 the kind of mud, sand, or gravel, of which the bottom is 
 composed. In ordinary depths the line runs out rapidly 
 until the bottom is reached, and the thump of the lead on 
 hard sand is distinguishable in still water at a depth of 
 nearly a quarter of a mile. 
 
 But in greater depths and in waters, or from a vessel, more 
 or less in motion, the accurac}^ of the soundings possible by 
 the common method becomes rapidly less, and at depths of 
 1,000 fathoms (about a mile) the determination becomes 
 quite untrustworthy. 
 
 This was not at first realized by investigators, and more 
 or less confidence was placed in depths, such as those re- 
 ported by Walsh, Denham, and Parker, who ran out from 
 six to ten miles of line, in the Atlantic without recognizing 
 that the bottom had been reached, in regions where we now 
 know the depth does not vary much from two miles. The 
 mystery and uncertainty which thus became associated with 
 the conception of the depths of ocean had, as will be shown 
 hereafter, an important effect in retarding attempts at ex-' 
 ploration of the deep sea. 
 
i>i;i:r-si;.\ i:.\i'i,(ti;A i ion. 115 
 
 Sciciitilk- navigators, ill an early |»cri()il. hruan to att(iii|it 
 ini|ti(>vrincnts in sounding apparatus lor i^ivat dcittlis. In 
 this Held tho offic-ers of our own navv havi* stood easily lirsl, 
 not only in order of [)riority of invention, but also in the 
 porfcM'tion of the results attained up t(» the present time. 
 
 An early inii>roveinent was the substitution, in i)laee of 
 the ordinary U-ad-iine, of a very line lini' and a very heavy 
 weifj^ht. whieli ran out ra|)idl\', and wa< not intendei] to be 
 rei'overed, l»ut was eut at the surfaee. The chan;j;e in the 
 rate of runniuii- out of the line indieatcs when bottom is 
 reaehcd. I have thus sounded in depths of over a mile 
 witjj satisfaetory results. But the nature, as well as the dis- 
 tanee, of the bottom, is an important feature in such investi- 
 gations, and .sounding instruments, which would {)ick up a 
 good-sized sample of tlie bottom at the depth of a mile or 
 more, and bring it safely to the surface, were tlie next in 
 order of invention. Sir John Ross, as early as 1818, in- 
 vented a " elamm " something like an old fashioned i)air of 
 .sugar tongs, which should be closed by a falling weight on 
 striking the bottom. The same idea, in different forms, has 
 since been tried l)y several inventors, but it has never 
 proved satisfactory in the long run. A piece of gravel or 
 shell gets between the edges of the tongs, hold them apart, 
 and the contents are washed out while hauling in. Sir 
 .lohn Ross, however, succeeded in several cases in briuEfins: 
 up several i)Ounds of the bottom, once with some animals 
 contained in it, from depths of over five hundred and pos- 
 sibly one thousand fathoms. Modifications of this princi- 
 ple are found in the .so-called '" Bulldog " and " Fitzgerald " 
 .M)unding instruments, both of which have been well .spoken 
 of for their performances on certain occasions, but which 
 have not ijorne the test of greater use. 
 
 The first important advance in this direction was made 
 by Midshipman .lolni M. Brooke, U.S. N., in 1854. It should 
 be stated that in addition to the difficulty of getting the 
 weight and line perpendieularly to the bottom, and know- 
 ing when the bottom has l)een reached, another important 
 featiu-e in .sounding work is the recovery of the line and 
 
 in 
 
14(3 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 lead. When sounding is done with hempen-line, and a 
 sounding Aveight of fift}^ or one hundred pounds, it will be 
 apparent that the friction of two or three miles of line, with 
 its tags and instruments attached, inust be enormous, even 
 if it could be hauled up perpendicularly in still water. But 
 when the vessel, as she alwa^'s must, drifts a little, and the 
 line comes up in a diagonal direction, the friction, added to 
 the weight, renders the safe recovery of the line, sounding- 
 cup, and thermometers or w^ater bottles attached to it — a 
 matter of great difficulty, some uncertainty, and several 
 hours of time. In anything but the best of weather such 
 work becomes almost impracticable. 
 
 Mr. Brooke's invention included an ingenious and simple 
 apparatus for detaching the weigjit at the bottom of the sea, 
 and leaving it there. Having thus to haul up only the line 
 and the light tube containing the sample of the bottom, 
 the labor was greatly diminished, and the time of hauling 
 in much shortened. Brooke's apparatus has formed the 
 basis of the only really successful sounding-cups which are 
 now in use either by our own or foreign navigators. Im- 
 provements on the original form were successively made by 
 Capt. Shortlancl, of the British navy, Capt. Belknap, of 
 our own nav}^, and lastly by Lieut. Com. Sigsbee, U. S. N., 
 while engaged in the service of the Coast Survey. The in- 
 strument, as perfected by Belknap and Sigsbee, does not 
 seem capable of much further improvement, and works to a 
 charm. The accessory machinery for use in deep-sea sound- 
 ings, such as small engines, reels for the line, blocks, and 
 elastic arrangements of rubber or steel springs to guard 
 against the effect of sudden jerks upon the line, have been 
 improved from time to time, and are fully described in pub- 
 lications on the subject by Sir Wyville Thomson and Lieut. 
 Com. Sigsbee. The most important improvement of recent 
 date is due to the distinguished Professor Sir William Thom- 
 son, of Glasgow, in 1872. This consists partly in the em- 
 plo^anent of fine steel piano-wire for the line inst,ead of rope, 
 and partly in the method of its use. Instead of the tags on 
 the line to determine the length run out, the latter is known 
 
DKKP-SI^V 1:\1'I.oi;atI()N. 1 17 
 
 ])y the number ol" rrvoliitioii-^ iiindi' I»y (lu- reel iVoiii wliidi 
 it uncoils, thus savint,^ ji vast amount ol" IVietion between 
 the water and tlie wire-Hne. The moment of touehin<f bot- 
 tom is also nuu'h more clearly indicated by the light reel 
 employeil, which, assisted by the absence of friction on the 
 wire, ceases to turn almost as soon as the weiji^ht touches 
 bottom. It is im|)ossibl(', in the brief account I can give 
 you, to go into the minuter details wliich iiia\' be found in 
 the publications })reviously mentioned. 
 
 This invention has i)roved to be of the greatest import- 
 ance, and, singularly enough, though invented before the 
 celebrated voyage of the Challenger, sent out by the British 
 government, and immediately taken up by Belknap in our 
 own sounding expeditions in the North Pacific, where its 
 value was thoroughly demonstrated, the countrymen of 
 the inventor continued throughout their three years' cruise 
 to use the cumbersome hemp rope in all their sounding and 
 • Iredging work, thereby diminishing the efFectiveness of 
 their operations by at least sixty per cent. 
 
 Partly from the tact that the expense of deep-sea sound- 
 ing expeditions is so great as to place them beyond the 
 means of private individuals or scientific .societies, and 
 partly from the unsatisfactory results and enormous depths 
 reported by naval officers of several countries, governments 
 and scientific bodies remained, until recent years, indifferent 
 or sceptical as to the })racticability of making re.searches in 
 the deep-sea which should produce results at all adequate to 
 the expense involved. 
 
 It was only when the subject of telegraphic communication 
 by cable under the sea assumed a commercial importance 
 which could no longer be ignored, tliat a knowledge of the 
 conditions of the sea bottom, especially in the North At- 
 lantic, became a necessity. Deep-sea exploration may 
 therefore be said to have commenced systematically only 
 about 1850. The survey of the " telegra]>hic plateau" began 
 about this time by the aid of the British and American 
 navy, and even with the comparatively imperfect means 
 then available, a very large amount of information was 
 gathered in the course of the succee<ling four or tive vears. 
 
148 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 I have alread}' spoken of the attempts at securing speci- 
 mens of the bottom which accompanied sounding by vari- 
 ous methods. It is evident that the amount of material 
 which can be obtained by even the best modern sounding 
 apparatus is too small to give any adequate idea of plants 
 or animals which might exist on the sea bottom. This fol- 
 lows both because only the smallest animals could find en- 
 trance into the tubes intended to bring up .specimens of 
 bottom, and also because the apparatus is not fitted nor in- 
 tended for the purpose of capturing living animals, and if 
 any existed on the spot struck by the lead the blow would 
 probabl}^ reduce them to fragments. 
 
 Other means are then necessary for this purpose, and 
 since deep-.sea explorations have lately included both dredg- 
 ing and sounding as well as temperature observations and 
 collection of water-samples, I shall proceed to describe the 
 various instruments used for these purposes before consider- 
 ing the work accomplished by them. 
 
 The dredge and trawl are instruments which have been 
 used from time immemorial by fishermen, and which, in a 
 modified form, are employed in the deep sea for the capture 
 of its inhabitants. The naturalist's dredge was designed in 
 nearly its present form by O. F. Mliller, of Denmark, a very 
 distinguished early naturalist, more than a century ago. 
 It has been made more convenient and effective, but the 
 modifications are very slight. The best form seems to be 
 that adopted thirty years ago by Dr. Stimpson, and used by 
 American naturalists ever since. It comprises a frame of 
 heavy iron forming a parallelogram, the two long sides bev- 
 eled outward to act as scrapers ; it is perforated along the 
 hinder edge with a row of small holes, into which a net 
 and two flaps of canvas are laced with copper Avire. The 
 canvas is outside of the net and longer than the latter, and 
 protects it from being cut by sharp stones on the bottom as 
 it drags half full of mud behind the frame. Two movable 
 arms project forward from holes in the short sides of the 
 iron frame, coming together about two feet in front of it, to 
 one of which the dredge-rope is attached ; but the other is 
 
DEEP-SKA KXI'I i)|;.\ I loN. 11'. • 
 
 umIv laslu'.l tt» liu' lii-l witii |>;i( k llirca<l. Tims, in «lra^- 
 <iin«'- oviT tlu' liottoni, if tlu' ilr('»ljj;c latthcs on an inmiov- 
 ablo rock, tlio strain breaks the pack thread, the two arms 
 straij^'hten out. ami tiie (lredt;;e can usually be pulled away 
 <rom the rock without loss of frame or rope. 
 
 The trawl, as used by the En<2;lish exi>editions, is almost 
 precisely the same as the ordinary tisherman's beam-trawl, 
 in whii h the material is collected tVom the bottom by the 
 wei.iihted edge of a net which draus behind an iron bar or 
 beam which goes upon two runners of Hat iron. For deei>- 
 sea work, however, American investigators, especially Sigs- 
 bee. Prof. Alexander Agassi/., and Prof. Verrill, have intro- 
 duced important modifications, not only of the trawl, but ot 
 the dredge, rakes, and scrapers for the bottom, and various 
 seives and otiier apparatus for cleansing and assorting the 
 material collected. 
 
 A very important addition to the means of collecting in 
 deep water was invented by Captain Calver, R. N., during 
 the voyage of the Porcupine. This consisted in employing 
 •• swabs " or " tangles," large mops of shredded rope-yarns, 
 to sweep the bottom with, attached to the dredge to an iron 
 bar or to a weight, ^^any of the deep-sea animals^ such as 
 cru<tacca, sponges, starfish, and sea urchins, are rough or 
 prickly, and the long mops of wet threads entangled them 
 by hundreds, and came up covered with organisms when 
 the dredge had nothing but mud and a few small creatures 
 in it. A very large proportion of the animals collected 
 from the sea bottom has been obtained by the use of these 
 tangles or swabs, though many of the animals come up in 
 a masiied or broken state. 
 
 To obtain samples of water from any dc[»th, without ad- 
 mixture of other water, brass cylinders with poppet valves 
 at top and bottom have been used. These are very heavy, 
 and, as they descend, the pressure of the water raises the 
 valves an<l the water passes steadily through until the re- 
 • piircil depth is reached. Then the line is haule<l in, re- 
 lieving the upward pie.ssure on the valves, which fall ami 
 the enclosed water is thus kept intact for analysis. 
 
150 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 Several devices more complicated than the ordinary 
 " water bottle " have been employed for the same purpose 
 with success, especially one invented by Captain Wille, of 
 the Norwegian navy, and the Sigsbee water-cup, but all em- 
 body essentially' the same principle. 
 
 Most of you have seen thermometers which register the 
 greatest rise or fall of the fluid in their tubes by means of a 
 little enclosed index like a double-headed pin, and which 
 are known as self-registering. Such an apparatus is evi- 
 dently necessary to obtain a knowledge of the temperatures 
 of the deep sea, since no one can read the thermometers 
 when submerged, and the height of the column when hauled 
 in will necessaril}' represent only the latest temperature 
 near the surface. 
 
 All attempts to use ordinary self-registering thermometers 
 in deep-sea work failed as soon as tried ; not only because 
 the immense pressure of the sea water at great depths com- 
 pressed the bulb of the thermometer, thus forcing the fluid 
 in the tube to a point far above that which would register 
 the actual temperature, but because the pressure was usually 
 sufficient to crush the bulb and tube into fragments at a 
 comparatively moderate depth. At 2,500 fathoms, which is 
 the average depth of the ocean, the pressure is over three 
 tons to the square inch, which is far beyond the endurance 
 of any ordinar}^ thermometer bulb. To overcome this 
 difficulty, sometimes the entire thermometer and sometimes 
 the bulb of the thermometer has been surrounded by a sec- 
 ond bulb nearly filled with alcohol, so that the outer bulb 
 was supported by the fluid and the air bubble by yielding 
 to compression would relieve the interior bulb from its evil 
 effects. This method has proved completely successful and 
 the thermometers now in use for deep-sea work arc entirely 
 of this description. Those with an exposed stem and double 
 bulb are preferred as responding more readily to the tem- 
 perature, though subject to a slight correction for pressure 
 from which the totally enclosed instrument is free. 
 
 Sir John Ross, on his remarkable voyage in 1818, was 
 supplied with thermometers of this sort, and took the first 
 
i»i:i:i'-sKA Kxn.oitATiox. ].")! 
 
 dccp-sea tenipcratuivs. But tla- instrument .sufni.s to have 
 been forgotten even in England, lor, in tlie subsequent 
 voyages of Beeehcy (1825) and LUtke, (182(;) only common 
 thermometers were supplied, and the device seems to have 
 been inde|)endently re-invented by Glaishcr, Xegretti, and 
 Miller, within the last twenty years. As the thermometei-s 
 most commonly used for this purpose are made by the firm 
 of Casella, in London, they are usually called Casella ther- 
 mometers ; Xegretti and Zambra, of London, have invented 
 another form of thermometer less convenient in size and 
 shape than the Casella. but which offers a meritorious ad- 
 vance in some other directions. 
 
 Metallic thermometers, registering temperatures by the 
 unequal contraction and ex[)ansion of different metals com- 
 bined in one instrument, have been invented, and, while 
 perfect in theory, have not been found satisfactory, except 
 in moderate dej,)ths, when put to actual test. 
 
 Having described the various instruments employed, it 
 remains to indicate briefly the manner in which they are 
 used, premising that, for the minute det-ails of operations of 
 some complexity, it will be necessary for those interested to 
 refer to special treatises on the subject. 
 
 For good work in great depths of water a steam vessel is 
 ab.^olutely necessary. It is important that the lead line, 
 whether of rope or not, should descend pcrpcntlicularly, as 
 otherwise the length of line run out does not indicate the 
 true depth of the water, and greater strain on the line is in- 
 volved in hauling in. Now at sea there is always some 
 wave motion or swell, even in the calmest weather, and un- 
 less the ves.sel can be kept in her original position by a 
 gentle use of the propelling machinery she will certainly 
 drift away from the spot at which the lead was dropped into 
 the water. In running lines of .soundings the u.se of .^^tc^rn 
 is also necessary to continue on the desired course irrei^pect- 
 ive of the winds. The distance between any two staitons, 
 not tixed by astronomical observation or bearings on land, 
 can also be determined more accurately in the case of a ves- 
 sel under steam. A steam-engine is also re(piired to haul 
 
152 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 in the line, which in dredging would otherwise require the 
 labor of many seamen. 
 
 The operation of sounding is sufficiently simple, and re- 
 quires no explanation. A thermometer is usually attached 
 to the line at a short distance above the lead or sounding 
 cup. If serial temperatures are desired several thermome- 
 ters may be attached to different parts of tlie line, or several 
 water bottles if water samples are required. 
 
 In dredging or trawling the dredge or trawl is lowered to 
 the bottom by a line of sufficient strength. This, in the 
 work of the Coast Survey, is of wire rope, as suggested by 
 Prof. Alex. Agassiz, which, as compared with the rope used 
 on the Challenger expedition, saves much friction, much 
 room in stowing on the vessel, and easier handling, with no 
 loss of strength, and a great gain in the time occupied in 
 reaching the bottom and hauling in. In order that the 
 motion of the vessel in drawing the dredge over the bottom 
 may not tend to raise its mouth off the bottom, a weight is 
 usually attached to the line at some distance in advance of 
 the dredge and some slack line is run out, the resulting po- 
 sition of the ship, weight, and dredge being shown on the 
 diagram exhibited. 
 
 On the 1st of September, 1818, Sir John Ross, R. N., ran 
 out 1,000 fathoms of line, and in the mud, brought up by 
 the sounding-cup, were tubicolous worms, while at 800 
 fathoms was entangled a fine brittle star-fish, sometimes 
 known as a " Medusa's Head " on account of its many arms. 
 This shoAvs that the actual depth could not have exceeded 
 800 fathoms (since star-fish do not swim,) and was probably 
 less, but it is the first recorded instance of the capture of 
 animals from any such depth. 
 
 In 1817, Sir James Clarke Ross, R. N., published an ac- 
 count of his antarctic voyage, in Avhich he states that seve- 
 ral shell-fish Avere brought up from 1,000 fathoms on that 
 expedition, and that he believes the bed of the ocean to 
 be teeming Avith animal life. 
 
 ■ In spite of such testimony the existence of life on the sea 
 bottom, at a depth beyond tAvo or three hundred fathoms^ 
 
DEEP-SEA j:\I'I.<)i;ation. 1')3 
 
 was generally doubted or denied u\> to a comparatively re- 
 cent time. 
 
 Between 1840 and l.S.")(), I'n.f. ]:d\vard I\)rbes, of Britain, 
 prosecuted extensive researches into the fauna of the ocran 
 around Great Britain. and also in the .Egean sea durin^^ the 
 Mediterranean survey. Assisted by Jetlreys, MacAndivw, 
 Ball, and otlurs, dredging in moderate depths was energeti- 
 cally pro.secuted and facts gathered together. Forbes was 
 the first to philosophically treat these question.s, and was a 
 true pioneer in this work. But some peculiarities of the 
 particular part of the Mediterranean, in which his researches 
 were conducted, led him to the belief, true only for that 
 locality, that animal life dies out in the region between two 
 hundred and three hundred fathoms in depth, and that a 
 zero of life is reached about the latter point. 
 
 The j)remature death of Forbes l)rought to an untimely 
 end those studies which would have doubtless modified his 
 views, while the weight of his oiiinion, and the i)eculiar 
 charm of his personality fingered after him with such eflect 
 as to render naturalists, in general, incredulous or indifferent 
 to evidence which gradually accumulated to show that he 
 was in error. 
 
 In LS4G, Admiral 8pratt, K. X., dredged in olO fathoms 
 several shell-fish, in the vicinity of Malta. 
 
 In 1850, the veteran professor Michael Sars enumerated 
 nineteen kinds of animals, obtained by him otl" the coast of 
 Norway, in more than 300 fathoms. 
 
 In 1800, Dr. G. G. Wallich, naturalist to a Briti.sh sound- 
 ing exi»edition in the North Atlantic, in H. M. S. Bulldog, 
 commanded by Gai>tain Sir Leojiold McClintock, obtained a 
 mnnber of star-li<hes whirh had attached themselves to a 
 sounding-line which ha<l re-^ted on the bottom at a tlepth of 
 1,2<)0 fathoms. On his return hi. Wallich i»ui)lished the 
 tirst part of a work on " The Atlantic Sea-bed,' in which he 
 warmly advocated the view of the existence of life at great 
 depths. About the same time a broken cable was taken up 
 from a depth of 1.200 fathoms, in the Mediterranean, u[M)n 
 which a small true coral had ;:rown ~^i>"" tlir cal)le was laid. 
 
154 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 This was discussed by Milne-Edwards, the distinguished 
 French naturalist. Meanwhile the energetic Scandinavian 
 naturalists were pushing their researches into the deeper 
 water along the Norwegian coast. 
 
 Still these facts failed to secure that general consideration 
 which was necessary, in order that they should have their 
 appropriate effect on scientific opinion. Individual natu- 
 ralists, it is true, were more or less impressed; the views of 
 Forbes were occasionally called in question, but it was re- 
 served for American naturalists and hydrographers to initi- 
 ate that series of researches which has revolutionized scien- 
 tific opinion, remodelled our views of the physical conditions 
 of the deep sea, and culminated in the most remarkable and 
 fruitful scientific expeditions of any age. 
 
 In May, 1867, under instructions from the Superintendent 
 of the Coast Survey, Assistants Henry Mitchell and L. F. 
 de Pourtales explored the narrow part of the Gulf stream 
 between the northwest end of Cuba and the American coast. 
 Dredgings were undertaken in depths extending nearly to 
 five hundred fathoms, and representatives of all branches 
 of the animal kingdom below the fishes were brought up. 
 The work was interrupted by an outbreak of yellow-fever 
 on board, but the main facts were sufficiently verified, and 
 their important bearings fully set forth in the report of 
 Pourtales. The depths from which these animals were ob- 
 tained were not greater than those from which Sars had 
 obtained living organisms on the Norwegian coast, but those 
 collected by Sars were mostly animals common to the adja- 
 cent shore, or which might be expected to be found in shal- 
 low water by fuller search. But the Gulf-stream dredgings 
 revealed an entirely new and beautiful series of forms, many 
 of them like nothing which had previously been known to 
 naturalists — corals, sponges, crinoids, starfish, echini, shells, 
 worms, crustaceans — all offered new and elegant representa- 
 tives which attracted the attention of specialists in every 
 branch of marine zoology. In the following year six lines 
 of dredgings were run b}^ the Coast Survey observers across 
 the Gulf stream, from the Florida reefs to the deep sea be- 
 
DKEP-.Si:.\ I.Xri.nKATION. 155 
 
 voiul tlio sLrcani. Nciirly one lniiuln'<l hauls of tin- dredge 
 wc'iv made in all, aud (iruanL^ins were l)n)ii<,dit up 1)V the 
 bushel, espeeially iVoui a region averaging somewhat less 
 than three liundred fathoms, but also to some extent from 
 the <lecper waters. 
 
 The work of 18(i7, however unimi^orlanl in the actual 
 bulk of the eolleetions made and the depth reached, when 
 eom|)ared with more recent investigations of the same kind, 
 was really the initiation of a new era in research. When 
 we look back at. the history of deep-sea exi)loration we see 
 that this need not have been so, perhaps we may say ought 
 not to have been so, but as a i)lain matter of fact it was so, 
 in spite of tlie absence of any emphasis upon it in foreign 
 accounts of the progress of such investigations. 
 
 In 1808, fresh publications were made by 8ars, father and 
 son, whose researches on the Norwegian coasts have l)een 
 alluded to. On the coast of Portugal, Bocage and Perceval 
 AVright dredged in nearly live hundred fathoms from an 
 open boat, obtaining the remarkable "glass sponge," ILj- 
 alonema. Wyville Thomson and Carpenter in the Lightning 
 explored the sea-bed south of the Faroe Isles, and reached 
 a deptli of 550 fathoms. In 1800, the intense interest ex- 
 cited l)y these discoveries led to the voyages of the British 
 naval vessel Porcupine, with Dr. J. Gwyn Jcflreys, Professor 
 Wyville Thomson, and Dr. W. B. Carpenter, in charge of 
 the scientilic operations, and dredgings were made in 2,435 
 fathoms, or nearly three miles, reaching nearly the deepest 
 {)art of the North Atlantic. Smitt and Ljungmans, in the 
 Swedish frigate Josephiiie. dredged from the coast of Por- 
 tugal to the Azores, and then across the Atlantic to America. 
 The third cruise of the T. S. Coast Survey steamer Bibb. 
 1 Robert Piatt, U. S. N. commanding, was made, with Pour- 
 tales in charge of the dredging operations, lie was later 
 in the season joined by Prof. Louis Agassi/, whose report on 
 the work to the Superintendent of the Survey states that 
 • we owe to the Coast Survey the first broad and compre- 
 hensive basis for an exi)loration of tiie sea bottom on a 
 lart^e scale, opening a new era in /oological and geological 
 
15G SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 research." In 1870, the Porcupine was again sent out by 
 the British Government, and, under the supervision of 
 Jeffreys and Carpenter, work was done between Britain and 
 Gibraltar, and thence into the Mediterranean. 
 
 In 1871 the Coast fSurvey hiunched a new steamer, the 
 Blake, especially adapted for hydrographic work in the 
 deep sea, which, under the command of Lieut. Commander 
 Howell, at once began work in the Gulf of Mexico. Another 
 steamer, the Hassler, for work on the Pacific coast, was pre- 
 pared, and sailed for California via Cape Horn with Prof. 
 Agassiz, Pourtales, Dr. Thos. Hill, Dr. Franz Steindachner 
 and others, as a scientific corps. Much natural history 
 work was done, but deep-sea ^vork was rendered impracti- 
 cable by unforeseen circumstances after the voyage began. 
 In 1872 the voyage of the Challenger, now of world-wide 
 celebrity, was begun under the scientific supervision of Sir 
 Wyville Thomson and the naval superintendence of Capt. 
 Sir G. Nares, R. X. This voyage extended to both oceans; 
 soundings were made to 4,475 fathoms, dredgings to 3,875 
 fathoms, and the trawl was used in over 3,000 fathoms. 
 This expedition occupied three years and five months, and 
 the scientific results are being published by the British 
 Government in a magnificent series of quarto volumes. 
 During the year 1872 the Coast Survey continued its syste- 
 matic development of the hydrography of the Gulf of Mex- 
 ico and the adjacent sea, the dredgings being taken under 
 the supervision of Dr. W. Stimpson. They formed the last 
 scientific work of that lamented iiaturalist, whose dredgings 
 and investigation of the marine fauna of the Eastern United 
 States had extended over twenty years. 
 
 The deep water work of the United States Fish Commis- 
 sion, organized during the preceding year, began this season, 
 and has steadily grown in importance and extent from year 
 to year, under the direction of Prof S. F. Baird and the im- 
 mediate supervision of Prof A. E. Verrill. 
 
 In 1873 Capt. Geo. E. Belknap, U. S. N., undertook his 
 now celebrated sounding cruise across the North Pacific, in 
 the U. S. S. Tuscarora. No dredging was done, though sev- 
 
DEEP-SKA i:Xl'I.ni;ATI()N. IGT 
 
 I'lal animal- \vri(« l.roiiulit up l»y llu- sounding-ciiji, l)ut tlic 
 expedition is nieniorahle as liavini; been the oceasion (tillic 
 lirst i)raelieal use of wire in sounding, for the important 
 improvements introduced hv the eommander into sounding 
 instruments and methods, and for tlie great depths obtained 
 in the norljjwestern j/art of the Paeilie. being 4,0")') fathoms, 
 the greatest depth ever measured by reliable means, and one 
 \\liieh is jirobably itttle, if at all, exeeedcd in any part of 
 tlu' oeean. This eruise terminated in August, 1X74. Since 
 then expeditions have multiplied, and to enumerate them 
 with the >\KUv at my eonniiand would be h.irdly more in- 
 teresting than the ineorporation of a statistical table into 
 this already, (in spite of its titli',) I fear, rather dry di.s- 
 conrsc. 1 cannot avoid, however, a reference to the hydro- 
 gra})hic work of the Baehe under Sigsbee and J5artlett, in 
 the GwU and ("aribl)ean sea, in i.S74-l879. Not only was 
 a greater area of deej) water more thoroughly worked out 
 l>y these otfici-is than has yet been equally explored in any 
 other ]»art of the globe, but the improvements in sounding 
 and <lredging apparatus made during the progress of the 
 work have almost revolutionized such investigations. These 
 have been in part alluded to already. During parts of 1877, 
 1878, and 187'.>, Professor Alex. Agassiz made one of the 
 j)arty, witli su})ervision over the dredging work. To him is 
 due, among many other details, the substitution of wire- 
 cable for hemi»-line in drc^'dging, which bore especially im- 
 })ortant fruit; and by him the most important scientific 
 results of these cruises were aiuiounced to naturalists. 
 
 The historic i)art of this lecture nuist close with a mere 
 reference to the valuable work of the Norwegians, Sars, 
 Friele, Daniels.sen,etc., in the North Atlantic, on the steamer 
 X'iuingcn, (1870-8;) of Jeffreys, in II. M.S. \'alorous, (1875;) 
 Murray, in H. M. S. Knight Errant, (1880;) and the French 
 ex])edition of 1881, on the Travailleur. 
 
 This model of the (hdf of Mexico, from the work of tlie 
 Coast-Survey hydrograi)liers, illustrates the topograpiiy of 
 that part of the sea bottom. You will observe the singular 
 plateau which extend- about the peninsula of Yucatan and 
 
158 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 west from Florida. Formerly it was sif^posecl that the 
 peninsula of Florida was due to alluvium from the rivers 
 of the Mississippi valley and other sources settling against 
 a barrier of coral reefs which grew toward the south and 
 west, as their northern portions were smothered by sediment. 
 This shows, however, that the coral reefs have simply availed 
 themselves of the advantages presented by the steep edge of 
 the above-mentioned plateau so abundantly supplied with 
 iood for them by ocean currents; and that, in its main 
 features, Florida was outlined hj different and far older 
 agencies than the now existing coral reefs. The same is 
 evidently true of Yucatan. 
 
 •To another point I would call your attention as of econ- 
 omic interest. We know that by most engineers it is be- 
 lieved that experience has proved that channel-making by 
 the jetty process is a mere temporary alleviation of bars and 
 other obstructions to commerce. The j)ermanent success of 
 the Eads' jetties is even now a matter of doubt, and there is 
 no doubt that in time extensions will be called for. But it 
 w411 be observed that at no other point on the Gulf coast of 
 the United States is the 100 fathom line so near the actual 
 coast as here, and the inference is, perhaps, not too far 
 fetched that, therefore, not only is it probable that with 
 certain extensions of the jetties (other circumstances per- 
 mitting) a point will eventually be reached where the slope 
 seaward is so steep that a bar can hardly form or be main- 
 tained, but also that at no other point on the whole Gulf 
 coast could the jetty system have been applied to the im- 
 provement of a river mouth with any reasonable prospect 
 of maintaining a permanent channel. 
 
 It may also be observed, from an examination of this 
 model, what we should find confirmed by an equally thorough 
 survey of the ocean at large, (as Ave know from recent exam- 
 inations of the Atlantic sea-bed,) namely, that while the 
 sea-bed, like the dry land, has its irregularities, the}' differ 
 in character from the irregularities of the dry land. It is 
 true that sharp peaks and elevated rocky areas have been 
 discovered in both the Atlantic and Pacific, though none 
 
DKKT-sKA i:xri.<>i;.M I<>.\. 159 
 
 appear in tin- (JfillOt" Mcxii". lUit, exclusive of these, 
 wliicli probably jtiojcct Irom a (.oinparativoly oven slope, 
 tiio topo«?rai)hy of the sea-bed in deep water is carved in 
 broad and easy curves, which lind no parallel on land. 
 This results from the absence of denudation in the sea. On 
 the land, torrents, storms, rivers, winds, all modify the sur- 
 face, which must have originally been much like that of 
 the sea-beil. (Jullies.f avines, terraces, sharit-weathered rock 
 face.s, peaks, and jiinnacles, are formed in air by the denud- 
 ing agencies. In the dee]) sea there can be no sharply limited 
 currents or denuding agencies. Such currents as may exist 
 will have ill-dehned margins, will move at slow rates, and 
 cannot be conceived of as ploughing sharp grooves or gullies 
 in the floor of ocean. It is probable that the very deep sea 
 is for the most part a region of profound quiet, where the 
 waters are and remain unmoved, either by the compara- 
 tively superficial ocean currents and tides, or the pulses of 
 the waves as they beat on distant shores. The great deeps 
 which you see represented on this model and in the chart 
 of the Atlantic sea-bed here exhibited are not paralleled 
 by anything on dry land, except the basins of the Great 
 Lakes. Were they above the sea they would become lakes 
 at once, and would gradually be filled by sediments. Their 
 existence here in the deep sea disposes of the hypothesis 
 rashly advanced by some glacialists, that great lake basins 
 are due only to the action of glaciers; and that without the 
 previous existence of land-ice there \vould be no large lakes 
 on the earth's surface. It would be a bold man who would 
 l>ropose to locate glaciers on the bottom <>f tb.. r.nlf of 
 ^h'xico. 
 
 The circulation of the waters in the sea has been ihco- 
 retically accounted for by differences of density due to 
 evaporation and consequent over-salt ness, and to differences 
 of temperature between the water at the poles and at the 
 equator. This theoretical circulation doubtless exi.sts in a 
 more or less modified form, and allects the actual motion of 
 the waters. F>ut tlir existing oceanic circulation in its 
 greatest part is due directly to the influence of the trade- 
 winds, and is, comparativ) Iv -iMakiiii:. superficial. 
 
160 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 Wc know that the deep sea is very cold. Cold water 
 sinks, and a submarine polar indraught of cold water must 
 replace the constant streams of tropical surface water which 
 floW' away from the equator, in order that an equilibrium 
 may be maintained. The warmest water that has been 
 found in the deep-sea (over 100 fathoms) is at 50°. 5 F. in 
 2,550 fathoms ; the ordinary temperature is but little above 
 the freezing point. This, however, d^es not affect the life 
 of organisms existing there, which are all cold blooded, 
 many of them coming into shallow water in the Arctic 
 regions. 
 
 That many problems in regard to the deep-sea are still 
 unsolved, goes without sajang. Time does not permit me 
 to discuss them here. In conclusion, I will briefly sketch 
 the conditions of life at the bottom of the deep-sea. 
 
 In the first place, fishes and organisms of almost every 
 marine group lower in the scale than fishes, are to be found 
 in the deeps. In order that these animals may exist where 
 the pressure of the water may be several tons to the square 
 inch, it is indispensable. that their fleshy tissues shall be so 
 loosely constituted that the water shall be able to permeate 
 them thoroughly, and thus itself equalize the external 
 pressure. Hence, the fishes and other large animals in- 
 habitating the abysses are, so far as their flesh is concerned, 
 of an almost gelatinous consistency. While they might 
 probabl}^ survive a ver}'- gradual change of pressure and be 
 able to live in shallow water, yet when they are rapidly 
 brought up from the depths in a dredge, they are invariably 
 dead, their internal organs usually turned inside out, their 
 eyes starting from their heads, and their forms more or less 
 altered from the sudden decrease of pressure and expansion 
 of the tissues. 
 
 Other inhabitants of the sea-bed have rigid exoskeletons 
 or shells, but the soft parts are always permeable. 
 
 While most of the deep-sea animals are small, fishes, 
 certain spider-like Crustacea and some echinoderms attain 
 a considerable size. 
 
 As the depths must be almost entirely dark unless lighted 
 
DEEP-SEA EXF1,(>1{ATI()N. KU 
 
 by j>liosj)horoscont animals, \vc ini<^ht expect to liiul those 
 creatures blanched or generally white. This is true of many 
 of them, but others of all groups, are more or less brilliantly 
 colored. From disuse in some forms, the eyes have become 
 abortive or entirely lost ; others have very large and delicate 
 eyes, suitable lor .seeing by a very small amount of light ; 
 yet still others have eyes of about the <haracter normal in 
 the groups to which they belong. The extreme quiet and 
 uniformity of the environment at the sea-bed is favoraldo 
 to the development of delicate markings, and details of 
 sculpture in the hard parts of shells, etc., and the abyssal 
 animals are notable for their extreme grace and beauty in 
 this particular, and singularly enough, also in many species 
 for the remarkable elegance of their pearly lustre. With 
 no struggle for existence, a wonderful range of variation 
 developes, unchecked by natural selection, and it is hard to 
 say in certain groups what is a species. 
 
 Sea-weeds do not grow at great depths, hence these an- 
 imals are all carnivorous. At first sight it would seem as if 
 they would destroy one anotlier, but it must be remembered 
 that even in the o[)en ocean there is a constant rain of an- 
 imal and vegetable matter slowly falling from the surface 
 toward the bottom. Mr. Moseley judges from experiment 
 that small marine animals {salpa) fall at the rate of about a 
 mile in two days, while the saltness of the water prevents 
 rapid decay. I have found grass roots, land and fresh water 
 shells in dredgings from 800 fathoms. It is still a matter of 
 some doubt whether certain little shells belonging to the 
 Foram in if era and found in incalculable numbers on the sea- 
 bed (which in many cases is made up of their remains) 
 actually ever live at the bottom, or wliether they, too, are 
 derived from tlie vicinity of the surface and sink oidy when 
 dead or dying. 
 
 Hut I have already trespassed too long on your good 
 nature, and will conclu<le this discourse by referring those 
 who would pursue the subject further to the authorities 
 previously mentioned, from wiiom I have derived much as- 
 
 11 
 
1G2 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 sistanco in the preparation of tliis lecture, and to whom the 
 exploration of the sea-bed is chief!}'- due.* 
 
 * Depths of the Sea: C. Wyville Thomson; New York and London, Macmil- 
 
 lan & Co., 1873. 
 Deep-Sea Exploration: a Lecture by J- Gwyn Jeffreys; London, 8vo., Van 
 
 Voorst, 1 88 1. 
 Deep-Sea Sounding and Dredging: C. D. Sigsbee, Lieut. Com. U. S. N., 
 
 Asst. U. S Coast Survey; Washington, Gov't Printing Office, 1880. 
 U. S. Coast Survey Reports, 1867- 1880. 
 Bulletins Museum Comparative Zoology, Cambridge, Mass., Vols. I-IX, 1867- 
 
 1S82. 
 Reports of Jeffreys, Carpenter, Thomson and others in the Proceedings of the 
 
 Royal Society, 1868- 1880. 
 The Norwegian North Atlantic Expedition— Zoology, (etc.) Collett, Koren 
 
 and Danielssen, &c., Christiania, folio, 1880-81. 
 Thalassa, an Essay on the Depth Temperature and Currents of the Ocean, by 
 
 John James Wild; London, Marcus Ward & Co., 1877. 
 
HOW W'V. SI'l:. 
 
 Lecture delivere.l in the United States Nationcl Muscnni, April 2<t. 1.S.S2, liy 
 Dr. Swan M. Burneti-. 
 
 LaDIKS and (lENTLK.NfKN: 
 
 WIhmi man Hrst IuuikI liiiusclf capable of forming a proper 
 judiiinoiit of the wurkinjj^s of Nature, the sense of vision 
 must luive excited in his mind an emotion of the greatest 
 wonder. That he was co<;-ni/,ant of o]>jects situated at dis- 
 tances very remote and hcvond tiic reach of his touch, and 
 throu^li a medium the very exislence-of which was a mys- 
 tery al)()ve his compreiiension, must liavc seemed to him a 
 prol)leni whicli <Ietied even an attempt at sohition. We are 
 not aware that any effort lias been made by savage or har- 
 l>arous tribes to account for any of the phenomena of sight. 
 They give I'cady explanations of the cause of thundei- and 
 lightning, of the origin of men and animals, the creation 
 of hre and other natural i)henomena, but the sense of sight 
 is so wholly unlike anything else with which they are 
 familiar that they have no analogies t.o fall back on, and 
 must accept it as a jaimary gift of the Divine Spirit. It is 
 only when the intellect has developed to such a degree as to 
 enable it to consider things as related to each other, and 
 analyse phenomena as they ])resent them.selvcs to the mintl, 
 reducing them as far as possible to their constituent ele- 
 ments, that the senseof vision is considered a subject within 
 the scope of human investigation. The i)hysiology of vision, 
 therefore, belongs preeminently to the .scientific era in the 
 hi.^tory of intelleitnal development. It lind-^ no |tlace, so far 
 as I know, in the era of superstition. T(. tell you what the 
 scientific; method of thought has accomplished in this field 
 is the object of the remarks we shall make this afternoon. 
 
 In the study of the phenomena jMcsented by the sense of 
 vision we find four separate links in a chain of .sequences. 
 If any one of these links is missing there can be no .sensa- 
 tion of sight. 
 
 The fir^t link in the chain, naturally, is the object to be 
 seen; the second, the medium connecting this object with 
 
 163 
 
104 SATUPwDAY LKCTUKES. 
 
 the eye; the third, the eye itself; and the fourth, the ner- 
 vous center which converts the impression made on the eye 
 into a sensation. 
 
 Of the object to be seen, but Uttle need be said. All that 
 is necessary being that it be foufid in the medium which 
 brings it in relation with the eye, that is to say, it must be 
 placed in what we call the light. As you well know, no ob- 
 ject situated in what we call darkness can be seen. The 
 object may be luminous within itself, that is, it may gener- 
 ate the light which it gives off, as in the case of the sun, 
 candle, lamp, fire, &c. ; or it may merely reflect or throw 
 off the liirht which comes from some other source, as in the 
 ease with the large majority of objects by which we are sur- 
 rounded ; but it is absolutely necessary for the purposes of 
 vision that light proceed from it. 
 
 This light is the second link in our chain, and it is one of 
 the most wonderful and mysterious of the workings of Na- 
 ture. What is light? Is it a something, oronly an essence 
 or a spirit? What are the laws governing its action? 
 These are ciuestions which the earlier philosophers asked 
 themselves and sought, for a long time in vain, to answer. 
 
 We will not occupy your attention with any of the 
 theories before the time of Newton, as it was his genius 
 which first placed the study of the operations of light on a 
 solid basis. 
 
 His theory was that all luminous bodies gave off minute 
 impalpable corpuscles which passed directly into the eye 
 and affected the retina and optic nerve. This hypothesis 
 was, of course, not susceptible of demonstration, but he suc- 
 ceeded by it in accounting for many of the manifestations 
 of light in a manner more satisfactory than had been done 
 by any other theory then known. The corpuscular or 
 " emission" theory, having the weight of the great name of 
 Newton attached to it, was accepted by most philosophers of 
 his time, and, with the additional weight of tradition, af- 
 fected many w^ho came after him. All theories respecting 
 the ultimate facts of any phenomenon in nature must be 
 based largely on a priori reasoning, for no ultimate knowl- 
 
I low w !•; SHI':. h;.") 
 
 od_m' is })r()val)lc. ( )iii- liuls ivucli back (jiily to a ccrtiiin 
 j)oint — never to the hejjfinning. Hciencc is constantly pusli- 
 in<:,- hack lur line of priniordial data, Ijiit it is hardly 
 l)robablc ibaL the tiine will ever come when the essence, so 
 to speak, of any nianifestiition in natun; can be demonstrated. 
 Nature's Jaws, we can study and unravel — the origin of 
 these laws will probably ever remain an unsolved mv.stery. 
 The nature of light is one of these mysteries which can be 
 apj)roaclied by speculation alone, and as none of the po.'*- 
 tulates need be demonstrated, the Held for the exerci.se of 
 the speculative faculty is j)ractically unlimited. Newton 
 adopted his corpuscular theory, not because he could dem- 
 onstrate the existence of the corpuscles, but because by so 
 doing he thought he was explaining the phenomena with 
 the least violence to known laws and the scientific princi])les 
 of the time. 
 
 There was one great original mind, however, which came 
 after him, that refused to accept any theory on any other 
 man's authority, however great that man might be. This 
 was Thomas Young, probably the most universal genius 
 England has given to the world. Thomas Young did not 
 consider the corpuscular theory of light satisfactory, a!id pro- 
 ceeded to revive and modify what is called the undulatory 
 theory, which had been broached by Huygens Ijefore the time 
 of Newton. By this theory he was enabled to account in a 
 more consistent and .satisfactory manner for some of the 
 manifestations of light than could be done by the corpus- 
 cular theory of Newton. This undulatory hypothesis as pro- 
 mulgated by Young, is the basis of all modern speculations 
 as to the nature and laws of light. In common with all 
 theories dealing with the essential nature of things, it draws 
 largely upon our credulity, and asks us to accept as data 
 as many postulates which have never been and which can, 
 from the very nature of the case, never be i)roven as does 
 tlie corpuscular theory of Newton. 
 
 In the first place, we are recjuircd to su})i»ose the existence 
 of an ether which is coextensive with the universe. It tills 
 the interstellar space to the farthest fixed star, whose distance 
 
166 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 is incalculable, and insinuates itself into the infinitesmally 
 minute interstices of the hardest known substances. It ex- 
 ists alike in a vacuum and in the substance of the diamond. 
 It is of such extreme tenuitj^ that a mass of it as large as 
 the earth weighs only a few grains. It is the least material 
 of all substances, and yet it possesses a tension or elasticity 
 far in excess of any matter of which we have any knowledge. 
 
 This is the medium through which that form of force 
 we call light is supposed to act. It has, as you see, no ex- 
 istence whatever as a fact capable of demonstration by any 
 of the ordinary methods of proof It exists alone in that 
 highest faculty of the mind which, by its creative power, 
 sets man above the beasts of the field — the imagination. 
 
 But our task does not end here. We have the medium, 
 but we have not the manner in which this is acted on to 
 produce the effect we know as light. Again the imagina- 
 tion must be brought into action. The mind which first 
 conceived of light as being a force, the result of wave mo- 
 tion, gave us the key which has unlocked some of the deep- 
 est mysteries of Nature, and made modern physical science 
 and all that belongs to it, and has resulted from it possible; 
 for th^ foundation of the physical science of the present 
 day is the fact that all energ}^ is but a mode of mo- 
 tion. I think it can be broadly stated that all forms of 
 energy, whether in the organic or inorganic world, are but 
 modes of motion. The ancient philosopher, when asked to 
 define Life, moved his arms, drew the air into his lungs, 
 and expelled it, and said, " This is life," meaning that all 
 we knew of life were its phenomena. But he explained bet- 
 ter than he was aware of. He expressed thus the idea 
 which underlies the modern concepts of Nature and her 
 laws, that life is motion. Without energy, as expressed by 
 some form of movement, there can be no life; and life is 
 but one form of energy, one particular kind of force. All 
 other forces in Nature are likewise but representations of 
 some kind of motion — they are not Things. The whole of the 
 teaching of modern science tends to the demonstration of 
 the fact that .there are but two Things in nature — matter and 
 its motion. 
 
HOW WK sEi:. 167 
 
 Applying this principle to the other, Young supposed 
 that the light force was due to an undulatory motion set up 
 in it by the vibrations of the molecules of luminous bodies- 
 It is now a pretty well demonstrated fact that when bodies 
 get into the condition known as "hot," a change takes place 
 in the ultimate i>articles of the matter comjKjsing them. 
 They are set in vibration. The more heated they become 
 the more extensive will these molecular vibrations be; and 
 as the space occupied by the molecules in a state of vibra- 
 tion is greater than when they are at rest, the substance 
 when heated is larger than when cool. The motion of these 
 ultimate molecules is communicated to the ether by which 
 they are surrounded, and it is set in undulatory motion, 
 just as waves are produced on the surface of water when a 
 body is let fall upon it, which disturbs the relation of its 
 molecules. As the motion of the molecules of the heated 
 body is regular, the wave motion communicated to the sur- 
 rounding ether will also be regular, that is, the waves will 
 follow each other at regular intervals of time. 
 
 Up to this point everything must be taken for granted, 
 for, as I have said, not one of the accepted facts is capable 
 of experimental demonstration. Accepting this much, how- 
 ever, we can deduce certain laws which are capable of sub- 
 stantiation by ex])eriment, and by them we are able to ex- 
 plain all or nearly all the phenomena of light and vision. 
 Though we have shown you that light is only a form of 
 force — a mode of motion — it will be more convenient to 
 speak of it as a Thing, without reference to the ether or 
 wave motion. Thus, wlien we say that light travels at the 
 rate of 1SG,00U miles per second, we mean that the motion 
 communicated by the luminous body to the ether is felt 
 180,000 miles away at the end of a second of time. There 
 are a few fixed laws governing the action of ligiit, to which 
 we briefly call your attention, because on them dci)ends all 
 our knowledge of the physiology of vision. 
 
 In the first place, we know that light moves in straight 
 lines, and never turns out of its course unless it meets with 
 some substance having the property of deflecting it. There 
 
168 
 
 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 are two forms of deflection. In one the light is thrown 
 back by the surface of the interposing body in the direction 
 from which it came ; that is to say, it is reflected. In the 
 other it passes through the body, but its course after its 
 passage is not the same as before ; in which case it is said 
 to be refracted. It is with this latter we have especially to 
 do in treating of the physiology of vision. Without enter- 
 ing into a detailed consideration of all the laws of refrac- 
 tion, we will state that when the refracting body has a cer- 
 tain form, which we call a lens, all the rays coming from 
 any one point of an object are, after refraction, brought to- 
 gether in another point. Such a lens is shown in the ac- 
 companying figure. 
 
 Fig. I. 
 
 All rays proceeding from the point A are, after their pass- 
 age through the lens, united in the point a, and all rays 
 proceeding from the point B are, after refraction, united in 
 the point b, and raj's proceeding from all points between A 
 and B are united at points between a and h. The result of 
 this is that in ah we have an image of the object AB. There 
 are two peculiarities of this image to which I want to call 
 your attention. The first is that it is much smaller than 
 the object AB, and the second is that it is turned upside 
 down. Xow, when we come to regard the eye as an optical 
 instrument, we will find it to differ in principle in no essen- 
 tial particular from this simple lens. The whole function 
 
iiow \\i: si;i:. 
 
 169 
 
 ot" the oyi', tVttin ;iii optic;!! point of view, is to fonii :i siuall, 
 clearly cletiiUHl, but inverted image of external objects on 
 the expansion of the oi)tic nerv(>. We will now proceed to 
 see in what manner it does this. This leads us, tirst.to a 
 brief description of tlic ucnt ral anatomy of the eye. 
 
 As the human eye has to be moved in various directions, 
 indei)endent of the movements of the head, it must be more 
 or less globular in shape. It is thus allowed to lit more 
 easilv in the bony orbit in which it is encasetl, and the six 
 muscles which move it can more readily control its motions. 
 The ball of the eye is a hollow globe containing the lenses 
 neeessary for producing images of external objects and the 
 expansion of the optic nerve on which these images are to 
 fall. 
 
 There are certain physical conditions which have to be 
 fulfilled in order that the image produced by any optical 
 apparatus shall be clear and distinct. We will take the 
 ])liotographer's camera as an illu.stration. In the first place 
 we find that the whole apparatus is encased in a box for the 
 protection of the more essential parts. We observe further 
 that this box is lined with black in order that no light shall 
 be reflected from its sides that will mar the distinctness of 
 the image formed by the lens. The lens is placed in front, 
 and at the back there is a screen of ground-glass on which 
 the image formed by the lens f(dls. When sitting for your 
 I)hotogra[)h you will also have noticed that the operator was 
 at great pains to properly focus the instrument so that the 
 image should be clearly formed on the ground-gIa.ss plate at 
 the back, and if you take the pains to examine his instru- 
 ment you will find just l)ehind the lens a black diaphragm 
 with a circular hole much smaller than the lens. This lat- 
 ter is for the purpose of cutting off those rays which pass 
 through the parts of the lens near the edge. These rays, 
 unless the lens is ground in the most accurate manner, add 
 nothing to the di.stinctne.<s of the image, l»ut, on the con- 
 trary, detract from its clearness of outline. 
 
 All these conditions are carefully fulfilled in the eye, as 
 vou will see by reference to the accompanying diagram. 
 
170 
 
 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 Fig. 2. « 
 
 You have in the first place tlie outer box or shell in the 
 sclerotic coat, (S,) which is a tough membrane forming the 
 posterior four-fifths of the ball. The anterior, one-fifth, is 
 formed by the cornea, (C,) which is only a continuation of 
 the sclerotic with the remarkable and highly important dif- 
 ference that it is transparent. This cornea being a curved 
 surface, acts upon the light in the same manner as the lens 
 in Fig. 1, and forms one of the two refracting surfaces which 
 produce the images of objects. in the external world upon 
 the expansion of the optic nerve (On) at the back of the 
 eye called the retina, (R.) The other refracting body is 
 the crystalline lens, (L.) The iris (I) represents the dia- 
 phragm, and the hole in it is the pupil. The choroid coat, 
 (Ch,) while holding the greater part of the blood-vessels 
 which nourish the eye, also contains a large quantity of 
 pigment, which serves the purpose of the black lining of 
 the photographer's camera. We have thus all the essential 
 parts of a perfect optical instrument, and by the large ma- 
 jority of persons the eye is considered the most nearly per- 
 fect of all instruments of its class from a. merely physical 
 
now WK SEE. 1 / 1 
 
 standpoint. This is, however, a <:;rcat error. Considered as 
 an optical instrument, wliose function it is to form the clear- 
 est possible imaj;e, it is defective in almost all its parts, and 
 does not hoggin to aj)proach the best work of the same kind 
 as done by man. Ilelmnolt/., the jjijreat German physicist, 
 lias saicl that if an optician were to send him an instrument 
 so badly constructed as tlie eye, he would return it to him 
 with a severe reprimand for liis carelessness. But we must 
 bear in mind that the eye is an or^an of sense as well as an 
 optical hislrument, and with all its defects, is caj)al)l(! of ren- 
 dering us most efficient service. 
 
 As I have said, the function of the e^'e proi)er is to form 
 elcarly-delined inverted images on the retina. The impres- 
 sion or changes produced b^'this image are convej'ed to the 
 brain by means of the optic nerve, and are there converted 
 into a .sensation. A confused image will cause a confused 
 sensation, and a clearly-defined image a corresponding sen- 
 sation. It is, therefore, of the highest importance that we 
 always haveretinal images whose outlines are sharp and dis- 
 tinct. This is very easily accompushed when the object 
 and the retina occupy certain rekitive positions to each 
 other. It is one of the laws of optics that when the object 
 is at a certain di.stance (within specified limits) from the 
 lens the image will be formed at a certain distance from 
 it on the other side. If the distance of the object is changed, 
 the distance of the image from the lens will also be altercl. 
 
 Now. in using the eyes, give look at objects within a few 
 inches of us and also at those at immense distances. The 
 range of acconnnodation, as it is called, extends from four 
 inches from the eye to infinity. If we are to have clearly 
 defined images of all objects in this extensive range some 
 <hange must take place in the eye corresponding to t.iie 
 change in the distance of the object. Now this can be ac- 
 complished in ohe of two ways — either by a change in the 
 distance between the lens and the retina, or by an increa.se 
 in the curvature of the refracting surfaces. The first of 
 these cannot be readily accomplished, because the eye can- 
 not be made longer, (though it was once supposed that it 
 
172 
 
 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 could.) The adaptation or accommodation of the eye, there- 
 fore, for distinct vision at different distances is affected by 
 the other method ; that is, by a change in the curvature of 
 one of its two refracting surfaces. It has been abundantly 
 demonstrated by observation that this change is effected by 
 an increase in the curvature of the crystalline lens, brought 
 about by the action of a muscle situated on the interior of 
 the eye called the ciliary muscle, (Cm, Fig. 2.) By the con- 
 traction of this muscle the lens is rendered more convex, 
 and objects lying nearer the eye have their objects formed 
 more clearly on the retina. A reference to the diagram 
 (Fig. 3) will show how this is accomplished. When the ob- 
 ject is situated at A the image is formed on the retina, R, at 
 a, when it is at B it is formed t)ehind the retina at b. In 
 order, therefore, when the object is at B, to have its image 
 at a, the lens, L, must be made more convex, as shown by 
 the dotted line. 
 
 Fig. 3- 
 
 It is this failure of the power of accommodation or adap- 
 tation of the eyes to objects close at hand wliich constitutes 
 presbyopia or old eyes. With ffdvancing age the ciliary 
 muscle becomes stiff and less powerful, and the lens becomes 
 harder and alters its shape less readily, and the consequence 
 is that near vision is rendered less perfect. This is reme- 
 died by placing in front of the eye a lens which represents 
 the power that has been lost by the crystalline lens. Quite 
 the contrary of the generally accepted belief the eye does 
 not become materially flatter with age. 
 
 We have now the image of the external object pictured 
 clearly and distinctly upon the expansion of the optic nerve 
 at the bottom of the eye, and with this the whole of the 
 function of the eye as an optical instrument is ended. 
 
How \VK SEK. 
 
 173 
 
 In a gcncnil way the- cvc is considercfl by tlu- large 
 majority of persons as bein*; the ortjjan of vision, whereas, 
 in truth, it is only one of the organ> eoncerned in bringing 
 about the sensation of sight. The eye may be anatomically 
 in a perfectly healthy condition, and the images of objects 
 niav be formed with the greatest clearness and distinctness 
 on thr ntina. and. yet, the power of seeing be wanting. 
 TIk image formed on the retina produces only an imprca- 
 sioii, and this must be converted into a sensation before the 
 act of vision is accomplished. This conversion takes place 
 in the brain. That there is a certain portion of the brain 
 which presides over the function of vision, and turns all 
 the impression sent to it from the retina through the oi)tic 
 nerve into sensations, seems (f early demonstrated by numer- 
 ous experiments on the lower animals. The eye. therefore, 
 is only one of the instruments of vision. 
 
 Let us HOW i)roceed to inquire what it is we learn by the 
 act of seeing — what knowledge of the external world is 
 brought to the mind through the medium of the eye. We 
 learn, tirst, the j)Osition of objects in space; their distance 
 from us and eacli other ; their form, size, and color. 
 
 It may be premised that very little of our knowledge ob- 
 tained by the .sense of vision is furnished alone by the 
 images formed on the retina. In the development of the 
 intellect the .scn.ses of sight ami touch go hand in hand. 
 In fact some recent speculations seem to point to the fact 
 that sight is ordy a highW developed sense of touch. Be 
 that as it may, this important fact is clearly established, 
 that the sense of sight is an educated sense. It is not in- 
 born; it is not in.stinctivc, at least, in the higher forms of 
 l)eings. Every child that is born into the world must learn 
 to see for it.self. As .soon as an infant opens its i-yes an im- 
 age is formed on its retina, but that conveys to its young 
 mind no definite knowledge except, probably, as to outline. 
 Supi)Ose, for example, a rattle, with a ring at one end, and 
 a ball at the other, is held before it. The image of this ob- 
 ject is formed on the retina, but it is upside down, as are all 
 retinal images. How then is the child to learn the true re- 
 
174 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 lation of this object to itself? This is a question which 
 puzzled philosophers for a. long time, and many explana- 
 tions were given to account for it. By some it was supposed 
 that in some way the image was "righted " before it reached 
 the retina, by others, it was thought that it was turned right 
 side up on its passage from the retina to the brain. But it 
 is by no means necessary to assume any such mysterious 
 processes. The explanation, when we once find it, is sim- 
 ple enough. The image, as we have before remarked, is 
 undoubtedly formed upside down on the retina. But we 
 must bear in mind that this image only produces an im- 
 pression — the interpretation of this impression is made b}'- 
 the brain through the faculty we call the judgment. Now 
 the judgment is often the result of several impressions, re- 
 ceived, it may be, from several different sources. In the 
 case of the rattle, the impression made by the image must 
 be verified by the impression of touch. The infant reaches 
 out its hand and finds that the globular end of the rattle 
 corresponds in direction to its feet or downward, while the 
 ring end corresponds to an upward direction or towards its 
 head. It does not make any difference that the lower or 
 round end of the image corresponds to the upper part of 
 the object, and vice versa. The position of the retinal image 
 is a matter of no importance, so long as the judgment, 
 guided by touch, places the object in its proper relation with 
 the individual and surrounding objects. Physiologists call 
 this placing of objects properly in space the "law of pro- 
 jection," which, being interpreted, means that all impres- 
 sions made on the upper parts of the retina are "projected" 
 01' referred downward, and all impressions made on the 
 lower parts of the retina are projected upward ; and as the 
 relative position of the objects in the external world are in 
 no wise affected by their inverted images on the retina, no 
 confusion can arise. 
 
 The same principle applies when we judge of the distance 
 and size of objects. The size of a retinal image gives us no 
 idea whatever of the size of the object or its distance from 
 us. These two ideas are inseparably connected in the 
 
HOW \VI'; SEE. 17t) 
 
 mind. 'V\\o .listaiu-e of an oltjcct from us gives us impor- 
 tant datu fur tV>rniing judiinient as to its size and thu size 
 of it if known, enables us to form an idea of its distance. 
 You will readily see the truth of thit^, when you know 
 that a live cent piece, held a few inches from the eye, 
 forms as lar^e a retinal imaue as the sun which is many 
 millions of miles further oil. Physiologists would tell you 
 that they both subtend the same visual angle. So if we wish 
 to have a definite idea of the actual size of an object we 
 must know its distance from us; and, on the other hand, in 
 order to judge of the distance of an object, by the size of the 
 retinal image, we must know its size as compared with other 
 objects. In the judgment of distance, however, there are 
 other factors not to be overlooked. One of the most im- 
 portant of these is what is called the " muscular sense." In 
 looking at objects close at hand we bring into play the ac- 
 commodation of the eye which, as I have already told you, 
 is brought about by the jtction of the ciliary muscle. The 
 nearer objects are to us the stronger must be the action of 
 the muscle in order that we see distinctly, and we come 
 naturally to associate a strong effort of the accommodation 
 power with nearness of the object. The amount of conver- 
 gence of the two eyes, which is necessary in order that both 
 be fixed upon the same object, also furnishes us with im- 
 portant knowledge of the distance of objects from us. 
 
 We come now to consider one of the most remarkable at- 
 tributes of objects, a knowledge of which is given us through 
 the eye. We allude to that wonderful quality called color. 
 In the .strict sense of the word, however, no object is colored. 
 Color is a property of light, while those objects whicli aj)- 
 pear to us colored simply decompose the light falling on 
 them into its different color constituents, sending to the eye 
 some one or more and absorbing the others. For ordinary 
 purposes, however, it is more convenient to consider color 
 a.s belonging to the object, but we must bear in mind, at tlie 
 same time, that each color is represented physically by a 
 certain number of vibrations of the luminiferous ether. 
 Thus, 451 million million vibrations of the ether in a 
 
176 
 
 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 second of time represent the color we call red, while 789 
 million million vibrations correspond to violet, and so on. 
 An object we call red, therefore, sends to us from the white 
 light falling upon it those waves of the ether which make 
 451 million million vibrations per second. All the other 
 wave lengths of the ether are lost, and most probably by- 
 having their motion converted into a molecular vibration 
 of the substance of the object. 
 
 When we call to mind the great number of separate colors 
 and the infinite variety of their shades, which we recognize 
 as distinct sensations, we at once appreciate the extraordi- 
 nary delicacy of perception by the visual apparatus. 
 
 The satisfactory explanation of color perception has al- 
 ways been among the most difficult problems with which 
 the physiologist has had to deal. The theory on this sub- 
 ject which has held the longest sway over the largest num- 
 ber of minds is that of Young, as revived by Helmholtz. 
 Until within the last few years few or no physiologists had 
 the temerity to doubt the sufficiency of this hypotliesis. 
 
 This theory starts out on the basis that there are three 
 fundamental or primary colors, by the proper admixture of 
 which all other colors and shades of colors can be produced. 
 It is now the popular opinion, wdiich Avas formerl}^ upheld 
 by scientific authority, that these so-called primary colors 
 are red, yellow, and blue, because from a mixture of pig- 
 ments of these colors the painter can produce a large num- 
 ber of the colors he finds of use in the practice of his art. 
 When, however, we come to deal with the pure colors of- the 
 spectrum we find that these are not the fundamental colors. 
 It has been found that from the mixture of spectral red, 
 green, and violet, all the other colors of the spectrum can be 
 produced, and, also, that when these colors are mixed in due 
 proportion white is the result. For this reason, red, green, 
 and violet have been accepted as the primary colors by 
 most modern scientists. 
 
 Newton believed that the particles representing the indi- 
 vidual colors (according to his emission theory) affected the 
 retina " according to their nature and bigness," but Young 
 
now \VK SKE. 1 , / 
 
 tliouj^lit it inipossiMc thnt tlif iitiiiii -lumld l>f aide t<» re- 
 ceive or the optic iicivc should caiiy so man}' .sepanitc and 
 distinct impressions to the hrain. He, therefore, assnnied 
 that there were in the retina three iieive lihres which were 
 affected principally l»y the wave lengths ot' ether i'ej)rescnting 
 red, ureen, and violet. Thesi' lihres we will call the wd 
 lihre, tiie ••reen libre, and the violet tibre. When all of 
 these fibres are afieeted in eijual proportion the sensation 
 jirodueed is wliite, the absence of all sensation is Idack. 
 When the red tiljre is aftectctf we have a sensation of red; 
 when tlje fjiven Hl)re is affected the sensation is green; when 
 the red and green fibres are afieeted together the sensation 
 is yellow: and so on for all the colors with their coinbina- 
 tions and shades. Xow this is all very sirjiple and plausi- 
 ble. It is true no one has ever seen the fibres, but, so much 
 has t(» he taken for gi-anted in this department of scientific 
 investigation, that this point might readily he conceded if 
 there were no other obstacles in theway of an acceptance 
 of the theory. Nearly all the })henomena of colored vision 
 can be accounted for on this hypothesis if we so modify it 
 as to allow of some action on both the green and violet 
 fibres by the red rays, and some action on the green by the 
 red and violet, and on the violet bv the red and srrcen- For 
 myself, this necessary admission destroys the simplicity and 
 l)cauty of the hypothesis, for T hold that tlie phenomena of 
 vision, when thoroughly understood, will be found to be ex- 
 tremely simple in their character and in keeping with the 
 kno\Tn laws of light and its action on simple bodies. 
 
 But the great and insurmountable objection to the hypoth- 
 esis is that it cannot account in a satisfactory manner for 
 all the phenomena of color-blindness. An acceptable theory 
 in regard to the function of an organ in liealth must account 
 al.^^o for all the derangements of that function. 
 
 Without entering into any details, it may be hrieHy stated 
 that there are some phenomena presented by the color-blind, 
 which cannot be satisfactorily explained by the Young- 
 Helmholtz hypothesis. Physiologists are, therefore, becom- 
 ing dissatisfied with it. an<l are seeking for one which shall 
 12 
 
178 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 be more in keeping with known facts, and more in accord- 
 ance with operation of analogous functions in the human 
 body. 
 
 The theor}' of Prof. Hering, of Prague, has received most 
 attention from those who have been bold enough to reject 
 the hypothesis of Young. 
 
 This theory presupposes the existence in the retina of 
 three chemical substances, which, on account of their pre- 
 sumed functions, are called the red-green substance, the hlue- 
 yellow substance, and the hlach-wliite substance. 
 
 An action of light on the red-green substance, which tends 
 to decompose it, produces red; wdiile an action which tends 
 to regenerate it produces green. A decomposing action 
 of light on the blue-yellow substance causes a sensation of 
 yellow; a regenerating action, the sensation of blue; while 
 a destruction of the white-black substance produces white, 
 its regeneration black. According to this theory there are 
 three pairs of opposing colors, (including white and black,) 
 and the fundamental colors are four, red, green, blue, and 
 yellow, and the so-called complementary^ colors are in reality 
 antagonistic. Thus you see Hering's theory is more com- 
 plicated than that of Young, likewise demands the accept- 
 ance of unproved and unprovable postulates, and makes 
 even greater draughts upon our scientific faith. It has this 
 advantage over its rival, however, that it explains in a 
 much more satisfactory manner some of the phenomena of 
 color-blindness. 
 
 The fundamental objection to this theory, as to thtt of 
 Young-Helmholtz, is that it presupposes the existence of 
 new tissues, the like of wdiich are not found in any other 
 part of the human body, and novel reactions of these tissues 
 to light. It may be accepted as a law of universal applica- 
 tion that Nature always works in the simplest manner pos- 
 sible, and we have no right to suppose that the function of 
 vision forms any exception to the rule. Is it possible to ac- 
 count for the perception of colors in a simple and direct 
 manner ? I think it is, and that, too, without doing any 
 violence to laws, the existence of w^hicli has been estab- 
 
now wr: sek. 179 
 
 lishod by proof as positive as science can furnish us. I 
 have endeavored to do this in a paper read before the Philo- 
 sophical Society of this city, in December, 1880. 
 
 It NVituld not be pertinent, at this time, to enter into an 
 elaborate exposition of this theor}'. Let it suffice to say 
 that the two fundamental facts on which it is based are: 
 1st. The evidence which com|)arative anatomy and physi- 
 ology furnish that the eye is but a highly specialized nerve 
 of common sensation. It is a fact which has been thoroughly 
 well established by observation that certain of the lower 
 animals are affected by light over the whole extent of their 
 external surface. As wc ascend higher in the scale of exis- 
 tence the differentiation of function becomes greater, and 
 while the grosser effects of the ether vibration are still felt 
 in the form of heat on the surface of the body, tlu; liner 
 vibrations are appreciated only in certain restricted locali- 
 ties known as eyes; for it is a fact which is disputed, 1 think, 
 by no one that heat and light are both due to vibrations of 
 the same ether, differing in degree onl}^ and not at all in 
 kiml. 
 
 Prof. Preyer, of Jena, has, within the last few months, 
 advanced very similar views, and shows that the sense of 
 heat and the sense of sight bear a very strong analogy to 
 each other. The second fact is the reaction of simple sub- 
 stances to hght, as manifested by a change in their molecu- 
 lar structure. It has long been known that certain colors 
 have greater chemical powers, for instance, than others. 
 Th* so-called actinic power of blue or violet is greater than 
 that of yellow. This is only a short method of stating the 
 fact that the change in the molecidar structure of the afi'ected 
 body is much greater by light rays of short-wave lengths 
 than it is by light rays of longer-wave lengths. The action 
 of light on the metal silenium, and on other substances 
 used in the construction of the photophone, is an example 
 more to the point. Not only is the electric conductability 
 of these substances modified by slight changes in the inten- 
 sity of the light waves, but Prof. Bell has found that this 
 variation in conductability, which only re])resents change 
 
180 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 ill molecular structure, is also different for the different 
 colors. Moreover, the effect of this change in molecular 
 structure is conve3'ed to great distances through other 
 media, and there makes itself manifest under the same or 
 some other form. 
 
 It is thus evident that in the inorganic world the light 
 rays do produce different affects, as manifested by molecular 
 change, according to their different wave-lengths. We have 
 only to apply this law to the action of light on the retina 
 to have a theor}" of colors at once simple, and strictly in 
 accordance with known })rinciples, and without the necessity 
 of inventing new tissues or extraordinary reactions of tissues 
 to light. In this theory variation in sensation will have its 
 basis, not in complexity of tissue, but solel}' in the varying 
 action of the affecting agent. 
 
 In accordance with this hypothesis we have onl}- to sup- 
 pose the retina to be a body whose molecular structure is so 
 delicately fashioned as to allow it to respond promptly to 
 the slightest variation in the wave-lengths of light raj'^s. 
 We know that up to a certain point we can discriminate 
 between fine shades of intensity of light. The educated eye 
 of an artist can detect as minute differences in shading as 
 he can in colors. This we must suppose is due to the judg- 
 ment which has been educated to discriminate between 
 small differences as to quantity, and there can be no reason 
 for not supposing that we can learn in like manner to dis- 
 tinguish between small differences in qualit}'' as manifested 
 in the slight alteration in the molecular arrangement of the 
 retina brought about by the different colors. Eveiy impres- 
 sion, therefore, produced by each color will be conve3'ed in- 
 dependently of other impressions to the brain, and will there 
 be turned into a distinct and individual sensation. But 
 even in this theory there is no necessity for supposing that 
 all the color sensations are primary. We can have here, as 
 in the other theories, a mixture of sensations in the produc- 
 tion of some colors, and the numerous combinations which 
 are known under the name of secondary colors. Purple, 
 for example, will be the sensation resulting from a combi- 
 
HOW SVK SHK. ISI 
 
 nation of till' two sensations of n-d ami Muc. Tlio same 
 liolds triu' for tlir browns, and tho various otlu-r tints of 
 that ordor. TIic coinhination, however, is made in the 
 ln'niii and not in the retina. 
 
 We have now linally traced the ehan<ijes whieh enter into 
 the })roduetion of the fmiction of vision to the brain. If 
 these changes stop anywhere slu)rt of there, we have no sen- 
 sation, no lii^ht. In fact, it is not vision at all, for it is the 
 brain which overrules all. and transforms impressions into 
 thouglit and consciousness. We see — not with the eye — hut 
 with the brain — the eye bein>5 only one of the instruments 
 which the brain uses to bring to it knowledge of the changes 
 whieh tiike place in the outer world. This knowledge it 
 arranges and classifies under the superintendence of the 
 judgment, and we give to it the comprehensive name of 
 vision. This knuls us to wliat was, for a long time, consid- 
 ered the boundary not only of our actual knowledge, but 
 even of legitimate s[)eculation. ("onsciousness was consid- 
 ered not only a terra incitgnitd, but also a Urra sacra, within 
 whose hallowed i)recincts even the boldest materialist dare 
 not venture with his unholy atoms and molecules. But 
 true science is always fearless, and pushes its way with irri- 
 sistable force into ever}' avenue where honest investigation 
 offers for its labor tlie smallest modicum of new truth. 
 
 Anatomical science lias traced, by its numerous and pa- 
 tient di.-^sections, the optic nerve to its termination in a 
 certain portion of the brain. As nothing in the workings 
 of Nature is ever purpo.seless, we are bound to believe that 
 as the nerves always end in the same part of the brain, the 
 lirain in that immediate vicinity mu.st have .some connec- 
 nection with transformation of liglit waves into vision. 
 Then the vivisi'ctionist came forward with that knife, whose 
 supposed cruelties have been so elo<[Uently sung by a thou- 
 sand sentimental tongues, and lemoved that particular {»or- 
 tion of the brain from the living creature, and the animal 
 became completely blintl. Thus one more stone of trutii 
 was added to the slowly growing temple of human knowl- 
 edge, and to-day every physiologist will tell you that the 
 
182 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 sense of vision resides in the cortical substance of the pos- 
 terior cerebral lobes. 
 
 But the human mind, ever unsatisfied with its present 
 knowledge, inquires still further, and asks what are the 
 alterations which take place in that particular portion of 
 the brain when the changes Avrotight by the light waves on 
 the retina are brought to it through the medium of the 
 optic nerve? 
 
 Let us, for a moment, look at it dispassionately and with- 
 out prejudice, as becomes all seekers after the truth. Let us 
 remember in the first place that we have been all the while 
 dealing with matter. The object to be seen is material, the 
 ether, if it exists, must be material ; and we know that the 
 optic nerve and retina are matter, and the brain is a sub- 
 stance analogous to these in anatomical structure. 
 
 If we take a self-luminous body as the object, we know 
 that molecular change, in the form of motion, forms the 
 first link in the chain of sequences of which we spoke at 
 the outset of this lecture as necessary for the function of 
 vision. These motions are communicated to the surround- 
 ing ether, and by it are carried to the retina. Have we any 
 right to suppose that the molecular motion stops there? 
 Certainly not. There is no fact yet demonstrated which 
 militates against it, and in this hand to hand warfare of 
 Science against the hidden secrets of Nature we claim all' 
 to be for us which is not positively against us. On this 
 principle, therefore, we are amply justified in assuming that 
 the ether has only been the medium of transference of mol- 
 ecular motion from the body to the retina. This motion is 
 then transferred through the optic nerve to the demonstrated 
 center of vision in the brain. Does molecular change in 
 the form of motion end even then? Having followed it 
 thus far we can see no satisfying reason why it should. 
 And the last link in the chain which is discernable by our 
 short-sighted vision is a change, manifested by a form of 
 motion in the ultimate molecules of the brain. How this 
 motion of the molecules is converted into consciousness is a 
 problem for the solution of which we have not even the 
 
now \VK SKE. 
 
 183 
 
 rudiment of a t'aruliy. Wc only know that the phenomenon 
 beiran as motion, and that as motion it ended. But beyond — 
 ah, beyond — is an imi)enctrable (hirkness. We emerged from 
 an eternity of ignorance, we end at the brink of an eternity of 
 the unknowable. In the infinitesmally short span between 
 tlK'se two mighty eternities we are permitted to examine 
 into tlu' workings of Nature's hiws. to follow out their rela- 
 tions to each other, and ajiply them, as far as we are able, 
 to the ex[)lanation of the phenomena l)y which we are sur- 
 rounded; but of the origins of these laws we are, as scien- 
 tist.s, in utter ignorance. Wc have not been i)rovided with 
 a power to grasp at even the l)eginning of an idea which 
 would lead us nearer a solution of these problems than we 
 now are. And as at the beginning so at the end. There 
 are some things which are not only unknown but unknow- 
 able. It is utterly impossible that we can ever know how 
 light waves or sound waves are converted by the material 
 organ of the brain into consciousness and thought. That 
 this is accomi>lishod by the brain we know, and that it is 
 throuuh a change in its molecular structure admits hardly 
 of a doubt, but there we must pause. We have reached the 
 limits of our {possible knowledge, and from any attempt at 
 penetrating the darkness beyond even the imagination 
 shrinks, overwhelmed by the consciousness of its utter 
 powerlessness and incapacity. 
 
 And now, ladies and gentlemen, we have tinished all we 
 designed to tell you of what we know of one of the most 
 important and wonderful faculties with which we are en- 
 dowed, and we have also given you some concei)tion of the 
 amount we do not know, and from the very nature of things 
 can never know. This latter, as compared with the former, 
 is inmiense, but when we come to consider how wonderful 
 and surprisingly beautiful it all is, we can only be glad that 
 we are permitted to know and enjoy as much actual knowl- 
 edge as we do. I could have confmod myself, in these re- 
 marks, to a description and experimental demonstration of 
 some of the beautiful laws of light and vision which science 
 has unraveled out of the eternal mv.sterv, and we could have 
 
184 SATURDAY LECTURES. 
 
 boasted of the numerous secrets wrested from nature's hidden 
 store-house of facts Iw the patient and persistent inquirers 
 in this department of scientific investigation. But true 
 science never exalts itself — is never puffed up. It is as dili- 
 gent in seeking out error as it is in finding a new fact. It 
 holds no opinion to be final. The mind of the true scientist 
 is always in a plastic condition, ready to take that form and 
 shape which well-founded data warrant, and is ever willing 
 to change it as the facts demand. The scientific gentlemen 
 who have preceded me in this cour.se of lectures have laid 
 before you knowledge gained from many widely-differ- 
 ing fields of research, but they have never insisted on the 
 acceptance of a single opinion that was not laid in facts, or 
 was not in strict accordance with well-demonstrated laws. 
 Theories and hj^potheses are, it is true, not to be discarded 
 because in the present imperfect state of human knowledge 
 positive ideas are often impossible, but only that one should be 
 accepted which comes nearest to the truth as we know it. Dog- 
 matism and bigotry should find no place in the intellectual 
 make up of the scientific mind. And if I understand aright 
 the purpose of these Saturday scientific lectures, it is not only 
 that you shall become acquainted with the discoveries and 
 advances of modern science — most of which you could learn 
 by a study of books and the reading of the scientific periodi- 
 cals of the day — but that you might feel and understand 
 t"he attitude of Science towards man and his intellectual and 
 moral advancement. The time was when .science was con- 
 sidered the greatest enemy of mankind, when scientists were 
 imprisoned and put to death, and to seek the truth as it was 
 to be found in Nature was considered blasphemy. But the 
 new era is dawning, and it is the scientist who has opened 
 up the way. The Avatchword of the hour is Truth ! and to 
 whom is this more dear than to the man of science. His 
 whole life is spent in an untiring search after it. The ob- 
 jective point of his every action and thought is the truth. 
 He never fears what effect any new fact may have upon 
 any preconceived opinion, however dear it may be to him. 
 He only asks, is it true ? The truth in nature is the idol of 
 
iiDW \VK ski;. 185 
 
 his afrcctions, ami In; loves it, with a lovo surpassing,' that, of 
 woman. Wc do not claim lor the whole bod}' of s<i(;ntili(: 
 men such singlc-mindedncss of purpose, but we do claim 
 that the tendency of scientific investigation is to develop 
 these higher and better faculties of man. What more com- 
 pletely rounded character can be fouiul that was embodied 
 in him whose recent death has carried a sense of irreparable 
 loss to the heart of the whole civili/.ed world. In after ages 
 when the world makes up its roll of great and perfect men, 
 the name of Charles Robert Darwin will be found high 
 on the list. Tndilferent to the scoffs and jeers of his detrac- 
 tors, he ke{)t his eye single to the eternal vei'ity of Nature. 
 With that he was content, and in it he found his all-sufhcient 
 reward. 
 
 And when a few days ago he was carried to his last rest- 
 ing place in the mausoleum of England's great dead, and 
 placed by the side of her immortal Newton, science might 
 justly consider that her hour of triumph had come, and that 
 she had won the recognition she claims. That the man 
 whose theory on its first promulgation was considered a by- 
 word of reproach, should have his name mentioned with 
 reverence, and his greatness and worth acknowledged from 
 places which denounced him but twenty years ago, is a 
 spectacle which is without a parallel in the history of 
 science. 
 
 It may be truly said of him. as one of our poets has said 
 of our beloved Wyman. that il was his high [>rivilcge — 
 
 " To feel mysterious Nature ever new. 
 To touch, if not to grasp, her erniless clew. 
 And learn by each discovery how to wait; 
 To widen knowledge and escape the praise 
 Wisely to teach, because more wise to learn ; 
 To toil for science, not to draw men's ga/c. 
 But for her lore of self-denial stern ; 
 That such a nuin could spring from our decays. 
 Fans the soul's nobler faith until it burn." 
 
00' 
 
 RETURN TO the circulation desk of any 
 
 University of California Library 
 
 or to the 
 
 NORTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 BIdg. 400, Richmond Field Station 
 University of California 
 Richmond, CA 94804-469£i 
 
 
 ii^^ 
 
 ALL BOOKS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS 
 2-month loans may be renewed by calling 
 
 (415)642-6753 
 1-year loans may be recharged by bringing books 
 
 to NRLF 
 Renewals and recharges may be made 4 days 
 
 prior to due date 
 
 DUE AS STAMPED BELOW 
 
 iiH — Mm 
 
 I N\^. L-'L-'^, 
 
 U L I\ r\ 1_ 1. L 
 
 V-/~\ 'T '-\/ ^\J 
 
 ®s