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Title: Memories of my life
Author: Francis Galton
Release date: May 12, 2026 [eBook #78669]
Language: English
Original publication: London: Methuen & Co, 1908
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/78669
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEMORIES OF MY LIFE ***
MEMORIES OF MY LIFE
[Illustration: _Francis Galton_]
MEMORIES OF
MY LIFE
BY
FRANCIS GALTON, F.R.S.
D.C.L., OXF.; HON. SC.D., CAMB.
HON. FELLOW TRINITY COLL., CAMBRIDGE
WITH SEVEN ILLUSTRATIONS
METHUEN & CO.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
_First Published in 1908_
PREFACE
These “Memories” are arranged under the subjects to which they refer, and
only partially in chronological order. A copious list of my memoirs will
be found in the Appendix with dates attached to them. These show what
inquiries were going on at or about any specified year. The titles of
books are printed in heavy letters. They summarise, as a rule, the best
parts of the corresponding memoirs up to the dates of their publication.
Nevertheless, a considerable quantity of matter remains in the memoirs as
yet unused in that way.
It has been a difficulty throughout to determine how much to insert and
how much to omit. I have done my best, but fear I have failed through
over-omission.
The method of that most useful volume, the _Index and Epitome of the
Dictionary of the National Biography_, has been adopted, of adding to
each name the dates of birth and death. They serve for identification
and for giving a correct idea of the age of each man as compared with
those with whom he was associated. The dates are mostly taken from the
_Dictionary_, so the reader will nearly always find in that work a
biography of the person in question.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. PARENTAGE 1
II. CHILDHOOD AND BOYHOOD 13
III. MEDICAL STUDIES 22
IV. SHORT TOUR TO THE EAST 48
V. CAMBRIDGE 58
VI. EGYPT AND THE SOUDAN—(_map_) 83
VII. SYRIA 101
VIII. HUNTING AND SHOOTING 110
IX. SOUTH-WEST AFRICA—(_map_) 121
X. LANDS OF THE DAMARAS, OVAMPO, AND NAMAQUAS 138
XI. AFTER RETURN HOME—MARRIAGE 152
XII. “ART OF TRAVEL” 161
XIII. SOCIAL LIFE—(_medallions_) 169
XIV. GEOGRAPHY AND EAST AFRICA 198
XV. BRITISH ASSOCIATION 213
XVI. KEW OBSERVATORY AND METEOROLOGY—(_meteorological
tracings_) 224
XVII. ANTHROPOMETRIC LABORATORIES 244
XVIII. COMPOSITE PORTRAITS AND STEREOSCOPIC MAPS 259
XIX. HUMAN FACULTY 266
XX. HEREDITY 287
XXI. RACE IMPROVEMENT—(_Galtonia Candicans_) 310
APPENDIX.—BOOKS AND MEMOIRS BY THE AUTHOR 325
PRINCIPAL AWARDS AND DEGREES 331
INDEX 332
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PORTRAIT _Frontispiece_
From the Painting by C. W. FURSE, A.R.A.
PORTRAIT _Facing p._ 244
From a Photograph.
IN THE TEXT PAGE
EGYPT AND SYRIA 88
DAMARALAND 129
YEARLY MEDALLIONS 196
METEOROLOGICAL TRACINGS 237
GALTONIA CANDICANS 323
MEMORIES OF MY LIFE
CHAPTER I
PARENTAGE
Birthplace—Grandparents—Dr. Erasmus Darwin—Lunar
Society—Captain Barclay Allardice—Mrs. Schimmelpenninck
Just before the arrival of the letter in which my publisher asked me to
write the memories of my life, I happened to be reading Shakespeare’s
_Henry IV._ and laughing over Falstaff’s soliloquy after the gross
exaggerations by Justice Shallow of his own youthful performances. It
contained the sentence, “Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to this
vice of lying!” Feeling the truth of his ejaculation, I headed the
first page of my memorandum-book with those words as a warning, knowing
how difficult it is to be veracious about long-past events, threads of
imagination insinuating themselves among those supplied by memory and
becoming indistinguishable from them.
Many old notebooks and letters are, however, in my possession which have
helped me; but my two latest surviving sisters, whose minds were sure
storehouses of family events, and to whom I always referred whenever I
wanted a date or particulars of a long-past fact, are now both dead,
the one at the age of ninety-three and the other at ninety-seven, each
with a clear and vigorous mind to nearly the very end of her life. I
have hardly any contemporary friends left who could aid in recalling the
circumstances of my childhood and boyhood. With rare exceptions, “All,
all are gone, the old familiar faces.”
I was born on February 16, 1822, at the Larches, near Sparkbrook,
Birmingham, with which town my father Samuel Tertius, my grandfather
Samuel John, and my great-grandfather Samuel Galton, were all closely
connected. Different members of the family had resided or were resident
at various points beyond the circumference of the town, in houses then
amidst green fields, but now overspread beyond recognition by its hideous
outskirts.
My grandfather’s place was at Duddeston, then commonly written “Dudson.”
Its gardens had been charmingly laid out by my great-grandfather and
improved by my grandfather. The house, which was once a centre of refined
entertainment, gradually lost its charm of isolation; later on, it wholly
ceased to be attractive as a residence. It was then leased by my father
to the proprietor of a lunatic asylum, because, as he remarked, no one
in his senses would live in it. It is now turned into St. Anne’s School,
with its porticoes and other outer adornments shorn off, and with its
once beautiful gardens changed into the sites of railway sidings and
gasworks. I remember it distinctly in its beauty in the year 1830, which
was two years before my grandfather’s death.
The Larches, where I was born, had some three acres of garden and field
attached to it, with other fields beyond; it was a paradise for my
childhood. Its site is now covered with small houses. The two fine
larches that flanked it gave me a love for that tree, which persists and
is still recognisably associated with its origin.
My six nearest progenitors, namely the two parents and four grandparents,
were markedly different in temperament and tastes, and they have
bequeathed very different combinations of them to their descendants. I
can only partly touch on these.
My grandfather, Samuel John Galton (1753-1832), was a scientific and
statistical man of business. He was a Fellow of the provincially famous
Lunar Society, whose members met at one another’s houses on the day and
night of the full moon, and which, though small in numbers, was so select
as to include Priestley, Dr. Erasmus Darwin, Keir the chemist, Withering
the botanist, Watt, and Boulton. Full particulars of the Lunar Society
are to be found in Smiles’ Life of Boulton, and elsewhere.
I may mention that the late Sir Rowland Hill, of penny-postage fame,
told me that the event which first gave him a taste for science was the
present of a small electrical machine made to him when a boy, by my
grandfather.
Samuel John Galton was very fond of animals. He kept many bloodhounds; he
loved birds, and wrote an unpretentious little book about them in three
small volumes, with illustrations. He had a decidedly statistical bent,
loving to arrange all kinds of data in parallel lines of corresponding
lengths, and frequently using colour for distinction. My father, and
others of Samuel John Galton’s children, inherited this taste in a
greater or less degree; it rose to an unreasoning instinct in one of his
daughters. She must have been an acceptable customer to her bookbinder on
that account, as the number of expensively bound volumes that she ordered
from time to time, each neatly ruled in red, and stamped and assigned
to some particular subject or year, is hardly credible. I begged for a
bagful of them after her death, to keep as a psychological curiosity, and
have it still; the rest were destroyed. She must have collected these
costly books to satisfy a pure instinct, for she turned them to no useful
account, and rarely filled more than a single page, often not so much of
each of them. She habitually used a treble inkstand, with black, red,
and blue inks, employing the distinctive colours with little reason,
but rather with regard to their pictorial effect. She was perhaps not
over-wise, yet she was by no means imbecile, and had many qualities that
endeared her to her nephews and nieces.
Samuel John Galton was a successful man of business. He was a
manufacturer, and became a contractor on a large scale for the supply of
muskets to the army during the great war. Birmingham offered at that time
a good field for the business of a contractor, because its manufactories
were many and of moderate size, and central organisations were wanting.
The Soho works of Boulton and Watt for steam-engines were almost the
only large works at that time. My grandfather prospered in his business
as a “Captain of Industry,” to use the phrase applied to him in a book
treating of Birmingham. He founded a Bank to help it, which was gradually
brought to a close some few years after the war had ceased. He died in
1832, leaving a fortune of some £12,000 a year, of which about a quarter
went to each of his three sons, of whom my father was the eldest, and the
rest between his three daughters.
The Galton family had been Quakers for many generations. They came to
Birmingham from Somersetshire, in the time of my great-grandfather,
Samuel Galton (1720-1799). Some of its earlier members are buried at
Yatton. There is a hamlet in Dorsetshire called Galton, adjacent to Owre
Moigne, with which one at least of our name, and apparently a far back
relative, was connected many generations ago.
My grandmother Galton (1757-1817) was also of Quaker stock, being
daughter of Robert Barclay of Ury, a descendant of Robert Barclay
(1648-1690) “the Apologist,” as he used to be named from his work,
Barclay’s _Apology_, which, to quote the _Dictionary of National
Biography_, is the standard exposition of the tenets of his sect, of
which the essential principle is that “all true knowledge comes from
divine revelation to the heart of the individual.”
My grandmother’s half-brother, Robert Barclay Allardice (1779-1854),
commonly known as “Captain Barclay,” was a noted athlete and pedestrian,
and in later years an active agriculturist. When upwards of seventy
years old he was dining at my father’s house in Leamington, and on being
asked, while sitting at dessert, whether he still performed any feats of
strength, he asked my eldest brother, then a fully adult man of more than
12 stone in weight, to step on his hand, which he laid palm upwards on
the floor by slightly bending his body. My brother was desired to steady
himself by laying one finger on Captain Barclay’s shoulder, who thereupon
lifted and landed him on the table. I was not present at the feat, but
heard it often described by word and gesture. However, the Captain rather
strained his shoulder by performing it, as he confessed to my father
afterwards. Captain Barclay’s endurance of long continued fatigue was
exceptional to a very high degree. The memoirs of his life are well worth
reading.
My grandmother’s half-sister was wife of Hudson Gurney (1775-1864),
“antiquary and verse writer, friend of Lord Aberdeen,” to again quote the
Index to the _Dict. Nat. Biog._ He was a man of large fortune, and my two
sisters, Bessy and Emma, paid long visits to his house in St. James’s
Square, where his wife was very kind to them, and where they saw much
good London society.
My grandfather and grandmother Galton were practically Quakers all their
lives, and so was one of their daughters, but the rest of their children
fell off and joined the Established Church. Still, we saw not a little
of our Quaker relations. A story was current in our family about myself,
as a shy and naughty child, being quite subdued by the charm of Mrs. Fry
(1780-1845). She did not even look at me, but merely held out her open
hand with comfits in it, and went on speaking to others in her singularly
sweet voice. I gradually worked my way nearer to her; then she quietly
took me on her knees, where I sat for long in perfect content.
My grandparents on the other side were Darwins, my grandfather being
Dr. Erasmus Darwin (1731-1802), physician, poet, and philosopher, and
the very reverse of an ascetic or of a Quaker. He was grandfather to
me by his second wife; and to Charles R. Darwin (1809-1882), the great
naturalist, by his first wife. His hereditary influence seems to have
been very strong. His son Charles, who died at the early age of twenty
from a dissection wound, was a medical student of extraordinary promise;
and the medical sagacity of another son, Dr. Robert Darwin of Shrewsbury,
the father of Charles R. Darwin, is amply attested. I stayed for a night
or two at the house of the latter while I was a boy and too young to form
any opinion of him worth recording; besides, I was rather awe-stricken.
My grandmother Darwin (1747-1832), the second wife of Dr. Erasmus Darwin,
was the widow of Colonel E. Sacheverel Chandos-Pole, and, judging from
her portrait when young, a lady of remarkable grace and beauty. I saw
her in her kindly old age when she lived at the Priory near Derby, but I
know little with certainty of her early life and character. She died at
the age of eighty-five, her mother at ninety-six. It is perhaps partly
through her that the exceptional longevity of my mother and her sons
and daughters has been derived. My mother died just short of ninety,
my eldest brother at eighty-nine, two sisters, as already mentioned,
at ninety-three and ninety-seven respectively; my surviving brother is
ninety-three and in good health. My own age is now only eighty-six, but
may possibly be prolonged another year or more. I find old age thus far
to be a very happy time, on the condition of submitting frankly to its
many limitations.
A half-sister of my mother married Captain, afterwards Lord Byron,
cousin and successor to the poet in the title. They were very kind to my
sisters in their schooldays and after.
Now, as to my two parents and their brothers and sisters. My father,
Samuel Tertius Galton (1783-1844), the third in descent of the name of
Samuel, was one of the most honourable and kindly of men, and eminently
statistical by disposition. He wrote a small book on currency, with
tables, which testifies to his taste. He had a scientific bent, having
about his house the simple gear appropriate to those days, of solar
microscope, orrery, telescopes, mountain barometers without which he
never travelled, and so forth. A sliding rule adapted to various uses
was his constant companion. He was devoted to Shakespeare, and revelled
in _Hudibras_; he read _Tom Jones_ through every year, and was gifted
with an abundance of humour. Nevertheless, he became a careful man of
business, on whose shoulders the work of the Bank chiefly rested in
troublous times. Its duties had cramped much of the joy and aspirations
of his early youth and manhood, and narrowed the opportunity he always
eagerly desired, of abundant leisure for systematic study. As one result
of this drawback to his own development, he was earnestly desirous of
giving me every opportunity of being educated that seemed feasible and
right. He was the eldest son.
The second son, Hubert, married a sister of Robert Barclay, the banker.
They had three daughters, who all died unmarried—two while young, the
other in advanced age.
The youngest son, John Howard, married Isabella Strutt, a lady of
considerable fortune, and built Hadzor, near Droitwich, a large house,
with much artistic taste. He enjoyed varied society, and made Hadzor an
important social centre.
My uncle Howard was father to Sir Douglas Galton, K.C.B. (1822-1899), an
eminent authority on engineering, sanitation, and much else. Sir Douglas
held a record position in the examination at Woolwich for entry into the
Royal Engineers, being first in every subject (see _Dict. Nat. Biog._).
Curiously enough, though we cousins were both addicted to science, and
belonged alike to many scientific societies, and were both Secretaries of
the British Association, our paths rarely crossed, except socially, for
we were interested in quite different branches of science.
My father’s eldest sister, Mary Anne (1778-1856), was a lady of some note
as Mrs. Schimmelpenninck, more briefly known to us by repute as “Aunt
Skim.” A most unhappy feud separated her from all the rest of the family.
It is not my duty, and it would certainly give me no pleasure, to enter
into what the older members of the family conceived to have been frequent
and mischievous misrepresentations. I would rather dwell on the facts
that she was highly accomplished and handsome, and that she acquired
many fast friends, as shown in the Life of the Gurneys of Earlham and in
her own Memoirs. Also that she lived in the reputation of much sterling
piety at Bristol, and that three of my own friends, of totally different
temperaments, who knew her well, and of whom I inquired particularly,
all spoke in pleasant memory of her and her eccentric ways. They were
Prof. W. B. Carpenter (1813-1885) the physiologist, J. Gwyn Jeffreys
(1809-1885), conchologist, etc., and Sir Lewis Pelly, K.C.B. (1825-1892),
Indian soldier and diplomatist. She wrote a book on Port Royal, and left
a valuable library of Port Royalist literature to Sion College, which
Mrs. Romanes told me was of great service to her in writing her recent
history of that establishment. For more, see _Dict. Nat. Biog._
I wish I could have learnt more details than I possess of another brother
of my father, Theodore Galton (1784-1810), who left England for the
grand tour, picked up many curios in Spain and Greece, and, returning in
health from the East, was placed in quarantine at Malta. The quarantine
establishment was attacked by the plague; he caught it and it killed him.
He had the highest reputation in the family for his natural gifts, mental
and bodily. There is a touching notice of him in the _Annual Register_.
My mother was A. Violetta Darwin (1783-1874). I have heard from older
friends, long since passed away, many charming stories of her as a young
bride. She, as I understand, had nothing of the Quaker temperament, but
was a joyous and unconventional girl. In her later life she formed the
centre of our family during thirty years of widowhood, after my father’s
comparatively early death at the age of sixty. She was very methodical
in her papers and accounts, and a most affectionate mother to myself.
One curious faculty of hers deserves record. It was the ease with which
she took in mentally, and afterwards reproduced in rough architectural
drawing, the arrangement of any house she knew. Her method was to fold a
strip of paper by doubling, quartering, and so on, into sixteen portions
of equal lengths, and to use this strip of paper as a sixteen-foot scale
wherewith to draw her rude but graphic plans. One of her children, my
dear sister Lucy Harriot Moilliet (1809-1848), had an exceptional faculty
for perspective drawing; she drew elaborate interiors with very little
previous instruction.
As to my other brothers and sisters, they were most diverse in character,
yet with a certain common resemblance which struck strangers. I shall
have occasion to speak more of them later on in the course of my
narrative.
The general result of the foregoing is that I acknowledge the debt to
my progenitors of a considerable taste for science, for poetry, and for
statistics; also that I seem to have received, partly through the Barclay
blood, a rather unusual power of enduring physical fatigue without
harmful results, of which there is much evidence when I was young. My
father had this power in his early manhood, and it was well marked in my
eldest brother and in others of the family. I suffer now from bronchitis
with occasional asthma, which has been traced to my great-grandfather,
Samuel Galton, and has descended in a greater or less degree through
all his children who left issue. My father had a strong constitution
otherwise, but he suffered terribly from hay asthma, which first attacked
him as a youth. I escaped fairly well from any form of it until I was
nearly eighty years old; and it is not hay that especially brings it on
now, but warm carpeted rooms. There are few apartments more pleasant to
most persons to read in than the drawing-room of the Athenæum Club; I
know of none that are now more apt to prove distressing to my throat and
lungs.
CHAPTER II
CHILDHOOD AND BOYHOOD
Sisters and brothers—Sisterly teachings—Schools at Boulogne,
Kenilworth, and Birmingham
I was born into a family of four sisters and two brothers, who were older
than myself by ages ranging from seven to fourteen years, the brothers
being all younger than the sisters. My third sister, Adele, was twelve
years my senior. She had spinal curvature, and was obliged to lie all
day on her back upon a board, and was thus cut off from the romps and
companionship of her sisters, though all were greatly attached to her.
She hailed my arrival into the world as a fairy gift, and begged hard
to be allowed to consider me as her sole ward, and in her simple way
educated herself as best she could, in order to be able to teach me.
Her idea of education at that time was to teach the Bible as a verbally
inspired book, to cultivate memory, to make me learn the merest rudiments
of Latin, and above all a great deal of English verse. This she did
effectually, and the result was that she believed, and succeeded in
making others believe, that I was a sort of infant prodigy.
There exist numerous records of my early performances, and it is certain
that I really knew at a very early age a great deal of Scott, of Milton,
and of Pope’s translation of the _Iliad_ and _Odyssey_, and that I
delighted in what the family nicknamed “spouting” verse. In middle life
I feared that I had been an intolerable prig, and cross-questioned many
old family friends about it, but was invariably assured that I was not
at all a prig, but seemed to “spout” for pure enjoyment and without any
affectation; that I often quoted very aptly on the spur of the moment,
and that I was a nice little child. My memories become more or less
continuous from about the age of five or six, when I was trotted off to
live at a dame’s school a mile away. During these and many subsequent
years, my sister Adele had the greater share of my heart, and whenever I
was at home I stayed by her sofa-side most of the day. My other sisters
teased and petted me alternately; they were relatively too old to be
really companions.
It is curious how unchangeable characters are: my eldest sister was just,
my youngest was merciful. When my bread was buttered for me as a child,
the former picked out the butter that filled the big holes, the latter
did not. Consequently I respected the former, and loved the latter. A
memory of this trifling occurrence remained inseparably connected in my
mind with these dear sisters all my life, and I often amused them by
referring to it.
My second sister, Lucy, married before I was ten years old. She was
bright, lovable, and very original. Her house was like a second home to
me during the four years of boyhood that I spent at Birmingham. I have
indeed been fortunate in receiving the sisterly affection that has fallen
to my lot.
But I must not stop at this period of my reminiscences to speak of other
sisters than Adele, with whom my heart was then so intimately associated.
I am enormously indebted to the influence of her pious, serene, and
resolute disposition. Though she was compelled to pass the greater part
of her life lying on her back, she was so energetic in other ways, and so
capable of endurance, that she overcame difficulties that would have been
insurmountable to most women who were equally handicapped. She was active
in setting up schools and teaching the poor. She had a considerable
correspondence, and exerted a wide influence among all classes during
many years. Her natural capacity was of an unusually high order, and
many who knew her well, and whose opinions deserve respect, thought that
a slight betterment of opportunity and circumstances might have caused
her name to be as widely loved and known as those of any of our English
saints or heroines. She passed her life under an abiding sense of the
presence of God and of duty to man, without which few persons have ever
done great things. She was most unconventional in her ways, and her
remarkable courage was recognised by all the family.
She married a clergyman, the Rev. Shirley Bunbury, shortly after my
father’s death in 1844, but was left a widow soon afterwards, with one
little girl, on whom she lavished the same educational care that she had
bestowed upon myself, but with fuller knowledge. That little girl is now
in her turn a widow, with a large and grown-up family. She was married
in 1866 to John C. Baron Lethbridge of Tregeare, in Cornwall, about six
miles west of Launceston.
I think I can revive my principal feelings at that early age with fair
correctness, their change during growth seeming to have been chiefly due
to the increased range of mental prospect. The horizon of a child is very
narrow and his sky very near. His father is the supreme of beings. He has
to learn by slow degrees that there are more and more appreciable stages
between the highest and the lowest, and the number of such stages that
he can discriminate affords a good measure of his mental calibre at the
time. It was about the date of which I have been speaking that my second
brother, Erasmus, then a boy of twelve or thirteen, entered the navy, and
showed himself to us in his uniform, with the dagger or “dirk” that was
part of it. I, a child of five or so, fingered it with awe, and with my
little head full of Greeks and Trojans looked upon him as a hero, like
Achilles, and can perfectly recall my sense of increased security from
knowing that England could henceforth avail herself of his puissant arm
and terrible weapon.
I lived and throve in what was practically the country until the age
of eight, when I was sent to a school at Boulogne, whither my father
escorted me. It was erroneously supposed that I should learn French
there and acquire a good accent. What I did learn was the detestable
and limited patois that my eighty schoolfellows were compelled to speak
under penalty of a fine, and in this cruel way. There were transferable
metal labels which were called “marks,” and the boys in whose possession
these marks remained after each playtime received a bad record whose
accumulation up to a certain point entailed punishment. I rebelled with
my whole heart against the treachery encouraged by this system. A boy
with a “mark” in his pocket would sidle up and encourage you as he best
could to say a word of English, then forthwith he clapped his “mark” into
your hand, and went away rejoicing at the riddance.
The school was an old convent near to and within the Calais gate of
the upper town; the playground was the paved square of the convent, in
which we used the flat gravestones for playing marbles. It is now partly
overbuilt by the large church whose dome is conspicuous from afar.
We were daily marched off in a long row of pairs, usually for a walk
round the ramparts, sometimes to Napoleon’s Column, then in process of
building, and in the summer, not infrequently, to bathe by rocks near
the old fort. We prepared ourselves for the latter grateful occasions
by saving bread from breakfast; then, after having gathered mussels, we
spread their delicious contents on it to eat. An opportunity was then
afforded of inspecting with awe the marks of recent birchings, which were
reckoned as glorious scars. The birchings were frequent and performed
in a long room parallel to, and separated from, the schoolroom by large
ill-fitting doors, through which each squeal of the victim was heard
with hushed breaths. In that room was a wardrobe full of school-books
ready for issue. It is some measure of the then naïveté of my mind that
I wondered for long how the books could have been kept so fresh and
clean for nearly two thousand years, thinking that the copies of Cæsar’s
Commentaries were contemporary with Cæsar himself.
An occasional walk was to a wet plantation on the side of the little
river Liane, that feeds the harbour, at which one of our schoolfellows, a
gaunt, dyspeptic-looking boy, performed the following feat to our terror
and admiration, as we crowded round him to see it. He took a frog by its
hind feet, opened his wide mouth and dropped the frog’s fore-feet on his
tongue. The frog struggled to get free, and at the critical moment the
hind legs were let go, and down went the frog, head foremost, into his
gullet. He was our hero for the time; none other dared to attempt the
same feat. He said that he felt the frog all the way as it went down to
his stomach, and in it.
The school was hateful to me in many ways, and lovable in none, so I was
heartily glad to be taken away from it in 1832. I thence returned to my
family party, who were newly settled in Leamington. It then consisted
of my father, mother, and three sisters; my brothers were away, and my
other sister, Lucy, who had married, was living near Birmingham. My
grandfather Galton had recently died, and the consequent large accession
to my father’s income justified his change of residence, which gave him
and my sisters a wider social intercourse than they had at the Larches.
Leamington was at that time a little place, attractive to many eminent
invalids, who drank the waters and consulted Dr. Jephson, then becoming
celebrated.
I was next sent to a small private school at Kenilworth, consisting of
some half-dozen pupils, where I received much kindness, and breathed
the air of unconstraint during three happy years. It was kept by Mr.
Attwood, the clergyman of the parish (a near relative of the inventor of
“Attwood’s machine,” by which the rate of falling bodies is measured),
who, without any pretence of learning, showed so much sympathy with
boyish tastes and aspirations that I began to develop freely. Two of my
fellow-pupils, Matthew P. Watt and Hugh William Boulton, were brothers.
They were grandsons of my grandfather’s friend of the original “Boulton
and Watt” firm, and sons of my father’s friend, who carried on the
manufactory. Hugh William became an exceptionally handsome and socially
favoured Life-Guardsman; he died young. Matthew was then, subsequently at
Cambridge, and again for some years afterwards, an object of reverence
to me. I have known few or any who seemed to me his natural superiors in
breadth and penetration of intellect, but he was cursed with a fortune
far in excess of his simple though cultured needs, which exacted duties
from him that he hated. His large fortune also removed the stimulus which
necessity gives for getting through work and having done with it, instead
of lingering indefinitely. He consequently grew amateurish, wasting
thought on ingenious paradoxes and literary trifles, and failed to
check a natural tendency towards recluseness and some other oddities of
disposition. He gained the University prizes for Greek and Latin Epigrams
at Cambridge in 1841, but did not care to compete for other honours. His
artistic sense was of a high and classical order. His ideal, like that
of Goethe, was a uniform culture of all the higher faculties. There was
nothing ignoble in his nature. Whenever I talked with him about my own
occasional annoyances, they seemed to become petty through his broad
way of looking at things, I may almost say under the mere influence of
his presence. His photograph, which is near me as I write, testifies to
a personality that accords with the grandeur of his character. I owe
much to his influence, and still remain conscious of the void in my
friendships caused by his death very many years ago.
When I was fourteen years old it became time for me to go to a bigger
school. My father had a Quaker’s repugnance to public schools of the
usual type, and it was finally decided that I should be sent to King
Edward’s School in Birmingham, then commonly known as the “Free School,”
to which a headmaster of high attainments had been recently appointed.
This was Dr. Jeune (1806-1868), afterwards Master of Pembroke College,
Oxford, and Bishop of Peterborough. I lived as a pupil, together with
a few others, at his house by the Five Ways, to which a considerable
garden was attached, and whence we walked daily, through a mile or so
of street, to and from the school. I retained Dr. Jeune’s friendship
until his death, and it was impossible not to recognise his exceptional
ability and educational zeal, but the character of the education was
altogether uncongenial to my temperament. I learnt nothing, and chafed at
my limitations. I had craved for what was denied, namely, an abundance of
good English reading, well-taught mathematics, and solid science. Grammar
and the dry rudiments of Latin and Greek were abhorrent to me, for there
seemed so little sense in them. I was a fool to have been recalcitrant,
and not to have profited by what I could have had, because many of my
schoolfellows prospered on the teaching. Three of them, F. Rendal, H.
Holden, and C. Evans, were the very first in classics of their respective
years at Cambridge. The two first were bracketed as equally deserving the
position of Senior Classic, and the third gained that honour unpaired.
Still, the literary provender provided at Dr. Jeune’s school disagreed
wholly with my mental digestion. The time spent there was a period of
stagnation to myself, which for many years I bitterly deplored, for I was
very willing and eager to learn, and could have learnt much if a suitable
teacher had been at hand to direct and encourage me.
CHAPTER III
MEDICAL STUDIES
First experience—Tour with Mr. Bowman—Birmingham
Hospital—Accidents—Sense of pain—King’s College—Professor R.
Partridge and others—Escape from drowning
It was strongly desired by both my parents, but especially by my mother,
that my future profession should be medicine, like that of her famous
father, Dr. Erasmus Darwin, F.R.S., and of her half-brother, Dr. Robert
Darwin, F.R.S. As I had aptitudes for that kind of study, my father fell
in with her views, and took great pains to give me the best educational
advantages. He acted largely on the advice of Mr. Hodgson, who brought me
as an infant into the world, and was a true and helpful friend to me all
through his life.
Mr. Hodgson (1788-1869) had settled in Birmingham a few years before my
birth, bringing with him a high medical reputation, especially for his
treatise on arteries and veins, and he soon obtained an eminent status
as a Warwickshire surgeon. He became President of the Medico-Chirurgical
Society in 1851, and, subsequently retiring from general practice, left
Birmingham and settled in London, where he held the office of President
of the College of Surgeons in 1864. He and his wife died on the same day
in 1869.
While I was still a young boy, my father contrived that I should see
something of a laboratory attached to the shop of the principal chemist
in Birmingham; again, during one of our summer visits to the seaside,
he discovered a needy foreign chemist who agreed to take me in hand,
at a rather high charge. All I clearly recollect of him now was, that
he seemed obsessed with the idea of making some wonderful compound out
of succinic acid, which is derived from amber, and that he spent all
his spare shillings in buying bits of amber and burning them. I learnt
nothing from his tuition; on the other hand, certain recollections of the
chemist’s laboratory still form part of my stock of mental imagery.
The step most momentous to myself was taken by my father in 1838, of
removing me at the age of sixteen, and in no ways against my will, from
Dr. Jeune’s school.
A little after, while I was at Leamington, my father asked our medical
attendant there, Mr. P., to show me an example of the medical work I
should be engaged in before I was plunged wholly into it. That first
experience is very memorable to me. It occurred on a night chilly out
of doors, while indoors our family party were assembled in cosy comfort
at dessert, after a good dinner, with a brightly burning fire, shining
mahogany table, wine, fruits, and all the rest, when a servant brought
a note from Mr. P. awaiting an answer. It was to the effect that a
housemaid had suddenly died at Lord ——’s house, and that he, Mr. P., was
about to make a post-mortem examination; would I like to come? Oh, the
mixture of revulsion, wonder, interest, and excitement! I changed clothes
and went, entering the house by a back door as directed, and treading
softly up the back staircase to the cold garret where the poor girl
lay. She was the first dead person I had seen, handsome in feature, but
greatly swollen. She had been apparently in perfect health a few hours
before, then she was suddenly seized with intense pain in the stomach,
followed rapidly by peritonitis and death. I can easily reproduce in
imagination all the ghastly horror of the scene and could describe it in
detail, but it would be unfitted for these pages. The perforated portion
of the stomach was such a small hole. Death “with a little pin, bores
through the castle wall, and—farewell, King!” (_King Richard II._). Mr.
P. pricked his finger while sewing up the abdomen. A dissection wound
when death has followed peritonitis is proverbially dangerous. It was so
in this case, for Mr. P. nearly died of it. I returned home chilled, awed
and sobered, and seemed for the time to have left boyhood behind me.
My father, ever thoughtful of securing for me the best education he
could, had arranged through Mr. Hodgson that one of his most promising
former pupils, who was going for a tour of a few weeks abroad, partly for
vacation, partly to see certain medical institutions, should take me with
him. He was William Bowman, in later years the great oculist, Sir William
(1816-1892), who combined a most refined and artistic temperament with
exceptional scientific ability. He obtained a European reputation for
medical research long before he was thirty years of age. Thenceforward
for many years he devoted himself almost entirely to professional work,
and though keeping abreast of the information of the day, contributed
little or nothing more of his own, in the way of research, to the great
regret of many. He was in later years a much valued member of many
scientific societies and an habitual frequenter of the Royal Institution,
near which he lived. The cause of his death, as I heard of it, was
pathetic. He had built and resided at a charming house in Surrey, near
Holmbury St. Mary, but retained his house in Clifford Street for some
years, where he occasionally made appointments with old patients. At last
the time came for wholly abandoning it. He lingered about the cold house,
visiting every part of it for the last time, for he had an affectionate
nature, caught a severe chill in doing so, and died of pneumonia.
To go back to the year 1838. I greatly enjoyed the tour and the
companionship of Bowman, from whom I doubtless imbibed and assimilated
more than I can now distinguish. The only event of a medical character
that I saw with him was a small operation, the first I ever witnessed. A
comic experience next occurred. I accompanied Bowman to a lunatic asylum
in Vienna. In those days I was particularly shy and sensitive, and a
consciousness of even the least unconventionality made me blush to an
absurd degree. In one of the female wards, a young, buxom, and uncommonly
good-looking female lunatic dashed forward with a joyful scream, she
clasped me tightly to her bosom with both her arms, calling me her
long-lost Fritz! _Tableau_—Amusement of the others, myself pink to the
ears.
I may as well here continue to talk about Bowman. He was a most accurate
and gifted draughtsman of pathological subjects. One of his earliest
discoveries related to the liver, and I was familiar with a drawing in
colours that he had made in illustration, which was preserved with great
respect at the Birmingham Hospital. In later years he told me that having
no further use for his collection of drawings, he gave them to Dr. B. In
time Dr. B. died, and Bowman then became desirous to get back his old
drawings as mementoes of early work, but could hear nothing of them. By
an extraordinary chance he was looking one day at prints in a second-hand
and second-rate book-shop, when his eye caught sight of a corner of these
very drawings. They were all there, and he bought them all back. He could
not learn their intermediate history.
It was in the autumn of 1838 that I took up my abode, as indoor pupil,
in the Birmingham General Hospital, then situated near Snow Hill. My
immediate chief was the house surgeon, Mr. Baker, who ultimately gained
considerable repute as a surgeon in Birmingham, but is now dead. My one
fellow indoor pupil had a similarly successful career to that of Mr.
Baker. There were also in the common dining-room two officials, the
matron and the treasurer. Matters were very different then; I, a mere boy
of sixteen, but with unquestionably an eager mind, was thrust without any
previous experience into a post that I found in a few months’ time to be
one of much responsibility. At first I was set to work every morning to
help in the dispensary. It was a room with a dresser and a service door
at the side. I there learnt the difference between infusions, decoctions,
tinctures, and extracts, and how to make them. Possibly the reader may
not know the meanings of these words, so I venture to give them. Tea is
an “infusion,” made by pouring boiling water on the tea and allowing it
to stand. Coffee is, or would be a “decoction” if made by boiling the
mixture. Infusions and decoctions are cheap forms of medicine, suitable
for hospitals where they are made daily, but they soon spoil when kept.
“Tinctures” are made by pouring spirits of wine instead of water on the
drugs; they keep indefinitely, but are more costly, and therefore rarely
used in hospitals. “Extracts” are made by boiling down decoctions.
All this is easily done when the proper simple apparatus and means
of heating are at hand. I once made an extract as an experiment that
I recommend to the notice of students who may wish to taste the _ne
plus ultra_ of bitterness. It was from quassia, that curious tree of
South America, of which the very chips are bitter. The once well-known
“bitter cup” is made of quassia wood. When water is poured into the
cup, it quickly becomes bitter. Quassia is a valuable tonic medicine,
with perhaps the one fault of _cheapness_. An apothecary can hardly be
expected to feel easy in conscience when he charges apothecary’s prices
for what every little chip of a timber tree affords when put into hot
water. Anyhow, I made a large jugful of decoction of quassia and boiled
it down until a sticky residue was left, which is, or might be, called
“quassine.” I put a piece of it about the size of a pin’s head upon my
tongue, and then—oh then! Try it, if you doubt its absolute bitterness.
It was amusing at first to make pills. The pill mass had to be brayed
together in a mortar, occasionally adding water or I forget what other
liquid, to render it of the proper consistency. Next a certain weight
of the pill mass was rolled out by the help of a simple but ingeniously
arranged slab, into a long worm of equal diameter and of standard length.
Then the worm was cut simultaneously into equal segments, by the pressure
of the grooved back of the same slab, by means of which the segments were
also rolled into pills.
The other day I visited the great store and manufactory of chemical
and other apparatus of Messrs. Griffiths, in or near Aldwych Street,
and saw there a machine, occupying little more room than a moderately
sized washing-stand, that claimed to turn out pills at the rate of
_one million_ in each twenty-four hours,—so if forty-five of these
machines were kept continually at work day and night, it would enable a
grandmotherly Socialist Government to supply to every man, woman, and
child of the forty-five millions of inhabitants of the British Isles one
free pill daily.
The out-patients clustered in the hall outside the service window of the
dispensary, and were supplied in turn. Then the prescriptions of the
in-patients were handed in and attended to. It was a busy time. I learnt
to do most of my part pretty well in a very few weeks, after which I was
promoted to higher things.
Having always the run of the dispensary, and being a boy, I found certain
drugs, such as liquorice, much to my taste, but especially poppy seed.
A large number of poppy capsules were kept in stock for making soothing
lotions. They are full of seeds, which contain no opium at all. These are
not used for the lotions, but are particularly pleasant to munch, and I
ate them in abundance when the humour seized me. In later years I found
poppy seeds in common use somewhere in Germany, for making a particular
pudding; I think it was in Bonn.
The duties gradually imposed on me were to go with the surgeons on their
morning rounds, always to attend in the accident room, where persons
suffering from accidents were received whether in the night or day,
and to help in dressing them, also to be present at all operations,
and to take part at every post-mortem examination, of which there were
perhaps two or three weekly. The times of which I am speaking were long
before those of chloroform, and many long years before that of Pasteur
and Sir Joseph Lister. The stethoscope was considered generally to
be new-fangled; the older and naturally somewhat deaf practitioners
pooh-poohed and never used it.
I cannot understand to this day why youths selected for their powers
of sharp hearing should not be so far instructed as to be used by
physicians, much as pointers and setters are used by sportsmen.
They could be taught what to listen for, probably by means of some
sound-emitting instruments more or less muffled, and how to describe what
they heard. A patient during the incipient stage of his disease might be
submitted to examination by one or more of these quick-hearing youths,
who would report to the doctor, who thereupon would form and express
his opinion. Similarly as regards touch, of which great delicacy is of
the highest importance. Conceive what help might be given by them in
discovering deeply seated tumours, abscesses, and much else. The touch
of a person far less sensitive than that of the wandering Princess of
the well-known fairy tale might prove of vital importance. It will be
recollected that her Princess-ship was acknowledged by all, through her
discovering a pea surreptitiously inserted as a test, below the bottom of
the pile of feather-beds on which she slept.
To return to my duties. Accidents occurred, of course, at all hours of
the day and night. It was unpleasant to be summoned out of a warm bed to
attend upon these once on a cold night, but it was not a hardship; to be
summoned twice was trying; but thrice, as sometimes happened, was more
than I could have endured had it frequently occurred. Burns were the
commonest of the accidents at night-time. The sufferers were piteous to
see. As a rule they did not complain much of pain, but they shivered from
a sense of cold and were enfeebled almost to prostration by the shock.
There was nothing to be done to them beyond cutting away all adherent
clothing and the like, packing them in cotton wool and sending them to
a ward. One particular ward was allotted to that purpose. The contrast
was great between the neatly dressed patient of the first night and the
wretched creature two days after, when suppuration had begun and the foul
dressings had to be carefully picked off and replaced by clean ones.
Broken heads from brawls were common accidents at night; then it was
my part to shave the head, using the blood as lather, which makes a
far better preparation for shaving than soap. The wounds were stitched
together with a three-cornered “glove needle,” which cuts its way through
the skin. Some riots connected with the “Charter” occurred at this
time, and many people were hurt. It was curious to observe the apparent
cleanness of the cuts that were made through the scalp by the blow of a
policeman’s round truncheon.
It sometimes happened that a severe case was brought at night-time,
which required higher surgical skill than could properly be expected in
the house surgeon, who, though professionally qualified, was young, and
therefore relatively unpractised. If the treatment of any such accident
admitted of no delay, a messenger was dispatched to the house of the
surgeon himself, to wake and bring him. One of these events made a great
impression on me. It was that of a man, a small piece of whose skull
had been depressed by something falling on his head and stunning him.
He was brought in utterly unconscious, with the “stertorous” or snoring
respiration characteristic of such cases. The man had to be trepanned,
so the surgeon was sent for. In the meantime everything was prepared for
his arrival. The trepan is a hollow steel cylinder with teeth cut out of
its lower rim, used to saw a circular wad out of the sound bone nearest
to the fracture. A miniature steel crowbar is used to raise the depressed
fragment, and a rod to lay across the sound bone as a fulcrum for the
crowbar. I seem to see it all before me as I write. The brightly lighted
room, the apparatus in order, the surgeon at work, the eager faces of the
bystanders, and the utterly unconscious patient. The wad was cut out, the
crowbar adjusted, and still the monotonous snore continued unchanged.
Then pressure was put on the free end of the crowbar, the broken bit of
skull was raised, and instantly life rushed back. The man continued a
sentence that he must have begun before the accident; then he stared
wildly, and said, “Where am I?” The clock of life had stopped through a
temporary obstruction, the obstruction was removed and the clock ticked
on as before. He was soothed, a silver plate was inserted over the hole,
the scalp was replaced and stitched together, and he was sent into the
ward. In due time he wholly recovered, the scalp having grown over the
plate.
I had the option of accompanying any of the surgeons or physicians on
his morning round. Each had his clinical clerk, who made notes of the
case and wrote the treatment prescribed from time to time, upon a paper
affixed to a board at the bed-head. I appreciated from the very first the
high importance of careful study and record of every case. My feeling
is now fully developed which was then in embryo, that it is our duty
to avail ourselves of the opportunities that arise from the apparently
unmoral course of Nature, of rendering similar events less dangerous and
painful in the future. Blind Nature seems to vivisect ruthlessly, let us
as reasonable creatures elicit all the good we can from her vivisections,
for which we ourselves are in no way responsible. I became a clinical
clerk in time, but felt acutely my incompetence to act up to my own high
ideals.
It was a surprise to me to notice so few signs of pain and distress in
the wards, even among the mortally stricken. I met with no instances of
terror at approaching death, while the ordinary interests of life seemed
powerful up to the close of consciousness. But it must be terrible to a
sensitive and stricken fellow-patient with all his senses still on the
alert, when the death-hour of some one else in the ward arrives, and the
curtains are drawn around the dying man’s bed to hide the scene, and
again when his remains are removed to the post-mortem room. All these
things are, however, more hideous to the imagination than in reality.
One piteous death-bed scene much impressed me. A girl was fast dying
of typhus, and I had been instructed to apply a mustard plaister. When
I came to her, she was fully sensible, and said in a faint but nicely
mannered way, “Please leave me in peace. I know I am dying, and am not
suffering.” I had not the heart to distress her further.
The opinions held by the students about the several physicians and
surgeons were curiously guided by a mixture of loyalty and irreverence.
There was no doubt of the fact that M., one of the doctors, who never
professed or had a claim to scientific acquirements, got his patients
out of hospital more quickly than any of his colleagues. His treatment
was as simple as that of Dr. Sangrado, though of quite another kind. It
consisted of a strong purgative followed by low diet, and a subsequent
feeding up as soon as all fever had gone. The composition of his
drench never varied; a big bottle of it was made every morning in the
dispensary, in readiness to be served out. It was so cheap that the
overplus could be thrown away and a fresh infusion made the next day.
It is to be wished that some “index of curative skill” could be awarded
to doctors, based on their respective hospital successes. I have often
amused myself with imaginary schemes to this effect. If it could be
compiled truthfully, it would be an excellent guide to those who wanted a
doctor but were doubtful whom to consult. A high index of curative skill
would serve as a measure of merit, and the fee to the doctor might be
regulated by its height.
I threw myself into my duties with zeal, and loved neat bandaging and
neat plaistering. Each clinical clerk had a dressing board, supported
against his body by a strong band passed over his neck: its ends were
fixed to the board. Lint, plaister, scissors, forceps, probe, and a
few other simple surgical instruments completed the outfit. There was
much bleeding from the arm, especially of out-patients; there were also
cuppings and insertion of issues and of setons. All these I could soon
do creditably; I was fairly good even at tooth-drawing. I set broken
limbs, at first under strict supervision, but was latterly allowed much
freedom. I had also occasionally to reduce dislocations of the arm, and
once at least of the thigh. The mechanism of the body began to appear
very simple in its elementary features. At one time no less than sixteen
fractures, dislocations, or other injuries to the arms, or parts of them,
were practically under my sole care all at the same time. Of course my
proceedings were carefully watched.
The following incident in those pre-chloroform days set me thinking.
A powerful drayman was brought in dead drunk, with both of his thighs
crushed and mangled by a heavy waggon. They had to be amputated at once.
He remained totally unconscious all the time, and it was not until he
awoke sober in the morning that he discovered that his legs were gone.
He recovered completely. The question that then presented itself to me
was, “Why could not people be made dead drunk before operations? Could
it not be effected without upsetting their digestion and doing harm in
other ways?” The subsequent discovery of _inhaling_, instead of drinking
the intoxicating spirit, whether it be chloroform or ether, solved that
question most happily.
The cries of the poor fellows who were operated on were characteristic;
in fact, each class of operation seemed to evoke some peculiar form of
them. All this was terrible, but only at first. It seemed after a while
as though the cries were somehow disconnected with the operation, upon
which the whole attention became fixed.
It was obvious that different persons felt pain with very different
degrees of acuteness. I may here go quite out of chronological sequence,
and refer to an experience in 1851, when I was on the point of starting
from a mission station on my exploration of Damara Land, then wholly
unknown but now a German possession. It will be again alluded to in
a later chapter. A branch missionary outpost, twenty miles off, had
lately been raided, and most of the people, other than the missionaries
themselves, murdered. Of those who escaped, two women, each with both
of their feet hacked off, made their way to the station, at which I saw
them. The Damara women wear heavy copper rings on their ankles, put on
when they are growing girls that the rings may not slip over their feet
when they are adult. These coveted treasures can therefore be obtained
only by the summary process of cutting off the feet. In this horribly
mutilated state the two women crawled the whole of the twenty miles. The
stumps had healed when I saw them. I asked how they staunched the blood.
They explained by gesture that it was by stumping the bleeding ends into
the sand, and they grinned with satisfaction while they explained.
I may yet travel onwards many more years to another illustrative
anecdote. I happened to be President of the Anthropological Institute,
when a very interesting memoir was read on the subject now in question.
Numerous instances were given of a very startling character, but the one
that seemed the most so was a story told there by the late Sir James
Paget, as communicated to him by a trustworthy friend; he added that he
felt compelled to believe it. It referred to a native New Zealander.
It appeared that at the time in question it was the height of fashion
for the Maoris to wear boots on great occasions, and not to appear
barefooted. A youth had saved money and went to a store a long way off,
where he purchased a pair of these precious articles. On returning home
he tried to put them on, but one of his feet had a long projecting toe
which prevented it from being thrust home. He went quite as a matter of
course to fetch a bill-hook which was at hand, and, putting his foot on a
log of wood, chopped off the end of his long toe and drew on the boot.
There was another occurrence in those pre-Pasteur days on which my mind
dwelt often. It was a story corroborated by many analogous but much less
striking instances that came under my own observation, of a man who
had stumbled into a cauldron of scalding pitch. He was quickly pulled
out, but the pitch had so enclosed and adhered to one of his legs that
nothing could be done with safety to remove it. The other leg was cleaned
as well as might be and carefully dressed, and in that state, with one
leg cased in pitch, the other bandaged, he was sent to bed. After many
days, the leg that was enclosed in pitch ceased to hurt, and the covering
became so loose that it was desirable and easy to remove it, when lo and
behold! instead of a vast suppurating surface, the leg was found to be
entirely healed. The other leg, which had been less hurt and carefully
dressed, remained much longer unhealed. It seemed clear that the art of
dressing was far behind what was possible, and that an application of
the dressing before “the air got into the wound” was the thing to be
aimed at. The subsequent discovery by Pasteur of the germ theory, and the
practical application of it by Sir Joseph, now Lord Lister, has overcome
the difficulty.
I was so keen at my medical work, that, being desirous of appreciating
the effects of different medicines, I began by taking small doses of all
that were included in the pharmacopœia, commencing with the letter A. It
was an interesting experience, but had obvious drawbacks. However, I got
nearly to the end of the letter C, when I was stopped by the effects of
Croton oil. I had foolishly believed that two drops of it could have no
notable effects as a purgative and emetic; but indeed they had, and I can
recall them now.
There were histories of occasional outbursts of hysteria in the female
wards; one took place whilst I was there. It was a most curious and
afflicting spectacle of pure panic. One woman had begun to scream and
rave, then another followed suit, then another, and pandemonium seemed
at hand. It was stopped by rather rough measures, gentle ones making
matters worse. There was a current story of one of the surgeons having
effectually stopped a most threatening outbreak, which the nurses began
to join, in which an abundance of cold water was only part of the remedy
employed.
Many protean forms of that strange disorder, hysteria, were frequently
pointed out to me. The demoralisation that accompanied it was shown by
the gross and palpable lies told by the patients in their desire at
any cost to attract attention. A paroxysm of it may resemble a severe
epileptic fit. I was informed in all seriousness by a friend, of a
valuable way of distinguishing them, important for nurses to bear in
mind, that in epilepsy the patient might and often did bite himself, his
tongue for example, but in hysteria the patients never bit themselves but
always other people.
Delirium tremens was a strange malady. The struggles were sometimes
terrible, yet the pulse was feeble and the reserve of strength almost
nil. The visions of the patients seemed indistinguishable by them from
realities; in the few cases I saw, they were wholly of fish or of
creeping things. One of the men implored me to take away the creature
that was crawling over his counterpane, following its imagined movements
with his finger and staring as at a ghost. Poor humanity! I often feel
that the tableland of sanity upon which most of us dwell, is small in
area, with unfenced precipices on every side, over any one of which we
may fall.
The hysterical scream which so strongly affects other women is a forcible
instance of the power of sound, whose limits are, as yet, imperfectly
explored. The tones of a great actor or orator may thrill the whole
being. An unemotional elderly gentleman told me years ago, that he
was haunted by the recollection of the resonance of Pitt’s voice when
speaking of some event (I forget what it was) that gave him a “pang.”
There are many kinds of shrieks of a blood-curdling nature, of which that
of a wounded horse on a battlefield is said to be one.
* * * * *
_Kings College._—After a brief vacation I was sent, again through Mr.
Hodgson’s ever active interest, for a year to King’s College and to live
as an inmate of the house of Professor Richard Partridge (1805-1873),
together with four or five other pupils. His house was in New Street,
Spring Gardens, now demolished through the extension of the Admiralty
Buildings and the newly constructed entrance from Charing Cross into
St. James’s Park. My social surroundings were of a far higher order
than those at Birmingham, and I rejoiced in them. Professor Partridge
was, at that time, a brilliant man of about thirty-four years of age,
yellow-haired, full of humour and of quips, as well as of shrewdness and
kindliness; his intimate friends were all growing into distinction. He
had known Charles Lamb well, and the genius of Elia seemed to haunt the
house, though Charles Lamb had died four or five years before. I listened
with admiration to the brilliant talk and repartees when Partridge had
his bachelor dinners with fellow-cronies as guests. They included G.
Dasent, later Sir George, the author and Civil Service Commissioner;
Professor Wheatstone, later Sir Charles, who conjointly with Cooke was
the introducer of the electric telegraph; A. Smee the electrician,
subsequently an authority on gardening, and others.
Professor Richard Partridge, F.R.S., familiarly called “Dickey,” was
brother to John Partridge, R.A., and Professor of Anatomy. It was
commonly said that the brothers had each followed the occupation best
fitted to the other. Certainly Richard Partridge was an admirable
draughtsman, but was not, so far as I was then capable of judging, a man
who really loved and revelled in science. He delighted in minute points
of human anatomy and did not generalise, consequently the information
given in his lectures seemed to me as dry as the geography of Pinnock’s
Catechism. For all that, they were enlivened by his never-failing humour.
His instruction seemed to me deficient in the why and the wherefore. A
human hand was just a human hand to him; its analogies with paws, hoofs,
wings, claws, and fins were never alluded to.
I spent a happy time under his roof. We pupils had the drawing-room to
read and write in, with a wardrobe and a hanging closet tenanted by a
jointed skeleton which we could study at will. The days were spent in the
Medical Department of King’s College, which was quite disconnected with
the classical side. All the pupils entered at the same door, but there
we separated. The medicals turned sharply to the right, and many of them
went downstairs to the dissection room, where much of my own time was
spent.
The immediate chiefs of the dissection room were nominally my old
travelling companion and tutor, William Bowman and John Simon, but Bowman
had other College work to perform, and was rarely present. Mr. Simon,
afterwards Sir John Simon (_b._ 1816), of the Board of Health, was
practically the only Director. His quaint phrases, full of scientific
insight and poetical in essence, were most attractive. His collected
essays and reports are models of literary style applied to scientific
subjects. He died three or four years ago, quite blind, at a very
advanced age.
All the Professors whose lectures I had to attend, were notable men. Dr.
Todd (1809-1860), the Professor of Physiology, gave a powerful impulse to
his branch of science. He was then engaged in collaboration with Bowman
in bringing out their Encyclopedia of Physiology, which was a remarkable
work for those days. The signs of advance were all about and in the air.
The microscope had rather suddenly attained a position of much enhanced
importance; it was now mounted solidly, with really good working stages
and with good glasses. Powell was the principal maker of it, and a
Powell’s microscope was an object almost of worship to advanced students.
The manufacture of microscopes has rapidly and steadily advanced since
those times, both in cheapness and in goodness: what was then a rarity is
now in the possession of every student.
I enjoyed the lectures of Daniell (1790-1845) on Chemistry; he was so
simple and thorough. In those times the galvanic cell was becoming
perfected, and the three forms then invented, the Smee, the Daniell,
and the Grove (the latter being by my valued friend in later years,
Justice Sir William Grove), still retain their names. Electrotyping
was invented by Smee, and I recall well the humorously pathetic manner
in which Daniell explained to his class how the neglect of drawing an
obvious inference had prevented him from figuring as its discoverer. He
had noticed the marvellous fidelity with which the marks of a file had
appeared on a copper sheath electrically thrown down upon it, as the
result of some chance experiment, but he had failed to infer that medals
and the like might be copied by the same process.
It is needless to go into particulars of my course at King’s College.
They had much the same result on me in opening the mind that a similar
experience must have on every keen medical student, but I do not remember
any special characteristic worthy of record. I did pretty well at my
studies. My chief competitor was George Johnson, afterwards Sir George
(1818-1896), whose thoroughness of work and character I admired. He beat
me in physiology, in which I came out second. I think the only prize I
ever got all to myself was in the minor subject of Forensic Medicine,
in which I delighted. It had a sort of Sherlock Holmes fascination for
me, while the instances given as cautions, showing where the value of
too confident medical assertions had been rudely upset by the shrewd
cross-questioning of lawyers, confirmed what I was beginning vaguely to
perceive, that doctors had the fault, equally with parsons, of being much
too positive.
My friend Sir G. Johnson subsequently became the leader of one of the
two opposed methods of dealing with cholera. His was the “eliminative”
view, namely, that there was mischief in the system that Nature strove
to eliminate, so he prescribed castor oil to expedite matters; others
took the exactly opposite view, consequently there was open war between
the two methods. I read somewhere that one of Johnson’s most fiery
opponents considered the number of deaths occasioned by his method to
amount to eleven thousand. Leaving aside all question of the accuracy
of the estimate of this particular treatment, it is easy to see that
when a pestilence lies heavily on a nation, the numbers affected are so
large that a proper or improper treatment may be capable of saving or of
destroying many thousands of lives. By all means, then, let competitive
methods be tested at hospitals on a sufficiently large scale to settle
their relative merits. Of this I will speak further almost immediately.
One part of my duties was to attend King’s College Hospital, but the
position of a student there was far less instructive than that of an
indoor pupil at the Birmingham Hospital, where responsibility was great
and there was no crowding. The teaching was, however, greatly superior
to the generality of that at Birmingham. The position of house pupil and
resident medical officer has long since become highly and justly prized,
and is now obtainable only after competition and by the best men.
Medical knowledge has advanced so far that more scientific treatment
can be had in many small country towns than was formerly procurable
even in London. Still, the experience haunts my memory of Dr. M. at the
Birmingham Hospital, of his habitual drench of which I wrote, and of his
remarkable success in turning out his patients nominally cured. There
is still much lack of exact knowledge of what Nature can do without
assistance from medicine, if aided only by cheering influences, rest,
suggestion, and good nursing.
I wish that hospitals could be turned into places for experiment more
than they are, in the following perfectly humane direction. Suppose
two different and competing treatments of a particular malady; I have
just mentioned a case in point. Let the patients suffering under it be
given the option of being placed under Dr. A. or Dr. B., the respective
representatives of the two methods, and the results be statistically
compared. A co-operation without partisanship between many large
hospitals ought to speedily settle doubts that now hang unnecessarily
long under dispute.
Medical statistics are, however, the least suitable of any I know for
refined comparisons, because the conditions that cannot be, or at all
events are not taken into account, are local, very influential, and apt
to differ greatly. It is, however, humiliating to find how much has
failed to attract attention for want of even the rudest statistics. I
doubt whether the unaided apprehension of man suffices to distinguish
between the frequency of what occurs on an average four times in ten
events and one that occurs five times. Much grosser proportions have been
wholly overlooked by doctors. I referred once to many dictionaries and
works of medicine published before the time of Broca, some ninety years
ago, and did not find a single reference to the almost invariable loss of
speech associated with paralysis of the right side. Still more recently,
the idea of consumption being communicated by any form of infection was
stoutly denied by English medical men. As to rules of diet, the changes
are ludicrous. Robert Frere, one of my fellow-pupils when with Professor
Partridge, became through marriage in later years a managing partner in
a very old and eminent firm of wine merchants. They had supplied George
IV. with his brandy and the like. He told me that the books of the firm
showed that every class of wine had in its turn been favoured by the
doctors.
There were many incidents that I could tell about this time of my life
that might be interesting in some sense, but which are foreign to the
main purpose of such an autobiography as mine, which is to indicate how
the growth of a mind has been affected by circumstances. I will, however,
make one exception, which refers to a very narrow escape from drowning.
I had been in a steamboat, crammed with people, to see the Oxford and
Cambridge boat-race, and was returning with stream and tide. The arches
of Old Battersea Bridge were narrow, and it required careful steering
on such occasions to get safely through them. The steamboat on which I
was yawed greatly. I was standing behind the right-hand paddle-box, when
it crashed against one of the piers and split open just in front of me,
giving a momentary view of the still revolving paddles. The shock sent
me down among them. I was conscious of two taps on the back of my head,
and then the water swirled over me. In a few seconds my wits had gathered
themselves together, and I found myself submerged under a mass of wood,
which afterwards proved to be the outer sheathing of the paddle-box. I
dived to get clear of it, but found myself held back by projecting nails
which had hooked into my clothes. My breath was becoming exhausted, so
I passed my hand quickly but steadily all over myself, disentangling
nails in two or three places, and then made my last dive for life. I
fortunately rose clear, and utilised my former enemy the mass of wood as
a raft. I was sufficiently unhurt to help another man who was also in the
water and in distress, by pushing a piece of wood to him.
There was, of course, much commotion all about the scene. The steamboat
drifted helplessly; boats put off from the shore; the men in the first
boat that reached me tried to drive a hard bargain, asking a sovereign to
take me in, but being in safety I was able to resist extortion. I then
rowed to the ship, and my face was, I understood, a spectacle, being
painted with blood that had flowed freely from a few scratches and was
spread all over it by the wetting. There was much sympathy shown on the
steamboat, and an especial interest in me on the part of the captain,
who from the character of his questions obviously feared having to pay
damages. So I at last landed, and, feeling little the worse after a
short rest, cabbed home to Mr. Partridge’s house. The only object that
really suffered was my rather valuable watch. There is a short account
of this accident in the Life of Leonard Horner, F.R.S., by his daughter
K. M. Lyell, ii. 19. I did not hear that any notice of it got into the
newspapers.
I will finish now what little I have to add about my medical experiences,
skipping over four or five years in a few lines. While at Cambridge, of
which I shall speak in a separate chapter, I attended a few lectures,
chiefly by Dr. Haviland, in order to obtain some more of the necessary
certificates to qualify me for undergoing an examination and obtaining a
doctor’s degree. After I left Cambridge, some more lectures had still to
be attended, so I was sent for a short time as a pupil at St. George’s
Hospital. My dear father’s death then occurred, as will be mentioned
farther on, and the direction of my life became changed.
CHAPTER IV
SHORT TOUR TO THE EAST
Giessen—Linz—Rowboat to Vienna—Steam down Danube and overland
to Black Sea—Constantinople—Smyrna—Quarantines at Syra and
Trieste—Adelsberg—Diligence from Milan to Boulogne—Home
In the spring of 1840 a passion for travel seized me as if I had been a
migratory bird. While attending the lectures at King’s College I could
see the sails of the lighters moving in sunshine on the Thames, and it
required all my efforts to disregard the associations of travel which
they aroused. On fine mornings I could not keep still in the house in
Spring Gardens where I lived, but wandered in St. James’s Park. On these
occasions I noticed that the weathercock on the Horse Guards seemed to
point nearly always to the south-west. The explanation proved to be that
the fit seized me with violence when a south-west wind was blowing.
It was arranged by my father that I should accompany Dr. Allen Miller
(1817-1870), subsequently a great chemist and for many years Treasurer of
the Royal Society, to Giessen, where the more promising young chemists of
those days gathered to avail themselves of the teaching of Liebig, then
the foremost of the chemical Professors in Germany. My father gave me
a liberal letter of credit, for, having been a banker himself, he was
unwilling that my balance should ever run low; besides, he was always
cautious in making ample provision for unexpected contingencies. So to
Giessen I went, but soon finding that my chemical knowledge, and indeed
my knowledge of German, was by no means sufficiently advanced for me to
profit from Liebig’s teaching, I determined to throw that plan over, to
make a dash and go as far as my money allowed, consistent with returning
to England early in October in time for my first term at Cambridge. I
had saturated myself since the age of nine with Byron’s poetry, which
gave me a longing to see the East; besides, a new route Eastwards had
been opened, between Czernavoda and Kustendji, the former lying on that
long reach of the Lower Danube where it most nearly approaches the Black
Sea, and Kustendji situated on the Black Sea itself. A calculation of the
cost showed that my finances would suffice for this and more, so away
I went. A steamer ran twice or thrice a week from Linz to Vienna, and
once (I think) in a fortnight from Vienna down the Danube, and the times
fitted nicely. But on arrival at Linz it proved that the steamer bound
for Vienna was disabled and would not run for some days. This serious
contretemps threatened to ruin my whole scheme, which required that I
should reach Vienna in time for a particular steamer.
I had made friends with an elderly British officer at the hotel, who was
in much the same plight as myself, for it was as important to him as to
me, though for other reasons, to reach Vienna without delay. He told me
that he had found a boatman who would take us all the way, some seventy
miles down stream, for a moderate sum, and that he was willing to go
if I would join him. I accepted his proposal, he having assured me that
the boat would be adequately manned, and that the journey would be both
easy and interesting. His power of German conversation was even less than
mine, and either he had not understood aright or he had been cheated,
for when we had entered the boat in the dark by help of the faint and
flickering light of a lantern, and had been pushed off into the current
of the swiftly flowing Danube, I perceived that the boatmen consisted
only of one old man and a boy. It was impossible to return, so we made
the best of it. One of us two, and it was more frequently myself, for
my companion wanted both youth and muscle, had to work an oar almost
continuously in order to give steerage-way to the boat.
We toiled through the night and the following morning, hardly resting
at all till we reached Mölk, where provisions and fruit were bought
and another boatman engaged, and we went onwards after brief delay. We
arrived as near to Vienna as the police regulations allowed, very late at
night; but by unexpected good fortune the officials allowed us to land
and to sleep hard by, so I was in good time for the steamer, and after a
short stay was off in her. I had some agreeable fellow-passengers, and it
was a momentous voyage to me.
The first stoppage was at Pesth, where I was quite unprepared for the
grandeur of its quays and buildings. Thenceforward we entered comparative
barbarism. There was a considerable delay at the famous rapids of the
“Iron Gates,” long since removed by blasting the rocks that gave them
their name, and where the river ran strongly. I witnessed boats of no
large size being towed up stream by the longest teams of men and horses
that I have ever seen. If my memory does not play tricks, I counted no
less than ninety-six horses hauling a single boat. I drove as far as
time allowed among the Carpathians towards Mehadia, a then secluded
watering-place, in the company of two Hungarians, with one of whom—a
Kaunitz—I had struck up a travelling friendship, and who told me much
about Hungary.
The position of Belgrade was imposing. It was then in Turkish occupation,
and the Turks still wore turbans. The town being in quarantine, we were
not allowed to land. The flat shores of Wallachia were most uninteresting
and looked fever-haunted. The only human life visible for miles together
was that of an occasional coast-guardsman perched in a crow’s nest on the
top of a pole, to prevent smugglers from crossing the Danube unseen. At
one place we cut through a shoal of water snakes crossing the river, with
their heads out of water and their bodies wriggling horizontally. It was
a sight upon which a horrible nightmare might have been founded.
At length we arrived at our journey’s end, where light waggons awaited
us, which were drawn across the open country. I walked the greater part
of the distance, and so reached the Black Sea at Kustendji. The steamer
started in threatening weather, and particularly rough seas ensued. We
rolled so badly and so briskly that a square chest containing seamen’s
things, which stood on the deck, was toppled over. In the morning, the
historical Symplegades were in sight, and certainly the superstitious
Greeks might well have accredited them, as they did, with the power
of shutting like jaws and crushing vessels that attempted to pass
between them, for the apparent width of the intervening space changes
rapidly with changing perspective. Then we steamed through the glorious
Bosphorus, whose sides were far less built upon than now, past Therapia
to Constantinople, or Stamboul, as it was commonly called.
I revelled in the glory of the place and in the picturesque and turbaned
groups. The hotel kept by Miseri was then a small establishment, more
like a pension. He had been courier to a connection of mine, and I was
taken in and made very comfortable. The numerous acquaintances I picked
up there and the stories I heard of the current rascalities gave an
insight into a phase of humanity which I did not esteem but was glad to
know about.
Though I am now inclined to twaddle about what was then so new, so
strange and exhilarating to me, it would not interest readers who are
probably familiar with far more graphic accounts of this capital of the
East than I have skill to write. The sherbet, iced with snow from the
neighbouring Mount Olympus, shares, I suppose, with similar sherbet at
Granada, iced with snow from the Sierra Nevada, the honour of parentage
to our very modern ice-creams. In my youth the only good ice-cream maker
in London was Gunter in Berkeley Square, and the very existence of such
a luxury as ice-cream had then, as I know, been recently scoffed at by
the educated daughters of a clergyman in South Wales. After about six
days’ stay in Constantinople, I had to move onwards, taking a steamer to
Smyrna. Olympus stood grandly above the shores of the Sea of Marmora;
then came the Hellespont, then the Troad, then Smyrna.
My allowance of time was drawing to a close, for I had to make ample
allowance for long detention in quarantines, which were in those times
an especial nuisance. They were put on or taken off with apparent
caprice, sometimes it was said for purely commercial reasons. So I was
able to allow only two or three days for seeing the environs of Smyrna,
and then started in a steamer to the island of Syra, where I was placed
for ten days in quarantine. My rooms were like those of a khan, wholly
unfurnished, the guardian supplying bedding and food at moderate cost. He
followed me as a prisoner under his charge, with a long stick wherewith
to ward me from touching or being touched by any body or thing that was
not in the same quarantine as myself. The quarantine buildings enclosed a
large square. My rooms opened at the back into a cheerful covered balcony
which looked on the sea. My neighbouring occupant was a lady, a near
relative to Arthur Cayley, the great mathematician, whom I even then had
learnt to revere, and whose pupil I became during one of my happy long
vacations at Cambridge.
The laws of quarantine were curiously minute. Metal, such as a coin, was
not supposed to be so deeply infected but that a simple washing would
purify it; paper must be pricked and fumigated; but clothing had to
undergo as much quarantine as the wearer, and even more, as will be seen
later on. It was ruled that if any part of a cloth or fabric of fibres
was touched by a person in quarantine, the whole of it became equally
tainted. So I put to my guardian the case of touching one end of a very
long rope, but could get no reasonable answer, any more than a child
can when he puts searching questions. Violation of quarantine is a very
serious offence. A soldier would shoot a person without mercy, and with
the approbation of his superiors, if that appeared to be the only way of
preventing it.
The nine or ten days’ rest in quarantine at Syra was by no means
ungrateful. I made myself occupation, and they passed pleasantly. The
process of giving “_pratique_” was amusing. We were drawn up in a row,
and the medical officer walked up and down sternly scrutinising us.
Then he gave the order of “Put out your tongues,” which we all did
simultaneously, and he passed along the line at two paces distance
from it, looking at our tongues. Then he added, “Do exactly as I do,”
whereupon he clapped himself sharply under the left armpit with his
right hand, and under the right armpit with the left hand. Similarly on
the left and right groins. This was to prove that none of the glandular
swellings that give the name of “bubonic” plague were there, otherwise
the pain of the performance would have been intolerable. Then, with
a sudden change from a stern aspect, he put on a most friendly and
courteous smile, and stepping forwards he shook each of us cordially by
the hand, and we were freed. A couple of days had to pass before the
next steamer started for Trieste, which I occupied in rambling about
the island, living for one day almost wholly on figs—which was unwise,
because too much of them affects the kidneys.
I started with the steamer, had a few, but memorable, hours at
Athens, lay for two days in quarantine off Ancona, and was landed in
the quarantine at Trieste. What Turkey was to Greece in respect of
quarantine, that Greece was to Turkey.
There was a curious custom at Trieste of “making _Spoglio_,” as they
phrased it. When three or four days of the normal length of quarantine
had still to run, it was permissible to strip and leave all clothes
behind, to bathe, to put on new clothes, and to be free. The process is
based on the assumption that the well-washed human body, if in apparent
health after say a week’s seclusion, may justly be considered free from
infection, whereas the clothes worn by it must remain still longer in
quarantine. What happened was this. We were inspected by the doctor,
and then directed to the edge of a covered quay, opposite to which was
another quay where old-clothes men displayed their wares; a strip of sea
water, perhaps 4 or 5 feet deep and 20 wide, separated the two quays. A
bargain had to be made with one of the old-clothes men by shouting across
the water. I was to leave everything I had on me, excepting coin or other
metal, and papers which were about to be fumigated, in exchange for the
offered clothes. When the bargain was concluded, I stripped, plunged in,
and emerged on the opposite quay stark naked, to be newly clothed and to
receive freedom. The clothes-man got my old things in due time—that was
his affair. The new clothes were thin, and the trousers were made of a
sort of calico and deficient in the fashionable cut of my old ones; but
as it was not then late in the year the thinness mattered little in those
latitudes, and I did not care about the rest.
I occupied two of the days I had saved by making Spoglio, in visiting
the wonderful caves of Adelsberg. A view over the Adriatic when driving
up the mountain-side on the way to that place, remains still in my mind
as one of the three or four most glorious views that I have had the
privilege to see. The long walk underground at Adelsberg, the black and
vicious stream that ran through it, looking like a river of death, and
the fantastic stalactites and stalagmites were indeed astonishing. I
bought two of the curious creatures called Proteus, that live in these
underground waters. They have no real eyes, but sightless dots in the
place of them; their colour is that of the buried portion of stems of
celery (etiolated, as it is commonly called), and they have both gills
and lungs. They were the first living creatures of their kind brought to
England. I gave them to King’s College; one soon died, the other lived
and was yearly lectured on, as I heard, until fate in the form of a cat
ended him.
I went from Trieste by steamer to Venice, and thence by diligence to
Milan, whence I travelled by diligence to Geneva, with the bottle
containing the two Proteus under my thin coat, for fear of the water
freezing while crossing the Alps. At Geneva I had a few evening hours
to spare, which I spent at the theatre, and thence on by diligence to
Boulogne. It took me either seven days and eight nights, or conversely,
to reach Boulogne from Milan, and it was of course tiring to sit up and
be shaken in a diligence during that long time. My legs began to swell
before I reached Boulogne, but the two or three hours of lying down in
the Channel steamer quite restored them.
So I reached my home in Leamington safely and in good time, and my dear
kind father took my escapade humorously. He was pleased with it rather
than otherwise, for I had much to tell and had obviously gained a great
deal of experience. This little expedition proved to be an important
factor in moulding my after-life. It vastly widened my views of humanity
and civilisation, and it confirmed aspirations for travel which were
afterwards indulged.
CHAPTER V
CAMBRIDGE
Trinity College—First vacation at the Lakes—Second vacation
at Aberfeldy—College friends—Entire breakdown in health—Third
vacation in Germany—My father’s death
It was a notable day in my life when, in the year 1840, escorted by
my father on the top of a stage coach, I caught my first view of the
principal buildings of Cambridge. There was no railway to Cambridge
then. I had been entered at Trinity College, where rooms were assigned
to me on the first floor of B. New Court. My tutor was J. W. Blakesley
(1808-1885), an accomplished classical scholar, contemporary with
Tennyson and his set, and subsequently Dean of Lincoln. The then Master
of the College, who, however, resigned his post after the close of my
first term, was Christopher Wordsworth (1774-1846), brother of the poet
and father of three distinguished classical scholars,—John; Charles,
Bishop of St. Andrew’s; and Christopher, the headmaster of Harrow. The
biographies of them all appear in the _Dict. Nat. Biog._ I found but
few old friends among the undergraduates besides Matthew Boulton, but
gradually fell into my place. I soon became conscious of the power
and thoroughness of the work about me, as of a far superior order to
anything I had previously witnessed. At the same time I wondered at its
narrowness, for not a soul seemed to have the slightest knowledge of,
or interest in, what I had acquired in my medical education and what we
have since learnt to call Biology. The religious dogmas were of a more
archaic type than I had latterly learnt to hold. I thought that just
as the medicals wanted the thoroughness of the classicals and of the
mathematicians, so these wanted at least an elementary knowledge of what
was familiar to the medicals. Great and salutary changes have long since
been introduced, and the above criticism, which was perfectly just at the
time, is now, I believe and trust, almost wholly out of date.
I stood far behind the majority of my fellow-freshmen in classics, but
less so in elementary mathematics, which were then much neglected in
schools; for I had an innate love of them, and had indulged in some
little private study. I pass lightly over my first year, which was
a period of general progress, without much of note, until the first
vacation arrived.
I then formed one of a reading party who went to Keswick in Cumberland,
and had rooms in the same house with the two tutors, Matheson and Eddis.
It was called “Browtop,” and was then a detached villa with a wide
prospect, situated in the district that now bears that name. One other
pupil lived there also; the rest had lodgings in the town. Being in
those years careless of rain and little sensitive to the enervating air
of the Lake District, I found myself perfectly happy. The hills being
moderate in height and the distances small, an afternoon sufficed easily
for most of the excursions, so the whole morning was left free for
reading. Matheson, the mathematical tutor, was a well-known Fellow of
Trinity College, a considerable pianist and a good walker. He also knew
the country and many of its residents. Among these was the Rev. Frederic
Myers (1811-1851), Vicar of Keswick, who had married into the Marshall
family, and who showed me much kindness. He was father to the as yet
unborn poet and spiritualist, Frederic W. H. Myers (1843-1901), and his
house was a social centre.
I saw a most amusing scene in its drawing-room, which those who recollect
the formidable presence of Dr. Whewell will appreciate. All male animals,
including men, when they are in love, are apt to behave in ways that
seem ludicrous to bystanders. Whewell was not exempt from the common
lot, though he had to sustain his new dignity of “Master of Trinity.”
He was then paying court to the lady who became his first wife, and his
behaviour reminded me irresistibly of a turkey-cock similarly engaged. I
fancied that I could almost hear the rustling of his stiffened feathers,
and did overhear these sonorous lines of Milton rolled out to the lady
_à propos_ of I know not what, “cycle and epicycle, orb and orb,” with
hollow o’s and prolonged trills on the r’s.
The following skit indicates the feeling in regard to Whewell’s manner
that was current in Cambridge after he had assumed his office. I was
reminded of it not so very many months ago, by the late Lord Kelvin:—
“You may roam where you will through the realms of infinity
And find nothing so great as the Master of Trinity.”
Those who have read Whewell’s Life, which was written by a loving hand
and dwells mainly on his kindly, domestic character, will gather little
idea of the rough power of the man and his too frequent overbearing
attitude. In after-days he invited me to the Lodge, where I found him
most unexpectedly gracious.
It may be worth mentioning that at the time of which I am writing, brakes
to carriages were unknown in England except in the Lake Country, where
the many hills made it difficult to travel without restraint, unless by
frequently stopping to put on or take off the drag. Their use gradually
spread, as the first sentimental opposition to them subsided. A near
relative of my own, who was a devoted whip and drove his own four-horse
drag for many years, was at first contemptuous towards brakes, but soon
changed his mind, and ever afterwards used one.
One of the longer excursions was to Scawfell, where I found a small
encampment of ordnance surveyors with theodolite and heliostat. Their
immediate object was to obtain by direct observation the bearing of
Snowdon, ninety-six miles off (as I think they said), to form the side
of one of their principal triangles. A corresponding station was set
up on the top of Snowdon, whence after many days’ waiting in vain the
long-wished-for star of light reflected from the sun by the mirror on
Snowdon, became faintly but clearly visible through the telescope at
Scawfell. It had been seen on three days altogether, two of which were
successive. The obstruction to light by a few miles of mist, etc., in the
lower layers of the atmosphere, contrasts forcibly with the ease with
which every detail of the far more distant moon becomes visible when
risen but a few degrees above the horizon.
Talking of such things reminds me of an elementary but very neat little
problem that was set about this time in one of the College examination
papers. It has often served me as a rough reminder of the constants
involved, so I give it:—
“The tops of two masts, each ten feet above calm water, are just visible
to one another at a distance of eight miles; what is the diameter of the
earth? Aerial refraction is not to be taken into account.” I leave its
solution to the reader.
One of the features of my stay at the Lakes was the wrestling and other
field sports, then much more homely in their accessories than they are
now. I took lessons from one of the family of Ivens, among whom were many
noted wrestlers. My teacher was the light-weight champion of the year. It
was interesting to observe the wary approach and half-catchings of the
opponents before one of them succeeded in grappling; then the tug-of-war
began.
An event occurred at this time closely similar in many respects, but
not in its most painful details, to one previously related by De
Quincey in his reminiscences of S. T. Coleridge, as having occurred
in the Lake District in the early years of last century. I was quite
ignorant of it till very lately, when I happened to be reading his book.
My story is that of a Polish Count, O., who appeared at Keswick with
scant introductions, took a house, and made himself most agreeable. I
fell at once under his influence, for he seemed to me extraordinarily
accomplished. He had all sorts of books and instruments, and even a
tame monkey! So the Count throve and prospered for a while. But a lady
resident in the neighbourhood who had been connected in her youth with
one of the German Courts, and who studied the Almanach de Gotha and
the like, insisted that the Count’s claims to the title were totally
unfounded. So a small warfare raged. In the meantime the Count won the
affections of a simple girl, the orphan child of a somewhat wealthy
“statesman,” that is what we should call a yeoman farmer. He married
her, and afterwards ran away with as much of her money as he could get
hold of, leaving her with the questionable title of Countess as her only
consolation. This finale occurred after I had left.
I grieve deeply that I knew little at that time of the Lake Poets, except
Byron’s lines on the correct poetical creed—
“Thou shall believe in Milton, Dryden, Pope;
Thou shall not trust in Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey....”
In consequence, I made no effort to obtain the honour of seeing and
possibly receiving some slight introduction to any one of its then
living members. Neither did I ever see Dr. Arnold, though I walked with
Strickland, one of our reading party and a former pupil of his, as far as
his door, which he entered to spend half an hour with him, while I waited
and envied.
Strickland was the son of a well-known Yorkshire baronet. He joined me
in many pleasant walks from London after my college days, of which I
especially recollect one in the then rural Isle of Wight, when there was
little more than a single house at Shanklin, and that was its pretty,
rustic hotel. The times of travel from London so fitted in, that the walk
from Ryde about Easter-time began well before twilight, and we reached
Shanklin not too late to be taken in and to thoroughly enjoy the moonlit
evening. Strickland was a strong swimmer, but he got into some difficulty
next morning owing to the surf and undercurrents at the place where he
entered the sea. He returned safely to shore, to my great relief, but
much tired from long battling with the water.
His end was tragic. It occurred in North America, when winter had
just set in, near some well-known watering-place whose name I forget,
separated by a low range of hills from another watering place about
sixteen miles off. The road between the two was perfectly simple and
easy in summer, but not so in the snowdrifts and darkness of winter.
Strickland would attempt it, though much was said to dissuade him: he
never reached his destination. A relief party tracked his wanderings. He
seemed to have acted as one demented by the hardship, for he had stripped
off his clothes and thrown them away, one after the other, even his
boots, so that his dead body was almost wholly undressed. That was the
story I heard from two persons.
On returning to Cambridge after the first long vacation, I was put
steadily to mathematical work, coming at length under that most
distinguished Cambridge tutor, William Hopkins (1793-1866), mathematician
and geologist. He kindly took a good deal of interest in me and gave me
much encouragement, but the hopes he fostered were shattered by serious
illness, which precluded severe study during my third year, as will be
mentioned farther on. At a later date I found myself his colleague as
Joint Secretary to the British Association, but his health had by then
declined and his fine intellect begun to fail. I never had a tutor whom I
reverenced and loved so entirely as Hopkins.
It was early in my second year that I entered into a close friendship
with two Etonians. The one was Henry Fitzmaurice Hallam (1824-1850),
the younger son of the historian Henry Hallam (1777-1859) and brother
to Arthur Hallam (1811-1833), the subject of Tennyson’s _In Memoriam_.
The other friend was F. Campbell, the eldest son of Lord Campbell
(1779-1861), then Lord Chief-Justice, and afterwards Lord Chancellor. F.
Campbell became in later years, through succession, Lord Stratheden and
Campbell. I owe much to each of these fast friends, but in different ways.
Harry Hallam had a singular sweetness and attractiveness of manner, with
a love of harmless banter and paradox, and was keenly sympathetic with
all his many friends. He won the Second Chancellor’s Medal. Through
him I became introduced to his father’s house, still shadowed by the
sudden death of his son Arthur and of a daughter. Mr. Hallam was very
kind to me, and the friendship of him and of his family was one of the
corner-stones of my life-history. I met many eminent persons at his
house. Harry Hallam, like his brother and sister, died suddenly and
young, to my poignant grief. His death occurred while I was away in
South Africa. I have visited the quiet church at Clevedon where all the
Hallams lie, each memorial stone bearing a briefly pathetic inscription,
and kneeling alone in a pew by their side, spent the greater part of a
solitary hour in unrestrained tears.
F. Campbell had set for himself an ideal of public life that was too
high for his powers, and many would say that he greatly failed in it. It
may be so, but he had what I prized beyond anything else, a capacity for
steady friendship, and a disposition unalloyed by pettiness. I always
found help when consulting him about any of my own difficulties, because
he put things in fresh lights and always with noble intent. He died in
1893. Through being his friend, I was entertained with much kindness by
his father at Stratheden House, and received important help on more than
one occasion.
It was mainly through these two men, Hallam and Campbell, that I first
became acquainted with most of the ablest undergraduates of that day. Of
these Maine (Sir Henry S. Maine, 1822-1888) ranked the highest. He had
a great charm of manner with much beauty of feature, and was one of the
few non-Trinity men who became thoroughly at home in Trinity itself. In
later years, when he had become an eminent jurist and had filled with
distinction the highest legal post in India, I used to enjoy long talks
with him at the Athenæum Club, mostly on topics connected with Primitive
Culture.
The subject of prehistoric civilisation was novel even so late as the
early fifties, and was discussed independently from two different
sides. The line of approach that Maine followed was to investigate the
customs of the so-called Aryan races. The other line was by the study
of living savage races, and of such inferences regarding the past as
might be drawn from implements and bones preserved in prehistoric graves
and caverns. The horizon of the Antiquarians was so narrow at about the
date of my Cambridge days, that the whole history of the early world was
literally believed, by many of the best informed men, to be contained
in the Pentateuch. It was also practically supposed that nothing more
of importance could be learnt of the origins of civilisation during
classical times than was to be found definitely stated in classical
authors.
Sir H. Maine considerably extended this narrow horizon through his close
analysis of classical writings in the light of his Indian experiences,
but he was always tempted to look on what was really a very advanced form
of civilisation as if it had been primitive, and thereby laid himself
open to violent attack. Among his opponents, J. F. MacLennan (1827-1881),
the author of _Marriage by Capture_, etc., was eminently impetuous, and
Maine, knowing that I was well acquainted with him, begged me to do
what I could to moderate his controversial tone; I tried in vain. This,
however, is travelling many years ahead. I had often occasion to consult
Sir H. Maine on subjects that I had then in hand, and always found him a
most helpful adviser.
It is difficult to select illustrative episodes of my Cambridge days.
William Johnson Cory, then known as Johnson of King’s (1823-1892), “Poet,
and Master at Eton,” was a remarkable character. He was easily the first
classic of his year, as tested by the brilliancy of his performance
in gaining the Craven Scholarship soon after joining the University.
At that time he was eccentric, very short-sighted, and Johnsonian in
appearance, but these peculiarities wore off so much that, on his calling
on me some years afterwards, fashionably dressed and polished in manner,
I did not at first recognise him. He took an active part in a small
Epigram Club which flourished for a while and then ceased, but which gave
rise to some good verses. I recollect the roll of the first line of one
by Maine—“King Daniel of Derrinane ...”—that referred to a recent action
of Daniel O’Connell.
Tom Taylor (1817-1880), “Dramatist and Editor of _Punch_,” was full of
vigour and versatility, but a few years older than those of whom I have
been speaking. He had recently been elected Fellow of the College. In
those days _Punch_ was newly started, and Tom Taylor thought he could do
better, so he founded a weekly comic paper called _Puck_, for which he
endeavoured to obtain contributors. It was fairly good, but did not live
long. Many years later he became editor of the very periodical he then
wished to crush.
I saw much of Joseph and E. Kay, half-brothers of Sir James
Kay-Shuttleworth (1804-1877), who was the “Founder of English Popular
Education.” Joseph Kay (1821-1878), “Economist,” was appointed
“Travelling Bachelor,” a University post that at that time attracted
little competition, because the conditions attached to its tenure were
inconvenient to most rising men. Its possession, therefore, carried
little weight. But Joseph Kay utilised to the full his position of
“Travelling Bachelor of the University of Cambridge” in obtaining help
abroad, and he wrote and published a valuable Report with that title,
which attracted much attention. He took in it an opposite position to one
previously occupied by Whewell. I beg to be pardoned if my memory plays
tricks, but my impression is that Whewell’s efforts to subdue his own
indignation at being bearded in this way by a mere “Travelling Bachelor”
were all the more amusing because he was impotent to retort. Joseph Kay
was perfectly in order in asserting his rank; he was judged by competent
outsiders to have written very ably, and he was no longer a resident in
Trinity College within immediate reach of Whewell’s wrath.
E. Kay (1822-1897), afterwards Lord Justice of Appeal, had rooms on the
same staircase as myself, and we wasted a great deal of time together,
both in term and in my second summer vacation. But however idle he may
have been at College, he richly made up for it afterwards by hard and
steady legal work, out of which he finally emerged as a Judge with a
large fortune made at the Bar.
Charles Buxton (1823-1871), son of the philanthropist Sir T. Fowell
Buxton (1786-1845) and father of the present Postmaster-General, was
another intimate friend. He was a far-off relative of my own, and one of
the most favourable examples of a Rugby product under Dr. Arnold. Other
similar examples of highly favourable products occur at once to the
memory, such as Dean Stanley, Dean Lake, and Walrond, but unquestionably
the common opinion of Cambridge undergraduates then assigned the epithet
of “prig” to most Rugby boys. I can exactly recall the combination of
qualities that occasioned the offence; they were partly an unconscious
Phariseeism combined with want of “go,” and partly a Rugby voice and
manner. Eton boys were rated far higher than they. I do not recollect
whether any generalisation was formed at that time in respect to Harrow
boys, who were then few in number. To return to Charles Buxton, he gave
me the idea of perfection in respect to a highly honourable class of
mind. This did not include exceptional brilliance, such as characterised
some of the men mentioned above, but it did include most of the manly
virtues and as much common sense as was consistent with a charming dash
of originality. His elder brother Fowell, who has lately died, had rooms
on the same staircase as myself.
W. G. Clark (1821-1878) was another contemporary of whom I saw much
then and in after years. His strong bent had been towards diplomacy,
but he wanted the fortune and connections necessary for success in such
a career, so his desire remained unfulfilled. He loved to bring back
impressions of travel, whether made in the Peloponnesus or in the rear
of Garibaldi. He was Public Orator of the University for many years, and
Vice-Master of Trinity College. Consequently, as a matter of course in
those days, he was an ordained clergyman. But he chafed under the fetters
of orthodoxy, and became a prominent member of the small group of men
who procured the Act that allowed clergymen to retire from their office
without retaining clerical disabilities. His career was clouded towards
its end by insidious mental disease. He lived long retired in almost
complete solitude in a Yorkshire inn, but sometimes sent bits of elegant
Greek poetry to old classical friends, as to Justice Denman. A small
volume of poems published under his initials contains some gems. He had
lost a favourite male cousin in youth whose death affected him deeply and
gave the chief motive to the book of poems in question.[1]
My second long vacation was spent with a reading party in Aberfeldy,
in Perthshire, under the guidance of two tutors as usual, of whom one
was Arthur Cayley (1821-1895), whose mathematical work soon gained a
world-wide reputation. He and Sylvester (1814-1897) became the two
leading mathematicians of England. Cayley was reputed to be the more
solid, Sylvester the more daring and brilliant. I saw much of Sylvester
a dozen or more years after the date of which I now speak, and for a
brief time also at the English Lakes. He was a great friend of Cayley,
and corresponded with him very often about his own numerous new ideas,
becoming subsequently depressed or elated according to the tenor of the
answer. Over and over again I have heard him say, “I must send this
to Cayley,” or again, “Cayley has pointed out a difficulty.” He was
charmingly naïve, and both were men of prodigious mental power. When the
time came for adjudging the Copley Medal to one or other of them, the
highest honour of the Royal Society, which it annually bestows on the
foremost man in science of whatever branch, in all Europe, there was much
discussion as to which of the two should first have it. I was a member of
its Council at the time; the opinions of most of us, including myself,
were of course largely guided by those of the eminent mathematicians who
were also members of it, and by the result of private inquiries. The
opinions in favour of Sylvester prevailed; Cayley received the Medal a
few years subsequently.
Never was a man whose outer physique so belied his powers as that of
Cayley. There was something eerie and uncanny in his ways, that inclined
strangers to pronounce him neither to be wholly sane nor gifted with
much intelligence, which was the very reverse of the truth. Again, he
appeared so frail as to be incapable of ordinary physical work; not a
bit of it. One morning he coached us as usual and dined early with us at
our usual hour. The next morning he did the same, all just as before,
but it afterwards transpired that he had not been to bed at all in the
meantime, but had tramped all night through over the moors to and about
Loch Rannoch. As to memory, I found by pure accident that he could repeat
poetry by the yard so to speak, and that of many kinds. His shy, retiring
ways did no justice whatever to his gigantic mental capacity.
I was, in a very humble way, able to compare the work of various
mathematical teachers with that of Cayley. The latter moved his symbols
in battalions, along broad roads, careless of short cuts, and he managed
them with the easy command of a great general. The very look of his
papers, written in firm handwriting and well proportioned lengths of
line, bore thoroughness and accuracy on their face. This is not over
fanciful. William Spottiswoode (1825-1883), himself a mathematician
and President of the Royal Society, of whom I shall have to speak
later, laid much stress on the general aspect of mathematical papers as
indicating in many ways the value of their contents, and I could quote
other authorities to a similar effect.
We had a pleasant and a social time at Aberfeldy, for the residents
in the neighbourhood were very kind to us. Sir Neil and Lady Menzies
of Menzies Castle, to whom I had an introduction, lived amid Highland
surroundings. One of these consisted of a full-dressed piper who strutted
up and down the long hall during dinner with the self-sufficiency of the
drum-major of a regimental band, squirling on his abominable instrument.
But there was also an abundance of Southern culture.
The visit of the Queen to Lord Breadalbane at the neighbouring Castle
of Taymouth gave rise to the following permanent impression on me. On
returning to my rooms after a walk, I found all my books and things taken
away and replaced by the gear of a cavalry officer, who was sitting
uninvited at my own table as lord and master of it. I could hardly
contain my wrath, but he was courteous and amused, though firm. He was
billeted there, consequently I must give way and yield my occupancy to
him. He had been told there was another room available for me to which my
things had been taken, but go I must and at once. This little incident
made me realise the odiousness and too probable insolence of military
rule, and the lesson sank deep. I gained on the spot a Quaker-like
repugnance to the sight of the accoutrements of a soldier, that exists to
this day under certain conditions, and its source is still recognisable.
On returning to Cambridge the old life recommenced, but on an enlarged
scale, and more friends were made, among whom were George Denman
(1819-1896), afterwards a Judge, and the son of Lord Chief-Justice
Denman (1779-1854). He combined classical capacity with power of muscle
and endurance, both in a very high degree, for he was Senior Classic of
his year and Stroke Oar of the University crew. He lived a double life,
warily looking after his own boat crew, the First Trinity, and joining
their rollickings in order to keep them within bounds, but doing hard
mental work at other hours. I think he was perhaps the most respected
of all the undergraduates. In after years he told me the following
extraordinary anecdote of Macaulay’s memory. He, Denman, had obtained the
prize for Greek verse and had to recite his composition. Macaulay was a
guest at Trinity Lodge and heard the recitation. Some years after, when
Denman had half forgotten the occurrence and imperfectly recollected what
he had then written, he was introduced to Macaulay, who exclaimed at
once, “Why, it was you who recited those verses,” which he straightway
repeated.
Memories so crowd on me that I find it difficult to stop. Something ought
to have been said of a singularly attractive man with quaint turns of
thought, H. Vaughan Johnson, who lived on the same staircase as myself,
and who collaborated in legal work with E. Kay, of whom I have already
spoken. He married a sister of my friend, then F. Campbell, afterwards
Lord Stratheden and Campbell.
Also I should mention W. F. Gibbs, who became tutor to the then Prince
of Wales, now King Edward VII. Gibbs obtained his Trinity Scholarship
at the same time as F. Gell, who was afterwards Bishop of Madras. Gibbs
was gifted with agility; Gell was very short-sighted, and the reverse of
agile, but he possessed a grand nose, the finest I have ever seen, and
a glory to the College. These two, as Gibbs told me, exuberant with joy
from gaining their scholarships, rushed down the avenue of limes at the
back of the College and through the gate at the end, where a row of low
bars confronted them; Gibbs, who led, jumped lightly over them, but Gell,
who followed, blundered, tripped, fell heavily on his face, and ruined
his grand nose for ever. The bars are still there; whenever I pass that
way I recall the tragedy.
Two events may be mentioned to show how long the duelling spirit
lingered. One was a row at the Union which nearly dismembered it. I
partly forget how it originated, and it would hardly be worth while
to record it if I did. It culminated in the formation of two fiercely
opposed parties, P. and C., and by a leading member of the C. party
being bludgeoned in the dark by two members of the P. party. They had
awaited his exit from the dark staircase leading from his rooms into
Neville Court. The tumult that this caused among the already excited
undergraduates is barely conceivable. The C. party, to which I belonged,
formed itself into a Committee and sent to an Indian officer, then living
with his family in Cambridge, entreating him to come and advise us how to
act. The officer himself happened to be delayed for half an hour, but he
sent in advance, quite as a matter of course, a neat box containing a
pair of duelling pistols ready for use.
I may add that a special meeting of the Union was forthwith called, for
which it was obviously necessary to provide an exceptionally strong
but neutral President. A man known as “First Trinity” Young (I forget
his Christian name), who died in early life or he might have highly
distinguished himself, was selected for the purpose, and he executed
admirably his most difficult task. It gave me a lesson in administration.
He began with a brief but emphatic request for cordial support from both
sides, adding that every question had more than one aspect. Humorous
but apt remarks were thrown out by him now and then. An equally patient
hearing was given to all parties, and a few occasional interruptions were
firmly repressed. The meeting parted with its members much more disposed
towards working relations than before; so the extremity of the crisis was
passed.
Its consequence was, however, the constitution of an opposition society,
called the “Historical,” in which more attention should be paid to
decorum and to the amenities of debate than had latterly been customary
in the Union. About sixty members joined it, and, partly because I was
then living out of College in a house where there was a possible meeting
room, I was asked to preside, which I did. My old friend Dr. H. Holden
(1823-1896), with whom I was speaking some few years ago of this very
incident, assured me that among the active members of the “Historical”
was Stanley, afterwards the 15th Earl of Derby (1826-1893). He entered
the University not long before I quitted it, during, I suppose, my
absence of one term from Cambridge through illness. Anyhow, I do not in
the least recollect his presence.
Speaking of the still lingering practice of duelling, C. Bristed, an
American who came to Cambridge for a couple of years or so, and whose
racy ways made him everywhere an acceptable guest, had a strange
experience. Some few years after we had left the University, F. Campbell
asked us both to dine with him at Stratheden House, where he was at the
moment the only member of his family in residence. Bristed gave us there
the full account of a duel in which he had unexpectedly become engaged.
It occurred near a German watering-place that lay within a short distance
of French territory. He had been criticising his future opponent pretty
freely in a local paper, with the result that on leaving church with
his young wife, where they had just joined in taking the Sacrament, a
note was handed to him containing a challenge, and suggesting a place in
French territory for the encounter. There seemed no other feasible course
than to accept that most untimely challenge, which he did. On arriving at
the ground, the combatants were placed 40 paces apart, with instructions
to walk towards one another, each to fire his one shot whenever he
thought proper. Bristed, who was rather short-sighted, said that his
opponent looked absurdly far away, and that he considered the safest plan
for himself was to “draw” his adversary’s shot before they came nearer
together, which he did. He fired harmlessly, and a harmless shot came in
reply. All the time he was recounting this very irregular proceeding, I
kept the corner of my eye fixed on a portrait of the Lord Chief-Justice,
that hung opposite, and thought how incongruous the conversation was with
its presence.
I received a kindly welcome from time to time after leaving Cambridge,
in the homes of not a few of my fellow-undergraduates. One was that
of Robert, afterwards Sir Robert Dalyell. His father, Captain Sir
William Dalyell, was a naval veteran with a scar across his face left
by a severe gash, who had quarters in Greenwich Hospital as one of the
Captains in command, the constitution of Greenwich Hospital being then
totally different from what it is now. The family consisted of himself,
Lady Dalyell, and their two daughters. Numerous friends appeared every
Sunday. We visitors walked and had tea, spending healthful and delightful
summer afternoons, usually returning to London by river. The life of a
young bachelor in not over elegant lodgings is vastly cheered by such
occasional outings. They give great pleasure all round with very little
expenditure either of exertion or of cost.
The family of Crompton Hutton, who lived at Putney Park, were most kind
in a similar way, to myself, to E. Kay, and many others. That family
was soon sadly broken up by deaths. One of the merriest of the sisters
in those days was the wife, and latterly the widow, of Lord Lingen, who
herself has died since I first wrote these lines. Lord Lingen was, I need
hardly add, for a long time one of the most valuable civil servants of
his country, first at the Education Office and afterwards at the Treasury.
It was during my third year at Cambridge that I broke down entirely in
health and had to lose a term and go home. I suffered from intermittent
pulse and a variety of brain symptoms of an alarming kind. A mill seemed
to be working inside my head; I could not banish obsessing ideas; at
times I could hardly read a book, and found it painful even to look at a
printed page. Fortunately, I did not suffer from sleeplessness, and my
digestion failed but little. Even a brief interval of complete mental
rest did me good, and it seemed as if a long dose of it might wholly
restore me. It would have been madness to continue the kind of studious
life that I had been leading. I had been much too zealous, had worked
too irregularly and in too many directions, and had done myself serious
harm. It was as though I had tried to make a steam-engine perform more
work than it was constructed for, by tampering with its safety valve and
thereby straining its mechanism. Happily, the human body may sometimes
repair itself, which the steam-engine cannot.
As it had become impossible for me to continue reading for mathematical
honours, I abandoned all further intention of trying for them, and
occupied part of my remaining time at Cambridge in attending medical
lectures to fill up the necessary quota of attendances that should
qualify for a medical degree. I spent my third long vacation in
travelling with my sister Emma in Germany. We stayed some weeks in
Dresden, where we joined the Hallams and accompanied them during a little
further travel, and then I took my sister round by Vienna and back home.
Those were days of travelling by voiturier and diligence.
There was a good deal of talk at that time about animal magnetism. Its
practice in Saxony was forbidden by law, but an Austrian acquaintance
in Dresden invited me to his house across the frontier, where I saw
the elementary part of its practice, namely, its inducing catalepsy
and insensibility to pain. I afterwards practised it at home, and
magnetised some eighty persons in this way; but it is an unwholesome
procedure, and I have never attempted it since. One experience was,
however, of interest. I had been assured that success was the effect of
strength of will on the part of the magnetiser, so at first I exerted
all the will-power I possessed, which was fatiguing. I then, by way of
experiment, intermitted a little, looking all the time in the same way
as before, and found myself equally successful. So I intermitted more
and more, and at last succeeded in letting my mind ramble freely while I
maintained the same owl-like demeanour. This acted just as well. The safe
conclusion was that the effect is purely subjective on the part of the
patient, and that will-power on the part of the operator has nothing to
do with it.
A main object of giving the foregoing brief notices of notable persons
with whom I had the privilege of being acquainted at Cambridge, is to
show the enormous advantages offered by a University to those who care to
profit by them. The body of undergraduates contains a very large majority
of men of mediocre gifts and tastes, but it has also a strong infusion
of the highest intellects of their age and country, picked out of all
the schools of England. Among any body of young educated Englishmen
collected at random, some few will probably be found who are destined
to rise to distinction, but among a group of those who are ranked as the
foremost in a University, more than one half of them will do so.
For my own part, I had hoped to take respectable mathematical honours,
though perhaps it was never in my power to do so, notwithstanding the
assurances of my eminent tutor, Mr. Hopkins. But the utter breakdown of
my health in my third year, as already explained, made further study of
a severe kind impossible. I therefore followed my bent in reading what
I could, and my time was by no means wasted. I contented myself with
a Poll Degree. Judge therefore of my surprise a few years ago, while
passing a winter on the Riviera, when a telegram reached me saying I had
been elected to the rare honour of an Honorary Fellowship in Trinity
College. I thought at first it must be a mistake, but it was not. Nay
more, hearing that a copy of a portrait recently made of me by the late
Charles Furse (see frontispiece) would be acceptable, I had one made and
offered it to the authorities of the College. It now hangs in its Hall
among those of men with whom I feel it the highest possible honour to be
associated in any way.
I must recur briefly to the close of my medical education. As already
mentioned, I attended some lectures during one term at Cambridge, but had
not even admittance to the then small Addenbrook Hospital. I have little
to tell about this period that would interest others than myself. It was
thought well that I should complete my course in London at St. George’s,
for the purpose of seeing new conditions of medical treatment. I attended
these necessarily in a desultory way, on account of an impending
domestic sorrow. My dear father’s originally fine constitution, long
tried by severe asthma and gout, had at length seriously given way. He
required continual medical and surgical treatment and trusted in me, so
to him I went. The end came in October 1844 at Hastings. His remains had
to be taken to Leamington. It was a wretched journey, for the railway was
not even then completed the whole way.
The effect of his death was to remove the main bond that kept our family
together, and we soon became more or less separated. Two of my sisters
married within the year, and I found myself with a sufficient fortune to
make me independent of the medical profession. So my status of pupilhood
was closed, and I had henceforth to be my own director. Being much upset
and craving for a healthier life, I abandoned all thought of becoming a
physician, but felt most grateful for the enlarged insight into Nature
that I had acquired through medical experiences.
CHAPTER VI
EGYPT AND THE SOUDAN
Family matters—Malta and Alexandria—Nile—Korosko—Berber by
desert—Boat to Khartum and White Nile—Bayouda Desert to
Dongola—Wady Halfa and Cairo—Recent visit to Professor Petrie’s
camp at Abydos
The home side of my surroundings has been only slightly alluded to,
not that it was of small importance to myself, but because it belonged
to a different phase of my life from that with which I am here chiefly
concerned. When I had outgrown the tuition of my sister Adele, I led in
one sense a solitary life. For though I joined my other two unmarried
sisters in their social amusements, I was always treated by them and
their companions as a boy, and I felt during this time like an only child
with aunts. Their affection to me was deep, so was mine to them, but it
was not and could not be reciprocated on equal terms. But I received
in full measure the priceless treasure of a home, in which each member
knew the essential characteristics, good and bad, of all the others, and
who loved each other all the same, and would support him or her through
thick and thin. The younger of my brothers, Erasmus, was mostly away;
in the first instance in the navy, afterwards in farming his property
in Somersetshire, or again in service as an officer in the Militia. My
elder brother Darwin was a great favourite among his friends from his
early life onwards. He used me as his fag when I was a boy, and taught
me to be fairly smart. I imbibed many common-sense maxims from him,
but our ideals of life differed to an almost absurd degree: he had not
the slightest care for literature or science, and I had no taste for
country pursuits. Our differences of temperament became more marked the
older we grew. These few remarks, in connection with what has previously
been said, will give a supplementary idea of what my surroundings had
been during much of my boyhood. It was now the year 1845, when I was
twenty-three years old, and the acuteness of my late bereavement had
passed away.
After the necessary legal business was finished, the members of the
family gradually adapted themselves to their new conditions. My sister
Emma lived thenceforth with my mother, whose house, whether at Claverdon
or Leamington, I always thought of as “home.” Emma soon became my
loving and beloved correspondent, continuing so during the remaining
seventy years of her long life, ever devoted to my interests and keenly
sympathetic. I was indeed fortunate in possessing such an unselfish and
affectionate sister. My sister Lucy was in suffering health, from the
results of acute rheumatic fever when a child, and lived only three
years longer. My sisters Bessy and Adele were then either married or
about to be married; my eldest brother Darwin was married and living
with his young wife and her mother, Mrs. Philips, at her country house,
called “Edstone,” between Stratford-on-Avon and Henley-on-Arden; and my
second brother Erasmus was, as already said, at his estate at Loxton in
Somersetshire.
I was therefore free, and I eagerly desired a complete change; besides,
I had many “wild oats” yet to sow. So I started on travel, this time
to Egypt. At Malta I found my old friend Robert Frere, of whom I have
already spoken. He was acting medically towards his uncle, Hookham Frere,
much as I had been acting towards my own father. Hookham Frere was too
unwell to be seen, or I should greatly have valued the privilege of a few
words with so accomplished a man, whatever his diplomatic shortcomings
may have been. Not the less so because of the amusing parody written
jointly by himself and Canning of my grandfather Darwin’s _Loves of the
Plants_ under the title of _Loves of the Triangles_, which gave a _coup
de grâce_ to the turgid poetry that had become a temporary craze in my
grandfather’s time.
At Malta I took steamer to Alexandria, and found two Cambridge friends on
board, who had been travelling in Greece. They were Montagu Boulton, the
third and youngest brother of Matthew Boulton, and Hedworth Barclay, a
very distant kinsman of my own and the son of David Barclay of Eastwick
Park. We ultimately agreed to join. Boulton had a first-rate courier
named Evard, who had also been groom of the chamber to one of the
most fashionable of English families. Barclay had a good Greek cook,
Christopher, and I was to contribute a dragoman, which I did. His name
was Ali.
Mehemet Ali was at that time the ruler of Egypt. Barclay had an audience
of him, and received the usual firman entitling us to impress men to
pull up our boat at certain well-known places where the stream is
exceptionally strong. I myself saw the old greybeard driving, but that
was all. Shepherd’s Hotel then looked out upon rice-fields, and modern
Cairo did not exist, but Waghorn’s overland wagons to Suez had been
established. After some stay at Cairo, we hired a dahabeyah; Barclay
put on board a keg of his own porter, and so we started, intending to
live luxuriously and in grand style. We also engaged an Arab lad as
coffee-bearer and to make himself generally useful, who went by the name
of Bob. He turned out to be a lad of parts.
The mornings were delightful. We rolled out of our beds half awake and
tumbled ourselves into the river, climbing back very wide awake indeed
into the boat by help of the big rudder, to the exquisite enjoyment of
the first cup of coffee and a pipe. We chattered with Bob, the captain,
sailors, and others, and soon smattered in Arabic. Boulton studied it
classically as well, working very hard. So the voyage proceeded in the
usual way. We were pulled safely up the First Cataract, and onward we
went.
When near Korosko, men had to be impressed, but a person in a rather
shabby Egyptian dress, but of Egyptian rank as a Bey, claimed and
insisted on precedence. We were cross, and relieved our minds by the
use of uncomplimentary English words. But by the time we had walked
together to Korosko we had become fairly friendly, for he was a far more
interesting man than we had supposed, and had much to tell us in French.
He invited us to see his hut, where everything was perfectly clean and
well ordered. Small as it was, a scientific and literary air pervaded
it. There were maps, good books and scientific instruments of various
kinds, so my heart warmed towards him. Then he began to address us in
fairly good English, and made us understand that he was quite aware of
our phrases when we were cross, and that he forgave us, but did so in a
dignified way. There was one thing we could do well which he could not,
and that was to provide a really good dinner. Evard and the cook rose at
once to the occasion, and nothing could have been managed in better style
under the circumstances.
The stranger proved to be Arnaud Bey, one of the distinguished St.
Simonians who, having been banished from France, helped greatly to
civilise Egypt in the days of Mehemet Ali. He had just returned from a
long exploratory journey after gold and other valuable products in the
districts about the Blue Nile. It will be hard now for a reader to put
himself in the attitude of geographical ignorance that was then almost
universal in respect to those places. Arnaud said at last, “Why do you
content yourself like other tourists to go no farther than Wady Halfa?
Why not travel overland by camel from this very place, Korosko, to
Khartum? The Sheikh of the intervening Bishari Desert is in the village
at this very moment. I know him well, and can easily arrange that he
shall take you to Berber at moderate cost. You will then find your way by
boat to Khartum.” We were amazed at the proposition, for the very names
of those places were unknown to us. He drew a map on a small piece of
paper for us to keep, on which he marked bits of useful information. At
length, after hours of eating and drinking and talking, we fell wholly
into his plan. The Sheikh was sent for, and I shall never forget his
entrance. The cabin reeked with the smells of a recent carouse, when the
door opened and there stood the tall Sheikh, marked with sand on his
forehead that indicated recent prostration in prayer. The pure moonlight
flooded the Bacchanalian cabin, and the clear cool desert air poured in.
I felt swinish in the presence of his Moslem purity and imposing mien.
For all that, we soon came to terms, and were to start the day after the
morrow. The boat was to be sent to Wady Halfa under Bob in chief command
to await our return there, and we three and our three servants were to
travel into the unknown on the backs of beasts strange to our experience.
So it all befell.
[Illustration]
A more complete change can hardly be imagined than that from a luxurious
cabin to nightly open-air bivouacs on the cold sand. Our first day was
the customary march of little more than an hour, to be assured that
nothing needful had been omitted. The next day the real journey began.
The track we followed was presumably the same that has been followed
since the most ancient days; it bore marks of its continued use during
recent times in the whitened bones with which it was strewed. Sometimes
we came across a camel whose skin had not yet disappeared, but formed
a hollow shell including marrowless and porous bones. These desiccated
remains were of most unexpected lightness. My arm is far from strong, but
I easily lifted with one hand and held aloft the quarter of a camel in
this dried-up state.
The ribbed rocks looked like the bones of the earth from which all the
flesh, in the shape of soil and vegetation, had been blown away as
sand and dust. Travellers by the railway that now runs along that very
track can ill appreciate the effect the desert had on such as myself
at that time. Ali proved an excellent and devoted servant. I long bore
in mind his kindness to me on one bitterly cold night, for the nights
were sometimes extremely chill, in quietly taking off his own jacket and
wrapping it round my shivering body.
Many strangers joined our slowly moving caravan. One group was such as
is frequently seen on similar occasions; it consisted of a husband on
foot, with his wife and child mounted on a donkey, like the often-painted
subject of the Flight of the Holy Family into Egypt. Another personage
was a middle-aged and rather mild-looking individual, who possessed
little more than a sword, and was on his way to Abyssinia, where some
fighting was expected with neighbouring savage tribes. He proposed to
take part in it, and to make his profit from the slaves he captured. He
was an old hand at this, and his businesslike account of the process was
explicit. It was a moot question with him on each occasion when a man had
been captured, whether to mutilate him at once or not. If so, the man
was apt to die, and would certainly require costly attention for a long
time; on the other hand, if he recovered, his market value was greatly
increased. I shall have a little to say later on of some results of the
particular slave-hunting expedition which this worthy person went to join.
A caravan yields so many strange experiences and affords so many
occasions of mutual helpfulness and of friendships, that it is easy to
understand the importance of the Hadj pilgrimage in uniting Moslems.
I have often wished that something of the sort could be revived among
ourselves, such as the famous Canterbury Pilgrimage of Chaucer, but the
religious motive for real pilgrimages is generally wanting in Protestant
countries. The Congresses of large itinerant societies like the British
Association, in some few respects may be considered as taking the place
of pilgrimages, but they want the long hours and days of open-air life,
hard exercise, and leisure.
After four days’ travel from morning to evening, we came to a half-way
place where a brack but drinkable water was to be had, which replaced
the redolent stuff that our water-skins afforded, and so on for four
more days, when we reached the Nile at Abu Hamed, having cut across its
huge bend. Oh! the delights to such tourists as we were, of a temporary
exemption from the discomforts of the desert, and of unlimited rations
of water. We travelled farther by the side of the Nile for another
three days or so, till Berber was reached, when we paid our dues and
said good-bye to the camels. The Governor of Berber was very civil; the
sherbet he gave us, though made from limes and not from lemons, tasted
heavenly. He gave me a monkey, and I bought another, and these two were
my constant companions on camel-back and everywhere else for many months,
until I reached England.
A boat had here to be hired to take us up to Khartum. We got one in
which the part below decks was much too low to stand in, and it swarmed
with cockroaches, but it sufficed. The people at Berber were unruly, and
so obstructive that the boatmen feared to enter with us into their own
boat. However, we showed determination, and pushed off into the stream,
with the result that first one and then another of the men ran alongside
and plunged into the water and swam to the boat and turned its head up
stream. We then set sail to Khartum.
In due time we passed Shendy, the scene of the recent massacre of Abbas
Pasha, a younger son of Mehemet Ali. He was sent to collect imposts and
to overawe the people. At Shendy he and his soldiers committed all sorts
of outrages, and finally he demanded the daughter of the Deftader (or
Tax-gatherer) in a form of marriage that was equivalent to temporary
concubinage, which was a grave insult to her father, the most important
man in the place. The Deftader was unable to resist; so he resigned
himself, but gave orders secretly. While Abbas Pasha with his suite were
at dinner and stupid with what they had drunk, the Pasha noticed that
great bundles of stalks of the native corn were being brought in and
stacked about the tent. He asked and was told that it was forage and
litter for his Highness’s horses. When enough of this straw had been
brought in, a signal was given to fire it, and every man who attempted
to break through was massacred, including of course Abbas himself. The
Deftader escaped to Abyssinia; something more of him will be said shortly.
Finally we reached Khartum, then a group of huts with a wagon-roofed
hall for the audiences of the Pasha. We heard of an extraordinary Frank,
believed to be English, who had arrived some weeks previously. We went
to call on him, knocked at the door, were told to enter, which we did,
and came into the presence of a white man nearly naked, as agile as a
panther, with head shorn except for the Moslem tuft, reeking with butter,
and with a leopard skin thrown over his shoulder. He was recognised at
once by my companions as an undergraduate friend, Mansfield Parkyns. He
had got into a College scrape, and, leaving Cambridge prematurely, found
his way to Abyssinia, where during years of adventure he had made friends
with the just-mentioned Deftader of Shendy, and was then acting as an
intermediary and the bringer of a substantial present whereby to obtain,
if possible, his forgiveness and restoration.
Of the many travellers whom I have known I should place Mansfield
Parkyns (1823-1894) as perhaps the most gifted with natural advantages
for that career. He easily held his own under difficulties, won hearts
by his sympathy, and could touch any amount of pitch without being
himself defiled. He was consequently an admirable guide in that then
sink of iniquity, Khartum. The saying was that when a man was such a
reprobate that he could not live in Europe, he went to Constantinople;
if too bad to be tolerated in Constantinople, he went to Cairo, and
thenceforward under similar compulsion to Khartum. Half a dozen or so of
these trebly refined villains resided there as slave-dealers; they were
pallid, haggard, fever-stricken, profane, and obscene. Mansfield Parkyns
complacently tolerated and mastered them all. The abominations of their
habitual conversation exceeded in a far-away degree any other I have ever
listened to, but it was clever. When one of them was out of the room, the
others freely related his adventures to us, in which some anecdote like
this was frequent. “So he said, ‘Let us be friends; come drink a cup of
coffee and smoke a pipe,’ then he put poison into the coffee.” There is
a gourd whose dried seeds are said to be poisonous and not very unlike
coffee in taste, which is particularly convenient in such cases. With all
their villainy there was something of interest in their talk, but I had
soon quite enough of it. Still, the experience was acceptable, for one
wants to know the very worst of everything as well as the very best.
Some few years later, when trade had thriven and Khartum had become
less barbarous, it was deemed expedient to appoint an English Consul,
partly to watch and report on matters connected with the slave trade.
Mr. Petherick, who had been an ivory dealer in the Soudan, was the first
to hold that post. I often saw him after his return; he was extremely
cheery, and apparently frank in conversation, but very reticent on much
that I wanted to hear. I could not discover what had been the end of my
villainous acquaintances, nor how far the society of Khartum had become
purified by the time he arrived there.
We had a few days still to spare, and Parkyns was glad to join us in a
short cruise up the White Nile. His birthday and mine proved to be the
same, and we had an appropriate jollification. Our house or hut looked
over the swift and broad Blue Nile on to the waste beyond, where pillars
of whirling sand were constantly forming at that time of year, February.
Many of them careered simultaneously, but soon dissipated. I have never
been caught in one; it would no doubt be disagreeable, but I never saw
one that behaved as if it were dangerous.
It was a strange sight on turning the corner where the two Niles meet,
to change from the Blue Nile, which sparkled and rushed like a clear
Highland river, into the stagnant and foul, but deep White Nile. We
sailed through mournful scenery up a width of water visited by great
flocks of pelicans. The river had few marked banks, but lapped upon
grassy shores like a flooded mere. The water was so stagnant, that when
we anchored for the night the offal thrown overboard by the cook hung
about the boat, and a man had to be sent each morning with a pitcher to
get less undrinkable water from a distance. Heads of hippopotami bobbed
up at times all about us in the mid river, but were very shy of approach.
At that date, I should have said there were crocodiles on nearly every
sandbank on the Nile below the Cataracts, for considerably more than half
of the way thence to Cairo.
Beyond the despondency caused by the air and the mournful character of
the scenery, I have little to say, except that our journey upwards was
concluded somewhat earlier than intended, through an adventure. One of
my two companions, attended by Parkyns, lay out at night to shoot a
hippopotamus, whose recent tracks were only too apparent. They returned
in the dark and very early morning in much excitement, and tried to make
us understand that we ought to wake up and return at once, for some
unintelligible reason. However, to please them, we yielded to their
insistence, roused up the crew and sailed homewards. It turned out, some
hours later, that the real reason was that my sportsman-companion had
shot, not a hippopotamus, but a cow that was coming down to the river
to drink. There really seemed no feasible way of making amends for the
mistake, and a certainty of clamour and excessive claims if we confessed
it. So we disappeared from that district, much as a pestilence would have
done.
Our return journey past Khartum was by our boat to Matemma, opposite to
Shendy, where we discharged it, and hired camels to take us a six days’
journey, I think, across the Bayouda Desert to Dongola. We had become by
that time used to camel-riding, we were well mounted, and travelled even
as much as eighteen hours out of the twenty-four, on more than one day.
The Polar Star and the pointers of the Great Bear served as the hand of a
huge sidereal clock to tell the weary time.
At length we reached our destination. It is the habit of dragomans to
tell fibs about their masters, to enhance their own importance; anyhow,
we were treated to a review as distinguished strangers. I then had
little experience with horses; Boulton was not a much better horseman
than myself. Barclay was, but even he found himself in difficulty when
sitting in a Turkish saddle with short stirrups and holding a rein armed
with so powerful a curb that it required the lightest of hands to use it
properly. However, we all passed the ordeal, without ludicrous mishap.
From Dongola we rode three days across the desert on the opposite side of
the Nile, to cut off a small bend, and thenceforward by the west side of
the Nile itself, so far as the very broken ground permitted. Semney was
a surprise; a compact little temple, high above a spot where the whole
Nile at that time of the year flowed through a channel so narrow that a
cricketer ought to be able to throw a stone across. I tried, but, being
bad at throwing, failed by a little. On the other hand, at the Sixth
Cataract, between Berber and Shendy, where the river is broad, I had
waded right across it to shoot ducks.
We had felt no small anxiety about the fate of our dahabeyah, but there
she was at Wady Halfa in spick and span order; Bob, that bit of a boy,
having risen to the level of his responsibilities and maintained perfect
discipline. It appeared that the rais, or captain, was once refractory,
but Bob boldly gave the order to the sailors to flog him, and flogged he
was by his own crew, and ate the bread of humility.
My excuses for speaking at such length about countries since so
familiarly known are that it will help to give some idea of how they
struck a tourist-traveller in the time of Mehemet Ali, upwards of sixty
years ago, and because this little excursion formed one of the principal
landmarks of my life. That chance meeting with Arnaud Bey had important
after-results to me by suggesting scientific objects to my future
wanderings. I often thought of writing to him in order to bring myself
to his remembrance, and to sincerely thank him, but no sufficiently
appropriate occasion arose, and it is now too late.
In the winter 1900-1901 I visited Egypt again, and, calling at the
Geographical Society there, learnt how important and honoured a place
Arnaud Bey had occupied in its history. He had died not many months
previously, and I looked at his portrait with regret and kindly
remembrance. Being asked to communicate a brief memoir to the Society at
its approaching meeting, I selected for my subject a comparison between
Egypt then and fifty years previously. I took that opportunity to express
my heartfelt gratitude to Arnaud, which posthumous tribute was all I had
the power to pay.
During this same visit to Egypt I spent one of the most interesting weeks
of my life at Professor Petrie’s camp. It was by pure chance that when
booking my place to Egypt, in the London office, I found Professor Petrie
on some similar errand. He then and there invited me and my niece to
join him and Mrs. Petrie at Abydos, where he and his very capable party
were about to excavate. Abydos lies on the western side of the Nile,
roughly one-third of the way between Thebes and Cairo. We were met at
the railway station by that most capable lady, then Miss, now Dr. Alice
Johnson, mounted on the one horse that the camp possessed, and who with
kurbash in hand and voluble Arabic extricated us quickly from a crowd of
troublesome natives, and rode with us a distance of eight miles or so to
the camp. This consisted of a row of mud huts with a space in front, the
whole enclosed with a low mud wall and a wicket gate. The pottery, etc.,
that had recently been dug up was arranged in front of the huts. They had
only mats for doors. One of the huts was the dining-room, and the others
were for members of the party, the farthest from the entrance being that
of Mr. and Mrs. Petrie. I was prepared for cold nights, but found them
more severe than I expected. Being little short of eighty years old, I
had lost much of the resisting power of youth, and heaped every scrap of
clothing I could find over my body, with only partial success. I amused
myself on one occasion by counting the number of layers of these that
lay on my chest, and found it to be seventeen. A single skin rug capable
of excluding the nimble dry air would have been worth more than half of
these flimsy coverings. Our host and hostess were peculiarly independent
of ordinary comfort, but the consumption of marmalade at their table was
enormous.
I had no idea before of the strenuous life led by a great excavator.
The mere digging can be delegated, but the rest seemed to occupy every
faculty of our hosts at full stretch from early morning to late evening
every day. There was drawing, copying, photographing, recording,
comparison of specimens, piecing of them together, discussing them and
planning new work, besides attending to the discipline of many men not
concentrated at one spot, but dispersed among different diggings.
An amusing scene occurred at a stated hour every morning, when the
fellahs who had found any curios and wanted to sell them were seated in
a long row at a fixed distance from the camp. They brought in rotation
what they had to sell. Professor Petrie knew by long experience exactly
how much the various articles would fetch if taken to the dealers in the
large towns, and offered that amount for what he cared to buy. The Arabs
quite understood the system, namely, that by accepting what was offered
they would get just as much as if they took a long journey in hopes of
a better bargain, so the traffic was quick. The objects were bought out
of funds variously provided, but the Egyptian Government reserved some
rights of purchase in the end.
The conversation at meal-time was usually most interesting. Much was
going on, and the originality and fertility of the ideas of Professor
Petrie and the ingenuity of his explanations were marvellous. The actual
digging was of course monotonous and laborious, but the faculties of
those of the party who superintended each locality were kept on the
alert. They had to record and to make maps as well as to keep the
labourers to their work, and to supervise them narrowly. At nightfall the
men, who had mostly worked for Professor Petrie during previous years,
returned to their own huts, a little way behind one corner of the camp,
and there they indulged about once a week in strange performances, not
unlike those of dancing and howling dervishes. Their nature seemed to
require occasional doses of these ebullitions.
We were fortunate at being present at the impressive feast of the full
moon, which included solemn chants. It was dignified in every respect,
and appeared to have a deeper religious significance than might have been
expected possible with these men.
CHAPTER VII
SYRIA
Beyrout—Fever—Death of dragoman at Damascus—Jaffa—Descent of
Jordan—Home
Our company parted at Alexandria. Barclay returned home, I went to Syria,
and Boulton desired to go farther East, to study Arabic and Oriental
modes of thought and expression. Our paths crossed only once in Syria.
Owing to misadventures, and to my great regret, I never saw him after. He
made his way to the British forces, then engaged in the siege of Mooltan,
and was the guest of their commander, General Whish. He stationed
himself, against advice, in a loopholed tower to witness the progress
of the fight, a matchlock ball penetrated his eye and killed him on the
spot. I heard the story many years afterwards from General Whish himself.
I sailed from Alexandria to Beyrout with my dragoman Ali and my two
pet monkeys. We were then put into quarantine, where Ali found a party
of negress girls who had been captured on the borders of Abyssinia
during the very fighting for which my acquaintance in the caravan was
bound. They had been taken to Beyrout _via_ the Red Sea. The girls were
delighted to talk to us of places known to them as well as to ourselves.
They seemed as merry as possible at the prospect of being sold and of
soon finding, each of them, a master and a home.
A journey so far as Khartum was then thought something of a feat, even
in Syria, and Ali, as I am convinced, greatly fibbed about my social
importance. It must have been on that account that the Governor of the
Quarantine, or whatever his title may have been, relaxed his restrictions
on my behalf so greatly as to call down severe newspaper criticism on
his acts of favouritism. In fact, we made a champagne picnic together in
two boats, under the sole condition of the party in the one not touching
any one in the other. For a similar reason, as I suppose, I was invited
and entertained in a most stately way at the palace of a Druse chief,
situated among the hills.
I bought travelling gear at Beyrout, and went inland to buy a pair
of horses for myself and Ali, because it was not easy to hire good
riding-horses, though baggage-horses could always be had. I set myself
up in style, with tent and extra walls, a canteen, and handsome coffee
and pipe apparatus. On arrival at the place where the horses were to be
bought, I camped on ground intersected with ditches of stagnant water—a
most insanitary-looking place. I caught there a sharp intermittent fever
which plagued me for years, and, though often kept in abeyance for a long
time together, has occasionally recurred most unexpectedly. It is only a
few weeks now since I had an attack of it. I returned with my horses to
Beyrout, but was too unwell to make much use of them.
After some wanderings, I settled in Damascus, at first in the house of
a medical man who enabled me to witness some gorgeous Jewish domestic
ceremonies. I also took elementary lessons in Hebrew at his house,
for which the little I knew of Arabic made an excellent preparation.
A sad grief befell me there in the death of my faithful dragoman,
Ali, through violent dysentery. All the last duties to the Moslem
dead, the washings, the shrouding, and the wailings, took place in the
courtyard. My own presence, as a Christian, at the funeral would have
been seriously resented by the Moslems, though I was able to arrange
about his tombstone. The sculptors here adopt a very simple process for
their illiterate workmen. A flat face is given to the stone, on which
the inscription is painted in black. Then all that is not painted is
chipped away. The populace at Damascus was then in a fanatical humour
and Christians had to be careful. There had been a frightful persecution
of Jews a little previously, and there were others of Christians
subsequently.
Ali had some trifling personal property, and wages were due to him.
I sent these to his wife in Cairo, who was the only relative I ever
heard him mention, together with a little present for herself, and
thought my duty fulfilled and that all was finished. On the contrary,
I had inadvertently roused a hornet’s nest of greedy claimants. An
official Arabic letter was sent to me demanding various payments to
numerous relatives, together with a threat of legal proceedings if not
attended to. My banker, to whom I referred it, advised me to get out of
the reach of the law as soon as I conveniently could, or I might find
myself fleeced, and perhaps entangled interminably. Fortunately, this
circumstance occurred about the time when I should have been returning to
England on my own account, so I “re-levanted,” if it may be so expressed.
Defaulters ordinarily “levant,” or run from Europe to the Levant; I ran
in the opposite direction.
At Damascus in the hot time of the year there was more than one delicious
retreat in public coffee-places with gardens, through which one of the
innumerable runnels of clear river water was conducted. I also took an
interesting ride through the outskirts of the town, where a vast amount
of dried apricot is prepared. It looks like greasy brown paper, is
wrapped in rolls, and is largely consumed. Each orchard has a smoothed
place like a small threshing-floor, as well as a big cauldron over an
oven into which the apricots are put. The resulting slush is ladled out
and spread over the floor; when it is sufficiently hardened, it is rolled
off it as if it were a sheet of oilcloth. The cost of preparation is
so small and the results so good that this manufacture might be found
remunerative in other countries where apricots grow in abundance.
I spent some happy days at Aden on the Lebanon, a little below the famous
cedars. The Sheikh was only too glad to entertain me, because one of the
miserable tribal fights was expected, and he was glad of the presence of
armed persons in his house, to protect it. Nothing, however, happened,
beyond a few harmless shots. I afterwards revelled in the glorious beauty
of the gorges leading down to the Mediterranean, and rank the view
down one of them as the very finest my eyes have ever rested on. Mr.
J. G. Frazer, in his _Adonis, Isis, and Osiris_, has collected similar
expressions from many other travellers.
I returned to Beyrout, where, finding one of my horses killed by a fall
over a cliff, and being unfit to enjoy or even to endure more riding, I
sold the other, and found my way to Jaffa on board an empty collier. The
part of its deck that I wanted was cleaned, and the voyage was brief and
not unpleasant.
The soil about Jaffa is perfectly dry and wonderfully fertile, but only
on the strict condition of its being amply supplied with water. Its
environs were traversed by dusty roads between dull mud walls, on whose
other side the richly watered gardens lay; so pedestrians, as might be
expected, were thirsty and covetous. I saw a sort of pump handle with a
spout on the side of the road, and an inscription above bearing some such
encouraging text as “Drink! Here is water.” Accordingly we pumped, and a
little water did certainly come; but however hard we pumped there issued
no more than a scanty streamlet out of the spout. We heard, all the same,
a sound of abundance of water that never reached us, the cause of which
was soon discovered to be an ingeniously arranged division, by means of
which the pumper got only a small fraction of the water he raised, and
the garden got all the rest. It was an excellent example of the higher
forms of commercial enterprise. They enrich all round, but the merchant
to whose initiative they are due gets by far the biggest share.
I was too unwell for a long day’s ride on horseback, and hired a camel,
which was not a usual conveyance, to take me from Jaffa to Jerusalem.
The exaltation I felt at the first sight of the walls was far too high
to last long. It was broken in the night by the miaulings of cats, the
flat roofs of the houses forming an almost unlimited playground for those
unscriptural and half-diabolical creatures.
In those days the course of the Jordan had been untravelled, as I was
assured, since the memory of man, and the Dead Sea had never been
navigated, with one solitary and most painful exception a year or two
previously. Captain Costigan, whose accomplished married sister, Mrs.
Bradshaw, I counted among my Leamington friends, had transported a boat
to the Dead Sea. His man, or men, played him false, emptying the water
keg in order that they might sooner get at the wine. He started with, I
think, only a single man, the wind was unfavourable to return, he had to
toil at the oar under the blazing sun, caught sunstroke and died.
The peace among the tribes who occupied the valley of the Jordan, which
had been favourable to him, still continued, and I determined on an
expedition down it, having then temporarily thrown off the ague. It
seemed possible that the Jordan might be descended on a small raft
of inflated water skins, or “kelligs,” so I procured half a dozen of
them, with the necessary lashings and other gear, and started with a
few horsemen for Tiberias. I put the raft together just below the small
bridge through which the Jordan runs out of the lake, and my escort
travelled by the side of the river to render assistance when needed, and
to form camp from time to time. It was rather a hare-brained attempt,
though amusing to plan. The river was very small and shallow, but carried
the light raft well; however, it was soon whirled under overhanging
trees, and I was nearly combed off it. Then matters grew worse, and
decidedly dangerous. The horsemen rode by the side, and were highly
amused at my difficulties. At length I became convinced that it would be
madness to persevere, so I left the raft, dressed myself, mounted my led
horse, and we rode on down the valley. It is all so perfectly known and
mapped now that it would be absurd to recount the little that I could
tell, but I became more and more impressed with the weirdness of the
great fissure in the earth’s crust through which the Jordan flows. Even
the Lake of Tiberias is 300 feet below the level of the sea, and the
Dead Sea is about 1000 feet deeper still, and its climate very sultry in
consequence.
My first camping-place was among the tents of the Emir Rourbah. It was
an important encampment of Bedouins, whose dress I had been instructed
to wear, and on no account to appear in the hated Turkish fez. When I
arrived, there were watchers on every point of vantage. I was kindly
received and shown much of their everyday life. The Emir had a quantity
of chain armour, such as was in common use among the chiefs in the
Soudan. I was surprised to find how effectual it was in spreading over a
large surface the sensation of what otherwise would have been a painfully
sharp blow. Matters progressed very pleasantly until the thoughtless
omission of a Moslem ceremony soured my welcome. It may sound trifling,
but it was effective all the same. I had shot a desert partridge, but
not killed it, so, taking it up, I knocked its head, English fashion,
against the stock of my gun. I ought to have cut its throat with my
knife, while repeating the Moslem formula. I caught sight of a look of
abhorrence on the face of my companions, and thereupon evidently ceased
to be considered as one of themselves, but as a hateful and hypocritical
Christian; so I was glad to be allowed soon to depart.
After a brief stay about Jericho, where I tasted and foolishly bathed
in the nasty, sticky, dense water of the bituminous Dead Sea, which
stuck in my hair for the day, I returned to Jerusalem with the view of
transporting a boat. But finding that I was wanted at home on some legal
business, that it was desirable to be out of the way of the claimants to
the little property of poor Ali, my late dragoman, and feeling ill and
used-up, I set sail with my two monkeys homewards.
I was put in quarantine in the Lazarette of Marseilles for, I think, ten
days. Its superior officer was a military martinet. One of my monkeys
got loose and ran all about the Lazarette, where, according to rule,
he ought to have put every article that he touched into at least the
same quarantine as himself, and there were bales of goods in store. The
officer was transported with rage, and actually ran after the nimble
monkey with drawn sword, to the intense amusement of the onlookers and
of the monkey. I quietly captured him at last. The officer vented his
feelings in appropriate language, but as he could do no more, the breach
of quarantine regulations was overlooked, and so the matter ended.
When I reached London, on a chilly November day, I failed to find a
comfortable night’s lodging for my pets, but an old friend who was living
in apartments kindly undertook their charge. He handed them with many
instructions to his landlady, who thought and perhaps said, “Drat the
beasts!” and shut them up in the cold scullery, where they were found the
next morning dead in one another’s arms.
CHAPTER VIII
HUNTING AND SHOOTING
Leamington—Moors—Orkney and Shetland—Balloon—_Telotype_
I returned to my mother and sister, who then occupied Claverdon, much
in need of a little rest. I was also conscious that with all my varied
experiences I was ignorant of the very A B C of the life of an English
country gentleman, such as most of the friends of my family had been
familiar with from childhood. I was totally unused to hunting, and I had
no proper experience of shooting. This deficiency was remedied during the
next three or four years. Under the advice of my eldest brother, I bought
a hunter and a hack, and began to hunt at the rate of about three days
per fortnight in Warwickshire, at neighbouring meets.
The next year I established myself at Leamington, jobbed horses,
and hunted methodically. There was a small “Hunt Club,” supposed to
be somewhat select, to which I belonged, and where I dined when not
otherwise engaged. The hunting men most to the fore in Leamington in
those days included some who had considerable gifts, each in their
respective ways. Foremost among them was Jack Mytton, son of the more
famous Jack Mytton (1796-1834) who was notorious for his daring feats
and other extravagances, who wasted a large fortune and died unhappily.
His life has been published; a brief account of it may be read in the
_Dictionary of National Biography_. The son’s career seemed moulded on
that of his father, and he too wasted a fortune that had somehow accrued
to him, and died prematurely. There was no question as to his ability and
power over others.
A more or less unfortunate fate befell most of my other companions at the
Hunt Club. Many of the small party who habitually dined there were social
favourites, and two at least of them were of more than average social
rank. Five of these men contrived to ruin themselves by betting and
gambling, and to end unhappily. For all that, they were bright companions
in the heyday of their fortunes. They lived in good style and as a rule
not very prodigally, though all had fits of recklessness. One of the most
valuable qualities in a man of moderately independent means who has to
live in a society of this kind is a carelessness to the attraction of
gambling.
A Leamington friend, Fazakerley, asked me to the Highlands to shoot. His
moor was called Culrain; it was about fifteen miles long by three broad,
and the small house on it was three miles from Bonar Bridge. I bought a
beautiful Irish setter which a friend chose for me, and we shot in the
leisurely fashion of those days, when driving game was never practised.
I slept in a neighbouring bothy, for the house was small, and I quickly
obtained some knowledge of English sport on the moors. At the end of the
season, the weather being still fine, I made my way to John O’Groat’s
House, opposite the Orkneys, whence, after being wind-bound for a while,
I sailed in the post boat, which was then the only means of conveying
letters from island to island, and so reached the so-called “Mainland,”
and settled at Kirkwall.
The next year I started before the grouse season began, and spent a most
interesting summer among the Shetlands, using rowboats as the usual means
of conveyance, and occupying myself with seal-shooting and bird-nesting.
I could write much about all this, and on the weird experiences of a
fisher society living in a treeless land, with whale-jaws for posts,
and with no knife in their pockets larger than a penknife, having only
tobacco and string to cut with it. Their social hierarchy was such, that
a man who had been to Hudson’s Bay had taken, to speak in the language
of a University, a “Poll Degree.” Those who had visited Baffin Bay were
considered to have gained “Honours.”
A shoal of whales (the cawing whale, averaging perhaps 20 feet in length)
came ashore whilst I was in Shetland, and I hurriedly rode several miles
to be in time to see them. Nearly one hundred were lying dead on the
beach, but they looked small as they were scattered over the shore of the
bay. The excitement of driving in the shoals is said to be an event not
easily forgotten. It was all over by the time I arrived.
I would not shoot a seal now, but youths are murderous by instinct, and
so was I. There was much of interest in the conditions under which they
were shot. The early rise in the long summer day, the row to the leeward
side of a likely holm, or small island; creeping up to a good vantage
point and waiting there until the head of a seal is seen to bob up; then
stalking the animal by running from cover to cover whenever he sinks out
of sight. Then, on reaching the beach, going cautiously between the big
boulders to a good shooting-place and poking the rifle over one of the
stones, shielding it and self from sight as carefully as possible. There
one has to wait, perhaps with the tide coming in over one’s legs, until
in the course of his antics the seal’s head rises within sure shooting
distance; then a careful aim, and a bang. The boatmen hearing the sound,
come rowing as hard as they can round the corner, lest the seal should
sink and be lost. He ought to be shot dead, or not touched at all. The
oozing blubber of the animal makes a circular calm round the spot where
he is shot, with the bloodstain in the middle. A boat-hook secures the
seal even if he should have sunk four or five feet. His market value is a
few shillings; the boatmen get him as their perquisite.
I heard a story about the domesticity of the seal, as having recurred,
with variations in detail, at more than one place. A young seal was
caught and became quite at home with the fisherman, coming to his house
for company, for warmth in the winter-time, and for food. It was petted
until its size made it too big for a pet and troublesome to the children.
Then the fisherman, sad at heart, took it with him in his boat, far away
to the fishing-ground, and threw it overboard. Some days later, when the
family were at supper, rather dismal at the loss of their old friend,
they heard the familiar sound of scuffling and scratching, and on opening
the door, in flopped the seal.
I used to watch the breeding-places of the sea birds, of which there were
multitudes, of perhaps twenty different kinds. The stormy petrels make
their nests deep in beaches of shingle. An intelligent man initiated me
into the way of taking them. We crept as silently as might be to where
the twitterings could be heard, and, having carefully located the spot,
tossed away the shingle as fast as we could, and usually found the bird
on its nest. Its oily smell is very strong and rank. The popular belief
is that if you cram a wick between the beak and down the gullet of a
dried-up petrel and light it, the bird will burn like a lamp.
The hardships of what was called deep-sea fishing were great. It was
conducted in open whale-boats with six rowers, who were generally
thirty-six hours absent, and sometimes longer. In bad weather they had
to keep to their oars, and could get little or no sleep all the time.
I was told that on returning they went half stupid to bed, and, partly
awakening to feed from time to time, slept for full twenty-four hours on
end.
I could tell many tales of what I heard and saw, such as that at one
lighthouse (I think in North Ronaldshay) the keeper, wishing to alleviate
the solitude of his life, cast about for a suitable pet. That which he
selected did credit to his genius. It was a toad in a bottle, requiring
no care, little if any food, easily placed on any shelf, and always
showing its bright eye.
When I finally left Shetland, which was after the grouse season, I took
as a present to my brother for the large pool at Edstone, a crate full
of many different kinds of sea birds, which I was assured would live in
fresh water and pick up snails in the garden, as tamed gulls do. The
railway people put the crate in a very exposed truck on a chill autumn
night, which killed three-quarters of them at least. The remainder throve
at Edstone for a while, the latest survivor being an oyster-catcher, who
came to his end thus. It had been freezing hard in the night, followed by
soft snow, and then re-freezing. Next morning they found the tracks of a
fox on the snow-covered ice, going to a place where the yellow legs and
nothing else of the bird remained frozen in. The oyster-catcher’s legs
had been entrapped by the frost, and his body had been snapped up by the
fox.
During the many weeks and months that I spent in London between 1846 and
1850, which is the time to which this chapter refers, I took walks with
friends, and sometimes rides with Harry Hallam, once on a most pleasant
riding tour with him in South Wales, and I went to meets of the Queen’s
Stag Hounds.
Among many other things, I was eager to know the sensations of
ballooning; I venture to give my own impression of it. There were
occasional nightly ascents from the then existing Cremorne Gardens, and
foolishly thinking that I could sneak in under cover of darkness, I
engaged a seat. The evening arrived, and I found it was advertised as a
Gala Festival, and I was anything but secluded from observation. A number
of fireworks were attached to the car, and after an oration from the
aeronaut, up we went. It was very curious to observe the up-turned faces
of the crowd below, which seemed to recede, for I had no sensation of
being myself in movement. The fireworks went off, and doubtless made an
effective display, and then all seemed singularly still. I was surprised
at feeling no giddiness, but the car is so deep and the swelling of the
balloon so voluminous that there is always much to steady the eye. The
chief cause of giddiness when standing on a small isolated platform seems
to lie in the absence of anything for the eye to “hold on by,” meaning
by this, anything that shows a sensible change of perspective, however
slightly the body may move. Consciousness of altering one’s position is
due to two things, the change in perspective, and the sensations arising
in the well-known “semicircular canals” of the ear. When the latter
sensation is present unaccompanied by the former, mental distress results.
The balloon was open below, and owing perhaps to some optical illusion,
it seemed to be filled with a singularly pure and beautiful medium. The
quietness and sense of repose were the chief feelings that I experienced;
next the clearness with which some noises, such as the barkings of
dogs, reached us when we were still at a considerable height. Besides
myself, there were only the aeronaut and his boy; the former alternately
boisterous and maudlin. He told me that his wife frequently dreamed that
he would come to an ill end, and so he did, breaking his thigh not long
after in a balloon descent and dying from it. The “bump-bag” and the
grapnel were new to me. The bump-bag is useful in permitting a quick
descent to be made in order to catch a particular field in the line of
drift. More gas is let out than is necessary for a normal descent, then
when the car is still some feet above the ground the bump-bag rests on
it, its weight is removed, and the lightened balloon descends slowly
through those remaining few feet.
We drifted for an hour or more in the quiet dim night, learning our
course by watching what could be seen of the country below, for of course
there is nothing in the balloon itself to tell whether it is moving
backwards, forwards, or sideways. It drifts with the air, so relatively
to the air it is perfectly still. When it was time to descend, the valve
was opened and bits of torn-up paper thrown out, which dashed upwards, as
it were. In other words, we dashed downwards through them. At length we
approached what the aeronaut thought would be a suitable field to descend
upon, and let go the grapnel, which is a light but strong steel anchor
with four pointed arms. It failed to catch hold, and we went drifting
on towards a large decorous family mansion, with hothouses by the side
and a lawn in front; sheep were placidly lying in the field. The horrid
grapnel bobbed and scratched the ground among the sheep, fortunately
without hooking one, and caught in the fence round the lawn. Then the
valve was opened wide, letting out volumes of stinking gas; the rooks in
a neighbouring rookery which we had brushed on our way, were vociferous,
the dogs everywhere about barked furiously, and the natives in the
neighbouring village were awakened and ran to the scene.
In the midst of the hubbub the hall door opened wide and let out a glare
of light, in which a portly butler with two man-servants in livery
appeared to be framed, looking horrified, as well they might be, by the
sudden disorderly invasion of visitants from the sky. After some delay,
we were invited to enter, and found the unhappy owner of the mansion
in his dining-room by his uncleared late dessert, with decanters of
wine, utterly perplexed as to the character of the welcome he ought to
offer. The aeronaut gulped the wine offered to him, declaring with much
rigmarole that it was a scientific (!) ascent. I cowered, and was utterly
ashamed. After a miserable hour’s delay, and thanks chiefly to the
exertions of the boy, a postchaise was procured, the balloon was packed
into its own car together with all its gear, and the car was hoisted on
the roof of the chaise. The boy insinuated himself somewhere, and the
aeronaut and I reached London in the small hours of the morning. I was so
afraid of meeting in society the ill-used master of the mansion that I
determinedly abstained from finding out who he was. The moral that I drew
from the trip is, that the ascent and travel in calm weather in a balloon
is most delightful; the return to earth most disagreeable, and dangerous
in even a slight wind.
Among the many trifling events that occurred about that time, I may
mention a yachting fiasco. I had a fancy to see Iceland, and, having had
a little yachting experience on a brief third visit to Shetland, whither
I and a companion sailed in an old Revenue cutter, hired I forget at what
port, and being assured that with a similar vessel the trip might safely
be made, I went to Ryde to hire one. The owner of a cutter that seemed
suitable made no difficulty, so I hired it for a month. On arriving on
board, in order to test the capabilities of the vessel and its crew, I
told the captain to set sail to Hastings. He was suave, but pointed out
the impossibility with the then wind and tide of getting there. I did
not clearly understand his arguments, but answered, “Never mind; it will
suit me equally well to go in the opposite direction to Penzance.” The
captain was still suave, but even more obstructive than before; at length
it turned out that he had no idea of sailing beyond the Solent and its
neighbourhood. Being resourceful, I accordingly went to Lymington, and
used the yacht as an hotel, getting a couple of days’ hunting in the New
Forest, and compromising about the hire of the yacht.
It will be thought from what appears in this chapter that I was leading a
very idle life, but it was not so. I read a good deal all the time, and
digested what I read by much thinking about it. It has always been my
unwholesome way of work to brood much at irregular times.
The one definite scientific piece of work in these years that is worth
mentioning refers to the then newly introduced electric telegraph. I had
always a liking for electricity, and had some cells in a drawer of my
study table with wires leading from them through the woodwork, to which
apparatus could be attached. All this would be thought very elementary
now, but some new things have to be done by such means when a science
is in its infancy. I wished to print telegraphic messages and to govern
heavy machinery by an extremely feeble force.
The method adopted may be explained thus. Suppose a telegraphic needle
of the most delicate construction conceivable, having the three possible
movements of right, neutral, left, to be momentarily lifted off its
support by an arm that squeezes it against a little cushion above.
However delicate the needle may be, its projecting ends will be stiff
enough to push another freely suspended (but non-magnetic) needle of a
much stronger and heavier build, in the same direction as itself. This
process may be repeated on a third needle of considerably larger size
and greater strength; and if desired, on a fourth. The force required to
keep all this going is independent of that which moves the first needle,
and is applied by a reciprocating beam worked by ordinary power. The
synchronising of the two stations is a simple matter, no great precision
being wanted in order that the electric impulses should be delivered to
the first needle at the right times. Without going further into this
long bygone matter, I may say that I printed what I had to tell in a
pamphlet entitled the _Telotype_ (No. 1 in the text of my Memoirs in
the Appendix). The pamphlet was post-dated, after the manner of some
publishers, as being in June 1850. It was really printed in 1849; I had
left England for my travels on April 5, 1850. The pamphlet had long since
gone into the limbo of the forgotten, so it was a surprise to me, not
many years ago, to meet one of the most prominent electricians of the
day, who told me that he had seen and procured it for the library of the
Electrical Society. Moreover, he spoke appreciatively of my youthful
attempt. _Requiescat in pace._ There was more in the pamphlet than is
described above.
CHAPTER IX
SOUTH-WEST AFRICA
Royal Geographical Society—Ch. J. Andersson—Cape Town—Walfish
Bay—Reach Damara Land—Hans—Negotiations with Namaqua
chiefs—Revs. Rath and Hahn—Wagons brought up
Travellers of the present generation need some effort of imagination
to put themselves into the mental positions of those who were living
in 1849. Blank spaces in the map of the world were then both large and
numerous, and the positions of many towns, rivers, and notable districts
were untrustworthy. The whole interior of South Africa and much of that
of North Africa were quite unknown to civilised man. Similarly as regards
that of the great continent of Australia. The unknown geography of the
North Polar regions preserved some of the earlier glamour attached to the
possibility of finding a navigable North-West passage from England to
China, which inspection of the globe shows to be far shorter than that
round the Cape. The South Polar regions had only been touched here and
there. The geography of Central Asia was in great confusion, the true
position of many places familiar in ancient history being most uncertain,
while vast areas remained wholly unexplored, in the common sense of that
word. It was a time when the ideas of persons interested in geography
were in a justifiable state of ferment.
My own inclinations were to travel in South Africa, which had a potent
attraction for those who wished to combine the joy of exploration with
that of encountering big game. The book of Harris, describing the
enormous herds of diverse animals that he found on the grassy plains
of South Africa, had directed many sportsmen thither who abundantly
confirmed his account. Gordon Cumming had just returned to England.
Oswell, then in company with Livingstone, and with another companion,
Murray, had recently made a joint expedition, in which the desert country
which hitherto limited the range of travel to the northward had been
traversed, and Lake Ngami discovered. Consequently the well-watered
districts beyond this desert could now be reached by wagon from the
Cape. I felt keenly desirous of taking advantage of this new opening,
and inquired much of those who had recently returned from South Africa
concerning the conditions and requirements of travel there. But I wanted
to have some worthy object as a goal and to do more than amuse myself.
It happened at this critical moment of my life that I was walking with
my cousin, Captain Douglas Galton, R.E., then one of the most rising
officers of the Engineers, and subsequently Sir Douglas Galton, K.C.B.,
of whom I have already spoken. He suggested my putting myself in
communication with the Royal Geographical Society, where I could learn
precisely whereabouts exploration was especially desirable, and where I
should be sure to receive influential support. He offered introductions
to some of its leading members, which I gladly accepted, and this
determined my line of life for many years to come.
The immediate helpfulness to a traveller of such a Society is very great.
It has the further advantage of pledging him to undertake work that is
authoritatively judged to be valuable. My vague plans were now carefully
discussed, made more definite, and approved, and I obtained introductions
to many persons useful to me in their respective ways. I was introduced
to the then Colonial Secretary, Lord Grey, who gave instructions in my
favour to the Governor of the Cape.
My outfit was procured, and other preparations were far advanced, when
my kind friend, Sir Hyde Parker, whose acquaintance I first made when
shooting at Culrain, strongly urged me to engage a companion. He told me
that a young Swede whose history he knew intimately was then in England,
and that I could not do better than come to terms with him. This was
Charles J. Andersson, who became my travelling-friend and second in
command. He spoke English fluently, through having been brought up by
Charles Lloyd, a well-known Scandinavian sportsman and writer, but an
Englishman of Quaker extraction. I may mention here that I made Mr.
Lloyd’s acquaintance some years later, when his face had been frightfully
scarred with wounds made by a bear. He told me that an old wounded
she-bear had turned upon him, and actually got his head between her jaws
to crack it, but her rounded teeth failed to find at once a sufficiently
sharp hold and only tore the flesh. His companion shot the animal in time.
Andersson was accustomed to the rough life of a sportsman, and had been
sent to England to push his way to fortune as he best could. His capital
wherewith to begin consisted of a crate of live capercailzie, two bear
cubs, and the skin of one of their parents. He was then so naïve that,
seeing an auctioneer’s placard about a forthcoming sale of farm stock, in
which was included “20,000 Swedes,” he, not knowing that in the language
of farmers “Swedes” meant “turnips,” confessed afterwards to a thrill of
terror lest they should be his compatriots, and lest he himself might be
pounced upon and sold as a slave together with them.
I was most fortunate in securing Andersson, because a second in command
proved at times to be a necessity, and he always did his part admirably.
He was remarkably strong and agile. When on board our full-rigged
sailing-ship he began for amusement to climb the rigging. A sailor
followed him, as is the wont of sailors, with a piece of twine to lash
his feet as soon as he had gone as high as he dared, and to keep him
bound there until he had consented to “pay his footing.” Andersson
perceived the game, and completely vanquished the sailor by descending
from the maintop to the deck, hand over hand down the mainstay, which
was too daring a feat for the sailor to emulate. Consequently Andersson
became highly respected by all the crew.
One of the effects of association with the leading members of the Royal
Geographical Society was to show me that the world of English interests
was very much wider and more earnest than that of the coteries among
which I had chiefly lived, and that many men were thoroughly able to
understand and criticise my proposed course justly, whose good opinion
if I succeeded would be of far more value to me than the approbation of
a multitude of less well-informed persons, however numerous or laudatory
they might be.
I left England on April 5, 1850. My voyage deserves a few words of
description, because it was made under conditions that are now obsolete,
which had some advantages to counterbalance their many disadvantages.
The ship was called the _Dalhousie_, an old teak-built East Indiaman,
quite incapable of beating against a head wind, and occupying nearly
eighty days in reaching Cape Town. It was chiefly used on this journey
to carry emigrants at cheap rates with rough accommodation, but a few
cabin passengers were taken besides, who had the use of the high poop
to themselves. In a long voyage like that of ours, the elements count
for much, and the manipulation of the ship is of continual interest.
The charm of the Northern Trades, of the calms and sudden squalls of
the Equatorial Belt, and of the crisp, strong Southern Trades cannot
possibly be experienced in an equal degree by those on board a fast
steamer, that rushes through all of them at an equal speed and holds its
course almost regardless of wind and weather. I was glad, too, of the
abundant opportunities of familiarising myself with the sextant, by which
I mean a much closer acquaintance with its manipulation and adjustments
than nautical persons are usually contented with or require. I had left
England without any practical instruction either in obtaining latitudes
and longitudes, or in surveying, for I failed to find anybody who would
give it, consistently with the limited time then at my disposal. The
excellent facilities now afforded by the Royal Geographical Society for
the instruction of intending travellers did not then exist; indeed, I
had a large part in their introduction many years later. I was, however,
familiar with the requisite book-work, and relied on what I could pick
up on board ship and elsewhere to supplement it. Let me anticipate that
I took very kindly indeed to instrumental work, and learnt in time to
get more out of my sextants, etc., than most persons. Land work admits
of far greater exactitude with that instrument than sea work, where the
true position of the horizon is never known, owing to uncertainties
of refraction, and is not seen at all at night. The sun, which is the
principal object of observation at sea, is little used on land, where
the altitudes of stars are obtainable with great accuracy from their
reflections in a small trough of mercury. Also the hand can be so rested
that the images of the star and of its reflection shall be quite steady
when seen through the telescope. Moreover, the two images, whether of
the star and its reflection, or of the star and the moon, can be toned
to an exactly equal degree of brightness. The sextant is a very powerful
instrument for its size, in the hands of those who have patience and
skill to get the most out of it.
I was received very kindly at the Cape by the Governor, Sir Harry Smith,
and by his lady, whose name is perpetuated in that of the well-known town
“Ladysmith,” called after her. But the news from the frontier recently
received at Cape Town scattered my plans like a bombshell. The Boers,
who had been very unruly, had affirmed their intention of keeping the
newly discovered lands about Lake Ngami to themselves and of refusing
passage through their territory to every Englishman. Sir Harry Smith said
it would be useless for me to attempt to go as I had proposed. After a
tedious journey of more than two months by ox wagon, I should meet with
Boers who would politely but firmly tell me that I must go no farther.
If I attempted to force a way, they would shoot me, and he would be
powerless to prevent them.
I had made many friends in Cape Town, and numerous suggestions were
offered as to other ways of reaching the district of Lake Ngami. The
one I adopted had many arguments in its favour. A cattle-dealer then in
Cape Town had made occasional ventures to Walfish Bay. The coast around
it was desert, but the Namaqua Hottentots drove cattle there for sale,
which would otherwise have been sent overland to the Cape by what is
practically a four months’ journey. The country between Walfish Bay and
the Namaquas could be traversed by wagons. There were mission stations
in Namaqualand, whose headquarters were in Cape Town. Nay more, a new
missionary was waiting for an opportunity to go there, and if I took him
with the other things now waiting to be sent, I should be helpful to the
missionaries, and they would doubtless be all the more inclined to help
me. Again, to the north of the yellow Namaquas were the black Damaras,
the interior of whose land was as yet quite unknown, though two or three
mission stations had been established along its southern border.
Here, then, was a land ready to be explored, by which a new way
through grassy country might be found leading through Walfish Bay to
the interior, and at the same time south of the territory claimed and
practically barred by the Portuguese. Sir Harry Smith desired to use
every opportunity of disavowing the complicity of the Cape Government
with the attacks of the Boers on the natives, and he requested me to use
such occasions as I might have, of doing so. He caused a document to be
drawn up to express this and to serve as my credentials. It was written
in English, Dutch, and Portuguese, with a huge seal appended to it,
protected by a tin case.
The story of my journey has been so fully told[2] in print that I shall
go but little into the details of it here. Moreover, the country has of
late been so traded through and fought over, and in large part occupied
by the Germans, that it has, I presume, become mapped with considerable
exactness.
It will be seen by my sketch map that the country I travelled over proved
to be inhabited by three principal and widely different races, occupying
three roughly parallel belts of country running from west to east. The
southernmost were the Namaquas. They were yellow Hottentots, with hair
growing in tufts on their heads, and speaking a language full of clicks.
They had a strain of Dutch blood, and most of them spoke a little of the
Dutch language. Their race reaches down through more and more civilised
tribes to the Cape Colony. Captain, afterwards Sir James Alexander
(1803-1885), had travelled right through their territory from the Cape
to Walfish Bay, and back. Mission stations were planted among them, of
which the two northernmost, numbered 1 and 5 on the map, were called
Schepmansdorf and Rehoboth respectively. The Kuisip river-bed, down which
water runs only once in every few years, and ends in Walfish Bay, makes a
northern limit to the Namaquas, which they were apt to transgress.
[Illustration]
The Swakop river-bed, in which water runs every year after the rains,
and which enters the sea some forty miles north of Walfish Bay, is the
southern limit of the Damaras. Two mission stations (2 and 3), called
Otchimbingue and Barmen respectively, were established on the Swakop. A
third, marked 4 on the map, had been established, but destroyed shortly
before my arrival by a murderous raid of Namaquas, under Jonker, whose
name will be found on the map, and the position of whose home is shown
by a dot. The land between the Swakop and the Kuisip is a high desert
plateau and uninhabited. The Damaras extend northward up to about the
line where “Damara Limit” is written on the map, and they extend far to
the east. The Kaoko plain, of which I learnt little that was definite,
lies to the west, between them and the sea.
“Damara” is a corruption of the Hottentot word “Damup,” used
indiscriminately for numerous Bantu tribes that have no general name in
their language, but severally call themselves Ovaherero, Ovapantieru,
etc. In a similar way the Arabic word “Caffre” (Kaffir, or infidel)
comprehends many different Bantu tribes on the east side of South
Africa. The Damaras and the Caffres are clearly of the same race. To the
immediate north of Damara Land is a narrow belt of country ill fitted for
habitation. Northward of this belt and from the line where “Ovampo Limit”
is written on the map, is the country of the Ovampo. The Ovampo are pure
negroes, but of a high type. Their country extends northwards a little
beyond the limits of the map, up to the Cunene River, beyond which the
Portuguese claim possession.
In addition to the Damaras, small tribes are scattered over their
territory of two totally distinct races of Hottentot and Negro. Both of
these tribes now speak the Hottentot language. The first of them are the
Bushmen, so called by the Namaquas, and who are pure Hottentots. They are
usually small men, but not so very small as the Bushmen proper of Cape
Colony are, or rather were, for those exist no longer. On the other hand,
the Ghou Damup are as purely negro as the Ovampo. The Bushmen and the
Ghou Damup are equally hunted and equally ill-treated by the Damaras, and
they live wherever they can find safety. The Ghou Damup are apparently
the inferior of the two.
I suppose that the country was inhabited long ago by the progenitors of
the Ghou Damup, probably a branch of the Ovampo; that the Hottentots
invaded it, and lorded over the Ghou Damup for so many years that the
latter wholly forgot their native tongue, and spoke the Hottentot
language instead; lastly, that the Hottentots, and of course the Ghou
Damup also, were in their turn overrun by the progenitors of the Damaras,
and became dispersed among them as they are at the present time.
The Bushmen are nomadic and good hunters. The Ghou Damup are sedentary,
living on roots and the like, but they have a stronghold in Erongo, to
the north-west of the Mission Station No. 2 on the map. They live there
in marvellously rocky and easily defensible quarters, totally unsuitable
to the pastoral Damaras, who have no object to gain by attacking and
ousting them if they could. I visited also a large encampment of Bushmen
in quite another part of the country, and stayed by them for four days,
at the place marked Tbs (= Tounobis), on the extreme right hand of the
map.
* * * * *
It was reckoned to be a six or seven days’ sail from Cape Town to Walfish
Bay, so I hired a small schooner, and with the help of many kind friends
got all my equipment on board. It consisted of a light cart, two Cape
wagons, nine mules from which a team could be selected to draw the cart,
when it was laden with articles of barter to buy oxen, and two if not
three skilled drivers and other necessary men; also two horses which were
not expected to live long, and did not, and a few dogs. The gear of the
missionary and the young missionary himself were also taken on board. We
started from Cape Town in the second week of August 1850.
On arriving at Walfish Bay, we found ourselves faced by as desolate
and sandy a shore as even Africa can show, which is saying a great
deal. There was a small empty wooden hut on the beach, very useful as
a storehouse; a few natives appeared, and one consented to act as a
messenger to the mission station twenty miles off, in return for a stick
of tobacco and a biscuit. This is No. 1 on the map (Schepmansdorf). We
landed the things as best we could from the schooner, which was anchored
one-third of a mile from the shore. The animals had to swim, the rest of
the cargo was taken in many instalments by the dinghey. The missionary,
Mr. Bam, and his then guest and helper Mr. Stewardson, a former
cattle-trader, made their appearance the next night, riding on oxen,
which is a usual mode of travel in these parts.
In the meantime we had visited the watering-place “Sand Fontein,” three
miles off, of which we had heard, and which is marked by a dot on the
map. It was at that time a puddle of nasty water, but gave a sufficient
quantity of it for the mules and horses. A cask of good drinking water
was brought ashore for ourselves and placed in the storehouse.
It was agreed that all my possessions should be carried to Mr. Bam’s
station, No. 1 on the map, and it was finally arranged that Mr.
Stewardson should guide us up country to Mission Station No. 2.
My disasters began soon. The journey across the arid plain that separated
the Kuisip from the Swakop taxed the strength of the mules, who were
wholly unused to such a strain. It was necessary to give them immediate
rest and food as soon as the pasturage of the Swakop was reached. Tracks
of wild animals were looked for on the sand of the river-bed, but none
were found, so Stewardson urged that our mules and horses should be left
free during the night to rest and feed themselves. The result was that a
troop of lions dashed down upon them in the dark, killing one mule and
one of my two horses. The remainder galloped off unscathed, and were
recovered in the afternoon. The tracks of the lions by the side of those
of the animals up to the two fatal springs told the story clearly. I had
no reserve of food, so it was necessary to utilise the horse flesh, which
I cut off and stored in an apparently safe hole in the side of a cliff.
When I returned towards nightfall to remove it, one of my enemies had
out-generalled me. He had clambered from behind and unseen to a ledge
five or six yards above the hiding-place, and could be seen there by the
party below, crouched like a cat above a mouse-hole. I got down safely,
meat and all, and saw the head and the pricked ears of the brute as he
kept his position. A shot struck the rock under his chin, and he decamped.
I had little further trouble with lions during my journey, though they
were often heard roaring at night. I think I only lost one cow, and
apparently a few of my remaining mules after I had no further use for
them. All eight of the mules decamped later on, when I had provided
myself with oxen; three of them reached Schepmansdorf; those that
disappeared on the way had probably been killed by lions. The very
first animal I shot in Africa was a lion, just after my first arrival
at Schepmansdorf. It had crossed from the Swakop to the Kuisip and had
seized a small dog in the yard of the mission station, while I was asleep
in an almost doorless hut that opened on the same yard. So much for lions.
I pass over all the other difficulties, troubles, and events that
intervened, which have been related in the books above mentioned. Suffice
it to say that by the end of September I was installed at Station No. 2
under the kind care of Mr. Rath, the resident missionary. Here I had the
good fortune to meet Hans Larsen, a Dane, who spoke English perfectly. He
had been a sailor, but obtained permission to quit his ship at Walfish
Bay and to enter the service of a cattle-dealer. When that particular
venture was concluded, he joined a second cattle-dealer, and finally
found himself at large with a small herd of oxen, which he intended
to drive overland and to sell at Cape Town. I had been most strongly
urged to acquire his services if I could, and I did so to my very great
advantage, partly, I may add, through my medical experience. He was
willing from the first to go, were it not for a most painful whitlow
which disabled his arm, and gave him so much pain that he could hardly
sleep or eat; and he was totally unfit for the expected severe manual
work. He therefore had to make his acceptance dependent on getting well.
Now the sore was of a chronic kind, very familiar to me when at the
Birmingham Hospital. There was an outgrowth of what patients like to call
“proud flesh,” upon which a slight cautery often acts like a charm. It
stimulates the vitality of the part and causes it to act normally. It did
so in this case. I rubbed the sore lightly over with nitrate of silver,
which hurt at the time, but eventually gave him the first good night’s
rest he had enjoyed for months. Thenceforward his finger rapidly improved
and healed, and he felt and looked himself again.
I bought all his live stock of fifty oxen and one hundred sheep and
goats at a single swoop, by a cheque on Cape Town for £71. Hans himself
became a most valuable and efficient servant and friend. In brief, he and
Andersson went down to the coast with the new oxen, to break them in and
to bring up the wagons, while I remained partly at the Mission Station
No. 2, and afterwards at No. 3, where Mr. Hugo Hahn, a very accomplished
man, who had married an English wife, was the resident missionary.
Mr. Hahn possessed all the extant knowledge about the Damaras, and was
greatly interested in my proposed expedition. Information about the
wretched state of the country was gradually obtained. It came to this,
that the four tribes of Namaquas under Jonker, Cornelius, Amiral, and
Swartboy respectively, well provided with horses and guns, had made many
successive raids upon the Damaras, lifting cattle and selling them. They
usually sent the stolen animals overland to the Cape. Sometimes when
opportunity occurred they sold them to traders at Walfish Bay. The
Damaras were not only perpetually fighting among themselves, but also
provoking retaliation from the Namaquas, which the latter only too gladly
indulged in. Lastly, the Namaquas, who in the first instance welcomed
missionaries, were now opposed to them and to every outside influence or
criticism, and determined to do just what they liked both to one another
and to the Damaras. More especially they had recently determined that
no white man should pass through their country to the interior. They
were, in short, behaving in a similar, but still more marked spirit of
exclusion to that of the Boers.
The attack under Jonker on the Mission Station No. 3 on the map was
their latest iniquity. They behaved like demons. Among other things they
cut off the feet of the women to get their ankle rings, as related in
Chapter III. Unless these misdoings could be stopped, my journey would
soon come to an end. The Damaras believed that I and my party were
merely Hottentots in disguise, and acting as spies. To make a long story
short, I took Hans and two intelligent men and rode on ox-back to Jonker
himself, and rated him soundly, in English first, to relieve my mind, and
then in Dutch through my interpreters, brandishing my paper with the big
seal, and thoroughly frightened him. Arrangements, which I cannot go into
now, were made for a meeting between myself and the other Namaqua chiefs,
and ultimately a _modus vivendi_ was secured, which lasted all the time I
was in the country and for a while afterwards.
These negotiations occupied fully three months, during which every nerve
was strained to get the expedition into readiness to start. Andersson,
Hans, and nearly all the men had gone down with the cart and newly-bought
oxen to Station No. 1, whence they brought back the two wagons most
successfully, though having first to break in the oxen. Then, whilst
Andersson was encamped at Station No. 2, I rode with Hans to the mountain
stronghold of the Ghou Damup, Erongo. Finally, in March, I made my start
northwards from the place where Station No. 3 formerly stood, every step
being henceforth through new country.
CHAPTER X
LANDS OF THE DAMARAS, OVAMPO, AND NAMAQUAS
Size of caravan—Horrors of savagedom—Ovambondé—To the
Ovampo on ride-oxen—Back to Damara land—Journey in Namaqua
land—Bushmen—Large game—Back to Walfish Bay—Home—Medal of Royal
Geographical Society, and election to Athenæum Club under Rule
II.
My first objective was Ovambondé, a place which proved to be of
exaggerated interest. It is marked B on the map. It was the only definite
spot, generally known to the Damaras, that I could hear of in a northerly
direction. Without some definite goal it would have been necessary to
travel unguided through a country so choked with bushes bearing cruel
thorns that we might have found ourselves in impassable blind issues time
after time.
The plateau on which we were to travel was some 6000 feet above the
level of the sea, as calculated by the usual method from the temperature
of boiling water. It had a crisp sandy surface good for travel, but
the thorn-bushes were a serious obstacle. Water was a daily cause for
anxiety, and was usually to be procured only at places where the natives
had recently dug for it with success. The country is deluged at the
time of the rainy season, and pools remain for a while at many places,
but they soon disappear, partly through evaporation, but principally
from percolation through the sandy soil. Here and there a thin layer
of less porous earth holds the water longer. The pool may then become
sanded over, but water can be reached without trouble by digging and
scraping. During a large part of the journey this looking out for signs
of water and digging wells, after the first four hours’ journey had been
accomplished, was the almost daily occupation. The giving of drink to the
oxen, three at a time, out of an improvised trench covered with canvas,
into which the water was ladled, was a common feature at each encampment.
The digging for water was laborious. Sometimes the well was already dug
by natives, but dry, and had to be so much deepened as to require a
chain of three men to utilise it. One raised the water-vessel to another
who stood a stage higher, and he to a third who stood breast high above
the surface of the ground and poured its contents into the trough. On
one of these occasions we had fallen fast asleep, dogs and all, utterly
wearied, and found in the morning, to our astonishment, the tracks of
elephants all about us. They had drunk at the well, disturbed nobody, and
disappeared into the not distant bush, whither I followed them in vain.
The caravan at starting consisted of ten Europeans and about eighteen
natives, or twenty-eight in all. The two wagons were both laden. The
large one had a solid deck over its cargo, and the space above deck was
curtained into two compartments, in which Andersson and I slept when the
ground was wet; as a rule we bivouacked in the open. The available space
above the deck of the wagon was too low to read or write in with comfort.
The small wagon held the clothes of the men in addition to its regular
freight, and nobody slept in it except during the heavy rains. At first
the natives of my party were constantly changing, and in addition to my
own party there were occasional hangers-on.
As regards commissariat, my biscuit and every kind of vegetable food
had been eaten up. I had plenty of tea, coffee, and some sugar, and a
few trifles besides, but no wine or spirits except for medicine. Our
sustenance was henceforth to be the flesh of the oxen and sheep driven
with us, eked out by occasional game. The charge of the cattle was our
constant anxiety and care; if lost or stolen, we should be starved. The
estimate was that one sheep—they were very lean—afforded twenty meals,
and I found that men on full work required two meals daily. An ox was
reckoned equal to seven sheep, and would therefore feed twenty-four
people for three days. The gross total of oxen, cows, and calves in the
caravan was ninety-four; that of sheep was twenty-four. Seventy-five of
the oxen were broken in; nine of these as ride-oxen and a few others
as pack-oxen, the remainder only for draught. I considered myself to
be provided for ten weeks, exclusive of game, while still preserving a
sufficiency of trained oxen.
I had many things for barter, but could not foresee whether, or how far,
they would be accepted in exchange for cattle. It afterwards appeared
that two sticks of cavendish tobacco was a usual equivalent for one
sheep, and a rod of iron or a gun for perhaps eight oxen.
I soon saw some of the horrors of savagedom. My dogs found a wretched
native whose muscles along the back of his neck had been severed to the
bone, but whose throat was uninjured. He had crawled under thorn-bushes
to die, whence we extricated him. His head rolled horribly, but he could
speak a little. I did what I could in the way of splints and bandages,
but he soon died. Then, while staying with a most gentlemanly chief,
Kahichené, who was himself killed soon afterwards, and his followers
dispersed, two of my fore-oxen were stolen. They are by far the most
important animals in a team. The chief sent trackers after them. They and
the thief were brought back; I begged for the man’s life, for ox-stealing
is a capital offence. He was spared while I was there, but clubbed, as
I understood, after I had left. But enough of these gruesome stories.
I had to hold a little court of justice on most days, usually followed
by corporal punishment, deftly administered. At a signal from me the
culprit’s legs were seized from behind, he was thrown face forward on the
ground and held, while Hans applied the awarded number of whip strokes.
This rough-and-ready justice became popular. Women, as usual, were the
most common causes of quarrel.
The Damaras were for the most part thieving and murderous, dirty, and
of a low type; but their chiefs were more or less highly bred. These
people seldom die natural deaths; many are killed when fighting, many are
murdered, and sick persons are as a rule smothered by their relatives.
It was fortunate for me that there was at that time no paramount chief
in Damara land, unless it were a man like Kahichené. The smaller ones
feared our weapons and the mystery attached to white men coming from
afar, who might be in friendly relations with their dreaded enemies, so I
was able to slip through their lawless country with comparative ease.
Ovambondé proved to be of no importance. It was nothing more than a
long reach in a then dry river-bed, which would, however, assume a very
different aspect after heavy rains. By the time we had arrived there, the
tales concerning a different race called the Ovampo, who lived to the
northwards beyond the Damaras, had become more and more consistent and
exciting, and gave a fresh impetus to proceed. The Damara limit is marked
on the map; the axle of one of my wagons broke just before reaching it.
Consequently I made a camp near a friendly Damara chief, and left the
wagons, with Hans and the drivers, to be repaired in the way familiar
to Boers, and started for Ovampo land with Andersson and three men on
ride-oxen. I also took three laden pack-oxen and a few loose ones in
reserve, to furnish food if needed.
A caravan travels every six months from Ovampo land to buy Damara cattle,
stopping at the very place where we had been. Another caravan similarly
travels along the Kaoko (see map) between Damara land and the sea. We met
one of the former of these caravans a little after we had started, so we
returned for a while to our old camp, and finally went back to Ovampo
land with it. These Ovampo were under strict discipline, secret and very
resolute. I could not do what I liked in their company, but had to depend
on their plans. The will of their king Nangoro was supreme. I could not
enter the country, trade in it, or leave it, except with his permission.
The border-land between the Damaras and the Ovampo seemed to be a natural
frontier unsuitable for occupation. We passed bleak plains and then a
wide belt of thorn-bushes, which after a day’s journey ceased suddenly
and disclosed a broad stretch of fields of maize, a strange and welcome
sight. After a day’s march through these, we reached the place where
Nangoro lived.
I did much to make myself agreeable, investing Nangoro with a big
theatrical crown that I had bought in Drury Lane for some such purpose.
But I have reason to believe that I deeply wounded his pride by the
non-acceptance of his niece as, I presume, a temporary wife. I found
her installed in my tent in negress finery, raddled with red ochre and
butter, and as capable of leaving a mark on anything she touched as a
well-inked printer’s roller. I was dressed in my one well-preserved suit
of white linen, so I had her ejected with scant ceremony. The Damaras are
very hospitable in this way, and consider the missionaries to be actuated
by pride in not reciprocating.
We were treated with strict courtesy, but, except at the very first,
without friendliness; a sense of growing constraint was everywhere, and
there were ugly signs of an intention to allow our oxen to die of hunger,
and then to make an easy end of us afterwards. The Ovampo carry on a
trade with the Portuguese half-castes to the north, and knew and despised
the guns used by them; but ours were shown, by their bullet marks after
firing at a distant tree, to be of a much higher order and to be feared.
Probably that new view of their value helped us considerably. We were
quite at the mercy of Nangoro; our cattle grew thinner daily on the very
scant pasturage to which they were restricted, and Nangoro would not give
me permission to go farther. It was as much as our oxen could do to take
us back at all, and having at length received permission, or orders (I
know not which), to return, I did so with mixed feelings—regret at having
to turn back, relief at getting away safely. The Ovampo were suspicious
of us, but seemed particularly happy and social among themselves, and
to be a people well worthy of friendly study. But the spirit of what is
elsewhere known as “taboo” reigned everywhere, and simple inquiries were
too frequently met with the rejoinder of “You must not ask.” I had very
good interpreters between the Damara and Ovampo languages.
My fears of ill-usage were shown not to be fanciful, by the fact that a
party who followed me some years later were attacked as they departed,
and had to fire in self-defence. According to one of many rumours, a
stray bullet killed Nangoro himself, at a considerable distance, while he
was sitting within his own stockade. The party got safely away, but were
in great danger.
The return journey to the wagons was indeed difficult. One bitterly cold
encampment in a hollow on the bleak plain, where we were comparatively
safe from a night attack, seriously tried the constitution of some of my
best ride-oxen, who never afterwards became as serviceable as they were
before. The wagon was however mended, all had gone well with the men
left behind, and we started homewards.
Ultimately the whole party was brought safely back to Station No. 3 on
August 3, 1851, where we were most heartily welcomed and congratulated
by Mr. Hahn after our long absence of five months, during which no news
whatever of us had reached him. In the meantime I had spent ninety days
in actual travel, independently of such excursions as were needed from
time to time to look out for practicable routes. Of these ninety days,
fifty were occupied in travel to Nangoro and forty in returning. The
return distance in time was 168 hours, equal to 462 miles. Our road had
passed through a dangerous and difficult country; it traversed the whole
breadth of Damara land, and had reached the capital of the country beyond
it to the north.
Some little news had reached Mr. Hahn from Europe through the hands of
a cattle-trader. It included an English newspaper, but no letters for
myself; it was now one year and four months since I had heard a single
word from my home. Peace had been kept during my absence between the
Hottentots and Damaras.
A ship was expected for the missionaries not earlier than December, so
I should have a clear four months for further travel and yet be able to
catch that ship. I determined on a quick journey to the eastwards of the
Namaqua country, and dispatched messengers at once with letters to the
Cape, in doing which the Namaqua chief Swartboy assisted me. I thereby
made arrangements to confirm those partly made by the missionaries about
the time of departure of their ship, that it might not arrive too soon.
I then divided my party and settled matters relating to the future of the
wagons and their contents, also in regard to my three remaining mules,
the rest of which had died or been killed by lions long since. Then I
started afresh on August 13, taking one wagon with me, Andersson, three
of my best servants, and five or six of my most active Damaras, and went
in the first instance to Jonker.
He received me kindly, and I had the good fortune to find in this place
a fairly educated man, Erhardt, imported by the missionaries as a
schoolmaster, who spoke Dutch and English perfectly, and Hottentot fairly
well. I engaged his services, especially as he undertook to guide me as
far as Elephant Fountain (E.F. on the map), which had been the _ultima
Thule_ of the missionaries. I was also asked to settle some disputes
between the other Namaqua chiefs, who were all very friendly to me now. I
proposed to push farther forward from Elephant Fountain as far as time,
the exceptional drought of the year, and the weakened stamina of my oxen
permitted.
We left Jonker August 30, and arrived at Elephant Fountain September
11, where I found myself at last in a country of big game. There was
a copious spring, and herds of all kinds of animals came to drink. It
received its name from the large number of tusks found in the water at
this place when the Namaquas first reached it, as though it had been
a spot to which elephants travelled to die, according to a well-known
legend. It was then overgrown with reeds, and formed a notable covert
for wild beasts. It lies in a corner of the district then claimed by the
chief Amiral. Farther to the south of it the country becomes desert.
Amiral joined me, by arrangement, at Elephant Fountain for a shooting
expedition. He and his people seemed much more civilised than the other
Namaquas, and nearer in character to the Dutch Boers.
I left my wagon with two men, together with those of Amiral and some of
his own men whom he left behind to guard them, and starting on ride-oxen
with Andersson we reached Twas, the farthest point yet visited by Amiral,
on about the 28th. In front of us lay an arid plain, especially arid in
this very dry year, which had to be crossed in order to reach the next
watering place, well known to the Bushmen, but not to Amiral, and called
Tounobis.
My oxen were tired and footsore, but we went. It proved to be a journey
of 20½ hours actual desert travel, and led us suddenly into an ideal
country of big game. The ground, adjacent to a broad river-bed, was
trodden with the tracks of all sorts of animals, elephants, rhinoceros,
lions, and a vast variety of smaller game. Crowds of Bushmen were
encamped near to the water, busy with their pitfalls and with securing
an elephant that had fallen into one of them during the previous night.
We became great friends with the Bushmen, and sat late into the night
hearing their stories about themselves and the recent doings of a body
of strange Namaquas coming from the south, who in the preceding year had
swept past them and onwards to Lake Ngami, leaving unmistakable signs
of their expedition, and marauding as usual as they went. This much,
therefore, was established, that a feasible road existed from Walfish
Bay to the interior, of which I had myself travelled as far as Tounobis,
and the remaining few days’ journey had been travelled during the
preceding year by marauding Namaquas.
After staying a week at Tounobis, Amiral wished to return home, and I
was not in a position to travel farther afield, because the next stage
towards Lake Ngami was described by all as being more severe than the
last one, and with my tired oxen it was as much as we could do to get
back at all. So I returned, and, ultimately, found myself back on the
shores of Walfish Bay on December 5. The wished-for schooner arrived on
January 16, 1852. I finally parted with Andersson, Hans, and most of the
men, and retaining only three with me for the possibility of a short
travel in Portuguese territory, which came to nothing, I sailed to St.
Helena, whence I returned straight to England.
This, in a few words, is an outline of my journey. The distances were
(as carefully calculated), Walfish Bay to Station No. 3 (Barmen) 207
miles, Barmen to Nangoro 512 miles, Barmen to Tounobis 311 miles,—total
1030 miles, and nearly as many back; besides other side expeditions,
especially that to Erongo, and another of little interest that has not
been alluded to above.
This bald outline of a very eventful journey has taken little notice
of the risks and adventures which characterised it and are recorded in
my book. They must be imagined by the reader, otherwise the following
paragraph will seem overcharged, which it is not.
I had little conception of the severity of the anxiety under which I had
been living until I found myself on board the little vessel that took me
away, and I felt at last able to sleep in complete security. I had indeed
to be thankful that all ended so well. I did not lose one of my many
men either through violence or sickness during the long and harassing
journey. It was undertaken with servants who at starting were found to
be anything but qualified for their work, who grumbled, held back, and
even mutinied, and over whom I had none other than a moral control. The
very cattle that were to carry me had to be broken in, and I had to call
into service an indolent and cruel set of natives speaking an unknown
tongue. The country was suffering the atrocities of savage warfare when I
arrived—tribe against tribe and race against race—which had to be stopped
before I could proceed. I had no food to depend on except the cattle I
drove with me, which might any night decamp or be swept off by a raid.
That all this was gone through successfully I am indebted in the highest
degree both to Andersson and Hans, to whom I have had to make too scant
reference here for want of space.
Andersson remained behind to investigate the natural history of the
countries we had opened out, and wrote histories of his journeys and
observations. He ultimately died in Damara land. Hans found his way to
the gold diggings of Australia, but with the exception of one letter that
he sent me before starting I lost all communication with him, to my very
great regret. He must have met with mischance. I reached England exactly
two years after leaving it, that is on April 5, 1852, more than fifty-six
years ago.
I began this chapter by showing how largely the Geographical Society
aided me in preparing for the journey. I conclude it by showing how still
more deeply I became indebted to it for its approbation. The Society
awarded to me one of their two annual gold medals in 1854, “for having
at his [my] own cost and in furtherance of the expressed desire of the
Society, fitted out an expedition to explore the centre of South Africa,
and for having so successfully conducted it through the countries of the
Namaquas, the Damaras, and the Ovampo (a journey of about 1700 miles),
as to enable this Society to publish a valuable memoir and map in the
last volume of the Journal, relating to a country hitherto unknown; the
astronomical observations determining the latitude and longitude of
places having been most accurately made by himself.”
The President, Sir Roderick Murchison, in presenting the medal to me
at the Anniversary Meeting (I quote from the _Times_), having read the
above paragraph in the Report, said that Mr. Galton had a distinct claim
on the Society before all other African travellers, because he had
fitted out the expedition at his own expense in furtherance of their
expressed wishes, and had zealously accomplished that which he had so
disinterestedly undertaken. Then, turning to Mr. Galton, he added: “It
is now my pleasing duty to place in your hands this testimony of the
approbation of the Royal Geographical Society. I am sure you will receive
it, as we intend it, as the highest honour which we can possibly confer.
You left a happy home to visit a country never before penetrated by a
civilised being. You have accomplished that which every geographer in
this room must feel is of eminent advantage to the science in which we
take so deep an interest. Accept, with these expressions, my belief that,
so long as England possesses travellers with the resolution you have
displayed, and so long as private gentlemen will devote themselves to
accomplish what you have achieved, we shall always be able to boast that
this country produces the best geographers of the day.”
The Geographical Medal gave me an established position in the scientific
world. In connection with subsequent work, it caused me to be elected a
Fellow of the Royal Society in 1856, and to receive in the same year the
very high honour of election to the Athenæum Club under Rule II., which
provides that the Council may elect not more than nine persons in each
year on the ground of distinction in Science, Literature, Art, or Public
Service, being at the average rate of a little more than two elections
annually, under each of these four broad heads. The recipient is thereby
saved many, sometimes sixteen or more, years of waiting, before his turn
would arrive to be balloted for in the ordinary course of election. So
I have much to be grateful for to the Royal Geographical Society, and I
loyally did my best to promote its interests during the many years that I
served on its Council in various capacities.
CHAPTER XI
AFTER RETURN HOME—MARRIAGE
Yacht to Norway—Dover—Marriage—Relations of my own; those of my
wife
On returning to England, my gratification was great in finding all my
immediate relatives well and eager to welcome me. But I was rather used
up in health, and desired to get out of the way of being lionised, which
is exceedingly wearisome to the lion after the first excitement and
novelty of the process have worn away. So I gladly accepted an invitation
from Sir Hyde Parker to yacht and fish with him in Norway. He was a
famed fisherman, and had landed in Norway the largest salmon on record
with a fly, 66 lb. in weight, authoritatively confirmed. Several of his
yachting friends were to have sailed at the same time; but their plans
were affected by the electioneering then going on; consequently, after
the loss of some precious days, we were accompanied only by the yachts of
Mr. Bentinck and Mr. Milner Gibson.
The former told us interesting anecdotes of Lord Brougham’s early rise
at the Bar, how eagerly his help was sought by the smart men of those
days when they got into scrapes, as being more likely to get them out
of their difficulties than any one else. The extraordinary versatility
and energy of Lord Brougham had made a great impression on me at that
time and long previously, and I listened eagerly to anecdotes of him. A
timid and rather elderly lady had told me that Lord Brougham was once a
guest at her brother’s house, where his appearance was awaited with awe.
The great man arrived, talked incessantly and wonderfully well during
dinner, but retired early on account of business letters. Later on, while
she was preparing for bed, an awful yell or scream, which she could only
describe in the negative terms of unearthly and totally unlike anything
she had ever heard before, rang through the corridor. She tremblingly
snatched up whatever dress was at hand, and issued in terror to learn
what had happened. She met Lord Brougham’s valet with a candle in his
hand, walking leisurely, and cried to him, “What is it? What is it?” He
answered unconcernedly, “It is only his Lordship calling for me; that is
his usual way.”
There is a remarkably good wax effigy of Lord Brougham as a young man in
Madame Tussaud’s collection, perhaps the most real-looking of any there.
Later on I was taken to see him in his house at Cannes, a few years
before his death. Doubts had recently been expressed in the newspapers
about his version of the circumstances attending the dissolution of
Parliament by William iv., which made Lord Brougham exceedingly wroth. It
was fine but sad to witness the unmeasured indignation of the old hero,
punctuating his remarks as he sat, by heavy digs into the sand with the
point of his umbrella, held in both hands like a dagger.
Notwithstanding the Norway cruise, my health remained out of sorts, and a
little later in the year, while some of my old fever was on me, I could
not resist a dangerous exposure in order to witness the funeral of the
Duke of Wellington. This made me seriously ill; I could hardly stand, but
somehow made my way to my mother’s house at Claverdon, where she and my
sister Emma nursed me tenderly, and then, as I got better, it was agreed
that we should all go together to Dover for a complete change.
There I recovered completely, and became engaged to my future wife, the
daughter of the Very Rev. George Butler, Dean of Peterborough, who had
been Headmaster of Harrow during many years. My wife had three sisters
and four brothers, the latter all highly distinguished for scholastic and
administrative ability.
I shrink, yet cannot wholly refrain from speaking of the affection I
freely received from them, their relatives and their friends, all owing
to that happy marriage, which lasted forty-four years, and ended at Royat
in 1897, followed by a grave in the cemetery at Clermont Ferrand.
I shall say little about my purely domestic life, which, however full of
interest to myself, would be uninteresting to strangers, so I attempt
no more than to give brief accounts of the friendships and events
that followed my marriage in 1853 up to about 1866. This interval of
thirteen years occupies a fairly well defined part of my life owing to
two reasons, namely, that my scientific interests during its latter
half became concentrated on heredity, and because it was in 1866 that
my health suffered a more serious breakdown than had happened to it
before. During the whole of this interval I find from old diaries that
I frequently suffered from giddiness and other maladies prejudicial to
mental effort, but that I invariably became well again on completely
changing my habits, as by touring abroad and taking plenty of out-of-door
exercise. The warning I received in 1866 was more emphatic and alarming
than previously, and made a revision of my mode of life a matter of
primary importance. Those who have not suffered from mental breakdown can
hardly realise the incapacity it causes, or, when the worst is past, the
closeness of analogy between a sprained brain and a sprained joint. In
both cases, after recovery seems to others to be complete, there remains
for a long time an impossibility of performing certain minor actions
without pain and serious mischief, mental in the one and bodily in the
other. This was a frequent experience with me respecting small problems,
which successively obsessed me day and night, as I tried in vain to think
them out. These affected mere twigs, so to speak, rather than large
boughs of the mental processes, but for all that most painfully.
My own family became dispersed in four groups. My mother and my sister
Emma lived together in Leamington, and their house became a second home
to my wife and myself. My mother always showed the greatest affection
to me throughout her long life, which closed in 1874. After her death,
the house and garden devolved upon my sister Emma. She cared for the
interests of the family as a whole, and for each of us severally. She was
invaluable to my wife and myself, and became my regular correspondent,
whose weekly letters were awaited and read by us both with eagerness.
My eldest sister lived during the time with which I am now concerned,
with her husband and her two growing children, in the country, about
seven miles from Leamington.
My sister Adele lost her husband not long after her marriage, and settled
successively in various places at home and abroad, devoting herself, as
already said, to the education of her little girl. She died in 1883.
My second brother, Erasmus, lived for a while on his property at Loxton,
in Somersetshire, five miles from Weston-super-Mare, but joined the 2nd
Warwickshire Militia during many years, of which he became Major. He is
now the only survivor of my six brothers and sisters, and is ninety-three
years of age.
I turn from my own family to that of my wife. Her father was Dean of
Peterborough, previously Headmaster of Harrow during many years, and
before his appointment the Senior Wrangler at Cambridge, in the year
in which Copley, the future Lord Lyndhurst, was second. There was no
Classical class list in existence in Cambridge in those days, but the
fact of Dr. Butler’s election to the Headmastership of Harrow at a very
early age testifies to his reputation as a classical scholar as well as a
mathematician. He had been noted for athletic powers, and he much prized
a medal awarded to him by the Humane Society for having saved the life of
a drowning woman when long past his middle age. He afterwards overtaxed
his heart by exertion to catch a train, which, among other effects,
brought on a considerable degree of blindness, and made him in many
respects invalided before the age of eighty. But his mind was apparently
in full vigour, and his interests were most keen. Few persons had a more
courtly demeanour. I was fated never to know him as a father-in-law. When
I reached the Deanery from London, in order to be formally accepted into
the family, I found the blinds drawn, and learnt that the Dean had died
suddenly at luncheon. There had been some discussion in the morning about
Cathedral matters in the Chapter House, and the excitement told fatally
upon him, as it was always feared that any exceptional emotion might do.
I was taken upstairs to look upon his dead face.
The Dean was father of an exceptionally gifted family. All of his four
sons distinguished themselves highly at the Universities. The youngest
was the Senior Classic of his year, subsequently Headmaster of Harrow, as
his father had been before him, then for a brief time Dean of Gloucester,
now and for many past years Master of Trinity College, Cambridge.
The same gifts of nature have descended in large measure to the
grandchildren. Out of the eighteen grandsons of Dr. George Butler, Dean
of Peterborough, a full half have already shown exceptional ability.
Five have won a University Scholarship or prize, two others have given
promise of high administrative power in India, one of whom now occupies
the important post of Foreign Secretary to the Indian Government. Out of
the five granddaughters, one has obtained a First Class in History at
Oxford. This by no means exhausts the achievements of the grandchildren.
The Butler family well deserve study as an instance of hereditary gifts,
but this is hardly the place for it.
Neither can I enlarge as I could have done on the far greater importance
of being married into a family that is good in character, in health, and
in ability, than into one that is either very wealthy or very noble,
but lacks these primary qualifications. The enlargement afforded to the
previous family interests through marriage is so great that much must be
lost when first cousins marry one another.
I protest against the opinions of those sentimental people who think
that marriage concerns only the two principals; it has in reality the
wider effect of an alliance between each of them and a new family.
Moreover, the interests of the unborn should be taken far more seriously
into account than they now are. Enough is already known of the laws of
heredity to make it certain that the marriage of one class of persons
will lead on the whole to good results, and that of another class to evil
ones, however doubtful the result may be in particular cases. Of this I
shall speak more fully in the final chapter.
As regards the earlier domestic life of my wife and myself, we lived in
a flat in Victoria Street for three years; then I bought the long lease
of 42 Rutland Gate, which has been my home ever since. We followed the
usual routine of social life of persons of our class, making tours every
year, usually abroad. The doctors sometimes sent one or both of us to
undergo a cure at some watering-place. In this way we visited and, some
of them more than once, Spa, Vichy, Contréxéville, Wildbad, Baden, Royat,
and Mont Dore les Bains. We also often went to the Riviera and elsewhere.
My finances had at this time to be considered rather carefully, as an
income which was sure to arrive eventually was long delayed, and the
property that was to yield it entailed a cost that almost swallowed up
its profits. But there was no real stint; we had quite sufficient fortune
for an unpretending establishment, with abundant leisure besides.
Certainly we led a life that many in our social rank might envy. Among
our friends were not a few notable persons, a full half of whom were
first known to me through the connections of my wife. Then I was blessed
with an abundance of animal spirits and hopefulness, though they were
dashed temporarily over and over again by the great readiness with which
my brain became overtaxed; however, I always recuperated quickly. Once I
had a bad reminder of my old Syrian ague, but, thanks to quinine (which
the ancients would have deified had they known of its virtues), the
malady passed away so far out of sight as to have since recurred only at
long intervals.
One of the pleasantest description of events in those days were the
long walks I took, especially at Easter-time, with one or other of my
brothers-in-law, or with their or my own friends. Let me venture to
describe my own views as to provisions suitable for a day’s walk during a
homely tramp. They are such as can be procured at any town however small,
are tasty, easy to carry, exempt from butter, which is apt to leak out of
paper parcels, and are highly nutritious. They are two slices of bread
half an inch thick, a slice of cheese of nearly the same thickness, and
a handful of sultana raisins. The raisins supply what bread and cheese
lack; they play the same part that cranberries do in pemmican, that
nasty, and otherwise scarcely eatable food of Arctic travellers. The
luncheon rations that I advocate are compact, and require nothing besides
water to afford a satisfactory and sustaining midday meal. If sultanas
cannot be got, common raisins will do; lumps of sugar make a substitute,
but a very imperfect one.
We frequently enjoyed the hospitality of the Headmaster of Harrow and his
wife. One delightful way of spending Sunday in those days was to walk
to Harrow along what was then a comparatively countrified road, to take
afternoon tea at the house of my wife’s mother, Mrs. Butler, who resided
on the outskirts of Harrow, to go to the evening service at the School
Chapel, to have a good square tea-supper at the Headmaster’s, presided
over by his attractive wife (née Elliot), where interesting people were
nearly always present; afterwards to walk or rail home in the evening,
usually with a companion.
CHAPTER XII
“ART OF TRAVEL”
Compilation of the _Art of Travel_—Lectures at
Aldershot—Heliostat—Rifle screen—_Reader_ newspaper
I was rather unsettled during a few years, wishing to undertake a fresh
bit of geographical exploration, or even to establish myself in some
colony; but I mistrusted my powers, for the health that had been much
tried had not wholly recovered. On the other hand, there was abundance
of useful work at home. Geographical exploration had become a topic of
general interest. Burton had penetrated to Mecca. Japan was opened, and
Laurence Oliphant had returned thence. Dr. Barth had come back at last
from his long exploration of North Africa, including districts which are
now under British and French rule and well mapped, but at that time were
either partially or quite unknown. It is very different now; a letter can
be sent for a penny to Kano, and Timbuctoo has become a French military
station. Arctic expeditions by land and sea were then much to the fore;
Dr. Rae (1813-1893) had performed his great journeys in Arctic North
America, with a wonderfully small and inexpensive equipment. Lesseps
was engaged in obtaining support for making the Suez Canal, and I must
say that the British engineers who pooh-poohed its possibility at the
meeting of the Royal Geographical Society, where it was the subject of
a paper by Lesseps, have proved untrustworthy guides and prophets. I
threw myself into the thick of the discussions and criticisms of whatever
had just been done, and into the preparations for what was about to be
undertaken, and was in short a very active member of the Council.
It was not long after my marriage that the character of a piece of work
that lay before me was clearly perceived. It was ready to be taken
in hand and most suitable to my powers. It was to aid others in the
exploration of the then unknown parts of the world, especially of Africa,
of whose total length as much had been seen by me in my two journeys as
perhaps by any one else then living. Being placed on the Council of the
Royal Geographical Society, I thoroughly utilised that position to fulfil
my object. The ignorance of travellers in any one country of the arts of
travel employed in others was great, and I tried to make a compendium
of them all. Having easy access to every traveller of note in England,
I read many books of travel, or rather skimmed them for the purpose.
Amongst others, I turned over every page in Pinkerton’s well-known series
of large quarto volumes of the narratives of travellers.
The result was that sufficient material was gathered for the composition
of a small book entitled the _Art of Travel_ (Murray). It soon reached a
second edition, and was afterwards rewritten and much enlarged to form
a third edition, which was stereotyped, and even now continues to be
sold. I also took considerable part in the first edition of the _Hints
to Travellers_ issued by the Geographical Society, which has long since
quite outgrown its original form, all its chapters having been rewritten,
each of them by experts. In its present shape it is a most trustworthy
guide to travellers for such instrumental and other scientific work as
they need to be acquainted with. The Anthropological “Notes and Queries”
are a similar and most useful compendium relating to that branch of
science. I had some share in this, but by no means a large one.
I cannot resist quoting the following letter from my cousin Charles
Darwin, the great naturalist, whose opinion as the author of the _Voyage
of the Beagle_ was naturally valued by me most highly. I had asked him
for hints while engaged on the first edition of the _Art of Travel_, and
sent him a copy of it, to which he now refers. This was four years before
the publication of the _Origin of Species_:—
“DOWN, _Jan. 10, ?1855_
“MY DEAR GALTON,—I received your kind present yesterday. I
always thought your idea of your Book a very good one, and
that you would do it capitally, and from what I have seen my
forethought is, I am sure, _quite_ justified. I hope that your
volume will have a large sale, but what I fully expect is that
it will have a long sale, and if you save from some disasters
half a dozen explorers, I feel sure that you will think
yourself well rewarded for all the trouble your volume must
have cost you.—Believe me, my dear Galton, yours very truly,
“C. DARWIN”
The outbreak of the Crimean War showed the helplessness of our soldiers
in the most elementary matters of camp-life. Believing that something
could be done by myself towards removing this extraordinary and culpable
ignorance, I offered to give lectures on the subject, gratuitously, at
the then newly founded camp at Aldershot. As may be imagined from what
is otherwise known of the confusion of the War Office at that time,
no answer at all was sent to my letters, until I ventured to apply
personally to the then Premier, Lord Palmerston, who at once caused me to
be installed. It is evident from my old notebooks that I worked very hard
to frame a suitable course of practical instruction and of lectures for
those who cared to profit by them.
General Knowles (1797-1883) was then in command, and he gave me both
moral and material help. He assigned me two huts, and made arrangements
about hours. My second brother, Erasmus, was in camp as Captain in the
2nd Warwickshire Militia, and his presence was most grateful to me.
I myself took a small house about two miles from my hut, and walked
there and back each day. Several officers came, and not a few of them
showed interest. A lecture was also given by me at the United Service
Institution, and the newspapers warmly backed the attempt. The War
Office requested that ten (I think) reproductions should be made of
a cabinet with four drawers, containing models of what was exhibited
in my lectures. One of the cabinets was sent to the South Kensington
Museum, and may be there still. One was sent to Woolwich. The others were
distributed elsewhere. I do not think that my lectures had much other
result, because the rude teachings of the Crimean War soon superseded
mine, and the army generally became expert in much of what I had wished
should be known by them.
A small contrivance of my own, over which I spent a great deal of time,
may be alluded to here; it is described at length in the _Art of Travel_,
and in other publications, as a “Hand Heliostat”[10]. I contrived and
practised with it long before the present system of sun-signalling had
been invented. The use of a heliostat for creating a point of light,
visible at great distances for purposes of Ordnance triangulation,
had long been fully recognised; a description of its employment from
Snowdon to Scawfell has already been given in Chapter V. The difficulty
in using a portable instrument is to direct the flash with sufficient
accuracy of aim. If the part of the landscape upon which the flash falls
could actually be seen by the operator, it would always appear to be
of exactly the same size as the disc of the sun itself, whatever the
distance may be; in other words, it subtends an angle of about 30 minutes
of a degree. My plan was to divert a small part of the flash so as to
create a mock-sun in the field of view of the instrument, which the
operator could throw, by judicious handling, upon any desired spot in
the landscape, with the assurance that persons on the ground covered by
the mock-sun could see the flash. The instrument is now used in nautical
surveys, as I was told by the late Hydrographer, Sir William Wharton, to
enable shore parties to make their exact whereabouts visible to those
on the ship. The heliostat that I usually carried with me went easily
into a large waistcoat pocket, and was very efficient at a distance of
ten miles. I should have been glad to possess one on many occasions when
travelling in Damara Land. However, without additional complications, it
could not be made into a really serviceable instrument for transmitting
verbal messages. It would then require nearly as much trouble to carry as
the present sun-signalling apparatus, while it would be less rapid and
sure.[3]
It is interesting to flash with a small mirror against a light-coloured
surface that lies in shadow, as through an open window against the
opposite wall of the room behind. The size and shape of the mirror is
then seen to have very little influence on the size or shape of the
mock-sun, even at moderate distances. In long-range signalling their
influence is wholly inappreciable.
I may describe here another contrivance, partly belonging to
Art-of-Travel matters, partly military, that I sent to the United Service
Institution[12]. It was appropriate to the days of “Brown Bess,” but
useless as a protection against modern musket bullets with their flat
trajectories. I showed it was easy to provide a screen under which A.
could hit B. at any distance beyond, say, 200 yards, while on the other
hand B. could not hit A., although he might see him clearly. The balls of
B. would be intercepted by the target. The principle on which the target
gave protection was that the flight of a bullet does not describe a
symmetrical curve. Its course is nearly straight at first, then gradually
curves downward until it may be said to plunge. If A. and B. are in full
sight of one another but at some little distance apart, and fire at one
another, the courses of the incoming and outgoing bullet are different.
That of the incoming bullet is higher by several inches or feet than the
outgoing. Consequently, if a shield be interposed, near to A., above his
line of shooting and at such a height that it will not interfere with his
outgoing shot, it will effectually prevent a shot of B. from touching
him, and conversely. The numerical conditions are worked out on the
paper. The idea took the fancy of some of the audience, as one that might
possibly be of much service.
I was a humble sharer in an undertaking started by Herbert Spencer, of
establishing a weekly newspaper of literature and science, that was to
eclipse the existing ones. His contention was that, if a few selected
men were to combine each to write one article weekly, on a subject
within his own province, a periodical might be produced that would have
great weight and authority. The late Sir Frederick Pollock undertook its
general editorship, to be helped in all details by a paid sub-editor,
Mr. B., while he would keep the more purely literary portion in his own
hands. Tom Hughes (the author of _Tom Brown_) lent us his rooms and his
co-operation. Tyndall undertook Physical Science; Huxley took Physiology,
with reservation, as he could not afford to give much gratuitous work;
Spencer, of course, took Philosophy; my part was to look after Travels
and Geography, and there were a few others. We subscribed £100 each;
Spencer persuaded a City friend to do a little more in order to start the
concern, so a Limited Liability Company was formed, and the newspaper
was called _The Reader_. It was an amusing experience, owing to Mr. B.’s
insistence, from a commercial point of view, about the necessity of
obtaining advertisements by all sorts of ingenious means, but some of
which, in our opinions, were not quite above-board. Then it was brought
home to us that, as our venture was one of limited liability, whatever we
bought must be paid for at once, while what we were to receive would not
be paid for many months. We were like children in the hands of Mr. B.,
who knew all the ins and outs of the commercial conditions of success,
concerning which we were almost childishly ignorant. The newspaper proved
dull, notwithstanding some really good articles. The management was
naturally too amateurish; promised articles were delayed, and the time
of the committee was too much wasted in frequent discussions about first
principles, upon which Spencer loved to dilate. So _The Reader_ did not
thrive. Its expenditure exceeded its incomings, our reserve fund melted
away, and the newspaper came to an end after about a year’s existence. We
each lost our hundred pounds, but no more, and had gained an unexpected
view of the seamy side of journalistic enterprise.
CHAPTER XIII
SOCIAL LIFE
Interesting visits—Explorers of those days—Other notabilities
and friends
Entries in old diaries recall many pleasant social meetings at home,
whether dinners, breakfasts, or simple gatherings of friends, where
there was generally some traveller or other lion of the day whom people
were glad to meet. I made occasional excursions to visit Charles
Darwin at Down, usually at luncheon-time, always with a sense of the
utmost veneration as well as of the warmest affection, which his
invariably hearty greeting greatly encouraged. I think his intellectual
characteristic that struck me most forcibly was the aptness of his
questionings; he got thereby very quickly to the bottom of what was in
the mind of the person he conversed with, and to the value of it.
I enjoyed two interesting visits to Lord Ashburton at the Grange, under
the presidency of the first and second Lady Ashburton respectively.
Carlyle was a guest on both occasions. On my first meeting him he
surprised me by his unexpectedly courteous and even polished manner, but
he became more like his ordinary self later on. On the second occasion
he seemed to me the greatest bore that a house could tolerate. He had a
well-known story then to the fore, which W. H. Brookfield (1809-1874),
who was a very constant guest, told me he had indulged in five times
that day already, and undertook that he should repeat it for my benefit
a sixth time, which he did. Then Carlyle raved about the degeneracy of
the modern English without any facts in justification, and contributed
nothing that I could find to the information or pleasure of the society.
He, however, executed a performance with great seriousness which was
decidedly funny, by hopping gravely on one leg up and down within the
pillars of the portico, which he had discovered to be a prompt way of
warming himself in the then chilly weather.
It is difficult to select events out of the very many that were then
interesting to me. One was a visit to Mr. Webb at Newstead Abbey, the
old home of the poet Lord Byron, which he had recently purchased. Mr.
Webb had been a first-class African sportsman, of whom mention will be
made in the next chapter in connection with the identification of Dr.
Livingstone’s remains. The mementoes of Lord Byron at Newstead Abbey
were well cared for, and most touching to me, for I had in my youth an
unlimited admiration of his works; so I drank greedily with my eyes all
that I saw connected with him. I will here anticipate very many years,
and mention a tragedy that occurred only two autumns ago to Lord Byron’s
grandson and representative, Lord Lovelace. My niece, who has managed
my home since the death of my wife, spent a few summer weeks with me
in the pretty village of Ockham. The night before leaving it to return
home to London we were invited to Ockham Park after tea-time, for a
quiet farewell call. Lord Lovelace was exceptionally agreeable, the
conversation was general, and the evening passed by most pleasantly. It
had been arranged that his carriage should take us back; he accompanied
us to it, and wished us good-bye in the most friendly and courteous
manner. No one outside his household, and very few of these, saw him
again alive. It appeared that he dressed himself for dinner, and after
coming downstairs fell dead on the floor.
I saw much of Richard, afterwards Sir Richard, Burton and of Lawrence
Oliphant in those days. There were exceedingly pleasant social gatherings
held after each meeting of the Geographical Society of geographers and
others, who were invited by Admiral Murray to his rooms in the Albany.
He was an excellent host, and justly popular among a great variety
of men whom he had the tact to bring harmoniously together in his
chambers. Bishop Wilberforce, who prided himself on worldly _savoir
faire_, was occasionally a guest; Burton was habitually there, but his
usual conversation in those days was not exactly of a stamp suitable
to episcopal society. I was present at the first introduction of these
two men, whose behaviour was most comic, each trying to act the part
appropriate to the other, and, I must add, doing it most successfully,
and to all appearance quite naturally. Burton was a great reader,
generally to be seen at the Athenæum with a folio volume before him,
and he was a prodigious note-taker during his travels. He lent me his
notebook on Zanzibar, of which I shall shortly speak again, and I was
astonished at the variety and amount of information he had written in
it, in his small, clear handwriting.
Lawrence Oliphant had a most winning manner and a marvellous facility of
expression. I have served on more Council meetings than could easily be
reckoned, and am only too familiar with the often recurring difficulty
of finding a phrase that shall cover just as much of the question under
discussion as is generally accepted, without touching any part on
which there is disagreement. Oliphant had the art of hitting upon the
appropriate phrase on these occasions more deftly and aptly than any one
else whom I can remember. We worked together most pleasantly as joint
secretaries under the presidency of John Crawfurd, the Ethnologist, who
nicknamed us his two sons.
I had the great pleasure of again falling in with Mansfield Parkyns of
Abyssinian fame, at Admiral Murray’s hospitable gatherings.
Among many other distinguished travellers who were in England during the
fifties, I should mention Dr. Barth, who was a learned and simple-minded
man. The five volumes of his travels in North Africa have the merits
and demerits of many German books, being full of information but
deterrent in form. I suspect that few Englishmen have read them through
as conscientiously as I did. He was a great believer in the importance
of the Hausa language to traders and settlers. It was then practically
unknown even to professed linguists, so he brought over with him a bright
Hausa boy to help him and others in learning it. I never knew exactly
what happened, but it seems there was evidence that the boy had expressed
a wish to go back to Africa, as he well may have done in moments of
temporary depression, whereupon the zealous secretary of a philanthropic
Society threatened poor Barth with an action for kidnapping if he did not
send the boy back at once. Barth was amazed, and sought advice, which was
that considering the sectarian bitterness with which the action would
probably be carried on, the ease with which thoughtless expressions might
be twisted into deliberate words, and the certain cost and tediousness
of legal proceedings, it would be wiser for him to submit and to send
back the boy. This he did with no little grief, and so all attempt to
lexiconise and grammarise the Hausa language was thrown back for many
years, during which a knowledge of it would have been of material use in
various British operations on the West Coast of Africa.
A long subsequent attempt was, however, made with success by a small
committee, of whom I was one and Major Leonard Darwin another, under
the Presidency of Sir George Goldie, through whose efforts sufficient
funds were collected to enable Mr. Robinson to study the Hausa language
seriously and on the spot. Opportunities for learning it have now been
afforded, and are used at Cambridge by prospective military and civil
servants in West Africa.
Mr. Crawfurd (1783-1868) was then a vigorous old man of considerable
moral weight and of great experience, with not a few amusing
peculiarities (Sir Roderick Murchison called him laughingly, in public,
the Objector General). He had been secretary to Sir Stamford Raffles,
and, according to what he told to me, and I presume also to others, he
was the sole originator of the idea of making Singapore a free port,
and had trouble in convincing Sir Stamford that it would be wise to do
this. He became its first Governor, and the descriptions he gave of his
multifarious occupations in that new post, with a very small staff,
were amusing. He established a newspaper and wrote much of it himself.
The settlement quickly grew in size and wealth, and had attained much
importance by the time he retired. He compiled the first Malay Dictionary
and Grammar. Having failed in England to secure a seat in Parliament, he
engaged heart and soul in Ethnology and Geography, spoke very frequently
at meetings, always with reason, and he wrote many ethnological papers,
all good, but perhaps few of first rank. He was a very kind and helpful
friend to me. He caught his death illness through handing ladies to their
carriage on the occasion of one of his Soirées, on a bitter night. He
died believing in his delirium that he was speaking at the Ethnological
Society (since merged into the Anthropological), to which he was devoted.
Mr. George Bentham (1800-1884), the botanist, was a great friend of Mr.
Crawfurd, and he became a kind friend to myself and to my wife. He was
son of General Bentham, who obtained one of the highest positions as
constructor of ships in the Russian Navy, and he was nephew to Jeremy
Bentham. Mr. George Bentham was the companion in youth of John Stuart
Mill, of whom he had much to tell. In his early manhood he took to
logic, and wrote an important paper, in which he pointed out that the
distinctiveness of a certain logical operation in common use had been
overlooked and never received a name. I myself am ignorant of logical
subtleties, and repeat the following much as a parrot might. He called
the operation in question the “Quantification of the Predicate.” Years
passed by, during which he abandoned logic and gave all his time to
systematic botany, for which his logical training was helpful. He had
been President of the Linnæan Society for many years, and his name
had become familiar to every botanist and dabbler in botany. At this
time a letter in some newspaper (I think the _Athenæum_) was brought
to his notice, in which the writer dwelt on the importance of this
“Quantification of the Predicate.” He mentioned the name of its young
author, adding that he had taken much pains, in vain, to learn what had
become of him,—could any reader supply information?
Mr. Bentham called one morning in 1880, together with Sir Joseph (then
Mr.) Hooker, to congratulate me on having just had a whole genus of
flowers of singular beauty called after me by the French botanist, J.
Decaisne (Prof. de Culture, Musée d’Histoire Naturelle, Paris)[60]. I
was amazed, for I know next to nothing of botany. The story was this. A
beautiful plant had been sent from Natal to Europe. It was described at
Kew as _Hyacinthus Candicans_, but M. Decaisne would not consent to such
a denomination. He pointed out particulars in the plant that hyacinths
have not, and the absence of other particulars that hyacinths have, and
he renamed it. Why he pitched upon my name for the purpose I do not
know, but suppose that he may have consulted a list of the South African
medallists of the French Geographical Society, and finding my name among
them, selected it. I have not the slightest claim to the honour, but
accepted its bestowal by him and its ratification by our then greatest
botanists, Hooker and Bentham, with amusement. Seedsmen still class it
among the hyacinths, saying that they are obliged to have as few separate
headings in their catalogues as possible. I append a little picture of
_Galtonia Candicans_ to this book as a vignette at the bottom of its last
page.
Mr. Atkinson (1799-1861) had returned with huge oil paintings
from Siberia, which he carried in rolls on camel back, sometimes
tandem-fashion. His career was strange. He was originally little more
than a quick-witted stone-mason’s boy, who afterwards rose, and then
hearing that a design was to be competed for at St. Petersburg for
some memorial, he drew a design, sent it there, and it was selected.
He thereupon moved to Russia, and in some mysterious way obtained the
confidence of the Czar Nicholas so completely that Atkinson received what
was most unusual, if not unprecedented, a free ukase to travel and paint
where he would. Possibly the Czar wished for unbiased and independent
evidence as to certain matters in South Siberia, and Atkinson may have
acted as a secret agent. He was made much of by persons of the highest
rank in Russia, and he was married in the Chapel of the British Embassy
to an English lady who had resided in one of the great Russian families
as their companion. She accompanied him in his great journey. On their
arrival in England they were widely received and welcomed. They took a
picturesque but ramshackle small house and garden, called Hawk Cottage,
that stood on the old Brompton Road, nearly opposite to where Bina
Gardens now are, on a spot that had not then passed into the hands of the
builders of streets. They were much visited by members of the highest
Russian nobility and by many English friends.
In 1861 Mr. Atkinson died, and his wife applying to the Treasury for some
money due to him, was met by the astounding assertion, backed by abundant
proof, that she was not legally his wife, inasmuch as he had been married
before he went to Russia to a lady who was still living in England. To
the natural inquiry why the claim should be now put forward for the first
time, considering the publicity under which Mr. Atkinson had lived, the
reply was that no news of him had reached the claimant, who occupied a
different grade of society, until intelligence had been sent to her by
a friend of her husband’s death. This tragic termination affected many
of us greatly. We recollected that Atkinson had avoided bringing his
wife (as we thought she was) to the forefront, and it had been remarked
at the time of the publication of his book of travels that he made the
scantiest references to her, and never used the word “wife.” It was a
wonder, and it is so still, how he dared to settle in London and risk a
serious criminal charge. Friends gathered round Mrs. Atkinson, as I must
still call her, and helped her in many substantial ways. She afterwards
returned to Russia.
It was during this time that I made the acquaintance of the then Mr.,
afterwards Sir John Lubbock, and now Lord Avebury, who was engaged on
his _Prehistoric Times_, and had attracted the friendship of most of
the men of the day who were destined to become famous in science. His
week-end invitations were always most instructive and grateful. It is
difficult justly to express the value of such opportunities of friendly
and unhurried converse. I received great kindness and much warm welcome
at his house, and was captivated by the ingenuity of his experiments on
ants and bees.
Amongst many friends whose acquaintance I first made at Sir John
Lubbock’s was Herbert Spencer, then struggling with difficulties
connected with his serial publications. They were removed by the
unexpected visit of an American gentleman, with a gold watch, who made
a brief oration to the effect that Spencer’s admirers in America feared
the cessation of his publications in pamphlet form owing to financial
reasons. That they had consequently subscribed and invested a (handsome)
sum in his name in Consols, and had further deputed him—the speaker—to
present the gold watch as a token of their esteem. It was a touching and
cheering event to Spencer, who always wore the watch. It, moreover, went
well, which was not invariably the case with costly presentation watches
in those days.
I met Herbert Spencer frequently at the Athenæum, and had many
conversations with him there. He was always ready to listen
sympathetically to new views and to express his opinion on them, but he
disliked to argue. I persuaded him once to go with me to see the Derby,
in company with a near relative of mine who was an Oxford clerical don.
These two were perhaps as incongruous a pair in some respects as could
easily be devised, but they enjoyed each other’s company. All went off
quite well, except that Spencer would not be roused to enthusiasm by the
races. He said that the crowd of men on the grass looked disagreeable,
like flies on a plate; also that the whole event was just like what he
had imagined the Derby to be. Still, he evidently liked the excursion,
and notwithstanding his asseverations at the time to the contrary, he
repeated his experience on at least one subsequent occasion.
For my own part, I especially enjoy the start of the horses, for their
coats shine so brightly in the sunshine, the jockeys are so sharp and
ready, and the delays due to false starts give opportunities of seeing
them well. I don’t care much for its conclusion, but I used often after
seeing the start to run to the top of the rising ground between the
starting point and the stand, and sometimes got a good opera-glass view
of much of the finish.
A curious sight caught my attention on one of these occasions. I was on
the side of the course that faced the distant stand, and amused myself
while waiting in studying the prevalent tint of the sea of faces upon it.
At length the horses were off, but it was hot, and I was contented to
remain in quiet where I was. When the horses approached the winning-post,
the prevalent tint of the faces in the great stand changed notably, and
became distinctly more pink under the flush of excitement. I wrote a
short notice of the experience in _Nature_, under my initials, but have
kept no copy and quite forget the year.
I enjoyed the friendship during more than fifty years of the Hon. George
Brodrick, in his later years Warden of Merton, whose memoirs are probably
known to most of my readers. When I first knew him he was reputed one of
the foremost of those rising men at Oxford who were contemporaries with
my brother-in-law, Arthur Butler, and among whom was Goschen. Brodrick
became a distinguished journalist, for many years on the staff of the
_Times_. He had a strong taste for geography, partly through being
sent in his youth on a long voyage to India and back, for the sake of
his health. Becoming a member of the Council of the Royal Geographical
Society, he gave important help to the introduction of Geography into the
curriculum of his University. He was always a warm friend to me, and I
enjoyed not a few brief visits to Merton College when he was established
there as its Warden. His eccentricities were all amiable, and gave
harmless amusement to his friends; especially his reluctance in accepting
the proferred Wardenship of Merton, for which his friends thought he was
exactly suited. He, however, considered it to have a serious drawback
in depriving him of the possibility of a Parliamentary career, to which
most of them considered him unsuited. Moreover, he had twice been an
unsuccessful candidate for a seat in Parliament. I do not attempt more in
these few lines than to express my grateful remembrance of him, and my
appreciation of his many great qualities, including a large capacity for
steadfast friendships and a highly religious mind very tolerant of the
differing opinions of others.
A grateful intimacy grew up between my wife and myself and Mr. Frederick
North of Rougham, in Norfolk, at that time residing as a widower in
his house at Hastings, for which town he was Member of Parliament
during many years. His two daughters were then with him, the eldest,
Miss Marianne North (1830-1890), widely known for her travels after his
death, in order to paint flowers in far distant lands with scientific
accuracy. The building in Kew Gardens was devised by her friend J.
Fergusson (1808-1886), the writer on architecture, and built to hold her
collection; she presented it to the Gardens. The younger daughter became
wife of John Addington Symonds (1840-1893), the well-known critic and
writer. My wife and I spent very many happy visits to Hastings Lodge,
where the heartiness of reception and the amplitude of real comfort
without any attempt at display were remarkable. That valued friendship
towards me still continues in the third generation of descent from Mr.
North.
I owed to my wife a highly valued intimacy with Mr. and Mrs. Russell
Gurney. The clock of the latter, which she left me in her Will, is within
two yards of where I am writing this, and I look back to the lifelong
friendships of her and her husband with no ordinary affection. The
portrait of Mr. Russell Gurney (1804-1878) by Watts, which is in the
National Gallery, is extremely like; it strikes me, if I may venture on
any opinion connected with Art, as one of the very best in any of our
three great national collections. The portrait of Mrs. Russell Gurney,
also by Watts, which is now in the possession of her relatives, is rather
forced in pose. It is much to be regretted that no adequate biography has
been written of her. The one which is published dwells too exclusively
on the devotional side of her character, and fails sadly to bring out
her originality, charm, and humour. Like many other persons who are
profoundly religious, she too was perfectly tolerant of other beliefs
than her own if they were genuine and decorously expressed.
Her endowment of a Chapel of Rest in the Bayswater Road has by no means
fulfilled her wishes. Her object was to establish a quiet artistic
shelter, where persons desiring a few minutes’ withdrawal from the
turmoil of life, might enter and commune in quiet with themselves. She
obtained a disused chapel, and arranged for its maintenance. Then she
took great pains over the designs that were to be painted on the walls in
fresco. When these were sufficiently advanced, she, long since a widow
and in rapidly declining health, invited many friends to its opening.
My wife and I were rather late, and I can see now the sweet welcoming
gesture with which she beckoned us up to her on the platform. We never
saw her again. She lingered on, unwilling, or unable, to see any even
of her oldest friends, and at length died. The Chapel of Rest remained
unfinished for some years. It is little used, and can, or could, be
entered only at specified hours.
As to Mr. Russell Gurney, who served on many important commissions, he
twice refused a judgeship, preferring to retain his post of “Recorder” of
the City of London, which is of nearly equal dignity to a judgeship, and
did not at that time preclude its holder from sitting in Parliament. He
was member for Southampton. I have known no one who struck me as a more
just, searching, and yet kindly judge, or whom I would more willingly be
tried by if I fell into trouble.
It was to my wife, also, that I owed the friendship of Mr. and Mrs.
Robert Hollond of Stanmore. She was exceptionally gifted by nature
with grace, sympathy, artistic taste, and many other high qualities.
Her portrait, by Scheffer, is in the Tate Gallery. Her face closely
corresponded to his imaginary ideal when painting St. Augustine and
Monica, so he enjoyed the opportunity of painting Mrs. Hollond’s own
portrait. She was even more at home in France than in England, and
intimate with many distinguished statesmen of the Orleanist party. Her
husband’s wealth gave her great facilities for cultivating her æsthetic
tastes to the full. He was chiefly known to the public at one time as
subsidiser of the “Nassau” balloon, which carried him, Green the famous
aeronaut, and, I think, Mr., afterwards Lord Justice, James (who was an
old friend of his), and two others. They sailed from London to a town in
Nassau; which was at that time by far and away a record distance for a
balloon to drift. Numerous memorial pictures of that adventure were in
his house.
It was in the middle fifties that my friendship commenced with William
Spottiswoode (1825-1883), one of the most capable and true-hearted of
men, who became President of the Royal Society, and now lies buried
in Westminster Abbey, “at the request alike of the foremost of his
countrymen in Church and State, in Science, Art and Literature, and of
his own workmen, to whose best interests his life had been devoted.” This
is the singularly apt inscription on his tombstone. I asked Dean Bradley,
then Dean of Westminster, if he knew who was its author. He replied,
“Myself.” It is to be regretted that no good biography exists of W.
Spottiswoode. Many notices were published at his death, and it gratified
me to learn that one which I wrote for the Royal Geographical Society on
one aspect of his many-sided character greatly pleased his family and
some of his intimate friends.
The main features of his life were that he was the son of the then
Queen’s Printer, of good Scottish family, and the presumed heir to a
considerable fortune. He went to Oxford, where he obtained the University
Scholarship in mathematics, and where also intelligence reached him of
the entire collapse of his father’s fortune through unwise speculation.
He braced himself to the occasion, and, after many years of hard work,
himself succeeding his father as Queen’s Printer, he created a model
business on the largest scale, and rehabilitated the lost fortune. In the
meantime he had sufficient spare energy to occupy himself day by day with
congenial pursuits in literature and science. Among other diversions he
loved to travel considerable distances during the few weeks he annually
allowed himself for vacation, and to acquire much knowledge of other
countries in that way. Enormously worked as he was, he always seemed to
have leisure, and he did with thoroughness whatever he undertook.
At this time there was still much ignorance concerning the northern part
of the peninsula of Sinai, especially of the plain of El Tih, and he
suggested to me that by making judicious preparations its survey might
be accomplished within the short space of time that he could afford.
I agreed to join him. We worked hard to prepare ourselves, and made a
large sketch map, on which notes of every important traveller bearing
on the part in which we were interested were entered at the locality
they referred to. It was desirable for him to have some experience in
surveying, and as I was going to the Isle of Wight, we agreed to practise
there. The first and only attempt had an absurd ending. We found a
strongly railed field suitable for a commencement, into which we got by
climbing the fence, and prepared to unpack, not particularly noticing the
cattle in it; but one of them was a bull, who, after the manner of such
animals, advanced in so threatening and determined a manner that we had
to retreat from the brute as best we could.
This proved to be the end of our joint experiments, for I was taken ill
with what seemed at first to be only a very bad sore throat, but which
developed into a singular form of quinsy of a dangerous character. My old
friends, Mr. Hodgson and Dr. Todd, were unremitting in their attentions,
and told me afterwards that they were on the point of having my windpipe
opened, as I was nearly suffocating. At last, an abscess which was
situated in a gland on the upper surface of the tongue, but far back
near its root, broke, and I breathed freely. I was soon able to swallow,
and gradually became convalescent, but Mr. Hodgson peremptorily forbade
further thoughts of Sinai. I shall have to refer again to W. Spottiswoode.
It has happened to me more than once to be nearly suffocated, and to
have been surprised at the absence of that gasping desire for air that
one feels when the breath is suddenly checked. A very little seems
sufficient to divert attention from that desire, and to leave the sense
only of being ill and on the point of swooning. My chief experiences
may seem hardly credible; they were due to a fancy of mine to obtain
distinct vision when diving. The convex eyeball stamps a concave lens in
the water, whose effect has to be neutralised by a convex lens. This has
to be very “strong,” because the refractive power of a lens is greatly
diminished by immersion in water. My first experiment was in a bath,
using the two objectives of my opera-glass in combination, and with some
success. I then had spectacles made for me, which I described at the
British Association in 1865[19]. With these I could read the print of a
newspaper perfectly under water, when it was held at the exact distance
of clear vision, but the range of clear vision was small. I amused myself
very frequently with this new hobby, and being most interested in the act
of reading, constantly forgot that I was nearly suffocating myself, and
was recalled to the fact not by any gasping desire for breath, but purely
by a sense of illness, that alarmed me. It disappeared immediately after
raising the head out of water and inhaling two or three good whiffs of
air.
Mr. Alexander Macmillan asked me in the later fifties to undertake the
editorship of a volume to be called _Vacation Tourists_[11], which would
be repeated annually if the venture succeeded. His view was that many
able young men travelled every summer, each of whom would have enough to
say to make a good article, and that a collection of their contributions
would suffice for an interesting annual volume. I consented, and found
the occupation very agreeable, for it put me into pleasant communication
with many whom it was a privilege to know, but excision was often an
unwelcome duty. Thus among the many contributions offered for one of
the volumes, I had thirteen separate descriptions of sea-sickness. The
venture paid its way, but no more, and was discontinued after the third
volume.
A total eclipse visible in Spain occurred on July 18, 1860, and the
Government lent their magnificent transport the _Himalaya_ to those
who were selected to observe it, by and under the leadership of the
then Astronomer-Royal, Mr., afterwards Sir George, Airy (1801-1892). I
applied, and was granted permission to join. We went with great comfort
and speed, first to Bilbao, where small parties, of whom mine of four
persons was one, were landed. The rest went on to Santander.
Careful preparations had been made in Spain for our comfort, as few of us
knew a word of the language, and serious obstructions due to intolerance
might otherwise have occurred for want of timely explanation. These
excellent arrangements were entirely due to the forethought of Mr.
Vignolles, a famous contractor for railways, who was then occupied with
those of Spain. One of his many subordinates was allotted as interpreter
to each small party; ours proved to be a most agreeable guide and
informant. The position allotted to our party was in the neighbourhood of
Logroño, whither we proceeded at once in order to study the neighbourhood
and to select a suitable spot. This was quickly found on a picturesque
hill called La Guardia, crowned with a convent and village, which lay
in the central line of totality, and commanded a grand view of the plain
over which the shadow of the coming eclipse would sweep.
Thanks to the diplomacy of our interpreter, we obtained permission to
use the flat roof of one of the highest houses, where we established
ourselves on the morning of the eventful day. I had nursed with great
care an instrument to observe the delicate variations of temperature. It
was the invention of Sir John Herschel (1792-1871), who instructed me in
its use, but its construction was so fragile that hardly any traveller
had as yet been able to take one of them uninjured to its destination.
I was no more fortunate than my predecessors, for the long stem of the
heavy mercurial bulb broke. It was impossible to feel as unhappy as I
ought to have been, because it left me free to gaze at will at the coming
great sight.
And a wonderful sight it was, when the pure luminous corona first
displayed itself at the moment of totality. It has been one of the
great sights of my life. I made rude sketches in the dim light, and
afterwards found that the closest representation of the eclipse was to
be obtained by blackening paper over a candle and scratching out the
lights, on the principle of mezzotints. I published a description of the
eclipse in _Vacation Tourists_, with a sketch that has been reproduced
more than once, but the curl given to one of the rays of the corona
was not credited by most of my fellow-observers. Thus Sir George Airy,
when lecturing on the eclipse at the Royal Institution and exhibiting
my sketch on the screen, expressed in the most courteous way some
reservation as to its acceptance as a true rendering. Photographs of
subsequent eclipses have, however, shown that curved rays are a reality.
From Spain I went by diligence to Bordeaux, meeting my wife at the
station on her arrival from Paris, and we started for a tour in the
Pyrenees and for a stay of some weeks at Luchon. Here I became for the
first time bitten with the mania for mountain climbing. As during a
few years previously the primary purpose of fences had seemed to be to
afford objects for leaping over, so now that of mountains seemed to be
for clambering. Mr. Charles Packe, who was an authority on the mountains
and botany of the locality, often accompanied me, and the outings were
enjoyed excessively. Among other things, I was immensely taken by the
sleeping-bag that each French soldier carries who watches the mountain
passes through which Spanish smugglers try to steal. It is worn on the
back like a heavy knapsack. These bags are made of sheep-skin with the
wool inside. On cold days the soldiers sit inside them, pulling the bag
up to their waists. They are thus able to keep their posts in trying
weather, which smugglers would otherwise have been ready to utilise for
their own purposes. I tried the efficiency of one on an interesting
night. A heavy storm was gathering, but before the evening closed and
before the storm broke, I had time to find a good place on a hill some
1000 feet or more above Luchon, and there to await it inside my bag.
Nothing could have been more theatrically grand. The thunder-clouds and
the vivid lightning were just above me, accompanied by deluges of rain.
Then they descended to my level, and the lightning crackled and crashed
about, then all the turmoil sank below, leaving a starlit sky above.
Sleeping-bags were customary in the Pyrenees. Mr. George Bentham told
me that when he botanised in the little Republic of Andorre some
years previously, there was not a bed in the place, and he was lent
a sleeping-bag. They were familiar to Arctic travellers, but had not
been thought of by Alpine climbers, so I published my experiences. In
consequence, at an amusing dinner of the Alpine Club, of which I was a
member for a few years, I was toasted by Mr. Wm. Longman as the greatest
“bagman” in Europe. It is very difficult to arrange any sleeping gear
that shall satisfy those who rough it rarely. Luxury is out of place. I
read in some well-known book that one of the Camerons of Lochiel, when
bivouacking with his son in the snow, noticed that the lad had rolled up
a snowball to make a pillow. He thereupon rose and kicked it away, saying
sternly, “No effeminacy, boy.”
Bears were not infrequent. We reached, I think it was Cauteret, after
passing a small plantation near the town. During the table d’hôte there
was a rush to the windows to see the dead body of a big bear cub which
had just been killed at that very plantation. Its mother, who was with
it, escaped. I often saw their human-like tracks. They occasionally
kill oxen. Once, when near a cattle station, while watching the cattle
returning home in file, each in its turn executed a fantastic sort of
war-dance as it passed a particular spot, such as I had frequently, but
by no means invariably, witnessed in Africa, when a line of my cattle
passed over the place where I had shot an ox for food. In this instance
the performance was due to a cow having quite recently been killed by a
bear. The effect of the smell of blood on oxen and horses is apparently
capricious, being sometimes very marked indeed, at other times nil.
Horses are frequently terrified by the smell of large wild beasts, but
I have helped to skin a lion in full sight of my horse, and rolling the
skin up, tied it in a bundle to the back of my saddle, without the horse
showing the slightest objection.
My late but passionate love for mountaineering was one cause that
subsequently brought me into frequent contact with Professor Tyndall
(1820-1893), who was then at his very best physically and mentally. He,
I, and Vaughan Hawkins (1833-1908), an eminent classic in his Harrow and
Cambridge days and of first rank in mountaineering, made a tour together
in Cornwall. We chose our way on Tyndall’s principle, that it is easy
to find difficult places to climb elsewhere than in the high mountains.
Certainly he was skilful at discovering them. One of his freaks sent
my heart into my mouth. It was at a gully, strewn deeply with loose
stones that led over a sea cliff. Down he dashed, the stones were all
set in motion like an avalanche, but somehow he extricated himself in
time and got clear to one side of them. At another place an isolated
needle or cone of rock was separated from the shore by a narrow strait
through which the sea swirled, but which could be leapt at low water.
We leapt it, and clambered up, he declaring that it was as difficult
a bit of rock-work as he had ever been on. We reached the top and got
back successfully, jump and all, to the mainland, where I was glad to
feel in safety. The Irish dash in Tyndall’s blood gave a charm to all he
did. He was then fast rising, but had not yet reached the fulness of his
subsequent height in popular reputation, which is perhaps the time in the
mental development of a man at which his character shows at its brightest.
My wife and I found a frequent travelling-companion in Miss Brandram,
afterwards the wife and subsequently the widow of A. MacLennan, the
writer on various phases of prehistoric societies, _Marriage by Capture_,
_Totems_, etc. She was a great friend to both of us; a companion and kind
nurse to my wife when she was ill, an excellent walking companion to
myself, and always ready to be of service. She helped me much in revising
some of my earlier writings, especially the last edition of my _Art of
Travel_.
During her widowhood Mrs. MacLennan travelled with us again, but at last
a disaster occurred at a time when we were living at Cimiez, above Nice.
There is a high-level railway from Nice to Grasse that passes the little
station of the Saut de Loup, a waterfall about an hour’s walk (I think)
from the station, which we wanted much to see. The foot-path runs along
a hillside and is perfectly good, but too narrow for two persons to walk
abreast. In more than one place a streamlet cascades over it. Near its
destination the path is crossed by a more considerable streamlet running
among stones, that make stepping-stones near enough to the surface to
prevent the feet being much wetted while crossing it, and which any
one accustomed to mountain walking would trip over without remark.
The pathway was broader at this point, and the stream after crossing
it fell into a precipice, at the bottom of which ran the river Loup.
Mrs. MacLennan was walking first, and, owing to some strange accident,
missed a stone or tripped, and fell heavily on her side, where she lay
motionless in the water as though shot dead. I helped her to rise, but
she was in great pain. It was difficult to set her on her feet, for the
position was not one to stagger safely in, the precipice being much too
near.
With great pluck, she went a few steps onward to see the fall, and then
the long return walk had to be achieved. She was confined for a long
time to bed, and far from fit to travel when she left us. The injury was
followed by an internal complaint, of which, after much suffering at her
own home, she died.
Few have been more thorough in their friendship to my wife and myself
than Sir Rutherford and Lady Alcock and her daughter by a previous
marriage, Miss Lowder, now Lady Pelly. I was well acquainted with much
of Sir Rutherford’s work in China and Japan before I had the pleasure
of knowing him personally, because the Foreign Office used to forward
those of his dispatches that were of geographical interest to the Royal
Geographical Society, where, for want of a better person, they were
generally referred to myself. Sir Rutherford’s life was eventful; first
as an army surgeon in Spain under Sir De Lacy Evans, then Consul in
China, then our first Minister in Japan, then Ambassador to China. Lady
Alcock seconded him in charge of the well-being of his large staff,
with a kindliness that was proverbial. On their return to England they
became social favourites from the highest in rank to the lowest, being
singularly acceptable through their own attractive qualities, and widely
known through reports of their largely unostentatious charitable acts.
Sir Rutherford was President of the Royal Geographical Society for the
usual term, and we saw much of him and his family at various times,
eating our Christmas dinner with them on three or four occasions.
Of many pleasant meetings I will only mention one, when we, in company
with Sir Lewis and Lady Pelly, made an interesting tour in the South
of France from Royat, by that curious natural formation Montpelier le
Vieux, round to Avignon. The valley of the Tarn had recently been made
accessible to tourists, and I was particularly desirous of seeing its
wonders, so our party stopped at Millau to give me an opportunity of
going to the Tarn River for a long day by myself. First some distance had
to be travelled by railroad, then some miles by a two-wheeled vehicle
across the bare Causses, a high limestone upland, down to the beautifully
clear Tarn. Every shower that falls on the Causses percolates through
deep “swallows,” and finds its way for perhaps 2000 feet vertically
through them, issuing from the cliffs as feeders of pure water to the
little river.
I was put into a flat-bottomed boat with stalwart boatmen fore and
aft, and so dropped down stream. The water was at first so shallow and
transparent as to be scarcely visible. The boat seemed to be buoyed
in the air above the clean, shingly bottom. So we glided down hour
after hour, with vast cliffs on either side clothed sparsely with
pre-Rafaelite-looking trees, and with an occasional eagle soaring in the
blue sky overhead. Then the river by slow degrees grew broader, deeper,
and swifter, and swirled formidably in places, requiring much caution in
the boatmen; the evening closed in while we had still some way to go. It
was not altogether pleasant, as the punt was not particularly “stiff,”
the navigation was difficult, and it was becoming very dark. At length
the welcome bridge which betokened our destination loomed high in front.
The party from Millau had been there awaiting me till dark, and then
left. I was fortunate in securing a trap, wherein to drive the few miles
that then separated me from them.
We all went together the next day to Montpelier le Vieux, so called
because its rocks look from a distance like the turrets of a weird city
on a hilltop. Each rock stands by itself on a carpet of green verdure.
Crowds of legends have, of course, clustered round this strange locality.
Anyhow, it is an ideal place for a picnic in which to spend the long
hours of a sunny day. The whole of the south-west corner of France is
full of interest, and the part just mentioned seems quite unique.
I wish I could more adequately and yet appropriately have expressed my
affectionate feelings towards the many friends to whom I have made too
scanty reference in this chapter.
During the year that followed the death of my wife in 1897, I made a
tour with one of her nephews, a Frank Butler, son of Spencer P. Butler.
He became engaged to an English lady, a niece of Mrs. MacLennan, while
we were touring in Corsica with her party, and married shortly after.
Henceforward a niece, Miss Evelyne Biggs, or more strictly speaking a
grandniece of my own, granddaughter of my sister Lucy, has lived with
me as companion, and I have followed a somewhat similar routine of life,
except in being no longer advised by the doctor to try cures, the best
means of securing health now being to escape a winter in London.
_Yearly Medallions._—My fancy had been taken long ago by a custom
of certain North American Indians, of naming years, each after some
characteristic event that had occurred in it.[4] It appears that an
annual consultation of Indian chiefs was held, at which the more striking
occurrences of the past year were reviewed and one selected as its
representative. Thereupon an Indian who was reputed for skill in drawing
made a picture or symbol of the event on his buffalo-skin robe. They are
as rude in conception and execution as an English child of five years
old might draw. Thus the “small-pox year” is symbolically expressed by
an elementary design of the head, body, and four limbs of a man dotted
over with spots. A robe exists (see page 88-89 of the memoir) in which
a sequence of seventy-one years is thus recorded in symbols spirally
arranged upon it; it was made by a certain Dacota Indian, called Lone Dog.
[Illustration]
I adopted this method to illustrate the events of my own life during part
of the time while my wife was still living, but they are too rude for
publication. I therefore give recent specimens of these medallions drawn
by my niece, which refer to two of the years after she had become my
companion.
The picture of 1900 is a view on the Nile, and that of 1903 contains the
insignia of the late Pope, in memory of a function in Rome at which we
were present; also a picture of the breeding-place of sea birds at the
Farn Islands, Northumberland, which we visited. The legends round these
medallions hardly require explanation, except that An. Photo, stands for
Animal Photography. They are—1900, An. Photo., Venice, Greece, Boer War,
Egypt. 1903, Rome, Ischia, Farn Isles, Peppard.
A main reason for giving so full a description of such trifling matters
is that the Dacota method may be serviceable in more than one way. It
suggests an excellent plan for competition in Art schools, where the
choice of two or three characteristics of some particular year might be
submitted to the students, and prizes given to those who designed the
most appropriate medallions.
CHAPTER XIV
GEOGRAPHY AND EAST AFRICA
Burton and Speke—Speke and Grant—Death of Speke—Livingstone and
Stanley—Geographical incidents
The travels of the successive explorers of Eastern Africa who started
from the Zanzibar Coast were watched by geographers with the keenest
interest. I was in one way or another somewhat closely connected with the
principal actors, and may therefore speak about them with propriety. The
information that first drew general attention to this part of Africa was
the startling announcement that a snow-topped mountain, Kilimandjaro,
had been seen from a distance by the missionaries Krapf and Rebmann on
their journeys from Mombas, where they were stationed. Their information
was fiercely criticised. It was disbelieved wholly by some, and only
partially credited by many others. In addition to this, the missionaries
had transmitted reports of a vast Central African lake, based on the
collated testimonies of many native travellers. Mr. Erhardt communicated
a memoir on this lake to the Royal Geographical Society, and I, who had
most to do with their then newly established _Proceedings_, had it with
its accompanying map inserted in one of its early numbers. The map was
an amazing production and very hypothetical, but the data from which it
was constructed made it clear that an exploration of those regions would
be a highly promising undertaking. I myself had been strongly urged to
investigate the neighbourhood of Kilimandjaro, but felt insufficiently
restored to health to undertake the task. An expedition was at length
set on foot in 1856 under the command of Captain Burton (1821-1890),
with J. H. Speke (1827-1864) as second, for which I myself drafted the
instructions. It accomplished great things, namely, the discovery of the
two lakes, Tanganyika and Victoria Nyanza, but at the painful cost of a
serious breach of friendship between its leaders. Burton was a man of
eccentric genius and tastes, orientalised in character and thoroughly
Bohemian. He was a born linguist, and ever busy in collecting minute
information as to manners and habits. Speke, on the other hand, was a
thorough Briton, conventional, solid, and resolute. Two such characters
were naturally unsympathetic. On reaching Tanganyika, Burton became
seriously ill and temporarily unfitted for travel; his eyes, too, were
badly inflamed and gave him great trouble. Principally owing to Burton’s
restless spirit of inquiry, the existence and position of the lake now
known as the Victoria Nyanza had been ascertained. Burton was unable to
go to it; therefore Speke went as his deputy, and so came upon what was
suspected by him, and has proved afterwards to be a headwater of the
Nile. Of course Speke got the credit, for without him the lake would
not have then been reached, but the disappointment to Burton at being
superseded in solving the problem of ages by discovering the source of
the Nile was very bitter and very natural. Burton brought back, as
purely his own work, a most elaborate account of all the tribes he had
met by the way, the close accuracy of which has been testified to by
succeeding travellers. Only one of his numerous notebooks came under my
own careful examination, as already mentioned, and I was astonished at
its minuteness. I may mention the occasion, which was this.
The Society for the Propagation of the Gospel were considering the
propriety of establishing a mission station at Zanzibar, and desired
fuller information about the island than they possessed. In the end they
invited me to give a lecture, to which I consented, after talking with
Burton, who had been asked and refused, but who very kindly offered
me the full use of his original notebook written when in Zanzibar. An
elaborate account which he had based on it for publication had been
lost. I had no first-hand information about the place, but had known
Erhardt and others who knew it well, so was able to compile a respectable
description, which was published in the _Mission Field_, June 1, 1861.
The notes made by Burton were written in a fine clear hand and most
elaborate in detail. He told me that he often used a board with parallel
wires, such as are made for the use of the blind, to write notes, unseen,
in the night-time.
The next expedition was under Captain Speke, with whom Captain Grant
(1827-1892) was associated. They were to take up the quest at the point
on the Victoria Nyanza where Speke had reached it, and to travel onwards.
This was done, and I may say that the attachment of Grant to Speke was
most remarkable for its loyalty and intensity. They were fine manly
fellows, and I can see them now in my mind’s eye, as they came to take
a final leave, when I knocked two nails into the side of a cupboard as
they stood side by side with their backs to it, to mark their respective
heights and as a memento of them when away. As is well known, they
followed the Nile, not however without a break, from the Lake into Egypt.
This break, and the hypothetical placement of the “Mountains of the
Moon,” whose position Speke saw reason to modify in a second map, gave an
opening to criticism of which bitter use was made. Coming down the Nile,
Speke and Grant met Captain, afterwards Sir Samuel, Baker (1821-1893)
and his large party going up it, and were able to give him timely and
valuable information. I do not speak more of Sir Samuel’s magnificent
work, because it did not fall closely within my own ken, but will
conclude what has to be said about Burton and Speke.
In the year 1864 the British Association met at Bath, at which Burton
was to read a paper severely criticising Speke’s work. Speke was staying
in the neighbourhood with a shooting party, and was invited to take
part in the discussion. It is the custom that on each morning, a little
before the President and Committee of the several Sections of the British
Association take their seats, they meet in a separate room to discuss
matters that require immediate settlement, and to select the papers
that are to be read on the following day. On the present occasion this
business had been finished, and Sir James Alexander was urging that
the Council of the Association should be requested by the Committee to
bring Captain Speke’s services to the notice of Government and to ask for
their appropriate recognition, when a messenger brought a letter for the
President, Sir Roderick Murchison. He motioned to the Secretary, who was
seated at his left hand, to read it, while he, the President, continued
to attend to Sir James. The countenance of the Secretary clearly showed
that the letter contained serious news. Sir James Alexander went on
speaking, the letter was in the meantime circulated and read by each in
turn, including Captain Burton, who sat opposite to me, and I got it the
last, or almost the last of all before the President. It was to say that
Speke had accidentally shot himself dead, by drawing his gun after him
while getting over a hedge.
Burton had many great and endearing qualities, with others of which
perhaps the most curious was his pleasure in dressing himself, so to
speak, in wolf’s clothing, in order to give an idea that he was worse
than he really was. I attended his funeral at the Roman Catholic Cemetery
near Sheen. It had been arranged by his widow, Lady Burton, a devoted
Catholic, and was crowded with her Catholic friends. I did not see more
than three geographers among them, of whom Lord Northbrook, a former
President of the Society, was one. From pure isolation, we two kept
together the whole time. There were none of Burton’s old associates. It
was a ceremony quite alien to anything that I could conceive him to care
for.
Anyhow, I was glad to be instrumental in procuring a Government Pension
of £300 a year for Lady Burton, and in this way. At a meeting of the
Council of the Royal Geographical Society, Sir Mountstuart E. Grant
Duff, the then President, said that private information had reached him
(of which he mentioned some details) that Government would be disposed
to grant a pension to Lady Burton if a good case could be made out
relating to Burton’s services to science, and if the Council of the
Society were to back it. Would any one undertake to carry this through?
No one answered, so he addressed himself to me personally, asking if I
would. I expressed a cordial desire to help, but feeling at the moment
too ignorant of the views of competent authorities concerning Burton’s
linguistic knowledge (on which much emphasis had been laid), and of much
else that might with advantage be advanced in his favour, was unable to
answer off-hand, but willingly undertook to inquire and report. This I
did, asking the opinions of many, with the result that Burton’s knowledge
of vernacular Arabic and other languages was considered to be unequalled,
but not his classical knowledge of them, and that it was better to rest
his claims on his wide discursiveness rather than on any one specified
performance. I followed this advice, and my Report formed the basis of
the proposed application, which in due course gained its end. My own
acquaintance with Lady Burton was slight, and my memories of her husband
refer chiefly to his unmarried days.
Several of us subscribed to have a public memorial of Speke, and obtained
a plot in Kensington Gardens to place it. It now stands in the form of
an obelisk, by the side of the broad gravel walk leading northwards
from the Albert Memorial. There was much difficulty in selecting an
inscription which should not arouse criticism, for there were still
those who maintained with Burton that Speke had not discovered the true
source of the Nile. Lord Houghton solved the difficulty by simplifying
the proposed legend to “Victoria Nyanza and the Nile,” which words the
obelisk now bears.
Speke, Burton, Grant, Baker, Livingstone, and Stanley are all gone; I
wish it could be arranged to make a joint and interesting memorial of our
great African explorers in the plot where Speke’s obelisk now stands in
neglected solitariness. It would not require more than two or three extra
yards on either side, parallel to the Grand Walk, and the same in depth,
to give room for this, and to allow of the growth of a few hardy plants
suggestive of tropical vegetation, with pathways between them. England
has done so very much for African geography that she ought to bring the
fact home to the national conscience. When Burton died, and again when
Stanley died, I made the suggestion that a memorial should be erected by
the side of that of Speke, or that appropriate inscriptions should be
added, but I heard on good authority that it would be most distasteful
to the representatives of both Speke and Grant to do so. Many long years
have since passed, and it may be hoped that hard feelings will soften in
time and permit what many like myself would consider a laudable and pious
act.
I have mentioned the names of Livingstone and Stanley, and here again I
have something to say. The popular opinion has been that Livingstone was
left to his fate without adequate care on the part of his countrymen to
succour him, and that he was rescued owing to the zeal of the proprietor
of an American newspaper and the hardihood of his employee, Mr.,
afterwards Sir Henry, Stanley.
I was on the Council of the Royal Geographical Society during all
the time in question, and can testify to our extreme desire to help
Livingstone, but in his later years he had become difficult to meddle
with. He had a brusque resentment against anything that might be
construed into patronage, feeling, as I understood, that he had been
over-much “exploited” by his admirers. There was great fear among those
in the Council who knew him better than I did, that he might be annoyed
at any attempt to relieve him, and would resent it yet more bitterly
than Emin Bey subsequently resented Stanley’s compulsory relief. Again,
there was no reason to suppose Livingstone to be in serious want. He was
thoroughly accustomed to natives of the widely dispersed Bantu race,
among whom he probably then was. He travelled without a large party or
other encumbrance, so that the favour of even a single chief, such as
he might reasonably expect to gain, would amply suffice for his wants.
Besides this, he had not cared to write, and there was no knowing where
a man like him might be, who had already walked right across Africa
and back again. So whenever the question was discussed formally, or
otherwise, it seemed better to defer action till some intelligence of his
wishes and whereabouts had been received. In the meantime, acting upon
his own data and reasonings, the proprietor of the _New York Herald_
sent the expedition, whose progress is described in Stanley’s book, and
which ended so successfully for Livingstone. One wishes that the whole
thing could have been effected with less secrecy in the beginning, and
less ostentation and comparison of Americans and English to the prejudice
of the latter.
When the box of native make that contained Livingstone’s remains was
brought to England by Cameron, it was deposited in the rooms of the Royal
Geographical Society, and a most pathetic sight it was. Many wished to
be present at its opening, but Sir Bartle Frere, then the President,
determined that no opportunity should be given for journalistic
description, and refusing to himself the painful gratification of
witnessing it, limited the spectators to very few. Sir William Fergusson,
the great operator, was deputed to dissect the arm-bone at the place
where the lion had broken it, as means of identification. I forget who
were the others. They included some members of Livingstone’s family, and
Mr. Webb of Newstead Abbey, a great sportsman and friend of Livingstone,
familiar with the locality of the injured bone. I think these were all.
The pathos of Livingstone’s interment in Westminster Abbey was painfully
marred by the use of a conventional coffin and other funeral upholstery.
Had he been buried in the box rudely made by natives, that had conveyed
his remains from the far interior to the Coast and told its own tale, the
ceremony would have been incomparably more touching.
I should have an ungrateful task if I had to speak at length of Stanley’s
travels down the Congo. His journey was first described at Brighton at
a large meeting of the Geographical Section of the British Association,
of which I was the President. The ex-Emperor and Empress of the French
were among the audience. So much mystery had been preserved beforehand
about it that none of us had a conception of what was coming, which
is quite contrary to usual procedure. Mr. Stanley had other interests
than geography. He was essentially a journalist aiming at producing
sensational articles, and it was feared from the newspaper letters
he had already written that he might utilise the opportunity in ways
inappropriate to the British Association. However, the meeting went off
without more misadventure than a single interference on my part, but
under some tension. I will not enter further into this.
It is highly necessary to the credit of a Society that its Council
should, as a rule, and always when there is any misgiving, exact that
the papers about to be read should be referred to experts and favourably
reported on. The Society gives a pulpit, as it were, to the speaker,
and in its turn has a right to exact precautions that these advantages
should not be abused. I cannot understand to this day how that strange
individual, Rougemont, obtained permission to read his fantastic, perhaps
half-hallucinatory paper about the coral reefs and treasures in Australia
before the British Association. Putting every other improbability for the
moment to one side, the “Art-of-Travel” impossibilities in his story, as
in the construction of his raft, would have made me scrutinise with a
very wary eye all the rest that he said.
I may mention a ludicrous but discreditable incident at a meeting of
the Geographical Section of the British Association, which the timely
reference of a paper before it was allowed to be read might perhaps
have prevented. It was in Cambridge in 1862. Sir Roderick Murchison had
been nominated as President of the Section, but fell ill just before
the meeting, and I was nominated and elected in his stead. Mr. W., a
Fellow of King’s College, had been entrusted with the MSS of a recently
deceased Oriental Professor, including a memoir on the inscription upon
a stone near Aberdeen. It was well known to antiquarians, and had long
puzzled them; the Professor declared it to be Phenician. The title of
the Geographical Section then included the already obsolete words “and
Philology,” so it was technically correct that the paper should be read
there. Mr. W. called on me, most desirous, as he said, for the honour of
the Association that a paper by so distinguished a University Professor
should be read before it. I demurred, saying that it was doubtful whether
a single member of the Committee knew a word of Phenician, or were able
to discuss its merits. In reply to the question whether that language
was really sufficiently well understood to justify a translation, he
assured me it was, and mentioned two great works in German, of which I
knew nothing, in proof. I still hesitated, but said that if the Committee
should agree to accept the communication, I would offer no objection, and
they did agree, under the spell of Mr. W.’s eloquence; so the paper was
accepted.
When I took the chair the next day, the zeal of Mr. W. was conspicuous
in the diagrams he had hung round the walls like a frieze. Each diagram
contained a representation of one of the 35 or so characters. Below it
was its Hebrew equivalent, and below all was a free translation, in which
I noted there were more words than there were letters in the original,
and my misgivings grew. The paper proved to be long and tedious, as
papers on antiquarian subjects often are, and the audience melted away.
At length the reporters could stand it no longer, and most fortunately
left also. The audience was then reduced to a mere handful of persons,
and when the paper was finished Mr. C. rose, who was a recognised
authority on Greek manuscripts, and said that he had no pretensions
in respect to a knowledge of Phenician, but as a mere question of
resemblance it struck him that the characters (which he pointed out)
seemed to him less like the alleged Hebrew equivalents than to the
letters forming the Greek word ALEXANDROS. There was no doubt he was
right, and the small audience tittered. In the meantime the Secretary, a
well-known antiquarian, became more and more excited, and jumped up as
soon as Mr. C. had sat down, and exclaimed, “Phenician!” (Contemptuous
grunt.) “Greek!” (Another different and equally contemptuous grunt.)
“Can you not read ‘HIC JACET’?” and I must say his reading seemed to me
the least forced of the three. I think all of us felt utterly ashamed.
Had the reporters been present, the fun that could have been made by
the newspapers out of the incident would have been a disaster to the
credit of the Association. The Reports of that meeting in the Journal of
the Association have been so toned down that no one would suspect from
reading them what really took place.
My connection with the Royal Geographical Society was a long one, and I
served for many years on its Council, but the time came when my deafness
was an insuperable bar to utility. On Sir Clement Markham becoming
President, he very kindly offered me the vacant post of Trusteeship,
which carries with it a permanent place on the Council, and is not
practically a burden; but I was compelled to decline, and have taken
no direct part in furthering its interests since that time, but have
confined my work to other pursuits.
I had a hand in many actions of the Society. In its earlier years there
was good cause of complaint as to the method in which the Society
was being worked. Mr. Spottiswoode and myself were the Joint Hon.
Secretaries, and the necessary reform was only brought about by our
simultaneous resignation on the ground that our urgent remonstrances were
shelved by the then President. It was agreed between us that, to save
appearances, Spottiswoode should continue to act for a short time longer,
being earnestly requested to do so.
In due course a new Assistant Secretary was appointed, and after some
failures to secure a man capable of worthily filling that important post,
we had the good fortune to find and appoint Mr. H. W. Bates (1825-1892).
He was remarkably well informed on geographical matters, had been a
considerable traveller in companionship with Alfred Russell Wallace in
South America, and was one of the first to show that the mimicry of
insects was developed as a means of protection. I look back with the
greatest pleasure to my long and close association with Mr. Bates in the
work of the Royal Geographical Society. His death was a great loss and
a great blow to many friends. He and another friend only just dead were
exceptionally slow in finding the exact word they wished to use. Yet
both of them, in despite of slowness of utterance, succeeded in giving
an exact notion of their views in a briefer time than any one else I can
think of. Their sentences were a standing lesson to avoid superfluity of
words when making explanations.
One new and successful attempt that I set on foot was the intervention
of the Royal Geographical Society in geographical education. I began
with public schools, having talked the matter well over with W. F.
Farrar, then a master at Harrow. He thought the idea quite feasible. Then
I had much help from the Hon. G. Brodrick, and encouragement from my
brother-in-law, George Butler, then Headmaster of Liverpool College, who
shared the belief of Dr. Arnold in the value of geography, if properly
taught. That was by no means the general view, which was rather that
geography lent itself to cram more easily than any other subject, and
that it was hardly possible to set real problems in it, that should
compel thought.
The upshot of all was, that the Royal Geographical Society offered an
annual gold medal to be competed for by boys belonging to a considerable
number of invited schools—in fact to all of the public schools properly
so called. The examiners for the medal were annually appointed by the
Society. The medal in the first year was won by the present Provost of
Glasgow University, Dr. Donald Macalister; that in the second by George
Grey Butler, son of my brother-in-law, and for many years Chief Examiner
of the Education Office. The medals were continued for some years, but
they were said to do incidental harm by tempting the masters of schools
of the second rank to divert their best scholars to geography in order to
gain _éclat_ for the school, thereby interfering with their career in the
more generally recognised and bread-winning studies of ordinary education.
The medals were therefore discontinued, and the efforts of the Society
were directed to the Universities. I helped in this at first, but Mr.
Brodrick and Mr. Douglas Freshfield and others took the matter more
thoroughly in hand. After a little while, Mr. MacKinder, now Head of the
Department of Economics of the University of London, applied for and
gained the post of “Reader” in Geography in the University of Oxford,
and he rapidly improved the quality of geographical teaching. General,
afterwards Sir Richard Strachey, then President of the Royal Geographical
Society, inaugurated the introduction of geography into the University
of Cambridge by four lectures. I believe the subject has now gained a
firm footing in both Universities. To say the least of it, a thorough
knowledge of classical lands, such as can be conveyed by first-rate maps,
models, and diagrams, must be helpful to classical students.
CHAPTER XV
BRITISH ASSOCIATION
Its function and merits—My connection with and indebtedness to
it—Sir William Grove
I have been connected with the British Association more or less
intimately during many years, four times as President of a Section or
“Department,” once as deliverer of a Lecture, a member of its Council
almost from my return from South Africa, then from 1863 to 1867 as its
General Secretary, and afterwards as an official member of its Council.
The Association affords what is often the most appropriate means of
ventilating new ideas. It can create a Committee with or without a
grant of money, giving to its proposer the title either of Chairman
or Secretary, which clothes him with an authority that an unknown
individual would lack, when making inquiries of public bodies at home or
abroad. It also provides him with colleagues to discuss and criticise
results before they are finally published. A good example of these
advantages may be found in the Report of the Anthropometric Committee,
which has afforded standard data up to the present time, for the chief
physical characteristics of the inhabitants of the British Isles. The
hard work carried on in its name was mainly performed by Mr. Roberts,
its Secretary, who wrote a book afterwards in which his results were
included. He was greatly helped by Sir Rawson Rawson, who was a member
of the Committee. The rest of the Committee did little more than discuss
subjects and methods, but even that little was helpful. I was its
Chairman, but claim no more than an insignificant share in its success.
Again, many years later, in 1888-1889, I was desirous that a proposal
of mine should be seriously considered, of awarding marks for physical
efficiency in competitive literary examinations. I read my memoir, the
Association took it up, and the results of some experiments at Eton and
many valuable communications were received in reply, including a careful
minute from a high authority of the War Office. These convinced me that
although the proposal had strong _a priori_ claims to consideration, it
did not merit acceptance; so it was dropped.
Many other examples of a similar kind could be quoted, some failing,
most succeeding. The British Association in its early days was of still
greater value than it is now. At that time locomotion was tedious,
and the numerous scientific societies of the present day that issue
frequent publications had not come into existence. Local men of science
who had been socially overlooked were brought forward to their rightful
position by its means. It has frequently happened that an improvement in
a town was furthered or even initiated through a visit of the British
Association. The papers read there and discussions upon them are not the
most important part of its work. The Reports of the Committees appointed
by it are as a rule far more valuable than ordinary memoirs, and so are
the Presidential Addresses, but perhaps the most useful function of the
British Association lies in causing persons who are occupied in different
branches of science, and who rarely meet elsewhere, to be jostled
together and to become well acquainted. Its organisation was a wonderful
feat, for it was created upon paper, and has required nothing ever since
beyond a little easing and extension here and there.
The plan of one meeting is as like that of another as two Roman camps.
On entering the reception-room, time seems to have stood still, for the
same familiar faces are seen in the same places; the placards that refer
to letters, to programmes, to excursions and to the other multifarious
business of the Association, are similarly arranged, so after the
experience of a single year a member finds himself at home on every
future occasion. But the sustained racket of it is great, and I found it
too long continued for my own nerves. I had a complete breakdown when I
was General Secretary, which compelled me to resign what otherwise was a
very pleasant post: it would have been playing with death had I continued
to hold it.
My period of office began at the time when the old order of supreme
management by a few magnates was giving way to a more democratic
government. Its earlier and distinguished members, such as Sabine and
Murchison, had naturally so much weight in Council that when they were
active and in close touch with their juniors their opinions were sure to
prevail. So the duty of a General Secretary in those days was to consult
a few of the more eminent persons at first, and again at the close,
with the almost complete assurance that whatever names were suggested
with their approval, whether as President, Presidents of Sections, or
Lecturers, would be accepted by the Council. These consultations with
many able men were very instructive. They showed the striking differences
between the points of view from which original minds may regard the same
topic. Unconventionality seems to be a marked characteristic of such
minds; I have noticed it elsewhere and very often.
Among the features of the Association meetings was the “Red Lion” Club,
in which clever buffoonery was freely indulged. It was instituted by
Edward Forbes (who was rather before my time, and whom I never had the
pleasure of knowing). The governing idea was that its members were
really lions, acquainted with one another, who had met by chance, during
their prowls, in a town where strange proceedings were in progress. The
speakers described what they had witnessed, speaking as it were from a
superior and leonine pedestal.
I have only attended two of these meetings; in one the buffoonery of
Monckton Milnes (afterwards Lord Houghton) was of a first-class order. So
also was the humorous sarcasm of Professor W. K. Clifford (1845-1879),
the mathematician, also the mimicry of Mr., afterwards Sir, W. Chandler
Roberts Austen, an accomplishment that it amazed me to find he possessed.
Subsequently, on talking about it, he made the shrewd remark that a
useful way of understanding a man’s character was to mimic his ways,
and that he frequently mimicked new acquaintances in his imagination for
that purpose. This seems to me very subtle and true. If we want to raise
in our minds a quick sympathy, say, for a friend’s tale of grief, we
instinctively screw our features into an expression of sorrow, and the
required emotion follows almost as a matter of course. It is needless to
dwell on the existence of accomplished hypocrites, who screw their faces
without the slightest desire to evoke the feeling they appear to express.
My last attempt to utilise the British Association failed owing to my
increasing age and infirmities. I wanted to methodise the preservation
of records of pedigree stock to serve as data for future inquiries,
and wrote memoirs (147, 148) on the subject, in which I showed that
photographs of animals, taken under certain simple and feasible
conditions, afforded means of calculating their measurements with
considerable exactitude, as tested by myself on horses. I took great
pains, and was given facilities for photography at one of the great horse
shows at the Agricultural Hall. The attempt was perfectly successful
in essentials, though several alterations of detail were suggested by
that experience, but the effort was far too much for my health. Most of
these exhibitions are held during the winter months, and, being now very
liable to bronchitis, I found it quite impossible to endure the draughty
passages and other discomforts during that season. I could not delegate
it to my satisfaction, so was obliged, to my great regret, to abandon all
further attempts in that direction, otherwise some useful work might have
been done.
The hospitality afforded during the visits of the British Association
is always great, but I fear often onerous and unwelcome to the hosts,
however carefully their courtesy may conceal such feelings. I have
to be grateful for many apparently cordial receptions of this kind.
One of the simplest and yet most effective was given at Birmingham by
Charles Evans, afterwards Canon of Worcester, but then Headmaster of
King Edward’s School, where we had been schoolfellows. The building had
abundant accommodation, and he got together a very distinguished party.
The food provided was plain, but well cooked and plenty of it. A large
luncheon table with cold meat was at the disposal of any of the guests
who wished to bring friends with him. There was no display, but abundance
everywhere, and perfect freedom. Few, except masters of large public
schools, could have arranged and carried out such a programme as well and
easily as he did.
I have been asked twice to act as President of the Association. On
the first occasion my name was formally proposed by the officers of
the Association to the Council at which I was then sitting, but I was
conscious of my limitations in respect to health, and with many thanks
declined, even though some pressure was kindly put on me. On the second
occasion, and much more lately, I was actually nominated in my absence,
with the offer of most thoughtful arrangements to diminish fatigue, but I
had again to decline still more emphatically than before, as my powers of
work and endurance had in the meantime become smaller and my deafness had
increased.
It is an office that affords an excellent stage from which to address
the public, because the Presidential Address is usually printed more or
less in full, and commented on in the leading newspapers, while long
extracts from it are given in all of them. It is also an office that
carries considerable responsibilities, and one where very useful work
may be done by its holder. It requires, however, a more genial speaker
at ceremonial meetings than myself, where I simply hate having to come
forward. My infirmities have prevented me from attending any of the
meetings of the British Association for many past years.
The Addresses of the Presidents of the Association differ much, as
might be expected, in interest and importance. One that gained unusual
attention, owing to its simplicity and sterling value, was that of Sir
William Grove, of whom I will take this occasion to speak.
The late Justice Sir William Grove (1811-1896) is one of those to whom I
owe most for sympathy in my inquiries, for helpful criticisms, and for
long-continued friendship. His early work as chemist and electrician,
his masterly book on the “Correlation of Physical Forces,” when the idea
was novel that heat, electricity, force, etc., were convertible into
one another, and his resolute and successful labours to raise the worth
of the Royal Society, promoted him easily into the very first rank of
scientific men. At a subsequent time, when he was seriously considering
whether or no he should abandon the legal profession, he was unexpectedly
promoted to a judgeship, the object of the appointment being to secure
a judge capable of dealing with the technicalities of Patent cases. The
result, as he told me, and as I have heard elsewhere, was that not a
single Patent case was brought into his Court. Presumably he was dreaded
by both sides on account of his searching questions.
It was his practice to rent a large house and shooting during the autumn
vacation, and he most hospitably asked my wife and myself to make long
visits to him during three autumns. On the first of these an incident
occurred which might have ended, but which confirmed, his friendship;
namely, the sudden and most severe illness of my wife. The prompt and
continuous care shown to her by every member of the family at that time
in the house, called for my warmest gratitude. Sir William’s second son,
who was then a young man, but now a highly distinguished officer, rode
several miles to the nearest town, summoned the doctor, and brought back
a bag of ice on horseback. Sir William’s daughter, Mrs. Hills, nursed
her with every possible care for some weeks, until she was sufficiently
convalescent to bear removal. Recovery at length ensued, but serious
weakness remained, which continued up to her death, nearly forty years
later.
One of Sir William Grove’s achievements was that of being the main agent,
in 1847, of changing the character of the governing body of the Royal
Society. It had become too aristocratic, dating from the long presidency
of Sir Joseph Banks, and its elections were guided by favour. The
struggle between two opposed principles became one between the supporters
of different candidates. It was a near contest, but the reform party
gained the day. They signalised the memory of their triumph by founding
the “Philosophical Club” for the use of the reformers, in distinction to
the older Royal Society Club. Both were merely dining clubs that met on
the evenings of Royal Society meetings, and they were held on alternate
weeks. I, like many others, was a member of both. The members of the
Philosophical Club were limited in number to forty-seven, as a reminder
of the date of its foundation. This controversy is now quite obsolete,
and the two clubs have become amalgamated.
Another very important reform that Sir William Grove carried through
on this occasion, was to limit the number of elections to the Royal
Society to fifteen in each year, it having been found that fifteen annual
elections corresponded to the losses by death; so the average number of
Fellows would thereby remain unchanged. It was the firm opinion of Sir
William Grove, which I fully share, that the only feasible way of keeping
a standard of qualification from being lowered is to limit the number of
selected candidates, for it is scarcely possible to define a standard in
words. The question has lately been raised whether fifteen is not too
small a number now. On that point I have no up-to-date knowledge that
would justify an opinion, but when I served on the Council of the Royal
Society many years ago, and the number of candidates averaged little more
than fifty, it happened that about twelve out of the fifteen were elected
at the first ballot, but there was often considerable delay in fixing
upon the remainder. So it seemed that fifteen was a somewhat high number
then, but this year there were as many as a hundred candidates. Certainly
no one has been elected since 1847 to the Fellowship of the Royal
Society who has not done a large amount of sound work, and the credit of
the Society has been continuously maintained at a high level.
Many persons imagine in their innocence that when any one appends letters
to his name testifying to his being a Fellow of one or more learned
societies that he is necessarily a scientific expert. This is true for
hardly any other society than the Royal. In all others the letters show
little more than that the person who uses them is sufficiently interested
in the sciences in question to make it worth his while to pay an annual
subscription. I have served on the Councils of many of these societies,
and can only recall two cases in which a proposed candidate was _not_
elected. In the one, the man had been imprisoned for a grave offence; in
the other, he was a wastrel well known to avoid paying his debts.
Many pleasant days have been spent by me under the hospitable roof of
Mr. and Mrs. Hills. She was, as already mentioned, a daughter of Sir
William Grove, and has been one of my closest friends ever since the
terrible illness of my wife mentioned above. Her husband, Judge Hills,
died very recently. He was a judge in Alexandria, where he resided during
the larger part of the year, but returned every autumn to exercise
hospitality in England.
The conversational powers of Sir William Grove were remarkable when
he was sufficiently excited to show them to advantage. One evening,
before going to a distant meeting of the British Association, he,
Professor Huxley, and myself, dined together at the same table at the
Athenæum. Never, before or since, have I heard such rapid and continuous
conversational sword-play. The sudden thrusts, the quick parries and
counter-thrusts, were extraordinarily dexterous. I regret my inability
to recall more than this general impression, without any of the actual
sentences.
CHAPTER XVI
KEW OBSERVATORY AND METEOROLOGY
General Sir E. Sabine—Sextants and watches—Now merged into
National Physical Laboratory—Meteorological Committee,
subsequently Council of the Board of Trade—Self-recording
instruments, reduction of their tracings—Henry Smith
An early friendship that exercised great influence in shaping my future
scientific life was that of General, afterwards Sir Edward, Sabine, R.A.,
and President of the Royal Society. At the time of which I am speaking
he was its Treasurer; he also held two offices, in both of which I was
his successor after some years. They were the Chairmanship of the Kew
Observatory and the Secretaryship of the British Association, as already
mentioned. General Sabine (1788-1883) devoted himself to the study
of magnetism, to its geographical distribution and its periodic and
irregular variations. He had joined an Arctic Expedition for the express
purpose of making exact magnetical observations in high latitudes, and
he had inspired zealous and capable men, at various stations about the
globe, to establish a system of continuous and comparable observations.
This involved careful examinations of the refined instruments about to be
employed, and of instruction in their use. Means for doing all this were
established by him at Kew.
The history of the Kew Observatory is far too complicated to be fully
described here. It was first instituted owing to the desire of many of
the foremost men in physical science, in the early days of the British
Association, to have access to a place where physical experiments might
be made, and new instruments tested. The Observatory stands in the Old
Deer Park, Richmond, adjoining the Kew Gardens. It was originally built
for the amusement of George III., while he was more or less insane, and
it was begged for by the philosophers and allotted by Government to their
use. Its maintenance was defrayed by considerable grants annually voted
by the British Association, that mounted at one time to as much as £600.
This became far too onerous a charge for their means, so various changes
were made in its government and maintenance. At length it fell into the
hands of the Royal Society, and was managed by a committee appointed
by that body from among its members. It paid its way by charges made
for standardising instruments, supplemented by occasional grants. Later
on, the interest of a handsome endowment of £10,000 made by Mr. J. P.
Gassiott, of whom more presently, placed it in a fairly firm position.
At the time when Sir Edward Sabine caused me to become a member of
the Managing Committee, the Kew Observatory had obtained, through
his exertions, a high and wide reputation for the exactness of the
observations made there, and it had become the place where the outfits
of all magnetic observatories, English and foreign, were standardised,
and where intending observers were instructed. It was, in fact, the
Central Magnetic Observatory of the world. It held an almost equally
strong position in respect to the delicate pendulum apparatus by which
the force of gravity is measured at different places on the globe, and
again with regard to standard thermometers and meteorological instruments
generally. Its Managers were eager to extend its operations to any kind
of self-paying scientific experiment. Any person desirous of having a
new invention tested could get it well done there at a cost that just
repaid the trouble, subject, of course, to the permission of the Managing
Committee and to the leisure of the staff.
One of the first things that I busied myself about, when I joined it,
was to establish means for standardising sextants and other angular
instruments. The cheaper kinds of these were unnecessarily bad, and many
of the more costly were by no means so good as they should be for their
price. I thought at first of utilising heliostats to give sharp points
of reference by adjusting minute mirrors at distant points, flashing the
sun on to them from larger mirrors at the Observatory, and using the
return flashes as the points of reference. One of these small mirrors
was fixed to the south obelisk, within a cage which may still be there.
This arrangement was so far successful that beautiful stars of light were
produced in response to flashes from the Observatory, but the uncertainty
of sunshine in our climate showed the method to be of little practical
value. Then Messrs. Cooke of York, who were among the foremost makers of
large telescopes, devised an arrangement with collimators and artificial
light. They made one for Kew, which is contained within a small dark
room, and has acted perfectly, to a considerable improvement in the make
of the cheaper sextants.
Another thing that I did was to contrive an apparatus by which
thermometers could be rapidly and yet very accurately verified, and
by which from ten to twenty thousand clinical thermometers are still
annually tested. Mr. De la Rue gave me help in devising this. The few
pence gained on each of these many thermometers amounted to a respectable
sum, and confirmed the solvency of the institution, whose margin of
profit over loss was always small and had been precarious. We were thus
in a better position to extend our work and to add to our instruments,
and we did so.
Another operation which I was among the first, if not the first, to
suggest, was the rating of watches. This has been a real success. The
performances of watches, when we first took the matter in hand, was by no
means proportionate to their cost, more than one highly ornamented and
expensive time-keeper failing to obtain a class-place equal to that of
others of much inferior pretensions. Now a Kew certificated watch has a
special and recognised value, and the makers of valuable watches are far
more on their mettle than they used to be.
The influence of the Kew verifications as time went on extended in
many other directions, as by testing the performance of telescopes and
opera-glasses supplied to the army and navy, in order to ascertain
whether their capabilities were up to the specified standard. Mariners’
compasses of complicated and delicate construction were also dealt with.
A beautiful apparatus devised by Sir Wm. Abney and Major Leonard Darwin
was subsequently set up to test photographic lenses, and to enable
appropriate certificates to be given them.
So the institution throve, and was a “going concern,” but it was wholly
unequal in its scale to the rapidly growing requirements of the day.
This feeling found expression in the Anniversary Address to the British
Association in 1895, by my cousin Sir Douglas Galton; powerful support
was given to his suggestions and efforts, and finally the Kew Committee
was merged into the much larger and more important National Physical
Observatory, under the directorship of Mr. Glazebrook, which swallowed at
a single gulp the whole of our thrifty savings.
I look back with pleasure to my long connection with the Kew Observatory,
for its Committee always consisted of very capable men, who gave time
without stint to the discussion of the new questions which continually
arose, and which could be answered by experts only.
Mr. Gassiott (1797-1877), of whom I have spoken, succeeded Sir Edward
Sabine as its Chairman. He was remarkable for solid sense and business
acumen, and played a considerable part in the work of the Royal Society.
His experiments on electric discharges in quasi-vacuo were very
beautiful, and thought highly of at the time. He was a striking instance
of the combination of scientific research with the direction of an
important business, for he was one of the principal wine merchants, and
said to be the largest importer of port wine in London.
Another instance of the same combination was his successor in the same
office, Mr. Warren De la Rue (1815-1889), the famous stationer, whose
mechanical ingenuity, artistic taste, and business habits were most
valuable. I have served with him on various Councils, where his help and
influence were always felt. I shall have shortly again to speak of him.
The pretty Kew monogram was his design.
I became Chairman of the Observatory in succession to Mr. De la Rue in
1889, and held that post until 1901, when it ceased to be an independent
body. The Observatory has been fortunate in its particularly able
Superintendents, Sir Francis Ronalds of electric fame, Dr. Balfour
Stewart, subsequently Professor at Owen’s College, Manchester, Mr.
Whipple, a man of considerable natural gifts, and Dr. Chree, now
President of the Physical Society. Many members of their staff were very
trustworthy and valuable officials.
Much interest in the laws of the weather had been aroused long previously
to 1860, and it was then clearly understood by those who studied them
that future progress depended on securing numerous observations made
at the same moment, during many years, at stations scattered over
a wide area. The popular book of Maury in America and the writings
of Admiral FitzRoy drew attention to this need; and Le Verrier, the
French astronomer, issued daily charts of the Atlantic, based on such
observations as he could obtain from ships and coast stations. But these
were so few compared to the area over which they were scattered, and so
unequally distributed, that too much guess-work was needed to combine
their information into coherent and reasonable systems.
The only fairly well understood feature in those times, of movements
of the air, was that of the cyclone, or the huge tropical whirlwind
carrying destruction with it. It had been observed that when these
whirlwinds occurred in the northern hemisphere they circled in the
opposite direction to that of the hands of a clock, round a centre of low
barometric pressure, and therefore round an area of uprush of heated and
moist air, accompanied, as it would be, with heavy rains. This circling
was justly attributed to the spherical shape of the earth in combination
with its easterly rotation. An indraught, coming from the direction of
the equator, was impressed with an excess of easterly movement, and one
from the nearest pole with a deficiency; in other words, the latter
had a westerly movement relatively to the place of observation. The
observed twist was the necessary result of their coming together. An
opposite direction of twist occurred, as would have been expected, in
the two hemispheres; in the southern one, the whirlwind circled round
the area of uprush in the same direction as the hands of a clock. It was
also surmised, that the direction of the wind in ordinary weather was
everywhere governed by the same twisting conditions as in the terrible
cyclones of the tropics, where it had first been noticed.
I felt greatly disposed to examine more closely into these movements of
the air, and it occurred to me that enough help for the purpose might be
obtained in Europe from existing observatories, light-houses, and ships
in the neighbouring seas. They would enable an experimental map to be
made thrice daily for a month, in which the observations should be at
stations much closer together than those in the maps of Le Verrier, and
yet would embrace a sufficiently large area to exhibit the details of a
complete weather system. I took a great deal of pains about this, and
finally succeeded in 1862 in obtaining what was wanted.
It was with no small eagerness that I set to work to map out the data.
The month began under cyclonic conditions; then, to my intense delight,
as that system passed by, it was followed by a condition of affairs the
exact opposite to the cyclone, and supplementary to it. The cyclone, as
already said, is an uprush of air, associated with a low barometer and
clouds, due to the hot and moist air becoming chilled as it rose, and it
was fed, as just described, by an indraught with an anti-clock-ways twist
in the northern hemisphere. That which I now found, during the latter
part of the month in question, was a downrush of air associated with a
high barometer and a clear sky, and with an outflow having a clock-ways
twist. The one system was clearly supplementary to the other. So in the
memoir I contributed on the subject to the Royal Society[16], I called
the newly discovered system an “Anti-cyclone.” Speaking broadly, the
whole of the movements of the lower strata of the air are now looked upon
as a combination of cyclones and anti-cyclones, which feed one another.
The name established itself at once, and is now familiar.
The present daily weather charts of the _Times_, from data supplied by
the Meteorological Office, began to appear at a subsequent date, and
I took considerable part in their early construction. I had also made
many previous attempts to represent the distribution of the weather in
a form suitable for printing with movable types. With the aid of Mr.
W. Spottiswoode I had types cut for me of appropriate forms, and casts
from them were used in the set of my published charts based on the
above-mentioned data (_Meteorographica_ (Macmillan), 1863)[17], but these
were not a success. Later I tried the plan of cutting curves and arrows
in soft material by a drill pantagraph, whence casts might be taken for
printing. A drill pantagraph is made like an ordinary one, except that
the pencil is replaced by a drill, which is rotated by a string that
passes over the joints and does not hinder the movements of its arms.
I do not know whether this plan of making the weather maps is still
adopted. It was submitted to the _Times_ by the Meteorological Council,
through their Secretary, and I still have the first trial stereotype that
was cast on this principle. I heard that there was trouble at first in
finding a suitable soft material better than plaster of Paris and the
like, but that this difficulty of detail was soon overcome.
I have already mentioned Admiral R. FitzRoy (1805-1865). He was captain
of the surveying ship _The Beagle_, whose name became familiar to
the public through Charles Darwin’s _Voyage of the “Beagle.”_ He had
always been most zealous in the advancement of weather forecasts and
storm warnings. The “cone” was his device. A Meteorological Office
was established under his superintendence in 1854, entirely owing to
his exertions, but it was on a very small scale. His publications
unfortunately failed in scientific solidity, and were occasionally
open to serious criticism. I myself ventured to attack them in some
particulars which it is needless now to recall.
On his lamented death it was determined to reconstruct the office, and a
small Departmental Committee of the Board of Trade was named to consider
the question. It consisted of Mr., afterwards Lord, Farrer (1819-1899),
who was then the Secretary of the Board, the then Hydrographer, Captain,
afterwards Sir Frederick, Evans (1815-1885), and myself. We reported
in 1866, and I must here pay a tribute to the singular grasp and
thoroughness of Lord Farrer, whose occasional brief notes to me, in the
course of the inquiry, were models of clearness combined with cordiality.
The result was the formation of a Meteorological Committee in 1868,
of which I was a member, for giving storm warnings to seaports, for
procuring data for marine charts of weather, and for maintaining
a few standard Observatories with self-recording instruments. An
annual grant was made to meet its expenses. This avowedly provisional
arrangement worked well for some years, when it was felt that the scope
of the Meteorological Committee ought to be somewhat enlarged and its
constitution reconsidered. So a second Government Committee was appointed
by the Board of Trade and the Treasury jointly, of which I was again a
member, and in consequence of their Report the “Meteorological Committee”
was changed into the “Meteorological Council,” with an enlarged grant.
It continued in this form until 1905, a little after I had retired from
it owing to increasing deafness. It has subsequently been modified anew,
and is now under the Directorship of Dr. W. N. Shaw, with a large
governing body, whose meetings are much less frequent than those of the
Council had been, and interfere less in details.
My long connection with the able men with whom I co-operated for nearly
forty years on the Meteorological Committee and Council has given very
great pleasure to me, and I had the satisfaction in its earlier days,
when new instruments and methods were frequently called for, of being
able to do my full share of the work. I will mention only one or two
things about which I was much occupied, as examples. Part of our action
was to maintain a few well-equipped self-recording Observatories—that
is to say, where the instruments wrote down their own movements,
photographically or otherwise. For instance, a sheet of photographic
paper was moved slowly by clock-work in front of a barometer. The
barometer stood in front of a slit in a screen, with a lamp on the other
side. The light of the lamp passed freely through the empty portion
of the glass tube on to the sensitive paper, but was shut off by the
mercury. Hour lines were automatically marked upon the paper. The result
was technically called a photographic “tracing,” which showed at each
moment of time how the barometer then stood. An analogous contrivance was
adapted to every one of the other instruments.
All the instrumental data were recorded by these tracings, but they were
much too cumbrous in form and size for easy comparison. The question
then arose whether it would not be possible to reduce these voluminous
documents and print them in a compendious yearly volume. If so, the
tracings would require very much more reduction in breadth than in
height, for the photographic mark made by the recorder was so broad that
the scale of the tracing had to be proportionately wide open; otherwise
the neighbouring irregularities would blur together. A sharp line drawn
along the middle of the tracings might, however, be much compressed
laterally and yet show all the irregularities distinctly. I designed a
compound drill pantagraph for the purpose, which reduced the tracings in
height independently of the reduction in length. One part of the machine
worked the drill forward and backwards, the other part moved the plate
from side to side upon which it worked. The result was to express the
tracings by fine grooves cut into a piece of soft metal. These were again
reduced by an ordinary pantagraph. The whole process required thinking
out in numerous details, but it proved quite a success. It is described
in the annual Report of the Meteorological Office for 1869.
Squares of zinc, one for each day, were grooved by the drill pantagraph
so as to show every one of the data without confusion. They referred
to Wind Velocity and Direction, Barometric Height, Rainfall, Dry and
Wet Thermometer, together with a line to show the amount of Humidity
in the air, which was mechanically calculated from the combined traces
of the two thermometers. These squares were placed beneath a large and
beautifully designed German pantagraph, whose pointer was directed along
the grooves in the zinc, while the diamond point of the scribe scratched
the varnish on a copper plate, which was then etched by acid. The result
was to produce quarto copper plates, each containing the whole of the
instrumental data for each of the seven stations for five consecutive
days. The original tracings are reduced to the ratio of 6:1 in horizontal
and 2:1 in vertical measure. This work was steadily pursued for twelve
years, which is long enough to include a complete cycle of solar
sun-spots. The illustration is a facsimile of the upper two lines of one
page, from which the fourth and fifth days have been removed, for want of
space.
It surprises me that meteorologists have not made much more use than
they have of these comprehensive volumes. But there is no foretelling
what aspect of meteorology will be taken up by the very few earnest and
capable men who work at it. Each of them wants voluminous data arranged
in the form most convenient for his own particular inquiry.
[Illustration]
I take this opportunity of mentioning another attempt of mine which was
not brought into practice but may hereafter be useful; at all events,
it is of interest. The object was to gain some knowledge of the upper
currents of the air, such as are now being obtained by small balloons
or kites, which carry self-recording instruments. It seemed to me that
the cloud made by a bursting shell fired high in the air over the sea,
at a little frequented part of the coast, as that of West Ireland, when
no vessel was within the possibility of damage from falling fragments,
ought to give what was needed. The first questions to be answered were
as to the height to which a shell of appropriate size could be sent, the
visibility of the result, and the cost of each experiment. Sir Andrew
Noble kindly undertook to make experiments for the Office, using a
10-pounder gun that happened to be at the Armstrong Works at Elswick. It
had been designed especially for shooting at balloons, and was furnished
with the necessary spring for preventing harm from recoil. The results
were very good and consistent. The shells burst at a constant height
of about 9000 feet, and gave a conspicuous and durable cloud of smoke,
whose drift could be easily seen and its rate calculated. I designed a
camera-obscura arrangement to do this conveniently. The recorded interval
of time between the explosion as seen and as heard, was an adequate
measure of the distance of the shell-burst. It could be ascertained with
more care when desired, and in more than one way. The cost of each shot
was about ten shillings. This method of observation was not followed
up, as none of the existing stations were thought suitable, and it was
difficult to find one that would be so, considering that easy telegraphic
connection with the Meteorological Office was a necessity. Again, the
method would be useless in cloudy weather. It may possibly be of future
service for inquiries into the varying thickness of the Trade winds in
particular localities.
Yet another attempt of mine may be mentioned. Chiefly through the
initiative of Admiral FitzRoy, “Wind roses,” as they are called,
were calculated for the various Ocean districts, bounded by lines of
latitude and longitude 10 degrees apart. They formed adjacent rectangles
or “squares” in the maps used by seamen, which are always drawn on
“Mercator’s projection.” The “rose” consists of divergent spikes
directed towards each of the sixteen primary points of the compass, whose
several lengths are proportional to the frequency of winds in their
direction. A shade or other sign shows the proportion of the winds above
a specified strength. Consequently the roses afford means for judging
which of two competing courses receives, on the average, the greater
share of favourable winds. But it is no easy matter to calculate by
mother-wit the relative efficiency of the winds as expressed by roses,
upon the run of a ship along any particular course. Almost every wind
can be utilised to some degree; we want to know the aggregate effect in
the required direction of the average of the winds from all the sixteen
primary points. I showed how this could be found mechanically for any
ship whose sailing qualities were known, and suggested that “passage
roses” should be calculated for a typical vessel wherever wind roses
existed. I think this would have been taken in hand, had not steam begun
to largely supersede sails, and was doing so at a rapidly increasing rate.
I was rather scandalised by finding how little was known to nautical men
of the sailing qualities of their own ships, along each of the sixteen
points of the compass, assuming a moderate sea, and a moderate wind
blowing steadily from one direction. I think, if I had a yacht, that this
would be the first point I should wish to ascertain in respect to her
performances.
When the Meteorological Council was established, its first President
was that most accomplished classical scholar, as well as mathematician,
Professor Henry Smith (1826-1883) of Oxford, to whose memory the highest
tributes have been paid, notably by Sir Mountstuart E. Grant Duff. It was
delightful to watch his facility in dealing with difficulties, whether of
administration or expression. The Chairman usually has to remain in the
Office after the meetings are closed to write letters connected with what
has just been transacted. The Secretary, Mr. Robert Scott, was of course
present at those times, and he told me of a peculiarity of Henry Smith
that I should never have guessed, namely, that when an important letter
had to be written, it was his habit to begin by filling a half-sheet and
then tearing it up to begin afresh. I myself am very familiar with the
way in which the mind settles itself while writing the address and date
and the “Dear Sir,” but should have thought from the exceptional rapidity
of the ordinary working of Henry Smith’s mind that he would have been the
last person to need a long pause to give his ideas time to crystallise.
Notwithstanding his multifarious duties and interests, he worked hard at
the inquiries of the moment. In one of these I was closely associated
with him, namely, in an attempt to analyse the extremely complex
system of ocean currents round the Cape and up the West Coast of South
Africa. They admit of being identified and distinguished partly by
their direction and partly by their temperature. Volumes of cold water
coming from the direction of the South Pole sometimes plunge far below
the surface and reappear in the midst of an otherwise unbroken surface
current.
It was a great shock and grief to us all when, without previous
forewarning, intelligence reached us of Henry Smith’s death, after a
brief but singularly painful illness in 1883.
We all looked to General, afterwards Sir Richard, Strachey (1817-1908) to
succeed him, which he did. He too has died only two days before I write
these lines. A prominent place ought to be given to him in my “Memories,”
for we have been connected in our pursuits very frequently and in
very different ways. He was one of the hardest and most unobtrusive
of workers, who exercised a powerful influence in many great matters,
especially in India, but shrank from publicity and ostentation. Like
most master minds, he had a characteristic way of looking at things that
is hard to describe. It often led to his taking an unpopular side in
discussions, though by treating the question very clearly from his own
point of view he caused his opinion to be at last accepted. He has been a
steadfast friend to me throughout my life. I cannot refrain from quoting
the official letter he wrote as Chairman of the Meteorological Council,
when I resigned my seat, it is so gracefully and kindly expressed.
“METEOROLOGICAL OFFICE
_May 9, 1901_
“DEAR MR. GALTON,—The new body of Directors of the Office held
their first meeting on Wednesday, 24th April. In the letter
from the Royal Society notifying their appointment, there was a
paragraph intimating that the resignation of your seat on the
Council had been accepted.
“It was only natural that the first act of the new body should
be to recall the long period during which you have occupied
a seat either on the original Meteorological Committee or
the Council, and to endorse, with the emphasis arising from
their full knowledge of your work, the appreciation which the
President and Council of the Royal Society recorded in their
letter.
“It therefore becomes a duty, by which I am no little
honoured, to convey to you the feeling of the Council upon the
termination of your official services as a Member of the body
on which we have so long worked together. This task I undertake
with a full sense of the difficulty of adequately expressing
the extent to which the work of the Meteorological Office is
indebted for its success and utility to your services, which
have extended over thirty-four years.
“It is no exaggeration to say that almost every room in the
Office and all its records give unmistakable evidence of the
active share you have always taken in the direction of the
operations of the Office. The Council feel that the same high
order of intelligence and inventive faculty has characterised
your scientific work in Meteorology that has been so
conspicuous in many other directions, and has long become known
and appreciated in all centres of intellectual activity.
“With the Office entering upon a new phase of its service
to the public, it is impossible for the Council not to feel
that the work of the past thirty-four years has only opened
the way, as all good work does, for further development. I am
confident that you will still be interested in the success of
the undertaking in which you have had so great a share, and
the Council will value in the future, as they have done in the
past, any suggestion you may make about the work of the Office.
“Believe me, very faithfully yours,
“(Sgd.) RICHARD STRACHEY, _Chairman_”
It is needless to say more than that I was greatly touched by this
letter. I was also so much impressed with its literary skill, that on
calling shortly after on Sir Richard I begged him, as a matter about
which I felt curious on purely literary grounds, to tell me its origin.
He said that it was really his own writing, though based on a draft
prepared at the Office, and added, “And it is all strictly true.” Persons
are to be envied who can express their feelings so gracefully as in that
letter.
CHAPTER XVII
ANTHROPOMETRIC LABORATORIES
Laboratory at the International Health Exhibition—That in the
Science Gallery, South Kensington—New instruments—Finger-prints
adopted by the Home Office—Letter from M. Alphonse Bertillon
My inquiries into hereditary genius, of which I shall speak in a later
chapter, were sufficiently advanced before the year 1865 to show the
pressing necessity of obtaining a multitude of exact measurements
relating to every measurable faculty of body or mind, for two generations
at least, on which to theorise. I therefore set myself to work in many
directions towards achieving this object, in some cases for immediate
use, in others to bear fruit hereafter.
The first attempt was to stimulate schools to weigh and measure, which
was successful at Marlborough College, through the aid of the then
Headmaster, Dr. Farrar, afterwards Archdeacon of Westminster, and later
still Dean of Canterbury, who was enthusiastic about all improvements.
Subsequently, I wrote an article in the _Fortnightly Review_, March 1882,
beginning with, “When shall we have Anthropometric Laboratories, where a
man may from time to time get himself and his children weighed, measured,
and rightly photographed, and have each of their bodily faculties
tested, by the best methods known to modern science?” I went on to
describe what could be done in this way by existing methods, and what
more it was desirable to have.
[Illustration: Sincerely yours
Francis Galton]
When the International Exhibition of 1884 was under consideration,
I offered to equip and maintain a Laboratory there, if a suitable
place were given, the woodwork set up, and the security of it taken
off my hands. This was done, and I arranged a long narrow enclosure
with trellis-work, in front and at its ends. A table ran alongside
the trellis-work on which the instruments were placed and where the
applicants were tested, and a passage was left between the table and
the wall. This gave a quasi-privacy, while it enabled outsiders to see
a little of what was going on inside. A doorkeeper stationed at one end
admitted a single applicant at a time, who had to pay threepence. The
superintendent took him through the tests in turn, and dismissed him at
the other end with his schedule filled up. Sometimes I helped him; then
two persons could be tested together, the one a little in advance of the
other. The arrangement worked smoothly, and the Laboratory was seldom
unemployed.
The measurements dealt with Keenness of Sight and of Hearing; Colour
Sense, Judgment of Eye; Breathing Power; Reaction Time; Strength of Pull
and of Squeeze; Force of Blow; Span of Arms; Height, both standing and
sitting; and Weight. The ease of working the instruments that were used
was so great that an applicant could be measured in all these respects,
a card containing the results furnished him, and a duplicate made and
kept for statistical purposes, at the total cost of the threepenny fee,
already described, for admission. That just defrayed the working expenses.
It is by no means easy to select suitable instruments for such a purpose.
They must be strong, easily legible, and very simple, the stupidity and
wrong-headedness of many men and women being so great as to be scarcely
credible. I used at first the instrument commonly employed for testing
the force of a blow. It was a stout deal rod running freely in a tube,
with a buffer at one end to be hit with the fist and pressing against a
spring at the other. An index was pushed by the rod as far as it entered
the tube in opposition to the spring. I found no difficulty whatever in
testing myself with it, but before long a man had punched it so much on
one side, instead of hitting straight out, that he broke the stout deal
rod. It was replaced by an oaken one, but this too was broken, and some
wrists were sprained.
I afterwards contrived, and used in a subsequent Laboratory, a pretty
arrangement that gave the swiftness, though not the force of the blow,
with absolute safety, and which could be used for other limbs than the
arm. The hand held a thread, the other end of which was tied to an
elastic band, capable of pulling it back faster than any human hand could
follow; so the hand always _retarded_ its movement. Its speed was shown
by the height to which a bead, actuated by the string (it is needless to
explain details), was tossed up in front of a scale. This never failed,
and was perfectly easy to manipulate.
The observations made in this Laboratory were of great use to me later
on. Four hundred complete sets are published in the _Anthropometric
Inst. Journal_ 1884[81], and afford good material for future use in many
ways.
Among other instruments that I contrived then or subsequently, were small
whistles with a screw plug, for determining the highest audible note, the
limit of which varies much in different persons and at different ages.
A parcel of schoolboys might interchange very shrill and loud whistles
quite inaudibly to an elderly master. I found them to produce marked
effects on cats, and made many experiments at a house where I often
stayed, in which my bedroom window overlooked a garden much frequented by
them. My plan was to watch near the open window, and when a cat appeared
and had become quite unsuspicious and absorbed, to sound one of these
notes inaudible to most elderly persons. The cat was round in a minute. I
noticed the quickness and precision with which these animals direct their
eyes to the source of sound. It is not so with dogs.
I contrived a hollow cane made like a walking stick, having a removable
whistle at its lower end, with an exposed indiarubber tube under its
curved handle. Whenever I squeezed the tube against the handle, air was
pushed through the whistle. I tried it at nearly all the cages in the
Zoological Gardens, but with little result of interest, except that it
certainly annoyed some of the lions. I have often met with persons who
perceived no purely audible sound when very high notes were sounded,
but who experienced a peculiar feeling of discomfort which I have
occasionally felt myself. This, I think, was the case with some of the
lions, who turned away and angrily rubbed their ears with their paws,
just as the persons of whom I have spoken often did with their hands.
It was difficult to find a simple machine that would register the
length of Reaction Time—that is, the interval between a Stimulus and
the Response to it, say between a sharp sound and the pressure of
a responding finger on a key. I first used one of Exner’s earlier
instruments, but it took too much time, so I subsequently made one with a
pendulum. The tap that released the pendulum from a raised position made
the required sound,—otherwise it made a quiet sight-signal, whichever was
wished,—and the responding finger caused an elastic thread parallel to
the pendulum and swinging with it to be clutched and held fast, in front
of a scale, graduated to ⅟₁₀₀ths of a second. This acted well; there
was no jar from seizing the elastic thread, and the adjustments gave no
trouble.
For testing the Muscular Sense, I used cartridges packed evenly with
cotton wool and with shot, so as to be exactly alike on the outsides but
of different weights. The weights ran in a regular geometric series, and
were broken up into sets of three. Each set lay in a grooved square of
wood, in any order; the test was to arrange them by the sense of their
heaviness, in their proper order, as shown by the inscriptions at one end
of each. This method acted quickly, because it was easy to judge by the
sometimes hesitating, sometimes decided manner in which a particular set
was handled, whether or no the differences were clearly perceived, and to
substitute others in turn more appropriate to the acuteness of sense of
the person tested.
One hears so much about the extraordinary sensitivity of the blind, that
I was glad of an opportunity of testing a large number of children in an
asylum. The nature of the test was fully explained to them, and that the
most successful ones were to receive a sweetmeat. It was evident that all
did their best, but their performances fell distinctly short of those
of ordinary persons. I found afterwards a marked correlation between at
least this form of sensitiveness and general ability.
After the Health Exhibition was closed in 1885, it seemed a pity that
the Laboratory should also come to an end, so I asked for and was
given a room in the Science Galleries of the South Kensington Museum.
I maintained a Laboratory there during about six years, and found an
excellent man, Sergeant Randal, for its Superintendent. Useful data were
obtained from this Laboratory, but I found that it ought to be either in
the hands of a trained scientific superintendent, who would be competent
to undertake much more refined measurements than mine were intended for,
or else that a great many more persons than I could tempt to attend
should be roughly measured.
Some few notabilities came, among whom I would especially mention Mr.
Gladstone, whose measurements proved very acceptable to Mr. Brock the
sculptor, in making a posthumous statue of him for Liverpool. Mr.
Gladstone was amusingly insistent about the size of his head, saying that
hatters often told him that he had an Aberdeenshire head—“a fact which
you may be sure I do not forget to tell my Scotch constituents.” It was
a beautifully shaped head, though low, but after all it was not so very
large in circumference. Of those persons whom I have mentioned in the
foregoing chapters, the heads of William Spottiswoode and Mr. Gassiott
were larger round; Professor Sharpey’s was the largest of all. A slight
want of symmetry on which Mr. Gladstone laid stress was no peculiarity at
all, for the heads of normal persons are rarely quite symmetrical.
The “Measurement of Resemblance” between portraits is a subject on which
I have been engaged off and on during late years, and which I hope to
take up again. The best of my ideas at present is to prepare a strip of
card one inch broad and printed with numerals of various standard sizes
from 1 to 9. Then to mount the portraits on slides actuated by strings,
and to station them at such distances that the interval between the
pupils of the eyes and the mouth in each portrait shall be apparently the
same as the breadth of the strip. Then to interpose a wedge of tinted
glass in front of an eye-hole, and to slide it until the portraits
become indistinguishable. In that position to read off the smallest of
the standard numbers that is simultaneously legible. I have made many
experiments, differing in particulars, and described one of them in
_Nature_, October 4, 1906[176], which seems to me not so good as the one
briefly outlined above.
The chief value to me of the Laboratory during the latter part of the
time of its existence, and the reason why I continued it so long, lay
in the convenience it afforded for obtaining and testing the value of
finger-prints. My interest in them arose through a request to give a
Friday evening lecture at the Royal Institution (which was delivered
May 25, 1888) on what is briefly called “Bertillonage”; that is, on the
system devised by M. Alphonse Bertillon for identifying persons by the
measurements of their bodily dimensions. The subject was attracting much
interest at the time, and had received a great deal of off-hand newspaper
praise. There was, however, a want of fulness in the published accounts
of it, while the principle upon which extraordinarily large statistical
claims to its quasi-certainty had been founded was manifestly incorrect,
so further information was desirable. The incorrectness lay in treating
the measures of different dimensions of the same person as if they were
_independent_ variables, which they are not. For example, a tall man is
much more likely to have a long arm, foot, or finger than a short one.
The chances against mistake had been overrated enormously owing to this
error; still, the system was most ingenious and very interesting.
I made the acquaintance of M. Bertillon during a short visit to Paris,
and had the opportunity of seeing his system at work. Nothing could
exceed the deftness of his assistants in measuring the criminals; their
methods were prompt and accurate, and all the accompanying arrangements
excellently organised. But I had not means of testing its efficiency
with closeness, which would have required more time and interference
with current work than was permissible. I was nevertheless prepared to
give an account at the Royal Institution of what I had seen, but, being
desirous of introducing original work of my own, I gave to my lecture the
more general title of “Personal Identification and Description”[107], on
which larger subject there was much new to be said.
When thinking over the matter, the fact occurred to my recollection
that thumb-marks had not infrequently been spoken and written about,
so I inquired into their alleged use, especially by the Chinese. I
also wrote a letter to _Nature_ asking for information, which had the
important effect of drawing a response from Sir William Herschel, who,
as a Commissioner in India, had actually used them in his district, for
many years, as a means of preventing personation. But the system fell
into disuse after his departure. Sir William gave me every assistance,
by forwarding to me both old and modern finger-prints of himself and of
others of his family, and in showing his way of making the impressions.
I took up the study very seriously, thinking that finger-prints might
prove to be of high anthropological significance, but I may say at once
that they are not. I have examined large numbers of persons of different
races to our own, as Jews, Basques, Red Indians, East Indians of various
origins, Negroes, and a fair number of Chinese. Also persons of very
different characters and temperaments, as students of science, students
of art, Quakers, notabilities of various kinds, and a considerable
number of idiots at Earlswood Asylum, without finding any pattern
that was characteristic of any of them. But as I continued working at
finger-prints, their importance as a means of identification became more
and more obvious, and since my theoretical work on Heredity, Correlation,
etc., of which I shall speak further, had not yet “taken on,” there was
spare time for inquiry into finger-prints.
I described the results in the above-mentioned lecture so far as they
had then been obtained, and subsequently in a more advanced shape in a
memoir read before the Royal Society in 1891[117]. It was argued in it
that these patterns had a theoretical significance, which has not, I
think, even yet been adequately appreciated, which bears on discontinuity
in evolution. I showed that the different classes of patterns in
finger-prints might be justly compared to different genera. As, however,
they had been formed without any aid from natural selection, I concluded
that natural selection had no monopoly in moulding genera, but that
internal conditions must be quite as important.
I have always believed that the number of positions of stability in
every genus must be limited, from which moderate deviations, but not
great ones, are possible without causing destruction. There are limits
which, if they can be overpassed without disaster, would require a
new position of stability in the organisation. Comparatively few
intermediate finger-patterns are found between a “loop” and a “whorl,”
these representing two different and well-marked genera or positions of
stability.
The modern division of views concerning the immediate causes of
evolution, whether it be due to the slow accumulation of small factors or
else by the sudden mutations of de Vries, are paralleled by those held
by the physicists of the fifties on the method by which a glacier adapts
itself to its bed, just as if it were a viscous body, which it certainly
is not in the ordinary sense of the word. Professor Tyndall ascribed its
adaptation of form to a succession of internal crunches and re-freezings;
in other words, to successive conditions of stability.
It became gradually clear that three facts had to be established before
it would be possible to advocate the use of finger-prints for criminal
or other investigations. First, it must be proved, not assumed, that
the pattern of a finger-print is constant throughout life. Secondly,
that the variety of patterns is really very great. Thirdly, that they
admit of being so classified, or “lexiconised,” that when a set of them
is submitted to an expert, it would be possible for him to tell, by
reference to a suitable dictionary, or its equivalent, whether a similar
set had been already registered. These things I did, but they required
much labour.
A Committee was appointed by the Home Office to inquire into the
different systems of identification that had been adopted or proposed
for use with criminals. They visited my Laboratory, and thoroughly
inspected what I had to show. It was a great pleasure to work with and
for such sympathetic and keen inquirers, but I regretted all the time
that my methods were hardly ripe for inspection; still, they were fairly
adequate. The result was a Report strongly in favour of their adoption,
of which the part that bears on finger-prints is reprinted in my _Finger
Print Directory_[131].
I had communicated with M. Alphonse Bertillon, suggesting that he should
consider the introduction of finger-prints into his own system, but
the idea did not commend itself to him. Afterwards I sent him further
information on what had been more recently done, to which he answered,
on June 15, 1891, that he was much disposed to add my method to his own,
especially for persons under age, but he feared practical difficulties,
such as in cleaning the fingers after printing from them. Also it was a
question whether his assistants, who were but little educated, would be
zealous enough to learn a new method. He ended by asking me, on the next
occasion when I happened to pass through Paris, to give a morning to his
Dépot to experimentalise on the criminals there. It has been stated more
than once that the finger-print system was initiated by M. Bertillon,
so I have mentioned these historical details, and give his untranslated
letter in a footnote.[5] The omitted portion refers to quite another
matter, in which he was then assisting me.
I have said that my method was not so fully elaborated as I should have
wished when the Committee examined it, so I worked hard at it afterwards,
and published the results in 1895 in the book already mentioned, bearing
the title of _Finger Print Directory_, using the term “Directory” in the
same sense as in the familiar phrase of “Post Office Directory.” It was
an unlucky choice of a word, for its equivalent in French means a Board
of Directors, so its title may have misled. This book contained a method
of classification far in advance of what I had published before, and is
in most essential points the same as that in present use in Scotland Yard.
Sir Edward, then Mr. Henry, when in office in India, came to my
Laboratory to learn the finger-print process, and he introduced it first
into Bengal, and afterwards throughout India. The Bertillon system did
not work at all well there, because measurements had to be taken at many
different local centres where accuracy could not be guaranteed. Then Mr.
Henry was dispatched to the Cape, where great difficulty had arisen about
identification, and he introduced finger-prints there also. After this he
was called to England, and soon selected to hold his present important
post. From what I have seen during the few visits I have paid to Scotland
Yard, the finger-print system answers excellently, and can deal easily
with many thousands of sets—certainly with twenty thousand.
I hardly know over how large a part of the world this system is now in
use to the exclusion of other methods. It is so in England, India, and
Argentina. It is used in connection with measurements in Brazil, Egypt,
and many other countries.
It is necessary for its successful employment that the clerks at the
central Bureau should be thoroughly acquainted with their work. There is
much for them to learn as to the uniform classification of many small
groups of often recurring patterns, and in realising what is and what is
not essential to identification. Certain changes in the print may wholly
depend on the greater or less pressure of the finger. The impression
is usually made by what may be described as the crests of the mountain
ridges of the pattern; a strong pressure will show the connecting _cols_
as well, so the latter are unimportant. Decipherment is a peculiar art.
Gross differences are conspicuous enough to an untrained eye, but even in
these a novice may sometimes contrive to make mistakes when an imperfect
impression is submitted to him. On the other hand, the art of taking
good prints is very easy, and may be learnt in a single lesson by any
intelligent and handy man.
Much has been written, but the last word has not been said, on the
rationale of these curious papillary ridges; why in one man and in
one finger they form whorls and in another loops. I may mention a
characteristic anecdote of Herbert Spencer in connection with this. He
asked me to show him my Laboratory and to take his prints, which I did.
Then I spoke of the failure to discover the origin of these patterns, and
how the fingers of unborn children had been dissected to ascertain their
earliest stages, and so forth. Spencer remarked that this was beginning
in the wrong way; that I ought to consider the purpose the ridges had to
fulfil, and to work backwards. Here, he said, it was obvious that the
delicate mouths of the sudorific glands required the protection given to
them by the ridges on either side of them, and therefrom he elaborated a
consistent and ingenious hypothesis at great length.
I replied that his arguments were beautiful and deserved to be true,
but it happened that the mouths of the ducts did not run in the valleys
between the crests, but along the crests of the ridges themselves. He
burst into a good-humoured and uproarious laugh, and told me the famous
story which I have heard from each of the other two who were present
on the occurrence. Huxley was one of them. Spencer, during a pause in
conversation at dinner at the Athenæum, said, “You would little think
it, but I once wrote a tragedy.” Huxley answered promptly, “I know the
catastrophe.” Spencer declared it was impossible, for he had never spoken
about it before then. Huxley insisted. Spencer asked what it was. Huxley
replied, “A beautiful theory, killed by a nasty, ugly little fact.”
CHAPTER XVIII
COMPOSITE PORTRAITS AND STEREOSCOPIC MAPS
Sir Edmund Du Cane and criminal characteristics—Principle of
composites—Analytical photography—Stereoscopic photographs of
models of mountainous districts
My first idea of composite portraiture arose through a request by Sir
Edmund Du Cane, R.E., then H.M. Inspector of Prisons, to examine the
photographs of criminals, in order to discover and to define the types of
features, if there be any, that are associated with different kinds of
criminality. The popular ideas were known to be very inaccurate, and he
thought the subject worthy of scientific study. I gladly offered to do
what I could, and he gave me full opportunities of seeing prisons and of
studying a large number of photographs of criminals, which were of course
to be used confidentially.
At first, for obtaining pictorial averages I combined pairs of portraits
with a stereoscope, with more or less success. Then I recollected an
often observed effect with magic lanthorns, when two lanthorns converge
on the same screen, and while the one is throwing its image, the operator
slowly withdraws the light from it and throws it on to the next one. The
first image yields slowly to the second, with little sense of discordance
in the parts that at all resemble one another. It was obviously possible
to photograph superposed images on a screen by the simultaneous use
of two or more lanthorns. What was common to all of the images would
then appear vigorous, while individual differences would be too faint
for notice. There would, however, be great difficulty in accurately
superposing them without the aid of expensive apparatus. Then the idea
occurred to me that no lanthorns were needed for the purpose, but that
the pictures themselves might be severally adjusted in the same place,
and be photographed successively on the same plate, allowing a fractional
part of the total time of exposure to each portrait.
My earlier experiments were with the full-face photographs of criminals.
I selected three which were not greatly unlike, and were of the same
size, as judged by measuring the vertical distance between the pupils
of the eyes and the parting of the lips. Out of a thin card I cut a
window of the size of the portrait, and fastened two threads over it, one
vertical, the other crossways. Lastly I made a pin-hole in the card on
either side of the window. Thus provided, I laid each portrait in turn
on the table, and adjusted the card until the cross line passed over the
pupils of the eyes, and the vertical line bisected the interval. Then I
pricked through the two pin-holes the paper on which the portrait was. I
could thus hang all three portraits one behind the other on two pins that
projected from a board, with the assurance that the principal features of
each face would occupy an identical position in front of a fixed camera.
I photographed them in turns. The camera was uncapped during one-third of
the normal time of exposure while the first portrait was in front of it.
Capping it again, I took away the front portrait and exposed the second,
then uncapping the camera I took the second portrait; and similarly
the third. The result was particularly promising; it was difficult to
believe that the composite was not a simple portrait. I tested the truth
of the result by placing the photographs in different order, and by many
other ways. Then I extended its application. The method of composite
portraiture was first published in _Nature_, 1878, and more fully in
the _Journ. Anthrop. Inst._, 1879[51], also in the Journal of the
Photographic Society, at which I exhibited it, and elsewhere. The method
is republished in _Human Faculty_[76].
I gladly acknowledge my indebtedness to Sir Edmund Du Cane not only
for helping me with material for these experiments, but for having, as
he told me, suggested the inclusion of my finger-print system in the
instructions to the Committee of Identification, described in the last
chapter. He was an extremely accomplished man, with high and humane
views, and sympathised with not a few of the subjects on which I have
been engaged.
I have successfully made many composites both of races and of families.
The composites are always more refined and ideal-looking than any one of
their components, but I found that persons did not like being mixed up
with their brothers and sisters in a common portrait. It seems a curious
and rather silly feeling, but there can be no doubt of its existence. I
see no other reason why composite portraiture should not be much employed
for obtaining family types. Composites might be made of brothers and
sisters, parents and grandparents, together with a composite of the
race, each in their due proportions, according to the Ancestral Law (see
chapter on Heredity). The result would be very instructive, but the
difficulty of obtaining the material is now overwhelming. Male and female
portraits blend well together, with an epicene result.
With the help of Dr. Mahomed and the permission of the authorities of
Guy’s Hospital, I took many photographs of consumptive patients and made
composites of them, which are published in the Guy’s Hospital Reports,
vol. xxv. They show two contrasted types, the one fine and attenuated,
the other coarse and blunted. Dr. Mahomed was a very promising physician,
on the eve of becoming well known, when he caught a fever of the same
description, I am told, as that on which he had become an authority, and
died of it in his newly purchased house.
I could not make good composites of lunatics; their features are apt to
be so irregular in different ways that it was impossible to blend them.
I took a photographer with me to Hanwell, where it was arranged that the
patients should sit two at a time on a bench. One of them was to be led
forward and posted in front of the camera, while his place on the bench
was filled by the second patient moving up into it, whose previous place
was to be occupied by a third patient. It happened that the second of the
pair who were the first to occupy the bench considered himself to be a
very mighty man, I forget whom, but let us say Alexander the Great. He
boiled with internal fury at not being given precedence, and when the
photographer had his head well under the velvet cloth, with his body
bent, in the familiar attitude of photographers while focusing, Alexander
the Great slid swiftly to his rear and administered a really good bite
to the unprotected hinder end of the poor photographer, whose scared
face emerging from under the velvet cloth rises vividly in my memory as
I write this. The photographer guarded his rear afterwards by posting
himself in a corner of the room.
Many years later, I tried to perform the exact opposite to composite
photography, namely, to annul all that was typical in a portrait and
to preserve its peculiarities. I called it “Analytical Photography,”
and explained it in _Nature_, 1900, and in the _Photo. Soc. Jour._,
1900-1901. It depends on the fact that a positive and a negative glass
plate, _both in half or still fainter tones_, when held face to face
neutralise the peculiarities of one another, so the effect of their
combination is to produce a uniform grey. My plan was to fix a _negative_
composite in front of a _positive_ portrait of one of its elements, all
in half tones, with the result that the composite abstracted all the
typical portion of the portrait while its peculiarities were isolated
and remained. “Alice in Wonderland” would have described it as the “grin
without the Cheshire Cat.” I succeeded, but the result did not give an
intelligible idea of the peculiarities, the non-essentials being as
strongly marked as the essentials, and the whole making a jumble; so I
went no farther with this process.
In 1882 I published an illustrated memoir in _Nature_ on the conventional
way in which artists had hitherto represented a galloping horse. Mr.
Muybridge had, by means of beautiful photographs of twenty momentary
successive attitudes, recently shown, beyond possibility of cavil, that
the conventional representation was totally untrue to fact. I asked
myself the question why observant artists had agreed for so long a time
in drawing galloping horses with their four legs extended simultaneously,
and why their representation had never been objected to. It occurred to
me that composites of successive attitudes that were too momentary to
be distinguished might answer the question, which it did. When all of
the twenty attitudes are combined in a single picture, the result is
certainly suggestive of the conventional representation, though in a very
confused way. Then, finding by my own observation that it was difficult
to watch all four legs at the same time, also seeing that according to
the photographs of Mr. Muybridge, the two fore legs were extended during
one quarter of a complete motion, and that during another quarter the
two hind legs were similarly extended, I made composites of these groups
separately. Then, cutting them in half and uniting the front half of
the former to the hind half of the latter, a very fair equivalent was
obtained to the conventional attitude. I inferred that the brain ignored
one-half of all it saw in the gallop, as too confused to be noticed; that
it divided the other half in two parts, each alike in one particular, and
combined the two halves into a monstrous whole.
This is a convenient place to speak of the method of stereoscopic maps,
which I devised so long ago as 1863. It was published together with
specimens made for me by my cousin, long since dead, R. Cameron Galton,
in the _Proceedings_ of the Royal Geographical Society[18] of that year.
I cannot fully understand why stereoscopes do not hold a higher position
in popular estimation than they do; it may be partly due to two causes—to
the fact that the two eyes are unequally operative in a larger proportion
of persons than might be supposed, and to the cost and unwieldiness of
the usual stereoscope. Compound lenses give better and wider images than
plain ones, but for common purposes I find that plain ones, mounted as
in an eyeglass, serve quite well enough. Those I generally use are cheap
things, mounted in a strip of wood.
I wished to obtain a map that should have the effect of a model, so
suitable models were procured and photographed stereoscopically. The
result was a perfect success. An unexpected result occurred when a pure
white plaster cast was treated in this way, for it wholly failed to give
the required appearance of a solid, but if grains of dust were sprinkled
over it, much more if names were written on it, the stereoscopic effect
appeared in its full strength. Good models, and therefore stereoscopic
maps made from them, give a far better idea of a mountainous country than
any ordinary map can do, however cleverly it may be shaded. Map-makers
might well pay some attention to stereoscopic maps and to providing cheap
eyeglasses with which to view them.
CHAPTER XIX
HUMAN FACULTY
Measurement of mental powers—Gentiles—Number forms—Visions
of sane persons—Experiments on self—Classification
by judgment—Sandow—Weight of cattle—First and second
prizes—Arithmetic by smell—Influences of gesture, voice, etc.
After I had become satisfied of the inheritance of all the mental
qualities into which I had inquired, and that heredity was a far more
powerful agent in human development than nurture, I wished to explore
the range of human faculty in various directions in order to ascertain
the degree to which breeding might, at least theoretically, modify the
human race. I took the moderate and reasonable standpoint that whatever
quality had appeared in man and in whatever intensity, it admitted of
being bred for and reproduced on a large scale. Consequently a new race
might be created possessing on the _average_ an equal degree of quality
and intensity as in the exceptional case. Relative infertility might of
course stand in the way, but otherwise everything seemed to show that
races of highly gifted artists, saints, mathematicians, administrators,
mechanicians, contented labourers, musicians, militants, and so forth,
might be theoretically called into existence, the average excellence of
each race in its particular line being equal to that of its most highly
gifted representative at the present moment.
I desired to plan a laboratory in which Human Faculty might be measured
so far as possible, and, after much inquiry and trouble, drew up and
sent a printed circular to experts, showing in outline what seemed to me
feasible, and drawing attention to desiderata. Useful replies reached me
from many quarters.
There was no one to whose intelligent co-operation I then owed more
than Professor Croom Robertson (1842-1892) of University College. His
genius and temperament were of the most attractive Scottish type—exact,
sane, and very genial. He was well known by his work on Hobbes, and as
the founder and Editor of the periodical _Mind_, in which his critical
notices of current philosophical literature were soon recognised as of
especial weight. He was a thorough friend, whose death left a void in my
own life that has never been wholly filled.
The leading ideas of such a laboratory as I had in view, were that
its measurements should effectually “sample” a man with reasonable
completeness. It should measure _absolutely_ where it was possible,
otherwise _relatively_ among his class fellows, the quality of each
selected faculty. The next step would be to estimate the combined effect
of these separately measured faculties in any given proportion, and
ultimately to ascertain the degree with which the measurement of sample
faculties in youth justifies a prophecy of future success in life, using
the word “success” in its most liberal meaning.
The method of centiles (or of per-centiles as I originally called it)
was devised to give greater precision to the meaning of “class-place.”
The familiar phrases of top of his class, near the top, half-way down
it, and the like, express a great deal, but they express much more if
used in connection with the size of the class. A useful way of reducing
classes of all sizes to a common one is as follows. The names of the
individuals are entered in the order of their class-places in a long
column, beginning with the highest. The names are separated by lines
which resemble the rungs of a ladder, and will here be called rungs for
distinction. The interval between the lowest and highest rungs is divided
along the sides of the ladder into equal parts to form a scale, usually
one of 100 parts. In this the lowest rung stands at 0° and the highest
at 100°. Such divisions are called centiles. If the divisions are not in
hundredths, but otherwise as tenths, eighths, or quarters, they are still
called by words ending in “-ile,” as decile, octile, and quartile. The
marks corresponding to the class-places at each centile, decile, octile,
or quartile, are independent of the size of the class, except in that
small degree to which all statistical deductions are liable when derived
from different samples of the same store of material.
The diagram opposite explains the process. For reasons of space it is
adapted here to a class of only twelve individuals, but it is applicable
equally well to classes however large, and the larger the better.
The method of centiles affords a convenient and compact way of comparing
the amounts of specified faculties in different individuals. All this is
an old tale now, but I had to take a great deal of trouble before it was
clearly thought out and well tested.
+------------+-----------+----------+------------------------------+
| | | | |
| | | | Divisions of Scale. |
| | Marks | Class- +------------------------------+
| Names. | or | Place. | | |
| | Measures. | | | |
| | | | Quarters. | Hundredths |
| | | | | (Centiles).|
+------------+-----------+----------+-----------------+--- 0° ---+
| | | 1st | | |
+------------+-----------+----------+ | |
| | | 2nd | | |
+------------+-----------+----------+ | |
| | | 3rd | | |
+------------+-----------+----------+--Lower quartile-+-- 25° --+
| | | 4th | | |
+------------+-----------+----------+ | |
| | | 5th | | |
+------------+-----------+----------+ | |
| | | 6th | | |
+------------+-----------+----------+-Middle quartile-+-- 50° --+
| | | 7th | (Median) | |
+------------+-----------+----------+ | |
| | | 8th | | |
+------------+-----------+----------+ | |
| | | 9th | | |
+------------+-----------+----------+--Upper quartile-+-- 75° --+
| | | 10th | | |
+------------+-----------+----------+ | |
| | | 11th | | |
+------------+-----------+----------+ | |
| | | 12th | | |
+------------+-----------+----------+-----------------+-- 100° --+
As it may interest persons to know how they would stand among the
visitants to a large London Exhibition, I give a brief extract on next
page from my published table (_Nature_, January 8, 1885),[86], concerning
those measured at the International Health Exhibition.
Suppose the reader to be a male adult, and the strength of his pull as
with a bow to be 78 lbs., he will learn that his class-place in that
particular is at the seventieth centile. In other words, that of those
measured at the above Exhibition about[6] 70 per cent. were weaker and 30
per cent. stronger.
This little table contains excellent material for comparing the powers of
the two sexes.
_From Measurements made at the Anthropometric Laboratory in the
International Health Exhibition of 1884._
+-------------------+-------------+----+-----------------------------+
| | | | Centiles. |
| Subject of | Unit of | +-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+
| Measurement. | Measure. |Sex.| | | | | |
| | | | 10° | 30° | 50° | 70° | 90° |
+-------------------+-------------+----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+
|Height standing, } |Inches {| M. | 64·5| 66·5| 67·9| 69·2| 71·3|
| without shoes } | {| F. | 59·9| 62·1| 63·3| 64·6| 66·4|
| | | | | | | | |
|Span of arms |Inches {| M. | 66·1| 68·2| 69·9| 71·4| 73·6|
| | {| F. | 59·5| 61·7| 63·0| 64·5| 66·7|
| | | | | | | | |
|Weight in indoor } |Pounds {| M. | 125| 135| 143| 150| 165|
| clothing } | {| F. | 105| 114| 122| 132| 142|
| | | | | | | | |
|Breathing capacity |Cubic inches{| M. | 177| 199| 219| 236| 277|
| | {| F. | 102| 124| 138| 151| 177|
| | | | | | | | |
|Strength of pull } |Pounds {| M. | 60| 68| 74| 78| 89|
| with a bow } | {| F. | 32| 36| 40| 44| 51|
+-------------------+-------------+----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+
One of my many inquiries related to what I called “Number Forms”; it
originated in this way. Mr. George Bidder, Q.C., son of the engineer
who in his youth was the famous “calculating boy” (1806-1878), and who
inherited and transmitted much of his father’s remarkable powers, wrote
in a postscript of a letter to me in response to other inquiries, that he
himself habitually saw numbers in his mind’s eye, arranged in a peculiar
form, of which he sent a drawing. It began with the face of a clock,
numbered I. to XII., and then tailed off, much like the tail of a kite,
into an undulating curve, having 20, 30, 40, etc., at each bend. This
prompted me to ask others whom I met whether he or she saw anything of
the kind, and I received affirmative replies from a few girls.
I then went to my Club and successively asked the same question of every
friend whom I saw, but invariably met with a more or less contemptuous
negative. Nothing daunted, I inquired further, and soon found a goodly
number of distinguished persons who perceived these curious forms, no two
of them alike. After prolonged questioning in many directions I gathered
enough material for a memoir, and being determined to publish it in a way
that could not be pooh-poohed, I selected six well-known friends out of
those who said that they saw them, and having assured myself that they
would speak to the veracity of their several diagrams, I invited them all
to a good dinner, and took them to the meeting of the Anthropological
Institute on March 9, 1880, where the diagrams were hung up. These were
G. Bidder, Col. Yule, Rev. G. Henslow, Prof. Schuster, J. Roget, and Mr.
Wood Smith. They acted faithfully up to their assurances, and so the fact
of the existence of Number-Forms was solidly established. Their remarks
are published in the _Journal of the Anthropological Institute_[63]. I
possessed a collection of most curious forms, not a few of them appearing
in three dimensions and drawn in perspective; many of them were coloured.
Before quitting this subject I may be allowed to tell a tale thereon.
I had to deliver a lecture at the British Association, in which these
Number-Forms were to be spoken of, and did a rash thing. It was that
after describing their character and frequency, I said, “Now, will every
person in this large meeting who is conscious of seeing a Number-Form,
hold up his hand?” There was a dead silence; those who should have
responded were too shy to move, and not a hand was raised. I suddenly
bethought myself of a tale that had not long since appeared in the
_Times_, as told by a German soldier to his comrades over a bivouac fire,
to account for a want of solidarity in the French resistance. It was
this, and I told it with some variations to the meeting:—
“The Chief Rabbi of Dantzig was a wealthy and hospitable man. (I repeat
what I read, and beg pardon if the tale was applied to the wrong person.)
One day his house caught fire and even the contents of his good cellar
suffered. The Jews took counsel what to do for their beloved Rabbi. First
a handsome subscription was proposed, but overruled; then another idea
was mooted, then another, each less costly than the preceding; and at
the last it was agreed that every Jew should visit the house on a day
to be fixed, and bring with him a bottle of Eau de Vie de Dantzig (the
original said ‘wine’). That after an appropriate speech of greeting to
the Rabbi, he should descend into the cellar and empty his bottle into
a vat prepared for the purpose. The day came, the Chief Rabbi prepared
a sumptuous collation, and listened with delight to the flattering
addresses of his guests; then, when the ceremony was concluded, he
went down to the cellar with his family, all of them brimful of kindly
feelings, to taste the result. He turned the tap, a beautifully clear
fluid ran into his glass; he lifted it with gratitude to his lips, when
suddenly his countenance fell; he sipped a second time and exploded in
wrath, for the fluid was pure water. The fact was that each Jew had said
to himself, ‘What matters it whether I put in a spirit which costs money,
or water which costs nothing? My own contribution will make no sensible
difference to the total result.’ As every Jew acted on this principle,
the result was pure water.
“Now each of you who perceive Number-Forms has acted in a similar way,
so there has been no response to my request; but I cannot let the matter
drop, therefore I call on Professor S——, whom I see on the platform, and
who, I know, perceives these Forms, to hold up his hand, and I trust then
that you who have hitherto abstained through shyness will do so likewise.”
The appeal succeeded; up went Professor S——’s hand, and up went a
multitude of scattered hands all about the body of the hall.
* * * * *
In 1881 I gave one of the Friday Evening Lectures at the Royal
Institution on the Visions of Sane Persons[65], in which I dwelt on the
far greater frequency than was supposed, of hallucinations and illusions
among individuals in normal health, as ascertained through numerous
inquiries verbally or by letter. It very often happened that the verbal
reply to my question took a form like this, “No, no; I’ve never had any
hallucination”; then, after a pause, “Well, there certainly was one
curious thing,” etc. etc.
One afternoon at tea-time, before a meeting of the Royal Society, Sir
Risdon Bennett (1809-1891), a well-known physician, President of the
College of Physicians in 1876, and a Fellow of the Royal Society, drew me
apart and told me of a strange experience he had had very recently. He
was writing in his study separated by a thin wall from the passage, when
he heard the well-known postman’s knock, followed by the entrance into
his study of a man dressed in a fantastic medieval costume, perfectly
distinct in every particular, buttons and all, who, after a brief time,
faded and disappeared. Sir Risdon said that he felt in perfect health;
his pulse and breathing were normal, and so forth, but he was naturally
alarmed at the prospect of some impending brain disorder. Nothing,
however, of the sort had followed. The same appearance recurred; he
thought the postman’s knock somehow originated the hallucination.
I begged him to publish the curious case fully with his name attached,
as it would then become a classical example, but he hesitated; however,
he did ultimately publish it at some length in a medical paper, but
signed only with his initials. I wholly forget its date. If any reader
interested in these things should come across the paper, these imperfect
but vivid recollections of mine may corroborate such impressions as he
would have of its veracity, for I heard the story at length, very shortly
after the event, told me with painstaking and scientific exactness, and
in tones that clearly indicated the narrator’s earnest desire to be
minutely correct. I purposely omit many details, doubting the accuracy
of my own memory in those respects. There can be no impropriety now in
publishing the name hitherto withheld.
I gave in the lecture many examples of guiding “stars” and the like,
and referred to the fact that the visionary temperament has manifested
itself largely at certain historical times, and under certain conditions
of national life, and endeavoured to account for this by the following
considerations:—
That the visionary tendency is much more common among sane people than is
generally suspected.
In early life it seems to be a hard lesson for an imaginative child
to distinguish between the real and the visionary world. If the
fantasies are habitually laughed at and otherwise discouraged, the
child soon acquires the power of distinguishing them; any incongruity
or nonconformity is quickly noted, the fact of its being a vision is
found out; it is discredited, and no further attended to. In this way
the natural tendency to see visions is blunted by repression. Therefore,
when popular opinion is of a matter-of-fact kind, the seers of visions
keep quiet; they do not like to be thought fanciful or mad, and they
hide their experiences, which only come to light through inquiries such
as those I have been making. But let the tide of opinion change and grow
favourable to supernaturalism, then the seers of visions come to the
front. It is not that a faculty previously non-existent has been suddenly
evoked, but that a faculty long smothered in secret has been suddenly
allowed freedom to express itself, and it may be to run into extravagance
owing to the removal of reasonable safeguards.
The following experiments on Human Faculty are worth recording; they
have not been published before. In the days of my youth I felt at one
time a passionate desire to subjugate the body by the spirit, and among
other disciplines determined that my will should replace automatism by
hastening or retarding automatic acts. Every breath was submitted to
this process, with the result that the normal power of breathing was
dangerously interfered with. It seemed as though I should suffocate if
I ceased to will. I had a terrible half-hour; at length by slow and
irregular steps the lost power returned. My dread was hardly fanciful,
for heart-failure is the suspension of the automatic faculty of the heart
to beat.
A later experiment was to gain some idea of the commoner feelings in
Insanity. The method tried was to invest everything I met, whether human,
animal, or inanimate, with the imaginary attributes of a spy. Having
arranged plans, I started on my morning’s walk from Rutland Gate, and
found the experiment only too successful. By the time I had walked one
and a half miles, and reached the cab-stand in Piccadilly at the east end
of the Green Park, every horse on the stand seemed watching me, either
with pricked ears or disguising its espionage. Hours passed before this
uncanny sensation wore off, and I feel that I could only too easily
re-establish it.
The third and last experiment of which I will speak was to gain an
insight into the abject feelings of barbarians and others concerning the
power of images which they know to be of human handiwork. I had visited
a large collection of idols gathered by missionaries from many lands,
and wondered how each of those absurd and ill-made monstrosities could
have obtained the hold it had over the imaginations of its worshippers.
I wished, if possible, to enter into those feelings. It was difficult to
find a suitable object for trial, because it ought to be in itself quite
unfitted to arouse devout feelings. I fixed on a comic picture, it was
that of Punch, and made believe in its possession of divine attributes.
I addressed it with much quasi-reverence as possessing a mighty power
to reward or punish the behaviour of men towards it, and found little
difficulty in ignoring the impossibilities of what I professed. The
experiment gradually succeeded; I began to feel and long retained for the
picture a large share of the feelings that a barbarian entertains towards
his idol, and learnt to appreciate the enormous potency they might have
over him.
I will mention here a rather weird effect that compiling these “Memories”
has produced on me. By much dwelling upon them they became refurbished
and so vivid as to appear as sharp and definite as things of to-day.
The consequence has been an occasional obliteration of the sense of
Time, and to replace it by the idea of a permanent panorama, painted
throughout with equal vividness, in which the point to which attention
is temporarily directed becomes for that time the Present. The panorama
seems to extend unseen behind a veil which hides the Future, but is
slowly rolling aside and disclosing it. That part of the panorama which
is veiled is supposed to exist as vividly coloured as the rest, though
latent. In short, this experience has given me an occasional feeling that
there are no realities corresponding to Past, Present, and Future, but
that the entire Cosmos is one perpetual Now. Philosophers have often held
this creed intellectually, but I suspect that few have felt the possible
truth of it so vividly as it has occasionally appeared to my imagination
through dwelling on these “Memories.”
Many mental processes admit of being roughly measured. For instance,
the degree to which people are bored, by counting the number of their
Fidgets. I not infrequently tried this method at the meetings of the
Royal Geographical Society, for even there dull memoirs are occasionally
read. A gallery in the meeting room is supported by iron columns. The
portion of the audience as seen from the platform who are bounded by
two of these columns, and who sit on two or three of the benches, are a
convenient sample to deal with. They can be watched simultaneously, and
the number of movements in the group per minute can be easily counted
and the average number per man calculated. I have often amused myself
with noticing the increase in that number as the audience becomes
tired. The use of a watch attracts attention, so I reckon time by the
number of my breathings, of which there are fifteen in a minute. They
are not counted mentally, but are punctuated by pressing with fifteen
fingers successively. The counting is reserved for the fidgets. These
observations should be confined to persons of middle age. Children are
rarely still, while elderly philosophers will sometimes remain rigid for
minutes together.
I will now revert to the problem with which I started, of measuring by
Classification, and will give a few instances of its employment. Some
years ago I attended a meeting in the Albert Hall, at which prizes of
much value were to be awarded to the best made men in Sandow’s gymnastic
classes, as estimated by three examiners, of whom Sir A. Conan Doyle was
one, while Sandow himself acted as referee.
I regret to have destroyed or mislaid the notes I made, so the following
description of the very instructive ceremony may be inaccurate in small
details.
The prizes were three, of an aggregate value of not far from £1000,
and given by Mr. Sandow. He had made a tour to his many centres of
gymnastic teaching in England, and picked out from each of them the man
or men who were most likely to stand well in the competition. The day
arrived; I got a good seat, and was prepared with an opera glass. The
competitors marched into the arena; they were about eighty in number,
and they were in ranks of ten abreast. They were stripped to the waist,
but calico cloths coloured something like a leopard skin were thrown
over their shoulders. So they marched round the arena, then the front
row discarded their leopard skins, and jumped each man on to one of a
row of pedestals arranged in front of the organ. The electric light was
thrown on them. The three examiners walked in front and behind, taking
notes and interchanging views. The man who was selected as the best
of this batch went to one side; the others rejoined their companions.
The same proceeding was gone through with the second row, and so on
successively to the end. Then the selected ones came forward and stood
on the pedestals as before, and were examined still more minutely, if
possible. Finally, the first, second, and third man in order of their
estimated merit were marched to the middle of the hall to the tune of
the “Conquering Hero,” and received their costly prizes in the form of
athletic groups in gold, silver, or bronze.
The point that especially interested me was that I had done my best to
form just decisions of my own, and that I had already selected those who
came second and third as among the best three. But I had wrongly classed
the first prizeman. However, after the judges had made their award I
recognised the superior justness of their estimate to my own. The power
of classifying men correctly, by mere inspection, seemed to me much
greater after this experience than before.
A little more than a year ago, I happened to be at Plymouth, and was
interested in a Cattle exhibition, where a visitor could purchase a
stamped and numbered ticket for sixpence, which qualified him to become
a candidate in a weight-judging competition. An ox was selected, and
each of about eight hundred candidates wrote his name and address on his
ticket, together with his estimate of what the beast would weigh when
killed and “dressed” by the butcher. The most successful of them gained
prizes. The result of these estimates was analogous, under reservation,
to the votes given by a democracy, and it seemed likely to be instructive
to learn how votes were distributed on this occasion, and the value of
the result. So I procured a loan of the cards after the ceremony was
past, and worked them out in a memoir published in _Nature_[177-8]. It
appeared that in this instance the _vox populi_ was correct to within 1
per cent. of the real value; it was 1207 pounds instead of 1198 pounds,
and the individual estimates were distributed in such a way that it was
an equal chance whether one of them selected at random fell within or
without the limits of -3.7 per cent., or +2.4 per cent. of the middlemost
value of the whole.
The result seems more creditable to the trustworthiness of a democratic
judgment than might have been expected. But the proportion of the voters
who were practised in judging weights undoubtedly surpassed that of the
voters in ordinary elections who are versed in politics.
I endeavoured in the memoirs just mentioned, to show the appropriateness
of utilising the _Median_ vote in Councils and in Juries, whenever they
have to consider money questions. Each juryman has his own view of what
the sum should be. I will suppose each of them to be written down. The
best interpretation of their collective view is to my mind _certainly
not_ the average, because the wider the deviation of an individual
member from the average of the rest, the more largely would it effect
the result. In short, unwisdom is given greater weight than wisdom. In
all cases in which one vote is supposed to have one value, the median
value _must_ be the truest representative of the whole, because any other
value would be negatived if put to the vote. If it were more than the
median, more than half of the voters would think it too much; if less,
too little. My idea is that the median ought to be ascertained, which
could be very quickly done by the foreman, aided by one or two others of
the Jury, and be put forward as a substantial proposal, after reading the
various figures from which it was derived.
This is a convenient place for speaking of an analogous problem that
interested me a few years previously[159]. I have had more than once to
assist in determining how a given sum allotted for prizes ought to be
divided between the first and second men when only two prizes are given.
The same problem has to be solved by the judges of cattle shows, and it
is, if a little generalised, of very wide application. I attacked it both
theoretically and practically, and got the same results both ways. When
the number of candidates is known, and the distribution of merit follows
the well-known Gaussian law, the calculation is easy enough, but when the
number of candidates is not known it is a different matter; moreover,
the Gaussian law may not apply to the case, though it will probably do
so pretty closely. So I calculated what the ratios would be in classes
of different numbers and according to the Gaussian law. The ratio in
question is that between the excess of the first performance over the
third, and the excess of the second performance over the third. The third
being the highest that gets no prize at all, forms the starting-point of
the calculation. When the numbers of candidates were either 3, 5, 10,
20, 50, 100, 1,000, 10,000, or 100,000, I found, to my surprise, that
the ratio was much the same. The appropriate portion of the total of one
hundred pounds which should be allotted to the first prize proved to
be seventy-five pounds, leaving twenty-five or one-third of its amount
for the second prize. Even when the number of candidates were at the
minimum of 3, the first prize would be £67; if 5, it would be £71; if 10,
it would be £73; and if 100,000, it would be £75 (to the nearest whole
figures).
Then, through the courtesy of Mr. Muir, the Chief Examiner at the
Education Office, I was allowed to examine a large number of results from
the Civil Service Examinations, and found that the average value of the
first prize should be £74. Taking groups of 50 cases, each group gave
that value pretty closely, no one differing as much as £4 from it.
The subject has since been generalised and discussed in _Biometrika_
with far more mathematical skill than I possess, by both Professor
Karl Pearson and Mr. W. F. Sheppard (a former Senior Wrangler), with
practically the same result, so that if only two prizes are to be given,
whatever be the character of the competition, and whatever the number of
candidates, the first prize should in round numbers be three times the
value of the second.
* * * * *
Professor Max Müller had, in a work dated 1886 or 1887, laid an
exaggerated stress, as I considered, on language as a means of thought,
upon which I wrote some remarks in _Nature_[98], entitled “Thought
without Words,” which led to a short newspaper controversy, June 2,
between us two. My point was that I myself thought hardest when making
no mental use of words. Professor Max Müller’s definitions of what he
considered “words” seemed to me to vary, and therefore to be elusive, so
I did not and will not pursue the matter farther.
It led, however, to the idea of an experiment that seemed worth making,
which I described[128] as “Arithmetic by Smell.” When we propose to add,
and _hear_ the spoken words “two” and “three,” we instantly through
long habit _say_ “five.” Or if we _see_ those figures, we have a mental
image, and _write_ 5. Surely, Sound and Sight-symbols are not the only
Sense-symbols by which arithmetic could be performed.
Leaving aside Colour, Touch, and Taste, I determined to try Smells. The
scents chiefly used were peppermint, camphor, carbolic acid, ammonia, and
aniseed. Each scent was poured profusely on cotton wool loosely packed in
a brass tube, with a nozzle at one end. The other end was pushed tightly
into a caoutchouc tube, whose free end was stopped with a cork. A squeeze
of the tube caused a whiff of scented air to pass through the nozzle.
When the squeeze was relaxed, fresh air was sucked in and became scented
by the way. I taught myself to associate two whiffs of peppermint with
one of camphor, three of peppermint with one of carbolic acid, and so
on. Next, I practised small sums in addition with the scents themselves,
afterwards with the mere imagination of them. I banished without
difficulty all visual and auditory associations, and finally succeeded
perfectly. Thus I fully convinced myself of the possibility of doing
sums in simple addition with considerable speed and accuracy, solely by
imagined scents. I did not care to give further time to this, as I only
wanted to prove a possibility, but did make a few experiments with Taste,
that promised equally well, using salt, sugar, quinine, and citric acid.
* * * * *
I have once in my life experienced the influence of Personal Ascendancy
in that high degree which some great personalities have exercised, and
the occasion of which I speak was the more striking owing to the absence
of concurrent pomp. It was on Garibaldi’s arrival in London, where he was
hailed as a hero. I was standing in Trafalgar Square when he reached it,
driving up Parliament Street. His vehicle was a shabby open carriage,
stuffed with Italians, regardless of style in dress; Garibaldi alone
was standing. I had not been in a greatly excited or exalted mood, but
the simplicity, goodness, and nobility impressed on every lineament of
Garibaldi’s face and person quite overcame me. I realised then what
I never did before or after, something of the impression that Jesus
seems to have exercised on multitudes on more than one occasion. I am
grateful to that experience for revealing to me the hero-worshipping
potentialities of my nature.
When the late Mr. Spurgeon first made his reputation, I went, as many
others did, to hear him. I was in the gallery of his “Tabernacle,”
which was said to hold 11,000 persons, and in which certainly 9000 were
then present, as roughly counted by myself. The men had their hats on,
and conversation was unchecked. Suddenly there was a slight stir that
travelled through the crowd, and the almost childlike features of the
young preacher came into view as he rose from below and mounted the
platform. He simply raised his hand; there was a simultaneous removal
of hats and a great hush, and then the words began. It was a marvellous
instance of the commanding power of a simple gesture.
One more instance, and I have done. It occurred towards the close of
my undergraduate days at Cambridge at a festival which I will not
particularise further than to say it was partly solemn at first, and
broadened into good fellowship without any excess. Songs were sung, and
J. Mitchell Kemble, the subject of Tennyson’s early “Ode to J. M. K.,”[7]
gave time to the chorus of one of the songs by raising his arm and
moving his glass. By those most simple gestures, he drove us all into an
enthusiasm, comparable with that to which negroes are occasionally driven
by an accurately timed tom-tom. In one of Bulwer’s novels, the performer
in a barn exercises equal power over his audience by the movements of a
stick.
The human senses, when rythmically stimulated in certain exact cadences,
are capable of eliciting overwhelming emotions not yet sufficiently
investigated.
CHAPTER XX
HEREDITY
Early inquiries—_Hereditary Genius_—_English Men of
Science_—Family records—Nature and Nurture—Experiments on Free
Will—Pangenesis and transfusion of blood—Heredity concerned
with deviations—Experiments on peas—Regression—Ancestral law
The publication in 1859 of the _Origin of Species_ by Charles Darwin made
a marked epoch in my own mental development, as it did in that of human
thought generally. Its effect was to demolish a multitude of dogmatic
barriers by a single stroke, and to arouse a spirit of rebellion against
all ancient authorities whose positive and unauthenticated statements
were contradicted by modern science.
I doubt, however, whether any instance has occurred in which the
perversity of the educated classes in misunderstanding what they
attempted to discuss was more painfully conspicuous. The meaning of the
simple phrase “Natural Selection” was distorted in curiously ingenious
ways, and Darwinism was attacked, both in the press and pulpit, by
persons who were manifestly ignorant of what they talked about. This is
a striking instance of the obstructions through which new ideas have
to force their way. Plain facts are apprehended in a moment, but the
introduction of a new Idea is quite another matter, for it requires an
alteration in the attitude and balance of the mind which may be a very
repugnant and even painful process. On my part, however, I felt little
difficulty in connection with the _Origin of Species_, but devoured its
contents and assimilated them as fast as they were devoured, a fact which
perhaps may be ascribed to an hereditary bent of mind that both its
illustrious author and myself have inherited from our common grandfather,
Dr. Erasmus Darwin.
I was encouraged by the new views to pursue many inquiries which had
long interested me, and which clustered round the central topics of
Heredity and the possible improvement of the Human Race. The current
views on Heredity were at that time so vague and contradictory that
it is difficult to summarise them briefly. Speaking generally, most
authors agreed that all bodily and some mental qualities were inherited
by brutes, but they refused to believe the same of man. Moreover,
theologians made a sharp distinction between the body and mind of man,
on purely dogmatic grounds. A few passages may undoubtedly be found
in the works of eminent authors that are exceptions to this broad
generalisation, for the subject of human heredity had never been squarely
faced, and opinions were lax and contradictory. It seems hardly credible
now that even the word heredity was then considered fanciful and unusual.
I was chaffed by a cultured friend for adopting it from the French.
I had been immensely impressed by many obvious cases of heredity among
the Cambridge men who were at the University about my own time. The
Classical Class List was first established in 1824, consequently the
number of “Senior Classics” up to 1864 inclusive was 41, that is to say,
the names of the 41 very first men in Classics at Cambridge in each of
these 41 years were known and published. It will be sufficient as an
example to give the names of 7 of these Senior Classics, all of whom
had a father, brother, or son whose success was as notable as their own
(I count a Senior Wrangler as equal to a Senior Classic). They are: 3
Kennedys, 2 Lushingtons, 1 Wordsworth, and 1 Butler. This fact alone
would justify a serious attempt to inquire into Hereditary Ability, and I
soon found the power of heredity to be as fully displayed in every other
direction towards which I turned. The Myttons mentioned in Chapter VIII.
were an unquestionable instance of a very peculiar hereditary temperament.
After many months of hard work, I wrote, in 1865, two preliminary
papers in _Macmillan’s Magazine_, entitled “Hereditary Talent and
Character”[20]. These contain the germs of many of my subsequent
memoirs, the contents of which went to the making of the following
books: _Hereditary Genius_, 1869; _English Men of Science_, 1874; _Human
Faculty_, 1883; _Natural Inheritance_, 1889; and to my quite recent
writings on Eugenics. On re-reading these articles, I must say that,
considering the novel conditions under which they were composed, and
notwithstanding some crudeness here and there, I am surprised at their
justness and comprehensiveness. It has fortunately been my usual habit
(sometimes omitted) of keeping copies of my various memoirs, which are
now bound in volumes. There are considerably more than a hundred and
seventy publications in all, as will be gathered from the not wholly
complete list in the Appendix, and I am pleased to find myself still in
accord with nearly every one of those recently re-read or referred to.
_Hereditary Genius_[22] made its mark at the time, though subjected to
much criticism, no small part of which was captious or shallow, and
therefore unimportant. The verdict which I most eagerly waited for was
that of Charles Darwin, whom I ranked far above all other authorities on
such a matter. His letter, given below, made me most happy.
“DOWN, BECKENHAM, KENT, S.E.
_3rd December_
“MY DEAR GALTON,—I have only read about 50 pages of your book
(to Judges), but I must exhale myself, else something will
go wrong in my inside. I do not think I ever in all my life
read anything more interesting and original—and how well and
clearly you put every point! George,[8] who has finished the
book, and who expressed himself in just the same terms, tells
me that the earlier chapters are nothing in interest to the
later ones! It will take me some time to get to these latter
chapters, as it is read aloud to me by my wife, who is also
much interested. You have made a convert of an opponent in one
sense, for I have always maintained that, excepting fools, men
did not differ much in intellect, only in zeal and hard work;
and I still think this is an _eminently_ important difference.
I congratulate you on producing what I am convinced will prove
a memorable work. I look forward with intense interest to each
reading, but it sets me thinking so much that I find it very
hard work; but that is wholly the fault of my brain and not of
your beautifully clear style.—Yours most sincerely,
“(Signed) CH. DARWIN”
The rejoinder that might be made to his remark about hard work, is that
character, _including the aptitude for work_, is heritable like every
other faculty.
I had been overworked, and unable to give as close attention as desirable
while correcting the proofs, so mistakes were to be feared. Happily there
were not many, but one was absurd, and I was justly punished. It was due
to some extraordinary commingling of notes on the families of Jane Austen
and of Austin the jurist. In my normal state of health the mistake could
not have been overlooked, but there it was. I was at that time a member
of the Committee of the Athenæum Club, among whose members there happened
to be a representative of each of the above families, who “gave it me
hot,” though most decorously.
I had much pleasant correspondence at a later date with Alphonse de
Candolle, son of the still greater botanist of that name. He had written
a very interesting book, _Histoire des Sciences et des Savants depuis
deux Siècles_, in which he analysed the conditions that caused nations,
and especially the Swiss, to be more prolific in works of science at one
time than another, and I thought that a somewhat similar investigation
might be made with advantage into the history of English men of science.
It was a daring undertaking, to ask as I did, in 1874, every Fellow
of the Royal Society who had filled some important post, to answer a
multitude of Questions needful for my purpose, a few of which touched
on religion and other delicate matters. Of course they were sent on the
distinct understanding that the answers would be used for statistical
purposes only. I took advice on the subject, notably of Herbert Spencer,
and I think (though I cannot say for certain) from Dr. W. Farr also. Dr.
W. Farr (1807-83) was the head of the Registration Department in Somerset
House. I frequently consulted him, and always to my advantage, for he
was highly gifted and cultured. He was most sympathetic, and keenly
appreciated what might be called the poetical side of statistics, as
shown by his Annual Reports and other publications.
The size of my circular was alarming. Though naturally very shy, I
do occasional acts, like other shy persons, of an unusually bold
description, and this was one. After an uneasy night, I prepared myself
on the following afternoon, and not for the first time before interviews
that were likely to be unpleasant, by what is said to have been the
usual practice of Buffon before writing anything exceptional, namely, by
dressing myself in my best clothes.
I can confidently recommend this plan to shy men as giving a sensible
addition to their own self-respect, and as somewhat increasing the
respect of others. In this attire I went to a meeting of the Royal
Society, prepared to be howled at; but no! my victims, taken as a whole,
tolerated the action, and some even approved of it.
Much experience of sending circular questions has convinced me of the
impossibility of foretelling whether a particular person will receive
them kindly or not. Some are unexpectedly touchy. In this very case, a
man of high scientific distinction, with whom I was well acquainted,
who was of good social position, of whose family many details were
already known to me, all of which were honourable, and whose biography
has since disclosed no skeleton in the cupboard, was almost furious at
being questioned. On the other hand, a Cabinet Minister, whom I knew but
slightly, gave me full and very interesting information without demur.
The results of the inquiry showed how largely the aptitude for
science was an inborn and not an acquired gift, and therefore apt to
be hereditary. But, in not a few instances, the person who replied
was a “sport,” being the only one of his family who had any care for
science, and who had persevered in spite of opposition. The paternal
influence generally superseded the maternal in early life, though the
mother was usually spoken of with much love, and very often described
as particularly able. This seemed to afford evidence that the virile,
independent cast of mind is more suitable to scientific research than
the feminine, which is apt to be biased by the emotions and to obey
authority. But I have said my say long since in the book _English Men of
Science_[36], and must not reiterate.
The dearth of information about the Transmission of Qualities among
all the members of a family during two, three, or more generations,
induced me in 1884-85 to offer a sum of £500 in prizes to those who
most successfully filled up an elaborate list of questions concerning
their own families. The questions were contained in a thin quarto volume
of several pages, printed and procurable at Macmillan’s, cost price,
which referred to the Grandparents, Parents, Brothers, Sisters, and
Children, with spaces for more distant relatives. A promise was given,
and scrupulously kept, that they should be used for statistical purposes
only. My offer had a goodly response, and the names of the prize-winners
were duly published in the newspapers. I was much indebted, when devising
the programme and other prefatory details, both to Professor Allman
(1812-1898), the biologist, and to my old friend at King’s College,
Mr. (afterwards Sir) John Simon. The material afforded by the answers
proved of considerable importance, and formed the basis of much of my
future work. I had it extracted in a statistical form, in considerable
detail, which was of much value to Professor Karl Pearson at the outset
of his inquiries, before he had been able to collect better and much more
numerous data of his own. It will be convenient to defer speaking of the
results of all this until the last chapter.
I had long tried to gain some insight into the relative powers of Nature
and Nurture, in order that due allowance might be made for Environment,
neither too much nor too little, but without finding an adequate method
of obtaining it. At length it occurred to me that the after-history of
those twins who had been closely alike as children, and were afterwards
parted, or who had been originally unlike and afterwards reared together,
would supply much of what was wanted. So I inquired in all directions
for appropriate cases, and at length obtained a fair supply, on which an
article in _Frazer’s Magazine_, Nov. 1875,[9] was written. The evidence
was overwhelming that the power of Nature was far stronger than that of
Nurture, when the Nurtures of the persons compared were not exceedingly
different. It appeared that when twins who had been closely alike had
afterwards grown dissimilar, the date of divergence was usually referred
to a time when one of them had a serious illness, sufficient to modify
his constitution.
Many years later I was so harassed with the old question of Determinism,
which would leave every human action under the control of Heredity and
Environment, that I made a series of observations on the actions of
my own mind in relation to Free Will. I employ the word not merely as
meaning “unhindered” but in the _special_ sense of an _uncaused_ and
_creative_ action. It was carried on almost continuously for six weeks,
and off and on for many subsequent months[55]. The procedure was this.
Whenever I caught myself in an act of what seemed to be “Free Will”
in the above sense, I checked myself and tried hard to recollect what
had happened before, made rapid notes, and then wrote a full account
of the case. To my surprise, I found, after some days’ work, that the
occasions were rare on which there seemed room for the exercise of Free
Will as defined above. I subsequently reckoned that they did not occur
oftener than once a day. Motives for all the other events could be traced
backwards in succession, by orderly and continuous steps, until they led
into a tangle of familiar paths. It was curious to watch the increase of
power given by practice, of recalling mental actions which being usually
overlooked give the false idea that much has been performed through a
creative act, or by inspiration, which is really due to straightforward
causation. The subject is too complex to be more fully gone into here;
I must refer to the Memoir itself. The general result of the inquiry
was to support the views of those who hold that man is little more than
a conscious machine, the slave of heredity and environment, the larger
part, perhaps all, of whose actions are therefore predictable. As regards
such residuum as may not be automatic but creative, and which a Being,
however wise and well-informed, could not possibly foresee, I have
nothing to say, but I found that the more carefully I inquired, whether
it was into hereditary similarities of conduct, into the life-histories
of twins, or introspectively into the actions of my own mind, the smaller
seemed the room left for this possible residuum.
* * * * *
Many possibilities suggested themselves after reading Darwin’s
“Provisional theory of Pangenesis.” One was that the breed of a race
might be sensibly affected by the transfusion of blood from another
variety. According to Darwin’s theory, every element of the body throws
off gemmules, each of which can reproduce itself, and a combination of
these gemmules forms a sexual element. If so, I argued, the blood which
conveys these gemmules to the places where they are developed, whether
to repair an injured part or to the sexual organs, must be full of
them. They would presumably live in the blood for a considerable time.
Therefore, if the blood of an animal of one species were largely replaced
by that of another, some effect ought to be produced on its subsequent
offspring. For example, the dash of bull-dog tenacity that is now given
to a breed of greyhounds by a single cross with a bull-dog, the first
generation corresponding to a mulatto, the second to a quadroon, the
third to an octoroon, and so on, might be given at once by transfusion.
Bleeding is the simplest of operations, and I knew that transfusion had
been performed on a large scale; therefore I set about making minute
inquiries.
These took a long time, and required much consideration. At length
I determined upon trying the experiment on the well-known breed of
rabbits called silver greys, of which pure breeds were obtainable,
and to exchange much of their blood for that of the common lop-eared
rabbit; afterwards to breed from pairs of silver greys in each of
which alien blood had been largely transfused. This was done in 1871
on a considerable scale. I soon succeeded in establishing a vigorous
cross-circulation that lasted several minutes between rabbits of
different breeds, as described in the _Proceedings of the Royal Society_,
1871[25]. The experiments were thorough, and misfortunes very rare. It
was astonishing to see how quickly the rabbits recovered after the effect
of the anæsthetic had passed away. It often happened that their spirits
and sexual aptitudes were in no way dashed by an operation which only a
few minutes before had changed nearly one half of the blood that was in
their bodies. Out of a stock of three silver grey bucks and four silver
grey does, whose blood had been thus largely adulterated, and of three
common bucks and four common does whose blood had been similarly altered,
I bred eighty-eight rabbits in thirteen litters without any evidence of
alteration of breed. All this is described in detail in the Memoir.
I was indebted to expert friends for making these delicate operations,
my own part was confined to inserting cannulæ and the like. At first Dr.
Murie did all the dexterous and difficult work. He had been a traveller
in company with Consul Petherick, far up the White Nile, and was then
Prosector at the Zoological Gardens. I called on him to discuss the
matter. A dead cobra was lying on his table, and on my remarking that I
had never properly seen a poison fang, he coolly opened the creature’s
mouth, pressed firmly at exactly the right spot, and out started that
most delicate and wicked-looking thing, with a drop of venom exuding from
it, just in front of his nail. I thought that a man who was so confident
of his anatomical knowledge and of his nerve as to dare such an act,
must be an especially suitable person to conduct my experiments, and was
fortunate enough to secure his co-operation.
I continued the experiments for another generation of rabbits beyond
those described in the _Proc. Royal Society_, with equally negative
results. Mr. Romanes subsequently repeated the experiments with my
instruments, and they corroborated my own. So this point seems settled.
* * * * *
The laws of Heredity are concerned only with deviations from the Median,
which have to be translated from whatever they were measured by, whether
in feet, pounds weight, intervals of time, or any other absolute
standard, into what might be called “Statistical Units.” Their office is
to make the variabilities of totally different classes, such as horses,
men, mice, plants, proficiency in classics, etc. etc., comparable on
equal terms. The statistical unit of each series is derived from the
series itself. There is more than one kind of them, but they are all
mutually convertible, just as measures recorded in feet are convertible
into inches. The most convenient unit for purpose of explanation, though
not for calculation, is the half difference between the marks or measures
corresponding to the lower or to the upper quantities respectively.[10]
Deviations expressed in statistical units are usually found to conform
with much closeness to the results of a certain theoretical law,
discovered by Gauss, the great mathematician, and properly called by his
name, though more familiarly known as the Normal Law. It supposes all
variability to be due to different and equally probable combinations
of a multitude of small independent causes. The relative frequency
of different amounts of these, reckoned in statistical units, can
thence be computed. It is done by refined methods based on the same
general principles as those by which sequences of different lengths, in
successive throws of dice, are determined.
Results of the computation are shown in the bottom line of the following
small table:—
_Centiles and Corresponding Deviation from the Median._
+----------+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+
|Centiles | 10th| 20th| 30th| 40th| 50th| 60th| 70th| 80th| 90th|
+----------+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+
|Deviations|-1·90|-1·25|-0·78|-0·38| -0 |+0·38|+0·78|+1·25|+1·90|
+----------+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+
The deviation at the 25th is -1, that at the 75th is +1; so the
difference between them is 2, and the half difference is 1.
As these lines are being written, the circumstances under which I first
clearly grasped the important generalisation that the laws of Heredity
were solely concerned with deviations expressed in statistical units, are
vividly recalled to my memory. It was in the grounds of Naworth Castle,
where an invitation had been given to ramble freely. A temporary shower
drove me to seek refuge in a reddish recess in the rock by the side of
the pathway. There the idea flashed across me, and I forgot everything
else for a moment in my great delight.
The following question had been much in my mind. How is it possible for
a population to remain alike in its features, as a whole, during many
successive generations, if the _average_ produce of each couple resemble
their parents? Their children are not alike, but vary: therefore some
would be taller, some shorter than their average height; so among the
issue of a gigantic couple there would be usually some children more
gigantic still. Conversely as to very small couples. But from what I
could thus far find, parents had issue less exceptional than themselves.
I was very desirous of ascertaining the facts of the case. After much
consideration and many inquiries, I determined, in 1885, on experimenting
with sweet peas, which were suggested to me both by Sir Joseph Hooker
and by Mr. Darwin. Their merits are threefold. They have so little
tendency to become cross-fertilised that seedsmen do not hesitate to
grow differently coloured plants in neighbouring beds; all the seeds
in their pods are of the same size, that is to say, there is no little
pea at the end as in the pod of the common pea, and they are very hardy
and prolific. I procured a large number of seeds from the same bin, and
selected seven weights, calling them K (the largest), L, M, N, O, P, and
Q (the smallest), forming an arithmetic series. Curiously, their lengths,
found by measuring ten of a kind in a row, also formed an arithmetic
series, owing, I suppose, to the larger and plumper seeds being more
spherical and therefore taking less room for their weight than the
others. Ten peas of each of these seven descriptions, seventy in all,
formed what I called a “set.”
I persuaded friends living in various parts of the country, each to plant
a set for me. The uniform method to be followed was to prepare seven
parallel beds, each 1½ feet wide and 5 feet long, to dibble ten holes in
each at equal distances apart, and 1 inch in depth, and to put one seed
in each hole. The beds were then to be bushed over to keep off the birds.
As the seeds became ripe they were to be gathered and put into bags which
I sent, lettered respectively from K to Q; the same letters having been
stuck at both ends of the beds. Finally, when the crop was coming to an
end, the whole foliage of each row was to be torn up, tied together, and
sent to me. All this was done, and further minute instructions, which I
need not describe here, were attended to carefully. The result clearly
proved _Regression_; the mean Filial deviation was only one-third that
of the parental one, and the experiments all concurred. The formula
that expresses the descent from one generation of a people to the
next, showed, that the generations would be identical if this kind of
_Regression_ was allowed for.[11]
In 1886 I contributed two papers [91], [92] to the Royal Society on
Family Likeness, having by that time got my methods for measuring
heredity into satisfactory shape. I had given much time and thought to
Tables of Correlations, to display the frequency of cases in which the
various deviations say in stature, of an adult person, measured along
the top, were associated with the various deviations of stature in his
mid-parent, measured along the side. (I had long used the convenient
word “mid-parent” to express the average of the two parents, after the
stature or other character of the mother had been changed into its male
equivalent.) But I could not see my way to express the results of the
complete table in a single formula. At length, one morning, while waiting
at a roadside station near Ramsgate for a train, and poring over the
diagram in my notebook, it struck me that the lines of equal frequency
ran in concentric ellipses. The cases were too few for certainty, but my
eye, being accustomed to such things, satisfied me that I was approaching
the solution. More careful drawing strongly corroborated the first
impression.
All the formulæ of Conic Sections having long since gone out of my head,
I went on my return to London to the Royal Institution to read them up.
Professor, now Sir James, Dewar, came in, and probably noticing signs of
despair in my face, asked me what I was about; then said, “Why do you
bother over this? My brother-in-law, J. Hamilton Dickson of Peterhouse,
loves problems and wants new ones. Send it to him.” I did so, under
the form of a problem in mechanics, and he most cordially helped me by
working it out, as proposed, on the basis of the usually accepted and
generally justifiable Gaussian Law of Error. So I begged him to allow his
solution to be given as an appendix to my paper[91], where it will be
found.
It had appeared from observation, and it was fully confirmed by this
theory, that such a thing existed as an “Index of Correlation”; that is
to say, a fraction, now commonly written _r_, that connects with close
approximation every value of deviation on the part of the subject, with
the _average_ of all the associated deviations of the Relative as already
described. Therefore the closeness of any specified kinship admits of
being found and expressed by a single term. If a particular individual
deviates so much, the _average_ of the deviations of all his brothers
will be a definite fraction of that amount; similarly as to sons,
parents, first cousins, etc. Where there is no relationship at all, _r_
becomes equal to 0; when it is so close that Subject and Relative are
identical in value, then _r_ = 1. Therefore the value of _r_ lies in
every case somewhere between the extreme limits of 0 and 1. Much more
could be added, but not without using technical language, which would be
inappropriate here.
The problem as described above is by no means difficult to a fair
mathematician. Mr. J. H. Dickson set it to a class of his higher
students, most of whom answered it. It has since been remarked that this
same mechanical problem had been solved still more comprehensively by a
French mathematician. Professor Karl Pearson subsequently extended its
application to variables not governed by the Gaussian Law, and the exact
determination of the Index of Correlation by his refined method has now
become the object of most biometric work.
I have received much help at various times from Mathematical friends. On
one occasion, being impressed with the probability (owing to Weber’s and
Fechner’s Laws) that the true mean value of many of the qualities with
which I dealt would be the Geometric and not the Arithmetic Mean, I asked
Mr. Donald Macalister, of whom I have already spoken, to work out the
results. He, as a schoolboy, was the first to gain the prize medal of the
Royal Geographical Society, then became the Senior Wrangler of his year
at Cambridge, subsequently Chairman of the Medical Council, and is now
Provost of Glasgow University. His memoir is supplementary to mine on the
“Geometric Mean,” _Proceedings of the Royal Society_, 1879[53].
My first serious interest in the Gaussian Law of Error was due to the
inspiration of William Spottiswoode, who had used it long ago in a
Geographical memoir for discussing the probability of the elevations of
certain mountain chains being due to a common cause. He explained to me
the far-reaching application of that extraordinarily beautiful law, which
I fully apprehended. I had also the pleasure of making the acquaintance
of Quetelet, who was the first to apply it to human measurements, in its
elementary binomial form, which I used in my _Hereditary Genius_.
The mathematician who most frequently helped me later on was the Rev. H.
W. Watson, who moreover worked out for me the curious question of the
“Probability of the Extinction of Families”[40]. It appeared in 1875 in
the _Proceedings of the Royal Society_ as a joint paper, at his desire;
but all the hard work was his: I only gave the first idea and the data.
He helped me greatly in my first struggles with certain applications of
the Gaussian Law, which, for some reasons that I could never clearly
perceive, seemed for a long time to be comprehended with difficulty by
mathematicians, including himself. They were unnecessarily alarmed lest
the well-known rules of Inverse Probability should be unconsciously
violated, which they never were. I could give a striking case of
this, but abstain because it would seem depreciatory of a man whose
mathematical powers and ability were far in excess of my own. Still, he
was quite wrong. The primary objects of the Gaussian Law of Error were
exactly opposed, in one sense, to those to which I applied them. They
were to get rid of, or to provide a just allowance for errors. But these
errors or deviations were the very things I wanted to preserve and to
know about. This was the reason that one eminent living mathematician
gave me.
The patience of some of my mathematical friends was tried in endeavouring
to explain what I myself saw very clearly as a geometrical problem, but
could not express in the analytical forms to which they were accustomed,
and which they persisted in misapplying. It was a gain to me when I had
at last won over Mr. Watson, who put my views into a more suitable shape.
H. W. Watson was Second Wrangler of his year, and had the reputation
among his college fellows of extraordinary subtlety and insight as a
mathematician. He was perhaps a little too nice and critical about his
own work, losing time in over-polishing, so that the amount of what he
produced was lessened. He wrote on the _Kinetic Theory of Gases_.
I may mention two anecdotes about him. He had been a good Alpine climber
and met with various incidents. One was that he and a friend, F. Vaughan
Hawkins, set off at a good pace to vanquish some new but not difficult
peak, and passed on their way a somewhat plodding party of German
philosophers bound on the same errand. One of Watson’s shoes had shown
previous signs of damage, but he thought he could manage to get on for
a day or two longer if he now and then covered it with an indiarubber
galosh that he then took with him for such emergencies. It was a cumbrous
addition, but succeeded fairly, and he and his friend reached the top
long before the Germans, whom they thought no more about. However,
shortly after, a Swiss-German newspaper gave a somewhat grandiose account
of the ascent of the mountain in question by Professors This and That, in
which it was remarked that the Professors would have been the very first
to reach its summit had not two jealous Englishmen provided themselves
with “Gummi Schuhe” and so were able to outstrip them.
The other anecdote refers to the circumstances under which Watson became
Rector of a valuable living, that of Berkswell, near Coventry. I repeat
the tale to the best of my remembrance as he told it me, but doubtless
with mistakes in a few details. He was a Master at Harrow when some
scrape had occurred, and a boy in whom he was interested was judged
guilty and sent up to be flogged. The boy protested his innocence so
vehemently, that although appearances were sadly against him, Watson was
ready to believe what he said, and took unusual pains to investigate the
matter. The result was that the boy was completely exculpated. A few
years after, the boy’s father bought the property at Berkswell in which
the gift of the living was included. It happened to be then vacant, and
the new proprietor found he must either nominate some one at once, or
the nomination would lapse, and fall (I think) to the Bishop. He knew of
no suitable clergyman. Then the boy called out, “Give it to Mr. Watson,”
which the father, knowing the story, did.
* * * * *
I thought that some data which were needed might be obtained by breeding
insects, without too great expenditure of time and money, and it ended
in my selecting for the purpose, under the advice of Mr. Merrifield, a
particular kind of Moth, the “Selenia illustraria,” which breeds twice
a year and is hardy. Mr. Merrifield most kindly undertook to conduct
the experiments for me, and his methods were beautifully simple and
suitable. They are described in the _Transactions of the Entomological
Society, 1887_[100]. Another friend also undertook a set. I will not
describe any of the results at length, because they failed owing to
rapidly diminishing fertility in successive generations, and through the
large disturbing effects of small differences in environment. All the
moths in the first generation were photographed neatly on octavo pages
by a friend, Miss Reynolds, and a very great deal of trouble was taken
about them, but all in vain. The only consolation that I have is that
the experiences gained by Mr. Merrifield enabled him to pursue other
experiments on moths with great success, which have led to his increased
reputation as an entomologist.
Later still it seemed most desirable to obtain data that would throw
light on the _Average_ contribution of each Ancestor to the total
heritage of the offspring in a mixed population. This is a purely
statistical question, the same answer to which would be given on more
than one theoretical hypothesis of heredity, whether it be Pangenetic,
Mendelian, or other.
I must stop for a moment to pay a tribute to the memory of Mendel, with
whom I sentimentally feel myself connected, owing to our having been
born in the same year 1822. His careful and long-continued experiments
show how much can be performed by those who, like him and Charles
Darwin, never or hardly ever leave their homes, and again how much
might be done in a fixed laboratory after a uniform tradition of work
had been established. Mendel clearly showed that there were such things
as alternative atomic characters of equal potency in descent. How far
characters generally may be due to simple, or to molecular characters
more or less correlated together, has yet to be discovered.
I had thought of experimenting with mice, as cheap to rear and very
prolific, and had taken some steps to that end, when I became aware of
the large collections of Basset Hounds belonging to the late Sir Everard
Millais. He offered me every facility. The Basset Hound records referring
to his own and other breeds had been carefully kept, and the Stud Book he
lent me contained accounts of nearly 1000 animals, of which I was able
to utilise 817. All were descended from parents of known colours; in 567
of them the colours of all four grandparents were also known. Wherever
the printed Stud Book was deficient, Sir Everard Millais supplied the
want in MS from the original records. My inquiry was into the heredity of
two alternative colours, one containing no black, the other containing
it; their technical names were lemon-white and tri-colour (black, lemon,
white) respectively. I was assured that no difficulty was felt in
determining the category to which each individual belonged. These data
were fully discussed in a memoir, published (1897) in the _Proceedings
of the Royal Society_[139], on what is now termed the “Ancestral Law,”
namely, that the _average_ contribution of each parent is ¼, of each
grandparent ⅟₁₆, and so on. Or, in other words, that of the two parents
taken together is ½, of the four grandparents together ¼, and so on.
My data were not as numerous as is desirable, still the results were
closely congruous, and seem to be a near approximation to the truth. The
conclusions have been much discussed and criticised, and they have been
modified by Professor Karl Pearson; but they have not been seriously
shaken, so far as I know.
CHAPTER XXI
RACE IMPROVEMENT
Eugenics—Passages from my early writings—Original sin—Breeding
dogs for intelligence—Great extension of my work by Professor
Karl Pearson—Eugenics laboratory—Duty towards race improvement
The subject of Race Improvement, or Eugenics, with which I have much
occupied myself during the last few years, is a pursuit of no recent
interest. I published my views as long ago as 1865, in two articles
written in _Macmillan’s Magazine_[20], while preparing materials for
my book, _Hereditary Genius_. But I did not then realise, as now, the
powerful influence of Small Causes upon statistical results. I was too
much disposed to think of marriage under some regulation, and not enough
of the effects of self-interest and of social and religious sentiment.
Popular feeling was not then ripe to accept even the elementary
truths of hereditary talent and character, upon which the possibility
of Race Improvement depends. Still less was it prepared to consider
dispassionately any proposals for practical action. So I laid the subject
wholly to one side for many years. Now I see my way better, and an
appreciative audience is at last to be had, though it be small.
As in most other cases of novel views, the wrong-headedness of objectors
to Eugenics has been curious. The most common misrepresentations now are
that its methods must be altogether those of compulsory unions, as in
breeding animals. It is not so. I think that stern compulsion ought to
be exerted to prevent the free propagation of the stock of those who are
seriously afflicted by lunacy, feeble-mindedness, habitual criminality,
and pauperism, but that is quite different from compulsory marriage. How
to restrain ill-omened marriages is a question by itself, whether it
should be effected by seclusion, or in other ways yet to be devised that
are consistent with a humane and well-informed public opinion. I cannot
doubt that our democracy will ultimately refuse consent to that liberty
of propagating children which is now allowed to the undesirable classes,
but the populace has yet to be taught the true state of these things. A
democracy cannot endure unless it be composed of able citizens; therefore
it must in self-defence withstand the free introduction of degenerate
stock.
What I desire is that the importance of eugenic marriages should be
reckoned at its just value, neither too high nor too low, and that
Eugenics should form one of the many considerations by which marriages
are promoted or hindered, as they are by social position, adequate
fortune, and similarity of creed. I can believe hereafter that it will
be felt as derogatory to a person of exceptionally good stock to marry
into an inferior one as it is for a person of high Austrian rank to marry
one who has not sixteen heraldic quarterings. I also hope that social
recognition of an appropriate kind will be given to healthy, capable, and
large families, and that social influence will be exerted towards the
encouragement of eugenic marriages.
Confusion is often made between statistical and individual results. It
sometimes seems to be held seriously that if the effect of a particular
union cannot be accurately foretold, the application of the rules of
Eugenics is vain. This is not the case. Statistics give us assurance
concerning the fate of such or such a _percentage_ of a large number of
people which, when translated into other terms, is the probability of
each of them being affected by it. From the statesman’s point of view,
where lives are pawns in the game and personal favour is excluded, this
information is sufficient. It tells how large a number of undesirables or
of desirables can be introduced or not into a population by such and such
measures. Whether their names be A, B, or C, or else X, Y, or Z, is of no
importance to the “Statistician,”—a term that is more or less equivalent
to that of “Statesman.”
In accordance with one principal purpose of these pages, which is to show
the fundamental coherence of most of my many inquiries, I will quote
several passages from the above-mentioned articles written in 1865. They
expressed then, as clearly as I can do now, the leading principles of
Eugenics. They will each be followed by a remark as to how I should wish
to modify them.
“The power of man over animal life, in producing whatever
varieties of form he pleases, is enormously great. It would
seem as though the physical structure of future generations was
almost as plastic as clay, under the control of the breeder’s
will. It is my desire to show, more pointedly than, so far as I
am aware, has been attempted before, that mental qualities are
equally under control.”
Then follows a discussion of inherited abilities, of the same character
as that which was afterwards developed more fully in _Hereditary Genius_.
If I were to re-write the above passage, it would be modified by limiting
the power of the breeder to perpetuating and intensifying qualities
which have _already appeared_ in the race. The possibility would at
the same time be recognised of the unforeseen appearance of “sports”
or “mutations” of a kind not hitherto observed, but which for all that
may become hereditary. Such in past times may have been the electric
organs of certain eels and rays, the illuminating capacity of glow-worms,
fire-flies, and inhabitants of deep waters, the venom in certain snakes,
and the power of speech in man.
* * * * *
After some pages of remarks, the latter of them on the physical
attributes of very able men, the article continues:—
“Most notabilities have been great eaters and excellent
digesters, on literally the same principle that the furnace
which can raise more steam than is usual for one of its size
must burn more freely and well than is common. Most great men
are vigorous animals with exuberant powers and an extreme
devotion to a cause. There is no reason to suppose that in
breeding for the highest order of intellect we should produce a
sterile or a feeble race.”
I should now alter the last sentence to “There is no reason to doubt
that a very high order of intellect might be bred with little, if any,
sacrifice of fertility or vigour.”
“Many forms of civilisation have been peculiarly unfavourable
to the hereditary transmission of rare talent. None of them
were more prejudicial to it than that of the Middle Ages, when
almost every youth of genius was attracted into the Church and
enrolled in the rank of a celibate clergy.”
This argument was largely developed in _Hereditary Genius_.
“Another great hindrance to it is a costly tone of society,
like that of our own, where it becomes a folly for a rising
man to encumber himself with domestic expenses, which custom
exacts, and which are larger than his resources are able to
meet. Here also genius is celibate, at least during the best
period of manhood.
“A spirit of clique is not bad. I understand that in Germany
it is very much the custom for professors to marry the
[sisters] or daughters of other professors, and I have some
reason to believe, but am anxious for fuller information
before I can feel sure of it, that the enormous intellectual
digestion of German literary men, which far exceeds that of
the corresponding class of our own countrymen, may, in some
considerable degree, be due to this practice.”
I have not even yet obtained the information desired in the last
paragraph, the correspondents who partly promised to give it not having
done so. As many members of our House of Lords marry the daughters of
millionaires, it is quite conceivable that our Senate may in time become
characterised by a more than common share of shrewd business capacity,
possibly also by a lower standard of commercial probity than at present.
“So far as beauty is concerned ... it is not so very long ago
in England that it was thought quite natural that the strongest
lance at the tournament should win the fairest or the noblest
lady. The lady was the prize to be tilted for. She rarely
objected to the arrangement, because her vanity was gratified
by the _éclat_ of the proceeding. Now history is justly charged
with a tendency to repeat itself. We may therefore reasonably
look forward to the possibility, I do not say the probability,
of some such practice of competition. What an extraordinary
effect might be produced on our race if its object was to unite
in marriage those who possessed the finest and most suitable
natures, mental, moral, and physical!”
The last paragraph must of course be interpreted in the semi-jocular
sense in which it was written.
I may here speak of some attempts by myself, made hitherto in too
desultory a way, to obtain materials for a “Beauty-Map” of the British
Isles. Whenever I have occasion to classify the persons I meet into
three classes, “good, medium, bad,” I use a needle mounted as a pricker,
wherewith to prick holes, unseen, in a piece of paper, torn rudely into a
cross with a long leg. I use its upper end for “good,” the cross-arm for
“medium,” the lower end for “bad.” The prick-holes keep distinct, and are
easily read off at leisure. The object, place, and date are written on
the paper. I used this plan for my beauty data, classifying the girls I
passed in streets or elsewhere as attractive, indifferent, or repellent.
Of course this was a purely individual estimate, but it was consistent,
judging from the conformity of different attempts in the same population.
I found London to rank highest for beauty; Aberdeen lowest.
In another article, after some further discussion, I say:—
“I hence conclude that the improvement of the breed of
mankind is no insuperable difficulty. If everybody were to
agree on the improvement of the race of man being a matter
of the very utmost importance, and if the theory of the
hereditary transmission of qualities in men was as thoroughly
understood as it is in the case of our domestic animals, I
see no absurdity in supposing that, in some way or other, the
improvement would be carried into effect.
“Most persons seem to have an idea that a new element,
specially fashioned in heaven, and not transmitted by simple
descent, is introduced into the body of every new-born infant.
It is impossible this should be true, unless there exists
some property or quality in man that is not transmissible by
descent. But the terms _talent_ and _character_ are exhaustive;
they include the whole of man’s spiritual nature, so far as we
are able to understand it. No other class of qualities is known
to exist, that we might suppose to have been interpolated from
on high.”
The article concludes as follows:—
“It is a common theme of moralists of many creeds, that man is
born with an imperfect nature. He has lofty aspirations, but
there is a weakness in his disposition that incapacitates him
from carrying his nobler purposes into effect. He sees that
some particular course of action is his duty, and should be his
delight; but his inclinations are fickle and base, and do not
conform to his better judgment. The whole moral nature of man
is tainted with sin, which prevents him from doing the things
he knows to be right.
“I venture to offer an explanation of this apparent anomaly
which seems perfectly satisfactory from a scientific point of
view. It is neither more nor less than that the development of
our nature, under Darwin’s law of Natural Selection, has not
yet overtaken the development of our religious civilisation.
Man was barbarous but yesterday, and therefore it is not to be
expected that the natural aptitudes of his race should already
have become moulded into accordance with his very recent
advance. We men of the present centuries are like animals
suddenly transplanted among new conditions of climate and of
food; our instincts fail us under the altered circumstances.
“My theory is confirmed by the fact that the members of old
civilisations are far less sensible than those newly converted
from barbarism, of their nature being inadequate to their moral
needs. The conscience of a negro is aghast at his own wild
impulsive nature, and is easily stirred by a preacher; but
it is scarcely possible to ruffle the self-complacency of a
steady-going Chinaman.
“The sense of Original Sin would show, according to my theory,
not that man was fallen from a high estate, but that he was
rapidly rising from a low one. It would therefore confirm the
conclusion that has been arrived at by every independent line
of ethnological research, that our forefathers were utter
savages ... and that after myriads of years of barbarism our
race has but very recently grown to be civilised and religious.”
The above paragraphs appeared also in _Hereditary Genius_.
These views published by me forty-five years ago are still up to date,
owing to the slow advance of the popular mind in its appreciation of
the force of heredity. My fault in other parts of these articles was a
tendency to overrate the speed with which a great improvement of the race
of mankind might, theoretically, be effected. I had not then made out the
law of Regression. With this qualification the above extracts express my
present views.
Before concluding with these magazine articles, I will make yet another
extract in reference to a subject which a friend urged upon me quite
recently as a worthy subject of experiment, namely, the breeding of
animals for intelligence. The following extract shows that I considered
it long ago. I have frequently since thought of making an attempt to
carry it out, but it would have occupied more time and money than I could
have spared. As it is just possible that the idea may now catch the fancy
of some one, and induce him to make a trial, I reprint the passage here:—
“So far as I am aware, no animals have ever been bred for
general intelligence. Special aptitudes are thoroughly
controlled by the breeder. He breeds Dogs that point, that
retrieve, that fondle or that bite; but no one has ever yet
attempted to breed for high general intellect, irrespective
of all other qualifications. It would be a most interesting
subject for an attempt. We hear constantly of prodigies of
dogs, whose very intelligence makes them of little value as
slaves. When they are wanted, they are apt to be absent on
their own errands. They are too critical of their master’s
conduct. For instance, an intelligent dog shows marked contempt
for an unsuccessful sportsman. He will follow nobody along a
road that leads to a well-known tedious errand. He does not
readily forgive a man who wounds his self-esteem. He is often
a dexterous thief and a sad hypocrite. For these reasons an
over-intelligent dog is not an object of particular desire,
and therefore I suppose no one has ever thought of encouraging
a breed of wise dogs. But it would be a most interesting
occupation for a country philosopher to pick up the cleverest
dogs he could hear of, and mate them together, generation
after generation—breeding purely for intellectual power, and
disregarding shape, size, and every other quality.”
The phrase “regardless of every other quality” is too strong, some regard
should be paid to the physique and to the character of the dogs.
Perhaps twenty females, ten males, and a fluctuating population of
puppies would be enough for an experiment. The cost of this would not be
very great, and would be sensibly diminished in time by money derived
from the sale of pups.
* * * * *
The idea of the improvement of the human race was again mooted in 1884,
and the term Eugenics was then first applied to it in my _Human Faculty_.
Afterwards it was strongly emphasised in my “Huxley Lecture” before the
Anthropological Institute in 1901[161], on the “Possible Improvement of
the Human Breed under the existing conditions of Law and Sentiment.”
Great steps towards estimating the values of the influences concerned in
effecting it had been made in the meantime by Professor Karl Pearson.
He took up my work on Correlation[104], vastly extending its theory,
and adding largely to the data. I had gone no further than to obtain
simple results based on the Gaussian law of distribution; he worked out
those results with great mathematical skill and elaboration. He also
generalised them so as to deal with other laws of distribution than the
Gaussian.
Moreover, Professor Karl Pearson established a Biometric Laboratory in
University College, where accurate computations are made, and whence a
quarterly publication, _Biometrika_, is issued. It was established by
him and Professor Weldon, whose untimely death has been a deep sorrow to
many friends and a serious loss to the science of heredity. I also was
nominally connected with _Biometrika_ as “Consulting Editor.”
The ground had thus become more or less prepared for further advance;
so, after talking over the matter with the authorities of the University
of London, and obtaining their ready concurrence, I supplied sufficient
funds to allow of a small establishment for the furtherance of Eugenics.
The University provided rooms, and gave the sanction of their name and
various facilities, and I provided the salaries for a Research Fellow
and for a Research Scholar. The Eugenics Laboratory of the University
of London is now situated in University College, in connection with
Professor Karl Pearson’s biometric laboratory, and I am glad to say
he has consented to take it, for the present at least, under his very
able superintendence; as I am too old and infirm now to be able to look
properly after it. Valuable memoirs are being published by the Laboratory
from time to time, and the young institution promises to be a permanent
success.
The authorities of the newly established Sociological Society were
disposed to take up the subject of Race Improvement, so I gave lectures
at two of their meetings in 1904 and 1905, which are published in Vols
I. and II. of the _Sociological Papers_[169]. The subjects were on,
“Eugenics, its Scope and Aims,” “Restrictions in Marriage,” “Studies in
National Eugenics,” and “Eugenics as a Factor in Religion.” Eugenics is
officially defined in the Minutes of the University of London as “the
study of agencies under social control that may improve or impair the
racial qualities of future generations, either physically or mentally.”
Skilful and cautious statistical treatment is needed in most of the
many inquiries upon whose results the methods of Eugenics will rest. A
full account of the inquiries is necessarily technical and dry, but the
results are not, and a “Eugenics Education Society” has been recently
established to popularise those results. At the request of its Committee
I have lately joined it as Hon. President, and hope to aid its work so
far as the small powers that an advanced age still leaves intact may
permit.
* * * * *
A true philanthropist concerns himself not only with society as a whole,
but also with as many of the individuals who compose it as the range of
his affections can include. If a man devotes himself solely to the good
of a nation as a whole, his tastes must be impersonal and his conclusions
so far heartless, deserving the ill title of “dismal” with which Carlyle
labelled statistics. If, on the other hand, he attends only to certain
individuals in whom he happens to take an interest, he becomes guided by
favouritism and is oblivious of the rights of others and of the futurity
of the race. Charity refers to the individual; Statesmanship to the
nation; Eugenics cares for both.
It is known that a considerable part of the huge stream of British
charity furthers by indirect and unsuspected ways the production of the
Unfit; it is most desirable that money and other attention bestowed
on harmful forms of charity should be diverted to the production and
well-being of the Fit. For clearness of explanation we may divide newly
married couples into three classes, with respect to the probable civic
worth of their offspring. There would be a small class of “desirables,” a
large class of “passables,” of whom nothing more will be said here, and
a small class of “undesirables.” It would clearly be advantageous to the
country if social and moral support as well as timely material help were
extended to the desirables, and not monopolised as it is now apt to be by
the undesirables.
I take Eugenics very seriously, feeling that its principles ought to
become one of the dominant motives in a civilised nation, much as if they
were one of its religious tenets. I have often expressed myself in this
sense, and will conclude this book by briefly reiterating my views.
Individuals appear to me as partial detachments from the infinite ocean
of Being, and this world as a stage on which Evolution takes place,
principally hitherto by means of Natural Selection, which achieves the
good of the whole with scant regard to that of the individual.
Man is gifted with pity and other kindly feelings; he has also the power
of preventing many kinds of suffering. I conceive it to fall well within
his province to replace Natural Selection by other processes that are
more merciful and not less effective.
This is precisely the aim of Eugenics. Its first object is to check the
birth-rate of the Unfit, instead of allowing them to come into being,
though doomed in large numbers to perish prematurely. The second object
is the improvement of the race by furthering the productivity of the
Fit by early marriages and healthful rearing of their children. Natural
Selection rests upon excessive production and wholesale destruction;
Eugenics on bringing no more individuals into the world than can be
properly cared for, and those only of the best stock.
[Illustration: GALTONIA CANDICANS]
FOOTNOTES
[1] One of the verses still haunts my memory and deserves reproduction:—
“The brook sings not so cheerily as of yore,
The young spring leaf is withered and upcurled,
The rose is scentless, and the sunbeam cold,
Truly there’s something wanting in the world.”
[2] _Narrative of an Explorer in Tropical South-West Africa._ By F.
Galton (Murray), 2nd edition, Ward, Locke, & Co., Minerva Press, 1889.
_Lake N’gamî; Explorations in South-West Africa._ By Ch. Andersson
(Longman), 1856. Also papers by both in the Journal of the Royal
Geographical Society.
[3] Anyhow, the optical principle on which it worked was pretty. A part
of the flash struck one end of a strip cut out of the middle of a glass
lens, and was brought by it to a focus (a burning spot) on an otherwise
shaded porcelain screen. The eye looking through the other end of the
strip saw the burning spot as a mock-sun. Now, by a well-known optical
law, the apparent position of the burning spot is the same whatever be
the part of the lens that makes it, or through which it is viewed. So
the mock-sun seen by the eye covers the same part of the landscape that
is simultaneously covered by the flash. The eye sees, it is true, only
one portion of the mock-sun, whence the position of the rest has to be
inferred.
[4] _Photographs of the North American Indians._ By Garrick Mallery,
from the Fourth Annual Report of the Museum of Ethnology, Washington,
Government Printing Office, 1886.
[5] _Extract from letter of M. Alphonse Bertillon, 15 Juin 1891_: “Je
vous remercie de votre nouvel envoi relativement aux _impressions
digitales_. Je suis fort disposé à ajouter votre procédé au signalement
anthropométrique surtout pour les enfants. Mais je redoute quelques
difficultés pratiques pour le nettoyage des doigts après l’impression
faite, etc. Puis mes agents si peu instruits mettront-ils le zèle
nécessaire pour apprendre votre méthode? Je crois que vous traversez
souvent Paris, pourriez vous à votre prochain voyage, me consacrer une
matinée au Dépot, pour un essayage sur la vile multitude?”
[6] The word “about” is a slight reservation due to each class man, being
one-half place short of his nominal class-place. In a class of 100, the
topmost occupies the post of ½, and the lowest that of 99½. There are 101
divisions or “rungs” from 0° to 100° inclusive, but only 100 persons. The
existence of this half place may be neglected by the ordinary reader,
though an expert would lay stress upon it.
[7] Nephew of the two great actors, John Philip Kemble and of Mrs.
Siddons; brother of Adelaide and of Fanny Kemble, and having at least
four other near relations who were noted actors.
[8] Now Professor Sir George H. Darwin, K.C.B., F.R.S., etc.
[9] It was revised and added to in the _Journal of the Anthropological
Institute_, 1875[43], and then incorporated into _Human Faculty_, 1883
(which is now republished in an exceedingly cheap form in “Everyman’s
Library”).
[10] This unit is known by the uncouth and not easily justified name of
“Probable Error,” which I suppose is intended to express the fact that
the number of deviations or “Errors” in the two outer fourths of the
series is the same as those in the two middle fourths; and therefore the
probability is equal that an unknown error will fall into either of these
two great halves, the outer or the inner.
[11] See Pres. Address, Section H, Brit. Assoc. Aberdeen, 1885[87].
APPENDIX
[1]. Telotype, a Printing Electric Telegraph (J.
Weale;—Macmillan) 1850
[2]. Recent Expedition into the Interior of South-Western Africa
(_Geogr. Soc. Journ._) 1852
[3]. =Tropical South Africa= (Murray, 1853) (second edition,
Ward, Lock & Co., _Minerva Press_, 1889) 1853
[4]. Modern Geography—Cambridge Essays (J. W. Parker) 1855
[5]. =Art of Travel=, 1855, and subsequent editions (Murray) 1855
[6]. Arts of Campaigning, Inaugural Lecture at Aldershot
(Murray) 1855
[7]. Course of Public Lectures in the Camp at Aldershot
(Privately Printed) 1856
[8]. Catalogue of Models illustrative of Camp Life (Privately
Printed) 1858
[9]. Exploration of Arid Countries (_Geogr. Soc. Proc._) 1858
[10]. Hand Heliostat, for the purpose of Flashing Sun Signals,
from on board Ship or on Land, in Sunny Climates (_Brit.
Assoc. Rep._, 1858; _Geogr. Soc. Proc._, 1860) 1858
[11]. =Vacation Tourists=, Edited and containing two Memoirs
by F. Galton (Macmillan) 1860-63
[12]. On a New Principle for the Protection of Riflemen (based
on the trajectory of the spherical bullets then in use)
(_United Service Journ._) 1861
[13]. Zanzibar, a Lecture at the S.P.G. (_Mission Field_) 1861
[14]. Circular asking for Synchronance Observations during one
month three times daily, with map (Privately Printed) 1861
[15]. Meteorological Charts (_Phil. Mag._) 1861
[16]. A Development of the Theory of Cyclones (Anticyclones)
(_Roy. Soc. Proc._) 1862
[17]. =Meteorographica= (Macmillan) 1863
[18]. Stereoscopic Maps, taken from models of mountainous
countries (_Geogr. Soc. Journ._) 1865
[19]. Spectacles for Divers, and the Vision of Amphibious
Animals (_Brit. Assoc. Rep._) 1865
[20]. Hereditary Talent and Character (_Macmillan’s Magazine_) 1865
[21]. Conversion of Wind-Charts into Passage-Charts (_Brit.
Assoc. Rep.; Phil. Mag._) 1866
[22]. =Hereditary Genius=, 1869; second edition, 1892 (Macmillan) 1869
[23]. Drill Pantagraph, reducing horizontally and vertically
to different scales. Also a Mechanical Computer of
Vapour Tension. Report of Meteorological Council.
_See_ also 119 1869
[24]. Barometric Predictions of Weather (_Brit. Assoc. Rep._) 1870
[25]. Experiments in Pangenesis, by breeding from rabbits of a
pure variety, into whose circulation blood taken from
other varieties had previously been largely transfused
(_Roy. Soc. Proc._) 1871
[26]. Gregariousness in Cattle and in Men (_Macmillan’s Mag._;
vol. 23) 1872
[27]. On Blood Relationship: a Discussion on the Meaning of
Kinship (_Roy. Soc. Proc._) 1872
[28]. Address to the Geographical Section of the British
Association at Brighton (_Brit. Assoc. Rep._) 1872
[29]. Statistical Inquiries into the Efficacy of Prayer
(_Fortnightly Review_) 1872
[30]. Relative Supplies from Town and Country Families to
Future Generations (_Journ. Statist. Soc._) 1873
[31]. Africa for the Chinese (_Times_) 1873
[32]. Employment of Meteorological Statistics in determining
the best course for a ship whose sailing qualities
are known (_Roy. Soc. Proc._) 1873
[33]. Hereditary Improvement (_Frazer’s Magazine_, January) 1873
[34]. Proposed Statistical Scale (_Nature_, 5th March) 1870
[35]. Proposal to apply for Anthropological Statistics from
Schools (_Anthropol. Inst. Journ._) 1874
[36]. English Men of Science, their Nature and their Nurture
(_Royal Institution_) 1874
[37]. =English Men of Science=, their Nature and Nurture
(Macmillan) 1874
[38]. Excess of Females in the West Indies (_Anthropol. Inst.
Journ._) 1874
[39]. Notes on the Marlborough School Statistics (_Anthropol.
Inst. Journ._) 1875
[40]. On the Probability of the Extinction of Families [in
association with Rev. H. W. Watson] (_Anthropol.
Inst. Journ._) 1875
[41]. Statistics by Intercomparison, with Remarks on the Law
of Frequency of Error (_Phil. Mag._) 1875
[42]. Height and Weight of Boys, aged 14, in Town and Country
Public Schools (_Anthropol. Inst. Journ._) 1876
[43]. The History of Twins, as a Criterion of the Relative
Powers of Nature and Nurture (_Anthropol. Inst. Journ._) 1876
[44]. Short Notes on Heredity, etc., in Twins (_Anthropol.
Inst. Journ._) 1876
[45]. A Theory of Heredity (_Anthropol. Inst. Journ._; _Revue
Scientif._) 1876
[46]. Whistles for Determining the Upper Limits of Audible Sound
in Different Persons (_South Kensington Conferences_;
volume on “Chemistry, Biology,” etc. p. 61). _See_
Hydrogen Whistles, 74 1866
[47]. Apparatus for the Rapid Verification of Thermometers; now
in use at the Kew Observatory (_Roy. Soc. Proc._, 1878;
_Phil. Mag._ 1877) 1877
[48]. Typical Laws of Heredity (1877) (_Royal Inst. Proc._, 1879;
_Nature_, 1877; _Revue Scientif._, 1877) 1877
[49]. Address to the Department of Anthropology of the Brit.
Assoc., Plymouth [On the Study of Types (or Groups)
of Men] (_Brit. Assoc. Rep._; _Nature_; _Revue
Scientif._, 1877) 1877
[51]. Composite Portraits, made by combining those of many
different persons into a single resultant figure
(_Anthropol. Inst. Journ._, 1879; _Nature_, 1878;
_Revue Scientif._, 1879) 1878
[52]. Letters of H. M. Stanley from Equatorial Africa to _Daily
Telegraph_ (_Edin. Review_) 1878
[53]. The Geometric Mean in Vital and Social Statistics (_Roy.
Soc. Proc._) 1879
[54]. Generic Images (_Nineteenth Century_) 1879
[55]. Psychometric Experiments, Free Will (_Brain_, vol. ii.) 1879
[56]. Opportunities of Science Masters at Schools (_Nature_) 1880
[57]. Determining the Heights and Distances of Clouds by their
Reflections in a low Pool of Water, and in a Mercurial
Horizon (_Brit. Assoc. Rep._) 1880
[58]. Visualised Numerals (Preliminary Memoir) (_Nature_) 1880
[59]. Statistics of Mental Imagery (_Mind_, No. XIX.) 1880
[60]. _Galtonia Candicans_ (_Flores des serres_, etc., par J.
Decaisne, 1880), (_Gardeners’ Chronicle_, 1881) 1880
[61]. The Equipment of Exploring Expeditions now and fifty years
ago, (_Brit. Assoc. Rep._) 1881
[62]. Construction of Isochronic Passage-Charts (_Brit. Assoc.
Rep._; _Geogr. Soc. Proc._) 1881
[63]. Visualised Numerals (_Anthropol. Inst. Journ._) 1881
[64]. Inquiry into the Physiognomy of Phthisis by the Method of
Composite Portraiture (in connection with Dr. Mahomed)
(_Guy’s Hospital Reports_, vol. XXV.) 1881
[65]. Visions of Sane Persons (_Roy. Inst. Proc._) 1882
[66]. Generic Images (_Roy. Inst. Proc._) 1882
[67]. Photographic Portraits from Childhood to Age
(_Fortnightly Review_) 1882
[68]. A Rapid-View Instrument for Momentary Attitudes (_Nature_) 1882
[69]. Anthropometric Laboratory (_Fortnightly Review_) 1882
[70]. Conventional Representation of the Horse in Motion
(_Nature_) 1882
[71]. Apparatus for testing the Delicacy of the Muscular and
other Senses (_Anthropol. Inst. Journ._) 1883
[72]. The American Trotting-Horse (_Nature_) 1883
[73]. Outfit for an Anthropometric Laboratory (Privately Printed) 1883
[74]. Hydrogen Whistles (_Nature_). _See_ 46 1883
[75]. =Human Faculty= (Macmillan) 1883
[76]. Medical Family Registers (proposed prizes) (_Fortnightly
Review_) 1883
[77]. Arithmetic Notation of Kinship (_Nature_) 1883
[78]. Anthrop. Laboratory, Internat. Health Exhib. (Issued by
Authority) 1884
[79]. =Life History Album=, 1884 (second edition, 1903,
Macmillan) 1884
[80]. Table of Observations [of 400 persons] (_Anthropol. Inst.
Journ._) 1884
[81]. Free Will, Observations and Inferences (_Mind_, No. XXXV.) 1884
[82]. Measurement of Character (_Fortnightly Review_) 1884
[83]. =Record of Family Faculties= (published in connection with
an offer of prizes) (Macmillan) 1884
[84]. Anthropometric Laboratory at the International Health
Exhibition (_Anthropol. Inst. Journ._) 1885
[85]. Anthropometric Per-Centiles (_Nature_) 1885
[86]. Address to the Anthropological Section of the British
Association, Aberdeen, 1885 [On Inheritance and
Regression] (_Brit. Assoc. Rep._, 1885; _Anthropol.
Inst. Journ._, 1886) 1885
[87]. Regression towards Mediocrity in Hereditary Stature
(_Anthropol. Inst. Journ._) 1885
[88]. Good and Bad Temper in English Families (_Nineteenth
Century_) 1885
[89]. Composite Portraits (four sets reproduced) (_Photo News_) 1885
[90]. Family Likeness in Stature, with an Appendix by J. D.
Hamilton Dickson (_Roy. Soc. Proc._) 1886
[91]. Family Likeness in Eye-Colour (_Roy. Soc. Proc._) 1886
[92]. Presidential Address, Anthropol. Inst. (_Anthropol. Inst.
Journ._) 1886
[93]. The Origin of Varieties (Curve of Attractiveness)
(_Nature_) 1886
[94]. Anniversary Meeting of Royal Society—Presentation of a
Royal Medal to F. Galton. Also his speech after the
dinner (_Times_) 1886
[95]. Recent Designs for Anthropometric Instruments (_Anthropol.
Inst. Journ._) 1887
[96]. Notes on Permanent Colour Types in Mosaics (_Anthropol.
Inst. Journ._) 1887
[97]. Thoughts without Words (_Nature_) 1887
[98]. Presidential Address, Anthropol. Inst. (_Anthropol. Inst.
Journ._) 1887
[99]. Pedigree Moth-Breeding as a means of Verifying certain
Important Constants in the General Theory of Heredity
(_Trans. Entomol. Soc., London_) 1887
[100]. Notes on Australian Marriage Systems (_Anthropol. Inst.
Journ._) 1889
[101]. Remarks on Replies by Teachers to Questions respecting
Mental Fatigue (_Anthropol. Inst. Journ._) 1889
[102]. Presidential Address, Anthropol. Inst. (_Anthrop. Inst.
Journ._) 1888
[103]. Correlations and their Measurement, chiefly from
Anthropometric Data (_Roy. Soc. Proc._) 1889
[104]. Instruments—(1) Differences of Tint; (2) for Reading Time
(_Anthropol. Inst. Journ._) 1889
[105]. Presidential Address, Anthropol. Inst. (_Anthropol.
Inst. Journ._) 1889
[106]. Personal Identification and Description (_Roy. Inst.
Proc._, 1889; _Nature_, 1888) 1889
[107]. Head Growth in Students at the University of Cambridge
(_Anthropol. Inst. Journ._, 1889; _Nature_, 1888-89) 1889
[108]. Advisability of Assigning Marks for Bodily Efficiency
in the Examination of Candidates for the Public
Services (_Brit. Assoc. Rep._) 1889
[109]. =Natural Inheritance= (Macmillan, 1889) 1889
[110]. Anthropometric Laboratory, Notes and Memoirs (Privately
Printed) 1890
[111]. A New Instrument for Measuring the Rate of Movement of
the Various Limbs (_Anthropol. Inst. Journ._) 1891
[112]. Dice for Statistical Experiments (_Nature_) 1890
[113]. Physical Tests in Competitive Examinations (_Soc. of
Arts Journ._) 1890
[114]. Tests and Certificates of the Kew Observatory (Printed for
the Observatory) 1890
[115]. Retrospect of Work done at my Anthropometric Laboratory
at South Kensington (_Anthropol. Inst. Journ._) 1892
[116]. Patterns in Thumb and Finger Marks; their arrangement
into naturally distinct classes, the permanence of the
Papillary Ridges that make them, and the resemblance
of their classes to ordinary genera (_Phil. Trans._,
abstract; _Roy. Soc. Proc._) 1891
[117]. Methods of Indexing Finger Marks (_Roy. Soc. Proc._) 1891
[118]. Galton’s Pantagraph and Vapour Tension Computer
(Illustrated) (_Deutsche Mathem.: Vereinigung_).
_See_ also 23 1892
[119]. The Just Perceptible Difference [Descriptive Portraiture]
(_Roy. Inst. Proc._) 1893
[120]. Identification (_Nature_) 1893
[121]. =Finger Prints= (Macmillan) 1893
[122]. =Blurred Finger Prints= (Macmillan) 1893
[123]. Enlarged Finger Prints (_Photographic Work_) 1893
[124]. Results derived from the Natality Table of Korosi, by
employing the Method of Contours, or Isogens (_Roy.
Soc. Proc._) 1894
[125]. Physical Index to 100 Persons, their Measures and Finger
Prints (Privately Printed) 1894
[126]. Relative Sensitivity of Men and Women (_Nature_) 1894
[127]. Arithmetic by Smell (_Psychological Review_) 1894
[128]. A Plausible Paradox in Chances (_Nature_) 1894
[129]. Discontinuity in Evolution (_Mind_) 1894
[130]. =Finger Print Directory= (Macmillan) 1895
[131]. Terms of Imprisonment (Distribution of Sentences)
(_Nature_) 1895
[132]. A New Step in Statistical Science (_Nature_) 1895
[133]. Intelligible Signals between Neighbouring Stars (or other
inaccessible stations whose inhabitants had no common
language) (_Fortnightly Review_) 1896
[134]. A Curious Idiosyncrasy [Faintness at Sight of an Injured
Finger Nail] (_Nature_) 1896
[135]. Three Generations of Lunatic Cats (_Spectator_) 1896
[136]. Prints of Scars (_Nature_) 1896
[137]. Private Circular of Committee for Measurement of Plants
and Animals (private, by Royal Society) Dec. 5, Nov. 30 1896
[138]. The Average Contribution of each several Ancestor to the
Total Heritage of the Offspring (_Roy. Soc. Proc._) 1897
[139]. A New Law of Heredity (_Nature_) 1897
[140]. Hereditary Colour in Horses (_Nature_) 1897
[141]. Rate of Racial Change that accompanies Different Degrees
of Severity in Selection (_Nature_) 1897
[142]. Relation between Individual and Racial Variability
(_Nature_) 1897
[143]. Retrograde Selection (_Gardeners’ Chronicle_) 1897
[144]. A Diagram of Heredity illustrating the “Ancestral Law”
(_Nature_) 1898
[145]. An Examination into the Registered Speeds of American
Trotting Horses, with Remarks on their Value as
Hereditary Data (_Roy. Soc. Proc._; Nature) 1898
[146]. Photographic Measurement of Horses and other Animals
(_Nature_) 1898
[147]. Photographic Record of Pedigree Stock (_Brit. Assoc.
Rep._, pp. 597-603, wrongly indexed as p. 567) 1898
[148]. Distribution of Prepotency (in horses) (_Nature_) 1898
[149]. Temporary Flooring in Westminster Abbey for Ceremonial
Processions (_Times_, May 25) 1898
[150]. Pedigree Stock Records (_Brit. Assoc. Rep._, pp. 424-430) 1899
[151]. The Median Estimate (_Brit. Assoc. Rep._, pp. 638-640) 1899
[152]. Strawberry Cure for Gout (Linnaeus;—_Nature_) 1899
[153]. Souvenirs d’Egypte (_Bulletin de la Soc. Khédiviale de
Geographie_; _Isap. Nat., Cairo_) 1900
[154]. A Geometric Determination of the Median Value of a System
of Normal Variants, from Two of its Centiles (_Nature_) 1900
[155]. Analytical Photography (_Nature_; _Photogr. Soc. Journ.,
New Series_) 1900
[156]. =Biometrika=, Consulting Editor of 1901
[157]. Biometry (_Biometrika_) 1901
[158]. First and Second Prizes (_Biometrika_) 1901-2
[159]. Probability of a Son of a very gifted Father being no
less gifted (_Nature_) 1901
[160]. The Possible Improvement of the Human Breed under the
Existing Conditions of Law and Sentiment (Huxley
Lecture of the Anthropological Institute, _Nature_;
Smithsonian Institution Report) 1901
[161]. Finger Print Evidence (_Nature_) 1902
[162]. Pedigrees (based on Fraternal Units) (_Nature_) 1903
[163]. Are we degenerating? (_Daily Chronicle_) 1903
[164]. On Remarks by Sir Edward Fry on Natural Selection
(_Nature_) 1903
[165]. Nomenclature and Tables of Kinship (father, mother,
brother, etc.), (_Nature_, Jan. 28) 1904
[166]. Average Number of Kinsfolk in each Degree (_Nature_) 1904-5
[167]. University of London. Notice of Research Fellowship in
Eugenics (_Printed for University_) 1904
[168]. Restrictions in Marriage; Studies in National Eugenics;
Eugenics as a Factor in Religion, with abstract of an
earlier paper (vol. ii. _Sociological Papers_) 1905
[169]. Distribution of Successes and Natural Ability among
Kinsfolk of Fellows of Royal Soc. (_Nature_) 1905
[170]. Anthropometry at Schools (_Royal Inst. of Public Health,
London Congress_) 1905
[171]. On Dr. Fauld’s ‘Guide to Finger-Print Identification’
(_Nature_, Supplement) 1905
[172]. Number of Strokes of the Brush in a Picture (_Nature_) 1905
[173]. Cutting a round Cake on Scientific Principles 1906
[174]. =Noteworthy Families=, jointly with E. Schuster (Murray) 1906
[175]. Measurement of Resemblance (_Nature_) 1906
[176]. One Vote one Value (_Nature_) 1907
[177]. Vox Populi (_Nature_) 1907
[178]. Further sum of £1000 to University of London (_Times_) 1907
[179]. Probability the Foundation of Eugenics, “H. Spencer”
Lecture Oxford (_Clarendon Press Oxf._) 1907
[180]. Grades and Deviates (calculations by W. F. Sheppard;
Vol. v. _Biometrika_) 1907
[181]. Suggestions for improving the Literary Style of Scientific
Memoir (_R. Soc. Literature_) 1908
[182]. Eugenics, Address on (_Westminster Gazette_, June 26) 1908
PRINCIPAL AWARDS AND DEGREES
Gold Medal, Royal Geographical Society 1853
Silver Medal, French Geographical Society 1854
Elected to Athenæum Club under Rule II. 1855
Fellow of the Royal Society 1856
Gold Medal of the Royal Society 1886
Officer de I’Instruction Publique, France 1891
D.C.L. Oxford 1894
Sc.D. (Honorary), Cambridge 1895
Huxley Medal Anthropological Institute 1901
Elected Hon. Fellow Trinity College, Cambridge 1902
Darwin Medal, Royal Society 1902
Linnæan Society Medal at Darwin-Wallace Celebration 1908
INDEX
Abbas Pasha, 91
Aberdeen, 316
Aberfeldy, 71
Abney, Sir W., 227
Abydos (Egypt), 98
Adelsberg, caves of, 56
Aden (in Lebanon), 104
AFTER RETURN HOME—MARRIAGE, 152
Agricultural Hall, 217
Ague, 102, 106, 159
Airy, Sir George, 187
Alcock, Sir Rutherford, 193
Aldershot, lectures at, 164
Alexander, Sir James, 128, 201
Ali (dragoman), 85, 89, 102, 103
Allman, Prof., 294
Alpine Club, 190
Amiral, 135, 147
Ancestral law, 308
Anderson, Ch. J., 123, 148, 149
Andorre, Republic of, 190
Anthropological Notes and Queries, 163
Anthropometric Laboratories, International Exhibition, 244;
South Kensington, 249
Anticyclones, 231
Arithmetic by Smell, 283
Arnaud Bey, 87, 97
Arnold, Dr., 63, 69
ART OF TRAVEL, 161, 162
Ashburton, Lord, 169
Athenæum Club, 12, 150
Atkinson, T. W., 176
Attwood, Rev. G., 18
Austen, Sir Ch. Roberts, 216
Austen and Austin, 291
Automatic acts interfered with, 276
Avebury, Lord, 177
Bachelor, the “Travelling,” 68
Bag for sleeping, 189
Balloon, 115;
the Nassau, 183
Bam, Rev. —, 132
Barclay of Ury (Apologist), 5
—— Capt. B. Allardice, 5
—— Hedworth, 85
Barmen Mission Station, 129
Barth, Dr., 172
Basset Hounds, 308
Bates, H. W., 210
Bayouda Desert, 95
Bears, 123, 190
Beauty-maps, 315
Bennett, Sir J. Risdon, 274
Bentham, George, 174, 190
Bentinck, Mr., 152
Berkswell Rectory, 306
Bertillon, Alphonse, measurements, 251;
letter on finger-prints, 255;
system inappropriate to India, 256
Beyrout, quarantine, 102, 105
Bidder, G., Q.C., 270
Biggs, Miss E., 195
Birmingham Hospital, 20, 43
—— School, 20
Bishari Desert, 87
Black Sea, 51
Blakesley, J. W., 58
Blind, low muscular sense of, 249
Blood, smell of, 191
Blue Nile, 94
Bob (Arab boy), 86, 88, 96
Boers, 126, 136
Bosphorus, 52
Boulogne, school at, 16
Boulton, Matthew P. W., 19, 58
—— Montagu, 85
—— & Watt’s works, 4, 19
Bowman, Sir W., 24, 41
Bradley, Dean, 183
Bradshaw, Mrs., 106
Brakes to carriages, 61
Brandram, Miss (_see_ MacLennan), 192
Breathing, experiments on, 276
Bristed, C., 77
BRITISH ASSOCIATION, 65, 208, 213
Broca, 44
Brock, Mr., 249
Brodrick, Hon. G., 180, 211
Brookfield, W. H., 170
Brougham, Lord, 153
Buffon, 292
Bump bag, 116
Bunbury, Mrs. (Adele Galton), 13
Burns (accidents), 30
Burton, Sir R., 161, 171, 199, 202-3
Bushmen, 130, 147
Butler, A. Frank, 195
—— George, D.D., 154, 156
—— George G., 211
—— G. G., Medallist R.S. Soc., 212
—— Montagu, D.D., Master of Trinity, 160
Buxton, Charles, 69
Byron, Lord (the poet), 49, 63, 170
—— —— Admiral, 8
Cairo, 86
CAMBRIDGE, 58
Camel, desiccated, 89
Cameron of Lochiel, 190
Campbell, Hon. F., afterwards Lord Stratheden and Campbell, 65, 77
Candolle, de, Alphonse, 291
Canning, 85
Caravan, 89
Carlyle, 169, 322
Carpenter, Prof. W. B., 10
Cattle Show at Plymouth, 280
Cayley, Prof. Arthur, 53, 71
Celibacy (of clergy), 314
Gentiles, table of, 267, 299
Chain armour, 107
Chandos-Pole, Col. Sacheverel, 7
CHILDHOOD AND BOYHOOD, 13
Chinaman, 317
Chree, Dr., 229
Clark, W. G., 70
Classics, Senior, heredity in, 289
Claverdon, 110
Clermont-Ferrand, 154
Clifford, W. K., 216
Clouds, smoke, from bursting shell, 236
Cobra, poison fang, 298
COMPOSITE PORTRAITS AND STEREOSCOPIC MAPS, 259
Constantinople, 52
Cooke, Messrs., 226
Copley Medal, 71
Correlations, 302
Corona at eclipse, 188
Cory, W. Johnson, 67
Costigan, Capt., 106
Count O., 62
Crawfurd, John, 172
Crimean War, 163
Crocodiles, 95
Culrain moor, 111
Cumming, Gordon, 122
Cunene R., 130
Curative index, 33
Cyclones, 230
Dacota Indians, 197
Dalyell, Sir Robert, 78
Damaras, 127, 130, 141
—— endurance of pain, 35
Damascus, 102
Daniell, Prof., 41
Danube, 50
Darwin, D. Erasmus, 6, 22, 85, 288
—— Charles his son, 7
—— Dr. Robert, 7, 22
—— Charles R., the Naturalist, letter on “Art of Travel,” 163;
visits to, at Down, 169;
misunderstood, 287;
letter to me on Hereditary Genius, 290
—— Major Leonard, 173, 228
—— Prof. Sir George, 290
Dasent, Sir G., 39
Dead Sea, 106
Decaisne, Prof. J., 175
Deftader of Shendy, 91, 92
De la Rue, 227
Delirium tremens, 38
Denman, Justice Hon. G., 70, 74
Derby races, 178, 179
Deviations from Median, 299
Dewar, Sir J., 302
Dickson, J. Hamilton, 302
Directory, Finger Prints, 255
Dogs, breeding for intelligence, 318
Dongola, 95
Drowning, escape from, 45
Drunken man operated on, 35
Druse chief, 102
Du Cane, Sir Edmund, 259
Duddeston, 2
Duelling, 75
Eclipse, 188
Edstone, 114
EGYPT AND THE SOUDAN, 83
Electric telegraph, 119
Elephant Fontein, 146
Emin Bey, 205
Emir Rourbah, 107
English Men of Science, 219
Epigram Club, 68
Erhardt, 146, 198
Erongo, 131, 137
Eugenics, 310, 319
Evans, Rev. Charles (Brit. Assoc.), 218
—— Capt. Sir Frederick, 233
Extinction of families, 305
Falstaff’s soliloquy, 1
Family likeness, 302
—— records, 293
Farr, Dr., 292
Farrar, F. (Dean of Canterbury), 211, 244
Farrer, Lord, 233
Fazakerley, 111
Fellow (of a Scientific Society), 222
Fever, 102, 106
Fidgets, counting number of, 278
Finger-prints, 252, 254
—— letter from Bertillon on, 255
FitzRoy, Admiral, 229, 232
Forbes, Edward, 216
Forensic medicine, 42
Frazer, J. G., 105
Free will, 295
Frere, Sir Bartle, 206
—— Hookham, 85
—— Robert, 45, 85
Freshfield, Douglas, 212
Fry, Mrs., 6
Galton, hamlet of, 5
Galton, Samuel, 2, 5, 11;
Samuel John, 2, 3, 4, 18;
Samuel Tertius (my father), 2, 8, 47, 82;
Hubert, 8;
Howard, 8;
Theodore, 9;
Sir Douglas, 10, 122, 228;
A. Violetta (my mother), 10, 155;
Bessy (Mrs. Wheler), my sister, 14, 84;
Lucy (Mrs. Moilliet), 11, 84;
Adele (Mrs. Bunbury), 13, 83, 156;
Emma, 84, 155;
Darwin (my brother), 84;
Erasmus (my brother), 16, 79, 83, 156, 164;
Mrs. Francis G. (my wife), 154, 220
_Galtonia Candicans_, 175;
vignette, 323
Garibaldi, 285
Gassiott, J. P., 228, 250
Gauss’s law, 299, 304
Gell, Bishop of Madras, 75
Genera and patterns in finger prints, 253
Geographical R. Society, 122, 126, 150, 162, 210
Geographical Society, Cairo, 97
GEOGRAPHY AND EAST AFRICA, 198
George IV., 45
Germans in S.W. Africa, 128
Ghou Damup, 130
Gibbs, W. F., 74
Giddiness (_see_ Illnesses), 16, 155
Giessen, 48
Gladstone, Mr. W. E., 249
Goldie, Sir George, 173
Granada, 52
Grange, the, 169
Grant, Col., 200
Grove, Hon. Justice Sir Wm., 42, 219
Gummi schuhe, 306
Gurney, Hudson, 6
Gurney, Mr. and Mrs. Russell, 181, 182
Gurneys of Earlham, 9
Guy’s Hospital, 262
Hahn, Rev. Hugo, 135, 145
Hallam, Harry F., 65, 115
Hallam, Henry, 65, 79
Hand Heliostat, 165
Hans Larsen, 134, 141, 149
Hanwell, photographs of lunatics, 262
Harris, Capt., 122
Harrow, 160
Hausa language, 172
Haviland, Dr., 47
Hawkins, F. Vaughan, 191, 306
Heliostat, 61, 226;
hand, 165
Henry, Sir Edward, 256
HEREDITY, 287
Herschel, Sir John, 188
—— Sir William, 252
Hill, Sir Rowland, 3
Hills, Judge and Mrs., 222
Hints to Travellers, 163
Hippopatami, 95
Historical Society, 76
Hodgson, Joseph, 22, 39, 85
Holden, H., 21, 76
Hollond, Mr. and Mrs. Robert, 183
Hooker, Sir Joseph, 175
Hopkins, William, 64, 81
Horner, Leonard, 46
Horse in gallop (conventional), 264
Hospitals, Birmingham, 26, 43, 135;
Guy’s, 262;
King’s College, 43;
St. George’s, 47, 82;
uses for experiment, 44
Houghton, Lord, 204, 216
Hughes, Mr. Tom, 167
HUMAN FACULTY, 266
HUNTING AND SHOOTING, 110
Hunt Club, Leamington, 110
Hunting, Queen’s Stag Hounds, 115;
New Forest, 119
Hutton, Crompton, 78
Huxley, 172, 222, 258
Huxley Lecture, Anthrop. Inst., 319
_Hyacinthus Candicans_ (_see_ Galtonia)
Hypnotism, 80
Hysteria, 38
Ideas, new, 287
Idols, 277
Illnesses, at Cambridge, 79;
during many years, 116;
in 1866, 155, 215
Index of Correlation, 302;
curative, 33
Insanity, experiments, 276
International Exhibition of 1884, 245
Iron Gates (Danube), 50
Jaffa, 105
Jeffreys, J. Gwyn, 10
Jerusalem, 106
Jeune, Dr. (Bishop of Peterborough), 20
Johnson, Dr. Alice, 98
Johnson, Sir George, 42
Johnson, H. Vaughan, 74
Jonker, 129, 135, 136, 146
Jordan, 106
Kahichené, 141
Kaoko, 142
Kay, Sir Edward, Lord Justice, 69
Kay, Joseph, 68
Kellig (water-skin), 106
Kelvin, Lord, 60
Kemble, J. Mitchell, 286
Kenilworth, school at, 18
Keswick, 59
KEW OBSERVATORY AND METEOROLOGY, 224
Kew Observatory, history of, 225
Khartum, 92, 93
Kilimandjaro, 198
King’s College, 39, 56;
Hospital, 43
Knapsack sleeping-bag, 189
Knowles, General, 164
Korosko, 86
Kuisip R., 129
Kustendji, 49, 51
Laboratory, Anthropometric, Health Exhibition, 245, 270;
S. Kensington, 249;
for Faculty generally, 267
Ladysmith, 126
Lamb, Charles, 39
LANDS OF THE DAMARAS, OVAMPO, AND NAMAQUAS, 138
Lazarette (_see_ Quarantine)
Leamington, 18, 110, 155
Lebanon, 104
Lesseps, 161
Levanting and re-levanting, 104
Le Verrier, 229
Liebig, Prof., 48
Lighthouse, 114
Lingen, Lord, 78
Linz, 49, 247
Lions, 133, 247
Lister, Lord, 37
Livingstone, 122, 205, 206
Lloyd, Charles, 123
Lochiel, Cameron of, 190
Lords, House of, 314
Loup, Saut de, 192
Lovelace, Earl of, 170
Lubbock, Sir J. (Lord Avebury), 177
Luchon, 189
Lyell, Mrs. (Life of Leonard Horner), 46
Lymington, 119
Macalister, Dr. Donald, 212, 304
Macaulay, 74
MacKinder, 212
MacLennan, J. F., 67
MacLennan, Mrs., 192, 195
Macmillan, Vacation Tourists, 186
Mahomed, Dr., 262
Maine, Sir Henry, 66
Maori, endurance of pain, 36
Markham, Sir Clement, 210
Marks for physical efficiency, 214
Matheson, Rev. —, 59, 60
Maury, 229
Medallions, 196
Medals (_see_ List, p. 331);
R.G. Soc., 150
Median estimates in Juries, 281
MEDICAL STUDIES, 22
Mehemet Ali, 86
Memorial of African Travellers, 204
Mendel, 308
Menzies, Sir Niel, 73
Merrifield, Mr., 307
Mesmerism, 80
Meteorographica, 232
Meteorological Committee and Council, 233
Microscopes, 41
Millais, Sir Everard, 309
Millau, 194
Miller, Dr. Allen, 48
Miseri’s Hotel, 52
Models (Art of Travel), 164
Mombas, 198
Monkeys, 91, 109
Montpelier le Vieux, 194
Müller, Prof. Max., 283
Murchison, Sir R., 150, 208
Murie, Dr., 298
Murray, Admiral Hon., 171
Mutations, 313
Muybridge, Mr., 264
Myers, Rev. F., 60
Mytton, 110, 289
Namaquas, 127, 136
Nangoro, 142;
his death, 144
Nassau balloon, 183
Nature and Nurture (twins), 294
Naworth Castle, 300
Newstead Abbey, 170
New York Herald, 206
N’gamî Lake, 122, 127, 147
Niles, White and Blue, 94;
sources of White, 199
Noble, Sir Andrew, 238
North, Frederick, M.P., 180
—— Marianne, 181
Northbrook, Lord, 202
Number-forms, 270
Observations, self-recording, 234
Oliphant, Lawrence, 161, 162, 172
Olympus, Mt., 52
Original sin, 317
Orkneys, 111
Oswell, W. C., 122
Otchimbingue, 129
Ovambondé, 138, 142
Ovampo limit, 130, 142
Oxen, 146
Oyster-catcher (bird), 114
P., Mr., 23
Packe, Charles, 189
Paget, Sir James, 36
Pain, sense of, 35
Pangenesis, 297
Pantagraph, drill, 232, 235
PARENTAGE, 1
Parker, Sir Hyde, 123, 152
Parkyns, Mansfield, 92, 172
Partridge, John, R.A., 40
—— Prof. Richard, 39
Passage roses, 239
Pasteur, 37
Pearson, Prof. Karl, 283, 294;
correlations, 304;
ancestral law, 309, 320
Peas, sweet, experiments, 300
Pedigree stock, photographs of, 217
Pelly, Sir Lewis, 10, 193
Per-Centiles, 267
Petherick, Mr., 94, 298
Petrels, 114
Petrie, Prof., 97
Phenician inscription (alleged), 208
Photographs, analytical, 263;
composite, 261
Photographic lenses, 228
Pilgrimages, 90
Pills, 29
Pitch, scalded legs, 36
Pitt, his voice, 39
Pollock, Sir Frederick, 167
Portuguese, 128, 143
Prizes, first and second, 282
Problem (earth’s diameter), 62
Proteus, the, 56
Provisions, walking tour, 159
_Puck_ (comic newspaper), 68
Pump near Jaffa, 105
_Punch_, 68, 277
Pyrenees, 189
Quantification of the Predicate, 174
Quarantine, at Syra, 53;
Ancona, 54;
Trieste (with Spoglio), 55;
Beyrout, 102;
Marseilles, 108
Quassia, 27
Quetelet, Prof., 304
Quincey, De, 62
Rabbi, Chief, of Dantzig, 272
Rabbits, experiments on, 297
RACE IMPROVEMENT, 310
Rae, Dr., 161
Raffles, Sir Stamford, 173
Ramsgate, 302
Rath, Rev. —, 134
Rawson, Sir Rawson, 214
Reaction time, 248
Reader, the, 168
Red Lion Club, 216
Regression, 301, 318
Resemblances, measurement of, 250
Reynolds, Miss, 308
Roberts, Mr., 214
Robertson, Prof. Croom, 267
Robertson, Rev. —, 173
Romanes, J., 278
Ronalds, Sir F., 229
Ronaldshay, N., 114
Rougemont, Mr., 207
Royal Society, 219, 221
Royat, 154
Rugby boys, 69
Sabine, General Sir Edward, 224
St. Helena, 148
St. Simonians, 87
Sand Fontein, 132
Sandow, adjudging prizes, 279
Sanity, tableland of, 38
Saut de Loup, 192
Scawfell, 61
Schepmansdorf, 132
Schimmelpenninck, Mrs., 9
Scott, Robert, 240
Seals, 112
Semney, temple at, 96
Sextant, 125, 226
Shaw, W. N., 234
Shells, smoke of, 236
Shendy (massacre), 91, 95
Sheppard, W. F., 283
Shetlands, 112, 118
SHORT TOUR TO THE EAST, 48
Sierra Nevada, 52
Simon, Sir John, 41, 294
Sin, original, 316
Sinai, peninsula of, 184
Singapore, 174
Slave hunting, 90
Sleeping-bag, 189
Smee, Dr., 40, 41, 42
Smell, sense of, used in arithmetic, 283
Smith, Gen. Sir Harry, 126
Smith, Prof. Henry, 240
Snowdon, 61
SOCIAL LIFE (_medallions_), 169
Sociological papers (eugenics), 321
SOUTH-WEST AFRICA, 121
Spectacles under water, 186
Speke, Captain, 199;
death, 202;
memorial, 203
Spencer, Herbert, 167, 178, 257, 292
Spoglio (in quarantine), 55
Sports or mutations, 313
Spottiswoode, Wm., 72, 183, 210, 232, 250, 304
Spurgeon, Rev. —, 285
Stanley, Dean, 69
—— 15th Earl Derby, 76
—— Sir Henry M., 205, 207
Statistical instinct, 4
—— units, 298
Statistician and statesman, 312
Statistics, medical, 44
Stereoscopic maps, 264
Stewardson, 132
Stewart and Balfour, 229
Strachey, General Sir Richard, 212, 241
Stratheden, Lord (_see_ Campbell)
Strickland, 63
Suffocation, 185
Swakop R., 129
Swartboy, 135, 145
Swedes, 124
Sylvester, Prof., 71
Symonds, J. Addington, 181
Symplegades, 51
Syra, Island, 53
SYRIA, 101
Tanganyika, 199
Target for riflemen, 166
Tarn R., 194
Taylor, Tom, 68
Telotype, 120
Thermometer, 227
Tiberias, Lake of, 106
Time, sense of, 277
Toad, pet, 114
Tounobis, 41, 131, 185
Tracings of self-recording instruments, 234, 236
Transfusion of blood, 297
Trepanning, 31
Trinity College, 58, 81
Twins, 294
Tyndall, Prof., 172, 191, 254
Union Society, 75
University of London and Eugenics, 320
Vacation Tourists, 186
Victoria Nyanza, 199
Vienna, 25, 50
Vignolles, Mr., 187
Visions of sane persons, 273
Vivisecting, natural, 32
_Vox populi_, 280
Vries, de, 253
Wagons, 139, 142
Walfish Bay, 127, 132
Walrond, F., 69
Water, digging for, 138
Water snakes (Danube), 51
Watson, Rev. H. W., 305
Weather charts, 231
Webb, Mr., 170, 206
Weldon, Prof., 320
Whales (Shetland), 112
Wharton, Admiral Sir Wm., 165
Wheatstone, Sir C., 40
Whewell, Dr., 60, 69
Whipple, Mr., 229
Whistles for high notes, 247
White Nile, 94
Wilberforce, Bishop, 171
Wind roses, 238
Wordsworth, Christopher, and his three sons, 58
Young (1st Trinity), 76
Zanzibar, 171, 198, 200
Zealander, New, 36
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Commercial Series, 25
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Illustrated Pocket Library of
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Leaders of Religion, 27
Library of Devotion, 27
Little Books on Art, 28
Little Galleries, 28
Little Guides, 28
Little Library, 29
Little Quarto Shakespeare, 30
Miniature Library, 30
Oxford Biographies, 30
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Textbooks of Technology, 32
Handbooks of Theology, 32
Westminster Commentaries, 32
Fiction, 33-39
Books for Boys and Girls, 39
Novels of Alexandre Dumas, 39
Methuen’s Sixpenny Books, 39
SEPTEMBER 1908
A CATALOGUE OF MESSRS. METHUEN’S PUBLICATIONS
In this Catalogue the order is according to authors. An asterisk denotes
that the book is in the press.
Colonial Editions are published of all Messrs. METHUEN’S Novels issued
at a price above 2_s._ 6_d._, and similar editions are published of some
works of General Literature. These are marked in the Catalogue. Colonial
editions are only for circulation in the British Colonies and India.
All books marked net are not subject to discount, and cannot be bought at
less than the published price. Books not marked net are subject to the
discount which the bookseller allows.
Messrs. METHUEN’S books are kept in stock by all good booksellers. If
there is any difficulty in seeing copies, Messrs. Methuen will be very
glad to have early information, and specimen copies of any books will be
sent on receipt of the published price _plus_ postage for net books, and
of the published price for ordinary books.
I.P.L. represents Illustrated Pocket Library.
PART I.—GENERAL LITERATURE
=Abbott (J. H. M.).= AN OUTLANDER IN ENGLAND: _Second Edition. Cr. 8vo.
6s._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
=Abraham (George D.).= THE COMPLETE MOUNTAINEER. With 75 Illustrations.
_Second Edition. Demy 8vo. 15s. net._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
=Acatos (M. J.).= See Junior School Books.
=Adams (Frank).= JACK SPRAT. With 24 Coloured Pictures. _Super Royal
16mo. 2s._
=Adeney (W. F.)=, M.A. See Bennett (W. H.).
=Ady (Cecilia M.).= A HISTORY OF MILAN UNDER THE SFORZA. With 20
Illustrations and a Map. _Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net._
=Æschylus.= See Classical Translations.
=Æsop.= See I.P.L.
=Ainsworth (W. Harrison).= See I.P.L.
=Aldis (Janet).= THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS, MARQUISE DE SÉVIGNÉ, DAME
DE BOURBILLY, 1626-96. With 18 Illustrations. _Second Edition. Demy 8vo.
12s. 6d. net._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
=Alexander (William)=, D.D., Archbishop of Armagh. THOUGHTS AND COUNSELS
OF MANY YEARS. _Demy 16mo. 2s. 6d._
=Alken (Henry).= See I.P.L.
=Allen (Charles C.).= See Textbooks of Technology.
=Allen (L. Jessie).= See Little Books on Art.
=Allen (J. Romilly)=, F.S.A. See Antiquary’s Books.
=Almack (E.)=, F.S.A. See Little Books on Art.
=Amherst (Lady).= A SKETCH OF EGYPTIAN HISTORY FROM THE EARLIEST TIMES
TO THE PRESENT DAY. With many Illustrations and Maps. _A New and Cheaper
Issue. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
=Anderson (F. M.).= THE STORY OF THE BRITISH EMPIRE FOR CHILDREN. With 42
Illustrations. _Cr. 8vo. 2s._
=Anderson (J. G.)=, B.A., NOUVELLE GRAMMAIRE FRANÇAISE, A L’USAGE DES
ÉCOLES ANGLAISES. _Crown 8vo. 2s._
EXERCICES DE GRAMMAIRE FRANÇAISE. _Cr. 8vo. 1s. 6d._
=Andrewes (Bishop).= PRECES PRIVATÆ. Translated and edited, with Notes,
by F. E. BRIGHTMAN, M.A., of Pusey House, Oxford. _Cr. 8vo. 6s._
See also Library of Devotion.
‘=Anglo-Australian.=’ AFTER-GLOW MEMORIES. _Cr. 8vo. 6s._
=Anon.= HEALTH, WEALTH, AND WISDOM. _Crown 8vo. 1s. net._
=Aristotle.= THE ETHICS OF. Edited, with an Introduction and Notes by
JOHN BURNET, M.A. _Cheaper issue. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net._
=Asman (H. N.)=, M.A., B.D. See Junior School Books.
=Atkins (H. G.).= See Oxford Biographies.
=Atkinson (C. M.).= JEREMY BENTHAM. _Demy 8vo. 5s. net._
*=Atkinson (C. T.)=, M.A., Fellow of Exeter College, Oxford, sometime
Demy of Magdalen College. A HISTORY OF GERMANY, from 1713 to 1815. With
many Maps. _Demy 8vo. 15s. net._
=Atkinson (T. D.).= ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. With 196 Illustrations. _Second
Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net._
A GLOSSARY OF TERMS USED IN ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. With 265 Illustrations.
_Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net._
=Auden (T.)=, M.A., F.S.A. See Ancient Cities.
=Aurelius (Marcus).= WORDS OF THE ANCIENT WISE. Thoughts from Epictetus
and Marcus Aurelius. Edited by W. H. D. ROUSE, M.A., Litt. D. _Fcap. 8vo.
3s. 6d. net._
See also Standard Library.
=Austen (Jane).= See Standard Library, Little Library and Mitton (G. E.).
=Aves (Ernest).= CO-OPERATIVE INDUSTRY. _Crown 8vo. 5s. net._
=Bacon (Francis).= See Standard Library and Little Library.
=Baden-Powell (R. S. S.).= THE MATABELE CAMPAIGN, 1896. With nearly 100
Illustrations. _Fourth Edition. Large Cr. 8vo. 6s._
=Bagot (Richard).= THE LAKES OF NORTHERN ITALY. With 37 Illustrations and
a Map. _Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net._
=Bailey (J. C.)=, M.A. See Cowper (W.).
=Baker (W. G.)=, M.A. See Junior Examination Series.
=Baker (Julian L.)=, F.I.C., F.C.S. See Books on Business.
=Balfour (Graham).= THE LIFE OF ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. With a Portrait.
_Fourth Edition in one Volume. Cr. 8vo. Buckram, 6s._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
=Ballard (A.)=, B.A., LL.D. See Antiquary’s Books.
=Bally (S. B.).= See Commercial Series.
=Banks (Elizabeth L.).= THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A ‘NEWSPAPER GIRL.’ _Second
Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s._
=Barham (R. H.).= See Little Library.
=Baring (The Hon. Maurice).= WITH THE RUSSIANS IN MANCHURIA. _Third
Edition. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
A YEAR IN RUSSIA. _Second Edition. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
=Baring-Gould (S.).= THE LIFE OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. With nearly 200
Illustrations, including a Photogravure Frontispiece. _Second Edition.
Wide Royal 8vo. 10s. 6d. net._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
THE TRAGEDY OF THE CÆSARS: A STUDY OF THE CHARACTERS OF THE CÆSARS OF THE
JULIAN AND CLAUDIAN HOUSES. With numerous Illustrations from Busts, Gems,
Cameos, etc. _Sixth Edition. Royal 8vo. 10s. 6d. net._
A BOOK OF FAIRY TALES. With numerous Illustrations by A. J. GASKIN.
_Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. Buckram. 6s._, also _Demy 8vo. 6d._
OLD ENGLISH FAIRY TALES. With numerous Illustrations by F. D. BEDFORD.
_Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. Buckram. 6s._
THE VICAR OF MORWENSTOW. Revised Edition. With a Portrait. _Third
Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d._
OLD COUNTRY LIFE. With 69 Illustrations. _Fifth Edition. Large Crown 8vo.
6s._
A GARLAND OF COUNTRY SONG: English Folk Songs with their Traditional
Melodies. Collected and arranged by S. BARING-GOULD and H. F. SHEPPARD.
_Demy 4to. 6s._
SONGS OF THE WEST: Folk Songs of Devon and Cornwall. Collected from
the Mouths of the People. By S. BARING-GOULD, M.A., and H. FLEETWOOD
SHEPPARD, M.A. New and Revised Edition, under the musical editorship of
CECIL J. SHARP. _Large Imperial 8vo. 5s. net._
A BOOK OF NURSERY SONGS AND RHYMES. Edited by S. BARING-GOULD.
Illustrated. _Second and Cheaper Edition. Large Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net._
STRANGE SURVIVALS: SOME CHAPTERS IN THE HISTORY OF MAN. Illustrated.
_Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net._
YORKSHIRE ODDITIES: INCIDENTS AND STRANGE EVENTS. _Fifth Edition. Cr.
8vo. 2s. 6d. net._
THE BARING-GOULD SELECTION READER. Arranged by G. H. ROSE. Illustrated.
_Crown 8vo. 1s. 6d._
THE BARING-GOULD CONTINUOUS READER. Arranged by G. H. ROSE. Illustrated.
_Crown 8vo. 1s. 6d._
A BOOK OF CORNWALL. With 33 Illustrations. _Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s._
A BOOK OF DARTMOOR. With 60 Illustrations. _Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s._
A BOOK OF DEVON. With 35 Illustrations. _Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s._
A BOOK OF NORTH WALES. With 49 Illustrations. _Cr. 8vo. 6s._
A BOOK OF SOUTH WALES. With 57 Illustrations. _Cr. 8vo. 6s._
A BOOK OF BRITTANY. With 69 Illustrations. _Cr. 8vo. 6s._
A BOOK OF THE RHINE: From Cleve to Mainz. With 8 Illustrations in Colour
by TREVOR HADDEN, and 48 other Illustrations. _Second Edition. Cr. 8vo.
6s._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
A BOOK OF THE RIVIERA. With 40 Illustrations. _Cr. 8vo. 6s._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
A BOOK OF THE PYRENEES. With 25 Illustrations. _Cr. 8vo. 6s._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
See also Little Guides.
=Barker (Aldred F.).= See Textbooks of Technology.
=Barker (E.)=, M.A. (Late) Fellow of Merton College, Oxford. THE
POLITICAL THOUGHT OF PLATO AND ARISTOTLE. _Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net._
=Barnes (W. E.)=, D.D. See Churchman’s Bible.
=Barnett (Mrs. P. A.).= See Little Library.
=Baron (R. R. N.)=, M.A. FRENCH PROSE COMPOSITION. _Third Edition. Cr.
8vo. 2s. 6d. KEY, 3s. net._
See also Junior School Books.
=Barron (H. M.)=, M.A., Wadham College, Oxford. TEXTS FOR SERMONS. With
a Preface by Canon SCOTT HOLLAND. _Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d._
=Bartholomew (J. G.)=, F.R.S.E. See C. G. Robertson.
=Bastable (C. F.)=, LL.D. THE COMMERCE OF NATIONS. _Fourth Ed. Cr. 8vo.
2s. 6d._
=Bastian (H. Charlton)=, M.A., M.D., F.R.S. THE EVOLUTION OF LIFE. With
Diagrams and many Photomicrographs. _Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
=Batson (Mrs. Stephen).= A CONCISE HANDBOOK OF GARDEN FLOWERS. _Fcap.
8vo. 3s. 6d._
THE SUMMER GARDEN OF PLEASURE. With 36 Illustrations in Colour by OSMUND
PITTMAN. _Wide Demy 8vo. 15s. net._
=Batten (Loring W.)=, Ph.D., S.T.D. THE HEBREW PROPHET. _Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.
net._
=Bayley (R. Child).= THE COMPLETE PHOTOGRAPHER. With over 100
Illustrations. _Third Edition. With Note on Direct Colour Process. Demy
8vo. 10s. 6d. net._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
=Beard (W. S.)=. EASY EXERCISES IN ALGEBRA FOR BEGINNERS. _Cr. 8vo. 1s.
6d._ With Answers. _1s. 9d._
See also Junior Examination Series and Beginner’s Books.
=Beckford (Peter).= THOUGHTS ON HUNTING. Edited by J. OTHO PAGET, and
Illustrated by G. H. JALLAND. _Second Edition. Demy 8vo. 6s._
=Beckford (William).= See Little Library.
=Beeching (H. C.)=, M.A., Canon of Westminster. See Library of Devotion.
=Beerbohm (Max).= A BOOK OF CARICATURES. _Imperial 4to. 21s. net._
=Begbie (Harold).= MASTER WORKERS. Illustrated. _Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
=Behmen (Jacob).= DIALOGUES ON THE SUPERSENSUAL LIFE. Edited by BERNARD
HOLLAND. _Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d._
=Bell (Mrs. Arthur G.).= THE SKIRTS OF THE GREAT CITY. With 16
Illustrations in Colour by ARTHUR G. BELL, 17 other Illustrations, and a
Map. _Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s._
=Belloc (Hilaire)=, M.P. PARIS. With 7 Maps and a Frontispiece in
Photogravure. _Second Edition, Revised. Cr. 8vo. 6s._
HILLS AND THE SEA. _Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s._
ON NOTHING AND KINDRED SUBJECTS. _Fcap. 8vo. 5s._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
=Bellot (H. H. L.)=, M.A. See Jones (L. A. A.).
=Bennett (W. H.)=, M.A. A PRIMER OF THE BIBLE. With a concise
Bibliography. _Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d._
=Bennett (W. H.)= and =Adeney (W. F.)=. A BIBLICAL INTRODUCTION. _Fourth
Edition. Cr. 8vo. 7s. 6d._
=Benson (Archbishop).= GOD’S BOARD. Communion Addresses. _Second Edition.
Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net._
=Benson (A. C.)=, M.A. See Oxford Biographies.
=Benson (R. M.).= THE WAY OF HOLINESS: a Devotional Commentary on the
119th Psalm. _Cr. 8vo. 5s._
=Bernard (E. R.)=, M.A., Canon of Salisbury. THE ENGLISH SUNDAY: ITS
ORIGINS AND ITS CLAIMS. _Fcap. 8vo. 1s. 6d._
=Bertouch (Baroness de).= THE LIFE OF FATHER IGNATIUS. Illustrated. _Demy
8vo. 10s. 6d. net._
=Beruete (A. de).= See Classics of Art.
=Betham-Edwards (Miss).= HOME LIFE IN FRANCE. With 20 Illustrations.
_Fifth Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
=Bethune-Baker (J. F.)=, M.A. See Handbooks of Theology.
=Bidez (J.).= See Byzantine Texts.
=Biggs (C. R. D.)=, D.D. See Churchman’s Bible.
=Bindley (T. Herbert)=, B.D. THE OECUMENICAL DOCUMENTS OF THE FAITH. With
Introductions and Notes. _Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s. net._
=Binns (H. B.).= THE LIFE OF WALT WHITMAN. Illustrated. _Demy 8vo. 10s.
6d. net._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
=Binyon (Mrs. Laurence).= NINETEENTH CENTURY PROSE. Selected and arranged
by. _Crown 8vo. 6s._
=Binyon (Laurence).= THE DEATH OF ADAM AND OTHER POEMS. _Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.
net._
See also Blake (William).
=Birch (Walter de Gray)=, LL.D., F.S.A.
See Connoisseur’s Library.
=Birnstingl (Ethel).= See Little Books on Art.
=Blackmantle (Bernard)=. See I.P.L.
=Blair (Robert).= See I.P.L.
=Blake (William).= THE LETTERS OF WILLIAM BLAKE, TOGETHER WITH A
LIFE BY FREDERICK TATHAM. Edited from the Original Manuscripts,
with an Introduction and Notes, by ARCHIBALD G. B. RUSSELL. With 12
Illustrations. _Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE BOOK OF JOB. With General Introduction by LAURENCE
BINYON. _Quarto. 21s. net._
See also Blair (Robert), I.P.L., and Little Library.
=Bloom (J. Harvey)=, M.A. SHAKESPEARE’S GARDEN. Illustrated. _Fcap. 8vo.
3s. 6d.; leather, 4s. 6d. net._
See also Antiquary’s Books.
=Blouet (Henri).= See Beginner’s Books.
=Boardman (T. H.)=, M.A. See French (W.)
=Bodley (J. E. C.)=, Author of ‘France.’ THE CORONATION OF EDWARD VII.
_Demy 8vo. 21s. net._ By Command of the King.
=Body (George)=, D.D. THE SOUL’S PILGRIMAGE: Devotional Readings from
the Published and Unpublished writings of George Body, D.D. Selected and
arranged by J. H. BURN, B.D., F.R.S.E. _Demy 16mo. 2s. 6d._
=Bona (Cardinal).= See Library of Devotion.
=Boon (F. C.).=, B.A. See Commercial Series.
=Borrow (George).= See Little Library.
=Bos (J. Ritzema).= AGRICULTURAL ZOOLOGY. Translated by J. R. AINSWORTH
DAVIS, M.A. With 155 Illustrations. _Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d._
=Botting (C. G.)=, B.A. EASY GREEK EXERCISES. _Cr. 8vo. 2s._
See also Junior Examination Series.
=Boulting (W.).= TASSO AND HIS TIMES. With 24 Illustrations. _Demy 8vo.
10s. 6d. net._
=Boulton (E. S.)=, M.A. GEOMETRY ON MODERN LINES. _Cr. 8vo. 2s._
=Boulton (William B.).= THOMAS GAINSBOROUGH. His Life and Work, Friends
and Sitters. With 40 Illustrations. _Second Ed. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS, P.R.A. With 49 Illustrations. _Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d.
net._
=Bowden (E. M.).= THE IMITATION OF BUDDHA: Being Quotations from Buddhist
Literature for each Day in the Year. _Fifth edition. Cr. 16mo. 2s. 6d._
=Boyle (W.).= CHRISTMAS AT THE ZOO. With Verses by W. BOYLE and 24
Coloured Pictures by H. B. NEILSON. _Super Royal 16mo. 2s._
=Brabant (F. G.)=, M.A. See Little Guides.
=Bradley (A. G.).= ROUND ABOUT WILTSHIRE. With 14 Illustrations, in
Colour by T. C. GOTCH, 16 other Illustrations, and a Map. _Second
Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
THE ROMANCE OF NORTHUMBERLAND. With 16 Illustrations in Colour by FRANK
SOUTHGATE, R.B.A., and 12 from Photographs. _Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
=Bradley (John W.).= See Little Books on Art.
=Braid (James)=, Open Champion, 1901, 1905 and 1906. ADVANCED GOLF. With
88 Photographs and Diagrams. _Third Edition. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
=Braid (James) and Others.= GREAT GOLFERS IN THE MAKING. Edited by HENRY
LEACH. With 24 Illustrations. _Second Edition. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
=Brailsford (H. N.).= MACEDONIA: ITS RACES AND THEIR FUTURE. With
Photographs and Maps. _Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net._
=Brodrick (Mary)= and =Morton (A. Anderson)=. A CONCISE DICTIONARY OF
EGYPTIAN ARCHÆOLOGY. A Hand-Book for Students and Travellers. With 80
Illustrations and many Cartouches. _Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d._
=Brooks (E. E.)=, B.Sc. (Lond.), Leicester Municipal Technical School,
and =James (W. H. N.)=, A.R.C.S., A.M.I.E.E., Municipal School of
Technology, Manchester. See Textbooks of Technology.
=Brooks (E. W.).= See Hamilton (F. J.).
=Brown (P. H.)=, LL.D. SCOTLAND IN THE TIME OF QUEEN MARY. _Demy 8vo. 7s.
6d. net._
=Brown (S. E.)=, M.A., B.Sc., Senior Science Master at Uppingham. A
PRACTICAL CHEMISTRY NOTE-BOOK FOR MATRICULATION AND ARMY CANDIDATES. Easy
Experiments on the Commoner Substances. _Cr. 4to. 1s. 6d. net._
=Brown (J. Wood)=, M.A. THE BUILDERS OF FLORENCE. With 74 Illustrations
by HERBERT RAILTON. _Demy 4to. 18s. net._
=Browne (Sir Thomas).= See Standard Library.
=Brownell (C. L.).= THE HEART OF JAPAN. Illustrated. _Third Edition. Cr.
8vo. 6s._; also _Demy 8vo. 6d._
=Browning (Robert).= See Little Library.
=Bryant (Walter W.)=, B.A., F.R.A.S., F.R. Met. Soc., of the Royal
Observatory, Greenwich. A HISTORY OF ASTRONOMY. With 35 Illustrations.
_Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
=Buckland (Francis T.).= CURIOSITIES OF NATURAL HISTORY. Illustrated by
H. B. NEILSON. _Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d._
=Buckton (A. M.).= THE BURDEN OF ENGELA. _Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s.
6d. net._
EAGER HEART: A Mystery Play. _Seventh Edition. Cr. 8vo. 1s. net._
KINGS IN BABYLON: A Drama. _Cr. 8vo. 1s. net._
SONGS OF JOY. _Cr. 8vo. 1s. net._
=Budge (E. A. Wallis).= THE GODS OF THE EGYPTIANS. With over 100 Coloured
Plates and many Illustrations. _Two Volumes. Royal 8vo. £3, 3s. net._
=Bull (Paul)=, Army Chaplain. GOD AND OUR SOLDIERS. _Second Edition. Cr.
8vo. 6s._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
=Bulley (Miss).= See Dilke (Lady).
=Bunyan (John).= See Standard Library and Library of Devotion.
=Burch (G. J.)=, M.A., F.R.S. A MANUAL OF ELECTRICAL SCIENCE.
Illustrated. _Cr. 8vo. 3s._
=Burgess (Gelett).= GOOPS AND HOW TO BE THEM. Illustrated. _Small 4to.
6s._
=Burke (Edmund).= See Standard Library.
=Burn (A. E.)=, D.D., Rector of Handsworth and Prebendary of Lichfield.
See Handbooks of Theology.
=Burn (J. H.)=, B.D., F.R.S.E. THE CHURCHMAN’S TREASURY OF SONG: Gathered
from the Christian poetry of all ages. Edited by. _Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d.
net._ See also Library of Devotion.
=Burnand (Sir F. C.).= RECORDS AND REMINISCENCES. With a Portrait by H.
V. HERKOMER. _Cr. 8vo. Fourth and Cheaper Edition. 6s._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
=Burns (Robert)=, THE POEMS. Edited by ANDREW LANG and W. A. CRAIGIE.
With Portrait. _Third Edition. Demy 8vo, gilt top. 6s._
See also Standard Library.
=Burnside (W. F.)=, M.A. OLD TESTAMENT HISTORY FOR USE IN SCHOOLS. _Third
Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d._
=Burton (Alfred).= See I.P.L.
=Bussell (F. W.)=, D.D. CHRISTIAN THEOLOGY AND SOCIAL PROGRESS (The
Bampton Lectures of 1905). _Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net._
=Butler (Joseph)=, D.D. See Standard Library.
=Caldecott (Alfred)=, D.D. See Handbooks of Theology.
=Calderwood (D. S.)=, Headmaster of the Normal School, Edinburgh. TEST
CARDS IN EUCLID AND ALGEBRA. In three packets of 40, with Answers. 1_s._
each. Or in three Books, price 2_d._, 2_d._, and 3_d._
=Canning (George).= See Little Library.
=Capey (E. F. H.).= See Oxford Biographies.
=Careless (John).= See I.P.L.
=Carlyle (Thomas).= THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. Edited by C. R. L. FLETCHER,
Fellow of Magdalen College, Oxford. _Three Volumes. Cr. 8vo. 18s._
THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF OLIVER CROMWELL. With an Introduction by C.
H. FIRTH, M.A., and Notes and Appendices by Mrs. S. C. LOMAS. _Three
Volumes. Demy 8vo. 18s. net._
=Carlyle (R. M. and A. J.)=, M.A. See Leaders of Religion.
=Carmichael (Philip).= ALL ABOUT PHILIPPINE. With 8 Illustrations. _Cr.
8vo. 2s. 6d._
=Carpenter (Margaret Boyd).= THE CHILD IN ART. With 50 Illustrations.
_Second Edition. Large Cr. 8vo. 6s._
=Cavanagh (Francis)=, M.D. (Edin.). THE CARE OF THE BODY. _Second
Edition. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
=Celano (Thomas of).= THE LIVES OF ST. FRANCIS OF ASSISI. Translated into
English by A. G. FERRERS HOWELL. With a Frontispiece. _Cr. 8vo. 5s. net._
=Channer (C. C.) and Roberts (M. E.).= LACEMAKING IN THE MIDLANDS, PAST
AND PRESENT. With 16 full-page Illustrations. _Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d._
=Chapman (S. J.).= See Books on Business.
=Chatterton (Thomas).= See Standard Library.
=Chesterfield (Lord)=, THE LETTERS OF, TO HIS SON. Edited, with an
Introduction by C. STRACHEY, with Notes by A. CALTHROP. _Two Volumes. Cr.
8vo. 12s._
=Chesterton (G. K.).= CHARLES DICKENS. With two Portraits in
Photogravure. _Fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s._
=Childe (Charles P.)=, B.A., F.R.C.S. THE CONTROL OF A SCOURGE: OR, HOW
CANCER IS CURABLE. _Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
=Christian (F. W.).= THE CAROLINE ISLANDS. With many Illustrations and
Maps. _Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net._
=Cicero.= See Classical Translations.
=Clapham (J. H.)=, Professor of Economics in the University of Leeds. THE
WOOLLEN AND WORSTED INDUSTRIES. With 21 Illustrations and Diagrams. _Cr.
8vo. 6s._
=Clarke (F. A.)=, M.A. See Leaders of Religion.
=Clausen (George)=, A.R.A., R.W.S. SIX LECTURES ON PAINTING. With 19
Illustrations. _Third Edition. Large Post 8vo. 3s. 6d. net._
AIMS AND IDEALS IN ART. Eight Lectures delivered to the Students of the
Royal Academy of Arts. With 32 Illustrations. _Second Edition. Large Post
8vo. 5s. net._
=Cleather (A. L.).= See Wagner (R).
=Clinch (G.)=, F.G.S. See Antiquary’s Books and Little Guides.
=Clough (W. T.)= and =Dunstan (A. E.)=. See Junior School Books and
Textbooks of Science.
=Clouston (T. S.)=, M.D., C.C.D., F.R.S.E. THE HYGIENE OF MIND. With 10
Illustrations. _Fourth Edition. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
=Coast (W. G.)=, B.A. EXAMINATION PAPERS IN VERGIL. _Cr. 8vo. 2s._
=Cobb (W. F.)=, M.A. THE BOOK OF PSALMS: with a Commentary. _Demy 8vo.
10s. 6d. net._
=Coleridge (S. T.).= POEMS. Selected and Arranged by ARTHUR SYMONS. With
a Photogravure Frontispiece. _Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net._
=Collingwood (W. G.)=, M.A. THE LIFE OF JOHN RUSKIN. With Portrait.
_Sixth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net._
=Collins (W. E.)=, M.A. See Churchman’s Library.
=Combe (William).= See I.P.L.
=Conrad (Joseph).= THE MIRROR OF THE SEA: Memories and Impressions.
_Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s._
=Cook (A. M.)=, M.A., and =Marchant (E. C.)=, M.A. PASSAGES FOR UNSEEN
TRANSLATION. Selected from Latin and Greek Literature. _Fourth Ed. Cr.
8vo. 3s. 6d._
LATIN PASSAGES FOR UNSEEN TRANSLATION. _Third Ed. Cr. 8vo. 1s. 6d._
=Cooke-Taylor (R. W.).= THE FACTORY SYSTEM. _Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d._
=Coolidge (W. A. B.)=, M.A. THE ALPS. With many Illustrations. _Demy 8vo.
7s. 6d net._
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=Corelli (Marie).= THE PASSING OF THE GREAT QUEEN. _Second Edition. Fcap.
4to. 1s._
A CHRISTMAS GREETING. _Cr. 4to. 1s._
=Corkran (Alice).= See Little Books on Art.
=Cotes (Everard).= SIGNS AND PORTENTS IN THE FAR EAST. With 35
Illustrations. _Second Edition. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
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=Cotes (Rosemary).= DANTE’S GARDEN. With a Frontispiece. _Second Edition.
Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d.; leather, 3s. 6d. net._
BIBLE FLOWERS. With a Frontispiece and Plan. _Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net._
=Cowley (Abraham).= See Little Library.
=Cowper (William).= THE POEMS. Edited with an Introduction and Notes by
J. C. BAILEY, M.A. Illustrated, including two unpublished designs by
WILLIAM BLAKE. _Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net._
=Cox (J. Charles).= See Ancient Cities, Antiquary’s Books, and Little
Guides.
=Cox (Harold)=, B.A., M.P. LAND NATIONALIZATION AND LAND TAXATION.
_Second Edition revised. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net._
=Crabbe (George).= See Little Library.
=Craik (Mrs.).= See Little Library.
=Crane (C. P.)=, D.S.O. See Little Guides.
=Crane (Walter)=, R.W.S. AN ARTIST’S REMINISCENCES. With 123
Illustrations by the Author and others from Photographs. _Second Edition.
Demy 8vo. 18s. net._
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INDIA IMPRESSIONS. With 84 Illustrations from Sketches by the Author.
_Second Edition. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
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=Crashaw (Richard).= See Little Library.
=Crawford (F. G.).= See Danson (Mary C.).
=Crofts (T. R. N.)=, M.A., Modern Language Master at Merchant Taylors’
School. See Simplified French Texts.
=Cross (J. A.)=, M.A. THE FAITH OF THE BIBLE. _Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net._
=Cruikshank (G.).= THE LOVING BALLAD OF LORD BATEMAN. With 11 Plates.
_Cr. 16mo. 1s. 6d. net._
=Crump (B.).= See Wagner (R.).
=Cunliffe (Sir F. H. E.)=, Fellow of All Souls’ College, Oxford. THE
HISTORY OF THE BOER WAR. With many Illustrations, Plans, and Portraits.
_In 2 vols. Quarto. 15s. each._
=Cunynghame (H. H.)=, C.B. See Connoisseur’s Library.
=Cutts (E. L.)=, D.D. See Leaders of Religion.
=Daniell (G. W.)=, M.A. See Leaders of Religion.
=Dante (Alighieri).= LA COMMEDIA DI DANTE. The Italian Text edited by
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THE DIVINE COMEDY. Translated by H. F. CARY. Edited with a Life of Dante
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THE PURGATORIO OF DANTE. Translated into Spenserian Prose by C. GORDON
WRIGHT. With the Italian text. _Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net._
See also Little Library, Toynbee (Paget), and Vernon (Hon. W.
Warren).
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=D’Arcy (R. F.)=, M.A. A NEW TRIGONOMETRY FOR BEGINNERS. With numerous
diagrams. _Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d._
=Davenport (Cyril).= See Connoisseur’s Library and Little Books on Art.
=Davenport (James).= THE WASHBOURNE FAMILY. With 15 Illustrations and a
Map. _Royal 8vo. 21s. net._
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by JOHN FULLEYLOVE, R.I. _In Two Volumes. Demy 8vo. 15s. net._
=Davis (H. W. C.)=, M.A., Fellow and Tutor of Balliol College. ENGLAND
UNDER THE NORMANS AND ANGEVINS: 1066-1272. With Maps and Illustrations.
_Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net._
=Dawson (Nelson).= See Connoisseur’s Library.
=Dawson (Mrs. Nelson).= See Little Books on Art.
=Deane (A. C.).= See Little Library.
=Deans (Storry R.).= THE TRIALS OF FIVE QUEENS: KATHARINE OF ARAGON, ANNE
BOLEYN, MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS, MARIE ANTOINETTE and CAROLINE OF BRUNSWICK.
With 12 Illustrations. _Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net._
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=Dearmer (Mabel).= A CHILD’S LIFE OF CHRIST. With 8 Illustrations in
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=Delbos (Leon).= THE METRIC SYSTEM. _Cr. 8vo. 2s._
=Demosthenes.= AGAINST CONON AND CALLICLES. Edited by F. DARWIN SWIFT,
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=Dickens (Charles).= See Little Library, I.P.L., and Chesterton (G. K.).
=Dickinson (Emily).= POEMS. _Cr. 8vo. 4s. 6d. net._
=Dickinson (G. L.)=, M.A., Fellow of King’s College, Cambridge. THE GREEK
VIEW OF LIFE. _Sixth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d._
=Dilke (Lady)=, =Bulley (Miss)=, and =Whitley (Miss)=. WOMEN’S WORK. _Cr.
8vo. 2s. 6d._
=Dillon (Edward)=, M.A. See Connoisseur’s Library and Little Books on Art.
=Ditchfield (P. H.)=, M.A., F.S.A. THE STORY OF OUR ENGLISH TOWNS. With
an Introduction by AUGUSTUS JESSOPP, D.D. _Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s._
OLD ENGLISH CUSTOMS: Extant at the Present Time. _Cr. 8vo. 6s._
ENGLISH VILLAGES. With 100 Illustrations. _Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 2s.
6d. net._
THE PARISH CLERK. With 31 Illustrations. _Third Edition. Demy 8vo. 7s.
6d. net._
=Dixon (W. M.)=, M.A. A PRIMER OF TENNYSON. _Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 2s.
6d._
ENGLISH POETRY FROM BLAKE TO BROWNING. _Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d._
=Dobbs (W. J.)=, M.A. See Textbooks of Science.
=Doney (May).= SONGS OF THE REAL. _Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net._
=Douglas (Hugh A.).= VENICE ON FOOT. With the Itinerary of the Grand
Canal. With 75 Illustrations and 11 Maps. _Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net._
=Douglas (James).= THE MAN IN THE PULPIT. _Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net._
=Dowden (J.)=, D.D., Lord Bishop of Edinburgh. FURTHER STUDIES IN THE
PRAYER BOOK. _Cr. 8vo. 6s._
See also Churchman’s Library.
=Drage (G.).= See Books on Business.
=Draper (F. W. M.).= See Simplified French Texts.
=Driver (S. R.)=, D.D., D.C.L., Regius Professor of Hebrew in the
University of Oxford. SERMONS ON SUBJECTS CONNECTED WITH THE OLD
TESTAMENT. _Cr. 8vo. 6s._
See also Westminster Commentaries.
=Dry (Wakeling).= See Little Guides.
=Dryhurst (A. R.).= See Little Books on Art.
=Du Buisson (J. C.)=, M.A. See Churchman’s Bible.
=Duguid (Charles).= See Books on Business.
=Dumas (Alexandre).= THE CRIMES OF THE BORGIAS AND OTHERS. With an
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THE CRIMES OF URBAIN GRANDIER AND OTHERS. With 8 Illustrations. _Cr. 8vo.
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THE CRIMES OF THE MARQUISE DE BRINVILLIERS AND OTHERS. With 8
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MY MEMOIRS. Translated by E. M. WALLER. With an Introduction by ANDREW
LANG. With Frontispieces in Photogravure. In six Volumes. _Cr. 8vo. 6s.
each volume._
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VOL. I. 1802-1821.
VOL. II. 1822-1825.
VOL. III. 1826-1830.
VOL. IV. 1830-1831.
=Duncan (David)=, D.Sc., LL.D. THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF HERBERT SPENCER.
With 15 Illustrations. _Demy 8vo. 15s._
=Dunn (J. T.)=, D.Sc., =and Mundella (V. A.)=. GENERAL ELEMENTARY
SCIENCE. With 114 Illustrations. _Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d._
=Dunstan (A. E.)=, B.Sc. (Lond.), East Ham Technical College. See
Textbooks of Science, and Junior School Books.
=Durham (The Earl of).= A REPORT ON CANADA. With an Introductory Note.
_Demy 8vo. 4s. 6d. net._
=Dutt (W. A.).= THE NORFOLK BROADS. With coloured Illustrations by FRANK
SOUTHGATE, R.B.A. _Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s._
WILD LIFE IN EAST ANGLIA. With 16 Illustrations in colour by FRANK
SOUTHGATE, R.B.A. _Second Edition. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
SOME LITERARY ASSOCIATIONS OF EAST ANGLIA. With 16 Illustrations in
Colour by W. DEXTER, R.B.A., and 16 other Illustrations. _Demy 8vo. 10s.
6d. net._
See also Little Guides.
=Earle (John)=, Bishop of Salisbury. MICROCOSMOGRAPHIE, OR A PIECE OF THE
WORLD DISCOVERED. _Post 16mo. 2s. net._
=Edmonds (Major J. E.)=, R.E.; D.A.Q.-M.G. See Wood (W. Birkbeck).
=Edwards (Clement)=, M.P. RAILWAY NATIONALIZATION. _Second Edition,
Revised. Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. net._
=Edwards (W. Douglas).= See Commercial Series.
=Edwardes (Tickner).= THE LORE OF THE HONEY BEE. With many Illustrations.
_Cr. 8vo. 6s._
=Egan (Pierce).= See I.P.L.
=Egerton (H. E.)=, M.A. A HISTORY OF BRITISH COLONIAL POLICY. A Cheaper
Issue, with a supplementary chapter. _Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
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=Ellaby (C. G.).= See Little Guides.
=Ellerton (F. G.).= See Stone (S. J.).
=Epictetus.= See Aurelius (Marcus).
=Erasmus.= A Book called in Latin ENCHIRIDION MILITIS CHRISTIANI, and in
English the Manual of the Christian Knight. _Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net._
=Ewald (Carl).= TWO LEGS, AND OTHER STORIES. Translated from the Danish
by ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS. Illustrated by AUGUSTA GUEST. _Large Cr.
8vo. 6s._
=Fairbrother (W. H.)=, M.A. THE PHILOSOPHY OF T. H. GREEN. _Second
Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d._
=Fea (Allan).= SOME BEAUTIES OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. With 82
Illustrations. _Second Edition. Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net._
THE FLIGHT OF THE KING. With over 70 Sketches and Photographs by the
Author. _New and revised Edition. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
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SECRET CHAMBERS AND HIDING-PLACES. With 80 Illustrations. _New and
revised Edition. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
=Ferrier (Susan).= See Little Library.
=Fidler (T. Claxton)=, M.Inst. C.E. See Books on Business.
=Fielding (Henry).= See Standard Library.
=Finn (S. W.)=, M.A. See Junior Examination Series.
=Firth (J. B.).= See Little Guides.
=Firth (C. H.)=, M.A., Regius Professor of Modern History at Oxford.
CROMWELL’S ARMY: A History of the English Soldier during the Civil Wars,
the Commonwealth, and the Protectorate. _Cr. 8vo. 6s._
=Firth (Edith E.).= See Beginner’s Books.
=FitzGerald (Edward).= THE RUBÁIYÁT OF OMAR KHAYYÁM. Printed from the
Fifth and last Edition. With a Commentary by Mrs. STEPHEN BATSON, and
a Biography of Omar by E. D. ROSS. _Cr. 8vo. 6s._ See also Miniature
Library.
=FitzGerald (H. P.).= A CONCISE HANDBOOK OF CLIMBERS, TWINERS, AND WALL
SHRUBS. Illustrated. _Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net._
=Fitzpatrick (S. A. O.).= See Ancient Cities.
=Flecker (W. H.)=, M.A., D.C.L., Headmaster of the Dean Close School,
Cheltenham. THE STUDENT’S PRAYER BOOK. THE TEXT OF MORNING AND EVENING
PRAYER AND LITANY. With an Introduction and Notes. _Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d._
=Fletcher (J. S.).= A BOOK OF YORKSHIRE. With 16 Illustrations in Colour
by WAL PAGET and FRANK SOUTHGATE, R.B.A., and 12 from Photographs. _Demy
8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
=Flux (A. W.)=, M.A., William Dow Professor of Political Economy in
M’Gill University, Montreal. ECONOMIC PRINCIPLES. _Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
=Foat (F. W. G.)=, D.Litt., M.A., Assistant Master at the City of
London School. LONDON: A READER FOR YOUNG CITIZENS. With Plans and
Illustrations. _Cr. 8vo. 1s. 6d._
=Ford (H. G.)=, M.A., Assistant Master at Bristol Grammar School. See
Junior School Books.
=Forel (A.).= THE SENSES OF INSECTS. Translated by MACLEOD YEARSLEY. With
2 Illustrations. _Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net._
=Fortescue (Mrs. G.).= See Little Books on Art.
=Fraser (J. F.).= ROUND THE WORLD ON A WHEEL. With 100 Illustrations.
_Fifth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
=French (W.)=, M.A. See Textbooks of Science.
=Freudenrelch (Ed. von).= DAIRY BACTERIOLOGY. A Short Manual for
Students. Translated by J. R. AINSWORTH DAVIS, M.A. _Second Edition.
Revised. Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d._
=Fulford (H. W.)=, M.A. See Churchman’s Bible.
=Fuller (W. P.)=, M.A. See Simplified French Texts.
*=Fyvie (John).= TRAGEDY QUEENS OF THE GEORGIAN ERA. With 16
Illustrations. _Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net._
=Gallaher (D.) and Stead (W. J.).= THE COMPLETE RUGBY FOOTBALLER, ON THE
NEW ZEALAND SYSTEM. With 35 Illustrations. _Second Ed. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d.
net._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
=Gallichan (W. M.).= See Little Guides.
=Gambado (Geoffrey, Esq.).= See I.P.L.
=Gaskell (Mrs.).= See Little Library, Standard Library and Sixpenny
Novels.
=Gasquet=, the Right Rev. Abbot, O.S.B. See Antiquary’s Books.
=George (H. B.)=, M.A., Fellow of New College, Oxford. BATTLES OF ENGLISH
HISTORY. With numerous Plans. _Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d._
A HISTORICAL GEOGRAPHY OF THE BRITISH EMPIRE. _Third Edition. Cr. 8vo.
3s. 6d._
=Gibbins (H. de B.)=, Litt.D., M.A. INDUSTRY IN ENGLAND: HISTORICAL
OUTLINES. With 5 Maps. _Fifth Edition. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d._
THE INDUSTRIAL HISTORY OF ENGLAND. With Maps and Plans. _Fourteenth
Edition, Revised. Cr. 8vo. 3s._
ENGLISH SOCIAL REFORMERS. _Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d._
See also Hadfield (R. A.)., and Commercial Series.
=Gibbon (Edward).= MEMOIRS OF MY LIFE AND WRITINGS. Edited by G. BIRKBECK
HILL, LL.D. _Cr. 8vo. 6s._
THE DECLINE AND FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE. Edited, with Notes, Appendices,
and Maps, by J. B. BURY, M.A., Litt.D., Regius Professor of Greek at
Cambridge. _In Seven Volumes. Demy 8vo. Gilt top. 8s. 6d. each. Also,
Crown 8vo. 6s. each._
See also Standard Library.
=Gibbs (Philip).= THE ROMANCE OF GEORGE VILLIERS: FIRST DUKE OF
BUCKINGHAM, AND SOME MEN AND WOMEN OF THE STUART COURT. With 20
Illustrations. _Second Edition. Demy 8vo. 15s. net._
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=Gibson (E. C. S.)=, D.D., Lord Bishop of Gloucester. See Westminster
Commentaries, Handbooks of Theology, and Oxford Biographies.
=Gilbert (A. R.).= See Little Books on Art.
=Gloag (M. R.)= and =Wyatt (Kate M.)=. A BOOK OF ENGLISH GARDENS. With 24
Illustrations in Colour. _Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net._
=Godfrey (Elizabeth).= A BOOK OF REMEMBRANCE. Being Lyrical Selections
for every day in the Year. Arranged by. _Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net._
ENGLISH CHILDREN IN THE OLDEN TIME. With 32 Illustrations. _Second
Edition. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
=Godley (A. D.)=, M.A., Fellow of Magdalen College, Oxford. LYRA FRIVOLA.
_Fourth Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d._
VERSES TO ORDER. _Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d._
SECOND STRINGS. _Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d._
=Goldsmith (Oliver).= THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. With 10 Plates in
Photogravure by Tony Johannot. _Leather, Fcap. 32mo. 2s. 6d. net._
See also I.P.L. and Standard Library.
=Gomme (G. L.).= See Antiquary’s Books.
=Goodrich-Freer (A.).= IN A SYRIAN SADDLE. _Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
=Gorst (Rt. Hon. Sir John).= THE CHILDREN OF THE NATION. _Second Edition.
Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
=Goudge (H. L.)=, M.A., Principal of Wells Theological College. See
Westminster Commentaries.
=Graham (P. Anderson).= THE RURAL EXODUS. The Problem of the Village and
the Town. _Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d._
=Granger (F. S.)=, M.A., Litt.D. PSYCHOLOGY. _Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 2s.
6d._
THE SOUL OF A CHRISTIAN. _Cr. 8vo. 6s._
=Gray (E. M’Queen).= GERMAN PASSAGES FOR UNSEEN TRANSLATION. _Cr. 8vo.
2s. 6d._
=Gray (P. L.)=, B.Sc. THE PRINCIPLES OF MAGNETISM AND ELECTRICITY. With
181 Diagrams. _Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d._
=Green (G. Buckland)=, M.A., late Fellow of St. John’s College, Oxon.
NOTES ON GREEK AND LATIN SYNTAX. _Second Ed. revised. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d._
=Greenidge (A. H. J.)=, M.A., D.Litt. A HISTORY OF ROME: From the
Tribunate of Tiberius Gracchus to the end of the Jugurthine War, B.C.
133-104. _Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net._
=Greenwell (Dora).= See Miniature Library.
=Gregory (R. A.).= THE VAULT OF HEAVEN. A Popular Introduction to
Astronomy. Illustrated. _Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d._
=Gregory (Miss E. C.).= See Library of Devotion.
=Grubb (H. C.).= See Textbooks of Technology.
=Hadfield (R. A.)= and =Gibbins (H. de B)=. A SHORTER WORKING DAY. _Cr.
8vo. 2s. 6d._
=Hall (Mary).= A WOMAN’S TREK FROM THE CAPE TO CAIRO. With 64
Illustrations and 2 Maps. _Second Edition. Demy 8vo. 16s. net._
=Hall (R. N.) and Neal (W. G.).= THE ANCIENT RUINS OF RHODESIA.
Illustrated. _Second Edition, revised. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net._
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=Hall (R. N.).= GREAT ZIMBABWE. With numerous Plans and Illustrations.
_Second Edition. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net._
=Hamel (Frank).= FAMOUS FRENCH SALONS. With 20 Illustrations. _Demy 8vo.
12s. 6d. net._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
=Hamilton (F. J.)=, D.D. See Byzantine Texts.
=Hannay (D.).= A SHORT HISTORY OF THE ROYAL NAVY, 1200-1688. Illustrated.
_Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d._
=Hannay (James O.)=, M.A. THE SPIRIT AND ORIGIN OF CHRISTIAN MONASTICISM.
_Cr. 8vo. 6s._
THE WISDOM OF THE DESERT. _Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net._
=Hardie (Martin).= See Connoisseur’s Library.
=Hare (A. T.)=, M.A. THE CONSTRUCTION OF LARGE INDUCTION COILS. With
numerous Diagrams. _Demy 8vo. 6s._
=Harvey (Alfred)=, M.B. See Ancient Cities and Antiquary’s Books.
=Hawthorne (Nathaniel).= See Little Library.
=Heath (Frank R.).= See Little Guides.
=Heath (Dudley).= See Connoisseur’s Library.
=Hello (Ernest).= STUDIES IN SAINTSHIP. _Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d._
=Henderson (B. W.)=, Fellow of Exeter College, Oxford. THE LIFE AND
PRINCIPATE OF THE EMPEROR NERO. Illustrated. _New and cheaper issue. Demy
8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
AT INTERVALS. _Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net._
=Henderson (M. Sturge).= GEORGE MEREDITH: NOVELIST, POET, REFORMER. With
a Portrait in Photogravure. _Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s._
=Henderson (T. F.).= See Little Library and Oxford Biographies.
=Henderson (T. F.), and Watt (Francis).= SCOTLAND OF TO-DAY. With 20
Illustrations in colour and 24 other Illustrations. _Second Edition. Cr.
8vo. 6s._
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=Henley (W. E.).= ENGLISH LYRICS. CHAUCER TO POE, 1340-1849. _Second
Edition. Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net._
=Henley (W. E.)= and =Whibley (C.)=. A BOOK OF ENGLISH PROSE, CHARACTER,
AND INCIDENT, 1387-1649. _Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net._
=Henson (H. H.)=, B.D., Canon of Westminster. LIGHT AND LEAVEN:
HISTORICAL AND SOCIAL SERMONS. _Cr. 8vo. 6s_.
=Herbert (George).= See Library of Devotion.
=Herbert of Cherbury (Lord).= See Miniature Library.
=Hewins (W. A. S.)=, B.A. ENGLISH TRADE AND FINANCE IN THE SEVENTEENTH
CENTURY. _Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d._
=Hewitt (Ethel M.).= A GOLDEN DIAL. A Day Book of Prose and Verse. _Fcap.
8vo. 2s. 6d. net._
=Hey (H.)=, Inspector, Surrey Education Committee, and =Rose (G. H.)=,
City and Guilds Woodwork Teacher. THE MANUAL TRAINING CLASSROOM:
WOODWORK. Book I. _4to. 1s._
=Heywood (W.).= PALIO AND PONTE. A Book of Tuscan Games. Illustrated.
_Royal 8vo. 21s. net._
See also St. Francis of Assisi.
=Hill (Clare).= See Textbooks of Technology.
=Hill (Henry)=, B.A., Headmaster of the Boy’s High School, Worcester,
Cape Colony. A SOUTH AFRICAN ARITHMETIC. _Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d._
=Hind (C. Lewis).= DAYS IN CORNWALL. With 16 Illustrations in Colour by
WILLIAM PASCOE, and 20 other Illustrations and a Map. _Second Edition.
Cr. 8vo. 6s._
=Hirst (F. W.).= See Books on Business.
=Hoare (J. Douglas).= A HISTORY OF ARCTIC EXPLORATION. With 20
Illustrations & Maps. _Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
=Hobhouse (L. T.)=, late Fellow of C.C.C., Oxford. THE THEORY OF
KNOWLEDGE. _Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net._
=Hobson (J. A.).= M.A. INTERNATIONAL TRADE: A Study of Economic
Principles. _Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net._
PROBLEMS OF POVERTY. An Inquiry into the Industrial Condition of the
Poor. _Sixth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d._
THE PROBLEM OF THE UNEMPLOYED. _Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d._
=Hodgetts (E. A. Brayley).= THE COURT OF RUSSIA IN THE NINETEENTH
CENTURY. With 20 Illustrations. _Two Volumes. Demy 8vo. 24s. net._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
=Hodgkin (T.)=, D.C.L. See Leaders of Religion.
=Hodgson (Mrs. W.).= HOW TO IDENTIFY OLD CHINESE PORCELAIN. With 40
Illustrations. _Second Edition. Post 8vo. 6s._
=Hogg (Thomas Jefferson).= SHELLEY AT OXFORD. With an Introduction by R.
A. STREATFEILD. _Fcap. 8vo. 2s. net._
=Holden-Stone (G. de).= See Books on Business.
=Holdich (Sir T. H.)=, K.C.I.E. THE INDIAN BORDERLAND: being a Personal
Record of Twenty Years. Illustrated. _Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net._
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=Holdsworth (W. S.)=, M.A. A HISTORY OF ENGLISH LAW. _In Two Volumes.
Vol. I. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net._
=Holland (H. Scott)=, Canon of St. Paul’s. See Newman (J. H.).
=Hollway-Calthrop (H. C.)=, late of Balliol College, Oxford; Bursar of
Eton College. PETRARCH: HIS LIFE, WORK, AND TIMES. With 24 Illustrations.
_Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net._
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=Holt (Emily).= THE SECRET OF POPULARITY: How to Achieve Social Success.
_Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net._
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=Holyoake (G. J.).= THE CO-OPERATIVE MOVEMENT OF TO-DAY. _Fourth Ed. Cr.
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=Hone (Nathaniel J.).= See Antiquary’s Books.
=Hook (A.).= HUMANITY AND ITS PROBLEMS. _Cr. 8vo. 5s. net._
=Hoppner.= See Little Galleries.
=Horace.= See Classical Translations.
=Horsburgh (E. L. S.)=, M.A. WATERLOO: With Plans. _Second Edition. Cr.
8vo. 5s._
See also Oxford Biographies.
=Horth (A. C.).= See Textbooks of Technology.
=Horton (R. F.)=, D.D. See Leaders of Religion.
=Hosie (Alexander).= MANCHURIA. With Illustrations and a Map. _Second
Edition. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
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=How (F. D.).= SIX GREAT SCHOOLMASTERS. With Portraits and Illustrations.
_Second Edition. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d._
=Howell (A. G. Ferrers).= FRANCISCAN DAYS. Being Selections for every day
in the year from ancient Franciscan writings. _Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net._
=Howell (G.).= TRADE UNIONISM—NEW AND OLD. _Fourth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 2s.
6d._
=Huggins (Sir William)=, K.C.B., O.M., D.C.L., F.R.S. THE ROYAL SOCIETY.
With 25 Illustrations. _Wide Royal 8vo. 4s. 6d. net._
=Hughes (C. E.).= THE PRAISE OF SHAKESPEARE. An English Anthology. With a
Preface by SIDNEY LEE. _Demy 8vo. 3s. 6d. net._
=Hughes (Thomas).= TOM BROWN’S SCHOOLDAYS. With an Introduction and Notes
by VERNON RENDALL. _Leather. Royal 32mo. 2s. 6d. net._
=Hutchinson (Horace G.).= THE NEW FOREST. Illustrated in colour with 50
Pictures by WALTER TYNDALE and 4 by LUCY KEMP-WELCH. _Third Edition. Cr.
8vo. 6s._
=Hutton (A. W.)=, M.A. See Leaders of Religion and Library of Devotion.
=Hutton (Edward).= THE CITIES OF UMBRIA. With 20 Illustrations in Colour
by A. PISA, and 12 other Illustrations. _Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s._
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THE CITIES OF SPAIN. With 24 Illustrations in Colour, by A. W. RIMINGTON,
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FLORENCE AND THE CITIES OF NORTHERN TUSCANY, WITH GENOA. With 16
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_Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s._
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ENGLISH LOVE POEMS. Edited with an Introduction. _Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net._
=Hutton (R. H.).= See Leaders of Religion.
=Hutton (W. H.)=, M.A. THE LIFE OF SIR THOMAS MORE. With Portraits after
Drawings by HOLBEIN. _Second Ed. Cr. 8vo. 5s._
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=Hyde (A. G.).= GEORGE HERBERT AND HIS TIMES. With 32 Illustrations.
_Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net._
=Hyett (F. A.).= FLORENCE: HER HISTORY AND ART TO THE FALL OF THE
REPUBLIC. _Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
=Ibsen (Henrik).= BRAND. A Drama. Translated by WILLIAM WILSON. _Third
Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d._
=Inge (W. R.)=, M.A., Fellow and Tutor of Hertford College, Oxford.
CHRISTIAN MYSTICISM. (The Bampton Lectures of 1899.) _Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d.
net._
See also Library of Devotion.
=Ingham (B. P.).= See Simplified French Texts.
=Innes (A. D.)=, M.A. A HISTORY OF THE BRITISH IN INDIA. With Maps and
Plans. _Cr. 8vo. 6s._
ENGLAND UNDER THE TUDORS. With Maps. _Second Edition. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d.
net._
=Jackson (C.E.)=, B.A., Senior Physics Master, Bradford Grammar School.
See Textbooks of Science.
=Jackson (S.)=, M.A. See Commercial Series.
=Jackson (F. Hamilton).= See Little Guides.
=Jacob (F.)=, M.A. See Junior Examination Series.
=James (W. H. N.).= See Brooks (E. E.).
=Jeans (J. Stephen).= TRUSTS, POOLS, AND CORNERS AS AFFECTING COMMERCE
AND INDUSTRY. _Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d._
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=Jebb (Camilla).= A STAR OF THE SALONS: JULIE DE LESPINASSE. With 20
Illustrations. _Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net._
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=Jeffery (Reginald W.)=, M.A. THE THIRTEEN COLONIES OF NORTH AMERICA.
With 8 Illustrations and a Map. _Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
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=Jeffreys (D. Gwyn).= DOLLY’S THEATRICALS. _Super Royal 16mo. 2s. 6d._
=Jenks (E.)=, M.A., B.C.L. AN OUTLINE OF ENGLISH LOCAL GOVERNMENT.
_Second Ed._ Revised by R. C. K. ENSOR, M.A. _Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d._
=Jenner (Mrs. H.).= See Little Books on Art.
=Jennings (Oscar)=, M.D. EARLY WOODCUT INITIALS. _Demy 4to. 21s. net._
=Jessopp (Augustus)=, D.D. See Leaders of Religion.
=Jevons (F. B.)=, M.A., Litt.D., Principal of Hatfield Hall. Durham.
RELIGION IN EVOLUTION. _Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net._
See also Churchman’s Library and Handbooks of Theology.
=Johnson (Mrs. Barham).= WILLIAM BODHAM DONNE AND HIS FRIENDS.
Illustrated. _Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net._
=Johnston (Sir H. H.)=, K.C.B. BRITISH CENTRAL AFRICA. With nearly 200
Illustrations and Six Maps. _Third Edition. Cr. 4to. 18s. net._
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=Jones (H.).= See Commercial Series.
=Jones (H. F.).= See Textbooks of Science.
=Jones (L. A. Atherley)=, K.C., M.P., and =Bellot (Hugh H. L.)=, M.A.,
D.C.L. THE MINER’S GUIDE TO THE COAL MINES REGULATION ACTS AND THE LAW OF
EMPLOYERS AND WORKMEN. _Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net._
COMMERCE IN WAR. _Royal 8vo. 21s. net._
=Jones (R. Compton)=, M.A. POEMS OF THE INNER LIFE. Selected by.
_Thirteenth Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net._
=Jonson (Ben).= See Standard Library.
=Juliana (Lady) of Norwich.= REVELATIONS OF DIVINE LOVE. Ed. by GRACE
WARRACK, _Second Ed. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d._
=Juvenal.= See Classical Translations.
‘=Kappa.=’ LET YOUTH BUT KNOW: A Plea for Reason in Education. _Cr. 8vo.
3s. 6d. net._
=Kaufmann (M.)=, M.A. SOCIALISM AND MODERN THOUGHT. _Second Edition
Revised and Enlarged. Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net._
=Keating (J. F.)=, D.D. THE AGAPÉ AND THE EUCHARIST. _Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d._
=Keats (John).= THE POEMS. Edited with Introduction and Notes by E. DE
SÉLINCOURT, M.A. With a Frontispiece in Photogravure. _Second Edition
Revised. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
REALMS OF GOLD. Selections from the Works of. _Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net._
See also Little Library and Standard Library.
=Keble (John).= THE CHRISTIAN YEAR. With an Introduction and Notes by
W. LOCK, D.D., Warden of Keble College. Illustrated by R. ANNING BELL.
_Third Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d.; padded morocco, 5s._
See also Library of Devotion.
=Kelynack (T. N.)=, M.D., M.R.C.P. THE DRINK PROBLEM IN ITS
MEDICO-SOCIOLOGICAL ASPECT. By fourteen Medical Authorities. Edited by.
With 2 Diagrams. _Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
=Kempis (Thomas à).= THE IMITATION OF CHRIST. With an Introduction by
DEAN FARRAR. Illustrated by C. M. GERE. _Third Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 3s.
6d.; padded morocco. 5s._
Also Translated by C. BIGG, D.D. _Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d._
See also Montmorency (J. E. G. de), Library of Devotion, and
Standard Library.
=Kennedy (Bart.).= THE GREEN SPHINX. _Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net._
=Kennedy (James Houghton)=, D.D., Assistant Lecturer in Divinity in
the University of Dublin. ST. PAUL’S SECOND AND THIRD EPISTLES TO THE
CORINTHIANS. With Introduction, Dissertations and Notes. _Cr. 8vo. 6s._
=Kimmins (C. W.)=, M.A. THE CHEMISTRY OF LIFE AND HEALTH. Illustrated.
_Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d._
=Kinglake (A. W.).= See Little Library.
=Kipling (Rudyard).= BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS. _83rd Thousand. Twenty-fourth
Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s. Also Leather. Fcap. 8vo. 5s._
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THE SEVEN SEAS. _67th Thousand. Twelfth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s. Also
Leather. Fcap. 8vo. 5s._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
THE FIVE NATIONS. _62nd Thousand. Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s. Also
Leather. Fcap. 8vo. 5s._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES. _Sixteenth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s. Also Leather.
Fcap. 8vo. 5s._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
=Knight (Albert E.).= THE COMPLETE CRICKETER. With 50 Illustrations.
_Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
=Knight (H. J. C.)=, B.D. See Churchman’s Bible.
=Knowling (R. J.)=, M.A., Professor of New Testament Exegesis at King’s
College, London. See Westminster Commentaries.
=Lamb (Charles and Mary)=, THE WORKS. Edited by E. V. LUCAS. Illustrated.
_In Seven Volumes. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. each._
See also Little Library and Lucas (E. V.).
=Lambert (F. A. H.).= See Little Guides.
=Lambros (Professor S. P.).= See Byzantine Texts.
=Lane-Poole (Stanley).= A HISTORY OF EGYPT IN THE MIDDLE AGES. Fully
Illustrated. _Cr. 8vo. 6s._
=Langbridge (F.)=, M.A. BALLADS OF THE BRAVE: Poems of Chivalry,
Enterprise, Courage, and Constancy. _Third Edition. Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d._
=Law (William).= See Library of Devotion and Standard Library.
=Leach (Henry).= THE DUKE OF DEVONSHIRE. A Biography. With 12
Illustrations. _Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net._
THE SPIRIT OF THE LINKS. _Cr. 8vo. 6s._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
See also Braid (James).
=Le Braz (Anatole).= THE LAND OF PARDONS. Translated by FRANCES M.
GOSTLING. With 12 Illustrations in Colour by T. C. GOTCH, and 40 other
Illustrations. _Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s._
=Lee (Captain L. Melville).= A HISTORY OF POLICE IN ENGLAND. _Cr. 8vo.
3s. 6d. net._
=Lewes (V. B.)=, M.A. AIR AND WATER. Illustrated. _Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d._
=Lewis (B. M. Gwyn).= A CONCISE HANDBOOK OF GARDEN SHRUBS. With 20
Illustrations. _Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net._
=Lisle (Fortunée de).= See Little Books on Art.
=Littlehales (H.).= See Antiquary’s Books.
=Lock (Walter)=, D.D., Warden of Keble College. ST. PAUL, THE
MASTER-BUILDER. _Second Ed. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d._
THE BIBLE AND CHRISTIAN LIFE. _Cr. 8vo. 6s._
See also Keble (J.) and Leaders of Religion.
=Locker (F.).= See Little Library.
=Lodge (Sir Oliver)=, F.R.S. THE SUBSTANCE OF FAITH ALLIED WITH SCIENCE:
A Catechism for Parents and Teachers. _Eighth Ed. Cr. 8vo. 2s. net._
=Lofthouse (W. F.)=, M.A. ETHICS AND ATONEMENT. With a Frontispiece.
_Demy 8vo. 5s. net._
=Longfellow (H. W.).= See Little Library.
=Lorimer (George Horace).= LETTERS FROM A SELF-MADE MERCHANT TO HIS SON.
_Sixteenth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d._
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OLD GORGON GRAHAM. _Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s._
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=Lover (Samuel).= See I.P.L.
=E. V. L.= and =C. L. G.= ENGLAND DAY BY DAY: Or, The Englishman’s
Handbook to Efficiency. Illustrated by GEORGE MORROW. _Fourth Edition.
Fcap. 4to. 1s. net._
=Lucas (E. V.).= THE LIFE OF CHARLES LAMB. With 28 Illustrations. _Fourth
and Revised Edition in One Volume. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
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A WANDERER IN HOLLAND. With 20 Illustrations in Colour by HERBERT
MARSHALL, 34 Illustrations after old Dutch Masters, and a Map. _Eighth
Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s._
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A WANDERER IN LONDON. With 16 Illustrations in Colour by NELSON DAWSON,
36 other Illustrations and a Map. _Sixth Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s._
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THE OPEN ROAD: a Little Book for Wayfarers. _Thirteenth Edition. Fcap.
8vo. 5s.; India Paper, 7s. 6d._
THE FRIENDLY TOWN: a Little Book for the Urbane. _Fourth Edition. Fcap.
8vo. 5s.; India Paper, 7s. 6d._
FIRESIDE AND SUNSHINE. _Third Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 5s._
CHARACTER AND COMEDY. _Third Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 5s._
THE GENTLEST ART. A Choice of Letters by Entertaining Hands. _Fourth
Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 5s._
A SWAN AND HER FRIENDS. With 24 Illustrations. _Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
=Lucian.= See Classical Translations.
=Lyde (L. W.)=, M.A. See Commercial Series.
=Lydon (Noel S.).= See Junior School Books.
=Lyttelton (Hon. Mrs. A.).= WOMEN AND THEIR WORK. _Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d._
=Macaulay (Lord).= CRITICAL AND HISTORICAL ESSAYS. Edited by F. C.
MONTAGUE, M.A. _Three Volumes. Cr. 8vo. 18s._
=M’Allen (J. E. B.)=, M.A. See Commercial Series.
=MacCulloch (J. A.).= See Churchman’s Library.
=MacCunn (Florence A.).= MARY STUART. With 44 Illustrations, including a
Frontispiece in Photogravure. _New and Cheaper Edition. Large Cr. 8vo.
6s._
See also Leaders of Religion.
=McDermott (E. R.).= See Books on Business.
=M’Dowall (A. S.).= See Oxford Biographies.
=Mackay (A. M.)=, B.A. See Churchman’s Library.
=Mackenzie (W. Leslie)=, M.A., M.D., D.P.H., etc. THE HEALTH OF THE
SCHOOL CHILD. _Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d._
=Macklin (Herbert W.)=, M.A. See Antiquary’s Books.
=M’Neile (A. H.)=, B.D. See Westminster Commentaries.
=‘Mdlle Mori’ (Author of).= ST. CATHERINE OF SIENA AND HER TIMES. With 28
Illustrations. _Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
=Magnus (Laurie)=, M.A. A PRIMER OF WORDSWORTH. _Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d._
=Mahaffy (J. P.)=, Litt.D. A HISTORY OF THE EGYPT OF THE PTOLEMIES. Fully
Illustrated. _Cr. 8vo. 6s._
=Maitland (F. W.)=, M.A., LL.D. ROMAN CANON LAW IN THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND.
_Royal 8vo. 7s. 6d._
=Major (H.)=, B.A., B.Sc. A HEALTH AND TEMPERANCE READER. _Cr. 8vo. 1s.
6d._
=Malden (H. E.)=, M.A. ENGLISH RECORDS. A Companion to the History of
England. _Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d._
THE RIGHTS AND DUTIES OF A CITIZEN. _Seventh Edition. Cr. 8vo. 1s. 6d._
See also School Histories.
=Marchant (E. C.)=, M.A., Fellow of Peterhouse, Cambridge. A GREEK
ANTHOLOGY. _Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d._
See also Cook (A. M.).
=Marks (Jeannette)=, M.A. ENGLISH PASTORAL DRAMA from the Restoration to
the date of the publication of the ‘Lyrical Ballads’ (1660-1798). _Cr.
8vo. 5s. net._
=Marr (J. E.)=, F.R.S., Fellow of St John’s College, Cambridge. THE
SCIENTIFIC STUDY OF SCENERY. _Second Edition._ Illustrated. _Cr. 8vo. 6s._
AGRICULTURAL GEOLOGY. Illustrated. _Cr. 8vo. 6s._
=Marriott (J. A. R.)=, M.A. THE LIFE AND TIMES OF LORD FALKLAND. With 23
Illustrations. _Second Edition. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
=Marvell (Andrew).= See Little Library.
=Masefield (John).= SEA LIFE IN NELSON’S TIME. Illustrated. _Cr. 8vo. 3s.
6d. net._
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ON THE SPANISH MAIN: or, SOME ENGLISH FORAYS IN THE ISTHMUS OF DARIEN.
With 22 Illustrations and a Map. _Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net._
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A SAILOR’S GARLAND. Selected and Edited by. _Second Ed. Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d.
net._
AN ENGLISH PROSE MISCELLANY. Selected and Edited by. _Cr. 8vo. 6s._
=Maskell (A.).= See Connoisseur’s Library.
=Mason (A. J.)=, D.D. See Leaders of Religion.
=Masterman (C. F. G.).= M.A., M.P. TENNYSON AS A RELIGIOUS TEACHER. _Cr.
8vo. 6s._
=Matheson (E. F.).= COUNSELS OF LIFE. _Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net._
=May (Phil).= THE PHIL MAY ALBUM. _Second Edition. 4to. 1s. net._
=Meakin (Annette M. B.)=, Fellow of the Anthropological Institute. WOMAN
IN TRANSITION. _Cr. 8vo. 6s._
=Mellows (Emma S.).= A SHORT STORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. _Cr. 8vo. 3s.
6d._
=Methuen (A. M. S.)=, M.A. THE TRAGEDY OF SOUTH AFRICA. _Cr. 8vo. 2s.
net. Also Cr. 8vo. 3d. net._
ENGLAND’S RUIN: DISCUSSED IN SIXTEEN LETTERS TO THE RIGHT HON. JOSEPH
CHAMBERLAIN, M.P. _Seventh Edition. Cr. 8vo. 3d. net._
=Miles (Eustace)=, M.A. LIFE AFTER LIFE: OR, THE THEORY OF REINCARNATION.
_Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net._
THE POWER OF CONCENTRATION: HOW TO ACQUIRE IT. _Second Edition. Cr. 8vo.
3s. 6d. net._
=Millais (J. G.).= THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF SIR JOHN EVERETT MILLAIS,
President of the Royal Academy. With many Illustrations, of which 2 are
in Photogravure. _New Edition. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
See also Little Galleries.
=Millin (G. F.).= PICTORIAL GARDENING. With 21 Illustrations. _Crown 8vo.
3s. 6d. net._
=Millis (C. T.)=, M.I.M.E. See Textbooks of Technology.
=Milne (J. G.)=, M.A. A HISTORY OF EGYPT UNDER ROMAN RULE. Fully
Illustrated. _Cr. 8vo. 6s._
=Milton (John).= See Little Library and Standard Library.
A DAY BOOK OF MILTON. Edited by R. F. TOWNDROW. _Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net._
=Minchin (H. C.)=, M.A. See Peel (R.).
=Mitchell (P. Chalmers)=, M.A. OUTLINES OF BIOLOGY. Illustrated. _Second
Edition. Cr. 8vo. 6s._
=Mitton (G. E.).= JANE AUSTEN AND HER TIMES. With 21 Illustrations.
_Second and Cheaper Edition. Large Cr. 8vo. 6s._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
=Moffat (Mary M.).= QUEEN LOUISA OF PRUSSIA. With 20 Illustrations.
_Fourth Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
‘=Moil (A.).=’ See Books on Business.
=Moir (D. M.).= See Little Library.
=Molinos (Dr. Michael de).= See Library of Devotion.
=Money (L. G. Chiozza)=, M.P. RICHES AND POVERTY. _Eighth Edition. Demy
8vo. 5s. net._ Also _Cr. 8vo. 1s. net._
SOCIAL AND INDUSTRIAL PROBLEMS. _Demy 8vo. 5s. net._
=Montagu (Henry)=, Earl of Manchester. See Library of Devotion.
=Montaigne.= A DAY BOOK OF. Edited by C. F. POND. _Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d.
net._
=Montgomery (H. B.).= THE EMPIRE OF THE EAST. With a Frontispiece in
Colour and 16 other Illustrations. _Second Edition. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d.
net._
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=Montmorency (J. E. G. de)=, B.A., LL.B. THOMAS À KEMPIS, HIS AGE AND
BOOK. With 22 Illustrations. _Second Edition. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
=Moore (H. E.).= BACK TO THE LAND. _Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d._
=Moorhouse (E. Hallam).= NELSON’S LADY HAMILTON. With 51 Portraits.
_Second Edition. Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
A Colonial Edition is also published.
=Moran (Clarence G.).= See Books on Business.
=More (Sir Thomas).= See Standard Library.
=Morfill (W. R.)=, Oriel College, Oxford. A HISTORY OF RUSSIA FROM PETER
THE GREAT TO ALEXANDER II. With Maps and Plans. _Cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d._
=Morich (R. J.)=, late of Clifton College. See School Examination Series.
=Morley (Margaret W.)=, Founded on. THE BEE PEOPLE. With 74
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LITTLE MITCHELL: THE STORY OF A MOUNTAIN SQUIRREL TOLD BY HIMSELF. With
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=Morris (J.).= THE MAKERS OF JAPAN. With 24 Illustrations. _Demy 8vo.
12s. 6d. net._
=Morris (Joseph E.).= See Little Guides.
=Morton (A. Anderson).= See Brodrick (M.).
=Moule (H. C. G.)=, D.D., Lord Bishop of Durham. See Leaders of Religion.
=Muir (M. M. Pattison)=, M.A. THE CHEMISTRY OF FIRE. Illustrated. _Cr.
8vo. 2s. 6d._
=Mundella (V. A.)=, M.A. See Dunn (J. T.).
=Munro (R.)=, M.A., LL.D. See Antiquary’s Books.
=Myers (A. Wallis)=, THE COMPLETE LAWN TENNIS PLAYER. With many
Illustrations. _Second Edition. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net._
=Naval Officer (A).= See I.P.L.
=Neal (W. G.).= See Hall (R. N.).
=Newman (Ernest).= HUGO WOLF. With 13 Illustrations. _Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d.
net._
=Newman (George)=, M.D., D.P.H., F.R.S.E., INFANT MORTALITY, A SOCIAL
PROBLEM. With 16 Diagrams. _Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net._
=Newman (J. H.) and others.= See Library of Devotion.
=Newsholme (Arthur)=, M.D., F.R.C.P. THE PREVENTION OF TUBERCULOSIS.
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=Nichols (Bowyer).= See Little Library.
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MRS. KEITH’S CRIME.
=Corbett (Julian).= A BUSINESS IN GREAT WATERS.
=Croker (Mrs. B. M.).= ANGEL.
A STATE SECRET.
PEGGY OF THE BARTONS.
JOHANNA.
=Dante (Alighieri).= THE DIVINE COMEDY (Cary).
=Doyle (A. Conan).= ROUND THE RED LAMP.
=Duncan (Sara Jeannette).= A VOYAGE OF CONSOLATION.
THOSE DELIGHTFUL AMERICANS.
=Eliot (George).= THE MILL ON THE FLOSS.
=Findlater (Jane H.).= THE GREEN GRAVES OF BALGOWRIE.
=Gallon (Tom).= RICKERBY’S FOLLY.
=Gaskell (Mrs.).= CRANFORD.
MARY BARTON.
NORTH AND SOUTH.
=Gerard (Dorothea).= HOLY MATRIMONY.
THE CONQUEST OF LONDON.
MADE OF MONEY.
=Gissing (G).= THE TOWN TRAVELLER.
THE CROWN OF LIFE.
=Glanville (Ernest).= THE INCA’S TREASURE.
THE KLOOF BRIDE.
=Gleig (Charles).= BUNTER’S CRUISE.
=Grimm (The Brothers).= GRIMM’S FAIRY TALES.
=Hope (Anthony).= A MAN OF MARK.
A CHANGE OF AIR.
THE CHRONICLES OF COUNT ANTONIO.
PHROSO.
THE DOLLY DIALOGUES.
=Hornung (E. W.).= DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES.
=Ingraham (J. H.).= THE THRONE OF DAVID.
=Le Queux (W.).= THE HUNCHBACK OF WESTMINSTER.
=Levett-Yeats (S. K.).= THE TRAITOR’S WAY.
=Linton (E. Lynn).= THE TRUE HISTORY OF JOSHUA DAVIDSON.
=Lyall (Edna).= DERRICK VAUGHAN.
=Malet (Lucas).= THE CARISSIMA.
A COUNSEL OF PERFECTION.
=Mann (Mrs.).= MRS. PETER HOWARD.
A LOST ESTATE.
THE CEDAR STAR.
ONE ANOTHER’S BURDENS.
=Marchmont (A. W.).= MISER HOADLEY’S SECRET.
A MOMENT’S ERROR.
=Marryat (Captain).= PETER SIMPLE.
JACOB FAITHFUL.
=Marsh (Richard).= A METAMORPHOSIS.
THE TWICKENHAM PEERAGE.
THE GODDESS.
THE JOSS.
=Mason (A. E. W.).= CLEMENTINA.
=Mathers (Helen).= HONEY.
GRIFF OF GRIFFITHS COURT.
SAM’S SWEETHEART.
=Meade (Mrs. L. T.).= DRIFT.
=Mitford (Bertram).= THE SIGN OF THE SPIDER.
=Montresor (F. F.).= THE ALIEN.
=Morrison (Arthur).= THE HOLE IN THE WALL.
=Nesbit (E.).= THE RED HOUSE.
=Norris (W. E.).= HIS GRACE.
GILES INGILBY.
THE CREDIT OF THE COUNTY.
LORD LEONARD THE LUCKLESS.
MATTHEW AUSTIN.
CLARISSA FURIOSA.
=Oliphant (Mrs.).= THE LADY’S WALK.
SIR ROBERT’S FORTUNE.
THE PRODIGALS.
THE TWO MARYS.
=Oppenheim (E. P.).= MASTER OF MEN.
=Parker (Gilbert).= THE POMP OF THE LAVILETTES.
WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC.
THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD.
=Pemberton (Max).= THE FOOTSTEPS OF A THRONE.
I CROWN THEE KING.
=Phillpotts (Eden).= THE HUMAN BOY.
CHILDREN OF THE MIST.
THE POACHER’S WIFE.
THE RIVER.
=‘Q’ (A. T. Quiller Couch).= THE WHITE WOLF.
=Ridge (W. Pett).= A SON OF THE STATE.
LOST PROPERTY.
GEORGE and THE GENERAL.
=Russell (W. Clark).= ABANDONED.
A MARRIAGE AT SEA.
MY DANISH SWEETHEART.
HIS ISLAND PRINCESS.
=Sergeant (Adeline).= THE MASTER OF BEECHWOOD.
BARBARA’S MONEY.
THE YELLOW DIAMOND.
THE LOVE THAT OVERCAME.
=Surtees (R. S.).= HANDLEY CROSS.
MR. SPONGE’S SPORTING TOUR.
ASK MAMMA.
=Walford (Mrs. L. B.).= MR. SMITH.
COUSINS.
THE BABY’S GRANDMOTHER.
=Wallace (General Lew).= BEN-HUR.
THE FAIR GOD.
=Watson (H. B. Marriott).= THE ADVENTURERS.
=Weekes (A. B.).= PRISONERS OF WAR.
=Wells (H. G.).= THE SEA LADY.
=White (Percy).= A PASSIONATE PILGRIM.
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