Louis Agassiz: His Life and Correspondence Part 34

On the 28th of April, then, Aga.s.siz left Talcahuana, accompanied by Mrs. Aga.s.siz, and by Dr. Steindachner, who was to a.s.sist him in making collections along the way. They were to travel post, along the diligence road, until they reached Curicu, within half a day of Santiago, where railroad travel began. It was a beautiful journey, and though the rainy season was impending, the fair weather was uninterrupted. The way lay for the most part through an agricultural district of corn, wheat, and vineyards. In this strange land, where seasons are reversed, and autumn has changed places with spring, the work of harvest and vintage was just going on. The road was full of picturesque scenes: troops of mules might be met, a hundred at a time, laden with corn-sacks; the queer, primitive carts of the country creaked along, carrying huge wine-jars filled with the fresh new juice of the grape; the road was gay with country people in their holiday dresses; the women, who wore their bright shawls like a kind of mantle, were sometimes on foot and sometimes pillioned behind the men, who were invariably on horseback, and whose brilliant ponchos and fine riding added to the impression of life and color. Rivers and streams were frequent; and as there were no bridges, the scenes at the fords, sometimes crossed on rafts, sometimes on flat boats, worked by ropes, were exciting and picturesque. For rustic interiors along the road side, there were the huts of the working people, rough trellises of tree-trunks interwoven with branches; green as arbors while fresh, a coa.r.s.e thatch when dry. There was always a large open s.p.a.ce in front, sheltered by the projecting thatch of the house, and furnished sometimes with a rough table and benches. Here would be the women at their work, or the children at play, or sometimes the drovers taking their lunch of tortillas and wine, while their animals munched their midday meal hard by. The scenery was often fine. On the third day the fertile soil, watered by many rivers, was exchanged for a sandy plain, broken by a th.o.r.n.y mimosa scattered over the surface. This plain lay between the Cordillera of the Andes and the Coast Range. As the road advanced farther inland, the panorama of the Cordilleras became more and more striking. In the glow of the sunset, the peaks of the abrupt, jagged walls and the volcano-like summits were defined against the sky in all their rugged beauty. There was little here to remind one of the loveliness of the Swiss Alps. With no lower green slopes, no soft pasturage grounds leading gently up to rocky heights, the Andes, at least in this part of their range, rise arid, stern, and bold from base to crest, a fortress wall unbroken by tree or shrub, or verdure of any kind, and relieved only by the rich and varied coloring of the rock.

The lodgings for the night were found in small towns along the road, Tome, Chilian, Linarez, Talca, Curicu, and once, when there was no inn within reach, at a hospitable hacienda.

A brief sketch of the geological observations made on this excursion is found in a letter from Aga.s.siz to Mr. Peirce. He never wrote out, as he had intended to do, a more detailed report.

OFF GUATEMALA, July 29, 1872.

MY DEAR PEIRCE,

. . .I have another new chapter concerning glacial phenomena, gathered during our land-journey from Talcahuana to Santiago. It is so complicated a story that I do not feel equal now to recording the details in a connected statement, but will try to give you the main facts in a few words.

There is a broad valley between the Andes and the Coast Range, the valley of Chilian, extending from the Gulf of Ancud, or Port de Mott, to Santiago and farther north. This valley is a continuation, upon somewhat higher level, of the channels which, from the Strait of Magellan to Chiloe, separate the islands from the main-land, with the sole interruption of Tres Montes. Now this great valley, extending for more than twenty-five degrees of lat.i.tude, is a CONTINUOUS GLACIER BOTTOM, showing plainly that for its whole length the great southern ice-sheet has been retreating southward in it. I could find nowhere any indication that glaciers descending from the Andes had crossed this valley and reached the sh.o.r.es of the Pacific. In a few brief localities only did I notice Andean, i.

e. volcanic, erratics upon the loose materials filling the old glacier bottom. Between Curicu and Santiago, however, facing the gorge of Tenon, I saw two distinct lateral moraines, parallel to one another, chiefly composed of volcanic boulders, resting upon the old drift, and indicating by their position the course of a large glacier that once poured down from the Andes of Tenon, and crossed the main valley, without, however, extending beyond the eastern slope of the Coast Range. These moraines are so well marked that they are known throughout the country as the cerillos of Tenon, but n.o.body suspects their glacial origin; even the geologists of Santiago a.s.sign a volcanic origin to them. What is difficult to describe in this history are the successive retrograde steps of the great southern ice-field that, step by step, left larger or smaller tracts of the valley to the north of it free of ice, so that large glacial lakes could be formed, and seem, indeed, always to have existed along the retreating edge of the great southern glacier. The natural consequence is that there are everywhere stratified terraces without border barriers (since these were formed only by the ice that has vanished), resting at successively higher or lower levels, as you move north or south, upon unstratified drift of older date; the northernmost of these terraces being the oldest, while those further south belong to later steps in the waning of the ice-fields. From these data I infer that my suggestion concerning the trend of the strike upon the polished and glaciated surface of the vicinity of Talcahuana, alluded to in the postscript of my last letter, is probably correct. . .

At Santiago Aga.s.siz rested a day or two. Here, as everywhere throughout the country, he met with the greatest kindness and cordiality. A public reception and dinner were urged upon him by the city, but his health obliged him to decline this and like honors elsewhere. Among the letters awaiting him here, was one which brought him a pleasant surprise. It announced his election as Foreign a.s.sociate of the Inst.i.tute of France,--"one of the eight."

As the crowning honor of his scientific career, this was, of course, very gratifying to him. In writing soon after to the Emperor of Brazil, who had expressed a warm interest in his election, he says: "The distinction pleased me the more because so unexpected. Unhappily it is usually a brevet of infirmity, or at least of old age, and in my case it is to a house in ruins that the diploma is addressed. I regret it the more because I have never felt more disposed for work, and yet never so fatigued by it."

From Santiago Aga.s.siz proceeded to Valparaiso, where he rejoined the s.h.i.+p's company. The events of their cruise had been less satisfactory than those of his land-journey, for, owing to the rottenness of the ropes, produced by dampness, the hauls of the dredge from the greatest depths had been lost. Several pauses for dredging in shallower waters were made with good success, nevertheless, on the way up the coast to Callao. From there the Ha.s.sler put out to sea once more, for the Galapagos, arriving before Charles Island on the 10th of June, and visiting in succession Albemarle, James, Jarvis, and Indefatigable islands.

Aga.s.siz enjoyed extremely his cruise among these islands of such rare geological and zoological interest. Purely volcanic in character, and of very recent formation, they yet support a fauna and flora quite their own, very peculiar and characteristic.

Albemarle Island was, perhaps, the most interesting of all. It is a barren mountain rising from the sea, its base and slope covered with small extinct craters. No less than fifty--some perfectly symmetrical, others irregular, as if blasted out on one side--could be counted from the deck as the vessel neared the sh.o.r.e. Indeed, the whole island seemed like some subterranean furnace, of which these craters were the chimneys. The anchorage was in Tagus Sound, a deep, quiet bay, less peaceful once, for its steep sides are formed by the walls of an old crater.

The next day, June 15, was spent by the whole scientific party in a ramble on sh.o.r.e. The landing was at the foot of a ravine. Climbing its left bank, they were led by a short walk to the edge of a large crater, which held a beautiful lake in its cup. It was, in fact, a crater within a crater, for a second one, equally symmetrical, rose outside and above it. Following the brink of this lake to its upper end, they struck across to the head of the ravine. It terminated in a ridge, which looked down upon an immense field or sea of hardened lava, spreading over an area of several miles till it reached the ocean. This ancient bed of lava was full of the most singular and fantastic details of lava structure. It was a field of charred ruins, among which were more or less open caves or galleries, some large enough to hold a number of persons standing upright, others hardly allowing room to creep through on hands and knees. Rounded domes were common, sometimes broken, sometimes whole; now and then some great lava bubble was pierced with a window blasted out of the side, through which one could look down to the floor of a deep, underground hollow.

The whole company, some six or eight persons, lunched in one of the caves, resting on the seats formed by the ledges of lava along its sides. It had an entrance at either end, was some forty feet long, at least ten feet high in the centre, and perhaps six or eight feet wide. Probably never before had it served as a banqueting hall.

Such a hollow tunnel or arch had been formed wherever the interior of a large ma.s.s of lava, once cooled, had become heated again, and had flowed out, leaving the outside crust standing. The whole story of this lava bed is so clearly told in its blackened and extinct remains, that it needs no stretch of the imagination to recreate the scene. It is again, a heaving, palpitating sheet of fire; the dead slags are aglow, and the burned-out furnaces cast up their molten, blazing contents, as of old. Now it is the home of the large red and orange-colored iguanas, of which a number were captured, both alive and dead. These islands proved, indeed, admirable collecting grounds, the more interesting from the peculiarity of their local fauna.

FROM AGa.s.sIZ TO PROFESSOR PEIRCE.

OFF GUATEMALA, July 29.

. . .Our visit to the Galapagos has been full of geological and zoological interest. It is most impressive to see an extensive archipelago, of MOST RECENT ORIGIN, inhabited by creatures so different from any known in other parts of the world. Here we have a positive limit to the length of time that may have been granted for the transformation of these animals, if indeed they are in any way derived from others dwelling in different parts of the world.

The Galapagos are so recent that some of the islands are barely covered with the most scanty vegetation, itself peculiar to these islands. Some parts of their surface are entirely bare, and a great many of the craters and lava streams are so fresh, that the atmospheric agents have not yet made an impression on them. Their age does not, therefore, go back to earlier geological periods; they belong to our times, geologically speaking. Whence, then, do their inhabitants (animals as well as plants) come? If descended from some other type, belonging to any neighboring land, then it does not require such unspeakably long periods for the transformation of species as the modern advocates of trans.m.u.tation claim; and the mystery of change, with such marked and characteristic differences between existing species, is only increased, and brought to a level with that of creation. If they are autochthones, from what germs did they start into existence? I think that careful observers, in view of these facts, will have to acknowledge that our science is not yet ripe for a fair discussion of the origin of organized beings. . .

There is little to tell for the rest of the voyage that cannot be condensed into a few words. There was a detention for despatches and for Coast Survey business at Panama,--a delay which was turned to good account in collecting, both in the Bay and on the Isthmus.

At San Diego, also, admirable collections were made, and pleasant days were spent. This was the last station on the voyage of the Ha.s.sler. She reached her destination and entered the Golden Gate on the 24th of August, 1872. Aga.s.siz was touched by his reception in San Francisco. Attentions and kindnesses were showered upon him from all sides, but his health allowed him to accept only such hospitalities as were of the most quiet and private nature. He pa.s.sed a month in San Francisco, but was unable to undertake any of the well-known excursions to the Yosemite Valley or the great trees. Rest and home became every day more imperative necessities.

CHAPTER 25.

1872-1873: AGE 65-66.

Return to Cambridge.

Summer School proposed.

Interest of Aga.s.siz.

Gift of Mr. Anderson.

Prospectus of Penikese School.

Difficulties.

Opening of School.

Summer Work.

Close of School.

Last Course of Lectures at Museum.

Lecture before Board of Agriculture.

Illness.

Death.

Place of Burial.

In October, 1872, Aga.s.siz returned to Cambridge. To arrange the collections he had brought back, to write a report of his journey and its results, to pa.s.s the next summer quietly at his Nahant laboratory, continuing his work on the Sharks and Skates, for which he had brought home new and valuable material, seemed the natural sequence of his year of travel. But he found a new scheme of education on foot; one for which he had himself given the first impulse, but which some of his younger friends had carefully considered and discussed in his absence, being confident that with his help it might be accomplished. The plan was to establish a summer school of natural history somewhere on the coast of Ma.s.sachusetts, where teachers from our schools and colleges could make their vacations serviceable, both for work and recreation, by the direct study of nature. No sooner was Aga.s.siz once more at home than he was confronted by this scheme, and he took it up with characteristic ardor. Means there were none, nor apparatus, nor building, nor even a site for one. There was only the ideal, and to that he brought the undying fervor of his intellectual faith. The prospectus was soon sketched, and, once before the public, it awakened a strong interest. In March, when the Legislature of Ma.s.sachusetts made their annual visit to the Museum of Comparative zoology, Aga.s.siz laid this new project before them as one of deep interest for science in general, and especially for schools and colleges throughout the land. He considered it also an educational branch of the Museum, having, as such, a claim on their sympathy, since it was in the line of the direct growth and continuance of the same work. Never did he plead more eloquently for the cause of education. His gift as a speaker cannot easily be described. It was born of conviction, and was as simple as it was impa.s.sioned. It kept the freshness of youth, because the things of which he spoke never grew old to him, but moved him to the last hour of his life as forcibly as in his earlier years.

This appeal to the Legislature, spoken in the morning, chanced to be read in the evening papers of the same day by Mr. John Anderson, a rich merchant of New York. It at once enlisted his sympathy both for the work and for the man. Within the week he offered to Aga.s.siz, as a site for the school, the island of Penikese, in Buzzard's Bay, with the buildings upon it, consisting of a furnished dwelling-house and barn. Scarcely was this gift accepted than he added to it an endowment of 50,000 dollars for the equipment of the school. Adjectives belittle deeds like these. The bare statement says more than the most laudatory epithets.

Aga.s.siz was no less surprised than touched at the aid thus unexpectedly offered. In his letter of acknowledgment he says: "You do not know what it is suddenly and unexpectedly to find a friend at your side, full of sympathy, and offering support to a scheme which you have been trying to carry out under difficulties and with very scanty means. I feel grateful to you for making the road so easy, and I believe you will have the permanent grat.i.tude of scientific men here and elsewhere, for I have the utmost confidence that this summer school will give valuable opportunities for original research, as well as for instruction." At Aga.s.siz's suggestion the school was to bear the name of "The Anderson School of Natural History." Mr. Anderson wished to subst.i.tute the name of Aga.s.siz for his own. This Aga.s.siz absolutely refused to permit, saying that he was but one of many scientific men who had already offered their services to the school for the coming summer, some of whom would, no doubt, continue to work for it in the future, and all of whom would be equally indebted to Mr. Anderson. It was, therefore, most suitable that it should bear his name, and so it was agreed.

Thus the material problem was solved. Name and habitation were found; it remained only to organize the work for which so fitting a home had been provided. Mr. Anderson's gift was received toward the close of March, and, in the course of the following month, the preliminaries were concluded, and the property was transferred to the trustees of the Anderson School.

Few men would have thought it feasible to build dormitories and laboratories, and provide working apparatus for fifty pupils as well as for a large corps of teachers, between May and July. But to Aga.s.siz no obstacles seemed insurmountable where great aims were involved, and the opening of the school was announced for the 8th of July. He left Boston on Friday, the 4th of July, for the island.

At New Bedford he was met by a warning from the architect that it would be simply impossible to open the school at the appointed date. With characteristic disregard of practical difficulties, he answered that it must be possible, for postponement was out of the question. He reached the island on Sat.u.r.day, the 5th, in the afternoon. The aspect was certainly discouraging. The dormitory was up, but only the frame was completed; there were no floors, nor was the roof s.h.i.+ngled. The next day was Sunday. Aga.s.siz called the carpenters together. He told them that the scheme was neither for money, nor for the making of money; no personal gain was involved in it. It was for the best interests of education, and for that alone. Having explained the object, and stated the emergency, he asked whether, under these circ.u.mstances, the next day was properly for rest or for work. They all answered "for work." They accordingly worked the following day from dawn till dark, and by night-fall the floors were laid. On Monday, the 7th, the part.i.tions were put up, dividing the upper story into two large dormitories; the lower, into sufficiently convenient working-rooms. On Tuesday morning (the 8th), with the help of a few volunteers, chiefly ladies connected with the school, who had arrived a day or two in advance, the dormitories, which were still enc.u.mbered by shavings, sawdust, etc., were swept, and presently transformed into not unattractive sleeping-halls. They were divided by neat sets of furniture into equal s.p.a.ces, above each of which was placed the name of the person to whom it was appropriated. When all was done, the large open rooms, with their fresh pine walls, floors, and ceilings, the rows of white beds down the sides, and the many windows looking to the sea, were pretty and inviting enough. If they somewhat resembled hospital wards, they were too airy and cheerful to suggest sickness either of body or mind.

Next, a large barn belonging to Mr. Anderson's former establishment was cleared, and a new floor laid there also. This was hardly finished (the last nails were just driven) when the steamer, with its large company, touched the wharf. There was barely time to arrange the seats and to place a table with flowers where the guests of honor were to sit, and Aga.s.siz himself was to stand, when all arrived. The barn was, on the whole, not a bad lecture-room on a beautiful summer day. The swallows, who had their nests without number in the rafters, flew in and out, and twittered softly overhead; and the wide doors, standing broadly open to the blue sky and the fresh fields let in the sea-breeze, and gave a view of the little domain. Aga.s.siz had arranged no programme of exercises, trusting to the interest of the occasion to suggest what might best be said or done. But, as he looked upon his pupils gathered there to study nature with him, by an impulse as natural as it was unpremeditated, he called upon them to join in silently asking G.o.d's blessing on their work together. The pause was broken by the first words of an address no less fervent than its unspoken prelude.* (* This whole scene is fitly told in Whittier's poem, "The Prayer of Aga.s.siz".)

Thus the day, which had been antic.i.p.ated with so much anxiety, pa.s.sed off, unclouded by any untoward accident, and at evening the guests had departed. Students and teachers, a company of some fifty or sixty persons, were left to share the island with the sea-gulls whose haunt it was.

We will not enter into the daily details of the school. It was a new phase of teaching, even for Aga.s.siz, old as he was in the work.

Most of his pupils were mature men and women, some of whom had been teachers themselves for many years. He had, therefore, trained minds to deal with, and the experience was at that time as novel as it was interesting. The novelty has worn off now. Summer schools for advanced students, and especially for teachers, have taken their place in the general system of education; and, though the Penikese school may be said to have died with its master, it lives anew in many a sea-side laboratory organized on the same plan, in summer schools of Botany and field cla.s.ses of Geology. The impetus it gave was not, and cannot be, lost, since it refreshed and vitalized methods of teaching.

Beside the young men who formed his corps of teachers, among whom the resident professors were Dr. Burt G. Wilder, of Cornell University, and Professor Alpheus S. Packard, now of Brown University, Aga.s.siz had with him some of his oldest friends and colleagues. Count de Pourtales was there, superintending the dredging, for which there were special conveniences, Mr. Charles G.

Galloupe having presented the school with a yacht for the express purpose. This generous gift gave Aga.s.siz the greatest pleasure, and completed the outfit of the school as nothing else could have done.

Professor Arnold Guyot, also,--Aga.s.siz's comrade in younger years, --his companion in many an Alpine excursion,--came to the island to give a course of lectures, and remained for some time. It was their last meeting in this world, and together they lived over their days of youthful adventure. The lectures of the morning and afternoon would sometimes be followed by an informal meeting held on a little hill, which was a favorite resort at sunset. There the whole community gathered around the two old friends, to hear them talk of their glacial explorations, one recalling what the other had forgotten, till the scenes lived again for themselves, and became almost equally vivid for their listeners. The subject came up naturally, for, strange to say, this island in a New England bay was very suggestive of glacial phenomena. Erratic materials and boulders transported from the north were scattered over its surface, and Aga.s.siz found the ill.u.s.trations for his lectures on this topic ready to his hand. Indeed, some of his finest lectures on the ice-period were given at Penikese.

Nothing could be less artificial, more free from constraint or formality, than the intercourse between him and his companions of this summer. He was at home with every member of the settlement.

Ill-health did not check the readiness of his sympathy; languor did not chill the glow of his enthusiasm. All turned to him for help and inspiration. Walking over their little sovereignty together, hunting for specimens on its beaches, dredging from the boats, in the laboratory, or the lecture-room, the instruction had always the character of the freest discussion. Yet the work, although combined with out-of-door pleasures, and not without a certain holiday element, was no play. On the part of the students, the application was close and unremitting; on the part of the teachers, the instruction, though untrammeled by routine, was sustained and systematic.

Aga.s.siz himself frequently gave two lectures a day. In the morning session he would prepare his cla.s.s for the work of the day; in the afternoon he would draw out their own observations by questions, and lead them, by comparison and combination of the facts they had observed, to understand the significance of their results. Every lecture from him at this time was a lesson in teaching as well as in natural history, and to many of his hearers this gave his lectures a twofold value, as bearing directly upon their own occupation. In his opening address he had said to them: "You will find the same elements of instruction all about you wherever you may be teaching. You can take your cla.s.ses out, and give them the same lessons, and lead them up to the same subjects you are yourselves studying here. And this mode of teaching children is so natural, so suggestive, so true. That is the charm of teaching from Nature herself. No one can warp her to suit his own views. She brings us back to absolute truth as often as we wander."

This was the bright side of the picture. Those who stood nearest to Aga.s.siz, however, felt that the strain not only of work, but of the anxiety and responsibility attendant upon a new and important undertaking, was perilous for him. There were moments when this became apparent, and he himself felt the danger. He persevered, nevertheless, to the end of the summer, and only left Penikese when the school broke up.

In order to keep the story of this final effort unbroken, some events of great interest to Aga.s.siz and of importance to the Museum have been omitted. In the spring the Museum had received a grant of 25,000 dollars from the Legislature. To this was added 100,000 dollars, a birthday gift to Aga.s.siz in behalf of the inst.i.tution he so much loved. This last sum was controlled by no official body and was to be expended at his own good will and pleasure, either in collections, publications, or scientific a.s.sistance, as seemed to him best. He therefore looked forward to a year of greater ease and efficiency in scientific work than he had ever enjoyed before. On returning from Penikese, full of the new possibilities thus opened to him, he allowed himself a short rest, partly at the sea-sh.o.r.e, partly in the mountains, and was again at his post in the Museum in October.

His last course of lectures there was on one of his favorite topics,--the type of Radiates as connected with the physical history of the earth, from the dawn of organic life till now. In his opening lecture he said to his cla.s.s: "You must learn to look upon fossil forms as the antiquarian looks upon his coins. The remains of animals and plants have the spirit of their time impressed upon them, as strongly as the spirit of the age is impressed upon its architecture, its literature, its coinage. I want you to become so familiar with these forms, that you can read off at a glance their character and a.s.sociations." In this spirit his last course was conceived. It was as far-reaching and as clear as usual, nor did his delivery evince failure of strength or of mental power. If he showed in any way the disease which was even then upon him, it was by an over-tension of the nerves, which gave increased fervor to his manner. Every mental effort was, however, succeeded by great physical fatigue.

At the same time he had undertaken a series of articles in the "Atlantic Monthly," ent.i.tled, "Evolution and Permanence of Type."

They were to have contained his own convictions regarding the connection between all living beings, upon which his studies had led him to conclusions so different from the philosophy of the day.

Of these papers, only one was completed. It was his last word upon science; the correction of the proofsheets was the last act of his working life, and the article was published after his death. In it he claimed that the law of evolution, in a certain sense as true to him as to any so-called evolutionist, was a law "controlling development, and keeping types within appointed cycles of growth."

He maintained that this law acts within definite limits, and never infringes upon the great types, each one of which is, in his view, a structural unit in itself. Even metamorphoses, he adds, "have all the constancy and invariability of other modes of embryonic growth, and have never been known to lead to any transition of one species into another." Of heredity he says: "The whole subject of inheritance is exceedingly intricate, working often in a seemingly capricious and fitful way. Qualities, both good and bad, are dropped as well as acquired, and the process ends sometimes in the degradation of the type, and the survival of the unfit rather than the fittest. The most trifling and fantastic tricks of inheritance are quoted in support of the trans.m.u.tation theory; but little is said of the sudden apparition of powerful original qualities, which almost always rise like pure creations, and are gone with their day and generation. The n.o.blest gifts are exceptional, and are rarely inherited; this very fact seems to me an evidence of something more and higher than mere evolution and transmission concerned in the problem of life. In the same way the matter of natural and s.e.xual selection is susceptible of very various interpretations. No doubt, on the whole, Nature protects her best. But it would not be difficult to bring together an array of facts as striking as those produced by the evolutionists in favor of their theory, to show that s.e.xual selection is by no means always favorable to the elimination of the chaff, and the preservation of the wheat. A natural attraction, independent of strength or beauty, is an unquestionable element in this problem, and its action is seen among animals as well as among men. The fact that fine progeny are not infrequently the offspring of weak parents, and vice versa, points, perhaps, to some innate power of redress by which the caprices of choice are counterbalanced. But there can be no doubt that types are as often endangered as protected by the so-called law of s.e.xual selection."

"As to the influence of climate and physical conditions," he continues, "we all know their power for evil and for good upon living beings. But there is, nevertheless, nothing more striking in the whole book of nature than the power shown by types and species to resist physical conditions. Endless evidence may be brought from the whole expanse of land and air and water, showing that identical physical conditions will do nothing toward the merging of species into one another, neither will variety of conditions do anything toward their multiplication. One thing only we know absolutely, and in this treacherous, marshy ground of hypothesis and a.s.sumption, it is pleasant to plant one's foot occasionally upon a solid fact here and there. Whatever be the means of preserving and transmitting properties, the primitive types have remained permanent and unchanged,--in the long succession of ages, amid all the appearance and disappearance of kinds, the fading away of one species and the coming in of another,--from the earliest geological periods to the present day. How these types were first introduced, how the species which have successively represented them have replaced one another, --these are the vital questions to which no answer has been given.

We are as far from any satisfactory solution of this problem as if development theories had never been discussed."

In conclusion, he sketches the plan of these articles. "I hope in future articles to show, first, that, however broken the geological record may be, there is a complete sequence in many parts of it, from which the character of the succession may be ascertained; secondly, that, since the most exquisitely delicate structures, as well as embryonic phases of growth of the most perishable nature, have been preserved from very early deposits, we have no right to infer the disappearance of types because their absence disproves some favorite theory; and, lastly, that there is no evidence of a direct descent of later from earlier species in the geological succession of animals."