not only to gather facts, but to read their meaning, both immediate and remote. Now if we are justified in ascribing the delight which the study of natural history gives to the fact that, when we are engaged in such pursuits, we are obeying an inherent impulse derived from our innumerable hunting ancestors, it follows that the more closely such primitive instincts are obeyed the more enjoyment will the naturalist be likely to get from his pursuits. If, in addition to merely collecting specimens and classifying them, we are able, like our skin-clad forefathers, to regard each item as part of an argument or a narrative, we shall reawaken more fully the keen delight in outdoor pursuits which the daily portion of the

savage.

Now this is exactly what Darwinism has enabled us to do. Even if we are among those who go no further than did most of the older naturalists, and content ourselves with merely observing and recording, our pursuits gain infinitely in zest. For the most trivial scrap of knowledge, which at one time would only have been one more item added to the chaotic dust-heap of useless lore, may now turn out to be a diamond beyond price. Many times of late years has some small and apparently valueless discovery enabled the man of science to establish some widely reaching law. No single character in the book of Nature is without its meaning, and even when the key to her cipher is not yet in our hands, the astonishing progress which has been made during a single generation makes it probable that we have only to wait and to labour awhile longer to be able to read the wondrous tale. Darwinism has done more in this way for the naturalist than

the spectroscope has done for the astronomer, or the discovery of the cuneiform alphabet for the archæologist. As yet we are only stumbling among the elements of the new method, but already it is often possible, by exercising our reasoning faculty and our knowledge of natural laws when observing the most commonplace phenomena, to see in them a revelation of the past which was utterly beyond the reach of our fathers.

Yet it must never be forgotten that if our attempts to interpret Nature's hieroglyphics are not based upon extensive and accurate knowledge, we shall run the same risk of coming to wrong conclusions, as would the savage if he were not thoroughly versed in all phases of his wild surroundings. It is necessary to keep a constant check upon the innate propensity to draw inferences from whatever we see or think we see. One finds that this habit of the human mind is curiously automatic: for constantly when we are in a "brown study," and even when we are asleep, we find that attempts are being made, although often of a vague and fatuous kind, to give reasons for what chances to be occupying the attention. The fact that this habit is universal among mankind, and that it is also innate and automatic, asserts its extreme antiquity. Probably in it we find the actual merging point of instinct and reason. reason. Like many other mental and moral attributes which have come down to us from the remote past, it is liable to get us into grave trouble if not controlled by the most vigilant discipline. Regarded in the light of a very raw recruit, with Logic-that stern martinet of the Intelligence Department-ever at its elbow, it is still capable of rendering useful service.

The danger which besets us in accepting any plausible explanation of phenomena without subjecting it to the most searching criticism is not death or wounds, as in the case of a primitive hunter who formed a hasty and erroneous judgment, but it is one which will certainly kill or cripple us as naturalists.

Self-contradictory as the statement may appear, what is common and obvious is often much more mysterious and wonderful than what is rare. We are so in the habit of taking circumstances in our everyday surroundings for granted, that a very great deal entirely escapes notice which offers most fruitful ground for research. Do we not constantly see, when some great invention or discovery is announced, that the thing has all the time been almost before our eyes, and that it is of the most ridiculously simple character? Within the last few years many of us learned with astonishment that air contained a new element in addition to nitrogen and oxygen. Yet for generations hundreds of able chemists have not only been breathing air, but have been continually working upon it in their laboratories. And furthermore, when the facts and methods which led to the discovery of argon were announced, it seemed astonishing to every student of chemistry that since the time when Cavendish first drew attention to "residual nitrogen" not one of these experimenters had apprehended a truth which was all but naked before his eyes. Although in the year 1777 Gilbert White drew attention to the remarkable influence of earthworms in "boring, perforating, and loosening the soil, and in throwing

up

such infinite number of lumps of earth called worm-casts, which is a fine manure for grain and

grass," and although he said, furthermore, "A good Monograph of Worms would afford much entertainment and information at the same time, and would open to a new and large field on natural history," it was not until more than a century had elapsed that Darwin's work on 'The Formation of Vegetable Mould through the Action of Worms' was published. Yet all the time, in every field, abundant evidence of the influence of worms was displayed before the eyes of naturalists in the shape of hundreds of tons of earth raised to the surface in the form of wormcasts.

I make bold to say that, in like manner, most of the future discoveries of great moment to the naturalist will be made, not in the remote and minute ramifications of science such as are occupying the attention of so many of our learned investigators, but among the everyday phenomena which are open to the eyes of all. It is in this truth (for truth is scarcely too strong a word when all past experience declares and confirms the rule) that the hope of the amateur naturalist lies.

In spite of the immense stimulus which Darwinism has given to the study of natural history, I am afraid that hitherto it has proved rather a stumbling-block than a help to a large number of people who take an interest in such pursuits.

Most of these belong to the class who take up some branch of natural history as a hobby for leisure hours. One hardly likes to speak of such students as amateurs, for the term generally savours of contempt when used in connection with the arts or sciences. owe so much to observers, from Gilbert White downwards, to whom the study of animated na

We

ture has been chiefly a source of recreation, that it would be a great mistake either to hold their work cheap or to make their way needlessly difficult. When, therefore, the word "amateur" occurs in this article, it is merely employed to distinguish naturalists of this order from those who have adopted the study of natural science as a profession.

To a certain extent the untoward effect of the new doctrine on many of the older order of naturalists was inevitable. Our ideas concerning nature have been so revolutionised during the last generation, that one can hardly expect mature students to find themselves at home in their novel environment; while any attempts to patch the new doctrines on to the damaged remnants of the old was like putting new cloth in an old garment. Although, as I shall point out later, the amateurs have themselves to blame to a certain extent, their hindrances have come largely from outside.

In some directions the same fate seems to have overtaken the pursuits of the naturalist which in these strenuous days has overtaken various popular sports. Professionalism has seized them for its own, and has established methods and standards which are beyond the reach of any but the professional. The impetus given by the new doctrine has not only greatly multiplied the number of earnest professional workers, but it has also increased the mass of our knowledge to such an extent that no little perseverance is necessary to enable a beginner to master the initial details of any branch of natural history in which he hopes to excel. It is one thing to cull fresh knowledge in the open fields, but it is quite another,

and requires sterner stuff than a spirit of dilettanteism, to wrestle with dry bones and technicalities in a stuffy library or museum. Again, the increased energy given to research is rapidly using up a great deal of the material upon which our fathers busied themselves. Their happy huntinggrounds have been surveyed,

mapped, and annexed by the speculative professor, and the fauna and flora thereon catalogued with a business - like precision which would do credit to an auctioneer. The naturalist who is content with merely collecting and classifying natural objects now finds that he must go very far afield if he is to be more than an imitator of other men's labours.

Furthermore, it must, I fear, be admitted that some things, which are not roses, have been strewed in the path of the amateur naturalist by certain of his professional associates. This was probably more true ten years ago than it is to-day, and it is to be hoped that advancing civilisation will remove such causes of offence. But any one who has studied the habits of that uncompromising vertebrate the Learned Official, when he deigns to mix with common folk at British Association meetings and elsewhere, will probably have observed that certain members of the order treat their less exalted fellow-workers with a somewhat disdainful patronage. Doubtless this is partly due to a temporary combination of youthfulness and authority among some of the leaders of the new movement, which has resulted from rapid progress. But there seems also a tendency on the part of a larger number of professional naturalists to assume quasi-manorial rights in certain regions of Nature's kingdom. It is apparently

a natural law that wherever the members of a corporation become the licensed exponents of a subject, whether it be divinity, natural science, or what you will, they develop the spirit of the custodian, if not of the proprietor, and tend to regard all others who meddle with it with a certain amount of jealousy.

But it will be a disastrous day for science if natural history ever becomes a close preserve of specialists and professors. For a brief review of the progress of knowledge in this direction shows that many of the most important discoveries have been made by the despised amateur. Furthermore, it is from the ranks of these enthusiastic volunteers that by far the best material in the great army of regulars is recruited. The true naturalist, like the poet, is born, not made. No amount of scholastic hammering, or Government patronage, or societies for the organisation of research, can evolve a Cuvier or a Darwin.

Yet if it be true that the oldfashioned amateur is trending towards extinction, he has chiefly himself to thank. Should he fail to adapt himself to his changed environment, he must go the way of all flesh which has proved its unfitness in the struggle for existence. His weakest point hitherto has been his lack of versatility. We shall find the cause of many failures in attempts to apply the principles of Darwinism in this want of power to accord with new conditions. In some cases it is evident that efforts to keep pace with the times have ended in confusion because there has been an attempt to pile new bricks upon an old and sapped foundation. In many others fail

ure

has resulted because the

knowledge of evolutionary laws has been merely theoretical and superficial. There has been an immense amount of literature upon the subject of Darwinism poured out during the last thirty years, much of it of a very speculative and evanescent character. One can hardly wonder, therefore, if many students are somewhat bewildered as a result of trying

to inform themselves from such sources. If the amateur naturalist is to profit by the new doctrine his information must be thorough and based upon experience, even although it may not be extensive. When we are going to make use of knowledge for some practical purpose, we generally find that it is necessary to have a much more thorough grip of our subject than can be gained from studying verbal statements and formulæ. It is often absolutely impossible to obtain from books the kind of knowledge which is demanded in practice. What traveller about to undertake an expedition in which a knowledge of horsemanship or cycling was necessary could expect to reach his goal if he contented himself with reading exhaustive treatises on these arts? The very act of walking, which we deem so simple, would, if taught in an abstract and academic way, tax the faculties of a Newton or a Kelvin.

But if there are a good many amateur naturalists whose knowledge of evolution is too imperfect to be of any practical value, there are probably still more who may be said to possess none at all. If any one doubts this statement, let him commence a discussion on Darwinism with any average schoolboy, sportsman, or country parson, and it will meet with abundant support. I mention these three classes because from them, probably more than from

any others one can name, are drawn the people who make a hobby of some branch of natural history. The failure of the schoolboy is owing partly to the inveterate conservatism of our educational methods, and partly to the slovenly way in which science is still taught in schools. To the sportsman, as a rule, reading is uncongenial; and books bristling with new and technical terms and full of half-digested theories are an abomination. As As to the average country parson, he still seems to think not only that the Darwinian Theory is a disputable doctrine, but that, unless filtered and diluted by ecclesiastical wisdom, it smacks of infidelity. By-and-by, when doctrines which are still novel to most people (although forty years old, and to many of us as much a matter of course as the laws of gravitation) find a place in the elements of knowledge absorbed by every youth, we may expect most of these difficulties to disappear. But in the meantime they may be depriving us of some second Gilbert White, who from his country parsonage might send us news of a thousand delightful and invaluable facts which would be beyond the reach of any but a cultured observer who lives among the fields and woods.

For the latter-day Gilbert White must be an evolutionist down to the tips of his toes. The Darwinian way must be as familiar to him as the footpath from his rectory to his church. His very spectacles must be tinged with the doctrine, and his mind must employ its methods as easily as his lungs breathe the air. There is every reason to hope that the future will bring us seers of this type, and it is with the desire that I may in some slight measure hasten their advent that I here invite attention to the light which

VOL. CLXI.NO. DCCCCLXXVIII.

Darwinism throws upon the everyday world about us.

It will be a good way to show how wonderfully the amateur student may gain both in pleasure and knowledge from the new philosophy-and at the same time will be consistent with the methods I am recommending-if we briefly discuss some points in the natural history of the naturalist himself. Undoubtedly his passion for outdoor life, and for watching and recording natural phenomena, dates back to the time when the existence of our forefathers depended upon success in hunting. We are all of us aware that only a few thousand years ago the ancestors of the modern European and American had only reached a stage of culture still found among savages which depend entirely upon the chase. Plentiful evidences are discovered in limestone caves, in the banks of ancient rivers, and in the shell-mounds around the Danish coast, that prehistoric Europeans lived almost precisely the life now lived by the Fuegians or the Australian blacks. But few of us, I imagine, have realised the enormous length of the epoch throughout which this stage of utter savagery lasted. It is utterly impossible to measure its length in years. Probably it would be no exaggeration to say that if you took the last line of this article as representing the era of civilisation, you might take all the other lines as representing, in equal proportion, different stages of the epoch of pristine savagery. Now since man had to live by the chase, and by the chase only, throughout the greater part of this period, it is no wonder that all his faculties of mind and body became moulded to the environment of the hunter. To such primitive savages the habits of taking note of every2 R