The Olympic Games.

G. S. Lowe.

The Olympic Games.

International encounters, in sport as in most else, are rarely attended with perfect success, and the second great meeting of the revival of the classic games at Athens has furnished no exception to the rule, for such was the number of entries that competitors suffered considerable discomfort in the matter of hotel accommodation.

As to the sport itself, whilst the British team cannot be said to have acquitted themselves badly, one must candidly confess that more was expected from them.

That America should win the 100 and 400 metres was generally anticipated, as it sent out a peculiarly strong team which had the advantage of a manager, trainer and doctor, and had, possibly, the most complete organisation—excepting, perhaps, that of the Swedes—of any team which has ever left a country to defend that country’s honour and pride.

The 100 metres race they did win in the good time of 11⅕ sec. by Hahn (America), with Moulton (America) second, and Barker (Australia) third. But that, even with Lightbody, America’s present one and half-mile champion, magnificent runner as he is, they should win the 800 and 1,500 metres, was open to the greatest doubt. Even in the regrettable absence of Hawtrey, owing to a swollen ankle, the result of his great five mile race, it was thought that Crabbe and Halswell in the former, and Crabbe and MacGough in the latter, were capable enough of beating our oversea cousins, who at long distance events are proverbially weak. Yet none of these were sufficiently good to hold Lightbody and Pilgrim, the former of whom won the 1,500 metres in 4 min. 12 sec., whilst both of these men put up such a splendid race in the 800 metres that Pilgrim, who had previously beaten Halswell in the 400 metres in 53⅕ sec., only gained the verdict on the tape by a breast in 2 min. 1½ sec. Halswell, who does not seem so good at a half as a quarter, was third, and Crabbe fourth, whilst the latter in the mile could do no better than fifth, MacGough taking pride of place for Britain with second. This race was completely thrown away by MacGough not showing to the front and making the pace, for the four American representatives ran the race as they pleased, and Lightbody proved faster than MacGough in the straight. The five miles provided us with our only athletic victory, and in this Hawtrey showed what a strong runner he is, as, making the pace all the way, he finished little the worse for the journey in the good time of 26 min. 11⅘ sec. Perhaps one should chronicle as an English victory—certainly as a British one—the win of Sherring, of Canada, in the Marathon Road race. This, the great event of the meeting, was looked on by the Greeks as of the supremest importance, for ten years ago it was won for them by Louis, their kinsman, and they felt quietly confident of repeating that success. However, Sherring, who had been training on the road for seven weeks, ran superbly, and after twelve miles out had no one near to cause him a moment’s doubt, and in consequence he almost walked the last five miles. His time showed what a great performance it was, being returned as 2 hrs. 51 min. 23⅗ sec., beating Louis’ time of ten years ago by over 3½ min. Being of athletic build he is an ideal man for the journey, weighing but 9 st. 4 lbs., and he finished remarkably strongly, whereas a heavy man like Daly was in a woe-begone condition, footsore, weary, and in a complete state of collapse, eight miles from home, where he retired, being taken with several others to the hospital there, which was soon in a crowded condition, as very few of the competitors got beyond this point. The performance of Svanberg, a Swede, who ran second to Hawtrey in the five-mile race, was excellent, he being but 7 min. behind the winner, and Franc, the American—who would have stood a better chance but for forcing the pace at the commencement when it was made inexcusably hot—third, two minutes later. The three first places in the Marathon cycle race were gained by Frenchmen, whilst Britain won the Tandem by Matthews and Rushen; the 12½ miles through Pett; and secured second in the mile and lap against time by the aid of Crowther, and in the 1,000 metres with Bouffler. These last two men found their master in Verri, of Italy, a rider of immense pluck and resource. Leahy won the high jump with 5 ft. 11 in., and was second to O’Connor in the hop, skip and jump with 13 metres 98. The latter’s jump was 14 metres 7½, but he completely failed in the long jump, and had to be content with second place to Prinstein, of America. The walking race was rather a fiasco, owing to disqualifications—Wilkinson, our representative, was the first to go—and ended in a win for Bonhag, of America, whilst a beautiful walker in Linden, of Canada, was second. The 110 metre hurdle race fell to Leavitt, of America, in 16⅕ sec., with Healey second, though if the first race, which was unfortunately stopped by some official, had been permitted, Healey, whose damaged foot was paining him badly, could probably have won. In swimming, we won the mile through Taylor, with Jarvis second, and in fencing the Englishmen were exceedingly unfortunate and only robbed of a victory, after a draw, by the strange award of the jury. Max Decuglis, for France, won the tennis singles, and with his wife the mixed doubles; whilst Gouder also credited his country with first position for a capital pole jump of 11 ft. 4 in. The great success for the Greeks was the putting the stone, won by Georgantas. Sheridan (America) won the discus throwing (free style) with approximately 137 ft., beating his own record, and Jaervinem (Finland) the restricted style (35 metre 17).

PUNT GUNNING.

“A Clever Shot.”

The shores of the Wash, on the coast of South Lincolnshire, are bounded by a large expanse of mud-flats, where hosts of waders collect soon after the close of the breeding season and inhabit the innumerable creeks of salt water that form a network over the foreshore. In August, as soon as the season for shooting wildfowl has commenced, very fair sport may be had walking the salt marsh with a 12-bore in quest of the red shank, knot, or golden plover that feed amongst the pools and creeks in the day-time; there are a good number also of curlew, and the miniature curlew, or “curlew-jack,” as it is called in this part of the world. As a good many of these are young birds they may be stalked occasionally with success, or will approach within gun-range sometimes if flying over—a thing that the parent birds, especially curlew, will never do unless you are under good cover. Some grey duck, too, are about at the early part of the season, sometimes singly, or in small lots; later on in the autumn birds come from oversea that join our home-bred birds and augment their numbers; then, also, come widgeon, pochard, and sea-fowls of various kinds in the hard winters. These shallows, when covered at high tide, offer a splendid field for punting. I knew a doctor, of sporting proclivities, living in that neighbourhood, who kept a two-handed punt at the foreshore, driving down from the village where he lived sometimes for a shot at the ducks, if there was a prospect of sport. These excursions in many cases were attended with poor success, for, unless you are a professional gunner, living on the spot and always ready, you miss most of the chances that offer, though, of course, any one experienced in wildfowling knows well the uncertainties of the sport and is prepared for disappointments; occasionally, however, there were red-letter days, as that afternoon in December, when Ted L., the doctor’s son, and I were out together, proved.

It was a bitterly cold day, with a blizzard from the east, bringing with it snow-squalls every half hour or so, and afterwards a lull, in short, a capital day for sport, though the intense cold, exposed as we were in the punt, was most trying.

Besides the stanchion gun, taking a charge of ¾ lb. of shot and breech-loading, we took two shoulder guns, a heavy 8-bore, and a stout 10-bore, the latter intended chiefly as a “cripple-stopper” if we had a successful pull with the big gun. It was about two o’clock in the afternoon as we launched the punt, the tide was rising and beginning to fill the creeks nicely. We cruised about, keeping to the large creeks where we could find shelter from the piercing wind that came from the sea directly in our teeth. Crouching low in the boat and taking the punt into sheltered coves as much as possible we found it more bearable, though in raising our heads to look round every now and then, the wind brought the sleet into our eyes and faces stinging like a whip. I had two or three shots into golden plover with the 10-bore, and fetched down over a score of birds, though unable to gather two-thirds of the number, as they often fell on the soft mud. or, wounded, quickly made their way to the water, out of reach.

Now and again as the snow-squalls came over us, the flakes falling so thickly as to make the air quite dark all round, we could hear a muffled sound of geese calling out seawards, and wisps of widgeon or grey duck came past, often within shot, but lost again too quickly in the murky atmosphere to give much chance of bringing any down; I had one or two pulls at them, but it was impossible to say if I killed or not, what with the bad light and the gale in our faces. In about half an hour the wind dropped a little, and the tide beginning to ebb, we paddled out from our shelter and began to keep a sharp look-out on the mud-banks for ducks and other fowl that would be dropping down to feed as the tide receded.

“There’s a nice bunch yonder,” said Ted, as he pointed out a black mass on a point of mud some two hundred yards ahead, and taking out my binoculars I looked and saw that it was a company of widgeon with grey duck amongst them feeding away greedily.

Losing no more time, I commenced paddling in their direction. Ted having already prostrated himself forward, to manage the punt gun, opening the breech and inserting a shell with No. 1 shot. I had all my work cut out with the paddles, as the water was very choppy, and it required all my strength to keep the punt’s head in the right direction whilst keeping my body as flat as possible; at any rate, I had to keep down after the first quarter’s distance was passed, as the birds, hungry as they were, might have taken alarm. We were getting on well, and the air having become clear again, could see the ducks with heads together and necks stretched out as they gobbled hungrily at the weeds that floated in the shallows; we seemed now to be not much over 100 yards away, though it might be more, as the distances over water are so deceptive and always appear less than they really are. Ted now gave me a warning kick to go steady, so I took the short paddles and “set” to the birds, hoping to get inside of eighty yards’ range, if possible; the tide running out helped us somewhat, and presently another kick from Ted gave me the cue to stop paddling, as we had approached near enough, and he prepared to take the shot. Raising my head an inch or two, I could just see above the coaming that the birds, apparently, were undisturbed, as they were still feeding.

Ted was waiting for them to gather together more before he fired.

Now they are in closer formation and Ted slightly elevates his gun, and, with his hand ready to strike the trigger, gives a loud whistle. Up spring a cloud of widgeon and the half hundred or so grey duck that were amongst them, but they hardly clear the mud when Ted’s gun booms forth. The shot charge at that distance, between seventy and eighty yards, opened beautifully and cut a lane through the black mass; birds dropped like hail on to the spot where they had but just risen from feeding, as the shot was perfectly timed, only allowing the flock to get on the wing and with no time to rise or spread themselves out. Making vigorous use of the paddles we soon had the punt up against the mud bank and proceeded to gather the slain; the mud, without the cumbersome mud-boards on, would just bear us, and I got out with the 10-bore and stopped two or three very lively “cripples” that were fast making good their escape towards the creeks. Ted knocked over one or two others that were swimming around with wings broken, with a punting pole, and as soon as these were disposed of we began to turn our attention to the main lot of dead or nearly so, strewn over the foreshore.

Ted was delighted and so was I when we realised what a pretty shot he had made, and we forgot the numbing cold that we had so grumbled at a short time before, and thought our sport worth all the discomfort. We picked up seven mallard and nineteen widgeon altogether, or twenty-six head as the result of the shot, and no doubt there would be some others in the flock hit very hard having strength to fly some distance but would afterwards drop. These were out of count, but we were well satisfied, and felt compensated for many previous failures, when, after laboriously setting up to birds we had the mortification of seeing them rise just as we were on the point of getting within range.

This time it had “come off” and our show of fine plump mallard and widgeon made quite a sensation when we returned to the village that evening.

Herbert Sharp.

Cricket Notions.

There is a movement afoot to present a testimonial to Mr. S. M. J. Woods upon his retirement from the captaincy of the Somerset County Cricket Club, and it is to be hoped that a very substantial compliment will be paid to this great athlete.

Certainly the debt which his county owes to him is immeasurable, for ever since he first played for Somerset, whilst still a school-boy at Brighton College, he has been the mainstay of the team, and it is scarcely too much to say that without “Sam” Woods, Somerset could never have for even a brief season escaped from mediocrity.

His first appearance for his county was in 1887 against Warwickshire upon a new and rough wicket at Birmingham, which caused his very fast bowling to create quite a sensation, and Mr. Woods will always remember the game, from the fact that for the first, and probably only, time in his life he failed to score a run in either innings. During his four years at Cambridge he was a perfect terror to Oxonians, and his side proved thrice victorious, the other game being drawn, through rain. The combination of Mr. Woods bowling and Mr. Gregor MacGregor keeping wicket was an exceptional feature for a ’Varsity team, and one that was frequently seen also to great advantage for the Gentlemen against the Players. Mr. Woods, by right of birth, played for Australia against England in a memorable match at Lord’s in 1890, when his side won a fighting match on a sticky wicket, and upon other occasions his compatriots were only too anxious to seek his assistance. Indeed, the range of Mr. Woods’ cricket career is probably the widest of any man. He has played for Australia, for Brighton College and Cambridge, Somerset, the Gentlemen, the South, the West, and in every other sort of match; whilst he has twice visited America and Canada, and toured in the West Indies and South Africa. A winter or two ago, moreover, he was in his native country and taking part in some Australian cricket.

As a footballer, too, Sam Woods has attained the very highest honours. At Brighton College the Association game is played, and it was not long before the young Australian ran into county form at the dribbling code, as it used journalistically to be described in those days.

At Cambridge he turned his energies to Rugby, and speedily became one of the greatest exponents of the modern forward game. He has repeatedly played for England, and captained the English fifteen. And now that he has retired from the active pursuit of the ball, he is recognised as one of the greatest authorities on the game that the Rugby Union possesses.

“Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.” Mr. Woods has always been loyal to this precept, and since he has been playing cricket and football in this country for the last twenty years, he must have afforded very great pleasure and happiness to the crowds of people with whom he has played or before whom he has played, and we hope that none of these will grudge the pains of sending a subscription to emphasise the compliment which it is proposed to pay to this great athlete.

Another great cricketer, Mr. A. C. MacLaren, was on May 10th the recipient of a testimonial from his admirers, which amounted to a sum over £1,200, and as the presentation was made by Mr. A. N. Hornby, the President of Lancashire cricket, on the steps of the pavilion at Old Trafford, during the luncheon interval, it must have been a great occasion for the Manchester crowd to cheer their two great captains.

Lancashire literally came within an ace of being beaten by Leicestershire in the very first week of the season.

It was a match of the genuine old-fashioned interest, where the highest total was 159 and the lowest 112. The highest individual score was 56, and there were seven “ducks eggs,” including two “pairs of specs,” and plenty of catches missed.

Very good sport for everyone, and Lancashire won by just one run.

If there were more games of this description, what good fun cricket would be again!

Whilst Lancashire were going through this thrilling experience at Leicester the great rivals from Yorkshire were trying conclusions with a not very powerful side of the M.C.C. and Ground at Lord’s, who beat the champions by 40 runs. It was an interesting game, and was lost by Yorkshire when they all got out for 132 runs in their first innings, after M.C.C. had made 218.

Mr. Gilbert Jessop showed signs of a busy season by brushing up scores of 63 and 65, and in each innings he was out to Rhodes’ bowling. It is interesting to note how often the great hitter gets out to Rhodes’ bowling; he seems to be hitting him for fours all the time, and then something happens and down goes the wicket or up goes the hand of the umpire, which is just as bad.

In Rothery, Yorkshire have a good man to go in first. He appears to have great defensive powers and can cut with dexterity, and he brought off some fine hook strokes at Lord’s in his scores of 32 and 88. He will be a better bat when he scores more runs in front of the wicket.

Yorkshire with a more pronounced “tail” than they have shown of late years did not start the season with such an appearance of solidity as usual. On the other hand, Surrey, rejuvenated under the inspiriting leadership of Lord Dalmeny, began in fine style against some not very strong opponents, such as Hants, Northamptonshire and Leicestershire, and up to the time of our writing this the Surrey batsmen all seem to be at the top of their game and the Surrey bowlers seem to be unplayable. Against Northamptonshire, Tom Hayward scored 219, as against 136 and 79 by the whole of Northamptonshire, so that he alone beat them by an innings and 4 runs, a great and unusual performance.

On this occasion Mr. J. N. Crawford took nine wickets at a cost of 46 runs, so it looks as if he and Hayward, with a boy or two to field, might beat Northamptonshire comfortably enough on their own. Surrey look like being well in the running for the championship this year, as many of their men, including their captain, seem to improve every day; and Tom Hayward, whose long and invaluable services to his country entitle him to the endearing term of veteran, has been hitting away with all the vigour of a kicking colt.

The Surrey team remind us of the sheep of Bo Peep, and with the warnings of past muddles in our memory we feel inclined to quote to the Surrey Committee the invaluable and slightly altered advice of the poet, “Leave them alone and they’ll come home, and very likely bring the championship behind them.”

Quid.

The Salmon’s Visual Apparatus.

There has been no end of speculation on salmon flies, for every angler has his favourite patterns in which he professes to have implicit faith. After all, these personal predilections, however strong, do not carry us very far. They are merely individual experiences, certainly of interest, but not founded on any scientific principle. Before assuming that the salmon has a liking for a particular colour, it would be more scientific to settle, if possible, whether the salmon is sensitive to colour, to discover the range of his colour perception and the effects of the refraction of water upon objects presented to his eye. Such an enquiry involves the science of anatomy as well as the science of optics; but granted an investigator adequately equipped in both departments and endowed with a little constructive imagination, we see no reason why the problem of the salmon’s vision should not be solved. There is no doubt that the proper way to go about the enquiry is for the observer to examine the salmon’s optical apparatus in comparison with man’s, to project himself in imagination to the bed of the river and applying his knowledge of optics to the refracting effect of water, to try to construct a picture of any object as it would appear to the human eye under such circumstances. When this is done it proves a very illuminative method. The two following papers show a laudable attempt to apply such principles, and if they do not say absolutely the last word on the subject, they are uncommonly suggestive, and make a valuable contribution to the solving of the problem. It is often assumed that the salmon sees a fly merely as a dark silhouette against the sky. That is now shown to be a very rare occurrence. He would seem to be sensitive to colour, and under certain circumstances has a distinct sense of the gaudiness of the lures presented to his observation.

The investigation is not without its bearing on trout-fishing, for it brings home to the angler the conditions under which, in clear water, the trout may behold him and his rod from the bank; it explains, perhaps, why, in certain conditions of air and water, the fish miss the fly, and it throws indirect light on many other mysteries that trouble the angling mind.

Has a fish’s eye any sense of colour? Does it see a worm, a fly, or a minnow in all the varied colours that these creatures present to us? Are these colours blurred by the medium in which the fish lives, or are they equally brilliant below water and above, just as a cathedral window shows its tinted panes no less gorgeous in the evening light than in the noonday brightness? Or is it that the fish is colour-blind, and sees only a monotone, a grey of varied depth. Is the picture one of mere shading and devoid of colour?

These are problems worthy of an answer, especially in regard to such a fish as the salmon, to which our subsequent remarks are directed. Some fishes, we know, are blind, and their eyes are rudimentary; but such fishes live in dark caves and have no need of eyesight. On the other hand, the salmon—a denizen of both salt and fresh water—requires great keenness of vision, not only for the obtaining of its food, but for its protection from the numerous dangers that surround it.

When we ask, “Is the salmon’s eye sensitive to colour, as the human eye is?” we have brought home to us the difficulty of the question. Human perception may, for all we know, be quite different from the perceptions of fishes. The anatomist will say that we associate certain retinal structures in the human eye with the perception of colour; and if the same structures are found in the eye of a fish the conclusion is that the fish is anatomically capable of perception. This, however, although carrying great weight, is by no means conclusive, and must be supplemented from other quarters.

There are various theories of colour perception. Thomas Young developed the theory that three primary sensations of colour, red, green, and violet, can be excited in the eye by light, and that the colour of an object depends on the proportion in which each of these sensations is excited. This may or may not be true, but the experiments of Clerk-Maxwell prove that almost any colour can be matched by a combination of three colours in varying proportions. That is, so far as our perception goes, the colours are matched. Our perception, however, is somewhat imperfect. We can match the yellow of the spectrum, with red and green in combination; but while the pure tone of the spectrum cannot be broken up by the prism, the matching colour of our own creation can be broken up into its elements red and green. Our own colour perception, therefore, though quite adequate to our needs, is by no means perfect. It follows that perfect colour perception is not necessary in a fish. If the fish can discriminate between three separate wave lengths, or even two separate wave lengths, it will have a certain graduated perception, equivalent to what we recognise as colour sense. It would not see a monochrome, but a scale of colour, which, although possibly very incomplete, is still a gradation of colouring. If it has the same retinal structures that are present in the human eye, it has probably the same scale of colour sensation as man. But even if its retinal structures be inferior to those in man, the fish may still be able to discriminate the difference in wave length between, say, the blue and the red, and will have a scale of colour incomplete perhaps, but still infinitely superior to colour-blindness, in the fish significance of that term. Many human beings are partially, few totally, colour-blind. Although nothing of a conclusive kind can be proved by the microscopic anatomist, yet with the help of many circumstances that may be brought forward, a strong case can be made out for colour perception in the salmon. We propose to examine the salmon’s eye, to enquire how far it is adapted to the medium in which the fish lives, what effect that medium has on the transmitted light, and what conclusions may be legitimately drawn therefrom.

The first thing that strikes an observer in looking at the head of a salmon, more especially from above, is, that its outline is a parabolic curve, in which the eyes are placed pretty well back from the snout, but so placed that they can see objects in front, on each side, and backwards till the elliptical form of the body cuts off the view. The eyes can also look downward, but the upward view is cut off to some extent by the eyebrow or bone cavity holding the eye. The eye, although flush with the head, can be rolled to some extent in its socket, as any one who has watched a fish in an aquarium can testify. The salmon, then, has an all-round vision, as well as a downward vision, but directly overhead the range of vision is restricted. As to structure, there is no cornea proper, a clear more or less flat membrane taking its place. The pupil is large in proportion to the crystalline lens; in other words, the eye is so constructed as to admit the maximum of light. The crystalline lens is the means whereby the rays of light are brought to a focus on the retina. In the human eye this lens is bi-convex. The power of a lens is increased by deepening its convexity or by adding to the density of the materials. Refraction or bending of light varies with the density of the medium through which the light passes. Refraction, as a general rule, is proportionate to density, and the amount of refraction depends on the difference in density between the two media. The salmon lives in a medium of great density, and therefore of high refractive index. Hence, to focus the rays of light on the retina the crystalline lens in the salmon’s eye has a very deep convexity, is, indeed, almost a sphere. A spherical lens gives a sharp image, quite as sharp as a bi-convex lens. The salmon’s eye is, therefore, admirably suited to the element that surrounds it. If the fish be taken from the water it is immediately afflicted with short sight. It has been transferred from a dense to a rare medium and the refraction is disturbed, so that the rays come to a focus almost on the posterior side of the lens and form the image there instead of on the retina. To sum up, a salmon can, without moving, see in every direction except behind and directly overhead. It can see clearly with a small amount of light, and its eye is so constructed as to ensure a clear image on the retina, while the fish is in the water. The medium in which the salmon lives is of considerable density, and has a high refractive index. If pure and in small quantity the water is perfectly clear: in large mass it is blue. In a river it is more or less contaminated with mud, peat, or other matter. When the water is very muddy the fish is lost in a fog, and has only touch and smell to guide it, but when the water clears somewhat, although much light is still cut off, the fish will see within a limited area. Of course the colour of all objects will be affected by the hue of the water, white becoming brown, yellow becoming orange, and so on. The experiment described by an American writer of looking at an artificial fly in a tank through a bit of plate glass in its end, gave a very good idea of what the fly looked like through the light-absorbing water; but it did not take into account that the fish can see with less light than we can. Moreover, it altogether failed to realise the position of the fish, whose eye is immersed in the water. The observer, therefore, did not see the object under the same conditions as the fish.

Fig I

Fig II

Fig III

Fig IV

Fig V

We cannot admit that the salmon sees the fly against the bright light of the sky. This does happen at times, but such moments are the exception, not the rule. If the salmon saw the fly against the background of bright sky, the fly would undoubtedly appear black, a dark silhouette on a white ground. In that case it might well be argued that as the fish sees no colour, colour perception, being useless to the fish, is not one of its possessions. But the refraction of the light, owing to the density of the water, entirely alters the case. When a ray of light enters a body of greater density it becomes bent, and the bending always takes place in the dense body towards a line drawn perpendicular to the surface at the point of contact. This bending of the light follows a fixed law. In whatever direction the light strikes the body thesineof the angle of incidence is to thesineof the angle of refraction in a constant ratio. In the refraction from air to water the ratio is very nearly four to three. To explain more fully (see fig. I), a ray of light AC strikes the water at C and is refracted to B. With the centre C describe a circle, cutting the ray of light at A and B, and from these points draw lines perpendicular to the surface of the water AF and BG. The distance CF is to the distance CG as 4 to 3. If CF be 4 ft. then CG is 3 ft. Again, suppose the ray of light comes from a point say, near the surface (see fig. 2), then CF will be almost equal to the radius of the circle. But if CF is 4 ft. then CG is 3 ft., therefore the point G must be a foot from D, however small the angle the ray of light makes with the surface of the water at C. The converse holds true. A ray of light from B will be refracted to A; but if the ray comes from H it will not be able to get out at C, and will be reflected to K. One can always see into a dense body, but it is not always possible to see out. The angle at which one ceases to see out of a dense medium is called the critical angle. Therefore, if a fish in the water looks towards the surface so that its line of vision makes an angle with the surface somewhat less than 45°, say 42°, the fish cannot see out (see fig. 3). Now, if we take into account that when light strikes water at a very small angle with the surface a large part is reflected and, comparatively speaking, very little refracted to the fish’s eye, a fairly reasonable angle for a fish to see out of the water at is 45° or more. What follows? If our salmon is at a depth of 4 ft., then if right above its eye we describe a circle (see fig. 4) 4 ft. in radius, within this circle lie the only points in the whole river from which it is possible for the fish to see the sky. Where does the fish see the banks of the river? The line in which light enters the eye is that in which the object is seen. The banks B will be seen as if at B. All the landscape and sky will be seen within the circle, that is, within the cone whose apex is the fish’s eye, and base the circle on the surface. It may not be out of place to point out that a fish at some distance from the bank in a quiet pool may be seen distinctly by an observer, while the fish may not be able to discern him. The man on the bank sees the fish lit by all the light of the sky above and reflected to his eye. The fish, on the other hand, sees the observer only by the light reflected by his body, much of which light never reaches the fish’s eye at all, being reflected at the surface of the water. Referring to fig. 3, if the fish look at a point X outside the magic circle, it will not see out of the water. The surface acts as a reflector and all the fish can see in this direction is a picture of the bed of the river at Y. We are not considering the point whether a fish can see an object in the water at X, but whether the fish can see the sky there; all the sky that the fish can see is within the circle already mentioned. We have remarked that the fish cannot, while in its normal position, see directly above its head, therefore even in part of this circle the sky will be invisible. Suppose an object is only 3 ft. above the fish, then the area in which the fish can see it against the sky will be a circle only 6 ft. in diameter. It is only when anything drifts within the cone already described that the fish can see it against the sky. This may be illustrated in the following striking manner. Take a glass globe (see fig. 5) and fill it exactly half full of water, paint the part filled by the water any dark colour, leaving a small clear space at AB and Y. Now, if a ray XC falls on the centre C it will be refracted to Y, and then come out into the air without further refraction. If we look through Y towards C we are in the position of the fish in the water. This is true for a small pencil of light. If, however, we look towards C through the opening A, we see out of the whole surface, and can see an object above the surface. If we look from B towards C, our line of vision makes an angle of less than 45° with the surface and we cannot see out of the surface, for it then becomes a mirror and reflects the painted side of the vessel and nothing more. Drop a fly at C, and from B you will not see the fly till it actually enters the water, and you will see only that part of it which is immersed in the water, together with its reflection. The photograph (fig. 6) shows what happens.

Fig. VI.

We think we have made it perfectly clear that it is only in exceptional circumstances that the fish can see its prey against the brightness of the sky. The normal case is only where the background is the bed of the river, the reflection of that bed or a blackness, depending more or less on the mass of water between the fish and the object. The object itself is invariably lighted by rays from the surface, which rays are reflected to the eye of the fish. The amount of light reaching the fish depends on the depth of the object under the surface and on its distance from the fish as well as on the clearness of the water. The fish has, it is true, an eye suitable for a weak light, but if the fish be colour-blind, and the object be of the same tone and relative lighting as the background, how can the fish perceive the object? A pike will rush twenty feet at a fly in a piece of water only three feet deep; he cannot have seen the fly against the sky. That could happen only if the pike were at the bottom and the object not more than five feet from him. Whereas, in the case supposed the fish is near the surface and the fly is seen by reflected light. The form is probably not seen distinctly but the “colour” is certainly attractive. It is conceivable that various states of light, and various states of water favour a particular colour and make it more alluring—at one time black, at another blue, or yellow, or red, or even white. We do not assert that a fish can see colour as we see it, but we hold that a fish can hardly be colour-blind when we consider the conditions under which it lives and moves. For the salmon to see its prey against the brightness of the sky is, as we have shown, exceptional, so that the argument which insists on the uselessness of colour to a creature which sees only dark silhouettes falls to the ground. We conclude that the salmon has a colour perception; whether the scale is like that of human beings we cannot say, but it is enough that the fish recognises one colour as different from another. Further than this we cannot go as yet, but to that conclusion we think we are certainly entitled.

J. Allan Stewart, M.A.

In the case of any of the lower animals an enquiry regarding its power of appreciating different colours is usually conducted by making experiments calculated to show whether or not the animal in question behaves as if it had this power. Whether it actually sees colours as we do, or is even conscious of seeing them at all, is, necessarily, beside the question.

So far as this method of investigation carries us in the case of the salmon, there would seem, from what is mentioned elsewhere, to be trustworthy evidence that it is influenced by differences in the colour of the artificial fly. But there remains a considerable difference of opinion, I understand, as to the value of these practical observations.

That the different colours and light intensities of an object, situated within a definite area of the water surface, are theoretically visible by the fish’s eye, has been clearly shown by Mr. J. Allan Stewart, who has thus answered those who argued that any body on the surface of the water would only be seen as a dark object against the bright sky-ground.

The fact of an animal choosing one part of the spectrum in preference to another can only be accepted as evidence that it recognises some difference. Now, it is only from the facts known regarding human vision that we can draw comparative conclusions. Judging from these facts we find that certain parts of the spectrum affect us differently from other parts, not only by virtue of their colour, but also of their brightness. We find, indeed, that we have two distinct visual sensations dependent on light,colourandbrightness, both influenced by differences in wave-rapidities or wave-lengths. Thus, if we gradually reduce the intensity of the spectrum, the colours all finally cease to be recognisable. In this colourless spectrum the brightest part is slightly to the violet side of the line E (corresponding to green), so that it is quite possible that this part of the spectrum would appear distinct from the rest, even in the case of an animal destitute of all colour perception. (In proof of this it may be mentioned that in a case of total congenital colour-blindness in man, this part of the spectrum is found to be recognised as different from the rest by its brightness alone.)

From arguments which I have adduced elsewhere, there is good evidence in favour of the view that light perception (brightness) is the more primitive of these two sensations, and that it is dependent upon changes induced by light in the retinal pigment epithelium. Also, it is practically proved, so far as the human retina is concerned, that this light impression is communicated to therod-cellsof our retinal neuro-epithelium and so transmitted by conducting channels in retina, nerve and ganglion, to the sight centre in the brain. In the case, therefore, of an animal with a low form of retina, in which the above-named cells are alone represented, any differences in its behaviour on exposure to different parts of the spectrum may be presumed to be explained by the amount of brightness or light effect thereby induced.

But, on the other hand, we now believe that the finer gradations of differences in stimulation due to variations in wave-length which we recognise ascoloursare dependent on the presence of another kind of retinal element calledcone-cells. It is sufficient here merely to say that these cone-cells seem to derive the initial stimulus through some effect produced on the pigment epithelium, and that they also transmit the impulse by conducting paths to the brain in a similar fashion to that above-mentioned.

Accordingly, should the retina of an animal contain, not only pigment and rod-cells, but also cone-cells, we must admit that, so far as we know, it is anatomically and physiologically capable of being influenced by colour in a similar way to the human retina. Now, the retina of the salmon does undoubtedly possess all these anatomical elements—pigment epithelium, fine rod-cells, well-marked cones.

The whole argument for the existence of colour perception in the salmon is, therefore, undoubtedly a strong one.

(1) It behaves as if it sees differences in colour.

(2) It is possible for its eye to get a proper view of an object within a certain area on the surface of the water.

(3) Its retina is of a sufficiently highly developed type to admit of its being differently influenced by different parts of the colour spectrum.

R. Marcus Gunn, F.R.C.S.

The writer of this paper, Mr. Marcus Gunn, is an acknowledged expert as an oculist. His opinion, therefore, on the subject of the salmon’s visual apparatus is of no ordinary value and should be duly pondered. Perhaps we ought to inform our readers that the eyes of the two salmon which he examined with a view to this paper were extracted from two large fresh run fish caught in autumn by the undersigned—one on the Ythan and the other on the Dee. The eyes were extracted immediately after capture and placed, in one case in chloral, in the other in formalin. Mr. Gunn was thus enabled to make sections of both, with the results embodied in his authoritative paper.

W. Murdoch.

A Hundred Years Ago.

Foot Race.—The foot race between Lord Edward Somerset and the Hon. Edward Harbord took place on Friday morning the 16th (May) in Lord’s Cricket Ground. The space to be run was nearly one hundred yards.

Lord Edward had the start of Mr. Harbord, and maintained the advantage for about sixty yards, when Mr. Harbord gained upon and crossed him. In passing they ran against each other, and in consequence, as it was supposed, of therencontre, Lord Edward fell. Mr. Harbord came in first, of course, but a dispute arose respecting the cause of Lord Edward’s fall, which was not decided till after a long conference between three gentlemen to whom the matter in question was referred. Lord Frederick Beauclerk was chosen umpire, and his decision was as follows: That on account of the accident which happened the race was void; but Mr. Harbord is allowed the power of calling upon Lord Edward to run the race over again any time within the next six months, upon giving his lordship six weeks’ notice. The bets were six to four in favour of Mr. Harbord.

Epsom Races.—On Thursday, Friday, and Saturday the metropolis poured forth an incredible number of its inhabitants to Epsom Races, nor was the surrounding country less liberal in contributing to the aggregate of visitors. The gradation of rank in those from London was from the Prince of Wales down to the donkey racer; and from the country, the peer to the ploughboy.

The Derby Stakes on Thursday was won by Sir F. Standish’s Paris, bought by Lord Foley, beating Lord Egremont’s b. c. Trafalgar, Lord Chichester’s gr. c. and several others. Very severe running by the three named; Paris won by half a neck. The £50 Plate on the same day was won by Mr. Ladbroke’s Prospero.

On Friday the Oak’s Stakes was won by Mr. B. Craven, who named the Duke of Queensberry’s b. f. Bronze, which beat Lord Egremont’s b. f. Jerboa, Mr. Lake’s b. f. Rosabella, and Sir F. Standish’s b. f. by Sir Peter Teazle. There were eight others started, but the judge could only place the first four. A young man who was run over by one of the horses during the race for the Oaks on Friday, died on Saturday.

That woodcocks breed in this country is now ascertained beyond any possibility of doubt ... a couple of young ones about half-grown were caught by a countryman in a wood called Shrub Wood, in the parish of Caversham, Oxon, and exhibited as a curiosity to many inhabitants of Reading; a third was seen, but could not be taken. The plumage exactly resembled that of the old birds, and the bill was proportionate to their growth. A gentleman very liberally and handsomely rewarded the countryman for carrying them back, and turning them loose into the wood from which they had been taken, as there was not the least probability of their being raised by any other means.

Extract from a Letter from York, April 30th: “This day a long-depending match against time was decided between Mr. Harrison and Mr. Ray. Four hundred guineas to one hundred that Mr. H. did not drive one of his horses, with himself and another person, in a chase from London to York in forty-eight successive hours. This he performed with apparent ease in forty-six hours and fifty minutes, having started from London at six o’clock on Monday morning, and arrived at York ten minutes before five on Wednesday. He offered to take the same bet, to go from York to London in the same time, and start this day week, with the same horse.”

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