At St. Louis will be letters, perhaps one from you.
Ever yours,A. Gray.
Part of yesterday and last night was down along the Arkansas, the reverse of our journey eight years ago. Country much settled up.
Cambridge, August 26, 1885.
... Charles Wright is dead, at seventy-three and a half; had been suffering of heart-disease, went out to his barn, was missed as the evening drew on, was found dead. So they go, one by one....
The summer is almost gone,—one hardly knows how,—but, then, we have a longer and finer autumn than you have in England.
The five hundred copies which I printed in 1878 are gone. And, as I have to print new copies, I take the opportunity to correct on the stereotype plates when I can,—a great lot of wrong references to volume, page, plates,—that is, such as we have found out. What a bother they are, and how impossible to make correct in the first place, and to keep so through the printer’s hands! Then there are lots of important corrections to make, and new species and genera galore.
So,—in an evil moment, you will say—I set about a supplement to this new issue,—also of the other part. For, as I have now brought out in the two parts all the Gamopetalæ, and as I begin to doubt if I shall hold out to accomplish much more, I thought it best to leave behind at least these in good state. But it is no small job. And this, with the great amount of herbarium work that goes along with it, or beside it, just uses up the summer; for I dare guess it will keep me occupied all September....
The last news of you is a letter from your dear wife to mine,—giving such a pleasant picture of thetwo boys, and of your enjoyment of them. You say you are quite well, and Lady Hooker much the same,—which is comforting. But you are naturally growing older, like myself. I tire sooner than I used to do, and have not so sure a touch nor so good a memory. The daily grind we both find more wearing....
We should like to come over to you once more,—but it seems less and less practicable; unless I become actually unfit for work, and then I shall not be worth seeing....
Your affectionate old friend,A. Gray.
Old, indeed; the president of the Naturæ Curiosorum wrote me on August 3 that I have been one of thecuriousfor fifty years.
Dr. Gray wrote a notice of Charles Wright for the “American Journal of Science,” in which he says that “Charles Wright was born at Wethersfield, Connecticut; graduated at Yale in 1835. Had an early love for botany, which may have taken him to the South as a teacher in Mississippi, whence he went to Texas, joining the early immigration, and occupied himself botanizing and surveying, and then again in teaching. He accompanied various expeditions, and no name is more largely commemorated in the botany of Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona than Charles Wright. It is an acanthaceous genus of this district, of his own discovery, that bears the name of Carlowrightia. Surely no botanist ever better earned such scientific remembrance by entire devotion, acute observation, severe exertion, and perseverance under hardship and privation.” He was engaged later for several years “in his prolific exploration of Cuba.”
“Mr. Wright was a person of low stature and well-knit frame, hardy rather than strong, scrupulously temperate, a man of simple ways, always modest and unpretending, but direct and downright in expression, most amiable, trusty, and religious. He accomplished a great amount of useful and excellent work for botany in the pure and simple love of it; and his memory is held in honorable and grateful remembrance by his surviving associates.”[135]
TO JOHN H. REDFIELD.
Cambridge, November 3, 1885.
My dear Redfield,—I was interested in your Corema Con.
I have a remark to make on the last sentence of it; I would ask, How could the plant have an introduction following the glacial period? And where could it have come from?
Of course my idea is that it existed at the higher north before the glacial period—that is my fad.
But one sees that this is one of a few plants that may be appealed to in behalf of an Atlantis theory,—as coming across the Atlantic, making this Corema a derivation from C. alba, of Portugal, or ofitsancestor. But the Atlantic is thought to be too deep for an Atlantis; and we do not need it much.
What induces me to refer to your paragraph is to ask whether your “following the glacial period,” that is, recent introduction, means in your thought that our species is a direct descendant of Corema alba, which by some chance got wafted across the Atlantic.
That is the most probable notion, next to my theory.
For consider, we know the genus only on these two opposite shores.
Perhaps—so far as I know, there is no more C. alba in the Old World than C. Conradii in the New. And if it were in New England that the former occurs, we could say that the Old World received the genus from the New—via the Gulf Stream.
November 6.
... I start farther back than the retreat of the glaciers. I suppose that the common ancestor of both Coremas was in the high north before the glacial period, and that the two, in their limited but dissociated habitats, are what is left after such vicissitudes!
In that view it does not matter how long New England coast was under water. Our plant and its companions were then further south or west.
Yours ever,A. Gray.
On the approach of Dr. Gray’s seventy-fifth birthday it was suggested among the younger botanists that some tribute of love and respect should be presented to him. Accordingly a letter was sent to all botanists whose addresses could be obtained within the very limited time. A silver vase was decided upon, and designs furnished, which were most happily and beautifully carried out. The description, copied from the “Botanical Gazette,” gives its size and decorations.
“It is about eleven inches high exclusive of the ebony pedestal, which is surrounded by a hoop of hammered silver, bearing the inscription ‘1810, Novembereighteenth, 1885—Asa Gray—in token of the universal esteem of American Botanists.’
“The decoration of one side is Graya polygaloides, surrounded by Aquilegia Canadensis, Centaurea Americana, Jeffersonia diphylla, Rudbeckia speciosa, and Mitchella repens. On the other Shortia galacifolia, Lilium Grayi, Aster Bigelovii, Solidago serotina, and Epigæa repens. The lower part of the handles runs into a cluster of Dionæa leaves, which clasps the body of the vase, and their upper parts are covered with Notholæna Grayi. Adlumia cirrhosa trails over the whole background. The entire surface is oxidized, which gives greater relief to the decorations.”
Greetings in the form of cards and letters, sent by those who gave the vase, were placed on a silver salver accompanying the gift, with the inscription, “Bearing the greetings of one hundred and eighty botanists of North America to Asa Gray on his seventy-fifth birthday, November 18th, 1885.”
Dr. Gray was exceedingly touched and delighted, as well as overwhelmed with surprise. And the day, with pleasant calls and congratulations from friends and neighbors, gifts of flowers with warm and kindly notes, was made a memorable one indeed.
His response to the senders of the vase was printed and sent to all who could be reached.
Herbarium of Harvard University,Cambridge, Mass., November 19, 1885.
To J. C. Arthur, C. R. Barnes, J. M. Coulter, Committee, and to thenumerous Botanical Brotherhood represented by them:
As I am quite unable to convey to you in words any adequate idea of the gratification I received on the morning of the 18th inst., from the wealth of congratulationsand expressions of esteem and affection, which welcomed my seventy-fifth birthday, I can do no more than render to each and all my heartiest thanks. Among fellow-botanists, more pleasantly connected than in any other pursuit by mutual giving and receiving, some recognition of a rather uncommon anniversary might naturally be expected. But this full flow of benediction, from the whole length and breadth of the land whose flora is a common study and a common delight, was as unexpected as it is touching and memorable. Equally so is the exquisite vase which accompanied the messages of congratulation and is to commemorate them, and upon which not a few of the flowers associated with may name or with my special studies are so deftly wrought by art, that of them one may almost say, “The art itself is nature.”
The gift is gratefully received, and it will preserve the memory to those who come after us of a day made by you, dear brethren and sisters, a very happy one to
Yours affectionately,Asa Gray.
TO S. M. J.
November 19, 1885.
We meant our day to have been most quiet, and I completely and J. largely were taken by surprise. So we had to send for two or three neighbors, especially to see the vase.
J. will bring it in to you, no doubt, for she is very proud of it. The lines I have already written have taken all the strength out of my right arm, but not all the love out of my heart, of which a good share is yours.
TO W. M. CANBY.
Cambridge, November 19, 1885.
My dear Canby,—Many thanks for your felicitations. There is much I want to write, and to say what a surprise we had, and how perfect the vase is. But my arm is worn out with note-writing.
Yours affectionately,Asa Gray.
Two poems and a poetical epigram came among the rest!
TO SIR EDWARD FRY.
Cambridge, January 31, 1886.
My dear Friend,—I am a laggard correspondent, I fear. Here are your two most friendly and interesting letters, as far back as November, one of which crossed, and one which announced, the reception of my long letter which gave a sketch of our journeyings which began almost a year ago. For we are now already in the middle of another winter. I doubt if we shall flee from this one, although it has shown some severity. In the first place, we may thankfully say that neither Mrs. Gray nor I can say that we require it; and I cannot bear to lose the time: I seem to need the more of this as the stock diminishes; for, somehow, I cannot get as much done in a day as I used to do. Moreover, it is no good running away from winter unless you can go far. For our southern borders have been unusually wintry, and they want our guards and preparations against cold.... We were glad enough to get back to our well and equably warmed house, where, indeed, we are most comfortable.
You called my attention, I believe, to Professor Allen’s book on the “Development of ChristianDoctrine.” I take shame to myself that I did not procure and read it. But I know its lines, and read some part of it before it was in the book, and, of course, I like it much.
I am going, in a few days, to send you a little book, with similar bearings, which I read in the articles of which it is made up. I think you will find much of it interesting.
Bishop Temple’s “Bampton Lectures” seemed to me very good as far as it went, but hardly came up to expectation.
I saw something of Canon Farrar when here. He pleased well, and I think was well pleased; and personally he was very pleasing and lovable.
I wish more of the English Churchmen would visit us, and give more time especially to the study of their own branch of the church in the United States,—a very thriving one. I think they might learn much that would be helpful and hopeful,—difficult as it may be to apply the experience and the ways of one country to another.
I have seen, but not read, Mr. Forbes’s “Travels in Eastern Archipelago.” Those who have read it here say it is very interesting. We have a great lot of his dried plants from Sumatra and Java, unnamed, which at odd hours I am arranging for the herbarium. I hope that in his new journey he will manage to make better specimens. But, as he is primarily an entomologist, this can hardly be expected. But, if I rightly understand, he goes out now with a good backing and probably better conveniences for collecting than he could have had before.
We have been, and still are, much interested in English politics and election excitements. You arehaving very anxious times, indeed. What a pity that some one party, that is, one of the two great parties, is not strong enough, and homogeneous enough, to command the situation for the time being, and to deal independently of Parnell, or, indeed, of Chamberlain....
We Americans are wonderfully peaceful—our only real questions now pending are financial, and those not yet treated as they ought to be, on party lines. We have an awful silver craze; but we hope to arrest it before it comes to the worst, though sense and argument are at present ineffectual.
We have a comfortable trust in the principle that “Providence specially protects from harm the drunken, the crazy, and the United States of America.”
I see our friend Professor Thayer now and then. He is well and flourishing. Mrs. Gray and I are very well indeed, and we send our most cordial good wishes to you all.
Very sincerely yours,Asa Gray.
TO J. D. HOOKER.
Cambridge, March 9, 1886.
When I read A. de Candolle’s notice of Boissier, I thought it was “charming.” Anyhow, it brought back to me the charming memory of a very lovable man. I dare say neither De Candolle nor I has done justice to Boissier’s work. I could only touch and go,—make a picture that would just sketch the kind of man he was.
... Yes, I have got on Ranunculaceæ, and have done up to and through Ranunculus, minus the Batrachium set, of which happily we have few in NorthAmerica, that we know of. But having done some while ago the Gamopetalæ of Pringle’s interesting North Mexican collection, I am now switched off to the same in a hurried collection made by Dr. Palmer, in an unvisited part of Chihuahua, in which very much is new. One after another those Mocino[136]and Sessé plants turn up. Also those of Wislizenus, whom the Mexicans for a time interned on the flanks of the Sierra Madre.
We are bound to know the botany of the parts of Mexico on our frontier, and so must even do the work. Pringle goes back there directly, with increased facilities, and will give special attention to the points of territory which I regard as most hopeful.
Trelease,[137]our most hopeful young botanist,—established at St. Louis,—is here for a part of the winter, to edit a collection of the scattered botanical publications of Engelmann which Shaw pays for—or at least pays for to a large extent. He would have the plates and figures, and that will double the cost and the sum Shaw offered to provide. We may have to sell some of the edition in order to recoup the charges....
Yes, you hit a blot. I can see to all my own books, such as the “Synoptical Flora.” But, somehow, I cannot restrain the publishers from altering the date of their title-pages when they print off a new issue from the stereotype plates....
What do I call an alpine plant? Why, one that has its habitat above the limit of trees—mainly—though it may run down lower along streams. But in a dry region, where forest has no fair chance, we might need to mend the definition.
Upon your paper, I got a few notes—offhand, by references.
I premise that in New England we have two places where several alpine plants are stranded at lower levels than they ought, peculiar conditions of configuration and shelter having preserved them, while the exposed higher grounds have lost them. They are Willoughby Mountain and the Notch of Mt. Mansfield, Vermont.
As to your III. Of the whole list of alpine plants of Oregon and northward and not of California, I can put my hand upon only two that are yet known in California, viz., Armania verna and Vaccinium cæspitosum, which comes in its var. arbuscula only.
There is a great lack of alpine arctic plants in California. First, because there is not much place for them now; secondly, because there have been such terrible and vast volcanic deposits—lava and ashes—that they must have been all killed out.
But for all these matters we shall one of these days have fuller and surer data—after my day. Well, I must stop....
TO A. DE CANDOLLE.
Cambridge, June 29, 1886.
My dear De Candolle,—Your letter and inclosure of the 15th inst. gave me much pleasure. Not only had I a natural curiosity to know more ofCoulter,[138]but also I find it important to know his routes in Mexico and California.
At Los Angeles, last year, I fell in with one of the “old settlers” who knew him, and who accompanied him on that expedition into the Arizona desert on the lower Colorado. Mr. Ball will ascertain and let me know other particulars of the man, and the date of his death, which probably occurred not long after that last letter to you, from Paris.
In various ways I am convinced that I am on the verge of superannuation. Still I work on; and now, dividing the orders with Mr. Watson (who, though not young, is eight or ten years my junior), we are working away at the Polypetalæ of the “Synoptical Flora of North America,” with considerable heat and hope. But it is slow work!
Tuckerman, our lichenologist, has gone before us! I shall in a few days send you a copy of the memorial of him which I contributed to the Council report of the American Academy of Sciences and am having reprinted in the “American Journal of Science” for July.
My wife is fairly well.... She is always busy; and we both enjoy life with a zest, being in all respects very happily situated, particularly in having plenty to do.
Let us hope that you may still be able to give us better accounts of Madame de Candolle and of yourself; and believe me to be always,
Yours affectionately,Asa Gray.
TO J. D. DANA.
Botanic Garden, Cambridge, Mass., September 20, 1886.
My dear Dana,—Well! “the books” have just come.
I suppose you are in no hurry for notices of them, and would prefer short ones....
I rather like to do such things incog., as in the “Nation,” in which I sometimes take a shot at this or that.
I and wife are well,—very.
Had a week in Old Oneida, which still looks natural. I am grinding away at “Flora,” and probably shall be found so doing when I am called for.
Very well! I have a most comfortable and happy old age. Wishing you the same,
Yours ever,A. Gray.
TO J. D. HOOKER.
Cambridge, September 15, 1886.
... Has Ball returned to England? If so, please tell him that he promised to look up in Dublin, and give from his own knowledge, some details of Coulter’s life. Alphonse de Candolle has sent me copies of what letters he has, and they enable me to trace Coulter’s movements and whereabouts, which is helpful.
Old Goldie,[139]your father’s correspondent lang syne, died only this summer, very old.
My last bit of work was upon our Portulacaceæ for my “Flora.” The genera are thin. It is as much as one can do to keep up Montia (though if that failsClaytonia should go to it rather than the contrary, by right,—but convenience would call for the contrary), also Spraguea.
I have been having a holiday. A fortnight ago my wife and I set out; made a visit to my natal soil, in the centre of the State of New York, in Oneida County; had a gathering of the surviving members—most of them—of the family, of which I am the senior,—two widowed sisters (one a sister-in-law), there resident, and an older one who came with her husband from Michigan; my oldest brother and family, who have the paternal homestead; the unmarried sister, who passes all her winters with us; children and some grandchildren. One brother, a lawyer in New York, and residing near by in New Jersey, with wife and two boys, did not come. Another absent nephew is in California, well settled there.
It is a pretty country, the upper valley of the Mohawk and of tributary streams from the south, which interlock with tributaries of the Susquehanna, at a height of 1,000 to 1,500 feet above tide-water, beautiful rolling hills and valleys, fertile and well cultivated, more like much of rural England than anything else you saw over here. We wished you and Lady Hooker could have been with us in our drives. The summer air is just delightful, soft and fresh.
On our return we struck off and visited my brother Joe and family, in the environs of New York, and so came home much refreshed—though, indeed, I hardly felt the need of a holiday.
Sargent has just started for a trip to the southern part of the mountains of North Carolina,—a region we are fond of and long to show you.
Now I am going to pitch into Malvaceæ. I amquite alone. Goodale took off Sereno Watson with him, on a slow steamer to Amsterdam; will run for a fortnight or so over nearer parts of the Continent, and Watson will look in at Kew. He was much worn down, and the rest and change will be good for him. I have filled my sheet with this gossip.
It was during this visit that Dr. Gray, when the family gathered one morning for breakfast, had disappeared. He came in smiling when the meal was half over, and in answer to the anxious question where he had been, said, “Oh, I have been to say to Mrs. Rogers that I forgave her for getting above me in the spelling-class.”
Cambridge, October 31, 1886.
Dear Hooker,—Thanks for a nice long letter from Bournemouth, September 27. Thanks, too, for the hope—though rather dim—that you and wife may come over to us in the spring. Before winter is over we must arrange some programme; for we four must meet again somehow and somewhere, while in the land of the living. But how is a problem.
... I see how difficult it must be for you to get away as far as to us. Our obstacle to any amount of strolling away is mainly the fear that if I interrupt my steady work on the “Flora of North America,” I may not get back to it again, or have the present zeal and ability for prosecuting it.
On the other hand, if I and my wife do not get some playdays now, while we can enjoy them, the time will soon come when we shall have to say that we have no pleasure in them. Therefore we are in sore straits.... If really you cannot come, then we willbrave out the winter here, as we did last winter and are none the worse; then we will seriously consider whether Mahomet shall go to the mountain, which will not come to Mahomet.
I grind away at “Flora,” but, like the mills of the gods, I grind slowly, as becomes my age,—moreover, to continue the likeness, I grind too “exceedingly fine,” being too finical for speed, pottering over so many things that need looking into, and which I have not the discretion to let alone. Consequently the grist of each day’s work is pitiably small in proportion to the labor expended on it. I am now at Malvaceæ, which I once enjoyed setting to rights, and of which the North American species have got badly muddled since I had to do with them.
If Sereno Watson—who should be back again in twenty days—will only go on with the Cruciferæ, which he has meddled with a deal, and then do the Caryophyllaceæ, which are in like case, we may by March 1st have all done up to the Leguminosæ.
We learn to-day, through a pamphlet sent by Miss Horner, that Bunbury is dead—in June last....
Your “Primer”—new edition—has not come yet. Do not forget it. And then, as my manner is, I will see if I can find fault with it. Same with Bentham’s “Hand-book,” new edition....
I do not wonder that you are happy and contented. We should so like to see father, mother, and children in their encampment at Sunningdale. May plenty of sunshine be theirs!
Ball has sent me early sheets of his book. I must find time to go through its pages.
The L.’s abroad, except the two girls (who are to winter at San Remo) are now en voyage homeward.William, their father, has been painted by Holl. He is a good subject. Saw your sister B. (and kind Lombe); she writes a charming letter to my wife; seems to hold her own wonderfully.
Cambridge, November 22, 1886.
Well, I have got safely through my seventy-sixth birthday, which gives a sort of assurance. I have always observed that if I live to November 18, I live the year round!
You are working at Euphorbs, etc.; I at Malvaceæ, in which I find a good deal to do for the species, and something for the betterment of genera....
TO SIR EDWARD FRY.
Cambridge, November 13, 1886.
My good Friend,—Let me turn for a moment to our quarter-millennial celebration of the foundation of our university, though you in Europe may count our antiquity as very modern. It was an affair of three days, culminating on Monday last, and was altogether very pleasant. You will like to know that among the honorary degrees given, was one to Professor Allen, of the Episcopal Theological School here, in recognition of the merits of his “Continuity of Religious Thought,” which work, I am glad to remember, you much liked. The Mother Cambridge sent to us the master of St. John’s, Dr. Taylor, and Professor Creighton, of Immanuel College, to which the founders and first professors of Harvard belonged. Mrs. Creighton came with him, and we found them pleasant people. I suppose Lowell’s oration, Holmes’s poem, and the doings in general will be in print before very long, and I shall not forget to send you a copy.
We have been away from Cambridge very little this last summer and autumn, only on very short visits, or one rather longer one to my birthplace in the central portion of New York, where we had a family gathering.
There is a lull just now in your political situation. I certainly at your last election should have gone against Gladstone! How so many of my countrymen—I mean thoughtful people—approve of homerule, i.e., of semi-secession, I hardly understand. But local government as to local affairs is our strength, and is what we are brought up to. Also, our safety is in that the land—the agricultural land—is so largely owned by the tiller....
We should like to see old friends in England once more in the flesh, and the feeling grows so that I may feign a scientific necessity, and we may, if we live and thrive, cross over to you next summer. At least we dream of it, though it may never come to pass.
TO J. D. HOOKER.
Cambridge, January 18, 1887.
My dear Hooker,—Glad to see the “Botanical Magazine” figure of Nymphæa flava †.6917.
There is something not quite right in the history as you give it. Leitner was the botanist who showed the plant to Audubon, and gave it the name which Audubon cites, and he died—was killed by the Florida Indians—“half a century ago.” He was the “a naturalist” you refer to.
The whole history and the mode of growth, stolons, etc., has been repeatedly published here in the journals, etc. See Watson’s “Index” Supplement, etc. Not that this is any matter, even about poor Leitner.
Cambridge, January 25, 1887.
... Yes, it has seemed to me clear that you could not cross the Atlantic at present. And so it logically follows that we must.
I had been coming to this conclusion, and only the day before your letter arrived my good wife and I had put our heads together and concluded that, if nothing occurred meanwhile to prevent, we would cross over, say in April. It is time we set about it, if we are ever to do it; and several things seem to indicate that this is a more favorable time than we can expect later.
As this will be “positively Dr. Gray’s last appearance on your shores,” we must make the most of it. Shall we have a Continental jaunt together, or shall you be too much tied to home?
Meanwhile I must work hard and steadily....
As you “weed out” surplus of herbarium Kew, keep them for me. When I come I will take care of them. It is (as usual) good of you to think of us. You have done so for so long a time that it is only “second nature”—very good nature too.
Williamson, plant-fossil, long ago begged us to come to British Association at Manchester, and be his guests. If I do, what think you of my preparing a paper for Botanical Section; and will you join me in it? two venerables—angliceold fogies—on Nomenclature and Citations.
There are some points I should like to argue out and explain; to put on record, though it may be of no use. Not that one wants to get up a discussion in such a body—that would never do....
Cambridge, February 22.
Thank you for sending me your edition of Bentham’s “Handbook,” which looks well in its more condensed shape, and in which I dare say you have put a good deal of conscientious work. But it seems to me that Reeve & Company give it poor type and paper.
I am putting through a rehash of my “Lessons in Botany,”[140]more condensed, yet fuller, and with a new name. This, with the companion book, which I must live to do over,Deo favente, is the principal thing for bread, and I need it for an endowment to keep up the herbarium here, after my time.
Well,—don’t speak of it aloud,—we have secured our passages for April 7, and if I can get present work off my hands in time, we may be on your soil soon after Easter.
You may imagine me very busy, indeed.
Yours affectionately,A. Gray.
Dr. Gray, with Mrs. Gray, landed in England, April 18, and went from Liverpool to stay at Sunningdale with Sir Joseph and Lady Hooker, where a quiet, restful week was most pleasantly passed. He went to London the first of May for a few days, meeting again old friends, dining with them, and dropping in for calls, “to report himself,” as he said. He did a little work at Kew, going back and forth; then crossed to Paris, finding at the Jardin des Plantes what he had especially wanted to see, Lamarck’s herbarium, which had been acquired since he was last there. It completed satisfactorily his studies in Asters, as he had now seen everything of the genus to be found in herbaria of importance.
A journey in Normandy with Sir J. D. Hooker had been planned for May, but Sir Joseph was unable to leave England, so Dr. Gray arranged to go to Vienna. He greatly enjoyed the railroad journey from Bâle, in May, the fruit-trees white with blossoms about Lake Zurich, then the wilder mountain scenery, and Salzburg, all bringing back the memories of his first European journey forty-eight years before.
TO A. DE CANDOLLE.
Herbarium, Kew, April 23, 1887.
My dear De Candolle,—You will be a little surprised at the sudden transfer of Mrs. Gray and myself to England; but I wanted a vacation and one more bit of pleasant travel with Mrs. Gray while we are both alive and capable of enjoying it. Whether I shall look in upon you at Geneva is doubtful, but it may be, even for a moment. We never expect to have repeated the pleasant week at Geneva of the spring of 1881.
We expect to go to Paris early in May, but subsequent movements are uncertain.
Always, dear De Candolle, affectionately yours,
Asa Gray.
TO ——.
May 15, 1887.
I think the journey from Bâle, in Switzerland, to Salzburg was wonderfully fine and a great success, and that May is a good time to do it, while there is plenty of snow in the mountains. Lake Wallenstadt showed to great advantage. And I had no idea that the pass of the Arlberg, from Feldkirk to Innspruck, was so high or so very fine. I believe it is the highestrailway pass across the Alps. I was quite unprepared (which was all the better) for the exquisite and wild, and in parts grand, scenery of the next day’s journey through the heart of Lower Tyrol and the Salzburg Salzkammergut, by a slower train, a roundabout road making more than twice the direct distance from Innspruck to Salzburg, through the Zillerthal and over a fairly high pass on to the upper part of the Salzach, and down it through some wild cañons into the plain, from nineA.M.till five, of choicest scenery. The great castle, so picturesquely placed in the Lichtenstein (plain), is Schloss-Werden. Rainy day at Salzburg, or should have had noble views. If the weather had been good, I think we would have driven from Salzburg to Ischl, and then come by the Traunsee to Linz. But after all, from my remembrance, it would hardly have come up to what we had already seen. And though it was a rainy day for the Danube, we did see everything pretty well, and most comfortably, in the ladies’ cabin of the steamer, with windows all round the three sides, and most of the time the whole to ourselves, or with only one quiet lady, who evidently cared nothing for the views. J. says I was bobbing all the time from one side to the other. I was looking out for the views which I had when going up the Danube forty-eight years ago. J. thinks it not equal to the Rhine, but there is rather more of it, or scattered over more space.
TO SIR J. D. HOOKER.
Hôtel Beau Rivage, Geneva, May 24, 1887.
I do believe we shall have to return to America to thaw out. Here we arrive in Geneva this morning, full of memories of delightful summer, ten days earlierthan this in 1881, to find snow down even to foothills of the Jura and on Mont Salève; it came two days ago, and the air, though clear, is very chilly, which is not to my liking.
Vienna was much better, excepting our last day, which had a cold and high wind, and our night journey to Munich was cold and comfortless, in spite of the best appliances.
I have nothing new to tell you of Vienna, where we made out our full week, quite enjoyingly.
Besides the normal sight-seeing, and drives around this truly magnificent city, we went one afternoon to the astronomical observatory out at Wahring (Weiss and wife being old acquaintances), and next day they went with us to the Prater. Körner and daughter took us to Schönbrunn. I went with these to a meeting of the Academy of Sciences; had a good turn around the new and immense, but mostly yet unarranged, Natural History Museum with Hauer, the director, and Steindachner, the zoölogical curator; had a look at the Hofherbarium on the upper floor, now under charge of a young man, Beck (and looked up some of Haenke’s things there). How different from forty-eight years ago, when Endlicher was curator, Fenzl, assistant, and the former took me out to the Botanic Garden to call on old Jacquin, etc. Steindachner, who was with Agassiz for a year or two at Cambridge, would have us come to his house for our last evening; Süss[141]and frau to meet us,—charming couple; would have been lots more, but we cut it short; had a jolly, pleasant evening. Körner was prevented from coming. He has been asked to take Eichler’s[142]placeat Berlin; a botanic garden man and good teacher. Weisner’s physiological laboratory I had an hour or two in, and saw all his gimcracks; some nice ones. Saturday evening we went by rail to Salzburg (at day-dawn); Munich at sunrise, not stopping; on to Ulm soon after tenA.M.Bad weather kept Mrs. Gray indoors all day Sunday, though I ran about. Monday morning she had with me a good look over Ulm minster, inside and out; the upper part of the spire is rebuilding, and is to be carried up with the true taper, according to the original plan. That sight-seeing done, we came yesterday to, and across, the Lake Constance, to Zurich, for late afternoon and evening, and on to Geneva overnight.
I passed an hour this morning with De Candolle,—aged, but fairly cheerful,—and he begged me to breakfast with him to-morrow. Müller Argoviensis was not at his post.
What a season you have had, and what a fiasco Normandy would have been, as you say. Why, the apple blossoms are only now out here. We did have comfortable, warm and dry weather at Vienna, and the Belvidere gallery is most enjoyable. Berlin we don’t in the least care for; but our faces are rather set for Amsterdam, Antwerp, etc. If you have a call to write me soon after getting this, for a day or two you might venture Amsterdam, poste restante; but later the old address, to Hôtel St. Romain, Rue San Roque, would be the thing until further notice; add “To be kept till called for.”
I doubt if we shall be back in England before the 17th or 18th, and then Mrs. Gray will have to join her luggage, left somewhere in the neighborhood of Charing Cross, where it now reposes, and we shall have to hasten down to Cambridge....
We have had an enjoyable time; and, I suppose, shall by day after to-morrow set off Rhine-wards, stopping, perhaps, a day at Strasburg, and by the Low Countries back to Paris, probably not to be again on this side of the Channel, unless you and Lady H. will take a trip to Normandy with us, either in August or September.
I hope you will soon have done with Phyllanthus, and that you will not hesitate to restore as many old genera as your own judgment dictates. Your experience and present insight must exceed Bentham’s. And what you must needs indicate, the next man will take up, and probably cackle over.
My wife joins in love to yours and you; will be likely to write when she can.
From Geneva the old journey of 1850 was nearly repeated, and Dr. Gray came down the Rhine, by rail this time, to Brussels, Amsterdam, the Hague, back to Antwerp and Brussels, and so to Paris. Besides meeting old friends, the object of the journey, he said, was to have one more good look at picture-galleries and churches and cathedrals; and great was his enjoyment of them, unwearied his wanderings about the places where he stopped. The new galleries at Amsterdam and Brussels, and their superb collections, delighted him, and the grand music of the cathedrals and their noble interiors seemed a new source of pleasure.
He missed his old friends in Paris; Decaisne was gone, and Lavallée, etc. He went to a meeting at the Institute, and saw Chevreuil, who had passed his hundredth birthday, but spoke a few words with life and animation. There were some excursions in the neighborhood, and some work in the herbarium, where he received every kind attention.
TO ——,
Paris, June, 1887.
... The views on the garden and park side of the Palace of Fontainebleau, and over the carp pond, which came up to the walls, were very pretty; partly clipped and trimmed trees made into green walls, partly more English.
... At half past one, in an open light carriage with a canopy overhead, keeping off the hot sun, and letting through the fresh air, we were off for our two hours’ drive through the famous forest. The main avenues, long and straight, and formal; but the forest was voted very handsome. A change came when we reached the ruin of the hermitage of Franchard, and the extensive region of rocks and dells. We were taken through by an old guide, who, with much pride, paraded the little and queer English he had picked up, and showed off all the sights, the most important to him being those in which bits of rock could be likened to a lion’s head, a beef’s tongue, a turtle, and the like. First and foremost, in a sort of over-arched grotto, was “La roche qui pleure,” a great disappointment! A sort of crack or joint between two layers of the rock exuded a little moisture in one spot;voilà tout. We shed about as many tears in our laughter at the sight; more indeed, for we could see not a drop. I dare say at some seasons there may be a little drip. But the dells among the rocks were fine, and the stories of the boar hunts, and all that, by the kings and queens and courtiers, could be made fairly real on the spot, and the famous points of view, one of Maria Theresa, one of Eugénie, were effective. A drive back by another route took us through some older forest; occasionally a really oldtree, and one truly old and large linden. There may be parts in which there are trees as large and venerable as in old English parks, but we saw only this one old tree. The forest is very large, and we had to be content with this one drive. We might have had one hour more of it, for we had all that to wait for our train back to Paris, very pleasant as it cooled at evening.
June 9, I at work at Jardin des Plantes, but back at noon, and at half past twelve we drive across Paris to the Gare de Sceaux and out to Vilmorin’s. At Massy, where we leave the railway, Henry de Vilmorin awaited us, with his nice carriage, and took us to the charming place at Verrières, so full to us of recollections. It is prettier than ever, the house enlarged and so full of very nice things. V. and I were most of the time in the grounds, looking at plants, back to afternoon tea and cake, which we much enjoyed, being hungry, and to accommodate us they put forward the dinner hour to six. Besides the children and English governess, we had at dinner a very interesting abbé, with a charming, intellectual face, and a manner to match—a Monsignor; for he takes that title as a member of the Pope’s household or personal staff. He had passed a portion of his life at Moscow, as the curé of a French Catholic church there, had seen a good deal of the Roman Catholic bishop of Chicago and other American brothers; was a good deal interested in America, and after the ice was broken and he found he could understand J.’s French, and even mine, which amused as well as instructed him, we had much chat. We had to break off. Vilmorin drove us back a few miles to Fontenay-la-Rose, to take a particular train, and so we were at ourquarters in Rue St. Roche before dark. That need not mean very early, for the days here are wonderfully protracted.
He crossed to England June 14, passed a day or two in London, and then went to the Camp, quite glorious with the rhododendrons in blossom; and with Sir Joseph and Lady Hooker, on the 18th, went to Cambridge, where they were the guests of Mrs. Darwin. A delightful Sunday was spent in meeting old friends, and on Monday were all the ceremonies, new and strange, of conferring of degrees. The great sensation of the day was the presence of the Lord Mayor with all his train; he also was to have a degree.... No one can surpass Dr. Sandys in the felicity with which he presents the distinguished men whom Cambridge University honors with its highest degrees. In his presentation of Dr. Gray, he said (we translate from the exquisite Latin):
“And now we are glad to come to the Harvard professor of Natural History, facile princeps of transatlantic botanists. Within the period of fifty years, how many books has he written about his fairest science; how rich in learning, how admirable in style! How many times has he crossed the ocean that he might more carefully study European herbaria, and better know the leading men in his own department! In examining, reviewing and sometimes gracefully correcting the labors of others, what a shrewd, honest and urbane critic has he proved himself to be! How cheerfully, many years ago, among his own western countrymen was he the first of all to greet the rising sun of our own Darwin, believing his theory of the origin of various forms of life demanded some FirstCause, and was in harmony with a faith in a Deity who has created and governs all things! God grant that it may be allowed such a man at length to carry to a happy completion that great work, which he long ago began, of more accurately describing the flora of North America! Meanwhile, this man who has so long adorned his fair science by his labors and his life, even unto a hoary age, ‘bearing,’ as our poet says, ‘the white blossom of a blameless life,’ him, I say, we gladly crown, at least with these flowerets of praise, with this corolla of honor (his saltem laudis flosculis, hac saltem honoris corolla, libenter coronamus). For many, many years may Asa Gray, the venerable priest of Flora, render more illustrious this academic crown.”
England was in a stir with the Queen’s Jubilee; it was impossible to be in London on the twenty-first, as Dr. Gray must get to Oxford to receive his degree on the twenty-second, and a good part of the day was used in crossing country by various railroads; but the sight of the crowds, the decorations, the bands everywhere, was very interesting, and the enthusiasm contagious. Oxford had its gay share of illumination in the evening, and the next day Dr. Gray received his degree with several others, among them his old Cambridge acquaintance, Story, the sculptor.
TO ——.
Blachford, Sunday, July 2.
... I am to add some supplementary notes.
At the Cambridge University lunch, I had Mrs. Jebb assigned to me to take in. Oscar Browning took the seat on my right. Opposite was a man I wasglad to see, Lord Acton,—middle-aged, of high scholarship and admirable taste, who fought a long and losing battle against the superstitious tendencies of his (Roman Catholic) church; and after lunch I had a pleasant conversation with him; was glad to find he was one of the new D. C. L. crew at Oxford, where I again saw something of him. He has been in the United States when only a baronet.
At the Oxford Christ Church dinner I was placed at the high table, only two away from the Dean’s left, the two Dr. Jellett, provost of Trinity College, Dublin (who was doctored), and the bishop of Gibraltar. On my left was Talbot, the warden of Keble College (the very high church one), and I know little of what I ate or drank, for we had a steady stream of conversation on high topics, treated with immense frankness on both sides. Dr. Jellett made the return-thanks speech for all four of the new-made Doctors present,—himself, Story, Dr. Wright, Arabic professor at Cambridge, and myself, a speech full of Irish humor. That was arranged to be all. But the lower tables somehow knew by instinct what Story wanted, and called him out. He made a rather funny speech. Then Liddon had to move thanks to the president of the feast, the Dean (Liddell), and a capital speech he made, even to my apprehension. I saw that there was a good deal between the lines in what he was saying, but did not know the half of it till I was told afterwards. Paget, my host, was opposite me. Prestwich, whom I had not before got sight of, was next him. It was a long affair, but very pleasant to me.
Next morning was the call on Professor Bartholomew Price and wife, in a charming old house, meeting Tylor and Maspero; then we went to the Museum,giving our time there to the new well-contrived Pitt-River Museum of Ethnology; then walked to Acland’s and made a long call on his daughter, who seemed pleased, and we certainly were to see her again, and looking well, though a sufferer and invalid. The dinner at Balfour’s, J. will describe.
Friday, at ten o’clock, the Hookers called with a carriage, and we drove to Nuneham, seven miles, where Colonel Harcourt, older brother of Sir William Harcourt, had invited us to see the place and lunch. It is one of the principal seats of the Harcourt family,—not the oldest, which is on the Thames much higher up—and is in view from the railway to London, a handsome but externally rather plain pile, and so full of remarkable things. As soon as we arrived we were shown through most of the house by Colonel H., and some of the historical curiosities were brought out.... There is an unparalleled gallery of original portraits of British poets, mostly given by themselves, almost all of them....
The “omnibus” had been ordered, and we drove through the park, into the arboretum, and through it by winding roads were landed at the conservatory and gardens, the dairy, the ornamental grounds, filled with statues, etc., inscriptions in verse and prose set up by the wits of the times of George II. and III. In the house we were shown some of the letters, of which there is a vast quantity, now being sorted and arranged in volumes and indexed. One volume is of those of George III., beginning with those when a small boy, and badly spelled, ending with some when an old man and insane. Then a walk along the terrace and the side commanding the fine views, from some points Oxford dimly seen in the distance; then the lunch.
Our carriage was announced, and we took leave, a shorter way through the park being pointed out. Got back to Oxford just in time to take leave of H. (her husband out) and take a fly to train, and so to London; separated from the Hookers, who had to take a slip car, to be dropped at Reading. We went straight to Paddington without stop, and thence in a cab to the Deanery, where our dear good friends awaited us.
Saturday afternoon, we were all going with the Churches to the Archbishop of Canterbury’s garden party at Lambeth Palace, when, at breakfast, Mrs. C. got an invitation from Mrs. Gladstone to hers, at Dollys Hill, up near Harrow, and the question of dividing forces came up. It was settled, as I wished, by Mrs. C., Fred, and I going by underground to the Gladstones, while J. and the Misses C. went by carriage to Lambeth. Mrs. Gladstone sent her carriage down to the station, a mile off, which took us up to a pleasant country house, which some one (I think Lord Aberdeen) has lent to the G. O. M. It was all lucky for me. At Oxford, Bryce had asked me to his dinner for July 6, where he said Gladstone wanted to meet me, and our engagements here made that impossible. At the garden party, while we were there, the people were few and a good chance to talk. Mrs. Gladstone was most gracious. Gladstone said he was very glad to see me in the flesh, and we had pleasant talk, of nothing in particular. Lord Granville sought an introduction, asked Lowell, who was there, to introduce him, and then introduced his brother, Lord Leveson Gower, and afterward his son. Then I was put at the tea-table at the side of Miss Gladstone, the principal of Newnham College at Cambridge, a most bright and pleasant person; and aftera long talk, a lady with a very pleasant and handsome face pushed in a chair between us and asked an introduction,—Lady Lyttleton.... I met her next day at evening, at Mr. Talbot’s (M. P.) house, where I went to be taken to a good seat at St. Margaret’s Church, Westminster, now serving for the Abbey, to hear Talbot, the warden of Keble, preach.
Sunday morning, to continue my separate doings, I went to the Temple Church, to hear the very sweet music, better in my opinion than that of St. Paul’s, and to hear the chaplain (Master is his proper title), Vaughan. Capital sermon it was. Afternoon I was quiet. At seven o’clock I went to Westminster to hear Talbot, the warden of Keble. These very high clergymen have a way of preaching broad-minded sermons. Talbot’s might have been preached by Phillips Brooks, or even by A. P. Peabody, except for an incidental phrase or two, and except for some posturing at the prayers. So my idea of the man, as a man of excellent sense, in spite of his setting in a very superstitious school, was confirmed.
Tyndall dinner; here as a guest, I was the third on the left of the chairman (Stokes, president of Royal Society), only Lord Bathurst and Lord Derby between. The speaking I thought heavy enough, except for Lord Derby’s speech, which was pointed and witty, and Lord Rayleigh’s, at the end, which was neat and sensible. Met there (in Willis’s Rooms; the dinner was in the Almack’s ballroom of old days) a good many old acquaintances, and of course had a good time.
From London, after more entertainments, Dr. Gray went to Devonshire, where he made a charming visit atBlachford with his friends Lord and Lady Blachford; most interesting excursions followed over the downs, a day up the Tamar to Cothele; and he made other visits on the way back, one to his old Cambridge friend, Mrs. James, near Exeter, where he had an afternoon call at Killerton, Sir Thomas Acland’s, and saw the fine beeches, etc.; returned to London, where there was much visiting before he went to Edinburgh for another degree. On the way to the north he visited the grounds of Welbeck, and saw the fine trees of Sherwood (Robin Hood’s) forest,—beeches, and grand, hoar old oaks.
From Edinburgh Dr. Gray went through England to Normandy, meeting Sir Joseph Hooker and his party at Rouen; then came a delightful trip given to churches and cathedrals.
He wrote: “Bayeux and Coutances surprised us, they are so very good; only Amiens and St. Ouen can compare with them in beauty, especially interior views.
“No two of all these Normandy churches are alike; even those of essentially similar style differ both within and without so much that you would not wish to miss any one. Those old church builders were geniuses, and worked by inspiration.”
He gave a day to Mont St. Michel, and then separating from the Hookers he went to Chartres, to see it again after thirty years, and by Rouen and Amiens returned to England; when came an interesting visit to Harpenden to Dr. and Mrs. Gilbert, viewing the famous experiments in agriculture at Rothampstead. And the seeing of cathedrals was closed by a most delightful and busy day at Canterbury with Canon and Mrs. Fremantle.
At the end of August he went to Manchester toattend the meeting of the British Association, and he and Mrs. Gray were guests of Professor Williamson; De Bary and M. de Saporta being also under the same hospitable roof. It was an unusual assemblage of botanists, and a very enjoyable occasion.
Dr. Gray seconded Sir Henry Roscoe’s address at the opening of the meeting with this short speech:—
“For the very great honor of being called upon to second the motion for a vote of thanks to your illustrious president, I am mainly indebted to that deference which is naturally accorded to advancing years; a deference which sometimes, as in the present case, takes one unawares.
“In looking over the list of Corresponding Members of the British Association, I find myself, much to my surprise, nearly, if not quite, the oldest survivor.
“I recognize, therefore, a certain fitness, on this score, in the call upon me to be the spokesman of those, your brethren from other lands, who have been invited to this auspicious gathering, and to the privilege of listening to the very thoughtful, well-timed, and most instructive address of your president.
“As guests, we desire, Mr. Mayor, heartily to thank the City of Manchester and the officers of the Association for inviting us; we wish to thank you, Sir Henry, for the gratification your address has afforded us.
“Convened at Manchester, and coming myself by way of Liverpool, I would say, personally, that there are two names which memory calls up from the distant past, with unusual distinctness, both names familiar to this audience, and well-known over the world, but which now rise to my mind in a verysignificant way. For I am old enough to have taken my earliest lessons in chemistry just at the time when the atomic theory of Dalton was propounded and was taught in the text-books as the latest new thing in science. Some years earlier, Washington Irving, in his Sketch-book, had hallowed to our youthful minds the name of Roscoe, making it the type of all that was liberal, wise, and gracious. And when I came to know something of botany, I found that this exemplar as well as patron of good learning had, by his illustrations of monandrian plants, taken rank among thepatres conscriptiof the botany of that day.
“The name so highly honored then we now honor in the grandson. And I am confident that I express the sentiments of your foreign guests whom I represent, when I simply copy the words of your president in 1842, now reproduced in the opening paragraph of the address of the president of 1887, transferring, as we fitly may, the application from the earlier to the later Manchester chemist.
“‘Manchester is still the residence of one whose name is uttered with respect wherever science is cultivated, who is here to-night to enjoy the honors due to a long career of persevering devotion to knowledge.’
“I cannot continue the quotation without material change. ‘That increase of years to him has been but increase of wisdom,’ may, indeed be said of Roscoe no less than of Dalton; but we are happy to know that we are now contemplating not the diminished strength of the close, but the manly vigor of the midcourse of a distinguished career. Long and prosperously may it go on from strength to strength.
“In general, praise of the address which we have had the pleasure of hearing would not be particularlybecoming from one whose chemistry nearly ended as well as began with the simple atomic theory of Dalton. But there is one topic which I may properly speak of, standing as I do as a representative of those favored individuals which your programme, for lack of a better distinguishing word, calls ‘foreigners.’ I refer to the urgently expressed ‘hope that this meeting may be the commencement of an international scientific organization.’ For this we thank you, Mr. President, most heartily. This is, indeed, a consummation devoutly to be wished, and confidently to be hoped for by all of us, especially by those for whom I am speaking.
“Not only we Americans, who are of British descent, and who never forget that blood is thicker than water, but as well our Continental associates on this platform, of the various strains of blood which, interfused, have produced this English race and fitted it for its noble issues,—we, each and all, I repeat, accept this name of ‘foreigners’ only in the conventional sense which the imperfection of the language imposes. In the forum of science we ignore it altogether. One purpose unifies and animates every scientific mind with ‘one divine intent,’ and that by no means the ‘far-off intent’ of which the poet sings, but one very near and pervading. So we took to heart the closing words of your president’s most pertinent and timely address. Indeed, we had taken them to heart in anticipation, and so have come to this meeting, one hundred strong or more (in place of the ordinary score) fully bent upon making this Manchester meeting international.
“Far back in my youthful days there was a strong-willed President of the United States, of military antecedents, who once drew up and promulgated anofficial order which somewhat astounded his cabinet officers. ‘Why, Mr. President,’ they said, ‘you can’t do that.’ ‘Can’t do it?’ replied General Jackson; ‘Don’t you see that I have done it?’ And so we internationals have come and done it. I am the unworthy spokesman of such a numerous and such a distinguished array of scientific foreigners as have never been assembled before. Next year, if you will, you shall have as many more. When you too are ready to cross the Channel or the North Sea, we shall compose only a larger scientific brotherhood. And when you cross again the Atlantic, the brotherhood of science will be the more increased, and its usefulness in proportion.
“In behalf of your foreign guests, I heartily second the motion.”
From Manchester Dr. Gray went to Failand, to his friend Sir Edward Fry; then followed a visit to Miss North, in Gloucestershire, where he met, among others, Mr. and Mrs. Elwes,[143]and drove one day to Tortworth to lunch with Lord and Lady Ducie; then to Kew. A few days there with his kind friends, Dr. and Mrs. Oliver, a farewell visit to his old friend, Miss Sullivan, at Broom House, to the Camp to say goodby to the Hookers, and finally to Liverpool to sail in the Pavonia, October 7. Just six months, as Dr. Gray said, of wonderful enjoyment and success; everything had gone as it should, there were no mishaps, the days had run on as each had been planned, and he came home in wonderful vigor and spirits.
Cambridge, October 24, 1887.
Dear Redfield,—Thanks, many, for letter of the 22d....
We have had “a good time,” and after long play I am getting down to work....
Thanks to you all for your congratulations, in which my good wife sincerely joins.
Yours affectionately,Asa Gray.
Herbarium of Harvard University.Botanic Garden, Cambridge, Mass., October, 1887.
Dear Hooker,—Your welcome letter in this morning. I was just writing a notice of Ampelideæ, and your remarks are in time for me to sharpen it up a bit. I think I can smash his notice about Ampelopsis.
Who is Miss Grant, who says she knows you both? She sculps, I believe.
Ever yours,A. Gray.
There was much to do on getting home and settling down again, and many things were planned for the winter’s work. Dr. Gray particularly wished to write some accounts of the old botanists he had seen in his earlier visits, being stirred thereto by Reichenbach[144]of Hamburg, and by the stories he told one evening at Dr. Oliver’s, at Kew, when all agreed it was a pity some of these characteristic things should not go on record. He took up work on the “Flora,” wrote a review of “Darwin’s Life and Letters,” and had a busy time before him.
Professor Baird, director of the Smithsonian, and anold friend, had died during the summer, and Dr. Gray, from his long connection with the institution, was much interested in the appointment of his successor. He went on in November to Washington to a special meeting of the Regents, when Professor Langley was appointed; wrote from Washington of the wonderful amount he had done in one day, and hurried back; liking always, if he could, to surprise those at home by being somewhat earlier than he had promised. He began the Annual Necrology for the “American Journal of Science.” He was already at work on the Vitaceæ for the “Flora.”
He went in to Boston for the family Thanksgiving dinner, though there had seemed some threatening of a cold, but he pronounced himself perfectly comfortable. Still there was a quick breathing and some listlessness, so that he was nursed a little on Friday; though he saw Miss Murfree, who had been brought by Mrs. Houghton to ask him to settle some question about a flower of the Southern Alleghanies, and he entered into the matter with all his old life and eagerness. That evening he had two slight chills, so that the doctor was summoned the next day, and fearing some chest trouble, as he seemed threatened with one of his bronchial attacks, advised him to keep in bed. On Sunday his pulse and temperature had improved so much that he was allowed to get up and go down stairs at noon, the doctor congratulating him on the success of the treatment. There seemed a weakness of the right hand, which, however, passed away, and he wrote that evening the letter to Dr. Britton, which follows, and when remonstrated with for making the exertion, said “it was important and must be written.”
Sunday Evening, November 27, 1887.
Dear Dr. Britton,—I wish to call your attention either in a personal way or in the “Bulletin,” if preferred, to a name coined by you on the 223d page of this year’s “Bulletin.”
“Conioselinum bipinnatum (Walter, Fl. Car. under Apium), Britton, Selinum Canadense, Michx., 1803.”
I want to liberate my mind by insisting that the process adopted violates the rules of nomenclature by giving a superfluous name to a plant, and also that in all reasonable probability your name is an incorrect one.
Take the second point first. On glancing at the “Flora of North America,” of Torrey and Gray, 1, 619, where the name Conioselinum Canadense legitimately came in, you will notice that the name Apium bipinnatum, Walt., is not cited as a synonym; also that the synonymous name of Cnidium Canadense, Spreng., is cited with “excl. Syn.” This Apium bipinnatum, Walt., you might gather was one referred to. Sufficient reason for the exclusion by Dr. Torrey might have been that Michaux’s plant is a cold northern one, which nobody would expect in or near Walter’s ground—the low and low middle part of Carolina. Besides, the preface of that “Flora” states that Walter’s herbarium had meanwhile been inspected by Dr. Torrey’s colleague, who may now add that the Apium bipinnatum is not there. So that the name you adopt rests wholly upon a mere guess of Sprengel’s, copied by De Candolle, dropped on good grounds by Torrey, but inadvertently reproduced in Watson’s “Index,” copying De Candolle. I suppose you would not contend that a wholly unauthenticated and dubious (I might say, doubtless mistaken) name, undera wrong genus, should supersede by its specific half a well-authenticated and legitimate name. And I am sure that you will not take it amiss when I say that very long experience has made it clear to me that this business of determining rightful names is not so simple and mechanical as to younger botanists it seems to be, but is very full of pitfalls. I trust it is no personal feeling which suggests the advice that it is better to leave such rectifications for monographs and comprehensive works, or at least to make quite sure of the ground.