On the evening of a day in the beginning of April, 1809, all the lovers of art in Vienna were assembled in the theatre to witness the performance of the oratorio ofThe Creation. The entertainment had been given in honor of the composer of that noble work—the illustrious Haydn—by his numerous friends and admirers. He had been enticed from Gumpendorf, his retreat in the suburbs, the cottage surrounded by a little garden which he had purchased after his retirement from the Esterhazy service, and where he was spending the last years of his life. Three hundred musicians assisted at the performance. The audience roseen masseand greeted with rapturous applause the white-haired man, who, led forward by the most distinguished nobles in the city, was conducted to the place of honor. There, seated with princesses at his right hand, beauty smiling upon him, the centre of a circle of nobility, the observed and admired of all, the object of the acclamations of thousands—who would not have said that Haydn had reached the summit of human greatness, had more than realized the proudest visions of his youth? His serene countenance, his clear eye, his air of dignified self-possession, showed that prosperity had not overcome him, but that amid the smiles of fortune he had not forgotten the true excellence of man.
"I can see plainly," remarked one of Haydn's friends, whom we will call Manuel, "that he will write no more."
"He has done enough; and now we are ready for the farewell of Haydn," said another.
"The farewell?"
"Did you never hear the story? I have heard him tell it often myself. It concerns one of his most celebrated symphonies. The occasion was this: Among the musicians attached to the service of Prince Esterhazy, were several who, during his sojourn upon his estates, were obliged to leave their wives at Vienna. At one time his highness prolonged his stay at Esterhazy castle considerably beyond the usual period. The disconsolate husbands entreated Haydn tobecome the interpreter of their wishes. Thus the idea came to him of composing a symphony in which each instrument ceased, one after another. He added at the close of every part the direction, 'Here the light is extinguished.' Each musician, in his turn, rose, put out his candle, rolled up his notes, and went away. This pantomime had the desired effect; the next morning the prince gave orders for their return to the capital.
"He used to tell us a somewhat similar story of the origin of his Turkish or military symphony. You know the high appreciation he met with in his visits to England; but notwithstanding the praise and homage he received, he could not prevent the enthusiastic audience from falling asleep during the performance of his compositions. It occurred to him to devise a kind of ingenious revenge. In this piece, while the current is gliding softly, and slumber beginning to steal over the senses of his audience, a sudden and unexpected burst of martial music, tremendous as a thunder-peal, startles the surprised sleepers into active attention. I would have liked to see the lethargic islanders, with their eyes and mouths thrown open by such an unlooked-for shock!"
A stop was suddenly put to the conversation by the commencement of the performance.The Creation, the first of Haydn's oratorios, was regarded as his greatest work, and had often elicited the most heartfelt applause. Now that the aged and honored composer was present, probably for the last time, to hear it, an emotion too deep for utterance seemed to pervade the vast audience. The feeling was too reverential to be expressed by the ordinary tokens of pleasure. It seemed as if every eye in the assembly were fixed on the calm, noble face of the venerated artist; as if every heart beat with love for him. Then came, like a succession of heavenly melodies, the music ofThe Creation, and the listeners felt as if transported back to the infancy of the world. At the words, "Let there be light, and there was light," when all the instruments were united in one full burst of gorgeous harmony, emotion seemed to shake the whole frame of the aged artist. His pale face crimsoned; his bosom heaved convulsively; he raised his eyes, streaming with tears, toward heaven, and, lifting upward his trembling hands, exclaimed, his voice audible in the pause of the music, "Not unto me—not unto me—but unto thy name be all the glory, O Lord!"
From this moment Haydn lost the calmness and serenity that had marked the expression of his countenance. The very depths of his heart had been stirred, and ill could his wasted strength sustain the tide of feeling. When the superb chorus at the close of the second part announced the completion of the work of creation, he could bear the excitement no longer. Assisted by the prince's physician and several of his friends, he was carried from the theatre, pausing to give one last look of gratitude, expressed in his tearful eyes, to the orchestra who had so nobly executed his conception, and followed by the lengthened plaudits of the spectators, who felt that they were never to look upon his face again.
Some weeks after this occurrence, his friend Manuel, who had sent to inquire after his health, received from him a card on which he had written, to notes of music, the words, "Meine kraft ist dahin," "My strength is gone." Haydn was in the habit of sending about these cards, but his increased feebleness was evident in the handwriting of this; and Manuel lost no time in hastening to himThere, in his quiet cottage, around which rolled the thunders of war, terrifying others but not him, sat the venerable composer. His desk stood on one side, on the other his piano; he smiled, and held out his hand to greet his friend.
"Many a time," he murmured, "you have cheered my solitude, and now you have come to see the old man die."
"Speak not thus, my dear friend," cried Manuel, grieved to the heart; "you will recover."
"Not here," answered Haydn, and pointed upward.
He then made a sign to one of his attendants to open the desk, and reach him a roll of papers. From these he took one and gave it to his friend. It was inscribed in his own hand, "Catalogue of all my musical compositions, which I can remember, since my eighteenth year. Vienna, 4th December, 1805." Manuel, as he read it, understood the mute pressure of his friend's hand, and sighed deeply. That hand would never trace another note.
"Better thus," said Haydn softly, "than a lingering old age of care, disease, perhaps of poverty! No; I am happy. I have lived not in vain. I have accomplished my destiny; I have done good. I am ready for thy call, O Master!"
His spiritual adviser and guide was with him the next hour, and administered the last consolations of religion. The aged man was wrapped in devotion. At length he asked to be supported to his piano; it was opened, and as his trembling fingers touched the keys, an expression of rapture was kindled in his eyes. The music that answered his touch seemed the music of inspiration. But it gradually faded away; the flush gave place to a deadly pallor; and while his fingers still rested on the keys, he sank back into the arms of his friend, and gently breathed out his parting spirit. It passed as in a happy strain of melody!
Prince Esterhazy did honor to the memory of his departed friend by the pageant of funeral ceremonies. His remains were transported to Eisenstadt, in Hungary, and placed in the Franciscan vault. The prince also purchased, at a high price, all his books and manuscripts, and the numerous medals he had obtained. But his fame belongs to the world; and in all hearts sensible to the music of truth and nature is consecrated the memory of Haydn.
If men but knew—a wise priest gravely said,His Roman doctor's cap upon his head—If men but knew what they had won by prayerAside from all their worldly thrift and care,They might be tempted, in a literal sense,"Always to pray," and with just toil dispense.
If men but knew—a wise priest gravely said,His Roman doctor's cap upon his head—If men but knew what they had won by prayerAside from all their worldly thrift and care,They might be tempted, in a literal sense,"Always to pray," and with just toil dispense.
Of the several circumstances which led to the conception of the theory here advanced, the first and most important was the recognition of the fact that variation was left unaccounted for upon the hypothesis of evolution. Here, if anywhere, we conceived, was to be found the vulnerable part of Darwinism. It occurred to us that the probabilities were that a theory was false when it had for its data phenomena which conform to no law. Our subsequent inquiries furnished us with nothing by which to rebut this presumption; but with much to confirm it. Our suspicion at last strengthened into conviction, and we became confident that contemplation of the subject of the cause of variation alone could furnish us with a solution of the whole question.
It is of laws alone of which we speak in these articles. All the facts adduced by Darwin we accept, and use them merely as illustrations. We have nothing in common with those who contend that the refutation of Darwinism lies solely with mere compilers of facts—fanciers, florists, and breeders. Darwin has heretofore anticipated nothing but a joinder of issue upon facts. He has apparently never contemplated being met by a demurrer. He has endeavored to confound his opponents by a vast multitude of facts; and, owing to his reverence for whatever has the sanction of antiquity, it has never entered his mind that any one would be so presumptuous as to demur to the time-honored conception ofnew growth, upon which these facts are based. Of this presumption we are guilty when we deny the very existence of organic evolution.
In the preceding article we directly intimated, on several occasions, that no theory other than that of reversion can afford a solution of the mystery of the appearance of favorable modifications. As some little diversity of opinion exists respecting Darwin's views on the subject of the cause of variation, it may be well for us to dwell awhile on this question, and to furnish some evidence substantiating our statement.
Darwin, in hisOrigin of Species, candidly and frankly admits that he can assign no satisfactory reason for the appearance of favorable modifications. He ascribes them to "spontaneous variability," and assures us that "our ignorance of the laws of variation is profound." We might adduce a number of other expressions equally declaratory of his inability to assign the cause of variation; but as the Duke of Argyll has taken such pains to direct attention to thishiatusin Darwin's evidence, we cannot refrain from quoting from hisThe Reign of Law:
"It has not, I think, been sufficiently observed that the theory of Mr. Darwin does not address itself to the same question, (the introduction of new forms of life,) and does not even profess to trace the origin of new forms to any definite law. His theory gives an explanation, not of the processes by which new forms first appear, but only of the processes by which, when they have appeared, they acquire a preference over others, and thus become established in the world. A new species is, indeed, according to his theory, as well as with the older theories of development, simply an unusual birth. The bondof connection between allied specific and generic forms is, in his view, simply the bond of inheritance. But Mr. Darwin does not pretend to have discovered any law or rule according to which new forms have been born from old forms. He does not hold that outward conditions, however changed, are sufficient to account for them. Still less does he connect them with the effort or aspirations of any organisms after new faculties and powers. He frankly confesses that 'our ignorance of the laws of variation is profound;' and says that in speaking of them as due to chance, he means only 'to acknowledge plainly our ignorance of the cause of each particular variation.' Again he says, 'I believe in no law of necessary development.'" (P. 228.)
"It has not, I think, been sufficiently observed that the theory of Mr. Darwin does not address itself to the same question, (the introduction of new forms of life,) and does not even profess to trace the origin of new forms to any definite law. His theory gives an explanation, not of the processes by which new forms first appear, but only of the processes by which, when they have appeared, they acquire a preference over others, and thus become established in the world. A new species is, indeed, according to his theory, as well as with the older theories of development, simply an unusual birth. The bondof connection between allied specific and generic forms is, in his view, simply the bond of inheritance. But Mr. Darwin does not pretend to have discovered any law or rule according to which new forms have been born from old forms. He does not hold that outward conditions, however changed, are sufficient to account for them. Still less does he connect them with the effort or aspirations of any organisms after new faculties and powers. He frankly confesses that 'our ignorance of the laws of variation is profound;' and says that in speaking of them as due to chance, he means only 'to acknowledge plainly our ignorance of the cause of each particular variation.' Again he says, 'I believe in no law of necessary development.'" (P. 228.)
On page 254, the Duke of Argyll continues:
"It will be seen, then, that the principle of Natural Selection has no bearing whatever on the origin of species, but only on the preservation and distribution of species when they have arisen. I have already pointed out that Mr. Darwin does not always keep this distinction clearly in view; because he speaks of natural selection 'producing' organs or 'adapting' them. It cannot be too often repeated that natural selection can produce nothing whatever except the conservation or preservation of some variation otherwise originated. Thetrueorigin of species does not consist in the adjustments which help varieties to live and prevail; but in those previous adjustments which cause those varieties to be born at all. Now, what are these? Can they be traced or even guessed at? Mr. Darwin has a whole chapter on the laws of variation, and it is here, if anywhere, that we look for any suggestion as to the physical causes which account for the origin as distinguished from the preservation of the species. He candidly admits that his doctrine of natural selection takes cognizance of variations only after they have arisen, and that it regards variations as purely accidental in their origin, or, in other words, as due to chance. This, of course, he adds, is a supposition wholly incorrect, and only serves 'to indicate plainly our ignorance of the cause of each particular variation.' Accordingly, the laws of variation which he proceeds to indicate are merely certain observed facts in respect to variation, and do not at all come under the category of laws, in that higher sense in which the word law indicates a discovered method under which natural forces are made to work."
"It will be seen, then, that the principle of Natural Selection has no bearing whatever on the origin of species, but only on the preservation and distribution of species when they have arisen. I have already pointed out that Mr. Darwin does not always keep this distinction clearly in view; because he speaks of natural selection 'producing' organs or 'adapting' them. It cannot be too often repeated that natural selection can produce nothing whatever except the conservation or preservation of some variation otherwise originated. Thetrueorigin of species does not consist in the adjustments which help varieties to live and prevail; but in those previous adjustments which cause those varieties to be born at all. Now, what are these? Can they be traced or even guessed at? Mr. Darwin has a whole chapter on the laws of variation, and it is here, if anywhere, that we look for any suggestion as to the physical causes which account for the origin as distinguished from the preservation of the species. He candidly admits that his doctrine of natural selection takes cognizance of variations only after they have arisen, and that it regards variations as purely accidental in their origin, or, in other words, as due to chance. This, of course, he adds, is a supposition wholly incorrect, and only serves 'to indicate plainly our ignorance of the cause of each particular variation.' Accordingly, the laws of variation which he proceeds to indicate are merely certain observed facts in respect to variation, and do not at all come under the category of laws, in that higher sense in which the word law indicates a discovered method under which natural forces are made to work."
It will be seen that we have not gone too far in proclaiming Darwin's inability to account for variation. In the absence, then, of any other rational explanation, are we not necessitated to accept the theory of reversion? What possible objection can be urged against it? Reversion is not a heretofore unknown factor. Nor is it an occult factor. It is constantly recognized by Darwin. Two chapters of theAnimals and Plants under Domesticationare filled with phenomena illustrating its action; and it forms the basis of his lately propounded hypothesis of pangenesis.
In the interval between the publication of hisOrigin of Speciesand the writing of hisAnimals and Plants under Domestication, Darwin has received no enlightenment as to the cause of variation. A writer inThe North American Reviewfor October, 1868, holds the contrary, and distinctly asserts that Darwin is inclined to adopt the mechanist theory, to attribute the phenomena of variation solely to the influence of the physical conditions, and to repudiate the idea of a concurrent cause. After speaking of Mr. Herbert Spencer's ascription of variations to the physical conditions, he says:
"In his latest work, Mr. Darwin inclines to adopt the mechanist theory, so far as the cause of variations is concerned. 'We will now consider,' he says, 'the general arguments, which appear to me to have great weight, in favor of the view that variations are directly or indirectly caused by the conditions of life to which each being, and more especially its ancestors, have been exposed.... These several considerations alone render it probable that variation of every kind is directly or indirectly caused by changed conditions of life. Or, to put the case under another point of view; if it were possible to expose all the individuals of a species to absolutely uniform conditions, there would be no variability.' When variations of all kinds and degrees, that is, all the gradual differentiations by which the vast multitude of existing species has beenevolved out of the primordial form or forms, are thus attributed solely to the accumulative action of the conditions of life, without any recognition of a concurrent cause in that constant self-adaptation by organisms for which the conditions cannot account, it would seem fairly inferrible that the mechanist theory is supposed to explain the evolution of the species, if not of individual organisms."
"In his latest work, Mr. Darwin inclines to adopt the mechanist theory, so far as the cause of variations is concerned. 'We will now consider,' he says, 'the general arguments, which appear to me to have great weight, in favor of the view that variations are directly or indirectly caused by the conditions of life to which each being, and more especially its ancestors, have been exposed.... These several considerations alone render it probable that variation of every kind is directly or indirectly caused by changed conditions of life. Or, to put the case under another point of view; if it were possible to expose all the individuals of a species to absolutely uniform conditions, there would be no variability.' When variations of all kinds and degrees, that is, all the gradual differentiations by which the vast multitude of existing species has beenevolved out of the primordial form or forms, are thus attributed solely to the accumulative action of the conditions of life, without any recognition of a concurrent cause in that constant self-adaptation by organisms for which the conditions cannot account, it would seem fairly inferrible that the mechanist theory is supposed to explain the evolution of the species, if not of individual organisms."
Now, there is nothing in the expressions quoted from Darwin's work, which justifies such a construction asThe North American Reviewhas here placed upon them. Although we, as a vitalist, implicitly believe in the coöperation of other than mechanical causes, yet we fully and most unqualifiedly concur in Darwin's assertion that there would be no variability were all the individuals of a species exposed to absolutely uniform conditions. This fact is by no means incompatible with a belief in "forces which manifest themselves in the organism." We have shown that varieties or races under nature are attributable solely to the action of the conditions of life. Under domestication, the changed conditions are the secondary cause of favorable modifications, reversion being the primary cause. But without the concurrence of this secondary cause, it is wholly impossible for favorable variations to occur. The expressions of Darwin, then, carry with them no implication that variations are solely caused by the changed condition; for the recognition of the power of the conditions to the extent claimed by Darwin by no means precludes the belief in a concurrent cause. The conclusion that a change in the conditions is a cause of variation, and that were there no such change there would be no variability, is necessitated by the theory here advanced. For, an acquaintance with phenomena displaying the action of the physical conditions forces upon us the teleological inference that certain conditions are essential to the full development of characters. Does it not thence necessarily follow that, when the conditions are dissimilar, modifications will result from the individuals of a species being exposed to conditions favorable or unfavorable in different degrees to the growth of some of the parts or features? Darwin's assertion is then quite consistent with a belief in the concurrence of causes not mechanical.
But the discovery of Darwin's opinion on this point is not left solely to conjecture and speculation. Had theNorth AmericanReviewer carefully perused Darwin's late work, he would have found many most unequivocal declarations of the author's belief in the concurrence of other causes. They recur most frequently.
On page 248, Vol. II., he says, "Throughout this chapter and elsewhere, I have spoken of selection as the paramount power; yet its action absolutely depends on what we in our ignorance call spontaneous or accidental variability."
Page 250: "Variation depends in a far higher degree on the nature or constitution of the being, than on the nature of the changed conditions."
On page 291, after giving cases of bud-variation, he says, "When we reflect on these facts, we become deeply impressed with the conviction that in such cases the nature of the variation depends but little on the conditions to which the plant has been exposed, and not in any especial manner on its individual character, but much more on the general nature or constitution, inherited from some remote progenitor of the whole group of allied beings to which the plant belongs. We are thus driven to conclude that in most cases the conditions of life play a subordinate part in causing any particular modification;like that which a spark plays when a mass of combustible matter bursts into flame—the nature of the flame depending on the combustible matter and not on the spark." And again, on page 288, "Now is it possible to conceive external conditions more closely alike than those to which the buds on the same tree are exposed? Yet one bud out of the many thousands borne by the same tree has suddenly, without any apparent cause, produced nectarines. But the case is even stronger than this; for the same flower-bud has yielded a fruit one half or a quarter a nectarine, and the other half or three quarters a peach. Again, seven or eight varieties of the peach have yielded, by bud variation, nectarines; the nectarines thus produced no doubt differed a little from each other; but still they are nectarines. Of course there must be some cause internal or external to excite the peach-bud to change its nature; but I cannot imagine a class of facts better adapted to force on our mind the conviction that what we call the external conditions of life are quite insignificant in relation to any particular variation, in comparison with the organization or constitution of the being which varies."
These assertions that there is something beyond the actions of the conditions of life are met with continually in his work, and they fully and conclusively show that he is no-wise inclined to adopt the mechanist theory. What alternative have we, then, but to conclude that this occult potent factor is reversion?
We have, we think, sufficiently shown that Darwin does not attribute variations solely to the conditions. But it has been asserted by theNorth AmericanReviewer, of whom we have often spoken, that Mr. Herbert Spencer declares them to be thus solely due. A dozen careful perusals ofThe Principles of Biologyhave failed to corroborate such a statement. On the contrary, Mr. Spencer on many occasions makes use of the phrase "spontaneous variations," though, apparently, under protest. It is true that throughout his work there is a constant insistance on the great part played by the physical conditions in causing variations. The greatest prominence is given to this factor. There is also a manifest desire that the mechanical forces be taken as adequate to the production of the phenomena. But nowhere is there clearly expressed a repudiation of the idea of concurrent cause. In some places there is a recognition of it.
Thus, on page 281, Mr. Darwin, after speaking of the action of the conditions of life, says, "Mr. Herbert Spencer has recently discussed with great ability this whole subject on broad and general grounds. He argues, for instance, that the internal and external tissues are differently acted on by the surrounding conditions, and they invariably differ in intimate structure; so, again, the upper and lower surfaces of true leaves are differently circumstanced with respect to light, etc., and apparently in consequence differ in structure. But, as Mr. Herbert Spencer admits, it is most difficult in all such cases to distinguish between the effects of the definite action of physical conditions and the accumulation through natural selection of inherited variations which are serviceable to the organism, and which have arisen independently of the definite action of these conditions."
It may be well to remark that the physical conditions are the sole cause of variation when viewed in their statical aspect; but when viewed in their dynamical aspect, the conditionsare, except when the movement is in the direction of degeneration, only the secondary cause. For, upon the theory here enunciated, were all the individuals of a species fully developed, there would be but one race or variety, that is, the perfect type. The existence of a plurality of races or varieties necessarily implies the unfavorable modification of some of the parts or characters of some of the members of the species.
It is hardly possible for any one's common sense to be so impaired, even by speculation or the bias of a foregone conclusion, as to induce a belief that the characters given below have arisen solely by the action of the physical conditions. When the cases are isolated, such a belief is, in a small measure, excusable; but when they are given consecutively, the ascription of the characters solely to mechanical causes would imply not a little aberration of mind.
Numerous instances of bud-variation are given by Darwin. Several of these we have incidentally adverted to. By this process of bud-variation have arisen in one generation alone, and even in one season, nectarines from the peach, the red magnum bonum plum from the yellow magnum bonum, and the moss-rose from the Provence rose. Many other instances might be adduced of the appearance of characters equally strongly pronounced.
That the following characters have not arisen in one generation is confessedly owing to the lack of scientific knowledge as to the conditions requisite for their growth. The English lop-eared rabbit, which is under domestication, weighs not less than eighteen pounds. The pouter-pigeon is distinguished by the great size of its œsophagus; the English carrier-pigeon, by its surprisingly long beak; and the fantail, as its name connotes, by its immense upwardly-expanded tail. In the progenitor of these birds, the rock pigeon, (columba livia,) there is not a trace of these characters discernible. It is a matter of great surprise to look at the stringy roots of the wild carrot and parsnip, and then to note the astonishingly great improvement which has resulted from their subjection to more favorable conditions. Gooseberries have attained a great size and weight. The London gooseberry is now between seven and eight times the weight of the wild fruit. The fruit of one variety of thecurcurbita pepoexceeds in volume that of another by more than two thousand fold!
Now, these strongly pronounced favorable modifications are explicable only upon the theory of reversion. Had they arisen by the slow accumulation, through centuries, of successive, scarcely appreciable increments of modification, their being due to evolution, or solely to the physical conditions, would be less inconceivable. Darwin's professedly favorite rule is,Natura non facit saltum—"Nature makes no leaps." But we fail to see nature's conformity to it. We must confess that upon the hypothesis of evolution nature indulges herself with the most gigantic leaps.
It might be urged that, upon assuming, for the purposes of the argument, that Mr. Herbert Spencer does attribute variations solely to the physical conditions, he is thereby discharged from the imputation of advocating a theory which is wholly gratuitous. But he assuredly is not. He is placed by this ascription of variations in no better position, so far as respects this point. He has adduced no evidence in favor of their being thus solely ascribable. His attribution of them solely to the physical conditions is equally gratuitous with his ascriptionof them to evolution. The fact that variations are due to a change in the conditions, and that variations would be absent were all the individuals of a species subjected to absolutely uniform conditions, is, as we have seen, quite compatible with a belief in a concurrent cause. The necessity of a change in the conditions is admitted, and even called for, upon our theory. Mr. Herbert Spencer's assumed assertion of variation being due solely to mechanical causes would necessarily imply a denial of a concurrent cause. But this denial is wholly gratuitous; he has furnished no warrant for it. And again, assuming him to concede a concurrent cause, the question then recurs, Are variations attributable to reversion or to evolution? As we have seen, there is no foundation for ascribing them to evolution—evolution being merely a name for a cause unknown.
InThe Westminster Reviewfor July, 1865, and inThe North American Reviewfor October, 1868, Mr. Herbert Spencer is taxed with inconsistency. In hisPrinciples of Biology, Mr. Spencer writes, "In whatever way it is formulated, or by whatever language it is obscured, this ascription of organic evolution to some aptitude naturally possessed, or miraculously imposed on them, is unphilosophical. It is one of those explanations which explains nothing—a shaping of ignorance into the semblance of knowledge. The cause assigned is not a true cause—not a cause assimilable to known causes—not a cause that can anywhere be shown to produce analogous effects. It is a cause unrepresentable in thought; one of those illegitimate symbolic conceptions which cannot by any mental process be elaborated into a real conception. In brief, this assumption of a persistent formative power, inherent in organisms, and making them unfold into higher forms, is an assumption no more tenable than the assumption of special creations; of which, indeed, it is but a modification, differing only by the fusion of separate unknown processes into a continuous unknown process." When he proceeds to treat of the waste and repair of the tissues, he finds that they refuse to acknowledge his mechanical principles, and he is forced to assume for the living particles "aninnatetendency to arrange themselves into the shape of the organism to which they belong." The inconsistency was noted, commented upon, and became the subject of much animadversion.
This inconsistency, however, is comparatively excusable, as the histological phenomena which he had to explain are complicated and involved, and have to respond to the influences of divers parts of the body. But were we to show that his denunciation of the "ascription of organic evolution to some aptitude," is equally applicable to the attribution to "evolution," he would be considered, we are sure, guilty of the grossest possible inconsistency. This we can show; for there is no definition of a "metaphysical entity," to which the term evolution does not answer. Can any one conversant with the works of the first of evolutionists, particularly with hisFirst Principles,Principles of Psychology, andPrinciples of Biology, gainsay the fact that organic evolution implies atendencyin organismsto advance, when under the influence of physical conditions, from the simpler to the more complex?
Mr. Spencer tacitly assumes the inevitable "becoming of all living things;" and that organic progress is a result of some indwelling tendency to develop, naturally impressed onliving matter—some ever-acting constructive force, which, concurrently with other forces, moulds organisms into higher and higher forms. Many instances of this we might adduce, but we will quote but two. On page 403, of hisFirst Principles, he speaks of "a tendency toward the differentiation of each race into several races." And on page 430, Vol. I. of hisPrinciples of Biology, he says, "While we are not called on to suppose that there exists in organisms any primordial impulse which makes them continually unfold into more heterogeneous forms, we see thata liability to be unfoldedarises from the action and reaction between organisms and their fluctuating environments."
Surely, it cannot, with any show of reason, be contended that the word "liability" is not here used as the perfect synonym of that "metaphysical entity," the word "tendency." If the concurrence of a "liability to be unfolded" and the physical conditions be the definition of evolution, were we not warranted in asserting all that we did, with respect to the implication of organic evolution? Evolution a "metaphysical entity"! The words seem strange. They sound like a contradiction in terms; and we know that it is hard to realize the fact that Mr. Spencer has based his whole theory upon "some aptitude." But can the fact be gainsaid? Do not the thoughts of every one who reads of a "liability to be unfolded," recur to the page where Mr. Spencer stigmatizes such phrases as unphilosophical? Hear again how he characterizes them. "In whatever manner it is formulated,or by whatever language it is obscured, this ascription of organic evolution to some aptitudenaturally possessed, or miraculously imposed on them, is unphilosophical. It is one of those explanations which explains nothing—a shaping of ignorance into the semblance of knowledge." Every reader will, we are sure, concur with us in the opinion that the evolution hypothesis is here clearly condemned. The special creation theory, as here advocated, involves no occult factor. The physical conditions concur with reversion to cause the favorable modifications.
While we do not join in such a strong protest against the use of what are termed "metaphysical entities," as that in which positivists are wont to indulge, we cannot but concede that they have often retarded the progress of science, and directed the course of inquiry into wrong channels. But the true scientist does not altogether eschew their use; nor does science preclude his following a middle course. But that, however, against which we do most earnestly and most indignantly protest is their use for the purpose of showing incongruity between science and religion; and their use when there is a perfectly legitimate alternative. The advocates of evolution endeavor to laugh to scorn such phrases; but, double which way they will, they are forced to use them, if not in one instance, at least in another.
We hope, then, never again to hear "metaphysical entities" urged as an objection against the special creation theory. But we incline to retract that. For the positivists have become, through practice, so well conversant with the phraseology peculiar to this theme, that they are now capable of masterpieces of wit and eloquence. Were they, through fear of the imputation of inconsistency, to refrain from furnishing the world with these, we would be debarred the pleasure of their perusal. Withreluctance would we forego such opportunities of cultivating a delicacy of taste.
InAppleton's Journalfor July 31st, 1869, Mr. Spencer has declared that "the very conception of spontaneity is wholly incongruous with the conception of evolution." Now, to our mind, the theory of "spontaneous generation" is the perfect analogue of the theory of evolution. We conceive that the latter theory is open to the same objections which are urged by Mr. Spencer against the hypothesis of heterogenesis. "No form of evolution," he declares, "organic or inorganic, can be spontaneous, but in every instance the antecedent forces must be adequate in their quantities, kinds, and distributions to work the observed effects." Now, do not the alleged cases of evolution, equally with those of spontaneous generation, fail to fulfil this requirement? Does not Mr. Spencer's assumption of a tendency as a concurrent cause with the conditions, imply such a failure? What precludes the advocates of "spontaneous generation" from assuming "a liability" in inorganic matter "to unfold" into microscopic organisms? Could not agenesis have resulted from the concurrence of this tendency with mechanical causes? Such an explanation is equally open to the believers in "spontaneous generation." The truestatusof the evolution hypothesis is really no higher than that of the hypothesis of heterogenesis. They are both founded upon similar bases.
Together with the absurdity of adducing alleged cases of necrogenesis as the assumed missing link in the evolution process, might also have been mentioned, by Mr. Spencer, an objection to which the experiments of Professor Wyman are open. It is assumed in those experiments that, if fully matured organisms are not able to stand a temperature above two hundred and eight degrees, their ova would be destroyed when subjected to a temperature of two hundred and twelve degrees. These ova are allowed to stand only a little over three degrees more than a developed organism. Is this a fair supposition? Is it not to be expected that, if a fully matured organism can stand a temperature of two hundred and eight degrees, its ova, which are almost diatomic in character, will sustain a temperature approaching that of incandescence? We trust that this digression will be pardoned.
Before treating of variation under domestication, we may take occasion to disclaim any attempt to account for variations of color. These are not so manifestly due to degeneration and subsequent favorable reversion. They accord with our theory; but as this accordance is not susceptible of the short and complete demonstration of that of all other variations, the limits of our series preclude our entering into a long dissertation on the subject. Nor would the importance of modifications of color justify such a course; for Darwin characterizes them as phenomena of no consequence, and assures us that little attention is paid to them by naturalists.
Under domestication, animals and plants are subjected to comparatively favorable conditions, to conditions of which they have been deprived in the state of nature. Thus stimulated, they display marked improvement, and revert to the perfect condition from which they have degenerated. The favorable changes which they present are noted by man, and carefully preserved by crossing and judicious pairing with those possessing equal advantages. In this way, the best are selected and made totransmit to their offspring their improved condition. Each breeder's success is determined by the more or less favorable conditions of the situation, district, or country, and by his sagacity and discrimination in selecting those in which occurs the greatest increase of size. As the conditions vary in different localities, and as breeders possess different degrees of scientific knowledge, animals and plants would be differently improved, and thus there is established a series of gradations all answering to the characters of as many varieties. As we have seen, in a somewhat similar manner races have been formed under nature. They were in part established by the retention of the animal or plant in several of the phases of degeneration; while varieties under domestication are in part due to the retention of the organism at each stage of reversion. The greater number of varieties under domestication, as compared with the paucity of races under nature, results in a measure from man's selection retaining the organism at almost every gradation. Under nature, the animals of a district or country freely intercross, and from this intercrossing results uniformity of character and the consequent existence of only one race in a country. Besides, the conditions of life are comparatively uniform in each district; but under domestication man is, by means of his scientific knowledge, continually varying the conditions.
We are conscious that this explanation accounts only for difference of size. It does not show how wholly different characters have been acquired by the various varieties; nor the cause of the possession of the greatest structural differences by individuals of the same species. Were this the sole process by which varieties were formed, one variety would be merely the miniature of the other. Other explanations are required to illustrate the manner in which the great divergence of character observable under domestication, has been effected. These we shall furnish.
Darwin, both in hisOrigin of Speciesand in hisAnimals and Plants under Domestication, draws particular attention to this divergence of character. It forms a most conspicuous portion of his theory. It displays the gradual acquisition by individuals originally alike of differences as great as those characterizing species.
As Darwin has assured us, there is scarcely a single species under nature which does not possess organs in a rudimentary state. Now, these arise under domestication, and are apportioned among the several varieties. Each organ is developed, and is allotted to a certain variety, of which it forms the peculiarity. In one variety, special attention is paid to the development of a single organ, while the remaining organs are left to be developed in and to form the characteristics of other varieties. Thus the upwardly-expanded tail in the pigeon constitutes the peculiarity characteristic of the fantail; the enlargement of the œsophagus, that of the pouter; and the divergent feathers along the front of the neck and breast, that of the turbit.
By this process—the development of rudimentary organs and their apportionment among the several varieties—a portion of the divergence of character is effected.
These rudimentary organs have been the occasion of many a warm controversy. They are asserted to be totally incongruous with the doctrine of teleology. Their uselessness and occasionally detrimental nature, it is contended, preclude the possibility of design. Several objections have been urged against the doctrine offinal causes; but those who profess to disbelieve in design concur in according to these organs the greatest prominence.
The doctrine of final causes is a conception thrust upon us by a vast multitude of facts from organic nature. But, now and then, exceptional phenomena will present themselves apparently at variance with it. These, as a writer inThe London Quarterly Reviewfor July, 1869, ably maintains, are merely objections, not disproofs. Owing to a misconception current among the advocates of special creation, they have been unable to reconcile rudimentary organs with the doctrine of teleology. All the attempts heretofore made to harmonize these anomalous features with the doctrine of final causes have been feeble. We may instance one. A Mr. Paget, in his Hunterian Lectures at the College of Surgeons, argues that the function of these organs is "to withdraw from the blood some elements of nutrition, which, if retained in it, would be positively injurious." We can readily appreciate the feelings which induce an evolutionist to smile at this assumption of excretion as the sole function and purpose of a rudimentary organ.
Upon the theory of degeneration and subsequent favorable reversion here propounded, these rudimentary organs are quite congruous with the doctrine of final cause. To obviate the difficulty presented by these parts, we have accepted the interpretation of the evolutionist. This interpretation we adopted at the start. It forms the basis of our theory—its foundation-stone. That for which the evolutionist contends is, that these organs have at one period been fully developed. In this we concurred; for it furnished us with an explanation of the favorable modifications under domestication; while, as we shall show, it is by no means at variance with the doctrine of the immutability of the species. Rudimentary organs imply degeneration, past complexity of structure, and present comparative simplicity of structure; facts at variance with evolution, but strictly in accordance with our theory. We have seen that the idea of the normal nature of the existing natural condition has rendered the advocates of special creation unable to account for the appearance of profitable modifications. The seeming incongruity between rudimentary organs and the doctrine of teleology is a result of the same misconception. A curious confusion of ideas, generated by the assumption of this false position, has urged the opponents of evolution tacitly to contend that animals and plants were originally created with these organs in a rudimentary state, and that the present condition of these parts is a normal one. We, concurrently with the evolutionists, recognize in these organs "traces of old laws"—"records of the past." They are the traces of laws which obtained when the conditions were favorable to the full development of the organs. Under domestication, the conditions are being supplied, and the organs are, in consequence, being developed. On page 386 of hisPrinciples of Biology, Mr. Herbert Spencer says, "And then to complete the proof that these undeveloped parts are marks of descent from races in which they were developed, there are not a few direct experiences of this relation. 'We have plenty of cases of rudimentary organs in our domestic productions—as the stump of a tail in tailless breeds—the vestige of an ear in ear-less breeds—the reappearance of minute dangling horns in hornless breeds of cattle.'"
But together with their beingtraces of old laws, they are traces of laws which so far adhere to the present that the laws of the whole organism fail fully to obtain without their concurrence; and their concurrence is consequent solely upon the full development of these rudimental features. In other words, full perfection consists in the perfect coördination of all the parts, and absence of this coördination suffices to throw the organism within the domain of pathology. The reduction, therefore, of any organ to a rudimentary condition is deleterious to the organism as a whole. We are perfectly aware that this needs something more than gratuitous affirmation; but as the adduction of evidence in this place would be inconsistent with the symmetry and continuity of our argument, we are forced to bespeak our readers' indulgence until the publication of the next article of this series. But it is sufficiently clear that, upon assuming the truth of our theory, the difficulty offered to the doctrine of final causes by rudimentary organs is obviated.
It is manifest that the development of rudimentary organs, with their distribution among the several varieties, is but a partial explanation of the great divergence of character. There remain to be shown, then, other processes by which this has been effected.
Divergence of character has been also caused by the development in different varieties of those parts which have been only partially suppressed under nature. This necessarily causes disproportionate development of the characters in the individuals. Proportionate development would occur if all the features of the animal or plant were subjected to equally favorable conditions, and if they were all impartially cared for by man. Convergence of character would thence result. And this convergence of character is at first sight to be expected. For if an animal or plant has, as we have seen, diverged in character under nature, and then reverts under domestication to the original perfect type, that which is to be anticipated is convergence of character. But some part presents a modification in advance of its fellows. This man seizes and makes it the peculiarity of a certain variety. By the careful conservation and judicious mating of those individuals which display a tendency to diverge in the same direction, and of those which tend least to develop new characters, he preserves the type of the variety. Modifications arising in other points of structure are similarly preserved by other breeders, and characterize other varieties. When a variety is marked by a certain peculiarity, the fancier or breeder looks with a jealous eye upon the acquisition by any individual of any new character, even though it be for the better. When, therefore, any individual of a well-established variety displays a tendency toward the production of a new character, it is systematically suppressed. "Sports" are regarded with disfavor by the fancier or breeder, and rejected as blemishes, because they tend to destroy uniformity of character among the members of the variety. Owing to these and similar causes, in each variety a different point of structure is admired, selected, and attended to, and exclusive attention given to its development, to the neglect of the others. All the features are not developed in the same variety, but are distributed among different varieties. Thus, in the carrier-pigeon the length of the beak is the character particularly attended to; in the barb, quantity of eye-wattle; and in the runt, the weight and size of the body.
In this way is effected the disproportionate development upon which divergence of character is consequent. Darwin shows this, with this difference: he believes that the modifications arise by evolution, while we contend that they arise by reversion. Nor does he concur with us in the use of the term "disproportionate development;" for that implies that the presence of all the parts in an individual is necessary to perfection. But he shows the process to be the same, be the law to which the variations conform what it may. On page 245, Vol. II., he says, "Man propagates and selects modifications for his own use and fancy, and not for the creature's own good." And on page 220 he asserts, "that whatever part or character is most valued—whether the leaves, stems, bulbs, tubers, flowers, fruit, or seed of plants, or the size, strength, fleetness, hairy covering, or intellect of animals—that character will most invariably be found to present the greatest amount of difference both in kind and degree."
Strong confirmation of this view that divergence of character is attributable to disproportionate development may be drawn from the fact that those species in which is observable the greatest divergence of character are those whose breeding is directed by fancy or fashion. Where utility guides selection, there an approximation to convergence of character is seen; but where selection is guided by fancy, there is a very strongly-marked tendency toward divergence. In the formation of varieties, fancy nowhere enters as such a predominating element as it does in the breeding of pigeons; and consequently, nowhere else is seen such great divergence. Darwin is ever directing attention to this. On page 220, Vol. I., he dwells upon it with peculiar emphasis. The converse fact is also seen. With cattle, the object of breeders is not the formation of numerous varieties, but merely the improvement of the animals. An objective mode of treatment is here identical with a subjective mode. And here we have comparatively proportionate development, and a consequent approach to convergence of character. After citing convergence of character in the case of pigs, Darwin says, (Vol. II., page 241,) "We see some degree of convergence in the similar outline of the body in well-bred cattle belonging to distinct races."
In the foregoing description of the processes of formation of domesticated varieties, we have assumed reversion as the cause of modifications. We have occasion now to speak of a process which implies a cause that is not reversion. Varieties are formed, and disproportionate development and divergence of character effected, by man's continuing the process of degeneration commenced under nature. Several illustrations of this we will adduce.
In the tumbler-pigeon, the beak is greatly reduced, and, by correlation, the feet have become of a size so small as to be barely compatible with the bird's existence. Its skull is scarce one half the size of the wild rock-pigeon, its progenitor; and the number of the vertebræ has lessened. The ribs are only seven in number, whereas the rock-pigeon has eight. The peculiarity characteristic of this variety is confessedly due to degeneration. We refer to the habit of tumbling which Darwin attributes to disease—to "an affection of the brain." (P. 153.) Other varieties of the pigeon also owe some of their characters to degeneration. In the barb, the beak is .02 of an inch shorter than in the wild rock-pigeon.Important characters have correspondingly deteriorated. Darwin, speaking of domesticated pigeons, says, "We may confidently admit that the length of the sternum, and frequently the prominence of its crest, the length of the scapula and furcula have all been reduced in size in comparison with the same parts in the rock-pigeon."
Pigs present several cases of deterioration of parts under domestication. Through protection from the climate, the coat of bristles has been greatly diminished. By disuse and man's selection, the legs have become of a size scarcely compatible with the animal's power of locomotion. Darwin requests us to "hear what an excellent judge of pigs says, 'The legs should be no longer than just to prevent the animal's belly from trailing on the ground. The leg is the least profitable portion of the hog, and we therefore require no more of it than is absolutely necessary for the support of the rest.'" Fully to realize the extreme shortness of the legs, it is necessary to see them in the possession of a highly improved breed. Correlation with the legs has led to the complete reduction of the tusks, and has induced the shortness and concavity of the front of the head which are so characteristic of domestic breeds.
With pigs, there is disproportionate development and also convergence of character. This is owing to all the breeders having aimed at the same object, the reduction of the characters given above, and the full development of the trunk or body. On page 73, Vol. I., Darwin says, "Nathusius has remarked, and the observation is an interesting one, that the peculiar form of the skull and body in the most highly cultivated races is not characteristic of any one race, but is common to all when improved up to the same standard. Thus the large-bodied, long-eared, English breeds with a convex back, and the small-bodied, short-eared Chinese breeds, with a concave back, when bred to the same state of perfection, nearly resemble each other in the form of the head and body. This result, it appears, is partly due to similar causes of change acting on the several races, and partly to man breeding the pig for one sole purpose, namely, for the greatest amount of flesh and fat; so that selection has always tended toward one and the same end. With most domestic animals, the result of selection has been divergence of character, here it has been convergence." Divergence of character is solely caused by disproportionate development, and proportionate development in all the members of the species necessarily causes convergence of character; but disproportionate development may also induce convergence, as it has done in this case.
Degeneration has also been the means of the formation of breeds of cattle, as the niata cattle, and those distinguished by the complete suppression of the horns.
Tailless breeds of animals have been formed; among which may be mentioned the rumpless fowl, and tailless cats and dogs.
Ears in other animals have been reduced to mere vestiges.
Degeneration is also seen in the great deterioration in size of dogs. The turn-spit dog is manifestly a case of degeneration. Blumenbach remarks "that many dogs, such as the badger-dog, have a build so marked and appropriate for particular purposes, that I should find it difficult to persuade myself that this astonishing figure was an accidental consequence of degeneration." "But," says Darwin, "had Blumenbach reflected on the great principle of selection, hewould not have used the term degeneration, and he would not have been astonished that dogs and other animals should have become excellently adapted for the service of man." (Vol. II., page 220.) It is difficult to conceive why Darwin here ignores the fact of degeneration. The peculiar build of the badger-dog is not an accidental consequence of degeneration. But it is equally far removed from being the product solely of selection. Degeneration is not the less present because of the operation of selection. Could the two not act concurrently? It is clearly manifest that it is the joint action of degeneration and selection which accomplishes the appropriateness for particular purposes, and not either alone. Selection, in such a case as this, merely guides the course of degeneration. Unfavorable modifications occur, and such of them as best subserve the uses and purposes of man, he selects and preserves; the rest he rejects. Thus results the adaptation of these animals to the service of man.
With some fowls, the comb has been lost. The Sebright bantam, which is one of the greatest triumphs of selection, weighs hardly more than one pound, and has lost its hackles, sickle-tail feathers, and other secondary sexual characters.
The Porto Santo rabbit differs in size from the wild English rabbit, its progenitor, in the proportion of rather less than five to nine.
The crooked and shortened legs of the Ancon sheep of New England, frequently referred to by Darwin, also displayed the action of degeneration. This is a case which shows that disproportionate development in a single variety will produce divergence in the species, even when there is great proportionate development in the other varieties.
"With cultivated plants," says Darwin, "it is far from rare to find the petals, stamens, and pistils represented by mere rudiments, like those observed in natural species." (P. 316.) The Red Bush Alpine strawberry is destitute of stolons or runners. In the St. Valery apple, the stamens and corolla are reduced to a rudimentary state. It has, consequently, to be fertilized by artificial means. This is effected by the maidens of St. Valery, each of whom marks her fruit with a ribbon of a certain color, and fertilizes it with the pollen of adjacent trees.
Thus we have four processes of formation of varieties. 1st. The retention of the organism at each stage of reversion, accounting only for differences of size. 2d. The development of rudimentary organs and their apportionment among the several varieties. 3d. The development in different varieties of those parts which have been only partially suppressed under nature. 4th. The continuation under domestication of the process of degeneration commenced under nature.
Now, we conceive that, by showing the phenomena of variation to be conformable to the theory of degeneration and reversion, and by proving the unscientific nature of the assumption of evolution, we have fulfilled the promise made by us at the start. Even as the case now stands, the theory of special creations must commend itself to every truly scientific mind. But it is not our design to leave the subject a mere question of probabilities. It lies within our power to prove the doctrine of special creations to demonstration; to place our theory upon evidence beyond the reach of cavil.
To the mind of every reader accustomed to scientific habits of thought, it is clear that our next stepis to adduce proofs of our belief that the development of all the parts in every individual is necessary to perfection. In this direction we shall push the subject, and we now affirm that there is a typical structure—the sum of all the positive features of the species.
With a full appreciation of the magnitude and importance of the act, we advance the following definition of a species.
A species is a class of organisms, capable of indefinitely continued, fertile reproduction among each other, and endowed with the possession—either actual or potential—of character; the suppression, reduction, or disproportionate development of which is incompatible with a state of physiological integrity.
Dr. James invited Margaret to visit "the shop," and one day, after returning a few calls in Sealing, she stopped, with her aunt, on their way home, at a plain brown house in the one street of Shellbeach. There were two square pieces of green, one on each side of the front door, shut in with a brown fence; the small door seemed quite covered up, for, besides a large shining knocker in the middle, there was above it a brass plate, on which was inscribed "Dr. James," in large letters. There also appeared a small bell on one side, and another opposite labelled "night-bell." Which of these advantages to improve, was at first rather a puzzle to Margaret; but her aunt settled the question by giving a smart pull to the right-hand bell, whence she concluded that the knocker, on which she had meditated an attack, was intended solely for unprofitable ornament.
A tall and thin young man, who had the appearance of having outgrown all his clothes, opened the door with a promptness which seemed to imply that he had been lying in wait for the favorable moment to pounce upon them, and which was a little startling to the ladies. He surveyed them both with interest, explained that the doctor was not at home, but was expected in, and proposed that they should walk into the parlor and wait. Having ushered them into that apartment, the youth discreetly withdrew.
"My dear aunt, what a forlorn room! And do you see the dust?"
Miss Spelman shook her head in a mournful manner, and proceeded to establish herself on a black horsehair couch, (having first gently flapped it with her handkerchief,) while Margaret walked about from one thing to another, commenting and criticising.
"This is where he sits to write, I suppose. And if here isn't a family of three little kittens curled up in his arm-chair! I hope he won't mistake them for a cushion, that's all! What piles of books! Medicine, medicine, medicine! Oh! here is something of a different kind; poetry! whowould have imagined it? Shelley, Longfellow, Tennyson. How many nice things! This bookcase is filled with treasures. The dust can't get in there, that's a comfort! And this is a family portrait, I suppose; a lady with one, two, three, six children. How funny and old-fashioned it is! Here are his pipe and smoking-cap; oh! do see these funny skin slippers;" and she balanced one on each hand. "How I would like to rummage here! Oh! there are sleigh-bells." And Margaret established herself, prim and proper, in one of the hard, straight-backed chairs just as Dr. James entered. He gave them a pleasant welcome, and conducted them at once into "the shop."
"It's a good time to look about here," he observed, "while John is gone with the mare. The shop is his especial sanctum, and I think he regards visitors as interlopers."
There was no dust to be seen in that room; every thing was scrubbed and brushed till it shone, and absolute neatness reigned.
"This does not look to me like a shop," said Margaret.
"I can't say I deal in 'slippery-ellum,' 'stick-licorish,' and 'gum-arrabac-drops,'" replied the doctor; "if you want the real name, this is a dispensary on a small scale. You see, I have no faith in Mr. Creamer, in Sealing, further than for simple doses. You might buy essence of peppermint or tincture of rhubarb of him, to great advantage; but as for compounding pills and powders, I prefer to attend to those myself. Then it is a convenience to some of my patients, who can make a visit to the doctor and obtain their remedies at one and the same time."
At these words, Miss Spelman gave her niece a little nudge, as they stood side by side, and looked, as the saying is, volumes; but Margaret did not understand, and wondered what her aunt could mean.
"And who is John?" she asked.
"Oh! John is my factotum; as much a part of myself as the shop is. You see he stays here when I am away, and goes on errands; he keeps every thing nice, and can be trusted with simple prescriptions; in return for which, I impart to him a little medical knowledge; so we stand both amicably in each other's debt, which leads to an excellent understanding between us."
Again Margaret felt herself gently poked; but being as completely in the dark as ever, she was forced to wait for an explanation till a future time. They admired all the arrangements, till John's return, when the doctor led them back into the parlor, where, the fire having been stirred up and the curtains drawn so as to admit the sun, the aspect of things was more cheerful. Margaret once more admired the kittens and books, and accepted the doctor's offer to lend from the latter, by borrowing Miss Procter's poems, in blue and gold, which she espied on a high shelf.
On their drive homeward, Margaret said,
"Why did you punch me, Aunt Selina? Was I misbehaving?"
"No, indeed! I only wanted you to notice what the doctor was saying. What was it?"
"The first time was when he said his patients could visit him and get their remedies at the same time."
"Yes, just his benevolence. Those are his poor patients, you see, for whom he has set up that dispensary; he gives them advice and medicine free."
"But then he must have money."
"So he has, a little; but he uses up every cent and more; for he sends some to his mother and sister, and takes ever so much care of the poor for miles around."
"But he must have fees from his rich patients; you told me he was as popular at Sealing as here."
"Certainly they pay him; but he does not encourage a large practice in Sealing, for there is a very good doctor living there, with a wife and family. So though Dr. James visits a few patients in Sealing, they are almost all people who used to live here, and are now not willing to give him up. But his fees could not begin to enable him to do all he does, if he had not something of his own."
"The second time you admonished me was when he spoke of his boy."
Miss Spelman laughed contemptuously.
"It was exactly like him to speak as if that matter was a give-and-take affair! The fact is, the boy's mother, a widow, took it into her head, like all mothers, that her son was something remarkable, and ought to be sent to college; of course without a penny to do it with. She disclosed her mind to Dr. James, and the end of it was, that he has taken him clean off her hands, gives him a nice little salary for the work he does in the dispensary, and is educating him, besides, to be a first-rate physician; and I suppose when the doctor goes away from this town, young Richards will just step into his place and have it all his own way. I know all this, you see, because I know the mother. The doctor never breathed a word of it, you may be sure; but she told me all about it. And this is what Dr. James calls a mutual-benefit society, or something of the sort."
Margaret laughed; but she was not disposed to praise or admire the doctor, chiefly because she was aware that her aunt expected and wished her to do so. She listened attentively, however, to this, and as much more information as Miss Spelman chose to volunteer about her favorite, now and then putting in a doubtful question, or slightly depreciatory remark, which only elicited fresh praises; until sometimes the little lady would dimly perceive the game her niece was playing, and retire into silence and dignity.
A month had gone, Margaret was astonished to find how quickly. She was contented and happy; interested, too, in her various occupations, and, except for missing Jessie's sympathy and companionship, feeling no regret for her former life. Such a state of things would have been impossible, had she not been utterly wearied with the whirl of gayety and the accumulation of engagements which seemed to her unavoidable while she remained in New York. But the complete change was reviving to her, and, as she said, she had taken up the study of human nature, which really meant that she had become interested in one person, and that person was Dr. James. She saw him a good deal; for he came freely to Miss Spelman's house, he had taken her sleigh-riding, accompanied her on expeditions in search of coasting or skating, played chess with her, and lent her books.
Since that occasion, on their first drive to Sealing, when "the mistress of a poor man's household" had been alluded to, that ideal person was frequently spoken of with considerable enjoyment of the joke by both parties, and once Margaret had asked him outright, what he would consider necessary accomplishments in such a person.
"I don't know that a poor doctor's wife would differ from the wifeof any other poor man," he had answered her. "I have in my mind a woman not afraid of work, not requiring amusement nor excitement, able to do her own work; you see I sayable—not that I would object to her having a servant, or perhaps two; but she should understand and be able to explain and direct all the domestic arrangements of the house. She should wait on herself; therefore her dress should be plain and simple. Especially should she know how to cook and sew, to market well, and to be considerate and cheerful to her servants. Then, as concerns my professional business, I should think a slight acquaintance with simple medicines and remedies, and where they are kept in the shop, in case of emergency, would be useful; fortitude to bear the sight of, and even to suffer, pain and sickness, so as to set a good example; and, to sum up, a cool head, a steady hand, and presence of mind."
When Dr. James had ended this minute description, he was struck by the extent of his requirements; and as Margaret's eye met his, they both laughed heartily, and though at the time she made no comment on his ideal poor man's wife, she often alluded to her virtues afterward, before other people, who, of course, could not understand what she meant, while the doctor, she was delighted to see, was slightly embarrassed and at a loss for a reply.
Margaret had seen a little of the Sealing society at a few tea-parties, which aimed at being so genteel that they were insufferably stiff and drowsy. Margaret longed to do something to wake up the young men, who, dressed in their best, with the stiffest of collars and the most surprising cravats, sat with folded hands and feet placed close together, helplessly, just where they happened to be put, without daring to do more than assent in as few words as possible to the stream of conversation kept up by the ladies, who seemed to consider it the business of the evening to entertain them. She very nearly proposed "blind-man's buff" on one occasion, but her courage failed her at the last moment; she thought it would be a hopeless undertaking to attempt to infuse life and activity into such frozen figures. At last, one young woman, named Mary Searle, gave a small party, and had the independence to propose playing games; and when Margaret warmly seconded the movement, and set the example by suggesting "fox and geese," she was astonished to behold every body become at once natural and merry. The young men were metamorphosed, forgot their feet and hands, and performed wonders of agility. It dawned upon Margaret that all this restraint must have been occasioned wholly by her presence, and she did her best to dispel all respect for "city ways" by showing that she could romp with the merriest. The evening ended with a Virginia-reel, and from that time the ice was broken, and Margaret saw the people in their pleasantest light—without affectation, simple, kindly, and cheerful. But of "society" she saw little; the Sealing young ladies complained that she was not "sociable," though when they were with her they got on very well; she said she was "too busy" to visit much, and so managed to keep a good deal to herself.
Of Martha Burney, however, she saw a good deal, and before long made an arrangement to drive her every morning to her school. The Marchioness had come, and Margaret had hired a little sleigh for her own use and pleasure.
"You see I have to get up earlynow, for my drive with Miss Burney," she explained to the doctor; for she was anxious that he should not think she was trying to please him. After leaving her companion, who returned in the afternoon by the cars, she sometimes stopped for her organ lesson, and sometimes came directly home, where she practised, or shut herself up to study Latin. This latter, however, was a secret. The day she visited Dr. James's dispensary, she had noticed Latin names on his jars and vials, and had then and there decided in her own mind that some acquaintance with Latin would be indispensable to "a poor doctor's wife." So she had bought a dictionary, grammar, and one or two Latin books, and now worked laboriously in private, every day, while in the afternoons she walked, drove, or read with her aunt.