94 St. Aldate's, Oxford: June 15.
My dear Dyer,—Many thanks for your letter with enclosures. The letter shows that ——'s opinion has not altered since I last saw him. As I think I told you at the Athenæum, he undertook some two or three years ago on my behalf to raise discussions in the papers, to which he alludes. Since that time he has sent me, I believe, copies of all the numberless letters which have been published in consequence. The result of our inquiry has been to confirm the opinion which he gave me at the first, and also to form my own in the same direction. (See my article in answer to Herbert Spencer in the 'Contemporary Review' for April.[115])
As regards the isolation of species I do not understand why you should suppose that the facts of hybridisation to which you allude should in any way modify my 'belief.' As fully set forth in 'Physiological Selection,' what I maintain is that the origin of species is in all cases due to isolation of some kind, but that only in the case of differential fertility can physo. sel. have been the kind of isolation at work. Therefore, it would be fatal to my views if all species were cross-sterile, because this would prove vastly too much. What the theory of phy. sel. requires is exactly what occurs, viz. cross-sterility between allied species in nearly all cases where species have been differentiated on common areas or identical stations, and more or less complete cross-fertility where they have been differentiated on different (discontinuous) areas, or else prevented from intercrossing by yet some other means of isolation.
I have collected a quantity of evidence in favour of both these otherwise inexplicable correlations. But I should like to know the species of wild fowl which you have found to be hybridisable or cross-fertile, so that I may ascertain whether their natural breeding areas are, or are not, identical. Of course I should expect them not to be.
I have been told to save my eyes as much as possible, and therefore conduct most of my correspondence by dictation. But not being used to this process, I find it even more difficult than before to express my meaning with clearness, so I will tackle with my own hand what you say about Aquilegias.
I have looked up the group, and find that, with the exception of vulgaris (common columbine), all the European species seem to occupy restricted areas, or else well-isolated stations. Also, that the same seems to apply as a very general rule to other species all over the world, for, wherever mountains are concerned, stations are apt to be isolated by difference of altitude, &c.
Now if such be the case with the group in question, the fact of its constituent species being freely hybridisable when artificially brought together is exactly what my theory requires. For the specific differentiation has presumably been effected by geographical (or topographical) isolation, without physiological having had anything to do with it. In fact, as stated over and over again in my original paper, this correlation between geographical isolation and cross-fertility is one of my lines of verification, the other line being the correlation between identical stations and cross-sterility.
Now, as above stated, I have found both these correlations to obtain in a surprisingly general manner.
I wish that, instead of perpetually misunderstanding the theory, you English botanists would help me by pointing out exceptions to these two rules, so that I might specially investigate them. It seems to me that the group you name goes to corroborate the first of them, while all Jordan's work, for instance, uniformly bears out the second. And whatever may be thought about him in other respects, I am not aware that anyone has ever refuted his observations and experiments so far as I am concerned with them.
Yours ever sincerely,
G. J. Romanes.
94 St. Aldate's, Oxford: June 22.
Dear Dyer,—I received a letter from —— by the same post that brought yours of the 19th inst. From it I gather that his opinion on the subject of telegony has not changed in any material respect since our inquiry began. His opinion has always been such as you now quote ('atavism' on the one hand, with a small minority of 'dormant fertilisation' cases on the other). His has likewise always been my own view (with the addition of coincidence), and has been corroborated by the result of these inquiries. So I think we are all three pretty well in agreement, because both —— and myself share in your doubts as to the minority of the cases being really due to dormant fertilisation—i.e. not to be ascribed to coincidence or mal-observation. Also, as I said before, I quite agree with you that 'neither view is any help to Herbert Spencer.' In fact, I have somewhat elaborately sought to prove this in my 'Contemporary Review' article for April, and have been in private correspondence with him ever since, but without getting any 'forerder.'
But in this connection I should like to know whether you have any opinion upon the apparently analogous class of phenomena in plants which Darwin gives in the eleventh chapter of his 'Variation,' &c. Here, it seems to me, the evidence is much more cogent and of far more importance to the issue, Weismann v. Lamarck. Focke and Dr. Vris, however, seem to doubt the facts or their interpretation, although, as it seems to me, without presenting any adequate reasons for doing so. You need not bother with Dr. Vris, as he merely follows Focke, but I wish you would read Focke ('Die Pflanzen-Mischlinge,' p. 510, et sq.), and compare what he says with the evidence which Darwin presents.
As I do not know in what respects you have found one part of my previous letter not to 'tally' with another, I cannot fully explain it; but I fancy that you will find they do, if, in reading the letter, you carry in your mind the simple proposition that, from the nature of the case, there can be no physiological selection except where differentiating varieties ('incipient species') occur upon common areas and identical stations. I do not see any difficulty about willows, roses, brambles, &c., since Naudin's researches on Datura have shown how much variability, due to the hybridisation of any two species, may give rise to the appearance of there being many species. This, you will remember, is the view that Naudin himself takes with regard to willows &c.—although, of course, without any reference to phy. sel. If you will refer to p. 405 of the paper on phy. sel. you will find that from the first I have been aware of the difficulty about discontinuous areas to which you allude. But I think the converse line of evidence (viz. that of cross-sterility between incipient species on identical stations) will alone prove sufficient to verify the theory. At the same time I look for more corroboration from the cross-fertility of well differentiated species upon discontinuous areas where these are, as you say, oceanic islands, or, still better, mountainous districts where the allied species are severally peculiar to mountain tops and isolated valleys. For in these cases there must be much doubt, as a general rule, touching the species having been differentiated by topographical isolation upon the particular areas where they are now found. Moreover, and this I think quite as important, the consideration which Darwin adduces in another connection is obviated, viz. 'that if a species was rendered sterile with some one compatriot, sterility with other species would follow as a necessary contingency.'
Yours very sincerely,
G. J. Romanes.
P.S.—From your first letter it would almost seem that you had supposed me to doubt the fact (or, at any rate, the frequency) of cross-fertility in general. And this after I had written the article on 'Hybridisation' in the 'Ency. Brit.'!
In June Mr. Romanes took a small house for the summer months outside Oxford at Boar's Hill, a district well known to Oxford people, and it was hoped country air and quiet might do him much good.
He was rather headachy, and liked to lie on the grass in the garden and have novels read to him, but he was able to go up to London one day, and even planned to take a journey to Wiesbaden in order to consult an eminent oculist.
But on July 11 he was stricken down by hemiplegia. And now began the last year of patient endurance, for from that time the Shadow of Death was ever on him, and he knew it; from that July day he regarded himself as doomed. Sometimes the thought of leaving those whom he loved with such intense devotion, such wonderful tenderness, overwhelmed him; sometimes the longing to finish his work was too great to be borne, but generally he was calm, and always, even when he was most sad, he was gentle and patient, and willing to be amused.
On July 13 Dr. Paget gave him the Holy Communion.
He slowly recovered from this attack, and there were hopes—not of perfect health, but of life, and of power to work. Now, more resolutely than ever, he set himself to face the ultimate problems of Life and Being, to face the question of the possibility of a return to Faith.
It is impossible here to tell of the inner workings of that pure and unselfish soul, of those longings and searchings after God, of the gradual growth in steadfast endurance, in faith.
To one or two these are known, and the example of lofty patience and of single-heartedness is not one they are likely to forget. Of this more later.
It was almost pathetic to see how keen and vigorous his intellect was. In fact, the great difficulty was to keep the busy brain from thinking. Novels helped to some degree, and occasional visits from friends as he grew better. Dr. and Mrs. Burdon Sanderson, the President of Trinity and Mrs. Woods, the Dean, Mr. Gore, the President of Magdalen and Mrs. Warren, and Mr. Waggett, all helped, coming and paying brief visits, which did him good, for if he was not listening to reading or conversation, he would be planning experiments or pondering problems of theology, and ask by-and-by that his thoughts should be taken down from dictation, or that paper and pencil should be given him, or, worse than all, devising arrangements for finishing 'Darwin, and after Darwin.' He dictated some 'Thoughts on Things' in the very first days of his illness, and sent for Professor Lloyd Morgan, who came and received instructions about the unfinished books, instructions which he has carried out with unflagging diligence and never-failing kindness.
But still he grew better, and early in August he went back to Oxford, and by the first of September he was able to be present in the cathedral at the baptism by Dr. Talbot of his youngest son.
The fact that the Vicar of Leeds[116] and Mrs. Talbot were in Oxford during that August was a great pleasure to him, and he much enjoyed occasional talks with Dr. Talbot.
To Professor Ewart.
I do not know what account E. gave you of my illness, but it is much too serious an affair to admit of our going to the British Association. Indeed, I hardly anticipate being able to make any engagements or do much work during the rest of my life, which is not likely to be a long one. It is just such an attack as I expected when walking with you over Magdalen Bridge.[117]
Yours ever,
G. J. Romanes.
By September he was able to listen to, and discuss, Dr. Sanderson's Presidential Address, which was delivered in Nottingham at the British Association of 1893.
It was one of the great disappointments of that illness that he could not go to Nottingham. To be at the Association when his dear friend and master was president was a great wish of his, and early in the summer a kind invitation from Lady Laura Ridding, to stay with the Bishop of Southwell and herself for it, had been accepted.
Nottingham and a visit to Denton, to which Mr. Romanes had been looking forward, had to be given up.
These things were real trials. It was not the giving up particular bits of pleasure, but the realisation that he was too much of an invalid to do anything of the sort, which he found so hard to bear, and which he did bear with ever-increasing patience.
His letters sometimes show how hard he felt his trial.
To James Romanes, Esq.
Oxford: September 4.
My dearest James,—I have had two reasons for not writing to Dunskaith since my letter about the birth of Edmund.
I agree with all you say about Fritz and her numerous brothers, the last two of whom you have never seen. But, although I have been so signally blest in my family ... I am not disposed to fall in with your optimism in other respects. Rather am I disposed to agree with the Scotch minister, that 'Man is a mi-ser-able worrm, craaling upon the airth;' for, both as regards the misery and the craaling I am now a type.
And this brings me to my two reasons for not writing before. The first is, that I am almost unable to write; and the second is, that I did not want to let you and Charlotte know all the facts sooner than I could help.
The long and the short of it is that I believe I am dying. I have been gradually getting worse and worse, ... nor shall I be sorry when it comes. Such being the case, I should like to consult you about setting my house in order....
The photos which the children brought with them of Dunskaith make me realise what splendid work the buildings are, and even although it is now improbable that I shall ever see them, I am glad to think that they will be in the family.[118]
I cannot write more now. In fact I have not written so much since my attack. But I send you the best love of a life-time's growth and that of your only brother,
George.
To W. T. Thiselton-Dyer, Esq.
94 St. Aldate's, Oxford: September 15, 1893.
Dear Dyer,—Many thanks for your letter with enclosures. As you say, there does not seem to be anything remarkable about the hybrid; but I am glad to see that both its parent species are well marked and presumably both of mountain origin. The case thus well accords with my views, as explained in my previous letters. I met with many such (i.e. hybrids between originally isolated species) in Madeira and the Canaries.
There are none so blind as those who will not see. Where can your powers of 'observation' have been when you can still remark that I ignore the facts of hybridisation? I can only repeat that from the first I have regarded them as evidence of the utmost importance as establishing a highly general correlation between separate origin of allied species and absence of cross-sterility. In fact, for the last five years I have had experiments going on in my Alpine garden, which I helped in founding for the very purpose of inquiring into this matter. And Focke, with whom I have been in correspondence from the first, and who does understand the theory, writes that in his opinion it will 'solve the whole mystery' of natural hybridisation in relation to artificial.
Since my last letter to you I have been at death's door. On July 11, I was struck down by paralysis of the left side, and am now a wreck. Not the least of my sorrow is that I fear I shall have to leave the verification of phys. sel. to other hands in larger measure than I had hoped. I have little doubt that it will eventually prevail; but more time will probably be needed before it does.
Yours very sincerely,
G. J. Romanes.
Oxford: September 18, 1893.
Dear Dyer,—I am not a little touched by the kind sympathy expressed in your letter of the 16th. When one is descending into the dark valley, scientific squabbles seem to fade away in those elementary principles of good will which bind mankind together. And I am glad to think that in all the large circle of my friends and correspondents there is no vestige of ill will in any quarter, unless it be with —— and ——, who both seem to me half-crazy in their enmity, and therefore not of much count.
As for 'fortitude,' sooner or later the night must come for all of us; and if my daylight is being suddenly eclipsed, there is only the more need to work while it lasts. But, to tell the truth, I do not on this account feel less keenly the pity of it. With five boys—the eldest not yet in his teens and the youngest still in his weeks; with piles of note-books which nobody else can utilise, and heaps of experimental researches in project which nobody else is likely to undertake, I do bitterly feel that my lot is a hard one.
Looking all the facts in the face, I do not expect ever to see another birthday,[119] and therefore, like Job, am disposed to curse my first one. For I know that all my best work was to have been published in the next ten or fifteen years; and it is wretched to think of how much labour in the past will thus be wasted.
However, I do not write to constitute you my confessor, but to thank you for your letter, and also to say that I am sending you a copy of my 'Examination of Weismannism,' just published by Longmans.
With our united kind regards to Mrs. Dyer and yourself, I remain, yours very sincerely,
Geo. J. Romanes.
94 St. Aldate's, Oxford: September 26, 1893.
My dear Dyer,—This is one of my bad days, and I have just exhausted my little store of energy by answering a kind letter from Huxley. So please excuse brevity, as I cannot leave your highly appreciated benevolence without an immediate response.
I am much concerned to hear what you say about yourself, and it makes me doubly desirous of seeing you. On Monday next I am to try to go to town for the purpose of consulting doctors. But any day before that we should be truly glad if you could come as you so kindly propose. Possibly I might be able to drive out to Kew on Tuesday or Wednesday of next week, should you find it impracticable to run down here before then. But I fluctuate so much from day to day that I cannot make any engagements.
Most fully do I agree with all that you say regarding criticism. And, especially from yourself, I have never met with any but the fairest. Even the spice of it was never bitter, or such as could injure the gustatory nerves of the most thin-skinned of men. I have, indeed, often wondered how you and —— and —— can have so persistently misunderstood my ideas, seeing that neither on the Continent nor in America has there been any difficulty in making myself intelligible. But this, of course, is quite another matter.
As regards Weismannism, I do not include under this term the question of the inheritance of acquired characters. That has been a question for me since the publication of Galton's 'theory of heredity' in 1875. Indeed, even before that, everybody knew the contrast between congenital and acquired characters in respect of heritability; and you may remember, the first time we met you gave me a lot of good advice regarding my experiments on this subject.
Please remember both of us very kindly to your wife when you write to her, and with our united best wishes to yourself,
Believe me, ever yours sincerely,
G. J. Romanes.
To Francis Darwin, Esq.
St. Aldate's, Oxford: October 8, 1893.
My dear Darwin,—Your very kind letter has been one ray of light to me in my gloom. Yet you must not think it is the only one.
It is comparatively easy to set our teeth and face the inevitable with 'a grin;' but the 'highest bravery' is to hide our anguish with a smile. I do think I make a decently good Stoic, but confess that in times like this Christians have the pull. Nevertheless, I have often thought of the words, 'I am not in the least afraid to die,'[120] and wondered, when my time should come, I would be able to say them. But now I know that I can, and this even in the bitterness of feeling that one's work is prematurely cut short.... 'Somewhat too much of this,' however. What I want to tell you is that I managed to get to London on Friday for the purpose of consulting my doctors as to my prospects. They take a more hopeful view than I expected, i.e. notwithstanding that I have had three attacks in one year (in both eyes and now in the brain), it is not inevitable that I should have another for years to come, provided that I become a strict teetotaller, vegetarian, hermit, and abstainer from work. In short, 'that my rule of life,' 'the exemplar' for my 'imitation,' is to be that of a tortoise. Hence it does not appear that there is any immediate necessity for saying farewell to my friends, and hence also I will not bother you by falling in with your kind proposal to come over from Cambridge to see me, much as I should like to see you in any case. But if you would care to pay a visit to Oxford any time between this and to-morrow week (16th), when I shall start for the vicinity of Nice, we should both be awfully glad to put you up. I think Dyer will probably be with us from Saturday to Monday (14 to 16).
With our united very kind regards to all,
Yours ever sincerely,
G. J. Romanes.
Then came the journey to Costebelle, which he describes as follows:
To James Romanes, Esq.
Hôtel l'Ermitage, Costebelle: November 4, 1893.
My dearest James,—I ought to have answered long ago the kind letter which I received from you just as I was driving to the Oxford station, and read in the train. But I am still such a wretched invalid that I shrink from the smallest exertion, whether of body or mind. I caught a violent cold in crossing the Channel, which kept me in bed for three days at Amiens, and left me so weak that I had to further break the journey at Paris, Lyons, and Marseilles—finally arriving here with a still feverish temperature. But this has now subsided.
We found not only Paris but quite as much Lyons and Marseilles in a state of delirium over the Russian fleet officers, with whom we were muddled up all the way, greatly to our inconvenience. This was especially the case on leaving Lyons, where the railway officials, after having put our luggage (containing our circular notes) in the railway station, locked the doors of the latter in our faces, when the police and military officials hurried us down the hill again in the town (in the rudest of ways) till the arrival of the Russians nearly an hour after our train was timed to depart. We had no doubt that our hand baggage had all been carried off in our railway carriage without us and without labels; but on at last getting into the station found that our train had not started.
This is one of the most charming places I have ever seen. The hotel is situated on the top of a hill which slopes for a mile to the sea, and which is thickly clothed with pine and olive woods in all directions. The climate admits of our sitting out of doors without overcoats or shawls till sunset, amid the most wonderful profusion of aromas I have ever met with.
To the Dean of Christ Church.
Costebelle: November 28, 1893.
My dear Dean,—In the firmament of my friendships there is no such star as yourself, and I find it belongs to them all that the darker and the colder the night becomes, the more brightly do they shine.
It is quite certain that 'the South has not yet rendered its full service,' inasmuch as it has not rendered me any service at all. If anything I am worse than when I left Oxford. My muscular power, indeed, has somewhat improved, but my nervous exhaustion seems to be growing upon me, week by week; so that I am now able to walk but very little—to hope, not much, to think, not at all.
The truth is that my ailment, whatever it is, is not to be reached by climatic influences: it belongs to those mysterious internal changes, which Darwin ascribes to what he calls 'the nature of the organism'—'variations which to our ignorance appear to arise spontaneously.' Hence, I am out of harmony with my environment, whatever the environment may be. And, as this Spencerianism applies to my spiritual, no less than to my bodily organisation, it would seem that somehow or other I have been born into a wrong world—like those poor Porto Santo rabbits, which I took home with me last year, and the history of which I think I told you. However, I do not intend to grumble at the visible universe until I shall have had an opportunity of looking round the edge and seeing what is behind.
Most of our time is spent in sheer idleness, or rather, I should say, all of my time, and that proportion of my wife's which is spent in reading to me—chiefly novels, poetry, and history. Yesterday, we had Coppée's play 'Le Pater,' which I know you have read. For the length of it, I think it is as powerful a piece of dramatic writing as I have ever read.
Very few worries find their way to L'Ermitage. The worst at present is the choice of the next 'Romanes Lecturer.' Owing to his accident, Helmholtz has blocked the way for the last two months, but now promises a final reply in the course of a few days. If he does come, I hope the University will give him the D.C.L.
With our united kindest regards to Mrs. Paget, whose messages to me are of more benefit than all my doctor's drugs (now that is a thing I 'would rather have expressed otherwise'!) and yourself,
I remain, ever your affectionate friend,
G. J. Romanes.
For a while all went well, he liked the place, and was able to work a little, and to have many books read to him. He had taken out Dr. Martineau's 'Study of Religion,' and other philosophical books, and he also plunged into poetry, reading Wordsworth chiefly.
In December came what seemed to be a severe gastric attack, with other alarming symptoms, and for a few hours he seemed to be dying. But this passed off, and although he was kept in bed for three weeks he grew better, and in some ways there seemed grounds for fresh hope.
For a few days in January he was under the care of a cousin with two trained nurses, and his letters home were surprisingly bright.
His wife's maid, of whom he was very fond, was terribly ill in January, and he writes:
Give Jane my love, and tell her I never forget how good she was to me when I thought I was dying in her arms at Boar's Hill.
And again he wrote:
So glad to hear the operation has been successful. Congratulate her from me. Tell her I heartily wish I were in her place as to this, but that nevertheless I have not 'lost heart.' I am now certainly stronger, and if I could only submit my cranial cavity to Tom's[121] hands for removal of anything disagreeable, I should be comparatively joyful.
The weather is glorious. Marian is at mass, having read me one of Church's sermons.
Please tell John to send me a couple of hundred cigarettes (to prevent influenza!).
When you come out you will not find me a kill-joy; the danger will rather be that of my scandalising you all by riotous conduct on Sunday.
And certainly he was astonishingly bright when his wife returned to him. It was on a Sunday afternoon, and his first proposition was, 'The church bell is tinkling, let's go to church.' It was the twenty-eighth of January, and the brightness and gladness of two of the Evening Psalms were oddly appropriate, and chimed in with feelings of a greater gladness dawning on him, for he was leaving the strange land in which for years he had not been able to sing 'The Lord's Song.'
And then began a time, often saddened by hours of intense physical exhaustion and physical depression, but also of what can only be called growth in holiness, in all that comes from nearness to God.
In the early autumn and winter there had been sad moments when still the clouds of darkness, of inability to grasp the Hand of God stretched out to meet him, hung over him, but in these months there had been the same growth.
One to whom he often spoke of the deepest things of life and of death will never forget his saying one day just after the attack of illness in December: 'I have come to see that cleverness, success, attainment, count for little; that goodness, or, as F. (naming a dear friend) would say, "character," is the important factor in life.'
For in early days Mr. Romanes had attached, so it seemed to some of those who knew him best, an undue importance to intellect, to cleverness, to intelligence, and the same person to whom he said the few words just quoted had often discussed with him the relative value of goodness and of intellect.
By goodness is meant perfect and complete goodness, not such as that of which it has been said, 'It is the business of the wise to rectify the mistakes of the good.'
And as weeks passed on he would often plan a country house and a life in which 'good works' were to have a share.
He had always had a high ideal of what Love and Faith should bring about, and in the last months of his life he said to one whom he dearly loved, 'Darling, if you believe what you say you believe, why should you mind so much?' With absolute resignation he gave up all his ambitions, the old longing for distinction, for greater fame, and yet he did not lose for one moment the old interest in his scientific work.
Two papers of his were read at the Royal Society in October 1892. The first described experiments undertaken by Mr. Romanes, the primary object of which was to ascertain whether seeds which had been kept out of contact with air for a lengthy period of time still possessed the power of germination. The method adopted was as follows: a certain number of seeds were taken from each packet, mustard, cress, beans, peas, &c., being the kinds employed, and having been weighed in a chemical balance were sealed up in tubes which had previously been exhausted of air, and kept exposed to the vacuum for a period of fifteen months. At the end of that time they were removed from the tubes and sown in flower-pots buried in moist soil. In some cases, after the seeds had been in the vacuum tubes for three months, they were transferred to other tubes charged with pure gases, such as oxygen, nitrogen, hydrogen, carbon monoxide, or with aqueous or chloroform vapour, and there kept for a further period of twelve months, when they were sown as before.
In all cases the same number of seeds, of similar weights to those sealed up in the tubes, were taken from each packet, kept in ordinary air for the fifteen months, and then sown as control experiments.
The results clearly showed that the germinating power of the seeds was hardly, if at all, affected either by being exposed to the vacuum or to the atmospheres of the various gases and vapours. Further, in no single case, in the hundreds of seeds so treated, did the plants produced from them differ from the standard types grown from the control seeds even in the smallest degree.
The second paper described experiments in heliotropism, which had been undertaken by Mr. Romanes with the object of ascertaining whether plants would bend towards a light that is not continuous, but intermittent.
Mustard seedlings, grown in the dark until they were about one or two inches high, were used in all the experiments; they were either placed in a dark room and exposed to flashes of light in the form of electric sparks passed at regular intervals, or they were put in a camera obscura, before which was placed a Swan burner or arc lamp, the light from which was rendered intermittent by the regular opening and shutting of the photographic shutter. The heliotropic effect on the seedlings was found in all cases to be very marked, the most vigorous ones beginning to bend towards the light ten minutes after the flashing began, bending through 45° in as many minutes, and often through another 45° in as many minutes more. By protecting half of the seedlings from the interrupted light, by means of a cardboard cap, then after the experiment uncovering them and exposing that half for the same duration of time to constant sunlight, Mr. Romanes found that the bending was less in this latter case, that is, when the light was continuous. This result was confirmed by placing two sets of plants under exactly similar conditions before a Swan burner, the light from which was constant for one set of seedlings, and rendered intermittent for the other set by working the flash shutter; in all cases the interrupted light caused the plants to start bending more quickly, and through a greater angle in a given time.
As regards the rate the flashes must succeed one another to produce this heliotropic effect, Mr. Romanes found that sparks passed at the rate of fifty in an hour would cause considerable bending in half an hour. It is of interest to note that in no single case was there any green colouring matter produced, the seedlings remaining colourless even when the sparks were passed at the rate of 100 per second continuously during forty-eight hours.
Dr. Sanderson writes:
Friday, November 17.
My dear Romanes,—There was a rather interesting discussion at the R.S. on your paper about the fresh experiments with seedlings. It was objected that there was no evidence that the effects were not due to one-sided drying of the stems of the seedlings, and —— wanted to know whether sufficient precautions were taken to guard against this. I suppose that he meant heat effects. I said that, under the conditions of this experiment, I could not see how any 'drying effect' could possibly take place.
My suggestion is that it would be worth while to add a note, if you think of the impossibility of any effect, excepting a light effect, being concerned. I asked Foster just now, and he agreed with me that it would be useful. I ought to add that it was admitted that the observation was a new one which promised to have very important bearings.
I am writing this in great haste. I trust that you are enjoying Costebelle.
Very truly yours,
T. Burdon Sanderson.
At this time Mr. Romanes had a very interesting correspondence with the Rev. G. Henslow, on the subject of the direct action of the environment on plant structures.
Ealing: October 19, 1893.
Dear Mr. Romanes,—If you are in town on November 16, I should be very glad indeed if you could come to the Linnean Society, and criticise my paper which I am going to read: 'On the origin of plant structures by self-adaptation to the environment, exemplified by desert and xerophyllous plants.'
In this and in subsequent letters Mr. Henslow explained the subject-matter of his paper, and as it formed the basis of the correspondence, a brief analysis, furnished by Mr. Henslow in a later letter, is here inserted.
The object of the paper is to show that the origin of varieties and species—as far as the vegetative organs are concerned—is solely due to climatic causes. For the acquired (somatic) characters become more or less hereditary if the same environment be maintained. But plants possess every degree in their capacities either of reverting, changing, or of stability.
The result is that I do not see any necessity for natural selection at all in Nature, for the following reasons.
Variations are often indefinite in cultivation, especially after several years. Therefore to secure a useful race artificial selection is necessary. On the other hand, variation is definite in Nature, all the seedlings varying in one and the same direction, i.e. towards equilibrium with the environmental forces. Darwin knew of this fact, and you have abundantly described it. But Darwin failed to see that this definite variation in Nature is the rule, and not the exception. Hence, as he admits, natural selection is not wanted at all [i.e. if all variations are definite in Nature].
Moreover, it is contended that climatic variations are of no great, even of any useful importance. This may be so, for all I know, with animals; but it is precisely the reverse with plants. I took my illustrations from desert plants, and showed that their remarkable characteristics, which give the facies to desert plants, are on the one hand the direct results of the excessive drought, heat, light, &c. On the other, they are just those features which enable the plants to live under their extremely inhospitable environment. These characters are the minute leaves, hardening of woody tissues, thick cuticle, dense clothing of hair, wax, storage of water tissues, &c.; so that the whole economy of the plant, including its specific characters, is all climatically acquired. Although some may vary when the plants are grown in ordinary gardens, such is no more than one would expect on a priori grounds to be the case.
I would limit natural selection, as far as plants are concerned, to three things:
1. Mortality among seedlings with the survival of the strongest.
I do not say 'fittest,' because it is ordinarily understood to mean that the survivors have some morphological features, by which they are benefited, which lead on finally to specific characters.
I do not find this to be the case. Take an instance of great contrast. Sow 100 seeds of the water (submerged) Ranunculus fluitans in a garden. They all grow up as aërial plants, i.e. they vary as they grow precisely in the same way. It is only the weakest (from badly nourished seeds) which get crowded out of existence. Here, then, is definite variation without the aid of natural selection. Ex uno disce omnes.
2. Delimitation of varieties and species by the non-reproduction of intermediate forms.
It is generally said that if 'good species' are isolated, the intermediate forms have been killed off by natural selection. I maintain that they were never reproduced. Thus if A has passed by successive generations, A′, A″, A‴, &c., to An; A and An being now only in existence, then A′, A″, &c., represented a single generation apiece, each offspring being one degree nearer to An, but could never be reproduced, as the environment was continually acting upon the whole series, urging each generation forwards till it became stable in An.
This is precisely what takes place in cultivating a wild plant like the parsnip. Each year the grower selects a slightly improved form, till the required type is fixed. The 'Student' is now An, a more or less permanently fixed form, each of the intermediate forms, lasting one year, having ceased to be reproduced.
3. The geographical distribution of varieties and species by self-adaptation.
That is, if a number of plants migrate to a new locality with new environmental conditions, half of them may die; because they cannot adapt themselves; the other half may live—change, and become fixed forms, by their power of adaptation. The final conclusion of the whole is that plants require nothing more than climatic influences, to which their protoplasm may respond. The result is new varietal or specific characters. Then, if the same environment lasts, these become gradually more and more fixed and hereditary, but one can never tell beforehand but that the oldest plant in creation may not change again as soon as it finds a new environment.... This is what a long study of plants and experiments has led me to; and it is not a conclusion arrived at solely by 'thinking out' or evolving from my own consciousness—like the German camel!
Hoping you are progressing,
Believe me, yours sincerely,
George Henslow.
Hôtel l'Ermitage, Costebelle, Hyères, France: October 29, 1893.
Dear Mr. Henslow,—You will correctly infer from this address that I shall not be able to attend the Linnean Society meeting on the 16th prox. For two or three years past my health has been breaking up, and several months ago I had a stroke of paralysis. So I have had to knock off all work, and have just arrived here to spend the winter—finding your letter, forwarded from Oxford, awaiting me.
It has interested me very much, and some time I should like to see the paper to which it refers, whether in MS. or print. As far as I can gather, you are spontaneously following in the footsteps of Asa Gray, Nägeli, and some other botanists. But, it seems to me, this self-adaptation doctrine is equivalent to an a priori abandoning of all hope to obtain any naturalistic explanation of the phenomena in question. It simply refers the facts of adaptation immediately to some theory of design, and so brings us back again to Paley, Bell, and Chalmers. As when a child asks why a flower closes at night, and we answer him: Because God has made it so, my dear. C'est magnifique, mais ce n'est pas la science.
But do not mistake me. My quarrel is with the term self-adaptation, which seems to imply causes of a non-naturalistic kind. Which, of course, is quite a different thing from doubting whether the naturalistic explanation given by Darwin is adequate to meet all the facts. I am myself more and more given to question 'the all-sufficiency of natural selection,' and this, whether or not use-inheritance is one of the supplementary factors. But that there are some hitherto undiscovered factors of this kind where many of the phenomena of adaptation are concerned, I am more and more disposed to suspect. Nevertheless I believe, in the light of analogy, that they will all prove to be natural causes, and therefore not correctly definable as due to 'self-adaptation.'
My hemiplegia has given me a terrible shake, so I cannot write much. Indeed, this is the longest of the few letters which I have written since my attack. So please excuse seeming bluntness, and believe me to remain,
Ever yours, very truly and most interestedly,
Geo. J. Romanes.
P.S.—Of course you would not in any case expect to find so much variability of the conspicuously indefinite kind in nature as in cultivation. For, by hypothesis, natural selection is present in the one case (to destroy useless variations) while absent in the other. But I allow this does not apply to the examples you give me. Only remember the point in publishing your paper.
Hôtel Costebelle, Hyères: February 10, 1894.
Dear Mr. Henslow,—I am much indebted to you for all your most interesting letters, and also for prospect of receiving your books. Although forbidden to write letters myself, or to think about anything as yet, I must send a few lines, pending arrival of the books and papers, giving my general impression of your views as set out in your correspondence.
Briefly, it seems to me that your argument is perfectly clear up to a certain point, but then suddenly becomes a petitio principii. In other words, so far as your view is critical of natural selection considered as a hypothetical cause of adaptive evolution, I can well believe you have adduced a formidable array of facts. But I fail to follow, when you pass on to the constructive part of your case—or your suggested substitute for natural selection in self-adaptation. For self-adaptation, I understand, consists in results of immediate response to stimuli supplied by environment. But, if so, surely the statement that all the adaptive machinery of plant-organisation is due to self-adaptation is a mere begging of the question against natural selection unless it can be shown how self-adaptation works in each case. Now I do not find any suggestion as to this. And yet this is obviously the essential point; since, unless it can be shown how self-adaptation works—i.e. that it is a vera causa, and not a mere word serving to re-state the facts of adaptive evolution. We have got no further in the way of explanation than the physician, who said, that the reason why morphia produces sleep is because it possesses a soporific quality.
Observe, I purposely abstain from considering your criticism of natural selection, which, although perfectly lucid and possibly justifiable, yet certainly does admit of the answer that incipient variations of a fortuitous kind under nature may often be inconspicuous (while Wallace shows that in animals they are, as a matter of fact, usually considerable). But we need not go into this. The interesting point to all of us must be the constructive part of your work; and I have tried to explain my difficulty with regard to it. Why should protoplasm be able to adapt itself into the millions of diverse mechanisms of nature by converse with environment? The theory of natural selection gives a logically possible, even if it be a biologically inadequate answer. But I cannot see that the theory of self-adaptation does, unless it can be shown that there is some sufficient reason why, say a direct-environment should produce self-adaptation in the direction of hairs, a marine one in that of fleshiness, &c. &c.
I have been very frank, because I know you, and therefore that this is what you would prefer. But I am too ill to make myself clear in a letter. I wish you could stop here for a day on your way home, by which time I shall probably have read your books, and we might discuss the whole business before I publish mine on the Post-Darwinian Theories.
With very many thanks,
I remain yours very truly,
G. J. Romanes.