not only to gather facts, but to read their meaning, both immediate and remote. Now if we are justified in ascribing the delight which the study of natural history gives to the fact that, when we are engaged in such pursuits, we are obeying an inherent impulse derived from our innumerable hunting ancestors, it follows that the more closely such primitive instincts are obeyed the more enjoyment will the naturalist be likely to get from his pursuits. If, in addition to merely collecting specimens and classifying them, we are able, like our skin-clad forefathers, to regard each item as part of an argument or a narrative, we shall reawaken more fully the keen delight in outdoor pursuits which was the daily portion of the savage. Now this is exactly what Darwinism has enabled us to do. Even if we are among those who go no further than did most of the older naturalists, and content ourselves with merely observing and recording, our pursuits gain infinitely in zest. For the most trivial scrap of knowledge, which at one time would only have been one more item added to the chaotic dust-heap of useless lore, may now turn out to be a diamond beyond price. Many times of late years has some small and apparently valueless discovery enabled the man of science to establish some the spectroscope has done for the astronomer, or the discovery of the cuneiform alphabet for the archæologist. As yet we are only stumbling among the elements of the new method, but already it is often possible, by exercising our reasoning faculty and our knowledge of natural laws when observing the most commonplace phenomena, to see in them a revelation of the past which was utterly beyond the reach of our fathers. Yet it must never be forgotten that if our attempts to interpret Nature's hieroglyphics are not based upon extensive and accurate knowledge, we shall run the same risk of coming to wrong conclusiona, as would the savage if he were not thoroughly versed in all phases of his wild surroundings. It is necessary to keep a constant check upon the innate propensity to draw inferences from whatever we see or think we see. One finds that this habit of the human mind is curiously automatic: for constantly when we are in a "brown study," and even when we are asleep, we find that attempts are being made, although often of a vague and fatuous kind, to give reasons for what chances to be occupying the attention. The fact that this habit is universal among mankind, and that it is also innate and automatic, asserts its extreme antiquity. Probably in it we find the actual merging point of instinct and reason. Like many other mental widely reaching law. No single character in the book of Nature is without its meaning, and even when the key to her cipher is not yet in our hands, the astonishing progress which has been made during a single generation makes it probable that we have only to wait and to labour awhile longer to be able to read the wondrous tale. Darwinism has done more in this way for the naturalist than and moral attributes which have come down to us from the remote past, it is liable to get us into grave trouble if not controlled by the most vigilant discipline. Regarded in the light of a very raw recruit, with Logic - that stern martinet of the Intelligence Department-ever at its elbow, it is still capable of rendering useful service. home to his earth in the oak-grove? He knows that fox well, and all his kindred within an area of several square miles. Or is some larger and more terrible beast, some huge brindled machairodus, or cave-bear, prowling among the woods in front of him? Within a few minutes while he stands there, scarcely moving an eyelid, he has received news enough from the disturbed birds and beasts in the valley to fill a column in the Times.' By comparing the different notes of alarm which reach his ears he learns at length that there are two sources of provocation afoot: one is comparatively near to him, and is merely a fox or wild cat, he cannot tell which-for the chaffinches and the jays have the same name for both; but the other, where first he heard the blackbird's vehement outcry, is a larger beast, which, from the shifting cries of protest, seems passing slowly down the river - bank. As far as he can judge, considering its beat and the time of day, it is a sabre-toothed tiger on the prowl for deer. These conclusions have been come to, not only through the gathering of innumerable facts, but by means of elaborate logical processes, and a power of judging the comparative value of evidence which would do credit to a modern Lord Chancellor. At length he cautiously moves forward and comes upon the slot of the antlered herd. A glance tells him that they have been startled before reaching the brook, and have made their way at headlong speed back into the forest. Further scrutiny of the ground reveals the fact that a huge machairodus has leaped from behind a bush, has clawed the flank of one deer without seizing it, and after galloping clumsily some twenty yards after the herd, has given up the pursuit, and turned down the river-bank in the direction from whence came the blackbird's shriek of warning. The keen eyes of the savage wander over the ground in search of one further piece of evidence of the utmost importance. At length he sees where the hoof of a flying hind has displaced a pebble. Bending down and shading his eyes from the dazzling sunlight, he examines the damp surface of the stone intently; and when he rises, ten seconds later, he could tell you, if you were to ask him, that the events recorded in the writing on the ground happened almost exactly half an hour before he arrived at the spot! If he were ready to reveal his methods you would probably learn that in making this calculation he took account of the temperature of the air, the direction of the wind, the character of the pebble and of the soil in which it had lain embedded. Plainly such problems could not be solved with success without an immense and most accurate knowledge of natural phenomena, an alert imagination, and logical ability of no order. mean We will now wish him "good hunting," and return across the centuries. For, although it would be very interesting to accompany him on his day's round and watch his method of getting a living, we have "other fish to fry"; and having, I think, captured what we want for the purpose during our early excursion, we will no longer embarrass our archaic progenitor with our clumsy civilised ways. Whether or no this imaginary family portrait is correct in its details, I think we may be tolerably positive as regards one particular. It was an invariable and essential mental habit with him not only to gather facts, but to read their meaning, both immediate and remote. Now if we are justified in ascribing the delight which the study of natural history gives to the fact that, when we are engaged in such pursuits, we are obeying an inherent impulse derived from our innumerable hunting ancestors, it follows that the more closely such primitive instincts are obeyed the more enjoyment will the naturalist be likely to get from his pursuits. If, in addition to merely collecting specimens and classifying them, we are able, like our skin-clad forefathers, to regard each item as part of an argument or a narrative, we shall reawaken more fully the keen delight in outdoor pursuits which was the daily portion of the savage. Now this is exactly what Darwinism has enabled us to do. Even if we are among those who go no further than did most of the older naturalists, and content ourselves with merely observing and recording, our pursuits gain infinitely in zest. For the most trivial scrap of knowledge, which at one time would only have been one more item added to the chaotic dust-heap of useless lore, may now turn out to be a diamond beyond price. Many times of late years has some small and apparently valueless discovery enabled the man of science to establish some widely reaching law. No single character in the book of Nature is without its meaning, and even when the key to her cipher is not yet in our hands, the astonishing progress which has been made during a single generation makes it probable that we have only to wait and to labour awhile longer to be able to read the wondrous tale. Darwinism has done more in this way for the naturalist than the spectroscope has done for the astronomer, or the discovery of the cuneiform alphabet for the archæologist. As yet we are only stumbling among the elements of the new method, but already it is often possible, by exercising our reasoning faculty and our knowledge of natural laws when observing the most commonplace phenomena, to see in them a revelation of the past which was utterly beyond the reach of our fathers. Yet it must never be forgotten that if our attempts to interpret Nature's hieroglyphics are not based upon extensive and accurate knowledge, we shall run the same risk of coming to wrong conclusions, as would the savage if he were not thoroughly versed in all phases of his wild surroundings. It is necessary to keep a constant check upon the innate propensity to draw inferences from whatever we see or think we see. One finds that this habit of the human mind is curiously automatic: for constantly when we are in a "brown study," and even when we are asleep, we find that attempts are being made, although often of a vague and fatuous kind, to give reasons for what chances to be occupying the attention. The fact that this habit is universal among mankind, and that it is also innate and automatic, asserts its extreme antiquity. Probably in it we find the actual merging point of instinct and reason. Like many other mental and moral attributes which have come down to us from the remote past, it is liable to get us into grave trouble if not controlled by the most vigilant discipline. Regarded in the light of a very raw recruit, with Logic-that stern martinet of the Intelligence Department-ever at its elbow, it is still capable of rendering useful service. The danger which besets us in accepting any plausible explanation of phenomena without subjecting it to the most searching criticism is not death or wounds, as in the case of a primitive hunter who formed a hasty and erroneous judgment, but it is one which will certainly kill or cripple us as naturalists. Self-contradictory as the statement may appear, what is common and obvious is often much more mysterious and wonderful than what is rare. We are so in the habit of taking circumstances in our everyday surroundings for granted, that a very great deal entirely escapes notice which offers most fruitful ground for research. Do we not constantly see, when some great invention or discovery is announced, that the thing has all the time been almost before our eyes, and that it is of the most ridiculously simple character? Within the last few years many of us learned with astonishment that air contained a new element in addition to nitrogen and oxygen. Yet for generations hundreds of able chemists have not only been breathing air, but have been continually working upon it. in their laboratories. And furthermore, when the facts and methods which led to the discovery of argon were announced, it seemed astonishing to every student of chemistry that since the time when Cavendish first drew attention to "residual nitrogen" not one of these experimenters had apprehended a truth which was all but naked before his eyes. Although in the year 1777 Gilbert White drew attention to the remarkable influence of earthworms in "boring, perforating, and loosening the soil, and in throwing up such infinite number of lumps of earth called worm-casts, which is a fine manure for grain and grass," and although he said, furthermore, "A good Monograph of Worms would afford much entertainment and information at the same time, and would open to a new and large field on natural history," it was not until more than a century had elapsed that Darwin's work on 'The Formation of Vegetable Mould through the Action of Worms' was published. Yet all the time, in every field, abundant evidence of the influence of worms was displayed before the eyes of naturalists in the shape of hundreds of tons of earth raised to the surface in the form of wormcasts. I make bold to say that, in like manner, most of the future discoveries of great moment to the naturalist will be made, not in the remote and minute ramifications of science such as are occupying the attention of so many of our learned investigators, but among the everyday phenomena which are open to the eyes of all. It is in this truth (for truth is scarcely too strong a word when all past experience declares and confirms the rule) that the hope of the amateur naturalist lies. In spite of the immense stimulus which Darwinism has given to the study of natural history, I am afraid that hitherto it has proved rather a stumbling block than a help to a large number of people who take an interest in such pursuits. Most of these belong to the class who take up some branch of natural history as a hobby for leisure hours. One hardly likes to speak of such students as amateurs, for the term generally savours of contempt when used in connection with the arts or sciences. We owe so much to observers, from Gilbert White downwards, to whom the study of animated na ture has been chiefly a source of recreation, that it would be a great mistake either to hold their work cheap or to make their way needlessly difficult. When, therefore, the word "amateur" occurs in this article, it is merely employed to distinguish naturalists of this order from those who have adopted the study of natural science as a profession. To a certain extent the untoward effect of the new doctrine on many of the older order of naturalists was inevitable. Our ideas concerning nature have been so revolutionised during the last generation, that one can hardly expect mature students to find themselves at home in their novel environment; while any attempts to patch the new doctrines on to the damaged remnants of the old was like putting new cloth in an old garment. Although, as I shall point out later, the amateurs have themselves to blame to a certain extent, their hindrances have come largely from outside. In some directions the same fate seems to have overtaken the pursuits of the naturalist which in these strenuous days has overtaken various popular sports. Professionalism has seized them for its own, and has established methods and standards which are beyond the reach of any but the professional. The impetus given by the new doctrine has not only greatly multiplied the number of earnest professional workers, but it has also increased the mass of our knowledge to such an extent that no little perseverance is necessary to enable a beginner to master the initial details of any branch of natural history in which he hopes to excel. It is one thing to cull fresh knowledge in the open fields, but it is quite another, and requires sterner stuff than a spirit of dilettanteism, to wrestle with dry bones and technicalities in a stuffy library or museum. Again, the increased energy given to research is rapidly using up a great deal of the material upon which our fathers busied themselves. Their happy huntinggrounds have been surveyed, mapped, and annexed by the speculative professor, and the fauna and flora thereon catalogued with a business-like precision which would do credit to an auctioneer. The naturalist who is content with merely collecting and classifying natural objects now finds that he must go very far afield if he is to be more than an imitator of other men's labours. Furthermore, it must, I fear, be admitted that some things, which are not roses, have been strewed in the path of the amateur naturalist by certain of his professional associates. This was probably more true ten years ago than it is to-day, and it is to be hoped that advancing civilisation will remove such causes of offence. But any one who has studied the habits of that uncompromising vertebrate the Learned Official, when he deigns to mix with common folk at British Association meetings and elsewhere, will probably have observed that certain members of the order treat their less exalted fellow-workers with a somewhat disdainful patronage. Doubtless this is partly due to a temporary combination of youthfulness and authority among some of the leaders of the new movement, which has resulted from rapid progress. But there seems also a tendency on the part of a larger number of professional naturalists to assume quasi-manorial rights in certain regions of Nature's kingdom. It is apparently |