LITERARY NOTICES.
Jelly-Fish, Star-Fish and Sea-Urchins (International Scientific Series). Being a Research into Primitive Nervous Systems. By G. J. Romanes, M.A., LL.D., F.R.S., etc. New York: D. Appleton & Co.
Mr. G. J. Romanes, one of the most distinguished of living English scientists, and a worthy follower in the track of Darwin, has given the world in his study of the lowest forms of animal life a book of great interest to the general reader who is interested in scientific matter. At first glance the line of research followed might not seem particularly engaging except to the professional student, but one hardly dips into the book without finding his attention aroused and stimulated. The poetic enthusiasm with which Mr. Romanes introduces the subject quickly finds a response in the mind of the reader. He writes:
“Among the most beautiful, as well as the most common, of the marine animals which are to be met with upon our coasts, are the jelly-fish and the star-fish. Scarcely anyone is so devoid of the instincts either of the artist or of the naturalist as not to have watched these animals with blended emotions of the æsthetic and the scientific—feeling the beauty while wondering at the organization. How many of us who live for most of the year in the fog and dust of large towns enjoy with the greater zest our summer’s holiday at the seaside? And in the memories of most of us is there not associated with the picture of breaking waves and sea-birds floating indifferently in the blue sky, or on the water still more blue, the thoughts of many a ramble among the weedy rocks and living pools, where, for the time being, we all become naturalists, and where those who least know what they are likely to find in their search are most likely to approach the keen happiness of childhood? If so, the image of the red sea-stars bespangling a mile of shining sand, or decorating the darkness of a thousand grottoes, must be joined with the image, no less vivid, of those crystal globes, pulsating with life and gleaming with all the colors of the rainbow, which are perhaps the most strange, and certainly in my estimation the most delicately lovely creatures in the world.
“It is with these two kinds of creatures that the present work is concerned, and, if it seems almost impious to lay the ‘forced fingers rude’ of science upon living things of such exquisite beauty, let it be remembered that our human nature is not so much out of joint that the rational desire to know is incompatible with the emotional impulse to admire. Speaking for myself, I can testify that my admiration of the extreme beauty of these animals has been greatly enhanced—or rather I should say that this extreme beauty has been, so to speak, revealed—by the continuous and close observation which many of my experiments required: both with the unassisted eye and with the microscope numberless points of detail, unnoticed before, became familiar to the mind; the forms as a whole were impressed upon the memory; and, by constantly watching their movements and changes of appearance, I have grown, like an artist studying a face or a landscape, to appreciate a fulness of beauty, the esse of which is only rendered possible by the percipi of such attention as is demanded by scientific research. Moreover, association, if not the sole creator, is at least a most important factor of the beautiful; and therefore the sight of one of these animals is now much more to me, in the respects which we are considering, than it can be to anyone in whose memory it is not connected with many days of that purest form of enjoyment which can only be experienced in the pursuit of science.”
No matter how interesting investigation into any set of natural phenomena may be, probably none is more attractive than a study of primitive nervous systems. Alike in the survey of the whole of the animal kingdom and in the study of the development of any individual form there are certain broad truths evident. First among these may be mentioned the significant fact that the nervous system of all animals originates from some of the cells of that layer of the body which was originally the outermost. This is the lesson taught by nature that the prime necessity of living organisms is a knowledge of the outer world, and that the most sensitive and important system of organs primarily stands in a direct relation to the outer world. The investigations of Leuckart, Haeckel, Oscar and Richard Hertwig, and Prof. Schafer fully established the fact as to the origin of nerve fibres and sense-cells from the outer layer of the body, and as to the primitively diffused disposition of the central nervous system. This was first observed of the jelly-fish, but subsequent investigation proved it also to be the case with star-fish, sea-urchins and all the forms of echinoderms. Haeckel, in 1860, showed that the eyes of the star-fishes are nothing more than elongated epithelial cells provided with pigments, and throughout life quite superficial in position.
Though Mr. Romanes gives a succinct account of the authentic conclusions reached by other students in this line of scientific research, his book is mostly devoted to his own investigations. He makes a great many curious observations as to the habits and characteristics of the classes of animals of which he treats, beside giving a very complete account of their physiology and morphology. The work is fully illustrated with cuts, and though it may seem at first to bristle with technical matter, the reader will speedily find himself interested in the studies and conclusions of the author.
Origin of Cultivated Plants (International Scientific Series). By Alphonse de Candolle, Foreign Associate Academie of Sciences, Institute of France, Foreign Member of the Royal Societies of London, Edinburgh and Dublin, etc., etc. New York: D. Appleton & Co.
M. De Candolle’s “Origin of Cultivated Plants” (No. 48 of the International Scientific Series) is a work calculated certainly to arouse the attention of agriculturists, botanists, and others aside from those interested in the dawnings of civilization from the historical or philosophical standpoint. The labors of both father and son in this field have made the name of De Candolle distinguished in science as worthy successors of Linnæus, and thirty years’ labor in the field of geographical botany have wrought results of the most important kind. There are few plants which are not adequately discussed in this book in spite of the fact that, owing to the great number of varieties which long cultivation has produced, and the remoteness of time when they were first reclaimed from nature, great difficulties are offered to any correct history of their origin. The author combats the erroneous opinions promulgated so widely by Linnæus, who, in spite of his greatness, oftentimes took things too much on trust. Many of these mistakes dated back to the times of the Greeks and Romans, and certainly it was time that some adequate hand should attempt a correction. The data of correction have been drawn from data of varied character, some of which is quite recent and even unpublished, and all of which has been sifted as men sift evidence in historical research. The author claims that, in spite of all the difficulties in his way, he has been able to determine the origin of almost all the species, sometimes with absolute certainty, sometimes with a very high degree of probability.
Some plants cultivated for more than two thousand years are not now known in a spontaneous state. This can be accounted for on one of these two hypotheses; either these plants, since history has begun, have changed so entirely in form in their wild as well as in their cultivated condition that they are no longer recognized as belonging to the same species, or they are extinct species. In case they are extinct, this extinction must have taken place of course during the short period (scientifically speaking) of a few hundred centuries, on continents where they might have spread, and under circumstances which are commonly considered unvarying. This shows how the history of cultivated plants is allied to the most important problems of the general history of organized beings. The study of plants by our author is divided into those cultivated for their subterranean parts, such as roots, tubercles or bulbs; those cultivated for their stems or leaves; those cultivated for their flowers or for the organs which envelop them; those cultivated for their fruits, and those cultivated for their seeds. In the process of investigation we readily observe that De Candolle, who appears a master of the tools of research in every branch of study, has not only used botanical resources, but those of history and of travel, of archæology, pæleontology, and of philology. The wealth of learning lavished by the author on his work is sometimes almost bewildering. One of the most striking results of the author’s researches is that certain species are extinct or are fast becoming extinct since the historical epoch, and that not on small islands, but on vast continents without any great modifications of climate. M. De Candolle tells us that in the history of cultivated plants he has noticed no trace of communication between the peoples of the old and new worlds before the discovery of America by Columbus. The Scandinavians, who had pushed their excursions as far as the north of the United States, and the Basques of the Middle Ages, who followed whales perhaps as far as America, do not seem to have transported a single species. Neither has the Gulf Stream produced any effect. Between America and Asia, two transports of useful plants, perhaps, took place, the one by man (the batata, or sweet potato), the other by the agency of man or of the sea (the cocoanut palm).
The Adventures of Timias Terrystone. A Novel. By O. B. Bunce. New York: D. Appleton & Co.
Mr. Bunce, the author of several charmingly written works of the essay character, among which may be mentioned “Bachelor Bluff,” “My House an Ideal,”etc., again challenges the critical attention of the intelligent reading public, in a form this time which will command wider interest—the novel. The “Adventures of Timias Terrystone” is in no sense a romance; it is not a story of action, or in the least melodramatic; it is not in any wide or deep sense a novel of character, though the personages have well-marked individualities and act consistently with them. So far as the actual life depicted is concerned, the story glides pleasantly over the surface of things, not professing or caring to deal with the more deep and startling issues of life, but touching the facts of every-day happening with a light and graceful hand, and showing a very keen sensibility to the fresh and lovely aspects of youth. The hero is a young artist who, being a waif, did not know his own parentage, and being brought up in a very unconventional way, disdains even at the last, when he discovers his ancestry, all pride of birth and family. The adventures of the youthful painter, though chiefly of an amatory character, as his great personal beauty and freshness of character appear to exercise a great charm over the other sex, are manifold, and both interesting and amusing, he being a more refined and purer Gil Blas. But we doubt whether the main interest will be found in the mere story, though novel-readers will not go amiss of genuine enjoyment in this way. In the mouth of one of the characters, a bluff, easy-going, wandering Bohemian, our author places a great number of keen, incisive, critical, or eloquent observations, as the case may be. These thoughts are so full of pith that they can hardly fail to be widely quoted, and our readers will not have to draw on their good nature to pardon us if we give them some of these well-spiced plums: “A man who goes through the world with his eyes open learns something at every step; but one who immerses himself in a library simply converts himself into a catalogue.... What are reading and writing, anyway, but a prejudice of society? Do men get more character, more self-reliance, greater capacity for dealing with the problems of life, by filtering through the brain the dreams of the poets and the philosophers? I tell you that when our boys should be scouring through the woods, rolling down-hill, scaling the mountains, making themselves splendid young Apollos, we shut them up in a deadly school-room, which soon drives the color out of their cheeks, vigor out of their limbs, pluck out of their hearts, and snap out of their brains. Civilization is a bundle of absurdities—it is worse, it is a upas-tree, that is fast poisoning the race.”
“‘Men fall in love, they say, with beauty, with goodness, with gentleness, with intellectual qualities, with a sweet voice, with a smile, with an agreeable manner, with a lovable disposition, with many ascertainable and measurable things, and yet we find them continually falling in love with women who are not beautiful, nor good, nor wise, nor gentle, nor possessing any ascertainable or measurable thing. You’ll find a hundred reasons given for falling in love, or being in love, and rarely the right reason—which is commonly simply because a man cannot help it.... The philosophy of the thing is just here—a woman’s eye glances, or her lips smile, or her neck is white and well turned, or she has a pretty hand, or she flutters a fan gracefully, or she looks sympathetic, or she beckons, or some other trifle as light as gossamer, as valueless as a mote in the sun, as much without significance as the fall of a leaf, and the man is subdued, and immediately he begins to declare that the woman is lovely, when she is not; that she is gentle and good, when anyone can see the shrew in her eye; that she is wise and capable, when she is as perverse as a donkey, and as empty as an abandoned shell on the seashore; and so goes on manufacturing qualities and attributes for her out of air. To satisfy his judgment he creates an ideal, and tries with all his might to persuade himself there are good reasons for his passion—and so there are, but they are not written down in the catalogue of attractions. He is in love because a mysterious force of nature has touched him. The woman may be unbeautiful, heartless, selfish, cruel, untrue, coarse, frivolous, empty, but if the magic of nature—something of the magic, I suspect, that Puck used on the eyes of Titania—touches him, he sees not one of these things in their true aspect. Yes, the Titanias that have fallen in love with men crowned with donkey-heads, and the men that have fallen in love with serpents, thinking them doves, are many—and all because of a diabolism, or a mystic fury in nature that delights in bringing incongruous elements together for the sake of a dance of delirium.’”
“‘The reason why the world is as bad as it is, is because it has been lectured so much. Denunciation has never improved the morals of the world since the days of Jeremiah to the present hour. Many men are better for reading Emerson—none are better for reading Carlyle; in fact, the influence of your picturesque scold like Carlyle is to make fault-finding look like a virtue, and make people imagine that, if they are only vehement enough in denouncing other people’s sins, they will thereby clear their skirts of their own. It is the vice of a certain kind of piety that it is forever plunged into the deepest concern about other people’s iniquities. Your devout Catholic goes to church to confess his sins; your acrimonious Puritan goes to church to confess other people’s sins.’”
“‘And too often their own virtues,’ said Mary.
“‘Let us not imitate the censorious spirit in judging of him, for there is a great deal of good in his class, but believe firmly that denunciation cures nothing. There ought to be organized an anti-scolding league.’
“‘Of women?’ asked Mary, smiling.
“‘I am compelled to confess,’ said Philip, that the number of Jeremiahs in the world has been—excessive! And all the time your sex is so full of gentleness and sympathy! Perhaps the abominable doings of the men have been too much for their patience, and that we deserve the rating we get. But while we deserve it, that is not the way to reform us—we will succumb to your kindly words much sooner than to your objurgations.’...
“‘If there were not a censorious and fault-finding Mrs. Grundy, one very important restraint on people would be removed,’ remarked young Studley.
“‘See how old notions survive!’ exclaimed Philip. ‘The world must be driven and whipped, in order that it may be tractable and proper. Hang a thief, and you will stop stealing; drown a scold, and you will stop scolding; storm at a child, and he will grow up virtuous! But, you see, no body of people has ever tried my plan, and hence you know how the old whip and penalty method has worked, but you do not know how the moral and sympathetic dispensary plan will operate. For my part, I believe in human nature, and I am convinced that a plan that works well in a narrow circle would obey the same laws in a larger circle. But shall there not be a truce to philosophy?’”
We appeal to our readers if these quotations do not inspire an appetite for more. For our part, we have rarely found more mellow, yet pungent wisdom put in more agreeable form. Certainly the Bohemian, Philip, reminds us very strongly of another personage, considerably in the mouths of the reading public not very long since, Bachelor Bluff.
The Secret of Death. From the Sanscrit. With some Selected Poems. By Edwin Arnold, M.A., author of “The Light of Asia,” “Pearls of the Faith,”“Indian Idylls,” etc. Boston: Roberts Brothers.
The leading poem, from which this collection takes its title, is an adaptation from the first three books of a celebrated Sanscrit poem, the “Katha Upanishad.” The scene as described at the beginning of the poem is in a temple beside the river Moota Moola, near the city of Poona, and here a Brahmin priest and an English Sahib read together from the manuscript, the learned Brahmin commenting as his English pupil recites from the poem. The thread of motive may be briefly described: Gautama for love of heaven gave all he had to the poor. He had given all, and at last gave his son, Nachikêtas, to Yama, the God of Death, the last gift he had remaining. The youth, who had been trained in the highest holiness, went humbly to the abode of Yama, the King of Death, where he remained three days before the god came. When at last Yama came, he found that a holy Brahmin had waited for him three days, and to atone for this he promised him three wishes before he should die. Nachikêtas asked for three things: that his father should be comforted for his loss; that he should reach the abodes of heaven without first passing through the purgation of hell. Then he asks the third boon of Yama:
“‘There is this doubt,’ young Nachikêtas said:
‘Thou dost give peace—is that peace Nothingness?
Some say that after death the soul still lives,
Personal, conscious; some say, Nay, it ends!
Fain would I know which of these twain be true,
By thee enlightened. Be my third boon this.’
Then Yama answered, ‘This was asked of old,
Even by the gods! This is a subtle thing,
Not to be told, hard to be understood!
Ask me some other boon: I may not grant!
Choose wiser, Nachikêtas; force me not
To quit this debt—release me from my bond!’
Then, still again spake Nachikêtas: ‘Ay!
The gods have asked this question; but, O Death!
Albeit thou sayest it is a subtle thing,
Not to be told, hard to be understood,
Yet know I none can answer like to thee,
And no boon like to this abides to ask.
I crave this boon!’”
Yama tries to evade the fulfilment of this request. He will give the petitioner any and all things, but this he would not answer, if he could help.
“‘Choose,’ spake he, ‘sons and grandsons, who shall, thrive
A hundred years: choose for them countless herds—
Elephants, horses, gold! Carve out thy lands
In kingdoms for them. Nay, or be thyself
A king again on earth, reigning as long
As life shall satisfy. And, further, add
Unto these gifts whatever else thou wilt.
Health, wisdom, happiness—the rule of the world,
And I will fill the cup of thy desires!
Whatso is hard to gain and dear to keep
In the eyes of men, ask it of me, and have!
Beautiful, fond companions, fair as those
That ride the cars of Indra, singing sweet
To instruments of heavenly melody,
Lovelier than mortal eye hath gazed upon:
Have these, have heaven within their clinging arms!
I give them—I give all; save this one thing;
Ask not of Death what cometh after death!’”
At last, in compliance with persistent solicitation, the dread god yields, and in his answer is contained the highest and subtlest teaching of Indian philosophy. A short passage will sufficiently indicate its character, for it is impossible within any brief compass to clearly elucidate the mysteries placed in Yama’s mouth:
“‘If he that slayeth thinks “I slay;” if he
Whom he doth slay, thinks “I am slain,”—then both
Know not aright! That which was life in each
Cannot be slain, nor slay!
“‘The untouched Soul,
Greater than all the worlds [because the worlds
By it subsist]; smaller than subtleties
Of things minutest; last of ultimates,
Sits in the hollow heart of all that lives!
Whoso hath laid aside desire and fear,
His senses mastered, and his spirit still,
Sees in the quiet light of verity
Eternal, safe, majestical—HIS SOUL!
“‘Resting, it ranges everywhere! asleep,
It roams the world, unsleeping! Who, save I,
Know that divinest spirit, as it is,
Glad beyond joy, existing outside life?
“‘Beholding it in bodies bodiless,
Amid impermanency permanent,
Embracing all things, yet i’ the midst of all,
The mind, enlightened, casts its grief away!
“‘It is not to be known by knowledge! man
Wotteth it not by wisdom! learning vast
Halts short of it! Only by soul itself
Is soul perceived—when the Soul wills it so!
There shines no light save its own light to show
Itself unto itself!
“‘None compasseth
Its joy who is not wholly ceased from sin,
Who dwells not self-controlled, self-centred—calm,
Lord of himself! It is not gotten else!
Brahm hath it not to give!’”
It need hardly be said that such a poem as this, though not of a character to be enjoyed by those who read verse simply for its sensuous charm or its dramatic and narrative pictures, will yield fruit for interesting reflection to more thoughtful minds.
The other poems in the volume are of a lighter character. Among those specially noticeable are the three Hindu songs, the pastoral poem, “Neucia,” translated from the Italian of the great Florentine ruler, Lorenzo de Medici, who, if he destroyed the liberties of his city, raised it to its highest place in literary and art glory, as also in commercial and political power; “The Epic of the Lion;” “The Wreck of the Northern Belle;”and “Amadis of Gaul to Don Quixote de La Mancha,” The latter, which is from the Spanish, is a little gem:
“Thou who did’st imitate the mournful manner
Of my most lonely and despised Life,
And—leaving joy for suffering and strife—
Upon the bare hillside did’st pitch thy banner!
Thou whose unshamed eyes with tears oft ran over—
Salt dripping tears—when giving up all proper
Vessels of use, silver and tin and copper,
Thou atest earth’s herbs on the earth, a woful dinner—
Rest thou content, Sir Knight! Ever and ever,
Or at the least whilst through the hemispheres
Golden Apollo drives his glittering mares—
Famous and praised shall be thy high endeavor!
Thy land of birth the glory of all nations,
Thy chroniclers the crown of reputation.”
The volume, on the whole, very well sustains Edwin Arnold’s growing reputation as one of the first half dozen of the contemporary English poets.
Greater London: A Narrative of Its History, Its People, and Its Places. By Edward Walford, M.A., joint Author of “Old and New London.” Illustrated with Numerous Engravings. Vol. II. London, Paris, and New York: Cassell & Co., Limited.
Mr. Walford’s reputation needs no exploitation in the line of work which he has followed, just as good wine needs no bush. He has done much to embalm the literary and historic glory of London and its environs in the past, and the present volume, which completes “Greater London,” is no less interesting than its predecessors. All the celebrated and interesting spots in the vicinity of London, their traditions, history, personal and literary associations, etc., are described not only as a labor of love, but with a wealth of knowledge in detail. It is not easy to characterize the mass of information given, it covers so wide and varied a field. Certainly the reader of English history will find that he is helped very materially to a vivid realization of the great personages and events which have made the record of England’s past so dramatic and fascinating. Such books as these are not merely interesting in themselves, but throw a flood of light on the mind of the reader.