The eggs of the tern alluded to furnished the opportunity for a lesson. A sufficient number of these eggs were opened and prepared to enable students to master the methods and learn what to observe. The manner in which Agassiz first taught a group of inquirers this interesting lesson, was an event to be remembered. It was in the open air. The question as to method was asked. Eggs were brought; the professor seated himself upon a convenient keg of nails, and the observers stood about him. He first showed in what position the egg should be held, and then with delicate and patient manipulation, he removed the shell in minute pieces at the right spot, and revealed the marvelous structure within, all the while accompanying his work with sparkling thoughts in delightful words.
Another lesson was the constant and patient observation of the motions and habits of living specimens in the aquarium. Often a student would sit all day long watching a single specimen, and did not find such work either irksome, uninteresting or unprofitable.
It has been remarked that the career of original investigation with Agassiz measurably closed soon after his coming to America, and his career as an instructor began. He turned his attention to the development of the natural history of America. This he saw clearly could not be done without the aid of trained naturalists, and there were none in America. It was then his mission to create them. The establishment of a complete museum, to which all students of natural history could have access, was the first step; a museum which should not only equal, but surpass the great museums of the Old World. The design, according to Agassiz’s own plan, was so far completed before his death, that what remained to be done could be as well done by his trained assistants. He had stamped his own character and ideas upon it indelibly. Prof. Tyndall declared that there was nothing like it in the Old World. Another equally qualified to judge, familiar with all the Old World museums, declared that nowhere in his travels had he seen such an amount of original work done as here. The museum at Cambridge is an institution peculiarly American in that it is arranged without the trammels of Old World methods. In it every specimen is labeled with the name, locality, date and donor securely fastened to it, and the same duly recorded. A specimen concerning which, from whatever cause, any uncertainty has arisen as to the locality, is rejected, and consigned to the laboratory for dissection, only the best attainable specimens are retained. Unnecessary or imperfect duplicates are set aside for study or exchange. His completed plan will present a collection of the animals of the world arranged systematically, according to the principle of classification adopted by Agassiz, and exhibiting their structure. This is supplemented by minor collections showing embryonic development of the different types of animal life, synthetic relations, etc. The value of such a collection as an educational power no language can over-estimate. This museum of comparative zoölogy at Cambridge, Mass., is pre-eminently the greatest monument to his memory. The plans of instruction at the museum and at Penikese were identical in methods and principles. The first object was to bring students face to face with Nature, discarding books and recitations, substituting original observation and work. “If I can succeed in teaching you to observe,” he said, “my aim will be attained. It is not my purpose to communicate knowledge to you, but to awaken into activity a faculty which is too generally dormant, that of observing accurately for yourselves. I will teach, but I will not give information. To all intents and purposes I will be ignorant before you. Do not ask questions, for I shall not answer them, but shall so lay out your work that you will find your own path without difficulty.”
THE FIRST LESSON.
On the first day, the island itself was assigned for a lesson. Questions were suggested to be answered on the following morning. What is the nature of the soil, and what is the geological constitution of this island? What is its position with respect to the points of the compass. Take the main building as your guide, if you have no compass, for that lies east and west. What is the meaning of the curve between the island and the peninsula connected with it? What is the meaning of the loose materials about us, and the huge boulders scattered over the surface? What relation does the island bear to the adjoining islands and to the main land? When the class had again assembled he allowed each to report what he had learned, and taught how by comparison and combination to understand its full significance. He said that an exhaustive answer to each of these questions, individually wrought out, would itself be a good summer’s work. By the observations thus made and subsequently during the summer, it was fully demonstrated that Penikese and the whole range of neighboring Elizabeth islands, twenty miles in length and two or three in width, were a part of a terminal moraine—formed by the great ice sheet which covered the continent during the glacial period as it was gradually receding toward the polar seas.
Prof. Agassiz taught at Penikese partly by lectures, and these lectures, as was his custom, were always extemporaneous. No one who ever heard him need be told that beyond all comparison he was the model scientific talker of the age. Even those who have but read his lectures know what a charm lingers in the sentences which have been transferred to paper. But one must have heard him to realize the secret of his greatest power. The printed lectures carry the brilliant thoughts, the luminous and interesting facts, the flow of apt illustration; but the glow and fervor of his own profound interest in the matter of his speech, “raying out in a countenance that seemed to beam from interior light, and pervade the tones of his sympathetic and singularly expressive voice,” the “palpitating life” of his rapidly-uttered words, and back of all his intense personal magnetism, diffusing itself through the hearts of his charmed audience,—these are things that can not be transferred to paper. Writers in attempting to describe the manner of his eloquence have seemed to exhaust the vocabulary of eulogy.
At Penikese he probably excelled himself. He complimented his school by seeming to believe that he was in the midst of friends, who fully appreciated him, and who were in full sympathy with him. In 1864 it was the good fortune of the writer of this paper to hear him deliver a course of six lectures on the glaciers, before the Lowell Institute, in Boston. They were charming, popular, grand; but at Penikese, on the same subject, he seemed like a different man. All through his summer life there flowed a current of quiet but profound happiness, that lightened his step, glowed in his conversation, shone in his countenance, and gave animation and radiance to his lectures, in a manner he perhaps never before so fully exhibited. This thought was common among the students there assembled. He gave lectures almost every day, embracing full and exhaustive courses upon the glaciers, upon embryology, upon classification, upon methods of instruction, upon systematic zoölogy, upon scientific books and authors. There were also the spontaneous lectures, called out by some casual remark, the exhibition of some new and interesting specimen, or by the prominent presence of some object of natural history, which we might not think of studying at the time. For example, we were regaled one morning with some fish for breakfast. Prof. Agassiz, entering after the rest were seated, noticed the fish. Going immediately to the black-board, which at that time was near and in full view; he said: “Ladies and gentlemen: You are this morning feasting upon a very delicious fish, called the scop. Its scientific name I will write upon the board. It is Pagrus Argyrops—one of the sparoids. This species is not found north of Cape Cod, or at least, very rarely found. Its range is from Cape Cod west and southward. It is not found in the southern waters, only on the shores of Massachusetts, Connecticut, New York and Virginia. The family is not well represented in America. Another species, called ‘sheepshead,’ is found in the South, and there are a few species in the Pacific Ocean. The Mediterranean Sea, however, abounds in species of the family. In all there are two hundred species known, and they are confined to the temperate and tropical regions. They are intensified in the Eastern Atlantic and Mediterranean, as many species being found there as in all the rest of the world.” Then he sat down, and his auditors immediately proceeded to dissect and test the qualities of their specimens, according to natural principles and with intense relish. In the regular morning lecture, after breakfast, an hour in length, he gave a more thorough scientific account of the structure of the scop, detailing its generic and specific characteristics, in a most masterly and fascinating manner, concluding his lecture by instructing in the proper method of describing any fish technically, explaining the symbols used by the most learned in that department of knowledge. On another occasion, while a group were seated engaged in social chat, a single query made as to the possibility of preserving the beautiful colors of star-fish, and other sea animals, drew from him for half an hour a flood of interesting facts concerning the colors of such creatures, their glory, their mysterious and changeful nature, and their evanescence. He deplored the want of knowledge in this direction, and encouraging his pupils to enter that field of investigation as explorers, promised sure results to such as would enter upon it in the truly scientific spirit.
HIS INTENSE LOVE OF NATURE.
This rose to the level of a passion, and was constantly revealing itself in unconscious words and actions. Once he told the story of Dürrckheim, a German naturalist, who after close investigation, wrote a monograph upon the cockchafer, a common insect of Europe, which attracted much attention from scientific men. For weeks before he went hard to work he abstained from any kind of food which was stimulating, even coffee, so that he might have full command of his nerves and steadiness of his muscles. He also so supported his person that the beating of his arteries should not interfere with his delicate dissection. Then Agassiz having held up before us this example for our imitation, gave utterance to the following memorable words: “When sitting at the laboratory table, you should give yourselves up to the work exclusively. Never trifle with Nature. The objects we study are the works of the Creator. Even materialists consider them as the works of the highest forces in Nature. A laboratory of natural history is a sanctuary in which nothing improper should be admitted or exhibited. There we are in the constant presence of Nature and its Author. I can tolerate with less mental agony improprieties in churches.” When the student would come in from the sea with a bowl of newly-captured jelly fish, or some other equally common specimen, he would frequently see Agassiz coming down to the path to meet him. “What have you got this morning?” Looking at them tenderly—although he had seen the like thousands of times—he would exclaim, “Oh, they are beautiful; very beautiful!” This tenderness for animals extended even to those usually considered repulsive. The toads of the island he would frequently handle without a thought of disgust. A live garter snake two feet in length was brought to him in the presence of ladies who manifested their usual repugnance and fear. “Why,” said Agassiz, “of what are you afraid? It can not harm you. See! I will let it bite me.” Then taking the reptile in his hands he suffered it to coil over his wrist, and holding it gently by the neck, put his finger into its mouth. “It does not hurt me nor harm so much as the pricking of a pin. This is a very fine specimen of unusual color. It should be preserved.” He was particularly careful to forbid any wanton destruction of life, or practice of cruelty in the preparation of specimens for dissection. Abundant as the birds were on the island, only the ornithologist was allowed to shoot, and he was restricted to specimens actually needed. Even the nests so profusely scattered were sacred, and those who were engaged in the study of embryology alone were permitted to collect them. Familiarity with all the forms of life had made him exceedingly tender and watchful of their natural rights.
Thus only a glimpse has been given of the summer school at Penikese. We can but make bare mention of the other principal attractions and advantages: the daily boat excursion over the bay and sound; the rambles along the rocky shores in search of treasures cast up by the sea; the trips to Gay Head, on Martha’s Vineyard, in search of tertiary fossil shark’s teeth; the unique curiosities of the sea that were daily brought in for inspection, ever new and wonderful; the parties selected each day for dredging expeditions on the beautiful yacht “Sprite,” under the lamented Count Pourtales; the lectures and admirable practical lessons given by the other members of the faculty, Profs. Packard, Wilder, Bicknell, Arnold Guyot, Dr. Brewer, Benjamin F. Pierce; the naturalists’ “club” meetings; the quiet Sabbaths, when, in the absence of regular service, meetings for religious conversation were held; the evening gathering with Prof. and Mrs. Agassiz under the flagstaff on the summit of the island, overlooking the western sea, to watch the glories of the dying day, whiling away the hour with song and familiar converse—all these memories and many more crowd upon us for notice, but we forbear.