sacrifice of Mr. Darwin's health, who ever afterwards seriously felt the
ill effects of the Beagle's voyage."

Admiral Mellersh says: "I think he was the only man I ever knew against
whom I never heard a word said; and as people, when shut up in a ship
for five years, are apt to get cross with each other, that is saying a
good deal." Says another: "He was never known to be out of temper, or to
say one unkind or hasty word _of_ or _to_ any one."

This lovely spirit, which so endeared him to everybody, Darwin kept
through life,--a spirit which sheds a halo around every book he wrote,
and makes him worthy the admiration and honor of every young man. Many
persons have the gift of writing books, but comparatively few persons
have the great gift of self-control.

After a brief visit with his family, Darwin hastened to Cambridge, to
prepare his "Journal of Travels." He had learned on the Beagle that "a
man who dares to waste one hour of time has not discovered the value of
life." After three months of hard work, he went to London, where he
finished the "Journal," and began working on his "Zoölogy of the Voyage
of the Beagle," and his "Geological Observations." He said at this
time: "I have nothing to wish for, excepting stronger health to go on
with the subjects to which I have joyfully determined to devote my
life."

For three years and eight months he worked untiringly. He wrote Henslow:
"I fear the Geology will take me a great deal of time; I was looking
over one set of notes, and the quantity I found I had to read for that
one place was frightful. If I live till I am eighty years old I shall
not cease to marvel at finding myself an author. In the summer before I
started, if any one had told me that I should have been an angel by this
time, I should have thought it an equal impossibility. This marvellous
transformation is all owing to you."

Darwin and Lyell now became very intimate friends. "I am coming into
your way, of only working about two hours at a spell," he writes to
Lyell; "I then go out and do my business in the streets, return and set
to work again, and thus make two separate days out of one." Of Lyell he
said: "One of his chief characteristics was his sympathy with the work
of others.... The science of geology is enormously indebted to
Lyell--more so, as I believe, than to any other man who ever lived."

The "Journal" was published in 1839. January twenty-nine of this year,
Mr. Darwin, now thirty years of age, was married to his cousin, Emma
Wedgwood, daughter of Josiah Wedgwood of Maer, and granddaughter of the
founder of the potteries of Etruria. The extreme happiness of his
married life proved the wisdom of his choice. He said in after years,
"No one can be too kind to my dear wife, who is worth her weight in gold
many times over."

They lived at No. 12 Upper Gower Street, as he wrote a college mate, "a
life of extreme quietness.... We have given up all parties, for they
agree with neither of us; and if one is quiet in London, there is
nothing like its quietness."

In 1842, his "Structure and Distribution of Coral Reefs" was published,
a book which cost him, he says, "twenty months of hard work, as I had to
read every work on the islands of the Pacific, and to consult many
charts." Of this book, Professor Geikie says: "This well known treatise,
the most original of all its author's geological memoirs, has become one
of the classics of geological literature. The origin of those remarkable
rings of coral-rock in mid-ocean has given rise to much speculation, but
no satisfactory solution of the problem has been proposed. After
visiting many of them, and examining also coral reefs that fringe
islands and continents, he offered a theory which, for simplicity and
grandeur, strikes every reader with astonishment.... No more admirable
example of scientific method was ever given to the world, and, even if
he had written nothing else, this treatise alone would have placed
Darwin in the very front of investigators of nature."

Lyell wrote to Darwin concerning this book: "It is all true, but do not
flatter yourself that you will be believed till you are growing bald,
like me, with hard work and vexation at the incredulity of the world."

Darwin's next work, on the "Volcanic Islands Visited during the Voyage
of the Beagle," was published in 1844. This book, he said, "cost me
eighteen months." His third geological book, "Geological Observations on
South America," was published in 1846.

Meantime, tired of smoky London, Darwin purchased a home in Down, a
retired village five or six hundred feet above the sea. The house was a
square brick building, of three stories, vine-covered, in the midst of
eighteen acres. "Its chief merit," Darwin writes to a friend, "is its
extreme rurality. I think I was never in a more perfectly quiet
country." Here, for forty years, Darwin lived the isolated life of a
student, producing the books that made him the most noted scientist of
his century. Of these years, Mr. Darwin said: "Few persons can have
lived a more retired life than we have done. Besides short visits to the
houses of relations, and occasionally to the seaside or elsewhere, we
have gone nowhere. During the first part of our residence we went a
little into society, and received a few friends here; but my health
almost always suffered from the excitement.... I have, therefore, been
compelled for many years to give up all dinner parties.... From the same
cause I have been able to invite here very few scientific acquaintances.
My chief enjoyment and sole employment throughout life has been
scientific work; and the excitement from such work makes me for the time
forget, or drives quite away, my daily discomfort."

At Down, Darwin worked for eight years on two large volumes concerning
cirripedia (barnacles), describing all the known living species; the
extinct species, or fossil cirripedes, were in two smaller volumes. The
first books were published by the Ray Society, between 1851 and 1854;
the others by the Palæontographical Society. About two years out of the
eight were lost through illness. Sometimes he became half discouraged.
He wrote a friend, "I have been so steadily going downhill, I cannot
help doubting whether I can ever crawl a little uphill again. Unless I
can, enough to work a little, I hope my life may be very short, for to
lie on a sofa all day and do nothing but give trouble to the best and
kindest of wives and good, dear children is dreadful."

Darwin doubted, in after life, "whether the work was worth the
consumption of so much time," but Professor Huxley thinks he "never did
a wiser thing than when he devoted himself to the years of patient toil
which the cirriped-book cost him.... The value of the cirriped monograph
lies not merely in the fact that it is a very admirable piece of work,
and constituted a great addition to positive knowledge, but still more
in the circumstance that it was a piece of critical self-discipline, the
effect of which manifested itself in everything he wrote afterwards,
and saved him from endless errors of detail." Darwin's patient labor is
shown by his working "for the last half-month, daily, in dissecting a
little animal about the size of a pin's head, from the Chonos
archipelago, and I could spend another month, and daily see more
beautiful structure."

During these years from 1846 to 1854, death had twice disturbed the
quiet life at Down. In 1849, Dr. Darwin died, and his son Charles was so
ill that he could not attend the funeral. In 1851, Annie Darwin died, at
the age of ten, after a brief illness. "She was," said Darwin, "my
favorite child; her cordiality, openness, buoyant joyousness, and strong
affections made her most lovable.... When quite a baby, this [strong
affection] showed itself in never being easy without touching her mother
when in bed with her; and quite lately she would, when poorly, fondle
for any length of time one of her mother's arms.... She would at almost
any time spend half an hour in arranging my hair, 'making it,' as she
called it, 'beautiful,' or in smoothing, the poor, dear darling, my
collar or cuffs--in short, in fondling me.... Her whole mind was pure
and transparent. One felt one knew her thoroughly and could trust her. I
always thought that, come what might, we should have had, in our old
age, at least one loving soul which nothing could have changed.

"All her movements were vigorous, active, and usually graceful. When
going round the Sandwalk with me, although I walked fast, yet she often
used to go before, pirouetting in the most elegant way, her dear face
bright all the time with the sweetest smiles. Occasionally she had a
pretty coquettish manner towards me, the memory of which is charming....

"In the last short illness her conduct, in simple truth, was angelic.
She never once complained; never became fretful; was ever considerate of
others, and was thankful in the most gentle, pathetic manner for
everything done for her. When so exhausted that she could hardly speak,
she praised everything that was given her, and said some tea 'was
beautifully good.' When I gave her some water, she said, 'I quite thank
you;' and these, I believe, were the last precious words ever addressed
by her dear lips to me."

Such consideration and politeness she naturally inherited. Francis
Darwin says in his delightful life of his father, "He always spoke to
servants with politeness, using the expression, 'Would you be so good,'
in asking for anything. In business matters he was equally courteous.
His solicitor, who had never met him, said, 'Everything I did was right,
and everything was profusely thanked for.'" Of the drawings made by his
children, he would say, "Michael Angelo is nothing to it!" but he always
looked carefully at the work and kindly pointed out mistakes.

"He received," says his son, "many letters from foolish, unscrupulous
people, and all of these received replies. He used to say that if he
did not answer them, he had it on his conscience afterwards, and, no
doubt, it was in great measure the courtesy with which he answered every
one which produced the universal and widespread sense of his kindness of
nature which was so evident on his death."

In November, 1853, Darwin received the Royal Society's Medal. He was
gratified, finding it "a pleasant little stimulus. When work goes badly,
and one ruminates that all is vanity, it is pleasant to have some
tangible proof that others have thought something of one's labors."

November 24, 1859, when Darwin was fifty, his great work, "Origin of
Species by means of Natural Selection, or the Preservation of Favored
Races in the Struggle for Life," was published. For twenty years he had
been making experiments with plants and animals, and filling his
note-books with facts. To his old classmate, Fox, he writes asking that
the boys in his school gather lizards' eggs, as well as those of snakes.
"My object is," he says, "to see whether such eggs will float on
sea-water, and whether they will keep alive thus floating for a month or
two in my cellar. I am trying experiments on transportation of all
organic beings that I can; and lizards are found on every island, and
therefore I am very anxious to see whether their eggs stand sea-water."
Again he writes, asking Fox for ducklings and dorkings; "The chief point
which I am and have been for years very curious about is to ascertain
whether the _young_ of our domestic breeds differ as much from each
other as do their parents, and I have no faith in anything short of
actual measurement and the Rule of Three.... I have got my fan-tails and
pouters in a grand cage and pigeon-house, and they are a decided
amusement to me, and delight to H."

Of this book, Darwin himself says: "I worked on true Baconian
principles, and without any theory--collected facts on a wholesale
scale, more especially with respect to domesticated productions, by
printed inquiries, by conversation with skilful breeders and gardeners,
and by extensive reading. When I see the list of books of all kinds
which I read and abstracted, including whole series of Journals and
Transactions, I am surprised at my industry. I soon perceived that
selection was the keystone of man's success in making useful races of
animals and plants....

"In October, 1838, that is, fifteen months after I had begun my
systematic inquiry, I happened to read 'Malthus on Population,' and,
being well prepared to appreciate the struggle for existence which
everywhere goes on, from long continued observation of the habits of
animals and plants, it at once struck me that under these circumstances
favorable variations would tend to be preserved, and unfavorable ones to
be destroyed. The result of this would be the formation of new
species.... But at that time I overlooked one problem of great
importance.... This problem is the tendency in organic beings descended
from the same stock to diverge in character as they become modified.
That they have diverged greatly is obvious from the manner in which
species of all kinds can be classed under genera, genera under families,
families under sub-orders, and so forth.... The solution, as I believe,
is that the modified offspring of all dominant and increasing forms tend
to become adapted to many and highly diversified places in the economy
of nature."

The book was written slowly, each chapter requiring at least three
months. When the "Origin of Species"--which had reached its thirty-third
thousand in 1888--was published, it created the most profound sensation
throughout the thinking world. Heretofore, most men of science had
believed that each species had been separately created by the
Almighty,--that species were immutable, unchanging.

Mr. Darwin, by twenty years of study, proved to his own mind, and now to
most of the world, that there has been a gradual evolution, through
unnumbered ages, of one form of animal life from another. He said,
"Probably all the organic beings which have ever lived on the earth have
descended from some one primordial form, into which life was first
breathed."

The theory of evolution was not original with Darwin. Lamarck, in 1801,
published his "Organization of Living Bodies," in which he stated his
belief "that nature, in all the long ages during which the world has
existed, may have produced the different kinds of plants and animals by
gradually enlarging one part and diminishing another to suit the wants
of each." Geoffrey Saint-Hilaire, Goethe, Dr. Erasmus Darwin, the
grandfather of Charles, all believed that species are descended from
other species, and in various ways improved.

Some of the reasons for the belief in evolution are so simply and
clearly stated by Arabella B. Buckley, in her "Short History of Natural
Science," that I quote her words:--

"_All the Animals of each class are formed on the same plan_....

"Why should the animals of one class (such as the vertebrate or
back-boned class) be formed all on one plan, even to the most minute
bones; so that the wing of a bat, the front leg of a horse, the hand of
a man, and the flapper of a porpoise, are all made of the same bones,
which have either grown together, or lengthened and spread apart,
according to the purpose they serve? And, more curious still, why should
some animals have parts which are of no use to them, but only seem to be
there because other animals of the same class also have them? Thus the
whale has teeth like the other mammalia, but they never pierce through
the gum; and the boa-constrictor has the beginnings of hind legs, hidden
under its skin, though they never grow out. Here, again, it seems
extraordinary, if a boa-constrictor and a whale were created
separately, that they should be made with organs which are quite
useless; while, on the other hand, if they were descended from the same
ancestor, as other reptiles and mammalia who have teeth and hind legs,
they might be supposed to have inherited these organs....

"_Embryos of animals alike in Structure._

"Another still more remarkable fact was that pointed out by Von Baer,
that the higher animals, such as quadrupeds, before they are perfectly
formed, cannot be distinguished from the embryos of other and lower
animals, such as fish and reptiles. If animals were created separately,
why should a dog begin like a fish, a lizard, and a bird, and have at
first parts which it loses as it grows into its own peculiar form?

"_Living animals of a country agree with the fossil ones_....

"We know that certain animals are only found in particular countries;
kangaroos and pouched animals, for example, in Australia, and sloths and
armadillos in South America. Now, it is remarkable that all the fossil
quadrupeds in Australia are also pouched animals, though they are of
different kinds and larger in size than those now living; and in the
same way different species of sloth and armadillos are found fossil in
South America; while in the rocks of Europe fossil mammalia are found,
only slightly different from those which are living there now." It seems
natural to conclude that the living have descended from the fossils.

The study of the rocks has produced other "missing links" in the
succession of animal life. Professor Huxley, in some lectures given in
New York in 1876, described the Hesperornis, found in the western
rocks,--a huge bird, five or six feet in length, with teeth like a
reptile. In England a fossil reptile has been found, the Archæopteryx,
having a reptile-like tail, with a fringe of feathers on each side, and
teeth, "occupying a midway place between a bird and a reptile." Flying
reptiles have been found, and reptiles which walked on their hind legs.
Those who have visited Yale and Amherst Colleges must have seen the huge
bird-tracks or reptile foot-prints taken from the rocks in the
Connecticut valley.

Professor Huxley showed the probable descent of the horse with its
hoofed foot from the extinct three-toed Hipparion of Europe, and that
from the four-toed Orohippus of the Eocene formation. He declared it
probable that a five-toed horse would be found, and Professor Marsh, in
the West, has found the Eohippus, corresponding very nearly to Professor
Huxley's description.

The question among naturalists was, "How can plants and animals have
become thus changed?" Darwin showed how it was possible to effect most
of these changes by "natural selection," or the choosing of the best to
survive in the struggle for existence. As man by grafting secures the
finest fruit, and by care in animal life the swiftest horses for speed
as well as the strongest for labor, so nature selects her best for the
higher development of the race.

Darwin says, "There is no exception to the rule that every organic being
naturally increases at so high a rate that, if not destroyed, the earth
would soon be covered by the progeny of a single pair. Even
slow-breeding man has doubled in twenty-five years, and, at this rate,
in less than a thousand years there would literally not be standing-room
for his progeny.... The elephant is reckoned the slowest breeder of all
known animals; it will be safest to assume that it begins breeding when
thirty years old, and goes on breeding till ninety years old, bringing
forth six young in the interval, and surviving till one hundred years
old; if this be so, after a period of from 740 to 750 years, there would
be nearly nineteen million elephants alive, descended from the first
pair."

In various ways the weakest are destroyed. Darwin, on a piece of ground
three feet long and two wide, says, "I marked all the seedlings of our
native weeds as they came up, and, out of 357, no less than 295 were
destroyed, chiefly by slugs and insects."

He gives this interesting instance of the struggle for existence. "I
find from experiments that humble-bees are almost indispensable to the
fertilization of the heart's-ease, for other bees do not visit this
flower.... Humble-bees alone visit red clover, as other bees cannot
reach the nectar.... Hence we may infer as highly probable that, if the
whole genus of humble-bees became extinct or very rare in England, the
heart's-ease and red clover would become very rare, or wholly disappear.
The number of humble-bees in any district depends in a great measure
upon the number of field-mice, which destroy their combs and nests; the
number of mice is largely dependent, as every one knows, on the number
of cats." Hence, as Mr. Darwin shows, the frequency of certain flowers
in a district may depend upon the number of cats!

Darwin showed, by most interesting experiments with pigeons, that the
various breeds come from the wild rock-pigeon; that dogs are descended,
probably, from the wolf; that different varieties can be produced and
perpetuated under changing conditions of life; that species are only
well marked and permanent varieties. He showed how organs can be changed
by use or disuse; such as, the erect ears of wild animals become
drooping under domestication; or moles have only rudimentary eyes,
covered with skin or fur, because not needed for sight.

In the "Origin of Species," the theory of evolution received proof which
was so nearly incontrovertible that the subject was brought prominently
before the world as never before. Mr. Alfred Russell Wallace, an able
scientist, came to the same conclusion as Darwin in regard to the power
of "Natural Selection," and published, at the same time as the
"Origin," an essay "On the Tendency of Varieties to depart indefinitely
from the Original Type."

At once Darwin was attacked from every quarter. Probably not since
Galileo showed that the earth moves round the sun has a man been so
censured and persecuted for his opinions as was Darwin. He was declared
atheistic, unsettling the Christian belief, and opposed to the teachings
of the Bible. Professor Asa Gray of Cambridge, Mass., a devoted
Christian and able scientist, defended and explained Darwin's views, now
published in "Darwiniana," claiming that the doctrine of evolution is in
no wise opposed to the power and goodness of the Almighty, and quotes
Charles Kingsley's words: "We know of old that God was so wise that he
could make all things; but behold, he is so much wiser than even that,
that he can make all things make themselves." Kingsley wrote Darwin: "I
have gradually learnt to see that it is just as noble a conception of
Deity to believe that he created primal forms capable of
self-development into all forms needful _pro tempore_ and _pro loco_, as
to believe that he required a fresh act of intervention to supply the
_lacunas_ which he himself had made. I question whether the former be
not the loftier thought." Gray believed that "to do any work by an
instrument must require, and therefore presuppose, the exertion rather
of more than of less power than to do it directly." Darwin said, "There
is grandeur in this view of life, with its several powers, having been
originally breathed by the Creator into a few forms or into one; and
that, whilst this planet has gone cycling on according to the fixed law
of gravity, from so simple a beginning endless forms, most beautiful and
most wonderful, have been and are being evolved." Darwin always felt
grateful to Asa Gray for his defence. He wrote him: "I declare that you
know my book as well as I do myself; and bring to the question new lines
of illustration and argument, in a manner which excites my astonishment
and almost my envy!... I said, in a former letter, that you were a
lawyer, but I made a gross mistake; I am sure that you are a poet. No, I
will tell you what you are, a hybrid, a complex cross of lawyer, poet,
naturalist, and theologian!"

Darwin wisely made no reply to his critics. He said, years later: "My
views have often been grossly misrepresented, bitterly opposed and
ridiculed, but this has been generally done, as I believe, in good
faith. On the whole, I do not doubt that my works have been over and
over again greatly overpraised. I rejoice that I have avoided
controversies, and this I owe to Lyell, who, many years ago, in
reference to my geological works, strongly advised me never to get
entangled in a controversy, as it rarely did any good, and caused a
miserable loss of time and temper.

"Whenever I have found out that I have blundered, or that my work has
been imperfect, and when I have been contemptuously criticised, and
even when I have been overpraised, so that I have felt mortified, it has
been my greatest comfort to say hundreds of times to myself, 'that I
have worked as hard and as well as I could, and no man can do more than
this.'"

The "Origin" has been translated into French, German, Italian, Dutch,
Russian, Swedish, and many other languages. Huxley says of it, "Even a
cursory glance at the history of the biological sciences during the last
quarter of a century is sufficient to justify the assertion that the
most potent instrument for the extension of the realm of natural
knowledge which has come into men's hands since the publication of
Newton's 'Principia' is Darwin's 'Origin of Species.'"

The year after the "Origin" was published, Darwin began arranging his
notes for his two large volumes, "Variation of Animals and Plants under
Domestication," which, however, were not published till 1868. On these
two books he spent over four years. They are a wonderful collection of
facts, gathered from books and from his own marvellous experiments and
observations, confirming and illustrating the law of "Natural Selection"
given in the "Origin."

Darwin had already received the Copley medal of the Royal Society, the
greatest honor a scientific man can receive in England, and the Prussian
Order "Pour le Mérite," founded by Frederick II. The order consists of
thirty German members and a few distinguished foreigners. In 1862 the
"Fertilization of Orchids" was published, which, required ten months of
labor. In this work Darwin took the utmost delight. He wrote to a friend
who had sent him some of these flowers: "It is impossible to thank you
enough. I was almost mad at the wealth of Orchids.... I never was more
interested in any subject in my life than in this of Orchids." The
peculiarities of the flowers therein described, as Darwin says,
"transcend in an incomparable manner the contrivances and adaptations
which the most fertile imagination of man could invent."

In the "Origin" he describes an orchid which "has part of its labellum
or lower lip hollowed out into a great bucket, into which drops of
almost pure water continually fall from two secreting horns which stand
above it; and when the bucket is half full the water overflows by a
spout on one side. The basal part of the labellum stands over the
bucket, and is itself hollowed out into a sort of chamber with two
lateral entrances; within this chamber there are curious fleshy ridges.
The most ingenious man, if he had not witnessed what takes place, could
never have imagined what purpose all these parts serve. But Dr. Crüger
saw crowds of large humble-bees visiting the gigantic flowers of this
orchid, not in order to suck nectar, but to gnaw off the ridges within
the chamber above the bucket; in doing this they frequently pushed each
other into the bucket, and, their wings being thus wetted, they could
not fly away, but were compelled to crawl out through the passage formed
by the spout or overflow.... The passage is narrow, and is roofed over
by the column, so that a bee, in forcing its way out, first rubs its
back against the viscid stigma and then against the viscid glands of the
pollen-masses. The pollen-masses are thus glued to the back of the bee
which first happens to crawl out through the passage of a lately
expanded flower, and are thus carried away....

"When the bee, thus provided, flies to another flower, or to the same
flower a second time, and is pushed by its comrades into the bucket and
then crawls out by the passage, the pollen-mass necessarily comes first
into contact with the viscid stigma, and adheres to it, and the flower
is fertilized. Now at last we see the full use of every part of the
flower; of the water-secreting horns, of the bucket half full of water,
which prevents the bees from flying away, and forces them to crawl out
through the spout, and rub against the properly placed viscid
pollen-masses and the viscid stigma."

Darwin said: "The Botanists praise my Orchid-book to the skies.... There
is a superb, but, I fear, exaggerated, review in the 'London Review.'
But I have not been a fool, as I thought I was, to publish; for Asa
Gray, about the most competent judge in the world, thinks almost as
highly of the book as does the 'London Review.'"

Darwin wrote several other books on plants. "The Movements and Habits of
Climbing Plants" was published in 1875; "Insectivorous Plants," in
1875; "Effects of Cross and Self-Fertilization," in 1876; "The different
Forms of Flowers on Plants of the Same Species," in 1877; "The Power of
Movement in Plants," in 1880.

When writing his "Different Forms of Flowers," he said, "I am all on
fire at the work;" and of "Insectivorous Plants," "I have been working
like a madman at Drosera. Here is a fact for you which is certain as you
stand where you are, though you won't believe it, that a bit of hair,
1/78000 of one grain in weight, placed on gland, will cause _one_ of the
gland-bearing hairs of Drosera to curve inwards, and will alter the
condition of the content of every cell in the foot-stalk of the gland."

But he was growing tired with his constant and multifarious labors. He
wrote to Hooker: "You ask about my book, and all that I can say is that
I am ready to commit suicide; I thought it was decently written, but
find so much wants rewriting that it will not be ready to go to printers
for two months, and will then make a confoundedly big book. Murray will
say that it is no use publishing in the middle of summer, so I do not
know what will be the upshot; but I begin to think that every one who
publishes a book is a fool."

In 1871 the "Descent of Man" was published. He worked on this book three
years, and he wrote to his friend, Sir J. D. Hooker, that it has "half
killed" him. For the first edition Darwin received over seven thousand
dollars. It had an immense circulation in England and America, and
created a furor in Germany.

Darwin believed "that man is descended from a hairy quadruped, furnished
with a tail and pointed ears, probably arboreal in its habits, and an
inhabitant of the Old World. This creature, if its whole structure had
been examined by a naturalist, would have been classed among the
quadrumana, as surely as would the common and still more ancient
progenitor of the Old and New World monkeys.

"The quadrumana and all the higher mammals are probably derived from an
ancient marsupial animal, and this, through a long line of diversified
forms, either from some reptile-like or some amphibian-like creature,
and this again from some fishlike animal. In the dim obscurity of the
past, we can see that the early progenitor of all the vertebrata must
have been an aquatic animal, provided with branchiæ, with the two sexes
united in the same individual, and with the most important organs of the
body (such as the brain and heart) imperfectly developed. This animal
seems to have been more like the larvæ of our existing marine Ascidians
than any known form."

Most naturalists believe, with Darwin, that man has developed from some
lower form, but many urge that at some stage of development he received
the gift of speech, and mental and moral powers, from an omnipotent
Creator.

Darwin received much abuse and much ridicule for his views. Mr. James D.
Hague tells in "Harper's Magazine" of a visit paid to the great
scientist, when a picture in the "Hornet" was shown; the body of a
gorilla, with the head of Darwin. The latter laughed and said, "The head
is cleverly done, but the gorilla is bad; too much chest; it couldn't be
like that."

The "Descent of Man" shows the widest research, and is a storehouse of
most interesting facts. "Sexual Selection" shows some of the most
remarkable provisions of nature, and is as interesting as any novel.
This book, like the "Origin," has been translated into various
languages.

In 1872 "The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals" was
published. Over five thousand copies were sold on the day of
publication. It was begun at the birth of his first child, thirty-three
years before. He says, "I at once commenced to make notes on the first
dawn of the various expressions which he exhibited, for I felt
convinced, even at this early period, that the most complex and fine
shades of expression must all have had a gradual and natural origin." He
wrote to a college friend regarding this baby: "He is so charming that I
cannot pretend to any modesty. I defy anybody to flatter us on our baby,
for I defy any one to say anything in its praise of which we are not
fully conscious.... I had not the smallest conception there was so much
in a five-mouth baby. You will perceive by this that I have a fine
degree of paternal fervor."

In 1881, "The Formation of Vegetable Mould, through the Action of Worms,
with Observations on their Habits," was published. "Fragments of burnt
marl, cinders, etc., which had been thickly strewed over the surface of
several meadows were found, after a few years, lying at a depth of some
inches beneath the turf, but still forming a layer." Ascertaining that
this was the work of worms, Darwin made a study of their structure,
habits, and work, in his garden, his fields, and in pots of earth kept
in his study. The intelligence of worms, the construction of their
burrows, and the amount of labor they can perform, are described in a
most entertaining manner. Over fifty thousand worms are found in a
single acre of land, or about three hundred and fifty-six pounds. "In
many parts of England a weight of more than ten tons of dry earth
annually passes through their bodies, and is brought to the surface, on
each acre of land.... Worms prepare the ground in an excellent manner
for the growth of fibrous-rooted plants and for seedlings of all kinds.
They periodically expose the mould to the air, and sift it so that no
stones larger than the particles which they can swallow are left in it.
They mingle the whole intimately together, like a gardener who prepares
fine soil for his choicest plants.... The plough is one of the most
ancient and most valuable of man's inventions; but long before he
existed the land was in fact regularly ploughed, and still continues to
be thus ploughed, by earthworms. It may be doubted whether there are
many other animals which have played so important a part in the history
of the world as have these lowly organized creatures."

In three years eighty-five hundred copies of the "Earthworms" were sold.

Mr. Darwin was now seventy-two years old. Already many honors had come
to him, after the severe and bitter censure. In 1877, he received the
degree of LL.D. from Cambridge University. In 1878, he was elected a
corresponding member of the French Institute, and of the Berlin Academy
of Sciences. In 1879, he received the Baly Medal of the Royal College of
Physicians. In 1879, from the Royal Academy of Turin, the _Bressa_ Prize
of twelve thousand francs. He valued highly two photographic albums sent
from Germany and Holland; one containing the pictures of one hundred and
fifty-four noted scientific men; the other, of two hundred and seventeen
lovers of natural science in the Netherlands. He wrote in thanks: "I am
well aware that my books could never have been written, and would not
have made any impression on the public mind, had not an immense amount
of material been collected by a long series of admirable observers; and
it is to them that honor is chiefly due. I suppose that every worker at
science occasionally feels depressed, and doubts whether what he has
published has been worth the labor which it has cost him, but for the
few remaining years of my life, whenever I want cheering, I will look at
the portraits of my distinguished co-workers in the field of science,
and remember their generous sympathy."

He was made a member of more than seventy of the learned societies of
the world; in America, Austria, India, Belgium, Denmark, France,
Germany, Holland, Italy, Portugal, Russia, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland,
and elsewhere.

Darwin's work was now almost over. His dear friend Lyell had gone before
him, of whom he said, "I never forget that almost everything which I
have done in science I owe to the study of his great works." His brother
Erasmus, to whom he was tenderly attached, died in 1881. In the spring
of 1882 he was unable to work continuously as usual, and suffered from
pain about the heart. On the night of April 18, he had a severe attack
and fainted. When he was restored to consciousness, he said, "I am not
the least afraid to die." He died the next day, April 19.

Darwin died as he had lived, with a heart overflowing with sympathy and
tenderness. He said, "I feel no remorse from having committed any great
sin, but have often and often regretted that I have not done more direct
good to my fellow-creatures."

In his home life he was singularly blest. His son says, "No one except
my mother knows the full amount of suffering he endured, or the full
amount of his wonderful patience. For all the latter years of his life
she never left him for a night; and her days were so planned that all
his resting hours might be shared with her. She shielded him from every
avoidable annoyance, and omitted nothing that might save him trouble, or
prevent him becoming overtired, or that might alleviate the many
discomforts of his ill-health. I hesitate to speak thus freely of a
thing so sacred as the life-long devotion which prompted all this
constant and tender care. But it is ... a principal feature of his life
that for nearly forty years he never knew one day of the health of
ordinary men, and that thus his life was one long struggle against the
weariness and strain of sickness." And yet he accomplished all his
wonderful work!

"In his relationship towards my mother, his tender and sympathetic
nature was shown in its most beautiful aspect. In her presence he found
his happiness, and through her his life--which might have been
overshadowed by gloom--became one of content and quiet gladness."

He was the idol of his children, who used "to bribe him with sixpence to
come and play in working hours." "We all knew the sacredness of working
time," says Mr. Darwin's daughter, "but that any one should resist
sixpence seemed an impossibility.... Another mark of his unbounded
patience was the way in which we were suffered to make raids into the
study when we had an absolute need of sticking-plaster, string, pins,
scissors, stamps, foot-rule, or hammer. These and other such
necessaries were always to be found in the study, and it was the only
place where this was a certainty. We used to feel it wrong to go in
during work-time; still, when the necessity was great we did so. I
remember his patient look when he said once, 'Don't you think you could
not come in again; I have been interrupted very often?'... He cared for
all our pursuits and interests, and lived our lives with us in a way
that very few fathers do."

His son says: "The way he brought us up is shown by a little story about
my brother Leonard, which my father was fond of telling. He came into
the drawing-room, and found Leonard dancing about on the sofa, which was
forbidden, for the sake of the springs, and said, 'Oh, Lenny, Lenny,
that's against all rules!' and received for answer, 'Then, I think you'd
better go out of the room.' I do not believe he ever spoke an angry word
to any of his children in his life; but I am certain that it never
entered our heads to disobey him.... How often, when a man, I have
wished, when my father was behind my chair, that he would pass his hand
over my hair, as he used to do when I was a boy. He allowed his grown-up
children to laugh with and at him, and was, generally speaking, on terms
of perfect equality with us."

He was very fond of flowers, and also of dogs. When he had been absent
from home, on his return his white fox-terrier, Polly, "would get wild
with excitement, panting, squeaking, rushing round the room, and
jumping on and off the chairs; and he used to stoop down, pressing her
face to his, letting her lick him, and speaking to her with a peculiarly
tender, caressing voice."

He was very tender-hearted. A friend who often visited at Down told me
that Mrs. Darwin one day urged her husband to punish the little dog for
some wrong-doing. He took the animal tenderly in his arms and carried
her out-of-doors, patting her gently on the head. "Why, Charles,"
remonstrated the wife, "she did not feel it." He replied, "I could do no
more."

"The remembrance of screams or other sounds heard in Brazil," says
Francis Darwin, "when he was powerless to interfere with what he
believed to be the torture of a slave, haunted him for years, especially
at night. In smaller matters, when he could interfere, he did so
vigorously. He returned one day from his walk pale and faint from having
seen a horse ill-used, and from the agitation of violently remonstrating
with the man. On another occasion he saw a horse-breaker teaching his
son to ride. The little boy was frightened, and the man was rough. My
father stopped, and, jumping out of the carriage, reproved the man in no
measured terms....

"A visitor, driving from Orpington to Down, told the man to go faster.
'Why,' said the driver, 'if I had whipped the horse _this_ much driving
Mr. Darwin, he would have got out of the carriage and abused me well.'"

His manner was bright and animated, and his face glowed in conversation.
He enjoyed fun, had a merry, ringing laugh, and a happy way of turning
things. He said once, "Gray (Asa Gray of Harvard College) often takes me
to task for making hasty generalizations; but the last time he was here
talking that way, I said to him, 'Now, Gray, I have one more
generalization to make, which is not hasty; and that is, the Americans
are the most delightful people I know.'"

"He was particularly charming when 'chaffing' any one," says his son,
"and in high spirits over it. His manner at such times was light-hearted
and boyish, and his refinement of nature came out most strongly. So,
when he was talking to a lady who pleased and amused him, the
combination of raillery and deference in his manner was delightful to
see. When my father had several guests, he managed them well, getting a
talk with each, or bringing two or three together round his chair....

"My father much enjoyed wandering slowly in the garden with my mother or
some of his children, or making one of a party sitting out on a bench on
the lawn; he generally sat, however, on the grass, and I remember him
often lying under one of the big lime-trees, with his head on the green
mound at its foot."

He had great perseverance in his work, and used often to say, "It's
dogged as does it;" and "Saving the minutes is the way to get work
done." It was his habit to rise early in the morning, and after
breakfast work from eight to half-past nine, and then read his letters.
At ten or half-past, he went back to his work till twelve. After
exercise in the "Sandwalk," a narrow strip of land, one and a half acres
in extent, with a gravel walk round it, planted with a variety of trees,
in which he watched the birds and squirrels, he lunched and read his
newspaper. After this he wrote letters, and about three o'clock rested
for a time on the sofa, some of his family reading to him, often a
novel,--the work of Walter Scott, George Eliot, Miss Austen, or others.
At four he walked again, worked from half-past four till half-past five,
dined, and usually spent his evenings, after a game of backgammon with
his wife, or hearing her play on the piano, in reading scientific books.
Conversation in the evening usually spoiled his rest for the night, but
he could do a great amount of work if he kept to his regular routine. In
each book, as he read it, he marked passages bearing on his work. In
reading a book or pamphlet, he made pencil lines at the side of the
page, often adding short remarks, and at the end made a list of the
pages marked.

Darwin said of himself: "At no time am I a quick thinker or writer;
whatever I have done in science has solely been by long pondering,
patience, and industry.... I think that I am superior to the common run
of men in noticing things which easily escape attention, and in
observing them carefully. My industry has been nearly as great as it
could have been in the observation and collection of facts. What is far
more important, my love of natural science has been steady and ardent.

"This pure love has, however, been much aided by the ambition to be
esteemed by my fellow-naturalists. From my early youth I have had the
strongest desire to understand or explain whatever I observed; that is,
to group all facts under some general laws.... My habits are methodical,
and this has been of not a little use for my particular line of work.
Lastly, I have had ample leisure from not having to earn my own bread.
Even ill-health, though it has annihilated several years of my life, has
saved me from the distractions of society and amusement."

Mr. Darwin was never egotistical, or elated by his great success. He
always felt and spoke modestly of his work. In the village people of
Down he took a cordial interest, helping to found a Friendly Club, which
he served as treasurer for thirty years. He also acted for some years as
a county magistrate. The Vicar of Down, Rev. J. Brodie Innes, and Mr.
Darwin were firm friends for thirty years, yet, says Darwin, "we never
thoroughly agreed on any subject but once, and then we stared hard at
each other, and thought one of us must be very ill."

In the hall of the great Natural History Museum in London, a statue of
Darwin was placed June 9, 1885, with appropriate addresses.

Darwin's life is a most interesting study. That a boy who seemed in
youth to have no special fondness for books, but an especial delight in
collecting beetles; who appeared unfitted either for medicine or the
church, should come to such a renowned manhood, is remarkable. His
perseverance, his industry, his thought, his gentleness, his sunny
nature in the midst of suffering, are delightful to contemplate. His
books will be an enduring monument. He combined a great intellect and a
great heart, which makes the most attractive nature, in either man or
woman.

FRANCIS TREVELYAN BUCKLAND.

Most of those whose lives are sketched in this volume lived to be old
men; but Frank Buckland, the pet and pride of thousands in England, died
in his prime, almost at the beginning of his fame; a man of whose life
our "Popular Science Monthly" says, "None more active, varied, and
useful is recorded in scientific biography."

He was the oldest son of the Dean of Westminster, Dr. William Buckland,
and was born December 17, 1826, at Christ Church, Oxford, of which
cathedral his father was canon at that time.

[Illustration: FRANCIS TREVELYAN BUCKLAND.]

"I was told," says Frank, in later years, "that, soon after my birth, my
father and my godfather, the late Sir Francis Chantry, weighed me in the
kitchen scales against a leg of mutton, and that I was heavier than the
joint provided for the family dinner that day. In honor of my arrival,
my father and Sir Francis went into the garden and planted a birch tree.
I know the taste of the twigs of that birch tree well. Sir Francis
Chantry offered to give me a library. 'What is the use of a library to a
child an hour old?' said my father. 'He will live to be sorry for that
answer,' said Sir Francis. I never got the library.

"One of my earliest offences in life was eating the end of a carriage
candle. For this, the birch rod not being handy, my father put me into a
furze bush, and therein I did penance for ten minutes. A furze bush does
not make a pleasant lounge when only very thin summer garments are
worn."

The father, Dean Buckland, was distinguished as a man of letters, and
for his geological research. The mother, as is often the case with sons
of genius, was a remarkable woman, who idolized her boy, and who
received in return an affection unusual in its intimacy and confidence.

She began to write about him early, in her journal. "At two and a half
years of age," she says, "he never forgets either pictures or people he
has seen. Four months ago, as well as now, he would have gone through
all the natural history books in the Radcliffe Library, without making
one error in miscalling a parrot, a duck, a kingfisher, an owl, or a
vulture."

On taking him to see the camelopard and kangaroos in Windsor Park, she
says, "He ran about with the latter and the other live animals without
the least fear, though he got thrown down by them. He is a robust,
sturdy child, sharp as a needle, but so volatile that I foresee some
trouble in making him fix his attention."

When three and a half, she says, "he certainly is not at all premature;
his great excellence is in his disposition, and apparently very strong
reasoning powers, and a most tenacious memory as to facts. He is always
asking questions, and never forgets the answers he receives, if they are
such as he can comprehend. If there is anything he cannot understand, or
any word, he won't go on till it has been explained to him. He is always
wanting to see everything made, or to know how it is done; there is no
end to his questions, and he is never happy unless he sees the relations
between cause and effect."

At four he began collecting specimens of natural history. At this time a
clergyman brought some fossils to Dr. Buckland. Calling his son, who was
playing in the room, the Dean said, "Frankie, what are these?"

"They are the vertebræ of an ichthyosaurus," lisped the child, unable to
speak plainly.

Mrs. Buckland gave her boy a small cabinet, which now bears this
inscription: "This is the first cabinet I ever had; my mother gave it to
me when about four years old, December, 1830. It is the nucleus of all
my natural-history work. Please take care of the poor old thing."

"In his early home at Christ Church," says Frank Buckland's
brother-in-law, George C. Bompas, in his interesting life of the
naturalist, "besides the stuffed creatures, which shared the hall with
the rocking-horse, there were cages full of snakes, and of green frogs,
in the dining-room, where the sideboard groaned under successive layers
of fossils, and the candles stood on ichthyosauri's vertebræ.
Guinea-pigs were often running over the table, and, occasionally, the
pony, having trotted down the steps from the garden, would push open the
dining-room door, and career round the table, with three laughing
children on his back; and then, marching through the front door, and
down the steps, would continue his course round Tom Quad.

"In the stable yard and large wood-house were the fox, rabbits,
guinea-pigs, and ferrets, hawks and owls, the magpie and jackdaw,
besides dogs, cats, and poultry, and in the garden was the tortoise (on
whose back the children would stand to try its strength), and toads
immured in various pots, to test the truth of their supposed life in
rock cells."

The boy Frank naturally developed a taste for natural history in the
midst of such surroundings. At nine years of age, he was sent to school
at Cotterstock, in Northamptonshire, and at twelve was elected scholar
of Winchester College.

He tells an interesting experience on his entrance. "Immediately after
chapel, the old stager boys all came round the new arrivals, to examine
and criticise them. I perfectly recollect one boy, H., to whose special
care my poor confiding mother had entrusted her innocent, unsuspecting
cub, coming up to me with a most solemn face, and asking me if I had
brought with me a copy of the school-book, 'Pempe moron proteron.' I
said I had not. 'Then,' said he, 'you must borrow one at once, or the
doctor,' i. e. Dr. Moberly, the head master, 'will be sure to flog you
to-morrow morning, and your college tutor, one of the præfects, will
also lick you.'

"So he sent me to another boy, who said he had _lent_ his 'Pempe moron
proteron,' but he passed me on to a third, he on to a fourth; so I was
running about all over the college till quite late, in a most terrible
panic of mind, till at last a good-natured præfect said, 'Construe it,
you little fool.' I had never thought of this before. I saw it directly:
_Pempe_ (send) _moron_ (a fool) _proteron_ (further). So the title of
this wonderful book, after all, was, 'Send a fool further.' I then went
to complain to H.; he only laughed, and shied a Donnegan's Lexicon at my
head."

"A few nights afterwards," says Frank, "I dreamt I was wandering on the
seashore, and that a crab was pinching my foot. Instantly awakening, I
experienced a most frightful pain in my great toe. I bore it for a
while, until at last it became so intense that I had to jump up with a
howl of agony; all was quiet, but the pull continued, and I had to
follow my toe and outstretched leg out of bed. I then found a bit of
netted whipcord tight round it; but the whipcord was so ingeniously
twisted among the beds, that it was impossible to find out _who had_
pulled it. I returned to bed as savage as a wounded animal. The moment I
was settled, the boys all burst into a shout: 'Toe fit tied! By Jove,
what a lark!' This barbarous process is called 'toe fit tie' because
there is a line in Prosody which begins, 'To fit ti, ut verto verti.'
Hence the origin of this Winchester custom."

A school friend says of Frank at this time: "Imagine a short, quick-eyed
little boy, with a shock head of reddish brown hair (not much amenable
to a hair-brush), a white neck-cloth tied like a piece of rope with no
particular bow, and his bands sticking out under either ear as fancy
pleased him,--in fact, a boy utterly indifferent to personal appearance,
but good-tempered and eccentric, with a small museum in his sleeve or
cupboard, sometimes a snake, or a pet mouse, or a guinea-pig, or even a
hedge-hog. In the summer he would be always in the hedgerows, after
birds, weasels, or mice, or in the water-meadows, after crayfish,
tomculls, and other fish which hide under stones.... In fact, he was a
born naturalist."

Another says: "Frank set up a sort of amateur dispensary or hospital. He
had a patient or two. One man I remember, with a bad hand, who used to
come down to College Gate at twelve o'clock to consult him and be
experimented upon. In his toys (cupboard) he had various bottles and
specimens, one very highly treasured possession being a three-legged
chicken.

"His own natural disposition was of the sweetest and gentlest. I never
saw him in a passion, though he used to get a good deal teased at one
time for his untidiness. But he always had a bright smile amidst it all,
and was ready to do anything for anybody immediately after. One thing
used to strike me very much about him, and that was his exceeding love
for his mother. Boys are generally reticent upon this point, but Frank
seemed never tired of telling me about his, and how much he owed her....

"In school hours he was a painstaking and conscientious worker, never
leaving his lessons or preparing his task quicker or better than when he
had some pet, a dormouse or sometimes a snake, twisting and wriggling
inside his college waistcoat, which, having found its way out at his
boots, would be carefully replaced under the waistcoat, to go through
the same journey again."

While at Winchester, Frank determined to become a surgeon, and chose as
a parting gift from one of his tutors, instead of Goldsmith's poems,
"Graham's Domestic Medicine." At his request, his parents sent him a
lancet, with which he bled his college mates, if they were courageous
enough to submit to the operation, offering each one sixpence as an
inducement. Nevertheless, when, in vacation, he witnessed an amputation
at the Infirmary, he fainted.

When Frank left Winchester, Bishop Moberly said, "I always had the
utmost satisfaction in him as a school-boy; and I look back with very
great regard to his simple, earnest character, and his devotion to the
studies which have made him so well known. To me he was just what I
always found him, full of curious information, excellently kind-tempered
and affectionate."

In 1844, at the age of eighteen, Frank entered Christ Church, Oxford.
Here he turned the court between his college rooms and the canon's
gardens into a menagerie. He owned a young bear, Tiglath Pileser, Jacko
the monkey, an eagle, a jackal, besides marmots, guinea-pigs, squirrels,
and dormice, an adder and other snakes, tortoises, green frogs and a
chameleon. Skeletons and stuffed specimens were numerous.

Many of these pets strayed away. The marmot got into the chapter-house,
and the eagle stationed himself in the chapel doorway, and attacked
those who wished to enter.

Dr. Liddon tells of being invited to Frank's rooms, to breakfast with
him. "The marmots, which had hibernated in the cellar below, had just,
as he expressed it, 'thawed.' There was great excitement; the creatures
ran about the table, as entitled to the honors of the day; though there
were other beasts and reptiles in the room too, which in later life
would have made breakfasting difficult. Speaking of reptiles, one very
early incident in my Oxford life was joining in a hunt of Frank's adder.
It had escaped into Mr. Benson's rooms, and was pursued into the bedroom
by a group of undergraduates, who had, however, different objects in
view. Frank certainly had the well-being of the adder chiefly at heart,
the rest of us, I fear, were governed by the lower motive of escaping
being bitten anyhow--if consistently with the adder's safely, well--if
not, still of escaping. Eventually, the adder was caught, I believe,
without great damage.

"One day I met Frank just outside Tom Gate. His trousers pockets were
swollen out to an enormous size; they were full of slow-worms in damp
moss. Frank explained to me that this combination of warmth and moisture
was good for the slow-worms, and that they enjoyed it. They certainly
were very lively, poking their heads out incessantly, while he repressed
them with the palms of his hands....

"He was certainly one of the most popular men in Christ Church; when he
was in the schools, to be examined _viva voce_, almost the whole
undergraduate world of Christ Church was there.... He always struck me,
in respect of the most serious matters, as combining strength and
simplicity very remarkably; it was impossible to talk to him and not to
be sure that God, life, death, and judgment were to him solid and
constantly present realities."

Another college friend says: "One evening when I was devoting an hour to
coaching him up for his 'little go,' I took care to tuck up my legs, in
Turkish fashion, on the sofa, for fear of a casual bite from the jackal
which was wandering about the room. After a time I heard the animal
munching up something under the sofa, and was relieved that he should
have found something to occupy him. When our work was finished, I told
Buckland that the jackal had found something to eat under the sofa. 'My
poor guinea-pigs!' he exclaimed; and, sure enough, four or five of them
had fallen victims."

Tiglath Pileser, the bear, had to be sent away from Christ Church. The
dean said, "I hear you keep a bear in college; well, either you or your
bear must go." So Tig was sent to Islip, seven miles from Oxford, a
living held by Dean Buckland, who had now become Dean of Westminster.
The bear did so much mischief at Islip, in grocer's shops and houses,
that he was sent to the zoölogical gardens, where he died in cutting his
teeth.

Jacko, the monkey, was a source of great amusement, and greatly prized
by young Buckland. "Once, when carrying him on a railway train, in a
lawyer's blue bag," says Mr. Buckland, in his "Curiosities of Natural
History," published some years afterwards, "Jacko, who must needs see
everything that was going on, suddenly poked his head out of the bag,
and gave a malicious grin at the ticket-giver. This much frightened the
poor man, but, with great presence of mind, quite astonishing under the
circumstances, he retaliated the insult, 'Sir, that's a dog; you must
pay for it accordingly.' In vain was the monkey made to come out of the
bag and exhibit his whole person; in vain were arguments in full
accordance with the views of Cuvier and Owen urged eagerly, vehemently,
and without hesitation (for the train was on the point of starting), to
prove that the animal in question was not a dog, but a monkey. A dog it
was in the peculiar views of the official, and three-and-sixpence was
paid.

"Thinking to carry the joke further (there were just a few minutes to
spare), I took out from my pocket a live tortoise I happened to have
with me, and, showing it, said, 'What must I pay for this, as you charge
for _all_ animals?' The employé adjusted his specs, withdrew from the
desk to consult with his superior; then returning, gave the verdict with
a grave but determined manner, 'No charge for them, sir; them be
insects.'" Whenever Jacko got loose, he found mischief. One day he
covered a shoe, sole and all, with blacking, and poured what was left in
the bottle inside the shoe. He also rubbed the white kitchen table all
over with black-lead and water.

Young Buckland spent his vacations at the University of Giessen, under
the famous teacher and chemist, Professor Liebig, to whom he became
greatly attached. "Returning in October, 1845, I brought with me," he
says, "about a dozen green tree-frogs, which I had caught in the woods
near the town.... I started at night on my homeward journey by the
diligence, and I put the bottle containing the frogs into the pocket
inside the diligence. My fellow-passengers were sleepy old smoke-dried
Germans. Very little conversation took place, and, after the first mile,
every one settled himself to sleep, and soon all were snoring. I
suddenly awoke with a start, and found all the sleepers had been roused
at the same moment. On their sleepy faces were depicted fear and anger.
What had woke us all up so suddenly?

"The morning was just breaking, and my frogs, though in the dark pocket
of the coach, had found it out, and, with one accord, all twelve of them
had begun their morning song. As if at a given signal, they one and all
of them began to croak as hard as ever they could. The noise their
united concert made seemed, in the closed compartment of the coach,
quite deafening: well might the Germans look angry; they wanted to throw
the frogs, bottle and all, out of the window, but I gave the bottle a
good shaking, and made the frogs keep quiet. The Germans all went to
sleep again, but I was obliged to remain awake, to shake the frogs when
they began to croak. It was lucky that I did so, for they tried to begin
their concert again two or three times.

"These frogs came safely to Oxford, and, the day after their arrival, a
stupid housemaid took off the top of the bottle, to see what was inside;
one of the frogs croaked at that instant, and so frightened her that she
dared not put the cover on again. They all got loose in the garden,
when, I believe, the ducks ate them, for I never heard or saw them
again."

The next autumn, after a short tour in Switzerland, he returned to
Oxford, this time bringing a jar full of red slugs. "They at least were
noiseless and would not croak like frogs. In the opposite corner of the
diligence placidly slumbered a traveller with ample bald head; Frank
also slept, but, waking at midnight, he saw, with horror, that two of
his red slugs had escaped and were crawling over the traveller's bald
pate. What was to be done? To remove them might waken the sleeper. Frank
sat, as it were, on tenter-hooks, until the diligence stopped at the
next stage, when, firmly covering up the jar and what remained of the
slugs, he slipped quietly out of the diligence, resolved to proceed on
his journey by another conveyance next morning, rather than face that
man's awakening."

Young Buckland took his degree in 1848, and entered St. George's
Hospital. "My object," he said, "in studying medicine (and may God
prosper it!) is not to gain a name, money, and high practice, but to do
good to my fellow-creatures and assist them in the hour of need.... My
object in life to be a great high-priest of nature, and a great
benefactor of mankind." Wealthy, and of the highest social position, he
had determined not to live for himself, but for the good of others.

He was now twenty-two; genial, full of kindness, democratic in his
feelings, one of "nature's noblemen." At his father's house, the
Deanery, he met Lyell, Davy, Faraday, Sir John Herschel, Guizot, Liebig,
Agassiz, Ruskin, Rogers, Lord Brougham, Sir Robert Peel, Lord John
Russell, Lady Franklin, Lady Shelley, and scores of other distinguished
persons.

Here his menagerie was larger than ever. The stuffed forms of Tiglath
Pileser and Billy the hyæna were in the hall. Jenny, a monkey from
Gibraltar, had come to join Jacko, bringing a pet chicken with her,
which lived in her cage, and which she fondled as a nurse does a child.
Here were tailless Manx cats, lizards, snakes, and fifty or sixty rats,
usually kept in the cellar. Young Buckland would often take snakes out
of his pockets to show his friends. "Don't be afraid," he said to a
young lady at a party, as he showed her some snakes; "they won't hurt
you, I've taken out their fangs. Now, do be a good girl, and don't make
a fuss;" and he wreathed one snake around her neck, and one round each
arm. "His sisters were so often bedecked with similar reptilian
necklaces and armlets that they became used to the somewhat clammy,
crawling sensation which is a drawback to such ornaments."

About this time, Buckland wrote an article on the muscles of the arm,
and took it to several periodicals, but none would accept it. Urged by
Mr. White Cooper, the queen's oculist, he wrote an article upon his
rats, which the friend carried to "Bentley's Miscellany." It was
accepted, and thus began his successful authorship. This was
subsequently published in his first book, "Curiosities of Natural
History," in 1857.

He tells of one of his rat families: "One day a poor mother had moved
her young about into several parts of the cage, but could not fix on one
point. I saw what was wanting, she could not obtain cover for them. I
put my hand into the cage, full of tow and cotton wool; she came
instantly and took it out of my hand, and covered up her young. But,
notwithstanding all this care, and although evidently most anxious for
their welfare, this kind mother, obeying, I suppose, some wise law of
nature, devoured during the following night every one of the little ones
of which she had been so careful the preceding day."

After being house-surgeon at St. George's Hospital for some time,
Buckland became assistant surgeon to the Second Life Guards in 1854. He
had already given his first lecture, "The House We Live in," delivered
at a Working Men's Coffee House and Institute established by his mother,
in Westminster, London.

About this time he was nearly fatally poisoned by a cobra. He says, "I
had not walked a hundred yards before, all of a sudden, I felt just as
if somebody had come behind me and struck me a severe blow on the head
and neck, and at the same time I experienced a most acute pain and sense
of oppression at the chest, as though a hot iron had been run in and a
hundred-weight put on the top of it. I knew instantly, from what I had
read, that I was poisoned. I said as much to my friend, a most
intelligent gentleman, who happened to be with me, and told him, if I
fell, to give me brandy and _eau-de-luce_, words which he kept repeating
in case he might forget them. At the same time I enjoined him to keep me
going, and not on any account to allow me to lie down. I then forgot
everything for several minutes, and my friend tells me I rolled about as
if very faint and weak. He also informs me that the first thing I did
was to fall against him, asking him if I looked seedy. He most wisely
answered, 'No, you look very well.' I don't think he thought so, for his
own face was as white as a ghost; I recollect this much. He tells me my
face was of a greenish yellow color.

"After walking, or rather staggering, along for some minutes, I
gradually recovered my senses, and steered for the nearest chemist's
shop. Rushing in, I asked for _eau-de-luce_. Of course, he had none, but
my eye caught the words, '_spiritus ammoniæ_,' or hartshorn, on a
bottle. I reached it down myself, and, pouring a large quantity into a
tumbler with a little water, both of which articles I found on a
soda-water stand in the shop, drank it off, though it burnt my mouth and
lips very much. Instantly I felt relief from the pain at the chest and
head. The chemist stood aghast, and, on my telling him what was the
matter, recommended a warm bath. If I had then followed his advice,
these words would never have been placed on record. After a second
draught at the hartshorn bottle, I proceeded on my way, feeling very
stupid and confused."

In August, 1856, Dean Buckland died, and in November, 1857, Mrs.
Buckland. On December 17, her son wrote in his journal: "Thirty-one
years ago, at 6 A. M., I came into the world, at the old house in
Christ Church, Quadrangle. I am now about half-way across the stage of
life, and thank God I am just beginning to feel my feet. But, oh! what I
have lost since last birthday, the best friend a man can have in the
world,--his mother."

He did not know that he was very much more than "half-way across the
stage of life already." It is well that we walk by faith rather than
sight.

  "Oh! blissful, peaceful ignorance,
    'Tis blessed not to know;
  It keeps me quiet in those Arms
    Which will not let me go,
  And hushes all my soul to rest
    On the Bosom which loves me so.

  "So I go on, not knowing--
    I would not if I might--
  I'd rather walk with God in the dark
    Than walk alone in the light;
  I'd rather walk with him by faith
    Than walk alone by sight."

In 1859, after a laborious search of some weeks in the vaults of St.
Martin's in the Fields, Buckland found the body of John Hunter, the
father of modern physiology, and the coffin was reinterred in
Westminster Abbey. Though a most disagreeable task, he said, "I must not
shrink from doing a thing at first sight disagreeable, or nothing will
ever be accomplished. Nothing like determination and perseverance." The
Leeds School of Medicine presented him a silver medal, as a mark of
respect for his exertions.

In 1860, he helped to organize the Acclimatization Society, formed for
the purpose of varying and increasing the food supply of Great Britain
by introducing new animals and preserving the native fish. He also
became voluntary consulting surgeon at the Zoölogical Gardens, doctoring
the sick, and increasing by his example the tenderness shown to animals.

His life had now become a most active one. He wrote many valuable
articles for the magazines, since issued in books, the "Log Book of a
Fisherman and Zoölogist," and other volumes, and lectured frequently, to
large audiences, on his favorite subjects.

In 1863, after eight years of service in the Life Guards, he resigned,
and began to devote himself more than ever to fish culture. In January
and February of each year he collected the eggs of trout and other fish
from the Rhine, Switzerland, France, and elsewhere, distributing some
throughout the country and artificially hatching others. Fish-hatching
boxes were exhibited in the South Kensington Museum, and at the Crystal
Palace. Trout ova in ice were sent to Australia, where, after incubation
had been suspended for a hundred days, when placed in running water, the
fish came into the world strong and healthy.

In 1864, Buckland made extended investigations in oyster culture;
delivered lectures upon the subject before the British Association of
Bath, the Society of Arts, the London Institution, indeed all through
England and Ireland. He was appointed Scientific Referee to the South
Kensington Museum, giving a course of lectures and of class
demonstration. He sent about sixteen thousand young fish and eggs to the
Horticultural Gardens, and with these he helped to illustrate his
lectures and inform the public.

Through "Land and Water," a paper established by himself and a few
friends, he reached and educated a large constituency.

In 1863, the year previous, he had married Miss Hannah Papes, and made
his home at 37 Albany St., Regent's Park. Here he gathered all his pets,
who found in Mrs. Buckland a person as kind and tender as their master.
Here were brought his favorite monkeys, "Hag" and "Tiny." The latter
came from the Zoölogical Gardens "as good as dead," but, through Mrs.
Buckland's good nursing, she became well and strong.

With these pets, the overworked naturalist had great merriment. He says
in his "Log Book": "When the fire is lighted in the morning, in my
museum, the servants put the monkeys in their night cage before it, and
directly I come down to breakfast I let them out. They are only allowed
to be loose in my museum as they do so much mischief; and in my museum I
alone am responsible for the damage they do. The moment the door of the
cage is opened, they both rush out like rockets, and the Hag goes
immediately to the fender and warms herself like a good monkey; as she,
being older, seems to know that if she misbehaves herself she will have
to be put back into her cage....

"Tiny steals whatever is on the table, and it is great fun to see her
snatch off the red herring from the plate and run off with it to the top
of the book-shelves. While I am getting my herring, Tiny goes to the
breakfast table again, and, if she can, steals the egg; this she tucks
under her arm, and bolts away, running on her hind legs. This young lady
has of late been rather shy of eggs, as she once stole one that was
quite hot, and burnt herself....

"Having poured out the tea, I open the 'Times' newspaper quite wide, to
take a general survey of its contents. If I do not watch her carefully,
Tiny goes behind the chair, on to the book-shelf, and comes crash into
the middle of the 'Times.' Of course, she cannot go through the 'Times';
but she takes her chance of a fall somewhere, and her great aim seems,
to perform the double feat of knocking the 'Times' out of my hand and
upsetting the tea-pot and its contents; or, better still, the tea-pot on
the floor. Lately, I am glad to say, she did not calculate her fall
quite right; for she put her foot into the hot tea and stung herself
smartly, and this seems to have had the effect of making her more
careful for the future. All the day of this misfortune she walked upon
her heels, and not upon her toes as usual.

"The Hag will also steal, but in a more quiet manner. She is especially
fond of sardines in oil, and I generally let her steal them, because the
oil does her good, though the servants complain of the marks of her oily
feet upon the cloth. Sometimes the two make up a stealing party. One
morning I was in a particular hurry, having to go away on
salmon-inspection duty by train. I left the breakfast things for a
moment, and in an instant Tiny snatched up a broiled leg of pheasant and
bolted with it--carried it under her arm round and round the room, after
the fashion of the clown in the pantomime. While I was hunting Tiny for
my pheasant, the Hag bolted with the toast; I could not find time to
catch either of the thieves, and so had to go off without any breakfast.

"Tiny and the Hag sometimes go out stealing together. They climb up my
coat and search all the pockets. I generally carry a great many cedar
pencils; the monkeys take these out and bite off the cut ends.... When I
come home in the evening, tired from a long day's work, I let out the
monkeys, and give them some sweet stuff I bring home for them. By their
affectionate greeting and amusing tricks they make me forget for a while
the anxieties and bothers of a very active life. They know perfectly
well when I am busy, and they remain quiet and do not tease me. The Hag
sits on the top of my head, and 'looks fleas' in my hair, while Tiny
tears up with her teeth a thick ball of crumpled paper, the nucleus of
which she knows is a sugar-plum, one of a parcel sent by Mrs. Owen, the
kind-hearted wife of my friend, Mostyn Owen, of the Dee Salmon Board,
and received through the post in due form, directed, 'Miss Tiny and Miss
Jenny Buckland.'"

Besides these monkeys, a writer tells of another pet which he found when
calling on Mr. Buckland. "'It's a jolly little brute, and won't hurt,'
exclaimed Mr. Buckland, as we were about to retreat from the threshold.
The monkeys had seized the jaguar's tail, and, lifting it up with its
hind legs bodily to the altitude of their cage, were rapidly denuding it
of fur. No animal with any feelings of self-respect would submit
silently to such humiliation, and the jaguar was making the place
hideous with his yells.

"Hearing the cries of her pet, Mrs. Buckland came to the rescue; and it
was amusing to see this child of the forest, with gleaming eyes and
frantic yelps, cast itself at her feet, and nestle meekly in the folds
of her dress; she had nursed it through a very trying babyhood, when Mr.
Bartlett had sent it from the Zoo, apparently dying and paralyzed in the
fore-legs, with a promise of fifteen pounds reward for a cure. That sum
has long since been swallowed up in damages for clothes destroyed and
boots devoured, as the invalid's health and appetite returned."

Mr. Buckland used to say: "Mrs. Buckland can tame any animal in the
world--_ecce signum_, myself."

In 1867, Mr. Buckland was appointed Inspector of Fisheries. This was the
realization of the wish of his life. He says in his diary, after
receiving the appointment: "When I read this I felt a most peculiar
feeling; not joy, nor grief, but a pleasurable, stunning sensation, if
there can be such a thing. The first thing I did was to utter a prayer
of thanksgiving to Him who really appointed me, and who has thus placed
me in a position to look after and care for His wonderful works. May He
give me strength to do my duty in my new calling!"

Buckland carried forward his work with the greatest zeal and energy. He
writes in his journal: "I am now working from 8 A. M. to 6 P. M., then a
bit in the evening,--fourteen hours a day; but, thank God, it does not
hurt me. I should, however, collapse if it were not for Sunday. The
machinery has time to get cool. The mill-wheel ceases to patter the
water, the mill-head is ponded up, and the superfluous water let off by
an easy, quiet current, which leads to things above."

Salmon, which had formerly abounded in Wales and England, and been used
extensively for food, had almost or altogether ceased to exist in many
rivers. Buckland carefully studied their habits. He put himself, as he
often said, in the place of the salmon. He waded the pools, to feel the
force and direction of the current against which they come up from the
sea into the rivers. He did not spare himself in storm or cold.

"Most fish live either in fresh or in salt water; the salmon inhabits
both. Bred in the higher waters of our rivers, the young salmon of one,
two, or three years' growth make their way down to the sea as smolts,
and return thence, impelled by the instinct of reproduction, to seek the
gravelly spawning beds in the mountain streams. In early spring and
through the summer and autumn months they come from the sea,
bright-coated and silvery, and swim and leap and struggle up the rivers.
Then is the fisherman's harvest. In winter the spawning time comes on,
when the laws of nature and of man alike forbid their capture; for the
fish, at other times so rich a luxury, are now vapid and unwholesome.
Lean and flabby, the males with hooked beaks and scarred in fighting,
the spawned fish, or kelts, rush down again to the sea; whence, after a
while, they return, fresh and silvery, fattened to twice their former
weight, and reënter the rivers as fresh-river fish, the joy alike of the
fisherman and the epicure."

Buckland constructed salmon ladders over the weirs, that the fish might
have free passage from the rivers to the sea. He sent a series of models
of these ladders to the American Fishery Commissioners, with five boxes
of specimen oysters, and a photograph of his museum, with its casts and
curiosities. He helped to obtain proper legislation from Parliament,
both as to fishes and sea-birds; indeed all living things, especially
those aquatic, had his sympathy and help.

The results of his work were soon apparent. The yearly sales of English
and Welsh salmon in Billingsgate market, London, before 1861, averaged
about eight tons only. From 1867 to 1876 the average sale was
eighty-eight tons. The sales of Irish salmon in Billingsgate, three
hundred and fifty tons yearly; of Scotch salmon, over one thousand tons
yearly. Thus was food provided for millions of people.

Everywhere Buckland was the friend of animals. He urged that pigs should
have "pure, clean, wholesome water" to drink. He assisted at the opening
of the Brighton Aquarium, a place which American visitors can never
forget, and aided in the establishing of other aquaria.

In 1873, Mr. Buckland published a "History of British Fishes." All his
books went through many editions. In 1874, at the Jubilee Anniversary of
the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, he spoke against
cruelty to seals.

He wrote in the "Times": "Captain David Gray, of the sealing and whaling
ship Eclipse, and myself first brought forward, some three years ago,
the necessity for a close time for Arctic seals. The principal sealing
ground is at Jan Mayen Island, thirteen hundred miles due north from
London.... The ships (sixty sail) arrive at the ice from the 15th to the
20th March, just as the young seals are born. The seal-hunters at once
attack them, and the most horrible cruelty ensues. I quote Captain
Gray's own words to me: 'Last year, the fleet set to work to kill the
seals on March 26, 1874, and in forty-eight hours the fishing was
completely over, the old seals being shot, wounded, or scared away,
while thousands upon thousands of young ones were left crying piteously
for their mothers. These mostly perished of famine in the snow, as they
were not old enough to make worth while the trouble of killing them.

"'If you could imagine yourself surrounded by four or five hundred
thousand babies, all crying at the pitch of their voices, you would have
some idea of the piteous noise they make. Their cry is very like that of
a human infant. These motherless seals collect into lots of five or six,
and crawl about the ice, their heads fast becoming the biggest part of
their bodies, searching, no doubt, to find the nourishment they stand so
much in need of.'"

In 1876, an international close time was established, prohibiting the
killing of seals until after April 3.

Mr. Buckland's reports on crab, lobster, herring, and other fisheries
were most full and interesting. "Before the young crabs are born," he
said, "the mother crab tucks up under her tail her numerous family of
from one to two million coral-like eggs, and she sidles on tiptoe many a
mile from her rocky home to some sandy flat in the deep sea, where her
young family may flourish best. There, or perhaps on returning home, in
early spring, the time for all young things to come forth, the tiny
crabs burst the egg; yet so unlike their parent, that till lately they
were thought some strange animalcula; goggle eyes, a hawk's beak, a
scorpion's tail, a rhinoceros's horn, adorn a body fringed with legs,
yet scarcely bigger than a grain of sand.

"Several strange shapes are assumed in turn ere the young crab attains
the parent form. For the parents of so numerous a family it is well that
nature has provided the young crabs with a strong suit of clothes, which
does not wear out; but it is quickly outgrown. The young crabs shed from
time to time the horny case, even to the finger-nails and eyelids; and
mother Nature straightway provides, underneath, a new, soft, leathery
suit, which quickly hardens into shell. Another marvel is, that the
growth is, as it were, by leaps and bounds; each time it bursts its case
the young crab swells suddenly to twice the size of the discarded shell.

"In crab youth several new suits are annually required. In maturer life
the lady crab, it seems, is content with one new dress each year; yet is
not the romance of life over. In the time of her soft-shelled weakness
and seclusion, a male crab in full armor constantly attends her, guards
her from danger, and solaces her in her retirement. An old crab's shell,
covered sometimes with barnacles, or with oysters of several years'
growth, shows that the patriarch has outlived the change of fashions
which occupied his youth."

The report on herring showed that eight hundred million fish are taken
yearly in Scotland, by more than seven thousand boats.

"The Log-Book of a Fisherman and Zoölogist" was published in 1875, and a
new edition of "White's Natural History of Selborne," to which Buckland
added many original observations. Most of his writing was done on the
cars, on his way to different places to give lectures or attend to
official business.

In 1878, he was appointed one of the commissioners to inquire into the
sea fisheries of England and Wales, which furnish so much food for the
people. Over a hundred million soles are sold yearly in London alone,
besides fifty million plaice and whiting, and ten million eels. Mr.
Buckland's correspondence with many countries had become extensive. He
had been elected a member of various societies, and had received many
gold medals, for his wide scientific knowledge and its practical
application.

In December, 1879, he writes, "This Christmas week, I regret to say, I
shall not have the opportunity of spending my time up to my neck in
water, collecting salmon eggs for Australia or New Zealand, from one or
other of our northern rivers, or in one of the southern rivers, getting
trout eggs for the Thames. I must say I very much enjoy collecting
salmon and trout eggs; it is very cold, and, at the same time, very hard
work, but I very much prefer it to indoors and the fireside."

The exposure of this kind of work is seen by his description of it.
"Here is a list of my 'Spawning kit.' First, the waterproof dress; this
very useful garment is in fact a diver's dress, and, when properly put
on, admits not a drop of water. It has, however, one fault, _it is apt
to freeze_ when I am out of the water, and then one feels encased, as it
were, in a suit of inflexible armor. Second, the spawning tins....
Third, a long, shallow basket.... Fourth, house-flannel, cut into
lengths of one yard; this is absolutely necessary to hold the struggling
salmon. Those who are unaccustomed to spawn salmon have an awkward habit
of putting their fingers into the gills of the fish, and if the fish's
gills are injured and bleed, he suffers much from it. I never to my
knowledge killed a fish in my life while spawning it. Fifth, dry towels;
these are most necessary, as the slime from the salmon makes one's hands
very slippery ... besides which, wiping the hands warms them, and, when
working in the water at this time of year, the cold to the hands and
arms is fearful.... Eleventh, ordinary baggage, and especially a bottle
of scented hair-oil, with which to well anoint the chest and arms and
tips of ears, when working in the water; a most excellent and
serviceable plan. I took this hint from the Esquimaux."

Frank Buckland's last Fishery Report was made in March, 1880, containing
an interesting description of the anatomy of the salmon, its food,
habits, and the like.

Mr. Buckland had brought on lung trouble by constant exposure and
tireless energy, and must have foreseen the end. At first it seemed hard
to him that he should be taken in the midst of his best work, but he
said, "God is so good, so very good to the little fishes, I do not
believe he would let their inspector suffer shipwreck at last. I am
going a long journey, where I think I shall see a great many curious
animals. This journey I must go alone."

He had before this written in his diary: "I think it not improbable
that, in a future state, the mind will be allowed a greater scope of
knowledge, and the gates of omniscience will be thrown open to it, so
that those things which it now sees through a glass, darkly, will be
opened to the view and understanding. O most glorious reward, for a mind
occupied here on earth in investigating the wonderful works of the
Creator, from the magnificent and stupendously grand scene of geology,
and the theory of the heavens, to the minute and delicate construction
of a microscopic animalcule, or the immeasurably fine thread of a
plant!"

He died December 19, 1880, and was buried in Brompton Cemetery, on
Christmas Eve.

His last book, "Notes and Jottings from Animal Life," was published soon
after his death.

No wonder that the noble son of the Dean of Westminster is remembered
and loved. A friend wrote, after his death: "Energy was only one of Mr.
Buckland's characteristics. His kindliness was another. Perhaps no man
ever lived with a kinder heart. It may be doubted whether he ever
willingly said a hard word or did a hard action. He used to say of one
gentleman, by whom he thought he had been aggrieved, that he had
forgiven him seventy times seven already, so that he was not required to
forgive him any more.

"He could not resist a cry of distress, particularly if it came from a
woman. Women, he used to say, are such doe-like, timid things, that he
could not bear to see them unhappy. One night, walking from his office,
he found a poor servant-girl crying in the street. She had been turned
out of her place that morning, as unequal to her duties; she had no
money and no friends nearer than Taunton, where her parents lived. Mr.
Buckland took her to an eating-house, gave her a dinner, drove her to
Paddington, paid for her ticket, and left her in charge of the guard of
the train. His nature was so simple and generous that he did not even
seem to realize that he had done an exceptionally kind action."

To read of such a life as this makes us trust humanity, and reassures us
that there are many, very many noble and lovely characters in the world,
both men and women. While we need good judgment and common sense, so as
to discriminate wisely, we need also the sweet, sunny nature which, with
some measure of ideality, sees rose colors amid the sombre tints of
life. We usually find in other hearts what we cultivate in our own.

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By SARAH K. BOLTON. Short biographical sketches of Galileo, Newton,
Linnæus, Cuvier, Humboldt, Audubon, Agassiz, Darwin, Buckland, and
others. Illustrated with 15 portraits. 12mo. $1.50.

    "Cannot fail to delight, interest, and instruct every boy or girl
    who may have the good fortune to read it."--_Queries._

    "Possesses both interest and permanent value."--_Boston
    Transcript._

    "No greater incentive to noble effort on the part of young men and
    women could be furnished than the biographies of eminent and
    successful men such as the present volume contains."--_Brooklyn
    Standard Union._

FAMOUS AMERICAN STATESMEN.

By SARAH K. BOLTON. Biographical sketches of Washington, Franklin,
Jefferson, Hamilton, Webster, Sumner, Garfield, and others. Illustrated
with portraits. 12mo. $1.50.

    "With womanly tact and discernment, she notes keenly and describes
    charmingly those minor traits of character which, after all, do
    most distinguish one individual from another, and give human
    nature its subtle and wondrous variety."--_The Critic._

    "It will be successful, and as useful as her other books have
    become.... Her studies of character, and manner of description are
    exceptionally interesting."--_Congregationalist._

FAMOUS ENGLISH STATESMEN.

By SARAH K. BOLTON. With portraits of Gladstone, John Bright, Robert
Peel, Lord Palmerston, Lord Shaftesbury, William Edward Forster, Lord
Beaconsfield. 12mo. $1.50.

    "The author's comprehension of her task is complete. Students
    should not consider their knowledge of the present reign thorough
    without a devoted reading of Mrs. Bolton's work. It is an
    inspiration to the study of history,--one of those rare and
    delightful books which elevate respect for the race, and man in
    particular; a book which makes the reader feel that to be a noble
    man is the highest privilege and the sublimest aim."--_Chicago
    Tribune._

    "A ready and accomplished writer."--_Philadelphia Public Ledger._

    "Drawn with remarkable fidelity."--_Charleston News and Courier._

FAMOUS ENGLISH AUTHORS OF THE 19th CENTURY.

By SARAH K. BOLTON. With portraits of Scott, Burns, Carlyle, Dickens,
Tennyson, Robert Browning, etc. 12mo. $1.50.

    "She invests with fresh interest and charm those oft-told stories
    of the great makers of our nineteenth-century literature."--_The
    Critic._

    "Admirably executed.... They have a charm that no other kind of
    history can rival."--_Golden Rule._

    "Even more interesting than the preceding books, and will prove
    entertaining, not only to young persons, but to older readers as
    well."--_N. Y. Star._

FAMOUS AMERICAN AUTHORS.

By SARAH K. BOLTON. Short biographical sketches of Holmes, Longfellow,
Emerson, Lowell, Aldrich, Mark Twain, and other noted writers.
Illustrated with portraits. 12mo. $1.50.

    "Bright and chatty, giving glimpses into the heart and home life
    of some whom the world delights to honor.... At once accurate,
    inviting, instructive."--_Chautauquan._

    "Nothing dry about the book.... Should find a place in the
    libraries of those who can afford but few books."--_Omaha Daily
    Times._

    "Will always hold rank in English literature, and all lovers of
    American authors should read it."--_Ohio State Journal._

FAMOUS EUROPEAN ARTISTS.

By SARAH K. BOLTON. With portraits of Raphael, Titian, Landseer,
Reynolds, Rubens, Turner, and others. 12mo. $1.50.

    "The charm of the book, as of all by Mrs. Bolton, lies in the
    easy, conversational naturalness with which the reader is led
    from page to page. Solid information and pleasant entertainment
    are blended enjoyably. Young people in hundreds of homes will
    read such a book with interest, and be the better for
    it."--_Congregationalist._

    "Abounds in information and entertainment."--_Philadelphia
    Bulletin._

    "There is nothing in the line of current biography that is better
    fitted for inculcating in the young a hearty taste for wholesome
    literature.... Printed in an artistic manner."--_Troy Times._

    "Elevated both in language and thought."--_Cleveland Leader._

FAMOUS TYPES OF WOMANHOOD.

By SARAH K. BOLTON. With portraits of Queen Louise, Madam Recamier,
Miss Dix, Jenny Lind, Susanna Wesley, Harriet Martineau, Amelia B.
Edwards, and Mrs. Judson. 12mo. $1.50.

    "Such a book is well fitted to strengthen the courage and
    inspiration of every woman who is learning to comprehend something
    of the inherent nobleness and glory of her sex."--_Hartford Daily
    Times._

    "Wise mothers will give this volume to their daughters.
    Conscientious teachers will read it to their
    scholars."--_Interior._

FAMOUS VOYAGERS AND EXPLORERS.

By SARAH K. BOLTON. With portraits of Raleigh, Sir John Franklin,
Magellan, Dr. Kane, Greely, Livingstone, and others. 12mo. $1.50

    "Mrs. Bolton studies with patience and relates with enthusiasm the
    adventures of this long line of heroes. Her style is simple and
    unaffected, and her accuracy is unquestioned."--_Christian
    Advocate._

FAMOUS LEADERS AMONG MEN.

By SARAH K. BOLTON. With portraits of Napoleon, Wendell Phillips,
Thomas Arnold, Charles Kingsley, Gen. Sherman, and others. 12mo. $1.50

    "A series of biographies which will be widely read and will do a
    great deal of good."--_Boston Herald._

    "Entertaining and inspiring."--_Public Opinion._

    "Her power of condensation borders on the marvelous."--_Rochester
    Herald._

FAMOUS LEADERS AMONG WOMEN.

By SARAH K. BOLTON. With portraits of Catherine II. of Russia, Madam
Le Brun, Catharine Booth, etc. 12mo, cloth, $1.50.

    "It is by all odds the most charming of Mrs. Bolton's famous
    books."--_Northern Church Advocate._

    "Her selection embraces great variety, chronicling wonderful
    events."--_Chicago Press._

    "Mrs. Bolton tells the story in a way that is both interesting and
    instructive."--_Rochester Herald._

FAMOUS GIVERS AND THEIR GIFTS.

By SARAH K. BOLTON. With portraits of Andrew Carnegie, Stephen Girard,
John D. Rockefeller, and others. 12mo. $1.50.

_Latest Volume in the Series._

  STORIES FROM LIFE.
    By SARAH K. BOLTON. A book of short stories, charming and helpful.
    12mo. $1.25.

  FROM HEART AND NATURE.
    Poems by SARAH K. and CHARLES K. BOLTON. 16mo. Gilt top, $1.00.

  THE INEVITABLE, AND OTHER POEMS.
    By SARAH K. BOLTON. 16mo. With portrait. Gilt top, $1.00.

MRS. SARAH KNOWLES BOLTON

Comes from good New England ancestry; descended on her father's side
from Henry Knowles, who came to Rhode Island from London, England, in
1635, and on her mother's side from Colonel Nathaniel Stanley, of
Hartford, Conn., one of the leading men of the colony, and from Colonel
William Pynchon, one of the twenty-six incorporators of Massachusetts
Bay Colony. She was graduated from the Hartford Seminary, established by
Catharine Beecher; published a volume of poems, and in 1866 married
Charles E. Bolton, A.M., of Massachusetts, an Amherst College graduate
of '65. They removed to Cleveland, O., where, besides writing for
various periodicals, she did much charitable work. She was secretary of
the Woman's Christian Association, and Asst. Cor. Sec. of the Nat. W. C.
T. U. She has twice visited Europe, spending two years in England,
France, Italy, Germany, Russia, Norway and Sweden, studying literary and
educational matters, and the means used by employers for the mental and
moral elevation of their employees. On the latter subject she read a
paper before the American Social Science Association in 1883. She was
for three years one of the editors of the Boston _Congregationalist_.
She prepared several small books for the Cleveland Educational Bureau,
conducted gratuitously by her husband, and described by Dr. Washington
Gladden in the _Century_ magazine, January, 1885. The Bureau was
discontinued when Mr. Bolton gave his time to lecturing. Miss Frances E.
Willard says of Mrs. Bolton, "She is one of the best-informed women in
America, the chief woman biographer of our times."

T. Y. CROWELL & CO., New York and Boston.

End of Project Gutenberg's Famous Men of Science, by Sarah K. Bolton