in the severity of the winters, it is a change of that sort that he is
really referring to. He had said, a few lines before, that 'some of
the older inhabitants of North America will declare to you that the
winters are much less severe "now" than they were forty or fifty years
ago,' and in the passage quoted he is discussing the possibility of a
similar change in Europe, where, however, as he points out, the cause
assigned to the supposed change in America has certainly no existence.
Since 1830, by the way, the theory has been advanced that the supposed
mildness of recent winters may have been caused by the large increase
in the consumption of coal, owing to the use of steam machinery, gas
for lighting purposes, and so forth.

I believe it will be found on careful inquiry that the change for
which forty years ago men sought a cause in vain, and for which at
present they assign a perfectly inadequate cause, has had no real
existence. The study of meteorological records gives no valid support
to the theory of change. Nor is it difficult to understand how the idea
that there has been a change has arisen from the changed conditions
under which men in middle life, as compared with children, observe
or feel the effects of milder weather. A child gives no heed to mild
winters. They pass, like ordinary spring or autumn days, unnoted and
unremembered. But a bitter winter, or even a spell of bitter weather
such as is felt almost every year, is remembered. Even though it lasts
but for a short time, it produces as much effect on the childish
imagination as a long and bitter winter produces on the minds of grown
folk. Looking back at the days of childhood, the middle-aged man or
woman recalls what seems like a series of bitter winters, because
recalling many occasions when, during what seemed a long time, the snow
lay deep, the waters were frozen, and the outdoor air was shrewd and
biting.

Before considering some of the remarkable winters which during the last
century have been experienced in Great Britain and in Europe generally,
I would discuss briefly the evidence on which I base the belief that
the winter weather of Europe, and of Great Britain especially, has
undergone no noteworthy change during the last century.

If there is any validity in the theory at present in vogue that our
winters are milder now than they were forty or fifty years ago, and
the theory in vogue as we have seen forty years ago that the winters
then were milder than they had been forty or fifty years earlier, it is
manifest that there ought to be a very remarkable contrast between our
present winter weather and that which was commonly experienced eighty
or ninety years since. Now, it so chances that we possess a record of
the weather from 1768 to 1792, by a very competent observer--Gilbert
White of Selborne--which serves to show what weather prevailed
generally during that interval; while the same writer has described
at length, in his own happy and effective manner, some of the winters
which were specially remarkable for severity. Let us see whether the
winters during the last third of the eighteenth century were so much
more bitter or long-lasting than those now experienced as common ideas
on the subject would suggest.

In 1768, the year began with a fortnight's frost and snow. The cold was
very severe, as will presently be more particularly noted. Thereafter
wet and rainy weather prevailed to the end of February. The winter of
1768-69 was marked throughout by alternations of rain and frost; thus
from the middle of November to the end of 1768 there were 'alternate
rains and frosts;' in January and February, 1769, the weather was
'frosty and rainy, with gleams of fine weather in the intervals; then
to the middle of March, wind and rain.' The last half of November,
1769, was dry and frosty, December windy, with rain and intervals of
frost, and the first fortnight very foggy; the first fortnight of
January, 1770, frosty, but on the 14th and 15th all the snow melted
and to the end of February mild hazy weather prevailed; March was
frosty and bright. From the middle of October, 1770, to the end of the
year, there were almost incessant rains; then severe frosts till the
last week of January, 1771, after which rain and snow prevailed for a
fortnight, followed by spring weather till the end of February. March
and April were frosty. The spring of 1771 was so exceptionally severe
in the Isle of Skye that it was called the Black Spring; in the south
also it was severe. November, 1771, frost with intervals of fog and
rain; December, mild and bright weather with hoar frosts; January and
the first week of February, 1772, frost and snow; thence to the end of
the first fortnight in March, frost, sleet, rain, and snow.

The winter of 1772-73 would fairly compare with the mildest in recent
years, except for one fortnight of hard frost in February, 1773. For
from the end of September to December 22 there were rain and mild
weather--the first ice on December 23--but thence to the end of the
month foggy weather. The first week in January, frost, but the rest of
the month dark rainy weather; and after the fortnight of hard frost in
February, misty showery weather to the end of the first week in March,
and bright spring days till April.

There were four weeks of frost after the end of the first fortnight in
November, 1773, then rain to the end of the year, and rain and frost
alternately to the middle of March, 1774.

In 1774-1775 there seems to have been no winter at all worth
mentioning. From August 24 to the end of the third week in November
there was rain, with frequent intervals of sunny weather. Then to the
end of December, dark dripping fogs. January, February, and the first
half of March, 1775, rain almost every day; and to the end of the first
week in April, cold winds, with showers of rain and snow.

The end of the year 1775 was rainy, with intervals of hoar frost and
sunshine. Dark frosty weather prevailed during the first three weeks of
January, 1776, with much snow. Afterwards foggy weather and hoar frost.
The cold of January, 1776, was remarkable, and will presently be more
fully described.

November and December, 1776, were dry and frosty, with some days of
hard rain. Then to January 10, 1777, hard frost; to the 20th foggy
with frequent showers; and to February 18, hard dry frost with snow,
followed by heavy rains, with intervals of warm dry spring weather to
the end of May.

The winter of 1777-78 was another which resembled closely enough those
winters which many suppose to be peculiar to recent years. The autumn
weather to October 12 had been remarkably fine and warm. From then to
the end of the year, grey mild weather prevailed, with but little rain
and still less frost. During the first thirteen days of January there
was frost with a little snow; then rain to January 24, followed by six
days of hard frost. After this, harsh foggy weather with rain prevailed
till February 23; then five days of frost; a fortnight of dark harsh
weather; and spring weather to the end of the first fortnight in April.
The second fortnight of April, however, was cold, with snow and frost.

Similarly varied in character was the winter of 1778-79. From the end
of September, 1778, to the end of the year the weather was wet, with
considerable intervals of sunshine. January, 1779, was characterised by
alternations of frost and showers. After this, to April 21, warm dry
weather prevailed.

The winter of 1779-80 was rather more severe. During October and
November the weather was fine with intervals of rain. December rainy,
with frost and snow occasionally. January 1780, frosty. During February
dark harsh weather prevailed, with frequent intervals of frost. March
was characterised by warm, showery, spring weather.

November and December, 1781, were warm and rainy; and the same mild
open weather prevailed till February 4. Then followed eighteen days of
hard frost, after which to the end of March the weather was cold and
windy, with frost, snow, and rain. Thus the first two-thirds of the
winter of 1781-82 were exceptionally mild, while the last third was
cold and bleak.

In November, 1782, we find for the first time in these records an
instance of early and long-continued cold. 'November began with a hard
frost, and continued throughout, with alternate frost and thaw. The
first part of December frosty.' The latter half of December, however,
and the first sixteen days of January were mild, with much rain and
wind. Then came a week of hard frost, followed by stormy dripping
weather to the end of February. Thence to May 9, cold harsh winds
prevailed. On May 5 there was thick ice.

The next two winters were, on the whole, the severest of the entire
series recorded by Gilbert White, though at no time in the winter of
1783-84 was the cold greater than has often been experienced in this
country. White's record runs thus: From September 23 to November 12,
dry mild weather. To December 18, grey soft weather with a few showers.
Thence to February 19, 1784, hard frost, with two thaws, one on January
14, the other on February 5. To February 28, mild wet fogs. To March 3,
frost with ice. To March 10, sleet and snow. To April 2, snow with hard
frost.

The winter of 1784-85 was remarkable for the exceedingly severe
cold of December, 1784, which will presently be referred to more
particularly. From November 6 to the end of the year 1784, fog, rain,
and hard frost alternated, the frost continuing longest and being
severest in December. On January 2 a thaw began, and rainy weather with
wind continued to January 28. Thence to March 15 hard frost; to March
21 mild weather with sprinkling showers; to April 7 hard frost.

After rainy weather till December 23, 1786, came frost and snow till
January 7, 1787. Then a week of mild and very rainy weather, followed
by a week of heavy snow. From January 21 to February 11, mild weather
with frequent rains; to February 21 dry weather with high winds; and to
March 10, hard frost. Then alternate rains and frosts to April 13.

Early in November, 1786, there was frost, but thence to December 16
rain with only 'a few detached days of frost.' After a fortnight of
frost and snow, came 24 days of dark, moist, mild weather. Then four
days (from January 24 to January 28, 1787) of frost and snow; after
which mild showery weather to February 16, dry cool weather to February
28, stormy and rainy weather to March 10. The next fortnight bright and
frosty; then mild rainy weather to the end of April.

November, 1787, was mild till the 23rd, the last week frosty. The
first three weeks of December still and mild, with rain, the last week
frosty. The first thirteen days of January mild and wet; then five days
of frost, followed by dry, windy weather. February frosty, but with
frequent showers. The first half of March hard frost, the rest dark
harsh weather with much rain.

The winter of 1788-89 was very severe, hard frost continuing from
November 22, 1788, to January 13, 1789. The rest of January was mild
with showers. February rainy, with snow showers and heavy gales of
wind. The first thirteen days of March hard frost, with snow, and then
till April 18, heavy rain, with frost, snow, and sleet. This winter was
very severe also on the Continent.

The winter of 1789-90 was as mild as that of 1788-89 had been severe.
The record runs thus:--'November to 17th, heavy rains with violent
gales of wind. To December 18, mild dry weather with a few showers.
To the end of the year rain and wind. To January 16, 1790, mild foggy
weather, with occasional rains. To January 21' (five days only) 'frost.
To January 28, dark, with driving rains. To February 14, mild dry
weather. To February 22' (eight days) 'hard frost.' To April 5 bright
cold weather with a few showers.

In November, 1790, mild autumnal weather prevailed till the 26th, after
which there were five days of hard frost. Thence to the end of the
year, rain and snow, with a few days of frost. The whole of January,
1791, was mild with heavy rains; February windy, with much rain and
snow. Then to the end of April dry, but 'rather cold and frosty.'

November, 1791, was very wet and stormy, December frosty. There was
some hard frost in January, 1792, but the weather mostly wet and mild.
In February also there was some hard frost and a little snow. March was
wet and cold.

The record ends with the year 1792, the last three months of which
are thus described: 'October showery and mild. November dry and fine.
December mild.'

Certainly the account of the 23 years between 1768 and 1792 does not
suggest that there is any material difference between the winter
weather now common and the average winter weather a century ago. Still
it may be necessary to show, that when men spoke of mild weather in old
times, they meant what we should understand by the same expression.
A reference to rain or showery weather shows sufficiently that a
temperature above the freezing point existed while such weather
prevailed. But it might be that what White speaks of as mild weather,
is such as we should consider severe. In order to show that this is
not the case, it will suffice to examine his statement respecting the
actual temperature in particular winters, considering them always with
due reference to what he says as to their exceptional character.

Take for instance his account of the frost in January, 1768. He says
that, for the short time it lasted, this frost 'was the most severe
that we had then known for many years, and was remarkably injurious to
evergreens.' 'The coincidents attending this short but intense frost,'
he proceeds, after describing his vegetable losses, 'were, that the
horses fell sick with an epidemic distemper, which injured the winds
of many and killed some; that colds and coughs were general among the
human species; that it froze under people's beds for several nights;
that meat was so hard frozen that it could not be spitted, and could
not be secured but in cellars, &c.' On the 3rd of January a thermometer
within doors, in a close parlour, where there was no fire, fell in the
night to 20; on the 4th to 18; and on the 7th to 17-1/2 degrees, 'a
degree of cold which the owner never since saw in the same situation.'
The evidence from the thermometer is unsatisfactory, because we do not
know how the parlour was situated. But there is reason for supposing
that in the bitterest winters known during the last thirty or forty
years, a greater degree of cold than that of January, 1768, has been
experienced in England.

The frost of January, 1776, was also regarded as remarkable, and an
account of it will therefore enable us to judge what was the ordinary
winter weather of the last century.

In the first place, White notices that 'the first week of January,
1776, was very wet, and drowned with vast rains from every quarter;
from whence may be inferred, as there is great reason to believe is
the case, that intense frosts seldom take place till the earth is
perfectly glutted and chilled with water; and hence dry autumns are
seldom followed by rigorous winters.' On the 14th, after a week of
frost, sleet, and snow, which after the 12th 'overwhelmed all the
works of men, drifting over the tops of gates, and filling the hollow
lanes,' White had occasion to be much abroad. He thought he had never
before or since encountered such rugged Siberian weather. 'Many of the
narrow roads were now filled above the tops of the hedges, through
which the snow was driven into most romantic and grotesque shapes,
so striking to the imagination as not to be seen without wonder
and pleasure. The poultry dared not to stir out of their roosting
places: for cocks and hens are so dazzled and confounded by the glare
of snow, that they would soon perish without assistance. The hares
also lay sullenly in their seats, and would not move till compelled
by hunger: being conscious, poor animals, that the drifts and heaps
treacherously betray their footsteps and prove fatal to many of them.'
From the 14th the snow continued to increase, and began to stop the
road-wagons and coaches, which could no longer keep their regular
stages; and especially on the Western roads. 'The company at Bath that
wanted to attend the Queen's birthday were strangely incommoded; many
carriages of persons who got on their way to town from Bath, as far as
Marlborough, after strange embarrassments, here met with a _ne plus
ultra_. The ladies fretted, and offered large rewards to labourers, if
they would shovel them a road to London; but the relentless heaps of
snow were too bulky to be removed; and so the 18th passed over, leaving
the company in very uncomfortable circumstances, at the Castle and
other inns.'

Yet all this time and till the 21st the cold was not so intense as it
was in December 1878. On the 21st the thermometer showed 20 degrees,
and had it not been for the deep snows, the winter would not have been
very severely felt. On the 22nd, the author had occasion to go to
London 'through a sort of Laplandian scene, very wild and grotesque
indeed.' But London exhibited an even stranger appearance than the
country. 'Being bedded deep in snow, the pavement of the streets could
not be touched by the wheels or the horses' feet, so that the carriages
ran almost without the least noise.' 'Such an exemption from din and
clatter,' says White, 'was strange but not pleasant; it seemed to
convey an uncomfortable idea of desolation:

  _Ipsa silentia terrent._

'The worst had not yet, however, been reached. On the 27th much snow
fell all day, and in the evening the frost became very intense. At
South Lambeth, for the four following nights, the thermometer fell to
eleven, seven, six, six; and at Selborne to seven, six, ten; and on the
31st, just before sunrise, with rime on the trees and on the tube of
the glass, the quicksilver sank exactly to zero--_a most unusual degree
of cold this for the South of England_.' During these four nights, the
cold was so penetrating that ice formed under beds; and in the day the
wind was so keen, that persons of robust constitutions could hardly
endure to face it. 'The Thames was at once frozen over, both above and
below bridge, that crowds ran about on the ice. The streets were now
strangely encumbered with snow, which crumbled and trod dusty; and
turning gray, resembled bay salt; what had fallen on the roofs was so
perfectly dry that from first to last it lay twenty-six days on the
houses in the city; _a longer time than had been remembered by the
oldest housekeepers living_.'

According to all appearances rigorous weather might now have been
expected for weeks to come, since every night increased in severity.
'But behold,' says White, 'without any apparent cause, on February 1,
a thaw took place, and some rain followed before night, making good
the observation that frosts often go off as it were at once without
any gradual declension of cold. On February 2 the thaw persisted, and
on the 3rd swarms of little insects were frisking and sporting in a
court-yard at South Lambeth, as if they had felt no frost. Why the
juices in the small bodies and smaller limbs of such minute beings are
not frozen, is a matter of curious inquiry.'

Although it is manifest that the weather of January, 1776, was severe,
yet the remarks italicised show that such weather was regarded a
century ago as altogether exceptional. Again, the cold lasted only
about three weeks. And it may be doubted whether in actual intensity
it even equalled that which was experienced in London and the south of
England generally during the first week of 1855. Certainly the evidence
afforded by such remarks as I have italicised in the above-quoted
passage tends more to prove that winter weather in England a hundred
years hence was on the average much like winter at present, than the
unusual severity of the weather during about twenty-four days in
January, 1776, tends to suggest that a marked change has taken place.

Similar evidence is afforded by White's remarks respecting the severe
cold of December, 1784.

As in January, 1776, so in December, 1784--a week of very wet weather
heralded the approach of severe cold. 'The first week of December,'
says White, 'was very wet, with the barometer very low. On the 7th,
with the barometer at 28.5, came on a vast snow, which continued all
that day and the next, and most part of the following night: so that
by the morning of the 9th the works of men were quite overwhelmed'
(there is something quite Homeric in White's use of this favourite
expression), 'the lanes filled so as to be impassable, and the ground
covered twelve or fifteen inches without any drifting. In the evening
of the 9th the air began to be so very sharp that we thought it would
be curious to attend to the motions of a thermometer; we therefore hung
out two, one made by Martin and one by Dolland' (probably Dollond),
'which soon began to show us what we were to expect; for by ten o'clock
they fell to twenty-one, and at eleven to four, when we went to bed.
On the 10th in the morning the quicksilver of Dolland's glass was down
to half a degree below zero and that of Martin's, which was absurdly
graduated only to four degrees above zero, sunk quite into the brass
guard of the ball, so that, when the weather became most interesting,
this was useless. On the 10th, at eleven at night, though the air was
perfectly still, Dolland's glass went down to one degree below zero!
This strange severity of the weather made me very desirous to know what
degree of cold there might be in such an exalted and near situation as
Newton. We had, therefore, on the morning of the 10th, written to Mr.
----, and entreated him to hang out his thermometer, made by Adams, and
to pay some attention to it, morning and evening, expecting wonderful
phenomena in so elevated a region, at two hundred feet or more above
my house. But, behold! on the 10th, at eleven at night, it was down
only to seventeen, and the next morning at twenty-two, when mine was
at ten! We were so disturbed at this unexpected reverse of comparative
cold that we sent one of my glasses up, thinking that of Mr. ----
must somehow be wrongly constructed. But when the instruments came to
be confronted they went exactly together, so that for one night at
least the cold at Newton was eighteen degrees less than at Selborne,
and through the whole frost ten or twelve degrees; and indeed, when
we came to observe consequences, we could readily credit this, for
all my laurustines, bays, ilexes, arbutuses, cypresses, and even my
Portugal laurels--and, which occasions more regret, my fine sloping
laurel hedge--were scorched up, while at Newton the same trees have not
lost a leaf....' One circumstance noted by White, though not bearing
specially on the degree of cold which prevailed on this occasion, is
very interesting. 'I must not omit to tell you,' says White, 'that
during those two Siberian days my parlour cat was so electric that had
a person stroked her and been properly insulated, the shock might have
been given to a whole circle of people.'

White's account of this severe frost bears very significantly on the
theory that our winter weather has undergone a great change. It is
obvious, in the first place, that the situation of his thermometers
was such that they were likely to show a low temperature as compared
with the indications in other places. It is also clear that the
thermometer he used was trustworthy. If it were one of Dollond's it
would presumably be a good one, and I do not think that in White's time
the trick of marking inferior instruments with the name Dolland had
come into vogue. But in any case Adams's scientific instruments were
excellent; and, as the account shows, the thermometer used by White
indicated the same temperature as Adams's. Now, the lowest temperature
recorded was only one degree below zero; and that this was altogether
exceptional is shown not only by what White says in the passage I have
quoted, but also by his remarking a little later that this frost 'may
be allowed, from its effects, to have exceeded any since 1739-40.'
Even this is not all. It would certainly prove beyond dispute that our
winters were not milder than those of a century ago; for a greater
degree of cold than that recorded by White in December, 1784, has been
more than once experienced in the same part of England during the last
forty years. But it seems from a statement in Miller's 'Gardener's
Dictionary,' that the Portugal laurels were untouched in the great
frost of 1739-40, which would show that the frost of 1784 was more
severe and destructive than that of 1739-40. If this were really so,
the frost of 1784 was the severest (though owing to its short duration
it did not produce the most remarkable effects in the country at large)
of any during the periods noted between the years 1709 and 1788. On the
Continent, the frost of December, 1788, was more severe in some places,
though rather less severe at Paris, than that of 1709; but I do not
know of any records which would enable us to make a direct comparison
between the cold in 1709, 1784, and 1788, at any given place in Great
Britain.

It will be well now to take a wider survey and consider some of the
most severe winters experienced in Europe generally.

The winter of 1544 was remarkably severe all over Europe. In Flanders,
according to Mézerai, wine froze in casks, and was sold in blocks by
the pound weight. The winter of 1608 was also very severe. In the
winter of 1709 the thermometer at the Paris Observatory recorded a
cold of nearly ten degrees below zero.

Passing over the winter of 1776, of whose effects in England we have
learned enough to enable us to judge how severely it must have been
felt in those continental countries where the winter is always more
severe than with us, we come to the severe winter of 1788-89.

We have seen that in England hard frost began on November 22 and
continued till January 13. In France (or rather at Paris) the frost
began three days later, but the thaw began on the same day, January
13. There was no intermission except on Christmas Day, when it did not
freeze. In the great canal at Versailles the ice was two feet thick.
'The water also froze,' says Flammarion, 'in several very deep wells,
and wine became congealed in cellars. The Seine began to freeze as
early as November 26, and for several days its course was impeded, the
breaking up of the ice not taking place until January 20 (1789). The
lowest temperature observed at Paris was seven degrees below zero, on
December 31. The frost was equally severe in other parts of France
and throughout Europe. The Rhone was quite frozen over at Lyons, the
Garonne at Toulouse, and at Marseilles the sides of the docks were
covered with ice. Upon the shores of the Atlantic the sea was frozen to
a distance of several leagues. The ice upon the Rhine was so thick that
loaded wagons were able to cross it. The Elbe was covered with ice, and
also bore up heavy carts. The harbour at Ostend was frozen so hard that
people could cross it on horseback; the sea was congealed to a distance
of four leagues from the exterior fortifications, and no vessel could
approach the harbour.'

It was during the frost of 1788-89 that a fair was held on the Thames.
The river was frozen as low as Gravesend; but it was only in London
that booths were set up. The Thames fair lasted during the Christmas
holidays and the first twelve days of January.

At Strasburg, on December 31, a temperature of fifteen degrees below
zero was shown. At Berlin on the 20th, and St. Petersburg on the 12th,
temperatures of twenty and twenty-three degrees below zero respectively
were noted. But in Poland and parts of Germany an even greater degree
of cold was recorded. For instance, at Warsaw, 26-1/2 degrees below
zero; and at Bremen thirty-two degrees. At Basle, on December 18, the
thermometer indicated nearly thirty-six degrees below zero. In the
district around Toulouse bread was frozen so hard that it could not be
cut till it had been laid before the fire. Many travellers perished in
the snow. At Lemburg, in Galicia, thirty-seven persons were found dead
in three days towards the end of December. The ice froze so thick in
ponds that in most of them all the fish were killed.

The winter of 1794-95 was remarkable in this country as giving the
lowest average temperature for a month ever recorded in England. The
mean temperature for January, 1795, was only 26.5 degrees; or more
than three degrees lower than that of last January. January 25, 1795,
is commonly supposed to have been the coldest day ever known. The
thermometer in London stood at eight degrees below zero during part of
that bitter day; and in Paris, where also there were six consecutive
weeks of frost, at 10-3/7 degrees below zero. The Thames was frozen
over at Whitehall in the beginning of January. The Marne, the Scheldt,
the Rhine, and the Seine were so frozen over that army corps and heavy
carriages crossed over them. Perhaps the strangest of all the recorded
results of cold weather occurred during the same month. The French
General Pichegru, who was then operating in the North of Holland, sent
detachments of cavalry and infantry about January 20, with orders to
the former to cross the Texel and to capture the enemy's vessels, which
were 'imprisoned by the ice.' 'The French horsemen crossed the plains
of ice at full gallop,' we are told, 'approached the vessels, called on
them to surrender, captured them without a struggle, and took the crews
prisoners:' probably the only occasion in history when effective use
could have been made of a corps of horse-marines.

The winter of 1798-99 was very cold, but not so exceptionally cold
in England as on the Continent. The Seine was completely frozen over
from the 29th of December to the 19th of January, from the Pont de la
Tournelle to the Pont Royal. Farther east the cold was much greater.
The Meuse was frozen over so thickly that carriages could cross it, and
at the Hague and at Rotterdam fairs were held on the river. A regiment
of dragoons starting from Mayence, crossed the Rhine upon the ice.

The winter of 1812-13 was exceeding cold in November, December and
January. It was this unusually early and bitter winter which occasioned
the destruction of Napoleon's army in Russia, and the eventual
overthrow of his power. (For no one who considers his achievements
during the campaigns of 1813 and 1814 can doubt that, had the army
with which he invaded Russia been at his command, he would have foiled
all the efforts of combined Europe against him.) The cold became
very intense in Russia after the 7th of November. On the 17th the
thermometer fell to 15 degrees below zero, according to Larrey, who
carried a thermometer suspended from his button hole. The retreat from
Moscow began on the 18th, Napoleon leaving the still burning city on
the 19th, and the evacuation being complete on the 23rd. Everything
seemed to conspire against Napoleon and his army. During the march
to Smolensk snow fell almost incessantly. Even the only intermission
of the cold during the retreat caused additional disaster. On the
18th of November, Russian troops had crossed the frozen Dwina with
their artillery. A thaw begun on the 24th, but continued only for a
short time; 'so that from the 26th to the 29th the Beresina contained
numerous blocks of ice, but yet was not so frozen over as to afford a
passage to the French troops.' It was to this circumstance that the
terribly disastrous nature of the passage of the Beresina must mainly
be attributed.

The winter of 1813-14 was colder in England than on the Continent--I
mean, the winter here was colder for England than the winter in any
region of continental Europe was for that region. The frost lasted from
December 26 to March 21, and the mean temperature of January was only
26.8 degrees. The Thames was frozen over very thickly, and a fair was
held on the frozen river.

The winter of 1819-20 was bitter throughout Europe. Mr. Thomas Plant,
in an interesting letter to the _Times_ of February 4, says that this
winter was one long spell of intense frost from November to March,
and was almost as severe as that of 1813-14. In Paris there were
forty-seven days of frost, nineteen of which were consecutive, from
December 30, 1818, to January 17. 'In France,' says Flammarion, 'the
intensity of the cold was heralded by the passage along the coast of
the Pas de Calais of a great number of birds coming from the farthest
regions of the north by wild swans and ducks of variegated plumage.
Several travellers perished of cold; amongst others a farmer near
Arras, a gamekeeper near Nogent (Haute Marne) a man and woman in
the Côte d'Or, two travellers at Breuil, on the Meuse, a woman and
a child on the road from Etain to Verdun, six persons near Château
Salins (Meurthe), and two little Savoyards on the road from Clermont
to Chalons-sur-Saône. In the experiments made at the Metz School of
Artillery, on the 10th of January, to ascertain how iron resisted low
temperatures, several soldiers had their hands or their ears frozen.'
During this winter the Thames, the Seine, the Rhône, the Rhine, the
Danube, the Garonne, the lagoons of Venice, and the Sound, were so far
frozen that it was possible to walk across them on the ice.

The winter of 1829-30 was remarkable as the longest winter of the first
half of the present century. The cold was not exceptionally intense,
but the long continuance of bitter weather occasioned more mischief in
the long run than has attended short spells of severer cold. The river
Seine was frozen at Paris first for twenty-nine days, from December
28th to January 26th, and then for five days from February 5th to
February 10th. The river had not been so many days frost-bound in any
winter since 1763. Even at Havre the Seine was frozen over; and at
Rouen a fair was held upon the river on January 18th. On January 25,
after a thaw of six days, the ice from Corbeil and Melun blocked up the
bridge at Choisy, forming a wall 16-1/2 feet high.

The winter of 1837-38 was remarkable for the long frost of January
and February, 1838. It lasted eight weeks. Mr. Plant mentions that
'the lowest point of the thermometer during this long and severe frost
occurred on January 20, when the readings were from 5 degrees below
zero, in this district' (Moseley, near Birmingham), 'to 8 and 10
degrees below zero in more exposed aspects.' 'On the 13th of January,
the old Royal Exchange, London, was destroyed by fire; and the frost
was so great that, when the fire brigade had ceased playing on one
portion of the burning pile, the water in a short time became icicles
of such large dimensions, that the effect has been described as grand
in the extreme.'

The winter of 1837-38 is not usually included as one among the
exceptionally cold winters on the Continent, and the winter of 1840-41,
though certainly cold in the British Isles, is not included by Mr.
Plant in his list of the coldest winters since 1795. But this winter
was exceedingly cold on the Continent. At Paris there were fifty-nine
days' frost, twenty-seven of them consecutive--viz. from December 5th,
when the cold began, to January 1st. The intermission which began on
January 1, lasted only till January 3, when there was another week of
frost. There was frost again from January 30 to February 10. One of the
most remarkable stories connected with the cold of this winter is thus
told by Flammarion:--'On the 15th of December, the ashes of Napoleon,
brought back from St. Helena, entered Paris by the Arc de Triomphe.
The thermometer in places exposed to nocturnal radiation, had that day
marked 6.8 degrees above zero. An immense crowd, the National Guard of
Paris and its suburbs, and numerous regiments lined the Champs Elysées,
from the early morning until two in the afternoon. Every one suffered
severely from the cold. Soldiers and workmen, hoping to obtain warmth
by drinking brandy' (the most chilling process they could have thought
of), 'were seized by the cold, and dropped down dead of congestion.
Several persons perished, victims of their curiosity: having climbed up
into the trees to see the procession, their extremities, benumbed by
the cold, failed to support them, and they were killed by the fall.'

The winter of 1844-45 was remarkable for the long duration of cold
weather. The whole of December was very cold, January not so severe,
but still cold, February singularly cold, and the frost so severe
in March that on Good Friday (March 21st) the boats, which had been
frost-bound for weeks in the canals, were still locked tightly in ice.

Mr. Plant omits to notice in the letter above-mentioned the long
winter of 1853-54, which was indeed less severe (relatively as well as
absolutely) in England than on the Continent. Still, he is hardly right
in saying, that after 1845 there was no winter of long and intense
character until January and February 1855. On the Continent the winter
of 1853-54 was not only protracted but severe, especially towards the
end of December. Several rivers were frozen over. The cold lasted from
March till November, with scarcely any intermission.

The winter of 1854-55 was still more severe than its predecessor. The
frosts commenced in the east of France in October and lasted till the
28th of April. The mean temperatures for January and February, in
England, were 31 degrees and 29 degrees respectively. This year will
be remembered as that during which our army suffered so terribly from
cold in the Crimea. But our brave fellows would have resisted Generals
January and February (in whom the Czar Nicholas expressed such strong
reliance), as well as the Russians themselves did, or maybe a trifle
better (if we can judge from the way in which Englishmen have borne
Arctic winters), had it not been for the gross negligence of the Red
Tapists.

The winter of 1857-58 was rather severer than the average, but not
much. The Danube and Russian ports in the Black Sea were frozen over in
January, 1858.

The frost of December, 1860, and January, 1861, was remarkable. The
coldest recorded mean temperature for a month in time (not the coldest
month), was that for the thirty days ending January 16, 1861,--namely,
26 degrees. Mr. Plant remarks that 'the intense cold on Christmas-eve,
1860, finds no equal in his records, since January 20, 1838. The
thermometer registered 34 degrees of frost, and in the valley of the
Rea, five to seven degrees below zero. Strangely enough, Flammarion
makes no mention of this bitter winter in his list of exceptionally
cold winters.

The winter of 1864-65 lasted from December to the end of March, all of
which four months, Mr. Plant notes, were of the true winter type. The
Seine was frozen over at Paris, and people crossed the ice near the
Pont des Arts.

The winter of 1870-71 will always be remembered as that during
which the siege of Paris was carried on, and the last scenes of the
Franco-Prussian war took place. As Flammarion justly remarks, this
winter will be classed among severe winters, because of the extreme
cold in December and January (notwithstanding the mild weather of
February), and also because of the fatal influence which the cold
exercised upon the public health at the close of the war with Germany.
'The great equatorial current,' he proceeds (meaning, no doubt, the
winds which blow over the prolongation of the Gulf Stream), 'which
generally extends to Norway, stopped this year at Spain and Portugal,
the prevailing wind being from the north. On the 5th of December there
was a temperature of 5 degrees, and on the 8th, at Montpellier, the
thermometer stood at 17.6 degrees. A second period of cold set in on
the 22nd of December, lasting until the 5th of January. In Paris the
Seine was blocked with ice, and seemed likely to become frozen over.
On the 24th there were 21.6 degrees of frost, and at Montpellier, on
the 31st, 28.8 degrees. It is well known that many of the outposts
around Paris, and several of the wounded who had been lying for fifteen
hours upon the field, were found frozen to death. From the 9th to the
15th of January a third period of cold set in, the thermometer marking
17.6 degrees' (14.4 degrees of frost) 'at Paris, and 8.6 degrees at
Montpellier. The most curious fact was that the cold was greater
in the south than in the north of France. At Brussels the lowest
temperatures were 11.1 degree in December and 8.2 degrees in January.
There were forty days' frost at Montpellier, forty-two at Paris, and
forty-seven at Brussels during these two months. Finally, the winter
average (December, January, and February) was 35.2 degrees in Paris,
whereas the general average is 37.9 degrees.' In the north of Europe
this was also a very hard winter, though the cold set in at a different
time than that noted for France. There were forty degrees of frost at
Copenhagen on February 12--that is, the temperature was 5 degrees below
zero. By the documents which M. Renon furnished Flammarion with for
France, 'I discover,' says the latter, 'a minimum of 9.4 degrees below
zero at Périgueux, and of 13 degrees below zero at Moulins! I find by
the documents supplied me by Mr. Glaisher,' he proceeds, 'that he also
considers the winter of 1870-71 as appertaining to the class of winters
memorable for their severity.' Lastly, in the winter which as I write
(February 10, 1879) seems to be nearly over, we have had for December
a mean temperature of only 31 degrees in the midlands--the coldest
December known there, followed by a January so cold that the mean
temperature for the midlands was only 29.8 degrees. Mr. G.J. Symons,
the well-known meteorologist, says of the past winter, that January
was the coldest for at least twenty-one, and he believes for forty-one
years, following a December which was also, with one exception, the
coldest for twenty-one years.' He gives an abstract of the temperatures
(both maximum and minimum) for November, December, and January during
the last twenty-one years, from which it appears:--

1. That the average _maximum_ temperature of November was the lowest
during the period with two exceptions, that of December the lowest with
one exception, and that of January the lowest of the whole period.

2. That the average _minimum_ of November was the lowest during the
period with four exceptions, that of December the lowest with one
exception, and that of January the lowest.

3. That the mean temperature of the three months was not only five
degrees below the average, but also lower than in any previous year out
of the twenty-one.

On the whole, the winter of 1878-79 must be regarded as the coldest we
have had during at least the last score of years, and probably during
twice that time. It was not characterised by exceptionally severe short
periods of intense cold, like those which occurred during the winters
of 1854-55, 1855-56, and 1860-61; but it has been surpassed by few
winters during the last two centuries for constant low temperature and
long-continued moderate frost. During the last ninety years there have
been only four winters matching that of 1878-79 in these respects.

Since the preceding pages were written the weather record for February
1879 has been completed. Like the three preceding months, February
showed a mean temperature below the average, though the deficit was not
quite so great as in those months. The following table, drawn out by
Mr. Plant, shows the mean temperature at Moseley for four winter months
of 1878-79, and the average temperature for those months at Moseley
during the last twenty years:--

               1878-79
                               Deg.
  November                     37.0
  December                     31.0
  January                      29.8
  February                     35.8
                               ----
  Mean of the four months in   33.4

          Average of 20 years
                               Deg.
  November                     41.5
  December                     39.0
  January                      35.5
  February                     39.0
                               ----
  Average of four months in 20
  years observations           38.8

_OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE ROWING._

The records of the last eighteen boat-races between Cambridge and
Oxford indicate clearly enough the existence of a difference of style
in the rowing of the two universities, a circumstance quite as plainly
suggested by the five successive victories of Cambridge in the years
1870-74, as by the nine successive victories of Oxford which preceded
them. For it is, or should be, known that the victories of Cambridge
only began when Morrison, one of the finest Oxford oarsmen, had taught
the Cambridge men the Oxford style, so far as it could be imparted to
rowers accustomed, for the most part, in intercollegiate struggles,
to a different system. With regard to the long succession of Oxford
victories which began in 1861, and which, be it noticed, followed on
Cambridge successes obtained when the light-blue stroke rowed in the
Oxford style, I may remark that, viewing the matter as a question of
probabilities, it may safely be said that the nine successive victories
of Oxford could not reasonably be regarded as accidental. The loss of
three or four successive races would not have sufficed to show that
there was any assignable difference in the conditions under which the
rival universities encountered each other on the Thames. In cases
where the chance of one or other of two events happening is exactly
equal, there will repeatedly be observed recurrences of this sort.
But when the same event recurs so often as nine successive times,
it is justifiable to infer that the chances are _not_ precisely--or
perhaps even nearly--equal. I believe I shall be able to indicate the
existence of a cause quite sufficient to account for the series of
defeats sustained in the years 1861-69 by Cambridge, and for the change
of fortune experienced when for a while the Cambridge oarsmen adopted
the style of rowing which has prevailed for many years at the sister
university.

I may premise that Cambridge has an important advantage over Oxford
in the fact that she has a far larger number of men to choose from
in selecting a university crew. It may seem to many, at first sight,
that as good a crew might well be selected from three hundred as from
five hundred boating-men; because it is not to be supposed that either
number would supply many more than eight first-rate oarsmen. But it
must be remembered that there are first-rate oarsmen _and_ first-rate
oarsmen. The unpractised eye may detect very little difference
between the best and the worst oarsmen in such crews as Oxford and
Cambridge yearly send to contend for the blue-riband of the river.
But differences exist; and if the best man of the crew were replaced
by one equal in rowing ability to the worst, or _vice versâ_, an
important difference would be observed in the time of rowing over the
racing course, under similar conditions of wind, tide, and so forth.
Accordingly, a large field for the selection of the men is a most
important advantage. Taking, for instance, the five hundred rowing men
of Cambridge and dividing them into two sets--one of three hundred men,
corresponding to the three hundred rowing men of Oxford, and the other
of two hundred men--we see that the first set ought to supply a crew
strong enough to meet Oxford, and the second a crew nearly as strong.
Now, if the best men of the two Cambridge crews thus supposed to be
formed are combined--say five taken from the first and three from the
second, all the inferior men being struck out--a far stronger crew than
either of the others would undoubtedly be formed.

So that if Cambridge were generally the winner in these contests, the
Oxonians would be able to account for their want of success in a
sufficiently satisfactory manner. The successive defeats sustained by
the Cambridge crews in 1861-69 are therefore so much the less readily
explained as due to mere accident, by which of course I mean simply
such an accidental circumstance as that better oarsmen chanced to be at
Oxford than at Cambridge in these years, not to accident occurring in
the race itself.

Several reasons were assigned from time to time for the repeated
victories of Oxford. Some of these may conveniently be examined here,
before discussing what I take to be the true explanation.

Some writers in the papers advanced the general proposition that Oxford
men are as a rule stronger and more enduring than Cambridge men.
They did not tell us why this should be the case--to what peculiar
influences it was due that the more powerful and energetic of our
English youth should go to one university rather than the other. No
evidence of this peculiarity could be found in the university athletic
sports, in which success was, as it has since been, very equally
divided. And what made the theory the less satisfactory was the
circumstance that it afforded no explanation of the early triumphs of
the Cantabs, who won seven of the nine races they rowed against Oxford.
Of these races five were rowed from Westminster to Putney, a course
two miles longer than the present course from Putney to Mortlake. A
race over such a course and in the heavier old-fashioned racing-boats
was a sufficient test of strength and endurance; yet the Cambridge
men managed to win four out of these five events, and that not by a
few seconds, but in three instances by upwards of a minute. If there
were any reason for conceiving that Oxonians were as a rule stronger
than Cantabs in the years 1861-69, there is at least no reason for
conceiving that any change can have taken place in the time between the
earlier races and that during which Oxford won so persistently. And as
the earlier races show no traces of any difference such as was insisted
upon by many journalists in the latter part of the period of the
Oxford successes, we may reasonably conclude that the difference had no
real existence.

Another theory resembling the preceding was also often urged. It was
said repeatedly in the papers that Cambridge traditions encouraged
a light flashy stroke, pretty to look at but not effective; that
again, Cambridge rowed the first part of the course well but
exhausted themselves before the conclusion of the race, through their
over-anxiety to get the advantage of their opponents in the beginning
of the contest. Critics undertook to say that the Oxford men 'rowed
within themselves' at first, reserving their strength for the last
mile or two of the course. Now, it will presently appear that there
does exist in a certain peculiarity of what may justly be called the
Cambridge style, a true cause for want of success, and even for such a
repeated series of defeats as the light-blue flag sustained in 1868-69.
But the Cambridge style rowed during these years was very far from
being a flashy style. On the contrary, the old Cambridge style, which
is still too often seen in College contests, and has within the last
four years been seen on the Thames, involves the rowing of a longer
stroke than _seems_ to be rowed in the true Oxford style. Oxford
rowing is pre-eminently lively. Anyone who had been at the pains to
time the strokes of the Oxford and Cambridge crews during the years
1861-69, would have been able at once to dispose of the notion that
Cambridge men row the more rapid stroke. In these nine races, as in
the practice preceding them, the Oxford crew often took forty-four
strokes per minute. Especially did they rise to this swift stroke in
some of those grand spurts which so often carried the dark-blue flag
in front. I do not remember that the Cambridge crews ever went beyond
forty-two strokes per minute. Then again as to starting early and
being quickly spent, a good deal of nonsense was written. In some of
the later contests of the series 1861-69, indeed, the Cambridge crews,
urged by the thought of numerous past defeats, made unduly exhausting
efforts in the earlier part of the race. But nothing was done in this
way which would have caused the loss of the race if the Cambridge crew
had really had it in them to win. If the better of two crews puts on
rather too much steam at first, they draw so quickly ahead that they
soon begin to feel that they have the race in hand, and so proceed to
take matters more steadily. In such powerful and well-trained crews
as both universities usually send to the contest, very little harm is
done by varying the order of the work a little--rowing hard at first
and steadily afterwards, or _vice versâ_. It is easy for lookers-on,
most of whom have never taken part in a boat-race, to theorise on these
matters. But those who know what boat racing is (as distinguished, be
it noticed, from most contests of speed) know that the better boat is
almost sure to win in whatever way the stroke may set them their work.
A good crew, unlike a good horse, requires no jockeying.

The difference of the rivers Cam and Isis has been urged as a
sufficient reason for inferiority on the part of the Cambridge crews.
That the difference used to tell unfavourably upon the chances of the
light blue flag before the river had been widened and the railway
bridge modified, and that even now the Cambridge crews would not be all
the better for a better river to practice on, cannot be denied. But I
question whether even before the widening of the river, this particular
cause sufficed to counterbalance the advantage of the Cantabs in point
of numbers. Nor do I think that those who urged the inferiority of the
Cambridge river have recognised the principal disadvantage which it
entailed upon the light-blue oarsmen.

The first circumstance to be noticed, in this connection, is the
difference in the conditions under which racing-boats were and are
steered along the two rivers. A Cambridge coxswain has in some respects
an easier, in others a more difficult task than the Oxonian. In the
first place, he has very little choice as to the course along which
he shall take his boat. All he has to do is to steer as closely round
each corner as possible; and the narrowness of the river renders
it difficult for him to fall into any error in running a straight
line from corner to corner. The Oxonian coxswain, on the other hand,
requires to be more carefully on the watch lest he should suffer his
boat to diverge from the just course, which is far less obvious on
the wider Isis than on the Cam. But although the Cambridge coxswain
has the shores of the river close to him on either hand, and can thus
never be at a loss as to his just course, yet to maintain this obvious
course he has to be continually moving the rudder-lines. In fact,
there are some 'eights' which steer so ill that it is no easy matter
to keep them from the shores when the crew are sending them along at
racing speed. In rounding the three great corners which have to be
passed in the ordinary racing-course at Cambridge--viz., First Post
Corner, Grassy Corner, and Ditton Corner--the rudder has to be made
use of in a much more decided manner than in the straighter course
along which the Oxford racing eights have to travel. I have seen the
water bubbling over the rudder of a racing eight, as she rounded Grassy
Corner, in a manner which showed clearly enough how her 'way' must have
been checked; yet, probably, if the rudder-lines had been relaxed for
a moment, the ill-steering craft would have gone irretrievably out of
her course, and been presently stranded on the farther bank. And even
eights which steer well had to be very carefully handled along the
narrow and winding ditch which we Cantabs used to call 'the river.'

A more serious disadvantage, so far as the prospects of University
Boats were concerned, lay in the circumstance that there was no part
of the Cam (within easy reach, at least, of Cambridge) along which the
crew could row without a break, for four or five miles, as they had to
do in the actual encounter with the Oxford boat. The whole range of the
river between the locks next below Cambridge and Bait's Bite Locks, is
somewhat under four miles and a half. But about a mile and a quarter
from Bait's Bite sluice, the railway-bridge crosses the river, and
until a few years ago, the supports of this bridge divided the river
into three parts. There was in my time a vague tradition that the
University Eight had once or twice been steered through the widest of
these passages without stopping; but I doubt much whether there could
have been any truth in the story. Certainly no coxswain in my time at
Cambridge ever achieved the feat, nor could it be safely attempted even
by the most skilful steersman. The consequence was that there was a
break in the long course which took away all its value as a preparation
for the actual race. It may seem to the uninitiated a trifling matter
that a crew should get a few seconds of rest in so long a pull. But
those who know what racing is, are aware that the slightest break--one
stroke even, shirked--is an immense relief to the tugging oarsman.

Beyond Bait's Bite Locks there is a three-and-a-half-miles course,
liable to be broken by the manoeuvres of a floating bridge or
ferry boat opposite Clayhithe. Next comes another short course
extending to Upware. And lastly from Upware to Ely there is a fine
five-and-a-half-miles course, considerably wider than the Cam, and
presenting several splendid reaches. To this course the Cambridge men
used to betake themselves four or five times in the course of their
preparation for the great race. But a course so far removed from the
university itself was clearly far less advantageous than the convenient
Oxford long course, extending from the ferry at Christ Church meadows
to Newnham. Still, annoying as the want of a convenient long-course
must be considered, I cannot attribute the long succession of Cambridge
defeats in 1861-69 to such a cause as this. It is true that before the
railway-bridge was built, the Cambridge crew used generally to win, and
that since it has been so far modified as not to interfere with the
passage of a racing eight, they have again been successful, whereas,
while the supports of the bridge checked them midway on their course,
they were less fortunate. But to connect these circumstances as cause
and effect, would be as unsafe as the theory of the Margate fishermen
who ascribed the Goodwin Sands to the building of the Reculvers.

It has been said that the shallowness of the Cam affects the style of
Cambridge oarsmen. This seems to me a fanciful theory. Occasionally in
the course of a race close steering round one or other of the sharper
corners might permit the oarsmen to 'feel the bottom,' for two or
three strokes; but during all the rest of the course the oars find
plenty of water to take good hold of. The Cam was undoubtedly growing
shallower for some time after 1860; and the change gave some degree of
support to the theory that the peculiarities of the Cambridge style
were due to the peculiarities of the Cambridge river. But I believe
the notion was a wholly mistaken one; and I am confirmed in this
belief by noticing that the Cambridge style from 1860 to 1869 was in
all essential respects, and especially in that feature which I shall
presently describe as its radical and fatal defect, the same precisely
as it had been in earlier times when Cambridge was oftener successful
than defeated.

I have heard Cambridge men say, indeed, that after rowing on the Cam
they feel quite strange on Thames water. They feel, they say, as if
the boat were running away with them. I have experienced the feeling
myself, when rowing on the Thames anywhere below Teddington; but most
markedly below Kew. It is not due, however, to the mere difference
in the depth of the two streams, but mainly, if not wholly, to the
circumstance that the lower part of the Thames is a tidal river. It is
not noticeable above Teddington, save (in a somewhat modified form) in
those portions of the river called 'races,' where the stream runs with
unusual rapidity. I should suppose that Oxonians felt the influence of
this peculiarity fully as much as Cambridge oarsmen do; in fact, I know
that this is the experience of some Oxonians, for they have told me as
much.

I believe that the principal disadvantage which the narrowness of the
Cam entailed upon boating-men at Cambridge, lay in the circumstance
that Cambridge men never had an opportunity of rowing a level race.
They had 'bumping races' for the college eights--as the Oxonians
had--and time-races to decide between the merits of two or three boats,
whereas at Oxford two boats could contend side by side. Thus it was
to many Cambridge men a novel and somewhat disturbing experience to
find themselves rowing close alongside of their opponents. It may seem
fanciful to notice any disadvantage in such a matter as this; yet I
believe that the matter was not a trifle. The excitement which men
feel just before a race begins, and during the first half-mile or so
of its progress, is so intense that a small difference of this sort is
apt to produce much more effect than might be expected. I think the
somewhat flurried style in which the Cantabs were often observed to row
the first half-mile of the great race might be partly ascribed to this
cause. Of course, I am far from saying that if a Cambridge crew had
been decidedly better than their opponents, the race could have been
lost or even endangered from such a cause as this.

And now it remains that I should point out that peculiarity in what
may be called the Cambridge style of rowing--though it is not now
systematically adopted by Cambridge crews--to which the defeats of
the light-blue flag in the years 1861-69 were I believe to be chiefly
attributed.

It should be remembered that before we can recognise a peculiarity
of style as the cause of a long series of defeats, it must be shown
that the peculiarity is neither trifling nor accidental. There are
peculiarities in rowing which have a very slight effect upon the speed
with which the boat is propelled by the crew. Amongst these may be
fairly included such points as the following:--the habit of throwing
out the elbows just before feathering, feathering high or low, rowing
short or long (a technical expression now commonly, though incorrectly,
applied to the length of the stroke, but properly relating to the
distance at which the stretcher or foot-board is placed from the seat),
sitting high or low, and so on. All these peculiarities--of course
within reasonable limits--are unimportant, save in so far as they
indicate that the style of the stroke itself is faulty. Then again
there are accidental peculiarities, which may be exceedingly important
in themselves, but which yet produce only a transient influence,
because they are personal peculiarities of such and such a stroke, and
when he has left his university they remain no longer in vogue. As an
illustration of this sort of peculiarity, I may notice the remarkably
effective stroke rowed by Hall of Magdalen in the year 1858-60. There
the radical defect of the Cambridge style was almost obliterated, and
all the good points of that style were fully brought out. The result
was that, out of three races rowed with Oxford, Cambridge won two, and
though they lost the third, yet they lost it in such a manner as to
obtain more credit than any winning race could have brought them. I
refer to the memorable race of 1859, in which the Cambridge boat was,
at starting, half full of water, and gradually filling as the race
proceeded, sank about half-a-mile from the winning-post, being at the
moment of sinking only four lengths behind Oxford, notwithstanding
the tremendous difficulties under which the crew had all along been
rowing.[13] Mr. Hall also rowed stroke in the great race with the
famous London crew--Casamajor, Playford, the two Paynes, &c.--when
Cambridge won by half a boat's length. We have, however, to inquire
whether there is any point held to be essential by Cambridge oarsmen,
which is sufficiently important and sufficiently faulty to account for
the marked want of success which attended the light-blue flag in the
years 1861-69. The following peculiarity appears to me to be precisely
of such a character.

It was formerly held by nearly all the Cambridge oarsmen that 'the
instant the oar touches the water' (I am quoting from a pamphlet called
'Principles of Rowing,' much read by rowing-men at Cambridge) 'the arms
and body should begin to fall backwards, the former continuing at their
full stretch till the back is perpendicular; they are then bent, the
elbows being brought close past the sides,' etc. If a Cambridge oarsman
broke this rule, so that his arms began to bend before his back was
upright, he would be told that he was jerking. 'This is caused,' says
our authority, 'by pulling the first part of the stroke with violence
and not falling gradually backwards to finish it. The most muscular men
are more than others guilty of it, because they trust too much to their
arms, instead of making each part of the body do its proportionate
quantity of work. It is most annoying to the rest of the crew, injures
the uniform swing throughout the boat, and soon tires out the man
himself, however strong he may be, because he is virtually rowing
unsupported, and he has nearly the whole weight of the boat on his arms
alone.'

I was myself trained to row the Cambridge style, and when I became
captain of a boat-club, I was careful to inculcate this style
on my crew, and on other crews which came more or less directly
under my supervision. But I am convinced that the peculiarity so
carefully enjoined in past time by the Cambridge club-captains, and
still retained, is altogether erroneous for boats of the modern
build. I first became aware that the Cambridge style is not the
water-man's--and, therefore, presumably not the most effective--through
practising in a racing-four with three of our most noted Thames
watermen--the two Mackinnys, and Chitty of Richmond. They were then
preparing for the Thames National Regatta, though not as a set crew.
Accordingly the coxswain would frequently call upon us for a good
lifting spurt of a quarter of a mile or so. During these spurts the
coxswain was continually telling me that I was not keeping stroke,
and I was sensible myself that something was going wrong. One who
has taken part in boat-races very soon detects any irregularity in
the rowing--by which I do not of course refer to so gross a defect as
not keeping time. All the men of a crew may be keeping most perfect
time, and may even present the appearance of keeping stroke together,
and yet may not be feeling their work simultaneously. I was aware
that something was going wrong, but I found it impossible, without
abandoning the style of rowing in which I had been so carefully
trained, to keep stroke with the rest of the crew. It seemed to me that
they were doubling over their work, because while I was still swaying
backwards they had reached the limit of their swing. Then they did not
seem to me to feather with that lightning flash which the Cambridge
style enjoins. Altogether, I left them after three or four long pulls
with the impression that, though they might be very effective watermen,
they had but a poor style.

Soon after, however, I had occasion to watch Oxford oarsmen at their
work, and I found that they row in a style which, without being
actually identical with that of the London waterman, resembles it in
all essential respects. The moment the oar catches the water, the body
is thrown back as in the Cambridge style, but the arms, instead of
being kept straight, immediately begin to do their share of the work.
The result is that when the body is upright the arms are already bent,
and the stroke is finished when the body is very little beyond the
perpendicular position.

Now let us compare the two strokes theoretically. In each stroke the
body does a share of the work, and in the Cambridge stroke the body
even seems to do more work than in the Oxford stroke, since it is
swayed farther back. In each stroke, again, the arms do a share of the
work, but in the Oxford stroke the work of the arms is distributed
equally as a help to that of the body, whereas in the Cambridge stroke
the work of the arms is all thrown upon the finish of the stroke. At
first sight it seems to matter very little in what order the work is
done, so long as the same amount of work is done in the same space of
time. But here an important consideration has to be attended to.

There are two things which the oarsman does in whatever style he rows.
He propels the boat along, by pressing the blade of his oar against the
water as a fulcrum; but he also propels his oar more or less through
the water. If instead of the actual state of things, the boat were to
slide along an oiled groove in some solid substance, whose surface was
so ridged that the oar could bear upon the ridges without any flexure,
then indeed it would matter very little in what way the oar was pulled,
so long as it was pulled through a good range in a short space of time.
But the actual state of things being different, we have to inquire
whether it is not possible that one style of rowing may serve more than
another to make the slip of the oar through the water (a dead loss, be
it remarked, so far as the propulsion of the boat is concerned) bear
too large a proportion to the actual work done by the rower.

Let us make a simple illustration. Suppose a person standing on the
edge of a sheet of water seeks to propel across the sheet a heavy
log lying near the bank. If he gives the log a violent kick, it will
scarcely move at all through the water, but after a few vibrations
will be seen to lie a few inches from its former position. The force
expended has not been thrown away, however, but has resulted in a
violent shock to the kicker. But if instead of kicking the log the
person apply the same amount of force gently at first and then with
gradually increasing intensity, the log will receive a much more
effective impetus, and its motion will continue long after the force
has ceased to be exerted. The same amount of force which before
produced a motion of a few inches will now project the log several
yards.

And now to apply this illustration. If the object of the rower were to
move his oar through the water--the boat being supposed for the moment
to be a fixture--he could not do better than to adopt the Cambridge
style of pulling. For this style gives a steady pressure on the oar
at the beginning of the stroke, followed by a gradual increase, and
ending by a sharp lift through the water. On the contrary, the Oxford
style, in which arms and body apply all their strength at once to the
oar, would probably, as in the case of our imaginary _fixed boats_,
result in the fracture of the oar. If the boat were not fixed, but very
heavy and clumsy, conclusions very different from the above would be
arrived at. The Oxford style would be unsuitable to the propulsion of
a heavy boat, because, although the oar would have very little slip
through the water, yet the boat itself could not be moved in so sudden
a manner as to make the applied force available. On the other hand,
the Cambridge style would be very suitable; because, although there
would be considerable 'slip' this would in any case be inevitable, and
the force would be applied to the boat (as well as to the oar) in the
gradual increasing manner best suited to produce motion through the
water. Hence we can understand the long series of victories gained by
the light-blue oarsmen in the 'old fashioned racing eights'. But when
we come to consider the case of a boat like the present wager-boat--a
boat which answers immediately to the slightest propelling force--we
see that that mode of rowing must be the most effective which permits
the oar to have the least possible motion _through_ the water, which
lifts the boat along from the water _as from an almost stable fulcrum_.
Hence it is that that sharp grip of the water which is taken by London
watermen, and by rowers at Oxford, Eton, Radley, and Westminster, is so
much more effective than the heavy drag followed by a rapid and almost
jerking finish which marks the Cambridge style.

The mention of public-school rowing leads me to urge another
consideration. There are public-school oarsmen at Cambridge, and
they hold, as might be supposed, a high position amongst university
rowing-men. In general they form so small a minority of college
racing-men, that they have to give up their own workmanlike style, and
adopt the style of those they row with. But there is one club--the
Third Trinity Club--which consists exclusively of Eton and Westminster
men, and although it is a small club, it has been repeatedly at the
head of the river, holding its own successfully against clubs which
have sent in far heavier and better-trained crews. But even more
remarkable is the fact that powerful college crews were sent from
Cambridge to Henley between the years _1860-69 which have actually
been unable to maintain their own against Eton lads_! This of itself
suffices to show that there was something radically wrong in the style
then prevalent at Cambridge; for in such races age, weight, strength,
and length of practice were all in favour of the Cambridge crews.

When I first expressed these views about the Oxford and Cambridge
style in the 'Daily News' in April 1869, several Oxford and Cambridge
men denied that the difference between the two styles was that which
I have indicated, asserting that neither Oxford nor Cambridge oarsmen
advocated working with the arms in the beginning of the stroke. It was
so great a novelty to myself to learn, in 1858, that London watermen
row in the manner I have described, and I found the very watermen who
rowed in that way so confidently denying that they did so, that I was
not greatly surprised to find many University men, and not a few of
the first University oarsmen, persisting that the rules laid down in
'Principles of Rowing' before the modern racing-boats were used are
still valid and are still followed at Oxford as well as Cambridge. It
was denounced as a special heresy to teach that work should be done by
the arms at the beginning of the stroke, instead of the old rule being
followed according to which the arms were to remain straight till the
body was upright in the backward swing, the work being done entirely
by the body and legs up to that moment, and then finished by the arms.
But before I ventured to enunciate a theory on the subject I had been
careful to apply a number of tests not only while watching Oxford and
Cambridge eights, but in actual practice. I had inquired diligently
also of those who are not merely able to adopt a good rowing style but
to analyse it, so as to learn precisely where and how they do their
work. In some cases, I found first-rate oarsmen had given very little
thought to the matter; but on the question being put to them, they
quickly recognised the essential principles on which the most effective
and the least tiring style for the modern racing-boat depends. One
such oarsman said to me, after giving a few days' trial as well as
thought to the matter--'You are quite right; arms, legs, and body must
work together from the very beginning'; the work is done when the body
comes upright; and not only must this be so for the work to be done in
the most effective way, but it is essential also if the hands are to
be quickly disengaged, the recovery quick, and a good reach forward
obtained.

I found, however, that the essential distinction between a good style
in the modern racing eight, and a good style in the old-fashioned
boats, had been recognised (at least, so far as the modern boats are
concerned) a year before my article in the 'Daily News' appeared. In an
article on 'Water Derbies,' 'Wat Bradwood,' describing the University
race of 1868, draws the following distinctions between the two crews,
which precisely accord with my own observations on that occasion; only
it is to be noticed that, whereas he is describing the beginning of
the race, the whole of which he witnessed from the Umpire's boat, my
observations were made from the shore not far from the finish, when
Oxford was so far ahead that there was ample time to note separately
and closely the style of each boat:--'The styles of progress of the
two boats themselves are palpably distinct,' he says; 'Cambridge
take a shorter time to come through the air than to row through the
water; they go much farther backward than Oxford, and are very slow
in getting the hands off the chest; their boat is drawn through the
water at each stroke, but has hardly any perceptible "lift." Oxford,
on the other hand, swing just the reverse of Cambridge, a long time in
getting forward' (he means of course, a _relatively longer_ time, for
no good oarsman would ever take a long time in getting forward), 'and
very fast through the water, driving the oars through with a hit like
sledgehammers, while the boat jumps out of the water several inches
at each stroke.' These last words again relate rather to contrast
between the boats than to the actual lift. The 'drag at the end' in
the Cambridge style used always to dip the nose of the eight, whereas
the quick disengagement of the hands in the Oxford style prevents any
dipping, so that by contrast the Oxford boat seen beside the Cambridge
seemed lifted at the end of each stroke. In reality there was very
little if any lifting, though the sharp grip of the water at the
beginning of the stroke caused the boat to dip a little as compared
with her position at the end. Theoretically, the less change of level
throughout the stroke (from feather to finish) the better; but if there
is any such change, it is far better it should be of the nature of a
lift above the flotation-level than of the nature of a dip below that
level.

Again, towards the close of the same article 'Wat Bradwood' made the
following pertinent remarks respecting the Oxford style in 1868 and
generally: 'The general style of Oxford has not deteriorated; though
many outsiders fancied that Oxford rowed a short stroke, it was more
that the time occupied by them in slashing the oar through the water
was short than the reach itself; this deceived inexperienced eyes,
especially when compared to the slow 'draw through' (query 'drag') of
Cambridge, which often appeared for similar reasons a longer stroke
than it really was.[14] He attributed the defeat of the Cantabs, who
were a stronger set of men than the Oxonians, to the teaching of their
'coach,' who had been (though this he does not mention) as good a
'coach' as ever existed for rowing in the old fashioned style of boats,
but whose 'experience availed nothing to teach the modern style of
light-boat rowing.'

In another article by the same writer, in the 'Pall Mall Gazette,'
(1868), a noteworthy illustration is given of the value of a good
style. 'Among the college boats in the first division at Cambridge this
year, the strongest were perhaps First Trinity, Trinity Flail, and
notably Emmanuel; the weakest in the division was the Lady Margaret
crew,'--the crew representing St. John's College. 'But notwithstanding
this, Lady Margaret went up one place, and pressed Trinity very hotly.
There must, of course, be some special reason to account for eight
weak men proving superior to eight strong ones.' There is a little
(unintentional) exaggeration here; the stroke of the Lady Margaret
crew was a strong as well as an elegant oarsman, and two others of the
crew could certainly not be called weak; nevertheless the crew as a
whole was undoubtedly weak compared with most of the other crews of the
first division, 'That reason,' proceeds our author, 'is to be found
in _style_. Every day of practice on the Cam you hear the "coaches"
of the different racing-boats giving their crews certain directions,
some absurd, and nearly all, from some accidental reason, useless. The
chief of these is to "keep it long," and if you object to the results
of this teaching, you are told that "length" is the great requisite of
good rowing, and that "Oxford, sir, always beat us, because they are
longer than we are." Now, this is true and yet untrue. At Cambridge
"length" is acquired by making the men "finish the stroke," that is, by
making them "swing well back" beyond the perpendicular. Of course the
oar remains longer in the water, but we maintain that the extra time
it is kept there by the backward motion of the body is time lost. The
"swinging back" throws a tremendous strain on the abdominal muscles,
the weakest rowing muscles in the body; very soon the men feel this
strain, become exhausted, and unable to "get forward," and finally
lose time and swing and "go all to pieces." Length obtained by going
backwards is of no possible use. A crew ought to be "coached" to get
as far _forward_ as they can, to finish the stroke by bringing their
elbows past their sides, and their hands well into their bodies,
and then complaints about "wind" and "last" will be fewer. This was
abundantly proved in the late May races. First Trinity, it is true,
kept "head," but only because of their great strength, and because they
had a stroke who understood the duties of his position. Before, the
races every sporting newspaper, every supposed judge of rowing in the
University, was certain about only one thing, and that was that Lady
Margaret must go down; the only question was where they would stop.
They, however, not only kept away from Trinity Hall, but finished above
Emmanuel and Third Trinity, infinitely stronger' (which no doubt must
be understood as meaning 'far stronger') 'boats. The reason was that
they were the only boat on the river which rowed in anything like a
good style. They had the reach forward, the quick recovery, and the
equally quick disengagement of the hands, which marked the Oxford crew
of 1868. Consequently although a very weak lot of men, they were able
to vindicate style against strength. We hope' (added Wat Bradwood)
'that Cambridge generally will appreciate the lesson; it is one that
has not been taught them for years, and results on their own river
ought to show its value.' Less than a year after this was written,
the Cambridge boat, with Goldie, the Lady Margaret stroke, at the
aft thwart, were just beaten by Oxford in one of the best races ever
rowed, and the year after, with the same stroke, they won for the first
time in ten years. The subsequent successes of the Jesus boat on the
Cam afforded further illustrations of the superiority of style over
strength. For the Jesus boat has remained for years at the head of
the river, though the crew as a whole has often been far surpassed in
strength by the crews of Trinity, John's, and other colleges.

There is, as the writer from whom I have quoted above correctly says,
'no opposition between theory and practice in this matter, any more
than there is in metaphysics or moral philosophy.' The ill-success of
Cambridge in past years was in the main due to a want of appreciation
of theory, and the absence of due recognition of the entire change
which the introduction of the light outrigged racing-boat had produced
in the art of effective rowing. The Cambridge 'finish to the stroke,'
the 'lug at the end,' as sailors call it, was excellent with the old
fashioned boats. It was indeed essential to success in a race, as was
the lightning feather. But now the essential conditions are a sharp
grasp of the water at the beginning of the stroke, the intensest
possible action then and throughout the time the oar is in the water,
so that the oar may be as short a time as possible in the water, but
_in the time_ may have the largest possible range. This result must
not merely be obtained from each individual member of the crew, but
from all together in precisely the same time. It is necessary that
the stroke should mark the time in the most distinct and emphatic
manner. In the Cambridge style, or what at least used so to be called,
perfect time, though of course always desirable, was not so absolutely
essential as in the Oxford style. The oars being a long time in the
water, it mattered less if any oarsman was for a small fraction of a
second behind or in advance of his fellows. But with the sharp dash
upon the water and the quick tear through the water of the better
style, perfect simultaneity is all-important. The stroke must not only
have first a good style himself, and secondly a keen sense of time, but
he must have that power of making his crew know and feel what he is
doing, and what he wants them to do, which constitutes the essential
distinction between the merely steady stroke and such a stroke as every
man of the crew feels to be made for the place. When one of these 'born
strokes' occupies the aft thwart, there is no occasion for the coxswain
to tell the crew when to quicken or when to row steadily at their
hardest; for the whole crew knows and feels the purpose of the stroke
as distinctly as he knows and feels it himself.

_The following paragraph, written a few days before the race (1879) is
left unaltered. I may note that Marriott, the successful Oxford stroke
of 1878, so far succeeded in improving the style of the Oxford boat
when he took the aft thwart in '79 (far too late by the way), that
Cambridge did not win by anything like the expected distance._

[Since the above was written I have seen both the crews for the present
year's race at work. It is too early to venture a prediction as to the
result of the race, though the odds offered on Cambridge would seem to
imply that nothing short of an accident can save Oxford from a crushing
defeat. It is manifest that Cambridge has the stronger crew, and the
style of the Oxford crew at present is not such as to indicate that
this year the Oxford style will defeat superior strength. In fact, at
present, Oxford shows defects which have been wont to characterise
Cambridge crews, and which unmistakably do characterise the present
Cambridge crew, fine though it undoubtedly is. But if, as has before
now happened, the Oxford crew fall into the true Oxford style during
the fortnight before the race, the odds will not be 2 to 1 as at
present, nor even 3 to 2, on Cambridge.]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 13: 'Wat Bradwood,' in an article on 'Water Derbies,'
afterwards referred to, says that Cambridge was fairly beaten when the
boat sank. He might with equal justice have said that they were fairly
beaten when they started. They never had a chance of winning from the
start, having then half a boat-full, and for some time before they sank
a whole boat-full, of water to take along with them.]

[Footnote 14: This agrees closely with my own description written
later, but independently, and flatly contradicted by more than one
Oxford oarsman at the time: 'In the case of Oxford,' I said, after
describing the lightning feather following the long sweeping stroke
of Cambridge, 'we observe a style which at first sight seems less
excellent. As soon as the oars are dashed down and catch their first
hold of the water, the arms as well as the shoulders of each oarsman
are at work. The result is that when the back has reached an upright
position the hands have already reached the chest, and the stroke is
finished. Thus the Oxford stroke takes a perceptibly shorter time than
the Cambridge stroke; it is also necessarily somewhat shorter in the
water. One would therefore say it must be less effective. Especially
would an unpractised observer form this opinion, because the Oxford
stroke seems to be much shorter in range than it is in reality. There
we have the secret of its efficiency. It is actually as long as the
Cambridge stroke, but is taken in a perceptibly shorter time. What
does this mean but that the oar is taken more sharply, and therefore
much more effectively, through the water? Much more effectively,
I proceeded, 'so far as the actual conditions of the contest are
concerned,' going on to consider the difference between the modern and
the old fashioned racing boats.--_Light Science for Leisure Hours_:
Essay on Oxford and Cambridge Rowing Styles.]

_ROWING STYLES._

Professor Marcy has recently discussed, in a lecture on Living
Locomotors (_Moteurs Animés_), the principles of propulsion. Had he
been an Englishman he would probably have found some of his most
striking illustrations among different cases of propulsion through
water. But, although he limited his discussion of animated motors to
those which work on land, he yet laid down the fundamental principle
of all propulsion, which is that as little as possible--and therefore,
if possible, none at all--of the energy employed to produce propulsion
should be expended in injurious work. Even with the best carriages, he
pointed out, there remain vibrations and shocks which must be attacked
and destroyed to render the conditions of traction more perfect; they
are veritable shocks, which use up part of the work of the horse in
giving only hurtful effects, bruising the animal's breast, injuring
his muscles, and, in spite of the padding of the collar, sometimes
wounding him. Then he showed a simple experiment suggested by the able
dynamician, Poncelet. To a weight of five kilos, (about 11lb.) a string
is attached by which the weight can be lifted, but not much more. Then
the experimenter tries to lift the weight rapidly with the string,
which breaks without moving the weight, while the fingers are more or
less hurt by the sudden shock. If now, a cord of equal strength, but
slightly elastic, is substituted, the experiment ends differently. The
sudden effort of elevation is transformed into a more prolonged action,
and the weight is raised without bruising the fingers or breaking the
cord. Yet a still more sudden movement would break the cord in this
case, though a yet more extensible cord would resist even a yet more
sudden jerk. According to the strength of the cord, its extensibility,
and the weight to be lifted, must be the nature of the upward pull in
order that the greatest possible velocity may be communicated without
injury to the cord or to the lifter's hand. This simple series of
experiments involves the essential principles of effective propulsion,
where, at least, great velocity is among the results to be attained.

Although, perhaps, at present, the public are disposed to consider the
University race from a sporting rather than from a scientific point of
view, yet it has long been admitted, even by the most ardent lovers
of rowing as a sport, that it has its scientific side. In a pamphlet
on the 'Principles of Rowing,' by 'Oarsmen,' written somewhere about
the year 1847,--it bears no date, but speaks of rowing as having first
appeared as a public amusement 11 years ago, and the first University
race on the Thames was rowed in 1836,--the writers urge that rowing
surely deserves to be called a scientific pursuit, and proceed to trace
out the 'main principles in virtue of which it claims a scientific
character.' These principles, which were generally considered sound
when they were originally enunciated, though even then they were
beginning to be to some degree questionable, have been quoted over and
over again since, or, if not verbally quoted, have been, in effect,
adopted by writers on rowing. The justice of some of them has caused
the entire set to be received without question, even by oarsmen who
in practice depart from several of them in a very marked degree. The
assumption has been that there is but one good rowing style, and that,
therefore, a style adopted and proved by practice to be the best in
the years 1836-1846 should be adopted as the best now. 'There is but
one style,' says one authority, 'and one alone,' he adds with some
redundancy. Now, in so far as river racing is almost always carried
on in boats of the same kind for each class--eight oars, four oars,
pairs, and sculls--it is in a sense true that there is but one racing
style. But even in river rowing, as distinguished from river racing,
there are more styles than one,--by which we mean more correct styles,
for, of course, there are multitudinous bad styles in every kind of
rowing. The style suitable for a racing boat moving at full speed
would not be suitable even for the same boat at starting, and would
be utterly unsuitable for a pleasure boat. We may remark, in passing,
that, however suitable tubbing practice may be several weeks before a
race, it is open to objection after a crew has settled into its racing
stroke. No one who understands rowing will assert that even the two
strongest members of either University crew _can_ row in the same style
in tub practice as in their eight at her full speed, or, seeing them,
will fail to perceive that they row entirely different strokes in the
tub and in the eight. Again, the style of rowing proved by practical
experience to be best in seaside racing is entirely different from the
style successful in river racing. Yet another style is essential to
success in races rowed in the heavier boats used by men-of-war's men.
And it will be admitted, we think, though no experiments have yet,
to our knowledge, been made in this direction, that if matches were
arranged among our best bargemen and lightermen we should see a mode
of pulling which would differ as markedly from the man-of-war's man's
strokes as that does from the stroke which O'Leary, of Folkestone,
rows, and this in turn from the style of the best London or University
oarsmen. So far as these last two styles are concerned, it should be
remembered that they have been put to the test in the most decisive
manner. The best London oarsmen have been repeatedly defeated in
seaside rowing (even in still weather), and the best seaside oarsmen
have been beaten in river rowing. It would be absurd to attribute this
to awkwardness in unfamiliar boats, for any good oarsman can very
soon row without awkwardness in any kind of boat. It was the style
which made the difference--the style only. On _à priori_ grounds,
then, we should expect to find the question whether the style approved
by 'Oarsmen' 30 years ago should be, as it is, the style constantly
recommended now-a-days depending simply on the question whether the
racing boat of our time is similar, so far as the requirements of
propulsion are concerned, to the old-fashioned racing boats, however
different in appearance the two kinds of boat may be. To assert this,
however, would be almost equivalent to asserting that there has been
no real improvement in the qualities of racing boats--nay, when one
considers the great advantages possessed, in some respects, by the old
fashioned boats and their much superior durability, we should have
to acknowledge that racing boats had deteriorated. No one will for a
moment assert this. We know that the racing boat of our time is not
only much lighter, but travels with much less resistance through the
water, maintains its velocity far better between the strokes, and can
be made with equal effort to go at least one-fifth faster than the old
fashioned racing boat. The antecedent probability is, then, that the
modern racing boat requires a mode of propulsion unlike that which was
approved in 1840 or thereabouts--requires, in fact, a style which in
those days would have been justly regarded as radically bad.

There is direct evidence from the results of many years of racing to
show that this difference really exists, as might be expected, though
the evidence may probably be questioned by those who maintain that
there is but one good rowing style. It is well known that the style
approved by 'Oarsmen' in the work above mentioned was first definitely
inculcated by Cambridge oarsmen. There is internal evidence in the
pamphlet itself (as where the miseries of the Lent races at Cambridge
are described) to show that some, and, therefore, probably all, who
took part in preparing the work were Cambridge men. Again, it is well
known that certainly until 1868, and perhaps later, the University crew
at Cambridge was 'coached' by an 'ancient mariner,' who, if not one
of the 'Oarsmen' and, as was generally reported, the actual writer
of the 'Principles of Rowing,' was unquestionably imbued with the old
fashioned doctrines. Now, of the six races rowed on the Thames in
the old fashioned racing boats, Cambridge won no less than five. The
Oxford crews, who rowed in a style more nearly resembling that now
rowed by the most successful crews (though scarcely ever inculcated
in verbal instructions), were not only beaten in every race save one,
but in three cases were beaten out of all reason. Half a minute was
the amount by which Cambridge won in 1845; but in 1836 (certainly
over a longer course) they won by one minute, in 1841 by one minute
and a quarter, and in 1839 by nearly two minutes. No wonder that when
outrigged boats came in Cambridge oarsmen were loth to modify a style
which had gained them so many and such striking successes. Nor did it
greatly matter, when this happened in 1846, whether the style of rowing
was modified or not. The first specimens of outrigged racing boats
occupied a sort of half-way position between the old-fashioned inrigged
craft and the exceedingly light, keelless boats now used. Thus, during
the seven races rowed in the earlier form of outrigged boats, success
was pretty equally divided between Oxford and Cambridge. In one race
Oxford won on a foul; of the other six Cambridge won three, and Oxford
also won three. But since the present form of racing boat was adopted
(in 1857) Oxford has been almost as successful as Cambridge had been
in the first nine or ten races. In 1857 Oxford won easily; in 1858
Cambridge won, but the stroke of the Oxford boat could use but half
his strength, the forward or working thole of his rowlocks having been
bent outwards by a wave which caught his oar before the race began.
(The outriggers and rowlocks were shown to me at Searle's boat-house
a few days after the race, and there could be no question that the
chances of the Oxford boat must have been seriously impaired by the
accident.) In 1859 Cambridge sank, and, though she was four lengths
behind when this happened, there can be little doubt she would have
won but for the original cause of the disaster--a wave which had half
filled the Cambridge boat as she was turning to take her place at the
starting-point. In 1860 Cambridge won by one length only. Then, as
everyone remembers, there followed nine successive Oxford victories,
some of which were of the most hollow kind. Cambridge then gave up the
style to which she had so long been faithful. One of the ablest of
the Oxford oarsmen, who was, however, connected in some degree with
Cambridge, trained and coached the Cambridge crew of 1870, the stroke
of which, it should be mentioned, was proficient in the correct style
before he went to Cambridge. That year and for the four next years
Cambridge won, though never in the hollow fashion in which Oxford had
won the victories of 1861, 1862, 1863, 1864, and 1868. The lead of
Oxford at the finish of these five races averaged over nine lengths,
while the lead of Cambridge in the five races of 1870-74 averaged
little over two lengths. In 1875 Oxford won by ten lengths, Cambridge
in 1876 by five. In 1877 occurred the celebrated dead heat; but before
bow's oar broke Oxford had won 'bar accidents.' In 1878 Oxford won,
and again by ten lengths. Of the 25 races actually rowed to a finish
(excluding the dead heat) since outriggers were introduced, Oxford has
won 14, Cambridge 11; of the 19 so rowed out since the true modern
racing boat was used, Oxford has won 11 and Cambridge 8. The difference
is sufficient in either case to show (the numbers being considerable)
that there is a true difference of style, the style of Oxford being
the better. But when we consider how the victories have been won this
comes out still more clearly. Making due estimate of the number of
lengths corresponding to so many seconds of time difference (where
the result of a race is so indicated in the list), for which purpose
it is sufficient to note that as many seconds as the race itself has
occupied minutes are equivalent to about 6-1/2 lengths, we find for the
11 victories of Cambridge since 1846 about 30-1/4 lengths, and for the
14 rowed-out victories of Oxford about 106-1/2 lengths--the Cambridge
average lead being thus found to be less than three lengths, while the
Oxford average lead at the finish has been close on eight lengths.

The difference cannot reasonably be assigned to any cause which
was in operation when Cambridge had the larger share of victories.
Nearly every cause which has been commonly assigned, including the
unquestionably inferior arrangements for college racing at Cambridge,
falls into this category. There can be very little doubt that the
true explanation, as well of Cambridge success before 1850 as of
Oxford success since then, resides in the circumstance that the two
Universities have in the main adopted throughout the whole series of
contests two different styles--each style excellent in itself, but the
Cambridge as unquestionably superior to the Oxford for the heavier
kinds of river boats as the Oxford style is superior to the Cambridge
for the boats now actually used in river races. What the difference in
the two styles is I shall now briefly indicate.

I am satisfied that the essential excellence of the old fashioned
racing style as used in the old fashioned boats becomes an inherent
defect in the same style as used in modern racing boats. I refer to the
principle involved in the words italicised (by myself) in the following
quotation from 'Principles of Rowing':--'The instant the oar touches
the water the arms and body begin to fall backwards, the _former
continuing at their full stretch till the back is perpendicular_. They
are then bent, the elbows being brought close past the sides, till
the hands, which are now brought home sharply, strike the body above
the lowest ribs.' Such was the stroke that brave old Coombes used to
teach, and such was the stroke by which, time and again, races were won
before 1850. But in proportion as the racing boat has been improved,
both by diminution of weight and resistance and by change of leverage,
the necessity has increased for a more energetic application of the
oarsman's power. A stroke which resulted in mere jerking, injurious
to the rower and not adding to speed, in the old racing boats, is
absolutely essential to the effective propulsion of the modern racing
boat, when once at least full speed has been attained, for before this
the old fashioned long drag with lightning feather is as useful now as
ever. Now, no one who has watched a really good Oxford crew at full
speed can fail to observe the way in which the oars literally smite
the water at the beginning of each stroke. No one who considers the
velocity with which they must move to give this sledge-hammer stroke
at the beginning can fail to perceive that the body alone cannot give
this velocity of impulse in the first part of the stroke. There is only
one way in which it can be attained, and that is by making the arms
work from the beginning, not merely in the sense in which they may
be said to work when continuing at their full stretch, but by actual
and energetic contraction. In the Cambridge style arms and body only
work together after the back is perpendicular; in the Oxford style
they work together from the beginning. The result is that by the time
the Oxford oars man has brought his back perpendicular his stroke is
finished; whereas the Cambridge oarsman has still to give that drag
at the end which used to be so much esteemed, and still is justly
esteemed, by sailors for sea-racing. The oar of the Oxford rower is a
much shorter time in the water, simply because it is propelled through
the water with far greater, or rather with much more concentrated
energy. The Oxford stroke, again, is necessarily a few inches shorter.
For as Cambridge men go as far forward and swing further backward,
it stands to reason that they get a little more length. But they get
this additional length at the cost of a great strain on the abdominal
muscles, and with no proportional effect. A very strong crew which
can maintain the long, dragging stroke with the lightning feather
from beginning to end may win, as Cambridge men have won, but only
because of their superior strength, not by virtue of that lift at the
end, which wearies the most stalwart, causes sluggish disengagement
of the hands, and in a long race has often caused a powerful crew to
be beaten by weaker men rowing in a more scientific manner. It is not
impossible, now that the Oxford crew have had set them the true Oxford
stroke that we may have an opportunity of witnessing something of this
kind on Saturday, though the manifest superiority of the Cambridge
crew in strength and the lateness of the change in the Oxford boat are
unfavourable to the chances of the dark blue. To return to the point
from which we started. The just style of propulsion for each class of
boat is a matter to be determined on scientific principles. There is
no real conflict between theory and practice in this matter. Every
change which has tended to increase the speed of racing boats has (like
the changes in Poncelet's experiment) rendered necessary an increased
energy, or, as one may say, an increased intensity of propulsion.

_ARTIFICIAL SOMNAMBULISM._

Rather more than a quarter of a century ago two Americans visited
London, who called themselves professors of Electro-Biology, and
claimed the power of 'subjugating the most determined wills, paralysing
the strongest muscles, preventing the evidence of the senses,
destroying the memory of the most familiar events or of the most
recent occurrences, inducing obedience to any command, and making an
individual believe himself transformed into any one else.' All this
and more was to be effected, they said, by the action of a small disc
of zinc and copper held in the hand of the 'subject,' and steadily
gazed at by him, 'so as to concentrate the electro-magnetic action.'
The pretensions of these professors received before long a shock as
decisive as that which overthrew the credit of the professors of
animal magnetism when Haygarth and Falconer successfully substituted
wooden tractors for the metallic tractors which had been supposed
to convey the magnetic fluid. In 1851, Mr. Braid, a Scotch surgeon,
who had witnessed some of the exhibitions of the electro-biologists,
conceived the idea that the phenomena were not due to any special
qualities possessed by the discs of zinc and copper, but simply to
the fixed look of the 'subject' and the entire abstraction of his
attention. The same explanation applied to the so-called 'magnetic
passes' of the mesmerists. The monotonous manipulation of the operator
produced the same effect as the fixed stare of the 'subject.' He showed
by his experiments that no magnetiser, with his imaginary secret
agents or fluids, is in the least wanted; but that the subjects can
place themselves in the same condition as the supposed subjects of
electro-biological influences by simply gazing fixedly at some object
for a long time with fixed attention.

The condition thus superinduced is not hypnotism, or artificial
somnambulism, properly so called. 'The electro-biological' condition
may be regarded as simply a kind of reverie or abstraction artificially
produced. But Braid discovered that a more perfect control might be
obtained over 'subjects,' and a condition resembling that of the
sleepwalker artificially induced, by modifying the method of fixing the
attention. Instead of directing the subject's gaze upon a bright object
placed at a considerable distance from the eyes, so that no effect
was required to concentrate vision upon it, he placed a bright object
somewhat above and in front of the eyes at so short a distance that
the convergence of their axes upon it was accompanied with sufficient
effect to produce even a slight amount of pain. The condition to which
the 'subjects' of this new method were reduced was markedly different
from the ordinary 'electro-biological' state. Thus on one occasion, in
the presence of 800 persons, fourteen men were experimented upon. 'All
began the experiment at the same time; the former with their eyes fixed
upon a projecting cork, placed securely on their foreheads; the others
at their own will gazed steadily at certain points in the direction of
the audience. In the course of ten minutes the eyelids of these ten
persons had involuntarily closed. With some, consciousness remained;
others were in catalepsy, and entirely insensible to being stuck with
needles; and others on awakening knew absolutely nothing of what had
taken place during their sleep.' The other four simply passed into
the ordinary condition of electro-biologised 'subjects,' retaining
the recollection of all that happened to them while in the state of
artificial abstraction or reverie.

Dr. Carpenter, in that most interesting work of his, 'Mental
Physiology,' thus describes the state of hypnotism:--'The process is
of the same kind as that employed for the induction of the "biological"
state; the only difference lying in the _greater intensity_ of the
gaze, and in the more complete concentration of will upon the direction
of the eyes, which the nearer approximation of the object requires
for the maintenance of the convergence. In hypnotism, as in ordinary
somnambulism, no remembrance whatever is preserved in the waking state
of anything that may have occurred during its continuance; although the
previous train of thought may be taken up and continued uninterruptedly
on the next occasion that the hypnotism is induced. And when the mind
is not excited to activity by the stimulus of external impressions, the
hypnotised subject appears to be profoundly asleep; a state of complete
torpor, in fact, being usually the first result of the process, and
any subsequent manifestation of activity being procurable only by
the prompting of the operator. The hypnotised subject, too, rarely
opens his eyes; his bodily movements are usually slow; his mental
operations require a considerable time in their performance; and there
is altogether an appearance of heaviness about him, which contrasts
strongly with the comparatively wide-awake air of him who has not
passed beyond the ordinary "biological" state.'

We must note, however, in passing, that the condition of complete
hypnotism had been obtained in several instances by some of the
earlier experimenters in animal magnetism. One remarkable instance
was communicated to the surgical section of the French Academy on
April 16, 1829, by Jules Cloquet. Two meetings were entirely devoted
to its investigation. The following account presents all the chief
points of the case, surgical details being entirely omitted, however,
as not necessary for our present purpose:--A lady, aged sixty-four,
consulted M. Cloquet on April 8, 1829, on account of an ulcerated
cancer of the right breast which had continued, gradually growing
worse, during several years. M. Chapelain, the physician attending the
lady, had 'magnetised' her for some months, producing no remedial
effects, but only a very profound sleep or torpor, during which all
sensibility seemed to be annihilated, while the ideas retained all
their clearness. He proposed to M. Cloquet to operate upon her while
she was in this state of torpor, and, the latter, considering the
operation the only means of saving her life, consented. The two doctors
do not appear to have been troubled by any scruples as to their right
thus to conduct an operation to which, when in her normal condition,
the patient strenuously objected. It sufficed for them that when
they had put her to sleep artificially, she could be persuaded to
submit to it. On the appointed day M. Cloquet found the patient ready
'dressed and seated in an elbow-chair, in the attitude of a person
enjoying a quiet natural sleep.' In reality, however, she was in the
somnambulistic state, and talked calmly of the operation. During the
whole time that the operation lasted--from ten to twelve minutes--she
continued to converse quietly with M. Cloquet, 'and did not exhibit
the slightest sign of sensibility. There was no motion of the limbs
or of the features, no change in the respiration nor in the voice; no
motions even in the pulse. The patient continued in the same state
of automatic indifference and impassibility in which she had been
some minutes before the operation.' For forty-eight hours after this,
the patient remained in the somnambulistic state, showing no sign of
pain during the subsequent dressing of the wound. When awakened from
this prolonged sleep she had no recollection of what had passed in
the interval; 'but on being informed of the operation, and seeing her
children around her, she experienced a very lively emotion which the
"magnetiser" checked by immediately setting her asleep.' Certainly none
of the hypnotised 'subjects' of Mr. Braid's experiments showed more
complete abstraction from their normal condition than this lady; and
other cases cited in Bertrand's work, 'Le Magnetisme Animal en France'
(1826), are almost equally remarkable. As it does not appear that in
any of these cases Braid's method of producing hypnotism by causing
the eyes, or rather their optical axes, to be converged upon a point,
was adopted, we must conclude that this part of the method is not
absolutely essential to success. Indeed, the circumstance that in some
of Braid's public experiments numbers of the audience became hypnotised
without his knowledge, shows that the more susceptible 'subjects' do
not require to contemplate a point near and slightly above the eyes,
but may be put into the true hypnotic state by methods which, with the
less susceptible, produce only the electro-biological condition.

It will be well, however, to inquire somewhat carefully into this
point. My present object, I would note, is not merely to indicate the
remarkable nature of the phenomena of hypnotism, but to consider these
phenomena with direct reference to their probable cause. It may not be
possible to obtain a satisfactory explanation of them. But it is better
to view them as phenomena to be accounted for than merely as surprising
but utterly inexplicable circumstances.

Now we have fortunately the means of determining the effect of the
physical relations involved in these experiments, apart from those
which are chiefly due to imagination. For animals can be hypnotised,
and the conditions necessary for this effect to be fully produced have
been ascertained.

The most familiar experiment of this sort is sometimes known as
Kircher's. Let the feet of a hen be tied together (though this is not
necessary in all cases), and the hen placed on a level surface. Then if
the body of the hen is gently pressed down, the head extended with the
beak pointing downwards, touching the surface on which the hen stands,
and a chalk mark is drawn slowly along the surface, from the tip of the
beak in a line extending directly from the bird's eye, it is found that
the hen will remain for a considerable time perfectly still, though
left quite free to move. She is, in fact, hypnotised.

We have now to inquire what parts of the process just described are
effective in producing the hypnotic condition, or whether all are
essential to success in the experiment.

In the first place, the fastening of the feet may be dispensed
with. But it has its influence, and makes the experiment easier. An
explanation, or rather an illustration, of its effect is afforded by a
singular and interesting experiment devised by Lewissohn of Berlin:--If
a frog is placed on its back, it immediately, when the hand which had
held it is removed, turns over and escapes. But if the two fore-legs
are tied with a string, the frog, when placed on its back, breathes
heavily but is otherwise quite motionless, and does not make the least
attempt to escape, even when the experimenter tries to move it. 'It
is as though,' say Czermak, describing the experiment as performed
by himself, 'its small amount of reasoning power had been charmed
away, or else that it slept with open eyes. Now I press upon the
cutaneous nerves of the frog, while I loosen and remove the threads
on the fore-legs. Still the animal remains motionless upon its back,
in consequence of some remaining after-effect; at last, however, it
returns to itself, turns over, and quickly escapes.'

Thus far the idea suggested is that the animal is so affected by the
cutaneous pressure as to suppose itself tied and therefore unable
to move. In other words, this experiment suggests that imagination
acts on animals as on men, only in a different degree. I may cite
here a curious case which I once noticed and have never been able to
understand, though it seems to suggest the influence of imagination on
an animal one would hardly suspect of being at all under the influence
of any but purely physical influences. Hearing a noise as of a cat
leaping down from a pantry window which looked out on an enclosed yard,
I went directly into the yard, and there saw a strange cat running
off with a fish she had stolen. She was at the moment leaping on to
a bin, from the top of which, by another very easy leap, she could
get on to the wall enclosing the yard, and so escape. With the idea
rather of frightening her than of hurting her (does one missile out of
a hundred flung at cats ever hit them?) I threw at the thief a small
piece of wood which I had in my hand at the moment. It struck the
wall above her just as she was going to leap to the top of the wall,
and it fell, without touching her, between her and the wall. To my
surprise, she stood perfectly still, looking at the piece of wood; her
mouth, from which the fish had fallen, remaining open, and her whole
attitude expressing stupid wonder. I make no doubt I could have taken
her prisoner, or struck her heavily, if I had wished, for she made no
effort to escape, until, with a parlour broom which stood by, I pushed
her along the top of the bin towards the wall, when she seemed suddenly
to arouse herself, and leaping to the top of the wall she made off.
My wife witnessed the last scene of this curious little comedy. In
fact, it was chiefly, perhaps, because she pleaded for mercy on 'the
poor thing' that the soft end of the broom alone came into operation;
for, though not altogether agreeing with the Count of Rousillon that
anything can be endured before a cat, I did not at the moment regard
that particular cat with special favour.

The extension of the neck and depression of the head, in the experiment
with the hen, have no special significance, for Czermak has been able
to produce the same phenomena of hypnotism without them, and has failed
to produce the hypnotic effect on pigeons when attending to this point,
and in other respects proceeding as nearly as possible in the same
way as with hens. 'With the hens,' he says, 'I often hung a piece of
twine, or a small piece of wood, directly over their crests, so that
the end fell before their eyes. The hens not only remained perfectly
motionless, but closed their eyes, and slept with their heads sinking
until they came in contact with the table. Before falling asleep,
the hens' heads can be either pressed down or raised up, and they
will remain in this position as if they were pieces of wax. That is,
however, a symptom of a cataleptic condition, such as is seen in human
beings, under certain pathological conditions of the nervous system.'

On the other hand, repeated experiments convinced Czermak that the
pressure on the animal as it is held is of primary importance. It
is frequently the case, he says, that a hen, which for a minute has
been in a motionless state, caused by simply extending the neck and
depressing the head, awakes and flies away, but on being caught again
immediately, she can be placed once more in the condition of lethargy,
if we place the animal in a squatting position, and overcome with
gentle force the resistance of the muscles, by firmly placing the hand
upon its back. During the slow and measured suppression, one often
perceives an extremely remarkable position of the head and neck, which
are left entirely free. The head remains as if held by an invisible
hand in its proper place, the neck being stretched out of proportion,
while the body by degrees is pushed downwards. If the animal is thus
left entirely free, it remains for a minute or so in this peculiar
condition with wide-open staring eyes. 'Here,' as Czermak remarks,
'the actual circumstances are only the effect of the emotion which the
nerves of the skin excite, and the gentle force which overcomes the
animal's resistance. Certainly the creature a short time before had
been in a condition of immobility, and might have retained some special
inclination to fall back into the same, although the awakening, flight,
and recapture, together with the refreshment given to the nervous
system, are intermediate circumstances.' Similar experiments are best
made upon small birds. Now, it is well known to bird fanciers that
goldfinches, canary-birds, &c. can be made to remain motionless for
some time by simply holding them firmly for a moment and then letting
them go. 'Here, in my hand,' said Czermak, in his lecture, 'is a timid
bird, just brought from market. If I place it on its back, and hold its
head with my left hand, keeping it still for a few seconds, it will
lie perfectly motionless after I have removed my hands, as if charmed,
breathing heavily, and without making any attempt to change its
position or to fly away.' ('Two of the birds,' says the report, 'were
treated in this manner without effect; but the third, a siskin, fell
into a sleeping condition, and remained completely immovable on its
back, until pushed with a glass tube, when it awoke and flew actively
around the room.')

Also when a bird is in a sitting position, and the head is pressed
slightly back, the bird falls into a sleeping condition, even though
the eyes had been open. 'I have often noticed,' says Czermak, 'that the
birds under these circumstances close their eyes for a few minutes or
even a quarter of an hour, and are more or less fast asleep.'

Lastly, as to the chalk-line in Kircher's experiment. Czermak found,
as already said, that pigeons do not become motionless, as happens to
hens, if merely held firmly in the hand, and their heads and necks
pressed gently on the table. Nor can they be hypnotised like small
birds in the experiment last mentioned. 'That is,' he says, 'I held
them with a thumb placed on each side of the head, which I bent over
a little, while the other hand held the body gently pressed down upon
the table; but even this treatment, which has such an effect on little
birds, did not seem to succeed at first with the pigeons: almost always
they flew away as soon as I liberated them and entirely removed my
hands.' But he presently noticed that the short time during which the
pigeons remained quiet lengthened considerably when the finger only of
the hand which held the head was removed. Removing the hand holding
the body made no difference, but retaining the other hand near the
bird's head, the hand made all the difference in the world. Pursuing
the line of research thus indicated, Czermak found to his astonishment
that the fixing of the pigeon's look on the finger placed before its
eyes was the secret of the matter. In order to determine the question
still more clearly, he tried the experiment on a pigeon which he had
clasped firmly by the body in his left hand, but whose neck and head
were perfectly free. 'I held one finger of my right hand steadily
before the top of its beak,--and what did I see? The first pigeon with
which I made this attempt remained rigid and motionless, as if bound,
for several minutes, before the outstretched forefinger of my right
hand! Yes, I could take my left hand, with which I had held the bird,
and again touch the pigeon without waking it up; the animal remained in
the same position while I held my outstretched finger still pointing
towards the beak.' 'The lecturer,' says the report, 'demonstrated
this experiment in the most successful manner with a pigeon which was
brought to him.'

Yet it is to be noticed that among animals as among men, different
degrees of subjectivity exist. 'Individual inward relations,' says
Czermak, 'as well as outward conditions, must necessarily exercise some
disturbing influence, whether the animal will give itself up to the
requisite exertions of certain parts of its brain with more or less
inclination or otherwise. We often see, for example, that a pigeon
endeavours to escape from confinement by a quick turning of its head
from side to side. In following these singular and characteristic
movements of the head and neck, with the finger held before the bird,
one either gains his point, or else makes the pigeon so perplexed and
excited that it at last becomes quiet, so that, if it is held firmly
by the body and head, it can be forced gently down upon the table.
As Schopenhauer says of sleeping, "The brain must bite." I will also
mention here, by the way, that a tame parrot, which I have in my house,
can be placed in this sleepy condition by simply holding the finger
steadily before the top of its beak.'

I may cite here a singular illustration of the effect of perplexity
in the case of a creature in all other respects much more naturally
circumstanced than the hens, pigeons, and small birds of Czermak's
experiments. In the spring of 1859, when I was an undergraduate at
Cambridge, I and a friend of mine were in canoes on the part of the
Cam which flows through the College grounds. Here there are many ducks
and a few swans. It occurred to us, not, I fear, from any special
scientific spirit, but as a matter of curiosity, to inquire whether it
was possible to pass over a duck in a canoe. Of course on the approach
of either canoe a duck would try to get out of the way on one side or
the other; but on the course of the canoe being rapidly changed, the
duck would have to change his course. Then the canoe's course would
again be changed, so as to compel the duck to try the other side. The
canoe drawing all the time nearer, and her changes of course being made
very lightly and in quicker and quicker alternation as she approached,
the duck would generally get bewildered, and finally would allow the
canoe to pass over him, gently pressing him under water in its course.
The process, in fact, was a sort of mild keelhauling. The absolute
rigidity of body and the dull stupid stare with which some of the
ducks met their fate seems to me (_now_: I was not in 1859 familiar
with the phenomena of hypnotism) to suggest that the effect was to be
explained as Czermak explains the hypnotism of the pigeons on which he
experimented.

We shall be better able now to understand the phenomena of artificial
somnambulism in the case of human beings. If the circumstances observed
by Kircher, Czermak, Lewissohn, and others, suggest, as I think they
do, that animal hypnotism is a form of the phenomenon sometimes called
fascination, we may be led to regard the possibility of artificial
somnambulism in men as a survival of a property playing in all
probability an important and valuable part in the economy of animal
life. It is in this direction, at present, that the evidence seems to
tend.

The most remarkable circumstance about the completely hypnotised
subject is the seemingly complete control of the will of the 'subject'
and even of his opinions. Even the mere suggestions of the operator,
not expressed verbally or by signs, but by movements imparted to the