The Dancing Mouse A Study in Animal Behavior - Chapter II

FEEDING, BREEDING, AND DEVELOPMENT OF THE YOUNG

In this chapter I shall report, for the benefit of those who may wish to know how to take care of dancing mice, my experience in keeping and breeding the animals, and my observations concerning the development of the young. It is commonly stated that the dancer is extremely delicate, subject to diseases to an unusual degree and difficult to breed. I have not found this to be true. At first I failed to get them to breed, but this was due, as I discovered later, to the lack of proper food. For three years my mice have bred frequently and reared almost all of their young. During one year, after I had learned how to care for the animals, when the maximum number under observation at any time was fifty and the total number for the year about one hundred, I lost two by disease and one by an accident. I very much doubt whether I could have done better with any species of mouse. There can be no doubt, however, that the dancer is delicate and demands more careful attention than do most mice. In March, 1907, I lost almost all of my dancers from what appeared to be an intestinal trouble, but with this exception I have had remarkably good luck in breeding and rearing them.

My dancers usually were kept in the type of cage of which Figure 2 is a photograph.[1] Four of these double cages, 70 cm. long, 45 cm. wide, and 10 cm. deep in front, were supported by a frame as is shown in Figure 3. The fact that the covers of these cages cannot be left open is of practical importance. A similar type of cage, which I have used to some extent, consists of a wooden box 30 by 30 cm. by 15 cm. deep, without any bottom, and with a hinged cover made in part of 1 cm. mesh wire netting. Such a cage may be placed upon a piece of tin or board, or simply on a newspaper spread out on a table. The advantage of the loose bottom is that the box may be lifted off at any time, and the bottom thoroughly cleansed. I have had this type of cage constructed in blocks of four so that a single bottom and cover sufficed for the block. If the mice are being kept for show or for the observation of their movements, at least one side of the cages should be of wire netting, and, as Kishi suggests, such objects as a wheel, a tower, a tunnel, a bridge, and a turntable, if placed in the cage, will give the animals excellent opportunity to exhibit their capacity for varied forms of activity.

[Footnote 1: This cage was devised by Professors W.E. Castle and E.L.
Mark, and has been used in the Zoological Laboratories of Harvard
University for several years.]

[Illustration: FIGURE 2.—Double cage, with nest boxes and water dishes.]

The floors of the cages were covered with a thin layer of sawdust for the sake of cleanliness, and in one corner of each cage a nest box of some sort was placed. During the warm months I found it convenient and satisfactory to use berry boxes, such as appear in Figure 2, with a small entrance hole cut in one side; and during the cold months cigar boxes, with an entrance hole not more than 5 cm. in diameter at one end. In the nest box a quantity of tissue paper, torn into fragments, furnished material for a nest in which the adults could make themselves comfortable or the female care for her young. Cotton should never be used in the nest boxes, for the mice are likely to get it wound about their legs with serious results. Apparently they are quite unable to free themselves from such an incumbrance, and their spinning motion soon winds the threads so tightly that the circulation of the blood is stopped.

[Illustration: FIGURE 3.—Double cages in frame.]

The cages and nest boxes were emptied and thoroughly cleaned once a week with an emulsion made by heating together one part of kerosene and one part of water containing a little soap. This served to destroy whatever odor the cages had acquired and to prevent vermin from infesting the nests. In hot weather far greater cleanliness is necessary for the welfare of the mice than in cold weather. The animals attend faithfully to their own toilets, and usually keep themselves scrupulously clean.

For water and food dishes I have used heavy watch glasses[1] 5 cm. in diameter and 1/2 cm. deep. They are convenient because they are durable, easily cleaned, and not large enough for the young mice to drown in when they happen to spin into one which contains water. It is said that mice do not need water, but as the dancers seem very fond of a little, I have made it a rule to wash the watch glasses thoroughly and fill them with pure fresh water daily. The food, when moist, may be placed in the cages in the same kind of watch glass.

[Footnote 1: Minot watch glasses.]

There is no need of feeding the animals oftener than once a day, and as they eat mostly in the evening and during the night, it is desirable that the food should be placed in the cage late in the afternoon. For almost a year I kept a pair of dancers on "force"[1] and water. They seemed perfectly healthy and were active during the whole time, but they produced no young. If the animals are kept as pets, and breeding is not desired, a diet of "force," "egg-o-see,"[1] and crackers, with some bird-seed every few days, is likely to prove satisfactory. As with other animals, a variety of food is beneficial, but it appears to be quite unnecessary. Too much rich food should not be given, and the mice should be permitted to dictate their own diet by revealing their preferences. They eat surprisingly little for the amount of their activity. I have had excellent success in breeding the mice by feeding them a mixture of dry bread- crumbs, "force," and sweet, clean oats slightly moistened with milk. The food should never be made soppy. A little milk added thus to the food every other day greatly increases fertility. About once a week a small quantity of some green food, lettuce for example, should be given. It is well, I have found, to vary the diet by replacing the bread and "force" at intervals with crackers and seeds. Usually I give the food dry every other day, except in the case of mice which are nursing litters. One person to whom I suggested that lettuce was good for the dancers lost four, apparently because of too much of what the mice seemed to consider a good thing. This suggests that it should be used sparingly.

[Footnote 1: A cereal food.]

Success in keeping and breeding dancing mice depends upon three things: cleanliness, warmth, and food supply. The temperature should be fairly constant, between 60° and 70° Fahr. They cannot stand exposure to cold or lack of food. If one obtains good healthy, fertile individuals, keeps them in perfectly clean cages with soft nesting materials, maintains a temperature of not far above or below 65°, and regularly supplies them with pure water and food which they like, there is not likely to be trouble either in keeping or breeding these delicate little creatures. Several persons who have reported to me difficulty in rearing the young or in keeping the adults for long periods have been unable to maintain a sufficiently high or constant temperature, or have given them food which caused intestinal trouble.

The males are likely to fight if kept together, and they may even kill one another. A male may be kept with one or more females, or several females may be kept together, for the females rarely, in my experience, fight, and the males seldom harm the females. Unless the male is removed from the cage in which the female is kept before the young are born, he is likely to kill the newborn animals. When a female is seen to be building a nest in preparation for a litter, it is best to place her in a cage by herself so that she may not be disturbed.

The sex of individuals may be determined easily in most cases, at the age of 10 to 12 days, by the appearance of teats in the case of females.

The period of gestation is from 18 to 21 days. The maximum number born by my dancers in any single litter was 9, the minimum number 3. In 25 litters of which I have accurate records, 135 individuals were born, an average of 5.4. The average number of males per litter was precisely the same, 2.7, as the number of females.

On the birth of a litter it is well to see that the female has made a nest from which the young are not likely to escape, for at times, if the nest is carelessly made, they get out of it or under some of the pieces of paper which are used in its construction, and perish. Several times I have observed nests so poorly built that almost all of the young perished because they got too far away to find their way back to the mother. It is surprising that the female should not take more pains to keep her young safe by picking them up in her mouth, as does the common mouse, and carrying them to a place where they can obtain warmth and nourishment. This I have never seen a dancing mouse do. For the first day or two after the birth of a litter the female usually remains in the nest box almost constantly and eats little. About the second day she begins to eat ravenously, and for the next three or four weeks she consumes at least twice as much food as ordinarily. Alexander and Kreidl (3 p. 567) state that the female does not dance during the first two weeks after the birth of a litter, but my experience contradicts their statement. There is a decreased amount of activity during this period, and usually the whirling movement appears but rarely; but in some cases I have seen vigorous and long-continued dancing within a few hours after the birth of a litter. There is a wide range of variability in this matter, and the only safe statement, in the light of my observations, is that the mother dances less than usual for a few days after a litter is born to her.

The development of the young, as I have observed it in the cases of twenty litters, for ten of which (Table I) systematic daily records were kept, may be sketched as follows. At birth the mice have a rosy pink skin which is devoid of hair and perfectly smooth; they are blind, deaf, and irresponsive to stimulation of the vibrissae on the nose. During the first week of post-natal life the members of a litter remain closely huddled together in the nest, and no dance movements are exhibited. The mother stays with them most of the time. On the fourth or fifth day colorless hairs are visible, and by the end of the week the body is covered with a coat which rapidly assumes the characteristic black and white markings of the race. For the first few days the hind legs are too weak to support the body weight, and whatever movements appear are the result of the use of the fore legs. As soon as the young mice are able to stand, circling movements are exhibited, and by the end of the second week they are pronounced. Somewhere about the tenth day the appearance of the teats in the case of the females serves to distinguish the sexes plainly. Between the tenth and fifteenth days excitability, as indicated by restless jerky movements in the presence of a disturbing condition, increases markedly; the auditory meatus opens, and, in the case of some individuals, there are signs of hearing. On or after the fifteenth day the eyes open and the efforts to escape from the nest box rapidly become more vigorous. About this time the mother resumes her dancing with customary vigor, and the young, when they have opportunity, begin to eat of the food which is given to her. They now dance essentially as do the adults. From the end of the third week growth continues without noteworthy external changes until sexual maturity is attained, between the fourth and the sixth week. For several weeks after they are sexually mature the mice continue to increase in size.
TABLE I
DEVELOPMENT OF THE YOUNG
NUMBER JERKY REACT IN HAIR TEATS MOVE- EARS TO EYES PARENTS LITTER VISIBLE VISIBLE MENTS OPEN SOUND OPEN M F APPEAR

152+151 5 0 4th day — 13th day 14th day 14th day 16th day
152+151 1 3 4th day 9th day 10th day 12th day 13th day 15th day
410+415 4 1 5th day 11th day 14th day 15th day 15th day 17th day
410+415 2 4 5th day 10th day 13th day 14th day 14th day 16th day
420+425 0 2 4th day 10th day 12th day 14th day 14th day 16th day
210+215 4 1 — — 17th day 13th day 17th day 15th day
210+215 3 3 5th day 11th day 11th day 14th day No 16th day
212+211 1 3 4th day 10th day 15th day 14th day No 15th day
220+225 2 4 4th day 10th day 16th day 14th day No 15th day
220+225 3 3 4th day 10th day 17th day 13th day No 15th day

A course of development very similar to that just described was observed by Alexander and Kreidl (3 p. 565) in three litters of dancing mice which contained 3, 5, and 7 individuals respectively. These authors, in comparing the development of the dancer with that of the common mouse, say that at birth the young in both cases are about 24 mm. in length. The young common mouse grows much more rapidly than the dancer, and by the ninth day its length is about 43 mm. as compared with 31 mm. in the case of the dancer. According to Zoth (31 p. 148) the adult dancer has a body length of from 7 to 7.5 cm., a length from tip of nose to tip of tail of from 12 to 13 cm., and a weight of about 18 grams. The movement of the dancer from the first tends to take the form of circles toward the middle of the nest; that of the common mouse has no definite tendency as to direction. When the common mouse does move in circles, it goes first in one direction, then in the other, and not for any considerable period in one direction as does the true dancer. Neither the young dancer nor the common mouse is able to equilibrate itself well for the first few days after birth, but the latter can follow a narrow path with far greater accuracy and steadiness than the former. The uncertain and irregular movements of the common mouse are due to muscular weakness and to blindness, but the bizarre movements of the young dancer seem to demand some additional facts as an explanation.

A brief account of the development of the dancer given by Zoth (31 p. 149) adds nothing of importance to the description given by Alexander and Kreidl. As my own observations disagree with their accounts in certain respects, I shall now give, in the form of a diary, a description of the important changes observed from day to day in a normal litter. The litter which I have selected as typical of the course of development in the dancer grew rapidly under favorable conditions. I have observed many litters which passed through the various stages of development mentioned in this description anywhere from a day to a week later. This was usually due to some such obviously unfavorable condition as too little food or slight digestive or bowel troubles. According to the nature of the conditions of growth the eyes of the dancer open anywhere from the fourteenth to the twentieth day. This statement may serve to indicate the degree of variability as to the time at which a given stage of development is reached by different litters.

On July 14, 1906, No. 151 (female) and No. 152 (male) were mated, and on August 3 a litter of six was born to them. The course of the development of this litter during the first three weeks was as follows:—

First day The skin is pink and hairless, several vibrissae are visible on the nose and lips, but there is no definite response when they are touched. The mice are both blind and deaf, but they are able to squeak vigorously. The mother was not seen to dance or eat during the day.

Second day. There is a very noticeable increase in size. The vibrissae are longer, but touching them still fails to cause a reaction. No hairs are visible on the body. The mother danced rapidly for periods of a minute several times while the record was being made. She ate very little to-day.

Third day. Scales began to appear on the skin to-day. The animals are rapidly increasing in strength; they can now crawl about the nest easily, but they are too weak to stand, and constantly roll over upon their sides or backs when they are placed on a smooth surface. Because of their inability to progress it is impossible to determine with certainty whether they have a tendency to move in circles. The mother was seen out of the nest dancing once to-day. She now eats ravenously.

Fourth day. One of the six young mice was found under a corner of the nest this morning dead, and the others were scattered about the nest box. I gathered them together into a nest which I made out of bits of tissue paper, and the mother immediately began to suckle them. They are very sensitive to currents of air, but they do not respond to light or sound and seldom to contact with the vibrissae.

Fifth day. When placed on a smooth surface, they tend to move in circles, frequently rolling over. When placed on their sides or backs, they immediately try to right themselves. They do not walk, for their legs are still too weak to support the weight of the body; instead they drag themselves about by the use of the fore legs. Fine colorless hairs are visible over the entire body surface. When the vibrissae are touched, the head is moved noticeably. The mother dances a great deal and eats about twice as much as she did before the birth of the litter.

Sixth day. Certain regions of the skin, which were slightly darker than the remainder on the fourth and fifth days, are now almost black. It is evident that they are the regions in which the black hair is to appear. The movement in circles is much more definite today, although most of the individuals are still too weak to stand on their feet steadily for more than a few seconds at a time. Most of their time, when they are first taken from the nest, is spent in trying to maintain or regain an upright position. The hair is now easily visible, and the skin begins to have a white appearance as a result.

Seventh day. Although they are strong enough to move about the nest readily, none of the young has attempted to leave the nest. They huddle together in the middle of it for warmth. The epidermal scales, which have increased in number since the third day, are dropping off rapidly. Contact with the vibrissae or with the surface of the body, frequently calls forth a motor reaction but neither light nor sound produces any visible change in behavior. The black and white regions of the skin are sufficiently definite now to enable one to distinguish the various individuals by their markings. The mother was seen to dance repeatedly today, and she ate all the food that was given to her.

Eighth day. A fold is plainly visible where later the eyelids will separate. The black pigment in the skin has increased markedly.

Ninth day. The eyelids are taking form rapidly, but they I have not separated. The body is covered with a thick coat of hair which is either pure white or black. Standing on the four legs is still a difficult task.

Tenth day. To-day teats are plainly visible in the case of four of the five individuals of the litter. Up to this time I had thought, from structural indications, that there were three males and two females; it is now evident that there are four females and one male. The external ear, the pinna, is well formed, and has begun to stand out from the head, but no opening to the inner portion of the ear is present. The eyelids appear to be almost fully formed.

Eleventh day. There are no very noticeable changes in appearance except in size, which continues to increase rapidly. They are able to regain their normal upright position almost immediately when they happen to roll over. The mother dances as usual.

Twelfth day. It appears to-day as if the eyes were about to open. The ears are still closed, and there is no evidence of a sense of hearing. They squeaked considerably when in the nest, but not at all when I took them out to note their development. The mother stays outside of the nest box much of the time now, probably to prevent the young ones from sucking continuously.

Thirteenth day. One of the little mice came out of the nest box while I was watching the litter this morning, and was able to find his way back directly despite the lack of sight. The mice are still dependent upon the mother for nourishment. I have not seen any of them attempt to eat the food which is given to the mother. They are extremely neat and clean. I watched one of them wash himself this morning. Each foot was carefully licked with the tongue. There seems to be special care taken to keep the toes perfectly clean.

Fourteenth day. An opening into the ear is visible to-day. When tested with the Galton whistle, all five responded with quick, jerky movements of the head and legs. They evidently hear certain tones. During the past two days the ears have changed rapidly. In one of the females, which seems to be a little in advance of the others in development, certain peculiarities of behavior appeared to-day. She jumped and squeaked sharply when touched and sprang out of my hand when I attempted to take her up. This is in marked contrast with her behavior previously.

Fifteenth day. The eyes are partly opened. All of the members of the litter came out of the nest box this morning and ran around the cage, dancing frequently and trying to eat with the mother. Three out of the five gave auditory reactions on first being stimulated; none of them responded to repetitions of the stimulus. All appeared to be less sensitive to sounds than yesterday. The quick, nervous, jerky movements are very noticeable.

Sixteenth day. The eyes of all five are fully opened. They dance vigorously and are outside the nest much of the time.

Seventeenth day. No reactions to sound could be detected to-day. The sense of sight gives evidence of being well developed. The nervous jumping movements persist.

Eighteenth day. The young mice continue to suck, although they eat of the food which is given to the mother. They are now able to take care of themselves.

Nineteenth day. There are no noteworthy changes except increase in size and strength.

Twentieth day. No auditory reactions were obtained today, but other forms of stimulation brought about unmistakable responses.

Twenty-first day. They are now about half grown and there is no other change of special interest to be recorded. Growth continues for several weeks. The statement made by Alexander and Kreidl to the effect that the dancer is almost full grown by the thirty-first day of life is false. At that age they may be sexually mature, but usually they are far from full grown.

The Dancing Mouse A Study in Animal Behavior - Chapter I

CHARACTERISTICS, ORIGIN, AND HISTORY

The variety of mouse which is known as the Japanese dancing or waltzing mouse has been of special interest to biologists and to lovers of pets because of its curious movements. Haacke in Brehm's "Life of Animals" (7 p. 337)[1] writes as follows concerning certain mice which were brought to Europe from China and Japan: "From time to time a Hamburg dealer in animals sends me two breeds of common mice, which he calls Chinese climbing mice (Chinesische Klettermäuse) and Japanese dancing mice (Japanische Tanzmäuse). It is true that the first are distinguished only by their different colors, for their climbing accomplishments are not greater than those of other mice. The color, however, is subject to many variations. Besides individuals of uniform gray, light yellow, and white color, I have had specimens mottled with gray and white, and blue and white. Tricolored mice seem to be very rare. It is a known fact that we also have white, black, and yellow mice and occasionally pied ones, and the Chinese have profited by these variations of the common mouse also, to satisfy their fancy in breeding animals. The Japanese, however, who are no less enthusiastic on this point, know how to transform the common mouse into a really admirable animal. The Japanese dancing mice, which perfectly justify their appellation, also occur in all the described colors. But what distinguishes them most is their innate habit of running around, describing greater or smaller circles or more frequently whirling around on the same spot with incredible rapidity. Sometimes two or, more rarely, three mice join in such a dance, which usually begins at dusk and is at intervals resumed during the night, but it is usually executed by a single individual."

[Footnote 1: The reference numbers, of which 7 is an example, refer to the numbers in the bibliographic list which precedes this chapter.]

As a rule the dancing mouse is considerably smaller than the common mouse, and observers agree that there are also certain characteristic peculiarities in the shape of the head. One of the earliest accounts of the animal which I have found, that of Landois (22 p. 62), states, however, that the peculiarities of external form are not remarkable. Landois further remarks, with reason, that the name dancing mouse is ill chosen, since the human dance movement is rather a rhythmic hopping motion than regular movement in a circle. As he suggests, they might more appropriately be called "circus course mice" (22 p. 63).

Since 1903 I have had under observation constantly from two to one hundred dancing mice. The original pair was presented to the Harvard Psychological Laboratory by Doctor A.G. Cleghorn of Cambridge. I have obtained specimens, all strikingly alike in markings, size, and general behavior, from animal dealers in Washington, Philadelphia, and Boston. Almost all of the dancers which I have had, and they now number about four hundred, were white with patches, streaks, or spots of black. The black markings occurred most frequently on the neck, ears, face, thighs, hind legs, about the root of the tail, and occasionally on the tail itself. In only one instance were the ears white, and that in the case of one of the offspring of a male which was distinguished from most of his fellows by the possession of one white ear. I have had a few individuals whose markings were white and gray instead of white and black.

The method by which I was able to keep an accurate record of each of my dancers for purposes of identification and reference is illustrated in Figure 1. As this method has proved very convenient and satisfactory, I may briefly describe it. With a rubber stamp[1] a rough outline of a mouse, like that of Figure 1 A, was made in my record book. On this outline I then indicated the black markings of the individual to be described. Beside this drawing of the animal I recorded its number, sex,[2] date of birth, parentage, and history. B, C, and D of Figure 1 represent typical color patterns. D indicates the markings of an individual whose ears were almost entirely white. The pattern varies so much from individual to individual that I have had no trouble whatever in identifying my mice by means of such records as these.

[Footnote 1: For the use of the plate from which this stamp was made, I am indebted to Professor W.E. Castle, who in turn makes acknowledgment to Doctor G.M. Allen for the original drawing.]

[Footnote 2: I have found it convenient to use the even numbers for the males and the odd numbers for the females. Throughout this book this usage is followed. Wherever the sex of an individual is not specially given, the reader therefore may infer that it is a male if the number is even; a female if the number is odd.]

All of my dancers had black eyes and were smaller as well as weaker than the albino mouse and the gray house mouse. The weakness indicated by their inability to hold up their own weight or to cling to an object curiously enough does not manifest itself in their dancing; in this they are indefatigable. Frequently they run in circles or whirl about with astonishing rapidity for several minutes at a time. Zoth (31 p. 173), who measured the strength of the dancer in comparison with that of the common mouse, found that it can hold up only about 2.8 times its own weight, whereas the common white mouse can hold up 4.4 times its weight. No other accurate measurements of the strength, endurance, or hardiness of the dancer are available. They are usually supposed to be weak and delicate, but my own observations cause me to regard them as exceptionally strong in certain respects and weak in others.

[Illustration: FIGURE I.—Typical markings of dancers. A, blank outline of mouse for record. B, markings of No. 2 [symbol for male], born September 7, 1905, of unknown parents, died March 30,1907. C, markings of No 43 [symbol for female], born November 10, 1906, of 212 and 211. D, markings of No. 151 [symbol for female], born February 28, 1906, of 1000 and 5, died February 26, 1907.]

What the Japanese have to say about the dancing mouse is of special importance because Japan is rather commonly supposed to be its home. For this reason, as well as because of the peculiar interest of the facts mentioned, I quote at length from Doctor Kishi (21 p. 457). "The dancing mouse has received in Europe this name which it does not bear in its own home, because of the fact that the circular movements which it makes are similar to the European (human) dance. Sometimes it is also called the Japanese or Chinese mouse; originally, however, China must have been its home, since in Japan it is mostly called 'Nankin nesumi,' the mouse from Nankin. When this animal came from China to Japan I shall inquire at a later opportunity. There were originally in Japan two different species of mouse, the gray and the white; therefore in order to distinguish our dancing mouse from these it was necessary to use the name of its native city.

"In Japan, as in Europe, the animal lives as a house animal in small cages, but the interest which is taken in it there is shown in quite another way than in Europe, where the whirling movements, to which the name dancing mouse is due, are of chief interest. For this reason in Europe it is given as much room as possible in its cage that it may dance conveniently. In Japan also the circular movements have been known for a long time, but this has had no influence upon our interest in the animal, for the human fashion of dancing with us is quite different from that in Europe. What has lent interest to the creature for us are its prettiness, its cleverness in tricks, and its activity. It is liked, therefore, as an amusement for children. For this purpose it is kept in a small cage, usually fifteen centimeters square, sometimes in a somewhat broader wooden box one of whose walls is of wire netting. In this box are built usually a tower, a tunnel, a bridge, and a wheel. The wheel is rather broad, being made in the form of a drum and pierced with holes on one side through which the animal can slip in and out. Running around on the inside, the mouse moves the wheel often for hours at a time, especially in the evening. Moreover, there are found in the box other arrangements of different kinds which may be set in motion by the turning of the wheel. No space remains in the box in which the animal may move about freely, and therefore one does not easily or often have an opportunity to observe that the animal makes circular movements, whether voluntarily or involuntarily. This is the reason that in its home this interesting little animal has never been studied by any one in this respect."

It is odd indeed that the remarkable capacity of the dancer for the execution of quick, graceful, dextrous, bizarre, and oft-repeated movements has not been utilized in America as it has in Japan. The mice are inexhaustible sources of amusement as well as invaluable material for studies in animal behavior and intelligence.

Concerning the origin and history of this curious variety of mouse little is definitely known. I have found no mention of the animal in scientific literature previous to 1890. The fact that it is called the Chinese dancing mouse, the Japanese dancing mouse, and the Japanese waltzing mouse is indicative of the existing uncertainty concerning the origin of the race.

Thinking that Japanese literature might furnish more information bearing on the question of racial history than was available from European sources, I wrote to Professor Mitsukuri of the University of Tokyo, asking him whether any reliable records of the dancer existed in Japan. He replied as follows: "I have tried to find what is known in Japan about the history of the Japanese waltzing mice, but I am sorry to say that the results are wholly negative. I cannot find any account of the origin of this freak, either authentic or fictitious, and, strange as it may seem to you, no study of the mice in a modern sense has been made, so you may consider the literature on the mouse in the Japanese language as absolutely nil." In explanation of this somewhat surprising ignorance of the origin of the race in what is commonly supposed to be its native land, Professor Mitsukuri adds: "The breeders of the mice have mostly been ignorant men to whom writing is anything but easy."

In response to similar inquiries, I received the following letter, confirmatory of Professor Mitsukuri's statements, from Doctor S. Hatai of Wistar Institute, Philadelphia: "If I remember rightly the so-called Japanese dancing mouse is usually called by us Nankin-nedzumi. Nankin means anything which has been imported from China, and nedzumi means rat-like animal, or in this case mouse, or Chinese mouse. I referred to one of the standard Japanese dictionaries and found the following statement: 'The Nankin-nedzumi is one of the varieties of Mus spiciosus (Hatszuka-nedzumi), and is variously colored. It was imported from China. These mice are kept in cages for the amusement of children, who watch their play.' Mus spiciosus, if I remember correctly, is very much like Mus musculus in color, size, and several other characteristics, if not the same altogether."

In Swinhoe's list of the mammals of China, which appeared in the Proceedings of the Zoological Society of London for 1870, Mus musculus L. is mentioned as occurring in houses in South China and in Formosa. It is further stated that black and white varieties which are brought from the Straits are often kept by the Chinese (p. 637).

The statements of Kishi, Mitsukuri, and Hatai which have been quoted, taken in connection with the opinions expressed by various European scientists who have studied the dancer, make it seem highly probable that the race appeared first in China, and was thence introduced into Japan, from which country it has been brought to Europe and America. Accepting for the present this conclusion with reference to the place of origin of the dancer, we may now inquire, how and when did this curious freak, as Professor Mitsukuri has called it, come into existence? Concerning these matters there is wide divergence of opinion.

Haacke (6 p. 514), as quoted in Brehm's "Tierleben," says that an animal dealer with whom he discussed the question of the possible origin of the dancer maintained that it came from Peru, where it nests in the full cotton capsules, arranging the cotton fibers in the form of a nest by running about among them in small circles. Hence the name cotton mouse is sometimes applied to it. Haacke himself believes, however, that the race originated either in China or Japan as the result of systematic selectional breeding. Of this he has no certainty, for he states that he failed to find any literature on the "beautiful mice of China and Japan." Whether Haacke's description of the dancing mouse was published elsewhere previous to its appearance in Brehm's "Tierleben" I am unable to state; I have found nothing written on the subject by him before 1890. Zoth (31 p. 176) also thinks that the race was developed by systematic breeding, or in other words, that it is a product of the skill of the Asiatic animal breeders.

Another account of the origin of the race is that accepted by Kishi (21 p. 481) and some other Japanese biologists. It is their belief that the forms of movement acquired by the individual as the result of confinement in narrow cages are inherited. Thus centuries of subjection to the conditions which Kishi has described (p. 6) finally resulted in a race of mice which breed true to the dance movement. It is only fair to add, although Kishi does not emphasize the fact, that in all probability those individuals in which the dancing tendency was most pronounced would naturally be selected by the breeders who kept these animals as pets, and thus it would come about that selectional breeding would supplement the inheritance of an acquired character. Few indeed will be willing to accept this explanation of the origin of the dancer so long as the inheritance of acquired characters remains, as at present, unproved.

Still another mode of origin of the mice is suggested by the following facts. In 1893 Saint Loup (28 p. 85) advanced the opinion that dancing individuals appear from time to time among races of common mice. The peculiarity of movement may be due, he thinks, to an accidental nervous defect which possibly might be transmissible to the offspring of the exceptional individual. Saint Loup for several months had under observation a litter of common mice whose quick, jerky, nervous movements of the head, continuous activity, and rapid whirling closely resembled the characteristic movements of the true dancers of China. He states that these mice ran around in circles of from 1 to 20 cm. in diameter. They turned in either direction, but more frequently to the left, that is, anticlockwise. At intervals they ran in figure-eights ([Symbol: figure eight]) as do the true dancers. According to Saint Loup these exceptional individuals were healthy, active, tame, and not markedly different in general intelligence from the ordinary mouse. One of these mice produced a litter of seven young, in which, however, none of the peculiarities of behavior of the parents appeared.

In view of this proof of the occurrence of dancing individuals among common mice, Saint Loup believes that the race of dancers has resulted from the inheritance and accentuation of an "accidental" deviation from the usual mode of behavior. It is scarcely necessary to say that this opinion would be of far greater weight had he observed, instead of postulating, the inheritance of the peculiarities of movement which he has described. It might be objected, to the first of his so-called facts, that the litter resulted from the mating of mice which possessed dancer blood. Until the occurrence of dancers among varieties of mice which are known to be unmixed with true dancers is established, and further, until the inheritance of this peculiar deviation from the normal is proved, Saint Loup's account of the origin of the dancing mouse race must be regarded as an hypothesis.

The occurrence of dancing individuals among common mice has been recorded by several other observers. Kammerer (20 p. 389) reports that he found a litter of young wood mice (Mus sylvaticus L.) which behaved much as do the spotted dancers of China. He also observed, among a lot of true dancers, a gray individual which, instead of spinning around after the manner of the race, turned somersaults at frequent intervals. It is Kammerer's opinion, as a result of these observations, that the black and white dancers of China and Japan have been produced by selectional breeding on the basis of this occasional tendency to move in circles. Among albino mice Rawitz (25 p. 238) has found individuals which whirled about rapidly in small circles. He states, however, that they lacked the restlessness of the Chinese dancers. Some shrews (Sorex vulgaris L.) which exhibited whirling movements and in certain other respects resembled the dancing mouse were studied for a time by Professor Häcker of Freiburg in Baden, according to a report by von Guaita (17 p. 317, footnote). Doctor G. M. Allen of Cambridge has reported to me that he noticed among a large number of mice kept by him for the investigation of problems of heredity[1] individuals which ran in circles; and Miss Abbie Lathrop of Granby, Massachusetts, who has raised thousands of mice for the market, has written me of the appearance of an individual, in a race which she feels confident possessed no dancer blood, which whirled and ran about in small circles much as do the true dancers.

[Footnote 1: Allen, G.M. "The Heredity of Coat Color in Mice." Proc. Amer.
Academy, Vol. 40, 59-163, 1904.]

Although it is possible that some of these cases of the unexpected appearance of individuals with certain of the dancer's peculiarities of behavior may have been due to the presence of dancer blood in the parents, it is not at all probable that this is true of all of them. We may, therefore, accept the statement that dancing individuals now and then appear in various races of mice. They are usually spoken of as freaks, and, because of their inability to thrive under the conditions of life of the race in which they happen to appear, they soon perish.

Another and a strikingly different notion of the origin of the race of dancers from those already mentioned is that of Cyon (11 p. 443) who argues that it is not a natural variety of mouse, as one might at first suppose it to be, but instead a pathological variation. The pathological nature of the animals is indicated, he points out, by the exceptionally high degree of variability of certain portions of the body. According to this view the dancing is due to certain pathological structural conditions which are inherited. Cyon's belief raises the interesting question, are the mice normal or abnormal, healthy or pathological? That the question cannot be answered with certainty off-hand will be apparent after we have considered the facts of structure and function which this volume presents.

Everything organic sooner or later is accounted for, in some one's mind, by the action of natural selection. The dancing mouse is no exception, for Landois (22 p. 62) thinks that it is the product of natural selection and heredity, favored, possibly, by selectional breeding in China. He further maintains that the Chinese dancer is a variety of Mus musculus L. in which certain peculiarities of behavior appear because of bilateral defects in the brain. This author is not alone in his belief that the brain of the dancer is defective, but so far as I have been able to discover he is the only scientist who has had the temerity to appeal to natural selection as an explanation of the origin of the race.

Milne-Edwards, as quoted by Schlumberger (29 p. 63), is of the opinion that the Chinese dancer is not a natural wild mouse race, but instead the product of rigid artificial selection. And in connection with this statement Schlumberger describes a discovery of his own which seems to have some bearing upon the problem of origin. In an old Japanese wood carving which came into his possession he found a group of dancing mice. The artist had represented in minute detail the characteristics of the members of the group, which consisted of the parents and eight young. The father and mother as well as four of the little mice are represented as white spotted with black. Of the four remaining young mice, two are entirely black and two entirely white. The two pure white individuals have pink eyes, as has also the mother. The eyes of all the others are black. From these facts Schlumberger infers that the dancer has resulted from the crossing of a race of black mice with a race of albinos; the two original types appear among the offspring in the carving.

Experimental studies of the inheritance of the tendency to dance are of interest in their bearing upon the question of origin. Such studies have been made by Haacke (19), von Guaita (17, 18), and Darbishire (13, 14, 15, 16), and the important results of their investigations have been well summarized by Bateson (5).

By crossing dancing mice with common white mice both Haacke and von Guaita obtained gray or black mice which are very similar to the wild house mouse in general appearance and behavior. The characteristic movements of the dancers do not appear. As the result of a long series of breeding experiments, Darbishire (16 pp. 26, 27) says: "When the race of waltzing mice is crossed with albino mice which do not waltz, the waltzing habit disappears in the resulting young, so that waltzing is completely recessive in Mendel's sense; the eye-color of the hybrids is always dark; the coat-color is variable, generally a mixture of wild-gray and white, the character of the coat being distinctly correlated with characters transmitted both by the albino and by the colored parent." When hybrids produced by the cross described by Darbishire are paired, they produce dancers in the proportion of about one to five.

Bateson (5 p. 93, footnote), in discussing the results obtained by Haacke, von Guaita, and Darbishire, writes: "As regards the waltzing character, von Guaita's experiments agree with Darbishire's in showing that it was always recessive to the normal. No individual in F1 [thus the first hybrid generation is designated] or in families produced by crossing F1 with the pure normal, waltzed. In Darbishire's experiments F1 x F1 [first hybrids mated] gave 8 waltzers in 37 offspring, indicating 1 in 4 as the probable average. From von Guaita's matings in the form DR x DR the totals of families were 117 normal and 21 waltzers…. There is therefore a large excess of normals over the expected 3 to 1. This is possibly due to the delicacy of the waltzers, which are certainly much more difficult to rear than normals are. The small number in von Guaita's litters makes it very likely that many were lost before such a character as this could be determined."

Bateson does not hazard a guess at the origin of the dancer, but merely remarks (5 p. 86) that the exact physiological basis of the dancing character is uncertain and the origin of this curious variation in behavior still more obscure. "Mouse fanciers have assured me," he continues, "that something like it may appear in strains inbred from the normal type, though I cannot find an indubitable case. Such an occurrence may be nothing but the appearance of a rare recessive form. Certainly it is not a necessary consequence of inbreeding, witness von Guaita's long series of inbred albinos." (von Guaita (17 p. 319) inbred for twenty-eight generations.)

From the foregoing survey of the available sources of information concerning the origin and history of the race of dancing mice the following important facts appear. There are four theories of the origin of the race: (1) origin by selectional breeding (Haacke, Zoth, Milne- Edwards); (2) origin through the inheritance of an acquired character (Kishi); (3) origin by mutation, inheritance, and selectional breeding (Saint Loup, Kammerer, Cyon); (4) origin by natural selection, and inheritance, favored by selectional breeding (Landois). Everything indicates that the race originated in China. It is fairly certain that individuals with a tendency to move in circles appear at rare intervals in races of common mice. It seems highly probable, in view of these facts, that the Chinese took advantage of a deviation from the usual form of behavior to develop by means of careful and patient selectional breeding a race of mice which is remarkable for its dancing. Even if it should be proved that the mutation as it appears among common mice is not inherited, the view that slight deviations were taken advantage of by the breeders would still be tenable. The dancing tendency is such in nature as to unfit an individual for the usual conditions of mouse existence, hence, in all probability human care alone could have produced and preserved the race of dancers.

In answer to the question, how and when did the race of dancers originate, it may be said that historical research indicates that a structural variation or mutation which occasionally appears in Mus musculus, and causes those peculiarities of movement which are known as dancing, has been preserved and accentuated through selectional breeding by the Chinese and Japanese, until finally a distinct race of mice which breeds true to the dance character has been established. The age of the race is not definitely known, but it is supposed to have existed for several centuries.

Biology - A lecture delivered at Columbia University in the series on Science Philosophy and Art November 20, 1907

I must at the outset remark that among the many sciences that are occupied with the study of the living world there is no one that may properly lay exclusive claim to the name of Biology. The word does not, in fact, denote any particular science but is a generic term applied to a large group of biological sciences all of which alike are concerned with the phenomena of life. To present in a single address, even in rudimentary outline, the specific results of these sciences is obviously an impossible task, and one that I have no intention of attempting. I shall offer no more than a kind of preface or introduction to those who will speak after me on the biological sciences of physiology, botany and zoology; and I shall confine it to what seem to me the most essential and characteristic of the general problems towards which all lines of biological inquiry must sooner or later converge.
It is the general aim of the biological sciences to learn something of the order of nature in the living world. Perhaps it is not amiss to remark that the biologist may not hope to solve the ultimate problems of life any more than the chemist and physicist may hope to penetrate the final mysteries of existence in the non-living world. What he can do is to observe, compare and experiment with phenomena, to resolve more complex phenomena into simpler components, and to this extent, as he says, to "explain" them; but he knows in advance that his explanations will [6]never be in the full sense of the word final or complete. Investigation can do no more than push forward the limits of knowledge.
The task of the biologist is a double one. His more immediate effort is to inquire into the nature of the existing organism, to ascertain in what measure the complex phenomena of life as they now appear are capable of resolution into simpler factors or components, and to determine as far as he can what is the relation of these factors to other natural phenomena. It is often practically convenient to consider the organism as presenting two different aspects—a structural or morphological one, and a functional or physiological—and biologists often call themselves accordingly morphologists or physiologists. Morphological investigation has in the past largely followed the method of observation and comparison, physiological investigation that of experiment; but it is one of the best signs of progress that in recent years the fact has come clearly into view that morphology and physiology are really inseparable, and in consequence the distinctions between them, in respect both to subject matter and to method, have largely disappeared in a greater community of aim. Morphology and physiology alike were profoundly transformed by the introduction into biological studies of the genetic or historical point of view by Darwin, who did more than any other to establish the fact, suspected by many earlier naturalists, that existing vital phenomena are the outcome of a definite process of evolution; and it was he who first fully brought home to us how defective and one-sided is our view of the organism so long as we do not consider it as a product of the past. It is the second and perhaps greater task of the biologist to study the organism from the historical point of view, considering it as the product of a continuous process of evolution that has been in operation since life began. [7]In its widest scope this genetic inquiry involves not only the evolution of higher forms from lower ones, but also the still larger question of the primordial relation of living things to the non-living world. Here is involved the possibility so strikingly expressed many years ago by Tyndall in that eloquent passage in the Belfast address, where he declared himself driven by an intellectual necessity to cross the boundary line of the experimental evidence and to discern in non-living matter, as he said, the promise and potency of every form and quality of terrestrial life. This intellectual necessity was created by a conviction of the continuity and consistency of natural phenomena, which is almost inseparable from the scientific attitude towards nature. But Tyndall's words stood after all for a confession of faith, not for a statement of fact; and they soared far above the terra firma of the actual evidence. At the present day we too may find ourselves logically driven to the view that living things first arose as a product of non-living matter. We must fully recognize the extraordinary progress that has been made by the chemist in the artificial synthesis of compounds formerly known only as the direct products of living protoplasm. But it must also be admitted that we are still wholly without evidence of the origin of any living thing, at any period of the earth's history, save from some other living thing; and after more than two centuries Redi's aphorism omne vivum e vivo retains to-day its full force. It is my impression therefore that the time has not yet come when hypotheses regarding a different origin of life can be considered as practically useful.
If I have the temerity to ask your attention to the fundamental problem towards which all lines of biological inquiry sooner or later lead us it is not with the delusion that I can contribute anything new to the prolonged discussions [8]and controversies to which it has given rise. I desire only to indicate in what way it affects the practical efforts of biologists to gain a better understanding of the living organism, whether regarded as a group of existing phenomena or as a product of the evolutionary process; and I shall speak of it, not in any abstract or speculative way, but from the standpoint of the working naturalist. The problem of which I speak is that of organic mechanism and its relation to that of organic adaptation. How in general are the phenomena of life related to those of the non-living world? How far can we profitably employ the hypothesis that the living body is essentially an automaton or machine, a configuration of material particles, which, like an engine or a piece of clockwork, owes its mode of operation to its physical and chemical construction? It is not open to doubt that the living body is a machine. It is a complex chemical engine that applies the energy of the food-stuffs to the performance of the work of life. But is it something more than a machine? If we may imagine the physico-chemical analysis of the body to be carried through to the very end, may we expect to find at last an unknown something that transcends such analysis and is neither a form of physical energy nor anything given in the physical or chemical configuration of the body? Shall we find anything corresponding to the usual popular conception—which was also along the view of physiologists—that the body is "animated" by a specific "vital principle," or "vital force," a dominating "archæus" that exists only in the realm of organic nature? If such a principle exists, then the mechanistic hypothesis fails and the fundamental problem of biology becomes a problem sui generis.
In its bearing on man's place in nature this question is one of the most momentous with which natural science has to deal, and it has occupied the attention of thinking men in every age. I cannot trace its history, but it will be [9]worth our while to place side by side the words of three of the great leaders of modern scientific and philosophic thought. The saying has been attributed to Descartes, "Give me matter and I will construct the world"—meaning by this the living world as well as the non-living; but Descartes specifically excepted the human mind. I do not know whether the great French philosopher actually used these particular words, but they express the essence of the mechanistic hypothesis that he adopted. Kant utterly repudiated such a conception in the following well known passage: "It is quite certain that we cannot become adequately acquainted with organized creatures and their hidden potentialities by means of the merely mechanical principles of nature, much less can we explain them; and this is so certain that we may boldly assert that it is absurd for man even to make such an attempt or to hope that a Newton may one day arise who will make the production of a blade of grass comprehensible to us according to natural laws that have not been ordered by design. Such an insight we must absolutely deny to man." Still, in another place Kant admitted that the facts of comparative anatomy give us "a ray of hope, however faint, that something may be accomplished by the aid of the principle of the mechanism of nature, without which there can be no science in general." It is interesting to turn from this to the bold and aggressive assertion of Huxley: "Living matter differs from other matter in degree and not in kind, the microcosm repeats the macrocosm; and one chain of causation connects the nebulous origin of suns and planetary systems with the protoplasmic foundations of life and organization."
Do not expect me to decide where such learned doctors disagree; but I will at this point venture on one comment which may sound the key-note of this address. Perhaps we shall find that in the long run and in the large sense [10]Kant was right; but it is certain that to-day we know very much more about the formation of the living body, whether a blade of grass or a man, than did the naturalists of Kant's time; and for better or for worse the human mind seems to be so constituted that it will continue its efforts to explain such matters, however difficult they may seem to be. But I return to our more specific inquiry with the remark that the history of physiology in the past two hundred years has been the history of a progressive restriction of the notion of a "vital force" or "vital principle" within narrower and narrower limits, until at present it may seem to many physiologists that no room for it remains within the limits of our biological philosophy. One after another the vital activities have been shown to be in greater or less degree explicable or comprehensible considered as physico-chemical operations of various degrees of complexity. Every physiologist will maintain that we cannot name one of these activities, not even thought, that is not carried on by a physical mechanism. He will maintain further that in most cases the vital actions are not merely accompanied by physico-chemical operations but actually consist of them; and he may go so far as definitely to maintain that we have no evidence that life itself can be regarded as anything more than their sum total. He is able to bring forward cogent evidence that all modes of vital activity are carried on by means of energy that is set free in protoplasm or its products by means of definite chemical processes collectively known as metabolism. When the matter is reduced to its lowest terms, life, as thus viewed, seems to have its root in chemical change; and we can understand how an eminent German physiologist offers us a definition or characterization of life that runs: "The life-process consists in the metabolism of proteids." I ask your particular attention to this definition since I now wish to contrast with it another and very different one.
[11]I shall introduce it to your attention by asking a very simple question. We may admit that digestion, for example, is a purely chemical operation, and one that may be exactly imitated outside the living body in a glass flask. My question is, how does it come to pass that an animal has a stomach?—and, pursuing the inquiry, how does it happen that the human stomach is practically incapable of digesting cellulose, while the stomachs of some lower animals, such as the goat, readily digest this substance? The earlier naturalists, such as Linnaeus, Cuvier or Agassiz, were ready with a reply which seemed so simple, adequate and final that the plodding modern naturalist cannot repress a feeling of envy. In their view plants and animals are made as they were originally created, each according to its kind. The biologist of to-day views the matter differently; and I shall give his answer in the form in which I now and then make it to a student who may chance to ask why an insect has six legs and a spider eight, or why a yellowbird is yellow and a bluebird blue. The answer is: "For the same reason that the elephant has a trunk." I trust that a certain rugged pedagogical virtue in this reply may atone for its lack of elegance. The elephant has a trunk, as the insect has six legs, for the reason that such is the specific nature of the animal; and we may assert with a degree of probability that amounts to practical certainty that this specific nature is the outcome of a definite evolutionary process, the nature and causes of which it is our tremendous task to determine to such extent as we may be able. But this does not yet touch the most essential side of the problem. What is most significant is that the clumsy, short-necked elephant has been endowed—"by nature," as we say—with precisely such an organ, the trunk, as he needs to compensate for his lack of flexibility and agility in other respects. If we are asked why the elephant has a trunk, we must answer because the animal [12]needs it. But does such a reply in itself explain the fact? Evidently not. The question which science must seek to answer, is how came the elephant to have a trunk; and we do not properly answer it by saying that it has developed in the course of evolution. It has been well said that even the most complete knowledge of the genealogy of plants and animals would give us no more than an ancestral portrait-gallery. We must determine the causes and conditions that have cooperated to produce this particular result if our answer is to constitute a true scientific explanation. And evidently he who adopts the machine-theory as a general interpretation of vital phenomena must make clear to us how the machine was built before we can admit the validity of his theory, even in a single case. Our apparently simple question as to why the animal has a stomach has thus revealed to us the full magnitude of the task with which the mechanist is confronted; and it has brought us to that part of our problem that is concerned with the nature and origin of organic adaptations. Without tarrying to attempt a definition of adaptation I will only emphasize the fact that many of the great naturalists, from Aristotle onward, have recognized the purposeful or design-like quality of vital phenomena as their most essential and fundamental characteristic. Herbert Spencer defined life as the continuous adjustment of internal relations to external relations. It is one of the best that has been given, though I am not sure that Professor Brooks has not improved upon it when he says that life is "response to the order of nature." This seems a long way from the definition of Verworn, heretofore cited, as the "metabolism of proteids." To this Brooks opposes the telling epigram: "The essence of life is not protoplasm but purpose."
Without attempting adequately to illustrate the nature of organic adaptations, I will direct your attention to what [13]seems to me one of their most striking features regarded from the mechanistic position. This is the fact that adaptations so often run counter to direct or obvious mechanical conditions. Nature is crammed with devices to protect and maintain the organism against the stress of the environment. Some of these are given in the obvious structure of the organism, such as the tendrils by means of which the climbing plant sustains itself against the action of gravity or the winds, the protective shell of the snail, the protective colors and shapes of animals, and the like. Any structural feature that is useful because of its construction is a structural adaptation; and when such adaptations are given the mechanist has for the most part a relatively easy task in his interpretation. He has a far more difficult knot to disentangle in the case of the so-called functional adaptations, where the organism modifies its activities (and often also its structure) in response to changed conditions. The nature of these phenomena may be illustrated by a few examples so chosen as to form a progressive series. If a spot on the skin be rubbed for some time the first result is a direct and obviously mechanical one; the skin is worn away. But if the rubbing be continued long enough, and is not too severe, an indirect effect is produced that is precisely the opposite of the initial direct one; the skin is replaced, becomes thicker than before, and a callus is produced that protects the spot from further injury. The healing of a wound involves a similar action. Again, remove one kidney or one lung and the remaining one will in time enlarge to assume, as far as it is able, the functions of both. If the leg of a salamander or a lobster be amputated, the wound not only heals but a new leg is regenerated in place of that which has been lost. If a flatworm be cut in two, the front piece grows out a new tail, the hind piece a new head, and two perfect worms result. Finally, it has been found in certain cases, including animals as highly organized as [14]salamanders, that if the egg be separated into two parts at an early period of development each part develops into a perfect embryo animal of half the usual size, and a pair of twins results. In each of these cases the astonishing fact is that a mechanical injury sets up in the organism a complicated adaptive response in the form of operations which in the end counteract the initial mechanical effect. It is no doubt true that somewhat similar self-adjustments or responses may be said to take place in certain non-living mechanical systems, such as the spinning top or the gyroscope; but those that occur in the living body are of such general occurrence, of such complexity and variety, and of so design-like a quality, that they may fairly be regarded as among the most characteristic of the vital activities. It is precisely this characteristic of many vital phenomena that renders their accurate analysis so difficult and complex a task; and it is largely for this reason that the biological sciences, as a whole, still stand far behind the physical sciences, both in precision and in completeness of analysis.
What is the actual working attitude of naturalists towards the general problem that I have endeavored to outline? It would be a piece of presumption for me to speak for the body of working biologists, and I will therefore speak for only one of them. It is my own conviction that whatever be the difficulties that the mechanistic hypothesis has to face, it has established itself as the most useful working hypothesis that we can at present employ. I do not mean to assert that it is adequate, or even true. I believe only that we should make use of it as a working program, because the history of biological research proves it to have been a more effective and fruitful means of advancing knowledge than the vitalistic hypothesis. We should therefore continue to employ it for this purpose until it is clearly shown to be untenable. Whether [15]we must in the end adopt it will depend on whether it proves the simplest hypothesis in the large sense, the one most in harmony with our knowledge of nature in general. If such is the outcome, we shall be bound by a deeply lying instinct that is almost a law of our intellectual being to accept it, as we have accepted the Copernican system rather than the Ptolemaic. I believe I am right in saying that the attitude I have indicated as a more or less personal one is also that of the body of working biologists, though there are some conspicuous exceptions.
In endeavoring to illustrate how this question actually affects research I will offer two illustrative cases, one of which may indicate the fruitfulness of the mechanistic conception in the analysis of complex and apparently mysterious phenomena, the other the nature of the difficulties that have in recent years led to attempts to re-establish the vitalistic view. The first example is given by the so-called law or principle of Mendel in heredity. The principle revealed by Mendel's wonderful discovery is not shown in all the phenomena of heredity and is probably of more or less limited application. It possesses however a profound significance because it gives almost a demonstration that a definite, and perhaps a relatively simple, mechanism must lie behind the phenomena of heredity in general. Hereditary characters that conform to this law undergo combinations, disassociations and recombinations which in certain way suggest those that take place in chemical reactions; and like the latter they conform to definite quantitative rules that are capable of arithmetical formulation. This analogy must not be pressed too far; for chemical reactions are individually definite and fixed, while those of the hereditary characters involve a fortuitous element of such a nature that the numerical result is not fixed or constant in the individual case but follows the law of probability in the aggregate of individuals. Nevertheless, it is possible, and [16]has already become the custom, to designate the hereditary organization by symbols or formulas that resemble those of the chemist in that they imply the quantitative results of heredity that follow the union of compounds of known composition. Quantitative prediction—not precisely accurate, but in accordance with the law of probability—has thus become possible to the biological experimenter on heredity. I will give one example of such a prediction made by Professor Cuénot in experimenting on the heredity of color in mice (see the following table). The experiment extended through three generations. Of the four grandparents three were pure white albinos, identical in outward appearance, but of different hereditary capacity, while the fourth was a pure black mouse. The first pair of grandparents consisted of an albino of gray ancestry, AG, and one of black ancestry, AB. The second pair consisted of an albino of yellow ancestry, AY, and a black mouse, CB. The result of the first union, AG x AB is to produce again pure white mice of the composition AGAB. The second union, AY x CB is to produce mice that appear pure yellow, and have the formula AYCB. What, now, [17]will be the result of uniting the two forms thus produced—i.e. AGAB × AYCB? Cuénot's prediction was that they should yield eight different kinds of mice, of which four should be white, two yellow, one black and one gray. The actual aggregate result of such unions, repeatedly performed, compared with the theoretic expectation, is shown in the foregoing table. As will be seen, the correspondence, though close, is not absolutely exact, yet is near enough to prove the validity of the principle on which the prediction was based, and we may be certain that had a much larger number of these mice been reared the correspondence would have been still closer. I have purposely selected a somewhat complicated example, and time will not admit of a full explanation of the manner in which this particular result was reached. I will however attempt to give an indication of the general Mendelian principle by means of which predictions of this kind are made. This principle appears in its simplest form in the behavior of two contrasting characters of the same general type—for instance two colors, such as gray and white in mice. If two animals, which show respectively two such characters are bred together, only one of the characters (known as the "dominant") appears in the offspring, while the other (known as the "recessive") disappears from view. In the next generation, obtained by breeding these hybrids together, both characters appear separately and in a definite ratio, there being in the long run three individuals that show the dominant character to one that shows the recessive. Thus, in the case of gray and white mice, the first cross is always gray, while the next generation includes three grays to one white. This is the fundamental Mendelian ratio for a single pair of characters; and from it may readily be deduced the more complicated combinations that appear when two or more pairs of characters are considered together. Such combinations appear in definite series, the nature of which may be worked out by [18]a simple method of binomial expansion. By the use of this principle astonishingly accurate numerical predictions may be made, even of rather complex combinations; and furthermore, new combinations may be, and have been, artificially produced, the number, character and hereditary capacity of which are known in advance. The fundamental ratio for a single pair of characters is explained by a very simple assumption. When a dominant and a recessive character are associated in a hybrid, the two must undergo in some sense a disjunction or separation in the formation of the germ-cells of the hybrid. This takes place in a quite definite way, exactly half the germ-cells in each sex receiving the potentiality of the dominant character, the other half the potentiality of the recessive. This is roughly expressed by saying that the germ-cells are no longer hybrid, like the body in which they arise, but bear one character or the other; and although in a technical sense this is probably not precisely accurate, it will sufficiently answer our purpose. If, now, it be assumed that fertilization takes place fortuitously—that is that union is equally probable between germ-cells bearing the same character and those bearing opposite characters,—the observed numerical ratio in the following generation follows according to the law of probability. Thus is explained both the fortuitous element that differentiates these cases from exact chemical combinations, and the definite numerical relations that appear in the aggregate of individuals.

Grandparents AG (white) AB (white) AY (white) CB (black)
                 
                 
Parents   AGAB (white)     AYCB (yellow)  
                 
              Observed Calculated
      { AGAY
ABAY
AGAB
ABAB
}
} (White)
}
  81   76
      {
      {
Offspring     {
    { AGCY
ABCY
} (Yellow)   34   38
      {
      { ABCB    (Black)   20   19
      { AGCB    (Gray)   16   19
              151 152

Now, the point that I desire to emphasize is that one or two very simple mechanistic assumptions give a luminously clear explanation of the behavior of the hereditary characters according to Mendel's law, and at one stroke bring order out of the chaos in which facts of this kind at first sight seem to be. Not less significant is the fact that direct microscopical investigation is actually revealing in the germ-cells a physical mechanism that seems adequate [19]to explain the disjunction of characters on which Mendel's law depends; and this mechanism probably gives us also at least a key to the long standing riddle of the determination and heredity of sex. These phenomena are therefore becoming intelligible from the mechanistic point of view. From any other they appear as an insoluble enigma. When such progress as this is being made, have we not a right to believe that we are employing a useful working hypothesis?
But let us now turn to a second example that will illustrate a class of phenomena which have thus far almost wholly eluded all attempts to explain them. The one that I select is at present one of the most enigmatical cases known, namely, the regeneration of the lens of the eye in the tadpoles of salamanders. If the lens be removed from the eye of a young tadpole, the animal proceeds to manufacture a new one to take its place, and the eye becomes as perfect as before. That such a process should take place at all is remarkable enough; but from a technical point of view this is not the extraordinary feature of the case. What fills the embryologist with astonishment is the fact that the new lens is not formed in the same way or from the same material as the old one. In the normal development of the tadpole from the egg, as in all other vertebrate animals, the lens is formed from the outer skin or ectoderm of the head. In the replacement of the lens after removal it arises from the cells of the iris, which form the edge of the optic cup, and this originates in the embryo not from the outer skin but as an outgrowth from the brain. As far as we can see, neither the animal itself nor any of its ancestors can have had experience of such a process. How, then, can such a power have been acquired, and how does it inhere in the structure of the organism? If the process of repair be due to some kind of intelligent action, as some naturalists have supposed, why should not the higher [20]animals and man possess a similar useful capacity? To these questions biology can at present give no reply. In the face of such a case the mechanist must simply confess himself for the time being brought to a standstill; and there are some able naturalists who have in recent years argued that by the very nature of the case such phenomena are incapable of a rational explanation along the lines of a physico-chemical or mechanistic analysis. These writers have urged, accordingly, that we must postulate in the living organism some form of controlling or regulating agency which does not lie in its physico-chemical configuration and is not a form of physical energy—something that may be akin to a form of intelligence (conscious or unconscious), and to which the physical energies are in some fashion subject. To this supposed factor in the vital processes have been applied such terms as the "entelechy" (from Aristotle), or the "psychoid"; and some writers have even employed the word "soul" in this sense—though this technical and limited use of the word should not be confounded with the more usual and general one with which we are familiar. Views of this kind represent a return, in some measure, to earlier vitalistic conceptions, but differ from the latter in that they are an outcome of definite and exact experimental work. They are therefore often spoken of collectively as "neo-vitalism."
It is not my purpose to enter upon a detailed critique of this doctrine. To me it seems not to be science, but either a kind of metaphysics or an act of faith. I must own to complete inability to see how our scientific understanding of the matter is in any way advanced by applying such names as "entelechy" or "psychoid" to the unknown factors of the vital activities. They are words that have been written into certain spaces that are otherwise blank in our record of knowledge, and as far as I can see no more than this. It is my impression that we shall do [21]better as investigators of natural phenomena frankly to admit that they stand for matters that we do not yet understand, and continue our efforts to make them known. And have we any other way of doing this than by observation, experiment, comparison and the resolution of more complex phenomena into simpler components? I say again, with all possible emphasis, that the mechanistic hypothesis or machine-theory of living beings is not fully established, that it may not be adequate or even true; yet I can only believe that until every other possibility has realty been exhausted scientific biologists should hold fast to the working program that has created the sciences of biology. The vitalistic hypothesis may be held, and is held, as a matter of faith; but we cannot call it science without misuse of the word.
When we turn, finally, to the genetic or historical part of our task, we find ourselves confronted with precisely the same general problem as in case of the existing organism. Biological investigators have long since ceased to regard the fact of organic evolution as open to serious discussion. The transmutation of species is not an hypothesis or assumption, it is a fact accurately observed in our laboratories; and the theory of evolution is only questioned in the same very general way in which all the great generalizations of science are held open to modification as knowledge advances. But it is a very large question what has caused and determined evolution. Here, too, the fundamental problem is, how far the process may be mechanically explicable or comprehensible, how far it is susceptible of formulation in physico-chemical or mechanistic terms. The most essential part of this problem relates to the origin of organic adaptations, the production of the fit. With Kant, Cuvier and Linnaeus believed this problem scientifically insoluble. Lamarck attempted to find a solution in his theory of the [22]inheritance of the effects of use, disuse and other "acquired characters"; but his theory was insecurely based and also begged the question, since the power of adaptation through which use, disuse and the like produce their effects is precisely that which must be explained. Darwin believed he had found a partial solution in his theory of natural selection, and he was hailed by Haeckel as the biological Newton who had set at naught the obiter dictum of Kant. But Darwin himself did not consider natural selection as an adequate explanation, since he called to its aid the subsidiary hypotheses of sexual selection and the inheritance of acquired characters. If I correctly judge, the first of these hypotheses must be considered as of limited application if it is not seriously discredited, while the second can at best receive the Scotch verdict, not proven. In any case, natural selection must fight its own battles.
Latter day biologists have come to see clearly that the inadequacy of natural selection lies in its failure to explain the origin of the fit; and Darwin himself recognized clearly enough that it is not an originative or creative principle. It is only a condition of survival, and hence a condition of progress. But whether we conceive with Darwin that selection has acted mainly upon slight individual variations, or with DeVries that it has operated with larger and more stable mutations, any adequate general theory of evolution must explain the origin of the fit. Now, under the theory of natural selection, pure and simple, adaptation or fitness has a merely casual or accidental character. In itself the fit has no more significance than the unfit. It is only one out of many possibilities of change, and evolution by natural selection resolves itself into a series of lucky accidents. For Agassiz or Cuvier the fit is that which was designed to fit. For natural selection, pure and simple, the fit is that which happens to fit. I, for one, am [23]unable to find a logical flaw in this conception of the fit; and perhaps we may be forced to accept it as sufficient. But I believe that naturalists do not yet rest content with it. Darwin himself was repeatedly brought to a standstill, not merely by specific difficulties in the application of his theory, but also by a certain instinctive or temperamental dissatisfaction with such a general conclusion as the one I have indicated; and many able naturalists feel the same difficulty to-day. Whether this be justified or not, it is undoubtedly the fact that few working naturalists feel convinced that the problem of organic evolution has been fully solved. One of the questions with which research is seriously engaged is whether variations or mutations are indeterminate, as Darwin on the whole believed, or whether they may be in greater or less degree determinate, proceeding along definite lines as if impelled by a vis a tergo. The theory of "orthogenesis," proposed by Naegeli and Eimer, makes the latter assumption; and it has found a considerable number of adherents among recent biological investigators, including some of our own colleagues, who have made important contributions to the investigation of this fundamental question. It is too soon to venture a prediction as to the ultimate result. That evolution has been orthogenetic in the case of certain groups, seems to be well established, but many difficulties stand in the way of its acceptance as a general principle of explanation. The uncertainty that still hangs over this question and that of the heredity of acquired characters bears witness to the unsettled state of opinion regarding the whole problem, and to the inadequacy of the attempts thus far made to find its consistent and adequate solution.
Here, too, accordingly, we find ourselves confronted with wide gaps in our knowledge which open the way to vitalistic or transcendental theories of development. I think we should resist the temptation to seek such refuge. It is [24]more than probable that there are factors of evolution still unknown. We can but seek for them. Nothing is more certain than that life and the evolution of life are natural phenomena. We must approach them, and as far as I can see must attempt to analyze them, by the same methods that are employed in the study of other natural phenomena. The student of nature can do no more than strive towards the truth. When he does not find the whole truth there is but one gospel for his salvation—still to strive towards the truth. He knows that each forward step on the highway of discovery will bring to view a new horizon of regions still unknown. It will be an ill day for science when it can find no more fields to conquer. And so, if you ask whether I look to a day when we shall know the whole truth in regard to organic mechanism and organic evolution, I answer: No! But let us go forward.

FUNDAMENTAL PRINCIPLES OF LANGUAGE - LECTURE II

All language depends on two general principles.

First. The fixed and unvarying laws of nature which regulate matter and mind.

Second. The agreement of those who use it.

In accordance with these principles all language must be explained. It is not only needless but impossible for us to deviate from them. They remain the same in all ages and in all countries. It should be the object of the grammarian, and of all who employ language in the expression of ideas, to become intimately acquainted with their use.

It is the business of grammar to explain, not only verbal language, but also the sublime principles upon which all written or spoken language depends. It forms an important part of physical and mental science, which, correctly explained, is abundantly simple and extensively useful in its application to the affairs of human life and the promotion of human enjoyment.

[22] It will not be contended that we are assuming a position beyond the capacities of learners, that the course here adopted is too philosophic. Such is not the fact. Children are philosophers by nature. All their ideas are derived from things as presented to their observations. No mother learns her child to lisp the name of a thing which has no being, but she chooses objects with which it is most familiar, and which are most constantly before it; such as father, mother, brother, sister.

She constantly points to the object named, that a distinct impression may be made upon its mind, and the thing signified, the idea of the thing, and the name which represents it, are all inseparably associated together. If the father is absent, the child may think of him from the idea or impression which his person and affection has produced in the mind. If the mother pronounces his name with which it has become familiar, the child will start, look about for the object, or thing signified by the name, father, and not being able to discover him, will settle down contented with the idea of him deeply impressed on the mind, and as distinctly understood as if the father was present in person. So with every thing else.

Again, after the child has become familiar with the name of the being called father; the name, idea and object itself being intimately associated the mother will next begin to teach it another lesson; following most undeviatingly the course which nature and true philosophy mark out. The father comes and goes, is present or absent. She says on his return, father come, and the little one looks round to see the thing signified by the word father, the idea of which is distinctly impressed on the mind, and which it now sees present before it. But this loved object has not always been [23] here. It had looked round and called for the father. But the mother had told it he was gone. Father gone, father come, is her language, and here the child begins to learn ideas of actions. Of this it had, at first, no notion whatever, and never thought of the father except when his person was present before it, for no impressions had been distinctly made upon the mind which could be called up by a sound of which it could have no conceptions whatever. Now that it has advanced so far, the idea of the father is retained, even tho he is himself absent, and the child begins to associate the notion of coming and going with his presence or absence. Following out this course the mind becomes acquainted with things and actions, or the changes which things undergo.

Next, the mother begins to learn her offspring the distinction and qualities of things. When the little sister comes to it in innocent playfulness the mother says, "good sister," and with the descriptive word good it soon begins to associate the quality expressed by the affectionate regard, of its sister. But when that sister strikes the child, or pesters it in any way, the mother says "naughty sister," "bad sister." It soon comprehends the descriptive words, good and bad, and along with them carries the association of ideas which such conduct produces. In the same way it learns to distinguish the difference between great and small, cold and hot, hard and soft.

In this manner the child becomes acquainted with the use of language. It first becomes acquainted with things, the idea of which is left upon the mind, or, more properly, the impression of which, left on the mind, constitutes the idea; and a vocabulary of words are learned, which represent these ideas, from which it may select those best calcu[24]lated to express its meaning whenever a conversation is had with another.

You will readily perceive the correctness of our first proposition, that all language depends on the fixed and unerring laws of nature. Things exist. A knowledge of them produces ideas in the mind, and sounds or signs are adopted as vehicles to convey these ideas from one to another.

It would be absurd and ridiculous to suppose that any person, however great, or learned, or wise, could employ language correctly without a knowledge of the things expressed by that language. No matter how chaste his words, how lofty his phrases, how sweet the intonations, or mellow the accents. It would avail him nothing if ideas were not represented thereby. It would all be an unknown tongue to the hearer or reader. It would not be like the loud rolling thunder, for that tells the wondrous power of God. It would not be like the soft zephyrs of evening, the radiance of the sun, the twinkling of the stars; for they speak the intelligible language of sublimity itself, and tell of the kindness and protection of our Father who is in heaven. It would not be like the sweet notes of the choral songsters of the grove, for they warble hymns of gratitude to God; not like the boding of the distant owl, for that tells the profound solemnity of night; not like the hungry lion roaring for his prey, for that tells of death and plunder; not like the distant notes of the clarion, for that tells of blood and carnage, of tears and anguish, of widowhood and orphanage. It can be compared to nothing but a Babel of confusion in which their own folly is worse confounded. And yet, I am sorry to say it, the languages of all ages and nations have been too frequently perverted, and compiled into [25] a heterogeneous mass of abstruse, metaphysical volumes, whose only recommendation is the elegant bindings in which they are enclosed.

And grammars themselves, whose pretended object is to teach the rules of speaking and writing correctly, form but a miserable exception to this sweeping remark. I defy any grammarian, author, or teacher of the numberless systems, which come, like the frogs of Egypt, all of one genus, to cover the land, to give a reasonable explanation of even the terms they employ to define their meaning, if indeed, meaning they have. What is meant by an "in-definite article," a dis-junctive con-junction, an ad-verb which qualifies an adjective, and "sometimes another ad-verb?" Such "parts of speech" have no existence in fact, and their adoption in rules of grammar, have been found exceedingly mischievous and perplexing. "Adverbs and conjunctions," and "adverbial phrases," and "conjunctive expressions," may serve as common sewers for a large and most useful class of words, which the teachers of grammar and lexicographers have been unable to explain; but learners will gain little information by being told that such is an adverbial phrase, and such, a conjunctive expression. This is an easy method, I confess, a sort of wholesale traffic, in parsing (passing) language, and may serve to cloak the ignorance of the teachers and makers of grammars. But it will reflect little light on the principles of language, or prove very efficient helps to "speak or write with propriety." Those who think, will demand the meaning of these words, and the reason of their use. When that is ascertained, little difficulty will be found in giving them a place in the company of respectable words. But I am digressing. More shall be said upon this point in a future lecture, and in its proper place.

[26] I was endeavoring to establish the position that all language depends upon permanent principles; that words are the signs of ideas, and ideas are the impressions of things communicated to the mind thro the medium of some one of the five senses. I think I have succeeded so far as simple material things are concerned, to the satisfaction of all who have heard me. It may, perhaps, be more difficult for me to explain the words employed to express complex ideas, and things of immateriality, such as mind, and its attributes. But the rules previously adopted will, I apprehend, apply with equal ease and correctness in this case; and we shall have cause to admire the simple yet sublime foundation upon which the whole superstructure of language is based.

In pursuing this investigation I shall endeavor to avoid all abstruse and metaphysical reasoning, present no wild conjectures, or vain hypotheses; but confine myself to plain, common place matter of fact. We have reason to rejoice that a wonderful improvement in the science and cultivation of the mind has taken place in these last days; that we are no longer puzzled with the strange phantoms, the wild speculations which occupied the giant minds of a Descartes, a Malebranch, a Locke, a Reid, a Stewart, and hosts of others, whose shining talents would have qualified them for the brightest ornaments of literature, real benefactors of mankind, had not their education lead them into dark and metaphysical reasonings, a continued tissue of the wildest vagaries, in which they became entangled, till, at length, they were entirely lost in the labyrinth of their own conjectures.

The occasion of all their difficulty originated in an attempt to investigate the faculties of the mind without any means of getting at it. They did not content themselves with an adoption of the principles which lay at the foundation of all [27] true philosophy, viz., that the facts to be accounted for, do exist; that truth is eternal, and we are to become acquainted with it by the means employed for its development. They quitted the world of materiality they inhabited, refused to examine the development of mind as the effect of an existing cause; and at one bold push, entered the world of thought, and made the unhallowed attempt to reason, a priori, concerning things which can only be known by their manifestations. But they soon found themselves in a strange land, confused with sights and sounds unknown, in the explanation of which they, of course, choose terms as unintelligible to their readers, as the ideal realities were to them. This course, adopted by Aristotle, has been too closely followed by those who have come after him.[2] But a new era has dawned upon the philosophy of the mind, and a corresponding change in the method of inculcating the principles of language must follow.[3]

In all our investigations we must take things as we find [28] them, and account for them as far as we can. It would be a thankless task to attempt a change of principles in any thing. That would be an encroachment of the Creator's rights. It belongs to mortals to use the things they have as not abusing them; and to Deity to regulate the laws by which those things are governed. And that man is the wisest, the truest philosopher, and brightest Christian, who acquaints himself with those laws as they do exist in the regulation of matter and mind, in the promotion of physical and moral enjoyment, and endeavors to conform to them in all his thoughts and actions.

From this apparent digression you will at once discover our object. We must not endeavor to change the principles of language, but to understand and explain them; to ascertain, as far as possible, the actions of the mind in obtaining ideas, and the use of language in expressing them. We may not be able to make our sentiments understood; but if they are not, the fault will originate in no obscurity in the facts themselves, but in our inability either to understand them or the words employed in their expression. Having been in the habit of using words with either no meaning or a wrong one, it may be difficult to comprehend the subject of which they treat. A man may have a quantity of sulphur, charcoal, and nitre, but it is not until he learns their properties and combinations that he can make gunpowder. Let us then adopt a careful and independent course of reasoning, resolved to meddle with nothing we do not understand, and to use no words until we know their meaning.

A complex idea is a combination of several simple ones, as a tree is made up of roots, a trunk, branches, twigs, and leaves. And these again may be divided into the wood, [29] the bark, the sap, &c. Or we may employ the botanical terms, and enumerate its external and internal parts and qualities; the whole anatomy and physiology, as well as variety and history of trees of that species, and show its characteristic distinctions; for the mind receives a different impression on looking at a maple, a birch, a poplar, a tamarisk, a sycamore, or hemlock. In this way complex ideas are formed, distinct in their parts, but blended in a common whole; and, in conformity with the law regulating language, words, sounds or signs, are employed to express the complex whole, or each distinctive part. The same may be said of all things of like character. But this idea I will illustrate more at large before the close of this lecture.

First impressions are produced by a view of material things, as we have already seen; and the notion of action is obtained from a knowledge of the changes these things undergo. The idea of quality and definition is produced by contrast and comparison. Children soon learn the difference between a sweet apple and a sour one, a white rose and a red one, a hard seat and a soft one, harmonious sounds and those that are discordant, a pleasant smell and one that is disagreeable. As the mind advances, the application is varied, and they speak of a sweet rose, changing from taste and sight to smell, of a sweet song, of a hard apple, &c. According to the qualities thus learned, you may talk to them intelligibly of the sweetness of an apple, the color of a rose, the hardness of iron, the harmony of sounds, the smell or scent of things which possess that quality. As these agree or disagree with their comfort, they will call them good or bad, and speak of the qualities of goodness and badness, as if possessed by the thing itself.

[30] In this apparently indiscriminate use of words, the ideas remain distinct; and each sign or object calls them up separately and associates them together, till, at length, in the single object is associated all the ideas entertained of its size, qualities, relations, and affinities.

In this manner, after long, persevering toil, principles of thought are fixed, and a foundation laid for the whole course of future thinking and speaking. The ideas become less simple and distinct. Just as fast as the mind advances in the knowledge of things, language keeps pace with the ideas, and even goes beyond them, so that in process of time a single term will not unfrequently represent a complexity of ideas, one of which will signify a whole combination of things.

On the other hand, there are many instances where the single declaration of a fact may convey to the untutored mind, a single thought or nearly so, when the better cultivated will take into the account the whole process by which it is effected. To illustrate: a man killed a deer. Here the boy would see and imagine more than he is yet fully able to comprehend. He will see the obvious fact that the man levels his musket, the gun goes off with a loud report, and the deer falls and dies. How this is all produced he does not understand, but knowing the fact he asserts the single truth—the man killed the deer. As the child advances, he will learn that the sentence conveys to the mind more than he at first perceived. He now understands how it was accomplished. The man had a gun. Then he must go back to the gunsmith and see how it was made, thence back to the iron taken from its bed, and wrought into bars; all the processes by which it is brought into the shape of a gun, the tools and machinery employed; the wood for the stock, [31] its quality and production; the size, form and color of the lock, the principle upon which it moves; the flint, the effect produced by a collision with the steel, or a percussion cap, and its composition; till he finds a single gun in the hands of a man. The man is present with this gun. The motives which brought him here; the movements of his limbs, regulated by the determinations of the mind, and a thousand other such thoughts, might be taken into the account. Then the deer, his size, form, color, manner of living, next may claim a passing thought. But I need not enlarge. Here they both stand. The man has just seen the deer. As quick as thought his eye passes over the ground, sees the prey is within proper distance, takes aim, pulls the trigger, that loosens a spring, which forces the flint against the steel; this produces a spark, which ignites the charcoal, and the sulphur and nitre combined, explode and force the wad, which forces the ball from the gun, and is borne thro the air till it reaches the deer, enters his body by displacing the skin and flesh, deranges the animal functions, and death ensues. The whole and much more is expressed in the single phrase, "a man killed a deer."

It would be needless for me to stop here, and examine all the operations of the mind in coming at this state of knowledge. That is not the object of the present work. Such a duty belongs to another treatise, which may some day be undertaken, on logic and the science of the mind. The hint here given will enable you to perceive how the mind expands, and how language keeps pace with every advancing step, and, also, how combinations are made from simple things, as a house is made of timber, boards, shingles, nails, and paints; or of bricks, stone, and mortar; as the case may be, and when completed, a single term may express [32] the idea, and you speak of a wood, or a brick house. Following this suggestion, by tracing the operations of the mind in the young child, or your own, very minutely, in the acquisition of any knowledge before wholly unknown to you, as a new language, or a new science; botany, mineralogy, chemistry, or phrenology; you will readily discover how the mind receives new impressions of things, and a new vocabulary is adopted to express the ideas formed of plants, minerals, chemical properties, and the development of the capacities of the mind as depending on material organs; how these things are changed and combined; and how their existence and qualities, changes and combinations, are expressed by words, to be retained, or conveyed to other minds.

But suppose you talk to a person wholly unacquainted with these things, will he understand you? Talk to him of stamens, pistils, calyxes; of monandria, diandria, triandria; of gypsum, talc, calcareous spar, quartz, topaz, mica, garnet, pyrites, hornblende, augite, actynolite; of hexahedral, prismatic, rhomboidal, dodecahedral; of acids and alkalies; of oxygen, hydrogen, nitrogen and carbon; of the configuration of the brain, and its relative powers; do all this, and what will he know of your meaning? So of all science. Words are to be understood from the things they are employed to represent. You may as well talk to a man in the hebrew, chinese, or choctaw languages, as in our own, if he does not know what is signified by the words selected as the medium of thought.

Your language may be most pure, perfect, full of meaning, but you cannot make yourself understood till your hearers can look thro your signs to the things signified. You may as well present before them a picture of nothing.

The great fault in the popular system of education is [33] easily accounted for, particularly in reference to language. Children are taught to study signs without looking at the thing signified. In this way they are mere copyists, and the mind can never expand so as to make them independent, original thinkers. In fact, they can, in this way, never learn to reason well or employ language correctly; no more than a painter can be successful in his art, by merely looking at the pictures of others without having ever seen the originals. A good artist is a close observer of nature. So children should be left free to examine and reflect, and the signs will then serve their proper use—the means of acquiring the knowledge of things. In vain you may give a scholar a knowledge of the Hebrew, Greek, or Latin, learn him to translate with rapidity or speak our own language fluently. If he has not thereby learned the knowledge of things signified by such language, he is, in principle, advanced no farther than the parrot which says "pretty poll, pretty poll."

I am happy, however, in the consideration that a valuable change is taking place in this respect. Geography is no longer taught on the old systems, but maps are given to represent more vividly land and water, rivers, islands, and mountains. The study of arithmetic, chemistry, and nearly all the sciences have been materially improved within a few years. Grammar alone remains in quiet possession of its unquestioned authority. Its nine "parts of speech," its three genders, its three cases, its half dozen kinds of pronouns, and as many moods and tenses, have rarely been disquieted. A host of book makers have fondled around them, but few have dared molest them, finding them so snugly ensconced under the sanctity of age, and the venerated opinions of learned and good men. Of the [34] numberless attempts to simplify grammar, what has been the success? Wherein do modern "simplifiers" differ from Murray? and he was only a compiler! They have all discovered his errors. But who has corrected them? They have all deviated somewhat from his manner. But what is that but saying, that with all his grammatical knowledge, he could not explain his own meaning?

All the trouble originates in this; the rules of grammar have not been sought for where they are only to be found, in the laws that govern matter and thought. Arbitrary rules have been adopted which will never apply in practice, except in special cases, and the attempt to bind language down to them is as absurd as to undertake to chain thought, or stop the waters of Niagara with a straw. Language will go on, and keep pace with the mind, and grammar should explain it so as to be correctly understood.

I wish you to keep these principles distinctly in view all thro my remarks, that you may challenge every position I assume till proved to be correct—till you distinctly understand it and definite impressions are made upon your minds. In this way you will discover a beauty and perfection in language before unknown; its rules will be found few and simple, holding with most unyielding tenacity to the sublime principles upon which they depend; and you will have reason to admire the works and adore the character of the great Parent Intellect, whose presence and protection pervade all his works and regulate the laws of matter and mind. You will feel yourselves involuntarily filled with sentiments of gratitude for the gift of mind, its affections, powers, and means of operation and communication, and resolved more than ever to employ these faculties in human improvement and the advancement of general happiness.