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THE SHORT CUT

To a Complete Knowledge of what is being said on all.....
THE GREAT TOPICS OF THE DAY

THE OLD WAY

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Walker Prizes in Natural History.

The Boston Society of Natural History offers a first prize of from $60 to $100 and a second prize of a sum not exceeding $5), for the best memoirs, in English, on the following subject: CONTRIBUTIONS TO OUR KNOWLEDGE OF THE LIFE-HISTORY OF ANY PLANT OR ANIMAL.

1892. scribed by a motte corresponding to one borne by

The American Geologist for 1892.

Edited by PROF. S. CALVIN, University of Iowa; DR. E. W. CLAYPOLE, Buchtel College; JOHN EYERMAN, Lafayette College; DR. PERSIFOR FRAZER, Penn. Hort. Soc.; PROF. F. W. CRAGIN, Colorado College; PROF. ROB'T T. HILL, U. S. Irrigation Survey; DR. ANDREW C. LAWSON. University of California; R. D. SALISBURY, University of Wisconsin; JOSEPH B. TYRRELL, Geol. Sur. of Canada; E. O. ULRICH, Minnesot a Geological Survey: PROF. I. C. WHITE, University of West Virginia; PROF. N. H. WINCHELL, University of Minnesota. Now in its IXth volume. $3 50 per year. Sample copies, 20 cents. Address

THE GEOLOGICAL PUBLISHING CO., Minneapolis, Minn.

THE

Each memoir must be accompanied by a sealed envelope, enclosing the author's name and superthe manuscript, and must be handed to the Secretary on or before April 1, 1893.

Prizes will not be awarded unless the memoirs are deemed of adequate merit.

For further particulars apply to

SAMUEL HENSHAW, Secretary. BOSTON, July 26, 1892.

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NEW YORK, AUGUST 26, 1892.

IS THERE A SENSE OF DIRECTION?

BY J. N. HALL, M.D.

ALTHOUGH it seems to me beyond dispute that among the lower animals there is an instinct which teaches them to find their way to a given point regardless of darkness or of previous knowledge of the locality, I do not believe, as I formerly did, that man possesses a similar sense, if we may so term it. I believe that man's ability to find his way to a given point is dependent solely upon a habit of observation, almost unconscious, to be sure, in many cases, but necessary to the end in view. I shall not discuss the truth or falsity of the ingenious theory advanced a few years ago, that the pineal gland in the brain is the seat of such a sense in animals, and that they find their way by means of some perception by this portion of the brain of the direction of terrestrial electric currents. All reasonable men, I believe, are satisfied that animals have this ability to find their way. Thus, most of us are familiar with instances in which a cat, for example, has been taken in a box or satchel for ten, twenty, or even fifty miles from home, and has returned in such an incredibly short time that we may be certain she has travelled by the most direct route. Carrier pigeons transported in closed cars or in ships have no difficulty in determining their direction of flight, even when liberated out of sight of land. I have repeatedly, when in doubt as to my direction upon a prairie without roads or paths, given my pony his reins, as riders commonly do in such circumstances, and never yet knew one to come out at the wrong place. The cowboys of this region make it a rule to pick for night-herding well-broken horses that are known to be anxious to reach camp when given the reins. Such ponies, even if obliged to follow the herd away from camp for several miles, will find their way back in safety in spite of the darkness. This selection of certain horses for night-work does not in the least vitiate our conclusion. They are not chosen for their power of finding their way back, but for their known inclination to do so. Even these horses sometimes fail, as, for instance, in the face of a severe storm, for they drift with the wind at such times rather than face it. Thus I once started for home at midnight from a ranch four miles away. For the first mile my road led westward to a road that ran in a northerly direction to town. Upon this first portion, with nothing to guide him, for it was dark and the ground was covered with new fallen snow, the horse found his way easily. As I struck the road and turned his face fairly to the storm, he would hardly face it. As the thermometer fell to 27 below zero that night, and the wind was strong, it was not strange. In this case the pain in his eyes from the cold and the driving snow more than counterbalanced his desire to get to his stable, and so he preferred to drift with the storm rather than face it.

As I cannot conceive that a horse or pigeon should guide himself by the position of the sun or of the north star, even if we eliminate from the problem the well-known fact that darkness seems to make no difference in the exercise of this

homing instinct, I think that we may take it for granted that animals and birds have this sense of direction, for examples similar to those given above might be given by the score. It might be supposed that this instinct had formerly existed in man, but had been lost during his progress toward his present state of civilization. Writers speak of the “unerring instinct" which guides the red man through the vast stretches of pathless forest in which he resides. But we are also told of the accuracy of observation of the individuals of this same race. The Indian is familiar with the path of the sun and the position of the heavenly bodies. He observes every thing within his horizon, the mountain ranges, prominent peaks, and passes; he notes every stream, its size, character, and general course; he sees all the prominent objects along his trail. If the sun is obscured, and he is temporarily lost, he accomplishes his orientation by observing the rougher bark on the north side of some varieties of forest trees; or he finds the wild morning-glory facing eastward at day-break, for the faithful Moslem is not more certain to look toward the rising sun. He no doubt observes, also, that the warping action of the sun's rays detaches the bark sooner from the south side of the standing dead timber than from the other sides. These and a hundred similar signs are to be read by the student of nature. Such a student, most emphatically, is the Indian. I have had occasion to note his wonderful powers of observation, and those more familiar with his habits than I am, inform me that only after years of experience, if at all, does the white man acquire his proficiency in this direction. We are told by travellers that it is much the same with other primitive races, the necessary qualities being intensified by inheritance through long generations of nomadic ancestors. But as we have advanced in civilization, and sign-posts have taken the place of the signs which the Indian reads, we have retrograded in these matters until the civilized man, despite his knowledge, is lost more easily than his barbaric ancestors, unless he takes especial precautions to note those things which they observed without effort.

It seems to me that our proposition, viz., that we keep our direction by observation, conscious or unconscious, of surrounding objects, will be established if we are able to prove these three things:

First, that those lacking in the power of observation are most easily lost.

Second, that those in whom this faculty is well developed are rarely lost.

Third, that the latter are easily lost when they lose sight of all external objects, as in fog or darkness, or when their attention is concentrated upon something else to such an extent that they do not observe their surroundings.

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I trust that my term power of observation" is plain to all. In this connection I mean that faculty which enables one to note surrounding objects, and to bear in mind their relations to each other and to himself. I take it that the power which enables one to look at a landscape and say that it is familiar is the same as that which permits some of us to look at a word and determine whether or not it is spelled correctly; for I have long believed that notoriously poor spellers were such, not from poor memories necessarily, but

from lack of the faculty in question. Thus I have a friend with whom I have hunted on several vacation trips to the Rocky Mountains. He has an excellent education and a memory far better than the average, but is utterly unable to spell. He is the only man with whom I ever hunted who was afraid to hunt alone in a strange country for fear of getting lost. I have often been struck, in other matters, with his same deficiency in this direction. Thus, when we hunt together, he scarcely ever sees the game first, although when discovered at a distance, he is immeasurably my superior in determining what class of game it is, if so far off as to render this a matter of doubt.

This example I may count as the first point in establishing our first proposition. Next to observers poor by nature, we might place those who lack experience, as those who have always dwelt in cities. Of course the great majority of these acquire proficiency by practice. Short-sighted persons who do not correct their myopia by the use of glasses come under the same head, for, being unable to observe their surroundings, they are very prone to become lost. Fortunately this disease is comparatively rare in primitive races, natural salection, no doubt, contributing to render it so, for it is vastly more common in civilization.

Among the female inhabitants of towns and cities the faculty in question has had no opportunity for development for many generations, perhaps. They ordinarily have a very poor sense of direction." I have yet to see a woman from civilized life who could be trusted to point out the way across a pathless region of any considerable extent.

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Second, good observers do not readily lose their way. My experience in this regard has been largely with two classes of men, hunters and cowboys. Men of either of these classes, to be even moderately successful, must be the closest of observers. The appearance of a man or an animal anywhere within the circle of vision is ordinarily noted at once. The habit of seeing what lies before one, a thing not given to us all, is formed. With men who travel much alone, the exercise of this faculty fills the gap left by the lack of opportunity for conversation. It gives the mind a certain amount of exercise. The Mexican sheep-herder who is alone on his range will tell you, a week after, who has passed by, what kind of a horse he rode, whether a colt followed a certain wagon the trail of which he has seen, and other details that surprise one not accustomed to such matters. The cowboy who rides a hundred miles across country will tell you the brand of every stray steer he has seen. These men, realizing that they are dependent upon their own exertions for safety, unconsciously develop those faculties of service to them. Other men, placed in similar positions, develop in the same manner, as trappers, explorers, and scouts. Think, for instance, what chance there would be of a trapper's get ting lost when he is able to place fifty traps in a new region and find them all without effort. Here his memory is, of course, of as much importance to him as his close attention to his surroundings.

Our third proposition is, that even those who are ordinarily entirely competent to find their way get lost easily in darkness, fog, or snowstorms, and especially if interested in something which thoroughly occupies the mind. This I believe to be utterly inconsistent with the theory of a proper sense of direction." Examples are, no doubt, familiar to all, but I will quote one from my own experience, which to me is conclusive. I have for years been in the habit of hunting alone in my vacation trips, upon the plains as well as in the mountains, and have travelled much in unsettled

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districts, both night and day. Realizing the possibility of getting caught in a snowstorm, I have made it a rule to carry a pocket compass as well as a waterproof match-safe at all times. For eight years I never had occasion to use the compass to learn my position, and I almost believed I was infallible so far as the question of getting lost, in daylight at least, was concerned. But the undeceiving came, and it was that which led me to this study of the subject. One fine September day I started out from camp on a deerhunt. We were in the part of Wyoming between the headwaters of Savory and Jack Creeks, about two miles from that portion of the Continental Divide which lies between them.

Within half a mile of camp I struck a deer trail and followed it. I pursued it for two or three miles, mostly through heavy timber, without seeing any signs of game, although momentarily expecting to do so. When I finally stopped for a moment, it had begun to rain, and the dense clouds shut in every hilltop. I could see nothing to indicate the position of the sun, and there was not a breath of wind. The rain increasing, I decided to start for home, and, turning farther to the right, followed, as I supposed, a tributary of Jack Creek down into the valley. What was my consternation to find that the creek into which it led flowed to the right instead of to the left as Jack Creek should do! Every thing was unfamiliar. I had crossed no ridge, to my knowledge, high enough for the Divide; I was dumbfounded. I knew, however, that I was upon the westerly side of Jack Creek, for I had crossed no stream of any description. In two hours I could not possibly have walked far enough up or down to cause me to miss it if I adopted an easterly course. The difficulty was in the fact that I had supposed that I had been following such a course in arriving at my present position. As the mist and rain now shut in every thing, I had nothing to do but to complete my humiliation by a forced resort to the compass, for I had to admit for the first time that I was lost. At first sight I was tempted to believe that the needle was wrong, as I am told all men in similar position are. I carried the compass to some distance from my rifle, fearing that the needle was deflected by the metallic barrel. The result was the same. Fearing that I had found a body of iron ore by accident, I tried various localities, but the needle still persisted in pointing, as it seemed to me, south. After a few moments' consideration I started over a ridge a little to the right of the way I had come, and due east by compass. I still felt that I was going west, and could not get over the idea. A tramp of half an hour brought me within sight of the valley I sought, and north seemed to come around where it should have been all the time. I had unconsciously crossed the Divide at its lowest point, far lower than the one at which I now crossed, evidently having made an entire turn when starting homeward instead of a half one as I had intended. I now made a bee-line for camp, but I carried home with me less faith in my sense of direction" than I had upon starting

out.

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I might quote from the experience of others a dozen similar examples of losing one's way. Some seven or eight men have been more or less severely frozen in this very county, by losing their correct route. I believe that further examples are unnecessary. It is sufficient for me to say, in conclusion, that, whatever instincts man may have had in a former state, he has at present no means of finding his way at all resembling that possessed by birds and animals. Sterling, Col.

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THE expedition led by Dr. Karl von den Steinen, which explored the head-waters of the Schingu River in Brazil, made some remarkable discoveries. Tribes were found who had never heard of a white man, and were utterly ignorant of his inventions. They were still wholly in the stone age, uncontaminated the word is not misapplied - by any breath of civilization. In ethnography, the most interesting find was the identification of the Bacahiris with the Carib stem, and apparently its recognition as perhaps the nearest of any of the Carib tribes to the original stock.

Dr. von den Steinen has just issued his linguistic material obtained from this tribe in a neat octavo of 403 pages, "Die Bakairi-Sprache " (K. F. Koehler, Leipzig, 1892). It contains abundant sources for the study of the group, vocabularies, texts, narratives, grammatical observations, and, what is peculiarly valuable, a close study of the phonetic variations of the various Carib dialects as far as they have been ascertained. He shows that in all the associated idioms the same laws of verbal modification hold good, although each has developed under its own peculiar influences. The thoroughness which marks throughout this excellent study places it in the front rank of contributions to the growing science of American linguistics.

The Ethnic Distribution of Roofing Tiles.

As a floating leaf will indicate the current and eddies of a stream better than a floating log, so oftentimes a humble art will be a more accurate indication of the drift of civilization than the more ostentatious products of human ingenuity. This has been happily illustrated by Professor Edward S. Morse in a paper "On the Older Forms of Terra-Cotta Roofing Tiles," published in the Essex Institute Bulletin for March of this year.

He finds that the older roofing tiles of the world group themselves into three distinct types, the normal or Asiatic tile, the pan or Belgic tile, which is an outgrowth of the normal tile, and the flat or Germanic tile, which is an independent form. The geographic areas in which these various tiles are found and the history of their distribution are reliable indications of the conquest or peaceable advance of certain forms of civilization. Professor Morse's paper is abundantly illustrated, and an interesting map is added, showing the present distribution of the three types of tiles over Europe, northern Africa, and western Asia.

That his study may not remain one of archæology only, the author adds a number of practical hints on the use and value of terra-cotta tiles as roofing material, and suggests their wider introduction in the United States. They offer the best of all roofing material, durable, fire-proof, cheap, decorative, warm in winter, and cool in summer.

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epoch, and lived during the age of bronze side by side with those who later bore the name of Gauls. . . . For Broca, the term Celt designated the brachycephalic group of western Europe, and the term Kymri the blond group, with long and narrow face, etc. We retain the meaning he gives to Celtic, but to meet certain objections substitute for the word Kymri that of Gall or Gaulois."

As the opinion of Broca to this effect was quoted with approval in the discussion (see Science, April 22), it is diffi cult to perceive the grounds on which the learned Parisian professor makes his objections. But it is desirable that his own views, which are always worthy attentive consideration, should be presented.

Architecture as an Ethnic Trait.

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Some excellent articles on this subject have appeared from time to time from the pen of Mr. Barr Ferree, in the American Naturalist and the American Anthropologist. He treats such subjects as "The Sociological Influences of Primitive Architecture," and the climatic influences which have given rise to this or that peculiarity or style. His essays are thoughtful and well reasoned.

In the first fascicule of the Bibliothéque Internationale de l'Alliance Scientifique, M. César Daly pursues this train of thought to the point of announcing- "given a social condition, it will have such a religion and such an architecture." In regard to "styles," he discriminates between that of the architect, which is transient, and that demanded by the tastes and requirements of the community, which depends on it alone and will last as long as these remain. "A style in architecture is therefore something national, social, and religious, and not royal, as that of Louis XIV., nor that of an artist, had he all the genius in the world."

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Types of Beauty among American Indians.

In a note published in this series (Science, June 3), attention was directed to the power of beauty in developing the race toward a certain standard of physical perfection. Some interesting facts bearing directly on this topic are presented by Dr. R. W. Shufeldt in a recent pamphlet on "Indian Types of Beauty."

He begins with the suggestive remark that men of the lower type of development cannot perceive the beauty in the women of the higher type nearly so readily as the men of the higher type can recognize the comeliness in the women of the lower. This is as we might expect, the education in the elements of the beautiful being principally a result of development.

Dr. Shufeldt inserts a number of photographs of Indian beauties, an inspection of which will satisfy any one that the opinion which in their own tribe awards them the palm for good-looks is justified by all standards. The same fact is borne out by Mr. Power in his work on the Indians of California. He calls attention to the attractive appearance of the maidens of several tribes reputed among their own people as beauties.

While in all stages of civilization there are false and abnormal standards of the beautiful — notably so among ourselves there is also a gradual and certain tendency toward

that ideal of physical form which the keen artistic sense of the ancient Greeks recognized as the perfection of corporeal symmetry. Wherever it is present in any degree, it is sure to be recognized. As Novalis says in one of his apothegms, "Beauty alone is visible."

SOME POINTS IN THE NOMENCLATURE-PRIORITY

QUESTION.

BY LUCIEN M. UNDERWOOD.

THERE are some of our younger botanists who see no possible merit in the nomenclature-priority discussion. That this is the case is naturally due to the fact that neither their age nor training have been sufficient to enable them to obtain a general view of botany as a science in which the relations of plants to each other and to other living things form the crowning summit of achievement. When we say relations, we mean the word in its deepest and widest sense morphologic, embryologic, physiologic, geographic, and chronologic.

To those whose work involves the weighing, sifting, and correlating of all the truth concerning some group of plants that has been found out by patient workers in times past and present, as well as that brought to light in their own comparative research, the necessity of some uniform, authoritative, and permanent system of nomenclature needs no argument. If some have acute inflammation of the morphologic nerve so that their attention is largely drawn away from the general wants of the system to the nursing of their peculiar member, they are worthy of our sympathy, but they must reduce their hypertropy before they can expect the botanical world to regard their judgment as normal outside their special sphere.

While we thoroughly believe in Goethe's assertion that "species are the creation of text-books while Nature knows only individuals," we have not yet advanced sufficiently far to be able to discontinue the present method of grouping individuals into species and recognizing them by certain fixed names. This is a matter of convenience, and it is a present logical necessity. We believe, therefore, that the matter of nomenclature ought to be settled at once and permanently, and this we believe to be the opinion of all who look at systematic botany, not as a mere "battle of synonyms," but in its true position, representing as it does the ultimatum toward which every fact in the science tends, and into which the whole science will be ultimately crystallized. So far is this desirable that if a system can be agreed upon, it must and ought to be by the yielding of personal opinions to the will of the best and maturest judgment of the botanical world.

One phase of the question has not yet been sufficiently dwelt upon, and that is the one which involves the element of personal justice. There are some who say that there is no ethical side to the question, that it is a mere matter of expediency. If justice pertains to ethics then there is an ethical element in the problem. It has always been maintained that a man has the right to the product of his brain. If he invents a new mechanical contrivance he is awarded a patent. If he writes a book he is given a copyright. If he discovers a new principle or process in the natural world his name is inseparably connected with that principle. Otherwise why do we speak of the Bell telephone, of Marsh's test for arsenic, or of Newton's law of gravitation? The same is true of discoveries in botanical science, for we inseparably connect certain names with the earliest recogni

tion of protoplasm, the announcement of its identity with sarcode, the discovery of fertilization by antherozoids, the continuity of protoplasm, and every other important addition to a knowledge of the plant world. In the same way the recognition of a natural group of plants, an order, a genus, or even a species is now regarded as of sufficient importance to be credited to the one who makes the discovery, not by any means on the ground of expediency (though it is doubtless in the highest degree expedient), but because of an innate feeling of justice due him who thus publishes the result of his work.

It is true that favored students or organizations may, for a time, regard themselves as the only rightly-appointed medium of description of species, but the multiplication of botanical centres, the specialization of workers, and the growing urbanity and cordiality in extending to specialists the privileges of public and private collections will all tend to prevent the growth of monopolies in a field which is not likely to become narrow enough for any to jostle offensively.

As a worker in one group of plants we present some questions that have suggested themselves in our work, drawing illustrations largely from the genera and species with which we are most interested, seeking not so much to offer dog. matic principles as to call to mind the feature of personal justice.

1. Shall there be an initial date in nomenclature ?

What justice on the one hand, or advantage on the other, is there in accepting those of Micheli's genera that were adopted by Linnæus, and rejecting others equally valid that were not ? What virtue did the great compiler add to an adopted name that should render it either sacred or immortal? We have Anthoceros and Sphaerocarpus, Blasia, Riccia, and Lunularia, all established by Micheli in 1729, and all accepted to-day without question, forsooth, because they have received the stamp of the immortal Linnæus, who could scarcely distinguish a hepatic from other Bryophytes. And yet Micheli, the founder of generic distinctions among Cryptogams, who knew and studied plants, adopted other generic names at the same time; these the great Linnæus did not accept because he could not get down to the study of plants and learn to distinguish genera among hepatics and other Cryptogams. Are we of this age so blinded that we must fall down and worship this popularizer of botany and accept his dictum as against that of a man whose shrewdness enabled him thus early to discriminate genera among Cryptogams?

But we must have a starting-point, some say. Why not then commence genera with the men who first originated them? Let us not award merit where merit is not due. Let us not assume for Linnæus a virtue that he did not possess. Micheli, Ruppius, and Dillenius were the originators of genera among hepatics. Why not recognize their genera that represent natural groups? If others are the progenitors of genera in other groups of plants, there is no reason why their work should not also stand, provided their names were not already preoccupied.

2. Shall names long used be laid aside when claimed for other plants on grounds of strict priority? Shall we recognize the principle of outlaw in nomenclature?

For example, Marsilea (Micheli, 1729) is a hepatic which since Raddi's time (1818) has been known as Pellia. Marsilea Linn. has since its establishment been used for a genus of quadrifoliate Pteridophytes. Shall the latter stand in the face of evident priority? While a compromise of this kind,

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