the Betsy_--a series of papers written among the Western Isles, and
full of the poetry and geological charm of that marvellous region;
his _Rambles of a Geologist_, in which he included the results of his
wanderings over Scotland between 1840 and 1848, and other essays, the
more important of which were collected with pious care by his widow,
and published in a succession of volumes after his death. His _First
Impressions of England and its People_ appeared in 1846, and greatly
increased the reputation of its writer as an observant traveller,
an able critic, and an accomplished writer, possessing a wide and
sympathetic acquaintance with English literature. The _Footprints of
the Creator_, which followed in 1847, was of a less popular character.
Its detailed account of the structure of some of the fishes of the Old
Red Sandstone is, however, of lasting value, though its controversy
with the _Vestiges of Creation_ has now little more than an historical
interest. The _Schools and Schoolmasters_, after running as usual
through the pages of the newspaper, was issued as a separate volume
in 1852, and was everywhere hailed as one of the most delightful and
instructive of all his works. The _Testimony of the Rocks_, with the
final proofs of which he was engaged on the last day of his life,
was issued a few months after he had been laid to rest beside his
friend Chalmers. Altogether of his collected writings, including those
that appeared in his lifetime, a series of twelve volumes has been
published, but many hundreds of articles of less permanent interest,
yet each marked by the distinctive charm of its writer, remain buried
in the files of the _Witness_.
If, from his writings alone, we judge of the extent and value of
the work achieved by Hugh Miller, we can have little hesitation in
believing that it is mainly his contributions to the literature of
science that will hand his name down to future generations. Like so
many other men who have attained distinction in the same field, he from
the beginning to the end made geology his recreation, in the midst of
other paramount pre-occupations. It furnished him with solace from
the toils of the quarry and the building yard, it supplied him with a
healthful relief from the labours of the bank, and when in later years
he escaped each autumn for a few weeks of much needed leisure from the
cares and responsibilities of the Editor's desk, it led him to ramble
at will all over his native country, and brought him into acquaintance
with every type of its rocks and its landscapes.
Unquestionably the most original part of his scientific work, that
wherein he added most to the sum of acquired knowledge, is to be
found in his reconstruction of the extinct types of fishes which he
discovered in the Old Red Sandstone. The merit of these labours can
hardly be properly appreciated unless it be borne in mind that he came
to the study of the subject with no preliminary biological training,
save what he could pick up for himself from an examination of such
denizens of the waters of the neighbouring firths as he could meet
with. But after prolonged search he could find in these northern seas
no living creatures, the structure of which afforded him any clue to
that of the fossil fishes of Cromarty. Some men had concluded that the
organisms were ancient turtles, others that they were crustaceans,
or even aquatic beetles. He had the sagacity, however, to surmise
that they were probably all fishes, and he enjoyed the satisfaction
afterwards of learning that Agassiz pronounced even the most bizarre
amongst them to belong to that great division of the animal kingdom.
He was guided by his own intuitive conception of what must have been
the plan on which these long vanished types of organic structure had
been fashioned. Huxley, who twenty years afterwards had occasion to
subject the Old Red Sandstone fishes to critical study, and who brought
to the inquiry all the resources of modern biology, has left on record
the impression made on his mind by a minute revision of Hugh Miller's
work. 'The more I study the fishes of the "Old Red,"' he remarks, 'the
more am I struck with the patience and sagacity manifested in Hugh
Miller's researches, and by the natural insight which in his case seems
to have supplied the place of special anatomical knowledge.' He refers
to the 'excellent restoration of _Osteolepis_,' in which even some of
the minute peculiarities had not escaped notice, and he declares that
Hugh Miller had made known almost the whole organisation of _Dipterus_,
and had thus anticipated the most important part of Professor Pander's
labours in the same field, the distinguished Russian palæontologist not
having been aware that the work had already been done in Scotland.
But it is not, in my opinion, by the extent or value of his original
contributions to geology that the importance of Hugh Miller's
scientific labours and writings should be measured. Other men, who have
left no conspicuous mark on their time, have surpassed him in these
respects. What we more especially owe to him is the awakening of a
wide-spread interest in the methods and results of scientific inquiry.
More than any other author of his day, he taught men to recognise that
beneath the technicalities and jargon of the schools, that are too
apt to conceal the meaning of the facts and inferences which they
express, there lie the most vital truths in regard to the world in
which we live. He clothed the dry bones of science with living flesh
and blood. He made the aspects of past ages to stand out picturesquely
before us, as his vivid imagination conceived that they must once
have been. He awakened an enthusiasm for geological questions, such
as had never before existed, and this wave of popular appreciation
which he set in motion has never since ceased to pulsate throughout
the English-speaking peoples of the world. His genial ardour and
irresistible eloquence swept away the last remnants of the barrier
of orthodox prejudice against geology in this country. The present
generation can hardly realise the former strength of that bigotry,
or appreciate the merit of the service rendered in the breaking of
it down. The well-known satirical criticism of the poet Cowper[100]
expressed a prevalent feeling among the orthodox of his day, and this
feeling was still far from extinct when Miller began to write. I can
recall manifestations of it even within my own experience. No one,
however, could doubt his absolute orthodoxy, and when the cause of the
science was so vigorously espoused by him, the voices of the objectors
were finally silenced. There was another class of cavillers who looked
on geology as a mere collecting of minerals, a kind of laborious
trifling concealed under a cover of uncouth technical terms. Their view
was well expressed by Wordsworth when he singled out for contemptuous
scorn the enthusiast who carried a pocket hammer with which he chipped
off splinters of the rocks, and left raw scars as marks of his
progress.[101]
But a champion had now arisen who, as far as might be, discarding
technicalities, made even the dullest reader feel that the geologist is
the historian of the earth, that he deals with a series of chronicles
as real and as decipherable as those that record human events, and that
they can be made not only intelligible but attractive, as the subjects
of simple and eloquent prose.
The absence of technical detail, which makes one of the charms of
Hugh Miller's books to the non-scientific reader, may be regarded as
a defect by the strict and formal geologist. Like every other branch
of natural science, geology rests on a basis of observation, which
frequently depends for its value upon the minuteness and accuracy of
its details. To collect these details is often a laborious task, which
is seldom undertaken save by those to whose department of the science
they specially belong. A palæontologist cannot be expected to devote
his time to the study of the microscopic characters of minerals and
rocks. He leaves that research to the petrographer, who, on the other
hand, will not readily embark on an investigation of the minute anatomy
of fossil plants or animals. This specialisation, which has always to
some extent existed, necessarily becomes more pronounced as science
advances. The days are far past for Admirable Crichtons, and it is no
longer possible for any one man to be equally versed in every branch of
even a single department of natural knowledge.
Hugh Miller's researches among the Old Red Sandstone fishes showed
him to be above all a naturalist and palæontologist, capable of
expending any needful amount of patient labour in working out the
minutest details of organic structure. In other fields of geological
inquiry, while he was far from undervaluing the importance of detail,
he avoided the recapitulation of it in his writings. It interested
him, indeed, only in so far as it enabled him to reach some broad
conclusion or to fill in the canvas of some striking picture of bygone
aspects of the earth's surface. Hence he did not apply himself to the
minute investigation of problems of geological structure, and when he
undertook any inquiry in that direction he was apt to start rather from
the palæontological than the physical side. Thus the work of his last
years along the shores of the Firth of Forth, wherein he sought to
accumulate proofs of the comparatively recent upheaval of the land, was
mainly based on the position of shells with reference to their present
habitat in the adjacent seas. As a youth enthusiastically geological,
I was privileged to enjoy his friendship, sometimes accompanying him
on an excursion, and always spending an evening with him after one of
his autumn journeys, that we might exchange the results of our several
peregrinations. Only a few weeks before his death, on the last of those
memorable evenings, he had his trophy of shells spread on the table,
which enabled him to prove that at no very distant date Scotland was
cut in two by a sea-strait that connected the Firths of Forth and
Clyde. He had found marine shells at Bucklyvie, on the flat ground
about midway between the two estuaries. Finding me not quite clear as
to the precise geographical position of his shell-bed, he burst out
triumphantly with the lines placed by Scott at the head of the chapter
in _Rob Roy_, which tells of the journey of Bailie Nicol Jarvie and
Osbaldistone into the Highlands:
'Baron of Bucklyvie
May the foul fiend drive ye,
And a' to pieces rive ye,
For building sic a toun,
Where there's neither horse meat, nor man's meat, nor a chair to
sit doun.'
I remember, too, that on that occasion I had brought with me the
detailed map of Arthur's Seat at Edinburgh, of which I had just
completed the geological survey, and I explained to him in some detail
what I had found to be the structure of the hill. Having grasped the
main succession of the rocks, he with characteristic rapidity passed
from the particulars which I had given him to the events of which they
were the record, and turning to his daughter, who was sitting near, he
exclaimed to her, 'There, Harriet, is material for such an essay as has
been prescribed to you at school.' Then in a few graphic sentences he
drew a picture of what seemed to him to have been the history of the
old volcano.
While various causes no doubt contributed in this country to the
remarkable and rapid increase in the general appreciation of the
interest of geological investigation, I feel assured that one of
the chief of them has been Hugh Miller's imaginative grasp of the
subject, and his eloquent advocacy. The personal experience of a
single individual can count for little in an estimate of this kind; but
for what it may be worth, I gladly avail myself of this opportunity
to state mine. It was Hugh Miller's _Old Red Sandstone_ that first
revealed to me the ancient history that might lie concealed in the
hills around me, and the meanings that might be hidden in the commonest
stones beneath my feet. I had been interested in such objects, as boys
are apt to be who spend much of their time in the open country. But it
was that book which set me on the path of intelligent inquiry. And this
experience must doubtless have been shared by many thousands of his
readers, who never saw his living face and who never became geologists.
I have alluded to the excellence of his literary style--a
characteristic which unfortunately is only too rare among writers
in science. There can be little doubt that this feature of his work
will constitute one of its claims to perpetual recognition. His early
and wide acquaintance with our literature enabled him to intersperse
through his pages many an apposite quotation and felicitous allusion.
He had set before himself as models the best prose writers of the
previous century, and the influence of Goldsmith upon him is especially
notable. He thus acquired the command of pure, idiomatic and forcible
language, wherein to clothe the arguments which he wished to enforce,
to describe the landscapes which had imprinted themselves like
photographs on his memory, and to present restorations of ancient lands
and seas which his poetic temperament and powerful imagination called
up before his eyes. Moreover, he had a keen sense of humour, which
would show itself from time to time, even in the midst of a scientific
discussion. He could not bear dulness in others, and strove to avoid
it himself. Where his subject might have been apt to grow wearisome,
he contrived to lighten it with unexpected flashes of pleasantry or
with some pertinent words from a favourite author. This felicitous
style seemed so spontaneous, and yet it was in reality the result of
the most scrupulous attention. Even in his newspaper articles on the
multifarious topics of the passing day, he continued to maintain the
same high standard of composition. He has left as his literary monument
a series of works that may serve as models of English writing.
In estimating a man's influence on the world we look not only at his
work but on his character, often the more important and valuable of
the two. Judged from this side, Hugh Miller's claims to our regard and
admiration are not less strong for what he was than for what he did.
Pious and pure-minded, full of generous sympathies, and alive to all
that was noblest and best in human life, he was endowed with a manly
independence of nature which kept his head erect in every changing
phase of his career, and won for him the respect of all, gentle and
simple, who came in contact with him. Though naturally robust, his
occupation as a mason had left behind some seeds of disease. He was
at different times attacked with inflammation of the lungs and other
disorders of enfeebled health. His strong sense of duty, however, kept
him at his post when prudence earnestly counselled rest. At last the
strain became too great, and brought a noble and well-spent life to a
sudden and tragic end.
It is to me a valued privilege to take part to-day in the centenary
celebration of such a man. The years slip away, and I am probably the
only geologist now alive who knew Hugh Miller well. He was my earliest
scientific friend. Some boyish articles I had written in an Edinburgh
newspaper on a geological excursion to the Isle of Arran had gained
me his acquaintance, and ever thereafter I enjoyed his friendship and
profited by his encouragement. To his helpful intervention I owed my
introduction to Murchison, and thence my entry into the Geological
Survey. His death was one of the great bereavements of my youth. It is
therefore with heartfelt gratification that here, in his native town,
so early familiar to me from his graphic descriptions, I find myself
permitted on this public occasion gratefully to express my life-long
indebtedness to him for his noble example, for the stimulus of his
writings, and for the personal kindness which I received at his hands.
FOOTNOTES:
[99] An Address given at the Centenary Celebration of his Birth held in
Cromarty on 22nd August, 1902.
[100] See _ante_, p. 128.
[101] The passage has been cited on p. 128.
IX
Science in Education[102]
When the history of Education during the nineteenth century comes to
be written, one of its most striking features will be presented by the
rise and growth of Science in the general educational arrangements of
every civilised country. At the beginning of the century our schools
and colleges were still following, with comparatively little change,
the methods and subjects of tuition that had been in use from the
time of the Middle Ages. But the extraordinary development of the
physical and natural sciences, which has done so much to alter the
ordinary conditions of life, has powerfully affected also our system
of public instruction. The medieval circle of studies has been widely
recognised not to supply all the mental training needed in the ampler
range of modern requirement. Science has, step by step, gained a
footing in the strongholds of the older learning. Not without vehement
struggle, however, has she been able to intrench herself there. Even
now, although her ultimate victory is assured, the warfare is by no
means at an end. The jealousy of the older régime and the strenuous,
if sometimes blatant, belligerency of the reformers have not yet
been pacified; and, from time to time, within our public schools and
universities, there may still be heard the growls of opposition and
the shouts of conflict. But these sounds are growing fainter. Even
the most conservative don hardly ventures nowadays openly to denounce
science and all her works. Grudgingly, it may be, but yet perforce,
he has to admit the teaching of modern science to a place among the
subjects which the university embraces, and in which it grants degrees.
In our public schools a 'modern side' has been introduced, and even on
the classical side an increasing share of the curriculum is devoted to
oral and practical teaching in science. New colleges have been founded
in the more important centres of population, for the purpose, more
particularly, of enabling the community to obtain a thorough education
in modern science.
The mainspring of this remarkable educational revolution has,
doubtless, been the earnest conviction that the older learning was
no longer adequate in the changed and changing conditions of our
time; that vast new fields of knowledge, opened up by the increased
study of nature, ought to be included in any scheme of instruction
intended to fit men for the struggle of modern life, and that in this
newer knowledge much might be found to minister to the highest ends
of education. Nevertheless, it must be admitted that utilitarian
considerations have not been wholly absent from the minds of the
reformers. Science has many and far-reaching practical applications.
It has called into existence many new trades and professions, and has
greatly modified many of those of older date. In a thousand varied
ways it has come into the ordinary affairs of every-day life. Its
cultivation has brought innumerable material benefits; its neglect
would obviously entail many serious industrial disadvantages, and
could not fail to leave us behind in the commercial progress of the
nations of the globe. So much have these considerations pressed upon
the attention of the public in recent years that, besides all the other
educational machinery to which I have referred, technical schools have
been established in many towns for the purpose of teaching the theory
as well as the practice of various arts and industries, and making
artisans understand the nature of the processes with which their trades
are concerned.
That this educational transformation, which has been advancing during
the century, has resulted in great benefit to the community at large
can hardly be denied. Besides the obvious material gains, there has
been a widening of the whole range and methods of our teaching; the old
subjects are better, because more scientifically, taught, and the new
subjects enlist the attention and sympathy of large classes of pupils
whom the earlier studies only languidly interested. Nevertheless, it is
incumbent on those who have advocated and carried out this change to
ask themselves whether it has brought with it no drawbacks. They may be
sure that no such extensive reform could possibly be introduced without
defects appearing in it somewhere. And it is well to look these
defects in the face, and, as far as may be possible, remove them. In
considering how I might best discharge the duty with which I have been
honoured of addressing the students of Mason College this evening, I
have thought that it might not be inappropriate if, as a representative
of science, I were to venture to point out some of the drawbacks as
well as the advantages of the position which science has attained in
our educational system.
At the outset no impartial onlooker can fail to notice that the natural
reaction against the dominance of the older learning has tended to
induce an undervaluing of the benefits which that learning afforded and
can still bestow. In this College, indeed, and in other institutions
more specially designed for instruction in science, provision has also
been made for the teaching of Latin, Greek, and the more important
modern languages and literatures. But in such institutions, these
subjects usually hold only a subordinate place. It can hardly be denied
that generally throughout the country, even although the literary side
of education still maintains its pre-eminence in our public schools
and universities, it is losing ground, and that every year it occupies
less of the attention of students of science. The range of studies
which the science examinations demand is always widening, while the
academic period within which these studies must be crowded undergoes
no extension. Those students, therefore, who, whether from necessity
or choice, have taken their college education in science, naturally
experience no little difficulty in finding time for the absolutely
essential subjects required for their degrees. Well may they declare
that it is hopeless for them to attempt to engage in anything more, and
especially in anything that will not tell directly on their places in
the final class-lists. With the best will in the world, and with even,
sometimes, a bent for literary pursuits, they may believe themselves
compelled to devote their whole time and energies to the multifarious
exactions of their science curriculum.
Such a result of our latest reformation in education may be
unavoidable, but it is surely matter for regret. A training in science
and scientific methods, admirable as it is in so many ways, fails to
supply those humanising influences which the older learning can so well
impart. For the moral stimulus that comes from an association with
all that is noblest and best in the literatures of the past, for the
culture and taste that spring from prolonged contact with the highest
models of literary expression, for the widening of our sympathies
and the vivifying of our imagination by the study of history and
philosophy, the teaching of science has no proper equivalents.
Men who have completed their formal education with little or no help
from the older learning may be pardoned should they be apt to despise
such help and to believe that they can very well dispense with it in
the race of life. My first earnest advice to the science students of
this College is, not to entertain this belief and to refuse to act on
it. Be assured that, in your future career whatever it may be, you will
find in literature a source of solace and refreshment, of strength
and encouragement, such as no department of science can give you.
There will come times, even to the most enthusiastic among you, when
scientific work, in spite of its absorbing interest, grows to be a
weariness. At such times as these you will appreciate the value of the
literary culture you may have received at school or college. Cherish
the literary tastes you have acquired, and devote yourself sedulously
to the further cultivation of them during such intervals of leisure as
you may be able to secure.