himself riding and shooting, and especially in catching beetles in the
fens. But also in more intellectual ways, as in listening to the anthem
in King's Chapel, and looking at the pictures in the Fitzwilliam Museum.
Henslow, the Professor of Botany treated him as a friend rather than as a
pupil, and finally settled his career by sending him round the world in
H.M.S. _Beagle_. He entered the ship an undergraduate, and left it after
five years a man of science. I give these well known details to show how
little he profited by any regular course of study either at Shrewsbury,
Edinburgh, or Cambridge. His start in life depended on the recognition
of his capacity by Henslow, and was nearly wrecked by FitzRoy, the
Captain of the _Beagle_, suspecting that no one with a nose like my
father's could be an energetic person.
Are we therefore to conclude that the best method of scientific education
is to force a boy to work at uncongenial subjects? In the case of a
genius it may not much matter what he is taught; he will succeed, in
spite of his education. But for us lesser mortals it does matter. I am
not going to talk about the way in which science should be taught in
schools, a matter about which I am not competent to speak. What I shall
speak of is the learning rather than teaching of the subject.
I once heard Lord Rayleigh refer to the necessity of putting one's
subject-matter clearly before an audience, and he illustrated his point
by the following story. Somebody, possibly a lady, came from listening
to a lecture by Mr. So-and-So, and when asked what it was about, replied,
"He didn't say." I shall follow Lord Rayleigh's advice and tell you that
my subject is "Why science should be learned." Why it is worth while for
a boy to give up some of his time to this particular form of knowledge,
and what advantage he may expect to gain from so doing.
There are many possible reasons for a boy's learning science.
I Because he is told to. This is an excellent reason, but
not inspiriting.
II To get marks in an Entrance Scholarship examination. This
is a virtuous reason but not intellectual.
III To gain knowledge which will be of use when he comes to
follow a profession, and wants to know physics in view of
becoming an engineer, or physiology as a part of medical
training. This is a worthy reason, but not a common one.
IV Lastly, a boy may learn science because he wants to;
because he finds it entertaining; because it satisfies an
unreasoning desire to know how things in general work.
This is the best possible reason and the most efficient, and what I
propose, is to inquire whether this wish to know something of science can
be justified.
The word 'science' simply means knowledge, but it is usually applied to
knowledge that can be verified. Thus we learn by heart that Queen Anne
died in 1714. I believe this to be a fact, but I have no means of
verifying it. But if I am told that putting chalk into acid will produce
a heavy gas having the quality of extinguishing a lighted match, I can
verify it. I can do the thing and see the results. I am now the equal
of my teacher; I know it in the same way that he does. It has become my
very own fact, and it seems to have the satisfactory quality that
possession gives. This characteristic of scientific knowledge is not
always recognised. I mean the profound difference between what we know
and what we are told. When science began to flourish at Cambridge in the
'seventies, and the University was asked to supply money for buildings,
an eminent person objected and said, "What do they want with their
laboratories?--why can't they believe their teachers, who are in most
cases clergymen of the Church of England?" This person had no conception
of what the word 'knowledge' means as understood in science.
Another characteristic of science is that it makes us able to predict. I
have already referred to the fact that Queen Anne is dead, and we know,
or are told, that she died, as I said before, in 1714; we also know that
George I. died in 1727, and George II. in 1760, but that would not enable
us to predict that George III. would die in 1820. They are isolated
facts not connected by the causal bond that knits together a series of
scientific truths. And this is after all a fortunate thing for the peace
of mind of reigning sovereigns.
It is said that you should never prophesy unless you know. But science
is made up of prophecies. Some are famous, like the prediction of Adams
and Leverrier that a new planet would be found in a stated position.
Some are on a humbler scale, such as my father's prediction that a big
moth would be found to carry the pollen of Hedychium by brushing it off
with the tips of its hovering wings, a method of fertilisation unheard of
at the time, which however proved to be the fact.
You may say that it does not matter whether the moth does this particular
thing or not. This is no doubt true from a strictly commercial point of
view. But in science all facts have some value. We should cultivate a
point of view about facts the very reverse of that of the unknown person
who said that all books are rather dull.
I once heard a celebrated physicist describe how he explained to an
American business man an elaborate spectroscope for examining the sun.
The American asked what good it was. The physicist explained that with
it you can discover whether or no sodium exists in the sun. The American
was silent for some time, and then said, "But who the 'nation cares
whether there is sodium in the sun or not?" He had not the scientific
spirit which does care about sodium in the sun.
Scientific discovery is, as I said, made up of a series of prophecies.
You observe fact No. 1, and you say if this be so No. 2 ought to be true,
and on examination you find this is true, and No. 2 suggests No. 3. Or
else you find 2 not to be true; this makes you suspect your original
fact, and on carefully going over your observation you find No. 1 was a
mistaken observation. The successful man of science is one to whom
familiar objects suggest those prophecies generally known as theories.
My father was remarkable for not letting what seem to be trifling facts
pass without suggesting to him a theory. The flies that are caught on
the sundew must have been seen by innumerable people--but it remained for
him to prove the truth of his guess that some plants possess digestive
ferments like our own, and live on the insects they catch and digest.
The art of being guided by slight indications is sometimes called the
method of Zadig, which I learn from Mr. Huxley's essay and not from
Voltaire. Mr. Huxley points out that it is not only possible thus to
prophesy what will happen, but also to determine what has happened; and
he suggests that there should be a word 'backtell' as well as foretell.
Zadig, who was an oriental philosopher, met one day the King's servants
in great trouble about the loss of their master's favourite horse. When
asked whether he had seen it he said, "A fine galloper, is it not? small
hoofed, five feet high, tail 3.5 feet long. Cheek-pieces of the bit
23-carat gold, shoes silver." They of course begged to know where it
was, and he said he had not seen it.
This will be recognised as the method of Sherlock Holmes, but it is also
the method of science. Surely you would like to become scientific under
the guidance of that great man. Of course you are not to be Watsons, but
actual detectives, with Watsons of your own to admire you. And lest you
should fear that the scientific method is alarmingly difficult, I may add
that the method of Zadig or Sherlock Holmes, or of science in general, is
nothing more than glorified common-sense.
It is difficult to talk about a subject which interests one without
seeming to claim that it is superior to all others. I have not meant to
imply this. I have only tried to explain in what way science differs
from some other sort of knowledge. Nor do I wish to imply that the mind
that excels in science is better or worse than that which one finds in a
great literary man. An eminent oar is worthy of as much respect as a
great cricketer, but he is eminent in a different way.
I am glad to think that there are points in which science, literature,
and art are equally excellent--namely, in giving to mankind some of the
deepest pleasures of which he is capable, in making him realise the
wonder, the beauty and the romance of the world. I spoke of the power of
science in knitting together isolated facts into a theory. And such a
theory may become so all embracing that it is called a law of nature.
Those great generalisations, the laws of gravity and the laws of
evolution, or the laws of chemical combination, have a beauty and dignity
which appeal to everyone.
And on the practical rather than on the theoretical, side there is
wonder, and to my mind beauty, in the bigness and in the smallness of the
spaces that man can deal with. The astronomer measures out his work, not
by miles, but by the inconceivable distance that light can travel in a
year. The man who studies bacteria measures by the micron, 25,000 of
which go to the inch. To me there is more fascination in the very small
than in the other extreme. It is wonderful to think that a plant--a big
tree for instance--is made up of countless millions of cells, each of
which was built by a minute protoplasmic body, which Huxley has compared
to a delicate Ariel imprisoned like Shakespeare's sprite in an oak-tree.
There is a dramatic effect in even the simplest of experiments. I, for
one, am never weary of the time-honoured demonstration of a water-plant
giving off oxygen as it assimilates. A twig of Elodea in a large beaker
of water gives off no bubbles in the dull light at the back of the room,
but when close to the window it does so. And with proper precautions the
rate of bubbling becomes an accurate measure of the intensity of
assimilation. To complete the demonstration the experiment should be
repeated with water which has been boiled, and therefore roughly freed
from CO2, when the rate of bubbling is very greatly diminished. Finally,
by blowing vigorously into the water it may be charged once more with
CO2, and the normal rate of bubbling may be established.
There are of course innumerable experiments in pure chemistry and physics
which have this romantic quality in the manner in which they reveal the
secrets of the invisible structure of matter--but of these I have not
much personal experience.
I think, too, that the human interest of science should always be
encouraged. I mean that those classical experiments, by which great men
have advanced human knowledge, should be shown: and performed moreover by
the original methods, _e.g._ the discoveries of Black, Priestley and
Cavendish.
After all, the real fun of science begins when one finds out something
that was not known before. This is what is rather pompously called
original research. It is interesting to see in my father's life how the
sporting instinct gave way to the love of discovery. To show this
passionate love of sport, he mentions that when as a boy he had just shot
his first snipe, his hands trembled so that he could hardly reload his
gun. Yet the same boy on the voyage of the _Beagle_ found out how much
more entrancing than shooting was the chase of new facts and new
theories, and he handed over his gun to his servant. And something of
this delight one may have as the merest learner. You are not likely to
find out things that nobody knew before, but you may easily find out
things quite new to yourself--which to you personally are as good as the
brand-newest discovery. Lastly, there is another excellent reason for
scientific work, namely, that the bodily welfare of the human race and of
its friendly animals and plants depends on accurate knowledge of the
nature and behaviour of everything in the world. It is this truth that
makes us believe that every fact has its value. Its value may remain
unrecognised for long periods, and then it may suddenly find its place in
the great jig-saw puzzle of knowledge. The two most exciting sciences
just now seem to me to be Physics and Pathology; one as bringing us
nearer to the knowledge of the structure of matter, the other in
disentangling the causes of deadly and mysterious diseases such as
malaria, diphtheria, hydrophobia, sleeping sickness, in a manner and with
a success hitherto undreamt of. But because the advances in these
sciences are so brilliant and hopeful, no civilised worker will venture
to despise the pursuits of less fortunate people whose work seems rather
humdrum. There are botanists who spend their whole lives in describing
and classifying dried plants in a herbarium. But these are really doing
highly valuable work, for the simple reason that we cannot make any
accurate use of plants until they have names. I am omitting the purely
commercial use of such work, which is very great. I only want to insist
that the mere naming of living things is an indispensable stone in the
building of the palace of science. All who work at science may recognise
that they belong to a guild which makes for the happiness of the human
race. And this they must do, not with any pride, but humbly
acknowledging how small is their personal share in the total of progress.
The Darwin Buildings, that is to say, the three new laboratories which
are open to-day, were absolutely needed to carry out the Head Master's
plan of giving every boy in the School a chance of learning science.
When I say that at the present time 270 boys under five masters are at
work in the laboratories, you will realise to what good use they are
being put. As I happen to represent the Royal Society on your Governing
Body it is especially satisfactory to me to know that science is here
taught on the principle expressed by the motto of the Society: "Nullius
in verba," that is to say, not in other people's words, but in your own
observation lies the path of Science.
X
SIR GEORGE DARWIN {152a}
George Howard, the fifth {152b} child of Charles and Emma Darwin, was
born at Down, July 9th, 1845. Why he was christened {152c} George, I
cannot say. It was one of the facts on which we founded a theory that
our parents lost their presence of mind at the font, and gave us names
for which there was neither the excuse of tradition nor of preference on
their own part. His second name, however, commemorates his
great-grandmother, Mary Howard, the first wife of Erasmus Darwin. It
seems possible that George's ill-health and that of his father were
inherited from the Howards. This, at any rate, was Francis Galton's
view, who held that his own excellent health was a heritage from Erasmus
Darwin's second wife. George's second name, Howard, has a certain
appropriateness in his case, for he was the genealogist and herald of our
family, and it is through Mary Howard that the Darwins can, by an
excessively devious route, claim descent from certain eminent people,
_e.g._ John of Gaunt. This is shown in the pedigrees which George wrote
out, and in the elaborate genealogical tree published in Professor's
Pearson's _Life of Francis Galton_. George's parents had moved to Down
in September 1842, and he was born to those quiet surroundings of which
Charles Darwin wrote, "My life goes on like clockwork, and I am fixed on
the spot where I shall end it." It would have been difficult to find a
more retired place so near London. In 1842 a coach drive of some twenty
miles was the only means of access to Down; and even now that railways
have crept closer to it, it is singularly out of the world, with little
to suggest the neighbourhood of London, unless it be the dull haze of
smoke that sometimes clouds the sky. In 1842 such a village,
communicating with the main lines of traffic only by stony tortuous
lanes, may well have been enabled to retain something of its primitive
character. Nor is it hard to believe in the smugglers and their strings
of pack-horses making their way up from the lawless old villages of the
Weald, of which the memory then still lingered. {153}
George retained throughout life his deep love for Down. For the lawn
with its bright strip of flowers, and for the row of big lime trees that
bordered it; for the two yew trees between which we children had our
swing, and for many another characteristic which had become as dear and
as familiar to him as a human face. He retained his youthful love of the
"Sand-walk," a little wood far enough from the house to have for us a
romantic character of its own.
George loved the country round Down, and all its dry chalky valleys of
ploughed land, with "shaws," _i.e._ broad straggling hedges on their
crests, bordered by strips of flowery turf. The country is traversed by
many foot-paths; these George knew well and used skilfully in our walks,
in which he was generally the leader. His love for the house and the
neighbourhood was, I think, entangled with his deepest feelings. In
later years his children came with their parents to Down, and they
vividly remember his excited happiness, and how he enjoyed showing them
his ancient haunts.
In this retired region Charles Darwin's children led a singularly quiet
life, practically without friends, and dependent on their brothers and
sisters for companionship. George's earliest recollection was of
drumming with his spoon and fork on the nursery table because dinner was
late, while a barrel-organ played outside. Other memories were less
personal; for instance, the firing of guns when Sebastopol was supposed
to have been taken. His diary of 1852 shows a composite interest in
current events and in the picturesqueness of Natural History: "The Duke
is dead. Dodos are out of the world."
He perhaps carried rather far the good habit of re-reading one's
favourite authors. He told his children that for a year or so he read
through every day the story of Jack the Giant Killer, in a little
chap-book with coloured pictures. He early showed signs of the energy
which marked his character in later life. I am glad to remember that I
became his companion and willing slave. There was much playing at
soldiers, and I have a clear remembrance of our marching with toy guns
and knapsacks across the field to the Sand-walk. There we made our
bivouac with gingerbread, and milk warmed (and generally smoked) over a
"touch-wood" fire. I was a private while George was a sergeant, and it
was part of my duty to stand sentry at the far end of the kitchen-garden
until released by a bugle-call from the lawn. I have a vague remembrance
of presenting my fixed bayonet at my father to ward off a kiss, which
seemed to me inconsistent with my military duties. Our imaginary names
and heights were written up on the wall of the cloak-room. George, with
romantic exactitude, made a small foot rule of such a size that he could
conscientiously record his height as 6 feet, and mine as slightly less,
in accordance with my age and station.
Under my father's instruction George made spears with weighted heads,
which he hurled with remarkable skill by means of an Australian throwing
stick. I used to skulk behind the big lime trees on the lawn in the
character of victim, and I still remember the look of the spear flying
through the air with a certain venomous waggle. Indoors, too, we threw
at each other wooden javelins, which we received on beautiful shields
made by the village carpenter and decorated with coats of arms.
Heraldry was a serious pursuit of his for many years, and the London
Library copies of Guillim and Edmonson {156} were generally at Down. He
retained a love of the science through life, and his copy of Percy's
_Reliques_ is decorated with coats of arms admirably drawn and painted.
In later life he showed a power of neat and accurate draughtsmanship, and
some of the illustrations in his father's books, _e.g._ in _Climbing
Plants_, are by his hand.
His early education was given by governesses, but the boys of the family
used to ride twice or thrice a week to be instructed in Latin by Mr.
Reed, the Rector of Hayes--the kindest of teachers. For myself, I
chiefly remember the cake we used to have at 11 o'clock, and the
occasional diversion of looking at the pictures in the great Dutch Bible.
George must have impressed his parents with his solidity and
self-reliance, since he was more than once allowed to undertake alone the
20-mile ride to the house of a relative at Hartfield in Sussex. For a
boy of ten to bait his pony and order his luncheon at the Edenbridge inn
was probably more alarming than the rest of the adventure. There is
indeed a touch of David Copperfield in his recollections as preserved in
family tradition. The waiter always said, "What will you have for lunch,
Sir?" to which he replied, "What is there?" and the waiter said, "Eggs
and bacon"; and though he hated bacon more than anything else in the
world, he felt obliged to have it.
On August 16th, 1856, George was sent to school. Our elder brother,
William, was at Rugby, and his parents felt his long absences from home
such an evil that they fixed on the Clapham Grammar School for their
younger sons. Besides its nearness to Down, Clapham had the merit of
giving more mathematics and science than could then be found in public
schools. It was kept by the Rev. Charles Pritchard, {157} a man of
strong character, and with a gift for teaching mathematics by which
George undoubtedly profited. In, I think, 1861 Pritchard left Clapham
and was succeeded by the Rev. Alfred Wrigley, a man of kindly mood but
without the force or vigour of Pritchard. As a mathematical instructor I
imagine Wrigley was a good drillmaster rather than an inspiring teacher.
Under him the place degenerated to some extent; it no longer sent so many
boys to the Universities, and became more like a "crammer's" and less
like a public school. My own recollections of George at Clapham are
coloured by an abiding gratitude for his kindly protection of me as a
shrinking and very unhappy "new boy" in 1860.
George records in his diary that in 1863 he tried in vain for a Minor
Scholarship at St. John's College, Cambridge, and again failed to get one
at Trinity in 1864, though he became a Foundation Scholar in 1866. These
facts suggested to me that this capacity as a mathematician was the
result of slow growth. I accordingly applied to Lord Moulton, who was
kind enough to give me his impressions:
My memories of your brother during his undergraduate career
correspond closely to your suggestion that his mathematical power
developed somewhat slowly and late. Throughout most, if not the
whole, of his undergraduate years he was in the same class as myself
and Christie, the ex-Astronomer Royal, at Routh's. {158a} We all
recognised him as one who was certain of being high in the Tripos,
but he did not display any of that colossal power of work and taking
infinite trouble that characterised him afterwards. On the contrary,
he treated his work rather jauntily. At that time his health was
excellent and he took his studies lightly, so that they did not
interfere with his enjoyment of other things. {158b} I remember that
as the time of the examination came near I used to tell him that he
was unfairly handicapped in being in such robust health and such
excellent spirits.
Even when he had taken his degree I do not think he realised his
innate mathematical power. . . . It has been a standing wonder to me
that he developed the patience for making the laborious numerical
calculations on which so much of his most original work was
necessarily based. He certainly showed no tendency in that direction
during his undergraduate years. Indeed, he told me more than once in
later life that he detested arithmetic, and that these calculations
were as tedious and painful to him as they would have been to any
other man, but that he realised that they must be done, and that it
was impossible to train anyone else to do them.
As a Freshman he 'kept' (_i.e._ lived) in A 6, the staircase at the N.W.
corner of the New Court, afterwards moving to F 3 in the Old Court,
pleasant rooms entered by a spiral staircase on the south side of the
Great Gate. Below him, in the ground floor room, now used as the College
offices, lived Mr. Colvill, who remained a faithful but rarely seen
friend as long as George lived.
Lord Moulton, who, as we have seen, was a fellow pupil of George's at
Routh's, was held even as a Freshman to be an assured Senior Wrangler, a
prophecy that he easily made good. The second place was held by George,
and was a much more glorious position than he had dared to hope for. In
those days the examiners read out the list in the Senate House at an
early hour, 8 a.m. I think. George remained in bed and sent me to bring
the news. I remember charging out through the crowd the moment the
magnificent "Darwin of Trinity" had followed the expected "Moulton of St.
John's." I have a general impression of a cheerful crowd sitting on
George's bed and literally almost smothering him with congratulations.
He received the following characteristic letter from his father: {159}
DOWN, _Jan._ 24_th_ [1868].
My dear old fellow,
I am so pleased. I congratulate you with all my heart and soul. I
always said from your early days that such energy, perseverance and
talent as yours would be sure to succeed: but I never expected such
brilliant success as this. Again and again I congratulate you. But
you have made my hand tremble so I can hardly write. The telegram
came here at eleven. We have written to W. and the boys.
God bless you, my dear old fellow--may your life so continue.
Your affectionate Father,
CH. DARWIN.
In those days the Tripos examination was held in the winter, and the
successful candidates got their degrees early in the Lent Term. George
records in his diary that he took his B.A. on January 25th, 1868; also
that he won the second of the two Smith's Prizes--the first being the
natural heritage of the Senior Wrangler. There is little to record in
this year. He had a pleasant time in the summer, coaching Clement, the
nephew of Sir Charles Bunbury, at his beautiful place Barton Hall in
Suffolk. In the autumn he was elected a Fellow of Trinity, as he
records, "with Galabin, young Niven, Clifford, [Sir Frederick] Pollock,
and [Sir Sidney] Colvin." W. K. Clifford was the well-known brilliant
mathematician who died comparatively early.
Chief among his Cambridge friends were the brothers Arthur, Gerald, and
Frank Balfour. The last-named was killed, aged 31, in a climbing
accident in 1882 on the Aiguille Blanche near Courmayeur. He was
remarkable both for his scientific work and for his striking and most
lovable personality. George's affection for him never faded. His
daughter remembers her father (not long before his death) saying with
emotion, "I dreamed Frank Balfour was alive." I imagine that tennis was
the means of bringing George into contact with Mr. Arthur Balfour. What
began in this chance way grew into an enduring friendship, and George's
diary shows how much kindness and hospitality he received from Mr.
Balfour. George had also the advantage of knowing Lord Rayleigh at
Cambridge, and retained his friendship through his life.
In the spring of 1869 he was in Paris for two months working at French.
His teacher used to make him write original compositions, and George
gained a reputation for humour by giving French versions of all the old
Joe Millers and ancient stories he could remember.
It was his intention to make the Bar his profession, {161} and in October
1869 we find him reading with Mr. Tatham, in 1870 and 1872 with the late
Mr. Montague Crackenthorpe (then Cookson), and in November 1871 he was a
pupil of Mr. W. G. Harrison. The most valued result of his legal work
was the friendship of Mr. and Mrs. Crackenthorpe, which he retained
throughout his life. During these years we find the first indications of
the circumstances which forced him to give up a legal career--namely, his
failing health and his growing inclination towards science. {162} Thus
in the summer of 1869, when we were all at Caerdeon in the Barmouth
valley, he writes that he "fell ill," and again in the winter of 1871.
His health deteriorated markedly during 1872 and 1873. In the former
year he went to Malvern and to Homburg without deriving any advantage. I
have an impression that he did not expect to survive these attacks, but I
cannot say at what date he made this forecast of an early death. In
January 1873 he visited Cannes, and "came back very ill." It was in the
spring of this year that he first consulted Dr. (afterwards Sir Andrew)
Clark, from whom he received the kindest care. George suffered from
digestive troubles, sickness, and general discomfort and weakness. Dr.
Clark's care probably did what was possible to make life more bearable,
and as time went on his health gradually improved. In 1894 he consulted
the late Dr. Eccles, and by means of the rest-cure, then something of a
novelty, his weight increased from 9 stone to 9 stone 11 pounds. I gain
the impression that this treatment produced a permanent improvement,
although his health remained a serious handicap throughout his life.
Meanwhile he had determined on giving up the Bar, and settled in October
1873, when he was 28 years old, at Trinity in Nevile's Court next the
Library (G 4). His diary continues to contain records of ill-health and
of various holidays in search of improvement. Thus in 1873 we read,
"Very bad during January. Went to Cannes and stayed till the end of
April." Again in 1874, "February to July very ill." In spite of
unwellness he began in 1872-3 to write on various subjects. He sent to
_Macmillan's Magazine_ {163a} an entertaining article, "Development in
Dress," where the survivals in modern costume were recorded and discussed
from the standpoint of evolution. In 1873 he wrote "On beneficial
restriction to liberty of marriage," {163b} a eugenic article for which
he was attacked with gross unfairness and bitterness by the late St.
George Mivart. He was defended by Huxley; and Charles Darwin formally
ceased all intercourse with Mivart. We find mention of a "Globe Paper
for the British Association" in 1873. And in the following year he read
a contribution on "Probable Error" to the Mathematical Society {163c}--on
which he writes in his diary, "found it was old." Besides another paper
in the _Messenger of Mathematics_, he reviewed "Whitney on Language,"
{163d} and wrote a "Defence of Jevons" which I have not been able to
trace. In 1875 he was at work on the "Flow of Pitch," on an
"Equipotential Tracer," on slide rules, and sent a paper on "Cousin
Marriages" to the Statistical Society. {164a} It is not my province to
deal with these papers; they are enumerated here as showing his activity
of mind and his varied interests,--features in his character which were
notable throughout life.
The most interesting entry in his diary for 1875 is a "Paper on
Equipotentials much approved by Sir W. Thomson." This is the first
notice of an association of primary importance in George's scientific
career. Then came his memoir, "On the influence of geological changes in
the earth's axis of rotation." Lord Kelvin was one of the referees
appointed by the Council of the Royal Society to report on this paper,
which was published in the _Philosophical Transactions_ in 1877.
In his diary, November 1878, George records, "Paper on tides ordered to
be printed." This refers to his work, "On the bodily tides of viscous
and semi-elastic spheroids, etc.," published in the _Phil. Trans._ in
1879. It was in regard to this paper that his father wrote to George on
October 29th, 1878: {164b}
My dear old George,
I have been quite delighted with your letter and read it all with
eagerness. You were very good to write it. All of us are delighted,
for considering what a man Sir William Thomson is, it is most grand
that you should have staggered him so quickly, and that he should
speak of your 'discovery, etc.' . . . Hurrah for the bowels of the
earth and their viscosity, and for the moon and for the Heavenly
bodies, and for my son George (F.R.S. very soon). . . . {165a}
The bond of pupil and master between George Darwin and Lord Kelvin,
originating in the years 1877-8, was to be a permanent one, and
developed, not merely into scientific co-operation, but into a close
friendship. Sir Joseph Larmor has recorded {165b} that George's "tribute
to Lord Kelvin, to whom he dedicated Volume I of his Collected Papers
{165c} . . . gave lively pleasure to his master and colleague." His
words were:
Early in my scientific career it was my good fortune to be brought
into close personal relationship with Lord Kelvin. Many visits to
Glasgow and to Largs have brought me to look up to him as my master,
and I cannot find words to express how much I owe to his friendship
and to his inspiration.
During these years there is evidence that he continued to enjoy the
friendship of Lord Rayleigh and of Mr. Balfour. We find in his diary
records of visits to Terling and to Whittingehame, or of luncheons at Mr.
Balfour's house in Carlton Gardens, for which George's scientific
committee work in London gave frequent opportunity. In the same way
there are many records of visits to Francis Galton, with whom he was
united alike by kinship and affection.
Few people indeed can have taken more pains to cultivate friendship than
did George. This trait was the product of his affectionate and eminently
sociable nature, and of his characteristic energy and activity. In
earlier life he travelled a good deal in search of health, {166} and in
after years he attended numerous congresses as a representative of
scientific bodies. He thus had unusual opportunities of making the
acquaintance of men of other nationalities, and some of his warmest
friendships were with foreigners. In passing through Paris he rarely
failed to visit M. and Mme d'Estournelles and "the d'Abbadies." It was
in Algiers in 1878 and 1879 that he cemented his friendship with the late
J. F. MacLennan, author of _Primitive Marriage_; and in 1880 he was at
Davos with the same friends. In 1881 he went to Madeira, where he
received much kindness from the Blandy family--doubtless through the
recommendation of Lady Kelvin.
Cambridge.
We have seen that George was elected a Fellow of Trinity in October 1868,
and that five years later (October 1873) he began his second lease of a
Cambridge existence. There is at first little to record: he held at this
time no official position, and when his Fellowship expired he continued
to live in College, busy with his research work, and laying down the
earlier tiers of the monumental series of papers which he gave to the
world. This soon led to his being proposed (in November 1877) for the
Royal Society, and elected in June 1879. The principal event in this
stage of his Cambridge life was his election in 1883 as Plumian Professor
of Astronomy and Experimental Philosophy. {167} His predecessor in the
Chair was Professor Challis, who had held office since 1836, and is now
chiefly remembered in connection with Adams and the planet Neptune. The
professorship is not necessarily connected with the Observatory, and
practical astronomy formed no part of George's duties. His lectures
being on advanced mathematics usually attracted but few students; in the
Long Vacation, however, when he habitually gave one of his courses, there
was often a fairly large class. George's relations with his class have
been sympathetically treated by Professor E. W. Brown, {168} than whom no
one can speak with more authority, since he was one of my brother's
favourite pupils.
In the late '70's George began to be appointed to various University
Boards and Syndicates. Thus from 1878-82 he was on the Museums and
Lecture Rooms Syndicate. In 1879 he was placed on the Observatory
Syndicate, of which he became an official member in 1883 on his election
to the Plumian Professorship. In the same way he was on the Special
Board for Mathematics. He was a member of the Financial Board from
1900-1 to 1903-4, and on the Council of the Senate in 1905-6 and 1908-9.
But he never became a professional syndic--one of those virtuous persons
who spend their lives in University affairs. In his obituary of George
(_Nature_, December 12, 1912), Sir Joseph Larmor writes:
In the affairs of the University, of which he was an ornament, Sir
George Darwin made a substantial mark, though it cannot be said that
he possessed the patience in discussion that is sometimes a necessary
condition to taking a share in its administration. But his wide
acquaintance and friendships among the statesmen and men of affairs
of the time, dating often from undergraduate days, gave him openings
for usefulness on a wider plane. Thus, at a time when residents were
bewailing even more than usual the inadequacy of the resources of the
University for the great expansion which the scientific progress of
the age demanded, it was largely on his initiative that, by a
departure from all precedent, an unofficial body was constituted in
1899 under the name of the Cambridge University Association, to
promote the further endowment of the University by interesting its
graduates throughout the Empire in its progress and its more pressing
needs. This important body, which was organised under the strong
lead of the late Duke of Devonshire, then Chancellor, comprises as
active members most of the public men who owe allegiance to
Cambridge, and has already by its interest and help powerfully
stimulated the expansion of the University into new fields of
national work, though it has not yet achieved financial support on
anything like the scale to which American seats of learning are
accustomed.
The Master of Christ's writes:
_May_ 31_st_, 1915.
My impression is that George did not take very much interest in the
petty details which are so beloved by a certain type of University
authority. 'Comma hunting' and such things were not to his taste,
and at meetings he was often rather distrait, but when anything of
real importance came up he was of extraordinary use. He was
especially good at drafting letters, and over anything that he
thought promoted the advancement of the University along the right
lines he would take endless trouble--writing and re-writing reports
and letters till he got them to his taste. The sort of movements
which interested him most were those which connected Cambridge with
the outside world. He was especially interested in the Appointments
Board. A good many of us constantly sought his advice, and nearly
always took it: but, as I say, I do not think he cared much about the
'parish pump,' and was usually worried at long meetings.
Professor Newall has also been good enough to give me his impressions:
His weight in the committees on which I have had personal experience
of his influence seems to me to have depended in large measure on his
realising very clearly the distinction between the importance of ends
to be aimed at and the difficulty of harmonising the personal
characteristics of the men who might be involved in the work needed
to attain the ends. The ends he always took seriously--the crotchets
he often took humorously, to the great easement of many situations
that are liable to arise on a committee. I can imagine that to those
who had corns his direct progress may at times have seemed
unsympathetic and hasty. He was ready to take much trouble in
formulating statements of business with great precision--a result
doubtless of his early legal experiences. I recall how he would say,
"If a thing has to be done, the minute should if possible make some
individual responsible for doing it." He would ask, "Who is going to
do the work? If a man has to take the responsibility, we must do
what we can to help him, and not hamper him by unnecessary
restrictions and criticisms." His helpfulness came from his
quickness in seizing the important point and his readiness to take
endless trouble in the important work of looking into details before
and after the meetings. The amount of work that he did in response
to the requirements of various Committees was very great, and it was
curious to realise in how many cases he seemed to have diffidence as
to the value of his contributions.
But on the whole, the work which he was able to carry out, in addition to
professional duties and research, was in matters of general importance
unconnected with the University. To these we shall return.
In 1884 he became engaged to Miss Maud Du Puy of Philadelphia. She came
of an old Huguenot stock, descending from Dr. John Du Puy, who was born
in France in 1679, and settled in New York in 1713. They were married on
July 22nd, 1884, and this event happily coloured the remainder of
George's life. As time went on, and existence became fuller and busier,
she was able by her never-failing devotion to shield him from fatigue and
anxiety. In this way he was helped and protected in the various
semi-public functions in which he took a principal part. Nor was her
help valued only on these occasions, for indeed the comfort and happiness
of every day was in her charge. There is a charming letter {171} from
George's mother, dated April 15th, 1884:
Maud had to put on her wedding-dress in order to say at the
Custom-house in America that she had worn it, so we asked her to come
down and show it to us. She came down with great simplicity and
quietness . . . only really pleased at its being admired and at
looking pretty herself, which was strikingly the case. She was a
little shy at coming in, and sent in Mrs. Jebb to ask George to come
out and see it first and bring her in. It was handsome and simple.
I like seeing George so frivolous, so deeply interested in which
diamond trinket should be my present, and in her new Paris morning
dress, in which he felt quite unfit to walk with her.
Later, probably in June, George's mother wrote {172a} to Miss Du Puy,
"Your visit here was a great happiness to me, as something in you (I
don't know what) made me feel sure you would always be sweet and kind to
George when he is ill and uncomfortable." These simple and touching
words may be taken as a true forecast of his happy married life.
In March 1885 George acquired by purchase the house Newnham Grange,
{172b} which remained his home to the end of his life. It stands at the
southern end of the 'Backs,' within a few yards of the river where it
bends eastward in flowing from the upper to the lower of the two Newnham
water-mills. I remember forebodings as to dampness, but they proved
wrong--even the cellars being remarkably dry. The house is built of
faded yellowish bricks, with old tiles on the roof, and has a pleasant
home-like air. It was formerly the house of the Beales family, {173a}
one of the old merchant stocks of Cambridge. This fact accounts for the
great barn-like granaries which occupied much of the plot near the high
road. These buildings were in part pulled down, thus making room for a
lawn tennis court, while what was not demolished made a gallery looking
on the court, as well as play-room for the children. At the eastern end
of the property a cottage and part of the granaries were converted into a
small house of an attractively individual character, for which I think
tenants have hitherto been easily found among personal friends. One of
the most pleasant features of the Grange was the flower-garden and
rockery on the other side of the river, reached by a wooden bridge and
called "the Little Island." {173b} The house is conveniently close to
the town, yet has a most pleasant outlook, to the north over the Backs
while there is the river and the Fen to the south. The children had a
den or house in the branches of a large copper beech tree overhanging the
river. They were allowed to use the boat, which was known as the
_Griffin_, from the family crest with which it was adorned. None of them
were drowned, though accidents were not unknown; in one of these an
eminent lady and well-known writer, who was inveigled on to the river by
the children, had to wade to shore near Silver Street bridge owing to the
boat running aground.
The Darwins had five children, of whom one died an infant: of the others,
Charles Galton Darwin has inherited much of his father's mathematical
ability, and has been elected to a Mathematical Lectureship at Christ's
College. He is now in the Army, and employed in research work in France.
The younger son, William, has a commission in the 18th Battalion of the
Durham Light Infantry, and is now working with his brother. George's
elder daughter is married to Monsieur Jacques Raverat. Her skill as an
artist has perhaps its hereditary root in her father's draughtsmanship.
The younger daughter, Margaret, is married to Mr. Geoffrey Keynes.
George's relations with his family were most happy. His diary never
fails to record the dates on which the children came home, or the black
days which took them to school. There are constantly recurring entries
in his diary of visits to the boys at Marlborough or Winchester, or of
the journeys to arrange for the schooling of the girls in England or
abroad. The parents took pains that their children should have
opportunities of learning conversational French and German.
George's characteristic energy showed itself not only in these ways but
also in devising bicycling expeditions and informal picnics for the whole
family, to the Fleam Dyke, to Whittlesford, or other pleasant spots near
home; and these excursions he enjoyed as much as anyone of the party. As
he always wished to have his children with him, one or more generally
accompanied him and his wife when they attended congresses or other
scientific gatherings abroad.
His house was the scene of many Christmas dinners, the first of which I
find any record being in 1886. These meetings were often made an
occasion for plays acted by the children; of these the most celebrated
was a Cambridge version of _Romeo and Juliet_, in which the hero and
heroine were scions of the rival factions of Trinity and St. John's.
Games and Pastimes.
As an undergraduate George played tennis--not the modern out-door game,
but that regal pursuit which is sometimes known as the game of kings and
otherwise as the king of games. When George came up as an undergraduate
there were two tennis courts in Cambridge, one in the East Road, the
other being the ancient one that gave its name to Tennis Court Road, and
was pulled down to make room for the new buildings of Pembroke. In this
way was destroyed the last of the College tennis courts of which we read
in Mr. Clark's _History_. I think George must have had pleasure in the
obvious development of the tennis court from some primaeval farm-yard in
which the _pent-house_ was the roof of a shed, and the _grille_ a real
window or half-door. To one brought up on evolution there is also a
satisfaction about the French terminology which survives in _e.g._ the
_Tambour_ and the _Dedans_. George put much thought into acquiring a
correct style of play; for in tennis there is a religion of attitude
corresponding to that which painfully regulates the life of the golfer.
He became a good tennis player as an undergraduate, and was in the
running for a place in the inter-University match. The marker at the
Pembroke court was Henry Harradine, whom we all sincerely liked and
respected, but he was not a good teacher, and it was only when George
came under Henry's sons, John and Jim Harradine, at the Trinity and Clare
court, that his game began to improve. He continued to play tennis for
some years, and only gave it up after a blow from a tennis ball in
January 1895 had almost destroyed the sight of his left eye.
In 1910 he took up archery, and zealously set himself to acquire the
correct mode of standing, the position of the head and hands, etc. He
kept an archery diary in which each day's shooting is carefully analysed
and the results given in percentages. In 1911 he shot on 131 days: the
last occasion on which he took out his bow was September 13, 1912.
I am indebted to Mr. H. Sherlock, who often shot with him at Cambridge,
for his impressions. He writes: "I shot a good deal with your brother
the year before his death; he was very keen on the sport, methodical and
painstaking, and paid great attention to style, and as he had a good
natural 'loose,' which is very difficult to acquire, there is little
doubt (notwithstanding that he came to archery rather late in life) that
had he lived he would have been above the average of the men who shoot
fairly regularly at the public meetings." After my brother's death Mr.
Sherlock was good enough to look at George's archery note-book. "I then
saw," he writes, "that he had analysed them in a way which, so far as I
am aware, had never been done before." Mr. Sherlock has given examples
of the method in a sympathetic obituary published (p. 273)in _The
Archer's Register_. {177} George's point was that the traditional method
of scoring is not fair in regard to the areas of the coloured rings of
the target. Mr. Sherlock records in his _Notice_ that George joined the
Royal Toxophilite Society in 1912, and occasionally shot in the Regent's
Park. In 1912 he won the Norton Cup and Medal (144 arrows at 120 yards.)
There was a billiard table at Down, and George learned to play fairly
well, though he had no pretension to real proficiency. He used to play
at the Athenaeum, and in 1911 we find him playing there in the Billiard
Handicap, but a week later he records in his diary that he was "knocked
out."
Scientific Committees.
George served for many years on the Solar Physics Committee and on the
Meteorological Council. With regard to the latter, Sir Napier Shaw has
at my request given me his impressions: {178}
It was in February 1885, upon the retirement of Warren De la Rue,
that your brother George, by appointment of the Royal Society, joined
the governing body of the Meteorological Office, at that time the
Meteorological Council. He remained a member until the end of the
Council in 1905, and thereafter, until his death, he was one of the
two nominees of the Royal Society upon the Meteorological Committee,
the new body which was appointed by the Treasury to take over the
control of the administration of the Office. . . .
The Commissioners, collectively known as the Meteorological Council,
were a remarkably distinguished body of Fellows of the Royal Society,
and when Darwin took the place of De la Rue, the members were men
subsequently famous, as Sir Richard Strachey, Sir William Wharton,
Sir George Stokes, Sir Francis Galton, Sir George Darwin, with E. J.
Stone, a former Astronomer Royal for the Cape. . . .
I do not think that Darwin addressed himself spontaneously to
meteorological problems, but he was always ready to help. He was
very regular in his attendance at Council, and the minutes show that
after Stokes retired, all questions involving physical measurement or
mathematical reasoning were referred to him. There is a short and
very characteristic report from him on the work of the harmonic
analyser, and a considerable number upon researches by Mr. Dines or
Sir G. Stokes on anemometers. It is hardly possible to exaggerate
his aptitude for work of that kind. He could take a real interest in
things that were not his own. He was full of sympathy and
appreciation for efforts of all kinds, especially those of young men,
and at the same time, using his wide experience, he was perfectly
frank and fearless not only in his judgment but also in the
expression of it. He gave one the impression of just protecting
himself from boredom by habitual loyalty and a finely tempered sense
of duty. My earliest recollection of him on the Council is the
thrilling production of a new version of the Annual Report of the
Council which he had written because the original had become more
completely 'scissors and paste' than he could endure.
After the Office came into my charge in 1900, so long as he lived I
never thought of taking any serious step without first consulting
him, and he was always willing to help by his advice, by his personal
influence and by his special knowledge. For the first six years of
the time I held a college fellowship, with the peculiar condition of
four public lectures in the University each year and no emolument.
One year, when I was rather overdone, Darwin took the course for me,
and devoted the lectures to Dynamical Meteorology. I believe he got
it up for the occasion, for he professed the utmost diffidence about
it, but the progress which we have made in recent years in that
subject dates from those lectures and the correspondence which arose
upon them.
In Council it was the established practice to proceed by agreement
and not by voting; he had a wonderful way of bringing a discussion to
a head by courageously 'voicing' the conclusion to which it led, and
frankly expressing the general opinion without hurting anybody's
feelings. . . .
It is not easy to give expression to the powerful influence which he
exercised upon all departments of official meteorology without making
formal contributions to meteorological literature. He gave me a note
on a curious point in the evaluation of the velocity equivalents of
the Beaufort Scale, which is published in the Office Memoirs No. 180,
and that is all I have to show in print, but he was in and behind
everything that was done, and personally, I need hardly add, I owe to
him much more than this or any other letter can fully express.
On May 6, 1904, the year of the South African meeting, he was elected
President of the British Association.
On July 29, 1905, he embarked with his wife and his son Charles, and
arrived on August 15 at the Cape, where he gave the first part of his
Presidential Address. Here he had the pleasure of finding as Governor,
Sir Walter Hely-Hutchinson, whom he had known as a Trinity undergraduate.
He was the guest of the late Sir David Gill, who remained a close friend
for the rest of his life. George's diary gives his itinerary--which
shows the trying amount of travel that he went through. A sample may be
quoted:
August 19 Embark,
,, 22 Arrive at Durban,
,, 23 Mount Edgecombe,
,, 24 Pietermaritzburg,
,, 26 Colenso,
,, 27 Ladysmith,
,, 28 Johannesburg.
At Johannesburg he gave the second half of his Address. Then on by
Bloemfontein, Kimberley, Bulawayo, to the Victoria Falls, where a bridge
had to be opened. Then to Portuguese Africa on September 16, 17, where
he made speeches in French and English. Finally he arrived at Suez on
October 4, and got home October 18.
It was generally agreed that his Presidentship was a conspicuous success.
The following appreciation is from the obituary notice in _The
Observatory_, January 1913, p. 58:
The Association visited a dozen towns, and at each halt its President
addressed an audience partly new, and partly composed of people who
had been travelling with him for many weeks. At each place this
latter section heard with admiration a treatment of his subject
wholly fresh and exactly adapted to the locality.
Such duties are always trying, and it should not be forgotten that tact
was necessary in a country which only two years before was still in the
throes of war.
In the autumn he received the honour of being made a K.C.B. The
distinction was doubly valued as being announced to him by his friend Mr.
Balfour, then Prime Minister.
From 1899 to 1900 he was President of the Royal Astronomical Society.
One of his last Presidential acts was the presentation of the Society's
Medal to his friend M. Poincare.
He had the unusual distinction of serving twice as President of the
Cambridge Philosophical Society, once in 1890-92 and again 1911-12.
In 1891 he gave the Bakerian Lecture {182a} of the Royal Society, his
subject being "Tidal Prediction." This annual praelection dates from
1775, and the list of lecturers is a distinguished roll of names.
In 1897 he lectured at the Lowell Institute at Boston, and this was the
origin of his book on _Tides_, published in the following year. Of this
Sir Joseph Larmor says {182b} that "it has taken rank with the
semi-popular writings of Helmholtz and Kelvin as a model of what is
possible in the exposition of a scientific subject." It has passed
through three English editions, and has been translated into many foreign
languages.
International Associations.
During the last ten or fifteen years of his life George was much occupied
with various International bodies, _e.g._ the International Geodetic
Association, the International Association of Academies, the
International Congress of Mathematicians, and the Seismological Congress.
With regard to the last named it was in consequence of George's report to
the Royal Society that the British Government joined the Congress. It
was however with the Geodetic Association that he was principally
connected.
Sir Joseph Larmor (_Nature_, December 12, 1912) gives the following
account of the origin of the Association:
The earliest of topographic surveys, the model which other national
surveys adopted and improved upon, was the Ordnance Survey of the
United Kingdom. But the great trigonometrical survey of India,
started nearly a century ago, and steadily carried on since that time
by officers of the Royal Engineers, is still the most important
contribution to the science of the figure of the earth, though the
vast geodetic operations in the United States are now following it
closely. The gravitational and other complexities incident on
surveying among the great mountain masses of the Himalayas early
demanded the highest mathematical assistance. The problems
originally attacked in India by Archdeacon Pratt were afterwards
virtually taken over by the Royal Society, and its secretary, Sir
George Stokes, of Cambridge, became from 1864 onwards the adviser and
referee of the survey as regards its scientific enterprises. On the
retirement of Sir George Stokes this position fell very largely to
Sir George Darwin, whose relations with the India Office on this and
other affairs remained close, and very highly appreciated, throughout
the rest of his life.
The results of the Indian survey have been of the highest importance
for the general science of geodesy. . . . It came to be felt that
closer co-operation between different countries was essential to
practical progress and to coordination of the work of overlapping
surveys.
For the further history of George's connection with the Association, I am
indebted to the Secretary, Dr. van d. Sande Bakhuyzen.
On the proposal of the Royal Society the British Government, after
having consulted the Director of the Ordnance Survey, in 1898,
resolved upon the adhesion of Great Britain to the International
Geodetic Association, and appointed as its delegate, G. H. Darwin.
By his former researches and by his high scientific character, he,
more than any other, was entitled to this position, which would
afford him an excellent opportunity of furthering, by his
recommendations, the study of theoretical geodesy. . .
We cannot relate in detail his valuable co-operation as a member of
the Council in the various transactions of the Association, for
instance, on the junction of the Russian and Indian triangulations
through Pamir, but we must gratefully remember his great service to
the Association when, at his invitation, the delegates met in 1909
for the 16th General Conference in London and Cambridge.
With the utmost care he prepared everything to render the Conference
as interesting and agreeable as possible, and he fully succeeded.
Through his courtesy the foreign delegates had the opportunity of
making the personal acquaintance of several members of the Geodetic
staff of England and its colonies, and of other scientific men, who
were invited to take part in the Conference; and when after four
meetings in London the delegates went to Cambridge to continue their
work, they enjoyed the most cordial hospitality from Sir George and
Lady Darwin, who, with her husband, procured them in Newnham Grange
happy leisure hours between their scientific labours.
At this conference Darwin delivered various reports, and at the
discussion on Hecker's determination of the variation of the vertical
by the attraction of the moon and sun, he gave an interesting account
of the researches on the same subject made by him and his brother
Horace more than 20 years ago, which unfortunately failed from the
bad conditions of the places of observation.
In 1912 Sir George, though already over-fatigued by the preparations
for the Mathematical Congress in Cambridge, and the exertions
entailed by it, nevertheless prepared the different reports on the
geodetic work in the British Empire, but, alas, his illness prevented
him from assisting at the conference at Hamburg, where they were
presented by other British delegates. The conference thanked him,
and sent him its best wishes, but at the end of the year the
Association had to deplore the loss of the man who in theoretical
geodesy as well as in other branches of mathematics and astronomy
stood in the first rank, and who for his noble character was
respected and beloved by all his colleagues in the International
Geodetic Association.