About a year ago came the sad news of the sudden death of Professor
Balfour, of Cambridge. If the loss was felt less severely in this
country than in England it was only because he had fewer personal
friends here, and to fully understand his worth one must have known and
talked with him. It is true that it required no unusual insight to read
the fine qualities of the man in his writings, but none save those who
knew him could appreciate his remarkable personal attractiveness. Not
the least part of the wonderful work of his short life was that which he
accomplished as a teacher; here, as everywhere, his personal influence
had a large share, and a sketch of Balfour’s scientific work would be
incomplete without a recognition of the bearing which his noble
character had upon it.
The meeting of leading biologists to found the memorial studentship was
remarkable in many ways; rarely have been heard such words of admiration
and love for one man as were then expressed for Balfour. Many spoke at
length of the debt Cambridge owed him. It may be said that he divided
with Foster the honor of giving the great impetus to the biological
movement in the English universities. What Huxley had done for Foster
the latter did for Balfour, giving him the first hearty encouragement
and support; together they raised biology from the third to the level of
the first rank of studies at Cambridge, equalling that held by
mathematics. Oxford soon followed this important movement, trying to
secure Balfour for the professorship left vacant by the death of
Rolleston. His connection with natural science at Cambridge was
described in warm language by Foster, his teacher, and by Sedgwick, one
of his pupils; he advanced morphology there by his brilliant success in
teaching and in research.
In teaching he combined manly force with a delicate regard for the
feelings of his pupils. From the writer’s personal impressions of him as
a lecturer, he did not aim at eloquence, but to be understood in every
step. Rarely looking at his hearers, he spoke rapidly and with intense
earnestness, crowding a vast deal into the hour. The main qualities of
his character shone forth in his lectures: energy, which he infused into
his hearers; truthfulness, which soon gave implicit confidence in his
statements; modesty and sympathy, which inspired effort and free
exchange of thought.
Balfour’s love of truth came constantly into play in his laboratory
instruction. While looking over a student’s shoulder he would sometimes
say with a laugh: “You must interpret that specimen with the eye of
faith”; but this was very far from being a serious injunction, for he
exacted of his students the greatest caution in the progress of their
microscopic work. However tempting a certain interpretation of a
specimen might be, Balfour never accepted it until it rested on the
clearest evidence. An instance of this sort is recalled which related to
the much disputed origin of a well-known embryonic structure. A number
of sections had been prepared, seeming to confirm the view which Balfour
himself had advocated some time before; it required considerable
self-control not to attach a somewhat forced meaning to them. This was,
however, forbidden, and it was not until several days afterward that
fresh sections established the fact beyond question.
To Foster, Balfour repaid his student-debt by extending, in turn,
continued encouragement to others. He did not fear, as many great
teachers have, that joint labor with his juniors would derogate from his
reputation. His joint articles are numerous; he was zealous to recognize
research done by his pupils, seeming to be prouder of this than of his
own work. Nothing could be more stimulating to the young men about him,
still distrustful of their powers, than this generous co-operation. Is
it surprising, then, that the voluntary attendance upon his lectures
increased in seven years from ten to ninety and that at the time of his
death twenty students were engaged in difficult research in his
laboratory? Only those who are familiar by experience with the few
incentives among younger students to the study of biology can appreciate
what these numbers mean.
We need not attempt to give a full list of Balfour’s writings. They
began in 1873, his twenty-second year, with a few short papers appearing
over Foster’s name and his own in _The Quarterly Journal of
Microscopical Science_; they terminated nine years later with his fine
work upon Peripatus, published posthumously in the same journal. His
extensive intermediate works, “The Elasmobranch Fishes” and “Comparative
Embryology,” are universally known.
From the first he devoted himself to embryology. While this, as among
the youngest of the biological sciences, admits of rapid work, it is far
from admitting rapid generalization. No other branch of morphology
requires more painstaking; the very materials one has to study are
minute and indefinite, and two minds will often place different
constructions upon the same specimen. There is abundant opportunity for
scientific guesswork, with the feeling of security that disproval will
be difficult. Balfour understood the real value of guessing at truth,
but he always made it very clear to the reader when he was so doing; his
hypotheses were accompanied by definite statements in which the reasons
pro and con were set forth in all impartiality to each. Herein lies the
chief charm and merit of his work, its brilliant suggestiveness, side by
side but never in confusion with well-established facts. Every chapter
contains half a dozen invitations to other investigators to prove or
disprove certain provisional statements. Vast as is the information
contained in his “Comparative Embryology,” Balfour himself appreciated
that, as far as mere facts went, the first volume would be somewhat out
of date before the second was in press. Not so, however, with his
masterly discussions of these facts, which are found on every page and
the value of which, to embryologists, cannot be estimated. Moreover, to
his authorship is largely due the rapidly spreading interest in
embryology in England and America—a branch of science, it will be
remembered, which had previously been mostly in German hands.
One frequently heard from him his own very modest opinion of his work;
this was not at all inconsistent with striking independence and
originality of thought and adherence to his convictions. His modesty
added more to the recognition of his genius than any assertions of his
own could have done. Many were pressing forward to assert his claims,
and honors were showered upon him in England and abroad. He was admired
and beloved by all who knew him. In scientific discussion he had the
rare quality, which Richard Cobden is said to have possessed, of
remaining on the pleasantest personal terms with his opponents.
His energy in all matters was great and his power of writing was
unusually rapid; but, advised by kind friends, he rarely overtaxed his
strength, which was limited. He spent most of his evenings with his
friends, throwing off from his mind the labors of the day and talking
vivaciously upon the topics of the time. When the first volume of his
“Comparative Embryology” was being written, he generally worked but five
hours daily, giving much time to physical exercise, bicycling or tennis,
into which he entered with all the enthusiasm of his nature. He was
courageous but not reckless, and nothing in his previous life would lead
us to suppose that the mountain climb which proved fatal was undertaken
in a foolhardy spirit.
Balfour in a few years accomplished the work of a lifetime. His
influence was and is twofold: first, upon those with whom he came into
personal contact, especially his scientific associates and students, an
influence which cannot fail to endure (well expressed by Professor
Kitchen Parker: “I feel that his presence is still with me; I cannot
lose the sense of his presence”); secondly, the influence of his
scientific work, which for genius, breadth, and truth can never be
surpassed. May the splendid memorial which has been raised for him
perpetuate his noble example as a teacher and man of science.
[Illustration:
_From a photograph by Brown Brothers_
JAMES BRYCE
]
JAMES BRYCE
1838–1922
I had the privilege of knowing James Bryce for many years and enjoyed
many long and delightful conversations with him. Beyond all other
great men I have known he impressed me as most eager for broad and
deep knowledge both of men and of nature. He gained more by travel and
direct observation than by reading the works of others.
Although an address was carefully thought out, the following was
entirely extemporaneous, because I was suddenly called upon to deliver
it in the pulpit of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine—quite a
contrast to the customary platform of the college and university
lecturer! I felt compelled by the surrounding religious atmosphere to
use a text, which was happily afforded by the choir as it sang
Newman’s beautiful hymn as a processional.