But on July 11 he was stricken down by hemiplegia. And now began

the last year of patient endurance, for from that time the Shadow

of Death was ever on him, and he knew it; from that July day he

regarded himself as doomed. Sometimes the thought of leaving those

whom he loved with such intense devotion, such wonderful tenderness,

overwhelmed him; sometimes the longing to finish his work was too

great to be borne, but generally he was calm, and always, even when

he was most sad, he was gentle and patient, and willing to be amused.

On July 13 Dr. Paget gave him the Holy Communion.

He slowly recovered from this attack, and there were hopes--not

of perfect health, but of life, and of power to work. Now, more

resolutely than ever, he set himself to face the ultimate problems of

Life and Being, to face the question of the possibility of a return

to Faith.

It is impossible here to tell of the inner workings of that pure and

unselfish soul, of those longings and searchings after God, of the

gradual growth in steadfast endurance, in faith.

To one or two these are known, and the example of lofty patience and

of single-heartedness is not one they are likely to forget. Of this

more later.

It was almost pathetic to see how keen and vigorous his intellect

was. In fact, the great difficulty was to keep the busy brain

from thinking. Novels helped to some degree, and occasional visits

from friends as he grew better. Dr. and Mrs. Burdon Sanderson,

the President of Trinity and Mrs. Woods, the Dean, Mr. Gore, the

President of Magdalen and Mrs. Warren, and Mr. Waggett, all helped,

coming and paying brief visits, which did him good, for if he was

not listening to reading or conversation, he would be planning

experiments or pondering problems of theology, and ask by-and-by that

his thoughts should be taken down from dictation, or that paper and

pencil should be given him, or, worse than all, devising arrangements

for finishing 'Darwin, and after Darwin.' He dictated some 'Thoughts

on Things' in the very first days of his illness, and sent for

Professor Lloyd Morgan, who came and received instructions about

the unfinished books, instructions which he has carried out with

unflagging diligence and never-failing kindness.

But still he grew better, and early in August he went back to Oxford,

and by the first of September he was able to be present in the

cathedral at the baptism by Dr. Talbot of his youngest son.

The fact that the Vicar of Leeds[116] and Mrs. Talbot were in Oxford

during that August was a great pleasure to him, and he much enjoyed

occasional talks with Dr. Talbot.

_To Professor Ewart._

I do not know what account E. gave you of my illness, but it is

much too serious an affair to admit of our going to the British

Association. Indeed, I hardly anticipate being able to make any

engagements or do much work during the rest of my life, which

is not likely to be a long one. It is just such an attack as I

expected when walking with you over Magdalen Bridge.[117]

Yours ever,

G. J. ROMANES.

By September he was able to listen to, and discuss, Dr. Sanderson's

Presidential Address, which was delivered in Nottingham at the

British Association of 1893.

It was one of the great disappointments of that illness that he could

not go to Nottingham. To be at the Association when his dear friend

and master was president was a great wish of his, and early in the

summer a kind invitation from Lady Laura Ridding, to stay with the

Bishop of Southwell and herself for it, had been accepted.

Nottingham and a visit to Denton, to which Mr. Romanes had been

looking forward, had to be given up.

These things were real trials. It was not the giving up particular

bits of pleasure, but the realisation that he was too much of an

invalid to do anything of the sort, which he found so hard to bear,

and which he did bear with ever-increasing patience.

His letters sometimes show how hard he felt his trial.

_To James Romanes, Esq._

Oxford: September 4.

My dearest James,--I have had two reasons for not writing to

Dunskaith since my letter about the birth of Edmund.

I agree with all you say about Fritz and her numerous brothers,

the last two of whom you have never seen. But, although I have

been so signally blest in my family ... I am not disposed to fall

in with your optimism in other respects. Rather am I disposed to

agree with the Scotch minister, that 'Man is a mi-ser-able worrm,

craaling upon the airth;' for, both as regards the misery and the

craaling I am now a type.

And this brings me to my two reasons for not writing before. The

first is, that I am almost unable to write; and the second is,

that I did not want to let you and Charlotte know all the facts

sooner than I could help.

The long and the short of it is that I believe I am dying. I have

been gradually getting worse and worse, ... nor shall I be sorry

when it comes. Such being the case, I should like to consult you

about setting my house in order....

The photos which the children brought with them of Dunskaith

make me realise what splendid work the buildings are, and even

although it is now improbable that I shall ever see them, I am

glad to think that they will be in the family.[118]

I cannot write more now. In fact I have not written so much since

my attack. But I send you the best love of a life-time's growth

and that of your only brother,

GEORGE.

_To W. T. Thiselton-Dyer, Esq._

94 St. Aldate's, Oxford: September 15, 1893.

Dear Dyer,--Many thanks for your letter with enclosures. As you

say, there does not seem to be anything remarkable about the

hybrid; but I am glad to see that both its parent species are

well marked and presumably both of mountain origin. The case thus

well accords with my views, as explained in my previous letters.

I met with many such (_i.e._ hybrids between originally isolated

species) in Madeira and the Canaries.

There are none so blind as those who will not see. Where can

your powers of 'observation' have been when you can still remark

that I ignore the facts of hybridisation? I can only repeat

that from the first I have regarded them as evidence of the

utmost importance as establishing a highly general correlation

between _separate_ origin of allied species and _absence_ of

cross-sterility. In fact, for the last five years I have had

experiments going on in my Alpine garden, which I helped in

founding for the very purpose of inquiring into this matter. And

Focke, with whom I have been in correspondence from the first,

and who _does_ understand the theory, writes that in his opinion

it will 'solve the whole mystery' of natural hybridisation in

relation to artificial.

Since my last letter to you I have been at death's door. On July

11, I was struck down by paralysis of the left side, and am now

a wreck. Not the least of my sorrow is that I fear I shall have

to leave the verification of phys. sel. to other hands in larger

measure than I had hoped. I have little doubt that it will

eventually prevail; but more time will probably be needed before

it does.

Yours very sincerely,

G. J. ROMANES.

Oxford: September 18, 1893.

Dear Dyer,--I am not a little touched by the kind sympathy

expressed in your letter of the 16th. When one is descending

into the dark valley, scientific squabbles seem to fade away

in those elementary principles of good will which bind mankind

together. And I am glad to think that in all the large circle of

my friends and correspondents there is no vestige of ill will in

any quarter, unless it be with ---- and ----, who both seem to me

half-crazy in their enmity, and therefore not of much count.

As for 'fortitude,' sooner or later the night must come for all

of us; and if my daylight is being suddenly eclipsed, there is

only the more need to work while it lasts. But, to tell the

truth, I do not on this account feel less keenly the pity of it.

With five boys--the eldest not yet in his teens and the youngest

still in his weeks; with piles of note-books which nobody else

can utilise, and heaps of experimental researches in project

which nobody else is likely to undertake, I do bitterly feel that

my lot is a hard one.

Looking all the facts in the face, I do not expect ever to see

another birthday,[119] and therefore, like Job, am disposed to

curse my first one. For I know that all my best work was to have

been published in the next ten or fifteen years; and it is

wretched to think of how much labour in the past will thus be

wasted.

However, I do not write to constitute you my confessor, but to

thank you for your letter, and also to say that I am sending you

a copy of my 'Examination of Weismannism,' just published by

Longmans.

With our united kind regards to Mrs. Dyer and yourself, I remain,

yours very sincerely,

GEO. J. ROMANES.

94 St. Aldate's, Oxford: September 26, 1893.

My dear Dyer,--This is one of my bad days, and I have just

exhausted my little store of energy by answering a kind letter

from Huxley. So please excuse brevity, as I cannot leave your

highly appreciated benevolence without an immediate response.

I am much concerned to hear what you say about yourself, and it

makes me doubly desirous of seeing you. On Monday next I am to

try to go to town for the purpose of consulting doctors. But any

day before that we should be truly glad if you could come as

you so kindly propose. _Possibly_ I might be able to drive out

to Kew on Tuesday or Wednesday of next week, should you find it

impracticable to run down here before then. But I fluctuate so

much from day to day that I cannot make any engagements.

Most fully do I agree with all that you say regarding criticism.

And, especially from yourself, I have never met with any but the

fairest. Even the spice of it was never bitter, or such as could

injure the gustatory nerves of the most thin-skinned of men. I

have, indeed, often wondered how you and ---- and ---- can have

so persistently misunderstood my ideas, seeing that neither on

the Continent nor in America has there been any difficulty in

making myself intelligible. But this, of course, is quite another

matter.

As regards Weismannism, I do not include under this term the

question of the inheritance of acquired characters. That has been

a question for me since the publication of Galton's 'theory of

heredity' in 1875. Indeed, even before that, everybody knew the

contrast between congenital and acquired characters in respect

of heritability; and you may remember, the first time we met you

gave me a lot of good advice regarding my experiments on this

subject.

Please remember both of us very kindly to your wife when you

write to her, and with our united best wishes to yourself,

Believe me, ever yours sincerely,

G. J. ROMANES.

_To Francis Darwin, Esq._

St. Aldate's, Oxford: October 8, 1893.

My dear Darwin,--Your very kind letter has been one ray of light

to me in my gloom. Yet you must not think it is the only one.

* * * * *

It is comparatively easy to set our teeth and face the inevitable

with 'a grin;' but the 'highest bravery' is to hide our anguish

with a smile. I do think I make a decently good Stoic, but

confess that in times like this Christians have the pull.

Nevertheless, I have often thought of the words, 'I am not

in the least afraid to die,'[120] and wondered, when my time

should come, I would be able to say them. But now I know that

I can, and this even in the bitterness of feeling that one's

work is prematurely cut short.... 'Somewhat too much of this,'

however. What I want to tell you is that I managed to get to

London on Friday for the purpose of consulting my doctors as to

my prospects. They take a more hopeful view than I expected,

_i.e._ notwithstanding that I have had three attacks in one year

(in both eyes and now in the brain), it is not _inevitable_

that I should have another for years to come, provided that I

become a strict teetotaller, vegetarian, hermit, and abstainer

from work. In short, 'that my rule of life,' 'the exemplar' for

my 'imitation,' is to be that of a tortoise. Hence it does not

appear that there is any immediate necessity for saying farewell

to my friends, and hence also I will not bother you by falling in

with your kind proposal to come over from Cambridge to see me,

much as I should like to see you in any case. But if you would

care to pay a visit to Oxford any time between this and to-morrow

week (16th), when I shall start for the vicinity of Nice, we

should both be awfully glad to put you up. I think Dyer will

probably be with us from Saturday to Monday (14 to 16).

With our united very kind regards to all,

Yours ever sincerely,

G. J. ROMANES.

Then came the journey to Costebelle, which he describes as follows:

_To James Romanes, Esq._

Hôtel l'Ermitage, Costebelle: November 4, 1893.

My dearest James,--I ought to have answered long ago the kind

letter which I received from you just as I was driving to the

Oxford station, and read in the train. But I am still such a

wretched invalid that I shrink from the smallest exertion,

whether of body or mind. I caught a violent cold in crossing

the Channel, which kept me in bed for three days at Amiens,

and left me so weak that I had to further break the journey at

Paris, Lyons, and Marseilles--finally arriving here with a still

feverish temperature. But this has now subsided.

We found not only Paris but quite as much Lyons and Marseilles in

a state of delirium over the Russian fleet officers, with whom

we were muddled up all the way, greatly to our inconvenience.

This was especially the case on leaving Lyons, where the railway

officials, after having put our luggage (containing our circular

notes) in the railway station, locked the doors of the latter

in our faces, when the police and military officials hurried us

down the hill again in the town (in the rudest of ways) till

the arrival of the Russians nearly an hour after our train was

timed to depart. We had no doubt that our hand baggage had all

been carried off in our railway carriage without us and without

labels; but on at last getting into the station found that our

train had not started.

This is one of the most charming places I have ever seen. The

hotel is situated on the top of a hill which slopes for a mile to

the sea, and which is thickly clothed with pine and olive woods

in all directions. The climate admits of our sitting out of doors

without overcoats or shawls till sunset, amid the most wonderful

profusion of aromas I have ever met with.

_To the Dean of Christ Church._

Costebelle: November 28, 1893.

My dear Dean,--In the firmament of my friendships there is no

such star as yourself, and I find it belongs to them all that the

darker and the colder the night becomes, the more brightly do

they shine.

It is quite certain that 'the South has not yet rendered its

full service,' inasmuch as it has not rendered me any service at

all. If anything I am worse than when I left Oxford. My muscular

power, indeed, has somewhat improved, but my nervous exhaustion

seems to be growing upon me, week by week; so that I am now able

to walk but very little--to hope, not much, to think, not at all.

The truth is that my ailment, whatever it is, is not to be

reached by climatic influences: it belongs to those mysterious

internal changes, which Darwin ascribes to what he calls 'the

nature of the organism'--'variations which to our ignorance

appear to arise spontaneously.' Hence, I am out of harmony with

my environment, whatever the environment may be. And, as this

Spencerianism applies to my spiritual, no less than to my bodily

organisation, it would seem that somehow or other I have been

born into a wrong world--like those poor Porto Santo rabbits,

which I took home with me last year, and the history of which

I think I told you. However, I do not intend to grumble at the

visible universe until I shall have had an opportunity of looking

round the edge and seeing what is behind.

Most of our time is spent in sheer idleness, or rather, I should

say, _all_ of my time, and that proportion of my wife's which

is spent in reading to me--chiefly novels, poetry, and history.

Yesterday, we had Coppée's play 'Le Pater,' which I know you have

read. For the length of it, I think it is as powerful a piece of

dramatic writing as I have ever read.

Very few worries find their way to L'Ermitage. The worst at

present is the choice of the next 'Romanes Lecturer.' Owing to

his accident, Helmholtz has blocked the way for the last two

months, but now promises a final reply in the course of a few

days. If he does come, I hope the University will give him the

D.C.L.

With our united kindest regards to Mrs. Paget, whose messages to

me are of more benefit than all my doctor's drugs (now that is a

thing I 'would rather have expressed otherwise'!) and yourself,

I remain, ever your affectionate friend,

G. J. ROMANES.

For a while all went well, he liked the place, and was able to work

a little, and to have many books read to him. He had taken out Dr.

Martineau's 'Study of Religion,' and other philosophical books, and

he also plunged into poetry, reading Wordsworth chiefly.

In December came what seemed to be a severe gastric attack, with

other alarming symptoms, and for a few hours he seemed to be dying.

But this passed off, and although he was kept in bed for three weeks

he grew better, and in some ways there seemed grounds for fresh hope.

For a few days in January he was under the care of a cousin with two

trained nurses, and his letters home were surprisingly bright.

His wife's maid, of whom he was very fond, was terribly ill in

January, and he writes:

Give Jane my love, and tell her I never forget how good she was

to me when I thought I was dying in her arms at Boar's Hill.

And again he wrote:

So glad to hear the operation has been successful. Congratulate

her from me. Tell her I heartily wish I were in her place as to

this, but that nevertheless I have not 'lost heart.' I am now

certainly stronger, and if I could only submit my cranial cavity

to Tom's[121] hands for removal of anything disagreeable, I

should be comparatively joyful.

The weather is glorious. Marian is at mass, having read me one of

Church's sermons.

Please tell John to send me a couple of hundred cigarettes (to

prevent influenza!).

When you come out you will not find me a kill-joy; the danger

will rather be that of my scandalising you all by riotous conduct

on Sunday.

And certainly he was astonishingly bright when his wife returned

to him. It was on a Sunday afternoon, and his first proposition

was, 'The church bell is tinkling, let's go to church.' It was the

twenty-eighth of January, and the brightness and gladness of two

of the Evening Psalms were oddly appropriate, and chimed in with

feelings of a greater gladness dawning on him, for he was leaving the

strange land in which for years he had not been able to sing 'The

Lord's Song.'

And then began a time, often saddened by hours of intense physical

exhaustion and physical depression, but also of what can only be

called growth in holiness, in all that comes from nearness to God.

In the early autumn and winter there had been sad moments when

still the clouds of darkness, of inability to grasp the Hand of God

stretched out to meet him, hung over him, but in these months there

had been the same growth.

One to whom he often spoke of the deepest things of life and of

death will never forget his saying one day just after the attack of

illness in December: 'I have come to see that cleverness, success,

attainment, count for little; that goodness, or, as F. (naming a dear

friend) would say, "_character_," is the important factor in life.'

For in early days Mr. Romanes had attached, so it seemed to some

of those who knew him best, an undue importance to intellect, to

cleverness, to intelligence, and the same person to whom he said the

few words just quoted had often discussed with him the relative value

of goodness and of intellect.

By goodness is meant perfect and complete goodness, not such as that

of which it has been said, 'It is the business of the wise to rectify

the mistakes of the good.'

And as weeks passed on he would often plan a country house and a

life in which 'good works' were to have a share.

He had always had a high ideal of what Love and Faith should bring

about, and in the last months of his life he said to one whom he

dearly loved, 'Darling, if you believe what you say you believe, why

should you mind so much?' With absolute resignation he gave up all

his ambitions, the old longing for distinction, for greater fame, and

yet he did not lose for one moment the old interest in his scientific

work.

Two papers of his were read at the Royal Society in October 1892. The

first described experiments undertaken by Mr. Romanes, the primary

object of which was to ascertain whether seeds which had been kept

out of contact with air for a lengthy period of time still possessed

the power of germination. The method adopted was as follows: a

certain number of seeds were taken from each packet, mustard, cress,

beans, peas, &c., being the kinds employed, and having been weighed

in a chemical balance were sealed up in tubes which had previously

been exhausted of air, and kept exposed to the vacuum for a period

of fifteen months. At the end of that time they were removed from

the tubes and sown in flower-pots buried in moist soil. In some

cases, after the seeds had been in the vacuum tubes for three months,

they were transferred to other tubes charged with pure gases, such

as oxygen, nitrogen, hydrogen, carbon monoxide, or with aqueous or

chloroform vapour, and there kept for a further period of twelve

months, when they were sown as before.

In all cases the same number of seeds, of similar weights to those

sealed up in the tubes, were taken from each packet, kept in ordinary

air for the fifteen months, and then sown as control experiments.

The results clearly showed that the germinating power of the seeds

was hardly, if at all, affected either by being exposed to the vacuum

or to the atmospheres of the various gases and vapours. Further, in

no single case, in the hundreds of seeds so treated, did the plants

produced from them differ from the standard types grown from the

control seeds even in the smallest degree.

The second paper described experiments in heliotropism, which had

been undertaken by Mr. Romanes with the object of ascertaining

whether plants would bend towards a light that is not continuous, but

intermittent.

Mustard seedlings, grown in the dark until they were about one or

two inches high, were used in all the experiments; they were either

placed in a dark room and exposed to flashes of light in the form of

electric sparks passed at regular intervals, or they were put in a

camera obscura, before which was placed a Swan burner or arc lamp,

the light from which was rendered intermittent by the regular opening

and shutting of the photographic shutter. The heliotropic effect on

the seedlings was found in all cases to be very marked, the most

vigorous ones beginning to bend towards the light ten minutes after

the flashing began, bending through 45° in as many minutes, and often

through another 45° in as many minutes more. By protecting half of

the seedlings from the interrupted light, by means of a cardboard

cap, then after the experiment uncovering them and exposing that half

for the same duration of time to constant sunlight, Mr. Romanes found

that the bending was less in this latter case, that is, when the

light was continuous. This result was confirmed by placing two sets

of plants under exactly similar conditions before a Swan burner, the

light from which was constant for one set of seedlings, and rendered

intermittent for the other set by working the flash shutter; in all

cases the interrupted light caused the plants to start bending more

quickly, and through a greater angle in a given time.

As regards the rate the flashes must succeed one another to produce

this heliotropic effect, Mr. Romanes found that sparks passed at the

rate of fifty in an hour would cause considerable bending in half an

hour. It is of interest to note that in no single case was there any

green colouring matter produced, the seedlings remaining colourless

even when the sparks were passed at the rate of 100 per second

continuously during forty-eight hours.

Dr. Sanderson writes:

Friday, November 17.

My dear Romanes,--There was a rather interesting discussion

at the R.S. on your paper about the fresh experiments with

seedlings. It was objected that there was no evidence that the

effects were not due to one-sided drying of the stems of the

seedlings, and ---- wanted to know whether sufficient precautions

were taken to guard against this. I suppose that he meant heat

effects. I said that, under the conditions of this experiment, I

could not see how any 'drying effect' could possibly take place.

My suggestion is that it would be worth while to add a note, if

you think of the impossibility of any effect, excepting a light

effect, being concerned. I asked Foster just now, and he agreed

with me that it would be useful. I ought to add that it was

admitted that the observation was a new one which promised to

have very important bearings.

I am writing this in great haste. I trust that you are enjoying

Costebelle.

Very truly yours,

T. BURDON SANDERSON.

At this time Mr. Romanes had a very interesting correspondence with

the Rev. G. Henslow, on the subject of the direct action of the

environment on plant structures.

Ealing: October 19, 1893.

Dear Mr. Romanes,--If you are in town on November 16, I should

be very glad indeed if you could come to the Linnean Society,

and criticise my paper which I am going to read: 'On the origin

of plant structures by self-adaptation to the environment,

exemplified by desert and xerophyllous plants.'

In this and in subsequent letters Mr. Henslow explained the

subject-matter of his paper, and as it formed the basis of the

correspondence, a brief analysis, furnished by Mr. Henslow in a later

letter, is here inserted.

The object of the paper is to show that the origin of varieties

and species--as far as the vegetative organs are concerned--is

solely due to climatic causes. For the acquired (somatic)

characters become more or less hereditary if the same environment

be maintained. But plants possess every degree in their

capacities either of _reverting_, _changing_, or of _stability_.

The result is that I do not see any necessity for natural

selection at all in Nature, for the following reasons.

Variations are often _indefinite_ in cultivation, especially

after several years. Therefore to secure a useful race

_artificial selection_ is necessary. On the other hand,

_variation_ is _definite_ in Nature, _all_ the seedlings varying

in one and the same direction, _i.e._ towards equilibrium with

the environmental forces. Darwin knew of this fact, and you have

abundantly described it. _But Darwin failed to see that this

definite variation in Nature is the rule, and not the exception._

Hence, as he admits, natural selection is not wanted at all

[_i.e._ _if_ all variations are definite in Nature].

Moreover, it is contended that climatic variations are of no

great, even of any useful importance. This may be so, for all

I know, with animals; but it is _precisely the reverse with

plants_. I took my illustrations from desert plants, and showed

that their remarkable characteristics, which give the _facies_

to desert plants, are on the one hand the direct results of

the excessive drought, heat, light, &c. On the other, they are

just those features which enable the plants to live under their

extremely inhospitable environment. These characters are the

minute leaves, hardening of woody tissues, thick cuticle, dense

clothing of hair, wax, storage of water tissues, &c.; so that the

whole economy of the plant, including its specific characters,

is _all_ climatically acquired. Although some may vary when the

plants are grown in ordinary gardens, such is no more than one

would expect on _a priori_ grounds to be the case.

I would limit natural selection, as far as plants are concerned,

to _three_ things:

1. Mortality among seedlings with the survival of the _strongest_.

I do not say 'fittest,' because it is ordinarily understood to

mean that the survivors have some _morphological features_, by

which they are benefited, which lead on finally to specific

characters.

I do not find this to be the case. Take an instance of great

contrast. Sow 100 seeds of the water (submerged) _Ranunculus

fluitans_ in a garden. They _all_ grow up as _aërial_ plants,

_i.e._ they vary as they grow precisely in the same way. It is

only the _weakest_ (from badly nourished seeds) which get crowded

out of existence. Here, then, is _definite variation without the

aid of natural selection_. _Ex uno disce omnes._

2. _Delimitation of varieties and species_ by the

_non-reproduction_ of intermediate forms.

It is generally said that if 'good species' are isolated, the

intermediate forms have been killed off by natural selection.

I maintain that they were _never reproduced_. Thus if A has

passed by successive generations, A′, A″, A‴, &c., to A^n; A and

A^n being now only in existence, then A′, A″, &c., represented

a _single generation_ apiece, each offspring being one degree

nearer to A^n, but could never be reproduced, as the environment

was continually acting upon the whole series, urging each

generation forwards till it became stable in A^n.

This is precisely what takes place in cultivating a wild plant

like the parsnip. Each year the grower selects a slightly

improved form, till the required type is fixed. The 'Student'

is now A^n, a more or less permanently fixed form, each of

the intermediate forms, lasting one year, having ceased to be

reproduced.

3. The geographical distribution of varieties and species by

_self-adaptation_.

That is, if a number of plants migrate to a new locality with

new environmental conditions, half of them may die; because

they cannot adapt themselves; the other half may live--change,

and become fixed forms, by their power of adaptation. The final

conclusion of the whole is that plants require nothing more than

climatic influences, to which their protoplasm may respond. The

result is new varietal or specific characters. Then, if the

same environment lasts, these become gradually more and more

fixed and hereditary, but one can never tell beforehand but

that the oldest plant in creation may not change again as soon

as it finds a new environment.... This is what a long study of

plants and experiments has led me to; and it is not a conclusion

arrived at solely by 'thinking out' or evolving from my own

consciousness--like the German camel!

Hoping you are progressing,

Believe me, yours sincerely,

GEORGE HENSLOW.

Hôtel l'Ermitage, Costebelle, Hyères, France: October 29, 1893.

Dear Mr. Henslow,--You will correctly infer from this address

that I shall not be able to attend the Linnean Society meeting on

the 16th prox. For two or three years past my health has been

breaking up, and several months ago I had a stroke of paralysis.

So I have had to knock off all work, and have just arrived here

to spend the winter--finding your letter, forwarded from Oxford,

awaiting me.

It has interested me very much, and some time I should like to

see the paper to which it refers, whether in MS. or print. As far

as I can gather, you are spontaneously following in the footsteps

of Asa Gray, Nägeli, and some other botanists. But, it seems to

me, this self-adaptation doctrine is equivalent to an _a priori_

abandoning of all hope to obtain any naturalistic explanation

of the phenomena in question. It simply refers the facts of

adaptation immediately to some theory of design, and so brings us

back again to Paley, Bell, and Chalmers. As when a child asks why

a flower closes at night, and we answer him: Because God has made

it so, my dear. _C'est magnifique, mais ce n'est pas la science._

But do not mistake me. My quarrel is with the term

self-adaptation, which seems to imply causes of a

non-naturalistic kind. Which, of course, is quite a different

thing from doubting whether the naturalistic explanation given

by Darwin is adequate to meet all the facts. I am myself more

and more given to question 'the all-sufficiency of natural

selection,' and this, whether or not use-inheritance is one of

the supplementary factors. But that there are some hitherto

undiscovered factors of this kind where many of the phenomena

of adaptation are concerned, I am more and more disposed to

suspect. Nevertheless I believe, in the light of analogy, that

they will all prove to be natural causes, and therefore not

correctly definable as due to 'self-adaptation.'

My hemiplegia has given me a terrible shake, so I cannot write

much. Indeed, this is the longest of the few letters which I have

written since my attack. So please excuse seeming bluntness, and

believe me to remain,

Ever yours, very truly and most interestedly,

GEO. J. ROMANES.

P.S.--Of course you would not in any case expect to find so much

variability of the _conspicuously indefinite_ kind in nature as

in cultivation. For, by hypothesis, natural selection is present

in the one case (to destroy useless variations) while absent in

the other. But I allow this does not apply to the examples you

give me. Only remember the point in publishing your paper.

Hôtel Costebelle, Hyères: February 10, 1894.

Dear Mr. Henslow,--I am much indebted to you for all your most

interesting letters, and also for prospect of receiving your

books. Although forbidden to write letters myself, or to think

about anything as yet, I must send a few lines, pending arrival

of the books and papers, giving my general impression of your

views as set out in your correspondence.

Briefly, it seems to me that your argument is perfectly clear

up to a certain point, but then suddenly becomes a _petitio

principii_. In other words, so far as your view is critical

of natural selection considered as a _hypothetical cause_

of adaptive evolution, I can well believe you have adduced

a formidable array of facts. But I fail to follow, when

you pass on to the constructive part of your case--or your

suggested substitute for natural selection in self-adaptation.

For self-adaptation, I understand, consists in results of

_immediate response to stimuli supplied by environment_. But,

if so, surely the statement that all the adaptive machinery of

plant-organisation is due to self-adaptation is a mere begging of

the question _against_ natural selection _unless it can be shown

how self-adaptation works in each case_. Now I do not find any

suggestion as to this. And yet this is obviously the essential

point; since, _unless it can be shown how self-adaptation

works_--_i.e._ that it is a _vera causa_, and not a mere word

serving to re-state the facts of adaptive evolution. We have got

no further in the way of _explanation_ than the physician, who

said, that the reason why morphia produces sleep is because it

possesses a soporific quality.

Observe, I purposely abstain from considering your criticism

of natural selection, which, although perfectly lucid and

possibly justifiable, yet certainly does admit of the answer

that incipient variations of a _fortuitous_ kind under nature

_may_ often be inconspicuous (while Wallace shows that in

animals they are, as a matter of fact, usually considerable).

But we need not go into this. The interesting point to all of

us must be the constructive part of your work; and I have

tried to explain _my_ difficulty with regard to it. _Why should

protoplasm be able to adapt itself_ into the millions of diverse

mechanisms of nature by converse with environment? The theory of

natural selection gives a logically possible, even if it be a

biologically inadequate answer. But I cannot see that the theory

of self-adaptation does, _unless it can be shown that there is

some sufficient reason why_, say a _direct-environment should

produce self-adaptation_ in the direction of hairs, a marine one

in that of fleshiness, &c. &c.

I have been very frank, because I know you, and therefore that

this is what you would prefer. But I am too ill to make myself

clear in a letter. I wish you could stop here for a day on your

way home, by which time I shall probably have read your books,

and we might discuss the whole business before I publish mine on

the Post-Darwinian Theories.

With very many thanks,

I remain yours very truly,

G. J. ROMANES.

Hôtel Costebelle, Hyères: February 24, 1894.

Dear Mr. Henslow,--Nothing can be more clear than are all your

letters, and the last one, I take it, sets at rest the only

question which I had to ask. For it expressly answers that, in

your own view, hypothesis of 'self-adaptation' is a _statement_

rather than an _explanation_ of the facts. Nevertheless, it

is also to some certain extent advanced as an explanation on

Lamarckian lines, for in your books (for which I much thank

you) you attribute adaptive mechanism in flowers to thrusts,

strains &c. caused by insects. But here, if I may say so, it

does not seem to me that you sufficiently deal with an obvious

criticism, viz. How is it so much as conceivable that protoplasm

should always respond to insect irritation adaptively, when

we look to the endless variety and often great elaboration of

the mechanism? Similarly as regards the inorganic environment,

Lamarck's hypothesis of _use_-inheritance (_i.e._ mere increase

and decrease of parts as due to inherited efforts of greater

or less development by altered flow of nutrition) was at least

theoretically valid. But how can you extend this to structures

which, though _useful_, are never _active_, so as to modify flow

of nutrition, _e.g._ hard shells of nuts, soft pulp of fruits,

&c.? Here it is that natural selection theory has the pull. And

so of adaptive _colours_, _odours_, and _secretions_? I confess

that, even accepting inheritance of acquired characters, I

could conceive of 'self-adaptation' alone producing all such

innumerable and diversified adjustments only by seeing with

Newman (in his 'Apologia') an angel in every flower.

Besides, I do not see why you are shut up to this, even on your

own principles. For surely, be there as much self-adaptation in

Nature as ever you please, it would still be those individuals

(or _incipient types_) _which best respond_ to stimulation

(_i.e._ most adaptively do so) that, other things equal, would

survive in the struggle for existence, and so be naturally

selected. In other words, I do not see why you should accept

natural selection as regards 'vigour' of seedlings, and nowhere

else.

I quite accept the validity of your criticism of my physiological

selection in your book, supposing your 'self-adaptation' true

to the extent you suppose. But otherwise what you say tells

in favour of physiological selection, at least, excepting the

statement as to new allied species originating as a rule on

distant areas from parent types. This, however, is certainly an

erroneous statement, though I should like to know how you came to

make it.

I much wish I could write more or meet you. For, notwithstanding

apparent bluntness (for brevity's sake), I see you are one of the

few evolutionists who think for yourself.

With many thanks, yours very truly,

G. J. ROMANES.

I am not against your criticism of natural selection, for I have

always thought there must be some other additional principle of

adaptation at work.

Grand Hôtel, Costebelle, Hyères (Var): March 12.

Dear Mr. Henslow,--My husband has much enjoyed your long and

clear letter which I have just read to him. He is too ill to

reply himself, but he will dictate a few notes to me to send to

you.

Yours very truly,

ETHEL ROMANES.

(A) I cry 'Peccavi' _as regards natural selection co-operating

with self-adaptation_. Since you show that, even if it does, you

are not concerned with this fact--_i.e._ of the _development of

the adaptation_, but only with its origin.

(B) All the same, however, we must remember that where high

elaboration of mechanism is concerned, the question as to the

_causes of its development_ become of more importance than those

_of its origin_; _e.g._ even if self-adaptation be conceived

capable of making a _first step_ towards producing the exquisite

mechanism of a bivalve shell, by discriminate variation, _how is

it conceivable_ that it should _go on_ through _the odd millions

of successive steps_ of improvement needed to produce the perfect

mechanism in which the great wonder of adaptation really occurs?

I can conceive of _no natural process to accomplish this

development_ even in one such case of mechanism _other than

natural selection_. Let alone the 'endless variety' of elaborate

mechanism elsewhere.

(C) Of course, if you could _prove_ that indiscriminate

variations have not occurred in wild plants, but only under

cultivation, _you would destroy Darwinism_--_in toto_. But is the

proposition credible _a priori_; or sustainable _a posteriori_,

&c.?

I suppose you have read Wallace on the subject as regards wild

animals, and if you were to make similar _measurements_ with

regard to _wild plants_, you would obtain analogous results.

I remember as a boy having a game of who could find most

specimens of fern-leaved clover in a given time, or even two

leaves of clover which would be exactly alike in all respects.

But I have already discussed the matter of definite and

indefinite variability in 'Darwin and after Darwin.'

(D) I will let the question of Use-Inheritance in relation to

seemingly Passive Organs, go by default against me, as it is

rather a side issue and would need much writing to discuss. The

same applies to your remarks on Teleology. As regards both points

I agree with your observations.

(E) Touching varieties as found in different areas from parent

types, I suppose you heard how carefully Nägeli has gone into the

subject, with the result that after making allowances for defects

of isolation, change of environment, &c., only about _five per

cent. of species of plants seem to have originated on distant

areas_, while Wallace has shown that some such proportion applies

to animals.

(F) As regards plants having been brought under cultivation,

and yielding variations that prove heredity, I knew there were

innumerable cases where artificial selection had been brought

into play. But of course they are all out of court until the

question on which you are engaged has been decided in your

favour, _i.e._ until you have succeeded in _disproving natural

selection_ as analogous or parallel to artificial. It was

for this reason I mentioned the case of parsnips, where the

hereditary variations seem to have taken place in the _first

generation_ after transplanting, and therefore without leaving

time for selection of any kind to have come into play.

Hôtel Costebelle, Hyères: March 29.

Dear Mr. Henslow,--I am still terribly ill and cannot write

much. We must have a talk. Could you come to Oxford any day you

like and be our guest? I think we might derive mutual benefit. I

shall be there from the middle of April till I do not know when.

Why not come on May 2, to hear Weismann give his lecture in the

afternoon?

I much wish you would save seed of any fixed local varieties of

plants you may find to be in seed, while you are in Malta (or

bulbs), in order to see whether plants grown from them in England

will or will not prove fully fertile. This is in relation to

my own theory of physiological selection, according to which

isolation produces segregation of type; in the same way as it

does that of a language--viz. by prevention of intercourse with

the parent type and consequently with an independent history of

variation. Where the isolation is due to physical barriers (as

at Malta) there is no need for any sexual differentiation to

originate a species. But on common areas, sexual differentiation

is the only means of securing the isolation. Therefore (I say)

we can see why Jordan's French varieties all prove sterile with

their parent forms, and I should expect your Malta varieties to

prove fertile with _theirs_ elsewhere.

G. J. R.

Costebelle: April 15, 1894.

Dear Mr. Henslow,--Yes, please write when you get back,

suggesting any time you may find convenient for spending a day

or two with us at 94 St. Aldate's, Oxford (immediately opposite

Christ Church). I cannot talk long at a time, but I think the

meeting will be of use to both.

Of course 'Isolation _produces_ segregation of type,' is only

a short-hand expression, meaning--_indiscriminate variation

being supposed_--isolation supplies a necessary condition to

segregation of type by upsetting the previous stability that was

due to free inter-crossing.

I quite agree that Darwin _very greatly_ over-estimated the

_benefit_ of inter-crossing, as I am showing in my forthcoming

book on 'Physiological Selection.' But this is quite a different

thing from his having _made too much of inter-crossing_ as

a condition to stability of type; I do not think that this

_can_ be made too much of. Indeed, how is it conceivable that

there ever can be _divergence_ of type without _isolation_ of

some kind having first occurred at the origin, and throughout

the growth of every branch? Moreover, I agree with you about

self-fertilisation, but see in it a form of physiological

selection; it is one kind of sexual isolation, or prevention

of inter-crossing with neighbouring individuals. So that the

more perfectly it obtains in any given type, the better chance

there is for that type to become a new species by independent

variability--and this whether or not the _independent_

variability is likewise _indiscriminate_ (or in _your_

terminology 'indefinite').

In my last letter I referred to the works of Jordan and Nägeli

for any number of '_facts_ in _Nature_ of varieties _arising

among_ the type forms.' I will show you the passages when we

meet. But even in cases of 'local varieties,' where a variety

has a habitat of its own _surrounded by the type-form_, I should

expect experiment would often (though by no means always) show

some degree of _cross-infertility_ between the two, pointing to

pre-potency (_i.e._ early stages of physiological selection)

being the origin of the divergence.

Before we meet I wish you would try to think of any plants which

can be propagated by cuttings (or otherwise asexually) which are

known to be modifiable by changed conditions of life in the first

generation. I understand you that in some cases the seed of such

a plant _will not revert_--when sown in its natural environment,

though, of course, the rule is that it does. Well, in either

case, I should much like to try whether a cutting &c. from the

transplanted (and therefore modified) tubers &c. would revert

to its ancestral character. When retransplanted to its natural

environment, much would follow from result of such an experiment

as regards Weismannism.

Yours very and always truly,

G. J. ROMANES.

P.S.--Of course in saying 'on common areas, sexual

differentiation is the only means of securing the isolation,' I

did not include self-fertilising plants--any more, _e.g._ than

insect fertilising where changes in the instincts of insects may

cause sexual isolation.

I leave for Oxford to-morrow.

These months were made very happy to him by the fact that three

friends, Mrs. and Miss Church and the Rev. R. C. Moberly,[122] were

staying in the same hotel. He often alludes in his letters to the

intense pleasure these friends gave him, and speaks of how much he

owed to their tenderness and sympathy, and to their perception when

to come and when to stay away.

Many books were heard and read by him. Mr. Gore's Bampton Lectures

were read aloud to him, and he liked them even better than when he

heard them preached. Several other theological books were read, and

of all these the one which bears marks of most careful study is

Pascal's 'Pensées.' He used Mr. C. Kegan Paul's translation. The copy

he had at Costebelle, which used to lie by his bedside, is marked and

annotated. It is the last book he read to himself in his own careful

and student-like fashion. He also wrote some notes of advice to his

boys.

At this time he began to make notes for a work which he intended

to be a supplement or an answer to the 'Candid Examination of

Theism.' As he went on, his notes grew--so it seemed to one who read

them--increasingly nearer Faith, but of them the world can now judge.

He said one day, while scribbling down notes, 'If anything happens to

me before I can work them up into a book, give them to Gore. He will

understand.'

Nothing can be more erroneous than to suppose that the change in

point of view was sudden, or due to any fear of death, or that it

caused mental suffering to the author of 'Thoughts on Religion,' or

that he was influenced by anyone, priest or layman.

There will always be unconscious influence, and it probably was not

altogether in vain that two or three of Mr. Romanes' greatest and

most intimate friends were Christian as well as intellectual men.

But of influence and argument and persuasion, as most people imagine

them, there was nothing. Discussions many, during the past years, but

to these he owed little.

It is written, that those who seek find, and to no one do these words

more fitly apply.

During these months Mr. Romanes read many books of a religious

nature; particularly and pre-eminently he liked to have Dean Church

read aloud, and he also liked Mr. Holland's 'City of God' and Mr.

Illingworth's sermons, particularly one on 'Innocence,' which he

asked for more than once. He also read much poetry, Miss Rossetti and

Archbishop Trench being especial favourites at this time.

To himself he read or had read to him the Bible and Thomas à Kempis,

and he liked Dr. Bright's Ancient Collects, and in part Bishop

Andrewes' Devotions. He never would read or have anything read to him

which did not ring true to him and which he could not appreciate;

for instance, the Pleadings of Our Lord's Physical Sufferings in

Andrewes' Devotions for Friday were very distasteful to him.

He often went to the English Church for short services, and on Easter

Monday Dr. Moberly gave him Holy Communion, for which he had asked

and for which he wished.

In the week before Easter he felt very ill, and said, 'I wish Moberly

(who had gone away for a few days) were here, and we could have that

Celebration; I don't think I shall live till Easter.' But this passed

away, and on Easter Day he was peculiarly bright, and in the evening

said, 'I have written this poem to-day.'

It is impossible to resist the wish to insert it here:

_HEBREWS_ xi. 10 (_or_ ii. 10).

'Amen, now lettest Thou Thy servant, Lord,

Depart in peace, according to Thy Word:

Although mine eyes may not have fully seen

Thy great salvation, surely there have been

Enough of sorrow and enough of sight

To show the way from darkness into light;

And Thou hast brought me, through a wilderness of pain,

To love the sorest paths if soonest they attain.

'Enough of sorrow for the heart to cry--

"Not for myself, nor for my kind, am I:"

Enough of sight for Reason to disclose,

"The more I learn the less my knowledge grows."

Ah! not as citizens of this our sphere,

But aliens militant we sojourn here,

Invested by the hosts of Evil and of Wrong,

Till Thou shalt come again with all Thine angel throng.

'As Thou hast found me ready to Thy call,

Which stationed me to watch the outer wall,

And, quitting joys and hopes that once were mine,

To pace with patient steps this narrow line,

Oh! may it be that, coming soon or late,

Thou still shalt find Thy soldier at the gate,

Who then may follow Thee till sight needs not to prove,

And faith will be dissolved in knowledge of Thy love.'

From the manuscript it is difficult to determine what was the motto

of the poem, Hebrews xi. or Hebrews ii.; the latter is more probable,

at least so it seems to the present writer.

On the 28th Mr. Romanes wrote a letter to the Dean of Christ Church,

which, besides some items of personal interest, and of expressions of

affection too intimate to be given, contains the following:

Costebelle: March 28, 1894.

My dear Paget,--I have had to abandon letter writing for

several weeks past, as the least effort, even in the way of

conversation, produces exhaustion in a painful degree. So, as

usual, I had to ask my wife to answer your kind letter yesterday.

But this morning I feel a little bit better, so I should like to

have a try. She has gone to church, and therefore, as I could not

even hear her read the letter which she posted to you yesterday,

there is likely to be some repetition.

* * * * *

Oddly enough for my time of life, I have begun to discover the

truth of what you once wrote about logical processes not being

the only means of research in regions transcendental. It is too

large a matter to deal with in a letter, but I hope to have a

conversation with you some day, and ascertain how far you will

agree with a certain 'new and short way with the Agnostics.'

* * * * *

Yours ever sincerely and affectionately,

GEO. J. ROMANES.

He had all his old interest in psychical research, and a friend, Mrs.

Crawfurd, of Auchinames, who shared this interest, used to beguile

many weary hours with ghost stories, and he and she used to 'cap'

each other's narratives.

There were pleasant people in the hotels around, and the bright

sunshine and balmy air were great sources of enjoyment to him. Dr.

Bidon, of Hyères, was unfailing in constant kindness, and it would

be ungrateful not to say how much was owed to the kind landlord, M.

Peyron, and to Madame Peyron.

The journey to England was apparently borne without undue fatigue,

and the home coming was very bright, with joyous meeting with his

children and with various friends. The only difficulty was to keep

him quiet enough. It was said one day, 'When you go home you must

not see too many people.' 'Oh, no,' he replied, 'I only want to see

Paget, and Dr. Sanderson, and Gore, and Philip (Waggett), and Mrs.

Woods, and Ray Lankester, and ----' but he stopped, laughing, the

list was already so long and would soon have been doubled. For a few

days his wife was away, and during this brief absence a very dear

friend, Miss Rose Price, the daughter of the Master of Pembroke, died.

He writes:

_To Mrs. Romanes._

How glad I am you are still mine! I have just returned from

Rose's funeral, which was all but too much for me. As you know,

I have seen other such things on a grander scale, but never any

approach to this one in point of beauty and pathos. The College

Chapel was completely filled with members of the University, with

wives and daughters, yet all personal friends of hers, including

all members of the family, the poor Master separated from the

rest in his official seat. All the undergraduates of Pembroke

were present, each provided with a lovely wreath, carried in

procession to the grave. The whole of the east end was one mass

of white flowers, the coffin with its own flowers being placed in

the middle of the aisle. The procession walked first all round

the quad, and then through Christ Church Meadows, being met at

Holywell by the choir.[123]

This is the last letter I shall write. All well here, and the

Interlopers[124] know me now. Weismann accepts invitation to

lecture, and is on his way on purpose. I have obtained an

invitation from the Royal Society for him to the 'soirée.'

Four weeks more, and the writer of this letter was also borne through

Christ Church Meadow, and laid to rest near the young girl whom he

had made his friend, and whose death he deeply mourned.

It was thought at this time that a country home would be possibly

better for him. Many drives were taken in search of houses or of

possible sites for building, and he was often positively boyish and

merry during these expeditions.

He began to devise experiments again, and also set to work to arrange

his papers and manuscripts in the most methodical way. As has been

said he had already arranged that if he died before completing

'Darwin, and after Darwin,' Professor Lloyd Morgan should finish

it and publish it, and any other scientific papers, an arrangement

to which Mr. Lloyd Morgan most kindly consented. To Mr. Gore were

bequeathed the fragmentary notes now published under the title

'Thoughts on Religion.'

On May 3 came the third Romanes Lecture. It was given by Professor

Weismann, and was a worthy successor to the two which had preceded it.

Mr. Romanes was glad to meet Professor Weismann, and enjoyed the

pleasant talk he and his distinguished opponent had in his house

after the lecture.

On the seventh of May he went to London to consult doctors, and for

the last time he stayed with his two dear friends, Sir James and Lady

Paget.

He saw one or two people and was, as one friend said, 'just his dear

merry old self, chaffing and being chaffed.'

He enjoyed music as much as ever, and on the nineteenth of May he

went to a concert given by the Ladies' Orchestral Society.

He was often at the Museum, and he wrote frequently of the

experiments he was devising, all bearing on Professor Weismann's

theory; in these he was assisted by Dr. Leonard Hill.

He wrote several times to Professor Schäfer, and on May 19, four days

before his death, in the midst of a long letter too technical to be

given, he says, 'All I can do now for science is to pay.'

He still took much interest in Oxford life, and one of the last

things he did was to vote against the introduction of the English

Language and Literature School.

Cathedral was more than ever a pleasure to him, and he used often

to slip in for bits of the service, particularly if some particular

service or anthem was going to be given. Especially he loved a few

special anthems; Brahms' 'How lovely are Thy dwellings fair' being a

great favourite.

He used to go down to the 'Eights' when they began, and on almost

the very last day of his life he was with difficulty dissuaded from

writing a letter to the 'Times,' strongly supporting the Christ

Church authorities whose proceedings in some disturbances in the

College had been criticised. On Whit Sunday, for the last time, he

went to the University Sermon, which happened to be preached by

the Bishop of Lincoln, and which greatly impressed Mr. Romanes,

brought as he was for the first time under the spell of one who has

influenced more than one generation of Oxford men.

And as the days went on, there was a curious feeling of preparation

for some change. He made all his arrangements and was quite calm,

quite gentle, even merry at times; now and then the weary fits of

physical lassitude or of headache would prostrate him, but when these

were past he would placidly begin some bit of work.

On Thursday in Whit week he went to the eight o'clock Celebration

of Holy Communion in the Latin Chapel of Christ Church, and in the

course of that day he said, 'I have now come to see that faith is

intellectually justifiable.' By-and-by he added, 'It is Christianity

or nothing.'

Presently he added, 'I as yet have not that real inward assurance; it

is with me as that text says, "I am not able to look up," but I feel

the service of this morning is a means of grace.'

This was almost the last time he ever spoke on religious subjects.

With Mr. Philip Waggett there had been in these last days some talks,

and the two friends, united as they had been in earlier years by

their common interest in science, and in those problems which all

who think at all must sooner or later face, now found themselves

in closer and fuller agreement than either could at one time have

believed possible.

Sunday, the twentieth of May, was his birthday and that of his eldest

son, and had always been a family festa. He was bright and merry,

went to Magdalen to see Mrs. Warren, saw for the last time Dr. Paget,

and had a little talk about his 'Thoughts on Religion' with Mr. Gore,

whom he went to hear preach in one of the Oxford churches. And on

Monday he keenly enjoyed a small luncheon party, consisting of the

Master of Balliol, Mr. Gore, and Miss Wordsworth, saying that Poetry,

Science, Theology, Philosophy were all represented, and that he would

have such-like little parties every now and then, they were so

refreshing and did not tire him.

One or two special friends came in to see him on these last days, and

he had planned to go and stay at a country house belonging to the

President of Trinity, which had been with characteristic kindness put

at his disposal.

On Wednesday, May 23, he seemed particularly well; he wrote a letter

to the Editor of the 'Contemporary Review' and did some bits of

work. It was Sir James and Lady Paget's Golden Wedding day, and he

despatched a telegram of congratulation to them. (The very last bit

of shopping he ever did was to buy a present for that Golden Wedding,

which reached those for whom it was intended after he was dead.)

He came into his study about twelve, and asked that the book in which

he was then interested, 'Some Aspects of Theism,'[125] might be read

aloud; but before the reading began he changed his mind, and said he

would lie down in his bedroom and be read to there. On lying down he

complained of feeling very ill, said a few loving words to one who

was with him, and became unconscious. His children and the Dean came

to him, but he did not recover enough to know them, and passed away

in less than an hour: _Ex umbris et imaginibus in veritatem_.

Five days later he was laid to rest in Holywell Cemetery, after an

early Celebration in Christ Church, the first part of the service

being said in the cathedral which he had loved so much, and which had

brought him so much comfort in the last weeks of life.

His favourite hymn, 'Lead, kindly Light,' was sung, and the service

was said in part by the friend who had been with him on his

wedding-day, given him his first Communion after the illness began,

and who had been bound up with many joys and sorrows;[126] and in

part by Mr. Philip Waggett, who had been to him as a young brother,

more and more loved, during the seven years in which they had walked

and talked as friends, the friend known as 'Carissime.' (One other

special friend, Mr. Gore, was prevented by illness from coming.)

Looking back over these two years of illness, it is impossible not to

be struck by the calmness and fortitude with which that illness was

met. There were, as has been said, moments of terrible depression and

of disappointment and of grief. It was not easy for him to give up

ambition, to leave so many projects unfulfilled, so much work undone.

But to him this illness grew to be a mount of purification,

Ove l'umano spirito si purga,

E di salire al ciel diventa degno.[127]

More and more there grew on him a deepening sense of the goodness

of God. No one had ever suffered more from the Eclipse of Faith, no

one had ever been more honest in dealing with himself and with his

difficulties.

The change that came over his mental attitude may seem almost

incredible to those who knew him only as a scientific man; it does

not seem so to the few who knew anything of his inner life. To them

the impression given is, not of an enemy changed into a friend,

antagonism altered into submission; rather is it of one who for

long has been bearing a heavy burden on his shoulders bravely and

patiently, and who at last has had it lifted from him, and lifted

so gradually that he could not tell the exact moment when he found

it gone, and himself standing, like the Pilgrim of never to be

forgotten story, at the foot of the Cross, and Three Shining Ones

coming to greet him.

It was recovery, to some extent discovery, which befell him, but

there was no change of purpose, no sudden intellectual or moral

conversion.

He had always cared more for Truth, for the knowledge of God, than

for anything else in the world. In the years most outwardly happy

he was crying out in the darkness for light, with a soul athirst

for God, and, as was said before, he did most truly re-echo St.

Augustine's words, '_Fecisti nos ad Te, et inquietum est cor nostrum,

donec requiescat in Te_.'

It is difficult for anyone who has lived in closest intimacy with him

to speak of him in words which will not to those who did not know

him seem exaggerated, nay, extravagant; to those who knew and loved

him, cold, inadequate, lifeless; for he bore 'the white flower of a

blameless life' from boyhood onwards, and in heart and life he was

unstained, pure, unselfish, unworldly in the truest sense.

When the Shadow of Death lay on him, and the dread messenger was

drawing near, and he looked back on his short life, he could reproach

himself only for what he called sins of the intellect, mental

arrogance, undue regard for intellectual supremacy.

No one better understood him than the friend[128] who wrote:

When a man has lived with broad and strong interest in life,

neither discarding nor slighting any true part of it in home,

or society, or work, the various aspects of his character and

career are likely to be many and suggestive. And so there may be

some warrant for an attempt to disengage one line of advance in

the life, one trait in the example, and to concentrate attention

upon that, while the other and perhaps more widely recognised

elements are for the moment left unnoticed. There was one such

line of advance in the life of George Romanes, of which it may be

hard to speak, but wrong, perhaps, to be wholly silent. Few men

have shown more finely the simplicity and patience in sustained

endeavour which are the conditions of attainment in the quest of

truth. It is easy to see how the training and habits of a mind

devoted to natural science may render faith more difficult, and

cross or check the venture of the soul towards the things eternal

and unseen. But there is one quality proper to such a mind which

should have a different effect, and act as a safeguard against

a fault that often checks or mars the growth of faith. That

quality is tenacity of uncorrelated fragments; the endurance of

incompleteness; the patient refusal to attenuate or discard a

fact because it will not fit into a system; the determined hope

that whatsoever things are true have further truth to teach, if

only they are held fast and fairly dealt with. The sincerely

scientific mind shows such tenacity as that under every trial

of its faith and patience, howsoever long and unpromising and

unrelieved; for it knows itself responsible not for attainment,

but for perseverance; not for conquest, but for loyalty. It

resists even the temptation to dislike the untidy scraps of

observation or experience which will match nothing and go

nowhere; for it suspects and reveres in all the possibility of

new light.

And surely there is a like excellence of thought, rare, and

high, and exemplary, in regard to the things unseen, the things

that are spiritually discerned. Scattered up and down the world,

coming one way or another within the ken of all men, there are

facts of plain experience which will not really fit, unmutilated,

undisfigured, into any scheme or view of life that leaves God

out of sight. They are facts, it may be, of which a full account

can hardly, if at all, be given. They are fragmentary, isolated,

imponderable; clearer at one time than at another; largely

dependent, for anything like due recognition, upon the individual

mind, and heart, and will. Yet there they are, flashing out

at times with an intensity which makes all else seem pale and

cold; disclosing, or ready to disclose, to any quietness of

thought, great hints of worlds unrealised and possibilities of

overwhelming glory.

And it is on loyalty, on justice to such fragments of truth,

unaccounted for and unarranged, that for many men the trial of

faith may turn. All is not lost, and everything is possible, so

long as the mind refuses to doubt the reality of the light that

has come, perhaps, as yet only in broken rays. Of such justice

and loyalty George Romanes set a very high example. The strength

and simplicity and patience of his character appeared in nothing

else more remarkably, more happily, than in his undiscouraged

grasp of those unseen realities which invade this world in the

name and power of the world to come. The love of precision and

completeness never dulled his care for the things that he could

neither define, nor label, nor arrange; in their fragmentariness

he treasured them, in their reserve he trusted them, waiting

faithfully to see what they might have to show him. And they did

not fail him. This is not the place in which to try to speak

of the graces and the gladness which from such loyal sincerity

passed into his life, nor of the clearer light that grew and

spread before his wistful, hopeful gaze. But it hardly can be

wrong to have said thus much of so noble and so timely a pattern

of allegiance to all truth discerned; and of this great lesson

in a life which seemed even here to have the earnest of that

promise--'He that seeketh, findeth'--a life which seemed to be

moving steadily towards the blessing of the pure in heart, the

vision of Almighty God.[129]

F. P.

A letter from Mr. Gladstone cannot be omitted, and seems to come in

fittingly at this place:

1 Carlton Gardens: June.

Dear Mrs. Romanes,--My present circumstances are not very

favourable to direct personal communication, and my personal

intercourse with Mr. Romanes was so scanty in its quantity as

hardly to warrant my present intrusion, but I cannot help writing

a few words for the purpose of conveying my deep sympathy on the

heavy bereavement you have sustained, and further of saying how

deep an impression he left upon my mind in the point of character

not less than of capacity. He was one of the men whom the age

specially requires for the investigation and solution of its

especial difficulties, and for the conciliation and harmony of

interests between which a factitious rivalry has been created.

Your heavy private loss is then coupled in my view with a public

calamity; but while I can rejoice in your retrospect of his

labour, I also trust it may please God in His wisdom to raise up

others to fill up his place and carry forward his work. May you

enjoy the abundance of the Divine consolations in proportion to

your great need.

Believe me, most truly yours,

W. E. GLADSTONE.

Not much remains to be said. The life here described would seem to

have been cut short, but, as was said by a friend, 'in a short time

he fulfilled a long time,'[130] and few have won for themselves more

love in the home and beyond it. He left no enemy, and those who loved

him and to whom his loss has left a blank and desolation of which

it is not well to speak, can only be thankful for what he was and

for what he is. Not indeed that one would forget those words of Dean

Church quoted in the beautiful preface to his Life:[131]

'I often have a kind of waking dream: up one road, the image of a

man decked and adorned as if for a triumph, carried up by rejoicing

and exulting friends, who praise his goodness and achievements; and,

on the other road, turned back to back to it, there is the very man

himself, in sordid and squalid apparel, surrounded not by friends

but by ministers of justice, and going on, while his friends are

exulting, to his certain and perhaps awful judgment. That vision

rises when I hear, not just and conscientious endeavours to make

out a man's character, but when I hear the loose things that are

said--often in kindness and love--of those beyond the grave.'

But there have been men and women who have lifted the minds and

the hearts of those who knew and loved them to increasing love for

goodness, to increasing loftiness of ideal, and for these, whom now

no praise can hurt, no blame can wound, one can but lift one's heart

in ever growing thankfulness for the gifts and graces which made them

what they were, and which will grow and increase in them until the

Perfect Day.

_Beati mundo corde, quoniam ipsi Deum videbunt._

May 23, 1895.

FOOTNOTES:

[68] Mr. Romanes had belonged for many years to the Aristotelian

Society, and had contributed papers to the Journal of the Society.

He also once belonged to the Psychological Club, which used to meet

at Professor Croom Robertson's house. The other members of the club

were Mr. Francis Galton, Mr. Sully, Mr. Shadworth Hodgson, Professor

Edgeworth, Professor Dunstan, Mr. Edmund Gurney, Mrs. Bryant, and one

or two others.

[69] See _Thoughts on Religion_, p. 92.

[70] The beautiful cemetery adjoining Holywell Church, Oxford.

[71] Dr. Liddon died in September 1890.

[72] The house which Mr. Romanes had taken was originally an

almshouse.

[73] The Physiological Society has a yearly meeting at Oxford.

[74] Professor Victor Horsley, F.R.S., Univ. Coll. London.

[75] Professor of Physiology at Oxford.

[76] Professor W. Dunstan, F.R.S.

[77] 'Lights of the Church and of Science.'

[78] Professor Kitchen Parker, F.R.S.

[79] Mr. R. Scott, F.R.S.

[80] _The Colours of Animals_, by E. B. Poulton, M.A., F.R.S.,

International Scientific Series, vol. lxviii.

[81] A beautiful terrier.

[82] Two more dogs.

[83] This was the last summer at Geanies.

[84] Mr. E. B. Turner, F.R.C.S.

[85] Psalm xxvii.

[86] A pet name for his daughter.

[87] He had slipped on the rocks and hurt his arm.

[88] His third son.

[89] On 'Physiological Selection.' See _Nature_, vol. xlii. pp. 5, 7,

and vol. xliii. pp. 79 and 127.

[90] The late Professor Sellar.

[91] The Oxford Natural History Society.

[92] The Astronomer Royal at the Cape and his wife.

[93] The Rev. Bartholomew Price, D.D., F.R.S.

[94] Mr. Gladstone had declined at first, but yielded to a second

urgent request from the founder.

[95] The home of Sir William and the Hon. Lady Welby-Gregory.

[96] On the work alluded to in a letter to Professor Schäfer.

[97] The Rev. Philip Napier Waggett, now of Cowley St. John, who was

one of Mr. Romanes' most intimate friends, Mr. Waggett's scientific

attainments made him a valuable as well as a much loved friend.

[98] The Rev. E. Moore, D.D.

[99] Since this letter has been in type the world has had to lament

Mr. Huxley's death.

[100] Privy Councillor.

[101] The proprietor of an hotel in Madeira.

[102] Miss Pollock's marriage to Mr. Vernon Boys, F.R.S., is here

referred to.

[103] A pet name for his sister.

[104] A window to his memory is to be placed in Caius College Chapel.

[105] A favourite cousin, who died a few mouths after Mr. Romanes.

[106] See p. 289, above.

[107] His wedding-day.

[108] Dr. Paget had been very ill.

[109] Mr. Waggett.

[110] It was 'book-plate.'

[111] _Contemporary_, April 1892.

[112] His butler, an old and valued servant.

[113] F. J. Moulton, Esq., M.P., F.R.S.

[114] Professor W. Crookes, F.R.S.

[115] Mr. Herbert Spencer on 'Natural Selection,' _Contemporary

Review_, April 1893.

[116] Now Bishop of Rochester.

[117] About eighteen months before, when a very temporary attack of

aphasia had come on.

[118] His brother was making additions to the house at Dunskaith.

[119] He did see one more.

[120] See _Life and Letters of C. Darwin_, vol. iii. p. 358.

[121] Mr. G. R. Turner, F.R.C.S., one of Mr. Romanes's dearest

friends; as was also his brother, Mr. E. B. Turner, F.R.C.S.

[122] Regius Professor of Pastoral Theology at Oxford.

[123] Of St. Giles's Parish Church.

[124] A pet name for the two babies.

[125] By Professor Knight of St. Andrews.

[126] The Dean of Christ Church.

[127] Dante's _Purgatorio_, I.

[128] The Dean of Christ Church.

[129] Reprinted from the _Guardian_ of June 6.

[130] Wisdom, iv. 13.

[131] Preface to _Life and Letters of Dean Church_, p. xxiv.

INDEX

Acton, Lord, 286

Agassiz, 15, 31, 32

Allen, Grant, 55

Allman, Professor, 149, 150

Arnold, M., 82

Balfour, Rt. Hon. A. J., 142

-- Mr. Francis, 15, 148

Bishop of Oxford (Wilberforce), 81

Boys, Mrs. Vernon, letter to, 294

Bramwell, Sir F., 222, 223

British Association, 65, 71

Browning, Robert, 142, 149

Brunton, Dr. Lauder, 61, 148

Brydon, Dr., 14

Burney prize, won by G. J. Romanes, 9, 83

Butcher, Professor, 148, 193, 266, 277

Caird, Professor (now Master of Balliol), 40, 348

Cats, sense of direction in, 107

Cautley, Rev. Proby, 6, 7

Children, poem to, 139

Church, Dean, 156, 157, 229, 343, 356

Churchill, Mr., 204, 209

Clodd, E. M., 149

Compton, Earl and Countess, 272, 273, 276, 277, 286

Correvon, Professor, 177, 212, 213

Crookes, Professor, 303, 304

Croonian Lectures, 15, 92

Curteis, Canon, 151

Darwin, Charles, first introduction to, 12

-- first meeting with, 14

Darwin, Charles, letters from, 32, 34, 35, 45, 47, 49, 56, 60, 62, 65,

66, 72, 74, 75, 76, 78, 85, 97, 101, 102, 105, 108, 109, 114,

115, 117, 120, 123, 126

-- letters to, 19, 20, 33, 34, 38, 42, 45, 50, 53, 55, 57, 61, 63, 68,

70, 71, 73, 77, 79, 86, 93, 98, 99, 100, 103, 104, 106, 112,

116, 118, 119, 120, 121, 125

-- quoted, 196, 200, 203, 211, 220, 221, 224, 307, 320, 339

-- death of, 130

-- memorial volume, 133

-- Mr. F., 8, 50, 51, 54, 59, 78, 73, 105, 130, 131, 132, 135, 170,

171, 186, 209, 303, 317

_Darwin and after Darwin_, 177, 279

Dawkins, Professor Boyd, 151

Delbœuf, _La Psychologie, son Présent et son Avenir_, 74

Dyer, Mr. Thiselton, 90, 198, 200, 211, 213, 239, 304, 307, 314, 315,

316

Eimer, Dr., 45, 224, 290

Eliot, George, 48

Evidences of Organic Evolution, lectures on, 66

Ewart, Professor Cossar, 14, 92, 100, 128, 150, 256, 290, 311

Fabre, M., 111, 113, 196

Flower, Sir W., 74, 302

Foster, Dr. Michael, 8, 13, 31, 38, 51

Galton, Mr. Francis, 55, 161, 162, 239, 262, 302, 317

Germination, experiments on, 303, 324

Gill, Mr. and Mrs., 272

Gotch (Professor), 258

Gladstone, Rt. Hon. W. E., 162, 231, 275, 286, 355

Gore, Rev. C., 81, 272, 278, 303, 311, 342, 349, 351

Gosse, Mr. E. W., 229, 277

Gounod, 69

Graham, Mr. H. M., M.P., 273, 277

Gray, Professor Asa, 153, 154

Green, Mr. J. R., 144

Gulick, Rev. J., 216, 217, 232, 236, 255

Häckel, 47, 49, 51, 52, 61, 66, 93

Heliotropism, experiments on, 325

Helmholtz, Professor, 320

Henslow, Rev. George, letters to and from, 327-341

Hobhouse, Sir A., 76

-- Rev. W., 277, 297

Holland-Scott, Rev. H., 144, 185, 284

Hooker, Sir Joseph, 20, 54, 74, 176

Horsley, Mr. Victor, 222, 259, 265

Huxley, Professor, 16, 55, 74, 144, 259, 278, 286, 287, 303, 316

Hybridism, 101, 102, 103

Instinct, article on, 129

Joachim, Dr. Joseph, 70, 273

Lamarck, 222, 224, 308

Lankester, Professor, 46, 90, 277

Latham, Dr., 9

Lawless, Hon. E., 56, 57

Lecky, Mr., 162, 285

Le Conte, Professor, 238, 278

Liddon, Rev. Dr., 143, 160, 257, 258, 259

Lincoln, Bishop of, 348

Linnean Society, 38, 116

Lister, C. E., 5, 256

Lockyer, Mr. Norman, 126, 142, 148

Logan, Mr. C., 193

_Lux Mundi_, 249, 250, 259

McKendrick, Professor, 91

Medusæ, work on, 15, 16, 17, 18, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30,

31, 32, 33, 37, 47

Meldola, Professor, 90, 161

Mivart, Professor St. George, 100

Moberly, Rev. Dr., 342, 343

Moore, Rev. Aubrey, 249, 250, 251, 252, 253

Morgan, Professor Lloyd C., 311

Myers, Mr. F. W., 80

Newall, Mr., 99

Paget, Rev. H. L., 2, 232

-- Miss M. M., 139, 140, 286

-- Very Rev. Francis, 2, 143, 149, 151, 157, 159, 228, 297, 310, 320,

343, 346, 351

-- Sir James, 344, 349

Palgrave, Professor, 229, 278

Pangenesis, letters on, 18, 19, 21, 35, 47, 49, 107, 108, 195, 223,

225, 254

Panmixia, 198, 212, 224, 239, 254

Pascal, 342

Pembroke, Master of, 346

Perrier, M., 196, 198, 222

Pfleiderer, Professor, 160

Physiological selection, 162-176, 201-208, 209-217, 235

Physiological Society, 51, 65

Pollock, Mr. W. H., 92

-- Mrs. H., letters to, 263, 288

Poulton, Professor E. B., 192, 193, 195, 197, 220

Psychology, work on, 188, 190

Rede Lecture, 153

Romanes, Rev. Dr., 1, 2

-- Mr., 1, 9, 92

-- Miss C. E., letters to, 65, 129, 142, 144, 161, 166, 178, 184, 185

-- Miss Georgina, 69

-- Mrs. G. J., letters to, 91, 262, 266, 296-301, 346

-- Mr. James, letters to, 11, 151, 187, 240, 289, 292, 295, 312, 319

Rosebery Lectureship, 177

Roux, Dr., 109, 110, 125

Ruskin, John, 98

St. Albans, Bishop of, 156

'Sally,' letter on, 241

Sanderson, Professor Burdon, 13, 18, 51, 66, 69, 117, 130, 148, 192,

259, 311, 326

Schäfer, Professor, letters to, 22, 25, 28, 37, 279, 348

Sharpey, Professor, 13

Shorthouse, Mr., 144

Smith, Rev. Robert, 1

Spencer, Herbert, 48, 93, 96, 144, 221, 239, 301, 305, 307

Spottiswoode, Mr. William, 14, 142, 149

Sully, Mr., 96, 277

Tait, Lawson, 21

Talbot, Dr., 311

Taylor, Canon Isaac, 291, 296

Teesdale, Mr. J. M., 99, 100, 129

_Theism, a Candid Examination of_, 83, 149, 153, 154, 342

Thompson, Sir W. (Lord Kelvin), 91

_Thoughts on Religion_, 342

Tyndall, Professor, 104, 143

Vivisection, 61, 62, 117, 121, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126

Waggett, Rev. P. W., 311, 348, 350

Wallace, Mr., 55, 90, 170, 210, 211, 219, 255, 261, 337

Wedgwood, Miss, 99, 100, 101

Weismann, Professor, 194, 195, 196, 197, 211, 220, 223, 224, 225, 226,

235, 236, 237, 239, 240, 253, 254, 266, 288, 300, 301, 347

Yeo, Professor Gerald, 65

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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE

Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.

Superscripts are denoted by ^ eg A^n.

Obvious punctuation errors have been corrected after careful

comparison with other occurrences within the text and consultation

of external sources.

Except for those changes noted below, all misspelling in the text,

and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained. For example:

develop, develope; dulness; inclose; starfish, star-fish.

Table of Contents. '228' replaced by '248'.

Pg 18, Footnote [7]. 'Weissmannism' replaced by 'Weismannism'.

Pg 50. 'Rosshire' replaced by 'Ross-shire'.

Pg 126. 'You letter' replaced by 'Your letter'.

Pg 190. 'Fetichism' replaced by 'Fetishism'.

Index: Huxley. '237' replaced by '287'.