The Evolution of Mind.

In many old novels it was customary to prefix a motto or short quotation as the heading of every chapter. In Scott's Novels, for instance. I think there is no chapter without an apt quotation: and in looking over the old and original numbers of the "Spectator," published in Queen Anne's reign we will find a special quotation for every number. We have in our sermons a survival of this custom. Every sermon now-a-days has, as of old, a text. In our religion the old persists in other things besides in texts for sermons. I do not find fault with the customs of thus prefixing texts or giving apt quotations—they often define what the subject is with which the writer or speaker has to deal. To-night I wish to take as my text for my lecture those words of Professor James Mark Baldwin, who is Professor of Psychology in New York. In dealing with Psychology—the science of mind—ho uttered these pregnant words—"The first truth is that the mind is not the possession of man alone. Other creatures have minds. Psychology no longer confines itself as it formerly did to the human soul, denying to the animals a place in this highest of all sciences. It finds itself unable to require any test or evidence of the presence of mind which animals do not meet, nor does it find any place at which the story of the mind can begin higher up than the very beginning of life. For, as soon as we ask—'How much mind is necessary to start with?' we have to answer—'Any mind at all'; page 3 and all the animals are possessed of some of the actions which we associate with mind."

That is my test:—

Some people think that life was a special creation, and did not originate from what we vaguely term matter, though we do not define what the word "matter" signifies. In a lecture I delivered some time ago, I pointed out to you that matter may contain within it the origin of life, and that no matter is without life. As Bain long ago pointed out, we can only think of mind in terms of matter and of matter in terms of mind. Some say, even if life sprang or came from matter, that mind is a special creation, and that mind is only to be found in humanity. Animals other than human animals are called lower animals, and it is said that they have no mind, but they have what is called instinct, and some deny that the mind of man has been evolved from a lower state—from what is called instinct, such as the lower animals possess. Some even admit that though man has been developed from the lower animals, and that it is proved that from a physical point of view, man may be the crown of creation, evolved during many millions of years from the lowest speck of life, yet that when you come to consider his mind, this is a special creation or gift from the Creator, just as there was a special creation of life. It is not wonderful that this theory of special creation should remain with us, though Herbert Spencer, in one of his essays, has clearly pointed out that it is more difficult to believe in special creation than in evolution. We have never seen any special creations, and we are unable to say that there is any real evidence of special creation. The conception of development or evolution, as it is termed, is a greater con- page 4 ception and more glorious than the belief in a special creation, whether it is of life or of mind, but it is new to us, and our beliefs as well as our deeds still travel with us from afar.

There are many primitive beliefs still amongst us. We laugh, indeed, must laugh at stories of the "evil eye," of "fairies," of "devils going about and maltreating animals"—even entering animals, of "witchcraft," etc., etc. These beliefs were common amongst the human-race and even amongst our own people not hundreds of years ago. The most intelligent of Englishmen two or three hundred years ago looked upon witch-craft as true. Able and learned men joined in punishing half-demented creatures as witches, and did not think it wrong to burn them at the stake; and there are amongst us to-day many old people who, if they recall the stories of their youth, especially if they lived in country districts in our Motherland, in England. Scotland or Ireland, could tell or beliefs amongst the people of witch-craft, of the evil-eye, of fairies, etc. Amongst our friends the Maoris there are to be found many of those primitivo beliefs, else Tohungaism would not be so prevalent. I can remember when a boy hearing a most intelligent farmer say that a cow that was sick had been made sick by an arrow being shot at it by the King of the Fairies, and he believed it. I think that if we examine the beliefs even of our own people in the Colonies we will find still existent, beliefs about charms, and ill-luck in numbers, etc. These aro remnants of the beliefs of our far back ancestors. I may be erring in minimising the strength and persistency of ancient beliefs still amongst people that are assumed to be civilised. Professor Frazer in his monumental work—"The Golden Bough"—a work that page 5 everyone desirous of knowing the origins of religious belief should road—gays:—"We should deceive ourselves if we imagined that the belief in witchcraft is even now dead in the mass of the people"; (he is not writing of our Australasian colonies) "on the contrary there is ample evidence to show that it only hibernates under the chilling influence of rationalism, and that it would start into active life if that influence were ever seriously relaxed. The truth seems to be that to this day the peasant remains a pagan and a savage at heart; his civilisation is merely a thin veneer which the hard knocks of life soon abrade." See preface to "Balder the Beautiful," P. viii. Recent ongoings in Europe I think show that the Professor need not have limited his remarks to peasants.

It is necessary to remember these things when we come to consider the question of Evolution. Is it reasonable to think that there were special creations? We see now distinct species of plants, of insects, of what are termed lower animals, and oven of men. Can We think, for example, that the different breeds of pigeons have all come from one pigeon; or the different breeds of dogs from one dog, or that the different breeds of horses have come from one horse? Is it not more reasonable to think that each special kind of animal was specially created—each kind by itself? Evolution cannot in the higher animals, at all events, be detected. The things that are seen uphold the notion that they have always been different things of the same class in the world, and therefore that those different things must have been specially created. This may be illustrated by considering what we see in nature. We see the sun rising in the morning and setting in the evening, and if we believe our eyes the sun is page 6 moving round the earth—not the earth round the sun. We now think it very peculiar that Galileo was punished for daring to contradict the story told by the ancient Semitic people. If we had no more knowledge than the mass of the people possessed when Galileo was alive, we would just he as insistent as they were, that it was wrong to contradict the Scriptares, and wrong to say that the sun did not go round the earth. It was what the ordinary eye saw. So in reference to the distinct kinds of plants, of birds, or insects, of animals. What the eve sees is different kinds, and each kind producing its kind. Is it any wonder then that Evolution has not been readily accepted? It required the special knowledge of geologists and of what are termed naturalists—botanists, and zoologists—to investigate the problems of present and past life before we learned the doctrine of ascent—the doctrine of the ascent of life from little beginnings to its present position. Though the records of the rocks are not complete, we can by such records and by foetal growth and other means prove that Evolution is true, and that it is the only rational explanation possible at present of the life we see. I often think that we in New Zealand, freed as we are to a large extent from the atmosphere of primitive beliefs found amongst older people in older lands, should be better able to discuss the various theories of life unbiassed, than those who live in older lands. What then are we to consider to-night? We see a man a thinker; he decides to do this, that, or the other. If he is placed in some new position he determines [unclear: while] to do. Do other animals so act? it is said no: they act because they are controlled by instinct. What is instinct? Is it something unique not found in man or is it only the page 7 name we employ for what we see animals doing? We say they act from instinct. Are they mere automata—that is, machines which, when once set in motion, then, whatever happens, go on performing the same acts with regularity and inevitably? Like ether problems that we have to solve, wo must first see what the facts are. It will be well to consider what animals do. I propose to deal with various classes of living things, and to see if we can discover how they act and why they act. We may take them under these heads (A) "the Migration of Birds," (B) "The acts of what are termed domestic animals." such as "Dogs," "Horses," etc; (C) The action of some animals like "Beavers" and "Birds," and (D) The action of "insects, ants, bees, beetles, spiders, and wasps."

(A). One amassing thing is the migration of birds. The change of birds from one place to another may not be strange, but the strange thing is, how can birds find their way? They have no compasses, they have no charts, no sextants or quadrants to enable them to take observations of the sun, moon, or stars; no moans to determine their latitude, and no time-keepers to enable them to ascertain their longitude. Further, many of them have never made the journey before, and it is said that in many cases they are not guided or helped by older birds who have made the journey before. It was once believed that in the case of Arctic birds, and of swallows the flights of these birds were guided by old and experienced birds that had made the journey before, but it has been proved that this is incorrect. In several cases young birds went by themselves and migrated to other countries. Again, birds sometimes fly high and across oceans, and it is doubtful if their eye-sight could enable them to sec any page 8 marks on the earth that could guide them in their journey. Some birds are said to travel 21,000 miles in a year. We have examples in Now Zealand of migratory birds. The god wit, or as the Maoris say, the kuaka, leaves us before our winter, goes to Eastern Asia, and perhaps as far north as Siberia, and comes back to us in summer. Then we have two cuckoos, the long-tailed cuckoo (the Koekoea), and the shining cuskoo (the Pipiwarauroa), who go away to northern Australian islands and winter there. They visit New Caledonia, New Guinea, and New Hebrides. Thus we have birds gifted with what has recently been termed "orientation" or a sense of "direction.," It is surely a mental power. It is not unknown in mankind. You have no doubt met men who have what is termed a sense of locality. It used to be said in the old days when phrenology was popular, that men had the "bump of locality." I know one who, whenever be has been once in a place, even in a district in London, can apparently without thought find his way there again. I have known another who, even in some of our New Zealand cities, was always losing his way. Bates, in his delightful book "The Naturalist on the Amazons" tells how he and another European travelling in a part of the Amazon forest, lost their way and did not know how to move They be-thought themselves of asking an Indian boy who was with them and who had not been there before, and who apparently, had made no note of the journey they had made, yet he could at once inform them what was the right direction to take. I can remember an instance of a fisherman who, in thick mist, was able to make directly for his home, though other boats along with him thought he was wrong, refused to accept his guidance, and found them- page 9 selves after some hours miles from their destination. The same power of direction is found in horses and in other animals. Darwin tells a story which I may quote. "I sent," he says, "a riding horse by railway from Kent via Yarmouth to Freshwater Bay in the Isle of Wight. On the first day I rode eastward. My horse, when I returned to go home, was very unwilling to return towards his stable, and he several-times turned round. This led me to make repeated trials, and every time I slackened reins he turned sharply round and began to draw to the east-ward by a little north, which was very nearly in the direction of his home in Kent. I had ridden this horse daily for several years and he had never be-fore behaved in this manner. My impression was that he somehow knew the direction in which he had been brought. I should state that the last stage from Yarmouth to Freshwater Bay is almost due south, and along this road he has been ridden by my groom, but he never once showed any wish to return in this direction."

It was not a case, as we see from the story, of a horse getting Lack over the road by which he had come. He had not come in a direct line from Kent to the Isle of Wright. He was making to go in a way almost in a direct line to what was his original home. Many of us no doubt know of cattle and sheep returning to what was their first pasture though they had been removed from it by railway. One story is told of a little dog going from Vienna to Mentone, nearly 1,000 miles, and of a cat taken by railway from Huddersfield to London going back by itself to its home. There is, therefore, a sense of direction in some animals. Many illustrations might be given of the migration of birds. I may mention one peculiarity. It has been noticed page 10 that if the day is tine and clear, the birds are generally silent, but if it is dull and dark they keep up their conversation, and it is suggested that is done so that none may stray from the flock. How is this power of direction to be explained? In an article in the eleventh edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica, it is said (see Vol. XVIII, p. 435) "inherited and unconscious experience, which is really all that can be meant by instinct, is a factor in the matter. . . yet every aspect of the question is fraught with difficulty."

(B.) There are acts done by horses and dogs and by the more intelligent animals like monkeys and elephants that seem to show mental power and capacity. I can give illustrations from my own experience. An uncle of mine, a farmer, had a pony we called "Farney," He earned his name because he was able to open the door of the born, which had a latch and a piece of string to the latch on the outside. By pulling the string he lifted the latch, and was able to enter the barn. Barney knew the barn, he knew that by pulling the latch he could with his head push the door open, enter, and get oats. Some short time ago I was sitting on a seat on the Clarine Parade, Napier. I noticed a dog jump up on the concrete wall—he had been called by his master, who was on the beach near the sea. At the place where the dog got on to the wall, the beach was a considerable distance below the top of the wall. The dog stopped, hesitated, looked, was afraid to jump the distance, ran a little to the north but the height did not vary, turned round, ran a little to the south, stopped, looked along the wall, apparently saw something to the south, he jumped on the parade, ran swiftly to the south, got on the wall again where its height above the beach was not great, and jumped on the page 11 beach and then went for [unclear: nis masser] Can it be said that the dog did not show intelligence and thought [unclear: a] haps more intelligence than [unclear: a] human beings possess who jump heights and injure themselves. Another instance I remember: A banker in my native town had a very fine dog. I am not sure whether it was a pure retriever or a crossbred between a retriever and a Newfoundland; but I remember one day seeing the banker some distance from his garden—perhaps a quarter of a mile. He called his dog, pointed to his hands which were gloveless, spoke to the dog, and told him to go to the garden and bring him his gloves. The dog started off and came back carrying the gloves to him. There are many such instances. I was told the other day by a gentleman that a very fine Cumber spaniel he had, regularly when he heard the paper boy calling out "Evening Post" went to where the paper was usually deposited, and brought it to his master. Have we not heard also of dogs who have gone and stopped beside their master's grave, showing a love and devotion to their master? I might spend an hour or more in telling you of such stories that have been recorded by observers and by naturalists.

In Professor Hobhouse's book called "Mind in Evolution" there are many experiments recorded of teaching various animals to do certain acts—for example, to open a box. A dog, a cat, a monkey, an elephant, and an otter were all trained to perform this work. It would take up too much time to quote the various experiments that he made. I may, however, refer to one. He had a box constructed that was closed and locked with a pull-back bolt. He showed the various animals I have mentioned how the thing was opened. The result was that the dog after many page 12 trials, and being shown how, was abiete pull back the bolt and open the box. The cat learnt to do this more rapidly than the dog, and a young elephant after two or three days' trial was able to succeed admirably. A monkey was also able to succeed, and an otter even learnt after being shown twelve times how to pull the bolt. That after many trials the memory of animals is roused and remains was proved by another experiment that was made by Mr Hobhouse. He had a tank with water in it, and he divided the tank by glass. On one side of the glass was a perch and on the other side minnows. A perch, seeing the minnows on the other side of the glass, but not understanding the division, went butt against the glass to catch the minnows. He tried this a great number of times and naturally hurt his head. After a time the glass was removed, and he did not attempt to touch the minnows. He assumed that the glass was still there, and that if he attempted to rush the minnows he would hurt his head.

We have heard of the intelligence of beavers in the construction of their homes. For example, the beavers wish deep water close to their homes. They need this in America where the American beaver lives, and if they were on the side of a creek and the creek was shallow, they at once proceed to make a dam so as to obtain deep water. The deep water is necessary, because in severe winters the whole of the creek might freeze and they would suffer from the frost—in fact, be killed. Now it was observed that if the beavers were on a sluggish stream they made their dam straight across—and in a sluggish stream that would be sufficient; but if the stream was rapid they made their dam like a half-moon, putting the convex side towards the stream coming down. They knew apparently page 13 that a convex surface could resist water better than a straight surface, and being, as they are, capable engineers, they applied their engineering skill to deal with the force of the stream. Sometimes humans in dealing with streams have not the like intelligence. In the construction of their homes also beavers show great capacity.

We may get an example of prevision from birds. Those who have had much to do with plovers and partridges, for example, in the Motherland know that when they see strangers approaching their nest they feign to be wounded. They must expect the stranger to follow a wounded bird, and by thus feigning that they are wounded they lead strangers away from their nests and from possibly injuring their offspring. Again, some birds have feigned death, and this has also been observed both in insects and in reptiles. One case of a corncrake is thus stated by Jesse and quoted by Romanes in his book "Mental Evolution in Animals" (p. 305).

"Among birds, the Corncrake has been most remarked for this species of art. The author of the 'Natural History of the Corncrake' relates that one of these birds was brought to a gentleman by his dog, to all appearance quite dead. The gentleman turned it over with his foot, as it lay upon the ground, and was convinced that there was no more life in it. But after a while he saw it opon one eye, and he then took it up again, when its head fell, its legs hung loose, and it once more appeared to be certainly dead. Ho next put it into his pocket, and before long felt it struggling to escape; he took it out, and it seemed lifeless as before. He then laid it on the ground and retired to a little distance to watch it, and saw it in about five page 14 minutes raise its head warily, look round, and decamp at full speed."

In spiders and insects the same thing has been observed, and I may quote to you one or more illustrations of this power of feigning death. The following story of a monkey may be of interest:—"Thompson gives in his 'Passions of Animals' (pp. 455-7) the case of a captive monkey which was tied to a long upright pole of bamboo in the jungles of Tilhcherry. The ring at the end of its chain fitting loosely to the slippery pole, the animal was able to ascend and descend the latter at pleasure. He was in the habit of sitting on the to of the pole, and the crows caking advantage of his elevated position, used to steal his food, which was placed every morning and evening at the foot of the pole. To this he had vainly expressed his dislike by chattering, and other indications of his displeasure equally ineffectual; but they continued their periodical depredations. Finding that he was perfectly unheeded, he adopted a plan of retribution as effectual as it was ingenious. One morning when his tormentors had been particularly troublesome, he appeared as if seriously indisposed; he closed his eyes, dropped his head and exhibited various other symptoms of severe suffering. No sooner were his ordinary rations placed at the toot of the bamboo than the crows watening their opportunity, descended in great numbers, and, according to their usual custom, began to demolish his provisions. The monkey now began to descend the pole by slow degrees, as if the effort were painful to him, and if so overcome by indisposition that his remaining strength was scarcely equal to such an exertion. When he reached the ground he rolled about for some time, seeming in great agony, until he found himself close to the vessel em- page 15 ployed to contain his food, which the crows had by this time well nigh devoured. There was still, however, some remaining, which a solitary bird, emboldened by the apparent indisposition of the monkey, advanced to seize. The wily creature was by this time lying in a state of apparent Insensibility at the foot of the pole and close by the pan. The moment the crow stretched out his head, and ere it could secure a mouthful of the interdicted food, the watchful avenger seized the depredator by the neck with the rapidity of thought and secured it from doing further mischief. He now began to chatter and grin with every expression of gratified triumph, while the crows flew around, cawing, as if deprecating the chastisement about to be inflicted on their captive companion. The monkey continued for a while to chatter and grin in triumph; he then deliberately placed the crow between his knees and began to pluck it with the most humorous gravity. When he had completely stripped it, except of the large feathers in the pinions and tail, he flung it into the air as high as his strength would permit, and after flapping his wings for a few seconds it fell to the ground with a stunning shock. The other crows, which had been fortunate enough to escape a similar castigation, now surrounded it and immediately pecked it to death. The animal then ascended its pole, and the next time his food was brought not a single crow approached it."

It would take up too long to give you scores of other instances.

The habits of insects are peculiarly interesting, and they have been detailed by Bates, Lubbock (afterwards Lord Avebury), Fabre, Maeterlinck, Edwards, Buchner, Latter and many others.

There are two classes of insects that show social organisation, namely, ants and bees, and I may give illustrations from the ants first. There are three families of ants. In England there are 30 kinds of ants, and in tropical countries there are many more. What the ants have been able to do has been stated in many books. Again, I have no time to do more than perhaps refer you to the authorities. Let us look, first, at the arrangement of an ant's nest. There is in Lubbock's book—"Ants, Bees and Wasps" (at p. 43) a plan of an ant's nest. It has a narrow entrance, a further narrow entrance, and it has, further, what may be called inner chambers. Into the main nest there is, first, a narrow entrance, and then a further narrow entrance into the main chamber, and from the main chambers into the inner chambers there are again narrow entrances, so that one or two ants could prevent approach. We speak about wonders performed by our engineers and military men in forming trenches and underground chambers to protect them from attack. The ants knew all about this long before the humans seem to have been aware of the value of underground thoroughfares. The figure referred to in Lubbock's book is, he says, a typical nest, and a good instance of the mode in which his ants excavated chambers and galleries for themselves, and, he adds, it seems to show some ideas of strategy. It had a narrow doorway, a hall, vestibule, a main chamber, an inner sanctum, and narrow entrance passages to this sanctum, and it had several special pillars. What enabled the ants to form this carefully guarded nest? "Was it not something akin to what men have when they form chambers, galleries, or underground thoroughfares? How ants proceed to attack other ants who page 17 have formed "dug outs" or underground chambers is stated by Bates in his interesting book "The Naturalist in the Amazons." Bates says he came upon an army of ants, and he thus describes their battle (p. 471):

"They were eagerly occupied, on the face of an inclined bank of light earth, in excavating mines, whence from a depth of eight or ten inches, they were extracting the bodies of a bulky species of ant, of the genus Formica. It was curious to see them crowding round the orifices of the mines, some assisting their comrades to lift out the bodies of the Formicae, and others tearing them in pieces, on account of their weight being too great for a single Eciton; a number of carriers seizing each a fragment, and carrying it off down the slope. On digging into the earth with a small trowel near the entrances of the mines, I found the nests of the Formicae, with grubs and cocoons, which the Ecitons were thus evading, at a depth of about eight inches from the surface. The eager freebooters rushed in as fast as I excavated, and seized the ants in my fingers as I picked them out, so that 1 had some difficulty in rescuing a few entire for specimens. In digging the numerous mines to get at their prey, the little Ecitons seemed to be divided into parties, one set excavating, and another set carrying away the grains of earth. When the shafts became rather deep, the mining parties had to climb up the sides each time they wished to cast out a pellet of earth; but their work was lightened for them by their comrades, who stationed themselves at the mouth of the shaft, and relieved them of their burthens, carrying the particles, with an appearance of foresight which quite staggered me, a sufficient distance from the edge of the hole to prevent them rolling in again. All the work page 18 seemed thus to be performed by intelligent cooperation amongst the host of eager little creatures; but still there was not a rigid division of labour, for some of them, whose proceedings I watched, acted at one time as carriers of pellets, and at another as miners, and all shortly afterwards assumed the office of conveyers of the spoil."

"In about two hours all the nests of Formicae were rifled, though not completely, of their contents, and I turned towards the army of Ecitons, which wore carrying away the mutilated remains. For some distance there were many separate lines of them moving along the slope of the bank; but a short distance off, these all converged, and then formed one close and broad column, which continued for some sixty or seventy yards, and terminated at one of those large termitariums already described in a former chapter as being constructed of a material as hard as stone. The broad and compact column of ants moved up the steep sides of the hillock in a continued stream; many, which had hitherto trotted along empty-handed, now turned to assist their comrades with their heavy loads, as the whole descended into a spacious gallery or mine, opening on top top of the termitarium. I did not try to reach the nest, which I supposed to lie at the bottom of the broad mine, and therefore in the middle of the base or the stony hillock."

In another place he thus described what we may term these insect Huns: "The main column, from four to six deep, moves forward in a given direction, clearing the ground of all animal matter dead or alive, and throwing off here and there a thinner column to forage for a short time on the flanks of the main army, and re-enter it again after their task is accomplished. If page 19 some very rich place be encountered anywhere near the line of march, for example, a mass of rotten wood abounding in insect larvae, a delay takes place, and a very strong force of ants is concentrated upon it. The excited creatures search every cranny and tear in pieces ail the large grubs they drag to light. It is curious to see them attack wasps' nests, which are sometimes built on low shrubs. They gnaw away the papery covering to get at the larvae, pupae, and newly-hatched wasps, and cut everything to tatters regardless of the infuriated owners which are, flying about them. In bearing off their spoil in fragments, the places are apportioned to the carriers with some degree of regard to fairness of load; the dwarfs taking the smallest pieces, and the strongest fellows with small heads the heaviest portions. Sometimes two ants join together in carrying one piece, but the worker-majors with their unwieldy and distorted jaws, are incapacitated from taking any part in the labour. The armies never march far on a beaten path, but seem to prefer the entangled thickets where it is seldom possible to follow them. I have traced an army sometimes for half a mile or more, but was never able to find one that had finished its day's course and returned to its hive. Indeed. I never met with a hive; whenever the Ecitons were seen, they were always on the march."

We may learn, however, from the ants two other things that have been noticed. First, in the case of some ants there is a division of labour—certain work is done by one class of ants, sometimes termed slaves, and in one kind of ant there is a military organisation, and the militarists seem to do all the fighting. They are different in appearance from the ordinary ant; they have a hard hornet head which en- page 20 ables them to fight, and Bates noticed in one ants nest that vas attacked where so many were working making the nest and doing other work, an alarm was given. The workers left their work, went into their inner chambers, and the fighting ants at once appeared and attacked their enemies most fiercely and apparently careless of their own lives, many of them being killed, and yet they never ceased to attack their enemy, the workers having withdrawn and taking no part in the fight.

I must, however, not omit to point out the scientific knowledge the bee possesses. You know the honey-comb is of peculiar construction. How should the bee resolve on the shape of its colls? I cannot do better than quote Edwards again:— page 23

"The geometric principles brought into play in the construction of honeycomb have been a favourite study with mathematicians of all ages, and especially this rhombiform method adopted by the bee in flooring her cells. The rhomb is best described as a plane-figure whose four sides are equal, like those of a square, but whoso angles are not right angles. In such a figure there are necessarily two greater ingles and two smaller, facing each other in pairs. The three rhombs composing the base of the honey-cell lean together, as has been seen, in the form of a blunt pyramid; and—treating all angles as negligible factors—the bluntness of this pyramid is found to coincide very aptly with the shape of the full-grown larvae. But this is not the only reason for the particular inclination given by the bee to the rhombs forming the base of each cell. Economy rules here, as in everything else she undertakes; and the truth that she has chosen the one and only form of cell-base which takes the least possible material to construct has received very striking confirmation."

"The story is an old and famous one, but it will bear repeating. A great naturalist once put himself to an infinity of trouble in measuring the angles formed by the rhombs in a vast number of conibcell bases, and he found that these showed remarkable uniformity. It will be clear that the hollow pyramid of the cell-bottom will be either deep or shallow, according to the shape of the three rhombs composing it. The apex of the pyramid is formed by the meeting of three equal angles, one from each rhomb; and it is plain that this apex will be sharp or blunt, according to whether the meeting angles are wide or narrow. It was, of course, impossible to ascertain the dimensions of these angles with abso- page 24 lutely miscroscopical nicety; but dealing only with the most perfect comb, the naturalist found that che two greater angles in the rhombs measured very nearly 110deg., and the two lesser angles 70deg. He also found that the angles formed by the conjunction of the cell sides with the bases had the same dimensions as those of the rhombs. Assuming therefore, that, mathematically, the angles of the rhombs and cell-sides should be equal, he was able to calculate exactly the angles for which the bees were evidently striving in the construction of the rhombs—109 degrees and 28 minutes, and 70 degrees and 32 minutes.

Another bee-lover scientist, ruminating over these figures, was much impressed by them, and determined to find out the reason why the bee made such constant choice of this particular shape of rhomb. He therefore conceived the idea of submitting the bee's judgment on this cell-base question to an independent authority. Without disclosing his object, he propounded the following problem to one of the greatest mathematicians of the day."

'Supposing.' said he, in effect, 'you were required to close the end of an hexagonal vessel by three rhombs or diamondshaped plates, what angles must be given to these rhombs so that the greatest amount of space would be enclosed by the least amount of material?'

"It was a difficult problem, but the mathematician worked it out at last, and his answer was 109deg. 26min. and 70deg. 34min.

"Now, the difference between the calculation of the man and the calculation of the bee was an exceedingly small one. No one thought of calling into question the work of the man, who was pre-eminent in his world of figures. It was therefore accepted as page 25 a fact that the bee had made a trifling mistake—so trifling, however, that, in the matter of comb-building, it was of no importance. Her reputation was unimpaired: to all intents and purposes the honey-cell was still a perfect example of utmost capacity secured by least material. But another mathematician—a Scotsman this time—went over the whole business again and he proved conclusively that the bee was right, while the first mathematician was wrong. He showed that the true answer to the problem of the angles was 109deg. 28niin. and 70deg, 32min.—identically the figures obtained by estimation of the honey-comb."

I must however, forbear in giving you further illustrations of what I call mind in animals. We may call it instinct if we please. Does, however, what we call instinct differ from mind in human beings? Heredity sways us just as heredity sways the bee. We see that illustrated in human beings. The power of weaving, for example, well and quickly is hereditary. This is given as a reason why the Japanese aro such splendid weavers. The art of dyeing also descends. It is said if a man has had many page 27 ancestors who were excellent dyers he may be expected to make a good chemist, and it is perhaps a strange fact that the great English chemist, recently dead, Sir William Ramsay, had as his ancestors those who were skilled as dyers. We know that in seamanship, in manufacturing and in agriculture, heredity has play just as it does in literary and scientific ability. A day, however, in considering these things is as a thousand years, and a thousand years is as one day. Instinct is found in the most lowly animals, in insects and birds—even in fishes.

I have confined my paper to mind in animals. It has been asked if there is any trace of mind in plants. Some naturalists say there is. Grant Allen in several of his books has given illustrations of what he calls purposive action in plants. In fact, it has been said that the great and only difference between a plant and an animal is that a plant is rooted to one spot, whilst an animal has power of locomotion. But some plants do move, for do not bulbs increase and spread, and do not some shell fish remain rooted to the spot whore they were born? Giant Allen in his sketch of our common gorse says it is a most intelligent plant. It puts out spikes to protect itself. There are other plants, as, for example, most of our bulbs, that go to sleep, and so do plants in ponds. But this would open quite a new view of mind that I have not time to consider.

There is one branch of the subject that I have not time to deal with: it is have animals any moral sense? We see in ants and bees a wonderful social life. A social life is also seen amongst some kinds of monkeys. We know also that many animals herd together and go together and do common acts, Birds go in flocks. In all these animals we see the beginning of a community life. One extra- page 28 ordinary thing may be seen amongst wild sea-fowl. There may be, as I have seen, various kinds sitting, say on a headland. There is always at least one bird who acts as sentinel to them, and if any boat approaches, especially if guns can be seen in the boat, the sentinel gives warning and all the birds are alarmed and take to flight or to diving. This may be said to show some kind of co-operation amongst birds. Do animals, however, do kindly things one to another? There are many instances to this effect. In Guthrie-Smith's "Birds of the Water, Wood and Waste" he gives this instance. He had a Pukeko called "Budget" which had been brought up as a chick by him, and he thus gives a story of what happened to Budget.

"The arrival of the three now chicks brought out quite unexpected traits in Budget's character. He was then about eleven weeks old, and durng his whole life had never ceased his perpetual, plaintive call when wandering about and feeding himself. His foster mother was in her coop, and he had no one to tell him the dangers of such a habit to little Pukekos, and what a summons it was to vermin. When the three new chicks arrived, beyond touching their little heads with his bill, and feeling them gently. Budget at first evinced but little interest. These chicks were at that time netted into a very small run until they took to their new mother, a staid old Buff Orpington.

In a few days they wore allowed full freedom—the hen still penned in her coop—and would then sometimes wander from her cover and follow Budget in a desultory sort of way. About the third day, to our amazement he began to feed them, and ever since has been a most devoted nurse. His is a real labour of love, for when called up and given a caterpillar or other dainty, he runs off at once and presents it to one of the page 29 chicks. Should it be too large, his bill is used for its crushing and maceration, or sometimes the morsel is held in his claw and torn up for the little one. His lonely cry too, ceased altogether, and was replaced by the gentle feeding note that calls up the cheepers. This latter cry, by the way, was not developed at once. At first Budget always carried food to the chicks, but later he expected them to come to him, though such is the dear fellow's love for his small charges that he can suffer no long delay, and should anything prevent their immediate appearance, will still carry to one of them, the blue hopper moth, the spindley daddy-long-legs, or the slimy, succulent caterpillar. Even when we know him to be hungry it is never himself who is first fed, and the distribution of the chopped meat Pukekos love is a quaint spectacle.

One of us presents it bit by bit to Budget, who duly passes it on to one or another of his little troop till they are gorged, standing round the dish replete, like sated cobras, and their small tummies tight as very drums.

'Budget!' 'Budget!' will always fetch him running across the lawn with bis funny rolling gait; an outstretched palm he knows means some dainty for his little ones, and we are careful never to deceive him."

May we contrast Budget's conduct with that of some of our citizens who call themselves sportsmen who go out and shoot poor Budget's brothers and sisters, not for food, but for what they call sport. This shooting is so persistent that Pukekos are getting rare. Well, Budget never had what we call any moral training, never went to Sunday School, and he knew nothing of Scripture lessons, yet he fed the weak little chicks, feeding them before he took any food for himself, and the sportsmen with all their moral and re- page 30 ligious training have not done that for the poor birds.

I saw many years ago a hen that had become blind having food brought to it by another hen. This lasted for at least two weeks. At first I could not believe it possible. I found afterwards, however, that similar acts had been observed by others. Darwin, in his "Descent of Man," says: "Many animals, however, certainly sympathise with each other's distress or danger. This is the case even with birds. Captain Stansbury found on a salt lake in Utah an old and completely blind pelican, which was very fat, and must have been well fed for a long time by his companions. Mr Blyth, as he informs me, saw Indian crows feeding two or three of their companions which were blind; and I have heard of an analogous case with the domestic cock."

We may therefore say that morality is not unknown amongst animals other than humans. They have relations one with another, and they are peaceable, they help each other. If it be said that they do this automatically or instinctively, it may be said it is a pity that such instinct is not always found amongst human beings. It may be asked, but do they consciously act? Perhaps not, but unconscious acts, are they not the higher kind of actions? Take the pianist: she may, if she is a capable player, not require to look at the piano or at the music-book; she has become such an artist that we say she plays instinctively. It would be a great gain to mankind if we had our right conduct always instinctive. This question opens up, however, many considerations that I have not time to develop or consider. It may be, however, said that there is morality amongst animals, though its development has not reached a high stage.

"The light that lighteth every man" is not denied to animals, who are not so high in the scale of life as human beings. We will have to recognise this. Of course this recognition does not solve the mystery of nature, nor unbosom the secrets of the universe. We are as yet like children groping in the darkness; none of us have fathomed the universe. Its vastness, its majesty, its mysteries, may well appal us, and perhaps it is the highest act of worship of any human being to bow his head and admit his ignorance of even what he sees. And what he has not seen may be greater and mightier than the little he has seen.

Robert Stout.

Books that should be read:—

Darwin's Origin of Species, Descent of Man, The Variation of Animals and Plants under Domestication. The Story of the Mind, by Prof. J. M. Baldwin. Mind in Evolution, by Prof. Hobhouse. Mental Evolution of Animals, by Romanes. The Naturalist in the Amazons, by Bates. Bees and Wasps, by Lutter. The Migration of Birds, by Coward. The Lore of the Honey Bee, by Tickner Edwardes. Ants, Bees, and Wasps, by Lubbock (Lord Avebury). The Bee, by Maeterlinck. Mind in Animals, by Buchner. Birds of the Water, Wood, and Waste, by Guthrie-Smith. Article "Birds" in Eleventh Edition of "Encyclopaedia Britannica.," etc.