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tory stage of theorizing. And, moreover, not theories only, but simple statements of fact believed and dis believed, that is, finally accepted or finally rejected, exhibit the like numerical disproportion, and betray a general carelessness or laziness of observers; at all events, their manifest lack of appreciation of the value and necessity of the dead-work part of observation, which imperatively must precede any clear mental perception of the simplest phenomenon, before the attempt is made to establish its natural relationships, and present it for acceptance as a part of science.

A geologist travels far to collect fossils at a particularly good locality, stops there a day or two, tills his valise, and returns to publish a paper on it. What is his paper worth? Were he first to spend a week in making himself acquainted with the whole vicinity, a second week in making measured sections of all the cognate outcrops in the neighborhood, a third week in carefully differentiating the specific horizons, and a fourth week in verifying their reliability, and in correcting his first mistakes, then, surely, whatever labor le should afterwards expend upon his collection of life-forms would bave its full value; and any paper lie might write would be an important contribution to his branch of science.

I have known men settle to their own satisfaction some of the greatest problems in geology by a flying reconnoissance; triumphantly overturning a mass of accumulated science slowly brought to demonstration by many years of conscientious dead-work, which they did not seem to think it worth their while to verify. I have known men recla-sify the elements of a geological system by a few sections, not a single one of which was properly measured by them, or could be properly put on paper in a graphic form for precise comparison. I have known men make what they called a geological map, without having run a single instrumental line themselves; with every outcrop inaccurately placed; with only here and there an accidental note of strike and dip, and even this not oriented with a close approximation to precision; covering a region requiring the study of many months, with a few weeks of what they fondly called field-work; and basing on such a map generalizations of the first rauk, for which they expected the world of science to give them credit; which in the long run it certainly will, but not the kind of credit they anticipare.

Now, the experience of a long and active life of science has trained me to regard all such work as careless work, lazy work. Not that such workers are lazy men in the common meaning of the word ; on the contrary, they are busy, bustling, active, energetic, indefatigable men; in fact, too much so. In science, there is a laziness of quite another definition; namely, a chronic dislike, a deep-seated disability, for the dead-work which first disciplines to accuracy, then makes patient and cautious, and finally bestows the clearest intelligence and largest comprehension of phenomena. And this fatal laziness is fostered by a strange misunderstanding, a fancy, sometimes a downright conviction, that the dead

work of science can be done for us by some one else, so as to save our time and strength for speculation, for thought, for fine writing; can be done by menials, employees, assistants, colleagues, special experts, by any one rather than by ourselves. Can we not in fact often find it already done for us, and even better done than we could do it? Then, why not let inferior minds occupy themselves with this laborious and time-consuming address of special skill? Can we not, for instance, hire transit-men to lay out and measure our sections, and artists to draw them? Why should a paleontologist take the pencil between his own fingers in studying species, when he has trained pliotographers and lithographers at his command ? Why waste precious weeks and months in tramping and climbing, in measuring and plotting, while glory calls us, and the scientific world is impatiently waiting for our conclusions ? Thus possessed by the demon of scientific haste, we continually spoil our own performances, and disappoint the expectant, but not at all impatient world. Could our vanity permit us to know the fact, the impatience is entirely our own, and, if indulged, is sure to be roundly punished.

No; dead-work cannot be delegated. The man who cannot himself survey and map his field, measure and draw his sections properly, and perfectly represent with his own pencil the characteristic variations of his fossil forms, has 10 just right to call himself an expert geologist. These are the badges of initiation; and the only guaranties which one can offer to the world of science that one is a competent observer, and a trustworthy generalizer. Nor has one become a true man of science until he has already done a vast amount of this dead-work; nor does one continue in his prime, as a man of science, after he has ceased to bring to this test of his own ability to see, to judge, and to theorize, the working and thinking of other men. But enough of this.

My second proposition was, that no teacher of science can be successful who does not himself encounter some of the dead-work of the explorer and discoverer; who does not discipline his own faculties of perception, reflection, and generalization, by fieldwork and office-work, independently of all text-book assistance; who does not himself make at least some of the diagrams, tables, and pictures for his classroom, in as original a spirit, and with as much precision of detail, as if none such had ever been made before, and these were to remain sole monuments of the genius of investigation. What the true teacher has to do first and foremost, is to wake up in youthful ininds this spirit of investigation ab initio. The crusade against scholastic cramming promises to be successful; but the crusade against pedagogic cramming has hardly yet been organized. How is the scholar to be made an artist if the teacher cannot draw? The instinct of imitation in man is irresistible. Slovenly drawing on the blackboard — sufficient evidence of the teacher's imperfect information and inaccurate conception of facts, the nature of which he only thinks lie understands — can do little more ihan raise a cold sog of suspicion in the class-room, by which the lender sprouts of learning must be

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either dwarfed or killed. But even slovenly diagrams are preferable to purchased ones; for whatever diminishes the dead-work of a teacher, enervates his investigating, and thereby his demonstrating, powers, and lowers him toward the level of his scholars.

Were I dictator, I should drive all teachers of science out into the great field of dead-work; force them to go through all the gymnastics of original research and its description; and not permit them to return to their libraries until their note-books were full of their own measurements and calculations, sketchmaps and form-drawings, severely accurate and logically classified, to be then compared with those recorded in the books. What teachers fail to keep in mind is this: that learning is not knowledge; but as Lessing says: Learning is only our knowledge of the experience of others; knowledge is our own. No inan really comprehends what he himself has not created. Therefore we know nothing of the universe until we take it to pieces for inspection, and rebuild it for our understanding. Nor can one man do this for another; each must do it for himself; and all that one can do to help another is to show him how he himself has morsellated and recomposed his small particular share of concrete nature, and inspire him with those vague but hopeful suggestions of ideas which we call learning, but which are not science.

My third proposition was, that an expert in practical science can command the respect and confidence of his professional fellows, and, through their free suffrages, build up his own reputation in the learned and business worlds, only in exact proportion to the amount of good dead-work to which he voluntarily subjects himself. For, although the most of it is necessarily done in secrecy and silence, enough of it leaks out to testify to his honest and diligent self-cultivation; and enough of it must show in the shape of scientific wisdom, to make self-evident the fact that he is neither a tyro nor a charlatan. More than once I have heard the merry jest of the Australasian judge quoted with sinister application to experts in science. When a young colleague, just arrived from England, asked him for advice, he answered : Pronounce your decisions, but beware of stating your reasons for them. Many an ephemeral reputation for science has been begot by this shrewd policy; but the best policy to wear well is honesty; and honesty in trade means selling what is genuine, well-made, and durable; and honesty in science means, first, facts well proved, and then, conclusions slowly and painfully deduced from facts well proved, in sufficient number and order of arrangement to exhaust alike the subject and the observer. Reap your field so thoroughly that gleaners must despair. Fortify your position, that your most experienced rival can find no point of attack. Lay your plans with such a superfluity of patient carefulness that fate itself can invent no serious emergency. Demonstrate your theory so utterly and evidently that it shall require no defender but itself. Die for your work, that your work may live forever. Forget yourself, and your work will make you famous. Enslave yourself to it, and it will plant

your feet upon the necks of kings, and your mere Yes or No will become a law to multitudes. This is what the dead-work of science, when well done, does for the expert in science.

My fourth proposition - that only the habitual performance of dead-work can preserve the scientific intellect in pristine vigor, and prevent it from becoming stiffened with prejudices, inapt to receive fresh truth, and forgetful of knowledge already won — hardly needs discussion. Human muscles become atrophied by disuse. Men's fortunes shrink and evaporate by mere investment. I pray you to imagine what I wish to say; for it all amounts to this — that the grass will surely grow over a deserted footpath. Let une hurry to the close of this address, which I have found too serious a duty for my liking, and perhaps you also have found it too personal a preachment for yours. One more suggestion, then, and I have done.

My fifth proposition was, that the wearied and exhausted intellect will wisely seek refreshment in dead-work.

The physiology of the brain is now sufficiently well understood to permit physicians to prescribe with some assurance for its many ills, and to regulate its restoration to a normal state of health. Its tissues reproduce themselves throughout life if no extraordinary overbalance of decay takes place, if there be no excessive and too long continued waste. For the majority of mankind, nature provides for the adjustment between consumption and reproduction of brainmatter, by the alternations of day and night, noise and silence, society and solitude; and also by the substitution of the play of fancy in dreams, for the work of the judgment and the will in waking hours. We follow the lead of nature when we seek amusement as a remedy for care. We bring into activity a rested portion of the brain, to permit the wearied parts of it to restore themselves unhindered.

This is the rationale of the pathological treatment of the brain. Tell an over-worked president of a railway company, wlio falls asleep at the director's meeting, that he must rest, or die of softening of the brain, and he will smile a sad reply, that he cannot rest. He is right, thus far: he cannot rest his whole brain; but he can rest the cerebellum, — the seat of the will power, — by bringing into higher activity, and more frequent exercise, the upper and frontal lobes. Let him stop thinking of leasing rival lines, and read novels, and play billiards. Let him ride some youthful hobby, l'evive his practise on the violin, cultivate flowers, keep a stud and kennel, bury himself in Greek and Latin literature, collect pictures, minerals, do any thing which will really interest him, and keep bim out of the way of railroad men and railroading; and do it with his might, with enthusiasm, even to fatigue; and do it for at least four years, and by that time his cerebellum will be all right again.

Now what the unintermitting responsibilities of the railroad official do for the destruction of the constitution of his cerebellum, just that the overstrained exercise of the creative imagination does

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for the demoralization of the brain of the man of science, especially if it he, as it commonly is, accompanied by business anxiety. And his only way of escape from a predestined break-down is through the monotonous, but interesting occupation of liis perceptive faculties in the field, and at his office table. In both he will enjoy that solitude which resembles sleep, in being a medicine for the weary brain. But it is a solitude peopled with unexceptionable friends; in which care sleeps, and pleasure wakes; a solitude in which the soul multiplies itself by alliance with all the possibilities of number, and all the actualities of form; a solitude from which a man returns to the society of his fellow-men, sainted by the blessing of nature, and equal to the duty of existence.

In conclusion, I must express the wish that this meeting of our association may be as delightful and as useful as any that it has ever held. Those who remember how hard we used to work at them, what a harvest of mutual confidences we used to gather at them, and what a glow of fresh enthusiasm we carried away with us from them, will know what such a wish implies. Those who come fresh to this meeting will find themselves made at home in half a dozen worlds of science at once. That is the particular character and special charm of this association, wherein it differs from all local societies, and from all conventions of workers in special branches of science and art. And, as each meeting furnishes a panoramic view of the present state of human knowledge as a whole, so, at each meeting, the old and the young in science are mingled in such friendly and confidential intercourse, that the prospect extends both backwards to the beginnings of inquiry, and forwards to its possible achievements. All good tradition is precious; and so is well-trained current inquiry, and so is sound prophetic calculation. At such a meeting as this, we enjoy the rare privilege of assisting at all three; and, when we scatter to our homes, we can hardly fail to take with us something effectual for lightening and sweetening another year of work.

least susceptible to reason; and Kongo seems destined to drive out all other appellations, and to spread over the whole course of the river and surrounding country.

The early voyagers confined their explorations to the mouth of the river; and the first attempt, of which we have reliable information, to penetrate inland along its banks, was made by an Englishman, Capt. Tuckey, in 1816. Thirty white men started on this ill-fatel expedition : eighteen died almost immediately ; and the remainder returned to England, after having been on the river three months, and having explored it for the comparatively short distance of one hundred and seventy-two miles, the greater part of which was by water. This terrible loss of life deterred others from penetrating the unknown regions by the Kongo route. In 1867, however, David Livingstone, travelling westwards from Lake Nyassa, found the Chambezi River, which he afterwards traced to Lake Bangweolo, or Bemba. Thence, under the name of Luapula, it flowed into Lake Mweru, and was met with again at Myangwe as the Lualaba. Thus much Livingstone had discovered before he died on the shores of Lake Bangweolo. His remains were lovingly escorted to the ocean by his negro servants, and were interred in Westminster Abbey with befitting ceremony. Stanley — then known as the correspondent of the Herald, who had penetrated to Lake Tanganika in a successful attempt to find Livingstone was one of the pall-bearers. Not long afterwards, he strolled into the office of the London Daily telegraph. While talking with some of the staff, the editor, Edwin Arnold, entered. The conversation turned upon Livingstone and his work. Suddenly Mr. Arnold, who had been fascinated by the explorer's eye, asked him if he could and would complete the task. As a result of this interview, Stanley reached Nyangwe in October, 1876. IIe followed the Lualaba to the sea, and proved that the Zaire of the Portuguese, the Kongo of Tuckey and the English mapmakers, and the Lualaba, Luapula, and Chambezi of Livingstone, were one and the same river. He then returned to Europe, and soon found himself at the head of an expedition to open the heart of the Dark Continent to the trade of the civilized world via the Kongo. These two volumes contain the history of that work.

The estimated length of the Kongo? — from its mouth in the Atlantic, to its source in the Chibale Hills, a little to the east of the southern end of Lake Tanganika — is 3,034 miles,

1 The total estimated length of the Amazon is 4,000 miles; of the Mississippi, 3,160; and of the Missouri- Mississippi, 4,265. - cf. Imperial Gazelteer, 1876.

STANLEY’S KONGO.

Four hundred years ago, a Portuguese navigator, sailing along the western shores of Africa, discovered the mouth of a mighty river, which, for many years, was known as the Rio Padrão, or Pillar River, flowing through the kingdom of Kongo. In 1578, however, Lopez described it as the Zaire a corruption of the native word for river. The Portuguese still call it the Zaire ; but English map-makers, since the early part of the seventeenth century, have used the word Kongo as a designation of either the whole or a part of its lower

There is no good reason for this : but, of all things, geographical names are the

The Congo, and the founding of its free state. By HENRY M. STANLEY, with illustrations and mapx. 2 vols. New York, Harper, 1885. Pp. 28 +528, and 10+-483. Ilus., maps. 8°.

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as follows: From the ocean to Vivi, at the Stanley Falls, including tributaries, at 5,249 head of navigation from the sea, is 110 miles; but much of this estimate is pure guessmiles. Thence to Isangila at the upper end work. As an example of this, take the followof the lower Livingstone Falls is 50 miles. ing: “Sixty miles above the Lukanga, we Between Isangila and Manyanga, 88 miles arrive at the fine river Mohindu. We only away, the river is “tolerably navigable.' explored it for about eighty miles; but, considFrom Manyanga to Leopoldville, for 85 miles, ering its magnitude and the native reports, we it pours over the upper Livingstone Falls. may estimate its navigability to be about 650 Leopoldville once attained, the river can be miles !” Are not native reports and magninavigated for 1,068 miles to the foot of the tude rather insecure data upon which to found Stanley Falls. Thence to Nyangwe is 385 such an estimate, especially when the Lubiranzi miles. From Nyangwe to its source in- and the Chofu are impassable twenty-five miles cluding the lakes — is 1,248 miles. It must from their confluences with the Kongo? A be understood, however, that much of this similar flavor of exaggeration characterizes last section of the river has never been ex- the whole chapter on the commercial value plored, and that therefore it may turn out to of the river. be longer.

It is perfectly easy to see that the future Stanley's first and most difficult work was growth of the Free State depends upon conto open a road around the Livingstone Falls, necting some station on Stanley Pool — proband to launch two small steamers in Stanley ably Kinshassa, as Leopoldville is very Pool. His force of a little over a hundred men unhealthy — with the portion of the river was singularly inadequate to the task ; and a below open to sea-going vessels. Mr. Stanwhole year elapsed before the first section of ley, therefore, has endeavored to show that the road from Vivi to Isangila, a distance of such a road could be built, and operated fifty-two miles — was constructed, and three with profit : “ As a mere speculation, there steamers dragged over the hills, and put into is nothing in the whole world offering so the river. So great were the difliculties of this remunerative an investment of capital as this undertaking, that it is almost impossible to small railway.” The cost of construction, applaud too highly the resolution and energy he argues, at £4,000 per mile, surely a of the chief of the expedition. None the less, low estimate, — would amount to only £940,however, is it to be regretted, that he was com- 000, with an assured gross revenue of £300.pelled to purchase the co-operation of the na- 000 per annum. Supposing his estimate of tives by gifts of ardent spirits. It was the cost and gross revenue to be correct, what custom,' he says, and could not be resisted. would be the net revenue ? How could the Between Isangila and Manyanga, a ferry was road be built? By Europeans? They could established, one of the steamers being em- not stand the climate. By Africans? Where ployed on that service. With the other two, could they be obtained, and how paid? Then, he pushed on overland again ; and the end of again, could the government of the Kongo the next year found him established at Leo- State grant a right of way, or would that poldville, above the falls.

The road-making have to be purchased of the natives at considwas over, and Stanley was at liberty to ex- erable expense? Could that government proplore the great river and its tributaries as far tect the line against native aggression? as Stanley Falls. He discovered Lake Leo. Finally, if profitable, would not a rival line pold II., and ascended many streams.

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be built by the French to Brazzaville, their at the mouth of the Biyerre that he first heard station on the northen shore of Stanley Pool? of the presence of the Arab slave-traders, a station, by the way, which is not to be whom he came across some distance farther found on Stanley's map.

These questions up-stream. They had with them 2,300 slaves, do not seem to have been considered by our

- the spoil of 118 villages, -'obtained,' to author, as they certainly should have been. use his own words, .at the expense of 33,000 An obstacle to the development of the Kongo lives.' This is probably an exaggeration. State, beside which this transportation problem But if the Kongo Free State is to be a success, dwindles into insignificance, is to be found in commercially or otherwise, it is evident that the climate. Take Stanley himself as an exslave-hunting, on such an extensive scale at ample. Assuredly no one will dispute his least, must be stopped. Is the International experience in African travel, nor his energy association strong enough to put an end to it? and resolution. Yet, after one year on the

Stanley estimates the navigable length of Kongo banks, he gave himself up for lost, the Kongo basin between Leopoldville and summoned his men about him, and prepared to

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and 92 returned home. They were all in the blowing up-stream from the ocean. Strangely prime of life. At first this sickness and in- en

enough, the low-lying stations above Leopoldtense desire to get away from the deadly river ville seem to have been very healthy. There is laid by our author to “whisky;' next, to has been almost no sickness; for instance, at * malingering' and sojering. Finally, how- Equator Station, “ with a river only five feet

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