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Most men feel that their University life is one of the most marked phases of their career. Even to those who come up from a public school, with all the prestige and with all the friendships, the sense of fellowship, the hundred and one influences, the customs of a great school 'lying thick' upon them, realise more and more, as time goes on, how great a part Oxford or Cambridge plays in their lives; how it is in their University life they make their intellectual choice, and receive the bias which, for good or for evil, will influence their whole life.

And to this raw boy, fresh from a secluded and somewhat narrow atmosphere, plunged for the first time into a great society, brought for the first time under some of the influences of the then 'Zeitgeist,' into contact with some of the leaders of thought, entrance into the University was the beginning of an entirely new life.

He entered Cambridge, half-educated, utterly untrained, with no knowledge of men or of books. He left it, to all intents and purposes, a trained worker and earnest thinker, with his life work begun—that work which was an unwearied search after truth, a work characterised by an ever-increasing reverence for goodness, and, as years went on, by a disregard for applause or for reward. His Cambridge life was happy; he made several friends, chief of whom was Mr. Proby Cautley, the present rector of Quainton near Aylesbury.

He enjoyed boating, and once narrowly escaped drowning in the Cam.[3]

At first George Romanes fell completely under Evangelical influences, at that time practically the most potent religious force in Cambridge. He was a regular communicant, and it is touching to look at the little Bible he used while at Cambridge, worn, and marked, and pencilled, with references to sermons which had evidently caught the boy's attention. He used to attend meetings for Greek Testament study, and enjoyed hearing the distinguished preachers who visited the University.

But of the intellectual influences in the religious world of the University he knew nothing. F. D. Maurice was still in Cambridge, but he seems to have repelled rather than to have attracted George Romanes, nor did he ever come under the influence of Westcott, or of Lightfoot, or of Hort.

And, when the intellectual struggles began, he seems in early years to have owed very little to any Christian writer, Bishop Butler alone excepted.

His summers were spent in Ross-shire, and there is no doubt these months were of great use to him. He was perfectly unharassed so far as pecuniary cares or family ambition were concerned, and he had abundant time to think. Years afterwards, Mr. Darwin said to him: 'Above all, Romanes, cultivate the habit of meditation,' and Mr. Romanes always quoted this as a most valuable bit of advice. His intellectual development was rapid in these Cambridge years, and it is not improbable that his slowly growing mind had not been ill served by being allowed to mature in absolute freedom, although he himself bitterly regretted and, through his whole life, deplored the lack of early training, and of mental discipline.

Through these early Cambridge years he still cherished the idea of Holy Orders, and with his friend, Mr. Cautley, he had many talks about the career they both intended to choose. They spent a part of one long vacation together, and occupied themselves in reading theology—such books as 'Pearson on the Creed,' Hooker's 'Ecclesiastical Polity,' Bishop Butler's 'Analogy,' and in writing sermons. Some of Mr. Romanes' are still extant, and are curious bits of boyish composition—crude, unformed in style, and yet full of thought, and showing a remarkable knowledge of the Bible.

He seems to have been, for the rest, a bright, good-tempered, popular lad, always much chaffed for absent-minded mistakes, for his long legs, for his peculiar name; and he certainly gave no one the faintest idea of any particular ability, any likelihood of future distinction.[4] Some slight chance, as it seemed, turned his attention to natural science; one or two friends were reading for the Natural Science Tripos, and George Romanes ceased to read mathematics and began to work at natural science, competing for and winning a scholarship in that subject.

Eighteen months only remained for him to work for his Tripos, and it is not surprising that he only obtained a Second Class. In the Tripos of 1870, in the same list among the First-Class men, Mr. Francis Darwin's name appears.

Mr. Romanes had gone but a little distance along the road on which he was destined to travel very far. He had up to this time read none of Mr. Darwin's books, and to a question on Natural Selection which occurred in the Tripos papers he could give no answer.

By this time he had abandoned the idea of Holy Orders, perhaps on account of the opposition at home, perhaps because of the first beginnings of the intellectual struggles of doubt and of bewilderment. He began to study medicine, and made a lifelong friendship with Dr. Latham, the well-known Cambridge physician, of whose kindness Mr. Romanes often spoke, and to whom he dedicated his first book, which was the Burney Prize for 1873. But he also began to study physiology under the direction of Dr. Michael Foster, the present Professor of Physiology at Cambridge, to whom she owes her famous medical school, at that time in its very early beginnings.

Science entirely fascinated him; his first plunge into real scientific work opened to him a new life, gave him the first sense of power and of capacity. Now he read Mr. Darwin's books, and it is impossible to overrate the extraordinary effect they had on the young man's mind. Something of the feeling which Keats describes in the sonnet 'On Looking into Chapman's Homer' seems to have been his:

'Then felt I like some watcher of the skies

When a new planet swims into his ken;

Or like stout Cortez when, with eagle eyes,

He stared at the Pacific—and all his men

Looked at each other with a wild surmise

Silent, upon a peak in Darien.'

About the spring of 1872 Mr. Romanes began to show signs of ill-health. He was harassed by faintness and incessant lassitude, but struggled on, going up to Scotland in the summer and beginning to shoot, under the belief that all he wanted was hard exercise. At last he broke down and was declared to be suffering from a bad attack of typhoid fever. He had a very hard struggle for life, and owed a great deal to Dr. Latham, who from Cambridge kept up a constant telegraphic communication with the Ross-shire doctors. It was a long and weary convalescence, beguiled in part by writing an essay on 'Christian Prayer and General Laws,' the subject assigned for the Burney Prize Essay of 1873.

Much of this essay was dictated to one or other of his sisters, and it is a curious fact that his first book and his last should have been on theological subjects. Both were written when he was struggling with great bodily weakness, and in these months of early manhood he showed the same almost pathetic desire to work, the same activity of thought which he displayed more than twenty years later in the last days of his life.

The essay was successful, and its author was more than once claimed as a champion of faith on the strength of it.

It is a very hard bit of reading, and of course has to some extent the drawback of a prize essay, a work written not simply to convince the public, but to impress examiners. It is full of knowledge and of intellectual agility, but is perhaps needlessly difficult in style. His success was absolutely unexpected by his family, and made him very happy, as the following letters show, written in the first glow of success.

To Mrs. Romanes.

18 Cornwall Terrace.

My dearest Mother—Your letter of surprise and rejoicing has been to me one of the best parts of the result. All the letters of congratulation which are now coming in mention you: 'How delighted your mother will be,' &c.; and it is a great thing for me to find that you are so. Without appreciative sympathy success soon palls; but the two combined go to make up the best happiness.

I went to Cambridge yesterday to get the manuscript, and as there happened to be a congregation in the afternoon, I also took my degree. I saw all my friends, who were overflowing with delight. Indeed, I never before realised how great the competition is, for I never had an opportunity of knowing how the successful man is lionised. The Caius dons especially are up in the air about it, as this is the first time in the history of the college that one of its members has got the Burney; so that, as Ferrers writes to me, 'when the same year produces a Senior Wrangler and a Burney Prizeman, the college may be said to be looking up.' I was invited to breakfast with the Professor of Divinity (who is the principal adjudicator), and I found him very pleasant indeed. Afterwards I went to the Vice-Chancellor, from whom I got the well-remembered 'pages' (but now with Prize I. written across them); and lastly, to the third adjudicator, the master of Christ's. They all said more in praise of the essay than I would care to repeat, but, to tell you the simple truth, I was perfectly astonished. For example, 'In the history of the Burney Prize there have only been two equals and no superiors.'

The Vice-Chancellor told me that there was another essay well deserving of a prize which was written by a man of whom I dare say you will remember I said I was most afraid, viz., Mr. ——. I knew him very well when we were undergraduates, and three years ago he obtained the Trinity Scholarship in Philosophy, open to all competitors, and ended up eighteen months ago by graduating as Senior of the Moral Science Tripos. It is a great satisfaction to me that the man who was universally admitted to be the best of the Cambridge metaphysicians should have written, and that, notwithstanding, the decision should have been given unanimously in my favour.

To James Romanes, Esq.

18 Cornwall Terrace: April 24.

My dearest James—I am sure you will be as much pleased with the result of my labours as I am myself. I remember so well our speculating upon the probable chances of success, and how low we set them down. Had I known for certain that—— was going to compete, I think I should have given up altogether. His essay does seem to have been extraordinarily good, and yet he cannot get a second prize, because the foundation requires that every penny of the interest shall go to the first man. As this seems rather hard lines for——, I have to-day written to the Divinity Professor offering to share the prize money, on condition that the University recognise—— as a prizeman.

The extraordinary thing about the whole affair is, not so much the award, as the opinion which the adjudicators entertain of the work. I do not know how it is that, stranded on a sandbank and in a half dead-and-alive state, without thinking I was doing anything unusual, I should have written the prize essay. But I don't care how it is so long as it is so, as—— writes, 'You certainly have achieved a great success, handicapped as you were in so many ways.' This, of course, relates to the award; but, as I said before, what surprised me most is that I should not only be first, but such a good first. The praise given by each of the adjudicators separately, in as strong terms as it is possible in donnish phraseology to convey it, was very gratifying to me, especially as pronounced in the studiously dignified manner of the Vice-Chancellor.

I hope soon to see you and tell you more about the whole thing; for one of the best parts of it is, that 'if one member be honoured, all the members rejoice with it.'

Ever your loving Brother,

Geo. J. Romanes.

During his convalescence Mr. Romanes finally abandoned the idea of a profession and resolved to devote himself to scientific research.

It was about this time that a letter of his in 'Nature' (see 'Nature,' vol. viii. p. 101) attracted Mr. Darwin's attention, and caused him to send a friendly little note to the youthful writer.

Probably Mr. Darwin had little idea of the effect his letter produced on its recipient, who was then recovering from his long illness. That Darwin should actually write to him seemed too good to believe. It was a great encouragement to go on with scientific work.

Up to 1873 or 1874 Mr. Romanes had been working, when at Cambridge, in Dr. Michael Foster's laboratory, and was a member of that band who formed the nucleus of what was destined to be the famous physiological school of Cambridge. Side by side with Mr. Romanes were working Mr. Gaskell, Mr. Dew Smith, and others now well known for their work and achievements.

In some ways Mr. Romanes suffered from not remaining at Cambridge and becoming a permanent member of the band.

It is impossible not to feel that had he stayed on at the University he would have devoted himself more and more to strictly experimental work and less to what may be called philosophical natural history. Some will regard his removal as a misfortune, and others as a happy accident, but the might-have-beens of life are never very profitable subjects for speculation.

In order to be with his now widowed mother, he returned to London, and made his home with her and his sisters. They spent their summers at Dunskaith, and Mr. Romanes embarked on researches on the nervous system of the Medusæ. He began also to work in the physiological laboratory of University College under Dr. Sharpey and Dr. Burdon Sanderson. Both he regarded as masters and friends, and perhaps, next to Mr. Darwin, Dr. Sanderson was the scientific friend George Romanes most valued and loved, although it is impossible to overrate what he owed to Cambridge, and to those early longings for biological study which were inspired by Dr. Foster.

As has been said, a letter in 'Nature' attracted Mr. Darwin's notice, and somewhere about 1874 he invited Mr. Romanes to call on him.

From that time began an unbroken friendship, marked on one side by absolute worship, reverence, and affection, on the other by an almost fatherly kindness and a wonderful interest in the younger man's work and in his career. That first meeting was a real epoch in Mr. Romanes' life. Mr. Darwin met him, as he often used to tell, with outstretched hands, a bright smile, and a 'How glad I am that you are so young!'

Perhaps no hero-worship was ever more unselfish, more utterly loyal, or more fully rewarded. As time went on, and intimacy increased, and restraint wore off, Mr. Romanes found that the great master was as much to be admired for his personal character as for his wonderful gifts, and to the youth who never, in the darkest days of utter scepticism, parted with the love for goodness, for beauty of character, this was an overwhelming joy.

In a poem written about 1884 Mr. Romanes has expressed something of what he felt for Mr. Darwin, and in this he has poured out his 'hero-worship' in terms which were to him the expressions of simple truth.

It is interesting to look over the long series of letters from 1874 to 1882 and notice how the formal 'Dear Mr. Romanes' drops into the familiar 'Dear Romanes,' and the letters become more and more affectionate, intimate, personal.

About this time also Mr. Romanes made many other scientific friends, Professor Schäfer, Professor Cossar Ewart, Mr. Francis Darwin, Dr. Pye Smith, Professor R. Lankester, Professor Clifford, Dr. Lauder Brunton, and many more; and as his work became known it is pleasant to see with what kindness of welcome the new recruit was welcomed to the scientific army by such men as Professor Huxley, Sir John Lubbock, Sir Joseph Hooker, Mr. Busk, Mr. F. Galton, and Mr. Spottiswoode, then President of the Royal Society.

Just at that time there was a set of rising young biologists who all seemed destined to do good work, and it is melancholy to look back and to see 'how of that not too numerous band a number have been taken from us in the prime of life, Garrod, Frank Balfour, Moseley, H. Carpenter, Milnes Marshall, Romanes.'[5]

At Dunskaith a little laboratory was fitted up in an adjoining cottage, and here during the summer Mr. Romanes worked constantly for some years, diversifying his labours by shooting. It was in his country home also that he began those series of observations on animals which he worked up into the 'Animal Intelligence' of the International Scientific Series, perhaps the most popular of his books. The terrier Mathal was his special companion, and he observed various traits of her intelligence which are recorded in 'Mental Evolution in Animals,' pp. 156, 157, 158. It was also at Dunskaith that he began his first attempts at verse making, but for some years these did not come to much.

His scientific work at Dunskaith led to a paper communicated to the Royal Society in 1875, and entitled 'Preliminary Observations on the Locomotor System of Medusæ.'

This paper the Royal Society honoured by making it the Croonian Lecture, an honour awarded to the best biological paper of each year.[6]

Mr. Romanes had worked for two years, or rather two summers, very constantly and very strenuously on the Medusæ. He set himself to try and discover whether or not the rudiments of a nervous system existed in these creatures. Agassiz had maintained it did, others considered his deductions premature, and Huxley, in his 'Classification of Animals,' summed up the much-debated question by saying that 'no nervous system had yet been discovered in Medusæ.'

Microscopically, it had already been shown that in some forms of Medusæ there are present certain fine fibres running along the margin of the swimming bell, from their appearance said to be nerves, but in no case had it been shown that they functioned as such. Thus it was to solve this question, whether or not a nervous system, known to be present in all animals higher in the zoological scale, makes its first appearance in the Medusæ, that Mr. Romanes entered upon a long series of physiological experiments, first on the group of small 'naked-eyed' Medusæ, and then on the larger 'covered-eyed' form, the latter division containing the common jelly-fish. These names, 'naked-eyed' and 'covered-eyed,' are given to the two groups on account of a difference in their sense organs, which are situated on the margin of the umbrella or swimming bell, and are protected by a hood of gelatinous matter in the 'covered-eyed' forms, so called in contradistinction to the 'naked-eyed' group, where the hood is absent.

Romanes first carefully observed the movements of the Medusæ, which, it will be remembered, are effected by the dilatation and contraction of the entire swimming bell, and he found that if, in the 'naked-eyed' group, the extreme margin of this swimming bell be excised, immediate, total, and permanent paralysis of the whole organ took place. This result was obtained with every species of this group which he examined; he therefore concluded that in the margin of all these forms there is situated a localised system of centres of spontaneity, having for one of its functions the origination of impulses to which the contraction of the swimming bell is, under ordinary circumstances, exclusively due. This deduction was confirmed by the behaviour of the severed thread-like portion of the margin, which continued its rhythmical contractions quite unimpaired by its severance from the main organism, the latter remaining perfectly motionless. In the 'covered-eyed' forms Romanes found that excision of the margin of the umbrella, or rather excision of the sense organs or marginal bodies, produced paralysis; in this case, the paralysis was of a temporary character, as in the great majority of cases contractions were resumed after a variable period. From this series of experiments he was led to believe that in the 'covered-eyed' Medusæ the margin is the principal, but not the exclusive, seat of spontaneity, there being other locomotor centres scattered throughout the general contractile tissue of the swimming bell.

Having demonstrated the existence of a central nervous system capable of originating impulses, Romanes had yet to prove the identity of this nervous tissue of the Medusæ with that of nervous tissues in general: therefore, he next proceeded to test whether it was also capable of responding to external stimulation by light, heat, electricity, &c.

As regards appreciation of light, he was able to prove conclusively for at least two species of the 'naked-eyed' forms that as long as their marginal bodies remained intact they would always respond to luminous stimulation, and would crowd along a beam of light cast through a darkened bell jar in which they were swimming; if their marginal bodies were removed, they remained indifferent to light. With regard to the 'covered-eyed' forms, he obtained sufficient evidence to induce him to believe they possessed a visual sense localised in their marginal sense organs.

The effects of electrical stimulation agreed in all respects with those produced on the excitable tissues of other animals. He next experimentally investigated in the jelly-fish the paths along which the nervous impulses must pass in their passage from the locomotor centres, where they originate, to the general contractile tissues of the animal.

The results of these experiments led him to infer the existence of a very fine plexus of nerve fibres, in which the constituent threads cross and re-cross one another without actually coalescing. This conclusion, which he arrived at from purely experimental grounds, was some years afterwards confirmed by minute histological research.

Finally, the effect of various poisons, chloroform, alcohol, &c., was tried, and the striking resemblance of their action on the nervous system of the Medusæ with that which they exert on that of higher animals supports the belief that nerve tissue when it first appears in the scene of life has the same fundamental properties as it has in higher animals.

This piece of work was important, as the facts threw light, as Professor Sanderson has said, on elementary questions of physiology relating to excitability and conduction, and it was a characteristic of Mr. Romanes that in all his work, of whatever kind, he was always searching for principles. The minutest detail never escaped his attention if it appeared at all likely in any way to throw light on some biological or psychological problem. Only a trained scientific worker can appreciate the amount of labour these Royal Society papers represented. In 1875 he gave a Friday evening lecture at the Royal Institution on his work on Medusæ.

He was also at this time working on the subject of 'Pangenesis,'[7] and a series of letters to Mr. Darwin and to Professor Schäfer may interest some readers.

18 Cornwall Terrace, Regent's Park, N.W.:

January 14, 1875.

Dear Mr. Darwin—I should very much like to see the papers to which you allude. A priori one would have thought the bisecting plan the more hopeful, but if the other has yielded positive results, in the case of an eye and tubers, I think it would be worth while to try the effect of transplanting various kinds of pips into the pulps of kindred varieties of fruit; for the homological relations in this case would be pretty much the same as in the other, with the exception of the bud being an impregnated one. If positive results ensued, however, this last-mentioned fact would be all the better for 'Pangenesis.'

You have doubtless observed the very remarkable case given in the 'Gardener's Chronicle' for January 2—I mean the vine in which the scion appears to have notably affected the stock. Altogether vines seem very promising; and as their buds admit of being planted in the ground, it would be much more easy to try the bisecting plan in their case than in others, where one half-bud, besides requiring to be fitted to the other half, has also to have its shield fitted into the bark. All one's energies might then be expended in coaxing adhesion, and if once this were obtained, I think there would here be the best chance of obtaining a hybrid; for then all, or nearly all, the cells of the future branch would be in the state of gemmules. I am very sanguine about the buds growing under these circumstances, for the vigour with which bisected seeds germinate is perfectly astonishing.

Very sincerely and most respectfully yours,

Geo. J. Romanes.

P.S.—I have been to see Dr. Hooker, and found his kindness and courtesy quite what you led me to expect. Such men are rare.

April 21, 1875.

In returning you——'s papers, I should like to say that the one on 'Inheritance' appears to me quite destitute of intelligible meaning. It is a jumble of the same confused ideas upon heredity about which I complained when you were at this house. How in the world can 'force' act without any material on which to act? Yet, unless we assume that it can, the whole discussion is either meaningless, or else assumes the truth of some such theory as 'Pangenesis.' In other words, as it must be 'unthinkable' that force should act independently of matter, the doctrine of its persistence can only be made to bear upon the question of heredity, by supposing that there is a material connection between corporeal and germinal cells—i.e. by granting the existence of force-carriers, call them gemmules, or physiological units, or what we please.

Lawson Tait says (p. 60)—'The process of growth of the ovum after impregnation can be followed only after the assumption either expressed or unconsciously accepted of such a hypothesis as is contained in Mr. Darwin's "Pangenesis;"' and it is interesting, as showing the truth of the remark, to compare, for example, p. 29 of the other pamphlet—for, of course, 'Pangenesis' assumes the truth of the persistence of force as the prime condition of its possibility. If ever I have occasion to prepare a paper about heredity, I think it would be worth while to point out the absurdity of thinking that we explain anything by vague allusions to the most ultimate generalisation of science. We might just as well say that Canadian institutions resemble British ones because force is persistent. This doubtless is the ultimate reason, but our explanation would be scientifically valueless if we neglected to observe that the Canadian colony was founded by British individuals.

The leaf from 'Nature' arrived last night. I had previously intended to try mangold-wurzel, as I hear it has well-marked varieties. The reference, therefore, will be valuable to me.

Before closing, I should like to take this opportunity of thanking you again for the very pleasant time I spent at Down. The place was one which I had long wished to see, and now that I have seen it, I am sure it will ever remain one of the most agreeable and interesting of memory's pictures.

With kind regards to Mrs. Darwin, I remain, very sincerely and most respectfully yours,

Geo. J. Romanes.

To Professor E. Schäfer.

Dunskaith, Ross-shire.

My dear Schäfer—I am glad to hear that your rest has been beneficial, and also about all the other news you give.

I should like to have your opinion about the meaning of the following facts.

In Sarsia gentle irritation of a tentacle or an eye-speck causes the polypite to respond, but not the bell (stronger irritation, of course, causes both to respond); this seems to show that there are nervous connections between the eye-specks and the polypite. By introducing cuts between former and latter, these connections may be destroyed—the tolerance of the tissue to such sections being variable in different cases, but never being anything remarkable. So far, then, the matter seems favourable to the nerve-plexus theory.

In another disc-shaped species of naked-eyed Medusæ with a long polypite, which I have called Tiaropsis indicans, from its habit of applying this long polypite to any part of the bell which is being injured, the localising function of the polypite is destroyed as regards any area of bell-tissue between which and the polypite a circumferential section has been introduced. In other words, the connections between the bell and the polypite, on which localising function of the latter depends, are exclusively radial. But not so the connections between the bell and the polypite, which render it possible for the one to be aware that something is wrong somewhere in the other. For if the whole animal be cut into a spiral with the polypite at one end, irritation of the other end of the spiral, or any part of its length, causes the polypite to sway about from side to side trying to find the offending body. And here it is important to observe that wherever a portion of one of the radial tubes occurs in the course of the spiral, irritation of that portion causes a much stronger response on the part of the polypite than does irritation of any of the general bell-tissue, even though this be situated much nearer to the polypite. This seems to show that the nervous plexus, if present, has its constituent fibres aggregated into trunks in the course of the nutriment tubes.

Thus far, then, I should be inclined to adopt the nerve-plexus theory. But lastly, we come to another species with a very large bell and a very small polypite. Irritation of margin or radial tubes causes the animal to go into a violent spasm, but irritation of the general muscular layer only causes an ordinary locomotor contraction. On cutting the whole animal into a spiral, and irritating the extreme end of several marginal strips, the entire muscular part of the spiral goes into spasm. On interposing a great number of interdigitating cuts in the course of the spiral, there is no difference in these results. Now the question is, What is the nature of the tissue that conducts impressions from the ganglionic tissue to the muscular, making the latter go into a spasm? A spasm is as different as possible from an ordinary contraction, and will continue to pass long after the ordinary contractions have been blocked by severity of section. It is scarcely possible to suppose a nerve-plexus here—the tolerance towards section being so great, although it varies in different cases. Besides, suppose this to be a segment of animal cut as represented. On irritating margin at a all the bell goes into a spasm, and it is evident that whatever the nature of the conductile tissue, all the connections must pass through the tract of tissue at b. Yet on irritating that tract no spasm is given. I cannot understand this on any view as to the nature of the conductile tissue.

Fig. 1.

Altogether, then, this part of the inquiry is very perplexing. Other parts are definite enough. All the poisons, for instance, yield very definite results, which are in conformity with their actions elsewhere.

I have had no time to do anything at the histology as yet. Would it be worth while for me to send you various species in a little sea water? They would arrive in a tolerably fresh condition, but would require to be examined at once. I might try sending some in spirit and others in chromic acid. I have made a few preliminary experiments with the galvanometer on Sarsia, placing one electrode on the margin and another on the muscular sheet, but without any decided results. I also tried placing a Sarsia in one beaker and simple sea water in another, connecting by means of the electrodes, but no disturbance was observable.

June 4.

I am working very hard just now, as there are so many irons to keep hot at once. It is too soon yet to see the results of spring grafting on the many plants I have operated on, and I have not had time to do anything with animals since I left London.

The Medusæ have now come on in their legion, and occupy my undivided attention. The results so far have proved as definite as they are interesting and important. The following is a summary of the principal.

All genera of naked-eyed yet examined become immediately and permanently paralysed (except polypite) upon excision of margin, but not so with the covered-eyed.

The organism thus mutilated responds with a single contraction to a nip with the forceps, also to various chemical stimuli. The chain of ganglia do the same, and further resemble the mutilated organism in contracting once to both make and break of direct or of induced shock. They differ, however, in one important particular: the severed margin retains its sensibility to the induced shock much longer than to the direct, while with the necto-calyx the converse is the case—the latter responding vigorously to make and break of direct current after it has ceased to be affected by even interrupted current with secondary coil pushed up to zero (one cell).

A strange and, so far as I am aware, an unparalleled phenomenon is sometimes manifested by Sarsia after removal of ganglia. It only happens in about one case out of ten, and never except in response to either chemical or electrical stimulation. A bell quite paralysed, and which may have responded normally enough to stimulation for a number of times, suddenly begins an active shivering motion, which may last from a minute to half an hour. This motion is totally different from anything exhibited by the animal when alive, and after ceasing never recommences without fresh stimulation. The shivering appearance, I think, is due to the various systems of muscles contracting without co-ordination, but why it should take place in some cases and not in others, I am quite unable to determine.

Irritability of bell to shocks increases progressively from centre to circumference, and is greatest when electrodes are placed on marginal canal. Also a similar progressive increase is observable on approaching one of the radial canals, and is greatest when electrodes are placed on one of these. (I may observe that however neat a person's fingers may be it would be simply impossible to conduct these and other observations of the same nature without a mechanical stage. The electrodes must be needle-points passed through cords, the latter being supported by a copper wire fixed to the stage, and therefore moveable with it; and I defy anybody to get the electrodes into the field, and at the same time upon the marginal canal, unless they all move together.)

Fig. 2.

Sarsia stands an astonishing amount of section without losing nervous conductibility. For instance, the whole organism may be cut into a three-turned spiral, and on irritating the end, the whole contracts; yet a moment's thought will show how trying this mode of section is to nervous connections. As the animal may be cut, as in the following diagram, which represents the whole organism in projection—the dotted lines being the canals, and the thick ones the cuts—on now irritating any part of the animal, the whole contracts, but the co-ordination power is lost, both in spontaneous contraction and for those in response to stimuli.

If the entire margin be cut out in a continuous piece save a small portion to unite it with the bell, and if the distal end be now irritated, a main of contraction runs along the entire severed part till it arrives at the small united part, when the whole bell contracts. I should like to try whether under such circumstances the margin would be thrown into a state of electrotonus, but only having one cell I am not able to make out this point satisfactorily.

The severed margin continues its rhythmical contractions for two or three days. I am now trying the effect of different chemical stimuli, and if you can suggest any further line of experimentation, of course I shall be very pleased. Only, if you can think of anything which might be tried and which is not mentioned in this letter, please write soon, as the Sarsia will not last much longer, and they are the best adapted for my purposes.

I remain, very sincerely yours,

Geo. J. Romanes.

P.S.—I should have said that neither gold nor silver brings out any nervous tissue.

Medusa muscle is not doubly refracting, but then none that I have here seen is striated, and unstriated muscle is not doubly refracting anywhere, is it?