Chapter XII: Appendix: A List of Sources (4)

Becquerers discovery was brought about by a lucky accident, although, like so many other apparently accidental scientific discoveries, it was the outcome of a long series of scientific experiments all trending in the same direction. He had found that uranium, when exposed to the sun's rays, appeared to possess the property of absorbing them and of then acting upon a photographic plate. Since pitch-blende contained uranium, or uranium salts, he surmised that a somewhat similar result might be obtained with the ore itself. He therefore prepared a photographic plate wrapped in black paper, intending to attempt making an impression on the plate of some metal body interposed between it and the pitch-blende. For this purpose he had selected a key; but as the day proved to be cloudy he put the plate, with the key and pitch-blende resting upon it, in a dark drawer in his desk, and did not return to the experiment for several days. Upon doing so, however, he developed the plate without further exposure, when to his astonishment he found that the developed negative showed a distinct impression of the key. Clearly this was the manifestation of a property heretofore unknown in any natural substance, and was strikingly similar to the action of the Roentgen rays. Further investigations by Lord Kelvin, Beattie, Smolan, and Rutherford confirmed the fact that, like the Roentgen rays, the uranium rays not only acted upon the photographic plate but discharged electrified bodies. And what seemed the more wonderful was the fact that these "Becquerel rays," as they were now called, emanated spontaneously from the pitch-blende. But although this action is analogous to the Roentgen rays, at least as regards its action upon the photographic plate and its influence on the electric field, its action is extremely feeble in comparison, the Roentgen rays producing effects in minutes, or even seconds, which require days of exposure to uranium rays. The discovery of the radio-active properties of uranium was followed about two years later by the discovery that thorium, and the minerals containing thorium, possess properties similar to those of uranium. This discovery was made independently and at about the same time by Schmidt and Madame Skaldowska Curie. But the importance of this discovery was soon completely overshadowed by the discovery of radium by Madame Curie, working with her husband, Professor Pierre Curie, at the École Polytechnique in Paris. Madame Curie, stimulated by her own discoveries and those of the other scientists just referred to, began a series of examinations upon various substances by numerous complicated methods to try and find a possible new element, as certain peculiarities of the substances found in the pitch-blende seemed to indicate the presence of some hitherto unknown body. The search proved a most difficult one on account of the peculiar nature of the object in question, but the tireless enthusiasm of Madame Curie knew nothing of insurmountable obstacles, and soon drew her husband into the search with her. Her first discovery was that of the substance polonium--so named by Madame Curie after her native country, Poland. This proved to be another of the radio-active substances, differing from any other yet discovered, but still not the sought-for element. In a short time, however, the two Curies made the great discovery of the element radium--a substance which, according to their estimate, is some one million eight hundred thousand times more radioactive than uranium. The name for this element, _radium_, was proposed by Madame Curie, who had also suggested the term "radio-activity."

The bearing of the discovery of radium and radioactivity upon theories of the atom and matter will be considered in a moment; first the more tangible qualities of this wonderful substance may be briefly referred to. The fact that radio-active emanations traverse all forms of matter to greater or less depth--that is, pass through wood and iron with something the same ease that light passes through a window-glass--makes the subject one of greatest interest; and particularly so as the demonstration of this fact is so tangible. While the rays given out by radium cannot, of course, be seen by the unaided eye, the effects of these rays upon certain substances, which they cause to phosphoresce, are strikingly shown. One of such substances is the diamond, and a most striking illustration of the power of radium in penetrating opaque substances has been made by Mr. George F. Kunz, of the American Museum of Natural History. Mr. Kunz describes this experiment as follows:

"Radium bromide of three hundred thousand activity was placed in a sealed glass tube inside a rubber thermometer-holder, which was tightly screwed to prevent any emanation of any kind from passing through the joints. This was placed under a heavy silver tureen fully one-sixteenth of an inch in thickness; upon this were placed four copper plates, such as are used for engraving; upon these a heavy graduated measuring-glass 10 cm. in diameter; this was filled with water to a depth of six inches. A diamond was suspended in the water and immediately phosphoresced. Whenever the tube of radium was drawn away more than two or three feet the phosphoresce ceased; whenever it was placed under the tureen the diamond immediately phosphoresced again. This experiment proves that the active power of the radium penetrated the following substances:

"Glass in the form of a tube, sealed at both ends; the rubber thermometer-holder; silver tureen; four copper plates; a glass vase or measuring-glass one-quarter of an inch in thickness; three inches of water. There is no previously known substance or agent, whether it be even light or electricity, that possesses such wonderfully penetrative powers."*5*

THE NATURE OF EMANATIONS FROM RADIO-ACTIVE BODIES

What, then, is the nature of these radiations? Are they actually material particles hurled through the ether? Or are they like light--and possibly the Roentgen rays--simply undulations in the ether? As yet this question is an open one, although several of the leading investigators have postulated tentative hypotheses which at least serve as a working basis until they are either confirmed or supplanted. On one point, however, there seems to be unanimity of opinion--there seems to be little question that there are at least three different kinds of rays produced by radio-active substances. According to Sir William Crookes, the first of these are free electrons, or matter in an ultra-gaseous state, as shown in the cathode stream. These particles are extremely minute. They carry a negative charge of electricity, and are identified with the electric corpuscles of Thompson. Rays of the second kind are comparable in size to the hydrogen atom, and are positively electrified. These are easily checked by material obstructions, although they render the air a conductor and affect photographic plates. The third are very penetrating rays, which are not deflected by electricity and which are seemingly identical with Roentgen rays. Professor E. Rutherford has named these rays beta (B), alpha (a), and gamma (v) rays respectively. Of these the beta rays are deviated strongly by the magnetic field, the alpha much less so--very slightly, in fact--while the gamma rays are not affected at all. The action of these three different sets of rays upon certain substances is not the same, the beta and gamma rays acting strongly upon barium platinocyanide, but feebly on Sidot's blende, while the alpha rays act exactly the reverse of this, acting strongly on Sidot's blende.

If a surface is coated with Sidot's blende and held near a piece of radium nitrate, the coated surface begins to glow. If now it is examined with a lens, brilliant sparks or points can be seen. As the radium is brought closer and closer these sparks increase in number, until, as Sir William Crookes says, we seem to be witnessing a bombardment of flying atoms hurled from the radium against the surface of the blende. A little instrument called a spinthariscope, devised by Dr. Crookes and on sale at the instrument and optical-goods shops, may be had for a trifling sum. It is fitted with a lens focused upon a bit of Sidot's blende and radium nitrate, and in a dark room shows these beautiful scintillations "like a shower of stars." A still less expensive but similar device is now made in the form of a microscopic slide, to be used with the ordinary lens.

As we said a moment ago, radium appears to be an elementary substance, as shown by its spark-spectrum being different from that of any other known substance--the determinative test as fixed by the International Chemical Congress. A particle of radium free from impurities should, therefore, according to the conventional conception of an element, remain unchanged and unchangeable. If any such change did actually take place it would mean that the conception of the Daltonian atom as the ultimate particle of matter is definitively challenged from a new direction. This is precisely what has taken place. In July of 1903 Sir William Ramsay and Mr. Soddy, in making some experiments with radium, saw produced, apparently from radium emanations, another quite different and distinct substance, the element helium. The report of such a revolutionary phenomenon was naturally made with scientific caution. Though the observation seemed to prove the actual transformation of one element into another, Professor Ramsay himself was by no means ready to declare the absolute certainty of this. Yet the presumption in favor of this interpretation of the observed phenomena is very strong; and so cautious a reasoner as Professor Rutherford has declared recently that "there can be no doubt that helium is derived from the emanations of radium in consequence of changes of some kind occurring in it."*6*

"In order to explain the presence of helium in radium on ordinary chemical lines," says Professor Rutherford, "it has been suggested that radium is not a true element, but a molecular compound of helium with some substance known or unknown. The helium compound gradually breaks down, giving rise to the helium observed. It is at once obvious that this postulated helium compound is of an entirely different character to any other compound previously observed in chemistry. Weight for weight, it emits during its change an amount of energy at least one million times greater than any molecular compound known. In addition, it must be supposed that the rate of breaking up of the helium compound is independent of great ranges of temperature--a result never before observed in any molecular change. The helium compound in its breaking up must give rise to the peculiar radiations and also pass through the successive radio-active change observed in radium.... On the other hand, radium, as far as it has been examined, has fulfilled every test required of an element. It has a well-marked and characteristic spectrum, and there is no reason to suppose that it is not an element in the ordinarily accepted sense of the term."*7*

THE SOURCE OF ENERGY OF RADIO-ACTIVITY

In 1903 Messrs. Curie and Laborde*8* made the remarkable announcement that a crystal of radium is persistently warmer than its surrounding medium; in other words, that it is perpetually giving out heat without apparently becoming cooler. At first blush this seemed to contradict the great physical law of the conservation of energy, but physicists were soon agreed that a less revolutionary explanation of the phenomenon is perfectly tenable. The giving off of heat is indeed only an additional evidence of the dissipation of energy to which the radio-active atom is subjected. And no one now believes that radio-activity can persist indefinitely without actually exhausting the substance of the atom. Even so, the evidence of so great a capacity to give out energy is startling, and has given rise to various theories (all as yet tentative) in explanation. Thus J. Perrin*9* has suggested that atoms may consist of parts not unlike a miniature planetary system, and in the atoms of the radio-elements the parts more distant from the centre are continually escaping from the central attraction, thus giving rise to the radiations. Monsieur and Madame Curie have suggested that the energy may be borrowed from the surrounding air in some way, the energy lost by the atom being instantly regained. Pilipo Re,*10* in 1903, advanced the theory that the various parts of the atom might at first have been free particles constituting an extremely tenuous nebula.

These parts gradually becoming collected around condensed centres have formed what we know as the atoms of elements, the atom thus becoming like an extinct sun of the solar system. From this point of view the radio-active atoms represent an intermediate stage between nebulae and chemical atoms, the process of contraction giving rise to the heat emissions.

Lord Kelvin has called attention to the fact that when two pieces of paper, one white and the other black, are placed in exactly similar glass vessels of water and exposed to light, the temperature of the vessel containing the black paper is raised slightly higher than the other. This suggests the idea that in a similar manner radium may keep its temperature higher than the surrounding air by the absorption of other radiations as yet unknown.

Professor J. J. Thompson believes that the source of energy is in the atom itself and not external to it. "The reason," he says, "which induces me to think that the source of the energy is in the atom of radium itself and not external to it is that the radio-activity of substances is in all cases in which we have been able to localize it a transient property. No substance goes on being radio-active very long. It may be asked, how can this statement be reconciled with the fact that thorium and radium keep up their activity without any appreciable falling off with time. The answer to this is that, as Rutherford and Soddy have shown in the case of thorium, it is only an exceedingly small fraction of the mass which is at any one time radio-active, and that this radio-active portion loses its activity in a few hours, and has to be replaced by a fresh supply from the non-radio-active thorium."*11*

If Professor Thompson's view be correct, the amount of potential energy inherent in the atom must be enormous.

RADIO-ACTIVITY AND THE STRUCTURE OF THE ATOM

But whatever the source of the energy displayed by the radio-active substances, it is pretty generally agreed that the radio-activity of the radio-elements results in the disruption of their atoms. Since all substances appear to be radio-active in a greater or less degree, it would seem that, unless there be a very general distribution of radio-active atoms throughout all substances, all atoms must be undergoing disruption. Since the distribution of radio-active matter throughout the earth is so great, however, it is as yet impossible to determine whether this may not account for the radio-activity of all substances.

As we have just seen, recent evidence seems to point to the cause of the disruption of radio-active atoms as lying in the atoms themselves. This view is quite in accord with modern ideas of the instability of certain atoms. It has been suggested that some atoms may undergo a slower disintegration without necessarily throwing off part of their systems with great velocity. It is even possible that all matter may be undergoing transformation, this transformation tending to simplify and render more stable the constituents of the earth. The radio-active bodies, however, are the only ones that have afforded an opportunity for studying this transformation. In these the rapidity of the change would be directly proportionate to their radioactivity. Radium, according to the recent estimate of the Curies, would be disintegrating over a million times more rapidly than uranium. Since the amount of transformation occurring in radium in a year amounts to from 1-2000 to 1-10,000 of the total amount, the time required for the complete transformation of an atom of uranium would be somewhere between two billion and ten billion years--figures quite beyond the range of human comprehension.

Various hypotheses have been postulated to account for the instability of the atom. Perhaps the most thinkable of these to persons not specially trained in dealing with abstruse subjects is that of Professor Thompson. It has the additional merit, also, of coming from one of the best-known investigators in this particular field. According to this hypothesis the atom may be considered as a mass of positively and negatively charged particles, all in rapid motion, their mutual forces holding them in equilibrium. In case of a very complex structure of this kind it is possible to conceive of certain particles acquiring sufficient kinetic energy to be projected from the system. Or the constraining forces may be neutralized momentarily, so that the particle is thrown off at the same velocity that it had acquired at the instant it is released. The primary cause of this disintegration of the atom may be due to electro-magnetic radiation causing loss of energy of the atomic system.

Sir Oliver Lodge suggests that this instability of the atom may be the result of the atom's radiation of energy. "Lodge considered the simple case of a negatively charged electron revolving round an atom of mass relatively large but having an equal positive charge and held in equilibrium by electrical forces. This system will radiate energy, and since the radiation of energy is equivalent to motion in a resisting medium, the particle tends to move towards the centre and its speed consequently increases. The rate of radiation of energy will increase rapidly with the speed of the electron. When the speed of the electron becomes very nearly equal to the velocity of light, according to Lodge, the system is unstable. It has been shown that the apparent mass of an electron increases very rapidly as the speed of light is approached, and is theoretically infinite at the speed of light. There will be at this stage a sudden increase of the mass of the revolving atom, and, on the supposition that this stage can be reached, a consequent disturbance of the balance of forces holding the system together. Lodge considers it probable that under these conditions the parts of the system will break asunder and escape from the sphere of one another's influence.

"It is probable," adds Rutherford, "that the primary cause of the disintegration of the atom must be looked for in the 1 ss of energy of the atomic system due to electro-magnetic radiation."*12*

Several methods have been devised for testing the amount of heat given off by radium and its compounds, and for determining its actual rise in temperature above that of the surrounding atmosphere. One of these methods is to place some substance, such as barium chloride, in a calorimeter, noting at what point the mercury remains stationary. Radium is then introduced, whereupon the mercury in the tube gradually rises, falling again when the radium is removed. By careful tests it has been determined that a gram of radium emits about twenty-four hundred gram-calories in twenty-four hours. On this basis a gram of radium in a year emits enough energy to dissociate about two hundred and twenty-five grams of water.

What seems most remarkable about this constant emission of heat by the radium atom is that it does not apparently draw upon external sources for it, but maintains it by the internal energy of the atom itself. This latent energy must be enormous, but is only manifested when the atom is breaking up. In this process of disruption many of the particles are thrown off; but the greater part seem to be stopped in their flight in the radium itself, so that their energy of motion is manifested in the form of heat. Thus, if this explanation is correct, the temperature of the radium is maintained above that of surrounding substances by the bombardment of its own particles. Since the earth and the atmosphere contain appreciable quantities of radio-active matter, this must play a very important part in determining the temperature of the globe--so important a part, indeed, that all former estimates as to the probable length of time during which the earth and sun will continue to radiate heat are invalidated. Such estimates, for example, as that of Lord Kelvin as to the probable heat-giving life of the sun must now be multiplied from fifty to five hundred times.

In like manner the length of time that the earth has been sufficiently cool to support animal and vegetable life must be re-estimated. Until the discovery of radium it seemed definitely determined that the earth was gradually cooling, and would continue to cool, un til, like the moon, it would become too cold to support any kind of vegetable or animal life whatever. But recent estimates of the amount of radio-active matter in the earth and atmosphere, and the amount of heat constantly given off from this source, seem to indicate that the loss of heat is (for the moment) about evenly balanced by the heat given out by radio-active matter. Thus at the beginning of the new century we see the phenomenon of a single discovery in science completely overturning certain carefully worked out calculations, although not changing the great principles involved. It is but the repetition of the revolutionary changes that occur at intervals in the history of science, a simple discovery setting at naught some of the most careful calculations of a generation.

V. THE MARINE BIOLOGICAL LABORATORY AT NAPLES

THE AQUARIUM

MANY tourists who have gone to Naples within recent years will recall their visit to the aquarium there among their most pleasant experiences. It is, indeed, a place worth seeing. Any Neapolitan will direct you to the beautiful white building which it occupies in the public park close by the water's side. The park itself, statue-guarded and palm-studded, is one of the show-places of the city; and the aquarium building, standing isolated near its centre, is worthy of its surroundings. As seen from the bay, it gleams white amid the half-tropical foliage, with the circling rampart of hills, flanked by Vesuvius itself, for background. And near at hand the picturesque cactus growth scrambling over the walls gives precisely the necessary finish to the otherwise rather severe type of the architecture. The ensemble prepares one to be pleased with whatever the structure may have to show within.

It prepares one also, though in quite another way, for a surprise; for when one has crossed the threshold and narrow vestibule, while the gleam of the outside brightness still glows before his eyes, he is plunged suddenly into what seems at first glimpse a cavern of Egyptian darkness, and the contrast is nothing less than startling. To add to the effect, one sees all about him, near the walls of the cavern, weird forms of moving creatures, which seem to be floating about lazily in the air, in grottos which glow with a dim light or sparkle with varied colors. One is really looking through glass walls into tanks of water filled with marine life; but both glass and water are so transparent that it is difficult at first glimpse to realize their presence, unless a stream of water, with its attendant bubbles, is playing into the tanks. And even then the effect is most elusive; for the surface of the water, which you are looking up to from below, mirrors the contents of the tanks so perfectly that it is difficult to tell where the reality ends and the image begins, were it not that the duplicated creatures move about with their backs downward in a scene all topsy-turvy. The effect is most fantastic.

More than that, it is most beautiful as well. You are, in effect, at the bottom of the ocean--or rather, at the bottom of many oceans in one. No light comes to you except through the grottos about you--grottos haunted by weird forms of the deep, from graceful to grotesque, from almost colorless to gaudy-hued. To your dilated pupils the light itself has the weird glow of unreality. It is all like the wonders of the Arabian Nights made tangible or like a strange spectacular dream. If one were in a great diving-bell at the bottom of the veritable ocean he could hardly feel more detached from the ordinary aerial world of fact.

As one recovers his senses and begins to take definite note of things about him he sees that each one of the many grottos has a different set of occupants, and that not all of the creatures there are as unfamiliar as at first they seemed. Many of the fishes, for example, and the lobsters, crabs, and the like, are familiar enough under other conditions, but even these old acquaintances look strange under these changed circumstances. But for the rest there are multitudes of forms that one had never seen or imagined, for the sea hides a myriad of wonders which we who sail over its surface, and at most glance dimly a few feet into its depths, hardly dream of. Even though one has seen these strange creatures "preserved" in museums, he does not know them, for the alleged preservation there has retained little enough of essential faciès of the real creature, which the dead shell can no more than vaguely suggest.

Here, however, we see the real thing. Each creature lives and moves in a habitat as nearly as may be like that which it haunted when at liberty, save that tribes that live at enmity with one another are here separated, so that the active struggle for existence, which plays so large a part in the wild life of sea as well as land, is not represented. For the rest the creatures of the deep are at home in these artificial grottos, and disport themselves as if they desired no other residence. For the most part they pay no heed whatever to the human inspectors without their homelike prisons, so one may watch their activities under the most favorable conditions.

It is odd to notice how curiously sinuous are all the movements, not alone of the fish, but of a large proportion of the other forms of moving life of the waters. The curve, the line of beauty, is the symbol of their every act; there are no angles in their world. They glide hither and yon, seemingly without an effort, and always with wavy, oscillating gracefulness. The acme of this sinuosity of movement is reached with those long-drawn-out fishes the eels. Of these there are two gigantic species represented here--the conger, a dark-skinned, rather ill-favored fellow, and the beautiful Italian eel, with a velvety, leopard-spotted skin. These creatures are gracefulness itself. They are ribbon-like in tenuousness, and to casual glance they give the impression of long, narrow pennants softly waving in a gentle breeze. The great conger--five or six feet in length--has, indeed, a certain propensity to extend himself rigidly in a fishlike line and lie immovable, but the other species is always true to his colors, so to say--his form is always outlined in curves.

The eels attract their full share of attention from the visitors, but there is one family of creatures which easily holds the palm over all the others in this regard. These are the various representatives of the great cult of squids and cuttle-fishes. The cuttle-fish proper--who, of course, is no fish at all--is shaped strangely like a diminutive elephant, with a filmy, waving membrane along its sides in lieu of legs. Like the other members of his clan, he can change his color variously. Sometimes he is of a dull brown, again prettily mottled; then, with almost kaleidoscopic suddenness, he will assume a garb beautifully striped in black and white, rivalled by nothing but the coat of the zebra. The cuttle-fish is a sluggish creature, seeking out the darker corners of his grotto, and often lying motionless for long periods together. But not so the little squid. He does not thrive in captivity, and incessantly wings his way back and forth, with slow, wavy flappings of his filmy appendages, until he wears himself out and dies unreconciled.

In marked contrast with both cuttle-fish and squid is their cousin the octopus--a creepy, crawly creature, like eight serpents in one--at once the oddest and the most fascinating creature in the entire aquarium. You will find a crowd almost always before his grotto watching his curious antics. Usually slow and deliberate in movement, he yet has capacity for a certain agility. Now and again he dives off suddenly, head first, through the water, with the directness if not quite with the speed of an arrow. A moment later, tired of his flight, he sprawls his eight webbed legs out in every direction, breaking them seemingly into a thousand joints, and settles back like an animated parachute awreck. Then perchance he perches on a rock knowingly, with the appearance of owl-like wisdom, albeit his head looks surprisingly like a frog's. Anon he holds his head erect and stretches out his long arms in what is most palpably a yawn. Then, for pure diversion, he may hold himself half erect on his umbrella frame of legs and sidle along a sort of quadrille--a veritable "eight hands in round."

But all the while he conveys distinctly the impression of a creature to the last degree blasé. Even when a crab is let down into his grotto by an attendant for the edification of the visitors the octopus seems to regard it with only lukewarm interest. If he deigns to go in pursuit, it is with the air of one who says, "Anything to oblige," rather than of eagerness for a morsel of food. Yet withal, even though unhurried, he usually falls upon the victim with surprising sureness of aim, encompassing it in his multiform net. Or perhaps, thinking the game hardly worth so much effort, he merely reaches out suddenly with one of his eight arms--each of which is a long-drawn-out hand as well--and grasps the victim and conveys it to his distensible maw without so much as changing his attitude.

All this of the giant octopus--brown and warty and wrinkled and blasé. But the diminutive cousin in the grotto with the jellyfishes is a bird of quite another feather. Physically he is constructed on the same model as the other, but his mentality is utterly opposed. No grand rôles for him; his part is comedy. He finds life full of interest. He is satisfied with himself and with the world. He assumes an aspect of positive rakishness, and intelligence, so to say, beams from his every limb. All day long he must be up and doing. For want of better business he will pursue a shrimp for hours at a time with the zest of a true sportsman. Now he darts after his intended prey like a fox-hound. Again he resorts to finesse, and sidles off, with eyes fixed in another direction, like a master of stratagem. To be sure, he never catches the shrimp--but what of that? The true sportsman is far removed from the necessity for mere material profit. I half suspect that little octopus would release the shrimp if once he caught him, as the true fisherman throws back the excess of his catch. It is sport, not game, that he covets.

THE LABORATORY AND ITS FOUNDER

When one has made the circuit of the aquarium he will have seen and marvelled at some hundreds of curious creatures utterly unlike anything to be found above water. Brightly colored starfishes, beautiful sea-urchins, strange stationary ascidians, and flower-like sea-anemones, quaint sea-horses, and filmy, fragile jellyfishes and their multiform kin--all seem novel and wonderful as one sees them in their native element. Things that appear to be parts of the rocky or sandy bed of the grottos startle one by moving about, and thus discovering themselves as living creatures, simulating their environment for purposes of protection. Or perhaps what seems to be a giant snail suddenly unfurls wings from its seeming shell, and goes waving through the water, to the utter bewilderment of the beholder. Such freaks as this are quite the rule among the strange tribes of the deep, for the crowding of population there makes the struggle for existence keen, and necessitates all manner of subterfuges for the preservation of species.

Each and every one of the thirty-odd grottos will repay long observation, even on the part of the most casual visitor, and when one has seen them all, he will know more at first hand of the method of life of the creatures of the sea than all the books could teach him. He will depart fully satisfied, and probably, if he be the usual sight-seer, he will never suspect that what he has seen is really but an incidental part of the institution whose building he has entered. Even though he note casually the inscription "Stazione Zoôlogica" above the entrance, he may never suspect that the aquarium he has just visited is only an adjunct--the popular exhibit, so to speak--of the famous institution of technical science known to the English-speaking world as the Marine Biological Laboratory at Naples. Yet such is the fact. The aquarium seems worthy enough to exist by and for itself. It is a great popular educator as well as amuser, yet its importance is utterly insignificant compared with the technical features of the institution of which it is an adjunct.

This technical department, the biological laboratory proper, has its local habitation in the parts of the building not occupied by the aquarium--parts of which the general public, as a rule, sees nothing. There is, indeed, little to see that would greatly interest the casual inspector, for in its outward aspects one laboratory is much like another, a seeming hodgepodge of water-tanks, glass jars of specimens, and tables for microscopes. The real status of a laboratory is not determined by the equipment.

And yet it will not do to press this assertion too far, for in one sense it is the equipment of the Naples laboratory that has made it what it is. Not, however, the equipment in the sense of microscopes and other working paraphernalia. These, of course, are the best of their kind, but machinery alone does not make a great institution, any more than clothes make the man. The all-essential and distinctive equipment of the laboratory reveals itself in its personnel. In the present case, as always in a truly great institution of any kind, there is one dominating personality, one moving spirit. This is Dr. Anton Dohrn, founder of the laboratory, and still its controller and director, in name and in fact.

More than twenty-five years ago Dr. Dohrn, then a young man fresh from the universities of his native Germany, discovered what he felt to be a real need in the biological world. He was struck with the fact that nowhere in the world could be found an establishment affording good opportunities for the study of marine life. Water covers three-fifths of the earth's surface, as everybody knows, and everywhere this water teems with life, so that a vast preponderance of the living things of the globe find their habitat there. Yet the student who might desire to make special studies of this life would find himself balked at the threshold for want of opportunity.

It was no great thing to discover this paucity, which, indeed, fairly beckoned the discoverer. The great thing was to supply the deficiency, and this was what Dr. Dohrn determined to do. He selected Naples as the best location for the laboratory he proposed to found, because of its climate and its location beside the teeming waters of the Mediterranean. He organized a laboratory; he called about him a corps of able assistants; he made the Marine Biological Laboratory at Naples famous, the Mecca of all biological eyes throughout the world. It was not all done in a day. It was far enough from being done without opposition and discouragement; but these are matters of history which Dr. Dohrn now prefers not to dwell upon. Suffice it that the result aimed at was finally achieved, and in far greater measure than could at first be hoped for.

And from that day till this Naples has been the centre of that branch of biological inquiry which has for its object the investigation of problems best studied with material gathered from the sea. And this, let me hasten to add, includes far more than a mere study of the life histories of marine animals and plants as such. It includes problems of cell activity, problems of heredity, life problems of many kinds, having far wider horizons than the mere question as to how a certain fish or crustacean lives and moves and has its being.

Dr. Dohrn's chief technical associates are all Germans, like their leader, but, like him also, all gifted with a polyglot mastery of tongues that has stood them in good stead in their intercourse with the biologists of many nationalities who came to work at the laboratory. I must not pause to dwell upon the personnel of the staff in general, but there is one other member who cannot be overlooked even in the most casual survey of the work of the institution. One might almost as well forget Dr. Dohrn himself as to overlook Signor Lo Bianco, chief of the collecting department. Signor Bianco it is who, having expert knowledge of the haunts and habits of every manner of marine creature, can direct his fishermen where to find and how to secure whatever rare specimen any worker at the laboratory may desire. He it is, too, who, by studying old methods and inventing new ones, has learned how to preserve the delicate forms for subsequent study in lifelike ensemble that no one else can quite equal. Signor Bianco it is, in short, who is the indispensable right-hand man of the institution in all that pertains to its practical working outside the range of the microscope. Each night Signor Lo Bianco directs his band of fishermen as to what particular specimens are most to be sought after next day to meet the needs of the workers in the laboratory. Before sunrise each day, weather permitting, the little scattered fleet of boats is far out on the Bay of Naples; for the surface collecting, which furnishes a large share of the best material, can be done only at dawn, as the greater part of the creatures thus secured sink into the retirement of the depths during the day, coming to the surface to feed only at night. You are not likely to see the collecting party start out, therefore, but if you choose you may see them return about nine or ten o'clock by going to the dock not far from the laboratory. The boats come in singly at about this hour, their occupants standing up to row, and pushing forward with the oars, after the awkward Neapolitan fashion. Many of the fishermen are quaint enough in appearance; some of them have grown old in the service of the laboratory. The morning's catch is contained in glass jars placed in baskets especially constructed for the purpose. The baskets have handles, but these are quite superfluous except to lift them from the boats, for in the transit to the laboratory the baskets are carried, as almost everything else is carried in Naples, on the head. To the novitiate it seems a striking risk to pile baskets of fragile glass and even more fragile specimens one above another, and attempt to balance the whole on the head, but nothing could be easier, or seemingly more secure, for these experts. Arrived at the laboratory, the jars are turned over to Signer Lo Bianco and his assistants, who sort the material, and send to each investigator in the workrooms whatever he may have asked for.

Of course surface-skimming is not the only method of securing material for the laboratory. The institution owns a steam-launch named the _Johannes Müller_, in honor of the great physiologist, which operates a powerful dredge for securing all manner of specimens from the sea-bottom. Then ordinary lines and nets are more or less in requisition for capturing fish. And in addition to the regular corps of collectors, every fisherman of the neighborhood has long since learned to bring to the laboratory all rare specimens of any kind that he may chance to capture. So in one way and another the institution makes sure of having in tribute all that the richly peopled waters of the Mediterranean can offer. And this well-regulated system of collecting, combined with the richness of the fauna and flora of the Bay of Naples, has no small share in the success of the marine laboratory. But these, of course, were factors that Dr. Dohrn took into account from the beginning.

Indeed, it was precisely with an eye to these important factors that Naples was selected as the site of the future laboratory in the days when the project was forming.

The Bay of Naples is most happily located for the needs of the zoologist. It is not too far south to exclude the fauna of the temperate zone, yet far enough south to furnish a habitat for many forms of life almost tropical in character. It has, in short, a most varied and abundant fauna. And, on the other hand, the large colony of Neapolitan fishermen made it certain that skilled collectors would always be at hand to make available the wealth of material. It requires no technical education to appreciate the value of this to the original investigator, particularly to the student of life problems. A skilful worker may do much with a single specimen, as, for example, Johannes Mûller did half a century ago with the one available specimen of amphioxus, the lowest of vertebrates, then recently discovered. What Mûller learned from that one specimen seems almost miraculous. But what if he had had a bucketful of the little boneless creatures at his disposal, as the worker at Naples now may have any day for the asking?

When it comes to problems of development, of heredity, a profusion of material is almost a necessity. But here the creatures of the sea respond to the call with amazing proficiency. Most of them are, of course, oviparous, and it is quite the rule for them to deposit their eggs by hundreds of thousands, by millions even. Everybody knows, since Darwin taught us, that the average number of offspring of any given species of animal or plant bears an inverse proportion to the liability of that species to juvenile fatalities. When, therefore, we find a fish or a lobster or other pelagic creature depositing innumerable eggs, we may feel perfectly sure that the vast majority of the eggs themselves, or the callow creatures that come out of them, will furnish food for their neighbors at an early day. It is an unkind world into which the resident of the deep is born. But his adversity is his human contemporary's gain, and the biologist will hardly be blamed, even by the most tender-hearted anti-vivisectionist, for availing himself freely of material which otherwise would probably serve no better purpose than to appease the appetite of some rapacious fish.

Their abundance is not the only merit, however, of the eggs of pelagic creatures, in the eyes of the biologist. By equal good-fortune it chances that colorless things are at a premium in the sea, since to escape the eye of your enemy is a prime consideration. So the eggs in question are usually transparent, and thus, shielded from the vision of marine enemies, are beautifully adapted for the observation of the biologist. As a final merit, they are mostly of convenient size for manipulation under the microscope. For many reasons, then, the marine egg offers incomparable advantages to the student of cell life, an egg being the typical cell. And since nowadays the cell is the very focus of attention in the biological world, the importance of marine laboratories has been enhanced proportionately.

But of course not all the work can be done with eggs or with living specimens of any kind. It is equally important on occasion to examine the tissues of adult specimens, and for this, as a rule, the tissues must first be subjected to some preserving and hardening process preliminary to the cutting of sections for microscopical examination. This is done simply enough in the case of some organisms, but there is a large class of filmy, tenuous, fragile creatures in the sea population of which the jellyfish may be mentioned as familiar examples. Such creatures, when treated in an ordinary way, by dropping them into alcohol, shrivel up, coming to resemble nothing in particular, and ceasing to have any value for the study of normal structures. How to overcome this difficulty was one of the problems attacked from the beginning at the Naples laboratory. The chief part of the practical work of these experiments fell to the share of Signor Lo Bianco. The success that attended his efforts is remarkable. To-day you may see at the laboratory all manner of filmy, diaphanous creatures preserved in alcohol, retaining every jot of their natural contour, and thus offering unexampled opportunities for study _en masse_, or for being sectioned for the microscope. The methods by which this surprising result has been accomplished are naturally different for different creatures; Signor Lo Bianco has written a book telling how it all has been done. Perhaps the most important principle involved with a majority of the more tenuous forms is to stupefy the animal by gradually adding small quantities of a drug, such as chloral, to the water in which the creature is detained. When by this means the animal has been rendered so insensible that it responds very sluggishly to stimuli, it is plunged into a toxic solution, usually formaline, which kills it so suddenly that its muscles in their benumbed state have not time to contract.

Any one who has ever tried to preserve a jellyfish, for example, by ordinary methods will recall the sorry result, and be prepared to appreciate Signor Lo Bianco's wonderfully beautiful specimens. Naturalists have come from all over the world to Naples to learn "just how" the miracle is accomplished, for it must be understood that the mere citation of the _modus operandi_ by no means enables the novitiate to apply it successfully at once. In the case of some of the long-drawn-out forms of clustered ascidians and the like, the delicacy of manipulation required to make successful preservations raises the method as practised at Naples almost to the level of a fine art. It is a boon to naturalists everywhere that the institution here is able sometimes to supply other laboratories less favorably situated with duplicates from its wealth of beautifully preserved specimens.

METHODS AND RESULTS

These, then, are some of the material conditions that have contributed to make the results of the scientific investigations at the Naples laboratory notable. But of course, even with a superabundance of material, discoveries do not make themselves. "Who uses this material?" is, after all, the vital question. And in this regard the laboratory at Naples presents, for any one who gets at its heart, so to speak, an ensemble that is distinctive enough; for the men who work in the light and airy rooms of the laboratory proper have come for the purpose from all corners of the civilized globe, and not a few of them are men of the highest distinction in their various lines of biological science. A large proportion are professors in colleges and universities of their various countries; and for the rest there is scarcely one who is not in some sense master of the biological craft. For it must be understood that this laboratory at Naples is not intended as a training-school for the apprentice. It offers in the widest sense a university course in biology, and that alone. There is no instructor here who shows the new-comer how to use the microscope, how to utilize the material, how to go about the business of discovery. The worker who comes to Naples is supposed to have learned all these things long before. He is merely asked, then, what class of material he desires, and, this being furnished him, he is permitted to go his own way unmolested. He may work much or little, or not at all; he may make epochal discoveries or no discoveries of any sort, and it will be all one to the management. No one will ask him, in any event, what he has done or why he has not done otherwise. In a word, the worker in the laboratory here, while being supplied with opportunities for study such as he could hardly find elsewhere, retains all the freedom of his own private laboratory.

Little wonder, then, that it is regarded as a rare privilege to be allowed to work in this laboratory. Fortunately, however, it is a privilege that may be obtained by almost any earnest worker who, having learned the technique of the craft elsewhere, desires now to prosecute special original studies in biology. Most of the tables here are leased in perpetuity, for a fixed sum per annum, by various public or private institutions of different countries. Thus, for example, America has the right of use of several tables, the Smithsonian Institution leasing one, Columbia University another, a woman's league a third, and so on. Any American desiring to work at Naples should make application to one of these various sources, stating the exact time when he would like to go, and if there be a vacancy for that time the properly accredited applicant is almost sure to receive the privilege he asks for. Failing in this, however, there is still a court of last appeal in Dr. Dohrn himself, who may have a few unoccupied tables at his disposal, and who will surely extend the courtesy of their occupancy, for a reasonable period, to any proper applicant, come he whence he may.

Thus it chances that one finds men of all nations working in the Naples laboratory--biologists from all over Europe, including Russia, from America, from Australia, from Japan. One finds women also, but these, I believe, are usually from America. Biologists who at home are at the head of fully equipped laboratories come here to profit by the wealth of material, as well as to keep an eye upon the newest methods of their craft, and to gain the inspiration of contact with other workers in allied fields. Many of the German university teachers, for example, make regular pilgrimages to Naples during their vacations, and more than one of them have made the original investigations here that have given them an international reputation.

As to the exact methods of study employed by the individual workers here, little need be said. In this regard, as in regard to instrumental equipment, one biological laboratory is necessarily much like another, and the general conditions of original scientific experiment are pretty much the same everywhere. What is needed is, first, an appreciation of the logical bearings of the problem to be solved; and, secondly, the skill and patience to carry out long lines of experiments, many of which necessarily lead to no tangible result. The selection of material for the experiments planned, the watching and cultivating of the living forms in the laboratory tanks, the cutting of numberless filmy sections for microscopical examination--these things, variously modified for each case, make up the work of the laboratory student of general biology. And just in proportion as the experiments are logically planned and carefully executed will the results be valuable, even though they be but negative. Just in proportion as the worker, by inclusion and exclusion, attains authentic results--results that will bear the test of repetition--does his reputation as a dependable working biologist become established.

The subjects attacked in the marine laboratory first and last are practically coextensive with the range of general biology, bacteriology excepted. Naturally enough, the life histories of marine forms of animals and plants have come in for a full share of attention. But, as I have already intimated, this zoological work forms only a small part of the investigations undertaken here, for in the main the workers prefer to attack those general biological problems which in their broader outlines apply to all forms of living beings, from highest to lowest. For example, Dr. Driesch, the well-known Leipzig biologist, spends several months of each year at the laboratory, and has made here most of those studies of cell activities with which his name is associated. The past season he has studied an interesting and important problem of heredity, endeavoring to ascertain the respective shares of the male and female parents in the development of the offspring. The subjects of his experiments have been various species of sea-urchins, but the principles discovered will doubtless be found to apply to most, or perhaps all, forms of vertebrate life as well.

While these studies were under way another developmental problem was being attacked in a neighboring room of the laboratory by Professor Kitasato, of the University of Tokio, Japan. The subjects this time were the embryos of certain fishes, and the investigation had to do with the development of instructive monstrosities through carefully designed series of injuries inflicted upon the embryo at various stages of its development. Meantime another stage of the developmental history of organic things--this time a microscopical detail regarding the cell divisions of certain plants--has been studied by Professor Mottier, of Indiana; while another American botanist, Professor Swingle, of the Smithsonian Institution, has been going so far afield from marine subjects as to investigate the very practical subject of the fertilization of figs as practised by the agriculturists about Naples.