ON SCIENCE AS A RELAXATION.1

BY WILLIAM HENRY PREECE, F.R.S., ETC.

Ar a dinner given lately at the Mansion House by the Lord Mayor of London, to bid farewell to the retiring French Ambassador, Monsieur Waddington made some remarks respecting the different pursuits in the life of a politician, which at the time impressed me very much. He said,

"In this assembly, which includes so many political men, I would point to the enormous advantage which is derived in the hazards and ups and downs of political life from classical study in some form or other, whether it take the form of archæology, numismatics, ancient geography, or the diligent reading of classical literature. It has been my fate three times to be suddenly turned out of a ministry and to find myself cut off from active work, great responsibili ties, and very absorbing pursuits, and when one experiences suddenly a change of that kind it is very difficult to avoid feeling a certain discontent, a certain angry feeling, almost a feeling of revenge against those who have deposed you. But if he but has a real absorbing classical pursuit, what a source of contentment and peace of mind it is to the politician at such times! The pursuit, however, must not be a mere plaything, but one which is near to your heart and by which you can be absorbed. In days of disappointment there is, in my opinion, no consolation equal to that of a dearly-loved study."

Not many days afterwards the great German physiologist

1 Read before the Society, Wednesday, April 26th, 1893.

Virchow, in delivering the Croonian lecture before the Royal Society, said,

"How often have I found myself in a state of despondency, with a feeling of depression! What has saved me is the habit of work, which has not forsaken me even in the days of outward misfortune-that habit of scientific work which has always appeared to me as a recreation, even after wearying and useless efforts in political, social, and religious matters."

I have so frequently found a solace and a comfort in the habit of regarding matters from a purely scientific point of view that when I was honoured by an invitation to deliver an address before this Society, the pertinent remarks of M. Waddington and Professor Virchow induced me to select as my subject the relaxation which the scientific consideration of things supplies, not only in moments of trouble, but in moments of leisure, and especially in the daily associations of busy and active every-day life.

We

It is impossible to prevent the active operation of the mind during our periods of wakefulness. We may be occupied in the pursuits of our professions, of our businesses, of our daily domestic and social concerns. We may be mentally disturbed by troubles or elated by successes. We may be enjoying a well-earned holiday in the bracing hills of Wales. We may restlessly toss about in hours of darkness in our beds, or peacefully wait for the coming morn. may comfortably rush through the country in the luxurious saloon of a modern first-class coach; or we may be taking that exercise in the open air which is so essential for health and happiness, either on foot or on horseback. We may loll in our comfortable arm-chairs by our own quiet firesides, or we may wander in the active streets of great cities amidst the busy hum of men. We may contemplate the deep and dark ocean from the deck of a swift and well

equipped steamer, or we may be driven over the hills and dales of some foreign land that vies in beauty with our own dear native land. Wherever we may be or whatever we may do the mind is actively at work building castles in the air, picturing events that never occur, contemplating the vanities of the earth, or conceiving schemes that melt

"Into thin air

And, like this insubstantial pageant, faded,

Leave not a rack behind."

Now, instead of allowing the thoughts to wander at will, fancy free, we may direct them into some channel clear of all disturbing elements, and obtain in some other pursuit temporary oblivion of the world, its pleasures and its woes. After buffeting, about in the angry seas of political, social, or professional life, we may desire to steer to some haven of rest, where we may calm our excited brains by exercising them in more peaceful pursuits and more soothing mental recreation. Waddington advocates the return to the classics, Virchow to work; some fly to literature, others resort to art, and while conversation is the panacea of many, silent contemplation is the property of all. Scientific investigation, scientific observation, scientific thought, are the accomplishments I advocate. They are habits which we can all acquire, and the means to exercise them are ever around and about

us.

How of my many of audience have asked themselves the simple questions, Why do we remain so comfortably warm in bed when the window-panes are covered with beautiful ice pictures? Why is soap so effective in cleansing the skin? Why do our boots shine when they are fiercely rubbed with blacking? Why do we require our food cooked, when the birds of the air and the beasts of the field flourish better than we on Nature's unaided pro

ducts? What is the value and composition of that strange concoction, a cup of tea? Why do we burn coal and whence is derived the heat that warms our homes? the light that illumines our rooms? the sounds that captivate or violate our ears? the perfumes that gratify or offend our noses? What is paper? What is ink? And how is it that on every breakfast table in every town in the United Kingdom where a daily paper is published, a full verbatim report can be read of some exciting political speech made the previous evening in some retired corner in the mountains of Cymru or in the wilds of Scotland?

By scientific investigation, I mean finding the reason why. By scientific observation, I mean using the senses that God has given us to watch and examine the processes of nature, and to perceive what is going on around and about us wherever we may be. By scientific thought, I mean that regular and systematic method of tracing, step by step, the connection that exists between effect and cause, and that process by which we can pass from the study of the known to comprehend the unknown.

The word science has to some a repulsive sound; while the word knowledge impresses every one with respect. Yet their meaning is identical, and they vary only from being derived from different roots. Science has been defined to be organized common sense, and it is applied specially to the description and explanation of the facts and laws of Nature.

People once used to look upon a scientific man as a learned pedant, and associate him with their doctor or some aged and white-chokered pundit who wrote his prescriptions in hieroglyphics, or who spoke a language not "understanded of the people." Science was regarded as something dry and prosaic. Now, thanks to Intermediate Education, High Schools, and Technical Institutes, our

sons and our daughters are much more learned scientifically than our fathers and mothers were, and, I suspect, in many cases, than our humble selves. The material constitution of the earth upon which we walk; the chemical character of the air we breathe; the physical nature of heat; and the constitution and behaviour of water can form the subject of conversation at many breakfast tables. My contention is that they should form the subject of our daily thoughts, and that thus Science should become a pleasure and be made a relaxation, introducing to us a new world. Science is not dry, it can be as bright as a day-dream; it is not prosaic, it can be as cheerful as an old song. Moreover, while the pursuit of literature or of art generally involves sedentary or inactive occupation in rooms, the works of Nature are ever open to the scientific observer, so that he may" run who readeth." The reader of the classics is confined to dusty tomes. His books are found on shelves or purchased from bookstalls. The naturalist's library is the face of Nature. The ground upon which we tread in the country, even the paving-stones in the City of London; the changing scene that flits past our carriage window; the face of the mighty ocean; the blue sky and the starry firmament, are all open pages of that great scientific work which is every one's inheritance, and which is written in one universal language very easily acquired. The cutting along a railway is a leaf in an open treatise of geology; the moon's phases form a paragraph in a simple text-book of astronomy; a noisy and brilliant thunderstorm becomes an exposition of some physical atmospheric disturbance; a storm at sea is a simple, though sometimes unpleasant, experience; plants, birds, fish, beasts, hills, dales, rivers, tides, waterfalls, clouds, rain, ice, snow are Nature's works, always appealing to the understanding and conveying impressions of a pleasurable character. The flowers of the