LINNiEUS AS AN EVOLUTIONIST I9 



quite so promptly. He has said, and that in the paragraph next pre- 

 ceding the definition of variety, that all species — not most of them but 

 all of them — were constituted such by the Creator in the very begin- 

 ning of the existence of plant life and form. He will not subvert this 

 proposition; at least, not in the very next sentence. His notion of a 

 variety is, that it is such alteration of a species as may have been in- 

 duced by changed conditions of climates, soil, temperature, exposure 

 to or shelter from high winds, or any such items of mere environment; 

 and he does not fail to add that, on the restoration of the plant to its 

 old environment, it reverts to the original type form. One sees at a 

 glance that this is not our twentieth-century idea of a botanical vari- 

 ety; but it is the Linnaean idea, and with that alone we are here con- 

 cerned. The man makes so small account of varieties, from the taxo- 

 nomic point of view, that he concludes his discussion of the topic 

 with an apology for giving them place and mention in his books of 

 systematic botany. "Variation," he says, "is in such matters as the 

 size of the plant, doubleness of flower, a crisped or curled foliage, 

 a difference of color, odor, flavor, etc." But he adds: "Many 

 varieties of plants are in favor with gardeners, and agriculturists, 

 others with florists, while still others are in esteem with pharma- 

 cists. " From these expressions it is plain that Linnaeus did not con- 

 sider these changeable and even transient forms worthy of any serious 

 consideration by botanists proper, and admitted them to his books 

 only as in condescension to the wants of those classes of tradespeople 

 whom he mentions. It may here be added that in almost all more 

 recent botany, varieties, such as Linnaeus had in mind when he wrote 

 the defmition, find no place. One looks for the account of them, if 

 anywhere, in the calendars and catalogues of gardeners, pomologists, 

 nurserymen and florists. 



I have long understood how very definitely and absolutely this fine 

 book, the Philosophia Botanica, excludes every idea of a possibly 

 evolutionary origin for any species of plant. 



And yet, Linnaeus was an evolutionist. Nor is this so passing 

 strange, in a world where men in great numbers — even some of high 

 standing and great ability — say one thing, and think the very opposite. 



That he entertained doubts as to the truthfulness of the proposition 

 that everything that ought to be called a species had been made as it 

 is in the beginning, is a discovery that I made quite fortuitously. 



