Mr. Grant Aliens Botanical Fables 19 



grainer has converted into the semblance of oak. Now, 

 how can there be implanted in a nature, by any blind 

 and accidental forces, a tendency simply to resemble 

 gravel or mud ? We might possibly conceive every 

 fish being so provided with a black or red spot 

 in one unvarying position, but where there is this 

 strange evidence of an indefinite and yet artistic purpose 

 do we not come face to face with what Mr. Grant Allen 

 would deny, " the deliberate design of the production of 

 effects ? " 



I have said that here I will conclude, at least for 

 the present. A large and tempting field yet remains 

 unvisited the question of the colour of flowers, con- 

 cerning which Mr. Allen says something and Sir John 

 Lubbock much. But this subject, if attempted at all, 

 would demand an entire paper to itself, 1 and should be 

 treated with an amount of detail which, at present, I 

 wish to avoid. My object is but to show how evolu- 

 tionary argument looks when it condescends to come 

 down to a field in which we can experiment for our- 

 selves, and of what texture are the argumentative pro- 

 ducts of that modern exact thought which we are daily 

 told to regard as putting to shame the loose reasonings 

 of our undeveloped ancestors. 



Theories and hypotheses have their place, and a most 

 valuable place it is, in the field of scientific knowledge, 

 and undoubtedly we do well to feel our way by means of 

 them to the solution of problems which older genera- 

 tions never attempted. But we outrage science and 

 bar the road to sound knowledge if we take as proved 

 and certain what is as yet but hypothetical and specu- 

 lative ; and if, through a natural partiality for a system 

 of OUT own, we get ourselves into the way of forcing 

 facts to fit into it, whether they will or no, or neglect 

 those which tell against it, having no eyes to see 

 anything but what seems to bear witness in its favour. 



Of all this there seems to be only too much danger. 

 We are in such desperate haste to assure ourselves 

 1 See the Essay, Who painted the Flowers ? 



