August 15, 1913] 



SCIENCE 



213 



ences of Philadelphia, cast a shadow over 

 that event. From boyhood days his inter- 

 est in the Academy had been keen and he 

 had taken an active part in the prepara- 

 tions for the centennial celebration and 

 had contributed an important paper on 

 "Human Spermatogenesis" for the com- 

 memoration volume of the Journal of the 

 Academy; this paper, which was his last 

 contribution to science, appeared as the 

 first article in the commemoration volume, 

 which was issued some time after his death. 

 His funeral was attended by many people 

 from a distance, who had been present at 

 the Academy 's Centennial, as well as by his 

 colleagues and students. His body was 

 borne by his family and a few intimate 

 friends to its last resting place on a hill 

 overlooking the beautiful Schuylkill Valley 

 and the great city with which his life had 

 been so intimately identified. 



His influence on science has reached 

 many who never knew him and will last 

 long after his personality is forgotten, and 

 yet it is as the person, the man of honor 

 and fidelity, of high ideals and courage and 

 courtesy, that his friends love to remember 

 him. 



In person he was unusually tall and 

 slender, with a serious but kindly face, and 

 his general appearance gave the impression 

 of great vigor of mind and will rather than 

 of body. He was, however, capable of 

 great physical endurance and was rarely 

 ill. He matured early and appeared older 

 than he really was and this appearance was 

 strengthened by the way in which he re- 

 garded himself. 



In 1901 he married Priscilla, daughter 

 of John and Elizabeth Braislin, of Cross- 

 wicks, N. J. To them were born three 

 sons, Thomas, Hugh and Raymond, and 

 the pleasure which he took in the society 

 of his wife and boys, and his devotion to 

 them, demonstrated that he was a man of 

 affection as well as of intellect, a loving 



husband and father as well as a distin- 

 guished scientist. 



In his ornithological notebooks he has 

 revealed his heart as in no other of his 

 writings. Intermingled with the observa- 

 tions which he records are many passages 

 evidently intended only for his own eye, 

 and it seems almost like intruding into 

 private matters to make them public, and 

 yet they reveal so fully his inner motives 

 and the philosophy of his life that it seems 

 to the writer that the sketch which has here 

 been drawn would be sadly incomplete 

 without some reference to them. Under 

 date of September 22, 1898, he gives a list 

 of the summer birds still to be seen near 

 his country home, and then after some 

 comments on the beauties of the changing 

 seasons, writes some ten pages on what 

 might very properly be called the religion 

 of a naturalist. Unfortunately limits of 

 space do not permit the publication in full 

 of this passage, but the following extracts 

 are taken from it : 



In the make-up of the naturalist belongs as 

 much appreciative interest as keen perceptive 

 ability. In a word the naturalist must feel him- 

 self at one with nature. . . . The faintly heard 

 note of a bird, the first odor of spring in the air, 

 the moaning of wind in the spruces, or the won- 

 drous insect humming on an August night — these 

 are what set a train of vague but deliciously keen 

 memories and longings in motion — a mental state 

 which is the purest and most spiritual. Whoever 

 has a true and tender love for the natural may 

 experience at least the unexplained joy produced 

 by such yearnings. . . . Such yearnings are the 

 sublime in the experience of the naturalist. . . . 



To me there are memories more precious than 

 all others, memories of elated mental states asso- 

 ciated with enthusiastic appreciation of the nat- 

 ural. . . . Analysis of such states may be possible, 

 but shall one tear apart the web of his best 

 dreams? . . . 



What is the basis of such longings? Many 

 would regard them as trivial or foolish, but the 

 many are not naturalists. I recall with startling 

 vividness when as a small boy I first heard the 

 cat-bird's song in Central Park, New York City; 



