by the Student
It was more than fifteen years ago that I entered the laboratory of Professor
Agassiz, and told him I had enrolled my name in the scientific school as a
student of natural history. He asked me a few questions about my object in
coming, my antecedents generally, the mode in which I afterwards proposed
to use the knowledge I might acquire, and finally, whether I wished to study
any special branch. To the latter I replied that while I wished to be well
grounded in all departments of zoology, I purposed to devote myself especially
to insects.
"When do you wish to begin?" he asked.
"Now," I replied.
This seemed to please him, and with an energetic "Very well," he reached from
a shelf a huge jar of specimens in yellow alcohol.
"Take this fish," he said, "and look at it; we call it a Haemulon; by and
by I will ask what you have seen." With that he left me, but in a moment returned
with explicit instructions as to the care of the object entrusted to me.
"No man is fit to be a naturalist," said he, "who does not know how to take
care of specimens." I was to keep the fish before me in a tin tray, and occasionally
moisten the surface with alcohol from the jar, always taking care to replace
the stopper tightly. Those were not the days of ground glass stoppers, and
elegantly shaped exhibition jars; all the old students will recall the huge,
neckless glass bottles with their leaky, wax-besmeared corks, half-eaten by
insects and begrimed with cellar dust. Entomology was a cleaner science than
ichthyology, but the example of the professor who had unhesitatingly plunged
to the bottom of the jar to produce the fish was infectious; and though this
alcohol had "a very ancient and fish-like smell," I really dared not show
any aversion within these sacred precincts, and treated the alcohol as though
it were pure water. Still I was conscious of a passing feeling of disappointment,
for gazing at a fish did not commend itself to an ardent entomologist. My
friends at home, too, were annoyed, when they discovered that no amount of
eau de cologne would drown the perfume which haunted me like a shadow. In
ten minutes I had seen all that could be seen in that fish, and started in
search of the professor, who had, however, left the museum; and when I returned,
after lingering over some of the odd animals stored in the upper apartment,
my specimen was dry all over. I dashed the fluid over the fish as if to resuscitate
it from a fainting-fit, and looked with anxiety for a return of a normal,
sloppy appearance. This little excitement over, nothing was to be done but
return to a steadfast gaze at my mute companion. Half an hour passed, an hour,
another hour; the fish began to look loathsome. I turned it over and around;
looked it in the face -- ghastly; from behind, beneath, above, sideways, at
a three-quarters view -- just as ghastly. I was in despair; at an early hour,
I concluded that lunch was necessary; so with infinite relief, the fish was
carefully replaced in the jar, and for an hour I was free.
On my return, I learned that Professor Agassiz had been at the museum, but
had gone and would not return for several hours. My fellow students were too
busy to be disturbed by continued conversation. Slowly I drew forth that hideous
fish, and with a feeling of desperation again looked at it. I might not use
a magnifying glass; instruments of all kinds were interdicted. My two hands,
my two eyes, and the fish; it seemed a most limited field. I pushed my fingers
down its throat to see how sharp its teeth were. I began to count the scales
in the different rows until I was convinced that that was nonsense. At last
a happy thought struck me -- I would draw the fish; and now with surprise
I began to discover new features in the creature. Just then the professor
returned.
"That is right," said he, "a pencil is one of the best eyes. I am glad to
notice, too, that you keep your specimen wet and your bottle corked."
With these encouraging words he added --
"Well, what is it like?"
He listened attentively to my brief rehearsal of the structure of parts whose
names were still unknown to me; the fringed gill-arches and movable operculum;
the pores of the head, fleshly lips, and lidless eyes; the lateral line, the
spinous fin, and forked tail; the compressed and arched body. When I had finished,
he waited as if expecting more, and then, with an air of disappointment:
"You have not looked very carefully; why," he continued, more earnestly, "you
haven't seen one of the most conspicuous features of the animal, which is
as plainly before your eyes as the fish itself. Look again; look again!" And
he left me to my misery.
I was piqued; I was mortified. Still more of that wretched fish? But now I
set myself to the task with a will, and discovered one new thing after another,
until I saw how just the professor's criticism had been. The afternoon passed
quickly, and when, towards its close, the professor inquired,
"Do you see it yet?"
"No," I replied. "I am certain I do not, but I see how little I saw before."
"That is next best," said he earnestly, "but I won't hear you now; put away
your fish and go home; perhaps you will be ready with a better answer in the
morning. I will examine you before you look at the fish." This was disconcerting;
not only must I think of my fish all night, studying, without the object before
me, what this unknown but most visible feature might be, but also, without
reviewing my new discoveries, I must give an exact account of them the next
day. I had a bad memory; so I walked home by Charles River in a distracted
state, with my two perplexities.
The cordial greeting from the professor the next morning was reassuring; here
was a man who seemed to be quite as anxious as I that I should see for myself
what he saw.
"Do you perhaps mean," I asked, "that the fish has symmetrical sides with
paired organs?" His thoroughly pleased, "Of course, of course!" repaid the
wakeful hours of the previous night. After he had discoursed most happily
and enthusiastically -- as he always did -- upon the importance of this point,
I ventured to ask what I should do next.
"Oh, look at your fish!" he said, and left me again to my own devices. In
a little more than an hour he returned and heard my new catalogue.
"That is good, that is good!" he repeated, "but that is not all; go on." And
so for three long days, he placed that fish before my eyes, forbidding me
to look at anything else, or to use any artificial aid. "Look, look, look,"
was his repeated injunction.
This was the best entomological lesson I ever had -- a lesson whose influence
was extended to the details of every subsequent study; a legacy the professor
has left to me, as he left it to many others, of inestimable value, which
we could not buy, with which we cannot part.
A year afterwards, some of us were amusing ourselves with chalking outlandish
beasts upon the blackboard. We drew prancing star-fishes; frogs in mortal
combat; hydro-headed worms; stately craw-fishes, standing on their tails,
bearing aloft umbrellas; and grotesque fishes, with gaping mouths and staring
eyes. The professor came in shortly after, and was as much amused as any at
our experiments. He looked at the fishes.
"Haemulons, every one of them," he said; "Mr. ____________ drew them."
True; and to this day, if I attempt a fish, I can draw nothing but Haemulons.
The fourth day a second fish of the same group was placed beside the first,
and I was bidden to point out the resemblances and differences between the
two; another and another followed, until the entire family lay before me,
and a whole legion of jars covered the table and surrounding shelves; the
odor had become a pleasant perfume; and even now, the sight of an old six-inch
worm-eaten cork brings fragrant memories! The whole group of Haemulons was
thus brought into review; and whether engaged upon the dissection of the internal
organs, preparation and examination of the bony framework, or the description
of the various parts, Agassiz's training in the method of observing facts
in their orderly arrangement, was ever accompanied by the urgent exhortation
not to be content with them.
"Facts are stupid things," he would say, "until brought into connection with
some general law." At the end of eight months, it was almost with reluctance
that I left these friends and turned to insects; but what I gained by this
outside experience has been of greater value than years of later investigation
in my favorite groups.
-- from Appendix American Poems, Houghton, Osgood & Co., 1880
Thanks to Argue for this one. ( I love how no one has asked what's the deal with this story )
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