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want to be fair and friendly. And, above all, it declares that China must not be partitioned, as I have contended all along.

"By the Ishii-Lansing Agreement the Far East ceases to be a center of suspicion. The convention gives Japan her just dues-and nothing more which is all she wants.

"No one need worry about the question of the future interpretation of the clause which recognizes Japan's special interests in China. What Japan wants in China is the right of commercial expansion under equal opportunity. She has no desire to push other nations out.

Dr. Shiozawa stopped speaking. I asked a question about Okuma's understanding of the last clause in the Ishii-Lansing Agreement, in which the two Powers "mutually declare" that they are opposed to any infringement of China's integrity. I put the question as follows:

"Some men say that this last clause of the Agreement means that if terrible disorder should break out in China, endangering foreign interests and lives, Japan, in view of her special relation to China, would be justified in sending in an army to protect foreign interests and restore order just as she did at the time of the Boxer Rebellion, and just as America sent General Pershing into Mexico. And, moreover, that in the event of such an occurrence America's pledge as now given to Japan means that, being too far away to act as policeman in China herself, she will support Japanese police intervention in China, perhaps financially, morally at any rate-vouching to the other Powers for Japan's disinterestedness and sincerity, and guaranteeing that Japan is only acting as policeman, and will not permanently occupy any part of China. Do you understand that this last clause of the Ishii-Lansing Agreement means that?" "Yes," was Okuma's reply, “I understand it means just something like that. Japan is not anxious to do any active constabulary work within China-it would be very difficult. Besides, the same old suspicious groups would raise the cry that Japan was intending to take something for herself, just as some people said the Pershing expedition was sent into Mexico for conquest. Naturally, while China is unsettled a policeman may be needed. Japan, through propinquity, is the natural one to fill the position. The Ishii-Lansing Agreement is Japan's pledge that she will act in good faith in case she is called on to do police work in China, and it is America's indorsement of the validity of Japan's pledge and America's guarantee to other Powers that Japan will keep her word.

"So the Agreement will defeat the attempts of all those who are trying to separate Japan and the United States and who seek to create bad feeling and suspicion out of Far Eastern issues generally."

While Dr. Shiozawa had been interpreting, the venerable statesman had pressed a button somewhere and given instructions to the summoned servant, who now returned carrying a bronze Buddha, about eight inches high and sitting cross-legged on a lotus flower, as Buddhas like to do. The right breast of the image was bare, the right hand thrust downward against the right knee, while the left hand lay open and relaxed on the left knee. With his boyish Celtic smile Okuma hitched his chair close to the table and pointed to the figure, speaking as follows, in short, emphatic sentences:

Let us take this whole figure as a symbol of Japan. The right fist, pushing downward, is repressing evil, pushing all bad spirits away. The left hand is open and ready to be extended in welcome. It signifies generosity and love. The right breast, which is open to the air, also means love, friendship, and sympathy for the world.

"That is the spirit of Japan. That is Bushido-that is the spirit and attitude of the Samurai. Japan fights evil when it is necessary. She is prepared to fight. But, like her old Samurai, she prides herself on drawing the sword as rarely as possible. (Of course she has her militarists, but so has every country, and it is not fair to judge Japan by these few men alone. They are not in control in Japan, and will not be.) So, you see, Japan draws the sword only in defense. But she is an island Empire, with a growing population. She is dependent on outside commerce and industry, and she must be ready to defend herself against aggression, especially such aggression from Asia as Russia brought against her in the past. But she has no aggressive designs. She represses evil with one hand, as this Buddha does;

the other hand is extended in welcome, and the breast is bared in kindness and love for all good influences. Japan i stern and chaste-as America is. Our Samurai spirit is matched by your Puritan spirit. So may Japan and America work in harmony for good.

"Please remember, though, all friends of Japan-as you Americans-when men speak against Japan you must always wait to hear her side. Some say that the United States was aggressive and determined on conquest in the war with Spain because she came out of that war with Porto Rico and the Philippines. Some say that England was unjust and selfish in her war with African tribes because she emerged with Egypt in her possession. But intelligent Japanese know that such charges are absurd. So do we hope you will recognize that it is absurd when it is said that Japan has gone into her wars for conquest."

While all this was being interpreted Okuma kept smiling and nodding his head. When he turned his profile as he lit a cigarette he silhouetted against the window his jutting eyebrows, his prognathic mouth, the upper lip slightly prehensile, like a flute player's. These features and something quizzical and boyish in his expression kept suggesting an Irishman rather than a Japanese. He looked a little like old Mike Donovan, once famous pugilist and later famous as the boxing instructor and friend of many well-known Americans, including Theodore Roosevelt. He seemed democratic, un-selfconscious, full of pure enjoyment in his talk, altogether the sort of man you would call behind his back "a fine old boy."

Lately the Japanese press has been full of editorials and interviews purporting to prove how impossible it is for Japan to do more in the war than she is doing, and especially that it is out of the question to consider sending Japanese troops to any European front. All this seems to be called forth by the belief that there is danger that the Allies will ask Japan to make greater sacrifices. The intimations from Washington that the Ishii mission had arranged with the American State Department for an enlargement of Japan's share in the war have been the cause of much discussion and speculation in Japan. So I asked Marquis Okuma if he thought Japan would do anything more in the war than she has been doing. Said he:

"It cannot be said that Japan will not do more, because conditions may change. At present it can only be said that public opinion is all against sending Japanese soldiers to Europe. The people feel that Japan has done her part, and they don't see why she should do more. We have swept the Germans from the Far East, which was our field. Our people feel that the other fronts are very remote. The Allies must not be unfair to Japan because of this feeling of our people. We recognize that it is a war for democracy, that it is a war for international justice. It isn't that we don't sympathize with our allies, but that we doubt the need of helping them with men, now.

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Remember, it took two and a half years for American public opinion to be roused to the point of wanting to fight. In a sense you are nearer the war than we-at least you have suffered more from German submarine attacks. It is quite possible that Japanese public opinion on this question will change. The capture of Petrograd by the Germans might make a change in Japanese feeling. Any likelihood of a German advance east through Russia, either now or as a result of victories later, would alarm the Japanese people. Other things, too, might change public opinion here. Anyway, Japanese officers are in France studying the military problems there closely, and our army is keeping up to date-in case it should be needed.”

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Do you mean to say that the Japanese are more vitally interested in the French front than in any other?" I asked. "What front do you think the Japanese would probably go to in case their troops should be sent abroad?"

"That," he replied, "would be determined largely by our public opinion. You know we Japanese are much moved by matters of sentiment. I should imagine that public opinion would favor the western front, for it is part of the Samurai spirit to choose the hardest tasks. We would perhaps send half a million men, perhaps more, but we would be ready to sacrifice that many men at once, anyway. We would hope to be given twenty to fifty miles of the western front, and we would pray to be given Hindenburg, Mackensen, or the Crown Prince as our opponent. Then we would drive in, ready to lose half of our

five hundred thousand men or all of them, but confident that we could strike the Germans such a blow that, with the pressure of our allies on each side, the Germans would fall back to the Rhine. →That is the Samurai spirit, and Japan would fight in that spirit or not at all. Lesser tasks on weaker fronts do not appeal to our national sentiment.

"You can sympathize with that feeling, you Americans, who can match the hardihood which our people have inherited from our Samurai with the stern courage which you have inherited from your Puritans."

Okuma had spoken in a full, vigorous voice. With his alert, unhesitating manner, he looked more like a man of sixty than a man of eighty. The first sign of infirmity was when he rose, for he stood quite unsteadily on the artificial leg which he has used ever since the attempt to assassinate him in 1888. Dr.

T

Shiozawa took his left arm and I took his right. It was as big as a shot-putter's and as hard as iron.

Okuma's views have far more weight than those of an ordinary statesman out of office. The man who has fought a lifelong fight for liberty and democracy in the autocratic Empire wields a vast, quiet influence in Japan. He is almost alone among the old men of Japan in his liberalism. It is true that his liberalism seems to shrink when he holds office, but this is true of other Japanese statesmen, and influences which work secretly back of the Government may be the cause. Okuma is the friend of the young men of his country in whose hands lies the cause of Japanese democracy. He has always been a young man's man. He has always looked forward. His Japan is the new Japan which the world will know in the years that are ahead. Tokyo, December 3, 1917.

HEROES OF AVIATION

BY LAURENCE LA TOURETTE DRIGGS

AUTHOR OF THE ARNOLD ADAIR STORIES RECENTLY CONCLUDED IN THE OUTLOOK

HE most frightful death that can be feared in war avia-. tion is perhaps that of burning alive in mid-flight far above the possibility of succor or escape. A shot in the fuel tank or a back-fire of an overheated engine may ignite the petrol. The unfortunate pilot has but two courses open-to descend while his very motion fans the flames into redoubled. fury, or to jump from his machine to certain death without the torture of burning.

Airplane parachutes are now perfected whereby a fair chance for escape is given to an unhappy pilot thus driven over the side of his doomed machine. A comparatively safe fuel tank has recently been devised which will quite adequately protect the petrol from ignition by bullets or shell. Thus necessity continues to be the mother of invention, and thus gigantic strides for the safety of aircraft are impelled by these uncivilized perils of warfare to the eternal benefit of this fascinating sport. German airplanes of late 1917 design are equipped with a device whereby a flaming fuel tank can be discarded by the pilot with one stroke of a lever. A small additional tank provides essence enough to take the airplane home.

Our first contingent of American-trained fliers to arrive at the front contained a finished pilot and a charming gentleman in the person of the debonair Ned Post, of New York and Harvard. To the thousands of his friends who have delightedly witnessed his daring flights at Governor's Island and Garden City his latest exploit in France will be of interest.

On September 25, 1917, Lieutenant Post went aloft in a new type of airplane, the swiftest and fastest-climbing machine known to aviation. He attained a height of twenty-two thousand feet in the frigid air before he discovered that he was numb with cold. It was the first trial of his new machine, and he had left the ground simply for the purpose of testing its capacities.

Volplaning steeply down towards his airdrome, Post strained his new craft to the utmost with every variety of twist and turn that could possibly be experienced in the throes of actual aerial combat. Arriving at some two or three thousand feet above ground, the lieutenant moderated his contortions and looked carefully over his wires and supports to see that all had withstood the strain he had given them. To his horror he discovered that his fuel tank was ablaze and that flames were spreading rapidly back along the length of the tail of his machine.

With his customary sang-froid, Post cut off his motor and eased his blazing airplane down to the nearest landing-place, unfastening his tools and throwing them out as he fell, and detaching as many of the instruments from the dashboard as could be loosened in such a perilous descent. As the airplane rubbed along the ground Post dropped the control-stick, climbed out to the forward step, and before the roaring flames had time to swoop over him he jumped.

This cool escape from an apparently certain death, together with his forethought in saving his tools from destruction, was rewarded by a recent citation from his general, praising his skill and deportment as an airman, and recommending his cool

ness and judgment as an example to other aviators now training in France.

On September 10, 1915, a French reconnaissance biplane, piloted by Lieutenant Le Gall and occupied by Captain Sollier as observer, was circling disdainfully over the German guns at a low elevation and plainly within the sight of the admiring poilus from their trenches. Captain Sollier was correcting his map of the enemy's position and was jotting down in his notebook frequent items of interest as the enemy strongholds were revealed to his survey.

Le Gall, the pilot, amused himself with watching the futile bursts of anti-aircraft shells as they dotted the air behind him. Far overhead sat a trio of scouting machines guarding them from attack by enemy airmen.

Suddenly a German shell burst directly beneath them. The explosion hurled the biplane violently upwards. The machine turned upside down, and as the two comrades looked at each other they saw a burst of flame gush from the ruptured fuel tank behind them.

The wind was blowing towards the French lines. As the airplane dropped, swooping this way and that, the hot flames alternately licked their faces, paused there for an instant, then swept away from them with the breeze, only to return to their torture with the following swoop. Their clothing was ablaze, and a landing-place was still hundreds of feet distant. They could not hope to reach it. The blazing machine must crash inside the German lines; the shock of landing might extinguish the flames, and in this case their papers would be left unconsumed in the hands of the enemy.

Captain Sollier, who sat nearest the blaze, reached forward and handed his pilot some of his maps and his note-book. Both began rapidly tearing the papers into tiny squares. No matter whether the fire consumed them or not, no information should be saved for the enemy!

The breeze carried the fluttering fragments across the trenches into the French lines, and as the white-faced poilus saw them falling they uncovered their heads and bowed low in their reverence for this last act of devotion to their beloved France.

Lieutenant Flock and Sergeant Rodde were flying above Mülhausen on March 18, 1916, in a slow-going observing machine, when suddenly out of a floating cloud above them darted a German Fokker which had been concealed from their view within the cloud. They turned and dived for safety, but the swifter fighting machine had them at its mercy. The German outmaneuvered them on every turn, and, despite all their artifices, the Hun kept safely outside their zone of fire.

A running fight of many minutes ensued, and as the French lines drew closer the French airmen were beginning to hope for a safe escape from the unequal combat, when suddenly their antagonist darted beneath them and, coming upright on his tail. poured a stream of lead into them from below. Their fuel tank was punctured, and immediately their airplane was ablaze.

Without an instant's hesitation, Flock lowered his elevators

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and his blazing machine nosed down. Before the exulting Boche could recover his control the French biplane crashed into him, and the two machines, crushed into one blazing funeral pyre, sped swiftly downwards into the woods of Alsace.

On August 24, 1915, two airplanes left a French airdrome at Chalons and passed over the German lines. One machine contained the veteran Adjutant Boyer and an officer observer; the other was piloted by Sergeant Bertin, who accompanied the adjutant as an escort and protector.

At a height of eleven thousand feet they were dodging the enemy shells, which were exploding on all sides of the two airplanes, when immediately in front of Adjutant Boyer's machine a black burst filled the air with flying missiles, and Bertin, from above, saw his companion's airplane falling out of control straight down into the Hailly woods.

He cut off his engine and dived after his friend, braving the increasing hailstorm of lead as he drew nearer the ground. No landing-place appeared among the trees below. The crippled airplane fell heavily into the tree-tops and lodged there. Repassing the spot at a low level, Bertin saw his two friends scrambling out of their wrecked machine, apparently uninjured. He saw the officer observer quickly descend to the ground, where he destroyed his maps and papers, and then set off at a run to hide from pursuit. At the same moment a mass of flames appeared in the tree-tops. Boyer had set fire to the wreckage before descending the tree.

German soldiers were running through the woods from sev eral directions towards the wrecked airplane to make certain of the capture of the two Frenchmen.

Bertin, with instant decision, cut off his motor, and, quickly choosing the most favorable spot in the vicinity, dropped down through the trees and landed amid the bushes on the rough ground. He shouted to Boyer to come to him. Boyer answered, and came running through the forest with a score of German riflemen shooting at his heels. Restarting the engine with one swing on the propeller, Boyer jumped into his friend's airplane amid a shower of bullets, and coolly turned and pointed the machine gun on his pursuers. Gradually the airplane accumulated speed, lurched through the rough brush until it rose from the ground, and, guided by the heroic Bertin, glided between the branches of the overhanging trees and soared nobly away into the free air. The two friends passed safely through the enemy's fire and ultimately regained their own lines, where both pilots were welcomed by their comrades with kisses and cheers. Each of these intrepid airmen subsequently received decorations and generous citations in official reports for this remarkable exploit.

An "incident" said to be unique in the annals of aviation, and adequately substantiated later by official reports, amazed the members of the French Escadrille N-23, who witnessed it near Charmontois.

Two French single-seater machines from Escadrille N-23 were patrolling over the French lines at a height of eighteen thousand feet very early in the morning of May 10, 1917. These fighting planes were piloted by Casale, an ace of great reputation, and Legendre, a less conspicuous pilot of this famous escadrille.

Suddenly the Frenchmen perceived under their very noses, but some distance below them, a rare type of German airplane, containing pilot and observer, pursuing a leisurely path across the trenches into the French lines. The enemy machine was quite safely above rifle fire and appeared to be wholly unprotected.

Not crediting their senses for a time, the two French scouts flew along above the Boche until he had passed so deep into French territory that he could not escape their attack, then they dropped closely behind him to get a look into this Hun mystery. It was no ordinary occasion to find a Boche airplane, unattended, flying behind French lines.

Casale, who already had a list of seven enemy airplanes in his book, darted onto the stranger's tail and let go a dozen cartridges from his mitrailleuse. It was enough. At a height of thirteen thousand feet the German airplane wavered drunkenly for an instant, then fell over into a tail spin and dropped like a

stone.

The two French pilots dropped swiftly after the falling Boche.

They suspected the usual ruse which is practiced by an antago nist to gain a little time and position when unexpectedly attacked. Sliding swiftly down alongside the whirling enemy, they witnessed a remarkable proceeding.

The German observer had left his seat and was leaning back, striking savagely with his fists at the face of his pilot. The machine was descending, unpiloted and uncontrolled, faster and faster to a certain smash.

Suddenly the pilot stood up in his cockpit, and, seizing his officer by the throat, lifted him up bodily and threw him headlong overboard into space. The rapid revolving of his machine aided him in the struggle and his antagonist offered slight resistance.

The pilot gazed after the falling figure of his companion a moment, then grasped his controls and just in time! At less than a thousand feet above the trees he brought his airplane out of the spin and managed to pancake it adroitly into the treetops. The machine slid backwards through the branches, hurling the pilot forward as it fell.

Landing as quickly as possible, Casale and his companion hastened to the wreckage. To their astonishment, they found the German pilot safe and sound. The officer observer was killed by the fall and was picked up some distance away. Upon inves tigation, it was discovered that he had been severely wounded in the first attack, several bullets having passed through his body. Upon being questioned about the quarrel with his officer, the captured pilot told Casale that he was Corporal Haspel and his observer was Lieutenant Schultz. He stated that his engine had been struck by Casale's shots and the motor stopped. He discovered that his officer had been severely wounded, though he himself was unhurt. He turned and attempted to volplane back to the German lines, which could easily have been reached, he said, from his high elevation. But Lieutenant Schultz, his superior officer, insisted that they surrender without further risk of attack. Haspel refused to obey. The officer, severely wounded as he was, reached back and struck the pilot several times with his fist. The pilot felt the officer's fingers around his throat and the airplane fell into a spin. Then, in sudden anger, Haspel seized the lieutenant, and, aided by the rapid whirling of the downward spin, flung him from the cockpit. Before he could restore complete control of his machine it crashed into the trees and was lost. Then, so incredible was it that he could not yet believe it, he found himself thrown clear of the wreck of his airplane, and, picking himself up, discovered that he was without a scratch!

But Casale, looking at the still trembling corporal, said ironically to himself, "I wonder, now, if Lieutenant Schultz was choking him for trying to escape, or was it for trying to surrender?"

No answer was ever found to this riddle.

Captain Laurens, old chief of Escadrille 101, is famous throughout aviation circles as an audacious pilot, a king among bombarders in airplanes, and a post-graduate in the arts of night flying. He is probably the most conspicuous creator of nightflying precepts in France. His experiments and researches in this department of aviation have been carried out with remarkable daring and skill. To rise from a rough field on a foggy night, and, more difficult still, to return and alight there again under these adverse circumstances after a flight of a hundred miles and more into the enemy's lines, has long been a bugbear to aviators. Yet it is precisely these difficulties that had to be overcome by the bomb-dropping squadrons who must depart each night to carry on the important work of destroying German munition factories and railway warehouses located far within the German lines.

Captain Laurens has led three hundred odd of these midnight expeditions into the heart of Germany. Extraordinary success is his almost without exception, and he has received from time to time all the honors, decorations, and citations that a grateful country can bestow upon its heroes. Twice he was compelled to land at night in an unknown enemy territory by the sudden failure of his engine. On both occasions, by sheer miracles and his own marvelous skill, he came safely to earth, repaired his engine, and returned again placid and unhurt to his own airdrome.

Thus with every conspicuously successful career in aviation

are found certain very human characteristics that usually spell success in every profession.

Of George Guynemer, the French ace of aces, who was killed in combat on September 11 last, and who had brought down over a hundred of his enemies in single combat, fifty-three of which were "officially" witnessed, it is said by his fellows that he never ventured aloft until he had spent two hours in his hangar, minutely examining himself every detail of his engine, airplane, and gun.

Every cartridge was taken out, tested, greased, and carefully replaced. He tested his oil and fuel. Every wire and turnbuckle on his machine received in turn his undivided attention, although his devoted mechanics who had the care of his fighting machines were the best that France could provide for her most precious airman.

And this extraordinary attention to detail Guynemer carried to his daily combats in the air. In maneuvering, in self-defense, in opening fire, and in retiring from danger he invariably disclosed this same fastidious care in every movement. When he brought down an enemy machine, his first care was to examine his antagonist's airplane and armament to see if any new device on either would improve those of his own service. In what mauner he finally succumbed, to what detail of his customary caution he was indifferent, will never be known. He was shot through the head on the morning of September 11 over Ypres by the German pilot Wissemann, and his comrades did not know his fate until apprised some days later by a communica

tion dropped into their airdrome from a German airplane. His conqueror, Wissemann, was shot down in combat three weeks later by René Fonck, a French pilot of Escadrille N-65. Brindejonc des Moulinais, the beloved, in writing of his airplane gun on July 4, 1916, said:

"I just missed getting a Fokker at a hundred yards to-day, and I swore like a charcoal-burner. I would have had him certainly, but I ran out of cartridges. These little magazines of only forty-seven cartridges are very tiresome. At the moment one finds himself in a good position and near enough, the bullets are exhausted, and to reload one must of course lose the Boche in the process.'

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Again, on August 1, 1916, he writes in his diary:

"This is amusing all this chasing of Boches-and I always maintain such prudence that the risk is nothing, or almost nothing. I have given much thought to this question, and this is the way it appears to me: it is merely a question of profiting by the weak points and the faults of the enemy; and also being a good shot is important, of course."

On August 19, 1916, Brindejonc was killed in the crash of his machine to earth at the edge of Verdun. But whether he fell in combat or came to his death by accident will never be known. He left his airdrome alone as usual that morning. An hour later a falling airplane attracted the attention of the poilus in the trenches. No enemy was seen, and in the broken fragments of his machine no evidences of conflict were discovered. Thus died this famous hero of aviation.

I

"THE ORIGIN AND EVOLUTION OF LIFE"
A NOTICE OF HENRY FAIRFIELD OSBORN'S BOOK
BY THEODORE ROOSEVELT

T is well to be cautious in statement about any contemporary book; and yet it is difficult not to speak of Henry Fairfield Osborn's "Origin and Evolution of Life" as one of the great scientific books, as a book that is permanent in the sense that Darwin's and Huxley's books are permanent, and influential in a sense that is not true of the books of writers, like Cope, whose profundity of thought is not accompanied by lucidity of formulation and expression. I believe that the sober judgment of scientific men will confirm this statement. Previous students during the one hundred and fifty years since, with Buffon, the first serious study of the problem began, have almost invariably approached the subject from the standpoint of the naturalist. Osborn approaches it from the standpoint of the physicist. He treats of the origin and evolution of life from the standpoint of the action, reaction, and interaction of energy. The pure naturalists treated the forms of living matter as practically the sole subject of study; Osborn thinks rather of the phenomena of living energy. Where the most illustrious of his predecessors reasoned backward from matter and form towards energy, he and the other students of his type reason from energy onwards towards matter and form. These modern investigators of the stamp of Osborn and Jacques Loeb treat physicochemical research as vital to the successful handling of the energy concept which must lie at the base of every serious attempt to treat of the beginning and development of life.

One of the great merits of Mr. Osborn's book is the entire absence of that confident dogmatism which has completely marred the work of so many otherwise great scientists. He has the openness of mind, and the willingness to admit lack of knowledge, which were among the contributing causes of Darwin's greatness. He explicitly states that he does not even pretend to offer a clearly developed energy-conception of the origin of life or of all the marvelous facts of evolution, adaptation, and heredity. All that he does is to blaze the path of knowledge a few rods forward in the right direction.

Of course Osborn accepts evolution as a natural law, no more The Origin and Evolution of Life. By Heury Fairfield Osborn. Charles Scribner's Sons, New York, $3.

disputable than the law of gravitation; the non-believers in one of these two great natural laws are of exactly the same stamp as the worthy persons who a century ago still disbelieved in the other. This law of evolution is now inseparably connected with the name of Darwin; and in a sense justly so, for Darwin did more to establish it as one of the fundamentals of human knowledge than any of the other learned men who from the days of Aristotle to our own time have groped after its significance. But Darwin's theory as to the dominant cause of evolution now receives less support than it did half a century ago; and neither the opposing nor the supplementing theories of his antagonists and disciples have received even as much acceptance. The chief positive recent addition to our understanding of the forces of evolution is the sharp distinction now universally admitted to exist between the general body organism itself and the reproductive cell or cell group within it-germ plasm, as the latter is generally called, although Osborn styles it heredity-chromatin. We have, however, made the negative gain of eliminating the Darwinian idea of chance selection, which seems to be refuted by the paleontological record of many different groups of animals-the titanotheres offer an early instance. It seems to be clearly proved that life evolves in an orderly way; and this is one reason for believing that the energy which keeps the universe in order is, in some way which we do not comprehend, also responsible for the orderly procedure of life.

All of the theories hitherto propounded to account for evolution, even if taken together, fail to account for it. It is possible that our intelligence is not such as to enable us to account for it any more than we can resolve the law of gravitation into its causes. But Osborn and the other profound scientific inves tigators of his school believe that there is at least a chance that the cause may be found and they have taken the indispensable first step in this direction by clearly grasping the fact that energy, and not form, lies at the beginning of the evolution of life. In other words, the task they set before the scientific investigators of the twentieth century is a task primarily for the biochemist and physicochemist rather than for the naturalist. They seek to establish a closer connection between the

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