By Prof. J. TINGLEY, Ph. D.

Ten years ago the lamented Agassiz undertook the establishment of a summer school, at the seaside, for the benefit of teachers of natural history. There was first prominently inaugurated the system of summer instruction which has since been successfully practiced at Chautauqua and elsewhere, in other branches of knowledge, and which seems annually to be growing in popular favor. For this reason it has been thought that a brief account of the life and work at Penikese would be welcome to the readers of The Chautauquan. A volume might be written without exhausting all the points of interest connected with the story. The lectures daily delivered for seven weeks to the students there assembled would themselves fill many volumes. Our sketch, therefore, must of necessity be imperfect, affording glimpses only of that time so full of activity, delightful study, novel impressions, and golden promise. As far as possible, it shall be representative, and afford a clear conception in outline of what was designed and accomplished. Prof. Agassiz, being the master spirit—the soul of the enterprise—must be, of course, the central figure in the foreground of our picture. What a delightful summer it was! Undimmed by any presentiment of the shadow which, so soon after, was cast upon its memories, the picture of Penikese, its active life, its cheerful surroundings, its brilliant designs for the future, was a picture of energy, enthusiasm, and hope. The summer was one of bright, unclouded skies, the air laden with delicious perfume of the bay-berry bushes, the breezes full of health and joy. Thousands of sea gulls with silver plumage circled through the air, with unceasing flight and tireless wing, uttering notes of encouragement to their young, and shrill notes of warning to intruders, adding intensity to the atmosphere of activity prevailing. Even the sea gave complacent and hospitable welcome to the great naturalist and his followers who had come to search for her treasures. In the gentle plashing of the waves upon the sunny shores, there was a murmuring of content, soothing and grateful. Separated entirely, for the time, from the busy world, wholly absorbed and happy in their favorite study, under such auspicious circumstances, and with such glorious companionship and guidance, the active throng would scarce have asked for any happier lot.

The memories which crowd upon them now are so rich in incident, new ideas, widened conceptions, affectionate fellowship, all now hallowed by the event which brought the enterprise to its close, that with many it will ever remain as the greenest spot of their earthly life. For though as one of the pupil-teachers has expressed it, “The buildings and appliances were but half finished, even at the close of the term—we yet had Agassiz. He was present at the head of the table at every meal, he was present at every lecture or exercise, at every meeting of the students’ ‘clubs,’ and when not lecturing, was intently following, and ready to supplement any lack of information in any discussion by professors or students.” He himself said: “I have given myself up to the task with all the energy of which I am capable.”

The idea of establishing a summer school at the seaside for the benefit of teachers of natural history originated with Prof. N. S. Shaler, then a teacher of natural history in Harvard College. He communicated his thought to Prof. Agassiz, and together they attempted to organize such an institution, selecting Nantucket as the best location, on account of its facilities, and the moderate expense of living there. About that time Prof. Shaler received the appointment of State Geologist of Kentucky. Partly on account of his health and partly to prepare for his new work he went to Europe, leaving to Prof. Agassiz the entire care and management of the new enterprise. He entered enthusiastically upon the work; secured suitable and comfortable accommodations for a class of fifty—the full number desired—with the proper arrangements for lectures and laboratory work, boats and other conveniences. He also secured the gratuitous services of twenty naturalists as lecturers and demonstrators; some of them of long experience, and all with reputations for skill and learning in their special fields of study. They gladly co-operated with him, partly from their love of the work and partly from their love and esteem for Agassiz himself. Before a public announcement was made, or at least before any invitations were extended to teachers to come and enjoy the opportunity, Mr. John Anderson, a wealthy tobacconist of New York City,—owning the island of Penikese in Buzzard Bay, which he had bought and improved for a summer seaside residence,—tendered the island with its buildings and improvements to Prof. Agassiz for the use of the proposed school. This offer being subsequently supplemented by a donation of $50,000 in cash for needed preparations, was accepted formally upon the 22d of April, 1873, and arrangements made for the immediate erection of suitable laboratories, dormitories, lecture rooms, aquaria, etc. In the meantime Prof. Agassiz’s movements having become known, he was beset by hundreds of applications for admission to the privileges of the school. Fifty were selected—perhaps the first fifty properly qualified who applied, and all the rest were rejected. It is said that in one small city in New York State there were twenty applicants and nineteen disappointments. The fortunate fifty were duly notified of the day their presence would be welcomed, and accordingly met promptly on the morning of the 8th of July, 1873, upon the deck of the little steamer Helen Augusta, lying at her wharf in New Bedford, Mass. At ten o’clock we steamed down the bay and at twelve we were met at the Penikese pier by Prof. Agassiz and his excellent wife, with broad and smiling welcome. Three minutes walk brought us to an extemporized lecture room previously used by Mr. Anderson for a barn, but now cosily furnished with neat chairs and tables. When all were in their places, Prof. Agassiz stood up before us. Then occurred an event, beautiful, impressive, never to be erased from memory, soon rendered classic through Whittier’s charming poem.

He looked around upon that assembly, and saw their hopeful trust in him their chosen leader. He realized, perhaps, as he had not before, the deep significance of the hour. His beaming smile was chastened by an expression of tender solicitude, that our hopes and expectations might not be disappointed; and by the thought, “In my own strength I am not equal to this task. One higher than I must direct this movement.” After a moment’s pause he said: “Ladies and gentlemen; we meet under very peculiar circumstances. We are all strangers to each other. I know not whether there be one in this assembly upon whom I could call to open these exercises with prayer. As for myself I would not ask any man to pray for me. I will ask all of you to join with me a few moments in silent prayer.”

Then followed a few words of welcome on the part of Agassiz—of gratitude to the gentleman whose liberality had insured the success of the undertaking, and of cheerful encouragement to all for the realization of their hopes. They were responded to by an eloquent address from a lawyer from New Bedford, and another from Mr. Girod, of New York, representing Mr. Anderson. We were then dismissed, and the life at Penikese was begun.

THE ISLAND AND ITS SURROUNDINGS.

Penikese is an island of about one hundred acres in extent, and at its highest point about one hundred feet above the level of the sea. It is situated about fourteen miles north of New Bedford, Mass. It is sheltered from the open sea by the chain of Elizabeth Islands; the nearest, Cuttyhunk, being about two miles from Penikese, and the others, Nashawena, Pasque, and Naushon, stretching away for twenty miles to Woods’s Hole, at the lowest point in the bend of Cape Cod peninsula. Beyond these islands, oceanward, is Vineyard Sound, a sheet of water ten miles wide and twenty-five to thirty miles long. Then comes Martha’s Vineyard, twenty miles in length—then the great ocean. Through the passes between the four Elizabeth Islands, called by the fishermen “holes,” the tide enters with much force twice each day, bringing with it multitudes of fish in great variety. These are entrapped by cunningly-devised inclosures called pounds, several of which are located along the adjacent shores and islands. From these pounds the markets of New York and other cities draw their supplies of fish. From them, also, the school at Penikese reaped rich harvests of sharks, skates, sword-fish, and numerous other species, such as would not have marketable value. The northern limit of the gulf stream lying just beyond Martha’s Vineyard, the tropical seas occasionally send their life treasures by that current into these waters. Many specimens of tropical life were caught there during the summer.

THE ABUNDANCE OF LIFE.

The locality was rich in animal life. Besides all the usual varieties of life to be found on the land, there were some particularly abundant at Penikese. But the sea, with the island shores, was the inexhaustible source of supply. The radiates were represented by jelly-fish, sea-cucumbers, sea-anemones, sand-dollars, sea-urchins, and star-fish; the articulates by lobsters, common crabs, hermit crabs, king crabs, etc.; the mollusks by mussels, clams, naticas, pyrulas, whelks, etc., and the vertebrates by turtles and an endless variety of fish from the pounds. All these could readily be obtained for the aquariums, for study while living, or for dissection and preservation. The excursions in search of treasures for the laboratory were always rewarded with ample success, and were full of intense interest and enjoyment. A bed of star-fish discovered that season on the southern shore of Cuttyhunk, ten or twenty acres in extent, almost level, and only twelve or fifteen inches in depth at low tide, afforded literally bushels of these interesting creatures. A small bay on another side of the same island swarmed with limuli, or king crabs, of all ages, while on the shore were hundreds of their cast-off crusts, or skins, in perfect condition. Lobsters were obtained from the fisheries in the neighborhood. Those of us unaccustomed to the rich fauna of the sea were simply astonished and almost bewildered by the abundance of life within our reach and at our command.

METHODS OF INSTRUCTION AND STUDY.

At Penikese books were discarded, except for occasional reference, and the several students were encouraged to study the objects for which they had opportunity or special inclination. Each was also encouraged to select for himself some particular line of investigation and devote himself to that alone, and to a great extent this was done. There were the botanists, who gave special attention to the seaweeds and other plants; the ornithologists, who did nothing but collect, dissect, and preserve specimens of birds; the microscopists, who studied the diatoms and foraminifera and other microscopic forms, and made microscopic sections of tissues. One gave his entire attention to radiate animals, another to mollusks, and still another gave special attention to the development of the eggs of the tern. In the study of animals, about the first lesson impressed was the necessity of mastering their structure by the free use of the dissecting knife. For some days the toads of the island furnished specimens for the dissecting table; a day or two was devoted to the study of the internal as well as external structure of the lobster, each student dissecting one or more specimens. Then sharks, skates, star-fish, jelly-fish, flounders, sea anemones, turtles, birds, and even insects went under review in the same careful manner.

A second lesson urged was the importance of studying the development of animals while in the egg or embryo state. DÖllinger, the father of the now noted Dr. DÖllinger, and in whose house Agassiz lived for four years, was the founder of this branch of scientific research, and gave Agassiz his first lessons in Embryology. Agassiz often alluded to him in terms of most tender recollection and regard. This man commenced his investigations in 1817, by opening three thousand eggs in various stages of development.

Prof. Agassiz, while preparing the drawings and material for his study of the embryology of the turtle, published in the second volume of his “Contributions to the Natural History of America,” opened and examined many thousand turtles’ eggs. He frequently and earnestly urged attention to this, as an almost uncultivated field of research, and yet of vast importance in the solution of problems.

The eggs of the tern alluded to furnished the opportunity for a lesson. A sufficient number of these eggs were opened and prepared to enable students to master the methods and learn what to observe. The manner in which Agassiz first taught a group of inquirers this interesting lesson, was an event to be remembered. It was in the open air. The question as to method was asked. Eggs were brought; the professor seated himself upon a convenient keg of nails, and the observers stood about him. He first showed in what position the egg should be held, and then with delicate and patient manipulation, he removed the shell in minute pieces at the right spot, and revealed the marvelous structure within, all the while accompanying his work with sparkling thoughts in delightful words.

Another lesson was the constant and patient observation of the motions and habits of living specimens in the aquarium. Often a student would sit all day long watching a single specimen, and did not find such work either irksome, uninteresting or unprofitable.

It has been remarked that the career of original investigation with Agassiz measurably closed soon after his coming to America, and his career as an instructor began. He turned his attention to the development of the natural history of America. This he saw clearly could not be done without the aid of trained naturalists, and there were none in America. It was then his mission to create them. The establishment of a complete museum, to which all students of natural history could have access, was the first step; a museum which should not only equal, but surpass the great museums of the Old World. The design, according to Agassiz’s own plan, was so far completed before his death, that what remained to be done could be as well done by his trained assistants. He had stamped his own character and ideas upon it indelibly. Prof. Tyndall declared that there was nothing like it in the Old World. Another equally qualified to judge, familiar with all the Old World museums, declared that nowhere in his travels had he seen such an amount of original work done as here. The museum at Cambridge is an institution peculiarly American in that it is arranged without the trammels of Old World methods. In it every specimen is labeled with the name, locality, date and donor securely fastened to it, and the same duly recorded. A specimen concerning which, from whatever cause, any uncertainty has arisen as to the locality, is rejected, and consigned to the laboratory for dissection, only the best attainable specimens are retained. Unnecessary or imperfect duplicates are set aside for study or exchange. His completed plan will present a collection of the animals of the world arranged systematically, according to the principle of classification adopted by Agassiz, and exhibiting their structure. This is supplemented by minor collections showing embryonic development of the different types of animal life, synthetic relations, etc. The value of such a collection as an educational power no language can over-estimate. This museum of comparative zoÖlogy at Cambridge, Mass., is pre-eminently the greatest monument to his memory. The plans of instruction at the museum and at Penikese were identical in methods and principles. The first object was to bring students face to face with Nature, discarding books and recitations, substituting original observation and work. “If I can succeed in teaching you to observe,” he said, “my aim will be attained. It is not my purpose to communicate knowledge to you, but to awaken into activity a faculty which is too generally dormant, that of observing accurately for yourselves. I will teach, but I will not give information. To all intents and purposes I will be ignorant before you. Do not ask questions, for I shall not answer them, but shall so lay out your work that you will find your own path without difficulty.”

THE FIRST LESSON.

On the first day, the island itself was assigned for a lesson. Questions were suggested to be answered on the following morning. What is the nature of the soil, and what is the geological constitution of this island? What is its position with respect to the points of the compass. Take the main building as your guide, if you have no compass, for that lies east and west. What is the meaning of the curve between the island and the peninsula connected with it? What is the meaning of the loose materials about us, and the huge boulders scattered over the surface? What relation does the island bear to the adjoining islands and to the main land? When the class had again assembled he allowed each to report what he had learned, and taught how by comparison and combination to understand its full significance. He said that an exhaustive answer to each of these questions, individually wrought out, would itself be a good summer’s work. By the observations thus made and subsequently during the summer, it was fully demonstrated that Penikese and the whole range of neighboring Elizabeth islands, twenty miles in length and two or three in width, were a part of a terminal moraine—formed by the great ice sheet which covered the continent during the glacial period as it was gradually receding toward the polar seas.

Prof. Agassiz taught at Penikese partly by lectures, and these lectures, as was his custom, were always extemporaneous. No one who ever heard him need be told that beyond all comparison he was the model scientific talker of the age. Even those who have but read his lectures know what a charm lingers in the sentences which have been transferred to paper. But one must have heard him to realize the secret of his greatest power. The printed lectures carry the brilliant thoughts, the luminous and interesting facts, the flow of apt illustration; but the glow and fervor of his own profound interest in the matter of his speech, “raying out in a countenance that seemed to beam from interior light, and pervade the tones of his sympathetic and singularly expressive voice,” the “palpitating life” of his rapidly-uttered words, and back of all his intense personal magnetism, diffusing itself through the hearts of his charmed audience,—these are things that can not be transferred to paper. Writers in attempting to describe the manner of his eloquence have seemed to exhaust the vocabulary of eulogy.

At Penikese he probably excelled himself. He complimented his school by seeming to believe that he was in the midst of friends, who fully appreciated him, and who were in full sympathy with him. In 1864 it was the good fortune of the writer of this paper to hear him deliver a course of six lectures on the glaciers, before the Lowell Institute, in Boston. They were charming, popular, grand; but at Penikese, on the same subject, he seemed like a different man. All through his summer life there flowed a current of quiet but profound happiness, that lightened his step, glowed in his conversation, shone in his countenance, and gave animation and radiance to his lectures, in a manner he perhaps never before so fully exhibited. This thought was common among the students there assembled. He gave lectures almost every day, embracing full and exhaustive courses upon the glaciers, upon embryology, upon classification, upon methods of instruction, upon systematic zoÖlogy, upon scientific books and authors. There were also the spontaneous lectures, called out by some casual remark, the exhibition of some new and interesting specimen, or by the prominent presence of some object of natural history, which we might not think of studying at the time. For example, we were regaled one morning with some fish for breakfast. Prof. Agassiz, entering after the rest were seated, noticed the fish. Going immediately to the black-board, which at that time was near and in full view; he said: “Ladies and gentlemen: You are this morning feasting upon a very delicious fish, called the scop. Its scientific name I will write upon the board. It is Pagrus Argyrops—one of the sparoids. This species is not found north of Cape Cod, or at least, very rarely found. Its range is from Cape Cod west and southward. It is not found in the southern waters, only on the shores of Massachusetts, Connecticut, New York and Virginia. The family is not well represented in America. Another species, called ‘sheepshead,’ is found in the South, and there are a few species in the Pacific Ocean. The Mediterranean Sea, however, abounds in species of the family. In all there are two hundred species known, and they are confined to the temperate and tropical regions. They are intensified in the Eastern Atlantic and Mediterranean, as many species being found there as in all the rest of the world.” Then he sat down, and his auditors immediately proceeded to dissect and test the qualities of their specimens, according to natural principles and with intense relish. In the regular morning lecture, after breakfast, an hour in length, he gave a more thorough scientific account of the structure of the scop, detailing its generic and specific characteristics, in a most masterly and fascinating manner, concluding his lecture by instructing in the proper method of describing any fish technically, explaining the symbols used by the most learned in that department of knowledge. On another occasion, while a group were seated engaged in social chat, a single query made as to the possibility of preserving the beautiful colors of star-fish, and other sea animals, drew from him for half an hour a flood of interesting facts concerning the colors of such creatures, their glory, their mysterious and changeful nature, and their evanescence. He deplored the want of knowledge in this direction, and encouraging his pupils to enter that field of investigation as explorers, promised sure results to such as would enter upon it in the truly scientific spirit.

HIS INTENSE LOVE OF NATURE.

This rose to the level of a passion, and was constantly revealing itself in unconscious words and actions. Once he told the story of DÜrrckheim, a German naturalist, who after close investigation, wrote a monograph upon the cockchafer, a common insect of Europe, which attracted much attention from scientific men. For weeks before he went hard to work he abstained from any kind of food which was stimulating, even coffee, so that he might have full command of his nerves and steadiness of his muscles. He also so supported his person that the beating of his arteries should not interfere with his delicate dissection. Then Agassiz having held up before us this example for our imitation, gave utterance to the following memorable words: “When sitting at the laboratory table, you should give yourselves up to the work exclusively. Never trifle with Nature. The objects we study are the works of the Creator. Even materialists consider them as the works of the highest forces in Nature. A laboratory of natural history is a sanctuary in which nothing improper should be admitted or exhibited. There we are in the constant presence of Nature and its Author. I can tolerate with less mental agony improprieties in churches.” When the student would come in from the sea with a bowl of newly-captured jelly fish, or some other equally common specimen, he would frequently see Agassiz coming down to the path to meet him. “What have you got this morning?” Looking at them tenderly—although he had seen the like thousands of times—he would exclaim, “Oh, they are beautiful; very beautiful!” This tenderness for animals extended even to those usually considered repulsive. The toads of the island he would frequently handle without a thought of disgust. A live garter snake two feet in length was brought to him in the presence of ladies who manifested their usual repugnance and fear. “Why,” said Agassiz, “of what are you afraid? It can not harm you. See! I will let it bite me.” Then taking the reptile in his hands he suffered it to coil over his wrist, and holding it gently by the neck, put his finger into its mouth. “It does not hurt me nor harm so much as the pricking of a pin. This is a very fine specimen of unusual color. It should be preserved.” He was particularly careful to forbid any wanton destruction of life, or practice of cruelty in the preparation of specimens for dissection. Abundant as the birds were on the island, only the ornithologist was allowed to shoot, and he was restricted to specimens actually needed. Even the nests so profusely scattered were sacred, and those who were engaged in the study of embryology alone were permitted to collect them. Familiarity with all the forms of life had made him exceedingly tender and watchful of their natural rights.

Thus only a glimpse has been given of the summer school at Penikese. We can but make bare mention of the other principal attractions and advantages: the daily boat excursion over the bay and sound; the rambles along the rocky shores in search of treasures cast up by the sea; the trips to Gay Head, on Martha’s Vineyard, in search of tertiary fossil shark’s teeth; the unique curiosities of the sea that were daily brought in for inspection, ever new and wonderful; the parties selected each day for dredging expeditions on the beautiful yacht “Sprite,” under the lamented Count Pourtales; the lectures and admirable practical lessons given by the other members of the faculty, Profs. Packard, Wilder, Bicknell, Arnold Guyot, Dr. Brewer, Benjamin F. Pierce; the naturalists’ “club” meetings; the quiet Sabbaths, when, in the absence of regular service, meetings for religious conversation were held; the evening gathering with Prof. and Mrs. Agassiz under the flagstaff on the summit of the island, overlooking the western sea, to watch the glories of the dying day, whiling away the hour with song and familiar converse—all these memories and many more crowd upon us for notice, but we forbear.

Alas! that the golden hopes raised by such brilliant beginning should so soon be blasted. Agassiz died during the succeeding December. No man was ever more generally, more tenderly, or more profoundly mourned. By none was his loss felt with more poignant grief than by those who were with him at Penikese. No man, after his death, felt himself capable to complete the liberal plans laid out by Agassiz, and the enterprise was abandoned. Had Agassiz lived, such was his power over men that he would have readily secured, from legislative action, and from the donations of wealthy men, all the money he would have asked, to enable him to carry forward the enterprise. His success in that direction was unparalleled.

It is impossible to conjecture what an impulse would have been given to the study of natural history and higher culture in kindred science, had he been permitted to live until he could have seen the budding promise burst into bloom of realized success. But it was not to be.

Fain would we linger still upon the thoughts which crowd upon the memory now, but we must draw the curtain. Yet his beautiful spirit, genial, loving face, beaming with kindliness and sympathy, his winning grace and charming presence, his sublime self-denial in his devotion to Nature, his grand intellectual expression with voice and pen, his overflowing heart, so tender and so true, and so constant in its blessing, can never fade from our vision, nor from our memory.