CHAPTER XV. British Association

BRITISH ASSOCIATION

Its function and merits—My connection with and indebtedness to it—Sir William Grove

I have been connected with the British Association more or less intimately during many years, four times as President of a Section or “Department,” once as deliverer of a Lecture, a member of its Council almost from my return from South Africa, then from 1863 to 1867 as its General Secretary, and afterwards as an official member of its Council.

The Association affords what is often the most appropriate means of ventilating new ideas. It can create a Committee with or without a grant of money, giving to its proposer the title either of Chairman or Secretary, which clothes him with an authority that an unknown individual would lack, when making inquiries of public bodies at home or abroad. It also provides him with colleagues to discuss and criticise results before they are finally published. A good example of these advantages may be found in the Report of the Anthropometric Committee, which has afforded standard data up to the present time, for the chief physical characteristics of the inhabitants of the British Isles. The hard work carried on in its name was mainly performed by Mr. Roberts, its Secretary, who wrote a book afterwards in which his results were included. He was greatly helped by Sir Rawson Rawson, who was a member of the Committee. The rest of the Committee did little more than discuss subjects and methods, but even that little was helpful. I was its Chairman, but claim no more than an insignificant share in its success.

Again, many years later, in 1888-1889, I was desirous that a proposal of mine should be seriously considered, of awarding marks for physical efficiency in competitive literary examinations. I read my memoir, the Association took it up, and the results of some experiments at Eton and many valuable communications were received in reply, including a careful minute from a high authority of the War Office. These convinced me that although the proposal had strong a priori claims to consideration, it did not merit acceptance; so it was dropped.

Many other examples of a similar kind could be quoted, some failing, most succeeding. The British Association in its early days was of still greater value than it is now. At that time locomotion was tedious, and the numerous scientific societies of the present day that issue frequent publications had not come into existence. Local men of science who had been socially overlooked were brought forward to their rightful position by its means. It has frequently happened that an improvement in a town was furthered or even initiated through a visit of the British Association. The papers read there and discussions upon them are not the most important part of its work. The Reports of the Committees appointed by it are as a rule far more valuable than ordinary memoirs, and so are the Presidential Addresses, but perhaps the most useful function of the British Association lies in causing persons who are occupied in different branches of science, and who rarely meet elsewhere, to be jostled together and to become well acquainted. Its organisation was a wonderful feat, for it was created upon paper, and has required nothing ever since beyond a little easing and extension here and there.

The plan of one meeting is as like that of another as two Roman camps. On entering the reception-room, time seems to have stood still, for the same familiar faces are seen in the same places; the placards that refer to letters, to programmes, to excursions and to the other multifarious business of the Association, are similarly arranged, so after the experience of a single year a member finds himself at home on every future occasion. But the sustained racket of it is great, and I found it too long continued for my own nerves. I had a complete breakdown when I was General Secretary, which compelled me to resign what otherwise was a very pleasant post: it would have been playing with death had I continued to hold it.

My period of office began at the time when the old order of supreme management by a few magnates was giving way to a more democratic government. Its earlier and distinguished members, such as Sabine and Murchison, had naturally so much weight in Council that when they were active and in close touch with their juniors their opinions were sure to prevail. So the duty of a General Secretary in those days was to consult a few of the more eminent persons at first, and again at the close, with the almost complete assurance that whatever names were suggested with their approval, whether as President, Presidents of Sections, or Lecturers, would be accepted by the Council. These consultations with many able men were very instructive. They showed the striking differences between the points of view from which original minds may regard the same topic. Unconventionality seems to be a marked characteristic of such minds; I have noticed it elsewhere and very often.

Among the features of the Association meetings was the “Red Lion” Club, in which clever buffoonery was freely indulged. It was instituted by Edward Forbes (who was rather before my time, and whom I never had the pleasure of knowing). The governing idea was that its members were really lions, acquainted with one another, who had met by chance, during their prowls, in a town where strange proceedings were in progress. The speakers described what they had witnessed, speaking as it were from a superior and leonine pedestal.

I have only attended two of these meetings; in one the buffoonery of Monckton Milnes (afterwards Lord Houghton) was of a first-class order. So also was the humorous sarcasm of Professor W. K. Clifford (1845-1879), the mathematician, also the mimicry of Mr., afterwards Sir, W. Chandler Roberts Austen, an accomplishment that it amazed me to find he possessed. Subsequently, on talking about it, he made the shrewd remark that a useful way of understanding a man’s character was to mimic his ways, and that he frequently mimicked new acquaintances in his imagination for that purpose. This seems to me very subtle and true. If we want to raise in our minds a quick sympathy, say, for a friend’s tale of grief, we instinctively screw our features into an expression of sorrow, and the required emotion follows almost as a matter of course. It is needless to dwell on the existence of accomplished hypocrites, who screw their faces without the slightest desire to evoke the feeling they appear to express.

My last attempt to utilise the British Association failed owing to my increasing age and infirmities. I wanted to methodise the preservation of records of pedigree stock to serve as data for future inquiries, and wrote memoirs (147, 148) on the subject, in which I showed that photographs of animals, taken under certain simple and feasible conditions, afforded means of calculating their measurements with considerable exactitude, as tested by myself on horses. I took great pains, and was given facilities for photography at one of the great horse shows at the Agricultural Hall. The attempt was perfectly successful in essentials, though several alterations of detail were suggested by that experience, but the effort was far too much for my health. Most of these exhibitions are held during the winter months, and, being now very liable to bronchitis, I found it quite impossible to endure the draughty passages and other discomforts during that season. I could not delegate it to my satisfaction, so was obliged, to my great regret, to abandon all further attempts in that direction, otherwise some useful work might have been done.

The hospitality afforded during the visits of the British Association is always great, but I fear often onerous and unwelcome to the hosts, however carefully their courtesy may conceal such feelings. I have to be grateful for many apparently cordial receptions of this kind. One of the simplest and yet most effective was given at Birmingham by Charles Evans, afterwards Canon of Worcester, but then Headmaster of King Edward’s School, where we had been schoolfellows. The building had abundant accommodation, and he got together a very distinguished party. The food provided was plain, but well cooked and plenty of it. A large luncheon table with cold meat was at the disposal of any of the guests who wished to bring friends with him. There was no display, but abundance everywhere, and perfect freedom. Few, except masters of large public schools, could have arranged and carried out such a programme as well and easily as he did.

I have been asked twice to act as President of the Association. On the first occasion my name was formally proposed by the officers of the Association to the Council at which I was then sitting, but I was conscious of my limitations in respect to health, and with many thanks declined, even though some pressure was kindly put on me. On the second occasion, and much more lately, I was actually nominated in my absence, with the offer of most thoughtful arrangements to diminish fatigue, but I had again to decline still more emphatically than before, as my powers of work and endurance had in the meantime become smaller and my deafness had increased.

It is an office that affords an excellent stage from which to address the public, because the Presidential Address is usually printed more or less in full, and commented on in the leading newspapers, while long extracts from it are given in all of them. It is also an office that carries considerable responsibilities, and one where very useful work may be done by its holder. It requires, however, a more genial speaker at ceremonial meetings than myself, where I simply hate having to come forward. My infirmities have prevented me from attending any of the meetings of the British Association for many past years.

The Addresses of the Presidents of the Association differ much, as might be expected, in interest and importance. One that gained unusual attention, owing to its simplicity and sterling value, was that of Sir William Grove, of whom I will take this occasion to speak.

The late Justice Sir William Grove (1811-1896) is one of those to whom I owe most for sympathy in my inquiries, for helpful criticisms, and for long-continued friendship. His early work as chemist and electrician, his masterly book on the “Correlation of Physical Forces,” when the idea was novel that heat, electricity, force, etc., were convertible into one another, and his resolute and successful labours to raise the worth of the Royal Society, promoted him easily into the very first rank of scientific men. At a subsequent time, when he was seriously considering whether or no he should abandon the legal profession, he was unexpectedly promoted to a judgeship, the object of the appointment being to secure a judge capable of dealing with the technicalities of Patent cases. The result, as he told me, and as I have heard elsewhere, was that not a single Patent case was brought into his Court. Presumably he was dreaded by both sides on account of his searching questions.

It was his practice to rent a large house and shooting during the autumn vacation, and he most hospitably asked my wife and myself to make long visits to him during three autumns. On the first of these an incident occurred which might have ended, but which confirmed, his friendship; namely, the sudden and most severe illness of my wife. The prompt and continuous care shown to her by every member of the family at that time in the house, called for my warmest gratitude. Sir William’s second son, who was then a young man, but now a highly distinguished officer, rode several miles to the nearest town, summoned the doctor, and brought back a bag of ice on horseback. Sir William’s daughter, Mrs. Hills, nursed her with every possible care for some weeks, until she was sufficiently convalescent to bear removal. Recovery at length ensued, but serious weakness remained, which continued up to her death, nearly forty years later.

One of Sir William Grove’s achievements was that of being the main agent, in 1847, of changing the character of the governing body of the Royal Society. It had become too aristocratic, dating from the long presidency of Sir Joseph Banks, and its elections were guided by favour. The struggle between two opposed principles became one between the supporters of different candidates. It was a near contest, but the reform party gained the day. They signalised the memory of their triumph by founding the “Philosophical Club” for the use of the reformers, in distinction to the older Royal Society Club. Both were merely dining clubs that met on the evenings of Royal Society meetings, and they were held on alternate weeks. I, like many others, was a member of both. The members of the Philosophical Club were limited in number to forty-seven, as a reminder of the date of its foundation. This controversy is now quite obsolete, and the two clubs have become amalgamated.

Another very important reform that Sir William Grove carried through on this occasion, was to limit the number of elections to the Royal Society to fifteen in each year, it having been found that fifteen annual elections corresponded to the losses by death; so the average number of Fellows would thereby remain unchanged. It was the firm opinion of Sir William Grove, which I fully share, that the only feasible way of keeping a standard of qualification from being lowered is to limit the number of selected candidates, for it is scarcely possible to define a standard in words. The question has lately been raised whether fifteen is not too small a number now. On that point I have no up-to-date knowledge that would justify an opinion, but when I served on the Council of the Royal Society many years ago, and the number of candidates averaged little more than fifty, it happened that about twelve out of the fifteen were elected at the first ballot, but there was often considerable delay in fixing upon the remainder. So it seemed that fifteen was a somewhat high number then, but this year there were as many as a hundred candidates. Certainly no one has been elected since 1847 to the Fellowship of the Royal Society who has not done a large amount of sound work, and the credit of the Society has been continuously maintained at a high level.

Many persons imagine in their innocence that when any one appends letters to his name testifying to his being a Fellow of one or more learned societies that he is necessarily a scientific expert. This is true for hardly any other society than the Royal. In all others the letters show little more than that the person who uses them is sufficiently interested in the sciences in question to make it worth his while to pay an annual subscription. I have served on the Councils of many of these societies, and can only recall two cases in which a proposed candidate was not elected. In the one, the man had been imprisoned for a grave offence; in the other, he was a wastrel well known to avoid paying his debts.

Many pleasant days have been spent by me under the hospitable roof of Mr. and Mrs. Hills. She was, as already mentioned, a daughter of Sir William Grove, and has been one of my closest friends ever since the terrible illness of my wife mentioned above. Her husband, Judge Hills, died very recently. He was a judge in Alexandria, where he resided during the larger part of the year, but returned every autumn to exercise hospitality in England.

The conversational powers of Sir William Grove were remarkable when he was sufficiently excited to show them to advantage. One evening, before going to a distant meeting of the British Association, he, Professor Huxley, and myself, dined together at the same table at the Athenæum. Never, before or since, have I heard such rapid and continuous conversational sword-play. The sudden thrusts, the quick parries and counter-thrusts, were extraordinarily dexterous. I regret my inability to recall more than this general impression, without any of the actual sentences.