Now it must be observed concerning this method of inquiry that it could never be final; it is incompetent by deficiency. Its results could never be exhaustive until the life-histories of the organisms involved were known. And further, although it is a legitimate method of research for partial results, and was of necessity employed, yet it requires precise and accurate manipulation. A thousand possible errors surround it. It can only yield scientific results in the hands of a master in physical experiment. And we find that when it has secured the requisite skill, as in the hands of Prof. Tyndall, for example, the result has been the irresistible deduction that living things have never been seen to originate in not-living matter. Then the ground is cleared for the strictly biological inquiry, How do they originate? To answer that question we must study the life histories of the minutest forms with the same continuity and thoroughness with which we study the development of a crayfish or a butterfly. The difficulty in the way of this is the extreme minuteness of the organisms. We require powerful and perfect lenses for the work. Happily during the last fifteen years the improvement in the structure of the most powerful lenses has been great indeed.

Prior to this time there were English lenses that amplified enormously. But an enlargement of the image of an object avails nothing, if there be no concurrent disclosure of detail. Little is gained by expanding the image of an object from the ten-thousandth of an inch to an inch, if there be not an equivalent revelation of hidden details. It is in this revealing quality, which I shall call magnification as distinct from amplification, that our recent lenses so brilliantly excel. It is not easy to convey to those unfamiliar with objects of extreme minuteness a correct idea of what this power is. But at the risk of extreme simplicity, and to make the higher reaches of my subject intelligible to all, I would fain make this plain.

But to do so I must begin with familiar objects, objects used solely to convey good relative ideas of minute dimension. I begin with small objects with the actual size of which you are familiar. All of us have taken a naked eye view of the sting of the wasp or honey bee; we have a due conception of its size. This is the scabbard or sheath which the naked eye sees.3 Within this are two blades terminating in barbed points. The point of the scabbard more highly magnified is presented, showing the inclosed barbs. One of the barbs, looked at on the barbed edge, is also seen. Now these two barbed stings are tubes with an opening in the end of the barb. Each is connected with the tube of the sac, C. This Is a reservoir of poison, and D is the gland by which it is secreted. Now I present this to you, not for its own sake, but simply for the comparison, a comparison which struck the earliest microscopists. Here is the scabbard carefully rendered. One of the stings is protruded below its point, as in the act of stinging; the other is free to show its form. Now the actual length of this scabbard in nature was the one-thirtieth of an inch.

I have taken the point, C, of a fine cambric sewing needle, and broken it off to slightly less than the one-thirtieth of an inch, and magnified it as the sting is magnified. Now here we obtain an instance of what I mean by magnification. The needle point is not merely bigger, unsuspected details start into view. The sting is not simply enlarged, but all its structure is revealed. Nor can we fail to note that the finish of art differs from that of nature. The homogeneous gloss of the needle disappears under the fierce scrutiny of the lens, and its delicate point becomes furrowed and riven. But Nature's finish reveals no flaw, it remains perfect to the last.

We may readily amplify this. The butterflies and moths of our native lands we all know; most of us have seen their minute eggs. Many are quite visible to the unaided eye; others are extremely minute. A gives the egg of the small white butterfly;4 B, that of the small tortoiseshell; C, that of the waved umber moth; D, that of the thorn moth; E, that of the shark moth; at F we have the delicate egg of the small emerald butterfly, and at G an American skipper; and finally, at H, the egg of a moth known as mania maura. In all this you see a delicacy of symmetry, structure, and carving, not accessible to the eye, but clearly unfolded. We may, from our general knowledge, form a correct notion of the average relation in size existing between butterflies and their eggs; so that we can compare. Now there is a group of extremely minute, insect-like forms that are the parasites of birds. Many of them are just plainly visible to the naked eye, others are too minute to be clearly seen, and others yet again wholly elude the unaided sight. The epizoa generally lodge themselves in various parts of the plumage of birds; and almost every group of birds becomes the host of some specific or varietal form with distinct adaptations.

There is here seen a parasite that secretes itself in the inner feathers of the peacock, this is a form that attacks the jay, and here is one that secretes itself beneath the plumage of the partridge.

Now these minute creatures also deposit eggs. They are placed with wonderful instinct in the part of the plumage and the part of the feather which will most conserve their safety; and they are either glued or fixed by their shape or by their spine in the position in which they shall be hatched. I show here a group of the eggs of these minute creatures. I need not call your attention to their beauty; it is palpable. But I am fain to show you that, subtle and refined as that beauty is, it is clearly brought out. The flower-like beauty of the egg of the peacock's parasite, the delicate symmetry and subtle carving of the others, simply entrance an observer. Note then that it is not merely enlarged specks of form that we are beholding, but such true magnifications of the objects as bring out all their subtlest details. And it is this quality that must characterize our most powerful lenses. I am almost compelled to note in passing that the beauty of these delicate and minute objects must not be considered an end - a purpose - in nature. It is not so. The form is what it is because it must be so to serve the end for which the egg is formed. There is not a superfluous spine, not a useless petal in the floral egg, not an unneeded line of chasing in the decorated shell.