CHAPTER III
THE ARREST OF THE BODY
"ON the Earth there will never be a higher
Creature than Man."[42] It is a daring
prophecy, but every probability of Science attests the likelihood of its
fulfilment. The goal looked forward to from the beginning of time has been
attained. Nature has succeeded in making a Man; she can go no further; Organic
Evolution has done its work.
This is not a conceit of Science, nor a
reminiscence of the pre-Copernican idea that the centre of the universe is the
world, and the centre of the world Man. It is the sober scientific probability
that with the body of Man the final fruit of the tree of Organic Evolution has
appeared; that the highest possibilities open to flesh and bone and nerve and
muscle have now been realized; that in whatever direction, and with whatever
materials, Evolution still may work, it will never produce any material thing
more perfect in design or workmanship; that in Man, in short, about this time
in history, we are confronted with a stupendous crisis in Nature, --the Arrest
of the Animal. The Man, the Animal Man, the Man of Organic Evolution, it is at
least certain, will not go on. It is another Man who will go on, a Man within
this Man; and that he may go on the first Man must stop. Let us try for a
moment to learn what it is to stop. Nothing could teach Man better what is
meant by his going on.
One of the most perfect pieces of mechanism in
the human body is the Hand. How long it has taken to develop may be dimly seen
by a glance at the long array of less accurate instruments of prehension which
shade away with ever decreasing delicacy and perfectness as we descend the
scale of animal life. At the bottom of that scale is the Amoeba. It is a speck
of protoplasmic jelly, headless, footless, and armless. When it wishes to seize
the microscopic particle of food on which it lives a portion of its body
lengthens out, and, moving towards the object, flows over it, engulfs it, and
melts back again into the body. This is its Hand. At any place, and at any
moment, it creates a Hand. Each Hand is extemporized as it is needed; when not
needed it is not. Pass a little higher up the scale and observe the
Sea-Anemone. The Hand is no longer extemporized as occasion requires, but
lengthened portions of the body are set apart and kept permanently in shape for
the purpose of seizing food. Here, in the capital of twining tentacles which
crowns the quivering pillar of the body, we get the rude approximation to the
most useful portion of the human Hand--the separated fingers. It is a vast
improvement on the earlier Hand, but the jointless digits are still imperfect;
it is simply the Amoeba Hand cut into permanent strips.
Passing over a multitude of intermediate forms,
watch, in the next place, the Hand of an African Monkey. Note the great
increase in usefulness due to the muscular arm upon which the Hand is now
extended, and the extraordinary capacity for varied motion afforded by the
three-fold system of jointing at shoulder, elbow, and wrist. The Hand itself is
almost the human Hand; there are palm and nail and articulated fingers. But
observe how one circumstance hinders the possessor from taking full advantage
of these great improvements,--this Hand has no thumb, or if it has, it is but a
rudiment. To estimate the importance of this apparently insignificant organ,
try for a moment without using the thumb to hold a book, or write a letter, or
do any single piece of manual work. A thumb is not merely an additional finger,
but a finger so arranged as to be opposable to the other fingers,
and thus possesses a practical efficacy greater than all the fingers put
together. It is this which gives the organ the power to seize, to hold, to
manipulate, to do higher work; this simple mechanical device in short endows
the Hand of intelligence with all its capacity and skill. Now there are
animals, like the Colobi, which have no thumb at all; there are others, like
the Marmoset, which possess the thumb, but in which it is not opposable; and
there are others, the Chimpanzee for instance, in which the Hand is in all
essentials identical with Man's. In the human form the thumb is a little
longer, and the whole member more delicate and shapely, but even for the use of
her highest product, Nature has not been able to make anything much more
perfect than the hand of this anthropoid ape.
Is the Hand then finished? Can Nature take out no
new patent in this direction? Is the fact that no novelty is introduced in the
case of Man a proof that the ultimate Hand has appeared? By no means. And yet
it is probable for other reasons that the ultimate Hand has appeared; that
there will never be a more perfectly handed animal than Man. And why? Because
the causes which up to this point have furthered the evolution of the Hand have
begun to cease to act. In the perfecting of the bodily organs, as of all other
mechanical devices, necessity is the mother of invention. As the Hand was given
more and more to do, it became more and more adapted to its work. Up to a
point, it responded directly to each new duty that was laid upon it. But only
up to a point. There came a time when the necessities became too numerous and
too varied for adaptation to keep pace with them. And the fatal day came, the
fatal day for the Hand, when he who bore it made a new discovery. It was the
discovery of Tools. Henceforth what the Hand used to do, and was slowly
becoming adapted to do better, was to be done by external appliances. So that
if anything new arose to be done, or to be better done, it was not a better
Hand that was now made but a better tool. Tools are external Hands. Levers are
the extensions of the bones of the arm. Hammers are callous substitutes for the
fist. Knives do the work of nails. The vice and the pincers replace the
fingers. The day that Cave-man first split the marrow bone of a bear by
thrusting a stick into it, and striking it home with a stone--that day the doom
of the Hand was sealed.
But has not Man to make his tools, and will not
that induce the development of the Hand to an as yet unknown perfection? No.
Because tools are not made with the Hand. They are made with the Brain. For a
time, certainly, Man had to make his tools, and for a time this work
recompensed him physically, and the arm became elastic and the fingers
dexterous and strong. But soon he made tools to make these tools. In place of
shaping things with the Hand, he invented the turning-lathe; to save his
fingers he requisitioned the loom; instead of working his muscles he gave out
the contract to electricity and steam. Man, therefore, from this time forward
will cease to develop materially these organs of his body. If he develops them
outside his body, filling the world everywhere with artificial Hands, supplying
the workshops with fingers more intricate and deft than Organic Evolution could
make in a millennium, and loosing energies upon them infinitely more gigantic
than his muscles could generate in a life-time, it is enough. Evolution after
all is a slow process. Its great labour is to work up to a point where
Invention shall be possible, and where, by the powers of the human mind, and by
the mechanical utilization of the energies of the universe, the results of ages
of development may be anticipated. Further changes, therefore, within the body
itself are made unnecessary. Evolution has taken a new departure. For the
Arrest of the Hand is not the cessation of Evolution but its immense
acceleration, and the re-direction of its energies into higher channels.
Take up the functions of the animal body one by
one, and it will be seen how the same arresting finger is laid upon them all.
To select an additional illustration, consider the power of Sight. Without
pausing to trace the steps by which the Eye has reached its marvellous
perfection, or to estimate the ages spent in polishing its lenses and adjusting
the diaphragms and screws, ask the simple question whether, under the
conditions of modern civilization, anything now is being added to its
quickening efficiency, or range. Is it not rather the testimony of experience
that if anything its power has begun to wane? Europe even now affords the
spectacle of at least one nation so short-sighted that it might almost be
called a myopic race. The same causes, in fact, that led to the Arrest of the
Hand are steadily working to stop the development of the Eye. Man, when he sees
with difficulty, does not now improve his Eye; he puts on a pince-nez.
Spectacles--external eyes--have superseded the work of Evolution. When his
sight is perfect up to a point, and he desires to examine objects so minute as
to lie beyond the limit of that point, he will not wait for Evolution to catch
up upon his demand and supply him, or his children's children, with a more
perfect instrument. He will invest in a microscope. Or when he wishes to extend
his gaze to the moon and stars, he does not hope to reach to-morrow the
distances which to-day transcend him. He invents the telescope. Organic
Evolution has not even a chance. In every direction the external eye has
replaced the internal, and it is even difficult to suggest where any further
development of this part of the animal can now come in. There are still, and in
spite of all instruments, regions in which the unaided organs of Man may
continue to find a field for the fullest exercise, but the area is slowly
narrowing, and in every direction the appliances of Science tempt the body to
accept those supplements of the Arts, which, being accepted, involve the
discontinuance of development for all the parts concerned. Even where a
mechanical appliance, while adding range to a bodily sense, has seemed to open
a door for further improvement, some correlated discovery in a distant field of
science, as by some remorseless fate, has suddenly taken away the opportunity
and offered to the body only an additional inducement for neglect. Thus it
might be thought that the continuous use of the telescope, in the attempt to
discover more and more indistinct and distant heavenly bodies, might tend to
increase the efficiency of the Eye. But that expectation has vanished already
before a further fruit of Man's inventive power. By an automatic photographic
apparatus fixed to the telescope, an Eye is now created vastly more delicate
and in many respects more efficient than the keenest eye of Man. In at least
five important particulars the Photographic Eye is the superior of the Eye of
Organic Evolution. It can see where the human Eye, even with the best aids of
optical instruments, sees nothing at all; it can distinguish certain objects
with far greater clearness and definition; owing to the rapidity of its action
it can instantly detect changes which are too sudden for the human eye to
follow; it can look steadily for hours without growing tired; and it can record
what it sees with infallible accuracy upon a plate which time will not efface.
How long would it take Organic Evolution to arrive at an Eye of such amazing
quality and power? And with such a piece of mechanism available, who, rather
than employ it even to the neglect of his organs of vision, would be content to
await the possible attainment of an equal perfection by his descendants some
million years hence? Is there not here a conspicuous testimony to the
improbability of a further Evolution of the sense of Sight in civilized
communities--in other words, another proof of the Arrest of the Animal? What
defiance of Evolution, indeed, what affront to Nature, is this? Man prepares a
complicated telescope to supplement the Eye created by Evolution, and no sooner
is it perfected than it occurs to him to create another instrument to aid the
Eye in what little work is left for it to do. That is to say, he first makes a
mechanical supplement to his Eye, then constructs a mechanical Eye, which is
better than his own, to see through it, and ends by discarding, for many
purposes, the Eye of Organic Evolution altogether.
As regards the other functions of civilized Man,
the animal in almost every direction has reached its maximum. Civilization--and
the civilized state, be it remembered, is the ultimate goal of every race and
nation--is always attended by deterioration of some of the senses. Every man
pays a definite price or forfeit for his taming. The sense of smell, compared
with its development among the lower animals, is in civilized Man already all
but gone. Compared even with a savage, it is an ascertained fact that the
civilized Man in this respect is vastly inferior. So far as hearing is
concerned, the main stimulus--fear of surprise by enemies--has ceased to
operate, and the muscles for the erection of the ears have fallen into disuse.
The ear itself in contrast with that of the savage is slow and dull, while
compared with the quick sense of the lower animals, the organ is almost deaf.
The skin, from the continuous use of clothes, has forfeited its protective
power. Owing to the use of viands cooked, the muscles of the jaw are rapidly
losing strength. The teeth, partly for a similar reason, are undergoing marked
degeneration. The third molar, for instance, among some nations is already
showing symptoms of suppression, and that this threatens ultimate extinction
may be reasoned from the fact that the anthropoid apes have fewer teeth than
the lower monkeys, and these fewer than the preceding generation of
insectivorous mammals.
In an age of vehicles and locomotives the lower
limbs find their occupation almost gone. For mere muscle, that on which his
whole life once depended, Man has almost now no use. Agility, nimbleness,
strength, once a stern necessity, are either a luxury or a pastime. Their
outlet is the cricket-field or the tennis-court. To keep them up at all,
artificial means--dumb-bells, parallel-bars, clubs--have actually to be
devised. Vigour of limb is not to be found in common life, we look for it in
the Gymnasium; agility is relegated to the Hippodrome. Once all men were
athletes; now you have to pay to see them. More or less with all the animal
powers it is the same. To some extent at least some phonograph may yet speak
for us, some telephone hear for us, the typewriter write for us, chemistry
digest for us, and incubation nurture us. So everywhere the Man as Animal is in
danger of losing ground. He has expanded until the world is his body. The
former body, the hundred and fifty pounds or so of organized tissue he carries
about with him, is little more than a mark of identity. It is not he who
is there, he cannot be there, or anywhere, for he is everywhere. The material
part of him is reduced to a symbol; it is but a link with the wider framework
of the Arts, a belt between machinery and machinery. His body no longer
generates, but only utilizes energy; alone he is but a tool, a medium, a
turncock of the physical forces.
Now with what feelings do we regard all this? Is
not the crowning proof of the thesis under review that we watch this evidence
accumulating against the body with no emotion and hear the doom of our clay
pronounced without a regret? It is nothing to aspiring Man to watch the lower
animals still perfecting their mechanism and putting all his physical powers
and senses to the shame. It is nothing to him to be distanced in nimbleness by
the deer: has he not his bullet? Or in strength by the horse: has he not bit
and bridle? Or in vision by the eagle: his field-glass out-sees it. How easily
we talk of the body as a thing without us, as an impersonal it And how
naturally when all is over, do we advertise its irrelevancy to ourselves
by consigning its borrowed atoms to the anonymous dust. The fact is, in one
aspect, the body, to Intelligence, is all but an absurdity. One is almost
ashamed to have one. The idea of having to feed it, and exercise it, and humour
it, and put it away in the dark to sleep, to carry it about with one
everywhere, and not only it but its wardrobe--other material things to make
this material thing warm or keep it cool--the whole situation is a comedy. But
judge what it would be if this exacting organism went on evolving, multiplied
its members, added to its intricacy, waxed instead of waned? So complicated is
it already that one shrinks from contemplating a future race having to keep in
repair an apparatus more involved and delicate. The practical advantage is
enormous of having all improvements henceforth external, of having insensate
organs made of iron and steel rather than of wasting muscle and palpitating
nerve. For these can be kept at no physiological cost, they cannot impede the
other machinery, and when that finally comes to the last break-down there will
be the fewer wheels to stop.
So great indeed is the advantage of increasing
mechanical supplements to the physical frame rather than exercising the
physical frame itself, that this will become nothing short of a temptation; and
not the least anxious task of future civilization will be to prevent
degeneration beyond a legitimate point, and keep up the body to its highest
working level. For the first thing to be learned from these facts is not that
the Body is nothing and must now decay, but that it is most of all and more
than ever worthy to be preserved. The moment our care of it slackens, the Body
asserts itself. It comes out from under arrest--which is the one thing to be
avoided. Its true place by the ordained appointment of Nature is where it can
be ignored; if through disease, neglect, or injury it returns to consciousness
the effect of Evolution is undone. Sickness is degeneration; pain the signal to
resume the evolution. On the one hand, one must "reckon the Body dead"; on the
other, one must think of it in order not to think of it.
This arrest of physical development at a specific
point is not confined to Man. Everywhere in the organic world science is
confronted with arrested types. While endless groups of plant and animal forms
have advanced during the geological ages, other whole groups have apparently
stood still-- stood still, that is to say, not in time but in organization. If
Nature is full of moving things, it is also full of fixtures. Thirty-one years
ago Mr. Huxley devoted the anniversary Address of the Geological Society to a
consideration of what he called "Persistent Types of Life," and threw down to
Evolutionists a puzzle which has never yet been fully solved. While some forms
attained their climacteric tens of thousands of years ago and perished, others
persevered, and, without advancing in any material respect, are alive to this
day. Among the most ancient Carboniferous plants, for instance, are found
certain forms generically identical with those now living. The cone of the
existing Araucaria is scarcely to be distinguished from that of an Oolite form.
The Tabulate Corals of the Silurian period are similar to those which exist
to-day. The Lamp-shells of our present seas so abounded at the same ancient
date as to give their name to one of the great groups of Silurian rocks--the
Lingula Flags. Star-fishes and urchins, almost the same as those which tenant
the coast-lines of our present seas, crawled along what are now among the most
ancient fossiliferous rocks. Both of the forms just named, the Brachiopods and
the Echinoderms, have come down to us almost unchanged through the nameless gap
of time which separates the Silurian and Old Red Sandstone periods from the
present era.
This constancy of structure reveals a
conservatism in Nature, as unexpected as it is widespread. Does it mean that
the architecture of living things has a limit beyond which development cannot
go? Does it mean that the morphological possibilities along certain lines of
bodily structure have exhausted themselves, that the course of conceivable
development in these instances has actually run out? In Gothic Architecture, or
in Norman, there are terminal points which, once reached, can be but little
improved upon. Without limiting working efficiency, they can go no further.
These styles in the very nature of things seem to have limits. Mr. Ruskin has
indeed assured us that there are only three possible forms of good architecture
in the world; Greek, the architecture of the Lintel; Romanesque, the
architecture of the Rounded Arch; Gothic, the architecture of the Gable. "All
the architects in the world will never discover any other way of bridging a
space than these three, the Lintel, the Round Arch, the Gable; they may vary
the curve of the arch, or curve the sides of the gable, or break them down; but
in doing this they are merely modifying or sub-dividing, not adding to the
generic form."[43]
In some such way, there may be terminal generic
forms in the architecture of animals; and the persistent types just named may
represent in their several directions the natural limits of possible
modification. No further modification of a radical kind, that is to say, could
in these instances be introduced without detriment to practical efficiency.
These terminal forms thus mark a normal maturity, a goal; they represent the
ends of the twigs of the tree of life.
Now consider the significance of that fact.
Nature is not an interminable succession. It is not always a becoming.
Sometimes things arrive. The Lamp-shells have arrived, they are part of the
permanent furniture of the world; along that particular line, there will
probably never be anything higher. The Star-fishes also have arrived, and the
Sea-urchins, and the Nautilus, and the Bony Fishes, the Tapirs, and possibly
the Horse--all these are highly divergent forms which have run out the length
of their tether and can go no further. When the plan of the world was made, to
speak teleologically, these types of life were assigned their place and limit,
and there they have remained. If it were wanted to convey the impression that
Nature had some large end in view, that she was not drifting aimlessly towards
a general higher level, it could not have been done more impressively than by
everywhere placing on the field of Science these fixed points, these
innumerable consummations, these clean-cut mountain peaks, which for
millenniums have never grown. Even as there is a plan in the parts, there is a
plan in the whole.
But the most certain of all these "terminal
points" in the evolution of Creation is the body of Man. Anatomy places Man at
the head of all other animals that were ever made; but what is infinitely more
instructive, with him, as we have just seen, the series comes to an end. Man is
not only the highest branch, but the highest possible branch Take as a last
witness the testimony of anatomy itself with regard to the human brain. Here
the fact is not only re-affirmed but the rationale of it suggested in terms of
scientific law. "The development of the brain is in connection with a whole
system of development of the head and face which cannot be carried further than
in Man. For the mode in which the cranial cavity is gradually increased in size
is a regular one, which may be explained thus: we may look on the skull as an
irregular cylinder, and at the same time that it is expanded by increase of
height and width it also undergoes a curvature or bending on itself, so that
the base is crumpled together while the roof is elongated. This curving has
gone on in Man till the fore end of the cylinder, the part on which the brain
rests above the nose, is nearly parallel to the aperture of communication of
the skull with the spinal canal, i.e. the cranium has a curve of 180deg.
or a few degrees more or less. This curving of the base of the skull involves
change in position of the face bones also, and could not go on to a further
extent without cutting off the nasal cavity from the throat. . . . Thus
there is anatomical evidence that the development of the vertebrate form has
reached its limit by completion in Man."[44]
This author's conception of the whole field of
living nature is so suggestive that we may continue the quotation: "To me the
animal kingdom appears not in indefinite growth like a tree, but a temple with
many minarets, none of them capable of being prolonged--while the central dome
is completed by the structure of man. The development of the animal kingdom is
the development of intelligence chained to matter; the animals in which the
nervous system has reached the greatest perfection are the vertebrates, and in
Man that part of the nervous system which is the organ of intelligence reaches,
as I have sought to show, the highest development possible to a vertebrate
animal, while intelligence has grown to reflection and volition. On these
grounds, I believe, not that Man is the highest possible intelligence, but that
the human body is the highest form of human life possible, subject to the
conditions of matter on the surface of the globe, and that the structure
completes the design of the animal kingdom."[45]
Never was the body of Man greater than with this
sentence of suspension passed on it, and never was Evolution more wonderful or
more beneficent than when the signal was given to stop working at Man's animal
frame. This was an era in the world's history. For it betokened nothing less
than that the cycle of matter was now complete, and the one prefatory task of
the ages finished. Henceforth the Weltanschauung is for ever changed.
From this pinnacle of matter is seen at last what matter is for, and all the
lower lives that ever lived appear as but the scaffolding for this final work.
The whole sub-human universe finds its reason for existence in its last
creation, its final justification in the new immaterial order which opened with
its close. Cut off Man from Nature, and, metaphysical necessity apart, there
remains in Nature no divinity. To include Man in Evolution is not to lower Man
to the level of Nature, but to raise Nature to his high estate. There he was
made, these atoms are his confederates, these plant cells raised him from the
dust, these travailing animals furthered his Ascent: shall he excommunicate
them now that their work is done? Plant and animal have each their end, but Man
is the end of all the ends. The latest science reinstates him, where poet and
philosopher had already placed him, as at once the crown, the master, and the
rationale of creation. "Not merely," says Kant, "is he like all organized
beings an end in nature, but also here on earth the last end of nature, in
reference to whom all other natural things constitute a system of ends." Yet it
is not because he is the end of ends, but the beginning of beginnings, that the
completion of the Body marks a crisis in the past. At last Evolution had
culminated in a creation so complex and exalted as to form the foundation for
an inconceivably loftier super-organic order. The moment an organism was
reached through which Thought was possible, nothing more was required of
matter. The Body was high enough. Organic Evolution might now even resign its
sovereignty of the world; it had made a thing which was now its master.
Henceforth Man should take charge of Evolution even as up till now he had been
the one charge of it. Henceforth his selection should replace Natural
Selection; his judgment guide the struggle for life; his will determine for
every plant upon the earth whether it should bloom or fade, for every animal
whether it should increase, or change, or die. So Man entered into his
Kingdom.
Science is charged, be it once more recalled,
with numbering Man among the beasts, and levelling his body with the dust. But
he who reads for himself the history of creation as it is written by the hand
of Evolution will be overwhelmed by the glory and honour heaped upon this
creature. To be a Man, and to have no conceivable successor; to be the fruit
and crown of the long past eternity, and the highest possible fruit and crown;
to be the last victor among the decimated phalanxes of earlier existences, and
to be nevermore defeated; to be the best that Nature in her strength and
opulence can produce; to be the first of that new order of beings who by their
dominion over the lower world and their equipment for a higher, reveal that
they are made in the Image of God--to be this is to be elevated to a rank in
Nature more exalted than any philosophy or any poetry or any theology have ever
given to Man. Man was always told that his place was high; the reason for it he
never knew till now; he never knew that his title deeds were the very laws of
Nature, that he alone was the Alpha and Omega of Creation, the beginning and
the end of Matter, the final goal of Life.
Nature is full of new departures; but never since
time began was there anything approaching in importance that period when the
slumbering animal, Brain, broke into intelligence, and the Creature first felt
that it had a Mind. From that dateless moment a higher and swifter progress of
the world began. Henceforth, Intelligence triumphed over structural adaptation.
The wise were naturally selected before the strong. The Mind discovered better
methods, safer measures, shorter cuts. So the body learned to refer to it, then
to defer to it. As the Mind was given more to do, it enlarged and did its work
more perfectly. Gradually the favours of Evolution-- exercise, alteration,
differentiation, addition--which were formerly distributed promiscuously among
the bodily organs--were now lavished mainly upon the Brain. The gains
accumulated with accelerating velocity; and by sheer superiority and fitness
for its work, the Intellect rose to commanding power, and entered into final
possession of a monopoly which can never be disturbed.
Now this means not only that an order of higher
animals has appeared upon the earth, but that an altogether new page in the
history of the universe has begun to be written. It means nothing less than
that the working of Evolution has changed its course. Once it was a physical
universe, now it is a psychical universe. And to say that the working of
Evolution has changed its course, and set its compass in psychical directions,
is to call attention to the most remarkable fact in Nature. Nothing so original
or so revolutionary has ever been given to science to discover, to ponder, or
to proclaim. The power of this event to strike and rouse the mind will depend
upon one's sense of what the working of Evolution has been to the world; but
those who realize this even dimly will see that no emphasis of language can
exaggerate its significance. Let imagination do its best to summon up the past
of Nature. Beginning with the panorama of the Nebular Hypothesis, run the eye
over the field of Palaeontology, Geology, Botany, and Zoology. Watch the
majestic drama of Creation unfolding, scene by scene and act by act. Realize
that one power, and only one, has marshalled the figures for this mighty
spectacle; that one hand, and only one, has carried out these transformations;
that one principle, and only one, has controlled each subsidiary plot and
circumstance; that the same great patient unobtrusive law has guided and shaped
the whole from its beginnings in bewilderment and chaos to its end in order,
harmony, and beauty. Then watch the curtain drop. And as it moves to rise
again, behold the new actor upon the stage. Silently, as all great changes
come, Mental Evolution has succeeded Organic. All the things that have been now
lie in the far background as forgotten properties. And Man stands alone in the
foreground, and a new thing, Spirit, strives within him.
[42] Fiske, Destiny of Man, p. 26. What
follows owes much to this suggestive brochure.
[43] Stones of Venice, II. 236.
[44] Prof J. Cleland, M.D., F.R.S., Journal
of Anatomy, Vol. XVIII., pp. 360-1.
[45] Journal of Anatomy, Vol. XVIII.,
p. 362.