September 1
Went with Uncle to see a Wesleyan minister whose fame as a microscopist, according to Uncle, made it worth my while to visit him. As I expected, he was just a silly old man, a diatomaniac fond of pretty-pretty slides and not a scientific man at all. He lectures Bands of Hope on the Butterfly’s Life History and hates his next-door neighbour, who is also a microscopist and incidentally a scientific man, because he interests himself in “parasites and those beastly things.”
I remarked that his friend next door had shown me an Amphioxus.
“Oh! I expect that’s some beastly bacteria thing,” he said petulantly. “I can’t understand Wilkinson. He’s a pervert.”
I told him what Amphioxus was and laughed up my sleeve. He likes to think of Zoology as a series of pretty pictures illustrating beautiful moral truths. The old fellow’s saving grace was enthusiasm. … Having focused an object for us, he would stand by, breathless, while we squinted down his gas-tube, and gave vent to tremendous expletives of surprise such as “Heavens,” or “Jupiter.” His eyes would twinkle with delight and straightway another miracle is selected for us to view. “They are all miracles,” he said.
“Those are the valves”—washing his hands with invisible soap—“no one has yet been able to solve the problem of the Diatom’s valves. No one knows what they are—no, nor ever will know—why?—why can’t we see behind the valves?—because God is behind the valves—that is why!” Amen.