, 1912.

II.
FRANCIS GALTON {13}
1822-1911

Francis Galton was born on February 16th, ninety-two years ago, and
to-day we are met together to remember him--a word that seems to me more
in tune with his nature than the more formal expression _commemorate_.

He disliked pomposity, but he seems to have loved little private
ceremonials. For instance, when he opened the first notebook in
preparation for his autobiographical _Memories_, he began page I with
Falstaff's words: "Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of
lying"--an inverted appeal to truth which no man ever stood less in need
of. And again, at the foot of the very last page of his _Memories_ is a
drawing of _Galtonia candicans_, a little ceremony without words, a
hieroglyphic glorification of the honour paid him in giving his name to
this African plant.

Many persons, and even some reviewers, form their opinions of books by
reading half-a-dozen passages at random. I have been more scientific in
selecting the first and last pages, and from these I conclude that a
simple and kindly commemoration is not out of harmony with the genius of
this great and loveable man.

I should like to express my appreciation of the honour done me in asking
me to give the first Galton lecture. In many ways I am a bad choice,
since I have had no share in his science of eugenics, neither has my
research-work been directly connected with evolution. I can only hope
that in consideration of my delight in the fibre and flavour of Galton's
mind, with its youth, its charm of humour, and its ever-springing
originality and acuteness,--I say that I hope these considerations may
excuse me for having undertaken an office for which I am in so many ways
unfitted.

One of his most obvious characteristics was his love of method. I do not
mean methodicalness, but that he took delight in knowing how to do all
manner of things in the very best way. He also liked to teach his
methods to others. Those who never saw him, or even read his books, will
exclaim, "What a bore he must have been." One might as well call the
lightning a bore for explaining that the thunder was coming, or complain
of the match for boring the gunpowder as to the proper way of exploding.
With Galton's explanations there was a flash of clear words, a delightful
smile or gesture, which seemed to say: "That's all--don't let me take up
your time." Nobody was ever more decidedly the very antithesis of