The writings of Linnaeus which we have hitherto examined are occupied with the nature of plants, and of this he knew nothing more than he gathered from the investigations and reflections of his predecessors; and it is here especially that his peculiar scholasticism is exhibited in contrast with the facts obtained by induction which he communicated to his readers. But the strong side of his intellect appears with splendid effect in the succeeding chapters of the ‘Philosophia,’ which treat of the principles of systematic botany; here, where he has no longer to establish facts, but to arrange ideas, to dispose and summarise, we find Linnaeus thoroughly in his element. The groundwork of botanical science, he begins, is twofold, classification and naming. The constituting of classes, orders, and genera he calls theoretical classification; the constituting of species and varieties is practical classification. The work of classification carried out by Cesalpino, Morison, Tournefort, and others leads to the establishing of a system; the mere practice of describing species may be carried on by those who know nothing of systematic botany. These expressions of Linnaeus are interesting, because like other remarks of his they show that he placed the establishment and arrangement of the larger groups above the mere distinguishing of individual forms; his disciples to a great extent forgot their master’s teaching, and fancied that the collecting and distinguishing of species was systematic botany. He opposes the system itself, which deals with the relative conceptions of classes, orders, genera, species, and varieties, to a mere synoptical view, serving with its dichotomy only to practical ends. Then comes the often-quoted sentence, ‘We reckon so many species as there were distinct forms created “in principio.”’ In a former place he had said ‘ab initio’ instead of ‘in principio’; instead therefore of a beginning in time he here posits an ideal, theoretical beginning, which is more in accordance with his philosophical views. That new species can arise is, he continues, disproved by continuous generation and propagation, and by daily observation, and by the cotyledons. It is hard to understand how the Linnaean school till far into our own century could have remained firm in a doctrine resting on such arguments as these. Linnaeus’ definition of varieties shows that he understood by the word species fundamentally distinct forms; there are, he says, as many varieties as there are different plants growing from the seed of the same species; and he adds that a variety owes its origin to an accidental cause, such as climate, soil, warmth, the wind; but this is evidently mere arbitrary assumption. Judging by all he says, his view is that species differ in their inner nature, varieties only in outward form. Here, where we find the dogma of the constancy of species for the first time expressed in precise terms,—a