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WORK OF LOVE
WO R K OF L OV E

A Theological Reconstruction of
the Communion of Saints

LEONARD J. D E LORENZO

University of Notre Dame Press

Notre Dame, Indiana
University of Notre Dame Press
Notre Dame, Indiana 46556
undpress.nd.edu

Copyright © 2017 by the University of Notre Dame

All Rights Reserved

Published in the United States of America

LCCN: 2016053422

ISBN 13: 978-0-268-10093-3

ISBN 10: 0-268-10093-4
WebPDF: 978-0-268-10095-7
EPUB: 978-0-268-10096-4

∞ This paper meets the requirements of ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992 (Permanence

of Paper).

This e-Book was converted from the original source file by a third-party
vendor. Readers who notice any formatting, textual, or readability issues
are encouraged to contact the publisher at [email protected].
 To Lisa
“Forever Amen”
 CONTENTS

Acknowledgments xi

Introduction 1

CHAPTER 1 Indefinite Article 7

Looking Backward 7
The Development of a Doctrine 8
The Orthodoxy of the Body of the Faithful 11
State of the Communion 15
The Diagnosis 20
Looking Forward 22
CHAPTER 2 Solitary Confinement 24
Regarding Christian Hope 24
Forgetting Death 26
Interlude: Transgressing the Forbidden,
Seeing the Invisible 31
The Rilkean Opening 32
The View from Heidegger 49
Remembering the Forgotten Death 59
CHAPTER 3 Word of Life 62
Toward a Christian Account of Death
and Communication 62
Karl Rahner: A Theology of Death
within Christian Eschatology 65
viii Contents

Joseph Ratzinger: Communication

within Salvation History 74
Hans Urs von Balthasar: Heeding Absolute
Communication 81
Given to Nothing: Creation and Resurrection 95
The Word of Life 100
CHAPTER 4 Dispossessing Desire 103
Becoming Fully Human 103
Encountering the Risen Christ: The Beginning
of a New End 105
At the End of All Exploring:
What Augustine Found 115
Ontology by Desire 129
Desiring God 134
CHAPTER 5 Bodily Memory 142
A Fool’s Errand? 142
Ordering the Commedia 144
The Communicative Nature 158
The Space of Freedom 166
The Church’s Oblation 174
Ascension, Assumption, and the Resurrection
of the Body 185
CHAPTER 6 Work of Love 189
Hastening to Wholeness 189
The Coming of the Lord 191
A Beautiful Pattern: The Aesthetic Pedagogy
of the Book of Exodus 195
Interlude: Glory as Dwelling, Dwelling
as Communion 201
Thérèse of Lisieux and the Beauty of the Earth 202
Teresa of Avila and the Beauty of Carmel 209
Mother Teresa and the Beauty of Calcutta 213
Dorothy Day and the Beauty of New York 215
 Contents ix

The Intermediate State and the Beauty

of Wholeness 221
Liturgical Training and the Beauty of Prayer 223
God’s People and the Beauty of Particularity 228
Conclusion 234
Notes 239
Selected Bibliography 303
Index 323
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 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Writing is often an experience of solitariness and yet all throughout writ-

ing this book I was aware of my dependence on those whose company
I neither could nor ever would want to do without. Who I am, what I
believe, how I think, and why I “do” theology are all tied up in my re-
lationships with those who love me, inspire me, teach me, and hold me
accountable to the gifts I have received. Truly, I am not myself by my-
self. Any good that I may have achieved in this work redounds to those
who have shared and who continue to share their goodness with me. The
greatest good I have received is the gift of faith, without which I would
be incapable of doing theology at all. My first word of thanks must there-
fore go to my catechists and all those who formed me in faith.
My debt of gratitude to Cyril O’Regan is immense. Through count-
less discussions over the span of many years, my interest in researching
this topic took shape while both the range of my considerations widened
and the seriousness of my thought deepened. I have grown to admire
Cyril for a great many things both within and outside academia, but
above all I have come to admire his capacity for admiring others. Both
his example and his interest in my work have encouraged me to become
more generous and committed in kind. I am likewise grateful to Larry
Cunningham, who opened his vast reservoirs of wisdom to me on all
things related to the communion of saints. Larry read drafts of this work
throughout my writing period and never failed to respond with construc-
tive criticism that was in equal measures substantive and encouraging. I
also had the good fortune to work with John Betz, whose very first topi-
cal conversation with me yielded one of the most important insights for
what would later become the second and fourth chapters of this work.
Along with Cyril and Larry, John provided helpful guidance as I explored

xi
xii Acknowledgments

this topic theologically and otherwise. The unnamed scholarly reviewers

who read and commented on my manuscript as it was being considered
for publication offered remarkably helpful feedback that prompted me to
improve this work in important respects. I am grateful for their thought-
ful consideration of this work as well as for the work of all on the edito-
rial team at the University of Notre Dame Press.
This work would not have been possible without the support of
John Cavadini, for whom I have worked for more than a decade in the
McGrath Institute for Church Life at Notre Dame. In addition to teach-
ing me how to read Augustine, I am grateful to John for his confidence in
me and for caring so deeply for my personal, professional, and scholarly
development. This work is in many ways a fruit of the connection be-
tween the Church and the academy that I have learned to cherish from
my work in the McGrath Institute for Church Life, where intelligent,
generous, and innovative colleagues surround me on a daily basis. I do
not take them or our work together for granted. I am uniquely indebted
to the undergraduate students, high school students, and professional
ministers with whom I have had the pleasure of exploring faith for more
than a decade in the Notre Dame Vision program. Just about every facet
of this theological work grew out of what I first learned and experienced
in that community.
I am likewise grateful to the members of Notre Dame’s Depart-
ment of Theology, where I studied and now have the privilege of teach-
ing courses. My special thanks go to Mary Catherine Hilkert, Brian
Daley, Matt Ashley, Bob Krieg, Jan Poorman, David Fagerberg, and Vit-
torio Montemaggi, among others, from whom I received a theological
education of unsurpassed quality. I would be remiss if I failed to men-
tion the inestimable influence of my colleague and closest friend Tim
O’Malley, who, among other things, was a constant conversation partner
at every phase of this writing project and whose own scholarship inspires
admiration.
My final words of thanks go to those to whom I owe the most. I ex-
tend my deepest gratitude to my parents, who gave me life and whose
confidence in me I have never doubted a day in my life. I offer my thanks
to my brother Stefan, who always will be my “best man” and who teaches
me how to be a better man. And to the Pendarvis family into which I
 Acknowledgments xiii

entered through marriage—to my mother- and father-in-law Betsie and

John, my brother-in-law Justin, and my sisters-in-law Christi and Mary
(along with spouses and those who will be)—I give thanks for the joy
and privilege of sharing in the richness of their familial life, which has
been, at times, without a ceiling . . . literally.
My final word of thanks goes to my wife Lisa, to whom I dedicate
this work. If I have learned anything in contemplating the communion
of saints it is that the life of the saints is a life of charity, wherein the good
of another becomes one’s very own good. If this is true, then I am blessed
to share my life with someone who witnesses to the validity of sanctity
every day. In addition to contributing to the life of the Church in her
own way through her gifts of leadership in liturgical music and cateche-
sis, Lisa was the one who, during all the many days that I researched and
wrote, took the lead in caring for the more important things, namely our
five beautiful children: Caleb Elijah, Felicity Thérèse, Josiah Xavier, Isaac
James, and Gianna Magdalene. Life in our family is indeed a foretaste of
the Heavenly City. For this and much more, thank you, Lisa.
+Advent 2016+
 I NTRO D U C TI O N

The saints are good company. They are the heroes of the faith who blazed
new and creative paths to holiness; they are the witnesses whose testi-
monies echo throughout the ages in the memory of the Church. Most
Christians—at least most Catholics—are likely to have their own favor-
ite saints: those individuals who inspire and console believers as they pray
and struggle in the particular setting of their own lives. Much has been
written about many of these saints and even, in fact, about sainthood it-
self; however, this work is not concerned with individual saints per se.
What I seek to examine in the pages that follow is the communion of
the saints, with the conviction that what makes the saints holy and what
forms them into a communion is one and the same. Moreover, this com-
munion is vital to the life of the faithful as well as to the meaning and
destiny of all creation.
The saints testify to God’s work of love as it draws to completion.
They are the ones who desire, know, and will along with the content
and style of God’s own way of loving. This story of sanctity is enshrined
in the creed Christians profess—specifically, the Apostles’ Creed. In this
symbol, the movement from who God is to what God has done gives
way to the sanctification of life into which redeemed creatures are drawn.
In this space, the saints stand as pedagogues who witness to the full-
ness of humanity in the culmination of God’s action in the world. Put

1
2 Work of Love

another way, the saint is God’s address: in the saint, God speaks to cre-
ation, creation speaks to God, God finds his creation present, and one
finds the presence of God. In their fullness, then, the saints offer what
they represent: the communion of human persons in union with the love
of God. The saints, therefore, may only be apprehended in truth to the
degree that they are known as partakers of communion. They embody an
objective reality that demands a conversion to a distinctive mode of sub-
jective apprehension. Those who wish to know and understand this holy
communion must strain forward toward the way in which the blessed
saints abide in love (see Phil. 3:13).
As persons defined by the movement of divine love, the saints share
in the personhood of Christ. They are, as it were, the embodiment of the
love of Christ, and the communion they share comes forth as a gift and
requires a response. The gift is a unity that is not self-produced and the
response is the desire for this union to be complete. The exchange in this
giving and receiving communicates life as a being-with and a being-for,
with the expression and constitution of the communion of saints as the
accompaniment of one with and for another—unto all others. In this
communication of life, the communion of saints emerges from a desire
stronger than death.
Claiming that communion is stronger than death is no small thing.
Surely this challenge can be ameliorated by either attenuating the mean-
ing of communion or softening the closure of death; however, neither
move is compatible with the Christian faith. Christianity is concerned
with the proclamation of an unbreakable bond of communion that
pierces through the soundless darkness of death. To think rightly about
the communion of saints requires an unreserved confrontation with the
meaning (or meaninglessness) of death; to live fully toward the commu-
nion stronger than death demands a disposition to hoping in what does
not and cannot come from one’s own power alone. Taking death seri-
ously leads to reimagining the validity of acts of communication and the
bonds of communion, and this renewal of the imagination is only pos-
sible according to the form and content of revelation. This is knowledge
born in the valley of humility and it is the only path by which we can
know the saints as they are, in communion.
The belief in the communion of saints belongs to the eschatologi-
cal dimension of the Christian faith. It is, in other words, a matter of
 Introduction 3

hope. The dimensions of Christian hope are provided by and conform

to the dimensions of Jesus Christ, who stretches the communication
of the Word of Life to the limits of creaturely existence and indeed to
the extreme distance of creaturely nonexistence in sin. In this work, I
aim to present the communio sanctorum as an article of faith that is, as I
state in chapter 3, “properly Christological in that it concerns the com-
plete action of the Incarnation, pneumatological in that it pertains to the
Spirit’s work of forming community in the bonds of charity, and ulti-
mately Trinitarian in that it fundamentally entails graced participation
in the divine life of persons-in-communion.” As appropriate to a theo-
logical inquiry, this treatment of the communio sanctorum begins with its
incorporation as an article of faith in the Apostles’ Creed, proceeds to
elucidate the meaning of what this article expresses with eschatological
studies in theological anthropology and ecclesiology, and at last arrives
at (or rather returns to) a more substantive understanding of sacramen-
tal and liturgical practice before explicating the communion of saints as a
work of love. In what amounts to a distinctly Catholic construction, one
may measure the ecumenical and perhaps even interreligious value of this
book according to the degree to which I successfully show the coherence
of the Catholic emphasis on communion, both in terms of the Church
in via and in its eschatological fullness.
Chapter 1 is primarily dedicated to measuring the parameters of my
project. To begin, I trace the path by which the communio sanctorum
traveled from the practice of faith to a declared article of faith that was
incorporated into the baptismal creed. In the name of the Triune God,
the faithful ultimately profess belief in what the sanctification of life in
union with God begins to look like, specifically in the third part of the
creed under the belief in the Holy Spirit. The incorporation of the com-
munio sanctorum into the creed results from the Church’s growing recog-
nition that exercising communion with the saints is intrinsic to the one
faith it professes. In diagnosing the contemporary situation, though, I
contend that while there is certainly something like a notional assent to
the doctrine’s claim to the uninterrupted union among the saints, what
remains obscured or, more poignantly, under-considered, are the twin
questions of why and how the modern person is to believe in the com-
munion of saints in deed as well as in word. In short, I argue that the
Christian imagination in the modern period is ailing from the reduction
4 Work of Love

of faith to the boundaries of reason and the exiling of God from the
workings of the world into a remote realm of impenetrable mystery
into which the dead disappear. The twofold challenge to fully profess-
ing belief in the communion of saints is therefore epistemological and
theological—that is, it concerns our ways of knowing and the manner of
believing in who God is. I contend that the (un)reality of death shows
the urgency and baldness of both dimensions of this challenge.
In chapter 2, I interrogate the modern notions of death. I begin with
a socio-historical analysis of the development of customs relating to the
phenomenon of death and the correlative ways in which the surviving
community treats the dying (and the dead). I observe how these modern
approaches to death both promote and derive from an impetus to isolate
individuals from one another. I then take up a poetic proposal to some-
thing like a secular analogue to the communion of saints in the work
of Rainer Maria Rilke. What the Bohemian-Austrian poet shows is the
promise of a fertile imagination that nonetheless fails because of the con-
tent of what informs his imagination. The treatment of Rilke helps us to
see that both the energy and the content of an imagination are crucial to
properly forming the eschatological imagination. In the latter part of the
chapter, I examine modern secular philosophical approaches to death,
most notably Martin Heidegger’s but also with an eye toward Friedrich
Nietzsche. On the one hand, my task in this chapter is to critique the
prevalent inclination to ignore death and the concerted refusal to say
anything about it. On the other hand, my task is also to critique the ten-
dency to say too much about death in the wrong way. This treatment of
the distinctively modern approaches to death thus leaves us in search of
an account of death that depends on neither ignorance nor mythology.
In due course, I present the death of Jesus Christ as the key to the
true meaning (or meaninglessness) of death. His death is the unadorned
foundation upon which communion is built. In chapter 3, I thus begin
to recast death in Christian terms, leading ultimately toward the goal of
asking the question of the human person in a theological register. To do
so, I pursue a Christological keynote by following the Incarnate Word
to the extreme creaturely distance from God in the state of being dead;
only thus may we more adequately apprehend the gift of life that is given
in his Resurrection. In the course of this pursuit, I consider the human
 Introduction 5

person according to such questions as the relationship between freedom

and subjectivity, time and eternity, and individuality and sociality. I also
seek to locate my inquiry within the biblical narrative and especially an-
cient Israel’s developing belief in the resurrection of the dead. As the be-
ginning of the constructive portion of my work, this chapter commences
the exploration of communication and communion in three interrelated
spheres: communion among the dead (chapter 3), communication from
the blessed dead to the living (chapter 4), and communication of the liv-
ing among themselves and to the blessed dead (chapters 5 and 6).
Chapter 4 subsequently focuses on the desire to show how commu-
nion extends from the dead to include the living (i.e., those still on pil-
grimage) across the chasm of death. I begin with a theological exegesis
of the Resurrection appearances as recorded primarily in the Gospel of
Luke and the Gospel of John. My aim is to elucidate how the unfath-
omable act of God in the Resurrection of Jesus Christ first critiques and
then transforms the desires of those to whom the risen Christ comes. I
then proceed, in the chapter’s second section, to move in the opposite
direction to study how the quest to discover the truth of one’s own exis-
tence is oriented to the discovery of the unsolicited gift of God’s mercy.
Augustine’s Confessions is my primary text for this purpose. I carry for-
ward what I gain in the early sections of the chapter to build toward a
theological anthropology in which the natural desire of the human per-
son is transformed by and according to how God freely fulfills this de-
sire. Henri de Lubac’s modern retrieval of Augustinian theology provides
much of the impetus for this task, which leads me, in the chapter’s end,
toward a substantive description of the saint as the one whose desire is
fulfilled in willful conformity to God’s own way of giving in Christ. I
contend that on this eschatological horizon the truth of human persons
is revealed in full.
In chapter 5 I situate the communion among created persons within
the communion of God in the body of the Church. To do so, I first turn
to Dante’s Commedia as part of a larger attempt to respond to the preva-
lent suspicion of hierarchically ordered relations, most especially in the
work of other contemporary Catholic theologians who are likewise in-
terested in recovering a more robust eschatological imagination. I argue
that Dante presents a compelling image of eschatological relations that
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6 Work of Love

redounds to the original social order of humanity according to God’s act

of creation. I examine the eschatological dimensions of the theologies of
creation from Augustine and Karl Rahner, respectively, in order to ad-
vance my thesis. From there, I explore three journeys “from freedom to
freedom” in an attempt to connect the issue of creaturely dignity to the
future to which God calls his beloved. In the chapter’s concluding pages
I draw out the pneumatological and Christological dimensions of the
communion of saints in the sacramental and liturgical life of the Church,
which is itself dependent on the gift of God’s own communion.
Throughout these chapters I seek to develop and defend the the-
sis upon which this theological reconstruction of the communion of
saints builds: love works in community, for communion, or not at all. In
the sixth and final chapter, I seek to observe this dynamism as the logic
of Scripture itself, which is incarnate in Christ and becomes the very
movement by which his saints are transformed in building communion.
Beginning with the prologue to John’s Gospel and connecting to the nar-
ratives of Jesus’s transfiguration, I eventually examine how Moses pre-
figures Christ in the role he assumes and prefigures the saints in the work
he inspires. What we see in anticipatory fashion in Moses approaches ful-
fillment in particular saints, who witness to the efficacy of divine mercy
that redeems and sanctifies creation. We will study four such figures in
this line of sanctity: Thérèse of Lisieux, Teresa of Avila, Teresa of Cal-
cutta, and Dorothy Day. Based on the logic of Scripture that becomes the
grammar of communion in the saints, I then make a statement about the
theological question of the intermediate state before concluding with a
reflection on the prayers concerning the dead in the Church’s liturgy and,
subsequently, the concrete devotions of the faithful that testify to the un-
relenting particularity of God’s love for particular persons. In learning to
perceive how the saints embody the work of love, we draw closer to ap-
prehending how the communion that the saints build becomes the es-
chatological fulfillment of Christ, who is the realization of what is hoped
for and the evidence of things not seen (Heb. 11:1, NAB).
 C H A P T E R 1

I N D E F I N ITE A RTI C L E

Looking Backward

The “communion of saints” is a definitive mark of the Christian imagi-

nation conformed to the mystery of salvation: the communion of holy
persons invites and demands an act of faith for Christian belief to build
toward completion. In fact, it is the exercise of fidelity to the promises
of Christ in the face of death that gave this expression its primary mean-
ing for Western Christianity. This meaning was carried into and is now
borne by the Apostles’ Creed, “the most universally accepted creed in
Western Christendom.”1 Every saint has a history and so does the article
of faith that attests to the communion in which they share. The lives of
saints arise from the work of God in the world while the article symbol-
izing their communion arises from the Church’s reflection on the life of
faith in the Spirit.
Why this article of the “communion of saints” does not appear ei-
ther in the Niceno-Constantinopolitan Creed or the Old Roman Creed
is a question whose answer at once signifies the hope that springs from
the merits of Christ and the deficiency of this hope, by and large, in the
modern world. Put another way: as certain communities in the Early
Church confronted death through the practice of faith, the belief in the
communion of saints was espoused, and as death is avoided, ignored,
or parodied in more contemporary times, the essential meaning of the

7
8 Work of Love

communion of saints slips away. The sober confrontation with the mean-
ing (or meaninglessness) of death forces the issue of the validity of the
communion of saints. Death provides the occasion for asking the ques-
tion of the saints’ communion in the proper terms; therefore, the pri-
mary issue in the communion of saints is not actually death, but rather
divine freedom. In the silence of death, the Word of God speaks anew.
Accordingly, the axial conviction around which this present work turns is
that the communion of saints is intrinsically and inextricably connected
to the love of Christ: the Incarnate Word.
While the two following chapters deal with death more directly in
preparation for hearing this Word aright, this chapter begins by trac-
ing the development of the doctrine concerning the communion of
saints from the experience of the faithful into the baptismal creed. From
there, I attend to the ecclesial pronouncements from the Second Vati-
can Council that confirm the perennial validity of the belief in sharing
of communion among members of the Church who abide on both sides
of death, so to speak. In the final sections of the chapter I diagnose the
current state of notional and real assent to belief in this unbroken com-
munion of saints in the modern milieu in order to ultimately identify
the precise problematic with which the remainder of this work is con-
cerned. Through the turns of this chapter, I seek to elucidate how the
communion of saints—both as a reality and as a stated article of faith—
grows from and shapes a Catholic ethos, as well as how the flagging vital-
ity of belief in this communion in the practice of the faithful signals the
diminishment of the faith itself.

The Development of a Doctrine

The term “communion of saints” most likely came from the East, where
the meaning of the expression was clear. In Greek, koinonia ton agion—
the equivalent to Latin’s communio sanctorum—unmistakably indicates
“participation in the Eucharistic elements.”2 To this day priests in the
Byzantine liturgy lift up the consecrated gifts and exclaim, “Holy things
for the holy people,”3 further locating the central meaning of the com-
munion for the Eastern Church in the sharing of the Sacraments.
 Indefinite Article 9

In the West, however, there was much greater fluctuation in the

meaning of communio sanctorum. Upon close inspection of the histori-
cal evidence as to what primary meaning the phrase carried as it was in-
corporated into the Apostles’ Creed, “the inescapable conclusion,” as one
prominent scholar puts it, is that, “so far as the creed is concerned, the
dominant conception, at any rate between the fifth and eighth centuries,
was ‘fellowship with holy persons.’ ”4 It is during these very centuries that
certain Christian communities first enacted the meaning of the commu-
nio sanctorum as they practiced their faith and reflected on the death of
the martyrs.
The Apostles’ Creed is itself an elaborate form of the Old Roman
Creed, from which all variant baptismal creeds derive. Evidence of the
final form of the Apostles’ Creed dates to the first half of the eighth cen-
tury, while its adoption into the Roman baptismal rite likely did not
occur until at least the middle of the ninth century.5 Prior to these dates,
the first surviving creed to attest to the presence of communio sancto-
rum is the formulary on which Nicetas of Remesiana commented in the
fourth century.6 Extant documents from this period point to the Gallic
regions of Western Europe as the place of origin for the meaning of com-
munio sanctorum as it was eventually carried into the Apostles’ Creed. As
distinct from most of the other statements of faith that were incorpo-
rated into the creeds in the Early Church—and particularly those creedal
statements that developed in ecumenical councils—the development
and the incorporation of communio sanctorum seem to have taken place
without a polemical situation or crisis of heterodoxy to spur its defini-
tion. Instead, this article developed through devotional faith practices of
Christian communities in Gaul.
As J. N. D. Kelly argues, the intensity of faith of particular Chris-
tians, in a particular era, in this particular region, helped the article of
communio sanctorum to gain recognition as intrinsic to the faith:

The fourth century witnessed an enormous expansion of the devotion

which the Church had paid to its saints and illustrious dead from the ear-
liest times. Even at the beginning of the third century the author of the
Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas assured his readers that his purpose in writ-
ing out what had happened was to enable them to enjoy communion with
10 Work of Love

the holy martyrs and through them with Jesus Christ. . . . It is evident that
in the fourth century the consciousness of communion with the redeemed
in heaven, who had already tasted of the fullness of the glory of Christ,
was as real and as rich in hope to the theologians as to circles of ordinary
Christians. Thus, although it involved no polemical arrière pensée, “com-
munion of saints” gave expression to conceptions which were very vividly
present to the minds of fourth and fifth century churchmen, particularly
in those regions of Western Europe where . . . the Apostles’ Creed was
molded into its final shape.7

What we hear from Kelly is that the occasion for the articulation of this
article as part of the creed arose from the devotions to the blessed dead
that were abundant and thriving in the regions where the Apostles’ Creed
developed. In other words, as the faithful exercised the faith into which
they were immersed at Baptism, they applied this faith to the veneration
of first the martyrs and then other holy witnesses. Only after this applica-
tion of the faith was exercised did it come to be recognized as normative
for the faith. Devotion drew out orthodoxy.
If Kelly’s argument is indeed well founded, then we may readily con-
clude that “the fellowship with holy persons” that these Gallic Christians
practiced was a fellowship with martyrs they had known in their time,
or the memory and testimony of whom were offered to them on behalf
of their own or other Christian communities (as in the case of Perpetua
and Felicitas). In these martyrs they saw the power of the Christian faith
spoken unto death, and their reverence for these martyrs was their own
affirmation of the validity of the promises of Christ, a promise that re-
dounds throughout the Gospels, that whoever believes in me, even if he
dies, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die
(John 11:25–26, NAB). They saw the martyrs as living testaments to be-
lief in Christ: these were the ones who allowed their deaths to become
the capstone of their witness. So when the Gallic Christians began to
venerate other holy witnesses—those whom presumably they had known
or whose stories of faith were, again, handed on through the Christian
communities—they exercised their imaginations to recognize that a life
lived in faith was itself a witness to the validity of the promises of Christ,
even when that life of faith did not end in martyrdom per se.
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 HUMIDITY
59. Instruments. As a direct factor, humidity is intimately connected with water-content in
determining the structure and distribution of plants. The one is in control of water loss; the other
regulates water supply. Humidity as a climatic factor undergoes greater fluctuation in the same habitat,
and the efficient difference is correspondingly greater. Accordingly, simple instruments are less valuable
than automatic ones, since a continuous record is essential to a proper understanding of the real
influence of humidity. As is the rule, however, the use of simple instruments, when they can be referred
to an ecographic basis, greatly extends the field which can be studied. In investigation, both
psychrometer and psychrograph have their proper place. In the consideration of simple instruments for
obtaining humidity values, an arbitrary distinction is made between psychrometers and hygrometers.
The former consist of a wet and a dry bulb thermometer, while the latter make use of a hygroscopic awn,
hair, or other object.

Psychrometers

60. Kinds. There are three kinds of psychrometer, the sling, the cog, and the stationary. All consist of
a wet bulb and a dry bulb thermometer set in a case; the first two are designed to be moved or whirled in
the air. The same principle is applied in each, viz., that evaporation produces a decrease in temperature
proportional to the amount of moisture in the air. The dry bulb thermometer is an ordinary
thermometer, while the wet bulb is covered with a cloth that can be moistened. The former indicates the
normal temperature of the air, the latter gives the reduced temperature due to evaporation. The relative
humidity of the air is ascertained by means of the proper tables, from two terms, i. e., the air
temperature and the amount of reduction shown by the wet bulb. The sling and the cog psychrometers
alone are in general use. The stationary form has been found to be unreliable, because the moisture, as it
evaporates from the wet bulb, is not removed, and, in consequence, hinders evaporation to the proper
degree.
61. The sling psychrometer. The standard form of this is shown in the illustration, and is the one
used by the Weather Bureau. This instrument can be obtained from H. J. Green, 1191 Bedford Ave.,
Brooklyn, or Julien P. Friez, 107 E. German St., Baltimore, at a cost of $5. It consists of a metal frame to
which are firmly attached two accurately standardized thermometers, reading usually from –30° to 130°.
The frame is attached at the uppermost end to a handle in such fashion that it swings freely. The wet
bulb thermometer is placed lower, chiefly to aid in wetting the cloth more readily. The cloth for the wet
bulb should be always of the same texture and quality; the standard used by the Weather Bureau can be
obtained from the instrument makers. A slight difference in texture makes no appreciable error, but the
results obtained with different instruments and by different observers will be more trustworthy and
comparable if the same cloth be used in all cases. The jacket for the wet bulb may be sewed in the form
of a close-fitting bag, which soon shrinks and clings tightly. It may be made in the field by wrapping the
cloth so that the edges just overlap, and tying it tightly above and below the bulb. In either case, a single
layer of cloth alone must be used. The cloth becomes soiled or thin after a few months’ constant use and
should be replaced. It is a wise precaution to carry a small piece of psychrometer cloth in the field outfit.
62. Readings. All observations should be made facing the wind, and the observer should move one
or two steps during the reading to prevent the possibility of error. The cloth of the wet bulb is moistened
with water by means of a brush, or, much better, it is dipped directly into a bottle of water. Distilled
water is preferable, as it contains no dissolved material to accumulate in the cloth. Tap-water and the
water of streams may be used without appreciable error, if the cloth is changed somewhat more
frequently. The temperature of the water is practically negligible under ordinary conditions. Readings
can be made more quickly, however, when the temperature is not too far from that of the air. The
psychrometer is held firmly and swung rapidly through the air when the space is not too confined.
Where there is danger of breakage, it is swung back and forth through a short arc, pendulum-fashion. As
the reading must be made when the mercury of the wet bulb reaches the lowest point, the instrument is
stopped from time to time and the position of the column noted. The lowest point is often indicated by
the tendency of the mercury to remain stationary; as a rule it can be noted with certainty when the next
glance shows a rise in the column. In following the movement, and especially in noting the final reading,
great care must be taken to make the latter before
the mercury begins to rise. For this reason it is
desirable to shade the psychrometer with the
body when looking at it, and to take pains not to
breathe upon the bulbs nor to bring them too
near the body. At the moment when the wet bulb
registers the lowest point, the dry bulb should be
read and the results recorded.
63. Cog psychrometer. This instrument,
commonly called the “egg-beater” psychrometer,
has been devised to obviate certain disadvantages
of the sling psychrometer in field work, and has
entirely supplanted the latter in the writer’s own
studies. It is smaller, more compact, and the
danger of breaking in carriage or in use is almost
nil. It has the great advantage of making it
possible to take readings in a layer of air less than
two inches in thickness, and in any position.
Fairly accurate results can even be obtained from
transpiring leaves. The instrument can readily be
made by a good mechanic, at a cost for materials
of $1.75, which is less than half the price for the
sling form. A single drawback exists in the use of
short, Centigrade thermometers, inasmuch as
tables of relative humidity are usually expressed
in Fahrenheit. It is a simple matter, however, to
convert Centigrade degrees into Fahrenheit,
mentally, or the difficulty may be avoided by the
conversion table shown on page 47, or by
constructing a Centigrade series of humidity
tables. The fact that the wet and dry bulbs revolve
in the same path has raised a doubt concerning
the accuracy of the results obtained with this
instrument. Repeated comparisons with the sling
psychrometer have not only removed this doubt
completely, but have also proved that the
standardization of the thermometers has been
efficient.
64. Construction and use. A convenient
form of egg-beater is the Lyon (Albany, New
York), in which the revolving plates can be readily
removed, leaving the axis and the frame. The
thermometers used are of the short Centigrade
type. They are 4½ inches long and read from –5°
to 50°. Eimer and Amend, 205 Third Ave., New
York city, furnish them at 75 cents each. The
thermometers are carefully standardized and
compared, and then grouped in pairs that read
together. Each pair is used to construct a
particular psychrometer. Each thermometer is
strongly wired to one side of the frame, pieces of
felt being used to protect the tube and increase
the contact. The frame is also bent at the base
angles to permit free circulation of air about the
thermometer bulbs. The bulb of one thermometer
is covered with the proper cloth, and the
psychrometer is finished. Since the frame
revolves with the thermometers, it is necessary to
pour the water on the wet bulb, or to employ a
pipette or brush. The thermometer bulbs are
placed in the layer to be studied, and the frame
rotated at an even rate and with moderate
rapidity. The observation is further made as in
the case of the sling psychrometer. As the circle of
rotation is less than three inches in diameter, and
the layer less than an inch, in place of nearly three
feet for the sling form, the instrument should not
be moved at all for extremely localized readings,
but it must be moved considerably, a foot or
more, if it is desirable to obtain a more general
reading.
65. Hygrometers. While there are
instruments designed to indicate the humidity by
means of a hygroscopic substance, not one of
them seems to be of sufficient accuracy for use in
ecological study. The difficulty is that the
hygroscopic reaction is inconstant, rather than
that the instruments are not sufficiently sensitive.
A number of hygrometers have been tested, and
in all the error has been found to be great, varying
usually from 10–20 per cent. In the middle of the
scale they sometimes read more accurately, but
toward either extreme they are very inexact. It
seems probable that an accurate hygrometer can
be constructed only after the model of the Draper
psychrograph. Its weight and bulk would make it
an impossible instrument for field trips, and the
expense of one would provide a dozen
psychrometers. In consequence, it does not seem
too sweeping to say that no hygrometer can
furnish trustworthy results. Of simple
instruments for humidity, the psychrometer alone
can be trusted to give reliable readings. Crova’s
hygrometer, used by Hesselmann, is not a
hygrometer in the sense indicated. As it is much
less convenient to handle and to operate than the
cog psychrometer, it is not necessary to describe
it.

Psychrographs

66. The Draper psychrograph. A year’s

trial of the Draper psychrograph in field and
planthouse has left little question of its accuracy
and its great usefulness. Essentially, it consists of
a band of fine catgut strings, which are sensitive
to changes in the moisture-content of the air. The
variations in the length of the band are
communicated to a long pointer carrying an
inking pen. The latter traces the record in per
cent of relative humidity on a graduated paper
disk, which is practically the face of an eight-day
clock. The whole is enclosed in a metal case with a
glass front. A glance at the illustration will show
the general structure of the instrument.
 Fig. 5. Sling psychrometer. Continued psychrometric tests demonstrate that
the margin of error is well within the efficient
difference for humidity, which is taken to be 5 per
cent. In the field tests of the past summer, two
psychrographs placed side by side in the same
habitat did not vary 1 per cent from each other.
The same instruments when in different habitats
did not deviate more than 1 per cent from the
psychrometric values, except when the air
approached saturation. For humidities above 90
per cent, the deviation is considerable, but as
these are temporary and incident upon rainfall,
the error is not serious. For humidities varying
from 10–85 per cent, the psychrograph is
practically as accurate as the psychrometer. Per
cents below 10 are rare, and no tests have been
made for them.

Fig. 6. Cog psychrometer.

Fig. 7. Draper psychrograph.
 Fig. 8. Instrument shelter, showing thermograph and psychrograph in position.

67. Placing the instrument. The psychrograph should be located in a place where the circulation
of the air is typical of the station observed. A satisfactory shelter will screen the instrument from sun and
rain, and at the same time permit the air to pass freely through the perforations of the metal case. The
form shown in figure 8 meets both of these conditions. A desirable modification is effected by fastening a
strip about the cover of such depth as to prevent the sun’s rays from striking the case except when the
sun is near the horizon. A cross block is fastened on the post of the shelter after being exactly leveled.
The psychrograph rests upon this block, which is three feet above the ground in order to avoid the
influence of radiation. The instrument is held in position by slipping the eye over a small-headed nail
driven obliquely. It does not hang from the latter, but must rest firmly upon the cross block. The post is
set to a depth that prevents oscillation in the wind, which is liable to obscure the record. In shallow
mountain soils stability is attained by fastening a broad board at the base of the post before setting it.
When two or more psychrographs are established in different habitats, great pains are taken to set them
up in exactly the same way. The shelters are alike, the height above the soil the same, and the
instruments all face the south.
68. Regulating and operating the instrument. When two or more psychrographs are to be used
in series, they must be compared with each other in the same spot for several days until they run exactly
together with respect to per cent of humidity and to time. During this comparison they are checked by
the psychrometer and so regulated that they register the proper humidity. When a single instrument is
used alone as the basis to which simple readings may be referred, all regulating may well be done after
the instrument is in position. This is a simple process; it is accomplished by obtaining the relative
humidity beneath the shelter and at the proper height by a psychrometer. The pen hand is then moved
to the proper line on the disk by means of the screws at its base. These are reached by removing the
lettered glass face. The thumbscrew on the side opposite the direction in which the pen is to move is
released, and the opposite screw simultaneously tightened, until the pen remains upon the proper line.
Experience has proved that the record sheet should be correctly labeled and dated before being placed
on the disk. In the press of field duties, records labeled after removal are liable to be confused. It is
likewise a great saving of time to write the date of the month in the margin of each segment. Care is
taken to place the sheet on the disk in the same position each time; this can easily be done by seeing that
the sharp point on the disk penetrates the same spot on the paper. A single drop of ink in the pen will
usually give the most satisfactory line. A thin line is read most accurately. If the pen point is too fine,
however, the ink does not flow readily, and the point should be slightly blunted by means of a file. More
often the line is too broad and the pen must be carefully pointed. Occasionally the pen does not touch
the sheet, and it becomes necessary to bend the hand slightly. This is a frequent difficulty if the records
are folded or wrinkled, and consequently the sheets should always be kept flat.
69. The weekly visit. Psychrographs must be visited, checked, rewound, and inked every week.
Whenever possible this should be done regularly at a specified day and hour. This is especially desirable
if the same record sheet is used for more than one week. Time and energy are saved by a fixed order for
the various tasks to be done at each visit. After opening the instrument the disk is removed, and the
clock wound, and, if need be, regulated. The record sheet is replaced, the disk again put on the clock
arbor, and the pen replenished with a drop of ink. A psychrometer reading is made, and the results in
terms of relative humidity noted at the proper place on the disk sheet. If the psychrograph vary more
than 1 per cent, it is adjusted to read accurately. In practice it has been found a great convenience to
keep each record sheet in position for three weeks, and the time may easily be extended to four. In this
event, the pen is carefully cleaned with blotting paper at each visit, and is then refilled with an ink of
different color. To prevent confusion, the three different colored inks are always used in the same order,
red for the first week, blue for the second, and green for the third. The advantages of this plan are
obvious: fewer records are used and less time is spent in changing them. The records of several weeks
are side by side instead of on separate sheets, and in working over the season’s results, it is necessary to
handle but a third as many sheets.
The Draper psychrograph is made by the Draper Manufacturing Company, 152 Front St., New York
city. The price is $30. A few record sheets and a bottle of red ink are furnished with it. Additional
records can be obtained at 3 cents each. The inks are 25–50 cents per bottle, depending upon the color.

Humidity Readings and Records

70. The time of readings. If simple instruments alone are used for determining humidity, readings
are practically without value unless made simultaneously through several stations, or successively at
one. When it is possible to combine these, and to make psychrometer readings at different habitats for
each hour of the day, or at the same hour for several days, the series is of very great value. Single
readings are unreliable on account of the hourly and daily variations of humidity, but when these
changes are recorded by a psychrograph, such readings at once become of use, whether made in the
same habitat with the recording instrument or elsewhere. In the latter case, one reading will tell little
about the normal humidity of the habitat, but several make a close estimate possible. When a series of
psychrographs is in use, accurate observations can be made to advantage anywhere at any time. As a
rule, however, it has been found most convenient to make simple readings at 6:00 A.M., 1:00 P.M., and
6:00 P.M., as these hours afford much evidence in regard to the daily range. A good time also is that at
which the temperature maximum occurs each day, but this is movable and in the press of field work can
rarely be taken advantage of. A very fair idea of the daily mean humidity is obtainable by averaging the
readings made at the hours already indicated. The comparison of single readings with the psychrograph
record should not be made at a time when a rapid change is occurring, as the automatic instrument does
not respond immediately. Such a condition is usually represented by a sudden rain, and is naturally not
a satisfactory time for single readings in any event.
71. Place and height. As stated above, the psychrograph is placed three feet above the surface of the
ground in making readings for the comparison of stations. In low, herbaceous formations, the
instrument is usually placed within a few inches of the soil in order to record the humidity of the air in
which the plants are growing. In forest formations, the moisture often varies considerably in the
different layers. This variation is easily determined by simultaneous psychrometer readings in the
several layers, or, if occasion warrants, a series of psychrographs may be used. In field work the rule has
been to make observations with the psychrometer at 6 feet, 3 feet, and the surface of the soil, but the
reading at the height of 3 feet is ordinarily
sufficient. Humidity varies so easily that several
readings in different parts of one formation are
often desirable. In comparing different
formations, the readings should be made in
corresponding situations, for example, in the
densest portion of each.
72. Check instruments. Humidity is so
readily affected by temperature, wind, and
pressure, that a knowledge of these factors is
essential to an understanding of its fluctuations.
Pressure, disregarding daily variation, is taken
account of in the tables for ascertaining relative
humidity, and is determined once for all when the
altitude of a station has been carefully
established. The temperature is obtained directly
from the dry bulb reading. Its value is
fundamental, as the amount of moisture in a
given space is directly affected by it; like pressure,
it also is taken account of in the formula. The
movement of the air has an immediate influence
upon moisture by mixing the air of different
habitats and layers. So far as the plant is
concerned, it has practically the effect of
increasing or decreasing the humidity by the
removal of the air above it. Thus, while the
anemometer can furnish no direct evidence as to
the amount of variation, it is of aid in explaining
the reason for it. Likewise, the rate of evaporation
as indicated by a series of atmometers, affords a
ready method of estimating the comparative
effect of humidity in different habitats.
Potometers and other instruments for measuring
transpiration throw much light upon humidity
values. Since they are concerned with the
response of the plant to humidity, they are
considered in the following chapter.
73. Humidity tables. To ascertain the
relative humidity, the difference between the wet
and dry bulb readings is obtained. This, with the
dry bulb temperature, is referred to the tables,
where the corresponding humidity is found. A
variation in temperature has less effect than a
variation in the difference; in consequence, the
dry bulb reading is expressed in the nearest unit,
and the difference reckoned to the nearest .5. The
humidity varies with the air pressure. Hence, the
altitude must be determined for the base station,
and for all others that show much change in
elevation. Within the ordinary range of growing-
period temperatures, the effect of pressure is not
great. For all ordinary cases, it suffices to
compute tables for pressures of 30, 29, 27, 25,
and 23 inches. The following table indicates the
decrease in pressure which is due to altitude.
 Fig. 9. Atmometer.

ALTITUDE PRESSURE
Feet Meters Inches Centimeters
0 0 30 76
910 277 29 73.5
1850 574 28 71
2820 860 27 68.5
3820 1165 26 66
4850 1477 25 63.5
5910 1792 24 61
7010 2138 23 58.5
8150 2485 22 56
9330 2845 21 53.5
10550 3217 20 51
13170 4016 18 46
16000 4880 16 41

The fluctuations of pressure due to weather are usually so slight that their influence may be
disregarded. An excellent series of tables of relative humidity is found in Marvin’s Psychrometric Tables,
published by the U. S. Weather Bureau, and to be obtained from the Division of Publications,
Washington, D. C., for 10 cents. A convenient field form is made by removing the portion containing the
tables of relative humidity, and binding it in stiff oilcloth.
74. Sums, means, and curves. An approximate humidity sum can be obtained by adding the
absolute humidities for each of the twenty-four hours, and expressing the results in grains per cubic foot.
It is possible to establish a general ratio between this sum and the transpiration sum of the plant, but its
value is not great at present. Means of absolute and of relative humidity are readily determinable from
the psychrograph records; the latter are the most useful. The mean of relative humidity for the twenty-
four hours of a day is the average of the twenty-four hour humidities. From these means the seasonal
mean is computed in the same manner. A close approximation, usually within 1 degree, may be obtained
in either case by averaging the maximum and minimum for the period concerned. Various kinds of
curves are of value in representing variation in humidity. Obviously, these must be derived from the
psychrograph, or from the psychrometer when the series is sufficiently complete. The level curve
indicates the variation in different stations at the same time. These may be combined in a series for the
comparison of readings made at various heights in the stations. The day or point curve shows the
fluctuations during the day of one point, and the station curve the variation at different heights in the
same station. The curves of successive days or of different stations may of course be combined on the
same sheet for comparison. Level and station curves based upon mean relative humidities are especially
valuable.
75. Records. A field form is obviously unnecessary for the psychrograph. The record sheets
constitute both a field and permanent record. The altitude and other constant features of the station and
the list of species, etc., are entered on the back of the first record sheet, or, better, they are noted in the
permanent formation record. For psychrometer readings, whether single or in series, the following
record form is employed:
Fig. 10. Conversion scale for temperatures.
 Height NOTES
Dry Wet Rel. Base Abs.
Date Hour Formation Station Altitude Community of Diff.
bulb bulb Hum. Hum. Hum. Sky Rain Wind
reading
6:20 Brook
15/8/’04 Spruce 2500 m Mertensiare 1 ft. 51° 46° 5 72% 63% 2.9 Clear 0 0
A.M. bank
„ „ Half gravel Hiawatha „ Asterare „ 56° 49° 7 64% 63% 3.0 „ 0 0
6:45 Brook
„ Spruce „ Mertensiare „ 54° 52° 2 89% 69% 4.2 „ 2 cc. 0
P.M. bank
„ „ Half gravel Hiawatha „ Asterare „ 56° 52° 4 79% 69% 4.0 „ 2 cc. 0

On page 47 is given a table for the conversion of Centigrade into Fahrenheit temperatures. This may be
done mentally by means of the formula F = C/5 × 9 + 32°.
 LIGHT
76. Methods. All methods for measuring light intensity, which have been at all satisfactory, are
based upon the fact that silver salts blacken in the light. The first photographic method was proposed by
Bunsen and Roscoe in 1862; this has been taken up by Wiesner and variously modified. After
considerable experiment by the writer, however, it seemed desirable to abandon all methods which
require the use of “normal paper” and “normal black” and to develop a simpler one. As space is lacking
for a satisfactory discussion of the Bunsen-Roscoe-Wiesner methods, the reader is referred to the works
cited below.[4] Simple photometers for making light readings simultaneously or in series were
constructed in 1900, and have been in constant use since that time. An automatic instrument capable of
making accurate continuous records proved to be a more difficult problem. A sunshine recorder was
ultimately found which yields valuable results, and very recently a recording photometer which promises
to be perfectly satisfactory has been devised. Since the hourly and daily variations of sunlight in the
same habitat are relatively small, automatic photometers are perhaps a convenience rather than a
necessity.

The Photometer

Fig. 11. Photometer, showing front and side view.

 77. Construction. The simple form of photometer shown in the illustration is a light-tight metal box
with a central wheel upon which a strip of photographic paper is fastened. This wheel is revolved by the
thumbscrew past an opening 6 mm. square which is closed by means of a slide working closely between
two flanges. At the edge of the opening, and beneath the slide is a hollow for the reception of a
permanent light standard. The disk of the thumbscrew is graduated into twenty-five parts, and these are
numbered. A line just beneath the opening coincides with the successive lines on the disk, and indicates
the number of the exposure. The wheel contains twenty-five hollows in which the click works, thus
moving each exposure just beyond the opening. The metal case is made in two parts, so that the bottom
may be readily removed, and the photographic strip placed in position. The water-photometer is similar
except that the opening is always covered with a transparent strip and the whole instrument is water-
tight. These instruments have been made especially for measuring light by the C. H. Stoelting Co., 31 W.
Randolph street, Chicago, Ill. The price is $5.
78. Filling the photometer. The photographic paper called “solio” which is made by the Eastman
Kodak Company, Rochester, N. Y., has proved to be much the best for photometric readings. The most
convenient size is that of the 8 × 10 inch sheet, which can be obtained at any supply house in packages of
a dozen sheets for 60 cents. New “emulsions,” i. e., new lots of paper, are received by the dealers every
week, but each emulsion can be preserved for three to six months without harm if kept in a cool, light-
tight place. Furthermore, all emulsions are made in exactly the same way, and it has been impossible to
detect any difference in them. To fill the photometer, a strip exactly 6 mm. wide is cut lengthwise from
the 8 × 10 sheet. This must be done in the dark room, or at night in very weak light. The strip is placed
on the wheel, extreme care being taken not to touch the coated surface, and fixed in position by forcing
the free ends into the slit of the wheel by a piece of cork 8–9 mm. long. The wheel is replaced in the case,
turned until the zero is opposite the index line, and the instrument is ready for use.
79. Making readings. An exposure is made by moving the slide quickly in such a way as to uncover
the entire opening, and the standard if the exposure is to be very short. Care must be taken not to pull
the slide entirely out of the groove, as it will be impossible to replace it with sufficient quickness. The
time of exposure can be determined by any watch after a little practice. It is somewhat awkward for one
person to manage the slide properly when his attention is fixed upon a second hand. This is obviated by
having one observer handle the watch and another the photometer, but here the reaction time is a source
of considerable error. The most satisfactory method is to use a stop-watch. This can be held in the left
hand and started and stopped by the index finger. The photometer is held against it in the right hand in
such a way that the two movements of stopping the watch and closing the slide may be made at the same
instant. The length of exposure is that necessary to bring the tint of the paper to that of the standard
beside it. A second method which is equally advantageous and sometimes preferable does away with the
permanent standard in the field and the need for a stop-watch. In this event, the strip is exposed until a
medium color is obtained, since very light or very deep prints are harder to match. This is later
compared with the multiple standard. In both cases, the date, time of day, station, number of instrument
and of exposure, and the length of the latter in seconds are carefully noted. The instrument is held with
the edge toward the south at the level to be read, and the opening uppermost in the usual position of the
leaf. When special readings are desired, as for isophotic leaves, reflected light, etc., the position is
naturally changed to correspond. In practice, it is made an invariable rule to move the strip for the next
exposure as soon as the slide is closed. Otherwise double exposures are liable to occur. When a strip is
completely exposed it is removed in the dark, and a new one put in place. The former is carefully labeled
and dated on the back, and put away in a light-tight box in a cool place.
 Fig. 12. Dawson-Lander sun recorder.

80. The Dawson-Lander sun recorder. “The instrument consists of a small outer cylinder of
copper which revolves with the sun, and through the side of which is cut a narrow slit to allow the
sunshine to impinge on a strip of sensitive paper, wound round a drum which fits closely inside the outer
cylinder, but is held by a pin so that it can not rotate. By means of a screw fixed to the lid of the outer
cylinder, the drum holding the sensitive paper is made to travel endwise down the outer tube, one-eighth
of an inch daily, so that a fresh portion of the sensitive surface is brought into position to receive the
record.” The instrument is driven by an eight-day clock placed in the base below the drum. The slit is
covered by means of a flattened funnel-shaped hood, and the photographic strip is protected from rain
by a perfectly transparent sheet of celluloid. The detailed structure of the instrument is shown in figure
12. This instrument may be obtained from Lander and Smith, Canterbury, England, for $35.
In setting up the sunshine recorder, the axis should be placed in such a position that the angle which it
makes with the base is the same as the altitude of the place where the observations are made. This is
readily done by loosening the bolts at either side. The drum is removed, the celluloid sheet unwound by
means of the key which holds it in place, the sensitive strip put in position, and the sheet again wound
up. Strips of a special sensitive paper upon which the hours are indicated are furnished by the makers of
the instrument, but it has been found preferable to use solio strips in order to facilitate comparison with
the standards. The drum is placed on the axis, and is screwed up until it just escapes the collar at the top
of the spiral. The clock is wound and started, and the outer cylinder put on so that the proper hour mark
coincides with the index on the front of the base.
As a sunshine recorder, the instrument gives a perfect record, in which the varying intensities are
readily recognizable. Since the cylinder moves one-half inch in an hour, and the slit is .01 of an inch, the
time of each exposure is 72 seconds. This gives a very deep color on the solio paper, which results in a
serious error in making comparisons with the standard. On account of the hood, diffuse light is not
recorded when it is too weak to cast a distinct shadow. It seems probable that this difficulty will be
overcome by the use of a flat disk containing the proper slit, and in this event the instrument will
become of especial value for measuring the diffuse light of layered formations. The celluloid sheet
constitutes a source of error in sunlight on account of the reflection which it causes. This can be
prevented by using the instrument only on sunny days, when the protection of the sheet can be
dispensed with.
81. The selagraph. This instrument is at present under construction, and can only be described in a
general way. In principle it is a simple photometer operating automatically. It consists of a light-tight
box preferably of metal, which contains an eight-day lever clock. Attached to the arbor of the latter is a
disk 7 inches in diameter bearing on its circumference a solio strip 1 cm. wide and 59 cm. long. The
opening in the box for exposure is 6 mm. square and is controlled by a photographic shutter. The latter
is constructed so that it may be set for 5, 10, or 20 seconds, since a single period of exposure can not
serve for both sun and shade. The shutter is tripped once every two hours, by means of a special wheel
revolving once a day. Each exposure is 6 mm. square, and is separated by a small space from the next
one. Twelve exposures are made every 24 hours, and 84 during the week, though, naturally, the daytime
exposures alone are recorded. Comparisons with the multiple standard are made exactly as in the case of
the simple photometer. The selagraph is made by the C. H. Stoelting Co., Chicago, Illinois.

Standards

82. Use. The light value of each exposure is determined by reference to a standard. When the
photometer carries a permanent standard, each exposure is brought to the tint of the latter, and its value
is indicated by the time ratio between them. Thus, if the standard is the result of a 5–second exposure to
full sunlight at meridian, and a reading which corresponds in color requires 100 seconds in the habitat
concerned, the light of the latter is twenty times weaker or more diffuse. Usually, the standard is
regarded as unity, and light values figured with reference to it, as .05. With the selagraph such a use of
the standard is impossible, and often, also, with the photometer it is unnecessary or not desirable. The
value of each exposure in such case is obtained by matching it with a multiple standard, after the entire
strip has been exposed. The further steps are those already indicated. After the exact tint in the standard
has been found, the length of the reading in seconds is divided by the time of the proper standard, and
the result expressed as above.
83. Making a standard. Standards are obtained by exposing the photometer at meridian on a
typically clear day, and in the field where there is the least dust and smoke. Exception to the latter may
be made, of course, in obtaining standards for plant houses located in cities, though it is far better to
have the same one for both field and control experiment. Usable standards can be obtained on any
bright day at the base station. Indeed, valuable results are often secured by immediate successive sun
and shade readings in adjacent habitats, where the sun reading series is the sole standard. Preferably,
standards should be made at the solstices or equinoxes, and at a representative station. The June solstice
is much to be preferred, as it represents the maximum light values of the year. Lincoln has been taken as
the base station for the plains and mountains. It is desirable, however, that a national or international
station be ultimately selected for this purpose, in order that light values taken in different parts of the
world may be readily compared.
84. Kinds of standards. The base standard is the one taken at Lincoln (latitude 41° N.) at meridian
June 20–22. This is properly the unit to which all exposures are referred, but it has been found
convenient to employ the Minnehaha standard as the base for the Colorado mountains, in order to avoid
reducing each time. Relative standards are frequently used for temporary purposes. Thus, in comparing
the light intensities of a series of formations, one to five standards are exposed on the solio strip before
beginning the series of readings. Proof standards are the exposed solio strips, which fade in the light,
and can, in consequence, be kept only a few weeks without possibility of error. The fading can be
prevented by “toning” the strip, but in this event the exposures must be fixed in like manner before they
can be compared. This process is inconvenient and time-consuming. It is also open to considerable
error, as the time of treatment, strength of solution, etc., must be exactly equivalent in all instances.
Permanent standards are accurate water-color copies of the originals obtained by the photometer. These
have the apparent disadvantage of requiring a double comparison or matching, but after a little practice
it is possible to reproduce the solio tints so that the copy is practically indistinguishable from the
original. The most satisfactory method is to make a long stroke of color on a pure white paper, since a
broad wash is not quite homogeneous, and then to reject such parts of the stroke as do not match
exactly. Permanent standards fade after a few month’s use, and must be replaced by parts of the original
stroke. Single standards are made by one exposure, while multiple ones have a series of exposures filling
a whole light strip. These are regularly obtained by making the exposures from 1–10 seconds
respectively, and then increasing the length of each successive exposure by 2 seconds. Single exposures
of 1–5 seconds as desired usually serve as the basis for permanent standards, but a multiple standard
may also be copied in permanent form. Exposures for securing standards must be made only under the
most favorable conditions, and the length in seconds must be exact. The use of the stop-watch is
imperative, except where access may be had to an astronomical clock with a large second hand, which is
even more satisfactory. The length of time necessary for the series desired is reckoned beforehand, and
the exposures begun so that the meridian falls in the middle of the process.
Single standards are exceedingly convenient in photometer readings, but they are open to one
objection. In the sunshine it is necessary to make instant decision upon the accuracy of the match, or the
exposure becomes too deep. In the shade where the action is slower, this difficulty is not felt. For this
reason it is usually desirable to check the results by a multiple standard, and in the case of selagraph
records, where the various exposures show a wide range of tint, light values are obtainable only by direct
comparison with the multiple standard. The exact matching of exposure and standard requires great
accuracy, but with a little practice this may be done with slight chance of error by merely moving the
exposure along the various tints of the standard until the proper shade is found. The requisite skill is
soon acquired by running over a strip of exposures several times until the comparisons always yield the
same results for each. The margin of error is practically negligible when the same person makes all the
comparisons, and in the case of two or three working on the same reading the results diverge little or not
at all. The efficient difference for light is much more of a variable than is the case with water-content. It
has been determined so far only for a few species, all of which seem to indicate that appreciable
modification in the form or structure of a leaf does not occur until the reduction in intensity reaches .1 of
the meridian sunlight at the June solstice. The error of comparison is far less than this, and
consequently may be ignored, even in the most painstaking inquiry.

Readings

85. Time. The intensity of the light incident upon a habitat varies periodically with the hour and the
day, and changes in accord with the changing conditions of the sky. The light variations on cloudy days
can only be determined by the photometer. While these can not be ignored, proper comparisons can be
instituted only between the readings taken on normal days of sunshine. The sunlight varies with the
altitude of the sun, i. e., the angle which its rays make with the surface at a given latitude. This angle
reaches a daily maximum at meridian. The yearly maximum falls on June 22, and the angle decreases in
both directions through the year to a minimum on December 22. At equal distances from either solstice,
the angle is the same, e. g., on March 21 and September 23. At Lincoln (41° N. latitude) the extremes at
meridian are 73° and 26°; at Minnehaha (39°) they are 75° and 28°. The extremes for any latitude may
be found by subtracting its distance in degrees north of the two tropics from 90. Thus, the 50th parallel
is 26.5° north of the tropic of Cancer, and the maximum altitude of the sun at a place upon it is 63.5°. It
is 73.5° north of the tropic of Capricorn, and the minimum meridional altitude is 16.5°.
The changes in the amount of light due to the altitude of the sun are produced by the earth’s
atmosphere. The absorption of light rays is greatest near the horizon, where their pathway through the
atmosphere is longest, and it is least at the zenith. The absorption, and, consequently, the relative
intensity of sunlight, can be determined at a given place for each hour of any sunshiny day by the use of
chart 13. This chart has been constructed for Lincoln, and will serve for all places within a few degrees of
the 40th parallel. The curves which show the altitude of the sun at the various times of the day and the
year have been constructed by measurements upon the celestial globe. Each interval between the
horizontal lines represents 2 degrees of the sun’s altitude. The vertical lines indicate time before or after
the apparent noon, the intervals corresponding to 10 minutes. If the relative intensity at Lincoln on
March 12 at 3:00 P.M. is desired, the apparent noon for this day must first be determined. A glance at the
table shows that the sun crosses the meridian on this day at 9 minutes 53 seconds past noon at the 90th
meridian. The apparent noon at Lincoln is found by adding 26 minutes 49 seconds, the difference in
time between Lincoln and a point on the 90th meridian. When the sun is fast, the proper number of
minutes is taken from 26 minutes 49 seconds. The apparent noon on March 12 is thus found to fall at
12:37 P.M., and 3:00 P.M. is 2 hours and 23 minutes later. The sun’s altitude is accordingly 36°. If the
intensity of the light which reaches the earth’s surface when the sun is at zenith is taken as 1, the table of
the sun’s altitudes gives the intensity at 3:00 P.M. on March 12 as .85.
 For places with a latitude differing by several degrees from that of Lincoln, it is necessary to construct
a new table of altitude curves from the celestial globe. It is quite possible to make a close approximation
of this from the table given, since the maximum and minimum meridional altitude, and hence the
corresponding light intensity, can be obtained as indicated above. For Minnehaha, which is on the 105th
meridian, and for other places on standard meridians, i. e., 60°, 75°, 90°, and 120° W., the table of
apparent noon indicates the number of minutes to be added to 12 noon, standard time, when the sun is
slow, and to be subtracted when the sun is fast. The time at a place east or west of a standard meridian is
respectively faster or slower than the latter. The exact difference in minutes is obtained from the
difference in longitude by the equation, 15° = 1 hour. Thus, Lincoln, 96° 42′ W. is 6° 42′ west of the
standard meridian of 90°; it is consequently 26 minutes 49 seconds slower, and this time must always be
added to the apparent noon as determined from the chart. At a place east of a standard meridian, the
time difference is, of course, subtracted.

Fig. 13. Chart for the determination of the sun’s altitude, and the corresponding light intensity.

The actual differences in the light intensity from hour to hour and day to day, which are caused by
variations in the sun’s altitude, are not as great as might be expected. For example, the maximum
intensity at Lincoln, June 22, is .98; the minimum meridional intensity December 22 is .73. The
extremes on June 22 are .98 and .33 (the latter at 6:00 A.M. and 6:00 P.M. approximately); between 8:00
A.M. and 4:00 P.M. the range in intensity is from .90 to .98 merely. On December 22, the greatest
intensity is .52, the least .20 (the latter at 8:00 A.M. and 4:00 P.M. approximately). If the growing season
be taken as beginning with the 1st of March and closing the 1st of October, the greatest variation in light
intensity at Lincoln within a period of 10 hours with the meridian at its center (cloudy days excepted) is
from .33 to .98. In a period of 8 hours, the extremes are .65 to .98, i. e., the greatest variation, .3, is far
within the efficient difference, which has been put at .9. For the growing period, then, readings made
between 8:00 A.M. and 4:00 P.M. on normal sunshiny days may be compared directly, without taking into
account the compensation for the sun’s altitude. Until the efficient difference has been determined for a
large number of species, however, it seems wise to err on the safe side and to compensate for great
differences in time of day or year. In all doubtful cases, the intensity obtained by the astronomical
method should also be checked by photometric readings. A slight error probably enters in, due to
reflection from the surface of the paper, and to temperature, but this is negligible.
86. Table for determining apparent noon
 DATE TIME EQUATION LINCOLN NOON
Sun slow: + 26m. 49s.
January 1 3m. 47s. 12:31 P.M.
„ 6 6 7 :33
„ 11 8 12 :35
„ 16 10 3 :37
„ 21 11 35 :38
„ 26 12 48 :40
„ 31 13 41 :40
February 10 14 27 :41
„ 20 13 56 :41
March 2 12 18 :39
„ 7 11 10 :38
„ 12 9 53 :37
„ 17 8 29 :36
„ 22 6 59 :34
„ 27 5 27 :32
April 1 3 55 :31
„ 6 2 27 :29
„ 11 1 3 :28
Sun fast: −
„ 16 0 13 :27
„ 21 1 20 :25
„ 26 2 16 :24
May 1 3 0 :24
„ 16 3 48 :23
„ 31 2 33 :24
June 5 1 45 :25
„ 10 0 49 :26
Sun slow: +
„ 15 0 13 :27
„ 20 1 18 :28
„ 25 2 22 :29
„ 30 3 22 :30
Sun slow: + 26m. 49s.
July 5 4m. 19s. 12:31 P.M.
„ 10 5 7 :32
„ 20 6 6 :33
August 4 5 53 :33
„ 14 4 30 :31
„ 19 3 28 :30
„ 24 2 13 :29
„ 29 0 48 :28
Sun fast: −
September 3 0 45 :26
„ 8 2 25 :24
„ 13 4 9 :23
„ 18 5 55 :21
„ 23 7 41 :19
„ 28 9 23 :17
October 3 10 59 :16
„ 8 12 26 :14
„ 13 13 43 :13
„ 18 14 48 :12
„ 23 15 37 :11
November 2 16 20 :10
„ 12 15 45 :11
„ 17 14 54 :12
„ 22 13 44 :13
„ 27 12 14 :15
December 2 10 25 :16
 „ 7 8 21 :18
„ 12 6 5 :21
„ 17 3 41 :23
„ 22 1 12 :26
Sun slow: +
„ 27 1 17 :28
87. Place. The effect of latitude upon the sun’s altitude, and the consequent light intensity have been
discussed in the pages which precede. Latitude has also a profound influence upon the duration of
daylight, but the importance of the latter apart from intensity is not altogether clear. The variation of
intensity due to altitude has been greatly overestimated; it is practically certain, for example, that the
dwarf habit of alpine plants is not to be ascribed to intense illumination, since the latter increases but
slightly with the altitude. It has been demonstrated astronomically that about 20 per cent of a vertical
ray of sunlight is absorbed by the atmosphere by the time it reaches sea level. At the summit of Pike’s
Peak, which is 14,000 feet (4,267 meters) high, the barometric pressure is 17 inches, and the absorption
is approximately 11 per cent. In other words, the light at sea level is 80 per cent of that which enters the
earth’s atmosphere; on the summit of Pike’s Peak it is 89 per cent. As the effect of the sun’s altitude is
the same in both places, the table of curves on page 57 will apply to both. Taking into account the
difference in absorption, the maximum intensity at sea level and at 14,000 feet on the fortieth parallel is
.98 and 1.09 respectively. The minimum intensities between 8:00 A.M. and 4:00 P.M. of the growing
period are .64 and .71 respectively. The correctness of these figures has been demonstrated by
photometer readings, which have given almost exactly the same results. Such slight variations are quite
insufficient to produce an appreciable adjustment, particularly in structure. They are far within the
efficient difference, and Reinke[5] has found, moreover, that photosynthetic activity in Elodea is not
increased beyond the normal in sunlight sixty times concentrated. In consequence, it is entirely
unnecessary to take account of different altitudes in obtaining light values.
The slope of a habitat exerts a considerable effect upon the intensity of the incident light. If the angle
between the slope and the sun’s ray be 90°, a square meter of surface will receive the maximum
intensity, 1. At an angle of 10°, the same area receives but .17 of the light. This relation between angle
and intensity is shown in the table which follows. The influence of the light, however, is felt by the leaf,
not by the slope. Since there is no connection between the position of the leaf and the slope of the
habitat, the latter may be ignored. In consequence, it is unnecessary to make allowances for the direction
of a slope, viz., whether north, east, south, or west, in so far as light values are concerned. The angle
which a leaf makes with its stem determines the angle of incidence, and hence the amount of light
received by the leaf surface. This is relatively unimportant for two reasons. This angle changes hourly
and daily with the altitude of the sun, and the intensity constantly swings from one extreme to the other.
Moreover, the extremes 1.00 and 0.17, even if constant, are hardly sufficient to produce a measurable
result. When the angle of the leaf approaches 90°, there is the well-known differentiation of leaf surfaces
and of chlorenchym, but this has no relation to the angle of incidence.

Table of Intensity at Various Angles

ANGLE INTENSITY
90 1.00
80 .98
70 .94
60 .87
50 .77
40 .64
30 .50
20 .34
10 .17

In the sunlight, it makes no difference at what height a light reading is taken. In forest and thicket as
well as in some herbaceous formations, the intensity of the light, if there is any difference, is greatest just
beneath the foliage of the facies. In forests especially, the light is increasingly diffuse toward the ground,
particularly where layers intervene. In woodland formations, moreover, the exact spot in which a
reading is made must be carefully chosen, unless the foliage is so dense that the shade is uniform. A very
satisfactory plan is to take readings in two or more spots where the shade appears to be typical, and to
make a check reading in a “sunfleck,” a spot where sunlight shows through. In forests and thickets, the
sunflecks are fleeting, and the light value is practically that of the shade. In passing into open woodland
and thicket, the sunflecks increase in size and permanence, until finally they exceed the shade areas in
amount and become typical of the formation.

Reflected and Absorbed Light

88. The fate of incident light. The light present in a habitat and incident upon a leaf is not all
available for photosynthesis. Part is reflected or screened out by the epidermis, and a certain amount
passes through the chlorenchym, except in very thick leaves. The light absorbed is by far the greatest in
the majority of species. Many plants with dense coatings of hairs reflect or withhold more light than they
absorb, and the amount of light reflected by a thick cuticule is likewise great. As light is imponderable,
the actual amount absorbed or reflected by the leaf can not be determined. It is possible, however, to
express this in terms of the total amount received, by means of readings with solio paper, and the
knowledge thus obtained is of great importance in interpreting the modifications of certain types of
leaves. For example, a leaf with a densely hairy epidermis may receive light of the full intensity, 1; the
amount reflected or screened out by the hairs may be 95 per cent of this, the amount absorbed 5 per
cent, and that transmitted, nil. In the majority of cases, however, the absorbed light is considerably more
than the amount reflected or transmitted.
89. Methods of determination. If results
are to be of value, reflected and transmitted light
must be determined in the habitat of the plant
simultaneously with the total light which a leaf
receives. An approximation of the light reflected
from a leaf surface is secured by placing the
photometer so that the light reflected is thrown
upon the solio strip. A much more satisfactory
method, however, is to determine it in connection
with the amount of light transmitted through the
epidermis. This is done by stripping a piece of
epidermis from the upper surface of the leaf and
placing it over the slit in the photometer for an
exposure. An exposure in the full light of the
habitat is made simultaneously with another
photometer, or immediately afterward upon the
same strip. When the epidermis is not too dense,
both exposures are permitted to reach the same
tint, and the relation between them is precisely
that of their lengths of exposure. Ordinarily the
two exposures are made absolutely simultaneous
by placing the epidermis over half of the opening,
leaving the other half to record the full light
value, and the results, or epidermis prints, are
referred to a multiple standard. The difference
between the two values thus obtained represents
the amount of reflected light together with that
screened by the epidermis. The amount of light Fig. 14. Leaf print: exposed 10 m., 11 A.M. August 20.
transmitted through the leaf may be measured in The leaves are from sun and shade forms of Bursa
the same way by using the leaf itself in place of bursa-pastoris, Rosa sayii, Thalictrum
the epidermis alone. The time of exposure is sparsiflorum, and Machaeranthera aspera. In each
necessarily long, however, and it has been found the shade leaf prints more deeply.
practicable to obtain leaf prints by exposing the
leaf in a printing frame, upon solio paper, at the same time that the epidermis print is made. In a few
species both the upper and lower epidermis can be removed and the amount of light absorbed
determined directly by exposing the strip covered with the chlorenchym. Generally, however, this must
be computed by subtracting the sum of the per cents of reflected and transmitted light from 100 per
cent, which represents the total light.
90. Leaf and epidermis prints. In diphotic
leaves the screening effect of the lower epidermis
may be ignored. Isophotic sun leaves, i. e., those
nearly upright in position or found above light-
colored, reflecting soils, are usually strongly
illuminated on both sides, and the absorbed light
can be obtained only by measuring the screening
effect of both epiderms. Shade leaves and
submerged leaves often contain chloroplasts in
the epidermis, and the above method can not be
applied to them. In fact, in habitats where the
light is quite diffuse, practically all incident light
is absorbed. The rare exceptions are those shade
leaves with a distinct bloom. In addition to their
use in obtaining the amount of light absorbed,
both leaf and epidermis prints are extremely
interesting for the direct comparison of light
relations in the leaves of species belonging to
different habitats. The relative screening value of
the upper and lower epidermis, or of the
corresponding epiderms of two ecads or two
species, is readily ascertained by exposing the two
side by side in sunshine, over the slit in the
photometer. For leaf prints fresh leaves are
desirable, though nearly the same results can be
obtained from leaves dried under pressure. The
leaves are grouped as desired on the glass of a
printing frame, and covered with a sheet of solio.
They are then exposed to full sunlight, preferably
at meridian, and the prints evaluated by means of
Fig. 15. Leaf print: exposure as before. Sun and the multiple standard. This method is especially
shade leaves of Achillea lanulosa, Capnoides useful in the comparison of ecads of one species.
aureum, Antennaria umbrinella, Galium boreale, These differences due to transmitted light are
and Potentilla propinqua. very graphic, and can easily be preserved by
“toning” the print in the usual way.

Expression of Results

91. Light records. The actual photographic records obtained by photometer and selagraph can at
most be kept but a few months, unless they are toned or fixed. “Toning” modifies the color of the
exposure materially, and changes its intensity so that it can not be compared with readings not fixed. It
would involve a great deal of inconvenience to make all comparisons by means of toned strips and
standard, even if it were not for the fact that it is practically impossible to obtain exactly the same shade
in lots toned at different times. The field record, if carefully and neatly made, may well take the place of
a permanent one. The form is the following:
 Day Hour Formation Station Altitude Exposure Group Height No. Length Standard Light Base Reflected Transm
of value value light light
exposure
14/9/04 12:00 Spruce Milky 2600 m. N.E. 20° Opulaster 1 foot 2:10 160 s. 3s .019
M. Way
„ 12:05 Spruce Moss 2500 m. Level Streptopus „ 2:12 240 s. 3 s. .012
P.M. Glen
„ 12:15 Brook b’nk Grotto 2500 m. E. 3° Filix Surface 2:13 360 s. 3 s. .008
P.M.

92. Light sums, means, and curves. Owing to the fact that the selagraph has not yet been used in
the field, no endeavor has been made to determine the light value for every hour of the day in different
habitats. Consequently there has been no attempt to compute light sums and means. Photometer
readings have sufficed to interpret the effect of light in the structure of the formation, and of the
individual, but they have not been sufficiently frequent for use in ascertaining sums and means. The
latter are much less valuable than the extremes, especially when the relative duration of these is
indicated. Means, however, are readily obtained from the continuous records. Light sums are probably
impracticable, as the factor is not one that can be expressed in absolute terms. The various kinds and
combinations of light curves are essentially the same as for humidity. The level curve through a series of
habitats is the most illuminating, but the day curve of hour variations is of considerable value. The curve
of daily duration, based upon full sunlight, is also of especial importance for plants, and stations which
receive both sun and shade during the day.
 TEMPERATURE
93. In consequence of its indirect action, temperature does not have a striking effect upon the form
and structure of the plant, as is the case with water and light. Notwithstanding, it is a factor of
fundamental importance. This is especially evident in the character and distribution of vegetation. It is
also seen in the germination and growth of plants, in the length of season, and in the important
influence of temperature upon humidity, and hence upon water-content. Because of its intimate relation
with the comfort of mankind, the determination of temperature values has received more attention than
that of any other factor, and excellent simple and recording instruments are numerous. For plants, it is
also necessary to employ instruments for measuring soil temperatures. The latter unquestionably have
much less meaning for the plant than the temperatures of the air, but they have a direct influence upon
the imbibition of water, and upon germination.

Thermometers

94. Air thermometers. The accurate measurement of temperature requires standard

thermometers. Reasonably accurate instruments may be standardized by determining their error, but
they are extremely unsatisfactory in practice, since they result in a serious waste of time. Accurate
thermometers which read to the degree are entirely serviceable as a rule, but instruments which read to
a fraction of a degree are often very much to be desired. The writer has found the “cylindrical bulb
thermometer, Centigrade scale” of H. J. Green, to be an exceedingly satisfactory instrument. The best
numbers for general use are 247 and 251, which read from –15° to 50° C. and are graduated in .2°. They
are respectively 9 and 12 inches long, and cost $2.75 and $3.50. These instruments are delicate and
require careful handling, but even in class work this has proved to be an advantage rather than
otherwise. In making readings of air temperatures with such thermometers, constant precautions must
be taken to expose the bulb directly to the wind and to keep it away from the hand and person.
95. Soil thermometers. The thermometer described above has been used extensively for soil
temperatures. The determination of the latter is conveniently combined with the taking of soil samples,
by using the hole for a temperature reading. When carefully covered, these holes can be used from day to
day throughout the season without appreciable error, even in gravel soils. Repeated tests of this have
been made by simultaneous readings in permanent and newly made holes, and the results have always
been the same. It has even been found that the error is usually less than 1 degree when the hole is left
uncovered, if it is more than 9 inches deep. A slight source of error lies in the fact that the thermometer
must be raised to make the reading. With a little practice, however, the top of the column of mercury
may be raised to the surface and read before the change of temperature can react upon it. This is
especially important in very moist or wet soils where the bulb becomes coated with a film of moisture.
This evaporates when the bulb is brought into the air, and after a moment or two the mercury slowly
falls.
 Regular soil thermometers are indispensable when readings are desired at depths greater than
12–18 inches. They possess several disadvantages which restrict their use almost wholly to
permanent stations. It is scarcely possible to carry them on field trips, and the time required to place
them in the soil renders them practically useless for single readings. Moreover, the instruments are
expensive, ranging in price from $7 for the two-foot thermometer, to $19 for the eight-foot one.
When it is recognized that deep-seated temperatures are extremely constant and that the slight
fluctuations affect, as a rule, only the relatively stable shrubs and trees, it is evident that such
temperatures are of restricted importance. Still, in any habitat, they must be ascertained before they
can well be ignored, though it is unwise to spend much time and energy in their determination. Soil
thermometers of the form illustrated may be obtained from H. J. Green, Brooklyn.
96. Maximum-minimum thermometers. These are used for determining the range of
temperature within a given period, usually a day. Since they are much cheaper than thermographs,
they can replace these in part, although they merely indicate the maximum and minimum
temperatures for the day, and do not register the time when each occurs. The maximum is a
mercurial thermometer with a constriction in the tube just above the bulb; this allows the mercury to
pass out as it expands, but prevents it from running back, thus registering the maximum
temperature. The minimum thermometer contains alcohol. The column carries a tiny dumbbell-
shaped marker which moves down with it, but will not rise as the liquid expands. This is due to the
fact that the fluid expands too slowly to carry the marker upward, while the surface tension causes it
to be drawn downward as the fluid contracts. The minimum temperature is indicated by the upper
end of the marker. In setting up the thermometers, they are attached by special thumbscrews to a
support which holds them in an oblique position. The minimum is placed in a special holder above
the maximum which rests on a pin that is used also for screwing the pivot-screw into position. The
support is screwed tightly to the cross-piece of a post, or in forest formations it is fastened directly to
a board nailed upon a tree trunk. A shelter has not been used in ecological work, although it is the
rule in meteorological observations. The minimum thermometer is set for registering by raising the
free end, so that the marker runs to the end of the column. The mercury of the maximum is driven
back into the bulb by whirling it rapidly on the pivot-screw after the pin has been taken out. This
must be done with care in order that the bulb may not be broken. As soon as the instrument comes
to rest, it is raised and the pin replaced, great care being taken to lift it no higher than is necessary.
When the night maximum is sought, the thermometer should be whirled several times in order to
drive the column sufficiently low. Usually, in such cases, a record is made of this point to make sure
that the maximum read is the actual one. If the pivot-screw is kept well oiled, less force will be
required to drive the mercury back. In practice, the thermometers have been observed at 6:00 A.M.
and 6:00 P.M. each day, thus permitting the reading of the maximum-minimum for both day and
night. Pairs of maximum-minimum thermometers are to be obtained from H. J. Green, 1191 Bedford
Ave., Brooklyn, or Julien P. Friez, Baltimore, Maryland, at a cost of $8.25.
97. Radiation thermometers. These are used to determine the radiation in the air, and from
the soil, i. e., for solar and terrestrial radiation. The latter alone has been employed in the study of
habitats, chiefly for the purpose of ascertaining the difference in the cooling of different soils at
night. The terrestrial radiation thermometer is merely a special form of minimum thermometer, so
arranged in a support that the bulb can be placed directly above the soil or plant to be studied. It is
otherwise operated exactly like the minimum thermometer, and the reading gives the minimum
temperature which the air above the plant or soil reaches, not the amount of radiation. As a
consequence, these instruments are valuable only where read in connection with a pair of
maximum-minimum thermometers in the air, or when read in a series of instruments placed above
different soils or plants.
98. Thermographs. Two types of standard instruments are in general use for obtaining
continuous records of air temperatures. These are the Draper thermograph, made by the Draper
Manufacturing Company, 152 Front St., New York city ($25 and $30), and the Richard thermograph
sold by Julien P. Friez, Baltimore ($50). After careful trial had demonstrated that they were equally
accurate, the matter of cost was considered decisive, and the Draper thermograph has been used
exclusively in the writer’s own work. This instrument closely resembles the psychrograph
manufactured by the same company. It is made in two sizes, of which the larger one is the more
satisfactory on account of the greater distance between the lines of the recording disk. The
thermometric part consists of two bimetallic
strips, the contraction and expansion of which
are communicated to a hand carrying a pen.
The latter traces a line on the record sheet
which is attached to a metal disk made to
revolve by an eight-day clock. In practice the
thermograph is set up in the shelter which
contains the psychrograph, and in exactly the
same manner. The clock is wound, the record
put in place, and the pen inked in the same way
also. The proper position of the pen is
determined by making a careful thermometer
reading under the shelter, and then regulating
the pen hand by means of the screws at the base
of it. A similar test reading is also made each
week, when the clock is rewound. A record
sheet may be left in position for three weeks,
the pen being filled each week with a different
ink. The fixed order of using the inks is red,
blue, and green as already indicated.
Owing to the fact that they are practically
stationary, soil thermographs are of slight
value, except at base stations. Here, the facts
that they are expensive, that the soil
temperatures are of relatively little importance,
and that they can be determined as easily, or
nearly so, by simple thermometers, make the
use of such instruments altogether unnecessary,
if not, indeed, undesirable. In a perfectly
equipped research station, they undoubtedly
have their use, but at ordinary stations, and in
the case of private investigators, their value is in
no wise commensurate with their cost.

Readings

99. Time. The hourly and daily fluctuations

of the temperature of the air render frequent
readings desirable. It is this variation, indeed,
which makes single readings, or even series of
them, inconclusive, and renders the use of a
recording instrument almost imperative in the
base station at least. Undoubtedly, a set of
simultaneous readings at different heights in
one station, or at the same height in different
stations, especially if made at the maximum,
have much value for comparison, but their full
significance is seen only when they are referred
to a continuous base record. Such series,
moreover, furnish good results for purposes of
instruction. In research work, however, it has
been found imperative to have thermographs in
habitats of widely different character. With
these as bases, it is possible to eke them out
with considerable satisfaction by means of
maximum-minimum thermometers in less
different habitats, or in different parts of the
same habitat. Naturally these are less
satisfactory, and are used only when expense
sets a limit to the number of thermographs. In a
careful analysis of a single habitat, more can be
gained by one base thermograph supplemented
by three pairs of maximum-minimum
thermometers in dissimilar areas of the habitat
than by two thermographs, and the cost is the
same.
 Fig. 16. Soil thermometer

Fig. 17. Maximum-minimum thermometer.

Fig. 18. Terrestrial radiation thermometer.

Fig. 19. Draper thermograph.

 Fig. 20. Shelter for thermograph.

Fig. 21. Richard thermograph.

 100. Place and height. For general air temperatures, thermograph and thermometer readings
are made at a height of 3 feet (1 meter). Soil temperatures are regularly taken at the surface and at a
depth of 1 foot. When a complete series of simultaneous readings is made in one station, the levels
are 6 feet and 3 feet in the air, the surface of the soil, and 5, 10, and 15 inches in the soil. When sun
and shade occur side by side in the same formation, as is true of many thickets and forests, surface
readings are regularly made in both. Similarly, valuable results are obtained by making
simultaneous readings on the bare soil, on dead cover, and upon a leaf, while the influence of cover
is readily ascertained by readings upon it and beneath it. A full series of station readings made at the
same time upon north, east, south, and west slopes is of great importance in studying the effects of
exposure.

Expression of Results

101. Temperature records. Neither field nor permanent form is required for thermographic
records, other than the record sheet itself, which contains all the necessary information in a fairly
convenient form. Although the temperature of a particular hour and day can not be read at a mere
glance, it can be obtained so easily that it is a waste of time to make a tabular copy of each record
sheet. For thermometer readings, either single or in series, the following form is used: