If stones are thrown into the crater, they are instantly ejected; and such is the explosive force, that very hard rocks are sometimes shivered by it into small pieces. Henderson found that by throwing a great quantity of large stones into the pipe of Strockr, one of the Geysers, he could bring on an eruption in a few minutes.776 The fragments of stone, as well as the boiling water, were thrown in that case to a much greater height than usual. After the water had been ejected, a column of steam continued to rush up with a deafening roar for nearly an hour; but the Geyser, as if exhausted by this effort, did not send out a fresh eruption when its usual interval of rest had elapsed. The account given by Sir George Mackenzie of a Geyser which he saw in eruption in 1810 (see fig. 95), agrees perfectly with the above description by Henderson. The steam and water rose for half an hour to the height of 70 feet, and the white column remained perpendicular notwithstanding a brisk gale of wind which was blowing against it. Stones thrown into the pipe were projected to a greater height than the water. To leeward of the vapor a heavy shower of rain was seen to fall.777

Among the different theories proposed to account for these phenomena, I shall first mention one suggested by Sir. J. Herschel. An imitation of these jets, he says, may be produced on a small scale, by heating red hot the stem of a tobacco pipe, filling the bowl with water, and so inclining the pipe as to let the water run through the stem. Its escape, instead of taking place in a continued stream, is then performed by a succession of violent explosions, at first of steam alone, then of water mixed with steam; and, as the pipe cools, almost wholly of water. At every such paroxysmal escape of the water, a portion is driven back, accompanied with steam, into the bowl. The intervals between the explosions depend on the heat, length, and inclination of the pipe; their continuance, on its thickness and conducting power.778 The application of this experiment to the Geysers merely requires that a subterranean stream, flowing through the pores and crevices of lava, should suddenly reach a fissure in which the rock is red hot or nearly so. Steam would immediately be formed, which, rushing up the fissure, might force up water along with it to the surface, while, at the same time, part of the steam might drive back the water of the supply for a certain distance towards its source. And when, after the space of some minutes, the steam was all condensed, the water would return, and a repetition of the phenomena take place.

There is, however, another mode of explaining the action of the Geyser, perhaps more probable than that above described. Suppose water percolating from the surface of the earth to penetrate into the subterranean cavity A D (fig. 96) by the fissures F F, while, at the same time, steam at an extremely high temperature, such as is commonly given out from the rents of lava currents during congelation, emanates from the fissures C. A portion of the steam is at first condensed into water, while the temperature of the water is raised by the latent heat thus evolved, till, at last, the lower part of the cavity is filled with boiling water and the upper with steam under high pressure. The expansive force of the steam becomes, at length, so great, that the water is forced up the fissure or pipe E B, and runs over the rim of the basin. When the pressure is thus diminished, the steam in the upper part of the cavity A expands, until all the water D is driven into the pipe; and when this happens, the steam, being the lighter of the two fluids, rushes up through the water with great velocity. If the pipe be choked up artificially, even for a few minutes, a great increase of heat must take place; for it is prevented from escaping in a latent form in steam; so that the water is made to boil more violently, and this brings on an eruption.

Professor Bunsen, before cited, adopts this theory to account for the play of the "Little Geyser," but says it will not explain the phenomena of the Great one. He considers this, like the others, to be a thermal spring, having a narrow funnel-shaped tube in the upper part of its course, where the walls of the channel have become coated over with siliceous incrustations. At the mouth of this tube the water has a temperature, corresponding to the pressure of the atmosphere, of about 212° Fahr., but at a certain depth below it is much hotter. This the professor succeeded in proving by experiment; a thermometer suspended by a string in the pipe rising to 266° Fahr., or no less than 48 degrees above the boiling point. After the column of water has been expelled, what remains in the basin and pipe is found to be much cooled.

Previously to these experiments of Bunsen and Descloizeaux, made in Iceland in 1846, it would scarcely have been supposed possible that the lower part of a free and open column of water could be raised so much in temperature without causing a circulation of ascending and descending currents, followed by an almost immediate equalization of heat. Such circulation is no doubt impeded greatly by the sides of the well not being vertical, and by numerous contractions of its diameter, but the phenomenon may be chiefly due to another cause. According to recent experiments on the cohesion of liquids by Mr. Donny of Ghent, it appears that when water is freed from all admixture of air, its temperature can be raised, even under ordinary atmospheric pressure, to 275° Fahr., so much does the cohesion of its molecules increase780 when they are not separated by particles of air. As water long boiled becomes more and more deprived of air, it is probably very free from such intermixture at the bottom of the Geysers.

Among other results of the experiments of Bunsen and his companion, they convinced themselves that the column of fluid filling the tube is constantly receiving accessions of hot water from below, while it becomes cooler above by evaporation on the broad surface of the basin. They also came to a conclusion of no small interest, as bearing on the probable mechanism of ordinary volcanic eruptions, namely that the tube itself is the main seat or focus of mechanical force. This was proved by letting down stones suspended by strings to various depths. Those which were sunk to considerable distances from the surface were not cast up again, whereas those nearer the mouth of the tube were ejected to great heights. Other experiments also were made tending to demonstrate the singular fact, that there is often scarce any motion below, when a violent rush of steam and water is taking place above. It seems that when a lofty column of water possesses a temperature increasing with the depth, any slight ebullition or disturbance of equilibrium in the upper portion may first force up water into the basin, and then cause it to flow over the edge. A lower portion, thus suddenly relieved of part of its pressure, expands and is converted into vapor more rapidly than the first, owing to its greater heat. This allows the next subjacent stratum, which is much hotter, to rise and flash into a gaseous form; and this process goes on till the ebullition has descended from the middle to near the bottom of the funnel.781

In speculating, therefore, on the mechanism of an ordinary volcanic eruption, we may suppose that large subterranean cavities exist at the depth of some miles below the surface of the earth, in which melted lava accumulates; and when water containing the usual mixture of air penetrates into these, the steam thus generated may press upon the lava and force it up the duct of a volcano, in the same manner as a column of water is driven up the pipe of a Geyser. In other cases we may suppose a continuous column of liquid lava mixed with red-hot water (for water may exist in that state, as Professor Bunsen reminds us, under pressure), and this column may have a temperature regularly increasing downwards. A disturbance of equilibrium may first bring on an eruption near the surface, by the expansion and conversion into gas of entangled water and other constituents of what we call lava, so as to occasion a diminution of pressure. More steam would then be liberated, carrying up with it jets of melted rock, which being hurled up into the air may fall in showers of ashes on the surrounding country, and at length, by the arrival of lava and water more and more heated at the orifice of the duct or the crater of the volcano, expansive power may be acquired sufficient to expel a massive current of lava. After the eruption has ceased, a period of tranquillity succeeds, during which fresh accessions of heat are communicated from below, and additional masses of rock fused by degrees, while at the same time atmospheric or sea water is descending from the surface. At length the conditions required for a new outburst are obtained, and another cycle of similar changes is renewed.

Causes of earthquakes—wave-like motion.—I shall now proceed to examine the manner in which the heat of the interior may give rise to earthquakes. One of the most common phenomena attending subterranean movements, is the undulatory motion of the ground. And this, says Michell, will seem less extraordinary, if we call to mind the extreme elasticity of the earth and the compressibility of even the most solid materials. Large districts, he suggests, may rest on fluid lava; and, when this is disturbed, its motions may be propagated through the incumbent rocks. He also adds the following ingenious speculation:—"As a small quantity of vapor almost instantly generated at some considerable depth below the surface of the earth will produce a vibratory motion, so a very large quantity (whether it be generated almost instantly, or in any small portion of time) will produce a wave-like motion. The manner in which this wave-like motion will be propagated may, in some measure, be represented by the following experiment:—Suppose a large cloth, or carpet (spread upon a floor), to be raised at one edge, and then suddenly brought down again to the floor; the air under it, being by this means propelled, will pass along till it escapes at the opposite side, raising the cloth in a wave all the way as it goes. In like manner, a large quantity of vapor may be conceived to raise the earth in a wave, as it passes along between the strata, which it may easily separate in a horizontal direction, there being little or no cohesion between one stratum and another. The part of the earth that is first raised being bent from its natural form, will endeavor to restore itself by its elasticity; and the parts next to it being to have their weight supported by the vapor, which will insinuate itself under them, will be raised in their turn, till it either finds some vent, or is again condensed by the cold into water, and by that means prevented from proceeding any farther."782 In a memoir published in 1843, on the structure of the Appalachian chain, by the Professors Rogers,783 the following hypothesis is proposed as "simpler and more in accordance with dynamical considerations, and the recorded observations on earthquakes."—"In place," say they, "of supposing it possible for a body of vapor or gaseous matter to pass horizontally between the strata, or even between the crust and the fluid lava upon which it floats, and with which it must be closely entangled, we are inclined to attribute the movement to an actual pulsation, engendered in the molten matter itself, by a linear disruption under enormous tension, giving vent explosively to elastic vapors, escaping either to the surface, or into cavernous spaces beneath. According to this supposition, the movement of the subterranean vapors would be towards, and not from, the disrupted belt, and the oscillation of the crust would originate in the tremendous and sudden disturbance of the previous pressure on the surface of the lava mass below, brought about by the instantaneous and violent rending of the overlying strata."

This theory requires us to admit that the crust of the earth is so flexible, that it can assume the form, and follow the motion of an undulation in the fluid below. Even if we grant this, says Mr. Mallet, another more serious objection presents itself, viz. the great velocity attributed to the transit of the wave in the subterranean sea of lava. We are called upon to admit that the speed of the wave below equals that of the true earthquake shock at the surface, which is so immense, that it is not inferior to the velocity of sound in the same solids. But the undulation in the fluid below must follow the laws of a tidal wave, or of the great sea-wave already spoken of. "Its velocity, like that of the tidal wave of our seas, will be a function of its length and of the depth of the fluid, diminished in this case by certain considerations as to the density and degree of viscidity of the liquid; and although it would be at present impossible, for want of data, to calculate the exact velocity with which this subterraneous lava-wave could move, it may be certainly affirmed that its velocity would be immeasurably short of the observed or theoretic velocity of the great earth-wave, or true shock in earthquakes."784

Liquid gases.—The rending and upheaving of continental masses are operations which are not difficult to explain, when we are once convinced that heat, of sufficient power, not only to melt but to reduce to a gaseous form a great variety of substances, is accumulated in certain parts of the interior. We see that elastic fluids are capable of projecting solid masses to immense heights in the air; and the volcano of Cotopaxi has been known to throw out, to the distance of eight or nine miles, a mass of rock about one hundred cubic yards in volume. When we observe these aeriform fluids rushing out from particular vents for months, or even years, continuously, what power may we not expect them to exert in other places, where they happen to be confined under an enormous weight of rock?

The experiments of Faraday and others have shown, within the last twelve years, that many of the gases, including all those which are most copiously disengaged from volcanic vents, as the carbonic, sulphurous, and muriatic acids, may be condensed into liquids by pressure. At temperatures of from 30° to 50° F., the pressure required for this purpose varies from fifteen to fifty atmospheres; and this amount of pressure we may regard as very insignificant in the operations of nature. A column of Vesuvian lava that would reach from the lip of the crater to the level of the sea, must be equal to about three hundred atmospheres; so that, at depths which may be termed moderate in the interior of the crust of the earth, the gases may be condensed into liquids, even at very high temperatures. The method employed to reduce some of these gases to a liquid state is, to confine the materials, from the mutual action of which they are evolved, in tubes hermetically sealed, so that the accumulated pressure of the vapor, as it rises and expands, may force some part of it to assume the liquid state. A similar process may, and indeed must, frequently take place in subterranean caverns and fissures, or even in the pores and cells of many rocks; by which means, a much greater store of expansive power may be packed into a small space than could happen if these vapors had not the property of becoming liquid. For, although the gas occupies much less room in a liquid state, yet it exerts exactly the same pressure upon the sides of the containing cavity as if it remained in the form of vapor.

If a tube, whether of glass or other materials, filled with condensed gas, have its temperature slightly raised, it will often burst; for a slight increment of heat causes the elasticity of the gas to increase in a very high ratio. We have only to suppose certain rocks, permeated by these liquid gases (as porous strata are sometimes filled with water), to have their temperature raised some hundred degrees, and we obtain a power capable of lifting superincumbent masses of almost any conceivable thickness; while, if the depth at which the gas is confined be great, there is no reason to suppose that any other appearances would be witnessed by the inhabitants of the surface than vibratory movements and rents, from which no vapor might escape. In making their way through fissures a very few miles only in length, or in forcing a passage through soft yielding strata, the vapors may be cooled and absorbed by water. For water has a strong affinity to several of the gases, and will absorb large quantities, with a very slight increase of volume. In this manner, the heat or the volume of springs may be augmented, and their mineral properties made to vary.

Connection between the state of the atmosphere and earthquakes.—The inhabitants of Stromboli, who are mostly fishermen, are said to make use of that volcano as a weather-glass, the eruptions being comparatively feeble when the sky is serene, but increasing in turbulence during tempestuous weather, so that in winter the island often seems to shake from its foundations. Mr. P. Scrope, after calling attention to these and other analogous facts, first started the idea (as long ago as the year 1825) that the diminished pressure of the atmosphere, the concomitant of stormy weather, may modify the intensity of the volcanic action. He suggests that where liquid lava communicates with the surface, as in the crater of Stromboli, it may rise or fall in the vent on the same principle as mercury in a barometer; because the ebullition or expansive power of the steam contained in the lava would be checked by every increase, and augmented by every diminution of weight. In like manner, if a bed of liquid lava be confined at an immense depth below the surface, its expansive force may be counteracted partly by the weight of the incumbent rocks, and also in part by atmospheric pressure acting contemporaneously on a vast superficial area. In that case, if the upheaving force increase gradually in energy, it will at length be restrained by only the slightest degree of superiority in the antagonist or repressive power, and then the equilibrium may be suddenly destroyed by any cause, such as an ascending draught of air, which is capable of depressing the barometer. In this manner we may account for the remarkable coincidence so frequently observed between the state of the weather and subterranean commotions, although it must be admitted that earthquakes and volcanic eruptions react in their turn upon the atmosphere, so that disturbances of the latter are generally the consequences rather than the forerunners of volcanic disturbances.785

From an elaborate catalogue of the earthquakes experienced in Europe and Syria during the last fifteen centuries, M. Alexis Perrey has deduced the conclusion that the number which happen in the winter season preponderates over those which occur in any one of the other seasons of the year, there being, however, some exceptions to this rule, as in the Pyrenees. Curious and valuable as are these data, M. d'Archiac justly remarks, in commenting upon them, that they are not as yet sufficiently extensive or accordant in different regions, to entitle us to deduce any general conclusions from them respecting the laws of subterranean movements throughout the globe.786

Permanent elevation and subsidence.—It is easy to conceive that the shattered rocks may assume an arched form during a convulsion, so that the country above may remain permanently upheaved. In other cases gas may drive before it masses of liquid lava, which may thus be injected into newly opened fissures. The gas having then obtained more room, by the forcing up of the incumbent rocks, may remain at rest; while the lava congealing in the rents may afford a solid foundation for the newly raised district.

Experiments have recently been made in America, by Colonel Totten, to ascertain the ratio according to which some of the stones commonly used in architecture expand with given increments of heat.787 It was found impossible, in a country where the annual variation of temperature was more than 90° F., to make a coping of stones, five feet in length, in which the joints should fit so tightly as not to admit water between the stone and the cement; the annual contraction and expansion of the stones causing, at the junctions, small crevices, the width of which varied with the nature of the rock. It was ascertained that fine-grained granite expanded with 1° F. at the rate of ·000004825; while crystalline marble ·000005668; and red sandstone ·000009532, or about twice as much as granite.

Now, according to this law of expansion, a mass of sandstone a mile in thickness, which should have its temperature raised 200° F., would lift a superimposed layer of rock to the height of ten feet above its former level. But, suppose a part of the earth's crust, one hundred miles in thickness and equally expansive, to have its temperature raised 600° or 800°, this might produce an elevation of between two and three thousand feet. The cooling of the same mass might afterwards cause the overlying rocks to sink down again and resume their original position. By such agency we might explain the gradual rise of Scandinavia or the subsidence of Greenland, if this last phenomenon should also be established as a fact on farther inquiry.

It is also possible that as the clay in Wedgwood's pyrometer contracts, by giving off its water, and then, by incipient vitrification; so, large masses of argillaceous strata on the earth's interior may shrink, when subjected to heat and chemical changes, and allow the incumbent rocks to subside gradually.

Moreover, if we suppose that lava cooling slowly at great depths may be converted into various granitic rocks, we obtain another source of depression; for, according to the experiments of Deville and the calculations of Bischoff, the contraction of granite when passing from a melted or plastic to a solid and crystalline state must be more than ten per cent.788 The sudden subsidence of land may also be occasioned by subterranean caverns giving way, when gases are condensed, or when they escape through newly-formed crevices. The subtraction, moreover, of matter from certain parts of the interior, by the flowing of lava and of mineral springs, must, in the course of ages, cause vacuities below, so that the undermined surface may at length fall in.

The balance of dry land, how preserved.—In the present state of our knowledge, we cannot pretend to estimate the average number of earthquakes which may happen in the course of a single year. As the area of the ocean is nearly three times that of the land, it is probable that about three submarine earthquakes may occur for one exclusively continental; and when we consider the great frequency of slight movements in certain districts, we can hardly suppose that a day, if, indeed, an hour, ever passes without one or more shocks being experienced in some part of the globe. We have also seen that in Sweden, and other countries, changes in the relative level of sea and land may take place without commotion, and these perhaps produce the most important geographical and geological changes; for the position of land may be altered to a greater amount by an elevation or depression of one inch over a vast area, than by the sinking of a more limited tract, such as the forest of Aripao, to the depth of many fathoms at once.789

It must be evident, from the historical details above given, that the force of subterranean movement, whether intermittent or continuous, whether with or without disturbance, does not operate at random, but is developed in certain regions only; and although the alterations produced during the time required for the occurrence of a few volcanic eruptions may be inconsiderable, we can hardly doubt that, during the ages necessary for the formation of large volcanic cones, composed of thousands of lava currents, shoals might be converted into lofty mountains, and low lands into deep seas.

In a former chapter (p. 198), I have stated that aqueous and igneous agents may be regarded as antagonist forces; the aqueous laboring incessantly to reduce the inequalities of the earth's surface to a level, while the igneous are equally active in renewing the unevenness of the surface. By some geologists it has been thought that the levelling power of running water was opposed rather to the elevating force of earthquakes than to their action generally. This opinion is, however, untenable; for the sinking down of the bed of the ocean is one of the means by which the gradual submersion of land is prevented. The depth of the sea cannot be increased at any one point without a universal fall of the waters, nor can any partial deposition of sediment occur without the displacement of a quantity of water of equal volume, which will raise the sea, though in an imperceptible degree, even to the antipodes. The preservation, therefore, of the dry land may sometimes be effected by the subsidence of part of the earth's crust (that part, namely, which is covered by the ocean), and in like manner an upheaving movement must often tend to destroy land; for if it render the bed of the sea more shallow, it will displace a certain quantity of water, and thus tend to submerge low tracts.

Astronomers having proved (see above, p. 129) that there has been no change in the diameter of the earth during the last two thousand years, we may assume it as probable, that the dimensions of the planet remain uniform. If, then, we inquire in what manner the force of earthquakes must be regulated, in order to restore perpetually the inequalities of the surface which the levelling power of water tends to efface, it will be found, that the amount of depression must exceed that of elevation. It would be otherwise if the action of volcanoes and mineral springs were suspended; for then the forcing outwards of the earth's envelope ought to be no more than equal to its sinking in.

To understand this proposition more clearly, it must be borne in mind, that the deposits of rivers and currents probably add as much to the height of lands which are rising, as they take from those which have risen. Suppose a large river to bring down sediment to a part of the ocean two thousand feet deep, and that the depth of this part is gradually reduced by the accumulation of sediment till only a shoal remains, covered by water at high tides; if now an upheaving force should uplift this shoal to the height of 2000 feet, the result would be a mountain 2000 feet high. But had the movement raised the same part of the bottom of the sea before the sediment of the river had filled it up; then, instead of changing a shoal into a mountain 2000 feet high, it would only have converted a deep sea into a shoal.

It appears, then, that the operations of the earthquake are often such as to cause the levelling power of water to counteract itself; and, although the idea may appear paradoxical, we may be sure, wherever we find hills and mountains composed of stratified deposits, that such inequalities of the surface would have had no existence if water, at some former period, had not been laboring to reduce the earth's surface to one level.

But, besides the transfer of matter by running water from the continents to the ocean, there is a constant transportation from below upwards, by mineral springs and volcanic vents. As mountain masses are, in the course of ages, created by the pouring forth of successive streams of lava, so stratified rocks, of great extent, originate from the deposition of carbonate of lime, and other mineral ingredients, with which springs are impregnated. The surface of the land, and portions of the bottom of the sea, being thus raised, the external accessions due to these operations would cause the dimensions of the planet to enlarge continually, if the amount of depression of the earth's crust were no more than equal to the elevation. In order, therefore, that the mean diameter of the earth should remain uniform, and the unevenness of the surface be preserved, it is necessary that the amount of subsidence should be in excess. And such a predominance of depression is far from improbable, on mechanical principles, since every upheaving movement must be expected either to produce caverns in the mass below, or to cause some diminution of its density. Vacuities must, also, arise from the subtraction of the matter poured out from volcanoes and mineral springs, or from the contraction of argillaceous masses by subterranean heat; and the foundations having been thus weakened, the earth's crust, shaken and rent by reiterated convulsions, must, in the course of time, fall in.

If we embrace these views, important geological consequences will follow; since, if there be, upon the whole, more subsidence than elevation, the average depth to which former surfaces have sunk beneath their original level must exceed the height which ancient marine strata have attained above the sea. If, for example, marine strata, about the age of our chalk and greensand, have been lifted up in Europe to an extreme height of more than eleven thousand feet, and a mean elevation of some hundreds, we may conclude that certain parts of the surface, which existed when those strata were deposited, have sunk to an extreme depth of more than eleven thousand feet below their original level, and to a mean depth of more than a few hundreds.

In regard to faults, also, we must infer, according to the hypothesis now proposed, that a greater number have arisen from the sinking down than from the elevation of rocks.

To conclude: it seems to be rendered probable, by the views above explained, that the constant repair of the land, and the subserviency of our planet to the support of terrestrial as well as aquatic species, are secured by the elevating and depressing power of causes acting in the interior of the earth; which, although so often the source of death and terror to the inhabitants of the globe—visiting in succession every zone, and filling the earth with monuments of ruin and disorder—are nevertheless the agents of a conservative principle above all others essential to the stability of the system.

BOOK III.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

CHANGES OF THE ORGANIC WORLD NOW IN PROGRESS.

The last book, from chapters fourteen to thirty-three inclusive, was occupied with the consideration of the changes brought about on the earth's surface, within the period of human observation, by inorganic agents; such, for example, as rivers, marine currents, volcanoes, and earthquakes. But there is another class of phenomena relating to the organic world, which have an equal claim on our attention, if we desire to obtain possession of all the preparatory knowledge respecting the existing course of nature, which may be available in the interpretation of geological monuments. It appeared from our preliminary sketch of the progress of the science, that the most lively interest was excited among its earlier cultivators, by the discovery of the remains of animals and plants in the interior of mountains frequently remote from the sea. Much controversy arose respecting the nature of these remains, the causes which may have brought them into so singular a position, and the want of a specific agreement between them and known animals and plants. To qualify ourselves to form just views on these curious questions, we must first study the present condition of the animate creation on the globe.

This branch of our inquiry naturally divides itself into two parts: first, we may examine the vicissitudes to which species are subject; secondly, the processes by which certain individuals of these species occasionally become fossil. The first of these divisions will lead us, among other topics, to inquire, first, whether species have a real and permanent existence in nature? or whether they are capable, as some naturalists pretend, of being indefinitely modified in the course of a long series of generations? Secondly, whether, if species have a real existence, the individuals composing them have been derived originally from many similar stocks, or each from one only, the descendants of which have spread themselves gradually from a particular point over the habitable lands and waters? Thirdly, how far the duration of each species of animal and plant is limited by its dependence on certain fluctuating and temporary conditions in the state of the animate and inanimate world? Fourthly, whether there be proofs of the successive extermination of species in the ordinary course of nature, and whether there be any reason for conjecturing that new animals and plants are created from time to time, to supply their place?

Whether species have a real existence in nature.—Before we can advance a step in our proposed inquiry, we must be able to define precisely the meaning which we attach to the term species. This is even more necessary in geology than in the ordinary studies of the naturalist; for they who deny that such a thing as a species exists, concede nevertheless that a botanist or zoologist may reason as if the specific character were constant, because they confine their observations to a brief period of time. Just as the geographer, in constructing his maps from century to century, may proceed as if the apparent places of the fixed stars remained absolutely the same, and as if no alteration were brought about by the precession of the equinoxes; so, it is said, in the organic world, the stability of a species may be taken as absolute, if we do not extend our views beyond the narrow period of human history; but let a sufficient number of centuries elapse, to allow of important revolutions in climate, physical geography, and other circumstances, and the characters, say they, of the descendants of common parents may deviate indefinitely from their original type.

Now, if these doctrines be tenable, we are at once presented with a principle of incessant change in the organic world; and no degree of dissimilarity in the plants and animals which may formerly have existed, and are found fossil, would entitle us to conclude that they may not have been the prototypes and progenitors of the species now living. Accordingly M. Geoffroy St. Hilaire has declared his opinion, that there has been an uninterrupted succession in the animal kingdom, effected by means of generation, from the earliest ages of the world up to the present day, and that the ancient animals whose remains have been preserved in the strata, however different, may nevertheless have been the ancestors of those now in being. This notion is not very generally received, but we are not warranted in assuming the contrary, without fully explaining the data and reasoning by which it may be refuted.

I shall begin by stating as concisely as possible all the facts and ingenious arguments by which the theory has been supported; and for this purpose I cannot do better than offer the reader a rapid sketch of Lamarck's statement of the proofs which he regards as confirmatory of the doctrine, and which he has derived partly from the works of his predecessors and in part from original investigations.

His proofs and inferences will be best considered in the order in which they appear to have influenced his mind, and I shall then point out some of the results to which he was led while boldly following out his principles to their legitimate consequences.

Lamarck's arguments in favor of the transmutation of species.—The name of species, observes Lamarck, has been usually applied to "every collection of similar individuals produced by other individuals like themselves."790 This definition, he admits, is correct; because every living individual bears a very close resemblance to those from which it springs. But this is not all which is usually implied by the term species; for the majority of naturalists agree with Linnæus in supposing that all the individuals propagated from one stock have certain distinguishing characters in common, which will never vary, and which have remained the same since the creation of each species.

In order to shake this opinion, Lamarck enters upon the following line of argument:—The more we advance in the knowledge of the different organized bodies which cover the surface of the globe, the more our embarrassment increases, to determine what ought to be regarded as a species, and still more how to limit and distinguish genera. In proportion as our collections are enriched, we see almost every void filled up, and all our lines of separation effaced! We are reduced to arbitrary determinations, and are sometimes fain to seize upon the slight differences of mere varieties, in order to form characters for what we choose to call a species; and sometimes we are induced to pronounce individuals but slightly differing, and which others regard as true species, to be varieties.

The greater the abundance of natural objects assembled together, the more do we discover proofs that every thing passes by insensible shades into something else; that even the more remarkable differences are evanescent, and that nature has, for the most part, left us nothing at our disposal for establishing distinctions, save trifling, and, in some respects, puerile particularities.

We find that many genera amongst animals and plants are of such an extent, in consequence of the number of species referred to them, that the study and determination of these last has become almost impracticable. When the species are arranged in a series, and placed near to each other, with due regard to their natural affinities, they each differ in so minute a degree from those next adjoining, that they almost melt into each other, and are in a manner confounded together. If we see isolated species, we may presume the absence of some more closely connected, and which have not yet been discovered. Already are there genera, and even entire orders—nay, whole classes, which present an approximation to the state of things here indicated.

If, when species have been thus placed in a regular series, we select one, and then, making a leap over several intermediate ones, we take a second, at some distance from the first, these two will, on comparison, be seen to be very dissimilar; and it is in this manner that every naturalist begins to study the objects which are at his own door. He then finds it an easy task to establish generic and specific distinctions; and it is only when his experience is enlarged, and when he has made himself master of the intermediate links, that his difficulties and ambiguities begin. But while we are thus compelled to resort to trifling and minute characters in our attempt to separate the species, we find a striking disparity between individuals which we know to have descended from a common stock; and these newly acquired peculiarities are regularly transmitted from one generation to another, constituting what are called races.

From a great number of facts, continues the author, we learn that in proportion as the individuals of one of our species change their situation, climate, and manner of living, they change also, by little and little, the consistence and proportions of their parts, their form, their faculties, and even their organization, in such a manner that every thing in them comes at last to participate in the mutations to which they have been exposed. Even in the same climate, a great difference of situation and exposure causes individuals to vary; but if these individuals continue to live and to be reproduced under the same difference of circumstances, distinctions are brought about in them which become in some degree essential to their existence. In a word, at the end of many successive generations, these individuals, which originally belonged to another species, are transformed into a new and distinct species.791

Thus, for example, if the seeds of a grass, or any other plant which grows naturally in a moist meadow, be accidentally transported, first to the slope of some neighboring hill, where the soil, although at a greater elevation, is damp enough to allow the plant to live; and if, after having lived there, and having been several times regenerated, it reaches by degrees the drier and almost arid soil of a mountain declivity, it will then, if it succeeds in growing, and perpetuates itself for a series of generations, be so changed that botanists who meet with it will regard it as a particular species.792 The unfavorable climate in this case, deficiency of nourishment, exposure to the winds, and other causes, give rise to a stunted and dwarfish race, with some organ more developed than others, and having proportions often quite peculiar.

What nature brings about in a great lapse of time, we occasion suddenly by changing the circumstances in which a species has been accustomed to live. All are aware that vegetables taken from their birthplace, and cultivated in gardens, undergo changes which render them no longer recognizable as the same plants. Many which were naturally hairy become smooth, or nearly so; a great number of such as were creepers and trailed along the ground, rear their stalks and grow erect. Others lose their thorns or asperities; others, again, from the ligneous state which their stem possessed in hot climates, where they were indigenous, pass to the herbaceous; and, among them, some which were perennials become mere annuals. So well do botanists know the effects of such changes of circumstances, that they are averse to describe species from garden specimens, unless they are sure that they have been cultivated for a very short period.

"Is not the cultivated wheat" (Triticum sativum), asks Lamarck, "a vegetable brought by man into the state in which we now see it? Let any one tell me in what country a similar plant grows wild, unless where it has escaped from cultivated fields? Where do we find in nature our cabbages, lettuces, and other culinary vegetables, in the state in which they appear in our gardens? Is it not the same in regard to a great quantity of animals which domesticity has changed or considerably modified?"793 Our domestic fowls and pigeons are unlike any wild birds. Our domestic ducks and geese have lost the faculty of raising themselves into the higher regions of the air, and crossing extensive countries in their flight, like the wild ducks and wild geese from which they were originally derived. A bird which we breed in a cage cannot, when restored to liberty, fly like others of the same species which have been always free. This small alteration of circumstances, however, has only diminished the power of flight, without modifying the form of any part of the wings. But when individuals of the same race are retained in captivity during a considerable length of time, the form even of their parts is gradually made to differ, especially if climate, nourishment, and other circumstances be also altered.

The numerous races of dogs which we have produced by domesticity are nowhere to be found in a wild state. In nature we should seek in vain for mastiffs, harriers, spaniels, greyhounds, and other races, between which the differences are sometimes so great that they would be readily admitted as specific between wild animals; "yet all these have sprung originally from a single race, at first approaching very near to a wolf, if, indeed, the wolf be not the true type which at some period or other was domesticated by man."

Although important changes in the nature of the places which they inhabit modify the organization of animals as well as vegetables; yet the former, says Lamarck, require more time to complete a considerable degree of transmutation; and, consequently, we are less sensible of such occurrences. Next to a diversity of the medium in which animals or plants may live, the circumstances which have most influence in modifying their organs are differences in exposure, climate, the nature of the soil, and other local particulars. These circumstances are as varied as are the characters of the species, and, like them, pass by insensible shades into each other, there being every intermediate gradation between the opposite extremes. But each locality remains for a very long time the same, and is altered so slowly that we can only become conscious of the reality of the change by consulting geological monuments, by which we learn that the order of things which how reigns in each place has not always prevailed, and by inference anticipate that it will not always continue the same.794

Every considerable alteration in the local circumstances in which each race of animals exists causes a change in their wants, and these new wants excite them to new actions and habits. These actions require the more frequent employment of some parts before but slightly exercised, and then greater development follows as a consequence of their more frequent use. Other organs no longer in use are impoverished and diminished in size, nay, are sometimes entirely annihilated, while in their place new parts are insensibly produced for the discharge of new functions.795

I must here interrupt the author's argument, by observing, that no positive fact is cited to exemplify the substitution of some entirely new sense, faculty, or organ, in the room of some other suppressed as useless. All the instances adduced go only to prove that the dimensions and strength of members and the perfection of certain attributes may, in a long succession of generations, be lessened and enfeebled by disuse; or, on the contrary, be matured and augmented by active exertion; just as we know that the power of scent is feeble in the greyhound, while its swiftness of pace and its acuteness of sight are remarkable—that the harrier and stag-hound, on the contrary, are comparatively slow in their movements, but excel in the sense of smelling.

It was necessary to point out to the reader this important chasm in the chain of evidence, because he might otherwise imagine that I had merely omitted the illustrations for the sake of brevity; but the plain truth is, that there were no examples to be found; and when Lamarck talks "of the efforts of internal sentiment," "the influence of subtle fluids," and "acts of organization," as causes whereby animals and plants may acquire new organs, he substitutes names for things; and, with a disregard to the strict rules of induction, resorts to fictions, as ideal as the "plastic virtue," and other phantoms of the geologists of the middle ages.

It is evident that, if some well-authenticated facts could have been adduced to establish one complete step in the process of transformation, such as the appearance, in individuals descending from a common stock, of a sense or organ entirely new, and a complete disappearance of some other enjoyed by their progenitors, time alone might then be supposed sufficient to bring about any amount of metamorphosis. The gratuitous assumption, therefore, of a point so vital to the theory of transmutation, was unpardonable on the part of its advocate.

But to proceed with the system: it being assumed as an undoubted fact, that a change of external circumstances may cause one organ to become entirely obsolete, and a new one to be developed, such as never before belonged to the species, the following proposition is announced, which, however staggering and absurd it may seem, is logically deduced from the assumed premises. It is not the organs, or, in other words, the nature and form of the parts of the body of an animal, which have given rise to its habits, and its particular faculties; but, on the contrary, its habits, its manner of living, and those of its progenitors, have in the course of time determined the form of its body, the number and condition of its organs—in short, the faculties which it enjoys. Thus otters, beavers, waterfowl, turtles, and frogs, were not made web-footed in order that they might swim; but their wants having attracted them to the water in search of prey, they stretched out the toes of their feet to strike the water and move rapidly along its surface. By the repeated stretching of their toes, the skin which united them at the base acquired a habit of extension, until, in the course of time, the broad membranes which now connect their extremities were formed.

In like manner, the antelope and the gazelle were not endowed with light agile forms, in order that they might escape by flight from carnivorous animals; but, having been exposed to the danger of being devoured by lions, tigers, and other beasts of prey, they were compelled to exert themselves in running with great celerity; a habit which, in the course of many generations, gave rise to the peculiar slenderness of their legs, and the agility and elegance of their forms.

The camelopard was not gifted with a long flexible neck because it was destined to live in the interior of Africa, where the soil was arid and devoid of herbage; but, being reduced by the nature of that country to support itself on the foliage of lofty trees, it contracted a habit of stretching itself up to reach the high boughs, until its neck became so elongated that it could raise its head to the height of twenty feet above the ground.

Another line of argument is then entered upon, in farther corroboration of the instability of species. In order, it is said, that individuals should perpetuate themselves unaltered by generation, those belonging to one species ought never to ally themselves to those of another; but such sexual unions do take place, both among plants and animals; and although the offspring of such irregular connections are usually sterile, yet such is not always the case. Hybrids have sometimes proved prolific, where the disparity between the species was not too great; and by this means alone, says Lamarck, varieties may gradually be created by near alliances, which would become races, and in the course of time would constitute what we term species.796

But if the soundness of all these arguments and inferences be admitted, we are next to inquire, what were the original types of form, organization, and instinct, from which the diversities of character, as now exhibited by animals and plants, have been derived? We know that individuals which are mere varieties of the same species would, if their pedigree could be traced back far enough, terminate in a single stock; so, according to the train of reasoning before described, the species of a genus, and even the genera of a great family, must have had a common point of departure. What, then, was the single stem from which so many varieties of form have ramified? Were there many of these, or are we to refer the origin of the whole animate creation, as the Egyptian priests did that of the universe, to a single egg?

In the absence of any positive data for framing a theory on so obscure a subject, the following considerations were deemed of importance to guide conjecture.

In the first place, if we examine the whole series of known animals, from one extremity to the other, when they are arranged in the order of their natural relations, we find that we may pass progressively, or, at least, with very few interruptions, from beings of more simple to those of a more compound structure; and, in proportion as the complexity of their organization increases, the number and dignity of their faculties increase also. Among plants, a similar approximation to a graduated scale of being is apparent, Secondly, it appears, from geological observations, that plants and animals of more simple organization existed on the globe before the appearance of those of more compound structure, and the latter were successively formed at more modern periods; each new race being more fully developed than the most perfect of the preceding era.

Of the truth of the last-mentioned geological theory, Lamarck seems to have been fully persuaded; and he also shows that he was deeply impressed with a belief prevalent amongst the older naturalists, that the primeval ocean invested the whole planet long after it became the habitation of living beings; and thus he was inclined to assert the priority of the types of marine animals to those of the terrestrial, so as to fancy, for example, that the testacea of the ocean existed first, until some of them, by gradual evolution, were improved into those inhabiting the land.

These speculative views had already been, in a great degree, anticipated by Demaillet in his Telliamed, and by several modern writers; so that the tables were completely turned on the philosophers of antiquity, with whom it was a received maxim, that created things were always most perfect when they came first from the hands of their Maker; and that there was a tendency to progressive deterioration in sublunary things when left to themselves—