But further, in the class from which I have taken this last illustration—that of the Rotifera—there are examples of viviparous genera; and these, because of the perfect transparency of all the integuments, are peculiarly instructive and germane to my argument.

In Rotifer macrurus the ovary with its germinal vesicles is distinctly seen occupying one side of the animal. From this one of the vesicles enlarges, until it becomes a long-oval translucent sac, nearly filling the whole left side of the visceral cavity. A kind of spasmodic movement is suddenly observed in this oblong ovum, and instantly we see, in its place, a well-developed living young; as distinctly visible as if it were excluded. It lies in a bent position, with its foot upturned; is nearly half the length of the parent; is furnished with a proboscis, with a pair of crimson eyes, with ciliary wheels, with a mastax whose toothed hemispheres frequently work vigorously, and with all the viscera proper to the species.

In the beautiful, comparatively large, and economically singular genus, Asplanchna, the same process of development can be watched with perfect facility through every stage.

In the body of the female parent, as transparent as the clearest glass, the band-like ovary is seen floating in the visceral cavity, with several ova in various degrees of advancement. We trace one of these till it becomes a manifestly living young in the ovisac, lying along at the bottom of the parental cavity, more than one-third of whose volume is occupied by it:—supposing it to be a female infant. All its organs,—the eyes, the jaws, the stomach, the pancreatic glands, the ovary with its nuclei, the muscles, the rotatory cilia, &c. can be traced with the utmost distinctness long before birth, and its motions are strong and voluntary.

Neither in this case, nor in that of Rotifer, does the young animal pass through any metamorphosis; the unborn young has the full development of the parent, in every respect but size. In each case, the visible life-history of the individual commences not at birth, but at a period long antecedent, if indeed it can be said to commence at all, where we see it gradually developed from a nucleus, which was an integral part of the parental ovary, even before that parent's birth.

In the case of the amusing little Water-fleas (Daphnia), we have another example of viviparous generation, which, owing to the same cause as in the Rotifera,—the transparency of the integument, can be followed through all its stages by the eye of the observer. The eggs of this little Crustacean are deposited in a special chamber within the valves of the parent, where they are hatched. The young remain in their receptacle for a period, which varies according to the temperature, but long enough for them to undergo important changes in structure, and to pass their first moult.[96]

Here, again, it is impossible to select a condition which does not take hold of a pre-existence; for the youngest independent stage is dependent on earlier stages; and these are passed in visible connexion with the parent.

It is true there is in this genus, another mode of reproduction, by means of eggs which are thrown off enveloped in an organic covering, called the ephippium. If this condition be selected for the argument of my supposed opponent, I reply that it amounts to nearly the same thing; only the case will then come into the category of those animals whose earliest stages are protected by coverings formed from the body of the parent,—like the Hypogymna, and the Cockroach, already alluded to.

Where then, in these species, can we possibly select a stage of life, which is not inseparably and even visibly connected with a previous stage?

If we come to the vertebrate creatures, the argument becomes assuredly not less convincing. The formidable Shark, which we considered as a well-toothed adult ready for slaughter, let us suppose to have been created in the harmlessness of infancy. It is a slender thing, some ten or twelve inches long, bent upon itself, inclosing in the ring thus made, the vitellus or yelk-bag, the contents of which are in process of being absorbed into the abdomen. But the whole,—Shark, yelk-bag, and all—is imprisoned in a brown horny capsule, that looks like a pillow-case, with long tapes appended to the four corners.

This very peculiar protecting capsule points clearly to a peculiar structure in the parent. The embryo was not inclosed in the pillow-case, at its first formation; but, in the course of its descent from the ovary through the oviduct, it had to pass a region of the latter, where was a thick glandular mass,—the nidamental gland,—whose office it was to secrete a dense layer of albumen, with which, the embryo became invested. This substance took the form of the flattened purse, or pillow-case, with produced angles, above described, and on its exclusion from the duct assumed a very tough horny consistence, and a dark mahogany colour.

The comparative anatomist would, therefore, without the least hesitation, refer the origin of the investing capsule to the nidamental glands of the female Shark; but supposing the embryo to be but just created, his physiological science would only lead him to a false conclusion.

If the Tree-frog afforded us evidence of pre-existent time, in the metamorphosis which it must naturally have experienced from the tadpole to the reptilian condition, what shall we say to that strange and uncouth member of the same class,—the Surinam Toad (Pipa)? Little would be gained by selecting the germ-stage, as the presumed epoch of creation in this case; for, according to the extraordinary economy of this genus, the male acts as midwife, and the female as wet-nurse, to the hopeful progeny.

"As fast as the female deposits her eggs, the male who attends her arranges them on her broad back, to the number of fifty or upwards. The contact of these eggs with the skin appears to produce a sort of inflammation; the skin of the back swells, and becomes covered with pits or cells, which enclose each a single egg, the surface of the back resembling the closed cells of a honeycomb. The female now betakes herself to the water; and in these cells the eggs are not only hatched, but the tadpoles undergo their metamorphosis, emerging in a perfect condition, though very small, after a lapse of eighty-two days from the time in which the eggs were placed in their respective pits."

To a tyro in animal physiology it might seem that the smooth rounded egg of a bird or a lizard, presents an example of an organism in the simplest possible condition, and in a stage which, if any can be, is independent of anything that went before.

But is it so? Let us see. Here is the egg of the common Fowl. I take it in my hand, and perceive nothing but an uniform, smooth, hard, white surface. This I break, and find that it is a thin layer of calcareous substance, which, on microscopical examination, proves to be composed of minute polygonal particles, so agglutinated as to leave open spaces in the interstices of their contiguous angles.

Below this calcareous shell I find a membrane (membrana putaminis), which seems, from its thinness in most parts, to be single, but which is separated into two layers at the large end of the egg.

Within this membrane there is another (the chalaza) which, closely enveloping the yelk, passes off from it towards each extremity of the egg in the form of a twisted cord.

Then comes a delicate membrane (memb. vitelli) in close contact with, and enveloping the orange-coloured yelk; which latter carries, on one point of its globular surface, the thin blastoderm, or germinal membrane.

The yelk-globe, fastened by its twisted chalazæ, is suspended in a glairy fluid (albumen), which fills the space between it and the membrana putaminis. This fluid, though apparently homogeneous, is really composed of many layers, and the innermost of these it is which is condensed into the chalaza.

Such, then, is the complex structure of this apparently simple object. What light can it throw on our inquiry?

Each of these component parts bears witness to a succession of past periods. The yelk with its germ was first formed, escaping naked, or clothed only with its own excessively delicate membrane, from its ovisac into the oviduct. Through the course of this tube it now slowly descended, receiving successive investments as it proceeded. The albumen was deposited layer upon layer from the mucous membrane of the upper part of the oviduct; the first depositions condensing into the chalaza. By and by it came down to a region of the oviduct where a tenacious secretion was poured out, which, investing the albumen, soon hardened into a substance resembling thin parchment, and formed the membrana putaminis; two successive layers of this were deposited, between which a bubble of gas, chiefly composed of oxygen generated in the interval, was inclosed. Then it descended still farther, to a part where the lining membrane of the duct was endowed with the power of secreting calcareous matter, which, as above stated, was deposited in a thin layer of polygonal atoms. And now, having received all its components, and having arrived at the orifice of the duct, the egg was laid.

Here, then, there is abundant evidence of successive processes, which must have preceded the existence of this complete and perfect egg. But there is yet one more evidence which I have reserved to the last, because it is peculiarly distinct and palpable, even to the senses.

The chalaza, we see, is twisted at each pole of the yelk-globe, until it resembles a piece of twine: what is the meaning of this? It was, as I observed, deposited as a loosely enveloping membrane in the upper part of the oviduct; the yelk-globe, however, was progressively descending; and, as it descended, it continually revolved upon its axis; by means of which rotation the investing membrane was gathered at each pole into a spirally twisted cord, stretching from the yelk to the ends of the membrana putaminis. Thus it presents us with an unmistakeable record of what took place in the earlier periods of the descent.

We saw distinct traces of the past in the structure of a feather. But the feathers have already begun to develop before the young bird leaves the egg. And the structure of the egg carries us back to the oviduct of the parent-fowl.

At what stage of existence, then, could a bird, by possibility, have been created, which did not present distinct records of prochronic development?

If we come to the Mammalia, the impossibility of finding such a stage becomes only more and more obvious. For it is a law in physiology, that the higher the grade of organization assigned to any being, the more it is assisted in infancy by the parent.

"This law is remarkably exemplified in the class Mammalia, which unquestionably ranks at the head of the animal kingdom, in respect to degree of intelligence and general elevation of structure. It is the universal and most prominent characteristic of this class, that the young are retained within the body of the female parent, until they have made considerable progress in their development; that, whilst there, they derive their support almost immediately from her blood; and that they are afterwards nourished for some time by a secretion which she affords."[97]

The fœtus of the Kangaroo, when expelled from the womb, is scarcely more than an inch in length. Its limbs and its tail are indeed formed, but the imperfect creature has been compared to an earthworm, for the colour and semi-transparency of the integument. In this condition it is unable to find and seize the nipple, and equally unable to draw sustenance therefrom, by its own unaided efforts. The milk is ejected, by the muscular action of the mother, into the throat of the fœtus, and there is a peculiar and beautiful contrivance to obviate the danger of the injected fluid's passing into the trachea instead of the œsophagus.

Yet, from this helpless naked condition to that of the active, well-clothed, experienced young, able to quit the maternal pouch at will, and flee to it for protection, there is a well-understood and perfectly appreciable concatenation of stages, each of which looks back to, and depends on, those previously existing. And, during the whole of these, the mother's presence is necessary to the comfort, and, for the greater part of them, to the very existence of the infant.

Thus, once more, there is no condition of the animal, on which we may fix, as being so simple, as to have no retrospective history.

The umbilical cicatrix I have already alluded to; but I may be permitted to mention it again; because, in all the higher Mammalia, at least, it exists, throughout life, an eloquent witness to the organic connexion of the individual with a mother, and therefore to her pre-existence. If it were legitimate to suppose that the first individual of the species Man was created in the condition answering to that of a new-born infant, there would still be the need of maternal milk for its sustenance, and maternal care for its protection, for a considerable period; while, if we carry on the suggested stage to the period when this provision is no longer indispensable, the development of hair, nails, bones, &c., will have proceeded through many stages. And, in either condition, the navel cord or its cicatrix remains, to testify to something anterior to both.

XII.

THE CONCLUSION.

We have passed, in review before us the whole organic world: and the result is uniform; that no example can be selected from the vast vegetable kingdom, none from the vast animal kingdom, which did not at the instant of its creation present indubitable evidences of a previous history. This is not put forth as a hypothesis, but as a necessity; I do not say that it was probably so, but that it was certainly so; not that it may have been thus, but that it could not have been otherwise.

I do not touch the inorganic world: my acquaintance with chemistry is inadequate for this: perhaps the same law does not extend to the inorganic elements: perhaps their developments, and combinations are not, like the economy of plants and animals, essentially and exclusively cyclical: perhaps carbon and oxygen and hydrogen could be created in conditions, which obviously did not depend on any previously existing conditions. This I do not know: I neither affirm nor deny it. But I think I have demonstrated in these pages, that such a cyclical character does attach to, and is inseparable from, the history of all organic essences; and that creation can be nothing else than a series of irruptions into circles: that, supposing the irruption to have been made at what part of the circle we please, and varying this condition indefinitely at will,—we cannot avoid the conclusion that each organism was from the first marked with the records of a previous being. But since creation and previous history are inconsistent with each other; as the very idea of the creation of an organism excludes the idea of pre-existence of that organism, or of any part of it; it follows, that such records are false, so far as they testify to time; that the developments and processes thus recorded have been produced without time, or are what I have called prochronic.

Nor is this conclusion in the least degree affected by the actual chronology of creation. The phenomena were equally eloquent, and equally false, whether any individual organism were created six thousand years ago, or innumerable ages; whether primitively, or after the successive creations and annihilations of former organisms.

The law of creation supersedes the law of nature; so far, at least, as the organic world is concerned. The law of nature, established by universal experience, is, that its phenomena depend upon certain natural antecedents: the law of creation is, that the same phenomena depend upon no antecedents. The philosopher who should infer the antecedents from the phenomena alone, without having considered the law of creation, would be liable to form totally false conclusions. In order to be secure from error, he must first assure himself that creation is eliminated from the category of facts which he is investigating; and this he could do only when the facts come within the sphere of personal observation, or of historic testimony. Up to such a period of antiquity as is covered by credible history, and within such a field of observation as history may be considered fairly cognisant of,—the inference of physical antecedents from physical phenomena, in the animal or vegetable world, is legitimate and true. But, beyond that period, I cannot safely deduce the same conclusion; because I cannot tell but that at any given moment included in my inquiry, creation may have occurred, and have been the absolute beginning of the circular series.

The question of the actual age of any species, whether plant or animal, is one which cannot be answered, except on historic testimony. The sequence of cause and effect is not adequate to answer it; for a legitimate use of this principle, supposing it the only element of the inquiry, would inevitably lead us to the eternity of all existing organic life.

One of the familiar street-exhibitions in the metropolis is a tiny coach and horses of glittering metal; which, by means of simple machinery, course round and round the margin of a circular table. Let us suppose two youths of philosophical turn to come up during the process. They gaze for a while, and one asks his companion the following question.

"How long do you suppose that coach has been running round?"

"How long! for an indefinite period, for aught I know. I have counted twenty-two turns, and can see no change: nor can I suggest any point where the course could have begun."

Here a shrewd lad, carrying a grocer's basket, breaks in.

"Oh no; there have been only six-and-twenty turns altogether. Four turns had been made when you came up. The whole began by the man taking the carriage out of a box; then he set it down out there, just opposite to us, and gave it a little push with his finger, and it has been running ever since. I saw him do it."

Now perhaps you will say that a glance at the machinery beneath the table would show in a moment how many turns had been made, and how many could be made. Very true: but what if the tramp had locked up his clock-work, and would not let you look at it?

The only evidence worth a rush is that of the lad who saw the whirligig set a-going.

I wish it to be distinctly understood, that I am not proving the exact or approximate antiquity of the globe we inhabit. I am not attempting to show that it has existed for no more than six thousand years. I wish this to be distinctly stated, because I am sure I shall meet with many opponents unfair enough, or illogical enough, to misrepresent or misunderstand my argument, and sound the trumpet of victory, because I cannot demonstrate that. All I set myself to do, is to invalidate the testimony of the witness relied on for the indefinitely remote antiquity; to show that in a very large and important field of nature, evidence exactly analogous to that relied on would inevitably lead to a false conclusion, and must, therefore, be rejected, or received only contingently; received only as indicative of probability, and that only in the absence of any positive witness to the contrary.

Perhaps it may be objected, that there is no sufficient analogy between the phenomena from which the past history of a single organism is inferred, and those from which the past history of a world is inferred. Is there not?

Permit me to repeat an illustration I have already used. The geologist finds a fossil skeleton. His acquaintance with anatomy enables him to pronounce that the objects found are bones. He sees cylinders, condyles, cavities for the marrow, scars of attachment of muscles and tendons, foramina for the passage of nerves and blood-vessels; he finds the internal structure, no less than the form and surface, such as to leave not a doubt that these are real bones. Now universal experience has taught him that bones imply the existence of flesh; that flesh implies blood; that blood implies life; that life implies time. He therefore concludes unhesitatingly, that this skeleton was once alive, and that time passed over it in that living condition.

Is not this process of reasoning exactly parallel to that which he would have pursued if he had examined an animal the moment after its creation, (supposing this fact to be unknown to him,) and by which he would in like manner have inferred past time? And where is the vital difference between the two cases, which would operate to make a conclusion which is manifestly false in the one case, necessarily true in the other?

One of the most eminent of living botanists has set forth in striking terms the parallelism which I am suggesting. Speaking of the shoot as the vegetable individual, and the woody trunk as a kind of ever-accumulating ground, which supports successive generations of shoots, he uses the following comparison.

"The history of the grand development of nature on the surface of our globe presents an analogy, which may perhaps serve to set this relation in a clear light. The successive geological formations superposed during the course of countless ages, present, buried in their depths, the traces of as many formations of the organic world, each of which carpeted the then superior stratum of the earth with a new life, until it found its own grave in the succeeding formation, when a new uprising of organic life took its place. In the same way, the stem of a tree is a multistratified ground, in whose layers the history of earlier growths is legibly preserved. The number of the woody layers indicates the number of the generations which have perished, i. e. the age of the whole tree: a distinct annual ring is the monument of a vigorous season, an indistinct one of a bad season, a sickly one (which is often found among healthy ones) indicates the unhealthiness of the foliage of that particular year. The practised woodman can decipher many facts of the past in the layers of the trunk; e.g. a good season for foliage or for seed, damage by frost or by insects, &c."[98]

In order to perfect the analogy between an organism and the world, so as to show that the law which prevails in the one obtains also in the other, it would be necessary to prove that the development of the physical history of the world is circular, like that already shown to characterise the course of organic nature. And this I cannot prove. But neither, as I think, can the contrary be proved.

The life of the individual consists of a series of processes which are cyclical. In the tree this is shown by the successive growths and deaths of series of leaves: in the animal by the development and exuviation of nails, hair, epidermis, &c.

The life of the species consists of a series of processes which are cyclical. This has been sufficiently illustrated in the preceding pages, in the successive developments and deaths of generations of individuals.

We have reason to believe that species die out, and are replaced by other species, like the individuals which belong to the species, and the organs which belong to the individual. But is the life of the species a circle returning into itself? In other words, if we could take a sufficiently large view of the whole plan of nature, should we discern that the existence of species δ necessarily involved the pre-existence of species γ, and must inevitably be followed by species ε? Should we be able to trace the same sort of relation between the tiger of Bengal and the fossil tiger of the Yorkshire caves, between Elephas Indicus and Elephas primigenius, as subsists between the leaves of 1857 and the leaves of 1856; or between the oak now flourishing in Sherwood Forest and that of Robin Hood's day, from whose acorn it sprang?[99]

I dare not say, we should; though I think it highly probable. But I think you will not dare to say, we should not.[100]

It is certain that, when the Omnipotent God proposed to create a given organism, the course of that organism was present to his idea, as an ever revolving circle, without beginning and without end. He created it at some point in the circle, and gave it thus an arbitrary beginning; but one which involved all previous rotations of the circle, though only as ideal, or, in other phrase, prochronic. Is it not possible—I do not ask for more—that, in like manner, the natural course of the world was projected in his idea as a perfect whole, and that He determined to create it at some point of that course, which act, however, should involve previous stages, though only ideal or prochronic?

All naturalists have speculated upon the great plan of Nature; a grand array of organic essences, in which every species should be related in like ratio to its fellow species, by certain affinities, without gaps and without redundancies; the whole constituting a beautiful and perfect unity, a harmonious scheme, worthy of the infinite Mind that conceived it. Such a perfect plan has never been presented by any existing fauna or flora; nor is it made up by uniting the fossil faunas and floras to the recent ones; yet the discovery of the fossil world has made a very signal approach to the filling up of the great outline; and the more minutely this has been investigated, the more have hiatuses been bridged over, which before yawned between species and species, and links of connexion have been supplied which before were lacking.[101]

It is not necessary,—at least it does not seem so to me,—that all the members of this mighty commonwealth should have an actual, a diachronic existence; anymore than that, in the creation of a man, his fœtal, infantile, and adolescent stages should have an actual, diachronic existence, though these are essential to his normal life-history. Nor would their diachronism be more certainly inferrible from the physical traces of them, in the one case than in the other. In the newly-created Man, the proofs of successive processes requiring time, in the skin, hairs, nails, bones, &c. could in no respect be distinguished from the like proofs in a Man of to-day; yet the developments to which they respectively testify are widely different from each other, so far as regards the element of time. Who will say that the suggestion, that the strata of the surface of the earth, with their fossil floras and faunas, may possibly belong to a prochronic development of the mighty plan of the life-history of this world,—who will dare to say that such a suggestion is a self-evident absurdity? If we had no example of such a procedure, we might be justified in dealing cavalierly with the hypothesis; but it has been shown that, without a solitary exception, the whole of the vast vegetable and animal kingdoms were created,—mark! I do not say may have been, but MUST have been created—on this principle of a prochronic development, with distinctly traceable records. It was the law of organic creation.

It may be objected, that, to assume the world to have been created with fossil skeletons in its crust,—skeletons of animals that never really existed,—is to charge the Creator with forming objects whose sole purpose was to deceive us. The reply is obvious. Were the concentric timber-rings of a created tree formed merely to deceive? Were the growth lines of a created shell intended to deceive? Was the navel of the created Man intended to deceive him into the persuasion that he had had a parent?[102]

These peculiarities of structure were inseparable from the adult stage of these creatures respectively, without which they would not have been what they were. The Locust-tree could not have been an adult Hymenæa, without concentric rings;—nay, it could not have been an exogenous tree at all. The Dione could not have been a Dione without those foliations and spines that form its generic character. The Man would not have been a Man without a navel.

To the physiologist this is obvious; but some unscientific reader may say, Could not God have created plants and animals without these retrospective marks? I distinctly reply, No! not so as to preserve their specific identity with those with which we are familiar. A Tree-fern without scars on the trunk! A Palm without leaf-bases! A Bean without a hilum! A Tortoise without laminæ on its plates! A Carp without concentric lines on its scales! A Bird without feathers! A Mammal without hairs, or claws, or teeth, or bones, or blood! A Fœtus without a placenta! I have indeed written the preceding pages in vain, if I have not demonstrated, in a multitude of examples, the absolute necessity of retrospective phenomena in newly-created organisms. But if it can be undeniably shown in one single example, our failure to perceive it in ninety-nine other instances would in nowise invalidate the deduction from that one. Granted that you can triumphantly convict me of a non-sequitur, in ninety-nine out of every hundred of the cases in which I have attempted to show this connexion; still, if I have conclusively proved that in one solitary instance an animal or a plant was created with but one solitary evidence of pre-development, the principle for which I contend is established.

I trust, however, it does not rest on one example, nor on twenty, nor on a hundred. It may be thought that I have multiplied my illustrations needlessly: ten times as many might have been given. I wished to show that the proof is of a cumulative character: a single good example would, indeed, have established the principle; but I wished to show how widely applicable it is; that it is, indeed, of universal application in the organic kingdoms.

If, then, the existence of retrospective marks, visible and tangible proofs of processes which were prochronic, was so necessary to organic essences, that they could not have been created without them,—is it absurd to suggest the possibility (I do no more) that the world itself was created under the influence of the same law, with visible tangible proofs of developments and processes, which yet were only prochronic?

Admit for a moment, as a hypothesis, that the Creator had before his mind a projection of the whole life-history of the globe, commencing with any point which the geologist may imagine to have been a fit commencing point, and ending with some unimaginable acme in the indefinitely distant future. He determines to call this idea into actual existence, not at the supposed commencing point, but at some stage or other of its course.[103] It is clear, then, that at the selected stage it appears, exactly as it would have appeared at that moment of its history, if all the preceding eras of its history had been real. Just as the new-created Man was, at the first moment of his existence, a man of twenty, or five-and-twenty, or thirty years old; physically, palpably, visibly, so old, though not really, not diachronically. He appeared precisely what he would have appeared had he lived so many years.

Let us suppose that this present year 1857 had been the particular epoch in the projected life-history of the world, which the Creator selected as the era of its actual beginning. At his fiat it appears; but in what condition? Its actual condition at this moment:—whatever is now existent would appear, precisely as it does appear. There would be cities filled with swarms of men; there would be houses half-built; castles fallen into ruins; pictures on artists' easels just sketched in; wardrobes filled with half-worn garments; ships sailing over the sea; marks of birds' footsteps on the mud; skeletons whitening the desert sands; human bodies in every stage of decay in the burial-grounds. These and millions of other traces of the past would be found, because they are found in the world now; they belong to the present age of the world; and if it had pleased God to call into existence this globe at this epoch of its life-history, the whole of which lay like a map before his infinite mind, it would certainly have presented all these phenomena; not to puzzle the philosopher, but because they are inseparable from the condition of the world at the selected moment of irruption into its history; because they constitute its condition; they make it what it is.

Hence the minuteness and undeniableness of the proofs of life which geologists rely on so confidently, and present with such justifiable triumph, do not in the least militate against my principle. The marks of Hyænas' teeth on the bones of Kirkdale cave; the infant skeletons associated with adult skeletons of the same species; the abundance of coprolites; the foot-tracks of Birds and Reptiles; the glacier-scratches on rocks; and hundreds of other beautiful and most irresistible evidences of pre-existence, I do not wish to undervalue, nor to explain away. On the hypothesis that the actual commencing point of the world's history was subsequent to the occurrence of such things in the perfect ideal whole, these phenomena would appear precisely as if the facts themselves had been diachronic, instead of prochronic, as was really the case.[104]

Perhaps some one will say, "All this might be tenable, supposing the world were an organism. Your argument goes to show that organic essences in every stage of their existence present proofs of pre-existence; but what analogy is there between the lifeless inorganic globe (in which evidences of past processes are apparent, independent of the fossil organisms), and a living organic being,—plant or animal?"

I answer, The point in the economy of the organic creatures, on which their prochronism rests, is not the organic, but the circular condition of their being. The problem, then, to be solved, before we can certainly determine the question of analogy between the globe and the organism, is this:—Is the life-history of the globe a cycle? If it is (and there are many reasons why this is probable), then I am sure prochronism must have been evident at its creation, since there is no point in a circle which does not imply previous points. At all events, geologists cannot prove that it is not.

Wherever we can discern a cyclical condition, there the law of which I am treating must hold good; and it certainly obtains in other things beside organisms. When the inorganic crust of the globe was first cleft to contain rivers, whence came the water that flowed through the fissures? A river is the produce of rivulets, which issue from mountain springs; these originate in the water that percolates through the soil; and this is derived from the rains, and snows, and dews, that are deposited from the atmosphere. But there would be no deposition from the atmosphere if the water had not first been carried up by evaporation; and the vaporable fluid is obtained from the moistened soil; from the lakes and rivers; and from the seas and oceans, whose loss is perpetually recruited from the flowing rivers. Here, then, we get a circle closely analogous to that of organic being. Was a given drop of water created as a component particle of a running stream? Its position and condition looked back to the mountain spring whence it must naturally have issued. Was it called into being in the spring? It looked up to the surface, whence it must have oozed. Was it formed on the surface? It looked to the clouds, whence it must have dropped. Was it created in the cloud? It looked down to the surface of the lake or sea, whence it must have been raised. Was it created in the lake? It looked to the river, whence it must have flowed.

The chief pelagic currents, which have hitherto so often been the destruction of the navigator, but which may yet become his able and subject servants, flow in circular systems. There is such an one in the southern part of the Indian Ocean, known as the Hurricane Region; another immense one ever running round and round the North Pacific; and, above all, that wondrous river of hot water—a river whose well-marked banks are not solid earth, but cold water—the Gulf Stream.

"The fruit of trees belonging to the torrid zone of America is annually cast ashore on the western coasts of Ireland and Norway. Pennant observes that the seeds of plants which grow in Jamaica, Cuba, and the adjacent countries, are collected on the shores of the Hebrides. Thither also barrels of French wine, the remains of vessels wrecked in the West Indian seas, have been carried. In 1809 His Majesty's ship Little Belt was dismasted at Halifax, Nova Scotia, and her bowsprit was found, eighteen months after, in the Basque Roads. The mainmast of the Tilbury, buried off Hispaniola in the Seven Years' war, was brought to our shores."[105]

These facts are dependent on the eastward set of this majestic current; and so is another great physical fact of immeasurable importance to us;—the superiority in temperature of the western shores of Europe over the eastern shores of North America. The harbour of St. John's, Newfoundland, is frequently fast closed by ice in the month of June; yet the latitude of St. John's is considerably south of that of the port of Brest, in France.

Impelled by the rotatory motion of the earth, and by the trade-wind,[106] the equatorial waters of the Atlantic are ever urged, a broad and rapid river, into the Caribbean sea, and the Gulf of Mexico, the narrowing shores of which compress the stream as in a funnel. The Andes here present a slender but impregnable barrier to its further progress westward; and the trend of the Isthmus turns it to the northward. Still finding no outlet, the impatient current, like a wild-beast pacing round its cage, courses the Gulf of Mexico, doubles the peninsula of Florida, and pursues its way first to the north-east, and then to the east, crossing the Atlantic in a retrograde direction, until it laves with its warm billows the coasts of Europe. Here it turns to the southward, and after embracing the "Fortunate" isles that lie off the African shores,—the Azores, the Madeiras, and the Canaries,—it joins the great equatorial set beneath the trade-wind, and returns on its westward course.

This mighty circulation of water must have been going on from the instant that the earth commenced rotating on its axis, or (granting this to have been chronologically subsequent) from the instant the Atlantic occupied its present bed. Whether sooner or later, it commenced at some instant; but at that instant all the previous elements of the circle were presupposed, and a boundless succession of former circles. An intelligent stranger, looking on the movement immediately after its commencement, but ignorant of its origin, would not be able to assign any limit to its past duration. From his observation of the velocity of the current in different parts of the circle, he would say with confidence,—"These identical particles of water, which I see now urged on their ceaseless course towards the middle of the North Atlantic, were, yesterday morning at this hour, in the latitude of the mouth of the Chesapeake; on the morning before, off Cape Hatteras, on the morning before that, off Cape Lookout;" and so backwards interminably.

Whether the economy of the globe is circular, or not, I am not in a position to show. But its movements certainly are; and so are the movements of all the myriad worlds with which astronomy is conversant. Asteroids, planets, satellites, comets, suns,—nay, even the stellar universe itself—obey in their motions, the grand universal law of circularity. Take any one of these;—our Moon. When its orbital motion commenced, it commenced at some point or other of the circle which it describes in its course around the earth. The pre-existence, or at least the co-existence, of the Earth, and also that of the Sun, are necessary to its motion. Supposing it possible for a spectator, furnished with modern astronomical knowledge, to have looked at that instant on the newly-spun orb, would he not confidently have inferred, from its position at that moment, its position a week before? Would he not have felt able to indicate with unhesitating certainty the solar and lunar eclipses of a century or a chiliad before, just as he now calculates the time of the eclipse that marked the death of Herod the Great? Undoubtedly he would; for he would assume the constancy of those movements which modern science has deduced from the observations of many centuries; and, granting him the fact of their constancy, we could not invalidate his conclusions. Yet what would he have shown? The conditions and phenomena of bodies before they had begun to exist. The conditions are legitimately deducible; but they are prochronic conditions.

The mention of the celestial orbs suggests to remembrance the famous argument for the vast antiquity of the material universe, founded on the time which is required for the propulsion of light. I believe it owes its origin to Sir William Herschel.

Speaking of the known velocity of light in connexion with the immense distance of certain nebulæ, that eminent astronomer made these remarks:—

"Hence it follows, that, when we... see an object of the calculated distance at which one of these very remote nebulæ may still be perceived... the rays of light which convey its image to the eye must have been more than nineteen hundred and ten thousand, that is, almost two millions, of years on their way; and that, consequently, so many years ago, this object must already have had an existence in the sidereal heavens, in order to send out those rays by which we now perceive it."[107]

The notion has been amplified, with some interesting details, by a writer in the Scottish Congregational Magazine for January 1847; who thus throws the statements into a tabular form, and comments on them.