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Young Folks' Library: Wonders of Earth, Sea and Sky
by
Edward Singleton Holden (Editor)
Web-Books.Com

The Marvels Of Nature ....................................................................................................... 3

 

What The Earth's Crust Is Made Of.................................................................................... 5

 

America The Old World ................................................................................................... 23

 

Some Records Of The Rocks............................................................................................ 35

 

The Pitch Lake In The West Indies................................................................................... 43

 

A Stalagmite Cave ............................................................................................................ 49

 

The Big Trees Of California ............................................................................................. 54

 

What Is Evolution? ........................................................................................................... 57

 

How The Soil Is Made ...................................................................................................... 61

 

Zoölogical Myths .............................................................................................................. 64

 

On A Piece Of Chalk ........................................................................................................ 75

 

A Bit Of Sponge................................................................................................................ 89

 

The Greatest Sea-Wave Ever Known ............................................................................... 92

 

The Phosphorescent Sea ................................................................................................... 99

 

Comets ............................................................................................................................ 109

 

The Total Solar Eclipse Of 1883 .................................................................................... 114

 

Halos—parhelia—the Spectre Of The Brocken, Etc ...................................................... 117

 

The Planet Venus ............................................................................................................ 122

 

The Stars ......................................................................................................................... 128

 

The Rank of the Earth as a Globe in Space. ................................................................... 132

 

Rain And Snow ............................................................................................................... 147

 

The Organic World ......................................................................................................... 153

 

Inhabitants Of My Pool................................................................................................... 157 NOTES............................................................................................................................ 165

The Marvels Of Nature

By
EDWARD S. HOLDEN, M.A., Sc.D. LL.D.

The Earth, the Sea, the Sky, and their wonders—these are the themes of this volume. The volume is so small, and the theme so vast! Men have lived on the earth for hundreds of the sands of years; and its wonders have increased, not diminished, with their experience.

To our barbarous ancestors of centuries ago, all was mystery—the thunder, the rainbow, the growing corn, the ocean, the stars. Gradually and by slow steps they learned to house themselves in trees, in caves, in huts, in houses; to find a sure supply of food; to provide a stock of serviceable clothing. The arts of life were born; tools were invented; the priceless boon of fire was received; tribes and clans united for defence; some measure of security and comfort was attained.

With security and comfort came leisure; and the mind of early Man began curiously to inquire the meaning of the mysteries with which he was surrounded. That curious inquiry was the birth of Science. Art was born when some far-away ancestor, in an idle hour, [pg xiv] scratched on a bone the drawing of two of his reindeer fighting, or carved on the walls of his cave the image of the mammoth that he had but lately slain with his spear and arrows.

In a mind that is completely ignorant there is no wonder. Wonder is the child of knowledge—of partial and imperfect knowledge, to be sure, but still, of knowledge. The very first step in Science is to make an inventory of external Nature (and by and by of the faculties of the mind that thinks). The second step is to catalogue similar appearances together. It is a much higher flight to seek the causes of likenesses thus discovered.

A few of the chapters of this volume are items in a mere catalogue of wonders, and deserve their place by accurate and eloquent description. Most of them, however, represent higher stages of insight. In the latter, Nature is viewed not only with the eye of the observer, but also with the mind's eye, curious to discover the reasons for things seen. The most penetrating inward inquiry accompanies the acutest external observation in such chapters as those of Darwin and Huxley, here reprinted.

Now, the point not to be overlooked is this: to Darwin and Huxley, as to their remote and uncultured ancestors, the World—the Earth, the Sea, the Sky—is full of wonders and of mysteries, but the wonders are of a higher order. The problems of the thunder [pg xv] and of the rainbow as they presented themselves to the men of a thousand generations ago, have been fully solved: but the questions; what is the veritable nature of electricity, exactly how does it differ from light, are still unanswered. And what are simple problems like these to the questions: what is love; why do we feel a sympathy with this person, an antipathy for that; and others of the sort? Science has made almost infinite advances since pre-historic man first felt the feeble current of intellectual curiosity amid his awe of the storm; it has still to grow almost infinitely before anything like a complete explanation even of external Nature is achieved.

Suppose that, at some future day, all physical and mechanical laws should be found to be direct consequences of a single majestic law, just as all the motions of the planets are (but—are they?) the direct results of the single law of gravitation. Gravitation will, probably, soon be explained in terms of some remoter cause, but the reason of that single and ultimate law of the universe which we have imagined would still remain unknown. Human knowledge will always have limits, and beyond those limits there will always be room for mystery and wonder. A complete and exhaustive explanation of the world is inconceivable, so long as human powers and capacities remain at all as they now are.

It is important to emphasize such truths, especially [pg xvi] in a book addressed to the young. When a lad hears for the first time that an astronomer, by a simple pointing of his spectroscope, can determine with what velocity a star is approaching the earth, or receding from it, or when he hears that the very shape of the revolving masses of certain stars can be calculated from simple measures of the sort, he is apt to conclude that Science, which has made such astounding advances since the days of Galileo and Newton, must eventually reach a complete explanation of the entire universe. The conclusion is not unnatural, but it is not correct. There are limits beyond which Science, in this sense, cannot go. Its scope is limited. Beyond its limits there are problems that it cannot solve, mysteries that it cannot explain.

At the present moment, for example, the nature of Force is unknown. A weight released from the hand drops to the earth. Exactly what is the nature of the force with which the earth attracts it? We do not know, but it so happens that it is more than likely that an explanation will be reached in our own day. Gravity will be explained in terms of some more general forces. The mystery will be pushed back another step, and yet another and another. But the progress is not indefinite. If all the mechanical actions of the entire universe were to be formulated as the results of a single law or cause, the cause of that cause would be still to seek, as has been said.

[pg xvii]

We have every right to exult in the amazing achievements of Science; but we have not understood them until we realize that the universe of Science has strict limits, within which all its conquests must necessarily be confined. Humility, and not pride, is the final lesson of scientific work and study.

The choice of the selections printed in this volume has been necessarily limited by many hampering conditions, that of mere space being one of the most harassing. Each of the chapters might readily be expanded into a volume. Volumes might be added on topics almost untouched here. It has been necessary to pass over almost without notice matters of surpassing interest and importance: Electricity and its wonderful and new applications; the new Biology, with its views upon such fundamental questions as the origins of life and death; modern Astronomy, with its far-reaching pronouncements upon the fate of universes. All these can only be touched lightly, if at all. It is the chief purpose of this volume to point the way towards the most modern and the greatest conclusions of Science, and to lay foundations upon which the reading of a life-time can be laid.

What The Earth's Crust Is Made Of

"Stand still and consider the wondrous works of God."

 

What is the earth made of—this round earth upon which we human beings live and move?

A question more easily asked than answered, as regards a very large portion of it. For the earth is a huge ball nearly eight thousand miles in diameter, and we who dwell on the outside have no means of getting down more than a very little way below the surface. So it is quite impossible for us to speak positively as to the inside of the earth, and what it is made of. Some people believe the earth's inside to be hard and solid, while others believe it to be one [pg 2] enormous lake or furnace of fiery melted rock. But nobody really knows.

This outside crust has been reckoned to be of many different thicknesses. One man will say it is ten miles thick, and another will rate it at four hundred miles. So far as regards man's knowledge of it, gained from mining, from boring, from examination of rocks, and from reasoning out all that may be learned from these observations, we shall allow an ample margin if we count the field of geology to extend some twenty miles downwards from the highest mountain-tops. Beyond this we find ourselves in a land of darkness and conjecture.

Twenty miles is only one four-hundredth part of the earth's diameter—a mere thin shell over a massive globe. If the earth were brought down in size to an ordinary large school globe, a piece of rough brown paper covering it might well represent the thickness of this earth-crust, with which the science of geology has to do. And the whole of the globe, this earth of ours, is but one tiny planet in the great Solar System. And the centre of that Solar System, the blazing sun, though equal in size to more than a million earths, is yet himself but one star amid millions of twinkling stars, scattered broadcast through the universe. So it would seem at first sight that the field of geology is a small field compared with that of astronomy....

With regard to the great bulk of the globe little can be said. Very probably it is formed through and through of the same materials as the crust. This we do not know. Neither can we tell, even if it be so formed, whether the said materials are solid and cold [pg 3] like the outside crust, or whether they are liquid with heat. The belief has been long and widely held that the whole inside of the earth is one vast lake or furnace of melted fiery-hot material, with only a thin cooled crust covering it. Some in the present day are inclined to question this, and hold rather that the earth is solid and cold throughout, though with large lakes of liquid fire here and there, under or in her crust, from which our volcanoes are fed....

The materials of which the crust is made are many and various; yet, generally speaking, they may all be classed under one simple word, and that word is—Rock.

It must be understood that, when we talk of rock in this geological sense, we do not only mean hard and solid stone, as in common conversation. Rock may be changed by heat into a liquid or "molten" state, as ice is changed by heat to water. Liquid rock may be changed by yet greater heat to vapor, as water is changed to steam, only we have in a common way no such heat at command as would be needed to effect this. Rock may be hard or soft. Rock maybe chalky, clayey, or sandy. Rock may be so close-grained that strong force is needed to break it; or it may be so porous—so full of tiny holes—that water will drain through it; or it may be crushed and crumbled into loose grains, among which you can pass your fingers.

The cliffs above our beaches are rock; the sand upon our seashore is rock; the clay used in brick-making is rock; the limestone of the quarry is rock; the marble of which our mantel-pieces are made is rock. The soft sandstone of South Devon, and the hard granite of the [pg 4] north of Scotland, are alike rock. The pebbles in the road are rock; the very mould in our gardens is largely composed of crumbled rock. So the word in its geological sense is a word of wide meaning.

Now the business of the geologist is to read the history of the past in these rocks of which the earth's crust is made. This may seem a singular thing to do, and I can assure you it is not an easy task.

For, to begin with, the history itself is written in a strange language, a language which man is only just beginning to spell out and understand. And this is only half the difficulty with which we have to struggle.

If a large and learned book were put before you and you were set to read it through, you would perhaps, have no insurmountable difficulty, with patience and perseverance, in mastering its meaning.

But how if the book were first chopped up into pieces, if part of it were flung away out of reach, if part of it were crushed into a pulp, if the numbering of the pages were in many places lost, if the whole were mixed up in confusion, and if then you were desired to sort, and arrange, and study the volume?

Picture to yourself what sort of a task this would be, and you will have some idea of the labors of the patient geologist.

 

Rocks may be divided into several kinds or classes. For the present moment it will be enough to consider the two grand divisions—Stratified rocks and Unstratified rocks.

Unstratified rocks are those which were once, at a time more or less distant, in a melted state from intense heat, and which have since cooled into a half crystalized[pg 5] state; much the same as water, when growing colder, cools and crystallizes into ice. Strictly speaking, ice is rock, just as much as granite and sandstone are rock. Water itself is of the nature of rock, only as we commonly know it in the liquid state we do not commonly call it so.

"Crystallization" means those particular forms or shapes in which the particles of a liquid arrange themselves, as that liquid hardens into a solid—in other words, as it freezes. Granite, iron, marble, are frozen substances, just as truly as ice is a frozen substance; for with greater heat they would all become liquid like water. When a liquid freezes, there are always crystals formed, though these are not always visible without the help of a microscope. Also the crystals are of different shapes with different substances. Crystallization may take place either slowly or [pg 6] rapidly, and either in the open air or far below ground. The lava from a volcano is an example of rock which has crystallized rapidly in the open air; and granite is an example of rock which has crystallized slowly underground beneath great pressure.
Stratified rocks, on the contrary, which make up a very large part of the earth's crust, are not crystallized. Instead of having cooled from a liquid into a solid state, they have been slowly built up, bit by bit and grain upon grain, into their present form, through long ages of the world's history. The materials of which they are made were probably once, long, long ago, the crumblings from granite and other crystallized rocks, but they show now no signs of crystallization.

They are called "stratified" because they are in themselves made up of distinct layers, and also because they lie thus one upon another in layers, or strata, just as the leaves of a book lie, or as the bricks of a house are placed.

Throughout the greater part of Europe, of Asia, of Africa, of North and South America, of Australia, these rocks are to be found, stretching over hundreds [pg 7] of miles together, north, south, east, and west, extending up to the tops of some of the earth's highest mountains, reaching down deep into the earth's crust. In many parts if you could dig straight downwards through the earth for thousands of feet, you would come to layer after layer of these stratified rocks, one kind below another, some layers thick, some layers thin, here a stratum of gravel, there a stratum of sandstone, here a stratum of coal, there a stratum of clay.

But how, when, where, did the building up of all these rock-layers take place?

People are rather apt to think of land and water on the earth as if they were fixed in one changeless form,—as if every continent and every island were of exactly the same shape and size now that it always has been and always will be.

[pg 8]

 

Yet nothing can be further from the truth. The earth-crust is a scene of perpetual change, of perpetual struggle, of perpetual building up, of perpetual wearing away.

The work may go on slowly, but it does go on. The sea is always fighting against the land, beating down her cliffs, eating into her shores, swallowing bit by bit of solid earth; and rain and frost and inland streams are always busily at work, helping the ocean in her work of destruction. Year by year and century by century it continues. Not a country in the world which is bordered by the open sea has precisely the same coast-line that it had one hundred years ago; not a land in the world but parts each century with masses of its material, washed piecemeal away into the ocean.

Is this hard to believe? Look at the crumbling cliffs around old England's shores. See the effect upon the beach of one night's fierce storm. Mark the pathway on the cliff, how it seems to have crept so near the edge that here and there it is scarcely safe to tread; and very soon, as we know, it will become impassable. Just from a mere accident, of course,—the breaking away of some of the earth, loosened by rain and frost and wind. But this is an accident which happens daily in hundreds of places around the shores.

Leaving the ocean, look now at this river in our neighborhood, and see the slight muddiness which seems to color its waters. What from? Only a little earth and sand carried off from the banks as it flowed,—very unimportant and small in quantity, doubtless, just at this moment and just at this spot. But what of that little going on week after week, and century [pg 9] after century, throughout the whole course of the river, and throughout the whole course of every river and rivulet in our whole country and in every other country. A vast amount of material must every year be thus torn from the land and given to the ocean. For the land's loss here is the ocean's gain.

And, strange to say, we shall find that this same ocean, so busily engaged with the help of its tributary rivers in pulling down land, is no less busily engaged with their help in building it up.

You have sometimes seen directions upon a vial of medicine to "shake" before taking the dose. When you have so shaken the bottle the clear liquid grows thick; and if you let it stand for awhile the thickness goes off, and a fine grain-like or dust-like substance settles down at the bottom—the settlement or sediment of the medicine. The finer this sediment, the slower it is in settling. If you were to keep the liquid in gentle motion, the fine sediment would not settle down at the bottom. With coarser and heavier grains the motion would have to be quicker to keep them supported in the water.

Now it is just the same thing with our rivers and streams. Running water can support and carry along sand and earth, which in still water would quickly sink to the bottom; and the more rapid the movement of the water, the greater is the weight it is able to bear.

This is plainly to be seen in the case of a mountain torrent. As it foams fiercely through its rocky bed it bears along, not only mud and sand and gravel, but stones and even small rocks, grinding the latter roughly together till they are gradually worn away, first to [pg 10] rounded pebbles, then to sand, and finally to mud. The material thus swept away by a stream, ground fine, and carried out to sea—part being dropped by the way on the riverbed—is called detritus, which simply means worn-out material.

The tremendous carrying-power of a mountain torrent can scarcely be realized by those who have not observed it for themselves. I have seen a little mountain-stream swell in the course of a heavy thunderstorm to such a torrent, brown and turbid with earth torn from the mountainside, and sweeping resistlessly along in its career a shower of stones and rock-fragments. That which happens thus occasionally with many streams is more or less the work all the year round of many more.

As the torrent grows less rapid, lower down in its course, it ceases to carry rocks and stones, though the grinding and wearing away of stones upon the rocky bed continues, and coarse gravel is borne still upon its [pg 11] waters. Presently the widening stream, flowing yet more calmly, drops upon its bed all such coarser gravel as is not worn away to fine earth, but still bears on the lighter grains of sand. Next the slackening speed makes even the sand too heavy a weight, and that in turn falls to line the river-bed, while the now broad and placid stream carries only the finer particles of mud suspended in its waters. Soon it reaches the ocean, and the flow being there checked by the incoming ocean-tide, even the mud can no longer be held up, and it also sinks slowly in the shallows near the shore, forming sometimes broad mud-banks dangerous to the mariner.

This is the case only with smaller rivers. Where the stream is stronger, the mud-banks are often formed much farther out at sea; and more often still the river-detritus is carried away and shed over the ocean-bed, beyond the reach of our ken. The powerful rush of water in earth's greater streams bears enormous masses of sand and mud each year far out into the ocean, there dropping quietly the gravel, sand, and earth, layer upon layer at the bottom of the sea. Thus pulling down and building up go on ever side by side; and while land is the theatre oftentimes of decay and loss, ocean is the theatre oftentimes of renewal and gain.
Did you notice the word "sediment" used a few pages back about the settlement at the bottom of a medicine-vial?

There is a second name given to the Stratified Rocks, of which the earth's crust is so largely made up. They are called also Sedimentary Rocks.

 

[pg 12]

The reason is simply this. The Stratified Rocks of the present day were once upon a time made up out of the sediment stolen first from land and then allowed to settle down on the sea-bottom.

Long, long ago, the rivers, the streams, the ocean, were at work, as they are now, carrying away rock and gravel, sand and earth. Then, as now, all this material, borne upon the rivers, washed to and fro by the ocean, settled down at the mouths of rivers or at the bottom of the sea, into a sediment, one layer forming over another, gradually built up through long ages. At first it was only a soft, loose, sandy or muddy sediment, such as you may see on the seashore, or in a mud-bank. But as the thickness of the sediment increased, the weight of the layers above gradually pressed the lower layers into firm hard rocks; and still, as the work of building went on, these layers were, in their turn, made solid by the increasing weight over them. Certain chemical changes had also a share in the transformation from soft mud to hard rock, which need not be here considered.

All this has through thousands of years been going on. The land is perpetually crumbling away; and fresh land under the sea is being perpetually built up, from the very same materials which the sea and the rivers have so mercilessly stolen from continents and islands. This is the way, if geologists rightly judge, in which a very large part of the enormous formations of Stratified or Sedimentary Rocks have been made.

So far is clear. But now we come to a difficulty.

The Stratified Rocks, of which a very large part of the continents is made, appear to have been built up [pg 13] slowly, layer upon layer, out of the gravel, sand, and mud, washed away from the land and dropped on the shore of the ocean.

You may see these layers for yourself as you walk out into the country. Look at the first piece of bluff rock you come near, and observe the clear pencil-like markings of layer above layer—not often indeed lying flat, one over another, and this must be explained later, but however irregularly slanting, still plainly visible. You can examine these lines of stratification on the nearest cliff, the nearest quarry, the nearest bare headland, in your neighborhood.

But how can this be? If all these stratified rocks are built on the floor of the ocean out of material taken from the land, how can we by any possibility find such rocks upon the land? In the beds of rivers we might indeed expect to see them, but surely nowhere else save under ocean waters.

Yet find them we do. Through England, through the two great world-continents, they abound on every side. Thousands of miles in unbroken succession are composed of such rocks.
Stand with me near the seashore, and let us look around. Those white chalk cliffs—they, at least, are [pg 14] not formed of sand or earth. True, and the lines of stratification are in them very indistinct, if seen at all; yet they too are built up of sediment of a different kind, dropping upon ocean's floor. See, however, in the rough sides of yonder bluff the markings spoken of, fine lines running alongside of one another, sometimes flat, sometimes bent or slanting, but always giving the impression of layer piled upon layer. Yet how can one for a moment suppose that the ocean-waters ever rose so high?

Stay a moment. Look again at yonder white chalk cliff, and observe a little way below the top a singular band of shingles, squeezed into the cliff, as it were, with chalk below and earth above.

That is believed to be an old sea-beach. Once upon a time the waters of the sea are supposed to have washed those shingles, as now they wash the shore near which we stand, and all the white cliff must have lain then beneath the ocean.

Geologists were for a long while sorely puzzled to account for these old sea-beaches, found high up in the cliffs around our land in many different places.

They had at first a theory that the sea must once, in far back ages, have been a great deal higher than it is now. But this explanation only brought about fresh difficulties. It is quite impossible that the level of the sea should be higher in one part of the world than in another. If the sea around England were then one or two hundred feet higher than it is now, it must have been one or two hundred feet higher in every part of the world where the ocean-waters have free flow. One is rather puzzled to know where all the [pg 15] water could have come from, for such a tremendous additional amount. Besides, in some places remains of sea-animals are found in mountain heights, as much as two or three thousand feet above the sea-level—as, for instance, in Corsica. This very much increases the difficulty of the above explanation.

So another theory was started instead, and this is now generally supposed to be the true one. What if instead of the whole ocean having been higher, parts of the land were lower? England at one time, parts of Europe at another time, parts of Asia and America at other times, may have slowly sunk beneath the ocean, and after long remaining there have slowly risen again.

This is by no means so wild a supposition as it may seem when first heard, and as it doubtless did seem when first proposed. For even in the present day these movements of the solid crust of our earth are going on. The coasts of Sweden and Finland have long been slowly and steadily rising out of the sea, so that the waves can no longer reach so high upon those shores as in years gone by they used to reach. In Greenland, on the contrary, land has long been slowly and steadily sinking, so that what used to be the shore now lies under the sea. Other such risings and sinkings might be mentioned, as also many more in connection with volcanoes and earthquakes, which are neither slow nor steady, but sudden and violent.

So it becomes no impossible matter to believe that, in the course of ages past, all those wide reaches of our continents and islands, where sedimentary rocks are to be found, were each in turn, at one time or another, [pg 16] during long periods, beneath the rolling waters of the ocean....
These built-up rocks are not only called "Stratified," and "Sedimentary." They have also the name of Aqueous Rock, from the Latin word aqua, water; because they are believed to have been formed by the action of the water.

They have yet another and fourth title, which is, Fossiliferous Rocks.

Fossils are the hardened remains of animals and vegetables found in rocks. They are rarely, if ever, seen in unstratified rocks; but many layers of stratified rocks abound in these remains. Whole skeletons as well as single bones, whole tree-trunks as well as single leaves, are found thus embedded in rock-layers, where in ages past the animal or plant died and found a grave. They exist by thousands in many parts of the world, varying in size from the huge skeleton of the elephant to the tiny shell of the microscopic animalcule.

Fossils differ greatly in kind. Sometimes the entire shell or bone is changed into stone, losing all its animal substance, but retaining its old outline and its natural markings. Sometimes the fossil is merely the hardened impress of the outside of a shell or leaf, which has dented its picture on soft clay, and has itself disappeared, while the soft clay has become rock, [pg 17] and the indented picture remains fixed through after-centuries. Sometimes the fossil is the cast of the inside of a shell; the said shell having been filled with soft mud, which has taken its exact shape and hardened, while the shell itself has vanished. The most complete description of fossil is the first of these three kinds. It is wonderfully shown sometimes in fossil wood, where all the tiny cells and delicate fibres remain distinctly marked as of old, only the whole woody substance has changed into hard stone.
But although the fossil remains of quadrupeds and other land-animals are found in large quantities, their number is small compared with the enormous number of fossil sea-shells and sea-animals.

Land-animals can, as a rule, have been so preserved, only when they have been drowned in ponds or rivers, or mired in bogs and swamps, or overtaken by frost, or swept out to sea.

Sea-animals, on the contrary, have been so preserved on land whenever that land has been under the sea; and this appears to have been the case, at one or another past age, with the greater part of our present [pg 18] continents. These fossil remains of sea-animals are discovered in all quarters of the world, not only on the seashore but also far inland, not only deep down underground but also high up on the tops of lofty mountains—a plain proof that over the summits of those mountains the ocean must once have rolled, and this not for a brief space only, but through long periods of time. And not on the mountainsummit only are these fossils known to abound, but sometimes in layer below layer of the mountain, from top to bottom, through thousands of feet of rock.

This may well seem puzzling at first sight. Fossils of sea-creatures on a mountain-top are startling enough; yet hardly so startling as the thought of fossils inside that mountain. How could they have found their way thither?

The difficulty soon vanishes, if once we clearly understand that all these thousands of feet of rock were built up slowly, layer after layer, when portions of the land lay deep under the sea. Thus each separate layer of mud or sand or other material became in its turn the top layer, and was for the time the floor of the ocean, until further droppings of material out of the waters made a fresh layer, covering up the one below. While each layer was thus in succession the top layer of the building, and at the same time the floor [pg 19] of the ocean, animals lived and died in the ocean, and their remains sank to the bottom, resting upon the sediment floor. Thousands of such dead remains disappeared, crumbling into fine dust and mingling with the waters, but here and there one was caught captive by the half-liquid mud, and was quickly covered and preserved from decay. And still the building went on, and still layer after layer was placed, till many fossils lay deep down beneath the later-formed layers; and when at length, by slow or quick upheaval of the ground, this sea-bottom became a mountain, the little fossils were buried within the body of that mountain. So wondrously the matter appears to have come about.

Another difficulty with respect to the stratified rocks has to be thought of. All these layers or deposits of gravel, sand, or earth, on the floor of the ocean, would naturally be horizontal—that is, would lie flat, one upon another. In places the ocean-floor might slant, or a crevice or valley or ridge might break the smoothness of the deposit. But though the layers might partake of the slant, though the valley might have to be filled, though the ridge might have to be surmounted, still the general tendency of the waves would be to level the dropping deposits into flat layers.

Then how is it that when we examine the strata of rocks in our neighborhood, wherever that neighborhood may be, we do not find them so arranged? Here, it is true, the lines for a space are nearly horizontal, but there, a little way farther on, they are perpendicular; here they are bent, and there curved; here they are slanting, and there crushed and broken.

[pg 20]

 

This only bears out what has been already said about the Book of Geology. It has been bent and disturbed, crushed and broken.

Great powers have been at work in this crust of our earth. Continents have been raised, mountains have been upheaved, vast masses of rock have been scattered into fragments. Here or there we may find the layers arranged as they were first laid down; but far more often we discover signs of later disturbance, either slow or sudden, varying from a mere quiet tilting to a violent overturn.

So the Book of Geology is a torn and disorganized volume, not easy to read.

 

Yet, on the other hand, these very changes which have taken place are a help to the geologist.

It may seem at first sight as if we should have an easier task, if the strata were all left lying just as they were first formed, in smooth level layers, one above another. But if it were so, we could know very little about the lower layers.

We might indeed feel sure, as we do now, that the lowest layers were the oldest and the top layers the newest, and that any fossils found in the lower layers must belong to an age farther back than any fossils found in the upper layers.

[pg 21]

So much would be clear. And we might dig also and burrow a little way down, through a few different kinds of rock, where they were not too thick. But that would be all. There our powers would cease.
Now how different. Through the heavings and tiltings of the earth's crust, the lower layers are often pushed quite up to the surface, so that we are able to examine them and their fossils without the least difficulty, and very often without digging underground at all.

You must not suppose that the real order of the rocks is changed by these movements, for generally speaking it is not. The lower kinds are rarely if ever found placed over the upper kinds; only the ends of them are seen peeping out above ground.

It is as if you had a pile of copy-books lying flat one upon another, and were to put your finger under the lowest and push it up. All those above would be pushed up also, and perhaps they would slip a little way down, so that you would have a row of edges showing side by side, at very much the same height. The arrangement of the copy-books would not be changed, for the lowest would still be the lowest in actual position; but a general tilting or upheaval would have taken place.

Just such a tilting or upheaval has taken place again and again with the rocks forming our earth-crust. The edges of the lower rocks often show side by side with those of higher layers.

But geologists know them apart. They are able to tell confidently whether such and such a rock, peeping out at the earth's surface, belongs really to a lower or [pg 22] a higher kind. For there is a certain sort of order followed in the arrangement of rock-layers all over the earth, and it is well known that some rocks are never found below some other rocks, that certain particular kinds are never placed above certain other kinds. Thus it follows that the fossils found in one description of rock, must be the fossils of animals which lived and died before the animals whose fossil remains are found in another neighboring rock, just because this last rock-layer was built upon the ocean-floor above and therefore later than the other.

All this is part of the foreign language of geology—part of the piecing and arranging of the torn volume. Many mistakes are made; many blunders are possible; but the mistakes and blunders are being gradually corrected, and certain rules by which to read and understand are becoming more and more clear.

It has been already said that unstratified rocks are those which have been at some period, whether lately or very long ago, in a liquid state from intense heat, and which have since cooled, either quickly or slowly, crystallizing as they cooled.

Unstratified Rocks may be divided into two distinct classes.

 

First.—Volcanic Rocks, such as lava. These have been quickly cooled at the surface of the earth, or not far below it.

 

[pg 23]

 

Secondly.—Plutonic Rocks, such as granite. These have been slowly cooled deep down in the earth under heavy pressure.

There is also a class of rocks, called metamorphic rocks, including some kinds of marble. These are, strictly speaking, crystalline rocks, and yet they are arranged in something like layers. The word "metamorphic" simply means "transformed." They are believed to have been once stratified rocks, perhaps containing often the remains of animals; but intense heat has later transformed them into crystalline rocks, and the animal remains have almost or quite vanished.

Just as the different kinds of Stratified Rocks are often called Aqueous Rocks, or rocks formed by the action of water—so these different kinds of Unstratified Rocks are often called Igneous Rocks, or rocks formed by the action of fire—the name being taken from the Latin word for fire. The Metamorphic Rocks are sometimes described as "Aqueoigneous," since both water and fire helped in the forming of them.

It was at one time believed, as a matter of certainty, that granite and such rocks belonged to a period much farther back than the periods of the stratified rocks. [pg 24] That is to say, it was supposed that fire-action had come first and water-action second; that the fire-made rocks were all formed in very early ages, and that only water-made rocks still continued to be formed. So the name of Primary Rocks, or First Rocks, was given to the granites and other such rocks, and the name of Secondary Rocks to all water-built rocks; while those of the third class were called Transition Rocks, because they seemed to be a kind of link or stepping-stone in the change from the First to the Second Rocks.

The chief reason for the general belief that fire-built rocks were older than water-built ones was, that the former are as a rule found to lie lower than the latter. They form, as it were, the basement of the building, while the top-stories are made of water-built rocks.

Many still believe that there is much truth in the thought. It is most probable, so far as we are able to judge, that the first-formed crust of rocks all over the earth was of cooled and crystallized material. As these rocks were crumbled and wasted by the ocean, materials would have been supplied for the building-up of rocks, layer upon layer.

But this is conjecture. We cannot know with any certainty the course of events so far back in the past. And geologists are now able to state with tolerable confidence that, however old many of the granites may be, yet a large amount of the fire-built rocks are no older than the water-built rocks which lie over them.

So by many geologists the names of Primary, Transition, and Secondary Formations are pretty well given up. It has been proposed to give instead to the [pg 25] crysallized rocks of all kinds the name of Underlying Rocks (Hypogene Rocks).

But if they really do lie under, how can they possibly be of the same age? One would scarcely venture to suppose, in looking at a building, that the cellars had not been finished before the upper floors.

True. In the first instance doubtless the cellars were first made, then the ground-floor, then the upper stories.

When, however, the house was so built, alterations and improvements might be very widely carried on above and below. While one set of workmen were engaged in remodelling the roof, another set of workmen might be engaged in remodelling the kitchens and first floor, pulling down, propping up, and actually rebuilding parts of the lower walls.

This is precisely what the two great fellow-workmen, Fire and Water, are ever doing in the crust of our earth. And if it be objected that such alterations too widely undertaken might result in slips, cracks, and slidings, of ceilings and walls in the upper stories, I can only say that such catastrophes have been the result of underground alterations in that great building, the earth's crust....

We see therefore clearly that, although the earliest fire-made rocks may very likely date farther back than the earliest water-made rocks, yet the making of the two kinds has gone on side by side, one below and the other above ground, through all ages up to the present moment.

And just as in the present day water continues its [pg 26] busy work above ground of pulling down and building up, so also fire continues its busy work underground of melting rocks which afterwards cool into new forms, and also of shattering and upheaving parts of the earth-crust.

For there can be no doubt that fiery heat does exist as a mighty power within our earth, though to what extent we are not able to say.

These two fellow-workers in nature have different modes of working. One we can see on all sides, quietly progressing, demolishing land patiently bit by bit, building up land steadily grain by grain. The other, though more commonly hidden from sight, is fierce and tumultuous in character, and shows his power in occasional terrific outbursts.

We can scarcely realize what the power is of the imprisoned fiery forces underground, though even we are not without some witness of their existence. From time to time even our firm land has been felt to tremble with a thrill from some far-off shock; and even in our country is seen the marvel of scalding water pouring unceasingly from deep underground....

Think of the tremendous eruptions of Vesuvius, of Etna, of Hecla, of Mauna Loa. Think of whole towns crushed and buried, with their thousands of living inhabitants. Think of rivers of glowing lava streaming up from regions below ground, and pouring along the surface for a distance of forty, fifty, and even sixty miles, as in Iceland and Hawaii. Think of red-hot cinders flung from a volcano-crater to a height of ten thousand feet. Think of lakes of liquid fire in other craters, five hundred to a thousand feet across, huge [pg 27] cauldrons of boiling rock. Think of showers of ashes from the furnace below of yet another, borne so high aloft as to be carried seven hundred miles before they sank to earth again. Think of millions of red-hot stones flung out in one eruption of Vesuvius. Think of a mass of rock, one hundred cubic yards in size, hurled to a distance of eight miles or more out of the crater of Cotopaxi.

Think also of earthquake-shocks felt through twelve hundred miles of country. Think of fierce tremblings and heavings lasting in constant succession through days and weeks of terror. Think of hundreds of miles of land raised several feet in one great upheaval. Think of the earth opening in scores of wide-lipped cracks, to swallow men and beasts. Think of hot mud, boiling water, scalding stream, liquid rock, bursting [pg 28] from such cracks, or pouring from rents in a mountain-side.

Truly these are signs of a state of things in or below the solid crust on which we live, that may make us doubt the absolute security of "Mother Earth."

Different explanations have been put forward to explain this seemingly fiery state of things underground.
Until lately the belief was widely held that our earth was one huge globe of liquid fire, with only a slender cooled crust covering her, a few miles in thickness.

This view was supported by the fact that heat is found to increase as men descend into the earth. Measurements of such heat-increase have been taken, both in mines and in borings for wells. The usual rate is about one degree more of heat, of our common thermometer, for every fifty or sixty feet of descent. If this were steadily continued, water would boil at a depth of eight thousand feet below the surface; iron would melt at a depth of twentyeight miles; while at a depth of forty or fifty miles no known substance upon earth could remain solid.

The force of this proof is, however, weakened by the fact that the rate at which the heat increases differs very much in different places. Also it is now generally supposed that such a tremendous furnace of heat—a furnace nearly eight thousand miles in diameter— could not fail to break up and melt so slight a covering shell.

Many believe, therefore, not that the whole interior of[pg 29] the earth is liquid with heat, but that enormous fire-seas or lakes of melted rock exist here and there, under or in the earthcrust. From these lakes the volcanoes would be fed, and they would be the cause of earthquakes and land-upheavals or land-sinkings. There are strong reasons for supposing that the earth was once a fiery liquid body, and that she has slowly cooled through long ages. Some hold that her centre probably grew solid first from tremendous pressure; that her crust afterwards became gradually cold; and that between the solid crust and the solid inside or "nucleus," a sea of melted rock long existed, the remains of which are still to be found in these tremendous fiery reservoirs.

The idea accords well with the fact that large numbers of extinct or dead volcanoes are scattered through many parts of the earth. If the above explanation be the right one, doubtless the fire-seas in the crust extended once upon a time beneath such volcanoes, but have since died out or smouldered low in those parts.

A somewhat curious calculation has been made, to illustrate the different modes of working of these two mighty powers—Fire and Water.

The amount of land swept away each year in mud, and borne to the ocean by the River Ganges, was roughly reckoned, and also the amount of land believed to have been upheaved several feet in the great Chilian earthquake.

It was found that the river, steadily working month by month, would require some four hundred years to carry to the sea the same weight of material, which in [pg 30] one tremendous effort was upheaved by the fiery underground forces.

Yet we must not carry this distinction too far. Fire does not always work suddenly, or water slowly; witness the slow rising and sinking of land in parts of the earth, continuing through centuries; and witness also the effects of great floods and storms.

The crust of the earth is made of rock. But what is rock made of?

 

Certain leading divisions of rocks have been already considered:

 

The Water-made Rocks; The Fire-made Rocks, both Plutonic and Volcanic;

 

The Water-and-Fire-made Rocks.

 

The first of these—Water-made Rocks—may be subdivided into three classes. These are,—

 

I. Flint Rocks; II. Clay Rocks; III. Lime Rocks.

 

This is not a book in which it would be wise to go closely into the mineral nature of rocks. Two or three leading thoughts may, however, be given.

 

Does it not seem strange that the hard and solid rocks should be in great measure formed of the same substances which form the thin invisible air floating around us?

Yet so it is. There is a certain gas called Oxygen Gas. Without that gas you could not live many minutes. Banish it from the room in which you are sitting, and in a few minutes you will die.

This gas makes up nearly one-quarter by weight of the atmosphere round the whole earth.

 

[pg 31]

 

The same gas plays an important part in the ocean; for more than three-quarters of water is oxygen.

 

It plays also an important part in rocks; for about half the material of the entire earth's crust is oxygen.

Another chief material in rocks is silicon. This makes up one-quarter of the crust, leaving only one-quarter to be accounted for. Silicon mixed with oxygen makes silica or quartz. There are few rocks which have not a large amount of quartz in them. Common flint, sandstones, and the sand of our shores, are made of quartz, and therefore belong to the first class of Silicious or Flint Rocks. Granites and lavas are about one-half quartz. The beautiful stones, amethyst, agate, chalcedony, and jasper, are all different kinds of quartz.

Another chief material in rocks is a white metal called aluminium. United to oxygen it becomes alumina, the chief substance in clay. Rocks of this kind—such as clays, and also the lovely blue gem, sapphire—are called Argillaceous Rocks, from the Latin word for clay, and belong to the second class. Such rocks keep fossils well.

Another is calcium. United to oxygen and carbonic acid, it makes carbonate of lime, the chief substance in limestone; so all limestones belong to the third class of Calcareous or Lime Rocks.

Other important materials may be mentioned, such as magnesium, potassium, sodium, iron, carbon, sulphur, hydrogen, chlorine, nitrogen. These, with many more, not so common, make up the remaining quarter of the earth-crust.

Carbon plays as important a part in animal and vegetable life as silicon in rocks. Carbon is most [pg 32] commonly seen in three distinct forms—as charcoal, as black-lead, and as the pure brilliant diamond. Carbon united, in a particular proportion, to oxygen, forms carbonic acid; and carbonic acid united, in a particular proportion, to lime, forms limestone.

Hydrogen united to oxygen forms water. Each of these two gases is invisible alone, but when they meet and mingle they form a liquid.

 

Nitrogen united to oxygen and to a small quantity of carbonic acid gas forms our atmosphere.

 

Rocks of pure flint, pure clay, or pure lime, are rarely or never met with. Most rocks are made up of several different substances melted together.

In the fire-built rocks no remains of animals are found, though in water-built rocks they abound. Water-built rocks are sometimes divided into two classes—those which only contain occasional animal remains, and those which are more or less built up of the skeletons of animals.

There are some exceedingly tiny creatures inhabiting the ocean, called Rhizopods. They live in minute shells, the largest of which may be almost the size of a grain of wheat, but by far the greater number are invisible as shells without a microscope, and merely show as fine dust. The [pg 33] rhizopods are of different shapes, sometimes round, sometimes spiral, sometimes having only one cell, sometimes having several cells. In the latter case a separate animal lives in each cell. The animal is of the very simplest as well as the smallest kind. He has not even a mouth or a stomach but can take in food at any part of his body.

These rhizopods live in the oceans in enormous numbers. Tens of millions are ever coming into existence, living out their tiny lives, dying, and sinking to the bottom.

 

There upon the ocean-floor gather their remains, a heaped-up multitude of minute skeletons or shells, layer forming over layer.

It was long suspected that the white chalk cliffs of England were built up in some such manner as this through past ages. And now at length proof has been found, in the shape of mud dredged up from the ocean-bottom—mud entirely composed of countless multitudes of these little shells, dropping there by myriads, and becoming slowly joined together in one mass.

Just so, it is believed, were the white chalk cliffs built—gradually prepared on the oceanfloor, and then slowly or suddenly upheaved, so as to become a part of the dry land.

Think what the enormous numbers must have been of tiny living creatures, out of whose shells the wide [pg 34] reaches of white chalk cliffs have been made. Chalk cliffs and chalk layers extend from Ireland, through England and France, as far as to the Crimea. In the south of Russia they are said to be six hundred feet thick. Yet one cubic inch of chalk is calculated to hold the remains of more than one million rhizopods. How many countless millions upon millions must have gone to the whole structure! How long must the work of building up have lasted!

These little shells do not always drop softly and evenly to the ocean-floor, to become quietly part of a mass of shells. Sometimes, where the ocean is shallow enough for the waves to have power below, or where land currents can reach, they are washed about, and thrown one against another, and ground into fine powder; and the fine powder becomes in time, through different causes, solid rock.

Limestone is made in another way also. In the warm waters of the South Pacific Ocean there are many islands, large and small, which have [pg 35] been formed in a wonderful manner by tiny living workers. The workers are soft jelly-like creatures, called polyps, who labor together in building up great walls and masses of coral.

They never carry on their work above the surface of the water, for in the air they would die. But the waves break the coral, and heap it up above high-water mark, and carry earth and seeds to drop there till at length a small low-lying island is formed.

The waves not only heap up broken coral, but they grind the coral into fine powder, and from this powder limestone rock is made, just as it is from the powdered [pg 36] shells of rhizopods. The material used by the polyps in building the coral is chiefly lime, which they have the power of gathering out of the water, and the fine coral-powder, sinking to the bottom, makes large quantities of hard limestone. Soft chalk is rarely, if ever, found near the coral islands.

Limestones are formed in the same manner from the grinding up of other sea-shells and fossils, various in kind; the powder becoming gradually united into solid rock.

There is yet another way in which limestone is made, quite different from all these. Sometimes streams of water have a large quantity of lime in them; and these as they flow will drop layers of lime which harden into rock. Or a lime-laden spring, making its way through the roof of an underground cavern, will leave all kinds of fantastic arrangements of limestone wherever its waters can trickle and drip. Such a cavern is called a "stalactite cave."

So there are different kinds of fossil rock-making. There may be rocks made of other materials, with fossil simply buried in them. There may be rocks [pg 37] made entirely of fossils, which have gathered in masses as they sank to the sea-bottom, and have there become simply and lightly joined together. There may be rocks made of the ground-up powder of fossils, pressed into a solid substance or united by some other substance.

Rocks are also often formed of whole fossils, or stones, or shells, bound into one by some natural soft sticky cement, which has gathered round them and afterwards grown hard, like the cement which holds together the stones in a wall.

The tiny rhizopods (meaning root foot) which have so large a share in chalk and limestone making, are among the smallest and simplest known kinds of animal life.

There are also some very minute forms of vegetable life, which exist in equally vast numbers, called Diatoms. For a long while they were believed to be living animals, like the rhizopods. Scientific men are now, however, pretty well agreed that they really are only vegetables or plants.

The diatoms have each one a tiny shell or shield, not made of lime like the rhizopodshells, but of flint. Some think that common flint may be formed of these tiny shells.

Again, there is a kind of rock called Mountain Meal, which is entirely made up of the remains of diatoms. Examined under the microscope, thousands of minute flint shields of various shapes are seen. This rock, or earth, is very abundant in many places, and is sometimes used as a polishing powder. In Bohemia there is a layer of it no less than fourteen feet thick. Yet so minute are the shells of which it is composed, that one square inch of rock is said to contain about four [pg 38] thousand millions of them. Each one of these millions is a separate distinct fossil....

If you examine carefully a piece of coal, you will find, more or less clearly, markings like those which are seen in a piece of wood. Sometimes they are very distinct indeed. Coal abounds in impressions of leaves, ferns, and stems, and fossil remains of plants and treetrunks are found in numbers in coal-seams.

Coal is a vegetable substance. The wide coal-fields of Britain and other lands are the fossil remains of vast forests.

Long ages ago, as it seems, broad and luxuriant forests flourished over the earth. In many parts generation after generation of trees lived and died and decayed, leaving no trace of their existence, beyond a little layer of black mould, soon to be carried away by wind and water. Coal could only be formed where there were bogs and quagmires.

But in bogs and [pg 39] quagmires, and in shallow lakes of low-lying lands, there were great gatherings of slowly-decaying vegetable remains, trees, plants, and ferns all mingling together. Then after a while the low lands would sink and the ocean pouring in would cover them with layers of protecting sand or mud; and sometimes the land would rise again, and fresh forests would spring into life, only to be in their turn overwhelmed anew, and covered by fresh sandy or earthy deposits.

These buried forests lay through the ages following, slowly hardening into the black and shining coal, so useful now to man.

The coal is found thus in thin or thick seams, with other rock-layers between, telling each its history of centuries long past. In one place no less than sixteen such beds of coal are found, one below another, each divided from the next above and the next underneath by beds of clay or sand or shale. The forests could not have grown in the sea, and the earthlayers could not have been formed on land, therefore many land-risings and sinkings must have taken place. Each bed probably tells the tale of a succession of forests....

Before going on to a sketch of the early ages of the Earth's history—ages stretching back long long before the time of Adam—it is needful to think yet for a little longer about the manner in which that history is written, and the way in which it has to be read.

For the record is one difficult to make out, and its style of expression is often dark and mysterious. There is scarcely any other volume in the great Book of Nature, which the student is so likely to misread as this [pg 40] one. It is very needful, therefore, to hold the conclusions of geologists with a light grasp, guarding each with a "perhaps" or a "may be." Many an imposing edifice has been built, in geology, upon a rickety foundation which has speedily given way.

In all ages of the world's history up to the present day, rock-making has taken place— fire-made rocks being fashioned underground, and water-made rocks being fashioned above ground though under water.
Also in all ages different kinds of rocks have been fashioned side by side—limestone in one part of the world, sandstone in another, chalk in another, clay in another, and so on. There have, it is true, been ages when one kind seems to have been the chief kind—an age of limestone, or an age of chalk. But even then there were doubtless more rockbuildings going on, though not to so great an extent. On the other hand, there may have been ages during which no limestone was made, or no chalk, or no clay. As a general rule, however, the various sorts of rock-building have probably gone on together. This was not so well understood by early geologists as it is now.

The difficulty is often great of disentangling the different strata, and saying which was earlier and which later formed.

Still, by close and careful study of the rocks which compose the earth's crust, a certain kind of order is found to exist, more or less followed out in all parts of the world. When each layer was formed in England or in America, the geologist cannot possibly say. He can, however, assert, in either place, that a certain mass of rock was formed before a certain other mass [pg 41] in that same place, even though the two may seem to lie side by side; for he knows that they were so placed only by upheaval, and that once upon a time the one lay beneath the other.

The geologist can go further. He can often declare that a certain mass of rock in America and a certain mass of rock in England, quite different in kind, were probably built up at about the same time. How long ago that time was he would be rash to attempt to say; but that the two belong to the same age he has good reason for supposing.

We find rocks piled upon rocks in a certain order, so that we may generally be pretty confident that the lower rocks were first made, and the upper rocks the latest built. Further than this, we find in all the said layers of water-built rocks signs of past life.

As already stated, much of this life was ocean-life, though not all.

Below the sea, as the rock-layers were being formed, bit by bit, of earth dropping from the ocean to the ocean's floor, sea-creatures lived out their lives and died by thousands, to sink to that same floor. Millions passed away, dissolving and leaving no trace behind; but thousands were preserved—shells often, animals sometimes.

Nor was this all. For now and again some part of the sea-bottom was upheaved, slowly or quickly, till it became dry land. On this dry land animals lived again, and thousands of them, too, died, and their bones crumbled into dust. But here and there one was caught in bog or frost, and his remains were preserved till, through lapse of ages, they turned to stone.

[pg 42]

Yet again that land would sink, and over it fresh layers were formed by the ocean-waters, with fresh remains of sea-animals buried in with the layers of sand or lime; and once more the sea-bottom would rise, perhaps then to continue as dry land, until the day when man should discover and handle these hidden remains.

Now note a remarkable fact as to these fossils, scattered far and wide through the layers of stratified rock.
In the uppermost and latest built rocks the animals found are the same, in great measure, as those which now exist upon the earth.

Leaving the uppermost rocks, and examining those which lie a little way below, we find a difference. Some are still the same, and others, if not quite the same, are very much like what we have now; but here and there a creature of a different form appears.

Go deeper still, and the kinds of animals change further. Fewer and fewer resemble those which now range the earth; more and more belong to other species.

 

Descend through layer after layer till we come to rocks built in earliest ages and not one fossil shall we find precisely the same as one animal living now.

So not only are the rocks built in successive order, stratum after stratum belonging to age after age in the past, but fossil-remains also are found in successive order, kind after kind belonging to past age after age.

Although in the first instance the succession of fossils was understood by means of the succession of [pg 43] rock-layers, yet in the second place the arrangement of rock-layers is made more clear by the means of these very fossils.

A geologist, looking at the rocks in America, can say which there were first-formed, which second-formed, which third-formed. Also, looking at the rocks in England, he can say which there were first-formed, second-formed, third-formed. He would, however, find it very difficult, if not impossible, to say which among any of the American rocks was formed at about the same time as any particular one among the English rocks, were it not for the help afforded him by these fossils.

Just as the regular succession of rock-strata has been gradually learned, so the regular succession of different fossils is becoming more and more understood. It is now known that some kinds of fossils are always found in the oldest rocks, and in them only; that some kinds are always found in the newest rocks, and in them only; that some fossils are rarely or never found lower than certain layers; that some fossils are rarely or never found higher than certain other layers.

So this fossil arrangement is growing into quite a history of the past. And a geologist, looking at certain rocks, pushed up from underground, in England and in America, can say: "These are very different kinds of rocks, it is true, and it would be impossible to say how long the building up of the one might have taken place before or after the other. But I see that in both these rocks there are exactly the same kinds of fossil-remains, differing from those in the rocks above and below. I conclude therefore that the two rocks belong to about [pg 44] the same great age in the world's past history, when the same animals were living upon the earth."

Observing and reasoning thus, geologists have drawn up a general plan or order of strata; and the whole of the vast masses of water-built rocks throughout the world have been arranged in a regular succession of classes, rising step by step from earliest ages up to the present time.

America The Old World

(From Geological Sketches.) By
L. AGASSIZ.

First-born among the Continents, though so much later in culture and civilization than some of more recent birth, America, so far as her physical history is concerned, has been falsely denominated the New World. Hers was the first dry land lifted out of the waters, hers the first shore washed by the ocean that enveloped all the earth beside; and while Europe was represented only by islands rising here and there above the sea, America already stretched an unbroken line of land from Nova Scotia to the Far West.

In the present state of our knowledge, our conclusions respecting the beginning of the earth's history, the way in which it took form and shape as a distinct, separate planet, must, of course, be very vague and [pg 46] hypothetical. Yet the progress of science is so rapidly reconstructing the past that we may hope to solve even this problem; and to one who looks upon man's appearance upon the earth as the crowning work in a succession of creative acts, all of which have had relation to his coming in the end, it will not seem strange that he should at last be allowed to understand a history which was but the introduction to his own existence. It is my belief that not only the future, but the past also, is the inheritance of man, and that we shall yet conquer our lost birthright.

Even now our knowledge carries us far enough to warrant the assertion that there was a time when our earth was in a state of igneous fusion, when no ocean bathed it and no atmosphere surrounded it, when no wind blew over it and no rain fell upon it, but an intense heat held all its materials in solution. In those days the rocks which are now the very bones and sinews of our mother Earth—her granites, her porphyries, her basalts, her syenites—were melted into a liquid mass. As I am writing for the unscientific reader, who may not be familiar with the facts through which these inferences have been reached, I will answer here a question which, were we talking together, he might naturally ask in a somewhat sceptical tone. How do you know that this state of things ever existed, and, supposing that the solid materials of which our earth consists were ever in a liquid condition, what right have you to infer that this condition was caused by the action of heat upon them? I answer, Because it is acting upon them still; because the earth we tread is but a thin crust floating on a liquid sea of molten [pg 47] materials; because the agencies that were at work then are at work now, and the present is the logical sequence of the past. From artesian wells, from mines, from geysers, from hot springs, a mass of facts has been collected, proving incontestably the heated condition of all substances at a certain depth below the earth's surface; and if we need more positive evidence, we have it in the fiery eruptions that even now bear fearful testimony to the molten ocean seething within the globe and forcing its way but from time to time. The modern progress of Geology has led us by successive and perfectly connected steps back to a time when what is now only an occasional and rare phenomenon was the normal condition of our earth; when the internal fires were enclosed by an envelope so thin that it opposed but little resistance to their frequent outbreak, and they constantly forced themselves through this crust, pouring out melted materials that subsequently cooled and consolidated on its surface. So constant were these eruptions, and so slight was the resistance they encountered, that some portions of the earlier rock-deposits are perforated with numerous chimneys, narrow tunnels as it were, bored by the liquid masses that poured [pg 48] out through them and greatly modified their first condition.
The question at once suggests itself, How was even this thin crust formed? what should cause any solid envelope, however slight and filmy when compared to the whole bulk of the globe, to form upon the surface of such a liquid mass? At this point of the investigation the geologist must appeal to the astronomer; for in this vague and nebulous border-land, where the very rocks lose their outlines and flow into each other, not yet specialized into definite forms and substances,—there the two sciences meet. Astronomy shows us our planet thrown off from the central mass of which it once formed a part, to move henceforth in an independent orbit of its own. That orbit, it tells us, passed through celestial spaces cold enough to chill this heated globe, and of course to consolidate it externally. We know, from the action of similar causes on a smaller scale and on comparatively insignificant objects immediately about us, what must have been the effect of this cooling process upon the heated mass of the globe. All substances when heated occupy more space than they do when cold. Water, which expands when freezing, is the only exception to this rule. The first effect of cooling the surface of our planet must have been to solidify it, and thus to form a film or crust over it. That crust would shrink as the cooling process went on; in consequence of the shrinking, wrinkles and folds would arise upon it, and here and there, where the tension was too great, cracks and fissures would be produced. In proportion as the surface cooled, the masses within would be affected by the change of [pg 49] temperature outside of them, and would consolidate internally also, the crust gradually thickening by this process.

But there was another element without the globe, equally powerful in building it up. Fire and water wrought together in this work, if not always harmoniously, at least with equal force and persistency. I have said that there was a time when no atmosphere surrounded the earth; but one of the first results of the cooling of its crust must have been the formation of an atmosphere, with all the phenomena connected with it,—the rising of vapors, their condensation into clouds, the falling of rains, the gathering of waters upon its surface. Water is a very active agent of destruction, but it works over again the materials it pulls down or wears away, and builds them up anew in other forms. As soon as an ocean washed over the consolidated crust of the globe, it would begin to abrade the surfaces upon which it moved, gradually loosening and detaching materials, to deposit them again as sand or mud or pebbles at its bottom in successive layers, one above another. Thus, in analyzing the crust of the globe, we find at once two kinds of rocks, the respective work of fire and water: the first poured out from the furnaces within, and cooling, as one may see any mass of metal cool that is poured out from a smeltingfurnace to-day, in solid crystalline masses, without any division into separate layers or leaves; and the latter in successive beds, one over another, the heavier materials below, the lighter above, or sometimes in alternate layers, as special causes may have determined successive deposits of lighter or heavier materials at some given spot.

[pg 50]

There were many well-fought battles between geologists before it was understood that these two elements had been equally active in building up the crust of the earth. The ground was hotly contested by the disciples of the two geological schools, one of which held that the solid envelope of the earth was exclusively due to the influence of fire, while the other insisted that it had been accumulated wholly under the agency of water. This difference of opinion grew up very naturally; for the great leaders of the two schools lived in different localities, and pursued their investigations over regions where the geological phenomena were of an entirely opposite character,—the one exhibiting the effect of volcanic eruptions, the other that of stratified deposits. It was the old story of the two knights on opposite sides of the shield, one swearing that it was made of gold, the other that it was made of silver; and almost killing each other before they discovered that it was made of both. So prone are men to hug their theories and shut their eyes to any antagonistic facts, that it is related of Werner, the great leader of the Aqueous school, that he was actually on his way to see a geological locality of especial interest, but, being told that it confirmed the views of his opponents, he turned round and went home again, refusing to see what might force him to change his opinions. If the rocks did not confirm his theory, so much the worse for the rocks,—he would none of them. At last it was found that the two great chemists, fire and water, had worked together in the vast laboratory of the globe, and since then scientific men have decided to work together also; and if they still have a passage [pg 51] at arms occasionally over some doubtful point, yet the results of their investigations are ever drawing them nearer to each other,—since men who study truth, when they reach their goal, must always meet at last on common ground.

The rocks formed under the influence of heat are called, in geological language, the Igneous, or, as some naturalists have named them, the Plutonic rocks, alluding to their fiery origin, while the others have been called Aqueous or Neptunic rocks, in reference to their origin under the agency of water. A simpler term, however, quite as distinctive, and more descriptive of their structure, is that of the stratified and massive or unstratified rocks. We shall see hereafter how the relative position of these two classes of rocks and their action upon each other enable us to determine the chronology of the earth, to compare the age of her mountains, and, if we have no standard by which to estimate the positive duration of her continents, to say at least which was the first-born among them, and how their characteristic features have been successfully worked out. I am aware that many of these inferences, drawn from what is called "the geological record," must seem to be the work of the imagination. In a certain sense this is true,—for imagination, chastened by correct observation, is our best guide in the study of Nature. We are too apt to associate the exercise of this faculty with works of fiction, while it is in fact the keenest detective of truth.

Besides the stratified and massive rocks, there is still a third set, produced by the contact of these two, and called, in consequence of the changes thus brought [pg 52] about, the Metamorphic rocks. The effect of heat upon clay is to bake it into slate; limestone under the influence of heat becomes quick-lime, or, if subjected afterwards to the action of water, it is changed to mortar; sand under the same agency is changed to a coarse kind of glass. Suppose, then, that a volcanic eruption takes place in a region of the earth's surface where successive layers of limestone, of clay, and of sandstone, have been previously deposited by the action of water. If such an eruption has force enough to break through these beds, the hot, melted masses will pour out through the rent, flow over its edges, and fill all the lesser cracks and fissures produced by such a disturbance. What will be the effect upon the stratified rocks? Wherever these liquid masses, melted by a heat more intense than can be produced by any artificial means, have flowed over them or cooled in immediate contact with them, the clays will be changed to slate, the limestone will have assumed a character more like marble, while the sandstone will be vitrified. This is exactly what has been found to be the case, wherever the stratified rocks have been penetrated by the melted masses from beneath. They have been themselves partially melted by the contact, and when they have cooled again, their stratification, though still perceptible, has been partly obliterated, and their substance changed. Such effects [pg 53] may often be traced in dikes, which are only the cracks in rocks filled by materials poured into them at some period of eruption when the melted masses within the earth were thrown out and flowed like water into any inequality or depression of the surface around. The walls enclosing such a dike are often found to be completely altered by contact with its burning contents, and to have assumed a character quite different from the rocks of which they make a part; while the mass itself which fills the fissure shows by the character of its crystallization that it has cooled more quickly on the outside, where it meets the walls, than at the centre.

The first two great classes of rocks, the unstratified and stratified rocks, represent different epochs in the world's physical history: the former mark its revolutions, while the latter chronicle its periods of rest. All mountains and mountain-chains have been upheaved by great convulsions of the globe, which rent asunder the surface of the earth, destroyed the animals and plants living upon it at the time, and were then succeeded by long intervals of repose, when all things returned to their accustomed order, ocean and river deposited fresh beds in uninterrupted succession, the accumulation of materials went on as before, a new set of animals and plants were introduced, and a time of building up and renewing followed the time of destruction. These periods of revolution are naturally more difficult to decipher than the periods of rest; for they have so torn and shattered the beds they uplifted, disturbing them from their natural relations to each other, that it is not easy to reconstruct the parts and give [pg 54] them coherence and completeness again. But within the last half-century this work has been accomplished in many parts of the world with an amazing degree of accuracy, considering the disconnected character of the phenomena to be studied; and I think I shall be able to convince my readers that the modern results of geological investigation are perfectly sound logical inferences from well-established facts. In this, as in so many other things, we are but "children of a larger growth." The world is the geologist's great puzzle-box; he stands before it like the child to whom the separate pieces of his puzzle remain a mystery till he detects their relation and sees where they fit, and then his fragments grow at once into a connected picture beneath his hand....

When geologists first turned their attention to the physical history of the earth, they saw at once certain great features which they took to be the skeleton and basis of the whole structure. They saw the great masses of granite forming the mountains and mountainchains, with the stratified rocks resting against their slopes; and they assumed that granite was the first primary agent, and that all stratified rocks must be of a later formation. Although this involved a partial error, as we shall see hereafter when we trace the upheavals of granite even into comparatively modern periods, yet it held an important geological truth also; for, though granite formations are by no means limited to those early periods, they are nevertheless very characteristic of them, and are indeed the foundation-stones on which the physical history of the globe is built.

Starting from this landmark, the earlier geologists [pg 55] divided the world's history into three periods. As the historian recognizes Ancient History, the Middle Ages, and Modern History as distinct phases in the growth of the human race, so they distinguished between what they called the Primary period, when, as they believed, no life stirred on the surface of the earth; the Secondary or middle period, when animals and plants were introduced, and the land began to assume continental proportions; and the Tertiary period, or comparatively modern geological times, when the physical features of the earth as well as its inhabitants were approaching more nearly to the present condition of things. But as their investigations proceeded, they found that every one of these great ages of the world's history was divided into numerous lesser epochs, each of which had been characterized by a peculiar set of animals and plants, and had been closed by some great physical convulsion, disturbing and displacing the materials accumulated during such a period of rest.
The further study of these subordinate periods showed that what had been called Primary formations, namely, the volcanic or Plutonic rocks formerly believed to be confined to the first geological ages, belonged to all the periods, successive eruptions having taken place at all times, pouring up through the accumulated deposits, penetrating and injecting their cracks, fissures, and inequalities, as well as throwing out large masses on the surface. Up to our own day there has never been a period when such eruptions have not taken place, though they have been constantly diminishing in frequency and extent. In consequence of this discovery, that rocks of igneous character were by no [pg 56] means exclusively characteristic of the earliest times, they are now classified together upon very different grounds from those on which geologists first united them; though, as the name Primary was long retained, we still find it applied to them, even in geological works of quite recent date. This defect of nomenclature is to be regretted, as likely to mislead the student, because it seems to refer to time; whereas it no longer signifies the age of the rocks, but simply their character. The name Plutonic or Massive rocks is, however, now almost universally substituted for that of Primary.

A wide field of investigation still remains to be explored by the chemist and the geologist together, in the mineralogical character of the Plutonic rocks, which differs greatly in the different periods. The earlier eruptions seem to have been chiefly granitic, though this must not be understood in too wide a sense, since there are granite formations even as late as the Tertiary period; those of the middle periods were mostly porphyries and basalts; while in the more recent ones, lavas predominate. We have as yet no clew to the laws by which this distribution of volcanic elements in the formation of the earth is regulated; but there is found to be a difference in the crystals of the Plutonic rocks belonging to different ages, which, when fully understood may enable us to determine the age of any Plutonic rock by its mode of crystallization; so that the mineralogist will as readily tell you by its crystals whether a bit of stone of igneous origin belongs to this or that period of the world's history, as the palæontologist will tell you by its fossils whether a piece of rock [pg 57] of aqueous origin belongs to the Silurian or Devonian or Carboniferous deposits.

Although subsequent investigations have multiplied so extensively not only the number of geological periods, but also the successive creations that have characterized them, yet the first general division into three great eras was nevertheless founded upon a broad and true generalization. In the first stratified rocks in which any organic remains are found, the highest animals are fishes, and the highest plants are cryptogams; in the middle periods reptiles come in, accompanied by fern and moss forests; in later times quadrupeds are introduced, with a dicotyledonous vegetation. So closely does the march of animal and vegetable life keep pace with the material progress of the world, that we may well consider these three divisions, included under the first general classification of its physical history, as the three Ages of Nature; the more important epochs which subdivide them may be compared to so many great dynasties, while the lesser periods are the separate reigns contained therein. Of such epochs there are ten, well known to geologists; of the lesser periods about sixty are already distinguished, while many more loom up from the dim regions of the past, just discerned by the eye of science, though their history is not yet unravelled.

Before proceeding further, I will enumerate the geological epochs in their succession, confining myself, however, to such as are perfectly well established, without alluding to those of which the limits are less definitely determined, and which are still subject to doubts and discussions among geologists. As I do not propose to [pg 58] make here any treatise of Geology, but simply to place before my readers some pictures of the old world, with the animals and plants that have inhabited it at various times, I shall avoid, as far as possible, all debatable ground, and confine myself to those parts of my subject which are best known, and can therefore be more clearly presented.

First, we have the Azoic period, devoid of life, as its name signifies,—namely, the earliest stratified deposits upon the heated film forming the first solid surface of the earth, in which no trace of living thing has ever been found. Next comes the Silurian period, when the crust of the earth had thickened and cooled sufficiently to render the existence of animals and plants upon it possible, and when the atmospheric conditions necessary to their maintenance were already established. Many of the names given to these periods are by no means significant of their character, but are merely the result of accident: as, for instance, that of Silurian, given by Sir Roderick Murchison to this set of beds, because he first studied them in that part of Wales occupied by the ancient tribe of the Silures. The next period, the Devonian, was for a similar reason [pg 59] named after the country of Devonshire in England, where it was first investigated. Upon this follows the Carboniferous period, with the immense deposits of coal from which it derives its name. Then comes the Permian period, named, again, from local circumstances, the first investigation of its deposits having taken place in the province of Permia in Russia. Next in succession we have the Triassic period, so called from the trio of rocks, the red sandstone, Muschel Kalk (shell-limestone), and Keuper (clay), most frequently combined in its formations; the Jurassic, so amply illustrated in the chain of the Jura, where geologists first found the clew to its history; and the Cretaceous period, to which the chalk cliffs of England and all the extensive chalk deposits belong. Upon these follow the so-called Tertiary formations, divided into three periods, all of which have received most characteristic names in this epoch of the world's history we see the first approach to a condition of things resembling that now prevailing, and Sir Charles Lyell has most fitly named [pg 60] its three divisions, the Eocene, Miocene, and Pliocene. The termination of the three words is made from the Greek word Kainos, recent; while Eos signifies dawn, Meion less, and Pleion more. Thus Eocene indicates the dawn of recent species, Pliocene their increase, while Miocene, the intermediate term, means less recent. Above these deposits comes what has been called in science the present period,—the modern times of the geologist,—that period to which man himself belongs, and since the beginning of which, though its duration be counted by hundreds of thousands of years, there has been no alteration in the general configuration of the earth, consequently no important modification of its climatic conditions, and no change in the animals and plants inhabiting it.

I have spoken of the first of these periods, the Azoic, [pg 61] as having been absolutely devoid of life, and I believe this statement to be strictly true; but I ought to add that there is a difference of opinion among geologists upon this point, many believing that the first surface of our globe may have been inhabited by living beings, but that all traces of their existence have been obliterated by the eruptions of melted materials, which not only altered the character of those earliest stratified rocks, but destroyed all the organic remains contained in them. It will be my object to show, not only that the absence of the climatic and atmospheric conditions essential to organic life, as we understand it, must have rendered the previous existence of any living beings impossible, but also that the completeness of the Animal Kingdom in those deposits where we first find organic remains, its intelligible and coherent connections with the successive creations of all geological times and with the animals now living, afford the strongest internal evidence that we have indeed found in the lower Silurian formations, immediately following the Azoic, the beginning of life upon earth. When a story seems to us complete [pg 62] and consistent from the beginning to the end, we shall not seek for a first chapter, even though the copy in which we have read it be so torn and defaced as to suggest the idea that some portion of it may have been lost. The unity of the work, as a whole, is an incontestable proof that we possess it in its original integrity. The validity of this argument will be recognized, perhaps, only by those naturalists to whom the Animal Kingdom has begun to appear as a connected whole. For those who do not see order in Nature it can have no value.

For a table containing the geological periods in their succession, I would refer to any modern text-book of Geology, or to an article in the Atlantic Monthly for March, 1862, upon "Methods of Study in Natural History," where they are given in connection with the order of introduction of animals upon earth.

Were these sets of rocks found always in the regular sequence in which I have enumerated them, their relative age would be [pg 63] easily determined, for their superposition would tell the whole story: the lowest would, of course, be the oldest, and we might follow without difficulty the ascending series, till we reached the youngest and uppermost deposits. But their succession has been broken up by frequent and violent alterations in the configuration of the globe. Land and water have changed their level,— islands have been transformed to continents,—sea-bottoms have become dry land, and dry land has sunk to form sea-bottoms,—Alps and Himalayas, Pyrenees and Apennines, Alleghanies and Rocky Mountains, have had their stormy birthdays since many of these beds have been piled one above another, and there are but few spots on the earth's surface where any number of them may be found in their original order and natural position. When we remember that Europe, which lies before us on the map as a continent, was once an archipelago of islands,—that, [pg 64] where the Pyrenees raise their rocky barrier between France and Spain, the waters of the Mediterranean and Atlantic met,—that, where the British Channel flows, dry land united England and France, and Nature in those days made one country of the lands parted since by enmities deeper than the waters that run between,—when we remember, in short, all the fearful convulsions that have torn asunder the surface of the earth, as if her rocky record had indeed been written on paper, we shall find a new evidence of the intellectual unity which holds together the whole physical history of the globe in the fact that through all the storms of time the investigator is able to trace one unbroken thread of thought from the beginning to the present hour.

The tree is known by its fruits,—and the fruits of chance are incoherence, incompleteness, unsteadiness, the stammering utterance of blind, unreasoning force. A coherence that binds all the geological ages in one chain, a stability of purpose that completes in the beings born to-day an intention expressed in the first creatures that swam in the Silurian ocean or crept upon its shores, a steadfastness of thought, practically recognized by man, if not acknowledged by him, whenever he traces the intelligent connection between the facts of Nature and combines them into what he is pleased to call his system of Geology, or Zoölogy, or Botany,—these things are not the fruits of chance or of an unreasoning force, but the legitimate results of intellectual power. There is a singular lack of logic, as it seems to me, in the views of the materialistic naturalists. While they consider classification, or, [pg 65] in other words, their expression of the relations between animals or between physical facts of any kind, as the work of their intelligence, they believe the relations themselves to be the work of physical causes. The more direct inference surely is, that, if it requires an intelligent mind to recognize them, it must have required an intelligent mind to establish them. These relations existed before man was created; they have existed ever since the beginning of time; hence, what we call the classification of facts is not the work of his mind in any direct original sense, but the recognition of an intelligent action prior to his own existence.

There is, perhaps, no part of the world, certainly none familiar to science, where the early geological periods can be studied with so much ease and precision as in the United States. Along their northern borders, between Canada and the United States, there runs the low line of hills known as the Laurentian Hills. Insignificant in height, nowhere rising more than fifteen hundred or two thousand feet above the level of the sea, these are nevertheless the first mountains that broke the uniform level of the earth's surface and lifted themselves above the waters. Their low stature, as compared with that of other more lofty mountain-ranges, is in accordance with an invariable rule, by which the relative age of mountains may be estimated. The oldest mountains are the lowest, while the younger and more recent ones tower above their elders, and are usually more torn and dislocated also. This is easily understood, when we remember that all mountains and mountain-chains are the result of upheavals, and that [pg 66] the violence of the outbreak must have been in proportion to the strength of the resistance. When the crust of the earth was so thin that the heated masses within easily broke through it, they were not thrown to so great a height, and formed comparatively low elevations, such as the Canadian hills or the mountains of Bretagne and Wales. But in later times, when young, vigorous giants, such as the Alps, the Himalayas, or, later still, the Rocky Mountains, forced their way out from their fiery prison-house, the crust of the earth was much thicker, and fearful indeed must have been the convulsions which attended their exit.

The Laurentian Hills form, then, a granite range, stretching from Eastern Canada to the Upper Mississippi, and immediately along its base are gathered the Azoic deposits, the first stratified beds, in which the absence of life need not surprise us, since they were [pg 67] formed beneath a heated ocean. As well might we expect to find the remains of fish or shells or crabs at the bottom of geysers or of boiling springs, as on those early shores bathed by an ocean of which the heat must have been so intense. Although, from the condition in which we find it, this first granite range has evidently never been disturbed by any violent convulsion since its first upheaval, yet there has been a gradual rising of that part of the continent; for the Azoic beds do not lie horizontally along the base of the Laurentian Hills in the position in which they must originally have been deposited, but are lifted and rest against their slopes. They have been more or less dislocated in this process, and are greatly metamorphized by the intense heat to which they must have been exposed. Indeed, all the oldest stratified rocks have been baked by the prolonged action of heat.

It may be asked how the materials for those first stratified deposits were provided. In later times, when an abundant and various soil covered the earth, when every river brought down to the ocean, not only its yearly tribute of mud or clay or lime, but the débris of animals and plants that lived and died in its waters or along its banks, when every lake and pond deposited at its bottom in successive layers the lighter or heavier materials floating in its waters and settling gradually beneath them, the process by which stratified materials are collected and gradually harden into rock is more easily understood. But when the solid surface of the earth was only just beginning to form, it would seem that the floating matter in the sea can hardly have been in sufficient quantity to form any extensive [pg 68] deposits. No doubt there was some abrasion even of that first crust; but the more abundant source of the earliest stratification is to be found in the submarine volcanoes that poured their liquid streams into the first ocean. At what rate these materials would be distributed and precipitated in regular strata it is impossible to determine; but that volcanic materials were so deposited in layers is evident from the relative position of the earliest rocks. I have already spoken of the innumerable chimneys perforating the Azoic beds, narrow outlets of Plutonic rock, protruding through the earliest strata. Not only are such funnels filled with the crystalline mass of granite that flowed through them in a liquid state, but it has often poured over their sides, mingling with the stratified beds around. In the present state of our knowledge, we can explain such appearances only by supposing that the heated materials within the earth's crust poured out frequently, meeting little resistance,—that they then scattered and were precipitated in the ocean around, settling in successive strata at its bottom,—that through such strata the heated masses within continued to pour again and again, forming for themselves the chimney-like outlets above mentioned.

Such, then, was the earliest American land,—a long, narrow island, almost continental in its proportions, since it stretched from the eastern borders of Canada nearly to the point where now the base of the Rocky Mountains meets the plain of the Mississippi Valley. We may still walk along its ridge and know that we tread upon the ancient granite that first divided the waters into a northern and southern ocean; and if our [pg 69] imaginations will carry us so far, we may look down toward its base and fancy how the sea washed against this earliest shore of a lifeless world. This is no romance, but the bald, simple truth; for the fact that this granite band was lifted out of the waters so early in the history of the world, and has not since been submerged, has, of course, prevented any subsequent deposits from forming above it. And this is true of all the northern part of the United States. It has been lifted gradually, the beds deposited in one period being subsequently raised, and forming a shore along which those of the succeeding one collected, so that we have their whole sequence before us. In regions where all the geological deposits (Silurian, Devonian, carboniferous, permian, triassic, etc.) are piled one upon another, and we can get a glimpse of their internal relations only where some rent has laid them open, or where their ragged edges, worn away by the abrading action of external influences, expose to view their successive layers, it must, of course, be more difficult to follow their connection. For this reason the American continent offers facilities to the geologist denied to him in the so-called Old World, where the earlier deposits are comparatively hidden, and the broken character of the land, intersected by mountains in every direction, renders his investigation still more difficult. Of course, when I speak of the geological deposits as so completely unveiled to us here, I do not forget the sheet of drift which covers the continent from north to south, and which we shall discuss hereafter, when I reach that part of my subject. But the drift is only a superficial and recent addition to the soil, resting loosely above [pg 70] the other geological deposits, and arising, as we shall see, from very different causes.

In this article I have intended to limit myself to a general sketch of the formation of the Laurentian Hills with the Azoic stratified beds resting against them. In the Silurian epoch following the Azoic we have the first beach on which any life stirred; it extended along the base of the Azoic beds, widening by its extensive deposits the narrow strip of land already upheaved. I propose ... to invite my readers to a stroll with me along that beach.

With what interest do we look upon any relic of early human history! The monument that tells of a civilization whose hieroglyphic records we cannot even decipher, the slightest trace of a nation that vanished and left no sign of its life except the rough tools and utensils buried in the old site of its towns or villages, arouses our imagination and excites our curiosity. Men gaze with awe at the inscription on an ancient Egyptian or Assyrian stone; they hold with reverential touch the yellow parchment-roll whose dim, defaced characters record the meagre learning of a buried nationality; and the announcement, that for centuries the tropical forests of Central America have hidden within their tangled growth the ruined homes and temples of a past race, stirs the civilized world with a strange, deep wonder.

To me it seems, that to look on the first land that was ever lifted above the waste of waters, to follow the shore where the earliest animals and plants were created when the thought of God first expressed itself in organic forms, to hold in one's hand a bit of stone from an old sea-beach, hardened into rock thousands of [pg 71] centuries ago, and studded with the beings that once crept upon its surface or were stranded there by some retreating wave, is even of deeper interest to men than the relies of their own race, for these things tell more directly of the thoughts and creative acts of God.

Standing in the neighborhood of Whitehall, near Lake George, one may look along such a seashore, and see it stretching westward and sloping gently southward as far as the eye can reach. It must have had a very gradual slope, and the waters must have been very shallow; for at that time no great mountains had been uplifted, and deep oceans are always the concomitants of lofty heights. We do not, however, judge of this by inference merely; we have an evidence of the shallowness of the sea in those days in the character of the shells found in the Silurian deposits, which shows that they belonged in shoal waters.

Indeed, the fossil remains of all times tell us almost as much of the physical condition of the world at different epochs as they do of its animal and vegetable population. When Robinson Crusoe first caught sight of the footprint on the sand, he saw in it more than the mere footprint, for it spoke to him of the presence of men on his desert island. We walk on the old geological shores, like Crusoe along his beach, and the footprints we find there tell us, too, more than we actually see in them. The crust of our earth is a great cemetery, where the rocks are tombstones on which the buried dead have written their own epitaphs. They tell us not only who they were and when and where they lived, but much also of the circumstances under which they lived. We ascertain the prevalence of certain physical [pg 72] conditions at special epochs by the presence of animals and plants whose existence and maintenance required such a state of things, more than by any positive knowledge respecting it. Where we find the remains of quadrupeds corresponding to our ruminating animals, we infer not only land, but grassy meadows also, and an extensive vegetation; where we find none but marine animals, we know the ocean must have covered the earth; the remains of large reptiles, representing, though in gigantic size, the half aquatic, half terrestrial reptiles of our own period, indicate to us the existence of spreading marshes still soaked by the retreating waters; while the traces of such animals as live now in sand and shoal waters, or in mud, speak to us of shelving sandy beaches and of mud-flats. The eye of the Trilobite tells us that the sun shone on the old beach where he lived; for there is nothing in nature without a purpose, and when so complicated an organ was made to receive the light, there must have been light to enter it. The immense vegetable deposits in the Carboniferous period announce the introduction of an extensive terrestrial vegetation; and the impressions left by the wood and leaves of the trees show that these first forests must have grown in a damp soil and a moist atmosphere. In short, all the remains of animals and plants hidden in the rocks have something to tell of the climatic conditions and the general circumstances under which they lived, and the study of fossils is to the naturalist a thermometer by which he reads the variations of temperature in past times, a plummet by which he sounds the depths of the ancient oceans,—a register, in fact, of all the important physical changes the earth has undergone.

[pg 73]

But although the animals of the early geological deposits indicate shallow seas by their similarity to our shoal-water animals, it must not be supposed that they are by any means the same. On the contrary, the old shells, crustacea, corals, etc., represent types which have existed in all times with the same essential structural elements, but under different specific forms in the several geological periods. And here it may not be amiss to say something of what are called by naturalists representative types.

The statement that different sets of animals and plants have characterized the successive epochs is often understood as indicating a difference of another kind than that which distinguishes animals now living in different parts of the world. This is a mistake. There are so-called representative types all over the globe, united to each other by structural relations and separated by specific differences of the same kind as those that unite and separate animals of different geological periods. Take, for instance, mud-flats or sandy shores in the same latitudes of Europe and America; we find living on each, animals of the same structural character and of the same general appearance, but with certain specific differences, as of color, size, external appendages, etc. They represent each other on the two continents. The American wolves, foxes, bears, rabbits, are not the same as the European, but those of one continent are as true to their respective types as those of the other; under a somewhat different aspect they represent the same groups of animals. In certain latitudes, or under conditions of nearer proximity, these differences may be less marked. It is well [pg 74] known that there is a great monotony of type, not only among animals and plants, but in the human races also, throughout the Arctic regions; and some animals characteristic of the high North reappear under such identical forms in the neighborhood of the snow-fields in lofty mountains, that to trace the difference between the ptarmigans, rabbits, and other gnawing animals of the Alps, for instance, and those of the Arctics, is among the most difficult problems of modern science.

And so it is also with the animated world of past ages; in similar deposits of sand, mud, or lime, in adjoining regions of the same geological age, identical remains of animals and plants may be found; while at greater distances, but under similar circumstances, representative species may occur. In very remote regions, however, whether the circumstances be similar or dissimilar, the general aspect of the organic world differs greatly, remoteness in space being thus in some measure an indication of the degree of affinity between different faunæ. In deposits of different geological periods immediately following each other, we sometimes find remains of animals and plants so closely allied to those of earlier or later periods that at first sight the specific differences are hardly discernible. The difficulty of solving these questions, and of appreciating correctly the differences and similarities between such closely allied organisms, explains the antagonistic views of many naturalists respecting the range of existence of animals, during longer or shorter geological periods; and the superficial way in which discussions concerning the transition of species are carried on, is mainly owing to an ignorance of the [pg 75] conditions above alluded to. My own personal observation and experience in these matters have led me to the conviction that every geological period has had its own representatives, and that no single species has been repeated in successive ages.

The laws regulating the geographical distribution of animals, and their combination into distinct zoölogical provinces called faunæ, with definite limits, are very imperfectly understood as yet; but so closely are all things linked together from the beginning that I am convinced we shall never find the clew to their meaning till we carry on our investigations in the past and the present simultaneously. The same principle according to which animal and vegetable life is distributed over the surface of the earth now, prevailed in the earliest geological periods. The geological deposits of all times have had their characteristic faunæ under various zones, their zoölogical provinces presenting special combinations of animal and vegetable life over certain regions, and their representative types reproducing in different countries, but under similar latitudes, the same groups with specific differences.

Of course, the nearer we approach the beginning of organic life, the less marked do we find the differences to be, and for a very obvious reason. The inequalities of the earth's surface, her mountain-barriers protecting whole continents from the Arctic winds, her open plains exposing others to the full force of the polar blasts, her snug valleys and her lofty heights, her tablelands and rolling prairies, her river-systems and her dry deserts, her cold ocean-currents pouring down from the high North on some of her shores, while warm[pg 76] ones from tropical seas carry their softer influence to others,—in short, all the contrasts in the external configuration of the globe, with the physical conditions attendant upon them, are naturally accompanied by a corresponding variety in animal and vegetable life.

But in the Silurian age, when there were no elevations higher than the Canadian hills, when water covered the face of the earth, with the exception of a few isolated portions lifted above the almost universal ocean, how monotonous must have been the conditions of life! And what should we expect to find on those first shores? If we are walking on a sea-beach to-day, we do not look for animals that haunt the forests or roam over the open plains, or for those that live in sheltered valleys or in inland regions or on mountainheights. We look for Shells, for Mussels and Barnacles, for Crabs, for Shrimps, for Marine Worms, for Star-Fishes and Sea-Urchins, and we may find here and there a fish stranded on the sand or tangled in the seaweed.

Some Records Of The Rocks

(From A First Book in Geology.) By
N.S. SHALER, S.D.

The geologist cannot find his way back in the record of the great stone book, to the faroff day when life began. The various changes that come over rocks from the action of heat, of water, and of pressure, have slowly modified these ancient beds, so that they no longer preserve the frames of the animals that were buried in them.

These old rocks, which are so changed that we cannot any longer make sure that any animals lived in them, are called the "archæan," which is Greek for ancient. They were probably mud and sand and limestone when first made, but they have been changed to mica schists, gneiss, granite, marble, and other crystalline rocks. When any rock becomes crystalline, the fossils dissolve and disappear, as coins lose their stamp [pg 78] and form when they are melted in the jeweller's gold-pot.

These ancient rocks that lie deepest in the earth are very thick, and must have taken a great time in building; great continents must have been worn down by rain and waves in order to supply the waste out of which they were made. It is tolerably certain that they took as much time during their making as has been required for all the other times since they were formed. During the vast ages of this archæan the life of our earth began to be. We first find many certain evidences of life in the rocks which lie on top of the archæan rock, and are known as the Cambriani and Silurian periods. There we have creatures akin to our corals and crabs and worms, and others that are the distant kindred of the cuttlefishes and of our lamp-shells. There were no backboned animals, that is to say, no land mammals, reptiles, or fishes at this stage of the earth's history. It is not likely that there was any land life except of plants and those forms like the lowest ferns, and probably mosses. Nor is it likely that there were any large continents as at the present time, but rather a host of islands lying where the great lands now are, the budding tops of the continents just appearing above the sea.

Although the life of this time was far simpler than at the present day, it had about as great variety as we would find on our present sea-floors. There were as many different species living at the same time on a given surface.

The Cambrian and Silurian time—the time before the coming of the fishes—must have endured for [pg 79] many million years without any great change in the world. Hosts of species lived and died; half a dozen times or more the life of the earth was greatly changed. New species came much like those that had gone before, and only a little gain here and there was perceptible at any time. Still, at the end of the Silurian, the life of the world had climbed some steps higher in structure and in intelligence.

The next set of periods is known as the Devonian. It is marked by the rapid extension of the fishes; for, although the fishes began in the uppermost Silurian, they first became abundant in this time. These, the first strong-jawed tyrants of the sea, came all at once, like a rush of the old Norman pirates into the peaceful seas of Great Britain. They made a lively time among the sluggish beings of that olden sea. Creatures that were able to meet feebler enemies were swept away or compelled to undergo great changes, and all the life of the oceans seems to have a spur given to it by these quicker-formed and quicker-willed animals. In this Devonian section of our rocks we have proofs that the lands were extensively covered with forests of low fern trees, and we find the first trace of airbreathing animals in certain insects akin to our dragon-flies. In this stage of the earth's history the fishes grew constantly more plentiful, and the seas had a great [pg 80] abundance of corals and crinoids. Except for the fishes, there were no very great changes in the character of the life from that which existed in the earlier time of the Cambrian and Silurian. The animals are constantly changing, but the general nature of the life remains the same as in the earlier time.

In the Carboniferous or coal-bearing age, we have the second great change in the character of the life on the earth. Of the earlier times, we have preserved only the rocks formed in the seas. But rarely do we find any trace of the land life or even of the life that lived along the shores. In this Carboniferous time, however, we have very extensive sheets of rocks which were formed in swamps in the way shown in the earlier part of this book. They constitute our coal-beds, which, though much worn away by rain and sea, still cover a large part of the land surface. These beds of coal grew in the air, and, although the swamps where they were formed had very little animal life in them, we find some fossils which tell us that the life of the land was making great progress; there are new insects, including beetles, cockroaches, spiders, and scorpions, and, what is far more important, there are some air-breathing, back-boned animals, akin to the salamanders and water-dogs of the present day. These were nearly as large as alligators, and of much the same shape, but they were [pg 81] probably born from the egg in the shape of tadpoles and lived for a time in the water as our young frogs, toads, and salamanders do. This is the first step upwards from the fishes to land vertebrates; and we may well be interested in it, for it makes one most important advance in creatures through whose lives our own existence became possible. Still, these ancient woods of the coal period must have had little of the life we now associate with the forests; there were still no birds, no serpents, no true lizards, no suck-giving animals, no flowers, and no fruits. These coal-period forests were sombre wastes of shade, with no sound save those of the wind, the thunder, and the volcano, or of the running streams and the waves on the shores.

In the seas of the Carboniferous time, we notice that the ancient life of the earth is passing away. Many creatures, such as the trilobites, die out, and many other forms such as the crinoids or sea lilies become fewer in kind and of less importance. These marks of decay in the marine life continue into the beds just after the Carboniferous, known as the Permian, which are really the last stages of the coal-bearing period.

When with the changing time we pass to the beds known as the Triassic, which were made just after the close of the Carboniferous time, we find the earth undergoing swift changes in its life. The moist climate and low lands that caused the swamps to grow so rapidly have ceased to be, and in their place we appear to have warm, dry air, and higher lands.

On these lands of the Triassic time the air-breathing [pg 82] life made very rapid advances. The plants are seen to undergo considerable changes. The ferns no longer make up all the forests, but trees more like the pines began to abound, and insects became more plentiful and more varied.

Hitherto the only land back-boned animal was akin to our salamanders. Now we have true lizards in abundance, many of them of large size. Some of them were probably planteaters, but most were flesh-eaters; some seem to have been tenants of the early swamps, and some dwelt in the forests.
The creatures related to the salamanders have increased in the variety of their forms to a wonderful extent. We know them best by the tracks which they have left on the mud stones formed on the borders of lakes or the edge of the sea. In some places these footprints are found in amazing numbers and perfection. The best place for them is in the Connecticut Valley, near Turner's Falls, Mass. At this point the red sandstone and shale beds, which are composed of thin layers having a total thickness of several hundred feet, are often stamped over by these footprints like the mud of a barnyard. From the little we can determine from these footprints, the creatures seem to have been somewhat related to our frogs, but they generally had tails, and, though provided with four legs, were in the habit of walking on the hind ones alone like the [pg 83] kangaroo. A few of these tracks are shown in the figure on this page.

These strange creatures were of many different species. Some of them must have been six or seven feet high, for their steps are as much as three feet apart, and seem to imply a creature weighing several hundred pounds. Others were not bigger than robins. Strangely enough, we have never found their bones nor the creatures on which they fed, and but for the formation of a little patch of rocks here and there we should not have had even these footprints to prove to us that such creatures had lived in the Connecticut Valley in this far-off time.

But these wonderful forms are less interesting than two or three little fossil jaw-bones that prove to us that in this Triassic time the earth now bore another animal more akin to ourselves, in the shape of a little creature that gave suck to its young. Once more life takes a long upward step in this little opossum-like [pg 84] animal, perhaps the first creature whose young was born alive. These little creatures called Microlestes or Dromatherium, of which only one or two different but related species have been found in England and in North Carolina, appear to have been insect-eaters of about the size and shape of the Australian creature shown in Fig. 7. So far we know it in but few specimens,—altogether only an ounce or two of bones,—but they are very precious monuments of the past.

In this Triassic time the climate appears to have been rather dry, for in it we have many extensive deposits of salt formed by the evaporation of closed lakes, of seas, such as are now forming on the bottom of the Dead Sea, and the Great Salt Lake of Utah, and a hundred or more other similar basins of the present day.

In the sea animals of this time we find many changes. Already some of the giant lizardlike animals, which first took shape on the land, are becoming swimming-animals. They changed their feet to paddles, which, with the help of a flattened tail, force them through the water.

The fishes on which these great swimming lizards preyed are more like the fishes of our present day than [pg 85] they were before. The trilobites are gone, and of the crinoids only a remnant is left. Most of the corals of the earlier days have disappeared, but the mollusks have not changed more than they did at several different times in the earliest stages of the earth's history.

After the Trias comes a long succession of ages in which the life of the world is steadily advancing to higher and higher planes; but for a long time there is no such startling change as that which came in the passage from the coal series of rocks to the Trias. This long set of periods is known to geologists as the age of reptiles. It is well named, for the kindred of the lizards then had the control of the land. There were then none of our large fish to dispute their control, so they shaped themselves to suit all the occupations that could give them a chance for a living. Some remained beasts of prey like our alligators, but grew to larger size; some took to eating the plants, and came to walk on their four legs as our ordinary beasts do, no longer dragging themselves on their bellies as do the lizard and alligator, their lower kindred. Others became flying creatures like our bats, only vastly larger, often [pg 86] with a spread of wing of fifteen or twenty feet. Yet others, even as strangely shaped, dwelt with the sharks in the sea.
In this time of the earth's history we have the first bird-like forms. They were feathered creatures, with bills carrying true teeth, and with strong wings; but they were reptiles in many features, having long, pointed tails such as none of our existing birds have. They show us that the birds are the descendants of reptiles, coming off from them as a branch does from the parent tree. The tortoises began in this series of rocks. At first they are marine or swimming forms, the box-turtles coming later. Here too begin many of the higher insects. Creatures like moths and bees appear, and the forests are enlivened with all the important kinds of insects, though the species were very different from those now living.

In the age of reptiles the plants have made a considerable advance. Palms are plenty; forms akin to our pines and firs abound, and the old flowerless group of ferns begins to shrink in size, and no longer spreads its feathery foliage over all the land as before. Still [pg 87] there were none of our common broad-leaved trees; the world had not yet known the oaks, birches, maples, or any of our hard-wood trees that lose their leaves in autumn; nor were the flowering plants, those with gay blossoms, yet on the earth. The woods and fields were doubtless fresh and green, but they wanted the grace of blossoms, plants, and singing-birds. None of the animals could have had the social qualities or the finer instincts that are so common among animals of the present day. There were probably no social animals like our ants and bees, no merry singing creatures; probably no forms that went in herds. Life was a dull round of uncared-for birth, cruel self-seeking, and of death. The animals at best were clumsy, poorly-endowed creatures, with hardly more intelligence than our alligators.

The little thread of higher life begun in the Microlestes and Dromatherium, the little insect-eating mammals of the forest, is visible all through this time. It held in its warm blood the powers of the time to come, but it was an insignificant thing among the mighty cold-blooded reptiles of these ancient lands. There are several species of them, but they are all small, and have no chance to make headway against the older masters of the earth.

The Jurassic or first part of the reptilian time shades insensibly into the second part, called the Cretaceous, which immediately follows it. During this period the lands were undergoing perpetual changes; rather deep seas came to cover much of the land surfaces, and there is some reason to believe that the climate of the earth became much colder than it had been, at least in those [pg 88] regions where the great reptiles had flourished. It may be that it is due to a colder climate that we owe the rapid passing away of this gigantic reptilian life of the previous age. The reptiles, being cold-blooded, cannot stand even a moderate winter cold, save when they are so small that they can crawl deep into crevices in the rocks to sleep the winter away, guarded from the cold by the warmth of the earth. At any rate these gigantic animals rapidly ceased to be, so that by the middle of the Cretaceous period they were almost all gone, except those that inhabited the sea; and at the end of this time they had shrunk to lizards in size. The birds continue to increase and to become more like those of our day; their tails shrink away, their long bills lose their teeth; they are mostly water-birds of large size, and there are none of our songsters yet; still they are for the first time perfect birds, and no longer half-lizard in their nature.

The greatest change in the plants is found in the coming of the broad-leaved trees belonging to the families of our oaks, maples, etc. Now for the first time our woods take on their aspect of to-day; pines and other cone-bearers mingle with the more varied foliage of nut-bearing or large-seeded trees. Curiously enough, we lose sight of the little mammals of the earlier time. This is probably because there is very little in the way of land animals of this period preserved to us. There are hardly any mines or quarries in the beds of this age to bring these fossils to light. In the most of the other rocks there is more to tempt man to explore them for coal ores or building stones.

In passing from the Cretaceous to the Tertiary, we [pg 89] enter upon the threshold of our modern world. We leave behind all the great wonders of the old world, the gigantic reptiles, the forests of tree ferns, the seas full of ammonites and belemnites, and come among the no less wonderful but more familiar modern forms. We come at once into lands and seas where the back-boned animals are the ruling beings. The reptiles have shrunk to a few low forms,—the small lizards, the crocodiles and alligators, the tortoises and turtles, and, as if to mark more clearly the banishment of this group from their old empire, the serpents, which are peculiarly degraded forms of reptiles which have lost the legs they once had, came to be the commonest reptiles of the earth.

The first mammals that have no pouches now appear. In earlier times, the suck-giving animals all belonged to the group that contains our opossums, kangaroos, etc. These creatures are much lower and feebler than the mammals that have no pouches. Although they have probably been on the earth two or three times as long as the higher mammals, they have never attained any eminent success whatever; they cannot endure cold climates; none of them are fitted for swimming as are the seals and whales, or for flying as the bats, or for burrowing as the moles; they are dull, weak things, which are not able to contend with their stronger, better-organized, higher kindred. They seem not only weak, but unable to fit themselves to many different kinds of existence.

In the lower part of the Tertiary rocks, we find at once a great variety of large beasts that gave suck to their young. It is likely that these creatures had come[pg 90] into existence in a somewhat earlier time in other lands, where we have not been able to study the fossils; for to make their wonderful forms slowly, as we believe them to have been made, would require a very long time. It is probable that during the Cretaceous time, in some land where we have not yet had a chance to study the rocks, these creatures grew to their varied forms, and that in the beginning of the Tertiary time, they spread into the regions where we find their bones.

Beginning with the Tertiary time, we find these lower kinsmen of man, through whom man came to be. The mammals were marked by much greater simplicity and likeness to each other than they now have. There were probably no monkeys, no horses, no bulls, no sheep, no goats, no seals, no whales, and no bats. All these animals had many-fingered feet. There were no cloven feet like those of our bulls, and no solid feet as our horses have. Their brains, which by their size give us a general idea of the intelligence of the creature, are small; hence we conclude that these early mammals were less intelligent than those of our day.

It would require volumes to trace the history of the growth of these early mammals, and show how they, step by step, came to their present higher state. We will take only one of the simplest of these changes, which happens to be also the one which we know best. This is the change that led to the making of our common horses, which seem to have been brought into life on the continent of North America. The most singular thing about our horses is that the feet have but one large toe or finger, the hoof, the hard covering of which is the nail of that extremity. Now it seems [pg 91] hard to turn the weak, five-fingered feet of the animals of the lower Tertiary—feet which seem to be better fitted for treeclimbing than anything else—into feet such as we find in the horse. Yet the change is brought about by easy stages that lead the successive creatures from the weak and loosejointed foot of the ancient forms to the solid, single-fingered horse's hoof, which is wonderfully well-fitted for carrying a large beast at a swift speed, and is so strong a weapon of defence that an active donkey can kill a lion with a well-delivered kick.

The oldest of these creatures that lead to the horses is called Eohippus or beginning horse. This fellow had on the forefeet four large toes, each with a small hoof and fifth imperfect one, which answered to the thumb. The hind feet had gone further in the change, for they each had but three toes, each with hoofs, the middle-toed hoof larger and longer than the others. A little later toward our day we find another advance in the Orohippus, when the little imperfect thumb has disappeared, and there are only four toes on the forefeet and three on the hind.

[pg 92]

Yet later we have the Mesohippus or half-way horse. There are still three toes on the hind foot, but one more of the fingers of the forefeet has disappeared. This time it is the little finger that goes, leaving only a small bone to show that its going was by a slow shrinking. The creature now has three little hoofs on each of its feet.

Still nearer our own time comes the Miohippus, which shows the two side hoofs on each foot shrinking up so that they do not touch the ground, but they still bear little hoofs. Lastly, about the time of man's coming on the earth, appears his faithful servant, the horse, in which those little side hoofs have disappeared, leaving only two little "splint" bones to mark the place where these side hoofs belong. Thus, step by step, our horses' feet were built up; while these parts were changing, the other parts of the animals were also slowly altering. They were at first smaller than our horses,—some of them not as large as an ordinary Newfoundland dog; others as small as foxes.

As if to remind us of his old shape, our horses now and then, but rarely, have, in place of the little splint bones above the hoof, two smaller hoofs, just like the [pg 93] foot of Miohippus. Sometimes these are about the size of a silver dollar, on the part that receives the shoe when horses are shod.

In this way, by slow-made changes, the early mammals pass into the higher. Out of one original part are made limbs as different as the feet of the horse, the wing of a bat, the paddle of a whale, and the hand of man. So with all the parts of the body the forms change to meet the different uses to which they are put.

At the end of this long promise, which was written in the very first animals, comes man himself, in form closely akin to the lower animals, but in mind immeasurably apart from them. We can find every part of man's body in a little different shape in the monkeys, but his mind is of a very different quality. While his lower kindred cannot be made to advance in intelligence any more than man himself can grow a horse's foot or a bat's wing, he is constantly going higher and higher in his mental and moral growth. So far we have found but few traces of man that lead us to suppose that he has been for a long geological time on the earth, yet there is good evidence that he has been here for a hundred thousand years or more. It seems pretty clear that he has changed little in his body in all these thousands of generations. The earliest remains show us a large-brained creature, who used tools and probably had already made a servant of fire, which so admirably aids him in his work.

Besides the development of this wonderful series of animals, that we may call in a certain way our kindred, there have been several other remarkable advances in this Tertiary time, this age of crowning wonders in the [pg 94] earth's history. The birds have gone forward very rapidly; it is likely that there were no songsters at the first part of this period, but these singing birds have developed very rapidly in later times. Among the insects the most remarkable growth is among the ants, the bees, and their kindred. These creatures have very wonderful habits; they combine together for the making of what we may call states, they care for their young, they wage great battles, they keep slaves, they domesticate other insects, and in many ways their acts resemble the doings of man. Coming at about the same time as man, these intellectual insects help to mark this later stage of the earth as the intellectual period in its history. Now for the first time creatures are on the earth which can form societies and help each other in the difficult work of living.

Among the mollusks, the most important change is in the creation of the great, strong swimming squids, the most remarkable creatures of the sea. Some of these have arms that can stretch for fifty feet from tip to tip.

Among the plants, the most important change has been in the growth of flowering plants, which have been constantly becoming more plenty, and the plants which bear fruits have also become more numerous. The broad-leaved trees seem to be constantly gaining on the forests of narrow-leaved cone-bearers, which had in an earlier day replaced the forests of ferns.

In these Tertiary ages, as in the preceding times of the earth, the lands and seas were much changed in their shape. It seems that in the earlier ages the land had been mostly in the shape of large islands grouped [pg 95] close together where the continents now are. In this time, these islands grew together to form the united lands of Europe, Asia, Africa, Australia, and the twin American continents; so that, as life rose higher, the earth was better fitted for it. Still there were great troubles that it had to undergo. There were at least two different times during the Tertiary age termed glacial periods, times when the ice covered a large part of the northern continents, compelling life of all sorts to abandon great regions, and to find new places in more southern lands. Many kinds of animals and plants seem to have been destroyed in these journeys; but these times of trial, by removing the weaker and less competent creatures, made room for new forms to rise in their places. All advance in nature makes death necessary, and this must come to races as well as to individuals if the life of the world is to go onward and upward.

Looking back into the darkened past, of which we yet know but little compared with what we would like to know, we can see the great armies of living beings led onward from victory to victory toward the higher life of our own time. Each age sees some advance, though death overtakes all its creatures. Those that escape their actual enemies or accident, fall a prey to old age: volcanoes, earthquakes, glacial periods, and a host of other violent accidents sweep away the life of wide regions, yet the host moves on under a control that lies beyond the knowledge of science. Man finds himself here as the crowning victory of this long war. For him all this life appears to have striven. In his hands lies the profit of all its toil and pain. Surely[pg 96] this should make us feel that our duty to all these living things, that have shared in the struggle that has given man his elevation, is great, but above all, great is our duty to the powers that have been placed in our bodies and our minds.

The Pitch Lake In The West Indies

(From At Last.)
By
C. KINGSLEY
.

The Pitch Lake, like most other things, owes its appearance on the surface to no convulsion or vagary at all, but to a most slow, orderly, and respectable process of nature, by which buried vegetable matter, which would have become peat, and finally brown coal, in a temperate climate, becomes, under the hot tropic soil, asphalt and oil, continually oozing up beneath the pressure of the strata above it . . . .

As we neared the shore, we perceived that the beach was black with pitch; and the breeze being off the land, the asphalt smell (not unpleasant) came off to welcome us. We rowed in, and saw in front of a little row of wooden houses a tall mulatto, in blue policeman's dress, gesticulating and shouting to us. He was [pg 98] the ward policeman, and I found him (as I did all the colored police) able and courteous, shrewd and trusty. These police are excellent specimens of what can be made of the negro, or half-negro, if he be but first drilled, and then given a responsibility which calls out his self-respect. He was warning our crew not to run aground on one or other of the pitch reefs, which here take the place of rocks. A large one, a hundred yards off on the left, has been almost all dug away, and carried to New York or to Paris to make asphalt-pavement.

The boat was run ashore, under his directions, on a spit of sand between the pitch; and when she ceased bumping up and down in the muddy surf, we scrambled out into a world exactly the hue of its inhabitants of every shade, from jet black to copper-brown. The pebbles on the shore were pitch. A tide-pool close by was enclosed in pitch; a four-eyes was swimming about in it, staring up at us; and when we hunted him, tried to escape, not by diving, but by jumping on shore on the pitch, and scrambling off between our legs. While the policeman, after profoundest courtesies, was gone to get a mule-cart to take us up to the lake, and planks [pg 99] to bridge its water channels, we took a look round at this oddest of corners of the earth.

In front of us was the unit of civilization,—the police-station, wooden, on wooden stilts (as all well-built houses are here), to insure a draught of air beneath them. We were, of course, asked to come in and sit down, but preferred looking about, under our umbrellas; for the heat was intense. The soil is half pitch, half brown earth, among which the pitch sweals in and out as tallow sweals from a candle. It is always in slow motion under the heat of the tropic sun; and no wonder if some of the cottages have sunk right and left in such a treacherous foundation. A stone or brick house could not stand here; but wood and palm-thatch are both light and tough enough to be safe, let the ground give way as it will.

The soil, however, is very rich. The pitch certainly does not injure vegetation, though plants will not grow actually in it. The first plants which caught our eyes were pineapples, for which La Brea is famous. The heat of the soil, as well as the air, brings them to special perfection. They grow about anywhere, unprotected by hedge or fence; for the negroes here seem honest enough, at least toward each other; and at the corner of the house was a bush worth looking at, for we had heard of it for many a year. It bore prickly, heart-shaped pods an inch long, filled with seeds coated with a red waxy pulp.

This was a famous plant— Bixa orellana Roucou; and that pulp was the well-known annotto dye of commerce. In England and Holland it is used merely, I believe, to color cheeses, but in the Spanish Main to [pg 100] color human beings. The Indian of the Orinoco prefers paint to clothes; and when he has "roucoued" himself from head to foot, considers himself in full dress, whether for war or dancing. Doubtless he knows his own business best from long experience. Indeed, as we stood broiling on the shore, we began somewhat to regret that European manners and customs prevented our adopting the Guaraon and Arrawak fashion.

The mule-cart arrived; the lady of the party was put into it on a chair, and slowly bumped and rattled past the corner of Dundonald Street—so named after the old sea-hero, who was, in his life-time, full of projects for utilizing this same pitch—and up in pitch road, with a pitch gutter on each side.

The pitch in the road has been, most of it, laid down by hand, and is slowly working down the slight incline, leaving pools and ruts full of water, often invisible, because covered with a film of brown pitch-dust, and so letting in the unwary walker over his shoes. The [pg 101] pitch in the gutter-bank is in its native place, and as it spues slowly out of the soil into the ditch in odd wreaths and lumps, we could watch, in little, the process which has produced the whole deposit—probably the whole lake itself.

A bullock-cart, laden with pitch, came jolting down past us, and we observed that the lumps, when the fracture is fresh, have all a drawn out look; that the very air bubbles in them, which are often very numerous, are all drawn out likewise, long and oval, like the air-bubbles in some ductile lavas.

On our left, as we went on, the bush was low, all of yellow cassia and white Hibiscus, and tangled with lovely convolvulus-like creepers, Ipomoea and Echites, with white, purple or yellow flowers. On the right were negro huts and gardens, fewer and fewer as we went on,—all rich with fruit trees, especially with oranges, hung with fruit of every hue; and beneath them, of course, the pine-apples of La Brea. Everywhere along the road grew, seemingly wild here, that pretty low tree, Cashew, with rounded yellow-veined leaves and little green flowers, followed by a quaint pink and red-striped pear, from which hangs, at the larger and lower end, a kidney-shaped bean, which bold folk eat when roasted; but woe to those who try it when raw; for the acrid oil blisters the lips, and even while the beans are roasting the fumes of the oil will blister the cook's face if she holds it too near the fire.

As we went onward up the gentle slope (the rise is one hundred and thirty-eight feet in rather more than a mile), the ground became more and more full of pitch, [pg 102] and the vegetation poorer and more rushy, till it resembled, on the whole, that of an English fen. An Ipomoea or two, and a scarlet flowered dwarf Heliconia, kept up the tropic type, as does a stiff brittle fern about two feet high. We picked the weeds, which looked like English mint or basil, and found that most of them had three longitudinal nerves in each leaf, and were really Melastomas, though dwarfed into a far meaner habit than that of the noble forms we saw at Chaguanas, and again on the other side of the lake. On the right, too, in a hollow, was a whole wood of Groogroo palms, gray stemmed, gray leaved, and here and there a patch of white or black Roseau rose gracefully eight or ten feet high among the reeds.

The plateau of pitch now widened out, and the whole ground looked like an asphalt pavement, half overgrown with marsh-loving weeds, whose roots feed in the sloppy water which overlies the pitch. But, as yet, there was no sign of the lake. The incline, though gentle, shuts off the view of what is beyond. This last lip of the lake has surely overflowed, and is overflowing still, though very slowly. Its furrows all curve downward; and it is, in fact, as one of our party said, "a black glacier." The pitch, expanding under the burning sun of day, must needs expand most toward the line of least resistance—that is, downhill; and when it contracts again under the coolness of night, it contracts, surely, from the same cause, more downhill than uphill; and so each particle never returns to the spot whence it started, but rather drags the particles above it downward toward itself. At least, so it seemed to us. Thus may be explained the common mistake which is noticed [pg 103] by Messrs. Wall and Sawkins in their admirable description of the lake.

"All previous descriptions refer the bituminous matter scattered over the La Brea district, and especially that between the village and the lake, to streams which have issued at some former epoch from the lake, and extended into the sea. This supposition is totally incorrect, as solidification would probably have ensued before it had proceeded one-tenth of the distance; and such of the asphalt as has undoubtedly escaped from the lake has not advanced more than a few yards, and always presents the curved surfaces already described, and never appears as an extended sheet."

Agreeing with this statement as a whole, I nevertheless cannot but think it probable that a great deal of the asphalt, whether it be in large masses or in scattered veins, may be moving very slowly down hill, from the lake to the sea, by the process of expansion by day and contraction by night, and may be likened to a caterpillar, or rather caterpillars innumerable, progressing by expanding and contracting their rings, having strength enough to crawl down hill, but not strength enough to back up hill again.

At last we surmounted the last rise, and before us lay the famous lake—not at the bottom of a depression, as we expected, but at the top of a rise, whence the ground slopes away from it on two sides, and rises from it very slightly on the two others. The black pool glared and glittered in the sun. A group of islands, some twenty yards wide, were scattered about the middle of it. Beyond it rose a double forest of Moriche fan-palms; and to the right of them high [pg 104] wood with giant Mombins and undergrowth of Cocorite—a paradise on the other side of the Stygian pool.

We walked, with some misgivings, on to the asphalt, and found it perfectly hard. In a few steps we were stopped by a channel of clear water, with tiny fish and water-beetles in it; and, looking round, saw that the whole lake was intersected with channels, so unlike anything which can be seen elsewhere that it is not easy to describe them.

Conceive a crowd of mushrooms, of all shapes, from ten to fifty feet across, close together side by side, their tops being kept at exactly the same level, their rounded rims squeezed tight against each other; then conceive water poured on them so as to fill the parting seams, and in the wet season, during which we visited it, to overflow the tops somewhat. Thus would each mushroom represent, tolerably well, one of [pg 105] the innumerable flat asphalt bosses, which seem to have sprung up each from a separate centre, while the parting seams would be of much the same shape as those in the asphalt, broad and shallow atop, and rolling downward in a smooth curve, till they are at bottom mere cracks from two to ten feet deep. Whether these cracks actually close up below, and the two contiguous masses of pitch become one, cannot be seen. As far as the eye goes down, they are two, though pressed close to each other. Messrs. Wall and Sawkins explain the odd fact clearly and simply. The oil, they say, which the asphalt contains when it rises first, evaporates in the sun, of course most on the outside of the heap, leaving a thorough coat of asphalt, which has, generally, no power to unite with the corresponding coat of the next mass. Meanwhile Mr. Manross, an American gentleman, who has written a very clever and interesting account of the lake, seems to have been so far deceived by the curved and squeezed edges of these masses that he attributes to each of them a revolving motion, and supposes that the material is continually passing from the centre to the edges, when it "rolls under," and rises again in the middle. Certainly the strange stuff looks, at the first glance, as if it were behaving in this way; and certainly, also, his theory would explain the appearance of sticks and logs in the pitch. But Messrs. Wall and Sawkins say that they have observed no such motion: nor did we; and I agree with them, that it is not very obvious to what force, or what influence, it could be attributable. We must, therefore, seek some other way of accounting for the sticks— which utterly [pg 106] puzzled us, and which Mr. Manross well describes as "numerous pieces of wood, which, being involved in the pitch, are constantly coming to the surface. They are often several feet in length, and five or six inches in diameter. On reaching the surface they generally assume an upright position, one end being detained in the pitch, while the other is elevated by the lifting of the middle. They may be seen at frequent intervals over the lake, standing up to the height of two or even three feet. They look like stumps of trees protruding through the pitch; but their parvenu character is curiously betrayed by a ragged cap of pitch which invariably covers the top, and hangs down like hounds' ears on either side."

Whence do they come? Have they been blown on to the lake, or left behind by man? or are they fossil trees, integral parts of the vegetable stratum below which is continually rolling upward? or are they of both kinds? I do not know. Only this is certain, as Messrs. Wall and Sawkins have pointed out, that not only "the purer varieties of asphalt, such as approach or are identical with asphalt glance, have been observed" (though not, I think, in the lake itself) "in isolated masses, where there was little doubt of their proceeding from ligneous substances of larger dimensions, such as roots and pieces of trunks and branches," but, moreover, that "it is also necessary to admit a species of conversion by contact, since pieces of wood included accidentally in the asphalt, for example, by dropping from overhanging vegetation, are often found partially transformed into the material." This is a statement which we verified again and again, as we [pg 107] did the one which follows, namely, that the hollow bubbles which abound on the surface of the pitch "generally contain traces of the lighter portion of vegetation," and "are manifestly derived from leaves, etc., which are blown about the lake by the wind, and are covered with asphalt, and, as they become asphalt themselves, give off gases which form bubbles round them."

But how is it that those logs stand up out of the asphalt, with asphalt caps and hounds' ears (as Mr. Manross well phrases it) on the tops of them?

We pushed on across the lake, over the planks which the negroes laid down from island to island. Some, meanwhile, preferred a steeple-chase with water-jumps, after the fashion of the midshipmen on a certain second visit to the lake. How the negroes grinned delight and surprise at the vagaries of English lads—a species of animal altogether new to them; and how they grinned still more when certain staid and portly dignitaries caught the infection, and proved by more than one good leap that they too had been English schoolboys—alas! long, long ago.

So, whether by bridging, leaping, or wading, we arrived at the little islands, and found them covered with a thick, low scrub; deep sedge, and among them Pinguins, like huge pine-apples without the apple; gray wild-pines, parasites on Matapalos, which, of course, have established themselves, like robbers and vagrants as they are, everywhere; a true holly, with box-like leaves; and a rare cocoa-plum, very like the holly in habit, which seems to be all but confined to these little patches of red earth, afloat on the pitch. Out of the [pg 108] scrub, when we were there, flew off two or three night-jars, very like our English species, save that they had white in the wings; and on the second visit one of the midshipmen, true to the English boy's bird's-nesting instinct, found one of their eggs, white-spotted, in a grass nest.

Passing these little islands, which are said (I know not how truly) to change their places and number, we came to the very fountains of Styx, to that part of the lake where the asphalt is still oozing up.

As the wind set toward us, we soon became aware of an evil smell—petroleum and sulphureted hydrogen at once—which gave some of us a headache. The pitch here is yellow and white with sulphur foam; so are the water-channels; and out of both water and pitch innumerable bubbles of gas arise, loathsome to the smell. We became aware that the pitch was soft under our feet. We left the impression of our boots; and if we had stood still awhile, we should soon have been ankle-deep. No doubt there are spots where, if a man stayed long enough, he would be slowly and horribly engulfed. "But," as Mr. Manross says truly, "in no place is it possible to form those bowl-like depressions round the observer described by former travellers." What we did see is that the fresh pitch oozes out at the lines of least resistance, namely, in the channels between the older and more hardened masses, usually at the upper ends of them, so that one may stand on pitch comparatively hard, and put one's hand into pitch quite liquid, which is flowing softly out, like some ugly fungoid growth, such as may be seen in old wine-cellars, into the water. One such pitch-fungus had grown [pg 109] several yards in length in the three weeks between our first and second visit; and on another, some of our party performed exactly the same feat as Mr. Manross.

"In one of the star-shaped pools of water, some five feet deep, a column of pitch had been forced perpendicularly up from the bottom. On reaching the surface of the water it had formed a sort of centre-table, about four feet in diameter, but without touching the sides of the pool. The stem was about a foot in diameter. I leaped out on this table, and found that it not only sustained my weight, but that the elasticity of the stem enabled me to rock it from side to side. Pieces torn from the edges of this table sank readily, showing that it had been raised by pressure, and not by its buoyancy."

True, though strange; but stranger still did it seem to us when we did at last what the negroes asked us, and dipped our hands into the liquid pitch, to find that it did not soil the fingers. The old proverb that one cannot touch pitch without being defiled happily does not stand true here, or the place would be intolerably loathsome. It can be scraped up, moulded into any shape you will, wound in a string (as was done by one of the midshipmen) round a stick, and carried off; but nothing is left on the hand save clean gray mud and water. It may be kneaded for an hour before the mud be sufficiently driven out of it to make it sticky. This very abundance of earthy matter it is which, while it keeps the pitch from soiling, makes it far less valuable than it would be were it pure.

It is easy to understand whence this earthy matter (twenty or thirty per cent) comes. Throughout the [pg 110] neighborhood the ground is full, to the depth of hundreds of feet, of coaly and asphaltic matter. Layers of sandstone or of shale containing this decayed vegetable alternate with layers which contain none; and if, as seems probable, the coaly matter is continually changing into asphalt and oil, and then working its way upward through every crack and pore, to escape from the enormous pressure of the superincumbent soil, it must needs carry up with it innumerable particles of the soils through which it passes.

In five minutes we had seen, handled, and smelt enough to satisfy us with this very odd and very nasty vagary of tropic nature; and as we did not wish to become faint and ill between the sulphureted hydrogen and the blaze of the sun reflected off the hot black pitch, we hurried on over the water-furrows, and through the sedge-beds to the farther shore—to find ourselves, in a single step, out of an Inferno into a Paradise.