As we approach the last part of the geological record we must neglect the lower types of life, which have hitherto occupied so much of our attention, so that we may inquire more fully into the origin and fortunes of the higher forms which now fill the stage. It may be noted, in general terms, that they shared the opulence of the mid-Tertiary period, produced some gigantic specimens of their respective families, and evolved into the genera, and often the species, which we find living to-day. A few illustrations will suffice to give some idea of the later development of the lower invertebrates and vertebrates.
Monstrous oysters bear witness to the prosperity of that ancient and interesting family of the Molluscs. In some species the shells were commonly ten inches long; the double shell of one of these Tertiary bivalves has been found which measured thirteen inches in length, eight in width, and six in thickness. In the higher branch of the Mollusc world the naked Cephalopods (cuttle-fish, etc.) predominate over the nautiloids—the shrunken survivors of the great coiled-shell race. Among the sharks, the modern Squalodonts entirely displace the older types, and grow to an enormous size. Some of the teeth we find in Tertiary deposits are more than six inches long and six inches broad at the base. This is three times the size of the teeth of the largest living shark, and it is therefore believed that the extinct possessor of these formidable teeth (Carcharodon megalodon) must have been much more than fifty, and was possibly a hundred, feet in length. He flourished in the waters of both Europe and America during the halcyon days of the Tertiary Era. Among the bony fishes, all our modern and familiar types appear.
The amphibia and reptiles also pass into their modern types, after a period of generous expansion. Primitive frogs and toads make their first appearance in the Tertiary, and the remains are found in European beds of four-foot-long salamanders. More than fifty species of Tertiary turtles are known, and many of them were of enormous size. One carapace that has been found in a Tertiary bed measures twelve feet in length, eight feet in width, and seven feet in height to the top of the back. The living turtle must have been nearly twenty feet long. Marine reptiles, of a snake-like structure, ran to fifteen feet in length. Crocodiles and alligators swarmed in the rivers of Europe until the chilly Pliocene bade them depart to Africa.
In a word, it was the seven years of plenty for the whole living world, and the expansive development gave birth to the modern types, which were to be selected from the crowd in the subsequent seven years of famine. We must be content to follow the evolution of the higher types of organisms. I will therefore first describe the advance of the Tertiary vegetation, the luxuriance of which was the first condition of the great expansion of animal life; then we will glance at the grand army of the insects which followed the development of the flowers, and at the accompanying expansion and ramification of the birds. The long and interesting story of the mammals must be told in a separate chapter, and a further chapter must be devoted to the appearance of the human species.
We saw that the Angiosperms, or flowering plants, appeared at the beginning of the Cretaceous period, and were richly developed before the Tertiary Era opened. We saw also that their precise origin is unknown. They suddenly invade a part of North America where there were conditions for preserving some traces of them, but we have as yet no remains of their early forms or clue to their place of development. We may conjecture that their ancestors had been living in some elevated inland region during the warmth of the Jurassic period.
As it is now known that many of the cycad-like Mesozoic plants bore flowers—as the modern botanist scarcely hesitates to call them—the gap between the Gymnosperms and Angiosperms is very much lessened. There are, however, structural differences which forbid us to regard any of these flowering cycads, which we have yet found, as the ancestors of the Angiosperms. The most reasonable view seems to be that a small and local branch of these primitive flowering plants was evolved, like the rest, in the stress of the Permian-Triassic cold; that, instead of descending to the warm moist levels with the rest at the end of the Triassic, and developing the definite characters of the cycad, it remained on the higher and cooler land; and that the rise of land at the end of the Jurassic period stimulated the development of its Angiosperm features, enlarged the area in which it was especially fitted to thrive, and so permitted it to spread and suddenly break into the geological record as a fully developed Angiosperm.
As the cycads shrank in the Cretaceous period, the Angiosperms deployed with great rapidity, and, spreading at various levels and in different kinds of soils and climates, branched into hundreds of different types. We saw that the oak, beech, elm, maple, palm, grass, etc., were well developed before the end of the Cretaceous period. The botanist divides the Angiosperms into two leading groups, the Monocotyledons (palms, grasses, lilies, orchises, irises, etc.) and Dicotyledons (the vast majority), and it is now generally believed that the former were developed from an early and primitive branch of the latter. But it is impossible to retrace the lines of development of the innumerable types of Angiosperms. The geologist has mainly to rely on a few stray leaves that were swept into the lakes and preserved in the mud, and the evidence they afford is far too slender for the construction of genealogical trees. The student of living plants can go a little further in discovering relationships, and, when we find him tracing such apparently remote plants as the apple and the strawberry to a common ancestor with the rose, we foresee interesting possibilities on the botanical side. But the evolution of the Angiosperms is a recent and immature study, and we will be content with a few reflections on the struggle of the various types of trees in the changing conditions of the Tertiary, the development of the grasses, and the evolution of the flower. In other words, we will be content to ask how the modern landscape obtained its general vegetal features.
Broadly speaking, the vegetation of the first part of the Tertiary Era was a mixture of sub-tropical and temperate forms, a confused mass of Ferns, Conifers, Ginkgoales, Monocotyledons, and Dicotyledons. Here is a casual list of plants that then grew in the latitude of London and Paris: the palm, magnolia, myrtle, Banksia, vine, fig, aralea, sequoia, eucalyptus, cinnamon tree, cactus, agave, tulip tree, apple, plum, bamboo, almond, plane, maple, willow, oak, evergreen oak, laurel, beech, cedar, etc. The landscape must have been extraordinarily varied and beautiful and rich. To one botanist it suggests Malaysia, to another India, to another Australia.
It is really the last gathering of the plants, before the great dispersion. Then the cold creeps slowly down from the Arctic regions, and begins to reduce the variety. We can clearly trace its gradual advance. In the Carboniferous and Jurassic the vegetation of the Arctic regions had been the same as that of England; in the Eocene palms can flourish in England, but not further north; in the Pliocene the palms and bamboos and semi-tropical species are driven out of Europe; in the Pleistocene the ice-sheet advances to the valleys of the Thames and the Danube (and proportionately in the United States), every warmth-loving species is annihilated, and our grasses, oaks, beeches, elms, apples, plums, etc., linger on the green southern fringe of the Continent, and in a few uncovered regions, ready to spread north once more as the ice creeps back towards the Alps or the Arctic circle. Thus, in few words, did Europe and North America come to have the vegetation we find in them to-day.
The next broad characteristic of our landscape is the spreading carpet of grass. The interest of the evolution of the grasses will be seen later, when we shall find the evolution of the horse, for instance, following very closely upon it. So striking, indeed, is the connection between the advance of the grasses and the advance of the mammals that Dr. Russel Wallace has recently claimed ("The World of Life," 1910) that there is a clear purposive arrangement in the whole chain of developments which leads to the appearance of the grasses. He says that "the very puzzling facts" of the immense reptilian development in the Mesozoic can only be understood on the supposition that they were evolved "to keep down the coarser vegetation, to supply animal food for the larger Carnivora, and thus give time for higher forms to obtain a secure foothold and a sufficient amount of varied form and structure" (p. 284).
Every insistence on the close connection of the different strands in the web of life is welcome, but Dr. Wallace does not seem to have learned the facts accurately. There is nothing "puzzling" about the Mesozoic reptilian development; the depression of the land, the moist warmth, and the luscious vegetation of the later Triassic and the Jurassic amply explain it. Again, the only carnivores to whom they seem to have supplied food were reptiles of their own race. Nor can the feeding of the herbivorous reptiles be connected with the rise of the Angiosperms. We do not find the flowering plants developing anywhere in those vast regions where the great reptiles abounded; they invade them from some single unknown region, and mingle with the pines and ginkgoes, while the cyeads alone are destroyed.
The grasses, in particular, do not appear until the Cretaceous, and do not show much development until the mid-Tertiary; and their development seems to be chiefly connected with physical conditions. The meandering rivers and broad lakes of the mid-Tertiary would have their fringes of grass and sedge, and, as the lakes dried up in the vicissitudes of climate, large areas of grass would be left on their sites. To these primitive prairies the mammal (not reptile) herbivores would be attracted, with important results. The consequences to the animals we will consider presently. The effect on the grasses may be well understood on the lines so usefully indicated in Dr. Wallace's book. The incessant cropping, age after age, would check the growth of the larger and coarser grasses give opportunity to the smaller and finer, and lead in time to the development of the grassy plains of the modern world. Thus one more familiar feature was added to the landscape in the Tertiary Era.
As this fresh green carpet spread over the formerly naked plains, it began to be enriched with our coloured flowers. There were large flowers, we saw, on some of the Mesozoic cycads, but their sober yellows and greens—to judge from their descendants—would do little to brighten the landscape. It is in the course of the Tertiary Era that the mantle of green begins to be embroidered with the brilliant hues of our flowers.
Grant Allen put forward in 1882 ("The Colours of Flowers") an interesting theory of the appearance of the colours of flowers, and it is regarded as probable. He observed that most of the simplest flowers are yellow; the more advanced flowers of simple families, and the simpler flowers of slightly advanced families, are generally white or pink; the most advanced flowers of all families, and almost all the flowers of the more advanced families, are red, purple, or blue; and the most advanced flowers of the most advanced families are always either blue or variegated. Professor Henslow adds a number of equally significant facts with the same tendency, so that we have strong reason to conceive the floral world as passing through successive phases of colour in the Tertiary Era. At first it would be a world of yellows and greens, like that of the Mesozoic vegetation, but brighter. In time splashes of red and white would lie on the face of the landscape; and later would come the purples, the rich blues, and the variegated colours of the more advanced flowers.
Why the colours came at all is a question closely connected with the general story of the evolution of the flower, at which we must glance. The essential characteristic of the flower, in the botanist's judgment, is the central green organ which you find—say, in a lily—standing out in the middle of the floral structure, with a number of yellow-coated rods round it. The yellow rods bear the male germinal elements (pollen); the central pistil encloses the ovules, or female elements. "Angiosperm" means "covered-seed plant," and its characteristic is this protection of the ovules within a special chamber, to which the pollen alone may penetrate. Round these essential organs are the coloured petals of the corolla (the chief part of the flower to the unscientific mind) and the sepals, often also coloured, of the calyx.
There is no doubt that all these parts arose from modifications of the leaves or stems of the primitive plant; though whether the bright leaves of the corolla are directly derived from ordinary leaves, or are enlarged and flattened stamens, has been disputed. And to the question why these bright petals, whose colour and variety of form lend such charm to the world of flowers, have been developed at all, most botanists will give a prompt and very interesting reply. As both male and female elements are usually in one flower, it may fertilise itself, the pollen falling directly on the pistil. But fertilisation is more sure and effective if the pollen comes from a different individual—if there is "cross fertilisation." This may be accomplished by the simple agency of the wind blowing the pollen broadcast, but it is done much better by insects, which brush against the stamens, and carry grains of the pollen to the next flower they visit.
We have here a very fertile line of development among the primitive flowers. The insects begin to visit them, for their pollen or juices, and cross-fertilise them. If this is an advantage, attractiveness to insects will become so important a feature that natural selection will develop it more and more. In plain English, what is meant is that those flowers which are more attractive to insects will be the most surely fertilised and breed most, and the prolonged application of this principle during hundreds of thousands of years will issue in the immense variety of our flowers. They will be enriched with little stores of honey and nectar; not so mysterious an advantage, when we reflect on the concentration of the juices in the neighbourhood of the seed. Then they must "advertise" their stores, and the strong perfumes and bright colours begin to develop, and ensure posterity to their possessors. The shape of the corolla will be altered in hundreds of ways, to accommodate and attract the useful visitor and shut out the mere robber. These utilities, together with the various modifying agencies of different environments, are generally believed to have led to the bewildering variety and great beauty of our floral world.
It is proper to add that this view has been sharply challenged by a number of recent writers. It is questioned if colours and scents do attract insects; though several recent series of experiments seem to show that bees are certainly attracted by colours. It is questioned if cross-fertilisation has really the importance ascribed to it since the days of Darwin. Some of these writers believe that the colours and the peculiar shape which the petals take in some flowers (orchises, for instance) have been evolved to deter browsing animals from eating them. The theory is thus only a different application of natural selection; Professor Henslow, on the other hand, stands alone in denying the selection, and believing that the insects directly developed the scents, honeys, colours, and shapes by mechanical irritation. The great majority of botanists adhere to the older view, and see in the wonderful Tertiary expansion of the flowers a manifold adaptation to the insect friends and insect foes which then became very abundant and varied.
Resisting the temptation to glance at the marvellous adaptations which we find to-day in our plant world—the insect-eating plants, the climbers, the parasites, the sensitive plants, the water-storing plants in dry regions, and so on—we must turn to the consideration of the insects themselves. We have already studied the evolution of the insect in general, and seen its earlier forms. The Tertiary Era not only witnessed a great deployment of the insects, but was singularly rich in means of preserving them. The "fly in amber" has ceased to be a puzzle even to the inexpert. Amber is the resin that exuded from pine-like trees, especially in the Baltic region, in the Eocene and Oligocene periods. Insects stuck in the resin, and were buried under fresh layers of it, and we find them embalmed in it as we pick up the resin on the shores of the Baltic to-day. The Tertiary lakes were also important cemeteries of insects. A great bed at Florissart, in Colorado, is described by one of the American experts who examined it as "a Tertiary Pompeii." It has yielded specimens of about a thousand species of Tertiary insects. Near the large ancient lake, of which it marks the site, was a volcano, and the fine ash yielded from the cone seems to have buried myriads of insects in the water. At Oeningen a similar lake-deposit has, although only a few feet thick, yielded 900 species of insects.
Yet these rich and numerous finds throw little light on the evolution of the insect, except in the general sense that they show species and even genera quite different from those of to-day. No new families of insects have appeared since the Eocene, and the ancient types had by that time disappeared. Since the Eocene, however, the species have been almost entirely changed, so that the insect record, from its commencement in the Primary Era, has the stamp of evolution on every page of it. Unfortunately, insects, especially the higher and later insects, are such frail structures that they are only preserved in very rare conditions. The most important event of the insect-world in the Tertiary is the arrival of the butterflies, which then appear for the first time. We may assume that they spread with great rapidity and abundance in the rich floral world of the mid-Jurassic. More than 13,000 species of Lepidoptera are known to-day, and there are probably twice that number yet to be classified by the entomologist. But so far the Tertiary deposits have yielded only the fragmentary remains of about twenty individual butterflies.
The evolutionary study of the insects is, therefore, not so much concerned with the various modifications of the three pairs of jaws, inherited from the primitive Tracheate, and the wings, which have given us our vast variety of species. It is directed rather to the more interesting questions of what are called the "instincts" of the insects, the remarkable metamorphosis by which the young of the higher orders attain the adult form, and the extraordinary colouring and marking of bees, wasps, and butterflies. Even these questions, however, are so large that only a few words can be said here on the tendencies of recent research.
In regard to the psychic powers of insects it may be said, in the first place, that it is seriously disputed among the modern authorities whether even the highest insects (the ant, bee, and wasp) have any degree whatever of the intelligence which an earlier generation generously bestowed on them. Wasmann and Bethe, two of the leading authorities on ants, take the negative view; Forel claims that they show occasional traces of intelligence. It is at all events clear that the enormous majority of, if not all, their activities—and especially those activities of the ant and the bee which chiefly impress the imagination—are not intelligent, but instinctive actions. And the second point to be noted is that the word "instinct," in the old sense of some innate power or faculty directing the life of an animal, has been struck out of the modern scientific dictionary. The ant or bee inherits a certain mechanism of nerves and muscles which will, in certain circumstances, act in the way we call "instinctive." The problem is to find how this mechanism and its remarkable actions were slowly evolved.
In view of the innumerable and infinitely varied forms of "instinct" in the insect world we must restrict ourselves to a single illustration—say, the social life of the ants and the bees. We are not without indications of the gradual development of this social life. In the case of the ant we find that the Tertiary specimens—and about a hundred species are found in Switzerland alone, whereas there are only fifty species in the whole of Europe to-day—all have wings and are, apparently, of the two sexes, not neutral. This seems to indicate that even in the mid-Tertiary some millions of years after the first appearance of the ant, the social life which we admire in the ants today had not yet been developed. The Tertiary bees, on the other hand, are said to show some traces of the division of labour (and modification of structure) which make the bees so interesting; but in this case the living bees, rising from a solitary life through increasing stages of social co-operation, give us some idea of the gradual development of this remarkable citizenship.
It seems to me that the great selective agency which has brought about these, and many other remarkable activities of the insects (such as the storing of food with their eggs by wasps), was probably the occurrence of periods of cold, and especially the beginning of a winter season in the Cretaceous or Tertiary age. In the periods of luxuriant life (the Carboniferous, the Jurassic, or the Oligocene), when insects swarmed and varied in every direction, some would vary in the direction of a more effective placing of the eggs; and the supervening period of cold and scarcity would favour them. When a regular winter season set in, this tendency would be enormously increased. It is a parallel case to the evolution of the birds and mammals from the reptiles. Those that varied most in the direction of care for the egg and the young would have the largest share in the next generation. When we further reflect that since the Tertiary the insect world has passed through the drastic disturbance of the climate in the great Ice-Age, we seem to have an illuminating clue to one of the most remarkable features of higher insect life.
The origin of the colour marks' and patterns on so many of the higher insects, with which we may join the origin of the stick-insects, leaf-insects, etc., is a subject of lively controversy in science to-day. The protective value of the appearance of insects which look almost exactly like dried twigs or decaying leaves, and of an arrangement of the colours of the wings of butterflies which makes them almost invisible when at rest, is so obvious that natural selection was confidently invoked to explain them. In other cases certain colours or marks seemed to have a value as "warning colours," advertising the nauseousness of their possessors to the bird, which had learned to recognise them; in other cases these colours and marks seemed to be borrowed by palatable species, whose unconscious "mimicry" led to their survival; in other cases, again, the patterns and spots were regarded as "recognition marks," by which the male could find his mate.
Science is just now passing through a phase of acute criticism—as the reader will have realised by this time—and many of the positions confidently adopted in the earlier constructive stage are challenged. This applies to the protective colours, warning colours, mimicry, etc., of insects. Probably some of the affirmations of the older generation of evolutionists were too rigid and extensive; and probably the denials of the new generation are equally exaggerated. When all sound criticism has been met, there remains a vast amount of protective colouring, shaping, and marking in the insect world of which natural selection gives us the one plausible explanation. But the doctrine of natural selection does not mean that every feature of an animal shall have a certain utility. It will destroy animals with injurious variations and favour animals with useful variations; but there may be a large amount of variation, especially in colour, to which it is quite indifferent. In this way much colour-marking may develop, either from ordinary embryonic variations or (as experiment on butterflies shows) from the direct influence of surroundings which has no vital significance. In this way, too, small variations of no selective value may gradually increase until they chance to have a value to the animal.[1]
The origin of the metamorphosis, or pupa-stage, of the higher insects, with all its wonderful protective devices, is so obscure and controverted that we must pass over it. Some authorities think that the sleep-stage has been evolved for the protection of the helpless transforming insect; some believe that it occurs because movement would be injurious to the insect in that stage; some say that the muscular system is actually dissolved in its connections; and some recent experts suggest that it is a reminiscence of the fact that the ancestors of the metamorphosing insects were addicted to internal parasitism in their youth. It is one of the problems of the future. At present we have no fossil pupa-remains (though we have one caterpillar) to guide us. We must leave these fascinating but difficult problems of insect life, and glance at the evolution of the birds.
To the student of nature whose interest is confined to one branch of science the record of life is a mysterious Succession of waves. A comprehensive view of nature, living and non-living, past and present, discovers scores of illuminating connections, and even sees at times the inevitable sequence of events. Thus if the rise of the Angiospermous vegetation on the ruins of the Mesozoic world is understood in the light of geological and climatic changes, and the consequent deploying of the insects, especially the suctorial insects, is a natural result, the simultaneous triumph of the birds is not unintelligible. The grains and fruits of the Angiosperms and the vast swarms of insects provided immense stores of food; the annihilation of the Pterosaurs left a whole stratum of the earth free for their occupation.
We saw that a primitive bird, with very striking reptilian features, was found in the Jurassic rocks, suggesting very clearly the evolution of the bird from the reptile in the cold of the Permian or Triassic period. In the Cretaceous we found the birds distributed in a number of genera, but of two leading types. The Ichthyornis type was a tern-like flying bird, with socketed teeth and biconcave vertebrae like the reptile, but otherwise fully evolved into a bird. Its line is believed to survive in the gannets, cormorants, pelicans, and frigate-birds of to-day. The less numerous Hesperornis group were large and powerful divers. Then there is a blank in the record, representing the Cretaceous upheaval, and it unfortunately conceals the first great ramification of the bird world. When the light falls again on the Eocene period we find great numbers of our familiar types quite developed. Primitive types of gulls, herons, pelicans, quails, ibises, flamingoes, albatrosses, buzzards, hornbills, falcons, eagles, owls, plovers, and woodcocks are found in the Eocene beds; the Oligocene beds add parrots, trogons, cranes, marabouts, secretary-birds, grouse, swallows, and woodpeckers. We cannot suppose that every type has been preserved, but we see that our bird-world was virtually created in the early part of the Tertiary Era.
With these more or less familiar types were large ostrich-like survivors of the older order. In the bed of the sea which covered the site of London in the Eocene are found the remains of a toothed bird (Odontopteryx), though the teeth are merely sharp outgrowths of the edge of the bill. Another bird of the same period and region (Gastornis) stood about ten feet high, and must have looked something like a wading ostrich. Other large waders, even more ostrich-like in structure, lived in North America; and in Patagonia the remains have been found of a massive bird, about eight feet high, with a head larger than that of any living animal except the elephant, rhinoceros, and hippopotamus (Chamberlin).
The absence of early Eocene remains prevents us from tracing the lines of our vast and varied bird-kingdom to their Mesozoic beginnings. And when we appeal to the zoologist to supply the missing links of relationship, by a comparison of the structures of living birds, we receive only uncertain and very general suggestions.[2] He tells us that the ostrich-group (especially the emus and cassowaries) are one of the most primitive stocks of the bird world, and that the ancient Dinornis group and the recently extinct moas seem to be offshoots of that stock. The remaining many thousand species of Carinate birds (or flying birds with a keel [carina]-shaped breast-bone for the attachment of the flying muscles) are then gathered into two great branches, which are "traceable to a common stock" (Pycraft), and branch in their turn along the later lines of development. One of these lines—the pelicans, cormorants, etc.—seems to be a continuation of the Ichthyornis type of the Cretaceous, with the Odontopteryx as an Eocene offshoot; the divers, penguins, grebes, and petrels represent another ancient stock, which may be related to the Hesperornis group of the Cretaceous. Dr. Chalmers Mitchell thinks that the "screamers" of South America are the nearest representatives of the common ancestor of the keel-breasted birds. But even to give the broader divisions of the 19,000 species of living birds would be of little interest to the general reader.
The special problems of bird-evolution are as numerous and unsettled as those of the insects. There is the same dispute as to "protective colours" and "recognition marks", the same uncertainty as to the origin of such instinctive practices as migration and nesting. The general feeling is that the annual migration had its origin in the overcrowding of the regions in which birds could live all the year round. They therefore pushed northward in the spring and remained north until the winter impoverishment drove them south again. On this view each group would be returning to its ancestral home, led by the older birds, in the great migration flights. The curious paths they follow are believed by some authorities to mark the original lines of their spread, preserved from generation to generation through the annual lead of the older birds. If we recollect the Ice-Age which drove the vast majority of the birds south at the end of the Tertiary, and imagine them later following the northward retreat of the ice, from their narrowed and overcrowded southern territory, we may not be far from the secret of the annual migration.
A more important controversy is conducted in regard to the gorgeous plumage and other decorations and weapons of the male birds. Darwin, as is known, advanced a theory of "sexual selection" to explain these. The male peacock, to take a concrete instance, would have developed its beautiful tail because, through tens of thousands of generations, the female selected the more finely tailed male among the various suitors. Dr. Wallace and other authorities always disputed this aesthetic sentiment and choice on the part of the female. The general opinion today is that Darwin's theory could not be sustained in the range and precise sense he gave to it. Some kind of display by the male in the breeding season would be an advantage, but to suppose that the females of any species of birds or mammals had the definite and uniform taste necessary for the creation of male characters by sexual selection is more than difficult. They seem to be connected in origin rather with the higher vitality of the male, but the lines on which they were selected are not yet understood.
This general sketch of the enrichment of the earth with flowering plants, insects, and birds in the Tertiary Era is all that the limits of the present work permit us to give. It is an age of exuberant life and abundant food; the teeming populations overflow their primitive boundaries, and, in adapting themselves to every form of diet, every phase of environment, and every device of capture or escape, the spreading organisms are moulded into tens of thousands of species. We shall see this more clearly in the evolution of the mammals. What we chiefly learn from the present chapter is the vital interconnection of the various parts of nature. Geological changes favour the spread of a certain type of vegetation. Insects are attracted to its nutritious seed-organs, and an age of this form of parasitism leads to a signal modification of the jaws of the insects themselves and to the lavish variety and brilliance of the flowers. Birds are attracted to the nutritious matter enclosing the seeds, and, as it is an advantage to the plant that its seeds be scattered beyond the already populated area, by passing through the alimentary canal of the bird, and being discharged with its excrements, a fresh line of evolution leads to the appearance of the large and coloured fruits. The birds, again, turn upon the swarming insects, and the steady selection they exercise leads to the zigzag flight and the protective colour of the butterfly, the concealment of the grub and the pupa, the marking of the caterpillar, and so on. We can understand the living nature of to-day as the outcome of that teeming, striving, changing world of the Tertiary Era, just as it in turn was the natural outcome of the ages that had gone before.