Chapter XII

Falkland Islands—Excursion round island—Aspect—Cattle, horses, rabbit, wolf-like fox—Fire made of bones—Art in making fire—Manner of hunting wild cattle—Geology, fossil shells—Valleys filled with great fragments, scenes of violence—Penguin—Geese—Eggs of doris—Zoophytes, coralline phosphorescent—Compound animals.

FALKLAND ISLANDS.

March 16th, 1834.—The Beagle anchored in Berkeley Sound, in East Falkland Island.⁠[1] This archipelago is situated in nearly the same latitude as the mouth of the Strait of Magellan. It covers a space of about 120 by 60 geographical miles, and is a little more than half the size of Ireland. After the possession of these miserable islands had been contested by France, Spain, and England, they were left uninhabited. The government of Buenos Ayres then sold them to a private individual, but likewise used them, as old Spain had done before, for a penal settlement. England claimed her right and seized them. The Englishman who was left in charge of the flag was consequently murdered. A British officer was next sent, unsupported by any power: and when we arrived, we found him in charge of a population, of which rather more than half were runaway rebels and murderers.

The theatre is worthy of the scenes acted on it. An undulating land, with a desolate and wretched aspect, is every where covered by a peaty soil and wiry grass, of one monotonous brown colour. Here and there a peak or ridge of gray quartz rock, breaks through the smooth surface. Every one has heard of the climate of these regions; it may be compared to that which is experienced at the height of between one and two thousand feet, on the mountains of North Wales; having however less sunshine and less frosty but more wind and rain.

March 16th.—I will now describe a short excursion which I made round a part of this island. In the morning I started with six horses and two Gauchos: the latter were capital men for the purpose, and well accustomed to living on their own resources. The weather was very boisterous and cold, with heavy hailstorms. We got on, however, pretty well; but excepting in the geology, nothing could be less interesting than our day’s ride. The country is uniformly the same undulating moorland; the surface being covered by light brown withered grass and a few very small shrubs, all springing out of an elastic peaty soil. In the valleys here and there might be seen a small flock of wild geese, and every where the ground was so soft, that the snipe was able to feed. Besides these two kinds of birds, there were few others. There is one main range of hills, nearly two thousand feet in height, and composed of quartz rock, the rugged and barren crests of which gave us some trouble to cross. On the south side we came to the best country for wild cattle; we met however no great number, for they had lately been much harassed.

In the evening we came across a small herd. One of my companions, St. Jago by name, soon separated a fat cow; he threw the bolas, and it struck her legs, but failed in becoming entangled. Then dropping his hat to mark the spot where the balls were left, while at full gallop he uncoiled his lazo, and after a most severe chase, again came up to the cow, and caught her round the horns. The other Gaucho had gone on ahead with the horses, so that St. Jago had some difficulty in killing the furious beast. He managed to get her on a level piece of ground, by taking advantage of her as often as she rushed at him; and when she would not move, my horse, from having been trained, would canter up, and with his chest give her a violent push. But when on level ground it does not appear an easy job for one man to kill a beast mad with terror. Nor would it be so, if the horse, when left to itself without its rider, did not soon learn, for its own safety, to keep the lazo tight; so that, if the animal moves forward, the horse moves just as quickly so much away; otherwise, it stands motionless leaning on one side. This horse, however, was a young one, and would not stand still, but gave in to the cow as she struggled. It was admirable to see with what dexterity St. Jago dodged behind the beast, till at last he contrived to give the fatal touch to the main tendon of the hind leg; after which, driving his knife into the head of the spinal marrow, the cow dropped as if struck by lightning. He cut off pieces of flesh with the skin to it, but without any bones, sufficient for our expedition. We then rode on to our sleeping-place, and had for supper “carne con cuero,” or meat roasted with the skin on it. This is as superior to common beef, as venison is to mutton. A large circular piece taken from the back, is roasted on the embers with the hide downwards and in the form of a saucer, so that none of the gravy is lost. If any worthy alderman had supped with us that evening, “carne con cuero,” without doubt, would soon have been celebrated in London.

During the night it rained, and the next day (17th) was very stormy, with much hail and snow. We rode across the island to the neck of land which joins the Rincon del Toro (the great peninsula at the S.W. extremity) to the rest of the island. From the greater number of cows which have been killed, there is a large proportion of bulls. These wander about by twos and threes, or by themselves, and are very savage. I never saw such magnificent beasts; they truly resembled the ancient sculptures, in which the size of the neck and head is but seldom equalled among tame animals. The young bulls ran away for a short distance, but the old ones did not stir a step, except to rush at man and horse; and many of the latter have thus been killed. One old bull crossed a boggy stream, and took up his stand on the opposite side to us. We in vain tried to drive him away, and failing, were obliged to make a large circuit. The Gauchos in revenge determined to render him for the future innocuous. It was very interesting to see how art completely mastered force. One lazo was thrown over his horns, as he rushed at the horse, and another round his hind legs: in a minute the monster was stretched harmless on the ground. After the lazo has once been tightly drawn round the horns of a furious animal, it does not at first appear an easy thing to disengage it again; nor, I apprehend, would it be so, if the man was by himself, and he did not wish to kill the beast. By the aid, however, of a second person throwing his lazo, so as to catch both hind legs, it is quickly managed: for the animal, as long as its hind legs are kept outstretched, is quite powerless, and the first man can with his hands loosen his lazo, and then quietly mount his horse; but the moment the second man, by backing ever so little, relaxes the strain, the lazo slips off the legs of the struggling beast, which thus rises free, shakes himself, and vainly rushes after his antagonist.

During our whole ride we only saw one troop of wild horses. These animals, as well as the cattle, were introduced by the French in 1764, since which time they have greatly increased. It is a curious fact, that the horses have never left the eastern end of the island, although there is no natural boundary to prevent them from roaming, and that part of the island is not more tempting than the rest. The Gauchos, though asserting this to be the case, are unable to account for the circumstance. The horses appear to thrive well, yet they are small sized, and have lost so much strength, that they are unfit to be used in taking wild cattle with the lazo. In consequence, it is necessary to go to the great expense of importing fresh horses from the Plata. At some future period the southern hemisphere probably will have its breed of Falkland ponies, as the northern has that of Shetland.

The rabbit is another animal which has been introduced, and has succeeded very well; so that they abound over large parts of the island. Yet, like the horses, they are confined within certain limits; for they have not crossed the central chain of hills; nor would they have extended even so far as the base, if, as the Gauchos informed me, small colonies had not been carried there. I should not have supposed that these animals, natives of northern Africa, could have existed in a climate so extremely humid as this, and which enjoys so little sunshine that even wheat ripens only occasionally. It is asserted that in Sweden, which any one would have thought a more favourable climate, the rabbit cannot live out of doors. The first few pair moreover had here to contend against pre-existing enemies, in the fox, and some large hawks. The French naturalists have considered the black variety a distinct species, and called it Lepus Magellanicus.⁠[2] They imagined that Magellan, when talking of an animal under the name of “conejos,” in the Strait of Magellan, referred to this species; but he was alluding to a small cavy, which to this day is thus called. The Gauchos laughed at the idea of the black kind being different from the gray, and they said that at all events it had not extended its range any further than the other; that the two were never found separate; and that they readily bred together, and produced piebald offspring. Of the latter I now possess a specimen, and it is marked about the head, differently from the French specific description. This circumstance shows how cautious naturalists should be in making species; for even Cuvier, on looking at the skull of one of these rabbits, thought it was probably distinct.

The only quadruped native to the island, is a large wolf-like fox,⁠[3] which is common to both East and West Falkland. I have no doubt it is a peculiar species, and confined to this archipelago; because many sealers, Gauchos, and Indians, who have visited these islands, all maintain that no such animal is found in any part of South America. Molina, from a similarity in habits, thought this was the same with his “culpeu;”⁠[4] but I have seen both, and they are quite distinct. These wolves are well known, from Byron’s account of their tameness and curiosity; which the sailors, who ran into the water to avoid them, mistook for fierceness. To this day their manners remain the same. They have been observed to enter a tent, and actually pull some meat from beneath the head of a sleeping seaman. The Gauchos, also, have frequently killed them in the evening, by holding out a piece of meat in one hand, and in the other a knife ready to stick them. As far as I am aware, there is no other instance in any part of the world, of so small a mass of broken land, distant from a continent, possessing so large a quadruped peculiar to itself. Their numbers have rapidly decreased; they are already banished from that half of the island which lies to the eastward of the neck of land between St. Salvador Bay and Berkeley Sound. Within a very few years after these islands shall have become regularly settled, in all probability this fox will be classed with the dodo, as an animal which has perished from the face of the earth. Mr. Lowe, an intelligent person who has long been acquainted with these islands, assured me, that all the foxes from the western island were smaller and of a redder colour than those from the eastern. In the four specimens which were brought to England in the Beagle⁠[5] there was some variation, but the difference with respect to the islands could not be perceived. At the same time the fact is far from improbable.

At night (17th) we slept on the neck of land which forms the south-west peninsula. The valley was pretty well sheltered from the cold wind; but there was very little brushwood for fuel. The Gauchos, however, soon found what, to my great surprise, made nearly as hot a fire as coals; this was the skeleton of a bullock lately killed, from which the flesh had been picked by the Caracaras. They told me that in winter they had often killed a beast, cleaned the flesh from the bones with their knives, and then with these same bones roasted the meat for their suppers.

18th.—It rained during nearly the whole day. At night we managed, however, with our saddle-cloths, to keep ourselves pretty well dry and warm; but the ground on which we slept was on each occasion nearly in the state of a bog, and there was not a dry spot to sit down on after our day’s ride. I have in another part stated how singular it is that trees should be entirely absent from these islands, while they cover the whole surface of Tierra del Fuego. The largest bush in the island (belonging to the family of Compositæ) is scarcely so tall as our gorze. The best fuel is afforded by a green little bush, about the size of common heath, which has the useful property of burning while fresh and green. It was very surprising to see the Gauchos, in the midst of rain, and every thing soaking wet, with nothing more than a tinder-box and piece of rag, immediately make a fire. They sought beneath the tufts of grass and bushes for a few dry twigs, and these they rubbed into fibres; then surrounding them with coarser twigs, something like a bird’s nest, they put the rag with its spark of fire in the middle, and covered it up. The nest being then held up to the wind, by degrees it smoked more and more, and at last burst out in flames. I do not think any other method would have had a chance of succeeding with such damp materials.

19th.—Each morning, from not having ridden for some time previously, I was very stiff. I was surprised to hear the Gauchos, who have from infancy almost lived on horseback, say that, under similar circumstances, they always suffer. St. Jago told me, that having been confined for three months by illness, he went out hunting wild cattle, and in consequence, for the next two days, his thighs were so stiff that he was obliged to lie in bed. This shows that the Gauchos, although they do not appear to do so, yet really must exert much muscular effort in riding. The hunting wild cattle, in a country so difficult to pass as this is on account of the swampy ground, must be very hard work. The Gauchos say they often pass at full speed over ground which would be impassable at a slower pace; in the same manner as a man is able to skate across thin ice. When hunting, the party endeavours to get as close as possible to the herd without being discovered. Each man carries four or five pair of the bolas; these he throws one after the other at as many cattle, which, when once entangled, are left for some days, till they become a little exhausted by hunger and struggling. They are then let free and driven towards a small herd of tame animals, which have been brought to the spot on purpose. From their previous treatment, being too much terrified to leave the herd, they are easily driven, if their strength lasts out, to the settlement.

The weather continued so very bad, that we determined to make a push, and try to reach the vessel before night. From the quantity of rain which had fallen, the surface of the whole country was swampy. I suppose my horse fell at least a dozen times, and sometimes the whole six were floundering in the mud together. All the little streams are bordered by soft peat, which makes it very difficult for the horses to leap them without falling. To complete our discomforts, we were obliged to cross the head of a creek, in which the water was as high as the backs of the horses, and the little waves, owing to the violence of the wind, broke over us, and made us very wet and cold. Even the iron-framed Gauchos professed themselves glad when they reached the settlement, after our little excursion.

The geological structure of these islands is in most respects simple. The lower country consists of clay-slate and sandstone associated together, and the hills of white granular quartz rock. The strata of the latter are frequently arched with perfect symmetry, and the appearance of some of the masses is in consequence most singular. Pernety⁠[6] has devoted several pages to the description of a hill of ruins, the successive strata of which he has justly compared to the seats of an amphitheatre. The quartz rock must have been quite pasty when it underwent such remarkable flexure without being shattered into fragments. As a passage between the quartz and the sandstone can be traced, it seems probable that the former owes its origin to the sandstone having been heated to such an excess, that it became viscid, and upon cooling crystallized. While in the soft state it must have been pushed up through the overlying beds.

The sandstone and clay-slate contain numerous casts of organic remains. These chiefly consist of shells allied to terebratula, of encrinites, of a branching coral divided into alternate compartments, and lastly, of an obscure impression of the lobes of a trilobite. These fossils possess great interest, because none hitherto have been brought to Europe from a latitude nearly so far south. Mr. Murchison, who had the kindness to look at my specimens, says that they have a close general resemblance to those belonging to the lower division of his Silurian system; and Mr. James Sowerby is of opinion that some of the species are identical. This would be a most remarkable circumstance in the ancient natural history of the world; for shells now living in latitude 50° on opposite sides of the equator, are totally distinct. From the similarity of the Falkland fossils with those in England which are associated with remains that indicate a climate of a tropical character, we may I presume infer that, during this same epoch, nearly the whole world was thus circumstanced.

In many parts of the island, the bottoms of the valleys are covered in an extraordinary manner, by myriads of great angular fragments of the quartz rock. These have been mentioned with surprise by every voyager since the time of Pernety. The whole may be called “a stream of stones.” The blocks vary in size, from that of a man’s chest to ten or twenty times as large, and occasionally they altogether exceed such measures. Their edges show no signs of being water-worn, but are only a little blunted. They do not occur thrown together in irregular piles, but are spread out into level sheets, or great streams. It is not possible to ascertain their thickness, but the water of small streamlets could be heard trickling through the stones many feet below the surface. The actual depth is probably much greater, because the crevices between the lower fragments must long ago have been filled up with sand, and the bed of the rivulet thus raised. The width of these beds varies from a few hundred feet to a mile; but the peaty soil daily encroaches on the borders, and even forms islets wherever a few fragments happen to lie close together. In a valley south of Berkeley Sound, which some of our party called the “great valley of fragments,” it was necessary to cross an uninterrupted band half a mile wide, by jumping from one pointed stone to another. So large were the fragments, that being overtaken by a shower of rain, I readily found good shelter beneath one of them.

Their little inclination is the most remarkable circumstance in these “streams of stones.” On the hill-sides I have seen them sloping at an angle of ten degrees with the horizon; but in some of the level, broad-bottomed valleys, the inclination is only just sufficient to be clearly perceived. On so rugged a surface there was no means of measuring the angle; but to give a common illustration, I may say that the slope alone would not have checked the speed of an English mail-coach. In some places, a continuous stream of these fragments followed up the course of a valley, and even extended to the very crest of the hill. On these crests huge masses, exceeding in dimensions any small building, seemed to stand arrested in their headlong course: there, also, the curved strata of the archways lay piled over each other, like the ruins of some vast and ancient cathedral. In endeavouring to describe these scenes of violence, one is tempted to pass from one simile to another. We may imagine, that streams of white lava had flowed from many parts of the mountains into the lower country, and that, when consolidated, they had been rent by some enormous convulsion into myriads of fragments. The expression, “streams of stones,” which immediately occurred to every one, conveyed the same idea. These scenes are, on the spot, rendered more striking, by the contrast of the low, rounded forms of the neighbouring hills.

I was much interested by finding on the highest peak of one range (about 700 feet above the sea) a great arched fragment, lying on its convex or upper surface. Must we believe that it was fairly pitched up in the air, and thus turned? Or, with more probability, that there existed formerly a part of the same range more elevated than the point on which this monument of a great convulsion of nature now lies. As the fragments in the valleys are neither rounded nor the crevices filled up with sand, we must infer that the period of violence was subsequent to the land having been raised above the waters of the sea. In a transverse section within these valleys the bottom is nearly level, or rises but very little towards either side. Hence the fragments appear to have travelled from the head of the valley; but in reality it seems most probable, either that they have been hurled down from the nearest slopes, or that masses of rock were broken up in the position they formerly occupied; and that since, by a vibratory movement of overwhelming force,⁠[7] the fragments have been levelled into one continuous sheet. If during the earthquake⁠[8] which in 1835 overthrew Concepcion, in Chile, it was thought wonderful that small bodies should have been pitched a few inches from the ground, what must we say to a movement which has caused fragments, many tons in weight (like so much sand on a vibrating board), to move onwards and find their level? I have seen, in the Cordillera of the Andes, the evident marks where stupendous mountains have been broken into pieces like so much thin crust, and the strata thrown on their vertical edges; but never did any scene, like the “streams of stones,” so forcibly convey to my mind the idea of a convulsion of which in historical records we might in vain seek for any counterpart.

I have little to remark on the zoology of these islands. I have before described the Polyborus or Caracara. There are some other hawks, owls, and a few small land-birds. The waterfowl⁠[9] are particularly numerous, and they must formerly, from the accounts of old navigators, have been much more so. One day, having placed myself between a penguin (Aptenodytes demersa) and the water, I was much amused by watching its habits. It was a brave bird; and till reaching the sea, it regularly fought and drove me backwards. Nothing less than heavy blows would have stopped him; every inch gained he firmly kept, standing close before me, erect and determined. When thus opposed he continually rolled his head from side to side, in a very odd manner, as if the power of distinct vision only lay in the anterior and basal part of each eye. This bird is commonly called the jackass penguin, from its habit, while on shore, of throwing its head backwards, and making a loud strange noise, very like the braying of that animal; but while at sea, and undisturbed, its note is very deep and solemn, and is often heard in the night-time. In diving, its little plumeless wings are used as fins; but on the land, as front legs. When crawling (it may be said on four legs) through the tussocks, or on the side of a grassy cliff, it moved so very quickly that it might readily have been mistaken for a quadruped. When at sea and fishing, it comes to the surface, for the purpose of breathing, with such a spring, and dives again so instantaneously, that I defy any one at first sight to be sure that it is not a fish leaping for sport.

Two kinds of geese frequent the Falklands. The upland species (Anas leucoptera) is common in pairs, and in small flocks, throughout the island. They do not migrate, but build on the small outlying islets. This is supposed to be from fear of the foxes: and it is perhaps from the same cause that these birds, though very tame by day, are shy and wild in the dusk of the evening. They live entirely on vegetable matter. The rock-goose, so called from living exclusively on the sea-beach (Anas antarctica), is common both here and on the west coast of America, as far north as Chile. In the deep and retired channels of Tierra del Fuego, the snow-white gander, invariably accompanied by his darker consort, and standing close by each other on some distant rocky point, is a common feature in the landscape.

In these islands a great loggerheaded duck or goose (Anas brachyptera), which sometimes weighs twenty-two pounds, is very abundant. These birds were in former days called, from their extraordinary manner of paddling and splashing upon the water, race-horses; but now they are named, much more appropriately, steamers. Their wings are too small and weak to allow of flight, but by their aid, partly swimming and partly flapping the surface of the water, they move very quickly. The manner is something like that by which the common house-duck escapes when pursued by a dog; but I am nearly sure that the steamer moves its wings alternately, instead of both together, as in other birds. These clumsy, loggerheaded ducks make such a noise and splashing, that the effect is exceedingly curious.

Thus we find in South America three birds, which use their wings for other purposes besides flight: the penguin as fins, the steamer as paddles, and the ostrich as sails to a vessel. The steamer is able to dive only a very short distance. It feeds entirely on shell-fish from the kelp and tidal rocks; hence the beak and head, for the purpose of breaking them, are surprisingly heavy and strong. So strong is the head, that I have scarcely been able to fracture it with my geological hammer; and all our sportsmen soon discovered how tenacious these birds were of life. When pluming themselves in the evening in a flock, they make the same odd mixture of sounds which bullfrogs do within the Tropics.

In Tierra del Fuego, as well as at the Falkland Islands, I made many observations on the lower marine animals,⁠[10] but they are of little general interest. I will only mention one class of facts, relating to certain zoophytes in the more highly organized division of that class. Several genera (flustra, eschara, cellaria, crisia, and others) agree in having singular moveable organs, like those of Flustra avicularia (found in the European seas), attached to their cells. The organ, in the greater number of cases, very closely resembles the head of a vulture; but the lower mandible can be opened much wider, so as to form even a straight line with the upper. The head itself possesses considerable powers of movement, by means of a short neck. In one zoophyte the head itself was fixed, but the lower jaw free: in another it was replaced by a triangular hood, with a beautifully-fitted trap-door, which evidently answered to the lower mandible. A species of stony eschara had a structure somewhat similar. In the greater number of species, each shell was provided with one head, but in others each had two.

The young cells at the end of the branches necessarily contained quite immature polypi, yet the vulture-heads attached to them, though small, were in every respect perfect. When the polypus was removed by a needle from any of the cells, these organs did not appear in the least affected. When one of the latter was cut off from a cell, the lower mandible retained its power of opening and closing. Perhaps the most singular part of their structure is, that when there were more rows of cells than two, both in a Flustra and an Eschara, the central cells were furnished with these appendages, of only one-fourth the size of the lateral ones. Their movements varied according to the species:—in some I never saw the least motion; while others, with the lower mandible generally wide open, oscillated backwards and forwards at the rate of about five seconds each turn; others moved rapidly and by starts. When touched with a needle the beak generally seized the point so firmly, that the whole branch might be shaken.

These bodies have no relation whatever with the production of the gemmules. I could not trace any connexion between them and the polypus. From their formation being completed before that of the latter; from the independence of their movements; from the difference of their size in different parts of the branch; I have little doubt that in their functions they are related rather to the axis than to any of the polypi. In a similar manner, the fleshy appendage at the extremity of the sea-pen forms part of the zoophyte as a whole, as much as the roots of a tree do of the whole and not of the individual buds. Without doubt this is a very curious variation in the structure of a zoophyte: for the growing part in most other cases does not manifest the least irritability or power of movement.

I will mention one other kind of structure quite as anomalous. A small and elegant Crisia is furnished, at the corner of each cell, with a long and slightly-curved bristle, which is fixed at the lower end by a joint. It terminates in the finest point, and has its outer or convex side serrated with delicate teeth or notches. Having placed a small piece of a branch under the microscope, I was exceedingly surprised to see it suddenly start from the field of vision by the movement of these bristles, which acted as oars. Irritation generally produced this motion, but not always. When the coralline was laid flat on that side from which the toothed bristles projected, they were necessarily all pressed together and entangled. This scarcely ever failed to excite a considerable movement among them, and evidently with the object of freeing themselves. In a small piece, which was taken out of water and placed on blotting-paper, the movement of these organs was clearly visible for a few seconds by the naked eye.

In the case of the vulture-heads, as well as in that of the bristles, all that were on one side of a branch, moved sometimes coinstantaneously, sometimes in regular order one after the other; at other times the organs on both sides the branch moved together; but generally all were independent of each other, and entirely so of the polypi. In the Crisia, if the bristles were excited to move by irritation in any one branch, generally the whole zoophyte was affected. In the instance where the branch started from the simultaneous movement of these appendages, we see as perfect a transmission of will as in a single animal. The case, indeed, is not different from that of the sea-pen, which when touched drew itself into the sand. I will state one other instance of uniform action, though of a very different nature, in a zoophyte⁠[11] closely allied to Clytia, and therefore very simply organized. Having kept a large tuft of it in a basin of salt water, when it was dark I found that as often as I rubbed any part of a branch, the whole became strongly phosphorescent with a green light: I do not think I ever saw any object more beautifully so. But the remarkable circumstance was, that the flashes of light always proceeded up the branches, from the base towards the extremities.

The examination of these compound animals was always very interesting to me. What can be more remarkable than to see a plant-like body producing an egg, furnished with setæ, and having independent movements, which soon becomes fixed, branches into numberless arms, and these, though crowded with polypi, yet in some cases possessing independent organs of movement, and obeying uniform impulses of will? The polypi are frequently animals of no simple organization; and in most respects certainly are to be considered as true individuals. It is therefore more curious to observe, in the young and terminal cells, their gradual formation, from the growth of the simple horny substance of which so many zoophytes are composed. The known organization of a tree should remove all surprise at the union of many individuals together, and their relation to a common body. Indeed we might expect, according to the apparent law, that any structure which prevails in one class will be produced in a lesser degree in some others—that since so many plants are compound, so would some animals be thus constructed. It requires, however, a greater effort of reason to view a bud as an individual, than a polypus furnished with a mouth and intestines; and therefore the union does not appear so strange.

Our conception of a compound animal,⁠[12] where in some respects the individuality of each is not completed, may be aided, by reflecting on the production of two distinct creatures by bisecting one with a knife, or where nature herself performs the task. We may consider the polypi in a zoophyte, or the buds in a tree, as cases where the division of the individual has not been completely effected. In this kind of generation, the individuals seem produced only with relation to the present time; their numbers are multiplied, but their life is not extended beyond a fixed period. By the other, and more artificial kind, through intermediate steps or ovules, the relation is kept up through successive ages. By the latter method many peculiarities, which are transmitted by the former, are obliterated, and the character of the species is limited; while on the other hand, certain peculiarities (doubtless adaptations) become hereditary and form races. We may fancy that in these two circumstances we see a step towards the final cause of the shortness of life.

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