The Foot-prints of the Creator

by Hugh Miller

TO THE READER.

There are chapters in this little volume which will, I am afraid, be deemed too prolix by the general reader, and which yet the geologist would like less were there any portion of them away. They refer chiefly to organisms not hitherto figured nor described, and must owe their modicum of value to that very minuteness of detail which, by critics of the merely literary type, unacquainted with fossils, and not greatly interested in them, may be regarded as a formidable defect, suited to overlay the general subject of the work. Perhaps the best mode of compromising the matter may be to intimate, as if by beacon, at the outset, the more repulsive chapters; somewhat in the way that the servants of the Humane Society indicate to the skater who frequents in winter the lakes in the neighborhood of Edinburgh, those parts of the ice on which he might be in danger of losing himself. I would recommend, then, readers not particularly palæontological, to pass but lightly over the whole of my fourth and fifth chapters, with the latter half of the third, marking, however, as they skim the pages, the conclusions at which I arrive regarding the bulk and organization of the extraordinary animal described, and the data on which these are founded. My book, like an Irish landscape dotted with green bogs, has its portions on which it may be perilous for the unpractised surveyor to make any considerable stand, but across which he may safely take his sights and lay down his angles.

It will, I trust, be found, that in dealing with errors which, in at least their primary bearing, affect questions of science, I have not offended against the courtesies of scientific controversy. True, they are errors which also involve moral consequences. There is a species of superstition which inclines men to take on trust whatever assumes the name of science; and which seems to be a reaction on the old superstition, that had faith in witches, but none in Sir Isaac Newton, and believed in ghosts, but failed to credit the Gregorian calendar. And, owing mainly to the wide diffusion of this credulous spirit of the modern type, as little disposed to examine what it receives as its ancient unreasoning predecessor, the development doctrines are doing much harm on both sides of the Atlantic, especially among intelligent mechanics, and a class of young men engaged in the subordinate departments of trade and the law. And the harm, thus considerable in amount, must be necessarily more than merely considerable in degree. For it invariably happens, that when persons in these walks become materialists, they become also turbulent subjects and bad men. That belief in the existence after death, which forms the distinguishing instinct of humanity, is too essential a part of man’s moral constitution not to be missed when away; and so, when once fairly eradicated, the life and conduct rarely fail to betray its absence. But I have not, from any consideration of the mischief thus effected, written as if arguments, like cannon-balls, could be rendered more formidable than in the cool state by being made red-hot. I have not even felt, in discussing the question, as if I had a man before me as an opponent; for though my work contains numerous references to the author of the “Vestiges,” I have invariably thought on these occasions, not of the anonymous writer of the volume, of whom I know nothing, but simply of an ingenious, well-written book, unfortunate in its facts and not always very happy in its reasonings. Further, I do not think that palæontological fact, in its bearing on the points at issue, is of such a doubtful complexion as to leave the geologist, however much from moral considerations in earnest in the matter, any very serious excuse for losing his temper.

In my reference to the three great divisions of the geologic scale, I designate as Palæozoic all the fossiliferous rocks, from the first appearance of organic existence down to the close of the Permian system; all as Secondary, from the close of the Permian system down to the close of the Cretaceous deposits; and all as Tertiary, from the close of the Cretaceous deposits down to the introduction of man. The wood-cuts of the volume, of which at least nine tenths of the whole represent objects never figured before, were drawn and cut by Mr. John Adams of Edinburgh, (8, Heriot Place,) with a degree of care and skill which has left me no reason to regret my distance from the London artists and engravers. So far at least as the objects could be adequately represented on wood, and in the limited space at Mr. Adams’ command, their truth is such that I can safely recommend them to the palæontologist. In the accompanying descriptions, and in my statements of geologic fact in general, it will, I hope, be seen that I have not exaggerated the peculiar features on which I have founded, nor rendered truth partial in order to make it serve a purpose. Where I have reasoned and inferred, the reader will of course be able to judge for himself whether the argument be sound or the deduction just; and to weigh, where I have merely speculated, the probability of the speculation; but as, in at least some of my statements of fact, he might lie more at my mercy, I have striven in every instance to make these adequately representative of the actualities to which they refer. And so, if it be ultimately found that on some occasions I have misled others, it will, I hope, be also seen to be only in cases in which I have been mistaken myself. The first or popular title of my work, “Foot-prints of the Creator,” I owe to Dr. Hetherington, the well-known historian of the Church of Scotland. My other various obligations to my friends, literary and scientific, the reader will find acknowledged in the body of the volume, as the occasion occurs of availing myself of either the information communicated, or the organism, recent or extinct, lent me or given.

HUGH MILLER,
AUTHOR OF
“OLD RED SANDSTONE” AND “FOOTPRINTS OF THE CREATOR.”

The geological works of Hugh Miller have excited the greatest interest, not only among scientific men, but also among general readers. There is in them a freshness of conception, a power of argumentation, a depth of thought, a purity of feelings, rarely met with in works of that character, which are well calculated to call forth sympathy, and to increase the popularity of a science which has already done so much to expand our views of the Plan of Creation. The scientific illustrations published by Mr. Miller are most happily combined with considerations of a higher order, rendering both equally acceptable to the thinking reader. But what is in a great degree peculiar to our author, is the successful combination of Christian doctrines with pure scientific truths. On that account, his works deserve peculiar attention. His generalizations have nothing of the vagueness which too often characterize the writings of those authors who have attempted to make the results of science subservient to the cause of religion. Struck with the beauty of Mr. Miller’s works, it has for some time past been my wish to see them more extensively circulated in this country; and I have obtained leave from the author to publish an American edition of his “Footprints of the Creator,” for which he has most liberally furnished the publishers with the admirable wood-cuts of the original.

While preparing some additional chapters, and various notes illustrative of certain points alluded to incidentally in this work, it was deemed advisable to preface it with a short biographical notice of the author. I had already sketched such a paper, when I became acquainted with a full memoir of this remarkable man, containing most interesting details of his earlier life, written by that eminent historian of the “Martyrs of Science,” the great natural philosopher of Scotland. It has occurred to me that, owing to the frequent references which I could not avoid to my own researches, I had better substitute this ample Biography for my short sketch, with such alterations and additions as the connection in which it is brought here would require. I therefore proceed to introduce our author with Sir David Brewster’s own words:—

Of all the studies which relate to the material universe, there is none, perhaps, which appeals so powerfully to our senses, or which comes into such close and immediate contact with our wants and enjoyments, as that of Geology. In our hourly walks, whether on business or for pleasure, we tread with heedless step upon the apparently uninteresting objects which it embraces: but could we rightly interrogate the rounded pebble at our feet, it would read us an exciting chapter on the history of primeval times, and would tell us of the convulsions by which it was wrenched from its parent rock, and of the floods by which it was abraded and transported to its present humble locality. In our visit to the picturesque and the sublime in nature, we are brought into closer proximity to the more interesting phenomena of geology. In the precipices which protect our rock-girt shores, which flank our mountain glens, or which variegate our lowland valleys, and in the shapeless fragments at their base, which the lichen colors, and round which the ivy twines, we see the remnants of uplifted and shattered beds, which once reposed in peace at the bottom of the ocean. Nor does the rounded boulder, which would have defied the lapidary’s wheel of the Giant Age, give forth a less oracular response from its grave of clay, or from its lair of sand. Floated by ice from some Alpine summit, or hurried along in torrents of mud, and floods of water, it may have traversed a quarter of the globe, amid the crash of falling forests, and the death shrieks of the noble animals which they sheltered. The mountain range, too, with its catacombs below, along which the earthquake transmits its terrific sounds, reminds us of the mighty power by which it was upheaved;—while the lofty peak, with its cap of ice, or its nostrils of fire, places in our view the tremendous agencies which have been at work beneath us.

But it is not merely amid the powers of external nature that the once hidden things of the Earth are presented to our view. Our temples and our palaces are formed from the rocks of a primeval age; bearing the very ripple-marks of a Pre-Adamite ocean,—grooved by the passage of the once moving boulder, and embosoming the relics of ancient life, and the plants by which it was sustained. Our dwellings, too, are ornamented with the variegated limestones,—the indurated tombs of molluscous life,—and our apartments heated with the carbon of primeval forests, and lighted with the gaseous element which it confines. The obelisk of granite, and the colossal bronze which transmit to future ages the deeds of the hero and the sage, are equally the production of the Earth’s prolific womb; and from the green bed of the ocean has been raised the pure and spotless marble, to mould the divine lineaments of beauty, and perpetuate the expressions of intellectual power. From a remoter age, and a still greater depth, the primary and secondary rocks have yielded a rich tribute to the chaplet of rank, and to the processes of art.

Exhibiting, as it peculiarly does, almost all those objects of interest and research, Scotland has been diligently studied both by native and foreign observers; and she has sent into the geological field a distinguished group of inquirers, who have performed a noble feat in exploring the general structure of the Earth, in decyphering its ancient monuments, and in unlocking those storehouses of mineral wealth, from which civilized man derives the elements of that gigantic power which his otherwise feeble arm wields over nature.

The occurrence of shells on the highest mountains, and the remains of plants and animals, which the most superficial observer could not fail to notice, in the rocks around him, have for centuries commanded the attention and exercised the ingenuity of every student of nature. But though sparks of geological truth were from time to time elicited by speculative minds, it was not till the end of the last century that its great lights broke forth, and that it took the form and character of one of the noblest of the sciences. Without undervaluing the labors of Werner, and other illustrious foreigners, or those of our southern countrymen, Mitchell and Smith, at the close of the last century, we may characterize the commencement of the present as the brightest period of geological discovery, and place its most active locality in the northern metropolis of our island. It was doubtless from the Royal Society of Edinburgh, as a centre, that a great geological impulse was propagated southward, and it was by the collision of the Wernerian and Huttonian views, the antagonist theories of water and of fire, that men of intellectual power were summoned from other studies; and that grand truths, which fanaticism and intolerance had hitherto abjured, rose triumphant over the ignorance and bigotry of the age. The Geological Society of London, which doubtless sprung from the excitement in the Scottish metropolis, entered on the new field of research with a faltering step. The prejudices of the English mind had been marshalled with illiberal violence against the Huttonian doctrines. Infidelity and Atheism were charged against their supporters; and had there been a Protestant Inquisition in England at that period of general political excitement, the geologists of the north would have been immured in its deepest dungeons.

Truth, however, marched apace; and though her simple but majestic procession be often solemn and slow, and her votaries few and dejected, yet on this, as on every occasion, she triumphed over the most inveterate prepossessions, and finally took up her abode in those very halls and institutions where she had been persecuted and reviled. When their science had been thus acquitted of the charge of impiety and irreligion, the members of the Geological Society left their humble and timid position of being the collectors only of the materials of future generalizations, and became at once the most successful observers of geological phenomena, and the boldest asserters of geological truth.

In this field of research, in which the physical, as well as the intellectual, frame of the philosopher is made tributary to science, two of our countrymen—Sir Roderick Murchison and Sir Charles Lyell—have been among our most active laborers. From the study of their native glens, these distinguished travellers, like the Humboldts and the Von Buchs of the continent, have passed into foreign lands, exploring the north and the south of Europe, and extending their labors to the eastern ranges of the Ural and the Timan, and to the Apallachians and the Alleghanies in the far west. But while our two countrymen were interrogating the strata of other lands, many able and active laborers had been at work in their own.

Among the eminent students of the structure of the earth, Mr. Hugh Miller holds a lofty place, not merely from the discovery of new and undescribed organisms in the Old Red Sandstone, but from the accuracy and beauty of his descriptions, the purity and elegance of his composition, and the high tone of philosophy and religion which distinguishes all his writings. Mr. Miller is one of the few individuals in the history of Scottish science who have raised themselves above the labors of an humble profession, by the force of their genius and the excellence of their character, to a comparatively high place in the social scale. Mr. Telford, like Mr. Miller, followed the profession of a stone-mason, before his industry and self-tuition qualified him for the higher functions of an architect and an engineer. And Mr. Watt and Mr. Rennie rose to wealth and fame without the aid of a university education. But, distinguished as these individuals were, none of them possessed those qualities of mind which Mr. Miller has exhibited in his writings; and, with the exception of Burns, the uneducated genius which has done honor to Scotland during the last century, has never displayed that mental refinement, and classical taste, and intellectual energy, which mark all the writings of our author. We wish that we could have gratified our readers with an authentic and even detailed narrative of the previous history of so remarkable a writer, and of the steps by which his knowledge was acquired, and the difficulties which he encountered in its pursuit; but though this is not, to any great extent, in our power, we shall at least be able, chiefly from Mr. Miller’s own writings, to follow him throughout his geological career.

Mr. Miller was born at Cromarty, of humble but respectable parents, whose history would have possessed no inconsiderable interest, even if it had not derived one of a higher kind from the genius and fortunes of their child. By the paternal side he was descended from a race of sea-faring people, whose family burying-ground, if we judge from the past, seems to be the sea. Under its green waves his father sleeps: his grandfather, his two granduncles, one of whom sailed round the world with Anson, lie also there; and the same extensive cemetery contains the relics of several of his more distant relatives. His father was but an infant of scarcely a year old, at the death of our author’s grandfather, and had to commence life as a poor ship-boy; but such was the energy of his mind, that, when little turned of thirty, he had become the master and owner of a fine large sloop, and had built himself a good house, which entitled his son to the franchise on the passing of the Reform Bill. Having unfortunately lost his sloop in a storm, he had to begin the world anew, and he soon became master and owner of another, and would have thriven, had he lived; but the hereditary fate was too strong for him, and when our author was a little boy of five summers, his father’s fine new sloop foundered at sea in a terrible tempest, and he and his crew were never more heard of. Mr. Miller had two sisters younger than himself, both of whom died ere they attained to womanhood. His mother experienced the usual difficulties which a widow has to encounter in the decent education of her family; but she struggled honestly and successfully, and ultimately found her reward in the character and fame of her son. It is from this excellent woman that Mr. Miller has inherited those sentiments and feelings which have given energy to his talents as the defender of revealed truth, and the champion of the Church of his fathers. She was the great granddaughter of a venerable man, still well known to tradition in the north of Scotland as Donald Roy of Nigg,—a sort of northern Peden, who is described in the history of our Church as the single individual who, at the age of eighty, when the presbytery of the district had assembled in the empty church for the purpose of inducting an obnoxious presentee, had the courage to protest against the intrusion, and to declare “that the blood of the people of Nigg would be required at their hands, if they settled a man to the walls of that church.” Tradition has represented him as a seer of visions, and a prophesier of prophecies; but whatever credit may be given to stories of this kind, which have been told also of Knox, Welsh, and Rutherford, this ancient champion of Non-Intrusion was a man of genuine piety, and the savor of his ennobling beliefs and his strict morals has survived in his family for generations. If the child of such parents did not receive the best education which his native town could afford, it was not their fault, nor that of his teacher. The fetters of a gymnasium are not easily worn by the adventurous youth who has sought and found his pleasures among the hills and on the waters. They chafe the young and active limb that has grown vigorous under the blue sky, and never known repose but at midnight. The young philosopher of Cromarty was a member of this restless community; and he had been the hero of adventures and accidents among rocks and woods, which are still remembered in his native town. The parish school was therefore not the scene of his enjoyments; and while he was a truant, and, with reverence be it spoken, a dunce, while under its jurisdiction, he was busy in the fields and on the sea-shore in collecting those stores of knowledge which he was born to dispense among his fellow-men. He escaped, however, from school, with the knowledge of reading, writing, and a little arithmetic, and with the credit of uniting a great memory with a little scholarship. Unlike his illustrious predecessor, Cuvier, he had studied Natural History in the fields and among the mountains ere he had sought for it in books; while the French philosopher had become a learned naturalist before he had even looked upon the world of Nature. This singular contrast is not difficult to explain. With a sickly constitution and a delicate frame, the youthful Cuvier wanted that physical activity which the observation of Nature demands. Our Scottish geologist, on the contrary, in vigorous health, and with an iron frame, rushed to the rocks and the sea-shore in search of the instruction which was not provided for him at school, and which he could find no books to supply.

After receiving this measure of education, Mr. Miller set out in February, 1821, with a heavy heart, as he himself confesses, “to make his first acquaintance with a life of labor and restraint:”—

“I was but a slim, loose-jointed boy at the time, fond of the pretty intangibilities of romance, and of dreaming when broad awake; and woful change! I was now going to work at what Burns has instanced in his ‘Twa Dogs’ as one of the most disagreeable of all employments—to work in a quarry. Bating the passing uneasiness occasioned by a few gloomy anticipations, the portion of my life which had already gone by had been happy beyond the common lot. I had been a wanderer among rocks and woods,—a reader of curious books, when I could get them,—a gleaner of old traditionary stories,—and now I was going to exchange all my day-dreams and all my amusements for the kind of life in which men toil every day that they may be enabled to eat, and eat every day that they may be enabled to toil. The quarry in which I wrought lay on the southern shore of a noble inland bay, or frith, rather, (the Bay of Cromarty,) with a little, clear stream on the one side, and a thick fir wood on the other. It had been opened in the Old Red Sandstone of the district, and was overtopped by a huge bank of diluvial clay, and which rose over it in some places to the height of nearly thirty feet.”—Old Red Sandstone, p. 4.

After removing the loose fragments below, picks and wedges and levers were applied in vain by our author and his brother workmen to tear up and remove the huge strata beneath. Blasting by gunpowder became necessary. A mass of the diluvial clay came tumbling down, “bearing with it two dead birds, that in a recent storm had crept into one of the deeper fissures, to die in the shelter.” While admiring the pretty cock goldfinch, and the light-blue and grayish-yellow woodpecker, and moralizing on their fate, the workmen were ordered to lay aside their tools, and thus ended the first day’s labor of our young geologist. The sun was then sinking behind the thick fir wood behind him, and the long dark shadows of the trees stretching to the shore. Notwithstanding his blistered hands, and the fatigue which blistered them, he found himself next morning as light of heart as his fellow-laborers, and able to enjoy the magnificent scenery around him, which he thus so beautifully describes:—

“There had been a smart frost during the night, and the rime lay white on the grass as we passed onwards through the fields; but the sun rose in a clear atmosphere, and the day mellowed as it advanced into one of those delightful days of early spring which give so pleasing an earnest of whatever is mild and genial in the better half of the year. All the workmen rested at midday, and I went to enjoy my half hour alone on a mossy knoll in the neighboring wood, which commands through the trees a wide prospect of the bay and the opposite shore. There was not a wrinkle on the water, nor a cloud in the sky; and the branches were as moveless in the calm as if they had been traced on canvas. From a wooded promontory that stretched half way across the frith, there ascended a thin column of smoke. It rose straight on the line of a plummet for more than a thousand yards; and then, as reaching a thinner stratum of air, spread out equally on every side, like the foliage of a stately tree. Ben Wevis rose to the west, white with the yet unwasted snows of winter, and as sharply defined in the clear atmosphere as if all its sunny slopes and blue retiring hollows had been chiselled in marble. A line of snow ran along the opposite hills; all above was white, and all below was purple.”—Old Red Sandstone, pp. 6, 7.

In raising from its bed the large mass of strata which the gunpowder had loosened, on the surface of the solid stone, our young quarrier descried the ridged and furrowed ripple marks which the tide leaves upon every sandy shore, and he wondered what had become of the waves that had thus fretted the solid rock, and of what element they had been composed. His admiration was equally excited by a circular depression in the sandstone, “broken and flawed in every direction, as if it had been the bottom of a pool recently dried up, which had shrunk and split in the hardening.” And before the day closed, a series of large stones had rolled down from the clay, “all rounded and water-worn, as if they had been tossed in the sea or the bed of a river for hundreds of years.” Was the clay which enclosed them created on the rock upon which it lay? No workman ever manufactures a half-worn article!—were the ejaculations of the geologist at his alphabet.

Our author and his companions were soon removed to an easier wrought quarry, and one more pregnant with interest, which had been opened “in a lofty wall of cliffs that overhangs the northern shore of the Moray Frith.” Here the geology of the district exhibited itself in section.

“We see in one place the primary rock, with its veins of granite and quartz,—its dizzy precipices of gneiss, and its huge masses of hornblende; we find the secondary rock in another, with its bed of sandstone and shale,—its spars, its clays, and its nodular limestones. We discover the still little known but highly interesting fossils of the Old Red Sandstone in one deposition; we find the beautifully preserved shells and lignites of the lias in another. There are the remains of two several creations at once before us. The shore, too, is heaped with rolled fragments of almost every variety of rock,—basalts, ironstones, hypersthenes, porphyries, bituminous shales, and micaceous schists. In short, the young geologist, had he all Europe before him, could hardly choose for himself a better field. I had, however, no one to tell me so at the time, for geology had not yet travelled so far north; and so, without guide or vocabulary, I had to grope my way as I best might, and find out all its wonders for myself. But so slow was the process, and so much was I a seeker in the dark, that the facts contained in these few sentences were the patient gatherings of years.”—Old Red Sandstone, pp. 9, 10.

In this rich field of inquiry, our author encountered, almost daily, new objects of wonder and instruction. In one nodular mass of limestone he found the beautiful ammonite, like one of the finely sculptured volutes of an Ionic capital. Within others, fish-scales and bivalve shells; and in the centre of another he detected a piece of decayed wood. Upon quitting the quarry for the building upon which the workmen were to be employed, the workmen received half a holiday, and our young philosopher devoted this valuable interval to search for certain curiously shaped stones, which one of the quarriers told him resembled the heads of boarding-pikes, and which, under the name of thunder-bolts, were held to be a sovereign remedy for cattle that had been bewitched. On the shore two miles off, where he expected these remarkable bodies, he found deposits quite different either from the sandstone cliffs or the primary rocks further to the west. They consisted of “thin strata of limestone, alternating with thicker beds of a black slaty substance,” which burned with a bright flame and a bituminous odor. Though only the eighth part of an inch thick, each layer contained thousands of fossils peculiar to the lias,—scallops and gryphites, ammonites, twigs and leaves of plants, cones of pine, pieces of charcoal, and scales of fishes,—the impressions being of a chalky whiteness, contrasting strikingly with their black bituminous lair. Among these fragments of animal and vegetable life, he at last detected his thunder-bolt in the form of a Belemnite, the remains of a kind of cuttle-fish long since extinct.

In the exercise of his profession, which “was a wandering one,” our author advanced steadily, though slowly and surely, in his geological acquirements.

“I remember,” says he, “passing direct on one occasion from the wild western coast of Ross-shire, where the Old Red Sandstone leans at a high angle against the prevailing quartz rock of the district, to where, on the southern skirts of Mid-Lothian, the mountain limestone rises amid the coal. I have resided one season on a raised beach on the Moray Frith. I have spent the season immediately following amid the ancient granites and contorted schists of the central Highlands. In the north, I have laid open by thousands the shells and lignites of the Oolite; in the south, I have disinterred from their matrices of stone or of shale the huge reeds and tree ferns of the carboniferous period.... In the north, there occurs a vast gap in the scale. The Lias leans unconformably against the Old Red Sandstone; there is no mountain limestone, no coal measures, none of the New Red Marls or Sandstones. There are at least three entire systems omitted. But the upper portion of the scale is well-nigh complete. In one locality we may pass from the Lower to the Upper Lias, in another from the Inferior to the Great Oolite, and onward to the Oxford Clay and the Coral Rag. We may explore in a third locality beds identical in their organisms with the Wealden of Sussex. In a fourth, we find the flints and fossils of the chalk. The lower part of the scale is also well-nigh complete. The Old Red Sandstone is amply developed in Moray, Caithness, and Ross, and the Grauwacke very extensively in Banffshire. But to acquaint one’s self with the three missing formations,—to complete one’s knowledge of the entire scale, by filling up the hiatus,—it is necessary to remove to the south. The geology of the Lothians is the geology of at least two thirds of the gap, and perhaps a little more;—the geology of Arran wants only a few of the upper beds of the New Red Sandstone to fill it entirely.”—Old Red Sandstone, pp. 13-17.

After having spent nearly fifteen years in the profession of a stone-mason, Mr. Miller was promoted to a position more suited to his genius. When a bank was established in his native town of Cromarty, he received the appointment of accountant, and he was thus employed, for five years, in keeping ledgers and discounting bills. When the contest in the Church of Scotland had come to a close, by the decision of the House of Lords in the Auchterurder Case, Mr. Miller’s celebrated letter to Lord Brougham attracted the particular attention of the party which was about to leave the Establishment, and he was selected as the most competent person to conduct the Witness newspaper, the principal metropolitan organ of the Free Church. The great success which this journal has met with is owing, doubtless, to the fine articles, political, ecclesiastical, and geological, which Mr. Miller has written for it. In the few leisure hours which so engrossing an occupation has allowed him to enjoy, he has devoted himself to the ardent prosecution of scientific inquiries; and we trust the time is not far distant when the liberality of his country, to which he has done so much honor, will allow him to give his whole time to the prosecution of science.

Geologists of high character had believed that the Old Red Sandstone was defective in organic remains; and it was not till after ten years’ acquaintance with it that Mr. Miller discovered it to be richly fossiliferous. The labors of other ten years were required to assign to its fossils their exact place in the scale.

Among the fossils discovered by our author, the Pterichthys or winged fish is doubtless the most remarkable. He had disinterred it so early as 1831, but it was only in 1838 that he “introduced it to the acquaintance of geologists.” It was not till 1831 that Mr. Miller began to receive assistance in his studies from without. In the appendix to Messrs. Anderson of Inverness’s admirable Guide to the Highlands and Islands of Scotland, which “he perused with intense interest,” he found the most important information respecting the geology of the North of Scotland; and during a correspondence with the accomplished authors of that work, many of his views were developed, and his difficulties removed. In 1838, he communicated to Dr. Malcolmson of Madras, then in Paris, a drawing and description of the Pterichthys. His letter was submitted to Agassiz, and subsequently a restored drawing was communicated to the Elgin Scientific Society. The great naturalist, as well as the members of the provincial society, were surprised at the new form of life which Mr. Miller had disclosed, and some of them, no doubt, regarded it with a sceptical eye. “Not many months after, however, a true bona fide Pterichthys was turned up in one of the newly-discovered beds of Nairnshire.” In his last visit to Scotland, Agassiz found six species of the Pterichthys, three of which, and the wings of a fourth, were in Mr. Miller’s collection.

This remarkable animal has less resemblance than any other fossil of the Old Red Sandstone to anything that now exists. When first brought to view by the single blow of a hammer, there appeared on a ground of light-colored limestone the effigy of a creature, fashioned apparently out of jet, with a body covered with plates, two powerful looking arms articulated at the shoulders, a head as entirely lost in the trunk as that of the ray, (or skate,) and a long angular tail, equal in length to a third of the entire figure. Its general resemblance is to the letter T,—the upper part of the vertical line being swelled out, and the lower part ending in an angular point, the two horizontal portions being, in the opinion of Agassiz, organs of locomotion. To this remarkable fossil M. Agassiz has given the appropriate name of Pterichthys Milleri. An account of it, accompanied with two fine specimens, was communicated to the Geological Section of the British Association at Glasgow, in September, 1840; and the most ample details, with accurate drawings, were afterwards published, in 1841, in Mr. Miller’s first work, The Old Red Sandstone, which was dedicated to Sir Roderick Murchison, who was born on the Old Red Sandstone of the North, in the same district as Mr. Miller, and whose great acquirements and distinguished labors are known all over the world among scientific men. This admirable work has already passed through three editions. From the originality and accuracy of its descriptions, and the importance of the researches which it contains, it has obtained for its author a high reputation among geologists; while from the elegance and purity of its style, and the force and liveliness of its illustrations, it has received the highest praise from its more general readers.[1]

Although we have been obliged, from the information which it contains of our author’s early studies, to mention the “Old Red Sandstone” as if it had been his first work; yet so early as 1830, after he had made his first fossil discoveries at Cromarty, he composed a paper on the subject, (his first published production,) which appeared as one of the chapters of a small legendary and descriptive work, entitled The Traditional History of Cromarty, which did not appear till 1835. This chapter, entitled “The Antiquary of the World,” possesses a high degree of interest. After describing the scene around him in its pictorial aspect, and under the warm associations, which link it with existing life, he surveys it with the cool eye of an “antiquary of the world,” studying its once buried monuments, and decyphering the alphabet of plants and animals, the hieroglyphics which embosom the history of past times and of successive creations. The gigantic Ben Wevis, with its attendant hills, rose abruptly to the west. The distant peaks of Ben Vaichard appeared in the south, and far to the north were descried the lofty hills of Sutherland, and even the Ord-hill of Caithness. Descending from the towers of nature’s lofty edifice he surveys its ruins, its broken sculptures, and its half-defaced inscriptions, as exhibited in certain Ichthyic remains of the Lower Old Red Sandstone which had then no name, and which were unknown to the most accomplished geologists. Among these he specially notices “a confused bituminous-looking mass that had much the appearance of a toad or frog,” thus shadowing forth in the morning twilight the curious Pterichthys, which he was able afterwards, in better specimens, to exhibit in open day. As we have already referred, with some minuteness, to the fossils which our author had at this time discovered in the great charnel-house of the old world, we shall indulge our readers with a specimen of the noble sentiments which they inspired, and of the beautiful language in which these sentiments are clothed.

“But let us quit this wonderful city of the dead, with all its reclining obelisks, and all its sculptured tumuli, the memorials of a race that exist only in their tombs. And yet, ere we go, it were well, perhaps, to indulge in some of those serious thoughts which we so naturally associate with the solitary burying-ground and the mutilated remains of the departed. Let us once more look around us, and say, whether, of all men, the Geologist does not stand most in need of the Bible, however much he may contemn it in the pride of speculation. We tread on the remains of organized and sentient creatures, which, though more numerous at one period than the whole family of man, have long since ceased to exist; the individuals perished one after one—their remains served only to elevate the floor on which their descendants pursued the various instincts of their nature, and then sunk, like the others, to form a still higher layer of soil; and now that the whole race has passed from the earth, and we see the animals of a different tribe occupying their places, what survives of them but a mass of inert and senseless matter, never again to be animated by the mysterious spirit of vitality—that spirit which, dissipated in the air, or diffused in the ocean, can, like the sweet sounds and pleasant odors of the past, be neither gathered up nor recalled! And O, how dark the analogy which would lead us to anticipate a similar fate for ourselves! As individuals, we are but as yesterday; to-morrow we shall be laid in our graves, and the tread of the coming generation shall be over our heads. Nay, have we not seen a terrible disease sweep away, in a few years, more than eighty millions of the race to which we belong; and can we think of this and say that a time may not come when, like the fossils of these beds our whole species shall be mingled with the soil, and when, though the sun may look down in his strength on our pleasant dwellings and our green fields, there shall be silence in all our borders, and desolation in all our gates, and we shall have no thought of that past which it is now our delight to recall, and no portion in that future which it is now our very nature to anticipate. Surely it is well to believe that a widely different destiny awaits us—that the God who endowed us with those wonderful powers, which enable us to live in every departed era, every coming period, has given us to possess these powers forever; that not only does he number the hairs of our heads, but that his cares are extended to even our very remains; that our very bones, instead of being left, like the exuviæ around us, to form the rocks and clays of a future world, shall, like those in the valley of vision, be again clothed with muscle and sinew, and that our bodies, animated by the warmth and vigor of life, shall again connect our souls to the matter existing around us, and be obedient to every impulse of the will. It is surely no time, when we walk amid the dark cemeteries of a departed world, and see the cold blank shadows of the tombs falling drearily athwart the way—it is surely no time to extinguish the light given us to shine so fully and so cheerfully on our own proper path, merely because its beams do not enlighten the recesses that yawn around us. And O, what more unworthy of reasonable men than to reject so consoling a revelation on no juster quarrel, than when it unveils to us much of what could not otherwise be known, and without the knowledge of which we could not be other than unhappy, it leaves to the invigorating exercises of our own powers whatever, in the wide circle of creation, lies fully within their grasp!”—The Antiquary of the World, pp. 56-58.

The next work published by Mr. Miller was entitled “First Impressions of England and its People,”[2] a popular and interesting volume, which has already gone through two editions, and which may be read with equal interest by the geologist, the philanthropist, and the general reader. It is full of knowledge and of anecdote, and is written in that attractive style which commands the attention even of the most incurious readers.

This delightful work, though only in one volume, is equal to three of the ordinary type, and cannot fail to be perused with high gratification by all classes of readers. It treats of every subject which is presented to the notice of an accomplished traveller while he visits the great cities and romantic localities of merry England. We know of no tour in England written by a native in which so much pleasant reading and substantial instruction are combined; and though we are occasionally stopped in a very delightful locality by a precipice of the Old Red Sandstone, or frightened by a disinterred skeleton, or sobered by the burial-service over Palæozoic graves, we soon recover our equanimity, and again enter upon the sunny path to which our author never fails to restore us.

Mr. Miller’s new work, the “Footprints of the Creator,” of which we publish now another edition, authorized by the writer, is very appropriately dedicated to Sir Philip Grey Egerton, Bart., M. P. for Cheshire—a gentleman who possesses a magnificent collection of fossils, and whose skill and acquirements in this department of geology is known and appreciated both in Europe and America. The work itself is divided into fifteen chapters, in which the author treats of the fossil geology of the Orkneys, as exhibited in the vicinity of Stromness; of the development hypothesis, and its consequences; of the history and structure of that remarkable fish, the Asterolepis; of the fishes of the Upper and Lower Silurian rocks; of the progress of degradation, and its history; of the Lamarckian hypothesis of the origin of plants, and its consequences; of the Marine and Terrestrial floras; and of final causes, and their bearing on geological history. In the course of these chapters Mr. Miller discusses the development hypothesis, or the hypothesis of natural law, as maintained by Lamarck and by the author of the Vestiges of Creation, and has subjected it, in its geological aspect, to the most rigorous examination. Driven by the discoveries of Lord Rosse from the domains of astronomy, where it once seemed to hold a plausible position, it might have lingered with the appearance of life among the ambiguities of the Palæozoic formations; but Mr. Miller has, with an ingenuity and patience worthy of a better subject, stripped it even of its semblance of truth, and restored to the Creator, as Governor of the universe, that power and those functions which he was supposed to have resigned at its birth.

Having imposed upon himself the task of examining in detail the various fossiliferous formations of Scotland, our author extended his inquiries into the mainland of Orkney, and resided for some time in the vicinity of the busy seaport town of Stromness, as a central point from which the structure of the Orkney group of islands could be most advantageously studied. Like that of Caithness, the geology of these islands owes its principal interest to the immense development of the Lower Old Red Sandstone formation, and to the singular abundance of its vertebrate fossils. Though the Orkneys contain only the third part of the Old Red Sandstone, which, but a few years ago, was supposed to be the least productive in fossils of any of the geological formations, yet it furnishes, according to Mr. Miller, more fossil fish than every other geological system in England, Scotland, and Wales, from the Coal Measures to the Chalk, inclusive. It is, in short, “the land of fish,” and “could supply with ichthyolites, by the ton and by the ship-load, the museums of the world.” Its various deposits, with the curious organisms which they inclose, have been upheaved from their original position against a granitic axis, about six miles long and one broad, “forming the great back-bone of the western district of the Island Pomona; and on this granitic axis, fast jambed in between a steep hill and the sea, stands the town of Stromness.”

The mass or pile of strata thus uplifted is described by Mr. Miller as a three-barred pyramid resting on its granite base, exhibiting three broad tiers—red, black, and gray—sculptured with the hieroglyphics in which its history is recorded. The great conglomerate base on which it rests, covering from 10,000 to 15,000 square miles, from the depth of from 100 to 400 feet, consists of rough sand and water-worn pebbles; and above this have been deposited successive strata of mud, equal in height to the highest of our mountains, now containing the remains of millions and tens of millions of fish which had perished in some sudden and mysterious catastrophe.

In the examination of the different beds of the three-barred formation, our author discovered a well-marked bone, like a petrified large roofing nail, in a grayish-colored layer of hard flag, about 100 yards over the granite, and about 160 feet over the upper stratum of the conglomerate. This singular bone, which Mr. Miller has represented in a figure, was probably the oldest vertebrate organism yet discovered in Orkney. It was 5⅞ inches long, 2¼ inches across the head, and ³⁄₁₀ths of an inch thick in the stem, and formed a characteristic feature of the Asterolepis, as yet the most gigantic of the ganoid fishes, and probably one of the first of the Old Red Sandstone. In his former researches, our author had found that all of the many hundred ichthyolites which he had disinterred from the Lower Old Red Sandstone were comparatively of a small size, while those in the Upper Old Red were of great bulk; and hence he had naturally inferred, that vertebrate life had increased towards the close of the system—that, in short, it began with an age of dwarfs, and ended with an age of giants; but he had thus greatly erred, like the supporters of the development system, in founding positive conclusions on merely negative evidence; for here, at the very base of the system, where no dwarfs were to be found, he had discovered one of the most colossal of its giants.

After this most important discovery, Mr. Miller extended his inquiries easterly for several miles along the bare and unwooded Lake of Stennis, about fourteen miles in circumference, and divided into an upper arm lower sheet of water by two long promontories jutting out from each side and nearly meeting in the middle. The sea enters this lake through the openings of a long rustic bridge, and hence the lower division of the lake “is salt in its nether reaches, and brackish in its upper ones; while the higher division is merely brackish in its nether reaches, and fresh enough in its upper ones to be potable.” The fauna and flora of the lake are therefore of a mixed character, the marine and fresh water animals having each their own reaches, though each kind makes certain encroachments on the province of the other.

In the marine and lacustrine floras of the lake, Mr. Miller observed changes still more palpable. At the entrance of the sea, the Fucus nodosus and Fucus vesiculosus flourish in their proper form and magnitude. A little farther on in the lake, the F. nodosus disappears, and the F. vesiculosus, though continuing to exist for mile after mile, grows dwarfish and stunted, and finally disappears, giving place to rushes and other aquatic grasses, till the lacustrine has entirely displaced the marine flora. From these two important facts, the existence of the fragment of Asterolepis in the lower flagstones of the Orkneys, and of the “curiously mixed semi-marine semi-lacustrine vegetation in the Loch of Stennis,” which our author regards as bearing directly on the development hypothesis, he takes occasion to submit that hypothesis to a severe examination, and to point out its consequences—its incompatibility with the great truths of morality and revealed religion. According to Professor Oken, one of the ablest supporters of the development theory, “There are two kinds of generation in the world, the creation proper, and the propagation that is sequent thereon, or the original and secondary generation. Consequently, no organism has been created of larger size than an infusorial point. No organism is, or ever has been created, which is not microscopic. Whatever is large has not been created, but developed. Man has not been created, but developed.” Hence it follows that during the great geological period, when race after race was destroyed, and new forms of life called into being, “nature had been pregnant with the human race,” and that immortal and intellectual Man is but the development of the Brute—itself the development of some monad or mollusc, which has been smitten into life by the action of electricity upon a portion of gelatinous matter.

If the development theory be true, “the early fossils ought to be very small in size,” and “very low in organization.” In the earliest strata we ought to find only “mere embryos and fœtuses; and if we find instead the full-grown and mature, then must we hold that the testimony of geology is not only not in accordance with the theory, but in positive opposition to it.” Having laid this down as the principle by which the question is to be decided, our author proceeds to consider “what are the facts.” The Asterolepis of Stromness seems to be the oldest organism yet discovered in the most ancient geological system of Scotland, in which vertebrate remains occur. It is probably the oldest Cœlacanth that the world has yet produced, for there is no certain trace of this family in the great Silurian system, which lies underneath, and on which, according to our existing knowledge, organic existence first began. “How, then,” asks Mr. Miller, “on the two relevant points—bulk and organization—does it answer to the demands of the development hypothesis? Was it a mere fœtus of the finny tribe, of minute size and imperfect embryonic faculty? Or was it of, at least, the ordinary bulk, and, for its class, of the average organization?”

In order to answer these questions, Mr. Miller proceeds in his third chapter to give the recent history of the Asterolepis; in his fourth, to ascertain the cerebral development of the earlier vertebrata; and in his fifth chapter to describe the structure, bulk, and aspect of the Asterolepis. In the rocks of Russia certain fossil remains had been long ago discovered, of such a singular nature as to have perplexed Lamarck and other naturalists. Their true place among fishes was subsequently ascertained by M. Eichwald, a living naturalist; and Sir Roderick Murchison found that they were Ichthyolites of the Old Red Sandstone. Agassiz gave them the name of Chelonichthys; but in consequence of very fine specimens having been found in the Old Red Sandstone of Russia, which Professor Asmus of Dorpat sent to the British Museum, and which exhibited star-like markings, he abandoned his name of Chelonichthys, and adopted that of Asterolepis, or star-scale, which Eichwald had proposed. Many points, however, respecting this curious fossil remained to be determined, and it was fortunate for science that Mr. Miller was enabled to accomplish this object by means of a variety of excellent specimens which he received from Mr. Robert Dick, “an intelligent tradesman of Thurso, one of those working men of Scotland, of active curiosity and well developed intellect, that give character and standing to the rest.” Agassiz had inferred, from very imperfect fragments, that the Asterolepis was a strongly-helmed fish of the Cœlacanths, or hollow spine family—that it was probably a flat-headed animal, and that the discovery of a head or of a jaw might prove that the genus Dendrodus did not differ from it. All these conjectures were completely confirmed by Mr. Miller, after a careful examination of the specimens of Mr. Dick.

Before proceeding to describe the structure of the gigantic Asterolepis, Mr. Miller devotes a long and elaborate chapter to the subject of the cerebral development of the earlier vertebrata, in order to ascertain in what manner their true brains were lodged, and to discover the modification which the cranium, as their protecting box, received in subsequent periods. This inquiry, which he has conducted with great skill and ability, is not only highly interesting in itself, but will be found to have a direct bearing on the great question which it is his object to discuss and decide.

The facts and reasonings contained in this chapter will, we doubt not, shake to its very base the bold theory of Professor Oken, which has been so generally received abroad, and which is beginning to find supporters even among the solid thinkers of our own country. In the Isis of 1818, Professor Lorenz Oken has given the following account of the hypothesis to which we allude. “In August, 1806,” says he, “I made a journey over the Hartz. I slid down through the wood on the south side, and straight before me, at my very feet, lay a most beautiful blanched skull of a hind. I picked it up, turned it round, regarded it intensely;—the thing was done. ‘It is a vertebral column,’ struck me like a flood of lightning, ‘to the marrow and bone;’ and since that time the skull has been regarded as a vertebral column.”

This remarkable hypothesis was at first received with enthusiasm by the naturalists of Germany, and, among others, by Agassiz, who, from grounds not of a geological kind, has more recently rejected it. It has been adopted by our distinguished countryman, Professor Owen, and forms the central idea in his lately published and ingenious work “On the Nature of Limbs.” The conclusion at which he arrives, that the fore-limbs of the vertebrata are the ribs of the occipital bone or vertebra set free, and (in all the vertebrata higher in the scale than the ordinary fishes) carried down along the vertebral column by a sort of natural dislocation, is a deduction from the idea that startled Professor Oken in the forest of the Hartz. Whatever support this hypothesis might have expected from Geology, has been struck from beneath it by this remarkable chapter of Mr. Miller’s work; and though anatomists may for a while maintain it under the influence of so high an authority as Professor Owen, we are much mistaken if it ever forms a part of the creed of the geologist. Mr. Miller indeed has, by a most skilful examination of the heads of the earliest vertebrata known to geologists, proved that the hypothesis derives no support from the structure which they exhibit, and Agassiz has even upon general principles rejected it as untenable.

Mr. Miller’s next chapter on the structure, bulk, and aspect of the Asterolepis, is, like that which precedes it, the work of a master, evincing the highest powers of observation and analysis. Its size in the larger specimens must have been very great; and from a comparison of the proportion of the head in the Ganoids to the length of the body, which is sometimes as one to five, or one to six, or one to six and a half, or even one to seven, our author concludes that the total length of the specimens in his possession must have been at least eight feet three inches, or from nine feet nine to nine feet ten inches. The remains of an Asterolepis found by Mr. Dick at Thurso, indicate a length of from twelve feet five to thirteen feet eight inches; and one of the Russian specimens of Professor Asmus must have been from eighteen to twenty-three feet long. “Hence,” says Mr. Miller, “in the not unimportant circumstance of size—the most ancient Cœlacanths yet known, instead of taking their places agreeably to the demands of the development hypothesis among the sprats, sticklebacks, and minnows of their class, took their place among its huge basking sharks, gigantic sturgeons, and bulky swordfishes. They were giants, not dwarfs.” Again, judging by the analogies which its structure exhibits to that of fishes of the existing period, the Asterolepis must have been a fish high in the scale of organization.

A specimen of Asterolepis, discovered by Mr. Dick, among the Thurso rocks, and sent to Mr. Miller, exhibited the singular phenomenon of a quantity of thick tar lying beneath it, which stuck to the fingers when lifting the pieces of rock. “What had been once the nerves, muscles, and blood of this ancient Ganoid, still lay under its bones,” a phenomenon which our author had previously seen beneath the body of a poor suicide, whose grave in a sandy bank had been laid open by the encroachments of a river, the sand beneath it having been “consolidated into a dark colored pitchy mass,” extending a full yard beneath the body. In like manner, the animal juices of the Asterolepis had preserved its remains, by “the pervading bitumen, greatly more conservative in its effects than the oil and gum of an old Egyptian undertaker.” The bones, though black as pitch retained to a considerable degree the peculiar qualities of the original substance, in the same manner as the adipocire of wet burying-grounds preserves fresh and green the bones which it encloses.

In support of his anti-development views, Mr. Miller devotes his next and sixth chapter to the recent history, order, and size of the fishes of the Upper and Lower Silurian rocks. Of these ancient formations, the bone bed of the Upper Ludlow rocks is the only one which, besides defensive spines of fish, contains teeth, fragments of jaws, and shagreen points, whereas, in the inferior deposits, defensive spates alone are found. The species discovered by Professor Phillips, in the Wenlock shale, were microscopic; and the author of the Vestiges took advantage of this insulated fact to support his views, by pronouncing the little creatures to which the species belonged as the fœtal embryos of their class. Mr. Miller has, however, even on this ground, defeated his opponent. By comparing the defensive spines of the Onchus Murchisoni of the Upper Ludlow bed with those of a recent Spinax Acanthias, or dog-fish, and of the Cestracion Phillippi, or Port Jackson shark, he arrives at the conclusion, that the fishes to which the species belonged must be all of considerable size; and in the following chapter on the high standing of the Placoids he shews that the same early fishes were high in intelligence and organization.

In his ninth chapter on the History and Progress of Degradation, our author enters upon a new and interesting subject. The object of it is to determine the proper ground on which the standing of the earlier vertebrata should be decided, namely, the test of what he terms homological symmetry of organization. In nature there are monster families, just as there are in families monster individuals—men without feet, hands, or eyes, or with them in a wrong place—sheep with legs growing from their necks, ducklings with wings on their haunches, and dogs and cats with more legs than they require. We have thus, according to our author—1, monstrosity through defect of parts; 2, monstrosity through redundancy of parts; and 3, monstrosity through displacement of parts. This last species, united in some cases with the other two, our author finds curiously exemplified in the geological history of the fish, which he considers better known than that of any other division of the vertebrata; and he is convinced that it is from a survey of the progress of degradation in the great Ichthyic division that the standing of the kingly fishes of the earlier periods is to be determined.

In the earliest vertebrate period, namely, the Silurian, our author shews that the fishes were homologically symmetrical in their organization, as exhibited in the Placoids. In the second great Ichthyic period, that of the Old Red Sandstone, he finds the first example in the class of fishes of monstrosity, by displacement of parts. In all the Ganoids of the period, there is the same departure from symmetry as would take place in man if his neck was annihilated, and the arms stuck to the back of the head. In the Coccosteus and Pterichthys of the same period, he finds the first example of degradation through defect, the former resembling a human monster without hands, and the latter one without feet. After ages and centuries have passed away, and then after the termination of the Palæozoic period, a change takes place in the formation of the fish tail. “Other ages and centuries pass away, during which the reptile class attains to its fullest development in point of size, organization, and number; and then, after the times of the cretaceous deposits have begun, we find yet another remarkable monstrosity of displacement introduced among all the fishes of one very numerous order, and among no inconsiderable proportion of the fishes of another. In the newly-introduced Ctenoids (Acanthopterygii,) and in those families of the Cycloids which Cuvier erected into the order Malacopterygii sub-brachiati, the hinder limbs are brought forward and stuck on to the base of the previously misplaced fore limbs. All the four limbs, by a strange monstrosity of displacement, are crowded into the place of the extinguished neck. And such, in the present day, is the prevalent type among fishes. Monstrosity through defect is also found to increase; so that the snake-like apoda, or feet-wanting fishes, form a numerous order, some of whose genera are devoid, as in the common eels and the congers, of only the hinder limbs, while in others, as in the genera Muræna and Synbranchus, both hinder and fore-limbs are wanting.” From these and other facts, our author concludes that as in existing fishes we find many more proofs of the monstrosity, both from displacement and defect of parts, than in all the other three classes of the vertebrata, and as these monstrosities did not appear early, but late, “the progress of the race as a whole, though it still retains not a few of the higher forms, has been a progress not of development from the low to the high, but of degradation from the high to the low.” An extreme example of the degradation of distortion, superadded to that of displacement, may be seen in the flounder, plaice, halibut, or turbot,—fishes of a family of which there is no trace in the earlier periods. The creature is twisted half round and laid on its side. The tail, too, is horizontal. Half the features of its head are twisted to one side, and the other half to the other, while its wry mouth is in keeping with its squint eyes. One jaw is straight, and the other like a bow; and while one contains from four to six teeth, the other contains from thirty to thirty-five.

Aided by facts like these, an ingenious theorist might, as our author remarks, “get up as unexceptionable a theory of degradation as of development.” But however this may be, the principle of degradation actually exists, and “the history of its progress in creation bears directly against the assumption that the earlier vertebrata were of a lower type than the vertebrata of the same Ichthyic class which exist now.”

In his next and tenth chapter, our author controverts with his usual power the argument in favor of the development hypothesis, drawn from the predominance of the Brachiopods among the Silurian Molluscs. The existence of the highly organized Cephalopods, in the same formation, not only neutralizes this argument, but authorizes the conclusion that an animal of a very high order of organization existed in the earliest formation. It is of no consequence whether the Cephalopods, or the Brachiopods were most numerous. Had there been only one cuttle fish in the Silurian seas, and a million of Brachiopods, the fact would equally have overturned the development system.

In the same chapter, Mr. Miller treats of the geological history of the Fossil flora, which has been pressed into the service of the development hypothesis. On the authority of Adolphe Brongniart, it was maintained that, previous to the age of the Lias, “Nature had failed to achieve a tree—and that the rich vegetation of the Coal Measures had been exclusively composed of magnificent immaturities of the vegetable kingdom, of gigantic ferns and club mosses, that attained to the size of forest trees, and of thickets of the swamp-loving horse-tail family of plants.” True exogenous trees, however, do exist of vast size, and in great numbers, in all the coal-fields of our own country, as has been proved by Mr. Miller. Nay, he himself discovered in the Old Red Sandstone, Lignite, which is proved to have formed part of a true gymnospermous tree, represented by the pines of Europe and America, or more probably, as Mr. Miller believes, by the Araucarians of Chili and New Zealand. This important discovery is pregnant with instruction. The ancient Conifer must have waved its green foliage over dry land, and it is not probable that it was the only tree in the primeval forest. “The ship carpenter,” as our author observes, “might have hopefully taken axe in hand to explore the woods for some such stately pine as the one described by Milton,—

‘Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the mast

Of some great admiral.’”

Viewing this olive leaf of the Old Red Sandstone as not at all devoid of poetry, our author invites us to a voyage from the latest formation up to the first zone of the Silurian formation,—thus passing from ancient to still more ancient scenes of being, and finding, as at the commencement of our voyage, a graceful intermixture of land and water, continent, river, and sea.

But though the existence of a true Placoid, a real vertebrated fish, in the Cambrian limestone of Bala, and of true wood at the base of the Old Red Sandstone, are utterly incompatible with the development hypothesis, its supporters, thus driven to the wall, may take shelter under the vague and unquestioned truth that the lower plants and animals preceded the higher, and that the order of creation was fish, reptiles, birds, mammalia, quadrumana, and man. From this resource, too, our author has cut off his opponents, and proceeds to show that such an order of creation, “at once wonderful and beautiful,” does not afford even the slightest presumption in favor of the hypothesis which it is adduced to support.

This argument is carried on in a popular and amusing dialogue in the eleventh chapter. Mr. Miller shows, in the clearest manner, that “superposition is not parental relation,” or that an organism lying above another gives us no ground for believing that the lower organism was the parent of the higher. The theorist, however, looks only at those phases of truth which are in unison with his own views; and, when truth presents no such favorable aspect, he finally wraps himself up in the folds of ignorance and ambiguity—the winding-sheet of error refuted and exposed. We have not yet penetrated, says he, in feeble accents, to the formations which represent the dawn of being, and the simplest organism may yet be detected beneath the lowest fossiliferous rocks. This undoubtedly may be, and Sir Charles Lyell and Mr. Leonard Horner are of opinion that such rocks may yet be discovered; while Sir Roderick Murchison and Professor Sedgwick and Mr. Miller are of an opposite opinion. But even were such rocks discovered to-morrow, it would not follow that their organisms gave the least support to the development hypothesis. In the year 1837, when fishes were not discovered in the Upper Silurian rocks, the theorist would have rightly predicted the existence of lower fossiliferous beds; but when they are discovered, and their fossils examined, they furnish the strongest argument that could be desired against the theory they were expected to sustain. This fact, no doubt, is so far in favor of the supposition that there may be still lower fossil-bearing strata; but, as Mr. Miller observes, “The pyramid of organized existence, as it ascends into the by-past eternity, inclines sensibly towards its apex,—that apex of ‘beginning’ on which, on far other than geological grounds, it is our privilege to believe. The broad base of the superstructure planted on the existing scene stretches across the entire scale on life, animal and vegetable; but it contracts as it rises into the past;—man,—the quadrumana,—the quadrupedal man,—the bird and the reptile are each in succession struck from off its breadth, till we at length see it with the vertebrata, represented by only the fish, narrowing as it were to a point; and though the clouds of the upper region may hide its apex, we infer, from the declination of its sides, that it cannot penetrate much farther into the profound.”

In our author’s next chapter, the twelfth of the series, he proceeds to examine the “Lamarckian hypothesis of the origin of plants, and its consequences.”

In his thirteenth chapter, on “The two Floras, marine and terrestrial,” he has shown that all our experience is opposed to the opinion, that the one has been transmuted into the other. If the marine had been converted into terrestrial vegetation, we ought to have, in the Lake of Stennis, for example, plants of an intermediate character between the algæ of the sea, and the monocotyledons of the lake. But no such transition-plants are found. The algæ, as our author observes, become dwarfish and ill-developed. They cease to exist as the water becomes fresher, “until at length we find, instead of the brown, rootless, flowerless fucoids and confervæ of the ocean, the green, rooted, flowering flags, rushes, and aquatic grasses of the fresh water. Many thousands of years have failed to originate a single intermediate plant.” The same conclusion may be drawn from the character of the vegetation along the extensive shores of Britain and Ireland. No botanist has ever found a single plant in the transition state.

The fourteenth chapter of the “Footprints” will be perused with great interest by the general reader. It is a powerful and argumentative exposure of the development hypothesis, and of the manner in which the subject has been treated in the “Vestiges.” Whether we consider it in its nature, in its history, or in the character of the intellects with whom it originated, or by whom it has been received and supported, Mr. Miller has shown that it has nothing to recommend it. It existed as a wild dream before Geology had any being as a science. It was broached more than a century ago by De Maillet, who knew nothing of the geology even of his day. In a translation of his Telhamed, published in 1750, Mr. Miller finds very nearly the same account given of the origin of plants and animals, as that in the “Vestiges,” and in which the sea is described as that “great and fruitful womb of nature, in which organization and life first begin.” Lamarck, though a skilful botanist and conchologist, was unacquainted with geology; and as he first published his development hypothesis in 1802, (an hypothesis identical with that of the “Vestiges,”) it is probable that he was not then a very skilful zoologist. Nor has Professor Oken any higher claims to geological acquirements. He confesses that he wrote the first edition of his work in a kind of inspiration! and it is not difficult to estimate the intelligence of the inspiring idol that announced to the German sage that the globe was a vast crystal, a little flawed in the facets, and that quartz, feldspar, and mica, the three constituents of granite, were the hail-drops of heavy showers of stone that fell into the original ocean, and accumulated into rocks at the bottom!

Such is the unscientific parentage of the theories promulgated in the “Vestiges.” But the author of this work appeals in the first instance to science. Astronomy, Geology, Botany, and Zoology are called upon to give evidence in his favor; but the astronomer, geologist, botanist, and the zoologist, all refuse him their testimony, deny his premises, and reject his results. “It is not,” as Mr. Miller happily observes, “the illiberal religionist that casts him off. It is the inductive philosopher.” Science addresses him in the language of the possessed: “The astronomer I know, and the geologist I know; but who are ye?” Thus left alone in a cloud of star-dust, or in brackish water between the marine and terrestrial flora, he “appeals from science to the want of it,” casts a stone at our Scientific Institutions, and demands a jury of “ordinary readers,” as the only “tribunal” by which “the new philosophy is to be truly and righteously judged.”

The last and fifteenth chapter of Mr. Miller’s work, “On the Bearing of Final Causes on Geologic History,” if read with care and thought, will prove at once delightful and instructive. The principle of final causes, or the conditions of existence, affords a wide scope to our reason in Natural History, but especially in Geology. It becomes an interesting inquiry, if any reason can be assigned why at certain periods species began to exist, and became extinct after the lapse of lengthened periods of time, and why the higher classes of being succeeded the lower in the order of creation? The incompleteness of geological science, however, does not permit us to remove, for the present, the veil which hangs over this mysterious chronology; but our author is of opinion that in about a quarter of a century, in a favored locality like the British Islands, geological history “will assume a very extraordinary form.”

It is a singular fact, which will yet lead to singular results, that Cuvier’s arrangement of the four classes of vertebrate animals should exhibit the same order as that in which they are found in the strata of the earth. In the fish, the average proportion of the brain to the spinal cord is only as 2 to 1. In the reptile, the ratio is 2½ to 1. In the bird, it is as 3 to 1. In the mammalia, it is as 4 to 1; and in man, it is as 23 to 1. No less remarkable is the fœtal progress of the human brain. It first becomes a brain resembling that of a fish; then it grows into the form of that of a reptile; then into that of a bird; then into that of a mammiferous quadruped, and finally it assumes the form of a human brain, “thus comprising in its fœtal progress an epitome of geological history, as if man were in himself a compendium of all animated nature, and of kin to every creature that lives.”

With these considerations, Mr. Miller has brought his subject to the point at which Science in its onward progress now stands. It is to embryology we are in future to look for further information upon the most intimate relations which exist between all organized beings. We may fairly entertain the hope that the time is not far when we shall not only fully understand the Plan of Creation, but even lift some corner of the veil which has hitherto prevented us from forming adequate ideas of the first introduction of animal and vegetable life upon earth, and of the changes which both kingdoms have undergone in the succession of geological ages.

L. AGASSIZ.

Cambridge, September, 1850.