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This is the Navel. The corrugation is the cicatrice left where once was attached the umbilical cord, and whence its remains, having died, sloughed away. This organ introduces us to the fœtal life of Man; for it was the link of connexion between, the unborn infant and the parent; the channel, through whose arteries and veins the oxygenated and the effete blood passed to and from the parental system, when as yet the unused lungs had not received one breath of vital air.

And thus the life of the individual Man before us passes, by a necessary retrogression, back to the life of another individual, from whose substance his own substance was formed by gemmation; one of the component cells of whose structure was the primordial cell, from which have been developed successively all the cells which now make up his mature and perfect organism.

How is it possible to avoid this conclusion? Has not the physiologist irrefragable grounds for it, founded on universal experience? Has not observation abundantly shown, that, wherever the bones, flesh, blood, teeth, nails, hair of man exist, the aggregate body has passed through stages exactly correspondent to those alluded to above, and has originated in the uterus of a mother, its fœtal life being, so to speak, a budding out of hers? Has the combined experience of mankind ever seen a solitary exception to this law? How, then, can we refuse the concession that, in the individual before us, in whom we find all the phenomena that we are accustomed to associate with adult Man, repeated in the most exact verisimilitude, without a single flaw – how, I say, can we hesitate to assert that such was his origin too?

And yet, in order to assert it, we must be prepared to adopt the old Pagan doctrine of the eternity of matter; ex nihilo nihil fit. But those with whom I argue are precluded from this, by my first Postulate.

XI
PARALLELS AND PRECEDENTS

(Germs.)

"Every cell, like every individual Plant or Animal, is the product of a previous organism of the same kind." —

(Dr. Carpenter, Comp. Physiol. § 347.)

In the preceding examples I have assumed that every organic entity was created in that stage of its being which constitutes the acme of its peculiar development; when all its faculties are in their highest perfection, and when it is best fitted to reproduce its own image. From the very nature of things I judge that this was the actual fact;⁹⁰ since, if we suppose the formation of the primitive creatures in an undeveloped or infant condition, a period would require to lapse before the increase of the species could begin; which time would be wasted. To those, indeed, who receive as authority the testimony of the Holy Scripture, the matter stands on more than probable ground; for its statements, as to the condition of the things created, are clear and full: they were not seeds, and germs, and eggs, and embryos, – but "the tree yielding fruit whose seed was in itself," – "great whales," – "winged fowl," – "the beast of the earth," – and "man."⁹¹

But I do not mean to shield myself behind authority. I have begged the fact of creation; but not the truth, nor even the existence, of any historic document describing it. It is essential to my argument that any such be left entirely out of the question; and, for the present, I accordingly ignore the Bible.

It is possible that some opponent may object to my assumption of maturity in created organisms.

"Your deductions may be sound enough," such an one may say, "provided your newly-created Locust-tree had so many concentric cylinders of timber, your Tree-fern had a well-developed stem of leaf-bases, your Coral a great aggregation of polype-cells, your Tortoise a carapace of many-laminated plates, your Elephant a half-worn set of molars, and your Man a thoroughly ossified skeleton. But how do you know that either of these organisms was created in this mature stage? I will not deny that each was created, – was called suddenly out of non-entity into entity; but I believe, or at least I choose to believe, – that each was created in the simplest form in which it can exist; as the seed, the gemmule, the ovum, the – ahem!"

Pray go on! you were about to say "the infant," or "the fœtus," or "the embryo," probably; pray make your selection: which will you say?

"Well, I hardly know. Because, if I choose the new-born infant, you will say, Its condition implies a nine months' pre-existence, certainly; not to speak of the absurdity of a new-born infant being cast out into an open world without a parent to feed it. If I say, The fœtus, or the still more incipient embryo, I involve, at once, a pre-existent mother. I am afraid you have me there!"

I think I have. However, let us take up the matter orderly, and proceed on the supposition that my previous examples must be all cancelled, and the question argued de novo, on the assumption that each organism was created in its least developed condition.

It will not be considered necessary, I suppose, to look at any intermediate condition of the organisms. The argument which is based upon the leaf-scales of the Fern or the Palm would essentially apply to either of these plants when it first issues from the ground. At the period when it comprises but a single frond, the botanist would no more hesitate in pronouncing that the organism had passed through stages previous to that one, than he would when it possesses an elongated stipe; though, in the latter case, the evidences of the pre-existence are more patent to the uninstructed eye. He would say, The single frond implies, with absolute necessity, a spore in the one case, a seed in the other; and we need not to see either, to be assured that this must have preceded the leaf-stage.

But you go farther back still. "The plant was created as a seed." Let us renew our imaginary tour at the epoch, or epochs (as many as you please), of creation, on this supposition.

Here is a very young plant of the curious Seychelles Palm or Double Cocoa-nut (Lodoicea Sechellarum). A single frond is all that is yet developed, and this is as yet unexpanded, the pinnæ being still folded on the midrib, like a fan. Trace the frond down to its base. It springs from a thick horizontal cylindric process, which has also shot down a radicle into the soil. We trace the cylindrical stem along the surface of the soil, and find, lying on the ground, among the grass, but not buried, a great double nut, something like the two hemispheres of a human brain, or like a common cocoa-nut, half split open and healed. Out of this the thick stem has issued; and we find that it is only the cotyledon of the seed, that has prolonged its base in the process of germination, in order to throw up, clear of the nut, the plumule and radicle.

We look at the great nut, and find, on the woody exterior of the fibrous pericarp, at the side opposite to that whence issues the cotyledon, a broad scar. What is this? It is the mark left by the severance of a footstalk, which united the fruit to the parent plant. This great drupe was once a small ovary seated in the centre of a three-petaled flower, which, with many others, issued out of a great spathe, a mass of inflorescence, and hung down from the base of the leafy coronal of an adult palm-tree. This scar is an irreproachable witness of the existence of the parent palm.

Here, lying on the dry and dusty earth, is a brown flat bean of great hardness. This is a seed destined by and by to produce that splendid tree Erythrina crista-galli. But it has been just created.

This bean bears on one of its edges an oval scar, very distinctly marked, called the hilum. This was the point of attachment of a short column, by which the seed was united to one of the sutures of a long pod, in the interior of which it lay, in company with several others like itself. This great legume or pod had been the bottom of the pistil of a papilionaceous flower, crowned by a tiny stigma, lodged in a sheath formed by the united stamens, and surrounded by a corolla of refulgent scarlet petals.

Of course such a flower was not an independent organism; it was one of many that adorned a great tree, the history of whose life would carry us back through several generations of human years.

This single infolding leaf, that is just shooting from the soil, so small and feeble, – what of this? There are certainly no concentric cylinders of timber here: can we trace a previous history of this?

Yes: by carefully removing the soil from the base, we see that it originates in a flat yellow seed – the seed of a Tulip. Here again we have no difficulty in detecting evidence of its former attachment. A great number of these seeds were once closely packed one on another, in each of the three carpels that constituted the capsule. And this capsule had been the oblong, three-sided ovary, which formed the body of the pistil in some beautiful Tulip.

Do you observe these two round fleshy leaves, just peeping from the sandy earth? They are the earliest growths of a plant of Arachis hypogæa. In this case again, to understand the true relations of this organism, we must expose it wholly to view.

Beneath the surface of the earth, then, I find that these seed-leaves are the two halves (cotyledons) of a kind of pea, which was formerly enclosed in a wrinkled skinny pod. But what is most interesting is that the pod is here, the cotyledons shooting out of it. And, attached to one end of the pod, here is a slender stalk, now withered and dry, which projects out of the ground into the air.

Now here we have a beautiful link of connexion with the past. The plant before us does not ripen its seeds, and then drop them to care for themselves, as most plants do. "The young fruit, instead of being placed at the bottom of the calyx, as in other kinds of pulse, is found at the bottom and in the inside of a long slender tube, which looks like a flower-stalk. When the flower has withered, and the young fruit is fertilized, nothing but the bottom of the tube with its contents remains. At this period a small point projects from the summit of the young fruit, and gradually elongates, curving downwards towards the earth. At the same time the stalk of the fruit lengthens, until the small point strikes the earth, into which the now half-grown fruit is speedily forced, and where it finally ripens in what would seem a most unnatural position."⁹²

The young plant before us has been this moment created, and created in this incipient stage of growth: and yet there is, even here, an indubitable evidence, so far as physical phenomena can afford it, of a past history. It would be utterly impossible to select any stage in the life of the Earth-pea, which did not connect itself, visibly and palpably, with a previous stage.

Let us return to the shore-loving Mangrove. You object to my assumption that it was created as a tree, with a well-branched stem elevated upon a series of arching roots; and to my deduction of pre-lapsed years for the formation of those roots. Very well. I give it up. You allow that the primitive Mangrove was created in some stage, but you contend for the germ-stage, the simplest condition of the plant, whatever that might be.

Now, where shall we find it? In the first pair of developed leaves? They certainly point back to the cotyledons. To the cotyledons, then, let us look.

Lo! the young plant is germinating before its connexion with the parent is severed. It is the singular habit of this tree, that its seeds are already in a growing condition, while they hang from the twig. Each seed is a long club-shaped body, with a bulbous base and a slender point, more or less produced. While it yet hangs from the branch, the radicle and crown of the root begin to grow, and gradually lengthen, until the tip reaches the soil, which it penetrates and thus roots itself; while those which depend from the higher branches, after growing for a while, drop, and, sticking in the mud, throw out roots from one end, and leaves from the other.

SEED OF MANGROVE.

What have you gained, then, in this case, by going back to the germ? The germ as decisively asserts its origination from an already existing organism – the parent tree – as the flourishing tree witnesses its gradual development from a germ. The Mangrove could not by possibility have been created in any stage, consistent with the identity of the species with that which we behold now in the nineteenth century, – that did not show ocular evidence of a previous history; – evidence from the nature of things fallacious.

It would be merely tiresome to go on through the vegetable kingdom. In every plant the simplest condition – viz. that of a spore or seed – depends on some development, or process, or series of processes, that have preceded it. Nor does the lapse of time between the previous process and the apparent result at all destroy their necessary connexion. In the case of the curious Misseltoes, the ovule does not appear till three months after the pollen has been shed; but when it does appear, its existence as an organism capable of developing the characteristic form of its species, is as truly dependent on the previous existence of the pollen, as if not an hour had intervened.

Supposing the essential conditions of vegetable organisms to have been at the first what they are now; in other words, supposing specific identity to have been always maintained, – which I have demanded as a postulate for this argument, – it appears to me demonstrable, that every plant in the world presented at the moment of its creation evidences prochronic development, in nowise to be distinguished from those on which we firmly rely as proving the lapse of time.

But is the case otherwise in the animal world?

We traced back the history of our Medusa through its marvellous series of gemmative developments, till we reached the minute Infusory-like gemmule, which is its simplest form. Now it is quite legitimate to assume that this, and not the pulmonigrade umbrelliform stage, was the one in which the new-created Medusa began existence. Have we, then, got rid of the evidence of past time, which we deduced from the successive changes through which the adult had passed? What is this ciliated planule, and whence comes it? It is the embryo discharged from the fringed ovary of a female Medusa; it has already passed through several changes of colour and form. It is now of a deep yellow colour; it has been violet; it has been colourless: it is now shaped like a dumb-bell; it was a globule; it had been a mulberry-mass. Yet earlier, it had been a component cell of the ovarian band, which divided the generative cavity from that of the stomach, in the parent Medusa.

In like manner the ciliated gemmule from which was formed the "pluteus" of the Urchin, was dependent on the existence of a parent Urchin; the monadiform germ from which was developed the pentacrinus of the Feather-star, was originally hidden in the ovarian tubes of a parent Feather-Star: the infant Serpula that deposited the first atoms of calcareous matter as a commenced tube, had begun its own existence in the body of a parent Serpula.

It is true the evidence of the connexion between the germ and the parent is not in these low forms always patent to the eye; it is physiological. But it is not less conclusive to one who is able to appreciate its force. A physiologist is as sure that every germ, every ovum, in the Invertebrate animals, was produced by an animal of a former generation, as he is of the same fact in a Mammal, where his eye can see the scar of the umbilical cord.

In many instances there is stronger, or rather more obvious and ordinarily appreciable, evidence of the link between the present and the past generation, than the physiological dependence. The world of Insects, which, from its immensity, and from the high organic rank of its members, affords us so exhaustless a mine of economical wonders, – is rich in examples to the point. A few of these I shall cite.

The eggs of many Insects are not dropped anywhere, at random; for, as the newly-born young have limited powers of locomotion, and yet are in general able to subsist only on some particular kind of food, it is necessary that their birth should occur in the immediate proximity of such food: and therefore that the egg should be so placed. Now this circumstance would not be specially noteworthy if the locality selected for the deposition of the egg were the same as that in which the parent insect had been accustomed to find its own private enjoyments: we should reasonably say that the eggs were placed here, because the parents happened to be here. The case, however, is very different.

We never find the egg of the Peacock Butterfly adhering to the leaf of a cabbage, nor that of the Garden White to the leaf of a nettle; but the nettle is invariably selected for the former, and a cruciferous plant for the latter.

Yet there is nothing in the individual wants or likings of the Butterfly, in either case, to account for this. Both the one and the other flutter through the sunny air, alight to drink the water of some slushy pool, rest on the expanding flowers and probe them for nectar, or suck the exuding juices of an over-ripe fruit. But when did you ever see the gorgeous-eyed Peacock feeding on a nettle, or the White on a cabbage? Eagerly as they seek these plants, it is solely for the purpose of depositing their eggs where instinct teaches them their unborn progeny will find suitable food.

Supposing, therefore, we had found the egg of either of these butterflies at the moment of its creation, we should assuredly have found it on the nettle or the cabbage (as the case might be); because to suppose it in any other situation would be equivalent to supposing it so placed as that the end of its creation – the life of the species created – would be ipso facto frustrated. But, finding it so, the question naturally arises, – Why here, and not elsewhere? and the only possible answer, on the ground of phenomena, is, Because the parent chose this situation for it. And thus we are inevitably thrown back to an anterior generation, which is equivalent to past time.

Again, if we had seen the egg of the Nut Weevil (Balaninus nucum) just come from the creative hand of God, we should certainly have found it within the immature soft-shelled hazel-nut, because there alone would the grub when hatched meet with "food convenient for" it. And yet if we had sought (ignorant of the fact of its recent creation) the reason of its being there, our acquaintance with entomology would have pointed to the parent beetle, who, with her jaws placed at the tip of a long slender snout, had bored a tiny hole in the tender shell, and had then projected the egg from her abdomen into the interior.

The eggs of the Œstridæ– for example, the Worble of the Ox (Œstrus bovis) or the Bot of the Sheep (Œ. ovis) – would be discovered in no other circumstances than beneath the skin of the former, and at the edge of the nostrils of the latter. For these are the respective situations in which the egg is always deposited, that of the Worble hatching in situ, and forming a superficial abscess in communication with the external air, and that of the Sheep-bot producing a larva which crawls up the nostrils of the poor animal, till it finds a suitable resting-place in the frontal sinuses of the skull. To suppose the egg in any other circumstances than those which I have mentioned, would be to consign it to certain destruction. Yet does not its presence there bear witness to the eclectic care of the parent Gadfly, whose unerring instinct knew how to seek and select the right position?

If you had set yourself to look for the egg of a Pimpla manifestator, a common Cuckoo-fly, where would you have looked for it, but in the fatty tissues of a wild bee's grub, that was lodged in a deep hole in some old post? If you had sought elsewhere, you would surely have been disappointed. And would not its presence there bear testimony to the lengthened ovipositor of the well-known brisk and busy fly, and to its remarkable habits?⁹³

The grub of the Pill Chafer or Tumble-dung Beetle (Phanæus) feeds on the ordure of Mammalia. And, in order that the newly-hatched young may have a copious supply of food at hand, the parent chafer with its jaws detaches a mass of recent ordure, which it then rolls over the ground with its hind feet, until it acquires a globular form, and a coating of earth or sand. An egg is then deposited in the centre of the ball, which is rolled into a hole made in the earth to receive it. The coating of earth drying and hardening, keeps the interior of the mass fresh and moist until the young grub is hatched, when it at once begins to devour its savoury and delicate provision.

It would be vain to search for the egg of a Cynips except within a vegetable gall, or at least within the tissues of a plant that are going to produce one. Take as an example C. quercus, which produces the spongy excrescence well known as the common Oak-apple. The female Gall-fly is furnished with an ovipositor in the shape of a very fine curved needle, with which she punctures the tender bark of an oak shoot, lodging an egg in the perforation. Stimulated by some fluid, probably, which is poured into the wound at the same time, the sap forms a peculiar tissue around the egg, swelling into a large ball, on which the young grub begins to feed eagerly, and in which it finds the only nutriment on which it could subsist.

Now, if we had found the egg of a Gall-fly newly created, we should certainly have found it in a gall; and the gall would have afforded us indubitable evidence of the wounding of the vegetable tissues, and of the organ, secretion, and instinct of the tiny fly by which the process had been effected. The evidence would be irresistible, but of course it would be fallacious.

Let us now look at a few examples in which the egg is found in invariable association not merely with something that the parent has found for it, but with something that has proceeded from her, a part of herself.

Of this nature are the eggs of that beautiful, but most cacodious, lace-winged fly, Chrysopa perla. If you had seen one of these (or more) at the instant of its creation, you would have seen a tiny oval body placed at the extremity of an elastic footstalk half-an-inch in length, and as fine as a hair, standing erect from the surface of a leaf. This thread is composed of a gummy secretion, evolved in a gland attached to the oviduct of the female Lace-fly. When she deposits an egg, she first exudes a drop of this gum on the surface of a leaf, and then, elevating her abdomen, the viscid substance is drawn out in a thread, which presently hardening in the air, the egg is left at the tip of the filament. An experienced entomologist, on seeing this object, would have no hesitation in declaring the origin of the footstalk to be the gum-gland of the female Chrysopa; and yet he would certainly have drawn a false inference in the case that I am supposing.

Many Spiders enclose their eggs in an envelope, the produce of their own bowels. Take an interesting example, as narrated by the eloquent Mr. Kirby. "There is a Spider common under clods of earth (Lycosa saccata), which may at once be distinguished by a white globular silken bag, about the size of a pea, in which she has deposited her eggs, attached to the extremity of her body. Never miser clung to his treasure with more tenacious solicitude than this spider to her bag. Though apparently a considerable incumbrance, she carries it with her everywhere. If you deprive her of it, she makes the most strenuous efforts for its recovery; and no personal danger can force her to quit the precious load. Are her efforts ineffectual? a stupefying melancholy seems to seize her; and, when deprived of this first object of her cares, existence itself appears to have lost its charms. If she succeeds in regaining her bag, or you restore it to her, her actions demonstrate the excess of her joy. She eagerly seizes it, and with the utmost agility runs off with it to a place of security.

"The attachment of this affectionate mother is not confined to her eggs. After the young spiders are hatched, they make their way out of the bag by an orifice which she is careful to open for them, and without which they could never escape; and then, like the young of the Surinam toad (Rana pipa), they attach themselves in clusters upon her back, belly, head, and even legs; and in this situation, where they present a very singular appearance, she carries them about with her, and feeds them until their first moult, when they are big enough to provide their own subsistence."⁹⁴

I waive the argument derived from the fact of the apparent necessity of the mother's care for the new-born young. But the mother's care is indispensable to the appearance of the young at all; not only because the eggs are the produce of her ovary, but also because the envelope which protects them is the produce of her spinning-glands.

There is a furry moth, by no means uncommon, known to collectors as the Gipsy (Hypogymna dispar), the eggs of which require to be protected by an elaborate covering, either from extremes of temperature, from light, or from certain electric conditions of the atmosphere. The protection is afforded at the expense of the hair which clothed the mother herself. Her ovipositor is furnished with a pair of nippers, by means of which she plucks off her own hairs, and makes with them a flat cushion on the surface of a leaf. On this she deposits her eggs in successive layers; and when the full number is laid, she covers them with a roof of hair, slanting downwards and outwards from an apex, so artfully arranged, like the thatch of a cottage, as effectually to throw off water; each layer of hairs overlapping the preceding, and all preserving the same direction, so that, when finished, the work resembles a smooth and well brushed piece of fur.

If, then, a patch of eggs newly-created had been subjected to our inspection, we should have found them snugly protected by their conical roof of thatch; and when we came to examine the thatch microscopically, we should have found it composed of the hairs of Hypogymna. And thus again we should have an indubitable and yet deceptive record of a preceding existence.

The numerous species of the genus Coccus, to which we are indebted for cochineal, lac, and other products valuable in commerce, afford me an illustration of my argument, more striking than any of the above. In the case of the lac insect (C. lacca), for example, the female resembles a little hemispherical scale on the twig of a tree. At a certain period of her life, a pellucid, glutinous substance begins to exude from the margins of her body, which by and by completely covers it, cementing her firmly to the branch, from which she never afterwards moves. She now proceeds to lay her eggs, which one by one as they are extruded are thrust under her, between her abdomen and the surface of the branch. The result of this is, that when the whole are laid, they occupy pretty nearly the same position in relation to the mother as they did before, with this exception, that the abdominal integuments, which before were beneath them, are now above them, and are in close contact with those of the back, so that both together make a double, but still a thin, arched roof over the heap of eggs, which are thus protected till the hatching of the young, when they eat their way out of their long dead mother.

Let me now make my usual application. You say the Coccus was created not an adult insect, which would involve the prochronic stages of its metamorphosis, but as a germ, that is an egg (for the germ of an insect is an egg, and nothing else): well, here is a batch of Coccus-eggs just created, covered with the scaly roof which is necessary to their existence. But this scale is not a record of the mother, but the mother herself, a prochronic mother, of course!

Other genera of this wonderful class of animals yield us evidences of a somewhat different character, in the structures which the parents form for the reception of their eggs.

One of the most complex and elaborate pieces of mechanism found in any animal organ is the ovipositor of the Sawflies (Tenthredinidæ). I cannot here describe it at length; it may suffice to say that it consists of two saw-plates, working separately and in opposite directions, the teeth of which are cut into finer teeth; and two supporting plates, very similar to the saws in shape and appearance. The whole flat side of the saw is, moreover, covered with minute sharp points, which give the action of a rasp to the instrument, in addition to that of saw.

By means of this complicated apparatus the parent fly cuts a groove in the twig of the proper shrub, say, a rose-bush. When it is made, the plates are slightly separated, and an egg is laid in the groove. The saw is now withdrawn, and a frothy secretion is deposited, which appears to be intended, by its hardening, to prevent the growth of the wood from closing upon the egg, before the time of hatching arrives.

If, then, any of the species of Tenthredo had been called into primal existence as an egg, it must have been within such a groove as this; and the groove, if carefully examined, would have presented evidences of having been formed and filled by the curious implement of the parent fly.

Those obscure and obscene Insects, the Cockroach tribe (Blattadæ), secrete an extraordinary covering for the protection of their eggs. "Instead of being laid separately, the eggs are, when deposited, enclosed in a horny case, or capsule, variable in its form in different species but generally of a more or less compressed oval shape, resembling a small bean. There is a longitudinal slit in the margin of the capsule, each side of which is defended by a narrow serrated plate, fitting closely to its fellow. The inside of this egg-case is divided into two spaces, in each of which is a row of separate compartments, every one enclosing an egg, so that the whole resembles the pod of some leguminous vegetable. This capsule, with its precious contents, is constantly carried about by the female for a week or a fortnight, and is then fastened, by means of a glutinous fluid, in some safe locality. The slit of the capsule is strongly coated with cement, so as to be even stronger than the other parts. In this capsule the young larvæ are hatched, and immediately discharge a fluid which softens the cement, and enables them to push open the slit, through which they escape; after their exit the slit shuts again so closely, that it appears as entire as before. In some species it would seem that the females themselves liberate their offspring by seizing the capsule when the larvæ are fit for escape, and tearing it with the aid of their forelegs from end to end, by which means the enclosed larvæ are set at liberty."⁹⁵