of the depositing rivers, and hot with the influence of the submarine volcano which is lifting it, as well as with the beams of the tropical sun—brings forth from its steaming bosom, the most gigantic trees in the most profuse luxuriance. And animal life teems too, in this riant vegetation. Millions of insects—ants, and termites, and beetles—are busy at work upon the trunks of the great trees, eating them down, and swarming in their immense populous nests, beyond all imaginings. Surely they will soon eat up the entire forest, dense and rapid as it grows, and there will be nothing left but cities of insects. No fear! See those great waddling beasts[4] with stout short legs, and enormous hoof-like claws so bent inward that the creatures are obliged to walk on the edge of their paws—they are equally busy with the insects, tearing apart with their powerful claws the earthy nests as fast as they are built, and devouring the makers themselves by wholesale. Here is a wonderful creature, a vast armadillo, with a body as big as a rhinoceros, covered with a convex oval shield, formed of hexagonal plates accurately fitted to each other. See how he approaches a fallen tree, which his unerring instinct tells him is perforated through and through, and filled with the swarming millions of ants; with his powerful jaws he munches up the entire mass; the thin and papery partitions of the dusty wood are ground to powder, and the ants are licked in and chewed into a black pulp between those curious cylinders of teeth.
But lo! here are mightier creatures yet! See the vast Mylodon, the Scelidothere, and the still more colossal Megathere. Ponderous giants these! The very forests seem to tremble under their stately stride. Their immense bulk preponderates behind, terminating in a tail of wonderful thickness and solidity: the head is mean and awakens no terror; the eye lacks lustre and threatens no violence, though the whole form betokens vast power, and the stout limbs are terminated by the same stout, inbent, sharp hoof-claws. One of them approaches that wide-spreading locust-tree; he gazes up at the huge mud-brown structures that resemble hogsheads affixed to the forks of the branches, and he knows that the luscious termites are filling them to overflowing. His lips water at the tempting sight; have them he must. But how? that heavy sternpost of his was never made for climbing; yet see! he rears himself up against the tree; is he about to essay the scaling? Not he: he knows his powers better. He gives it one embrace; one strong hug; as if to test its thickness and hold upon the earth. Now he is digging away below, scooping out the soft soil from between the roots—and it is marvellous to note how rapidly he lays them bare with those great shovel-like claws of his. Now he rears himself again; straddles wide on his hind feet, fixing the mighty claws deep in the ground; plants himself firmly on his huge tail, as on the third foot of a tripod, and once more grasps the tree. The enormous hind quarters, the limbs and the loins, the broad pelvis, the thick spinal cord supplying abundant nervous energy to the swelling muscles, inserted in the ridged and keeled bones, all come into play, as a point d'appui for the Herculean effort. "And now conceive the massive frame of the Megathere convulsed with the mighty wrestling, every vibrating fibre reacting upon its bony attachment with the force of a hundred giants: extraordinary must be the strength and proportions of the tree, if, when rocked to and fro, to right and left, in such an embrace, it can long withstand the efforts of its assailant."[5] It yields; the roots fly up; the earth is scattered wide upon the surrounding foliage; the tree comes down with a thundering crash, cracking and snapping the great boughs like glass; the frightened insects swarm out at every orifice; but the huge beast is in upon them; with his sharp hoofs he tears apart the crusty walls of the earth-nests, and licks out their living contents, fat pupæ, eggs and all, rolling down the sweet morsels, half sucking, half chewing, with a delighted gusto that repays him for all his mighty toil.
While the heavy giant is absorbed in his juicy breakfast, see, there lounges along his neighbour, the Macrauchen. Equally massive, equally heavy, equally vast, equally peaceful, the stranger resembles a huge rhinoceros elevated on much loftier limbs; but his most remarkable feature is an enormously long neck, like that of the camel, but carried to the altitude of that of the giraffe. Thus he thrusts his great muzzle into the very centre of the leafy trees, and gathering with his prehensile and flexible lip the succulent twigs and foliage, he too finds abundance of food for his immense body, in the teeming vegetation, without intruding upon the supply of his fellows.
And what enormous mass is suddenly thrust up out of the quiet water of yonder igaripé? A hoarse, hollow grunt, as it comes up, tells us that it is alive, and now we discern that it is the head of an animal—the Toxodon. Half hidden as it is under the shadow of the fan-palms, and the broad, arrowy leaves of the great arums that grow out of the lake, we see the little piggish eyes, set far up in the great head, and wide apart, peeping with a curious union of stupidity and shrewdness; the immense muzzle and lips; the broad cheeks armed with stiff projecting bristles; and, as the creature opens its cavernous mouth to seize a floating gourd, an extraordinary array of incurving teeth, strangely bowed so as to make a series of arches of immense power. Now, with his strong front teeth, he tears up the great fleshy arum-roots from the clay of the bank, and grinds them to pulp; and now, with another grunt, the vast bristly head sinks beneath the water, and we see it no more. Hundreds of other creatures are straying around—sloths, bats, and monkeys, and birds of gay plumage, on the trees; ant-eaters and cavies, lizards and snakes, on the ground; butterflies and humming-birds hovering in the air; tapirs and turtles and crocodiles in the waters;—but these are matters of course:—we are only thinking of such as have passed away and left no descendants to perpetuate their forms to our own times.
Away to the great Austral land—in our day minished to the insular Australia and New Zealand and a few satellite isles—but then, in the morning of creation, possibly stretching far to the north and on either hand, so as to include the scattered groups of Polynesia in one great continent, and even to reach so far as Madagascar on the west. This was the region of gigantic fowls, and of marsupial quadrupeds. Kangaroos of eight or nine feet in stature leaped over the primeval bush, and wombats and dasyures of elephantine bulk burrowed in the hill sides, and great lion-like beasts prowled about the plains. But surely the most characteristic feature of the scene was impressed by the birds! Vast struthious birds, which would have looked down with supreme contempt on the loftiest African ostrich, whose limb-bones greatly exceeded in bulk those of our dray horses, whose three-toed feet made a print in the clay some eighteen inches long, and whose proud heads commanded the horizon from an elevation of twelve feet above the ground—terrible birds, whose main development of might was in the legs and feet, being utterly destitute of the least trace of wings—these strode swiftly about the rank ferny brakes, possessing a conscious power of defence in the back stroke of their muscular feet, and fearless of man or beast, mainly nocturnal in their activity, concealing themselves by day in the recesses of the dense forests, where the majestic trees were interwoven with cable-like climbers, or couching in the midst of tall reeds and aroideous plants that margined the great swampy lakes of these regions.
But what of our own land? What of these distant isles of the Gentiles in that early day, when the enterprising sons of Cain, migrating from the already straitened land of Nod, were pushing their advancing columns, with arts and arms, in all directions over the young earth? Did any of them reach to the as yet insular Europe, settling themselves along the margins of its deep gulfs and draining basins? Perhaps they did, and even explored the utmost limits of the great Atlantic island, on the remains of which we live. What did they find here? A land of mountain and valley, of plain and down, of lake and river, of bog and fell, of forest and field, in some features much as now: where the oak, and elm, and ash covered great tracts, and the birch and fir clothed the hills; but where the yew and the laurel grew side by side with the custard-apple and the fan-palm, and the ground was overrun with trailers of the gourd and melon kind, but where grasses were few and scarce, the exquisite order Rosaceæ, with its beautiful flowers and grateful fruit, was rarely seen, and the aromatic Labiatæ—the thyme, and mint, and sage—were as yet unknown.
And the beasts that already tenanted this fair land were for bulk and power worthy of the domain. The Dinothere and the Mastodon wallowed and browsed where great London now crowds its princely palaces. Through the greenwood shades of the forests of oak wandered hippopotamuses and rhinoceroses of several kinds, the long-tusked mammoth, and two or three species of horses. Two gigantic oxen—a bison and a urus—roamed over the fir-clad hills of Scotland, and a curious flat-headed
