grand scale.  What are these “dunes?” The winds and waves of the Bay of Biscay have not much consciousness, and yet they have with great care “selected,” from among an infinity of masses of silex of all shapes and sizes, which have been submitted to their action, all the grains of sand below a certain size, and have heaped them by themselves over a great area.  This sand has been “unconsciously selected” from amidst the gravel in which it first lay with as much precision as if man had “consciously selected” it by the aid of a sieve.  Physical Geology is full of such selections—­of the picking out of the soft from the hard, of the soluble from the insoluble, of the fusible from the infusible, by natural agencies to which we are certainly not in the habit of ascribing consciousness.

But that which wind and sea are to a sandy beach, the sum of influences, which we term the “conditions of existence,” is to living organisms.  The weak are sifted out from the strong.  A frosty night “selects” the hardy plants in a plantation from among the tender ones as effectually as if it were the wind, and they, the sand and pebbles, of our illustration; or, on the other hand, as if the intelligence of a gardener had been operative in cutting the weaker organisms down.  The thistle, which has spread over the Pampas, to the destruction of native plants, has been more effectually “selected” by the unconscious operation of natural conditions than if a thousand agriculturists had spent their time in sowing it.

It is one of Mr. Darwin’s many great services to Biological science that he has demonstrated the significance of these facts.  He has shown that—­given variation and given change of conditions—­the inevitable result is the exercise of such an influence upon organisms that one is helped and another is impeded; one tends to predominate, another to disappear; and thus the living world bears within itself, and is surrounded by, impulses towards incessant change.

But the truths just stated are as certain as any other physical laws, quite independently of the truth, or falsehood, of the hypothesis which Mr. Darwin has based upon them; and that M. Flourens, missing the substance and grasping at a shadow, should be blind to the admirable exposition of them, which Mr. Darwin has given, and see nothing there but a “derniere erreur du dernier siecle”—­a personification of Nature—­leads us indeed to cry with him:  “O lucidite!  O solidite de l’esprit Francais, que devenez-vous?”

M. Flourens has, in fact, utterly failed to comprehend the first principles of the doctrine which he assails so rudely.  His objections to details are of the old sort, so battered and hackneyed on this side of the Channel, that not even a Quarterly Reviewer could be induced to pick them up for the purpose of pelting Mr. Darwin over again.  We have Cuvier and the mummies; M. Roulin and the domesticated animals of America; the difficulties presented by hybridism and by Palaeontology; Darwinism a rifacciamento of De Maillet and Lamarck; Darwinism a system without a commencement, and its author bound to believe in M. Pouchet, &c. &c.  How one knows it all by heart, and with what relief one reads at p. 65—­