first place to the holm-oak, which is now giving way to the beech. Aspen, birch, fir, oak, and beech appear to be the steps in the struggle for the survival of the fittest among the forest-trees of Denmark.

It may be added that in the time of the Romans the beech was the principal forest-tree of Denmark as it is now, while in the much earlier bronze age, represented by the later remains found in the peat bogs, there were no beech-trees, or very few, the oak being the prevailing tree, while in the still earlier stone period the fir was the most abundant. The beech is a tree essentially of the temperate zone, having its northern limit considerably southward of the oak, fir, birch, or aspen, and its entrance into Denmark was no doubt due to the amelioration of the climate after the glacial epoch had entirely passed away. We thus see how changes of climate, which are continually occurring owing either to cosmical or geographical causes, may initiate a struggle among plants which may continue for thousands of years, and which must profoundly modify the relations of the animal world, since the very existence of innumerable insects, and even of many birds and mammals, is dependent more or less completely on certain species of plants.

The Struggle for Existence on the Pampas.

Another illustration of the struggle for existence, in which both plants and animals are implicated, is afforded by the pampas of the southern part of South America. The absence of trees from these vast plains has been imputed by Mr. Darwin to the supposed inability of the tropical and subtropical forms of South America to thrive on them, and there being no other source from which they could obtain a supply; and that explanation was adopted by such eminent botanists as Mr. Ball and Professor Asa Gray. This explanation has always seemed to me unsatisfactory, because there are ample forests both in the temperate regions of the Andes and on the whole west coast down to Terra del Fuego; and it is inconsistent with what we know of the rapid variation and adaptation of species to new conditions. What seems a more satisfactory explanation has been given by Mr. Edwin Clark, a civil engineer, who resided nearly two years in the country and

paid much attention to its natural history. He says: "The peculiar characteristics of these vast level plains which descend from the Andes to the great river basin in unbroken monotony, are the absence of rivers or water-storage, and the periodical occurrence of droughts, or 'secas,' in the summer months. These conditions determine the singular character both of its flora and fauna.

"The soil is naturally fertile and favourable for the growth of trees, and they grow luxuriantly wherever they are protected. The eucalyptus is covering large tracts wherever it is enclosed, and willows, poplars, and the fig surround every estancia when fenced in.

"The open plains are covered with droves of horses and cattle, and overrun by numberless wild rodents, the original tenants of the pampas. During the long periods of drought, which are so great a scourge to the country, these animals are starved by thousands, destroying, in their efforts to live, every vestige of vegetation. In one of these 'secas,' at the time of my visit, no less than 50,000 head of oxen and sheep and horses perished from starvation and thirst, after tearing deep out of the soil every trace of vegetation, including the wiry roots of the pampas-grass. Under such circumstances the existence of an unprotected tree is impossible. The only plants that hold their own, in addition to the indestructible thistles, grasses, and clover, are a little herbaceous oxalis, producing viviparous buds of extraordinary vitality, a few poisonous species, such as the hemlock, and a few tough, thorny dwarfacacias and wiry rushes, which even a starving rat refuses.

Although the cattle are a modern introduction, the numberless indigenous rodents must always have effectually prevented the introduction of any other species of plants; large tracts are still honeycombed by the ubiquitous biscacho, a gigantic rabbit; and numerous other rodents still exist, including rats and mice, pampas-hares, and the great nutria and carpincho (capybara) on the river banks.”1

Mr. Clark further remarks on the desperate struggle for existence which characterises the bordering fertile zones, where rivers and marshy plains permit a more luxuriant and varied vegetable and animal life. After describing how the

1 A Visit to South America, 1878; also Nature, vol. xxxi. pp. 263-339.

river sometimes rose 30 feet in eight hours, doing immense destruction, and the abundance of the larger carnivora and large reptiles on its banks, he goes on: "But it was among the flora that the principle of natural selection was most prominently displayed. In such a district-overrun with rodents and escaped cattle, subject to floods that carried away whole islands of botany, and especially to droughts that dried up the lakes and almost the river itself-no ordinary plant could live, even on this rich and watered alluvial debris. The only plants that escaped the cattle were such as were either poisonous, or thorny, or resinous, or indestructibly tough. Hence we had only a great development of solanums, talas, acacias, euphorbias, and laurels. The buttercup is replaced by the little poisonous yellow oxalis with its viviparous buds; the passion-flowers, asclepiads, bignonias, convolvuluses, and climbing leguminous plants escape both floods and cattle by climbing the highest trees and towering overhead in a flood of bloom. The ground plants are the portulacas, turneras, and œnotheras, bitter and ephemeral, on the bare rock, and almost independent of any other moisture than the heavy dews. The pontederias, alismas, and plantago, with grasses and sedges, derive protection from the deep and brilliant pools; and though at first sight the 'monte' doubtless impresses the traveller as a scene of the wildest confusion and ruin, yet, on closer examination, we found it far more remarkable as a manifestation of harmony and law, and a striking example of the marvellous power which plants, like animals, possess, of adapting themselves to the local peculiarities of their habitat, whether in the fertile shades of the luxuriant 'monte' or on the arid, parched-up plains of the treeless pampas."

A curious example of the struggle between plants has been communicated to me by Mr. John Enys, a resident in New Zealand. The English water-cress grows so luxuriantly in that country as to completely choke up the rivers, sometimes leading to disastrous floods, and necessitating great outlay to keep the stream open. But a natural remedy has now been found in planting willows on the banks. The roots of these trees penetrate the bed of the stream in every direction, and the water-cress, unable to obtain the requisite. amount of nourishment, gradually disappears.

Increase of Organisms in a Geometrical Ratio.

The facts which have now been adduced, sufficiently prove that there is a continual competition, and struggle, and war going on in nature, and that each species of animal and plant affects many others in complex and often unexpected ways. We will now proceed to show the fundamental cause of this struggle, and to prove that it is ever acting over the whole field of nature, and that no single species of animal or plant can possibly escape from it. This results from the fact of the rapid increase, in a geometrical ratio, of all the species of animals and plants. In the lower orders this increase is especially rapid, a single flesh-fly (Musca carnaria) producing 20,000 larvæ, and these growing so quickly that they reach their full size in five days; hence the great Swedish naturalist, Linnæus, asserted that a dead horse would be devoured by three of these flies as quickly as by a lion. Each of these larvæ remains in the pupa state about five or six days, so that each parent fly may be increased ten thousand-fold in a fortnight. Supposing they went on increasing at this rate during only three months of summer, there would result one hundred millions of millions of millions for each fly at the commencement of summer,—a number greater probably than exists at any one time in the whole world. And this is only one species, while there are thousands of other species increasing also at an enormous rate; so that, if they were unchecked, the whole atmosphere would be dense with flies, and all animal food and much of animal life would be destroyed by them. To prevent this tremendous increase there must be incessant war against these insects, by insectivorous birds and reptiles as well as by other insects, in the larva as well as in the perfect state, by the action of the elements in the form of rain, hail, or drought, and by other unknown causes; yet we see nothing of this ever-present war, though by its means alone, perhaps, we are saved from famine and pestilence.

Let us now consider a less extreme and more familiar case. We possess a considerable number of birds which, like the redbreast, sparrow, the four common titmice, the thrush, and the blackbird, stay with us all the year round. These lay on an average six eggs, but, as several of them have

two or more broods a year, ten will be below the average of the year's increase. Such birds as these often live from fifteen to twenty years in confinement, and we cannot suppose them to live shorter lives in a state of nature, if unmolested; but to avoid possible exaggeration we will take only ten years as the average duration of their lives. Now, if we start with a single pair, and these are allowed to live and breed, unmolested, till they die at the end of ten years,- —as they might do if turned loose into a good-sized island with ample vegetable and insect food, but no other competing or destructive birds or quadrupeds -their numbers would amount to more than twenty millions. But we know very well that our bird population is no greater, on the average, now than it was ten years ago. Year by year

it may fluctuate a little according as the winters are more or less severe, or from other causes, but on the whole there is no increase. What, then, becomes of the enormous surplus population annually produced? It is evident they must all die or be killed, somehow; and as the increase is, on the average, about five to one, it follows that, if the average number of birds of all kinds in our islands is taken at ten millions—and this is probably far under the mark—then about fifty millions of birds, including eggs as possible birds, must annually die or be destroyed. Yet we see nothing, or almost nothing, of this tremendous slaughter of the innocents going on all around us. In severe winters a few birds are found dead, and a few feathers or mangled remains show us where a wood-pigeon or some other bird has been destroyed by a hawk, but no one would imagine that five times as many birds as the total number in the country in early spring die every year. No doubt a considerable proportion of these do not die here but during or after migration to other countries, but others which are bred in distant countries come here, and thus balance the account. Again, as the average number of young produced is four or five times that of the parents, we ought to have at least five times as many birds in the country at the end of summer as at the beginning, and there is certainly no such enormous disproportion as this. The fact is, that the destruction commences, and is probably most severe, with nestling birds, which are often killed by heavy rains or blown away by severe storms, or left to die of hunger if either of