The Evolution of Organisms 147 



might have had for epitaph, "I and my race died 

 of over-specialization." 



The facts at any rate remain, and they must 

 enter into our picture — our conception — of Nature. 

 The idea of waste of beauty or fineness of structure 

 is quite irrelevant. 



"'So careful of the type,' but no, 

 From scarped cliff and quarried stone 

 She cries, *a thousand types are gone; 

 I care for nothing, all shall go.'" 



However we may try to explain it — which 

 science never seeks to do — in relation to our often 

 very anthropomorphic concepts of End and 

 Purpose — the fact remains that Nature is, as we 

 have said, continually painting out her picture, 

 continually breaking her mould. 



This, perhaps, was the meaning of that strange 

 stanza in Emerson's "Song of Nature" : 



"Twice I have moulded an image. 

 And thrice outstretched my hand; 

 Made one of day, and one of night 

 And one of the salt sea-sand." 



Perhaps we should infer that a thing of beauty, 

 a smile of creative genius, is sufficient end in 

 itself.' 



^ Speaking of lost races, warrants us in saying a word on 

 a subject which is always near the heart of the lover of liv- 

 ing creatures — we refer to the present-day extinction of 



