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diff --git a/1697-h/1697-h.htm b/1697-h/1697-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..afb33a8 --- /dev/null +++ b/1697-h/1697-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6803 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Madam How and Lady Why</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Madam How and Lady Why, by Charles Kingsley</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Madam How and Lady Why, by Charles Kingsley + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Madam How and Lady Why + or, First Lessons in Earth Lore for Children + + +Author: Charles Kingsley + +Release Date: April 19, 2005 [eBook #1697] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MADAM HOW AND LADY WHY*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1889 Macmillan and Co. edition by David Price, +email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<h1>MADAM HOW AND LADY WHY<br /> +or, FIRST LESSONS IN EARTH LORE FOR CHILDREN</h1> +<h2>DEDICATION</h2> +<p>To my son Grenville Arthur, and to his school-fellows at Winton House<br /> +This little book is dedicated.</p> +<h2>PREFACE</h2> +<p>My dear boys,—When I was your age, there were no such children’s +books as there are now. Those which we had were few and dull, +and the pictures in them ugly and mean: while you have your choice of +books without number, clear, amusing, and pretty, as well as really +instructive, on subjects which were only talked of fifty years ago by +a few learned men, and very little understood even by them. So +if mere reading of books would make wise men, you ought to grow up much +wiser than us old fellows. But mere reading of wise books will +not make you wise men: you must use for yourselves the tools with which +books are made wise; and that is—your eyes, and ears, and common +sense.</p> +<p>Now, among those very stupid old-fashioned boys’ books was +one which taught me that; and therefore I am more grateful to it than +if it had been as full of wonderful pictures as all the natural history +books you ever saw. Its name was <i>Evenings at Home</i>; and +in it was a story called “Eyes and no Eyes;” a regular old-fashioned, +prim, sententious story; and it began thus:—</p> +<p>“Well, Robert, where have you been walking this afternoon?” +said Mr. Andrews to one of his pupils at the close of a holiday.</p> +<p>Oh—Robert had been to Broom Heath, and round by Camp Mount, +and home through the meadows. But it was very dull. He hardly +saw a single person. He had much rather have gone by the turnpike-road.</p> +<p>Presently in comes Master William, the other pupil, dressed, I suppose, +as wretched boys used to be dressed forty years ago, in a frill collar, +and skeleton monkey-jacket, and tight trousers buttoned over it, and +hardly coming down to his ancles; and low shoes, which always came off +in sticky ground; and terribly dirty and wet he is: but he never (he +says) had such a pleasant walk in his life; and he has brought home +his handkerchief (for boys had no pockets in those days much bigger +than key-holes) full of curiosities.</p> +<p>He has got a piece of mistletoe, wants to know what it is; and he +has seen a woodpecker, and a wheat-ear, and gathered strange flowers +on the heath; and hunted a peewit because he thought its wing was broken, +till of course it led him into a bog, and very wet he got. But +he did not mind it, because he fell in with an old man cutting turf, +who told him all about turf-cutting, and gave him a dead adder. +And then he went up a hill, and saw a grand prospect; and wanted to +go again, and make out the geography of the country from Cary’s +old county maps, which were the only maps in those days. And then, +because the hill was called Camp Mount, he looked for a Roman camp, +and found one; and then he went down to the river, saw twenty things +more; and so on, and so on, till he had brought home curiosities enough, +and thoughts enough, to last him a week.</p> +<p>Whereon Mr. Andrews, who seems to have been a very sensible old gentleman, +tells him all about his curiosities: and then it comes out—if +you will believe it—that Master William has been over the very +same ground as Master Robert, who saw nothing at all.</p> +<p>Whereon Mr. Andrews says, wisely enough, in his solemn old-fashioned +way,—</p> +<p>“So it is. One man walks through the world with his eyes +open, another with his eyes shut; and upon this difference depends all +the superiority of knowledge which one man acquires over another. +I have known sailors who had been in all the quarters of the world, +and could tell you nothing but the signs of the tippling-houses, and +the price and quality of the liquor. On the other hand, Franklin +could not cross the Channel without making observations useful to mankind. +While many a vacant thoughtless youth is whirled through Europe without +gaining a single idea worth crossing the street for, the observing eye +and inquiring mind find matter of improvement and delight in every ramble. +You, then, William, continue to use your eyes. And you, Robert, +learn that eyes were given to you to use.”</p> +<p>So said Mr. Andrews: and so I say, dear boys—and so says he +who has the charge of you—to you. Therefore I beg all good +boys among you to think over this story, and settle in their own minds +whether they will be eyes or no eyes; whether they will, as they grow +up, look and see for themselves what happens: or whether they will let +other people look for them, or pretend to look; and dupe them, and lead +them about—the blind leading the blind, till both fall into the +ditch.</p> +<p>I say “good boys;” not merely clever boys, or prudent +boys: because using your eyes, or not using them, is a question of doing +Right or doing Wrong. God has given you eyes; it is your duty +to God to use them. If your parents tried to teach you your lessons +in the most agreeable way, by beautiful picture-books, would it not +be ungracious, ungrateful, and altogether naughty and wrong, to shut +your eyes to those pictures, and refuse to learn? And is it not +altogether naughty and wrong to refuse to learn from your Father in +Heaven, the Great God who made all things, when he offers to teach you +all day long by the most beautiful and most wonderful of all picture-books, +which is simply all things which you can see, hear, and touch, from +the sun and stars above your head to the mosses and insects at your +feet? It is your duty to learn His lessons: and it is your interest. +God’s Book, which is the Universe, and the reading of God’s +Book, which is Science, can do you nothing but good, and teach you nothing +but truth and wisdom. God did not put this wondrous world about +your young souls to tempt or to mislead them. If you ask Him for +a fish, he will not give you a serpent. If you ask Him for bread, +He will not give you a stone.</p> +<p>So use your eyes and your intellect, your senses and your brains, +and learn what God is trying to teach you continually by them. +I do not mean that you must stop there, and learn nothing more. +Anything but that. There are things which neither your senses +nor your brains can tell you; and they are not only more glorious, but +actually more true and more real than any things which you can see or +touch. But you must begin at the beginning in order to end at +the end, and sow the seed if you wish to gather the fruit. God +has ordained that you, and every child which comes into the world, should +begin by learning something of the world about him by his senses and +his brain; and the better you learn what they can teach you, the more +fit you will be to learn what they cannot teach you. The more +you try now to understand <i>things</i>, the more you will be able hereafter +to understand men, and That which is above men. You began to find +out that truly Divine mystery, that you had a mother on earth, simply +by lying soft and warm upon her bosom; and so (as Our Lord told the +Jews of old) it is by watching the common natural things around you, +and considering the lilies of the field, how they grow, that you will +begin at least to learn that far Diviner mystery, that you have a Father +in Heaven. And so you will be delivered (if you will) out of the +tyranny of darkness, and distrust, and fear, into God’s free kingdom +of light, and faith, and love; and will be safe from the venom of that +tree which is more deadly than the fabled upas of the East. Who +planted that tree I know not, it was planted so long ago: but surely +it is none of God’s planting, neither of the Son of God: yet it +grows in all lands and in all climes, and sends its hidden suckers far +and wide, even (unless we be watchful) into your hearts and mine. +And its name is the Tree of Unreason, whose roots are conceit and ignorance, +and its juices folly and death. It drops its venom into the finest +brains; and makes them call sense, nonsense; and nonsense, sense; fact, +fiction; and fiction, fact. It drops its venom into the tenderest +hearts, alas! and makes them call wrong, right; and right, wrong; love, +cruelty; and cruelty, love. Some say that the axe is laid to the +root of it just now, and that it is already tottering to its fall: while +others say that it is growing stronger than ever, and ready to spread +its upas-shade over the whole earth. For my part, I know not, +save that all shall be as God wills. The tree has been cut down +already again and again; and yet has always thrown out fresh shoots +and dropped fresh poison from its boughs. But this at least I +know: that any little child, who will use the faculties God has given +him, may find an antidote to all its poison in the meanest herb beneath +his feet.</p> +<p>There, you do not understand me, my boys; and the best prayer I can +offer for you is, perhaps, that you should never need to understand +me: but if that sore need should come, and that poison should begin +to spread its mist over your brains and hearts, then you will be proof +against it; just in proportion as you have used the eyes and the common +sense which God has given you, and have considered the lilies of the +field, how they grow.</p> +<p>C. KINGSLEY.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER I—THE GLEN</h2> +<p>You find it dull walking up here upon Hartford Bridge Flat this sad +November day? Well, I do not deny that the moor looks somewhat +dreary, though dull it need never be. Though the fog is clinging +to the fir-trees, and creeping among the heather, till you cannot see +as far as Minley Corner, hardly as far as Bramshill woods—and +all the Berkshire hills are as invisible as if it was a dark midnight—yet +there is plenty to be seen here at our very feet. Though there +is nothing left for you to pick, and all the flowers are dead and brown, +except here and there a poor half-withered scrap of bottle-heath, and +nothing left for you to catch either, for the butterflies and insects +are all dead too, except one poor old Daddy-long-legs, who sits upon +that piece of turf, boring a hole with her tail to lay her eggs in, +before the frost catches her and ends her like the rest: though all +things, I say, seem dead, yet there is plenty of life around you, at +your feet, I may almost say in the very stones on which you tread. +And though the place itself be dreary enough, a sheet of flat heather +and a little glen in it, with banks of dead fern, and a brown bog between +them, and a few fir-trees struggling up—yet, if you only have +eyes to see it, that little bit of glen is beautiful and wonderful,—so +beautiful and so wonderful and so cunningly devised, that it took thousands +of years to make it; and it is not, I believe, half finished yet.</p> +<p>How do I know all that? Because a fairy told it me; a fairy +who lives up here upon the moor, and indeed in most places else, if +people have but eyes to see her. What is her name? I cannot +tell. The best name that I can give her (and I think it must be +something like her real name, because she will always answer if you +call her by it patiently and reverently) is Madam How. She will +come in good time, if she is called, even by a little child. And +she will let us see her at her work, and, what is more, teach us to +copy her. But there is another fairy here likewise, whom we can +hardly hope to see. Very thankful should we be if she lifted even +the smallest corner of her veil, and showed us but for a moment if it +were but her finger tip—so beautiful is she, and yet so awful +too. But that sight, I believe, would not make us proud, as if +we had had some great privilege. No, my dear child: it would make +us feel smaller, and meaner, and more stupid and more ignorant than +we had ever felt in our lives before; at the same time it would make +us wiser than ever we were in our lives before—that one glimpse +of the great glory of her whom we call Lady Why.</p> +<p>But I will say more of her presently. We must talk first with +Madam How, and perhaps she may help us hereafter to see Lady Why. +For she is the servant, and Lady Why is the mistress; though she has +a Master over her again—whose name I leave for you to guess. +You have heard it often already, and you will hear it again, for ever +and ever.</p> +<p>But of one thing I must warn you, that you must not confound Madam +How and Lady Why. Many people do it, and fall into great mistakes +thereby,—mistakes that even a little child, if it would think, +need not commit. But really great philosophers sometimes make +this mistake about Why and How; and therefore it is no wonder if other +people make it too, when they write children’s books about the +wonders of nature, and call them “Why and Because,” or “The +Reason Why.” The books are very good books, and you should +read and study them: but they do not tell you really “Why and +Because,” but only “How and So.” They do not +tell you the “Reason Why” things happen, but only “The +Way in which they happen.” However, I must not blame these +good folks, for I have made the same mistake myself often, and may do +it again: but all the more shame to me. For see—you know +perfectly the difference between How and Why, when you are talking about +yourself. If I ask you, “Why did we go out to-day?” +You would not answer, “Because we opened the door.” +That is the answer to “How did we go out?” The answer +to Why did we go out is, “Because we chose to take a walk.” +Now when we talk about other things beside ourselves, we must remember +this same difference between How and Why. If I ask you, “Why +does fire burn you?” you would answer, I suppose, being a little +boy, “Because it is hot;” which is all you know about it. +But if you were a great chemist, instead of a little boy, you would +be apt to answer me, I am afraid, “Fire burns because the vibratory +motion of the molecules of the heated substance communicates itself +to the molecules of my skin, and so destroys their tissue;” which +is, I dare say, quite true: but it only tells us how fire burns, the +way or means by which it burns; it does not tell us the reason why it +burns.</p> +<p>But you will ask, “If that is not the reason why fire burns, +what is?” My dear child, I do not know. That is Lady +Why’s business, who is mistress of Mrs. How, and of you and of +me; and, as I think, of all things that you ever saw, or can see, or +even dream. And what her reason for making fire burn may be I +cannot tell. But I believe on excellent grounds that her reason +is a very good one. If I dare to guess, I should say that one +reason, at least, why fire burns, is that you may take care not to play +with it, and so not only scorch your finger, but set your whole bed +on fire, and perhaps the house into the bargain, as you might be tempted +to do if putting your finger in the fire were as pleasant as putting +sugar in your mouth.</p> +<p>My dear child, if I could once get clearly into your head this difference +between Why and How, so that you should remember them steadily in after +life, I should have done you more good than if I had given you a thousand +pounds.</p> +<p>But now that we know that How and Why are two very different matters, +and must not be confounded with each other, let us look for Madam How, +and see her at work making this little glen; for, as I told you, it +is not half made yet. One thing we shall see at once, and see +it more and more clearly the older we grow; I mean her wonderful patience +and diligence. Madam How is never idle for an instant. Nothing +is too great or too small for her; and she keeps her work before her +eye in the same moment, and makes every separate bit of it help every +other bit. She will keep the sun and stars in order, while she +looks after poor old Mrs. Daddy-long-legs there and her eggs. +She will spend thousands of years in building up a mountain, and thousands +of years in grinding it down again; and then carefully polish every +grain of sand which falls from that mountain, and put it in its right +place, where it will be wanted thousands of years hence; and she will +take just as much trouble about that one grain of sand as she did about +the whole mountain. She will settle the exact place where Mrs. +Daddy-long-legs shall lay her eggs, at the very same time that she is +settling what shall happen hundreds of years hence in a stair millions +of miles away. And I really believe that Madam How knows her work +so thoroughly, that the grain of sand which sticks now to your shoe, +and the weight of Mrs. Daddy-long-legs’ eggs at the bottom of +her hole, will have an effect upon suns and stars ages after you and +I are dead and gone. Most patient indeed is Madam How. She +does not mind the least seeing her own work destroyed; she knows that +it must be destroyed. There is a spell upon her, and a fate, that +everything she makes she must unmake again: and yet, good and wise woman +as she is, she never frets, nor tires, nor fudges her work, as we say +at school. She takes just as much pains to make an acorn as to +make a peach. She takes just as much pains about the acorn which +the pig eats, as about the acorn which will grow into a tall oak, and +help to build a great ship. She took just as much pains, again, +about the acorn which you crushed under your foot just now, and which +you fancy will never come to anything. Madam How is wiser than +that. She knows that it will come to something. She will +find some use for it, as she finds a use for everything. That +acorn which you crushed will turn into mould, and that mould will go +to feed the roots of some plant, perhaps next year, if it lies where +it is; or perhaps it will be washed into the brook, and then into the +river, and go down to the sea, and will feed the roots of some plant +in some new continent ages and ages hence: and so Madam How will have +her own again. You dropped your stick into the river yesterday, +and it floated away. You were sorry, because it had cost you a +great deal of trouble to cut it, and peel it, and carve a head and your +name on it. Madam How was not sorry, though she had taken a great +deal more trouble with that stick than ever you had taken. She +had been three years making that stick, out of many things, sunbeams +among the rest. But when it fell into the river, Madam How knew +that she should not lose her sunbeams nor anything else: the stick would +float down the river, and on into the sea; and there, when it got heavy +with the salt water, it would sink, and lodge, and be buried, and perhaps +ages hence turn into coal; and ages after that some one would dig it +up and burn it, and then out would come, as bright warm flame, all the +sunbeams that were stored away in that stick: and so Madam How would +have her own again. And if that should not be the fate of your +stick, still something else will happen to it just as useful in the +long run; for Madam How never loses anything, but uses up all her scraps +and odds and ends somehow, somewhere, somewhen, as is fit and proper +for the Housekeeper of the whole Universe. Indeed, Madam How is +so patient that some people fancy her stupid, and think that, because +she does not fall into a passion every time you steal her sweets, or +break her crockery, or disarrange her furniture, therefore she does +not care. But I advise you as a little boy, and still more when +you grow up to be a man, not to get that fancy into your head; for you +will find that, however good-natured and patient Madam How is in most +matters, her keeping silence and not seeming to see you is no sign that +she has forgotten. On the contrary, she bears a grudge (if one +may so say, with all respect to her) longer than any one else does; +because she will always have her own again. Indeed, I sometimes +think that if it were not for Lady Why, her mistress, she might bear +some of her grudges for ever and ever. I have seen men ere now +damage some of Madam How’s property when they were little boys, +and be punished by her all their lives long, even though she had mended +the broken pieces, or turned them to some other use. Therefore +I say to you, beware of Madam How. She will teach you more kindly, +patiently, and tenderly than any mother, if you want to learn her trade. +But if, instead of learning her trade, you damage her materials and +play with her tools, beware lest she has her own again out of you.</p> +<p>Some people think, again, that Madam How is not only stupid, but +ill-tempered and cruel; that she makes earthquakes and storms, and famine +and pestilences, in a sort of blind passion, not caring where they go +or whom they hurt; quite heedless of who is in the way, if she wants +to do anything or go anywhere. Now, that Madam How can be very +terrible there can be no doubt: but there is no doubt also that, if +people choose to learn, she will teach them to get out of her way whenever +she has business to do which is dangerous to them. But as for +her being cruel and unjust, those may believe it who like. You, +my dear boys and girls, need not believe it, if you will only trust +to Lady Why; and be sure that Why is the mistress and How the servant, +now and for ever. That Lady Why is utterly good and kind I know +full well; and I believe that, in her case too, the old proverb holds, +“Like mistress, like servant;” and that the more we know +of Madam How, the more we shall be content with her, and ready to submit +to whatever she does: but not with that stupid resignation which some +folks preach who do not believe in lady Why—that is no resignation +at all. That is merely saying—</p> +<blockquote><p>“What can’t be cured<br /> +Must be endured,”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>like a donkey when he turns his tail to a hail-storm,—but the +true resignation, the resignation which is fit for grown people and +children alike, the resignation which is the beginning and the end of +all wisdom and all religion, is to believe that Lady Why knows best, +because she herself is perfectly good; and that as she is mistress over +Madam How, so she has a Master over her, whose name—I say again—I +leave you to guess.</p> +<p>So now that I have taught you not to be afraid of Madam How, we will +go and watch her at her work; and if we do not understand anything we +see, we will ask her questions. She will always show us one of +her lesson books if we give her time. And if we have to wait some +time for her answer, you need not fear catching cold, though it is November; +for she keeps her lesson books scattered about in strange places, and +we may have to walk up and down that hill more than once before we can +make out how she makes the glen.</p> +<p>Well—how was the glen made? You shall guess it if you +like, and I will guess too. You think, perhaps, that an earthquake +opened it?</p> +<p>My dear child, we must look before we guess. Then, after we +have looked a little, and got some grounds for guessing, then we may +guess. And you have no ground for supposing there ever was an +earthquake here strong enough to open that glen. There may have +been one: but we must guess from what we do know, and not from what +we do not.</p> +<p>Guess again. Perhaps it was there always, from the beginning +of the world? My dear child, you have no proof of that either. +Everything round you is changing in shape daily and hourly, as you will +find out the longer you live; and therefore it is most reasonable to +suppose that this glen has changed its shape, as everything else on +earth has done. Besides, I told you not that Madam How had made +the glen, but that she was making it, and as yet has only half finished. +That is my first guess; and my next guess is that water is making the +glen—water, and nothing else.</p> +<p>You open your young eyes. And I do not blame you. I looked +at this very glen for fifteen years before I made that guess; and I +have looked at it some ten years since, to make sure that my guess held +good. For man after all is very blind, my dear boy, and very stupid, +and cannot see what lies under his own feet all day long; and if Lady +Why, and He whom Lady Why obeys, were not very patient and gentle with +mankind, they would have perished off the face of the earth long ago, +simply from their own stupidity. I, at least, was very stupid +in this case, for I had my head full of earthquakes, and convulsions +of nature, and all sorts of prodigies which never happened to this glen; +and so, while I was trying to find what was not there, I of course found +nothing. But when I put them all out of my head, and began to +look for what was there, I found it at once; and lo and behold! I had +seen it a thousand times before, and yet never learnt anything from +it, like a stupid man as I was; though what I learnt you may learn as +easily as I did.</p> +<p>And what did I find?</p> +<p>The pond at the bottom of the glen.</p> +<p>You know that pond, of course? You don’t need to go there? +Very well. Then if you do, do not you know also that the pond +is always filling up with sand and mud; and that though we clean it +out every three or four years, it always fills again? Now where +does that sand and mud come from?</p> +<p>Down that stream, of course, which runs out of this bog. You +see it coming down every time there is a flood, and the stream fouls.</p> +<p>Very well. Then, said Madam How to me, as soon as I recollected +that, “Don’t you see, you stupid man, that the stream has +made the glen, and the earth which runs down the stream was all once +part of the hill on which you stand.” I confess I was very +much ashamed of myself when she said that. For that is the history +of the whole mystery. Madam How is digging away with her soft +spade, water. She has a harder spade, or rather plough, the strongest +and most terrible of all ploughs; but that, I am glad to say, she has +laid by in England here.</p> +<p>Water? But water is too simple a thing to have dug out all +this great glen.</p> +<p>My dear child, the most wonderful part of Madam How’s work +is, that she does such great things and so many different things, with +one and the same tool, which looks to you so simple, though it really +is not so. Water, for instance, is not a simple thing, but most +complicated; and we might spend hours in talking about water, without +having come to the end of its wonders. Still Madam How is a great +economist, and never wastes her materials. She is like the sailor +who boasted (only she never boasts) that, if he had but a long life +and a strong knife, he would build St. Paul’s Cathedral before +he was done. And Madam How has a very long life, and plenty of +time; and one of the strongest of all her tools is water. Now +if you will stoop down and look into the heather, I will show you how +she is digging out the glen with this very mist which is hanging about +our feet. At least, so I guess.</p> +<p>For see how the mist clings to the points of the heather leaves, +and makes drops. If the hot sun came out the drops would dry, +and they would vanish into the air in light warm steam. But now +that it is dark and cold they drip, or run down the heather-stems, to +the ground. And whither do they go then? Whither will the +water go,—hundreds of gallons of it perhaps,—which has dripped +and run through the heather in this single day? It will sink into +the ground, you know. And then what will become of it? Madam +How will use it as an underground spade, just as she uses the rain (at +least, when it rains too hard, and therefore the rain runs off the moor +instead of sinking into it) as a spade above ground.</p> +<p>Now come to the edge of the glen, and I will show you the mist that +fell yesterday, perhaps, coming out of the ground again, and hard at +work.</p> +<p>You know of what an odd, and indeed of what a pretty form all these +glens are. How the flat moor ends suddenly in a steep rounded +bank, almost like the crest of a wave—ready like a wave-crest +to fall over, and as you know, falling over sometimes, bit by bit, where +the soil is bare.</p> +<p>Oh, yes; you are very fond of those banks. It is “awfully +jolly,” as you say, scrambling up and down them, in the deep heath +and fern; besides, there are plenty of rabbit-holes there, because they +are all sand; while there are no rabbit-holes on the flat above, because +it is all gravel.</p> +<p>Yes; you know all about it: but you know, too, that you must not +go too far down these banks, much less roll down them, because there +is almost certain to be a bog at the bottom, lying upon a gentle slope; +and there you get wet through.</p> +<p>All round these hills, from here to Aldershot in one direction, and +from here to Windsor in another, you see the same shaped glens; the +wave-crest along their top, and at the foot of the crest a line of springs +which run out over the slopes, or well up through them in deep sand-galls, +as you call them—shaking quagmires which are sometimes deep enough +to swallow up a horse, and which you love to dance upon in summer time. +Now the water of all these springs is nothing but the rain, and mist, +and dew, which has sunk down first through the peaty soil, and then +through the gravel and sand, and there has stopped. And why? +Because under the gravel (about which I will tell you a strange story +one day) and under the sand, which is what the geologists call the Upper +Bagshot sand, there is an entirely different set of beds, which geologists +call the Bracklesham beds, from a place near the New Forest; and in +those beds there is a vein of clay, and through that clay the water +cannot get, as you have seen yourself when we dug it out in the field +below to puddle the pond-head; and very good fun you thought it, and +a very pretty mess you made of yourself. Well: because the water +cannot get though this clay, and must go somewhere, it runs out continually +along the top of the clay, and as it runs undermines the bank, and brings +down sand and gravel continually for the next shower to wash into the +stream below.</p> +<p>Now think for one moment how wonderful it is that the shape of these +glens, of which you are so fond, was settled by the particular order +in which Madam How laid down the gravel and sand and mud at the bottom +of the sea, ages and ages ago. This is what I told you, that the +least thing that Madam How does to-day may take effect hundreds and +thousands of years hence.</p> +<p>But I must tell you I think there was a time when this glen was of +a very different shape from what it is now; and I dare say, according +to your notions, of a much prettier shape. It was once just like +one of those Chines which we used to see at Bournemouth. You recollect +them? How there was a narrow gap in the cliff of striped sands +and gravels; and out of the mouth of that gap, only a few feet across, +there poured down a great slope of mud and sand the shape of half a +bun, some wet and some dry, up which we used to scramble and get into +the Chine, and call the Chine what it was in the truest sense, Fairyland. +You recollect how it was all eaten out into mountain ranges, pinnacles, +steep cliffs of white, and yellow, and pink, standing up against the +clear blue sky; till we agreed that, putting aside the difference of +size, they were as beautiful and grand as any Alps we had ever seen +in pictures. And how we saw (for there could be no mistake about +it there) that the Chine was being hollowed out by the springs which +broke out high up the cliff, and by the rain which wore the sand into +furrowed pinnacles and peaks. You recollect the beautiful place, +and how, when we looked back down it we saw between the miniature mountain +walls the bright blue sea, and heard it murmur on the sands outside. +So I verily believe we might have done, if we had stood somewhere at +the bottom of this glen thousands of years ago. We should have +seen the sea in front of us; or rather, an arm of the sea; for Finchampstead +ridges opposite, instead of being covered with farms, and woodlands, +and purple heath above, would have been steep cliffs of sand and clay, +just like those you see at Bournemouth now; and—what would have +spoilt somewhat the beauty of the sight—along the shores there +would have floated, at least in winter, great blocks and floes of ice, +such as you might have seen in the tideway at King’s Lynn the +winter before last, growling and crashing, grubbing and ploughing the +sand, and the gravel, and the mud, and sweeping them away into seas +towards the North, which are now all fruitful land. That may seem +to you like a dream: yet it is true; and some day, when we have another +talk with Madam How, I will show even a child like you that it was true.</p> +<p>But what could change a beautiful Chine like that at Bournemouth +into a wide sloping glen like this of Bracknell’s Bottom, with +a wood like Coombs’, many acres large, in the middle of it? +Well now, think. It is a capital plan for finding out Madam How’s +secrets, to see what she might do in one place, and explain by it what +she has done in another. Suppose now, Madam How had orders to +lift up the whole coast of Bournemouth only twenty or even ten feet +higher out of the sea than it is now. She could do that easily +enough, for she has been doing so on the coast of South America for +ages; she has been doing so this very summer in what hasty people would +call a hasty, and violent, and ruthless way; though I shall not say +so, for I believe that Lady Why knows best. She is doing so now +steadily on the west coast of Norway, which is rising quietly—all +that vast range of mountain wall and iron-bound cliff—at the rate +of some four feet in a hundred years, without making the least noise +or confusion, or even causing an extra ripple on the sea; so light and +gentle, when she will, can Madam How’s strong finger be.</p> +<p>Now, if the mouth of that Chine at Bournemouth was lifted twenty +feet out of the sea, one thing would happen,—that the high tide +would not come up any longer, and wash away the cake of dirt at the +entrance, as we saw it do so often. But if the mud stopped there, +the mud behind it would come down more slowly, and lodge inside more +and more, till the Chine was half filled-up, and only the upper part +of the cliffs continue to be eaten away, above the level where the springs +ran out. So gradually the Chine, instead of being deep and narrow, +would become broad and shallow; and instead of hollowing itself rapidly +after every shower of rain, as you saw the Chine at Bournemouth doing, +would hollow itself out slowly, as this glen is doing now. And +one thing more would happen,—when the sea ceased to gnaw at the +foot of the cliffs outside, and to carry away every stone and grain +of sand which fell from them, the cliffs would very soon cease to be +cliffs; the rain and the frost would still crumble them down, but the +dirt that fell would lie at their feet, and gradually make a slope of +dry land, far out where the shallow sea had been; and their tops, instead +of being steep as now, would become smooth and rounded; and so at last, +instead of two sharp walls of cliff at the Chine’s mouth, you +might have—just what you have here at the mouth of this glen,—our +Mount and the Warren Hill,—long slopes with sheets of drifted +gravel and sand at their feet, stretching down into what was once an +icy sea, and is now the Vale of Blackwater. And this I really +believe Madam How has done simply by lifting Hartford Bridge Flat a +few more feet out of the sea, and leaving the rest to her trusty tool, +the water in the sky.</p> +<p>That is my guess: and I think it is a good guess, because I have +asked Madam How a hundred different questions about it in the last ten +years, and she always answered them in the same way, saying, “Water, +water, you stupid man.” But I do not want you merely to +depend on what I say. If you want to understand Madam How, you +must ask her questions yourself, and make up your mind yourself like +a man, instead of taking things at hearsay or second-hand, like the +vulgar. Mind, by “the vulgar” I do not mean poor people: +I mean ignorant and uneducated people, who do not use their brains rightly, +though they may be fine ladies, kings, or popes. The Bible says, +“Prove all things: hold fast that which is good.” +So do you prove my guess, and if it proves good, hold it fast.</p> +<p>And how can I do that?</p> +<p>First, by direct experiment, as it is called. In plain English—go +home and make a little Hartford Bridge Flat in the stable-yard; and +then ask Mrs. How if she will not make a glen in it like this glen here. +We will go home and try that. We will make a great flat cake of +clay, and put upon it a cap of sand; and then we will rain upon it out +of a watering-pot; and see if Mrs. How does not begin soon to make a +glen in the side of the heap, just like those on Hartford Bridge Flat. +I believe she will; and certainly, if she does, it will be a fresh proof +that my guess is right. And then we will see whether water will +not make glens of a different shape than these, if it run over soils +of a different kind. We will make a Hartford Bridge Flat turned +upside down—a cake of sand with a cap of clay on the top; and +we will rain on that out of our watering-pot, and see what sort of glens +we make then. I can guess what they will be like, because I have +seen them—steep overhanging cliffs, with very narrow gullies down +them: but you shall try for yourself, and make up your mind whether +you think me right or wrong. Meanwhile, remember that those gullies +too will have been made by water.</p> +<p>And there is another way of “verifying my theory,” as +it is called; in plain English, seeing if my guess holds good; that +is, to look at other valleys—not merely the valleys round here, +but valleys in clay, in chalk, in limestone, in the hard slate rock +such as you saw in Devonshire—and see whether my guess does not +hold good about them too; whether all of them, deep or shallow, broad +or narrow, rock or earth, may not have been all hollowed out by running +water. I am sure if you would do this you would find something +to amuse you, and something to instruct you, whenever you wish. +I know that I do. To me the longest railroad journey, instead +of being stupid, is like continually turning over the leaves of a wonderful +book, or looking at wonderful pictures of old worlds which were made +and unmade thousands of years ago. For I keep looking, not only +at the railway cuttings, where the bones of the old worlds are laid +bare, but at the surface of the ground; at the plains and downs, banks +and knolls, hills and mountains; and continually asking Mrs. How what +gave them each its shape: and I will soon teach you to do the same. +When you do, I tell you fairly her answer will be in almost every case, +“Running water.” Either water running when soft, as +it usually is; or water running when it is hard—in plain words, +moving ice.</p> +<p>About that moving ice, which is Mrs. How’s stronger spade, +I will tell you some other time; and show you, too, the marks of it +in every gravel pit about here. But now, I see, you want to ask +a question; and what is it?</p> +<p>Do I mean to say that water has made great valleys, such as you have +seen paintings and photographs of,—valleys thousands of feet deep, +among mountains thousands of feet high?</p> +<p>Yes, I do. But, as I said before, I do not like you to take +my word upon trust. When you are older you shall go to the mountains, +and you shall judge for yourself. Still, I must say that I never +saw a valley, however deep, or a cliff, however high, which had not +been scooped out by water; and that even the mountain-tops which stand +up miles aloft in jagged peaks and pinnacles against the sky were cut +out at first, and are being cut and sharpened still, by little else +save water, soft and hard; that is, by rain, frost, and ice.</p> +<p>Water, and nothing else, has sawn out such a chasm as that through +which the ships run up to Bristol, between Leigh Wood and St. Vincent’s +Rocks. Water, and nothing else, has shaped those peaks of the +Matterhorn, or the Weisshorn, or the Pic du Midi of the Pyrenees, of +which you have seen sketches and photographs. Just so water might +saw out Hartford Bridge Flat, if it had time enough, into a labyrinth +of valleys, and hills, and peaks standing alone; as it has done already +by Ambarrow, and Edgbarrow, and the Folly Hill on the other side of +the vale.</p> +<p>I see you are astonished at the notion that water can make Alps. +But it was just because I knew you would be astonished at Madam How’s +doing so great a thing with so simple a tool, that I began by showing +you how she was doing the same thing in a small way here upon these +flats. For the safest way to learn Madam How’s methods is +to watch her at work in little corners at commonplace business, which +will not astonish or frighten us, nor put huge hasty guesses and dreams +into our heads. Sir Isaac Newton, some will tell you, found out +the great law of gravitation, which holds true of all the suns and stars +in heaven, by watching an apple fall: and even if he did not find it +out so, he found it out, we know, by careful thinking over the plain +and commonplace fact, that things have weight. So do you be humble +and patient, and watch Madam How at work on little things. For +that is the way to see her at work upon all space and time.</p> +<p>What? you have a question more to ask?</p> +<p>Oh! I talked about Madam How lifting up Hartford Bridge Flat. +How could she do that? My dear child, that is a long story, and +I must tell it you some other time. Meanwhile, did you ever see +the lid of a kettle rise up and shake when the water inside boiled? +Of course; and of course, too, remember that Madam How must have done +it. Then think over between this and our next talk, what that +can possibly have to do with her lifting up Hartford Bridge Flat. +But you have been longing, perhaps, all this time to hear more about +Lady Why, and why she set Madam How to make Bracknell’s Bottom.</p> +<p>My dear child, the only answer I dare give to that is: Whatever other +purposes she may have made it for, she made it at least for this—that +you and I should come to it this day, and look at, and talk over it, +and become thereby wiser and more earnest, and we will hope more humble +and better people. Whatever else Lady Why may wish or not wish, +this she wishes always, to make all men wise and all men good. +For what is written of her whom, as in a parable, I have called Lady +Why?</p> +<p>“The Lord possessed me in the beginning of His way, before +His works of old.</p> +<p>“I was set up from everlasting, from the beginning, or ever +the earth was.</p> +<p>“When there were no depths, I was brought forth; when there +were no fountains abounding with water.</p> +<p>“Before the mountains were settled, before the hills was I +brought forth:</p> +<p>“While as yet He had not made the earth, nor the fields, nor +the highest part of the dust of the world.</p> +<p>“When He prepared the heavens, I was there: when He set a compass +upon the face of the depth:</p> +<p>“When He established the clouds above: when He strengthened +the fountains of the deep:</p> +<p>“When He gave to the sea His decree, that the waters should +not pass His commandment: when He appointed the foundations of the earth:</p> +<p>“Then I was by Him, as one brought up with Him: and I was daily +His delight, rejoicing always before Him:</p> +<p>“Rejoicing in the habitable part of His earth; and my delights +were with the sons of men.</p> +<p>“Now therefore hearken unto me, O ye children: for blessed +are they that keep my ways.”</p> +<p>That we can say, for it has been said for us already. But beyond +that we can say, and need say, very little. We were not there, +as we read in the Book of Job, when God laid the foundations of the +earth. “We see,” says St. Paul, “as in a glass +darkly, and only know in part.” “For who,” he +asks again, “has known the mind of the Lord, or who hath been +His counsellor? . . . For of Him, and through Him, and to Him, are all +things: to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.” +Therefore we must not rashly say, this or that is Why a thing has happened; +nor invent what are called “final causes,” which are not +Lady Why herself, but only our little notions of what Lady Why has done, +or rather what we should have done if we had been in her place. +It is not, indeed, by thinking that we shall find out anything about +Lady Why. She speaks not to our eyes or to our brains, like Madam +How, but to that inner part of us which we call our hearts and spirits, +and which will endure when eyes and brain are turned again to dust. +If your heart be pure and sober, gentle and truthful, then Lady Why +speaks to you without words, and tells you things which Madam How and +all her pupils, the men of science, can never tell. When you lie, +it may be, on a painful sick-bed, but with your mother’s hand +in yours; when you sit by her, looking up into her loving eyes; when +you gaze out towards the setting sun, and fancy golden capes and islands +in the clouds, and seas and lakes in the blue sky, and the infinite +rest and peace of the far west sends rest and peace into your young +heart, till you sit silent and happy, you know not why; when sweet music +fills your heart with noble and tender instincts which need no thoughts +or words; ay, even when you watch the raging thunderstorm, and feel +it to be, in spite of its great awfulness, so beautiful that you cannot +turn your eyes away: at such times as these Lady Why is speaking to +your soul of souls, and saying, “My child, this world is a new +place, and strange, and often terrible: but be not afraid. All +will come right at last. Rest will conquer Restlessness; Faith +will conquer Fear; Order will conquer Disorder; Health will conquer +Sickness; Joy will conquer Sorrow; Pleasure will conquer Pain; Life +will conquer Death; Right will conquer Wrong. All will be well +at last. Keep your soul and body pure, humble, busy, pious—in +one word, be good: and ere you die, or after you die, you may have some +glimpse of Me, the Everlasting Why: and hear with the ears, not of your +body but of your spirit, men and all rational beings, plants and animals, +ay, the very stones beneath your feet, the clouds above your head, the +planets and the suns away in farthest space, singing eternally,</p> +<p>“‘Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honour +and power, for Thou hast created all things, and for Thy pleasure they +are and were created.”’</p> +<h2>CHAPTER II—EARTHQUAKES</h2> +<p>So? You have been looking at that beautiful drawing of the +ruin of Arica in the <i>Illustrated London News</i>: and it has puzzled +you and made you sad. You want to know why God killed all those +people—mothers among them, too, and little children?</p> +<p>Alas, my dear child! who am I that I should answer you that?</p> +<p>Have you done wrong in asking me? No, my dear child; no. +You have asked me because you are a human being and a child of God, +and not merely a cleverer sort of animal, an ape who can read and write +and cast accounts. Therefore it is that you cannot be content, +and ought not to be content, with asking how things happen, but must +go on to ask why. You cannot be content with knowing the causes +of things; and if you knew all the natural science that ever was or +ever will be known to men, that would not satisfy you; for it would +only tell you the <i>causes</i> of things, while your souls want to +know the <i>reasons</i> of things besides; and though I may not be able +to tell you the reasons of things, or show you aught but a tiny glimpse +here and there of that which I called the other day the glory of Lady +Why, yet I believe that somehow, somewhen, somewhere, you will learn +something of the reason of things. For that thirst to know <i>why</i> +was put into the hearts of little children by God Himself; and I believe +that God would never have given them that thirst if He had not meant +to satisfy it.</p> +<p>There—you do not understand me. I trust that you will +understand me some day. Meanwhile, I think—I only say I +<i>think</i>—you know I told you how humble we must be whenever +we speak of Lady Why—that we may guess at something like a good +reason for the terrible earthquakes in South America. I do not +wish to be hard upon poor people in great affliction: but I cannot help +thinking that they have been doing for hundreds of years past something +very like what the Bible calls “tempting God”—staking +their property and their lives upon the chances of no earthquakes coming, +while they ought to have known that an earthquake might come any day. +They have fulfilled (and little thought I that it would be fulfilled +so soon) the parable that I told you once, of the nation of the Do-as-you-likes, +who lived careless and happy at the foot of the burning mountain, and +would not be warned by the smoke that came out of the top, or by the +slag and cinders which lay all about them; till the mountain blew up, +and destroyed them miserably.</p> +<p>Then I think that they ought to have expected an earthquake.</p> +<p>Well—it is not for us to judge any one, especially if they +live in a part of the world in which we have not been ourselves. +But I think that we know, and that they ought to have known, enough +about earthquakes to have been more prudent than they have been for +many a year. At least we will hope that, though they would not +learn their lesson till this year, they will learn it now, and will +listen to the message which I think Madam How has brought them, spoken +in a voice of thunder, and written in letters of flame.</p> +<p>And what is that?</p> +<p>My dear child, if the landlord of our house was in the habit of pulling +the roof down upon our heads, and putting gunpowder under the foundations +to blow us up, do you not think we should know what he meant, even though +he never spoke a word? He would be very wrong in behaving so, +of course: but one thing would be certain,—that he did not intend +us to live in his house any longer if he could help it; and was giving +us, in a very rough fashion, notice to quit. And so it seems to +me that these poor Spanish Americans have received from the Landlord +of all landlords, who can do no wrong, such a notice to quit as perhaps +no people ever had before; which says to them in unmistakable words, +“You must leave this country: or perish.” And I believe +that that message, like all Lady Why’s messages, is at heart a +merciful and loving one; that if these Spaniards would leave the western +coast of Peru, and cross the Andes into the green forests of the eastern +side of their own land, they might not only live free from earthquakes, +but (if they would only be good and industrious) become a great, rich, +and happy nation, instead of the idle, and useless, and I am afraid +not over good, people which they have been. For in that eastern +part of their own land God’s gifts are waiting for them, in a +paradise such as I can neither describe nor you conceive;—precious +woods, fruits, drugs, and what not—boundless wealth, in one word—waiting +for them to send it all down the waters of the mighty river Amazon, +enriching us here in the Old World, and enriching themselves there in +the New. If they would only go and use these gifts of God, instead +of neglecting them as they have been doing for now three hundred years, +they would be a blessing to the earth, instead of being—that which +they have been.</p> +<p>God grant, my dear child, that these poor people may take the warning +that has been sent to them; “The voice of God revealed in facts,” +as the great Lord Bacon would have called it, and see not only that +God has bidden them leave the place where they are now, but has prepared +for them, in their own land, a home a thousand times better than that +in which they now live.</p> +<p>But you ask, How ought they to have known that an earthquake would +come?</p> +<p>Well, to make you understand that, we must talk a little about earthquakes, +and what makes them; and in order to find out that, let us try the very +simplest cause of which we can think. That is the wise and scientific +plan.</p> +<p>Now, whatever makes these earthquakes must be enormously strong; +that is certain. And what is the strongest thing you know of in +the world? Think . . .</p> +<p>Gunpowder?</p> +<p>Well, gunpowder is strong sometimes: but not always. You may +carry it in a flask, or in your hand, and then it is weak enough. +It only becomes strong by being turned into gas and steam. But +steam is always strong. And if you look at a railway engine, still +more if you had ever seen—which God forbid you should—a +boiler explosion, you would agree with me, that the strongest thing +we know of in the world is steam.</p> +<p>Now I think that we can explain almost, if not quite, all that we +know about earthquakes, if we believe that on the whole they are caused +by steam and other gases expanding, that is, spreading out, with wonderful +quickness and strength. Of course there must be something to make +them expand, and that is <i>heat</i>. But we will not talk of +that yet.</p> +<p>Now do you remember that riddle which I put to you the other day?—“What +had the rattling of the lid of the kettle to do with Hartford Bridge +Flat being lifted out of the ancient sea?”</p> +<p>The answer to the riddle, I believe, is—Steam has done both. +The lid of the kettle rattles, because the expanding steam escapes in +little jets, and so causes a <i>lid-quake</i>. Now suppose that +there was steam under the earth trying to escape, and the earth in one +place was loose and yet hard, as the lid of the kettle is loose and +yet hard, with cracks in it, it may be, like the crack between the edge +of the lid and the edge of the kettle itself: might not the steam try +to escape through the cracks, and rattle the surface of the earth, and +so cause an <i>earthquake</i>?</p> +<p>So the steam would escape generally easily, and would only make a +passing rattle, like the earthquake of which the famous jester Charles +Selwyn said that it was quite a young one, so tame that you might have +stroked it; like that which I myself once felt in the Pyrenees, which +gave me very solemn thoughts after a while, though at first I did nothing +but laugh at it; and I will tell you why.</p> +<p>I was travelling in the Pyrenees; and I came one evening to the loveliest +spot—a glen, or rather a vast crack in the mountains, so narrow +that there was no room for anything at the bottom of it, save a torrent +roaring between walls of polished rock. High above the torrent +the road was cut out among the cliffs, and above the road rose more +cliffs, with great black cavern mouths, hundreds of feet above our heads, +out of each of which poured in foaming waterfalls streams large enough +to turn a mill, and above them mountains piled on mountains, all covered +with woods of box, which smelt rich and hot and musky in the warm spring +air. Among the box-trees and fallen boulders grew hepaticas, blue +and white and red, such as you see in the garden; and little stars of +gentian, more azure than the azure sky. But out of the box-woods +above rose giant silver firs, clothing the cliffs and glens with tall +black spires, till they stood out at last in a jagged saw-edge against +the purple evening sky, along the mountain ranges, thousands of feet +aloft; and beyond them again, at the head of the valley, rose vast cones +of virgin snow, miles away in reality, but looking so brilliant and +so near that one fancied at the first moment that one could have touched +them with one’s hand. Snow-white they stood, the glorious +things, seven thousand feet into the air; and I watched their beautiful +white sides turn rose-colour in the evening sun, and when he set, fade +into dull cold gray, till the bright moon came out to light them up +once more. When I was tired of wondering and admiring, I went +into bed; and there I had a dream—such a dream as Alice had when +she went into Wonderland—such a dream as I dare say you may have +had ere now. Some noise or stir puts into your fancy as you sleep +a whole long dream to account for it; and yet that dream, which seems +to you to be hours long, has not taken up a second of time; for the +very same noise which begins the dream, wakes you at the end of it: +and so it was with me. I dreamed that some English people had +come into the hotel where I was, and were sleeping in the room underneath +me; and that they had quarrelled and fought, and broke their bed down +with a tremendous crash, and that I must get up, and stop the fight; +and at that moment I woke and heard coming up the valley from the north +such a roar as I never heard before or since; as if a hundred railway +trains were rolling underground; and just as it passed under my bed +there was a tremendous thump, and I jumped out of bed quicker than I +ever did in my life, and heard the roaring sound die away as it rolled +up the valley towards the peaks of snow. Still I had in my head +this notion of the Englishmen fighting in the room below. But +then I recollected that no Englishmen had come in the night before, +and that I had been in the room below, and that there was no bed in +it. Then I opened my window—a woman screamed, a dog barked, +some cocks and hens cackled in a very disturbed humour, and then I could +hear nothing but the roaring of the torrent a hundred feet below. +And then it flashed across me what all the noise was about; and I burst +out laughing and said “It is only an earthquake,” and went +to bed</p> +<p>Next morning I inquired whether any one had heard a noise. +No, nobody had heard anything. And the driver who had brought +me up the valley only winked, but did not choose to speak. At +last at breakfast I asked the pretty little maid who waited what was +the meaning of the noise I heard in the night, and she answered, to +my intense amusement, “Ah! bah! ce n’etait qu’un tremblement +de terre; il y en a ici toutes les six semaines.” Now the +secret was out. The little maid, I found, came from the lowland +far away, and did not mind telling the truth: but the good people of +the place were afraid to let out that they had earthquakes every six +weeks, for fear of frightening visitors away: and because they were +really very good people, and very kind to me, I shall not tell you what +the name of the place is.</p> +<p>Of course after that I could do no less than ask Madam How, very +civilly, how she made earthquakes in that particular place, hundreds +of miles away from any burning mountain? And this was the answer +I <i>thought</i> she gave, though I am not so conceited as to say I +am sure.</p> +<p>As I had come up the valley I had seen that the cliffs were all beautiful +gray limestone marble; but just at this place they were replaced by +granite, such as you may see in London Bridge or at Aberdeen. +I do not mean that the limestone changed to granite, but that the granite +had risen up out of the bottom of the valley, and had carried the limestone +(I suppose) up on its back hundreds of feet into the air. Those +caves with the waterfalls pouring from their mouths were all on one +level, at the top of the granite, and the bottom of the limestone. +That was to be expected; for, as I will explain to you some day, water +can make caves easily in limestone: but never, I think, in granite. +But I knew that besides these cold springs which came out of the caves, +there were hot springs also, full of curious chemical salts, just below +the very house where I was in. And when I went to look at them, +I found that they came out of the rock just where the limestone and +the granite joined. “Ah,” I said, “now I think +I have Madam How’s answer. The lid of one of her great steam +boilers is rather shaky and cracked just here, because the granite has +broken and torn the limestone as it lifted it up; and here is the hot +water out of the boiler actually oozing out of the crack; and the earthquake +I heard last night was simply the steam rumbling and thumping inside, +and trying to get out.”</p> +<p>And then, my dear child, I fell into a more serious mood. I +said to myself, “If that stream had been a little, only a little +stronger, or if the rock above it had been only a little weaker, it +would have been no laughing matter then; the village might have been +shaken to the ground; the rocks hurled into the torrent; jets of steam +and of hot water, mixed, it may be, with deadly gases, have roared out +of the riven ground; that might have happened here, in short, which +has happened and happens still in a hundred places in the world, whenever +the rocks are too weak to stand the pressure of the steam below, and +the solid earth bursts as an engine boiler bursts when the steam within +it is too strong.” And when those thoughts came into my +mind, I was in no humour to jest any more about “young earthquakes,” +or “Madam How’s boilers;” but rather to say with the +wise man of old, “It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are +not consumed.”</p> +<p>Most strange, most terrible also, are the tricks which this underground +steam plays. It will make the ground, which seems to us so hard +and firm, roll and rock in waves, till people are sea-sick, as on board +a ship; and that rocking motion (which is the most common) will often, +when it is but slight, set the bells ringing in the steeples, or make +the furniture, and things on shelves, jump about quaintly enough. +It will make trees bend to and fro, as if a wind was blowing through +them; open doors suddenly, and shut them again with a slam; make the +timbers of the floors and roofs creak, as they do in a ship at sea; +or give men such frights as one of the dock-keepers at Liverpool got +in the earthquake in 1863, when his watchbox rocked so, that he thought +some one was going to pitch him over into the dock. But these +are only little hints and warnings of what it can do. When it +is strong enough, it will rock down houses and churches into heaps of +ruins, or, if it leaves them standing, crack them from top to bottom, +so that they must be pulled down and rebuilt.</p> +<p>You saw those pictures of the ruins of Arica, about which our talk +began; and from them you can guess well enough for yourself what a town +looks like which has been ruined by an earthquake. Of the misery +and the horror which follow such a ruin I will not talk to you, nor +darken your young spirit with sad thoughts which grown people must face, +and ought to face. But the strangeness of some of the tricks which +the earthquake shocks play is hardly to be explained, even by scientific +men. Sometimes, it would seem, the force runs round, making the +solid ground eddy, as water eddies in a brook. For it will make +straight rows of trees crooked; it will twist whole walls round—or +rather the ground on which the walls stand—without throwing them +down; it will shift the stones of a pillar one on the other sideways, +as if a giant had been trying to spin it like a teetotum, and so screwed +it half in pieces. There is a story told by a wise man, who saw +the place himself, of the whole furniture of one house being hurled +away by an earthquake, and buried under the ruins of another house; +and of things carried hundreds of yards off, so that the neighbours +went to law to settle who was the true owner of them. Sometimes, +again, the shock seems to come neither horizontally in waves, nor circularly +in eddies, but vertically, that is, straight up from below; and then +things—and people, alas! sometimes—are thrown up off the +earth high into the air, just as things spring up off the table if you +strike it smartly enough underneath. By that same law (for there +is a law for every sort of motion) it is that the earthquake shock sometimes +hurls great rocks off a cliff into the valley below. The shock +runs through the mountain till it comes to the cliff at the end of it; +and then the face of the cliff, if it be at all loose, flies off into +the air. You may see the very same thing happen, if you will put +marbles or billiard-balls in a row touching each other, and strike the +one nearest you smartly in the line of the row. All the balls +stand still, except the last one, and that flies off. The shock, +like the earthquake shock, has run through them all; but only the end +one, which had nothing beyond it but soft air, has been moved; and when +you grow old, and learn mathematics, you will know the law of motion +according to which that happens, and learn to apply what the billiard-balls +have taught you, to explain the wonders of an earthquake. For +in this case, as in so many more, you must watch Madam How at work on +little and common things, to find out how she works in great and rare +ones. That is why Solomon says that “a fool’s eyes +are in the ends of the earth,” because he is always looking out +for strange things which he has not seen, and which he could not understand +if he saw; instead of looking at the petty commonplace matters which +are about his feet all day long, and getting from them sound knowledge, +and the art of getting more sound knowledge still.</p> +<p>Another terrible destruction which the earthquake brings, when it +is close to the seaside, is the wash of a great sea wave, such as swept +in last year upon the island of St. Thomas, in the West Indies; such +as swept in upon the coast of Peru this year. The sea moans, and +sinks back, leaving the shore dry; and then comes in from the offing +a mighty wall of water, as high as, or higher than, many a tall house; +sweeps far inland, washing away quays and houses, and carrying great +ships in with it; and then sweeps back again, leaving the ships high +and dry, as ships were left in Peru this year.</p> +<p>Now, how is that wave made? Let us think. Perhaps in +many ways. But two of them I will tell you as simply as I can, +because they seem the most likely, and probably the most common.</p> +<p>Suppose, as the earthquake shock ran on, making the earth under the +sea heave and fall in long earth-waves, the sea-bottom sank down. +Then the water on it would sink down too, and leave the shore dry; till +the sea-bottom rose again, and hurled the water up again against the +land. This is one way of explaining it, and it may be true. +For certain it is, that earthquakes do move the bottom of the sea; and +certain, too, that they move the water of the sea also, and with tremendous +force. For ships at sea during an earthquake feel such a blow +from it (though it does them no harm) that the sailors often rush upon +deck fancying that they have struck upon a rock; and the force which +could give a ship, floating in water, such a blow as that, would be +strong enough to hurl thousands of tons of water up the beach, and on +to the land.</p> +<p>But there is another way of accounting for this great sea wave, which +I fancy comes true sometimes.</p> +<p>Suppose you put an empty india-rubber ball into water, and then blow +into it through a pipe. Of course, you know, as the ball filled, +the upper side of it would rise out of the water. Now, suppose +there were a party of little ants moving about upon that ball, and fancying +it a great island, or perhaps the whole world—what would they +think of the ball’s filling and growing bigger?</p> +<p>If they could see the sides of the basin or tub in which the ball +was, and were sure that they did not move, then they would soon judge +by them that they themselves were moving, and that the ball was rising +out of the water. But if the ants were so short-sighted that they +could not see the sides of the basin, they would be apt to make a mistake, +because they would then be like men on an island out of sight of any +other land. Then it would be impossible further to tell whether +they were moving up, or whether the water was moving down; whether their +ball was rising out of the water, or the water was sinking away from +the ball. They would probably say, “The water is sinking +and leaving the ball dry.”</p> +<p>Do you understand that? Then think what would happen if you +pricked a hole in the ball. The air inside would come hissing +out, and the ball would sink again into the water. But the ants +would probably fancy the very opposite. Their little heads would +be full of the notion that the ball was solid and could not move, just +as our heads are full of the notion that the earth is solid and cannot +move; and they would say, “Ah! here is the water rising again.” +Just so, I believe, when the sea seems to ebb away during the earthquake, +the land is really being raised out of the sea, hundreds of miles of +coast, perhaps, or a whole island, at once, by the force of the steam +and gas imprisoned under the ground. That steam stretches and +strains the solid rocks below, till they can bear no more, and snap, +and crack, with frightful roar and clang; then out of holes and chasms +in the ground rush steam, gases—often foul and poisonous ones—hot +water, mud, flame, strange stones—all signs that the great boiler +down below has burst at last.</p> +<p>Then the strain is eased. The earth sinks together again, as +the ball did when it was pricked; and sinks lower, perhaps, than it +was before: and back rushes the sea, which the earth had thrust away +while it rose, and sweeps in, destroying all before it.</p> +<p>Of course, there is a great deal more to be said about all this: +but I have no time to tell you now. You will read it, I hope, +for yourselves when you grow up, in the writings of far wiser men than +I. Or perhaps you may feel for yourselves in foreign lands the +actual shock of a great earthquake, or see its work fresh done around +you. And if ever that happens, and you be preserved during the +danger, you will learn for yourself, I trust, more about earthquakes +than I can teach you, if you will only bear in mind the simple general +rules for understanding the “how” of them which I have given +you here.</p> +<p>But you do not seem satisfied yet? What is it that you want +to know?</p> +<p>Oh! There was an earthquake here in England the other night, +while you were asleep; and that seems to you too near to be pleasant. +Will there ever be earthquakes in England which will throw houses down, +and bury people in the ruins?</p> +<p>My dear child, I think you may set your heart at rest upon that point. +As far as the history of England goes back, and that is more than a +thousand years, there is no account of any earthquake which has done +any serious damage, or killed, I believe, a single human being. +The little earthquakes which are sometimes felt in England run generally +up one line of country, from Devonshire through Wales, and up the Severn +valley into Cheshire and Lancashire, and the south-west of Scotland; +and they are felt more smartly there, I believe, because the rocks are +harder there than here, and more tossed about by earthquakes which happened +ages and ages ago, long before man lived on the earth. I will +show you the work of these earthquakes some day, in the tilting and +twisting of the layers of rock, and in the cracks (faults, as they are +called) which run through them in different directions. I showed +you some once, if you recollect, in the chalk cliff at Ramsgate—two +set of cracks, sloping opposite ways, which I told you were made by +two separate sets of earthquakes, long, long ago, perhaps while the +chalk was still at the bottom of a deep sea. But even in the rocky +parts of England the earthquake-force seems to have all but died out. +Perhaps the crust of the earth has become too thick and solid there +to be much shaken by the gases and steam below. In this eastern +part of England, meanwhile, there is but little chance that an earthquake +will ever do much harm, because the ground here, for thousands of feet +down, is not hard and rocky, but soft—sands, clays, chalk, and +sands again; clays, soft limestones, and clays again—which all +act as buffers to deaden the earthquake shocks, and deaden too the earthquake +noise.</p> +<p>And how?</p> +<p>Put your ear to one end of a soft bolster, and let some one hit the +other end. You will hear hardly any noise, and will not feel the +blow at all. Put your ear to one end of a hard piece of wood, +and let some one hit the other. You will hear a smart tap; and +perhaps feel a smart tap, too. When you are older, and learn the +laws of sound, and of motion among the particles of bodies, you will +know why. Meanwhile you may comfort yourself with the thought +that Madam How has (doubtless by command of Lady Why) prepared a safe +soft bed for this good people of Britain—not that they may lie +and sleep on it, but work and till, plant and build and manufacture, +and thrive in peace and comfort, we will trust and pray, for many a +hundred years to come. All that the steam inside the earth is +likely to do to us, is to raise parts of this island (as Hartford Bridge +Flats were raised, ages ago, out of the old icy sea) so slowly, probably, +that no man can tell whether they are rising or not. Or again, +the steam-power may be even now dying out under our island, and letting +parts of it sink slowly into the sea, as some wise friends of mine think +that the fens in Norfolk and Cambridgeshire are sinking now. I +have shown you where that kind of work has gone on in Norfolk; how the +brow of Sandringham Hill was once a sea-cliff, and Dersingham Bog at +its foot a shallow sea; and therefore that the land has risen there. +How, again, at Hunstanton Station there is a beach of sea-shells twenty +feet above high-water mark, showing that the land has risen there likewise. +And how, farther north again, at Brancaster, there are forests of oak, +and fir, and alder, with their roots still in the soil, far below high-water +mark, and only uncovered at low tide; which is a plain sign that there +the land has sunk. You surely recollect the sunken forest at Brancaster, +and the beautiful shells we picked up in its gullies, and the millions +of live Pholases boring into the clay and peat which once was firm dry +land, fed over by giant oxen, and giant stags likewise, and perhaps +by the mammoth himself, the great woolly elephant whose teeth the fishermen +dredge up in the sea outside? You recollect that? Then remember +that as that Norfolk shore has changed, so slowly but surely is the +whole world changing around us. Hartford Bridge Flat here, for +instance, how has it changed! Ages ago it was the gravelly bottom +of a sea. Then the steam-power underground raised it up slowly, +through long ages, till it became dry land. And ages hence, perhaps, +it will have become a sea-bottom once more. Washed slowly by the +rain, or sunk by the dying out of the steam-power underground, it will +go down again to the place from whence it came. Seas will roll +where we stand now, and new lands will rise where seas now roll. +For all things on this earth, from the tiniest flower to the tallest +mountain, change and change all day long. Every atom of matter +moves perpetually; and nothing “continues in one stay.” +The solid-seeming earth on which you stand is but a heaving bubble, +bursting ever and anon in this place and in that. Only above all, +and through all, and with all, is One who does not move nor change, +but is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever. And on Him, my +child, and not on this bubble of an earth, do you and I, and all mankind, +depend.</p> +<p>But I have not yet told you why the Peruvians ought to have expected +an earthquake. True. I will tell you another time.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER III—VOLCANOS</h2> +<p>You want to know why the Spaniards in Peru and Ecuador should have +expected an earthquake.</p> +<p>Because they had had so many already. The shaking of the ground +in their country had gone on perpetually, till they had almost ceased +to care about it, always hoping that no very heavy shock would come; +and being, now and then, terribly mistaken.</p> +<p>For instance, in the province of Quito, in the year 1797, from thirty +to forty thousand people were killed at once by an earthquake. +One would have thought that warning enough: but the warning was not +taken: and now, this very year, thousands more have been killed in the +very same country, in the very same way.</p> +<p>They might have expected as much. For their towns are built, +most of them, close to volcanos—some of the highest and most terrible +in the world. And wherever there are volcanos there will be earthquakes. +You may have earthquakes without volcanos, now and then; but volcanos +without earthquakes, seldom or never.</p> +<p>How does that come to pass? Does a volcano make earthquakes? +No; we may rather say that earthquakes are trying to make volcanos. +For volcanos are the holes which the steam underground has burst open +that it may escape into the air above. They are the chimneys of +the great blast-furnaces underground, in which Madam How pounds and +melts up the old rocks, to make them into new ones, and spread them +out over the land above.</p> +<p>And are there many volcanos in the world? You have heard of +Vesuvius, of course, in Italy; and Etna, in Sicily; and Hecla, in Iceland. +And you have heard, too, of Kilauea, in the Sandwich Islands, and of +Pele’s Hair—the yellow threads of lava, like fine spun glass, +which are blown from off its pools of fire, and which the Sandwich Islanders +believed to be the hair of a goddess who lived in the crater;—and +you have read, too, I hope, in Miss Yonge’s <i>Book of Golden +Deeds</i>, the noble story of the Christian chieftainess who, in order +to persuade her subjects to become Christians also, went down into the +crater and defied the goddess of the volcano, and came back unhurt and +triumphant.</p> +<p>But if you look at the map, you will see that there are many, many +more. Get Keith Johnston’s Physical Atlas from the schoolroom—of +course it is there (for a schoolroom without a physical atlas is like +a needle without an eye)—and look at the map which is called “Phenomena +of Volcanic Action.”</p> +<p>You will see in it many red dots, which mark the volcanos which are +still burning: and black dots, which mark those which have been burning +at some time or other, not very long ago, scattered about the world. +Sometimes they are single, like the red dot at Otaheite, or at Easter +Island in the Pacific. Sometimes the are in groups, or clusters, +like the cluster at the Sandwich Islands, or in the Friendly Islands, +or in New Zealand. And if we look in the Atlantic, we shall see +four clusters: one in poor half-destroyed Iceland, in the far north, +one in the Azores, one in the Canaries, and one in the Cape de Verds. +And there is one dot in those Canaries which we must not overlook, for +it is no other than the famous Peak of Teneriffe, a volcano which is +hardly burnt out yet, and may burn up again any day, standing up out +of the sea more than 12,000 feet high still, and once it must have been +double that height. Some think that it is perhaps the true Mount +Atlas, which the old Greeks named when first they ventured out of the +Straits of Gibraltar down the coast of Africa, and saw the great peak +far to the westward, with the clouds cutting off its top; and said that +it was a mighty giant, the brother of the Evening Star, who held up +the sky upon his shoulders, in the midst of the Fortunate Islands, the +gardens of the daughter of the Evening Star, full of strange golden +fruits; and that Perseus had turned him into stone, when he passed him +with the Gorgon’s Head.</p> +<p>But you will see, too, that most of these red and black dots run +in crooked lines; and that many of the clusters run in lines likewise.</p> +<p>Look at one line: by far the largest on the earth. You will +learn a good deal of geography from it.</p> +<p>The red dots begin at a place called the Terribles, on the east side +of the Bay of Bengal. They run on, here and there, along the islands +of Sumatra and Java, and through the Spice Islands; and at New Guinea +the line of red dots forks. One branch runs south-east, through +islands whose names you never heard, to the Friendly Islands, and to +New Zealand. The other runs north, through the Philippines, through +Japan, through Kamschatka; and then there is a little break of sea, +between Asia and America: but beyond it, the red dots begin again in +the Aleutian Islands, and then turn down the whole west coast of America, +down from Mount Elias (in what was, till lately, Russian America) towards +British Columbia. Then, after a long gap, there are one or two +in Lower California (and we must not forget the terrible earthquake +which has just shaken San Francisco, between those two last places); +and when we come down to Mexico we find the red dots again plentiful, +and only too plentiful; for they mark the great volcanic line of Mexico, +of which you will read, I hope, some day, in Humboldt’s works. +But the line does not stop there. After the little gap of the +Isthmus of Panama, it begins again in Quito, the very country which +has just been shaken, and in which stand the huge volcanos Chimborazo, +Pasto, Antisana, Cotopaxi, Pichincha, Tunguragua,—smooth cones +from 15,000 to 20,000 feet high, shining white with snow, till the heat +inside melts it off, and leaves the cinders of which the peaks are made +all black and ugly among the clouds, ready to burst in smoke and fire. +South of them again, there is a long gap, and then another line of red +dots—Arequiba, Chipicani, Gualatieri, Atacama,—as high as, +or higher than those in Quito; and this, remember, is the other country +which has just been shaken. On the sea-shore below those volcanos +stood the hapless city of Arica, whose ruins we saw in the picture. +Then comes another gap; and then a line of more volcanos in Chili, at +the foot of which happened that fearful earthquake of 1835 (besides +many more) of which you will read some day in that noble book <i>The +Voyage of the Beagle</i>; and so the line of dots runs down to the southernmost +point of America.</p> +<p>What a line we have traced! Long enough to go round the world +if it were straight. A line of holes out of which steam, and heat, +and cinders, and melted stones are rushing up, perpetually, in one place +and another. Now the holes in this line which are near each other +have certainly something to do with each other. For instance, +when the earth shook the other day round the volcanos of Quito, it shook +also round the volcanos of Peru, though they were 600 miles away. +And there are many stories of earthquakes being felt, or awful underground +thunder heard, while volcanos were breaking out hundreds of miles away. +I will give you a very curious instance of that.</p> +<p>If you look at the West Indies on the map, you will see a line of +red dots runs through the Windward Islands: there are two volcanos in +them, one in Guadaloupe, and one in St. Vincent (I will tell you a curious +story, presently, about that last), and little volcanos (if they have +ever been real volcanos at all), which now only send out mud, in Trinidad. +There the red dots stop: but then begins along the north coast of South +America a line of mountain country called Cumana, and Caraccas, which +has often been horribly shaken by earthquakes. Now once, when +the volcano in St. Vincent began to pour out a vast stream of melted +lava, a noise like thunder was heard underground, over thousands of +square miles beyond those mountains, in the plains of Calabozo, and +on the banks of the Apure, more than 600 miles away from the volcano,—a +plain sign that there was something underground which joined them together, +perhaps a long crack in the earth. Look for yourselves at the +places, and you will see that (as Humboldt says) it is as strange as +if an eruption of Mount Vesuvius was heard in the north of France.</p> +<p>So it seems as if these lines of volcanos stood along cracks in the +rind of the earth, through which the melted stuff inside was for ever +trying to force its way; and that, as the crack got stopped up in one +place by the melted stuff cooling and hardening again into stone, it +was burst in another place, and a fresh volcano made, or an old one +re-opened.</p> +<p>Now we can understand why earthquakes should be most common round +volcanos; and we can understand, too, why they would be worst before +a volcano breaks out, because then the steam is trying to escape; and +we can understand, too, why people who live near volcanos are glad to +see them blazing and spouting, because then they have hope that the +steam has found its way out, and will not make earthquakes any more +for a while. But still that is merely foolish speculation on chance. +Volcanos can never be trusted. No one knows when one will break +out, or what it will do; and those who live close to them—as the +city of Naples is close to Mount Vesuvius—must not be astonished +if they are blown up or swallowed up, as that great and beautiful city +of Naples may be without a warning, any day.</p> +<p>For what happened to that same Mount Vesuvius nearly 1800 years ago, +in the old Roman times? For ages and ages it had been lying quiet, +like any other hill. Beautiful cities were built at its foot, +filled with people who were as handsome, and as comfortable, and (I +am afraid) as wicked, as people ever were on earth. Fair gardens, +vineyards, olive-yards, covered the mountain slopes. It was held +to be one of the Paradises of the world. As for the mountain’s +being a burning mountain, who ever thought of that? To be sure, +on the top of it was a great round crater, or cup, a mile or more across, +and a few hundred yards deep. But that was all overgrown with +bushes and wild vines, full of boars and deer. What sign of fire +was there in that? To be sure, also, there was an ugly place below +by the sea-shore, called the Phlegræn fields, where smoke and +brimstone came out of the ground, and a lake called Avernus over which +poisonous gases hung, and which (old stories told) was one of the mouths +of the Nether Pit. But what of that? It had never harmed +any one, and how could it harm them?</p> +<p>So they all lived on, merrily and happily enough, till, in the year +A.D. 79 (that was eight years, you know, after the Emperor Titus destroyed +Jerusalem), there was stationed in the Bay of Naples a Roman admiral, +called Pliny, who was also a very studious and learned man, and author +of a famous old book on natural history. He was staying on shore +with his sister; and as he sat in his study she called him out to see +a strange cloud which had been hanging for some time over the top of +Mount Vesuvius. It was in shape just like a pine-tree; not, of +course, like one of our branching Scotch firs here, but like an Italian +stone pine, with a long straight stem and a flat parasol-shaped top. +Sometimes it was blackish, sometimes spotted; and the good Admiral Pliny, +who was always curious about natural science, ordered his cutter and +went away across the bay to see what it could be. Earthquake shocks +had been very common for the last few days; but I do not suppose that +Pliny had any notion that the earthquakes and the cloud had aught to +do with each other. However, he soon found out that they had, +and to his cost. When he got near the opposite shore some of the +sailors met him and entreated him to turn back. Cinders and pumice-stones +were falling down from the sky, and flames breaking out of the mountain +above. But Pliny would go on: he said that if people were in danger, +it was his duty to help them; and that he must see this strange cloud, +and note down the different shapes into which it changed. But +the hot ashes fell faster and faster; the sea ebbed out suddenly, and +left them nearly dry, and Pliny turned away to a place called Stabiæ, +to the house of his friend Pomponianus, who was just going to escape +in a boat. Brave Pliny told him not to be afraid, ordered his +bath like a true Roman gentleman, and then went into dinner with a cheerful +face. Flames came down from the mountain, nearer and nearer as +the night drew on; but Pliny persuaded his friend that they were only +fires in some villages from which the peasants had fled, and then went +to bed and slept soundly. However, in the middle of the night +they found the courtyard being fast filled with cinders, and, if they +had not woke up the Admiral in time, he would never have been able to +get out of the house. The earthquake shocks grew stronger and +fiercer, till the house was ready to fall; and Pliny and his friend, +and the sailors and the slaves, all fled into the open fields, amid +a shower of stones and cinders, tying pillows over their heads to prevent +their being beaten down. The day had come by this time, but not +the dawn—for it was still pitch dark as night. They went +down to their boats upon the shore; but the sea raged so horribly that +there was no getting on board of them. Then Pliny grew tired, +and made his men spread a sail for him, and lay down on it; but there +came down upon them a rush of flames, and a horrible smell of sulphur, +and all ran for their lives. Some of the slaves tried to help +the Admiral upon his legs; but he sank down again overpowered with the +brimstone fumes, and so was left behind. When they came back again, +there he lay dead, but with his clothes in order and his face as quiet +as if he had been only sleeping. And that was the end of a brave +and learned man—a martyr to duty and to the love of science.</p> +<p>But what was going on in the meantime? Under clouds of ashes, +cinders, mud, lava, three of those happy cities were buried at once—Herculaneum, +Pompeii, Stabiæ. They were buried just as the people had +fled from them, leaving the furniture and the earthenware, often even +jewels and gold, behind, and here and there among them a human being +who had not had time to escape from the dreadful deluge of dust. +The ruins of Herculaneum and Pompeii have been dug into since; and the +paintings, especially in Pompeii, are found upon the walls still fresh, +preserved from the air by the ashes which have covered them in. +When you are older you perhaps will go to Naples, and see in its famous +museum the curiosities which have been dug out of the ruined cities; +and you will walk, I suppose, along the streets of Pompeii and see the +wheel-tracks in the pavement, along which carts and chariots rumbled +2000 years ago. Meanwhile, if you go nearer home, to the Crystal +Palace and to the Pompeian Court, as it is called, you will see an exact +model of one of these old buried houses, copied even to the very paintings +on the wells, and judge for yourself, as far as a little boy can judge, +what sort of life these thoughtless, luckless people lived 2000 years +ago.</p> +<p>And what had become of Vesuvius, the treacherous mountain? +Half or more than half of the side of the old crater had been blown +away, and what was left, which is now called the Monte Somma, stands +in a half circle round the new cone and new crater which is burning +at this very day. True, after that eruption which killed Pliny, +Vesuvius fell asleep again, and did not awake for 134 years, and then +again for 269 years but it has been growing more and more restless as +the ages have passed on, and now hardly a year passes without its sending +out smoke and stones from its crater, and streams of lava from its sides.</p> +<p>And now, I suppose, you will want to know what a volcano is like, +and what a cone, and a crater, and lava are?</p> +<p>What a volcano is like, it is easy enough to show you; for they are +the most simply and beautifully shaped of all mountains, and they are +alike all over the world, whether they be large or small. Almost +every volcano in the world, I believe, is, or has been once, of the +shape which you see in the drawing opposite; even those volcanos in +the Sandwich Islands, of which you have often heard, which are now great +lakes of boiling fire upon flat downs, without any cone to them at all. +They, I believe, are volcanos which have fallen in ages ago: just as +in Java a whole burning mountain fell in on the night of the 11th of +August, in the year 1772. Then, after a short and terrible earthquake, +a bright cloud suddenly covered the whole mountain. The people +who dwelt around it tried to escape; but before the poor souls could +get away the earth sunk beneath their feet, and the whole mountain fell +in and was swallowed up with a noise as if great cannon were being fired. +Forty villages and nearly 3000 people were destroyed, and where the +mountain had been was only a plain of red-hot stones. In the same +way, in the year 1698, the top of a mountain in Quito fell in in a single +night, leaving only two immense peaks of rock behind, and pouring out +great floods of mud mixed with dead fish; for there are underground +lakes among those volcanos which swarm with little fish which never +see the light.</p> +<p>But most volcanos as I say, are, or have been, the shape of the one +which you see here. This is Cotopaxi, in Quito, more than 19,000 +feet in height. All those sloping sides are made of cinders and +ashes, braced together, I suppose, by bars of solid lava-stone inside, +which prevent the whole from crumbling down. The upper part, you +see, is white with snow, as far down as a line which is 15,000 feet +above the sea; for the mountain is in the tropics, close to the equator, +and the snow will not lie in that hot climate any lower down. +But now and then the snow melts off and rushes down the mountain side +in floods of water and of mud, and the cindery cone of Cotopaxi stands +out black and dreadful against the clear blue sky, and then the people +of that country know what is coming. The mountain is growing so +hot inside that it melts off its snowy covering; and soon it will burst +forth with smoke and steam, and red-hot stones and earthquakes, which +will shake the ground, and roars that will be heard, it may be, hundreds +of miles away.</p> +<p>And now for the words cone, crater, lava. If I can make you +understand those words, you will see why volcanos must be in general +of the shape of Cotopaxi.</p> +<p>Cone, crater, lava: those words make up the alphabet of volcano learning. +The cone is the outside of a huge chimney; the crater is the mouth of +it. The lava is the ore which is being melted in the furnace below, +that it may flow out over the surface of the old land, and make new +land instead.</p> +<p>And where is the furnace itself? Who can tell that? Under +the roots of the mountains, under the depths of the sea; down “the +path which no fowl knoweth, and which the vulture’s eye hath not +seen: the lion’s whelp hath not trodden it, nor the fierce lion +passed by it. There He putteth forth His hand upon the rock; He +overturneth the mountain by the roots; He cutteth out rivers among the +rocks; and His eye seeth every precious thing”—while we, +like little ants, run up and down outside the earth, scratching, like +ants, a few feet down, and calling that a deep ravine; or peeping a +few feet down into the crater of a volcano, unable to guess what precious +things may lie below—below even the fire which blazes and roars +up through the thin crust of the earth. For of the inside of this +earth we know nothing whatsoever: we only know that it is, on an average, +several times as heavy as solid rock; but how that can be, we know not.</p> +<p>So let us look at the chimney, and what comes out of it; for we can +see very little more.</p> +<p>Why is a volcano like a cone?</p> +<p>For the same cause for which a molehill is like a cone, though a +very rough one; and that the little heaps which the burrowing beetles +make on the moor, or which the ant-lions in France make in the sand, +are all something in the shape of a cone, with a hole like a crater +in the middle. What the beetle and the ant-lion do on a very little +scale, the steam inside the earth does on a great scale. When +once it has forced a vent into the outside air, it tears out the rocks +underground, grinds them small against each other, often into the finest +dust, and blasts them out of the hole which it has made. Some +of them fall back into the hole, and are shot out again: but most of +them fall round the hole, most of them close to it, and fewer of them +farther off, till they are piled up in a ring round it, just as the +sand is piled up round a beetle’s burrow. For days, and +weeks, and months this goes on; even it may be for hundreds of years: +till a great cone is formed round the steam vent, hundreds or thousands +of feet in height, of dust and stones, and of cinders likewise. +For recollect, that when the steam has blown away the cold earth and +rock near the surface of the ground, it begins blowing out the hot rocks +down below, red-hot, white-hot, and at last actually melted. But +these, as they are hurled into the cool air above, become ashes, cinders, +and blocks of stone again, making the hill on which they fall bigger +and bigger continually. And thus does wise Madam How stand in +no need of bricklayers, but makes her chimneys build themselves.</p> +<p>And why is the mouth of the chimney called a crater?</p> +<p>Crater, as you know, is Greek for a cup. And the mouth of these +chimneys, when they have become choked and stopped working, are often +just the shape of a cup, or (as the Germans call them) kessels, which +means kettles, or caldrons. I have seen some of them as beautifully +and exactly rounded as if a cunning engineer had planned them, and had +them dug out with the spade. At first, of course, their sides +and bottom are nothing but loose stones, cinders, slag, ashes, such +as would be thrown out of a furnace. But Madam How, who, whenever +she makes an ugly desolate place, always tries to cover over its ugliness, +and set something green to grow over it, and make it pretty once more, +does so often and often by her worn-out craters. I have seen them +covered with short sweet turf, like so many chalk downs. I have +seen them, too, filled with bushes, which held woodcocks and wild boars. +Once I came on a beautiful round crater on the top of a mountain, which +was filled at the bottom with a splendid crop of potatoes. Though +Madam How had not put them there herself, she had at least taught the +honest Germans to put them there. And often Madam How turns her +worn-out craters into beautiful lakes. There are many such crater-lakes +in Italy, as you will see if ever you go there; as you may see in English +galleries painted by Wilson, a famous artist who died before you were +born. You recollect Lord Macaulay’s ballad, “The Battle +of the Lake Regillus”? Then that Lake Regillus (if I recollect +right) is one of these round crater lakes. Many such deep clear +blue lakes have I seen in the Eifel, in Germany; and many a curious +plant have I picked on their shores, where once the steam blasted, and +the earthquake roared, and the ash-clouds rushed up high into the heaven, +and buried all the land around in dust, which is now fertile soil. +And long did I puzzle to find out why the water stood in some craters, +while others, within a mile of them perhaps, were perfectly dry. +That I never found out for myself. But learned men tell me that +the ashes which fall back into the crater, if the bottom of it be wet +from rain, will sometimes “set” (as it is called) into a +hard cement; and so make the bottom of the great bowl waterproof, as +if it were made of earthenware.</p> +<p>But what gives the craters this cup-shape at first?</p> +<p>Think—While the steam and stones are being blown out, the crater +is an open funnel, with more or less upright walls inside. As +the steam grows weaker, fewer and fewer stones fall outside, and more +and more fall back again inside. At last they quite choke up the +bottom of the great round hole. Perhaps, too, the lava or melted +rock underneath cools and grows hard, and that chokes up the hole lower +down. Then, down from the round edge of the crater the stones +and cinders roll inward more and more. The rains wash them down, +the wind blows them down. They roll to the middle, and meet each +other, and stop. And so gradually the steep funnel becomes a round +cup. You may prove for yourself that it must be so, if you will +try. Do you not know that if you dig a round hole in the ground, +and leave it to crumble in, it is sure to become cup-shaped at last, +though at first its sides may have been quite upright, like those of +a bucket? If you do not know, get a trowel and make your little +experiment.</p> +<p>And now you ought to understand what “cone” and “crater” +mean. And more, if you will think for yourself, you may guess +what would come out of a volcano when it broke out “in an eruption,” +as it is usually called. First, clouds of steam and dust (what +you would call smoke); then volleys of stones, some cool, some burning +hot; and at the last, because it lies lowest of all, the melted rock +itself, which is called lava.</p> +<p>And where would that come out? At the top of the chimney? +At the top of the cone?</p> +<p>No. Madam How, as I told you, usually makes things make themselves. +She has made the chimney of the furnace make itself; and next she will +make the furnace-door make itself.</p> +<p>The melted lava rises in the crater—the funnel inside the cone—but +it never gets to the top. It is so enormously heavy that the sides +of the cone cannot bear its weight, and give way low down. And +then, through ashes and cinders, the melted lava burrows out, twisting +and twirling like an enormous fiery earth-worm, till it gets to the +air outside, and runs off down the mountain in a stream of fire. +And so you may see (as are to be seen on Vesuvius now) two eruptions +at once—one of burning stones above, and one of melted lava below.</p> +<p>And what is lava?</p> +<p>That, I think, I must tell you another time. For when I speak +of it I shall have to tell you more about Madam How, and her ways of +making the ground on which you stand, than I can say just now. +But if you want to know (as I dare say you do) what the eruption of +a volcano is like, you may read what follows. I did not see it +happen; for I never had the good fortune of seeing a mountain burning, +though I have seen many and many a one which has been burnt—extinct +volcanos, as they are called.</p> +<p>The man who saw it—a very good friend of mine, and a very good +man of science also—went last year to see an eruption on Vesuvius, +not from the main crater, but from a small one which had risen up suddenly +on the outside of it; and he gave me leave (when I told him that I was +writing for children) to tell them what he saw.</p> +<p>This new cone, he said, was about 200 feet high, and perhaps 80 or +100 feet across at the top. And as he stood below it (it was not +safe to go up it) smoke rolled up from its top, “rosy pink below,” +from the glare of the caldron, and above “faint greenish or blueish +silver of indescribable beauty, from the light of the moon.” +But more—By good chance, the cone began to send out, not smoke +only, but brilliant burning stones. “Each explosion,” +he says, “was like a vast girandole of rockets, with a noise (such +as rockets would make) like the waves on a beach, or the wind blowing +through shrouds. The mountain was trembling the whole time. +So it went on for two hours and more; sometimes eight or ten explosions +in a minute, and more than 1000 stones in each, some as large as two +bricks end to end. The largest ones mostly fell back into the +crater; but the smaller ones being thrown higher, and more acted on +by the wind, fell in immense numbers on the leeward slope of the cone” +(of course, making it bigger and bigger, as I have explained already +to you), and of course, as they were intensely hot and bright, making +the cone look as if it too was red-hot. But it was not so, he +says, really. The colour of the stones was rather “golden, +and they spotted the black cone over with their golden showers, the +smaller ones stopping still, the bigger ones rolling down, and jumping +along just like hares.” “A wonderful pedestal,” +he says, “for the explosion which surmounted it.” +How high the stones flew up he could not tell. “There was +generally one which went much higher than the rest, and pierced upwards +towards the moon, who looked calmly down, mocking such vain attempts +to reach her.” The large stones, of course, did not rise +so high; and some, he says, “only just appeared over the rim of +the cone, above which they came floating leisurely up, to show their +brilliant forms and intense white light for an instant, and then subside +again.”</p> +<p>Try and picture that to yourselves, remembering that this was only +a little side eruption, of no more importance to the whole mountain +than the fall of a slate off the roof is of importance to the whole +house. And then think how mean and weak man’s fireworks, +and even man’s heaviest artillery, are compared with the terrible +beauty and terrible strength of Madam How’s artillery underneath +our feet.</p> +<pre> C + / | \ + / | \ + A /---+---\ E + / | \ + /-----+-----\ E +Ground / | B \ Ground +---------/ | \------------ + | D | | D | D | + --+-----+--+---+-----+------ + | | | | | + |</pre> +<p>Now look at this figure. It represents a section of a volcano; +that is, one cut in half to show you the inside. A is the cone +of cinders. B, the black line up through the middle, is the funnel, +or crack, through which steam, ashes, lava, and everything else rises. +C is the crater mouth. D D D, which looks broken, are the old +rocks which the steam heaved up and burst before it could get out. +And what are the black lines across, marked E E E? They are the +streams of lava which have burrowed out, some covered up again in cinders, +some lying bare in the open air, some still inside the cone, bracing +it together, holding it up. Something like this is the inside +of a volcano.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IV—THE TRANSFORMATIONS OF A GRAIN OF SOIL</h2> +<p>Why, you ask, are there such terrible things as volcanos? Of +what use can they be?</p> +<p>They are of use enough, my child; and of many more uses, doubt not, +than we know as yet, or ever shall know. But of one of their uses +I can tell you.</p> +<p>They make, or help to make, divers and sundry curious things, from +gunpowder to your body and mine.</p> +<p>What? I can understand their helping to make gunpowder, because +the sulphur in it is often found round volcanos; and I know the story +of the brave Spaniard who, when his fellows wanted materials for gunpowder, +had himself lowered in a basket down the crater of a South American +volcano, and gathered sulphur for them off the burning cliffs: but how +can volcanos help to make me? Am I made of lava? Or is there +lava in me?</p> +<p>My child, I did not say that volcanos helped to make you. I +said that they helped to make your body; which is a very different matter, +as I beg you to remember, now and always. Your body is no more +you yourself than the hoop which you trundle, or the pony which you +ride. It is, like them, your servant, your tool, your instrument, +your organ, with which you work: and a very useful, trusty, cunningly-contrived +organ it is; and therefore I advise you to make good use of it, for +you are responsible for it. But you yourself are not your body, +or your brain, but something else, which we call your soul, your spirit, +your life. And that “you yourself” would remain just +the same if it were taken out of your body, and put into the body of +a bee, or of a lion, or any other body; or into no body at all. +At least so I believe; and so, I am happy to say, nine hundred and ninety-nine +thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine people out of every million have +always believed, because they have used their human instincts and their +common sense, and have obeyed (without knowing it) the warning of a +great and good philosopher called Herder, that “The organ is in +no case the power which works by it;” which is as much as to say, +that the engine is not the engine-driver, nor the spade the gardener.</p> +<p>There have always been, and always will be, a few people who cannot +see that. They think that a man’s soul is part of his body, +and that he himself is not one thing, but a great number of things. +They think that his mind and character are only made up of all the thoughts, +and feelings, and recollections which have passed through his brain; +and that as his brain changes, he himself must change, and become another +person, and then another person again, continually. But do you +not agree with them: but keep in mind wise Herder’s warning that +you are not to “confound the organ with the power,” or the +engine with the driver, or your body with yourself: and then we will +go on and consider how a volcano, and the lava which flows from it, +helps to make your body.</p> +<p>Now I know that the Scotch have a saying, “That you cannot +make broth out of whinstones” (which is their name for lava). +But, though they are very clever people, they are wrong there. +I never saw any broth in Scotland, as far as I know, but what whinstones +had gone to the making of it; nor a Scotch boy who had not eaten many +a bit of whinstone, and been all the better for it.</p> +<p>Of course, if you simply put the whinstones into a kettle and boiled +them, you would not get much out of them by such rough cookery as that. +But Madam How is the best and most delicate of all cooks; and she knows +how to pound, and soak, and stew whinstones so delicately, that she +can make them sauce and seasoning for meat, vegetables, puddings, and +almost everything that you eat; and can put into your veins things which +were spouted up red-hot by volcanos, ages and ages since, perhaps at +the bottom of ancient seas which are now firm dry land.</p> +<p>This is very strange—as all Madam How’s doings are. +And you would think it stranger still if you had ever seen the flowing +of a lava stream.</p> +<p>Out of a cave of slag and cinders in the black hillside rushes a +golden river, flowing like honey, and yet so tough that you cannot thrust +a stick into it, and so heavy that great stones (if you throw them on +it) float on the top, and are carried down like corks on water. +It is so hot that you cannot stand near it more than a few seconds; +hotter, perhaps, than any fire you ever saw: but as it flows, the outside +of it cools in the cool air, and gets covered with slag and cinders, +something like those which you may see thrown out of the furnaces in +the Black Country of Staffordshire. Sometimes these cling together +above the lava stream, and make a tunnel, through the cracks in which +you may see the fiery river rushing and roaring down below. But +mostly they are kept broken and apart, and roll and slide over each +other on the top of the lava, crashing and clanging as they grind together +with a horrid noise. Of course that stream, like all streams, +runs towards the lower grounds. It slides down glens, and fills +them up; down the beds of streams, driving off the water in hissing +steam; and sometimes (as it did in Iceland a few years ago) falls over +some cliff, turning what had been a water-fall into a fire-fall, and +filling up the pool below with blocks of lava suddenly cooled, with +a clang and roar like that of chains shaken or brazen vessels beaten, +which is heard miles and miles away. Of course, woe to the crops +and gardens which stand in its way. It crawls over them all and +eats them up. It shoves down houses; it sets woods on fire, and +sends the steam and gas out of the tree-trunks hissing into the air. +And (curiously enough) it does this often without touching the trees +themselves. It flows round the trunks (it did so in a wood in +the Sandwich Islands a few years ago), and of course sets them on fire +by its heat, till nothing is left of them but blackened posts. +But the moisture which comes out of the poor tree in steam blows so +hard against the lava round that it can never touch the tree, and a +round hole is left in the middle of the lava where the tree was. +Sometimes, too, the lava will spit out liquid fire among the branches +of the trees, which hangs down afterwards from them in tassels of slag, +and yet, by the very same means, the steam in the branches will prevent +the liquid fire burning them off, or doing anything but just scorch +the bark.</p> +<p>But I can tell you a more curious story still. The lava stream, +you must know, is continually sending out little jets of gas and steam: +some of it it may have brought up from the very inside of the earth; +most of it, I suspect, comes from the damp herbage and damp soil over +which it runs. Be that as it may, a lava stream out of Mount Etna, +in Sicily, came once down straight upon the town of Catania. Everybody +thought that the town would be swallowed up; and the poor people there +(who knew no better) began to pray to St. Agatha—a famous saint, +who, they say, was martyred there ages ago—and who, they fancy, +has power in heaven to save them from the lava stream. And really +what happened was enough to make ignorant people, such as they were, +think that St. Agatha had saved them. The lava stream came straight +down upon the town wall. Another foot, and it would have touched +it, and have begun shoving it down with a force compared with which +all the battering-rams that you ever read of in ancient histories would +be child’s toys. But lo and behold! when the lava stream +got within a few inches of the wall it stopped, and began to rear itself +upright and build itself into a wall beside the wall. It rose +and rose, till I believe in one place it overtopped the wall and began +to curl over in a crest. All expected that it would fall over +into the town at last: but no, there it stopped, and cooled, and hardened, +and left the town unhurt. All the inhabitants said, of course, +that St. Agatha had done it: but learned men found out that, as usual +Madam How had done it, by making it do itself. The lava was so +full of gas, which was continually blowing out in little jets, that +when it reached the wall, it actually blew itself back from the wall; +and, as the wall was luckily strong enough not to be blown down, the +lava kept blowing itself back till it had time to cool. And so, +my dear child, there was no miracle at all in the matter; and the poor +people of Catania had to thank not St. Agatha, and any interference +of hers, but simply Him who can preserve, just as He can destroy, by +those laws of nature which are the breath of His mouth and the servants +of His will.</p> +<p>But in many a case the lava does not stop. It rolls on and +on over the downs and through the valleys, till it reaches the sea-shore, +as it did in Hawaii in the Sandwich Islands this very year. And +then it cools, of course; but often not before it has killed the fish +by its sulphurous gases and heat, perhaps for miles around. And +there is good reason to believe that the fossil fish which we so often +find in rocks, perfect in every bone, lying sometimes in heaps, and +twisted (as I have seen them) as if they had died suddenly and violently, +were killed in this very way, either by heat from lava streams, or else +by the bursting up of gases poisoning the water, in earthquakes and +eruptions in the bottom of the sea. I could tell you many stories +of fish being killed in thousands by earthquakes and volcanos during +the last few years. But we have not time to tell about everything.</p> +<p>And now you will ask me, with more astonishment than ever, what possible +use can there be in these destroying streams of fire? And certainly, +if you had ever seen a lava stream even when cool, and looked down, +as I have done, at the great river of rough black blocks streaming away +far and wide over the land, you would think it the most hideous and +the most useless thing you ever saw. And yet, my dear child, there +is One who told men to judge not according to the appearance, but to +judge righteous judgment. He said that about matters spiritual +and human: but it is quite as true about matters natural, which also +are His work, and all obey His will.</p> +<p>Now if you had seen, as I have seen, close round the edges of these +lava streams, and sometimes actually upon them, or upon the great bed +of dust and ashes which have been hurled far and wide out of ancient +volcanos, happy homesteads, rich crops, hemp and flax, and wheat, tobacco, +lucerne, roots, and vineyards laden with white and purple grapes, you +would have begun to suspect that the lava streams were not, after all, +such very bad neighbours. And when I tell you that volcanic soils +(as they are called), that is, soil which has at first been lava or +ashes, are generally the richest soils in the world—that, for +instance (as some one told me the other day), there is soil in the beautiful +island of Madeira so thin that you cannot dig more than two or three +inches down without coming to the solid rock of lava, or what is harder +even, obsidian (which is the black glass which volcanos sometimes make, +and which the old Mexicans used to chip into swords and arrows, because +they had no steel)—and that this soil, thin as it is, is yet so +fertile, that in it used to be grown the grapes of which the famous +Madeira wine was made—when you remember this, and when you remember, +too, the Lothians of Scotland (about which I shall have to say a little +to you just now), then you will perhaps agree with me, that Lady Why +has not been so very wrong in setting Madam How to pour out lava and +ashes upon the surface of the earth.</p> +<p>For see—down below, under the roots of the mountains, Madam +How works continually like a chemist in his laboratory, melting together +all the rocks, which are the bones and leavings of the old worlds. +If they stayed down below there, they would be of no use; while they +will be of use up here in the open air. For, year by year—by +the washing of rain and rivers, and also, I am sorry to say, by the +ignorant and foolish waste of mankind—thousands and millions of +tons of good stuff are running into the sea every year, which would, +if it could be kept on land, make food for men and animals, plants and +trees. So, in order to supply the continual waste of this upper +world, Madam How is continually melting up the under world, and pouring +it out of the volcanos like manure, to renew the face of the earth. +In these lava rocks and ashes which she sends up there are certain substances, +without which men cannot live—without which a stalk of corn or +grass cannot grow. Without potash, without magnesia, both of which +are in your veins and mine—without silicates (as they are called), +which give flint to the stems of corn and of grass, and so make them +stiff and hard, and able to stand upright—and very probably without +the carbonic acid gas, which comes out of the volcanos, and is taken +up by the leaves of plants, and turned by Madam How’s cookery +into solid wood—without all these things, and I suspect without +a great many more things which come out of volcanos—I do not see +how this beautiful green world could get on at all.</p> +<p>Of course, when the lava first cools on the surface of the ground +it is hard enough, and therefore barren enough. But Madam How +sets to work upon it at once, with that delicate little water-spade +of hers, which we call rain, and with that alone, century after century, +and age after age, she digs the lava stream down, atom by atom, and +silts it over the country round in rich manure. So that if Madam +How has been a rough and hasty workwoman in pumping her treasures up +out of her mine with her great steam-pumps, she shows herself delicate +and tender and kindly enough in giving them away afterwards.</p> +<p>Nay, even the fine dust which is sometimes blown out of volcanos +is useful to countries far away. So light it is, that it rises +into the sky and is wafted by the wind across the seas. So, in +the year 1783, ashes from the Skaptar Jokull, in Iceland, were carried +over the north of Scotland, and even into Holland, hundreds of miles +to the south.</p> +<p>So, again, when in the year 1812 the volcano of St. Vincent, in the +West India Islands, poured out torrents of lava, after mighty earthquakes +which shook all that part of the world, a strange thing happened (about +which I have often heard from those who saw it) in the island of Barbados, +several hundred miles away. For when the sun rose in the morning +(it was a Sunday morning), the sky remained more dark than any night, +and all the poor negroes crowded terrified out of their houses into +the streets, fancying the end of the world was come. But a learned +man who was there, finding that, though the sun was risen, it was still +pitchy dark, opened his window, and found that it was stuck fast by +something on the ledge outside, and, when he thrust it open, found the +ledge covered deep in soft red dust; and he instantly said, like a wise +man as he was, “The volcano of St. Vincent must have broken out, +and these are the ashes from it.” Then he ran down stairs +and quieted the poor negroes, telling them not to be afraid, for the +end of the world was not coming just yet. But still the dust went +on falling till the whole island, I am told, was covered an inch thick; +and the same thing happened in the other islands round. People +thought—and they had reason to think from what had often happened +elsewhere—that though the dust might hurt the crops for that year, +it would make them richer in years to come, because it would act as +manure upon the soil; and so it did after a few years; but it did terrible +damage at the time, breaking off the boughs of trees and covering up +the crops; and in St. Vincent itself whole estates were ruined. +It was a frightful day, but I know well that behind that How there was +a Why for its happening, and happening too, about that very time, which +all who know the history of negro slavery in the West Indies can guess +for themselves, and confess, I hope, that in this case, as in all others, +when Lady Why seems most severe she is often most just and kind.</p> +<p>Ah! my dear child, that I could go on talking to you of this for +hours and days! But I have time now only to teach you the alphabet +of these matters—and, indeed, I know little more than the alphabet +myself; but if the very letters of Madam How’s book, and the mere +A, B, AB, of it, which I am trying to teach you, are so wonderful and +so beautiful, what must its sentences be and its chapters? And +what must the whole book be like? But that last none can read +save He who wrote it before the worlds were made.</p> +<p>But now I see you want to ask a question. Let us have it out. +I would sooner answer one question of yours than tell you ten things +without your asking.</p> +<p>Is there potash and magnesia and silicates in the soil here? +And if there is, where did they come from? For there are no volcanos +in England.</p> +<p>Yes. There are such things in the soil; and little enough of +them, as the farmers here know too well. For we here, in Windsor +Forest, are on the very poorest and almost the newest soil in England; +and when Madam How had used up all her good materials in making the +rest of the island, she carted away her dry rubbish and shot it down +here for us to make the best of; and I do not think that we and our +forefathers have done so very ill with it. But where the rich +part, or staple, of our soils came from first it would be very difficult +to say, so often has Madam How made, and unmade, and re-made England, +and sifted her materials afresh every time. But if you go to the +Lowlands of Scotland, you may soon see where the staple of the soil +came from there, and that I was right in saying that there were atoms +of lava in every Scotch boy’s broth. Not that there were +ever (as far as I know) volcanos in Scotland or in England. Madam +How has more than one string to her bow, or two strings either; so when +she pours out her lavas, she does not always pour them out in the open +air. Sometimes she pours them out at the bottom of the sea, as +she did in the north of Ireland and the south-west of Scotland, when +she made the Giant’s Causeway, and Fingal’s Cave in Staffa +too, at the bottom of the old chalk ocean, ages and ages since. +Sometimes she squirts them out between the layers of rock, or into cracks +which the earthquakes have made, in what are called trap dykes, of which +there are plenty to be seen in Scotland, and in Wales likewise. +And then she lifts the earth up from the bottom of the sea, and sets +the rain to wash away all the soft rocks, till the hard lava stands +out in great hills upon the surface of the ground. Then the rain +begins eating away those lava-hills likewise, and manuring the earth +with them; and wherever those lava-hills stand up, whether great or +small, there is pretty sure to be rich land around them. If you +look at the Geological Map of England and Ireland, and the red spots +upon it, which will show you where those old lavas are, you will see +how much of them there is in England, at the Lizard Point in Cornwall, +and how much more in Scotland and the north of Ireland. In South +Devon, in Shropshire—with its beautiful Wrekin, and Caradoc, and +Lawley—in Wales, round Snowdon (where some of the soil is very +rich), and, above all, in the Lowlands of Scotland, you see these red +marks, showing the old lavas, which are always fertile, except the poor +old granite, which is of little use save to cut into building stone, +because it is too full of quartz—that is, flint.</p> +<p>Think of this the next time you go through Scotland in the railway, +especially when you get near Edinburgh. As you run through the +Lothians, with their noble crops of corn, and roots, and grasses—and +their great homesteads, each with its engine chimney, which makes steam +do the work of men—you will see rising out of the plain, hills +of dark rock, sometimes in single knobs, like Berwick Law or Stirling +Crag—sometimes in noble ranges, like Arthur’s Seat, or the +Sidlaws, or the Ochils. Think what these black bare lumps of whinstone +are, and what they do. Remember they are mines—not gold +mines, but something richer still—food mines, which Madam How +thrust into the inside of the earth, ages and ages since, as molten +lava rock, and then cooled them and lifted them up, and pared them away +with her ice-plough and her rain-spade, and spread the stuff of them +over the wide carses round, to make in that bleak northern climate, +which once carried nothing but fir-trees and heather, a soil fit to +feed a great people; to cultivate in them industry, and science, and +valiant self-dependence and self-help; and to gather round the Heart +of Midlothian and the Castle Rock of Edinburgh the stoutest and the +ablest little nation which Lady Why has made since she made the Greeks +who fought at Salamis.</p> +<p>Of those Greeks you have read, or ought to read, in Mr. Cox’s +<i>Tales of the Persian War</i>. Some day you will read of them +in their own books, written in their grand old tongue. Remember +that Lady Why made them, as she has made the Scotch, by first preparing +a country for them, which would call out all their courage and their +skill; and then by giving them the courage and the skill to make use +of the land where she had put them.</p> +<p>And now think what a wonderful fairy tale you might write for yourself—and +every word of it true—of the adventures of one atom of Potash +or some other Salt, no bigger than a needle’s point, in such a +lava stream as I have been telling of. How it has run round and +round, and will run round age after age, in an endless chain of change. +How it began by being molten fire underground, how then it became part +of a hard cold rock, lifted up into a cliff, beaten upon by rain and +storm, and washed down into the soil of the plain, till, perhaps, the +little atom of mineral met with the rootlet of some great tree, and +was taken up into its sap in spring, through tiny veins, and hardened +the next year into a piece of solid wood. And then how that tree +was cut down, and its logs, it may be, burnt upon the hearth, till the +little atom of mineral lay among the wood-ashes, and was shovelled out +and thrown upon the field and washed into the soil again, and taken +up by the roots of a clover plant, and became an atom of vegetable matter +once more. And then how, perhaps, a rabbit came by, and ate the +clover, and the grain of mineral became part of the rabbit; and then +how a hawk killed that rabbit, and ate it, and so the grain became part +of the hawk; and how the farmer shot the hawk, and it fell perchance +into a stream, and was carried down into the sea; and when its body +decayed, the little grain sank through the water, and was mingled with +the mud at the bottom of the sea. But do its wanderings stop there? +Not so, my child. Nothing upon this earth, as I told you once +before, continues in one stay. That grain of mineral might stay +at the bottom of the sea a thousand or ten thousand years, and yet the +time would come when Madam How would set to work on it again. +Slowly, perhaps, she would sink that mud so deep, and cover it up with +so many fresh beds of mud, or sand, or lime, that under the heavy weight, +and perhaps, too, under the heat of the inside of the earth, that Mud +would slowly change to hard Slate Rock; and ages after, it may be, Madam +How might melt that Slate Rock once more, and blast it out; and then +through the mouth of a volcano the little grain of mineral might rise +into the open air again to make fresh soil, as it had done thousands +of years before. For Madam How can manufacture many different +things out of the same materials. She may have so wrought with +that grain of mineral, that she may have formed it into part of a precious +stone, and men may dig it out of the rock, or pick it up in the river-bed, +and polish it, and set it, and wear it. Think of that—that +in the jewels which your mother or your sisters wear, or in your father’s +signet ring, there may be atoms which were part of a live plant, or +a live animal, millions of years ago, and may be parts of a live plant +or a live animal millions of years hence.</p> +<p>Think over again, and learn by heart, the links of this endless chain +of change: Fire turned into Stone—Stone into Soil—Soil into +Plant—Plant into Animal—Animal into Soil—Soil into +Stone—Stone into Fire again—and then Fire into Stone again, +and the old thing run round once more.</p> +<p>So it is, and so it must be. For all things which are born +in Time must change in Time, and die in Time, till that Last Day of +this our little earth, in which,</p> +<blockquote><p>“Like to the baseless fabric of a vision,<br /> +The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces,<br /> +The solemn temples, the great globe itself,<br /> +Yea, all things which inherit, shall dissolve,<br /> +And, like an unsubstantial pageant faded,<br /> +Leave not a rack behind.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>So all things change and die, and so your body too must change and +die—but not yourself. Madam How made your body; and she +must unmake it again, as she unmakes all her works in Time and Space; +but you, child, your Soul, and Life, and Self, she did not make; and +over you she has no power. For you were not, like your body, created +in Time and Space; and you will endure though Time and Space should +be no more: because you are the child of the Living God, who gives to +each thing its own body, and can give you another body, even as seems +good to Him.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER V—THE ICE-PLOUGH</h2> +<p>You want to know why I am so fond of that little bit of limestone, +no bigger than my hand, which lies upon the shelf; why I ponder over +it so often, and show it to all sensible people who come to see me?</p> +<p>I do so, not only for the sake of the person who gave it to me, but +because there is written on it a letter out of Madam How’s alphabet, +which has taken wise men many a year to decipher. I could not +decipher that letter when first I saw the stone. More shame for +me, for I had seen it often before, and understood it well enough, in +many another page of Madam How’s great book. Take the stone, +and see if you can find out anything strange about it.</p> +<p>Well, it is only a bit of marble as big as my hand, that looks as +if it had been, and really has been, broken off by a hammer. But +when you look again, you see there is a smooth scraped part on one edge, +that seems to have been rubbed against a stone.</p> +<p>Now look at that rubbed part, and tell me how it was done.</p> +<p>You have seen men often polish one stone on another, or scour floors +with a Bath brick, and you will guess at first that this was polished +so: but if it had been, then the rubbed place would have been flat: +but if you put your fingers over it, you will find that it is not flat. +It is rolled, fluted, channelled, so that the thing or things which +rubbed it must have been somewhat round. And it is covered, too, +with very fine and smooth scratches or grooves, all running over the +whole in the same line. Now what could have done that?</p> +<p>Of course a man could have done it, if he had taken a large round +stone in his hand, and worked the large channellings with that, and +then had taken fine sand and gravel upon the points of his fingers, +and worked the small scratches with that. But this stone came +from a place where man had, perhaps, never stood before,—ay, which, +perhaps, had never seen the light of day before since the world was +made; and as I happen to know that no man made the marks upon that stone, +we must set to work and think again for some tool of Madam How’s +which may have made them.</p> +<p>And now I think you must give up guessing, and I must tell you the +answer to the riddle. Those marks were made by a hand which is +strong and yet gentle, tough and yet yielding, like the hand of a man; +a hand which handles and uses in a grip stronger than a giant’s +its own carving tools, from the great boulder stone as large as this +whole room to the finest grain of sand. And that is ICE.</p> +<p>That piece of stone came from the side of the Rosenlaüi glacier +in Switzerland, and it was polished by the glacier ice. The glacier +melted and shrank this last hot summer farther back than it had done +for many years, and left bare sheets of rock, which it had been scraping +at for ages, with all the marks fresh upon them. And that bit +was broken off and brought to me, who never saw a glacier myself, to +show me how the marks which the ice makes in Switzerland are exactly +the same as those which the ice has made in Snowdon and in the Highlands, +and many another place where I have traced them, and written a little, +too, about them in years gone by. And so I treasure this, as a +sign that Madam How’s ways do not change nor her laws become broken; +that, as that great philosopher Sir Charles Lyell will tell you, when +you read his books, Madam How is making and unmaking the surface of +the earth now, by exactly the same means as she was making and unmaking +ages and ages since; and that what is going on slowly and surely in +the Alps in Switzerland was going on once here where we stand.</p> +<p>It is very difficult, I know, for a little boy like you to understand +how ice, and much more how soft snow, should have such strength that +it can grind this little stone, much more such strength as to grind +whole mountains into plains. You have never seen ice and snow +do harm. You cannot even recollect the Crimean Winter, as it was +called then; and well for you you cannot, considering all the misery +it brought at home and abroad. You cannot, I say, recollect the +Crimean Winter, when the Thames was frozen over above the bridges, and +the ice piled in little bergs ten to fifteen feet high, which lay, some +of them, stranded on the shores, about London itself, and did not melt, +if I recollect, until the end of May. You never stood, as I stood, +in the great winter of 1837-8 on Battersea Bridge, to see the ice break +up with the tide, and saw the great slabs and blocks leaping and piling +upon each other’s backs, and felt the bridge tremble with their +shocks, and listened to their horrible grind and roar, till one got +some little picture in one’s mind of what must be the breaking +up of an ice-floe in the Arctic regions, and what must be the danger +of a ship nipped in the ice and lifted up on high, like those in the +pictures of Arctic voyages which you are so fond of looking through. +You cannot recollect how that winter even in our little Blackwater Brook +the alder stems were all peeled white, and scarred, as if they had been +gnawed by hares and deer, simply by the rushing and scraping of the +ice,—a sight which gave me again a little picture of the destruction +which the ice makes of quays, and stages, and houses along the shore +upon the coasts of North America, when suddenly setting in with wind +and tide, it jams and piles up high inland, as you may read for yourself +some day in a delightful book called <i>Frost and Fire</i>. You +recollect none of these things. Ice and snow are to you mere playthings; +and you long for winter, that you may make snowballs and play hockey +and skate upon the ponds, and eat ice like a foolish boy till you make +your stomach ache. And I dare say you have said, like many another +boy, on a bright cheery ringing frosty day, “Oh, that it would +be always winter!” You little knew for what you asked. +You little thought what the earth would soon be like, if it were always +winter,—if one sheet of ice on the pond glued itself on to the +bottom of the last sheet, till the whole pond was a solid mass,—if +one snow-fall lay upon the top of another snow-fall till the moor was +covered many feet deep and the snow began sliding slowly down the glen +from Coombs’s, burying the green fields, tearing the trees up +by their roots, burying gradually house, church, and village, and making +this place for a few thousand years what it was many thousand years +ago. Good-bye then, after a very few winters, to bees, and butterflies, +and singing-birds, and flowers; and good-bye to all vegetables, and +fruit, and bread; good-bye to cotton and woollen clothes. You +would have, if you were left alive, to dress in skins, and eat fish +and seals, if any came near enough to be caught. You would have +to live in a word, if you could live at all, as Esquimaux live now in +Arctic regions, and as people had to live in England ages since, in +the times when it was always winter, and icebergs floated between here +and Finchampstead. Oh no, my child: thank Heaven that it is not +always winter; and remember that winter ice and snow, though it is a +very good tool with which to make the land, must leave the land year +by year if that land is to be fit to live in.</p> +<p>I said that if the snow piled high enough upon the moor, it would +come down the glen in a few years through Coombs’s Wood; and I +said then you would have a small glacier here—such a glacier (to +compare small things with great) as now comes down so many valleys in +the Alps, or has come down all the valleys of Greenland and Spitzbergen +till they reach the sea, and there end as cliffs of ice, from which +great icebergs snap off continually, and fall and float away, wandering +southward into the Atlantic for many a hundred miles. You have +seen drawings of such glaciers in Captain Cook’s Voyages; and +you may see photographs of Swiss glaciers in any good London print-shop; +and therefore you have seen almost as much about them as I have seen, +and may judge for yourself how you would like to live where it is always +winter.</p> +<p>Now you must not ask me to tell you what a glacier is like, for I +have never seen one; at least, those which I have seen were more than +fifty miles away, looking like white clouds hanging on the gray mountain +sides. And it would be an impertinence—that means a meddling +with things which I have no business—to picture to you glaciers +which have been pictured so well and often by gentlemen who escape every +year from their hard work in town to find among the glaciers of the +Alps health and refreshment, and sound knowledge, and that most wholesome +and strengthening of all medicines, toil.</p> +<p>So you must read of them in such books as <i>Peaks, Passes, and Glaciers</i>, +and Mr. Willes’s <i>Wanderings in the High Alps</i>, and Professor +Tyndall’s different works; or you must look at them (as I just +now said) in photographs or in pictures. But when you do that, +or when you see a glacier for yourself, you must bear in mind what a +glacier means—that it is a river of ice, fed by a lake of snow. +The lake from which it springs is the eternal snow-field which stretches +for miles and miles along the mountain tops, fed continually by fresh +snow-storms falling from the sky. That snow slides off into the +valleys hour by hour, and as it rushes down is ground and pounded, and +thawed and frozen again into a sticky paste of ice, which flows slowly +but surely till it reaches the warm valley at the mountain foot, and +there melts bit by bit. The long black lines which you see winding +along the white and green ice of the glacier are the stones which have +fallen from the cliffs above. They will be dropped at the end +of the glacier, and mixed with silt and sand and other stones which +have come down inside the glacier itself, and piled up in the field +in great mounds, which are called moraines, such as you may see and +walk on in Scotland many a time, though you might never guess what they +are.</p> +<p>The river which runs out at the glacier foot is, you must remember, +all foul and milky with the finest mud; and that mud is the grinding +of the rocks over which the glacier has been crawling down, and scraping +them as it scraped my bit of stone with pebbles and with sand. +And this is the alphabet, which, if you learn by heart, you will learn +to understand how Madam How uses her great ice-plough to plough down +her old mountains, and spread the stuff of them about the valleys to +make rich straths of fertile soil. Nay, so immensely strong, because +immensely heavy, is the share of this her great ice-plough, that some +will tell you (and it is not for me to say that they are wrong) that +with it she has ploughed out all the mountain lakes in Europe and in +North America; that such lakes, for instance, as Ullswater or Windermere +have been scooped clean out of the solid rock by ice which came down +these glaciers in old times. And be sure of this, that next to +Madam How’s steam-pump and her rain-spade, her great ice-plough +has had, and has still, the most to do with making the ground on which +we live.</p> +<p>Do I mean that there were ever glaciers here? No, I do not. +There have been glaciers in Scotland in plenty. And if any Scotch +boy shall read this book, it will tell him presently how to find the +marks of them far and wide over his native land. But as you, my +child, care most about this country in which you live, I will show you +in any gravel-pit, or hollow lane upon the moor, the marks, not of a +glacier, which is an ice-river, but of a whole sea of ice.</p> +<p>Let us come up to the pit upon the top of the hill, and look carefully +at what we see there. The lower part of the pit of course is a +solid rock of sand. On the top of that is a cap of gravel, five, +six, ten feet thick. Now the sand was laid down there by water +at the bottom of an old sea; and therefore the top of it would naturally +be flat and smooth, as the sands at Hunstanton or at Bournemouth are; +and the gravel, if it was laid down by water, would naturally lie flat +on it again: but it does not. See how the top of the sand is dug +out into deep waves and pits, filled up with gravel. And see, +too, how over some of the gravel you get sand again, and then gravel +again, and then sand again, till you cannot tell where one fairly begins +and the other ends. Why, here are little dots of gravel, six or +eight feet down, in what looks the solid sand rock, yet the sand must +have been opened somehow to put the gravel in.</p> +<p>You say you have seen that before. You have seen the same curious +twisting of the gravel and sand into each other on the top of Farley +Hill, and in the new cutting on Minley Hill; and, best of all, in the +railway cutting between Ascot and Sunningdale, where upon the top the +white sand and gravel is arranged in red and brown waves, and festoons, +and curlicues, almost like Prince of Wales’s feathers. Yes, +that last is a beautiful section of ice-work; so beautiful, that I hope +to have it photographed some day.</p> +<p>Now, how did ice do this?</p> +<p>Well, I was many a year before I found out that, and I dare say I +never should have found it out for myself. A gentleman named Trimmer, +who, alas! is now dead, was, I believe, the first to find it out. +He knew that along the coast of Labrador, and other cold parts of North +America, and on the shores, too, of the great river St. Lawrence, the +stranded icebergs, and the ice-foot, as it is called, which is continually +forming along the freezing shores, grub and plough every tide into the +mud and sand, and shove up before them, like a ploughshare, heaps of +dirt; and that, too, the ice itself is full of dirt, of sand and stones, +which it may have brought from hundreds of miles away; and that, as +this ploughshare of dirty ice grubs onward, the nose of the plough is +continually being broken off, and left underneath the mud; and that, +when summer comes, and the ice melts, the mud falls back into the place +where the ice had been, and covers up the gravel which was in the ice. +So, what between the grubbing of the ice-plough into the mud, and the +dirt which it leaves behind when it melts, the stones, and sand, and +mud upon the shore are jumbled up into curious curved and twisted layers, +exactly like those which Mr. Trimmer saw in certain gravel-pits. +And when I first read about that, I said, “And exactly like what +I have been seeing in every gravel-pit round here, and trying to guess +how they could have been made by currents of water, and yet never could +make any guess which would do.” But after that it was all +explained to me; and I said, “Honour to the man who has let Madam +How teach him what she had been trying to teach me for fifteen years, +while I was too stupid to learn it. Now I am certain, as certain +as I can be of any earthly thing, that the whole of these Windsor Forest +Flats were ages ago ploughed and harrowed over and over again, by ice-floes +and icebergs drifting and stranding in a shallow sea.”</p> +<p>And if you say, my dear child, as some people will say, that it is +like building a large house upon a single brick to be sure that there +was an iceberg sea here, just because I see a few curlicues in the gravel +and sand—then I must tell you that there are sometimes—not +often, but sometimes—pages in Madam How’s book in which +one single letter tells you as much as a whole chapter; in which if +you find one little fact, and know what it really means, it makes you +certain that a thousand other great facts have happened. You may +be astonished: but you cannot deny your own eyes, and your own common +sense. You feel like Robinson Crusoe when, walking along the shore +of his desert island, he saw for the first time the print of a man’s +foot in the sand. How it could have got there without a miracle +he could not dream. But there it was. One footprint was +as good as the footprints of a whole army would have been. A man +had been there; and more men might come. And in fear of the savages—and +if you have read Robinson Crusoe you know how just his fears were—he +went home trembling and loaded his muskets, and barricaded his cave, +and passed sleepless nights watching for the savages who might come, +and who came after all.</p> +<p>And so there are certain footprints in geology which there is no +mistaking; and the prints of the ice-plough are among them.</p> +<p>For instance:—When they were trenching the new plantation close +to Wellington College station, the men turned up out of the ground a +great many Sarsden stones; that is, pieces of hard sugary sand, such +as Stonehenge is made of. And when I saw these I said, “I +suspect these were brought here by icebergs:” but I was not sure, +and waited. As the men dug on, they dug up a great many large +flints, with bottle-green coats. “Now,” I said, “I +am sure. For I know where these flints must have come from.” +And for reasons which would be too long to tell you here, I said, “Some +time or other, icebergs have been floating northward from the Hog’s +Back over Aldershot and Farnborough, and have been trying to get into +the Vale of Thames by the slope at Wellington College station; and they +have stranded, and dropped these flints.” And I am so sure +of that, that if I found myself out wrong after all I should be at my +wit’s end; for I should know that I was wrong about a hundred +things besides.</p> +<p>Or again, if you ever go up Deeside in Scotland, towards Balmoral, +and turn up Glen Muick, towards Alt-na-guisach, of which you may see +a picture in the Queen’s last book, you will observe standing +on your right hand, just above Birk Hall, three pretty rounded knolls, +which they call the Coile Hills. You may easily know them by their +being covered with beautiful green grass instead of heather. That +is because they are made of serpentine or volcanic rock, which (as you +have seen) often cuts into beautiful red and green marble; and which +also carries a very rich soil because it is full of magnesia. +If you go up those hills, you get a glorious view—the mountains +sweeping round you where you stand, up to the top of Lochnagar, with +its bleak walls a thousand feet perpendicular, and gullies into which +the sun never shines, and round to the dark fir forests of the Ballochbuie. +That is the arc of the bow; and the cord of the bow is the silver Dee, +more than a thousand feet below you; and in the centre of the cord, +where the arrow would be fitted in, stands Balmoral, with its Castle, +and its Gardens, and its Park, and pleasant cottages and homesteads +all around. And when you have looked at the beautiful amphitheatre +of forest at your feet, and looked too at the great mountains to the +westward, and Benaun, and Benna-buird and Benna-muicdhui, with their +bright patches of eternal snow, I should advise you to look at the rock +on which you stand, and see what you see there. And you will see +that on the side of the Coiles towards Lochnagar, and between the knolls +of them, are scattered streams, as it were, of great round boulder stones—which +are not serpentine, but granite from the top of Lochnagar, five miles +away. And you will see that the knolls of serpentine rock, or +at least their backs and shoulders towards Lochnagar, are all smoothed +and polished till they are as round as the backs of sheep, “roches +moutonnées,” as the French call ice-polished rocks; and +then, if you understand what that means, you will say, as I said, “I +am perfectly certain that this great basin between me and Lochnagar, +which is now 3000 feet deep of empty air was once filled up with ice +to the height of the hills on which I stand—about 1700 feet high—and +that that ice ran over into Glen Muick, between these pretty knolls, +and covered the ground where Birk Hall now stands.”</p> +<p>And more:—When you see growing on those knolls of serpentine +a few pretty little Alpine plants, which have no business down there +so low, you will have a fair right to say, as I said, “The seeds +of these plants were brought by the ice ages and ages since from off +the mountain range of Lochnagar, and left here, nestling among the rocks, +to found a fresh colony, far from their old mountain home.”</p> +<p>If I could take you with me up to Scotland,—take you, for instance, +along the Tay, up the pass of Dunkeld, or up Strathmore towards Aberdeen, +or up the Dee towards Braemar,—I could show you signs, which cannot +be mistaken, of the time when Scotland was, just like Spitzbergen or +like Greenland now, covered in one vast sheet of snow and ice from year’s +end to year’s end; when glaciers were ploughing out its valleys, +icebergs were breaking off the icy cliffs and floating out to sea; when +not a bird, perhaps, was to be seen save sea-fowl, not a plant upon +the rocks but a few lichens, and Alpine saxifrages, and such like—desolation +and cold and lifeless everywhere. That ice-time went on for ages +and for ages; and yet it did not go on in vain. Through it Madam +How was ploughing down the mountains of Scotland to make all those rich +farms which stretch from the north side of the Frith of Forth into Sutherlandshire. +I could show you everywhere the green banks and knolls of earth, which +Scotch people call “kames” and “tomans”—perhaps +brought down by ancient glaciers, or dropped by ancient icebergs—now +so smooth and green through summer and through winter, among the wild +heath and the rough peat-moss, that the old Scots fancied, and I dare +say Scotch children fancy still, fairies dwelt inside. If you +laid your ear against the mounds, you might hear the fairy music, sweet +and faint, beneath the ground. If you watched the mound at night, +you might see the fairies dancing the turf short and smooth, or riding +out on fairy horses, with green silk clothes and jingling bells. +But if you fell asleep upon the mounds, the fairy queen came out and +carried you for seven years into Fairyland, till you awoke again in +the same place, to find all changed around you, and yourself grown thin +and old.</p> +<p>These are all dreams and fancies—untrue, not because they are +too strange and wonderful, but because they are not strange and wonderful +enough: for more wonderful sure than any fairy tale it is, that Madam +How should make a rich and pleasant land by the brute force of ice.</p> +<p>And were there any men and women in that old age of ice? That +is a long story, and a dark one too; we will talk of it next time.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VI—THE TRUE FAIRY TALE</h2> +<p>You asked if there were men in England when the country was covered +with ice and snow. Look at this, and judge for yourself.</p> +<p>What is it? a piece of old mortar? Yes. But mortar which +was made Madam How herself, and not by any man. And what is in +it? A piece of flint and some bits of bone. But look at +that piece of flint. It is narrow, thin, sharp-edged: quite different +in shape from any bit of flint which you or I ever saw among the hundreds +of thousands of broken bits of gravel which we tread on here all day +long; and here are some more bits like it, which came from the same +place—all very much the same shape, like rough knives or razor +blades; and here is a core of flint, the remaining part of a large flint, +from which, as you may see, blades like those have been split off. +Those flakes of flint, my child, were split off by men; even your young +eyes ought to be able to see that. And here are other pieces of +flint—pear-shaped, but flattened, sharp at one end and left rounded +at the other, which look like spear-heads, or arrow-heads, or pointed +axes, or pointed hatchets—even your young eyes can see that these +must have been made by man. And they are, I may tell you, just +like the tools of flint, or of obsidian, which is volcanic glass, and +which savages use still where they have not iron. There is a great +obsidian knife, you know, in a house in this very parish, which came +from Mexico; and your eye can tell you how like it is to these flint +ones. But these flint tools are very old. If you crack a +fresh flint, you will see that its surface is gray, and somewhat rough, +so that it sticks to your tongue. These tools are smooth and shiny: +and the edges of some of them are a little rubbed from being washed +about in gravel; while the iron in the gravel has stained them reddish, +which it would take hundreds and perhaps thousands of years to do. +There are little rough markings, too, upon some of them, which, if you +look at through a magnifying glass, are iron, crystallised into the +shape of little sea-weeds and trees—another sign that they are +very very old. And what is more, near the place where these flint +flakes come from there are no flints in the ground for hundreds of miles; +so that men must have brought them there ages and ages since. +And to tell you plainly, these are scrapers such as the Esquimaux in +North America still use to scrape the flesh off bones, and to clean +the insides of skins.</p> +<p>But did these people (savages perhaps) live when the country was +icy cold? Look at the bits of bone. They have been split, +you see, lengthways; that, I suppose, was to suck the marrow out of +them, as savages do still. But to what animal do the bones belong? +That is the question, and one which I could not have answered you, if +wiser men than I am could not have told me.</p> +<p>They are the bones of reindeer—such reindeer as are now found +only in Lapland and the half-frozen parts of North America, close to +the Arctic circle, where they have six months day and six months night. +You have read of Laplanders, and how they drive reindeer in their sledges, +and live upon reindeer milk; and you have read of Esquimaux, who hunt +seals and walrus, and live in houses of ice, lighted by lamps fed with +the same blubber on which they feed themselves. I need not tell +you about them.</p> +<p>Now comes the question—Whence did these flints and bones come? +They came out of a cave in Dordogne, in the heart of sunny France,—far +away to the south, where it is hotter every summer than it was here +even this summer, from among woods of box and evergreen oak, and vineyards +of rich red wine. In that warm land once lived savages, who hunted +amid ice and snow the reindeer, and with the reindeer animals stranger +still.</p> +<p>And now I will tell you a fairy tale: to make you understand it at +all I must put it in the shape of a tale. I call it a fairy tale, +because it is so strange; indeed I think I ought to call it the fairy +tale of all fairy tales, for by the time we get to the end of it I think +it will explain to you how our forefathers got to believe in fairies, +and trolls, and elves, and scratlings, and all strange little people +who were said to haunt the mountains and the caves.</p> +<p>Well, once upon a time, so long ago that no man can tell when, the +land was so much higher, that between England and Ireland, and, what +is more, between England and Norway, was firm dry land. The country +then must have looked—at least we know it looked so in Norfolk—very +like what our moors look like here. There were forests of Scotch +fir, and of spruce too, which is not wild in England now, though you +may see plenty in every plantation. There were oaks and alders, +yews and sloes, just as there are in our woods now. There was +buck-bean in the bogs, as there is in Larmer’s and Heath pond; +and white and yellow water-lilies, horn-wort, and pond-weeds, just as +there are now in our ponds. There were wild horses, wild deer, +and wild oxen, those last of an enormous size. There were little +yellow roe-deer, which will not surprise you, for there are hundreds +and thousands in Scotland to this day; and, as you know, they will thrive +well enough in our woods now. There were beavers too: but that +must not surprise you, for there were beavers in South Wales long after +the Norman Conquest, and there are beavers still in the mountain glens +of the south-east of France. There were honest little water-rats +too, who I dare say sat up on their hind legs like monkeys, nibbling +the water-lily pods, thousands of years ago, as they do in our ponds +now. Well, so far we have come to nothing strange: but now begins +the fairy tale. Mixed with all these animals, there wandered about +great herds of elephants and rhinoceroses; not smooth-skinned, mind, +but covered with hair and wool, like those which are still found sticking +out of the everlasting ice cliffs, at the mouth of the Lena and other +Siberian rivers, with the flesh, and skin, and hair so fresh upon them, +that the wild wolves tear it off, and snarl and growl over the carcase +of monsters who were frozen up thousands of years ago. And with +them, stranger still, were great hippopotamuses; who came, perhaps, +northward in summer time along the sea-shore and down the rivers, having +spread hither all the way from Africa; for in those days, you must understand, +Sicily, and Italy, and Malta—look at your map—were joined +to the coast of Africa: and so it may be was the rock of Gibraltar itself; +and over the sea where the Straits of Gibraltar now flow was firm dry +land, over which hyænas and leopards, elephants and rhinoceroses +ranged into Spain; for their bones are found at this day in the Gibraltar +caves. And this is the first chapter of my fairy tale.</p> +<p>Now while all this was going on, and perhaps before this began, the +climate was getting colder year by year—we do not know how; and, +what is more, the land was sinking; and it sank so deep that at last +nothing was left out of the water but the tops of the mountains in Ireland, +and Scotland, and Wales. It sank so deep that it left beds of +shells belonging to the Arctic regions nearly two thousand feet high +upon the mountain side. And so</p> +<blockquote><p> “It grew wondrous cold,<br /> +And ice mast-high came floating by,<br /> + As green as emerald.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But there were no masts then to measure the icebergs by, nor any +ship nor human being there. All we know is that the icebergs brought +with them vast quantities of mud, which sank to the bottom, and covered +up that pleasant old forest-land in what is called boulder-clay; clay +full of bits of broken rock, and of blocks of stone so enormous, that +nothing but an iceberg could have carried them. So all the animals +were drowned or driven away, and nothing was left alive perhaps, except +a few little hardy plants which clung about cracks and gullies in the +mountain tops; and whose descendants live there still. That was +a dreadful time; the worst, perhaps, of all the age of Ice; and so ends +the second chapter of my fairy tale.</p> +<p>Now for my third chapter. “When things come to the worst,” +says the proverb, “they commonly mend;” and so did this +poor frozen and drowned land of England and France and Germany, though +it mended very slowly. The land began to rise out of the sea once +more, and rose till it was perhaps as high as it had been at first, +and hundreds of feet higher than it is now: but still it was very cold, +covered, in Scotland at least, with one great sea of ice and glaciers +descending down into the sea, as I said when I spoke to you about the +Ice-Plough. But as the land rose, and grew warmer too, while it +rose, the wild beasts who had been driven out by the great drowning +came gradually back again. As the bottom of the old icy sea turned +into dry land, and got covered with grasses, and weeds, and shrubs once +more, elephants, rhinoceroses, hippopotamuses, oxen—sometimes +the same species, sometimes slightly different ones—returned to +France, and then to England (for there was no British Channel then to +stop them); and with them came other strange animals, especially the +great Irish elk, as he is called, as large as the largest horse, with +horns sometimes ten feet across. A pair of those horns with the +skull you have seen yourself, and can judge what a noble animal he must +have been. Enormous bears came too, and hyænas, and a tiger +or lion (I cannot say which), as large as the largest Bengal tiger now +to be seen in India.</p> +<p>And in those days—we cannot, of course, exactly say when—there +came—first I suppose into the south and east of France, and then +gradually onward into England and Scotland and Ireland—creatures +without any hair to keep them warm, or scales to defend them, without +horns or tusks to fight with, or teeth to worry and bite; the weakest +you would have thought of the beasts, and yet stronger than all the +animals, because they were Men, with reasonable souls. Whence +they came we cannot tell, nor why; perhaps from mere hunting after food, +and love of wandering and being independent and alone. Perhaps +they came into that icy land for fear of stronger and cleverer people +than themselves; for we have no proof, my child, none at all, that they +were the first men that trod this earth. But be that as it may, +they came; and so cunning were these savage men, and so brave likewise, +though they had no iron among them, only flint and sharpened bones, +yet they contrived to kill and eat the mammoths, and the giant oxen, +and the wild horses, and the reindeer, and to hold their own against +the hyænas, and tigers, and bears, simply because they had wits, +and the dumb animals had none. And that is the strangest part +to me of all my fairy tale. For what a man’s wits are, and +why he has them, and therefore is able to invent and to improve, while +even the cleverest ape has none, and therefore can invent and improve +nothing, and therefore cannot better himself, but must remain from father +to son, and father to son again, a stupid, pitiful, ridiculous ape, +while men can go on civilising themselves, and growing richer and more +comfortable, wiser and happier, year by year—how that comes to +pass, I say, is to me a wonder and a prodigy and a miracle, stranger +than all the most fantastic marvels you ever read in fairy tales.</p> +<p>You may find the flint weapons which these old savages used buried +in many a gravel-pit up and down France and the south of England; but +you will find none here, for the gravel here was made (I am told) at +the beginning of the ice-time, before the north of England sunk into +the sea, and therefore long, long before men came into this land. +But most of their remains are found in caves which water has eaten out +of the limestone rocks, like that famous cave of Kent’s Hole at +Torquay. In it, and in many another cave, lie the bones of animals +which the savages ate, and cracked to get the marrow out of them, mixed +up with their flint-weapons and bone harpoons, and sometimes with burnt +ashes and with round stones, used perhaps to heat water, as savages +do now, all baked together into a hard paste or breccia by the lime. +These are in the water, and are often covered with a floor of stalagmite +which has dripped from the roof above and hardened into stone. +Of these caves and their beautiful wonders I must tell you another day. +We must keep now to our fairy tale. But in these caves, no doubt, +the savages lived; for not only have weapons been found in them, but +actually drawings scratched (I suppose with flint) on bone or mammoth +ivory—drawings of elk, and bull, and horse, and ibex—and +one, which was found in France, of the great mammoth himself, the woolly +elephant, with a mane on his shoulders like a lion’s mane. +So you see that one of the earliest fancies of this strange creature, +called man, was to draw, as you and your schoolfellows love to draw, +and copy what you see, you know not why. Remember that. +You like to draw; but why you like it neither you nor any man can tell. +It is one of the mysteries of human nature; and that poor savage clothed +in skins, dirty it may be, and more ignorant than you (happily) can +conceive, when he sat scratching on ivory in the cave the figures of +the animals he hunted, was proving thereby that he had the same wonderful +and mysterious human nature as you—that he was the kinsman of +every painter and sculptor who ever felt it a delight and duty to copy +the beautiful works of God.</p> +<p>Sometimes, again, especially in Denmark, these savages have left +behind upon the shore mounds of dirt, which are called there “kjökken-möddings”—“kitchen-middens” +as they would say in Scotland, “kitchen-dirtheaps” as we +should say here down South—and a very good name for them that +is; for they are made up of the shells of oysters, cockles, mussels, +and periwinkles, and other shore-shells besides, on which those poor +creatures fed; and mingled with them are broken bones of beasts, and +fishes, and birds, and flint knives, and axes, and sling stones; and +here and there hearths, on which they have cooked their meals in some +rough way. And that is nearly all we know about them; but this +we know from the size of certain of the shells, and from other reasons +which you would not understand, that these mounds were made an enormous +time ago, when the water of the Baltic Sea was far more salt than it +is now.</p> +<p>But what has all this to do with my fairy tale? This:—</p> +<p>Suppose that these people, after all, had been fairies?</p> +<p>I am in earnest. Of course, I do not mean that these folk could +make themselves invisible, or that they had any supernatural powers—any +more, at least, than you and I have—or that they were anything +but savages; but this I do think, that out of old stories of these savages +grew up the stories of fairies, elves, and trolls, and scratlings, and +cluricaunes, and ogres, of which you have read so many.</p> +<p>When stronger and bolder people, like the Irish, and the Highlanders +of Scotland, and the Gauls of France, came northward with their bronze +and iron weapons; and still more, when our own forefathers, the Germans +and the Norsemen, came, these poor little savages with their flint arrows +and axes, were no match for them, and had to run away northward, or +to be all killed out; for people were fierce and cruel in those old +times, and looked on every one of a different race from themselves as +a natural enemy. They had not learnt—alas! too many have +not learned it yet—that all men are brothers for the sake of Jesus +Christ our Lord. So these poor savages were driven out, till none +were left, save the little Lapps up in the north of Norway, where they +live to this day.</p> +<p>But stories of them, and of how they dwelt in caves, and had strange +customs, and used poisoned weapons, and how the elf-bolts (as their +flint arrow-heads are still called) belonged to them, lingered on, and +were told round the fire on winter nights and added to, and played with +half in fun, till a hundred legends sprang up about them, which used +once to be believed by grown-up folk, but which now only amuse children. +And because some of these savages were very short, as the Lapps and +Esquimaux are now, the story grew of their being so small that they +could make themselves invisible; and because others of them were (but +probably only a few) very tall and terrible, the story grew that there +were giants in that old world, like that famous Gogmagog, whom Brutus +and his Britons met (so old fables tell), when they landed first at +Plymouth, and fought him, and threw him over the cliff. Ogres, +too—of whom you read in fairy tales—I am afraid that there +were such people once, even here in Europe; strong and terrible savages, +who ate human beings. Of course, the legends and tales about them +became ridiculous and exaggerated as they passed from mouth to mouth +over the Christmas fire, in the days when no one could read or write. +But that the tales began by being true any one may well believe who +knows how many cannibal savages there are in the world even now. +I think that, if ever there was an ogre in the world, he must have been +very like a certain person who lived, or was buried, in a cave in the +Neanderthal, between Elberfeld and Dusseldorf, on the Lower Rhine. +The skull and bones which were found there (and which are very famous +now among scientific men) belonged to a personage whom I should have +been very sorry to meet, and still more to let you meet, in the wild +forest; to a savage of enormous strength of limb (and I suppose of jaw) +likewise</p> +<blockquote><p>“like an ape,<br /> +With forehead villainous low,”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>who could have eaten you if he would; and (I fear) also would have +eaten you if he could. Such savages may have lingered (I believe, +from the old ballads and romances, that they did linger) for a long +time in lonely forests and mountain caves, till they were all killed +out by warriors who wore mail-armour and carried steel sword, and battle-axe, +and lance.</p> +<p>But had these people any religion?</p> +<p>My dear child, we cannot know, and need not know. But we know +this—that God beholds all the heathen. He fashions the hearts +of them, and understandeth all their works. And we know also that +He is just and good. These poor folks were, I doubt not, happy +enough in their way; and we are bound to believe (for we have no proof +against it), that most of them were honest and harmless enough likewise. +Of course, ogres and cannibals, and cruel and brutal persons (if there +were any among them), deserved punishment—and punishment, I do +not doubt, they got. But, of course, again, none of them knew +things which you know; but for that very reason they were not bound +to do many things which you are bound to do. For those to whom +little is given, of them shall little be required. What their +religion was like, or whether they had any religion at all, we cannot +tell. But this we can tell, that known unto God are all His works +from the creation of the world; and that His mercy is over all His works, +and He hateth nothing that He has made. These men and women, whatever +they were, were God’s work; and therefore we may comfort ourselves +with the certainty that, whether or not they knew God, God knew them.</p> +<p>And so ends my fairy tale.</p> +<p>But is it not a wonderful tale? More wonderful, if you will +think over it, than any story invented by man. But so it always +is. “Truth,” wise men tell us, “is stranger +than fiction.” Even a child like you will see that it must +be so, if you will but recollect who makes fiction, and who makes facts.</p> +<p>Man makes fiction: he invents stories, pretty enough, fantastical +enough. But out of what does he make them up? Out of a few +things in this great world which he has seen, and heard, and felt, just +as he makes up his dreams. But who makes truth? Who makes +facts? Who, but God?</p> +<p>Then truth is as much larger than fiction, as God is greater than +man; as much larger as the whole universe is larger than the little +corner of it that any man, even the greatest poet or philosopher, can +see; and as much grander, and as much more beautiful, and as much more +strange. For one is the whole, and the other is one, a few tiny +scraps of the whole. The one is the work of God; the other is +the work of man. Be sure that no man can ever fancy anything strange, +unexpected, and curious, without finding if he had eyes to see, a hundred +things around his feet more strange, more unexpected, more curious, +actually ready-made already by God. You are fond of fairy tales, +because they are fanciful, and like your dreams. My dear child, +as your eyes open to the true fairy tale which Madam How can tell you +all day long, nursery stories will seem to you poor and dull. +All those feelings in you which your nursery tales call out,—imagination, +wonder, awe, pity, and I trust too, hope and love—will be called +out, I believe, by the Tale of all Tales, the true “Märchen +allen Märchen,” so much more fully and strongly and purely, +that you will feel that novels and story-books are scarcely worth your +reading, as long as you can read the great green book, of which every +bud is a letter, and every tree a page.</p> +<p>Wonder if you will. You cannot wonder too much. That +you might wonder all your life long, God put you into this wondrous +world, and gave you that faculty of wonder which he has not given to +the brutes; which is at once the mother of sound science, and a pledge +of immortality in a world more wondrous even than this. But wonder +at the right thing, not at the wrong; at the real miracles and prodigies, +not at the sham. Wonder not at the world of man. Waste not +your admiration, interest, hope on it, its pretty toys, gay fashions, +fine clothes, tawdry luxuries, silly amusements. Wonder at the +works of God. You will not, perhaps, take my advice yet. +The world of man looks so pretty, that you will needs have your peep +at it, and stare into its shop windows; and if you can, go to a few +of its stage plays, and dance at a few of its balls. Ah—well—After +a wild dream comes an uneasy wakening; and after too many sweet things, +comes a sick headache. And one morning you will awake, I trust +and pray, from the world of man to the world of God, and wonder where +wonder is due, and worship where worship is due. You will awake +like a child who has been at a pantomime over night, staring at the +“fairy halls,” which are all paint and canvas; and the “dazzling +splendours,” which are gas and oil; and the “magic transformations,” +which are done with ropes and pulleys; and the “brilliant elves,” +who are poor little children out of the next foul alley; and the harlequin +and clown, who through all their fun are thinking wearily over the old +debts which they must pay, and the hungry mouths at home which they +must feed: and so, having thought it all wondrously glorious, and quite +a fairy land, slips tired and stupid into bed, and wakes next morning +to see the pure light shining in through the delicate frost-lace on +the window-pane, and looks out over fields of virgin snow, and watches +the rosy dawn and cloudless blue, and the great sun rising to the music +of cawing rooks and piping stares, and says, “This is the true +wonder. This is the true glory. The theatre last night was +the fairy land of man; but this is the fairy land of God.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII—THE CHALK-CARTS</h2> +<p>What do you want to know about next? More about the caves in +which the old savages lived,—how they were made, and how the curious +things inside them got there, and so forth.</p> +<p>Well, we will talk about that in good time: but now—What is +that coming down the hill?</p> +<p>Oh, only some chalk-carts.</p> +<p>Only some chalk-carts? It seems to me that these chalk-carts +are the very things we want; that if we follow them far enough—I +do not mean with our feet along the public road, but with our thoughts +along a road which, I am sorry to say, the public do not yet know much +about—we shall come to a cave, and understand how a cave is made. +Meanwhile, do not be in a hurry to say, “Only a chalk-cart,” +or only a mouse, or only a dead leaf. Chalk-carts, like mice, +and dead leaves, and most other matters in the universe are very curious +and odd things in the eyes of wise and reasonable people. Whenever +I hear young men saying “only” this and “only” +that, I begin to suspect them of belonging, not to the noble army of +sages—much less to the most noble army of martyrs,—but to +the ignoble army of noodles, who think nothing interesting or important +but dinners, and balls, and races, and back-biting their neighbours; +and I should be sorry to see you enlisting in that regiment when you +grow up. But think—are not chalk-carts very odd and curious +things? I think they are. To my mind, it is a curious question +how men ever thought of inventing wheels; and, again, when they first +thought of it. It is a curious question, too, how men ever found +out that they could make horses work for them, and so began to tame +them, instead of eating them, and a curious question (which I think +we shall never get answered) when the first horse-tamer lived, and in +what country. And a very curious, and, to me, a beautiful sight +it is, to see those two noble horses obeying that little boy, whom they +could kill with a single kick.</p> +<p>But, beside all this, there is a question, which ought to be a curious +one to you (for I suspect you cannot answer it)—Why does the farmer +take the trouble to send his cart and horses eight miles and more, to +draw in chalk from Odiham chalk-pit?</p> +<p>Oh, he is going to put it on the land, of course. They are +chalking the bit at the top of the next field, where the copse was grubbed.</p> +<p>But what good will he do by putting chalk on it? Chalk is not +rich and fertile, like manure, it is altogether poor, barren stuff: +you know that, or ought to know it. Recollect the chalk cuttings +and banks on the railway between Basingstoke and Winchester—how +utterly barren they are. Though they have been open these thirty +years, not a blade of grass, hardly a bit of moss, has grown on them, +or will grow, perhaps, for centuries.</p> +<p>Come, let us find out something about the chalk before we talk about +the caves. The chalk is here, and the caves are not; and “Learn +from the thing that lies nearest you” is as good a rule as “Do +the duty which lies nearest you.” Let us come into the grubbed +bit, and ask the farmer—there he is in his gig.</p> +<p>Well, old friend, and how are you? Here is a little boy who +wants to know why you are putting chalk on your field.</p> +<p>Does he then? If he ever tries to farm round here, he will +have to learn for his first rule—No chalk, no wheat.</p> +<p>But why?</p> +<p>Why, is more than I can tell, young squire. But if you want +to see how it comes about, look here at this freshly-grubbed land—how +sour it is. You can see that by the colour of it—some black, +some red, some green, some yellow, all full of sour iron, which will +let nothing grow. After the chalk has been on it a year or two, +those colours will have all gone out of it; and it will turn to a nice +wholesome brown, like the rest of the field; and then you will know +that the land is sweet, and fit for any crop. Now do you mind +what I tell you, and then I’ll tell you something more. +We put on the chalk because, beside sweetening the land, it will hold +water. You see, the land about here, though it is often very wet +from springs, is sandy and hungry; and when we drain the bottom water +out of it, the top water (that is, the rain) is apt to run through it +too fast: and then it dries and burns up; and we get no plant of wheat, +nor of turnips either. So we put on chalk to hold water, and keep +the ground moist.</p> +<p>But how can these lumps of chalk hold water? They are not made +like cups.</p> +<p>No: but they are made like sponges, which serves our turn better +still. Just take up that lump, young squire, and you’ll +see water enough in it, or rather looking out of it, and staring you +in the face.</p> +<p>Why! one side of the lump is all over thick ice.</p> +<p>So it is. All that water was inside the chalk last night, till +it froze. And then it came squeezing out of the holes in the chalk +in strings, as you may see it if you break the ice across. Now +you may judge for yourself how much water a load of chalk will hold, +even on a dry summer’s day. And now, if you’ll excuse +me, sir, I must be off to market.</p> +<p>Was it all true that the farmer said?</p> +<p>Quite true, I believe. He is not a scientific man—that +is, he does not know the chemical causes of all these things; but his +knowledge is sound and useful, because it comes from long experience. +He and his forefathers, perhaps for a thousand years and more, have +been farming this country, reading Madam How’s books with very +keen eyes, experimenting and watching, very carefully and rationally; +making mistakes often, and failing and losing their crops and their +money; but learning from their mistakes, till their empiric knowledge, +as it is called, helps them to grow sometimes quite as good crops as +if they had learned agricultural chemistry.</p> +<p>What he meant by the chalk sweetening the land you would not understand +yet, and I can hardly tell you; for chemists are not yet agreed how +it happens. But he was right; and right, too, what he told you +about the water inside the chalk, which is more important to us just +now; for, if we follow it out, we shall surely come to a cave at last.</p> +<p>So now for the water in the chalk. You can see now why the +chalk-downs at Winchester are always green, even in the hottest summer: +because Madam How has put under them her great chalk sponge. The +winter rains soak into it; and the summer heat draws that rain out of +it again as invisible steam, coming up from below, to keep the roots +of the turf cool and moist under the blazing sun.</p> +<p>You love that short turf well. You love to run and race over +the Downs with your butterfly-net and hunt “chalk-hill blues,” +and “marbled whites,” and “spotted burnets,” +till you are hot and tired; and then to sit down and look at the quiet +little old city below, with the long cathedral roof, and the tower of +St. Cross, and the gray old walls and buildings shrouded by noble trees, +all embosomed among the soft rounded lines of the chalk-hills; and then +you begin to feel very thirsty, and cry, “Oh, if there were but +springs and brooks in the Downs, as there are at home!” +But all the hollows are as dry as the hill tops. There is not +a brook, or the mark of a watercourse, in one of them. You are +like the Ancient Mariner in the poem, with</p> +<blockquote><p>“Water, water, every where,<br /> +Nor any drop to drink.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>To get that you must go down and down, hundreds of feet, to the green +meadows through which silver Itchen glides toward the sea. There +you stand upon the bridge, and watch the trout in water so crystal-clear +that you see every weed and pebble as if you looked through air. +If ever there was pure water, you think, that is pure. Is it so? +Drink some. Wash your hands in it and try—You feel that +the water is rough, hard (as they call it), quite different from the +water at home, which feels as soft as velvet. What makes it so +hard?</p> +<p>Because it is full of invisible chalk. In every gallon of that +water there are, perhaps, fifteen grains of solid chalk, which was once +inside the heart of the hills above. Day and night, year after +year, the chalk goes down to the sea; and if there were such creatures +as water-fairies—if it were true, as the old Greeks and Romans +thought, that rivers were living things, with a Nymph who dwelt in each +of them, and was its goddess or its queen—then, if your ears were +opened to hear her, the Nymph of Itchen might say to you—</p> +<p>So child, you think that I do nothing but, as your sister says when +she sings Mr. Tennyson’s beautiful song,</p> +<blockquote><p>“I chatter over stony ways,<br /> +In little sharps and trebles,<br /> +I bubble into eddying bays,<br /> +I babble on the pebbles.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Yes. I do that: and I love, as the Nymphs loved of old, men +who have eyes to see my beauty, and ears to discern my song, and to +fit their own song to it, and tell how</p> +<blockquote><p>“‘I wind about, and in and out,<br /> +With here a blossom sailing,<br /> +And here and there a lusty trout,<br /> +And here and there a grayling,</p> +<p>“‘And here and there a foamy flake<br /> +Upon me, as I travel<br /> +With many a silvery waterbreak<br /> +Above the golden gravel,</p> +<p>“‘And draw them all along, and flow<br /> +To join the brimming river,<br /> +For men may come and men may go,<br /> +But I go on for ever.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Yes. That is all true: but if that were all, I should not be +let to flow on for ever, in a world where Lady Why rules, and Madam +How obeys. I only exist (like everything else, from the sun in +heaven to the gnat which dances in his beam) on condition of working, +whether we wish it or not, whether we know it or not. I am not +an idle stream, only fit to chatter to those who bathe or fish in my +waters, or even to give poets beautiful fancies about me. You +little guess the work I do. For I am one of the daughters of Madam +How, and, like her, work night and day, we know not why, though Lady +Why must know. So day by day, and night by night, while you are +sleeping (for I never sleep), I carry, delicate and soft as I am, a +burden which giants could not bear: and yet I am never tired. +Every drop of rain which the south-west wind brings from the West Indian +seas gives me fresh life and strength to bear my burden; and it has +need to do so; for every drop of rain lays a fresh burden on me. +Every root and weed which grows in every field; every dead leaf which +falls in the highwoods of many a parish, from the Grange and Woodmancote +round to Farleigh and Preston, and so to Brighton and the Alresford +downs;—ay, every atom of manure which the farmers put on the land—foul +enough then, but pure enough before it touches me—each of these, +giving off a tiny atom of what men call carbonic acid, melts a tiny +grain of chalk, and helps to send it down through the solid hill by +one of the million pores and veins which at once feed and burden my +springs. Ages on ages I have worked on thus, carrying the chalk +into the sea. And ages on ages, it may be, I shall work on yet; +till I have done my work at last, and levelled the high downs into a +flat sea-shore, with beds of flint gravel rattling in the shallow waves.</p> +<p>She might tell you that; and when she had told you, you would surely +think of the clumsy chalk-cart rumbling down the hill, and then of the +graceful stream, bearing silently its invisible load of chalk; and see +how much more delicate and beautiful, as well as vast and wonderful, +Madam How’s work is than that of man.</p> +<p>But if you asked the nymph why she worked on for ever, she could +not tell you. For like the Nymphs of old, and the Hamadryads who +lived, in trees, and Undine, and the little Sea-maiden, she would have +no soul; no reason; no power to say why.</p> +<p>It is for you, who are a reasonable being, to guess why: or at least +listen to me if I guess for you, and say, perhaps—I can only say +perhaps—that chalk may be going to make layers of rich marl in +the sea between England and France; and those marl-beds may be upheaved +and grow into dry land, and be ploughed, and sowed, and reaped by a +wiser race of men, in a better-ordered world than this: or the chalk +may have even a nobler destiny before it. That may happen to it, +which has happened already to many a grain of lime. It may be +carried thousands of miles away to help in building up a coral reef +(what that is I must tell you afterwards). That coral reef may +harden into limestone beds. Those beds may be covered up, pressed, +and, it may be, heated, till they crystallise into white marble: and +out of it fairer statues be carved, and grander temples built, than +the world has ever yet seen.</p> +<p>And if that is not the reason why the chalk is being sent into the +sea, then there is another reason, and probably a far better one. +For, as I told you at first, Lady Why’s intentions are far wiser +and better than our fancies; and she—like Him whom she obeys—is +able to do exceeding abundantly, beyond all that we can ask or think.</p> +<p>But you will say now that we have followed the chalk-cart a long +way, without coming to the cave.</p> +<p>You are wrong. We have come to the very mouth of the cave. +All we have to do is to say—not “Open Sesame,” like +Ali Baba in the tale of the Forty Thieves—but some word or two +which Madam Why will teach us, and forthwith a hill will open, and we +shall walk in, and behold rivers and cascades underground, stalactite +pillars and stalagmite statues, and all the wonders of the grottoes +of Adelsberg, Antiparos, or Kentucky.</p> +<p>Am I joking? Yes, and yet no; for you know that when I joke +I am usually most in earnest. At least, I am now.</p> +<p>But there are no caves in chalk?</p> +<p>No, not that I ever heard of. There are, though, in limestone, +which is only a harder kind of chalk. Madam How could turn this +chalk into hard limestone, I believe, even now; and in more ways than +one: but in ways which would not be very comfortable or profitable for +us Southern folk who live on it. I am afraid that—what between +squeezing and heating—she would flatten us all out into phosphatic +fossils, about an inch thick; and turn Winchester city into a “breccia” +which would puzzle geologists a hundred thousand years hence. +So we will hope that she will leave our chalk downs for the Itchen to +wash gently away, while we talk about caves, and how Madam How scoops +them out by water underground, just in the same way, only more roughly, +as she melts the chalk.</p> +<p>Suppose, then, that these hills, instead of being soft, spongy chalk, +were all hard limestone marble, like that of which the font in the church +is made. Then the rainwater, instead of sinking through the chalk +as now, would run over the ground down-hill, and if it came to a crack +(a fault, as it is called) it would run down between the rock; and as +it ran it would eat that hole wider and wider year by year, and make +a swallow-hole—such as you may see in plenty if you ever go up +Whernside, or any of the high hills in Yorkshire—unfathomable +pits in the green turf, in which you may hear the water tinkling and +trickling far, far underground.</p> +<p>And now, before we go a step farther, you may understand, why the +bones of animals are so often found in limestone caves. Down such +swallow-holes how many beasts must fall: either in hurry and fright, +when hunted by lions and bears and such cruel beasts; or more often +still in time of snow, when the holes are covered with drift; or, again, +if they died on the open hill-sides, their bones might be washed in, +in floods, along with mud and stones, and buried with them in the cave +below; and beside that, lions and bears and hyænas might live +in the caves below, as we know they did in some caves, and drag in bones +through the caves’ mouths; or, again, savages might live in that +cave, and bring in animals to eat, like the wild beasts; and so those +bones might be mixed up, as we know they were, with things which the +savages had left behind—like flint tools or beads; and then the +whole would be hardened, by the dripping of the limestone water, into +a paste of breccia just like this in my drawer. But the bones +of the savages themselves you would seldom or never find mixed in it—unless +some one had fallen in by accident from above. And why? +(For there is a Why? to that question: and not merely a How?) +Simply because they were men; and because God has put into the hearts +of all men, even of the lowest savages, some sort of reverence for those +who are gone; and has taught them to bury, or in some other way take +care of, their bones.</p> +<p>But how is the swallow-hole sure to end in a cave?</p> +<p>Because it cannot help making a cave for itself if it has time.</p> +<p>Think: and you will see that it must be so. For that water +must run somewhere; and so it eats its way out between the beds of the +rock, making underground galleries, and at last caves and lofty halls. +For it always eats, remember, at the bottom of its channel, leaving +the roof alone. So it eats, and eats, more in some places and +less in others, according as the stone is harder or softer, and according +to the different direction of the rock-beds (what we call their dip +and strike); till at last it makes one of those wonderful caverns about +which you are so fond of reading—such a cave as there actually +is in the rocks of the mountain of Whernside, fed by the swallow-holes +around the mountain-top; a cave hundreds of yards long, with halls, +and lakes, and waterfalls, and curtains and festoons of stalactite which +have dripped from the roof, and pillars of stalagmite which have been +built up on the floor below. These stalactites (those tell me +who have seen them) are among the most beautiful of all Madam How’s +work; sometimes like branches of roses or of grapes; sometimes like +statues; sometimes like delicate curtains, and I know not what other +beautiful shapes. I have never seen them, I am sorry to say, and +therefore I cannot describe them. But they are all made in the +same way; just in the same way as those little straight stalactites +which you may have seen hanging, like icicles, in vaulted cellars, or +under the arches of a bridge. The water melts more lime than it +can carry, and drops some of it again, making fresh limestone grain +by grain as it drips from the roof above; and fresh limestone again +where it splashes on the floor below: till if it dripped long enough, +the stalactite hanging from above would meet the stalagmite rising from +below, and join in one straight round white graceful shaft, which would +seem (but only seem) to support the roof of the cave. And out +of that cave—though not always out of the mouth of it—will +run a stream of water, which seems to you clear as crystal, though it +is actually, like the Itchen at Winchester, full of lime; so full of +lime, that it makes beds of fresh limestone, which are called travertine—which +you may see in Italy, and Greece, and Asia Minor: or perhaps it petrifies, +as you call it, the weeds in its bed, like that dropping-well at Knaresborough, +of which you have often seen a picture. And the cause is this: +the water is so full of lime, that it is forced to throw away some of +it upon everything it touches, and so incrusts with stone—though +it does not turn to stone—almost anything you put in it. +You have seen, or ought to have seen, petrified moss and birds’ +nests and such things from Knaresborough Well: and now you know a little, +though only a very little, of how the pretty toys are made.</p> +<p>Now if you can imagine for yourself (though I suppose a little boy +cannot) the amount of lime which one of these subterranean rivers would +carry away, gnawing underground centuries after centuries, day and night, +summer and winter, then you will not be surprised at the enormous size +of caverns which may be seen in different parts of the world—but +always, I believe, in limestone rock. You would not be surprised +(though you would admire them) at the caverns of Adelsberg, in Carniola +(in the south of Austria, near the top of the Adriatic), which runs, +I believe, for miles in length; and in the lakes of which, in darkness +from its birth until its death, lives that strange beast, the Proteus +a sort of long newt which never comes to perfection—I suppose +for want of the genial sunlight which makes all things grow. But +he is blind; and more, he keeps all his life the same feathery gills +which newts have when they are babies, and which we have so often looked +at through the microscope, to see the blood-globules run round and round +inside. You would not wonder, either, at the Czirknitz Lake, near +the same place, which at certain times of the year vanishes suddenly +through chasms under water, sucking the fish down with it; and after +a certain time boils suddenly up again from the depths, bringing back +with it the fish, who have been swimming comfortably all the time in +a subterranean lake; and bringing back, too (and, extraordinary as this +story is, there is good reason to believe it true), live wild ducks +who went down small and unfledged, and come back full-grown and fat, +with water-weeds and small fish in their stomachs, showing they have +had plenty to feed on underground. But—and this is the strangest +part of the story, if true—they come up unfledged just as they +went down, and are moreover blind from having been so long in darkness. +After a while, however, folks say their eyes get right, their feathers +grow, and they fly away like other birds.</p> +<p>Neither would you be surprised (if you recollect that Madam How is +a very old lady indeed, and that some of her work is very old likewise) +at that Mammoth Cave in Kentucky, the largest cave in the known world, +through which you may walk nearly ten miles on end, and in which a hundred +miles of gallery have been explored already, and yet no end found to +the cave. In it (the guides will tell you) there are “226 +avenues, 47 domes, 8 cataracts, 23 pits, and several rivers;” +and if that fact is not very interesting to you (as it certainly is +not to me) I will tell you something which ought to interest you: that +this cave is so immensely old that various kinds of little animals, +who have settled themselves in the outer parts of it, have had time +to change their shape, and to become quite blind; so that blind fathers +and mothers have blind children, generation after generation.</p> +<p>There are blind rats there, with large shining eyes which cannot +see—blind landcrabs, who have the foot-stalks of their eyes (you +may see them in any crab) still left; but the eyes which should be on +the top of them are gone. There are blind fish, too, in the cave, +and blind insects; for, if they have no use for their eyes in the dark, +why should Madam How take the trouble to finish them off?</p> +<p>One more cave I must tell you of, to show you how old some caves +must be, and then I must stop; and that is the cave of Caripé, +in Venezuela, which is the most northerly part of South America. +There, in the face of a limestone cliff, crested with enormous flowering +trees, and festooned with those lovely creepers of which you have seen +a few small ones in hothouses, there opens an arch as big as the west +front of Winchester Cathedral, and runs straight in like a cathedral +nave for more than 1400 feet. Out of it runs a stream; and along +the banks of that stream, as far as the sunlight strikes in, grow wild +bananas, and palms, and lords and ladies (as you call them), which are +not, like ours, one foot, but many feet high. Beyond that the +cave goes on, with subterranean streams, cascades, and halls, no man +yet knows how far. A friend of mine last year went in farther, +I believe, than any one yet has gone; but, instead of taking Indian +torches made of bark and resin, or even torches made of Spanish wax, +such as a brave bishop of those parts used once when he went in farther +than any one before him, he took with him some of that beautiful magnesium +light which you have seen often here at home. And in one place, +when he lighted up the magnesium, he found himself in a hall full 300 +feet high—higher far, that is, than the dome of St. Paul’s—and +a very solemn thought it was to him, he said, that he had seen what +no other human being ever had seen; and that no ray of light had ever +struck on that stupendous roof in all the ages since the making of the +world. But if he found out something which he did not expect, +he was disappointed in something which he did expect. For the +Indians warned him of a hole in the floor which (they told him) was +an unfathomable abyss. And lo and behold, when he turned the magnesium +light upon it, the said abyss was just about eight feet deep. +But it is no wonder that the poor Indians with their little smoky torches +should make such mistakes; no wonder, too, that they should be afraid +to enter far into those gloomy vaults; that they should believe that +the souls of their ancestors live in that dark cave; and that they should +say that when they die they will go to the Guacharos, as they call the +birds that fly with doleful screams out of the cave to feed at night, +and in again at daylight, to roost and sleep.</p> +<p>Now, it is these very Guacharo birds which are to me the most wonderful +part of the story. The Indians kill and eat them for their fat, +although they believe they have to do with evil spirits. But scientific +men who have studied these birds will tell you that they are more wonderful +than if all the Indians’ fancies about them were true. They +are great birds, more than three feet across the wings, somewhat like +owls, somewhat like cuckoos, somewhat like goatsuckers; but, on the +whole, unlike anything in the world but themselves; and instead of feeding +on moths or mice, they feed upon hard dry fruits, which they pick off +the trees after the set of sun. And wise men will tell you, that +in making such a bird as that, and giving it that peculiar way of life, +and settling it in that cavern, and a few more caverns in that part +of the world, and therefore in making the caverns ready for them to +live in, Madam How must have taken ages and ages, more than you can +imagine or count.</p> +<p>But that is among the harder lessons which come in the latter part +of Madam How’s book. Children need not learn them yet; and +they can never learn them, unless they master her alphabet, and her +short and easy lessons for beginners, some of which I am trying to teach +you now.</p> +<p>But I have just recollected that we are a couple of very stupid fellows. +We have been talking all this time about chalk and limestone, and have +forgotten to settle what they are, and how they were made. We +must think of that next time. It will not do for us (at least +if we mean to be scientific men) to use terms without defining them; +in plain English, to talk about—we don’t know what.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII—MADAM HOW’S TWO GRANDSONS</h2> +<p>You want to know, then, what chalk is? I suppose you mean what +chalk is made of?</p> +<p>Yes. That is it.</p> +<p>That we can only help by calling in the help of a very great giant +whose name is Analysis.</p> +<p>A giant?</p> +<p>Yes. And before we call for him I will tell you a very curious +story about him and his younger brother, which is every word of it true.</p> +<p>Once upon a time, certainly as long ago as the first man, or perhaps +the first rational being of any kind, was created, Madam How had two +grandsons. The elder is called Analysis, and the younger Synthesis. +As for who their father and mother were, there have been so many disputes +on that question that I think children may leave it alone for the present. +For my part, I believe that they are both, like St. Patrick, “gentlemen, +and come of decent people;” and I have a great respect and affection +for them both, as long as each keeps in his own place and minds his +own business.</p> +<p>Now you must understand that, as soon as these two baby giants were +born, Lady Why, who sets everything to do that work for which it is +exactly fitted, set both of them their work. Analysis was to take +to pieces everything he found, and find out how it was made. Synthesis +was to put the pieces together again, and make something fresh out of +them. In a word, Analysis was to teach men Science; and Synthesis +to teach them Art.</p> +<p>But because Analysis was the elder, Madam How commanded Synthesis +never to put the pieces together till Analysis had taken them completely +apart. And, my child, if Synthesis had obeyed that rule of his +good old grandmother’s, the world would have been far happier, +wealthier, wiser, and better than it is now.</p> +<p>But Synthesis would not. He grew up a very noble boy. +He could carve, he could paint, he could build, he could make music, +and write poems: but he was full of conceit and haste. Whenever +his elder brother tried to do a little patient work in taking things +to pieces, Synthesis snatched the work out of his hands before it was +a quarter done, and began putting it together again to suit his own +fancy, and, of course, put it together wrong. Then he went on +to bully his elder brother, and locked him up in prison, and starved +him, till for many hundred years poor Analysis never grew at all, but +remained dwarfed, and stupid, and all but blind for want of light; while +Synthesis, and all the hasty conceited people who followed him, grew +stout and strong and tyrannous, and overspread the whole world, and +ruled it at their will. But the fault of all the work of Synthesis +was just this: that it would not work. His watches would not keep +time, his soldiers would not fight, his ships would not sail, his houses +would not keep the rain out. So every time he failed in his work +he had to go to poor Analysis in his dungeon, and bully him into taking +a thing or two to pieces, and giving him a few sound facts out of them, +just to go on with till he came to grief again, boasting in the meantime +that he and not Analysis had found out the facts. And at last +he grew so conceited that he fancied he knew all that Madam How could +teach him, or Lady Why either, and that he understood all things in +heaven and earth; while it was not the real heaven and earth that he +was thinking of, but a sham heaven and a sham earth, which he had built +up out of his guesses and his own fancies.</p> +<p>And the more Synthesis waxed in pride, and the more he trampled upon +his poor brother, the more reckless he grew, and the more willing to +deceive himself. If his real flowers would not grow, he cut out +paper flowers, and painted them and said that they would do just as +well as natural ones. If his dolls would not work, he put strings +and wires behind them to make them nod their heads and open their eyes, +and then persuaded other people, and perhaps half-persuaded himself, +that they were alive. If the hand of his weather-glass went down, +he nailed it up to insure a fine day, and tortured, burnt, or murdered +every one who said it did not keep up of itself. And many other +foolish and wicked things he did, which little boys need not hear of +yet.</p> +<p>But at last his punishment came, according to the laws of his grandmother, +Madam How, which are like the laws of the Medes and Persians, and alter +not, as you and all mankind will sooner or later find; for he grew so +rich and powerful that he grew careless and lazy, and thought about +nothing but eating and drinking, till people began to despise him more +and more. And one day he left the dungeon of Analysis so ill guarded, +that Analysis got out and ran away. Great was the hue and cry +after him; and terribly would he have been punished had he been caught. +But, lo and behold, folks had grown so disgusted with Synthesis that +they began to take the part of Analysis. Poor men hid him in their +cottages, and scholars in their studies. And when war arose about +him,—and terrible wars did arise,—good kings, wise statesmen, +gallant soldiers, spent their treasure and their lives in fighting for +him. All honest folk welcomed him, because he was honest; and +all wise folk used him, for, instead of being a conceited tyrant like +Synthesis, he showed himself the most faithful, diligent, humble of +servants, ready to do every man’s work, and answer every man’s +questions. And among them all he got so well fed that he grew +very shortly into the giant that he ought to have been all along; and +was, and will be for many a year to come, perfectly able to take care +of himself.</p> +<p>As for poor Synthesis, he really has fallen so low in these days, +that one cannot but pity him. He now goes about humbly after his +brother, feeding on any scraps that are thrown to him, and is snubbed +and rapped over the knuckles, and told one minute to hold his tongue +and mind his own business, and the next that he has no business at all +to mind, till he has got into such a poor way that some folks fancy +he will die, and are actually digging his grave already, and composing +his epitaph. But they are trying to wear the bear’s skin +before the bear is killed; for Synthesis is not dead, nor anything like +it; and he will rise up again some day, to make good friends with his +brother Analysis, and by his help do nobler and more beautiful work +than he has ever yet done in the world.</p> +<p>So now Analysis has got the upper hand; so much so that he is in +danger of being spoilt by too much prosperity, as his brother was before +him; in which case he too will have his fall; and a great deal of good +it will do him. And that is the end of my story, and a true story +it is.</p> +<p>Now you must remember, whenever you have to do with him, that Analysis, +like fire, is a very good servant, but a very bad master. For, +having got his freedom only of late years or so, he is, like young men +when they come suddenly to be their own masters, apt to be conceited, +and to fancy that he knows everything, when really he knows nothing, +and can never know anything, but only knows about things, which is a +very different matter. Indeed, nowadays he pretends that he can +teach his old grandmother, Madam How, not only how to suck eggs, but +to make eggs into the bargain; while the good old lady just laughs at +him kindly, and lets him run on, because she knows he will grow wiser +in time, and learn humility by his mistakes and failures, as I hope +you will from yours.</p> +<p>However, Analysis is a very clever young giant, and can do wonderful +work as long as he meddles only with dead things, like this bit of lime. +He can take it to pieces, and tell you of what things it is made, or +seems to be made; and take them to pieces again, and tell you what each +of them is made of; and so on, till he gets conceited, and fancies that +he can find out some one Thing of all things (which he calls matter), +of which all other things are made; and some Way of all ways (which +he calls force), by which all things are made: but when he boasts in +that way, old Madam How smiles, and says, “My child, before you +can say that, you must remember a hundred things which you are forgetting, +and learn a hundred thousand things which you do not know;” and +then she just puts her hand over his eyes, and Master Analysis begins +groping in the dark, and talking the saddest nonsense. So beware +of him, and keep him in his own place, and to his own work, or he will +flatter you, and get the mastery of you, and persuade you that he can +teach you a thousand things of which he knows no more than he does why +a duck’s egg never hatches into a chicken. And remember, +if Master Analysis ever grows saucy and conceited with you, just ask +him that last riddle, and you will shut him up at once.</p> +<p>And why?</p> +<p>Because Analysis can only explain to you a little about dead things, +like stones—inorganic things as they are called. Living +things—organisms, as they are called—he cannot explain to +you at all. When he meddles with them, he always ends like the +man who killed his goose to get the golden eggs. He has to kill +his goose, or his flower, or his insect, before he can analyse it; and +then it is not a goose, but only the corpse of a goose; not a flower, +but only the dead stuff of the flower.</p> +<p>And therefore he will never do anything but fail, when he tries to +find out the life in things. How can he, when he has to take the +life out of them first? He could not even find out how a plum-pudding +is made by merely analysing it. He might part the sugar, and the +flour, and the suet; he might even (for he is very clever, and very +patient too, the more honour to him) take every atom of sugar out of +the flour with which it had got mixed, and every atom of brown colour +which had got out of the plums and currants into the body of the pudding, +and then, for aught I know, put the colouring matter back again into +the plums and currants; and then, for aught I know, turn the boiled +pudding into a raw one again,—for he is a great conjurer, as Madam +How’s grandson is bound to be: but yet he would never find out +how the pudding was made, unless some one told him the great secret +which the sailors in the old story forgot—that the cook boiled +it in a cloth.</p> +<p>This is Analysis’s weak point—don’t let it be yours—that +in all his calculations he is apt to forget the cloth, and indeed the +cook likewise. No doubt he can analyse the matter of things: but +he will keep forgetting that he cannot analyse their form.</p> +<p>Do I mean their shape?</p> +<p>No, my child; no. I mean something which makes the shape of +things, and the matter of them likewise, but which folks have lost sight +of nowadays, and do not seem likely to get sight of again for a few +hundred years. So I suppose that you need not trouble your head +about it, but may just follow the fashions as long as they last.</p> +<p>About this piece of lime, however, Analysis can tell us a great deal. +And we may trust what he says, and believe that he understands what +he says.</p> +<p>Why?</p> +<p>Think now. If you took your watch to pieces, you would probably +spoil it for ever; you would have perhaps broken, and certainly mislaid, +some of the bits; and not even a watchmaker could put it together again. +You would have analysed the watch wrongly. But if a watchmaker +took it to pieces then any other watchmaker could put it together again +to go as well as ever, because they both understand the works, how they +fit into each other, and what the use and the power of each is. +Its being put together again rightly would be a proof that it had been +taken to pieces rightly.</p> +<p>And so with Master Analysis. If he can take a thing to pieces +so that his brother Synthesis can put it together again, you may be +sure that he has done his work rightly.</p> +<p>Now he can take a bit of chalk to pieces, so that it shall become +several different things, none of which is chalk, or like chalk at all. +And then his brother Synthesis can put them together again, so that +they shall become chalk, as they were before. He can do that very +nearly, but not quite. There is, in every average piece of chalk, +something which he cannot make into chalk again when he has once unmade +it.</p> +<p>What that is I will show you presently; and a wonderful tale hangs +thereby. But first we will let Analysis tell us what chalk is +made of, as far as he knows.</p> +<p>He will say—Chalk is carbonate of lime.</p> +<p>But what is carbonate of lime made of?</p> +<p>Lime and carbonic acid.</p> +<p>And what is lime?</p> +<p>The oxide of a certain metal, called calcium.</p> +<p>What do you mean?</p> +<p>That quicklime is a certain metal mixed with oxygen gas; and slacked +lime is the same, mixed with water.</p> +<p>So lime is a metal. What is a metal? Nobody knows.</p> +<p>And what is oxygen gas? Nobody knows.</p> +<p>Well, Analysis, stops short very soon. He does not seem to +know much about the matter.</p> +<p>Nay, nay, you are wrong there. It is just “about the +matter” that he does know, and knows a great deal, and very accurately; +what he does not know is the matter itself. He will tell you wonderful +things about oxygen gas—how the air is full of it, the water full +of it, every living thing full of it; how it changes hard bright steel +into soft, foul rust; how a candle cannot burn without it, or you live +without it. But what it is he knows not.</p> +<p>Will he ever know?</p> +<p>That is Lady Why’s concern, and not ours. Meanwhile he +has a right to find out if he can. But what do you want to ask +him next?</p> +<p>What? Oh! What carbonic acid is. He can tell you +that. Carbon and oxygen gas.</p> +<p>But what is carbon?</p> +<p>Nobody knows.</p> +<p>Why, here is this stupid Analysis at fault again.</p> +<p>Nay, nay, again. Be patient with him. If he cannot tell +you what carbon is, he can tell you what is carbon, which is well worth +knowing. He will tell you, for instance, that every time you breathe +or speak, what comes out of your mouth is carbonic acid; and that, if +your breath comes on a bit of slacked lime, it will begin to turn it +back into the chalk from which it was made; and that, if your breath +comes on the leaves of a growing plant, that leaf will take the carbon +out of it, and turn it into wood. And surely that is worth knowing,—that +you may be helping to make chalk, or to make wood, every time you breathe.</p> +<p>Well; that is very curious.</p> +<p>But now, ask him, What is carbon? And he will tell you, that +many things are carbon. A diamond is carbon; and so is blacklead; +and so is charcoal and coke, and coal in part, and wood in part.</p> +<p>What? Does Analysis say that a diamond and charcoal are the +same thing?</p> +<p>Yes.</p> +<p>Then his way of taking things to pieces must be a very clumsy one, +if he can find out no difference between diamond and charcoal.</p> +<p>Well, perhaps it is: but you must remember that, though he is very +old—as old as the first man who ever lived—he has only been +at school for the last three hundred years or so. And remember, +too, that he is not like you, who have some one else to teach you. +He has had to teach himself, and find out for himself, and make his +own tools, and work in the dark besides. And I think it is very +much to his credit that he ever found out that diamond and charcoal +were the same things. You would never have found it out for yourself, +you will agree.</p> +<p>No: but how did he do it?</p> +<p>He taught a very famous chemist, Lavoisier, about ninety years ago, +how to burn a diamond in oxygen—and a very difficult trick that +is; and Lavoisier found that the diamond when burnt turned almost entirely +into carbonic acid and water, as blacklead and charcoal do; and more, +that each of them turned into the same quantity of carbonic acid, And +so he knew, as surely as man can know anything, that all these things, +however different to our eyes and fingers, are really made of the same +thing,—pure carbon.</p> +<p>But what makes them look and feel so different?</p> +<p>That Analysis does not know yet. Perhaps he will find out some +day; for he is very patient, and very diligent, as you ought to be. +Meanwhile, be content with him: remember that though he cannot see through +a milestone yet, he can see farther into one than his neighbours. +Indeed his neighbours cannot see into a milestone at all, but only see +the outside of it, and know things only by rote, like parrots, without +understanding what they mean and how they are made.</p> +<p>So now remember that chalk is carbonate of lime, and that it is made +up of three things, calcium, oxygen, and carbon; and that therefore +its mark is CaCO(3), in Analysis’s language, which I hope you +will be able to read some day.</p> +<p>But how is it that Analysis and Synthesis cannot take all this chalk +to pieces, and put it together again?</p> +<p>Look here; what is that in the chalk?</p> +<p>Oh! a shepherd’s crown, such as we often find in the gravel, +only fresh and white.</p> +<p>Well; you know what that was once. I have often told you:—a +live sea-egg, covered with prickles, which crawls at the bottom of the +sea.</p> +<p>Well, I am sure that Master Synthesis could not put that together +again: and equally sure that Master Analysis might spend ages in taking +it to pieces, before he found out how it was made. And—we +are lucky to-day, for this lower chalk to the south has very few fossils +in it—here is something else which is not mere carbonate of lime. +Look at it.</p> +<p>A little cockle, something like a wrinkled hazel-nut.</p> +<p>No; that is no cockle. Madam How invented that ages and ages +before she thought of cockles, and the animal which lived inside that +shell was as different from a cockle-animal as a sparrow is from a dog. +That is a Terebratula, a gentleman of a very ancient and worn-out family. +He and his kin swarmed in the old seas, even as far back as the time +when the rocks of the Welsh mountains were soft mud; as you will know +when you read that great book of Sir Roderick Murchison’s, <i>Siluria</i>. +But as the ages rolled on, they got fewer and fewer, these Terebratulæ; +and now there are hardly any of them left; only six or seven sorts are +left about these islands, which cling to stones in deep water; and the +first time I dredged two of them out of Loch Fyne, I looked at them +with awe, as on relics from another world, which had lasted on through +unnumbered ages and changes, such as one’s fancy could not grasp.</p> +<p>But you will agree that, if Master Analysis took that shell to pieces, +Master Synthesis would not be likely to put it together again; much +less to put it together in the right way, in which Madam How made it.</p> +<p>And what was that?</p> +<p>By making a living animal, which went on growing, that is, making +itself; and making, as it grew, its shell to live in. Synthesis +has not found out yet the first step towards doing that; and, as I believe, +he never will.</p> +<p>But there would be no harm in his trying?</p> +<p>Of course not. Let everybody try to do everything they fancy. +Even if they fail, they will have learnt at least that they cannot do +it.</p> +<p>But now—and this is a secret which you would never find out +for yourself, at least without the help of a microscope—the greater +part of this lump of chalk is made up of things which neither Analysis +can perfectly take to pieces, nor Synthesis put together again. +It is made of dead organisms, that is, things which have been made by +living creatures. If you washed and brushed that chalk into powder, +you would find it full of little things like the Dentalina in this drawing, +and many other curious forms. I will show you some under the microscope +one day.</p> +<p>They are the shells of animals called Foraminifera, because the shells +of some of them are full of holes, through which they put out tiny arms. +So small they are and so many, that there may be, it is said, forty +thousand of them in a bit of chalk an inch every way. In numbers +past counting, some whole, some broken, some ground to the finest powder, +they make up vast masses of England, which are now chalk downs; and +in some foreign countries they make up whole mountains. Part of +the building stone of the Great Pyramid in Egypt is composed, I am told, +entirely of them.</p> +<p>And how did they get into the chalk?</p> +<p>Ah! How indeed? Let us think. The chalk must have +been laid down at the bottom of a sea, because there are sea-shells +in it. Besides, we find little atomies exactly like these alive +now in many seas; and therefore it is fair to suppose these lived in +the sea also.</p> +<p>Besides, they were not washed into the chalk by any sudden flood. +The water in which they settled must have been quite still, or these +little delicate creatures would have been ground into powder—or +rather into paste. Therefore learned men soon made up their minds +that these things were laid down at the bottom of a deep sea, so deep +that neither wind, nor tide, nor currents could stir the everlasting +calm.</p> +<p>Ah! it is worth thinking over, for it shows how shrewd a giant Analysis +is, and how fast he works in these days, now that he has got free and +well fed;—worth thinking over, I say, how our notions about these +little atomies have changed during the last forty years.</p> +<p>We used to find them sometimes washed up among the sea-sand on the +wild Atlantic coast; and we were taught, in the days when old Dr. Turton +was writing his book on British shells at Bideford, to call them Nautili, +because their shells were like Nautilus shells. Men did not know +then that the animal which lives in them is no more like a Nautilus +animal than it is like a cow.</p> +<p>For a Nautilus, you must know, is made like a cuttlefish, with eyes, +and strong jaws for biting, and arms round them; and has a heart, and +gills, and a stomach; and is altogether a very well-made beast, and, +I suspect, a terrible tyrant to little fish and sea-slugs, just as the +cuttlefish is. But the creatures which live in these little shells +are about the least finished of Madam How’s works. They +have neither mouth nor stomach, eyes nor limbs. They are mere +live bags full of jelly, which can take almost any shape they like, +and thrust out arms—or what serve for arms—through the holes +in their shells, and then contract them into themselves again, as this +Globigerina does. What they feed on, how they grow, how they make +their exquisitely-formed shells, whether, indeed, they are, strictly +speaking, animals or vegetables, Analysis has not yet found out. +But when you come to read about them, you will find that they, in their +own way, are just as wonderful and mysterious as a butterfly or a rose; +and just as necessary, likewise, to Madam How’s work; for out +of them, as I told you, she makes whole sheets of down, whole ranges +of hills.</p> +<p>No one knew anything, I believe, about them, save that two or three +kinds of them were found in chalk, till a famous Frenchman, called D’Orbigny, +just thirty years ago, told the world how he had found many beautiful +fresh kinds; and, more strange still, that some of these kinds were +still alive at the bottom of the Adriatic, and of the harbour of Alexandria, +in Egypt.</p> +<p>Then in 1841 a gentleman named Edward Forbes,—now with God—whose +name will be for ever dear to all who love science, and honour genius +and virtue,—found in the Ægean Sea “a bed of chalk,” +he said, “full of Foraminifera, and shells of Pteropods,” +forming at the bottom of the sea.</p> +<p>And what are Pteropods?</p> +<p>What you might call sea-moths (though they are not really moths), +which swim about on the surface of the water, while the right-whales +suck them in tens of thousands into the great whalebone net which fringes +their jaws. Here are drawings of them. 1. Limacina (on which +the whales feed); and 2. Hyalea, a lovely little thing in a glass shell, +which lives in the Mediterranean.</p> +<p>But since then strange discoveries have been made, especially by +the naval officers who surveyed the bottom of the great Atlantic Ocean +before laying down the electric cable between Ireland and America. +And this is what they found:</p> +<p>That at the bottom of the Atlantic were vast plains of soft mud, +in some places 2500 fathoms (15,000 feet) deep; that is, as deep as +the Alps are high. And more: they found out, to their surprise, +that the oozy mud of the Atlantic floor was made up almost entirely +of just the same atomies as make up our chalk, especially globigerinas; +that, in fact, a vast bed of chalk was now forming at the bottom of +the Atlantic, with living shells and sea-animals of the most brilliant +colours crawling about on it in black darkness, and beds of sponges +growing out of it, just as the sponges grew at the bottom of the old +chalk ocean, and were all, generation after generation, turned into +flints.</p> +<p>And, for reasons which you will hardly understand, men are beginning +now to believe that the chalk has never ceased to be made, somewhere +or other, for many thousand years, ever since the Winchester Downs were +at the bottom of the sea: and that “the Globigerina-mud is not +merely <i>a</i> chalk formation, but a continuation of <i>the</i> chalk +formation, so <i>that we may be said to be still living in the age of +Chalk</i>.” <a name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1">{1}</a> +Ah, my little man, what would I not give to see you, before I die, add +one such thought as that to the sum of human knowledge!</p> +<p>So there the little creatures have been lying, making chalk out of +the lime in the sea-water, layer over layer, the young over the old, +the dead over the living, year after year, age after age—for how +long?</p> +<p>Who can tell? How deep the layer of new chalk at the bottom +of the Atlantic is, we can never know. But the layer of live atomies +on it is not an inch thick, probably not a tenth of an inch. And +if it grew a tenth of an inch a year, or even a whole inch, how many +years must it have taken to make the chalk of our downs, which is in +some parts 1300 feet thick? How many inches are there in 1300 +feet? Do that sum, and judge for yourself.</p> +<p>One difference will be found between the chalk now forming at the +bottom of the ocean, if it ever become dry land, and the chalk on which +you tread on the downs. The new chalk will be full of the teeth +and bones of whales—warm-blooded creatures, who suckle their young +like cows, instead of laying eggs, like birds and fish. For there +were no whales in the old chalk ocean; but our modern oceans are full +of cachalots, porpoises, dolphins, swimming in shoals round any ship; +and their bones and teeth, and still more their ear-bones, will drop +to the bottom as they die, and be found, ages hence, in the mud which +the live atomies make, along with wrecks of mighty ships</p> +<blockquote><p>“Great anchors, heaps of pearl,”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>and all that man has lost in the deep seas. And sadder fossils +yet, my child, will be scattered on those white plains:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“To them the love of woman hath gone down,<br /> +Dark roll their waves o’er manhood’s noble head.<br /> +O’er youth’s bright locks, and beauty’s flowing crown;<br /> +Yet shall they hear a voice, ‘Restore the dead.’<br /> +Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee.<br /> +Give back the dead, thou Sea!”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2>CHAPTER IX—THE CORAL-REEF</h2> +<p>Now you want to know what I meant when I talked of a bit of lime +going out to sea, and forming part of a coral island, and then of a +limestone rock, and then of a marble statue. Very good. +Then look at this stone.</p> +<p>What a curious stone! Did it come from any place near here?</p> +<p>No. It came from near Dudley, in Staffordshire, where the soils +are worlds on worlds older than they are here, though they were made +in the same way as these and all other soils. But you are not +listening to me.</p> +<p>Why, the stone is full of shells, and bits of coral; and what are +these wonderful things coiled and tangled together, like the snakes +in Medusa’s hair in the picture? Are they snakes?</p> +<p>If they are, then they must be snakes who have all one head; for +see, they are joined together at their larger ends; and snakes which +are branched, too, which no snake ever was.</p> +<p>Yes. I suppose they are not snakes. And they grow out +of a flower, too; and it has a stalk, jointed, too, as plants sometimes +are; and as fishes’ backbones are too. Is it a petrified +plant or flower?</p> +<p>No; though I do not deny that it looks like one. The creature +most akin to it which you ever saw is a star-fish.</p> +<p>What! one of the red star-fishes which one finds on the beach? +Its arms are not branched.</p> +<p>No. But there are star-fishes with branched arms still in the +sea. You know that pretty book (and learned book, too), Forbes’s +<i>British Star-fishes</i>? You like to look it through for the +sake of the vignettes,—the mermaid and her child playing in the +sea.</p> +<p>Oh yes, and the kind bogie who is piping while the sandstars dance; +and the other who is trying to pull out the star-fish which the oyster +has caught.</p> +<p>Yes. But do you recollect the drawing of the Medusa’s +head, with its curling arms, branched again and again without end? +Here it is. No, you shall not look at the vignettes now. +We must mind business. Now look at this one; the Feather-star, +with arms almost like fern-fronds. And in foreign seas there are +many other branched star-fish beside.</p> +<p>But they have no stalks?</p> +<p>Do not be too sure of that. This very feather-star, soon after +it is born, grows a tiny stalk, by which it holds on to corallines and +sea-weeds; and it is not till afterwards that it breaks loose from that +stalk, and swims away freely into the wide water. And in foreign +seas there are several star-fish still who grow on stalks all their +lives, as this fossil one did.</p> +<p>How strange that a live animal should grow on a stalk, like a flower!</p> +<p>Not quite like a flower. A flower has roots, by which it feeds +in the soil. These things grow more like sea-weeds, which have +no roots, but only hold on to the rock by the foot of the stalk, as +a ship holds on by her anchor. But as for its being strange that +live animals should grow on stalks, if it be strange it is common enough, +like many far stranger things. For under the water are millions +on millions of creatures, spreading for miles on miles, building up +at last great reefs of rocks, and whole islands, which all grow rooted +first to the rock, like sea-weeds; and what is more, they grow, most +of them, from one common root, branching again and again, and every +branchlet bearing hundreds of living creatures, so that the whole creation +is at once one creature and many creatures. Do you not understand +me?</p> +<p>No.</p> +<p>Then fancy to yourself a bush like that hawthorn bush, with numberless +blossoms, and every blossom on that bush a separate living thing, with +its own mouth, and arms, and stomach, budding and growing fresh live +branches and fresh live flowers, as fast as the old ones die: and then +you will see better what I mean.</p> +<p>How wonderful!</p> +<p>Yes; but not more wonderful than your finger, for it, too, is made +up of numberless living things.</p> +<p>My finger made of living things?</p> +<p>What else can it be? When you cut your finger, does not the +place heal?</p> +<p>Of course.</p> +<p>And what is healing but growing again? And how could the atoms +of your fingers grow, and make fresh skin, if they were not each of +them alive? There, I will not puzzle you with too much at once; +you will know more about all that some day. Only remember now, +that there is nothing wonderful in the world outside you but has its +counterpart of something just as wonderful, and perhaps more wonderful, +inside you. Man is the microcosm, the little world, said the philosophers +of old; and philosophers nowadays are beginning to see that their old +guess is actual fact and true.</p> +<p>But what are these curious sea-creatures called, which are animals, +yet grow like plants?</p> +<p>They have more names than I can tell you, or you remember. +Those which helped to make this bit of stone are called coral-insects: +but they are not really insects, and are no more like insects than you +are. Coral-polypes is the best name for them, because they have +arms round their mouths, something like a cuttlefish, which the ancients +called Polypus. But the animal which you have seen likest to most +of them is a sea-anemone.</p> +<p>Look now at this piece of fresh coral—for coral it is, though +not like the coral which your sister wears in her necklace. You +see it is full of pipes; in each of those pipes has lived what we will +call, for the time being, a tiny sea-anemone, joined on to his brothers +by some sort of flesh and skin; and all of them together have built +up, out of the lime in the sea-water, this common house, or rather town, +of lime.</p> +<p>But is it not strange and wonderful?</p> +<p>Of course it is: but so is everything when you begin to look into +it; and if I were to go on, and tell you what sort of young ones these +coral-polypes have, and what becomes of them, you would hear such wonders, +that you would be ready to suspect that I was inventing nonsense, or +talking in my dreams. But all that belongs to Madam How’s +deepest book of all, which is called the BOOK OF KIND: the book which +children cannot understand, and in which only the very wisest men are +able to spell out a few words, not knowing, and of course not daring +to guess, what wonder may come next.</p> +<p>Now we will go back to our stone, and talk about how it was made, +and how the stalked star-fish, which you mistook for a flower, ever +got into the stone.</p> +<p>Then do you think me silly for fancying that a fossil star-fish was +a flower?</p> +<p>I should be silly if I did. There is no silliness in not knowing +what you cannot know. You can only guess about new things, which +you have never seen before, by comparing them with old things, which +you have seen before; and you had seen flowers, and snakes, and fishes’ +backbones, and made a very fair guess from them. After all, some +of these stalked star-fish are so like flowers, lilies especially, that +they are called Encrinites; and the whole family is called Crinoids, +or lily-like creatures, from the Greek work <i>krinon</i>, a lily; and +as for corals and corallines, learned men, in spite of all their care +and shrewdness, made mistake after mistake about them, which they had +to correct again and again, till now, I trust, they have got at something +very like the truth. No, I shall only call you silly if you do +what some little boys are apt to do—call other boys, and, still +worse, servants or poor people, silly for not knowing what they cannot +know.</p> +<p>But are not poor people often very silly about animals and plants? +The boys at the village school say that slowworms are poisonous; is +not that silly?</p> +<p>Not at all. They know that adders bite, and so they think that +slowworms bite too. They are wrong; and they must be told that +they are wrong, and scolded if they kill a slowworm. But silly +they are not.</p> +<p>But is it not silly to fancy that swallows sleep all the winter at +the bottom of the pond?</p> +<p>I do not think so. The boys cannot know where the swallows +go; and if you told them—what is true—that the swallows +find their way every autumn through France, through Spain, over the +Straits of Gibraltar, into Morocco, and some, I believe, over the great +desert of Zahara into Negroland: and if you told them—what is +true also—that the young swallows actually find their way into +Africa without having been along the road before; because the old swallows +go south a week or two first, and leave the young ones to guess out +the way for themselves: if you told them that, then they would have +a right to say, “Do you expect us to believe that? That +is much more wonderful than that the swallows should sleep in the pond.”</p> +<p>But is it?</p> +<p>Yes; to them. They know that bats and dormice and other things +sleep all the winter; so why should not swallows sleep? They see +the swallows about the water, and often dipping almost into it. +They know that fishes live under water, and that many insects—like +May-flies and caddis-flies and water-beetles—live sometimes in +the water, sometimes in the open air; and they cannot know—you +do not know—what it is which prevents a bird’s living under +water. So their guess is really a very fair one; no more silly +than that of the savages, who when they first saw the white men’s +ships, with their huge sails, fancied they were enormous sea-birds; +and when they heard the cannons fire, said that the ships spoke in thunder +and lightning. Their guess was wrong, but not silly; for it was +the best guess they could make.</p> +<p>But I do know of one old woman who was silly. She was a boy’s +nurse, and she gave the boy a thing which she said was one of the snakes +which St. Hilda turned into stone; and told him that they found plenty +of them at Whitby, where she was born, all coiled up; but what was very +odd, their heads had always been broken of. And when he took it, +to his father, he told him it was only a fossil shell—an Ammonite. +And he went back and laughed at his nurse, and teased her till she was +quite angry.</p> +<p>Then he was very lucky that she did not box his ears, for that was +what he deserved. I dare say that, though his nurse had never +heard of Ammonites, she was a wise old dame enough, and knew a hundred +things which he did not know, and which were far more important than +Ammonites, even to him.</p> +<p>How?</p> +<p>Because if she had not known how to nurse him well, he would perhaps +have never grown up alive and strong. And if she had not known +how to make him obey and speak the truth, he might have grown up a naughty +boy.</p> +<p>But was she not silly?</p> +<p>No. She only believed what the Whitby folk, I understand, have +some of them believed for many hundred years. And no one can be +blamed for thinking as his forefathers did, unless he has cause to know +better.</p> +<p>Surely she might have known better?</p> +<p>How? What reason could she have to believe the Ammonite was +a shell? It is not the least like cockles, or whelks, or any shell +she ever saw.</p> +<p>What reason either could she have to guess that Whitby cliff had +once been coral-mud, at the bottom of the sea? No more reason, +my dear child, than you would have to guess that this stone had been +coral-mud likewise, if I did not teach you so,—or rather, try +to make you teach yourself so.</p> +<p>No. I say it again. If you wish to learn, I will only +teach you on condition that you do not laugh at, or despise, those good +and honest and able people who do not know or care about these things, +because they have other things to think of: like old John out there +ploughing. He would not believe you—he would hardly believe +me—if we told him that this stone had been once a swarm of living +things, of exquisite shapes and glorious colours. And yet he can +plough and sow, and reap and mow, and fell and strip, and hedge and +ditch, and give his neighbours sound advice, and take the measure of +a man’s worth from ten minutes’ talk, and say his prayers, +and keep his temper, and pay his debts,—which last three things +are more than a good many folks can do who fancy themselves a whole +world wiser than John in the smock-frock.</p> +<p>Oh, but I want to hear about the exquisite shapes and glorious colours.</p> +<p>Of course you do, little man. A few fine epithets take your +fancy far more than a little common sense and common humility; but in +that you are no worse than some of your elders. So now for the +exquisite shapes and glorious colours. I have never seen them; +though I trust to see them ere I die. So what they are like I +can only tell from what I have learnt from Mr. Darwin, and Mr. Wallace, +and Mr. Jukes, and Mr. Gosse, and last, but not least, from one whose +soul was as beautiful as his face, Lucas Barrett,—too soon lost +to science,—who was drowned in exploring such a coral-reef as +this stone was once.</p> +<p>Then there are such things alive now?</p> +<p>Yes, and no. The descendants of most of them live on, altered +by time, which alters all things; and from the beauty of the children +we can guess at the beauty of their ancestors; just as from the coral-reefs +which exist now we can guess how the coral-reefs of old were made. +And that this stone was once part of a coral-reef the corals in it prove +at first sight.</p> +<p>And what is a coral-reef like?</p> +<p>You have seen the room in the British Museum full of corals, madrepores, +brain-stones, corallines, and sea-ferns?</p> +<p>Oh yes.</p> +<p>Then fancy all those alive. Not as they are now, white stone: +but covered in jelly; and out of every pore a little polype, like a +flower, peeping out. Fancy them of every gaudy colour you choose. +No bed of flowers, they say, can be more brilliant than the corals, +as you look down on them through the clear sea. Fancy, again, +growing among them and crawling over them, strange sea-anemones, shells, +star-fish, sea-slugs, and sea-cucumbers with feathery gills, crabs, +and shrimps, and hundreds of other animals, all as strange in shape, +and as brilliant in colour. You may let your fancy run wild. +Nothing so odd, nothing so gay, even entered your dreams, or a poet’s, +as you may find alive at the bottom of the sea, in the live flower-gardens +of the sea-fairies.</p> +<p>There will be shoals of fish, too, playing in and out, as strange +and gaudy as the rest,—parrot-fish who browse on the live coral +with their beak-like teeth, as cattle browse on grass; and at the bottom, +it may be, larger and uglier fish, who eat the crabs and shell-fish, +shells and all, grinding them up as a dog grinds a bone, and so turning +shells and corals into fine soft mud, such as this stone is partly made +of.</p> +<p>But what happens to all the delicate little corals if a storm comes +on?</p> +<p>What, indeed? Madam How has made them so well and wisely, that, +like brave and good men, the more trouble they suffer the stronger they +are. Day and night, week after week, the trade-wind blows upon +them, hurling the waves against them in furious surf, knocking off great +lumps of coral, grinding them to powder, throwing them over the reef +into the shallow water inside. But the heavier the surf beats +upon them, the stronger the polypes outside grow, repairing their broken +houses, and building up fresh coral on the dead coral below, because +it is in the fresh sea-water that beats upon the surf that they find +most lime with which to build. And as they build they form a barrier +against the surf, inside of which, in water still as glass, the weaker +and more delicate things can grow in safety, just as these very Encrinites +may have grown, rooted in the lime-mud, and waving their slender arms +at the bottom of the clear lagoon. Such mighty builders are these +little coral polypes, that all the works of men are small compared with +theirs. One single reef, for instance, which is entirely made +by them, stretches along the north-east coast of Australia for nearly +a thousand miles. Of this you must read some day in Mr. Jukes’s +<i>Voyage of H.M.S. “Fly</i>.” Every island throughout +a great part of the Pacific is fringed round each with its coral-reef, +and there are hundreds of islands of strange shapes, and of Atolls, +as they are called, or ring-islands, which are composed entirely of +coral, and of nothing else.</p> +<p>A ring-island? How can an island be made in the shape of a +ring?</p> +<p>Ah! it was a long time before men found out that riddle. Mr. +Darwin was the first to guess the answer, as he has guessed many an +answer beside. These islands are each a ring, or nearly a ring +of coral, with smooth shallow water inside: but their outsides run down, +like a mountain wall, sheer into seas hundreds of fathoms deep. +People used to believe, and reasonably enough, that the coral polypes +began to build up the islands from the very bottom of the deep sea.</p> +<p>But that would not account for the top of them being of the shape +of a ring; and in time it was found out that the corals would not build +except in shallow water, twenty or thirty fathoms deep at most, and +men were at their wits’ ends to find out the riddle. Then +said Mr. Darwin, “Suppose one of those beautiful South Sea Islands, +like Tahiti, the Queen of Isles, with its ring of coral-reef all round +its shore, began sinking slowly under the sea. The land, as it +sunk, would be gone for good and all: but the coral-reef round it would +not, because the coral polypes would build up and up continually upon +the skeletons of their dead parents, to get to the surface of the water, +and would keep close to the top outside, however much the land sunk +inside; and when the island had sunk completely beneath the sea, what +would be left? What must be left but a ring of coral reef, around +the spot where the last mountain peak of the island sank beneath the +sea?” And so Mr. Darwin explained the shapes of hundreds +of coral islands in the Pacific; and proved, too, some strange things +besides (he proved, and other men, like Mr. Wallace, whose excellent +book on the East Indian islands you must read some day, have proved +in other ways) that there was once a great continent, joined perhaps +to Australia and to New Guinea, in the Pacific Ocean, where is now nothing +but deep sea, and coral-reefs which mark the mountain ranges of that +sunken world.</p> +<p>But how does the coral ever rise above the surface of the water and +turn into hard stone?</p> +<p>Of course the coral polypes cannot build above the high-tide mark; +but the surf which beats upon them piles up their broken fragments just +as a sea-beach is piled up, and hammers them together with that water +hammer which is heavier and stronger than any you have ever seen in +a smith’s forge. And then, as is the fashion of lime, the +whole mass sets and becomes hard, as you may see mortar set; and so +you have a low island a few feet above the sea. Then sea-birds +come to it, and rest and build; and seeds are floated thither from far +lands; and among them almost always the cocoa-nut, which loves to grow +by the sea-shore, and groves of cocoa palms grow up upon the lonely +isle. Then, perhaps, trees and bushes are drifted thither before +the trade-wind; and entangled in their roots are seeds of other plants, +and eggs or cocoons of insects; and so a few flowers and a few butterflies +and beetles set up for themselves upon the new land. And then +a bird or two, caught in a storm and blown away to sea finds shelter +in the cocoa-grove; and so a little new world is set up, in which (you +must remember always) there are no four-footed beasts, nor snakes, nor +lizards, nor frogs, nor any animals that cannot cross the sea. +And on some of those islands they may live (indeed there is reason to +believe they have lived), so long, that some of them have changed their +forms, according to the laws of Madam How, who sooner or later fits +each thing exactly for the place in which it is meant to live, till +upon some of them you may find such strange and unique creatures as +the famous cocoa-nut crab, which learned men call <i>Birgus latro</i>. +A great crab he is, who walks upon the tips of his toes a foot high +above the ground. And because he has often nothing to eat but +cocoa-nuts, or at least they are the best things he can find, cocoa-nuts +he has learned to eat, and after a fashion which it would puzzle you +to imitate. Some say that he climbs up the stems of the cocoa-nut +trees, and pulls the fruit down for himself; but that, it seems, he +does not usually do. What he does is this: when he finds a fallen +cocoa-nut, he begins tearing away the thick husk and fibre with his +strong claws; and he knows perfectly well which end to tear it from, +namely, from the end where the three eye-holes are, which you call the +monkey’s face, out of one of which you know, the young cocoa-nut +tree would burst forth. And when he has got to the eye-holes, +he hammers through one of them with the point of his heavy claw. +So far, so good: but how is he to get the meat out? He cannot +put his claw in. He has no proboscis like a butterfly to insert +and suck with. He is as far off from his dinner as the fox was +when the stork offered him a feast in a long-necked jar. What +then do you think he does? He turns himself round, puts in a pair +of his hind pincers, which are very slender, and with them scoops the +meat out of the cocoa-nut, and so puts his dinner into his mouth with +his hind feet. And even the cocoa-nut husk he does not waste; +for he lives in deep burrows which he makes like a rabbit; and being +a luxurious crab, and liking to sleep soft in spite of his hard shell, +he lines them with a quantity of cocoa-nut fibre, picked out clean and +fine, just as if he was going to make cocoa-nut matting of it. +And being also a clean crab, as I hope you are a clean little boy, he +goes down to the sea every night to have his bath and moisten his gills, +and so lives happy all his days, and gets so fat in his old age that +he carries about his body nearly a quart of pure oil.</p> +<p>That is the history of the cocoa-nut crab. And if any one tells +me that that crab acts only on what is called “instinct”; +and does not think and reason, just as you and I think and reason, though +of course not in words as you and I do: then I shall be inclined to +say that that person does not think nor reason either.</p> +<p>Then were there many coral-reefs in Britain in old times?</p> +<p>Yes, many and many, again and again; some whole ages older than this, +a bit of which you see, and some again whole ages newer. But look: +then judge for yourself. Look at this geological map. Wherever +you see a bit of blue, which is the mark for limestone, you may say, +“There is a bit of old coral-reef rising up to the surface.” +But because I will not puzzle your little head with too many things +at once, you shall look at one set of coral-reefs which are far newer +than this bit of Dudley limestone, and which are the largest, I suppose, +that ever were in this country; or, at least, there is more of them +left than of any others.</p> +<p>Look first at Ireland. You see that almost all the middle of +Ireland is coloured blue. It is one great sheet of old coral-reef +and coral-mud, which is now called the carboniferous limestone. +You see red and purple patches rising out of it, like islands—and +islands I suppose they were, of hard and ancient rock, standing up in +the middle of the coral sea.</p> +<p>But look again, and you will see that along the west coast of Ireland, +except in a very few places, like Galway Bay, the blue limestone does +not come down to the sea; the shore is coloured purple and brown, and +those colours mark the ancient rocks and high mountains of Mayo and +Galway and Kerry, which stand as barriers to keep the raging surf of +the Atlantic from bursting inland and beating away, as it surely would +in course of time, the low flat limestone plain of the middle of Ireland. +But the same coral-reefs once stretched out far to the westward into +the Atlantic Ocean; and you may see the proof upon that map. For +in the western bays, in Clew Bay with its hundred islands, and Galway +Bay with its Isles of Arran, and beautiful Kenmare, and beautiful Bantry, +you see little blue spots, which are low limestone islands, standing +in the sea, overhung by mountains far aloft. You have often heard +those islands in Kenmare Bay talked of, and how some whom you know go +to fish round them by night for turbot and conger; and when you hear +them spoken of again, you must recollect that they are the last fragments +of a great fringing coral-reef, which will in a few thousand years follow +the fate of the rest, and be eaten up by the waves, while the mountains +of hard rock stand round them still unchanged.</p> +<p>Now look at England, and there you will see patches at least of a +great coral-reef which was forming at the same time as that Irish one, +and on which perhaps some of your schoolfellows have often stood. +You have heard of St. Vincent’s Rocks at Bristol, and the marble +cliffs, 250 feet in height, covered in part with rich wood and rare +flowers, and the Avon running through the narrow gorge, and the stately +ships sailing far below your feet from Bristol to the Severn sea. +And you may see, for here they are, corals from St. Vincent’s +Rocks, cut and polished, showing too that they also, like the Dudley +limestone, are made up of corals and of coral-mud. Now, whenever +you see St. Vincent’s Rocks, as I suspect you very soon will, +recollect where you are, and use your fancy, to paint for yourself a +picture as strange as it is true. Fancy that those rocks are what +they once were, a coral-reef close to the surface of a shallow sea. +Fancy that there is no gorge of the Avon, no wide Severn sea—for +those were eaten out by water ages and ages afterwards. But picture +to yourself the coral sea reaching away to the north, to the foot of +the Welsh mountains; and then fancy yourself, if you will, in a canoe, +paddling up through the coral-reefs, north and still north, up the valley +down which the Severn now flows, up through what is now Worcestershire, +then up through Staffordshire, then through Derbyshire, into Yorkshire, +and so on through Durham and Northumberland, till your find yourself +stopped by the Ettrick hills in Scotland; while all to the westward +of you, where is now the greater part of England, was open sea. +You may say, if you know anything of the geography of England, “Impossible! +That would be to paddle over the tops of high mountains; over the top +of the Peak in Derbyshire, over the top of High Craven and Whernside +and Pen-y-gent and Cross Fell, and to paddle too over the Cheviot Hills, +which part England and Scotland.” I know it, my child, I +know it. But so it was once on a time. The high limestone +mountains which part Lancashire and Yorkshire—the very chine and +backbone of England—were once coral-reefs at the bottom of the +sea. They are all made up of the carboniferous limestone, so called, +as your little knowledge of Latin ought to tell you, because it carries +the coal; because the coalfields usually lie upon it. It may be +impossible in your eyes: but remember always that nothing is impossible +with God.</p> +<p>But you said that the coal was made from plants and trees, and did +plants and trees grow on this coral-reef?</p> +<p>That I cannot say. Trees may have grown on the dry parts of +the reef, as cocoa-nuts grow now in the Pacific. But the coal +was not laid down upon it till long afterwards, when it had gone through +many and strange changes. For all through the chine of England, +and in a part of Ireland too, there lies upon the top of the limestone +a hard gritty rock, in some places three thousand feet thick, which +is commonly called “the mill-stone grit.” And above +that again the coal begins. Now to make that 3000 feet of hard +rock, what must have happened? The sea-bottom must have sunk, +slowly no doubt, carrying the coral-reefs down with it, 3000 feet at +least. And meanwhile sand and mud, made from the wearing away +of the old lands in the North must have settled down upon it. +I say from the North—for there are no fossils, as far as I know, +or sign of life, in these rocks of mill-stone grit; and therefore it +is reasonable to suppose that they were brought from a cold current +at the Pole, too cold to allow sea-beasts to live,—quite cold +enough, certainly, to kill coral insects, who could only thrive in warm +water coming from the South.</p> +<p>Then, to go on with my story, upon the top of these mill-stone grits +came sand and mud, and peat, and trees, and plants, washed out to sea, +as far as we can guess, from the mouths of vast rivers flowing from +the West, rivers as vast as the Amazon, the Mississippi, or the Orinoco +are now; and so in long ages, upon the top of the limestone and upon +the top of the mill-stone grit, were laid down those beds of coal which +you see burnt now in every fire.</p> +<p>But how did the coral-reefs rise till they became cliffs at Bristol +and mountains in Yorkshire?</p> +<p>The earthquake steam, I suppose, raised them. One earthquake +indeed, or series of earthquakes, there was, running along between Lancashire +and Yorkshire, which made that vast crack and upheaval in the rocks, +the Craven Fault, running, I believe, for more than a hundred miles, +and lifting the rocks in some places several hundred feet. That +earthquake helped to make the high hills which overhang Manchester and +Preston, and all the manufacturing county of Lancashire. That +earthquake helped to make the perpendicular cliff at Malham Cove, and +many another beautiful bit of scenery. And that and other earthquakes, +by heating the rocks from the fires below, may have helped to change +them from soft coral into hard crystalline marble as you see them now, +just as volcanic heat has hardened and purified the beautiful white +marbles of Pentelicus and Paros in Greece, and Carrara in Italy, from +which statues are carved unto this day. Or the same earthquake +may have heated and hardened the limestones simply by grinding and squeezing +them; or they may have been heated and hardened in the course of long +ages simply by the weight of the thousands of feet of other rock which +lay upon them. For pressure, you must remember, produces heat. +When you strike flint and steel together, the pressure of the blow not +only makes bits of steel fly off, but makes them fly off in red-hot +sparks. When you hammer a piece of iron with a hammer, you will +soon find it get quite warm. When you squeeze the air together +in your pop-gun, you actually make the air inside warmer, till the pellet +flies out, and the air expands and cools again. Nay, I believe +you cannot hold up a stone on the palm of your hand without that stone +after a while warming your hand, because it presses against you in trying +to fall, and you press against it in trying to hold it up. And +recollect above all the great and beautiful example of that law which +you were lucky enough to see on the night of the 14th of November 1867, +how those falling stars, as I told you then, were coming out of boundless +space, colder than any ice on earth, and yet, simply by pressing against +the air above our heads, they had their motion turned into heat, till +they burned themselves up into trains of fiery dust. So remember +that wherever you have pressure you have heat, and that the pressure +of the upper rocks upon the lower is quite enough, some think, to account +for the older and lower rocks being harder than the upper and newer +ones.</p> +<p>But why should the lower rocks be older and the upper rocks newer? +You told me just now that the high mountains in Wales were ages older +than Windsor Forest, upon which we stand: but yet how much lower we +are here than if we were on a Welsh mountain.</p> +<p>Ah, my dear child, of course that puzzles you, and I am afraid it +must puzzle you still till we have another talk; or rather it seems +to me that the best way to explain that puzzle to you would be for you +and me to go a journey into the far west, and look into the matter for +ourselves; and from here to the far west we will go, either in fancy +or on a real railroad and steamboat, before we have another talk about +these things.</p> +<p>Now it is time to stop. Is there anything more you want to +know? for you look as if something was puzzling you still.</p> +<p>Were there any men in the world while all this was going on?</p> +<p>I think not. We have no proof that there were not: but also +we have no proof that there were; the cave-men, of whom I told you, +lived many ages after the coal was covered up. You seem to be +sorry that there were no men in the world then.</p> +<p>Because it seems a pity that there was no one to see those beautiful +coral-reefs and coal-forests.</p> +<p>No one to see them, my child? Who told you that? Who +told you there are not, and never have been any rational beings in this +vast universe, save certain weak, ignorant, short-sighted creatures +shaped like you and me? But even if it were so, and no created +eye had ever beheld those ancient wonders, and no created heart ever +enjoyed them, is there not one Uncreated who has seen them and enjoyed +them from the beginning? Were not these creatures enjoying themselves +each after their kind? And was there not a Father in Heaven who +was enjoying their enjoyment, and enjoying too their beauty, which He +had formed according to the ideas of His Eternal Mind? Recollect +what you were told on Trinity Sunday—That this world was not made +for man alone: but that man, and this world, and the whole Universe +was made for God; for He created all things, and for His pleasure they +are, and were created.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER X—FIELD AND WILD</h2> +<p>Where were we to go next? Into the far west, to see how all +the way along the railroads the new rocks and soils lie above the older, +and yet how, when we get westward, the oldest rocks rise highest into +the air.</p> +<p>Well, we will go: but not, I think, to-day. Indeed I hardly +know how we could get as far as Reading; for all the world is in the +hay-field, and even the old horse must go thither too, and take his +turn at the hay-cart. Well, the rocks have been where they are +for many a year, and they will wait our leisure patiently enough: but +Midsummer and the hay-field will not wait. Let us take what God +gives when He sends it, and learn the lesson that lies nearest to us. +After all, it is more to my old mind, and perhaps to your young mind +too, to look at things which are young and fresh and living, rather +than things which are old and worn and dead. Let us leave the +old stones, and the old bones, and the old shells, the wrecks of ancient +worlds which have gone down into the kingdom of death, to teach us their +grand lessons some other day; and let us look now at the world of light +and life and beauty, which begins here at the open door, and stretches +away over the hay-fields, over the woods, over the southern moors, over +sunny France, and sunnier Spain, and over the tropic seas, down to the +equator, and the palm-groves of the eternal summer. If we cannot +find something, even at starting from the open door, to teach us about +Why and How, we must be very short-sighted, or very shallow-hearted.</p> +<p>There is the old cock starling screeching in the eaves, because he +wants to frighten us away, and take a worm to his children, without +our finding out whereabouts his hole is. How does he know that +we might hurt him? and how again does he not know that we shall not +hurt him? we, who for five-and-twenty years have let him and his ancestors +build under those eaves in peace? How did he get that quantity +of half-wit, that sort of stupid cunning, into his little brain, and +yet get no more? And why (for this is a question of Why, and not +of How) does he labour all day long, hunting for worms and insects for +his children, while his wife nurses them in the nest? Why, too, +did he help her to build that nest with toil and care this spring, for +the sake of a set of nestlings who can be of no gain or use to him, +but only take the food out of his mouth? Simply out of—what +shall I call it, my child?—Love; that same sense of love and duty, +coming surely from that one Fountain of all duty and all love, which +makes your father work for you. That the mother should take care +of her young, is wonderful enough; but that (at least among many birds) +the father should help likewise, is (as you will find out as you grow +older) more wonderful far. So there already the old starling has +set us two fresh puzzles about How and Why, neither of which we shall +get answered, at least on this side of the grave.</p> +<p>Come on, up the field, under the great generous sun, who quarrels +with no one, grudges no one, but shines alike upon the evil and the +good. What a gay picture he is painting now, with his light-pencils; +for in them, remember, and not in the things themselves the colour lies. +See how, where the hay has been already carried, he floods all the slopes +with yellow light, making them stand out sharp against the black shadows +of the wood; while where the grass is standing still, he makes the sheets +of sorrel-flower blush rosy red, or dapples the field with white oxeyes.</p> +<p>But is not the sorrel itself red, and the oxeyes white?</p> +<p>What colour are they at night, when the sun is gone?</p> +<p>Dark.</p> +<p>That is, no colour. The very grass is not green at night.</p> +<p>Oh, but it is if you look at it with a lantern.</p> +<p>No, no. It is the light of the lantern, which happens to be +strong enough to make the leaves look green, though it is not strong +enough to make a geranium look red.</p> +<p>Not red?</p> +<p>No; the geranium flowers by a lantern look black, while the leaves +look green. If you don’t believe me, we will try.</p> +<p>But why is that?</p> +<p>Why, I cannot tell: and how, you had best ask Professor Tyndall, +if you ever have the honour of meeting him.</p> +<p>But now—hark to the mowing-machine, humming like a giant night-jar. +Come up and look at it, and see how swift and smooth it shears the long +grass down, so that in the middle of the swathe it seems to have merely +fallen flat, and you must move it before you find that it has been cut +off.</p> +<p>Ah, there is a proof to us of what men may do if they will only learn +the lessons which Madam How can teach them. There is that boy, +fresh from the National School, cutting more grass in a day than six +strong mowers could have cut, and cutting it better, too; for the mowing-machine +goes so much nearer to the ground than the scythe, that we gain by it +two hundredweight of hay on every acre. And see, too, how persevering +old Madam How will not stop her work, though the machine has cut off +all the grass which she has been making for the last three months; for +as fast as we shear it off, she makes it grow again. There are +fresh blades, here at our feet, a full inch long, which have sprung +up in the last two days, for the cattle when they are turned in next +week.</p> +<p>But if the machine cuts all the grass, the poor mowers will have +nothing to do.</p> +<p>Not so. They are all busy enough elsewhere. There is +plenty of other work to be done, thank God; and wholesomer and easier +work than mowing with a burning sun on their backs, drinking gallons +of beer, and getting first hot and then cold across the loins, till +they lay in a store of lumbago and sciatica, to cripple them in their +old age. You delight in machinery because it is curious: you should +delight in it besides because it does good, and nothing but good, where +it is used, according to the laws of Lady Why, with care, moderation, +and mercy, and fair-play between man and man. For example: just +as the mowing-machine saves the mowers, the threshing-machine saves +the threshers from rheumatism and chest complaints,—which they +used to catch in the draught and dust of the unhealthiest place in the +whole parish, which is, the old-fashioned barn’s floor. +And so, we may hope, in future years all heavy drudgery and dirty work +will be done more and more by machines, and people will have more and +more chance of keeping themselves clean and healthy, and more and more +time to read, and learn, and think, and be true civilised men and women, +instead of being mere live ploughs, or live manure-carts, such as I +have seen ere now.</p> +<p>A live manure-cart?</p> +<p>Yes, child. If you had seen, as I have seen, in foreign lands, +poor women, haggard, dirty, grown old before their youth was over, toiling +up hill with baskets of foul manure upon their backs, you would have +said, as I have said, “Oh for Madam How to cure that ignorance! +Oh for Lady Why to cure that barbarism! Oh that Madam How would +teach them that machinery must always be cheaper in the long run than +human muscles and nerves! Oh that Lady Why would teach them that +a woman is the most precious thing on earth, and that if she be turned +into a beast of burden, Lady Why—and Madam How likewise—will +surely avenge the wrongs of their human sister!” There, +you do not quite know what I mean, and I do not care that you should. +It is good for little folk that big folk should now and then “talk +over their heads,” as the saying is, and make them feel how ignorant +they are, and how many solemn and earnest questions there are in the +world on which they must make up their minds some day, though not yet. +But now we will talk about the hay: or rather do you and the rest go +and play in the hay and gather it up, build forts of it, storm them, +pull them down, build them up again, shout, laugh, and scream till you +are hot and tired. You will please Madam How thereby, and Lady +Why likewise.</p> +<p>How?</p> +<p>Because Madam How naturally wants her work to succeed, and she is +at work now making you.</p> +<p>Making me?</p> +<p>Of course. Making a man of you, out of a boy. And that +can only be done by the life-blood which runs through and through you. +And the more you laugh and shout, the more pure air will pass into your +blood, and make it red and healthy; and the more you romp and play—unless +you overtire yourself—the quicker will that blood flow through +all your limbs, to make bone and muscle, and help you to grow into a +man.</p> +<p>But why does Lady Why like to see us play?</p> +<p>She likes to see you happy, as she likes to see the trees and birds +happy. For she knows well that there is no food, nor medicine +either, like happiness. If people are not happy enough, they are +often tempted to do many wrong deeds, and to think many wrong thoughts: +and if by God’s grace they know the laws of Lady Why, and keep +from sin, still unhappiness, if it goes on too long, wears them out, +body and mind; and they grow ill and die, of broken hearts, and broken +brains, my child; and so at last, poor souls, find “Rest beneath +the Cross.”</p> +<p>Children, too, who are unhappy; children who are bullied, and frightened, +and kept dull and silent, never thrive. Their bodies do not thrive; +for they grow up weak. Their minds do not thrive; for they grow +up dull. Their souls do not thrive; for they learn mean, sly, +slavish ways, which God forbid you should ever learn. Well said +the wise man, “The human plant, like the vegetables, can only +flower in sunshine.”</p> +<p>So do you go, and enjoy yourself in the sunshine; but remember this—You +know what happiness is. Then if you wish to please Lady Why, and +Lady Why’s Lord and King likewise, you will never pass a little +child without trying to make it happier, even by a passing smile. +And now be off, and play in the hay, and come back to me when you are +tired.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Let us lie down at the foot of this old oak, and see what we can +see.</p> +<p>And hear what we can hear, too. What is that humming all round +us, now that the noisy mowing-machine has stopped?</p> +<p>And as much softer than the noise of mowing-machine hum, as the machines +which make it are more delicate and more curious. Madam How is +a very skilful workwoman, and has eyes which see deeper and clearer +than all microscopes; as you would find, if you tried to see what makes +that “Midsummer hum” of which the haymakers are so fond, +because it promises fair weather.</p> +<p>Why, it is only the gnats and flies.</p> +<p>Only the gnats and flies? You might study those gnats and flies +for your whole life without finding out all—or more than a very +little—about them. I wish I knew how they move those tiny +wings of theirs—a thousand times in a second, I dare say, some +of them. I wish I knew how far they know that they are happy—for +happy they must be, whether they know it or not. I wish I knew +how they live at all. I wish I even knew how many sorts there +are humming round us at this moment.</p> +<p>How many kinds? Three or four?</p> +<p>More probably thirty or forty round this single tree.</p> +<p>But why should there be so many kinds of living things? Would +not one or two have done just as well?</p> +<p>Why, indeed? Why should there not have been only one sort of +butterfly, and he only of one colour, a plain brown, or a plain white?</p> +<p>And why should there be so many sorts of birds, all robbing the garden +at once? Thrushes, and blackbirds, and sparrows, and chaffinches, +and greenfinches, and bullfinches, and tomtits.</p> +<p>And there are four kinds of tomtits round here, remember: but we +may go on with such talk for ever. Wiser men than we have asked +the same question: but Lady Why will not answer them yet. However, +there is another question, which Madam How seems inclined to answer +just now, which is almost as deep and mysterious.</p> +<p>What?</p> +<p><i>How</i> all these different kinds of things became different.</p> +<p>Oh, do tell me!</p> +<p>Not I. You must begin at the beginning, before you can end +at the end, or even make one step towards the end.</p> +<p>What do you mean?</p> +<p>You must learn the differences between things, before you can find +out how those differences came about. You must learn Madam How’s +alphabet before you can read her book. And Madam How’s alphabet +of animals and plants is, Species, Kinds of things. You must see +which are like, and which unlike; what they are like in, and what they +are unlike in. You are beginning to do that with your collection +of butterflies. You like to arrange them, and those that are most +like nearest to each other, and to compare them. You must do that +with thousands of different kinds of things before you can read one +page of Madam How’s Natural History Book rightly.</p> +<p>But it will take so much time and so much trouble.</p> +<p>God grant that you may not spend more time on worse matters, and +take more trouble over things which will profit you far less. +But so it must be, willy-nilly. You must learn the alphabet if +you mean to read. And you must learn the value of the figures +before you can do a sum. Why, what would you think of any one +who sat down to play at cards—for money too (which I hope and +trust you never will do)—before he knew the names of the cards, +and which counted highest, and took the other?</p> +<p>Of course he would be very foolish.</p> +<p>Just as foolish are those who make up “theories” (as +they call them) about this world, and how it was made, before they have +found out what the world is made of. You might as well try to +find out how this hay-field was made, without finding out first what +the hay is made of.</p> +<p>How the hay-field was made? Was it not always a hay-field?</p> +<p>Ah, yes; the old story, my child: Was not the earth always just what +it is now? Let us see for ourselves whether this was always a +hay-field.</p> +<p>How?</p> +<p>Just pick out all the different kinds of plants and flowers you can +find round us here. How many do you think there are?</p> +<p>Oh—there seem to be four or five.</p> +<p>Just as there were three or four kinds of flies in the air. +Pick them, child, and count. Let us have facts.</p> +<p>How many? What! a dozen already?</p> +<p>Yes—and here is another, and another. Why, I have got +I don’t know how many.</p> +<p>Why not? Bring them here, and let us see. Nine kinds +of grasses, and a rush. Six kinds of clovers and vetches; and +besides, dandelion, and rattle, and oxeye, and sorrel, and plantain, +and buttercup, and a little stitchwort, and pignut, and mouse-ear hawkweed, +too, which nobody wants.</p> +<p>Why?</p> +<p>Because they are a sign that I am not a good farmer enough, and have +not quite turned my Wild into Field.</p> +<p>What do you mean?</p> +<p>Look outside the boundary fence, at the moors and woods; they are +forest, Wild—“Wald,” as the Germans would call it. +Inside the fence is Field—“Feld,” as the Germans would +call it. Guess why?</p> +<p>Is it because the trees inside have been felled?</p> +<p>Well, some say so, who know more than I. But now go over the +fence, and see how many of these plants you can find on the moor.</p> +<p>Oh, I think I know. I am so often on the moor.</p> +<p>I think you would find more kinds outside than you fancy. But +what do you know?</p> +<p>That beside some short fine grass about the cattle-paths, there are +hardly any grasses on the moor save deer’s hair and glade-grass; +and all the rest is heath, and moss, and furze, and fern.</p> +<p>Softly—not all; you have forgotten the bog plants; and there +are (as I said) many more plants beside on the moor than you fancy. +But we will look into that another time. At all events, the plants +outside are on the whole quite different from the hay-field.</p> +<p>Of course: that is what makes the field look green and the moor brown.</p> +<p>Not a doubt. They are so different, that they look like bits +of two different continents. Scrambling over the fence is like +scrambling out of Europe into Australia. Now, how was that difference +made? Think. Don’t guess, but think. Why does +the rich grass come up to the bank, and yet not spread beyond it?</p> +<p>I suppose because it cannot get over.</p> +<p>Not get over? Would not the wind blow the seeds, and the birds +carry them? They do get over, in millions, I don’t doubt, +every summer.</p> +<p>Then why do they not grow?</p> +<p>Think.</p> +<p>Is there any difference in the soil inside and out?</p> +<p>A very good guess. But guesses are no use without facts. +Look.</p> +<p>Oh, I remember now. I know now the soil of the field is brown, +like the garden; and the soil of the moor all black and peaty.</p> +<p>Yes. But if you dig down two or three feet, you will find the +soils of the moor and the field just the same. So perhaps the +top soils were once both alike.</p> +<p>I know.</p> +<p>Well, and what do you think about it now? I want you to look +and think. I want every one to look and think. Half the +misery in the world comes first from not looking, and then from not +thinking. And I do not want you to be miserable.</p> +<p>But shall I be miserable if I do not find out such little things +as this.</p> +<p>You will be miserable if you do not learn to understand little things: +because then you will not be able to understand great things when you +meet them. Children who are not trained to use their eyes and +their common sense grow up the more miserable the cleverer they are.</p> +<p>Why?</p> +<p>Because they grow up what men call dreamers, and bigots, and fanatics, +causing misery to themselves and to all who deal with them. So +I say again, think.</p> +<p>Well, I suppose men must have altered the soil inside the bank.</p> +<p>Well done. But why do you think so?</p> +<p>Because, of course, some one made the bank; and the brown soil only +goes up to it.</p> +<p>Well, that is something like common sense. Now you will not +say any more, as the cows or the butterflies might, that the hay-field +was always there.</p> +<p>And how did men change the soil?</p> +<p>By tilling it with the plough, to sweeten it, and manuring it, to +make it rich.</p> +<p>And then did all these beautiful grasses grow up of themselves?</p> +<p>You ought to know that they most likely did not. You know the +new enclosures?</p> +<p>Yes.</p> +<p>Well then, do rich grasses come up on them, now that they are broken +up?</p> +<p>Oh no, nothing but groundsel, and a few weeds.</p> +<p>Just what, I dare say, came up here at first. But this land +was tilled for corn, for hundreds of years, I believe. And just +about one hundred years ago it was laid down in grass; that is, sown +with grass seeds.</p> +<p>And where did men get the grass seeds from?</p> +<p>Ah, that is a long story; and one that shows our forefathers (though +they knew nothing about railroads or electricity) were not such simpletons +as some folks think. The way it must have been done was this. +Men watched the natural pastures where cattle get fat on the wild grass, +as they do in the Fens, and many other parts of England. And then +they saved the seeds of those fattening wild grasses, and sowed them +in fresh spots. Often they made mistakes. They were careless, +and got weeds among the seed—like the buttercups, which do so +much harm to this pasture. Or they sowed on soil which would not +suit the seed, and it died. But at last, after many failures, +they have grown so careful and so clever, that you may send to certain +shops, saying what sort of soil yours is, and they will send you just +the seeds which will grow there, and no other; and then you have a good +pasture for as long as you choose to keep it good.</p> +<p>And how is it kept good?</p> +<p>Look at all those loads of hay, which are being carried off the field. +Do you think you can take all that away without putting anything in +its place?</p> +<p>Why not?</p> +<p>If I took all the butter out of the churn, what must I do if I want +more butter still?</p> +<p>Put more cream in.</p> +<p>So, if I want more grass to grow, I must put on the soil more of +what grass is made of.</p> +<p>But the butter don’t grow, and the grass does.</p> +<p>What does the grass grow in?</p> +<p>The soil.</p> +<p>Yes. Just as the butter grows in the churn. So you must +put fresh grass-stuff continually into the soil, as you put fresh cream +into the churn. You have heard the farm men say, “That crop +has taken a good deal out of the land”?</p> +<p>Yes.</p> +<p>Then they spoke exact truth. What will that hay turn into by +Christmas? Can’t you tell? Into milk, of course, which +you will drink; and into horseflesh too, which you will use.</p> +<p>Use horseflesh? Not eat it?</p> +<p>No; we have not got as far as that. We did not even make up +our minds to taste the Cambridge donkey. But every time the horse +draws the carriage, he uses up so much muscle; and that muscle he must +get back again by eating hay and corn; and that hay and corn must be +put back again into the land by manure, or there will be all the less +for the horse next year. For one cannot eat one’s cake and +keep it too; and no more can one eat one’s grass.</p> +<p>So this field is a truly wonderful place. It is no ugly pile +of brick and mortar, with a tall chimney pouring out smoke and evil +smells, with unhealthy, haggard people toiling inside. Why do +you look surprised?</p> +<p>Because—because nobody ever said it was. You mean a manufactory.</p> +<p>Well, and this hay-field is a manufactory: only like most of Madam +How’s workshops, infinitely more beautiful, as well as infinitely +more crafty, than any manufactory of man’s building. It +is beautiful to behold, and healthy to work in; a joy and blessing alike +to the eye, and the mind, and the body: and yet it is a manufactory.</p> +<p>But a manufactory of what?</p> +<p>Of milk of course, and cows, and sheep, and horses; and of your body +and mine—for we shall drink the milk and eat the meat. And +therefore it is a flesh and milk manufactory. We must put into +it every year yard-stuff, tank-stuff, guano, bones, and anything and +everything of that kin, that Madam How may cook it for us into grass, +and cook the grass again into milk and meat. But if we don’t +give Madam How material to work on, we cannot expect her to work for +us. And what do you think will happen then? She will set +to work for herself. The rich grasses will dwindle for want of +ammonia (that is smelling salts), and the rich clovers for want of phosphates +(that is bone-earth): and in their places will come over the bank the +old weeds and grass off the moor, which have not room to get in now, +because the ground is coveted already. They want no ammonia nor +phosphates—at all events they have none, and that is why the cattle +on the moor never get fat. So they can live where these rich grasses +cannot. And then they will conquer and thrive; and the Field will +turn into Wild once more.</p> +<p>Ah, my child, thank God for your forefathers, when you look over +that boundary mark. For the difference between the Field and the +Wild is the difference between the old England of Madam How’s +making, and the new England which she has taught man to make, carrying +on what she had only begun and had not time to finish.</p> +<p>That moor is a pattern bit left to show what the greater part of +this land was like for long ages after it had risen out of the sea; +when there was little or nothing on the flat upper moors save heaths, +and ling, and club-mosses, and soft gorse, and needle-whin, and creeping +willows; and furze and fern upon the brows; and in the bottoms oak and +ash, beech and alder, hazel and mountain ash, holly and thorn, with +here and there an aspen or a buckthorn (berry-bearing alder as you call +it), and everywhere—where he could thrust down his long root, +and thrust up his long shoots—that intruding conqueror and insolent +tyrant, the bramble. There were sedges and rushes, too, in the +bogs, and coarse grass on the forest pastures—or “leas” +as we call them to this day round here—but no real green fields; +and, I suspect, very few gay flowers, save in spring the sheets of golden +gorse, and in summer the purple heather. Such was old England—or +rather, such was this land before it was England; a far sadder, damper, +poorer land than now. For one man or one cow or sheep which could +have lived on it then, a hundred can live now. And yet, what it +was once, that it might become again,—it surely would round here, +if this brave English people died out of it, and the land was left to +itself once more.</p> +<p>What would happen then, you may guess for yourself, from what you +see happen whenever the land is left to itself, as it is in the wood +above. In that wood you can still see the grass ridges and furrows +which show that it was once ploughed and sown by man; perhaps as late +as the time of Henry the Eighth, when a great deal of poor land, as +you will read some day, was thrown out of tillage, to become forest +and down once more. And what is the mount now? A jungle +of oak and beech, cherry and holly, young and old all growing up together, +with the mountain ash and bramble and furze coming up so fast beneath +them, that we have to cut the paths clear again year by year. +Why, even the little cow-wheat, a very old-world plant, which only grows +in ancient woods, has found its way back again, I know not whence, and +covers the open spaces with its pretty yellow and white flowers. +Man had conquered this mount, you see, from Madam How, hundreds of years +ago. And she always lets man conquer her, because Lady Why wishes +man to conquer: only he must have a fair fight with Madam How first, +and try his strength against hers to the utmost. So man conquered +the wood for a while; and it became cornfield instead of forest: but +he was not strong and wise enough three hundred years ago to keep what +he had conquered; and back came Madam How, and took the place into her +own hands, and bade the old forest trees and plants come back again—as +they would come if they were not stopped year by year, down from the +wood, over the pastures—killing the rich grasses as they went, +till they met another forest coming up from below, and fought it for +many a year, till both made peace, and lived quietly side by side for +ages.</p> +<p>Another forest coming up from below? Where would it come from?</p> +<p>From where it is now. Come down and look along the brook, and +every drain and grip which runs into the brook. What is here?</p> +<p>Seedling alders, and some withies among them.</p> +<p>Very well. You know how we pull these alders up, and cut them +down, and yet they continually come again. Now, if we and all +human beings were to leave this pasture for a few hundred years, would +not those alders increase into a wood? Would they not kill the +grass, and spread right and left, seeding themselves more and more as +the grass died, and left the ground bare, till they met the oaks and +beeches coming down the hill? And then would begin a great fight, +for years and years, between oak and beech against alder and willow.</p> +<p>But how can trees fight? Could they move or beat each other +with their boughs?</p> +<p>Not quite that; though they do beat each other with their boughs, +fiercely enough, in a gale of wind; and then the trees who have strong +and stiff boughs wound those who have brittle and limp boughs, and so +hurt them, and if the storms come often enough, kill them. But +among these trees in a sheltered valley the larger and stronger would +kill the weaker and smaller by simply overshadowing their tops, and +starving their roots; starving them, indeed, so much when they grow +very thick, that the poor little acorns, and beech mast, and alder seeds +would not be able to sprout at all. So they would fight, killing +each other’s children, till the war ended—I think I can +guess how.</p> +<p>How?</p> +<p>The beeches are as dainty as they are beautiful; and they do not +like to get their feet wet. So they would venture down the hill +only as far as the dry ground lasts, and those who tried to grow any +lower would die. But the oaks are hardy, and do not care much +where they grow. So they would fight their way down into the wet +ground among the alders and willows, till they came to where their enemies +were so thick and tall, that the acorns as they fell could not sprout +in the darkness. And so you would have at last, along the hill-side, +a forest of beech and oak, lower down a forest of oak and alder, and +along the stream-side alders and willows only. And that would +be a very fair example of the great law of the struggle for existence, +which causes the competition of species.</p> +<p>What is that?</p> +<p>Madam How is very stern, though she is always perfectly just; and +therefore she makes every living thing fight for its life, and earn +its bread, from its birth till its death; and rewards it exactly according +to its deserts, and neither more nor less.</p> +<p>And the competition of species means, that each thing, and kind of +things, has to compete against the things round it; and to see which +is the stronger; and the stronger live, and breed, and spread, and the +weaker die out.</p> +<p>But that is very hard.</p> +<p>I know it, my child, I know it. But so it is. And Madam +How, no doubt, would be often very clumsy and very cruel, without meaning +it, because she never sees beyond her own nose, or thinks at all about +the consequences of what she is doing. But Lady Why, who does +think about consequences, is her mistress, and orders her about for +ever. And Lady Why is, I believe, as loving as she is wise; and +therefore we must trust that she guides this great war between living +things, and takes care that Madam How kills nothing which ought not +to die, and takes nothing away without putting something more beautiful +and something more useful in its place; and that even if England were, +which God forbid, overrun once more with forests and bramble-brakes, +that too would be of use somehow, somewhere, somewhen, in the long ages +which are to come hereafter.</p> +<p>And you must remember, too, that since men came into the world with +rational heads on their shoulders, Lady Why has been handing over more +and more of Madam How’s work to them, and some of her own work +too: and bids them to put beautiful and useful things in the place of +ugly and useless ones; so that now it is men’s own fault if they +do not use their wits, and do by all the world what they have done by +these pastures—change it from a barren moor into a rich hay-field, +by copying the laws of Madam How, and making grass compete against heath. +But you look thoughtful: what is it you want to know?</p> +<p>Why, you say all living things must fight and scramble for what they +can get from each other: and must not I too? For I am a living +thing.</p> +<p>Ah, that is the old question, which our Lord answered long ago, and +said, “Be not anxious what ye shall eat or what ye shall drink, +or wherewithal you shall be clothed. For after all these things +do the heathen seek, and your Heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need +of these things. But seek ye first the kingdom of God and His +righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you.” +A few, very few, people have taken that advice. But they have +been just the salt of the earth, which has kept mankind from decaying.</p> +<p>But what has that to do with it?</p> +<p>See. You are a living thing, you say. Are you a plant?</p> +<p>No.</p> +<p>Are you an animal?</p> +<p>I do not know. Yes. I suppose I am. I eat, and +drink, and sleep, just as dogs and cats do.</p> +<p>Yes. There is no denying that. No one knew that better +than St. Paul when he told men that they had a flesh; that is, a body, +and an animal’s nature in them. But St. Paul told them—of +course he was not the first to say so, for all the wise heathens have +known that—that there was something more in us, which he called +a spirit. Some call it now the moral sentiment, some one thing, +some another, but we will keep to the old word: we shall not find a +better.</p> +<p>Yes, I know that I have a spirit, a soul.</p> +<p>Better to say that you are a spirit. But what does St. Paul +say? That our spirit is to conquer our flesh, and keep it down. +That the man in us, in short, which is made in the likeness of God, +is to conquer the animal in us, which is made in the likeness of the +dog and the cat, and sometimes (I fear) in the likeness of the ape or +the pig. You would not wish to be like a cat, much less like an +ape or a pig?</p> +<p>Of course not.</p> +<p>Then do not copy them, by competing and struggling for existence +against other people.</p> +<p>What do you mean?</p> +<p>Did you never watch the pigs feeding?</p> +<p>Yes, and how they grudge and quarrel, and shove each other’s +noses out of the trough, and even bite each other because they are so +jealous which shall get most.</p> +<p>That is it. And how the biggest pig drives the others away, +and would starve them while he got fat, if the man did not drive him +off in his turn.</p> +<p>Oh, yes; I know.</p> +<p>Then no wiser than those pigs are worldly men who compete, and grudge, +and struggle with each other, which shall get most money, most fame, +most power over their fellow-men. They will tell you, my child, +that that is the true philosophy, and the true wisdom; that competition +is the natural law of society, and the source of wealth and prosperity. +Do not you listen to them. That is the wisdom of this world, which +the flesh teaches the animals; and those who follow it, like the animals, +will perish. Such men are not even as wise as Sweep the retriever.</p> +<p>Not as wise as Sweep?</p> +<p>Not they. Sweep will not take away Victor’s bone, though +he is ten times as big as Victor, and could kill him in a moment; and +when he catches a rabbit, does he eat it himself?</p> +<p>Of course not; he brings it and lays it down at our feet.</p> +<p>Because he likes better to do his duty, and be praised for it, than +to eat the rabbit, dearly as he longs to eat it.</p> +<p>But he is only an animal. Who taught him to be generous, and +dutiful, and faithful?</p> +<p>Who, indeed! Not we, you know that, for he has grown up with +us since a puppy. How he learnt it, and his parents before him, +is a mystery, of which we can only say, God has taught them, we know +not how. But see what has happened—that just because dogs +have learnt not to be selfish and to compete—that is, have become +civilised and tame—therefore we let them live with us, and love +them. Because they try to be good in their simple way, therefore +they too have all things added to them, and live far happier, and more +comfortable lives than the selfish wolf and fox.</p> +<p>But why have not all animals found out that?</p> +<p>I cannot tell: there may be wise animals and foolish animals, as +there are wise and foolish men. Indeed there are. I see +a very wise animal there, who never competes; for she has learned something +of the golden lesson—that it is more blessed to give than to receive; +and she acts on what she has learnt, all day long.</p> +<p>Which do you mean? Why, that is a bee.</p> +<p>Yes, it is a bee: and I wish I were as worthy in my place as that +bee is in hers. I wish I could act up as well as she does to the +true wisdom, which is self-sacrifice. For whom is that bee working? +For herself? If that was all, she only needs to suck the honey +as she goes. But she is storing up the wax under her stomach, +and bee-bread in her thighs—for whom? Not for herself only, +or even for her own children: but for the children of another bee, her +queen. For them she labours all day long, builds for them, feeds +them, nurses them, spends her love and cunning on them. So does +that ant on the path. She is carrying home that stick to build +for other ants’ children. So do the white ants in the tropics. +They have learnt not to compete, but to help each other; not to be selfish, +but to sacrifice themselves; and therefore they are strong.</p> +<p>But you told me once that ants would fight and plunder each other’s +nests. And once we saw two hives of bees fighting in the air, +and falling dead by dozens.</p> +<p>My child, do not men fight, and kill each other by thousands with +sharp shot and cold steel, because, though they have learnt the virtue +of patriotism, they have not yet learnt that of humanity? We must +not blame the bees and ants if they are no wiser than men. At +least they are wise enough to stand up for their country, that is, their +hive, and work for it, and die for it, if need be; and that makes them +strong.</p> +<p>But how does that make them strong?</p> +<p>How, is a deep question, and one I can hardly answer yet. But +that it has made them so there is no doubt. Look at the solitary +bees—the governors as we call them, who live in pairs, in little +holes in the banks. How few of them there are; and they never +seem to increase in numbers. Then look at the hive bees, how, +just because they are civilised,—that is, because they help each +other, and feed each other, instead of being solitary and selfish,—they +breed so fast, and get so much food, that if they were not killed for +their honey, they would soon become a nuisance, and drive us out of +the parish.</p> +<p>But then we give them their hives ready made.</p> +<p>True. But in old forest countries, where trees decay and grow +hollow, the bees breed in them.</p> +<p>Yes. I remember the bee tree in the fir avenue.</p> +<p>Well then, in many forests in hot countries the bees swarm in hollow +trees; and they, and the ants, and the white ants, have it all their +own way, and are lords and masters, driving the very wild beasts before +them, while the ants and white ants eat up all gardens, and plantations, +and clothes, and furniture; till it is a serious question whether in +some hot countries man will ever be able to settle, so strong have the +ants grown, by ages of civilisation, and not competing against their +brothers and sisters.</p> +<p>But may I not compete for prizes against the other boys?</p> +<p>Well, there is no harm in that; for you do not harm the others, even +if you win. They will have learnt all the more, while trying for +the prize; and so will you, even if you don’t get it. But +I tell you fairly, trying for prizes is only fit for a child; and when +you become a man, you must put away childish things—competition +among the rest.</p> +<p>But surely I may try to be better and wiser and more learned than +everybody else?</p> +<p>My dearest child, why try for that? Try to be as good, and +wise, and learned as you can, and if you find any man, or ten thousand +men, superior to you, thank God for it. Do you think that there +can be too much wisdom in the world?</p> +<p>Of course not: but I should like to be the wisest man in it.</p> +<p>Then you would only have the heaviest burden of all men on your shoulders.</p> +<p>Why?</p> +<p>Because you would be responsible for more foolish people than any +one else. Remember what wise old Moses said, when some one came +and told him that certain men in the camp were prophesying—“Would +God all the Lord’s people did prophesy!” Yes; it would +have saved Moses many a heartache, and many a sleepless night, if all +the Jews had been wise as he was, and wiser still. So do not you +compete with good and wise men, but simply copy them: and whatever you +do, do not compete with the wolves, and the apes, and the swine of this +world; for that is a game at which you are sure to be beaten.</p> +<p>Why?</p> +<p>Because Lady Why, if she loves you (as I trust she does), will take +care that you are beaten, lest you should fancy it was really profitable +to live like a cunning sort of animal, and not like a true man. +And how she will do that I can tell you. She will take care that +you always come across a worse man than you are trying to be,—a +more apish man, who can tumble and play monkey-tricks for people’s +amusement better than you can; or a more swinish man, who can get at +more of the pig’s-wash than you can; or a more wolfish man, who +will eat you up if you do not get out of his way; and so she will disappoint +and disgust you, my child, with that greedy, selfish, vain animal life, +till you turn round and see your mistake, and try to live the true human +life, which also is divine;—to be just and honourable, gentle +and forgiving, generous and useful—in one word, to fear God, and +keep His commandments: and as you live that life, you will find that, +by the eternal laws of Lady Why, all other things will be added to you; +that people will be glad to know you, glad to help you, glad to employ +you, because they see that you will be of use to them, and will do them +no harm. And if you meet (as you will meet) with people better +and wiser than yourself, then so much the better for you; for they will +love you, and be glad to teach you when they see that you are living +the unselfish and harmless life; and that you come to them, not as foolish +Critias came to Socrates, to learn political cunning, and become a selfish +and ambitious tyrant, but as wise Plato came, that he might learn the +laws of Lady Why, and love them for her sake, and teach them to all +mankind. And so you, like the plants and animals, will get your +deserts exactly, without competing and struggling for existence as they +do.</p> +<p>And all this has come out of looking at the hay-field and the wild +moor.</p> +<p>Why not? There is an animal in you, and there is a man in you. +If the animal gets the upper hand, all your character will fall back +into wild useless moor; if the man gets the upper hand, all your character +will be cultivated into rich and fertile field. Choose.</p> +<p>Now come down home. The haymakers are resting under the hedge. +The horses are dawdling home to the farm. The sun is getting low, +and the shadows long. Come home, and go to bed while the house +is fragrant with the smell of hay, and dream that you are still playing +among the haycocks. When you grow old, you will have other and +sadder dreams.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XI—THE WORLD’S END</h2> +<p>Hullo! hi! wake up. Jump out of bed, and come to the window, +and see where you are.</p> +<p>What a wonderful place!</p> +<p>So it is: though it is only poor old Ireland. Don’t you +recollect that when we started I told you we were going to Ireland, +and through it to the World’s End; and here we are now safe at +the end of the old world, and beyond us the great Atlantic, and beyond +that again, thousands of miles away, the new world, which will be rich +and prosperous, civilised and noble, thousands of years hence, when +this old world, it may be, will be dead, and little children there will +be reading in their history books of Ancient England and of Ancient +France, as you now read of Greece and Rome.</p> +<p>But what a wonderful place it is! What are those great green +things standing up in the sky, all over purple ribs and bars, with their +tops hid in the clouds?</p> +<p>Those are mountains; the bones of some old world, whose poor bare +sides Madam How is trying to cover with rich green grass.</p> +<p>And how far off are they?</p> +<p>How I should like to walk up to the top of that one which looks quite +close.</p> +<p>You will find it a long walk up there; three miles, I dare say, over +black bogs and banks of rock, and up corries and cliffs which you could +not climb. There are plenty of cows on that mountain: and yet +they look so small, you could not see them, nor I either, without a +glass. That long white streak, zigzagging down the mountain side, +is a roaring cataract of foam five hundred feet high, full now with +last night’s rain; but by this afternoon it will have dwindled +to a little thread; and to-morrow, when you get up, if no more rain +has come down, it will be gone. Madam How works here among the +mountains swiftly and hugely, and sometimes terribly enough; as you +shall see when you have had your breakfast, and come down to the bridge +with me.</p> +<p>But what a beautiful place it is! Flowers and woods and a lawn; +and what is that great smooth patch in the lawn just under the window?</p> +<p>Is it an empty flower-bed?</p> +<p>Ah, thereby hangs a strange tale. We will go and look at it +after breakfast, and then you shall see with your own eyes one of the +wonders which I have been telling you of.</p> +<p>And what is that shining between the trees?</p> +<p>Water.</p> +<p>Is it a lake?</p> +<p>Not a lake, though there are plenty round here; that is salt water, +not fresh. Look away to the right, and you see it through the +opening of the woods again and again: and now look above the woods. +You see a faint blue line, and gray and purple lumps like clouds, which +rest upon it far away. That, child, is the great Atlantic Ocean, +and those are islands in the far west. The water which washes +the bottom of the lawn was but a few months ago pouring out of the Gulf +of Mexico, between the Bahamas and Florida, and swept away here as the +great ocean river of warm water which we call the Gulf Stream, bringing +with it out of the open ocean the shoals of mackerel, and the porpoises +and whales which feed upon them. Some fine afternoon we will run +down the bay and catch strange fishes, such as you never saw before, +and very likely see a living whale.</p> +<p>What? such a whale as they get whalebone from, and which eats sea-moths?</p> +<p>No, they live far north, in the Arctic circle; these are grampuses, +and bottle-noses, which feed on fish; not so big as the right whales, +but quite big enough to astonish you, if one comes up and blows close +to the boat. Get yourself dressed and come down, and then we will +go out; we shall have plenty to see and talk of at every step.</p> +<p>Now, you have finished your breakfast at last, so come along, and +we shall see what we shall see. First run out across the gravel, +and scramble up that bank of lawn, and you will see what you fancied +was an empty flower-bed.</p> +<p>Why, it is all hard rock.</p> +<p>Ah, you are come into the land of rocks now: out of the land of sand +and gravel; out of a soft young corner of the world into a very hard, +old, weather-beaten corner; and you will see rocks enough, and too many +for the poor farmers, before you go home again.</p> +<p>But how beautifully smooth and flat the rock is: and yet it is all +rounded.</p> +<p>What is it like?</p> +<p>Like—like the half of a shell.</p> +<p>Not badly said, but think again.</p> +<p>Like—like—I know what it is like. Like the back +of some great monster peeping up through the turf.</p> +<p>You have got it. Such rocks as these are called in Switzerland +“roches moutonnées,” because they are, people fancy, +like sheep’s backs. Now look at the cracks and layers in +it. They run across the stone; they have nothing to do with the +shape of it. You see that?</p> +<p>Yes: but here are cracks running across them, all along the stone, +till the turf hides them.</p> +<p>Look at them again; they are no cracks; they do not go into the stone.</p> +<p>I see. They are scratched; something like those on the elder-stem +at home, where the cats sharpen their claws. But it would take +a big cat to make them.</p> +<p>Do you recollect what I told you of Madam How’s hand, more +flexible than any hand of man, and yet strong enough to grind the mountains +into paste?</p> +<p>I know. Ice! ice! ice! But are these really ice-marks?</p> +<p>Child, on the place where we now stand, over rich lawns, and warm +woods, and shining lochs, lay once on a time hundreds, it may be thousands, +of feet of solid ice, crawling off yonder mountain-tops into the ocean +there outside; and this is one of its tracks. See how the scratches +all point straight down the valley, and straight out to sea. Those +mountains are 2000 feet high: but they were much higher once; for the +ice has planed the tops off them. Then, it seems to me, the ice +sank, and left the mountains standing out of it about half their height, +and at that level it stayed, till it had planed down all those lower +moors of smooth bare rock between us and the Western ocean; and then +it sank again, and dwindled back, leaving moraines (that is, heaps of +dirt and stones) all up these valleys here and there, till at the last +it melted all away, and poor old Ireland became fit to live in again. +We will go down the bay some day and look at those moraines, some of +them quite hills of earth, and then you will see for yourself how mighty +a chisel the ice-chisel was, and what vast heaps of chips it has left +behind. Now then, down over the lawn towards the bridge. +Listen to the river, louder and louder every step we take.</p> +<p>What a roar! Is there a waterfall there?</p> +<p>No. It is only the flood. And underneath the roar of +that flood, do you not hear a deeper note—a dull rumbling, as +if from underground?</p> +<p>Yes. What is it?</p> +<p>The rolling of great stones under water, which are being polished +against each other, as they hurry toward the sea. Now, up on the +parapet of the bridge. I will hold you tight. Look and see +Madam How’s rain-spade at work. Look at the terrible yellow +torrent below us, almost filling up the arches of the bridge, and leaping +high in waves and crests of foam.</p> +<p>Oh, the bridge is falling into the water!</p> +<p>Not a bit. You are not accustomed to see water running below +you at ten miles an hour. Never mind that feeling. It will +go off in a few seconds. Look; the water is full six feet up the +trunks of the trees; over the grass and the king fern, and the tall +purple loose-strife—</p> +<p>Oh! Here comes a tree dancing down!</p> +<p>And there are some turfs which have been cut on the mountain. +And there is a really sad sight. Look what comes now.</p> +<p>One—two—three.</p> +<p>Why, they are sheep.</p> +<p>Yes. And a sad loss they will be to some poor fellow in the +glen above.</p> +<p>And oh! Look at the pig turning round and round solemnly in +the corner under the rock. Poor piggy! He ought to have +been at home safe in his stye, and not wandering about the hills. +And what are these coming now?</p> +<p>Butter firkins, I think. Yes. This is a great flood. +It is well if there are no lives lost.</p> +<p>But is it not cruel of Madam How to make such floods?</p> +<p>Well—let us ask one of these men who are looking over the bridge.</p> +<p>Why, what does he say? I cannot understand one word. +Is he talking Irish?</p> +<p>Irish-English at least: but what he said was, that it was a mighty +fine flood entirely, praised be God; and would help on the potatoes +and oats after the drought, and set the grass growing again on the mountains.</p> +<p>And what is he saying now?</p> +<p>That the river will be full of salmon and white trout after this.</p> +<p>What does he mean?</p> +<p>That under our feet now, if we could see through the muddy water, +dozens of salmon and sea-trout are running up from the sea.</p> +<p>What! up this furious stream?</p> +<p>Yes. What would be death to you is pleasure and play to them. +Up they are going, to spawn in the little brooks among the mountains; +and all of them are the best of food, fattened on the herrings and sprats +in the sea outside, Madam How’s free gift, which does not cost +man a farthing, save the expense of nets and rods to catch them.</p> +<p>How can that be?</p> +<p>I will give you a bit of political economy. Suppose a pound +of salmon is worth a shilling; and a pound of beef is worth a shilling +likewise. Before we can eat the beef, it has cost perhaps tenpence +to make that pound of beef out of turnips and grass and oil-cake; and +so the country is only twopence a pound richer for it. But Mr. +Salmon has made himself out of what he eats in the sea, and so has cost +nothing; and the shilling a pound is all clear gain. There—you +don’t quite understand that piece of political economy. +Indeed, it is only in the last two or three years that older heads than +yours have got to understand it, and have passed the wise new salmon +laws, by which the rivers will be once more as rich with food as the +land is, just as they were hundreds of years ago. But now, look +again at the river. What do you think makes it so yellow and muddy?</p> +<p>Dirt, of course.</p> +<p>And where does that come from?</p> +<p>Off the mountains?</p> +<p>Yes. Tons on tons of white mud are being carried down past +us now; and where will they go?</p> +<p>Into the sea?</p> +<p>Yes, and sink there in the still water, to make new strata at the +bottom; and perhaps in them, ages hence, some one will find the bones +of those sheep, and of poor Mr. Pig too, fossil—</p> +<p>And the butter firkins too. What fun to find a fossil butter +firkin!</p> +<p>But now lift up your eyes to the jagged mountain crests, and their +dark sides all laced with silver streams. Out of every crack and +cranny there aloft, the rain is bringing down dirt, and stones too, +which have been split off by the winter’s frosts, deepening every +little hollow, and sharpening every peak, and making the hills more +jagged and steep year by year.</p> +<p>When the ice went away, the hills were all scraped smooth and round +by the glaciers, like the flat rock upon the lawn; and ugly enough they +must have looked, most like great brown buns. But ever since then, +Madam How has been scooping them out again by her water-chisel into +deep glens, mighty cliffs, sharp peaks, such as you see aloft, and making +the old hills beautiful once more. Why, even the Alps in Switzerland +have been carved out by frost and rain, out of some great flat. +The very peak of the Matterhorn, of which you have so often seen a picture, +is but one single point left of some enormous bun of rock. All +the rest has been carved away by rain and frost; and some day the Matterhorn +itself will be carved away, and its last stone topple into the glacier +at its foot. See, as we have been talking, we have got into the +woods.</p> +<p>Oh, what beautiful woods, just like our own.</p> +<p>Not quite. There are some things growing here which do not +grow at home, as you will soon see. And there are no rocks at +home, either, as there are here.</p> +<p>How strange, to see trees growing out of rocks! How do their +roots get into the stone?</p> +<p>There is plenty of rich mould in the cracks for them to feed on—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Health to the oak of the mountains; he trusts +to the might of the rock-clefts.<br /> +Deeply he mines, and in peace feeds on the wealth of the stone.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>How many sorts of trees there are—oak, and birch and nuts, +and mountain-ash, and holly and furze, and heather.</p> +<p>And if you went to some of the islands in the lake up in the glen, +you would find wild arbutus—strawberry-tree, as you call it. +We will go and get some one day or other.</p> +<p>How long and green the grass is, even on the rocks, and the ferns, +and the moss, too. Everything seems richer here than at home.</p> +<p>Of course it is. You are here in the land of perpetual spring, +where frost and snow seldom, or never comes.</p> +<p>Oh, look at the ferns under this rock! I must pick some.</p> +<p>Pick away. I will warrant you do not pick all the sorts.</p> +<p>Yes. I have got them all now.</p> +<p>Not so hasty, child; there is plenty of a beautiful fern growing +among that moss, which you have passed over. Look here.</p> +<p>What! that little thing a fern!</p> +<p>Hold it up to the light, and see.</p> +<p>What a lovely little thing, like a transparent sea-weed, hung on +black wire. What is it?</p> +<p>Film fern, Hymenophyllum. But what are you staring at now, +with all your eyes?</p> +<p>Oh! that rock covered with green stars and a cloud of little white +and pink flowers growing out of them.</p> +<p>Aha! my good little dog! I thought you would stand to that +game when you found it.</p> +<p>What is it, though?</p> +<p>You must answer that yourself. You have seen it a hundred times +before.</p> +<p>Why, it is London Pride, that grows in the garden at home.</p> +<p>Of course it is: but the Irish call it St. Patrick’s cabbage; +though it got here a long time before St. Patrick; and St. Patrick must +have been very short of garden-stuff if he ever ate it.</p> +<p>But how did it get here from London?</p> +<p>No, no. How did it get to London from hence? For from +this country it came. I suppose the English brought it home in +Queen Bess’s or James the First’s time.</p> +<p>But if it is wild here, and will grow so well in England, why do +we not find it wild in England too?</p> +<p>For the same reason that there are no toads or snakes in Ireland. +They had not got as far as Ireland before Ireland was parted off from +England. And St. Patrick’s cabbage, and a good many other +plants, had not got as far as England.</p> +<p>But why?</p> +<p>Why, I don’t know. But this I know: that when Madam How +makes a new sort of plant or animal, she starts it in one single place, +and leaves it to take care of itself and earn its own living—as +she does you and me and every one—and spread from that place all +round as far as it can go. So St. Patrick’s cabbage got +into this south-west of Ireland, long, long ago; and was such a brave +sturdy little plant, that it clambered up to the top of the highest +mountains, and over all the rocks. But when it got to the rich +lowlands to the eastward, in county Cork, it found all the ground taken +up already with other plants; and as they had enough to do to live themselves, +they would not let St. Patrick’s cabbage settle among them; and +it had to be content with living here in the far-west—and, what +was very sad, had no means of sending word to its brothers and sisters +in the Pyrenees how it was getting on.</p> +<p>What do you mean? Are you making fun of me?</p> +<p>Not the least. I am only telling you a very strange story, +which is literally true. Come, and sit down on this bench. +You can’t catch that great butterfly, he is too strong on the +wing for you.</p> +<p>But oh, what a beautiful one!</p> +<p>Yes, orange and black, silver and green, a glorious creature. +But you may see him at home sometimes: that plant close to you, you +cannot see at home.</p> +<p>Why, it is only great spurge, such as grows in the woods at home.</p> +<p>No. It is Irish spurge which grows here, and sometimes in Devonshire, +and then again in the west of Europe, down to the Pyrenees. Don’t +touch it. Our wood spurge is poisonous enough, but this is worse +still; if you get a drop of its milk on your lip or eye, you will be +in agonies for half a day. That is the evil plant with which the +poachers kill the salmon.</p> +<p>How do they do that?</p> +<p>When the salmon are spawning up in the little brooks, and the water +is low, they take that spurge, and grind it between two stones under +water, and let the milk run down into the pool; and at that all the +poor salmon turn up dead. Then comes the water-bailiff, and catches +the poachers. Then comes the policeman, with his sword at his +side and his truncheon under his arm: and then comes a “cheap +journey” to Tralee Gaol, in which those foolish poachers sit and +reconsider themselves, and determine not to break the salmon laws—at +least till next time.</p> +<p>But why is it that this spurge, and St. Patrick’s cabbage, +grow only here in the west? If they got here of themselves, where +did they come from? All outside there is sea; and they could not +float over that.</p> +<p>Come, I say, and sit down on this bench, and I will tell you a tale,—the +story of the Old Atlantis, the sunken land in the far West. Old +Plato, the Greek, told legends of it, which you will read some day; +and now it seems as if those old legends had some truth in them, after +all. We are standing now on one of the last remaining scraps of +the old Atlantic land. Look down the bay. Do you see far +away, under, the mountains, little islands, long and low?</p> +<p>Oh, yes.</p> +<p>Some of these are old slate, like the mountains; others are limestone; +bits of the old coral-reef to the west of Ireland which became dry land.</p> +<p>I know. You told me about it.</p> +<p>Then that land, which is all eaten up by the waves now, once joined +Ireland to Cornwall, and to Spain, and to the Azores, and I suspect +to the Cape of Good Hope, and what is stranger, to Labrador, on the +coast of North America.</p> +<p>Oh! How can you know that?</p> +<p>Listen, and I will give you your first lesson in what I call Bio-geology.</p> +<p>What a long word!</p> +<p>If you can find a shorter one I shall be very much obliged to you, +for I hate long words. But what it means is,—Telling how +the land has changed in shape, by the plants and animals upon it. +And if you ever read (as you will) Mr. Wallace’s new book on the +Indian Archipelago, you will see what wonderful discoveries men may +make about such questions if they will but use their common sense. +You know the common pink heather—ling, as we call it?</p> +<p>Of course.</p> +<p>Then that ling grows, not only here and in the north and west of +Europe, but in the Azores too; and, what is more strange, in Labrador. +Now, as ling can neither swim nor fly, does not common sense tell you +that all those countries were probably joined together in old times?</p> +<p>Well: but it seems so strange.</p> +<p>So it is, my child; and so is everything. But, as the fool +says in Shakespeare—</p> +<blockquote><p>“A long time ago the world began,<br /> +With heigh ho, the wind and the rain.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And the wind and the rain have made strange work with the poor old +world ever since. And that is about all that we, who are not very +much wiser than Shakespeare’s fool, can say about the matter. +But again—the London Pride grows here, and so does another saxifrage +very like it, which we call Saxifraga Geum. Now, when I saw those +two plants growing in the Western Pyrenees, between France and Spain, +and with them the beautiful blue butterwort, which grows in these Kerry +bogs—we will go and find some—what could I say but that +Spain and Ireland must have been joined once?</p> +<p>I suppose it must be so.</p> +<p>Again. There is a little pink butterwort here in the bogs, +which grows, too, in dear old Devonshire and Cornwall; and also in the +south-west of Scotland. Now, when I found that too, in the bogs +near Biarritz, close to the Pyrenees, and knew that it stretched away +along the Spanish coast, and into Portugal, what could my common sense +lead me to say but that Scotland, and Ireland, and Cornwall, and Spain +were all joined once? Those are only a few examples. I could +give you a dozen more. For instance, on an island away there to +the west, and only in one spot, there grows a little sort of lily, which +is found I believe in Brittany, and on the Spanish and Portuguese heaths, +and even in North-west Africa. And that Africa and Spain were +joined not so very long ago at the Straits of Gibraltar there is no +doubt at all.</p> +<p>But where did the Mediterranean Sea run out then?</p> +<p>Perhaps it did not run out at all; but was a salt-water lake, like +the Caspian, or the Dead Sea. Perhaps it ran out over what is +now the Sahara, the great desert of sand, for, that was a sea-bottom +not long ago.</p> +<p>But then, how was this land of Atlantis joined to the Cape of Good +Hope?</p> +<p>I cannot say how, or when either. But this is plain: the place +in the world where the most beautiful heaths grow is the Cape of Good +Hope? You know I showed you Cape heaths once at the nursery gardener’s +at home.</p> +<p>Oh yes, pink, and yellow, and white; so much larger than ours.</p> +<p>Then it seems (I only say it seems) as if there must have been some +land once to the westward, from which the different sorts of heath spread +south-eastward to the Cape, and north-eastward into Europe. And +that they came north-eastward into Europe seems certain; for there are +no heaths in America or Asia.</p> +<p>But how north-eastward?</p> +<p>Think. Stand with your face to the south and think. If +a thing comes from the south-west—from there, it must go to the +north-east-towards there. Must it not?</p> +<p>Oh yes, I see.</p> +<p>Now then—The farther you go south-west, towards Spain, the +more kinds of heath there are, and the handsomer; as if their original +home, from which they started, was somewhere down there.</p> +<p>More sorts! What sorts?</p> +<p>How many sorts of heath have we at home?</p> +<p>Three, of course: ling, and purple heath, and bottle heath.</p> +<p>And there are no more in all England, or Wales, or Scotland, except—Now, +listen. In the very farthest end of Cornwall there are two more +sorts, the Cornish heath and the Orange-bell; and they say (though I +never saw it) that the Orange-bell grows near Bournemouth.</p> +<p>Well. That is south and west too.</p> +<p>So it is: but that makes five heaths. Now in the south and +west of Ireland all these five heaths grow, and two more: the great +Irish heath, with purple bells, and the Mediterranean heath, which flowers +in spring.</p> +<p>Oh, I know them. They grow in the Rhododendron beds at home.</p> +<p>Of course. Now again. If you went down to Spain, you +would find all those seven heaths, and other sorts with them, and those +which are rare in England and Ireland are common there. About +Biarritz, on the Spanish frontier, all the moors are covered with Cornish +heath, and the bogs with Orange-bell, and lovely they are to see; and +growing among them is a tall heath six feet high, which they call there +<i>bruyère</i>, or Broomheath, because they make brooms of it: +and out of its roots the “briar-root” pipes are made. +There are other heaths about that country, too, whose names I do not +know; so that when you are there, you fancy yourself in the very home +of the heaths: but you are not. They must have come from some +land near where the Azores are now; or how could heaths have got past +Africa, and the tropics, to the Cape of Good Hope?</p> +<p>It seems very wonderful, to be able to find out that there was a +great land once in the ocean all by a few little heaths.</p> +<p>Not by them only, child. There are many other plants, and animals +too, which make one think that so it must have been. And now I +will tell you something stranger still. There may have been a +time—some people say that there must—when Africa and South +America were joined by land.</p> +<p>Africa and South America! Was that before the heaths came here, +or after?</p> +<p>I cannot tell: but I think, probably after. But this is certain, +that there must have been a time when figs, and bamboos, and palms, +and sarsaparillas, and many other sorts of plants could get from Africa +to America, or the other way, and indeed almost round the world. +About the south of France and Italy you will see one beautiful sarsaparilla, +with hooked prickles, zigzagging and twining about over rocks and ruins, +trunks and stems: and when you do, if you have understanding, it will +seem as strange to you as it did to me to remember that the home of +the sarsaparillas is not in Europe, but in the forests of Brazil, and +the River Plate.</p> +<p>Oh, I have heard about their growing there, and staining the rivers +brown, and making them good medicine to drink: but I never thought there +were any in Europe.</p> +<p>There are only one or two, and how they got there is a marvel indeed. +But now—If there was not dry land between Africa and South America, +how did the cats get into America? For they cannot swim.</p> +<p>Cats? People might have brought them over.</p> +<p>Jaguars and Pumas, which you read of in Captain Mayne Reid’s +books, are cats, and so are the Ocelots or tiger cats.</p> +<p>Oh, I saw them at the Zoological Gardens.</p> +<p>But no one would bring them over, I should think, except to put them +in the Zoo.</p> +<p>Not unless they were very foolish.</p> +<p>And much stronger and cleverer than the savages of South America. +No, those jaguars and pumus have been in America for ages: and there +are those who will tell you—and I think they have some reason +on their side—that the jaguar, with his round patches of spots, +was once very much the same as the African and Indian leopard, who can +climb trees well. So when he got into the tropic forests of America, +he took to the trees, and lived among the branches, feeding on sloths +and monkeys, and never coming to the ground for weeks, till he grew +fatter and stronger and far more terrible than his forefathers. +And they will tell you, too, that the puma was, perhaps—I only +say perhaps—something like the lion, who (you know) has no spots. +But when he got into the forests, he found very little food under the +trees, only a very few deer; and so he was starved, and dwindled down +to the poor little sheep-stealing rogue he is now, of whom nobody is +afraid.</p> +<p>Oh, yes! I remember now A. said he and his men killed six in +one day. But do you think it is all true about the pumas and jaguars?</p> +<p>My child, I don’t say that it is true: but only that it is +likely to be true. In science we must be cautious and modest, +and ready to alter our minds whenever we learn fresh facts; only keeping +sure of one thing, that the truth, when we find it out, will be far +more wonderful than any notions of ours. See! As we have +been talking we have got nearly home: and luncheon must be ready.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Why are you opening your eyes at me like the dog when he wants to +go out walking?</p> +<p>Because I want to go out. But I don’t want to go out +walking. I want to go in the yacht.</p> +<p>In the yacht? It does not belong to me.</p> +<p>Oh, that is only fun. I know everybody is going out in it to +see such a beautiful island full of ferns, and have a picnic on the +rocks; and I know you are going.</p> +<p>Then you know more than I do myself.</p> +<p>But I heard them say you were going.</p> +<p>Then they know more than I do myself.</p> +<p>But would you not like to go?</p> +<p>I might like to go very much indeed; but as I have been knocked about +at sea a good deal, and perhaps more than I intend to be again, it is +no novelty to me, and there might be other things which I liked still +better: for instance, spending the afternoon with you.</p> +<p>Then am I not to go?</p> +<p>I think not. Don’t pull such a long face: but be a man, +and make up your mind to it, as the geese do to going barefoot.</p> +<p>But why may I not go?</p> +<p>Because I am not Madam How, but your Daddy.</p> +<p>What can that have to do with it?</p> +<p>If you asked Madam How, do you know what she would answer in a moment, +as civilly and kindly as could be? She would say—Oh yes, +go by all means, and please yourself, my pretty little man. My +world is the Paradise which the Irishman talked of, in which “a +man might do what was right in the sight of his own eyes, and what was +wrong too, as he liked it.”</p> +<p>Then Madam How would let me go in the yacht?</p> +<p>Of course she would, or jump overboard when you were in it; or put +your finger in the fire, and your head afterwards; or eat Irish spurge, +and die like the salmon; or anything else you liked. Nobody is +so indulgent as Madam How: and she would be the dearest old lady in +the world, but for one ugly trick that she has. She never tells +any one what is coming, but leaves them to find it out for themselves. +She lets them put their fingers in the fire, and never tells them that +they will get burnt.</p> +<p>But that is very cruel and treacherous of her.</p> +<p>My boy, our business is not to call hard names, but to take things +as we find them, as the Highlandman said when he ate the braxy mutton. +Now shall I, because I am your Daddy, tell you what Madam How would +not have told you? When you get on board the yacht, you will think +it all very pleasant for an hour, as long as you are in the bay. +But presently you will get a little bored, and run about the deck, and +disturb people, and want to sit here, there, and everywhere, which I +should not like. And when you get beyond that headland, you will +find the great rollers coming in from the Atlantic, and the cutter tossing +and heaving as you never felt before, under a burning sun. And +then my merry little young gentleman will begin to feel a little sick; +and then very sick, and more miserable than he ever felt in his life; +and wish a thousand times over that he was safe at home, even doing +sums in long division; and he will give a great deal of trouble to various +kind ladies—which no one has a right to do, if he can help it.</p> +<p>Of course I do not wish to be sick: only it looks such beautiful +weather.</p> +<p>And so it is: but don’t fancy that last night’s rain +and wind can have passed without sending in such a swell as will frighten +you, when you see the cutter climbing up one side of a wave, and running +down the other; Madam How tells me that, though she will not tell you +yet.</p> +<p>Then why do they go out?</p> +<p>Because they are accustomed to it. They have come hither all +round from Cowes, past the Land’s End, and past Cape Clear, and +they are not afraid or sick either. But shall I tell you how you +would end this evening?—at least so I suspect. Lying miserable +in a stuffy cabin, on a sofa, and not quite sure whether you were dead +or alive, till you were bundled into a boat about twelve o’clock +at night, when you ought to be safe asleep, and come home cold, and +wet, and stupid, and ill, and lie in bed all to-morrow.</p> +<p>But will they be wet and cold?</p> +<p>I cannot be sure; but from the look of the sky there to westward, +I think some of them will be. So do you make up your mind to stay +with me. But if it is fine and smooth to-morrow, perhaps we may +row down the bay, and see plenty of wonderful things.</p> +<p>But why is it that Madam How will not tell people beforehand what +will happen to them, as you have told me?</p> +<p>Now I will tell you a great secret, which, alas! every one has not +found out yet. Madam How will teach you, but only by experience. +Lady Why will teach you, but by something very different—by something +which has been called—and I know no better names for it—grace +and inspiration; by putting into your heart feelings which no man, not +even your father and mother, can put there; by making you quick to love +what is right, and hate what is wrong, simply because they are right +and wrong, though you don’t know why they are right and wrong; +by making you teachable, modest, reverent, ready to believe those who +are older and wiser than you when they tell you what you could never +find out for yourself: and so you will be prudent, that is provident, +foreseeing, and know what will happen if you do so-and-so; and therefore +what is really best and wisest for you.</p> +<p>But why will she be kind enough to do that for me?</p> +<p>For the very same reason that I do it. For God’s sake. +Because God is your Father in heaven, as I am your father on earth, +and He does not wish His little child to be left to the hard teaching +of Nature and Law, but to be helped on by many, many unsought and undeserved +favours, such as are rightly called “Means of Grace;” and +above all by the Gospel and good news that you are God’s child, +and that God loves you, and has helped and taught you, and will help +you and teach you, in a thousand ways of which you are not aware, if +only you will be a wise child, and listen to Lady Why, when she cries +from her Palace of Wisdom, and the feast which she has prepared, “Whoso +is simple let him turn in hither;” and says to him who wants understanding—“Come, +eat of my bread, and drink of the wine which I have mingled.”</p> +<p>“Counsel is mine, and sound wisdom: I am understanding; I have +strength. By me kings reign, and princes decree justice. +By me princes rule, and nobles, even all the judges of the earth. +I love them that love me; and those that seek me early shall find me. +Riches and honour are with me; yea, durable riches and righteousness.”</p> +<p>Yes, I will try and listen to Lady Why: but what will happen if I +do not?</p> +<p>That will happen to you, my child—but God forbid it ever should +happen—which happens to wicked kings and rulers, and all men, +even the greatest and cleverest, if they do not choose to reign by Lady +Why’s laws, and decree justice according to her eternal ideas +of what is just, but only do what seems pleasant and profitable to themselves. +On them Lady Why turns round, and says—for she, too, can be awful, +ay dreadful, when she needs—</p> +<p>“Because I have called, and ye refused; I have stretched out +my hand, and no man regarded; but ye have set at nought all my counsel, +and would have none of my reproof—” And then come +words so terrible, that I will not speak them here in this happy place: +but what they mean is this:—</p> +<p>That these foolish people are handed over—as you and I shall +be if we do wrong wilfully—to Madam How and her terrible school-house, +which is called Nature and the Law, to be treated just as the plants +and animals are treated, because they did not choose to behave like +men and children of God. And there they learn, whether they like +or not, what they might have learnt from Lady Why all along. They +learn the great law, that as men sow so they will reap; as they make +their bed so they will lie on it: and Madam How can teach that as no +one else can in earth or heaven: only, unfortunately for her scholars, +she is apt to hit so hard with her rod, which is called Experience, +that they never get over it; and therefore most of those who will only +be taught by Nature and Law are killed, poor creatures, before they +have learnt their lesson; as many a savage tribe is destroyed, ay and +great and mighty nations too—the old Roman Empire among them.</p> +<p>And the poor Jews, who were carried away captive to Babylon?</p> +<p>Yes; they would not listen to Lady Why, and so they were taken in +hand by Madam How, and were seventy years in her terrible school-house, +learning a lesson which, to do them justice, they never forgot again. +But now we will talk of something pleasanter. We will go back +to Lady Why, and listen to her voice. It sounds gentle and cheerful +enough just now. Listen.</p> +<p>What? is she speaking to us now?</p> +<p>Hush! open your eyes and ears once more, for you are growing sleepy +with my long sermon. Watch the sleepy shining water, and the sleepy +green mountains. Listen to the sleepy lapping of the ripple, and +the sleepy sighing of the woods, and let Lady Why talk to you through +them in “songs without words,” because they are deeper than +all words, till you, too, fall asleep with your head upon my knee.</p> +<p>But what does she say?</p> +<p>She says—“Be still. The fulness of joy is peace.” +There, you are fast asleep; and perhaps that is the best thing for you; +for sleep will (so I am informed, though I never saw it happen, nor +any one else) put fresh gray matter into your brain; or save the wear +and tear of the old gray matter; or something else—when they have +settled what it is to do: and if so, you will wake up with a fresh fiddle-string +to your little fiddle of a brain, on which you are playing new tunes +all day long. So much the better: but when I believe that your +brain is you, pretty boy, then I shall believe also that the fiddler +is his fiddle.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII—HOMEWARD BOUND</h2> +<p>Come: I suppose you consider yourself quite a good sailor by now?</p> +<p>Oh, yes. I have never been ill yet, though it has been quite +rough again and again.</p> +<p>What you call rough, little man. But as you are grown such +a very good sailor, and also as the sea is all but smooth, I think we +will have a sail in the yacht to-day, and that a tolerably long one.</p> +<p>Oh, how delightful! but I thought we were going home; and the things +are all packed up.</p> +<p>And why should we not go homewards in the yacht, things and all?</p> +<p>What, all the way to England?</p> +<p>No, not so far as that; but these kind people, when they came into +the harbour last night, offered to take us up the coast to a town, where +we will sleep, and start comfortably home to-morrow morning. So +now you will have a chance of seeing something of the great sea outside, +and of seeing, perhaps, the whale himself.</p> +<p>I hope we shall see the whale. The men say he has been outside +the harbour every day this week after the fish.</p> +<p>Very good. Now do you keep quiet, and out of the way, while +we are getting ready to go on board; and take a last look at this pretty +place, and all its dear kind people.</p> +<p>And the dear kind dogs too, and the cat and the kittens.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Now, come along, and bundle into the boat, if you have done bidding +every one good-bye; and take care you don’t slip down in the ice-groovings, +as you did the other day. There, we are off at last.</p> +<p>Oh, look at them all on the rock watching us and waving their handkerchiefs; +and Harper and Paddy too, and little Jimsy and Isy, with their fat bare +feet, and their arms round the dogs’ necks. I am so sorry +to leave them all.</p> +<p>Not sorry to go home?</p> +<p>No, but—They have been so kind; and the dogs were so kind. +I am sure they knew we were going, and were sorry too.</p> +<p>Perhaps they were. They knew we were going away, at all events. +They know what bringing out boxes and luggage means well enough.</p> +<p>Sam knew, I am sure; but he did not care for us. He was only +uneasy because he thought Harper was going, and he should lose his shooting; +and as soon as he saw Harper was not getting into the boat, he sat down +and scratched himself, quite happy. But do dogs think?</p> +<p>Of course they do, only they do not think in words, as we do.</p> +<p>But how can they think without words?</p> +<p>That is very difficult for you and me to imagine, because we always +think in words. They must think in pictures, I suppose, by remembering +things which have happened to them. You and I do that in our dreams. +I suspect that savages, who have very few words to express their thoughts +with, think in pictures, like their own dogs. But that is a long +story. We must see about getting on board now, and under way.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Well, and what have you been doing?</p> +<p>Oh, I looked all over the yacht, at the ropes and curious things; +and then I looked at the mountains, till I was tired; and then I heard +you and some gentleman talking about the land sinking, and I listened. +There was no harm in that?</p> +<p>None at all. But what did you hear him say?</p> +<p>That the land must be sinking here, because there were peat-bogs +everywhere below high-water mark. Is that true?</p> +<p>Quite true; and that peat would never have been formed where the +salt water could get at it, as it does now every tide.</p> +<p>But what was it he said about that cliff over there?</p> +<p>He said that cliff on our right, a hundred feet high, was plainly +once joined on to that low island on our left.</p> +<p>What, that long bank of stones, with a house on it?</p> +<p>That is no house. That is a square lump of mud, the last remaining +bit of earth which was once the moraine of a glacier. Every year +it crumbles into the sea more and more; and in a few years it will be +all gone, and nothing left but the great round boulder-stones which +the ice brought down from the glaciers behind us.</p> +<p>But how does he know that it was once joined to the cliff?</p> +<p>Because that cliff, and the down behind it, where the cows are fed, +is made up, like the island, of nothing but loose earth and stones; +and that is why it is bright and green beside the gray rocks and brown +heather of the moors at its foot. He knows that it must be an +old glacier moraine; and he has reason to think that moraine once stretched +right across the bay to the low island, and perhaps on to the other +shore, and was eaten out by the sea as the land sank down.</p> +<p>But how does he know that the land sank?</p> +<p>Of that, he says, he is quite certain; and this is what he says.—Suppose +there was a glacier here, where we are sailing now: it would end in +an ice cliff, such as you have seen a picture of in Captain Cook’s +Voyages, of which you are so fond. You recollect the pictures +of Christmas Sound and Possession Bay?</p> +<p>Oh yes, and pictures of Greenland and Spitzbergen too, with glaciers +in the sea.</p> +<p>Then icebergs would break off from that cliff, and carry all the +dirt and stones out to sea, perhaps hundreds of miles away, instead +of letting it drop here in a heap; and what did fall in a heap here +the sea would wash down at once, and smooth it over the sea-bottom, +and never let it pile up in a huge bank like that. Do you understand?</p> +<p>I think I do.</p> +<p>Therefore, he says, that great moraine must have been built upon +dry land, in the open air; and must have sunk since into the sea, which +is gnawing at it day and night, and will some day eat it all up, as +it would eat up all the dry land in the world, if Madam How was not +continually lifting up fresh land, to make up for what the sea has carried +off.</p> +<p>Oh, look there! some one has caught a fish, and is hauling it up. +What a strange creature! It is not a mackerel, nor a gurnet, nor +a pollock.</p> +<p>How do you know that?</p> +<p>Why, it is running along the top of the water like a snake; and they +never do that. Here it comes. It has got a long beak, like +a snipe. Oh, let me see.</p> +<p>See if you like: but don’t get in the way. Remember you +are but a little boy.</p> +<p>What is it? a snake with a bird’s head?</p> +<p>No: a snake has no fins; and look at its beak: it is full of little +teeth, which no bird has. But a very curious fellow he is, nevertheless: +and his name is Gar-fish. Some call him Green-bone, because his +bones are green.</p> +<p>But what kind of fish is he? He is like nothing I ever saw.</p> +<p>I believe he is nearest to a pike, though his backbone is different +from a pike, and from all other known fishes.</p> +<p>But is he not very rare?</p> +<p>Oh no: he comes to Devonshire and Cornwall with the mackerel, as +he has come here; and in calm weather he will swim on the top of the +water, and play about, and catch flies, and stand bolt upright with +his long nose in the air; and when the fisher-boys throw him a stick, +he will jump over it again and again, and play with it in the most ridiculous +way.</p> +<p>And what will they do with him?</p> +<p>Cut him up for bait, I suppose, for he is not very good to eat.</p> +<p>Certainly, he does smell very nasty.</p> +<p>Have you only just found out that? Sometimes when I have caught +one, he has made the boat smell so that I was glad to throw him overboard, +and so he saved his life by his nastiness. But they will catch +plenty of mackerel now; for where he is they are; and where they are, +perhaps the whale will be; for we are now well outside the harbour, +and running across the open bay; and lucky for you that there are no +rollers coming in from the Atlantic, and spouting up those cliffs in +columns of white foam.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>“Hoch!”</p> +<p>Ah! Who was that coughed just behind the ship?</p> +<p>Who, indeed? look round and see.</p> +<p>There is nobody. There could not be in the sea.</p> +<p>Look—there, a quarter of a mile away.</p> +<p>Oh! What is that turning over in the water, like a great black +wheel? And a great tooth on it, and—oh! it is gone!</p> +<p>Never mind. It will soon show itself again.</p> +<p>But what was it?</p> +<p>The whale: one of them, at least; for the men say there are two different +ones about the bay. That black wheel was part of his back, as +he turned down; and the tooth on it was his back-fin.</p> +<p>But the noise, like a giant’s cough?</p> +<p>Rather like the blast of a locomotive just starting. That was +his breath.</p> +<p>What? as loud as that?</p> +<p>Why not? He is a very big fellow, and has big lungs.</p> +<p>How big is he?</p> +<p>I cannot say: perhaps thirty or forty feet long. We shall be +able to see better soon. He will come up again, and very likely +nearer us, where those birds are.</p> +<p>I don’t want him to come any nearer.</p> +<p>You really need not be afraid. He is quite harmless.</p> +<p>But he might run against the yacht.</p> +<p>He might: and so might a hundred things happen which never do. +But I never heard of one of these whales running against a vessel; so +I suppose he has sense enough to know that the yacht is no concern of +his, and to keep out of its way.</p> +<p>But why does he make that tremendous noise only once, and then go +under water again?</p> +<p>You must remember that he is not a fish. A fish takes the water +in through his mouth continually, and it runs over his gills, and out +behind through his gill-covers. So the gills suck-up the air out +of the water, and send it into the fish’s blood, just as they +do in the newt-larva.</p> +<p>Yes, I know.</p> +<p>But the whale breathes with lungs like you and me; and when he goes +under water he has to hold his breath, as you and I have.</p> +<p>What a long time he can hold it.</p> +<p>Yes. He is a wonderful diver. Some whales, they say, +will keep under for an hour. But while he is under, mind, the +air in his lungs is getting foul, and full of carbonic acid, just as +it would in your lungs, if you held your breath. So he is forced +to come up at last: and then out of his blowers, which are on the top +of his head, he blasts out all the foul breath, and with it the water +which has got into his mouth, in a cloud of spray. Then he sucks +in fresh air, as much as he wants, and dives again, as you saw him do +just now.</p> +<p>And what does he do under water?</p> +<p>Look—and you will see. Look at those birds. We +will sail up to them; for Mr. Whale will probably rise among them soon.</p> +<p>Oh, what a screaming and what a fighting! How many sorts there +are! What are those beautiful little ones, like great white swallows, +with crested heads and forked tails, who hover, and then dip down and +pick up something?</p> +<p>Terns—sea-swallows. And there are gulls in hundreds, +you see, large and small, gray-backed and black-backed; and over them +all two or three great gannets swooping round and round.</p> +<p>Oh! one has fallen into the sea!</p> +<p>Yes, with a splash just like a cannon ball. And here he comes +up again, with a fish in his beak. If he had fallen on your head, +with that beak of his, he would have split it open. I have heard +of men catching gannets by tying a fish on a board, and letting it float; +and when the gannet strikes at it he drives his bill into the board, +and cannot get it out.</p> +<p>But is not that cruel?</p> +<p>I think so. Gannets are of no use, for eating, or anything +else.</p> +<p>What a noise! It is quite deafening. And what are those +black birds about, who croak like crows, or parrots?</p> +<p>Look at them. Some have broad bills, with a white stripe on +it, and cry something like the moor-hens at home. Those are razor-bills.</p> +<p>And what are those who say “marrock,” something like +a parrot?</p> +<p>The ones with thin bills? they are guillemots, “murres” +as we call them in Devon: but in some places they call them “marrocks,” +from what they say.</p> +<p>And each has a little baby bird swimming behind it. Oh! there: +the mother has cocked up her tail and dived, and the little one is swimming +about looking for her! How it cries! It is afraid of the +yacht.</p> +<p>And there she comes up again, and cries “marrock” to +call it.</p> +<p>Look at it swimming up to her, and cuddling to her, quite happy.</p> +<p>Quite happy. And do you not think that any one who took a gun +and shot either that mother or that child would be both cowardly and +cruel?</p> +<p>But they might eat them.</p> +<p>These sea-birds are not good to eat. They taste too strong +of fish-oil. They are of no use at all, except that the gulls’ +and terns’ feathers are put into girls’ hats.</p> +<p>Well they might find plenty of other things to put in their hats.</p> +<p>So I think. Yes: it would be very cruel, very cruel indeed, +to do what some do, shoot at these poor things, and leave them floating +about wounded till they die. But I suppose, if one gave them one’s +mind about such doings, and threatened to put the new Sea Fowl Act in +force against them, and fine them, and show them up in the newspapers, +they would say they meant no harm, and had never thought about its being +cruel.</p> +<p>Then they ought to think.</p> +<p>They ought; and so ought you. Half the cruelty in the world, +like half the misery, comes simply from people’s not thinking; +and boys are often very cruel from mere thoughtlessness. So when +you are tempted to rob birds’ nests, or to set the dogs on a moorhen, +or pelt wrens in the hedge, think; and say—How should I like that +to be done to me?</p> +<p>I know: but what are all the birds doing?</p> +<p>Look at the water, how it sparkles. It is alive with tiny fish, +“fry,” “brett” as we call them in the West, +which the mackerel are driving up to the top.</p> +<p>Poor little things! How hard on them! The big fish at +them from below, and the birds at them from above. And what is +that? Thousands of fish leaping out of the water, scrambling over +each other’s backs. What a curious soft rushing roaring +noise they make!</p> +<p>Aha! The eaters are going to be eaten in turn. Those +are the mackerel themselves; and I suspect they see Mr. Whale, and are +scrambling out of the way as fast as they can, lest he should swallow +them down, a dozen at a time. Look out sharp for him now.</p> +<p>I hope he will not come very near.</p> +<p>No. The fish are going from us and past us. If he comes +up, he will come up astern of us, so look back. There he is!</p> +<p>That? I thought it was a boat.</p> +<p>Yes. He does look very like a boat upside down. But that +is only his head and shoulders. He will blow next.</p> +<p>“Hoch!”</p> +<p>Oh! What a jet of spray, like the Geysers! And the sun +made a rainbow on the top of it. He is quite still now.</p> +<p>Yes; he is taking a long breath or two. You need not hold my +hand so tight. His head is from us; and when he goes down he will +go right away.</p> +<p>Oh, he is turning head over heels! There is his back fin again. +And—Ah! was that not a slap! How the water boiled and foamed; +and what a tail he had! And how the mackerel flew out of the water!</p> +<p>Yes. You are a lucky boy to have seen that. I have not +seen one of those gentlemen show his “flukes,” as they call +them, since I was a boy on the Cornish coast.</p> +<p>Where is he gone?</p> +<p>Hunting mackerel, away out at sea. But did you notice something +odd about his tail, as you call it—though it is really none?</p> +<p>It looked as if it was set on flat, and not upright, like a fish’s. +But why is it not a tail?</p> +<p>Just because it is set on flat, not upright: and learned men will +tell you that those two flukes are the “rudiments”—that +is, either the beginning, or more likely the last remains—of two +hind feet. But that belongs to the second volume of Madam How’s +Book of Kind; and you have not yet learned any of the first volume, +you know, except about a few butterflies. Look here! Here +are more whales coming. Don’t be frightened. They +are only little ones, mackerel-hunting, like the big one.</p> +<p>What pretty smooth things, turning head over heels, and saying, “Hush, +Hush!”</p> +<p>They don’t really turn clean over; and that “Hush” +is their way of breathing.</p> +<p>Are they the young ones of that great monster?</p> +<p>No; they are porpoises. That big one is, I believe, a bottle-nose. +But if you want to know about the kinds of whales, you must ask Dr. +Flower at the Royal College of Surgeons, and not me: and he will tell +you wonderful things about them.—How some of them have mouths +full of strong teeth, like these porpoises; and others, like the great +sperm whale in the South Sea, have huge teeth in their lower jaws, and +in the upper only holes into which those teeth fit; others like the +bottle-nose, only two teeth or so in the lower jaw; and others, like +the narwhal, two straight tusks in the upper jaw, only one of which +grows, and is what you call a narwhal’s horn.</p> +<p>Oh yes. I know of a walking-stick made of one.</p> +<p>And strangest of all, how the right-whales have a few little teeth +when they are born, which never come through the gums; but, instead, +they grow all along their gums, an enormous curtain of clotted hair, +which serves as a net to keep in the tiny sea-animals on which they +feed, and let the water strain out.</p> +<p>You mean whalebone? Is whalebone hair?</p> +<p>So it seems. And so is a rhinoceros’s horn. A rhinoceros +used to be hairy all over in old times: but now he carries all his hair +on the end of his nose, except a few bristles on his tail. And +the right-whale, not to be done in oddity, carries all his on his gums.</p> +<p>But have no whales any hair?</p> +<p>No real whales: but the Manati, which is very nearly a whale, has +long bristly hair left. Don’t you remember M.’s letter +about the one he saw at Rio Janeiro?</p> +<p>This is all very funny: but what is the use of knowing so much about +things’ teeth and hair?</p> +<p>What is the use of learning Latin and Greek, and a dozen things more +which you have to learn? You don’t know yet: but wiser people +than you tell you that they will be of use some day. And I can +tell you, that if you would only study that gar-fish long enough, and +compare him with another fish something like him, who has a long beak +to his lower jaw, and none to his upper—and how he eats I cannot +guess,—and both of them again with certain fishes like them, which +M. Agassiz has found lately, not in the sea, but in the river Amazon; +and then think carefully enough over their bones and teeth, and their +history from the time they are hatched—why, you would find out, +I believe, a story about the river Amazon itself, more wonderful than +all the fairy tales you ever read.</p> +<p>Now there is luncheon ready. Come down below, and don’t +tumble down the companion-stairs; and by the time you have eaten your +dinner we shall be very near the shore.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>So? Here is my little man on deck, after a good night’s +rest. And he has not been the least sick, I hear.</p> +<p>Not a bit: but the cabin was so stuffy and hot, I asked leave to +come on deck. What a huge steamer! But I do not like it +as well as the yacht. It smells of oil and steam, and—</p> +<p>And pigs and bullocks too, I am sorry to say. Don’t go +forward above them, but stay here with me, and look round.</p> +<p>Where are we now? What are those high hills, far away to the +left, above the lowlands and woods?</p> +<p>Those are the shore of the Old World—the Welsh mountains.</p> +<p>And in front of us I can see nothing but flat land. Where is +that?</p> +<p>That is the mouth of the Severn and Avon; where we shall be in half +an hour more.</p> +<p>And there, on the right, over the low hills, I can see higher ones, +blue and hazy.</p> +<p>Those are an island of the Old World, called now the Mendip Hills; +and we are steaming along the great strait between the Mendips and the +Welsh mountains, which once was coral reef, and is now the Severn sea; +and by the time you have eaten your breakfast we shall steam in through +a crack in that coral-reef; and you will see what you missed seeing +when you went to Ireland, because you went on board at night.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Oh! Where have we got to now? Where is the wide Severn +Sea?</p> +<p>Two or three miles beyond us; and here we are in narrow little Avon.</p> +<p>Narrow indeed. I wonder that the steamer does not run against +those rocks. But how beautiful they are, and how the trees hang +down over the water, and are all reflected in it!</p> +<p>Yes. The gorge of the Avon is always lovely. I saw it +first when I was a little boy like you; and I have seen it many a time +since, in sunshine and in storm, and thought it more lovely every time. +Look! there is something curious.</p> +<p>What? Those great rusty rings fixed into the rock?</p> +<p>Yes. Those may be as old, for aught I know, as Queen Elizabeth’s +or James’s reign.</p> +<p>But why were they put there?</p> +<p>For ships to hold on by, if they lost the tide.</p> +<p>What do you mean?</p> +<p>It is high tide now. That is why the water is almost up to +the branches of the trees. But when the tide turns, it will all +rush out in a torrent which would sweep ships out to sea again, if they +had not steam, as we have, to help them up against the stream. +So sailing ships, in old times, fastened themselves to those rings, +and rode against the stream till the tide turned, and carried them up +to Bristol.</p> +<p>But what is the tide? And why does it go up and down? +And why does it alter with the moon, as I heard you all saying so often +in Ireland?</p> +<p>That is a long story, which I must tell you something about some +other time. Now I want you to look at something else: and that +is, the rocks themselves, in which the rings are. They are very +curious in my eyes, and very valuable; for they taught me a lesson in +geology when I was quite a boy: and I want them to teach it to you now.</p> +<p>What is there curious in them?</p> +<p>This. You will soon see for yourself, even from the steamer’s +deck, that they are not the same rock as the high limestone hills above. +They are made up of red sand and pebbles; and they are a whole world +younger, indeed some say two worlds younger, than the limestone hills +above, and lie upon the top of the limestone. Now you may see +what I meant when I said that the newer rocks, though they lie on the +top of the older, were often lower down than they are.</p> +<p>But how do you know that they lie on the limestone?</p> +<p>Look into that corner of the river, as we turn round, and you will +see with your own eyes. There are the sandstones, lying flat on +the turned-up edges of another rock.</p> +<p>Yes; I see. The layers of it are almost upright.</p> +<p>Then that upright rock underneath is part of the great limestone +hill above. So the hill must have been raised out of the sea, +ages ago, and eaten back by the waves; and then the sand and pebbles +made a beach at its foot, and hardened into stone; and there it is. +And when you get through the limestone hills to Bristol, you will see +more of these same red sandstone rocks, spread about at the foot of +the limestone-hills, on the other side.</p> +<p>But why is the sandstone two worlds newer than the limestone?</p> +<p>Because between that sandstone and that limestone come hundreds of +feet of rock, which carry in them all the coal in England. Don’t +you remember that I told you that once before?</p> +<p>Oh yes. But I see no coal between them there.</p> +<p>No. But there is plenty of coal between them over in Wales; +and plenty too between them on the other side of Bristol. What +you are looking at there is just the lip of a great coal-box, where +the bottom and the lid join. The bottom is the mountain limestone; +and the lid is the new red sandstone, or Trias, as they call it now: +but the coal you cannot see. It is stowed inside the box, miles +away from here. But now, look at the cliffs and the downs, which +(they tell me) are just like the downs in the Holy Land; and the woods +and villas, high over your head.</p> +<p>And what is that in the air? A bridge?</p> +<p>Yes—that is the famous Suspension Bridge—and a beautiful +work of art it is. Ay, stare at it, and wonder at it, little man, +of course.</p> +<p>But is it not wonderful?</p> +<p>Yes: it was a clever trick to get those chains across the gulf, high +up in the air: but not so clever a trick as to make a single stone of +which those piers are built, or a single flower or leaf in those woods. +The more you see of Madam How’s masonry and carpentry, the clumsier +man’s work will look to you. But now we must get ready to +give up our tickets, and go ashore, and settle ourselves in the train; +and then we shall have plenty to see as we run home; more curious, to +my mind, than any suspension bridge.</p> +<p>And you promised to show me all the different rocks and soils as +we went home, because it was so dark when we came from Reading.</p> +<p>Very good.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Now we are settled in the train. And what do you want to know +first?</p> +<p>More about the new rocks being lower than the old ones, though they +lie on the top of them.</p> +<p>Well, look here, at this sketch.</p> +<p>A boy piling up slates? What has that to do with it?</p> +<p>I saw you in Ireland piling slates against a rock just in this way. +And I thought to myself—“That is something like Madam How’s +work.”</p> +<p>How?</p> +<p>Why, see. The old rock stands for the mountains of the Old +World, like the Welsh mountains, or the Mendip Hills. The slates +stand for the new rocks, which have been piled up against these, one +over the other. But, you see, each slate is lower than the one +before it, and slopes more; till the last slate which you are putting +on is the lowest of all, though it overlies all.</p> +<p>I see now. I see now.</p> +<p>Then look at the sketch of the rocks between this and home. +It is only a rough sketch, of course: but it will make you understand +something more about the matter. Now. You see, the lump +marked A. With twisted lines in it. That stands for the +Mendip Hills to the west, which are made of old red sandstone, very +much the same rock (to speak roughly) as the Kerry mountains.</p> +<p>And why are the lines in it twisted?</p> +<p>To show that the strata, the layers in it, are twisted, and set up +at quite different angles from the limestone.</p> +<p>But how was that done?</p> +<p>By old earthquakes and changes which happened in old worlds, ages +on ages since. Then the edges of the old red sandstone were eaten +away by the sea—and some think by ice too, in some earlier age +of ice; and then the limestone coral reef was laid down on them, “unconformably,” +as geologists say—just as you saw the new red sandstone laid down +on the edges of the limestone; and so one world is built up on the edge +of another world, out of its scraps and ruins.</p> +<p>Then do you see B. With a notch in it? That means these +limestone hills on the shoulder of the Mendips; and that notch is the +gorge of the Avon which we have steamed through.</p> +<p>And what is that black above it?</p> +<p>That is the coal, a few miles off, marked C.</p> +<p>And what is this D, which comes next?</p> +<p>That is what we are on now. New red sandstone, lying unconformably +on the coal. I showed it you in the bed of the river, as we came +along in the cab. We are here in a sort of amphitheatre, or half +a one, with the limestone hills around us, and the new red sandstone +plastered on, as it were, round the bottom of it inside.</p> +<p>But what is this high bit with E against it?</p> +<p>Those are the high hills round Bath, which we shall run through soon. +They are newer than the soil here; and they are (for an exception) higher +too; for they are so much harder than the soil here, that the sea has +not eaten them away, as it has all the lowlands from Bristol right into +the Somersetshire flats.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>There. We are off at last, and going to run home to Reading, +through one of the loveliest lines (as I think) of old England. +And between the intervals of eating fruit, we will geologize on the +way home, with this little bit of paper to show us where we are.</p> +<p>What pretty rocks!</p> +<p>Yes. They are a boss of the coal measures, I believe, shoved +up with the lias, the lias lying round them. But I warn you I +may not be quite right: because I never looked at a geological map of +this part of the line, and have learnt what I know, just as I want you +to learn simply by looking out of the carriage window.</p> +<p>Look. Here is lias rock in the side of the cutting; layers +of hard blue limestone, and then layers of blue mud between them, in +which, if you could stop to look, you would find fossils in plenty; +and along that lias we shall run to Bath, and then all the rocks will +change.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Now, here we are at Bath; and here are the handsome fruit-women, +waiting for you to buy.</p> +<p>And oh, what strawberries and cherries!</p> +<p>Yes. All this valley is very rich, and very sheltered too, +and very warm; for the soft south-western air sweeps up it from the +Bristol Channel; so the slopes are covered with fruit-orchards, as you +will see as you get out of the station.</p> +<p>Why, we are above the tops of the houses.</p> +<p>Yes. We have been rising ever since we left Bristol; and you +will soon see why. Now we have laid in as much fruit as is safe +for you, and away we go.</p> +<p>Oh, what high hills over the town! And what beautiful stone +houses! Even the cottages are built of stone.</p> +<p>All that stone comes out of those high hills, into which we are going +now. It is called Bath-stone freestone, or oolite; and it lies +on the top of the lias, which we have just left. Here it is marked +F.</p> +<p>What steep hills, and cliffs too, and with quarries in them! +What can have made them so steep? And what can have made this +little narrow valley?</p> +<p>Madam How’s rain-spade from above, I suppose, and perhaps the +sea gnawing at their feet below. Those freestone hills once stretched +high over our heads, and far away, I suppose, to the westward. +Now they are all gnawed out into cliffs,—indeed gnawed clean through +in the bottom of the valley, where the famous hot springs break out +in which people bathe.</p> +<p>Is that why the place is called Bath?</p> +<p>Of course. But the Old Romans called the place Aquæ Solis—the +waters of the sun; and curious old Roman remains are found here, which +we have not time to stop and see.</p> +<p>Now look out at the pretty clear limestone stream running to meet +us below, and the great limestone hills closing over us above. +How do you think we shall get out from among them?</p> +<p>Shall we go over their tops?</p> +<p>No. That would be too steep a climb, for even such a great +engine as this.</p> +<p>Then there is a crack which we can get through?</p> +<p>Look and see.</p> +<p>Why, we are coming to a regular wall of hill, and—</p> +<p>And going right through it in the dark. We are in the Box Tunnel.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>There is the light again: and now I suppose you will find your tongue.</p> +<p>How long it seemed before we came out!</p> +<p>Yes, because you were waiting and watching, with nothing to look +at: but the tunnel is only a mile and a quarter long after all, I believe. +If you had been looking at fields and hedgerows all the while, you would +have thought no time at all had passed.</p> +<p>What curious sandy rocks on each side of the cutting, in lines and +layers.</p> +<p>Those are the freestone still: and full of fossils they are. +But do you see that they dip away from us? Remember that. +All the rocks are sloping eastward, the way we are going; and each new +rock or soil we come to lies on the top of the one before it. +Now we shall run down hill for many a mile, down the back of the oolites, +past pretty Chippenham, and Wootton-Bassett, towards Swindon spire. +Look at the country, child; and thank God for this fair English land, +in which your lot is cast.</p> +<p>What beautiful green fields; and such huge elm trees; and orchards; +and flowers in the cottage gardens!</p> +<p>Ay, and what crops, too: what wheat and beans, turnips and mangold. +All this land is very rich and easily worked; and hereabouts is some +of the best farming in England. The Agricultural College at Cirencester, +of which you have so often heard, lies thereaway, a few miles to our +left; and there lads go to learn to farm as no men in the world, save +English and Scotch, know how to farm.</p> +<p>But what rock are we on now?</p> +<p>On rock that is much softer than that on the other side of the oolite +hills: much softer, because it is much newer. We have got off +the oolites on to what is called the Oxford clay; and then, I believe, +on to the Coral rag, and on that again lies what we are coming to now. +Do you see the red sand in that field?</p> +<p>Then that is the lowest layer of a fresh world, so to speak; a world +still younger than the oolites—the chalk world.</p> +<p>But that is not chalk, or anything like it.</p> +<p>No, that is what is called Greensand.</p> +<p>But it is not green, it is red.</p> +<p>I know: but years ago it got the name from one green vein in it, +in which the “Coprolites,” as you learnt to call them at +Cambridge, are found; and that, and a little layer of blue clay, called +gault, between the upper Greensand and lower Greensand, runs along everywhere +at the foot of the chalk hills.</p> +<p>I see the hills now. Are they chalk?</p> +<p>Yes, chalk they are: so we may begin to feel near home now. +See how they range away to the south toward Devizes, and Westbury, and +Warminster, a goodly land and large. At their feet, everywhere, +run the rich pastures on which the Wiltshire cheese is made; and here +and there, as at Westbury, there is good iron-ore in the greensand, +which is being smelted now, as it used to be in the Weald of Surrey +and Kent ages since. I must tell you about that some other time.</p> +<p>But are there Coprolites here?</p> +<p>I believe there are: I know there are some at Swindon; and I do not +see why they should not be found, here and there, all the way along +the foot of the downs, from here to Cambridge.</p> +<p>But do these downs go to Cambridge?</p> +<p>Of course they do. We are now in the great valley which runs +right across England from south-west to north-east, from Axminster in +Devonshire to Hunstanton in Norfolk, with the chalk always on your right +hand, and the oolite hills on your left, till it ends by sinking into +the sea, among the fens of Lincolnshire and Norfolk.</p> +<p>But what made that great valley?</p> +<p>I am not learned enough to tell. Only this I think we can say—that +once on a time these chalk downs on our right reached high over our +heads here, and far to the north; and that Madam How pared them away, +whether by icebergs, or by sea-waves, or merely by rain, I cannot tell.</p> +<p>Well, those downs do look very like sea-cliffs.</p> +<p>So they do, very like an old shore-line. Be that as it may, +after the chalk was eaten away, Madam How began digging into the soils +below the chalk, on which we are now; and because they were mostly soft +clays, she cut them out very easily, till she came down, or nearly down, +to the harder freestone rocks which run along on our left hand, miles +away; and so she scooped out this great vale, which we call here the +Vale of White Horse; and further on, the Vale of Aylesbury; and then +the Bedford Level; and then the dear ugly old Fens.</p> +<p>Is this the Vale of White Horse? Oh, I know about it; I have +read <i>The Scouring of the White Horse</i>.</p> +<p>Of course you have; and when you are older you will read a jollier +book still,—<i>Tom Brown’s School Days</i>—and when +we have passed Swindon, we shall see some of the very places described +in it, close on our right.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>There is the White Horse Hill.</p> +<p>The White Horse Hill? But where is the horse? I can see +a bit of him: but he does not look like a horse from here, or indeed +from any other place; he is a very old horse indeed, and a thousand +years of wind and rain have spoilt his anatomy a good deal on the top +of that wild down.</p> +<p>And is that really where Alfred fought the Danes?</p> +<p>As certainly, boy, I believe, as that Waterloo is where the Duke +fought Napoleon. Yes: you may well stare at it with all your eyes, +the noble down. It is one of the most sacred spots on English +soil.</p> +<p>Ah, it is gone now. The train runs so fast.</p> +<p>So it does; too fast to let you look long at one thing: but in return, +it lets you see so many more things in a given time than the slow old +coaches and posters did.—Well? what is it?</p> +<p>I wanted to ask you a question, but you won’t listen to me.</p> +<p>Won’t I? I suppose I was dreaming with my eyes open. +You see, I have been so often along this line—and through this +country, too, long before the line was made—that I cannot pass +it without its seeming full of memories—perhaps of ghosts.</p> +<p>Of real ghosts?</p> +<p>As real ghosts, I suspect, as any one on earth ever saw; faces and +scenes which have printed themselves so deeply on one’s brain, +that when one passes the same place, long years after, they start up +again, out of fields and roadsides, as if they were alive once more, +and need sound sense to send them back again into their place as things +which are past for ever, for good and ill. But what did you want +to know?</p> +<p>Why, I am so tired of looking out of the window. It is all +the same: fields and hedges, hedges and fields; and I want to talk.</p> +<p>Fields and hedges, hedges and fields? Peace and plenty, plenty +and peace. However, it may seem dull, now that the grass is cut; +but you would not have said so two months ago, when the fields were +all golden-green with buttercups, and the whitethorn hedges like crested +waves of snow. I should like to take a foreigner down the Vale +of Berkshire in the end of May, and ask him what he thought of old England. +But what shall we talk about?</p> +<p>I want to know about Coprolites, if they dig them here, as they do +at Cambridge.</p> +<p>I don’t think they do. But I suspect they will some day.</p> +<p>But why do people dig them?</p> +<p>Because they are rational men, and want manure for their fields.</p> +<p>But what are Coprolites?</p> +<p>Well, they were called Coprolites at first because some folk fancied +they were the leavings of fossil animals, such as you may really find +in the lias at Lynn in Dorsetshire. But they are not that; and +all we can say is, that a long time ago, before the chalk began to be +made, there was a shallow sea in England, the shore of which was so +covered with dead animals, that the bone-earth (the phosphate of lime) +out of them crusted itself round every bone, and shell, and dead sea-beast +on the shore, and got covered up with fresh sand, and buried for ages +as a mine of wealth.</p> +<p>But how many millions of dead creatures, there must have been! +What killed them?</p> +<p>We do not know. No more do we know how it comes to pass that +this thin band (often only a few inches thick) of dead creatures should +stretch all the way from Dorsetshire to Norfolk, and, I believe, up +through Lincolnshire. And what is stranger still, this same bone-earth +bed crops out on the south side of the chalk at Farnham, and stretches +along the foot of those downs, right into Kent, making the richest hop +lands in England, through Surrey, and away to Tunbridge. So that +it seems as if the bed lay under the chalk everywhere, if once we could +get down to it.</p> +<p>But how does it make the hop lands so rich?</p> +<p>Because hops, like tobacco and vines, take more phosphorus out of +the soil than any other plants which we grow in England; and it is the +washings of this bone-earth bed which make the lower lands in Farnham +so unusually rich, that in some of them—the garden, for instance, +under the Bishop’s castle—have grown hops without resting, +I believe, for three hundred years.</p> +<p>But who found out all this about the Coprolites?</p> +<p>Ah—I will tell you; and show you how scientific men, whom ignorant +people sometimes laugh at as dreamers, and mere pickers up of useless +weeds and old stones, may do real service to their country and their +countrymen, as I hope you will some day.</p> +<p>There was a clergyman named Henslow, now with God, honoured by all +scientific men, a kind friend and teacher of mine, loved by every little +child in his parish. His calling was botany: but he knew something +of geology. And some of these Coprolites were brought him as curiosities, +because they had fossils in them. But he (so the tale goes) had +the wit to see that they were not, like other fossils, carbonate of +lime, but phosphate of lime—bone earth. Whereon he told +the neighbouring farmers that they had a mine of wealth opened to them, +if they would but use them for manure. And after a while he was +listened to. Then others began to find them in the Eastern counties; +and then another man, as learned and wise as he was good and noble—John +Paine of Farnham, also now with God—found them on his own estate, +and made much use and much money of them: and now tens of thousands +of pounds’ worth of valuable manure are made out of them every +year, in Cambridgeshire and Bedfordshire, by digging them out of land +which was till lately only used for common farmers’ crops.</p> +<p>But how do they turn Coprolites into manure? I used to see +them in the railway trucks at Cambridge, and they were all like what +I have at home—hard pebbles.</p> +<p>They grind them first in a mill. Then they mix them with sulphuric +acid and water, and that melts them down, and parts them into two things. +One is sulphate of lime (gypsum, as it is commonly called), and which +will not dissolve in water, and is of little use. But the other +is what is called superphosphate of lime, which will dissolve in water; +so that the roots of the plants can suck it up: and that is one of the +richest of manures.</p> +<p>Oh, I know: you put superphosphate on the grass last year.</p> +<p>Yes. But not that kind; a better one still. The superphosphate +from the Copiolites is good; but the superphosphate from fresh bones +is better still, and therefore dearer, because it has in it the fibrine +of the bones, which is full of nitrogen, like gristle or meat; and all +that has been washed out of the bone-earth bed ages and ages ago. +But you must learn some chemistry to understand that.</p> +<p>I should like to be a scientific man, if one can find out such really +useful things by science.</p> +<p>Child, there is no saying what you might find out, or of what use +you may be to your fellow-men. A man working at science, however +dull and dirty his work may seem at times, is like one of those “chiffoniers,” +as they call them in Paris—people who spend their lives in gathering +rags and sifting refuse, but who may put their hands at any moment upon +some precious jewel. And not only may you be able to help your +neighbours to find out what will give them health and wealth: but you +may, if you can only get them to listen to you, save them from many +a foolish experiment, which ends in losing money just for want of science. +I have heard of a man who, for want of science, was going to throw away +great sums (I believe he, luckily for him, never could raise the money) +in boring for coal in our Bagshot sands at home. The man thought +that because there was coal under the heather moors in the North, there +must needs be coal here likewise, when a geologist could have told him +the contrary. There was another man at Hennequin’s Lodge, +near the Wellington College, who thought he would make the poor sands +fertile by manuring them with whale oil, of all things in the world. +So he not only lost all the cost of his whale oil, but made the land +utterly barren, as it is unto this day; and all for want of science.</p> +<p>And I knew a manufacturer, too, who went to bore an Artesian well +for water, and hired a regular well-borer to do it. But, meanwhile +he was wise enough to ask a geologist of those parts how far he thought +it was down to the water. The geologist made his calculations, +and said:</p> +<p>“You will go through so many feet of Bagshot sand; and so many +feet of London clay; and so many feet of the Thanet beds between them +and the chalk: and then you will win water, at about 412 feet; but not, +I think, till then.”</p> +<p>The well-sinker laughed at that, and said, “He had no opinion +of geologists, and such-like. He never found any clay in England +but what he could get through in 150 feet.”</p> +<p>So he began to bore—150 feet, 200, 300: and then he began to +look rather silly; at last, at 405—only seven feet short of what +the geologist had foretold—up came the water in a regular spout. +But, lo and behold, not expecting to have to bore so deep, he had made +his bore much too small; and the sand out of the Thanet beds “blew +up” into the bore, and closed it. The poor manufacturer +spent hundreds of pounds more in trying to get the sand out, but in +vain; and he had at last to make a fresh and much larger well by the +side of the old one, bewailing the day when he listened to the well-sinker +and not to the geologist, and so threw away more than a thousand pounds. +And there is an answer to what you asked on board the yacht—What +use was there in learning little matters of natural history and science, +which seemed of no use at all? And now, look out again. +Do you see any change in the country?</p> +<p>What?</p> +<p>Why, there to the left.</p> +<p>There are high hills there now, as well as to the right. What +are they?</p> +<p>Chalk hills too. The chalk is on both sides of us now. +These are the Chilterns, all away to Ipsden and Nettlebed, and so on +across Oxfordshire and Buckinghamshire, and into Hertfordshire; and +on again to Royston and Cambridge, while below them lies the Vale of +Aylesbury; you can just see the beginning of it on their left. +A pleasant land are those hills, and wealthy; full of noble houses buried +in the deep beech-woods, which once were a great forest, stretching +in a ring round the north of London, full of deer and boar, and of wild +bulls too, even as late as the twelfth century, according to the old +legend of Thomas à Becket’s father and the fair Saracen, +which you have often heard.</p> +<p>I know. But how are you going to get through the chalk hills? +Is there a tunnel as there is at Box and at Micheldever?</p> +<p>No. Something much prettier than a tunnel and something which +took a great many years longer in making. We shall soon meet with +a very remarkable and famous old gentleman, who is a great adept at +digging, and at landscape gardening likewise; and he has dug out a path +for himself through the chalk, which we shall take the liberty of using +also. And his name, if you wish to know it, is Father Thames.</p> +<p>I see him. What a great river!</p> +<p>Yes. Here he comes, gleaming and winding down from Oxford, +over the lowlands, past Wallingford; but where he is going to it is +not so easy to see.</p> +<p>Ah, here is chalk in the cutting at last. And what a high bridge. +And the river far under our feet. Why we are crossing him again!</p> +<p>Yes; he winds more sharply than a railroad can. But is not +this prettier than a tunnel?</p> +<p>Oh, what hanging-woods, and churches; and such great houses, and +pretty cottages and gardens—all in this narrow crack of a valley!</p> +<p>Ay. Old Father Thames is a good landscape gardener, as I said. +There is Basildon—and Hurley—and Pangbourne, with its roaring +lasher. Father Thames has had to work hard for many an age before +he could cut this trench right through the chalk, and drain the water +out of the flat vale behind us. But I suspect the sea helped him +somewhat, or perhaps a great deal, just where we are now.</p> +<p>The sea?</p> +<p>Yes. The sea was once—and that not so very long ago—right +up here, beyond Reading. This is the uppermost end of the great +Thames valley, which must have been an estuary—a tide flat, like +the mouth of the Severn, with the sea eating along at the foot of all +the hills. And if the land sunk only some fifty feet,—which +is a very little indeed, child, in this huge, ever-changing world,—then +the tide would come up to Reading again, and the greater part of London +and the county of Middlesex be drowned in salt water.</p> +<p>How dreadful that would be!</p> +<p>Dreadful indeed. God grant that it may never happen. +More terrible changes of land and water have happened, and are happening +still in the world: but none, I think, could happen which would destroy +so much civilisation and be such a loss to mankind, as that the Thames +valley should become again what it was, geologically speaking, only +the other day, when these gravel banks, over which we are running to +Reading, were being washed out of the chalk cliffs up above at every +tide, and rolled on a beach, as you have seen them rolling still at +Ramsgate.</p> +<p>Now here we are at Reading. There is the carriage waiting, +and away we are off home; and when we get home, and have seen everybody +and everything, we will look over our section once more.</p> +<p>But remember, that when you ran through the chalk hills to Reading, +you passed from the bottom of the chalk to the top of it, on to the +Thames gravels, which lie there on the chalk, and on to the London clay, +which lies on the chalk also, with the Thames gravels always over it. +So that, you see, the newest layers, the London clay and the gravels, +are lower in height than the limestone cliffs at Bristol, and much lower +than the old mountain ranges of Devonshire and Wales, though in geological +order they are far higher; and there are whole worlds of strata, rocks +and clays, one on the other, between the Thames gravels and the Devonshire +hills.</p> +<p>But how about our moors? They are newer still, you said, than +the London clay, because they lie upon it: and yet they are much higher +than we are here at Reading.</p> +<p>Very well said: so they are, two or three hundred feet higher. +But our part of them was left behind, standing up in banks, while the +valley of the Thames was being cut out by the sea. Once they spread +all over where we stand now, and away behind us beyond Newbury in Berkshire, +and away in front of us, all over where London now stands.</p> +<p>How can you tell that?</p> +<p>Because there are little caps—little patches—of them +left on the tops of many hills to the north of London; just remnants +which the sea, and the Thames, and the rain have not eaten down. +Probably they once stretched right out to sea, sloping slowly under +the waves, where the mouth of the Thames is now. You know the +sand-cliffs at Bournemouth?</p> +<p>Of course.</p> +<p>Then those are of the same age as the Bagshot sands, and lie on the +London clay, and slope down off the New Forest into the sea, which eats +them up, as you know, year by year and day by day. And here were +once perhaps cliffs just like them, where London Bridge now stands.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>There, we are rumbling away home at last, over the dear old heather-moors. +How far we have travelled—in our fancy at least—since we +began to talk about all these things, upon the foggy November day, and +first saw Madam How digging at the sand-banks with her water-spade. +How many countries we have talked of; and what wonderful questions we +have got answered, which all grew out of the first question, How were +the heather-moors made? And yet we have not talked about a hundredth +part of the things about which these very heather-moors ought to set +us thinking. But so it is, child. Those who wish honestly +to learn the laws of Madam How, which we call Nature, by looking honestly +at what she does, which we call Fact, have only to begin by looking +at the very smallest thing, pin’s head or pebble, at their feet, +and it may lead them—whither, they cannot tell. To answer +any one question, you find you must answer another; and to answer that +you must answer a third, and then a fourth; and so on for ever and ever.</p> +<p>For ever and ever?</p> +<p>Of course. If we thought and searched over the Universe—ay, +I believe, only over this one little planet called earth—for millions +on millions of years, we should not get to the end of our searching. +The more we learnt, the more we should find there was left to learn. +All things, we should find, are constituted according to a Divine and +Wonderful Order, which links each thing to every other thing; so that +we cannot fully comprehend any one thing without comprehending all things: +and who can do that, save He who made all things? Therefore our +true wisdom is never to fancy that we do comprehend: never to make systems +and theories of the Universe (as they are called) as if we had stood +by and looked on when time and space began to be; but to remember that +those who say they understand, show, simply by so saying, that they +understand nothing at all; that those who say they see, are sure to +be blind; while those who confess that they are blind, are sure some +day to see. All we can do is, to keep up the childlike heart, +humble and teachable, though we grew as wise as Newton or as Humboldt; +and to follow, as good Socrates bids us, Reason whithersoever it leads +us, sure that it will never lead us wrong, unless we have darkened it +by hasty and conceited fancies of our own, and so have become like those +foolish men of old, of whom it was said that the very light within them +was darkness. But if we love and reverence and trust Fact and +Nature, which are the will, not merely of Madam How, or even of Lady +Why, but of Almighty God Himself, then we shall be really loving, and +reverencing, and trusting God; and we shall have our reward by discovering +continually fresh wonders and fresh benefits to man; and find it as +true of science, as it is of this life and of the life to come—that +eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor hath it entered into the heart +of man to conceive, what God has prepared for those who love Him.</p> +<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> +<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1">{1}</a> I could +not resist the temptation of quoting this splendid generalisation from +Dr. Carpenter’s Preliminary Report of the Dredging Operations +of H.M.S. “Lightening,” 1868. He attributes it, generously, +to his colleague, Dr. Wyville Thomson. Be it whose it may, it +will mark (as will probably the whole Report when completed) a new era +in Bio-Geology.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MADAM HOW AND LADY WHY***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 1697-h.htm or 1697-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/6/9/1697 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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