“You speak too flippantly of a class of philosophers who have united their efforts to investigate a sublime subject upon the true principles of science; were you to attend the meetings of the Geological Society, and hear the discussions of its members, you would cease to talk thus irreverently.”
“Although I may be unknown to your genii of the mountains, I am, at all events, acquainted with a kindred class of philosophers who rival them in industry, if not in talents; and notwithstanding the limited range of their observations--being confined to the mountainous districts they inhabit--I have little doubt but that their labours have proved as acceptable to the world as those of the disciples of Hutton or Werner. I once visited this district, and although the language of its inhabitants was entirely unknown to me, I soon discovered, by the aid of a glass, that they were in serious discourse with each other; and one of the elders of the fraternity, who was seated on a craggy precipice that overhung an extensive valley covered with rich verdure, appeared, from his gestures, as if pointing out to his fellow-labourers, who were digging in all directions in search of treasure, the danger of an approaching convulsion. While I was yet gazing, the fatal catastrophe actually occurred; immense masses of the tottering strata rolled with precipitous haste into the valley, involving in its ruin hundreds of its inhabitants. It was extraordinary to behold the effects of this shock upon those who were beyond the reach of its more destructive influence; hundreds were seen scaling heights that appeared inaccessible; others, stumbling--falling down frightful precipices--rising again--helping, or pushing each other on--the foremost serving as so many stepping-stones to those behind, who, in their turn, hauled up the clusters over whose backs they had so unceremoniously vaulted.”
“How awful!” cried Mrs. Seymour; “I never heard of any modern catastrophe of such fearful extent: where did it occur?”
“The vicar doubtless alludes to the terrible earthquake of Messina, or perhaps to that of Lisbon.”
“I neither allude to the one nor to the other,” cried Mr. Twaddleton; “and yet, in some respects, the catastrophe which I have described resembled that of Lisbon; for during the dreadful disaster human beings seen to take advantage of the confusion to murder many of the inhabitants, and to pillage their territories.”[(17)]
“For goodness’ sake!” cried Mrs. Seymour, “tell us at once where this terrible event occurred.”
“In a fine Cheshire cheese!” exclaimed the vicar, “which had furnished abundant food to the miniature republic of mites that occupied its deep ravines and alpine heights. I think now,” continued the reverend gentleman, “I am amply revenged for the allegorical jokes in which Mr. Seymour has so often indulged at my expense.”
“I am well satisfied,” said Mr. Seymour; “for by repeating your allegory to my children, I shall be enabled to convey a striking lesson of wisdom. They will learn from it that there is not any pursuit, however exalted, that may not be assailed by the weapons of ridicule, especially when wielded by those penurious philosophers whose ideas of utility are circumscribed within the narrow limits of direct and immediate profit.”
“It is too true,” cried Mrs. Seymour, “that we are all apt to depreciate those branches of knowledge which do not bear directly upon the comforts or necessities of life; and the applications of geology are, perhaps, so remote as scarcely to be discovered by the mass of mankind.”
“There I must differ with you,” replied her husband: “to say nothing of the practical advantages which have accrued to the miner from this study, it has been the means of bringing hundreds of acres into cultivation in districts where never a blade of grass had before grown;[(18)] and if scholastic researches have thrown additional light on scriptural subjects, they are no more to be compared with those of the geologist on these occasions, than is the light of the glow-worm to that of the sun.”