When the river gorge was cut through these layers of rock, the colour and thickness of each kind were laid bare. Centuries after, perhaps thousands of years, indeed, the quarrymen cut out the layers fit for building stones, flags for walks and slates for roofing. In the splitting of a flagstone, the long-buried skeleton of the fish came to light.

Under our feet the earth lies in layers. Under the soil lie loose beds of clay and sand and gravel, and under these loose kinds of earth are close-packed clays, sandstones, limestones, shales, often strangely tilted away from the horizontal line, but variously fitted, one layer to another. Under these rocks lie the foundations of the earth—the fire-formed rocks, like granite. The depth of this original rock is unknown. It is the substance out of which the earth is made, we think. All the layered rocks are made of particles of the older ones, stolen by wind and water, and finally deposited on the borders of lakes and seas. So our rivers are doing to-day what they have always done—they are tearing down rocks, grinding and sifting the fragments, and letting them fall where the current of fresh water meets a great body of water that is still, or has currents contrary to that of the river.

Do you see a little dead fish in the water? It is on the way to become a fossil, and the mud that sifts over it, to become a layer of slate. Every seashore buries its dead in layers of sand and mud.


THE CRUST OF THE EARTH

It is hard to believe that our solid earth was once a ball of seething liquid, like the red-hot iron that is poured out of the big clay cups into the sand moulds at an iron foundry. But when a mountain like Vesuvius sets up a mighty rumbling, and finally a mass of white-hot lava bursts from the centre and streams down the sides, covering the vineyards and olive orchards, and driving the people out of their homes in terror, it seems as if the earth's crust must be but a thin and frail affair, covering a fiery interior, which might at any time break out. The people who live near volcanoes might easily get this idea.

But they do not. They go back as soon as the lava streams are cooled, and rebuild their homes, and plant more orchards and vineyards. "It is so many years," say they to one another, "since the last bad eruption. Vesuvius will probably sleep now till we are dead and gone."

This is good reasoning. There are few active volcanoes left on the earth, compared with the number that were once active, and long ago became extinct. And the time between eruptions of the active ones grows longer; the eruptions less violent. Terrible as were the recent earthquakes of San Francisco and Messina, this form of disturbance of the earth's crust is growing constantly less frequent. The earth is growing cooler as it grows older; the crust thickens and grows stronger as centuries pass. We have been studying the earth only a few hundred years. The crust has been cooling for millions of years, and mountain-making was the result of the shrinking of the crust. That formed folds and clefts, and let masses of the heated substance pour out on the surface.

My first geography lesson I shall never forget. The new teacher had very bright eyes and such pretty hands! She held up a red apple, and told us that the earth's substance was melted and burning, inside its crust, which was about as thick, in proportion to the size of the globe, as the skin of the apple. I was filled with wonder and fear. What if we children jumped the rope so hard as to break through the fragile shell, and drop out of sight in a sea of fiery metal, like melted iron? Some of the boys didn't believe it, but they were impressed, nevertheless.

The theory of the heated interior of the earth is still believed, but the idea that flames and bubbling metals are enclosed in the outer layer of solid matter has generally been abandoned. The power that draws all of its particles toward the earth's centre is stated by the laws of gravitation. The amount of "pull" is the measure of the weight of any substance. Lift a stone, and then a feather pillow, much larger than the stone. One is strongly drawn to the earth; the other not. One is heavy, we say, the other light.