The Rambles of an Idler 



will say for more than a million years ! How 

 easy to write these words: how difficult to get 

 any real conception of what they mean! This 

 prostrate tree-trunk did not grow alone ; it was 

 one of many; of a forest that flourished before 

 men were, and when the lord of creation was a 

 gigantic lizard. "The dust we tread upon was 

 once alive.' 7 No one questions this, but how 

 few consider what one-time living worlds are 

 beneath us all the while ! A forest full of liz- 

 ards, and streams with sharks, and shallow 

 bays with creatures grim beyond words. We 

 do not let our minds out when we pick up a 

 fossil ; do not conjure up a picture of its day, 

 its habitat and surroundings ; its associates and 

 the daily routine of its existence. I have heard 

 the remark: Who cares for what happened a 

 million years ago? The fool, forever rooting 

 in the filth of the present, hoping to smell out a 

 dollar, does not, that is certain. 



An empty mill-pond, ay ! and an empty head 

 who sees nothing in it but space that should be 

 filled with water. The world is nowhere empty. 

 The void we deplore is really 'twixt our scalp 

 and eye-balls, when we chatter in such fashion. 

 The whole story of this empty mill-pond will 



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