THE WONDEES OF THE SHOEE. 145 



He is not here : He is risen. Good reader, you 

 will probably agree that to know that saying, is to 

 know the key-note of the world to come. Believe 

 me, to know it, and all it means, is to know the key- 

 note of this world also, from the fall of dynasties and 

 the fate of nations, to the sea-weed which rots upon 

 the beach. 



It may seem startling, possibly (though I hope 

 not, for my readers' sake, irreverent), to go back at 

 once after such thoughts, be they true or false, to 

 the weeds upon the cliff above our heads. But He 

 who is not here, but is risen, yet is here, and has 

 appointed them their services in a wonderful order ; 

 and I wish that on some day, or on many days, when 

 a quiet sea and offshore breezes have prevented any 

 new objects from coming to land with the rising tide, 

 you would investigate the flowers peculiar to our sea- 

 rocks and sandhills. Even if you do not find the 

 delicate lily-like Trichonema of the Channel Islands 

 and Dawlish, or the almost as beautiful Squill of 

 the Cornish cliffs, or the sea-lavender of i^orth 

 Devon, or any of those rare Mediterranean species 



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