April, 1892. 
DECAY IN NATUKE. 
75 
early English buildings of tlie most solid construction, which 
have not been repaired or restored, have usually crumbled 
into heaps of mouldering stones. Take a special case. 
Some years ago, the ground surrounding the base of Chester 
Cathedral was removed to a depth of several feet, and the 
lower part of the walls was laid bare. The comparison 
of this part with the portions that had been exposed to the 
storms and frosts of centuries was most instructive. The 
carvings which had been freshly exposed were as clear and 
sharp as when they left the hand of the mediaeval mason ; 
but above the line of the old level of the soil, the surface of 
the stone had peeled and flaked away to such an extent that 
mouldings were destroyed, angles were rounded off, and the 
most solid blocks had been considerably reduced in size. Let 
a building be exposed to such destructive action as this, and 
we know that sooner or later it will crumble to a shapeless 
heap. Even in a country like Egypt, where frost is unknown, 
and rain rarely falls, the process of decay, though slower, is 
equally sure. The twin colossi of Amenophis III. are a case 
in point. Each of these enormous statues, originally nearly 
seventy feet in height, is carved out of a single block of solid 
sandstone. When they were completed, they were carried up 
the river on eight ships, and erected on their foundations at 
Thebes. The sculptor thus proudly describes the completion 
of his work:—“ They were emplaced in their sublime building; 
they will last as long as heaven.” But thirty centuries 
of sun and air have been too much even for such solid work 
as this. The “sublime building” has disappeared, and the 
figures themselves present but vague resemblances to the 
human shape. The lofty head-gear has vanished, and the 
features are almost obliterated. 
The destructive effect of the weather is well seen in the 
decay of tombstones. There are some kinds of stone, such as 
the purple slate of Bangor, that retain an inscription sharp 
and clear for a century. But this durability is exceptional. 
In ordinary sandstone, an eighteenth century inscription is 
often quite illegible. And it is but rarely that we see a 
gravestone, dating back to the time of the Stuarts, on which 
the name and date can be deciphered. 
The decay which takes places in hills and mountains is 
certainly not less than that which is visible in the handiwork 
of man. The hills of North Shropshire are composed of a 
sandstone similar to that of which Chester Cathedral is built, 
and it is safe to assert that they crumble away as rapidly. 
Their southern escarpment, as seen for example at Grinshill 
Hill, faces to the south. The beds of which these hills are 
composed probably extended as far south as the Wrekin, a 
