CHAPTER XXVII.

METHOD IN THE GROWTH OF CONTINENTS.

How

OW impressive the unity of purpose with which Nature has pushed forward the consummation of her vast schemes! Ends have been foreshadowed through almost an eternity of years, while the all-directing Mind has steadily controlled the ministering forces, in the midst of millions of disturbing agencies, till the premeditated work has been accomplished. We witness in the plans of the Infinite Architect the same intelligent cohesion of parts as in a well-laid human scheme; and while the relations of certain events far transcend the scope of our reason, and the perfection of contrivance is immeasurably superior to that of human designs, we understand enough and measure enough to know that a philosophy which is at once human in its method and divine in its comprehension underlies the whole chain of natural events. There is a logical relationship of things established by God and recognizable by man, and the sequences of events are ofttimes so clear that even finite intelligence is able to penetrate the future and unveil plans existing only in the Infinite conception.

This ideal connection of the parts of the Creator's universe is, perhaps, best traced among organized beings, but I propose first to point out its existence in the history of inorganic nature. The infinitely diversified features of the earth's surface have been wrought out by the operation of a few principles working through ages in definite modes. We see that certain rocks bear the evidences of their sedimentary origin. We look about, and find sedimentary ac

kerarteras soll comming and hurlening. We look back, £86*{!.tR I AL fu sunt præcesses, continued through vast, tavu nitek ip thousands of feet of rocky wls, n von stil sumber the mummied forms of the pri22 AL PAL Wa see that certain rocks bear the marks Ji It. "We hung our bands into a thermal spring, and giche i matices of internal heat. The molten eructacas da volcano demonstrate the continued existence of mcted rocks. If masses of igneous origin have cooled from a state of fusion, who can say that they have not cooled from that higher temperature at which we know that rocks and all other things can subsist only as vapor? Do we find rocks existing in that condition? Yes; worlds still exist as igneous vapors. Here, then, we may assume our starting-point. A world of airy flame, after ages of cooling, gathered a liquid nucleus at its core—a globe of molten rock, wrapped in a glowing atmosphere of all that remained as vapor. Next, a fiery floor congeals over the surface of the burning tide; the burning tide, as if in rage, lashes it to fragments, and the abated heat allows them to be recemented. When the hotter fires had been quite imprisoned in the strengthening crust, dews began to gather in the upper air, and streaks of haze barred out the burning beams of the lurid sun. Rains fell upon the fervid crust, to waste themselves in sudden vapor, and return to the attack upon the crust. Gleams of electricity lighted the misty drapery of this geologic night, while the thunders of Nature's ordnance echoed through the caverns of the clouds.

A rain of acid waters at length got the mastery of the wrinkled surface, and every ravine and valley witnessed. the race of the rivers for the lowest levels. Every watercourse bore onward its freight of sediment, the materials of the masonry of continents. The filmy ocean swallowed

the rivulet, crawled over the hill-top, and embraced the world. The world, in turn, opened its wide and rocky jaws and swallowed the ocean—and another ocean laved the face of Nature.

In the progress of events, an occasional ridge of barren granite lifted its back permanently above the level of the sea. As the liquid core contracted, the surplusage of the enveloping crust was absorbed by the wrinkles already existing, and thus the granite backs rose higher and higher. As the ridges were higher raised, and the valleys deeper sunken, the accumulated oceans pressed heavier and heavier against the slopes of the rocky beds, and the gathered sediments of ages weighted the ocean's floor with a burden which easily outweighed the crust which bridged the hills. And thus it was that the valleys were ever deeper sunken, and that which was at first an insignificant wrinkle became at last a stable mountain. From the coast of Labrador southwest along the Laurentian Hills we tread upon that ancient summit which was the first-born of Old Ocean. From the far northwest it comes down to us with the same time-worn record written on its weathered brow, while a chain of noble lakes fringes the angulated ridge along its western branch, and the eastern bathes its feet in the waters of the St. Lawrence. As the flowers of one spring-time foretell the forms which will reappear when spring-time comes again, so this ancient germinal ridge was but the first blooming of a continent; and when the circle of a geologic year was run, the rocky leaves of the growing continent unfolded themselves again in their appointed fashion. Note the parallelism of that primeval ridge with the present shores of the Atlantic and Pacific. When we know that each successive revolution of the globe has but rolled the waters of the oceans farther to the southeast and southwest, do we not perceive that the

cumulations still forming and hardening. We look back, and ascertain that the same processes, continued through ages of the past, have piled up thousands of feet of rocky beds, in which still slumber the mummied forms of the primeval world. We see that certain rocks bear the marks of fire. We plunge our hands into a thermal spring, and gather intimations of internal heat. The molten eructations of a volcano demonstrate the continued existence of melted rocks. If masses of igneous origin have cooled from a state of fusion, who can say that they have not cooled from that higher temperature at which we know that rocks and all other things can subsist only as vapor? Do we find rocks existing in that condition? Yes; worlds still exist as igneous vapors. Here, then, we may assume our starting-point. A world of airy flame, after ages of cooling, gathered a liquid nucleus at its core-a globe of molten rock, wrapped in a glowing atmosphere of all that remained as vapor. Next, a fiery floor congeals over the surface of the burning tide; the burning tide, as if in rage, lashes it to fragments, and the abated heat allows them to be recemented. When the hotter fires had been quite imprisoned in the strengthening crust, dews began to gather in the upper air, and streaks of haze barred out the burning beams of the lurid sun. Rains fell upon the fervid crust, to waste themselves in sudden vapor, and return to the attack upon the crust. Gleams of electricity lighted the misty drapery of this geologic night, while the thunders of Nature's ordnance echoed through the caverns of the clouds.

A rain of acid waters at length got the mastery of the wrinkled surface, and every ravine and valley witnessed the race of the rivers for the lowest levels. Every watercourse bore onward its freight of sediment, the materials of the masonry of continents. The filmy ocean swallowed

the rivulet, crawled over the hill-top, and embraced the world. The world, in turn, opened its wide and rocky jaws and swallowed the ocean-and another ocean laved the face of Nature.

In the progress of events, an occasional ridge of barren granite lifted its back permanently above the level of the sea. As the liquid core contracted, the surplusage of the enveloping crust was absorbed by the wrinkles already existing, and thus the granite backs rose higher and higher. As the ridges were higher raised, and the valleys deeper sunken, the accumulated oceans pressed heavier and heavier against the slopes of the rocky beds, and the gathered sediments of ages weighted the ocean's floor with a burden which easily outweighed the crust which bridged the hills. And thus it was that the valleys were ever deeper sunken, and that which was at first an insignificant wrinkle became at last a stable mountain. From the coast of Labrador southwest along the Laurentian Hills we tread upon that ancient summit which was the first-born of Old Ocean. From the far northwest it comes down to us with the same time-worn record written on its weathered brow, while a chain of noble lakes fringes the angulated ridge along its western branch, and the eastern bathes its feet in the waters of the St. Lawrence. As the flowers of one spring-time foretell the forms which will reappear when spring-time comes again, so this ancient germinal ridge was but the first blooming of a continent; and when the circle of a geologic year was run, the rocky leaves of the growing continent unfolded themselves again in their appointed fashion. Note the parallelism of that primeval ridge with the present shores of the Atlantic and Pacific. When we know that each successive revolution of the globe has but rolled the waters of the oceans farther to the southeast and southwest, do we not perceive that the