The Old Red Sandstone; or, New Walks in an Old Field
John Stuart Mill · en
corresponds to the nave of the wheel, or the body of the star-fish;
and the boughs shoot out horizontally on every side, like spokes from
the nave, or rays from the central body. The diameter considerably
exceeds forty feet; the branches, originally of a deep green, are
assuming the golden tinge of decay; the cylindrical and hollow leaves
stand out thick on every side, like prickles of the wild rose on the
red, fleshy, lance-like shoots of a year's growth, that will be
covered, two seasons hence, with flowers and fruit. That strangely
formed organism presents no existing type among all the numerous
families of the vegetable kingdom. There is an amazing luxuriance of
growth all around us. Scarce can the current make way through the
thickets of aquatic plants that rise thick from the muddy bottom;
and though the sunshine falls bright on the upper boughs of the
tangled forest beyond, not a ray penetrates the more than twilight
gloom that broods over the marshy platform below. The rank steam of
decaying vegetation forms a thick blue haze, that partially obscures
the underwood; deadly lakes of carbonic acid gas have accumulated in
the hollows; there is silence all around, uninterrupted save by the
sudden splash of some reptile fish that has risen to the surface in
pursuit of its prey, or when a sudden breeze stirs the hot air, and
shakes the fronds of the giant ferns or the catkins of the reeds.
The wide continent before us is a continent devoid of animal life,
save that its pools and rivers abound in fish and mollusca, and that
millions and tens of millions of the infusory tribes swarm in the
bogs and marshes. Here and there, too, an insect of strange form
flutters among the leaves. It is more than probable that no creature
furnished with lungs of the more perfect construction could have
breathed the atmosphere of this early period, and have lived.