years, it is no nearer completion than it was in the beginning.

    The Sea with its white teeth bites the edges of the continents into new shapes, as a child bites the edges of a biscuit. The glaciers file away the mountains into valleys and plains. Beneath the ocean busy insects are building

    the foundations of new continents and, under the earth, Fiery Demons are ready at all times to burst forth and help to destroy the old ones.

    It really begins to look as if this Planet would never be finished.

    In the first chapter of his geography, Moses tells us there were only two people in the world.

    Today we are preparing to put up the “standing room only” notice. In another thousand years, for aught we know, the earth may be going round dark and tenantless and bearing the sign “To Let.” What does it matter to us? What are we but microscopic weevils in the mouldy crust of earth? Sufficient unto the day is the weevil thereof.

     THE GIDDY GLOBE

    Men of Science, who delight in applying harsh terms to things that cannot talk back, have called this Giddy Globe an Oblate Spheroid.

    Francis Bacon called it a Bubble; Shakespeare, an Oyster; Rossetti, a Midge; and W. S. Gilbert addresses it familiarly as a Ball—

     Roll on, thou ball, roll on!

     Through pathless realms of Space

      Roll on!

     What though I’m in a sorry case?

     What though I cannot meet my bills?

     What though I suffer toothache’s ills?

     What though I swallow countless pills?

      Never you mind

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