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them； your servant； your tool； your instrument； your organ； with which
you work： and a very useful； trusty； cunningly…contrived organ it is； and
therefore I advise you to make good use of it； for you are responsible for it。
But you yourself are not your body； or your brain； but something else；
which we call your soul； your spirit； your life。 And that 〃you yourself〃
would remain just the same if it were taken out of your body； and put into
the body of a bee； or of a lion； or any other body； or into no body at all。
At least so I believe； and so； I am happy to say； nine hundred and ninety…
nine thousand nine hundred and ninety…nine people out of every million
have always believed； because they have used their human instincts and
their common sense； and have obeyed （without knowing it） the warning of
a great and good philosopher called Herder； that 〃The organ is in no case
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the power which works by it；〃 which is as much as to say； that the engine
is not the engine…driver； nor the spade the gardener。
There have always been； and always will be； a few people who cannot
see that。 They think that a man's soul is part of his body； and that he
himself is not one thing； but a great number of things。 They think that
his mind and character are only made up of all the thoughts； and feelings；
and recollections which have passed through his brain； and that as his
brain changes； he himself must change； and become another person； and
then another person again； continually。 But do you not agree with them：
but keep in mind wise Herder's warning that you are not to 〃confound the
organ with the power；〃 or the engine with the driver； or your body with
yourself： and then we will go on and consider how a volcano； and the
lava which flows from it； helps to make your body。
Now I know that the Scotch have a saying； 〃That you cannot make
broth out of whinstones〃 （which is their name for lava）。 But； though they
are very clever people； they are wrong there。 I never saw any broth in
Scotland； as far as I know； but what whinstones had gone to the making of
it； nor a Scotch boy who had not eaten many a bit of whinstone； and been
all the better for it。
Of course； if you simply put the whinstones into a kettle and boiled
them； you would not get much out of them by such rough cookery as that。
But Madam How is the best and most delicate of all cooks； and she knows
how to pound； and soak； and stew whinstones so delicately； that she can
make them sauce and seasoning for meat； vegetables； puddings； and
almost everything that you eat； and can put into your veins things which
were spouted up red…hot by volcanos； ages and ages since； perhaps at the
bottom of ancient seas which are now firm dry land。
This is very strangeas all Madam How's doings are。 And you would
think it stranger still if you had ever seen the flowing of a lava stream。
Out of a cave of slag and cinders in the black hillside rushes a golden
river； flowing like honey； and yet so tough that you cannot thrust a stick
into it； and so heavy that great stones （if you throw them on it） float on the
top； and are carried down like corks on water。 It is so hot that you cannot
stand near it more than a few seconds； hotter； perhaps； than any fire you
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ever saw： but as it flows； the outside of it cools in the cool air； and gets
covered with slag and cinders； something like those which you may see
thrown out of the furnaces in the Black Country of Staffordshire。
Sometimes these cling together above the lava stream； and make a tunnel；
through the cracks in which you may see the fiery river rushing and
roaring down below。 But mostly they are kept broken and apart； and roll
and slide over each other on the top of the lava； crashing and clanging as
they grind together with a horrid noise。 Of course that stream； like all
streams； runs towards the lower grounds。 It slides down glens； and fills
them up； down the beds of streams； driving off the water in hissing steam；
and sometimes （as it did in Iceland a few years ago） falls over some cliff；
turning what had been a water…fall into a fire…fall； and filling up the pool
below with blocks of lava suddenly cooled； with a clang and roar like that
of chains shaken or brazen vessels beaten； which is heard miles and miles
away。 Of course； woe to the crops and gardens which stand in its way。
It crawls over them all and eats them up。 It shoves down houses； it sets
woods on fire； and sends the steam and gas out of the tree…trunks hissing
into the air。 And （curiously enough） it does this often without touching
the trees themselves。 It flows round the trunks （it did so in a wood in the
Sandwich Islands a few years ago）； and of course sets them on fire by its
heat； till nothing is left of them but blackened posts。 But the moisture
which comes out of the poor tree in steam blows so hard against the lava
round that it can never touch the tree； and a round hole is left in the middle
of the lava where the tree was。 Sometimes； too； the lava will spit out
liquid fire among the branches of the trees； which hangs down afterwards
from them in tassels of slag； and yet； by the very same means； the steam in
the branches will prevent the liquid fire burning them off； or doing
anything but just scorch the bark。
But I can tell you a more curious story still。 The lava stream； you
must know； is continually sending out little jets of gas and steam： some
of it it may have brought up from the very inside of the earth； most of it； I
suspect； comes from the damp herbage and damp soil over which it runs。
Be that as it may； a lava stream out of Mount Etna； in Sicily； came once
down straight upon the town of Catania。 Everybody thought that the
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town would be swallowed up； and the poor people there （who knew no
better） began to pray to St。 Agathaa famous saint； who； they say； was
martyred there ages agoand who； they fancy； has power in heaven to
save them fr