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break the ice across。 Now you may judge for yourself how much water a
load of chalk will hold； even on a dry summer's day。 And now； if you'll
excuse me； sir； I must be off to market。
Was it all true that the farmer said？
Quite true； I believe。 He is not a scientific manthat is； he does not
know the chemical causes of all these things； but his knowledge is sound
and useful； because it comes from long experience。 He and his
forefathers； perhaps for a thousand years and more； have been farming this
country； reading Madam How's books with very keen eyes； experimenting
and watching； very carefully and rationally； making mistakes often； and
failing and losing their crops and their money； but learning from their
mistakes； till their empiric knowledge； as it is called； helps them to grow
sometimes quite as good crops as if they had learned agricultural
chemistry。
What he meant by the chalk sweetening the land you would not
understand yet； and I can hardly tell you； for chemists are not yet agreed
how it happens。 But he was right； and right； too； what he told you about
the water inside the chalk； which is more important to us just now； for； if
we follow it out； we shall surely come to a cave at last。
So now for the water in the chalk。 You can see now why the chalk…
downs at Winchester are always green； even in the hottest summer：
because Madam How has put under them her great chalk sponge。 The
winter rains soak into it； and the summer heat draws that rain out of it
again as invisible steam； coming up from below； to keep the roots of the
turf cool and moist under the blazing sun。
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MADAM HOW AND LADY WHY
You love that short turf well。 You love to run and race over the
Downs with your butterfly…net and hunt 〃chalk…hill blues；〃 and 〃marbled
whites；〃 and 〃spotted burnets；〃 till you are hot and tired； and then to sit
down and look at the quiet little old city below； with the long cathedral
roof； and the tower of St。 Cross； and the gray old walls and buildings
shrouded by noble trees； all embosomed among the soft rounded lines of
the chalk…hills； and then you begin to feel very thirsty； and cry； 〃Oh； if
there were but springs and brooks in the Downs； as there are at home！〃
But all the hollows are as dry as the hill tops。 There is not a brook； or the
mark of a watercourse； in one of them。 You are like the Ancient Mariner
in the poem； with
〃Water； water； every where； Nor any drop to drink。〃
To get that you must go down and down； hundreds of feet； to the
green meadows through which silver Itchen glides toward the sea。 There
you stand upon the bridge； and watch the trout in water so crystal…clear
that you see every weed and pebble as if you looked through air。 If ever
there was pure water； you think； that is pure。 Is it so？ Drink some。
Wash your hands in it and tryYou feel that the water is rough； hard （as
they call it）； quite different from the water at home； which feels as soft as
velvet。 What makes it so hard？
Because it is full of invisible chalk。 In every gallon of that water
there are； perhaps； fifteen grains of solid chalk； which was once inside the
heart of the hills above。 Day and night； year after year； the chalk goes
down to the sea； and if there were such creatures as water…fairiesif it
were true； as the old Greeks and Romans thought； that rivers were living
things； with a Nymph who dwelt in each of them； and was its goddess or
its queenthen； if your ears were opened to hear her； the Nymph of Itchen
might say to you …
So child； you think that I do nothing but； as your sister says when she
sings Mr。 Tennyson's beautiful song；
〃I chatter over stony ways； In little sharps and trebles； I bubble into
eddying bays； I babble on the pebbles。〃
Yes。 I do that： and I love； as the Nymphs loved of old； men who
have eyes to see my beauty； and ears to discern my song； and to fit their
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MADAM HOW AND LADY WHY
own song to it； and tell how
〃'I wind about； and in and out； With here a blossom sailing； And here
and there a lusty trout； And here and there a grayling；
〃'And here and there a foamy flake Upon me； as I travel With many a
silvery waterbreak Above the golden gravel；
〃'And draw them all along； and flow To join the brimming river； For
men may come and men may go； But I go on for ever。'〃
Yes。 That is all true： but if that were all； I should not be let to flow
on for ever； in a world where Lady Why rules； and Madam How obeys。 I
only exist （like everything else； from the sun in heaven to the gnat which
dances in his beam） on condition of working； whether we wish it or not；
whether we know it or not。 I am not an idle stream； only fit to chatter to
those who bathe or fish in my waters； or even to give poets beautiful
fancies about me。 You little guess the work I do。 For I am one of the
daughters of Madam How； and； like her； work night and day； we know not
why； though Lady Why must know。 So day by day； and night by night；
while you are sleeping （for I never sleep）； I carry； delicate and soft as I am；
a burden which giants could not bear： and yet I am never tired。 Every
drop of rain which the south…west wind brings from the West Indian seas
gives me fresh life and strength to bear my burden； and it has need to do
so； for every drop of rain lays a fresh burden on me。 Every root and
weed which grows in every field； every dead leaf which falls in the
highwoods of many a parish； from the Grange and Woodmancote round to
Farleigh and Preston； and so to Brighton and the Alresford downs；… …ay；
every atom of manure which the farmers put on the landfoul enough then；
but pure enough before it touches meeach of these； giving off a tiny atom
of what men call carbonic acid； melts a tiny grain of chalk； and helps to
send it down through the solid hill by one of the million pores and veins
which at once feed and burden my springs。 Ages on ages I have worked
on thus； carrying the chalk into the sea。