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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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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。