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capstone will crack under the weight of the superincumbent mass。 How
close they fit； and how striking the effect of their long
radiations！〃
The company listened very well up to this point。 When he began the
strain of thoughts which follows； a curious look went round The
Teacups。
What a strange underground life is that which is led by the organisms
we call trees！ These great fluttering masses of leaves； stems；
boughs； trunks； are not the real trees。 They live underground； and
what we see are nothing more nor less than their tails。
The Mistress dropped her teaspoon。 Number Five looked at the Doctor；
whose face was very still and sober。 The two Annexes giggled； or
came very near it。
Yes； a tree is an underground creature； with its tail in the air。
All its intelligence is in its roots。 All the senses it has are in
its roots。 Think what sagacity it shows in its search after food and
drink！ Somehow or other； the rootlets； which are its tentacles； find
out that there is a brook at a moderate distance from the trunk of
the tree； and they make for it with all their might。 They find every
crack in the rocks where there are a few grains of the nourishing
substance they care for； and insinuate themselves into its deepest
recesses。 When spring and summer come； they let their tails grow；
and delight in whisking them about in the wind； or letting them be
whisked about by it； for these tails are poor passive things； with
very little will of their own； and bend in whatever direction the
wind chooses to make them。 The leaves make a deal of noise
whispering。 I have sometimes thought I could understand them； as
they talk with each other； and that they seemed to think they made
the wind as they wagged forward and back。 Remember what I say。 The
next time you see a tree waving in the wind； recollect that it is the
tail of a great underground； many…armed； polypus…like creature； which
is as proud of its caudal appendage； especially in summer…time； as a
peacock of his gorgeous expanse of plumage。
Do you think there is anything so very odd about this idea？ Once get
it well into your heads； and you will find it renders the landscape
wonderfully interesting。 There are as many kinds of tree…tails as
there are of tails to dogs and other quadrupeds。 Study them as Daddy
Gilpin studied them in his 〃Forest Scenery；〃 but don't forget that
they are only the appendage of the underground vegetable polypus； the
true organism to which they belong。
He paused at this point； and we all drew long breaths； wondering what
was coming next。 There was no denying it； the 〃cracked Teacup〃 was
clinking a little false；so it seemed to the company。 Yet； after
all； the fancy was not delirious；the mind could follow it well
enough； let him go on。
What do you say to this？ You have heard all sorts of things said in
prose and verse about Niagara。 Ask our young Doctor there what it
reminds him of。 Is n't it a giant putting his tongue out？ How can
you fail to see the resemblance？ The continent is a great giant； and
the northern half holds the head and shoulders。 You can count the
pulse of the giant wherever the tide runs up a creek； but if you want
to look at the giant's tongue； you must go to Niagara。 If there were
such a thing as a cosmic physician； I believe he could tell the state
of the country's health； and the prospects of the mortality for the
coming season； by careful inspection of the great tongue； which
Niagara is putting out for him； and has been showing to mankind ever
since the first flint…shapers chipped their arrow…heads。 You don't
think the idea adds to the sublimity and associations of the
cataract？ I am sorry for that； but I can't help the suggestion。 It
is just as manifestly a tongue put out for inspection as if it had
Nature's own label to that effect hung over it。 I don't know whether
you can see these things as clearly as I do。 There are some people
that never see anything； if it is as plain as a hole in a grindstone；
until it is pointed out to them； and some that can't see it then； and
won't believe there is any hole till they've poked their finger
through it。 I've got a great many things to thank God for； but
perhaps most of all that I can find something to admire； to wonder
at； to set my fancy going； and to wind up my enthusiasm pretty much
everywhere。
Look here！ There are crowds of people whirled through our streets on
these new…fashioned cars； with their witch…broomsticks overhead；if
they don't come from Salem； they ought to；and not more than one in
a dozen of these fish…eyed bipeds thinks or cares a nickel's worth
about the miracle which is wrought for their convenience。 They know
that without hands or feet； without horses； without steam； so far as
they can see； they are transported from place to place； and that
there is nothing to account for it except the witch…broomstick and
the iron or copper cobweb which they see stretched above them。 What
do they know or care about this last revelation of the omnipresent
spirit of the material universe？ We ought to go down on our knees
when one of these mighty caravans； car after car； spins by us； under
the mystic impulse which seems to know not whether its train is
loaded or empty。 We are used to force in the muscles of horses； in
the expansive potency of steam； but here we have force stripped stark
naked；nothing but a filament to cover its nudity；and yet showing
its might in efforts that would task the working…beam of a ponderous
steam…engine。 I am thankful that in an age of cynicism I have not
lost my reverence。 Perhaps you would wonder to see how some very
common sights impress me。 I always take off my hat if I stop to
speak to a stone…cutter at his work。 〃Why？〃 do you ask me？ Because
I know that his is the only labor that is likely to endure。 A score
of centuries has not effaced the marks of the Greek's or the Roman's
chisel on his block of marble。 And now； before this new
manifestation of that form of cosmic vitality which we call
electricity； I feel like taking the posture of the peasants listening
to the Angelus。 How near the mystic effluence of mechanical energy
brings us to the divine source of all power and motion！ In the old
mythology； the right hand of Jove held and sent forth the lightning。
So； in the record of the Hebrew prophets； did the right hand of
Jehovah cast forth and direct it。 Was Nahum thinking of our far…off
time when he wrote； 〃The chariots shall rage in the streets； they
shall justle one against another in the broad ways： they shall seem
like torches； they shall run like the lightnings〃？
Number Seven had finished reading his paper。 Two bright spots in his
cheeks showed that he had felt a good deal in writing it； and the
flush returned as he listened to his own thoughts。 Poor old fellow！
The 〃cracked Teacup〃 of our younger wits；not yet come to their full
human sensibilities；the 〃crank〃 of vulgar