eminded us that the yew was in times past planted
for its wood to be used as bows.

[30] Professor Huxley, in his _Physiography_, has estimated that "at the
present rate of wear and tear, denudation can have lowered the surface
of the Thames Basin by hardly more than an inch since the Norman
Conquest; and nearly a million years must elapse before the whole basin
of the Thames will be worn down to the sea-level"; and Dr. A. Geikie,
after a series of elaborate calculations, has postulated "as probably a
fair average, a valley of 1000 feet deep may be excavated in 1,200,000
years." Taking these estimates as a basis, and allowing for an average
height of three hundred feet, we roughly arrive at a period of about
four hundred thousand years as the possible length of time which it has
taken to form this beautiful valley. Professor Huxley may well say that
"the geologist has thoughts of time and space to which the ordinary mind
is a stranger."

[31] Mr. Kitton's illustration (from the painting by Gegan, a local
artist, executed many years since) gives a good idea of the scenery of
this beautiful district. It also reproduces the profile of a huge chalk
cliff not now visible, but which existed about half a century ago,
having a curious resemblance to the head of a lion, and forming at the
time a conspicuous landmark to travellers.

CHAPTER XI.

BROADSTAIRS, MARGATE, AND CANTERBURY.

"We have a fine sea, wholesome for all people;
profitable for the body, profitable for the
mind."--_Our English Watering-Place._

"All is going on as it was wont. The waves are
hoarse with repetition of their mystery; the dust
lies piled upon the shore; the sea-birds soar and
hover; the winds and clouds go forth upon their
trackless flight; the white arms beckon in the
moonlight to the invisible country far
away."--_Dombey and Son._

"A moment, and I occupy my place in the Cathedral,
where we all went together every Sunday morning,
assembling first at school for that purpose. The
earthy smell, the sunless air, the sensation of
the world being shut out, the resounding of the
organ through the black and white arched galleries
and aisles, are wings that take me back and hold
me hovering above those days in a half-sleeping
and half-waking dream."--_David Co