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164
Glaucus; Or, The Wonders of the Shore
·
Charles Kingsley
107
He
is
not
here:
He
is
risen.
Good
reader,
you
will
probably
agree
that
to
know
that
saying,
is
to
know
the
key-note
of
the
world
to
come.
Believe
me,
to
know
it,
and
all
it
means,
is
to
know
the
keynote
of
this
world
also,
from
the
fall
of
dynasties
and
the
fate
of
nations,
to
the
sea-weed
which
rots
upon
the
beach.
It
may
seem
startling,
possibly
(though
I
hope
not,
for
my
readers’
sake,
irreverent),
to
go
back
at
once
after
such
thoughts,
be
they
true
or
false,
to
the
weeds
upon
the
cliff
above
our
heads.
But
He
who
is
not
here,
but
is
risen,
yet
is
here,
and
has
appointed
them
their
services
in
a
wonderful
order;
and
I
wish
that
on
some
day,
or
on
many
days,
when
a
quiet
sea
and
offshore
breezes
have
prevented
any
new
objects
from
coming
to
land
with
the
rising
tide,
you
would
investigate
the
flowers
peculiar
to
our
sea-rocks
and
sandhills.
Even
if
you
do
not
find
the
delicate
lily-like
Trichonema
of
the
Channel
Islands
and
Dawlish,
or
the
almost
as
beautiful
Squill
of
the
Cornish
cliffs,
or
the
sea-lavender
of
North
Devon,
or
any
of
those
rare
Mediterranean
species
which
Mr.
Johns
has
so
charmingly
described
in
his
“Week
at
the
Lizard
Point,”
yet
an
average
cliff,
with
its
carpeting
of
pink
thrift
and
of
bladder
catchfly,
and
Lady’s
finger,
and
elegant
grasses,
most
of
them
peculiar
to
the
sea
marge,
is
often
a
very
lovely
flower-bed.
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