above the level surface of the ground, for over them are spread the
boggy lands and thick forests of future coal fields. The Mississippi
River is not yet in existence, or if in existence, is but an unimportant
little stream.

Below us, as we stand, we can see a broad and sluggish body of water, in
places widening into shallow lakes. On either side of this stream, vast
forests extend in every direction as far as the horizon, bounded on one
side by the distant ocean, clothing each hilly rise, and sending islets
of matted trees and shrubs floating down the waters.

Strange forests these are to us. No oaks, no elms, no beeches, no
birches, no palms, nor many colored wild flowers are there. The
deciduous plants so common in our modern forests are nowhere found; but
enormous club mosses are seen, as well as splendid pines and an
abundance of ancient trees with waving, frondlike leaves. Here also are
graceful tree ferns and countless ferns of lower growth filling up all
gaps.

[Illustration]

No wild quadrupeds are yet in existence, and the silent forests are
enlivened only by the stirring of the breeze among the trees or the
occasional hum of monstrous insects. But upon the margin of yonder
stream a huge four-footed creature creeps slowly along. He looks much
like a gigantic salamander, and his broad, soft feet make deep
impressions in the yielding mud.

No sunshine but only a gleam of light can creep through the misty
atmosphere. The earth seems clothed in a garment of clouds, and the air
is positively reeking with damp warmth, like the air of a hothouse. This
explains the luxuriant growth of foliage.

Could we thus stand upon the hilltops and keep watch through the long
coal building ages, we should see generation after generation of forest
trees and underwoods living, withering, dying, falling to earth. Slowly
a layer of dead and decaying vegetation thus collects, over which the
forest flourishes still--tree for tree, and shrub for shrub, springing
up in the place of each one that dies.

Then, after a very long time, through the working of mighty underground
forces, the broad lands sink a little way--perhaps only a few feet--and
the ocean tide rushes in, overwhelming the forests, trees and plants and
living creatures, in one dire desolation.--No, not dire, for the ruin is
not objectless or needless. It is all a part of the wonderful
preparation for the life of man on earth.

Under the waves lie the overwhelmed