seams of limestone and clay called the Lias, and these in their turn upon the red beds of the Trias. It might perhaps have been expected that this uniform arrangement would continue through the whole thickness of the stratified rocks, but it was discovered, and the importance of the discovery was recognized so early as 1670 by Bishop Steno, a man of great genius, that the regularity of the successions is liable to interruption at intervals. Thus as we approach Bristol we encounter those beds of limestone which are associated with our coal-bearing strata, and which are consequently called "carboniferous"; but these are by no means related to the beds we have just passed over in the same manner as they are to one another—we do not find the highest bed of the carboniferous series offering its upper surface as a gently sloping platform on which the trias may rest; on the contrary, the carboniferous beds are seen to lie in great rolling folds, with the tops of the rising folds absent, as it were sliced off, and it is on the edges, not on the surface, of these beds that the red trias layers are seen to be spread out. This sudden change in disposition may well be called a break in the succession of the rocks, and, as if to emphasize it and compel attention to it, we find it accompanied by a complete change in the character of the fossils, those occurring in the carboniferous rocks being of entirely different kinds from those which are found in the overlying beds.
Evidently the carboniferous beds could not have been laid down in the sea in the steeply folded form they now present; at first they must have been spread out in nearly horizontal layers, and the folded form must have been subsequently impressed upon them, no doubt by the action of some stupendously powerful force. Subsequent also must have been the removal of the upper parts of the folds and the general planing down which they appear to have undergone.
To the young geology all this might seem perfectly clear, but in its impulsive explanations it assumed that Nature must have frequently acted in a great and terrible hurry: thus the folding of the rocks was supposed to have been produced suddenly and violently by a single mighty convulsion, which simultaneously changed sea floors into mountain chains, split open the land in wide-gaping chasms—our present river valleys—and with the same blow destroyed every living inhabitant in the world.
But the discordance between two sets of rocks is met with not once only, but several times, in the stratified rocks of the earth's crust, and for every discordance there must have occurred a corresponding catastrophe.
These catastrophes were as wonderful as Burnett's, and there were more of them, so that at this stage of its existence geology was appropriately designated "catastrophic." It had completely
