Stratified rocks, on the contrary, which make up a very large part of the earth’s crust, are not crystallized.  Instead of having cooled from a liquid into a solid state, they have been slowly built up, bit by bit and grain upon grain, into their present form, through long ages of the world’s history.  The materials of which they are made were probably once, long, long ago, the crumblings from granite and other crystallized rocks, but they show now no signs of crystallization.

[Illustration:  SECTION OF STRATIFIED ROCKS.

a. Conglomerate. b. Pebbly Sandstone, c. Thin-bedded Sandstone, d. Shelly Sandstone, e. Shale. f. Limestone.]

They are called “stratified” because they are in themselves made up of distinct layers, and also because they lie thus one upon another in layers, or strata, just as the leaves of a book lie, or as the bricks of a house are placed.

Throughout the greater part of Europe, of Asia, of Africa, of North and South America, of Australia, these rocks are to be found, stretching over hundreds of miles together, north, south, east, and west, extending up to the tops of some of the earth’s highest mountains, reaching down deep into the earth’s crust.  In many parts if you could dig straight downwards through the earth for thousands of feet, you would come to layer after layer of these stratified rocks, one kind below another, some layers thick, some layers thin, here a stratum of gravel, there a stratum of sandstone, here a stratum of coal, there a stratum of clay.

But how, when, where, did the building up of all these rock-layers take place?

[Illustration:  THE BEACH IN THE FOREGROUND IS A ROCKY SHELF, THE REMNANT OF THE CLIFF WHICH ONCE EXTENDED OUT TO THE ISLAND.]

People are rather apt to think of land and water on the earth as if they were fixed in one changeless form,—­as if every continent and every island were of exactly the same shape and size now that it always has been and always will be.

Yet nothing can be further from the truth.  The earth-crust is a scene of perpetual change, of perpetual struggle, of perpetual building up, of perpetual wearing away.

The work may go on slowly, but it does go on.  The sea is always fighting against the land, beating down her cliffs, eating into her shores, swallowing bit by bit of solid earth; and rain and frost and inland streams are always busily at work, helping the ocean in her work of destruction.  Year by year and century by century it continues.  Not a country in the world which is bordered by the open sea has precisely the same coast-line that it had one hundred years ago; not a land in the world but parts each century with masses of its material, washed piecemeal away into the ocean.

Is this hard to believe?  Look at the crumbling cliffs around old England’s shores.  See the effect upon the beach of one night’s fierce storm.  Mark the pathway on the cliff, how it seems to have crept so near the edge that here and there it is scarcely safe to tread; and very soon, as we know, it will become impassable.  Just from a mere accident, of course,—­the breaking away of some of the earth, loosened by rain and frost and wind.  But this is an accident which happens daily in hundreds of places around the shores.