vegetation of the correlative reindeer-moss grew with difficulty under the sheets and drifts of endless snow; a stray walrus or an occasional seal basked in the chilly sunshine on the ice-bound coast.  But during the greatest extension of the North-European ice-sheet it is probable that life in London was completely extinct; the metropolitan area did not even vegetate.  Snow and snow and snow and snow was then the short sum-total of British scenery.  Murray’s Guides were rendered quite unnecessary, and penny ices were a drug in the market.  England was given up to one unchanging universal winter.

Slowly, however, times altered, as they are much given to doing; and a new era dawned upon Britain.  The thermometer rose rapidly, or at least it would have risen, with effusion, if it had yet been invented.  The land emerged from the sea, and southern plants and animals began to invade the area that was afterwards to be England, across the broad belt which then connected us with the Continental system.  But in those days communications were slow and land transit difficult.  You had to foot it.  The European fauna and flora moved but gradually and tentatively north-westward, and before any large part of it could settle in England our island was finally cut off from the mainland by the long and gradual wearing away of the cliffs at Dover and Calais.  That accounts for the comparative poverty of animal and vegetable life in England, and still more for its extreme paucity and meagreness in Ireland and the Highlands.  It has been erroneously asserted, for example, that St. Patrick expelled snakes and lizards, frogs and toads, from the soil of Erin.  This detail, as the French newspapers politely phrase it, is inexact.  St. Patrick did not expel the reptiles, because there were never any reptiles in Ireland (except dynamiters) for him to expel.  The creatures never got so far on their long and toilsome north-westward march before St. George’s Channel intervened to prevent their passage across to Dublin.  It is really, therefore, to St. George, rather than to St. Patrick, that the absence of toads and snakes from the soil of Ireland is ultimately due.  The doubtful Cappadocian prelate is well known to have been always death on dragons and serpents.

As long ago as the sixteenth century, indeed, Verstegan the antiquary clearly saw that the existence of badgers and foxes in England implied the former presence of a belt of land joining the British Islands to the Continent of Europe; for, as he acutely observed, nobody (before fox-hunting, at least) would ever have taken the trouble to bring them over.  Still more does the presence in our islands of the red deer, and formerly of the wild white cattle, the wolf, the bear, and the wild boar, to say nothing of the beaver, the otter, the squirrel, and the weasel, prove that England was once conterminous with France or Belgium.  At the very best of times, however, before Sir Ewen Cameron of Lochiel had killed positively the last ‘last