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PALGRAVE STUDIES IN GLOBALIZATION,
CULTURE & SOCIETY
Other Globes
Past and Peripheral Imaginations
of Globalization
Series Editors
Jeroen de Kloet
Centre for Globalisation Studies
University of Amsterdam
Amsterdam, The Netherlands
Esther Peeren
Literary and Cultural Analysis
University of Amsterdam
Amsterdam, The Netherlands
Palgrave Studies in Globalization, Culture and Society traverses the
boundaries between the humanities and the social sciences to critically
explore the cultural and social dimensions of contemporary globalization
processes. This entails looking at the way globalization unfolds through
and within cultural and social practices, and identifying and understand-
ing how it effects cultural and social change across the world. The series
asks what, in its different guises and unequal diffusion, globalization is
taken to be and do in and across specific locations, and what social, polit-
ical and cultural forms and imaginations this makes possible or renders
obsolete. A particular focus is the vital contribution made by different
forms of the imagination (social, cultural, popular) to the conception,
experience and critique of contemporary globalization. Palgrave Studies
in Globalization, Culture and Society is committed to addressing globali-
zation across cultural contexts (western and non-western) through inter-
disciplinary, theoretically driven scholarship that is empirically grounded
in detailed case studies and close analyses. Within the scope outlined
above, we invite junior and senior scholars to submit proposals for mon-
ographs, edited volumes and the Palgrave Pivot format. Please contact
the series editors for more information: b.j.dekloet@uva.nl/e.peeren@
uva.nl
Other Globes
Past and Peripheral Imaginations
of Globalization
Editors
Simon Ferdinand Irene Villaescusa-Illán
Amsterdam School for Cultural Department of Spanish Language
Analysis and Culture
University of Amsterdam University of Amsterdam
Amsterdam, The Netherlands Amsterdam, The Netherlands
Esther Peeren
Literary and Cultural Analysis
University of Amsterdam
Amsterdam, The Netherlands
© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer
Nature Switzerland AG 2019
This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the
Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights
of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction
on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and
retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology
now known or hereafter developed.
The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this
publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are
exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use.
The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and
information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication.
Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, express or implied,
with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have
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This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature
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The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland
Plate XXXI from Thomas Wright, An Original Theory or New Hypothesis of
the Universe, Founded upon the Laws of Nature, and Solving by Mathematical
Principles the General Phenomena of the Visible Creation; and Particularly the
Via Lactea. London: H. Chapelle, 1750, p. 162. Digital image courtesy of the
Getty’s Open Content Program
Acknowledgments
vii
viii Acknowledgments
Index 285
Notes on Contributors
xi
xii Notes on Contributors
art, and is currently working on a book project titled Globe and Planet in
Contemporary Aesthetics.
Christoph Schaub received his Ph.D. in Germanic Languages from
Columbia University in 2015 and subsequently taught at Columbia
University and Duke University. A former fellow of the Fulbright,
Whiting, and Rosa Luxemburg Foundations, his research on literary
and cultural globalization, labor movement literature, urban culture,
modernism, and popular music has been published in such journals as
New German Critique, Modernism/modernity, Monatshefte, Weimarer
Beiträge, IASL, and Amerikastudien/American Studies.
Robert T. Tally Jr. is the NEH Distinguished Teaching Professor in
the Humanities and Professor of English at Texas State University. He is
the author of numerous books, including Topophrenia: Place, Narrative,
and the Spatial Imagination (2019), Fredric Jameson: The Project
of Dialectical Criticism (2014), Poe and the Subversion of American
Literature (2014) Utopia in the Age of Globalization (2013), Spatiality
(2013), and Melville, Mapping, and Globalization (2009). His edited
collections include Teaching Space, Place, and Literature (2018), The
Routledge Handbook of Literature and Space (2017), Ecocriticism and
Geocriticism (2016), The Geocritical Legacies of Edward W. Said (2015),
Literary Cartographies (2014), and Geocritical Explorations (2011). He
is also the general editor of “Geocriticism and Spatial Literary Studies,” a
Palgrave Macmillan book series.
Miriam Tola is an interdisciplinary scholar of feminist theory, politi-
cal ecology, social activism, and film studies. Her work has appeared in
Theory & Event, PhaenEx, South Atlantic Quarterly, Feminist Review,
and Environmental Humanities. She is an Assistant Teaching Professor
in the Media and Screen Studies Program and the Women, Gender and
Sexuality Studies Program at Northeastern University.
Irene Villaescusa-Illán has taught Spanish language, literature, and cul-
ture in France, Hong Kong, and The Netherlands. Currently, she is a
guest researcher at ASCA, the Amsterdam School of Cultural Analysis
at the University of Amsterdam, where she completed her Ph.D. disser-
tation entitled Writing the Nation: Transculturation and Nationalism
in Hispano-Filipino Literature from the Early Twentieth Century. She is
working on her first monograph derived from her Ph.D. research. She
has published on Philippine literature written in Spanish in the Revista
Notes on Contributors xv
xvii
xviii List of Figures
Until the eighteenth century, the Latin mundus was often used to
signify totality: the “agglomeration of all totality of existent things”
(Leibniz, qtd. in David 2014, 1220). Since then, however, that mean-
ing has been taken up by universe, with world dissociated into different
meanings. In current usage, world refers to “the earth and everything on
it, the globe,” but also to a “state or realm of human existence on earth”
(OED). As such, it is a distinctly more anthropocentric and conceptual
term than earth, which connotes the organic reciprocity of life as such.
“Consciousness alone can constitute the world,” writes Cosgrove, for
whom “world implies cognition and agency” (2001, 7). A world indi-
cates a domain of human activity in its spatial and experiential dimen-
sions. It can form at individual, collective, and universal scales. We speak
of someone being in “their own world”; entering the “business world”;
or fret that “the whole world knows.” A world’s geographical dimension
does not necessarily coincide with the entire physical earth, but rather
indicates the scope of particular cultural domains. In foregrounding the
domain of lived experience, world has been an important concept in phe-
nomenology and existential philosophy.4 For Martin Heidegger, world
was among the three “fundamental concepts of metaphysics” (1995,
title). In his famous analysis of an ancient Greek temple, Heidegger
defines world as the “open relational context” of a “historical people”
(1992, 167). It is the existential space in which a given culture’s under-
standing of existence unfolds: “a horizon of disclosure” or “horizon of
intelligibility” within the bounds of which particular beings take on par-
ticular purposes and meanings, and possibilities for relating to them are
determined (Young 2001, 23, 104). This Heideggerian concept of world
stands in stark contrast with earth, for a world establishes what the earth
is and means, and the possible ways of relating to it, in the first place. As
such, this notion of world opens up a wider taxonomy, in that various
cultural worlds might each contain further specific ways of naming the
global.5
Two senses of worldliness are also pertinent to this volume. The first
has to do with cosmopolitanism. To say that a person is worldly is to
suggest that they have experience of, or familiarity with, wide-ranging
cultural contexts, and have adopted variously flexible, realistic, or open-
minded attitudes as a result. To be worldly in this sense—to “know the
world” or the “ways of the world”—may also connote “sexual experi-
ence, a certain fleshy materialism” (David 2014, 1221). The second
sense relates to Christianity, which, in its several traditions, has opposed
8 S. FERDINAND ET AL.
“The planetary,” Radisoglou writes, offers “no escape from the exigen-
cies of history” (this volume).
The work of situating global imaginations in sociohistorical contexts
has a double significance in this volume. First, it annuls received hier-
archies among global imaginations, undercutting the way certain con-
ceptions of the global have been valorized, often on account of their
imputed objectivity, and prompting a reappraisal of the myriad narratives
and representations disprivileged because of their perceived partiality
or parochialism. Second, it emphasizes that, far from being immaterial
abstractions, the ways in which the global has been imagined are impli-
cated and entangled in the very globalizing processes they represent or
describe. In particular, several contributions to this volume highlight
how different ways of perceiving, depicting, and narrating the global
are imbricated in histories of capitalism and colonialism, which have also
played a crucial role in drawing center–periphery distinctions. Significant
here is Bill Ashcroft’s contribution, which shows how African literatures
have narrated global connections and spaces by describing all-too earth-
bound processes of diaspora, migration, and enslavement. It is precisely
because of its status as the exploited periphery of colonial empires that
Africa has played a constitutive role in sustaining the capitalist world sys-
tem and global modernity.
At this point, it is important to pin down what we mean by “periph-
erality” in the context of shifting historical imaginations of the global.
Numerous critics have problematized this loaded term. Some, like
Katherine McKittrick, argue that, in calling on a spatial metaphor “to
name difference” in the field of social relations, discourses on periph-
erality and marginality are often inattentive to “actual geographic
displacements”—“material realities of spaces unheard, silenced, and
erased” that exist outside a metaphorical register (2006, 57–56). Others
suggest that critical references to peripherality might reproduce hier-
archical designations of power and cultural value. Denis Cosgrove, for
example, writes that “core and periphery … depended upon an imperial
and Eurocentric vision” (2001, 15). Still, while we would agree that it is
of paramount importance to contest the dubious justifications adduced
by colonial powers to posit and rationalize their centrality, which have
included protestations of ethnic superiority and civilizing missions, the
language of centrality and peripherality remains indispensable in grasp-
ing the power relations that inhere between different global imagina-
tions: “to reject the terminology [of centers and peripheries] as outdated
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2. Placoid Scale.[45]
1. Heterocercal.
The heterocercal fish, it will be seen, are unequally lobed, that is,
the spinal vertebræ are prolonged into the upper lobe of the tail, as
seen in the shark, and of which our own dog-fish is an example;
while the homocercal fish are equally lobed, and the spine does not
extend into either.
The fossil fish of the old red sandstone belong almost, if not
entirely, to the classes of fish that have ganoid or placoid scales, and
heterocercal tails; and of these fish we will now say a few words of
the four most remarkable specimens of the one thousand and
upwards fossil species that have been discovered, and which can only
be known familiarly by accomplished geologists in the ichthyolite
department.
1. Here is a drawing of the Cephalaspis,[48] or buckler-headed fish.
What an extraordinary looking creature this is! Like the crescent
shape of a saddler’s knife without
the handle—broad and flat, with
points on each side running
down, ever fixed in warlike
attitude against its enemies—it
reminds one of an extinct
trilobite, and of a living sole or
ray, at the same time; and one
can easily fancy how hard it must
have been for its ancient foes to
swallow down so singular and so
knife-like looking a creature. This
is one of the curious organisms of
old life discovered in Cromarty,
Herefordshire, and in Russia, the
original of which, restored in the
2. Homocercal. drawing, seldom if ever exceeded
seven inches.
Let us look now at another
curiosity from the same quarter.
2. Here is a drawing of the
Coccosteus,[49] or berry-boned
fish. This creature is equally
singular with his long extinct
neighbour. Hugh Miller’s
description is the best, and as he
was its discoverer, let us give it.
“The figure of the Coccosteus I
would compare to a boy’s kite;
there is a rounded head, a
triangular body, a long tail 3. Homocercal.
attached to the apex of the
triangle, and arms thin and
rounded where they attach to the body, and spreading out towards
their termination, like the ancient one-sided shovel which we see
sculptured on old tombstones, or the rudder of an ancient galley. A
ring of plates, like the ring-stones of an arch, runs along what we
may call the hoop of the kite. The form of the key-stone plate is
perfect; the shapes of the others
are elegantly varied, as if for
ornament; and what would be
otherwise the opening of the arch
is filled up with one large plate of
an outline singularly elegant.”[50]
3. Above is the Pterichthys,[51] or winged fish. We have here a fish
more strikingly different to any existing species than either of the
other two just passed under review. “Imagine,” says Miller, “the
figure of a man rudely drawn in black on a grey ground; the head cut
off by the shoulders; the arms spread at full, as in the attitude of
swimming; the body rather long than otherwise, and narrowing from
the chest downwards; one of the legs cut away at the hip-joint; the
other, as if to preserve the balance, placed directly in the centre of
the figure, which it seems to support. Such, at the first glance, is the
appearance of the fossil.”[52]
We will now turn to the fourth and last of the singular fishes of this
formation.
4. The Osteolepis,[53] or bony scaled fish. Here we have in the old
red sandstone the first perfect specimen of a fish with pectoral,
abdominal, and caudal fins, ending as the others do in the
heterocercal tail. The vertebral column seems to have run on to well-
nigh the extremity of the caudal fin, which we find developed chiefly
on the under side. The tail was a one-sided tail. Take into account
with these peculiarities such as the naked skull, jaws, and operculum,
[54]
the naked and thickly set rays, and the unequally lobed condition
of tail, a body covered with scales that glitter like sheets of mica, and
assume, according to their position, the parallelogramical,
rhomboidal, angular, or polygonal form, a lateral line raised, not
depressed, a raised bar on the inner or bony side of the scales, which,
like the doubled up end of a tile, seems to have served the purpose of
fastening them in their places, a general clustering of alternate fins
towards the tail—and the tout ensemble must surely impart to the
reader the idea of a very singular little fish.[55]
Most hasty and superficial is this glance through the wonders of
the old red sandstone. On the economic uses of this formation, as
tile-stones and paving-stones, we need not dwell; apart from this,
these singular inhabitants of the seas of past ages, the mud of which,
elevated and hardened, has become solid rock, tell us stories of that
long since ancient time to which no poetry could do justice. Carried
away from the present into those remote eras, our minds revel in the
realization of scenery and inhabitants, of which now we possess only
the fossil pictures. At the British Museum, we gaze with feelings
approaching to repulsion on the stiff and unnatural forms of
Egyptian mummies, but with what feelings of profound wonder do
we look on these small fishes, so numerous that the relics of them,
found in the Orkneys, may be carried away by cartloads! No number
of creations can exhaust God, for in Him all fulness dwelleth. The
God in whom we now live, and move, and have our being, is the same
God who gave to these pre-Adamite fish their marvellous structures,
minutely but fearfully and wonderfully made, and who, when their
joy of life and functions of life had ceased, consigned them to a calm
and peaceful grave. He is the same God who now upholds all things
by the word of his power, and whom we desire to honour by the
attentive and reverent perusal of his manifold works. We are
tautologists; we say and do the same thing over and over again. God
never repeats himself: each successive creation—and how many,
extending through countless ages, does geology disclose!—only
reveals some new aspect of wisdom, love, and beneficence. To the
mind that cannot repose in God, we say, Study God, in his works and
in his word; yea, come back to this remote sandstone era and ask of
the “fishes, and they shall declare unto thee” the might and majesty,
the skill and contrivance of the Almighty; and though you and I were
not there, nor had Adam yet trod this blessed earth,—
“Think not, though men were none,
That heaven could want spectators, God want praise;
Millions of spiritual creatures walked the earth,
And these with ceaseless praise His works beheld.”
CHAPTER VI.
THE CARBONIFEROUS SYSTEM.
“As for the earth, out of it cometh bread, and under it is turned up as it were
fire.”—Job.
Suppose this lump of coal could speak, what would it say? Would it
not say something like this: “To get me up out of the earth involves
dirt, danger, slush, and much tallow-candle; but now you have me,
let me tell you my story, for though black I am comely, and but for
me—but I anticipate. Now and then I make a dust in your libraries,
and inadvertently shoot out sparks and firestones, but nevertheless I
am of more use to man than the old granite or the proudest Parian
marble; you may get a long way in philosophy, but you will never get
beyond coal. I am the real Koh-i-noor of the British empire; and
though I can’t, like my namesake, put on a white dress, I am
nevertheless worth the soiling of your whitest gloves. Chemistry
makes no discoveries without me: I light the fire of the laboratory,
and furnish man with the means of every crucial test. Civilization
wants me every day on land and sea, and though in one sense my
labours end in smoke, in another they end in commerce, progress,
national brotherhood, and interchanging productions of every clime.
The poor student needs me, for I light his lamp, warm his feet, and
cook his food while he is doing sweat-of-brain work for others. And
best of all, the poor man is a rich man when he has me; he knows
that next of kin to good food is good fuel, and man by my help is
making such progress, that the day will come when every man will sit
by his own blazing fire, instead of seeking joy elsewhere amidst false
and pernicious excitements.”
Something like this our friend Coal would be sure to say; and that
Coal may not complain of any aloofness on our parts, let us proceed
to an examination of the carboniferous system.
“’Tis very pregnant,
The jewel that we find, we stoop and take it,
Because we see it; but what we do not see,
We tread upon, and never think of it.”
Measure for Measure.
How long coal has been known and used, we cannot certainly tell,
but a writer in Lardner’s Cabinet Cyclopædia states that the first
mention of coal is in the pages of one Theophrastus, who was, it
seems, a pupil of Aristotle. He says, “Those fossil substances that are
called coals,” (Greek, ἄνθραξ) “and are broken for use, are earthy;
they kindle, however, and burn like wood coals; they are found in
Liguria and in the way to Olympias over the mountains, and are used
by the smiths.” Cæsar, although he speaks of the metals of the British
isles, does not once mention its coal; but it seems more than likely
that it was both known and used by the Romans during their
occupation of Britain. Horsley, in his “Britannia Romana,” says of
Benwell, a village near Newcastle-on-Tyne, “There was a coalry not
far from this place, which is judged by those who are best skilled in
such affairs to have been wrought by the Romans; and, in digging up
the foundations of one of the Roman walled cities, coal cinders very
large were dug up, which glowed in the fire like other coal cinders,
and were not to be known from them when taken up.”
During the time of the Saxons, we find ourselves on less doubtful
ground. In a grant made to the monks of Peterborough Abbey for one
night’s annual entertainment, those good old souls had, we find, “ten
vessels of Welsh ale, two vessels of common ale, sixty cartloads of
wood, and twelve cartloads of fossil coal,” (carbonum fossilium.)
The Danes had so much fighting on hand, that they troubled
themselves neither with coal nor civilization; and we know little of
our English diamond until we come to Henry the Third’s reign,
when, in 1239, a charter was granted to the inhabitants of Newcastle-
on-Tyne to dig coals, and we find the coal called for the first time
“carbo maris,” or sea-coal, a term retained through all the
succeeding centuries. About this time chimneys came into fashion.
As long as people burnt wood they scarcely needed chimneys, but
coal introduced chimneys, to say nothing of steamboats and
railroads. The Archbishop of Canterbury, who at that time used to
reside alternately at Croydon and at Lambeth, had by royal
permission thirty cartloads of “sea-borne coal” annually delivered at
his archiepiscopal palace, because, says the historian, “for his own
private use in his own chamber he now had the convenience of
chimneys.”
The smoke nuisance of that day deserves a passing notice. Smoke
was then with many a grand luxury. Old Hollingshed says, “Now we
have many chimneys, yet our tenderlings do complain of rheums,
and catarrhs, and poses. Once we had nought but rere-doses,[58] and
our heads did never ake. For the smoke of those days was a good
hardening for the house, and a far better medicine to keep the good
man and his family from the quack or the pose, with which then very
few were acquainted. There are old men yet dwelling in the village
where I remain, who have noted how the multitude of chimneys do
increase, whereas in their young days, there was not above two or
three, if so many, in some uplandish towns of the realm, and
peradventure in the manor places of some great lords; but each one
made his fire against a rere-dose in the hall, where he dined and
dressed his meat. But when our houses were built of willow, then we
had oaken men; but now that our houses are made of oak, our men
are not only become willow, but a great many altogether men of
straw, which is a sore alteration.”
Leaving this digression, let us try and get a bird’s-eye view of the
coal-fields of the British Isles. If we commence in Devonshire, we
find there the Devonian culms, or Bovey Tracey coal, lying near the
surface of the ground, and of little except local use. Crossing over the
Bristol Channel, we come into Pembrokeshire, to the Welsh basin,
remarkable because thence we mostly get our anthracite coal. Thence
we pass on to the Derbyshire coal-fields, that go with little
interruption into Scotland, averaging 200 miles in length, and about
40 in width,—once mighty tropical swamps, jungles, and forests, now
become chief minerals of commerce. Included in this last immense
field is the great Newcastle coal district, the most celebrated of any,
supplying almost all the south of England, and nearly all London,
with their best coals; and the Scotch carboniferous system,
celebrated for its numerous fossils, and for its general base of old red
sandstone. In addition to which there is the Irish carboniferous
system, occupying as much as 1,000 square miles, but of an inferior
quality, and not likely to be of any great economical importance.
In the words of Professor Ansted, we add: “This account of the
coal-beds gives a very imperfect notion of the quantity of vegetable
matter required to form them; and, on the other hand, the rate of
increase of vegetables, and the quantity annually brought down by
some great rivers both of the eastern and western continents, is
beyond all measure greater than is the case in our drier and colder
climates. Certain kinds of trees which contributed largely to the
formation of the coal, seem to have been almost entirely succulent,[59]
and capable of being squeezed into a small compass during partial
decomposition. This squeezing process must have been conducted on
a grand scale, and each bed in succession was probably soon covered
up by muddy and sandy accumulations, now alternating with the
coal in the form of shale and gritstone. Sometimes the trunks of trees
caught in the mud would be retained in a slanting or nearly vertical
position, while the sands were accumulating around them;
sometimes the whole would be quietly buried, and soon cease to
exhibit any external marks of vegetable origin.”[60]
There are various kinds of coal on which we may bestow a few
words. There is anthracite, or non-bituminous coal, and which,
therefore, burns without flame or smoke, and is extensively used in
malting; and sea-coal, which is highly bituminous, and which gives
forth so much flame and smoke, that in the good old times of 1306,
Parliament forbad its use in London by fine and by demolition of all
furnaces in which it was burnt, because “this coal did corrupt the air
with its great smoke and stink;” and cannel-coal, the etymology of
which, they say, is firm the word candle, because in many parts of
Lancashire the poor use it in place of oil or tallow for lights; and jet,
sometimes called black amber, which in France employs about 1,200
men in one district, in making earrings, rosaries, and other
ornaments; and last of all, there is wood passing into coal called
lignite, found only in the Devonshire culms.
Having thus glanced at the natural history and varieties of coal, we
may here try and realize the flora of the carboniferous era. An
examination of the fossils of this period enables us to come to
undoubted conclusions concerning the trees and plants of that era,
so that it is no mere dream to look upon a picture like the following,
and see in it a landscape of the coal-forming time of the British
islands.
The sun then poured down his golden beams of heat and light, and
a tropical climate prevailed in our now cold and humid England. The
mountain tops were gilded with his rays; a vast ocean studded with
islands, and these crowned with gigantic palms and ferns, then
covered our northern hemisphere. In that ocean but few fish were to
be found, though many rare molluscous animals swam to and fro,
enjoying their brief term of life, and discharging all their appropriate
functions. Mountain streams discharged their muddy waters into
this ocean, leaving along their margin course broken trees,
vegetables, grasses and ferns. The giant Lepidodendron looked like a
monarch of the ancient world, while around him smaller ferns, vying
with each other in beauty and grace, grew, “first the blade” and then
the ripened frond, until, in obedience to the great law of organic life,
they died and decayed, and became material for the coming man’s
future use. But amidst all this prodigal luxuriousness of the vegetable
world, there appears to have been neither bird nor beast to break the
monotony of the scene; all was silent as the grave—rank, moist
verdure below; magnificent ferns and palms above, and the stillness
of death on every side.[61]
Let us, however, glance at the principal ferns, whose fossil remains
we have often found at the mouth of many a coalpit thrown out
among the waste. The uncouth names given to them, uncouth only in
appearance, must not deter the reader from his acquaintance with
their peculiarities; for are not the names of botanical science almost,
if not quite, as repellent at first? This star-shaped beauty, (1) the
asterophyllite, (from aster, a star, and phyllon, a leaf,) was a
common one; this (2) is the sphenopteris (from sphēn, a wedge, and
pteron, a wing), so named from a fancied resemblance of the petals
of the frond to a wedge; the next (3) is the pecopteris (from pekos, a
comb, and pteron, a wing), from a resemblance of the frond to the
teeth of a comb; the next (4) is the odontopteris (from odous, a
tooth, and pteron, a wing), and in this the frond is something like the
jaws of a shark bound together by a central stem, from which they
diverge; and the last (5), our favourite, is the neuropteris (from
neuros, a nerve, and pteron, a wing), on account of the exquisite
beauty with which the fibres, like nerves, distribute themselves.
“Besides the ferns, then growing to a great size, there were other
plants whose modern representatives are uniformly small; but as the
resemblance in this case is simply one of general form, and the great
majority of other trees seem to possess no living type to which they
can be referred, it is by no means impossible that these also may be
completely lost. One example of them is seen in a plant, fragments of
which are extremely common in the coal measures, and which has
been called calamite.[62] The remains of calamites consist of jointed
fragments, which were originally cylindrical, but are now almost
always crushed and flattened. They resemble very closely in general
appearance the common jointed reed, growing in marshes, and
called equisetum, or mare’s tail; but instead of being confined to a
small size, they would seem to have formed trees, having a stem
more than a foot in diameter, and jointed branches and leaves of
similar gigantic proportions. They were evidently soft and succulent,
and very easily crushed. They seem to have grown in great
multitudes near the place where the coal is now accumulated; and
though often broken, they seldom bear marks of having being
transported from a distance.”[63] The fossils of the carboniferous
system here figured we found not long since in the neighbourhood of
Stockport.
CALAMITES.
CALAMITE.
STIGMARIA FICOIDES.