three species of Club-moss--one of them quite an Alpine one--get down
here, all the way from Wales perhaps, upon this isolated patch of
gravel? Why did that one patch of Carex arenaria settle in the only
square yard for miles and miles which bore sufficient resemblance to
its native sandhill by the seashore, to make it comfortable? Why did
Myosurus minimus, which I had hunted for in vain for fourteen years,
appear by dozens in the fifteenth, upon a new-made bank, which had
been for at least two hundred years a farm-yard gateway? Why does it
generally rain here from the south-west, not when the barometer
falls, but when it begins to rise again? Why--why is everything,
which lies under my feet all day long? I don't know; and you can't
tell me. And till I have found out, I cannot complain of monotony,
with still undiscovered puzzles waiting to be explained, and so to
create novelty at every turn.

Besides, monotony is pleasant in itself; morally pleasant, and
morally useful. Marriage is monotonous: but there is much, I trust,
to be said in favour of holy wedlock. Living in the same house is
monotonous: but three removes, say the wise, are as bad as a fire.
Locomotion is regarded as an evil by our Litany. The Litany, as
usual, is right. 'Those who travel by land or sea' are to be objects
of our pity and our prayers; and I do pity them. I delight in that
same monotony. It saves curiosity, anxiety, excitement,
disappointment, and a host of bad passions. It gives a man the
blessed, invigorating feeling that he is at home; that he has roots,
deep and wide, struck down into all he sees; and that only The Being
who will do nothing cruel or useless can tear them up. It is
pleasant to look down on the same parish day after day, and say, I
know all that lies beneath, and all beneath know me. If I want a
friend, I know where to find him; if I want work done, I know who