himself is not one thing, but a great number of things. They think that
his mind and character are only made up of all the thoughts, and
feelings, and recollections which have passed through his brain; and that
as his brain changes, he himself must change, and become another person,
and then another person again, continually. But do you not agree with
them: but keep in mind wise Herder's warning that you are not to
"confound the organ with the power," or the engine with the driver, or
your body with yourself: and then we will go on and consider how a
volcano, and the lava which flows from it, helps to make your body.

Now I know that the Scotch have a saying, "That you cannot make broth out
of whinstones" (which is their name for lava). But, though they are very
clever people, they are wrong there. I never saw any broth in Scotland,
as far as I know, but what whinstones had gone to the making of it; nor a
Scotch boy who had not eaten many a bit of whinstone, and been all the
better for it.

Of course, if you simply put the whinstones into a kettle and boiled
them, you would not get much out of them by such rough cookery as that.
But Madam How is the best and most delicate of all cooks; and she knows
how to pound, and soak, and stew whinstones so delicately, that she can
make them sauce and seasoning for meat, vegetables, puddings, and almost
everything that you eat; and can put into your veins things which were
spouted up red-hot by volcanos, ages and ages since, perhaps at the
bottom of ancient seas which are now firm dry land.

This is very strange--as all Madam How's doings are. And you would think
it stranger still if you had ever seen the flowing of a lava stream.

Out of a cave of slag and cinders in the black hillside rushes a golden