Fire is the only one of the elements that inspires awe. We breathe
air, tread earth, bathe in water. Fire alone we approach with
deference. And it is the only one of the elements that is always
alert, always good to watch. We do not see the air we breathe--except
sometimes in London, and who shall say that the sight is pleasant? We
do not see the earth revolving; and the trees and other vegetables
that are put forth by it come up so slowly that there is no fun in
watching them. One is apt to lose patience with the good earth, and to
hanker after a sight of those multitudinous fires whereover it is,
after all, but a thin and comparatively recent crust. Water, when we
get it in the form of a river, is pleasant to watch for a minute or
so, after which period the regularity of its movement becomes as
tedious as stagnation. It is only a whole seaful of water that can
rival fire in variety and in loveliness. But even the spectacle of sea
at its very best--say in an Atlantic storm--is less thrilling than the
spectacle of one building ablaze. And for the rest, the sea has its
hours of dulness and monotony, even when it is not wholly calm.
Whereas in the grate even a quite little fire never ceases to be
amusing and inspiring until you let it out. As much fire as would
correspond with a handful of earth or a tumblerful of water is yet a
joy to the eyes, and a lively suggestion of grandeur. The other
elements, even as presented in huge samples, impress us as less august
than fire. Fire alone, according to the legend, was brought down from
Heaven: the rest were here from the dim outset. When we call a thing
earthy we impute cloddishness; by `watery' we imply insipidness;
`airy' is for something trivial. `Fiery' has always a noble
significance. It denotes such things as faith, courage, genius. Earth
lies heavy, and air is void, and water flows down; but flames aspire,
flying back towards the heaven they came from. They typify for us the