Notwithstanding her belief in a superintending Deity, she had an idea that much of this world was made by hazard, or perhaps by the Old Harry.
In one valley the ancient demon of water-force had excelled himself in enchantments.

The slopes of the alluvial soil were dotted with little buttes of mingled sandstone and shale, varying from five to twenty feet in height, many of them bearing a grotesque likeness to artificial objects.
There were columns, there were haystacks, there were enormous bells, there were inverted jars, there were junk bottles, there were rustic seats.

Most of these fantastic figures were surmounted by a flat capital, the remnant of a layer of stone harder than the rest of the mass, and therefore less worn by the water erosion.
One fragment looked like a monstrous gymnastic club standing upright, with a broad button to secure the grip.

Another was a mighty centre-table, fit for the halls of the Scandinavian gods, consisting of a solid prop or pedestal twelve feet high, swelling out at the top into a leaf fifteen feet across.

Another was a stone hat, standing on its crown, with a brim two yards in diameter.