The History of a Mouthful of Bread | Page 3

childhood, almost as a mere amusement, some of
the first principles of anatomy, chemistry, and several other of the
physical sciences, as well as having attained to some knowledge of
natural history generally.
I begin at once, then, with the _History of a Mouthful of Bread_,
although I am aware you may be tempted to exclaim, that if I am going
to talk only about that, I may save myself the trouble. You know all
about it, you say, as well as I do, and need not surely be told how to
chew a bit of bread-and-butter! Well, but you must let me begin at the
very beginning with you, and you have no notion what an incredible
number of facts will be found to be connected with this chewing of a
piece of bread. A big book might be written about them, were all the
details to be entered into.
First and foremost--Have you ever asked yourself why people eat?
You laugh at such a ridiculous question.
"Why do people eat? Why, because there are bonbons, and cakes, and
gingerbread, and sweetmeats, and fruit, and all manner of things good
to eat." Very well, that is a very good reason, no doubt, and you may
think that no other is wanted. If there were nothing but soup in the
world, indeed, the case would be different. There might be some excuse
then for making the inquiry.
Now, then, let us suppose for once that there is nothing in the world to
eat but soup; and it is true that there are plenty of poor little children for
whom there is nothing else, but who go on eating nevertheless, and
with a very good appetite, too, I assure you, as their parents know but

too well very often. Why do people eat, then, even when they have
nothing to eat but soup? This is what I am going to tell you, if you do
not already know.
The other day, when your mamma said that your frock "had grown" too
short, and that you could not go out visiting till we had given you
another with longer sleeves and waist, what was the real cause of this
necessity?
What a droll question, you say, and you answer--"Because I had grown,
of course."
To which I say "of course," too; for undoubtedly it was you who had
outgrown your frock. But then I must push the question further, and
ask--How had you grown?
Now you are puzzled. Nobody had been to your bed and pulled out
your arms or your legs as you lay asleep. Nobody had pieced a bit on at
the elbow or the knee, as people slip in a new leaf to a table when there
is going to be a larger party than usual at dinner. How was it, then, that
the sleeves no longer came down to your wrists, or that the body only
reached your knees? Nothing grows larger without being added to, any
more than anything gets smaller without having lost something; you
may lay that down as a rule, once for all. If, therefore, nothing was
added to you from without, something must have been added to you
from within. Some sly goblin, as it were, must have been cramming
into your frame whatever increase it has made in arms, legs, or
anything else. And who, do you think, this sly goblin is?
Why, my dear, it is _yourself!_
Ay! Bethink you, now, of all the bread-and-butter, and bonbons, and
gingerbread, and cakes, and sweetmeats, and even soup and plain food
(the soup and plain food being the most useful of all) which you have
been sending, day by day, for some time past, down what we used to
call "the red lane," into the little gulf below. What do you think became
of them when they got there? Well, they set to work at once, without
asking your leave, to transform themselves into something else; and
gliding cunningly into all the holes and corners of your body, became
there, each as best he might, bones, flesh, blood, etc., etc. Touch
yourself where you will, it is upon these things you lay your hand,
though, of course, without recognizing them, for the transformation is
perfect and complete. And it is the same with everybody.

Look at your little pink nails, which push out further and further every
morning; examine the tips of your beautiful fair hair, which gets longer
and longer by degrees; coming out from your head as grass springs up
from the earth; feel the firm corners of your second teeth, which are
gradually succeeding those which came to you in infancy; you have
eaten all these things, and that no long time ago.
Nor are you children the only creatures who are