Chapter VI: Part 6

But one of the most beautiful of all sights is to see a “Christmas Day” at the diggings. Here, in Australia, there are no “snow-flakes thickly falling,”—no drifts twenty or thirty feet high—no coughing, wheezings, and sneezings—no swamps and sore throats, quinseys and influenzas—no noses blue and fingers numbed—dark skies and piercing north-easters—but lovely, balmy, warm, clear, bright sunshine, and the plum-pudding, and the roast beef, and the mince pies, and all the other delicious viands of which England is so proud, smoke upon the grass sward, beneath the delicious shade of overhanging boughs, and redolent with all the ambrosial gifts of nature. And joy reigns there in all its fullest majesty: and love reigns there in all its holiest excess of affection: and hope reigns there, looking boldly upon the future. Nor is faith absent entirely—though the sound of the “church-going bell” is not heard—although no organ peal ascends in the fretted vault—yet the mind of the good man turns to “God and to his worship,” and the joyful time of merry Christmas is not spent without remembrance of Him who brought “peace on earth and good-will to man.” And thus it is that Christmas Day at the Diggings is a true holiday to all, and that joy and mirth abound, to the delight of hearts who do not forget their old homes and their old religion, but pledge them with prayers, and blessings, and songs of gladness. So let us remain, my young friends, wherever it may please a good God to cast us—true to our country, to our religion, to our institutions, our old friends, and to all that we loved, or that is worthy of love: and let us never forget our old customs—our “Easters,” our “Whitsuntides,” and our “Christmases,” and all those old things which our infancy, our youth, and our manhood have consecrated to the best of thoughts and of feelings, and which have engendered so many happy hours among us. “Hurrah! then,” says Old Peter Parley, “for a Christmas Day at the Diggings.”

The Owl.

BY THE REV. JOHN MTTFORD.

Owl! that lovest the boding sky—
In the murky air,
What saw’st thou there?
For I heard, through the fog, thy screaming cry.
“The maple’s head
Was glowing red,
And red were the wings of the Autumn sky;
But a redder gleam
Rose from the stream,
That dabbled my feet, as I glided by!”

Owl! that lovest the stormy sky,
Speak! oh speak!
What crimson’d thy beak,
And hung on the lids of thy staring eye?
“’Twas blood! ’twas blood!
And it rose like a flood,
And for this I screamed as I glided by.”

Owl! that lovest the midnight sky,
Again, again—
Where are the twain?
Look! while the moon is hurrying by—
“In the thicket’s shade
The one is laid;
You may see, through the boughs, his moveless eye.”

Owl! that lovest the darkened sky,
A step beyond
From the silent pond,
There rose a low and murmuring cry
“O’er the water’s edge,
Through the trampled sedge
A bubble burst, and gurgled by;
My eyes were dim,
But I looked from the brim,
And I saw, in the weeds, a dead man lie!”

Owl! that lovest the moonless sky,
Where the casements blaze
With the faggot’s rays,
Look! oh look! what seest thou there?
Owl! what’s this?—
That snort and hiss?
And why do thy feathers shiver and stare?
“’Tis he! ’tis he!
He sits ’mid the three—
And a breathless woman is on the stair.”

Owl! that lovest the cloudy sky,
Where clank the chains
Through the prison panes
What there thou hearest tell to me!
“In her midnight dream,
’Tis a woman’s scream,
And she calls on one—on one of the three,”
Look in once more,
Through the grated door,
“’Tis a soul that prays in agony.”

Owl! that hatest the morning sky,
On thy pinions gray—
Away! away!
I must pray in charity,
From midnight chime,
To morning prime,
“_Miserere, Domine_.”

A Visit to the Royal Polytechnic Institution.

No sooner do we enter, and pay our shilling at the door, then “bang, bang, bang” goes the gong—a Lecture on “a New Method of Blowing-up Sunken Vessels” is announced. Do our young friends recollect the circumstance of the sinking at Spithead of one of our largest men-of-war, the “Royal George?” a very beautiful model of which is to be found in the Museum for Shipping and Maritime Apparatus; the circumstances are so well known, that we will presume you not to be ignorant. Well, some years after the accident, a plan was projected by Colonel Pasley, of the Royal Engineers, for raising the guns and other valuables which were, of course, carried down with the ship; this plan was founded upon the well-proved law of electricity—that if the wire which conducts that wonderful agent be intercepted by a short piece of platinum wire, exceedingly small in diameter, and placed within a membrane impervious to water, and surrounded by a charge of gunpowder, a partial impediment to the passage of the electric fluid necessarily takes place, and the small platinum wire is made red-hot—and my young friends well know that if a piece of red-hot wire be placed in contact with gunpowder, that it will readily explode; hence, if a sufficient charge be placed within the vessel, the explosion would separate the timbers of the ship, and, by their floating properties, they would rise to the surface, and leave behind any great weight, such as guns, &c.; by the aid of the diver, then, they are attached to air cylinders, and floated to the surface. But to accomplish this, there are many reasons why more simplicity should be employed, and for this purpose the Lecture we allude to was given, embracing as it does a more simple plan. The invention is patented by a gentleman named Trestrail, of Southampton, and is as follows:—An air-tight vessel is fitted up with a coil of “fuse,” as it is called, consisting of a kind of flexible tube filled with gunpowder, and coated with a pitchy substance, to prevent its coming into contact with the water, which would, you know, destroy its explosive condition. This fuse will continue to burn under water for almost any distance, and was formerly used for the purpose of blasting rocks, blowing up sunken vessels, &c.; but the adaptation of Mr. Trestrail differs from this method, from the material or fuse being in the case, which is to raise the object from the bottom, by generating the gases contained in gunpowder, which gases are nitrogen, carbonic oxide, sulphurous acid, deutoxide of nitrogen, and carbonic acid gas, in different proportions. But this is going from our subject—you must read Chemistry to understand this. However, these gases force the water from the cylinders, and of course take its place; then, you know that the specific gravity or weight of the gas is so much less than the same bulk of water, that it has a buoyant property and rises to the surface, bringing with it whatever, in the judgment of the diver, it is capable of lifting. Many thousand pounds’ worth of property is now lying at the bottom of the sea and rivers, which seems a pity when so simple a method can bring them again to “_terra firma_.” After this Lecture, which was illustrated in a large tank of water in the centre of the Great Hall of the Institution, we walked around to look at the immense collection of models of all new discoveries in science. There was the magnificent model of the Britannia Bridge.—The machinery, which commences by taking the cotton from the pod, cleans it from the seed by means of rollers; then it is passed through another instrument called a carding machine, being a series of wires so placed as to tear the cotton asunder, and lay it in a beautiful sheet on the surfaces of the wires; from thence it is collected by a most elegant and ingenious contrivance, formed into a fillet, and then placed on the roving frame; thence it passes into the spinning frame and becomes thread, which is again used in an exhibition of the lace manufacture, by a beautiful model machine.

In close proximity to this machine, we observe a model lighthouse, fixed on a black substance for its base: this substance is very curious, and requires a little explanation. In Trinidad, in the West Indies, there is a Lake of Bitumen. A stream of this Bitumen (which you know is a sort of pitch) flowed in distant ages, through a channel two thousand yards in length to the beach, and thence six hundred yards into the sea, carrying with it all the loose materials encountered in its progress. This now constitutes a promontory, whereon the action of the waves and atmosphere, under a tropical sun, have had no deteriorating effect. This fact led to investigation, and now it is used as foundations to lighthouses, piers, jetties, bridges, &c., as well as water-pipes, instead of lead, which you know will combine chemically with the constituents of water, and convert that water into a deleterious compound. When Admiral, the Earl of Dundonald, (to whom this pitch belongs,) was Commander-in-Chief of the West India Station, he made many experiments on this wonder of nature, and has patented its application to very many useful purposes; his lordship laid down, from the lake to the shore, a series of pipes, which were manufactured by his sailors, and which pipes enabled the ships on the station to obtain excellent fresh water, without the difficulty of carrying it overland, which, in that hot climate, would have been very inconvenient. These pipes have been found as strong as iron ones of the same admeasurement. It is also applied to the coating of the wires of the Electric Telegraph with great advantage.

On we go to the upper gallery, and find the gigantic reflectors for illustrating the laws of reflection of heat, light, &c., which, singularly enough, are governed by the same law; sometimes by these instruments a mutton-chop is placed in the focus of one of them, and at one hundred feet distant a fire is placed in the other; the result is, that the chop is cooked, or a candle may be lighted by the same means at the same distance: this is by reflection. Well, another bang of the gong, and away we go to hear a Lecture on “the Process of Marbling and Decorating Paper.” By-the-bye, that gong is a curious instrument, being composed of a large steel spring, coiled round in an open coil, and terminating in a standard. On being struck with a hammer it emits a melodious sound, like the tone of a church bell, for which it has been proposed to be used, and is patented for this purpose; and no doubt, in a short time, these instruments will be so improved and tuned, so as to do duty for a whole peal of bells. The Marbling of Paper has never yet been made public, the trade having carried the process on in perfect secrecy, so as to retain a monopoly—which is a very bad thing, as it prevents many improvements being made, which would much increase its sphere of utility; the simplicity of the process, however, has been now brought forward by the public spirit of a gentleman named Woolnoth, to whom the world should be much obliged for upsetting monopoly, and breaking down principles which tend to frustrate rather than accelerate improvements in science. The process commences by making a solution of the “gum tragacanth,” and which is called in the shops, “gum dragon;” this solution being brought to a proper consistency, is placed in a long flat vessel, sufficiently superficial to allow a large sheet of paper to be placed on its surface. Well, having prepared this apparatus, which requires great nicety, the workman, having his colours already mixed, sprinkles on the surface of the gum solution a sufficient quantity, first of one colour and then another, until he obtains the required pattern. But the philosophy of obtaining this pattern remains to be told. The colours are mixed with such materials as cause them to repel when they come in contact with each other, in the same manner as oil does when dropped on water. The material thus made use of is gall taken from the bladder of an ox. This substance has the curious property of preventing the colours from mixing with each other; for instance, if a sprinkle of lake be first put on the surface of the gum (there being no absorption of colour as there would be on paper,) and another colour having gall ground with it be sprinkled over this, the two colours, instead of mixing, would immediately repel each other, and form a curious pattern, each colour forming its own particular shape, and this may be carried on to any number of colours; it is applied to various purposes, such as covering copy-books, and the edges of books. For many years this invention was confined to the Dutch workmen, and the patterns produced by them are still called the “old Dutch patterns;” but an Englishman discovered the means by which this pattern was obtained, and by his ingenuity very much improved the application, and this improvement, although still suffering from the same secrecy in England with which it was encumbered in Holland, bids fair to develop many improvements, of which the public spirit of Mr. Woolnoth has rendered it susceptible. Based upon these circumstances, Messrs. De La Rue, the famous card-makers, set their ingenuity to work, and have produced such wonderful advantages, that the papers now introduced by them are perfect gems of art—the “iridescent film,” as it is by them technically called, giving on the surface of highly-glazed paper all the beautiful colours of the rainbow. It is singular, that if an exceedingly thin film of a gummy varnish be floated on the surface of the water, a sheet of paper placed thereon may be taken off, having all the splendid colours referred to. But to perfectly understand the process it should be seen, and this is easily done by a visit to that delightful place of recreation, the Royal Polytechnic Institution. So many are the attractions of this Temple of Science, that we intend to pay it another visit; and no doubt, from the constant additions which are daily made to the Museum, we shall find matter with which to entertain and instruct our readers; bearing in mind that while the brain is engrossed with useful things, there is no room for vicious and useless thoughts.

Passage of the Desert.

All the young people who have read Peter Parley’s Annual for the last fifteen years, know well enough what the Desert is. Some of them also may have heard, now-and-then, of its dangers. They are, of course, varied. There is the danger by heat, the danger by thirst, and the danger from the wild robbers, who prowl about like wolves upon its arid bosom. It was in the year 1850, that Edwin Keet, a traveller of great enterprise, who had not only mounted the Nile and Pyramids, and smoked a pipe with the famous Mehemet Ali, but, what is of far greater consequence, had spent many a happy day with Peter Parley, made the journey. Keet was not to be overcome by trifles. He had proceeded across the desert to Aleppo, and met with no serious molestation until he was within fifteen miles of Bassora, when early one morning he perceived himself followed by a party of about thirty Arabs, mounted on camels, who soon overtook him. As they approached, he, by his interpreter, directed them either to advance or halt. Keet was not alone—he had half-a-dozen Englishmen with him, two of whom were Lieutenants in the Navy, one a rough old sailor, and the remaining three his servants. He again called upon the Arabs to halt, or to remove to the right or left of him, for he choose to travel by himself. They answered they would not interfere with him, and went on at a brisk rate. Keet then suspected them of some design, and kept himself upon his guard. The two lieutenants prepared their pistols, and the sailors drew their cutlasses. The Arab party proceeded only a few miles, and slunk behind some rising ground in the distance:—this move, however, did not escape the quick eye of Jim Crank, one of sailors, who had been boatswain’s-mate on board the “Fairy,” and knew how to keep a good look out a-head. As the party proceeded, they came to the range of little hillocks behind which the Arabs had crouched, like so many tigers, to spring on their prey. Keet and his companions were well mounted. It is true that the lieutenants nor the sailors sat on their horses to the best advantage. All had got their stirrups too high, and looked more like old women on horseback than men, with the exception of Keet, who rode firm, slowly, and high on his saddle. “Now my lads,” said he, “we have only to sell our lives as dearly as possible—if we must die, let us die like Englishmen—if we falter or flee, our destruction is certain—if we dare the rascals, and give them two or three good volleys, they may chance to quail, and we must trust to our good horses to get us out of the fray. Here are eight of us, and we must be prepared to form a square—to make a round, or to make an angle, if necessary. So stand to your arms, my lads, and let me go in advance. Don’t give way, nor attempt to flee while you can fight, for it is fighting alone can save us.” So Keet placed himself at the head of his little army of seven, and advanced.

He had not marched far before he saw the caps of the Arabs dodging behind some of the loose stones, topping hillocks before them. And, from what he could observe, it was clear that the foe was in ambuscade, and preparing to let fly at them as they passed. Keet’s mind was made up in a minute as to the best course to pursue; so calling to his people to follow him, and do as he did, as the only course they had, he rode quietly forward at a slow pace, but just as he got abreast of the stone-work of the hillocks, he made a sharp detour to the right, and passing round the hillocks, attacked the Arabs suddenly in flank on the other side. Bang! bang! bang! bang! from four of the double-barreled muskets, and four of the Arabs fell from their camels. Keet spurred on, and attacked the leader sword in hand, but he was speedily unhorsed by the thrust of a spear into his back. At the very moment of his falling, however, he took out one of his pistols, and blew out the chieftain’s brains. The boatswain’s mate, at the same time, cut down the lance-man who had thus intruded on Keet’s rear quarters. The two lieutenants had adroitly jumped off their horses, and, from a secure embrasure of the rocks above the hillocks, kept loading and firing their pieces with the utmost expedition, and eleven or twelve of the Arabs were soon prostrate. The remainder, observing the warm reception, and perceiving Keet, although on the ground, valiantly and deliberately loading his rifle and pistols, and feeling the “peppering” of the other sailor and the lieutenants, and being not a little astonished at the conduct of Jim Crank—who kept leaping, hollowing, firing, and shouting like a wild demon, and calling them all the wicked names of which the English tongue is so capable—began to sheer off, and, in a very short time, nothing was seen of them but a small cloud of dust far away in the desert. The remainder of the journey was passed without molestation, and Keet and his companions arrived safe at Bassora.

Glastonbury Abbey.

WITH THE STORY OF KING ARTHUR.

Glastonbury is called by Fuller “the ground of God—the first ground of the saints in England, and the rise and fountain of all religion in Britain.” Because, “it was here,” says the tradition, “that Christianity was first introduced into England.”

But the early history of the introduction of Christianity into these islands, is veiled in considerable obscurity. We see the “Light of the Word” shining here fully enough, but we see not they who kindled it. The honour of first evangelizing England has, indeed, been confidently ascribed to various individuals, and, amongst others, to Joseph of Arimathea.

The legend states, that when St. Philip, the Apostle, after the death of our blessed Saviour, was in Gaul, he was informed of the heathenish wickedness of this country. To England he therefore resolved to extend the influence of his precepts and influence, over barbarous and bloody rites, long exercised by bigoted and besotted Druids—to introduce the meek and gentle system of Christianity. Accordingly he dispatched twelve of his companions and followers, and appointed Joseph of Arimathea, who had not long before taken his Saviour from the Cross, to superintend the sacred embassy. Britain was wild and uncultivated—its inhabitants rude and inimical to strangers—yet, withal, its King Arviragus could foster a few itinerants, whom he knew not how to hate, nor wished to love. In consideration of their long and laborious journey, he disposed their habitation in a small island, then waste and untilled, and surrounded by bogs and morasses, assigning to each of the “twelve” a certain portion of land, called a “hide,” sufficient for one family to live upon; and composing in all, a territory denominated, to this day, “the twelve hides of Glaston,” and here, according to the monastic annals, St. Joseph erected to the honour of the Blessed Virgin Mary—of wattles and wreathed twigs—the first Christian Oratory in England.

This legend, however, wants much of truthfulness, I fear. I don’t see what connection there could be between Joseph of Arimathea and Glastonbury. Be that as it may—a more substantial structure was erected on the spot named above, in the year 180 after Christ, owing to the exertions of some Christian Missionaries. In the year 439 we are told that St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, visited this holy spot, and collected together a body of clergy, being himself elected as the first Abbot. About the year, 530, St. David, Archbishop of Manevia, accompanied by seven bishops, took a journey to Avalon, and expended large sums of money, in adding to the building of the church. St. David was uncle to the renowned King Arthur, who, in his time (A.D. 543), having been mortally wounded in battle, was carried to this abbey to be interred, and, accordingly, on his death his body here found a grave. In the reign of Henry II., 640 years after Arthur was buried, his grave was opened, and the body of the king discovered interred in a coffin made of oak, sixteen feet deep, and nine feet below a rude leaden cross, on which the name and virtues of Arthur were described.

Such is one of the “stories” of Glastonbury—and I forgot to say that, in the churchyard, still stands the celebrated “Glastonbury thorn,” said to be derived from the rod of Joseph, of Arimathea, and which always blossoms on Christmas Day.

A few words about Soluble Glass.

It appears from ancient testimony, that there have been many successful attempts at making glass mouldable in its cold state, or of so far altering its state as to render it malleable. There is a tradition, that a clever artist, in the time of Tiberius Cæsar, made glass both elastic and malleable, for which he was rewarded by the loss of his head. A similar discovery is said to have been made in France, in the reign of Louis XIII. The inventor presented a bust, formed of malleable glass, to the Cardinal Richelieu, and was rewarded for his ingenuity by perpetual imprisonment, lest the French glass-makers should be injured. In our day, a description of glass, perhaps more remarkable, has been discovered by Mr. Fuchs, the curious properties and important applications of which it will be proper to advert to in this place.

The preparation of soluble glass does not greatly differ in its early stages from that of common glass. It is a union of silica and an alkali, which has, in addition to some of the properties of common glass, the property of dissolving in boiling water.

To form this compound, carbonate of potash and stone sand, are taken in the proportion of two, to three, or four parts of charcoal, and added to every ten parts of potash, and fifteen of sand. The charcoal accellerates the fushion of the glass, and separates from it all the carbonic acid, a small quantity of which would otherwise remain and be injurious. The materials must first be well mixed, then fritted and finally melted at a high heat, until a liquid and homogenous mass be obtained. This is removed by means of an iron ladle, and the glass-pot filled with fresh grit.

The crude glass thus obtained is usually full of bubbles; it is as hard as common glass—it is of a blackish gray, and more or less transparent at the edges. In order to prepare it for solution in water, it must be reduced to powder by pounding. One part of this glass requires from four to five of water for its solution. The water is first boiled in an open vessel; the powdered glass is added gradually, and is continually stirred to prevent adhesion. The boiling is continued for three or four hours, until no more glass is dissolved. If the boiling be checked before the liquor has thus attained the proper degree of concentration, carbonic acid will be absorbed by the potash from the air, which will produce an injurious effect. When the solution has acquired the consistency of syrup, and a density of 1·24, it is fit for use, and will keep for any length of time.

The solution of soluble glass is viscid, and when concentrated, becomes turbid or opalescent. The solution unites with water in all proportions. At a density of 1·28 it contains nearly twenty-eight per cent. of glass, and if the concentration be carried beyond that point, it becomes so viscid that it may be drawn out in threads like molten glass. When the solution is applied to other bodies it dries rapidly in the air, and forms a coat like varnish, and possesses the quality of not being affected by cold water, and it is applied as a durable coating to a vast variety of articles.

None of the methods hitherto proposed for making cloth fire-proof appear so advantageous as the application of soluble glass, for it does not act upon the vegetable matter, and completely closes the spaces between the threads. It can also be applied to clothes; but one of its most useful properties is its application as a cement; and, for this purpose, it is superior to all those that have hitherto been employed for cementing broken glass, porcelain, &c., and may be used instead of glue or isinglass in applying colors.

Something about Boiling Springs.

In various parts of the world, we have “Springs,” possessing curious properties. Some spout up “mud,” some throw up a kind of “pitch,” others give forth waters strongly impregnated with “copper,” and some again, bubble with water full of “iron,” then we have “salt” springs, and even “quicksilver” springs—but the most remarkable, are the “boiling” springs, and of these, the most celebrated are those of Iceland. One of the most enrapturing scenes I ever witnessed, was that of these Boiling springs; which I first saw on the morning of the 30th of July, while on my visit to Iceland, in Captain Cox’s yacht. We walked for some time over a barren district, but at last were arrested by the roaring of Stockr, which threw up a great quantity of steam, and while we stood gazing and wondering what would come next—a crash took place as if the earth had burst, which was instantaneously succeeded by jets of water and steam, rising in a perpendicular column, to the height of sixty-feet. But Stockr had not been in action above twenty minutes, when the Great Geyser, apparently jealous of the reputation, and indignant at our bestowing so much of our time and applause on her rival, began to thunder tremendously, and emitted such quantities of water and steam, that we could not be satisfied with a distant view—but hastened to the mound with as much curiosity as if it had been the first eruption we had beheld. However, if she was more interesting in point of magnitude, she gave the less satisfaction in point of duration, having again become tranquil in the course of five minutes, whereas, her less grand, but more steady companion continued to play till within four minutes of six o’clock.

My attention was so much taken up with these two powerful fountains, that we had little time or inclination to watch the numerous inferior springs with which the country abounds. The little Geyser erupted, perhaps, twelve times in the twenty-four hours, but none of its jets rose higher than eighteen or twenty feet, and, generally, they were about ten or twelve. The pipe of this spring opens into a beautiful circular basin, about twelve feet in diameter, the surface of which exhibits encrustations equally beautiful with those of the great Geyser. At the depth of a few feet, the pipe which is scarcely three feet wide, becomes very irregular, yet its depth has been ascertained to be thirty-eight feet. There is a large steam hole at a short distance to the north-west of the little Geyser, which roars and becomes quiescent with the operations of that spring.

On the brow of the hill, at the height of nearly two-hundred feet above the level of the great Geyser, are several holes of burning clay, some of which produce sulphur and the effervescence of alum; and, at the base of the hill, on the opposite side, are not less than twenty springs—which prove that its foundations are entirely perforated with veins and cavities of hot water.

Such is a very brief account of a late visit to this phenomenon, which was very interesting, for in some of the eruptions, the jets were thrown to the height of at least a-hundred-and-fifty feet, and the effect of sunlight on these columns of water is such as to leave an indelible impression on the minds of those who witness it.

Story of the American Sea Serpent.

The Americans equal Mr. Jesse for story-telling. They are not particularly nice as to data. Some of their tales are so preposterously absurd as to puzzle us exceedingly, and we are obliged to confess that Brother Jonathan is quizzing us. But still Jonathan is a brother, and a warm-hearted, noble, faithful, brother too; and we must not be too hard upon him concerning his funny stories. He sets us an example in many things, and we Britons ought to feel that he is of our own flesh, blood, bones, and sinews, and go the entirety of good things with him at all times. But this is nothing to do with my story, and, therefore, for a say about the “say sarpint,” as the Irish call him.

The Sea Serpent has been before us now for nearly thirty years. It has been seen in every latitude, and of all shapes and sizes. Sometimes as long as the longest yarn ever spun by a man-o’-war’s man; sometimes as high as a purse-proud tradesman; at others its wriggle on the ocean was fearful, and its beard—like that of our New Englanders—doubly terrible, and what, with its length, and its height, its breadth, and its beard, this wonderful animal has puzzled and perplexed the learned and the unlearned.

It was in the year 1817, that some “American” authorities reported that an animal of very singular appearance had been repeatedly seen in the Harbour of Gloucester, at Cape Anne, nearly thirty miles from Boston; and Amos Story, of Gloucester, has deposed that he saw a strange marine animal, like a serpent, in the Harbour of Gloucester. It was noon when he first saw the animal, and it continued in sight for an hour and a half. Story was sitting on the shore, about twenty rods from the animal, whose head appeared shaped like the head of a sea-turtle, and was raised from ten to twelve inches above the surface of the water. At that distance it appeared larger than the head of any dog. From the back part of the head to the next part that was visible was from three to four feet. It moved very rapidly through the water—a mile in about three minutes. On this day, Story did not see more than ten or twelve feet of its body. Some days after this, he saw what he believed to be the same animal, which then lay perfectly still, extended on the water. He had a good telescope and continued looking at it for half-an-hour, and it remained still and perfectly visible. He did not, however, see its head nor tail. Its colour appeared a dark brown, and while the sun shone upon it the reflection was bright. Story thought its body was the size of a man’s.

Another ship-master, Solomon Allen deposed that on the 12th, 13th, and 14th of August, 1817, he saw a strange marine animal, which he believed to be a Serpent, in the Harbour of Gloucester. This animal was between eighty and ninety feet in length, and about the size of a half-barrel—apparently having joints from the head to the tail. Allen was about one-hundred-and-fifty yards from it. The head was formed something like a rattlesnake, but nearly as large as that of a horse. Allen went round it in a boat several times. Its haunches appeared to be about ten inches from the surface of the water. At times its head was about ten feet in perpendicular height, and its mouth open.

James Ellary of Gloucester, shipmaster, also deposed that he saw the Sea Serpent. He saw the upper part of its head, and about forty feet of its body. It appeared to have joints about the size of a two-gallon keg. W. H. Foster deposed to the animal being shaded in colour, and also to the particulars above-mentioned; and further said, that as he drew near to the place at which he was stationed to observe it, there arose from its head a prong or spear, about twelve inches in height and six inches in circumference, terminating in a point. Mathew Gaffrey, of the same place, also deposed that he saw this strange “marine,” and that its head appeared as large as a four-gallon keg, its body as large as a barrel, and its length at least forty feet. The top of its head was of a dark colour, the under part nearly white. He fired at it with his gun, and thought he must have hit it. It turned towards him immediately, and went directly under his boat, and made its appearance at about a hundred yards from the place where it dived.

Several others deposed to these particulars, and Sewell Toppon, master of the schooner “Laura,” said that he saw the “marine” on the eastern point of Cape Ann, being becalmed. Its head was the size of a _ten_-gallon cask, and that it left a great “wake” behind. Robert Bragg said he saw the “beast,” with its head six or seven inches out of the water. He did not see its _eyes_, but when astern of the vessel about fifteen feet, it threw out its _tongue_, which was about two feet in length, and the end was like a harpoon. William Sowerby also deposed that he saw its tongue, and one eye, which appeared large and bright, like that of an ox. Its body moved up and down, and its head wagged from side to side. The colour of its tongue was a light brown. Elkanah Finney also deposed at length, and amongst other things, declared that it appeared to him like a long string of bungs. He saw thirty or forty of its “hunches” all in a line. The head appeared about six feet long. Its _under-jaw_ had a white stripe. It appeared to be at least 150 feet long. It often rose, and it appeared as if fishing for its food. It seemed to move at the rate of twenty miles an hour. Various other persons deposed to the same particulars—one that it had a beard, which flowed down its venerable chops like sea-weed. Another declared solemnly that it had a kind of “swivel eye,” which followed the boat whichever way it turned. One said, that it suddenly rose up into the form of a “steeple,” and that upon firing at it, the ball must have passed through the inside of the “steeple” part of his body. One declared that he saw the end of its tail, which had a kind of tuft or fin, about four or five feet from its “cutter-cud,” and, at last, a large kind of serpent was actually caught at “Prospect,” which was exhibited at Boston as the progeny of some “old serpent”—but this, on inspection, proved to be a “whopping” conger eel.

Since these “appearances” on the American side have taken place, we have had many accounts of the greatest of all the “marines.” It has been frequently seen in the Atlantic, once or twice in the South Sea—sometimes computed at three hundred feet, sometimes at seventy—sometimes with a beard, sometimes without. The last account of it is taken from the log-book of the “Jesse Gleaner,” in which it is depicted as resembling in the head, a “griffin;” in the body, a hundred sugar hogs-_heads_ linked together by a rope; and in the tail, as one of Peter Parley’s best. Whether my young friends will ever hear or know more of it, will be left to the future concatenation of events. Perhaps “Old Charley” may pick it up in the Baltic, or Keet lay hold of it at the “fish ordinary” at Billingsgate.

* * * * *

Since the above was written, we have received the following, concerning the capture of the “beast.” It is in a letter from Charles Seabury, master of the whale ship “Monongatiela,” of New Bedford, and states as follows,—On the morning of the 13th of January, when in latitude 3 deg. 10 min. S., and longitude 131 deg. 50 min. W., the man on the look-out cried “white water.” I was aloft half-an-hour before I observed anything like white water—then I presumed it was a shoal of porpoises. I ordered the mate to keep both eyes open, and went down, it being my breakfast hour. Before I reached the deck, my attention was called to the sudden cry of Annetu Vanjan, a Marquesan Islander. “Oh look! me see! too much! no whale! too big! me ’fraid!” The native continued to look with eagerness. I turned to leeward, and my eye rested on the strangest creature I had ever seen in the ocean. I knew it was not a whale. “It is a Sea Serpent!”—I exclaimed; “stand by the boats.” When they had mustered, I said, “I do not order you to go into the boats—who will volunteer?” Every American in the ship stepped out—we lowered—I told the boat-steerer, James Whittermore, of Vermont, to stand up, who, with calm intrepidity, laid hold of his harpoon; when I beckoned with my hand, quick as thought both his weapons were buried to the socket in the repulsive body before us; the head and tail of the monster rushed to touch the wound; the frightfulness of the head filled the crew with terror; he began to sound, and the line went out, in all, one thousand fathoms. At four a.m., on the 14th inst., sixteen hours after it went down, the line began to slack, and just before breakfast it rose; we lanced the body repeatedly without any signs of life; at last it drew itself up, and we pulled away, and then witnessed the terrific dying struggles of the monster. The evolutions of the body were quick as lightning, like the revolving of a thousand enormous black wheels, and a sound was heard, so dead and unearthly, that a thrill of horror ran through our veins. The convulsive effort lasted fifteen minutes, when suddenly it ceased, turned up, and lay still. Our prey was dead! I took off my hat, when nine terrific cheers broke from the crew. It was a male, one hundred-and-three feet long, nineteen feet round the neck, twenty-five feet round the shoulders, and forty-nine feet round the largest part of the body. The head was long and flat, with ridges, the end of the tongue was like a heart, the back black, sides brown, under the belly yellow, with a white streak. The body was covered with blubber, and the oil was as clear as water, and burnt like spirits of turpentine. One of his lungs was three feet longer than the other.

Something more about the Chinese.

To maintain the laws of China, and impress the people with fear, a numerous standing army is kept up. There are at least, five-hundred-thousand—Tartar troops—such as we should term “regulars,”—in this country. There are also about a million of what we should call “the militia.” For courage they are not very remarkable, but they have the word _brave_ stitched upon the back of their jackets, and the word _retreat_ on the front. They wear also a peculiar cap, as seen in the engraving, and carry a matchlock. Here is a picture of a Chinese “Brave.”

The “Tartar troops” are enrolled under eight banners, which are attached to certain lands or estates. The cavalry are not much better equipped than the infantry; they have neither carbines nor pistols, but are armed exclusively with swords and sabres. The weapons of the foot consist of bows and arrows, pikes, matchlocks, swords, baskets, shields, and iron cannon.

But the most famous of all the soldiers are, what we should term “life guards;” they are called “tigers of war,” and are the members of the Imperial Guard. They are covered from head to foot with a striped dress of black and yellow, to resemble the tiger. The head of these “tigers” is also covered with a close cap, and two horns or ears stick up from each side. They carry a shield, with a sort of Gorgon face upon it, like that of the fabled Minerva, which is said to have turned all it looked upon into stone.

Besides these military gentlemen, the Eleuth Tartars now form a part of the military force of the Chinese, and are regarded as the handsomest and finest-looking men of the Empire. They retain their national dress, as you see it in the picture. They are a numerous people, divided into various tribes, living in the north and west of the Chinese territory. They had, for ages, been at war with the Chinese, and a long while ago some of these tribes eventually gained a complete victory, and settled the family of one of their chiefs upon the throne—so that the present emperor is not a Chinese by descent, but a Tartar, and this is one of the causes of the “Great Rebellion” now raging in China, the object of which is to destroy idolatry, and to drive the Tartar race from the Empire.

The naval force of the Chinese is very numerous, but, compared with European ships, of little service. Their war vessels are little better than trade junks, one thousand of which would not have the least effect upon one of our frigates. The barges and boats of the Chinese are, however, more useful; and the waterman is an important personage. The engraving is a representation of one. The boatmen have a peculiar song. One person repeats the sentences, which have a meaning, and the whole join in chorus “Hee-o-noto-hee-o,” the import of which is, “Pull away, my boys, heartily.” Near the head of the vessel or boat is suspended a gong, which serves to regulate the motions of the boatmen.

In all the cities of China watchmen are regularly kept. The watch is set at nine o’clock, and remains till five in the morning. The watchman carries in his left hand a long bamboo tube, which he strikes with a short thick stick in his right as many blows as there may be half-hours elapsed since the watch was set. The sound of the instrument is loud, but dull. Sometimes the bamboo, instead of being cylindrical, is shaped like a fish, about two feet and a-half long, and six inches in diameter. Each watchman is also furnished with a paper lanthorn, on which is inscribed his name, and that of the division to which he belongs.

The Chinese laws are contained in the canonical books, which constitute the laws and literature of the country. They have been compiled so as to lay down with great exactness the various descriptions of offences, with a suitable punishment for each. In China, the cane is the grand instrument of punishment; and all China has been compared to a school,—kept in awe by the rod of the master.

Every city of the first, second, or third rank, has its proper courts and judges, and when a person is charged with an offence, torture is used to extort confession. The ordinary one, which is very acute and painful, is a kind of engine in which the hands and feet of the culprit are enclosed; and then, by means of a screw, compressed to such a degree that the wrists and ancle-bones are broken and flattened, and all the toes and fingers dislocated. Rebellion and treason are punished by cutting the criminal into ten thousand pieces—which is literally accomplished by the knife or sword. Murder is punished with death. For disobedience to parents, the punishment is very severe. The criminal is condemned to be cut into “ten thousand pieces,” and afterwards burnt. Theft is punished by the Bastinado. In this punishment, the offender lies with his face downwards, and the executioner, with a cudgel, beats him severely. After he has been thus soundly beaten, the offender arises, and, kneeling before the presiding magistrate, thanks him for his kind correction. But bribery will soften the blows, or it is not unfrequent for a substitute to be allowed, and many a poor fellow, for the sake of a little money, will kneel down and receive the punishment. The Chinese have also laws and punishments relating to form, ceremony, and dress; the manner in which an inferior bows to a superior; the terms of the card written to him, the mode in which it is to be folded, the ceremonial of visiting, are all fixed by rules. Whether a Chinese sits down or rises, whether he receives company at home, or walks abroad, there is a rule fixed, and the cane is always at hand to punish its violation. The Mandarins are the magistrates in China, and here is a picture of one of them. His tunic is gray or violet color, his trousers yellow, embroidered with gold. The Mandarins are selected from all classes of the community, and their number is said to amount to nearly 50,000. There are nine classes of Mandarins, who are distinguished by the buttons in their caps. Sometimes the Emperor confers a high and extraordinary honour on Mandarins who have performed essential service to the state, namely—“the right of wearing two peacock’s feathers in the cap, which is as great a mark of dignity as the ”Garter“ of a ”Knight Companion of the Garter“ in England.”

There are, in China, booksellers who keep shops as in England, but the greater number of booksellers are hawkers, and one of these is represented in the engraving. The books are arranged on a stall, and boxes full of others stand beside them.

The books of the vendor are usually covered with a kind of pasteboard of a green or yellow colour. Those kept in shops are generally bound in red brocade, adorned with flowers of gold and silver, and have their titles in gold letters, not on their backs, but on the exterior surface of the cover. Some works are splendidly illustrated, after the Chinese manner, by designs in colours, and others by rude but very graphic wood-cuts.

The paper which the Chinese use for printing, being extremely thin, is printed only on one side. The sheets are so folded that the two open edges go to the back when they are stitched. Thus the Chinese books are cut in the back (not in the front like ours), and the sheets are then held together by a silk lace, or merely a strip of paper twisted between the fingers. The Chinese have a variety of books, and no nation in the world can boast of such a mass of historical annals. The people are amused with a variety of the vilest trash, and there are published in quick succession, dramas, poems, and tales, some serious and some comic, but none of any great merit. They have also plays, and strange representations of various kinds, but, for the most part, of a gross or whimsical nature. The Chinese are particularly fond of puppet shows, which they have brought to a great degree of perfection, with various automatons, like our “Punch and Judy.” All ranks take delight in these amusements.

I hope in my next Annual to give you some further insight into the manners and customs of this most interesting people.

Jack and Jill.

“Jack and Jill
Went up the hill,
To fetch a pail of water:—
Jack fell down
And broke his crown,
And Jill came tumbling after.”