That there really is a sea-serpent, scientific men now have little
doubt; but many people have not seen it who thought they did. One
curious deception of this sort is thus related by an English writer:
One morning in October, 1869, I was standing with a group of passengers
on the deck of time ill-fated P. and G. steamship _Rangoon,_ then
steaming up the Straits of Malacca to Singapore.
One of the party suddenly pointed out an object on the port-bow, perhaps
half a mile off, and drew from us the simultaneous exclamation of "The
sea-serpent!"
And there it was, to the naked eye a genuine serpent, speeding through
the sea, with its head raised on a slender curved neck, now almost
buried in the water, and anon reared just above its surface. There was
the mane, and there were the well-known undulating coils stretching
yards behind.
But for an opera-glass, probably all our party on board the _Rangoon_
would have been personal witnesses to the existence of a great
sea-serpent. But, alas for romance! One glance through the lenses, and
the reptile was resolved into a bamboo, root upwards, anchored in some
manner to the bottom,--a "snag," in fact.
Swayed up and down by the rapid current, a series of waves undulated
beyond it, bearing on their crests dark-colored weeds of grass that had
been caught by the bamboo stem.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
PUNISHED BY CONSCIENCE.--A writer in the Boston _Transcript_ calls
attention to the fact that a man may escape the law, and yet be held by
his conscience. He says:
Many years ago, a young man in this city was guilty of an offence
against the law, an offence which brought social ruin upon himself and
his family. The span and his offence are forgotten by the public, yet he
lives, and lives here in Boston. But from the day his offence was
discovered,--although, having escaped the law, he is free to come and go
as he pleases,--he has never been seen outside of his own home in the
daytime.
Sometimes, under the cover of night, he walks abroad to take an airing
and note the changes that thirty years have wrought, but an ever-active
conscience makes him shun the light of day and the faces of men, and he
walks apart, a stranger in the midst of those among whom he has always
lived.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *