The wonders of the world

by John Loraine Abbott

There is now (1855) on exhibition in Paris, one of the most remarkable pieces of masterwork which the union of art and science has ever produced. It consists of a picture, of about three feet square. This picture is made up of colors admirable for their beauty and boldness, but there is no subject. The most experienced eye can detect nothing but disjointed and half-formed approximations toward a coherent design. The most able artist sees there only the finest colors, but no one can tell what they are intended to represent. In the middle of the picture, which is horizontally placed, is a mirror formed by a copper cylinder covered by a perfectly polished coating of silver. This mirror is usually veiled. So far there is little remarkable, and the greatest amateurs in painting would hardly consent to spend five francs on such an apparently profitless study. But it is impossible not to feel a glow of admiration, when, on uncovering the mirror, there is represented upon it in the brightest reflected rays, the whole scene of the Crucifixion. The partial coloring then takes a character of incontestable superiority, and presents to the astonished spectators a picture composed of six most perfect figures, depicted with a degree of boldness such as the master painters alone knew how to impart to the subject which it was their glory to represent.

THE WHALE-KILLER.

This fish is one of the wonders of the mighty deep, well known to those engaged in whaling, and in the Pacific cruisers. It is thus described by one who has often witnessed its attacks on the whale.

“The killer is the wolf of the ocean, and hunts in packs, and their tall dorsal fin can be constantly seen above the water. This fish has always as a companion, but swimming deeper, the sword-fish, and now and then can be seen the shark. On sighting their prey, which the killer sees at a great distance, the pack gives chase. The unconscious whale is slowly moving near the surface, and occasionally spouting, as it were in sport, jets of water above him. But he now suddenly sees the sea-wolf near him. Instinct at once teaches him that on the surface he can not be safe, and, taking in a long breath, he flukes; that is, dives. But there has been another enemy watching him from the depths below—the sword-fish, which now darts at him with the velocity of lightning, and perforates the whale beneath, with his long and spear-like nose. This sends him at once to the surface; here he again meets with his enemies, the killers; but as yet they are afraid to approach him. The whale now begins to see the extent of his danger, and for a time merely lashes the water with his ponderous fluke. He soon tires of this, and remains for a short time at rest; the pack now approach him, and he seeks safety in flight. But what can he do? The poor whale has a hump on his back, and steers unsteadily, while the killer’s tail and stiff fin steady him on his course. Nearer and nearer approach the pack to their victim; again he takes a long breath and dives. The sword-fish has steadily kept him in view; he, too, has a tall fin and long slender propelling tail; and while it is an effort to the whale to increase his speed, it is but play to the sword-fish, which again darts and perforates his prey, and sends the wounded whale again to the surface.

“The race again commences, but this time with diminished speed, the killers having separated to watch the rise of the whale, who, finding his enemies in every direction, courses in a circle, and again makes a third, and sometimes a fourth attempt to escape by diving, but is always met by the terrible spike of the sword-fish. He at last, weak, exhausted and dispirited, returns to the surface, where he again attempts escape by flight. Streams of blood mark his course; his enemies still follow steadily after him, until he stops and begins to lash and make the ocean foam around him; but now large streams of his life-blood are pouring out, and he is only increasing his weakness by the exertion, and merely lashing amidst his own gore. Tired, exhausted and faint, he rolls over. The deep red streaks of blood flowing from large orifices in his white belly can now be distinctly seen. The hungry pack now close, and one more bold than the rest seizes him near the throat and tears away the white skin and fat; he opens his mouth and bellows with pain. This is generally the signal for a combined attack. His tongue is seized and torn out; so are his eyes. The sword-fish now rises to the surface, and his tall spar-like protuberance is seen projecting over the body of the whale; the sharks also close in and feed on the fat rejected by the killers. In this state the whale makes a few dying struggles. The feast now commences and continues until the fat and sufficient flesh are stripped off to cause the carcass to become too heavy to float on the surface, and it sinks. The shark is left to enjoy his few streaks of fat, while the killer pack, accompanied by their companion, the sword-fish, rove again the broad ocean to seek another leviathan of the great deep.”

A PILE OF SERPENTS.

Baron Humboldt says: “In the savannas of Izacubo, Guiana, I saw the most wonderful and terrible spectacle that can be seen; and although it be not uncommon to the natives, no traveler has ever mentioned it. We were ten men on horseback, two of whom took the lead, in order to sound the passages, while I preferred to skirt the great forests. One of the blacks who formed the vanguard returned at full gallop, and called to me, ‘Here, sir, come and see the serpents in a pile.’ He pointed to something elevated in the middle of the savanna or swamp, which appeared like a bundle of arms. One of my company said, ‘This is certainly one of the assemblages of serpents which heap themselves on each other after a violent tempest. I have heard of these, but never saw any; let us proceed cautiously, and not too near them.’ When we were within twenty paces of it, the terror of our horses prevented our approaching nearer, to which none of us were inclined. On a sudden, the pyramid mass became agitated; a horrid hissing issued from it, thousands of serpents rolled spirally on each other, and shot forth out of the circle their hideous heads, presenting their envenomed darts and fiery eyes to us. I own I was the first to draw back, but when I saw this formidable phalanx remain at its post, and appear to be more disposed to defend itself than to attack us, I rode round, in order to view its order of battle, which faced the enemy on every side. I then thought what could be the design of this numerous assemblage; and I concluded that this species of serpent dreaded some colossean enemy, which might be the great serpent or cayman, and they reunite themselves after seeing the enemy, so as to resist this enemy in a mass.”

AMERICAN RUINS.

The recent discoveries in what is called the “Great Basin,” a tract of table-land lying between the Rocky and the Pacific chain of mountains, are exciting much interest, and awakening inquiry and speculation again as to the origin of the people who evidently, in a former period, inhabited these now desolate regions. Captain Walker, the mountaineer, passed through the center of this basin in 1850, and made some interesting revelations of what he saw. These statements have been called in question, on account of their supposed improbability; but a later trip of Lieutenant Beale gives a degree of confirmation to the facts, which will make the credibility of the statements more readily admitted. The whole country, from the Colorado to the Rio Grande, between the Gila and San Juan, is full of ruined habitations and cities, most of which are on this table-land. Captain Walker states that, in traversing this desert, he had frequently met with crumbling masses of masonry and numberless specimens of antique pottery.

In his last trip across, he saw the ruins of a city more than a mile in extent, the streets of which ran at right angles. The houses had all been built of stone, but all had been reduced to ruin by the action of some great heat, which had evidently passed over the whole country. In the center of the city rose abruptly a rock twenty or thirty feet high, upon the top of which stood a portion of the walls of what had once been an immense building. The outline of the building was still distinct, although only the northern angle, with walls fifteen or eighteen feet long, and ten feet high, was standing. These walls were constructed of stone, well quarried and well built. Lieutenant Beale, on his first trip across the continent, discovered in the midst of the wilderness of Gila, what appeared to be a strong fort, the walls of great thickness, built of stone. He traversed it, and found it contained forty-two rooms. A correspondent of the Placerville Herald gives an account more wonderful still, of a stone bridge, which had also been discovered, the foundations of which were of stone, and nearly six hundred feet from one of the outer abutments to the other, while between the two are no less than seven distinct piers. This bridge has the appearance of a river once flowing between its piers, though now there is not the slightest appearance of such a river in that vicinity.