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.