iton, were there, rejoicing in the sunbeams thus poured upon them
through this subtle conduit of ocean, as do the motes of summer in her
rays; but soon these disappeared, a motley crowd, confused and joyous,
leaving the vision free to pierce the depths, glowing with golden light,
in search of still greater marvels.

Then I saw outspread before me the streets, the fanes, the towers, the
dwellings, of a vast, deserted city, one of those, I could not doubt,
that had existed before the flood, and which had lain submerged for
thousands of centuries; the fretwork of the coral-insect was over all
(that worker against time, so slow, so certain), in one monotonous web
of solid snow.

Statues of colossal size, and arches of Titanic strength and power,
adorned the portals, the pass-ways, the temples of this metropolis of
ocean, guarded as were these last by the effigies of griffin and dragon,
and winged elephant and lion, and stately mastodon and monstrous
ichthyosaurus, all white as gleaming spar.

Gods and demi-gods of gigantic proportions and majestic aspect were
carved on the external walls of the windowless abodes and fanes; and,
from the yawning portal of one of these, a temple vast as Dendera's
self, came forth, fold after fold, even as I seemed to gaze, the
monstrous sea-serpent of which mariners dream, more huge, more loathly,
than fancy or experience ever yet portrayed him. I still behold in
memory the stately, fearful head, with its eyes of emerald fire and
sweeping, sea-green mane, as it reared its neck for a moment as if to
scale the ladder the sunbeams had thrown down when first emerging from
its temple-cavern; and, later, the mottled, monstrous body, as coil
after coil was gradually unwound, until it seemed at last to lie in all
its loathsome length for roods along the silent, shell-paved
streets--the scaly monarch, of that scene of human desolation!

I recall the feeling of security that upheld me to look and to observe
every motion of the reptile of my dream.

"He cannot come to me here," I thought. "The ark is sacred, and God's
hand is over it; besides, I hear the singing of the priests, and the
dove is about to be cast forth! Will the raven never come back? Oh, the
sweet olive-branch! It falls so lightly! We are nearing the mountain
now, and we shall soon cast anchor!"

Then, among choral chants of joy and thanksgiving, I seemed to sleep.
How long this slumber lasted, or whether it came at all, I never kne