repair to one of the ports of his kingdom, and
causing a ship to be fitted out, sailed towards
the island where she dwelt. He would
approach the shore at the hour of sunset,
when land and sea appeared to be all of
purple spotted with gold; and, standing at the
prow of the vessel, would gaze on the valleys,
and the hills, and the plains until all form
disappeared. Then he would give orders to
draw nearer. A kiosque built on a point of
rock at the entrance of the bay used always
to be lighted up: and Zakariah sometimes
heard a voice, the tones of which he well
knew, singing, unconscious of his presence.
By and by, the prattle of children came to his
ears; and, until time had chastened his
regret, he would, when he heard it, instantly
order the pilot to put about, and sail towards
the open sea, in quest of storms and dangers.
At length, however, these voyages gave him
more pleasure than pain; so that he continued
them until he became a very old man. One
night the kiosque was not lighted up; a
strange thought came into Zakariah's mind;
instead of sailing away, he landed—for the
first time. He found some young people
sitting sadly beneath a great tree, and asked
them what was the news.

"Stranger," they replied, "the mother of
our mother is dead, and we are watching near
her grave."

"What was she called?" inquired the
King, in a cheerful voice.

"Salameh."

"And she lies here?"

"Ay, stranger."

He stooped down to kiss the earth, and as
he remained very long in that position, his
companions shook him, and found that he
was dead.

A LEVIATHAN INDEED.

WE are in the habit of making occasional
marine excursions to Woolwich, by Waterman
Number One to Six inclusive. Sometimes,
on a bright sunny day we extend our
aquatic trips as far as Erith or Gravesend,
where, doubtless, many of our readers accompany
us. Like us, they will not fail to have
noticed an indifferent-looking, half-occupied
spot of land jutting into the river opposite
Greenwich, known as the Isle of Dogs, but
having no sort of connection with Barking
Creek.

Scattered over this island, at irregular
distances, are factories, shipyards, store-houses,
and timber-sheds, all unmistakeable enough
in character. There is one object, however,
which has perplexed us not a little—a huge
metallic erection, on which may be seen
employed any day in the working week,
hundreds of busy craftsmen, clustering, and
humming, and buzzing about it like flies around a
sugar hogshead.

It has puzzled a good many aquatic
travellers besides the writer. We have heard
scores of guesses made by wondering
passengers on board Waterman Number Two,
perfectly at variance with the opinions of
those on board Waterman Number Four.
Some have not the slightest doubt as to its
being a new sort of gasometer for supplying
London with pure gas. Others believe it to
be a pile of fireproof warehouses, on the
Milner Safe principle, for the better custody
of the national state papers and crown jewels.
By some, it is said to be an enormous oven for
baking bread and roasting coffee for our
troops in the Crimea. One or two have heard
on good authority that it is intended for
Wombwell's menagerie, to be moved on a
hundred wheels. Others, again, have the
firmest belief in its being an iron incarnation
of Lord Dundonald's mysterious plan for
destroying Cronstadt and Sebastopol.

Now, it happens that none of these opinions
are correct. Not one of the many guessers
have ever dreamed of this object being the
mid portion of a ship, which we have since
learnt is really the case. A ship! Talk of
the Great Harry or the Great Britain, or any
other great craft of the middle age or modern
period! They shrink into utter insignificance
by the side of our metal monster of the Isle
of Dogs.

The wooden walls of old England are fast
becoming myths of a by-gone age, embalmed
in the ballad-poetry of Dibdin. They have
given place to the iron-sides of young Britain.
Canvas has yielded the palm to steam;
and paddle-wheels in their turn are shaking
their bearings in auxiliary fear of screws.

It is not so many years ago, but we remember
it, that when a steamer of three thousand
tons was first placed on the North American
line, one of our then greatest scientific
authorities predicted certain failure: it was hinted
in a friendly way to passengers proceeding
by her to the United States, that they had
better insure their lives and make their wills
before leaving the country. The ship was
said to be too long for a heavy sea: she would
break her back from the excessive weight of
machinery in her centre, and would inevitably
encounter a variety of other unpleasant
contingencies. But, people remembered that
similar failure was predicted thirty years
before that time, when the first steamers plied
between London and Calais. The General
Steam Navigation Company nevertheless
prospered, and so likewise have the American
lines prospered; for one of which there are
at the present moment iron steamers building
on the Clyde larger than any yet afloat.

The huge fabric erecting at the Isle of
Dogs, as yet bears no resemblance to any
known kind of craft. At a distance the
eye is unable to detect any particular proportions
about it, and if we were to be pressed
on the point, we should say that it had no
shape at all. A closer inspection, however,
shows a line of uprights at each end, which
mark the shelving proportions of stem and