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year older than I, a six-footer, and an unusually fine specimen of a man. Rob, of course, had a sweetheart "at home," and his one aim in life was to make enough money to return and marry her. As divers' wages were high, he was very anxious to get some experience under water, and I promised to put him down the first slack day. When that day arrived, with a few parting injunctions from me as the face-glass was put on, down he went. I felt him land on the bottom, and signal that he was all right. He began to walk away from the boat at once, soon running out most of the lines. I was not alarmed, however, for we were at anchor, and it was slack water. On the contrary, in fact, I thought he was doing remarkably well. He stopped after a time, and I imagined him resting, as I had done the first time, and taking it all in. All at once a dark, bladder-like object, floating at some distance from the boat, caught my eye. For a moment I thought it was a turtle, but, as I examined it more closely, I recognized a familiar patch, and began to haul in on the life-line as fast as possible. Rob had come up stern first. As we drew him nearer we could hear him screaming his very loudest inside the swollen dress. We soon got him along side, unscrewed the escape-valve, and hauled him on deck; but even then he continued to cry at intervals, “Let me up !”

When he came to his right senses I learned that he had become frightened lest the dress should burst, and had screwed the escapevalve the wrong way, thus keeping in the air instead of letting it out. Then, lcsing his presence of mind altogether, he had fallen down; the air had immediately accumulated in the bulkiest part of the dress, and floated him ungracefully to the surface.

...

Dangers from sharks, octopi, and other fish are more imaginary than real; that is, so far as the dress-diver is concerned. Although native divers not infrequently fall victims to the tiger of the sea, I have never heard of a man in a dress being attacked. In spite of this knowledge, I cannot truthfully say that I ever saw a shark, even a little one, without being frightened. Often I have turned tail and run for dear life at the sight of a large fish which I fancied might be a shark; and I shall never forget the feeling that came over me when, for the first time, I found myself in close quarters with one of these monsters.

Before I saw anything, I felt, instinctively, a strange presence. This was brought about,

doubtless, by the fact that the small fish, which are plentiful on good shelling-ground, had all disappeared. The absence of these flitting little companions, when one is accustomed to them, makes the bottom seem intensely still. A sense of impending danger took possession of me; I looked apprehensively out of my side-glasses, and stood terror-stricken. Within ten feet of me, half hidden by a mass of cobweb corallines, was the bulk of an immense shark. It appeared to be about twenty-five feet long, and though I knew its size was greatly exaggerated by the face-glass, the sight was none the less alarming. The creature evidently had not perceived me. Save for a slight trembling of its side-fins, it lay motionless.

My first thought was to give the signal to ascend. As fish, however, have human nature enough to want a thing as soon as they see it being taken away, I promptly rejected the idea, and, lest my bare hands should attract the man-eating propensity that sharks are supposed to have, I hid them under my chest-weight. A sweep of its tail, and the great fish and I were face to face. Not daring to move, I stood like an image, my heart beating wildly, and my eyes riveted on its cavernous mouth. I felt that the shark was inspecting me curiously, as though I were some new kind of fish. After a few moments I became aware that, by an almost imperceptible motion of its flexible tail, it was gradually approaching me. Nearer and nearer came the leviathan, the shovel-shaped nose pointing directly to my face-glass, the gleaming under part now plainly visible. Flesh and blood could stand it no longer. With a yell I threw up my arms. Instantly there was a swirl of water, a cloud of mud, and my enemy vanished. . . .

Fishing from the bottom is one of the favorite sports of the pearl-fishers. Leaving one end of the fishing-line in charge of one of the boys, the diver descends with a hook baited with a piece of red rag, and conceals himself among the growths. Instead of dropping his hook after the usual manner of fishermen, he floats it by means of a large cork a few feet above his head. If a shark or any other objectionable fish heave in sight, he hauls down his colors in double-quick time. If, on the contrary, it be a snapper, a rockcod, or a jewfish, he screws his valve up a minute, so that the bubbles may not frighten the fish, and holds the line with both hands. As soon as the fish has the bait fairly in its

mouth, a sharp pull hooks it, and a signal to the boy above sends it struggling to the surface. A jewfish takes the bait with a dash, but goes up quietly. A rock-cod, on the other hand, calmly opens its enormous mouth and sucks in the bait, and often the float as well, with the utmost sang-froid. When hooked, it opens its naturally large eyes wider than ever, seems to swell itself up with indignation, and, as if it realized that something must be done, rushes wildly in all directions.

The best catch on the grounds, however, is the turtle. Most pearling localities abound in them, and no diver loses an opportunity to secure a supply of fresh meat. Turtle-catching under water is great fun, and none the worse for having a spice of danger in it. For, in his element, the turtle is an unwieldy fellow to handle; he has, moreover, a beak powerful enough to bite through a pearlshell. Though the usual weight of turtles in these waters is about one hundred and fifty pounds, they sometimes run up to four hun dred pounds.

I had quite an experience with my first turtle. I was told that catching one was a very simple matter: all I had to do was to approach the animal from behind, spring on its back, grasp the edges of the shell with both hands, lift it quickly to my chest, and give the signal to ascend. "Then," said my instructor, "you'll have the beggar's nose pointed up'ard, and as long as you hold him that way, he can only go up'ard. D'ye see? And what with his flippin' and the tender's haulin' you'll be on top pretty quick."

For some time I could not get near one. They invariably sighted me first, and rose, and flipped away like great birds. But my opportunity came at last. While working against the tide one morning, I sighted a big fellow feeding among some sea-grass ahead of me. Coming up behind him as quietly as my leaden-soled boots would allow, I found my quarry rather larger than I anticipated. From the quantity of barnacles and grass upon his back, moreover, it was evident that he was an " old bird," and would not prove very good eating. Notwithstanding these things, however, I determined not to be cheated out of my fun, and, as soon as I was within reach, I jumped and landed on his back. In the excitement of the moment I suppose I must have fumbled. I was too slow, certainly, in getting my fingers under his shell; for, before I realized it, or had a chance to raise the creature, I felt my feet

dragging over the bottom, and awoke to the fact that my intended captive had captured me and was swimming away with me. In vain I tried to point the turtle's head upward. He would have none of it. I attempted to catch something with my toes, but was too late. He was already fairly under way, and traveling at his very best gait. As I feared to drop, and could not signal, there was nothing for me to do but hang on, and act as the tail to Mr. Turtle's kite. Before I had time to appreciate what a novel ride I was having, we came to the end of our tetherthe limit of the life-line. With a sudden jerk we parted company. I fell headlong down, landing, by good fortune, on a soft bottom, and the turtle, I am inclined to believe, is going still.

In Westralian waters crawfish also are plentiful, though not easily caught; likewise handsome yellow-and-black sea-snakes with flat tails, stingarees or sting-rays, tridacnæ (the largest of all mollusks), dugong, and innumerable crabs. The only fish that can truthfully be called an enemy of the diver is known as the stone-fish. As divers are seldom, if ever, bitten by the stone-fish except when picking up a shell, it is probable that this spiteful little member of the finny tribe makes its habitation near or under the pearloyster. The only time I was bitten the pain was such that I dropped my bag of shells and hastened to the surface. Even in this short time my hand and arm had so swelled that it was with difficulty I could get the dress off, and for three days I suffered intensely. I learned afterward that in coming up I had done the worst possible thing; that had I stayed below for an hour or two after the bite, I should not have had any further discomfort, as the pressure would have caused the wound to bleed freely, and thus have expelled the poison.

With all its beauty, its life, and its fascination, the bottom of the sea, from my point of view, is the loneliest place on earth. I have been "bushed" in the Australian desert, have wandered alone in the bowels of a north-country coal-mine, have been adrift in mid-ocean, yet never have I felt such complete isolation, such uncanny solitude, as when working under a few fathoms of water. Removed from any actual communication with other human beings, in a vast, strange world in which every form is so different from earthly conditions that it seems unnatural, existing under an abnormally high

pressure, which in itself alters the aspect of things, the sense of loneliness is at times awful. Above water a timid man may keep up his spirits by a lively whistle; in a divingdress, however, this is not possible. To be sure, a diver may hum or sing if he will; but it takes too much breath, and in the end he settles down to listening to the distant thump of the air-pump. I believe that most divers get into the habit of talking to themselves, and I am sure that all of them swear.

For one of the peculiar effects of diving is that it makes one bad-tempered. As the irritability passes away as soon as one is drawn up, it is only reasonable to suppose that it is caused by the unusual pressure of air inside the dress, though in what particular way it acts I cannot say. My experience, and that of other divers whom I have questioned, is that the merest trifle may make one furious. There is always something wrong. The lines are held too tight or too slack, or there is too much air in the dress, or too little, or the boat is drifting too fast, or shells are not plentiful enough, or the dress is leaking, or the face-glass is not clean, and so forth. I have occasionally become so angry at some imaginary trouble that I have given the signal to be pulled up with the express intention of "licking" every Malay in the boat. As I neared the surface, however, and the pressure decreased, my fighting spirit would gradually wane, and by the time the face-glass was unscrewed I would be so ridiculously good-natured as to forget entirely my errand.

Perhaps the most annoying thing that can happen to a diver is to find that he has been screwed up with a lively fly or cockroach. It is bad enough for his nose to itch and he be unable to scratch it, or for him to get something in his eye and not be allowed to take it out; but when an insect begins to crawl deliberately over his face, play hideand-seek up his nostrils, and explore his ears, it is simply maddening. It is useles for him to butt the face-glass, make hideous faces, or indulge in profanity. The only remedy is to be pulled up.

Of the many scares I received while working below, there is one that I must not p.ss, because of its absurdity. It was one of the muddy days, and everything, in consequence, was blurred and exaggerated. In the yellow,

fog-like distance I saw the loom of an immense dark object moving slowly toward me. Istood and watched it, frightened, yet curious. As it came nearer I made out a central body with several great arms or feelers waving about it. My heart was in my mouth in a moment, for I felt sure it was an octopus. I was just about to stir up the mud at my feet in order that I might not be seen, when I discovered that my fright was caused by nothing more alarming than a fellow-diver, whose arms, legs, and lines I had imagined feelers.

A shadowy giant about twelve feet high, with huge hards, and a head like a small barrel, approached me. He walked slowly, his heavy boots raising the mud behind him like a cloud of dust, and his great central eye gleaming darkly. Although I knew him to be a man, it was with difficulty I refrained from taking to my heels. At sight of me, he, too, was startled. He quickly recovered, however, and we shook hands. I looked into his face-glass and recognized the smiling features of Japanese Charley. Then we nodded, grinned, showed each other the state of our bags, and parted. This was the only time I ever met a man under water.

After the novelty had worn off, I settled down to the business of pearl-diving in earnest. I took pride in being the first man down in the morning and the last one up at night. I worked in all weathers, lived economically, and gave my whole attention to the accumu lation of pearls and pearl-shell. I no longer saw the beauties of the bottom, or wasted my time examining strange growths and hunting for cowries, but crowded into eac day as much work as possible. As I became more experienced, I found more shells. My daily average ran up to one hundred and fifty pairs, and one day I sent up three hundred and ten. Six weeks after I began to dive I shipped my first lot of shells to the London market. When the bank through which the shipment was made informed me that I could draw upon them to the extent of one hundred pounds per ton, I felt that the fortune which I had set out to make in Australia was at last in sight. From the proceeds of shells alone I calculated that in three years I should be independent. And I might find a "Southern Cross" any day. Who could tell?

The most famous pearl found in Westralian waters, valued at fifty thousand dollars.

Books and Authors

A Dictionary of the Bible' No doubt since Dr. William Smith's Bible Dictionary was published Biblical criticism has made such advances, and the point of

view of the more eminent Biblical scholars has

so changed, as to make it necessary not merely to supplement but before long to supersede that admirable work. In geography and archæology the changes are considerable but not of the first importance; but in literature they are revolutionary. The clergyman feels unsafe in consulting that once standard authority and needs some more modern exponent of Biblical scholarship, and, if he be at all familiar with modern methods, feels the need.

It is this fact which has called forth the present work. The names of the contributors to it afford a guarantee of its general scholarship. It is modern in its point of view and in the results which it communicates to the student. It is probably the best Dictionary of the Bible for the professional scholar. It assumes the documentary origin of the Pentateuch, and on this basis, and on that modern view which regards the whole Old Testa. ment as a body of literature rather than as a book, treats its various portions. At the same time it is not partisan, radical, nor revolutionary. Its writers include men of conservative position and reputation, representative scholars from Oxford, Edinburgh, Cambridge, Aberdeen, Glasgow, and Berlin, abroad; and Cambridge (Mass.), Chicago, Yale, and Princeton in this country. It may safely be regarded as authoritative in its domain.

Yet it is subject to two criticisms for faults which somewhat impair its value for even the professional student, and make it unavailable to the lay reader, unless he has considerable technical knowledge. In style it lacks perspicacity. It is too scholastic, and it generally fails to separate its scholastic detail from its general conclusions. It is in this respect distinctly inferior to the Encyclopædia Britannica, which is a recognized authority on most of the topics of which it treats, and

A Dictionary of the Bible, dealing with its Language, Literature, and Contents, including the Bibli cal Theology. Edited by James Hastings, M.A., D.D., with the assistance of John A. Selbie, and, chiefly in the revision of the proof, of A. R. Davidson, D.D., LL.D., S. R. Driver, D.D., Litt.D., and H. B. Swette, D.D., Litt.D. In Four Volumes. Charles Scribner's Sons, New York. $6.

which treats most of them with great thoroughness of detail, but which, by a simple typographical expedient, distinguishes those general conclusions which are all the ordinary reader desires, from those processes or those more minute matters which concern

only the technical scholar. That clearness of statement which distinguishes the writings of Robertson Smith, and, though in a less degree, absence. The many editions of the Encythose of Dr. Driver, is conspicuous by its need not be dry to be scholarly. The writers clopædia Britannica have proved that a book of this Dictionary seem to us not to have There is thoroughly learned this lesson. another difficulty still more serious. Before the results of scholarship can be formulated in a cyclopædia, they must be reached by a consensus of scholars. As yet there is no adequate consensus of scholars upon questions of Biblical literature. The treatment of the Bible as literature, so far as the English-speaking peoples are concerned, dates from the middle of this century, or a little later. Robertson Smith's 66 Prophets of Israel" was first published, we believe, in 1882, and subjected him to a trial for heresy. Twenty-five years is not time enough for a new method to reach final results; and such a Dictionary as this must do what this Dictionary seems to us to do-present an uncerscholarship, because modern scholarship is tain and confused portraiture of modern itself still confused and uncertain. The minister who has no Bible Dictionary can probably find none which will be, on the whole, better than or as good as this; but he who already has the American edition of William Smith's Dictionary, and no larger library fund out of which to buy new books than most ministers possess, will probably find it as well for present needs to supplement that dictionary with special treatises on Biblical literature, such as Driver's "Introduction to the Old Testament," Ladd's "Doctrine of Holy Scripture," McGiffert's "Apostolic Church," and the articles on Biblical subjects in the Encyclopædia Britannica.

Mr. Conan Doyle is the hero of a story told by the London "Academy." A little Irish town possesses a convent ruled by a Mother Superior whose eyes have seen their best

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novices were thrilled. "Well, well," said the Mother Superior," the dear Canon is preparing us for a miracle of grace. The frivolous flirt, by the mercy of Heaven, no doubt ends by taking the veil." Then came the awakening. Some one eagerly peering into the volume perceived that the title-page bore the word Conan instead of Canon. The discovery reached the ears of the Mother Superior. “Very well," she said, "the bookseller where we bought the book is a pious man, and, now that we have paid for it, we should be wasteful not to read it to the end."

Books of the Week

[The books mentioned under this head were received by The Outlook during the week ending December 30. Prices will be found under the heads of Books Received in the preceding issue of The Outlook. This weekly report of current literature will be supplemented by fuller reviews of the more important works.]

Newman Hall: An Autobiography. Americans owe grateful remembrance to Dr. Hall, than whom no Englishman exerted himself more actively in our behalf during our Civil War. This was fully acknowledged in 1867, when he visited this country with the purpose of allaying the irritation then felt toward British sympathizers with the secessionists, and was received with distinguished honor both at Washington and elsewhere. Subsequently Dr. Hall visited us twice, partly for an evangelizing tour and partly to obtain funds for a memorial in London of President Lincoln and his emancipation of the slaves, to be a pledge of international brotherhood. This plan was accomplished in the erection of Christ Church, with its noble "Lincoln tower," two hundred and twenty feet in height, a conspicuous object near the Thames on the Westminster Bridge Road. This is the present edifice of the church of which in Surrey Chapel the Rev. Rowland Hill was pastor for fifty years. The Rev. F. B. Meyer, whose frequent visits to this country have brought him high regard as a represent ative of the Keswick teaching, took its pastorate when Dr. Hall retired in 1892, after thirty-eight years of service. At the age now of

nearly eighty-three Dr. Hall has written the story of his life, apparently not so much for the general public as for the many friends he numbers on both sides the sea : in any other view it might not be easy to acquit him of occasional garrulity, with a spice of vanity. In this country Dr. Hall probably has no warmer friend than Dr. Cuyler, a kindred spirit, to whom he devotes some pages. There are many distinguished people whom we meet in Dr. Hall's story, with much of personal and historical reminiscence and anecdote, so that it is very far from being a dull book, though open to the criticism of prolixity. Notwithstanding his advanced age, Dr. Hall still labors on as a preacher at large. Theologically, he is classed with those evangelists who regard the atonement as the central fact of Christianity; but in some points, notably in the doctrine of the future state, he inclines to liberal views. (T. Y. Crowell & Co., New York.)

Mr. Arthur Rogers's Men and Movements in the English Church is in its way a model of disinterested and intelligent presentation. It is a book to be read at this particular time with special interest, because it throws a flood of light on the temper and spirit of the English Church-a church which is often misunderstood by those who are outside its pale. In this volume Mr. Rogers draws the portraits of Newman, Pusey, Robertson, Arnold, Richardson, Dean Stanley, Wilberforce, Kingsley, Maurice, and Archbishop Tait, with introductory and concluding chapters dealing with his subject in a comprehensive fashion. Mr. Rogers gives in outline a history of the religious and intellectual movements in the English Church during the last seventy years, and presents this history in such a way as to make the modern life of that Church intelligible. His mind, by its openness, its breadth of sympathy, and its hospitality to ideas, was pre-eminently fitted to deal with men so far apart as Pusey and Arnold. It is refreshing to come upon a book so free from the polemic spirit, so full of insight into the things which make for unity beneath the things which are polemical. Moreover, this volume has the quality of being extremely interesting. It is impossible to read it without being drawn to the men of so many diverse types who appear in its pages; and it is impossible to read it without having one's faith in the higher aspirations of life confirmed, and one's confidence renewed in the integrity and sincerity of men, even in

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