for omitting from our credulities the story of the mad fishmonger of Worcester and his frenzied assistants.
In the Zoologist, February, 1911, Mr. E. Ernest Green, the Government Entomologist, of Ceylon, explained. Ten years before, Mr. Oliver Collet, in a place about fifty miles from Kalutara, had received “some of these snails” from Africa, and had turned them loose in his garden. Then, because of the damage by the monsters, he had destroyed all, he thought: but he was mistaken, some of them having survived. In Kalutara lived a native, who was related to other natives, in this other place (Watawella). In a parcel of vegetables that he had brought from Watawella two of these snails had been found, and had been turned loose in Kalutara, and the millions had descended from them. No names: no date.
All the accounts, in the Ceylon Observer, in issues from July 27 to September 23, are of a sudden and monstrous appearance of huge snails, packed thick, and not an observation upon them until all at once appeared millions. It takes one of these snails two years to reach full size. All sizes were in this invasion. “Never known in Ceylon before.” “How they came here continues to be a mystery.” According to Mr. Green’s report, published in a supplement of the Ceylon Observer, September 2, stories of the multitudes were not exaggerations: he described “giant snails in enormous numbers,” “a horde in a comparatively small space,” “a foreign pest.” This was in a region of many plantations, and even if the hordes could have been hidden from sight in a jungle, the sounds of their gnawing and of the snapping of branches of trees under the weight of them would have been heard far.
Plantations—and the ceaseless sound of the munch. The vegetarian bend—the sagging of trees, with their tops to the ground, heavy with snails. Natives, too, and the vegetarian bend—they bowed before the invasion. They would destroy no snails: it would be a sin. A bubonic crawl—lumps fall off and leave skeletons. There would be a sight like this, if a plague could hypnotize a nation, and eat, to their bones, rigid crowds. Tumors that crawl and devour— clothing and flesh disappearing—congregations of bones.
There was a hope for infidels. When a lost soul was found, there was rejoicing in Kalutara, and double pay was handed out, satanically. The planters raked up infidels, who sinfully gathered snails into mounds and burned them.
One of our reasons for being persuaded into accepting what we wanted to accept, in the matter of the phenomenon at Worcester, was that not only periwinkles appeared: also appeared crabs, which could not fit in with the conventional explanation. Simultaneously with the invasion of snails, there was another mysterious appearance. It was of unusually large scale-insects, which, according to Mr. Green (Ceylon Observer, August 9), had never before been recorded in Ceylon.
Maybe, in September, 1929, somebody lost an alligator. According to some of our data upon the insecurities of human mentality, there isn’t anything that can’t be lost by somebody. A look at Losts and Founds—but especially at Losts —confirms this notion. New York American, Sept. 19, 1929—an alligator, thirty-one inches long, killed in the Hackensack Meadows, N.J., by Carl Weise, 14 Peerless Place, North Bergen, N.J. But my attention is attracted by another “mysterious appearance” of an alligator, about the same time. New York Sun, September 23—an alligator, twenty-eight inches long, found by Ralph Miles, in a small creek, near Wolcott, N.Y.
In the Gentleman’s Magazine, August, 1866, somebody tells of a young crocodile, which, about ten years before, had been killed on a farm, at Over-Norton, Oxfordshire, England. In the November issue of this magazine, C. Parr, a well-known writer upon antiquarian subjects, says that, thirty years before, near Over-Norton, another young crocodile had been killed. According to Mr. Parr, still
In the Zoologist, February, 1911, Mr. E. Ernest Green, the Government Entomologist, of Ceylon, explained. Ten years before, Mr. Oliver Collet, in a place about fifty miles from Kalutara, had received “some of these snails” from Africa, and had turned them loose in his garden. Then, because of the damage by the monsters, he had destroyed all, he thought: but he was mistaken, some of them having survived. In Kalutara lived a native, who was related to other natives, in this other place (Watawella). In a parcel of vegetables that he had brought from Watawella two of these snails had been found, and had been turned loose in Kalutara, and the millions had descended from them. No names: no date.
All the accounts, in the Ceylon Observer, in issues from July 27 to September 23, are of a sudden and monstrous appearance of huge snails, packed thick, and not an observation upon them until all at once appeared millions. It takes one of these snails two years to reach full size. All sizes were in this invasion. “Never known in Ceylon before.” “How they came here continues to be a mystery.” According to Mr. Green’s report, published in a supplement of the Ceylon Observer, September 2, stories of the multitudes were not exaggerations: he described “giant snails in enormous numbers,” “a horde in a comparatively small space,” “a foreign pest.” This was in a region of many plantations, and even if the hordes could have been hidden from sight in a jungle, the sounds of their gnawing and of the snapping of branches of trees under the weight of them would have been heard far.
Plantations—and the ceaseless sound of the munch. The vegetarian bend—the sagging of trees, with their tops to the ground, heavy with snails. Natives, too, and the vegetarian bend—they bowed before the invasion. They would destroy no snails: it would be a sin. A bubonic crawl—lumps fall off and leave skeletons. There would be a sight like this, if a plague could hypnotize a nation, and eat, to their bones, rigid crowds. Tumors that crawl and devour— clothing and flesh disappearing—congregations of bones.
There was a hope for infidels. When a lost soul was found, there was rejoicing in Kalutara, and double pay was handed out, satanically. The planters raked up infidels, who sinfully gathered snails into mounds and burned them.
One of our reasons for being persuaded into accepting what we wanted to accept, in the matter of the phenomenon at Worcester, was that not only periwinkles appeared: also appeared crabs, which could not fit in with the conventional explanation. Simultaneously with the invasion of snails, there was another mysterious appearance. It was of unusually large scale-insects, which, according to Mr. Green (Ceylon Observer, August 9), had never before been recorded in Ceylon.
Maybe, in September, 1929, somebody lost an alligator. According to some of our data upon the insecurities of human mentality, there isn’t anything that can’t be lost by somebody. A look at Losts and Founds—but especially at Losts —confirms this notion. New York American, Sept. 19, 1929—an alligator, thirty-one inches long, killed in the Hackensack Meadows, N.J., by Carl Weise, 14 Peerless Place, North Bergen, N.J. But my attention is attracted by another “mysterious appearance” of an alligator, about the same time. New York Sun, September 23—an alligator, twenty-eight inches long, found by Ralph Miles, in a small creek, near Wolcott, N.Y.
In the Gentleman’s Magazine, August, 1866, somebody tells of a young crocodile, which, about ten years before, had been killed on a farm, at Over-Norton, Oxfordshire, England. In the November issue of this magazine, C. Parr, a well-known writer upon antiquarian subjects, says that, thirty years before, near Over-Norton, another young crocodile had been killed. According to Mr. Parr, still
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