to the inundation of the whole tunnel. I remained watching the fit time, if necessary, to run away; but also noticing what effect the apparent danger had on my son. After a short time it was clear that the ingress of liquid mud had been checked, and in a few minutes more Brunel returned to me, having this time succeeded in stopping up the breach. I then inquired what was really the nature of the danger we had escaped. Brunel told me that unless himself or Gravatt had been present, the whole tunnel would in less than ten minutes have been full of water. The next day I embarked for Holland, and in about a week after I read in Galignani's newspaper, that the Thames had again broken into the tunnel; that five or six of the workmen had been drowned, and that Brunel himself had escaped with great difficulty by swimming.
In 1818, during a visit to Plymouth, I had an opportunity of going down in a diving-bell: I was accompanied by two friends and the usual director of that machine.
The diving-bell in which I descended was a cast-iron vessel about six feet long by four feet and a half wide, and five feet eight inches high. In the top of the bell there were twelve circular apertures, each about six inches in diameter, filled by thick plate-glass fixed by water-tight cement. Exactly in the centre there were a number of small holes through which the air was continually pumped in from above.
At the ends of the bell are two seats, placed at such a height, that the top of the head is but a few inches below the top of the bell; these will conveniently hold two persons each. Exactly in the middle of the bell, and about six inches above its lower edge, is placed a narrow board, on which the feet of the divers rest. On one side, nearly on a level with the shoulders, is a small shelf, with a ledge to
