Whitby is a thriving sea-port in the North Riding of Yorkshire, situated on the mouth of the river Esk. It is chiefly celebrated for the manufacture of canvas, and for the extensive alum works in its neighbourhood. Its harbour is the best on this coast, and has a fine pier; but it has no river communication with the interior country. Behind the pier is a battery which mounts twelve eighteen-pounders. This town was formerly noted for its Abbey, of which some ruins still remaining testify its ancient magnificence. Here are different houses of worship, viz. an elegant church of the established religion; and several meeting-houses belonging to Presbyterians, Quakers, Methodists, Roman Catholics, &c. Whitby is 50 miles north-east of York, and 243 north of London; Lat. 54° 30´ North, Long. 1° 55´ West. The word Whitby is a contraction of its original appellation White Bay, so called from the white surges made by the breaking of the waves along the shore, so that the whole bay assumes a white or frothy appearance to a person standing upon the opposite banks. Contiguous to this place, in a town called Marton, was born that great circumnavigator Captain James Cook, whose barometer (that which he used in his voyage of discovery) we had on board the Resolution. Between Whitby and Lyth, a small town distant about four miles, is a beautiful level strand, generally known by the name of Whitby Sands, upon which there used to be annual races; but now they are less frequent. Adjacent to Lyth, is the seat of the Mulgrave family, one of whom, Constantine John Phipps, (afterwards Lord Mulgrave), in 1773, undertook a voyage, by his Majesty’s command, towards the North Pole, under the hopes of discovering a passage to the East Indies in a north-east direction: but in which he, like many others, did not succeed. Among the sands on the shore are found stones resembling snakes without heads, the “_Cornu ammonis_” of naturalists. These stones are easily known by circular, or rather spiral windings marked on their outside. One of these being broken, its interior exhibits the appearance of a snake rolled up and ready to make a spring. That these are petrified snakes, is really believed by the peasants on the coast, concerning which they tell the following whimsical story: An old lady, say they, who lived in that neighbourhood some centuries back, having procured a charm, or spell, to banish some noxious reptiles with which that part of the country was then cruelly harassed, set to work, and, by her incantations, collected all the snakes within a considerable distance, and brought them to the banks of Whitby, whence she hurried them down so precipitately on the strand, that they all broke their necks, and of course, in their petrified state, are found without heads[1]. [1] They affirm that this part of the coast has never since been frequented by those venomous creatures, although they are quite common in other parts of the kingdom. _Credat cui placeat._