OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION. No. 1078.] SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 1841. [PRICE 2d. THE NEW-FIXED LIGHT ON THE GOODWIN SANDS. "In a commercial country like England everything that relates to piers, harbours, lighthouses, and breakwaters, is always a matter of primary interest and importance. Nor is this interest solely the offspring and growth of modern times, for even in the earlier annals of our history we find that our rude ancestors bestowed more labour and money on the erection of piers and havens than the casual and desultory inquirer would be induced to believe. To this careful attention to the construction and repair of ports no inconsiderable portion of our maritime superiority is plainly owing; and it may be safely predicated, that from the moment when we cease to bestow attention on these, to us, imperious concerns, the decline and fall of our commerce may be surely dated. "To such of our readers as are not naval or seafaring, it is necessary we should state that a mile westward of Deal is the village of Upper Deal, opposite which lies that channel of the sea called the Downs. It is a safe and commodious roadstead of about eight miles in length, and six in width, excepting when a W.S.W. blows in the Goodwin Sands. On the opposite side of this channel, on a parallel line with Deal, are the Goodwin Sands, which are divided into two parts, though the channel or swatch between them is not navigable except by small boats. The length of these sands, from the south sandhead opposite Walmer Castle to the north opposite the North Foreland, is nearly ten miles, and the breadth nearly two. The material of which they are composed is soft, porous, and tenacious; and living experience goes to shew that should a ship of the largest size strike on the Goodwins, it would be so wholly swallowed up by the quicksands that in a few days no vestige of it would remain to be seen. Here millions upon millions of property have been swallowed up, and thousands of lives lost; and surely he who attempts to obviate, to remedy, or wholly to put a stop to these calamities, must be considered one of the greatest benefactors of the human race. When the water is off, these banks become hard and firm, but the moment the tide begins to cover them they are again soft, and shift to and fro with the waves, occasioning that redness of the water which is plainly discoverable from the town of Deal and the neighbouring shore. The immense losses sustained by the commerce of England on the Goodwins about half a century ago induced the Trinity House immediately afterwards to direct their attention to the practicability of erecting a lighthouse upon them. With this view they' sent down several experienced engineers, but these gentlemen deeming the design impracticable, it was given over. A floating light was, however, placed at the back of the North Sandhead, which, although of advantage, still leaves everything to desire, whether in relation to commerce, science, or humanity. It was not, however, till the latter end of the past, or the beginning of the present year, that Mr. Bush, civil engineer, actively engaged in the grand and humane undertaking. The idea, which he hopes in a very short time to see accomplished, had long indeed been floating in his mind, as will be seen in the evidence given by him before the Committee on Shipwrecks, of which Mr. J. S. Buckingham was chairman; but no practical steps had been taken to put it into action till within: the last few months. When, however, he secured the favourable attention of the Duke of Wellington, he commenced in right earnest, and caused to be made at Thorncliffe Ironworks, near Rotherham, in Yorkshire, the immense base or shaft of the pillar on which the Light of all Nations' is to be placed. Formed of cast iron, and hollow within, this base, or undershaft, on which the column is to be raised, is 64 feet in height and 30 feet in diameter, and above 100 feet in circumference. The base is 64 feet long, the column 86, and the summit, which is surmounted by a cast-iron statue of her most gracious Majesty, is 40 feet in length; the total altitude will therefore be 190 feet. The weight of the lower shaft alone is 120 tons! Mr. Bush proposes to sink it 30 feet below the sands, on a chalky substratum. "In this shaft there is a cell large enough to hold 100 men, with provisions, storehouses, magazines, &c.; and in the upper portion, or capital, if we may so call it, there is room for twenty men, whose attendance will be constantly necessary to manage the light.”—Times. The caisson will soon be floated to its place; indeed, it was expected it would have been finally fixed there on Wednesday, the 15th instant, but has been delayed for a few days. If the present undertaking prove successful, and there is every reason to hope it will, its great usefulness will manifest itself to every maritime country in the world, and hence it has been resolved that it shall be called "The Light of all Nations." The drawing of the accompanying engraving Mr. Bush has kindly executed for the benefit of the readers of "THE MIRROR." Original Communications. A DAY ON THE GLACIERS. Containing an account of an excursion to the "Jardin," at Chamounix. To the traveller in Switzerland, who, rebelling against the route prescribed by fashion via the Rhine, Basle, and Interlachen, makes Geneva his starting place, there are few views better calculated to call up his admiration and wonder than the first coup d'œil of the valley of Chamounix, either from its entrance, at the union of the paths which cross the Tête Noire and Col de Balme, or its eastern extremity, at the hamlet of Les Ouches. The wild sublimity of its scenery, and altitude of its surrounding mountains, the rich green pastures contrasting with the rugged peaks of granite which rise up amongst them, and the silvery richness and dazzling brilliancy of its glaciers, all tend to render the scene one of peculiar beauty; perhaps the more so, from its being the first of its kind after the long, monotonous journey from Paris to the Jura. There are six glaciers which descend into the valley of Chamounix from the heights of the mountains, which form its boundaries; and these are named from the villages near which they terminate-viz., Tacconay, Gris, Bossons, Bois, Tour, and Argentiere. The Glacier du Bois is by far the most considerable of these, and its upper part forms the celebrated Mer de Glace, which is so called from its alleged resemblance to a sea suddenly frozen and spell-bound in the midst of a raging tempest; the analogy is, however, not perfect: it might be more properly compared in shape to a vast ploughed field whose ridges varied from ten to twenty feet in height, intersected by deep transverse fissures in some places four hundred feet deep, such being the ascertained thickness of the ice in particular parts of this mighty glacier. A brief descriptive outline of a glacier, and its nature, may not be misplaced in the present narrative. The immense quantity of snow always accumulating on the summits of lofty mountains,-such, for instance, as those in question, gradually rushes down and impels the under mass towards the valleys that encompass them. This layer becomes consolidated into one vast field of ice, which seeks its own course between the mountains, and thawing as it descends to a warmer temperature, gives rise to a river, The traveller who visits the valley of Chamounix can undertake various highlyinteresting expeditions to the different glaciers and other celebrated spots in the vicinity of the village; but the excursion, which perhaps ranks next to the ascent of Mont Blanc in difficulty and hazard, at the same time combined with stupendous and appalling scenery, is to the "Jardin"-a small verdant patch in the centre of the Glacier de Talefre, amidst the perpetual snow, and 8500 feet above the level of the sea. The journey should not be undertaken but by persons of a steady brain and firm grasp, since there are some situations during the route where giddiness or nervous timidity might prove fatal. Although I had several times traversed the valley of Chamounix, it was not until the autumn of last year (1840) that I was tempted to visit this extraordinary spot. A gentleman, whom I met by chance at the Hotel de Londres, in the village, had given me so pleasing an account of the excursion, which he represented as teeming with wonder and excitement, that I determined the same night to endeavour to accomplish it, and by good fortune found two other tourists who were willing to accompany me. started from the dinner-table that same evening to secure our guides, learning that two were necessary, and were fortunate in securing Julian Devouassond for one, who accompanied Messrs. Durnford and Henderson in the fatal attempt to ascend Mont Blanc in 1825, and who also formed one of Mr. Auldjo's party in 1827. We The excursion occupies fifteen hours, ten of which are spent on the glacier. As we were anxious to accomplish it in one day, we had agreed to meet our guides not later than five the ensuing morning; and as the hour sounded from the church of Chamounix we left the village, intending to breakfast at Montanvert, an elevated pasturage, which overlooks the Mer de Glace. The ascent to this point occupies about two hours, and is very toilsome and steep. The path in some places is little more than a series of steep, awkward stairs, formed of smooth rock, over which, nevertheless, the mules, who carry ladies to Montanvert, contrive to clamber without accident. The track lies nearly the whole way through a forest of pines, which permit occasional glimpses of the valley below; and here and there the path traverses a fissure crowded with trunks of trees and the debris of the mountain, marking the devastation committed at a former period by a spring avalanche. About half way up, the traveller arrives at a clear spring of water bubbling from the rock, round which a few children are generally clustered, who offer milk and fruit, with specimens of local minerals, for sale. The fountain, which commands a lovely view of Chamounix, many hundred feet below, is celebrated as the spot where Florian composed the greater part of his story of Claudine. In about half an hour's walk from this point you first perceive the ice of the glacier sparkling amongst the trees that border it, and every now and then a large block, sliding from its resting-place, produces a noise resembling thunder. The journey to Montanvert alone is interesting to visitors; and although the road is not quite so smooth as the paths about our own English hills, yet it is but moderately fatiguing, and may be accomplished with no other guides than your own eyes and a plain Alpine mountain pole. We arrived at the first halting place a little after seven, and immediately ordered breakfast in the chalet which is built upon Montanvert, and overlooks the Mer de Glace and the stupendous Aiguilles on the other side. Whilst our meal of excellent coffee, bread, and honey, was preparing, I was amused at finding my name, which I had, with true English destructiveness, cut upon the door-post three years before, still uninjured, and followed by a sentence in pencil from some friends who had come there after me. There is an album kept here for visiters to write in, and my companions immediately inserted something of the same class as its usual absurdities. One of them, Dr. L-, a young Edinburgh physician, jestingly wrote, "We are just starting for the Jardin, and write this in case we never come back again (which appears very probable) to let our acquaintances know our address." He little thought at the time how narrowly he escaped the fate which he thus alluded to in joke! We despatched our meal in high spirits, and having waited for the guides to store their knapsacks with cold meat, wine, and small loaves, for our dinner on the glacier, we left the châlet at a quarter to eight, Devouassond leading the way, and the other guide following us. For two or three hundred yards the path skirted the glacier, and was tolerably pleasant walking, abounding in wild flowers, and covered by a deli cate heath. It then ascended the side of the mountain, running about one hundred feet above the glacier, and presently appeared to stop short at an enormous rock of smooth granite, called Le Pont, and forming one of the most dangerous passes in the excursion. I was contemplating the possibility of proceeding any further, when Devouassond, coolly exclaiming "Suivezmoi, Messieurs, s'il vous plait," laid hold of a projecting ledge, and springing like a chamois, set his foot in a small excavation barely three inches deep, from whence he crawled on to the face of the rock which overhung the glacier. It was a minute or two before I could collect sufficient nerve to follow him, nor were my fellow-travellers less timid. We however contrived, literally, to tread in his footsteps; and leaning towards the inclining face of the rock, with our iron-shod poles in our left hand, we crept cautiously onwards, never daring to look down upon the glacier, which was at an awful depth below us. I can compare the passage to nothing better than clinging sideways along the tiles of a steeply-pitched house, with no other footing or hold than occasional inequalities or ridges, and the certain prospect of being instantaneously dashed to pieces should these fail you. There are two of these awkward ledges to traverse-Le Grand, and Le Petit Pont, both of which are equally hazardous, and, I should think, in wet weather, almost impracticable. On quitting these rocks, which we did with no small gratification, we continued descending for some distance, and in about twenty minutes reached the edge of the glacier, or moraine, as it is termed a confused mass of blocks of granite, ice, and gravel, which is extremely troublesome, and indeed painful to traverse, from the insecure footing that it affords. There is no absolute danger, but you stand a chance of dislocating your ankles at every step, and the edges of the granite rocks are so sharp as to wound your hands, in the event of your slipping. Devouassond, as usual, went first; and where he saw a treacherous block, kicked it out of the way, and it went thundering down the edge of the moraine, generally training half a dozen others in its course. passed a crevice in the wall of lofty Aiguilles which rose on our right, called La Grande Cheminée, to which a melancholy interest is attached. A young Englishman, about eight years ago, was at Chamounix, with his wife, during their wedding tour. He was extremely fond of botany, and with the view of forming a dried collection of Alpine plants, had made an excursion from Montanvert to the base of the Aiguille de Charmoz, the lofty peak which rose over the point we were now traversing. He had been imprudent enough to venture to these wild heights without a guide; and in the endeavour, it We is presumed, to secure a fine specimen of the gentiana, lost his balance, and fell down to the moraine of the glacier, a height of two hundred and fifty feet. His body was not discovered until two days afterwards, when it was found by a party proceeding to the Jardin, still grasping the plant in his hand. It was a task of extreme difficulty to convey the body across Les Ponts, but the guides ultimately brought it to Chamounix, and the ill-fated young man was, I believe, subsequently buried at Lausanne. After an hour's severe labour, in which we several times left our shoes behind us in the clefts of the granite, we emerged from the moraine upon the glacier. It is here that the sagacity and hardihood of the guides is displayed. They appear to have a miraculous instinct in choosing a practicable route amongst its clefts, and leap over While moralizing thus, it looked around Here let me rest unmoved-where shadows haunt, land." Le Feuilleton : REINELM. the chasms that yawn on every side with a OR, THE SPIRIT OF FRENCH LITERATURE. boldness and certainty that is really wonderful. We passed several enormous rocks which had been split from the parent mountains by the force of storms or avalanches, and were now riding on the surface of the glacier. Devouassond told us, that in time, from the constant advance of the glacier, these blocks would come down to Chamounix; but this, of course, would be the journey of centuries. He added, that in his own recollection they had moved several yards. We were shewn, near one of them, a fearful hole in the ice, which the guides termed Le Moulin. Its depth was unknown; it had been plumbed to three hundred feet, and a torrent was roaring and chafing within it with a noise that was perfectly terrific. (To be continued.) ROMAULD THE POACHER. (Continued from p. 183.) ROMAULD remained horror-struck for several minutes, gazing on the corpse of his departed wife. When he left the bedside his countenance was pale and livid, and his eyes expressed the wildness of a disordered mind. Did she die of hunger? O maddening thought! Had no one in his absence called to give food and administer consolation to the afflicted Brigite. Yes, yes; some kind angel has been here! This bottle, which contains some cordial, testifies it. Romauld was awoke from his painful reverie by one of his neighbours-a poor woman, who entered; she who had attended his wife during his imprisonment. He ON SEEING A GRAVESTONE IN A blessed her for her kindness, and expressed SHRUBBERY. A GRAVESTONE in this unaccustom'd spot!- his sorrow that he had no other means of shewing his gratitude. After ascertaining the time and manner of Brigite's death, he hastened to the pastor of the village; and the good old man, saddened by the afflictions of Romauld, manifested a feeling heart by instantly providing for the interment of the poacher's wife. When Romauld had fulfilled the last sad duty to the remains of his departed Brigite, he sank down upon her grave, and the tears of sorrow gushed from his eyes, tears which Took my old honoured place! Ah! little thought helped to relieve the oppression that weighed The sculptor of my fate when he his name enwrought. "This stony-visaged cherub, could it say Their graves unmarked, save by the grassy mound; so heavily on his mind. Hours passed away, and he was still seated on the tomb, beneath which lay in death the being who had first lit up hope in his bosom; but now, the last rays of that blessed passion were for ever extinguished in the horizon of his life. Would he return to his chaumière? No, no; in it the hand of desolation had been at work-the soft voice of Brigite was no longer to be heard welcoming his return. Would he go to the town? No; the people would point at him, and whisper to their companions, "Look! there's Romauld, the flogged poacher !" Amidst such gloomy thoughts the unfortunate man, for the first time for several days, fell fast asleep-yes, on the cold turf he reposed, a living monument over the dead Brigite; his countenance,distracted even in sleep, speaking a language more powerful than that of the sculptured marble, and whispering to our hearts that man is selfish-that man is inhuman, to allow, in the land of plenty, a fellow creature to suffer from want. O that the purse-proud lordlings were forced to undergo, for one week only, the pangs of poverty to which hundreds of their worthy fellow countrymen are exposed, deprived of the means of extricating themselves! Perhaps then the poor might have justice perhaps then the rich would aid them, and sympathize with their sufferings, on reflecting on what they had themselves experienced. When Romauld awoke, he gazed around, fixed his eyes upon the grave of Brigite, brushed away the tear that started to his eye, and, clenching his hands, looked up to heaven, while an expression of deep revenge escaped from his lips. He rose, and hurried to his hut; then, kneeling on the threshold, vowed, with the intent of appeasing the departed spirit of his wife, that he would neither eat nor drink while the author of all his woes-he who had betrayed himlived. He went to the fireplace for his gun, having forgotten that he had thrown it away the day previous to his being taken prisoner; but, on not finding it, he drew forth a dagger which he had secreted near the chimney, and left the hut. For some time he went prowling about the woods, in search of Roger, carrying in his looks defiance and hatred; and when hunger assailed him, instead of diverting his mind from the hated object, it seemed rather to increase his feeling of revenge. On his way he saw two women seated on the grass, enjoying a frugal repast; he fixed his eyes upon them, would fain have asked a mouthful, but remembering his oath, passed on. At last he reached the middle of the forest, where there was a narrow and solitary passage, which the gamekeeper usually traversed on his way home. "I will hide here," Romauld said; "he must pass in this direction." To satisfy this dreadful passion-revenge, which may be truly termed the genius of evil-the poacher waited patiently the approach of the gamekeeper; and when his eye, which was earnestly fixed upon the road, caught a glance of his betrayer, he prepared for the dreadful attack. Roger, far from dreading danger, was quietly proceeding homeward, when a strong hand grasped him by the throat, and a moment afterwards he lay stretched at the feet of the poacher. Roger called for assistance, and made several efforts to disengage himself; but the gripe of a man dead to all other feeling save revenge was upon him, and it would have been as easy for the hawk to escape from the talons of the vulture as the gamekeeper to free himself from the hands of the poacher. The latter, transported with a savage joy, burst into a fit of laughter, which reverberated in the heart of the gamekeeper like the knell which announces to the criminal that the gates of eternity are opening to him, when doubt and fear rack his soul, as he takes a last fond look of this worldrendered, by his being hurried from it, truly beautiful—and steps into the fearful gulf that leads to the abode of mystery. The poacher seized his dagger, and was preparing to strike, when his eye rested upon the pale countenance of the trembling gamekeeper, which seemed to say, "Thou art an assassin, and I die by the hands of a coward." Romauld threw the dagger from him. "True, true," he said-" there must be blood drawn; but though you took advantage of me, I will deal fairly with you." At that instant he seized a piece of wood, broke it in two, and presenting one half to Roger, exclaimed, "Take this-now, for life or death!" There never was a fight between two men of a more desperate nature; both were powerful and well skilled in giving and parrying off blows, and the fear of death to the one, and the deep-rooted revenge of the other, stimulated them to the greatest exertions. With amazing rapidity blows were dealt on both sides, and the blood began to stream down their faces. Roger defended himself with the energy of despair, and used his utmost dexterity in warding off the blows; but Romauld was not only more skilful, but at this moment possessed superhuman strength, and his oft-repeated_blow carried with it deadly effect. At last Roger fell upon his knees, and Romauld grasped his stick with both hands, raised it above the head of the gamekeeper, who shrank from the pending blow, in calling for mercy; but the former, unheeding-or perhaps not hearing him, struck him on the head; his skull was fractured, and the gamekeeper breathed his last. The poacher for a few minutes gazed upon his victim with delight, but his vengeance was soon satiated, and his eye, instead of beaming with joy, expressed horror at the crime which he had committed. He now saw that the fruit of revenge was remorse-that vengeance entails misery and woe; he looked at his blood-stained hauds, then at |