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too, had I been the victim of doubt. Perhaps, after
all, Maumee had never loved me!

Many a sore heart had I suffered from this reflec-
tion. I could now bear it with more complacency;
and yet, singular to say, it was this very reflection
that often awakened the memory of Maumee; and,
whenever I dwelt upon it, produced the strongest
revulsions of my now spasmodic love!

Wounded vanity! powerful as passion itself! thy throes are strong as love. Under their influence, the chandeliers grow dim, and the fair forms flitting beneath lose half their brilliant beauty. My thoughts go back to the flowery land-to the lake-to the island -to Maümee.

Five years soon flitted past, and the period of my
With some credit, I went
cadetship was fulfilled.
through the ordeal of the final examination. A high
number rewarded my application, and gave me the
choice of whatever arm of the service was most to my
liking. I had a penchant for the rifles, though I might
have pitched higher, into the artillery, the cavalry,
or engineers. I chose the first, however, and was
gazetted brevet-lieutenant, and appointed to a rifle
regiment, with leave of absence to revisit my native
home.

At this time, my sister had also 'graduated' at the
Ladies' Academy, and carried off her 'diploma' with
credit;
and together we journeyed home.
There was no father to greet us on our return: a
weeping and widowed mother alone spoke the melan-
choly welcome.

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THE SEMINOLES.

On my return to Florida, I found that the cloud of
It would
war was gathering over my native land.
soon burst, and my first essay in military life would
be made in the defence of hearth and home. I was
not unprepared for the news. War is always the theme
of interest within the walls of a military college; and
in no place are its probabilities and prospects so fully
discussed or with so much earnestness.

For a period of ten years had the United States
been at peace with all the world. The iron hand of
'Old Hickory' had awed the savage foe of the fron-
tiers. For more than ten years had the latter desisted
from his chronic system of retaliation, and remained
silent and still. But the pacific statu quo came to an
end. Once more the red man rose to assert his rights,
and in a quarter most unexpected. Not on the fron-
tier of the far west,' but in the heart of the flowery
land. Yes, Florida was to be the theatre of operations
-the stage on which this new war-drama was to be
enacted.

A word historical of Florida, for this writing is
in truth a history.

In 1821, the Spanish flag disappeared from the ramparts of San Augustine and St Marks, and Spain yielded up possession of this fair province-one of her last footholds upon the continent of America. Literally, it was but a foothold that the Spaniards held in Florida-a mere nominal possession. Long before the cession, the Indians had driven them from the field into the fortress. Their haciendas lay in ruins-their horses and cattle ran wild upon the savannas; and rank weeds usurped the site of their once prosperous plantations. During a century of dominion, they had made many a fair settlement, and the ruins of buildings-far more massive than aught yet attempted by their Saxon successors-attest the former glory and power of the Spanish nation.

It was not destined that the Indians should long hold the country they had thus reconquered. Another race of white men-their equals in courage and

strength-were moving down from the north; and it
was easy prophecy to say that the red conquerors
must in turn yield possession.

Once already had they met in conflict with the pale-
faced usurpers, led on by that stern soldier who now
sat in the chair of the president. They were defeated,
and forced further south, into the heart of the land-
the centre of the peninsula. There, however, they
were secured by treaty. A covenant solemnly made,
and solemnly sworn to, guaranteed their right to the
soil, and the Seminole was satisfied.

Alas! the covenants between the strong and the weak are things of convenience, to be broken whenever the former wills it-in this case, shamefully broken.

White adventurers settled along the Indian border; they wandered over Indian ground-not wandered, but went; they looked upon the land; they saw that it was good-it would grow rice and cotton, and cane and indigo, the olive and orange; they desired to possess it, more than desired-they resolved it should be theirs.

There was a treaty, but what cared they for treaties? Adventurers-starved-out planters from Georgia and the Carolinas, nigger-traders' from all parts of the south; what were covenants in their eyes, especially when made with red-skins? The treaty must be got rid of.

The 'Great Father,' scarcely more scrupulous than they, approved their plan.

"Yes,' said he, it is good-the Seminoles must be shall find them a home in the west, on the great plains; dispossessed; they must remove to another land; we there they will have wide hunting-grounds, their own for ever.'

'No,' responded the Seminoles; we do not wish to move; we are contented here: we love our native land; we do not wish to leave it; we shall stay.'

'Then you will not go willingly? Be it so. We are strong, you are weak; we shall force you.'

Though not the letter, this is the very spirit of the reply which Jackson made to the Seminoles!

The world has an eye, and that eye requires to be satisfied. Even tyrants dislike the open breach of treaties. In this case, political party was more thought of than the world, and a show of justice became necessary.

The Indians remained obstinate-they liked their own land-they were reluctant to leave it-no wonder. Some pretext must be found to dispossess them. The old excuse, that they were mere idle hunters, and The Seminole was not exclusively a made no profitable use of the soil, would scarcely avail. It was not true. hunter; he was a husbandman as well, and tilled the That land-rudely, it may be, but was this a reason for dispossessing him?

Without this, others were easily found. cunning commissioner which their 'Great Father' sent them could soon invent pretexts. He was one who well knew the art of muddying the stream upwards, and well did he practise it.

The country was soon filled with rumours of Indian outrages-of horses and cattle stolen, of plantations plundered, of white travellers robbed and murderedall the work of those savage Seminoles.

A vile frontier press, ever ready to give tongue to the popular furor, did not fail in its duty of exaggeration.

But who was to gazette the provocations, the retaliations, the wrongs and cruelties inflicted by the A sentiment was soon created throughout the other side? All these were carefully concealed. country-a sentiment of bitter hostility towards the Seminole.

'Kill the savage! Hunt him down! Drive him out! Away with him to the west!' Thus was the sentiment expressed. These became the popular cries.⚫

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When the people of the United States has a wish, it is likely soon to seek gratification, particularly when that wish coincides with the views of its government; in this case, it did so-the government itself having created it.

It would be easy, all supposed, to accomplish the popular will, to dispossess the savage, hunt him, drive him out. Still there was a treaty. The world had an eye, and there was a thinking minority not to be despised who opposed this clamorous desire. The treaty could not be broken under the light of day; how, then, was this obstructive covenant to be got rid of?

Call the head men together, cajole them out of it; the chiefs are human, they are poor, some of them drunkards-bribes will go far, fire-water still further; make a new treaty, with a double construction-the ignorant savages will not understand it; obtain their signatures-the thing is done!

Crafty commissioner! yours is the very plan, and you the man to execute it.

It was done. On the 9th of May 1832, on the banks of the Oclawaha, the chiefs of the Seminole nation in full council assembled bartered away the land of their fathers!

Such was the report given to the world.

It was not true.

It was not a full council of chiefs; it was an assembly of traitors bribed and suborned, of weak men flattered and intimidated. No wonder the nation refused to accede to this surreptitious covenant; no wonder they heeded not its terms; but had to be summoned to still another council, for a freer and fuller signification of their consent.

It soon became evident that the great body of the Seminole nation repudiated the treaty. Many of the chiefs denied having signed it. The head chief, Onopa, denied it. Some confessed the act, but declared they had been drawn into it by the influence and advice of others. It was only the more powerful leaders of clans-as the brothers Omatla, Black Clay, and Big Warrior-who openly acknowledged the signing.

These last became objects of jealousy throughout the tribes; they were regarded as traitors, and justly so. Their lives were in danger; even their own retainers disapproved of what they had done.

To understand the position, it is necessary to say a word of the political status of the Seminoles. Their government was purely republican—a thorough democracy. Perhaps in no other community in the world did there exist so perfect a condition of freedom: I might add happiness, for the latter is but the natural offspring of the former. Their state has been compared with that of the clans of Highland Scotland. The parallel is true only in one respect. Like the Gael, the Seminoles were without any common organisation. They lived in 'tribes' far apart, each politically independent of the other; and although in friendly relationship, there was no power of coercion between them. There was a 'head-chief'-king he could not be called-for 'Mico,' his Indian title, has not that signification. The proud spirit of the Seminole had never sold itself to so absurd a condition; they had not yet surrendered up the natural rights of man. It is only after the state of nature has been perverted and abased, that the 'kingly' element becomes strong among a people.

The head mico' of the Seminoles was only a head in name. His authority was purely personal: he had no power over life or property. Though occasionally the wealthiest, he was often one of the poorest of his people. He was more open than any of the others to the calls of philanthropy, and ever ready to disburse with free hand, what was, in reality, not his people's, but his own. Hence he rarely grew rich.

He was surrounded by no retinue, girt in by no

barbarian pomp or splendour, flattered by no flunkey courtiers, like the rajahs of the east, or, on a still more costly scale, the crowned monarchs of the west. On the contrary, his dress was scarcely conspicuous, often meaner than those around him. Many a common warrior was far more gaillard than he. As with the head-chief, so with the chieftains of tribes; they possessed no power over life or property; they could not decree punishment. A jury alone could do this; and I make bold to affirm, that the punishments among these people were in juster proportion to the crimes than those decreed in the highest courts of civilisation.

It was a system of the purest republican freedom, without one idea of the levelling principle; for merit produced distinction and authority. Property was not in common, though labour was partially so; but this community of toil was a mutual arrangement, agreeable to all. The ties of family were as sacred and strong as ever existed upon the earth.

And these were savages forsooth-red savages, to be dispossessed of their rights-to be driven from hearth and home-to be banished from their beautiful land to a desert wild, to be shot down and hunted like beasts of the field! The last in its most literal sense, for dogs were to be employed in the pursuit!

CHAPTER XIX.

AN INDIAN HERO.

There were several reasons why the treaty of the Oclawaha could not be considered binding on the Seminole nation. First, it was not signed by a majority of the chiefs. Sixteen chiefs and sub-chiefs appended their names to it. There were five times this number in the nation.

Second, it was, after all, no treaty, but a mere conditional contract-the conditions being that a deputation of Seminoles should first proceed to the lands allotted in the west (upon White River), examine these lands, and bring back a report to their people. The very nature of this condition proves that no contract for removal could have been completed, until the exploration had been first accomplished.

The examination was made. Seven chiefs, accompanied by an agent, journeyed to the far west, and made a survey of the lands.

Now, mark the craft of the commissioner! These seven chiefs are nearly all taken from those friendly to the removal. We find among them both the Omatlas, and Black Clay. True, there is Hoitle-mattee (jumper), a patriot, but this brave warrior is stricken with the Indian curse-he loves the fire-water; and his propensity is well known to Phagan, the agent, who accompanies them.

A ruse is contemplated, and is put in practice. The deputation is hospitably entertained at Fort Gibson, on the Arkansas. Hoitle-mattee is made merry-the contract for removal is spread before the seven chiefs-they all sign it: the juggle is complete.

But even this was no fulfilment of the terms of the Oclawaha covenant. The deputation was to return with their report, and ask the will of the nation. That was yet to be given; and, in order to obtain it, a new council of all the chiefs and warriors must be summoned.

It was to be a mere formality. It was well known that the nation as a body disapproved of the facile conduct of the seven chiefs, and would not endorse it. They were not going to 'move.'

This was the more evident, since other conditions of the treaty were daily broken. One of these was the restoration of runaway slaves, which the signers of the Oclawaha treaty had promised to send back to their owners. No blacks were sent back; on the contrary,

they now found refuge among the Indians more secure than ever.

The commissioner knew all this. He was calling the new council out of mere formality. Perhaps he might persuade them to sign-if not, he intended to awe them into the measure, or force them at the point of the bayonet. He had said as much. Troops were concentrating at the agency-Fort King-and others were daily arriving in Tampa Bay. The government had taken its measures; and coercion was resolved upon. I was not ignorant of what was going on, nor of all that had happened during my long years of absence. My comrades, the cadets, were well versed in Indian affairs, and took a lively interest in them-especially those who expected soon to escape from the college walls. 'Black Hawk's war,' just terminated in the west, had already given some a chance of service and distinction, and young ambition was now bending its eyes upon Florida.

The idea, however, of obtaining glory in such a war was ridiculed by all. 'It would be too easy a warthe foe was not worth considering. A mere handful of savages,' asserted they; 'scarcely enough of them to stand before a single company. They would be either killed or captured in the first skirmish, one and all of them-there was not the slightest chance of their making any protracted resistance-unfortunately, there

was not.'

Such was the belief of my college-companions; and, indeed, the common belief of the whole country, at that time. The army, too, shared it. One officer was heard to boast that he could march through the whole Indian territory with only a corporal's guard at his back; and another, with like bravado, wished that the government would give him a charter of the war, on his own account. He would finish it for 10,000 dollars!

These only expressed the sentiments of the day. No one believed that the Indians would or could sustain a conflict with us for any length of time; indeed, there were few who could be brought to think that they would resist at all: they were only holding out for better terms, and would yield before coming to blows.

For my part, I thought otherwise. I knew the Seminoles better than most of those who talked-I knew their country better; and, notwithstanding the odds against them-the apparent hopelessness of the struggle-I had my belief that they would neither yield to disgraceful terms, nor yet be so easily conquered. Still, it was but a conjecture; and I might be wrong. I might be deserving the ridicule which my opposition to the belief of my comrades often brought upon me.

The newspapers made us acquainted with every circumstance. Letters, too, were constantly received at the 'Point' from old graduates now serving in Florida. Every detail reached us, and we had become acquainted with the names of many of the Indian chieftains, as well as the internal politique of the tribe. It appeared they were not united. There was a party in favour of yielding to the demands of our government, headed by one Omatla. This was the traitor party, and a minority. The patriots were more numerous, including the head 'mico' himself, and the powerful chiefs Holata, Coa-hajo, and the negro Abram.

Among the patriots there was one name that, upon the wings of rumour, began to take precedence of all others. It appeared frequently in the daily prints, and in the letters of our friends. It was that of a young warrior—or sub-chief, as he was styled-who by some means or other had gained a remarkable ascendency in the tribe. He was one of the most violent opponents of the 'removal;' in fact, the leading spirit that opposed it; and chiefs much older and more powerful were swayed by his counsel.

We cadets much admired this young man. He was described as possessing all the attributes of a hero-of noble aspect, bold, handsome, intelligent. Both his physical and intellectual qualities were spoken of in terms of praise-almost approaching to hyperbole. His form was that of an Apollo, his features those of Adonis or Endymion. He was first in everything-the best shot in his nation, the most expert swimmer and rider-the swiftest runner, and most successful hunter -alike eminent in peace or war-in short, a Cyrus.

There were Xenophons enough to record his fame. The people of the United States had been long at peace with the red men. The romantic savage was far away from their borders. It was rare to see an Indian within the settlements, or hear aught of them. There had been no late deputations from the tribes to gratify the eyes of gazing citizens; and a real curiosity had grown up in regard to these children of the forest. An Indian hero was wanted, and this young chief appeared to be the man. His name was ОÇEOLA.

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WOMEN and children!-what a sight
Was there when, gathered to her breast
After their bloody breathless flight,
Calcutta bade the victims rest!
Strong men, with voices weak and low,
Stood by to ask their names, their woe.

Some answered but with choking sighs
And wringing hands; and some stood there
Heedless, with their unconscious eyes
Fixed in a blank and ghostlike stare;
Some told their tale in screams, and some
Covered their faces and were dumb.

One of the throng, a little child,
A fair-haired girl, was all alone;
No mother on her darling smiled,
No brother spoke in cheering tone:
All, all alone, with eyes serene,
She gazed upon that strange sad scene.

They came to her, these pitying men,
And one beside her knelt, and took
The orphan to his breast, and then,
With gentle voice, and gentler look,
'Dear child, what is your name?' he cried:
'I'm mamma's pet,' the child replied.

The wild moustache, the rough black beard
Quivered upon her golden head

He laid his broad brown hand, and cleared
His husky throat: 'Poor child,' he said,
'You are called something more—say yet
Your name.'-'I'm just mamma's sweet pet.'
O mother in your dismal grave,
O murdered father, hear us vow
Our homage to the fond and brave
To lavish on that baby brow,
To pay in love our sacred debt-
For yours shall be the Nation's pet!

EDINBURGH.

L. R.

Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON, and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH. Also sold by WILLIAM ROBERTSON, 23 Upper Sackville Street, DUBLIN, and all Booksellers.

OF POPULAR

LITERATURE

Science and Arts.

CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS.

No. 214.

SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 6, 1858.

PORTLAND AND THE BREAKWATER. NOTWITHSTANDING the proverbial gloom of November, the sun shone as brightly as though nature did not believe the almanac, when, a few days since, we found ourselves on board a Weymouth steamer, bound for Portland. The voyage, it is true, was expected to occupy only half an hour; still, it was a very pleasant thing to have fair weather.

The Bay of Weymouth looked extremely picturesque on that occasion. The long line of white cliffs, with their broken headlands, seemed almost to landlock the bay. It chanced, fortunately, that the incident of light and colouring was peculiarly beautiful and varied. The sky was, in truth, heavenly azure, diversified with soft white clouds, changing every moment under the influence of the plastic wind, which dallied with the sky drapery till its fashion was all beautiful. The blue sea was covered with a tracery of dancing gold spangles, and the white-crested waves rode cheerily into the shore, giving life and animation to the whole

scene.

As we receded from the shore, the different objects of interest in the neighbourhood of Weymouth were pointed out to us. The moors, treeless, but green and undulating, have here and there oases of luxuriant verdure; and under shelter of the hillside, villages nestle themselves, as at Preston and Osmington, with a picturesque church for warden of the happy valley. | It was very interesting to watch the cloud-shadows, chasing each other over the wide expanse of down; now throwing the cliffs into dark and bold relief against the bright sky, and now revealing in intensest sunlight every detail of broken rock and shelving shore, every hue of colour, every change of sand and shingle, and far-stretching sunken ledges. more like a good water-colour drawing than almost anything English we had ever looked upon.

It was

Ringstead and Lullworth, we were told, are places of interest. St Albans Head was the extreme point discernible. We soon rounded that part of the mainland which unfortunately shuts out the view of Portland from the town of Weymouth, and now we found ourselves in sight of the island, which rises rather grandly from the water. Many persons have compared it to Gibraltar; and as it appeared on this occasion, its height was exaggerated by a lingering mist which veiled its summit.

The island has naturally a very warlike look; and now a substantial fort, in course of erection, is cresting the near extremity-a commanding position, and one of great importance in guarding the roadstead.

PRICE 14d.

Portland is the 'Chesil Bank,' which in reality unites it with the mainland; so that the isle of Portland is in fact a peninsula. Still, we cannot help holding by its common designation. The bank we have just mentioned is a mound of shingle, about two hundred yards in width, and more than ten miles in length; nearly, but not quite touching the nearest point of the opposite shore, and then 'running up in the form of a narrow isthmus along the western seaboard of Dorsetshire.' This singular formation, which is about forty feet above highwater-mark, acts as a natural breakwater to the anchorage of Portland Roads, sheltering the east bay against westerly gales.

'The shingle of the Chesil Bank,' says Mr Coode, in his admirable paper read before the Institution of Civil Engineers in May 1853, 'is composed chiefly of chalkflints, with a small proportion of pebbles from the red sandstone. . . . A peculiar kind of jasper with fleshcoloured red predominating, is not very uncommon. ... There are also occasionally pebbles which are decidedly porphyritic. . . . As a proof of the solidity of the mass, it may here be noticed that the water never percolates from the west bay into the east bay, except in the heaviest gales from the south-west-notwithstanding that ordinary tides in moderate weather rise to two or three inches higher, and fall out two feet nine inches lower on the west side than the east.'

The questions which arise respecting this formation are highly interesting, and are closely followed out in the paper from which we quote. When we come to examine the materials which compose the accumulated mass, we are led by geologists to trace back their origin to strata which would naturally afford this débris; and, according to the shewing of Mr Coode, such strata are not to be found save on the west coast, as far down as Lyme-Regis. Accepting this fact, we are led to reason on the movements and deposition of shingle, and to balance probabilities between the effect of tidal currents or wind-waves upon these travelling masses.

The theory that the wind-waves are the primary cause of the transit of débris from distant strata, is ably supported by Mr Coode. He multiplies instances of shingle borne by the heaviest seas in opposition to the prevailing current of the tide. The form of the bank varies considerably under the influence of severe gales of wind; the concussion of the receding meeting the on-coming wave is sometimes so great, 'that an enormous body of broken water and spray will sometimes rise perpendicularly into the air to a height of sixty or seventy feet.'

There is a curious anecdote connected with the force One of the most remarkable features connected with of winds and waves, which may not be known to all

our readers. On the 23d of November 1824, a ship of 100 tons burden, having on board stores and heavy guns, being unable to weather Portland, as a last resource, was run directly on to the Chesil Bank under She happened to come in on the top of a sea, and by her momentum was carried on to the crest of the bank, where she remained for some time, and was ultimately launched into the eastern bay.'

canvas.

We found an hour had already flown in listening to local traditions, and in examining this curious shinglebeach, which so happily forms a natural breakwater just in the right place. We could not, however, leave the place without noticing the local boats, called 'lerrets,' which are used by the fishermen of this district. They are quite peculiar, and are propelled by the rowers on one side pulling stroke alternately with those on the other, thus giving the boat a tortuous motion through the water.' The fishermen consider this method economises power. Certain it is, they are a hardy race, and manage their barks most skilfully.

Till lately, the Portlanders have been an isolated people, preserving many old-world customs, and never marrying out of the island; but their primitive habits and manners have been invaded by the march of physical science and the mechanical arts, which sometimes drive in civilisation with a sledge-hammer, where the soil will not take kindly to the seed.

Apropos of engineering triumphs, we now bend our steps to the breakwater, which is being constructed at Portland, and is the great object of attraction. Leaving the Chesil Bank to the right, the visitor proceeds along the shore for some quarter of a mile, through a 'Pelion upon Ossa' of stone, iron, and miscellaneous materials, when arriving at the lodge, his name is required, and he is then free to see the works.

At present, the whole place is encumbered by a vast wooden staging, over which railway lines intersect each other; together with the tools and appliances required by engineers, masons, smiths, carpenters, divers, and others. Horses tramp along the wooden causeway, steam-engines hiss and roar, iron chains clank, and wheels revolve with ceaseless noise.

At first, it is difficult to realise what all this is about, but curiosity soon leads you onward where the tide of business seems tending.

Here it may be well to say a few words about the history of the breakwater. About 1794 it occurred to Mr Hervey of Weymouth, who was evidently a very intelligent and far-sighted individual, that it would be highly desirable to have a breakwater for the purpose of sheltering the Portland Roads. It was a fixed idea in his mind, and he appears to have pursued the subject with an earnestness worthy of the cause. He memorialised and petitioned all to no use, and died, leaving his suggestion a legacy to parliament, who very wisely came to the conclusion, some ten years ago, that this coast required a harbour, and that the tremendous works of a similar kind at Cherbourg were a significant hint. The breakwater was accordingly commenced in 1847; but the ceremony of laying the foundation-stone did not take place till the 25th of July 1849, when that duty was performed by the prince-consort.

The breakwater is designed to be 2500 yards in length, and will shelter 2107 acres of Portland Bay1760 acres of which will have from two to ten fathoms at low-water spring-tides, having excellent anchorage in a strong blue clay, with other advantages of good water, and an almost inexhaustible supply of ballast. It appears that a great many vessels have been lost, and lives sacrificed on this coast, owing to the want of a harbour of refuge-for none such exists between Plymouth and Spithead, a distance of 140 miles.

There are peculiar facilities in the locality for the construction of this great work. The quarries of

Portland afford a ready supply of material. There were millions of tons of refuse stone already quarried, and available for the foundation of the breakwater, which, together with the blocks of stone required for the superstructure, might be easily conveyed to the works.

We should here remind our readers that government has a prison establishment at Portland, where some 1500 convicts are kept employed, principally in the quarries which supply the material for this great undertaking.

The stone is being worked at about 300 feet above the level of the sea, and is conveyed by convict and horse labour to a railway which has been constructed for its transit. This line consists of three inclines, which fall one foot in ten. 'The loaded trucks are let down by wire-rope attached to drums, and in their descent draw up the empty trucks on a parallel line of railway; the speed is regulated by very powerful screw-breaks.' A self-registering machine weighs each load. The official report of the year ending the 31st of March 1857, from which we quote our statistics of the breakwater, informs us that 2,667,907 tons of rough stone have been deposited since the commencement of the works-this will give us some idea of their magnitude. The proximity of these quarries has considerably lessened the expense in the construction of the breakwater. Cherbourg cost the French government upwards of two millions-five millions have been expended altogether on that porte. And our own Plymouth Breakwater, though only 1760 yards in length, cost nearly if not quite two millions; whereas the original estimate made in 1846 for the Portland Breakwater was between five and six hundred thousand pounds. (This, however, did not include any masonry except that in the 'heads.') It has since been deemed expedient to extend the structure, and also to make it applicable for coaling and watering establishments, suitable for the largest ships of the navy; these additions, together with other enlargements upon the original plan, have brought the net estimated expenditure to L.844,125.

The scaffolding, or, more properly, staging, reaches at present about two-thirds of the projected extent of the breakwater: on this we walked. About a quarter of a mile from shore it is intended there should be an opening large enough to admit vessels into the harbour. The pier-heads at this point are nearly finished, and present a most resistant appearance. They are, for the most part, built of a peculiar kind of stone found in Portland, and called 'Roach' by the quarrymen; the outside or face of the heads being of large masses of granite from Cornwall. These piers seem planted immutably firm in the restless element which leaps vainly against this rampart of mechanical skill.

The tide was down, so we had an opportunity of seeing the footing or foundation, which is composed of rude pieces of rock, intermixed with rubble. For some distance, this is already covered with sea-weed, so that it has much the appearance of a natural ledge of rock; but as you proceed, you soon discover the hand of man. You see that the pieces have been recently flung there, and there is evidence of form growing out of chaos. We remarked a singularly fine specimen of an ammonite amongst the débris, nearly the circumference of a cart-wheel, and beautifully perfect. We looked with longing eyes, and wished it in our provincial museum; and this, though the finest fossil we saw, was by no means solitary, for scraps of the ammonite family lay in various directions.

The timber-staging, we should observe, is about 130 feet in width. There are five lines of railway on it, and a railed way for workmen and visitors. This mass of timber-work is supported at intervals by enormous wooden piles, which, as we were told, are constructed in the following manner. The piles end

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