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in the well to a considerable height, even in many cases to overflow the surface. But all communication between the wa. ter in the well and the lead-colored clay (at the back of the steening) must be prevented, or the water in the well will soon become impregnated with the bad qualities of the clay. Though that aptitude, in this clay, to spoil water, is in a great measure prevented, in such wells as have the water rise so much as to overflow in a full stream; and that would generally be the case in low situations, if the well-diggers were to compleat their steening to the stratum of shells, and then depend on boring one large auger-hole, through the marine stratum, into the sand which lies under it.

This formation of clay has been dug through in sinking wells at Clapham, Stockwell, Brixton, Norwood, and other places on the north-east side of Surrey, as well as at many places in Middlesex.

The road now digging through Highgate-hill is wholly in this clay, and the works at that place have brought to light many petrifactions. Among the rest was a tree thirty or forty feet below the surface, which evidently shewed that worms had eaten their way through it in every direction, and that the cavities occasioned by them are nearly filled with mineral matter.

A few months ago an elephant's tusk was found in this clay, not far below the surface of it, by the workmen employed in Mr. Hobson's brick-field at Kingsland, about a mile on the north side of Shoreditch Church, London. This tusk is rather thicker and more bent,but not longer, than those of the living animals at this time.

5. A stratum of shells, pebbles, and sand.

A bed of shells, consisting of oysters and cockles, though mostly the former, sometimes whole, but more frequently in fragments. These shells are cemented together by the lead-colored London clay, and the glutinous remains of fish. They compose a layer of two or three feet in thickness. Under that there is generally eight or ten feet of a che nutcolored loan, containing a few sea sheils, reposing upon another bed of compact shells a foot or two. The whole of this formation is about twelve or fifteen feet in thickness.

This bed of shells has been seen in many places, but it is not supposed to exist universally; for instance, it does not appear in the pits for fire-clay at

Ewell, nor in those for tobacco-pipe clay in Purbeck. But I believe it is invariably found under the London clay, in sinking wells of considerable depth in Middlesex and Surrey. In the place of these shells at Ewell, where they were expected to basset, or rise gradually to the surface, I found the fire-clay, in two or three layers of different qualities, rising from under the edge of the London clay. The uppermost of these beds is of a reddish or ruddy color, with blue veins. The next is a bed of clay, about three feet thick, not much unlike fullers-earth, and this rests upon sand of a similar brown color. That is, the lowest bed of this fire-clay lies upon the upper bed of Blackheath sand, beneath which may be seen the lower bed of white sand, and under that the chalk. These beds of clay and sand, mixed in various ways and proportions, are manufactured into tiles and bricks, for ovens, furnaces, and other fire-places, where a great degree of heat is to be withstood. I repeat that the foregoing fire clay rests upon the Blackheath-sand, which forms the immediate covering of chalk.

A short account of the Norden Clay Pits in Purbeck, owing to their pro ducing great quantities of the best pipeclay, may be here properly introduced. This clay is in a similar situation to the fire-clay at Ewell. The pits are dug in a tract of barren land, and situated about one mile north-west from Corfe Castle. Mr. Fail is said to be the proprietor of the clay; and Mr. Morton Pitt, of the royalty. A section of one of the pits exhibits the following appearance. 1st. Vegetable mould, a peat earth, producing heath 2nd White clay and sand, in patches

3rd. Sand, stained with iron, of a

chesnut color

4th. Iron sand-stone 5th. Ash-colored clay, with patches of coal. This color may be attributed to the stain of the coal.

1 ft. thick

5 ft. thick

10 ft. thick 1 ft. thick

10 ft. thick

6th Coal, stained, in patches, with white clay. This coal is said to be unfit for domestic use, owing to its sulphureous smell. 3 ft. thick 7th. Pipe clay, white and compact, in two beds; divided by a layer of chocolate-colored clay, one foot thick; the lower bed is esteemed the best,

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17 ft. thick

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coal, as well as the coal itself, are sho- price of about two thousand pounds per

velled into the pits and wasted.

8th, Sandy clay of the same
white color as the best; it is
nearly dry to three feet deep,
and below that the springs pre-
vent any deeper search, 3 ft. thick.
Upwards of twenty men are employed
in two pits to dig this clay, and several
waggons to draw it to the place of expor-
tation. The saleable clay is carried off
by an iron railway, three or four miles in
length, to Middle-Beer, where it is ship.
ped for London and other places.

This clay is on the north side of a lofty chalk down, towards which it ascends and feathers out so as to be lost, at one hundred yards or more from the skirt of

the down.

The coal which covers this clay obviously originated from timber and other wood; the specimens submitted to examination were found to contain a portion of mundic and sulphur.

Blackheath sand lies under the foregoing bed of marine shells. The upper part of this formation consists of pebbles of the size of horse-beans, marbles, and walnuts; they are of many colors, and vary in depth from a foot or two, to ten, fifteen, or twenty feet. They form the surface at Blackheath, Woolwich, and other places in Kent, as well as on Shirley common, Addington-hills, and Croomhurst, in Surrey; and they are to be seen in many other places. The pebbles are nearly free from earthy mixture, and,

where they form the surface of the soil, it is extremely unproductive. Loose sand lies immediately under them; it is of a fawn color, and ten or fifteen feet in thickness; beneath that is thirty or forty feet of sand, nearly white, which is dug in the pits of Mr. Mawberly, at Shirley, in Surrey, but only to the depth of fifteen feet for the use of masons, glass-cutters, and household purposes; it continues to a greater depth, but the rest of it is drowned in water.

At these pits, the vegetable mould, and pebbles to be removed from off the sand, is barely three feet thick. The whole is dug at a very small expense, and, as it is sold at the pit at the high rate of eighteen shillings, for a three-horse cartload, it must be a most profitable application of land, otherwise extremely bad and unproductive. The work is continued daily; and this rate of sale is calculated to produce the astonishing high

Such as ashes, cream, cornelian, &c.

acre.

Under London, and in the neighbourhood of that city, as well as wherever this formation happens to be in a low situation, it is full of water; but, where it rises to the surface, it is dry sand. A fine section of it, upon chalk, may be seen in a large pit at Upper Greenwich, very near Blackheath, in Kent. It may also be seen to rest upon chalk, on the south side of Addington-hills, Croomhurst, and other places in Surrey. The sandy part of this formation lies between the fire-clay and the chalk in Mr. Waghorn's brick and tile fields, on the side of the roads at the east end of Ewell; it is believed to lie under the pipe-clay of Purbeck, but in these places the pebbles are found to be missing. It also rises from under the lead-colored clay of London, and forms the surface across the middle of the Isle of Wight, in a direction from east to west. It is found in the same position in Studland Bay, Purbeck, but it is not universally found upon chalk; as the places are very numerous in which different shades of chesnutcolored clay is the immediate covering of chalk. But, wherever this formation exists, it lies upon chalk, and it rises to the surface, or bassets out on the London side of all the chalk hills.

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SHROPSHIRE.

present summer, afforded me an opTWO-days'visit to Birmingham,in the portunity of examining the various manufactures of" the busy town;" at the same time of gratifying my taste, by visiting a place familiar to ine in descriptions, which I had long been desirous to compare with the reality.

After a succession of wet weather, I gladly bailed a glimpse of sun-shine, pro mising a favorable afternoon, and set out for the Leasowes, (Thursday, July 2, 1812,) accompanied by a friend. On the road, we availed ourselves of a stage. coach passing, judging, we should have sufficient fatigue in our perambulations about the grounds, and in our walk back to Birmingham. A ride of seven miles, brought us to the little town of HalesOwen, to which we descended by a long and very steep hill, opening to us a grand and extensive view over Worcestershire, &c. diversified with hill and dale, and heights of every description and shape : this place, and a small tract of country

round

round it, though forming part of Shropshire, is yet several miles from the rest of that county, standing completely insulated by the adjoining shires.

The town of Hales-Owen affords nothing remarkable; the church, with its handsome spire, is a pretty object; and is seen to great advantage from several points of view at the Leasowes: its walls contain the remains of Shenstone, whose genius created, and adorned that sylvan retreat. Alighting at the inn, we proceeded to the object of our journey; re-ascending part of the hill, we quitted the high road, and entered a little narrow lane on the right, overhung with trees and shrubs, in wild luxuriance, which leads to, and forms the carriage-way to, the house; arriving at the end of this Jane, we were at a loss how to proceed, having no guide to conduct us; but, struck with the appearance of two rural arches, on each side the way, which seemed to form entrances to somewhere, we darted through the right-hand one, and soon found ourselves enveloped in the recesses of the wood. Passing along a very irregular and wild foot-path, we rapidly descended into a deep hollow, thickly planted with trees, through which, at intervals, were seen the sparkling waters of a small brook, which we heard mur. muring at the bottom of the dingle; there, its further progress being stopped by an embankment, the waters expand into a small lake, which appears of much larger dimensions than it really is; for, its form being irregular, and its banks thickly planted with trees, the different boundaries are concealed from observation.

The path here, making a sharp turn to the left, conducts over a very irregular and diversified surface, to a spot so completely shut in with wood, that the glare of day-light is excluded: it was once reckoned among the most striking scenes here, and excited the admiration of every wanderer through these shades; when the sounding cascade was heard rolling over the steeps above, and the torrent murmuring at his feet below; this was a favorite spot with the poet. On a small eminence surrounded with trees, an urn is obscurely perceived through the close foliage, with this inscription:

"Genio Loci,"

(to the Genius of the Spot ;)-but the Genius no longer listens to the echo of the waterfall, or the bubbling of the brook; the waterfall is silent; the brook is choaked up with weeds and rubbish; the urn is MONTHLY MAG, No. 232.

o'ergrown with moss; the inscription is hardly legible.

The general complaint of the neigh bourhood, that the gardens are sadly neglected, and going to decay, we found too well grounded; in many places, the seats would hardly bear to be used, the inscriptions were almost obliterated, and of many of the decorations scarcely a vestige remains. Yet the place was beautiful, even in decay.

At a little distance, placed upon the verge of the stream, is the Root-house, formed of the trunks of trees and covered with turf, containing a rude seat, once affording a fine view of the cascade above it, which was seen rolling irregularly over various masses of rock, in detached parts; now the waters escape by the sides, or dribble through the stones, hardly exciting a murmur; indeed, all the beau teous scenes which are indebted to Art for their creation, present nothing but subjects of dilapidation and decay the hand that fostered them, that planted these groves," and taught the murmur ing waters where to flow," is long since mouldered into dust.

Nor, Shenstone, thou Shalt pass without thy meed, thou son of

Peace

Who knew'st, perchance, to harmonize thy shades

Still softer than thy song; yet was that song Nor rude, nor inharmonious, when attuned To pastoral plaint, or tale of slighted love."

Mason's English Garden. The natural beauties of the place, however, abundantly compensate for the ruinated state of particular parts; it is amazingly diversified with hill and dale; there being scarcely a spot of level ground about it: it is one continued inequality, with the exception of one walk along the crest of the hill: never was spot more improveable; never was spot more judiciously improved.

Emerging from the deep shades in which we had been wandering, we kept gradually ascending, till we came to an old seat in a lofty situation, presenting a rich view of a beautiful country, bounded by the mountains of Wales, at a great distance, in the extremity of the horizon. Pursuing our course, sometimes along a simple foot-path, sometimes climbing a steep ascent, or winding through a woody thicket,-for the boundary walks assume every appearance, and are continually varying their scenes and character,-we came to the Gothic Alcove; when we stopped to rest, and decyphered the fol Dd

lowing

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lowing charming lines, painted on a
board in the old black letter, but nearly
effaced by time, and wanton injuries:
"Oh yee that bathe in courtlie blysse,
Or toil in fortune's giddy spheare,
Do not too rashly deeme amysse,
Of him who bydes contented here;
Nor yet disdeigne the russet stoale,
Which o'er each carelesse lymbe he flyngs,
Nor yet deryde the beechen bowle,
In which he quaffs the lyrapyd spryngs.
Forgive him, if at eve or dawne,
Devoide of worldly carke, he straye,
Or all beside some flowerye lawne
He waste his inoffensive daye:
So may he pardonne fraude and stryfe,
If such in courtlye haunt he see;
For faults there beene in busye lyfe,
From whyche these peaceful glennes are
free."

Hence, following the track, through the hanging woods that clothe the steep, we crossed into a pretty pasture, and mounting a little knoll, shaded by two or three old trees, we found a seat placed at the foot of a lofty pedestal, surmounted with a large urn, inscribed: “To all Friends round the Wrekin;" that hill being one of the most conspicuous objects from this spot. We were disappointed in our hopes of a fine afternoon, for the sky early began to lower, and clouds obscured the prospect of many objects, which we were told to look for from these heights; indeed, we might esteem ourselves pretty fortunate in escaping accidents, for the rain had made the paths so wet and slippery, that some care was necessary to prevent a roll down some of the steeps, into the streams below, which were continually crossing the way; or plunging headlong over the knotted roots of trees, projecting from the surface of the paths, and twisting themselves into all manner of forms. The pleasures to be enjoyed from local associations, were Duch diminished from these circum

stances; the attention being so often called off to one's personal safety, the wanderings of the imagination were effectually repressed.

From this seat, we had a glimpse of part of a stream running amongst the trees at the foot of the eminence, with a light bridge; beyond which were some of the out-buildings of the dwelling-house below. After climbing very high, we arrived at a straight walk, carried along the summit of the hill, clothed with wood, through which are various openings to remarkable objects, or extensive land. scapes. The town of Hales-Owen, in the valley below, distant about a mile, is a

very conspicuous and beautiful objecs. About the centre of this walk, is a pretty hermitage, with latticed window, the interior lined with the bark of trees, and the ceiling ornamented with the coneapples, of the various species of firse here we could find no trace of inscription, the whole appears in a ruinous and neglected state. This walk terminates in a high ground, forming a sort of terrace on the loftiest of these eminences, whence the view is admirable, and in clear wea ther almost unbounded.

Having now climbed the topmost of the hills, we prepared to descend to the lower grounds, and compleat our circuit of the walks; leaving the terrace, we crossed a stile, and entered into a plea sant field, the path leading along the side of a verdant hedge, under the shade of some ancient beeches, to a gate, which brought us into quite another scene; the grounds here assuming the character of a

park, shut in, and bounded by the hanging woods; here and there a fine tree, throwing its long arms across the glade that had been kept sacred from the woodinan's axe, which had never disturbed the Dryads of these shades, vegetated in full luxuriance.

Proceeding gently on, we noticed several seats in well chosen situations; following a rapid descent into a deep din gle, the walks o'er-hung with boughs, we entered "Virgil's Grove," so called from an obelisk, dedicated to the Roman poet, (the inscription entirely effaced,) which peeps from among the trees: the situation of this is admirable, surrounded almost with transparent streams, overhong with the finest foliage. At a little distance is a sequestered seat, with a Latin inscription, dedicated to Thom son, the author of the Seasons; if possible, still better chosen: this seat was placed to enjoy the view of a romantic cascade, formed by another stream that flows through this part of the estate, now no longer "in proud falls magnificently tost," hat exhibiting the same damp scene of watery ruins, as the one before noticed. Ou a tree, near at hand, is another good inscription:

"Oh! let me haunt this peaceful shade,
Nor let Ambition e'er invade
The tenants of this leafy bower;

That shun her paths, and slight her power."
Following the walk, which led through
deeper shades, we crossed the stream
over a rustic bridge, and, traversing the
course of the brook, arrived at another
lake, whose banks we followed, till the

patby

path, making a bend, brought us within sight of an arched bower; through which having passed, we found ourselves in the lane exactly opposite the place we entered at.

Judging from the time we were in

at Dorchester during those years, that
extraordinary flood would be menti
oned.
A. Z.

To the Editor of the Monthly Magazine.
SIR,

going round the walks, and allowing for IT

frequent stops, we suppose they were nearly three miles in extent, comprehending a space of about two hundred acres of land, of which they form on all sides the boundaries. When Shenstone entered upon his paternal inheritance, he found it a wild farm, running along the high land sloping down into Worcestershire, watered by many little streams: he collected their waters, planted their banks with trees, and carried round the walks through woods and groves; after years of labor and expense, to which his fortune was sadly inadequate, he rendered it the completest model of the "Ferme Ornée," ever yet seen. As the taste for landscape-gardening was then in its infancy, he has all the merit of planning and creating scenes, which have been since often imitated, but not often surpassed. Since his death, the estate has frequently changed owners; the plain farm-house which he inhabited, has given place to a spacious modern mansion,

Having gratified our curiosity to the utmost, and fatigued ourselves with the ramble, we prepared to return, as the approach of evening did not admit of longer delay. Scarcely had we quitted the walks, when the rain came down very fast, and rendered the journey back very unpleasant: we gladly hailed the appearance of a public house, by the road side, "Where the Red Lion sprawl'd across the

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T has been observed by Addison, that in no other language is to be found an expression of exactly the same import of our familiar compound good-nature, from which that amiable writer would wish to infer, that this quality is also a peculiar characteristic of Englishmen. Such an observation, being founded merely in opinion, may be liable to dispute; but, in the kindred and higher virtue of humanity, the pre-eminent claims of our countrymen will not admit of doubt, being founded in facts. When I contemplate the many and various charitable institutions in this metropolis, I have wished for an accurate enumeration of similar institutions in some of the princi pal cities on the Continent, that the degree in which we excel other nations, in this respect, may be more exactly ascer tained. Perhaps, including parish rates, the charities of London may equal those of all the capital cities of Europe.

*When speaking of British humanity, it were much to be wished that Government

would listen to the suggestions of COMMON SENSE, (see a late Number of Monthly Mag.) in providing cork belts or jackets, or devising some other means of saving the lives of seamen when wrecked in the neighbourhood of

land. The loss of 5000 brave defenders of their country, within so short a period, has

no parallel in the history of the British navy, and ought not soon to be forgotten. Government ought to offer a reward to him who should discover the most likely means of pre

How

serving lives on such occasions; and never, surely, was there a more proper subject to exercise the ingenuity of the humane and patriotic. That some effectual assistance may be thought of, there can be no doubt. insignificant, for instance, would be the expense of a life-boat, when compared with the loss of a single man. If one, at least, were provided for every ship, in certain situations, it might be the means of saving the whole crew.

Instead or using many arguments to

stimulate attention, let us only bestow one moment's reflection on the dismal condition of men about to be swallowed up in the

ocean.

What can be imagined more pitiful than the fate of the crew of the Defence, who, on the 24th of December, clung for hours on the hulk of the ship, and, alas! had leisure to think o'er all the bitterness of death,"tili their miseries arose to such a pitch as to deem it a comfort voluntarily to plunge amid the waves!

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