We have said that it is not evident whether the force that changed the position of these strata, was their own gravity producing subsidence on one side, or some expansive force raising them up on the other. Both suppositions are subject to great difficulties, Sir H. E. however, seems to entertain no doubt of the effect having been produced by subsidence.

The chalk,' he says, is not the only substance which has thus been overset; for the clay strata to the north and south of the chalk, to the extent of about a quarter of a mile to the north, and rather more to the south, are in like manner inclined; but with this difference, that those to the north, which, if the whole mass fell in from the south, were originally the uppermost strata, have, as it was natural to suppose they might, parted off from the chalk, so as to leave a narrow chasm between them, and now stand in a position, nearly, if not absolutely vertical; while the southern strata have a less inclination to the horizon than the chalk, owing to the chalk having in the same manner parted from them, which leaves a ravine between the chalk and the clay on the southern side of the ravine. '

The supposition, that the highly inclined position of the chalk strata, is the effect of angular subsidence, rather than of angular elevation, though it seem the most natural, does not appear to us quite consistent with the facts. On the north side of Alum Bay, where the inclined strata of chalk are nearly in contact with the beds of clay, which, when the whole was horizontal, were the beds nearest the surface, and incumbent on the chalk, the parts of those beds nearest the chalk, if we are not very much deceived, are turned up as if they had been heaved and bent by a force that acted from below. It is not likely, if nothing but sinking down had happened on this side, that such an appearance would have been produced. But, whatever supposition be adopted, a great difficulty remains behind, which we do not remember to have seen noticed, far less to have seen explained. When a body of strata is set edgeways, how comes it about that it occupies in a horizontal direction as much space, either exactly, or nearly, as it did in its undisturbed position? What has adjusted the thickness of the moved strata to their breadth, so that when the mass turned on its axis, till it came to be wholly, or nearly vertical, it occupied the same space as when it lay horizontally? To this question we can conceive no answer, if the effect is supposed to be produced by the mere sinking down or subsidence.-We shall have occasion, however, to return to this subject on considering the second part of this volume.

It is at the eastern and western extremities of the island where the coast affords a transverse section of the chalk range, that this disposition of the strata is most distinctly seen. The needles

at the western extremity, are parts of the vertical strata of chalk, now separated from the rest, and insulated by the action of the sea, to which, though they have been hard enough to make a great resistance, they are gradually yielding; and will finally disappear as some others have done, of which, in calm weather, the remains are to be seen at a considerable depth under the surface. There can be no doubt, we think, that, at this end, the Isle of Wight was once connected with the main land.

The formation of flint is a matter so interesting to geologists, and at the same time so obscure, that the remarks of one who has been accustomed to examine those objects in their natural state, and with his own eyes, are always deserving of attention. Sir Henry Englefield thinks it certain that the separation of the silicious matter from the calcareous took place after the formation of the strata, and that the flints were not, as it would appear at a first glance, deposited in alternate strata with the chalk. The extraneous fossils found in chalk seem to afford a proof of this. Many Echini are seen filled with flint, which has, after completely filling the cavity of the shell, formed a large bulb at the orifice of it, as a viscid fluid would do.

Many of the great fissures in the chalk, which must have taken place long after the whole mass had attained a degree of hardness and solidity, as they run through many strata, without in the least disturbing them, are invested with pure flint; sometimes totally filling those fissures, and sometimes not. The plates of flint filling these fissures must have been deposited at a period later than the formation of the nodules of flint, either those in the strata or those found separately scattered through the substance of the chalk. What agent has in this manner, at two different periods, separated the silicious from the calcareous matter, and how could the flint, when so separated from the chalk, form itself into solid masses?

This last is indeed a difficult question; for the silicious matter must not only be separated, but it must be reduced to a fluid state before it could be moulded into the forms, or acquire the solidity which it is now found to possess. An analogy has of late been observed between the forms of the various kinds of spongiæ, and the figures of the flint in chalk; and if the analogy is real, it will considerably add to the difficulty of the explanation.

The picturesque beauties of the Isle of Wight are mostly confined to the coast and the country immediately adjacent ; the interior being, for the most part, as destitute of beauty as any tract of the same extent in England. The woodlands along the shore, the chalk cliffs, and what are called the Chines, are the principal objects. In the description of these beauties,

we think the author has been very successful. His pictures are not overcharged or exaggerated, but are lively and forcible; and, by means of a few circumstances judiciously selected, bring the scene very distinctly before the reader. They remind us of the remarks on scenery, which, we think, are made with as much taste, and as much power of writing, as any in our language,we mean those of GRAY in his tour in Scotland, and in the north of England.

On the north side of the island, and not far from West Cowes, is a seat of Sir Henry Seymour, built from the designs of Mr Wyatt, in imitation of an ancient castle. Seated on the steep descent of the coast to the Solent sea, it perhaps commands a view of that strait, superior in beauty to any other point in the island. To the east, Portsmouth, crowded with shipping, is in full view, and the richest line of the woody coast of the island appears in long and varied perspective. To the north, the Southampton river is seen in its whole extent; and the town of Southampton, with its spires and towers, though at ten miles distance, is no inconsiderable object. The woods of the New Forest close the view to the west, while Calshot Castle, on the point of its long banks of shingle, stands boldly out amidst the waves, and marks the separation between the Solent sea and the Southampton river.'

Further to the eastward is Binstead, much celebrated for its beauty.

The shore here is very steep, and wooded absolutely into the water; a small cove forms the nearest distance; and, beyond the projecting point of this cove, the shipping of Portsmouth harbour, now seen in a nearer view, is a noble assemblage of all that the commercial or armed Navy of England can exhibit. The anchorage of the Motherbank reaches quite to Binstead, and even further to the west; and, when the great convoys were collecting in the channel from thence to St Helen's, a distance of eight miles has often been seen covered with vessels, to the amount of many hundreds. The sailing of one of those great convoys, in a beautifully clear day, with a light air, which permitted every sail to be spread, was one of the most interesting sights I ever beheld. The blue waters in the distance were almost hidden by the snow-white cloud of sails, which, as the vessels approached, separated into detached groups, and, still nearing, passed in rapid succession, as I viewed the scene from the heights above Cowes.

The foot-path from Ryde to St John's, crosses a small and rather marshy meadow, with a streamlet passing through it, having a stonearched bridge, and a sluice to keep out the tides. Near this stream several rows of graves still rise above the general level of the turf, These I had often noticed, without a suspicion of what they really were; till one day meeting an old fisherman, I asked him why those hcaps, so like graves, had been thrown up. The man, in a low tone,

:

and with a sort of sullen look, said-" They are graves;-the bodies cast ashore, after the loss of the Royal George, were buried here. We did not much like drawing a net hereabouts for some weeks afterwards we were always bringing up a corpse. The sudden and melancholy effect of this narrative; the peculiar contrast of the cheerful, though very retired look of this little green flat, with the sad records that almost ceased to mark its surface, suggested the fol lowing lines, which I hope my readers will excuse me for inserting. Thou! who dost tread this smooth and verdant mead, Viewing delighted, the fair hills that rise

On either hand, a sylvan theatre:

While in the front with snowy pinions closed,
And thunders silent, Britain's Guardian fleet
On the deep bosom of the azure sea
Reposes awful: Pass not heedless by

These mouldering heaps which the blue spiry grass
Scarce guards from mingling with the common earth.
Mark! in how many a melancholy rank

The graves are marshall'd.-Dost thou know the fate
Disastrous, of their tenants? Hushed the winds,
And smooth the billows, when an unseen hand
Smote the great ship, and reft her massy beams:
She reeled and sunk :-Over her swarming decks
The flashing wave in horrid whirlpool rushed;
While from a thousand throats, one wailing shriek
Burst, and was heard no more.-

Then day by day,

The ebbing tide left frequent on the sand

The livid corpse; and his o'er-loaded net

The shuddering fisher loathed to drag ashore.

And here, by friends unknown, unmark'd, unwept,
They rest. Refuse not thou a passing sigh,

And wish a quiet consummation:

For in thy country's service these men died.'

On going along the same coast, between St John's and the sea, on a platform about fifty feet above the water, stands the mansion of Appley, which may be taken as the most perfect specimen of the beauties characteristic of this little island.

It is, says SIR HENRY, perhaps the most enchanting of all the spots in this most beautiful tract of country. Its elevation above the sea is sufficient to command, in the most perfect manner, every object on it, while it is not too much raised to enjoy the near view of the waves in all their varieties breaking on the shore, or the enchanting sound of their murmur as they die away on the beach. This coast is so sheltered, that it seldom happens that the most violent storm excites a great swell on it, which, however sublime, would ill suit the quiet and peaceful character of this sweet retreat. The house VOL. XXIX, No. 58. Bb

is of old brick, grown to an extremely pleasing grey tint: A small velvet lawn in its front separates it from the brow of the cliff, which is very steep, and covered with the most beautiful vegetation. With the oak, ash, and hazel, the universal growth of the shore, are happily mixed most of the hardy flowering shrubs and evergreens, which, without formality, not only add variety to the woods, but mark cultivation so essential near a dwelling house. A small cove to the east, called Puckpool Bay, forms the nearest distance of the sea. This bay is overhung by a noble wood, which rises in a great mass up the side of an hill of no inconsiderable height. From this steep bank a long point of lower land projects into the sea, not, however, flat or marshy, but having a rocky point from thirty to forty feet high. Over this land the sea is again visible; and Nettleston Point forms another bay. The anchorage of St Helen's is just beyond; and every vessel that comes to Portsmouth from the eastward is seen for a long time passing this part of the view. In front, Portsmouth, se often mentioned, is viewed to the greatest advantage; and the western prospect commands the village of Ryde, with the busy scene of its small craft and wherries.'

What are called the Chines, form a species of scenery quite peculiar and different from any other in the island. They are scattered along the whole of the southern coast; and seem all to owe their origin to one common cause, the gradual action of the small streams of water which descend from the interior of the island into the sea, and, falling over the edge of the perpendicular clay cliffs, have worn for themselves deep gullies, some of which recede to a considerable distance within the shore, continually increasing their dimensions, and often changing their forms.

The most eastern of these, and the most celebrated, is Shanklin Chine. The cliff, where the stream which forms it enters the sea, is about one hundred feet in height; and the chasm is perhaps one hundred and fifty feet wide at the top, and at the bottom not much wider than the channel of the stream. The sides are very steep, and in most places clothed with rich underwood, overhanging the naked sides. At a small distance within the mouth, on a terrace just large enough to afford a walk to their doors, stand two small cottages, at different elevations. Rude flights of steps descend to them from the top; and an excavation from the sandy rock forms a skittle-ground to one of them, overshadowed by the spray of young oaks. During the war, a sentinel was placed on a prominent point of the slope, and added much to the scenery. After proceeding about a hundred yards in a direct line from the shore, the chasm makes a sudden bend to the left, and grows much narrower. Its sides are nearly perpendicular, and but little shrubbry breaks their naked surface. The chasm continues winding and decreasing in breadth, till it terminates in an extremely narrow fissure, down which the rill which has formed