mer having been left at the bottom of the river, during an inspection by a diving-bell, these tools disappeared, and were soon afterwards found, in advancing one of the frames of the shield, having descended at least eighteen feet into the ground.

On the day last mentioned, some vessels having been accidentally moored over the head of the tunnel, this obstruction to the stream caused those loose substances which protected the softer ground from the action of the tide, to be washed away; in consequence of which, the river soon made its way into the tunnel, forming at first "a transparent curtain between the shield and the brick structure." Every exertion to oppose its progress proved unavailing. The river broke in, and filled the tunnel. On examining the whole with the diving-bell, the structure was ascertained to be perfectly sound, and the shield, to all appearance, undisturbed. A plan was immediately adopted to stop the gap, by means of clay in bags, armed with small hazel rods. About three thousand tons of these materials, along with some loose soil, were required to fill the chasm, which was found to exceed thirty-eight feet in depth.

The tunnel was cleared of water by means of the steam-engine, which had been originally erected for the purpose of draining, and the work was re-commenced with renewed spirit; but on the 12th January 1828, a second irruption of the river took place, in which six men lost their lives, and the younger Brunel very narrowly escaped.

These repeated irruptions, though discouraging, by no means damped the hopes of the ingenious engineer. He had, by the extraordinary resources of his mind, been able to overcome difficulties, which had been esteemed insurmountable, having constructed six hundred feet of tunnel, the sectional surface of which was greater than that of the House of Commons, through ground wherein experienced miners had not been able even to construct a drain. It is true, indeed, that, in the work still

to be performed, the difficulties of the undertaking, instead of being diminished, were expected to increase; but experience had taught much, and there appeared to be no obstacle which genius and perseverance might not be able to overcomc.

The pecuniary resources of the company, however, were now nearly exhausted, and it was necessary to discontinue the work till fresh funds could be obtained. After a cessation of seven years, government was induced to furnish pecuniary aid, for the accomplishment of what might well be called a great national object,—not so much, indeed, on account of the immediate advantage to be gained, though this will be considerable,—as on account of the triumph which it will afford to practical science, and the stimulus which may thus be given to still more gigantic undertakings.

During the second irruption of the river, the shield had been torn in pieces by the violence of the stream; but a new and more substantial shield was formed, and the work was so actively carried on, that by the middle of September last (1837), an advance had been gained, reaching to within forty feet of low water-mark, on the Wapping side of the river. At this period, an irruption again took place; but, owing to the precautions which experience had suggested, it was not attended with any violence, and comparatively little evil resulted, beyond the interruption of the work, and the filling of the tunnel with water and mud. The aperture was again filled up, and the operation is at present proceeding with so much spirit, that it is confidently expected this great work will, in a few months, be placed beyond all danger.

TWELFTH WEEK-FRIDAY.

MISCELLANEOUS REFLECTIONS ON AUTUMNAL APPEARANCES.

I SHALL, in the present paper, group together some extracts from different authors, containing interesting remarks on autumnal appearances towards the end of the

season.

66

"The last rays of the summer's sun," says Sturm, now fall feebly on the earth: every thing is changed. That country, which so lately bloomed in verdant beauty and blushing charms, is becoming poor, withered, and barren. We no longer see the trees rich in blossoms, nor the spring gay with verdure: the magnificence of summer, displayed in a thousand variations of colours, whose richness is relieved by the beautiful green of the meadows and waving groves, is no more. The purple hue of the vine has faded, and the gilded ears no longer ornament the fields. The last leaves of the trees are falling; the pines, the elms, and the oaks bend beneath the blasts of the fierce north wind; and the fields, which have lavished upon us so many gifts, are at length exhausted.

"These sad changes must necessarily diminish our pleasures. When the earth has lost her verdure, gaiety, and beauty, when the fields are swampy, and gloominess reigns, man is deprived of many of those delights, that he receives through the medium of sight. When the earth is thus destitute, nothing is seen around but a rugged and uneven surface. The songs of the birds no longer rejoice our ears, and there is nothing that recals to our minds that universal delight, which we so lately shared with all animated beings. The melody of the birds yields to the murmuring of the waters, and the howling of the winds. The fragrance of the fields is gone, and the sense of feeling is pained by the impression of cold and humid air.

"But, in the midst of these gloomy prospects, we have reason to acknowledge how faithfully Nature fulfils the eternal law prescribed to her, of being useful at all times and seasons of the year. Though, at the approach of winter, the country is desolate, and stripped of its most beautiful ornaments, it still presents, to a properly organized mind, the image of happiness. We may say with gratitude, 'Here we have seen the corn grow, and these dry fields crowned with an abundant harvest; and though the orchards and gardens are now deserted, the remembrance of the presents we have received from them, inspires us with joy, though we are exposed to the influence of the north wind.'

"The fruit-trees have now shed their leaves; the grass of the meadows is withered; dark clouds gather in the sky; the rain falls in heavy showers; the roads are impaired, and walking abroad is almost impracticable. The man who has no resources in himself, murmurs at this change; but the philosopher contemplates it with satisfaction. The sere leaves and withered grass, moistened by the autumnal rains, form a rich manure to fertilize the land. This consideration, and the sweet expectation of spring, naturally ought to excite our gratitude for the tender cares of our Creator, and inspire us with a perfect confidence in him. Whilst the earth has lost its beauty and external charms, and is exposed to the murmurs of those it has nourished and delighted, it has commenced its labours anew, and is busily employed in secret working for the future good of the creation."

To these just, but somewhat trite, reflections, may be added the following contemplations on an autumnal evening, from another author, of a deeper and more melancholy cast of thought.

"It is as combining the decline of the day with that of the year, the period both of beauty and decay,— that an evening in autumn becomes so generally the parent of ideas of a solemn and pathetic cast. Not only, as in the first of these instances, do we blend the sunset

of physical with that of moral being; but a further source of similitude is unavoidably suggested in the failure and decrepitude of the dying year, a picture faithfully, and, in some points of view, mournfully, emblematic of the closing hours of human life.

"With the daily retirement of the sun, and the gradual approach of twilight, though circumstances, as we have seen, often associated in our mind with the transitory tenure of human existence, there are usually connected so many objects of beauty and repose, as to render such a scene, in a high degree, soothing and consolatory; but, with the customary decline of light, are now united the sighing of the coming storm,―the eddying of the withered foliage ;—

6 For autumn comes, in solemn gold,

And all the gaudy leaves are strewn ;
The leaves look barren, thin, and cold,
Beneath the darkening tempest's frown.
The hunter wanders by the wold,

By heath, and fell, and mountain brown,—
By hill, and dale, and river head,

Where the dead leaves find a bed,

Hectic, and grey, and fever-red.'

"These are occurrences, which so strongly appeal to our feelings, which so forcibly remind us of the mutability of our species, and bring before us with such expressive solemnity, the earth as opening to receive us, that they have, from the earliest stages of society, and in every stage of it, been considered as typical of the brevity and destiny of man. Like leaves on trees,' says the first and greatest of all uninspired writers,—

Like leaves on trees the race of man is found,
Now green in youth, now withering on the ground;
Another race the following spring supplies,

They fall successive, and successive rise.

So generations in their course decay,

So flourish these when those are passed away.'

* Drake's Evenings in Autumn.