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is a grim map annually published by the Government, called the “Wreck Chart,” which pictures the coasts of Great Britain and Ireland, peppered all round with small shot, hollow shot, red-hot shot, and crosses. In some spots, such as the whole of the east coast, near projecting headlands, and the sites of lighthouses, the cannonade seems to have been the most furious, just as though they were salient angles of some bastion made special marks of by marine artillery,—and on investigation such turns out to be the fact. But the artillery in this case is the wild force of storms, and the expended shot do but represent noble ships hurled against the solid bastion of our cliffs, or the more treacherous earthworks of sandbanks and quicksands. To survey the map, it would seem as though all the ships of the world had been attracted by our shores as by some magnetic mountain, and then shattered helplessly upon them. When we remember, however, that England is the centre of the commercial world, and that hither are attracted the mercantile navies of all nations, as well as of our own; and when we again remember that our island is surrounded with narrow seas, skirted by dangerous rocks, headlands, and sands, the wonder ceases, and we are no longer surprised, as we were when children, that in great storms sailors should seek the open sea. In scrutinising this map, it does at first sight seem astounding, that wherever we see a lighthouse marked, there we see the fatal marks showing the largest number of wrecks. It would appear as though, like unhappy moths, they are attracted by the light, towards the danger which they see, too late to avoid. It must be remembered, however, that these lighted headlands and sands are the true danger-points of the coast, and if they remained without the far-searching ray of the lighthouse, our wrecks would of a certainty be greatly increased.

Does it not seem strange, however, that we, the greatest maritime power in the world, should be behind our neighbours in our scientific arrangements for lighting our coasts? We have illuminated our smallest country towns with gas, and the electric light is a common thing in our places of amusement to show dissolving views; yet in the sailor’s last agony, when his noble ship is amid the breakers, he finds no better light than the oil-lamp and reflector to warn him of his danger! How different they manage matters in France. A ship sailing up Channel sees on the English shore the feeble flicker of the oil-lamp at Dungeness, whilst on the opposite side the dioptric light at Cape Grisnez flashes a piercing ray far over the ocean. Possibly those who visited the Great Exhibition of 1851 remember a great cage of glass, the whole surface of which was cut in steps, as it were; this was the dioptric light, now universally adopted by the French, which, consistswhich consists [sic], in fact, of a combination of powerful lenses, which concentrate the light in a series of brilliant flashes. It is a singular fact, however, that the very perfection of this light is now and then a cause of disaster. Its aim is to throw all its rays in parallel lines so as to give forth a thin yet concentrated disk of light, which penetrates to a great distance. Unhappily, however, it is just possible for a ship in a fog to get underneath this ray, and thus fall upon the danger. This was the case with the unfortunate Dunbar emigrant ship, which went on shore on the Sidney Headland, the dioptric light on whose summit did not suffice to show the danger immediately at its foot; illustrating the old proverb, that “the darkest place is underneath the candlestick.”

There can be no doubt that lighthouses, notwithstanding what we have said, are in many cases the direct cause of wrecks, inasmuch as although they indicate points of the coast to be avoided, it is nevertheless necessary first to find them, in order to show the seaman his whereabouts. It is the first aim of a captain to make certain lights; to seek the danger, in order that he may avoid it; hence the disasters that sometimes occur. A knowledge of this fact has led Mr. Herbert, of the Trinity House, to propose a scheme of lighting, what he calls the “Fair way,” instead of the danger points on shore. Thus, he would moor a series of light-ships, shaped somewhat like a common kitchen candlestick, so as to oppose the least resistance to wind and waves, up the middle of the English Channel. The powerful lights of these ships would be seen perhaps thirty miles off; by moving them, say at forty miles distance from each other, they would afford a continuous light all up Channel; and the ship making the westernmost, off the Lizard, would be enabled to feel her way up the mid channel, almost with as much safety as a cab would go up Regent Street.

If such a plan could be carried out, and the necessity of sighting land for the sake of the lighthouses could be avoided, an immense saving of life and property would be the result. During the year ending 1859, in which one of the most disastrous storms ever remembered occurred, that of the 25th and 26th of October, no less than 1416 casualties happened upon our coasts, and 1645 persons were lost, and property to the amount of nearly 2,000,000l. of money. The different sides of the island have by no means contributed equally to this tremendous loss. The east coast, iron-bound and bestrewn with sandbanks, has long held the fatal pre-emiencepre-eminence [sic] in this particular, and the collier brigs and schooners trading between the coal districts and London are the main sufferers, no less than 621 casualties having occurred among them last year; whilst on the south coast there were only 136, and on the west coast 466, an unusual number. But it must be remembered that the most destructive gales have been from the west and south-west, the great cyclone of October 26th moving towards the north-east. The minute manner in which this remarkable storm was watched has resulted in the elucidation of some very remarkable facts, which have been given to the world by Admiral Fitzroy, the chief of the Meteorological Department of the Admiralty. He tells us that this circular storm swept northward within a very limited area, not more than 300 miles in diameter, or about the breadth of our own island; whilst the wind swept round in a circle the contrary way to watch-hands,