the weather, VI. Sat the Vice Chairman Browning, thinking What was said? what was done? was there in Greek. prosing or rhyming? Was nothing noteworthy in deed or in word? And when the Unwash'd would devour Mis- With language so awful ho dared then to treat ter Lowe. em, Miss Ingelow fainted in Tennyson's arms, Poor Arnoid rush'd out, crying "Soecl' infice tum!" But the Muses were shocked and the pleasure was o'er. Then "Ah!" cried the Chairman, "this teaches me knowledge. The future shall find me more wise, by the powers! This comes of assigning to younkers from college Too early a place in such meetings as ours!" CALIBAN. - Spectator. From the London Quarterly Review. 1. The Channel Islands. BY DAVID THOMAS ANSTED, M.A., F.R.S., and ROBERT GORDON LATHAM, M.A., M.D., F.R.S. With Illustrations by PAUL J. NAFTEL. Second Edition. London: W. H. Allen & Co. 1865. 2. The History of Guernsey and its Bailiwicks, with Occasional Notices of Jersey. By FERDINAND BROCK TUPPER. Guernsey Barbet. 1854. 3. The Channel Islands. A Guide to Jersey and Guernsey. By FRANK FETHER DALBY. With Maps. Third Edition. London: Stanford. 4. History of Guernsey, with Occasional Notices of Jersey, Alderney, and Sark, and Biographical Sketches. By JONATHAN DUNCAN, B.A. Longmans. 1841. 5. An Account of the Island of Jersey. By the Rev. PHILIP FALLE, with Notes and Illustrations by the Rev. EDWARD DURELL, Rector of St. Saviour's, Jersey. 1837. 6. A Plea for Peasant Proprietors. By WM. THOS. THORNTON. London: Murray. 1855. 7. Journal of the Royal Agricultural Society for 1859. London: Murray. 8. The Life of Sir William Napier, K.C. B. Edited by HENRY AUSTIN BRUCE, M.P. London: Murray. 1864. THE emigrant, who cherishes with love and pride the remembrance of the mother country, does not reflect that "old England" is not the oldest part of the British dominions. Small as are the British Islands when compared with the empire that lies between the tropics of Asia, beneath the arctic circle in America, and in the continent at the antipodes, they are domains of imperial dimension when contrasted with the most ancient possessions of Queen Victoria. The predecessor of our Sovereign was duke of Normandy before he was King of England, and as Duke he ruled that little archipelago off the Norman coast, which alone of all their once fair French provinces has been retained by the monarchs who were so long styled the rulers of "Great Britain. France, and Ireland." England's Queen, we all know, rules over more nations, and is obeyed by subjects speaking more languages, than any other sovereign that ever wore crown; but we rarely remember that the language which claims precedence for antiquity in our history is not English but French. In the Canadian Parliament we may even now hear the members debating in French; but Canada is only a recent acquisition of Great Britain. Far nearer home, close to our very shores, there are fellow-subjects speaking the language which they spoke before that the last of the Saxon kings lay dead upon day eight centuries ago this very year, when the field of Hastings. In our own Parliament the words in which the Royal assent to any measure is given remind us that we still owe allegiance to the Duchess of Normandy, and recall to us our subjugation. Thus while our Spanish fellow-subjects in Gibraltar, and our Italian fellow-subjects in Malta, bear witness to the conquests which England has won, our fellow-subjects of the Channel Islands remind us that we ourselves have been conquered. Our island stronghold in the Mediterranean may tell of England's valour; our island empire in the Pacific may tell of England's enterprise; but the little island of Jethou, whose name not one of twenty of our readers may have heard, can tell us far more than they of England's history. There is no portion of the British empire which offers more attraction, within such narrow limits, than the Channel Islands. Situated close to France, lying, in fact, within the shelter of a French bay, they seem by their geographical position to belong to the country whose sandy coasts, whose very houses can be discerned. The doctrine of nationalities would assign these islands to Napoleon, not Victoria. But history has set at nought both geography and ethnology. These French-speaking fellowsubjects of ours have clung to England and abhorred France through long centuries of war between the two countries. They have fought against the men using their own tongue, and in behalf of a people of another speech Let us be accurate. They fought in behalf of their own independence. The sovereigns of England have been their sovereigns, but the islanders have ruled themselves. They have maintained their own constitution, laws, language, currency, and army. They have contributed nothing to our revenue, and taxation is to them almost unknown. The representatives of the Sovereign who have been sent to dwell amongst them and be at the head of their Government, have been welcomed so long as they have been contented with the otium cum dignitate of vice-royalty. But let them once assume active power, let them once attempt to alter old customs or to correct hoary abuses, and they will find, as the historian of the Peninsular War found, that the loyalty of these islanders is conditional, and that the condition is, that the Queen of England may reign, but must not rule. This immovable adherence to old customs and old privileges makes the history and the present constitution of the islands full of interest to the antiquarian. For the naturalist and the artist they have an even richer store of enchantments. The seas, the sands, the rocks, abound with fish and weed, and the creatures that hold a middle place bebetween these two. The lanes are full of treasures for the botanist. The coasts present every variety of sea scenery-granite cliffs which, even at the lowest tide, stand fathoms deep in ever-heaving water; long reaches of sand that, when the tide is out, stretch away for nearly a mile below highwater mark; little creeks where the sand is dotted with black serrated reefs half covered by seaweed at the ebb, and all but covered by the foam of the waves as they fret themselves into yeast like spray at the flow. Most of the islands are so near together that they can be seen from each other, and the outline, dim and soft through the summer haze, clear and sharp before the coming rain, blurred and broken in the storm, gives a beauty to the scene which is always wanting when the horizon in every direction is bounded by the sea. To add to the picturesqueness of the scenes, the sea that lies between the chief islands is interspersed by innumerable small islets, some few the abode of perhaps a single family, with Crusoe-like proclivities; some covered entirely by a fort; some the resort only of the sea-bird; but all alike the dread of the sailor strange to these seas. Beyond these is the line of the French coast, yellow with the harvest or brown with the dun sands. All around is a sea of indescribably brilliant azure. It does not present to the seafarer the wonderful gem-like sparkle of the Lago di Garda - probably the finest sheet of water in the world- but it has the hue of that water, the hue of the turquoise. The tourist in the Channel Islands who makes Southampton his port of departure will find himself gliding down the Water and past the Needles soon after midnight, and about six hours later, if wind and sea have favoured him, he will come in sight of a group of rocks of which the highest is crowned with a strange-looking structure. Those rocks are the Casquets. That structure is a light-house which, with its three separate towers and lanterns, forming the angles of a triangle, warns the sailor that he is near one of the most dreaded spots in the Channel. The Casquets cover a space of water a mile and a half in one direction, and half a mile in the other, and upon them many a ship has been dashed to pieces. If darkness or fog hide the rocks, they are not to be discovered by the lead, for all around them is water so deep that a line-of-battle ship may pass within oar's length of them. Until 1723, no beacon existed to warn off mariners. In that year a rude attempt was made to supply the deficiency, and at first coals were burnt, and afterwards oil lights were set in a copper frame. In 1790 the present lighthouse was erected, but in 1823, exactly a century after they were first branded as dangerous, a storm of unusual violence destroyed the lanterns and extinguished the lights. Two landing-places give access to the lighthouse, but so great is the swell of the sea, that many weeks sometimes pass without permitting the visitor to land, and it is customary to keep not less than three months' supply of food for the inhabitants of the storm-battered stronghold. Formerly there was a spring of water on the main rock, but it has long since disappeared, and the keepers have to rely upon the supply which is sent to them every month, and on the rain which they collect in a cistern. More fortunate than their brethren on the still more famous rocks of Eddystone, they are able to communicate constantly with their fellow-creatures, for a telegraph is laid between the Casquets and Alderney. A line drawn from the Casquets to Cape de la Hogue, in Normandy, would pass over one of the most dangerous portions of the Channel. First, it would stretch to the Ortach rock, an islet that rises sixty feet out of the water. Between Ortach and the Casquets the tide rushes with great velocity. On the other and eastern side of Ortach is a shoal known as Burhou, and between that and Alderney is the perilous Passe au Singe, which English sailors have converted into the Swinge. Still going east, we trace the Race of Alderney, which separates that island from the French coast about eight miles off. The bed of the sea is here very much elevated, and were it raised but 120 feet higher, the Casquets, Ortach, and Alderney would form one island. As it is, the line which we have described covers a mole for the most part submerged, about twelve miles in length, and forming a natural breakwater to the north of the bay which contains the Channel Islands. As the steamer passes to the west of the Casquets, Alderney with its somewhat too rounded outline is clearly visible on the left. Soon afterwards land is seen on the bow, and somewhere about eight in the morning the tourist steams into the noble harbour of St. Peter's Port, the cap-means contributing to the adornment of ital of Guernsey. the landscape. By far the most important work of construction in the island is the splendid harbour, which is still unfinished. This work shows that though the Guernseymen are as yet without a railway, it is not from want of enterprise that the deficiency arises. In a land where the population is scanty, and the engineering difficulties would be very great, a railroad is not required, and the cost of it would be enormous. A good harbour can be turned to account, and, accordingly, one is nearly finished on a scale which seems to be far be Guernsey has not the reputation of Jersey. Its acreage is smaller, its population less numerous; its wealth is more limited. But it has scenery at least equal, and, for boldness, superior to that of the rival island. The tourist who does not disembark at St. Peter's Port, but passes on to St. Helier's, makes a grevious mistake. For not only is Guernsey different from Jersey, not only is it well worth seeing for its own sake, but it is the centre of radiating excursions. Alderney must be reached by a Guernsey sailing boat, and even with this it is not al-yond the present or the future requireways possible to return on the same day. Far nearer and smaller than Alderney is Sark, which can be reached during fair weather in two hours. Nearer and smaller still are the twin islands Herm and Jethou, which are half the distance of Sark. Its situation, therefore, gives Guernsey the first place in this article. ments of the place. It took two centuries to make the old dock, though only four and a half acres in extent. But so sensitive have the islanders proved to what is called the progress of the age, that a little more than a dozen years will have sufficed to make docks covering seventy-three acres. The works include a harbour and a floating dock The ma Topographically Guernsey is a right-protected by two breakwaters, the one conangled triangle whose acute angles have necting Castle Cornet with the mainland, been chipped off. Its hypothenuse, inclines and the other stretching out from the from S.W. to N.E., its base is nearly due shore eastwards 1,300 feet. east and west, its perpendicular nearly due sonry is of granite, and has an appearance north and south. Its superficies contains of solidity and massiveness not often seen 15,560 English acres, of which about 10,000 even in the largest ports, and will be a acres are under cultivation. Geologically flattering memorial to the engineer who Guernsey is a wedge of granite, sloping planned, and the contractors who carried upwards with tolerable regularity; so that out the work. The cost has been defrayed while the northern extremity is on the level by an export duty levied upon granite, a of the sea, the southern rises to a height of not very commendable form of taxation. 346 feet. Transversely the island slopes Its imposition was stoutly resisted by the down from east to west, and while the inhabitants of St. Sampson's, the only other ground above St. Peter's port rises precipi- town in the island, who contended that as tously over the harbour, the other coast the granite exported from Guernsey came slopes away gently for the most part. Close almost entirely from their parish, while the to the northern end the sea runs into so money thus raised was expended upon the deep a bay as to nearly sever the little vil- rival town, they were not fairly treated. The lage of Val from the rest of Guernsey. quarrel became somewhat bitter, and it Midway along the eastern coast lies the was carried before the law courts in Engcapital of the Island. As seen by a passenger land. They refused to recognise any disfrom England, St. Peter's Port, or, as it is tinction of interests among the inhabitants commonly called, Peter Port, is both conspic- of so small an island, and confirmed the tax. uous and picturesque. Its principal build- The quays are worthy of the harbour. They ings are not fine; on the contrary, the most are broad, and in some parts adorned with prominent, Elizabeth College, is in the trees, and form an admirable promenade. worst form of debased Gothic. Nevertheless Unfortunately the houses are for the most the way in which the town climbs the steep part mean, and the site of what might be a hill, and in which the houses lie scattered fine esplanade is too often occupied by wareamong the trees, give an imposing air to the houses and the backs of inferior dwellings. tout ensemble which certainly the details do The main street is steep and narrow, and afnot possess. Especially picturesque is Cas- fords no view of the sea. The only public tle Cornet, of old bistoric fame. This fortress building of any architectural merit is the would stand but a short time against modern" Town Church," as it is called, of St. Peter, heavy artillery, but it serves as an appen- a cruciform structure with central tower, dage to Fort George upon the hill, a more and in the flamboyant style. Toiling up the modern and a stronger work, but by no main street the high ground is reached, which is covered by small villas, but so arranged that very few of them can enjoy the fine sea view which the height affords. The smaller port of St. Sampson's is reached by a coast road of about two miles. The places are, in fact, nearly connected by successive links of houses. St. Sampson's is purely a port, chiefly for the exportation of granite; while St. Peter's Port is a capital and a market, as well as the chief place for the import trade. The roads have for many years been very good; but half a century ago the then Governor was compelled to use every argument he could devise to make the islanders submit to the taxation necessary for the construction of passable routes. The Guernseymen were both shamed and persuaded into the work, and now the island is surrounded and intersected by highways, which have been judiciously laid out, as well with regard to commercial as military purposes. Well might the grateful Guernseymen erect a tower in honour of Sir John Doyle, who has been the most popular of all their Governors. It would be difficult to spend a more enjoyable day than in making the round of the island. Starting from St. Peter's Port, the tourist visits a succession of little bays, each in its way the perfection of marine landscape. In one a garden, full of rare plants, slopes downwards to the sea, and all but touches the sands of dazzling whiteness. In another, the cliffs form a precipitous arc, bounding some far retreating inlet. In a third, the most famous of all, Moulin Huet, every charm of Nature is combined. Sharp needles of rocks stand out as the advanced posts against the sea in its aggressive moods; then the land runs inward with bosky clusters of wood here, with bluff rocks there, covered with lichens of such glorious orange, that they vie with the most brilliant autumn tints of the trees. Deep down below the winding path, through heath and wild thyme and gorse, is the creamy white sand, up which the turquoise water runs, and then retreating, leaves a moist dun patch. Passing westwards along the south coast, the luxuriant loveliness of Moulin Huet gives place to sterner features. The rocks stand up uncompromisingly against the sea, and refusing to yield, allow little room for those nooks where beauty dwells sheltered from the storm. The umbrageous wealth is gone which reaches its full perfection in Water Lane, a leafy tunnel, through which scarcely a stray sunbeam can find its way to cast a shadow upon the moist fern-bordered path, and where there is twilight even at high noon. Copse and grove disappear and give place to the open common, which even the adventurous Guernseymen have not attempted to cultivate. We round the southwestern angle and see before us at a short distance seawards, cruel reefs of rock, guilty of the fate of many a gallant ship, but now made conspicuous by a warning lighthouse, the Hanois, erected but a few years ago, and after long contention between the local authorities and the corporation of the Trinity House. Then again the ever shifting scene changes. We have no longer inlets of graceful curve, nor bluff rampart of cliffs, but a wide bay, whose waters are scattered over with innumerable low rocks. Sometimes a line of reef; sometimes an islet; and between them, even in summer's calm, the sea frets and surges. One.rock may claim the title of island; Lihou Island it is called. Monks dwelt there in the old days, and their chanted prayers must often have been drowned by the thunder of the billows. Now there dwells here a Frenchman, whose heart is set on profit rather than on prayer, for he has the right to all the seaweed in his island; and seaweed, as we shall presently find, is a most important produce, whose harvesting is restricted by stringent laws. Mr. Ansted, in his admirable volume on the Channel Islands, abook to be read before and after, rather than during a tour, compares Lihou on the west with Castle Cornet on the east side of the island. But Lihou is much the larger island. It is connected with the mainland by a rough causeway 700 yards long, that is covered by the sea for at least half of every tide. Beyond Lihou is a series of sandy bogs, still interspersed with rocks. The high ground of the south-west angle slopes away until, as the north-west angle is reached, there is a wide open space of country, but little above the sea level. Here are some of the most productive farms in the island. The northern extremity is for the most part barren and sandy, and the village of Val is situated in a wild and desolate district. The tourist who has but little time to spare, should, after reaching Cobo Bay, strike inwards, and climbing the high ground, pass through the richly wooded country about Câtel, and bisect the island by descending to St. Peter's Port, his point of departure. In perambulating Guernsey, it is impossible not to be struck with the apparent absence of inhabitants. The population is, as every one knows, really far denser than in England. Yet at midday, one may trayerse mile after mile of the leafy lanes in the centre of the island, or the open roads on the coast, without meeting a single per |