to the former village we pass the roadway leading down to Fermain Bay, perhaps the most suitable bathing-place to be found in the whole of the group of islands. A bold headland juts out on either side the bay, leaving an almost enclosed sheet of water, transparent as glass and clean as can be desired. A gently shelving sandy bottom leads away seawards, and here one may dabble in the invigorating element, taking the water of any depth the fancy may choose. To gain deeper water, where the capable swimmer may disport himself, it is, of course, necessary to go a little further from the shore, when, if so desiring, the student of natation may swim straight away to the coast of France. On either side this excellent bath the biologist may amuse himself at the expense of the sea anemones or young crabs, or whatever other marine curiosities his taste may lead him to annoy. As the road turns to the westward after leaving Fermain, an extensive sea-view is obtained across Moulin Houet Bay, the gloomy headlands of Jerbourg and. Icart standing like sturdy sentinels facing the treacherous sea, which, now calm and steady as the Thames at Richmond on a summer's day, is in winter lashed by the most violent passions into turbulent and devastating breakers, that dash ineffectually against the strong granitic rocks, but wreak fearful ruin to ships that do not understand their powers and fall unwittingly into their merciless grasp. Leading down to many of the bays on the southern side of Guernsey-the northern portion of the island has far less cliff and rock on its coast-are little roads most poetically termed "water lanes." These lanes are especially beautiful. Down the centre of a small ravine or little valley, sloping to the sea, a silvery stream makes its way, now glittering over green mosses, anon lost beneath a congregation of rocks, and again meandering through beds of forget-me-nots and ferns. The latter, in innumerable varieties and strange luxuriance, add an especial charm to the lanes, while their verdure is maintained for a very long term by the shelter from the sun which is afforded by the overhanging and interlacing trees that protect the little valleys. Wild flowers in great variety line the way, and enliven the sombreness of the shade by their brilliant colours and varied forms. Further on our way we obtain a grand sea-view over Icart Bay, behind whose western point, La Moye, is situate the beautiful Gouffre, perhaps the most picturesque place in the island. This wild and romantic spot must have been in the mind's eye of the guide-book maker when he almost burst into a rhapsody. "The coast scenery of the island cannot be adequately described in a short compass, and it must indeed be seen to be duly appreciated. It combines every variety of the sublime and beautiful-lofty and precipitous cliffs, gigantic rocks, bays of surpassing loveliness, and water pure and transparent as crystal. These scenes are approached through winding ravines that are as beautiful as themselves. Framed on each side by granite walls in every form, and partly clothed with an infinite variety of verdure and a profusion of wild flowers, these rural roads are justly admired by all who see them." The village of La Forêt offers nothing to detain us, whence we drive forward towards Torteval. About midway between these two villages we leave the roadway, and pass through rough lanes and over verdant fields towards the sea. Suddenly we became conscious of an accession to our party in the shape of a ragged, uncouth, semi-civilized looking boy. He springs apparently from nowhere, in a manner which is mysterious, and in good keeping with his wild appearance. For a moment he walks with us, but he utters never a word. As suddenly as he has appeared, he again leaves us, darting to some rocky cranny, from which he produces a rough bundle of furze. With this curious burden on his shoulder, he runs forward, and in a moment is lost in a sudden declivity. Uncomfortable thoughts of a spontaneously-developed desire for suicide suggest themselves, mingled with dread lest the boy intends, in his hurry to reach the base of the rocks before us, to cast the bundle of furze over the cliff, and jump on to it. These are conjectures very wide of the mark, for in a few moments the boy is seen at the cliff-side waving his hand for us to follow. Then he vanishes again, and when we arrive at the point whence he had beckoned us, we find that we are at the top of an exceedingly uncomfortable path leading down the rocky cliff to the sea beach, which lies far below, a belt of sand, and many masses of broken rock. It is a wild and beautiful scene; and many times, as we clamber down the path leading to the base of the rugged cliff, we pause to contemplate the imposing view. It is one of the wildest aspects of nature as we have it here, and were it not for the occasional screech of a sea bird, one would be led to imagine that the place was too desolate for aught to visit it. The turbu lent sea, for once quiet and calm, impatiently leaves the gaunt black rocks, and laps incessantly the strip of sandy beach. The rattling caused by descending fragments of rock, detached from the steep path by our feet as we progress, seems a noisy desecration of the solitude, and we are inclined to move more cautiously and silently, that no disturbing cause may arise to mar the perfect rest and stillness of the spot. It is not a long descent, and very soon we are at the base of the rugged cliff, among masses of rock and great boulders that strew the barren strip of shore, the great wall of rock rising above us, a stern grim guardian over the sterile spot, which few would care to visit, for other reasons than to seek the picturesque beauty of extreme wildness. Our silent guide has reached the bed of rock and sand long before us, his nimble feet skipping goat-like over a path that affords us only a difficult and insecure foothold; and now he patiently awaits us, his bundle of furze poised on his shoulders. There is a peculiar basin-like formation at the foot of the cliff, into which we follow the boy. Then is disclosed a low opening, which we see to be the mouth of a deep, dark cavern. With stooping form and cautious tread we enter, and find onrselvesin darkness. The air is cold and damp, and the whole cave is enveloped in Cimmerian blackness. "A light would not have been a bad notion," I mildly suggest to the proposer of this excursion. He gives a somewhat reluctant assent to the proposition. "The cave is large, you say?" "More than two hundred feet long." "It is very imposing!" This is, of course, said with considerable irony, as the place is in such total darkness. "Very," says my companion. "Perhaps almost as fine an effect might be produced in a smaller cavern, seeing-" "Or not seeing, rather." I smile at his humour, and further remarks are cut short by a cry from our guide, who has penetrated to the other extremity of the cavern. We perceive by a faint gleam of light, feebly struggling in the distance, that the ragged boy had not brought his bundle of furze without a useful purpose. He is kindling a blaze, which in another moment shoots up in a great tongue of flame, as it catches the dried material, and setting the whole into a brightly burning mass, sends forth a ruddy lurid light into the cavern, which we now can perceive to be extremely vast. It is a remarkable picturesque, and, at the same time, very imposing sight. The gaunt damp walls, black with slimy moisture, glisten and sparkle like so many jewels, as the flickering light cast out by the burning furze is thrown upon them, and myriad gems seem at odd moments to dot the dullest corners of the cavern, as the light, making an occasional effort, bursts forth into a bright crimson sheet of flame. Then in a moment the flickering light subsides, and vast dull shadows are cast behind the masses of heavy smoke that rise from the burning pile. Anon we have again a burst of flame, and another sprinkling of jewels around the slimy walls; but the effort to illuminate is becoming weaker as the heap gradually consumes, while the gathering volumes of smoke, finding no outlet, form a heavy pall of grey, which does much to enfeeble the brightness of the glaring light. The smoke is becoming so dense, and the atmosphere so stifling and oppressive, that we begin to agree amongst ourselves that we have seen all which the Creux Mahié can offer to attract us. Nor is our determination premature, for the light is each moment becoming fainter, while we are beginning to evince an uncomfortable desire to cough. Following the movements of our guide, we turn towards the entrance of the cave, which we perceive, a blue ray of light below us, and retrace our steps towards the open air. The cavern is now completely filled by the cloud of heavy smoke and we are not sorry to regain the calm, cool atmosphere of the outer world. There is a sardonic grin on the grimy face of our ragged guide, as we move away, and he contemplates with a glance of quiet satisfaction the thin stream of pale blue smoke issuing from the cavern's mouth. He shrugs his shoulders significantly as he says, Ah, my good! grand sight the next party shall have. Smoke enough there, mʼsieur." There is no doubt that should any one come after us, their chances of seeing the Creux Mahié are remarkably visionary. The guide is immensely delighted, and we leave him chuckling over the idea, as cap in hand he bows us off on our return to St. Peter Port. TO A DEAD INFANT. BY ESPERANZA. "Of such is the kingdom of heaven." YES, my darling, slumber on Now life's tossing dream is o'er; Art thou like to lily pale Hanging brokenly its head?— Snowdrop cropt by wintry gale Perishing on garden bed? Poorly such as these compare With the beauty thou dost wear; Who had dreamed that death could be Anything so fair as thee? Rather dost thou call to mind, So thy spirit, robed in white, Pure from the baptismal flood, Shining from the throne of God. |