counter-currents was tremendous. At some places the water appeared in a state of fierce ebullition, leaping and foaming as if convulsed by the action of submarine fires; at others it formed powerful eddies, which rendered the helm almost of no avail in the guidance of the vessel.

We steered as near to Alderney, or Aurigni as it is frequently called, as prudence warranted. It is a high, rugged, bare-looking island, encompassed by perilous reefs, but supporting a pretty numerous population. The only arborescent plants discernible from the deck of our vessel, were clumps of brushwood. The grain on the cultivated spots was uncut, and several wind-mills on the higher grounds, indicated the means by which the islanders, who have very little intercourse with the rest of the world, reduce their wheat into flour. The southern side of the island is precipitous, and its eastern cape terminates in a fantastic rock called the Cloak, which our captain consulted as a landmark in steering through the Race. There is only one village in Alderney—a paltry place, named St. Anne, or in common parlance La Ville; and there a detachment of troops is generally stationed. Small vessels only can enter the harbour, which is shelterless, and rendered difficult of access by a sunken reef. At sunset Alderney was far astern, and three of its sister islands, Sark, Herm, and Jethau, were in view ahead.

It was impossible to behold, without a portion of romantic enthusiasm, the dazzling radiance of the orb of day, as it went down in splendour beyond the gleaming waves. A thousand affecting emotions are liable to be excited by the prospect of that mighty sea whose farther boundaries lie in another hemisphere—whose waters have witnessed the noblest feats of maritime enterprise, and the fiercest conflicts of hostile fleets. Where shall we find the man to whom science is dear, who dreams not of Columbus, when he first feels himself rocked by the majestic billows of the Atlantic—who regards not the golden line of light, which the setting sun casts over the waste of waters, as a type of the intellectual illumination experienced by the ocean pilgrim, when he first steered his bark into its solitudes? Who can survey, even the hither strand of that vast sea, without reflecting that the waves that break at his feet have laved the palm-fringed shores of America; and that the bones of millions—the pride, and pomp, and treasure of nations—repose in the same capacious tomb?

Anxious to be a spectator of the perils that beset navigation among these islands, I repaired to the deck before day-break, at which time, according to our captain's calculation, we were likely to double the Corbiére—a well-known promontory on the western side of Jersey—which requires to be weathered with great circumspection. Jersey was already visible on our larboard bow—a lofty precipitous coast. Wind and tide were in our favour, and we swept smoothly and rapidly round the cape; but the jagged summits of the reefs that environ it, and the impetuosity of the currents, bore incontestable evidence to the verity of the tales of misfortune which our captain associated with its name. The rock which bears the appellation of the Corbiére, is close in shore, and so grotesque in form, as to be readily singled out from the adjacent cliffs. A reef, visible only at low water, shoots from it a considerable distance into the sea, and another ledge of the same aspect, lies still farther seaward; consequently the course of a careful pilot, is to hold his way free through the channel between them. If a lands-*man may be permitted to make an observation on a nautical point, I would say that our steersman kept the peak of the Corbiére exactly on a level with the adjacent precipices, till we were directly abreast of the headland, and then stood abruptly in-shore till within a few fathoms of the cliffs, under the shadow of which he afterwards held a steady course till we opened the bay of St. Aubin.

The fantastic and inconstant outline of the Corbiére, as we were hurried swiftly past it, was a subject of surprise and admiration. When first seen through the haze of morning, it resembled a huge elephant supporting an embattled tower; a little after, it assumed the similitude of a gigantic warrior in a recumbent posture, armed cap-a-pie; anon, this apparition vanished, and in its stead rose a fortalice in miniature, with pigmy sentinels stationed on its ramparts. The precipices between the Corbiére and the bay of St. Aubin, are no less worthy of notice than that promontory. They slope down to the water-edge in enormous protuberances, resembling billows of frozen lava, intersected by wide sinuous rifts, and present a most interesting field for geological research.

The bay of St. Aubin is embraced by a crescent of smiling eminences thickly sprinkled with villas and orchards. St. Helier crouches at the base of a lofty rock that forms the eastern cape: the village of St. Aubin is similarly placed near Noirmont Point, the westward promontory, and between the two, stretches a sandy shelving beach, studded with martello towers. The centre of the bay is occupied by Elizabeth Castle—a fortress erected on a lofty insulated rock, the jagged pinnacles of which shoot up in grotesque array round the battlements. The harbour is artificial, but capacious and safe, and so completely commanded by the castle, as to be nearly inaccessible to an enemy. The jetties and quays, which had only been recently constructed, are of great extent and superior masonry. The majority of the vessels in port were colliers from England; but summer is not the season to look for crowded harbours. The merchants of St. Helier engage deeply in the Newfoundland fishery, and are otherwise distinguished for maritime enterprise; consequently there is no reason to infer that the vast sum of money which must of necessity have been expended in the improvement of the harbour, has been unprofitably sunk. During the late war the islanders rapidly increased in opulence, as the island was filled with troops and emigrants, who greatly enhanced the value of home produce; but the cessation of hostilities restored matters to their natural order, and the Jerseymen bewail the return of peace and plenty with as much sincerity as any half-pay officer that ever doffed his martial appurtenances.

St. Helier may contain about 7,000 inhabitants. Internally it differs little from the majority of small sea-ports in England, save it may be in the predominance of foreign names on the signboards, and the groups of French marketwomen, distinguished by their fantastic head-gear, who perambulate the streets. The only place worthy of a visit is the market, which, for orderly arrangement, and plenteous supply, is scarcely excelled in any quarter of the world. It was occupied chiefly by Norman women, who repair here regularly once a-week from Granville to dispose of their fowls, fish, eggs, fruit, and vegetables. Most of them were seated at their stalls, and industriously plying their needles, when not occupied in serving customers. They had a mighty demure look, and never condescended to solicit any person to deal with them—a mode of behaviour which the butchers, fishmongers, fruiterers, and greengrocers, of Great Britain would do well to imitate. The generality were hard-featured; and their grotesque head-dresses, parti-coloured kerchiefs, and short clumsily-plaited petticoats, gave them a grotesque, antiquated air, altogether irreconcilable to an Englishman's taste. They were, however, wonderfully clean, and civil and honourable in their traffic, compared with the filthy, ribald, over-reaching hucksters who infest our markets; and it was gratifying to hear that the Jersey people encouraged their visits, and treated them with hospitality and respect.

The rock on which Elizabeth Castle is perched, is nearly a mile in circuit, and accessible on foot at low water by means of a mole, formed of loose stones and