why? Not so much because he expects to be of service to their bodies, as that he feels he must lose no opportunity, as the servant of his Master, of doing that Master's work; and knowing that here may be an opportunity, he fears, by neglecting it or turning from the call, he may be losing it. No public eye to see, no one probably but "grandmother" or "the missus" ever to be the wiser whether he went or stayed; no one to blame him if he pleaded weariness, and sat himself down among his books. But not so do our parsons work now-a-days. The days are past when they imagined it to be the chief business of their life to sip port wine and discuss politics; and in place of men like these, we now have men of self-sacrifice, men of energy and zeal, voluntarily undergoing hardships and deprivations of every kind. Not, my friends, always deprivations of the Crawley kind, not necessarily compulsory deprivations,—much more frequently self-denials willingly encountered for the good of their people. There is perhaps no other profession in which the amount of work to be accomplished is left so entirely to the honour and the conscience of its members as is that of a clergy

man.

Probably our old friend has long ere this-if he has had the patience to follow us so far-turned upon us again, and may have assured us, "They are paid for it."

Yes, my dear sir, but here is a case in which a man may work or a man may not work, and yet receive the legal stipend; and obtain a fair share of praise too, especially if he be an agreeable man, from his friends and neighbours: they fare very much alike as to their receipts, at least on this side the grave.

Death, too, and danger, our parsons will face at a moment's notice. No shrinking here from infection more than amongst our doctors; in short, the two are continually to be found face to face over the same sick-bed; with an utter disregard of self, they are at the service of all. Perhaps, of the two, more patience, more endurance, more resolution, is required in the life of a parson than in that of a doctor; for while the latter sees the danger and can go directly to work to avert it, and oftentimes has the inestimable comfort of seeing his efforts crowned with success, the former is often obliged to do his work indirectly, without the prospect of immediate success; nay, he probably feels he never shall see the results of his labour: he may sow, but another shall reap. Hence it is oftentimes a cheerless work. And yet they work on; leave their warm rooms and their family circle,

for night schools, for lectures, for "choir nights," for services, with a cheerful readiness that is surprising to those who witness it. They feel that whether the good is done or not, it is their duty to endeavour to do it.

Ah, my friends, it is no light thing in itself, that going on day after day, week after week, year after year, trying to do good; oftentimes meeting only with vexations, and mortifications, and weariness, yet starting again and again, never despairing, never daunted; failing only to renew the attack with increased vigour and more irresistible patience. Can any deny that these are the qualities of heroes? And such are our Church of England clergy. We once heard a Quaker tradesman exclaim-all honour to him for his candour,-"Ah, it would be a bad day for England if ever the Church were to be overthrown. I don't know what the country would do without the clergy." What indeed! they act as the leaven of society, and give a tone to it, too, far beyond what the world might be disposed to believe.

Let us, then, strive to cheer our parsons in their work. Where we can give them a helping hand, let us do it. Let us not forget the deeds of these men simply because they live amongst us, and we see them every day. Let us honour them as they deserve. Let us give "tribute where tribute is due," both to parsons and doctors. Let us not give greater glory to deeds done within the sound of the trumpet, and before the eyes of the world, than to the same deeds performed in the quiet corners of the earth, with none to look on, and no ear to hear. Once again let us re-echo that country voice, "Our doctors and parsons, God bless 'em!"

ALDERNEY AND THE CYCLADES OF THE

CHANNEL.

BY THE REV. WILMOT BUXTON, B.A., ALDERNEY.

THE Channel Islands, in spite of their historical and antiquarian interest and their great natural beauty, are not so well known in England as they deserve to be. Many persons have certain vague ideas connected with these "Cyclades of the Channel," as Victor Hugo calls them, which consist of recollections of geographical lessons, where they learnt the names of Jersey, Guernsey, Alderney, and Sark, as forming the whole of the Channel Isles: one individual is even said to have asked whether Alderney were the chief town of Guernsey or of Jersey, as he always forgot. Ignorance on any subject is to be avoided, if possible; and ignorance concerning these islands, these anomalous heirlooms of the Norman possessions of England, with their French names and antiquated laws and customs, is decidedly the means of depriving many of much interest and amusement.

Although the most important, Jersey, Guernsey, Alderney, and Sark, are not the only Channel Isles. Professor Ansted, in his excellent work on the subject, divides the islands into four groups: they lie, speaking of their position relative to the French coast, between Cape la Hague and Mount St. Michel, a distance of about eighty miles; and if their extremities were joined by straight lines, they would be found to contain an area of nearly 3,000 square miles. These groups of islands are as follows:-a northern group nearest to the English coast, consisting of Alderney, Burhoo, and the Casquets, with several rocky ledges; a north central group, including Guernsey, Herm, Sark, and a singular complication of rocks and islets; a south central group, consisting of Jersey and three groups of shoals and rocky islands, connecting the north of Jersey with France, and some others also extending towards France from the south-east of Jersey; lastly, a southern group, containing the Minquiers, the Chaussey Islands, and some outlying rocks to the far west. This last group belongs to France, and is probably little known to most

people even well acquainted with the Channel Isles. Professor Ansted considers that all these islands were once connected together and formed part of the French coast; that they were separated from the Continent by an earthquake or similar convulsion of nature, and the separation having once taken place, the softer rocks would be swept away by the sea, whilst the harder masses would offer a longer resistance to the action of the waves; and thus for ages these islands have been penetrated, rounded, broken, and carried by the swift tides of the Atlantic, leaving a few of the hardest barriers, which have resisted the continual attack of time and ocean. To the naturalist, the botanist, and the geologist, these islands offer countless attractions; the mild and genial climate is favourable to the luxuriant growth of many rare and tender plants. Ferns in great variety abound, curious lichens clothe the rocks, shells are found in abundance, especially at Herm, though seldom unbroken, and seaweeds of the most delicate and beautiful kinds grow in the deep blue waters which surround these islands. The geologist will find ample space for research in the Channel Islands, though they do not contain any of the old fossiliferous rocks, or of the rocks of the secondary and tertiary periods, which are found on the opposite coast of Hampshire. The Channel rocks consist exclusively of the nether-formed, or hypogene rocks, as they are sometimes called; they present the two extremities of the geological scale, the changes of most varieties of the crystalline rock and mineral veins, and the latest changes which have taken place on earth. Even without any very deep knowledge of science, the rambler in the Channel Isles will be forced to pause and think over the changes going on in the world of nature as he sees the numberless little bays which form the chief beauty of these islands, and which are caused by the action of the sea and the weather upon the softer material collected in the veins and seams of the syenitic and granitic rocks which chiefly make up the coast-line. The soft floor of sparkling sand which is found in most of these bays was once a huge granitic rock, which time and countless storms and the slow action of the atmosphere have reduced to its present condition. This work of change may be seen in all its stages, the roughened surface of the rock, with here and there indentations, show where the felspar or quartz which once filled these cavities has yielded to the action of the weather; and as far as these cavities extend, the strength and substance of the rock are gone. In time a coating falls off, and

dropping down to the sea, is subjected to the grinding and rubbing of the waves against its pebbles; and this goes on till the substance which was once rock becomes sand.

Although the nearest to England, Alderney is the least known of the Channel Isles. It does not possess the same advantages of climate and cultivation as its more important neighbours, but is nevertheless by no means devoid of interest. As we are better acquainted with it than with the other islands, and as people in general are not, we shall confine our further remarks to the island and neighbourhood of Aurigny, as the French called Alderney. It is only eight or nine miles distant from Cape la Hague, in Normandy; and on a clear day a spectator, looking across the rough waters of the ever-troubled "Race," can easily distinguish the lighthouse at the Cape, and the objects on the highlands of the coast. Twenty miles to the southward lie Guernsey and Sark, both distinctly visible from the back of the island.

The Channel is intensely blue, as it is near all the islands, and its surface is continually studded with masses of rock, some mere specks, others tiny islets, round which the tide frets and froths into dazzling white foam. The communication between Alderney and England, as well as with the other islands, is very uncertain; hence arises much of the unpopularity which attaches to it, there being no reason why Alderney should not become a pleasant and popular seaside haunt. The passage from Guernsey-for there is no direct communication with England-is in general a rough one, especially when the steamer has rounded the point of the island and entered the Swinge, or Passe du Singe, the passage of the Ape, a short stretch of sea where the current occasionally runs at the rate of eight miles an hour. The Swinge is bordered seaward by the rocky, lonely island of Burhoo, on which a deserted cottage stands amid stones, furze, and desolation. This little islet is peopled only by rabbits and sea-birds; the gull brings up her young among its rocks; here the sea-pie utters its strange cry, which has gained it the name of the "sailors' friend," as warning him from a lee shore; and the stormy petrel, the grebe, and cormorant make the place their occasional haunt.

Alderney has a barren appearance from the sea, and is not, in fact, generally cultivated; the crops of the small landowners are produced on the Blaye, or cultivated fields on the highest part of the island. The soil produces excellent crops, but the owners are contented to grow only just sufficient for their wants. The