until we reached the Downs! I did not buy the three thoroughbred hunters, and as, in some unaccountable manner, I had lost all inclination to pay my tailor's bill, he escaped the scolding for the tight sleeve.

I think I have by this time worked out my theory as to the principle of compensation, and I must start for Jersey. Old G- and I went down to the Hotel de France, and engaged seats for all our party in the diligence, which was to set out for Grandville the next day. Half an hour before the appointed time we arrived at the hotel, and having seen all our luggage safely packed, were shown by an obsequious waiter into a "salon," where we sat talking to some friends, in a fatal security, under the idea that the diligence would be driven to the front door to take up the passengers; but the "conducteur" chose to imagine that we had walked on in order to avoid driving down the extremely steep hill by which you leave Avranches on your way to Grandville, and he quietly drove off with our luggage and without ourselves. On becoming aware of this unpleasant state of affairs, there was a vain endeavour by rushing down a lane, almost as steep as a ladder, to overtake the diligence, which, on account of the hill, was obliged to make a long detour, but it was all in vain. We had paid our money for nothing, and were left on the hot, dusty road, without even a change of raiment in our possession, veritables sans culottes. We returned to the hotel, looking very foolish and feeling very angry. I remonstrated with the man from whom I had taken the places, and demanded back our money, on the ground that the diligence ought to have come to the front of the house for passengers, or that notice should have been given to us of its departure, but he was not to be moved. "Monsieur ought to have taken care of himself, and if Monsieur had done so he would have been by this time half way to Grandville. The affiche mentioned the hour at which the diligence started, and if Monsieur preferred sitting in the salon, pour causer avec les Dames,' it was no business of his to give notice to Monsieur, and he would not return the money," Whereupon I waxed wroth, and said I would go chez le sous Prefet." Monsieur," said he, "peut aller." I thought from the shape of his mouth he was about to say au Diable," but he checked himself, and finished the sentence with " ou il veut," But as his Norman blood was roused, he was obliged to vent his rage upon some person or thing, so jumping over the railing which enclosed his den, he seized the unfortunate waiter (a small red-haired individual, who looked like the half of a split weasel) by the collar, and shook him as a bullterrier shakes a rat. The whole scene was so ludicrous that we all began to laugh, and feeling pretty sure that if we went "chez le sous Prefet" we should take nothing by our motion, we wisely determined to make the best of a bad business. After some deliberation we decided upon hiring a private carriage for ourselves, and starting at three o'clock in the morning, by which means we should avoid the dust and heat of the day, and arrive at Grandville in time for the Jersey steamer, which was advertised to start about six o'clock, a.m.; so with rather a crestfallen appearance, and fumbling in our pockets for the franc-pieces which were not there, we returned to Rue Gué de l'Epine, with the exception of old G-, who, wishing to have a final tête-àtête with the handsome "Loueuse de voitures," undertook to do all that was necessary about hiring the carriage. Upon reaching home we

discovered that Fanchette the cook had put out the fire and gone home to her family, and that Louise, who was somewhat of a beauty and a great deal of a flirt, had put on her best Norman cap and gone to visit a few of her sweethearts. However we contrived to get into the house, and having discovered some bread and cold meat, and a few bottles of wine, we managed to rough it very comfortably, the whole party, including old G, who had evidently taken a satisfactory farewell of the "Loueuse de voitures," declaring that we were very glad to have escaped the heat of the crowded diligence.

At the appointed hour our voiture arrived, and putting old G― on the box to talk to his friend Pierre, we settled ourselves comfortably in the inside, rejoicing to be free from the encumbrance of luggage. I am the most veracious and conscientious of travellers, and never describe anything which I have not actually seen; therefore all I shall say of our journey is, that I was fast asleep the whole time, and snored outrageously, as I was informed by a very pretty girl who, having I suppose an eye to her own future comfort, in case she might be induced to look with favour on that handsome young fellow with the dark moustache, asked her mamma if all men snored so loudly as I did; to which mamma, who was rather a wag, and did not choose to give evidence against her own Mr. Caudle, replied, that she must find out that for herself, upon which dear Annie blushed considerably, and busied herself in a most unnecessary manner with the strings of her bonnet.

Well, about six o'clock in the morning, we reached the little town of Grandville, where we found the Rose steamer about to start for Jersey, and heard that had we come on the day before we must have slept in the streets, as all the hotels were full to overflowing, which intelligence reconciled us completely to the loss of our seats and money. Grandville is, in the summer, much frequented, owing to its convenience for bathing; and seeing it as I did, with the tide full in, and under a bright morning sun, it appeared to be a pretty place, and, in my mind, greatly preferable to St. Malo.

Nothing could be more delightful than our short voyage to Jersey, with a bright sun, and a calm sea, and a gentle breeze from the north tempering the heat. I should have thought it impossible for any person to be sick in such weather; but one passenger, who had been looking, as I thought, with great admiration at the town of St. Helier, to which we were rapidly approaching, suddenly turned round, and, to the dismay of the bystanders, whom he "fluttered like the Volscians at Corioli," gave the most unsatisfactory proof of an internal volcano. we were all, in spite of our admiration of the view, becoming very hungry, the unfortunate wretch met with no sympathy, and he crawled to some obscure part of the vessel, where his misery could not be aggravated by the contemplation of our undisturbed serenity.

As

In about two hours after leaving Grandville we entered the harbour of St. Helier, and were speedily moored alongside of the pier. There was the usual number of waiters and "commissaires" from the hotels, loud in the praises of their several establishments. I believe they are all excellent in their way, and certainly at the Royal Yacht Club Hotel, where we had been advised to stay, we found every possible accommodation, very moderate charges, and the greatest civility and attention. VOL. III,

Ꮓ

As I only remained three days at Jersey, and one day it rained in such a manner that, like Lord Coleraine of old, I took off my friend's hat to return a lady's bow, I shall be very concise in my description of the island. I do not know how I should like it as a residence for a prolonged period; probably, with my restless habits in such a small place, I should consider myself " cabined, cribbed, confined;" but it is a most delightful spot for a short visit. The town of St. Helier is very pretty and contains many objects of interest, and excellent shops, where confid ing husbands may be ruined almost as expeditiously as in Regent-street or Waterloo-place. From its aspect, which is southerly, and its situation on the shore of a bay which is shaped like a horse-shoe, and completely land-locked, the inhabitants suffer greatly from heat in the summer months, and the climate is said to be very relaxing; but when you leave the town, and drive east or west, you find the scenery very lovely, and of the most varied description. At every turn of the road you catch splendid views of the sea, of the other channel islands and the French coast, and while the fresh sea breezes blow on your forehead, you begin to think that if Love ever does or ever can live in a cottage, as young blue-eyed maidens believe, but which crusty old fathers, whose candidate sons-in-law are very poor, most strenuously deny, Jersey (in summer) is the very beauideal of a honeymoon residence. You travel for miles through rich orchards loaded with fruit, passing by villas and cottages covered with grapes, and then suddenly find yourself on the bare heath, standing on the edge of a precipitous cliff, with the restless ocean rolling below, and in the deep valleys lovely cottages, with the sea rippling up to the very door. You feel quite romantic, and begin to think—

"If there's peace to be found in the world,

The heart that is humble might hope for it here."

And if you are a young, or indeed an old fool, you talk some nonsense about having "one fair spirit for your minister;" when your coachman, who travels the same road about three hundred times in the year, and who, if he has no heart for poetry, has at all events a stomach for cold beef, spoils your romance by telling you that he must stop for an hour to feed his horses and himself, and that in the lovely cottage which stands on the cliff overlooking the ocean, you will find a good dinner and excellent bottled porter.

We spent two days driving round the island, and seeing as much as we could in so short a period; but as I am sure that every one who reads "The Irish Traveller" will go to Jersey, I will not spoil their interest by a particular description of all the beautiful spots we visited. On the second day, having proceeded as far as was possible in a carriage, we walked for a considerable distance along the cliff in order to visit some caves, the approach to which is very laborious and not a little dangerous. Upon perceiving the track down the cliff, which was any thing but a "facilis descensus," the whole party, with the exception of a certain fair Anna and myself, declined the enterprise, so down we two went crawling along the slippery crags and holding on by our eyebrows. I began to wish that we had taken the caves for granted, or that, for the nonce, I was a young goat instead of an elderly gentleman; however the honor of the Irish Traveller was at stake, and I went on boldly. At length we stood on the strand some thousand feet below our com

panions, who were sitting on the heath watching our progress. Having visited all the caves, which are very curious, and if the sun had not been so hot, would have well repaid our labour, we commenced the ascent of the cliff; there was, comparatively speaking, little danger in ascending, but the labour was very great, and by the time I stood on the summit, the "toil drops fell from my brow like rain." The fair Anna, however, seemed very little fatigued by the expedition, and saying she would willingly go down again if any one would accompany her, tripped through the heath with all the agility of sweet seventeen. Pride, however, comes before a fall, and poor Anna was destined to prove the truth of the proverb, for striking her foot against a tussock, and coming down on her face, she rolled over several times in the heath. Well, I am a discreet man, and say nothing; but I think if it had not been for those abominable large petticoats which female women insist on wearing, I might have seen a pair of very handsome legs. As it was I could not resist the exclamation of "stars and garters," as I assisted her to rise, and assured her, with an amiable duplicity, that I had been looking in another direction at the moment of her fall.

But everything that is pleasant must come to an end. "Oh, ever thus from childhood's hour," &c. "I never loved a dear gazelle," &c. "All that's bright must fade," &c. You all know what I mean, if not I must tell you, that the next morning old G and I were obliged to start for home, leaving our friends behind us to feast on the large Charmontel pears, the recollection of which makes my mouth water even now. We left Jersey for Southampton in the good ship The Courier. It was blowing a whole gale, but as fair as possible for our course. As we rushed out of the harbour before the wind, we met an unfortunate steamer which had been toiling for some thirty hours against the storm, just coming in. Her deck was crowded with passengers looking deplorably wretched. One deluded female, who imagined that she was acquainted with old Gor myself, made several frantic signals of recognition, but her whole appearance was so debauched and disreputable after the sufferings of the night, that we declined to compromise our fashion or respectability by responding to her signals. We reached Southampton after a remarkably rapid passage, and old Ghaving got his beloved curaçoa safely through the custom-house, we started at once for Ireland. Pass we rapidly over this part of the journey; every one has travelled from Southampton to London, and every one has travelled from London to Holyhead. Every one knows or would know, if such things existed, all the milestones between Holyhead and Kingstown. Let it suffice to say, that we reached home in safety. I heard from a friend who managed matters for me while I was that he had lost a week's shooting by my prolonged absence; and from another quarter, that I talked a great deal too much (it must have been in my sleep, for I am naturally a very reserved person) about pretty girls in the St. Malo steamer, pretty girls on the Rock of St. Michel, handsome women who dealt in pictures and curaçoa at Avranches, &c., &c. I fear I shall not readily get leave of absence again. The readers of the METROPOLITAN MAGAZINE will therefore be so good as to accept a long and kind farewell from old G and THE IRISH TRAVELLER.

away,

326

SIR CHARLES GRANDISON.

THE fate of books and the fame of authors, like everything else in this world, are greatly affected by the encroachments of time. Very strange is it to note the slight connexion between popularity and permanence; and stranger still is the confidence with which a critic will promise lasting fame to an author whose works have just commenced an untried existence. A very amusing, and yet withal a melancholy, volume might be written on the fate of popular works, giving the simple story of their first reception, their subsequent history, and their final extinction. Such a book would be full of grave lessons for all ambitious writers. It would show them that the judgment of the public, and the more careful criticism of the reviewer, may be alike reversed by the impartial verdict of time; and it would lead them, or it ought to lead them, to think less of the "bubble reputation," and more of the healthful influence which they may exert by their writings.

In our own day the love of fame, that "last infirmity of noble minds," seems to be kept in abeyance by the love of profit. Books are marketable commodities, and authorship is a business, and merchant-publishers are alive to every hopeful speculation; and the man who has written one successful book can almost deal on his own terms, and may cater for the public at so much a sheet, and write till his brain is utterly fallow and his purse is full.

In the olden times, to write a great work was a labour of years. By slow steps, and constant, thoughtful, almost painful effort, ideas were shaped into form, and symmetry and proportion were secured. Like the calm, slow processes of nature, which move on noiselessly, but with certain progress, the great writer worked out his mental creations, happy in his daily task, and altogether unmindful of the publishing season. The sapling which is planted in a healthy soil, which is fanned by the breezes and watered by the rains of heaven, will become at length a noble forest tree, striking its roots firmly into the soil, and flinging out its branches far and wide, until it

"Circle in the grain Five hundred rings of years."

But the plant which is reared in the hothouse, and can live only in that atmosphere, can never attain to any great size, nor to a prolonged existence. Forced rapidly into life, it is certain to fade as rapidly, unless indeed the craft of the gardener can prolong an unnatural vitality. Our forest sapling and our hothouse exotic may well serve to illustrate the difference between two great classes of living authors, one of which slowly and silently is enriching the world with suggestive thoughts or majestic creations, while the other, anxious to feed the purse and to gain a public reputation, writes with clever rapidity and with brilliant effect, but will never strike a firm root into the nation's heart. In all cases, however, it will be well to distinguish between that exuberant