most effective guerilla force exists to make
invasion exceedingly hazardous. The pursuit
which the natives are daily occupied in seems
to afford a greater proof of personal courage
than a hundred fights;—with an iron pin and
a cow-rope, they are accustomed to go out
alone, and to swing themselves over the
highest precipices after birds'-eggs, or at the
dreadful trade of sapphire gathering: they
look, from the sea, like spiders, but I believe
no kind of danger is so awful to the novice
and so trivial to the adept as is this: their
chief difficulty is to get up the last few inches,
when they must strike themselves off the
summit with their feet, in order to insert
their hand between the rope and the ground.

Before we left the island we had a slight
touch of this particular nettle Danger
ourselves; and though, for my part, I did pluck
the flower safely (if not with honour) in the
end, it was accompanied, I confess, with an
infinite variety of the weed Funk, or terror. We
went to visit the Gouliot Cave, where the great
(Sea) Lions of Sark live, and we disembarked
unfortunately on the wrong, or southern, side
of it: for, although it was low water, being
only a neap-tide, it did not retire sufficiently,
and we had to pass along the face of a
perpendicular rock, beneath which, to judge
by the dark green of its depths and the
malicious smile just curling on its smooth
visage, lay plenty of sea to drown us
with every inclination to do so. There was no
ledge, only little interstices, here and there,
for the extreme tips of our toes; but the cliff
was covered with very small limpets, and in
them we had to trust. I well remember my
feelings as I clung, like the spread-eagle of
Prussia, to that rock, and strove for a safe
lodgment of finger-tip or toe beyond, putting
forth all my feelers like an anemone, and
grasping at the limpets with all the tenacity
of a crab. I firmly believe, indeed, I should
have been drowned but for that beautiful and
accomplished native youth, who accompanied
us, and lent me his hand to tread upon. I
gave him, upon reaching what may well be
called terra firma, the sum of one florin,
which seemed, to his Sarkite eye, a provision
for life. On the other hand, the scene that
awaited us, which appeared to us like a scene
from the Arabian Nights, was, I doubt not,
ordinary and common-place enough to him.

Imagine a vast cavern, some sixty feet
in height, with three arched openings—
north, west, and south—commanding each a
different sea view; a monotonous sort of
organ music haunting it from the sleeping sea,
and the sun-rays broken and intersected by
a thousand shapeless shadows! Where they
chiefly strike, however, a wall of the most
exquisite beauty is revealed: the glories of
the Pompeian and Egyptian Courts at Sydenham
fade before it, as the stars pale before
the dawn, and the rainbow itself might
borrow from it many a hue. Green, red, blue,
white, and scarlet are the prevailing tints;
but, as we approach nearer, the more sombre
colours appear even yet more numerous.
Brown barnacles, mixed with scarlet and
yellow sponges, form the principal paneling
of this tremendous chamber; but, amongst
these, are set a million sea anemones of the
richest and rarest kind: the most exquisite,
to my mind, being the green ones with the
beautiful blue edgings—but it is hard to
award the palm where all are perfect. Such
adventurous votaries of science as have
entered into the Gouliot Cave declare there is
nothing equal to it, and remain there, hour
after hour, as long as a spring-tide will
permit.

The westernmost cavern is even still
more wondrous; and contains, in addition to
the riches of the larger treasure-house,
zoophytes and corallines in immense
abundance. The ceilings of both are like those of
Aladdin's grotto, and their sides appear like
masses of glittering gems. When the moaning
of the tide got to be unpleasantly loud, and
our guide insisted upon our departure, lest we
should suffer a sea change, and our spectacles
turn into barnacles, I confess to being as hard
to move from the Gouliot Cave as one of its
own limpets.

HALF A LIFE-TIME AGO.
IN FIVE CHAPTERS. CHAPTER IV.

THE vehemence with which Susan Dixon
threw herself into occupation could not last
for ever. Times of languor and remembrance
would come—times when she recurred with
a passionate yearning to past days, the
recollection of which was so vivid and delicious,
that it seemed as though it were the reality,
and the present bleak bareness the dream.
She smiled anew at the magical sweetness of
some touch or tone which in memory she
felt and heard, and drank the delicious cup
of poison, although at the very time she
knew what the consequence of racking pain
would be.

"This time, last year," thought she, "we
went nutting together—this very day last
year; just such a day as to-day. Purple and
gold were the lights on the hills; the leaves
were just turning brown; here and there on
the sunny slopes the stubble-fields looked
tawny; down in a cleft of yonu purple slate-
rock the beck fell like a silver glancing
thread; all just as it is to-day. And he
climbed the slender swaying nut-trees, and
bent the branches for me to gather; or made
a passage through the hazel copses, from
time to time claiming a toll. Who could
have thought he loved me so little ?—who?
—who?"

Or, as the evening closed in, she would
allow herself to imagine that she heard his
coming step, just that she might recall the
feeling of exquisite delight which had passed
by without the due and passionate relish at
the time. Then she would wonder how she