NOTES OF A TOUR IN THE ISLAND OF JERSEY.

_By Alexander Sutherland, Esq. Member of the Royal Physical Society of
Edinburgh_.


We lost sight of the Needles at sunset. There was little wind; but a
heavy weltering sea throughout the night. Nevertheless, our bark drove
merrily on her way, and at day-break the French coast, near Cape de
la Hogue, was dimly visible through the haze of morning. At dawn the
breeze died away; and as the tide set strongly against us, it was found
necessary to let go an anchor, in order to prevent the current from
carrying us out of our course. The surface of the ocean, though furrowed
by the long deep swell peculiar to seas of vast extent, looked as if
oil had been poured upon it. The vessel pitched prodigiously too; but
neither foam-bubbles nor spray ruffled the glassy expanse. Wave after
wave swept by in majesty, smooth and shining like mountains of molten
crystal; and though the ocean was agitated to its profoundest depths,
its convulsed bosom had a character of sublime serenity, which neither
pen nor pencil could properly describe.

The night-dew had been remarkably heavy, and when the sun burst through
the thick array of clouds that impended over the French coast, the
cordage and sails discharged a sparkling shower of large pellucid drops.
In the course of the forenoon, a small bird of the linnet tribe perched
on the rigging in a state of exhaustion, and allowed itself to be
caught. It was thoughtlessly encaged in the crystal lamp that lighted
the cabin, where it either chafed itself to death, or died from the
intense heat of the noon-day sun, which shone almost vertically on its