island, and the other the swinge, on the north side. Through these channels the tide runs from six to seven miles an hour; it is only at a favourable state of the wind and tide that the coast can be approached, and then only by persons well acquainted with navigation; however, our little "Zebra" danced gaily over the waves, and in due time we were safely landed on the shore of the cow-famed Alderney. About half a mile from the harbour is the town of St. Anne, containing from 800 to 900 inhabitants, and consisting principally of country farm-looking houses, with their yards and outbuildings, and resembling rather a large village than a town; the reason of this is that almost all the population of the island reside in this place, and the majority of them being farmers, occasion their houses to be of the same description, and this not only swells the apparent size of the town, but gives a desolate aspect to the other parts of the island; the church of St. Anne is a large plain building, of great age, but I cannot ascertain the precise date of its erection.

The general aspect of Alderney is by no means equal to that of Serk; this is owing to the almost total absence of both cottages and trees; neither is there any rock scenery of so bold and romantic a character; the soil also is not so good, and a large portion of it was, till lately, uncultivated. Vraic, the sea-weed I mentioned being used for manure in Jersey, is also used here, and thegathering of it is quite as important an affair. But the great characteristic of Alderney agriculture is the cow, from which animal, I believe, it is better known than from any other means; the cows are generally milked three times a day, and in many instances are surprisingly productive. The chief characteristics of the genuine species, are the short curve of the horns, and the prominent sparkling eye; in which latter, the real Alderney cow offers a striking contrast to all other breeds.

The remarks I have made on the character of the inhabitants of Serk, will pretty nearly apply to those of Alderney, with the exception, that instead of frugality, feasting and improvidence seem to be the order of the day; this difference may arise from many causes which I cannot now investigate, but this is evidently a principal one-the prevalence of smuggling; here is no regular trade as in the other islands, and the great majority of the men either are, or have been, in some measure, engaged in the illicit traffic; as a natural consequence, the gains thus acquired are lavishly spent, and it is a rare thing for an Alderney man to die rich. Society is in a very low state, and the exertions of the "schoolmaster" are miserably at a discount; the island does not contain a single public library nor a book-club; very few persons have any books in their houses, and only one or two whose collection amounts to more than the library of a cottage shef. The climate is healthy, but not so pleasant as Jersey, owing to its being more exposed to the north-east winds; the inhabitants are generally long-lived, and out of 201 persons who died during the last ten years, no less than 65 had attained to upwards of seventy. With regard to government, &c., the regulations are nearly the same as those of the other islands, the difference being only in local regulations, not sufficiently interesting to detail. Alderney is on the whole well worth a visit, though it is wanting in many of the attractions which render the other islands so lovely and delightful.

And now I must pause, for as my next steps will be directed homewards, my ramblings may be said to have ceased. The sight of the beauteous face of nature in some of her countless varieties of feature, recurs to the memory with a freshness, like the remembrance of the friends of by-gone years; various scenes pass before us; a brief space, and they are gone from the sight, perchance for ever, but they will dwell on the remembrance with pleasure, until that remembrance shall have ceased to exist. Your's, &c. G. P. J.

WAR AND GLORY.

The following spirited production from the pen of Dr. Johnson, constituted the original No. 22 of the Idler, but on republication of that work in volumes, this paper was suppressed by the author, and another substituted in its stead :

Many naturalists are of opinion that the animals which we commonly consider as mute have the power of imparting their thoughts to one another. That they can express general sensations is very certain; every being that can utter sounds has a different voice for pleasure and for pain. The hound informs his fellows when he scents his game; the hen calls her chickens to their food by her cluck, and drives them from danger by her scream.

Birds have the greatest variety of notes; they have, indeed, a variety which seems almost sufficient to make a speech adequate to the purposes of a life which is regulated by instinct, and can admit little change or improvement. To the cries of birds, curiosity or superstition has been always attentive; many have studied the language of the feathered tribes, and some have boasted that they understood it.

The most skillful or most confident interpreters of the sylvan dialogues have been commonly found among the philosophers of the east, in a country where the calmness of the air and the mildness of the seasons allow the student to pass a great part of the year in groves and bowers; but what may be done in one place by peculiar opportunities, may be performed in another by peculiar diligence. A shepherd of Bohemia has, by long abode in the forests, enabled himself to understand the voice of birds; at least, he relates with great confidence a story, of which the credibility is left to be considered by the learned:

"As I was sitting," said he, "within a hollow rock, and watching my sheep that fed in the valley, I heard two vultures interchangeably crying on the summit of the cliff. Both voices were earnest and deliberate. My curiosity prevailed over my care of my flock; I climbed slowly and silently from crag to crag, concealed among the shrubs, till I found a cavity where I might sit and listen without suffering or giving disturbance.

"I soon perceived that my labour would be well repaid; for an old vulture was sitting on a naked prominence, with her young about her, whom she was instructing in the arts of a vulture's life, and preparing, by her last lecture, for their final dismission to the mountains and the skies.

"My children," said the old vulture, " you will the less want my instructions because you have had my practice before your eyes: you have seen me snatch from the farm the household fowl, you have seen me seize the leverit in the bush, and the kid in the pasture; you know how to fix your talons, and how to balance your flight when you are laden with your prey. But you remember the taste of more delicious food: I have often regaled you with the flesh of man.”—“ Tell us," said the young vultures," where man may be found, and how he may be known; his flesh is surely the natural food of a vulture? Why have you never brought a man in your talons to the nest?"'—" He is too bulky," said the mother: "when we find a man we can only tear away his flesh, and leave his bones upon the ground."-" Since man is so big," said the young ones, "how do you kill him? You are afraid of the wolf and of the bear; by what power are vultures superior to man? Is man more defenceless than a sheep?"-"We have not the strength of man," returned the mother, "and I am sometimes in doubt whether we have the subtilty; and the vulture would seldom feed upon his flesh, had not nature, that devoted him to our uses, infused into him a strange ferocity, which I have never observed in any other being that feeds upon the earth. Two herds of men will often meet and shake the earth with noise, and fill the air with fire. When you hear noise, and see fire, with flashes along the ground, hasten to the place with your swiftest wing, for men are surely destroying one another; you will then find the ground smoking with blood and covered with carcasses, of which many are dismembered and mangled, for the convenience of the vulture."-" But when men have killed their prey," said the pupil, "why do they not eat it? When the wolf has killed a sheep, he suffers not the vulture to touch it till he is satisfied himself. Is uot man another kind of wolf?"—"Man," said the mother, "is the only beast who kills that which he does not devour, and this quality makes him so much a benefactor to our species.""If men kill our prey, and lay it in our way," said the young one, "what need shall we have of labouring for ourselves?"-"Because man will, sometimes," replied the mother, "remain for a long time quiet in his den. The old vul

tures will tell you when you are to watch his motions, When you see men in great numbers moving close together, like a flock of storks, you may conclude that they are

hunting, and that you will soon revel in human blood."-" But still," said the young one, "I would gladly know the reason of this mutual slaughter: I could never kill what I could not eat."-"My child," said the mother, "this is a question which I cannot answer, though I am reckoned the most subtle bird of the mountain. When I was young, I used frequently to visit the aërie of an old vulture, who dwelt upon the Carpathian rocks; he had made many observations; he knew the places that afforded prey round his habitation, as far in every direction as the strongest wing can fly between the rising and setting of the summer sun; he had fed year after year on the entrails of men. His opinion was, that men had only the appearance of animal life, being really vegetables, with a power of motion; and that as the boughs of an oak are dashed together by the storm, that swine may fatten on the falling acorns, so men are, by some unaccountable power, driven one against another till they lose their motion, that vultures may be fed. Others think they have observed something cf contrivance and policy among these mischievous beings; and those that hover more closely round them, pretend that there is in every herd one that gives directions to the rest, and seems to be more eminently delighted with a wide carnage. What is it that entitles him to such pre-eminence we know not; he is seldom the biggest or the swiftest, but he shows, by his eagerness and diligence, that he is, more than any of the others, -a friend to the vultures."

(From the Penny Magazine,)

STANZA

On the Blessing of Good Health, with a few Remarks on the Love of Life, &c. (Written in Affliction.)

FRAIL mortal man! say what is life
Without its chiefest blessing-health?

Can kings confer a boon so great,

Can human skill or India's wealth?

But mark-when pale affliction comes,

What then is health's pure blessing worth?

Loath to resign affection's ties,

How fondly do we cling to earth!

Stretch'd on my bed supine, I crave,
With patience to endure the ill;
And whatsoe'er my fate may be,
Submission to the Almighty will.
Yet would I live for one I love,

My wife, my gentle partner true;
With her I've more of nature's claims,
In sweet and helpless babies-two.
Yes, I would live for their dear sakes,
Their fickle infant minds t' engage;

To bless the tenor of my years,

And comfort me in drooping age.
Fain would I see their promise fair,
Virtue and duties path begun ;

In Him, whose grace is manifest,

I trust, and say "Thy will be done!"
These are my claims, these are my ties,
If 'tis a sin to wish to live;
I pray that in his boundless love,
God's mercy will the sin forgive.

Manchester, November 5th, 1836.

GEORGE RICHARDSON.