The Ending of the Year

The Ending of the Year

Christmas is over, dark days head
The cold world, the world of night
Decorations away, a time I dread
And everything a little less bright

Gravestones damp from all the rain
A ten year old, taken by illness, lost
Parents wept, they knew much pain
As they stood mourning in the frost

Ending of the old year drawing near
Janus beckons, turning from time past
To face the future, a time of fear
When rides the storm a shrieking ghast

Shadows of the past, and that still to be
Pray for kindness, that’s the key

The Battle of Jersey: A Contemporary Account

The Battle of Jersey: A Contemporary Account

The Psalmist declared, " All men are liars," and, though he said this " in haste," historians sometimes suspect that his remark was true. We have for example a contemporary account of the Battle of Jersey, written by a Commanding Officer, who took part in the action, published almost immediately after the Battle.

Most historians would regard this as a valuable find. Captain Williams was in command of the Invalides in Elizabeth Castle. a Company of old veterans, who formed part of the regular garrison, and he marched his men out to join Major Peirson on Gallows’ Hill. And he wrote

“I have scarce time. my dear Sir, to inform you of the glorious actions of a few British lads against 2,400 of the best troops of France. Our Lieutenant-Governor's letter will inform you more circumstantially than I can, as he receives reports from the whole, but by commanding the 5th and 6th Companies of Invalides, stationed upon Knott's Mount, Gallows Hill, I can give you an account of their conduct.”

“Perceiving the Enemy advancing to us, I formed two deep, to have a greater length of fire, and placed my two three-pounders one on each flank, and made a regular advance upon the charge upon them ; they halted and gave us their fire, which we returned very severely, and, after standing to it 18 or 20 minutes, the ragamuffins gave way; and upon the approach of about 200 Regulars and Militia ordered to my assistance, they threw down their arms and craved mercy. I received them as Prisoners of War, until the Governor's pleasure is known.”

"Had they stood a quarter of an hour longer, I believe very few would have been left to have related to their Grand Monarch how a few old English Invalides conquered the Flower of the French Army.

Of the Enemy's five Companies, which we engaged and defeated : 2 Captains, 1 Lieutenant, 5 Sergeants, 4 Corporals, 2 Drummers and 48 Privates, killed.”

“All the remaining Officers, Commissioned and Non-Commissioned, and about 238 Privates, laid down their arms, and surrendered prisoners at discretion. In the whole, I am informed that nearly 300 are killed, and about 40 driven into the sea, by the Grenadiers of the Regulars, and drowned; between three and four hundred wounded ; and between eleven and twelve hundred taken Prisoners.''

To this we need only add three observations:

(1) Rullecourt's men, so far from being "the Flower of the French Army " were a scratch collection of scallywags specially recruited for the purpose, hundreds of `those being convicts released from chain-gangs on condition that they joined the expedition.

(2) He only landed 1,400 men at La Rocque, and left some to guard his boats. Only 700 marched to St Helier. So it is odd, if his casualties amounted to over 1,200, and in addition he lost " between eleven to twelve hundred " prisoners.

(3) Moreover, though the British troops mustered on Gallows’ Hill, not a shot was fired till they reached the Square, where the enemy awaited their attack. The Battle of Knott's Mount was fought entirely in Captain Williams' imagination.

Moral:-When you describe what happened during the a battle, don't let your imagination run away with you.

Joseph and the Three Gifts : A Review

Joseph and the Three Gifts takes both the bible stories, comments and additions down the years, and a new story about Joseph told by an Angel, and weaves them into a seamless thread It has a gentle conversational tone, as if one was being told this story by the fireside, or at bedtime, on a winter’s day. And Joseph’s story is linked to the gifts of the Magi – and the question told in this inventive tale: whatever happened to those gifts? And how did Jesus grow up working with Joseph as a carpenter?

I’m not giving away spoilers, but the way in which their use is worked out in the story of Jesus was beautifully and imaginatively worked together, each gift for a different time and so appropriate occasion - and we also find out why Joseph disappears from the gospel stories.

There’s a lot of debunking today of elements of the Christmas stories, such as the number of Wise Men, or the donkey, and that’s right and proper, but this tale shows how we can keep them, even if they sit lightly to history. I really appreciated that. I want that donkey, those three Magi, and here they are, along with other links to paintings (“The Shadow of the Cross”) and stories about Jesus. As a result, part of the story has a dreamlike quality (as the best stories do), but again and again, we are also brought back to the gospel story itself, the terra firma which grounds the tales, where myth becomes fact.

It’s a story that lingers long after you’ve read it, and a story which you can read again and again – always the sign of a good book, as C.S. Lewis noted. And the nice thing about the way the story has been woven, it sits well with Christmas, and Candlemas, and Easter. Christmas has so much focus on birth that it forgets Easter, and yet from the start, the gifts point ahead to Easter.

Advent Comes: A Carol

A substantial rewrite as an Advent Carol of a poem I wrote a few weeks ago. The tune "Irby" is that of Once in Royal David's City. I was very humbled to have it performed by Andrew Parker at the St Aubin On the Hill Christmas Carol Concert.

Advent Comes (Tune: "Irby")

Light in slums of that great city
Light in farm yard, cattle shed
Mother now conceived a baby
Sleep and dreaming, sound in bed
Touched by angels, touch so mild
As if touched by little child.

Stars shine brightly, light our heaven
Planets meeting, signs for all
From the humblest farmyard stable
To Cathedral choir stall
For the poor and mean and lowly
Signs and wonders of the holy

Born anew, in second childhood
Spirit gives us words to say
Blessings on your pregnant mother
Comes the time, the birthing day
Come the promise that should be
Coming of the Lord to me

Advent comes, this yearly pattern
As from infancy we grew
We were little, weak and helpless,
Advent hope makes all things new
Signs and portents in our sadness
Promised hope and Word of gladness

And we wait again to see him
Through his own redeeming love
Healing touch, so quiet and gentle
Spirit coming from above
Come to Bethlehem, come on
Land of strife where peace has gone

Wars and migrants, world unstable
Time to change or time to die
Peace he brings, the hope of heaven
And our voices sing on high
We were lost, but now are found
Love in heaven touches ground

70 Years ago: Noirmont and the Letters Patent

As the year draws to a close, a look back to 70 years ago

A letter in the JEP on 22nd August 1945 suggested that Noirrmont headland should be purchased for the people of Jersey. Prior to the war, the headland was privately owned and off limits to the public.

This letter led to a lengthy debate in the States, ending on 22nd January 1947, when they finally agreed to purchase the headland on condition it be retained as a War Memorial to all those Islanders who lost their lives during WWII - some 450 men, women and children. The price of the headland was £9,000 of which £1,187 and 16 shillings was made up of public subscriptions.

And so it was that on November 22nd 1949, 70 years ago, a document called Letters Patent was signed and sealed by George VI. It recorded a petition to the King from Hope May de Gruchy and Catherine May Miller, widow of Guy Fortescue Burrell de Gruchy, of Noirmont Manor, St Brelade have petitioned the King “that they be allowed to sell land belonging to the Fief, Manor and Seignory of Noirmont, St Brelade to the States of Jersey with the proviso that it be preserved as a memorial to the men and women of Jersey who perished in the Second World War.”

So what is “Letters Patent” and why was it needed? Letters patent (always in the plural) means an open letter or document issued by a monarch or government to record a contract, authorize or command an action, or confer a privilege, right, office, title, or property. In the case of Noirmont, because the land belonged to a Fief Manor, the sale had to be approved by the monarch. The Bailiff is also appointed by letters patent.

Letters patent are so named from the Latin verb “pateo”, to lie open, exposed, accessible. The originator's seal (in wax) was attached to hang from the document, so that it did not have to be broken in order for the document to be read. The opposite of letters patent is “letters close” where a document is closed and sealed, and can only be read by breaking the seal.

In later use, which we are more familiar with, such a document grants for a set period the sole right to make, use, or sell some process, invention, or commodity. That is when, for instance, someone gets a patent for an invention.

And just a note: the Memorial Stone that we see today was placed by the Public Works Dept. on 9th May, 1970 to commemorate the 25th anniversary of Liberation, at a cost of £25.

How do we measure value in an interdependent society?

In “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy”, Douglas Adams introduces us to the Golgafrinchans, a race of humanoid beings who split their population into three distinct groups and sent their third group, the middlemen, on a spaceship which eventually ended up on planet Earth.

The leaders contained the artists and "achievers". The workers were the people who "did all the actual work", and who made and did things. The middle management was comprised of hairdressers, lawyers, telephone sanitisers (whatever they are!), and other such supposedly "worthless jobs."

This third class eventually crashed onto Earth, while the other two-thirds of their society on Golgafrincham lived full, rich and happy lives until they were all suddenly killed off by a raging disease contracted from a dirty telephone!

Like much of Douglas Adams, behind the humour there is also sharp social comment. The supposedly worthless jobs turned out to be the glue that kept their society together, and the loss of the telephone sanitisers comes back to bite the others.

This interdependence of society came up again recently when I read the Bailiwick Express article with comment by Kevin Keen:

“With a growing population and limited resources, who should be allowed to come and work in Jersey has been perhaps THE most sensitive subject, year after year, in Jersey. In the absence of a proper policy, officials begin to use phrases which come from the economists, like 'high-value' to describe someone who makes a bigger contribution to our GVA. Which is great if you work in finance, but no so helpful to tourism, retail and hospitality.”

A point of clarification here: Gross value added (GVA) is the total profits and total wages of a sector added together, except for the public sector where it is just the total wages.

He looks at the practice of using GVA

“Though per sector GVA statistics are interesting for economists, the measure is highly flawed (as much for what it does not include as what it does) and in my view it can also be divisive when used by our policy makers in an attempt to put a positive or negative money value on each of us.”

And he notes that:

“Financial services depends on the support the wider economy gives, the coder, the baker, the electricity-maker. They also need the public services, cleaners, builders, hotels, restaurants and retailers; the list goes on and on.”

And there’s a problem at the heart of “economic value” which becomes very apparent when we look at farming, an occupation beset by environmental hazard where crops may fail or be lost, long hours, and fairly low levels of income compared to top CEOs of business world. And yet without farming there would be no food, and the top CEOs would starve.

Michael Sandel raised a similar point in his lecture when he asked “Should a banker be paid more than a nurse?”

Now there’s been quite a debate on this issue, but I think the point about asking this question, and looking at the relative merits of the farmer and the CEO, points to a fact that we lose sight of the important values inherent in lower paid enterprises if we purely consider economic value.

We need finance to generate the bulk of the wealth we need to support out governmental infrastructure in Jersey – but when we start to rank finance top for other matters such as population permits, we are heading into dangerous waters. This is the more so because systems which are quasi-Artificial Intelligence are starting to automate far more of the mundane tasks in office based sectors, and a revolution akin to the change from

Dickensian ledgers to computerised book keeping is coming about. I predict that RPA ( robotic process automation) will make significant inroads into office processes in the coming years, leading to efficiencies so that staffing levels may remain static (or in some instances reduce).

So we have to look at how we can value things differently. There’s no reason in principle why this could not be quantified in some way, some basic measures of statistics using ranking as a basic if crude means of sorting out data, and that need not be ranking in terms of purely economic value.

Meanwhile teachers and nurses cannot so easily be replaced, although even there AI is making inroads in, for example, examination of scans to pick up on alerts that even the most able physician may miss – although they need to be cross-checked by a physician.

But on the whole, areas with “coal face” employment – from teachers to hairdressers and dentist to those who serve us, as Kevin Keen reminds us, with our fix of coffee in pleasant surroundings, cannot so easily be replaced with automation. Indeed as we have seen, restaurants have had to curtail opening times because of a lack of chefs – to take just one example. We may replace checkouts in Supermarkets with self-scanning, but hair dressing and cutting cannot so easily be automated, and part of the merit of teaching in classes is not just knowledge but self-discipline and socialisation.

Indeed, one danger, as Michael Sandel, the moral philosopher pointed out in his Reith Lectures, is that a reductionism which looks to purely economic value as the only way of valuing (or the principal way of valuing) goods and services:

“Some of the good things in life are corrupted or degraded if turned into commodities, so to decide when to use markets, it’s not enough to think about efficiency; we have also to decide how to value the goods in question. Health, education, national defence, criminal justice, environmental protection and so on - these are moral and political questions, not merely economic ones. To decide them democratically, we have to debate case by case the moral meaning of these goods in the proper way of valuing. This is the debate we didn’t have during the age of market triumphalism. As a result, without quite realising it, without ever deciding to do so, we drifted from having a market economy to being a market society. The hope for moral and civic renewal depends on having that debate now. It is not a debate that is likely to produce quick or easy agreement. “

And on those lines, E.F. Schumacher wrote about half a century ago in “Small in Beautiful”:

"To press non-economic values into the framework of the economic calculus, economists use the method of cost/benefit analysis. This is generally thought to be an enlightened and progressive development, as it is at least an attempt to take account of costs and benefits which might otherwise be disregarded altogether. In fact, however, it is a procedure by which the higher is reduced to the level of the lower and the priceless is given a price. It can therefore never serve to clarify the situation and lead to an enlightened decision. All it can do is lead to self-deception or the deception of others; all one has to do to obtain the desired results is to impute suitable values to the immeasurable costs and benefits. The logical absurdity, however, is not the greatest fault of the undertaking: with is worse, and destructive of civilization, is the pretense that everything has a price or, in other words, that money is the highest of all values. "

And lastly I like this quote: "the modern tendency is to see and become conscious of only the visible and to forget the invisible things that are making the visible possible and keep it going."

Before we construct a solid population policy, we need to work out where are the invisible things that are making the visible possible and keep it going.

AD 70

Jerusalem fell in 70 CE, and one million lives had been lost in 8 Months Of combat. This poem reflects upon that fall, and the changes it wrought in the Jewish people. The Romans crucified so many after the fall of Jerusalem that they ran out of wood. This was going to be an entirely different poem, but it went its own way and ended up commenting on this event.

AD 70

Long, long ago, and far away
Beside a broken wall
So many then were crucified
The Romans took them all

The Temple Holy, all we loved
Torn down so hard to bear
No sacrifices more of blood
And rituals that we share

The Romans came, and who can tell
How hard it was to bear
Ancient traditions lost to us
And how we suffered there.

And anger comes, and none forgiven
This truly is not good
It binds in chains, we must be freed
Of vengeance from that blood

And is there justice good enough
To pay the price of sin?
Shalom, shalom, in peace we give
The Wisdom deep within

Jersey As It Is - Part 9

This Friday is a blog in which I have transcribed a translation of an essay called "Jersey as It Is", published in 1844, as the result of a winning entry by F. Robious de La Trehonnais which won first prize in the competition of the Jersey Emulation Society.

His language is at times perhaps rather too flowery, but there are some wonderful nuggets of phrase - I love this one: "History satisfies the soul, tradition interests and surprises it; but legend charms and enraptures it."

His visit to Faldouet sets of his imagination in fine fettle - of course as most guide books of the time note, it was identified back then not as a Neolithic dolmen but as a much later "Druidic Temple". And his imagination runs riot with blood sacrifice - "harrowing shrieks of human victims"! This never happened at any Neolithic site, and it is even uncertain if the Druids practiced it. He also mentions Mont de La Ville, lost to England by this time, and also a visit to Hougue Bie's Princes Tower and the spectacular view - little realising that another monument lay beneath the artificial mound.

Jersey As It Is - Part 9
On the summit of the hill, which overhangs the castle, has recently been discovered, in a state of perfect preservation, a druidical temple. It consists of rough stones fixed perpendicularly, and covered by one only, which astonishes the beholder by its immense proportions.

When seated beneath this ponderous vault, the mind strives to ascertain the meaning of this assemblage of rocks on which no date, no image, no superscription flings the least glimmering ray ; then is it that the weight of this moor stone covering seems to weigh down the spirit, which it overwhelms with its mystery, and with that thick darkness which settles all around, shrouding every annal of its existence, destroying every remembrance of its history. 

In the dim and cloudy distance, where the imagination seeks to plunge itself, what blood-stained images, what ossianic and gigantic shades, flit hither and thither enwrapped in that profound eternal night which the mind dares not fathom ! And when placing our hand on the stern reality which remains, these rocks which testify of facts of which we are ignorant, we endeavour to take up that chain which by-gone ages have snapped asunder, what an abyss discovers itself to the affrighted vision ! How is the dizzy brain hurried down, as in a fever dream, to the bottom of this boundless immensity which time has hollowed out by utterly destroying the links of that chain of which, so to speak, we have but one end in our possession! 

There is in druidical ruins a charm, an interest, which, ruins whose history is known, do not possess. In the latter, the past satisfies the mind by the positive verdict of facts which history or tradition hands down to us; the imagination, powerfully aided by the knowledge of these truths, launches without difficulty into the expanse of the past, builds again with ease those shattered porticos, those decayed turrets, those grassy mounds, where peacefully the lamb and the kid are browsing together, or sleeping in their ivy bed. This solitude is easily peopled ; history then unfolds itself in living pages along those proud walls, in those chambers with their sculptured rafters and emblazoned heraldry. The change is effected in the twinkling of an eye. 

Doubtless the charm is very great ; but when this powerful, this enchanting fairy queen, Imagination, herself and alone, creates the ever-varying aspects of this magic lantern, oh ! Then, at least for me, the charm is still more sweet. Like a rapid courser, the bridle on his neck, the spur in his flanks, unchecked she rushes into space where no mere fact opposes any obstacle. The terrible images which she calls up around her on this rocky theatre, she loves, they are her creation ! Those gentle figures which smile upon you, those venerable shades of Druids which pass before you, half veiled from sight, and leaning on their long white wands,-the harrowing shrieks of human victims which she brings upon the ear,-this is all her work, she is delighted with it, she admires it. 

Laughing to scorn the uncertain intimations which tradition has handed down to us, as no better than the faint and dying echo of echoes still more remote, she models all things according to the fashion of her own will. In the scene which she displays, Fancy is her only counsellor, and in the wide-spread domain of her thoughts she chooses those only which delight her. Hence doubtless, these stirring and exciting feelings which agitate me in sight of these ancient ruins, on whose origin ignorance slumbers, and on whose history the past is silent as the tomb. 

History satisfies the soul, tradition interests and surprises it; but legend charms and enraptures it. Legend ! It is the ignis-fatuus which oft times, at the dead of night, floats over churchyard graves. This druidic monument is not the only one that has been discovered in the island. When the platform of the Mont de la Ville was cleared for building Fort Regent, the workmen brought to light a beautifully preserved druidic temple ; but with a vandalism almost unparalleled the states made a present of it to marshal Conway, then governor of the island, and this gentleman had it carefully taken down and rebuilt in his park in England.

On your return to St. Helier’s you pass by a tower built on an artificial eminence, and surrounded with lofty trees whose majestic boughs, rivalling in height the tower itself, leave its summit alone visible. Nothing can be more lovely, nothing more charming than this tower, clothed as it is with the ivy-leaf from summit to base. A pathway, edged with odoriferous shrubs, with quick-set hedges, and with flowers, sweeps round the little eminence, and you arrive by a gentle and delightful ascent to the entrance of the tower, to which has been given the name of Hougue-Bie or Prince's Tower. 

From the summit you command nearly the entire island. It is one of the most beautiful views that can be seen. You have at a glance of the eye all those beauties which we have now attempted to describe in detail. The eye surveys at once all the gentle declivities of the sea-shore,-the deep indentation of the bays,-the graceful undulation of the valleys,-the towers and steeples of the parish churches springing up as from a verdurous mantle of sombrous hue flung like a veil of mourning over the tombs of the cemeteries beneath.

Before you Fort-Regent and St. Aubin’s-bay appear mellowed by the softening tints of a golden sky, and beneath your feet rich champaigns, intersected by roads only discoverable by the green arch which bends over them, are spread out even to the ocean sand, and above all, as a setting to this brilliant cameo, the blue horizon of the deep broad sea. 

The building of this tower is only to be traced back and found in the antiquity of legendary lore, and that which is related on this subject is already too well known for us to stop to transcribe it here; suffice it to say, whatever may have been the idea which gave being to this delightful retreat, whatever may have been the remembrance which has been sought to perpetuate by building it, we are not the less put in possession of one of the most delightful spots of which the imagination can conceive: a spot where, unexpectedly, the visitor desires to dwell in, where each leaves his name behind, and bears away a remembrance in return. 

To describe the other parts of the island would be merely to repeat what we have already said. Everywhere the same beauty reigns, although sufficiently varied to exclude all monotony. Everywhere exist that freshness, that richness of vegetation, those unexpectedly-beautiful horizons which burst upon you at every angle of your path. Everywhere you perceive that neatness, that air of comfort, which bespeak the prosperous, the happy country.

The stranger, as he first wanders over this earthly paradise, doubtless questions himself as to the cause of that contentment of mind which sparkles in the countenance of all he meets, from whence springs that prosperity of which everything around exhibits such tokens, and which seems to float in the very air he breathes :-inquires he of history ? She replies it is the reward of loyalty:-does he question the constitution ? She exhibits to his view those special privileges which the past has earned for the island ; She points to commerce, which, freed from every shackle, flies abroad on the pinions of innumerable vessels, and returns, like a bee to her hive, laden with wealth and luxuries.

Tearscape

One from the back catalogue, this was written on 07/12/2005!

Tearscape(A Villanelle)

Tears of sorrow trickle down your face
I seek to find words of comfort to say

But then you smile, full of joy and grace

Rain is falling, drops in empty space
Dark clouds overhead, a dismal day
Tears of sorrow trickle down your face

Time is always fleeting, always a race
Anxiety creeps in, a threatening way

But then you smile, full of joy and grace

Water on the windscreen, like fluid lace
One pattern of life bringing such dismay
Tears of sorrow trickle down your face

The past leaves impressions, a subtle trace
Overcast, it seems that nothing can allay
But then you smile, full of joy and grace

I kiss you, in affection and love embrace
In the distance, sun over sea, bright ray
Tears of sorrow trickle down your face
But then you smile, full of joy and grace

Jersey As It Is - Part 8

This Friday is a blog in which I have transcribed a translation of an essay called "Jersey as It Is", published in 1844, as the result of a winning entry by F. Robious de La Trehonnais which won first prize in the competition of the Jersey Emulation Society.

This tour sweeps along the Northern coast, then the Eastern, reaching Gorey Castle. Two singular points worth noting. The oyster season runs only in the Autumn, Winter and Spring months from "1st of September, and is closed on the 31st of May". And French fishing limits were guarded by French war-cutters! It is not clear how the fishing limits were agreed upon, but it appears they may have been roughly half way between the coasts of Jersey and France.


Jersey As It Is - Part 8
The northern coast of the island is indented by many small bays and creeks, the principal of which are the Greve de Lecq, so celebrated in picnic remembrances ; in the neighbourhood of which are the beautiful Plemont rocks, pierced with deep and mysterious caves.-

Boulay-bay, which is most admirably calculated for a military harbour, and whose perpendicular rocks conceal their base under a water deep enough to float men-of-war; indeed, one of the greatest advantages that England might draw from the possession of Jersey, would undoubtedly be the establishment of that naval station which, in case of a war with France, would counter-balance powerfully the strength of Cherbourg, and would serve as an observatory to watch the enemy's proceedings in that part of the channel. 

The establishment of this port becomes even necessary, if we consider that St. Malo also is being fortified with an immense dock, capable of sheltering a powerful squadron. But dropping these questions of war and politics, let us go and rest our thoughts on the sweet and graceful Rozel-bay, with its verdant cliffs, its misty and gradually-fading distances, having for its horizon the bright shores of Normandy. Then rapidly passing through the shadowy roads leading to the beautiful Rozel manor-house, let us go down along that path, winding amidst orchards and cottages, and let us admire again at St. Catherine those lovely shores, those old Martello towers, looking so peaceful, notwithstanding the silent guns that surmount their summit; and let us listen with delight to the warbling of the birds, answering the deep bass of the beach.

Next comes Mont-Orgueil castle, sitting on its headland, mournful and silent, like a mausoleum. The great part that this old fortress has played in Jersey history, the whole of which seems written on its walls, deserves a detailed description. 

The monuments of the past are the best guides of history, whose philosophy is never so well understood as when studied on ruins. That splendour of by-gone days, which time bands down to us on these remains, enlightens our mind in the chaos of past centuries, notwithstanding the dust of ages that stain it, the ever-invading ivy that covers it. The dates, sculptured on their fronts formerly so haughty, guide our researches and corroborate or belie written history and tradition and the legends so original, so graceful, that emanate from all the old ruins, show much better than the most authentic documents the manners of generations who now are not even dust. 

Such appears Mont-Orgueil, a vast and gloomy structure, hearing in the style of its architecture all the severe character of the age in which it was erected. None of those vain ornaments which elsewhere charm our eye with their fine and delicate carvings : here everything is strong ; it is an old knight covered with his battle armour; gold does not sparkle on his shield : iron all over,-iron only !

Placed on that part of the island the nearest to France, its construction unites all that constituted an impregnable fortress in the times it was built. It is defended on the sea-side by inaccessible rocks, capriciously shaped by the waves, and incessantly beaten by rapid currents formed by the tides confined within the narrow channel between the two coasts. This part of the castle is destitute of ramparts; narrow windows strongly barred alone open to the sea like loop-holes. 

Towards the land strong walls are built on the rock, of which they seem to be a continuation. The entrance is rather strange, though skilfully directed : it is formed by a road between two ramparts, close to the western part of the castle, ending in a vaulted gate, furnished with towers and all the means of defence then in use. The other extremity is formed by another gate, opening on the outer yard. 

The interior construction astonishes by its strange irregularity ; the accidents of the rock are remedied by steps, many of which are cut in the stone. The most singular fancy seems to have actuated the builders in the erection of the castle itself: here, some turrets, now clothed with ivy,-there, some broken arches,-elsewhere, windows all differing one from another, some made double, with a slight stone shaft in the middle,-others single, but barred with iron half eaten by old age 

On the left of the first court is a bastioned gate, giving entrance to the interior; above the door-way may be seen the arms of Edward the Sixth, with the red dragon, and the date 1553. 

On the right is a passage, lined on both sides with a stone seat, where it is said sat the judges in the trial of criminals,-a simple court, like the justice of those days; opposite this tribunal is a narrow cell, where the prisoner was confined, at the vault of which is a book which served as a gibbet to put an end to his life. 

Still ascending the steps, in the wall of the rampart a gloomy vault is found, at its extremity is a very deep well, the water of which is the purest in the island. Farther on, visitors are shown into a small yard newly cleared up, where, under a vault for a long time unknown, exist some stalactites of a marvellous whiteness. At last are reached the ramparts;-here all the majesty of the reminiscences of Mont-Orgueil is summoned up by the imagination.

Upon these walls, enveloped on all sides with ivy, formerly fought Carteret and his valiant islanders, who had to struggle against two of the most famous warriors of France;-Duguesclin, the hero of Brittany, and the duke of Bourbon. These valiant leaders, though assisted by the flower of French chivalry, found in that weak garrison obstacles to which they were not accustomed. 

The arrangements within correspond with those without; the apartments are small and gloomy. The room where the unfortunate Charles resided during his exile may still be seen ; under this room lies the dungeon where was confined Prynne, the poet, so well known in the history of Charles the First, for the bitterness of his writings and the severity of the punishment they brought upon him. This dungeon has a gloomy and dismal aspect, the vault is uneven and green with moisture, the floor is a damp and slippery earth, light penetrates into it only through a grated loop-hole, situated in the angle of an adjoining cell. 

Happily for the poor captive that opening overlooked the watery expanse, which, sometimes calm and blue, gladdened his heart with bright beams of hope, and sometimes furiously lashing the rocks beneath, harmonized with the stormy strain of his own thoughts. Amidst this stern appearance, this display of strength, on the armour of this old hero, there is a place for the cross of Christ, there is a religious thought in this warlike stronghold. 

In the first court may be remarked the remains of a chapel of the highest antiquity, the only entrance has been made in the roof, the depth of the nave having been filled. There has been discovered in it a rough statue of the Virgin Mary, now enclosed in a glass case for the benefit of visitors, who may still wonder at the brilliant colouring of her drapery. The exact time when this castle was built is rather uncertain; some name Robert, son of William the Conqueror, as its founder.

The name of Mont-Orgueil was given to it, according to some historians, by Henry the Fifth, king of England, and on the most creditable authority by the duke of Clarence. Its history, from the famous attack of Duguesclin and its occupation by Maulevrier, presents to us only secondary occurrences ; prisoners sometimes of importance came by turns to its dungeons; noble and royal exiles have found an asylum within its walls; and at length, from age to age, time has handed it over to us, rich with souvenirs, and firm still, notwithstanding its antiquity. 

Beneath the stern ruins of Mont-Orgueil lies the little town of Gorey, whose harbour shelters, in the season, the oyster fishing-boats employed on that fishery between the coast of France and Jersey. The season begins on the 1st of September, and is closed on the 31st of May. During that period the harbour is all life and motion, upwards of 250 boats bring to it daily the result of their toil. 

As the fishing-ground lies almost midway between the two coasts, it has been necessary to fix upon limits beyond which the English fishermen cannot cruise without being seized by the French war-cutters, who are constantly on the look out to protect their countrymen in the lawful exercise of their industry ; but as the most productive part of the bank is within the French limits, it happens that the English often take the opportunity of foggy weather to drag on their neighbours' ground ; and this accounts for so many of their boats being detained at Granville during the fishing season.