The Argosy — page 57: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

a2 THE CHANNEL ISLA By CuHarLes W. Woobn, F.R.G.S. AUTHOR OF ‘* THROUGH HOLLAND,” *“* THE CRUISE OF THE RESERVE SQUADRON,”’ &c. [508 been very pleasant, that day at Herm and Jethou. And the boatmen could not have found their patience heavily taxed, for they hoped we should visit the little islands—or some other islands— some other day. It was very pleasant, too, in walking through the streets of Guernsey, to come every now and then upon one or other of the men we had employed in our various little cruises; to see their faces light up in recognition, and to hear a jovial voice, accom- panied by.quite an orthodox salute, exclaim: ‘“ Fine weather, sir ! Hope you mean to give us another day on the water.” It was good to feel that we had left a pleasant impression behind, and that at least for one day in their lives, these men, from coming into contact with us, were none the worse, none the less happy, none the poorer. A small matter; but our lives are made up of small matters. It is the small things of life we should look up and look after; the great ones will take care of themselves. It requires more real strength, moral courage, resolution to go day by day through life’s small © duties, which by frequent recurrence and familiarity grow so prosy and so commonplace, than to raise oneself by one stupendous effort to the glory of martyrdom. , Day by day, in Guernsey, we seemed to find out new walks and fresh attractions. The twists and turnings of the roads seemed to become quite intricate, and when we thought we had reached the end of a given area, behold fresh fields and pastures new to right and left. The place seemed to expand, until, at the close of our stay, we began to feel as if we knew less of it than we had known at the beginning. It was almost perplexing. Houses embowered in green | trees, or screened behind high walls, made one long to sojourn within their cool retreats. The perpetual seclusion of a monastery must be petrifying to body and spirit, a weariness to the soul; but an occasional withdrawal from the hurry and bustle, the ‘ double, double, toil and trouble,” of the world, to quiet rooms and smiling lawns, and cool breezes laden with the scent of flowers—this only enables us to plume our feathers and expand our wings for onward flight, and shake off the dust of the earth—which will not leave us quite unspotted, try as we will—and gather together fresh strength for the conflict which never ceases: for the ever-recurring moments and days when the battle grows too strong, and life too sad, and the soul goes out like the dove from the ark, and behold, nothing but a wide waste of waters, and a lost world, and grey skies, and a sun Gomicbooks.co