The Argosy — page 58: what you’re looking at

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

The Channel Islands. 43 withdrawn, and not even the promise of an olive branch, and no resting-place, no resting-place anywhere for the sole of her hoot. Within the town, too, there was much that was pleasant. After six days spent on the water, or in scrambling amongst the rocks, or looking out skywards and seawards from some fine point or head- land, or exploring lanes and villages, or familiarising oneself with ghostly tenements, it was especially grateful and restful to spend the morning of the seventh amongst the cool arches and solid pillars and high-backed pews of the old parish church. In a very small way there was a cloistered atmosphere about it, calm and dignified. It was never crowded, and perhaps it is wrong to say that the half- empty benches added very much to the peaceful and refreshing element that hung about the aisles. But in a London church it is so hard to feelin church. The rustle of silks and satins, the head- dresses that are often so fearfully and wonderfully made, the wandering glances, the restless hands, the constant movement around, which is seen even with closed eyes: it all makes one feel in coming out—well, that the peace which passeth all understanding seems much nearer to us in a quiet, homely country church, where we may find an aid, not an interruption, in watching through the windows the fleecy clouds floating across the blue sky, and the trees waving and rustling in the noiseless breeze, and listening to the birds, ‘ ever soaring, ever singing.” There, indeed, we find rest unto our souls. Again, within the town, we found more mundane attractions. One day, in our exquisite and beloved little Sark, we entered the small church, where every Sunday a service is held in French, and the little band of Sercquois worship in their simple way. It has very little of the ceremonial, this service, and so the spiritual has no let or hindrance there. In the church we found a stonemason carving an inscription on a marble tablet. He had come over from Guernsey expressly to do the work, and the weather kept him a prisoner on the island. He was full of intelligence, and told us many anec- dotes and traditions concerning the islands and the people. Amongst other things, how, not so many years ago, people would flock from far and near, even from England, to eat boiled bacon and pancakes on Shrove Tuesday in a certain house in St. Peter’s Port, famous for these delicacies. It sounded an odd mixture ; but tastes differ, and happily, are as varied as the wind is uncertain. And as there are some singular and nerveless people who glory in a strong easterly breeze, so mercifully there are tastes that find beauty in ugliness, and soft flowing curves in the most acute angles: and things that grate and jar upon one will pass unnoticed by another. “And, sirs,” continued our pleasant informant, ‘though bacon and pancakes have disappeared, the real Guernsey cake still exists. And if you wish to taste it in perfection you must go to a certain baker’s in the market place.” I forget the name of the shop; but if we do wrong, I fear there is Gomichboo ‘s) (E(@) m