THE GARDEN OF CYMODOCE 101 



"One birth more divine 



Than all births else of thine, 

 That hang like flowers or jewels on thy deep, soft breast, 



Was left for me to shine 



Above thy girdling line 



Of bright and breathing brine, 

 To take mine eyes with rapture and my sense with rest." 



There is something so unique in the beauty and 

 charm of the little island that lovers of nature 

 and quiet are drawn again and again to its shores, 

 although sport, except sea-fishing, is non-existent, and 

 golf has not yet been introduced, although, as one of 

 the hotel-keepers wrote to me in 1896 (with sublime 

 ignorance of its mysteries), " there are doubtless many 

 places in the hotel grounds where it could be played 

 with advantage " ! The gregarious tripper prefers the 

 attractions of Guernsey or Jersey, where he can dash 

 through scenery of great beauty in a four-horse char- 

 a-banc, accompanied by congenial souls, and halt at 

 frequent intervals for refreshment where alcoholic 

 stimulants are cheap ; or, if he desires to be able to 

 say that he has visited Sark, he crosses by the morning 

 steamer from St. Peter's Port, is conducted as one of 

 a herd to such points of interest as can be visited in a 

 short day with an hour's interval for a heavy midday 

 meal of lobsters and ale ; stares into the windows of 

 the Seigneur ie, the beautiful gardens and grounds of 

 which are courteously thrown open to the public at 

 stated times, and returns in the evening, after enrich- 

 ing various parts of the island with his autograph, 

 with a hazy impression of cliffs and ocean, and a general 

 conviction that there isn't much to see in Sark, but 

 that at all events he can say that he has been there. 

 To the artist, however, the naturalist or the poet, or 



