The first thing that a stranger, on landing, seeks, is rest and quietude; for which purpose, he generally locates himself at one or other of the hotels. Ordering dinner, he prepares an appetite by a walk in and about the town, which he will find to be a quiet, though thriving place, with good handsome shops. He may be arrested by the town church, which is as handsome a structure as any in England; and in many of its portions displays some cunning specimens of the ancient chisel. Should he be thinking of becoming a resident, he may probably stroll into the shambles, the fruit and poultry markets, and from thence to that splendid area the fish-market, where doubtless, if the slabs are in the same condition as in the earlier part of the morning, he will exclaim: "Well, this beats any thing of the kind I have ever seen!" On deliberating on the building and its vast supply, he will put us down as a fish-eating people, unless by enquiry he finds that vast quantities are exported. Having communed within himself on the various markets, he will not be a little amused with the fantastic head-dresses of the Norman women. Proceeding through the town, he may visit the Grange, Rohais and St Andrew's roads, where he will find handsome, uniform buildings, much after the style of his own country; and having as it were by necessity passed the College, he will stop short to give it an extra consideration best known to himself. By the bye, he may fall in with the New Ground or parade, with which he can scarce fail to be pleased, as it is the admiration of every one. Having procured a tolerable appetite, he will, in all probability, sit down to a dinner of John dorey or turbot, which, with the addition of a piece of roast beef as good as that of old England, and a good supply of delicious vegetables and fruit, may be a further proof of the qualities of Guernsey. After dinner being generally considered an interlude for good feelings and a kindly impression, the visitor no doubt will be anxious to chat with his neighbour on the economy of living in Guernsey and so on, or in his absence may skim the pages of a Guide or Almanack. Such being the case, he retires to bed to dream of the morrow's excursion, which, in all probability, will be towards the outskirts of the town; in which case, should he select the Rohais, he had better drop into Luff's nursery, as he will find in it much to interest the florist and the horticulturist. Taking a circuitous bend to the left through the fields adjoining Mr Martin's, he will fall in with Havilland Hall, the present residence of the Governor, which from over the hill has a fine appearance, and is seen to its best advantage. It is remarkable for its altitude, and an entrance of four lofty Doric columns, which but for a gentle swell in the middle, would be somewhat grand. The rest can scarce fail to be admired, as it consists of a deep ravine, babbling brooks, hanging woods, sheltered vale and cultivated farm.