• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Frontispiece
 Title Page
 Main
 Back Cover
 Spine






Group Title: Violet : a Christmas and New Year's gift
Title: The violet
CITATION THUMBNAILS PAGE TURNER PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
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Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00015689/00001
 Material Information
Title: The violet a Christmas and New Year's gift
Physical Description: Book
Language: English
Creator: Gilbert ( Engraver )
Publisher: Leavitt and Allen
Place of Publication: New York
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Bibliographic ID: UF00015689
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
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alephbibnum - 002229340

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front page 1
        Front page 2
        Front page 3
    Front Matter
        Front page 4
    Frontispiece
        Front page 5
        Front page 6
    Title Page
        Page 5
    Main
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
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        Page 15a
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    Back Cover
        Page 254
        Page 255
    Spine
        Page 256
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SLt. Col. W. M. PRATT.,


MILITARY INTELLIGENCE
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THE VIOLET




( Q bjri~tm a att |^to ger's (ift.




WITH SIX ENGRA VINGS
FROM DESIGNS BY GILBERT.








LWeb) Yorl:
LEAVITT AND ALLEN,
L 879 BROADWAY.




















THE LIGHTHOUSE.













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THE LIGHTHOUSE.



CHAPTER I.

~PAPA, I am making a collection of seals,"
said my dear little daughter Clara to me one
evening. "Will you give me some from those
belonging to your watch ?"
So I made three good impressions of the
seals I usually carried; but Clara was not yet
quite satisfied, for after examining them for
Some minutes she said,
"Papa, are you very busy just now ?"
"No, my dear, not very busy : I am only
making a few artificial flies, and putting my
Tackle in order, for spring will certainly be
here in a few weeks, though I believe that my
;.* 7







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


dear little impatient girl quite despairs of ever
seeing violets or primroses again."
"Oh then, papa, will you be so kind as to
tell me the meaning of the seals you have given
me ? I mean of the two smaller ones; for the
other has only your coat of arms. Mamma
has explained to me all the other seals in my
collection."
"I can do that, Clara, while I go on with
my fly making. Tell me then what you see
upon the seal you are now looking at."
"I see a pillar staniidi.g upright, surrounded
by other broken pillars, and ruins on the
ground; and the motto is Latin, I believe,
' Erectus, tutus,'-what is the meaning of that,
papa ?"
"The English of the two words is 'Safe
whilst upright,' which you can easily under-
stand as applied to the pillar; but it also
means, that men, or women, or little children


1







S-'THE LIGHTHOUSE.

'e' safe, so long as they are upright and
honest, in their conduct towards God and man.
Now what does the other seal bear ?"
SI do not much like it. There is a sort of
tower, which I am pretty sure is meant for a
lighthouse, and no motto, but the date, July
21st.--A-- h, I cannot make out the year, be-
cause it is in those tiresome letters which al-
ways puzzle me so. What can be the mean-
ing of the lighthouse, papa? What do you
whisper to mamma,for, and why do you nod at
each other so ?"
"I asked your mamma whether she thought
her daughter Clara was old enough to be made
acquainted with the history of a family who
once inhabited this lighthouse. She says I
may relate the story to you. Well then, to
explain this mysterious seal, which you say
you do not much like, but which I would not
part with for all the seals in the world, I will







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


read you a little tale which I wrote several
years ago, on 1i. iip.'se for my dear Clara's
amusement and instruction."
"A tale, papa! I thought you were going
to relate a true history."
"It is quite true, my child; so bring your
chair close to mine, and if possible, remain
patihnutly, without asking any questions, till I
have finished; and above all things, take care
that you do not run these fish-hooks into your
arm. I have called the tale



THE LIGHT THOSE OF FLY-AWAY
POINT.

OLD Tom Hadlolck, the fisherman, had had
a lucky day with his nets, and was sitting in
the porch, at the door of his cottage, enjoy-
ing his pipe and cup of cider, and now and
then talking to his wife, who was busily en-







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


gaged *ors, making a saVoury dish of
fried fi potatoes.
iY old woman," exclaimed Tom,
"good-bye to the fine weather; we shall cer-
tainly have a blow to-night. A regular gale,
you know; if we don't, you may say I know
nothing about wind and weather."
No reply was heard from within, and Tom
remained silent for some time, during which
he finished his pipe and drained his cider-
cup to the bottom, and pulled out his old
turnip-shaped watch to observe the exact
minute when the light would appear in the
lighthouse on Fly-away Point, on the oppo-
site side of the bay. This Point was distant
from Haddock's cottage about five miles in
a direct line, but more than six by land.
Now you must know that it is a rule fod all
lighthouses to be lighted up exactly at sun-
set, which, according to Tom's almanack,


11







LITTLE GEMS.


drew the little famished creatures to a corner
of the hovel, where they satisfied their hunger
and hushed their cries.
For a full hour the agony of the poor mo-
ther lasted; then she lay motionless from
utter exhaustion, and finally fell into a pro-
found slumber. A portion of the gold-piece
yet remained, and Clarence tendered to the
doctor the usual fee. A smile stole over the
face of the wealthy doctor S- (for it so
happened that one of the first physicians of
the city had, by chance, been summoned,)
but there was a tear in his eye, as he looked
at him earnestly.
God bless you! my noble little fellow,"
and he laid his hand upon his head. "No,
keep your money for other good deeds. But
tell me, who are you ?"
Clarence looked up at him and smiled, after
a moment's pause, Only my father's son,
sir."
Well, well; you choose to do your good
deeds under a veil, I see; any father should
be proud of such a son. I never saw you be-


12






THE LIGHTHOUSE.


ij-g -up for as many guineas; for, says he,
'I- My masters, the Trinity Gentlemen, are good,.
k ind-hearted masters in the main, but they
make their servants do their duty. If I
neglect mine, out of this house I go, that's
certain.' So you see there must be some-
thing terribly wrong at the Point, for even,
if Hawkins was ill, his wife can manage;
the lamps pretty nearly as well as he can."
Mrs. Haddock, however, did not appear
S so much interested about the affair as her
helpmate, and rather nettled him by saying,,
"Pooh, nonsense! What a fuss the man
makes! Depend upon it, it is all right
either your watch is too fast, or there's ~
fog over the Point, so that you can't see the
light."
"I tell ye my watch is never too fast, nor
too slow neither; and though it does rain
p-tty smartly over the other side, I can see


18







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


the lighthouse, but not a glimmer of light in
the lantern. 'My life for it, there is some-
17',;,j amiss,' as the lobster said when the
cook threw him into the hot water."
"Well, but my good man," replied his
wife, -leaving her cookery for a moment, and
going to the door, "there must be 'some-
thing amiss' with your old eyes, for I can
see the light plainly enough."
So can I now, I declare !" said the fish-
terman. "Ah! nowit brightens up fast. Thank
Heaven, Hawkins has come to himself at
1n-t But what could have made him half
an hour behind his time? Well, let us
hope the Trinity Gentlemen will never hear
of it: they shall never know any thing of it
from me, for that Hawkins is as kind-hearted
a man as ever breathed, and so is his wife-a
kind-hearted.woman, I mean. How good she
was to you, Betty, last winter, when you






































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THE LIGHTHOUSE. 15

were laid on your beam-ends with the plum-
bago, or whatever they call it."
"Ah! Heaven bless her," replied Betty.
"If ever angels live in lighthouses, she's one.
But who can this be coming across the sands?
Get your glass, Tom, and take a look at her."
Haddock's old-fashioned wooden spy-glass
was as great a favourite as his watch, though
the tube was split and bound round with
twine, and one of the glasses was cracked so
as to divide the field of view into three
pretty nearly equal portions. But Tom had
looked through this glass for so many years
that the cracks did not incommode him in the
least; and after half a minute's examination
of the approaching stranger, he exclaimed,
"'Tis your lighthouse angel, Betty! No
'tisn't.-It is though:-'tis Mrs. Hawkins
herself! I should have known her before
if h1r face hadn't been hidden behind her







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


umbrella. She has got the rain before us,
but we shall soon have it here by buckets-
full; and look what a squall there is over the
Point. But to think of her walking over by
herself! 'What's going to happen next?' as
the mackerel said when he saw the sprat with
an admiral's gold-laced hat upon his head."
Never were three pair of eyes opened
wider in astonishment than those of Mrs. Haw-
kins, Haddock, and his wife, after they had
exchanged a few hurried questions and replies.
Mrs. Hawkins .il that, early in the
afternoon, a man dressed like a sailor, with
a handkerchief tied over his eye, had called
at the lighthouse,' and begged that she would
lose no time in going over to the fisherman's
cottage, as Mrs. Haddock was taken sud-
denly and dangerously ill.' So, as soon as
she had arranged her family affairs, the
benevolent woman packed up a few dm:iple







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


medicines in a basket, for she had no con-
temptible knowledge of the healing art, and
set off by herself for a six miles' walk over
the sands, not without many expressions of
regret from her husband that he was unable
to accompany her.
. Sadly perplexed she was when she found
that old Betty Haddock was in excellent
health, that she had sent no message, and
that she knew nothing of the sailor-like man
with the handkerchief tied over his eye. Of
course Mrs. Hawkins could not explain the
mysterious affair of the late appearance of
the Fly-away light that evening, as she
left home long before sunset; but she was
firm in her belief that her good 'man had not
neglected his trust. So all the blame was;
laid upon Tom's old watch.
Mrs. Hawkins willingly consented to re-.
main that night at the cottage; and the rest
o







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


of the evening was spent in endeavouring to
discover some motive for this ill-natured
hoax, and in discussing the supper of fried
fish and potatoes.
Old Tom, as he rolled over in his bed for
the last time before he finally settled for the
night, muttered to himself: "My watch
serye me such a trick as this ?-Impossible!
Well, we shall see all about it in the morn-
ing, for I'll walk to the Point with Mrs.
Hawkins, on purpose to ask her husband
about it. But how it does blow and rain!
A bad time of it for them that are at sea!
'Poor fellows, I pity them,' as the porpoise
said when he"-
The sentence was finished by an incipient
snore, and the sentiment expressed by the
benevolent porpoise is lost to posterity for
ever.







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


CHAPTER II.


LET us now cross the little bay, and ascer-
tain for ourselves whether honest James
Hawkins was a trustworthy light-keeper or
not. But before we enter his house, we
must take a view of the barren and desolate
headland on which it was perched.
Desolate indeed, and almost out of the s
world it seemed! Not a trace of vegetable
life, not the slightest tint of green, could be
detected on the face of its perpendicular
cliffs, of more than three hundred feet in
height; and although the level space on
which the lighthouse stood had a scanty
coming of soil, only a little parched-up







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


grass and a few hardy stunted plants oould
be found even there. Hardy indeed must
the constitution of a plant be, to bear the
tremendous winds and driving salt mist
which at times visited the summit of Cape
Fly-away.
But how did this Point obtain such a
remarkable and inappropriate name ? I can-'
not tell you; but perhaps it might have been
so called because, when seen from a distance,
its gray colour and rounded outline gave it
somewhat the appearance of a fog or cloud
upon the horizon. Now, when a young
sailor, or a landsman, sees what he believes
to be distant land, but which his more ex-
perienced companions detect to be nothing
but a bank of clouds, they say, "'Tis only
Cape Fly-away." And well would it have
been for many a shipwrecked mariner if our
Cape Fly-away had been composed of 4iate-






TRE LIGHTHOUSE. 21

Ss as -iinsubstantial as a bank of clouds;
S 'r, alas many and very dreadful had been
3i 'e disasters which these gray cliffs had wit-
S messed. In consequence of these frequent
*recks on the Point, or rather upon a trea-
cherous reef of rocks which extended several
miles beyond it, about two years before
Sour tale begins, the lighthouse had been
erected, and had proved so effectual in warn-
,i ing vessels from too near an approach to the
:' dangerous coast, that during that time only
one wreck had occurred. Can you then be-
ieve that there were demons in the human
iorm who regretted the establishment of this
light? I grieve to say that such wvretchbes
existed, and that their wick-ed devices had
earlyy succeeded in bringing about the de-
struction of some hundreds of their fellow-
creatures.
hwam deep, sheltered bay, on the other







THE. LIGHTHOUSE.


side of the Point, was the miserable little
village of Orabton Magna, consisting of not
more than thirty houses, or rather hovels.
I could never discover where Crabton Parva
was situated, or what was its size, or popula-
tion; but that has nothing to do with my tale.
Our Crabton was inhabited by men calling
themselves fishermen, but whose subsistence
depended chiefly upon smuggling; and, be-
fore the erection of the lighthouse, upon the
rich booty which they obtained from the
vessels whose evil destiny threw them upon
the reef. Finding, then, that this source of
profit was taken from them, they had devised
a plan for extinguishing this warning beacon,
for a short time at least; for, said they, If
we can but put out the light for one good,
blowing, dark night, we shall be pretty sure
to have two or three vessels ashore before
morning."







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


So they consulted together, and laid their
plans accordingly. We have seen that kIey
succeeded in deceiving Mrs. Hawkins, by
a feigned message from the Haddocks,
which induced her to leave home for a
night; but how to manage with her husband
was a much more difficult matter. To learn
how this part of their scheme was brought
about, we must take a peep at the light-
house shortly after good Mrs. Hawkins had
"set off on her expedition.
A thoroughly substantial, well-constructed
building this lighthouse was; and very
needful it was that it should be well-con-
structed, to enable it to withstand the awful
gales it was frequently exposed to. It con-
sisted of a round tower, eighty feet in height,
with a circular stone staircase; and on the
top of the tower was the lantern, or the place
in which the light was exhibited. But if







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


you have nIevvi visited a lighthouse, you can
have very little idea of the sort of place
this lantern was. Perhaps you think it
might have been something like the small
glass lanterns which you have seen people
carrying in their hands on dark nights.
Not at all like them, my dear little girl or
boy, who may have honoured me by taking
this book into your hand. The 1: ut..-rr of
this lighthouse was an octagonal room, large
enough to contain ten or twelve persons.
The roof was made of copper, and the sides
were composed partly of copper and partly
of large panes of very thick plate-glass, set
in iron frames. Tli very strong glass is
always used in lighthouses, and is quite
nieciisairy, because they are generally built
in very exposed, windy situations, where
S commr..a window-glass would be blown to
pieces. Sometimes, also, it happens, that







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


sea-fowlhare attracted by the light, as moths
often are by a candle; and such heavy birds
as wild ducks and geese, dashing themselves
against the glass, would shiver it to atoms,
if it were not unusually thick and strong.
Notwithstanding this precaution, it has some-
times happened that a large bird has flown
with such violence against the lantern
that. the glass has been broken; and I have
myself seen a pane of very thick plate-glass
which had been so broken by a wild-duck.
The bird was killed by the blow, of course:
and in this manner light-keepers sometimes
obtain a nice meal, which is particularly
acceptable to those who are stationed on
rocks, or small islands, where a supply of
fresh meat cannot always be procured.
Sometimes the whole of the sides of the
lantern are of glass; but in the Fly-away
S lighthouse the part towards the land was







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


composed of copper plates, for there would
have been no use in exhibiting a light in that
direction.
In the middle of the lantern was an iron
frame, on which were hung eight large
lamps, very similar to those which we use
in our parlours; but instead of a globe of
ground glass, they were each surrounded
by a very large reflector made of copper,
and coated with silver on the inside. By
means of these reflectors, which were always
kept as bright and polished as a looking-
glass, the light of the lamps was so much
increased, that, in clear weather, it could be
seen at the di-tari:-e :.'' thirty miles.
James Hawkins and his family did not
live in the tower, but in a very nice, well-
built house at the foot of it; and no esip.x e
had been spared in imaninig this house as
comfortable as it was possible to be, in






THE LIGHTHOUSE.


s uch a dreary exposed situation. You
would! have been pleased to have seen how
thick the walls were, how strongly the doors
and window-frames were made, and how
tightly they fitted. But all the comfort
was inside of the house; for if you looked
out of the door or window, the prospect w6s
dreary enough. To be sure, there was a
magnificent view of the ocean, and of
the stupendous cliffs, whose base was washed
by the waves; but a prospect of water
and rock alone would soon have wearied
your eyes, and made you long for a
sight of green trees and of quiet meadows
again.
But a naturalist might have found some
employment on these cliffs. He might have
collected some rare and beautiful lichens
which grow on the rocks, and which are never
to be found at a distance from the sea; and







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


he would have been delighted with watching
the immense flocks of sea-birds that had
chosen Cape Fly-away for a summer home,
and reared their families in the caverns and
ledges of the cliffs. Here might be seen
puffins, razor-bills, guillemots, and several
different kinds of gulls; but for a description
of these birds I must refer you to books of
natural history. I will, however, inform you,
that though they differ very much from
each other in form and colour, they are
alike in this, they are all extremely fond
of fish, and very expert in catching it. A
little boy of my acquaintance once remark-
ed to me, that there was another point of
resemblance between them.
"It seems to me," said he, "that white
waistcoats are quite the fashion with these
sea-birds."
He was right, for the breasts of the birds







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


I have mentioned, and of many other sea-
fowl, are as white as snow; and even those
that freququt the shores of muddy rivers,
and are constantly swimming and diving in
dirty water, almost always contrive to keep
their "waistcoats" clean and spotless. But
I am so fond of birds myself, and es-
pecially of these beautiful sea-birds, that
I forget that others may not feel much in-.
terest on the subject. I must now tell you
something more about the inhabitants of the
lighthouse.
The father of Hawkins had been a mate
- of a ship, and James himself had been bred
tup a sailor, and had made many voyages,
but had been induced to leave the sea, partly
because he did not much like the employ-
ment, but chiefly because he had married a
wife, and thought it his duty to stay at
home, and take care of her and of his
3*







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


child. So, being fond of reading and re-
tirement, he applied for his present situa-
tion, and succeeded in obtaining it, through
the interest of a merchant, his former
employer. Mrs. Hawkins is known to
you already, and I have very little more
to say about her, except that she was
the daughter of a respectable tradesman,
and that a better wife or mother never
existed.
And her sweet little girl, Clara, now just
ten years of age, deserved a good and care-
ful mother. Must I draw Clara's picture?
No, I shall not attempt to do so, for I have
no talent in describing persons; and, indeed,
where is the artist who can portray form
and features with no better materials than
pen and paper? Even the skilful portrait-
painter finds it his most difficult task to
transfer childish beauty to his canvas, and






THE LIGHTHOUSE.


it generally happens that, after a rigid side-
by-side examination of the painting and the
original, we .are obliged to confess, "The
eyes are exactly the right colour, so are the
hair and eyebrows, and how well the artist
S has succeeded with the beautiful transpa-
ient complexion! I can find no fault with
the form of the features; and that sweet
smile upon the lips is like, oh, very
-like !-still-it is unreasonable, certainly-
but so it is-altogether I am sadly disap-
pointed."
Let me endeavour to assign a cause. for
this melancholy failure; but I am an ec-
centric being, and my explanation may ap-
pear foolishness to others. Who was it
that had compassion upon little children,
aid caressed them, saying, "Of such is the
kingdom of heaven ?" Now, to me, these
vords explain the mystery: and thus we see







THE LIGHT i."i-E.


in many sweet young faces an expression
of heavenly innocence and purity, which we
look for in vain in those of riper years; and
this expression the utmost skill of the artist
never has been and never will be able to
portray! His clumsy materials cannot imi-
tate it; with an equal chance of success
might he attempt to paint a sweet sound or
odour.
Well, then, if I cannot describe little
Clara's features, what shall I say of her
temper and disposition? Young ladies who
may chance to read these pages, I assure
you that she possessed almost all the good
with hardly any of the unpleasant parts of
your characters, if you will pardon me for
supposing that you may not be quite per-
fect.
Young gentlemen, if you will have pa-
tience to read this story to the end, you will






THE LIGHTHOUSE.


see that. she showed courage and determina-
tion which you might have been proud of at
her age. But I must leave off praising her,
and&go on with my tale.







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


CHAPTER III.

CLARA and her father had accompanied Mrs.
Hawkins for a short distance on her way to
the fisherman's, and, since their return, had
been amusing themselves by reading and
conversing, for James was never weary of the
society of his dear little girl. Then they
walked together to a curious valley, or fis-
sure in the cliffs, where, under the shelter
of an overhanging rock, James had erected
a covered seat of rough boards. Clara
called it her summer-house, but it had more
the appearance cd- a large, ill-built watch-
box. However, it was a very favourite sta-
tion of hers in fine weather, especially when






THE LIGHTHOUSE.


the birds were breeding, for at this spot the '
rocks below and on each side were thronged .
by the numerous flocks of sea-fowl I have
mentioned. On almost every projecting
ledge might now be seen a company of
queer, demure-looking pufins and guille-
mots, sitting erect on their tails, apparently,
for the legs of these birds are placed so far
back that they cannot stand in any other
position. Not only on the rocks, but in the
air, and on the water below, almost as far as
the eye could distinguish them, might be seen
myriads of these birds, swimming, diving,
and flying backwards and forwards with
food for their young families. A sensitive
nose might even have detected a faint, in-
describable odour diffused through the at-
mosphere, by the near neighbourhood of so
many fish-fed bodies. It was very amus-
ing to observe the old birds as they came






THE LIGHTHOUSE.


in from the sea, with a sprat, or other small
fish, hanging out at each side of their bills;
and little Clara laughed heartily at a mis-
chance which sometimes befell them. For
the wings of these birds are extremely small
in proportion to the size of their bodies, and
though their great strength enables them to
fly very fast, they cannot do what a robin
or a sparrow would find very easy. They
cannot fly from one ledge of rock to an-
other immediately above them, without first
taking a wide circuit in the air, till they
have gradually raised their heavy bodies
to the necessary height. It therefore some-
times happened, much to Clara's amuse-
ment, that when an old bird, with his mouth
full of fish, had arrived just opposite to his
intended landing place, he would find that he
had made a little mistake in calculating the
distance, and that he was not high enough







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


by a few feet. Th% discovery was very an,
noying, no doubt, to a parent anxious to
satisfy the cravings of a hungry family; but
there was only one way of remedying the
mistake:-the long, circuitous flight must be,
taken, till the clumsy bird had reached the-
proper elevation.
About an hour before sunset James re-
collected that it was time for him to, perform
his usual evening task of fetching a small cask
of water from the spring, for there was no
well at the lighthouse. So, leaving his little
girl at home, with the cask on his shoulder,.
and a small tin cup and a funnel, in his
hand,, he proceeded, first for about half a
mile along the edge of the cliff towards
Crabton, and then descended by a steep
*and rugged path, till he reached a little
pebbly beach, where the spring trickled slowly
I down from the rock. But a long dry sea-
4







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


son had so much diminished the supply, that
when James had about half filled his cask
he was obliged to wait some time before the
little pool from which he dipped the water had
again filled.
Seated on a flat stone, with his eyes
directed towards the top of the cliff, he
observed three men standing in- a narrow
part of the path, and apparently watching
his movements. He wondered what they
could be doing there, for the little beach
was quite unfrequented, except by those
who came for water, and if these men
wanted a supply, why did they not descend?
But as honest James Hawkins had ever
given any man cause to be his enemy, he
did not suspect them of an evil design, and
he was proceeding to fill his water cask,
when, accidentally casting his eyes sea-
wards, he beheld a sight which might have







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


made .no impression whatever upon any
man but a light-keeper, but which caused
him to desist from his employment, and
hasten homewards immediately. In short,
he beheld the angry, stormy-looking sun
so near the horizon, that it was evident he
had not a moment to lose, if he wished to
reach home before lighting-up time. There-
fore, with his half-filled cask on his shoulder,
he ascended the steep, zigzag path, without
pausing to rest, till, in a narrow pass between
two masses of rock, he found his progress
obstructed by the three men he had before
observed from below, but in his haste to reach
home he had entirely forgotten them.
Although his face was concealed as much
as possible by a handkerchief, and by a large
Black wig, which ill agreed with his fiery red
whiskers, James immediately recognized one
of these men as Ben Bludgeon, a notorious






40 THE LIGHTHOUSE.

wrecker and -uli.i. living at Crabton; but
the other two men were strangers to him, for
he had very little communication with the
half-civilized inhabitants of this village.
Good evening," said Hawkins, in a civil
tone, finding that the men did not make way
-for him: "I will thank you to let me pass,
my friends."
"Keep your friendship to yourself!"
growled Bludgeon; "you don't pass this way
to-night, I can tell ye : so trot down again,
my man, or 'twill be all the worse for you."
"Not pass! what do you mean? I tell you
I must pass, and immediately, too, for I am
already too late. Perhaps you don't know
me? I am Hawkins, of the lighthouse; and,
depend upon it, you will be made to repent
this uncivil treatment, Mr. -
Here James checked himself suddenly,
recollecting how imprudent it was to show







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


that he had detected a man who evidently
wished to remain disguised. Well was it for
'him that he did not mention Bludgeon's
name, for the ruffian, laying his hand upon
the hilt of a long knife, concealed under his
coat, muttered in a hollow voice:-
S "Mr. who? Why don't you go on? Come,
you know me, do you, my lad?"
Our friend saw that he was in imminent
S danger, and, with great presence of mind,
L replied:
S "To be sure I do, Mr. BartoA, and I
entreat you to let me pass quietly. You
know of what importance it is that I should
be at my post, to-night especially, for we are
going to have a rough time of it."
James said this with a steady countenance,
with his eye fixed on the villain's face, and
saw that he had succeeded in quieting his
suspicions, for Ben merely replied:
'4 4*






42 THE LIGHTHOUSE.

"Ay, ay, other 1i:.:'!e can tell .when 'tis
going to blow as well as you can. But, come,
let us have no more of this nonsense; either
go back quietly, or we'll serve ye this way,"
giving James's water-cask a kick, which sent
it rolling down the path, and it was dashed
to pieces long before it reached the bottom.
After some further reronstrance, James
saw that it was useless to contend any longer ,
with these men, who were three to one, and
Ipr':'ibl:l-y all armed. He was therefore com-
pell.1, moat reluctantly, and in great distress
of mind, to accompany them down the path
to the beach, Ben Bludgeon going before
him, and the others keeping close behind.
When at the bottom, his conductors desired
him to retire a few paces, while they held a
consultation, apparently not a very amicable
one, for Ben's hand was more than once laid
upon the handle of his knife. Probably their







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


dispute related to the further disposal of their
Prisoner, for, as they approached him, James
overheard the -leader say to his companions,
"I tell*ye, not if you can help it. But if he
makes a noise,-y6u understand me;-'tis of
-no use to flinch now!"
So Ben proceeded to ascend the cliff
again by the. lp.-Lt, for there was no other
way of leaving Freshwater Cove, as it was
called; and the two men left behind led
James along the beach for a few hundred
yards, till they came to an overhanging part
of the rock, where they were sheltered from
the rain,, which now came down in torrents.
TTire they all sat down on a heap of dry sea-
weed, the prisoner in the middle. As his
kLepcei appeared rather more civilly dis-
posed than the surly Bludgeon, James endea-
voured to make them converse with him, not
S altogether without a hope that he might be
*







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


able to persuade or bribe them to give him
his liberty. But although his first attempt
at conversation was simply a remark about
the weather, he was immediately cut short
with-
"I tell ye what it is, Master--We are
under orders as well as yourself, and those
orders are-'Not a .si,.qle word, good or
bad.' So keep quiet till morning, and what-
ever happens, you will come to no harm."
So poor James Hawkins was left to his
own meditations, and very gloomy and dis-
tressing his thoughts were. For himself he
had not much anxiety, either on account of
his personal safety, or from supposing that
any blame would attach to him for neglecting
his duty. But James was a humane, good
man, and his feelings may be imagined when
he considered what tremendous mischief
would probably be occasioned by the light






THE LIGHTHOUSE.


being extinguished on such a night as this;
and he remembered of what great importance
it was that it should be constantly kept up
when once established, for seamen, knowing
* that a light was usually exhibited on the
Point, and seeing none, would be altogether
out of their reckoning, and would. suppose
themselves to be at a much greater distance
from the land than they really were.
But these dismal forebodings were not
James's greatest sources of uneasiness, for
when he thought of his dear little girl, left at
home by herself, his distress amounted to
agony, and he exclaimed-
God be merciful to my sweet Clara this
S night She will die of terror before the
morning!"







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


CHAPTER IV.

AND how did poor Clara pass that fearful
night ?
When James left her to go to the spring,
she proceeded to arrange the supper-table and
to put some water on the fire to boil, for her
father's very moderate glass of grog; for he
still retained so much of a sailor's habits as to
like a comforter before bed-time.
Young as little Clara was, her mother had
taught her many domestic duties; and though
she possessed very few of what are called
accomplishments, she could do some things
perfectly well, which it would puzzle many of
you, my dear accomplished young ladies, even







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


to attempt. For instance, she could make
an excellent pudding, and had many times
gone through the whole process without any
assistance, or even a word of advice from her
S mother. Then, what intense delight she felt
when her father, having tasted the produce
of her skill, would exclaim, as he held his
plate for a second helping, "A famous good
pudding, this! Who made it? Not my
Clara, to be sure!"
The notable little girl had placed.every
thing ready for supper, and the water was
just beginning to sing, when she thought it
must be quite time to expect her father's
return, and she went out to look for him.
But a sudden squall of wind and rain soon
drove her back again, saying to herself,
"Ah! how wet he will be!" and then she
'Went up-stairs to fetch another jacket for him
to put on when he returned, and got ready







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


the little lantern which he used when he
lighted the lamps, for she knew that he would
perform that duty before he sat down tb
supper. Soon it began to grow'dusk, and
the poor child's surprise at her father's long
absence was changed into.fearful 'misgivings
that some terrible accident had happened to
prevent his return. She remembered how
punctual he always was in discharging his
duty, and she knew that the sun had set for
some time, for from the window she had
watched him go down, like a ball of molten
brass, into the ocean.
"Oh! if he has fallen down over those
terrible cliffs!" exclaimed she, opening the
door a little, to see if the weather would
allow her to go in search of him, but a tre-
mendous gust blew it instantly wide open,
and she had no little difficulty in closing it
again. And now the rain poured down like






THE LIGHTHOUSE.


a cataract, and the lightning flashed, while
the thunder could scarcely be heard, so ter-
rible was the roar of the wind. That poor
little child might as well have attempted to
* have fled to the moon as to have walked fifty.
yards against that night's gale. She saw
that it was impossible for her to venture out,.
S and she returned, almost heart-broken, into
the snug little kitchen. Here the sight of
her poor father's jacket, hanging over the
back of a chair by the fire, entirely overcame
her, and she burst into tears, exclaiming,
"He is dead-he is dead! He will never
wear it again! I am sure he would come
back to me before this if he was alive." Then
down she sank upon a chair, in an agony of
terror and distress.
And now I am coming to a part of my tale .
which, perhaps, some of my readers may think
improbable; but.it must be remembered, that






THE LIGHTHOUSE.


Clara was no common child, and she per-
formed no common action that night. In the
midst of her bitter grief for her father's
loss, and terror at her own situation, she
recollected that they had been employed that
afternoon in reading together an account
of a most melancholy shipwreck, in which
more than a hundred persons, and several of
her own sex and age, had perished. She
remembered also that she had asked her
father whether, if there had been a lighthouse
on that part of the coast, the shipwreck
would not have been prevented. He replied
that most probably it would, and added, "If
I were so wicked as to neglect my duty, and
not light our lamps, on some very dark
windy night, perhaps, before morning, a dis-
a-ter as terrible as that we have just been
reading about would happen on the Fly-away
Reef."







THE LTOnTHOUSE.


S All this had made a deep impression upon .
the mind of the intelligent little girl at the
time; and now, as she sat with her face
buried between her knees, and sobbing as if
her heart would burst, the remembrance of
the wlo:le st:ry, with her father's observations
upon it, appeared, she knew not why, to be
strangely mixed up with her present sorrow.
Then, by degrees, a fresh feeling of distress
came over her,-an indistinct fear that she
had some painful duty to perform; and she
began to say to herself, "If I could but light
th,: lamps! Ah, no! I can never do it.-
And to keep them burning all night, too!
And then I must go up that frightful stair-f
case by myself! Oh, my dear, dear father,
if I could but tell what has become of you !"
Then she remained perfectly still for soui~,
ininutes-so quiet that you would' have
thought she had been asleep. But no, she







62 THE LIGHTHOUSE.

was not asleep, for a terrible conflict was
going -on in her breast, and the good spirit
gained the victory over her fears! So she
arose from her seat, wiped her eyes, and
lighted the little lantern, saying aloud, "I
will try to light the lamps. If I can but get
to the top of the frightful stairs, the worst
will be over."
Now I must confess that Clara, though a
very sensible child, was rather silly in one
respect, for she had always had a great
dread of this cold, dark, gusty staircase, with
its one hundred and seventeen stone steps';
and she could never be persuaded to ascend 4
Them by herself, even in the day-time.
Therefore you may imagine how terrified
the poor child was, when she opened the
d,:i.r of the passage which connected the
dwelling-house with the bottom of the tower,'
and found herself at the foot of the dreaded
















'i/[l ii II ii \ I ilrr')I j 1(1 I
) II111 III iCih\i' I ~ii (lijll!Irl (I:II IaI 'I(~II ''
I I 1 V-:1 [II
~------- --

Il)il ~
ii _.







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


stairs. -he tower had no windows in it,
Sbut here and there a long, narrow slit, or
S loophole, in the wall, to admit a little light
and air, and through these openings the
wind whistled, and roared, and almost scream-
ed in the ears of the lonely tenant of
the tower. Clara has often said that she can
remember very little of what happened after
she had ascended a few, steps, for her fright
almost deprived her of her senses; but she
thinks that in her frantic haste to reach the
top she must have fallen down several times,
for her knees and elbows were sadly cut and
bruised. But she reached the lantern, closed
the little door, and was happy!
Yes, she felt comparatively happy, in having
accomplished that part of her task which she
most dreaded; though you would have thought
that to have spent the night in the lantern
of a lighthouse, in such a gale, would have
6*
V






THE LIGHTHOUSE.


been very terrible indeed. As you have
never been in such a situation, you can form
no idea of it whatever. Not only did the
awful wind and thunder roar ten times louder
than below, but the rock-based tower itself
yielded to the blast, and trembled fearfully.
Clara had not been two minutes in the lan-
tern before she repented of her attempt, and
heartily wished herself safe in the house be-
low again. But the terrible stairs, like an
impassable gulf, lay between her and the
place of refuge, and as her courage revived
by degrees, she remembered the resolution
she had made to endeavour to light the lamps.
These were all ready-trimmed, and as she
had often seen her father light them, she
began to hope that the difficulty was not so
very great. So she took off one of the
S glasses, and after turning round the top of
the lamp till it would go no further, she






THE LIGHTHOUSE. 55

found she was wrong, and moving it in the
contrary direction, soon, to her great joy, the
circular wick made its appearance. Then,
after several trials, she succeeded in lighting
one side of the wick with a piece of paper:
she replaced the glass, and went on to the
next lamp. She turned this the right way at
once, and had just persuaded the obstinate
wick to burn, when, crack! went the glass of
the first lamp, some of the fragments falling
on the floor; and Clara beheld the long, red
flame towering up, and terminated by a
column of black smoke. She had raised the
wick a great deal too high; and now, in her
haste to remedy the error, she turned it down
so low that the flame was quite extinguished.
"Oh! I never shall manage it," said she,
removing the remaining part of the broken
glass; but here, alas i was a fresh mbaif':'tume r.
for it was very hot and burnt her fingers







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


so that she could not help crying out with
pain. The poor little girl's spirit was al-
most broken, and another mishap would
probably have made her abandon the at-
tempt in despair, when, looking at the se-
cond lamp, she saw that the wick had lighted
all round, and was burning with a beautiful,
clear, white flame. Forgetting her smarting
fingers, Clara immediately placed a gl:eis ver
it, and soon found that, by turning the top
round carefully and slowly, she had full com -
mand of the flame, and could diminish or in-
crease it at pleasure. So she raised it gra-
dually till it gave a brilliant light, but without
any smoke; and now the quick-witted child
fully understood her business. In a short
time all the lamps were burning beautifully,
while Clara for a whlil.: almost forgot her
grief and terror in her admiration of the bril-
liant suns she had created.






*k THE LIGHTHOUSE. ,57

Never had the Fly-away lighthouse sent a
brighter gleam across the waters than it did
on that night! The watchful mariner hailed
the appearance of that warning star from a
distance, and was sure, by its position, that
he was safe from the dangers of the fatal
reef. But could he have known that its
splendour was maintained by the hand of
a weak and trembling child, he would surely
have bowed in gratitude to that Being who
is so often pleased to confer his greatest
benefits upon mankind by means which would
appear to us altogether inadequate for the
purpose.
What was to be done next? Clara knew
that the lamps would not burn brightly for
more than four or five hours without trim-
ming and a fresh supply of oil; but here no
difficulty would occur, for another set of'
eight lamps stood ready to take the places
4






THE LIGHTHOUSE.


of the first. But here lay the great and
sore difficulty-to prevent herself from fall-
ing asleep, and neglecting her trust! For
the first hour or two of her lonely watch
she was wakeful enough, for the novelty of
her situation and the uproar around her
prevented her from feeling drowsy, to say
nothing of her own sad thoughts. But sleep,
though long chased away by sorrow, will at
length weigh down the eyelids of the most
wretched, even of the condemned criminal
in his cell; and now Clara began to feel
its oppressive' influence stealing over her,
and by far the most difficult part of her
task remained to be performed. But she
resisted nobly, and repelled the unwelcome
visitor with a determination which can be
sufficiently admired only by those who have
seen how overpowering are the attacks of
sleep upon very young eyelids. Clara knew






THE LIGHTHOUSE.


that if she could by any means keep herself
awake till it was time to change the lamps,
she might then sleep in peace, for in a few
hours after it would be daylight.
And she did keep awake till nearly two
o'clock in the morning, as was afterwards
ascertained by the quantity of oil consumed;
Sand then, finding that the lamps would no
longer burn brightly, she was sure that it was
past midnight. So she lighted up the fresh
set without the smallest accident or difficulty;
she watched them for a few minutes, to be
quite sure that all was right, and then, the
sweet child having faithfully discharged the
duty which had so strangely fallen to her lot,
sank down upon the cold stone floor, and was
in the Hnd of dreams in an instant.






THE LIGHTHOUSE.


CHAPTER V.

WE left James Hawkins seated on the heap
of sea-weed between his two keepers, who
kept watch alternately. But James never
once closed his eyes, for he had not suf-
ficient confidence in his companions to be
EIure that it would be quite safe for him to
do so. Heavily and slowly passed the time,
till about an hour before dawn, and then
was heard at a distance the sound of some
one walking over the loose pebbles.
Here I must tell you that the lighthouse
could not be seen from any pait of Fresh-
water Cove; and,though the top of the tower
. pas visible, to the inhabitants of Crabton,
the dark side of the lantern was towards







S THE LIGHTHOUSE. 01

them, and in order to see the light, it was
necessary to sail out into the bay for three
or four miles, or to walk about the same dis-
tance from the village to Fly-away Point.
When the stranger had approached within
speaking distance of our party, he was hailed
by tl,- watchman with a gruff, "Who's
there ?"
"Tom Grummage," was the-reply; "and
I've g.:ot 'ii-v for ye; so leave your man, one
of you, and come here." 4.
SHawkins could hear nothing of the con-
versation that ensued, but he feared, from
the earnestness of their manner, that the
scheme of the Crabton wreckers had suc-
ceeded, and that a ship had been discovered
; stranded on the reef. He was mistaken, how-
ever, for in a few minutes the two men came
up to him, and he that had guarded him
S during the night said,






THE LIGHTHOUSE.


"Now, Mr. Hawkins, you may go home
as soon as you like; and as you've behaved
quietly, I'll tell ye for your comfort that your
light is burning as brightly as ever it did, and
has been burning all night, for what I know
to the contrary. But I say, Hawkins, when
this comes to be talked of, and we get
into trouble for to-night's work, pay a good
word, will you, for Jack Bracey; for I can
tell ye that, if it had not been for me, Ben
would have pitched you over the cliff, as he
did your water-cask. He's a rough fellow,
that Ben Bludgeon.-There, now, I have let
out his name! But you knew him well
enough before, in spite of his wig; and though
you cheated him with your 'Mr. Barton,' you
didn't take me in."
Of course, Hawkins could promise nothing,
but he thanked Bracey for his interference;
and being now at liberty, need I tell you that






THE LIGHTHOUSE.


he ascended the cliff, and ran to his home in
half the time that he had ever taken to tra-
verse the same distance before ?
Panting and breathless he stood before
his own door. It was on the latch. He
entered the kitchen and struck a light. The
object of his eager search was not there.
Then he examined every room of the house,
calling with faltering voice for his child, but
his ears were gladdened by no reply-his
home was silent and desolate. God of
heaven," he cried, "she has ventured out in
search of me, and has perished miserably in
the storm !" Suddenly a new thought struck
him, and a faint gleam of hope shone upon
the father's heart. "Ha! the light has been
burning all night! Can it be possible ?"
In an agony of suspense he ascended the
lighthouse stairs-he gained the lantern, and
there, stretched upon the floor in child-







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


hood's death-like sleep, was his lost one, his
own beautiful Clara. She was soon aroused
by the sound of her father's well-known
voice, and as James pressed her to his heart,
this strong man was overcome, and he min-
gled his tears with hers. After a few brief
questions, James carried his little girl down
into her own room, and left her to enjoy a
sound repose. Then he lay down upon his
own bed, but sleep visited not his eyes, for
his thoughts were with his dear little child:
and as he pondered over the events of the
night, he exclaimed, I never knew what hap-
piness was till now! May God give me a
thankful heart !"
About ten in the morning, the weather hav-
ing cleared up, Mrs. Hawkins, with old Tom
Haddock and Betty, made their appearance.
Very much astonished they were when the
events of the past night were related to







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


them, and you may be sure that the fisher-
man was delighted to find that his old watch
had not deceived him. Then little Clara,
who appeared in very good spirits after her
fright and want of sleep, gave the particu-
lars of her share of the night's adventures.
Nothing can be more affecting than a tale
of sorrow related in the simple but eloquent
language of childhood; and as the little girl
described her grief for her father's supposed
loss, Mrs. Hawkins and Betty could not
restrain their tears. James sat in silence
with his dear Clara on his knee, "but the
water stood in his eyes!"
Now this most expressive manifestation of
intense happiness was a phenomenon which
old Tom could not at all comprehend, and he
muttered to himself-
"What both of 'em a crying? And, I
declare, James seems half a mind to join
6*






THE LIGHTHOUSE.


in with the women too, because he's alive
and able to eat his breakfast this morning,
instead of being pitched over the cliff and
made into victuals for the crabs and dog-
fish. Well, I am not so foolish as that,
neither; though, when I look at that pretty
little ,maid, and think of what she has gone
through this night, 'I do feel uncommonly
queer, to be sure,' as the hermit-crab ob-
served when he fited himself into a fresh
-shell."
But let us leave this funny old man, and
get on to the end of our tale as quickly as
possible. Mr. Hawkins lost no time in ac-
quainting his masters, the gentlemen of the
*
Trinity-House, with the particulars of this
affair, and prompt measures were taken to
secure the Crabton conspirators; but, those
mbst deeply concerned in the plot had put
to sea in their boat, and it was feared had


66






THE LIGHTHOUSEE.


escaped to the coast of France. However,
they were captured at last, at a small English
seaport, more than fifty miles from Crabton.
It came out on their trial, that the original
design of the wreckers was to have marched
in a body to the lighthouse, to have utterly
demolished the lantern, and to have mur-
dered the inmates of the house if they had
made the least resistance. This was the
amiable Bludgeon's favourite plan; but his
companions, either more humane than him-
self, or more fearful of the consequences, had
compelled him to abandon it. The gang
knew- that the little girl was left in the light-
house, but they did not believe it possible
that such a child would be able to frustrate
their evil designs, neither were they aware
that their scheme for extinguishing the light
had failed till the night was almost past.
So Ben received his deserts in a sentence


67







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


of transportation for life, for it was proved
that he was the leader of the gang; but
Hawkins said all he could in favour of Bracey
and his companion, believing that he owed
his life to their interference, and in con-
sequence they were let off with two years'
imprisonment.
And so much for punishments-now for
rewards. It was ascertained that, on the
night when Clara kept her lonely watch in
the lantern, several very richly-laden ships,
with many passengers on board, had passed
Fly-away Point, and the captains and pilots
had no doubt that they should have been
lost on the reef, if the light had been extin-
guished.
The owners of these ships and the passen-
gers were therefore determined that the
young light-keeper, who had been the means
of saving so many lives and so much pro-


68







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


perty, should be Well rewarded for her good
conduct; so they began a subscription, to
which many of the wealthy merchants in
London contributed, and the Trinity Gen-
tlemen liberally engaged to double the sum,
whatever it might amount to. This promise
induced many to increase their donations,
and one old, cross East Indian merchant,
whoi at first had refused to subscribe any
S thing, when he heard of this engagement,
immediately put his name down for fifty
pounds, for he had a long-standing feud
with the Trinity Board, and, said he, as he
wrote his name in the list, I care nothing
for this silly chit of a girl, but I hate those
lighthouse people, and I'll make them pay an-
ether fifty pounds."
S But Clara's other friends gave from better
motives; and though the "lighthouse peo-
ple" had to pay a great deal more than they


69







70 TH LI6HOUBE.


had expected, they did not begrudge their
money, and our young friend was now a
wealthy little lady, with a fortune of more
than a thousand pounds.
As this 'money was placed in her father's
hands for her benefit, James determined to
give up his- situation as light-keeper. He
therefore-took a farm in an adjoining county;
and though at first, as might have been
expected, he made some sad blunders in
his new employment, he soon succeeded in
getting out of his difficulties, by industry
and attention, and an occasional word of
\ advice from his neighbours. In a few years
he was a thriving man, and was able to afford
the means of giving his daughter. Clara, to
whom he owed his good fortune, a much better
education than farmers generally consider ne- *
cessary for their children.


70







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


CHAPTER VI.

IN order to explain the introductory conver-
sation at the beginning of this tale, I must
now entreat my readers to pardon me for
bringing part of my own history before their
notice. But I will be as brief as possible.
About eight years after Mr. Hawkins be,
came a farmer, my parents being both dead,
I went to reside with my uncle, who haWt
been appointed my guardian. From him I
first heard the story of the Fly-awry;light-
house, and learned that James Haw"is was
* a tenant on his estate. My-good uncle,
fdiing that I was nmakite ested in the i^ -
a0 sk : Aeokmew it I the first oppor-


71






THE LIGHTHOUSE.


tunity to call at the farm, giving me this cau-
tion as we dismounted rom our horses:-
"Now, Fred, take care of your heart! for
the young light-beeper is a marvel of beauty,
I can tell you. Even my old eyes can see
that."
I was ever the most perverse, disobedient
creature in the world! Even when I really
meant to be particularly good and tractable,
something or other was sure to happen to
raise the spirit of opposition within me. So
it was in this instance. I loved my uncle
sincerely; he was my benefactor, my second
father; and when I took up my abode under
his roof, I wished, and fully intended, to obey
him in every thing. How did I abide by this
resolution? He had desired me not to be cap-
Stivated with the beauty of the young light-
keeper," as he always called her, and I had
not been half-an-hour in her company before I


72





THE LIGHTHOUSE.


said to myself, "Either Clara or nobody! I
will marry her, if she will have me, in spite of
all the uncles in existence; and if she won't
have me, I will join the army, and fly to the
uttermost parts of the earth from her pre-
sence. Welcome danger and death, if sweet
Clara may not be mine."
I had a sad ride home! My uncle
teased me with questions about my college
doings, and received very silly answers, no
doubt. The only question of his which I
fully comprehended was, whether I did not
think Miss Hawkins pretty. I answered as
coolly as I could, and was glad to take
refuge by starting another topic, rather than
endure my uncle's cross-examination on this
subject.
I walked over to the farm by myself the
next day, with my fishing-rod in my hand,
and requested Mr. Hawkins, who was a most
7






THE LIGHTHOUSE.


accomplished fly-fisher, to show me the best
pools in the stream which ran close by his
house. He said that it would be quite use-
less to attempt to fish that morning, for the
wind was decidedly east, and very cold. I
knew all this before I set out, and I quite
agreed with him that it would be better to
defer our fishing excursion. So I sat two
hours talking with Clara and Mrs. Hawkins,
and returned home more than ever determined
to be disobedient.
My uncle was much engaged, settling some
business with his lawyer, for -a week or two
after this, and I made almost daily calls
at the falim, sometimes with a tolerable ex-
cuse for my intrusion, sometimes with a vyry
lame one, at last with none whatever, except
that I had n4 seen Clara for four-and-twenty
hours.
Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins always received me


.74







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


with perfect civility, though I fancied, from
their manner, that my frequent visits were
not quite acceptable to them. But the grave
looks of the parents could not scare me away,
when their sweet daughter smiled like a
morning in spring. So we went on thus for
two or three months longer, and my fate was
decided. I did not join the army, but I won
the heart of "the young light-keeper;" though
the consent of her parents was not to be ob-
tained, except upon the hard condition that
my uncle should approve of my choice. My
uncle approve of it, indeed! How could he
be expected to approve of a match between his
heir, the last hope of his ancient family, and
the daughter of a man who had been a com-
mon sailor, and who could not even tell
you the name of his great-grandfather. But
I did not know my uncle when I reasoned
thus. Thouh eccentric in his habits, and







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


somewhat rough and hasty in his manners, he
had a kind and feeling heart.
One morning, after a very silent breakfast,
I observed with some alarm that the old
gentleman followed the servant to the door,
and said to him, in a low tone, If anybody
wants me, say I am engaged, and not to be
disturbed on any account till I ring." He
then resumed his seat, and addressed me.
"Fred, my dear boy," said he, "I am
sorry to observe that you have seemed out
of spirits lately. When you first came to
me, you were just the sort of companion I like
-all rattle and fun; but now-come, make a
friend of y~hr old uncle, and tell him all about
it. What's the matter with you, Fred ?"
"I am sure, sir, you are very kind, but there
is nothing the matter with me, that I know
of. I beg pardon if I have seemed out of
spirits, but I am perfectly well, I assure you."
I


76







THE LIGcHTHOUSE.


"Oh, very good! I am not your physician,
young gentleman. Then perhaps you will
allow me to ask you what you mean to do with
yourself till dinner-time ?"
"I meant to try for a trout, if you have no
objection, sir-I mean, if you do not want me
this morning."
"Indeed! and what stream do you mean to
exercise your skill upon ?"
"I think I shall try the Red-Brook to-day.
The fish are finer there, and the banks are
less encumbered with brushwood, and the
water-"
"Now, my dear Fred, I have fished in
every river within a dozen miles of us, for
more than half a century;' so you need not
tell me what sort of a stream the Red-Brook
is. If I pleased, I could trace the course of
twenty rivers for miles, could tell you every
field they p through, and every house that
7*


77







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


stands on their banks. For instance, I know
that the Red-Brook runs very near the house
of my tenant, honest James Hawkins, though
perhaps you might have forgotten that fact,
when you enumerated its other merits."
Never was a poor detected lover in a
worse predicament! I tried to look uncon-
cerned, but failed entirely; and I blundered,
and stammered sadly, while I answered my
cruel questioner, by saying that I believed
the Red-Brook did pass pretty near the Haw-
kins's house.
S' So !" said my uncle, "you are beginning
to learn a little of the geography of the
country, I see! But now I will leave jesting,
and will thank you for your serious attention
for a few minutes. To come to the point at
once then-Fred, I know the whole affair!
I know that, like a foolish fellow, you have
engaged to marry Miss Hawkins#I know all
f #I


78







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


this; and a great deal more, though you have
not thought proper to make a friend of
your old uncle. Yesterday morning, James
Hawkins came up here, saying that he wished
to quit his farm, and, like an honest, open-
hearted fellow, he gave me his reasons for
this step. He said that as he knew I should
never give my consent that a nephew of mine
should marry his daughter, he thought it
better to remove her to a distance; hoping
that she might then forget her silly lover.
.He did not call you silly, though: that's an
improvement of mine.
"Now, Fred, I don't approve of this match
at all. I never have approved of unequal
matches; and let me tell you that the young
light-keeper, pshaw! that Miss Hawkins, with
all her beauty and excellent qualities, is not
a suitable match for you, I am not thinking
about her t of fortune. You will have






THE LIGHTHOUSE.


enough of your own, and I despise a man
.who would take a trip to the altar to pick
up a bag of gold. My poor father used
to give me this advice, and if you can
put it into fewer or better words, you are
a clever fellow; 'Tom,' said my father,
'when you marry, seek for a. fortune in
a wife,,and not with a. wife;' meaning thereby
that she should be a treasure herself from her
good qualities.
"Well, Fred," continued my uncle, "I
have given you a long lecture, but I have not
quite finished yet. I have said that I do not
approve of unequal matches, but I like them
better than broken hearts! So, if you assure
me, which of course you will, that you. and
your pretty little Clara are both determined
to break yours all to pieces, if you are not
allowed to marry, why I suppose I must give
my consent, that's all. There, ve me your


80







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


hand, my dear boy, and now go and see how
the trout will rise in the Red-Brook this
morning."
My heart was too full to reply to my kind,
generous uncle. I pressed his hand in silence,
and was leaving the room, when he called me
back.
"Oh! I have forgotten one thing; don't
catch all the trout in the Red-Brook this
morning, Fred, for I mean to wet a line there
myself some fine day, if my rheumatism will
let me-and, stop a minute, what a hurry the
silly fellow is in! You may take back to
Mr. Hawkins his notice to quit the farm.
He won't think it necessary to leave the
neighbourhood now, I suppose: we must find
him a larger farm, though, and a better house,
if he is to be my nephew's father-in-law."


81







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


I closed my book, and- my dear little
Clara, who, like a good child, had not once
interrupted me while I was reading, now
opened wide the floodgate of her impatience,
and broke forth into a torrent of exclamations
and questions. When these had* teen ans-
wered, she said:
"Yes, papa, I think I understand it all
now. But is mamma really a common sailor's
daughter?"
"Your mamma, my dear Clara, is the
daughter of- James Hawkins, who, though
now the possessor of wealth and land of his
own, was formerly what you call 'a common
sailor;' do you love her the less on that
account ?"
"Oh no! nothing can possibly make me
love dear mamma less. Ah! now I under-
stand -why you had a lighthouse engraved on
your seal. I am sure I shall valit the impres-


82







THE LIGHTHOUSE.


sion of that seal more than all the rest in my
collection."
"I hope you will not forget the history
connected with it, my dear child; and when
you look at the seal, reason thus with your-
self :--f mamma was but a very little girl,
and yet by her good conduct she saved the
lives of many persons, and prevented the
destruction of much valuable property. For
this action she was rewarded, and was at
length raised to a situation in which she has
had the means of being much more useful to
her fellow-creatures than she could possibly
have been, had she remained all her days an
inhabitant of a lighthouse.
Can I, her daughter, imitate her in any
way ."
"Ah, no! I never in all my life shall have
an opportunity of doing so much good as
she has do1ie; and even if I had the op-


83






THE LIGHTHOUSE.


portunity, I have not her courage and deter-
mination."
"Perhaps not. Still I think that every lit-
tle child may be of some use in the world, for
we know that God has created nothing in
vain, not even the smallest insect or plant
which we trample under our feet, as if they
were altogether worthless and insignificant."
Wtll, then, I am certainly better than a
plant or an insect, for God has given me un-
derstanding, to teach me to distinguish be-
tween right and wrong, and to enable me to
do good to others.
But how can I, a little, helpless child, who
require assistance myself, almost every hour
in the day, how can I be of the smallest use to
Others. Ah! I will not puzzle about it any
longer, but will go directly to my dear mamma,
and beg her to teach me how to imitate 'The
young light-keeper of Fly-away Point.'"


84




















THE INCENDIARY.













8 85























































.~`44
F*















S 4t





* 2 "
K,-^. 1

Q,,t'










THE INCENDIIARY.



CHAPTER I.

"How many hands will you have in the
hayfield to-day ?" said I, one morning at break-
fast, to my host, farmer Trimmer, under whose
roof I had been lodging for more than a
S twelvemonth.
"How many, sir!" replied the farmer
"why as many as we can possibly must
you maybe sure; for 1 never in all my lifl
had so iuch hay down together as I have
S just now. If we had but more hands, three
days of this hot sun and lovely breeze woul
it all safe for us. But the quicks e 4
down this morning, see; so we
~87







88 THE INCENDIARY.

6an't expect this fine weather to last many
days longer. Well, we must work hard while
we have it, and hope far the best. Let me
see, there will be seven of our own people,
and those six new men I hired yesterday, and
if you reckon nephew Walter, here, and my-
self to make one more between us, there will
be fourteen altogether."
NoW-the farnmera ke very modestly of his
own powers when e said this: for though
N"Nphew Walter" was a slight-made lad of
t thirteen, James Trimmer *himself was a
n of. such unusual proportions and strength,
at te could easily do as much 1rork as any 1
t o of his labourers.
"Fourteen, we shall be -ltogetlr, and I
* P wish we were forty," continued the farmer; -
perhaps my good woman and the maids
o me out and handle the forks b.a
Nowt w indeed ;replied Mrs.


'. .. ,. ". -_.^
:'- l B . . .. c
















i:)

KJj~~i







~1


(V \') 3}-)
1 L/Ig=\




4


THE INCENDIARY. 89

"till we have finished our own work, at any
rate. How are the victuals for fourteen hun-
gry people to be got ready, if we go a hay-
making, I should like to know ?"
Then I shall be the only idle person on
the premises," said I to myself; "perhaps the
only thoroughly idle, useless being within ten n
miles of us. To be sure am not very strong,
nor used to hard work; but at haymaking-
time anybody can be useful, and I could do
as much as little Walter there, at any rate.
Come. will try to spend one day of my life
usefully and industriously."
SSo, telling Mr. Trimmer that he had macV:
a mistake in his reckoning, and that he wou
have one more haymaker in his employ than
he, expected, I accompanied him into the field,
Where, under the tuition of my friend Walter,
S sooa leon learned to perform my part very much
cwon satisfaction.
.P ., 8*
4E




V


90 THE INCENDIARY.

Here I must introduce my young friend
more particularly than by merely saying that
he was James Trimmer's nephew. His father,
a poor hard-working curate, preaching two
er three sermons a week, and with difficulty
maintaining his family upon an income which
Sdid not amount to the yearly earnings of
a skilful journeyman tailor or shoemaker,
had died when little Walter Was about two
years old. His wife soon followed her hus-
band, and as she had offended her own family
by her imprudent choice, poor Walter was
left without a friend or protector in the wide
A rld, except his uncle and au nt Trimmer.
Now this early bereavement, unfortunate
in most instances, had proved a blessing
to the little boy; for which is the most 1
enviable condition, that of a very poor
curate's son, or that of a thriving farmer's
A nephew and adopted child? It is true that as







THE INCENDIARY.


the former he would have had more right to
the title of gentleman; but give me well-fed
and warm-clad respectability, rather than
starving and half-ragged gentility. And I
mean to show that Walter, though his work-
ing-clothes were of coarse texture, and his
shoes were often .adorned by half a pound
weight of hob-nails, had nevertheless prin-
Sciples and feelings that would have done hon-
our to any station in life. Neither was he so
deficient in learning as boys of his class
usually are; for his uncle, who had received
sone education himself, was too sensible of
the advantages he had derived from it,
neglect his nephew in this respect. So the
S long winter evenings were spent by Walter
very pleasantly and profitably, in reading
and writing, and in learning the first rules of
arithmetic
M 24after .a few years' instruction there


91






THE INCENDIARY.


followed a consequence which the farmer had
himself foreseen, and had predicted to his
wife very soon after he had taken upon him-
self the office of tutor to his nephew. The
intelligent child had imbibed all the learning
the teacher had it in his power to impart,
and longed for more.
At this crisis, when Mr. and Mrs. Trimmer
were debating whether they could make up
their minds to part with their nephew, and
send him for a year or two to a school in the
neighboring town, I first became an inmate
of their comfortable abode. Compelled by
Sill health to give up my profession, and to
take refuge in the genial climate of our
southern coast, I had spent several weeks
in rambling about, seeking for a quiet resting-
place, and finding none exactly suited to my
wishes. One place was too public, another
too lonely and out of the world, even for


92







THE INCENDIARY.


such a lover of retirement as myself; and
many situations, though agreeable in other re-
spects, were far too expensive for my very
slender income.
One afternoon, during my uncertain wan-
derings, as I was sitting oh a stile, contem-
plating a glorious ocean-view, and inhaling
with delight the perfumed sea-breeze that
blew softly over the land, I was startled from
S my musings by a voice behind me, very
civilly requesting permission to pass by.
I stepped aside to comply, and then my
acquaintance with little'Walter Trimmer com-
menced. lk
There was something wonderfully engag-
ing in the boy's manner and appearance.
Though not absolutely handsome, the expres-
sion of his face combined so much intel-
ligence with the greatest simplicity and in-
S fcenee, that the absence of perfect beauty


93






THE INCENDIARY.


and regularity of feature was forgotten. 'His
was a face on which the finger of the Creator
had written in characters not to be misunder-
stood, "Trust me, try me; I cannot deceive
you."
As in our -pilgrlnage through this world
of deceit and treachery, such a perfectly
ingenuous countenance as I have attempted
to describe does not often refresh our sight, I
determined to make an acquaintance with its
owner, and accordingly I entered into conver-
sation with Walter, who' soon became very
sociable and communicative. He showed me,
at the distance of about half-a-mile, the chim-
neys of his uncle's house, peeping up behind
a forest of apple-trees, and as it lay near-
ly in my way to the little village where I
lodged, I determined to accompany my new
acquaintance there. I asked Walter if he
thought his aunt would spare me a little milk.


94







THE INCENDIARY.


"Yes, I am sure she will, sir," replied he;
"and you can have it fresh and warm from
the cow, for it is just about milking-time.
Or, if you like it better, aunt will give you a
glass of ale or of cider. Oh, such capital
cider we make, sir! Uncle often says that
ours is the very best cider in all Devonshire.
Aunt always gives me a good large cup full
with my supper: aunt is very kind to me,
sir; oh, so kind! and I am sure she will be
glad to give you any thing to eat or drink you
like. Only I must tell you one thing; you
must not do what some very fine grand ladies
did a little while ago."
Here my little talkative friend paused, and
looked rather confused; so I inquired what
these fine grand ladies had been guilty of.
Why, they came as you are going to do
now, sir," replied Walter, "and asked for
some milk; and aunt gave them some, of


95




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