Chapter 5

LIGHTHOUSE GUESTS.

"So low did her secure foundations lie; She was not humble, but humility. Scarcely she knew that she was great, or fair, Or wise, beyond what other women are Or (which is better) knew, but never durst compare. For to be conscious of what all admire And not be vain, advances virtue higher. But still she found, or rather thought she found, Her own worth wanting, others to abound; Ascribed above their due to every one, Unjust and scanty to herself alone."--Dryden.

The loneliness of the Farne Islands must have been rather depressing to the young people who dwelt upon them, and when a chance wind brought to the Longstone Rock any guest to be entertained, and treated with true British hospitality, the inhabitants of the lighthouse must have been particularly thankful. Birds and fishes, winds and waves, are very well in their places, but social hearts long for something else than these, and cannot be satisfied without communion with their kind. Grace Darling's sympathy was with human life; and no one can read of her without feeling that, if she could not shine in society, she could at least be very womanly and kind with strangers, and sufficiently entertaining to those who visited the happy, homely dwelling among the rocks. She would take delight in ministering to their needs, and removing their sorrows; and we are sure that no one was shipwrecked on the island, or visited it from curiosity or for instruction, without taking away with them pleasant recollections of the gentle girl.

Lonely as the island was, and quiet as the lives of the inmates of the lighthouse must have been, they were not altogether uneventful, and they certainly were not idle. The brothers of a family always make much work, and sometimes not a little care for their sisters. A good girl cannot but be very loving toward them, and most anxious for their welfare. If the boys are away from home, the solicitude of the sister is increased; and many an earnest prayer does she send up to God during the day, and sometimes during the night, that He would bless the lads. The tender, pitiful soul of a girl clings to her brother; and sometimes, if the boys only knew how much they are beloved, they would perhaps live and act very differently. They may rest assured that no one, unless it be their mother, feels as thankful for their joy, and as grieved for their sorrow, as proud of their virtue, and as sad for their sins, as the sisters who played with them, and who always feel as if God meant them to be, in some measure, their brothers' keepers.

Grace Darling's brothers were away from the island, but they were not forgotten by Grace. Often, with a happy smile on her lips, and a loving light in her eyes, she sat and worked for them, preparing some warm garment, or pretty little gift, that should tell the boys a pleasant, though oft-repeated tale, of their sister's love.

But the best time for Grace was when the twin-brothers came home for a holiday. She kept it with them, and always took care that they should have such particularly good times that they would delight to talk of them when they were over. Every one who knows anything of boys and their ways, knows how proud and flattered they are by the attentions of a girl who is older than themselves. And Grace was charming, for she laid herself out for her brothers' pleasure. Long before they came home, she invented little surprises, in the shape of puzzles, pictures, and games. She knew that the most uncomfortable experience a boy can have is to be left alone with nothing to do, and she took care that nothing of this kind should spoil the holidays of the brothers. She joined in all their play. She ran races with them--jumped with them--sailed with them; and if they had not been too manly to cry, when the parting time came, she would have cried with them most heartily. They were golden days indeed for Grace when her brothers came home.

Nor was she scarcely less pleased when others, and strangers, paid a visit to her home.

One day in September, 1832, Grace and her mother were watching the sky and sea most anxiously. Mr. Darling had gone to North Sunderland, having sailed thither in his trusty coble. They were now expecting his return, and every five minutes seemed an hour while they waited. He was not coming alone, for his eldest son was to accompany him. The latter was at this time residing at Alnwick, but was always glad of an opportunity to go home. The two who watched for them prayed as they watched.

"I hope they will not be long, Grace. Is it not time they had arrived?" asked Mrs. Darling.

"Scarcely yet, mother," replied Grace. "Do not be anxious, so many things may have delayed them."

"But I feel sure that a storm is coming. Look at the waves out at sea--how white they are; and every hour they are becoming more so."

"But I think they will be here before the storm comes."

"I hope they may. If not, I fear that they will not be able to come at all to-night."

"There is time yet."

"But the sun is setting, Grace; already the twilight is here."

"Let us trust, mother. I think all will be well with them."

They stood looking towards the sea, and presently Grace saw that which they were looking for.

"Here they come, mother; and there are two in the boat!"

"Where, Grace? Are you sure it is they?"

"Quite! Cannot you see them?"

"Oh yes, thank God; and they are coming very quickly. They will soon be here."

"Let us go down to the beach to meet them."

Grace went joyfully down; and as their boat came ashore, she received them with thanksgiving.

"All well, Grace?"

"Yes, father. Mother has been very anxious, lest you should not be able to get here before the storm came."

"It is coming, surely. It will be a very rough night, a night to be at home rather than on the sea. Let us get indoors as soon as possible."

They had not been long within the shelter of their home before the storm burst in all its fury, and it was a storm that even they did not often witness. The wind, which at first had sighed as if in sorrow, and wailed as if for woe, now roared in wild anger, rushing hither and thither in a mad endeavour to shake and destroy all that came in its way. Rain pelted down upon the lighthouse, and hail beat against the windows, while the waves, lashed to fury by the tempestuous winds, leaped so high that they beat with violence against the lighthouse itself. All were glad and thankful to be within doors at such a time, and talked compassionately of the poor fellows who were exposed to the pitiless rigour of the elements.

Grace sat at the window watching, when presently all were startled by an exclamation of alarm which she involuntarily uttered.

"What is it, Grace!" cried her father, rising hastily, and going to her side. "See, father!" said she in answer.

The sight that met Darling's eyes was sad enough. A little yacht, quite too small to brave such weather, was seen tossing about on the angry waters. One moment it seemed to rise on the top of a wave-mountain, the next it was engulphed in the watery abyss, but all the time the wind was driving it toward the rocks.

"William, look here," said Darling to his son.

William drew a long breath.

"She is coming with all speed to the rocks," he said.

"Yes, there is not a moment to lose. Come, my son."

The young man needed no second bidding: if he had done, Grace would have added her earnest words. But she knew her father and brothers, and hastened to get their hats and jackets, and prepare them for the battle with the winds and waves.

"Is there anything more that I can do for you, father?"

"Yes, take care of your mother, and do not let her give way."

Mrs. Darling clung to her husband until he gently put her into the hands of her daughter. It is one of the trials of the wife of a lighthouse keeper, that she must often see her husband go forth to dangers which may lead him into death; and Mrs. Darling could not bear this trouble with any degree of composure. It is a singular thing that those who live by the sea are often most alarmed at its power. Mrs. Darling knew what it did with helpless men; and when her husband went out in the storm, though he had gone on an errand of mercy, she was often so anxious about him as to be quite overpowered; and while he was fighting with the elements she would remain at home in a state of insensibility, from which she was with difficulty aroused.

At such times, it is generally the case that

"Men must work, and women must weep."

And it is the women who have the worst of it. It is not so difficult for heroic men to rush into danger for the salvation of human life, as it is for loving women to sit calmly at home while the lives that are dearest to them are in jeopardy. Mrs. Browning understood this when she wrote her poem, "Parting Lovers," when Italy needed brave men to die for her:--

"Heroic males the country bears, But daughters give up more than sons; Flags wave, drums beat, and unawares You flash your souls out with the guns, And take your heaven at once.

"But we? We empty heart and home Of life's life--love! We bear to think You're gone--to feel you may not come-- To hear the door-latch stir and clink, Yet no more you!--nor sink."

Happily, however, on this occasion Mrs. Darling's suspense was not of long duration; for her husband and son managed to row to the little imperilled yacht, and succeeded, though not without danger to themselves, in rescuing its occupants. A few minutes more, and they must have perished; and their joy and thankfulness at being saved at, as it seemed to them, the eleventh hour, may be better imagined than described.

Away to the friendly lighthouse rowed Mr. Darling and his son, and in a very short space of time they were safely sheltered from the storm. On the threshold of the home, they were met by Grace, who, with her mother, eagerly and kindly welcomed them.

"Come into the light and warmth," said Mrs. Darling, "and I will find you some warm clothing. Thank God that you are saved."

"Yes, indeed; and we shall never cease to feel thankful also to our kind deliverers, for their skill and courage in saving us from death."

The party consisted of four persons--a lady, two gentlemen, and the boatman; and were quite an addition to the little household, which was, however equal to the emergency.

"Come with me," said Grace to the lady, "and I will find you some dry clothing."

"Thank you," she said. "I could not have imagined any thing like the rain and spray with which we have been drenched; my face was quite stung with them as they beat against me."

"Yes, it is something dreadful during a storm; and of course it seems worse to those who are not used to it. If you take off everything that is wet, and exchange it for dry, I hope you will take no real harm."

The wardrobe of Grace Darling was not a very extensive one, but she spread her belongings before the visitor with the utmost readiness and kindness.

"Please take any article that can be of the least use to you. I am only sorry that I have no better ones to offer."

"Pray do not speak of that. It will be most delightful to feel warm and dry once more."

In the meantime, the two gentlemen were also supplied with some clothing that belonged to the absent brothers of Grace, and presently they all appeared in the room below, and joined the family. They could scarcely repress a smile as they saw each other arrayed in such unusual attire, but it was with deep feeling that they congratulated one another on their escape. The guests then introduced themselves as Mr. and Miss Dudley, and Mr. Morrington.

"We have been spending a holiday at Tynemouth," said one, "and have been there several weeks. This morning as the sea was calm, and the weather lovely, we came out for a sail, little thinking that in a few hours the scene would be so greatly changed. It is like our treacherous English climate."

"But we came farther than we had intended, for the sea was so thoroughly enjoyable."

"And the gale came up so suddenly that we had not time to seek a place of safety, and it was so very violent that we were driven quite out of our course."

"Had you no control over the vessel?" asked Mr. Darling.

"Not the least We were quite at the mercy of the winds, and waves."

"And they are most merciless," said one of the young men.

"I do not know how to thank you enough for your great kindness, Mr. Darling," said Miss Dudley. "Words are quite too weak to express the grateful feelings of my heart; but I shall ever remember your great courage, humanity, and kindness, in attempting and accomplishing our rescue from a watery grave."

"Nay, nay," said the kind lighthouse keeper, "do not say any more on the subject. I am sufficiently rewarded for any little trouble and risk by the happiness of knowing that I have been the means of preserving your lives, by the help of God."

"Your heroic conduct ought to be reported to the authorities."

"But we are placed here to keep the lamps burning; and though we are very glad to save lives, you understand that is not the work we are paid for doing."

"You are paid though, by the consciousness of having done a good deed, and the gratitude of those whom you have rescued."

"Certainly, but you must please excuse me now, as I must relieve my son, and take my turn in watching by the beacon."

"And now," said Mrs. Darling, "I am sure you will be glad of some refreshment."

Indeed they were; and Mrs. Darling, who was a good housekeeper, and had a few delicacies in her larder, knew how to satisfy the appetites of her guests. It was a very cheerful party that gathered around the lighthouse-table that evening, and when William Darling joined them there was no lack of conversation. The guests were evidently persons of gentle birth and habits, and the Darlings knew how to appreciate such society. The social Grace was especially delighted, and almost felt thankful for the storm that had brought such interesting and agreeable guests to the lighthouse-home. The two girls, differently reared as they had been, were yet able to fraternise, and find mutual pleasure in the society of each other; and the hours passed almost unheeded, while the storm, which had abated none of its tempestuous fury, raged violently without, and failed to disturb the happiness of those who were so pleasantly occupied.

It was very late before they could bring themselves to break up the social party, and retire to rest.

"We have not a spare room to offer you. Will you mind sharing mine?" asked Grace of Miss Dudley.

"Not at all. I shall be glad to do so. I am very tired, and do not think that even the storm will keep me awake," replied Caroline Dudley.

"You will sleep in the boys' bed," said Mrs. Darling to the gentlemen. "William will watch the light to-night, and so relieve his father."

The strangers slept soundly. It seemed that the storm did but rock them to sleep, for it was not until a late hour in the morning that they awoke. Miss Dudley found that her companion had already risen, and the sun was pouring into the little room its bright unclouded glory. But the sea was very rough; and as soon as she had asked the opinion of the weather-wise lighthouse-keeper as to the possibility of returning, she found that for that day at least they must remain on the island. A bountiful breakfast of tea, coffee, fish, and eggs, had been provided by the hostess, to which the visitors did ample justice.

"I am afraid, Mrs. Darling, that we shall have to encroach still further upon your hospitality," said Dudley; "Mr. Darling informs me that we cannot leave the island to-day, as the sea continues so rough."

"I am only too glad to have you for my guests," said Mrs. Darling, heartily.

"As for me," said Grace, turning to her newly-found but already beloved friend, "I could wish that the storm might last a very long time."

"I should be glad to stay too," said Miss Dudley, "if my father only knew of our safety. He is not strong, and the suspense may do him serious injury. He will be most anxious about us, I know. He was quite aware of the kind of vessel we sailed in, and when he saw how severe the storm was, he would naturally conclude that we were lost. I am afraid of the effect that the sorrow may have upon him in his weak state."

"He will surely not lose hope for some time," said Darling; "and to-morrow, if all is well, you will be able to return to him."

"But our boat was so injured by being beaten against the rocks, that I fear it is useless," remarked one of the gentlemen.

"I will take you across in my boat," said Darling, "so you need have no anxiety on that score."

"Oh, Mr. Darling, you make us more and more your debtors."

They were consoled, however, with the thought that the suspense of Mr. Dudley would be relieved before very long; and as nothing could be done on that day, they resigned themselves to their situation, and prepared to have a delightful holiday.

When breakfast was over, Grace took Caroline to the turret of the lighthouse to enjoy the extensive view which such a point of vantage afforded. A better day for the purpose could scarcely have been chosen, for the fleecy clouds floated gracefully, the air was calm, and the sun shone forth in splendour. The ocean had not recovered from the effects of the angry storm, and the wild white waves leaped up as if they would overwhelm and altogether destroy everything that offered the least opposition.

Miss Dudley gazed spell-bound on the scene, and could not find words in which to express her admiration; while Grace, to whom it was all very familiar, confessed that even the could never look upon it without feelings of wonder and delight. She pointed out the famous Castle of Bamborough, with its battlements and towers; then Holy Island, on which could be seen the ruins of its ancient priory; and also the Cheviot hills on the north.

"Have you ever heard any of the legends of our neighbourhood," inquired Grace? "No," replied Caroline; "but it will give me very great pleasure to listen to them."

Nothing could have pleased Grace better than to pour into the willing ears of the young lady who had so strangely been brought to her, and who had so attracted her affections, the old-world stories in which she herself so greatly delighted. But to Miss Dudley the pleasure was even greater. She was naturally romantic, being possessed of a warm poetic temperament; and what treat could have been greater to such a maiden than to sit in the lonely lighthouse tower of the weird Longstone Island, and listen to the mysterious fascinating legends of Northumbria, as told in melodious accents by the lips of the enthusiastic island girl? What wonder that as she listened, and the other talked, the two young hearts were drawn to each other in trustful and admiring friendship?

They were soon recalled, however, for the three young men, Dudley, Morrington, and William Darling, wished them to join them in a walk about the islands. They strolled together along the beach; and as the tide was ebbing, the sands were firm and pleasant. The two girls kept together, and Grace pointed out to her friend those objects which were the most interesting.

"That is the island on which St. Cuthbert lived, and we can see the hermitage he built. He came here from the priory of Lindisfarne, because he thought that a monastic life provided too many luxuries and enjoyments for the good and prosperity of his soul. He thought they distracted his mind, and prevented it from dwelling sufficiently on religious subjects."

"But it is not necessary to become a recluse in order to serve God?"

"No, for He has placed us in families, and given us social duties to perform. But I suppose St. Cuthbert thought differently; and so he came to spend his days on the island. He must have found discomfort and privation enough to satisfy even him, for it is said that there was neither water nor vegetation upon the island, which was then altogether barren and uninhabitable. Besides that, it had the reputation of being haunted by malignant demons, which took up their abode there. The saint, however, was not afraid of evil spirits, nor anything else, and the spot became very dear to him."

"But how could he live if there was nothing on the island to eat and drink?"

"Oh, of course he worked some miracles, and his wants were easily supplied; at least so the legend says. I have read a description of the marvellous change which came over the island while he lived upon it. 'The flinty rock bubbled with fresh water; the once barren soil, with prolific abundance, brought forth grain; trees and shrubs, bearing fruit, decked the smiling shores; the troubled waters clapped their hands for joy; the plains assumed a mantle of green, embroidered with flowers, the evil spirits were bound in eternal darkness, and angels of light communed with the saint!' Strange, if true, was it not?"

"It was indeed! But what has become of the remarkable verdure?"

"Oh, it is said that although the demons were never again allowed to return, the island became as sterile as before when St. Cuthbert died, and no more exerted his miraculous influence on its behalf."

"Are there any relics of this wonderful saint still remaining on the islands?"

"Yes, there are the ruins of a church, and in them is a stone coffin, which at one time contained the remains of the saint."

Caroline laughingly replied, that as the restless body occupied a large number of coffins before it finally found a home in Durham Cathedral, it was only fair that the Farne Islands should have one.

"Now, let me tell you about Holy Island," said Grace. "That also has the ruins of an ancient priory, and possesses more historical associations and wonderful legends than I could possibly repeat. It is a very beautiful island, though it is in decay, and has lost its former glory and importance. As early as the Saxon Heptarchy, there was a monastery on Lindisfarne. It was pillaged and burned by the Danes, those terrible sea-kings who caused our country so much suffering in the days of old, and who seemed to be so fond of Holy Island, that they came to it again and again."

"They were wonderfully persistent, were they not?"

"They were indeed! There are many other places of interest, Warkworth and Dunstanborough among the rest."

"I shall try to persuade my father to pay a visit to those places before we leave the neighbourhood," said Miss Dudley; "and now Grace, since you have told me so much that is interesting, I will try to tell you a little about the far different scenes among which I live."

"Do," said Grace, "I shall be glad to hear anything about your life."

Caroline's story was almost as strange to Grace as Grace's had been to Caroline, for it had to do with a class of society about which the young lighthouse girl knew nothing. Miss Dudley was used to shine in circles to which Grace Darling would not have been admitted, and her description of the habits of thought and modes of life of the people among whom she associated, was graphic, piquant, and most entertaining. Like many a merry, warm-hearted girl, she cherished a half-contemptuous opinion of much that was fashionable and gay; and to hear her speak of the crowded assemblies, the dreary dinner parties, the exciting balls, and the endless morning calls, was to give Grace both surprise and amusement.

The two girls, as they thus stood, talking to each other of their lives and associations, formed a very striking contrast. Miss Dudley was tall, dark and beautiful, with classic features and graceful form. Her mother was a Spanish lady, and from her the daughter had inherited the splendid dark eyes and hair, as also the ardent and romantic nature, which had thrown such a spell round Grace. Her intellect was of the highest order, and had been most carefully cultivated, so that her natural enthusiasm had been restrained and disciplined, but not subdued or weakened. She had only just left school, which was one of the highest class, where all the modern accomplishments necessary to a refined education had been thoroughly taught her; and as she had moved always in good society, her manners had acquired that easy grace and polish which can scarcely be obtained under other circumstances.

Grace Darling, on the contrary, had, as we know, received little if any instruction beyond that which her own father had imparted. But although her opportunities had been meagre, she had made the most of them, and was at this time a well-informed girl, with good natural abilities. She was possessed of that simple courtesy which has its root in self-forgetfulness, and an earnest desire to please, and which will always prevent its owner from breaking any of those rules of etiquette which make the wheels of society run so smoothly; and there was an easy winning grace, and guileless sweetness of manner, about the simple true-hearted lighthouse maiden, that won its way to all hearts. There is no such beautifier as thoughtful goodness; and the amiable character, and clear understanding of Grace Darling, shone through her hazel eyes, and added to her loveliness.

Grace was rather beneath the ordinary stature, and her figure was slender and graceful. She had a wreath of sunny brown curls, and a delicate clear complexion, which revealed the quick emotions of joy or sorrow that moved her. She was rich, too, in having a fund of good common sense, which would enable her, with the assistance of the ready presence of mind and dauntless courage which characterised her, to be equal to all the emergencies of life.

The two girls, so differently trained and constituted, who were thus brought together, would probably be the better for the short intercourse which they had; and it is certain that both would retain pleasant memories of their walks and talks in the island.

When evening came they all sat around the lighthouse fire, and hold a pleasant conversation. Nor were they content with this, but added the delights of music to their entertainment. Miss Dudley was prevailed on to sing the following ballad;[1]--

"The 'Morning Star' Sailed o'er the bar, Bound to the Baltic Sea: In the morning grey She stretched away-- 'Twas a weary day to me.

"And many an hour, In sleet and shower, By the lighthouse rock I stray, And watch till dark For the winged bark Of him that's far away.

"The Castle's bound I wander round, Among the grassy graves, But all I hear Is the north wind drear, And all I see--the waves."

"Oh, roam not there, Thou mourner fair, Nor pour the fruitless tear! The plaint of woe is all too low-- The dead--they cannot hear!

"The Morning Star Is set afar, Set in the Baltic Sea; And the billows spread O'er the sandy bed That holds thy love from thee."

Mr. Morrington remarked that the Tynemouth Castle grounds were used as a burial place; and then calls were made upon the other members of the party for another song.

"William can sing," remarked Grace, looking at her brother.

"Of course he can," said Mr. Dudley; "whoever knew a light-hearted man, used to the sea, who could not sing. Will you please favour us, Mr. Darling!"

William, who was anxious, like the rest of the family, to make the time of their guests pass as pleasantly as possible, at once complied with their request. He sang his song to an old border tune, originally composed to the words, "When I was a bachelor fine and brave:"--

"Harold, the minstrel, was blithe and young; Many and strange were the lays he sung; But Harold neither had gold nor fee-- His wealth was his harp o' the forest tree; And little he reck'd, as he troll'd his lay-- 'Clouds come over the brightest day.'

"On him young Ella, the maiden, smiled; Never were notes like his wood-notes wild, Till the baron's broad lands and glittering store Dazzled her eye, and her love was o'er; Gold hushed the praise of the minstrel lay-- 'Clouds come over the brightest day.'

"From the old church-tower the joy bells rung, Flowering wreaths were before her flung; Youth was gay, but the aged sighed-- 'She had better been the minstrel's bride; And Harold wept as he troll'd his lay-- 'Clouds come over the brightest day.'

"Years have fled, and the moonbeams fall On the roofless towers of the baron's hall; The owl hath built in the chapel aisle, And the bat in the silent campanile, And the whispering ivy seems to say-- 'Clouds come over the brightest day.'

"Years have fled, and that soft light shines On a quiet cot where the woodbine twines. A lonely heart, in a distant clime, On that sweet cot thinks, and the warning rhyme, Treasures of earth will fade away-- 'Clouds come over the brightest day.'"

The next morning the sea was calm enough for to make it safe for the visitors to cross over, and they prepared to leave the island-home in which they had been so kindly and hospitably entertained. They did so with some reluctance, being sorry to lose the friends whom they had found. The parting was especially hard to Grace, who had been living in a new world during the last two days; but Miss Dudley comforted her, by expressing a hope that they would meet again.

"Will you come and stay with us, Grace, before we leave Tynemouth," she asked. "I should like to do so very much," said Grace, "if father and mother will consent."

"I will get the permission of Mr. and Mrs. Darling before I go," replied Miss Dudley.

She did so; and though the anticipations of the girls were not to be realised, the hope made the parting more easy than it would otherwise have been.

Mrs. Darling and Grace both went down to the beach to see the last of their friends, and it was not until after many loving farewells, that Miss Dudley could break away.

The two young men thanked Mrs. Darling most heartily, while they warmly shook hands with her, for her motherly care and kindness. Then Mr. Darling took his station in the boat, and William assisted the friends into it.

"Good-bye, good-bye, God bless you."

"Write to me soon, Grace."

The little boat went dancing away over the laughing waters, leaving behind--as boats so often do--loneliness and regret. Mrs. Darling went back to her work in the lighthouse, but Grace remained on the beach until the coble that bore her friend away had passed completely out of sight. She might be forgiven if, for that day, her usual cheerfulness forsook her, and she felt as if she could not settle down to the monotony of her life.

She was glad when toward evening her father and brother returned, and she could learn all the latest particulars of her friend. They described the rapturous joy of Major Dudley at the re-appearance of the son and daughter whom he had mourned as lost. At first the meeting seemed too much for him, and he trembled, and he turned pale; but afterward he caressed them most passionately, and loaded the Darlings with presents and thanks.

"When he heard of all that had been done for his son and daughter, and their friend, he would not let me come away without bringing presents for us. See," said the lighthouse keeper, exhibiting them, "this is for Mrs. Darling, and this for Grace."

"Miss Dudley has not sent a letter, I suppose, father?"

"No; but she has sent her love, and promises to write soon."

The letter came in a day or two, but it was not at all what Grace wished for. It brought the unwelcome intelligence that Major Dudley had been summoned to the south, and they were all obliged at once to accompany him thither, so that it was not possible for them to receive Grace as they had hoped to do. She therefore saw her friend no more; and for some days she could not help feeling very sad and lonely. But Mrs. Darling, sensible woman as she was, knew a good cure for melancholy.

"Grace," she said, "I want to make a few alterations in the house. One or two of the rooms must be thoroughly cleaned, and the furniture placed differently, and then I think it will be more comfortable for the winter. I shall want your help, my child."

Grace readily responded; and before very long her face grew bright under the influence of wholesome household work; and her parents were delighted to hear her clear voice once more singing her favourite airs.

When, a week later, William Darling went back to Alnwick, the lighthouse family returned to the usual quiet, even ways, which had lately been so pleasantly disturbed, and the lighthouse guests were hereafter little more than memories.

Does it seem that too much has been made of this little simple incident? Let it be remembered, that though on the mainland, in our busy towns and centres of population, the visits of strangers, and the joy of entertaining them, may be common occurrences, it was far different in the case of these dwellers on the lonely Farne Islands. We, who are used to receive the social calls of friends, and to spend many hours a week in "chit-chat," and pleasant recreation, can scarcely estimate the joy and refreshment which this episode brought to the Darlings. It was a great event to them, and was remembered and talked over for many years afterwards. Grace especially, though she never saw her friend again, never forgot her, and there is no doubt that the little intercourse she had had was not without its effects on the after-life and character of the heroic girl.

We cannot tell for what purpose in the all-wise providence of God strangers are brought to us whom we learn to love, and take to our hearts as dear friends, and who are then altogether removed from us. But we may be sure that some good end is kept in view, and perhaps hereafter that which is mysterious may be made plain.

This life is but the beginning of things, the continuation of them will be in heaven; and who knows but that it may be one of the pleasures that our Father has in store for us, that there, the old friendships may be renewed and perfected, and the scattered links all united? If it be so, perhaps Grace has already found her friend again.

[1] It was written at Tynemouth; and refers to the "Morning Star," a vessel belonging to the Tyne, which was lost, with all hands, in the Baltic.