The Lighthouse.

"Far in the bosom of the deep,

O'er these wild shelves my watch I keep;

A ruddy gleam of changeful light,

Bound on the dusky brow of night;

The seaman bids my lustre hail,

And scorns to strike his timorous sail."-SCOTT.

I. THE EDDYSTONE.

WHEN worthy Mr. Phillips, the Liverpool Quaker, taking thought in what way he could best benefit his fellow-creatures, built the beacon on the Smalls Rock in 1772, he could hardly have made a happier selection of "a great good to serve and save humanity." There are few enterprises more heroic or beneficent than those connected with the construction and management of lighthouses. From first to last, from the rearing of the column on the rock to the monotonous, nightly vigil in attendance on the lamps-from the setting to the rising of the sun-the valour, intrepidity, and endurance, of all concerned are called into play, and the wild perils and stirring adventures they experience impart to the story of their labours a thrilling and romantic interest. In the case of the Smalls Lighthouse, for instance, Whiteside, the self-taught engineer, and his party of Cornish miners had no sooner landed,