Chapter VI: Part 6

In about an hour Jane arrived, accompanied by Mr. Simmons, the medical friend of the family. He was a man possessed of a liberal fortune, but of a still more liberal mind. His skill in his profession was great, and he was always ready to exert it to the utmost, for the relief of the needy sufferer. He warmly entered into Mrs. Bernard's benevolent plan on this occasion, and confirming her suspicion, that the poor woman required nourshing diet and care, rather than medicine, it was determined that Jane should remain at the cottage as nurse, and that the children should be removed to a more comfortable abode, till their mother was sufficiently recovered to attened properly to them. No persuasions, however, could prevail upon poor little Susan to leave her mother; she was, therefore, permitted to remain as Jane's assistant, whilst her brother and the baby were conveyed to the hospitable mansion of Mr. Bernard.

Under the kind care of Jane, and with the necessary assistance from her benevolent mistress, the cottage soon assumed a new appearance. The wretched pallet of straw was removed, and gave place to a comfortable bed. A table and chairs were provided, and a degree of comparative comfort reigned around.

The poor woman endeavoured to express her gratitude for so many unexpected blessings, but was prevented by the positive commands of Mrs. Bernard, who insisted upon her keeping herself, for this day at least, perfectly tranquil.

The children at home had not been less busily, or less benevolently employed, than their mother at the cottage. The moment little Tommy and the baby entered the house, the charity-box, so recently stored by the hand of industry, was recollected with delight. Some warm undergarments, with a neat frock and petticoat, were soon found, that exactly fitted little Tommy, and the baby was still more easily provided for.

"See, see, the effects of industry!" cried Ferdinand, jumping with delight around his sisters, as Louisa tied the last string of Tommy's frock, and Emily put on the baby's cap, which she declared made it look quite beautiful: "Oh! how delightful to be able to be so useful. Now I wish mamma would come home: how pleased she would be. What a pity that poor little Susan is not here, to have some new clothes too; but we must take her some, Emily. Let us go to the box, and look for some that will fit her."

"We have none large enough, Ferdinand," said Emily.

"Oh yes, I do think this pink frock will be big enough," exclaimed Ferdinand, drawing one out from underneath the others: "here is a great tuck in it, let us pull it out; that will make it a great piece longer." Saying these words, he was going to immediately to proceed to business, when Louisa loudly exclaimed:

"Oh, stop, Ferdinand, stop; that is not a real tuck; there is a great join under it, because my stuff was not long enough to make it all in one piece."

"What a pity! How shall we manage then?" said Ferdinand, putting on a look of great consideration.

"We must have patience till we can make one of proper size, I believe," added Emily: "but here comes mamma."

Ferdinand and Louisa instantly seized each a hand of little Tommy, and led him forward, whilst Emily followed with the baby.

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_protegeis_, and thanked her children for the assistance they had rendered her.

The idea of having afforded their mother assistance, as well as having extended their benevolence towards a poor stranger in distress, gladdened their affectionate little hearts, and never was there a happier group.

"Ah, mamma, I am now convinced of the truth of what you said," continued Ferdinand, "that the departure of Edward is not a real evil. Do you not think it is very useful to see real sorrow sometimes?"

_Mrs. B._ Indeed, my dear boy, I do. It teaches us the true value of the blessings we enjoy, and, I should hope, would fill our minds with gratitude towards the Dispenser of so many favours.

In attention to their new charge, the children spent a most happy day, and in the evening, Emily and Louisa, according to the promise they had given Ferdinand, began to make the clothes for little Susan; whilst he read aloud to them the following account of the earthquake in Calabria, which had been the subject of their conversation during the morning walk.

"Having hired a boat, in company with four more, two friars of the order of St. Francis, and two seculars, we launched, on the twenty-fourth

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promontory of Pelorus. Our destination was for the city of Euphemia in Calabria, where we had some business to transact, and where we designed to tarry for some time. However, Providence seemed willing to cross our designs; for we were obliged to continue three days at Pelorus, on account of the weather; and though we often put out to sea, yet we were as often driven back. At length, however, wearied with delay, we resolved to prosecute our voyage; and although the sea seemed more than usually agitated, yet we ventured forwards. The gulph of Carybdis, which we approached, seemed whirled round in such a manner, as to form a vast hollow, verging to a point in the centre. Proceeding onwards, and turning my eyes to Etna, I saw it cast forth large volumes of smoke, of mountainous sizes, which entirely covered the whole island, and blotted out the very shores from my view. This, together with the dreadful noise, and the sulphureous stench which was strongly perceptible, filled me with apprehensions that some most dreadful calamity was impending. The sea itself seemed to wear a very unusual appearance: those who have seen a lake in a violent shower of rain, covered all over with bubbles, will conceive some idea of its agitations. My surprise was still increased by the calmness and serenity of the weather: not a breeze, not a cloud, which might be supposed to put all nature thus into motion. I therefore warned my companions that an earthquake was approaching; and, after some time, making for the shore with all possible diligence, we landed at Tropoea, happy and thankful for having escaped the threatening dangers of the sea.

"But our triumphs at land were of short duration; for we had scarcely arrived at the Jesuit's College in that city, when our ears were stunned with a horrid sound, resembling that of an infinite number of chariots driven fiercely forward, the wheels rattling and the thongs cracking. Soon after this, a most dreadful earthquake ensued; so that the whole track upon which we stood seemed to vibrate, as if we were in the scale of a balance that continued wavering. This motion, however, soon grew more violent, and being no longer able to keep my legs, I was thrown prostrate upon the ground. In the mean time, the universal ruin around me redoubled my amazement. The crash of falling houses, the tottering of towers, and the groans of the dying, all contributed to raise my terror and despair. On every side of me, I saw nothing but a scene of ruin, and danger threatening wherever I should fly. I commended myself to God, as my last great refuge. At that hour, Oh, how vain was every sublunary happiness! Wealth, honour, empire, wisdom, all were useless sounds, and as empty as the bubbles in the deep. Just standing on the threshold of eternity, nothing but God was my pleasure, and the nearer I approached, I only loved him the more. After some time, however, finding that I remained unhurt amidst the general confusion, I resolved to venture for safety, and running as fast as I could, reached the shore, but almost terrified out of my reason. I soon found the boat in which I had landed, and my companions also, whose terrors were even greater than mine. Our meeting was not of that kind where every one is desirous of telling his own happy escape; it was all silence, and a gloomy dread of impending terrors.

"Leaving this seat of desolation, we prosecuted our voyage along the coast, and the next day came to Rosetta, where we landed, although the earth still continued in violent agitation. But we were scarcely arrived at our inn, when we were once more obliged to return to the boat, and in about half an hour, we saw the greatest part of the town, and the inn at which we had set up, dashed to the ground, and burying all its inhabitants beneath its ruins.

"In this manner proceeding onwards in our little vessel, finding no safety on land, and yet, from the smallness of our boat, having but a very dangerous continuance at sea, we at length landed at Lopizium, a castle midway between Tropoea and Euphemia, the city to which, as I said before, we were bound. Here, wherever I turned my eyes, nothing but scenes of ruin and horror appeared; towns and castles levelled to the ground: Strombolo, though at sixty miles distance, belching forth flames in an unusual manner, and with a noise which I could distinctly hear. But my attention was quickly turned from more remote, to contiguous danger. The rumbling sound of an approaching earthquake, which we by this time were grown acquainted with, alarmed us for the consequences. It every moment seemed to grow louder, and to approach more near. The place on which we stood, now began to shake most dreadfully; so that being unable to stand, my companions and I caught hold of whatever shrub grew next us, and supported ourselves in that manner.

"After some time, this very violent paroxysm ceasing, we again stood up, in order to prosecute our voyage to Euphemia, that lay within sight. In the mean time, while we were preparing for this purpose, I turned my eyes towards the city, but could see only a frightful dark cloud, that seemed to rest upon the place. This the more surprised us, as the weather was so very serene. We waited, therefore, till the cloud was past away, then turning to look for the city, it was totally sunk. Wonderful to tell! nothing but a dismal and putrid lake was seen where it stood. We looked about to find some one that could tell us of its sad catastrophe, but could see none: all was become a melancholy solitude--a scene of hideous desolations. Thus proceeding pensively along, in quest of some human being that could give us some little information, we at length saw a boy sitting by the shore, and appearing stupified with terror. Of him, therefore, we enquired concerning the fate of the city; but he could not be prevailed upon to give us an answer. We entreated him, with every expression of tenderness and pity, to tell us; but his senses were quite wrapped up in the contemplation of the danger he had escaped. We offered him some victuals, but he seemed to loath the sight. We still persisted in our offices of kindness, but he only pointed to the place of the city, like one out of his senses; and then running up into the woods, was never heard of after. Such was the fate of the city of Euphemia; and as we continued our melancholy course along the shore, the whole coast, for the space of two hundred miles, presented nothing but the remains of cities, and men scattered, without a habitation, over the fields. Proceeding thus along, we at length ended our distressful voyage by arriving at Naples, after having escaped a thousand dangers, both at sea and land."

"The children were all highly interested by this extract, but a secret awe crept over their minds, as they listened to the account of this dreadful visitation, and they felt thankful that a gracious Providence had placed him in this happy isle, where such tremendous convulsions are but seldom felt.

"I learnt a passage from Cowper's 'Task,' the other day, mamma," said Emily, "in which he deplores a similar catastrophe, that occurred in Sicily some time ago: may I repeat it to my brother and sister?"

"Certainly, my dear," replied Mrs. Bernard.

Emily having received the approbation of her mother, immediately recited the following striking passage:

"Alas, for Sicily! rude fragments now
Lie scatter'd, where the shapely column stood.
Her palaces are dust. In all her streets,
The voice of singing and the sprightly chord
Are silent. Revelry, and dance, and show,
Suffer a syncope and solemn passe,
While God performs upon the trembling stage
Of his own works, his dreadful part alone,
How does the earth receive him? With what signs
Of gratulation and delight, her king.
Pours she not all her choicest fruits abroad,
Her sweetest flowers, her aromatic gums,
Disclosing Paradise where'er he treads?
She quakes at his approach: her hollow womb
Conceiving thunders, through a thousand deeps
And fiery caverns, roars beneath his foot.
"The hills move lightly, and the mouontains smoke,
For he hath touch'd them. From the extremest point
Of elevation, down into the abyss.
His wrath is busy, and his arm is felt.
The rocks fall headlong, and the valleys rise:
The rivers die into offensive pools,
And, charg'd with putrid verdure, breathe a gross
And mortal nuisance into all the air.
What solid was, by transformation strange,
Grows fluid; and the fix'd and rooted earth,
Tormented into billows, heaves and swells,
Or with vortiginous and hideous whirl,
Sucks down its prey insatiable. Immense
The tumult and the overthrow; the pangs
And agonies of human and of brute
Multitudes, fugitive on every side,
And fugitive in vain. The sylvan scene
Migrates uplifted, and with all its soil
Alighting in far distant fields, finds out
A new possessor, and survives the change.
Ocean has caught the phrenzy; and upwrought
To an enormous and o'erbearing height,
Not by a mighty wind, but by that voice
Which winds and waves obey, invades the shore
Resistless. Never such a sudden flood.
Upridg'd so high, and sent on such a charge,
Possess'd an inland scene. Where sow the throng
That press'd the beach, and hasty to depart,
Look'd to the sea for safety? They are gone!
Gone with the refluent wave into the deep,
A prince with half his people! Ancient towers,
And roofs embattled high, the gloomy scenes,
Where beauty oft, and *etter'd worth, consume
Life in the unproductive shades of death,
Fall prone. The pale inhabitants come forth,
And happy in their unforseen release
From all the rigours of restraint, enjoy
The terrors of the day that sets them free."

Whilst Mr. and Mrs. Bernard were conversing in this instructive and interesting manner, with their little family, they were interrupted by the arrival of Jane. She brough a good account of the poor woman, who was already considerably better, and felt her appetite in some measure returning.

"I think, Ma'am," continued Jane, "that a little sago or tapioca, or something of that kind, would be very nice and nourishing for her to take, before she settles for the night."

Mrs. Bernard quite approved this proposition: she desired Emily to bring a small jar of tapioca from the closet in the store-room, and giving Jane a sufficient quantity for the poor woman's supper, dismissed her again to her charge.

The children all rejoiced to hear so good an accouont, and begged their mother would allow them to walk to the cottage the following morning. She readily promised a compliance with their request, provided the weather should prove favourable.

Louisa, who had been for some minutes examining the tapioca, exclaimed: "Pray, mamma, what is this; I cannot make it out: it does not look like a seed, I think."

_Mrs. B_. It is, my dear, the produce of a plant, but not its seed. The plant is called cassada, and it grows in the Cape Verd Islands, as well as in Rio de Janeiro, and many other parts of South America. The root is a wholesome vegetable, but the expressed juice from it is a rank poison.

"How extraordinary!" said Ferdinand: "I should think they could not eat the root, without taking the juice also."

"You will be still more surprised," said his mother, "to hear that this very juice, after standing some time, deposits a sediment, which, when dried, is not only wholesome, but extremely nutritious: and, in fact, forms the tapioca which Louisa now holds in her hand."

"And sago, mamma," said Ferdinand, "is that the produce of a plant too?"

_Mrs. B_. Yes, my dear; it is obtained from a plant which grows in the East Indies: the medullary, or pithy part of which, is beaten with water, and made into cakes. These the Indians use as bread. This, when reduced into granules and dried, forms the sago we find so nourishing to persons of weakly and delicate constitutions. But it is now, my dear children, quite time to retire.

The children instantly arose, and putting away their work, took leave of their parents; and having peeped at their little charge, who were both in a sweet sleep, they retired to their pillows, and enjoyed that tranquil repose which generally visits the young and innocent.

CONVERSATION XII.

Contrary to the hopes of the children, the following morning was extremely wet, so that it was impossible they could walk to the cottage. They had, however, the pleasure of hearing that the poor woman had had a comfortable night's rest, and that she was so much refreshed, as to be able to sit up whilst Jane made her bed.

Several days elapsed without affording them their wished-for pleasure. This put their patience to a severe trial, as they were very anxious to hear the poor woman's story, and to make the dutiful and affectionate little Susan, the present their industry had prepared for her. Still, being fully convinced that impatience would not hasten the accomplishment of their wishes, they bore their disappointment with the greatest good-humour; and turning their attention to other objects, spent the time, which would otherwise have passed heavily away, in cheerful and improving occupations.

They began now each day to watch anxiously for the arrival of the postman, and on the sixth morning after Edward's departure, Emily received from him the following letter:

_Plymouth, Sept. 30, 1814._

"MY DEAR SISTER,

"If I had not bound myself by a promise to write to you, I am sure you would have received, by this post, a letter from me. Now I am at a distance from home, it is the only means of communication afforded me. I long for you every moment, to enjoy with me the many pleasures Mr. Dormer's kindness provides for me, and which would all be doubled, could you each share them with me.

"I have just thought of a riddle:--'What is that, which, the more you divide it, the greater it grows?' You will guess in a minute that I mean _pleasure_; for indeed, my dear Emily, at this distance from you all, when each delight is unshared by those I so dearly love, I seem to enjoy myself only by halves.

"I shall not detain you with a long account of my journey: we have read together a description of the delightful scenes in the south and west of England, I should therefore tell you nothing new, were I to describe them even in the most minute manner. It is enough to say, that, although my expectations were highly missed, I was not disappointed with the scenery.

"Mr. Dormer, last Saturday, promised me, that if the wind should prove favourable, he would take me on Monday to see the Eddystone Lighthouse. I was, as you may suppose, extremely delighted with the idea, and the moment I was out of bed in the morning, ran to the window, and very anxiously looked at the weather-cock, as my fate depended upon the point from which the wind should blow. To my great joy, I found it full north- west, which is the most favourable point of the compass for such an expedition.

"Whilst we were at breakfast, Mr. Dormer gave me some account of this wonderful building. It is constructed upon the Eddystone Rock. Before the construction of this lighthouse, many valuable vessels were wrecked upon this spot.

"The first lighthouse was built by a gentleman of the name of Winstanley. He was a very singular man, and had a peculiar turn for mechanics, which he frequently introduced into his furniture, in such a manner as to surprise, and often even to terrify, his visitors. He lived at Littlebury in Essex. In one of his rooms there was an old slipper, lying, as it were, carelessly upon the floor; if you gave it a kick with your foot, up started a ghastly-looking figure before you. If you sat down in one particular chair, although there was nothing in its appearance to distinguish it from others, a couple of arms would immediately clasp you, so as to render it impossible to disentangle yourself, till some one, who understood the trick, chose to set you at liberty. In his garden was an arbour, by the side of a canal, in which, if you unguardedly took a seat, forthwith you were sent afloat into the middle of the water, before you were at all aware; from whence it was impossible to escape, till the manager restored you to your former situation on dry ground.

"Mr. Dormer showed me a print of the lighthouse, which Mr. Winstanley erected upon the rock. It must have been a whimsical-looking thing; more like a fanciful Chinese temple, in my opinion, than an edifice that would have to encounter the boisterous waves of the angry ocean. He began the building in 1696, and it was four years before it was completed. In 1703 it was much damaged, and stood in need of great repair. Mr. Winstanley went himself to Plymouth, to superintend the work. Some gentleman mentioning it to him, that they thought it was not built upon a plan long to withstand the dreadful storms to which, from its exposed situation, it would be subject, this presumptuous man replied, that he was so well assured of the strength of his building, he should only wish to be there during the most dreadful storm that ever blew under the face of heaven, that he might see what effect it would have upon his structure. He was, alas! too fatally gratified in this presumptuous wish; for while he was there, with his workmen and light- keeper, on the 26th of November, one of the most tremendous storms began, which was ever known in great Britain. On the 27th, when the violence was somewhat abated, many went to look anxiously for the lighthouse; but not a remnant of it was remaining, nor were any of the unfortunate people, nor ever any of the materials, ever afterward found.

"The ravages occasioned by this tremendous tempest, were by no means confined to the Eddystone. In London, the loss sustained by it was calculated at one million sterling, and upwards of eight thousand persons were supposed to be drowned in the several inundations it occasioned. On one level, fifteen thousand sheep were lost; and a person counted seventeen thousand trees blown up by the roots, in Kent alone. What a happy thing is it for us, my dear sister, that these dreadful convulsions of nature are not more frequent in our favoured island. "Three years after the destruction of Mr. Winstanley's work, a similar one was undertaken by a Mr. Rudyerd. It was built of wood and upon a plan very different from the former, without any unnecessary ornament, and well calculated to resist the fury of the waves.

"Mr. Dormer related to me an anecdote of Louis the Fourteenth, king of France, which, as I think his conduct on the occasion much to his credit, I shall send to you. He was at war with the English at the time this building was begun; during its progress, a French privateer took the men at work on the rock prisoners, together with their tools, and carried them to France. The captain, no doubt, expected a handsome reward for his achievement. Whilst the captives lay in prison, the transaction reached the ears of Louis: he immediately ordered the prisoners to be released, and the men who had captured them to be put in their place, declaring, that although he was at war with England, he was not at war with all mankind. He therefore directed the men to be sent back to their work with presents; observing, that the Eddystone Lighthouse was so situated, as to be of equal service to all nations who had occasion to navigate the channel which divides England from France.

"I do not know, my dear Emily, whether you will feel as much interested as myself, in the fate of this lighthouse; but I scarcely ever recollect to have been more delighted, than with this ornament, and well calculated to resist the fury of the waves. "Mr. Dormer related to me an anecdote of Louis the Fourteenth, king of France, which, as I think his conduct on the occasion much to his credit, I shall send to you. He was at war with the English at the time this building was begun; during its progress, a French privateer took the men at work on the rock prisoners, together with their tools, and carried them to France. The captain, no doubt, expected a handsome reward for his achievement. Whilst the captives lay in prison, the transaction reached the ears of Louis: he immediately ordered the prisoners to be released, and the men who had captured them to be put in their place, declaring, that although he was at ware with England, he was not at war with all mankind. He therefore directed the men to be sent back to their work with presents; observing, that the Eddystone Lighthouse was so situated, as to be of equal service to all nations who had occasion to navigate the channel which divides England from France.

"I do not know, my dear Emily, whether you will feel as much interested as myself, in the fate of this lighthouse but I scarcely ever recollect to have been more delighted, than with this expedition, notwithstanding my having been in considerable danger, as I shall tell you in its proper place. The dread of that is, however, now over, and the information I have gained, upon subject of which I was before totally ignorant, will, I think, be a constant source of pleasure to me. I shall venture to give you another anecdote or two respecting the lighthouse; for as our tastes are, on many subjects, very similar, I am inclined to hope my account will not weary your patience, though I sometimes fear, the lively little Louisa may think I might have chosen a more interesting topic.

"But to proceed with my relation. For many years after the establishment of the second lighthouse, it was attended by two men only; and, indeed, the duty required no more. This duty consisted in watching, alternately, four hours, to snuff and renew the candles. But it happened that one of the men was taken ill and died, and notwithstanding the Eddystone flag was hoisted as a signal of distress, yet the weather was so boisterous for some time, as to prevent any boat from getting near enough to speak to them. In this dilemma, the living man found himself in a very awkward situation, being apprehensive, that if he committed the dead body to the deep, (the only way in which he could dispose of it,) he might be charged with his murder. This induced him, for some time, to let the corpse remain, in hopes that the boat might be able to land, and relieve him from his distress. In the mean time, the body became, as it might naturally be supposed that it would do, extremely offensive, and the poor man's sufferings were, as you may imagine, very great. He, however, bore it till some sailors effected their landing, when, with their assistance, it was committed to the waves. This unpleasant circumstance induced the proprietors afterwards to employ a third man; so that in case of any future accident of the same nature, there might be constantly one to supply his place. I should not much like a life of such confinement, where the troubled waves must be almost one's only companion. The tastes of mankind are, however, various, and it is very well they are so:--'Many men, many minds,' as our copy says. Ferdinand wanted an explanation of its meaning the other day. I can tell him a little anecdote, very much to my present subject, and to that point also.

"A skipper was once carrying out a shoe-maker in his boat, to be a light-keeper at the Eddystone. 'How happens it, friend,' said he, 'that you should choose to go out to be a light-keeper, when you can, on shore, as I am told, earn half-a-crown or three shillings a day, by making leathern pipes; whereas, the light-keeper's salary is but twenty- five pounds a year, which is scarcely ten shillings a week.' To this the shoemaker replied: 'I am going, bcause I don't like confinement:' Thus you see, my dear Ferdinand, what different ideas different people attach to the same word.

"I am now coming to a very melancholy part of my narrative, which is, the fatal catastrophe that occasioned the destruction of this celebrated building.

"About two o'clock in the morning, on the second of December, 1755, when one of the light-keepers went into the lantern to snuff the candles, as usual, he found the whole in a smoke, and upon opening the door of the lantern into the balcony, a flame instantly burst from the inside of the cupola. He immediately endeavoured to alarm his companions; but they being in bed and asleep, were some time before they came to his assistance.

"There were always some leathern buckets kept on the spot, and a tub of water in the lantern. He therefore attempted to extinguish the flames in the cupola, by throwing water from the balcony, upon the outside cover of lead. As soon as his companions came to his assistance, he encouraged them to fetch up water in the leathern buckets from the sea; which, you may suppose, they could not do very quickly, as the fire was at so great a height. You may judge of their horror, in perceiving that the flames gained strength every moment, in spite of all their efforts to extinguish them. The poor men were obliged to throw the water full four yards higher than their heads, to render it of the least service. A most remarkable accident put an end to the exertions of the unfortunate man who first discovered the calamity. As he was looking very attentively, with his mouth a little way open, a quantity of lead, melted by the heat of the flames, suddenly rushed like a torrent from the roof, and fell, not only upon his head, face, and shoulders, but even down his throat, and into his stomach. This increased the terror and dismay of these wretched men, who now saw no means of escaping. They found it impossible to subdue the raging element, and, in dreadful alarm, retreated from the immediate scene of horror, into one of the rooms below; and continued descending, from room to room, as the fire, with constantly increasing fury, advanced over their head. Early in the morning, the conflagration was perceived by some fishermen in Plymouth Sound, who soon spread the alarm: boats were instantly sent out to the relief of the unhappy sufferers at the Eddystone. They were almost stupified with terror, and were discovered sitting in a hole under the rock. All three were conveyed in safety to the shore; but the poor man who had swallowed the melted lead, continued to grow worse and worse, and in ten or eleven days, he expired in great agonies. Although he had always himself been positive that he had actually swallowed the melted metal, his physician could scarcely believe it possible. After his death, his body was opened, in order to ascertain the fact, and a large lump of lead, weighing seven ounces and five drams, was actually found in his stomach. It is a most extraordinary circumstance, but Mr. Dormer says it is so well attested, as to be beyond all possibility of doubt.

"The present lighthouse, the sight of which has afforded me so much pleasure, was begun in 1756, by Mr. Smeaton, and completed in little more than three years. It is built of stone, and is reckoned quite a master-piece of architecture. Hitherto it has resisted the utmost violence, both of the winds and waves, and seems likely to stand so long as the rock itself endures.

"I am amused myself on Saturday evening, with taking a small drawing of this wonderful tower, from a large print belonging to our landlord. I shall enclose it in this letter, as I think you will like to see a representation of it.

"But it is time, my dear Emily, to give you some account of our little voyage. And now I fancy I see you all attention. My curious sister, Louisa, has laid aside her work to listen the more profoundly; and the ears and eyes of the philosophic little Ferdinand, are opened even wider than usual, that he may not lose a single word of my narrative.

"The day could not have been more delightful, nor the wind more favourable; and if I shone in poetical description, here would be a fine field for its display. I could tell you how brilliantly the sun-beams danced upon the waters, and with how delightful a motion the vessel glided lightly over its surface, as our sails swelled with the wind; but all this I shall leave for your own fancies to picture. It is sufficient for me to say, I completely enjoyed my short voyage.

"A singular circumstance occurred soon after we left land. [Footnote: This circumstance actually occurred to the passengers on board the Argyle steam-boat, in the autumn of the year 1814.]--A poor little lark was pursued, at no great distance from our vessel, by a merciless hawk; the little creature continued, for some time, with surprising dexterity, to elude the grasp of its intended destroyer. At length, quite exhausted by its efforts, it alighted on our boat. I incautiously ran to catch it, purposing to shield it from the threatened danger. Not, however, comprehending my design, the terrified bird again took flight, and was again pursued by its pitiless foe. Half a dozen crows from a neighbouring wood, generously enlisted themselves on the weaker side, and at length succeeded in driving completely away the formidable antagonist; whilst the poor little lark again sought shelter on our deck, and escaped the threatened danger. This was the only adventure that befell us on our way to the rock. The landing was very hazardous; at least, it appeared so to me, who am unaccustomed to such expeditions.

"I have already told you so many particulars of the Eddystone, that little remains for me to add upon the subject. I was extremely pleased with the opportunity of viewing this wonderful structure, in company with so well-informed a friend as Mr. Dormer, who took the greatest pains to explain to me the uses of its several parts. I thought of the poor sufferers whom I have already mentioned, as exposed to the raging of the flames; and trembled for my own safety, as the angry billows dashed against the rocks, whilst their hollow roar seemed to me, who am not accustomed to the tremendous sound, to threaten instant destruction. The light-keepers told us, that, on the morning after a storm, the waves dashed above a hundred feet over the top of the building, completely concealing it by the spray.

"After having spent some time in admiring this wonderful monument of human ingenuity, we returned to our boat in high spirits, and little anticipating the dangers that awaited us.

"About half an hour after we left the rock, the gathering clouds threatened an approaching tempest; and what is termed a land-swell, dashed about our little bark, and terrified me most sadly. Mr. Dormer was himself alarmed, but he acted on this occasion with his usual fortitude and presence of mind. Some of the gentlemen on board, who had been more accustomed than I to the boisterous element, laughed at my fears, and called me a fresh-water sailor. The storm increased, and with it my terrors. I thought of my dear parents; of you, my beloved Emily; of Louisa, Ferdinand, and our dear little Sophy. I felt scarcely a hope that I should ever see you more. My love for you would, I thought, be soon buried with myself in the stormy deep. I do not like to think of those moments of horror. Heaven, in mercy, preserved us through the danger, and guided us in safety to the shore. Do you not remember the description of a storm, in the "Odyssey," which we were reading last week. I thought it, at the time, a striking passage, but having now experienced myself, the horrors of such a scene, I can discover in it additional beauties:

"Meanwhile the god, whose hand the thunder forms, Drives clouds on clouds, and blackens heaven with storms! Wide o'er the waste the rage of Boreas sweeps, And night rush'd headlong on the shaded deeps."

"What a long letter have I written to you, Emily. Pray give my duty to my dear father and mother, kiss little Sophy for me, and give my kind love to Louisa and Ferdinand. I long to see you again. Farewell, dear Emily.

"Your affectionate

"EDWARD."

"Oh, what a delightful letter!" cried Louisa, as Emily concluded it: "but only think of his being exposed to such a dreadful storm. Dear, dear Edward, how thankful I am that you escaped in safety."

The moistened eye of his tender parent, directed with pious gratitude to heaven, silently spoke her feelings.

"Edward is quite mistaken in thinking that I should not feel interest in his account of the lighthouse," continued Louisa; "for I think every thing he has mentioned extremely entertaining, and even feel disappointed that he has not given a more particular account of the present building."

"I believe, my dear," said her mother, "I can supply you with all the information you wish, as I have frequently heard your father speak upon the subject."

_Louisa_. Thank you, mamma. Then, first of all, I want to know who Mr. Smeaton was, who built it.

_Mrs. B._ He was, originally, a philosophical instrument maker; and in consequence of his having made many inventions and improvements in mechanics, he was chosen a Fellow of the Royal Society, in 1753. Not finding the business in which he first embarked likely to afford him much emolument, he turned his attention to architecture, and was recommended to Lord Macclesfield as a very suitable person to attempt the re-building of the Eddystone Lighthouse. His lordship bore a strong testimony to his ability, in declaring he had never known him to undertake anything, which he did not complete to the perfect satisfaction of those who employed him.

_Louisa_. This was speaking highly in his favour, indeed. I should think it would make the proprietors very anxious to have him undertake the work.

_Mrs. B._ It did, my dear. He was at that time engaged in business in Scotland, where a friend wrote to him, merely informing him, in a few words, that he was made choice of, as a proper person to rebuild the Eddystone Lighthouse. Mr. Smeaton not understanding that the former building had been totally consumed, imagined he was only required to repair or rebuild the upper part of it; or, perhaps, that he was merely requested to give in his proposals, with other candidates. The information of his friend, therefore, occasioned him no great joy; nor was he much inclined to have any thing to do in the business, not thinking it prudent to leave the affairs, which at that time engaged his attention, upon an uncertainty.

_Louisa_. How much disappointed the proprietors must have been, if he sent them this answer.

_Mrs. B._ He first prudently wrote a letter to his friend, enquiring what was the extent of the mischief the former lighthouse had sustained, and whether he was actually appointed to make the repairs. To this he received an answer still more laconic than the first letter had been: "It is a total demolition; and, as Nathan said unto David, thou art the man."

_Louisa_. What an odd man that friend must have been. I suppose this second letter pleased him highly, and that he was willing to undertake the business.

_Mrs. B._ Yes, my dear; he regarded it as a high honour to be considered competent to so great a work, and having finished the business in which he was engaged in the north, he set off for London, where he arrived on the 23d of February, 1756. Mr. Smeaton had an interview with the proprietors, when it was determined that he should go to Plymouth; and, after seeing the rock, and examining the plans upon which the two former buildings had been erected, should communicate his ideas to the proprietors. They seemed to wish to have it again constructed with wood; Mr. Smeaton himself, on the contrary, greatly preferred stone.

_Louisa_. I should think stone would be much best: it could not then be burnt down again; but I suppose it would be a great deal dearer than wood.

_Mrs. B._ Exactly so, Louisa. However, the gentlemen concerned in the business, were too generous to let this influence their determination; therefore, when convinced that it would not only be stronger constructed of stone, but also more speedily erected, they did not hesitate a moment, but determined that it should be rebuilt in the very best manner; and such was their confidence in Mr. Smeaton's honour and integrity, that they left the accomplishment of the plan entirely to him.

_Louisa_. In what month did he begin his work, mamma?

_Mrs. B._ On the 23d of July, 1756, he set sail for the rock; but there was a great deal to be done before the erection of the building could be begun. First, marking out and preparing the rock, and contriving such cements as would not be affected by water.

_Ferdinand._ I was wondering how that would be managed.

_Mrs. B._ Mr. Smeaton was indefatigable in his experiments upon that subject, and at length succeeded, in a manner equal to his most sanguine expectations.

_Louisa_. I long to hear when he began the building.

_Mrs. B._ Have a little patience, my love, and you shall hear. Towards the end of May, 1757, every thing was in readiness for the commencement of the work. The comfort and accommodation of the light-keepers was, in this building, most kindly considered. In the one constructed by Mr. Rudyerd, the bed-rooms had been in the lower part, and the kitchen at top; but the beds were, in that case, very apt to be damp. In the present instance, the chambers are contrived above the kitchen; the funnel for the smoke from which, passes through them, and by this means they are kept constantly warm and comfortable. I cannot give you an account of the whole admirable arrangement of this building, nor do I think it would be at all interesting to you if I could; you will be satisfied to know, that on the 9th of October, 1759, it was completed, without loss of life or limb to any person concerned in it. Not a single accident occurred during the whole time, by which the work could be said to have been retarded. The time that elapsed, between the first stroke upon the rock, and leaving the lighthouse completed, was three years, nine weeks, and three days.

_Louisa_. Thank you, dear mamma. Now I think I know all about it; and I feel quite as well pleased, as if I had actually been at the Eddystone, and heard the billows roar, and seen the waves dash over it, in the tremendous manner Edward says they sometimes do.

"I am much better pleased than I should be under those circumstances," said Emily, whose gentle nature preferred the calm of domestic life, to any other scene. But Ferdinand thought it would certainly be more interesting to see and hear for himself, under all circumstances, than to receive the most eloquent description from the lips of another.

"And now, pray, mamma," added he, "what does Edward mean by calling me a philosopher. I believe he only intended to laugh at me, and that I do not much like. Little boys cannot be philosophers, can they?"

"I shall answer your question by another," returned his mother: "Can little boys love to acquire wisdom?"

"O yes, mamma, certainly," said Edward, "for I love nothing so well as hearing new things, and improving myself."

"The word philosophy," my dear, "is formed from two Greek terms, which signify a lover of wisdom. You have heard your father speak of Pythagoras?"

_Ferdinand._ Yes, I have, mamma. I heard him once say, that he was the first who discovered the solar system.

_Mrs. B._ Do you understand the meaning of the term you have just used, my dear?

_Ferdinand_. It means, the revolution of the earth and other planets round the sun, I believe, mamma.

_Mrs. B._ True. This was discovered, as your father has informed you, by Pythagoras, several hundred years before the birth of our Saviour. This great man was as humble as he was wise; and when the appellation of _sophist_ was given him, which signifies a wise man, he requested rather to be called a _philosopher_, or _lover_ of wisdom.

_Ferdinand_. I like Pythagoras very much, mamma; I wish you would be so kind as to tell me some more about him.

_Mrs. B._ That I will do most willingly, my dear. I see the sun is breaking out, and I believe we may venture to take a little walk. Go and put on your cloaks and bonnets, Emily and Louisa, and we will talk about Pythagoras as we go along.

The children were soon equipped, and joined their mother in the garden. The plantations were extensive, and as the clouds still looked dark and lowering, they did not venture to extend their ramble beyond them.

Mrs. Bernard aroused them for some time, with relating the most interesting particulars of the life of Pythagoras.

Louisa thought his forbidding his pupils to speak in his presence, till they had listened five years to his instructions, was not a good plan; declaring, that she should learn very little, were she not allowed to ask the meaning of such things as she did not understand, and to mention her own notions upon various subjects.

"The plan adopted by Pythagoras," said Mrs. Bernard, "was calculated to teach his pupils those amiable virtues--diffidence, humility, and forbearance. These charms give a brilliant lustre to every other acquirement; indeed, they are so necessary, that knowledge without them, far from improving a character, is apt to produce conceit and arrogance, which are great failings in all, but particularly disgusting in youth."

Louisa fully agreed to the truth of her mother's remark, and was going on with the conversation upon the character of the philosopher, when her attention was attracted by her favourite tortoise. He was creeping slowly out of his hole, to enjoy the sun-beams, which at this instant, with splendour, shone through the dark cloud, that a moment before had obscured his rays.

"Mamma, does not the tortoise live a great many years?" enquired Louisa.

"It does, my dear," returned Mrs. Bernard: "I was reading an account in the 'Monthly Magazine,' this morning, of one which lives in the garden of the Bishop of Peterborough, and is known to have been two hundred and sixteen years in the country."

"Two hundred and sixteen years!" exclaimed Louisa, with astonishment: "why that is almost as long as the patriarchs lived of old."

"Oh no, indeed, you are mistaken there, Louisa," said Ferdinand; "for I read in the Bible, this morning, that Methuselah, who was the oldest man ever known, lived nine hundred and sixty-nine years."

Mr. Bernard at this instant joined them, and in conversation equally instructive and entertaining, the time passed pleasantly away, till the dinner-bell summoned them to the house.

"Several days elapsed without any remarkable occurrence; frequent showers prevented their visiting the poor cottager, whose health gradually recovered, under the kind care of her excellent nurse Jane, and the tender attentions of her little Susan. On the day fixed for Edward's return, the two children were again taken to their humble home, and rejoiced their mother by their improved appearance.

Each hour was anxiously counted, as the time fixed for his arrival approached. Ferdinand, Louisa, and little Sophy, stationed themselves at the window. Anxiously they watched every carriage that drove past the gate; at length, a cry of joy announced his arrival. In an instant he was folded in the arms of his tender parents, and alternately embraced, with the greatest affection, by his brother and sisters. Every individual rejoiced at his return. And thus restored to the bosom of DOMESTIC PLEASURE, we leave him, for the present, tranquil and happy.

THE END.

* * * * * HISTORICAL QUESTIONS.