had shot home. He now studied his Bible diligently, was attentive to the services of the Church, and joined fervently in the prayers. He was as diligent in his studies and as fond of games as before; but he was often laughed and jeered at by his schoolfellows for refusing to use or tolerate bad language, for being religious, and, in fact, he was actually called by the then opprobrious name of "Methodist."

The next vacation his father observed that his son's manner was changed, and that his worst fears were realised. To him the most alarming symptom in Arthur was his regular attendance at the church service which was celebrated on alternate Sundays at the three churches of St. Buryan, St. Sennen, and St. Levan, these three benefices being held in those days by one clergyman. Great as was the distance, and however wet and stormy the weather, Arthur might always be seen at his place in church, while his example drew others with him. In the week, too, his father discovered that he now and then attended meetings held in the village for reading the Bible and prayer. This made the squire furious, and he threatened to send his son away to London, or abroad, unless he returned to his senses, as he expressed it. In the midst of his rage Arthur went back to school for the last time. During the term a Confirmation, then a very rare event, was to take place at Truro. He was one of the candidates. Though the preparation he received was very different from that given in these days, and defective in many ways, yet Arthur derived the greatest benefit from the sacred rite; fresh grace and renewed strength for the battle which in Holy Baptism he had been pledged to fight being then vouchsafed to the faithful young soldier and servant of Christ.

He now made up his mind to seek Holy Orders, and do his best in that dark age to make the knowledge of God and of the Saviour known to the rude miner and fisher folk of his native county.

Arthur was between sixteen and seventeen when he left school. He told his father boldly that he wished to go to Oxford, and that he intended to become a clergyman. The grief and indignation with which the squire heard this announcement may well be imagined. At first he refused his consent. He swore at his son, and used every term of contempt he could think of, to express his wrath at the decision. He accused him of being lazy, cowardly, a weak

milksop. Why did he not go into the army or navy? Had he no desire, like most young men of his age, to enjoy the gay life of London for a time? He would do anything for him he liked;-but that he should be a parson, the idea was repugnant to him in every way, he could not consent to it.

But menaces, sarcasm, and ridicule were alike ineffectual. Arthur was firm in his decision. He was respectful and affectionate to his father, but he had the courage of his convictions-he would not give up his religion, nor his intention of serving God.

He must now remain quietly at home, doing all the good that came in his way, till his father gave his consent for him to depart to the University. The boy had a hard time before him; his faith and courage were severely put to the proof. The squire had constantly parties of his neighbours to dinner, and, as was then the custom, they rarely left the table sober; but Arthur always retired from the room, amid the jeers and mockery of his father and his guests, before the drinking commenced. He bore all this meekly and bravely, regarding it as a stern discipline to fit him for the future combats he saw he must engage in with the ungodliness everywhere around. He thought, too, of all his Blessed Master had endured for him, and amid these many trials he was peaceful and happy. He would often leave his father's table to repair, through storm and rain, to one of the villages, or to a solitary cottage, to read the Bible to some lonely sufferer on a sick-bed, or join with a few of the awakened miners or fishermen in the reading of God's Word and prayer. He prayed constantly that his father's heart might be touched, that he might relent at last and grant his wish. God heard his prayer, but in a way he little expected. The squire was taken seriously ill, his life was despaired of. Arthur never left his father's bedside, he waited on him with tender and affectionate care. At first the old man was surly and morose towards his son, swearing at him as usual, and constantly reminding him that he had blighted his dearest hopes, and caused him bitter disappointment by his obstinacy and folly. Gradually, however, Arthur's love, self-sacrifice, and unremitting attention began to make an impression on the squire's hard heart. As he grew weaker and more dependent on his son, the old affection for him, the one soft point in his character,— returned; he felt that he had acted harshly and unjustly,

and that he was not worthy of all this love and devotion now lavished upon him. He spoke more kindly to Arthur now, and when, through his tender nursing, he began to grow stronger, he confessed to him, with tears in his eyes, that he felt he had been wrong, that he might have his way now, and go to Oxford if he wished. He never should like his being a parson, but if nothing else would satisfy him, he must give his consent.

For Arthur that was a doubly happy day, for not only with returning health was his father's former affection to him restored, but the one earnest wish of his heart was at last about to be satisfied, his prayer was heard and answered. Fervently did he thank God that night for His mercy and goodness towards him.

A few months after he bade farewell to his father, who had now completely recovered, and started for Oxford. Here he studied with diligence and industry,-not that there was any necessity for exertion to obtain a degree, for examinations were in those days made so easy that any could pass them. Arthur led a quiet, studious life, associating with the very few young men who were like-minded with himself. Occasionally they were exposed to jeers, mockery, and even persecution; for anything savouring of Methodism, as all earnest religion was styled in those days, was most unpopular, not only with the under-graduates but with the authorities of the University. Only a few years before six students had been expelled by the ViceChancellor, because "they held Methodistic tenets, and took on them to pray, read, and expound Scripture in private houses"-such was the toleration of that age.

After a residence of between two and three years at Oxford, Arthur took his degree and returned to Cornwall. His father had given his promise, and he was not a man who would go back from his word,-still he did all in his power to dissuade his son from taking Holy Orders. He pictured to him the life of ease and independence before him when, after his death, he should succeed to the estate; he offered him money to travel,-in short, promised to gratify any wish he might express, if he would only abandon his long-cherished idea. He spoke to him of the folly of sacrificing himself to a life which was regarded in those days almost as one of degradation by most people, and in which he would acquire neither fame nor profit. However, when he

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perceived that neither argument nor persuasion could shake his son's firm determination to become a parson, he once more reluctantly gave way, and submitted to the inevitable.

There was very little difficulty in obtaining ordination in those days. The old clergyman who held the three livings of St. Buryan, St. Sennen, and St. Levan, led an easy life, and did not trouble himself more than he was obliged to do in the fulfilment of his clerical duties. He baptized, married, and buried his flock; he said the prayers once a Sunday at one of the churches in his charge, and preached one sermon, a dry, moral essay, not always of his own composition; he celebrated the Holy Communion once in three months, as well as on Easter-day and Christmas-day. It never entered his head to visit the poor among his parishioners, though he was a frequent guest at the squire's table, and shared his dislike to the Methodists. Master Arthur, with his zeal for religion, was quite a marvel to the old gentleman. He was a thorn in his side, too, for he asked him questions difficult to answer, and urged him to set on foot works of piety and benevolence in the parish of a troublesome nature, and subversive of that indolent ease in which he passed his days.

Arthur's ambition was to succeed Mr. Somers as rector of these united parishes, and during his lifetime to act as his curate. The latter proposal was not very palatable to the rector, but as the squire wished it, because he desired to keep his son near him, he had to give way, and Arthur was ordained at Exeter as his curate.

The village of St. Sennen with the adjoining Cove became the special sphere of his labour, which had begun there about a year before the commencement of our story. There was not a cottage here that was not visited, not a man, woman, or child that Master Arthur-for he still went by that name-had not a kind word for; all in distress found in him a friend and helper. The only men who hated him were the wreckers, for he had, from the first, firmly set his face against their cruel and iniquitous way of life. He was determined, whatever it might cost him, to put a stop to it, and his pluck and daring were so well known, that the men were always more or less alarmed when at their wicked work of luring a vessel on the rocks, lest Master Arthur, well armed, and with a few trusty followers, whom

he had warmly attached to him, should be down upon them, and suddenly bring to naught their projects.

During the autumn, which had been a very stormy one, there had been more wrecks than usual. The absence in those days, not only of life-boats, rocket apparatus, and all those many skilful and benevolent means by which, now, lives are rescued from perishing at sea, but also of lighthouses and lightships, round the coast, greatly increased the number of disasters, so that it did not need the evil arts of the wreckers, to cause vessels to lose their reckoning, and to be dashed upon the rocks which skirt the Cornish coast. Sometimes driven by storms, sometimes bewildered and helpless through fogs, the hapless sailors returning from long voyages, when in sight of the beloved shores of England, perished in the waters without a hand being stretched out to save them.

Within the last few years the minds of many charitable persons in England had been directed to this question. Arthur had long felt that something ought to be done to guide the mariner to safety, instead of luring him to destruction, and that a lighthouse must be erected on some prominent point of that iron-bound and dangerous coast.