"No, sir," interrupted Philip, starting up and forgetting his pain, "no, sir, I got the best of it. I had thrashed Bill well, and should have got him down in another minute if his uncle hadn't given me that blow from behind, on my head, which knocked me down senseless."

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Come, let's hear all about it, Philip," said his father, sadly and anxiously.

Philip related in a few unvarnished words all that had occurred.

"You're a brave boy," said Owen, "and I'm proud of you. I thank you, sir, too," he continued, turning to Arthur, "for if you hadn't have come just at the right time, and interfered, they might have killed the lad-set of cowards that they are."

"That they are indeed, Owen," said Arthur, "but you had better take Philip home now to his sister. I don't expect he'll be fit for any work, or to go out fishing with you, for a day or two."

"Oh! I'll soon be all right again, father," said Philip, cheerfully; "black eyes soon get well."

"I want to say a few words to you, Owen," said Arthur "if you go back with Philip to your cottage, I will wait here till you return."

"Very well, sir," replied Owen, who now turned homewards with his son, leaving the young clergyman sitting alone on the beach.

The scene of which he had just been a witness had filled Arthur's breast with sad and gloomy feelings. Even the most sanguine are at times discouraged, and Arthur, in all the pride and vigour of youth, with his naturally cheerful disposition, was in the habit almost always of looking on the bright side of things. But now he felt utterly cast down and disappointed. For more than a year he had been labouring among these people, he had tried in every way to influence them for good, he had lived among them, shared their joys and sorrows, affectionately, but solemnly, endeavoured to impress upon them how sinful and evil was their manner of life, which must, if unrepented of, bring a curse upon them in the next world, if not in this. He had drawn upon himself insults, mockery, even hatred. Notwithstanding this unworthy requital, he earnestly loved their souls, he longed that these poor ignorant misguided men, cruel and brutal as many of them were, should be led

to see their sin and turn to that Saviour Whose arms are ever open to welcome the vilest and most degraded. But how few as yet had been impressed, while the majority appeared more hardened and defiant than ever. He was

brooding over these melancholy thoughts, when Owen came back, and stood beside him. The first words the sailor uttered, spoke with some degree of consolation to the young clergyman's troubled heart.

"Ah, sir," he said, "I have had trouble enough since my poor wife's death in one way and another, and particularly from the ill-will these fellows round here bear to me and my boy. But you, sir, help us all to bear the burden God lays upon us. I always feel thankful that He sent you to us just at the right time.”

"I am glad to hear that I have been of use to any one, Owen," said Arthur sadly. "I was just thinking, when you came up, how little good I have been able to do here; it seems as if nothing could touch the hard hearts of the folk around us."

"Don't say so, you haven't been here overlong yet. Besides, don't forget all the good you've done to me and Philip and to my little one up yonder; you've taught us all very much, sir, and we shall always be grateful to you for it."

"Have I, Owen? Then I'll thank God and take courage; yes, I have been wrong to despond; it is sinful to mistrust Him Who hitherto has helped me on, and answered so many of my prayers; only I do long to see more fruit of my

labours."

"That you will, sir, in time, I am sure," said Owen. "Only last night little Mary was reading to me out of the Psalms, a verse which often comes into my mind when I feel low-spirited, "O taste and see that the Lord is gracious blessed is the man that trusteth in Him.'”

"A good lesson, indeed, Owen; God seems to have sent you to cheer me up just at the right moment. Yes, we will trust Him, and then we shall never be confounded."

They were silent for a few moments, then Arthur continued

"But now, Owen, what I wanted to speak to you about was my scheme of the lighthouse. That you know has a great deal to do with my being so unpopular with the Sennen folk, and all the men round the coast; still I feel I am right

about it, and no power on earth should make me desist from carrying out the plan, and if God permit, the lighthouse will be finished this summer. The work, I am thankful to say, has bravely stood all this winter's gales, and before the long dark nights of autumn, I hope to have the satisfaction of seeing a bright light burning on the Longships, to warn all mariners how near they are to a dangerous coast. But you know some one must live in that lighthouse, the lamps can't be kept burning without hands, and the man who takes up his abode there must be honest, steady, and thoroughly trustworthy, above taking a bribe, able to bear the scorn, mockery, and annoyance which he is sure to meet with from the Sennen people, who of course will regard him as an enemy. The salary will be good, but the life will be-I can't conceal it-a very hard and trying one. For days, perhaps for weeks, there may be no means of communicating with the shore, so the lighthouse must be well stored with provisions. Then, too, it will be a lonely life, and one not unattended with danger, for the strongest building might yield before some tempest of unexampled fury, as the Eddystone did in the great storm at the beginning of this century. It will be a life of peril as well as of discomfort to the man who consents to accept the office, at the same time it will be a noble life of self-sacrifice for the welfare of others."

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Yes, sir; a man who undertook to live on the Longships' Rock would be doing a great service to his countrymen, and especially to the shipping interest. I believe if there had been a lighthouse there, hundreds of vessels would never have gone to the bottom; but a dismal life that'll be for any man, and especially if he's to live there all alone."

"I don't think a man ought to live there all alone, Owen; but it seems to me there's no chance just now of finding two men who would go there, I doubt if we shall get one; moreover, I don't know whether Mr. Smith would provide a salary for two."

"The lighthouse-keeper, whoever he is, won't get much help from the Cove men, sir. They'll lead him a pretty life," said Owen.

"They can't do him much harm out there, Owen; they can only annoy him when he comes on shore for his provisions; and means must be taken to ensure that he is protected

from anything like violence. Well now, Owen, to come to the point, I want to know if you will be the lighthousekeeper?"

Ah, sir, I thought that was what you were driving at; but that's a matter which requires consideration. It will, as you say, be a very hard and a very lonely life, and then I should have to give up my cottage which I am fond of, and what would become of Philip and little Mary? They couldn't go and live in the lighthouse."

"I don't want to hurry you to decide, Owen; it will be months before the lighthouse is finished, and you shall have plenty of time to think over the matter. I've considered the objections I knew you would raise about your children, and all the difficulties in the way; but who else can I find here there's no one I can thoroughly rely upon except you. There are indeed one or two fellows who are honest enough, and seem to be trying to mend their ways; but they all have large families, and I could not depend upon them. Think, Owen, of the good you will be doing, try not to shrink from making a sacrifice, which will confer such great benefits on mankind. Remember Him Who loved you with so deep a love that He came from heaven to die for you on the cross-there is the noblest, most glorious example of self-sacrifice for you to follow. Dreary and lonely as your life on the rock may be, what can it be in comparison with His, when He left His Father's throne to dwell on earth to suffer and to die for us sinners?"

Yes, sir, I quite feel all you say; but you see there's Mary-she never would be separated from me, she'd fret so, poor child, brave and good as she is. Why, once when I was out two nights running, she was so frightened, poor thing, fearing Phil and I were drowned, that it made her quite ill."

"I could get her a comfortable berth where she would be well taken care of up at my father's place, Owen. I thought of all that, I knew Mary would be the difficulty in your way. As to Philip, my idea was that he could go and live in the lighthouse with you for the first winter, till you got accustomed to being there alone. But there's no need to come to any decision now; only don't say a word about it to anybody, for if the fellows here thought you were going to be the lighthouse-keeper, they wouldn't give you much peace, I'm sure."

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"I believe my life wouldn't be worth much if they did," said Owen. "To hear the way they talk about the lighthouse you'd think it had been built on purpose to prevent them getting their living, and to drive them to starvation. They threaten often that they will never allow the lamp to be lighted, and breathe vengeance against the man who is appointed to live there."

"All the more reason they should know nothing about our plan, then, Owen,” said Arthur, "and now farewell; I shall come and see how Philip is getting on to-morrow.'

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