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course such hazardous work could not be free
from disaster, and it is recounted how, at
different times, the sea swept away masonry,
and bent great iron bars, and how, in the
winter of 1865, thirty two of the large stones
(the whole of one course of masonry, and nearly
a season's work), were carried away, the strong
iron bolts being wrenched completely out of
their places by the force of the sea. Landing
on the rock and getting off again was, and is
now, a hazardous performance. The workmen
have frequently found it so. Sometimes it
would happen that while the men were
working, a sudden wind would spring up and rouse
the sea into a furious state; or perhaps there
would be a dead calm, and the sea would seem
like glass, when all at once, without apparent
cause, great rollers would come "home" and
dash themselves on the exposed rock, creating
a tremendous uproar. These rollers are known
to be the results of violent storms somewhere
in mid-ocean; they come in, swollen with
pent-up wrath, probably from dreadful scenes
of tempest and wreck far away, and dash
their gathered fury with tremendous violence
on the rock. Then, the men, who always work
in cork jackets, cling to their ropes, with their
heads to the sea, and hold on like grim death,
while the great waves rush over and past them.
If there be no chance of a cessation of the
violence, they look out for a rope from the
little vessel that lies pitching and tossing
outside, so that they may be hauled off the rock
while the great waves are dashing and crashing
with tremendous fury all around them. Just
such a scene as this occurred when the first
stone of the tower was laid. But at last our
engineers have overcome the tremendous
obstacles which threatened to make it impossible
to place a light-tower on the dreaded Wolf;
and now, in this fearfully exposed situation, a
stately column lifts its head.

It is hoped that the light will be shown at
the beginning of next year. We are promised
something unusually splendid in the way of
illumination. The light is to be a first order
dioptric, revolving light. This sounds grand,
and ought to be magnificent. In order to give
it a distinctive character, it is intended that
there shall be alternate flashes of red and
white light. Of course it is necessary so to
arrange the different lights round the coast as
that they may not be mistaken by the sailor;
consequently as many changes as possible have
to be rung on the different varieties of lights;
there are revolving, flashing, intermittent, fixed
and double lights, and these may be further
varied by colours of red, white, or green. In
a hundred miles of coast it is probable that no
two lights exactly alike, could be found. These
alternate flashes of red and white light have not
yet been adopted anywhere, but it is thought
they will have a very brilliant and striking effect.

We have given a true picture of the Wolf
Rock, and no doubt many readers of this article
will feel inclined to pity the men who will have
to live in the solitary tower and keep a good
light burning at night. We who have
comfortable homes, who can wander about the
country at our own sweet will, who can look
out on the lovely face of nature with hearts
full of joy, can hardly realise a life in a
wave-beaten tower, with only a great canopy of sky
above, and a wide expanse of sea below: the
nearest approach of humanity in any shape
being passing vessels, which take care to give
the rock and its lighthouse a wide berth.
Peculiar tales are told of the keepers at some of
the rock lighthouses how some have been
brought ashore raving mad, and how others
have committed suicide; but such cases are
happily very rare. Actual experience shows
that there is a reliable class of men to be found
who are well suited to the work, who do not
go mad or commit suicide, or do anything else
that is mischievous. They go about their work
in a steady matter-of-fact way, are quite
accustomed to the fury of the elements, and are
not at all put out by the most violent weather.
They accept their position without much regard
to risk or discomfort, apparently content to
earn their daily bread without stopping to
count the cost. There is some amount of
pleasure in almost any state of being, and, as a
rule, lightkeepers are happy after their fashion.
Certainly they are not jovial, merry fellows;
there is not much scope for rollicking fun in
their silent watches of the night; but, they
are pleasant men, who do not assert their own
individuality with loud-tongued assurance;
they are mild, clear eyed, meditative men, for
whom one cannot help feeling a considerable
amount of respect. And they take great pride
in their calling; the reflectors must not show
the tiniest speck of dust; the glass of the
lanterns must be made so clean that one
doub its if there really is any glass there; the
brass and copper-work must never lose its
original brightness; the light must be made
to throw out as much light as the resources at
command will allow; altogether, the whole
establishment must be a model of order and
cleanliness. Of course, the keepers at rock
stations have turns on shore one month in
every three and they have their joys and
sorrows, their hopes and fears, connected with
the everyday world. In truth, theirs is a much
happier existence than many lives on which we
expend no sympathy.



In the spring of 1855 I was at

Perhaps no one will ever know exactly
how some of the wires were pulled which
influenced the movements of the
diplomatists who were at Constantinople in that
eventful year, and produced important
results on the whole Crimean War. What I
am about to tell may be, by a side light,
suggestive of strange secret workings in
this direction, but is not otherwise
elucidative of diplomacy. What I shall tell is
true, and. known to many. In the casual