LIGHTHOUSE GUESTS.
"So low did her secure foundations lie;
She was not humble, but humility.
Scarcely she knew that she was great, or fair,
Or wise, beyond what other women are
Or (which is better) knew, but never durst compare.
For to be conscious of what all admire
And not be vain, advances virtue higher.
But still she found, or rather thought she found,
Her own worth wanting, others to abound;
Ascribed above their due to every one,
Unjust and scanty to herself alone."--Dryden.
The loneliness of the Farne Islands must have been rather depressing to
the young people who dwelt upon them, and when a chance wind brought to
the Longstone Rock any guest to be entertained, and treated with true
British hospitality, the inhabitants of the lighthouse must have been
particularly thankful. Birds and fishes, winds and waves, are very
well in their places, but social hearts long for something else than
these, and cannot be satisfied without communion with their kind.
Grace Darling's sympathy was with human life; and no one can read of
her without feeling that, if she could not shine in society, she could
at least be very womanly and kind with strangers, and sufficiently
entertaining to those who visited the happy, homely dwelling among the
rocks. She would take delight in ministering to their needs, and
removing their sorrows; and we are sure that no one was shipwrecked on
the island, or visited it from curiosity or for instruction, without
taking away with them pleasant recollections of the gentle girl.
Lonely as the island was, and quiet as the lives of the inmates of the
lighthouse must have been, they were not altogether uneventful, and
they certainly were not idle. The brothers of a family always make
much work, and sometimes not a little care for their sisters. A good
girl cannot but be very loving toward them, and most anxious for their
welfare. If the boys are away from home, the solicitude of the sister
is increased; and many an earnest prayer does she send up to God during
the day, and sometimes during the night, that He would bless the lads.
The tender, pitiful soul of a girl clings to her brother; and
sometimes, if the boys only knew how much they are beloved, they would
perhaps live and act very differently. They may rest assured that no
one, unless it be their mother, feels as thankful for their joy, and as
grieved for their sorrow, as proud of their virtue, and as sad for
their sins, as the sisters who played with them, and who always feel as
if God meant them to be, in some measure, their brothers' keepers.
Grace Darling's brothers were away from the island, but they were not
forgotten by Grace. Often, with a happy smile on her lips, and a
loving light in her eyes, she sat and worked for them, preparing some
warm garment, or pretty little gift, that should tell the boys a
pleasant, though oft-repeated tale, of their sister's love.
But the best time for Grace was when the twin-brothers came home for a
holiday. She kept it with them, and always took care that they should
have such particularly good times that they would delight to talk of
them when they were over. Every one who knows anything of boys and
their ways, knows how proud and flattered they are by the attentions of
a girl who is older than themselves. And Grace was charming, for she
laid herself out for her brothers' pleasure. Long before they came
home, she invented little surprises, in the shape of puzzles, pictures,
and games. She knew that the most uncomfortable experience a boy can
have is to be left alone with nothing to do, and she took care that
nothing of this kind should spoil the holidays of the brothers. She
joined in all their play. She ran races with them--jumped with
them--sailed with them; and if they had not been too manly to cry, when
the parting time came, she would have cried with them most heartily.
They were golden days indeed for Grace when her brothers came home.
Nor was she scarcely less pleased when others, and strangers, paid a
visit to her home.
One day in September, 1832, Grace and her mother were watching the sky
and sea most anxiously. Mr. Darling had gone to North Sunderland,
having sailed thither in his trusty coble. They were now expecting his
return, and every five minutes seemed an hour while they waited. He
was not coming alone, for his eldest son was to accompany him. The
latter was at this time residing at Alnwick, but was always glad of an
opportunity to go home. The two who watched for them prayed as they
watched.
"I hope they will not be long, Grace. Is it not time they had
arrived?" asked Mrs. Darling.
"Scarcely yet, mother," replied Grace. "Do not be anxious, so many
things may have delayed them."
"But I feel sure that a storm is coming. Look at the waves out at
sea--how white they are; and every hour they are becoming more so."
"But I think they will be here before the storm comes."
"I hope they may. If not, I fear that they will not be able to come at
all to-night."
"There is time yet."
"But the sun is setting, Grace; already the twilight is here."
"Let us trust, mother. I think all will be well with them."
They stood looking towards the sea, and presently Grace saw that which
they were looking for.
"Here they come, mother; and there are two in the boat!"
"Where, Grace? Are you sure it is they?"
"Quite! Cannot you see them?"
"Oh yes, thank God; and they are coming very quickly. They will soon
be here."
"Let us go down to the beach to meet them."
Grace went joyfully down; and as their boat came ashore, she received
them with thanksgiving.
"All well, Grace?"
"Yes, father. Mother has been very anxious, lest you should not be
able to get here before the storm came."
"It is coming, surely. It will be a very rough night, a night to be at
home rather than on the sea. Let us get indoors as soon as possible."
They had not been long within the shelter of their home before the
storm burst in all its fury, and it was a storm that even they did not
often witness. The wind, which at first had sighed as if in sorrow,
and wailed as if for woe, now roared in wild anger, rushing hither and
thither in a mad endeavour to shake and destroy all that came in its
way. Rain pelted down upon the lighthouse, and hail beat against the
windows, while the waves, lashed to fury by the tempestuous winds,
leaped so high that they beat with violence against the lighthouse
itself. All were glad and thankful to be within doors at such a time,
and talked compassionately of the poor fellows who were exposed to the
pitiless rigour of the elements.
Grace sat at the window watching, when presently all were startled by
an exclamation of alarm which she involuntarily uttered.
"What is it, Grace!" cried her father, rising hastily, and going to her
side. "See, father!" said she in answer.
The sight that met Darling's eyes was sad enough. A little yacht,
quite too small to brave such weather, was seen tossing about on the
angry waters. One moment it seemed to rise on the top of a
wave-mountain, the next it was engulphed in the watery abyss, but all
the time the wind was driving it toward the rocks.
"William, look here," said Darling to his son.
William drew a long breath.
"She is coming with all speed to the rocks," he said.
"Yes, there is not a moment to lose. Come, my son."
The young man needed no second bidding: if he had done, Grace would
have added her earnest words. But she knew her father and brothers,
and hastened to get their hats and jackets, and prepare them for the
battle with the winds and waves.
"Is there anything more that I can do for you, father?"
"Yes, take care of your mother, and do not let her give way."
Mrs. Darling clung to her husband until he gently put her into the
hands of her daughter. It is one of the trials of the wife of a
lighthouse keeper, that she must often see her husband go forth to
dangers which may lead him into death; and Mrs. Darling could not bear
this trouble with any degree of composure. It is a singular thing that
those who live by the sea are often most alarmed at its power. Mrs.
Darling knew what it did with helpless men; and when her husband went
out in the storm, though he had gone on an errand of mercy, she was
often so anxious about him as to be quite overpowered; and while he was
fighting with the elements she would remain at home in a state of
insensibility, from which she was with difficulty aroused.
At such times, it is generally the case that
"Men must work, and women must weep."
And it is the women who have the worst of it. It is not so difficult
for heroic men to rush into danger for the salvation of human life, as
it is for loving women to sit calmly at home while the lives that are
dearest to them are in jeopardy. Mrs. Browning understood this when
she wrote her poem, "Parting Lovers," when Italy needed brave men to
die for her:--
"Heroic males the country bears,
But daughters give up more than sons;
Flags wave, drums beat, and unawares
You flash your souls out with the guns,
And take your heaven at once.
"But we? We empty heart and home
Of life's life--love! We bear to think
You're gone--to feel you may not come--
To hear the door-latch stir and clink,
Yet no more you!--nor sink."
Happily, however, on this occasion Mrs. Darling's suspense was not of
long duration; for her husband and son managed to row to the little
imperilled yacht, and succeeded, though not without danger to
themselves, in rescuing its occupants. A few minutes more, and they
must have perished; and their joy and thankfulness at being saved at,
as it seemed to them, the eleventh hour, may be better imagined than
described.
Away to the friendly lighthouse rowed Mr. Darling and his son, and in a
very short space of time they were safely sheltered from the storm. On
the threshold of the home, they were met by Grace, who, with her
mother, eagerly and kindly welcomed them.
"Come into the light and warmth," said Mrs. Darling, "and I will find
you some warm clothing. Thank God that you are saved."
"Yes, indeed; and we shall never cease to feel thankful also to our
kind deliverers, for their skill and courage in saving us from death."
The party consisted of four persons--a lady, two gentlemen, and the
boatman; and were quite an addition to the little household, which was,
however equal to the emergency.
"Come with me," said Grace to the lady, "and I will find you some dry
clothing."
"Thank you," she said. "I could not have imagined any thing like the
rain and spray with which we have been drenched; my face was quite
stung with them as they beat against me."
"Yes, it is something dreadful during a storm; and of course it seems
worse to those who are not used to it. If you take off everything that
is wet, and exchange it for dry, I hope you will take no real harm."
The wardrobe of Grace Darling was not a very extensive one, but she
spread her belongings before the visitor with the utmost readiness and
kindness.
"Please take any article that can be of the least use to you. I am
only sorry that I have no better ones to offer."
"Pray do not speak of that. It will be most delightful to feel warm
and dry once more."
In the meantime, the two gentlemen were also supplied with some
clothing that belonged to the absent brothers of Grace, and presently
they all appeared in the room below, and joined the family. They could
scarcely repress a smile as they saw each other arrayed in such unusual
attire, but it was with deep feeling that they congratulated one
another on their escape. The guests then introduced themselves as Mr.
and Miss Dudley, and Mr. Morrington.
"We have been spending a holiday at Tynemouth," said one, "and have
been there several weeks. This morning as the sea was calm, and the
weather lovely, we came out for a sail, little thinking that in a few
hours the scene would be so greatly changed. It is like our
treacherous English climate."
"But we came farther than we had intended, for the sea was so
thoroughly enjoyable."
"And the gale came up so suddenly that we had not time to seek a place
of safety, and it was so very violent that we were driven quite out of
our course."
"Had you no control over the vessel?" asked Mr. Darling.
"Not the least We were quite at the mercy of the winds, and waves."
"And they are most merciless," said one of the young men.
"I do not know how to thank you enough for your great kindness, Mr.
Darling," said Miss Dudley. "Words are quite too weak to express the
grateful feelings of my heart; but I shall ever remember your great
courage, humanity, and kindness, in attempting and accomplishing our
rescue from a watery grave."
"Nay, nay," said the kind lighthouse keeper, "do not say any more on
the subject. I am sufficiently rewarded for any little trouble and
risk by the happiness of knowing that I have been the means of
preserving your lives, by the help of God."
"Your heroic conduct ought to be reported to the authorities."
"But we are placed here to keep the lamps burning; and though we are
very glad to save lives, you understand that is not the work we are
paid for doing."
"You are paid though, by the consciousness of having done a good deed,
and the gratitude of those whom you have rescued."
"Certainly, but you must please excuse me now, as I must relieve my
son, and take my turn in watching by the beacon."
"And now," said Mrs. Darling, "I am sure you will be glad of some
refreshment."
Indeed they were; and Mrs. Darling, who was a good housekeeper, and had
a few delicacies in her larder, knew how to satisfy the appetites of
her guests. It was a very cheerful party that gathered around the
lighthouse-table that evening, and when William Darling joined them
there was no lack of conversation. The guests were evidently persons
of gentle birth and habits, and the Darlings knew how to appreciate
such society. The social Grace was especially delighted, and almost
felt thankful for the storm that had brought such interesting and
agreeable guests to the lighthouse-home. The two girls, differently
reared as they had been, were yet able to fraternise, and find mutual
pleasure in the society of each other; and the hours passed almost
unheeded, while the storm, which had abated none of its tempestuous
fury, raged violently without, and failed to disturb the happiness of
those who were so pleasantly occupied.
It was very late before they could bring themselves to break up the
social party, and retire to rest.
"We have not a spare room to offer you. Will you mind sharing mine?"
asked Grace of Miss Dudley.
"Not at all. I shall be glad to do so. I am very tired, and do not
think that even the storm will keep me awake," replied Caroline Dudley.
"You will sleep in the boys' bed," said Mrs. Darling to the gentlemen.
"William will watch the light to-night, and so relieve his father."
The strangers slept soundly. It seemed that the storm did but rock
them to sleep, for it was not until a late hour in the morning that
they awoke. Miss Dudley found that her companion had already risen,
and the sun was pouring into the little room its bright unclouded
glory. But the sea was very rough; and as soon as she had asked the
opinion of the weather-wise lighthouse-keeper as to the possibility of
returning, she found that for that day at least they must remain on the
island. A bountiful breakfast of tea, coffee, fish, and eggs, had been
provided by the hostess, to which the visitors did ample justice.
"I am afraid, Mrs. Darling, that we shall have to encroach still
further upon your hospitality," said Dudley; "Mr. Darling informs me
that we cannot leave the island to-day, as the sea continues so rough."
"I am only too glad to have you for my guests," said Mrs. Darling,
heartily.
"As for me," said Grace, turning to her newly-found but already beloved
friend, "I could wish that the storm might last a very long time."
"I should be glad to stay too," said Miss Dudley, "if my father only
knew of our safety. He is not strong, and the suspense may do him
serious injury. He will be most anxious about us, I know. He was
quite aware of the kind of vessel we sailed in, and when he saw how
severe the storm was, he would naturally conclude that we were lost. I
am afraid of the effect that the sorrow may have upon him in his weak
state."
"He will surely not lose hope for some time," said Darling; "and
to-morrow, if all is well, you will be able to return to him."
"But our boat was so injured by being beaten against the rocks, that I
fear it is useless," remarked one of the gentlemen.
"I will take you across in my boat," said Darling, "so you need have no
anxiety on that score."
"Oh, Mr. Darling, you make us more and more your debtors."
They were consoled, however, with the thought that the suspense of Mr.
Dudley would be relieved before very long; and as nothing could be done
on that day, they resigned themselves to their situation, and prepared
to have a delightful holiday.
When breakfast was over, Grace took Caroline to the turret of the
lighthouse to enjoy the extensive view which such a point of vantage
afforded. A better day for the purpose could scarcely have been
chosen, for the fleecy clouds floated gracefully, the air was calm, and
the sun shone forth in splendour. The ocean had not recovered from the
effects of the angry storm, and the wild white waves leaped up as if
they would overwhelm and altogether destroy everything that offered the
least opposition.
Miss Dudley gazed spell-bound on the scene, and could not find words in
which to express her admiration; while Grace, to whom it was all very
familiar, confessed that even the could never look upon it without
feelings of wonder and delight. She pointed out the famous Castle of
Bamborough, with its battlements and towers; then Holy Island, on which
could be seen the ruins of its ancient priory; and also the Cheviot
hills on the north.
"Have you ever heard any of the legends of our neighbourhood," inquired
Grace? "No," replied Caroline; "but it will give me very great
pleasure to listen to them."
Nothing could have pleased Grace better than to pour into the willing
ears of the young lady who had so strangely been brought to her, and
who had so attracted her affections, the old-world stories in which she
herself so greatly delighted. But to Miss Dudley the pleasure was even
greater. She was naturally romantic, being possessed of a warm poetic
temperament; and what treat could have been greater to such a maiden
than to sit in the lonely lighthouse tower of the weird Longstone
Island, and listen to the mysterious fascinating legends of
Northumbria, as told in melodious accents by the lips of the
enthusiastic island girl? What wonder that as she listened, and the
other talked, the two young hearts were drawn to each other in trustful
and admiring friendship?
They were soon recalled, however, for the three young men, Dudley,
Morrington, and William Darling, wished them to join them in a walk
about the islands. They strolled together along the beach; and as the
tide was ebbing, the sands were firm and pleasant. The two girls kept
together, and Grace pointed out to her friend those objects which were
the most interesting.
"That is the island on which St. Cuthbert lived, and we can see the
hermitage he built. He came here from the priory of Lindisfarne,
because he thought that a monastic life provided too many luxuries and
enjoyments for the good and prosperity of his soul. He thought they
distracted his mind, and prevented it from dwelling sufficiently on
religious subjects."
"But it is not necessary to become a recluse in order to serve God?"
"No, for He has placed us in families, and given us social duties to
perform. But I suppose St. Cuthbert thought differently; and so he
came to spend his days on the island. He must have found discomfort
and privation enough to satisfy even him, for it is said that there was
neither water nor vegetation upon the island, which was then altogether
barren and uninhabitable. Besides that, it had the reputation of being
haunted by malignant demons, which took up their abode there. The
saint, however, was not afraid of evil spirits, nor anything else, and
the spot became very dear to him."
"But how could he live if there was nothing on the island to eat and
drink?"
"Oh, of course he worked some miracles, and his wants were easily
supplied; at least so the legend says. I have read a description of
the marvellous change which came over the island while he lived upon
it. 'The flinty rock bubbled with fresh water; the once barren soil,
with prolific abundance, brought forth grain; trees and shrubs, bearing
fruit, decked the smiling shores; the troubled waters clapped their
hands for joy; the plains assumed a mantle of green, embroidered with
flowers, the evil spirits were bound in eternal darkness, and angels of
light communed with the saint!' Strange, if true, was it not?"
"It was indeed! But what has become of the remarkable verdure?"
"Oh, it is said that although the demons were never again allowed to
return, the island became as sterile as before when St. Cuthbert died,
and no more exerted his miraculous influence on its behalf."
"Are there any relics of this wonderful saint still remaining on the
islands?"
"Yes, there are the ruins of a church, and in them is a stone coffin,
which at one time contained the remains of the saint."
Caroline laughingly replied, that as the restless body occupied a large
number of coffins before it finally found a home in Durham Cathedral,
it was only fair that the Farne Islands should have one.
"Now, let me tell you about Holy Island," said Grace. "That also has
the ruins of an ancient priory, and possesses more historical
associations and wonderful legends than I could possibly repeat. It is
a very beautiful island, though it is in decay, and has lost its former
glory and importance. As early as the Saxon Heptarchy, there was a
monastery on Lindisfarne. It was pillaged and burned by the Danes,
those terrible sea-kings who caused our country so much suffering in
the days of old, and who seemed to be so fond of Holy Island, that they
came to it again and again."
"They were wonderfully persistent, were they not?"
"They were indeed! There are many other places of interest, Warkworth
and Dunstanborough among the rest."
"I shall try to persuade my father to pay a visit to those places
before we leave the neighbourhood," said Miss Dudley; "and now Grace,
since you have told me so much that is interesting, I will try to tell
you a little about the far different scenes among which I live."
"Do," said Grace, "I shall be glad to hear anything about your life."
Caroline's story was almost as strange to Grace as Grace's had been to
Caroline, for it had to do with a class of society about which the
young lighthouse girl knew nothing. Miss Dudley was used to shine in
circles to which Grace Darling would not have been admitted, and her
description of the habits of thought and modes of life of the people
among whom she associated, was graphic, piquant, and most entertaining.
Like many a merry, warm-hearted girl, she cherished a half-contemptuous
opinion of much that was fashionable and gay; and to hear her speak of
the crowded assemblies, the dreary dinner parties, the exciting balls,
and the endless morning calls, was to give Grace both surprise and
amusement.
The two girls, as they thus stood, talking to each other of their lives
and associations, formed a very striking contrast. Miss Dudley was
tall, dark and beautiful, with classic features and graceful form. Her
mother was a Spanish lady, and from her the daughter had inherited the
splendid dark eyes and hair, as also the ardent and romantic nature,
which had thrown such a spell round Grace. Her intellect was of the
highest order, and had been most carefully cultivated, so that her
natural enthusiasm had been restrained and disciplined, but not subdued
or weakened. She had only just left school, which was one of the
highest class, where all the modern accomplishments necessary to a
refined education had been thoroughly taught her; and as she had moved
always in good society, her manners had acquired that easy grace and
polish which can scarcely be obtained under other circumstances.
Grace Darling, on the contrary, had, as we know, received little if any
instruction beyond that which her own father had imparted. But
although her opportunities had been meagre, she had made the most of
them, and was at this time a well-informed girl, with good natural
abilities. She was possessed of that simple courtesy which has its
root in self-forgetfulness, and an earnest desire to please, and which
will always prevent its owner from breaking any of those rules of
etiquette which make the wheels of society run so smoothly; and there
was an easy winning grace, and guileless sweetness of manner, about the
simple true-hearted lighthouse maiden, that won its way to all hearts.
There is no such beautifier as thoughtful goodness; and the amiable
character, and clear understanding of Grace Darling, shone through her
hazel eyes, and added to her loveliness.
Grace was rather beneath the ordinary stature, and her figure was
slender and graceful. She had a wreath of sunny brown curls, and a
delicate clear complexion, which revealed the quick emotions of joy or
sorrow that moved her. She was rich, too, in having a fund of good
common sense, which would enable her, with the assistance of the ready
presence of mind and dauntless courage which characterised her, to be
equal to all the emergencies of life.
The two girls, so differently trained and constituted, who were thus
brought together, would probably be the better for the short
intercourse which they had; and it is certain that both would retain
pleasant memories of their walks and talks in the island.
When evening came they all sat around the lighthouse fire, and hold a
pleasant conversation. Nor were they content with this, but added the
delights of music to their entertainment. Miss Dudley was prevailed on
to sing the following ballad;[1]--
"The 'Morning Star'
Sailed o'er the bar,
Bound to the Baltic Sea:
In the morning grey
She stretched away--
'Twas a weary day to me.
"And many an hour,
In sleet and shower,
By the lighthouse rock I stray,
And watch till dark
For the winged bark
Of him that's far away.
"The Castle's bound
I wander round,
Among the grassy graves,
But all I hear
Is the north wind drear,
And all I see--the waves."
"Oh, roam not there,
Thou mourner fair,
Nor pour the fruitless tear!
The plaint of woe is all too low--
The dead--they cannot hear!
"The Morning Star
Is set afar,
Set in the Baltic Sea;
And the billows spread
O'er the sandy bed
That holds thy love from thee."
Mr. Morrington remarked that the Tynemouth Castle grounds were used as
a burial place; and then calls were made upon the other members of the
party for another song.
"William can sing," remarked Grace, looking at her brother.
"Of course he can," said Mr. Dudley; "whoever knew a light-hearted man,
used to the sea, who could not sing. Will you please favour us, Mr.
Darling!"
William, who was anxious, like the rest of the family, to make the time
of their guests pass as pleasantly as possible, at once complied with
their request. He sang his song to an old border tune, originally
composed to the words, "When I was a bachelor fine and brave:"--
"Harold, the minstrel, was blithe and young;
Many and strange were the lays he sung;
But Harold neither had gold nor fee--
His wealth was his harp o' the forest tree;
And little he reck'd, as he troll'd his lay--
'Clouds come over the brightest day.'
"On him young Ella, the maiden, smiled;
Never were notes like his wood-notes wild,
Till the baron's broad lands and glittering store
Dazzled her eye, and her love was o'er;
Gold hushed the praise of the minstrel lay--
'Clouds come over the brightest day.'
"From the old church-tower the joy bells rung,
Flowering wreaths were before her flung;
Youth was gay, but the aged sighed--
'She had better been the minstrel's bride;
And Harold wept as he troll'd his lay--
'Clouds come over the brightest day.'
"Years have fled, and the moonbeams fall
On the roofless towers of the baron's hall;
The owl hath built in the chapel aisle,
And the bat in the silent campanile,
And the whispering ivy seems to say--
'Clouds come over the brightest day.'
"Years have fled, and that soft light shines
On a quiet cot where the woodbine twines.
A lonely heart, in a distant clime,
On that sweet cot thinks, and the warning rhyme,
Treasures of earth will fade away--
'Clouds come over the brightest day.'"
The next morning the sea was calm enough for to make it safe for the
visitors to cross over, and they prepared to leave the island-home in
which they had been so kindly and hospitably entertained. They did so
with some reluctance, being sorry to lose the friends whom they had
found. The parting was especially hard to Grace, who had been living
in a new world during the last two days; but Miss Dudley comforted her,
by expressing a hope that they would meet again.
"Will you come and stay with us, Grace, before we leave Tynemouth," she
asked. "I should like to do so very much," said Grace, "if father and
mother will consent."
"I will get the permission of Mr. and Mrs. Darling before I go,"
replied Miss Dudley.
She did so; and though the anticipations of the girls were not to be
realised, the hope made the parting more easy than it would otherwise
have been.
Mrs. Darling and Grace both went down to the beach to see the last of
their friends, and it was not until after many loving farewells, that
Miss Dudley could break away.
The two young men thanked Mrs. Darling most heartily, while they warmly
shook hands with her, for her motherly care and kindness. Then Mr.
Darling took his station in the boat, and William assisted the friends
into it.
"Good-bye, good-bye, God bless you."
"Write to me soon, Grace."
The little boat went dancing away over the laughing waters, leaving
behind--as boats so often do--loneliness and regret. Mrs. Darling went
back to her work in the lighthouse, but Grace remained on the beach
until the coble that bore her friend away had passed completely out of
sight. She might be forgiven if, for that day, her usual cheerfulness
forsook her, and she felt as if she could not settle down to the
monotony of her life.
She was glad when toward evening her father and brother returned, and
she could learn all the latest particulars of her friend. They
described the rapturous joy of Major Dudley at the re-appearance of the
son and daughter whom he had mourned as lost. At first the meeting
seemed too much for him, and he trembled, and he turned pale; but
afterward he caressed them most passionately, and loaded the Darlings
with presents and thanks.
"When he heard of all that had been done for his son and daughter, and
their friend, he would not let me come away without bringing presents
for us. See," said the lighthouse keeper, exhibiting them, "this is
for Mrs. Darling, and this for Grace."
"Miss Dudley has not sent a letter, I suppose, father?"
"No; but she has sent her love, and promises to write soon."
The letter came in a day or two, but it was not at all what Grace
wished for. It brought the unwelcome intelligence that Major Dudley
had been summoned to the south, and they were all obliged at once to
accompany him thither, so that it was not possible for them to receive
Grace as they had hoped to do. She therefore saw her friend no more;
and for some days she could not help feeling very sad and lonely. But
Mrs. Darling, sensible woman as she was, knew a good cure for
melancholy.
"Grace," she said, "I want to make a few alterations in the house. One
or two of the rooms must be thoroughly cleaned, and the furniture
placed differently, and then I think it will be more comfortable for
the winter. I shall want your help, my child."
Grace readily responded; and before very long her face grew bright
under the influence of wholesome household work; and her parents were
delighted to hear her clear voice once more singing her favourite airs.
When, a week later, William Darling went back to Alnwick, the
lighthouse family returned to the usual quiet, even ways, which had
lately been so pleasantly disturbed, and the lighthouse guests were
hereafter little more than memories.
Does it seem that too much has been made of this little simple
incident? Let it be remembered, that though on the mainland, in our
busy towns and centres of population, the visits of strangers, and the
joy of entertaining them, may be common occurrences, it was far
different in the case of these dwellers on the lonely Farne Islands.
We, who are used to receive the social calls of friends, and to spend
many hours a week in "chit-chat," and pleasant recreation, can scarcely
estimate the joy and refreshment which this episode brought to the
Darlings. It was a great event to them, and was remembered and talked
over for many years afterwards. Grace especially, though she never saw
her friend again, never forgot her, and there is no doubt that the
little intercourse she had had was not without its effects on the
after-life and character of the heroic girl.
We cannot tell for what purpose in the all-wise providence of God
strangers are brought to us whom we learn to love, and take to our
hearts as dear friends, and who are then altogether removed from us.
But we may be sure that some good end is kept in view, and perhaps
hereafter that which is mysterious may be made plain.
This life is but the beginning of things, the continuation of them will
be in heaven; and who knows but that it may be one of the pleasures
that our Father has in store for us, that there, the old friendships
may be renewed and perfected, and the scattered links all united? If
it be so, perhaps Grace has already found her friend again.
[1] It was written at Tynemouth; and refers to the "Morning Star," a
vessel belonging to the Tyne, which was lost, with all hands, in the
Baltic.