"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.