In 1769 the whole hamlet comprised no more than twenty-eight houses, or more correctly speaking hovels, for, with the exception of four that had been raised to the dignity of slate roofs and a small inn on the site of the present Clifton Arms Hotel, they were little if any better. These were scattered widely apart along the beach, and one of them standing on the ground now occupied by the Lane Ends Hotel, and adjoining a small blacksmith’s shed, was a favourite resort of visitors in search of refreshment. Turf stacks fronted almost every door, and the refuse of the household was either carelessly thrown forth or else accumulated in putrifying heaps by the sides of the huts, so that nothing but their isolated situations and the constant currents of pure air from the sea sweeping over and around them could possibly have prevented the outbreak of some infectious and fatal disorder. Bonny’s Hotel, then known as old Margery’s, and standing in the fields to the south, some distance from the sea, sprang up a little anterior to this time and received its share of patronage; later it was converted into a boys’ school and during recent years has been divided into cottages, etc. The Gynn House, erected northwards near the extremity or apex of a deep and wide fissure in the cliffs, formed another popular haunt during the season; the landlord at that hostel created much amusement by his oddities, and especially by his quaint method of casting up the reckoning on a horse-block in front of the door and speeding the “parting guest” with—“and Sir, remember the servants.” A true and remarkable anecdote is related about the old inn; sometime during the summer of 1833 a sudden and terrific storm burst over the western coast of this island, many vessels were lost and the shore off Blackpool was strewn with the battered fragments of unfortunate ships, which had either foundered in the deep or been dashed to pieces as they lay helplessly stranded on the outlying sandbanks. In the night as the gale raged with its utmost fury, a Scotch sloop was beating off the coast, vainly endeavouring to battle with the hurricane, and driven by the force of wind and wave nearer and nearer to the precipitous cliffs. When all hope had been abandoned and destruction seemed inevitable, some thoughtful person placed a lighted candle in the window of the Gynn House; guided by this faint glimmer, the vessel passed safely up the creek, and the exhausted sailors were rescued from a dreadful death. Next morning a sad and harrowing scene presented itself along the coast; no less than eleven vessels were lying within a short distance of each other, with their torn rigging and shattered spars hanging from their sides; brigs, sloops, and schooners, the short but fearful gale had left little of them beyond their damaged hulls. Nor were these the only victims of the storm, for as the tide receded to its lowest the masts of two others rose above the