The lighthouse, a substantial structure, built of lime and stone, was completed well before Christmas, 1619, a supply of coal laid in, and a fire nightly kindled, which, wrote Killegrew, ‘I presume speaks for yt selfe to the most part of Christendom.’ The cost of maintenance came to about 10_s._ a night, and that, added to the expense of building, had by the next January put him out of pocket £500; so that his limited funds were nearly exhausted. Yet the ‘voluntary contribution’ he had asked had not brought him in a single farthing; shipwreck had materially decreased, but not a vessel putting into Plymouth or Falmouth had given anything towards the support of the Lizard lights; the thank-offerings for safe deliverance, which his sanguine imagination pictured being offered by grateful mariners, came not at all. There was now nothing for it, since sailors would not, or rather could not, pay out of gratitude, but to seek for a compulsory levy. He sent in his petition for this to the king, who in turn sent it to the Trinity House, which body answered much as before, save that the condemnation of the _absurdity_ of a lighthouse at the Lizard was more vehement and emphatic on the suggestion of _compulsory_ payment! But against this manifestly insincere condemnation, Killegrew received, thanks no doubt to Carleton, very influential testimonials from Holland, and these decided the king to grant the requisite patent. He had, it may be said, additional grounds for so doing, since, besides the favour of the Dutch navigators, English seamen came forward and spoke to the benefit of the light; contribute they could not—their masters, hostile to every lighthouse scheme, would not allow that—but speak they could, and they did so, fearlessly and without reserve. Thus, when Killegrew’s pockets were nearly empty, he, in conjunction with a certain William Mynne, Secretary Calvert’s brother-in-law, obtained from James I licence to gather a halfpenny a ton from all passing vessels towards the maintenance of the Lizard lights. Killegrew’s patent did him very little good; the shipowners refused point-blank to pay, and they, with the Trinity House at their backs, cried so loudly and so much, and stirred up such powerful interest, that James cancelled his grant, the Lizard lights were extinguished, and Killegrew ended his days considerably the poorer for his philanthropic venture.