Wood and coal fires continued to be used, here and there, until the 19th Century was well begun. The last one of these in England to give way to more improved methods was the Flat Holme Light, in the Bristol Channel, where coal was burned until 1822. [Illustration: THE TILLAMOOK ROCK LIGHT STATION _This great rock, which lies about a mile off the coast of Oregon, was formerly a spot of terrible danger to ships. Great difficulties had to be overcome in order to erect this lighthouse, but now its 160,000-candle-power light is visible, in clear weather, for eighteen miles._ ] During the 19th Century, however, great improvements were made in lights, and equal improvements were made in the design and construction of lighthouses. The story of the development of lighthouses is one of dramatic intensity, filled with accounts of heroism, of ingenuity and perseverance. And not only in the building of lighthouses has heroism been shown. The courage of the quiet men who man them—and women, too, for there are many to whom lighthouses are entrusted—in itself is the subject for a book. Courage and unselfish devotion to duty are the fundamentals upon which keepers of lights base their helpful lives. Regardless of comfort, regardless of danger, regardless of life itself, _the light must burn_. No other duty or desire compares with that determination. And so in calm or gale, in summer fog or storm-torn winter night, the men who sail the sea have come to depend with simple and abiding faith upon the lights, the foghorns, and the courage of the lighthousemen. Whether the Atlantic pounds with mountainous seas the slender shaft on Bishop’s Rock, or the Pacific piles its crashing surges high at Tillamook; whether the hot winds of Arabia blister the paint on the web of steel that holds the Red Sea light of Sanganeb Reef, or ice encrusts the giant light that guards Cape Race, the light must burn, and sailors out at sea sail past almost as confident of these lights as of the stars. To one who has not seen the vast strength of the angry sea my words will mean but little, but any one who has seen needs no description and will not forget. Imagine a slender tower, built amid the smother of foam on a wave-swept rock. Imagine the supreme impudence of man who boldly sets himself the task of building there a cylinder of stone surmounted by a cage of glass. Nor does his impudence end there. Although it may be that for weeks at a time no boat may come near the spume and flying spray about the rocks above which stands the tower, yet in the tower are men. They calmly go about the tasks assigned to them. They polish the powerful lenses about the light. Each night they light the lamp. When fog obscures the spot they set their foghorn going. These are their duties. And when storm threatens, do they leave? Not so, for then above all times is their duty clear.