a Chinese pagoda, and offered so many angles of resistance to the wind that we can only marvel how the elements in those four years allowed him to complete it, and then suffered it to remain another three years. If picturesque beauty were the sole consideration in lighthouse-building this mingled stone and timber tower with its strange suggestions of Wren’s City of London church steeples and the “Queen Anne” architecture of Bedford Park, was surely the finest lighthouse ever built. It proclaims itself in every circumstance the work of an artist, and was to its smallest detail unpractical. Winstanley even provided a highly picturesque means of defence against an enemy: a contrivance in an upper gallery that would drop heavy stones upon his boats; and he designed an elaborate room, from which, in the picture, you see him fishing, and apparently trying to hook one of the boat’s crew pushing off from the rock. Many of these ornate features were found to be hazardous; the tower itself was not sufficiently lofty, and alterations were made in 1699, by which its height was increased to 120 feet. Remodelled, it was, in Winstanley’s own opinion, as safe as any castle ashore, and he expressed himself as only too eager to be in his lighthouse when the worst storm ever known was blowing. On November 26th, 1703, he had his wish. He put off from the Barbican at Plymouth for the Eddystone on the afternoon of that day, when all the signs pointed to an unprecedented tempest. That night was the night of the famous storm that levelled uncounted trees, unroofed and wrecked many mansions, and sunk fleets of shipping. Henry Winstanley was born at Littlebury, near Saffron Walden, but he is not buried there, for on that night he and his lighthouse and the lighthouse-keepers perished together. When morning dawned the rock was bare, except for one surviving link of iron chain. Winstanley’s project had lost considerably more than £3,000, and his widow was reduced to seeking a pension from the Government; but a singular fascination seems to have impelled private persons to risk their all in a work that should have been the sole concern of the Trinity House. A certain John Lovett, merchant, of London, was the next to enter this, as a commercial project, and the designer of his lighthouse was Rudyerd, a Ludgate Hill silk mercer. He began work in 1706, and by 1709 had completed a wooden tower, which lasted nearly fifty years, and was then destroyed by fire, December 2nd, 1755. There were three keepers. Their efforts at subduing the flames were useless, the molten lead from the roof driving them into the crannies of the rock; where they went through such terrors of exposure to the cold and the waves on the one hand, and the cascades of melted lead on the other that one, raving mad, plunged to death in the sea. Two actually survived the occasion, but one of these was thought a lunatic by the rescuing party. He declared that while he stood looking up at the