currents from land to meet in an apparatus
on the buoy or beacon. Whether the plan
will ever be successful, time alone will
show. It certainly would be rather amusing
if all the buoys at the entrance of the
Thames, for instance, were lighted with
numerous-coloured lights, reminding one of
the variegated illumination of Vauxhall or
Cremorne.

Another novel mode of lighting beacons
is in use at Arnish, in Scotland. The
beacon is on a rock, some little distance
from land, and is fitted with an apparatus
for the reception of a beam of light thrown
from a lighthouse on shore, which, by the
aid of reflection and refraction, is made to
appear exactly like a veritable light.
Indeed, the fishermen in the neighbourhood
will not believe that it is only a reflection,
or, as it is called, an "apparent light," but
will maintain that there is a real light on
the beacon.

We may, if we please, take some credit
to ourselves for our coast-lighting arrangements,
especially considering that no country
is so efficiently lighted as our own. We
have in previous articles* spoken of
lighthouses, light-vessels, and the men who
attend on them, and, on consideration of
some of the details connected with the
light itself, we can only come to the same
conclusion we have before expressed, that
we in England have much cause to be
thankful that the responsible duty of lighting
our coasts is so admirably carried out.
* See ALL THE YEAR ROUND, New Series, vol. ii.,
pp.328,473.

THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS.
A YACHTING STORY.

CHAPTER XVI. A DECISION.

A WORRIED, nervous-looking gentleman
was asking at the railway station the way
down to the port, and where he should find
Mr. Conway. A tall and burly clergyman
strode round suddenly, and took him into
custody. "Lord Formanton! I saw your
name on your portmanteau, my lord. I
am the Reverend Doctor Bailey, vicar of
this place. Know your son most intimately;
dined with me the other day. There, you
stand back, sir. Don't crowd about the
doorway, please. Policeman, let us pass.
No use! Scandalous," and so on.

To such violent courtesies one could
only submit. And in a few moments Doctor
Bailey was seen walking down the main
street with the strange gentleman on his
arm. His lordship was resigned or absent,
having serious things to think of, and his
brows contracted with vexation or worry.

"You must come up and have lunch at
my little place: carriage is actually waiting
about here. I will take no excuse; it's laid
you know, and ready——"

"I can't indeed—much obliged," said his
lordship, shortly: "out of the question.
Just show me where the yacht lies, if you
would be so good."

The Almandine lay out in the middle;
but the doctor took a fussy and complicated
way of doing what was very simple.

"Where's Dan, the club boatman? Some
one look for him. Just wait here while I
go and find the secretary. It is right we
should see him. He knows all about this."

"But that must be the yacht," said the
other. "I am sure of it." A sailor standing
by hailed her in the usual way, a boat
was seen coming off, thus simplifying all
the doctor's arrangements.

As father and son exchanged greetings,
Doctor Bailey stood a short way off, with
an ostentatious abstention, as though not
wishing to intrude on such sacred feelings.
("It was very nice," he said, later,
telling the story, "very nice. That fine young
man, and the nobleman, as unassuming a
creature as you or I." This might have
been true as regards "You," but it would
be hard to rival the arrogance of "I.")
After a moment or two, he joined them
with an air of persuasion, as who should
say, "Where shall we go to now?"

Conway felt a sort of half-guilty feeling
in the presence of Jessica's father. Lord
Formanton said to him, in a wearied way:

"Get rid of this man. We don't want
him. I have so much to say to you."

"We are going on board, Doctor Bailey."

"Then let us have the club boat; we
are entitled to it. Where's Dan, the club
boatman?"

"I hope to see you later," said Conway,
shortly. "My father and I have some
important matters to talk of. Good-bye!"
The doctor was thus repulsed.

"Where can I speak to you, George? In
that cabin every word is heard."

"We can put the men on board." Conway
took the oars, and Doctor Bailey on the
club steps, pointing them out with his stick,
was much confounded by the erratic
proceedings of the little boat.

"What is the matter, father?" said the
son, rowing quickly out to sea. "I can
guess it; but tell me the details."

"It is no use going into them. I am
bewildered myself. I did not know what