ea. A proof of this had been given in a very
striking manner, some weeks before the period about which we now
write, to our friend George Forsyth.

George was a studious man, and fond of reading the Bible critically.
He was proof against laughter and ridicule, and was wont sometimes to
urge the men into discussions. One of his favourite arguments was
somewhat as follows--

"Boys," he was wont to say, "you laugh at me for readin' the Bible
carefully. You would not laugh at a schoolboy for reading his books
carefully, would you? Yet the learnin' of the way of salvation is of
far more consequence to me than book learnin' is to a schoolboy. An
astronomer is never laughed at for readin' his books o' geometry an'
suchlike day an' night--even to the injury of his health--but what is
an astronomer's business to him compared with the concerns of my soul
to _me_? Ministers tell me there are certain things I must know and
believe if I would be saved--such as the death and resurrection of
our Saviour Jesus Christ; and they also point out that the Bible
speaks of certain Christians, who did well in refusin' to receive the
Gospel at the hands of the apostles, without first enquirin' into
these things, to see if they were true. Now, lads, _if_ these things
that so many millions believe in, and that you all profess to believe
in, are lies, then you may well laugh at me for enquirin' into them;
but if they be true, why, I think the devils themselves must be
laughing at _you_ for _not_ enquirin' into them!"

Of course, Forsyth found among such a number of intelligent men, some
who could argue with him, as well as some who could laugh at him. He
also found one or two who sympathized openly, while there were a few
who agreed in their hearts, although they did not speak.

Well, it was this tendency to study on the part of Forsyth, that led
him to cross the wooden bridge between the beacon and the lighthouse
during his leisure hours, and sit reading at the top of the spiral
stair, near one of the windows of the lowest room.

Forsyth was sitting at his usual window one afternoon at the end of a
storm. It was a comfortless place, for neither sashes nor glass had
at that time been put in, and the wind howled up and down the shaft
dreadfully. The man was robust, however, and did not mind that.

The height of the building was at that time fully eighty feet. While
he was reading there a tremendous breaker struck the lighthouse with
such for