amsgate harbour being conspicuous for colour and brilliancy--until
the water, which was so calm as to reflect them all, seemed alive with
perpendicular streams of liquid fire; land and sea appearing to be the
subjects of one grand illumination. A much less poetical soul than that
of the enthusiastic lamp-lighter might have felt a touch of unwonted
inspiration on such a night, and in such a scene. The effect on the
mind was irresistibly tranquillising. While contemplating the
multitudes of vessels that lay idle and almost motionless on the glassy
water, the thought naturally arose that each black hull en-shrouded
human beings who were gradually sinking into rest--relaxing after the
energies of the past day--while the sable cloak of night descended,
slowly and soothingly, as if God were spreading His hand gently over all
to allay the fever of man's busy day-life and calm him into needful
rest.

The watch of the floating light having been set, namely, two men to
perambulate the deck--a strict watch being kept on board night and day--
the rest of the crew went below to resume work, amuse themselves, or
turn in as they felt inclined.

While they were thus engaged, and darkness was deepening on the scene,
Welton stood on the quarterdeck observing a small sloop that floated
slowly towards the lightship. Her sails were indeed set, but no breath
of wind bulged them out; her onward progress was caused by the tide,
which had by that time begun to set with a strong current to the
northward. When within about a cable's length, the rattle of her chain
told that the anchor had been let go. A few minutes later, a boat was
seen to push off from the sloop and make for the lightship. Two men
rowed it and a third steered. Owing to the force of the current they
made the vessel with some difficulty.

"Heave us a rope," cried one of the men, as they brushed past.

"No visitors allowed aboard," replied Mr Welton sternly; catching up,
nevertheless, a coil of rope.

"Hallo! father, surely you've become very unhospitable," exclaimed
another voice from the boat.

"Why, Jim, is that you, my son?" cried the mate, as he flung the coil
over the side.

The boatmen caught it, and next moment Jim stood on the deck--a tall
strapping young seaman of twenty or thereabouts--a second edition of his
father, but more active and lithe in his motions.

"Why you creep up to us, Jim, like a thief in the night. What brings
you here, lad, at such a