"You are not pleased with me? What is the matter?" cried Grace.

But the friend turned to William Darling, and began to expostulate with him.

"I am not surprised that you should be carried away by the stream of admiration which has been lately pouring in upon you," he said, "but I never expected that you would consent to such a thing as this in connection with Batty. Grace might not know better, perhaps, but I cannot think how her father could ever give his consent to her submitting to the degradation of exposing herself in the area of a circus for any idle eyes that please to gaze upon her."

"What do you mean?" cried Mr. Darling, in horror. "I cannot understand you! I have given my consent to nothing of the kind!"

"Have you really done it without your father's permission?" said the friend, turning to Grace.

"I wish you would explain yourself," said she. "I do nothing without first consulting my father, and I am conscious of no wrong now."

"Yes, explain yourself," said Mr. Darling. "No man can be more anxious than I to protect his daughter. Grace never has, and never shall do anything that would compromise her fair fame. I will watch jealously over that."

William Darling felt warmly, and spoke as he felt, and the visitor hastened to explain.

"I am told on good authority, and indeed I know it to be true, that Mr. Batty holds an agreement, signed by Grace, in which she pledges herself to appear in his circus!"

"Oh, Grace, you surely never did such a thing!" cried her father.

"No, father; indeed, I did not," said Grace, upon whom, however, a light flashed which caused her to suspect the urbane visitor of a few days before. "But, father, I did sign a paper, which I believed was nothing but an acknowledgment of the money that Mr. Batty sent me."

"Did you put your name at the bottom of the document without first reading it?"

"Yes, I did."

"A most foolish thing to do," remarked their friend; "but the conduct of the man who secured a promise in such a way, was most abominable."

"Certainly it was," replied Mr. Darling; "and such an agreement cannot be binding. Indeed, I will at once compel Mr. Batty to contradict the report which is afloat. What a shame it was!"

Grace coloured with vexation, and there was an indignant ring in her voice, which told how deeply the insult had hurt her.

"I could not help being flattered by the attentions he paid me," said Grace; "but now, that I see what they were for, I feel completely humiliated."

"I will write a letter to this Batty at once," said Mr. Darling, "and let him know what we think of his conduct."

"Do," replied his friend, "you cannot be too decided in such a matter."

Mr. Darling wrote, expressing, in strong terms, the indignation which they all felt at the deception which had been practised upon them, and insisted that Mr. Batty should at once contradict the false report which he had published.

The friend who had cared so much for the family as to come to the islands to expostulate with the Darlings on this subject, received the warmest thanks, both of Grace and her father, for his kindness and solicitude. Grace felt that she could scarcely forgive Mr. Batty; and never afterwards alluded to the circumstance, without giving expression to her feelings of mortification. She had been really humiliated; and the occurrence caused her to feel what every woman does feel in similar circumstances, that although good deeds draw the attention of the world upon herself, yet there is very much that is repugnant connected with publicity. The little glimpse that is here given of the character of Grace Darling's father is interesting. He was a member of the Church of England, and a good man. He was upright, honourable, and courageous, as we have already seen several times; and he was very particular with regard to the habits of the children. He did not allow cards nor dice in his household, nor believe that people could go to theatres without receiving some contamination. He wanted the young men and women of his family to be content with simple pleasures, and find their joy in doing their duty, and in the companionships of their home. He had a special wish that the girls should be modest and retiring; and although Grace had been forced to the front, he was still anxious that she should not lose any of her maidenly reserve. It can, therefore, be imagined how she was shocked and pained at the idea of her appearing in the circus.

Grace become more and more famous as the time went on. She paid a visit to the Duchess of Northumberland, who sent for her, but such an event deserves a special chapter. She did not see the Queen, but Her Majesty was well acquainted with the heroic deed, and the following ballad is said to have been sung in the presence of our royal and beloved Lady:—

"The winds blew hard, the day looked dark, The clouds shot light'ning forth, But still the bold and vent'rous bark Sailed from the black'ning north. To foam was dashed each threat'ning wave, As o'er the vessel flew; The sea yawned like a hungry grave Around the gallant crew.

"When night closed in the storm grew worse, The boldest heart did quail; The pious prayer—the wicked curse— Were mingled with the gale. On, on they flew, with fated force; They struck the deadly reef: They sank! and through the wind so hoarse Was heard the shriek of grief.

"While many a manly spirit quenched Its life beneath the wave, A few from death a moment wrenched, Clung o'er an awful grave. Their cries were heard from lonely tower, Unseen amidst the gloom; A simple girl was sent, with power To snatch them from the tomb.

"She urged her aged sire to ply, With her, the frail boat's oar; A father's love had mastery, He dared not leave the shore. Her prayers prevailed—they forth were led By God's own helping hand; And those who were accounted dead Sang praises on the land.

"'Tis sad to think the ocean cave May hide a gem so pure— But joy to feel 'tis ours to save Such worth from fate obscure. Then let us sing 'The boatie rows,' To tell of her fair fame, Who honour on the race bestows— Grace Darling is her name.

"'The boatie rows, the boatie rows,' In safety through the deep; For Grace on Mercy's mission goes, And angels watch shall keep."

Numerous songs in honour of the lighthouse-maiden were written and sung, some of which we shall give in these pages. Among the rest was the following, which both Grace and her father highly esteemed, as it was from the pen of Wordsworth:—

"Among the dwellers in the silent fields The natural heart was touched, and public way, And crowded street, resound with ballad strains, Inspired by one, whose very name bespeaks Favour divine, exalting human love, Whom, since her birth on bleak Northumbria's coast, Known but to few, but prized as far as known, A single act endears to high and low Through the whole land—to manhood, moved in spite Of the world's freezing cares—to generous youth— To infancy, that lisps her praise—and age, Whose eye reflects it, glistering through a tear Of tremulous admiration. Such true fame Awaits her now; but, verily, good deeds Do not imperishable record find Save in the rolls of heaven, where her's may live, A theme for angels, when they celebrate The high-soul'd virtues which forgetful earth Has witnessed. Oh! that winds and waves could speak Of things which their united power call'd forth From the pure depths of her humanity! A maiden gentle, yet, at duty's call, Firm and unflinching as the lighthouse reared. On the island rock, her lonely dwelling place, Or like the invincible rock itself that braves, Age after age, the hostile elements, As when it guarded holy Cuthbert's cell.

"All night the storm had raged, nor ceased nor paused, When, as day broke, the maid, through misty air, Espies far off a wreck, amid the surf, Beating on one of those disastrous isles. Half of a vessel!—half—no more! The rest Had vanished, swallowed up with all that there Had for the common safety striven in vain, Or thither thronged for refuge. With quick glance Daughter and sire through optic glass discern, Clinging about the remnant of this ship, Creatures—how precious in the maiden's sight! For whom, belike, the old man grieves still more Than for their fellow-sufferers engulphed Where every parting agony is hushed, And hope and fear mix not in further strife. 'But courage, father! let us out to sea— A few may yet be saved.' The daughter's words, Her earnest tone and look, beaming with faith, Dispel the father's doubts; nor do they lack The noble-minded mother's helping hand To launch the boat; and with her blessing cheer'd, And inwardly sustained by silent prayer, Together they put forth, father and child! Each grasps an oar, and, struggling, on they go— Rivals in effort; and, alike intent Here to elude and there to surmount, they watch The billows lengthening, mutually cross'd And shattered, and regathering their might, As if the wrath and troubles of the sea Were by the Almighty's sufferance prolong'd That woman's fortitude—so tried, so proved— May brighten more and more!

"True to that mark, They stem the current of that perilous gorge, Their arms still strengthening with the strengthening heart, Though danger, as the wreck is neared, becomes More imminent. Nor unseen do they approach; And rapture, with varieties of fear Incessantly conflicting, thrills the frame Of those who, in that dauntless energy, Foretaste deliverance; but the least perturb'd Can scarcely trust his eyes, when he perceives That of the pair—tossed on the waves to bring Hope to the hopeless, to the dying, life— One is a woman, a poor earthly sister; Or, be the visitant other than she seems! A guardian spirit sent from pitying heaven, In woman's shape! But why prolong the tale, Casting weak words amid a host of thoughts Arm'd to repel them? Every hazard faced, And difficulty mastered, with resolve That no one breathing should be left to perish, This last remainder of the crew were all Placed in the little boat, then o'er the deep Are safely borne, landed upon the beach, And in fulfilment of God's mercy, lodged Within the sheltering lighthouse. Shout, ye waves! Pipe a glad song of triumph, ye fierce winds! Ye screaming sea mews in the concert join! And would that some immortal voice, Fitly attuned to all that gratitude Breathes out from flock or couch through pallid lips Of the survivors, to the clouds might bear— (Blended with praise of that parental love, Pious and pure, modest and yet so brave, Though young so wise, though meek so resolute) Might carry to the clouds, and to the stars, Yea, to celestial choirs, GRACE DARLING'S name."

By a less-known writer, but one who was evidently a keen admirer of Grace, the following lines were also written:—

"'Over the wave, the stormy wave, Hasten, dear father, with me, The crew to save from the wat'ry grave, Deep in the merciless sea. Hear ye the shriek, the piercing shriek, Hear ye the cry of despair? With courage quick the wreck we'll seek, Danger united we'll dare.

"'Out with the boat, the gallant boat; Not a moment to be lost. See! she's afloat, proudly afloat, And high on the waves we're tossed; Mother, adieu, a short adieu; Your prayers will rise to heaven. Father, to you—your child and you— Power to save is given.

"'I have no fear, no maiden fear; My heart is firm to the deed, I shed no tear, no coward tear; I've strength in the time of need. Heard ye the crash, the horrid crash? Their mast over the side is gone; Yet on we dash, 'mid lightning flash, Safe, through the pelting storm.

"'The wreck we near, the wreck we near; Our bonny boat seems to fly; List to the cheer—their welcome cheer— They know that succour is nigh.' And on that night, that dreadful night, The father and daughter brave, With strengthened might they both unite, And many dear lives they save.

"Hail to the maid, the fearless maid, The maid of matchless worth, She'll e'er abide the cherished pride Of the land that gave her birth. They send her gold, her name high uphold, Honour and praise to impart; But, with true regard, the loved reward Is the joy of her own brave heart."

Very beautiful are the following lines, which appeared in the "Newcastle Chronicle," and were written by Miss Eleanor Louise Montague:—

"Sweet spirit of the merciful, That smoothed the watery way! From the true throb of heart to heart Thou wilt not turn away; Oh! softly, wilt thou lend thine ear, When 'mid the tempest's war, The feeble voice of woman's praise Shall greet thee from afar.

"I see thee in thy rock-built home, Swept by the dashing seas, I hear thy voice as on that night It stilled the rushing breeze. When stirred by heavenly visions, Thou didst burst the bonds of sleep, To take thy place in peril's path— The angel of the deep!

"Oh, where was then the tender form That quailed to every blast! Like the bread-gift to the famished, 'Upon the waters cast!' True to thy woman's nature still, While scorning woman's fears, Oh, strongest in her gentleness, And mightiest in her tears!

"Fair as thine own heroic deed Thou risest on my dream, A halo is around thee, 'Tis the tempest's lightning gleam— Upborne by every billow, And o'erswept by every gale, One sound hath nerved thy noble heart— The dying seaman's wail!

"Thine eye onto the wreck is turned— Thy hand is on the oar— Where is that death-prolonging shriek? It thrills the seas no more! A human soul to life hath risen Where'er thy wing hath waved: The wail is hushed—the storm is past— The perishing are saved!

"Thou standest, like thy native home, A beacon lit on high; Thy name comes o'er the waters Like a nation's gathering cry; And England's sons shall hail thee, Where'er that name shall thrill, A glory upon every wave— A light on every hill!"

So much praise was enough to turn the head of any less sensible girl than our heroine; but one who knew wrote of her after this time, in the "Berwick and Kelso Warder:"—"It is indeed gratifying to state, that amidst all the tumults of applause, Grace Darling never for a moment forgot the modest dignity of conduct which became her sex and station. The flattering testimonials of all kinds which were showered upon her, never produced in her mind any feeling but a sense of wonder and pleasure. She continued, notwithstanding the improvement of her circumstances, to reside at the Longstone lighthouse with her father and mother, finding, in her limited sphere of domestic duty on the sea-girt islet, a more honourable and more lasting enjoyment than could be found in the more crowded haunts of the mainland, and thus afforded, by her conduct, the best proof that the liberality of the public had not been unworthily bestowed."

A paper written in the "Scotsman" on the subject is exceedingly good, and no doubt amazed and delighted Grace as much as those that were more apparently eulogistic; for to a sensible, modest girl, too much praise is more disagreeable than none at all.

"The Grace Darling Mania.—Never was poor girl in so fair a way of being spoiled as Grace Darling. We were amongst the first to acknowledge the credit due to this young damsel for her exertions at the wreck of the 'Forfarshire;' but really we begin to have serious apprehensions lest she herself should be whirled away by the tide of public favour which has set in so strongly towards her. Truly, the storm which roared and whistled over the Fern rocks on the night of her achievement has awakened a pretty echo in the mainland. Not only have large sums of money been collected throughout the country to reward the little heroine, but various silver cups and medals have been presented to her, both from private individuals and humane societies. Five pounds, it is said, have been given by one person (though not to her) for a lock of her hair, while the painter, the sculptor, and the poet, have caught the mania, and endeavoured to give permanence to her celebrity. She has even been represented on the London stage in the person of Mrs. Yates, and some whispers were lately afloat of her appearing in Batty's arena in propria persona. She is also, we perceive, made the subject of a tale now in course of publication; while a vessel lately launched at Sunderland has been called after her name. In short, Grace Darling is the fashion. Dukes and Duchesses have entertained her as their guest, and she has even been honoured and rewarded by Royalty itself. What mortal girl could bear up against such rewards—such flatteries? Without detracting from her really praiseworthy conduct, there is, we think, in the sensation she has created, a little touch of the romantic. Had Grace Darling been a married woman, dwelling in some poor alley in an ordinary town, and with no rarer or prettier an appellation than Smith, Brown, M'Tavish, or Higginbottom, a greater deed would, perhaps, have won her less favour. But a young woman—a sea-nymph—inhabiting a rock in the ocean, and coming to the few survivors of the wreck, like a bird of calm over the troubled waters—who, that has a beating pulse, could resist! Grace Darling, too, is a name to take one's heart and one's memory; and although 'a rose by any other name would smell as sweet,' we cannot for all the pretty pleading of Juliet, read or speak about roses without feeling something of their fragrance. If, previous to that deed which has gilded her humble name, any honest fisher-lad ever saw in Grace Darling more to admire than even the world has seen since, he will win a true heart if he contrive to keep her affections. Those who have accidentally risen are, in general, the least inclined to stoop; and if she do not number suitors with Miss Burdett Coutts or Queen Victoria herself, Malthus or Martineau, one, or both of them, must answer for it. Meanwhile with Grace Darling we have no quarrel; and if her modesty only outlive the honours heaped upon her, we shall be the first to acknowledge that her courage has deserved them."

Many a laugh, we may be sure, had the lighthouse-family over such articles, though there can be no doubt that the good sense of Grace caused her to take advantage of every lesson taught to her, whether by words of praise or blame. We cannot, perhaps, exalt her deed too highly, but it should always be borne in mind, that she would have been just as good a girl if the "Forfarshire" had never been wrecked on the coast of the Farne Islands. Grace was heroic already, but the catastrophe brought her qualities of courage, endurance, and humanity, to the front. One feels glad to know that all the praise did not make her other than the humble British girl, though few, perhaps, could pass through such an ordeal of adulation unscathed. The flatteries had, however, a ludicrous as well as a touching side, as may be seen from the following extract. Hero-worship leads to the hoarding of many things, including bark of trees, stones, mortar, old rags, and hair; and it is little wonder if Grace found the latter tendency rather inconvenient.

"Grace Darling's name is now as well known throughout the island as Queen Anne's; and to tell people of the decease of the one is about as necessary as to warn them of the living glory of the other. Grace is the admired of all admirers, and far is it from us to wish her grace diminished in men's eyes, or herself less a darling than she is at present. But the enthusiasm of gratitude and idolatry is becoming somewhat alarming. We know not how the persons who, principally by her intrepidity, were saved from the wreck of the 'Forfarshire,' may feel towards their 'good angel in the hour of fate,' but every body else seems to think of her as one to whom they owe the life of some being related to themselves by blood, and inestimably prized by affection. The universal feeling in this case shows us how truly

'One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.'

"All feel individually grateful to Grace Darling; and not a stranger that talks of her but knows her intimately. But, as we have said, the expression of this feeling of love and reverence is assuming an awkward character. It has taken, it appears, the shape or shapes of infinite demands upon her generosity in a minor way—of countless and incalculable requests addressed to her by admirers of heroism, whenever stirred out of their arm chairs but to accommodate themselves, and trumpeters of intrepidity who have fainted at the bare idea of getting wet-footed, that she will be so exceedingly self-devoted and munificent as to clip from her head a curl—just one—as a token by which her name and nature may be identified and treasured up; just one ringlet—one apiece, for upwards of ten thousand applicants scattered over various parts of the kingdom, but all linked together by a common sentiment. The last report is (we quote the newspapers) that Grace is nearly bald; that lock after lock has gone, each finding its way into ring, brooch, or locket, until

'The Darling of life's crew'

discovers, like Caesar, that a laurel crown may be worn for use as well as ornament—may hide as well as adorn. Really, a lock at a time is an extravagance—a hair should suffice; for if ever it could be said that

'Beauty draws us by a single hair,'

it may be said of the moral beauty of Grace Darling.

"It is impossible to guard ourselves against the tendencies to enthusiastic devotion for the living life preserver, because the very name is a provocative. Were two such words ever before combined to form a name?—the one expressing the natural quality of the bearer of it, and the other defining what her deeds have made her in the regard of others."

Not only was Grace Darling herself likely to be made bald by the request of her loving admirers, but those who belonged to her shared the same inconvenience. One of her younger brothers was away at sea, and did not know of his sister's fame until he came into the Thames. No sooner, however, was his name heard than he had to answer a number of questions. Did he know anything of the Longstone lighthouse? Had he a sister? Was the great Grace Darling any relation to him? As soon as it was known that he really belonged to the same family, he was himself exalted into a hero of the second class, and people thronged round to look at, admire, and cross-question him. The young fellow bore it all very good-humouredly—in fact, he rather liked it. But after a time his numerous and newly-found friends conceived the idea of possessing a lock of the Darling hair, and the young man could not well refuse so flattering a request. So one helped herself, and told her friend, who told his friend, and so it went on; and the end was, that young Darling, who possessed a curly head of hair, became completely, and rather irregularly shorn.

We give two other extracts from papers that appeared at the time, or soon after. The following is from the "Spectator:"—

"It is not often that heroines of real life possess the adventitious attractions of a pretty name, or a charming person; but Grace Darling has both. She would unquestionably have been loved and admired as heartily had she been Dorothy Dobbs, with a wide mouth, snub nose, and a squint; but it is pleasant to find coupled with a fine and generous nature, a lovely face, and a name at once euphonious and cherishable. Grace Darling! Poet or novelist need not desire one better fitted to bestow on a paragon of womanhood; we would see it embalmed in a sonnet by Wordsworth, or a lyric by Campbell; but it will live in our land's language, even if not immortalised in song."

The "Sunderland Herald," of November 22nd, contained the following interesting article on the Darlings:—

"Grace Darling, the heroine of the day, was born on the 24th of November, 1815; consequently she will be twenty-three on Saturday, the 24th inst. She is rather short in stature, being only five feet two and a half inches in height, but well proportioned. Her features are admirably adapted for the skill of the painter, and equally so for the chisel of the sculptor. She is modest and remarkably pleasant in her manners, and perfectly free from the shy awkward gait of country girls in general. And you will be surprised when I inform you, that there is excellent accommodation to be met with at the Longstone lighthouse, although it stands alone, upon a barren rock, five miles from the mainland. The tower is very ingeniously constructed, and contains a well-furnished sitting room, in which is a capital collection of popular works, and three or four comfortable bedrooms. These, with an abundance of good, wholesome, homely fare, together with the very cheerful service of Grace and her parents, render a visit to the Farne Islands a treat of no ordinary description. Grace was taught to read and write by her father, together with seven of her brothers and sisters; and their school-room was the lantern of the lighthouse.

"William Darling, the father of Grace, is only in the fifty-fourth year of his age, though he looks much older His face reminds me of the late Thomas Stothard, R.A., the painter of the Canterbury Pilgrimage, and his person, of the venerable Earl Grey. He reads much, and is most passionately fond of natural history.

"Mrs. Darling is a hale, comely old lady, bordering on threescore, and may be found engaged three parts of the day at her spinning wheel. It is true she assisted to make ready the boat at day-break, on the morning of the melancholy wreck of the 'Forfarshire,' but her heart failed when her husband and child pushed off; and, as the wave receded from the rock on which she stood trembling, with tears she exclaimed, 'Oh, Grace, if your father is lost, I'll blame a' you for this morning's work?' And who would censure the mother under such circumstances, especially when the fact is known, that she was left alone on the island to witness their struggles as they crossed a pass between the Longstone rocks and those on which the surviving sufferers of the ill-fated 'Forfarshire' were anxiously looking out for help? The particulars of that noble deed have already been published, but I happen to have a newspaper account of another heroic action by the same family, which took place in the month of December, 1834, and was thus noticed in the 'Berwick Advertiser':—

"On Saturday night, December 27th, about eleven o'clock, the sloop 'Autumn,' of Peterhead, coal-laden, ran upon the Naestone rock, outside the Farne Islands, and immediately sunk; the master, in endeavouring to get the boat launched, unfortunately went down with the sloop! The other two men (being the whole of the crew), clung to the mast and topmast, and as the tide receded, descended the ship's deck, and finally, about four o'clock in the morning, the rock appeared, which they got upon, and remained there till about eight o'clock, when they were discovered by the lighthouse-keeper, Darling, who most providentially, having his three sons with him spending their Christmas, got out their boat, and got alongside the rock about nine o'clock (half an hour before it was covered by the returning tide), and with great exertion succeeded in getting a rope thrown to one of the men, who, having lashed himself, was dragged through the sea to the boat; the other poor fellow, having previously died upon the fatal rock, was left there. With very great exertions Darling and his sons gained the lighthouse, having broken two of their oars whilst attempting to approach the rock; and thus crippled, they got a small sail set, but the wind being against them, they had much difficulty in regaining the island. Very great praise is due to Darling and his sons for their great exertions—having run a considerable risk in approaching the rock with a heavy sea. A signal gun upon each island where the lighthouses are, would be of very great use in cases of accidents of this sort, when assistance could be immediately had from North Sunderland, Bamborough, or Holy Island—for had it not been for the circumstance of Darling's sons being there, this poor fellow must inevitably have perished."

We are sure that the birthday of the heroine referred to in the above extracts was celebrated in many a home, and that hundreds of thousands of people wished her many happy returns of the day, a wish which, however, was not to be realised. But there can be no doubt that the day was a most happy one to her; for it is not many who, looking back upon a past year, can think of any good deed that deserves to stand side by side with that of Grace Darling.

The following birthday lines were written for her by Mr. J. G. Grant, of Sunderland:—-

"Maid of the Isle, heroic Grace! 'Midst desert rocks and tempests thrown, As though in sternest clime and place, Where life and man have scarce a trace, Maternal Nature would embrace A heroine of her own!

"Methinks, while yet in cradled sleep, She loved and destined thee to be A dweller of the craggy steep, A watcher of the stormy deep, And bade its wild waves nurse and keep Thy heart as strong and free.

"She bade thee draw a deep delight— An influence kind—an impulse brave, From every season in its flight, From gentle Spring and Summer bright, From golden Autumn, and the might Of winter's wind and wave.

"By every aspect she could show, In heaven above and earth below, She bade thy spirit statelier grow, And 'champion human fears!' Courage and love she bade thee know, And with the noblest passions glow, And melt with noblest tears!

"Like Ocean's daughter—Peril's bride— She nurs'd thee by the roaring tide, The playmate of its storms, And bade thee be in soul allied With moral grandeur, strength and pride, To her thy monitress and guide In all her moods and forms.

"To thee she said, in accents bland, 'These desert rocks and wild sea-land Shall be as dear a father-land As ever yet was dearest; 'Midst all of lone, and stern, and grand, Thy heart shall burn, thy soul expand, And thou shall know and understand My voice in all thou hearest

"'Day's radiant arch—night's cloudy dome, Alike shall see thee fearless roam, And life to thee shall dear become, And thou its humblest forms shall blend With the sweet charities of home, S'en the poor sea-bird on the foam Shalt be to thee a friend!'

"This nature wills; her will avails, Thy matchless deed may show. Thy lofty heart that did not quail When raged on high the stormy gale, And ocean rag'd below. A meed of glory shall not fail! Grace Darling's is the noblest tale That e'er made woman's cheeks look pale, Or man's with envy glow!

"Heroic girl! these volumes take, For proudest admiration's sake; Proud volumes so possess'd! And may my own brave Constance make A kindred admiration wake In thy congenial breast!

"And wouldst thou know, 'heart-honoured maid! How thrice a thousand-fold repaid My humble gift may be? With cheerful hand and heart unbraid The band thy modest brow that shades, And send, with three kind words convey'd, One little tress to me!

"Be this a birthday doubly bless'd! Joy to thine aged mother's breast! And long, caressing and caress'd, May her maternal kiss, While peaceful years melt calm away, Make to thy heart each natal day As joyous e'en as this!

"Brave daughter of a sire as brave As ever risked a surging grave, In tides of stormiest swell! Thou that didst share that fearful strife, All joy be to thee, maid or wife! And may'st thou brave the storms of life As fearlessly and well."

It may be interesting to the reader to know that the boat which carried Grace Darling and her father to the "Forfarshire," is probably in existence at the present day, It came into the possession of Mr. George Darling, of North Sunderland, who was the brother of Grace; and he took great care of it—this boat, with a history of which so many people had thought with tears in their eyes! He had often been solicited to sell it, and at last did so, to Major Joicey, of Stocksfield-on-Tyne. Pieces of this boat have come in for the affection usually bestowed on interesting relics, for some planks that were taken out for repairs have been preserved as great treasures, and snuff-boxes and other articles have been made from them. But nothing is needed to keep in the hearts of the people of our own and other lands the memory of the gallant deed. Grace Darling is loved still, and we do not forget our beloved ones.

These records give some idea of the enthusiasm which had been awakened by the splendid deed which has been related. Cold-hearted critics there were, no doubt, who, never having done an unselfish action in their lives, would not believe in Grace Darling's disinterestedness, and buttoned their pockets closely when asked to contribute towards the testimonial which was presented to her. But these were very few. The greater number who heard of the heroine's name were generous in their praise, so that her name became a household word among them, and they were right, for they learned the blessedness of giving.



CHAPTER XIV.

A VISIT TO ALNWICK CASTLE.

"A young rose in the summer-time Is beautiful to me, And glorious are the many stars That glimmer on the sea; But gentle words and loving hearts, And hands to clasp my own, Are better than the brightest flowers Or stars that ever shone.

"The sun may warm the grass to life, The dew the drooping flower, And eyes grow bright, and watch the light Of Autumn's opening hour; But words that breathe of tenderness, And smiles we know are true, Are warmer than the summer time, And brighter than the dew.

"It is not much the world can give With all its subtle art, And gold and gems are not the things To satisfy the heart; But oh, if those who cluster round. The altar and the hearth, Have gentle words, and loving smiles, How beautiful is earth!"—C. D. Stewart.

It has already been intimated that one of the pleasures which was given to Grace, as the reward of her heroic deed, was caused by the kindly notice and sympathy of one of the most noble ladies of the north—namely, the Duchess of Northumberland. We have already referred to some of the members of this ancient family, and their baronial residence, Alnwick Castle. In the midst of the congratulations and honours which were heaped upon her, the humble lighthouse maiden was startled, as well as gratified, to receive an invitation from Her Grace to visit her. It is not difficult to imagine the flutter of excitement which this caused, nor to picture Grace, with glowing cheeks and bright eyes, as she talked of the event with her father and mother. She was, indeed, almost overcome by the prospect of it, and terribly anxious lest she should not acquit herself properly in the interview. It may be safely said that she was far more afraid of facing the great people than she had been of contending with the wild and angry waves. She knew what to expect from them, but she was rather puzzled to know what was expected of her when she should appear before the noble ladies and gentlemen who wished to see her. Still, of course, she must go bravely to the one as she had gone to the other; for such an honour, which would certainly occur only once even in her eventful life, must not be slighted. She greatly mistrusted herself, for she had lived very quietly in her lighthouse-home, and was thoroughly unversed and inexperienced in the ways of the great world; and the thought of going into such illustrious society as that of the Duchess might well have made even more worldly-wise people than Grace Darling perturbed and anxious.

"I am sure," she said, "that I shall make some stupid mistake, or not be able to answer the questions that are put to me as I ought."

"Perhaps not," said her father. "It is a trying ordeal for you, Grace, but I do not think you need be afraid; for every one speaks of the Duchess as a most kind and condescending lady. Of course, she will not expect from you those forms and ceremonies which other people render, for she will know that your education has been of a different sort from that which is given to those who have to shine in courts; but I am quite sure she will make you feel at your ease, and that this visit which you dread will be most pleasurable."

Thus comforted, Grace was able to bear to look forward more calmly to the coming honour. Mr. Darling was a wise man, and he knew how to make even this visit a simple and natural thing, by introducing some of the home element into it.

"We will first go and see William," he said, for his son was living at Alnwick, "and make him happy by a visit. He will almost be too proud of his sister now, I imagine."

"It will be very good to see him," said Grace, who loved her brother, and who thought henceforth of him when she thought of her visit to the castle.

At last the day arrived on which she was expected. She dressed in her usual simple style, and looked neat, pretty, and unpretending, as she always did. Her mother was quite satisfied with her appearance, and went down to the water's edge with her to bid her good-bye, and see her start with her father.

They had a pleasant sail over the sea, and a warm greeting from William, and then they went together to the castle.

It is a grand old place; and as they approached it, the heart of Grace Darling was moved with admiration and awe. She thought of the olden times, and all the scenes which those walls had witnessed, and begged her father now and again to wait, while she examined the different devices and relics that were visible. Through the gloomy archway they passed, and then the castle, with its towers and battlements, was before them, and presently they had entered the court. As soon as their names were known, they were at once admitted, and an usher conducted them up the spacious staircase, where the emblazoned escutcheons were numerous, end where the lofty ceiling especially attracted the admiration of the girl. They were then led into a splendid saloon, whose walls were hung with portraits of the Percy family; and here the Duchess of Northumberland received the heroine of the Farne Isles.

For a moment Grace felt embarrassed as she recognised the fact of the personality of the lady who, with gentle dignity, stood before her. But soon, when the kindly voice of the Duchess addressed the girl, she ventured to lift her hazel eyes to the fair face of the questioner, and then she met a smile so sweet and reassuring that her timidity vanished. It may be safely affirmed that the visit gave fully as much pleasure to one as to the other; and the Duchess, allowing this to be seen, was able to elicit from Grace her own description of the brave and perilous feat which had gained the honour of an introduction to the castle. When his daughter had finished, however, Mr. Darling asked permission to give his version of the affair, remarking that the modesty of his daughter had caused her to omit several points of interest. The Duchess listened to him with respect, and now and then asked a question, which caused the man to feel that her heart was touched by the deed of heroism that his daughter had performed.

When she had been made acquainted with the facts from the lips of those who were better able than any one beside to give an account of them, the Duchess complimented them both on their courage, intrepidity, and humanity, remarking to Grace that she would always feel particularly interested in her, and would adopt her as her special protegee.

"You will perhaps be surprised to find," said the Duchess, graciously, "that the fame of your heroic deed has reached the Court of the Queen, and has been talked of in the presence of Her Majesty, who has commissioned me to express to you her approval of your conduct."

Tears came to Grace's eyes, and she could scarcely speak, though every fresh sentence made her again and again bow in humility; and her courtesy expressed her thanks better than words could do.

"Nor is that all," said the Duchess. "Her Majesty has commanded me to be the bearer of a present to you, and I trust it will contribute to your comfort and delight. The Queen is quick to recognise any good deeds of her subjects, and those who save life are especially dear to her. I am sure you will be gratified by the notice of the Royal Lady."

She was, indeed; but had she attempted to say so tears must have fallen, and the girl was really too much excited to speak. Her father, however, who saw how matters stood, took the burden himself.

"Your Grace will, I hope, kindly pardon my daughter," he said. "She is overwhelmed by the condescension of your Grace, and that of the Queen; but, indeed, I know that she is most anxious to thank you, and does it in her heart, if she cannot trust herself to put her sentiments into words."

The Duchess looked first at the slender, frightened girl, and then at the venerable form of her aged-looking father, and, as she thought of the deed which they had done between them, she accorded them most generous praise and admiration.

"Let me give you now Her Majesty's present," she said, handing a packet to Grace, "and also ask you to accept from the Duke and myself a token of our appreciation and regard."

After this Mr. and Miss Darling were conducted by an attendant to one of the housekeeper's rooms, where they were asked to partake of some refreshment. They had never before seen such a display of magnificence and elegance; and as they took their meal, they could scarcely help smiling at the contrast between their own humble home and the luxuries which were strewn around them. The housekeeper knew how at once to please the Duchess and her visitors, and make the latter feel at home, even while they wondered at the splendour around them. She wanted to make the lighthouse-keeper and his daughter really happy, and give them such a treat as they would always remember with pleasure; and in her efforts she was seconded by all the other members of the household, who vied with each other in their attentions to their homely, but celebrated guests; and the respect, and even deference with which they were treated could not be otherwise than grateful to the feelings of those whom Alnwick that day delighted to honour.

When the repast was ended, Grace and her father were asked if they would like to look over the castle, and see its treasures, both ancient and modern. They replied that they would be greatly delighted to do so, and a very pleasant time was spent in visiting and examining the different apartments. They saw the library, which set Grace longing, for good books were her delight; and such books as those in the library at Alnwick had hitherto only been seen by Grace in her dreams. Next to the library, she admired the chapel, which is indeed worthy of all admiration, for the magnificence and beauty of its adornments can scarcely be surpassed.

Grace Darling was particularly interested in all that she saw. She had not grown up in an ignorant, uncultured state, and her familiarity with books, and especially with ballads, caused her to observe everything around that presented new ideas and lessons. She had quick powers of perception, and nothing was unnoticed or misunderstood by her. It is absurd to see the blank astonishment, or dull sleepy inertness with which some tourists look upon the castles and other great show-places of our country. They evidently do not understand what is said, though they are anxious to "do" the thing properly, and to secure a guide for the purpose of assisting them. But Grace brought a large amount of intelligence to bear upon this visit, and she received proportionate pleasure and instruction in consequence.

When the rooms had been visited, Grace and her father passed into the court-yard, when the porter, whose office it was to conduct strangers around the building, came forward to act as their guide.

"So you have seen the interior of the castle, Mr. Darling? It is a very grand place, both outside and in, and there are wonderful pictures and so on, but I assure you that I shall have the pleasure of showing you things far more astonishing and interesting than you have seen yet. Come with me! Now, this is the seat of Henry Hotspur, what do you think of that?"

Old memories came rushing over Grace, and especially of the border ballads which she had learned long ago.

"Lord Percy made a solemn feast, In Alnwick's princely hall, And there came lords, and there came knights, His chiefs and barons all."

"Now, come into the armoury, Miss Grace, for there are things there that are particularly well worth looking at. Now, these are weapons used in the French war. The Duke of Northumberland raised an army of volunteers, and he supported them, too, and these are the arms we used."

"Were you then one of the volunteers who served under the command of His Grace?" inquired Miss Darling.

"Yes, indeed," said the man, with a touch of natural pride; "I was one of them, and would not have been left out of the number for a good deal."

"What are these things?" inquired Grace, as they stood near some very simple implements of warfare.

"They were brought from Otaheite," replied their guide. "Take them in your hands, Miss Grace, and see what you think of them, and what use you could make of them."

"I understand the use of an English oar much better," said Grace, with a smile, and this brought another of the many compliments which the guide passed upon her prowess and gallantry.

"This is one of the canoes which they use," he continued; "will you get in and endeavour to paddle yourself across the lake?"

Grace was delighted to make the attempt, and still more pleased when she succeeded in it.

After the usual remarks of the guide had been duly attended to, he directed their attention to the donjon-keep—an abode so full of dreary horror, that to it might justly be applied Dante's motto above the gates of Eblis. Mr. Darling and Grace pursued this tour around the ramparts of the castle, admiring afresh the view down the soft green sloping lawn, to the beautiful and varied windings of the Aln. They and their guide had by this time become familiar, and many a treasured legend and traditionary tale were told relating to the house of Percy.

Stopping near a piece of artillery of an unusual design, their conductor desired them to observe with attention its form and appearance, for (continued he) I must tell you a singular circumstance respecting this field-piece. "Many years ago this cannon was taken by a party of English soldiers, during an engagement with the Spanish army on the banks of the Tagus, brought to this country, and some time after presented to His Grace. It happened on a Sunday morning, that two Spanish officers, passing through Alnwick, desired to see through the castle. When arrived at this particular spot, they stopped short, one of them exclaiming, 'By heavens! this is the cannon lost by my men on the banks of the Tagus!' 'Ha, ha! Mr. Darling, was it not a good joke that this very Spanish officer should have come all the way to Alnwick Castle to find a favourite piece of cannon lost by himself in his own country?' When His Grace returned from church, I took an opportunity of relating the whole circumstance, and that I believed, from their manners, they would have liked to have taken it away with them. The reply made by His Grace was—'They should have taken more care of it when they had it.' 'Ha, ha! young lady, they should have taken more care when they had it!'" [1]

After this the pleasant visit soon came to an end; but even before it did so, Grace found it difficult to concentrate her thoughts upon the remarks of their amusing guide. The mention of the word Spain brought to the mind of the girl a lady whom in all fidelity she loved still, who was at that time dwelling in that country—namely, Miss Caroline Dudley. The girl felt that to see her friend again would give her greater pleasure than many of the honours that were heaped upon her; and she could not resist the feeling of regret and melancholy that stole over her as she thought of the great distance between them. She wondered, no doubt, whether the fame of her deed would reach the ear of her friend, and if so, what she would think of it. Woman-like, Grace would surely value much more the simple expression of approbation which fell from the lips, or was written by the hand of one whom she loved, than all the flatteries which the press heaped upon her, and the crowd endorsed.

The day spent at the castle remained in the memory of Grace for another reason than that of the kindly notice of the Duchess of Northumberland. It was known in Alnwick that the heroine whom they all delighted to honour was in the neighbourhood, and the town became astir with the news. All who were acquainted with Grace knew that she shrank from publicity and formality; but such an opportunity could not be allowed to pass unimproved, and therefore the folk did their best to show the maiden how much they loved her for her heroic conduct. The news was rapidly circulated through the town, and an immense crowd gathered outside the castle, and waited for the Darlings. No sooner did they appear than the concourse sent up such a cheer that the air rang with it. Surely no people can shout like the English can; for they put their hearts into their voices when their enthusiasm has been really aroused, and then the applause has a most thrilling sound. It was, however, almost more than Grace could bear, and it frightened her so much that she clung to her father for his protection. Again the loud hurrahs rose in the air, and Grace's face turned pale, and her heart beat violently.

"Do not be afraid, Grace. Only look at the people, and you will find that they are all your friends."

Truly they were; and though, like English crowds, they were a little boisterous, and though they did press closely to Grace, in order to have a look at her, and though they tried to touch her hands, or at all events her clothes, their faces were so friendly, and they looked so good-humoured, and were evidently so delighted with their own good fortune, that it was impossible for Grace to feel very antagonistic. Still she could not help shrinking from so public a manifestation of the feelings of the people, even though the feelings themselves were kindly toward her; and as the crowd which escorted her increased in numbers, and became even more noisy in its demonstration of delight, she was heartily glad when the abode of her brother was reached, and she could shut the door upon the admirers, and find the quiet for which she longed.

She was even more glad when it was time to return to her dear island home; and when she reached it, she found there had been visitors to the lighthouse, who had regretted to have missed seeing her.

She and her father had been gone some time when a boat came to the island; and two men landed—one elderly, and the other young and handsome. They were dressed like seamen, but were evidently of a superior class to that of the ordinary sailor.

They found Mrs. Darling, and immediately inquired after her husband and daughter, and were not a little surprised and gratified when they heard that Grace had been summoned to Alnwick Castle, on a visit to the Duchess of Northumberland.

"You may well be proud of your honour, Mrs. Darling," said the elder man. "Pretty Grace will be holding her head high after such favour, and lucky will the lad be who wins her love. What do you say, Tom?"

The young man thus addressed said nothing, but his evident embarrassment, and increase of colour, showed that Grace's heroism had touched his heart. He showed his feelings so plainly that he had to endure the usual penance inflicted in such cases, for both Mrs. Darling and the young man's companion laughed heartily at him.

"You will stay until my husband and daughter return!" said Mrs. Darling, with her usual hospitality; and the younger man looked eagerly toward his companion.

"No, thank you, we cannot," replied the latter. "It will be getting dark soon, and we must reach Holy Island before the shadows come. Now then, Tom, hand out the parcel we have brought for Grace, and let us be going."

They had left the island about an hour when Grace and her father reached it. Mrs. Darling was anxious to hear all they had to tell her of the eventful day; and her mother's pride received much gratification when she learned all the particulars.

Then she told them of the visitors that she had had; and at the mention of Tom's name, the colour came into Grace's face. She knew Tom very well. He was an orphan, and his bachelor uncle, who had now accompanied him, had taken care of him since his parents died. He was a frequent visitor at the lighthouse, and long before Grace Darling's name was famous, it had become dear to him. The girl knew that Tom loved her, and it was this knowledge which made her blush. It is true that Tom had never confessed to the feeling that glowed in his breast, but Grace, with a woman's quick-wittedness, comprehended it. Her mother wondered if she also returned it; but at present, notwithstanding her blushes, she did not give him the love that he evidently felt for her.

So ended one of the most eventful days in the girl's history; and very happy it must have made her to feel that her simple effort in the cause of humanity had commended itself both to the rich and great, and to those who lived in the humbler walks of life. So true it is that a good deed, by whomsoever performed, is recognised and admired by all who know of it. The world is not as cold as it seems. And sometimes it can feel, not envy and malice only, but real admiration and respect. It is a pity that there are not more good deeds done, and more of the right kind of enthusiasm created.



[1] "Grace Darling," by W. & T. Fordyce. 1839. [Transcriber's note: This date was blurred—it appears to be 1839, but may be 1889.]



CHAPTER XV.

THE DARLING FAMILY AT HOME.

"The merry homes of England! Around their hearths by night, What gladsome looks of household love Meet in the rudy light! There woman's voice glows forth in song, Or childhood tale is told, Or lips move tunefully along Some glorious page of old.

"The cottage homes of England! By thousands on her plains, They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks, And round the hamlet fanes; Through glowing orchards forth they peep, Each from its nook of leaves; And fearless there the lonely sleep, As the bird beneath their eaves.

"The free fair homes of England! Long long in hut and hall May hearts of native proof be reared To guard each hallowed wall! And green for ever be the groves, And bright the flowery sod, Where first the child's glad spirit loves Its country and its God."—Mrs. Hemans.

It was said by One who knew the hearts of men, "A prophet is not without honour save in his own country and in his own house," and there is a pathos and truth about it that is often felt. Still, sometimes it happens, very happily for those whom it concerns, that the best friends one has are those of one's own household. It was certainly so in the case of Grace Darling. She was always the favourite of her brothers and sisters, and so delighted were they with the deed she had done, and the honours she had won, that it is a wonder that they did not come home to the lighthouse in a body to congratulate her and share in her many honours. They did, however, look forward to the Christmas holidays on that occasion, with most pleasant anticipations, believing that the festival of the year, so memorable in the history of their family would be one of the most happy they had ever spent. And so it was—to Grace especially. She looked forward to it most eagerly, for the praise she had received had made her, not less, but more loving to these friends of her own home. Most of them she had not seen for a year, and she thought with a thrill of delight of the joy that was in store for her when they should again be happily together. She was glad to have received the praise and gifts she had, because she knew that it would be a gratification to them, and she often imagined the pleasure with which she would show them the testimonials and presents which had been given to her. Indeed, it is said that so excited was she, that she could not sleep for thinking about it.

At last the long-looked-for time came, and the Darling family was altogether once more in their beloved lighthouse home, and the anticipations were realised. At first, there was actually a little shy reserve, or distance, in the manner of some of them, as if they expected that their sister would have become a fine lady since so much fuss had been made with her. But Grace, who soon detected this feeling, laughed so merrily at the absurdity of the idea that it soon vanished, and they were brought to see and feel that her honours had not made her one whit less affectionate and humble than she was when they all lived together, and their sister had not been so much as heard of in the great world. They gathered thankfully and joyously around the cheerful fire, and looked into each other's faces, seeing only pleasure and peace there, and the hours passed swiftly, as they thought of Him who came to bring salvation to the world. He seemed to have touched anew the hearts of the Darlings, and made them full of peace and good-will to all the world.

Letters, even at Christmas time, are looked for most eagerly by the dwellers in the lonely lighthouses around our coast; and during these holidays a letter came to the Darlings which filled the whole family with joy. It was from the Trinity House, London, and it contained a high eulogium upon the heroic conduct of Mr. Darling and Grace, and said that the managers had pleasure in appointing Mr. Brooks Darling to be his father's assistant. They had observed the frequency of wrecks on the coast near the Farne Islands, and saw that another man was a necessity, and felt that none could better discharge the duty than one of the same family. The "Berwick Advertiser" thus speaks of the appointment:—

"The gentlemen of the Trinity House, London, have appointed Mr. Brooks Darling, son of Mr. William Darling, to be his assistant at the outer lighthouse. This is a most judicious step. The Trinity House has also placed another man on the inner Farne light, making three men now upon the island. An agent of Lloyd's is also to be appointed at Bamborough."

Brooks Darling had already shown himself worthy of the honoured name which he bore. He was one of the brave men who went out from North Sunderland to the wreck of the "Forfarshire," and placed his life in jeopardy, as did his six companions, by doing so. They managed to gain the Farne lights, however, and remained there during the continuance of the storm. He had shown that he also possessed the characteristics of his family, for he was intrepid, courageous, and humane.

He would have plenty of opportunities in his new position for the display of these qualities. It had often caused his father the greatest pain to witness wrecks which he was utterly powerless to aid. One man could do almost nothing alone under such circumstances; and his heart had often ached as he saw noble ships, and more valuable human lives, destroyed on the terrible rocks. But now that his son would be with him, he felt that together they might be the means of saving, not a few, but many. It will therefore be seen that this change contributed more than a little to the joys of that Christmas time. It may be interesting to state that a son of Brooks Darling is now (1876) the keeper of the Souter Point lighthouse, Durham.

It was found on this occasion that there was no need to resort to the usual active Christmas games in order to make the time pass pleasantly, for nothing was so agreeable and interesting to the family now as long conversations. Grace, of course, was ever the chief object of all their admiration, and they never wearied of asking her questions and hearing her account of honours she had received and visits she had paid. Besides talking to them, however, "Aunt Grace" joined in the games, which, for the amusement of the children, were entered into, and the aged couple, Mr. and Mrs. Darling, watched with delight the merry pleasures of their grand-children, and the kindly attentions of their beloved home-staying Grace, who was never too busy or too tired to sing ballads, or tell stories, to the children, who were even now proud and fond of their famous aunt.

But it was after the children had gone to bed that the grown-up people had the best of the pleasure. One night when the weather was wild, and the wind whistled around the house, and the sea was tossing up its dark waves, Robert succeeded in getting from Grace a description of her sensations when she went out to the wreck of the "Forfarshire."

"How did you feel, Grace," he asked, "when you found yourself alone with father out on the stormy water? Confess now that you were very much frightened, and that when you saw how distressed mother was, you were half inclined to give up the attempt.

"No," said Grace; "I shall not confess to that which is not true. I never stopped to think of the danger, and certainly did not in the least realise it. Perhaps, if I had done so, I should have been afraid to venture; but the fact was, I thought of nothing but the awful agony of those who might be drowning. Their shrieks put every thing else out of my head and heart, and the only fear that I had was that we might not reach the wreck in time to be of any use. Even now I often fancy I can hear their screams, and the thought makes me shudder."

"But you could not tell what you might be going to meet. It was quite possible that you should have been yourselves drowned in the attempt," said Robert.

"Oh yes, but I was not afraid of that. I had strength and courage for whatever we might encounter; and when the soldier is not afraid, half the battle is won."

"That is true. But how could you bring yourself to go, Grace, in spite of our mother's prayers and entreaties?"

"Well, my passion to save those drowning creatures swallowed up every other thought. If it had not been so, I could not have disregarded mother's tears as I did. I am not at all surprised that she felt as she expressed herself. It was only natural and right that she should do so. And really, when I think of all that she must have endured when she saw us tossing about on the waves, and knew that perhaps she would never see her beloved husband and wayward daughter again, the wonder is that she was not less composed than she was, and that she had trust and calmness enough to go down to the beach, and help us launch the boat. But, oh, Robert, if you could have seen the joy and thankfulness with which the poor creatures welcomed us—as if we had been angels—you would understand that to do such a thing was worth all the trouble and risk."

"Oh yes; I am sure I should feel the same," said Robert.

"Certainly you would, for you know what it is; you were one of those who were so anxious to rescue poor Logan, don't you remember? And you therefore know the joy that comes from performing a kind and brave action."

"Yes, Grace, I remember very well. It is four years ago this Christmas since we brought him from the very jaws of death to the lighthouse. Poor fellow! I felt wonderfully interested in him. I wonder what has become of him, and if he is any more fortunate now than he used to be. Father, has he ever written to you?"

"No, he has not," replied Mr. Darling, "and I cannot think how it is that he has not. But many things may have prevented him. Perhaps he has gone abroad, or has been ill, or something of that sort. He promised to write to me as soon as he had got a berth, and I do not think he has forgotten his promise. Ho was quite overpowered with gratitude when I parted from him, and magnified the kindness we had shown him so much that it is very unlikely that he would have omitted to write, unless something had really prevented him."

"Grace," said Elizabeth, "I am not yet satisfied with that which you have told us about your visit to Alnwick. I want to know much more, and, indeed, I think you should tell us every item about it, from first to last."

"I am quite willing," said Grace, smilingly. "What is it you want so particularly to know?"

"Tell us how you felt when you first saw the Duchess. As for me, I am sure I should have been so frightened that I should not have dared to look at so great a lady, and I am sure that I never should have spoken to her."

"Oh," said Grace, "the truth is, that the sight of the Duchess did make me feel as I had never felt before in my life, and I was indeed afraid to lift my eyes from the ground. But when she spoke to me, it was different. She begged me not to feel timid, and really, I felt that she was intending to be kind, and that there was absolutely nothing to be frightened about. She has such a kind way of speaking, that nobody could long feel timid in her presence. I assure you, Elizabeth, that before the interview was ended, instead of feeling alarmed at the Duchess, I quite loved her. I could not help it, for she was so very kind and courteous, that I was sorry when the time had gone."

She then gave them every particular that she could recall, of that which happened from the time when they set their feet inside the gate, until they came back again; and as Grace became animated with her theme, all eyes sparkled with pleasure, and no one was uninterested.

"Do you not think that the lighthouse is a poor cheerless place after all the grandeur that you saw at the castle, Grace."

"No, indeed," said Grace; "it is the dearest and sweetest spot on all the earth to me, because it is home. There is no place like home. Castles are good to see, but a home is the place to dwell in."

"Tell us about the great people who have been here to see you, Grace. The place never had half so many visitors before, I suppose."

"I should think not," said Mr. Darling; "not even when St. Cuthbert resided on the island, and deputations waited upon him. Of one thing we may be sure, that so many artists never came before."

"No, indeed," said Grace. "I have had my own picture taken until I am almost tired of sitting for it. But the paintings are wonderfully good."

"They are indeed. Both father and Grace have been reproduced to the life; and looking on their portraits, we can almost fancy that we are looking on their real faces."

"I have seen in Newcastle," said Robert, "a grand picture of the wreck by Carmichael, and it is most wonderful. As I looked at it, it quite seemed to me that I must be on the rocks themselves, instead of in the town of Newcastle, for it was all go very plain and real. The billows are as foaming as they always are in great storms, and you can almost see them moving about. I can tell you, Grace, that it made me tremble when I looked at it to think that you and father had been in such dreadful danger."

"I suppose you often hear Grace spoken of in Newcastle, Robert?" inquired Mr. Darling.

"Yes, very often; and most flattering things people say. Really, sometimes she is spoken of as if she were more than human; and father, too, comes in for a good share of praise and admiration. I often listen to what is said when the speakers little know that I belong to them."

"Do you not make yourself known?"

"No; I prefer to remain in obscurity when I can, though I am proud to be a Darling."

There was one subject about which all the sisters were particularly curious. They wanted to know whether Grace intended to marry, and whom; and whenever they were alone with her, they plied her with questions that very greatly amused her.

"Do you mean to say, Grace, that you have passed through all this without having your heart touched by any man?"

"I have no doubt," said Mary Ann, "that when Grace marries, it will be into a higher sphere than that which we fill. She will marry a gentleman; see if she does not."

Grace laughed heartily at this prophecy of her fond sister; and the laughter rather nettled Mary Ann.

"I see nothing to laugh at, Grace," she said; "and why do you mock me? I do not see that any position can be too high for you to fill, nor any man too good for you to have."

"You are very kind," said Grace, still merrily. "I do not want to offend you; please excuse me; but I cannot help laughing, though I thank you for your wishes. You think more highly of me than I deserve; and I am sure your great and romantic expectations will never be realised. Why, even if a gentleman asked me, I should have to say No to him; for only think what a poor figure I should cut as a rich lady. I have lived in a lighthouse all my life, while ladies are sent to boarding-schools, and are trained in all the refinements that are natural to their station. I should be always making mistakes, and bringing upon myself shame and confusion, if I were raised to any high position in society. I should deserve to share the fate of the ladies in 'Blue Beard,' if I did anything so foolish. But I never shall. I should not be happy in such a marriage. There ought to be similarity of tastes, pursuits, and training, between those who spend their lives together, and I mean to stay in my own proper sphere, and not blush myself, nor make any one blush for me, by entering an estate to which I was not born."

"I think you are right," said Thomasin, "and I should decidedly feel as you do in the same circumstances."

"Grace is very warm about it," remarked Elizabeth, though, in her heart, she scarcely believed her sister. Rumours were afloat, and some had reached her ears, and those of the other members of the family, that Grace had already received very good offers. It was even said, indeed, that gentlemen of rank had proposed for her hand, though, if it were so, Grace certainly kept her own counsel with regard to them.

There can be no doubt, however, that her deed stirred many hearts to love her; and that, if she had chosen, she might have left her island home for one of far greater pretensions on the mainland. But Grace had not been spoiled or changed by the flatteries she had received. She was one of "the people," and did not aspire to leave their ranks. Her sympathies were with them; and she asked nothing better than to spend her life among them.

Besides this characteristic, Grace Darling's attachment to her home was very strong and sincere. Like the Shunammite of old, she would have said, "I dwell among mine own people;" and every Christmas that came did but endear to her heart the parents whom she honoured, and the brothers and sisters whom she loved. She clung to them, making their interests her own, and delighting in nothing more than lifting the burdens from their shoulders, and scattering about their pathways the flowers of joy and contentment. And we are sure that she did that which she longed to do; and that when the festival was over, and each went back to the duties of his or her life, the memory of the love and tenderness of their honoured sister would be as inspiration and strength to them. A good life is never lived in vain. Its influence is far-reaching and lasting, and all who come within its circle are the better for it. Let the women of England remember that their power is in their love, and that the homes they know shall surely be bright or dark, sad or happy, as they shall make them, by their meek or gentle spirit, and unselfish, devoted affection. Grace Darling's love of home and kindred may well be imitated by all who are trying to do that which is right. Women should understand that their home-life is the most important, and give to it their devotion and love.



CHAPTER XVI.

AN EARLY DEATH.

"Grieve not that I die young—is it not well To pass away ere life hath lost its brightness? Bind me no longer, sisters, with the spell Of love and your kind words. List ye to me: Here I am blessed, but I would more be free— I would go forth in all my spirit's lightness. Let me depart!

"Ah, who would linger till bright eyes grow dim, Kind voices mute, and faithful bosoms cold? Till carking care, and toil, and anguish grim, Cast their dark shadows o'er this fleeting world, Till fancy's many-coloured wings are furled, And all, save the proud spirit, waxeth old! I would depart!

"Thus would I pass away—yielding my soul A joyous thank-offering to Him who gave That soul to be, those starry orbs to roll. Thus—thus exultingly would I depart, Song on my lips, ecstasy in my heart. Sisters—sweet sisters—bear me to my grave; Let me depart!"—Lady Flora Hastings.

We may be sure that Grace Darling's friends greeted her birthday with the old fashioned, but significant wish, "Many happy returns of the day." She had become exceedingly dear to them, and they wanted to keep her with them. Life is not too bright at any time, but it becomes dark indeed when our friends die. There are some lives that seem necessary, not only to their own immediate circle, but to the world at large, and there are many who desire that they may live long. It was so in the case of our heroine. Wherever she appeared, she stirred men's hearts to deeds of heroism and courage, and the world seemed to need her stay in it. Moreover, for her own sake it appeared desirable that she should linger in a state in which she received so much honour, and was so greatly and universally beloved. As yet, she scarcely knew how sincerely she was appreciated, and how much good her simple unselfishness and devotedness had done. Had she lived until the shadows of old age crept on her, and she who had helped others needed help herself, then indeed she would have known how tenderly the people of England had enshrined her in their hearts. They wished it. It is a deeply-seated belief that long life is a blessing, and that to die early is a misfortune. The belief, popular as it is, may be a mistaken one; but it dwells in almost all hearts, and it would have kept Grace Darling here had it been possible.

But it was not. A voice, very low, but so clear and distinct that it was most plainly heard, was already speaking to the very soul of the lighthouse-girl. She heard it in those quiet evenings when her eyes looked over the sea, and she often wondered what the wild waves were saying. In the busy mornings, when her hands took up the household tasks, in order to lighten her mother's burdens, she received the summons which had surely been sent to her. And even then she prepared to go. Not for her were long years spent in the enjoyment of those comforts which kind friends had provided for her. Hers was to be the early fading of the flower, for the insidious disease which carries off so many beloved ones from our midst had already marked her for his prey. Says a writer of her—"She died in that beautiful period of her life when all seems hallowed, so that the heart turns to her in her loveliness, beauty, innocence, and purity, and venerates her as a gem of virtue and a true heroine;" and he adds, "We are apt to regret that one so deserving should be cut down so young." And all who contemplate the life of Grace Darling must feel the same. And yet we need not suppose that the prayers of her friends were unheard or unanswered. If that which we call death were really ceasing to live, then indeed we might well pray to have this life continued. But the Christian knows better; and to him there is great significance in those words written long ago—"He asked life of Thee, and Thou gavest it him, even length of days for ever and ever." This life is but the beginning. It is continued under other circumstances, and in a better land; and in that land we may be sure Grace Darling has found a happy home.

She was never particularly robust. She had not a strong frame; and it will be remembered that in our description of her in these pages, it was remarked that she was of slight build, and had a clear complexion. In the year 1851 [Transcriber's note: 1851 is what is in the book, but since Grace Darling died in 1842, it should probably be 1841.], and when she had only for a short time enjoyed the fruit of her heroic deed, it became evident that her health was declining. There is always room for hope, however, when the patient is young, and when, as in the case of Grace, the disease is consumption. Its first attacks are so insidious that the danger is not always realised. The victim looks more lovely than ever, and so well besides, that it seems as if it cannot be anything great that is the matter. And the symptoms do not seem to be alarming. There is but a feeling of weakness and weariness—a pain in the side, not very bad, perhaps, and a cough, which may be only the result of a cold. There seems nothing to frighten one in such common-place symptoms. Only, unfortunately, these things are stubborn, and do not yield to treatment. And after a time, it is seen that the flesh wastes, the eyes become bright, and there are heavy night perspirations, especially towards morning. There is fever, loss of strength, and loss of appetite, and at last the sad truth is borne in upon the shrinking mind, that it is clearly a case of consumption.

We can imagine what consternation this sad conviction brought to the inmates of the Longstone lighthouse, for it is well known that there is but little hope that consumption is ever curable. The friends of Grace did the best they could; and toward the end of the year she removed to Bamborough, her medical attendant having advised her to do so.

The removal probably prolonged her life for a season, for it was not until the autumn of the following year that she died. But although she lived on it was evident, even to herself, that no real good was being done. She stayed some time, long enough to give the thing a fair trial, hoping and patiently waiting for a change, but no change came. Everything was done that could be to make the sufferer more comfortable, and to keep her hopeful and happy. Indeed, Grace was very tranquil, and even cheerful, though all this time she clung to life, and would gladly have prolonged it if it had been possible.

"I think," she said, "that if I could be farther away from the sea, I should perhaps get better."

"Perhaps you would," said her friends eagerly, catching at anything that was at all hopeful, and they at once made arrangements to have her removed from Bamborough to some inland place. It was decided that she should go to Wooler, and great hopes were entertained that so complete a change would be beneficial. Wooler is a small market-town in Northumberland, eighteen miles north-west of Alnwick, and is situated on the borders of the county. The scenery is very delightful, for it is in the midst of a country varied with sunny hills and picturesque glens, which belong principally to the Cheviot range, the Humbleton, Hedgehope and Beamish-head hills. It will be seen, therefore, that the air is pure, and there is no doubt that the place would be life-giving to many who should seek convalescence there. But neither bracing atmosphere, nor picturesque scenery, had any effect upon Grace Darling; and it became evident to the anxious eyes that watched her most closely and fondly, that she continued to grow gradually worse.

But even then those who loved her were not willing to let her pass away without making other efforts.

"Grace," they said, "perhaps another doctor could think of some other remedy. Could you bear the journey to Newcastle! If we went there, it is possible that some of the great physicians could do you good. Are you willing to try?"

"Yes," said Grace, "I am quite willing. I think I could bear the journey, and of course, in so large a place, we could have the very best advice."

"Then we will go to Newcastle; for it may be that, after all, you will recover."

Those who so spoke, however, had no great hope, though it was only natural that they should be extremely anxious to neglect no means that could possibly be used for her recovery.

"I should like my father to go with me to Newcastle," said Grace, "and accompany me when I have to consult the doctor."

"Oh, yes; we can easily make an arrangement with father to do that. I will write to him about it."

It was settled that the Newcastle plan should be tried, and Mr. Darling arranged to meet his daughter at Alnwick.

Everything relating to the gentle heroine of the "Forfarshire" was interesting, and it was not possible for her to visit this place again without the people knowing of it. Their hearts were touched with grief at the signs of approaching dissolution which they saw in her, and many eyes were filled with tears as they beheld her thin face and wasted form. They could not help contrasting this visit with that other which we have so recently described, when soon after her heroic action, she came among them, apparently in good health, and with a long life of happiness before her. Now it was too evident that death had claimed her for his victim, and that in a very short time they would have seen the last of Grace Darling.

Again, as on her former visit, she experienced great kindness at the hands of that noble and benevolent lady, the Duchess of Northumberland. No sooner did she hear of her arrival in Alnwick, than she hastened to see her; and though she endeavoured to speak cheerfully to Grace, the meeting was a very sorrowful one.

"You had better remain here," she said, "and not go on to Newcastle. You shall have the benefit of the advice of my own medical man, who will do anything for you that can possibly be done."

This suggestion was well received, and acted upon by the afflicted family, who began to fear that the case was an utterly hopeless one.

The Duchess was unwearied in her kindly attentions, and immediately procured good lodgings for Grace in the best and most airy part of the town. Every invalid who goes away from home in search of health, knows how dreary a lodging seems after the familiar scenes and comfortable rooms of his own dwelling. But Grace was prevented from feeling the desolation and discomfort which so many have felt, for the Duchess of Northumberland herself furnished the lodgings with every requisite, thus contributing very greatly to the well-being of the invalid.

But, alas, neither medical skill nor the loving ministries of tender friends, was of any avail to Grace Darling. For a time the remedies were patiently persisted in, but every week made the conviction of their failure more overwhelming. It was seen that a stronger hand than those of the human friends around her, was gently leading her into "the valley of the shadow of death."

Mr. Darling's trouble and anxiety were very great when he saw that she, whom he loved so dearly, must die.

"I should like her to be with the members of her own family," he said, "and we must try to remove her, if possible, to the house of her sister at Bamborough, where she will feel more at home."

It was thought that this might be done with care, and it was therefore arranged that on a certain day the removal should take place. There was a touching incident connected with this which shows how real was the kindly attachment which the Duchess felt to the lighthouse-maiden. Her Grace came quiet [Transcriber's note: quite?] unattended, and dressed in the plainest attire, to the lodging of Grace to take her last farewell. It is not too much to say that both felt the parting greatly, and Grace could not but be deeply affected by the kindly manner of her noble friend.

Grace Darling only lived ten days after her removal to Bamborough.

She was nursed with the most assiduous care and tenderness—her eldest sister, Thomasin, never once leaving her through the whole of the latter part of her long illness. But the love of her dear ones, though it might soothe the last moments, could not prolong her life, and she rapidly became worse. She knew that she must die, but she was not afraid of death. She watched for the last change, knowing that it must come, and feeling no alarm at its approach. She was ready to go, and was only listening for the welcome voice of the messenger "to fly away and be at rest." Her sister says that, during the whole of her trying illness, she never once beard her murmur or complain; but with Christian fortitude and trust she gently loosed her hold of earth, and turned her face to the home that had been prepared for her above.

"I should like to see my brothers and sisters before I die," she said.

"And they would be most grieved not to see you," was the assuring reply.

"Some of them may not be able to come, because of the nature of their occupation," she continued, "but I feel that I have not much more time, and that all who can come should do so now."

They were accordingly summoned, and had the mournful satisfaction of hearing her last adieus.

"I wish to give you each some token of my love before I die," she said; and with her own hands, and with the most perfect calmness, she distributed her gifts among them.

As may well be supposed, their grief was very great, and they felt as if they could not bear to part from her. But she comforted them with the assurance of her own sure and certain hope of a joyful resurrection.

"Do not mourn for me," she said; "I am only exchanging this life for one far better. If I remained here, I should be subject to trouble and sickness, but in dying, I go to be with Christ, my Saviour."

Just before she died, she earnestly exhorted her relations to meet her in the eternal world of blessedness and peace, and then the look which they dreaded to see spread over her features, and she peacefully passed away, "to be with Christ, which is far better." And those who looked at her could but say, "Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth; yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labour; and their works do follow them."

The tidings of the death of the heroine of the Farne Islands was received everywhere with the most sincere regret. People had loved, even more than they had admired her, and they had delighted to think that she would live long to enjoy the fruit of her matchless deed. It was not to be, however, and all that was left to her admirers was to show their sympathy and affection by letting her life and death teach them some salutary and valuable lessons.

She was interred in the graveyard of the ancient Church of Bamborough, on the Monday after her death, and the funeral was numerously attended by those who were anxious to render her the last tribute of respect. The pall was borne by Robert Smeddle, Esq., of Bamborough Castle; William Barnfather, Esq., from Alnwick Castle; the Rev. Milford Taylor, of North Sunderland, and Mr. Fender, Surgeon, Bamborough. Her father and her brother William were chief mourners, and eight of her more immediate relatives followed. Mr. Evans, Officer of Customs, Bamborough, and a young man from Durham, who had most sincerely and fondly loved Grace, were also among the mourners. And after them came an immense concourse of people of all ages, and belonging to all classes of society, many of whom were deeply affected.

It may be said, indeed, that the world which had applauded her, now mourned her loss. Death comes alike to the lowly dweller in the cottage-home and the nobleman in his mansion, but it seems particularly sad when such people as Grace Darling are stricken down so early in life. But though she so soon left the world which she brightened by her presence, her good deed did not die with her, and its influence remains still. Who can tell how much Grace Darling has had to do with the change which has certainly come over people's minds with regard to the training and education of girls? It is not now considered a thing to be proud of that a girl should be delicate and useless. Such expressions as "young ladyish" and "missish" have far less meaning now than they used to have; for girls of all classes are more sensible, strong, and courageous, than they were at one time. Some heroic actions are performed by young women every day; and it may be they have gained their inspiration from the story of the maiden of the Farne Isles. We cannot but lament her early death; but she, "being dead, yet speaketh;" and her voice, that was so gentle and meek in her lifetime, is heard still in all lands where her name is familiar. And her quiet death-bed was so hallowed a scene, that as we turn from it we cannot but think of the home to which she has gone, where the good and illustrious of all ages and all lands have met together. And there may it be the privilege of the writer and readers to greet her when this life is over.

We cannot better close this chapter on the death of the heroine, than by quoting some beautiful lines written by J. E. on the occasion of her death:—

"And art thou gone—the young, the brave! The heroine of the wreck and storm! Who manly strength and power gave To woman's form!

"The toiling mariner to cheer, On Longstone's height No more the careful hand shall rear The friendly light

"And 'mid the shipwreck's wild alarm, And tempest's swell, oh! never more, By pity moved, thy sturdy arm Shall grasp the oar!

"Thou, who the elements defied! The spoiler—invidious, slow, (He spares not youth, nor wealth nor pride), And laid thee low!

"And he who all thy perils shared, Thine aged sire, of thee bereft, To muse on all thy courage dared, Is lonely left.

"Thus, while though all the wave-washed north Is told to thrilling ears the tale, Each heart is sad, each lyre gives forth A sound of wail.

"Yet trust we to thine anxious eye Did heaven's own beacon fire appear, To guide thee, 'neath the dark'ning sky, Thy course to steer.

"Trust that the Saviour was to thee The ark upon the 'whelming wave, The life-boat, 'mid the yawning sea Of sin to save.

"That now, where joy, and light, and peace, Are by His living presence poured, Where storms are o'er and tempests cease, Thy bark is moored."



CHAPTER XVII.

"BEING DEAD, YET SPEAKETH."

"What wouldst thou be? A blessing to each one surrounding me, A chalice of dew to the weary heart, A sunbeam of joy bidding sorrow depart, To the storm-tossed vessel a beacon-light, A nightingale song in the darkest night, A beckoning hand to a far-off goal, An angel of love to each friendless soul— Such would I be. Oh, that such happiness were for me."—Frances Ridley Havergal.

It would be little use either to write or read any biography or record of deeds and lives, unless some good lessons could be learnt from the same. But

"Lives of great men all remind us We may make our lives sublime, And departing leave behind us, Footprints on the sands of time."

From the life of Grace Darling several sermons could be preached, especially for those members of her own sex who are interested in her and her heroic exploit. Nor need the preacher be at a loss for texts, for Grace is an illustration of the words of the wise man in the last chapter of the Book of Proverbs. Several of the verses especially appear adapted to show what kind of girl she was; and if the reader will take a few, it will be seen how aptly in her own life she exemplified the teaching, which she must often have read, and with which she must have been very familiar.

"Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies." Grace Darling was, of necessity, after her act had made her famous, well known, and constantly watched. But there is only one report concerning her, and that is, that she was the personification of pure and simple goodness. It would not have been very wonderful if the tongues of malice and envy had found something hard to say of her, but we never hear of the shadow of a suspicion of any kind having rested upon her fair name. She possessed in herself the three Graces—Faith, Hope, and Charity. She was tender and pure. She impressed all who knew her by the unostentatious faithfulness of her spirit, and purity of her life. She seems to have been actuated every day by the one desire, to do her duty. She wished to serve God, obey her parents, and do any good work that might be in her power. And who does not see how much better she was than a useless fine lady, who could do nothing but pass her life in idleness? Who will not own that King Solomon was right when he said that the price of a virtuous woman is far above rubies? Gold and gems shine, but the pure light of a good woman's life sheds a better and more enduring radiance on the world than any jewels could do. And her value no one can estimate. Had the father of Grace Darling been asked to take a sum of money in exchange for his daughter, it is certain that the world would scarcely contain enough to have satisfied him. Rubies! Oh, they need not be mentioned in the same breath. The weary, sinful, suffering earth could do very well without rubies; but good women are what it sighs and groans for.

And there is not a girl who reads these pages, but can become that most valuable treasure—a good woman. It is possible to every one of them to attain to that degree of excellence to which Grace Darling reached. They may not, as has already been said, have the same opportunity of saving life by going out over the stormy waters to the rescue of the perishing; but they can be, if they cannot do, the same. And the world does not so much need a few heroines, as it needs a large number of good common-place women. There is not a home in the whole of our land but would be the brighter and better for any number of these women, as mothers, wives, daughters, aunts, cousins, or servants. The millennium will have come when all our women are virtuous, when they who are the very chief over the home-loving peoples are pure, modest, true-hearted, honourable, dignified, devoted, and, in a word, virtuous. But if any one is in doubt as to how these good qualities are to be obtained, let them know that God can give them to one as well as another. They come in answer to prayer; and those women who steal away sometimes to their chambers, and there pour out their souls in earnest entreaty to Him from whom every perfect gift must come, are the women who bring serene faces into the family circle, and pleasant smiles to dissipate the gloom. These are the women who will be patient among irritating circumstances, who will give the soft answer that turneth away wrath, who will never make man's care the greater, but who will hold weary heads to their bosoms, and prove what comforters and helpmates they can be. Such women may all who wish to claim sisterhood with Grace Darling, become.