As landmarks¹—because of their affording variety, among other reasons—are pleasant objects of contemplation to the weary traveller on a long and dusty road, so landmarks in a tale are useful as resting-places. We purpose, therefore, to relieve the reader, for a very brief period, from the strain of mingled² fact and fiction in which we have hitherto indulged—turn into a siding, as it were—and, before getting on the main line again, devote a short chapter to pure and unmitigated fact.

 

So much has been said in previous chapters, and so much has yet to be said, about the lights, and buoys⁴, and beacons⁶ which guard the shores of Old England, that it would be unpardonable as well as ungracious were we to omit making special reference to the ancient Corporation of Trinity House of Deptford Strond, under the able management of which the whole of the important work has been devised and carried into operation, and is now most efficiently⁷ maintained.

 

It cannot be too urgently pressed upon un-nautical⁸—especially young—readers, that the work which this Corporation does, and the duties which it performs, constitute what we may term vital service.

 

It would be too much, perhaps, to say that the life of the nation depends on the faithful and wise conduct of that service, but assuredly our national prosperity is intimately bound up with it. The annual list of ships wrecked⁹ and lives lost on the shores of the kingdom is appalling¹⁰ enough already, as every observant reader of the newspapers must know, but if the work of the Trinity House—the labours of the Elder Brethren—were suspended for a single year—if the lights,

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