And Mary, what was she doing? At first, when she found that her father did not come back, she gave way to grief. The darkness coming on and the tempest rising, with trembling hands she tried to make a fire. Suddenly the thought struck her that the lamps were not lit, and she determined, brave child that she was, to light them herself. She had often watched her father do it, and she knew how. She stood on tip-toe to reach the lamps, but they were far, far above her. Nothing daunted, she piled one thing above another until every article that she could lay hold of was in use except the old Bible. Being a very reverent little girl, she could not bear the idea of treading on the Holy Book; but, at last, when she had reflected that her standing on the book for the purpose she had in view, the saving of the lives of many poor sailors, could do it no harm, she placed it reverently on the top of the pile, and above it, that she might not tread directly on to it, a large basin. And now she was just high enough, and found, to her great delight, that she could light the lamps. Great was the surprise of Nichols and his companions when they saw, as they ascended rising ground with their false light, the bright rays of light streaming out from the Longships. For a minute or two they could say nothing; then a volley of wicked words proceeded from them.
'Who would have thought it? That child has managed to light the lamps, and there they are burning as brightly as ever.'
'Who would have thought it indeed?' exclaimed Nichols. 'If it had ever entered my head that the girl would have been up to those tricks, I'd have rowed out in Tresilian's boat, carried her off from the lighthouse, and locked her up with her father; and now here's all my fine plan spoiled.'
For the beautiful ending of this attractive story, of Owen's release and Philip's rescue from drowning by his own father, and of the punishment that befell the wicked men who occasioned the deaths of so many brave fellows, we can only say that our young readers should go to the book itself, where they will find these facts all set forth in a thoroughly interesting manner. To-day a new lighthouse stands on the Longships, and the light shines out at an elevation of one hundred and ten feet above high-water mark, and is visible at a distance of eighteen miles.
INSECT WAYS AND MEANS.
II.—SOME WEAPONS OF OFFENCE.
The sting of the bee and the lancet of the gnat, although fashioned of very different materials, bear a close likeness in their mechanism. In each case the piercing organ is, in the first place, a gouge-like weapon which prepares the way for more delicate lancets. But in the spider we find a very different piece of machinery for the injection of the poison. It is formed by a pair of peculiarly modified legs which act as jaws, and are armed each with a powerful claw, at the tip of which, as in the poison-fang of the viper, is a small hole. Out of this hole a drop of poison oozes when the prey is seized, and this has the effect of paralysing the victim. The poison is formed in a curious bag, or 'gland' (G.L), which communicates with the claw by means of a long tube or duct.
Many people feel a remarkable repugnance or even dread for spiders. This, in many cases at least, is due to the supposed venom in their bite. Yet, except the famous 'Tarantula,' no spiders really inflict a painful wound. Tales of fearsome black spiders are common enough. One of the spiders known as 'line weavers' is reputed to have a very poisonous bite. To test the truth of this, one authority on spiders repeatedly allowed himself to be bitten, yet suffered no inconvenience! In the early and barbarous days of medical practice, a spider was frequently applied to the wrists of patients suffering from fever.
Even the virulence of the dreaded Tarantula's bite has been greatly exaggerated. It was supposed to cause the disease known as Tarantism: the victim was seized with a mad desire to dance. The mania, while it lasted, was accompanied with leaping, contortions, gesticulations, and wild cries, until finally the fit of hysteria, for such it was, wore itself out. The methods of treatment were many and curious. One of the most favoured was to bury the patient up to the neck! But the dulcet strains of music were believed to be the most powerful of all cures, and certain peculiar tunes came to be regarded as especially effective, and hence became known as Tarantella!