meet a man on a tricycle with a gray tweed suit on, that's my husband; would you mind telling him I'm here, and ask him to hurry up?" We felt a good deal amused at this request; first we had been asked only that morning by a husband to give a message to his wife, who was unknown to us, and got into rare trouble over the matter; now we were asked by a wife to give a message to her husband, who was equally unknown to us,—should we get into further trouble if we did, we wondered? However, strangely enough, often on our tours have we performed the service of messenger; sometimes we have taken letters and delivered them on the way; once we conveyed the official correspondence from a lonely lighthouse; and once we were sent after a clergyman to take the duties of another clergyman at service. So we have been of use on the road!
Presently our road dipped down and led us to a picturesque village in a hollow, whose name I now forget, but whose pleasantness lingers in my memory. Driving on we noticed on the summit of the spreading uplands to our right, a tall pillar standing alone, a very prominent object in the view, though a long way off. We inquired of a man passing by what it was. "That? oh, that's Dunston Pillar," he replied; "you can see it for miles around in almost every direction. It used to be a lighthouse." "What, a lighthouse so far inland?" we exclaimed. "Yes, that's just what it was. It used to have a huge lantern on the top in the old days, which was always kept lighted at night to guide belated travellers over Lincoln Heath, a rare wild spot
