was not perfect. One of the
bass notes would not sound, and one of the treble notes could not by any
means be silenced! Between the two, some damage was done to the
harmony; but we were not particular. As to Stout--he could neither sing
nor play, but he was a _splendid_ listener! and the sight of his
good-humoured face, smiling through clouds of tobacco smoke as he sat by
the kitchen fire, was of itself sufficient to encourage us.

But Stout could do more than listen and admire. He was cook to the
establishment during my visit. The men took this duty by turns--each
for a fortnight--and Stout excelled the others. It was he who knew how
to extract sweet music from the tea-kettle and the frying-pan! But
Stout's forte was buttered toast! He was quite an adept at the
formation of this luxury. If I remember rightly, it was an entire loaf
that Stout cut up and toasted each morning for breakfast. He knew
nothing of delicate treatment. Every slice was an inch thick at the
least! It was quite a study to see him go to work. He never sawed with
the knife. Having a powerful hand and arm, one sweep of the blade
sufficed for one slice, and he cut up the whole loaf before beginning to
toast. Then, he always had the fire well prepared. You never saw
alternate stripes of black and white on Stout's toast; and he laid on
the butter as he might have laid tar on the side of a ship, thick and
heavy. He never scraped it off one part to put it on another--and he
never picked the lumps out of the holes. Truly, Stout was quite a
genius in this matter.

The fisherman who brought off our letters could not have landed if the
weather had not been fine. Poor fellow! after I left, he lost his boat
in consequence of being on too familiar terms with the Bell Rock. He
was in the habit of fishing near the rock, and occasionally ran in at
low-water to smoke a pipe with the keepers. One morning he stayed too
long. The large green billows which had been falling with solemn boom
on the outlying rocks began to lip over into the pool where his boat
lay--Port Stevenson. Embarking in haste with his comrade he pushed off.
Just then there came a tremendous wave, the crest of which toppled over
Smith's Ledge, fell into the boat, and sank it like a stone. The men
were saved by the keepers, but their boat was totally destroyed. They
never saw a fragment of it again. What a commentary this was on the
innumerable wrecks that have taken place on