366 WILD 6POET3 IN THE BOUTH. 



CHAPTER XXY. 



LIFE IN THE LIGHT-HOUSE. 



" The rocky ledge runs far into the sea, 

 And on its outer point, some miles away 

 The Light-house lifts its massive masonry, 

 A pillar of fire by night, a cloud by day 



" The startled waves leap over it ; the storm 

 Smites it with all the scourges of the rain ; 

 And steadily against its solid form 

 Press the great shoulders of the hurricane." 



Far to the southward of what has been the scene of 

 our story, forming one of the barriers between the s^dy 

 coast of Florida and the surging Atlantic, lies Key Bis- 

 cayne. Southward still, innumerable little islands of 

 white sand show their backs above the tide, and then 

 Key Largo, Indian Key, and Key West, sweep in a 

 curve around the point of the continent, warding off with 

 their coral arms the blows of the angry Atlantic, and 

 the soft allurements of the Gulf Stream. To the west- 

 ward on the main land stretches from ocean to ocean the 

 labyrinth of the Everglades . 



There were no permanent settlers in this country a 

 few years ago, though at Key West was congregated a 

 reckless company of men whose boats found shelter from 



