; I think
it was an anonymous little poem in which I saw the idea, years ago. It
struck me at the time as being a singularly happy one. I think I can
repeat a stanza or two of it."

GOD'S LIGHT-HOUSES.

When night falls on the earth, the sea
From east to west lies twinkling bright
With shining beams from beacons high,
Which send afar their friendly light.

The sailors' eyes, like eyes in prayer,
Turn unto them for guiding ray:
If storms obscure their radiance,
The great ships helpless grope their way.

When night falls on the earth, the sky
Looks like a wide, a boundless main;
Who knows what voyagers sail there?
Who names the ports they seek and gain?

Are not the stars like beacons set,
To guide the argosies that go
From universe to universe,
Our little world above, below?

On their great errands solemn bent,
In their vast journeys unaware
Of our small planet's name or place
Revolving in the lower air.

Oh thought too vast! oh thought too glad:
An awe most rapturous it stirs.
From world to world God's beacons shine:
God means to save his mariners!

Hetty was silent. The mention of light-houses had carried her thoughts
back to that last night at "The Runs," when, with Dr. Eben by her side,
she had watched the great revolving light in the stone tower on the bar.

Dr. Eben was thinking of the same thing; he wondered if Hetty were not:
after a few moments' silence, he became so sure of it that he said:

"You have not forgotten that night, have you?"

"Oh, no!" replied Hetty, in a low voice.

"I should like to think that you did not wish to forget it," said the
doctor, in a tender tone.

"Oh, don't, please don't say any thing about it," exclaimed Hetty, in a
tone so full of emotion, that Dr. Eben's heart gave a bound of joy. In
that second, he believed that the time would come when Hetty would
love him. He had never heard such a tone from her lips before. Her hand
rested on his arm. He laid his upon it,--the first caressing touch he
had ever dared to offer to Hetty; the first caressing touch which Hetty
had ever received from hand of man.

"I will not, Hetty, till you are willing I should," he said. He had
never called her "Hetty" before. A tumult filled Hetty's heart; but all
she said was, in a most matter-of-fact tone: "That's right! we must go
in now. It is too cold out here."

Dr. Eben did not care what her words were: nature had revealed herse