"Beautiful the children's faces, Spite of all that mars and scars: To my inmost heart appealing, Calling forth love's tenderest feeling, Steeping all my soul with tears. "We are willing, we are ready: We would learn if thou would teach: We have hearts that yearn towards duty, We have minds alive to beauty, Souls that any heights can reach. "We shall be what you will make us. Make us wise, and make us good: Make us strong for time of trial; Teach us temperance, self-denial, Patience, kindness, fortitude. "Look into our childish faces! See ye not our willing hearts? Only love us, only lead us: Only let us know you need us, And we all will do our parts."--Mary Howitt There is an old, old story, which always possesses a marvellous fascination, both for the narrator and the listener. It has been told by thousands of persons every year since, in the beautiful garden of Eden, it was first told by him whom God made after his own likeness to her who was to be the mother of all the nations of the earth. Almost all the romance and poetry that have ever been written gather about this old story; and yet it is the simplest thing in all the world to tell; and may be compressed into the three words, I LOVE YOU! Unlike many of the stories told in our world, this cannot be told without affecting the lives of those by whom and to whom it is related. It is more rousing than a trumpet call, more powerful than a royal edict. It makes men tender and women brave. It gives to life zest and colour, sweetness and grandeur; and those who hear it say no more that they are desolate and lonely, but feel as if their spring-time of joy has come. Moreover, it has the power of calling forth willing responses and precious gifts; for she who hears it, frequently chooses as her answer the pathetic words of Ruth, "Whither thou goest I will go; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God." This old new story of love was told one day in the early part of the present century by a young lighthouse-keeper, named William Darling. It was not likely that Miss Horsley, to whom it was told, should immediately give the wished-for reply, for she was a farmer's daughter, living in a comfortable home, among safe fields, where the roar of the sea could not reach her. The life of the wife of a lighthouse-keeper must need be isolated and monotonous; and if she consented to take upon herself the responsibility of such a post, she must be willing to forego many of the pleasures to which she has been accustomed, to bear long absences from the friends of her girlhood, and to be contented with the society of her husband alone.