One of the most remarkable light-houses in England is the Eddystone, erected on a solitary rock, opposite the coast of Plymouth: it has withstood many a terrific tempest, and appears likely to stand firm amid the elemental wars for years to come. Not unfrequently, at the mouth of harbours, as at Harwich, two light-houses are erected, one more elevated than the other; one to guide the vessels in their approach to the coast, and the other to direct them in their entrance to the harbour. Not far from the room where I am now writing, break the waves of St. George’s Channel. I hear the roar—it is, indeed, a stormy night—wild blows the wind,— I think of the mariner tossed on the billow, Afar from the home of his childhood and youth; No mother to watch o’er his sleep-broken pillow, No father to counsel—no sister to soothe! {33} A tide of joy rises in my soul at the thought that, close to my own door, I can gaze upon two light-houses, one of which is, mid the foaming deep, presenting a brilliant point of light—a distinct and striking object—though some nine miles of waters are rolling between us. It is the _Skerries Light-house_. I love to look at it. Its _constancy_ and _fixedness_ interest me. No sooner are the last rays of the sun retiring from land and sea, than the watchful keeper hastens to kindle the beacon. If to the midnight hour I protract my musings, and cast a glance upon the sea, there shines the light. If long before the dawn of day I have arisen to my labours, there it still shines. The week, the month, the year rolls round, and there is no failure. What deeply interesting facts are announced by that brilliant light; it is as if an angel of mercy, with a voice of thunder, stood and announced what part it was of a dangerous coast to which the mariner was most contiguous, and in which direction he must look for shoal and breaker. He is kindly told when there is peril, and when safety. There is language in that radiance which streams far forth upon the dark, deep sea. Facts of highest moment are announced by it. The whole surrounding region of shore and sea is suggested to the sailor by that welcome light. There it stands—a beacon against danger, and a guide to the desired haven. For the erection and maintenance of light-houses, a rate is levied on all vessels passing them within certain limits, this rate varying from one farthing to one penny per ton for each light so passed.