THE GRAVE-YARD.

Its form was a parallelogram, cut from a dense grove of evergreens. The wild growth of nature had been eradicated, and the surface leveled, which was now covered with herbage of a lovely verdure. Ranges of monuments, rising to a modest distance above the ground, and intersecting each other, separated the whole into equal portions; and pointed out the future tenements of those who projected and planted them. A painted enclosure, rendered more beautiful by the wilderness which surrounded it, and over which the dark trees waved their branches, guarded the spot from all unhallowed intrusion. Already had it been made sacred as the place in which slept the ashes of the wise and good, the philosopher and divine. Two gates opened from the high-way, the one for entrance, the other for egress, when the rites of sepulture were to be performed. At the former of these, I saw the hearse enter. It bore-alas! the sorrowing train, told but too emphatically, what it bore! A widowed father supporting with cach hand, a motherless babe, and followed by others, stilla numerous household led the procession. You might see that the polished circle had lost one of its brightest ornaments. Science and literature

were mourners. Among the train were their devotees and teachers. The children of want and sorrow were there. The hand that had ministered unto them was motionless. The voice that had comforted them, was silent in death! You would have said, 'She who hath washed the saints' feet,' has gone to her long home; for the Church and Ministers of God, might be seen in the pensive train-feeling more than ever like strangers and pilgrims," as they now had one less to accompany and encourage them in their toilsome journey to that "better country." A fellow worshipper, with whom they once took sweet counsel, and went to the house of God in company, was snatched from their society, never more to join them in the "courts below!"

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The sable carriage approached a newly opened grave and halted. Its precious burden was taken down and deposited in the narrow house. The wood, which contained and concealed it, inanimate and senseless, was an object of dear and tender interest from the use to which it was devoted, and claimed a parting gaze. The train clustered around the grave with aching hearts and tearful eyes to look their last farewell.-Nature aided their grief-surrounding objects wore a pensive aspect; for though the "king of day" had yet some distance to travel before he should reach the western horizon; still, the thick wood which encircled the spot intercepted his and cast a sombre shade over the abode of the dead, producing what might literally be

rays,

THE GRAVE-YARD.

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called the "twilight of the grave." The group, and the scenery, were a fit subject for the poet or the painter-but a higher inspiration was there.

The bereaved husband stood at the head of the grave which had just taken the new treasure to its trust, the relic of his bosom's wife, and the mother of his little ones. It was a moment of pleasing, painful recollection, of oppressive and triumphant anticipation, according as the thoughts rested on time or eternity, matter or spirit, the orphanage of beloved children, or the freed spirit of their now sainted mother, and the hour when faith whispers, "we shall meet again." To him, no life could be so desirable as that which had fled. The conflicting emotions, the remembrances and forecasts of that memorable hour, can be conceived in all their overwhelming effects by those only who have had similar experience. He uncovered his head-a breathless silence reigned through the sympathizing multitude, whose eyes were now all turned to the chief mourner, that they might read in his countenance the indications of what was passing within. There was a powerful struggle of nature, but faith triumphed. He broke the silence, and said with a voice indeed, but so far mellowed with grief as to convey a sentiment with tenfold effect to the heart: "My friends! may we never enter this grave-yard to deposit a fellow creature, without remembering that the day is coming when all that are in their graves shall hear the

voice of the Son of God, and come forth, they that have done good, unto the resurrection of life-and they that have done evil, unto the resurrection of damnation."

A thrilling emotion pervaded the assembly; the moral sublimity of the scene, and of its associations, affected every heart. If any had come to the spot an infidel, an infidel he could not have been at that moment-an infidel he could not have retired. He must have felt that the righteous has hope in his death; that to him the grave is not shrouded in impenetrable darkness, nor associated with annihilation or despair. He must have seen the power of faith in the divine promises, to support the soul while suffering from the disruption of the tenderest ties which bind it to the earth, and under the loss of every thing that can render existence here desirable. He must have seen that the doctrine of a resurrection to immortality is suited to man, and that there are times when he must be a miserable being without it;-that there are those who, when they behold the clods of the valley thrown over the dearest objects they have known on earth, do not sorrow as those who have no hope; for, if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even them also who sleep in Jesus will God bring with Him.--Wherefore, comfort one another with these words.

FAMILY LETTERS.

My Dear Madam,

BRUNSWICK, March 18th, 1830.

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Of your heavy affliction I have been apprized this evening, and most sincerely do I sympathize with you, and your daughters, under this distressing bereavement. The severing of the ties which have bound your family together for so many years in happy intercourse must deeply affect you, and in your peculiar circumstances, would seem likely to overwhelm you, were you not accustomed to make the eternal God your refuge, and could you not rely on the faithful promise that all things shall work together for your good. It was a melancholy satisfaction to me, when I left your house a few weeks ago, that I had been favored with an interview with your son, whom I could not expect to see again in this world, though I have hoped still further to converse with by letter, on the high subjects which pressed upon his attention. But death has terminated my correspondence here. In his mysterious providence, God has taken from you the staff of your declining years; but has he not smitten you and your daughters in mercy, in faithfulness and love? I am persuaded that you hear his voice, saying, When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee; when thou walkest through the fire thou shalt not be burnt, neither shall the flame kindle upon thee, for I am the Lord thy God. (Isaiah 43.) It is indeed a wonderful proof of the truth and power of a