ings. The old woman closed the casement, and again all was still.

It was midnight-when all the quiet inhabitants of the valley were wont to be asleep, save those whom sorrow compelled to keep sad vigils, and sorrow had been at work under this lowly roof, and had marred as fair a picture of happiness as ever was framed by a beneficent Almighty.

Behind the cottage, a footpath wound away through the forest and terminated in a small church-yard. The humble graves were, for the most part, decorated with flowers, and kept with scrupulous neatness; and the cold bright rays of the moon fell on many a rude memorial, erected by simple yet loving hearts, and illumined the records of sincere affection. There slept the only child of his fond parents, suddenly snatched away ere the promise of his youth had ripened into noble manhood; there mouldered the form of the bereaved widow, who had wept alone for long years,

and hailed with delight the hour which reunited her with the husband of her youth, and the children of her love, there lay, awaiting the last judgment, many who had been loved, and beautiful; the aspirings of genius, the delusions of hope, the cravings of ambition, the pangs of remorse, the hauntings of guilt-all, all, lay hushed in unbroken slumbers.

There was one grave which bore traces of having been recently covered in the mould exhibited no symptoms of verdure, no flower or shrub grew near it, and a stone cross stood in white nakedness, looking like a spectre in the moonbeam. This fresh grave and newlycarved cross presented a strange contrast to the mouldering monuments around; some covered with hoary moss, others falling back or to one side, as though about to desert the dust beneath, and others lying altogether prostrate, fitting emblems of the decay which the mortal remains they had indicated, had undergone. Amidst all these trimly-planted

or neglected graves, that with the stone cross shone conspicuous, and struck on the beholder's heart with a strange feeling of sadness; it spoke of a stern, deep-seated grief.

Across this senseless heap of clay, there lay one, who alone breathed in this scene of mortality. He was a young man, and his attitude betokened an utter prostration of spirit, an abandonment of grief. Ever and anon he tossed his arms aloft, or pressed his hands wildly on his temples, or wrung them in anguish. Then would he lie motionless, but on the midnight stillness there would arise wailings of unutterable grief. Long sighs would heave his breast; short, thick sobs burst from his overcharged heart, and his whole frame would writhe in agony. Suddenly he raised himself on his knees, and flinging his arms around the cold cross, he clasped it convulsively; his eyes were raised to the blue heavens, his working features grew calm, and his lips moved rapidly in prayer;-vain was the help of man, and in

his utter desolation he turned for consolation to the Father of the fatherless.

Oh! it is a glorious privilege-that of prayer; to be allowed to mingle our imperfect and corrupted strains of worship and adoration with bright and pure angels;-to be permitted to pour forth our over-charged hearts, and implore relief from torturing sin and corroding sorrow!

When, in a moment of holy rapture, we lift our hearts to God and sing praises to his name; how exciting is the thought, that we are joining in the chorus of thousands and myriads of blessed spirits, who re-echo our words in bursts of ravishing harmony! Then do our souls soar aloft, and we are again in the society of the loved, the lost, the mourned! The young and lovely who left us in the flower of earthly pride; the sick and languid, who faded away into tombs they had long coveted; the old and infirm, whose failing senses had long warned us of their approaching departure; all, all, these dear ones, clothed in resplendent

loveliness and perpetual youth are, in such moments of heavenly joy, vividly before us, and fanning the flame of our devotion with their perfumed wings! The far-off sounds of their faultless harmony strike on our enthralled senses, and the ardour of their love for the thrice-blessed Friend, Saviour, Guardian of Mankind, kindles a fresh glow in our hearts. And when these enchanting visions pass from our minds' eye, and the gates of Heaven close from our mortal view, and we turn again to a cold world and its stern duties; the memory of these fair, and sweet, and holy things, is as a cordial to cheer us in the path of our weary pilgrimage; we go forth refreshed, strengthened, and encouraged to the arduous task of life.

The mourner was apparently about twenty years of age, and his countenance possessed more than common beauty. Oh! what worlds of thought, and genius, and noble sentiment, were expressed in that expansive and clear brow, which was now exposed to the full flood