of their husbands; orphans weeping over the corpse of a murdered father; a daughter, or sister, mourning near the remains of a dear female relative. Could the stones of this vault but find a tongue, mournful indeed would be their revelations!
One of the most touching sights I ever beheld at that solemn place, was the grief of a mother and her daughters. No agony ever depicted on woman's countenance, could be more poignant; as, dashing the tears from her eyes, the matron advanced to gaze through the opening—then retreated in horror from the sight—then returned to gaze again and again, repeating, "I forgive him all! I forgive him now! Though I loved him and he deserted me, I forgive him all! I forgive him now! "No cries that had ever risen to the roof of that apartment could be more heart-rending than the wail of those young girls at her side, beautiful in their sorrow.—"My father!" was their only cry, "my father! Oh! my father!"
Deeply interested in their appearance, and irresistibly drawn towards the scene, I approached the window, and stooped to look within. My eye rested on the body of a man stretched upon the inclined plane near the
