tions on those plain monuments and marble slabs within the churchyard, (sacred place!) within whose bosom is locked the precious dust of loved ones. Here, in this corner, is my dear grandfather, the old man with silver hair, whose face shone so brightly when he talked of heaven and rest for the weary. And here, beside him, is one who shared his sunny days and dreary hours through many a year, but, weary of life, laid down to rest before him. Here is little Freddie's grave, and there his dear Alice, too.
O Death, thou hast sent gloom into many a happy heart; ay, and taken those who once made happy and bright a home in this little cottage. Dear old home—every thing around has a peculiar beauty to me; and each tells of joyous days and sunny hours. The old maple still stands firm, though the fierce winds of many a winter have beat upon it; and the elm spreads out his arms as lovingly as when I played beneath its shade with a merry group. I see them now, those honest, rosy faces; and "would I were a child again." Our young hearts had never known sorrow then, the bitter tears of disappointment had never dimmed our eyes, nor had our ears ever heard the last adieu of a dear sister, a fond father, and a tender mother. The future was then one long, bright, happy day of gladness and mirth.
