Litchfield enquirer., 1830-02-11
THE GRAVE.


 The grave is tho ordeal of true affection. 1t is there that tho divine passion of the soul manfcsts its superiority to ihe in- stinctive impulse of mere animal attach. ment. The lattor must be continually refreshed and kept aliyo by the presence ofi.s object but the love that Is seated 10 the soul, can live on long remembrance. The mere inclinations of sense languiSIl and decline with the charms that excited them, and turn with Shuddoring and disgust from the dismal precincts of tho tomb but it is thence that truly spiritual affection rises purified from every sensual desire, and returns like holy flame to illumine and sanctify the heart of the survivor.
 Tho sorrow for the dead Is the only sorrow from which wo refuse to Do divor- ced. Every other wound we seek 10 heal --every other aflliction to forget but this wound we consider 1t duty to keep open --this afiliction we cherish and brood 0. yer in solitude. Where is tho mother who would willingly forget the infant that perished like a blossom from her arms, though every recollection is q pang 7-. Where is the child that would willingly forget tho most tender of parents, though 1t Do but to lament2 Who, even in tho hour of agony, would forget tho friend O. yer whom he mourns2 Who, even when tho tomb is closing upon the remains of her whom he most loved, when he foelS his heart, as 1t were, crushed in inc clo- sing of it's portal would accept of conso- l.ion that must be bought by fOrgctfUl- ness2 No, the love which survives the tomb is one of the noblost attributes ofthc soul. 1t has it's woes it has likewise It's delights; and wien the overwhelming burst of grief is calmed into the gentle tear of recollection when the sudden aD- guI.h and convulsive agony over the ruins of all we most loved, is softened away in. to peusive meditation on all that it was in | the days of its lOveliness-who would not root out such sorrow from the heart 2-- Though 1t may sometimes throw pass sing cloud over the bright hour of gayety, or spread a deeper sadness over the hour of gloom yet who would exchange it even for the song of pleasure, or the burst of revelry No,there is voice from the tomb swceser than song. There is q remembrance of the dead to which we turn even from the charms of the living. Oh the grave l--the grave !-it burieS every error-covers every defect--cxtin- guishes every resentment From its peaceful bosom spring none but fond rec grets and tender recollections. Who can look down upon the grave even of an en. emy, and not feel q compunctious throb, that he should ever have warred with the poor handful of earth that lies moulder- ing before him
 But the grave of those we loved-what a place for meditation There it is that we call up in long review the whole histO- " of virtue aud gcntleness, and the thou sand cndearments lavishcd upon us almost unheeded in the daily course of intimacy there it is that we dwell upon the tcndor- ness, the solemn, awful tenderness of the parting scene. The bed of death with all it's stifled griefs-its noiseless attendance --its mute, watclAul assiduitics. The last testimonies of expiring love !-The feeble, Auttering, thrilling, oh how ihrill- ing!-pressure of the hand--,he last fond look of the glazing eye, turning upon us as from the threshold of existence. The faint, faltering accents, struggling in death 10 give one more assurance of aiice- ton,
 An, go to the grave of buried love, and meditate! There settle the account with thy conscience for every past benefit un- requited--.every past endcarmcnt unre- garded, of that departed being, who can never--nevcr return to be soothed by thy contriiion
 If thou art child, and hast ever added a sorrow to the soul, or furrow to the silvered brow of an ailectionale parent--ifI sho6 art q husband, and hast ever caused