Year: 1859

just sinking below the western horizon, anc
the tall oaks were throwing their long shad
ows across the lawn. Everything was ii
harmony with the mournful scene that wa!
about to be witnessed Suddenly funera
procession emerged from the mansion, and
wound its way slowly and mournfully across
the lawn to the family burial ground. There
upon the very spot that had witnessed the
happiest and saddest scenes of her life; the
spot that had witnessed her grief for the
dead, and the first going forth of that death
less love, which had withered her young
life in its bloom; the spot that had been SO
often hallowed by her prayers and her tears,
was the grave of Alice Vernon. As the
words of the burial service rose slowly on
the evening air, they mingled with the gen.
tie murmurings of the book near by, and the
low, stiaed sobs of those who wept for the
departed. Among those who surrounded the
grave was Harry Wentworth. During the
scene he stood leaning upon the arm of Err
nest Graham. Bowed with grief, worn and
haggard it seemed as if years instead of
days had placed their marks upon his frame.
When the coffin was lowered into the grave,
and the cold earth ratified with hollow
sound upon it, he felt that hope, happiness
and peace were buried forever with that cold
and silent form. His heart was in her grave,
and his earnest prayer was, that death might
soon claim its earthly tenement, and consign
it with her to the tomb. And when he
turned to leave the grave, it was with shud-
der that he thought Of again mingling in
the scenes of the cold and heartless world.


Wentworth felt that while life and strength
remained, the world had claims upon him
which could not be entirely disregarded He
knew that it would be no less sinful than
cowardly, to repine at the lot that had been
assigned him, and fail to meet the response
bilities that devolved upon him as men,
ber of society. But as the various objects
of human desire, and the various incentives
to human ambition, passed in review before
his mind, he turned from them with unutter-
able loathiug and disgust. Fortune held cut
her allurements, but her most precious gifts
possessed no charms for him; his richest
treasure had passed away from earth, aud
with it had fed all his desire for fortunes
favors. Pleasure spread its entertainments
before him, and with its bewitching smiles,
beckoned him onward in its pursuit; but
pleasures voice could not dispel the gloom in
which his soul was shrouded. Fame offered
its honors and rewards as prize worthy of
attainment; but the trump of fame could
never drown the tones of that small voice
which was heard in his ipmost soul, whis-
pering of hopes blasted, happiness ended,
and joys forever fed. How heeting after all
is the breath of fame yet does genius sell
its birthright, and the mind sqander warton-
ly its sacred energies, to catch the tumul-
tuous hosaunas of the multitude, which signi-
fly nothing, and when life is past, to sleep
beneath monument, (Which teaches no
moral, but the futility of that pride which
hopes still to exact homage in its ashes, and
to live in an inscription" For this, does
fame votary kueel in abject reverence at her
shrine, hailing every breeze that watts his
own praises to his ear, as from Elysan bow
ers, little dreaming that it is the fatal 81:
moons breath which fans his wan cheek, and
will soon sound his requiem.


1t is only when the heart has been bruised
and broken by overwhelming misfortune it
is only when we stand by the grave, and
see it close upon all that was dearest to US
on earth, that we feel the utter worthless
ness of all worldly distinctions, and the
vanity of all human desires. Then it is,
that we regard the glory of earth in its true
light, as an empty, Aeetiug baube--


"A name, TESTERS lying story!


A rose stuck in n dead mans breast


joke scrawled on an epitaph


A grin at deaths own ghastIy laughW


In moments when the bright sun Of pros
perity is obscured by the storm clouds of
adversely, or when the scenes of time are
fast fading away before the light of eternity,
we feel that the houors and applause of the
world can bestow no abiding happiness; !;
that it is better to fill an humble station in
life, aud wheD death summons US hence, to
have our grave bedewed with the few tears
ofsincerity and truth, than polluted by the
lamentations of hollow sycophautic hypoc-
riSy.


'sToll not the bell of death for me,


When am dead;


Strew not the fowery wreath o'cr me


On my cold bed.


Let friendships sacred tear


On my fresh grave appear,


Gemming with pearls my bier


When am dead.


No dazzling proud array


Ofpageantry display,


My fate to SPREAD


Let not the busy crowd be near,


When I am dead,


Tanning with unfet sghs my bier,


Signs quickly sped,


Deep let the impression rest


On some fond, loving breast;


Then were my memory bleSt


When | am dead.


Let not the day be writ,


Love will remember it,


Untold-unsaid."


CHAPTER VIII.


Several years had passed since Alice Yer
non had been laid in the graveyard at Wood
lawn. A simple marble slab marked her
last resting place. The grave had not been