Year: 1867

On the last Saturday morning of April 1867,
as the writer was entering the town of Staun-
top, from the West he observed lady in deep
mourning, walking pensively towards the ceme-
terry. In an instant tear of sympathy dim
med his eye, as the words required to his mem
ory, "She goeth unto the grave to weep there"


Had she noticed the earnest gaze of the stran-
ger that followed her, it might have been re-
garded as rudeness in him, but it was not so IL
tended. For it was prompted nv a feeling of
sympathy that found expression in silent
prayer, that He who came to comfort those that
mourn might be with her in her lonely visit to
the homes of the dead


AS ne pursued his Journey near friend
travelling with him and himself beguiled the
tedium of the weary road by conjectures re-
specting the object of tfat mourner's buried af-
fections unto whose grave she was going to
weep. Perhaps, 1T was the grave of her hus-
band, the loved sharer of former joys, the ten
der parent OF her sons and daughters yet spared
to her. If so may the Comforter of mourners
say to her, in spirit, the first words He was
heard to speak, after He arose from the grave,
Why weepest thou?'


Since there are special promises to the widow
and orphan, whereby they have peculiar claims
upon God for His care and guidance in the va
rIed scenes of widowed and forlorn life, His
Word declares, "The Lord reieveth the father
less and widow ; and if they cry at all unto me,
| will surely hear their cry. Leave thy father
less children: will preserve them alive; and
let thy widows trust in me-" Then, why weep
est thou?


1t may have been the grave of precious
daughter, that had dropped and faded away
like stricken lily, unto whose grave she was
gong to weep, and recall the sweet memories
OF other days, or repeat treasured-up words
May the blessed Master send some bright mes
senger from beyond the pearly gates where all
tears are wiped away, to whisper, while she
weeps, why weepest thou? The maid is not
dead, but sleepeth.


Observe through thy tears this violet, that
breathes It's fragrance so sweetly here. Last
autumn, when it was rudely slain by frost and
storm, no mourner was here to chant solemn
dlrge. Yet Gods eye was upon it. and when
the winter was over and gone, He sent the
balmy spring to call it forth in all it's beauty
Weep not, therefore, thy daughter is of more
value than many violets. Could it be that she
was going to the grave of her slain son to mourn
his early death far from ZONE amid the carnage
and thunders of terrible war, and was borne to
home OF peace in a chariot of fire from the
CORY field where he fell. There are many who
mourn thus over graves where sleep those who
seem to have fallen in vain. This weeper NAV
be one, and her heart may be torn with anguish
when the sad thought recurs, my loved SON
has died in vain' May He, who binds up the
broken in heart, say to her, ''Why weepest
thou?" ''What l do, thou knowest not now.
but thou shalt know hereafter


The rain that falls upon the barren rock is
seemingly lost but not in reality, as the pure
waters in every fruitful vale pleasingly attest.
as they ripple and murmur over the pebbles
so the blood and these tears are not lost, thew
will yet appear in some cheering, refreshing
stream of influence yet to gush forth from the
hidden recesses of the Divine purpose to beau
tify and adorn what otherwise would have been
waste and desolate,
"God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform


Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace.
Behind a frowning providence,
He hides smiling face"


Whatever be our sorrows here, God. our
Father In heaven, can make us glad according
to the days wherein He has afflicted us, and the
years wherein we have seen evil; then, why
weepest thou, mourning stranger, whoever thou
art, and be thy sorrow what it may? r
w. T. P. =
MONTEREY, November II, 1867.