HANNAH DYER. 97 



lid. There lay all that was once so dear to me, with whom I had 

 listened to a voice long since hushed for ever. I stood as one en- 

 tranced, rapt about with the incense of my own thoughts ; a stir 

 among the young men called me to myself. They were decently ar- 

 rayed in black, the long white silk bands and ribbon bows betoken- 

 ing the chaste character of her who was gone. The heavy tones of 

 the village church bell, which I had so often heard, fell slowly on 

 my ear ; the bearers disposed' themselves on each side of the coffin 

 — the two last had just gained the door — I started — the mourners ! 

 there was none to mourn. I hastily followed — stooping, I plucked 

 a drooping rose ; and as I walked at the foot of the coffin with the 

 flower in my hand, the little children of the village, the young 

 maidens, and the aged carle, looked in my face and wondered — for I 

 was the only mourner. Beneath the shadow of the sombrous Yew- 

 tree her grave was dug ; the young men made way for me to stand 

 by the grave's side as one that loved her, though they knew me not ; 

 the earth from the old clerk's hand sounded heavily on the coffin : 

 " Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord." I looked up 

 through the clear twilijiht of the starry evening ; the tears filled 

 my eyes as I repeated aloud, " Blessed are the dead which die in 

 the Lord ;" and the young men wept. I stood alone by the grave 

 until the sand was being rudely thrown in ; I returned to the cot- 

 tage, which had been deserted : I sat down — and there, self-com- 

 muning in a spot so sacred to goodness — wherein I liad not stood 

 for fifteen years — I recalled the long past, the present ; I recog- 

 nized those first impressions which now came upon me gentle 

 and pure as dew on the flowers of Eden. I was startled 

 by a sheeny light striking into the darkening room — the cold 

 rays of the chrystal moon shone upon the lattice panes — I looked 

 around, and cast a long and lingering glance upon every object — 

 upon those flowers that would no longer be cherished by her — up- 

 on that sweet garden that would know her no more for ever. The 

 moon's beams reached not the grave, but silvered the dark sepulchral 

 branches overshadowing it. There was no voice to startle the si- 

 lence, no eye to mark me : there I sat long and thoughtfully, until 

 the clock, with its time-telling tongue, awoke my consciousness. 

 I looked upon the withering rose — it was all that remained of her 

 who is dead. 



The worn and weary pilgrim may purify his conscience by his 

 toilsome journey to Mecca; or the little less rational christian ab- 

 solve his soul by bodily penance, or excite his religious ardour by 

 a superstitious devotion : when that my heart is hardened by the 



VOL. VI. NO. XIX. N 



