96 HANNAH DYER. 



as my father, with his face a little raised and his eye up-turned, as if 

 he were looking into the mystery beyond the grave — would dwell 

 on the promises of the Gospel, his deep whispering words flowing 

 on as by a divine inspiration, raising us by our sympathies beyond 

 this world. Then the tears came fast into my eyes — for weeping 

 was then a gladness — as I looked upon his benevolent features, irra- 

 diated with the ardour of his devotion. 



** Compared with this, how poor religious pride, 



In all the pomp of method and of art, 

 "VVTien men display to congregation's wide 



Devotions every grace, except the heart." 



So sung the sweetest songster that ever lived, so have I often felt 

 when kneeling on the gay cushions with my gold-bound books and 

 bands before my een — one among a throng of insensible worship- 

 pers — listening to the " pompous strain," the bowings and ceremo- 

 nies, and sacerdotal robes, plucked from Aaron's old wardrobe. — 

 These thoughts rushed through my mind as I walked tardily on 

 towards the stile ; the green and briar-choked lane passing beside 

 the cottage was before me. I laid my hand tremblingly on the 

 wicket — a hasty glance at the garden realized my fears — her hand 

 had not bound up the long ponderous-headed flowers — they hung 

 neglected on the earth, soiled and trodden down ; weeds choaked 

 the ground, and mingled mockingly with the choice blossoms of 

 the garden. I heard a suppressed talking in the little room wherein 

 we used to meet — there was more than one voice. I listened a mo- 

 ment and then advanced, giving a hasty look through the latticed 

 panes ; several persons were in the cottage. I stood a moment be- 

 fore the unopened door — I gazed on the white walls, on the honey- 

 suckle flowering round the casement ; softly and fearfully I moved 

 my hand towards the latch, which, however, J. dared not raise ; I only 

 laid my finger lightly on it, and, with my eyes rooted on the 

 ground, stood in motionless anxiety ; my arm dropped heavily 

 down as, with a sigh, I would have turned away. Some one 

 lifted the latch — my heart leaped up — I felt suffocated. In the 

 middle of the room, surrounded with six or seven decent young 

 men, was a coffin supported on two chairs. No one questioned 

 me ; — there was a grief in my look which told them I was a 

 mourner. I bent my head beneath the door, and, standing by 



the coffin I read on it the name of Hannah Dyer ! My 



heart was swelled with bitter sorrow — my tears fell on the coffin 



