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îs one newly-covered heap which recalls so touchmgly 
a scene I lately witnessed that I would fain attempt 
to describe it. It was a bright Summer’s evenmg, 
and the shadows began to fall on tbe old cburch ; 
The bell had been tolling some time, and at length 
tbree funeral processions moved slowly along the 
churchyard-path. The first coffin was followed by 
the widowed mother of the departed, — her eldest 
son; one whora slie, doubtless, looked to as the 
prop of her declining years. But « there is no man 
that hath power over the spirit to retam the spirit; 
and now he is gone « whence he shall not return, 
even to the land of darkness and the shadow of 
death.” This boy, and the next lifeless form over 
whom the dark pall stretched, had both been m- 
structed at the village school; and a long line of 
children, dressed in their neat Sunday attire, followed 
the mourners. When the beautiful service for the 
burial of the dead was concluded, the children, de¬ 
ssous of paying a last tribute to the memory of 
their school-mates, sang a hymn over the graves. It 
was a very appropriate sélection, and as the breeze 
wafted the sound, truly heart-stirring was it to hear 
those simple voices bewailing the loss of their departed 
