re lies the body of Christ."

"The body of Christ!" says I, with a start.

"Yes," says she, bowing her head. "You cannot see it, for the flowers
cover it, as we strew them over the graves of those we love; but the
holy body of our Lord is there, waiting for the resurrection."

"Waiting for the resurrection!" says I. "How can you say that, E. E.,
when our Lord was resurrected almost nineteen hundred years ago?"

"Oh!" says she, shaking her head and whispering, "that was so; but the
body of Christ is there this minute, under the flowers."

"Cousin E. E., are you crazy? Do you believe that in earnest?"

"I do," says she a-folding her hands and dropping down her head.

"But how--how can it be?"

"I cannot explain, dear cousin; but it is so. It is, indeed."

"E. E., are you a Roman Catholic?--do they believe that?"

"Every one of 'em."

"And are you a Roman Catholic?"

"Not yet," says she; "you know well enough that I belong to the
Episcopal Church; but my pilgrimage is not ended."

Cousin E. E. bent her head and spoke low. I felt the old Pilgrim blood
rile in me; but just as I was a-going to speak again, a low, mournful
noise went a-rolling through the meetinging-house, that chilled me down
like ice-water. It came from behind the great white altar, which looked
to me like a big tombstone with night-fog floating over it. Through the
fog I saw two rows of wooden seats, with high backs; and in them sat
men, all in black and white clothes, singing dismally. No--it wasn't
singing, and it wasn't reading; but a long, rolling drawl, in which a
few tones of music seemed buried and were pleading to get out. With this
dreary sound, came the sobs and mournful shivers of the cold wind
outside, which made my blood creep.

It was too much; I could not bear it. Tears came into my eyes like drops
of ice; I felt preceding shivers creeping up my arms.

"Do let's go home--I feel dreadfully," says I, catching hold of Cousin
E. E.'s dress.

"Wait," says she, "till they have done chanting the Psalms."

I couldn't help it; but sunk down on my knees, covered my face with both
hands, and let that awful music roll over me. It seemed like a call to
the Day of Judgment.

At last the sound died off; the wind outside took it up dolefully, and
seemed to call us out into the cold air. We went, feeling like ghosts,
and never spoke a word all the way home. How could we, with that awful
feeling creeping over us?

XLIX.

EASTER S