a more splendid
monument. All here meet upon a common level--the old, the young,
the rich, the poor, the bond and free, for death is no respecter of
persons.

Here, too, rests a young physician, who supplied the place of the old
one. His career was like the meteor flash, emitting its brilliant rays
for a season, and then was shrouded in death's dark night.

As we stand upon this spot and contemplate it as it was when we last
stood upon it, we feel that here has been the greatest change of any
place yet visited. Here we meet many a name familiar to the ear, and a
form familiar to the eye starts into life, and treads again its mazy
scenes. Many monuments are erected to entire strangers, and this
is our first meeting with them. Here the infant of a few days lies
buried, just tasting the cup of life, he turned sickening away, and
yielding it up, soared away with the angel band to the realms of
bliss.

But ere we leave the yard, let us visit the resting place of the
beautiful Clarinda Robinson, who died at the early age of nineteen.
She had ever enjoyed undiminished health. But soon, oh, how soon,
the rose of health faded upon her cheek; her sparkling eye lost its
lustre, and the animated form, stiffened in death, was laid away in
its silent chamber. At her feet lie two beautiful nieces, called, too,
in the morning of their days to go and make their beds with her. Sadly
did the bereaved mother mourn their loss; but the pale messenger came
for her too, in a few weary years, and she joined them in the pale
realms of shade.

Here, too, sleeps the young wife, called soon away from the husband of
her youth. Consumption, like a worm in the bud, preyed upon the
damask of her cheek, dried up the fountain of her life, and bore her
triumphantly, another victim of his power. The old sexton, too, who
from time immemorial, had been

"The maker of the dead man's bed,"

has laid down his mattock and his spade, and filled a grave prepared
by other hands. At his feet lies a lovely daughter, snatched suddenly
away, ere the bloom of youth had passed, and almost without a moment's
warning, leaving a husband and a dear little child, too young to feel
its loss.

But while we have yet lingered, the sun has finished his journey, and
hid his bright beams behind the curtain of the west, and already have
the shadows of coming twilight gathered around us, and the white
marble slabs, dimly seen in its shadows, assume strange, mysterious
sh