accurately and positively true.

About four-and-thirty years ago I was traveling through Denbighshire
upon a mission which needed dispatch. I had, in fact, in my charge, some
papers which were required for the legal preliminaries to a marriage,
which was about to take place in a family of consideration, upon the
borders of that county.

The season was winter, but the weather delightful--that is to say, clear
and frosty; and, even without foliage, the country through which I
posted was beautiful. The subject of my journey was a pleasant one. I
anticipated an agreeable visit, and a cordial welcome; and the weather
and scenery were precisely of the sort to second the cheerful
associations with which my excursion had been undertaken. Let no one,
therefore, suggest that I was predisposed for the reception of gloomy or
horrible impressions. When the sun set we had a splendid moon, at once
soft and brilliant; and I pleased myself with watching the altered, and,
if possible, more beautiful effects of the scenery through which we were
smoothly rolling. I was to put up for the night at the little town of
----; and on reaching the hill--over which the approach to it is
conducted, about a short mile from its quaint little street--I
dismounted, and directing the postillion to walk his jaded horses
leisurely up the winding road, I trod on before him in the pleasant
moonlight, and sharp, bracing air. A little by-path led directly up the
steep acclivity, while the carriage-road more gradually ascended by a
wide sweep--this little path, leading through fields and hedgerows, I
followed, intending to anticipate the arrival of my conveyance at the
summit of the hill.

I had not proceeded very far when I found myself close to a pretty old
church, whose ivied tower, and countless diamond window panes, were
glittering in the moonbeams--a high, irregular hedge, overtopped by tall
and ancient trees inclosed it; and rows of funereal yews showed black
and mournful among the wan array of headstones that kept watch over the
village dead. I was so struck with the glimpse I had caught of the old
church-yard, that I could not forbear mounting the little stile that
commanded it--no scene could be imagined more still and solitary. Not a
human habitation was near--every sign and sound of life was reverently
remote; and this old church, with its silent congregation of the dead
marshaled under its walls, seemed to have spread round it a circle of
stilln