coffin. Those passages in the Bible
which contain the beautifully poetic images relating to the going of
man to his long home were read, and to my ear they seemed to fall on
the coffin in dull strife with its inmate, who mutely contradicted
them. A discourse followed, which was calculated to harrow the
feelings to the utmost. Arthur began to cry so nervously, that some
considerate friend took him out, and Aunt Merce wept so violently that
she grew faint, and caught hold of me. I gave her the flacon of salts,
which revived her; but I felt as father looked--stern, and anxious to
escape the unprofitable trial.

As the coffin was taken out to the hearse, my heart twisted and
palpitated, as if a command had been laid upon it to follow, and not
leave her. But I was imprisoned in the cage of Life--the Keeper would
not let me go; her he had let loose.

We were still obliged to sit an intolerable while, till all present
had passed before her for the last time. When the hearse moved down
the street, father, Arthur, and I were called, and assisted in our own
chaise, as if we were helpless; the reins were put in father's hands,
and the horse was led behind the hearse. At last the word was given,
and the long procession began to move through the street, which was
deserted. A cat ran out of a house, and scampered across the way;
Arthur laughed, and father jumped nervously at the sound of his laugh.

The graveyard was a mile outside the village--a sandy plain where a
few stunted pines transplanted from the woods near it struggled to
keep alive. As we turned from the street into the lane which led
to it, and rode up a little hill where the sand was so deep that it
muffled the wheels and feet of the horses, the whole round of the gray
sky was visible. It hung low over us. I wished it to drop and blot out
the vague nothings under it. We left the carriage at the palings and
walked up the narrow path, among the mounds, where every stone was
marked "Morgeson." Some so old that they were stained with blotches
of yellow moss, slanting backward and forward, in protest against the
folly of indicating what was no longer beneath them. The mounds were
covered with mats of scanty, tangled grass, with here and there a rank
spot of green. I was tracing the shape of one of those green patches
when I felt father's arm tremble. I shut my eyes, but could not close
my ears to the sound of the spadeful of sand which fell on the coffin.

It was over. W