he was gazing with a
pensive face upon the sky. Another told, how he had wondered much that
one so delicate as she, should be so bold; how she had never feared to
enter the church alone at night, but had loved to linger there when all
was quiet, and even to climb the tower stair, with no more light than
that of the moon rays stealing through the loopholes in the thick old
wall. A whisper went about among the oldest, that she had seen and
talked with angels; and when they called to mind how she had looked,
and spoken, and her early death, some thought it might be so, indeed.
Thus, coming to the grave in little knots, and glancing down, and
giving place to others, and falling off in whispering groups of three
or four, the church was cleared in time, of all but the sexton and the
mourning friends.

They saw the vault covered, and the stone fixed down. Then, when the
dusk of evening had come on, and not a sound disturbed the sacred
stillness of the place--when the bright moon poured in her light on
tomb and monument, on pillar, wall, and arch, and most of all (it
seemed to them) upon her quiet grave--in that calm time, when outward
things and inward thoughts teem with assurances of immortality, and
worldly hopes and fears are humbled in the dust before them--then, with
tranquil and submissive hearts they turned away, and left the child
with God.

Oh! it is hard to take to heart the lesson that such deaths will teach,
but let no man reject it, for it is one that all must learn, and is a
mighty, universal Truth. When Death strikes down the innocent and
young, for every fragile form from which he lets the panting spirit
free, a hundred virtues rise, in shapes of mercy, charity, and love, to
walk the world, and bless it. Of every tear that sorrowing mortals
shed on such green graves, some good is born, some gentler nature
comes. In the Destroyer's steps there spring up bright creations that
defy his power, and his dark path becomes a way of light to Heaven.

It was late when the old man came home. The boy had led him to his own
dwelling, under some pretence, on their way back; and, rendered drowsy
by his long ramble and late want of rest, he had sunk into a deep sleep
by the fireside. He was perfectly exhausted, and they were careful not
to rouse him. The slumber held him a long time, and when he at length
awoke the moon was shining.

The younger brother, uneasy at his protracted absence, was watching at
the door