sack on his back and a stout staff in
his hand, was seen approaching the village of M----, on that side on
which lay the church-yard we have already described as the
resting-place of the little shoemaker's parents. The young man was
robust, and seemingly a mechanic, for his hands were rough, as though
accustomed to labour, and his face gave plain evidence of acquaintance
with the summer sun. He could not have been altogether a stranger to
the place, for after he passed the few houses in the suburbs of the
village, he turned towards the church-yard, the gate of which stood
open, and entered the "silent city" where the dead were reposing.

The day was bright and clear, and, being the early part of June, the
trees and flowers were in their freshest and fairest bloom; but they
attracted no particular attention from the stranger. The grave-yard
lay upon a hill which overlooked the town, and the traveller, passing
by one flower-adorned grave after another, walked hastily on until he
reached the highest point, from whence he looked down earnestly, as if
his eyes sought to single out some particular object among the
wilderness of roofs. At first his countenance was sad, but at last the
melancholy look changed to an expression of cheerful surprise, for his
eye had found what it was seeking among those once familiar objects.
He knew the old house, for memory keeps the record of early days most
faithfully, although its appearance was much changed. The old black
roof of oak shingles was now replaced by a new one of slate; and
instead of the dull yellow colour which had for many years
distinguished it, it was now painted and modernized, to harmonize with
the rest. He did not linger long to conjecture the cause of the
change, but with hasty steps prepared to ascertain in person the
reason. As he retraced the path trodden only a moment before, he
bestowed rather more attention on the surrounding objects; and as his
eye glanced over the graves once so familiar to it, he saw that change
had been busy there too.

The slate roof had not less surprised him than what he now saw: the
spot where two lowly graves, adorned only by flowers, had appeared for
years without any monumental record, was now adorned with all that can
be rendered by the living to the dead. A very high and handsome iron
railing, on which climbing plants were trained, enclosed the little
mounds, and a simple white marble pillar bore the names of George and
Margaret Raym