decent order with
his own hands, and reverently covered it over. The face was still
visible, but no distortion was there; the lips were gently closed, and
the eyes, as if in slumber; the white locks fell quietly down over the
hollow temples and wasted cheeks, and over all was written the
fulfillment of the promise, "Thou shalt keep him in perfect peace
whose mind is stayed upon Thee." Awful is the presence of Death
always; and when he has set his seal on the aged servant of God, there
is a holiness there which every human spirit must bow down before. No
matter how rude the form, how coarse the features--with his plastic
hand he moulds them into lines of superhuman grandeur. He robs the
face of the hues of life, and it becomes as pure as marble. He touches
the white hair, and it falls into beautiful repose. He breathes on the
distorted brow and smoothes every wrinkle. We know that the messenger
who has wrought this wondrous change is none other than the servant of
God, that he is the last commissioned of the ministering spirits to
the earthly tabernacle, that he hath no more that he can do, and he
compels us to look on his handiwork and stand in awe.

Long did the young Christian gaze on the face of the dead with solemn
thoughts and unuttered prayers--not, indeed, for the departed spirit,
for he knew that with that his business was accomplished and over for
ever--but for himself, that his latter end might be such. His
thoughts, not unnaturally, went forward into the distant future, and
speculated on his own dying hour, and he wondered what might be its
accompaniments. He prayed that it might be as peaceful as this he had
just witnessed, that he might descend into the grave as a shock of
corn fully ripe; that he might lie down with the sweet consciousness
that his work was done, and his reward sure. With no unhallowed
curiosity did he strive to pierce the future, but had some evil genius
been permitted at that moment to lift the veil which hid his own
death-scene, how would he have shrunk and shuddered, and his yet young
faith fainted in the contemplation.

CHAPTER III.

It was a bright, busy day in Imperial Rome. Never had her resplendent
sun shone more brightly on her marble palaces, her gorgeous temples,
her lovely groves and gardens. The scented air stole in through open
windows, where sat secluded lovely damsels and noble matrons; and it
wantoned, too, over humbler homes, where little children played and
sung a