end her funeral. My uncle was much affected, for she
had been an excellent mother. She might have been so; but I, graceless
boy, could not perceive her merits as a _grandmother_, and showed a
great deal of fortitude upon the occasion. I recollect a circumstance
attendant upon her funeral which, connected as it was with a subsequent
one, has since been the occasion of serious reflection upon the trifling
causes which will affect the human mind, when prostrate under
affliction. My grandmother's remains were consigned to an old family
vault, not far from the river. When the last ceremonies had been paid,
and the coffin was being lowered into the deep receptacle of generations
which had passed away, I looked down, and it was full of water, nearly
up to the arch of the vault. Observing my surprise, and perceiving the
cause, my uncle was much annoyed at the circumstance; but it was too
late the cords had been removed, and my grandmother had sunk to the
bottom. My uncle interrogated the sexton after the funeral service was
over.

"Why, sir, it's because it's high-water now in the river; she will be
all dry before the evening."

This made the matter worse. If she was all a-dry in the evening, she
would be all afloat again in the morning. It was no longer a place of
rest, and my uncle's grief was much increased by the idea. For a long
while afterwards he appeared uncommonly thoughtful at spring tides.

But although his grief yielded to time, the impression was not to be
effaced. Many years afterwards a fair cousin was summoned from the
world, before she had time to enter upon the duties imposed upon the
sex, or be convinced, from painful experience, that to die is gain. It
was then I perceived that my uncle had contracted a sort of
_post-mortem_ hydrophobia. He fixed upon a church, on the top of a
hill, and ordered a vault to be dug, at a great expense, out of the
solid chalk, under the chancel of the church. There it would not only
be dry below, but even defended from the rain above. It was finished--
and (the last moisture to which she was ever to be subjected) the tears
of affection were shed over her remains, by those who lost and loved
her. When the ceremony was over, my uncle appeared to look down into
the vault with a degree of satisfaction. "There," said he, "she will
lie as dry as possible, till the end of time." And I really believe
that this conviction on his part went further to console him than e