hen gradually yielded to the influence of
that divine principle which shall finally wipe the tear from every eye,
and banish all sorrow and sighing for evermore.

On the fourth day from thence, Jane was buried. I had never before
committed a parishioner to the ground with similar affections. The
attendants were not many, but I was glad to perceive among them some of
the children who had been accustomed to receive my weekly private
instruction along with her.

I wished that the scene might usefully impress their young hearts, and
that God would bless it to their edification.

As I stood at the head of the grave, during the service, I connected past
events, which had occurred in the churchyard, with the present. In this
spot Jane first learned the value of that gospel which saved her soul.
Not many yards from her own burial-place, was the epitaph which has
already been described as the first means of affecting her mind with
serious and solemn conviction. It seemed to stand at _this_ moment as a
peculiar witness for those truths which its lines proclaimed to every
passing reader. Such an association of objects produced a powerful
effect on my thoughts.

The evening was serene--nothing occurred to interrupt the quiet solemnity
of the occasion.

"Peace" was the last word little Jane uttered while living; and peace
seemed to be inscribed on the farewell scene of the grave where she was
laid. A grateful remembrance of that peace revives in my own mind, as I
write these memorials of it; and oh, may that peace which passeth all
understanding be in its most perfect exercise, when I shall meet her
again at the last day!

Attachment to the spot where this young Christian lay, induced me to
plant a yew-tree close by the head of her grave, adjoining the eastern
wall of the church. I designed it as an evergreen monument of one who
was dear to memory. The young plant appeared healthy for a while, and
promised by its outward vigour long to retain its station. But it
withered soon afterwards, and, like the child whose grave it pointed out
to notice, early faded away and died.

The yew-tree proved a frail and short-lived monument. But a more lasting
one dwells in my own heart. And perhaps this narrative may be permitted
to transmit her memory to other generations, when the hand and heart of
the writer shall be cold in the dust.

Perchance some, into whose hands these pages may fall, will be led to
cultivate their spir