but the following beautiful lines of a true but neglected poet, will disclose some of it's numerous attractions :

A scene sequester'd from the haunts of men,
The loveliest nook in all that lovely glen,
Where weary pilgrims found their last repose.
The little heaps were ranged in comely rows,
With walks between, where friends and kindred trod,
Who dress'd with duteous hand each hallow'd sod.
No sculptured monument was wrought to breathe
His praises, whom the worms destroy'd beneath
The high, the low, the mighty, and the fair,
Equal in death, were undistinguish'd there.
Yet not a hillock moulder'd near that spot
By one dishonour'd, or by all forgot,

To some warm heart the poorest dust was dear,
From some kind eye the meanest claim'd a tear;
And oft the living, by affection led,

Were wont to walk in spirit with the dead.
Where no dark cypress cast a doleful gloom.
No blithing yew shed poison o'er the tomb,
But white and red, with intermingling flowers,
The grave look'd beautiful in sun and showers.---
"Twas not a scene for grief to nourish care,

It breathed of hope, and moved the heart to prayer!
MONTGOMERY'S WORLD BEFORE THE FLOOD.

It was a most lovely morning. The summer sun was shining with all its glory, and the dew-drops still glittered on the flowerleaves. I had more than once before visited this enchanting spot -for, as I have already observed, it is a favourite of mine,—but I never saw it as I saw it then, glowing so brightly in the beams of a brilliant morning. I was leaning against the tomb of one, who, although a wealthy man, had chosen to repose under the green sod of the church-yard, rather than the stony floor of the temple, when two old men entering the burial place, approached the spot where I stood, and proceeded to remove the planks from a half-excavated grave, which I now perceived was close to a mound of earth, adorned with turfs and flowers. One of these worthies was the ancient grave-digger of the village, and the other apparently his deputy, for they both set about their work with that calm and steady indifference which characterizes the mournful avocations of this class of labourers. They made their obeisance to me as they passed, and were soon engaged in the garrulous and trivial gossiping of old age. The grave was speedily finished, the boards were removed to a distance, and the old men left me to my meditations. I do not know how long I should have remained thus buried in thought, "deep, soothing, and delightful," if the dull and melancholy tolling of the churchbell had not roused me from my reverie, and turned my thoughts into another channel. The sun shone forth in all its brilliancy, and numberless birds carolled in gladness their song of praise

and gratitude: but the bell sent forth its sullen knell at intervals, and cast a gloom over my mind, which all the inspiring influence of so beautiful a prospect could not counteract still I could not quit the spot. An irresistible curiosity impelled me to remain, that I might witness the last, sad, solemn ceremony due to the remains of poor mortality: I had not to tarry long. A soft and murmuring melody, "borne up the valley by the morning breeze," reached me at intervals, like the fitful aud melancholy cadence of the Eolian harp; and walking forth in the direction whence the sound proceeded, I descried a funeral procession moving mournfully along the side of the mountain, and the newly made grave at my feet indicated that this was the final resting-place of the approaching corpse. In this part of the kingdom it is always customary to escort the body to the grave with hymns adapted to the occasion; these are generally exceedingly plaintive and harmonious, and usually sung by females, and the effect of their beautiful and appropriate minstrelsy is indescribable. Nothing can be more impressive than it's influence; for there is a solemnity attached to it which strikes at once to the heart, is infinitely more affecting than the pomp and splendour of a metropolitan funeral. On this occasion, I remember, I was particularly affected with the dirge-like cadence of the mournful melody, as it reached me softened by the distance; while the weeping mourners, preceded by the Pastor of the village and twelve young maidens clad in white, presented a spectacle of deep and affecting interest.

I advanced to meet the procession, and having joined it, turned back and proceeded by the side of the mournful train towards the church-yard. It was composed of nearly thirty persons. First walked the Minister, from whom I received a kind look of recognition, for well he knew "the Wanderer," and on whose benignant features were expressed the deepest sorrow. Then came the twelve lovely singers, and after them followed the coffin on a bier supported by four young men, and covered with a white pall, borne by four females, and intimating that the relics it' contained were those of a pure and spotless maiden. The first of the mourners was an old and venerable women, the grandmother, as I afterwards learned, of the departed virgin,-tottering under the weight of age and sorrow, yet walking fearlessly onward, unsupported even in her sad infirmity, and leading by the band a little girl, who had scarcely passed the bounds of infancy, and who, of all her kindred, alone remained to solace her declining years. After this aged female came her weeping friends; and

wailing with funeral hymns

The long procession moved."

When we arrived at the gothic porch of the church, the bier was placed upon the ground, and the clergyman pronounced over

it in the emphatic language of his country, the Lord's Prayer; the procession then again moved onward, and the customary service was performed previous to the affecting ceremony of interment.* As we had moved along toward the church, two or three idle urchins, who were playing among the tomb-stones, ran, forward to meet us, the foremost shouting in Welch as he ran, "Come along, Shonen Roberts, and see at the burying of pretty Mary Williams, here's the Minister, and old Megan, and the strange gentleman!"—and on they bounded in childish glee to gaze at us, bowing, however, with due reverence to the good clergyman as he passed them. I recollect this well. There was to me something so terrific in the callous indifference of these youngsters, that it struck me at the time as a powerful illustration of that prevailing principle of self-interest which teaches us to disregarded the misfortunes of those to whom we are not bound by the ties of sympathy or friendship, and to care nought about the miseries and misfortunes which are every day happening around us. "When I reflect," observes an eloquent writer, "what an inconsiderable atom every single man is with respect to the whole creation, methinks it is a shame to be concerned at the removal of such a trivial animal as I am. The morning after my exit the sun will rise as bright as ever, the flowers smell as sweet, the plants spring as green, the world will proceed in its old course, people will laugh as heartily, and marry as fast as they were used to do. The memory of man, as it is elegantly expressed in the Wisdom of Solomon, passeth away as the remembrance of a guest that tarrieth but one day.'"-Alas! who amongst us has not felt the truth of this splendid quotation ?

The interment of the dead is one of the most awful and sublime rites of our holy religion. I have seen the strongest frame shake like a reed, and the sturdiest heart quail like a coward's, at this most sorrowful and affecting ceremony; and as we all

:

* In former times the funeral ceremonies of the Welsh were much more numerous than at present. Previous to a funeral it was customary, when the corpse was brought out of the house, for the next of kin to the deceased, whether widow, sister, mother, or daughter,—for it must be a female,—to give, over the coffin, a quantity of white loaves in a dish, and sometimes a cheese, with a piece of silver money stuck in it, to poor persons. After that, they presented in the same manner a cup, and required the person to drink a little out of it immediately when this was done they knelt down; the Minister repeated the Lord's Prayer, after which they proceeded with the body; and at every crossway between the house and the church, they laid down the bier, knelt, and again said the Lord's Prayer, also repeating the ceremony when they first entered the church-yard. It was reckoned fortunate for the deceased if it should rain while they were carrying him to church, that his coffin might be wet with the dew of Heaven. It was likewise customary, in some districts, for the friends to say the Lord's Prayer over the grave for several Sundays following the interment ;-but this is now confined to the first Sunday afterwards.

stood round the grave of this village maiden I felt the full force of the sublime service appropriated by our Liturgy to the burial of the dead. It is melancholy enough to mourn over the remains of the infirm and the aged, whose life had lasted beyond the natural term of " threescore years and ten;" but there is a feeling of despondency, as well as sorrow, in the death of the young and the lovely. We look for the fall of the "sear and yellow leaf" in autumn, as a common and natural occurence; but we do not expect to see the sweet flowers of the spring wither and decay till they have delighted us with their beauty and fragrance, and fulfilled the brief space allotted to them here. The parent who has sorrowed for a beloved child, the lover who has lamented a tender mistress, and the sister who has mourned over an infant brother, can tell how agonizing it is to be parted from such dear objects of solicitude and affection. But there is a consolation for all of us in the cheering consciousness that the memory will never die ; and that in our idle hours of meditation the forms of those whom we may thus have loved and lost will vividly recur to us, bringing with them all those soothing recollections which constitute what has been emphatically denominated the “joy of grief."

e;

Deeply was every person affected as the ceremony proceeded; and many a tear was shed over the unconscious remains of one whom all had loved. The venerable chief mourner, however, at first maintained the most placid composure, at least so far as all outward sigu was concerned. She shed no tear, she uttered no sigh, and repeated the responses with a distinct, and even firm voice. But when the Minister pronouced the bitter words, "earth to earth! ashes to ashes! dust to dust!" and when the sexton scattered the mould upon the coffin lid,—she was composed no longer. Hitherto there had been a calm deliberation in this aged mourner, which betokened deep and silent sorrow, and which seemed to be the result of much internal conflict. I could see from the beginning that her's was no common grief; although she had, by a strong and extraordinary effort, subdued all boisterous indication of her anguish. But at this affecting portion of the ceremony her emotions could no longer be con

trouled. The acuteness of her feelings, old and bowed down as she was, had gained additional intensity from their depression, and in a tone which still vibrates on my ear, she exclaimed, “Oh ! Mary Mary! why did ye not wait for your poor old grandmother!" and then she wept audibly, as, with her hands clasped, and her head bent over the grave, she gazed for the last time upon the coffin of her beloved grand-daughter. We all felt for the poor woman's affliction, more especially the good Pastor, who wiped a tear from his eyes as he paused till she had somewhat recovered. The ceremony was then conducted without any further incident, and the company wended their way homewards, deeply impressed with the sad solemnity of the scene they had witnessed. Two or three of the oldest of the matrons accompanied poor Margaret Williams, or, as she was generally called, "old Megan," to her cottage, comforting her with such soothing means as their sagacity and experience suggested; while I remained behind to shake hands with my old friend the Rector. He greeted me with all his accustomed kindness; but his voice was tremulous, and a tear still glittered in his eye. He invited me however, to spend the day with him at the rectory, and, readily accepting the invitation, we walked arm in arm towards his residence. We soon arrived there, and, after a glass of his excellent gooseberry wine, our conversation naturally adverted to the Funeral. The grief of my kind old friend induced me to suspect that the deceased was something more to him than a parishioner; and I intimated that I was fearful he had lost a kinswoman and a friend. He replied that no relationship had subsisted between them; but that in point of affection they were placed in the relative situation of father and daughter. "Sad changes, my friend," he continued, "have taken place in this house since you were in it last. My poor wife is dead ; and so is your old play-fellow, Edward; but, thanks be to God! I have had strength enough to bear my affliction with, I trust, Christian resignation. But if your are inclined to listen, I will relate a few particulars of poor Mary Willams's life, as it will necessarily involve the narration of my own domestic misfortunes."

66 Mary was born and nurtured in affliction, for her mother was deluded by the specious blandishments of a villain, who deserted her in her uttermost need, and left her to rear her infant in shame and sorrow. It too frequently happens, that when a female falls from her virtuous station in society, that some encouraging failing on her own part has led to ruin. In this instance, however, no such extenuation can be urged in palliation of a crime so destructive in its consequences. Poor Margaret Williams was a steady, good girl, fond, indeed of finery,— and what girl is not? but without any portion of levity in her disposition. Her behaviour was always characterized by a modest civility, which rendered her a welcome visiter at every