mourn his loss.

Here, side by side, are the graves of an entire household, consisting
of the maternal grandmother, two sisters of the father, the father
and mother, and seven children, with the wife of one of the sons. Not
twelve rods from their own door they sleep side by side--that many
voiced household, in the silence of death. No voice breaks the
stillness; no words of love are interchanged; but their dust shall
mingle together till the morning of the resurrection, teaching an
impressive lesson to those that stand by their graves and read the
inscriptions upon their tombstones.

Here is buried the dear old deacon and his wife, by whose bedside we
stood when his forehead was wet with the damp dews of death, and his
eye lighted up by faith, seemed to scan the glories of the upper
world, and he felt it was "far better to depart and be with Christ."
And even then came, "let me die the death of the righteous, and let my
last end be like his." His devoted, pious wife soon followed him, and
we feel, as we look upon their graves, there is rest in Heaven. At
their feet lie children, grand-children and great-grand-children.

Clara Everett was a promising young girl, cut down at the early age of
nineteen. She was left an orphan at the age of nine months, her father
dying suddenly, and her mother a few weeks after, with consumption.
She was tenderly cared for by her maternal grand-parents and a maiden
aunt, well educated and had commenced teaching, when she was seized
suddenly with an alarming fever, which in a few short days, was
terminated by death. They bore her to the resting place with many
tears, and placed her beside those dear parents from whom she was so
early separated. Many here, that lived a life of dissipation, have