scenes. Many monuments are erected to entire strangers, and this
is our first meeting with them. Here the infant of a few days lies
buried, just tasting the cup of life, he turned sickening away, and
yielding it up, soared away with the angel band to the realms of
bliss.

But ere we leave the yard, let us visit the resting place of the
beautiful Clarinda Robinson, who died at the early age of nineteen.
She had ever enjoyed undiminished health. But soon, oh, how soon,
the rose of health faded upon her cheek; her sparkling eye lost its
lustre, and the animated form, stiffened in death, was laid away in
its silent chamber. At her feet lie two beautiful nieces, called, too,
in the morning of their days to go and make their beds with her. Sadly
did the bereaved mother mourn their loss; but the pale messenger came
for her too, in a few weary years, and she joined them in the pale
realms of shade.

Here, too, sleeps the young wife, called soon away from the husband of
her youth. Consumption, like a worm in the bud, preyed upon the
damask of her cheek, dried up the fountain of her life, and bore her
triumphantly, another victim of his power. The old sexton, too, who
from time immemorial, had been

"The maker of the dead man's bed,"

has laid down his mattock and his spade, and filled a grave prepared
by other hands. At his feet lies a lovely daughter, snatched suddenly
away, ere the bloom of youth had passed, and almost without a moment's
warning, leaving a husband and a dear little child, too young to feel
its loss.