with the name JOHN KLINE.

In walking through a cemetery and pensively viewing the memorials of
the departed, one question of deep interest often presses upon the
mind and heart: Are these, whose names are here recorded on slab and
obelisk, still alive and in the possession of conscious being, or are
they dead--

"All to mouldering darkness gone;
All of conscious life bereft?"

We turn to earth, and from her lips the ear of reason catches
deep-toned words of assurance that death is not the end of life. The
hue of the butterfly's wing, "the flower of the grass," the beauty of
the vernal year, these all, all teach the sublime truth that "all
great endings are but great beginnings." The voice of God from the
unrolled page of plainer if not diviner truth, says: "These are not
dead, but sleeping--they shall wake again."

Satisfied on this point, the next question turns to the lives and
characters, works and words of those who lie buried here. Were they
good or bad? Are their spirits now in heaven, or somewhere else? There
are two classes, however, concerning whom no such questions arise. The
first class is made up of those who have died in their infancy; and
ever and anon while looking at the "little lamb," or "rose bud," or
"young dove" not yet fledged, the words flow into the mind as from the
lips of Jesus: "Of such is the kingdom of heaven." The other class is
composed of such as have given clear evidence, by profession and life,
that they are the children of God. The words for them come as did the
others, from the page of Heavenly Truth, "Therefore are they