predecessor. It may not be impertinent to observe, that I am invited
to dine and spend the day with the Dudleys on that occasion, and I
shall not fail to make an accurate report of whatever glimpse I may
obtain into the mysterious ceremonies of a Puritan Christmas.




IN THE CHURCHYARD AT CAMBRIDGE.

A LEGEND OF LADY LEE.


In the village churchyard she lies,
Dust is in her beautiful eyes,
No more she breathes, nor feels, nor stirs;
At her feet and at her head
Lies a slave to attend the dead,
But their dust is white as hers.

Was she, a lady of high degree,
So much in love with the vanity
And foolish pomp of this world of ours?
Or was it Christian charity,
And lowliness and humility,
The richest and rarest of all dowers?

Who shall tell us? No one speaks;
No color shoots into those cheeks,
Either of anger or of pride,