around it. Slowly moved on the lowly train that bore
to the "house appointed for all living" the mortal remains of one whom
they well loved, and whose removal from among them--essential as he had
always seemed to the very identity of the village--was an event they had
never contemplated and which they now, in its unexpectedness, sorely
lamented. The village choir preceded it, singing those strains which
poor David's voice had so often led; and surely, for once, the spirit of
the old man rested on his refractory pupils; for rarely have I heard
sweeter notes than those that swelled on the balmy air, as the dusky
procession wound its way across the heath, waving with harebells, and
along the narrow lane, whose hedges were beginning to show the first
faint rose, till it reached the church porch, where the good rector
himself was waiting to pay the last token of respect to his humble
friend; while groups of villagers were loitering around to witness the
simple rites. Entering within the church, again was the voice of melody
heard, and again was as sweetly chanted that mournful psalm, which is
appointed, with such affecting appropriateness, for the burial of the
dead. "I said, I will take heed to my ways, that I offend not in my
tongue; I will keep my mouth, as it were, with a bridle, while the
ungodly is in my sight." Then came the dull, hollow sound of "earth to
earth, dust to dust, ashes to ashes;" and so, amid many tears, (and we
confess our eyes were not dry,) closed the grave over one who, despite
some innocent, though mirth-provoking failings, was honoured by all who
knew him for the stern, unbending integrity of his character, and the
strictness with which he fulfilled all the duties of life. David was an
_honest_ man, one whose "word was as good as his bond," who "promised to
his hurt, and changed not." Would that as much might be said of many who
move in a higher sphere, and make far larger professions of sanctity
than he did! But he shall be remembered, when their names are blotted
out for ever.

"Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet in death, and blossom in the dust."

The music which we hear in our social intercourse, is too generally--we
say it in grief, but in truth--detestable. "Like figures on a
dial-plate," sit the four-and-twenty Englishmen and Englishwomen, who
have been drawn together to receive their friend's hospitality; till the
awful silence convinces the host that some desperate eff