desolate place, overgrown with weeds, and studded with slate
stones, bounded by a ruinous brick wall, and having an entrance
through a dilapidated gateway. One or two melancholy-looking cows were
feeding on the rank herbage that sprang from the unctuous soil,
spurning many a _hic jacet_ with their cloven hoofs. But afar, in the
most distant part of the field, I espied the figure of a man who was
busily occupied in digging a grave. There was something within that
impelled me to stroll forth and accost him. I dressed, descended, and
having ordered breakfast, left the inn, clambered over the ruinous
wall, and stood within the precincts of the burial-place. The spot had
evidently been used for the purposes of sepulture for a number of
years, for the ground rose into numerous hillocks, and I could hardly
walk a step without stumbling upon some grassy mound. Even where the
perishable gravestones had been shattered by the hand of time, the
length of the elevations enabled me to judge of the age of the
deceased. This slight swell rose over the remains of some beloved
child, who had been committed to the dust with only the simple
ceremonies of the Protestant faith, bedewed by the tears of parents,
and blessed by the broken voice of farewell affection. This mound, of
larger dimension, was heaped above the giant frame of manhood. Some
sturdy tiller of the soil, or rough dweller in the forest, perhaps cut
off by a sudden casualty, had been laid here in his last leaden
sleep--no more to start at the rising beam of the sun, no more to rush
to the glorious excitement of the hunt, no more to pant in noonday
toil. Over the whole field of the dead there seemed to brood the
spirit of desolation. Stern heads, rudely chiselled, from the grave
stones, and frightful emblems met the eye at every turn. Here was none
of that simple elegance with which modern taste loves to invest the
memorials of the departed; no graceful acacias, or nodding elms, or
sorrowing willows shed their dews upon the turf--every thing spoke of
the bitterness of parting, of the agony of the last hour, of the
passing away from earth--nothing of the reunion in heaven!

I passed on to where the grave digger was pursuing his occupation. He
answered my morning salutation civilly enough, but continued intent
upon his work. He was a man of about fifty years of age, spare, but
strong, with gray hair, and sunken cheeks, and certain lines about the
mouth which augured a propensit