and several conveyances would be down from the emigrant camp. The
wagon arriving shortly afterward, we had barely time to lay the corpse
in the coffin before the emigrants drove up. The minister was a tall,
homely man, with a flowing beard, which the frosts of many a winter
had whitened, and as he mingled amongst us in the final preparations,
he had a kind word for every one. There were ten in his party; and
when the coffin had been carried out to the grave, the two
granddaughters of the old man opened the simple service by singing
very impressively the first three verses of the Portuguese Hymn. I had
heard the old hymn sung often before, but the impression of the last
verse rang in my ears for days afterward.

"When through the deep waters I call thee to go,
The rivers of sorrow shall not overflow;
For I will be with thee thy troubles to bless,
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress."

As the notes of the hymn died away, there was for a few moments
profound stillness, and not a move was made by any one. The touching
words of the old hymn expressed quite vividly the disaster of the
previous day, and awakened in us many memories of home. For a time we
were silent, while eyes unused to weeping filled with tears. I do not
know how long we remained so. It may have been only for a moment, it
probably was; but I do know the silence was not broken till the aged
minister, who stood at the head of the coffin, began his discourse. We
stood with uncovered heads during the service, and when the old
minister addressed us he spoke as though he might have been holding
family worship and we had been his children. He invoked Heaven to
comfort and sustain the mother when the news of her son's death
reached her, as she would need more than human aid in that hour; he
prayed that her faith might not falter and that she might again meet
and be with her loved ones forever in the great beyond. He then took
up the subject of life,--spoke of its brevity, its many hopes that are
never realized, and the disappointments from which no prudence or
foresight can shield us. He dwelt at some length on the strange
mingling of sunshine and shadow that seemed to belong to every life;
on the mystery everywhere, and nowhere more impressively than in
ourselves. With his long bony finger he pointed to the cold, mute form
that lay in the coffin before us, and said, "But this, my friends, is
the mystery of all mysteries." The fact that l