ut the
earthly, perishing habitation, no longer occupied by its tenant. Yet the
features present the accustomed association of friendly intercourse. For
one moment, we could think them asleep. The next reminds us that the
blood circulates no more: the eye has lost its power of seeing, the ear
of hearing, the heart of throbbing, and the limbs of moving. Quickly a
thought of glory breaks in upon the mind, and we imagine the dear
departed soul to be arrived at its long-wished-for rest. It is
surrounded by cherubim and seraphim, and sings the song of Moses and the
Lamb on Mount Zion. Amid the solemn stillness of the chamber of death,
imagination hears heavenly hymns chanted by the spirits of just men made
perfect. In another moment, the livid lips and sunken eye of the clay-
cold corpse recall our thoughts to earth and to ourselves again. And
while we think of mortality, sin, death, and the grave, we feel the
prayer rise in our bosom, "Let me die the death of the righteous, and let
my last end be like his!"

If there be a moment when Christ and salvation, death, judgment, heaven,
and hell, appear more than ever to be momentous subjects of meditation,
it is that which brings us to the side of a coffin containing the body of
a departed believer.

Elizabeth's features were altered, but much of her likeness remained. Her
father and mother sat at the head, her brother at the foot of the coffin.
The father silently and alternately looked upon his dead child and then
lifted up his eyes to heaven. A struggle for resignation to the will of
God was manifest in his countenance; while the tears, rolling down his
aged cheeks, at the same time declared his grief and affection. The poor
mother cried and sobbed aloud, and appeared to be much overcome by the
shock of separation from a daughter so justly dear to her. The weakness
and infirmity of old age added a character to her sorrow which called for
much tenderness and compassion.

A remarkably decent-looking woman, who had the management of the few
simple though solemn ceremonies which the case required, advanced towards
me, saying,--

"Sir, this is rather a sight of joy than of sorrow. Our dear friend
Elizabeth finds it to be so, I have no doubt. She is beyond _all_
sorrow: do you not think she is, sir?"

"After what I have known, and seen, and heard," I replied, "I feel the
fullest assurance, that while her body remains here, her soul is with her
Saviour in paradise