harmonious breathings to its Heavenly home;
and our hearts are melted, our imaginations
exalted, our faith invigorated, and we come
away the better for what we have seen.

I believe some such reflections as these were
passing through our minds, for we both
remained silent and listening, till the swinging-to
of the little wicket, which communicated with
the garden, aroused us; but nobody appeared,
and the tower being at the moment betwixt
us and it, we could not see who had entered.
Almost at the same moment, a man came in
from a gate on the opposite side, and advancing
to where the earth was thrown up, lifted
the plank and discovered the newly made
grave. He was soon followed by some boys,
and several respectable-looking persons came
into the enclosure, whilst nearer and nearer
drew the sound of the muffled drums, and
now we descried the firing party and their
officer, who led the procession with their arms
reversed, each man wearing above the elbow
a piece of black crape and a small bow of
white satin ribbon; the band still playing
that solemn strain. Then came the coffin,
borne by six soldiers. Six officers bore up
the pall, all quite young men; and on the
coffin lay the shako, sword, side-belt, and
white gloves of the deceased. A long train
of mourners marched two and two, in open
file, the privates first, the officers last.
Sorrow was imprinted on every face; there
was no unseemly chattering, no wandering
eyes; if a word was exchanged, it was in
a whisper, and the sad shake of the head
showed of whom they were discoursing. All
this we observed as they marched through
the lane that skirted one side of the
churchyard. As they neared the gate the band
ceased to play.

'See there,' said Mrs. Markham, directing
my attention to the cottage, 'there comes Mr.
Lovell. Oh, how he is changed!' and whilst
she spoke, the clergyman entering by the
wicket, advanced to meet the procession at
the gate, where he commenced reading the
funeral service as he moved backwards
towards the grave, round which the firing party,
leaning on their firelocks, now formed. Then
came those awful words, 'Ashes to ashes, dust
to dust,' the hollow sound of the earth upon
the coffin, and three vollies fired over the
grave, finished the solemn ceremony.

When the procession entered the churchyard,
we had retired behind the broken wall
of the chancel, whence, without being
observed, we had watched the whole scene with
intense interest. Just as the words 'Ashes
to ashes! dust to dust!' were pronounced,
I happened to raise my eyes towards the
grey tower, and then, peering through one
of the narrow slits, I saw the face of a man
—such a face! Never to my latest day can
I forget the expression of those features!
If ever there was despair and anguish
written on a human countenance, it was
there! And yet so young! so beautiful! A
cold chill ran through my veins as I pressed
Mrs. Markham's arm. 'Look up at the
tower!' I whispered.

'My God! What can it be?' she answered,
turning quite pale! 'And Mr. Lovell, did you
observe how his voice shook? at first, I
thought it was illness; but he seems bowed
down with grief. Every face looks awestruck!
There must be some tragedy here—
something more than the death of an
individual!' and fearing, under this impression,
that our visit might prove untimely, we
resolved to return to the inn, and endeavour
to discover if anything unusual had really
occurred. Before we moved, I looked up at
the narrow slit—the face was no longer there;
but as we passed round to the other side of
the tower, we saw a tall, slender figure,
attired in a loose coat, pass slowly through
the wicket, cross the garden, and enter the
house. We only caught a glimpse of the
profile; the head hung down upon the breast;
the eyes were bent upon the ground; but we
knew it was the same face we had seen
above.

We went back to the inn, where our inquiries
elicited some information, which made
us wish to know more: but it was not till we
went into the town that we obtained the
following details of this mournful drama, of
which we had thus accidentally witnessed one
impressive scene.

Mr. Lovell, as Mrs. Markham had
conjectured, was a man of good family, but no
fortune; he might have had a large one,
could he have made up his mind to marry
Lady Elizabeth Wentworth, the bride selected
for him by a wealthy uncle who proposed to
make him his heir; but preferring poverty
with Emily Dering, he was disinherited. He
never repented his choice, although he
remained vicar of a small parish, and a poor man
all his life. The two children whom Mrs.
Markham had seen, were the only ones they
had, and through the excellent management of
Mrs. Lovell, and the moderation of her
husband's desires, they had enjoyed an unusual
degree of happiness in this sort of graceful
poverty, till the young Charles and Emily were
grown up, and it was time to think what was
to be done with them. The son had been
prepared for Oxford by the father, and the
daughter, under the tuition of her mother,
was remarkably well educated and accomplished;
but it became necessary to consider
the future: Charles must be sent to college,
since the only chance of finding a provision
for him was in the Church, although the
expense of maintaining him there could be ill
afforded; so, in order in some degree to
balance the outlay, it was, after much
deliberation, agreed that Emily should accept
a situation as governess in London. The
proposal was made by herself, and the rather
consented to, that, in case of the death of her
parents, she would almost inevitably have had
to seek some such means of subsistence. These