to her last home, and both Ellen and Herbert dreaded writing the intelligence to her affectionate son, who was now in Percy’s service.  She had been buried only the day previous.  Her seat was exactly opposite the pulpit, where she had so often said it was such a blessing to look on the face of her dear Master Herbert, and hear such blessed truths from his lips.  She now was gone.  Herbert looked on her vacant seat, and it was then his eyes glistened in starting tears.  He had seen his cousin look towards the same place, and though her veil was closely drawn down, he felt her tears were falling fast and thick upon her book.  More than usually eloquent was the young clergyman that day, in the discourse he had selected as most appropriate to the feelings of those present.  He spoke of death, and, with an eloquence affecting in its pure simplicity, he alluded to the loss of those we love.  “Wherefore should I say loss, my brethren?” he said, in conclusion.  “They have but departed to mansions of undying joy:  to earth they may be lost, but not to us.  Oh, no, God cursed the ground for man’s sake—­it is fading, perishable!  There will be a new heaven and a new earth, but the spirit which God breathed within us shall not see corruption.  Released from this earthly shell, we shall again behold those who have departed first; they will meet us rejoicing, singing aloud the praises of that unutterable love that redeemed and saved us, removing the curse pronounced on man, even as on earth, making us heirs of eternal life, of everlasting glory!  My brethren, Death has been amongst us, but how clothed? to us who remain, perhaps for a time in sadness; but to those who have triumphantly departed, even as an angel of light, guiding them to the portals of heaven.  Purified by suffering and repentance, their garments white as snow, they encircle the throne of their Saviour; and those whose lives below were those of toil and long suffering, are now among the blessed.  Shall we then weep for them, my friends?  Surely not.  Let us think of them, and follow in their paths, that our last end may be like theirs, that we may rejoin them, never again to part!

“Are there any here who fear to die?  Are there any who shrink and tremble when they think they may be the next it may please the Lord to call?  My Christian brethren, think awhile, and such thoughts will cease to appal you.  To the heathen alone is death the evil spirit, the blackening shadow which, when called to mind, will poison his dearest joys!  To us, brethren, what is it?  In pain it tells us of ease; in strife or tumult, that the grave is a place of quiet; in the weariness of exhausted spirits, that the end of all these things is at hand.  Who ever found perfect joy on earth?  Are we not restless, even in the midst of happiness?  Death tells us of a purer happiness, in which there is no weariness, no satiety.  When we look around on those we love, when we feel the blessings of affection, death tells