Ellen stooped down and looked in, but arose quickly and turned away.  Two gentlemen were standing near observing her, and one of them smiled as she stepped back from the vault.  Mr. Weston knew this person by sight; he was a clergyman of great talent, and almost equal eccentricity, and often gave offence by harshness of manner, when he was only anxious to do good to the cause in which his heart was absorbed.

“Ah! young ladies,” he said, looking kindly at them both, “this is a good place for you to come to.  You are both beautiful, and it may be wealthy; and I doubt not, in the enjoyments of the passing season, you have forgotten all about death and the grave.  But, look you! in there, lies the mortal remains of Mrs. Madison.  What an influence she had in this gay society, which you have doubtless adorned.  Her presence was the guarantee of propriety, as well as of social and fashionable enjoyment; the very contrast that she presented to her husband made her more charming.  Always anxious to please, she was constantly making others happy.  She gave assistance and encouragement to all, when it was in her power.  She had more political influence than any woman in our country has had, before or since.  But think of her now!  You could not bear to approach the coffin that contains her remains.  Where is her beauty—­and her grace and talent?  Ah! young ladies,” he continued, “did she rightly use those talents?”

“It is hardly a fair question to ask now,” said Mr. Weston.  “Let us tread lightly o’er the ashes of the dead.”

“Let the living learn a lesson from the dead,” said the clergyman, sternly.  “You are leading, it may be, a heartless life of pleasure, but, young ladies, forget not this grave.  She could not escape it, nor will you.  Pause from your balls, and your theatres, and your gay doings, and ask, what is the end of it all.  Trifle not with the inestimable gift of life.  Be not dead while you live.  Anticipate not the great destroyer.  Hear the appeal of one who was once the idol of every heart; she speaks to you from the grave, ‘Even as I am, shalt thou be!’”

He turned from them, and wandered over the ground.  Mr. Weston led the way to the carriage, and Ellen and Alice thought, that if a lesson of life was to be learned in the gay ball of the night before, a still more necessary one was found in the cemetery which they were now leaving, as the shadows of the evening were on the simple monument and the sculptured slab, and their silent tenants slept on, undisturbed by the gambols of thoughtless children, or the conversation of the many who came to visit their abode.

* * * * *

The next morning, Bacchus brought no letter for Mr. Weston, but one for each lady; for Ellen from her aunt, for Alice from Arthur, and Cousin Janet’s handwriting was easily recognized on the outside of Mrs. Weston’s.  Hardly had the girls arisen from the table to take theirs’ to their rooms for a quiet perusal, when an exclamation from Mrs. Weston, detained them.