Oh! thought we, why needed this affliction to be sent upon one so near perfection?  Surely, he, of all others, needed not this discipline; and then came to our minds, soft, sweet, and soothing, the words, “Every branch in me that beareth fruit, he purgeth it that it may bring forth more fruit.”

We felt that it was hard to lay in the grave the form of our dear friend; it was hard to part with the casket which had enshrined the precious jewel.  Beautiful in life, she was so in death.  The departing spirit had left a ray of brightness on its earthly house, and, in looking at the calm brow and peaceful smile, death seemed divested of its terror.  We had twined the pure white flowers she loved around and amongst the rich dark masses of wavy hair, and she looked like a beautiful bride more than a tenant for the grave.  The memory of that day will live ever in our minds.  It was the last day of summer, and there seemed a beautiful appropriateness in the season; it seemed to us that the summer of our hearts had gone with her.

A sad and mournful procession, we followed her remains to the church so dear to her in life.  It was but a few days since she entered it in her loveliness and bloom, and for the last time on earth commemorated a Saviour’s dying love.  She will partake with us here no more.  May we be counted worthy to sit down with her at our Father’s board in heaven!  Mournful was the sight of the black pall which covered the coffin; mournful the drapery which shrouded her accustomed seat and enveloped the chancel; mournful the badges which all, as by consent, had adopted as expressive of their feelings on the occasion; but, oh! most mournful and heart-rending was the sight of that husband and father leading by the hand on either side all that remained to him of his beautiful family.  It was difficult to recognise in him the man of two short weeks before; twenty years seemed added to his life; the eyes, usually beaming with light, now cast down and swollen with weeping—­the countenance, index of a heart full of peace and joy, now so sorrow-stricken.  Truly, he seemed “smitten of God and afflicted.”  We turned our eyes away as he stood by the grave which contained almost his earthly all.

It was a beautiful spot where they laid her to rest by the side of her baby.  The sun was just going down in a golden flood of light, betokening a glorious morrow (beautiful emblem of the resurrection, when this perishing body should be raised in glory), and the shadows of the trees were lengthening on the grass.  Every sound was in sweet accordance with the scene; the soft twittering of the birds as they sought their resting-places for the night, the quiet hum of the insects, and the sweet murmuring of the brook which flowed at a little distance.

A holy calm pervaded our minds as we wended our way between the trees and down the slope which bounded this lovely spot; and, as we left the gate, we involuntarily paused and looked back long and earnestly on the sweet view.  Every object was bathed in that golden haze so peculiar to the last days of summer and the beginning of autumn; but at this time it seemed to us that the flood of soft light had escaped from the gate of heaven which we imagined had opened to receive the form lost to our sight.