<span style="color:grey">No boysterous ormes come her,

    <span style="color:grey">t s eart, like a spring,

    IN te counties of England, I ruck into one of t lead ts of try, and stopped one afternoon at a village tuation of ired. tive simplicity about its inants not to be found in t coacermined to pass t taken an early dinner, strolled out to enjoy the neighboring scenery.

    My ramble, as is usually travellers, soon led me to tood at a little distance from the village.

    Indeed, it  of some curiosity, its old toely overrun  only ting buttress, an angle of gray astically carved ornament peered t covering. It  of t in ternoon it ill  tract of golden sky in t, from  up all Nature into a melanc seemed like ting ian smiling on ty of  he will rise again in glory.

    I ed myself on a ombstone, and  to do at ted  scenes   and early friends--on tant and t kind of melanc someter even troke of a bell from tos tones ead of jarring, c ime before I recollected t it must be tolling tenant of tomb.

    Presently I sarain moving across t , and reappeared til it passed tting. ted by young girls dressed in  teen, oken t ts.

    tter order of peasantry.

    to repress  racted bro  aloud s of a mothers sorrow.

    I folloo tre aisle, and t of e gloves, was  whe deceased had occupied.

    Every one knounate as never to o tomb? But ence, ing? At t simple but most solemn consignment of to t;Earto earto as to dust!quot;--tears