At his well-known house we joined in religious worship. The Rev. Dr. Walker, present head of the University, in earnest prayer, commended his soul to God who gave it, and invoked upon family and friends a consecration of their afflictive bereavement. From this service we followed, in mournful procession, to the resting-place which he had selected for himself and his family, amidst the beautiful groves of Mount Auburn. As the procession filed into the cemetery I was moved by the sight of the numerous pupils of the Law School, with uncovered heads and countenances of sorrow, ranged on each side of the road within the gate, testifying by silent and unexpected homage their last reverence to their departed teacher. Around the grave, as he was laid in the embrace of the mother earth, were gathered all in our community most distinguished in law, learning, literature, station,--Judges of our Courts, Professors of the University, surviving classmates, and a thick cluster of friends. He was placed among the children taken from him in early life. _Of such is the kingdom of heaven_ were the words he had inscribed over their names on the simple marble which now commemorates alike the children and their father. Nor is there a child in heaven of more childlike innocence and purity than he, who, full of years and honors, has gone to mingle with these children. There is another sentence, inscribed by him on this family stone, which speaks to us now with a voice of consolation. _Sorrow not as those without hope_ were the words which brought solace to him in his bereavements. From his bed beneath he seems to whisper thus among his mourning family and friends,--most especially to her, the chosen partner of his life, from whom so much of human comfort is apparently removed. He is indeed gone; but we shall see him once more forever. With this blessed trust, we may find happiness in dwelling upon his virtues and fame on earth, till the great consoler, Time, shall come with healing in his wings. From the grave of the Judge I walked a few short steps to that of his classmate and friend, the beloved Channing, who died less than three years ago, aged sixty-two. Thus these companions in early studies--each afterwards foremost in important duties, pursuing divergent paths, yet always drawn towards each other by the attractions of mutual friendship--again meet and lie down together in the same sweet earth, in the shadow of kindred trees, through which the same birds sing a perpetual requiem.