"----Whene'er the good and just Close the dim eye on life and pain, Heaven watches o'er their sleeping dust, Till the pure spirit comes again. Though nameless, trampled, and forgot, His servant's humble ashes lie, Yet God has marked and sealed the spot, To call its inmate to the sky." It was one of those brilliant and transparent days of June, never surpassed in any climate. The little church stood clearly defined against the deep blue sky. The ocean, as the sun shone on it, was gemmed with a thousand glancing diamonds, and here and there a light sail rose and fell upon it, like the wings of a bird. It was so still that the hum of the noontide insects was distinctly heard. At intervals, the slow tolling of the little bell sent its echoes back from the surrounding forest. It was the day of the funeral of the beloved pastor, and small groups of the parishioners began to collect about the church and the house. Heartfelt grief seemed to shadow every countenance, but the severe and reserved character of the New England Puritans allowed them to make no demonstration of sorrow: they shut up within themselves every trace of emotion, and spoke only in whispers, with a stern, determined air. The garb and appearance of the people was rough and homely. There were farmers with their wives, on pillions; fishermen with their rough sea-coats; aged women, bent and wrinkled, who had come to lay in the grave one whom they had hoped would have prayed at and blessed their own burial. The house at length was filled with those who had the nearest claim, and the ministers of the surrounding villages darkened, with their black dress, the little apartment. The two slaves stood near the bier, and the excitable temperament and violent grief of the poor Africans contrasted with the stern, and solemn, and composed countenances around them. Edith at last came in. She was calm, but very pale; and, as she entered the room, she gave her hand to those who stood nearest. She tried to speak, but the words died on her lips. Dinah was in a moment at her side. Her delicate and youthful beauty contrasted by her sable friend, and her lonely, unprotected state touched the hearts of these stern, but also tenderly affectionate Puritans, and there were tears in many eyes, as they looked at her with respect and interest. The windows were all open; the concert of joyous birds, in their season of love and happiness, showed no sympathy with man in his grief. It was so still that the silvery sound of the waves, as they touched the beach, was distinctly heard; and the voice of prayer, as it broke the silence, was the only human sound. The voice of prayer ceased, and the quick hoof of a horse was heard. In a few moments Seymore entered. He had heard of the death of his friend, and, impelled by an irresistible impulse, he could not remain at his studies. As he entered he was violently agitated, for death and sorrow were new to him.