On one side of the entrance to the churchyard an aged yewtree, weather-beaten and decayed, but still fighting time gallantly, flanks the churchyard gate--the emblem of immortality reminding the living that the spirits of those laid low have passed to the life beyond. On the other side is the little school-house, with its quaint windows, and mullions and masonry of red sandstone, a structure that was not reared yesterday, as its grey lichen-stained walls testify. As you enter the garden of the dead your ears are greeted with the pleasant music of young voices, and your attention is arrested by the number of green mounds where successive generations are sleeping their last sleep. A summer's day might be spent here in meditation among the nameless but hallowed graves, and in conning over the "uncouth rhymes" that the weather and the green moss are fast obliterating from the crumbling memorials on which they are inscribed. You may note, too, in places bunches of simple wild flowers that have been placed by loving hands upon the newly upheaved turf--the offerings of that tender affection which longs for "the touch of a vanished hand and the sound of a voice that is still." Near the east end, under the shade of a yew, is a plain white marble cross, with a small tablet at its base, embedded in the rock, on which is the following inscription:-- Here Rests CATHERINE STANLEY Died March 5 1862, aged 69 The wisdom That is from above Is first pure, Then peaceable, gentle, Easy to be entreated, Full of Mercy And good fruits Without partiality And without hypocrisy [Illustration: ALDERLY SCHOOL.] It is to the memory of the wife of Bishop Stanley--the mother of the late Dean of Westminster--who entered into the dark valley while her son was accompanying the Prince of Wales on his journey through Egypt and Palestine. That grave has been once reopened--on the 2nd of December, 1879, it received the remains of the Dean's sister, Mary Stanley, a lady whose memory will be gratefully remembered for her heroic efforts to mitigate the sufferings of our soldiers during the Crimean War. The 5th of March, on which Catherine Stanley passed away, was Ash Wednesday, a day that ever after had its saddening associations for her son, who on another Ash Wednesday (March 1st, 1876), had to endure another and more terrible trial, for on that day he stood by the death bed of her who had loved, supported, and comforted him when the spirit of his mother had passed away--his wife. My mother--on that fatal day, O'er seas and deserts far apart, The guardian genius passed away That nursed my very mind and heart-- The oracle that never failed, The faith serene that never quailed, The kindred soul that knew my thought Before its speech or form was wrought.