At the left hand, and as you stand in front of the building, looking over the valley, lies the burial-ground, or, as they would call it in Germany, the "Friedhof," or court of peace. It reminded me much of that of Herrnhut, except that it descends from you, instead of ascending. It is covered with a rich green turf, is planted round and down the middle with sycamore-trees, and has a cross-walk, not two or three, like Herrnhut. I asked Mr. Wilson, the director, who walked with me, whether this arrangement had not, originally, a meaning--these walks forming a cross. He said he believed it had, and that the children were buried in a line, extending each way from the center perpendicular walk, along the cross-walk, from a sentimental feeling that they were thus laid peculiarly in the arms of Jesus, and in the protection of his cross. The grave-stones are laid flat, just as at Herrnhut, and of the same size and fashion. Here, however, we miss that central row of venerable tombs, of the Zinzendorf family, and those simple memorial stones lying around them, every one of which bears a name of patriarchal renown in the annals of this society of devoted Christians. Yet, even here, we can not avoid feeling that we walk amid the ashes of the faithful descendants of one of the most remarkable and most ancient branches of God's church, whose history Montgomery has so impressively sketched in a few lines:-- "When Europe languished in barbarian gloom, Beneath the ghostly tyranny of Rome, Whose second empire, cowled and mitred, burst A phoenix from the ashes of the first; From persecution's piles, by bigots fired, Among Bohemian mountains Truth retired. There, mid rude rocks, in lonely glens obscure, She found a people, scattered, scorned, and poor; A little flock through quiet valleys led, A Christian Israel in the desert fed; While roaming wolves that scorned the shepherd's hand, Laid waste God's heritage through every land. With those the lonely exile sojourned long; Soothed by her presence, solaced by her song, They toiled through danger, trials, and distress, A band of virgins in the wilderness, With burning lamps amid their secret bowers, Counting the watches of the weary hours, In patient hope the Bridegroom's voice to hear, And see his banner in the clouds appear. But when the morn returning chased the night, These stars that shone in darkness, sunk in light. Luther, like Phosphor, led the conquering day, His meek forerunners waned, and passed away.