"Farewell, my poor body, farewell! I look back yet once more, out of my great pity for thee." BODY. "Cease, then, dear Soul, cease to address me with golden words. Dust and corruption are unworthy of pity." SOUL. "Saving thy favor, O my body! thou art truly worthy, even as the earthen vessel that has held sweet perfumes." BODY. "Adieu, then, O my life! since thus it must be. May God lead you to the place where you desire to be. "You will be ever awake and I sleeping in the grave. Keep me in mind, and hasten your return. "But tell me, why is it thus that you are so gay and glad at leaving me, and yet I am so sad?" SOUL. "I have so exchanged thorns for roses, and gall for sweetest honey." Then, joyous as a lark, the soul mounts, mounts, mounts, ever upwards towards heaven. When she reaches heaven, she knocks at the gate, and humbly asks my lord S. Peter to let her enter in. "O you, my lord S. Peter! who are so kind, will you not receive me into the Paradise of Jesus?" S. PETER. "Truly thou shalt enter into the Paradise of Jesus, who, when thou wast on earth, didst receive him into thy dwelling." * * * * * The soul, at the moment of entering, once more turns her head, and sees her poor body like a little mole-hill. "Till we meet again, my body--and thanks--till we meet again, till we meet again in the valley of Jehosaphat. "I hear sweet harmonies I never heard before. The day breaks, and the shadows are fled away. "Behold, I am like a rose-tree planted by the waters of the river of life." This dialogue bears a remarkable resemblance to at least three similar compositions by S. Ephrem Syrus, Deacon of Edessa, who died A.D. 372. With the Breton poem it may not be uninteresting to compare the following wild Northern dirge, which may be unknown to some amongst our readers: SCOTTISH LYKE-WAKE DIRGE. "This ae nighte, this ae nighte, Every nighte an' alle, Fire, an' sleet, an' candle-light, An' Christe receive thy saule. "When thou from hence away art paste, Every nighte an' alle, To whinny-muir thou comest at laste, An' Christe receive thy saule. "If ever thou gavest hosen or shoon, Every nighte an' alle, Sit thee down an' put them on, An' Christe receive thy saule. "If hosen an' shoon thou never gavest nane, Every nighte an' alle, The whinnes shal prick thee to the bare bane, An' Christe receive thy saule. "From whinny-muir when thou mayest passe, Every night an' alle, To Brig o' Dread[43] thou comest at laste, An' Christe receive thy saule.