ing that Christianity had stood there and lent her light and comfort to the darkness of the grave. No, it was the tomb of some Ancient Briton, which for ages had remained unmolested, and almost unnoticed, beneath a high barrow or mound near that remarkable Tor-the Cheesewring.

Money seems, like time, to spare nothing, and in the eager search after ore the miners have gradually approached and at length disturbed the lone solemnity of this house of the mighty dead. Having dug into the side of the barrow, the workmen came suddenly upon a vault about nine feet long by five in height, formed by a slab of granite resting on several large upright stones with a similar slab for the floor. Over the whole was heaped the immense mound of earth. This vault contained a few fragments of bone, a dagger-head, and a gold drinking-cup, very thin and fluted, and enclosed in a coarse earthen vessel, being the articles which, according to the notions and custom of the Druids, would be of service to the deceased in his future state of existence. With what care, may be, and awful reverence was the body of this chieftain committed to this narrow abode ! Perhaps at his funeral-hour that same sun was shining bright, 'golden lustre slept upon these very hills;' some favored friends laid by his side the weapon which had oft dealt death, and the cup which had been quaffed over the spoils of victory or at the close of the chase. Hundreds united in raising the vast hill of earth, and as they departed gazed back upon the spot where were deposited the remains of their honoured Lord, fondly imagining it would continue for ever, and for ever be held sacred. Vain thought,

So fails, so languishes, grows dim and dies,

All that this world is proud of. The man himself
Departs; and soon is spent the lives of those
Who did the most resemble him!'

Alas for human glory! all once so venerated has been thrown open to the vulgar gaze! the precious relics been curiously handled by each passing stranger, and many a heedless comment made as to the probable rank and character of the tenant of this tomb. Of his name or history nothing can be known,—

They had no need of names and epitaphs Who talk'd about the dead by their firesides.' Thus it may be with some of ourselves: we may die in a foreign land, or sink uncoffined beneath the deep blue sea; but if we sleep in Jesus it matters little where our bed be made. And what though no mound be raised over us, no monument declare who and what we were? yet if we be the children of God we shall be the "children of the resurrection," and our names are registered in the Lamb's book of lite.

TRE.

A NARRATIVE OF

THAT the Lord bringeth the blind by a way they know not has been strangely and strikingly manifested in the death of who at the beginning of last December departed in the Lord, and to the Lord.

Perhaps a few simple remarks, a statement of truth, relative to the departure of this individual, may neither be uninteresting nor unacceptable to some of the readers of the Light from the West,' and cause them to rejoice that a sister in Christ Jesus was thus, at the eleventh hour, able to say, My soul doth magnify the Lord," "for mine eyes have seen his salvation."

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had been absent thirty years from the parish of B—, her native place, as a resident, and returned there last spring in feeble health and absolute poverty. Her sister, of humble life, with incalculable benevolence, took her in; and she had her reward; for the poor wanderer returned to the house of her birth to be born again, to be recreated in the image of him who made her, and to die in the room in which she was born, rejoicing in God her Saviour.

It was clearly evident that for some weeks before her decease she was holding communion with God in prayer, and it was equally evident that the Lord was indeed with her, supporting her amidst acute pains, languishing faintness, and sickness, with helps and consolations which he alone could give. For upwards of three weeks before her happy removal, hers was a sort of living death: some friends were marked by extraordinary energy of prayer. She prayed for herself, for those most dear to her, for her neighbours, and for her most kindly, attentive, and devoted Minister, (of the Establishment.) As her end approached it was clear to those who were about her that her soul was in communion with the Lord. appeared at times as if conversing with him in a child

She

like depending simplicity, mourning once or twice, at a temporary absence of his presence, and then rejoicing at his return; sometimes checking herself when expressing a sure hope of acceptance, as if there were something of presumption in this, and then added, But this also can be washed away in his blood.' Her submission and patience were best known to those who had the most frequent opportunities of witnessing them; they were most exemplary. She appeared to have received some additional and glorious light the day before she died She told her sister that she had been with the Lord, and that if her spiritual friend had been there at the time she could tell him many things if she could speak,' which at times she did with great difficulty. A wish seemed to have passed her mind, that he might be as near his end as she was to hers; but she exclaimed, 'Ah but he has still a work to do!'

The last words she uttered were frequently repeated the night before her death; they were Happy, happy; Amen, amen! Yes, happy spirit! she realizes now something of the experience of that sweet hymn, which when in the body she delighted in,—

'Jerusalem my happy home.'

Redeemed by the precious blood of Christ, and sanctified by the spirit of Christ, her spirit rests no doubt in the peace of him who is the resurrection and the life, and to that day when he shall come to claim his own, and to triumph openly with his ransomed T. M. M.B.

ones!

WHAT though in pleasure's courtly hall,
At midnight dance or festival,

Rich Lamps from sculptur'd ceilings throw
A flood of light on throngs below,

Lending new lustre to the eye

That glistens most 'mid vanity;
And startling the dull sober night
With splendour as the noon-day bright.
Yet to pure minds far brighter seems
The Lamp that from low cottage gleams,
Shewing in penitence and prayer
A family is kneeling there:
Or shining on the sacred page,
Guides the dim eye of sainted age
To promises that oft hath been
His staff in many a weary scene,
But now appear more vast more true,
As heaven comes closer to his view;
Like mariner that nears the shore
Closely surveys his map once more,
Tracing each feature of the land
'Ere leaping on the unknown strand.
And soon while shadows deepen round,
And hush'd is each familiar sound,
Blest visions rise before his mind;
Earth and the flesh are left behind,
He sees the things which God had said,
Receives each promise he had read,
Already walks the golden streets,
Long-parted friends in glory meets.
No more his Lamp's pale flickering ray
Tells of night's gloom and life's decay,
But all is everlasting day.

TRE.