graveyards, and the fearful consequences to the living, of the pestilential effluvia from thence, had forced upon one a conviction that in righteous judgment the LORD was pleading with us because of our forgetfulness of our departed brethren. Refreshing as was the contrast between the churchyard at Bonchurch and those alluded to, I could not in its picturesque loveliness forget that it also was as "the valley of the shadow of death," and while the old Church, rearing" its steeple cross," not indeed above, but amid, "the sweet greenwood," involuntarily reminded me of the poet's Dreamland picture, the locked-up gate, and the closed porch door, (for indeed the old Church is only used now for the funeral service,) soon destroyed the illusion, and the graves seemed to me to have a neglected look, very unlike the description of Dreamland churchyard.

The beautiful new Church, which in its picturesque locality, its architecture and internal arrangements, is almost all one can desire as a village Church, is, I grieve to say, only opened on the Sunday; though in a neighbourhood like this, where so many invalids are induced by the mildness of the climate, and the exquisite loveliness of the spot, to take up their winter quarters, the want of a daily service is, I am disposed to think, much felt by many. It was only two days since that I heard of a visitor who left the place on this account. It is easy enough to say, as some do," Well, you can read the Church prayers in your closet," or to infer with others that prayer in the closet must needs be neglected by those who lay so much stress on the prayer of the Church. But an answer might be found from writers whom they themselves would be among the last to condemn.

"GOD likes the gates of Jacob well,
But still in Sion loves to dwell,"

is often quoted from Dr. Watts' version of the Psalms; and the author of "The Velvet Cushion" thus expresses his feelings on the subject:

"In secret I have often prayed,

And still the anxious tears would fall;

But on Thy sacred altar laid,

The fire descends and dries them all.

Then dear to me the loud Amen

That echoes through Thy blest abode,
Which swells and sinks, and swells again,
Dies on the walls, but lives to GOD."

I must acknowledge that, in a place where so much honour is paid to the memory of the Rev. William Adams, I did not expect to find so few disposed to acknowledge the duty and the blessing of the daily service; nor was I surprised at the remark of a stranger, "One wonders how such unreal things can be, where so many

bright spirits gather round the spot. My heart sinks when I think of such things!" Is it not to rouse us from such unreality, and to compel us to betake ourselves to the house of prayer, that such visitations as the cholera are permitted to bring home the anguish of bereavement to many a heart? The words of Holy Writ round the tombstone of the Rev. William Adams, bring home to us the close connection between tribulation and prayer; for they are these "Patient in tribulation, continuing instant in prayer:" and surely it is unto such a people, continuing instant in prayer, and watching "for the LORD more than they that watch for the morning," that the joy of the resurrection shall be granted, and the Sun of Righteousness arise with healing in His wings. But if there be one thing to be dreaded by us more than another, it seems to me to be the substitution of a sentiment for reality,-of the mere intellectual perception of the beauty of holiness, for the pressing after its attainment,—and so of holding the truth in unrighteousness.

For little costs it to "confess

There's beauty in thee, Holiness!
And many an eye hath own'd thee fair,
And wander'd o'er thy beauty rare ;"
But who with blood-stain'd feet is fain
By Calvary's mount the prize to gain?

If I might take occasion to speak here of one who with her sisters covets not, I well believe, other praise than the approbation of Him Whose appearing she loves and looks for, I would add, Would that like the originators of the "Orphans' Home," there were many found to show forth in their self-denying labour of love what pure religion and undefiled before GoD and the FATHER is!

Perhaps my expectations had been raised too high by the picture I had seen of the tombstone of the author of "The Shadow of the Cross," but certainly the raised cross, fastened down by three ballheaded spikes upon the stone, disappointed me in its appearance and effect, suggesting, as it did, a thought of those who seem to me to care little for the sealing of the sepulchre, making a peaceful and a saintly death rather than a joyful resurrection, the end of all their teaching. Nothing however can be lovelier than the locality of this hallowed and quiet resting-place. I could stand by it in the still moonlight, and think to hear angelic voices mingling with the rippling of the streamlet over its pebbly bed, and the measured splash of the waves upon the shore beneath, but to me their language would be an onward call, "forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, to press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of GOD in CHRIST JESUS;" that prize which is not won until in oneness we attain unto the resurrection of, or from among the dead.

At the head of the stone is a small willow, planted by one who has since then fallen herself on sleep. It is carefully fenced round, and at its foot I noticed a small myrtle. On either side are the tombstones of two children, a little girl named Rosa, of the age of twelve, and at the foot of her lowly couch is a beautiful rose tree planted, I was told, by a young sister. On the other side a headstone, with a cross upon it, and the words so full of comfort to a parent's heart," Of such is the kingdom of heaven,"-marks the resting-place of a little boy of five years old. Meet companionship seemed these little ones in their last sleep for the writer of those beautiful allegories so prized by many a Christian child, and, as I moved the words of the Church's prayer through many an age were in my heart, and on my lips, "Requiescant in pace;" a prayer which always leads me on (whether rightly or wrongly let others decide) to that rest which remaineth for the people of God.

away,

The texts on most of the gravestones seemed to me strikingly appropriate. There was the prayer on one, "Haste Thee to help me, O GOD of my salvation!" There was the answer of faith, “I know that my Redeemer liveth." There was the brief but comprehensive record on a third,—“ An example of suffering affliction with patience." Another read this needful lesson,-" Said I not unto thee, that if thou wouldest believe, thou shouldest see the salvation of GOD?" And elsewhere I read the blessed assurance, "The LORD shall be thine everlasting light, and the days of thy mourning shall be ended;" pointing us to the time when “death shall be swallowed up in victory, and the LORD GOD will wipe away tears from all faces; and the rebuke of His people shall He take away from off all the earth; for the LORD hath spoken

it."

I returned by the same way as I came, stopping every now and then to feast my eyes with the beauty of the landscape, to which no words of mine can do justice. An old weather-beaten man offered me his services as guide to the landslip, so well described in "The Old Man's Home," and, when I declined them, he asked me if I knew Mr. Adams' little books.

"Yes," I replied, "I know them well, and have just been visiting his tomb. Did you know him?”

"Know him! Yes, I reckon many's the time I've drawn him in his chair, and I used to go up to him in his room yonder, and many's the time he's talked to me. He was a good man, and it's my belief he went the right way at last."

"Well," I said, as we parted, "let us strive to press on in the right way, and let us pray earnestly for that day when 'them also which sleep in JESUS will GOD bring with Him."

I visited that quiet churchyard again at the hour for the evensong; only the little birds intoned the vesper song,-only the sun

set glow lent its fading glory to the landscape. I had been reading some very pleasing verses written by a brother of the Rev. William Adams, aged fourteen, and to which reference is made in the following lines. give!

May riper years fulfil the promise that they

[We are indebted to Mr. Holloway, of Ryde, for the loan of the above engraving of the tomb erected over the remains of the lamented Rev. William Adams, M.A.; also for the Frontispiece, representing the Old Church at Bonchurch, which were used to illustrate a beautiful little work entitled, "A Remembrance of Bonchurch," published by Mr. Holloway.]