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 8 piety of a true christian, was a poor decrepit woman, bending under the weight of years and firmities. She bore the traces of something be than abject poverty. The lingerings of decent pr were still visible in her appearance. Her dr thougl hunble in the extreme, was scrupulou clean. Some trivial respect, too, had been awar hier; for she did not take her seat among the vill poor, but sat alone on the steps of the altar. seemed to have survived all love, all friendship, society, and to have nothing left but the hope heaven. When I saw her feebly rising and be ing her aged form in prayer--habitually com her prayer-book, which her palsied hand and fail eyes would scarce permit her to read, but which evidently knew by heart—I felt persuaded that faltering voice of that poor woman arose to hea far before the responses of the clerk, the swell of organ, or the chaunting of the choir. I am fond of loitering about country church and this was so delightfully situated, that it frequ ly attracted me. It stood on a knoll, round wl a small stream mado a beautiful bend, and t wound its way through a long reach of soft mea scenery. The church was surrounded by yew tr which seemed almost coeval with itself. Its gothic spire shot up lightly from among them, rooks and crows generally wheeling about it. was seated there one still sunny morning, watch two labourers who were digging a grave. They chosen one of the most remote and neglected bers of the church-yard ; where from the numbe. nameless graves around, it would appear that indigent poor and friendless were huddled into earth. I was told that the new-made grave for tho only son of a poor widow. While I meditating on the distinctions of worldly ra which extend thus down into the very dust, tho