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 9 f the bell anneunced the approach of the funeral. hey were the obsequies of poverty, with which eide had nothing to do. A coffin of the plainest materials, without pall or covering, was borne by some of the villagers. The sexton walked before, ith an air of cold indifference. There were 110 rock mourners in the trappings of affected woe: Sut there was one real mourner, who feebly tottered fter the corpse. It was the aged motlier of tho keeased-tho poor old woman whom I had seen rated on the steps of the altar. She was supported ily a humble friend, who was endeavouring to com- bort her. A few of the neighbouring poor had joined he train, and some of the children of the village Jere running hand in hand, now shouting with un- hinking mirth, and now pausing to gaze, with chil- Yish curiosity, on the grief of the mourner. As the funeral train approached the grave, the urson issued from the church porch, arrayed in the uplice, with prayer book in hand, and attended by The clerk. The service, however, was a mere act of harity. The deceased lad been destitute, and tlis urviver pennyless. It was shuffled through, there- re, in form, but coldly and unfeelingly. The well d priest moved but a few steps from the church- bor; his voice could scarcely be heard at the grave, hd never did I hear the funeral service, that sub- ime and touching ceremony, turned into such a ligid mummery of words. I approached the grave. Tho coffin was placed th the ground. On it were inscribed the name and e of the deceased—“George Somers, aged 26 bars. The poor mother had been assisted to kneel own at the head of it. Her withered hands were asped, as if in prayer; but I could perceive by a Peble rocking of the body, and a convulsive motion the lips, that she was gazing on the last relics of för sen, with the yearnings of a mother's heart.