364 THE INDIAN ADVOCATE
panied Jesus, the Master, to the grave of Lazarus. Let her
maternal hand guide us while we offer to the Lord our prayers
and good works in their behalf, bedewed with the tears of
affection. Let us chant with her, "Piejesu Domirie, dotm eis
On November 2nd we may find ourselves, in one of those
country graveyards, lying peacefully in the shade cast by the
walls of a consecrated church. There is no gloom here. God
is in the air, and we are sensible to a sort of "real presence',
Two visitors enter the walk betimes in the morning; a couple
still young and charming. They kneel in silence by a cross
marked, verdant mound. The young wife does not know the
meaning of ingratitude, and so does not forget the mother
who died last year. In the height of her happiness, loving
and beloved by her worthy husband, she has left her two
lovely babes asleep in their cradles, and conducts her life
companion to the maternal tomb. Both have wept, both
have prayed, and then they return home, pensive, hand in
hand, and loving one another still more tenderly in considera
tion of the beloved dead. "She was so good," says the young
wife, on recalling the memory of her mother. "How much
she resembles her," says to himself the young husband, as he
thinks of the rare good qualities of his wife. And so "the
Ave? of their hearts fall bathed in tears.
Again it is the 2nd of November, and we are before one of
the neat, well-shaded cottages of a village. The young mo
ther has just come home after a visit to the cemetery; her hus
band has gone to his daily work. She has wiped his tears
and revived his courage, by giving to his sorrow the form of
Christian hope. Suddenly her babe runs out to meet her.
"Mamma, where have you been?"
"In the garden close to the Church."
"In the garden where grandmama sleeps?"
"Yes, darling; but God, our dear Father in Heaven; will
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