"Beautiful at daybreak! when the sun gilds thy sacred temple; when the first wakeful bird trills out his matin song.
"Beautiful when evening's star creeps softly out, to light the homeless widow's footstep to the grave of him, whose strong arm lies stricken at her trembling feet.
"Beautiful when the radiant moon silvers lovingly some humble grave, monumentless but for the living statue—Grief!
"Beautiful, even when winter's pall softly descends over its sacred dust; when the tall pines, in their unchanging armor of green, stand firm, like some brave body-guard, while all around is fading, falling, dying; pointing silently upward, where there is no shadow of change.
"Beautiful Mount Auburn! beautiful even to the laughing eye which sorrow never dimmed; beautiful even to the bounding foot, which despair never paralyzed at the tomb's dark portal—but sacred to the rifled heart whose dearest treasures lay folded to thy fragrant bosom!"
CHAPTER LX.
"Is that you, John? because if it is, you can not come in," said Gertrude, opening the door just wide enough for her head to be seen.
"I am so miserable, Gertrude."