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freely beneath the ground, the former takes undisputed possession of its surface.

Geary, the architect, and Ramsey, the landscape gardener, have united their talents in a very successful manner to decorate the cemetery; while the church above the grounds, a chaste Gothic building, from designs of Vulliamy, renders the picture complete.

We have gained the rising ground approaching the cedar tree, and the beauties of the cemetery are more fully unfolded. Flowers in profusion are blooming in all directions. Mountain ashes, laburnums, sycamores, acacias, laurel, and rose trees, are mingled with others of longer growth. The decorated resting-places 0f the dead, set forth the attention of their surviving friends; and the gay colours of the rose, the geranium, and the poppy, contrast the dark hue of the cypress: hearts-ease has been freely planted in the shadow of the tomb, and its deep purple flowers are grateful to the gaze. These flowers spread cheerfulness around them, and breathe of hope and expectation.

As I glance around, I see strangers, young, middleaged, and old, visiting the different parts of the cemetery, and yonder is a matron habited in sable, musing over a graven stone. Not only do the sculptured stones remind me of the brevity of life, but other sym— bols of mortality are numerous. Sere leaves sprinkle the pathway; faded flowrets are drooping in the sunshine ; and at my feet lies a'hillock of withered grass, that the scythe of the mower has cut down in its prime.

In the north-west part of the heavens, a thunder storm seems brooding in the air; for the dark clouds are rolled together, in heavy masses, clothing with so

lemnity the clear azure beyond them, while gleams of sunshine only render the frowning sky more awful. My companion is gazing upwards at the burdened heavens with some anxiety; it becomes doubtful whether we shall escape the drenching deluge. What varied emotions enter the mind in such a scene as this, dividing our thought between the living and the dead! .

The thundercloud has dispersed itself, and travelled onwards. We must now enter the Egyptian avenue; the ponderous cornice, the obelisks and pillars, the angular entrance, and the flying serpent, are all in excellent keeping with the place. We are now among the cedars of Lebanon; talking of ancient Egypt; of the Pharaohs of old; of the custom of embalming; of Belzoni, and the mummy pits of Gournou. This is a striking scene; the catacombs below, the dark resting-places of the dead, are in strong contrast with the roses seen on the circular garden above them; the cedar is fresh and beautiful, and spreads its flat, flaky foliage luxuriantly abroad.

Now, if it were necessary, but it is not, I would put it on record, for the guidance 'of those who may survive me when I go the way of all flesh, “ Lay not my body in the catacombs, but place it among kindred dust, and cover it with the green sod on which a daisy may bloom.” ,

We have mounted to the brow of the hill,.and are standing between the church and the cemetery, looking down on the Gothic terrace, the Egyptian avenue, and the cedar circle of catacombs. The garden of'dmth is now plainly seen in its length and its breadth; masses of elms and other trees beautify the surrounding fields ; and London is in the distance, stretching itself right and lett, with Greenwich and the country towards Gravesend far beyond.

The public buildings of the city, the travelling steamcarriages of the neighbouring railroad, and the arriving visitors at the cemetery, all speak of busy life; while every foot of the broad acres in the foreground is dedicated to death. _

The cemeteries of the metropolis may be said to mingle the character of the British churchyard with that of Pére la Chaise in Paris; being neither so monotonously solemn as the former, nor so artificial, Sentimen~ tal, and romantic as the latter. They are entitled to a perambulator’s consideration, providing, as they do, suitable resting-places for the dead, sufficiently removed from the habitations of the living. It is almost impossible to muse among these flower gardens of the grave, Without connecting them with some undefined emotions of our approaching dissolution.

We are now quitting, with some reluctance, a spot that death will render doubly dear to many a mournei' as the sun runs his annual career. And shall the dead indeed be raised incorruptible? Shall the disunitrd atoms of the departed again assume form and comeliness’.l Yes!

God form'd them them the dust, and He once more
Will give them strength and beauty as before,
Though strewn as widely as the desert air ,—

As winds can watt them, or as water: bear.

How cheering, how animating, how heart-reviving are the words of the Redeemer, “ I am the resurrection and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die !” .Tohn xi. 25, 26. Happy, indeed, is he who can say, in the language of exultatiou, nothing doubting, “I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth: and though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God: whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another,” J ob xix. 25—27.

Ill Q Q l i

This Nunhead Cemetery of All Saints, occupies a commanding site betWeen Peckham and the Kent road, leping down to the east, north, and south-west, at a distance of some three or four miles from London, and, though far from being completed, gives a fair promise, of equaling those which have already won the public approbation. It is the largest of all the cemeteries, comprising at least fifty acres.

In walking to this place I observed, on a neighbouring bill, a singular-looking erection, and the gravedigger, who is even now, with an assistant, preparing a “narrow house” for an inanimate tenant, tells me it is a telegraph. Fleet and mysterious herald, what tidings bring ye'.l What news bear ye onward to the “mart of all the earth ’2” Is it weal or woe’.Z Are ye the messenger of good or of evil? Ye do well to outstrip the winds in your course, for man is hastening on to the tomb ; his days are fleeter than a post, yea, swifter than “ a weaver’s shuttle.”

There is a glorious view of London from this spot. The five oaks stretching themselves across the cemetery are strikingly attractive ; and when the church is erected on the brow of the hill yonder, it will be a goodly spectacle. _ The palisades of the boundary, mounting tier above tier; the fine swell of the ground

and commanding slope ; the groups of young trees, and flowers of all hues, are very imposing. In a few fleeting years the cemetery will be, indeed, an interesting spectacle.

I have walked round the spacious enclosure. What an extended space for a grave-ground! What a goodly homestead for the king of terrors! Here seems to be room enough to bury us all! At present the monuments are but few; but this is a want that mortality will soon supply. Fever, and consumption, and death, and time, are industriously at work. It is not to one, but to all, that the voice of the Eternal has gone forth: “ Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return,” Gen iii. 19.

I have just peeped into the lumber-room attached to the temporary church, and they that will grope h dark corners must expect to meet with cobwebs. What find I here? Nothing but emblems of mortality, spades, and shovels, and pickaxes, with two scythes and a sickle. Well! they are in keeping with the cemetery; and if the emblems of mortality abound, the consolations of the gospel abound also; so that “when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, “ Death is swallowed up in victory,” I Cor. xv. 54.

THE CHINESE COLLECTION.

chi' to yourself, standing by the way-side at Hyde Park Corner, within a bow shot of Apsley house, a

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