One  looked  from  the  scene  of  mourning  beside  the  grave,
during  the  wildness  of  the  blast,  on  to  the  upland  downs
which  are  visible  from  the  graveyard,  all  along  the  horizon,
stretching  towards  the  sea,  so  quiet,  so  unmoved,  so  verdant,
and  felt  the  contrast  to  be  a  very  symbol  of  the  life  of  her
who  was  being  committed  to  her  last  earthly  home, — a  life
once  so  full  of  conflict,  of  toil,  of  suffering,  and  now  passed
to  a  rest  so  profound,  so  calm,  on  the  bosom  of  her  GOD,
in  "  solid  peace,  peace  secure  and  undisturbed,  peace  within
and  peace  without,  peace  every  way  assured  j"1  "  a  serenity
of  bliss  whose  very  foundation  is  the  immutability  of  Goo."2

1  Thomas  a  Kempis.
"  The  Abbe  Perreyve,  of  his  friend  Frederic  Ozanam,  p.  48.
228     The  Last  Days  of  Mother  Harriet.
The  thought  of  mourning,  of  regret,  seemed  to  be  put  to
shame  in  the  consciousness  of  what  that  rest  must  be  to  one
who  had  borne  so  great  a  burden,  and  toiled  with  such  un
remitting  activity  under  so  great  a  strain.
But  it  was  impossible  not  to  feel  a  melancholy  blank,
when  a  life  so  large,  so  full,  so  bright,  so  sympathetic,  was
to  be  no  more  present,  no  more  her  animating  voice  to  be
heard,  nor  the  kindling  of  her  bright  spirit  to  be  consciously
felt.  What  she  had  been  to  her  own  immediate  relations
and  personal  friends  must  necessarily  be  veiled  to  the  out
ward  eye,  but  she  had  become  a  presence  to  a  wider  world,
a  familiar  object  to  an  ever-widening  circle  that  delighted
in  what  might  be  enjoyed  of  passing  intercourse  with  her.
