As in the instance of Père la Chaise, to this undisturbed inheritance Mount Auburn is indebted for the preservation of its magnificent forest trees.

The projectors of this rural cemetery intended to establish, in connexion with it, an experimental garden of horticulture, in imitation of the larger European establishments of the like character; and this plan, if carried out, must have had a beneficial effect upon the general prospects and success of the institution; for while, on the one hand, the taste and skill necessarily employed in the horticultural department would give additional interest and beauty to the cemetery generally, the study of flowers so naturally, and almost unavoidably, leads the mind to contemplation and reflection, that one can hardly imagine a more appropriate place for the exhibition of these beautiful wonders of the Almighty, than in the quiet and peaceful sanctuaries of the dead.

It does not, however, appear, that this part of the general plan was carried into full effect. It is probable that the large and expensive establishment both of scientific persons and others, which a national horticultural society must necessarily maintain, would create a difficulty by incumbering the cemetery department with current expenses too heavy for its first incomings.

The estate is beautifully undulating in its surface, containing a number of bold eminences, steep acclivities, and deep shadowy vales.

The principal eminence, distinguished as Mount Auburn, is 125 feet above the level of Charles River, and commands from its summit one of the finest prospects which can be obtained in the environs of Boston. On one side is the city, connected in its extreme points with the towns of Charlestown and Rosebury; the serpentine course of the Charles River, with the cultivated fields and rising hills beyond it, occupies another portion of the landscape.

The superficial extent of this cemetery is 110 acres the largest English cemetery does not measure more than 50 acres.

Mount Auburn was dedicated to its sacred purposes by religious solemnities, on the 24th September, 1831. The form of consecration used on that occasion was peculiar and interesting. It was probably the first instance of a Protestant cemetery being religiously dedicated, without the presence of episcopal authority. The learned, eloquent, and amiable Mr. Justice Story, after the devotional proceedings had terminated, delivered a dedicatory oration.

Englishmen are so wholly unaccustomed to see the ermine substituted for the lawn, that they would, perhaps, with difficulty understand the propriety of the arrangement; but the good effect and moral example of an upright judge, leaving his high station on the bench, where his decisions are bowed to with deference, and acquiesced in by the most learned contemporaries, both in the Republic and in the "old country," and condescending to take an active

part in the solemnities of consecrating a place of burial for his fellow-citizens; would, perhaps, be more striking and influential than if the service had merely consisted of the short and formal act of consecration usually practised by Episcopalians. The scene was new, and the combination of circumstances under which the meeting was convened, formed a new era in the improvements of civilization. The whole transaction was fitted for a display of the natural and extemporaneous eloquence of the heart, rather than for the well-known routine of an ancient form of service professionally delivered.

All well-wishers to the dignity of the sacred and the legal professions would be the last to advocate any clashing of their duties, or collision between them: but, probably, few persons have been present in a court of justice, when a criminal has had passed upon him the extreme sentence of the law, without admiring and witnessing the effect both upon the prisoner and bystanders of the solemn and earnest language of many of our judges; and the author believes, that the few words then solemnly and earnestly spoken, and often spoken in extreme anguish of heart, have more influence on the hearers than the specially prepared, and, perhaps, formally delivered," condemned sermon" as it is called, of the gaol clergyman. The one is looked upon as an anxious, heartfelt offering of advice and rebuke-the other, as a professional act, for which the official is paid-and as an ordeal to

which all in the same awful position must submit.*

If the example of Mr. Justice Story is a solitary one, it deserves to be recorded: and the author feels that he cannot better justify the act of that eminent judge, if justification it can possibly need with any, than by submitting the oration to the reader, as it was delivered. The author believes that it has not been before printed in this country.

JUDGE STORY'S ADDRESS.

MY FRIENDS!

The occasion which brings us together has much in it calculated to awaken our sensibilities, and cast a solemnity over our thoughts.

We are met to consecrate these grounds exclusively to the service and repose of the dead.

The duty is not new; for it has been performed

* The author trusts that this remark may not be understood as depreciating the services of by far the most valuable, zealous, and unambitious class of the clerical profession. The chaplains of our gaols and union workhouses are, generally, slaves to their duties, and duties, too, the most discouraging a clergyman can be called upon to perform; and yet there is no class of the profession to whom reward and promotion are so great strangers. Their learning and acquirements are necessarily confined in their operation. No man rich in advowsons forms one of their congregation. The door of society, so open to the parochial clergy, is practically closed against them; and, after half a century of discouraging labour in their small and unfruitful vineyards, without the means of saving from their scanty income, they must depend for their future slender support upon the eleemosynary bounty of the county, or find assistance from some other charitable fund.

for countless millions. The scenery is not new; for the hill and the valley, the still, silent dell, and the deep forest, have often been devoted to the same pious purpose; but that which must always give it a peculiar interest is, that it can rarely occur, except at distant intervals; and, whenever it does, it must address itself to feelings intelligible to all nations, and common to all hearts.

The Patriarchal language, of 4000 years ago, is precisely that to which we would now give utterance. We are Strangers and sojourners" here. We have need of a possession of a burying-place, that we may bury our dead out of our sight." Let us have "the field, and the cave which is therein; and all the trees that are in the field, and that are in the borders round about; and let them be made sure for a possession of a burying-place."

It is the duty of the living thus to provide for the dead. It is not a mere office of pious regard for others; but it comes home to our own bosoms, as those who are soon to enter upon the common inheritance.

If there are any feelings of our nature not bounded by earth, and yet stopping short of the skies, which are more strong, and more universal than all others, they will be found in our solicitude, as to the time, and place, and manner of our death; in the desire to die in the arms of our friends; to have the last sad offices to our remains performed by their affection; to repose in the land of our nativity; to be gathered to the sepulchres of our fathers. It is almost impossible for us to feel, nay, even to feign, indifference on such a subject.

Poetry has told us this truth in lines of transcendant beauty and force, which find a response in every breast: