The picturesque pocket companion, and visitor's guide, through Mount Auburn

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:--

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind?

On some fond breast the parting soul relies;
Some pious drops the closing eye requires;
E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries;
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.

It is in vain that Philosophy has informed us, that the whole earth is but a point in the eyes of its Creator,nay, of his own creation; that, wherever we are,abroad or at home,--on the restless ocean, or the solid land,--we are still under the protection of His providence, and safe, as it were, in the hollow of his hand. It is in vain that Religion has instructed us, that we are