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 church-yards I refer to are to be found;--old, venerable, moss-mantled, in every way picturesque,--yet greenly and freshly rural,--the very homes of meditation. There is a hearty homeliness in the English character, with all its faults, which delights in these outward observances of affectionate respect for the dead. If the “old countrymen” are not remarkable for a quick sensibility, there is nevertheless a permanent and steady ardor in their temperament, which “wears well.” They may not form hasty attachments. They are slow to cultivate a common acquaintance. Even the “sociable” spirit which seems to be due to the indifferent circle one daily meets with, seems often a drudgery to them. But they have hearts, nevertheless, and these are “in the right place ;” --none the less so for the lack of that superficially social and almost physical effervescence of emotion and expression which has obtained for some nations the credit of being more amiable, while in fact they are only more sprightly, and perhaps at the same time more vain. Among no people, at all events, are instances of persevering fidelity in friendship between the living more numerous; and it is the same feeling, the same substantial, homely, hearty character, which, in equal proportion, manifests itself, in a thousand most touching though simple forms of association between the departed generation and those who survive them, through all the humblest hamlets of the land. I dwell daily, with a pleasure which I cannot express, on the remembrances of these sacred scenes. Not of the “dim and mighty ministers of old time” alone I think, whose
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