BE TRUE. 13 ing upon their small green beds, and dark old trees waving solemnly above. Back of the church-yard, on a narrow, shady street, that ran with- out stopping anywhere, was the par- sonage ; or, as it was there called, the minister's house. A sweet, retired place, was this: trees and water in front, and the silent resting-place of the dead behind. It looked like the Christian returning from the dimness and the shadow of death to the fresh- ness and verdure of elysian fields. A fitting place, truly, for one who stands between the living and the ~ dead—who Tries each art, reproves each dull delay, Allures to brighter worlds, and leads the way... « And is this the town of F—