Having noticed, in a musing mood, the contrast between the showing of the rude, small, stony structure that I had first known in childhood as a house of worship, and that of the finely proportioned modern temple whose graceful spire now casts its shadow over the old site, I turned my steps toward the church burial-gro\ind, seeking the graves of my grandparents. Long-slmnbering memories were aroused, fii-st of all, by the sight of the marble that marked the grave of my grandmother -- Sarah Pell, widow of Captjiin|William Bayley -- whose funeral service, ministered in the church-yard by her aged relative, the rector, Kev. Tlieodosius Bartow, I had attended with a large family gathering in the month of March, 181U, being then eleven years of age. The form of the venerable clergyman in his official robes at the grave, his bald head uncovered, despite the chill of a heavy snow-fall, is vividly remembered now as if it had figured in a scene of yesterday.

" Meanwhile, however, memory had let slip the date of my grand, father's departure, and I was desirous to regain it from the chiselled record at the head of the grave nearly adjoining. What a bewilderment! I could scarcely believe my eyes, as I read, 'Died March 3, 1811.' It seemed altogether abnormal, that such minute remembrances of him as had been familiar to me, scores of particulars pertaining to his individuality, even the tones of his voice and his handicraft in making toys for my amusement, should have been thus long kept within the brain as in a photographic or phonographic cabinet. Yet thus it must have been, despite all seemings to the contrary, I said, soliloquizing in the presence of the facts : at the age of three and a half, hereabouts, began my outlook upon the world.