not, as she had suspected, removed the volume; at length, by inquiring minutely of all the persons who had assisted in the performance of the last offices preparatory to the funeral, the destination of the lost treasure was ascertained. It is usual in France to raise the hands of deceased persons, place them on the breast, and support them in that position by some object that had belonged to the departed. In this case, a book, a volume of sermons much read by Clementine, had been selected by her attendants. When the Baron came to take his final farewell of the body of his child before the coffin was closed, he inquired what book supported her hands; and when informed, "That will not do," said he; "the Bible was my daughter's book: is there not one here?" Among the books in her chamber was found the interleaved copy, designed for her friend; the title-page was shown to the Baron, "Ah!" said he, "that was her book;" and he placed it under the hands of his unconscious daughter: under those hands that had often been joined and raised in prayer for her beloved father. The lady who had thus lost the promised pledge of her eternal friendship with Clementine was consoled and in some degree compensated for her disappointment, by the assurance that the grave of her lamented friend contained the proof that a certain measure of sympathy of sentiment on the most important subjects united the afflicted Baron and his departed child. The funeral of this young lady formed a scene of interest and solemnity, unprecedented in this city. Her remains were first carried to the Lutheran Church, where a prayer was offered up amidst the tears and sobs of multitudes, and then deposited in the Cemetery of Père la Chaise, where a discourse was delivered by one of the Pas REFLECTIONS. READER, you have now perused this short but interesting memorial of the young, the beautiful, the pious Clementine Cuvier; and while the heart is softened, to receive, I would hope, the impression of religious truth, may I solicit your serious and devout attention to the lessons with which the narrative is fraught. First,-Does it not most impressively remind us of the VANITY OF THE WORLD, and that, in two points of view its insufficiency to make us happy, and the uncertainty of its continuance? "Vanity of vanities, all is vanity and vexation of spirit." With such a confession did the man go off the stage of existence, who of all the human race was the best qualified to give an opinion upon such a sub ject. If the possession of royalty, unbounded wealth, peace, surpassing wisdom, and all the sources of sensual gratification, could satisfy the desires of an immortal soul, then had not Solomon been compelled by experience, to reduce the sum total of the world's power of giving happiness to two mere cyphers, and pronounce it to be nothing but vanity and vexation. And now hear the testimony of another, "by whom the world with its fashions and its follies, its principles, and its practices, has been proposed in form to Englishmen, as the proper object of their attention and devotion.* Lord Chesterfield has avowed as much with respect to himself, and by his writings said in effect to it, 'Save me, for thou art my God.' He has tendered his assistance to act as priest upon the oc * I have quoted this in another of my works, but it is so striking that it will bear to be re-quoted. |