Excerpt from Nellie Maturin's Victory

It was, of course, a melancholy scene, yet the churchyard had a pensive beauty which mitigated the appearance of melancholy. The old grey church, half covered with ivy, stood on the slope of a hill, and the churchyard surrounding it was laid out with singular care and beauty. It was, in fact, more like a garden than a graveyard, and the tall trees that clustered at the back of the church did not intercept the sunshine, which played gently upon the green grass, and turned the petals of the roses into living flames. The white-robed choir, that had gathered round an open grave to sing the dead man's favourite hymn, were filing slowly back to the vestry.

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