In the Grampians. LONE BABY'S GRAVE. In an article on The Grampians, published in the Ballarat Courier, " H.B." . has the following concern- ing a grave, which is not known to many : Those awe-inspiring hills hold some vasty secret. Why do they elate the very soul of us ? How is it that we feel a desire to scale their rugged and dangerous scars? We descend in to their ravines and feel those fresh green ferns clinging about us, and how uncanny everything appears ! Our own reflection startles us as it stands still in the limpid pool, and the sight of those black gorges and caves give us a creepy feeling. Why should there be such a difference between this scenery and that of the ordinary type in its effect on the mind? Surely there is some secret at the base of those hills. Yes, and I know where it is to be found. Right at the foot of a truly imposing mountain -- a towering rock of dreadful magnitude, and, quite unsca- lable from its sunny aspect -- there is a spot five feet or six feet in diameter surrounded by a circle of white stones, and graced by a slight tablet. On this tablet is written : " Sacred to the memory of Agnes Folkes, who died . . 1870; aged three months." Poor little babe! If there is one spot in the wide world fit to grace, or even to mark, the last resting place of an innocent child, surely this is it ! Towering heights hang their terrible heads over this baby's grave, and flowers of the choicest blow their delicate fragrance over it. The over-towering trees entertain the litany-singers that flood the valley with Nature's requiem. Little Agnes is perfectly secure. She, at least, knows the secret of those ever-lasting hills, and there needs no stretch of the imagination to apply the words of Jean Ingelow to the mother of this angel : But, O ! my first; O ! my best, I could not choose but to lose thee; O ! to be a wild white bird, and seek the rocky bed ! From my breast I'd give thee burial, pluck thee down and spread above thee: I would sit and sing thy requiem on the mountain's head. If I might add to this, it would only be to say that almost directly over this little scene one point of rock stands prominent above every other--the nearest to the ethereal blue -and that small rock takes the form of a child's face looking aloft. - After my companion took the photo of this spot, I took the liberty of naming it " Cherub Rock." It forms a noble headstone to the most sub lime of all circumstances.