mechanical part of sorrow, there is too much as
it is in the arrangements of our funerals. Why
perpetuate it on our tombs ?

But, let us now turn into the walks of the
cemetery, and apply our reflections to the
monuments we see there. Large and spacious
grounds have an advantage as burial-
places, beautifully touched by Wordsworth,
where he tells us that " nothing can
compensate for the want of the soothing influences
of Nature, and for the absence of types of
renovation and decay." There is a harmony
there to be felt, between the sentiment that
death inspires, and the hope which Nature
does; and every season brings its due and
special consolation. Our attention, therefore,
is due in such a place, that what we do for
the service of the departed there be as beautiful
and becoming as that which Nature does.
Yet I fear we shall not find it so. Evidence
enough we shall find of care shown, expense
lavished, to pay offerings to the dead; but
we shall find many instances of bad taste,
affectation, and even vulgarity. One distinct
and ridiculous phenomenon in all London
cemeteries is what I must call " heathenism."

Why, surely, this is above everything a
Christian churchyard ? Well, note that little
naked figure with the inverted torch;— what
does he here ? He is the " Genius " of the
Pagan religion—  a certain demon supposed to
belong peculiarly to you from birth — whom
you, as an ancient worshipper, made proper
sacrifice to, especially on your birthday. The
torch is the symbol of your life, and a natural
and beautiful symbol of its cessation is the
lowering of it in the hand of the Genius. But
what has all this to do with us, on our
monuments ; where the many cannot understand
it ? It impresses no awe, it is meaningless,
except to a few, and, truly, is only a
Cockney parody on the ancient mythology,
and as much out of its place as a page of
Tibullus would be in a hymn-book.

Again, inside that stone canopy supported
by the pillars is a little " urn " — a sham urn,
I am sorry to say; and on it is put a girl's
name. I would not let the name I loved stay
in that false and affected position. The old
urns, of which it is an imitation, did contain
the sacred ashes: but poor little Annabel is
lying a dozen feet below, wrapped in her
Christian shroud. Why should I, as it were,
localise her image by putting the cherished name
on that chimney ornament? Here is a radical
error in taste, for see what you do by it: you
attract passers-by, not to pause reverently
and merely to look, but to stare in a dilettante
fashion, as if they were in a wax show. This
"classicality " is transmitted, I suppose, from
generation to generation of the " statuaries"
who manufacture these things; but of course
they are not prepared — or concocted, rather —
without the persons who are most interested
in the matter having an opportunity of
supervising them.

Another affectation is, that of such
monuments as elaborate broken columns, with
the artfully shattered fragments affectédly
scattered about in a laboriously desolate
way! There is something sadder than the
grave, almost, in all this. Sorrow or solemnity,
surely, are not suggested by such trickery in
stone. People should consider that a graveyard
has its laws of propriety as well as any
other public place, and where can anything
unnatural and untrue be more repelling and
painful ?

Trees and flowers are always proper, and
may be relied on for their gracefulness. Nor
do I know any more becoming way of
arranging a grave than that simple one of a
plain white stone, an inclosed railing, and a
flower-bed. An image as old as the world,
and which never can go out of fashion, speaks
of the grave as a " resting-place; " and in this
way the isolation, the tranquillity, the
helplessness are expressed in the arrangement.
Above all, suitableness should be considered.
Let there be something modest and graceful
in the disposition of the grave of a maiden;
let the monument harmonise with the name
on it. It may be right to give to the tomb
of an artist some appropriate symbolism; to
the tomb of a scholar an inscription in latinity;
to a great noble, something becoming his
means and rank:— but how absurd is a
monument that symbolises nothing but the
statuary's bill.

The influence of France is occasionally
visible in our cemeteries. The French are
remarkable for the ingenuity they display in
these matters; often their epitaphs are so
ingeniously sorrowful, that they drive away
sorrow altogether. There is a most notable
specimen in Père la Chaise. Two tombstones,
standing together, emit two hands, which,
join affectionately: one tombstone records
the husband's death, the other the names of
the surviving wife. And what think you
is written on the husband's tombstone?
"J'attends ma femme! I await my wife. "
There is a graceful French epitaph which one
may render thus:— (it is written by a surviving
lover) —
       " HAST THOU FOUND THE HEAVEN
                   THAT I HAVE LOST ? "

And to them I believe we owe, whatever may be
the obligation, such epitaphs now becoming
very common — as, MY MOTHER ! and solitary
utterances of names, as, ADELINE — JENNY.
Far be it from me to suspect any man's
sincerity ; but I confess I love not this mode of
epitaphial record. Once or twice you might
take it to be what it pretends ;— the
outburst of a sorrow which feels that it has
uttered all in uttering the name of the lost
person : but how can you believe this when
you see that in most instances it must be
merely an act of imitation ?

The heathenism of the monuments has its
parallel too often in that of the inscriptions.
I must take leave to enter a modest objection