this necessary distinction, I proceed.—The mighty benefactors of mankind, as they are not only known by the immediate survivors, but will continue to be known familiarly to latest posterity, do not stand in need of biographic sketches, in such a place; nor of delineations of character to individualise them. This is already done by their Works, in the memories of men. Their naked names, and a grand comprehensive sentiment of civic gratitude, patriotic love, or human admiration—or the utterance of some elementary principle most essential in the constitution of true virtue;-or a declaration touching that pious humility and self-abasement, which are ever most profound as minds are most susceptible of genuine exaltation—or an intuition, communicated in adequate words, of the sublimity of intellectual power; —these are the only tribute which can here be paid— the only offering that upon such an altar would not be unworthy.1 What needs my Shakspeare for his honoured bones Or that his hallowed reliques should be hid Under a star-ypointing pyramid ? Dear Son of Memory, great Heir of Fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built thyself a livelong monument. And so sepulchred, in such pomp dost lie, That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.2 1 Charles Lamb wrote to Wordsworth, "Your Essay on Epitaphs is the only sensible thing which has been written on that subject, and it goes to the bottom." Wordsworth's Elegy on Lamb, written in 1835, was, his nephew tells us, originally designed as an epitaph. -ED. 2 See Milton's lines, entitled An Epitaph on the Admirable Dramatic Poet, William Shakspeare.—ED. THE COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD, AND CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF ANCIENT Yet even these bones from insult to protect With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, Their name, their years, spelt by the unletter'd Muse, And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die,2 WHEN a Stranger has walked round a Country Churchyard and glanced his eye over so many brief chronicles, as the tomb-stones usually contain, of faithful wives, tender husbands, dutiful children, and good men of all classes; he will be tempted to exclaim in the language of one of the characters of a modern Tale, in a similar situation, "Where are all the bad people buried?" He may smile to himself an answer to this question, and may regret that it has intruded upon him so soon. For my own part such has been my lot; and indeed a man, who is in the habit of suffering his mind to be carried passively towards truth as well as of going with conscious effort in search of it, may be forgiven, if he has some 1 As I have explained in the Preface, this second essay was first published in the "Prose Works" of 1876. I do not think the title which Dr. Grosart gave it is Wordsworth's, but as there is no access to the original MS. Dr. Grosart's title is retained.-ED. 2 See Gray's Elegy in a Country Church-yard, 11. 77-84.-ED. VOL. II L times insensibly yielded to the delusion of those flattering recitals, and found a pleasure in believing that the prospect of real life had been as fair as it was in that picture represented. And such a transitory oversight will without difficulty be forgiven by those who have observed a trivial fact in daily life, namely, how apt, in a series of calm weather, we are to forget that rain and storms have been, and will return to interrupt any scheme of business or pleasure which our minds are occupied in arranging. Amid the quiet of a churchyard thus decorated as it seemed by the hand of Memory, and shining, if I may so say, in the light of love, I have been affected by sensations akin to those which have risen in my mind while I have been standing by the side of a smooth sea, on a Summer's day. It is such a happiness to have, in an unkind world, one enclosure where the voice of Detraction is not heard; where the traces of evil inclinations are unknown; where contentment prevails, and there is no jarring tone in the peaceful concert of amity and gratitude. I have been roused from this reverie by a consciousness suddenly flashing upon me, of the anxieties, the perturbations, and in many instances, the vices and rancorous dispositions, by which the hearts of those who lie under so smooth a surface and so fair an outside have been agitated. The image of an unruffled sea has still remained; but my fancy has penetrated into the depths of that sea,-with accompanying thoughts of shipwreck, of the destruction of the mariner's hopes, the bones of drowned men heaped together, monsters of the deep, and all the hideous and confused sights which Clarence saw in his dream. Nevertheless, I have been able to return (and who may not?) to a steady contemplation of the benign. influence of such a favourable Register lying open to the eyes of all. Without being so far lulled as to imagine I saw in a village church-yard the eye or central point of a rural Arcadia, I have felt that with all the vague and |