SIXTH DAY. 171 



J. In the grave all rest alike, but still 

 our fancy lingers on such scenes as these, 

 and I doubt if ever they are effaced from 

 our memories. 



S. Never : yet they who lie here were 

 " men of like passions with ourselves." 

 Love, jealousy, malice, avarice, ay even 

 ambition, once disquieted the clay on 

 which we tread. But there are some who 

 died in well-grounded hope, who will appear 

 at the resurrection of the just, who lived 

 in charity with all, and died leaving behind 

 them the odour of a good name. It is pain- 

 ful to contrast their lives with those of the 

 debauched and vicious whom death has also 

 levelled. There is the memorial of one 

 whose epitaph may be found in the late 

 Vicar's register " potator prodigus !" The 

 worthy old man, a priest whom Chaucer 

 or Herbert might have loved, was a faith- 

 ful chronicler of the virtues and the vices of 

 his flock. I never see that grave without 



