SIXTH DAY. 175 



taper fingers the anchor of a frigate ! Then 

 the inscription, hyper-florid eulogy ! oh trite 

 puerility ! How applicable is the measured 

 sarcasm of the poet : 



" Can storied urn, or animated bust, 



Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 

 Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, 

 Or Flattery sooth the dull cold ear of Death ?" 



One is reminded, too, of the sneer of the 

 essayist : " What a blessing it must have 

 been to have lived in the lady's time !" 



S. I could almost find it in my heart 

 to chime in with you, and am only restrained 

 by the sanctity of the place, and the thought 

 that human weakness is as manifest in it 

 as the bad taste which dictated such a 

 memorial. I regret to find that a curious 

 sepulchral brass has disappeared, for I 

 wished you to see it. These things have 

 suffered from other spoilers besides those 

 of the days of Cavalier and Roundhead, on 

 whom all the mischief is unjustly laid, much 



