THE RAVINE. 43 



struck me so forcibly- Tlie heart of everA' one who 

 tarries there is oppressed by this contrast. From all 

 quarters of the earth were gathered together those who 

 now repose in this "God's acre". In the flower of their 

 vouth, far from their home, thcA' were laid to rest under 

 Jasmine and Rose. Does the soil lie lighter on them 

 because flowers never fade upon their graves ? — Roses, 

 white, A'ellow and red, grow there in special profusion, 

 and spread an intoxicating perfume around. When I 

 visited this cemetery' on a former occasion the world 

 was radiant with the glory of spring and the air teemed 

 with jo"\'ous life. Yet it was sad among these flower- 

 decked graves. Hv a newly erected monument sat a 

 young sculptor carving the face of a tender maid on the 

 stone ; he was singing a merry song. I remained long 

 standing before that grave : it was like a Shakespearean 

 traged-\M 



High above the I^'ont St. Louis jagged mountains, 

 wild and romantic, rise abrupth'. In the middle of the 

 ravine a solitary pinnacle stands forth, and there are 

 numerous caves in the wall of rock. Rosemary' in 

 full flower, the shrubby "Bush Spurge'' (Iiuphorbia 

 deiidroidcs), Juniper, and large-flowered, silver^'-grey 

 Mallows (Lavatera mariiiiua), cling to each projection 

 of the rock and relieve the monoton\ of its surface. Below 

 all is green with luxuriant vegetation. A clear stream 

 gushes through the rocky cleft, forming pretty waterfalls. 

 Part of the water is drawn ofl' into a small aqueduct 

 which winds about picturesquel}^ and finally crosses the 

 stream on an arched bridge. Everything is as effect- 



