ROSE. 159 



this country, and is rapidly disappearing in 

 most parts of Wales; but we read in the 

 " Beauties of England," that Thomas Stevens, 

 a poor and aged man, who lies buried in the 

 church-yard of the village of Stokenchurch, 

 in Oxfordshire, left a request that his eldest 

 son would annually dress his grave with 

 flowers on the recurrence of (the wake) St. 

 Peter's. 



It seems now to be a study in this coun- 

 try to make our tombs monuments of ob- 

 livion, whilst in Paris they have renewed 

 the ancient custom of planting flowers on 

 the graves of their departed friends, particu- 

 larly at the cemetery of Pere la Chaise. It 

 is impossible to visit this vast sanctuary of 

 the dead, where the rose and the cypress 

 encircle each tomb, or the arbor vitse and 

 eglantine shade the marble obelisk, without 

 feeling a solemn, yet sweet and soothing 

 emotion steal over the senses as we wander 

 over this variegated scene of hill and dale, 

 columns and temples, interspersed with lux- 

 uriant flowering shrubs and fragrant herbs, 

 that seem to defy the most profane hand to 

 pluck them. In these winding paths, where 

 contemplation loves to dwell, we could not 

 forbear reciting these lines of " L/abbe de la 

 Chassagne : 



