160 SYLVA FJ.ORIFERA. 



" Roses, en quijevois paroitre 

 Un eclat si vif et si doux, 

 Vous mourrez bientot ; mais peut-etre 

 Dois-je mourir plutot que vous ! 

 La mort, que mon ame redoute, 

 Peut m'arriver incessamment. 

 Vous mourrez en un jour, sans doute, 

 Et moi peut-etre en un moment !" 



At this instant we found a funeral proces- 

 sion slowly winding towards us, amid the 

 monumental stones, and avenues of trees, to 

 avoid which, we ascended the height, where 

 our attention was attracted by a grave cover- 

 ed with fresh moss, and thickly strewed with 

 the most odorous white flowers, such as the 

 orange-blossom, jasmine, myrtle, and white 

 rose. At each corner stood white porcelain 

 vases, filled with similar flowers, all of pure 

 white; the whole was covered with a fence 

 of wire-work ; and the monument was with- 

 out a name, and had only this simple and 

 pathetic inscription, " Fille cherie — avec toi 

 mes beaux jours sont passes ! 5. Juin, 1819." 



We were told that the afflicted parent still 

 continued to indulge in the sad duty of re- 

 plenishing the grave with fresh flowers, at the 

 earliest opening of the gates of this melan- 

 choly garden of graves. 



The most trivial objects will sometimes 

 make impressions on the mind, even against 



