9 
SCENES IN INDIA. 
thrown up side by side in a village churchyard, or 
among those sumptuous edifices, upon the traceried 
battlements of which the bright rays of an eastern 
sun sparkle as if in joyous triumph to mark the spot 
where the bodies of heroes have been entombed ; 
whether we contemplate the sculptured urns,” raised 
over the ashes of those whom vast wealth and remote 
genealogies have signalized, or the humble tomb- 
stone that heads the cotter’s grave ; whether we walk 
among the avenues of those repositories of the dead 
where the deformed and loathsome relics of idolaters 
repose, or in the less heeded grave-yard, where the 
earthly remains of uncivilized man have been cast, 
without a prayer to that God who has reclaimed the 
soul which he bestowed, — but one feeling predomi- 
nates upon the contemplative mind, — “ the end of 
all things is death !” 
I have frequently walked in India amidst the 
crumbling monuments, which have enshrined the bo- 
dies of kings ere the earth had absorbed them in her 
maternal bosom, for that relief which sadness of 
thought produces, when the mind has been wearied 
by professional occupation, or excited by those vexa- 
tions which, though apparently trifling in the detail, 
are frequently among the severest trials of our mortal 
state ; and perhaps there is no country in the world 
where so many of these proud trophies of death are 
to be found in such preservation and splendour. Upon 
the plains of old Delhi, which once groaned under the 
massy piles of palaces, temples, and public edifices of 
every description, the ruins of numerous mausoleums 
are at this moment scattered, and many of the build- 
