]46 
PARK AND CEMETERY 
atmosphere of kindred souls, it would seem fitting 
that the mortal remains of those in sympathy with one 
another's pursuits should be gathered in one locality 
that might be consecrated to them. This has been ac- 
complished in the Musicians' Plot in Central Cemetery, 
Vienna, where Beethoven, Mozart, Schubert and Gliick 
sleep among the trees and flowers. From all parts 
of the globe lovers of music journey to this little sanc- 
tuary of venerated dust. At the left lies Beethoven, 
whose tempestuous heart beat in unison with the furv 
low, said the famed writer of epitaphs, at the passing 
of friends, but there was no one who could do him 
justice when his turn came to close the narrow door. 
So, the friends who survived wrote across a blue mar- 
ble slab, “O rare Ben Jonson.” The chroniclers of 
\\ estminster Abbey say that he was buried in an up- 
right position because of the crowded condition of the 
vault, but we rather like to think the act symbolic. 
In that “Poet’s Corner," there are many others 
whose wit and music have entranced the world. A 
TAM O’SHANTER AND SOUTER 
JOHNNY. 
Sculptured figures in Greek 
Temple erected to Robert 
Burns in Ayr, representing 
two characters in “Tam o’ 
Shanter.” 
marble effigy standing on a pedestal carved with the 
figures of the muses represents Addison, who. was 
borne to the Abbey in the night in a solemn proces- 
sion of torch-bearers and choristers. The splendid 
tribute in marble from a friend marks the resting place 
of Dryden and not far distant 
one may read the name of 
Chaucer, whose quaint rhymes 
haunt the memory. Milton’s 
pathetic countenance gleams in 
marble against the grey walls 
of the Abbey, and seems to 
turn towards the neighbor- 
ing bust of Alfred Tennyson, 
upon wdiose stilled heart lies a 
GREEK TEMPLE TO ROBERT BURNS 
AYR. 
of storms,, the passion of 
wind-lasfed waves, but 
which nevertheless under- 
stood and appreciated the 
divine calm of Schubert’s 
melodies. A variegated 
cut-leaved maple shades the 
marble whiteness of the 
monument carved with the 
immortal name, a lyre and a symbolic bee. 
In the center of the plot, surrounded by the floral 
offerings of admirers, rests Mozart, darling of all 
musical souls. The bronze head of Fame on the 
summit of the marble is lowered as if in grief at the 
untimely passing of one whose name she inscribes 
upon the scroll of honored dead. To-day hundreds of 
cities are proud to erect memorials to the genius who 
died wretchedly poor and who, also, was taken to his 
grave unwept and unattended. 
Just beyond the granite shaft above Gliick, that mas- 
ter musician born to a gamekeeper’s wife, is an avenue 
of stately locusts perfuming the air with their clusters ■ 
of snowy bloom which contrast happily with the 
glowing crimson flowers massed about the lot where 
Austria’s famous colorist, Hans Makart, sleeps. In 
life, he loved this particular shade of red and always 
employed it somewhere in the composition of each 
painting. 
“Thou art gone before, whither the world must fol- 
AT 
BURNS' TOMB AT DUMFRIES. 
laurel wreath from Virgil’s tomb. 
“Life is a jest and all things show it; 
I thought so once, but now I know it.” 
How appropriate the epitaph for philosophical John 
Gay. Beyond these chiseled lines and just above the 
portrait busts of Macauley and Thackeray is a marble 
relief by Roubilliac in memory of Handel, whose ashes 
are in the vault below. The design shows the master 
