reposes the body of Nainsee Gleneur," a
strange apostrophe to the dead is added;
"Friendship, esteem, and regrets follow thee
to the tomb in the eternal night where thou
hast descended. Receive, O tender daughter,
a confession of grief. Thy relations, thy
friends, while watching over thy ashes, will
bless thy virtues, and will shed tears."

Well; tears, we know, are a frequent
accompaniment of sorrow: and, accordingly, at the
bottom cf the inscription on most of these
wooden gravestones, are painted large black
tears, as fitting emblems, but looking more
like bulls' eyes, or Prince Rupert's crackers,
made of bottle-glass, than anything else which
is usually seen. It must be a peculiarly
constituted eye to weep such inky monsters.
The usual number depicted is three.
Sometimes, in profuse cases, there are five,
and even seven; but, now and then, grief
is economised, and the sad shower is
represented by a single drop. There were but
few painted tears on the English memorials,
and those might be guessed to be not ordered,
but the spontaneous work of native artists.
In contrast with the epitaph on poor Nainsee
Gleneur, some British parent had placed, at
the head of a small grave, a little square board
bearing only two words—Darling Child—
legibly painted. If we may judge from a
comparison of the style of epitaphs here, the
grief of the old for the young, of parents for
children, is more acute, though, perhaps, not
more sincere, than the regrets which the
young experience for the elders who have
preceded them.

A " Pray for the repose of his soul," is a
natural address to a Roman Catholic visitor;
but French politeness finds its way even upon
gravestones, when you read there, "If you
please, pray for the repose of his soul."
One can understand the feeling which, at
the end of an obituary inscription,
concludes all with a sigh—" Alas! " But the
repeated announcements that " our regrets
are eternal," just exemplify the folly of
exaggerated statements. Regrets may be
perennial, and even life-long; but some of
the freehold burial-places show, by their
dilapidated condition, that man's regrets
cannot be eternal. A perpetual purchase of
grave-land can neither insure everlasting
marks of sorrow, nor a successive generation
of those who are to supply them.

It is to be noticed, with admiration, that
even on those neglected tombs, nothing is
displaced which the affectionate hand has
once arranged. Ornaments, which we should
call childish, such as shells, painted medallions
of glass, and artificial flowers, remain
untouched and uninjured, as long as wind and
weather permit. The wreaths of eternelles
hang till the flowers rot off, and their straw
foundation alone remains; still they are not
tossed aside in scorn or mischief. The feelings
of survivors, as well as the memory of the
departed, are treated with respectful forbearance.
And, therefore, we ought not to more
than smile on reading the announcement near
the sexton's door, that he keeps by him, for
immediate supply to customers, an assortment
of crowns, or wreaths, made of everlastings,
of ivory shavings, of feathers and everlastings,
and of artificial flowers, from forty centimes,
or a fourpenny-piece, as high as two francs,
or one shilling and eightpence sterling.

To linger a, little longer among the tombs;
—some mystery is contained in one
inscription: "Well-beloved wife, unfortunate mother-
in-law, … &c. Pray God to watch over
your husband, up to the moment when he
comes to rejoin you in heaven. Adieu." This,
with a little help as to facts, would go some
way towards a tale. A cautiously worded
epitaph records the end of an Englishman—
"Many years a Medical Practitioner in this
town, who met his death under peculiar and
melancholy circumstances." Very peculiar!—
His most intimate friend was the Commissary
of Police. They had been spending the evening
pleasantly with other friends; they left
together, and had taken a little stimulant. It
is supposed that the Doctor reminded the
Commissary of a debt due to himself, though
no one can say exactly what might have been
at the bottom of all. They just crossed the
Market-place, and entered the official Bureau,
from which the Englishman soon staggered
out, stabbed to the heart with a dagger which
the Commissary had kept in his desk. No
witness saw the deed: the victim never spoke
after; and the culprit, in consequence (through
the forbearance of French law), was acquitted,
with a very severe reprimand from his Judge,
and remained a long time in Paris without
being allowed to resume any official appointment
in the Police.

A long mile further into the country is
another cemetery; for this is filling, and
the churchyard of the suburb is already full,
and therefore is closed for seven years. The
new burial-ground is a dry, sandy, square
plot, enclosed on all sides by a moat, filled
with water, and accessible only at the
entrance gates. Here, for some years to
come, the dead, both from the suburbs and
the fortified town, may be deposited, without
affecting the health, or shocking the feelings
of either.

"But what is all that to us? " asks the
reader. " We do not live in fortifed towns,
hemmed in by rampart and ditch, like a
beetle caught in the middle of a Chinese nest
of tea-cups. We do not want any French
fashions here."

Very well, sir or madam, have your own
way. 'Shut your eyes to what is good, as well
as to what seems to you absurd. But if
London, and scores of other towns in England,
are not fortified towns, as far as room for
interments is concerned, I will consent to pitch
my tent—and dwell in it too—in the midst
of one of your cemeteries, for the remaining
portion of my life.