to
be said than that weeping I wish soon to lie by thy dear chaste ashes.
Thus did the husband pour out his tears.'

These verses are preceded by a brief account of the lady, in Latin
prose, in which the little that is said is the uncorrupted language of
affection. But, without this introductory communication I should myself
have had no doubt, after recovering from the first shock of surprize and
disapprobation, that this man, notwithstanding his extravagant
expressions, was a sincere mourner; and that his heart, during the very
act of composition, was moved. These fantastic images, though they stain
the writing, stained not her soul,--they did not even touch it; but hung
like globules of rain suspended above a green leaf, along which they may
roll and leave no trace that they have passed over it. This
simple-hearted man must have been betrayed by a common notion that what
was natural in prose would be out of place in verse;--that it is not the
Muse which puts on the garb but the garb which makes the Muse. And
having adopted this notion at a time when vicious writings of this kind
accorded with the public taste, it is probable that, in the excess of
his modesty, the blankness of his inexperience, and the intensity of his
affection, he thought that the further he wandered from Nature in his
language the more would he honour his departed consort, who now appeared
to him to have surpassed humanity in the excellence of her endowments.
The quality of his fault and its very excess are both in favour of this
conclusion.

Let us contrast this epitaph with one taken from a celebrated Writer of
the last century.

_To the memory of_ LUCY LYTTLETON, _Daughter &c. who departed this
life &c. aged_ 20._ Having employed the short time assigned to her
here in the uniform practice of religion and virtue_.

Made to engage all hearts, and charm all eyes,
Though meek, magnanimous; though witty, wise;
Polite, as all her life in Courts had been;
Yet good, as she the world had never seen;
The noble fire of an exalted mind,
With gentle female tenderness combined.
Her speech was the melodious voice of love,
Her song the warbling of the vernal grove;
Her eloquence was sweeter than her song,
Soft as her heart, and as her reason strong;
Her form each beauty of the mind express'd,
Her mind was Virtue by the Graces drest.

The prose part of this inscription has the appearance of