gements which we make for the reception of those who have been dear
to us, and in the lines which we inscribe upon their monuments, we show
what we are in ourselves perhaps more than what they were whom we
commemorate. The parish churchyard is an emblem and epitome of English
country life; London reflects itself in Brompton and Kensal Green, and
Paris in Pere la Chaise. One day as I was walking I found myself at the
gate of the great suburban cemetery of Havana. It was enclosed within
high walls; the gateway was a vast arch of brown marble, beautiful and
elaborately carved. Within there was a garden simply and gracefully laid
out with trees and shrubs and flowers in borders. The whole space
inclosed may have been ten acres, of which half was assigned to those
who were contented with a mere mound of earth to mark where they lay;
the rest was divided into family vaults covered with large white marble
slabs, separate headstones marking individuals for whom a particular
record was required, and each group bearing the name of the family the
members of which were sleeping there. The peculiarity of the place was
the absence of inscriptions. There was a name and date, with E.P.D.--'en
paz descansa'[14]--or E.G.E.--'en gracia esta'[15]--and that seemed all
that was needed. The virtues of the departed and the grief of the
survivors were taken for granted in all but two instances. There may
have been more, but I could find only these.

One was in Latin:

AD COELITES EVOCATAE UXORI EXIMAE IGNATIUS.
_Ignatius to his admirable wife who has been called up to heaven._

The other was in Spanish verse, and struck me as a graceful imitation of
the old manner of Cervantes and Lope de Vega. The design on the monument
was of a girl hanging an immortelle upon a cross. The tomb was of a
Caridad del Monte, and the lines were:

Bendita Caridad, las que piadosa
Su mano vierte en la funerea losa
Son flores recogidas en el suelo,
Mas con su olor perfumaian el cielo.

It is dangerous for anyone to whom a language is only moderately
familiar to attempt an appreciation of elegiac poetry, the effect of
which, like the fragrance of a violet, must rather be perceived than
accounted for. He may imagine what is not there, for a single word ill
placed or ill chosen may spoil the charm, and of this a foreigner can
never entirely judge. He may know what each word means, but he cannot
know the associations of it. Here, however, is