eed that in this spot the mind felt more calm than it possibly
could any where else; besides, here the soul does not suffer so much
from the images that grief presents to it; one seems still to share with
those who are no more, the charms of that air, of that sun, and of that
verdure. Corinne observed the impression that Lord Nelville received,
and conceived some hopes from it: she did not flatter herself with being
able to console Oswald; she had not even wished to efface from his heart
the just regret he must feel at the loss of his father; but there is,
even in this regret, something tender and harmonious, which we must
endeavour to make known to those who have hitherto only felt its
bitterness; it is the only benefit we can confer upon them.

"Let us stop here," said Corinne, "opposite this tomb, the only one
which remains yet almost whole: it is not the tomb of a celebrated
Roman, it is that of Cecilia Metella, a young maiden to whom her father
has raised this monument." "Happy!" said Oswald, "happy are the children
who die in the arms of their father and receive death in the bosom of
him who gave them life; death itself then loses its sting." "Yes," said
Corinne; "happy are those not doomed to the wretched lot of orphans.
See, arms have been sculptured on this tomb, though it belongs to a
woman: but the daughters of heroes may have their monuments adorned with
the trophies of their fathers; what a beautiful union is that of
innocence and valour! There is an elegy of Propertius which paints
better than any other writing of antiquity, this dignity of woman among
the Romans, more imposing, more pure than the worship paid to them
during the age of chivalry. Cornelia, dying in her youth, addresses to
her husband the most affecting consolations and adieus, in which we feel
at every word, all that is respectable and sacred in family ties. The
noble pride of an unspotted life is painted in this majestic poetry of
the Latins, this poetry, noble and severe as the masters of the
world[17]. '_Yes_,' says Cornelia, '_no stain has sullied my life from
the nuptial bed to the funeral pyre; I have lived pure between the two
torches._' What an admirable expression" cried Corinne; "What a sublime
image! How worthy of envy is the lot of that woman who has been able to
preserve the most perfect unity in her destiny and carries but one
recollection to the grave: it is enough for a life!"

In finishing these words, the eyes of Corinne w