[206] grass spring in the sunshine, and the violet and primrose flourish and glow in its midst. I would have the place no terror, at least, to those in whose kind memory I still might live. I would have it to console and cheer; to rouse, gently, to solemn but not gloomy meditation. The poorest village in the land, with all its rude obscurity, might easily be rich enough for this, --richer than countless wealth can make the more than deadly dwelling-place of him whose bones are shelved away in London or in Boston vaults. The poorest village may be far abler than the most opulent metropolis to emulate Mount Auburn in its way, for nature, and the love of it, are all it needs.
All? I think I hear some reader say. Where, then, are your great names? The church-yards of England and other lands are full of such. See how the dust of Pere la Chaise teems with them! What monuments-what historical and classical accumulations-what scholars, conquerors, and bards-what hints and helps to patriotism, and perseverance and high ambition!
Aye, and to other feelings, I fear, less in unison with that which is, or should be, the reigning spirit of the place;--perhaps to some but too well adapted to counteract it;--to sensations, to mere excitement, more than to feelings, in the better sense of the word, at all. On this point I have intimated my impressions already, in speaking of the style of the Cathedrals and other places of the kind. I would not be deemed insensible to the just worth of the associations now in question. More dignity there certainly is in these, than in mere external decorations; and yet,--I acknowledge it freely,--I would not have the dust of Auburn to groan
