ful to illustrate the amiable virtues of the sex. "When I was
at Berlin," says he, "I followed the celebrated Iffland to the
grave. Mingled with some pomp, you might trace much real
feeling. In the midst of the ceremony, my attention was at-
tracted by a young woman who stood on a mound of earth,
newly covered with turf, which she anxiously protected from
the feet of the passing crowd. It was the tomb of her parent;
and the figure of this affectionate daughter presented a mon-
ument more striking than the most costly work of art."

I will barely add an instance of sepulchral decoration that I
once met with among the mountains of Switzerland. It was at
the village of Gersau, which stands on the borders of the lake
of Luzerne, at the foot of Mount Rigi. It was once the cap-
ital of a miniature republic, shut up between the Alps and the
lake, and accessible on the land side only by foot-paths. The
whole force of the republic did not exceed six hundred fight-
ing men; and a few miles of circumference, scooped out, as
it were, from the bosom of the mountains, comprised its terri-
tory. The village of Gersau seemed separated from the rest
of the world, and retained the golden simplicity of a purer
age. It had a small church, with a burying ground adjoining.
At the heads of the graves were placed crosses of wood or
iron. On some were affixed miniatures, rudely executed, but
evidently attempts at likenesses of the deceased. On the
crosses were hung chaplets of flowers, some withering, others
fresh, as if occasionally renewed. I paused with interest at
the scene; I felt that I was at the source of poetical descrip-
tion, for these were the beautiful, but unaffected offerings of
the heart, which poets are fain to record. In a gayer and
more populous place, I should have suspected them to have
been suggested by factitious sentiment, derived from books;
but the good people of Gersau knew little of books; there
was not a novel nor a love poem in the village; and I question
whether any peasant of the place dreamt, while he was twining
a fresh chaplet for the grave of his mistress, that he was ful-
filling one of the most fanciful rites of poetical devotion, and
that he was practically a poet.

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