, Feb. 6, 1843; died in Rome,
Jan. 17, 1901. 'He asked life of Thee, and Thou gavest him long
life ever and forever.'"

Over the grave of John Addington Symonds, whose best monument is in his
admirable History of the Renaissance in Italy, is a Latin inscription
written by Professor Jowett of Oxford, and a stanza from the Greek of
Cleanthes, translated by Mr. Symonds as follows:--

"Lead thou, our God, law, reason, motion, life;
All names for Thee alike are vain and hollow;
Lead me, for I will follow without strife,
Or, if I strive, still more I blindly follow."

John Addington Symonds, who certainly ranks as the most gifted
interpreter of Italy, in her art, her legends and associations, and her
landscape loveliness, died in the Rome he so loved in 1893. His wife was
ill in Venice, but his daughter, Margaret,--his inseparable companion
and his helper in his work,--was with him. It is Miss Symonds who
prefaced a memorial volume to her father with the exquisite lines:--

"O Love; we two shall go no longer
To lands of summer beyond the sea."

Near the graves of Keats and of his friend, Joseph Severn, are those of
Augustus William Hare and John Gibson, the sculptor, who died in 1868.
Some ten years before Hawthorne, meeting Gibson at a dinner given by T.
Buchanan Read, wrote of him that it was whispered about the table that
he had been in Rome for forty-two years and that he had a quiet,
self-contained aspect as of one who had spent a calm life among his clay
and marble.

Dwight Benton, an American painter and writer, who was for some time in
the diplomatic service and whose home had been in Rome for more than a
quarter of a century, lies buried here. For many years he was the
editor of _The Roman World_, which still sustains the interesting
character that marked it during his editorship. Of his work in art a
friend wrote:--

"In painting, as in literature, Dwight Benton took his inspiration
from nature. His paintings of Italian scenery are true and faithful
representations of its character and atmospheric effects. His
tramps on the Roman Campagna were long and often tiring, but he
worked with all an artist's enthusiasm, unmindful of cold, rain,
and even hunger. He would delight, as all true artists, in an old
convent, a tree, a tower, a cross, which he would reproduce with a
peculiar and striking perfection of tone and color. In his
pai