t is no sensual, no unworthy
one; but a longing for renovation, and for escape from a state whose
every phase is mere preparation for another equally transitory, to one
in which permanence shall have become possible through perfection.
Hence the great call of Christ to men, that call on which St.
Augustine fixed as the essential expression of Christian hope, is
accompanied by the promise of rest; and the death bequest of Christ to
men, is peace.

84. He who has once stood beside the grave, to look back upon the
companionship which has been for ever closed, feeling how impotent,
there, are the wild love, and the keen sorrow, to give one instant's
pleasure to the pulseless heart, or atone in the lowest measure to the
departed spirit, for the hour of unkindness, will scarcely for the
future incur that debt to the heart, which can only be discharged to
the dust. But the lessons which men receive as individuals, they do
not learn as nations. Again and again they have seen their noblest
descend into the grave, and have thought it enough to garland the
tombstone when they had not crowned the brow, and to pay the honour to
the ashes, which they had denied to the spirit. Let it not displease
them that they are bidden, amidst the tumult and the dazzle of their
busy life, to listen for the few voices, and watch for the few lamps,
which God has toned and lighted to charm and to guide them, that they
may not learn their sweetness by their silence, nor their light by
their decay.

85. In the Cathedral of Lucca, near the entrance door of the north
transept, there is a monument by Jacopo della Quercia to Ilaria di
Caretto, the wife of Paolo Guinigi. I name it not as more beautiful or
perfect than other examples of the same period; but as furnishing an
instance of the exact and right mean between the rigidity and rudeness
of the earlier monumental effigies, and the morbid imitation of life,
sleep, or death, of which the fashion has taken place in modern times.
She is lying on a simple couch, with a hound at her feet; not on the
side, but with the head laid straight and simply on the hard pillow,
in which, let it be observed, there is no effort at deceptive
imitation of pressure.--It is understood as a pillow, but not mistaken
for one. The hair is bound in a flat braid over the fair brow, the
sweet and arched eyes are closed, the tenderness of the loving lips is
set and quiet; there is that about them which forbids breath;
somethi