pt to conceive an idea of the ignorance or
politeness of a nation from the turn of their public monuments and
inscriptions, they should be submitted to the perusal of men of
learning and genius before they are put in execution. Sir Cloudesley
Shovel's monument has very often given me great offense; instead of
the brave, rough English Admiral, which was the distinguishing
character of that plain, gallant man, he is represented on his tomb by
the figure of a beau, drest in a long periwig, and reposing himself
upon velvet cushions under a canopy of state. The inscription is
answerable to the monument; for instead of celebrating the many
remarkable actions he had performed in the service of his country, it
acquaints us only with the manner of his death, in which it was
impossible for him to reap any honor. The Dutch, whom we are apt to
despise for want of genius, show an infinitely greater taste of
antiquity and politeness in their buildings and works of this nature,
than what we meet with in those of our own country. The monuments of
their admirals, which have been erected at the public expense,
represent them like themselves; and are adorned with rostral crowns
and naval ornaments, with beautiful festoons of seaweed, shells, and
coral.

But to return to our subject. I have left the repository of our
English kings for the contemplation of another day, when I shall find
my mind disposed for so serious an amusement. I know that
entertainments of this nature are apt to raise dark and dismal
thoughts in timorous minds and gloomy imaginations: but for my own
part, tho I am always serious, I do not know what it is to be
melancholy; and can therefore take a view of nature in her deep and
solemn scenes, with the same pleasure as in her most gay and
delightful ones. By this means, I can improve myself with those
objects which others consider with terror. When I look upon the tombs
of the great, every emotion of envy dies in me; when I read the
epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out; when I
meet with the grief of parents upon a tombstone, my heart melts with
compassion; when I see the tomb of the parents themselves, I consider
the vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly follow; when I
see kings lying by those who deposed them, when I consider rival wits
placed side by side, or the holy men that divided the world with their
contests and disputes, I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the
little co