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riends, and to gratify that disposition which would lead us to pay respect to their ashes. Nor has it hitherto been in the power even of those, who might be able and willing to do it, to remedy these evils, as far as they are themselves concerned. Great objections exist to a place of sepulture in a private field; particularly this, that in a few years, it is likely to pass into the hands of those who will take no interest in preserving its sacred deposit from the plough. The mother of Washington lies buried in a field, the property of a person not related to her family, and in a spot which cannot now be identified. In the public grave yard it is not always in the power of an individual, to appropriate to a single place of burial, space enough for the purposes of decent and respectful ornament. The proposed establishment seems to furnish every facility for gratifying the desire, which must rank among the purest and strongest of the human heart; and which would have been much mo
f Themistocles, that the trophies of Miltiades would not suffer him to sleep. The feeling, thus expressed, has a deep foundation in the human mind; and, as it is well or ill-directed, it will cover us with shame, or exalt us to glory. The deeds of the great attract but a cold and listless admiration, when they pass in historical order before us like moving shadows. It is the trophy and the monument, which invest them with a substance of local reality. Who, that has stood by the tomb of Washington on the quiet Potomac, has not felt his heart more pure, his wishes more aspiring, his gratitude more warm, and his love of country touched by a holier flame? Who, that should see erected in shades, like these, even a cenotaph to the memory of a man like Buckminster, that prodigy of early genius, would not feel that there is an excellence over which death hath no power, but which lives on through all time, still freshening with the lapse of ages? But passing from those, who by their tal