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 as the illustriously insignificant or obnoxious dead of other lands,--for these, it may be well to consider how much better and fitter an establishment is Mount Auburn, for the purposes its founders and friends had in view when they reared it, than Pere la Chaise, or anything of the sort, could possibly be in its place. How much better to muse in for the living, or to sleep in for the dead, than some few ages hence it may become, when opulence, and luxury, and fashion, and all the whims of humanity, and all the workings of time, shall have made it more like the great show-place of the gay and vain French Capital. Then indeed there will be over it a halo of glory; but will its charm for the heart remain the same? Future generations may be prouder of it than we are, but can they be as fond? Will not the musing moralist of those days, sometimes, weary of sensations and splendor, turn or seek to turn back in imagination to this uncrowded quietude and primitive simplicity-this glistering turf, --these cool, sweet-winding avenues and paths-this green, fresh beauty of the woods? Will he not think how once, with the first flush of the spring's verdure, and how again in the summer's sultry hours, the denizens of the city's populous streets here at least could wrap themselves so soon in solitude and bloom? How here, even those to whom trial and toil had made the world a weariness for the time, might learn, from the depths of nature, in intervals of solemn but refreshing meditation, to look forth with complacency, and renew themselves as they looked, through the tree-tops of the mountain-summit, on many a glorious vision of what had seemed to them before
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