indeed where the internal evidence proves that the writer was moved, in other words where this charm of sincerity lurks in the language of a tomb-stone and secretly pervades it, there are no errors in style or manner for which it will not be, in some degree, a recompence; but without habits of reflection a test of this inward simplicity cannot be come at; and as I have said, I am now writing with a hope to assist the well-disposed to attain it.

Let us take an instance where no one can be at a loss.  The following lines are said to have been written by the illustrious Marquis of Montrose with the point of his sword, upon being informed of the death of his master, Charles I.: 

    Great, good, and just, could I but rate
    My griefs, and thy so rigid fate;
    I’d weep the world to such a strain,
    As it should deluge once again. 
    But since thy loud-tongued blood demands supplies,
    More from Briareus’ hands than Argus’ eyes,
    I’ll sing thy obsequies with trumpets’ sounds
    And write thy epitaph with blood and wounds.

These funereal verses would certainly be wholly out of their place upon a tomb-stone; but who can doubt that the writer was transported to the height of the occasion? that he was moved as it became an heroic soldier, holding those principles and opinions, to be moved?  His soul labours;—­the most tremendous event in the history of the planet—­namely, the deluge, is brought before his imagination by the physical image of tears,—­a connection awful from its very remoteness and from the slender band that unites the ideas:—­it passes into the region of fable likewise; for all modes of existence that forward his purpose are to be pressed into the service.  The whole is instinct with spirit, and every word has its separate life; like the chariot of the Messiah, and the wheels of that chariot, as they appeared to the imagination of Milton aided by that of the prophet Ezekiel.  It had power to move of itself, but was conveyed by cherubs.

                   —­with stars their bodies all
    And wings were set with eyes, with eyes the wheels
    Of beryl, and careering fires between.

Compare with the above verses of Montrose the following epitaph upon Sir Philip Sidney, which was formerly placed over his grave in St. Paul’s Church.

England, Netherland, the Heavens, and the Arts,
The Soldiers, and the World, have made six parts
Of noble Sidney; for who will suppose
That a small heap of stones can Sidney enclose? 
England hath his Body, for she it fed,
Netherland his Blood, in her defence shed: 
The Heavens have his Soul, the Arts have his Fame,
The Soldiers the grief, the World his good Name.