THE GRAVE OF JOHN STUART MILL.

Waikato Times, Volume VIII, Issue 457, 22 April 1875, Page 3

THE GRAVE OF JOHN STUART MILL.

A lovelier graveyard never held human clay. No fhvonder that the great man wished to lie here ; whei c scarcely ever will the marble of his tomb be eclipse I by the whiter snow ; where hardly do the flowers cease to bloom from year to year. The whole ground was thick with tombs, many of thorn quaint and old, many simple crosses, many elaborate tombi^ODes j but all half-smothered in f iliage of dense *vuid dark gfeen trees ; bushes, flowers, and vines even where. I had no difficulty in finding either theee < c nt'Jwry or the grave; every oi.e to whom I spoke in Xvignon seemed to know about the great Englishman. And even in the surrounding country, as fur as Nimes, his name was known. The concierg° of the Tour Magne told me had visited that ruin. But to go back to the tomb. An avenue of trees leads to the cemetery gate. Tl.ese trees were allinclined s-outhward,so<neof them at such an angle that one might walk up^hetiuuks. '.This, perhaps, was the work of the Alpine winds. Oiice within the gate, I found some marble cutters, carving a beautiful tonib, in situ, and asked them for the grave of Stuart Mill. One of them answered, "Ah! L'Anglais] Oui j tout droit-ld, en face de cette demoisellela." I went by his direction, but as my eye did not immediately catch it, I turned to the lady. She was in deep mourning, thick -veiled, sitting quietly by a grave. She rose, and indicated the place I was looking for, then returned to her watch, almost as silent as the dead themselves. I had been thinking of some fine moument, but there was a simple one. The plot of ground is not so lirge as a full lot in Gieenwood, or Cypress Hills. It is surrounded by a hedge of flowering bushes, | ■which give a rich and almost gorgeous mass of colour. 1 counted more than twelve kinds in full nwny of bloom. Besides these, there were flowers within the little plot, and some one had lately hung a wreath upon the little iron gate. Upon the ground lies a slab of marble, about 10ft. long and 6ft wide. On this is a substructure, 2ft. in height, and very in style, which, supports the upper slab. The tombstone was evidently put there by Mill himself, as its face is entirely occupied by an inscription to his wife. Of himself there is no memorial, except upon the upright panel of the tomb. To the beloved Memory of 1-larkiei' Mill. Thedear'y loved anil deeply rogreited Wfe if J' un Smart Mill, Her at and loving Heai t, Her » oble Soul. Her clear, powerful, original, nnd Com i rein nßi>e Intellect Made her the Guide and Support, The Instructor in Widom, - And the Example in Goodnefss As eh*- was the sole earthly l>elight Of those who had rhe hnppimM to belong to her. As eatne-t for all public Good Ap she w.is g^i er< us and devoted ,- To all who sui rounded her, Her influence has been felt Inmari ofth' greatest Impiovenn nts o "h a»e. And wil be in those still to come. Were there even a fe.v Heaitsand Intellects L'kehers Tliis earth would already become The hoped-for Heaven. She -ied, To the irreparable Lcsa of those who^survive her. This, then, is what that dread philosophy can do for its mightiest ! Not one word of hope. Not one strain of life to jar upon this horrible monotone of death. Not one faint cry of resurrection to be heard above this awful gulf. Ah, better to listen to the blea tings of the flocks upon those cold mountains than to listen to this worldly-wise and eloquent philosopher. There he stands beside the shattered idol. His face is pinched and haggard with insatiable craving and inexorable woe. He pours out his soul, but not unto God. He lifts his hands, but not to Him who brought life and immortality to light. He utters his eloquent cry, but in it we find not one Word of that Truth which is Yea and Amen, even in 'the depths of the tomb. He uttered his cry, and in a little while he lay down beside the wreck of his idol. 'I hey lie down in the dust together. The stout hearted are spoiled : they have slept their sleep, and none of the men of might have found their hands. The day of trouble came, and the mighty man therein must cry bitterly. It is written — He shall come to his end, and none shall help him. Was there none of all those who believed as he did, to speak one word of comfort to him 1 None of all those who followed him to say — " Master, be satisfied that she is again to be resolved into-atoms. ' Grieve not that her brief arc on the infinite sky of existence is already described, and that she is sunk again into the outer darkness." No, not even positive philosophers would offer such comfort. It would be too ghastly, too much like the satyr dancing to his fellow, or the owl whooping to the bittern. Here was a man — Who dropped liis plum'- et down t 1 elroad, Be. p umvers. , and cried : 'No God ! " Finding no bottom — So thetime came when, being without God, he was found to be also without hope in the world. He found his sole delight upon earth in this woman. A few lil<e her, he thought, would make earth the hoped-for heaven. What he would not believe the Lord Jesus could do in heaven itself, he was ready to believe this woman could do upon earth. So God confounds the wisdom of the wise. John Stuart Mill knew no heaven but in this frail child of dust. God took her from him, and he was left — heavenless ! I could not help thinking, also, that if there were such things as wandering Manes, or lurking Lemures, there would be a shadow hovering over that tomb, darker than that of the sombre* trees. A shadow of one whose name is not inscribed there, to whom she did not make this earth a heaven. Beside that grave I was sorely impressed. To think that the wisest of this world resolve to be hopeless while the Redeemer offers hope. In presence of His empty tomb, under the light of His throne, they deliberately conclude that the dead are as water spilled upon the ground, that they cannot be gathered. Lord JeSus ! this it the worst of all. That after Thou hast come into the world, and died for sinners, and risen again, they should yet persist in darkness, refuse to trust in Thee, and perish without hope. They will find their heaven in perishable human love, anywhere rather than in Thee. They continue to serve the creature more than the Creator, even after Thy savinglove has been preached to them. They are joined to their idols ; therefore confusion comes upon them and their idols together. Oh, h° w mucn better t0 be a little cnild ' sittin S d^wn at Thy feet, and hearing Thy wo:rds, than to bfe the grand man of science, who gropes in darkness against the blank wall of the tomb ! ° There used to be one great sight to see at Avignon—the ruined castle of the Popes. There is now another — the ground where lie the ruins of England's great modern philosopher. The soldiers of the republic nowbeat their drums and blow their bugles in the courts therein once the autocrat of j *he Catholic world held his councils. The grass ; '"and the flowers even now in mid-November are | bright above tiie mouldering remnants of the mighty brain fch&fc has jarred the faith of many ; j and whose teachings, if God should allow them their natural effect, would wither the faith of; myriads yet to be. Here, then, at Avignon, ex ; tremes have met. Sup» rstition and unbelief are crumbling together. And is that great intellect r- ot t-.i no in that, six feet of mould ! Not so. for Sir

has said, ♦• Io whom anioli w giveu, of him much shall bo required." As I was coming over the oitaiel-hill, on my way to the cemetery, I a:>.w to the rioHh-eaat- a great pile, which might, bo a mountain, or a bank of cloud. A liazo over that quarter did not allow me to distinguish. But a keen north-west wind was blowing the «ky clear \ so as I turned away from the grave, I, thought I would climb the hill again, mid see whether it w*s mist or mountain. Before I reached the hill, however, I happened to turn ni) head, aid was almost star led. There was the mountain, u'kind of out-post Alp, seemiiig to be almost over my shoulder. The wind had, cl< and it, and it stood blanched with snow, carmined with light, struck by the dung sun. The wind was cold, but it brought out the mountains. The breath of this pbi'osophy is cold and deadly, but by God's grace it may avail to show us more clearly the pillars of our faith. God and His Son are one steadfast God. Though to us sometimes hidden by misis, or circled by roaring winds, His throne will appear at last firmer than the mountains, brighter than the sun, and purer than the snow. — Rev Mr Hanna.

There is more in the births, marriages, and deaths column than is dreamt of in the philosophy of people who sneeringly assert that it is " only tit for women." A perusal of the list of deaths must always h«^e a salutary efftct in directing our attention to^our latter end ; and if we regard in the same ligh^^s the sub-editor of the " Times," who looks out octogenarians, may leave the pleasing impresssion th it that end is a long way off. Then, again, the marriages — what a field of speculation is opened up by a comparison of the list with the list of causes in the Divorce Court; and how much insight into the tendencies of society may be gained by counting the happy couples who have "no cards." Lastly, if you study the births, you may have the unmitigated satisfaction ot coming on some such announcement as the following:— " 17th, at 2, St. Mary's Road, Harlesden, the wife of John Partington, of another daughter." We do not remember to have ever seen the agony of a life brought within so narrow a compass. That one word " another " seems to embody the very quintessence of the feeling of repulsion against what the Yankee called th^' natural cussedness of things." Poor Mr Partington? another daughter ! and his quiver, perhaps, full of them already. As Hamlet puts it, " There's something too much of this." We can only remind Mr Partington that it is a long lane that has no turning ; he may be more fortunate next time. — " Sportsman.'