Tombs of the past unknown!
Ye are fringed with violets blue,
And clouds have laved your stone
With sweetest tears of dew;
But when, by angels given,
The last dread peal of heaven
Shall rend ye all asunder
With its immortal thunder,
Your dead shall claim their heaven.
_Deal_.
G.R.C.
* * * * *
PORTRAIT OF STERNE.
(_To the Editor._)
As many of the pages of your extensively-circulated little work have
preserved memorials of _Laurence Sterne_, I hope you can spare room
for the underwritten extract, from a letter of his to Mr. Garrick, dated
Paris, March, 1762, and which may be seen in Vol I. of Mrs. Medalle's
"Letters of the late L. Sterne."
My object in thus troubling you is, in the hope (perhaps you will say an
almost forlorn, or distant one) that _possibly_ some one of your
readers, either here or abroad, maybe able to suggest where it is likely
the under-mentioned _whole-length_ portrait may now be of that once
very distinguished man.
A CONSTANT READER.
"I shandy it away fifty times more than I was ever wont, talk more
nonsense than ever you heard me talk in your days--and to all sorts of
people.
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