The monuments are
generally simple, for the lives of literary men afford no
striking themes for the sculptor. Shakespeare and Addison have
statues erected to their memories, but the greater part have
busts, medallions, and sometimes mere inscriptions.
Notwithstanding the simplicity of these memorials, I have always
observed that the visitors to the abbey remained longest about
them. A kinder and fonder feeling takes place of that cold
curiosity or vague admiration with which they gaze on the
splendid monuments of the great and the heroic. They linger about
these as about the tombs of friends and companions, for indeed
there is something of companionship between the author and the
reader. Other men are known to posterity only through the medium
of history, which is continually growing faint and obscure; but
the intercourse between the author and his fellowmen is ever new,
active, and immediate. He has lived for them more than for
himself; he has sacrificed surrounding enjoyments, and shut
himself up from the delights of social life, that he might the
more intimately commune with distant minds and distant ages. Well
may the world cherish his renown, for it has been purchased not
by deeds of violence and blood, but by the diligent dispensation
of pleasure.
Pages:
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273