canvas painting

Is your book interesting?' I had already formed the intention of
asking her to lend it to me some day.
'I like it,' she answered, after a pause of a second or two, during
which she examined me.
'What is it about?' I continued. I hardly know where I found the
hardihood thus to open a conversation with a stranger; the step was
contrary to my nature and habits: but I think her occupation touched a
chord of sympathy somewhere; for I too liked reading, though of a
frivolous and childish kind; I could not digest or comprehend the
serious or substantial.
'You may look at it,' replied the girl, offering me the book.
I did so; a brief examination convinced me that the contents were
less taking than the title: Rasselas looked dull to my trifling taste;
I saw nothing about fairies, nothing about genii; no bright variety
seemed spread over the closely-printed pages. I returned it to her;
she received it quietly, and without saying anything she was about
to relapse into her former studious mood: again I ventured to
disturb her-
'Can you tell me what the writing on that stone over the door