ON A GENTLEMAN, WHOSE NAME WAS HATT.

By Death's impatient scythe was mown
Poor Hatt-he lies beneath this stone;
On him misfortune oft did frown,
Yet Hatt ne'er wanted for a crown;
When many years' of constant wear
Had made his beaver somewhat bare,
Death saw, and, pitying his mishap,
Has given him here a good long nap.

CURIOUS EPITAPH

On Mr. Thomas Brown.

Here lies Thomas Brown, who brown paper made,
And making of brown paper was his trade.

AT BROUGHTON, NEAR NORTHAMPTON.

Time was, I stood where thou dost now,
And view'd the dead, as thou dost me;

Ere long thou'lt lie as low as I,

And others stand and look at thee.

AT CHERITON, WARWICKSHIRE.

Here old John Randal lies,
Who, counting from his tale,
Lived three-score years and ten,-

Such virtue was in ale.

Ale was his meat,

Ale was his drink,

Ale did his heart revive;

And if he could have drunk his ale,

He still had been alive.

AT GUNWALLON, NEAR HELSTON, CORNWALL.

Shall all we die?

We shall die all.

All die shall we?

Die all we shall.

ON A LAWYER.

See how God works his wonders now and then,—
Here lies a lawyer and a honest man.

AT DATCHET, NEAR WINDSOR.

Here lies the body of John Bidwell,

Who, when in life, wished his neighbours no evil;
In hopes up to jump,

When he hears the last trump,

And triumph over Death and the Devil.

ON A FINELY-SCULPTURED MONUMENT (BY BANKS), IN ASHBOURNE CHURCH, DERBYSHIRE.

Representing a Child, in great Pain, reclining on a Mattress.

ON THE TABLET.

"I was not in safety, neither had I rest,
And the trouble came."

ON THE PEDESTAL BELOW.

TO PENELOPE,

Only Child of Sir Brooke Boothby, and Dame
Susannah Boothby;

Born April 11, 1785.

Died March 13, 1791.

She was in form and intellect most exquisite.

The unfortunate parents ventured their all on this frail bark, and the wreck was total.

AT GLENGARRY, SCOTLAND.

By the side of a small fountain near the house of Glengarry, in the Highlands of Scotland, a pyramidal monument is to be seen, on the top of which are represented seven heads with hideous distortion of feature, clutched by the hair in an enormous hand, a sword in which appears as if it had been the instrument of their decollation.

On the four sides of the pyramid there is written, in Gallic, English, French, and Latin, the following inscription :—

In Memory

of the prompt and signal vengeance
which the orders of Lord Macdonell and Aross,
directed

according to the rapid course
of

Feudal Justice,

inflicted on

the Authors of the horrible Assassination

And since that event, which took place in the
first year of the 16th Century, it has
always been known by the name of
The Fountain of Heads.

The seven individuals were, it appears, beheaded without any form of trial; circumstances pointed them out as the authors of the crime, and, without more ado, the chieftain gave orders to his satellities to bring him their heads. "May my feeble voice," says a French traveller, M. Dupin, “make known this infamous monument from one end of Europe to the other; and may people feel what difference there is between the arbitrary sentences, the prompt, the glorious extermination of feudal times, and the constitutional judgments of our free juries."

IN ALL SAINTS CHURCH, HERTFORD.
To the Memory of

Isabella Georgiana Townshend,

Third Daughter of Lord John Townshend and
Georgiana Ann, his Wife:

She died the 17th of September, 1811, aged 20.
Oh! gone for ever! loved, lamented child!
So young, so good, so innocent and mild,
With winning manners, genius, beauty, sense,
Fond filial love, and sweet benevolence;
The softest, kindest heart, yet firmest mind,
In sickness patient, and in death resign'd.
Never,-oh! never yet a fairer bloom
Of opening virtues found an early tomb.
How hard thy trials, how severe thy woes,
She, she alone, thy sorrowing mother knows;
Who, three long years, with sad foreboding eart,
Bankrupt of every hope from human art,
Still wept and watch'd, and still to heaven for aid
Her fruitless vows, with meek devotion, paid;
But thou! pure spirit! fled to endless rest.—
Dear child my heart-dear Bella! thou art bless'd :
And oh the thought that we again may meet—
Oh! not another gleam of hope so sweet
Dawns on thy father's breast, with welcome ray,
To soothe his grief, and cheer his closing day.

IN HERTFORD CHURCH-YARD.

WOMAN.

Grieve not for me, my husband dear,—
I am not dead, but sleepeth here;
With patience wait, prepare to die,
And in a short time you'll come to I.

MAN,

I am not griev'd, my dearest life,
Sleep on, I have got another wife;
Therefore, I cannot come to thee,
For I must go to bed to she.

AN ICY EPITAPH.

A curious record of an accident occasioned by the downfall of ice, is to be found as an epitaph on the son of the then parish clerk, at Bampton, in Devonshire, who was killed by an icicle falling upon and fracturing his skull.

IN MEMORY OF THE CLERK'S SON.

Bless my i, i, i, i, i, i,

Here I lies,

In a sad pickle,

Killed by icicle.

In the year of Anno Domini, 1776.

IN STREATHAM CHURCH-YARD.
Rebecca, wife of William Lynn, who died 1653.
Should I ten thousand years enjoy my life,
I could not praise enough so good a wife.