From Nettlebed church-yard, Oxfordshire-

Here lies father, and mother, and sister, and I, We all died within the s.p.a.ce of one short year; They all be buried at Wimble, except I, And I be buried here.

At Wolstanton-

Mrs. Ann Jennings.

Some have children, some have none: Here lies the mother of twenty-one.

In Norwich Cathedral-

Here lies the body of honest Tom Page, Who died in the thirty-third year of his age.

At Torrington church-yard, Devon, England-

She was-but words are wanting to say what: Think what a woman should be-she was that.

In the church-yard of Pewsey, Wiltshire-

Here lies the body of Lady O'Looney, great-niece of Burke, commonly called the Sublime. She was bland, pa.s.sionate and deeply religious; also she painted in water-colors, and sent several pictures to the exhibition. She was first cousin to Lady Jones; and of such is the kingdom of heaven.

Shields (the Irish orator)-

Here lie I at reckon, and my spirit at aise is, With the tip of my nose, and the ends of my toes, Turned up 'gainst the roots of the daisies.

In Doncaster church-yard, 1816-

Here lies 2 brothers by misfortin serounded, One dy'd of his wounds & the other was drownded.

On the monument of John of Doncaster-

What I gave, I have; What I spent, I had; What I saved, I lost.

In a New England grave-yard-

Here lies John Auricular, Who in the ways of the Lord walked perpendicular.

Sternhold Oakes-

Here lies the body of Sternhold Oakes, Who lived and died like other folks.

On a tombstone in New Jersey-

Reader, pa.s.s on! don't waste your time On bad biography and bitter rhyme; For what I _am_, this crumbling clay insures, And what I _was_, is no affair of yours!

In East Hartford, Connecticut-

Hark! she bids all her friends adieu; An angel calls her to the spheres; Our eyes the radiant saint pursue Through liquid telescopes of tears.

In Newington church-yard-

Through Christ, I am not inferior To William the Conqueror.

In Bideford church-yard, Kent-

The wedding-day appointed was, And wedding-clothes provided, But ere the day did come, alas!

He sickened, and he die did.

Rebecca Rogers, Folkestone, 1688-

A house she hath, 'tis made of such good fashion, The tenant ne'er shall pay for reparation; Nor will her landlord ever raise her rent, Or turn her out of doors for non-payment.

From chimney-tax this cell's forever free- To such a house who would not tenant be?

At Augusta, Maine-

-After life's _scarlet fever_, I sleep well.

John Mound-

Here lies the body of John Mound, Lost at sea and never found.

POETRY, PIETY AND POLITENESS.

The following epitaph was copied from a stone in a country church-yard-

"You who stand around my grave, And say, 'His life is gone;'

You are mistaken-_pardon me_- My life is but begun."

At Loch Rausa-

Here lies Donald and his wife, Janet MacFee: Aged 40 hee, And 30 shee.

On Mr. Bywater-

Here lie the remains of his relatives' pride, Bywater he lived and by water he died; Though by water he fell, yet by water he'll rise, By water baptismal attaining the skies.

At Staverton, England-

Here lieth the body of Betty Bowden, Who would live longer but she couden; Sorrow and grief made her decay, Till her bad leg carr'd her away.

At Penryn-

Here lies William Smith; and, what is somewhat rarish, He was born, bred and hanged in this here parish.

From St. Agnes', London-

Qu an tris di c vul stra Os guis ti ro um nere vit.

H san Chris mi t mu la.

In Linton church-yard, 1825-