Ashbourn Church, Derbyshire.

An elegant tomb to the memory of the daughter of Sir Brooke Boothby, from the Chissel of Banks.

On the top is the figure of this much lamented girl, carved in marble, and lying on her side; and round the tomb are inscriptions to her memory in English, Latin, Italian, and French. The former is in these words:

TO PENELOPE,

Only child of sir Brooke 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.

In the same Church.

To the memory of Sir B. Boothby, Bart. and Dame Phoebe, his wife—the former of whom died in the year 1789, and the latter in 1788.

Here, blameless pair, with mild affection blest,
Belov'd, respected, much lamented,-rest:
Life's shelter'd vale secure in peace ye trod;
Your practice, virtue; your reliance, God.
Long days, long loves, indulgent heav'n bestow'd,
And sweet content to gild your calm abode;

Friends, who through life their faith unalter'd kept;
Children who lov'd, who honour'd and who wept:
Heroes and kings, life's little pageant o'er,
Might wish their trophied marbles were no more.

Englefield, Berkshire.

On Jane, the first wife of the Marquis of Winchester, who died in the delivery of her second child, in the 23d year of her age.

Summers three times eight, save one,
She had told; alas! too soon,

After so short time of breath,

*

To house with darkness, and with death.

*

*

*

Once had the early matrons run

To greet her with a lovely son;
And now with second hope she goes,
And calls Lucina to her throes;

But whether by mischance, or blame,
Atropos for Lucina came;

And with remorseless cruelty,
Spoil'd at once both fruit and tree.
The hapless babe, before his birth,
Had burial, yet not laid in earth,

*

And the languish'd mother's womb
Was not long a living tomb.

*

*

Gentle lady, may thy grave
Peace and quiet ever have.

*

Richmond, Surrey.

In the earth below this tablet
Are the remains of
JAMES THOMSON,

Author of the beautiful poems, entitled,
The Seasons, Castle of Indolence, &c. &c.
Who died at Richmond, on the 27th day of August,
And was buried here on the 29th, old style,

1748.

The Earl of Buchan, unwilling that so good

A man

And sweet a poet should be without a memorial,
Has denoted the place of his interment,
For the satisfaction of his admirers,
In the year of our Lord, 1792.

Father of light and life! thou good supreme!
O teach me what is good! teach me thyself!
Save me from folly, vanity, and vice,

From ev'ry low pursuit! and feed my soul

With knowledge, conscious peace, and virtue pure, Sacred, substantial, never-fading bliss.

On a person who occasionly performed the business of Taylor and Barber.

In a timber surtout here are wrapt the remains Of a mower of beards, and a user of skains: 'Twas the shears of grim death cut his stay-tape of life,

And press'd him away from twist, razors and wife ; But the pray'r of all people, he sew'd for or shav'd, Is that he's with the remnant of those that are sav'd.

On a Stockbroker.

Here lies

MR. TIMOTHY SCRIP,

Late of Change Alley, Cornhill,
Stockbroker.

During the course of a long life

He was diligent, industrious, and indefatigable
In the exercise of his profession.
He died in the 70th year of his age,
And died well;

Having left behind him a fortune of £60,000

It is however much to be regretted, that
Stocks being shut, at the time of his death,
He was not able to make a transfer,
Or carry any part of it to his account
In the other world.

It was remarked of him

That he was more solicitous to get the turn of the day to himself

Than to do a good turn to his neighbour;
And that

Though he frequently made bargains for time,
He did not chuse to risk any thing for eternity.

He never gave money to the

poor,

Although offered a very high premium,
Thinking it safer to make ten per cent.
In the English funds,

Than ten thousand in those of a foreign country.
For these reasons,

Though he was esteemed a good man at Jonathan's, It is much to be dreaded, that

At the general settling day,

He will find himself on the wrong side,
And be forced

To waddle a lame duck out of

Elysium.

On an Upholsterer.

A

Too cruel death has snatch'd poor Ben away,
And chang'd his feathers for a bed of clay.