four lines of graphic and spirited verse! Would not 'rare Ben' himself have acknowledged this a good specimen of 'what verse can say in a little?' Whoever wrote it was a poet 'with the name.'

"There is another in the same churchyard which, though weak after the above, and indeed not uncommon, I fancy, in seaside towns, is at least sufficiently quaint :

In Memory of JAMES EPPS BUTTRESS, who, in rendering assistance to the French Schooner, "Vesuvienne," was drowned, December 27th, 1852, aged 39.

Though Boreas' blast and Neptune's wave

Did toss me to and fro,

In spite of both, by God's decree,

I harbour here below;

And here I do at anchor ride

With many of our fleet,

Yet once again I must set sail,

Our Admiral, Christ, to meet.

Also two sons, who died in infancy, &c.

The human race' typified by our fleet,' excites vague reminiscences of Goethe and Carlyle, and 'our Admiral Christ' seems not remotely associated in sentiment with the 'We fight that fight for our fair father Christ,' and 'The King will follow Christ and we the King,' of our grand poet. So do the highest and the lowest meet. But the heartiness, the vitality, nay, almost vivacity, of

some of these underground tenantry is surprising. There is more life in some of our dead folk than in many a living crowd."

The following five epitaphs are from Hessle Road Cemetery, Hull:

WILLIAM EASTON,

Who was lost at sea,

In the fishing smack Martha,

In the gale of January, 1865.

Aged 30 years.

When through the torn sail the wild tempest is streaming; When o'er the dark wave the red lightning is gleaming,

No hope lends a ray the poor fisher to cherish.

Oh hear, kind Jesus; save, Lord, or we perish!

In affectionate remembrance of
THOMAS CRACKLES,

Humber Pilot, who was drowned off
The Lincolnshire Coast,

During the gale, October 19th, 1869.
Aged 24 years.

How swift the torrent rolls

That hastens to the sea;

How strong the tide that bears our souls
On to Eternity.

In affectionate remembrance of
DAVID COLLISON,

Who was drowned in the "Spirit of the Age,"
Off Scarborough, Jan. 6th, 1864.

Aged 36 years.

I cannot bend over his grave,

He sleeps in the secret sea;
And not one gentle whisp'red wave
Can tell that place to me.

Although unseen by human eyes,

And mortal know'd it not;

Yet Christ knows where his body lies,
And angels guard the spot.

ROBERT PICKERING, who was

Drowned from the smack "Satisfaction,"
On the Dutch coast, May 7, 1869.
Aged 18 years.

The waters flowed on every side,
No chance was there to save;
At last compelled, he bowed and died,
And found a watery grave.

In affectionate remembrance of
WILLIAM HARRISON,

53 years Mariner of Hull,

Who died October 5th, 1864.
Aged 70 years.

Long time I ploughed the ocean wide,
A life of toil I spent ;

But now in harbour safe arrived

From care and discontent.

My anchor's cast, my sails are furled,

And now I am at rest.

Of all the parts throughout the world,

Sailors, this is the best.

Our next example is from a stone in Castle eet burial-ground, Hull, which is so fast

decaying that already some parts of the inscription

are obliterated :—

Sacred

to the memory
of

WILLIAM WALKER,

r of the Sloop Janatt,
who was unfortunately

drowned off Flamborough Head,

17th April, 1823.

Aged 41 years.

This stone was Erected by

his Countrymen in

remembrance of his Death.

I have left the troubled ocean,
And now laid down to sleep,
In hopes I shall set sail

Our Saviour Christ to meet.

A gravestone in Horncastle churchyard, Lincoln

shire, has this epitaph :

My helm was gone,

My sails were rent,

My mast went by the board,

My hull it struck upon a rock,

Receive my soul, O Lord!

On a sailor's gravestone in the burial-ground at

Hamilton, we are told :

The seas he ploughed for twenty years,

Without the smallest dread or fears:

And all that time was never known

To strike upon a bank or stone.

A

exam

wich

Burie of De In

inscrip

N

It

Epitaphs on Musicians and Actors.

:

FEW epitaphs relating to music and the

drama now claim our attention. Our first

ple is to be found in the cathedral at Nor

Here WILLIAM INGLOTT, organist, doth rest,

Whose art in musick this Cathedral blest;
For descant most, for voluntary all,

He past on organ, song, and virginall.

He left this life at age of sixty-seven,

And now 'mongst angels all sings St. in Heaven;
His fame flies far, his name shall never die,
See, art and age here crown his memorie.

Non digitis, Inglotte, tuis terrestria tangis,
Tangis nunc digitis organa celsa poli.
Anno Dom. 1621.

ied the last day

December, 1621.

This erected the 15th day of June, 1622.

Wakefield Parish Church a tablet bears an ption as follows:

In memory of

HENRY CLEMETSHAW,

upwards of fifty years organist

of this church, who died

May 7, 1821, aged 68 years.

Now, like an organ, robb'd of pipes and breath,

Its keys and stops are useless made by death,