Alas! alas! Will. Scrivenor’s dead, who by his art,
Could make Death’s Skeleton edible in each part.
Mourn, squeamish Stomachs, and ye curious Palates,
You’ve lost your dainty Dishes and your Salades:
Mourn for yourselves, but not for him i’ th’ least.
He’s gone to taste of a more Heav’nly Feast.

The next was written by Capt. Morris on Edward Heardson (thirty years cook to the Beefsteak Society):—

His last steak done; his fire rak’d out and dead,
Dish’d for the worms himself, lies honest Ned:
We, then, whose breasts bore all his fleshly toils,
Took all his bastings and shared all his broils;
Now, in our turn, a mouthful carve and trim,
And dress at Phœbus’ fire, one scrap for him:—
His heart which well might grace the noblest grave,
Was grateful, patient, modest, just and brave;
And ne’er did earth’s wide maw a morsel gain
Of kindlier juices or more tender grain;
His tongue, where duteous friendship humbly dwelt,
Charm’d all who heard the faithful zeal he felt;
Still to whatever end his chops he mov’d,
’Twas all well season’d, relish’d, and approv’d;
This room his heav’n!—When threat’ning Fate drew nigh
The closing shade that dimm’d his ling’ring eye,
His last fond hopes, betray’d by many a tear,
Were—That his life’s last spark might glimmer here;
And the last words that choak’d his parting sigh—
“Oh! at your feet, dear masters, let me die!”

In St. John’s churchyard, Chester, is an inscription as follows:—

Under this stone lieth the Broken
Remains of Stephen Jones who had
his leg cut off without the Consent of
Wife or Friends on the 23rd October,
1842, in which day he died. Aged 31 years.
Reader I bid you farewell. May
the Lord have mercy on you in the
day of trouble.

An inscription in St. Michael’s churchyard, Macclesfield, illustrates the weakness for the love of display of the poor at a funeral:—

Mary Broomfield
dyd 19 Novr., 1755, aged 80.

The chief concern of her life for the last twenty years was to order and provide for her funeral. Her greatest pleasure was to think and talk about it. She lived many years on a pension of ninepence a week, and yet she saved £5, which, at her own request, was laid out on her funeral.

We give as the frontispiece to this volume a picture of the Martyrs’ Monument, in Greyfriars’ churchyard, Edinburgh. The graves of the martyrs are in that part of the burial-ground where criminals were interred, and an allusion is made to this fact in the inscription that follows:—

Halt, passenger, take heed what you do see,
This tomb doth shew for what some men did die.
Here lies interr’d the dust of those who stood
’Gainst perjury, resisting unto blood;
Adhering to the covenants and laws;
Establishing the same: which was the cause
Their lives were sacrific’d unto the lust
Of prelatists abjur’d; though here their dust
Lies mixt with murderers and other crew,
Whom justice justly did to death pursue.
But as for them, no cause was to be found
Worthy of death; but only they were found
Constant and steadfast, zealous, witnessing
For the prerogatives of Christ their King;
Which truths were seal’d by famous Guthrie’s head,
And all along to Mr. Renwick’s blood:
They did endure the wrath of enemies:
Reproaches, torments, deaths and injuries.
But yet they’re those, who from such troubles came,
And now triumph in glory with the Lamb.