[TO THE EDITOR OF THE " SPECTATOR."1 SIR,—In common with
many in this busy city to whom the weekly reading of the Spectator is as an oasis in the desert, and
whose wearing toil rarely permits them to visit country church- yards where grim and ivy-clasped epitaphs hide, I am glad to see that you are rescuing from " decay's effacing fingers," and lifting out of obscurity, a few rare specimens which are too good to fall into "the portion of weeds and outworn faces." I trust you will not grudge a little further space for this purpose, as few things are better appreciated. I have from time to time noted down the best I have met with or read, and submit them for insertion, if approved. My favourite is, I believe, to be found in Bakewell Churchyard, and can scarcely, one would think, have been read with unmixed feelings by the bereaved husband and father :-
" Here lies the Mother of children five,
Three are dead, and two are alive ; Those that are dead preferring rather
To die with their Mother than lire with their Father."
At Sandbach, in Cheshire, a three-volume novel is condensed into one brief line :—
" And there was a great calm !"
Poor man ! rest had come to him after storm, and this epitaph was doubtless an outburst of gratitude. Would he marry again P. —I am, Sir, &c.,
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