AN EPITAPH.
[TO THE EDITOR OF THE " SPECTATOR.")
SIR,—Thirty or forty years ago, Henry S. Bicknell and I went to that beautiful spot, Chipstead, Surrey. In the churchyard there he noticed with his keen eye—was ever eye keener, ever appreciation readier- !—some lines on a tomb- stone. He thought them quite out of the class of verse on neighbouring tombstones—laments for " tender wife and mother dear," plaints that "physicians sore long time we bore "—and he noted them. I went thither again to-day alone. The tombstone stands, but the lines can be made out no longer. They should not be lost ; here they are EDWARD 'VERNON, died 1810, aged 79.
Here Vernon lies. who living taught the way How best to spend man's short important day ;
To virtuous toil his morn of life was given And vig'rous noon—his evening hours to-Heaven. Long ere the night approached his task was dbne, And mildly cheerful shone his setting win ; Not pain nor siCkness could such pdhe destroy His Faith wail certainty, his hope was joy. Good, wise, and tranquil, eminently blest, Content he lived, and joyful sank to rest.
—I am, Sir, &c.,
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