London. He appears to have been extremely cove tous, and to have obtained the nick-name of Dog Smyth, because he kept no table, but dined at friends' houses, which he never quitted without begging a bit for his dog. For a more particular account of this singular character, see Aubrey's Surry, and Dale's Hist. of Harwich,

BAKEWELL CHURCH YARD,

DEVONSHIRE.

KNOW, Posterity, that on the 8th of April, in the year of Grace 1757, the rambling remains of John Dale were, in the 86th year of his pilgrimage, laid upon his two wives.

THIS thing, in life, will raise some jealousy ;
Here all three lie together lovingly :
But from embraces, here no pleasure flows,
Alike are here all human joys and woes.
Here Sarah's chiding John no longer hears,
And old John's rambling Sarah no more fears;
A period's come to all their toilsome lives,
The good man's quiet, --still are both his wives.

Translation of an Epitaph in the Church of St. Botolph,
Bishopsgate

BELOW an husband and a wife are laid,
One flesh when living, and one dust now dead.
A sister's ashes mingle in the urn,

And thus three bodies to one dust return;
But Thou, O Three in One, Almighty Pow'r,
From this one dust, three bodies wilt restore,

HOOF DUNDEE, SCOTLAND.

To the Memory of

ROBERT STERLIN, SKIPPER.

THE world's tempest'ous sea while I did plow,
My anchor hope; the word my compass too :
Blest faith my helm; the wind to fill

my sails
The holy spirit, with its blessed gales;
North-star, thou Christ alone; I steer'd to thee,
Thou still wast in mine heart and in mine eye;
In heav'n, above, my safest port; whence I
Despise and scorn all earth's uncertainty.

ON A DWARF.

In the palace of Cardinal Alessandro Albani, near the Quatro Fontane, at Rome, is the following singular inscription (in Latin) to the memory of an adroit and comical Phrygian Dwarf, of the name of Hector, in the service of Domitilla, wife to Vespasian:

Ye worshippers of Cybele, and you who mourn Atys, for a while suspend your orgies, and weep over my ashes.-Here I lie, Hector, the little heir of a great name. I could ride, wrestle, and joke.-Thanks to thee, Domitilla, who hast buried thy small servant under so large a monument.

ON MASTER BURBRIDGE,

THE TRAGEDIAN.

EXIT Burbridge.

The following Epitaph was composed for JACOB FREEMAN, who was buried in the Cloister-yard of the Cathedral of Norwich, where he used to lie on a hill and sleep, with his head on a stone. This old man was very hardly used by the Committee in those times, for lying in the Cathedral and in the Church Porches, where he used to repeat the Common Prayer to the people in spite of their ill treatment, he being often sent to bridewell and whipt for it. He died during the usurpation of O. Cromwell, 1630.

HERE in this homely cabinet,
Resteth a poor old anchoret;

Upon the ground he lay all weathers,

Not as most men, goose like, on feathers.
For so indeed it came to pass,

The Lord of Lords his Landlord was.
He liv'd, instead of wainscot rooms,
Like the possess'd, amongst the tombs;
As by some spirit thither led,

To be acquainted with the dead."
Each morning from his bed so hallow'd,
He

rose, took up his cross, and follow'd';
To every porch he did repair,

To vent himself in Common Prayer;
Wherein he was alone devout,
When preaching justled praying out;
In such procession through the city,
Maugre the devil and committee,
He daily went, for which he fell,
Not into Jacob's, but Bridewell,"
Where you might see his loyal back,
Red letter'd like an Almanack;

Or I may rather else aver,
Dominick't like a Calender;

And him triumphing at that harm,
Having nought else to keep it warm;
With Paul he always pray'd, no wonder,
The lash did keep his flesh still under;
Yet whipcord seem'd to lose its sting,
When for the church or for the king;
High loyalty in such a dearth

Could baffle torments with mean earth,
And tho' such sufferings he did pass,
In spite of bonds still Freeman was:
'Tis well his pate was weather proof,
The palace like, it had no roof;

The hair was off, and 'twas the fashion,
The crown being under sequestration;
Tho' bald as Time, and Mendicant,
No Friar yet, but Protestant.
His head each morning and each even'
Was water'd with the dew of heaven:
He lodg'd alike, dead and alive,
As one that did his grave survive;
For he is now, tho' he be dead,
But in a manner put to bed ;
His cabin being above ground yet,
Under a thin turf coverlet;
Pity he in no porch did lay,

That did in porches so much pray;

Yet let him have this epitaph,

Here sleeps old Jacob, stone, and staff.

- His last debt is paid poor Toм's no more,1. Last debt!-Toм never paid a debt before.

INSCRIPTION ON A TOMB-STONE,

IN ANSTY CHURCH-YARD.

寥

MARY BEST lies buried here,
Her age it was just ninety year:
Twenty-eight she liv'd a single life,
And only four years was a wife;
She liv'd a widow fifty-eight,
And died January 11th, eighty-eight.

NEW CHURCH, AMSTERDAM.

EFFEN UYT.

THESE Flemish words are on a very ancient funeral monument of whitish marble, on which is also engraved a pair of slippers of a very singular kind.EFFEN UYT means EXACTLY. The story is, that a man, tolerably rich, and who dearly loved good eating, took it into his head that he was only to live a certain number of years, and no longer. In this whimsey he counted that, if he spent so much a year, his estate and his life would expire together. It happened that he was not deceived in either of these computations, for he died precisely at the time he had prescribed to himself, and had then so far exhausted his fortune, that, after paying his debts, he had nothing left but a pair of slippers. His relations buried him creditably, and caused the slippers to be carved on his tomb, with the above mentioned laconic words.