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There is a striking inscription on the headstone in memory of William Chions—
Reigns over us all; he holds in his hand
An iron sceptre; and when he smites
None can escape!"
We place beside it Mrs. Mary Capp's epitaph, less figurative, if less intelligible—
Within the silent grave,
We hope her soul amongst the blest,
Let fruitless sorrows wave."
Bright are the flowers, as the flush on the cheek of Consumption, that cover the remains of "a beloved daughter," the fatal and piteous symptoms of whose decline are described in the following—
I will creep into her breast,
Flush her cheek and blanch her skin,
And feed on the vital fire within.
Lover, do not trust her eyes,
When they sparkle most, she dies;
Mother, do not trust her breath,
Comfort she will breathe in death;
She is mine and I must have her;
The coffin must be her bridal bed,
The winding sheet must wrap her head;
The whisp'ring winds must o'er her sigh,
For soon in the grave the maid must lie;
The worm it will riot on heavenly diet,
When death has deflowered her eye."
These lines—unremembered when we copied them, as breathing the poetical spirit, however wild and disfigured—are from the melancholy muse of Kirk White.
Simplicity always wins us—and again in association with childhood. Beautiful urn wreathed with clematis! gentle flowers carefully tended! how happily ye associate with the description of William Williams—
"An only and idolized child, to the inexpressible sorrow of his unhappy parents."
Yet not wholly inexpressible while such tokens remain, worthy to match with the pretty column and enclosure where Charles Leopold Spaeth lies.
He touched the veins with ice, and the rose faded."
An urn, wreathed with a serpent, the emblem of immortality, and inscribed with the word "Mercy," marks the resting-place of Mercy, the wife of Robert Barclay. This conducts us to the scene of a double bereavement—
"Emma, wife of George Simpson, surgeon, died 1835, aged 29. Mary Louisa, his second wife, died 1840, aged 23."
Two rose-trees, a white and a blush rose, bend over the record of early death and pitiable misfortune. Peculiar for its neatness is a small plain column in memory of the wife of George Allen; plain also, and handsome, is the tomb of Eliza Jobling.
"A tribute to her eminent talents and amiable disposition by a few of her pupils and friends."
The name of Daniell, the academician, invites a pause; we pause, too, at the family grave of Richard J. Lane, with its adornment of ground-ivy and flowers—
"The patient abiding of the meek shall not perish."
Among the ornaments near, which claim notice, are the beautiful tribute to the daughter of John Morris, Esq., and the peculiar plain red brick family grave of Charles Cheel. But swerving from this path, towards the end of which we have arrived, how simple, yet how irresistible is the charm that stays us opposite a white marble slab, on which is delicately sculptured a rose-bud with its stem broken.
"To little Kate, eldest daughter of Robt. Park, Esq."
Two years and four months was the age of little Kate, and she was the eldest daughter! How we seem to have watched her first tottering steps, and to have heard the earliest words she ever lisped. Who shall persuade us that we never saw the light gushing out of the smiling eyes of little Kate!
THE CHURCH—THE CATACOMBS, ETC.
Let us now visit the Catacombs under the church. Here there is room for ten thousand coffins. On the walls above are many tablets and sculptured pieces. To the left of the church door as you approach, is a marble figure reclining on a couch, and covered with a sheet; above is a released spirit rising to the skies with an angel companion. The lady to whom this is erected was burnt to death. An open book exhibits on its marble page, the name of
"James Moyes, of London, an eminent printer."
There are tablets to the memory of Francis Const, barrister-at-law; Lord Douglas Gordon Halyburton, M.P.; Col. Leslie Grove Jones; Richard Pringle, Esq. , and Lady Colville, whose coronet rests upon a white marble cushion, one tassel of which has been rudely broken off-a solitary instance of monumental desecration in this beautifully ordered cemetery.