Here is a grave with stone border and marble head-stone--in memory of the Rev. Edwin Thompson, D.D., Vicar of St. John's Parish, and honorary Chaplain of the Royal Masonic Institution for Girls, Battersea Rise, who died February 2nd, 1876, aged 51 years. "Knowing that he, which raised up the Lord Jesus shall raise up us also, by Jesus, and shall present us with you."--_II. Cor. iv._ 14. Also of Hannah Thompson, mother of the above, who died July 1st, 1876, aged 80 years. "This is the victory that overcometh the world--even our faith."--_I. John v._ 4. We must tread softly among these grassy mounds, for yonder at the end of the gravel walk is situated our Darling Teddie's grave, (No. 7217). Edward George Curme Simmonds, who was drowned off Battersea Park embankment, October 16, 1875, aged 10 years. In another part of the cemetery is interred all that is mortal of our beloved daughter Hannah, who died June 12, 1873, aged 18. "My faith looks up to Thee, Thou lamb of calvary, Saviour divine!" But we have tarried almost too long, and as time is precious we must leave for the present our meditations among the tombs, only observing that as we examined the records of mortality, and thought of the promiscuous multitude rested together without any regard to rank or seniority within those thousands of graves, we were reminded of the words of the Rev. James Hervey, when gazing upon a similar scene in a church yard. "None were ambitious of the uppermost rooms, or chief seats in this house of mourning; none entertained fond and eager expectations of being honourably greeted, in their darksome cells. The man of years and experience reputed as an oracle in his generation, was contented to lie down at the feet of a babe. In this house appointed for all living, the servant was equally accommodated and lodged in the same story with his master. The poor indigent lay as softly, and slept as soundly as the most opulent possessor. All the distinction that subsisted was a grassy hillock, hound with osiers, or a sepulchral stone, ornamented with imagery." In Thy fair book of life divine; My God inscribe my name. My flesh shall slumber in the ground, Till the last trumpet's joyful sound; Then burst the chains with sweet surprise, And in my Saviour's image rise. How many graves around us lie! How many homes are in the sky! Yes for each saint doth Christ prepare, a place with care, Thy home is waiting, brother there!