Here Barker lies, once printer to the Crown, Whose works of art acquired a vast renown. Time saw his worth, and spread around his fame, That future printers might imprint the same. But when his strength could work the press no more And his last sheets were folded into store, Pure faith, with hope (the greatest treasure given), Opened their gates, and bade him pass to heaven. We shall bring to a close our examples of typographical epitaphs with the following, copied from the graveyard of St. Michael's, Coventry, on a worthy printer who was engaged over sixty years as a compositor on the _Coventry Mercury_:-- Here lies inter'd the mortal remains of JOHN HULM, Printer, who, like an old, worn-out type, battered by frequent use, reposes in the grave. But not without a hope that at some future time he might be cast in the mould of righteousness, And safely locked-up in the chase of immortality. He was distributed from the board of life on the 9th day of Sept., 1827, Aged 75. Regretted by his employers, and respected by his fellow artists. EPITAPHS ON SPORTSMEN. The stirring lives of sportsmen have suggested spirited lines for their tombstones, as will be seen from the examples we bring under the notice of our readers. The first epitaph is from Morville churchyard, near Bridgnorth, on John Charlton, Esq., who was for many years Master of the Wheatland Foxhounds, and died January 20th, 1843, aged 63 years; regretted by all who knew him:-- Of this world's pleasure I have had my share, And few the sorrows I was doomed to bear. How oft have I enjoy'd the noble chase Of hounds and foxes striving for the race! But hark! the knell of death calls me away, So sportsmen, all, farewell! I must obey. Our next is written on Mills, the huntsman:-- Here lies John Mills, who over the hills Pursued the hounds with hallo: The leap though high, from earth to sky, The huntsman we must follow. A short, rough, but pregnant epitaph is placed over the remains of Robert Hackett, a keeper of Hardwick Park, who died in 1703, and was buried in Ault Hucknall churchyard:-- Long had he chased The Red and Fallow Deer, But Death's cold dart At last has fix'd him here. George Dixon, a noted foxhunter, is buried in Luton churchyard, and on his gravestone the following appears:--