WILLIAM EASTON, Who was lost at sea, In the fishing smack Martha, In the gale of January, 1865. Aged 30 years. When through the torn sail the wild tempest is streaming; When o'er the dark wave the red lightning is gleaming, No hope lends a ray the poor fisher to cherish. Oh hear, kind Jesus; save, Lord, or we perish! In affectionate remembrance of THOMAS CRACKLES Humber Pilot, who was drowned off The Lincolnshire Coast, During the gale, October 19th, 1869. Aged 24 years. How swift the torrent rolls That hastens to the sea; How strong the tide that bears our souls On to Eternity. In affectionate remembrance of DAVID COLLISON, Who was drowned in the "Spirit of the Age," Off Scarborough, Jan. 6th, 1864. Aged 36 years. I cannot bend over his grave, He sleeps in the secret sea; And not one gentle whisp'red wave Can tell that place to me. Although unseen by human eyes, And mortal know'd it not; Yet Christ knows where his body lies, And angels guard the spot. ROBERT PICKERING, who was Drowned from the smack "Satisfaction," On the Dutch coast, May 7, 1869. Aged 18 years. The waters flowed on every side, No chance was there to save; At last compelled, he bowed and died, And found a watery grave. In affectionate remembrance of WILLIAM HARRISON, 53 years Mariner of Hull, Who died October 5th, 1864. Aged 70 years. Long time I ploughed the ocean wide, A life of toil I spent; But now in harbour safe arrived From care and discontent. My anchor's cast, my sails are furled, And now I am at rest. Of all the parts throughout the world, Sailors, this is the best. Our next example is copied from a stone which is so fast decaying that already some parts of the inscription are obliterated:-- Sacred to the memory of WILLIAM WALKER, . . . . .r of the Sloop Janatt, . . . . . . . who was unfortunately drowned off Flamborough Head, 17th April, 1823. Aged 41 years. This stone was Erected by his Countrymen in remembrance of his Death. I have left the troubled ocean, And now laid down to sleep, In hopes I shall set sail Our Saviour Christ to meet. A gravestone in Horncastle churchyard, Lincolnshire, has this epitaph:-- My helm was gone, My sails were rent, My mast went by the board, My hull it struck upon a rock, Receive my soul, O Lord! On a sailor's gravestone in the burial-ground at Hamilton, we are told:-- The seas he ploughed for twenty years, Without the smallest dread or fears: And all that time was never known To strike upon a bank or stone. PUNNING EPITAPHS.