Denbighshire. WREXHAM. Here lies a Church-warden, A choice flower in that garden, Joseph Critchley by name, Who lived in good fame Being gone to rest, Without doubt he is blest. Montgomeryshire. MONTGOMERY. All you that come our grave to see A moment pause and think, How we are in eternity And you are on the brink. BERRIEW. Farewell, my dear and loving wife, Partner of the cares of life, And you my children now adieu, Since I no more can come to you. GUILDSFIELD. Beneath this yew tree Buried would he be, Because his father, he, Planted this yew tree. Pembrokeshire. LLANVAIR. Who Ever hear on Sonday, Will practis playing at Ball, It may be be Fore Munday The devil Will Have you All. Radnorshire. RADNOR. In health and strength unthinking of my fate, Death like a thief knock’d at my Bolted gate, I hasted down to know the reason why That noise was made, Death Quickly did Reply, For thee I Call, thy Soul is now Requir’d, I trembling gaz’d and Instantly Expir’d. Scotland. Ayrshire. MUIRKIRK. Inscription. Here lies John Smith who was shot by Col. Buchan and the laird of Lee. Feb. 1685. For his adherence to the word of God and Scot land’s covenanted w- ork of reformation, Rev. 12, ii. Erected in the year 1731. * * * * * Epitaph. When proud apostates did abjure Scotland’s reformation pure And fill’d this land with perj ury and all sorts of In- iquity Such as would not with them comply They pe rsecute with hue and cry. I in the flight was overtane And fo r the truth by them was slain. Caithnessshire. HALKIRK. Sir Jno. Graham. Here lies Sir John the Grame both right and wise, One of the chiefs rescued Scotland thrice, An better knight ne’re to the world was lent Than was good Grame of truth and hardiment. Dumfriesshire. HODDAM. Here lyes a man, who all his mortal life Past mending clocks but could not mend hys wyfe. The ‘larum of his bell was ne’er sae shrill As was her tongue, aye clacking like a mill. But now he’s gane—oh, whither? nane can tell— I hope beyond the sound o’ Mally’s bell. * * * * * Here lies John Speir Dumfreise—Pipier, Young John?—Fy Fy. Old John?—Ay Ay. Edinburghshire. EDINBURGH. Here lie I, Martin Eldinbrode, Ha’ mercy on my soul, Loord Gode; As I would do, were I Lord Gode, And thou wert Martin Eldinbrode. * * * * * John McPherson Was a wonderful person, He was six feet two Without his shoe, And he was slew At Waterloo. * * * * *