_Vivit post funera virtus_. The most quaint epitaph was on a slab in the floor just within the Chancel door. It was nearly obliterated some years since; but shortly after the present Vicar came to the living, he had it fresh cut. It, however, with many other relics, was destroyed during the restoration before mentioned. It was:— Oh! dear mother, you are gone before, And I, a wratch, wait at the door: Sin doth not only keep me thence, But makes me loath to go from hence. When Christ hath healed me of my sin, He’ll make me fit and let me in. Perhaps the most affecting record of the uncertainty of life, is that on the tomb of Robert Augustus Bedford. It is in what is termed the old ground, not far from the poplar tree which marks the spot where once was a well. This well and a wall which went direct north to Church Street, formed the west boundary of a garden that was consecrated as an additional piece of ground for burial, in January, 1818, by the Bishop of Exeter, and about that spot was appropriated for the burial of paupers, and likewise for soldiers; as at that time the Hospital of the Infantry Barracks occupied the site of the present Hanover Chapel burial ground. The inscription—now mostly obliterated,—is as follows:— This youth, while viewing amidst a large concourse of persons assembled on the Pier Head of this town, on the 17th day of July, 1826, some trials designed to show the practibility of conveying the means of escape to ship-wrecked persons by means of a chain attached to a ball; from which, on one of the experiments, it separated on the discharge of the cannon, and instantaneously deprived him of his life, in the 10th year of his age. The experiment which was being made was that known as Captain Manby’s apparatus for rescuing persons from shipwreck. On the 20th November, 1819, the funeral of a Sergeant of the 90th foot took place. He was shot on the 17th of the same month, at the barracks, in Church street, by a private of the regiment, who, for the offence, was executed at Horsham. The well here just alluded to, north of the wall which forms the northern boundary of Queen Square, was, on the restoration of the church, in 1853, filled up with decayed coffins and the mortal remains of those whose bodies were disinterred immediately to the north of the sacred edifice, to afford space and improve the effect of the building. Amongst those whose narrow cell was less violated, was that of Sir Richard Phillips, the natural philosopher, and author of “A Million of Facts.” His vault and tomb were reconstructed just within the south entrance to the cemetery ground, in front of Clifton Terrace, whither his remains were removed, and where they now rest. Not far from this tomb lie the remains of Mrs. Pickstock, the headstone to whose grave is thus inscribed:—