ecstacy of Lord Manfred when he beheld his native shores and discerned his father’s banner waving on St. Nicholas’ hill. Slowly as the cavalcade descended, each cast a look of despair on that sea which had swallowed all their hopes. Earl de Warrene survived a few years only; but before he died he built the church to St. Nicholas on the hill, to be an everlasting remembrance to all who go upon the mighty deep not to neglect their vows. Lady Edona lies under the cross at the entrance to the church, being the spot where she fell and died; but still, on the anniversary of that day, ‘St. Nicholas’ Galley’ glides at midnight past the town of Brighthelmston, and is seen from the cliff by hundreds of the inhabitants, to sink. {110b} The Earl leaving no children, his family became extinct, and the estates passed to the heir, Lord Arundel, to whom they still belong.” A very quaint epitaph was (it is now obliterated by age) on the late sexton of the period:— Richard Jeffery. Died 10th July, 1806, aged 64. When Barb’ra died, O Lord, prayed I, Let me die too, and near her lie— The Lord was good, and heard my pray’r, And here we lie a faithful pair. Preceding it, on the same stone, was the following:— Sacred to the memory of BARBARA wife of RICHARD JEFFERY; Who having for upwards of 50 years diligently performed the office of Sexton in this Parish, died 30th September, 1805, aged 63. Look, mingled lie, the aged and the young, The rich and poor,—an undistinguish’d throng; Death conquers all, and Time’s subduing hand No tomb, no marble statue can withstand; Mark well thy latter end,—in Bab’ra see, What, reader, thou, and all mankind must be. The Grave for thousands though she toilsome made, Yet here at last her lifeless body’s laid, In joyful hope, as Christian hope will be, To rise to life and immorality. On the tombstone of a Captain Cook was formerly:— Many a hard tempestuous gale he’s known, But on his native shore at last he’s thrown; No rocks or quicksands has he now to fear; Safe from all storms he rides at anchor here. Go, and be wise then, ’ere it is too late, With firm resolve to meet the arm of fate. A few short years, Alas! how quick they pass; To this complexion must you come at last. Death conquers all, and drags them to the grave, The rich, the poor, the coward and the brave. Think then, ye youth in time, and dying say, Come when thou wilt, O Lord! I ready am to-day.