"These are to certify that the remains of Ann, the wife of Thomas Ellis, was buried in the Methodist chapel-yard in Ecclesfield, the 5th day of November, 1826, aged (about) seventy-three." The poor woman chose to lie apart from her "rude forefathers;" and she has continued to be the solitary tenant of the small enclosure round the chapel. It seems, however, that her friends did the best they could towards preserving her name on the list of those who sleep in the consecrated cemetery. ALFRED GATTY. _Poem on the Grave_ (Vol. iii., p. 372.).--A correspondent in your No. of May 10th, signed A. D., wishes to be informed of the author of "The Grave," a very beautiful poem; and he gives a portion of it thus:-- "_1st Voice._ "How peaceful the grave, its quiet how deep, Its zephyrs breathe calmly, and soft is its sleep, And flow'rets perfume it with ether." "_2nd Voice._ "How lonesome the grave, how deserted and drear," (From what I remember of the poem, this stanza flows on thus):-- "With the howls of the storm wind, the creaks of the bier, And the white bones all clattering together." This poem extends to fifteen or twenty stanzas, and is exquisite in its imagery, and peculiarly forcible (its author was a Russian, I think Derzhavin), and in its original language might compare with the works of the most polished poetry of advanced nations. It can be found translated in Bowring's _Russian Anthology_, 12mo., published about 1824: where also will be found some beautiful translations from _Lomonosoff_, "Or Broken Nose," and other Russian poets. Derzhavin also has his grandest poem on God, translated there: this poem is popular in no less than thirty-six languages, and is familiar to the Chinese and Tartar nations, and even as far as Southern India. I give the exordium, which is noble:-- "O Thou Eternal One, whose presence bright All space doth occupy, all motion guide; Unchanged through time's all-devastating flight; Thou only God! There is no God beside!" And in a further portion of the poem, describing Heaven as the abode of God, he speaks thus: "What shall we call them? Piles of crystal light, A glorious company of golden streams,-- Lamps of celestial ether burning bright,-- Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams?" I think I have quoted sufficient to direct A. D.'s attention to the northern poets, who, though few in number, make up their deficiency in quantity by the sterling and magnificent quality of their works. GREGORY BATEMAN. Tansor Rectory, near Oundle, Northamptonshire, May 15. 1851. The poem inquired for by A. D. is copied in an album in my possession "from Bowring's translation of Russian Poetry," and is entitled "The Churchyard." J. R. PLANCHÉ.