I have spoken of our accommodation for the living. What do we do for the dead? We have the Cemetery, which has been considerably enlarged since it was first formed in 1852 or 1853, and the rapid increase of the Cemetery suggests the difficulty of the disposal of the dead in a creditable and satisfactory manner with our increasing population. The old burial ground was opened in the year 1802, and it is one of the peculiarities of this peculiar place, and of the old jurisdictions here, that the old Parish Church appears to have had in ancient times no burial ground belonging to it, a thing that very seldom happens, for the burial ground of the Parish of St. John the Baptist was outside the Minster, which is an extra parochial district. This remained up to 1802, when the burial ground in Cowgate was formed. If you go into it sometime (I am very fond of looking at the tombstones), you will find the oddest peculiarities of language and literature as inscriptions on the tombstones, but I cannot say I have ever found much to admire. You will find a collection of legends which are common all over the country, commencing with Affliction sore, long time he bore, Physicians WAS in vain. Next to it: Pale consumption gave the silent BELOW, etc. In our graveyard in Cowgate there is an epitaph upon old Mrs. Thomas, by which you are informed, that Making carpets and beds she did pursue With care and industry is very true, The established religion she did profess In hopes, through Christ, of Heaven to possess. Such rubbish as that, under the veto of the present Cemetery Commissioners, will, I hope, soon disappear. But there is one in the Cathedral graveyard (the existence of which is not generally known), on the tombstone memorial of an old family of this place, and I trust it will not be allowed to disappear. It is very superior to what they generally are. It is on the right just as you go through the Arch by the Deanery, and is to the memory of one of the Richardson family: Stranger pass by nor idly waste your time In bad biography or bitter rhyme; For what I am, this cumbrous clay ensures, And what I was, is no affair of yours. The old gentleman, as you see, has carried his cynical humour to the grave with him. It was quoted in an article in “Blackwood’s Magazine” on “Monumental Inscriptions” a few years since. [Picture: Peterborough Market Place A.D. 1795. N. Fielding of Stamford. Specially drawn from a painting in Peterborough Museum] PART THE THIRD. NEWSPAPERS.—DISTEMPER.—GUILDHALL.—HANGINGS.—DARING BURGLARIES.—A LOCK-UP STORY.—AN ALIBI.—THE MUD CASE.—WHEN THE RAILWAYS FIRST CAME.—RETROSPECTIVE.