Some distinguished men have amused themselves, while living, by inditing epitaphs for themselves. Franklin, and the great lawyer and orientalist, Sir William Jones, have left characteristic performances of this kind in prose, and from Matthew Prior we have a mock-serious one in verse. The latter has been often quoted, but it will bear repetition: Nobles and heralds, by your leave, Here lie the bones of Matthew Prior: The son of Adam and of Eve, Can Bourbon or Nassau go higher? In the same spirit, but superior in tone and quality, is the following, the authorship of which is unknown, "on a poor but honest man:" Stop, reader, here, and deign to look On one without a name, Ne’er enter’d in the ample book Of fortune or of fame. Studious of peace, he hated strife; Meek virtues fill’d his breast; His coat of arms, "a spotless life," "An honest heart" his crest. Quarter’d therewith was innocence, And thus his motto ran: "A conscience void of all offence, Before both God and man." In the great day of wrath, through pride Now scorns his pedigree, Thousands shall wish they’d been allied To this great family. The thought in Prior’s is ludicrously expressed in the following, from a monument erected in 1703, in the New Church burying-ground, Dundee, to the memory of J. R. Here lies a Man, Com’d of Adam and Eve; If any will climb higher, I give him leave. Amongst poetical epitaphs, of the more elaborate class, we must notice two by Mason; one to the memory of his mother, in Bristol Cathedral, and the other on a young lady named Drummond, in the church of Brodsworth, Yorkshire. We have space for only the latter. Here sleeps what once was beauty, once was grace; Grace, that with tenderness and sense combined To form that harmony of soul and face, Where brainy shines the mirror of the mind. Such was the maid that, in the morn of youth, In virgin innocence, in nature’s pride, Blest with each art that owes its charms to truth, Sank in her father’s fond embrace, and died. He weeps; O venerate the holy tear! Faith lends her aid to ease affliction’s load; The parent mourns his child upon the bier, The Christian yields an angel to his God. Of whimsical and satirical epitaphs—some actually inscribed on tombstones, and others intended for pasquinades—a large collection might be made. We have little taste for these anomalous compositions, nor do we consider it creditable to the national character, that so many English churchyards can be pointed out where they occur. But there are those who will make even the tomb a subject of pleasant humors. The epitaph for the tomb of Sir John Vanbrugh, distinguished as a dramatist and architect, and reflecting on his achievements in the latter capacity, is as follows: Lie heavy on him, Earth, for he Laid many a heavy load on thee. The original of the following is among the epigrams of Boileau:—