A snapper up of unconsidered trifles. SHAKSPEARE. * * * * * PATHETIC EPITAPH. (_To the Editor._) Among the many monumental inscriptions and epitaphs which have fallen under my notice (and I have been a "Gatherer" ever since the days of my childhood) I have seldom met with one more calculated to start the tender tear than the following, which I copied from an old and long since defunct _periodical_, which describes it as "placed by a Mr. Thickness on the grave of his daughter, who lies buried in his _garden_, at St. Catherine's Hermitage, near Bath." _At the Lady's Head is a beautiful Monument, with the following Inscription_: What tho' no sacred earth afford thee room, Nor hallow'd dirge be mutter'd o'er thy tomb, Yet shall thy grave with rising flowers be drest, And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast. Here shall the morn her earliest tears bestow-- Here the first roses of the year shall blow; While angels with their silver wings o'ershade The ground now sacred by thy reliques made. _At her Feet_: Reader, if YOUTH should sparkle in thine eye-- If on thy cheek the flow'r of beauty blows, Here shed a tear, and heave the pensive sigh Where BEAUTY, YOUTH, and INNOCENCE repose. Doth wit adorn thy mind?--doth science pour It's ripen'd bounties on thy vernal year? Behold! where Death has cropp'd the plenteous store-- And heave the sigh, and shed the pensive tear. Does Music's dulcet notes dwell on thy tongue? And do _thy_ fingers sweep the sounding lyre? Behold! where low she lies, who sweetly sung The melting strains a cherub might inspire. Of YOUTH, of BEAUTY, then be vain no more-- Of music's pow'r--of WIT and LEARNING'S prize; For while you read, those charms may all be o'er, And ask to share the grave where ANNA lies. COLBOURNE. * * * * * GAMBLING OF HENRY THE EIGHTH. (_For the Mirror._)