and before
proceeding to the church-yard, it was impossible to resist the impulse
of making a rapid memorandum sketch of it. In after years, it was
carefully and correctly drawn in all its aspects. Proceeding along
"the churchway path" into the church-yard, where in reality "rests his
head upon the lap of earth," the tomb-stone of the admired and beloved
poet was soon found. It is at the east end of the church, nearly under
a window.

Persons of a cold temperament, and not imbued with the love of poetry,
may perhaps smile when it is admitted, that the approach to that tomb
was made with steps as slow and reverential as those of any devout
Catholic approaching the shrine of his patron saint.

Long was it gazed upon, and frequently was the inscription read, and
the following cut exhibits the coat of arms and inscriptions on the
blue marble tabular stone, as they were carefully drawn and copied,
that very evening:

[Illustration: Coat of Arms and inscriptions]

IN THE VAULT BENEATH ARE DEPOSITED
IN HOPE OF A JOYFUL RESURRECTION,
THE REMAINS OF
MARY ANTROBUS,
SHE DIED UNMARRIED, NOVEMBER 5TH, 1749,
AGED 66.

* * * * *

IN THE SAME PIOUS CONFIDENCE,
BESIDE HER FRIEND AND SISTER,
HERE SLEEP THE REMAINS OF
DOROTHY GRAY,
WIDOW, THE CAREFUL TENDER MOTHER
OF MANY CHILDREN, ONE OF WHOM ALONE
HAD THE MISFORTUNE TO SURVIVE HER.
SHE DIED MARCH 11TH, 1753,
AGED 67.

It was a soft, balmy evening; "every leaf was at rest;" the deer in
the park had betaken themselves to their favorite haunts, under the
wide-spreading boughs of ancient oaks and elms, and were reposing in
happy security.

The long continued twilight of England was gathering in, and I still
lingered in the consecrated inclosure, fascinated with the
unmistakable antiquity of the church, which, although small as
compared with many others, is eminently romantic, and I cannot better
describe the scene, and the feelings impressed at the moment, than in
the words of one equally near as dear--

"A holy spell pervades thy gloom,
A silent charm breathes all around;
And the dread stillness of the tomb
Reigns o'er thy hallowed haunted ground."

It may be proper to mention that the poem from which this is
extracted, is descriptive of Haddon Hall, one of the most ancient and
perfect specimens of the pure Gothic in En