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interest. Miss Margaret Reay, the mother of the late Mr. Basil Montague, was the daughter of a stay-maker in Covent-garden, and served her apprenticeship to a mantua maker, in George's-court, St. John's-lane, Clerkenwell. Having, during her apprenticeship, attracted the attention of Lord Sandwich, he took her under his protection, and treated her from that period until her melancholy assassination with the greatest tenderness and affection, which was sincerely returned by Miss Reay, until her introduction by his Lordship to a young ensign of the 68th regiment, then in command of a recruiting party at Huntingdon, in the neighborhood of which stands Hitchenbrook, the splendid mansion of the noble house of Montagu. Mr. James Hackman, the wretched but highly gifted hero of this sad narrative, from the first moment of his introduction, fell desperately in love with the mistress of his noble host, and his passion increased with the daily opportunities afforded him by the invitations he received to his Lordship's table. With the object of continuing his assiduous attentions to this lady, and the hope of ultimately engaging her affections, he quitted the army, and taking holy orders obtained the living of Wiverton, in Norfolk, only a few months prior to the commission of that crime which brought him to the scaffold. That Miss Reay had given some encouragement to his fiery passion cannot be denied; the tenor of their correspondence clearly proves it; but gratitude towards the Earl and prudential motives respecting the welfare of her children induced her afterwards to refuse the offer of the Rev. gentleman's hand, and to intimate the necessity which existed for discontinuing his visits for their mutual interest and their peace of mind.

Stung to the quick by this sudden and unexpected termination of his long cherished and most ardent passion, no doubt can exist in the minds of those who have carefully perused the highly interesting correspondence between the parties, puplished many years ago by Mr. Hubert Croft, in a volume entitled "Love and Madness," that Mr. Hackman's mind became unsettled, and without meditating a crime which, properly speaking, could scarcely be fairly classed in the category of murder, there is no doubt that he became weary of his own life; and finally, though without distinct premeditation, determined that she whom he loved so passionately should share his fate. At this time the Rev. Mr. Hackman was lodging in Duke's-court, St, Martin's-lane, and the fatal

day, April 7, 1779, was occupied all the morning in reading Blair's Sermons; but in the evening, as he was walking towards the Admiralty, he saw Miss Reay pass in her coach, accompanied by Signora Galli. He followed and discovered that she alighted at Coventgarden Theatre, whither she went to witness the performance of Love in a Village. Mr. Hackman returned to his lodgings, and arming himself with a brace of pistols, went back to the theatre, and when the performance was over, as Miss Reay was stepping into her coach, he took a pistol in each hand, one of which he discharged at her and killed her on the spot, and the other at himself, which did not, however, take effect. He then beat himself about the head with the butt-end of the pistol in order to destroy himself, but was eventually, after a dreadful struggle, secured and carried before Sir John Fielding, who committed him to Tothillfields Bridewell, and afterwards to Newgate, where he was narrowly watched to prevent his committing suicide. He was shortly after tried at the Old Bailey, before the celebrated Justice Blackstone, author of the "Commentaries," found guilty, and sentenced to be hanged at Tyburn on the 19th of the month, where he suffered the last penalty of the law with all the firmness becoming a gentleman and a Christian who felt that he had committed an irreparable injury, and that his life was justly forfeited to the outraged laws of his country, although he persisted to the last that the idea of murdering the woman he so fondly loved originated in the frenzy of the moment, and never was or could have been premeditated. One circumstance in this slight narrative which redounds so highly to the honor of the party most aggrieved in this sad affair must not be omitted. Lord Sandwich, with a noblemindedness rarely exemplified in such extreme cases of injury to the pride and sensibility of man, wrote to Mr. Hackman after sentence of death was passed upon him:

"7th April, 1779, "If the murderer of Miss wishes to live, the man he has most injured will use all his interest to procure his life."

The prisoner replied the same day:

"Condemned Cell in Newgate. "The murderer of her whom he preferred, far preferred, to life, suspects the hand from which he has just received such an offer as he neither desires nor deserves. His wishes are for death, not for life. One wish he has--could he be pardoned in this world by the man he has most injured

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"Man is a noble animal, splendid in ashes, pompous in the grave."-SIR THOMAS BROwne.

characteristic infirmity of the noblest and most active minds." Nay, even weaker men exult in the idea of handing down to distant generations, by means of the sepulchral memorial, some slight record of their existence. Whilst these feelings are so strongly implanted in our nature, it is reasonable enough that our meditations should often turn on

'VICTORY, or Westminster Abbey ! was the exclamation of Commodore Nelson, when, during the great contest with the Spanish fleet, under Sir John Jervis, on the 14th February, 1797, he sprang from a captured vessel at the head of an intrepid boarding party, and seized another ship from the astonished and terrified enemy. "A grave in the Abbey"-too often an early grave-is,"graves and epitaphs ;" and though the subin like manner, the great ambition and reward of the English statesman. To be carried, a lifeless corpse, through long lines of formal mourners, and interred in that stately pile, is the gorgeous vision which cheers him at his post of duty, and stimulates the exhausted energies of mind and body. The neglected man of genius, consigned during his life-time to penury and wretchedness, is indemnified for his sufferings (in the world's opinion) by a bust in Poet's Corner, as in the memorable instance of the author of Hudibras, on the erection of whose monument in Westminster Abbey the following graphic and sarcastic lines were written :

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ject is not recommended by novelty-though it is a topic with which every one is in some degree familiar-we trust that our readers will pardon us for attempting to string together a few remarks upon English epitaphs, and upon grave-yards in England and elsewhere. The theme, we know, is an exceedingly fertile and inviting one, but bearing in mind how much has been written upon it, we intend to confine our observations within very narrow limits.

It will not surprise those who take any interest in the subject. we have started, that we first invite their attention to scenes which they have often visited. We say, "often visited," because we take it for granted that wherever the tombs and sepulchral memorials of our greatest men are grouped together, every Englishman with a spark of national pride in his bosom will occasionally love 'to linger. In treating, therefore, of the epitaphs in our great metropolitan cathedrals, we shall consider our readers to be treading with us over familiar ground; although it is ground

far too interesting for us to omit to notice, or even to pass lightly over. The memorials of English worthies in Westminster Abbey and St. Paul's are of all monuments in this great city the last we would see perish. It may be a question whether such memorials are well placed within the walls of a cathedral, or whether they could not with greater propriety be deposited elsewhere; but this is a point which, though of much importance, we feel it would be inexpedient for us to discuss here.

The best epitaphs, according to our notion, are generally the shortest and the plainest. In no description of composition is elaborate and highly ornate phraseology so much out of place. Where a world-wide reputation has been achieved by the illustrious dead, the inscription of the name alone, with the addition perhaps of a date, (as many instances might be cited to prove,) is often calculated to produce a more impressive effect than an ostentatious epitaph. It has been observed that the simple words,

CATHERINE THE GREAT TO PETER THE FIRST,

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inscribed upon the monument erected by the Empress Catherine of Russia to the memory of Peter the Great, arrogant as they are, contain the essence of the true sublime. And, in like manner, amongst the most impressive memorials in Westminster Abbey are the words, "Orare Ben Jonson,' chiselled beneath the great playwright's bust, and the name of J. DRYDEN, with the date of his birth and death, and the simple statement, that the tomb on which it is inscribed was erected, in 1720, by John Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham. We doubt whether the effect of the latter would have been improved by the addition of the couplet which was written for it by Pope, admirable as that couplet is:

This Sheffield raised: the sacred dust below Was Dryden once-the rest who does not know?

Among the best epitaphs to be met with in the interesting portion of the Abbey known as Poet's Corner, we are inclined to number that on Edmund Spenser, which combines in an eminent degree the qualities of dignity and simplicity, and possesses a character of

* This course has been adopted in the monument recently erected in Westminster Abbey to the memory of Robert Southey, which, the visitor will remark, merely records his name and the date of his birth and death.

its own which at once attracts attention. The monument upon which it appears had been originally erected by Anne, Countess of Dorset, and having fallen into decay, was restored, in 1768, precisely in its old form:

Here lyes (expecting the second
Comminge of our Saviour CHRIST
JESUS) the body of Edmond Spencer,
The Prince of Poets in his tyme,
Whose divine spirrit needs noe
Other witnesse than the works
Which he left behinde him.

He was borne in London in the yeare 1553,
And died in the year 1598.

The epitaph of Michael Drayton, another of the Elizabethan poets, said by some to be the composition of Ben Jonson, and by others of Quaries, has also a species of quaint beauty and solemnity about it which raises it above the ordinary level. It was originally set in gilt letters:—

MICHAEL DRAITON, Esq.

A memorable poet of this age, Exchanged his laurell for a crowne of glorye, Ao. 1631.

Doe, pious marble! let thy readers knowe What they and what their children owe TO DRAITON's name, whose sacred dust We recommend unto thy TRUST : Protect his memory, and preserve his storye, Remaine a lastinge monument of his glorye; And when thy ruines shall disclaime To be the treas'rer of his name, His name that cannot fade shall be An everlasting monument to thee.

We cannot say that the Latin epitaphs in Westminster Abbey are much to our taste, nor can we, under any circumstances, recommend the use of a dead language in funeral inscriptions. One Latin epitaph, however, we cannot pass over, namely, that to the memory of Oliver Goldsmith, by Dr. Samuel Johnson-a noble and scholar-like production, dictated by genuine affection, and full of grace and tenderness. In the delineation of the personal and literary character of his deceased friend, we recognize all the grander traits of honest Samuel's loving heart and powerful pen. Nothing can be in better taste than his just and generous commendation of his friend's genius :

Affectuum potens et lenis Dominator;
Ingenio sublimis-vividus, versatilis,
Oratione grandis, nitidus, venustus.

To return to the English epitaphs in the Abbey, one of the most remarkable for its

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taph of the great Earl of Chatham, which, though somewhat too confused and elaborate in its artistic decorations, is not unworthy of the great services of the greatest of English ministers. Having achieved a higher reputation as a statesman and orator than any other public man which his country had produced, and having fallen, as it were, in her service, the national gratitude was displayed in an unprecedented manner by the honors paid to his memory. His body lay in state for three days in the painted chamber in the House of Lords-his public funeral exceeded in splendor the obsequies of princes of the bloodhis debts were paid by the nation-and finally, the stately tomb to which we have drawn attention was placed over his remains. The inscription upon it, whilst exceedingly plain and simple, is impressive and appropriate :

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Taken altogether it is a most beautiful and appropriate composition, and we cannot but regret that the monument on which it appears should be disfigured by the doggerel lines, said to have been written by Gay himself, and inscribed on the ledge just above Pope's epitaph:

Life is a jest, and all things show it;
I thought so once, but now I know it.

The epitaph of Nicholas Rowe, the dramatist, (also by Pope,) has been much admired for the pathos of the concluding lines, the beauty of which, however, it is a matter of notoriety, was considerably marred by a plain prosaic circumstance, which proves the danger of assuming facts even in poetical compositions. The monument is commemorative of the poet and of his only daughter, the wife of Henry Fane, Esquire. His widow survived him, and her inconsolable affliction was beautifully depicted by Pope:

To these so mourned in death, so loved in life,
The childless parent, and the widowed wife,
With tears inscribes this monumental stone,
That holds their ashes, and expects her own.

Almost, however, before "the monumental stone" was finished, the disconsolate, widow dried her eyes, and married a gallant colonel of dragoons, without considering that she was spoiling the beauty of her husband's epitaph. So much for poetical prophecy and female constancy!

Among the most flagrant instances of false taste and imbecility in the monumental inscriptions in Westminster Abbey, we must specify, before we pass on, that on the tomb of David Garrick. The tomb itself has been described as "a theatrical conceit, of which the design exhibits neither taste nor invention."* The epitaph was the production of Pratt, the author of Harvest Home and other lucubrations which have long since been consigned to the tomb of the Capulets; and both epitaph and monument are thus spoken of by Charles Lamb in the Essays of Elia. Alluding principally to the eccentric attitude of the actor's effigy, he observes: "Though I would not go so far, with some good Catholics abroad, as to shut players altogether out of consecrated ground, yet I own I was not a little scandalized at the introduction of theatrical airs and gestures into a place set apart to remind us of the

* Worthies of England," by Geo. Lewis Smythe,

1850.

saddest realities. Going nearer, I found inscribed under this burlesque figure a farrago of false thought and nonsense." The farrago in question is in verse, and represents Shakspeare and Garrick as "twin stars" (!) who as long as time shall last are to "irradiate earth with a beam divine."

There are but few epitaphs in St. Paul's Cathedral-the other great resting-place of our illustrious dead-which we deem worthy of remark or reproduction. The best in the whole edifice, and one of the most perfect compositions of its kind, is the well-known inscription commemorative of its renowned architect, Sir Christopher Wren:

Subditus conditur hujus Ecclesiæ et Urbis Conditor, CHRISTOPHERUS WREN, qui vixit Annos ultra nonaginta, non sibi, sed Bono publico. Lector, si monumentum requiris, Circumspice.

We need not point out the beauties of this celebrated epitaph-its terseness of phraseology, (to which no translation could do justice,) its suggestiveness, grandeur, and dignity. Another Latin epitaph in St. Paul's is also deserving of notice, both on account of its merit, and the individual it commemorates. We allude to the inscription on the monument of Dr. Samuel Johnson, written by the famous scholar, Dr. Parr.

Of the English inscriptions in this Cathedral, the only one which seems to possess any striking character, is that on the monument of the philanthropist, John Howard. It concludes with the well-known sentence: "He trod an open and unfrequented path to immortality, in the ardent and unremitting exercise of Christian charity. May this tribute to his fame excite an emulation of his truly glorious achievements."

From the remarks we have made, and the few illustrations we have selected from notorious sources, it will be concluded that it is no very easy matter to produce a good epitaph. Great practice in the art of composition is required-great power of condensation-and the exercise of rare judgment and discrimination. In their efforts at epitaph-writing, few English poets have appeared to great advantage. One or two perfect specimens, indeed, we do possess, but the success of a single writer must be set off against the failure of a great many others. Of our good epitaphs, the very best, in our opinion, is that on the Countess Dowager of Pembroke, the sister of Sir Philip Sidney, by Ben Jonson. Although it has been often

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