and fertile country (for London at that period had not escaped from Shoreditch) is walled in, fenced round, and guarded as a sanctuary. We have said that one dreamy tradition affirms that the bones of CROMWELL sleep beneath the tablet which records the love of Isaac Watts for that which was in his time lovely and solitary-looking over a large pond, where the heron sat musing by 'the sedgy shallow;'

and commanding, beyond, extensive views of the surrounding country. The cemetery is also ornamented by a picturesque little church, from which a funeral procession was passing as we entered.

Many of the monuments are remarkable for truth and simplicity, and numbers of the graves were enriched by early flowers in full bloom. The old trees are invaluable to the Abney Park Cemetery, and so suggestive of memories of Dr. Watts, that his home seems still there; though in reality, his remains-now a mere handful of ashes-are interred in the burying ground of Bunhill Fields, opposite the chapel where John Wesley preached, when past the age of eighty, to the many missionaries who have since carried his name over the universe.

We visited this crowded place of interment for Dissenters: the walk through its thickened tombs is literally paved-like the chancels of our old cathedrals—with tombstones; and our feet frequently recoiled as our eyes caught the name of some time-honoured gospel minister.*

enlightened readers of Malbranche and Locke. He has left neither corporeal nor spiritual nature unexamined: he has taught the Art of Reasoning and the Science of the Stars; such he was, as every Christian Church would rejoice to have adopted.'—DR. JOHNSON,

* Bunhill Fields was known as the city burial-ground in the reign of Charles I., and here was buried the son of his successful opponent-the mild Richard Cromwell. General Fleetwood, Cromwell's Lord-Deputy of Ireland from 1651 to 1654, was also buried here. The ground was walled in at the expense of the City during the Great Plague of 1665, and was some time afterwards purchased by Mr. Tindal, who appropriated it as a burial-ground for persons of any religious persuasions who choose to avail themselves of it. It has hence become the favourite resting-place' of eminent Protestant Dissenters; and here rest John Bunyan, Dr. Watts, Dr. Price, Dr. Lardner, Dr. A. Rees, author of the Cyclopædia,' and a host of others celebrated for their learning and piety. An avenue of trees adds to the appearance of this Cemetery, which has been recently enlarged by the removal of some houses at the further extremity. An idea of the immense number of dead here deposited may be formed from the fact, that in the twenty-four years previous to 1821, no fewer than 35,000 bodies had been interred in it.

R

Such a brotherhood of graves is full of profit! The city din sounded like distant thunder; but yet, though the rain splashed on the tombs and sunk into the thickly-matted grass, all seemed silent. We thought upon the memorable words of the old man, 'Waiting God's leave to die!'-how he had said that the most learned and knowing Christians, when they come to die, have only the same plain promises of the Gospel for their support as the common and unlearned; and so,' he added, 'I find it.'

ness.

The tomb is square. Southey calls it 'handsome.' He could hardly have seen it; for it is humble, unpretending, even Quaker-like in its plainThe epitaph, written by himself, is an index to his humility. He does not tell his age, but counts his years by the length, as it were, of his Gospel Ministry

'Fifty years of feeble labours in the Gospel.'

It records his death, on the 25th November, 1748, and adds, that the monument was erected to his memory by Sir John Hartopp, Bart., and Dame Mary Abney: having been replaced in 1808 by a few of the persons who met for worship where he so long laboured.'

The tomb is on the right-hand side of this great burying-ground, which doubtless, when first enclosed, was in the country, but now is surrounded by houses. It is well and carefully kept, but lonely and uncheerful, though the sun came out and turned into crystal the rain-drops which hung from the leaves of the young trees. One man was giving a date and a name to a fresh tombstone; and another told us, when we said how full of death was the enclosure-that there was room enough for many more. We could not avoid wishing that Dr. Isaac Watts had been buried amid the stillness of the groves he loved so well.

THE PRISON OF LADY MARY GREY.

E have made frequent Pilgrimages to Shrines that enrich Buckinghamshire. It is one of the most interesting if not the most interesting-of our English counties; and once, thanks to the kindness of the late Sir Robert, and Lady Frankland, Russell, we spent a morning at Chequers Court, interested not only by the tell-tale dwelling-its long galleries, its Cromwellian portraits,† its stores of gems, its varied trophies of the past and beauties of the present time-but by the memory of those sorrows which enshrine the name of Lady Mary Grey, whose sufferings excite sympathy, and who would have slept for ever in a forgotten grave, but for the cruelty practised towards her by Elizabeth. Her room, at Chequers Court, is a small dark

Chequers takes its name from the King's Exchequer, he having palaces here and at Hawtree.

+ On the death of Sir F. Russell, in 1664, who had been governor of Ely and Lichfield, and one of the Parliamentary Assessors in the time of the Civil Wars, as also one of Oliver Cromwell's lords, Sir John Russell, of Chippenham, having succeeded to the title, married Frances, youngest daughter of the Lord Protector Cromwell, relict of Robert Rich, son of Lord Rich, and grandson of Robert, Earl of Warwick, by which means so many relics of the Cromwells came into the possession of the family. Among the portraits are those of Cromwell when a child, and at mature age; his mother; his wife; his son Richard, afterwards Protector; and Henry, Lord Deputy of Ireland; his eldest daughter, Bridget; Elizabeth, wife of Mr. Claypole; his third daughter, Mary, wife of Thomas Falconberg; his youngest daughter, Frances, above named, who became possessed of Chequers. There are other mementos of the period, preserved within these walls, in portraits of Thurloe, Lambert, Cornet Joyce, &c., as well as Cromwell's swords and slippers.

chamber, looking over the roofs and walls of a house that was her prison. We shall presently make some notes concerning the melancholy course of her young life.

The mansion-successively the residence of the Hawtreys and Russells -is situated in a little valley, surrounded by irregular eminences, clothed to their summits with beech-trees, interspersed with box, larch, and holly in a very picturesque manner. The house is said to have been originally built about 1326, re-erected about 1556, and modernised, with great taste, by the late Sir Robert Greenhill Russell, Bart., and still more recently improved by its last possessor, the late Sir Robert Frankland Russell, Bart. It stands on a small but very elegant parterre, ornamented with beds of shrubs and flowers, and enclosed by a light iron fence.

The grounds are full of valuable records-associations with the past: near the south-west angle of the building are the remains of an elm known for centuries as King Stephen's tree; and said to have been one of sufficient magnitude, even in his day, to have supplied the monarch shade and shelter. It is banded with iron, and conjectured to be at least coeval with the foundation of the house. It is only to be regretted that it could not have been the old Haw-tree of primeval celebrity, from which the family who during many years inhabited the mansion, might be conjectured to have derived their

King Stephen's Tree.

name.

Yes, many happy, thoughtful, and, at least to ourselves, profitable, days, have we spent in that birth-county of liberty -Buckinghamshire; but that of the autumn when our visit was to the grave of William Penn-was especially delightful, not only because of the

who accompanied us on our way.

The country was reposing in all the self-satisfied luxury of an abundant harvest. The tangled hedges, rich in their winter store of blaes' and berries, were of every variety of tint; the partridge whirred over the stubble; and but few birds chaunted the vespers of summer-time.

The foliage of the trees was hardly changed; and as we drove towards Beaconsfield, we passed some timber that might be called unrivalled. The tomb of EDMUND BURKE, who is buried in the village church, is worthy of a pilgrimage; and to this Shrine-honourable alike to Ireland and to England-a visit hereafter must be made; but the neglected churchyard of Beaconsfield-where the dock and the nettle triumph over the graves, and pigs are permitted to go and come without hindrance-is sadly at war with the reverential feelings which the memory of an eloquent and able statesman -one upon whose words the senate hung, and whose eloquence told as much in the closet as in the crowded hall where his country's laws were made and defended-naturally summoned up.

It was well to have looked upon his monument, and entered the pew where he had worshipped in earnestness and truth, and prayed for consolation during his time of trial. Our own memories and musings were perhaps a thought too much tinged with pride; because that he was a native of our own island-never more beloved than when most miserable; and the galaxy of glorious names which have illuminated the whole world by their radiance, will always serve to show what its people might have been, but for the neglect and misconception of one party, and the evil agitation of the other.

In this churchyard is the grave of another great man-that of Edmund Waller; but the name of the poet is far less truly famous than that of the orator and statesman.

Hall Barn, the ancient mansion of the Wallers, was a large quadrangular edifice now destroyed; Gregories, another portion of the estate, was situated close to Beaconsfield Church, and here Burke resided, and his widow, after his death. Waller's tomb is one of the most conspicuous in the churchyard, and is of quaint and peculiar design, as will be seen from our faithful delineation of its aspect; the pyramid which surmounts the tomb is supported by skulls, to which bats' wings are appended, a ghastly memento of the last end of man.