very naturally accounted for, by the repugnance which most men would
feel, to the idea of having their bones knocked about by the sexton's
spade, and then wheeled off to the bone-house, if there happens to be
a bone-house, or shot into the neighbouring river, or on a farmer's
dung-heap, if there is no such convenience as a bone-house at hand. It
was this feeling that induced the celebrated sculptor, Chantrey, to
make sure of a quiet resting-place for his remains.[2] In so doing, he
was, though perhaps unconsciously, but following the example of many
who have gone before him. We have more than once encountered a sober
party upon their annual visit to some country church-yard tomb, of
which, by virtue of some bequest--which provides them with a good
dinner upon the occasion--they are the appointed guardians. The
worshipful members of the London companies sometimes choose to rest
from their labours in a rural grave; and when they do, survivors are
always to be found not unwilling to enjoy once a year a pensive
holiday, coupled with the creature comforts, which the quiet comrade
whose behest they execute has taken care to provide for them. It would
be perhaps difficult to find a single church in all the little towns
and hamlets within a dozen miles of London, which does not contain one
tenant at least who has thus secured permanent possession of his last
resting-place. So strong is this feeling in some individuals, that
they shrink from confiding even in the stone-vaults in the interior of
a city church. Thus, Sir William Rawlins, not so very long ago,
bequeathed a certain sum of money for the preservation of his tomb and
monument in Bishopsgate Church. The bequest provides for the
remuneration of the visitors, who are specified parish functionaries,
and entertains them with a good dinner on the day of the annual
visitation, which they are bound to make--to inspect the monument and
tomb, and to guarantee their good condition. In many instances, the
sum originally devised for the sustentation of a grave or monument is