sifted, and never grow cold;
No rude weight on your chest--how like ye our scheme {1}
Where your grave will be warm'd by a process of steam,
Which will boil all the worms and the grubs in their holes,
And preserve from decay ev'ry part but your souls.
Our cemetery, centred in fancy's domain,
Shall by a state edict eternal remain
To all parties open, the living or dead;
Or christian, or atheist, here rest their head,
In a picturesque garden, and deep shady grove,
Where young love smiles, and fashion delighteth to rove.
To render the visitors' comforts complete,
And afford the grieved mourners a proper retreat,
The directors intend to erect an hotel,
Where a _table d'hote_ will be furnished well;
Not with the "cold meats of a funeral feast,"
But a banquet that's worthy a nabob at least;
Of _lachryma christi_, and fine _vin de grave_,
And cordial compounds, a choice you may have.
Twice a week 'tis proposed to illumine the scene,
And to waltz and quadrille on the velvety green;
While Colinet's band and the Opera Corps
Play and dance with a spirit that's quite _con amore_,
A committee of taste will superintend
The designs and inscriptions to each latter end.

~117~~

Take notice, no cross-bones or skulls are allowed,
Or naked young cherubims riding a cloud;
In short, no allusions that savour of death,
Nor aught that reminds of a friend's parting breath.
The inscriptions and epitaphs, elegies too,
Must all be poetical, lively, and new;
Such as never were heard of, or seen heretofore,
To be written by Proctor, Sam. Rogers, or Moore.
In lieu of a sermon, glee-singers attend,
Who will chant, like the cherubims, praise without end.
Three decent old women, to enliven the hours,
Attend with gay garlands and sacred flowers,
The emblems of grief--artificial, 'tis true,
But very like nature in a general view.
Lord Graves will preside, and vice-president Coffin
Will pilot the public into the offing.
The College of Surgeons and Humane Society
Have promised to send a delightful variety.
The Visi