The Sun.
London, England, 1849-09-15 00:00:00

AT lIALY-PAST ONE.

Giaborne lB9 Best
Up to this time very few of the loose fish had polled,
but at half-past three thirty of them had recorded
their votes for Mr. Best. The numbers then were—
test, 212, Gisborne, 200. Six Liberals, who were
only willing to vote if they could turn the election,
remained unpolled. Our correspondent left the town
before any official declaration of the poll was made,
but the numbers must have been within two or three
on each side of those which we have stated. We
abstain from making public more definite particulars
of which we are cognizant, for the reason which we
have already stated. Quite independently of personal
feeling, we appeal to all reasonable supporters of a
representative system and ask—whether the case of
the borough of Kidderminster, which is very illus-
trative of the state of small boroughs, with a few
honourable exceptions, does not call for Parliamentary
reform ?

676
401 AN ELEGY, WRITTEN IN A LONDON
CHURCHYARD.
5-,036 -.

BY A TRADESMAN IN THE ♦ICINITY.
(From Punch.)
The sexton tolls the knell till parting day,
The latest funeral train has paid its fee,
The mourners homeward take their dreary way,
And leave the scene to Typhus and to me.
Now fades the crowded graveyard on the sight,
But all, its air who scent, their nostrils hold,
save where the beadle drones, contented quite,
And drowsy mutes their arms in slumber fold.
Save where, hard by yon soot incrusted tower,
A Reverend Man does o'er his port complain,
Of such as would, by sanitary power,
Invade his ancient customary gain.
eneath those arid mounds, that dead wall's shade,
Where grows no turf above the mouldering heap,
All in their narrow cells together laid,
The former people of the parish sleep.
The queasy call of sewage-breathing morn,
The ox, urg'd bellowing to the butcher's shed,
The crowd's loud clamouring at his threatening horn,
No more shall roase them from their loathly bed.
For them no more the chamber-light shall burn,

The busy doctor ply his daily care,
Nor children to their sire from school return,
And climb his knees the dreaded pest to share.

Good folks, impute not to their friends the fault,
If memory o'er their bones no tombstone raise;
Where there lie dozens huddled in one vault,
No art can mark the spot where each decays.
No doubt, in this revolting place are laid,
Hearts lately pregnant with infectious fire;
hands, by whose grasp contagion was conveyed,
As sure as electricity by wire.
Fnil many a gas of direst power unclean,
The dark o'erpeopled graves of London bear,
/'llll many a poison, ban to kill unseen,
And spread its rankness in the neighbouring air.
Some district surgeon, that with dauntless breast
The epidemic 'mongat the poor withstood,
Some brave, humane physician here may rest,
Some curate, martyrs to infected blood.
To some doom'd breast the noxious vapour flies,
Some luckless lung the deadly reek inspires,
Ev'n from the tomb morbific fumes arise,
Ev'n in men's ashes live Disorder's fires.
For thee, who, shock'd to see th' unhoured dead,
Dost in these lines their shameful plight relate;
If, chance, by sanitary musings led,
Some graveyard-gleaner shall inquire thy fate.
haply some muddle-headed clerk will say,
We used to see him at the peep of dawn.
Shaving with hasty strokes his beard away,
Whene'er his window-curtains were undrawn.
There would he stand o'erlooking yonder shed,
That hides those relics from the public eye, •
And watch what we were doing with the dead,
And count the funerals daily going by.
One morn we miss'd him in the 'custom'd shop;
Behind the counter where he used to be,
Another serv'd; nor at his early chop,
. Nor at the " Cock," nor at the " Cheese," was he.
The next, by special wish, with small array,
To Kensal-green we saw our neighbour borne,
Thither go read (if thou canst read) the lay
With which a chum his headstone did adorn.

THE EPITAPII.
Here rest with decency the bones in earth,
Of one to Comfort and to Health unknown,
Miasma ever plagued his humble hearth,
And Scarlatina mark 'd him for her own.
Long was his illness, tedious, and severe,
Hard by a London churchyard dwelt our friend;
He followed to the grave a neighbour's bier,
lie met thereby ('twas what be fear'd) his end.
110 longer seek Corruption to enclose
Within the places of mankind's abode;
But far from cities let our dust repose,
Where daisies blossom on the verdant clod.

The daughter of Lord Nelson and Lady Hamilton
is the wife of a laborious and exemplary clergyman, the
Itov. Philip Ward, who holds the small vicarage of Ten-
terden, and has eight children.
SINGULAR ACCIDENT.—On Thursday, two lads,
employed at the Messrs. Fisher's factory, Radford, were
looking out of the window at the clock, which is situ-
!Led just above it. As they could not stretch themselves
Ito' enough out to see the clock, one of them got on the
other's back; and while leaning against the window
frame, it gave way, and both lads were precipitated into
the yard below, a distance of two stories. Concussion
of the brain in both cases was the result, and they were
removed to the hospital in an insensible state.—Notting-
ham irournaZ