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EPITAPH ON CHARLOTTE BOYLE

Charlotte’s burial-place is at Preston, in Kent, not far from Sheerness, where we were then living, and was chosen not alone on account of proximity. The church contains an elaborate monument erected by our ancestor, the first Earl of Cork, after he had made his fortune, to the memory of his parents, both natives of Kent. This monument has, I grieve to say, been suffered to fall into decay, although I have frequently raised my feeble voice in expostulation on the subject. My uncle, Lord John Townshend, wrote my little sister’s epitaph, which is inscribed on a marble tablet in Preston church. To me the lines have ever appeared pathetic, although penned in the old-fashioned style of those days. After recording the dates of her birth and death, they go on to say:—

“Scarce yet had smiled thy early dawn of day,

Youth’s roseate buds just opening into bloom,

When wintry winds, that chilled thy lovely May,

Shed all thy with’ring blossoms on the tomb.

“But blest, fair child, blest far above thy years,