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No. 518.  Friday, October 24, 1712.  Steele [1]

  ’—­Miserum est alienae incumbere famae,
  Ne collapsa ruant subductis tecta columnis.’

  Juv.

This being a Day of Business with me, I must make the present Entertainment like a Treat at an House-warming, out of such Presents as have been sent me by my Guests.  The first Dish which I serve up is a Letter come fresh to my Hand.

  Mr.  SPECTATOR,

It is with inexpressible Sorrow that I hear of the Death of good Sir Roger, and do heartily condole with you upon so melancholy an Occasion.  I think you ought to have blacken’d the Edges of a Paper which brought us so ill News, and to have had it stamped likewise in Black.  It is expected of you that you should write his Epitaph, and, if possible, fill his Place in the Club with as worthy and diverting a Member.  I question not but you will receive many Recommendations from the publick of such as will appear Candidates for that Post.

Since I am talking of Death, and have mentioned an Epitaph, I must tell you, Sir, that I have made discovery of a Church-Yard in which I believe you might spend an Afternoon, with great Pleasure to your self and to the Publick:  It. belongs to the Church of Stebon-Heath, commonly called Stepney.  Whether or no it be that the People of that Parish have a particular Genius for an Epitaph, or that there be some Poet among them who undertakes that Work by the Great, I can’t tell; but there are more remarkable Inscriptions in that place than in any other I have met with, and I may say without Vanity, that there is not a Gentleman in England better read in Tomb-stones than my self, my Studies having laid very much in Church-yards.  I shall beg leave to send you a Couple of Epitaphs, for a Sample of those I have just now mentioned.  They are written in a different manner; the first being in the diffused and luxuriant, the second in the close contracted Style.  The first has much of the Simple and Pathetick; the second is something Light, but Nervous.  The first is thus: 

    ’Here Thomas Sapper lyes interred.  Ah why! 
    Born in New England, did in London dye;
    Was the third Son of Eight, begot upon
    His Mother Martha by his Father John. 
    Much favoured by his Prince he ’gan to be,
    But nipt by Death at th’ Age of Twenty Three. 
    Fatal to him was that we Small-pox name,
    By which his Mother and two Brethren came
    Also to breathe their last nine Years before,
    And now have left their Father to deplore
    The loss of all his Children, with his Wife,
    Who was the Joy and Comfort of his Life.’

  The Second is as follows: 

    ’Here lies the Body of Daniel Saul,
    Spittle-fields Weaver, and that’s all.’