Here lie the bodies
Of Thomas Bond and Mary his wife. 
She was temperate, chaste, and charitable;
But
She was proud, peevish, and passionate. 
She was an affectionate wife and a tender mother;
But
Her husband and child, whom she loved,
Seldom saw her countenance without a disgusting frown;
While she received visitors whom she despised with an endearing smile. 
Her behaviour was discreet towards strangers;
But
Imprudent in her family. 
Abroad her conduct was influenced by good breeding;
But
At home by ill temper.

And so the epitaph runs on to considerable length, acknowledging the good qualities of the poor woman, but killing each by setting against it some peculiarly unamiable trait.  I confess that my feeling is quite turned in her favour by the unmanly assault which her brother (the author of the inscription) has thus made upon the poor dead woman.  If you cannot honestly say good of a human being on his grave-stone, then say nothing at all.  There are some cases in which an exception may justly be made; and such a one, I think, was that of the infamous Francis Chartres, who died in 1731.  He was buried in Scotland, and at his funeral the populace raised a riot, almost tore his body from the coffin, and threw dead dogs into the grave along with it.  Dr. Arbuthnot wrote his epitaph, and here it is:—­

Here continueth to rot The body of Francis Chartres:  Who, with an inflexible constancy, and Inimitable uniformity of life, Persisted, In spite of age and infirmities, In the practice of every human vice, Excepting prodigality and hypocrisy:  His insatiable avarice exempted him from the first, His matchless impudence from the second.  Nor was he more singular In the undeviating pravity of his manners, Than successful In accumulating wealth:  For without trade or profession, Without trust of public money, And without bribeworthy service, He acquired, or more properly created, A Ministerial Estate:  He was the only person of his time Who could cheat without the mask of honesty, Retain his primeval meanness When possessed of ten thousand a year:  And having daily deserved the gibbet for what he did, Was at last condemned for what he could not do.  Oh! indignant reader!  Think not his life useless to mankind!  Providence connived at his execrable designs, To give to after ages A conspicuous proof and example Of how small estimation is exorbitant wealth In the sight of God, By his bestowing it on the most unworthy of all mortals.

If one does intend to make a verbal assault upon any man, it is well to do so in words which will sting and cut; and assuredly Arbuthnot has succeeded in his laudable intention.  The character is justly drawn; and with the change of a very few words, it might correctly be inscribed on the monument of at least one Scotch and one English peer, who have died within the last half-century.