Francis Eginton was, too, a clever artist in stained glass, and brought that art to great perfection. Amongst his principal works-"the first of any consequence" being executed in 1784-were arms of the knights of the Garter on the windows on the stalls in St. George's Chapel, Windsor; some fine windows in Wanstead Church, Essex; a large representation of the "Good Samaritan" in the private chapel of the Archbishop of Armagh, and another in the chapel of the Bishop of Derry; a remarkably fine window in St. Paul's Church, Birmingham; memorial and other windows in Babworth Church, Nottinghamshire; Aston Church, near Birmingham; Hatton, Warwickshire; Shuckburgh Church, in the same county; Pepplewick, Nottinghamshire; Barr and Bromley Regis, Staffordshire; Stannor, Berkshire; Earthing and Llangollen, Denbighshire; Shrivenham and Frome, Somersetshire; St. Martin's Outwich, London; Tewkesbury Abbey Church, and many other places. Besides these, some of Francis Eginton's principal works were the large window over the altar of Salisbury Cathedral, representing the Resurrection, after a design by Sir Joshua Reynolds, but which has since been removed to make room for memorial windows to Dean Lear; the west and several other windows in the same cathedral; the east and other windows of Lichfield Cathedral (1795); the windows of Merton College Chapel, Oxford (in 1794); windows in the Mausoleum at Brocklesby, in the chapel at Wardour Castle, in the chapel at Pain's Hill, in the banqueting-room and other rooms at Arundel Castle, at Sundorn Castle, and at Fonthill, the charming art-seat of William Beckford. Francis Eginton had a son Francis, who was also, like his father, a clever engraver. He had also another son, William Raphael Eginton, who inherited his father's talents as a glass stainer, and produced many exquisite, indeed matchless, works. His son was my late friend, Harvey Eginton, the architect, who did so much and so well towards restoring and preserving the magnificent Guesten Hall, at Worcester, which has of late years been ruthlessly destroyed. Two daughters of William Raphael Eginton survive, the youngest of whom inherits to the fullest extent the exquisite taste, the ability, and the artistic excellence of her family. If proof of the love which Josiah Wedgwood felt for his art, and of the pride and satisfaction with which he stored some of his successful works, were wanting, it would abundantly be found in the following interesting and characteristic letter written by him in 1789: "Etruria, 16th October, 1789. "I do not know what to say about parting with the fine Etruscan vase. It is the most perfect and complete piece I ever made quite a chef-d'œuvre; but then you will say, how can it be placed more honourably than in the cabinet of a king? No one can be more sensible of the honour done to me and to my manufacture in the present instance; but notwithstanding the advantageous change this favourite piece would experience, I cannot help feeling a pang at the thoughts of parting with it, as I am certain I shall never make, or perhaps see, the like again. I will consult my son Jos., who is from home this evening, and will let you know the result in my next. "I will try to get a French pye made, and take a mould from it; but ten to one it will be so old-fashioned made here, that it will not be liked. "The original order for St. Andrew's Cross did not mention any hole to be made, for I looked at it myself. "Adieu." The body of which the imitation "French pies" were made was the "Bamboo" ware. Of this same body were made those wonderful and elegant achievements of fictile art, open-work baskets, which were considered to be among the most choice of Wedgwood's productions. The body was well calculated, both by its lightness, its colour, and other characteristics, to carry out deception, and to make the plainer patterns pass for real wicker-work of the finest quality. The example here engraved is in the museum at Hanley. It is an open-work basket and cover, of peculiar but remarkably graceful form-a form difficult to produce, and is ornamented with festoons and wreaths of flowers. CHAPTER XIX. JOSIAH WEDGWOOD.-HIS LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH.-ETRURIA HALL.-BURIAL AT STOKE.-MONODY BY REV. W. FERNYHOUGH.—WEDGWOOD'S MONUMENT AT STOKE-UPON-TRENT. -OBITUARY NOTICES. I HAVE already, before this digression, brought my narrative down to the middle of the year 1793. In the following year Josiah Wedgwood was seized with his last illness, and on the 3rd of January, 1795, breathed his last. From the time when he first-at that early age already spoken of-turned the lumbering potter's wheel in that old, old room at the churchyard at Burslem, to the time when he lay on his death-bed in that fine mansion, Etruria Hall— built on his own estate, and reared at his own cost-the proprietor of the largest pottery manufactory in the world, and looked up to by people of every class-his mind had ever been active, ever rising above his bodily ailments, ever seeking out fresh scientific truths, and ever busying itself to benefit his fellow-men; and in the midst of his most successful labours after reaping to the full the reward of his industry, his toil, and his research-that mind which had by its working been the support of thousands of his fellowcreatures, and from which there are few who do not at the present day derive benefit in some way or other, died out but with his life, and left him resting from his worldly toil. On the 3rd of January, 1795, Josiah Wedgwood died, and on the 6th his remains were interred in the parish church of St. Peter, Stoke-upon-Trent, as shown by the following extract from the parish register : "Burials in 1795. Jany. 6th, Josiah Wedgwood, of Etruria ;" the entry being in the handwriting of "William Fernyhough, minister of Stoke-upon-Trent," by whom it is attested. This clergyman, a man of rare talent, impressed with the solemnity of the death of so great and good a man, wrote the following "MONODY ON THE LATE JOSIAH WEDGWOOD, ESQ., F.R.S., F.S.A. "The plaintive Muse o'er WEDGWOOD's mournful bier He needs no verse in artful language drest, The sigh of sorrow met thy tender ear; The shivering limbs were cover'd from the cold, No common loss afflicts our throbbing hearts, His soul superior ranged the fictile field, |