Xxv1 REPORT. 
“During the month of May, only four deaths occurred, but 
towards the middle and end of June, ‘the desolating monster 
stalked from house to house, breathing on the trembling inhabi- 
tants the vapour of death.’ The passing-bell ceased, the church- 
yard was no longer used for interments, the church was closed, 
funeral rites no longer read, and coffins and shrouds no longer 
thought of; but shallow graves, dug in the fields and gardens 
around their late homes, received each putrid corpse ere life was 
scarce extinct. 
‘The dead are everywhere ! 
The mountain side, the plain, the wood profound ; 
All the lone dells—the fertile and the fair 
Is one vast burial ground.’ 
“‘ Besides those in the churchyard, only a few vestiges of these 
interments now exist. The Riley graves mark the spot where the 
Hancocks lie, on the sunny hill-side a quarter of a mile from the 
village ; and a tabular tomb in the orchard of the present Riley 
House, close by, records the memories of the Talbot family, all of 
whom were swept away. Two in the town end are to the memory 
of George and Mary Darby; and one in a field, at the west end 
of the village, with the initials H. M., mark the resting place of 
Humphrey Merril. But these memorial stones, once so numerous 
in fields and gardens, have been w#ilised at different times for 
paving and building ; and it is much to be regretted that the 
inhabitants of Eyam did not treat both them and the green 
grassy graves of the departed heroes with more veneration and 
respect. 
“When the church was closed through being considered dan- 
gerous to assemble there, Mompesson met his daily diminishing 
flock in the secluded dingle called the Delf, Delve, or Cussy Dell, 
a ravine running down from Eyam to Middleton Dale. Here he 
read prayers twice a week, and delivered his customary sermons 
on the Sabbath, from the perforated rock, since known by the 
the name of Cucklett Church. From the rude portals of this 
rock, the youthful pastor addressed his scant flock. 
‘A pallid, ghost-like, melancholy crew, 
Seated on scattered crags, and far-off knolls, 
As fearing each the other.’ 
