EPITAPHS

Evening Star, Issue 19272, 10 June 1926, Page 9

EPITAPHS

SOME QUAINT EXAMPLES

Those who believe, witli Tennyson’s ‘Northern Farmer,’ that “Man in the Romp is bad>” ought to be speedily converted by a study of the opithphs in the nearest cemetery. They will probably return wondering how so many virtues can be packed m one small body. They will also find a triumphant refutation of the popular criticisms on the rich, for, roughly speaking, the more money the deceased left behind him, the longer the roll of his good points. Occasionally, however, the compilers of these records seem to have been somewhat short of material, as in the case of a French lady bunod at Treguir at the ripe ago of eighty-eight. Her mural tablet mentions that 1 during the last years of her life she was remarkable for her chastity.” Although most epitaphs are mere variations of three or four models, it is only natural that an original note should be struck occasionally, seeing the number of persons who have died and been commemorated. The diligent searcher will be rewarded by discoveries of humor (usually unintentional), cynicism, and plain advertisement. A specimen of the last named from Bicloford is fairly well known: — Here lies the landlord of the Lion, His hopes removed to lands of Sion. His wife, resigned to Heaven’s will, Will carry on the business still. Two years later was added: — Hero lies the landlord’s loving wife, Her soul removed from Lands of strife. She’s gone aloft, her spouse to toll The inn bo loft her turned out well. The following from Clerkenwoll might have been edited with advantage:— Here lies Captain Ernest Bloomfield, Accidentally shot by his orderly, March 2nd, 1789. “Well done, good and faithful servant.” One of a somewhat similar nature conies from Caledonia, stern and wild:— Erected to the memory of John MacFarlano, Drowned in the Water of Leith By a few affectionate friends. Bodwelly contributes the following, inscribed on the tombstone of a wife; — This poor man wept, and the Lord heard him and delivered InTn out of all his troubles. While Bewsy, in Wiltshire, can boast of: —

Here lies the body of Lady O’Looney. She was Bland, passionate, and deeply religious. Also, she painted in water colors, And sent several pictures to the Exhibition. She was first cousin to Lady Jones, And of such are the Kingdom of Heaven. This lady, by the way, was a relative of Edmund Burke. Genius seems to have run in the family. Many choice examples come from America, but are, alas! of doubtful authenticity. Hero is a typical specimen : Little Willy from his mirror Licked the mercury right off, Thinking, by a childish error, It would cure his whooping cough, At the funeral, his mother Smartly said to Mrs Brown: “ Twas a chilly day for Willy When the mercury went down.” Ireland sends something racy of the soil from Laidfield : Under this stone lie two babies dear; One was buried in Connaught, the other here. A more sardonic note is struck under the Southern Cross. A tombstone, dated 1804 ; in the old _ Dayey Street Cemetery, in Hobart, i$ inscribed : Farewell, vain world! I’ve had enough of thee. Heedless am I what you may think of me. If of my faults you speak, look nearer home; You’ll find that there there’s plenty to be done. An almost similar inscription, dated 1776, is to be found in Kensington. Of Grimaldi’s “ Here I am!”; of the “ Soyor Tranquillo ” over the grave of the famous chef; of the tender and wistful memorial verses scattered through the Green Anthology; of the noble lines of Landor; of Stevenson’s “Under the wide and starry sky” we may not speak. The curious will find much information in the recently-pub-lished ‘ Epitaphs ’ by Mr W. H. Bcablo. The bones of Agamemnon are a show, And ruined is his royal monument. Perhaps less illustrious ghosts will forgive our little excursion into their territory.