THE LAST WORD

New Zealand Times, Volume XXXIII, Issue 7865, 29 July 1911, Page 13

THE LAST WORD

THE churchyard wit that in earlier times was a popular expression of the last word concerning those who had gone down into the silence has passed out of fashion. It was often neither Toveront nor dignified, as in the case of one whoso tombstone set forth that "Hero lies Sarah Owymje Who broke this outward shell of fin hid hatched horsolf a cherubim.' But that was in a very old churchyard, whose plenteous graves spread close around the .still older church. A church whcoo slender spiro rising above tho sheltering elms was a landmark in the peaceful valley, and whoso exquisitely carvcn. rood screen was dark with ago. Brief and to tho point is this somewhat ungracious last word: "Horo lies tho body of W.W. AVho never more will trouble you, trouble you.” I fancy, W.W. was a lonely old chap, a ‘bachelor, and ono who had no outward grace of maimer wherewith to endear .himself to strangers. Proud, too, with the bitter prido of those to whom the “uses of adversity” are never sweet. Ho knew ho was a trouble. Tho silly good-natured people who waited on him end pretended it was a pleasure could not take him in! There was a. certain sardonic satisfaction, in worrying out that brief epitaph which would show when he had gone that ho know ho was a trouble, and knew that other people •knew it! The Eighteenth Century was very prolific in curious epitaphs, witty, sardonic, now casting a sly warning at the reader, now getting oft' a post mortem joke at the helpless tenant'of the scant six foot of freehold below. Hero is a last word, brimful of witty ambiguity: "To tho memory of Susan Mum —Silence is wisdom—" .Does it mean sho was commondably silent and was a living exposition of "Mum?” or does it moan that her faults were so numerous that "Silence is wisdom" thereon? There* is no ambiguity however about the following: "Beneath this silent stone is laid A noisy antiquated maid, "Who from her cradle talked till death. And ne'er before was out of breath.' Reflections on tho uncertainty of life, the certainty of. death, have naturally a great predominance in tho epitaphs of oil times. Hero is one such from an ■>ld churchyard in Sussex: "Earth waiketh on tho Earth Glistening like sold: Barth sooth to tho Barth. Sooner than it wold. Barth buildeth on tho Earth, Palaces and towers: Earth sayoth to tho Earth, All shall be ours.” In the same churchyard many years ■ago was an ancient stone on. which .with much difficulty was deciphered the .tragic detail of a forgotten sleeper’s end "Hero He I. Killed by a sky— . Itocket in the eye Aged for-ty." The conscientious detail of. the conclud-,in-g lino is invaluable as rounding oft ,fhe whole brief tragedy! There is more than a touch of cynicism in the following bit of churchyard wisdom of tho Georgian period: "Life's like an Inn -where Travellers stay Borne only breakfast and away, Others to dinner stay, and are Eull-tea; The longest only sup and go to bed. Long is his Bill who lingers out the day— Who goes the soonest, has the least to pay."

Coming back to the more personal "last word" some curions lines were written on the death of Frederick, son of George IT. Conspicuous by their j reckless irreverence, they hit the taste j of the,period: j Here lies Fred Who was alive, and i© dead; I had much rather Han it. oten hi* la.&hor; Had it been his brother, .Much better than another; Had it been his sister, No one would have missed her; Had it been the whole generation. So much better far the Nation. Hut as it's only Fred, Who w;is alive and is nead, t There's no more to bo said." Could there bo a much better example of tho change in temper and manner of the English people, the change in •the relation of tho Royal family to the people than that idle churchyard lampoon? Imagine the death of one of our Xing’s sons—Georg© V. instead of George II. — and tho national sympathy that would sweep in one heartfelt wave round those dominions on which tho sun ever shines! Tho form of tho epitaphs was ‘ varied as the sentiment. There was, for instance, tho epitaph which was composed to show that "Here lies two children dear. One in tho next Parish, and the other here." More complicated is tho tombstone in the churchyard of Nettlebad, Oxfordshire, which explains to the curious or tho devout that "Hero lies Father and Mother and Sister and 1. Wo all died’ within the short space of one year. They be all buried at Wimble except I And be buried bore." In so involved a position of family affairs some explanation certainly was necessary. Affection, and a pretty wit, alike speak from tho last word which, an old-time farmer set over the grave of his fair, sweet daughter, Letitia: j Grim Death to please hia liquorish palate Hath taken my Lattice to put in his sallet." A last word which breathes .of resignation, if not of piety, may be seen at old Grey Friars, Edinburgh. It runs thus; "Hero snug in grave, my wife doth lie Now she's at rest, and so am I." Rather a cowardly "last word" too, it strikes me; but I imagine he had wait>ed so long without ever having a chance to get the last word, that he may almost be pardoned! Full of simple, most touching sadness, the very epitome of sordid life and lonely death, life lived • without the solaco o*f green -trees, sunshine, or the great soothing of the sea; death faced without the comfort and companionship of friends or kinsmen is this brief chronicle: "Poorly lived, Poorly died. Poorly buried. And no one cried. ' Nay, it is too sad. I cannot end with that. Let our last words b© of the grave beneath tho high above the summer seas at Vailima, with Robert Louis Stevenson's cheerful faith imperishably graven there; "Under tho wide and starry sky D ! g the grave and lot me lie: Glad did I„ live and gladly die. And I lay mo down with a will. These be- the linos you grave for me— • ‘Hero ho lies where he longed to be. Home is tho Sailor, home from the sea, And the Hunter homo from the Hill.'" —ZEALANDIA.