GRAVEYARD WIT

New Zealand Times, Volume XXXVII, Issue 8612, 24 December 1913, Page 10

GRAVEYARD WIT

AMUSING EPITAPHS Culled from tablets found n* NEW ENGLAND. New England is a fertile field of rrv search for mortuary inscriptions, sayq a writer in the Boston “Transcript.’’ Ah most every village cemetery has its gems, ami they are scattered all tho way frous Maine, where Lies tho body of John Mound, Lost at sea. and never found, and where John Phillips, Accidentally shot an a mark of affections' by his brother, sloops in peace niter life’s fitful fever, ti* Connecticut, whoso marital joys aro set forth iu the concise statement: Hero lies the body of Ohadiah Wilkinsom And Kutli his wife Their warfare is accoiuxilished, Vermont continues tho question, "1* marriage a failure?” and shows both .sides. The first is from Burlington : She lived with her husband fifty years, And died iu the confident hope of ». better life. Number two is still more emphatic, and shows a wit, indeed, more akin to France than to sober Xcw England: My wife lies here, AU my tears canuo-t bring her back. Therefore I weep, i A tombstone at Stowe repels curiosity as follows i I was somebody—who, is no business o{ yours, , while one in Peak Cemetery raises but does not satisfy it— Thomas Culbert. The voice of a stepfather beneath this Stone is to rest one shamefully robbed la life by Iris wile s son, and Esq. Tom And David Leary’s wife. A favourite found in many places, is—■ Stranger, reflect, as you pass by, - As you are now, so once was I; As 1 am now, so shall you be. Prepare for death and iollow me. Those written on children aro espe. cialiy noticeable for their brevity, tor instance, this from Stowe i Sacred to the memory of three twine. And again, from Burlington i Died when young and full of promise. Of whooping cough our Thomas. ■ The very virtues of the deceased often, prove their ruin, from an elegiac point of view, us iu the following case, from Maine j Hero Betsey Brown her body lies, Her soul is flying in the skies. While hero on earth, she sometimes spun Sis hundred skeins, from sun to sun; And wove one day, her daughter brags, ‘Two hundred pounds of carpet rags. And in another, from Pembroke, N.H. i Hero lies a man never beat by a plan. Straight was his aim, and sure of his game Never was a lover hut invented a revolver while Amanda Lowe’s has a homely do-, mestioity about it that recalls Lowell’s favourite epitaph, “She was so pleasant 1” For Amanda, wo learn, ’ Loved me, and my grandchildren revere cnced her. ’ She bathed rny feet and kept-my sock* well darned. . In Wayland we have, apparently, the original mugwump: Here lies the body of Dr Hayward, A man who never voted. Of such is tho kingdom of heaven. And at Wcfadeli another original in buried i Here lies the body of Samuel Proctor \Vho lived and died without a doctor. At Mount Auburn an especially pun* gent inscription is recorded; Here lies a man beneath this sod. Who slandered all except his God, And Him ho would have slandered too But that his God ho never' knew. And another in Connecticut, in which the relatives evidently got ©yen with tha husband of the deceased i Here lies the mother of children five. Of whom three are dead: and two are alive Tho three that aro dead preferring rather To die with their mother than live with their father. Outside New England the harvest i* not so rich; yet some gleanings may bo presented. Delaware records one in which grief struggles with grammar an follows : And am she dead, and are she gone? And have she left I all alone? Oh, cruel fate! you is unkind To take she ’fore, and leave I ’hind; while Pennsylvania has another, full oi stammering eloquence; She was—words is wanting to tell whatl Think what a friend should bo—she was that! From New York comes a specimen will, a suggestive flavour of tho railway tametable about it: She was in health at 11.00 A.M., And left for heaven at 3-30 P.M. And a second, that is breathlessly brief-' This corps is Phebo Thorp's. Poor Phebe! was there nothing more bo say ? From a mountain churchyard in Pennsylvania comes this warning: Here in this world we make short stay, for Death will come and take no nay] Be always ready night and day, I suddenly was snatched away. The following has no local habitation, but is certainly universally applicable: A bird, a man, a loaded gun; No bird —dead man—Thy will be done, Tho next is from Ireland—or, if it isn’t, it ought to be, for_.it is bull of truly Irish breed: Here lies William Green, who died in. Manchester, Sept. 18, 18—. Had he lived, ho would have been buried hero. Still, there are New England examples quite as bad —or good—such as: Here lies tho body of Thomas Vernon, The only suiviviug son of Admiral Ver» non. There is no ambiguity to be complained of in the following appeal: Alpha White, Weight 3-Ofilba. Open wide ye golden gates Thar, lead to the heavenly shore; Dor father suffered iu passing through And mother weighs much more! which reminds one of the inscription in Hhotford churchyard, England: Beneath this monumental stone Lies half a ton of flesh and bona