Chapter III: Part 3

Here lies a marksman, who with art and skill,
When young and strong, fat bucks and does did kill.
Now conquered by grim Death (go, reader, tell it!)
He's now took leave of powder, gun, and pellet.
A fatal dart, which in the dark did fly,
Has laid him down, among the dead to lie.
If any want to know the poor slave's name,
'Tis old TOM BOOTH,--ne'er ask from whence he came.

Old Tom was so highly pleased with the epitaph, which was written before his death, that he had it engraved on the stone some months before its services were required. In addition to the epitaph itself, the head-stone was made to include Booth's name, etc., and also that of his wife, blank places being left in each case for the age and time of death. Booth's compartment of the stone was in due course properly filled up; but the widow, disliking the exhibition of her name on a tombstone while living, resolved that such stone should never indicate her resting-place when dead; she accordingly left an injunction that her body be interred elsewhere, and the inscription is incomplete to this day.

Some time before Amos Street, a celebrated Yorkshire huntsman, died, a stone was obtained, and on it engraved the following lines:--

This is to the memory of OLD AMOS,
Who was when alive for hunting famous;
But now his chases are all o'er
And here he's earth'd, of years four score.
Upon this tomb he's often sat
And tried to read his epitaph;
And thou who dost so at this moment
Shall ere long like him be dormant.

Poor "Old Amos" passed away on October 3rd, 1777, and was buried in Birstal churchyard. The foregoing inscription may still be read.

The Rev. R. H. Whitworth tells us: "There is an old monument in the south aisle of Blidworth Church, to the memory of Thomas Leake, Esq., who was killed at Blidworth Rocking, in A.D. 1598. He may be regarded as the last of the race who sat in Robin Hood's seat, if those restless Forest Chiefs, typified under that name, can be supposed ever to have sat at all. Leake held office under the Crown, but was as wild a freebooter as ever drew bow. His character is portrayed in his epitaph:--

Here rests T. LEAKE, whose vertues weere so knowne
In all these parts that this engraved stone
Needs navght relate bvt his vntimely end
Which was in single fight: wylst youth did lend
His ayde to valor, hee wth ease orepast
Many slyght dangers, greater then this last
Bvt willfvlle fate in these things governs all
Hee towld ovt threescore years before his fall
Most of wch tyme he wasted in this wood
Mvch of his wealth and last of all his blood.

The border of this monument is rudely panelled, each panel having some forest hunting subject in relief. There are hounds getting scent, and a hound pursuing an antlered stag; a hunting horn, ribboned; plunging and flaying knives, a crossbow, a forest-bow, two arrows, and two hunters' belts with arrows inserted. This is his register--

THOMAS LEAKE, esquire, buried the
4th February, 1598.

There is a captivating bit of romance connected with Leake's death, which occurred at Archer's Water. Although somewhat 'provectus in aetate,' he had won the affections of the landlady's daughter, much to the annoyance of the mother. Archer's Water was on the old driftroad by Blidworth, from Edinburgh to London, that by which Jeanie Deans travelled, and over which Dick Turpin rode. Hundreds of thousands of Scotch cattle went by this way to town, and there was a difficulty connected with a few of them in which Leake was concerned, and a price being set upon his head, his mother-in-law, that was to be, betrayed him to two young soldiers anxious to secure the reward, one of whom was, in the mother's eyes, the more favoured lover. Tom was always attended by two magnificent dogs, and went well armed. Thrown off his guard he left his dogs in an outhouse, and entering the inn laid aside his weapons, when he was set upon and overpowered, and, like many better men before him, slain. The name of a Captain Salmond of the now extinct parish or manor of Salterford is connected with this transaction. The date of the combat is 2nd February, being the festival of the Presentation of Christ in the Temple, with which the highly interesting and historical observance of Blidworth _Rocking_ is connected. Within the memory of living men, a baby decked with such flowers as the season afforded was placed in a cradle and carried about from house to house by an old man, who received a present on the occasion. As the church is dedicated to St. Mary in connection with the Purification, the 2nd of February being the Feast Day, this is probably an interesting reminiscence of some old species of Miracle Play, or observance connected with the foundation. Anciently people from all neighbouring counties used to attend this season. Forest games were played, and amid the attendant licence and confusion, Leake came to his last grief. Not only in this church does this Ranger of the Blidworth Wood, for this was his office, possess a memorial. A large cross was erected, now standing at Fountain Dale, thus inscribed:--

Hoc crucis fragmen
Traditum a sylvicolis monumentum
Loci ubi in singulari certamine
Gladiator ille insignis
THO. LEAKE
Mori occubui
Anno MDXCVIII.
Ab antiqua sede remotum
H. P. C.
Joannes Downall
Prid. Non Sext. MDCCCXXXVI.

What became of the daughter tradition sayeth not. Doubtless she died, as Tom Leake's intended bride ought, of grief, and was buried under some grand old oak in Blidworth Forest."

Let us direct attention to another class of sportsmen. At Bunney, a monument is erected to Sir Thomas Parkyns, the well-known wrestler. It bears four lines in Latin, which have been translated thus:--

At length he falls, the long contest's o'er,
And Time has thrown whom none e'er threw before;
Yet boast not (Time) thy victory, for he
At last shall rise again and conquer thee.

The next is copied from a stone in St. Michael's churchyard, Coventry, on a famous fencing master:--

To the memory of Mr. JOHN PARKES,
A native of this City
He was a man of mild disposition,
A Gladiator by profession;
Who after having fought 350 battles,
In the principal parts of Europe,
With honour and applause,
At length quitted the stage, sheathed his sword,
And with Christian resignation,
Submitted to the Grand Victor
In the 52nd year of his age
Anno Domini 1733.

An old stone bearing the foregoing inscription was replaced by a new one some years ago at the expense of the late S. Carter, Esq., formerly Member of Parliament for Coventry. In the pages of the _Spectator_ honourable mention is made of John Parkes.

In the churchyard of Hanslope is buried Sandy M'Kay, the Scottish giant, who was killed in a prize fight with Simon Byrne. A headstone bears the following inscription:--

Sacred to the memory of
ALEX. M'KAY,
(Late of Glasgow),
Who died 3rd June, 1834,
Aged 26 years.

Strong and athletic was my frame;
Far from my native home I came,
And manly fought with Simon Byrne;
Alas! but lived not to return.
Reader, take warning of my fate,
Lest you should rue your case too late;
If you ever have fought before,
Determine now to fight no more.

We are informed that Byrne was killed shortly afterwards, whilst engaged in fighting.

From the prize-ring let us turn to the more satisfactory amusement of cricket. In Highgate Cemetery, Lillywhite, the celebrated cricketer, is buried, and over his remains is placed a monument with the significant emblem of a wicket being upset with a ball.

The following lines are said to be copied from a tombstone in a cemetery near Salisbury:--

I bowl'd, I struck, I caught, I stopp'd,
Sure life's a game of cricket,
I blocked with care, with caution popp'd,
Yet Death has hit my wicket.

The tennis ball is introduced in an epitaph placed in St. Michael's Church, Coventry. It reads thus:--

Here lyes the Body of Captain GERVASE SCROPE, of the Family of
Scropes, of Bolton, in the County of York, who departed this life the
26th day of August, Anno Domini, 1705.

AN EPITAPH WRITTEN BY HIMSELF IN THE AGONY AND
DOLOROUS PAINES OF THE GOUT, AND DYED SOON
AFTER.

Here lies an Old Toss'd Tennis Ball,
Was Racketted from Spring to Fall
With so much heat, and so much hast,
Time's arm (for shame) grew tyr'd at last,
Four Kings in Camps he truly seru'd,
And from his Loyalty ne'r sweru'd.
Father ruin'd, the Son slighted,
And from the Crown ne'r requited,
Loss of Estate, Relations, Blood,
Was too well Known, but did no good,
With long Campaigns and paines of th' Govt,
He cou'd no longer hold it out:
Always a restless life he led,
Never at quiet till quite dead,
He marry'd in his latter dayes,
One who exceeds the com'on praise,
But wanting breath still to make Known
Her true Affection and his Own,
Death kindly came, all wants supply'd
By giuing Rest which life deny'd.

We conclude this class of epitaphs with a couple of piscatorial examples. The first is from the churchyard of Hythe:--

His net old fisher George long drew,
Shoals upon shoals he caught,
'Till Death came hauling for his due,
And made poor George his draught.
Death fishes on through various shapes,
In vain it is to fret;
Nor fish nor fisherman escapes
Death's all-enclosing net.

In the churchyard of Great Yarmouth, under date of 1769, an epitaph runs thus:--

Here lies doomed,
In this vault so dark,
A soldier weaver, _angler_, and clerk;
Death snatched him hence, and from him took
His gun, his shuttle, fish-rod, and hook,
He could not weave, nor fish, nor fight, so then
He left the world, and faintly cried--Amen.

Bacchanalian Epitaphs.

Some singular epitaphs are to be found over the remains of men who either manufactured, dispensed, or loved the social glass. In the churchyard of Newhaven, Sussex, the following may be seen on the grave of a brewer:--

To the memory of
THOMAS TIPPER who
departed this life May the 14th
1785 Aged 54 Years.

READER, with kind regard this GRAVE survey
Nor heedless pass where TIPPER'S ashes lay,
Honest he was, ingenuous, blunt, and kind;
And dared do, what few dare do, speak his mind,
PHILOSOPHY and HISTORY well he knew,
Was versed in PHYSICK and in Surgery too,
The best old STINGO he both brewed and sold,
Nor did one knavish act to get his Gold.
He played through Life a varied comic part,
And knew immortal HUDIBRAS by heart.
READER, in real truth, such was the Man,
Be better, wiser, laugh more if you can.

The next, on John Scott, a Liverpool brewer, is rather rich in puns:--

Poor JOHN SCOTT lies buried here;
Although he was both hale and stout
Death stretched him on the bitter bier.
In another world he hops about.

On a butler in Ollerton churchyard is the following curious epitaph:--

Beneath the droppings of this spout,
Here lies the body once so stout,
Of FRANCIS THOMPSON.
A soul this carcase once possess'd,
Which of its virtues was caress'd,
By all who knew the owner best.
The Ruffords records can declare,
His action who, for seventy year,
Both drew and drank its potent beer;
Fame mentions not in all that time,
In this great Butler the least crime,
To stain his reputation.
To envy's self we now appeal,
If aught of fault she can reveal,
To make her declaration.
Here rest good shade, nor hell nor vermin fear,
Thy virtues guard thy soul, thy body good strong beer.
He died July 6th, 1739.

We will next give a few epitaphs on publicans. Our first is from Pannal churchyard; it is on Joseph Thackerey, who died on the 26th of November, 1791:--

In the year of our Lord 1740
I came to the Crown;
In 1791 they laid me down.

The following is from the graveyard of Upton-on-Severn, and placed to the memory of a publican. The lines, it will be seen, are a dexterous weaving of the spiritual with the temporal:--

Beneath this stone, in hope of Zion,
Doth lie the landlord of the "Lion,"
His son keeps on the business still,
Resign'd unto the Heavenly will.

In 1789 passed away the landlady of the "Pig and Whistle," Greenwich, and the following lines were inscribed to her memory:--

Assign'd by Providence to rule a tap,
My days pass'd glibly, till an awkward rap,
Some way, like bankruptcy, impell'd me down.
But up I got again and shook my gown
In gamesome gambols, quite as brisk as ever,
Blithe as the lark and gay as sunny weather;
Composed with creditors, at five in pound,
And frolick'd on till laid beneath this ground.
The debt of nature must, you know, be paid,
No trust from her--God grant _extent in aid_.

On an innkeeper in Stockbridge, the next may be seen:--

In memory of
JOHN BUCKETT,
Many year's landlord of the King's
Head Inn, in this Borough,
Who departed this life Nov. 2, 1802.
Aged 67 years.

And is, alas! poor Buckett gone?
Farewell, convivial, honest John.
Oft at the well, by fatal stroke,
Buckets, like pitchers, must be broke.
In this same motley shifting scene,
How various have thy fortunes been!
Now lifted high--now sinking low.
To-day thy brim would overflow,
Thy bounty then would all supply,
To fill and drink, and leave thee dry;
To-morrow sunk as in a well,
Content, unseen, with truth to dwell:
But high or low, or wet or dry,
No rotten stave could malice spy.
Then rise, immortal Buckett, rise,
And claim thy station in the skies;
'Twixt Amphora and Pisces shine,
Still guarding Stockbridge with thy sign.

From the "Sportive Wit; the Muses' Merriment," issued in 1656, we extract the following lines on John Taylor, "the Water Poet," who was a native of Gloucester, and died in Phoenix Alley, London, in the 75th year of his age. You may find him, if the worms have not devoured him, in Covent Garden churchyard:--

Here lies JOHN TAYLOR, without rime or reason,
For death struck his muse in so cold a season,
That JACK lost the use of his scullers to row:
The chill pate rascal would not let his boat go.
Alas, poor JACK TAYLOR! this 'tis to drink ale
With nutmegs and ginger, with a taste though stale,
It drencht thee in rimes. Hadst thou been of the pack
With Draiton and Jonson to quaff off thy sack,
They'd infus'd thee a genius should ne'er expire,
And have thaw'd thy muse with elemental fire.
Yet still, for the honour of thy sprightly wit,
Since some of thy fancies so handsomely hit.
The nymphs of the rivers for thy relation
Sirnamed thee the _water-poet_ of the nation.
Who can write more of thee let him do't for me.
A ---- take all rimers, JACK TAYLOR, but thee.
Weep not, reader, if thou canst chuse,
Over the stone of so merry a muse.

Robert Burns wrote the following epitaph on John Dove, innkeeper, Mauchline:--

Here lies JOHNNY PIGEON:
What was his religion?
Whae'er desires to ken,
To some other warl'
Maun follow the carl,
For here Johnny had none!
Strong ale was ablution--
Small beer persecution,
A dram was _memento mori_;
But a full flowing bowl
Was the saving of his soul,
And port was celestial glory.

We extract, from a collection of epitaphs, the following on a publican:--

A jolly landlord once was I,
And kept the Old King's Head hard by,
Sold mead and gin, cider and beer,
And eke all other kinds of cheer,
Till Death my license took away,
And put me in this house of clay:
A house at which you all must call,
Sooner or later, great or small.

It is stated in Mr. J. Potter Briscoe's entertaining volume, "Nottinghamshire Facts and Fictions," that in the churchyard of Edwalton is a gravestone to the memory of Mrs. Freland, a considerable landowner, who died in 1741; but who, it would appear from the inscription, was a very free liver, for her memorial says:--

She drank good ale, strong punch and wine,
And lived to the age of ninety-nine.

A gravestone in Darenth churchyard, near Dartford, bears the following epitaph:--

Oh, the liquor he did love, but never will no more
For what he lov'd did turn his foe;
For on the 28th of January 1741, that fatal day,
The Debt he owed he then did pay.

At Chatham, on a drunkard, good advice is given:--

Weep not for him, the warmest tear that's shed
Falls unavailing o'er the unconscious dead;
Take the advice these friendly lines would give,
Live not to drink, but only drink to live.

From Tonbridge churchyard we glean the following:--

Hail!
This stone marks the spot
Where a notorious sot
Doth lie;
Whether at rest or not
It matters not
To you or I.

Oft to the "Lion" he went to fill his horn,
Now to the "Grave" he's gone to get it warm.

_Beered by public subscription by his hale and stout companions, who
deeply lament his absence._

From St. Peter's Mancroft, Norwich, are the following lines on Sarah Byfield, who died in 1719, comparing life to a market:--

Death is a market where all must meet,
It's found in every city, town, and street.
If we our lives like merchandise could buy,
The rich would ever live, the poor alone must die.

On a gravestone in the churchyard of Eton, placed to the memory of an innkeeper, it is stated:--

Life's an inn; my house will shew it:
I thought so once, but now I know it.
Man's life is but a winter's day;
Some only breakfast and away;
Others to dinner stop, and are full fed;
The oldest man but sups and then to bed:
Large is his debt who lingers out the day;
He who goes soonest has the least to pay.

Similar epitaphs to the foregoing may be found in many graveyards in this country. In Micklehurst churchyard, an inscription runs thus:--

Life is an Inn, where all men bait,
The waiter, Time, the landlord, Fate;
Death is the score by all men due,
I've paid my shot--and so must you.

In the old burial-ground in Castle Street, Hull, on the gravestone of a boy, a slightly different version of the rhyme appears:--

In memory of
JOHN, the son of JOHN and
ANN BYWATER, died 25th January,
1815, aged 14 years.

Life's like an Inn, where Travellers stay,
Some only breakfast and away;
Others to dinner stay and are full fed;
The oldest only sup and go to bed;
Long is the bill who lingers out the day,
Who goes the soonest has the least to pay.

The churchyard of Melton Mowbray furnishes another rendering of the lines:--

This world's an Inn, and I her guest:
I've eat and drank and took my rest
With her awhile, and now I pay
Her lavish bill and go my way.

The foregoing inscriptions, comparing life to a house, remind us of a curious inscription in Folkestone churchyard:--

In memory of
REBECCA ROGERS,
who died Aug. 22, 1688,
Aged 44 years.

A house she hath, it's made of such good fashion,
A tenant ne'er shall pay for reparation,
Nor will her landlord ever raise the rent,
Or turn her out of doors for non-payment;
From chimney money, too, this call is free,
To such a house, who would not tenant be.

In "Chronicles of the Tombs," by Thomas Joseph Pettigrew, published in 1857, it is stated respecting the foregoing epitaph: "Smoke money or chimney money is now collected at Battle, in Sussex, each householder paying one penny to the Lord of the Manor. It is also levied upon the inhabitants of the New Forest, in Hants, for the right of cutting peat and turf for fuel. And from 'Audley's Companion to the Almanac,' page 76, we learn that 'anciently, even in England, Whitsun farthings, or smoke farthings, were a composition for offerings made in the Whitsun week, by every man who occupied a house with a chimney, to the cathedral of the diocese in which he lived.' The late Mr. E. B. Price has observed, in _Notes and Queries_ (Vol. ii., p. 379), that there is a church at Northampton, upon which is an inscription recording that the expense of repairing it was defrayed by a grant of chimney money for, I believe, seven years, temp. Charles II."

In bygone times the "Boar's Head" was a common tavern sign, and this is not surprising for the animal figures in English history, poetry, romance and popular pastimes. The most famous inn bearing the title of the "Boar's Head" was that in Eastcheap, London. The earliest mention of this tavern occurs in the testament of William Warden in the days of Richard II., who gave "all that tenement called the Boar's Head in Eastcheap to a college of priests, or chaplain, founded by Sir William Walworth, the Lord Mayor, in the adjoining church of St. Michael, Crooked Lane." It was here that Prince Hal and "honest Jack Falstaff" played their pranks. At the door of the house until the Great Fire were carved figures of the two worthies. In the works of Goldsmith will be found a charming chapter called "Reflections in the Boar's Head Tavern, Eastcheap"; anyone interested in this old place should not fail to read it. In his pleasant day-dreams he forgets the important fact that the original house perished in the Great Fire. In the Guildhall Library is preserved the stone sign from the old house, which was pulled down in 1831 to make way for the streets leading to the new London Bridge. We give a picture of this old-time sign on the opposite page.

A famous waiter of this tavern was buried in the graveyard of St. Michael's Church, hard by, and a monument of Purbeck stone was placed to his memory bearing an interesting inscription. We give a picture of the gravestone, which has been removed to the yard of St. Magnus the Martyr.

The next example from Abesford, on an exciseman, is entitled to a place among Bacchanalian epitaphs:--

No supervisor's check he fears--
Now no commissioner obeys;
He's free from cares, entreaties, tears,
And all the heavenly oil surveys.

In the churchyard of North Wingfield, Derbyshire, a gravestone bears the following inscription:

In memory of THOMAS, son of John and Mary Clay, who departed this life
December 16th, 1724, in the 40th year of his age.

What though no mournful kindred stand
Around the solemn bier,
No parents wring the trembling hand,
Or drop the silent tear.

No costly oak adorned with art
My weary limbs inclose;
No friends impart a winding sheet
To deck my last repose.

The cause of the foregoing curious epitaph is thus explained. Thomas Clay was a man of intemperate habits, and at the time of his death was indebted to the village innkeeper, named Adlington, to the amount of twenty pounds. The publican resolved to seize the body; but the parents of the deceased carefully kept the door locked until the day appointed for the funeral. As soon as the door was opened, Adlington rushed into the house, seized the corpse, and placed it on a form in the open street in front of the residence of the parents of the departed. Clay's friends refused to discharge the publican's account. After the body had been exposed for several days, Adlington committed it to the ground in a _bacon chest_.

We conclude this class of epitaphs with the following from Winchester Cathedral yard:--

In memory of
THOMAS THETCHER,
a Grenadier in the North Regiment of Hants Militia,
who died of a violent fever contracted by drinking small
beer when hot
the 12th of May, 1764, aged 26 years.
In grateful remembrance of whose universal goodwill
towards his comrades this stone is placed here at their expense, as
a small testimony of their regard and concern.

Here sleeps in peace a Hampshire Grenadier,
Who caught his death by drinking cold small beer;
Soldiers, be wise from his untimely fall,
And when ye're hot drink strong, or none at all.

This memorial, being decayed, was restored by the officers of the
garrison, A.D. 1781:--

An honest soldier never is forgot,
Whether he die by musket or by pot.

This stone was placed by the North Hants Militia, when disembodied at
Winchester, on 26th April, 1802, in consequence of the original stone
being destroyed.

_From a Photo by F. A. Grant._]

Epitaphs on Parish Clerks and Sextons.

Not a few of our old parish clerks and sextons were eccentric characters, and it is not therefore surprising that their epitaphs are amongst the most curious of the many strange examples to be found in the quiet resting-places of the departed.

In the churchyard of Crayford is a gravestone bearing the following inscription:--

Here lieth the body
of
PETER ISNELL,
Thirty years clerk of this Parish.
He lived respected as a pious and mirthful man, and died on his
way to church to assist at a wedding,
On the 31st day of March, 1811,
Aged 70 years.

The inhabitants of Crayford have raised this stone to his cheerful
memory, and as a tribute to his long and faithful services.

The life of this clerk, just three score and ten,
Nearly half of which time he had sung out "Amen;"
In youth he was married, like other young men,
But his wife died one day, so he chanted "Amen."
A second he took, she departed--what then?
He married and buried a third with "Amen."
Thus his joys and his sorrows were treble, but then
His voice was deep bass, as he sung out "Amen."
On the horn he could blow as well as most men;
So his horn was exalted to blowing "Amen."
But he lost all his wind after three score and ten,
And here, with three wives, he awaits till again
The trumpet shall rouse him to sing out "Amen."

In addition to being parish clerk, Frank Raw, of Selby, Yorkshire, was a gravestone cutter, for we are told:--

Here lies the body of poor FRANK RAW,
Parish clerk and gravestone cutter,
And this is writ to let you know
What Frank for others used to do,
Is now for Frank done by another.

The next epitaph, placed to the memory of a parish clerk and bellows-maker, was formerly in the old church of All Saints', Newcastle-on-Tyne:--

Here lies ROBERT WALLAS,
The King of Good Fellows,
Clerk of All-Hallows,
And maker of bellows.

On a slate headstone, near the south porch of Bingham Church, Nottinghamshire, is inscribed:--

Beneath this stone lies THOMAS HART,
Years fifty-eight he took the part
Of Parish Clerk: few did excel.
Correct he read and sung so well;
His words distinct, his voice so clear,
Till eighteen hundred and fiftieth year.
Death cut the brittle thread, and then
A period put to his Amen.
At eighty-two his breath resigned,
To meet the fate of all mankind;
The third of May his soul took flight
To mansions of eternal light.
The bell for him with awful tone
His body summoned to the tomb.
Oh! may his sins be all forgiv'n
And Christ receive him into heav'n.

From the churchyard of Ratcliffe-on-Soar, we have a curious epitaph to the memory of Robert Smith, who died in 1782, aged 82 years:--

Fifty-five years it was, and something more,
Clerk of this parish he the office bore,
And in that space, 'tis awful to declare,
Two generations buried by him were!

In a note by Mr. Llewellyn Jewitt, F.S.A., we are told that with the clerkship of Bakewell Church, the "vocal powers" of its holders appear to have been to some extent hereditary, if we may judge by the inscriptions recording the deaths and the abilities of two members of the family of Roe, which are found on gravestones in the churchyard there. The first of these, recording the death of Samuel Roe, is as under:--

To
The memory of
SAMUEL ROE,
Clerk
Of the Parish Church of Bakewell,
Which office
He filled thirty-five years
With credit to himself
And satisfaction to the Inhabitants.
His natural powers of voice,
In clearness, strength, and sweetness
Were altogether unequalled.
He died October 31st, 1792,
Aged 70 years.

| died | aged
SARAH his third wife | 1811 | 77
CHARLES their son | 1810 | 52

He had three wives, Millicent, who died in 1745, aged 22; Dorothy, who died 1754, aged 28; and Sarah, who survived him and died in 1811, at the age of 77. A gravestone records the death of his first two wives as follows, and the third is commemorated in the above inscription.

MILLICENT,
Wife of Saml Roe,
She died Sepr 16th, 1745, aged 22.
DOROTHY,
Wife of Saml Roe,
She died Novr 13th, 1754, aged 28.

Respecting the above-mentioned Samuel Roe, a contributor to the _Gentleman's Magazine_ wrote, on February 13th, 1794:--

"Mr. Urban,

"It was with much concern that I read the epitaph upon Mr. Roe, in your last volume, p. 1192. Upon a little tour which I made in Derbyshire, in 1789, I met with that worthy and very intelligent man at Bakewell, and, in the course of my antiquarian researches there, derived no inconsiderable assistance from his zeal and civility. If he did not possess the learning of his namesake, your old and valuable correspondent, I will venture to declare that he was not less influenced by a love and veneration for antiquity, many proofs of which he had given by his care and attention to the monuments in the church, which were committed to his charge; for he united the characters of sexton, clerk, singing-master, will-maker, and school-master. Finding that I was quite alone, he requested permission to wait upon me at the inn in the evening, urging, as a reason for this request, that he must be exceedingly gratified by the conversation of a gentleman who could read the characters upon the monument of Vernon, the founder of Haddon House, a treat he had not met with for many years. After a very pleasant gossip we parted, but not till my honest friend had, after some apparent struggle, begged of me to indulge him with my name."

To his careful attention is to be attributed the preservation of the curious Vernon and other monuments in the church, over which, in some instances, he placed wooden framework to keep off the rough hands and rougher knives of the boys and young men of the congregation. He also watched with special care over the Wendesley tomb, and even took careful rubbings of the inscriptions.

While speaking of this Mr. Roe, it may be well to put the readers of this work in possession of an interesting fact in connection with the name of Roe, or Row. The writer above, in his letter to Mr. Urban, says, "If he did not possess the learning of his namesake, your old and valued correspondent," etc. By this he means "T. Row," whose contributions to the _Gent.'s Mag._ were very numerous and interesting. The writer under this signature was the Rev. Samuel Pegge, rector of Whittington, and the letters forming this pseudonym were the initials of the words, T[he] R[ector] O[f] W[hittington].

Philip Roe, who succeeded his father (Samuel Roe) as parish clerk of Bakewell, was his son by his third wife. He was born in 1763, and succeeded his father in full parochial honours in 1792, having, we believe, for some time previously acted as his deputy. He died in 1815, aged 52 years, and was buried with the other members of the family. The following curious inscription appears on his gravestone:--

Erected
In remembrance of
PHILIP ROE
who died 12th September, 1815
Aged 52 years.

The vocal Powers here let us mark
Of Philip our late Parish Clerk
In Church none ever heard a Layman
With a clearer Voice say "Amen!"
Who now with Hallelujahs Sound
Like him can make the roofs rebound?
The Choir lament his Choral Tones
The Town--so soon Here lie his Bones.
"Sleep undisturb'd within thy peaceful shrine
Till Angels wake thee with such notes as thine."

Also of SARAH his wife
who departed this life on the
24th of January 1817
aged 51 years.

Cuthbert Bede, B.A., says, "As a boy I often attended the service at Belbroughton Church, Worcestershire, where the parish clerk was Mr. Osborne, tailor. His family had there been parish clerks and tailors since the time of Henry the Eighth, and were lineally descended from William FitzOsborne, who, in the twelfth century, had been deprived by Ralph FitzHerbert of his right to the manor of Bellem, in the parish of Belbroughton. Often have I stood in the picturesque churchyard of Wolverley, Worcestershire, by the grave of its old parish clerk, whom I well remember, old Thomas Worrall, the inscription on whose monument is as follows:--

Sacred to the Memory of
THOMAS WORRALL,
Parish Clerk of Wolverley for a period of forty-seven years.
Died A.D. 1854, February 23rd.
Aged 76 years.

He served with faithfulness in humble sphere,
As one who could his talent well employ.
Hope that when Christ his Lord shall re-appear,
He may be bidden to His Master's joy.

This tombstone was erected to the memory of the deceased by a few of
the parishioners in testimony of his worth.

April, 1855. Charles R. Somers Cocks, vicar.

It may be noted of this worthy parish clerk that, with the exception of a week or two before his death, he was never once absent from his Sunday and week-day duties in the forty-seven years during which he held office. He succeeded his father, James Worrall, who died in 1806, aged seventy-nine, after being parish clerk of Wolverley for thirty years. His tombstone, near to that of his son, was erected 'to record his worth both in his public and private character, and as a mark of personal esteem--h.l.F.H.&W.C.p.c.' I am told that these initials stand for F. Hurtle and the Rev. William Callow, and that the latter was the author of the following lines inscribed on the monument, which are well worth quoting:--

If courtly bards adorn each statesman's bust,
And strew their laurels o'er each warrior's dust
Alike immortalise, as good and great,
Him who enslaved as him who saved the state,
Surely the muse (a rustic minstrel) may
Drop one wild flower upon a poor man's clay;
This artless tribute to his mem'ry give
Whose life was such as heroes seldom live.
In worldly knowledge, poor indeed his store--
He knew the village and he scarce knew more.
The worth of heavenly truth he justly knew--
In faith a Christian, and in practice too.
Yes, here lies one, excel him ye who can;
Go! imitate the virtues of that man!"

A memorial record on the church of Holy Trinity, Hull, is as follows:--

In memory of JOHN STONE
Parish Clerk 41 years
Excellent in his way
Buried here 26 May 1727
Aged 78.

First amongst notable sextons is the name of Old Scarlett, who died July 2, 1591, at the good old age of ninety-eight, and occupied for a long time the position of sexton of Peterborough Cathedral. He buried two generations of his fellow-creatures. A portrait of him, placed at the west end of that noble church, has perpetuated his fame, and caused him to be introduced in effigy in various publications. Says a writer in the "Book of Days": "And what a lively effigy--short, stout, hardy, and self-complacent, perfectly satisfied, and perhaps even proud, of his profession, and content to be exhibited with all its insignia about him! Two queens had passed through his hands into that bed which gives a lasting rest to queens and to peasants alike. An officer of Death, who had so long defied his principal, could not but have made some impression on the minds of bishop, dean, prebends, and other magnates of the Cathedral, and hence, as we may suppose, the erection of this lively portraiture of the old man, which is believed to have been only once renewed since it was first put up. Dr. Dibdin, who last copied it, tells us that 'Old Scarlett's jacket and trunkhose are of a brownish red, his stockings blue, his shoes black, tied with blue ribbons, and the soles of his feet red. The cap upon his head is red, and so also is the ground of the coat armour.'"

The following lines below his portrait are characteristic of his age:--

You see OLD SCARLETT'S picture stand on hie;
But at your feet here doth his body lye.
His gravestone doth his age and death-time shew,
His office by heis token[s] you may know.
Second to none for strength and sturdy lymm,
A scare-babe mighty voice, with visage grim;
He had inter'd two queenes within this place,
And this townes householders in his life's space
Twice over; but at length his own time came
What he for others did, for him the same
Was done: no doubt his soule doth live for aye,
In heaven, though his body clad in clay.

The first of the queens interred by Scarlett was Catherine, the divorced wife of Henry VIII., who died in 1535, at Kimbolton Castle, in Huntingdonshire. The second was Mary, Queen of Scots, who was beheaded at Fotheringay in 1587, and first interred here, though subsequently transported to Westminster Abbey.

Our next example is from Bingley, Yorkshire:--

In memory of HEZEKIAH BRIGGS, who died August 5th, 1844, in
the 80th year of his age. He was sexton at this church
43 years, and interred upwards of 7000 corpses.

[Here the names of his wife and several children are given.]

Here lies an old ringer, beneath the cold clay,
Who has rung many peals both for serious and gay;
Through Grandsire and Trebles with ease he could range,
Till death called a Bob, which brought round the last change.

For all the village came to him
When they had need to call;
His counsel free to all was given,
For he was kind to all.

Ring on, ring on, sweet Sabbath bell,
Still kind to me thy matins swell,
And when from earthly things I part,
Sigh o'er my grave, and lull my heart.

An upright stone in the burial-ground at Hartwith Chapel, in Nidderdale, Yorkshire, bears the following inscription:--

In memory of WILLIAM DARNBROUGH, who for the last forty
years of his life was sexton of this chapel. He died
October 3rd, 1846, in the one hundredth year
of his age.

"Thou shalt go to thy fathers in peace; thou shalt be buried
in a good old age."--Genesis XV., 15.

The graves around for many a year
Were dug by him who slumbers here,--
Till worn with age, he dropped his spade,
And in the dust his bones were laid.

As he now, mouldering, shares the doom
Of those he buried in the tomb;
So shall he, too, with them arise,
To share the judgment of the skies.

An examination of Pateley Bridge Church registers proves that Darnbrough was one hundred and two years of age.

An epitaph from Saddleworth, Yorkshire, tells us:--

Here was interred the body of JOHN BROADBENT, Sexton, who departed
this life, August 3rd, 1769, in the 73rd year of his age.

Forty-eight years, strange to tell,
He bore the bier and toll'd the bell,
And faithfully discharged his trust,
In "earth to earth" and "dust to dust."
Cease to lament,
His life is spent,
The grave is still his element;
His old friend Death knew 'twas his sphere,
So kindly laid the sexton here.

At Rothwell, near Leeds, an old sexton is buried in the church porch. A monumental inscription runs thus:--

In memory of THOMAS FLOCKTON, Sexton 59 years, buried
23rd day of February, 1783, aged 78 years.

Here lies within this porch so calm,
Old Thomas. Pray sound his knell,
Who thought no song was like a psalm--
No music like a bell.

At Darlington, there is a Latin epitaph over the remains of Richard Preston, which has been freely translated as follows:--

Under this marble are depos'd
Poor PRESTON'S sad remains.
Alas! too true for light-rob'd jest
To sing in playful strains.

Ye dread possessors of the grave,
Who feed on others' woe,
Abstain from Richard's small remains,
And grateful pity shew;

For many a weighty corpse he gave
To you with liberal hand;
Then sure his little body may
Some small respect command.

The gravestone bears the date of 1765.

Further examples might be included, but we have given sufficient to show the varied and curious epitaphs placed to the memory of parish clerks and sextons.

Punning Epitaphs.

Puns in epitaphs have been very common, and may be found in Greek and Latin, and still more plentifully in our English compositions. In the French, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, Dutch, and other languages, examples occur. Empedocles wrote an epitaph containing the paronomasia, or pun, on a physician named Pausanias, and it has by Merivale been happily translated:--

PAUSANIAS--not so nam'd without a cause,
As one who oft has giv'n to pain a pause,
Blest son of AEsculapius, good and wise,
Here, in his native Gela, buried lies;
Who many a wretch once rescu'd by his charms
From dark Persephone's constraining arms.

In Holy Trinity Church, Hull, is an example of a punning epitaph. It is on a slab in the floor of the north aisle of the nave, to the memory of "The Worshipful Joseph Field, twice Mayor of this town, and Merchant Adventurer." He died in 1627, aged 63 years:--

Here is a Field sown, that at length must sprout,
And 'gainst the ripening harvest's time break out,
When to that Husband it a crop shall yield
Who first did dress and till this new-sown Field;
Yet ere this Field you see this crop can give,
The seed first dies, that it again may live.
_Sit Deus amicus,
Sanctis, vel in Sepulchris spes est._

On Bishop Theophilus Field, in Hereford Cathedral, ob. 1636, is another specimen:--

The Sun that light unto three churches gave
Is set; this Field is buried in a grave.
This Sun shall rise, this Field renew his flowers,
This sweetness breathe for ages, not for hours.

He was successively Bishop of Llandaff, St. Davids, and Hereford.

The following rather singular epitaph, with a play upon the name, occurs in the chancel of Checkley Church, Staffordshire:--

To the Memory of the Reverend JAMES WHITEHALL, Rector of this place
twenty and five years, who departed this life the second daie of
March, 1644.

White was his name, and whiter than this stone.
In hope of joyfole resurrection
Here lies that orthodox, that grave divine,
In wisdom trve, vertve did soe clearly shine;
One that could live and die as he hath done
Suffer'd not death but a translation.
Bvt ovt of charitie I'll speake no more,
Lest his friends pine with sighs, with teares the poor.

From Hornsea Church we have the epitaph of Will Day, gentleman; he lived thirty-four years, died May 22nd, 1616:--

If that man's life be likened to a day,
One here interr'd in youth did lose a day,
By death, and yet no loss to him at all,
For he a threefold day gain'd by his fall;
One day of rest is bliss celestial.
Two days on earth by gifts terrestryall--
Three pounds at Christmas, three at Easter Day,
Given to the poure until the world's last day,
This was no cause to heaven; but, consequent,
Who thither will, must tread the steps he went.
For why? Faith, Hope, and Christian Charity,
Perfect the house framed for eternity.

On the east wall of the chancel of Kettlethorpe Church, co. Lincoln, is a tablet to the memory of "Johannes Becke, quondam Rector istius ecclesiae," who died 1597, with the following lines in old English characters:--

I am a BECKE, or river as you know,
And wat'rd here ye church, ye schole, ye pore,
While God did make my springes here for to flow:
But now my fountain stopt, it runs no more;
From Church and schole mi life ys now bereft,
But no ye pore four poundes I yearly left.

We may add that the stream of his charity still flows, and is yearly distributed amongst the poor of Kettlethorpe.

Bishop Sanderson, in his "Survey of Lincoln Cathedral," gives the following epitaph on Dr. William Cole, Dean of Lincoln, who died in 1600. The upper part of the stone, with Dr. Cole's arms, is, or was lately, in the Cathedral, but the epitaph has been lost:--

Reader, behold the pious pattern here
Of true devotion and of holy fear.
He sought God's glory and the churches good.
Idle idol worship he withstood.
Yet dyed in peace, whose body here doth lie
In expectation of eternity.
And when the latter trump of heaven shall blow,
Cole, now rak'd up in ashes, then shall glow.

Here is another from Lincoln Cathedral, on Dr. Otwell Hill:--

'Tis OTWELL HILL, a holy Hill,
And truly, sooth to say,
Upon this HILL be praised still
The Lord both night and day.
Upon this Hill, this HILL did cry
Aloud the scripture letter,
And strove your wicked villains by
Good conduct to make better.
And now this HILL, tho' under stones,
Has the Lord's Hill to lie on;
For Lincoln Hill has got his bones,
His soul the Hill of Zion.

The _Guardian_, for 3rd Dec., 1873, gives the following epitaph as being in Lillington Church, Dorset, on the grave of a man named Cole, who died in 1669:--

Reader, you have within this grave
A Cole rak'd up in dust.
His courteous Fate saw it was Late,
And that to Bed he must.
Soe all was swept up to be Kept
Alive until the day
The Trump shall blow it up and shew
The Cole but sleeping lay.
Then do not doubt the Coles not out
Though it in ashes lyes,
That little sparke now in the Darke
Will like the Phoenyx rise.

Our next example was inscribed in Peterborough Cathedral, to the memory of Sir Richard Worme, ob. 1589:--

Does Worm eat Worme? Knight Worme this truth confirms,
For here, with worms, lies Worme, a dish for worms.
Does worm eat Worme? sure Worme will this deny,
For Worme with worms, a dish for worms don't lie.
'Tis so, and 'tis not so, for free from worms
'Tis certain Worme is blest without his worms.

On a person named Cave, at Barrow-on-Soar, Leicestershire, we have the following epitaph:--

Here, in this Grave, there lies a Cave.
We call a Cave a Grave:
If Cave be Grave, and Grave be Cave,
Then, reader, judge, I crave.
Whether doth Cave here lie in Grave,
Or Grave here lie in Cave;
If Grave in Cave here buried lie,
Then Grave, where is thy victory?
Go reader, and report, here lies a Cave,
Who conquers Death, and buries his own Grave.

In Bletchley, ob. 1615, on Mrs. Rose Sparke:--

Sixty-eight years a fragrant Rose she lasted,
Noe vile reproach her virtues ever blasted;
Her autumn past expects a glorious springe,
A second better life more flourishing.

Hearken unto me, ye holy children, and bud forth as a Rose.--Eccles.
xxxix., 13.

From several punning epitaphs on the name of Rose we give one more specimen. It is from Tawton Church, ob. 1652, on Rose Dart:--

A Rose springing Branch no sooner bloom'd,
By Death's impartial Dart lyes here entombed.
Tho' wither'd be the Bud, the stock relyes
On Christ, both sure by Faith and Hope to rise.

In Barnstaple Church, ob. 1627, on Grace Medford, is an epitaph as follows:--

Scarce seven years old this Grace in glory ends,
Nature condemns, but Grace the change commends;
For Gracious children, tho' they die at seven,
Are heirs-apparent to the Court of Heaven.
Then grudge not nature at so short a Race;
Tho' short, yet sweet, for surely 'twas God's Grace.

On a punster the following was written:--

Beneath the gravel and these stones,
Lies poor JACK TIFFEY'S skin and bones;
His flesh I oft have heard him say,
He hoped in time would make good hay;
Quoth I, "How can that come to pass?"
And he replied, "All flesh is grass!"

Manxland Epitaphs.

Several of the churchyards in the Isle of Man contain monuments of more than local interest, and will repay a careful inspection. The ancient graveyard of Kirk Braddan, surrounded with beautiful trees, and situated in a secluded spot not far distant from the busy town of Douglas, is the most celebrated. It not only contains numerous modern tombstones of unusual interest, but some Runic monuments of importance which have given rise to some strange stories, and suggested a theme for the poet and a study for the antiquary.

An old time-worn stone near the chief door of the church attracts much attention. It states:--

Here underlyeth ye body of ye Reverend Mr. PATRICK THOMPSON, minister
of God's word forty years, at present Vicar of Kirk Braddan. Aged 67
anno 1678. Deceased ye 24th of April 1689.

It will be seen from the foregoing that the stone was prepared eleven years prior to the death of the vicar.

Some of the gravestones bear records of longevity, the most important being the following:--

In memory of PATRICK M'CARREY of Douglas, who departed this life the
9th December 1851, aged 102 years; also in memory of JANE M'CARREY,
alias Leech, wife of the above-named PATRICK M'CARREY, who departed
this life the 19th December 1851, aged 100 years. They lived together
upwards of 70 years.

It will be noticed that although the pair had lived together as man and wife for three score years and ten, the widow only lived ten days after the death of her husband. On many of the tombstones the maiden name of the wife is given, and preceding it is the word _alias_.

Major Wilks, on his retirement from the Governorship of St. Helena, where he had the charge of the Emperor Napoleon, settled in the Isle of Man. He brought with him a black servant, who died a few years after leaving his native country. He was buried in this graveyard, and over his remains Major Wilks erected a stone bearing an inscription as follows:--

SAMUEL ALLEY,
An African, and native of St. Helena,
Died 28th May 1822, aged 18 years,
Born a slave, and exposed
In early life to the corrupt influence
Of that unhappy state, he became
A model of Truth and Probity, for
The more fortunate of any country
Or condition.
This stone is erected by a grateful
Master to the memory of a faithful
Servant, who repaid the boon of
Liberty with unbounded attachment.

Governor Wilks was a gentleman of high character, personable and courtier-like manners. He was a writer of some ability, and was the author of a "History of the Mahratta War," which Napoleon read and admired. The ex-Emperor greatly esteemed the Governor, and his departure from St. Helena, where it is said that he made many wise and lasting improvements, was much regretted. Shortly prior to leaving the island, Governor Wilks introduced his daughter to Napoleon, who, it is reported, looked at her with a pleasing smile and said, "I have long heard from various quarters of the superior elegance and beauty of Miss Wilks; but now I am convinced from my own eyes that report has scarcely done her sufficient justice," and concluded by most politely bowing to Miss Wilks. In course of conversation he said, "You will be very glad to leave this island." She replied "Oh no, sire; I am very sorry to go away." "Oh! Mademoiselle, I wish I could change places with you." He presented her with a bracelet in memory of her visit. She subsequently became Lady Buchan, and died in May, 1888, at the advanced age of ninety-one years; and at the time of her death it was stated that "she was one of the last surviving persons who had a distinct recollection of the first Napoleon."

There is a curious bit of lore connected with the estate of Governor Wilks in the Isle of Man; it is situated not far from Kirk Braddan, and called Kirby, a name corrupted from two Manx words, "Cur Bee," meaning "Give food." In the olden days the owner of the estate had to provide bed and board to the Bishop on his journey to and from England, and from this circumstance is derived its name.

In the churchyard rest the mortal remains of the brother of Mrs. William Wordsworth, Captain Henry Hutchinson. The poet Wordsworth wrote the epitaph which appears on his tombstone. The inscription can only be read with great difficulty, and in a few years will be effaced by the effects of the weather on the tender stone. The following is a literal copy of the epitaph, and perhaps the only one which has been printed:--