Chapter XLVI: A domestic picture is given, an interior, with the (13)

Ye witty mortals, as you’re passing by,
Remark that near this monument doth lie,
Centered in dust,
Two husbands, two wives,
Two sisters, two brothers,
Two fathers, a son,
Two daughters, two mothers,
A grandfather, grandmother, and a granddaughter,
An uncle, an aunt, and their niece followed after.
This catalogue of persons mentioned here
Was only _five_, and all from incest clear.

IN ST. PAUL’S, DEPTFORD.

Rev. Dr. Conyers expired immediately after the delivery of a sermon from the text, “Ye shall see my face no more,” æt. 62, 1786.

Sent by their Lord on purposes of grace,
Thus angels do his will, and see his face;
With outspread wings they stand, prepared to soar,
Declare their message, and are seen no more.

Underneath is a Latin inscription, of which the following is a translation:—

I have sinned,
I repented, I believed,
I have loved, I rest,
I shall rise again,
And by the grace of Christ,
However unworthy,
I shall reign.

PARALLELS WITHOUT A PARALLEL.

AT WINCHESTER, ENG.

On the north side of this church is the monument of two brothers of
the surname Clarke, wherewith I was so taken as take them I must; and
as I found them I pray accept them.

Thus an union of two brothers from Avington, the Clarkes’ family, were
grandfather, father, and son, successivelie _clerkes_ of the Privy
Seale in Court.

The grandfather had but two sons, both Thomas.
Their wives both Amys,
Their heyres both Henry,
And the heyres of Henries both Thomas.
Both their wives were inheritrixes,
And both had two sons and one daughter.
And both their daughters issuelesse.
Both of Oxford; both of the Temple;
Both officers to Queen Elizabeth and o^r noble King James.
And both Justices of the Peace.
Togeather both agree in armes, one a knight, y^e other a captain.
Si quæras plura; both—; and so I leave y^m.

BATHOS.

HOWELL’S EPITAPH ON CHARLES I.

So fell the royal oak by a wild crew
Of mongrel shrubs, that underneath him grew;
So fell the lion by a pack of curs;
So the rose withered ’twixt a knot of burs;
So fell the eagle by a swarm of gnats;
So the whale perished by a shoal of sprats!

TRANSCENDENTAL.

FROM THE CHURCHYARD OF ST. EDMUND’S, SALISBURY.

Written by a Swedenborgian named Maton, on his children.

Innocence embellishes divinely complete
To prescience co-egent now sublimely great
In the benign, perfecting, vivifying state.
So heavenly guardian occupy the skies
The pre-existent God, omnipotent, all-wise;
He shall surpassingly immortalize thy theme
And permanent thy bliss, celestial, supreme.
When gracious refulgence bids the grave resign,
The Creator’s nursing protection be thine;
Then each perspiring ether shall joyfully rise
Transcendently good, supereminently wise.

CENTO.

AT NORTHBOROUGH, MASS.

On the tombstone of Rabbi Judah Monis, 40 years Hebrew Instructor in Harvard University, who was converted to Christianity in 1722, and died in 1764.

A native branch of Jacob see,
Which once from off its olive broke;
Regrafted from the living tree, Rom. xi. 17, 24.
Of the reviving sap partook.
From teeming Zion’s fertile womb, Isa. lxvi. 8.
As dewy drops in early morn, Ps. cx. 3.
Or rising bodies from the tomb, John v. 28, 29.
At once be Israel’s nation born. Isa. lxvi. 8.

ACROSTICAL.

AT DORCHESTER, MASS.

James Humphrey, 1686.
I nclosed within this shrine is precious dust,
A nd only waits the rising of the just;
M ost useful while he lived, adorned his station,
E ven to old age served his generation,
S ince his decease thought of with veneration.

H ow great a blessing this ruling elder he
U nto this church and town and pastors three!
M ather, the first, did by him help receive;
F lint he did next his burden much relieve;
R enowned Danforth did he assist with skill,
E steemed high by all, bear fruit until,
Y ielding to death, his glorious seat did fill.

IN ASH CHURCH, KENT.

©J© John Brooke of the Parish of Ashe,
©O© Only he is nowe gone,
©H© His days are past; his corps is layd
©N© Now under this marble stone.

©B© Brookstrete he was the honor of,
©R© Robd now it is of name,
©O© Only because he had no sede
©O© Or children to have the same;
©K© Knowing that all must pass away,
©E© Even when God will, none can denay.
He passed to God in the yere of Grace
One thousand fyve hundredth fower score and two it was,
The sixteenth daye of January, I tell now playne,
The fyve and twentieth yere of Elizabeth rayne.

ABORIGINAL.

IN THE MOHEAGAN BURIAL-GROUND, CONN.

Here lies the body of §Sunseeto§,
Own son to Uncas, grandson to Oneeko,
Who were the famous sachems of Moheagan,
But now they are all dead, I think it is _werheegen_.[29]

Footnote 29:

Meaning, _All is well, or good news_.

ORONO, CHIEF OF THE PENOBSCOTS, OLDTOWN, MAINE, 1801, ÆT. 113

Safe lodged within his blanket, here below,
Lie the last relics of old §Orono§;
Worn down with toil and care, he in a trice
Exchanged his wigwam for a paradise.

AFRICAN.

AT CONCORD, MASS.

God wills us free; man wills us slaves. I will as God wills: God’s
will be done. Here lies the body of §John Jack§, a native of Africa,
who died, March, 1773, aged about 60 years. Though born in a land of
slavery, he was born free; though he lived in a land of liberty, he
lived a slave, till, by his honest though stolen labors, he acquired
the source of slavery, which gave him his freedom, though not long
before death, the grand tyrant, gave him his final emancipation, and
set him on a footing with kings. Though a slave to vice, he practised
those virtues, without which, kings are but slaves.

AT ATTLEBORO, MASS.

Here lies the best of slaves,
Now turning into dust.
Cesar, the Ethiopian, craves
A place among the just.
His faithful soul is fled
To realms of heavenly light;
And by the blood that Jesus shed,
Is changed from black to white
January 15, he quitted the stage,
In the 77th year of his age.

HIBERNIAN.

AT BELTURBET.

Here lies John Higley, whose father and mother were
drowned in their passage from America.
Had they both _lived, they would have been buried here_.(!)

* * * * *

Here lies the body of John Mound,
Lost at sea and never found.

* * * * *

O cruel Death! how could you be so unkind,
To take him before and leave me behind?
You should have taken both of us if either;
Which would have been more pleasing to the survivor!

* * * * *

Here lies father and mother, and sister and I,—
They all died within the short space of one year.
They all be buried at Wimble but I,
And I be buried here.

AT MONKNEWTON, NEAR DROGHEDA.

Erected by Patrick Kelly,
Of the town of Drogheda, Mariner,
In Memory of his Posterity.
Also the above Patrick Kelly,
Who departed this Life the 12th August 1844,
Age 60 years,
Requiescat in pace.

AT MONTROSE, 1757.

Here lyes the Bodeys of George Young and Isabel Guthrie, and all their
Posterity for more than fifty years backwards.

AT ST. ANDREW’S, PLYMOUTH.

Here lies the body of James Vernon, Esq., only _surviving_ son of
Admiral Vernon: died 23rd July 1753.

AT LLANMYNECH, MONTGOMERYSHIRE.

Here lies John Thomas
And his children dear;
Two buried at Oswestry,
And one here.

IN OXFORDSHIRE.

Here lies the body of John Eldred,
At least he will be here when he is dead;
But now at this time he is alive,
The 14th of August ’sixty-five.

GREEK EPITAPHS.

Christopher North, speaking of the celebrated epitaph written by Simonides and graved on the monument erected in commemoration of the battle of Thermopylæ, says:—The oldest and best inscription is that on the altar-tomb of the Three Hundred. Here it is,—the Greek,—with three Latin and eighteen English versions. Start not: it is but two lines; and all Greece, for centuries, had them by heart. She forgot them, and “Greece was living Greece no more!”

Of the various English translations of this celebrated epitaph, the following are the best:—

O stranger, tell it to the Lacedæmonians,
That we lie here in obedience to their precepts.

Go tell the Spartans, thou who passest by,
That here, obedient to their laws, we lie.

ON MILTIADES.

Miltiades! thy valor best
(Although in every region known)
The men of Persia can attest,
Taught by thyself at Marathon.

ON THE TOMB OF THEMISTOCLES.

By the sea’s margin, on the watery strand,
Thy monument, Themistocles, shall stand.
By this directed to thy native shore,
The merchant shall convey his freighted store;
And when our fleets are summoned to the fight,
Athens shall conquer with this tomb in sight.

ON ÆSIGENES.

Hail, universal mother! lightly rest
On that dead form
Which when with life invested ne’er opprest
Its fellow-worm.

ON TIMOCRITUS.

Timocritus adorns this humble grave;
Mars spares the coward, and destroys the brave.

ON THREE NEIGHBORING TOMBS.

This is a sailor’s—that a ploughman’s tomb;—
Thus sea and land abide one common doom.

* * * * *

My lot was meagre fare, disease and shame.
At length I died—you all must do the same.

* * * * *

Fortune and Hope, farewell! I’ve found the port:
You’ve done with me—go now, with others sport.

HELIODORA.

Tears, Heliodora! on thy tomb I shed,
Love’s last libation to the shades below;
Tears, bitter tears, by fond remembrance fed,
Are all that Fate now leaves me to bestow.

Vain sorrows! vain regrets! yet, loveliest, thee,
Thee still they follow in the silent urn,
Retracing hours of social converse free,
And soft endearments never to return.

How thou art torn, sweet flower, that smiled so fair!
Torn, and thy honored bloom with dust defiled;
Yet, holy earth, accept my suppliant prayer,
And in a mother’s arms enfold thy child.

FROM THE ALCESTIS OF EURIPIDES.

We will not look on her burial sod
As the cell of sepulchral sleep:
It shall be as the shrine of a radiant god,
And the pilgrim shall visit this blest abode
To worship, and not to weep.
And as he turns his steps aside,
Thus shall he breathe his vow:—
Here slept a self-devoted bride;
Of old, to save her lord she died,
She is an angel now.

ON A YOUNG BRIDE.

Not Hymen,—it was Ades’ self alone
That loosened Clearista’s virgin zone:
The morning ’spousal song was raised,—but oh!
At once ’twas silenced into threnes of woe;
And the same torches which the bridal bed
Had lit, now showed the pathway to the dead.

ON A BACHELOR.

At threescore winters’ end I died,
A cheerless being, sole and sad;
The nuptial knot I never tied,
And wish my father never had.

* * * * *

My name, my country, what are they to thee?
What, whether base or proud my pedigree?
Perhaps I far surpassed all other men;
Perhaps I fell below them all,—what then?
Suffice it, stranger, that thou seest a tomb;
Thou know’st its use,—it hides,—no matter whom.

ANTITHESIS EXTRAORDINARY.

The following singular inscription may be seen on a monument in Horsley Down Church, Cumberland, England:—

Here lie the bodies of
Thomas Bond and Mary his wife.
She was temperate, chaste, and charitable.
But
She was proud, peevish, and passionate.
She was an affectionate wife and a tender
mother,
But
Her husband and child, whom she loved, seldom
saw her countenance without a
disgusting frown;
Whilst she received visitors whom she despised
with an endearing smile.
Her behaviour was discreet towards strangers,
But
Imprudent in her family.
Abroad her conduct was influenced by good
breeding,
But
At home by ill temper.
She was a professed enemy to flattery, and was
seldom known to praise or commend;
But
The talents in which she principally excelled
Were difference of opinion and discovering
flaws and
Imperfections.
She was an admirable economist,
And, without prodigality,
Dispensed plenty to every person in her family,
But
Would sacrifice their eyes to a farthing candle.
She sometimes made her husband
Happy with her good qualities,
But
Much more frequently miserable with her
Many failings.
Insomuch that in thirty years’ cohabitation,
He often lamented that,
Maugre all her virtues,
He had not on the whole enjoyed two years
Of matrimonial comfort.

At length,
Finding she had lost the affection of her husband,
as well as the regard of her neighbors,
family disputes having been
divulged by servants,
She died of vexation, July 20, 1768,
Aged 48 years.
Her worn-out husband survived her four months
and two days, and departed this life
November 22, 1768,
In the 54th year of his age.
William Bond, brother to the deceased,
Erected this stone as a
Weekly monitor to the wives of this parish,
That they may avoid the infamy of having
Their memories handed down to posterity
With a patchwork character.

THE PRINTER’S EPITAPH.

Here lies his _form_ in _pi_,
Beneath this _bank_ with _briers_ overgrown;
How many _cases_ far unworthier _lie_
’Neath some _imposing stone_!

No _column points_ our loss,
No sculptured _caps_ his history declare;
Although he lived a follower of the _cross_,
And member of the _bar_.

The golden _rule_ he prized,
And left it as a _token_ of his love;
And all his deeds, _corrected_ and _revised_,
Are _registered_ above.

The _copy_ of his wrongs,
The _proofs_ of all his _pi_-ety are there,
And the fair title, which to truth belong
Will _prove_ his _title_ fair.

Though now, in death’s _em-brace_,
A _mould_-ering _heap_ our luckless brother lies,
He’ll re-appear on Gabriel’s _royal-chase_,
And _frisk-it_ to the skies.

BREVITY.

Thorpe’s
Corpse.

The epitaph on Dr. Caius, the founder of the college which bears his name, cannot be blamed for prolixity. Dr. Fuller remarks, “few men might have had a longer, none ever had a shorter epitaph.”

Fui Caius
(I was Caius)

ON MR. MAGINNIS.

Finis
Maginnis.

Camden, in his _Remaines_,—a collection of fragments illustrative of the habits, manners and customs of the ancient Britons and Saxons,—gives examples of great men who had little epitaphs. For himself it has been suggested that the name of the work in question would be the most fitting:—

Camden’s Remains.

LAUDATORY.

Following the inscription to the memory of Albert, Prince Consort, on the Cairn at Balmoral, is the following quotation from the _Wisdom of Solomon_, iv. 13, 14.

He being made perfect in a short time,
Fulfilled a long time:
For his soul pleased the Lord;
Therefore hasted He to take
Him away from among the wicked.

* * * * *

Could he disclose who rests below,
The things beyond the grave that lie,
We more should learn than now we know.
But know no better how to die.

* * * * *

Dust to its narrow house beneath,
Soul to its place on high;
They that have seen thy look in death,
No more may fear to die.

* * * * *

His youth was innocent—his riper age
Marked with some act of goodness every day;
And watched by eyes that loved him, calm and sage,
Faded his late declining years away;
Cheerful he gave his being up, and went
To share the holy rest that waits a life well spent.

EPITAPHIUM CHEMICUM.

1791.

Here lieth to digest, macerate, and amalgamate with clay
In balneo arenæ,
stratum super stratum,
The residuum, terra damnata, and caput mortuum
OF A CHEMIST.
A man who in his earthly Laboratory
Pursued various processes to obtain
The §Arcanum Vitæ§,
Or the secret to Live;
Also the §Aurum Vitæ§, or
The Art of getting, not making, Gold.
Alchemist-like, he saw all his labor and projection,
As mercury in the fire, evaporated in fume.
When he dissolved to his first principles,
He departed as poor
As the last drops of an alembic.
Though fond of novelty, he carefully avoided
The fermentation, effervescence, and
Decrepitation of this life.
Full seventy years
His exalted essence
Was hermetically sealed in its terrene matrass;
But the radical moisture being exhausted,
The Elixir Vitæ spent,
And exsiccated to a cuticle,
He could not suspend longer in his vehicle:
But precipitated gradatim,
Per campanam,
To his original dust.
May the light above,
More resplendent than Bolognian phosphorus,
Preserve him
From the athanor, empyreuma, and
Reverberatory furnace of the other world;
Depurate him from the fæces and scoria of this;
Highly rectify and volatilize
His ethereal spirit;
Bring it safely out of the crucible of earthly trial,
Place it in a proper recipient
Among the elect of the Flowers of Benjamin;
Never to be saturated till the general resuscitation,
Deflagration, calcination,
And sublimation of all things.

MISCELLANEOUS.

ON SIR JOHN VANBRUGH, THE ARCHITECT.

Lie heavy on him, earth; for he
Laid many heavy loads on thee.—§Evans.§

THE ORATOR’S EPITAPH.

Here, reader, turn your weeping eyes,
My fate a useful moral teaches;
The hole in which my body lies
Would not contain one-half my speeches.—§Brougham.§

IN LYDFORD CHURCHYARD, NEAR DARTMOOR.

Here lies, in horizontal position,
the outside Case of
§George Routleigh§, Watchmaker;
Integrity was the Mainspring, and prudence the
Regulator,
of all the actions of his life.
Humane, generous, and liberal,
his Hand never stopped,
till he had relieved distress.
So nicely regulated were all his Motions,
that he never went wrong,
except when set a-going
by people
who did not know his Key:
Even then he was easily
set right again.
He had the art of disposing his time so well,
that his Hours kept running on
in a continual round of pleasure,
till an unlucky Minute put a stop to
his existence.
He departed this life Nov. 14, 1802, æt. 57,
in hopes of being taken in hand
by his Maker;
and of being thoroughly Cleaned, Repaired,
Wound up, and Set a-going
in the world to come.

AT KITTERY, MAINE.

I was drowned, alas! in the deep, deep seases.
The blessed Lord does as he pleases.
But my Kittery friends did soon appear,
And laid my body right down here.

ON A SAN FRANCISCO MONEY-LENDER.

Here lies old thirty-five per cent.:
The more he made, the more he lent;
The more he got, the more he craved;
The more he made, the more he shaved;
Great God! can such a soul be saved?

ON AN IMPORTUNATE TAILOR.

Here lies W. W.,
Who never more will trouble you, trouble you.

IN SOHAM CHURCHYARD, CAMBRIDGESHIRE.

A.D. 1643, Ætatis suæ 125.

Here lies Dr. Ward, whom you knew well before;
He was kind to his neighbors, good to the poor.
1 2 3 4 5 6
To God, to Prince, Wife, kindred, friend, the poor,
1 2 3 4 5 6
Religious, loyal, true, kind, stedfast, dear,
1 2 3 4 5 6
In zeal, faith, love, blood, amity, and store,
He hath so lived, and so deceased, lies here.

IN THE CHURCH OF ST. GREGORY, SUDBURY.

Viator, mirum referam.
Quo die efflavit animam Thos. Carter, prædictus,
Acus foramen transivit Camelus Sudburiensis.
Vade, et si dives sis, tu fac similiter.
Vale.

(Traveller, I will relate a prodigy. On the day whereon the aforesaid
Thos. Carter breathed out his soul, a Sudbury camel passed through the
eye of a needle. Go, and if thou art wealthy, do thou likewise.
Farewell.)

IN LLANBEBLIG, CARNARVONSHIRE.

Of such is the Kingdom of Heaven.
Here lie the remains of Thomas Chambers,
Dancing Master;
Whose genteel address and assiduity
in Teaching
Recommended him to all that had the
Pleasure of his acquaintance.

ON AN INFIDEL.

From the Latin.

Beneath this stone the mouldering relics lie
Of one to whom Religion spoke in vain;
He lived as though he never were to die,
And died as though he ne’er should live again.

PROPOSED BY A FRENCH THEOLOGIAN FOR VOLTAIRE.

In poesi magnus,
In historia parvus,
In philosophia minimus,
In religione nullus.

Hume, the classic historian of England, denied the existence of matter, and held that the whole congeries of material things are but impressions and ideas in the mind, distinguishing an impression from an idea by its stronger effect on the thinking faculty. Dr. Beattie sufficiently exposed the absurdity; but his famous essay has nothing more pointed than the witty epitaph that somebody wrote on the marble shaft that stands over the infidel’s grave:—

Beneath this circular _idea_, vulgarly called tomb,
_Impressions_ and _ideas_ rest, which constituted Hume.

ON TOM PAINE.

Tom Paine for the Devil is surely a match.
In leaving old England he cheated Jack Ketch;
In France (the first time such a thing had been seen)
He cheated the watchful and sharp guillotine;
And at last, to the sorrow of all the beholders,
He marched out of life with his head on his shoulders.

EARTH TO EARTH.

Few persons have met with the following poem, now nearly four centuries old; but many will recognise in some of the stanzas, particularly the first four and the last four, the source of familiar monumental inscriptions. The antiquary can refer to many a dilapidated stone on which these quaint old lines can yet be traced.

Vado mori Rex sum, quid honor quid gloria mundi,
Est vita mors hominum regia—vado mori.
Vado mori miles victo certamine belli,
Mortem non didici vincere vado mori.
Vado mori medicus, medicamine non relevandus,
Quicquid agunt medici respuo vado mori,
Vado mori logicus, aliis concludere novi,
Concludit breviter mors in vado mori.

Earth out of earth is worldly wrought;
Earth hath gotten upon earth a dignity of nought;
Earth upon earth has set all his thought,
How that earth upon earth might be high brought.

Earth upon earth would be a king,
But how that earth shall to earth he thinketh no thing;
When earth biddeth earth his rents home bring,
Then shall earth from earth have a hard parting.

Earth upon earth winneth castles and towers,
Then saith earth unto earth this is all ours;
But when earth upon earth has builded his bowers,
Then shall earth upon earth suffer hard showers.

Earth upon earth hath wealth upon mould;
Earth goeth upon earth glittering all in gold,
Like as he unto earth never turn should;
And yet shall earth unto earth sooner than he would.

Why that earth loveth earth wonder I think,
Or why that earth will for earth sweat and swink.
For when earth upon earth is brought within the brink,
Then shall earth for earth suffer a foul stink.

As earth upon earth were the worthies nine,
And as earth upon earth in honor did shine;
But earth list not to know how they should incline,
And their gowns laid in the earth when death hath made his fine.

As earth upon earth full worthy was Joshua,
David, and worthy King Judas Maccabee,
They were but earth none of them three;
And so from earth unto earth they left their dignity.

Alisander was but earth that all the world wan,
And Hector upon earth was held a worthy man,
And Julius Cæsar, that the Empire first began;
And now as earth within earth they lie pale and wan.

Arthur was but earth for all his renown,
No more was King Charles nor Godfrey of Boulogne;
But now earth hath turned their nobleness upside down,
And thus earth goeth to earth by short conclusion.

Whoso reckons also of William Conqueror,
King Henry the First that was of knighthood flower,
Earth hath closed them full straitly in his bower,—
So the end of worthiness,—here is no more succor.

Now ye that live upon earth, both young and old,
Think how ye shall to earth, be ye never so bold;
Ye be unsiker, whether it be in heat or cold,
Like as your brethren did before, as I have told.

Now ye folks that be here ye may not long endure,
But that ye shall turn to earth I do you ensure;
And if ye list of the truth to see a plain figure,
Go to St. Paul’s and see the portraiture.

All is earth and shall to earth as it sheweth there,
Therefore ere dreadful death with his dart you dare,
And for to turn into earth no man shall it forbear,
Wisely purvey you before, and thereof have no fear.

Now sith by death we shall all pass, it is to us certain,
For of earth we come all, and to the earth shall turn again;
Therefore to strive or grudge it were but vain,
For all is earth and shall be earth,—nothing more certain.

Now earth upon earth consider thou may
How earth cometh to earth naked alway,
Why should earth upon earth go stout alway,
Since earth out of earth shall pass in poor array?

I counsel you upon earth that wickedly have wrought,
That earth out of earth to bliss may be brought.

BYRON’S INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF HIS DOG.

Near this spot
Are deposited the remains of one
Who possessed beauty without vanity,
Strength without insolence,
Courage without ferocity,
And all the virtues of man without his vices.
This praise, which would be unmeaning flattery
If inscribed over human ashes,
Is but a just tribute to the memory of
Boatswain, a dog,
Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803,
And died at Newstead Abbey, Nov. 18, 1808.

Inscriptions.

TAVERN-SIGNS.

I’m amazed at the signs
As I pass through the town.
To see the odd mixture,—
A _magpye_ and _crown_,
The _whale_ and the _crow_,
The _razor_ and _hen_,
The _leg_ and _seven stars_,
The _axe_ and the _bottle_,
The _tun_ and the _lute_,
The _eagle_ and _child_,
The _shovel_ and _boot_.—_British Apollo, 1710._

The absurdities which tavern-signs present are often curious enough, but may in general be traced to that inveterate propensity which the vulgar of all countries have, to make havoc with every thing in the shape of a proper name. What a _magpie_ could have to do with a _crown_, or a _whale_ with a _crow_, or a _hen_ with a _razor_, it is as difficult to conjecture as to trace the corruption of language in which the connection more probably originated. The sign of the _leg_ and the _seven stars_ was merely an orthographical deviation from the _league_ and _seven stars_, or seven united provinces; and the _axe_ and _bottle_ was, doubtless, a transposition of the _battle-axe_, a most appropriate sign for warlike times. The _tun_ and _lute_ formed suitable emblems enough of the pleasures of wine and music. The _eagle_ and _child_, too, had meaning, though no application; but when we come to the _shovel_ and _boot_, nonsense again triumphs, and it is in vain that we look for any rational explanation of the affinity.

The _Swan-with-two-necks_ has long been an object of mystery to the curious. This mystery is solved by the alteration of a single letter. The sign, as it originally stood, was the _swan with two nicks_; the meaning of which we find thus explained in a communication made by the late Sir Joseph Banks to the Antiquarian Society. Sir Joseph presented to the Society a curious parchment roll, exhibiting the marks, or nicks, made on the beaks of swans and cygnets in all the rivers and lakes in Lincolnshire, accompanied with an account of the privileges of certain persons keeping swans in these waters, and the duties of the king’s swanherd in guarding these fowls from depredation and preventing any two persons from adopting the same figures or marks on the bills of their swans. The number of marks contained in the parchment roll amounted to two hundred and nineteen, all of which were different and confined to the small extent of the bill of the swan. The outlines were an oblong square, circular at one end, and containing dots, notches, arrows, or suchlike figures, to constitute the difference in each man’s swans. Laws were enacted so late as the 12th of Elizabeth, for the preservation of the swans in Lincolnshire.

The _goat and compasses_ has been supposed to have its origin in the resemblance between the bounding of a goat and the expansion of a pair of compasses; but nothing can be more fanciful. The sign is of the days of the Commonwealth, when it was fashionable to give scriptural names to every thing and everybody, and when _God-be-praised Barebones_ preferred drinking his tankard of ale at the _God-encompasseth-us_ to anywhere else. The corruption from _God-encompasseth-us_ to _goat and compasses_ is obvious and natural enough.

In Richard Flecknoe’s _Enigmatical Characters_, published 1665, speaking of the “fanatic reformers,” (the Puritans,) he observes, “As for the §SIGNS§, they have pretty well begun their reformation already, changing the sign of the _salutation of the angel and our lady_ into the _soldier and citizen_, and the _Katherine Wheel_ into the _cat and wheel_; so as there only wants then making the _dragon_ to kill _St. George_, and the _devil_ to tweak _St. Dunstan_ by the nose, to make the reformation complete. Such ridiculous work they make of their reformation, and so zealous are they against all mirth and jollity, as they would pluck down the sign of the _cat and fiddle_ too, if it durst but play so loud as they might hear it.”

The cat and fiddle is a a corruption of Caton fidele.

The _bag of nails_, at Chelsea, is claimed by the smiths and carpenters of the neighborhood as a house designed for their peculiar accommodation; but, had it not been for the corruption of the times, it would still have belonged to the _bacchanals_, who, in the time of Ben Jonson, used to take a holiday stroll to this delightful village. But the old inscription _satyr and bacchanals_ is now converted into Satan and bag o’nails.

The origin of the _chequers_, which is so common an emblem of public houses, has been the subject of much learned conjecture. One writer supposes that they were meant to represent that the game of draughts might be played there; another has been credibly informed that in the reign of Philip and Mary the then Earl of Arundel had a grant to license public-houses, and, part of the armorial bearings of that noble family being a chequer-board, the publican, to show that he had a license, put out that mark as part of his sign. But, unfortunately for both solutions, unfortunately for the honors of Arundel, Sir W. Hamilton presented, some time ago, to the Society of Antiquaries, a view of a street in Pompeii, in which we find that shops with the sign of the chequers were common among the Romans! The real origin of this emblem is still involved in obscurity. The wittiest, though certainly not the most genuine, explanation of it was that of the late George Selwyn, who used to wonder that antiquaries should be at any loss to discover why _draughts_ were an appropriate emblem for _drinking-houses_.

An annotator on Beloe’s _Anecdotes of Literature_ says, “I remember, many years ago, passing through a court in Rosemary Lane, where I observed an ancient sign over the door of an ale-house, which was called _The Four Alls_. There was the figure of a king, and on a label, ‘I rule all;’ the figure of a priest, motto, ‘I pray for all;’ a soldier, ‘I fight for all;’ and a yeoman, ‘I pay all.’ About two years ago I passed through the same thoroughfare, and, looking up for my curious sign, I was amazed to see a painted board occupy its place, with these words inscribed:—‘_The Four Awls_.’ In Whitechapel road is a public house which has a written sign, ‘_The Grave Morris_.’ A painter was commissioned to embody the inscription; but this painter had not a poet’s eye; he could not body forth the form of things unknown. In his distress he applied to a friend, who presently relieved him, and the painter delineated, as well as he could, ‘_The Graafe Maurice_,’ often mentioned in the ‘_Epistolæ Hoelinæ_’”

The Queer Door is corrupted from Cœur Doré (Golden Heart); the Pig and Whistle, from Peg and Wassail-Bowl; the Goat in the Golden Boots, from the Dutch Goed in der Gooden Boote (the god—Mercury—in the golden boots).

Many signs are heraldic and represent armorial bearings. The White Heart was peculiar to Richard II.; the White Swan to Henry IV. and Edward III.; the Blue Boar to Richard III.; the Red Dragon to the Tudors; the Bull, the Falcon, and the Plume of Feathers to Edward IV.; the Swan and Antelope to Henry V.; the Greyhound and Green Dragon to Henry VII.; the Castle, the Spread Eagle, and the Globe were probably adopted from the arms of Spain, Germany, and Portugal, by inns which were the resort of merchants from those countries. Many commemorate historical events; others derive their names from some eminent and popular man. The Coach and Horses indicated post-houses; the Fox and Goose denoted the games played within; the Hare and Hounds, the vicinity of hunting-grounds. In the Middle Ages, a bush was always suspended in front of the door of a wine-shop,—whence the saying, “Good wine needs no bush.” Some of the mediæval signs are still retained, as the Pilgrim, Cross-Keys, Seven Stars, &c.

The following is a literal copy of the sign of a small public house in the village of Folkesworth, near Stilton, Hants. It contains as much poetry as perhaps the rustic Folkesworth folks are worth; and doubtless they think it (in the Stilton vernacular) “quite the cheese.”

[A rude figure of a Fox.]

§I . ham . a . cunen . fox§
You . see . ther . his
No . harme . atched
To . me . it . is . my . Mrs.
Wish . to . place . me
here . to . let . you . no
he . sels . good . beere.

The Rawlinson of the district has deciphered this inscription, and conjectures its meaning to be as follows:—

I am a cunning fox, you see;
There is no harm attached to me:
It is my master’s wish to place me here,
To let you know he sells good beer.

In King Street, Norwich, at the sign of “The Waterman,” kept by a man who is a barber and over whose door is the pole, are these lines:—

Roam not from pole to pole,
But step in here;
Where nought exceeds the shaving,
But—the beer.

This was originally an impromptu of Dean Swift, written at the request of his favorite barber.

* * * * *

Over the door of a tippling-house in Frankford, Pa., is this:—

In this Hive we’re all alive;
Good liquor makes us funny;
If you’re dry, step in and try
The flavor of our honey.

ON A TAVERN-SIGN NEAR CAMBRIDGE, ENGLAND.

Rest, traveller, rest; lo! Cooper’s ready hand
Obedient brings “zwei glass” at thy command.
Rest, traveller, rest, and banish thoughts of care.
Drink to thy friends, and recommend them here.

* * * * *

PUNISHMENT FOR TREASON.

Tell them how Edward put to death a citizen, Only for saying he would make his _son_ Heir to the _Crown_; meaning indeed his _house_, Which, by the _sign_ thereof, was termed so.—_Rich. III._, Act iii. sc. 5.

On the sign of “The Baker and the Brewer,” in Birmingham, is the following quatrain:—

The Baker says, “I’ve the staff of life,
And you’re a silly elf.”
The Brewer replied, with artful pride,
“Why this is life itself.”

At the King’s Head Inn, Stutton, near Ipswich, is this address to wayworn travelers:—

Good people, stop, and pray walk in;
Here’s wine and brandy, rum and gin;
And what is more, good purl and ale
Are both sold here by old Nat Dale.

This tap-room inscription is in a wayside tavern in Northumberland, England:—

Here stop and spend a social hour
In harmless mirth and fun;
Let friendship reign, be just and kind,
And evil speak of none.

At the Red Lion Inn, Hollins Green, an English village, is this:—

Call freely,
Drink merrily,
Pay honestly,
Part quietly.
These rules, my friends, will bring no sorrow;
You pay to-day, I’ll trust to-morrow.

In the county of Norfolk, Eng., is this singular inscription:—

More beer score clerk
For my my his
Do trust pay sent
I I must has
Shall if I brewer
What and and my[30]

Footnote 30:

Read from the bottom of the columns upward, commencing with the right.

On the sign-board of the Bull Inn at Buckland, near Dover:—

The bull is tame, so fear him not,
All the while you pay your shot;
When money’s gone, and credit’s bad,
It’s that which makes the bull run mad.

At Swainsthorpe, near Norwich, England, is a public-house known as the Dun Cow. Under the portrait of the cow is this couplet:—

Walk in, gentlemen; I trust you’ll find
The dun cow’s milk is to your mind.

On the Basingstoke road, near Reading, England:—

This is the Whitley Grenadier,
A noted house for famous beer.
My friend, if you should chance to call,
Beware and get not drunk withal;
Let moderation be your guide,
It answers well whene’er ’tis tried.
Then use but not abuse strong beer,
And don’t forget the Grenadier.

The author of _Tavern Anecdotes_ records the following:—

_Rhyming Host at Stratford._

At the Swan Tavern, kept by Lound
The best accommodation’s found—
Wine, spirits, porter, bottled beer,
You’ll find in high perfection here.
If, in the garden with your lass,
You feel inclined to take a glass,
There tea and coffee, of the best,
Provided is for every guest;
Or, if disposed a pipe to smoke,
To sing a song, or crack a joke,
You may repair across the green,
Where nought is heard, though much is seen;
Then laugh, and drink, and smoke away,
And but a moderate reckoning pay.

BEER-JUG INSCRIPTION.

Come, my old friend, and take a pot,
But mark me what I say:
Whilst thou drink’st thy neighbor’s health.
Drink not thy own away.

For it too often is the case,
Whilst we sit o’er a pot,
And while we drink our neighbor’s health,
Our own is quite forgot.

INSCRIPTIONS ON INN WINDOW-PANES.

SHENSTONE’S, AT HENLEY.

Whoe’er has travelled life’s dull round,
Where’er his journeys may have been,
May sigh to think he still has found
His warmest welcome at an inn.

A gentleman who stopped at an inn at Stockport, in 1634, left this record of his bad reception on a window of the inn:—

If, traveller, good treatment be thy care,
A comfortable bed, and wholesome fare,
A modest bill, and a diverting host,
Neat maid, and ready waiter,—quit this coast.
If dirty doings please, at Stockport lie:
The girls, O frowsy frights, here with their mistress vie.

Yet Fynes Moryson, in his _Itinerary_, thus speaks of English inns in the olden time:—

As soon as a passenger comes to an inne, the servants run to him, and
one takes his horse and walkes him about till he be cool, then rubs
him down, and gives him meat; another servant gives the passenger his
private chamber and kindles his fire; the third pulls off his bootes
and makes them cleane; then the host and hostess visit him, and if he
will eate with the hoste or at a common table with the others, his
meale will cost him sixpence, or in some places fourpence; but if he
will eate in his chamber, he commands what meat he will, according to
his appetite; yea, the kitchen is open to him to order the meat to be
dressed as he likes beste. After having eaten what he pleases, he may
with credit set by a part for next day’s breakfast. His bill will then
be written for him, and should he object to any charge, _the host is
ready to alter it_.

“Tempora mutantur, et nos mutamur in illis!”

ON A WINDOW-PANE OF THE HOTEL SANS SOUCI, BADEN-BADEN.

Venez ici, sans souci. Vous
Partirez d’ici sans six sous.

THREE TRANSLATIONS WHICH FOLLOW.

You come to this city plumed with felicity,
You’ll flutter from this city plucked to mendicity.

With plenty of tin, purse-proud you come in.
You’ll go a sad _ninkum_ from outgo of income!

Not a bit pensive, you come here expensive.
Soon you’ll go hence with a _curse the expense_.

INSCRIPTIONS ON BELLS.

Vivos voco—Mortuos plango—Fulgura frango.
I call the living—I mourn the dead—I break the lightning.

This brief and impressive announcement—the motto of Schiller’s ever-memorable Song of the Bell—was common to the church-bells of the Middle Ages, and may still be found on the bell of the great Minster of Schaffhausen, and on that of the church near Lucerne. Another and a usual one, which is, in fact, but an amplification of the first, is this

Funera plango—Fulgura frango—Sabbato pango.
Excito lentos—Dissipo ventos—Paco cruentos.

I mourn at funerals—I break the lightning—I proclaim the Sabbath.
I urge the tardy—I disperse the winds—I calm the turbulent.

The following motto may still be seen on some of the bells that have swung in their steeples for centuries. It will be observed to entitle them to a sixfold efficacy.

Men’s death I tell by doleful knell,
Lightning and thunder I break asunder,
On Sabbath all to church I call,
The sleepy head I raise from bed,
The winds so fierce I do disperse,
Men’s cruel rage I do assuage.

On the famous alarm-bell called Roland, in the belfry-tower of the once powerful city of Ghent, is engraved the subjoined inscription, in the old Walloon or Flemish dialect:—

Mynen naem is Roland; als ik klep is er brand,
and als ik luy is er victorie in het land.

_Anglicé._ My name is Roland; when I toll there is fire,
and when I ring there is victory in the land.

On others may be found these inscriptions:—

Deum verum laudo, plebem voco, clerum congrego,
Defuncto ploro, pestum fugo, festa decoro.

I praise the true God, call the people, convene the clergy,
I mourn for the dead, drive away pestilence, and grace festivals.

Gaudemus gaudentibus,
Dolemus dolentibus.

Let us rejoice with the joyful, and grieve with the sorrowful.

INSCRIPTIONS ON THE BELLS OF ST. MICHAEL’S, COVENTRY, CAST IN 1774.

I.

Although I am both light and small,
I will be heard above you all.

II.

If you have a judicious ear,
You’ll own my voice is sweet and clear.

III.

Such wondrous power to music’s given,
It elevates the soul to heaven.

IV.

While thus we join in cheerful sound,
May love and loyalty abound.

V.

To honour both of God and king,
Our voices shall in concert sing.

VI.

Music is a medicine to the mind.

VII.

Ye ringers all, that prize your health and happiness,
Be sober, merry, wise, and you’ll the same possess.

VIII.

Ye people all that hear me ring,
Be faithful to your God and king.

IX.

In wedlock’s bands all ye who join,
With hands your hearts unite;
So shall our tuneful tongues combine
To laud the nuptial rite.

X.

I am and have been called the common bell,
To ring, when fire breaks out, to tell.

There is in the abbey church at Sherborne, in Dorsetshire, a fire-bell confined exclusively to alarms in case of conflagrations. The motto around the rim or carrel runs thus:—

1652.
Lord, quench this furious flame;
Arise, run, help, put out the same.

The books of the Roman Catholic faith contain a ritual for the baptism of bells, which decrees that they be named and anointed,—a ceremonial which was supposed to insure them against the machinations of evil spirits.

On the largest of three bells placed by Edward III. in the Little Sanctuary, Westminster, are these words:—

King Edward made me thirtie thousand weight and three;
Take me down and wey me, and more you shall find me.

The Great Tom of Oxford was cast after two failures, April 8, 1680, from the metal of an old bell, on which was the following curious inscription, whence its name:—

In Thomæ laude resono _bim bom_ sine fraude.

On a bell in Durham Cathedral is inscribed,—

To call the folk to church in time,
I chime.
When mirth and pleasure’s on the wing,
I ring.
And when the body leaves the soul,
I toll.

On a bell at Lapley, in Staffordshire:—

I will sound and resound to thee, O Lord,
To call thy people to thy word.

On a bell in Meivod Church, Montgomeryshire:—

I to the church the living call,
And to the grave do summon all.

On Independence bell, Philadelphia, from Lev. xxv. 10:—

Proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants
thereof.

In St. Helen’s Church, Worcester, England, is a chime of bells cast in the time of Queen Anne, with names and inscriptions commemorative of victories gained during her reign:—

1. §Blenheim.§

First is my note, and Blenheim is my name;
For Blenheim’s story will be first in fame.

2. §Barcelona.§

Let me relate how Louis did bemoan
His grandson Philip’s flight from Barcelon.

3. §Ramillies.§

_Deluged in blood, I, Ramillies, advance
Britannia’s glory on the fall of France._

4. §Menin.§

Let Menin on my sides engraven be;
And Flanders freed from Gallic slavery.

5. §Turin.§

When in harmonious peal I roundly go,
Think on Turin, and triumphs on the Po.

6. §Eugene.§

With joy I hear illustrious Eugene’s name;
Fav’rite of fortune and the boast of fame.

7. §Marlborough.§

But I, for pride, the greater Marlborough bear;
Terror of tyrants, and the soul of war.

8. §Queen Anne.§

Th’ immortal praises of Queen Anne I sound,
With union blest, and all these glories crowned.

The inscriptions are all dated 1706, except that on the seventh, which is dated 1712.

* * * * *

On one of eight bells in the church tower of Pilton, Devon, is a modern achievement in this kind of literature:—

Recast by John Taylor and Son,
Who tho best prize for church bells won
At the Great Ex-hi-bi-ti-on
In London, 1—8—5 and 1.

In St. John’s Cathedral, Hong Kong:—

I will send thee far hence unto the Gentiles. (Acts xxii. 21.)

At Fotheringay, Northamptonshire:—

Domini laudem, non verbo sed voce resonabo.

At Hornby:—

When I do ring,
God’s praises sing;
When I do toll,
Pray heart and soul.

At Nottingham:—

I toll the funeral knell;
I hail the festal day;
The fleeting hour I tell;
I summon all to pray.

At Bolton:—

My roaring sound doth warning give
That men cannot here always live.

Distich inscribed on a bell at Bergamoz, by Cardinal Orsini, Benedict XIII.:—

Convoco, signo, noto, compello, concino, ploro,
│ │ │ │ │ │
Arma, Dies, Horas, Fulgura, Festa, Rogos.

Similar in form is an inscription on Lindsey Court-house:—

Hæc domus
Odit amat punit conservat honorat
│ │ │ │ │
Nequitiam, pacem, crimina, jura, bonos.

On the clock of the town hall of Bala, North Wales, is the following inscription:—

Here I stand both day and night,
To tell the hours with all my might;
Do thou example take by me,
And serve thy God as I serve thee.

FLY-LEAF INSCRIPTIONS IN BOOKS.

The following lines, formerly popular among youthful scholars, may still be found in school-books:—

This book is mine
By right divine;
And if it go astray,
I’ll call you kind
My desk to find
And put it safe away.

* * * * *

This book is mine,—that you may know,
By letters two I will you show:
The first is J, a letter bright;
The next is S in all men’s sight.
But if you still my name should miss,
Look underneath, and here it is:—
§John Smith§.

* * * * *

Whoe’er this book, if lost, doth find,
I hope will have a generous mind,
And bring it to the owner,—me,
Whose name they’ll see page fifty-three.

The curious warning subjoined—paradoxical in view of the improbability of any _honest_ friend pilfering—has descended to our times from the days of black-letter printing:—

Steal not this book, my honest friend,
For fear the gallows be your end;
For if you do, the Lord will say,
Where is that book you stole away?

Another often met with is this:—

Hic liber est meus,
Testis et est Deus;
Si quis me quærit,
Hic nomen erit.

The two following admonitions are full of salutary advice to book-borrowers:—

Neither blemish this book, or the leaves double down,
Nor lend it to each idle friend in the town;
Return it when read; or, if lost, please supply
Another as good to the mind and the eye.
With right and with reason you need but be friends,
And each book in my study your pleasure attends.

* * * * *

If thou art borrowed by a friend,
Right welcome shall he be,
To read, to study, not to lend,
But to return to me.

Not that imparted knowledge doth
Diminish learning’s store;
But books, I find, if often lent,
Return to me no more.

☞ Read slowly, pause frequently, think seriously, keep clean, =RETURN DULY=, with the corners of the leaves not turned down.

* * * * *

Of the warning and menacing kind are the following:—

This book is one thing,
My fist is another;
Touch this one thing,
You’ll sure feel the other.

* * * * *

_Si quisquis furetur_
This little _libellum,
Per Bacchum per Jovem_!
I’ll kill him, I’ll fell him,
_In ventum illius_
I’ll stick my _scalpellum_,
And teach him to steal
My little _libellum_.

* * * * *

Ne me prend pas;
On te pendra.

* * * * *

Gideon Snooks,
Ejus liber.
Si quis furetur;
Per collum pendetur,
Similis huic pauperi animali.

Here follows a figure of an unfortunate individual suspended “in malam crucem.”

Small is the wren,
Black is the rook;
Great is the sinner
That steals this book.
This is Thomas Jones’s book—
You may just within it look;
But you’d better not do more,
For the Devil’s at the door,
And will snatch at fingering hands;
Look behind you—there he stands!

The following macaronic is taken from a copy of the _Companion to the Festivals and Fasts_, 1717:—

_To the Borrower of this Book._

Hic Liber est meus,
Deny it who can,
Samuel Showell, Jr.,
An honest man.
In vico corvino [locale appended]
I am to be found,
Si non mortuus sum,
And laid in the ground.
At si non vivens,
You will find an heir
Qui librum recipiet;
You need not to fear.
Ergo cum lectus est
Restore it, and then
Ut quando mutuaris
I may lend again.
At si detineas,
So let it be lost,
Expectabo Argentum,
As much as it cost (viz.: 5_s._)

_To the Finder._

If I this lose, and you it find,
Restore it me, be not unkind;
For if not so, you’re much to blame,
While as below you see my name.—[Name appended.]

Taken from an old copy-book:

All you, my friends, who now expect to see
A piece of writing, here performed by me,
Cast but a smile on this my mean endeavor,
I’ll strive to mend, and be obedient ever.

On the fly-leaf of a Bible may sometimes be seen:

Could we with ink the ocean fill,
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
And were the skies of parchment made,
And every man a scribe by trade,
To tell the love of God alone
Would drain the ocean dry;
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky.

The two following are very common in village schools:—

This is Giles Wilkinson, his book;
God give him grace therein to look;
Nor yet to look, but understand
That learning’s better than house and land;
For when both house and land are spent,
Then learning is most excellent.

* * * * *

John Smith is my name,
England is my nation,
London is my dwelling-place,
And Christ is my salvation,
And when I’m dead and in the grave,
And all my bones are rotten,
When this you see, remember me,
Though I am long forgotten.

This pretty presentation-verse is sometimes met with:—

Take it,—’tis a gift of love
That seeks thy good alone;
Keep it for the giver’s sake,
And read it for thy own.

The early conductors of the press were in the habit of affixing to the end of the volumes they printed some device or couplet concerning the book, with the names of the printer and proof-reader added. The following example is from Andrew Bocard’s edition of _The Pragmatic Sanction_, Paris, 1507:—

Stet liber, hic donec fluctus formica marinos
Ebibat; et totum testudo perambulet orbem

(May this volume continue in motion,
And its pages each day be unfurled;
Till an ant to the dregs drink the ocean,
Or a tortoise has crawled round the world.)

On the title-page of a book called _Gentlemen, Look about You_, is the following curious request:—

Read this over if you’re wise,
If you’re not, then read it twice:
If a fool, and in the gall
Of bitterness, read not at all.

MOTTO ON A CLOCK.

Quæ lenta accedit, quam velox præterit hora!
Ut capias, patiens esto, sed esto vigil!

Slow comes the hour: its passing speed how great:
Waiting to seize it,—vigilantly wait!

WATCH-PAPER INSCRIPTION.

Onward perpetually moving,
These faithful hands are ever proving
How quick the hours fly by;
This monitory, pulse-like beating
Seems constantly, methinks, repeating,
Swift! swift! the moments fly.
Reader, be ready,—for perhaps before
These hands have made one revolution more,
Life’s spring is snapt,—you die!

Here, reader, see in youth, in age, or prime,
The stealing steps of never-standing Time:
With wisdom mark the moment as it flies;
Think what a moment is to him who dies.

Little monitor, impart
Some instruction to the heart;
Show the busy and the gay
Life is hasting swift away.
Follies cannot long endure,
Life is short and death is sure.
Happy those who wisely learn
Truth from error to discern.