Part 2
Like to the baker's oven is the grave, Wherein the bodyes of the faithful have A setting in, and where they do remain In hopes to rise, and to be drawn again; Blessed are they who in the Lord are dead, Though set like dough, they shall be drawn like bread.
On the tomb of an auctioneer in the churchyard at Corby, in the county of Lincoln, is the following:--
Beneath this stone, facetious wight Lies all that's left of poor JOE WRIGHT; Few heads with knowledge more informed, Few hearts with friendship better warmed; With ready wit and humour broad, He pleased the peasant, squire, and lord; Until grim death, with visage queer, Assumed Joe's trade of Auctioneer, Made him the Lot to _practise_ on, With "going, going," and anon He knocked him down to "Poor Joe's gone!"
In Wimbledon churchyard is the grave of John Martin, a natural son of Don John Emanuel, King of Portugal. He was sent to this country about the year 1712, to be out of the way of his friends, and after several changes of circumstances, ultimately became a gardener. It will be seen from the following epitaph that he won the esteem of his employers:--
To the memory of JOHN MARTIN, gardener, a native of Portugal, who cultivated here, with industry and success, the same ground under three masters, forty years.
Though skilful and experienced, He was modest and unassuming; And tho' faithful to his masters, And with reason esteemed, He was kind to his fellow-servants, And was therefore beloved. His family and neighbours lamented his death, As he was a careful husband, a tender father, and an honest man.
This character of him is given to posterity by his last master, willingly because deservedly, as a lasting testimony of his great regard for so good a servant.
He died March 30th, 1760. Aged 66 years.
For public service grateful nations raise Proud structures, which excite to deeds of praise; While private services, in corners thrown, Howe'er deserving, never gain a stone.
But are not lilies, which the valleys hide, Perfect as cedars, tho' the valley's pride? Let, then, the violets their fragrance breathe, And pines their ever-verdant branches wreathe
Around his grave, who from their tender birth Upreared both dwarf and giant sons of earth, And tho' himself exotic, lived to see Trees of his raising droop as well as he.
Those were his care, while his own bending age, His master propp'd and screened from winter's rage, Till down he gently fell, then with a tear He bade his sorrowing sons transport him here.
But tho' in weakness planted, as his fruit Always bespoke the goodness of his root, The spirit quickening, he in power shall rise With leaf unfading under happier skies.
The next is on the Tradescants, famous gardeners and botanists at Lambeth. In 1657 Mr. Tradescant, junr., presented to the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, a remarkable cabinet of curiosities:--
Know, stranger, ere thou pass, beneath this stone Lye JOHN TRADESCANT, grandsire, father, son; The last died in his spring; the other two Liv'd till they had travell'd art and nature through; As by their choice collections may appear, Of what is rare, in land, in sea, in air; Whilst they (as Homer's Iliad in a nut) A world of wonders in one closet shut; These famous antiquarians, that had been Both gard'ners to the ROSE AND LILY QUEEN, Transplanted now themselves, sleep here; and when Angels shall with trumpets waken men, And fire shall purge the world, then hence shall rise, And change this garden for a paradise.
We have here an epitaph on a grocer, culled from the Rev. C. W. Bardsley's "Memorials of St. Anne's Church," Manchester. In a note about the name of Howard, the author says: "Poor John Howard's friends gave him an unfortunate epitaph--one, too, that reflected unkindly upon his wife. It may still be seen in the churchyard.--Here lyeth the body of John Howard, who died Jan. 2, 1800, aged 84 years; fifty years a respectable grocer, and an honest man. As it is further stated that his wife died in 1749, fifty years before, it would seem that her husband's honesty dated from the day of her decease. Mrs. Malaprop herself, in her happiest moments, could not have beaten this inscription."
Typographical Epitaphs.
The trade of printer is rich in technical terms available for the writer of epitaphs, as will be seen from the following examples.
Our first inscription is from St. Margaret's Church, Westminster, placed in remembrance of England's benefactor, the first English printer:--
To the memory of WILLIAM CAXTON, who first introduced into Great Britain the Art of Printing; And who, A.D. 1477 or earlier, exercised that art in the Abbey of Westminster. This Tablet, In remembrance of one to whom the literature of this country is so largely indebted, was raised, anno Domini MDCCCXX., by the Roxburghe Club, Earl Spencer, K.G., President.
In St. Giles' Cathedral Church, Edinburgh, is the Chepman aisle, founded by the man who introduced printing into North Britain. Dr. William Chambers, by whose munificence this stately church was restored, had placed in the aisle, bearing Chepman's name, a brass tablet having the following inscription:--
To the Memory of WALTER CHEPMAN, designated the Scottish Caxton, who under the auspices of James IV. and his Queen, Margaret, introduced the art of printing into Scotland 1507 [symbol] founded this aisle in honour of the King, Queen, and their family, 1513. Died 1532. This tablet is gratefully inscribed by WILLIAM CHAMBERS, LL.D.
The next is in memory of one Edward Jones, _ob._ 1705, _æt._ 53. He was the "Gazette" Printer of the Savoy, and the following epitaph was appended to an elegy, entitled, "The Mercury Hawkers in Mourning," and published on the occasion of his death:--
Here lies a Printer, famous in his time, Whose life by lingering sickness did decline. He lived in credit, and in peace he died, And often had the chance of Fortune tried. Whose smiles by various methods did promote Him to the favour of the Senate's vote; And so became, by National consent, The only Printer of the Parliament. Thus, by degrees, so prosp'rous was his fate, He left his heirs a very good estate.
It has been truthfully said that the life of Benjamin Franklin is stranger than fiction. He was a self-made man, gaining distinction as a printer, journalist, author, electrician, natural philosopher, statesman, and diplomatist. The "Autobiography and Letters of Benjamin Franklin" has been extensively circulated, and must ever remain a popular book; young men and women cannot fail to peruse its pages without pleasure and profit.
In collections of epitaphs and books devoted to literary curiosities, a quaint epitaph said to have been written by Franklin frequently finds a place. He was not, however, the original composer of the epitaph, but imitated it for himself. Jacob Tonson, a famous bookseller, died in 1735, and a Latin epitaph was written on him by an Eton scholar. It is printed in the _Gentleman's Magazine_, February, 1736, with a diffuse paraphrase in English verse. The following is at all events a conciser version:--
The volume of his life being finished here is the end of JACOB TONSON. Weep authors and break your pens; Your Tonson effaced from the book, is no more, but print the last inscription on the title page of death, for fear that delivered to the press of the grave the Editor should want a title: Here lies a bookseller, The leaf of his life being finished, Awaiting a new edition, Augmented and corrected.
The following is Franklin's epitaph for himself:
The body of BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, Printer (Like the cover of an old book, its contents torn out, And stript of its lettering and gilding), Lies here, food for worms. But the work itself shall not be lost, For it will, as he believed, appear once more, In a new and more elegant edition, Revised and corrected By The Author.
But it is not at all certain that Franklin was not the earlier writer, for the epitaph was certainly a production of the first years of manhood--probably 1727. There are other epitaphs from which he may have taken the idea; that, on the famous John Cotton at Boston, for instance, in which he is likened to a Bible:--
A living, breathing Bible; tables where Both covenants at large engraven were; Gospel and law in his heart had each its column, His head an index to the sacred volume! His very name a title-page; and, next, His life a commentary on the text. Oh, what a moment of glorious worth, When in a new edition he comes forth! Without errata, we may think 'twill be, In leaves and covers of Eternity.
There is a similar conceit in the epitaph on John Foster, the Boston printer. Franklin would probably have seen both of these.
On the 17th April, 1790, at the age of eighty-four years, passed away the sturdy patriot and sagacious writer. His mortal remains rest with those of his wife in the burial-ground of Christ Church, Philadelphia. A plain flat stone covers the grave, bearing the following simple inscription:--
BENJAMIN } AND } FRANKLIN. DEBORAH } 1790.
This is the inscription which he directed, in his will, to be placed on his tomb. We give a picture of the quiet corner where the good man and his worthy wife are buried. English as well as American visitors to the city usually wend their way to the last resting-place of the famous man we delight to honour.
A printer's sentiment inscribed to the memory of Franklin is worth reproducing:--
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, the * of his profession; the type of honesty; the ! of all; and although the [symbol: pointing hand] of death put a . to his existence, each § of his life is without a ||.
Dr. Franklin's parents were buried in one grave in the old Grancey Cemetery, beside Park Street Church, Boston, Mass. He placed a marble monument to their memory, bearing the following inscription:--
JOSIAH FRANKLIN and ABIAH, his wife, Lie here interred. They lived lovingly together, in wedlock, Fifty-five years; And without an estate, or any gainful employment, By constant labour and honest industry (With God's blessing), Maintained a large family comfortably; And brought up thirteen children and seven grand-children Reputably. From this instance, reader, Be encouraged to diligence in thy calling, And distrust not Providence. He was a pious and prudent man, She a discreet and virtuous woman. Their youngest son, In filial regard to their memory, Places this stone. J. F., Born 1655; Died 1744 ÆT 89. A. F., Born 1667; Died 1752 ÆT 85.
It is satisfactory to learn that, when the stone became dilapidated, the citizens of Boston replaced it with a granite obelisk.
A notable epitaph was that of George Faulkner, alderman and printer, of Dublin, who died in 1775:--
Here sleeps GEORGE FAULKNER, printer, once so dear To humorous Swift, and Chesterfield's gay peer; So dear to his wronged country and her laws; So dauntless when imprisoned in her cause; No alderman e'er graced a weighter board, No wit e'er joked more freely with a lord. None could with him in anecdotes confer; A perfect annal-book, in Elzevir. Whate'er of glory life's first sheets presage, Whate'er the splendour of the title-page, Leaf after leaf, though learned lore ensues; Close as thy types and various as thy news; Yet, George, we see that one lot awaits them all, Gigantic folios, or octavos small; One universal finis claims his rank, And every volume closes in a blank.
In the churchyard of Bury St. Edmunds, Suffolk, is a good specimen of a typographical epitaph, placed in remembrance of a noted printer, who died in the year 1818. It reads as follows:--
Here lie the remains of L. GEDGE, Printer. Like a worn-out character, he has returned to the Founder, Hoping that he will be re-cast in a better and more perfect mould.
Our next example is profuse of puns, some of which are rather obscure to younger readers, owing to the disuse of the old wooden press. It is the epitaph of a Scotch printer:--
Sacred to the memory of ADAM WILLIAMSON, Pressman-printer, in Edinburgh, Who died Oct. 3, 1832, Aged 72 years. All my stays are loosed; My cap is thrown off; my head is worn out; My box is broken; My spindle and bar have lost their power; My till is laid aside; Both legs of my crane are turned out of their path; My platen can make no impression; My winter hath no spring; My rounce will neither roll out nor in; Stone, coffin, and carriage have all failed; The hinges of my tympan and frisket are immovable; My long and short ribs are rusted; My cheeks are much worm-eaten and mouldering away: My press is totally down: The volume of my life is finished, Not without many errors; Most of them have arisen from bad composition, and are to be attributed more to the chase than the press; There are also a great number of my own; Misses, scuffs, blotches, blurs, and bad register; But the true and faithful Superintendent has undertaken to correct the whole. When the machine is again set up (incapable of decay), A new and perfect edition of my life will appear, Elegantly bound for duration, and every way fitted for the grand Library of the Great Author.
The next specimen is less satisfactory, because devoid of the hope that should encircle the death of the Christian. It is the epitaph which Baskerville, the celebrated Birmingham printer and type founder, directed to be placed upon a tomb of masonry in the shape of a cone, and erected over his remains:--
Stranger Beneath this cone, in unconsecrated ground, A friend to the liberties of mankind Directed his body to be inurned. May the example contribute to emancipate thy mind from the idle fears of superstition, and the wicked arts of priestcraft.
It is recorded that "The tomb has long since been overturned, and even the remains of the man himself desecrated and dispersed till the final day of resurrection, when the atheism which in his later years he professed will receive assuredly so complete and overwhelming a refutation."
In 1599 died Christopher Barker, one of the most celebrated of the sixteenth century typographers, printer to Queen Elizabeth--to whom, in fact, the present patent held by Eyre and Spottiswoode can be traced back in unbroken succession.
Here BARKER lies, once printer to the Crown, Whose works of art acquired a vast renown. Time saw his worth, and spread around his fame, That future printers might imprint the same. But when his strength could work the press no more And his last sheets were folded into store, Pure faith, with hope (the greatest treasure given), Opened their gates, and bade him pass to heaven.
We will bring to a close our examples of typographical epitaphs with the following, copied from the graveyard of St. Michael's, Coventry, on a worthy printer who was engaged over sixty years as a compositor on the _Coventry Mercury_:--
Here lies inter'd the mortal remains of JOHN HULM, Printer, who, like an old, worn-out type, battered by frequent use, reposes in the grave. But not without a hope that at some future time he might be cast in the mould of righteousness, And safely locked-up in the chase of immortality. He was distributed from the board of life on the 9th day of Sept., 1827, Aged 75. Regretted by his employers, and respected by his fellow artists.
Good and Faithful Servants.
Our graveyards contain many tombstones inscribed to the memory of old servants. Frequently these memorials have been raised by their employers to show appreciation for faithful discharge of duty and good conduct of life. A few specimens of this class of epitaph can hardly fail to interest the reader.
Near to Chatsworth, Derbyshire, the seat of the Duke of Devonshire, is the model village of Edensor, with its fine church, from the design of Sir Gilbert Scott, reared on the site of an old structure. The church and graveyard contain numerous touching memorials to the memory of noblemen and their servants. In remembrance of the latter the following are of interest. The first is engraved on a brass plate near the chancel arch:--
Here lies ye Body of MR. IOHN PHILLIPS some- time Housekeeper of Chatsworth, who de- parted this life on ye 28th of May 1735, in ye 73rd year of his age, and 60th of his service in ye Most Noble family of His Grace the Duke of Devonshire.
Pray let my Bones together lie Until that sad and joyful Day, When from above a Voice shall say, Rise, all ye dead, lift up your Eyes, Your great Creator bids you rise; Then do I hope with all ye Just To shake off my polluted dust, And in new Robes of Glory Drest To have access amongst ye Bless'd. Which God in his infinite Mercy Grant For the sake & through ye merits of my Redeemer Jesus Christ ye Righteous. Amen.
A tombstone in the churchyard to the memory of James Brousard, who died in 1762, aged seventy-six years, states:--
Ful forty years as Gardener to ye D. of Devonshire, to propigate ye earth with plants it was his ful desire; but then thy bones, alas, brave man, earth did no rest afoard, but now wee hope ye are at rest with Jesus Christ our Lord.
On a gravestone over the remains of William Mather, 1818, are the following lines:--
When he that day with th' Waggon went, He little thought his Glass was spent; But had he kept his Plough in Hand, He might have longer till'd the Land.
We obtain from a memorial stone at Disley Church a record of longevity:--
Here Lyeth Interred the Body of JOSEPH WATSON, Bur- ied June the third 1753, Aged 104 years. He was Park Keeper at Lyme more than 64 years, and was ye First that Perfected the art of Dri- ving ye Stags. Here also Lyeth the Body of Elizabeth his wife, Aged 94 years, to whom He had been married 73 years. Reader take Notice, the Long- est Life is Short.
On the authority of Mr. J. P. Earwaker, the historian of East Cheshire, it is recorded of the above that "in the 103rd year of his age he was at the hunting and killed a buck with the honourable George Warren, in his Park at Poynton, whose activity gave pleasure to all the spectators there present. Sir George was the fifth generation of the Warren family he had performed that diversion with in Poynton Park."
We have from Petersham, Surrey, the next example:--
Near the tomb of a Worthy Family lies the Body of SARAH ABERY, who departed this life The 3rd day of August 1795 Aged 83 Years. Having lived in the Service of that Family Sixty Years. She was a good Christian an Honest Woman and a faithful Servant.
At Great Marlow a stone states that Mary Whitty passed sixty-three years as a faithful servant in one family. She died in 1795 at the age of eighty-two years.
Our next example is from Burton-on-Trent:--
Sacred to the memory of SAMPSON ADDERLY An Honest, Sober, Modest Man (A Character how rarely found;) Whose peaceful Life a circle ran More hallow'd makes this hallow'd ground In Service thirty years he spent And Dying left his well got gains; To feed and cloth, a Mother bent By Age's slow consuming pains: A tender Master, Mistress kind, And Friends, (for many a friend had he) Lament the loss, but time will find His gain through blest Eternity He was near thirty Years a Servant in the Cotton Family and died in its attendance at Buxton the 30th of September 1760 Aged 48. Also adjoining to him was laid his Aged Parent who died the 21st of February following.
From a gravestone at Sutton Coldfield we have a record of a long and industrious life:--
Sacred to the memory of JOHN FISHER, day labourer, who died May 17th in the Year 1806 in the 91st Year of his Age, having served two Masters at Moore Hall in this Parish, upwards of fifty years, Faithfully, Industriously, and Cheerfully. He was in his Imployment eight weeks before he died. This Stone is inscribed to his Memory by his last Master, as a pattern to Posterity.
Our next inscription is from Eltham, Kent:--
Here lie the Remains of MR. JAMES TAPPY who departed this life on the 8th of September 1818, Aged 84. After a faithful Service of 60 years in one Family, by each individual in which, He lived respected, And died lamented by the sole Survivor.
At Besford, Worcestershire, is a gravestone to the memory of Nathaniel Bell and his wife, both of whom lived over sixty years each in the Sebright family.
At Kempsey, Worcestershire, is a tombstone on which appears the remarkable record of seventy-seven years in the service of one family:--
To the Memory of MRS. SARAH ARMISON, who died on the 27th of April 1817 Aged 88 years. 77 of which she passed in the Service of the Family of Mrs. Bell Justly and deservedly lamented by them, for integrity, rectitude of Conduct, and Amiable Disposition.
We have not noted a more extended period than the foregoing passed in domestic service.
At Tidmington, Worcestershire, is a gravestone to the memory of Sarah Lanchbury, who died at the age of seventy-seven years; she was the servant of one gentleman fifty-six years.
A stone in the old abbey church at Pershore, in the same county, bears an inscription as follows:--
To the Memory of SARAH ANDREWS: a faithful Domestic of Mr. Herbert Woodward of this Place In whose Service she died on the 10th Feby, 1814 Aged 80 having filled the Duties of her humble Station with unblemished Integrity for the long Period of 52 Years.
From Petworth, Sussex, we have the following:--
In Memory of SARAH BETTS, widow, who passed nearly 50 Years in one Service and died January 2, 1792 Aged 75.
Farewell! dear Servant! since thy heavenly Lord Summons thy worth to its supreme reward. Thine was a spirit that no toil could tire, "When Service sweat for duty, not for hire." From him whose childhood cherished by thy care, Weathered long years of sickness and despair, Take what may haply touch the best above, Truth's tender praise! and tears of grateful love.
In the year 1807, died, at the age of eighty-five years, Mary Baily. She was buried at Epsom, and her gravestone says: "She passed sixty years of her life in the faithful discharge of her duties in the service of one family, by whom she was honoured, respected, and beloved."
A gravestone at Beckenham, Kent, bears testimony to long and faithful service:--
In memory of JOHN KING who departed this Life 29th of December 1774 aged 75 years. He was 61 years Servant to Mr. Francis Valentine, Joseph Valentine, and Paul Valentine, from Father to Son, without ever Quitting their Service, Neglecting his Duty, or being Disguised in Liquor.
From the same graveyard the next inscription is copied:--
Sacred to the Memory of WILLIAM CHAPMAN of this Parish, who died December the 25th 1793 Aged 77 years.
Sixty years of his life were passed under the Burrell Family, three successive Generations of which he served with such Intelligence and fidelity, as to obtain from each the sincerest respect and Friendship, leaving behind him at his Death the Character of a truly Honest and good Man.
The poet Pope caused to be placed on the outside of Twickenham Church a tablet bearing the following inscription:--