Curious Epitaphs Part 3

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 t.i.tle page of death, for fear that delivered to the press of the grave the Editor should want a t.i.tle: 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 t.i.tle-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, pa.s.sed away the st.u.r.dy 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: FRANKLIN'S GRAVE.]

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, Ma.s.s. 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 G.o.d'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 aeT 89.

A. F., Born 1667; Died 1752 aeT 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 t.i.tle-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 emanc.i.p.ate thy mind from the idle fears of superst.i.tion, 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 a.s.suredly 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 pa.s.s 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 cla.s.s of epitaph can hardly fail to interest the reader.

Near to Chatsworth, Derbys.h.i.+re, the seat of the Duke of Devons.h.i.+re, 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 n.o.blemen and their servants. In remembrance of the latter the following are of interest. The first is engraved on a bra.s.s 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 n.o.ble family of His Grace the Duke of Devons.h.i.+re.

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 G.o.d 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 Devons.h.i.+re, 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.