In memory of CaptainJames Carmichael, of Bockland’s Regiment.—Died 25th Nov. 1758:Where now, O Son of Mars, is Honour’s aim?What once thou wast or wished, no more’s thy claim.Thy tomb, Carmichael, tells thy Honour’s Roll,And man is born, as thee, to be forgot.But virtue lives to glaze thy honours o’er,And Heaven will smile when brittle stone’s no more.
In memory of CaptainJames Carmichael, of Bockland’s Regiment.—Died 25th Nov. 1758:
The following is inscribed on a gravestone in Fort William Cemetery:—
SacredTo the Memory ofCaptain Patrick Campbell,Late of the 42nd Regiment,Who died on the xiii of December,MDCCCXVI.,Aged eighty-three years,A True Highlander,A Sincere Friend,And the best deerstalkerOf his day.
A gravestone in Barwick-in-Elmet, Yorkshire, states:—
The next is from Dartmouth churchyard:—
Thomas Goldsmith, who died 1714.He commanded the “Snap Dragon,” as Privateer belonging to this port, in the reign of Queen Anne, in which vessel he turned pirate, and amass’d much riches.Men that are virtuous serve the Lord;And the Devil’s by his friends ador’d;And as they merit get a placeAmidst the bless’d or hellish race;Pray then, ye learned clergy showWhere can this brute, Tom Goldsmith, go?Whose life was one continued evil,Striving to cheat God, Man, and Devil.
Thomas Goldsmith, who died 1714.
He commanded the “Snap Dragon,” as Privateer belonging to this port, in the reign of Queen Anne, in which vessel he turned pirate, and amass’d much riches.
We find the following at Woodbridge on Joseph Spalding, master mariner, who departed this life Sept. 2nd, 1796, aged 55:—
In Selby churchyard, the following is on John Edmonds, master mariner, who died 5th Aug., 1767:—
Another, on the south side of Selby churchyard:—
In the churchyard, Selby, near the north porch, in memory of William Whittaker, mariner, who died 22nd Oct., 1797, we read—
Southill Church, Bedfordshire, contains a plain monument to the memory of Admiral Byng, who was shot at Portsmouth:—
To the perpetual disgrace of public justice,The HonourableJohn Byng, Vice-Admiral of the Blue,fell a martyr to political persecution, March 14,in the year 1757;when bravery and loyalty were insufficient securities forthe life and honour of a naval officer.
The following epitaph, inscribed on a stone in Putney churchyard, is nearly obliterated:—
Some time ago a correspondent of theSpectatorstated: “As you are not one to despise ‘unconsidered trifles’ when they have merit, perhaps you will find room for the following epitaph, on a Deal boatman, which I copied the other day from a tombstone in a churchyard in that town:—
In memory ofGeorge Phillpot,Who died March 22nd, 1850, aged 74 years.
A hero; his heroic life and deeds, and the philosophy of religion, perfect both in theory and practice, which inspired them, all described infour lines of graphic and spirited verse! Would not ‘rare Ben’ himself have acknowledged this a good specimen of ‘what verse can say in a little?’ Whoever wrote it was a poet ‘with the name.’
“There is another in the same churchyard which, though weak after the above, and indeed not uncommon, I fancy, in seaside towns, is at least sufficiently quaint:—
Memory ofJames Epps Buttress, who, in rendering assistance to the French Schooner, “Vesuvienne,” was drowned, December 27th, 1852, aged 39.Though Boreas’ blast and Neptune’s waveDid toss me to and fro,In spite of both, by God’s decree,I harbour here below;And here I do at anchor rideWith many of our fleet,Yet once again I must set sail,Our Admiral, Christ, to meet.Also two sons, who died in infancy, &c.
Memory ofJames Epps Buttress, who, in rendering assistance to the French Schooner, “Vesuvienne,” was drowned, December 27th, 1852, aged 39.
Though Boreas’ blast and Neptune’s waveDid toss me to and fro,In spite of both, by God’s decree,I harbour here below;And here I do at anchor rideWith many of our fleet,Yet once again I must set sail,Our Admiral, Christ, to meet.Also two sons, who died in infancy, &c.
The ‘human race’ typified by ‘our fleet,’ excites vague reminiscences of Goethe and Carlyle, and ‘our Admiral Christ’ seems not remotely associated in sentiment with the ‘We fight that fight for our fair father Christ,’ and ‘The King will follow Christ and we the King,’ of our grand poet. So do the highest and the lowest meet. But the heartiness, the vitality, nay, almost vivacity, ofsome of these underground tenantry is surprising. There is more life in some of our dead folk than in many a living crowd.”
The following five epitaphs are from Hessle Road Cemetery, Hull:—
Our next example is from a stone in Castle Street burial-ground, Hull, which is so fastdecaying that already some parts of the inscription are obliterated:—
A gravestone in Horncastle churchyard, Lincolnshire, has this epitaph:—
On a sailor’s gravestone in the burial-ground at Hamilton, we are told:—
A fewepitaphs relating to music and the drama now claim our attention. Our first example is to be found in the cathedral at Norwich:—
In Wakefield Parish Church a tablet bears an inscription as follows:—
We copy the following from a monument in Holy Trinity Church, Hull:—
From a churchyard in Wales we obtain the following curious epitaph on an organ blower:—
Our next epitaph records the death of a fiddler, who appears to have been so much attached to his wife that upon the day of her death he, too, yielded to the grim tyrant. Of this pair, buried in Flixton churchyard, it may be truly said: “In life united, and in death not parted.” The inscription is as follows:—
To the Memory ofJohn Booth, of Flixton, who died 16th March, 1778, aged 43 years; on the same day and within a few hours of the death of his wifeHannah, who was buried with him in the same grave, leaving seven children behind them.Reader, have patience, for a Moment Stay,Nor grudge the Tribute of a friendly tear,For John, who once made all our Village gay,Has taken up his Clay-cold Lodging here.Suspended now his fiddle lies asleep,That once with Musick us’d to charm the Ear.Not for his Hannah long reserv’d to weep,John yields to Fate with his companion dear.So tenderly he loved his dearer part,His Fondness could not bear a stay behind;And Death through Kindness seem’d to throw the dartTo ease his sorrow, as he knew his mind.In cheerful Labours all their Time they spent,Their happy Lives in Length of Days acquir’d;But Hand in Hand to Nature’s God they went,And just lay down to sleep when they were tir’d.The Relicks of this faithful, honest PairOne little Space of Mother Earth contains.Let Earth protect them with a Mother’s Care,And Constant Verdure grace her for her pains.The Pledges of their tender love remain,For seven fine children bless’d their nuptial State.Behold them, neighbours! nor behold in vain,But heal their Sorrows and their lost Estate.
To the Memory ofJohn Booth, of Flixton, who died 16th March, 1778, aged 43 years; on the same day and within a few hours of the death of his wifeHannah, who was buried with him in the same grave, leaving seven children behind them.
In the Old Cemetery, Newport, Monmouthshire, on a Scotch piper, the following appears:—
To the memory of Mr.John Macbethlate piper to His Grace the Duke of Sutherland, and a native of the Highlands of Scotland:Died April 24th, 1852, Aged 46 years.Far from his native land, beneath this stone,LiesJohn Macbeth, in prime of manhood gone;A kinder husband never yet did breathe,A firmer friend ne’er trod on Albyn’s heath;His selfish aims were all in heart and hand,To be an honour to his native land,As real Scotchmen wish to fall or stand.A handsomeGaelhe was, of splendid form,Fit for a siege, or for the Northern Storm.Sir Walter Scott remarked at Inverness,“How well becomes Macbeth the Highland dress!”His mind was stored with ancient Highland lore;Knew Ossian’s songs, and many bards of yore;But music was his chief, and soul’s delight.And oft he played, with Amphion’s skill and might,His Highland pipe, before our Gracious Queen!’Mong Ladies gay, and Princesses serene!His magic chanter’s strains pour’d o’er their hearts,With thrilling rapture soft as Cupid’s darts!Like Shakespeare’s witches, scarce they drew the breath,But wished, like them, to say, “All hail, Macbeth!”The Queen, well pleased, gave him by high command,A splendid present from her Royal hand;But nothing aye could make him vain or proud,He felt alike at Court or in a crowd;With high and low his nature was to please,Frank with the Peasant, with the Prince at ease.Beloved by thousands till his race was run,Macbeth had ne’er a foe beneath the sun;And now he plays among the Heavenly bands,A diamond chanter never made with hands.
To the memory of Mr.John Macbethlate piper to His Grace the Duke of Sutherland, and a native of the Highlands of Scotland:
Died April 24th, 1852, Aged 46 years.
In the church at Ashover, Derbyshire, a tablet contains this inscription:—
To the Memory ofDavid Wall,whose superior performance on thebassoon endeared him to anextensive musical acquaintance.His social life closed on the4th Dec., 1796, in his 57th year.
The next is copied from a gravestone in Stoney Middleton churchyard:—
In memory ofGeorge, the son ofGeorgeandMargaret Swift, of Stoney Middleton, who departed this life August the 21st, 1759, in the 20th year of his age.We the Quoir of Singers of this Church have erected this stone.He’s gone from us, in more seraphick laysIn Heaven to chant the Great Jehovah’s praise;Again to join him in those courts above,Let’s here exalt God’s name with mutual love.
In memory ofGeorge, the son ofGeorgeandMargaret Swift, of Stoney Middleton, who departed this life August the 21st, 1759, in the 20th year of his age.
We the Quoir of Singers of this Church have erected this stone.
The following was written in memory of Madame Malibran, who died September 23rd, 1836:—
Garrick’s epitaph, in Westminster Abbey, reads:—
A monument placed in Westminster to the memory of Mrs. Pritchard states:—
This Tablet is here placed by a voluntary subscription of those who admired and esteemed her. She retired from the stage, of which she had long been the ornament, in the month of April, 1768; and died at Bath in the month of August following, in the 57th year of her age.Her comic vein had every charm to please,’Twas nature’s dictates breath’d with nature’s ease;Ev’n when her powers sustain’d the tragic load,Full, clear, and just, the harmonious accents flow’d,And the big passions of her feeling heartBurst freely forth, and show’d the mimic art.Oft, on the scene, with colours not her own,She painted vice, and taught us what to shun;One virtuous track her real life pursu’d,That nobler part was uniformly good;Each duty there to such perfection wrought,That, if the precepts fail’d, the example taught.
This Tablet is here placed by a voluntary subscription of those who admired and esteemed her. She retired from the stage, of which she had long been the ornament, in the month of April, 1768; and died at Bath in the month of August following, in the 57th year of her age.
On a comedian named John Hippisley, interred in the churchyard of Clifton, Gloucestershire, we have the following:—
Garrick’s epitaph to the memory of James Quin, at Bath, is very fine:—
Several actors are buried in the churchyard of St. Peter of Mancroft, Norwich. On Henrietta Maria Bray, who died in 1737, aged sixty years, is the following epitaph:—
Anne Roberts died in 1743, aged thirty, and on her gravestone is a couplet as follows:—
The Norwich actors, says Mr. James Hooper, were celebrated in their day, and their services were in great request. They used to play annually at the great Stourbridge Fair, at Cambridge, so vividly described by De Foe in his “Tour through the whole Island of Great Britain” (1722). The University Dons mustered in force to see the Norwich mummers, and part of the pit, known as “The Critics’ Row,” was reserved for Dr. Farmer of Emanuel, and his friends, George Stevens, Malone, and others, who never thought itinfra dig.to applaud rapturously—a circumstance which shows Puritan Emanuel in a new light.[1]
In St. Mary’s Church, Beverley, a tablet is placed in remembrance of a notable Yorkshire actor:—
In Memory ofSamuel Butler,A poor player that struts andfrets his hour upon the stage, andthen is heard no more.Obt. June 15th, 1812.Æt. 62.
Butler’s gifted son, Samuel William, was buried in Ardwick Cemetery, Manchester. A gravestoneplaced to his memory bears the following eloquent inscription by Charles Swain:—
An interesting sketch of the life of Butler, from the pen of John Evans, is given in the“Papers of the Manchester Literary Club,” vol. iii., published 1877.
In the Necropolis, Glasgow, is a monument representing the stage and proscenium of a theatre, placed to the memory of John Henry Alexander, of the Theatre Royal, Glasgow. He was a native of Dunse, Berwickshire, and was born July 31st, 1796. At an early age, says Dr. Rogers, his parents removed to Glasgow, where, in his thirteenth year, he was apprenticed to a hosier. With a remarkable taste for mimicry he practised private theatricals; and having attracted the notice of the managers of Queen Street Theatre, he obtained an opportunity of publicly exhibiting his gifts. In his sixteenth year he adopted the histrionic profession. For some seasons he was employed in a theatre at Newcastle; he subsequently performed at Carlisle, and afterwards in the Theatre Royal, Edinburgh. At Edinburgh his successful impersonations of Dandie Dinmont and other characters of the Waverley novels gained him the friendship of Sir Walter Scott. After some changes he accepted the managership of the Dunlop Street Theatre, Glasgow, of which he became proprietor in 1829. He rebuilt the structure in 1840; itwas partially destroyed by fire on the 17th February, 1849, when sixty-five persons unhappily perished. The shock which he experienced on this occasion seriously affected his health, and in 1851 he found it expedient to retire from his profession. He died on the 15th December, 1851, aged fifty-five. On his tombstone are inscribed these lines from the pen of Mr. James Hedderwick, the editor of theGlasgow Citizen:—
In many collections of epitaphs the following is stated to be inscribed on a gravestone at Gillingham, but we are informed by the Vicar that no such epitaph is to be found, nor is there any trace of it having been placed there at any time:—
SacredTo the memory ofThomas Jackson, Comedian,Who was engaged 21st of December, 1741, to play a comic cast of characters, in this great theatre—the world; for many of which he was prompted by nature to excel.The season being ended, his benefit over, the charges all paid, and his account closed, he made his exit in the tragedy of Death, on the 17th of March, 1798, in full assurance of being called once more to rehearsal; where he hopes to find his forfeits all cleared, his cast of parts bettered, and his situation made agreeable, by Him who paid the great stock-debt, for the love He bore to performers in general.
SacredTo the memory ofThomas Jackson, Comedian,
Who was engaged 21st of December, 1741, to play a comic cast of characters, in this great theatre—the world; for many of which he was prompted by nature to excel.
The season being ended, his benefit over, the charges all paid, and his account closed, he made his exit in the tragedy of Death, on the 17th of March, 1798, in full assurance of being called once more to rehearsal; where he hopes to find his forfeits all cleared, his cast of parts bettered, and his situation made agreeable, by Him who paid the great stock-debt, for the love He bore to performers in general.
The next epitaph was written by Swift on Dicky Pearce, who died 1728, aged 63 years. He was a famous fool, and his name carries us back to the time when kings and noblemen employed jesters for the delectation of themselves and their friends. It is from Beckley, and reads as follows:—
In our “Historic Romance,” published 1883, by Hamilton, Adams, and Co., London, will be found an account of “Fools and Jesters of theEnglish Sovereigns,” and we therein state that the last recorded instance of a fool being kept by an English family is that of John Hilton’s fool, retained at Hilton Castle, Durham, who died in 1746.
The following epitaph is inscribed on a tombstone in the churchyard of St. Mary Friars, Shrewsbury, on Cadman, a famous “flyer” on the rope, immortalised by Hogarth, and who broke his neck descending from a steeple in Shrewsbury, in 1740.
Joe Miller, of facetious memory, next claims our attention. We find it stated in Chambers’s “Book of Days” (issued 1869) as follows: Miller was interred in the burial-ground of the parish of St. Clement Danes, in Portugal Street, where a tombstone was erected to his memory. About ten years ago that burial-ground, by the removalof the mortuary remains, and the demolition of the monuments, was converted into a site for King’s College Hospital. Whilst this not unnecessary, yet undesirable, desecration was in progress, the writer saw Joe’s tombstone lying on the ground; and being told that it would be broken up and used as materials for the new building, he took an exact copy of the inscription, which was as follows:—
An interesting sketch of the life of Joe Miller will be found in the “Book of Days,” vol. ii., page 216, and in the same informing and entertaining work, the following notes are given respecting the writer of the foregoing epitaph: “The ‘S. Duck,’ whose name figures as author of the verses on Miller’s tombstone, and who is alluded to on the same tablet, by Mr. Churchwarden Buck, as an instance of ‘poetic talent in humble life,’ deserves a short notice. He was a thresher in the service of a farmer near Kew, in Surrey. Imbued with an eager desire for learning, he, under most adverse circumstances, managed to obtain a few books, and educate himself to a limited degree. Becoming known as a rustic rhymer, he attracted the attention of Caroline, queen of George II., who, with her accustomed liberality, settled on him a pension of £30 per annum; she made him a Yeoman of the Guard, and installed him as keeper of a kind of museum she had in Richmond Park, called Merlin’s Cave. Not content with these promotions,the generous, but perhaps inconsiderate, queen caused Duck to be admitted to holy orders, and preferred to the living of Byfleet, in Surrey, where he became a popular preacher among the lower classes, chiefly through the novelty of being the ‘Thresher Parson.’ This gave Swift occasion to write the following quibbling epigram:—
JOE MILLER’S TOMBSTONE, ST. CLEMENT DANES CHURCHYARD, LONDON.
“One would suppose the poor thresher to have been beneath Swift’s notice, but the provocation was great, and the chastisement, such as it was, merited. For though few men had ever less pretensions to poetical genius than Duck, yet the Court party actually set him up as a rival—nay, as superior—to Pope. And the saddest part of the affair was that Duck, in his utter simplicity and ignorance of what really constituted poetry, was led to fancy himself the greatest poet of the age. Consequently, considering that his genius was neglected, and that he was not rewarded according to his poetical deserts by being made the clergyman of an obscure village, he fell into a state of melancholy, which ended in suicide; affording another to the numerous instances of the very great difficulty of doing good. If the well-meaning queen had elevated Duck to the position of farm-bailiff, he might have led a long and happy life, amongst the scenes and the classes of society in which his youth had passed,and thus been spared the pangs of disappointed vanity and misdirected ambition.”
Says a thoughtful writer, if truth, perspicuity, wit, gravity, and every property pertaining to the ancient or modern epitaph, were ever united in one of terse brevity, it was that made for Burbage, the tragedian, in the days of Shakespeare:—
“ExitBurbage.”
Jerrold, perhaps, with that brevity which is the soul of wit, trumped the above by his anticipatory epitaph on that excellent man and distinguished historian, Charles Knight:—
“GoodKnight.”
Thestirring lives of sportsmen have suggested spirited lines for their tombstones, as will be seen from the examples we bring under the notice of our readers.
The first epitaph is from Morville churchyard, near Bridgnorth, on John Charlton, Esq., who was for many years Master of the Wheatland Foxhounds, and died January 20th, 1843, aged 63 years; regretted by all who knew him:—
Our next is written on Mills, the huntsman:—
A short, rough, but pregnant epitaph is placed over the remains of Robert Hackett, a keeper ofHardwick Park, who died in 1703, and was buried in Ault Hucknall churchyard:—
George Dixon, a noted fox-hunter, is buried in Luton churchyard, and on his gravestone the following appears:—
On a stone in the graveyard of Mottram the following inscription appears:—
In the churchyard of Ecclesfield, may be read the following epitaph:—
Of the many epitaphs on sportsmen to be seen in Nottinghamshire, we cull a few of the choicest. Our first is a literal copy from a weather-worn stone in Eakring churchyard, placed to the memory of Henry Cartwright, senior keeper to his Grace the Duke of Kingston for fifty-five years, who died February 13th, 1773, aged eighty years, ten months, and three weeks:—
We next present particulars of a celebrated deer-stealer. According to a notice furnished in the “Nottingham Date Book,” the deeds of Tom Booth were for many years after his death a never-failing subject of conversational interest in Nottingham. It is stated that no modern deer-stealer was anything like so popular. Thorsby relates one exploit as follows:—“In Nottingham Park, at one time, was a favourite fine deer, a chief ranger, on which Tom and his wily companions had often cast their eyes; but how to deceive the keeper while they killed it was a task of difficulty. The night, however, in which they accomplished their purpose—whether by any settled plan or not is not known—they found the keeper at watch, as usual, in a certain place in the park. One of them, therefore, went in an opposite direction in the park, and fired his gun to make the keeper believe he had shot a deer; upon which away goes the keeper, in haste, to the spot, which was at a very considerable distance from the place where the favourite deer was, and near which Tom Booth was skulking. Tom, waiting a proper time, when he thought thekeeper at a sufficient distance for accomplishing his purpose, fired and killed the deer, and dragged it through the river Leen undiscovered.” Booth was a stout man, and by trade a whitesmith. The stone marking the place of his interment is still in good preservation, and stands in St. Nicholas’ burial-ground, against the southern wall of the church. It bears the following inscription:
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 thatsuch 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:—
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, inA.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 everdrew bow. His character is portrayed in his epitaph:—
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 the4th February, 1598.
There is a captivating bit of romance connected with Leake’s death, which occurred at Archer’s Water. Although somewhat ‘provectus in ætate,’ he had won the affections of the landlady’s daughter, much to the annoyance of the mother. Archer’s Water was on the old driftroadby 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 BlidworthRockingis 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 theoccasion. 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 fragmenTraditum a sylvicolis monumentumLoci ubi in singulari certamineGladiator ille insignisTho. LeakeMori occubuiAnnoMDXCVIII.Ab antiqua sede remotumH. P. C.Joannes DownallPrid. 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:—
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 CityHe 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 VictorIn the 52nd year of his ageAnno 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 thepages of theSpectatorhonourable 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:—
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:—
The tennis ball is introduced in an epitaph placed in St. Michael’s Church, Coventry. It reads thus:—