In memory of Mr. RICHARD JOY called the Kentish Samson Died May 18th 1742 aged 67

Hercules Hero Famed for Strength At last Lies here his Breadth and Length See how the mighty man is fallen To Death ye strong and weak are all one And the same Judgment doth Befall Goliath Great or David small.

Joy was invited to Court to exhibit his remarkable feats of strength. In 1699 his portrait was published, and appended to it was an account of his prodigious physical power.

The next epitaph is from St. James's Cemetery, Liverpool:--

Reader pause. Deposited beneath are the remains of SARAH BIFFIN,

who was born without arms or hands, at Quantox Head, County of Somerset, 25th of October, 1784, died at Liverpool, 2nd October, 1850. Few have pa.s.sed through the vale of life so much the child of hapless fortune as the deceased: and yet possessor of mental endowments of no ordinary kind. Gifted with singular talents as an Artist, thousands have been gratified with the able productions of her pencil! whilst versatile conversation and agreeable manners elicited the admiration of all. This tribute to one so universally admired is paid by those who were best acquainted with the character it so briefly portrays. Do any inquire otherwise--the answer is supplied in the solemn admonition of the Apostle--

Now no longer the subject of tears, Her conflict and trials are o'er In the presence of G.o.d she appears

Our correspondent, Mrs. Charlotte Jobling, from whom we received the above, says: "The remainder is buried. It stands against the wall, and does not appear to now mark the grave of Miss Biffin." Mr. Henry Morley, in his "Memoirs of Bartholomew Fair," writing about the fair of 1799, mentions Miss Biffin. "She was found," says Mr. Morley, "in the Fair, and a.s.sisted by the Earl of Morton, who sat for his likeness to her, always taking the unfinished picture away with him when he left, that he might prove it to be all the work of her own shoulder. When it was done he laid it before George III., in the year 1808; he obtained the King's favour for Miss Biffin; and caused her to receive, at his own expense, further instruction in her art from Mr. Craig. For the last twelve years of his life he maintained a correspondence with her; and, after having enjoyed favour from two King Georges, she received from William IV. a small pension, with which, at the Earl's request, she retired from a life among caravans. But fourteen years later, having been married in the interval, she found it necessary to resume, as Mrs. Wright, late Miss Biffin, her business as a skilful miniature painter, in one or two of our chief provincial towns."

The following on Butler, the author of "Hudibras," merits a place in our pages. The first inscription is from St. Paul's, Covent Garden:--

BUTLER, the celebrated author of "Hudibras," was buried in this church. Some of the inhabitants, understanding that so famous a man was there buried, and regretting that neither stone nor inscription recorded the event, raised a subscription for the purpose of erecting something to his memory. Accordingly, an elegant tablet has been put up in the portico of the church, bearing a medallion of that great man, which was taken from his monument in Westminster Abbey.

The following lines were contributed by Mr. O'Brien, and are engraved beneath the medallion:--

A few plain men, to pomp and pride unknown, O'er a poor bard have rais'd this humble stone, Whose wants alone his genius could surpa.s.s, Victim of zeal! the matchless "Hudibras."

What, tho' fair freedom suffer'd in his page, Reader, forgive the author--for the age.

How few, alas! disdain to cringe and cant, When 'tis the mode to play the sycophant, But oh! let all be taught, from BUTLER'S fate, Who hope to make their fortunes by the great; That wit and pride are always dangerous things, And little faith is due to courts or kings.

The erection of the above monument was the occasion of this very good epigram by Mr. S. Wesley:--

Whilst BUTLER (needy wretch!) was yet alive, No gen'rous patron would a dinner give; See him, when starv'd to death, and turn'd to dust, Presented with a monumental bust!

The poet's fate is here in emblem shown, He ask'd for bread, and he received a stone.

It is worth remarking that the poet was starving, while his prince, Charles II., always carried a "Hudibras" in his pocket.

The inscription on his monument in Westminster Abbey is as follows:--

Sacred to the Memory of SAMUEL BUTLER,

Who was born at Strensham, in Worcestershire, 1612, and died at London, 1680; a man of uncommon learning, wit, and probity: as admirable for the product of his genius, as unhappy in the rewards of them. His satire, exposing the hypocrisy and wickedness of the rebels, is such an inimitable piece, that, as he was the first, he may be said to be the last writer in his peculiar manner. That he, who, when living, wanted almost everything, might not, after death, any longer want so much as a tomb, John Barber, citizen of London, erected this monument 1721.

Here are a few particulars respecting an oddity, furnished by a correspondent: "Died, at High Wycombe, Bucks, on the 24th May, 1837, Mr.

John Guy, aged 64. His remains were interred in Hughenden churchyard, near Wycombe. On a marble slab, on the lid of his coffin, is the following inscription:--

Here, without nail or shroud, doth lie Or covered by a pall, JOHN GUY.

Born May 17th, 1773.

Died ---- 24th, 1837.

On his gravestone these lines are inscribed:--

In coffin made without a nail, Without a shroud his limbs to hide; For what can pomp or show avail, Or velvet pall, to swell the pride.

Here lies JOHN GUY beneath this sod, Who lov'd his friends, and fear'd his G.o.d.

This eccentric gentleman was possessed of considerable property, and was a native of Gloucestershire. His grave and coffin were made under his directions more than a twelvemonth before his death; the inscription on the tablet on his coffin, and the lines placed upon his gravestone, were his own composition. He gave all necessary orders for the conducting of his funeral, and five shillings were wrapped in separate pieces of paper for each of the bearers. The coffin was of singular beauty and neatness in workmanship, and looked more like a piece of tasteful cabinet-work intended for a drawing-room, than a receptacle for the dead."

Near the great door of the Abbey of St. Peter, Gloucester, says Mr. Henry Calvert Appleby, at the bottom of the body of the building, is a marble monument to John Jones, dressed in the robes of an alderman, painted in different colours. Underneath the effigy, on a tablet of black marble, are the following words:--

JOHN JONES, alderman, thrice mayor of the city, burgess of the Parliament at the time of the gunpowder treason; registrar to eight several Bishops of this diocese.

He died in the sixth year of the reign of King Charles I., on the first of June, 1630. He gave orders for his monument to be raised in his lifetime.

When the workmen had fixed it up, he found fault with it, remarking that the _nose was too red_. While they were altering it, he walked up and down the body of the church. He then said that he had himself almost finished, so he paid off the men, and died the next morning.

The next epitaph from Newark, Nottinghamshire, furnishes a chapter of local history:--

Sacred to the memory Of HERCULES CLAY, Alderman of Newark, Who died in the year of his Mayoralty, Jan. 1, 1644.

On the 5th of March, 1643, He and his family were preserved By the Divine Providence From the thunderbolt of a terrible cannon Which had been levelled against his house By the Besiegers, And entirely destroyed the same.

Out of grat.i.tude for this deliverance, He has taken care To perpetuate the remembrance thereof By an alms to the poor and a sermon; By this means Raising to himself a Monument More durable than Bra.s.s.

The thund'ring Cannon sent forth from its mouth the devouring Flames Against my Household G.o.ds, and yours, O Newark.

The Ball, thus thrown, Involved the House in Ruin; But by a Divine Admonition from Heaven I was saved, Being thus delivered by a strength Greater than that of Hercules, And having been drawn out of the deep Clay, I now inhabit the stars on high.

Now, Rebel, direct thy unavailing Fires at Heaven, Art thou afraid to fight against G.o.d--thou Who hast been a Murderer of His People?

Thou durst not, Coward, scatter thy Flames Whilst Charles is lord of earth and skies.

Also of his beloved wife MARY (by the gift of G.o.d) Partaker of the same felicity.

Wee too made one by his decree That is but one in Trinity, Did live as one till death came in And made us two of one agen; Death was much blamed for our divorce, But striving how he might doe worse By killing th' one as well as th' other, He fairely brought us both togeather, Our soules together where death dare not come, Our bodyes lye interred beneath this tomb, Wayting the resurrection of the just, O knowe thyself (O man), thou art but dust.[2]

It is stated that Charles II., in a gay moment, asked Rochester to write his epitaph. Rochester immediately wrote:--

Here lies our mutton-eating king, Whose word no man relied on; Who never said a foolish thing, Nor ever did a wise one.

On which the King wrote the following comment:--

If death could speak, the king would say, In justice to his crown, His _acts_ they were the ministers's, His words they were his own.

Mr. Thomas Broadbent Trowsdale tells us: "In the fine old church of Chepstow, Monmouthshire, nearly opposite the reading-desk, is a memorial stone with the following curious acrostic inscription, in capital letters:--

HERE SEPT. 9th, 1680, WAS BURIED A TRUE BORN ENGLISHMAN,

Who, in Berkshire, was well known To love his country's freedom 'bove his own: But being immured full twenty years Had time to write, as doth appears--

HIS EPITAPH.

H ere or elsewhere (all's one to you or me) E arth, Air, or Water gripes my ghostly dust, N one knows how soon to be by fire set free; R eader, if you an old try'd rule will trust, Y ou'll gladly do and suffer what you must.

M y time was spent in serving you and you, A nd death's my pay, it seems, and welcome too; R evenge destroying but itself, while I T o birds of prey leave my old cage and fly; E xamples preach to the eye--care then (mine says), N ot how you end, but how you spend your days.

"This singular epitaph points out the last resting-place of Henry Marten, one of the judges who condemned King Charles I. to the scaffold. On the Restoration, Marten was sentenced to perpetual imprisonment, Chepstow Castle being selected as the place of his incarceration. There he died in 1680, in the twenty-eighth year of his captivity, and seventy-eighth of his age. He was originally interred in the chancel of the church; but a subsequent vicar of Chepstow, Chest by name, who carried his petty party animosities even beyond the grave, had the dead man's dust removed, averring that he would not allow the body of a regicide to lie so near the altar. And so it was that Marten's memorial came to occupy its present position in the pa.s.sage leading from the nave to the north aisle. We are told that one Mr. Downton, a son-in-law of this pusillanimous parson, touched to the quick by his relative's harsh treatment of poor Marten's inanimate remains, retorted by writing this satirical epitaph for the Rev.

Mr. Chest's tombstone:--