The 'human race' typified by '_our fleet_,' excites vague reminiscences of Goethe and Carlyle, and 'our Admiral Christ' seems not remotely a.s.sociated 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, of some 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:--

WILLIAM EASTON, Who was lost at sea, In the fishing smack Martha, In the gale of January, 1865.

Aged 30 years.

When through the torn sail the wild tempest is streaming; When o'er the dark wave the red lightning is gleaming, No hope lends a ray the poor fisher to cherish.

Oh hear, kind Jesus; save, Lord, or we perish!

In affectionate remembrance of THOMAS CRACKLES, Humber Pilot, who was drowned off The Lincolnshire Coast, During the gale, October 19th, 1869.

Aged 24 years.

How swift the torrent rolls That hastens to the sea; How strong the tide that bears our souls On to Eternity.

In affectionate remembrance of DAVID COLLISON, Who was drowned in the "Spirit of the Age,"

Off Scarborough, Jan. 6th, 1864.

Aged 36 years.

I cannot bend over his grave, He sleeps in the secret sea; And not one gentle whisp'red wave Can tell that place to me.

Although unseen by human eyes, And mortal know'd it not; Yet Christ knows where his body lies, And angels guard the spot.

ROBERT PICKERING, who was Drowned from the smack "Satisfaction,"

On the Dutch coast, May 7, 1869.

Aged 18 years.

The waters flowed on every side, No chance was there to save; At last compelled, he bowed and died, And found a watery grave.

In affectionate remembrance of WILLIAM HARRISON, 53 years Mariner of Hull, Who died October 5th, 1864.

Aged 70 years.

Long time I ploughed the ocean wide, A life of toil I spent; But now in harbour safe arrived From care and discontent.

My anchor's cast, my sails are furled, And now I am at rest.

Of all the parts throughout the world, Sailors, this is the best.

Our next example is from a stone in Castle Street burial-ground, Hull, which is so fast decaying that already some parts of the inscription are obliterated:--

Sacred to the memory of WILLIAM WALKER, ... . . r of the Sloop Janatt, ... ... . who was unfortunately drowned off Flamborough Head, 17th April, 1823.

Aged 41 years.

This stone was Erected by his Countrymen in remembrance of his Death.

I have left the troubled ocean, And now laid down to sleep, In hopes I shall set sail Our Saviour Christ to meet.

A gravestone in Horncastle churchyard, Lincolnshire, has this epitaph:--

My helm was gone, My sails were rent, My mast went by the board, My hull it struck upon a rock, Receive my soul, O Lord!

On a sailor's gravestone in the burial-ground at Hamilton, we are told:--

The seas he ploughed for twenty years, Without the smallest dread or fears: And all that time was never known To strike upon a bank or stone.

Epitaphs on Musicians and Actors.

A few epitaphs relating to music and the drama now claim our attention.

Our first example is to be found in the cathedral at Norwich:--

Here WILLIAM INGLOTT, organist, doth rest, Whose art in musick this Cathedral blest; For descant most, for voluntary all, He past on organ, song, and virginall.

He left this life at age of sixty-seven, And now 'mongst angels all sings St. in Heaven; His fame flies far, his name shall never die, See, art and age here crown his memorie.

_Non digitis, Inglotte, tuis terrestria tangis, Tangis nunc digitis organa celsa poli._

Anno Dom. 1621.

Buried the last day This erected the 15th of December, 1621. day of June, 1622.

In Wakefield Parish Church a tablet bears an inscription as follows:--

In memory of HENRY CLEMETSHAW, upwards of fifty years organist of this church, who died May 7, 1821, aged 68 years.

Now, like an organ, robb'd of pipes and breath, Its keys and stops are useless made by death, Tho' mute and motionless in ruins laid; Yet when re-built, by more than mortal aid, This instrument, new voiced, and tuned, shall raise, To G.o.d, its builder, hymns of endless praise.

We copy the following from a monument in Holy Trinity Church, Hull:--

In memory of GEORGE LAMBERT, late Organist of this Church, which office he held upwards of 40 years, performing its duties with ability and a.s.siduity rarely exceeded, affording delight to the lovers of Sacred Harmony, This Tablet is erected by his Musical and private Friends, aided by the brothers of the Humber and Minerva Lodges of Free Masons of this Town (being a member of the latter Lodge), That they might place on record the high sense they entertained of his personal and professional merit.

He died Feb. 19th, 1838, aged 70 years, And his Remains were interred at the Parish Church of St. John in Beverley.

Tho' like an Organ now in ruins laid, Its stops disorder'd, and its frame decay'd, This instrument ere long new tun'd shall raise To G.o.d, its Builder, notes of endless praise.

From a churchyard in Wales we obtain the following curious epitaph on an organ blower:--

Under this stone lies MEREDITH MORGAN, Who blew the bellows of our church organ.

Tobacco he hated, to smoke most unwilling, Yet never so pleased as when _pipes_ he was filling.

No reflection on him for rude speech could be cast, Though he gave our old organ many a blast!

No puffer was he, though a capital blower; He could blow double G., and now lies a note lower.

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 of JOHN 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 wife HANNAH, 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.