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; it was 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 the _Glasgow Citizen_:--

Fallen is the curtain, the last scene is o'er, The favourite actor treads life's stage no more.

Oft lavish plaudits from the crowd he drew, And laughing eyes confessed his humour true; Here fond affection rears this sculptured stone, For virtues not enacted, but his own.

A constancy unshaken unto death, A truth unswerving, and a Christian's faith; Who knew him best have cause to mourn him most.

Oh, weep the man, more than the actor lost!

Unnumbered parts he play'd yet to the end, His best were those of husband, father, friend.

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:--

Sacred To the memory of THOMAS 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 a.s.surance 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 d.i.c.ky Pearce, who died 1728, aged 63 years. He was a famous fool, and his name carries us back to the time when kings and n.o.blemen employed jesters for the delectation of themselves and their friends. It is from Beckley, and reads as follows:--

Here lies the Earl of Suffolk's Fool, Men call him d.i.c.kY PEARCE; His folly serv'd to make men laugh, When wit and mirth were scarce.

Poor d.i.c.k, alas! is dead and gone, What signifies to cry?

d.i.c.ky's enough are still behind To laugh at by and by.

In our "Historic Romance," published 1883, by Hamilton, Adams, and Co., London, will be found an account of "Fools and Jesters of the English 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.

Let this small monument record the name Of CADMAN, and to future times proclaim How, by an attempt to fly from this high spire, Across the _Sabrine_ stream, he did acquire His fatal end. 'Twas not for want of skill, Or courage to perform the task, he fell; No, no,--a faulty cord being drawn too tight Hurried his soul on high to take her flight, Which bid the body here beneath, good-night.

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 removal of 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:--

Here lye the Remains of Honest JO: MILLER, who was a tender Husband, a sincere Friend, a facetious Companion, and an excellent Comedian.

He departed this Life the 15th day of August 1738, aged 54 years.

If humour, wit, and honesty could save The humourous, witty, honest, from the grave, The grave had not so soon this tenant found, Whom honesty, and wit, and humour, crowned; Could but esteem, and love preserve our breath, And guard us longer from the stroke of Death, The stroke of Death on him had later fell, Whom all mankind esteemed and loved so well.

S. DUCK,

From respect to social worth, mirthful qualities, and histrionic excellence, commemorated by poetic talent in humble life.

The above inscription, which Time had nearly obliterated, has been preserved and transferred to this Stone, by order of Mr. Jarvis Buck, Churchwarden, A.D. 1816.

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 circ.u.mstances, 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 cla.s.ses, chiefly through the novelty of being the 'Thresher Parson.' This gave Swift occasion to write the following quibbling epigram:--

The thresher Duck could o'er the queen prevail; The proverb says,--"No fence against a flail."

From threshing corn, he turns to thresh his brains, For which her Majesty allows him grains; Though 'tis confest, that those who ever saw His poems, think 'em all not worth a straw.

Thrice happy Duck! employed in threshing stubble!

Thy toil is lessened, and thy profits double.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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 chastis.e.m.e.nt, 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 const.i.tuted 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 cla.s.ses of society in which his youth had pa.s.sed, 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:--

"Exit BURBAGE."

Jerrold, perhaps, with that brevity which is the soul of wit, trumped the above by his antic.i.p.atory epitaph on that excellent man and distinguished historian, Charles Knight:--

"Good KNIGHT."

Epitaphs on Sportsmen.

The stirring 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:--

Of this world's pleasure I have had my share, A few of the sorrows I was doomed to bear.

How oft have I enjoy'd the n.o.ble chase Of hounds and foxes striving for the race!

But hark! the knell of death calls me away, So sportsmen, all, farewell! I must obey.

Our next is written on Mills, the huntsman:--

Here lies JOHN MILLS, who over the hills Pursued the hounds with hallo: The leap though high, from earth to sky, The huntsman we must follow.

A short, rough, but pregnant epitaph is placed over the remains of Robert Hackett, a keeper of Hardwick Park, who died in 1703, and was buried in Ault Hucknall churchyard:--

Long had he chased The Red and Fallow Deer, But Death's cold dart At last has fix'd him here.

George Dixon, a noted fox-hunter, is buried in Luton churchyard, and on his gravestone the following appears:--

Stop, pa.s.senger, and thy attention fix on, That true-born, honest, fox-hunter, GEORGE DIXON, Who, after eighty years' unwearied chase, Now rests his bones within this hallow'd place.

A gentle tribute of applause bestow, And give him, as you pa.s.s, one _tally-ho_!

Early to cover, brisk he rode each morn, In hopes the _brush_ his temple might adorn; The view is now no more, the chase is past, And to an earth, poor George is run at last.

On a stone in the graveyard of Mottram the following inscription appears:--

In the memory of GEORGE NEWTON, of Stalybridge, who died August 7th, 1871, in the 94th year of his age.

Though he liv'd long, the old man has gone at last, No more he'll hear the huntsman's stirring blast; Though fleet as Reynard in his youthful prime, At last he's yielded to the hand of Time.

Blithe as a lark, dress'd in his coat of green, With hounds and horn the old man was seen.