Quaint Epitaphs

He flopped his wings and away he flew
To make one angel more.

Here lies the body of Mary Ford
We hope her soul is with the Lord.
But if for tophet she's changed this life,
Better be there than J. Ford's wife.

A zealous locksmith died of late,
And did not enter Heaven's gate.
But stood without and would not knock
Because he meant to pick the lock.

Ashes to ashes dust to dust,
Here lies George Emery I trust.
And when the trump blows louder and louder
He'll rise a box of Emery powder.

There was a man who died of late,
Whom angels did impatient wait
With outstretched arms and smiles of love
To take him up to the realms above.
While hovering 'round the lower skies
Still disputing for the prize,
The devil slipped in like a weasil
And down to Hell he took old Kezle.

Here lies interred Priscilla Bird
Who sang on earth till sixty two.
Now up on high above the sky
No doubt she sings like sixty—too.

Here lies Jane Smith,

Wife of Thomas Smith, Marble Cutter

This monument was erected by her husband as a tribute to her memory and a specimen of his work.

Monuments of this same style are two hundred and fifty dollars.

A Cricket Player's Epitaph

In the pride of his manhood he heard the last call,
Though first in the field where his feet pressed the sod.
He hath gained his last wicket and thrown his last ball,
To join in the choir 'round the throne of his God.

Here lies the body of Susan Lowder
Who burst while drinking a Sedlit powder.
Called from this world to her heavenly rest
She should have waited till it effervesced.

A man of letters it seems was he;
The college made him L.L. D.
The Order a P. G. W. C.
Grim death has given him the G. B.
And may his ashes R. I. P.

After cremation

And this is all that's left of thee
Thou fairest of earth's daughters.
Only four pounds of ashes white
Out of two hundred and three quarters.

James Payn, the novelist, speaks of this epitaph as "pathetic and expressive."

Here lies an old woman who always was tired,
For she lived in a house where help was not hired;
And her last words on earth were,
Dear friends I am going
Where no washing is done nor sweeping or sewing.
Where all things will be exact to my wishes,
For where there's no eating there's no washing of dishes.
I'll be where loud anthems are constantly ringing
But having no voice I shall get clear of singing.
She folded her hands with her latest endeavor
And sighing she whispered sweet nothing forever.

Alpha White

Weight 309 lbs

Open wide ye golden gates
That lead to the heavenly shore.
Our father suffered in passing through
And mother weighs much more.

The winter snow congealed his form
But now we know our Uncle's warm.

Our papa dear has gone to Heaven
To make arrangements for eleven.

Epitaph on a dentist

View this gravestone with gravity
He is filling his last cavity.

Here lies Dodge, who dodged all good