Peacable and quiet, a friend to his father and mother, respected by all who knew him—gone to the world where horses don't kick, where sorrow and weeping are no more.

Here lies my twins as dead as nits
One died of fever the other of fits.

Some have children others none,
Here lies the mother of twenty one.

Yazoo City.

Here lie two grandsons of
John Hancock, first signer of the
Declaration of Independence.
(Their names are respectively Geo. M.
and John H. Hancock)
and their eminence hangs on
their having had a grandfather.

UNLOCATED

Beneath this stone, a lump of clay,
Lies Arabella Young,
Who on the twenty first of May
Began to hold her tongue.

Ebenezer Dockwood aged forty seven,
A miser and a hypocrite and never went to Heaven.

Within this grave do lie.
Back to back my wife and I.
When the last trump the air shall fill,
If she gets up I'll just lie still.

Mammy and I together lived,
Just three years and a half.
She went first, I followed next,
The cow before the calf.

A man had cremated four wives, and the ashes, kept in four urns, being overturned and fallen together, were buried at last and had this droll inscription:

Stranger pause and shed a tear,
For Mary Jane lies buried here.
Mingled in a most surprising manner
With Susan, Marie and portions of Hannah.

Sacred to the memory
Of Miss Martha Grimm.
She was so very spare within,
She burst the outward shell of sin
And hatched herself a cherubim.

No doctor ever physicked me,
Was never near my side.
But when fever came I thought of the name,
And that was enough—I died.

This is to the memory of Ellen Hill,
A woman who would always have her will.
She snubbed her husband but she made good bread
Yet on the whole he's rather glad she's dead.
She whipped her children and she drank her gin,
Whipped virtue out and whipped the devil in.
May all such women go to some great fold
Where they through all eternity may scold.

Sacred to the memory of William Skaradon who came to his death by being shot with a Colts revolver, one of the old kind brass mounted and of such is the kingdom of heaven.

Timothy Egan

He heard the angels calling him,
From the celestial shore.
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
And dodged a deal of evil.
But after dodging all he could
He could not dodge the devil.

On the tombstone of a disagreeable old man

"Deeply regretted by all who never knew him."

Here lies Jim Shaw, attorney-at-law.
When he died the devil cried,
Give me your paw, Jim Shaw,
Attorney at law.

Here lies my wife a sad slatterned shrew
If I said I regretted her I should lie too.

Here lies Ann Mann.
She lived an old maid
But died an old Mann.

Here lies Ned Hyde because he died.
If it had been his sister
We should not have missed her.
But would rather it had been his father
Or for the good of the nation
The whole generation.

On a well-known pill doctor

His virtues and his pills are so well known
That envy can't confine them under stone.

Throughout his life he kneaded bread
And deemed it quite a bore.
But now six feet beneath earth's crust
He needeth bread no more.

Listen, Mother, Aunt and me
Were killed, here we be.
We should not had time to missle
Had they blown the engine whistle.

Here lies the remains of

John Hall grocer

The world is not worth a fig
I have good raisins for saying so.

Amanda Lowe

She loved me and my grandchildren reverenced her. She bathed my feet and kept my socks well darned.

A bird, a man, a loaded gun.
No bird, dead man, thy will be done.

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Quaint Epitaphs