inherited from him a competent estate; and, in gratitude to his
benefactor, ordered this monument to perpetuate his memory.
He lived a patriarch in his numerous race,
And shew'd in charity a Christian's grace:
Whate'er a friend or parent feels he knew;
His hand was open, and his heart was true;
In what he gain'd and gave, he taught mankind
A grateful always is a generous mind.
Here rests his clay! his soul must ever rest,
Who bless'd when living, dying must be blest.
The well-known blacksmith's epitaph, said to be written by the poet
Hayley, may be found in many churchyards in this country. It formed the
subject of a sermon delivered on Sunday, the 27th day of August, 1837, by
the then Vicar of Crich, Derbyshire, to a large assembly. We are told that
the vicar appeared much excited, and read the prayers in a hurried manner.
Without leaving the desk, he proceeded to address his flock for the last
time; and the following is the substance thereof: "To-morrow, my friends,
this living will be vacant, and if any one of you is desirous of becoming
my successor he has now an opportunity. Let him use his influence, and who
can tell but he may be honoured with the title of Vicar of Crich. As this
is my last address, I shall only say, had I been a blacksmith, or a son of
Vulcan, the following lines might not have been inappropriate:--
My sledge and hammer lie reclined,
My bellows, too, have lost their wind;
My fire's extinct, my forge decayed,
And in the dust my vice is laid.
My coal is spent, my iron's gone,
My nails are drove, my work is done;
My fire-dried corpse lies here at rest,
And, smoke-like, soars up to be bless'd.
If you expect anything more, you are deceived; for I shall only say,
Friends, farewell, farewell!" The effect of this address was too visible
to pass unnoticed. Some appeared as if awakened from a fearful dream, and
gazed at each other in silent astonishment; others for whom it was too
powerful for their risible nerves to resist, burst into boisterous
laughter, while one and all slowly retired from the scene, to exercise
their future cogitations on the farewell discourse of their late pastor.
From Silkstone churchyard we have the following on a Potter and his
wife:--
In memory of John Taylor, of Silkstone, potter, who departed this
life, July 14th, Anno Domini 1815, aged 72 years.
Also Hannah, his wife, who departed this life, August 13th, 1815, aged
68 years.
Out of the clay they got their daily bread,
Of clay were also made.
Returned to clay they now lie dead,
Where all that's left must shortly go.
To live without him his wife she tried,
Found the task hard, fell sick, and died.
And now in peace their bodies lay,
Until the dead be called away,
And moulded into spiritual clay.
On a poor woman who kept an earthenware shop at Chester, the following
epitaph was composed:--
Beneath this stone lies CATHERINE GRAY,
Changed to a lifeless lump of clay;
By earth and clay she got her pelf,
And now she's turned to earth herself.
Ye weeping friends, let me advise,
Abate your tears and dry your eyes;
For what avails a flood of tears?
Who knows but in a course of years,
In some tall pitcher or brown pan,
She in her shop may be again.