Page 108 - Graveyard

106 | Gr a v e y a r d H u m o r

Poor Mary Snell, her’s gone away;
Her would if her could,
But her couldn’t stay;
Her had sore legs, and a baddish cough,
But her legs it were that carried her off.

311. From Lichfield, Connecticut:—

Sacred to the memory of inestimable worth, of unrivalled excellence
and virtue [then the name], whose ethereal parts became seraphic on
th
the 25 day of May, 1867.

312. From San Diego:—

Here lies the body of James Hambrick, who was accidentally shot on
the Pacus River by a young man. He was accidentally shot with one of
the large Colt’s revolvers, with no stopper for the cock to rest on. It
was one of the old-fashioned kind, brass-mounted, and of such is the
kingdom of Heaven.

313. On a Linen-draper:—

Cotton and calicos all adieu,
And muslins, too, farewell;
Plain, striped, and figured, old and new,
Three-quarter, yard, or ell.
By nail and yard I’ve measured ye,
As customers inclined.
The churchyard now has measured me,
And nails my coffin bind.

314. From Llanfylantwthyl, Wales. 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.