Here the old man lies No one laughs and no one cries Where he's gone or how he fares No one knows and no one cares. But his brother James and his wife Emeline They were his friends all the time. Here lies our young and blooming daughter— Murdered by the cruel and relentless Henry. When coming home from school he met her, And with a six self shooter, shot her. Here lies Cynthia, Stevens' wife She lived six years in calms and strife. Death came at last and set her free. I was glad and so was she. In youth he was a scholar bright. In learning he took great delight. He was a major's only son. It was by love he was undone. Here lies old Caleb Ham, By trade a bum. When he died the devil cried, Come, Caleb, come.

Peak Cemetery.

Thomas Culbert

The voice of a stepfather beneath this Stone is to rest one, shamefully robbed In life by his wife's son, and Esq Tom And David Learys wife

(The above is a verbatim copy.)

Guilford.

Josiah Haines

He was a blessing to the saints, To sinners rich and poor, He was a kind and worthy man, He's gone to be no more. He kept the faith unto the end And left the world in peace. He did not for a doctor send Nor for a hireling priest.

Mrs. Josiah Haines

Here beneath these marble stones Sleeps the dust and rests the bones Of one who lived a Christian life T'was Haines's—Josiah's wife. She was a woman full of truth And feared God from early youth. And priests and elders did her fight Because she brought her deeds to light.

Pembroke.

Here lies a man never beat by a plan, Straight was his aim and sure of his game, Never was a lover but invented a revolver.

Jaffrey.

A free negro, Amos Fortune, settled in Jaffrey more than one hundred years ago, though warned off as a possible pauper, and left one quaint bit of history—his estate, to the town. Part of it bought the communion service still in use (1895.) On the gravestone of his wife is this inscription:—

Sacred to the memory of Violate, by purchase the Slave of Amos Fortune, by marriage his wife, by fidelity his companion and solace, and by his death his widow.

VERMONT

Our little Jacob has been taken away to bloom in a superior flower pot above.

My wife lies here. All my tears cannot bring her back; Therefore, I weep.

This little buttercup was bound to join the heavenly choir

Burlington.

Beneath this stone our baby lays He neither crys or hollers. He lived just one and twenty days, And cost us forty dollars. Charity wife of Gideon Bligh Underneath this stone doth lie Naught was she e'er known to do That her husband told her to. Here lies the wife of brother Thomas, Whom tyrant death has torn from us, Her husband never shed a tear, Until his wife was buried here. And then he made a fearful rout, For fear she might find her way out.

He first departed, she a little tried to live without him. Liked it not and died.

His illness lay not in one part But o'er his frame it spread. The fatal disease was in his heart And water in his head.

In memory of Elizabeth Taylor

Could blooming years and modesty and all thats pleasing to the eye,

Against grim death been a defence,

Elizabeth had not gone hence.

Died when young and full of promise Of whooping cough our Thomas. She lived with her husband fifty years And died in the confident hope of a better life. Stop dear parent cast your eye, And here you see your children lie. Though we are gone one day before, You may be cold in a minute more. Little Teddy, fare thee well, Safe from earth in Heaven to dwell. Almost Cherub here below, Altogether angel now.

On a tombstone for man and wife

In sunny days and stormy weather, In youth, and age, we clung together. We lived and loved, laughed and cried Together—and almost together died.

Windsor.

Behold! I come as a thief

Death loves a shining mark. In this case he had it.

Stowe.

Erected by a widower in memory of his two wives

This double call is laid to all, Let none surprise or wonder. But to the youth it speaks a truth, In accents loud as thunder. Stranger pause as you pass by; My thirteen children with me lie. See their faces how they shine Like blossoms on a fruitful vine.

A rum cough carried him off

Here lies the body of old Uncle David, Who died in the hope of being sa-ved. Where he's gone or how he fares, Nobody knows and nobody cares. The body that lies buried here By lightning fell, death's sacrifice, To him Elijah's fate was given He rode on flames of fire to heaven. Stay, reader, drop upon this stone One pitying tear and then be gone: A handsome pile of flesh and blood Is here sunk down in its first mud.

I was somebody—who? is no business of yours

My wife from me departed And robbed me like a knave; Which caused me broken hearted To sink into this grave. My children took an active part, To doom me did contrive; Which stuck a dagger in my heart That I could not survive.

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Quaint Epitaphs

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