1899.] on Epitaphs. 23 



The same modesty led Buffon's son to describe himself on his 

 monument to his father as the humble column of a lofty tower : 

 " ExcelsEe turris humilis columna." 



So graceful a turn of phrase ought by itself to have prevented his 

 having been described as " le plus mauvais chapitre de l'histoire 

 naturelle de son pere ! " 



One of the most delightful of all epitaphs, to my thinking, is in a 

 place very familiar to me, the grey City of Aberdeen, but I learnt it 

 first from Pennant, who, in his tour last century, was fortunate enough 

 to observe it. 



Si fides, Si humanitas 



Multoque gratus lepore candor 



Si suoruni amor amicorum caritas 



Omniumque beuevolentia 



Spiritual reducere possent 



IS on hie situs esset 



Johannes Burnet a Elrick. 



If fidelity, if humanity and candour, made pleasant by an abundance of wit, 

 if the love of his kindred, the affectionate regard of his friends, and the kindly 

 feeling of all could bring back the breath — John Burnet of Elrick would not lie 

 here. 



There are two good epitaphs on dogs by Lord Grenville in the 

 ' Anthologia Oxoniensis ' — one of them extremely beautiful. Its last 

 two lines are : — 



Jamque vale ! Elysii subeo loca lseta piorum 

 Quae dat Persephone manibus esse canum. 



And now ! Farewell, I depart to those happy seats of the good which 

 Persephone reserves for the manes of dogs. 



I may refer those who would like to see a reasoned defence of the 

 dog's view of his future, to a very remarkable passage in a most in- 

 teresting book, the late Mr. Greg's ' Enigmas of Life.' 



One of the most happily conceived of epitaphs is the line of Ovid 

 inscribed over the gate of the cemetery at Richmond, where so many 

 of those who fell on the southern side in the American Civil War are 

 buried : — 



Qui bene pro patria cum patriaque jacent. 



Those who lie here in honour having died for and with their country. 



They were more fortunate than the noble of the Eastern Empire, 

 who died shortly before the capture of Constantinople by the Turks, 

 and whose epitaph is thus translated by Bland. I do not know the 

 original. 



Oh thou who sleep'st in brazen slumber, tell, 



— (Thy high descent and noble name full well 



I know — Byzantium claims thy birth — ) but say ! 



" A death, unworthy of my high estate — 



This thought is keener than the stroke of fate, 



I bled not in the ranks of those who fell 



For glorious, falling Greece— no more— Farewell ! " 



