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Daughter of him who rul'd th' Athenian plains,
This honour'd dust Archedice contains.

Of tyrants, mother, daughter, sister, wife-
Her mind was modest, and unstain'd her life.

Again, an epitaph should not be merely general in praise. The particular characteristics of the dead should be clearly stated, so that the inscription may be suitable to that individual alone on whose tomb it is engraved; otherwise no certain idea of the deceased is gained by the reader, and nothing definite is impressed on the memory. As an example, a Greek epitaph on Euphemius by S. Gregory Nazianzen may be cited (translated by H. S. Boyd):

Euphemius slumbers in this hallow'd ground,
Son of Amphilochus, by all renown'd:
He whom the Graces to the Muses gave,
Tuneful no more, lies mouldering in the grave;
The minstrels came to chaunt the bridal lay,
But swifter Envy bore her prize away.

Here some certain information is given. We learn the man's name and that of his father, that he was beautiful in person, with the soul of a poet, and that he died young upon the eve of marriage.

Now, in what respect do Pope's epitaphs display or fall short of the requirements of this style of composition? First, with regard to the name of the dead. His inscriptions have been satirically called "Epitaphs to be let," because he constantly omits all mention of the person whom he is praising. And, secondly, with regard to distinctive characteristics, the same satire is applicable; for in many cases his epitaphs are so indefinite that they would suit as well other persons as those for whom they are intended. In that on Simon Harcourt, the second fault is very conspicuous, for in eight lines we learn nothing but that he was Pope's friend, a good son, and that his death gave his father and his friend much concern. The first fault is not, however, found; for "this epitaph," says Dr. Johnson, is principally remarkable for the artful introduction of the name, which is inserted with a peculiar felicity, to which chance must concur with genius, which

no man can hope to attain twice, and which cannot be copied but with servile imitation":

To this sad shrine, whoe'er thou art, draw near,
Here lies the friend most lov'd, the son most dear:
Who ne'er knew joy, but friendship might divide,
Or gave his father grief but when he died.

How vain is reason, eloquence how weak!
If Pope must tell what Harcourt cannot speak.
Oh! let thy once-lov'd friend inscribe thy stone,
And with a father's sorrows mix his own.

Pope's finest epitaph, because the noblest memorial of God-given intellect in the fewest words, is that on Sir Isaac Newton; but most of his monumental inscriptions are on men who were not of sufficient celebrity to be exempt from the necessity of some particulars of their history being recorded on their tombs. It is in these he fails. He either gives no details, or is fulsome in his praise. Of the latter character is the one on Craggs, who was a respectable statesman, but not the all-perfect man described by Pope:

Statesman, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere,

In action faithful, and in honour clear!
Who broke no promise, serv'd no private end,
Who gain'd no title, and who lost no friend;

Ennobled by himself, by all approv'd,

Prais'd, wept, and honour'd by the Muse he lov'd.

To these lines cannot be denied the praise of much beauty; but they have the effect (which should never be the case in an epitaph) of unreality-of bestowing the flattery of affection, rather than the impartial justice of truth.

During the eighteenth century many Epigrammatists of considerable note flourished, a few accepting the Greek type, but the majority the Roman, though in the writings of most of them some pieces may be found which have all the elegance and simplicity of the former, whilst but a small section ventured upon the imitation of the worst specimens of the latter. Aaron Hill and Garrick were men who thoroughly understood epigram-writing. Both abound in humour, especially the latter. Both could be tender, and, throwing aside satire, write with grace of diction and

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sentiment. Take the following lines on the power of love
by Hill as an example (Hill's "Works," 1753, III. 38):
Oh! forbear to bid me slight her,
Soul and senses take her part;
Could my life itself delight her,

Life should leap to leave my heart.
Strong, though soft, a lover's chain,
Charm'd with woe and pleas'd with pain.

Though the tender flame were dying,

Love would light it at her eyes;

Or, her tuneful voice applying,

Through my ear, my soul surprise.

Deaf, I see the fate I shun,
Blind, I hear I am undone.

The epigrams of Lord Lyttelton and of Horace Walpole deserve particular attention as models of chaste taste. The former never degenerates into coarse satire; the latter, though sometimes satirical, is never common-place. How pregnant is this distich by Lord Lyttelton as an "Inscription for a bust of Lady Suffolk in a wood at Stowe ":

Her wit and beauty for a court were made:
But truth and goodness fit her for a shade.

And how elegant this address of Horace Walpole "To
Madame du Chatelet, when on a visit at Strawberry Hill":
When beauteous Helen left her native air,
Greece for ten years in arms reclaim'd the fair,
Th' enamour'd boy withheld his lovely prize,
And stak'd his country's ruin 'gainst her eyes.
Your charms less baneful, not less strong appear:
We welcome any peace that keeps you here.

Of very different character are the epigrams of Samuel Bishop, head-master of Merchant Taylors' School, who deserves some notice on account of the celebrity which he obtained in his day as an Epigrammatist. He took Martial for his pattern, but avoided his scurrility and coarseness. His epigrams are full of humour, and he often exposes a grievance with good-natured wit. The following, written in Latin as well as English, is a specimen. It is applicable to other times besides those in which it was written (Bishop's "Works," 1796, I. 311):

"Do this," cries one side of S. Stephen's great hall,
"Do just the reverse," the minority bawl:

As each has obtain'd, or desires to obtain,

Or envies the station he wish'd for in vain.

And what is the end of this mighty tongue-war?

-Nothing's done for the State-till the State is done for!

The last line displays a form of epigrammatic wit to which some consideration must be given-play upon words. This is scarcely ever found in the epigrams of the best writers. It came much into vogue in the decadency of the literature, but has always been protested against. In the dissertation prefixed to the Collection of 1735, the author says: "We have already observed that a gay conceit, or a good sentence, will sometimes serve for points: but what else? nothing so properly as what can be truly called wit; no jingle of words, pun, quibble, conundrum, mixed wit, or false wit, ought ever to be used, though they have all very often appeared in this kind of poetry." It is not to be denied that a few ancient examples may be found of such spurious wit, but not in the works of men of note. The following is from the Greek of Callicter (Jacobs III. 8, ii.). The translation, by Graves, is not literal, but is as close to the original as the character of the Greek distich will allow :

Celsus takes off by dint of skill

Each bodily disaster:

But takes off spoons without a pill;

Your plate without a plaster.

No man of taste would imitate such poor wit with any intention of letting his fame rest upon it. A writer of established reputation may, however, in a joking way, throw off such trifles. Shenstone, for instance, addressed the following to a voluminous poet of Kidderminster:

Thy verses, friend, are Kidderminster stuff,

And I must own you've measur'd out enough.

But what can be thought of the writer who could perpetrate so absurd a distich as this? Happily for his reputa tion he is anonymous:

Thy verses are eternal, O, my friend!

For he who reads them, reads them to no end.

But though, as a rule, all play upon words is to be condemned as false wit, yet epigrams are occasionally found, in which a pun is introduced with so much elegance, that the impropriety is forgotten in the pleasure which the perusal gives. Such instances occur in the Latin writers of medieval and of more modern times, but it is seldom that the wit can be rendered with any success in English. An epigram, by an unknown author, on a clergyman who preached the published sermons of Archdeacon Hare, is a case in point:

Ne lepores vendas alienos: prome leporem
Nativum melior syllaba longa brevi.

A play upon a person's name is not uncommon among modern writers. An epigram by Henley, on the assistance which Broome gave to Pope in the translation of Homer, is good of its kind:

Pope came off clean with Homer; but they say
Broome went before, and kindly swept the way.

But, perhaps, the most elegant distich of this character is
Lord Erskine's compliment to Lady Payne:

'Tis true I am ill; but I need not complain;

For he never knew pleasure, who never knew Payne.

It is among the professed wits that punning epigrams are chiefly found. Theodore Hook and Thomas Hood have many of them, and poor enough they generally are. One of the best is by James Smith, "A Father to his Daughter, who asked him for money":

Dear Bell, to gain money, sure, silence is best,
For dumb Bells are fittest to open the chest.

But all wit of this kind, amusing though it may be for the moment, gives very little lasting pleasure. A fine epigram may be read and read again with ever-increasing satisfaction, but few of those, which for their worth depend upon a quibble or a pun, exercise any influence upon the feelings or the intellect, and therefore they produce no enjoyment beyond the passing trivial gratification. They are epi

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