[For the National Magazine.] INSCRIPTIONS FOR THE DEAD. PITAPHS present curious specimens

death advertisements so often placed upon the column and tablet over their dust; the revenue of which, the dead should give as a charity to improve the heart and brain

of them from almost any grave-yard would make one mourn or laugh over their peculiar constructions. It would contain all the variations between tragedy and comedy, though it is an inappropriate province for either; while its highest relief and redeeming quality would be the interspersion of Scriptural epitaphs. With the exception of sentences from the sacred writings, we think that the literature of tomb-stones is a greater commemoration of the weakness of the living, than of honor to the dead.

Though the good and gifted who are gone may deserve enduring testimonials of respect, many of their epitaphs are not worth being written upon anything as durable as stone. It is a mercy to human history and to the reputation of our race with succeeding generations, that there is power enough in rain and frost to obliterate many of these monumental records of the folly and frailty of the past. If the common sunlight was gifted with perception and will, it would be no wonder if it should refuse to light up many of our burial-places with their chiseled nonsense; thus leaving them in a "plague of darkness." Tennyson has said :

"I sometimes think it half a sin To put in words the grief I feel." Assuredly, many of our grave-stone rhymers commit a whole sin in writing much of their epitaph-poetry. Many of these sad rhyming memorials originate in the following way: There may be some poet in the family, or in the circle of kind acquaintance, who finds a great inspiration in a death occasion, and forthwith goes to dishonoring poetry. And the relatives, in the tenderness of their wisdom, thinking all words, especially words of home praise, have a consecrated beauty, whenever they are in the shape of a verse, with rej ng give them to the stone

cutter.

It would be well if the dead charged for many of the inscriptions upon their tombstones, as the newspapers do for a good deal of the obituary poetry which is sent to them; for it is certainly offensive to the memory of the departed to give room and perpetuity to many of the praising VOL. III, No. 4.-AA

criticism to which most of the tomb-stone poetry is submitted for approval is the affection of the often unwise heart of the mourner or relative; which frequently is not so good and restrictive as that which we have from the editors of journals and publishers of books, which the world of oblivion has full evidence is poor enough, holding as it does the remains and skeletons of dead unread words deeper down than any geologist or antiquarian is able to descend. If the press has ever needed a censor, some of our church-yards have needed one still more.

How often has a miserable epitaph excited irresistible laughter or contempt, while we have been reading the inscriptions of the silent land, which has been poorly accordant with the solemn suggestions of the place; and instead of leaving the gate of the cemetery with the prayerful and lofty purpose to learn how to die, we walk forth playfully from a field so thick with graves.

We will present below a few examples of this sepulcher poetry, which is mostly taken from a single yard; while the recollection of the reader will convince him that they are not extreme or local specimens, and are far superior to thousands which might be found :

"My friends and brethren,
When you come here

sea of life. It may here also be suggested that nearly all the serious reading of some is their reading upon tomb-stones, and

sentence elsewhere, will patiently read whatever is written upon the tablets and shafts of a cemetery. How ample then is the reason that these inscriptions should be of a divine quality!

An additional reason for Scriptural epitaphs is, that the soul has seldom a more tender sensibility or truer perception, is seldom more pervaded with the solemn and vast meaning of life, than when in communion with the dead. In such a communion the throbbing, swelling bosom feels more than ever that it is moving close beside the drapery which conceals the drama of the eternal world. While we are bereaved and broken in spirit, the prophets and apostles seem almost to have a fresh commission and new miracles, and we listen with a larger faith to their prophecy and evangel. Though skepticism may move with firm feet and daring lips amid the enchantment and commerce of life, those feet often tremble and those lips falter when they are in the council of the dead.

How appropriate, then, that the soul, while it has this enlarged susceptibility to receive the fullest and truest interpretation of the mission of our being, should have the words of the oracles of God in its presence! How appropriate that the child of sin and sorrow should be led by the sacred teachings of the burialground to drop his tears upon the feet of the Prince of Consolation, and to lean his weary head upon His palm! How appropriate that the failing theory of the skeptic might be replaced by the substantial hope of the gospel, by his reading the words of inspiration among the dead! With these bright and holy instructions written over the dead, instead of a cemetery being like a field at golden sunset, with the shadows deepening, lengthening, and widening, till they cast a shade everywhere, some might find it like a field at morning, with the long mysterious shadows continually shortened by the uprising of the orb of celestial faith, while its light in passing through the soul, showered by holy thoughts and tears, would be separated and blended into a beautiful curve, which would arch with promise into eternity.

the week: so don't think I am so foolish as to shut up my shop, and trust to God's blessing, as you say. 'God helps them that help themselves' that's my maxim."

"Well, Mr. Johnson, you quote one proverb, and I will quote another: 'All's well that ends well.' Good morning."

"Shut up my shop on a Sunday!" said George Johnson, with some bitterness, to himself. "O yes! I am sure to do that, to please a set of sanctified hypocrites, who would n't care if I was starving, so long as I made my appearance with a long face at church every Sunday. But I am too old a bird to be caught by such chaff as that."

A few months rolled on, and George was still toiling in his shop; but from some cause or other, notwithstanding his Sunday gains, he could only just meet his dayly expenses, and sometimes he could scarcely do that. He lived in a poor, over-peopled district of London, where Sunday-trading was general; and he candidly believed that he must do as others did, or be compelled to give up business, in a neighborhood where his fellow-tradesmen had the seeming advantage of an additional day's profits. But this advantage proved of no great service to George; and, judging from appearances, few of his neighbors were enriched by it. He felt, too, that there were some great drawbacks. The confinement to a close, small shop, in a narrow and dark street, for so many hours of the Sunday, was a grievous burden. Borne up at first by the hope that he should reap a silver, if not a golden, harvest from his business, George had endured the confinement patiently; but when he found that he reaped nothing but thin and withered ears, barely sufficient for his necessities, he viewed this grievance in a very different light.

"Well, Mr. Johnson, are you still of the same opinion as when I last spoke to you about Sunday-trading?" said the old gentleman who had addressed to him on a former occasion the inquiry with which our paper opens.

"Not exactly, Mr. Hooper; for I confess there are great disadvantages connected with the system. But what is the use of talking? Here I am fixed in it; and I must swim with the stream, or be drowned."

"But, to make no mention of other and

higher reasons, are you sure that you should be drowned, as you term it? Are there not others—a few, I confess-in this neighborhood who close their shops on a Sunday? Is health of no value? and I am sure you look the worse for such close confinement; and do you not think that many would prefer to deal with one who showed that he had some respect for the Sabbath, and who therefore might be expected to deal honestly with his customers, which is more than can be said for many of your Sunday-trading neighbors ?"

"Ay, well, sir; you and I see things differently. I know very well that I must either open my shop every day in the week, or shut it altogether: for I find business bad enough as it is; and what should I do if I lost my best day's profits?"

"Well, you confess that your present plan is not a very prosperous one. I will say as I said before, 'All's well that ends well.' Good morning, Mr. Johnson: no offense, I hope."

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Plague the old fellow," muttered George, after his visitor had departed: "I wish he'd mind his own business: though, after all," he added, musingly, "I feel he's in the right; for I know this Sundaytrading is wrong. But what can I do?"

Six months more had scarcely passed away before a handbill was posted on the closed-up window of George's shop, advertising a sale of his effects. He had been compelled to give up his business; for he could not live by it. Competition, and especially the opening of a large and gaylydecorated shop in George's immediate neighborhood, in the same way of trade as himself, seemed to be the chief causes of his want of success. He applied for, and obtained, a situation in the recently-opened shop. Here he was made to feel keenly the evils of the system which he had defended. When a master, he could relax somewhat when he felt disposed to do so through sheer weariness; for certainly he seldom, if ever, did this for any other cause. But here he could not rest: he must tug at the oar through the whole work-day week, and through a good part of the Sunday besides. His master was a grasping, selfish, and unfeeling man, and George groaned under his load. At length a holiday did arrive a whole day was his own; and he hailed it as a prisoner would rejoice at a day's freedom from his chain. He arranged with one of his companions

to have a trip to the sea-side. Starting early, they resolved to make the day as long as possible. They rambled upon the beach, breathing the sea-breeze with greater zest than ever any epicure quaffed his choicest wine. They clambered up to a point on the rocky cliffs that towered above the beach, from which they obtained a good view of the magnificent prospect. But, tempted by the success of their first ascent, they resolved to try for a higher point. In doing so the foot of George's companion slipped, and he was precipitated on the sands beneath them. George almost rushed down, he often wondered how, and arrived only in time to see his companion breathe his last.

This melancholy incident made a deep impression upon his mind. He became an altered man. Quitting his present master, he obtained, through the influence of Mr. Hooper, a situation where his Sundays were his own. Here he remained for three years, acquiring a character for steadiness, integrity, and aptitude for business, which proved afterward, as we shall see, of eminent service to him. He put by also a portion of his salary.

"Well, George," said his old friend Mr. Hooper, on accidentally meeting him one day, after having heard from him the recital of what had occurred since they last met, "I think we agree now about Sundaytrading: suppose we put our principles to the test."

"In what way do you propose to do this, Mr. Hooper?"

"I have thought of your starting in business again in your old neighborhood. I am not a wealthy man, far from it; but for several years I have been a prosperous one, and I can advance something for you. I know you have saved a part of your salary, and your master is willing to lend a helping hand, by supplying you with goods at a low rate to commence with. What do you say to this proposal?"

"Give me a few days to consider, Mr. Hooper; but allow me at once to return you my grateful thanks for your kindness."

"Certainly take your own time for weighing the proposal. I have watched your career, and I feel a warm interest in your welfare. I know, too, that you wish to marry; and in your present situation I see that you cannot well do so."

In a few days George gave his consent to the proposal. A shop was taken, and

"Give him a rouser, Mrs. Vanes," said a slatternly-looking woman to another still more so, who had come rather early on the first Sunday morning after George had opened his shop for some articles which | she required. Accordingly, Mrs. Vanes gave a few vigorous knocks with a pennypiece upon the shop-door.

Mr. Johnson opened a window overhead. "Aint you latish this morning, Mr. Johnson?" said the female who had advised the trial of knocking for admittance: "I want some things."

"I do not intend to open the shop on Sundays, Mrs. Mellish; I have given up Sunday-trading," replied Mr. Johnson, closing the window as he spoke, to avoid altercation, which, from the known character of Mrs. Mellish, he felt sure would ensue, if he prolonged the conversation.

"Well, here's a pretty go! And so a poor woman is n't to have a bit of butter on a Sunday morning, because he's so mighty religious. Howsumiver, if he wont have my Sunday money, he shan't have my week-day: I'll take care o' that."

"Yis, aint he pious now?" chimed in Mrs. Vanes. "O deary me! but I know what it'll all come to. He keeps his shutters up to-day, and he'll very soon keep 'em up altogether."

They then departed, to procure what they required elsewhere.

Mr. Johnson steadily persevered in the course which he had commenced, though frequently bantered at first by some of his old customers. But his firmness in sustaining pecuniary loss won the admiration of some, and the secret respect of nearly all of them. They argued that a man who would act thus would be almost sure to deal fairly with them, both in the quantity and the quality of the articles with which he supplied them. Some families in the neighborhood bought from Mr. Johnson solely because he made a stand against the prevailing Sunday-trading of the district.

In short, the experiment succeeded signally; for Mr. Johnson became one of the most flourishing tradesmen in the neighborhood. He still lives at the same place where he achieved his victory; but he has been compelled to enlarge his premises

more than once. A wife, and a family of blooming children, now add to his happiness; and he is an active member of several societies which have been formed for the amelioration, physical and moral, of the poor and ignorant.

"Well, Mr. Johnson," said his old friend, one day, "it is now a good many years since I entered your shop, and, in the course of our conversation, proposed to you to give up Sunday-trading. I met with a very unfavorable reception; and I little expected then to see what I behold now."

"No, Mr. Hooper: I was ignorant and conceited in those days; but bitter experience made me wiser. Putting higher considerations aside, I see that in many other points of view Sunday-trading is to be condemned. The benefits of my present course are many and important: its physical advantages are repose, cleanliness, and health; its mercantile advantages to the laborer are diminished competition and increased wages; its intellectual advantages are opportunities for reading and reflection, public oral instruction, and Sunday-school training for the young; whilst its moral advantages are too numerous and too obvious to be insisted upon.”

"Well spoken, Mr. Johnson. You are yourself a good example of the truth of the doctrines you preach. The aid which you received cannot be said to have made the experiment an unfair one; for it was scanty and limited. Allow me to add one more advantage in this case; and that is, the good interest which I have always punctually received for the small sum that I advanced to you. May many follow your good example."

BE SOMETHING.-Don't be a drone. You may rely upon your present possessions, or on your future prospects; but these riches may fly away, or hopes may be blighted; and if you have no place of your own, in such case, ten to one you will find your path beset with thorns. Want may come upon you before you are aware of it; and having no profession, you find yourself in anything but an enviable condition. It is therefore important that you should be something. Don't depend upon fortune, for she is a fickle support, which often fails when you lean upon her with the greatest confidence. Trust to your own exertions.