At the entrance of the Church of St. Salvador in the city of Oviedo, in Spain, is a most remarkable tomb, erected by a prince named Silo, with this very curious Latin inscription which may be read 270 ways by beginning with the capital letter S in the centre.
On a tombstone in the churchyard at Hochheim, a village where one of the best species of Rhenish is produced, and from the name of which our generic Hock is derived:—
This grave holds Caspar Schink, who came to dine, And taste the noblest vintage of the Rhine; Three nights he sat, and thirty bottles drank, Then lifeless by the board of Bacchus sank. One only comfort have we in the case,— The trump will raise him in the proper place.
Here lies Peg, that drunken sot, Who dearly loved her jug and pot; There she lies, as sure as can be, She killed herself by drinking brandy.
Bene: AT. HT, Hi S: ST-- Oneli: E: Skat. . He, Ri, N. eg. Rayc-- (Hang’d) . F . R. O! mab. V, Syli, Fetol-- IF . . Ele: (SSCL) Ayb... Year. . Than. Dcl--Ays : Hego. Therpel: . Fand. No, WS. He: stur N’D to Ear, TH, h, Ersel Fy! EWE: EP.... In: G. F. R: IE: N D. S. L. Et, mea D V: I Sea: ...... Batey. O! V: rg..... RiE .... Fan. . D. D. RYY. O! V.R.E Yes. F.O.R W: H . ATa. Vai .... LS. a. flo. O! do. F. Tea. R. SW: Hok: No: WS: Buti. nar. U. No! Fy: Ear, SI: N. SO: Metal: L. Pit. c. HERO: . . r. Bro, a: D. P. ANS, Hei N. H. Ers. Hop. ma: Y. B. Ea: Gai .... N. .
The following was written by Capt. Morris on Edward Heardson, thirty years Cook to the Beef Steak Society.
His last _steak_ done; his fire rak’d out and dead, _Dished_ for the worms himself, lies _honest Ned_: _We_, then, whose breasts bore all his _fleshly toils_, Took all his _bastings_, and shared all his _broils_; Now, in our turn, a _mouthful carve_ and _trim_, And _dress_ at Phœbus’ _fire_, one _scrap_ for him:— His heart which well might grace the noblest grave, Was grateful, patient, modest, just, and brave; And ne’er did earth’s wide maw _a morsel_ gain Of _kindlier juices_ or more tender _grain_; His tongue, where duteous friendship humbly dwelt, Charmed all who heard the faithful zeal he felt; Still to whatever end his _chops_ he mov’d, ’Twas all _well seasoned_, _relished_, and approv’d: This room his heaven!—When threatening Fate drew nigh The closing shade that dimm’d his ling’ring eye, His last fond hopes, betray’d by many a tear, Were—That his life’s last _spark_ might glimmer here; And the last words that choak’d his parting sigh— “Oh! at your feet, dear masters, let me die!”