“The ‘Captain’s’ wife and sister too Will do their best to make your lip So much enjoy your food[9] that you Again will take another trip In that most comfortable ‘Ship.’” Fragment:-- “At Looe again: This makes my Trinity Of visits here; that is, they number Three. Despite storms, wrecks, and stress of life I anchor here, away from strife For briefest stay.”... LIV. We left Looe in the late afternoon, and toiled up the steep and stony hill that begins to ascend directly after the “Jolly Sailor” is passed. Atop of this hill we immediately and perversely lost our way, and the remainder of the afternoon was spent in plunging through “town-places”[10] and fields, and climbing over Cornish hedges, until we reached the church of Talland, nestling under the lee of the hills that run down precipitously to Talland Bay. Talland Church is peculiar in having its tower set apart from the main building, and connected with it only by an archway. But its peculiarities do not end here, for the place is very much of a museum of antiquities, and epitaphs of an absurdly quaint character abound. I am afraid Talland Church echoed with our laughter, more than was seemly, on this diverting afternoon. Here is an example:-- “In Memory of HUGH FOWLER Who Departed this Life the 10^{th} day of August. In y^e year 1771. Aged 50 years Old. Afflictions Sore Long time I’ve Bore Physitions ware in Vain Till God was Pleased Death should me seise And Ease me of my Pain Welcome Sweet Day of Rest I am Content to ‘Die My Soul forsakes her vain Delight And bids the World farewel; Mourn not for me my Wife an Child so Dear I am not Dead but sleeping hear, Farewel Vain world Ive seen Enough of thee And now I am carles what thou says of me Thy smiles I Court not nor thy frowns I fear My Glass is Run my Head Lays kuiet here What Faults you seen in me take care to shun And Luck at home Enough there’s to be don. _Also_ with thin lie the remains of Elizabeth his Wife who Died the 6 day of April 1789 Aged 69 Years.” [Illustration: SEAL OF WEST LOOE.] Pursy cherubs of oleaginous appearance, and middle-aged double-chinned angels wearing pyjamas, decorate, with weirdly humorous aspect, the ledger-stone on which this crazy-patchwork epitaph is engraved, and grin upon you from the pavement with the half-obliterated grins of a century and more. One of them is pointing with his claw to an object somewhat resembling a crumpled dress-tie, set up on end, probably intended for an hour-glass. Here are some of these devices, reproduced exactly, neither extenuated nor with aught of exaggeration. [Illustration: Talland Cherubs]