On the upper portion of this Christian monument are carved, in high relief, a punch-bowl and a flagon: emblems, presumably, of those pots that Mr. Philpots delighted to fill. The inscription is fast becoming obliterated, but the fine old “Bell” inn stands as well as ever it did, on the coach-road between Stourbridge and Bromsgrove, with the sign of a bell hanging picturesquely from it. Collectors of epitaphs are, however, a credulous and uncritical race, and are content to collect from irresponsible sources. All is fish that comes to their net, and, so only the thing be in some way unusual, it finds a place in their note-books, without their having taken the trouble to search on the spot and verify. Thus, at Upton-on-Severn, Gloucestershire, is supposed to be the following: Beneath this stone, in hopes of Zion Doth lie the landlord of the “Lion.” His son keeps on the business still, Resigned unto the heavenly will. Vain is the search of the conscientious historian for that gem, or for its variant: Here lies the body of Matilda Brown, Who, while alive, was hostess of the “Crown,” Resigned unto the heavenly will, Her son keeps on the business still. It would, perhaps, be too much to say there was never such an epitaph at Upton, but certainly there is not one of the kind there now. [Illustration: INGLE-NOOK, “LYGON ARMS,” BROADWAY.] A publican whose name was Pepper is commemorated by an odd epitaph in the churchyard of St. John’s, Stamford. None of the funny dogs who indulged in mortuary japes and quips and cranks could have resisted the temptation of the name “Pepper,” and thus we find: Hot by name, but mild by nature, He brewed good ale for every creature; He brewed good ale, and sold it too, And unto each man gave his due. In Pannal churchyard, between Wakefield and Harrogate, is the terse inscription on Joseph Thackerey, who died November 26th, 1791: In the year of our Lord 1740 I came to the “Crown”; In 1791 they laid me down. Presumably the idea the writer here intended to convey was that this landlord of the “Crown” was “laid down” after the manner of wine in bins, to mature. At St. John’s, Leeds, are said to be the following lines, dated 1793, that have a lilt somewhat anticipatory of the _Bab Ballads_ metres, on one who was originally a clothier: Hic jacet, sure the fattest man That Yorkshire stingo made, He was a lover of his can, A clothier by his trade. His waist did measure three yards round, He weighed almost three hundred pound. His flesh did weigh full twenty stone: His flesh, I say,--he had no bone, At least, ’tis said he had none. The next, at Northallerton, seems to be by way of warning to innkeepers at all disposed to drinking their stock: Hic jacet Walter Gun, Sometime Landlord of the “Sun”; Sic transit gloria mundi, He drank hard upon Friday, That being a high day, Then took to his bed and died upon Sunday.