vived exposure to the atmosphere, as its date
would imply, for upwards of 200 years. It may even be found that the
weather has chipped off the edges of the stones which now appear so
jagged, shapeless, and grotesque; but, from recent evidences gathered
elsewhere, it is but too probable that these rude pillars have been,
and still are, set up as they come from the quarry, without dressing
and free from any carving or attention whatever.

Many instances may be found in which slabs of stone, or even slate,
have been erected quite recently, the edges untrimmed, and the name of
the deceased simply _painted_ upon them more or less inartistically,
as in the sketch from Drogheda (Fig. 89). Such crude examples are the
more remarkable in a busy and thriving port like Drogheda, and amid
many handsome monuments, than among the peasantry of the villages; and
it is easy to imagine that if nothing more durable than paint has been
employed to immortalize the dead in past times all traces must have
speedily disappeared. The illustrations from Drogheda give the whole
inscription in each case, neither having date nor age, nor any other
particular beyond the name. The memorial on the left hand is of
slate--the other two of freestone; and the slate in the northern parts
of Ireland is the preferable of the two materials.

[Illustration: FIG. 89. DROGHEDA.]

There are at Bangor, ten miles west of Belfast, many such slate
records, which have endured for more than a century, and are still
in excellent preservation. One which attracted my especial notice at
Bangor was of the professional character here depicted, and in memory
of one of those bold privateers who were permitted to sail the seas on
their own account in the old war times.

FIG. 90.--AT BANGOR, IRELAND.

The following is the epitaph, as clearly to be read now as on the day
when it was carved on this slab of Irish slate, more than a century
since:

"Born to a course of Manly action free,
I dauntless trod ye fluctuating sea
In Pompous War or happier Peace to bring
Joy to my Sire and honour to my King.
And much by favour of the God was done
Ere half the term of human life was run.
One fatal night, returning from the bay
Where British fleets ye Gallic land survey,
Whilst with warm hope my trembling heart beat high,
My friends, my kindred, and my country nigh,
Lasht by the winds the waves arose and bore
Our Ship in shattered fragments to the shore.