ANNO ÆTATIS 19.
Quid me ploras? Nonne decessi gravis senectute? Nonne vivo amicorum ardentium memoria?
On the reverse side of the column appears an inscription even more pathetic and poetic, to yet another departed favorite, who seems, not like Tommy to have been gathered to his fathers ripe in years and honors but to have been cut down in the bloom of youth by some untimely and tragic fate. He is all the more felin'ly lamented:
HIC JACET
PUSSY
SUI GENERIS
PULCHERRIMUS.
OCCISUS EST