Curious Epitaphs, Collected from the Graveyards of Great Britain and Ireland.

In the parish registers the following entries occur: —

In a note from the Rev. Jno. Pickford, M.A., we are told: “The mode of execution was, it may be presumed, by a broad two-handed sword, such a one as Sir Walter Scott has particularly described in “Anne of Geierstein,” as used at the decapitation of Sir Archibald de Hagenbach, “and which the executioner is described as wielding with such address and skill. The Danish culprit was, like the oppressive knight, probably bound and seated in a chair; but such swords as those depicted on the tablet could not well have been used for the purpose, for they are long, narrow in the blade, and perfectly straight.”

We have in the “Diary of Abraham de la Pryme,” the Yorkshire Antiquary, some very interesting particulars respecting the Danes. Writing in 1689, the diarist tells us: “Towards the latter end of the aforegoing year, there landed at Hull about six or seven thousand Danes, all stout fine men, the best equip’d and disciplin’d of any that was ever seen. They were mighty godly and religious. You would seldom or never hear an oath or ugly word come out of their mouths. They had a great many ministers amongst them, whome they call’d pastours, and every Sunday almost, ith’ afternoon, they prayed and preach’d as soon as our prayers was done. They sung almost all their divine service, and every ministre had those that made up a quire whom the rest follow’d. Then there was a sermon of about half-an-houre’s length, all memoratim, and then the congregation broke up. When they adminstered the sacrament, the ministre goes into the church and caused notice to be given thereof, then all come before, and he examined them one by one whether they were worthy to receive or no. If they were he admitted them, if they were not he writ their names down in a book, and bid them prepare against the next Sunday. Instead of bread in the sacrament, I observed that they used wafers about the bigness and thickness of a sixpence. They held it no sin to play at cards upon Sundays, and commonly did everywhere where they were suffered; for indeed in many places the people would not abide the same, but took the cards from them. Tho’ they loved strong drink, yet all the while I was amongst them, which was all this winter, I never saw above five or six of them drunk.”

The diarist tells us that the strangers liked this country. It appears they worked for the farmers, and sold tumblers, cups, spoons, &c., which they had imported, to the English. They acted in the courthouse a play in their own language, and realised a good sum of money by their performances. The design of the piece was “Herod’s Tyranny – The Birth of Christ – The Coming of the Wise Men.”

In Bolton churchyard, Lancashire, is a gravestone of considerable historical interest. It has been incorrectly printed in several books and magazines, but we are able to give a literal copy drawn from a carefully compiled “History of Bolton,” by John D. Briscoe: —

John Okey,

The servant of God, was borne in London, 1608, came into this toune in 1629, married Mary, daughter of James Crompton, of Breightmet, 1635, with whom he lived comfortably 20 yeares, & begot 4 sons and 6 daughters. Since then he lived sole till the da of his death. In his time were many great changes, & terrible alterations – 18 yeares Civil Wars in England, besides many dreadful sea fights – the crown or command of England changed 8 times, Episcopacy laid aside 14 yeares; London burnt by Papists, & more stately built againe; Germany wasted 300 miles; 200,000 protestants murdered in Ireland, by the papists; this toune thrice stormed – once taken, & plundered. He went throw many troubles and divers conditions, found rest, joy, & happines only in holines – the faith, feare, and loue of God in Jesus Christ. He died the 29 of Ap and lieth here buried, 1684. Come Lord Jesus, o come quickly. Holiness is man’s happines.

[THE ARMS OF OKEY.]

We gather from Mr. Briscoe’s history that Okey was a woolcomber, and came from London, to superintend some works at Bolton, where he married the niece of the proprietor, and died in affluence.

Bradley, the “Yorkshire Giant,” was buried in the Market Weighton church, and on a marble monument the following inscription appears: —

In memory of

William Bradley,

(Of Market Weighton,)

Who died May 30th, 1820,

Aged 33 years

He Measured

Seven feet nine inches in Height,

and Weighed

twenty-seven stones

In “Celebrities of the Yorkshire Wolds,” by Frederick Ross, an interesting sketch of Bradley is given. Mr Ross states that he was a man of temperate habits, and never drank anything stronger than water, milk, or tea, and was a very moderate eater.

In Hampsthwaite churchyard was interred a “Yorkshire Dwarf.” Her gravestone states: —

In memory of Jane Ridsdale, daughter of George and Isabella Ridsdale, of Hampsthwaite, who died at Swinton Hall, in the parish of Masham, on the 2nd day of January, 1828, in the 59th year of her age. Being in stature only 31½ inches high.

 
Blest be the hand divine which gently laid
My head at rest beneath the humble shade;
Then be the ties of friendship dear;
Let no rude hand disturb my body here.
 

In the burial-ground of St. Martin’s, Stamford, Lincolnshire, is a gravestone to Lambert of surprising corpulency: —

In remembrance of that prodigy in nature,

Daniel Lambert,

a native of Leicester,

who was possessed of an excellent and convivial mind, and

in personal greatness had no competitor

He measured three feet one inch round the leg, nine feet four

inches round the body, and weighed 52 stones 11lbs

(14lb. to the stone)

He departed this life on the 21st of June, 1809, aged 39 years

As a testimony of respect, this stone was erected by his

friends in Leicester

Respecting the burial of Lambert we gather from a sketch of his life the following particulars: “His coffin, in which there was a great difficulty to place him, was six feet four inches long, four feet four inches wide, and two feet four inches deep; the immense substance of his legs made it necessarily a square case. This coffin, which consisted of 112 superficial feet of elm, was built on two axle-trees, and four cog-wheels. Upon these his remains were rolled into his grave, which was in the new burial ground at the back of St. Martin’s Church. A regular descent was made by sloping it for some distance. It was found necessary to take down the window and wall of the room in which he lay to allow of his being taken away.”

In St. Peter’s churchyard, Isle of Thanet, a gravestone bears the following inscription: —

In memory of Mr. Richard Joy called the

Kentish Samson

Died May 18th 1742 aged 67

 
Hercules Hero Famed for Strength
At last Lies here his Breadth and Length
See how the mighty man is fallen
To Death ye strong and weak are all one
And the same Judgment doth Befall
Goliath Great or David small.
 

Joy was invited to Court to exhibit his remarkable feats of strength. In 1699 his portrait was published, and appended to it was an account of his prodigious physical power.

The next epitaph is from St. James’s cemetery, Liverpool: —

Reader pause. Deposited beneath are the remains of

Sarah Biffin,

who was born without arms or hands, at Quantox Head, County of Somerset, 25th of October, 1784, died at Liverpool, 2nd October, 1850. Few have passed through the vale of life so much the child of hapless fortune as the deceased: and yet possessor of mental endowments of no ordinary kind. Gifted with singular talents as an Artist, thousands have been gratified with the able productions of her pencil! whilst versatile conversation and agreeable manners elicited the admiration of all. This tribute to one so universally admired is paid by those who were best acquainted with the character it so briefly portrays. Do any inquire otherwise – the answer is supplied in the solemn admonition of the Apostle —

 
Now no longer the subject of tears,
Her conflict and trials are o’er,
In the presence of God she appears
 

*****

Our correspondent, Mrs. Charlotte Jobling, from whom we received the above, says: “The remainder is buried. It stands against the wall, and does not appear to now mark the grave of Miss Biffin.” Mr. Henry Morley, in his carefully prepared and entertaining “Memoirs of Bartholomew Fair,” writing about the fair of 1799, mentions Miss Biffin. “She was found,” says Mr. Morley, “in the Fair, and assisted by the Earl of Morton, who sat for his likeness to her, always taking the unfinished picture away with him when he left, that he might prove it to be all the work of her own shoulder. When it was done he laid it before George III., in the year 1808; obtained the King’s favour for Miss Biffin; and caused her to receive, at his own expense, further instruction in her art from Mr. Craig. For the last twelve years of his life he maintained a correspondence with her; and, after having enjoyed favour from two King Georges, she received from William IV. a small pension, with which, at the Earl’s request, she retired from a life among caravans. But fourteen years later, having been married in the interval, she found it necessary to resume, as Mrs. Wright, late Miss Biffin, her business as a skilful miniature painter, in one or two of our chief provincial towns.”

The following on Butler, the author of “Hudibras,” merits a place in our pages. The first inscription is from St. Paul’s, Covent Garden: —

Butler, the celebrated author of “Hudibras,” was buried in this church. Some of the inhabitants, understanding that so famous a man was there buried, and regretting that neither stone nor inscription recorded the event, raised a subscription for the purpose of erecting something to his memory. Accordingly, an elegant tablet has been put up in the portico of the church, bearing a medallion of that great man, which was taken from his monument in Westminster Abbey.

The following lines were contributed by Mr. O’Brien, and are engraved beneath the medallion: —

 
A few plain men, to pomp and pride unknown,
O’er a poor bard have rais’d this humble stone,
Whose wants alone his genius could surpass,
Victim of zeal! the matchless “Hudibras.”
What, tho’ fair freedom suffer’d in his page,
Reader, forgive the author – for the age.
How few, alas! disdain to cringe and cant,
When ’tis the mode to play the sycophant.
But oh! let all be taught, from Butler’s fate,
Who hope to make their fortunes by the great;
That wit and pride are always dangerous things,
And little faith is due to courts or kings.
 

The erection of the above monument was the occasion of this very good epigram by Mr. S. Wesley: —

 
Whilst Butler (needy wretch!) was yet alive,
No gen’rous patron would a dinner give;
See him, when starv’d to death and turn’d to dust,
Presented with a monumental bust!
The poet’s fate is here in emblem shown,
He ask’d for bread, and he received a stone.
 

It is worth remarking that the poet was starving, while his prince, Charles II., always carried a “Hudibras” in his pocket.

The inscription on his monument in the Abbey is as follows: —

Sacred to the Memory of

Samuel Butler,

Who was born at Strensham, in Worcestershire, 1612, and died at London, 1680; a man of uncommon learning, wit, and probity: as admirable for the product of his genius, as unhappy in the rewards of them. His satire, exposing the hypocrisy and wickedness of the rebels, is such an inimitable piece, that, as he was the first, he may be said to be the last writer in his peculiar manner. That he, who, when living, wanted almost everything, might not, after death, any longer want so much as a tomb, John Barber, citizen of London, erected this monument 1721.

Here are a few particulars respecting an oddity, furnished by a correspondent: “Died, at High Wycombe, Bucks, on the 24th May, 1837, Mr. John Guy, aged 64. His remains were interred in Hughenden churchyard, near Wycombe. On a marble slab, on the lid of his coffin, is the following inscription: —

Here, without nail or shroud, doth lie

Or covered by a pall, John Guy

Born May 17th, 1773

Died – 24th, 1837

On his grave-stone these lines are inscribed: —

 
In coffin made without a nail,
Without a shroud his limbs to hide;
For what can pomp or show avail,
Or velvet pall, to swell the pride.
Here lies John Guy beneath this sod,
Who lov’d his friends, and fear’d his God.
 

This eccentric gentleman was possessed of considerable property, and was a native of Gloucestershire. His grave and coffin were made under his directions more than a twelvemonth before his death; the inscription on the tablet on his coffin, and the lines placed upon his gravestone, were his own compositions. He gave all necessary orders for the conducting of his funeral, and five shillings were wrapped in separate pieces of paper for each of the bearers. The coffin was of singular beauty and neatness in workmanship, and looked more like a piece of tasteful cabinet work intended for a drawing-room, than a receptable for the dead.

Near the great door of the Abbey of St. Peter, Gloucester, says Mr. Henry Calvert Appleby, at the bottom of the body of the building, is a marble monument to John Jones, dressed in the robes of an alderman, painted in different colours. Underneath the effigy, on a tablet of black marble, are the following words: —

John Jones, alderman, thrice mayor of the city, burgess of the Parliament at the time of the gunpowder treason; registrar to eight several Bishops of this diocese.

He died in the sixth year of the reign of King Charles, on the first of June, 1630. He gave orders for his monument to be raised in his lifetime. When the workmen had fixed it up, he found fault with it, remarking that the nose was too red. While they were altering it, he walked up and down the body of the church. He then said that he had himself almost finished, so he paid off the men, and died the next morning.

The next epitaph from Newark, Nottinghamshire, furnishes a chapter of local history: —

Sacred to the memory

Of Hercules Clay, Alderman of Newark,

Who died in the year of his Mayoralty,

Jan. 1, 1644

On the 5th of March, 1643,

He and his family were preserved

By the Divine Providence

From the thunderbolt of a terrible cannon

Which had been levelled against his house

By the Besiegers,

And entirely destroyed the same

Out of gratitude for this deliverance,

He has taken care

To perpetuate the remembrance thereof

By an alms to the poor and a sermon;

By this means

Raising to himself a Monument

More durable than Brass

 
The thund’ring Cannon sent forth from its mouth the devouring Flames
Against my Household Gods, and yours, O Newark.
The Ball, thus thrown, Involved the House in Ruin;
But by a Divine Admonition from Heaven I was saved,
Being thus delivered by a strength Greater than that of Hercules,
And having been drawn out of the deep Clay,
I now inhabit the stars on high.
Now, Rebel, direct thy unavailing Fires at Heaven,
Art thou afraid to fight against God – thou
Who hast been a Murderer of His People?
Thou durst not, Coward, scatter thy Flames
Whilst Charles is lord of earth and skies.
 
 
Also of his beloved wife
Mary (by the gift of God)
Partaker of the same felicity.
 
 
Wee too made one by his decree
That is but one in Trinity,
Did live as one till death came in
And made us two of one agen;
Death was much blamed for our divorce,
But striving how he might doe worse
By killing th’ one as well as th’ other,
He fairely brought us both togeather,
Our soules together where death dare not come,
Our bodyes lye interred beneath this tomb,
Wayting the resurrection of the just,
O knowe thyself (O man), thou art but dust.¹
 

It is stated that Charles II., in a gay moment asked Rochester to write his epitaph. Rochester immediately wrote: —

 
Here lies the mutton-eating king,
Whose word no man relied on;
Who never said a foolish thing,
Nor ever did a wise one.
 

On which the King wrote the following comment: —

 
If death could speak, the king would say,
In justice to his crown,
His acts they were the minister’s,
His words they were his own.
 

Our friend, Mr. Thomas Broadbent Trowsdale, F.R.H.S., who has written much and well in history, folk-lore, etc., tells us: “In the fine old church of Chepstow, Monmouthshire, nearly opposite the reading desk, is a memorial stone with the following curious acrostic inscription, in capital letters: —

 
Here Sept. 9th, 1680,
was buried
A True Born Englishman,
Who, in Berkshire, was well known
To love his country’s freedom ’bove his own:
But being immured full twenty year
Had time to write, as doth appear —
 
 
HIS EPITAPH.
H ere or elsewhere (all’s one to you or me)
E arth, Air, or Water gripes my ghostly dust,
N one knows how soon to be by fire set free;
R eader, if you an old try’d rule will trust,
Y ou’ll gladly do and suffer what you must.
 
 
M y time was spent in serving you and you,
A nd death’s my pay, it seems, and welcome too;
R evenge destroying but itself, while I
T o birds of prey leave my old cage and fly;
E xamples preach to the eye – care then, (mine says)
N ot how you end, but how you spend your days.
 

This singular epitaph points out the last resting place of Henry Marten, one of the judges who condemned King Charles I. to the scaffold. On the Restoration, Marten was sentenced to perpetual imprisonment, Chepstow Castle being selected as the place of his incarceration. There he died in 1680, in the twenty-eighth year of his captivity, and seventy-eighth of his age. He was originally interred in the chancel of the church; but a subsequent vicar of Chepstow, Chest by name, who carried his petty party animosities even beyond the grave, had the dead man’s dust removed, averring that he would not allow the body of a regicide to lie so near the altar. And so it was that Marten’s memorial came to occupy its present position in the passage leading from the nave to the north aisle. We are told that one, Mr. Downton, a son-in-law of this pusillanimous parson, touched to the quick by his relative’s harsh treatment of poor Marten’s inanimate remains, retorted by writing this satirical epitaph for the Rev. Mr. Chest’s tombstone: —

 
Here lies at rest, I do protest,
One Chest within another!
The chest of wood was very good, —
Who says so of the other?
 

Some doubt has been thrown on the probability of a man of Marten’s culture having written, as is implied in the inscription, the epitaph which has a place on his memorial.

The regicide was a son of Sir Henry Marten, a favourite of the first James, and by him appointed Principal Judge of the Admiralty and Dean of Arches. Young Henry was himself a prominent person during the period of the disastrous Civil War, and was elected Member of Parliament for Berkshire in 1640. He was, in politics, a decided Republican, and threw in his lot with the Roundhead followers of sturdy Oliver. When the tide of popular favour turned in Charles II.’s direction, and Royalty was reinstated, Marten and the rest of the regicides were brought to judgment for signing the death warrant of their monarch. The consequence, in Marten’s case, was life-long imprisonment, as we have seen, in Chepstow Castle.”

Next is a copy of an acrostic epitaph from Tewkesbury Abbey: —

Here lyeth the body of Thomas Merrett, of Tewkesbury, Barber-chirurgeon, who departed this life the 22nd day of October, 1699.

 
T hough only Stone Salutes the reader’s eye,
H ere (in deep silence) precious dust doth lye,
O bscurely Sleeping in Death’s mighty store,
M ingled with common earth till time’s no more,
A gainst Death’s Stubborne laws, who dares repine,
S ince So much Merrett did his life resigne.
 
 
M urmurs and Teares are useless in the grave,
E lse hee whole Vollies at his Tomb might have.
R est here in Peace; who like a faithful steward,
R epair’d the Church, the Poore and needy cur’d;
E ternall mansions do attend the Just,
T o clothe with Immortality their dust,
T ainted (whilst under ground) with wormes and rust.
 

Under the shadow of the ancient church of Bakewell, Derbyshire, is a stone containing a long inscription to the memory of John Dale, barber-surgeon, and his two wives, Elizabeth Foljambe and Sarah Bloodworth. It ends thus: —

Know posterity, that on the 8th of April, in the year of grace 1757, the rambling remains of the above John Dale were, in the 86th yeare of his pilgrimage, laid upon his two wives.

 
This thing in life might raise some jealousy,
Here all three lie together lovingly,
But from embraces here no pleasure flows,
Alike are here all human-joys and woes;
Here Sarah’s chiding John no longer hears,
And old John’s rambling Sarah no more fears;
A period’s come to all their toylsome lives,
The good man’s quiet; still are both his wives.
 

The following is from St. Julian’s church, Shrewsbury: —

The remains of Henry Corser of this parish, Chirurgeon, who Deceased April 11, 1691, and Annie his wife, who followed him the next day after: —

 
We man and wife,
Conjoined for Life,
Fetched our last breath
So near that Death,
Who part us would,
Yet hardly could.
Wedded againe,
In bed of dust,
Here we remaine,
Till rise we must.
A double prize this grave doth finde,
If you are wise keep it in minde.
 

In St. Anne’s Churchyard, Soho, erected by the Earl of Orford (Walpole), in 1758, these lines were (or are) to be read: —

Near this place is interred

Theodore, King of Corsica,

Who died in this Parish

December XI., MDCCLVI.,

Immediately after leaving

The King’s Bench Prison,

By the benefit of the Act of Insolvency;

In consequence of which

He registered his Kingdom of Corsica

For the use of his Creditors!

 
The grave – great teacher – to a level brings
Heroes and beggars, galley-slaves and kings!
But Theodore this moral learned, ere dead;
Fate pour’d its lessons on his living head,
Bestow’d a kingdom, and denied him bread.
 

In the burial-ground of the Island of Juan Fernandez, a monument states: —

In Memory of

Alexander Selkirk,

Mariner,

A native of Largo, in the county of Fife, Scotland,

Who lived on this island, in complete

solitude, for four years and four months

He was landed from the Cinque Ports galley, 96 tons,

18 guns, A.D. 1704, and was taken off in the

Duke, privateer, 12th February, 1709

He died Lieutenant of H.M.S. Weymouth,

A.D. 1723, aged 47 years

This Tablet is erected near Selkirk’s look out,

By Commodore Powell and the Officers

of H.M.S. Topaze, A.D. 1868

It is generally believed that the adventures of Selkirk suggested to Daniel Defoe the attractive story of “Robinson Crusoe.” In the “Dictionary of English Literature,” by William Davenport Adams, will be found important information bearing on this subject.

In Gloucester Notes and Queries we read as follows: “Stout’s Hill is the name of a house situated on high ground to the south of the Village of Uley, built in the style which, in the last century, was intended for Gothic, but which may be more exactly defined as the ‘Strawberry Hill’ style. In a house of earlier date lived the father of Samuel Rudder, the laborious compiler of the History of Gloucestershire (1779). He lies in the churchyard of Uley, on the south side of the chancel, and his grave-stone has a brass-plate inserted, which records a remarkable fact: —

Underneath lies the remains of Roger Rutter, alias Rudder, eldest son of John Rutter, of Uley, who was buried August 30, 1771, aged 84 years, having never eaten flesh, fish, or fowl, during the course of his long life.

Tradition tells us that this vegetarian lived mainly on ‘dump,’ in various forms. Usually he ate ‘plain dump:’ when tired of plain dump, he changed his diet to ‘hard dump;’ and when he was in a special state of exhilaration, he added the variety of ‘apple dump’ to his very moderate fare.”

On the gravestone of Richard Turner, Preston, a hawker of fish, the following inscription appears: —

Beneath this stone are deposited the remains of Richard Turner, author of the word Teetotal, as applied to abstinence from all intoxicating liquors, who departed this life on the 27th day of October, 1846, aged 56 years.

In Mr. W. E. A. Axon’s able and entertaining volume, “Lancashire Gleanings” (pub. 1883), is an interesting chapter on the “Origin of the Word ‘Teetotal.’” In the same work we are told that Dr. Whitaker, the historian of Whalley, wrote the following epitaph on a model publican: —

Here lies the Body of

John Wigglesworth,

More than fifty years he was the

perpetual Innkeeper in this Town

Withstanding the temptations of that dangerous calling,

he maintained good order in his

House, kept the Sabbath day Holy,

frequented the Public Worship

with his Family, induced his guests

to do the same, and regularly

partook of the Holy Communion

He was also bountiful to the Poor,

in private as well as in public,

and, by the blessings of Providence

on a life so spent, died

possessed of competent Wealth,

Feb. 28, 1813,

aged 77 years

The churchyard of Sutton Coldfield, Warwickshire, contains a gravestone bearing an inscription as follows: —

As a warning to female virtue,

And a humble monument of female chastity,

This stone marks the grave of

Mary Ashford,

Who, in the 20th year of her age, having

Incautiously repaired to a scene of amusement,

Was brutally violated and murdered

On the 27th of May, 1817

 
Lovely and chaste as the primrose pale,
Rifled of virgin sweetness by the gale,
Mary! the wretch who thee remorseless slew
Avenging wrath, who sleeps not, will pursue;
For though the deed of blood was veiled in night,
Will not the Judge of all mankind do right?
Fair blighted flower, the muse that weeps thy doom,
Rears o’er thy murdered form this warning tomb.
 

The writer of the foregoing epitaph was Dr. Booker, vicar of Dudley. The inscription is associated with one of the most remarkable trials of the present century. It will not be without interest to furnish a few notes on the case. One Abraham Thornton was tried at the Warwick assizes for the murder of Mary Ashford, and acquitted. The brother and next of kin of the deceased, not being satisfied with the verdict, sued out, as the law allowed him, an appeal against Thornton, by which he could be put on his trial again. The law allowed the appeal in case of murder, and it also gave option to the accused of having it tried by wager of law or by wager of battle. The brother of the unfortunate woman had taken no account of this, and accordingly, not only Mr. Ashford, but the judge, jury, and bar were taken greatly aback, and stricken with dismay when the accused, being requested to plead, took a paper from Mr. Reader, his counsel, and a pair of gloves, one of which he drew on, and, throwing the other on the ground, exclaimed, “Not guilty; and I am ready to defend the same with my body!” Lord Ellenborough on the bench appeared grave, and the accuser looked amazed, so the court was adjourned to enable the judge to have an opportunity of conferring with his learned brethren. After several adjournments, Lord Ellenborough at last declared solemnly, but reluctantly, that wager of battle was still the law of the land, and that the accused had a right of appeal to it. To get rid of the law an attempt was made, by passing a short and speedy Act of Parliament, but this was ruled impossible, as it would have been ex post facto, and people wanted curiously to see the lists set up in the Tothill Fields. As Mr. Ashford refused to meet Thornton, he was obliged to cry “craven!” After that the appellor was allowed to go at large, and he could not be again tried by wager of law after having claimed his wager of battle. In 1819 an Act was passed to prevent any further appeals for wager of battle.

The following is copied from a gravestone in Saddleworth churchyard, and tells a painful story: —

Here lies interred the dreadfully bruised and lacerated bodies of William Bradbury and Thomas his son, both of Greenfield, who were together savagely murdered, in an unusually horrible manner, on Monday night, April 2nd, 1832, old William being 84, and Thomas 46 years old.

 
Throughout the land, wherever news is read,
Intelligence of their sad death has spread;
Those now who talk of far-fam’d Greenfield’s hills
Will think of Bill i’ Jacks and Tom o’ Bills.
 
 
Such interest did their tragic end excite
That, ere they were removed from human sight,
Thousands upon thousands daily came to see
The bloody scene of the catastrophe.
One house, one business, and one bed,
And one most shocking death they had;
One funeral came, one inquest pass’d,
And now one grave they have at last.
 

The following on a Hull character is from South Cave churchyard: —

In memory of Thomas Scatchard,

Who dy’d rich in friends, Dec. 10, 1809

Aged 58 years

 
That Ann lov’d Tom, is very true,
Perhaps you’ll say, what’s that to you.
Who e’er thou art, remember this,
Tom lov’d Ann, ’twas that made bliss.
 

In Welton churchyard, near Hull, the next curious inscription appears on an old gravestone: —

Here lieth He ould Jeremy, who hath eight times maried been, but now in his ould Age, he lies in his cage, under The gras so Green, which Jeremiah Simpson departed this life in the 84 yeare of his age, in the year of our Lord 1719.

Mr. J. Potter Briscoe favours us with an account of a famous local character, and a copy of his epitaph. According to Mr. Briscoe, Vincent Eyre was by trade a needle-maker, and was a firm and consistent Tory in politics, taking an active interest in all the party struggles of the period. His good nature and honesty made him popular among the poor classes, with whom he chiefly associated. A commendable trait in his character is worthy of special mention, namely, that, notwithstanding frequent temptations, he spurned to take a bribe from any one. In the year 1727 an election for a Member of Parliament took place, and all the ardour of Vin’s nature was at once aroused in the interests of his favourite party. The Tory candidate, Mr. Borlase Warren, was opposed by Mr. John Plumtree, the Whig nominee, and, in the heat of the excitement, Vin emphatically declared that he should not mind dying immediately if the Tories gained the victory. Strange to relate, such an event actually occurred, for when the contest and the “chairing” of the victor was over, he fell down dead with joy, September 6th, 1727. The epitaph upon him is as follows: —

 
Here lies Vin Eyre;
Let fall a tear
For one true man of honour;
No courtly lord,
Who breaks his word,
Will ever be a mourner.
In freedom’s cause
He stretched his jaws,
Exhausted all his spirit,
Then fell down dead.
It must be said
He was a man of merit.
Let Freemen be
As brave as he,
And vote without a guinea;
Vin Eyre is hurled
To t’other world,
And ne’er took bribe or penny.
True to his friend, to helpless parent kind,
He died in honour’s cause, to interest blind.
Why should we grieve life’s but an airy toy?
We vainly weep for him who died of joy.
 

We will next give some account of an eccentric Lincolnshire schoolmaster, named William Teanby, who resided for many years at Winterton. Respecting the early years of his career we have not been able to obtain any information. At the age of 30, he was engaged as a school-master in the vestry of Winterton church. He had many scholars, and continued teaching until he had attained a very advanced age. Some years before his death a gravestone was ordered, whereon he cut in ancient court hand the epitaph of his wife and children. From this slab he mostly took his food, and long before his death, placed on two pieces of wood, it served him for a table. After the epitaph of his wife and children, he left a vacancy for his own name and age, to be inserted by a friend, which was done at his death. The coffin in which he proposed being buried was used by him a considerable time as a cupboard. The old man retained perfect possession of his senses to the last, and at the age of 95 attended the Lincoln assizes, and gave away as curiosities, many circular pieces of paper for watches, not larger than half-a-crown, on which he had written the Lord’s prayer and creed. He was habitually serious. Through attending his school in the church, he became familiar with the house of death; in feasting from his stone slab, he enjoyed his meals from the very source which was afterwards to record the events of his life; and in what was his every day cupboard he now enjoys a peaceful and quiet rest. He passed away at the advanced age of 97. The tombstone bears the following lines: —