William Andrews

We have under this heading some curious graveyard gleanings on remarkable men and women. Our first is from a tombstone erected in the churchyard of Spofforth, at the cost of Lord Dundas, telling the remarkable career of John Metcalf, better known as “Blind Jack of Knaresborough”:—

Here lies John Metcalf, one whose infant sight
Felt the dark pressure of an endless night;
Yet such the fervour of his dauntless mind,
His limbs full strung, his spirits unconfined,
That, long ere yet life’s bolder years began,
The sightless efforts marked th’ aspiring man;
Nor marked in vain—high deeds his manhood dared,
And commerce, travel, both his ardour shared.
’Twas his a guide’s unerring aid to lend—
O’er trackless wastes to bid new roads extend;
And, when rebellion reared her giant size,
’Twas his to burn with patriot enterprise;
For parting wife and babes, a pang to feel,
Then welcome danger for his country’s weal.
Reader, like him, exert thy utmost talent given!
Reader, like him, adore the bounteous hand of Heaven.He died on the 26th of April, 1801, in the 93rd year of his age.

A few jottings respecting Metcalf, will probably be read with interest. At the age of six years he lost his sight by an attack of small-pox. Three years later he joined the boys in their bird-nesting exploits, and climbed trees to share the plunder. When he had reached thirteen summers he was taught music, and soon became a proficient performer; he also learned to ride and swim, and was passionately fond of field-sports. At the age of manhood it is said his mind possessed a self-dependence rarely enjoyed by those who have the perfect use of their faculties; his body was well in harmony with his mind, for when twenty-one years of age he was six feet one and a-half inches in height, strong and robust in proportion. At the age of twenty-five, he was engaged as a musician at Harrogate. About this time he was frequently employed during the dark nights as a guide over the moors and wilds, then abundant in the neighbourhood of Knaresborough. He was a lover of horse-racing, and often rode his own animals. His horses he so tamed that when he called them by their respective names they came to him, thus enabling him to find his own amongst any number and without trouble. Particulars of the marriage of this individual read like a romance. A Miss Benson, daughter of an innkeeper, reciprocated the affections of our hero; however, the suitor did not please the parents of the “fair lady,” and they selected a Mr. Dickinson as her future husband. Metcalf, hearing that the object of his affection was to be married the following day to the young man selected by her father, hastened to free her by inducing the damsel to elope with him. Next day they were made man and wife, to the great surprise of all who knew them, and to the disappointment of the intended son-in-law. To all it was a matter of wonder how a handsome woman as any in the country, the pride of the place, could link her future with ‘Blind Jack,’ and, for his sake, reject the many good offers made her. But the bride set the matter at rest by declaring: “His actions are so singular, and his spirit so manly and enterprising, that I could not help it.”

It is worthy of note that he was the first to set up, for the public accommodation of visitors to Harrogate, a four-wheeled chaise and a one-horse chair; these he kept for two seasons. He next bought horses and went to the coast for fish, which he conveyed to Leeds and Manchester. In 1745, when the rebellion broke out in Scotland, he joined a regiment of volunteers raised by Colonel Thornton, a patriotic gentleman, for the defence of the House of Hanover. Metcalf shared with his comrades all the dangers of the campaign. He was defeated at Falkirk, and victorious at Culloden. He was the first to set up (in 1754) a stage-waggon between York and Knaresborough, which he conducted himself twice a week in summer, and once a week in winter. This employment he followed until he commenced contracting for road-making. His first contract was for making three miles of road between Minskip and Ferrensby. He afterwards erected bridges and houses, and made hundreds of miles of roads in Yorkshire, Lancashire, Cheshire, and Derbyshire. He was a dealer in timber and hay, of which he measured and calculated the solid contents by a peculiar method of his own. The hay he always measured with his arms, and, having learned the height, he could tell the number of square yards in the stack. When he went out, he always carried with him a stout staff some inches taller than himself, which was of great service both in his travels and measurements. In 1778 he lost his wife, after thirty-nine years of conjugal felicity, in the sixty-first year of her age. She was interred at Stockport. Four years later he left Lancashire, and settled at the pleasant rural village of Spofforth, not far distant from the town of his nativity. With a daughter, he resided on a small farm until he died, in 1801. At the time of his decease, his descendants were four children, twenty grandchildren, and ninety great-grandchildren.

[In one of our articles in Chambers’s Journal we furnished the foregoing sketch, and it has since been reproduced in many newspapers and in several volumes.]

In “Yorkshire Longevity,” compiled by Mr. William Grainge, of Harrogate, a most painstaking writer on local history, will be found an interesting account of Henry Jenkins, a celebrated Yorkshireman. It is stated: “In the year 1743, a monument was erected, by subscription, in Bolton churchyard, to the memory of Jenkins; it consists of a square base of freestone, four feet four inches on each side, by four feet six inches in height, surmounted by a pyramid eleven feet high. On the east side is inscribed:—

This monument was
erected by contribution,
in ye year 1743, to ye memory
of Henry Jenkins.

On the west side:—

Henry Jenkins,
Aged 169.

In the church, on a mural tablet of black marble, is inscribed the following epitaph, composed by Dr. Thomas Chapman, Master of Magdalen College, Cambridge:—

Blush not, marble,
to rescue from oblivion
the memory of
Henry Jenkins:
a person obscure in birth,
but of a life truly memorable;
for
he was enriched
with the goods of nature,
if not of fortune,
and happy
in the duration,
if not variety,
of his enjoyments:
and,
tho’ the partial world
despised and disregarded
his low and humble state,
the equal eye of Providence
beheld, and blessed it
with a patriarch’s health and length of days:
to teach mistaken man,
these blessings were entailed on temperance,
or, a life of labour and a mind at ease.
He lived to the amazing age of 169;
was interred here, Dec. 6, (or 9,) 1670,
and had this justice done to his memory 1743.

This inscription is a proof that learned men, and masters of colleges, are not always exempt from the infirmity of writing nonsense. Passing over the modest request to the black marble not to blush, because it may feel itself degraded by bearing the name of the plebeian Jenkins, when it ought only to have been appropriated to kings and nobles, we find but questionable philosophy in this inappropriate composition.

The multitude of great events which took place during the lifetime of this man are truly wonderful and astonishing. He lived under the rule of nine sovereigns of England—Henry VII.; Henry VIII.; Edward VI.; Mary; Elizabeth; James I.; Charles I.; Oliver Cromwell; and Charles II. He was born when the Roman Catholic religion was established by law. He saw the dissolution of the monasteries, and the faith of the nation changed—Popery established a second time by Queen Mary—Protestantism restored by Elizabeth—the Civil War between Charles and the Parliament begun and ended—Monarchy abolished—the young Republic of England, arbiter of the destinies of Europe—and the restoration of Monarchy under the libertine Charles II. During his time, England was invaded by the Scots; a Scottish King was slain, and a Scottish Queen beheaded in England; a King of Spain and a King of Scotland were Kings in England; three Queens and one King were beheaded in England in his days; and fire and plague alike desolated London. His lifetime appears like that of a nation, more than an individual, so long was it extended and so crowded was it with such great events.”

The foregoing many incidents remind us of the well-known Scottish epitaph on Marjory Scott, who died February 26th, 1728, at Dunkeld, at the extreme age of one hundred years. According to Chambers’s “Domestic Annals of Scotland,” the following epitaph was composed for her by Alexander Pennecuik, but never inscribed, and it has been preserved by the reverend statist of the parish, as a whimsical statement of historical facts comprehended within the life of an individual:—

Stop, passenger, until my life you read,
The living may get knowledge from the dead.
Five times five years I led a virgin life,
Five times five years I was a virtuous wife;
Ten times five years I lived a widow chaste,
Now tired of this mortal life I rest.
Betwixt my cradle and my grave hath been
Eight mighty kings of Scotland and a queen.
Full twice five years the Commonwealth I saw.
Ten times the subjects rise against the law;
And, which is worse than any civil war,
A king arraigned before the subject’s bar.
Swarms of sectarians, hot with hellish rage,
Cut off his royal head upon the stage.
Twice did I see old prelacy pulled down,
And twice the cloak did sink beneath the gown.
I saw the Stuart race thrust out; nay, more,
I saw our country sold for English ore;
Our numerous nobles, who have famous been,
Sunk to the lowly number of sixteen.
Such desolation in my days have been,
I have an end of all perfection seen!

A foot-note states: “The minister’s version is here corrected from one of the Gentleman’s Magazines for January 1733; but both are incorrect, there having been during 1728 and the one hundred preceding years no more than six kings of Scotland.”

In Scott’s “Tales of a Grandfather,” there is an account of the Battle of Lillyard’s Edge, which was fought in 1545. The spot on which the battle occurred is so called from an Amazonian Scottish woman, who is reported, by tradition, to have distinguished herself in the fight. An inscription which was placed on her tombstone was legible within the present century, and is said to have run thus:—

Fair Maiden Lillyard lies under this stane,
Little was her stature, but great was her fame;
Upon the English louns she laid many thumps,
And when her legs were cutted off, she fought upon her stumps.

The tradition says that a beautiful young lady, called Lillyard, followed her lover from the little village of Maxton, and when she saw him fall in battle, rushed herself into the heat of the fight, and was killed, after slaying several of the English.

On one of the buttresses on the south side of St. Mary’s Church, at Beverley, is an oval tablet, to commemorate the fate of two Danish soldiers, who, during their voyage to Hull, to join the service of the Prince of Orange, in 1689, quarrelled, and having been marched with the troops to Beverley, during their short stay there sought a private meeting to settle their differences by the sword. Their melancholy end is recorded in a doggerel epitaph, of which we give an illustration.

In the parish registers the following entries occur:—

1689,	December 16.—	Daniel Straker, a Danish trooper buried.
"	December 23.—	Johannes Frederick Bellow, a Danish trooper, beheaded for killing the other, buried.

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.”

TABLET AT ST. MARY’S CHURCH, BEVERLEY.

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:—

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:—

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

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:—

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:—

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:—

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:—

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:—

To us grim death but sadly harsh appears,
Yet all the ill we feel, is in our fears;
To die is but to live, upon that shore
Where billows never beat, nor tempests roar;
For ere we feel its probe, the pang is o’er;
The wife, by faith, insulting death defies;
The poor man resteth in yon azure skies;—
That home of ease the guilty ne’er can crave,
Nor think to dwell with God, beyond the grave;—
It eases lovers, sets the captive free,
And though a tyrant he gives liberty.

The following lines also appear on the same stone:—

Death’s silent summons comes unto us all,
And makes a universal funeral!—
Spares not the tender babe because it’s young,
Youth too, and its men in years, and weak and strong!
Spares not the wicked, proud, and insolent,
Neither the righteous, just, nor innocent;
All living souls, must pass the dismal doom
Of mournful death, to join the silent tomb.

The following lines to the memory of Thomas Stokes are from his gravestone in Burton churchyard, upon which a profile of his head is cut. He for many years swept the roads in Burton:—

This stone
was raised by Subscription
to the memory of
Thomas Stokes,
an eccentric, but much respected,
Deaf and Dumb man,
better known by the name of
“Dumb Tom,”
who departed this life Feb. 25th, 1837,
aged 54 years.
What man can pause and charge this senseless dust
With fraud, or subtilty, or aught unjust?
How few can conscientiously declare
Their acts have been as honourably fair?
No gilded bait, no heart ensnaring need
Could bribe poor Stokes to one dishonest deed.
Firm in attachment to his friends most true—
Though Deaf and Dumb, he was excell’d by few.
Go ye, by nature form’d without defect,
And copy Tom, and gain as much respect.Next we deal with an instance of pure affection. The churchyard of the Yorkshire village of Bowes contains the grave of two lovers, whose touching fate suggested Mallet’s beautiful ballad of “Edward and Emma.” The real names of the couple were Rodger Wrightson and Martha Railton. The story is rendered with no less accuracy than pathos by the poet:—

Far in the windings of the vale,
Fast by a sheltering wood,
The safe retreat of health and peace,
A humble cottage stood.
There beauteous Emma nourished fair,
Beneath a mother’s eye;
Whose only wish on earth was now
To see her blest and die.
Long had she filled each youth with love,
Each maiden with despair,
And though by all a wonder owned,
Yet knew not she was fair.
Till Edwin came, the pride of swains,
A soul devoid of art;
And from whose eyes, serenely mild,
Shone forth the feeling heart.

We are told that Edwin’s father and sister were bitterly opposed to their love. The poor youth pined away. When he was dying Emma, was permitted to see him, but the cruel sister would scarcely allow her to bid him a word of farewell. Returning home, she heard the passing bell toll for the death of her lover—

Just then she reached, with trembling step,
Her aged mother’s door—
“He’s gone!” she cried, “and I shall see
That angel face no more!”
“I feel, I feel this breaking heart
Beat high against my side”—
From her white arm down sunk her head;
She, shivering, sighed, and died.

The lovers were buried the same day and in the same grave. In the year 1848, Dr. F. Dinsdale, F.S.A., editor of the “Ballads and Songs of David Mallet,” etc., erected a simple but tasteful monument to the memory of the lovers, bearing the following inscription:—

In St. Peter’s churchyard, Barton-on-Humber, there is a tombstone with the following strange inscription:—

Doom’d to receive half my soul held dear,
The other half with grief, she left me here.
Ask not her name, for she was true and just;
Once a fine woman, but now a heap of dust.As may be inferred, no name is given; the date is 1777. A curious and romantic legend attaches to the epitaph. In the above year an unknown lady of great beauty, who is conjectured to have loved “not wisely, but too well,” came to reside in the town. She was accompanied by a gentleman, who left her after making lavish arrangements for her comfort. She was proudly reserved in her manners, frequently took long solitary walks, and studiously avoided all intercourse. In giving birth to a child she died, and did not disclose her name or family connections. After her decease, the gentleman who came with her arrived, and was overwhelmed with grief at the intelligence which awaited him. He took the child away without unravelling the secret, having first ordered the stone to be erected, and delivered into the mason’s hands the verse, which is at once a mystery and a memento. Such are the particulars gathered from “The Social History and Antiquities of Barton-on-Humber,” by H. W. Ball, issued in 1856. Since the publication of Mr. Ball’s book, we have received from him the following notes, which mar somewhat the romantic story as above related. We are informed that the person referred to in the epitaph was the wife of a man named Jonathan Burkitt, who came from the neighbourhood of Grantham. He had been valet de chambre to some gentleman or nobleman, who gave him a large sum of money on his marrying the lady. They came to reside at Barton, where she died in childbirth. Burkitt, after the death of his wife, left the town, taking the infant (a boy), who survived. In about three years he returned, and married a Miss Ostler, daughter of an apothecary at Barton. He there kept the King’s Head, a public-house at that time. The man got through about £2000 between leaving Grantham and marrying his second wife.

On the north wall of the chancel of Southam Church is a slab to the memory of the Rev. Samuel Sands, who, being embarrassed in consequence of his extensive liberality, committed suicide in his study (now the hall of the rectory). The peculiarity of the inscription, instead of suppressing inquiry, invariably raises curiosity respecting it:—

In Middleton Tyas Church, near Richmond, is the following:—

This Monument rescues from Oblivion
the Remains of the Reverend John Mawer, D.D.,
Late vicar of this Parish, who died Nov. 18, 1763, aged 60.
As also of Hannah Mawer, his wife, who died
Dec. 20th, 1766, aged 72.
Buried in this Chancel.
They were persons of eminent worth.
The Doctor was descended from the Royal Family
of Mawer, and was inferior to none of his illustrious
ancestors in personal merit, being the greatest
Linguist this Nation ever produced.
He was able to speak & write twenty-two Languages,
and particularly excelled in the Eastern Tongues,
in which he proposed to His Royal Highness
Frederick Prince of Wales, to whom he was firmly
attached, to propagate the Christian Religion
in the Abyssinian Empire; a great & noble
Design, which was frustrated by the
Death of that amiable Prince; to the great mortification of
this excellent Person, whose merit meeting with
no reward in this world, will, it’s to be hoped, receive
it in the next, from that Being which Justice
only can influence.