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 grass so green
which Jeremiah Simp-
son departed this
Life in the 84 yeare
of his age in the
year of our Lord
1719.

According to “Shropshire Folk-Lore” (published 1883), Edward Burton, of Longner, Shrewsbury, died in 1558, and in the garden of Longner Hall is a plain altar-tomb, dated 1614. He was a zealous Protestant, and died suddenly of excitement on hearing Shrewsbury bells ring for the accession of Queen Elizabeth. The minister of St. Chad’s Church, Shrewsbury, refused to permit his body to be buried there; it was therefore taken home again and laid in his garden:—

Was’t for denying Christ, or some notorious fact,
That this man’s body Christian burial lackt?
Oh no; his faithful true profession
Was the chief cause, what then was held transgression.
When Pop’ry here did reign, the See of Rome
Would not admit to any such, a tomb
Within their Idol Temple Walls, but he,
Truly professing Christianity,
Was like Christ Jesus in a garden laid,
Where he shall rest in peace till it be said,
“Come, faithful servant, come, receive with Me,
A just reward of thy integrity.”

Mr. J. Potter Briscoe favours us with an account of a Nottingham character, and a copy of his epitaph. 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 poorer 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 anyone. 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.

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 “Edwin 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 flourished 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.