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:—
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:—