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:--
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.