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

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: —

Rodger Wrightson, junr., and Martha Railton, both of Bowes; buried in one grave. He died in a fever, and upon tolling his passing bell, she cry’d out My heart is broke, and in a few hours expired, purely thro’ love, March 15, 1714-15. Such is the brief and touching record contained in the parish register of burials. It has been handed down by unvarying tradition that the grave was at the west end of the church, directly beneath the bells. The sad history of these true and faithful lovers forms the subject of Mallet’s pathetic ballad of “Edwin and Emma.”

2

2

  Black’s “Guide to Yorkshire.”

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: —

Near this place was deposited, on the 23rd April, 1815, the remains of S. S., 38 years rector of this parish.

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

MISCELLANEOUS EPITAPHS

We bring together under this heading a number of specimens that we could not include in the foregoing chapters of classified epitaphs.

Our example is from Bury St. Edmunds churchyard: —

Here lies interred the Body of

Mary Haselton,

A young maiden of this town,

Born of Roman Catholic parents,

And virtuously brought up,

Who, being in the act of prayer

Repeating her vespers,

Was instantaneously killed by a

flash of Lightning, August 16th,

1785. Aged 9 years

Not Siloam’s ruinous tower the victims slew,

Because above the many sinn’d the few,

Nor here the fated lightning wreaked its rage

By vengeance sent for crimes matur’d by age.

For whilst the thunder’s awful voice was heard,

The little suppliant with its hands uprear’d,

Addressed her God in prayers the priest had taught,

His mercy craved, and His protection sought;

Learn reader hence that wisdom to adore,

Thou canst not scan and fear His boundless power;

Safe shalt thou be if thou perform’st His will,

Blest if he spares, and more blest should He kill.

A lover at York inscribed the following lines to his sweetheart, who was accidentally drowned, December 24, 1796: —

Nigh to the river Ouse, in York’s fair city,

Unto this pretty maid death shew’d no pity;

As soon as she’d her pail with water fill’d

Came sudden death, and life like water spill’d.

An accidental death is recorded on a tombstone in Burton Joyce churchyard, placed to the memory of Elizabeth Cliff, who died in 1835: —

This monumental stone records the name

Of her who perished in the night by flame

Sudden and awful, for her hoary head;

She was brought here to sleep amongst the dead.

Her loving husband strove to damp the flame

Till he was nearly sacrificed the same.

Her sleeping dust, tho’ by thee rudely trod,

Proclaims aloud, prepare to meet thy God.

We are told that a tombstone in Creton churchyard states: —

On a Thursday she was born,

On a Thursday made a bride,

On a Thursday put to bed,

On a Thursday broke her leg, and

On a Thursday died.

From Ashburton we have the following: —

Here I lie, at the chancel door,

Here I lie, because I’m poor;

The farther in, the more you pay,

Here I lie as warm as they.

In the churchyard of Kirk Hallam, Derbyshire, a good specimen of a true Englishman is buried, named Samuel Cleater, who died May 1st, 1811, aged 65 years. The two-lined epitaph has such a genuine, sturdy ring about it, that it deserves to be rescued from oblivion: —

True to his King, his country was his glory,

When Bony won, he said it was a story.

A monument in Bakewell church, Derbyshire is a curiosity, blending as it does in a remarkable manner, business, loyalty, and religion: —

To the memory of Matthew Strutt, of this town, farrier, long famed in these parts for veterinary skill. A good neighbour, and a staunch friend to Church and King. Being Churchwarden at the time the present peal of bells were hung, through zeal for the house of God, and unremitting attention to the airy business of the belfry, he caught a cold, which terminated his existence May 25, 1798, in the 68th year of his age.

In Tideswell churchyard, among several other singular gravestone inscriptions, the following occurs, and is worth reprinting: —

In Memory of

Brian, Son of John and Martha Haigh,

who died 22nd December, 1795,

Aged 17 years

Come honest sexton, with thy spade,

And let my grave be quickly made;

Make my cold bed secure and deep,

That, undisturbed, my bones may sleep,

Until that great tremendous day,

When from above a voice shall say, —

“Awake, ye dead, lift up your eyes,

Your great Creator bids you rise!”

Then, free from this polluted dust,

I hope to be amongst the just.

The old church of St. Mary’s, Sculcoates, Hull, contains several interesting monuments, and we give a sketch of one, a quaint-looking mural memorial, having on it an inscription in short-hand. In Sheahan’s “History of Hull,” the following translation is given: —

In the vault beneath this stone lies the body of Mrs. Jane Delamoth, who departed this life, 10th January, 1761. She was a poor sinner, but not wicked without holiness, departing from good works, and departed in the Faith of the Catholic Church, in full assurance of eternal happiness, by the agony and bloody sweat, by the cross and passion, by the precious death and burial, by the glorious resurrection and ascension of Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, Amen.

We believe that the foregoing is a unique epitaph, at all events we have not heard of or seen any other monumental inscription in short-hand.

The following curious epitaph is from Wirksworth, Derbyshire: —

Near this place lies the body of

Philip Shullcross,

Once an eminent Quill-driver to the attorneys in this Town. He died the 17th of Nov. 1787, aged 67.

Viewing Philip in a moral light, the most prominent and remarkable features in his character were his zeal and invincible attachment to dogs and cats, and his unbounded benevolence towards them, as well as towards his fellow-creatures.