Part 8

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 "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 Scotch; 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 time 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 Margery 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 footnote 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."

Rowland Deakin died in 1791, aged 95, and was buried in Astley churchyard, near Shrewsbury. His epitaph is as follows:--

Many years I've seen, and Many things I have known, Five Kings, two Queens, And a Usurper on the throne; But now lie sleeping in the dust As you, dear reader, shortly must.

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 mony 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.

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, and 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.

On exhibiting himself at Hull Fair, in 1815, he issued a hand-bill, and the following is a copy of it:--

To be seen during the fair, at the house, No. 10, Queen Street, Mr. Bradley, the most wonderful and surprising Yorkshire Giant, 7 feet 9 inches high, weighs 27 stones; who has had the honour of being introduced to their Majesties & Royal Family at Windsor, where he was most graciously received. A more surprising instance of gigantic stature has never been beheld, or exhibited in any other kingdom; being proportionate in all respects, the sight of him never fails to give universal gratification, & will fill the beholder's eyes with wonder & astonishment. He is allowed by the greatest judges to surpass all men ever yet seen. Admittance one shilling.

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 31-1/2 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, is a gravestone to Lambert, a man 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 11 lbs. (14 lb. 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 "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; he 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 Westminster 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 gravestone 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 composition. 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 receptacle 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 I., 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.[2]

It is stated that Charles II., in a gay moment, asked Rochester to write his epitaph. Rochester immediately wrote:--

Here lies our 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 ministers's, His words they were his own.

Mr. Thomas Broadbent Trowsdale 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 years Had time to write, as doth appears--

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.