University of Virginia Library

MARGARET TO ANNA.

We have a new Cemetery. It lies back of Grove Street, south
of Deacon Hadlock's Pasture, and is intersected by the Brook
Kedron, and covers part of the wooded slope on the descent of
Mons Christi. It possesses a variety of surface and of trees,
and the ornaments of walks and shrubbery. On either side of
he Brook is a willow-shaded gravel path. When Mr. Evelyn
was in Europe he visited the Cemeteries of Naples, Pisa, and
Père la Chaise at Paris, and here he would reproduce the
effect. We cannot imitate all architectural and princely forms,

but we can do that which pleases ourselves. Several of the
citizens have already put up tasteful monuments. Rufus
Palmer helps us in this, as in other things, and he has two
young men studying and practising with him; one of whom,
Socrates Hadlock, gives excellent artistical promise. Mr. Girardeau
has a lot, and to it have been brought the remains of
his wife, my own father and mother, his sister Marie, and
Raxman. Rose also intends to remove here her father and
mother, and sister. The kind Arab wish, “May you die
among your kindred,” we shall in some sense realize! We
have been concerned about Chilion, his dying request we supposed
it impossible ever to execute, and had kept it graven on
our own memories. At last, however, we ventured to speak of
it to the people, and in full town-meeting it was asked if they
would consent to the carrying out of Chilion's wishes. All
who spoke, answered affirmatively, and whatever denials existed
kept silence. The plain marble shaft, Mr. Palmer first
made, now stands over his new grave; on it is his name,
Chilion, and underneath are these words, “Here lies one who
tried to love his fellow men,”—words I know that were near
his heart, and are now gone forth to the world. Mr. Smith,
when the transfer of graves was had, allowed that Solomon's
monument, on which has so long stood the dreadful word
“Murdered,” should be changed for another. The old burial
ground remains; the ancient head-stones, those which are
identified, as the spot itself is, with the early history of Livingston,
keep their primitive places. The Cemetery seems to us
mournful and attractive; an iron fence surrounds it, but its
gates are always unlocked. With dove-like, Pleiadian melody,
the Brook Kedron flows through it. Mr. Evelyn has striven to
diffuse a taste that prevails in Europe, and already are many of
the mounds and lots blooming with flowers. People walk there
a great deal, and on the Sabbath it is thronged. It shears
death of its terrors, spiritualizes life, and hallows affection.

There is a Fountain reaching from Mons Christi to our
Common! It is fed by the Brook Kedron, and rises in the
centre of the Green. It springs by graceful impulses, and
breaks into beautiful attenuations. The Green is encircled by
great elms, and here is a little liquid elm in the midst of them.—
Mr. Stillwater has changed his Tavern to the Cross and Crown.

Col. Welch, who left here during the War, has returned. He
addressed a letter to Judge Morgridge, the brother of Mrs.
Welch, intimating a wish to come back and end his days

among his old town's people. At a meeting of the citizens,
the subject was considered, and they declared unanimously for
his request, and voted moreover to reimburse his expenses
hither, repair his house and renovate his grounds. Col.
Welch's, the Poor-House, the Pock-House, or whatever it be, is
ineffaceably associated with my first knowledge of Mr. Evelyn,
and with a morbific career of no uncertain character. Mr.
Evelyn has said he did not know as he should have ever married
me, if he had not first given me the Small-Pox. (?) Col.
Welch's is a commanding situation, and one of the finest on
the Green. His family of sons and daughters, becomes a
great acquisition to our circle of friends.

You are acquisitive of all the news, Anna, and I must tell
you, Cæsar Morgridge and Phillis Welch, Tony Washington
and old Dill, are married; and Master Elliman is betrothed to
Miss Amy! How this last was brought about I can hardly
say; only it was natural that a matter of thirty years standing
should come to a head at last. He told me, laughing, that he
was now heir-apparent to the tottering throne of Puppetdom
in Livingston. He has long occupied the sacerdotal office of
Parish-clerk, he says, and now aspires to higher degrees in
Anagogics. But, soberly, I think my good, fast, tender-hearted,
queer old friend has changed somewhat—not in his dress,
for he wears the same nankin breeches, shovel hat, fringed
vest, tye-wig, as of yore—but in his feelings and interior self.
He consents to reality and nature more; he exhibits a cordial
interest in life, men and manners. I am under irredeemable
obligations to him. He instructed me largely in the form, but
kept me away from the heart of things, the common heart I
mean; and left me wholly to find a heart for myself, or make
such an one as I could. This, Mr. Evelyn says, was a great
service.

Training-days have provoked a good deal of talk. Their
innumerable evils we all felt. Pa himself was brought home
drunk from a recent muster-field! The question took a serious
form among the people. Parson Welles, sensible of the growing
skepticism, preached to his, now so small, congregation,
in behalf of the practice. This had the effect to deepen
inquiry in the general mind. Christ-Church members, went
one day in solemn, mournful procession, men, women and
children, to their Oracle, the Gospels—for such they emphatically
are;—they went with as much perturbation of curiosity
and weight of concern as ever Athenians did to the Delphian

Tripod. “Christ says so and so,” responded the Bishop, at
whose house they met. The next training-day, Capt. Tuck
came forward, and with a speech quite in his vein, threw up
his commission. The subaltern officers followed the example
of their captain, the soldiers went into no balloting, and the
Livingston Company was not. Capt. Hoag said also that his
mind had changed. Deacons Penrose and Hadlock with some
others, sought to reorganize a band; but they were too old for
such a purpose themselves, and they could not find young men
enough even to form an Irish company. General Kingsland,
of Dunwich, ordered our people to attach themselves to the
Dunwich Company. One or two muster-days passed, and
nothing was done. At last he sent in an armed body, of fifty
or a hundred men, to take our people to Dunwich, without
fail. In work-shops, mills, farms, offices, the citizens continued
their ordinary pursuits. These soldiers dispersed themselves
in all parts of the town. I was riding in the Meadows,
when they came there. Several of our people were at work,
and among them, Judah Weeks, who was mowing. “Don't
you intend to go with us?” said the soldiers, after explaining
their errand. “I am very busy,” replied Judah, “I could not
possibly go to-day, neither do I care to at any time.” “I am
empowered to force you,” said one of the troop. “Very well,”
replied Judah, and continued his mowing. The soldier seized
him by the collar, but Judah, who is very strong, still kept his
scythe swinging, until he had drawn the soldier one or two
rods into the grass. “I will shoot you,” said the soldier, “if
you don't obey.” “That is it, hey?” said Judah. “If I am
to die I wish to do so with my wife and child. Call Bertha,
some of you,” he said to the people who began to flock around.
His wife and child were brought. “Now I am ready,” said
he. The soldier raised his musket, and lowered it. I know
not that he had any intentions of shooting. The soldiers went
off, and Judah resumed his work. We next encountered them
carrying a young fellow, who proved to be my old pupil, Consider
Gisborne. Four of them had him by his arms and feet.
He kicked lustily, and got away. An affair occurred at the
Mill, of which there have been several accounts. I will give
you the version we received from Captain Tuck himself.
General Kingsland in person, a Captain and Lieutenant, all in
field costume, came to the Mill, and sent in a message that
they had express business with Capt. Tuck. The Captain
went to the door, told them he was much hurried, that all his
stones were running, and several people were waiting for their
grists; and politely asked them in. However loth, they dismounted,
entered the Mill, followed the Captain, who was actively
employed from hopper to hopper. The place was floating
in the dust of meal, which presently found lodgment on
their plumes, blue coats and sashes. The General became
uneasy and urgent, the Captain replied that he was very busy,
and at the same time demonstrated the nature of his business
by emptying a meal-bag, from which fumed up any quantity of
the fine white effluvium. Whereupon, in the words of Captain
Tuck, “the General and his forces made a precipitate retreat.”
Sprinkled with flower from crest to spur, they mounted
their horses, and by most private ways withdrew from Livingston.
The Captain vaunts himself much on what he calls
his ruse de guerre; and declares that meal-powder is more
effective than gun-powder.

We are menaced with fines, but our people say they had
better pay them, than train. Indeed, a levy was made, some
property put up at auction, but no bidders appeared. However
the whole matter is to be carried before the State Legislature,
and we are looking forward to their action with no small
solicitude.

The world rattles about us, like wood-peckers in the forest.
If any thing rotten or defective can be discovered, well for us,
we will have it cut down.—I have certified myself of the meaning
of that very anagogical word, “world;” it signifies any
thing that is not Livingston, or out of Christ-Church, or below
Mons Christi. We means us, and they them. How very pleasant
to be brought plump up against the fence of the not you!
By being ourselves we have developed another being, quite as
long and as broad, and inclined to pugilism withal. I used
not to be, and nobody else was. Mr. Evelyn first scared me
with this idea of “the world.” But our world grows larger
every day, and I lack not for company, though theirs grows
pari passu. How will either come out in the end?

Some of our people walk carefully, as birds on ice. Soon
I trust they will find the earth, or wings wherewithal to leave
it.—How good a thing it is, in all our doubt and uncertainty,
that we have an oracle to which we can appeal, I mean the
Gospels. In the wreck of so much that is excellent, why have
they not perished also? When the Persians destroyed the
Temples of Greece, they did not dare touch that of the Isle of
Delos, it was so sacred. Has the extreme value of these books
saved them from pillage? Therein, through the vices of men
let me discern their virtues.