USA > Massachusetts > Suffolk County > Roxbury > Forest Hills cemetery: its establishment, progress, scenery, monuments, etc. > Part 8
USA > Massachusetts > Suffolk County > Boston > Forest Hills cemetery: its establishment, progress, scenery, monuments, etc > Part 8
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Nearly opposite is the elegant monument of Jonathan French. It is of white marble, and is highly finished with Gothic ornaments. The pe- destal has a richly-sculptured cornice, and in front is a shield with scroll-work, at the bottom of which are branches of oak with leaves and acorns ; at the corners are inverted torches. On the pedestal rests an arched tablet or block, with
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Gothic panels and crocketts. It is surmounted by an urn, draped and wreathed with flowers. The whole is elaborately and elegantly wrought, and the monument is one of the finest in the cemetery.
At the junction of Cherry and Hemlock ave- nues is a small, but handsome tablet, bearing the name of Stevens. Passing next to White Pine Avenue, cast of Hemlock, a large Gothic tablet, inscribed "Wentworth," will be noticed as a neat monument. Further on, are several plain obe- lisks, severally bearing the names of Humphrey, Kettell, and Whitaker, and the turretted Gothic monument of gray sandstone in the lot of A. J. Dean.
Near the castern end of Bellflower Path is an Egyptian pedestal inscribed with the name of Ma- comber. On Bellflower Path are, a small marble monument in the lot of Eliza Powars; an Egyp- tian pedestal and obelisk bearing the name of Joseph Jenkins ; a handsome Gothic tablet of gray sandstone, with a wreath of flowers enclosing the words " Our Sister," in the lot of G. A. Chapin ; a high pedestal with an arched cornice surmount- ed by an urn, with oak leaves and broken harp, in relief, and inscribed with the name of Eastman. At the junction of this lot with Hemlock Avenue, is a handsome monument in the lot of Edward
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Perkins -a pedestal, on which is a shaft orna- mented with a richly-sculptured wreath, and sur- mounted by a handsome urn, inscribed "Sophia."
On Aspen Avenue are several obelisks. That of I. D. Richards is surmounted by a vase ; those of Joseph Byron and William Hunter are plain. On the same avenue, in the lot of G. W. Smith, is a scroll, on which are wrought, in high relief, a winged head and a lamb. Near the last, on White Oak Avenue, is an arched tablet ornamented with vine leaves and a broken chain.
On Fountain Avenue, nearly midway between Lake Hibiscus and the Field of Machpelah, is a beautiful monument. On a handsome marble pe- destal is a small statue of a female weeping over an urn wreathed with flowers, and beside which lies a funeral torch. The posture of the figure and the expression are very good and the work is well executed. On the pedestal are graven the words, "My Husband and Child." It was erected by Mrs. J. L. Loveland.
In thus passing over the grounds to point out the monuments, some quite worthy of notice may have been omitted; and there are many appro- priate little stones, ornamented with pretty de- vices or surrounded with flowers, which will be observed by those who pay more than a passing
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visit to the grounds, but which could not all be enumerated in these pages.
This chapter is scarcely more than a catalogue of some of the more noticeable monuments, and might, perhaps, have been more interesting if it contained the names and epitaphs on all the stones. But those records were better read on the monuments themselves, by such as feel an in- terest in them, than made public in a volume ; and we preferred that these pages should lack inter- est rather than to tr :spass upon private sorrows.
Äpitapls.
A MAJORITY of the inscriptions on the monu- ments at Forest Hills contain simply the names, with the date of birth and death; but there are also numerous epitaphs which are beautiful, touch- ing and impressive when read from the stones on which they are inscribed. To have recorded them with the names, as each monument was de- scribed or mentioned, would have been overstep- ping the limits prescribed in the last chapter. There are some lines or sentiments which might, perhaps, appear more appropriate, were the entire inscription given, but there are many which need not the coupling of a name to show their fitness or to make them interesting; and since, for the most part, the names must be as those of stran- gers to the reader, it is neither necessary nor desirable to array them in this connection. A number of these epitaphs, without names, (which
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in some cases, indeed, are not inscribed on the stones,) collected at random from various parts of the cemetery, are here given; and it may be remarked that, while some of them are peculiarly apt in language and sentiment, there are others which are to be regarded without criticism, and rather for the feelings which they express than for the elegance or fitness of the language.
Prominent among such epitaphs are the terms of endearment with which the dead were greeted while living-the names, so familiar and so be- loved, which have at last come to be fixed on the " dull, cold marble," over the graves of those to whom they were given. In many cases these names stand alone, epitaphs touching the heart even of the stranger, and more dear and deeply affecting to the bereaved than all other words beside. Such are the following, which, with simi- lar inscriptions, may be found scattered over the grounds :
" Father ;" " Our Mother ;" "Our Sister ;" "Our Brother ;" " Our Boy ;" " Our lovely Child ;" " My beloved Wife ;" "My Husband ;" " Angel Ella ;" " Carrie ;" " Our little Fanny ;" " Our darling May ;" " Dannie ;" "Dear Willie ;" "Our little Frank ;" "Little Emma ;" "Little Helen ;" " Our little Herbert ;" "Little Clara."
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Lines descriptive of a serene and peaceful death may be found on some monuments, such as these :
"She slept- but not kind Nature's balmy sleep, Friendship could only hope, and doubt, and weep. Vain was the hope, the flickering vital power Was slowly wasting with the wasting hour. Her lids unclosed. She breathed no vocal sound, But fondly gazed on those who wept around, And each in silence calmly, sweetly blessed, Then gently closed her eyes and sunk to rest. Loved spirit ! while on earth thy friends remain, Nature forbids that we should meet again ; But ah, how blest their longing souls will be, Who pass through deaths like thine to heaven and thee !"
"She took the cup of life to sip, Too bitter 't was to drain ; She meekly put it from her lip And went to sleep again."
" The mother gave her infant life and breath, Then calmly yielded to a blissful death ; Soon followed her the babe, as if to share A sainted mother's fostering love and care. Together here their mouldering relics rest, Their glorious spirits are together blest."
Words expressive of the fond remembrance in which the lost are held by the mourner, are en- graved on many stones.
" O blest are they who live and die like thee, Loved with such love, and with such sorrow mourned."
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"She lives in every thought, In every dream she smiles again And speaks a blessing to the heart."
" Fragrant and forever dear shall her memory be."
" Thou art gone, - still thy memory is dear."
" Her children rise up and call her blessed."
" Loved in life, in death not divided."
" Beloved by all, many are the hearts that mourn her absence."
Still more frequent are those words which are the utterances of Faith and Hope, looking beyond the grave to an immortal life :
"She is not dead, but sleepeth."
" Not lost, but gone before."
" Calm on the bosom of thy God, Young spirit ! rest thee now ! Ev'n while with us thy footsteps trod, His seal was on thy brow. Lone are the paths and sad the bowers, Whence thy meek smile is gone ; But O! a brighter home than ours, In heaven, is now thine own."
" Immortal Hope dispels our gloom, An angel sits beside the tomb." N
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" Yet while mourning, O ! our lost one, Come no visions of despair, Seated on thy tomb, Faith's angel Saith thou art not-art not there."
" Farewell ! we meet in Heaven."
" Abiit, non Obiit."
" In realms of bliss above, By guardian angels led, Safe in the arms of love She lives, whom we call dead." " Divided but for a time."
" We have left an earthly for a heavenly home."
" Returned unto God." " Husband ! Father ! Thou art gone before us ; Yet after the night of Death, Comes the day of eternal life ; Then ! we shall meet again."
" We'll meet again, are words that cheer While bending o'er the tomb ; And O ! that hope, so bright and clear, Can pierce its deepest gloom. For in the mansions of the blest, Secure from care and pain, In Heaven's serene and endless rest We'll surely meet again."
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"Sleep, loved one, sleep ! O, may that star, That lights the deepest gloom, Conduct thee through the cheerless vale, To joys beyond the tomb."
" The sleeping dust shall rest in hopes."
" I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me."
" We shall meet again."
" He who lent thee hath recalled thee Back, with Him and His to dwell."
" Rest, angel, rest ! Await th' Almighty will, Then rise from earth, And be an angel still."
" She was lovely on earth - She is an angel in Heaven."
" Lie down in peace to take thy rest ! Dear cherished form ! no longer mine, But bearing in thy clay-cold breast A hidden germ of life divine ; Which, when the eternal spring shall bloom, Will burst the shackles of the tomb."
Other inscriptions are of a more religious character, such as :
" Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." " Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord."
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" Our Father who art in Heaven." " Faithful unto death." " Now we see as through a glass, darkly." " I know that my Redeemer liveth." " With thy Saviour we leave thee." " My soul waiteth for the Lord."
"Take them, O Father ! in immortal trust." " Her record is in Heaven."
The quiet of the grave is expressed in some of the epitaphs :
" He giveth his beloved sleep." " Lie down in peace to take thy rest." " Requiescat in pace."
The rest beyond the tomb is more often spo- ken of:
"There is rest in Heaven."
" At rest with God." -(Over the grave of an aged person.) " There remaineth a Rest."
" Thou the Christian's path hast trod, Dearest Mother, -rest with God."
" Return unto thy rest, O my soul."
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The most expressive epitaphs are over the graves of children, and to the stranger always the most touching. There is something about the grave of childhood, with the bereaved love which mourns there, that appeals to the sympathy and to the better feelings of the heart, more strongly than anywhere else.
On many stones are simply the familiar names by which the lost were known while living, as instanced above. Such inscriptions seem most appropriate for children. Some others of the foregoing epitaphs are also found over the graves of children.
On a number of stones are inscribed the words of the Saviour :
" Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not ; for of such is the kingdom of Heaven ;"
and the words
" She is not dead, but sleepeth,"
are also found in several instances. Among many other inscriptions over such graves are the fol- lowing :
" Little Henry sleeps."
" As the sweet flower that seents the morn But withers in the rising day, Thus lovely was this infant's dawn, Thus swiftly fled its life away." N*
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" It is well with the child."
" A little bud plucked from earth to bloom in Heaven."
"Sweet harbingers to Heaven."
" A child whom we have loved has gone to Heaven, - And by this gate of flowers she passed away."
" One less to love on earth, One more to meet in Heaven."
" A little spirit wafted home To dwell among the blest ; His last, his dying words were heard - ' I do love God the best.' "
." A bud of beauty nipped by death - O no ! upborne to milder skies, Where no rude wind with icy breath May blight a flower of Paradise."
Among the inscriptions of a different character are the following :
" While sleeping, his spirit sought its home in Heaven."
" A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches." " The memory of the just is blessed."
" The world can never give The bliss for which we sigh ; 'Tis not the whole of life to live, Nor all of death to die."
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To the foregoing epitaphs many others might be added, were it intended to give a complete collection of them. Possibly, some of peculiar fitness and beauty may have been passed by, and those which have been copied were not, indeed, selected, but, as before observed, were taken at random, as examples of the ordinary inscriptions of this class which are found in the cemetery. Although some of them, especially the briefer ones, are appropriate and touching as read under the shades of the cemetery, yet it is to be wished that some of the verses which are found upon the memorial stones were taken from the poets, who have expressed their solemn thoughts in more fit- ting language.
Beberics at Forest hills.
" Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, And stars to set - but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O ! Death !"
ALL seasons at the cemetery are beautiful and full of sacred teachings. Each has some peculiar charm which leads the mind to tender associations and to high and solemn thought. Every where nature has myriad voices for those who will lis- ten, and pictures whose soft and varied tints have each some beautiful lesson for those who will study ; but in the Garden of the Dead its utter- ances are more distinct, its music more touching, its beauties nearer and lovelier. Divested in some degree by the associations of the place from the cares and follies, the joys and sorrows of the world, the mind is open to more delicate percep- tions and to more gentle and holy thought.
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Spring has spread its charms over Forest Hills. With the warm south wind the soft notes of the birds have come. The black birch has hung out its pendulous blossoms, the maple is crowned with its scarlet flowers, the oak and the walnut are opening their waxen buds, and light green fo- liage with delicate spray clothes here and there the underwood. On the sunny slopes and in the sheltered nooks of the rugged rocks the violet lifts its blue petals to the light, and in the borders or on the cherished grave the crocus or hyacinth has succeeded the snowdrop. The turf has grown green on the resting-places of the dead, on the hill-sides and in the valleys. Nature is awaking from its long sleep to a new and beautiful life. And here, where the dead slumber, how does this resurrection of natural life speak to the soul, of that higher resurrection which is intimated in its own longings and promised in the Divine word.
The blossoms fall and the tender bud is blight- ed. Flowers more beautiful than the richly-tinted children of nature have been brought hither, and laid down in their little graves by bereaved pa- rents, for whom, in their grief, there are no other blossoms in the world, no music, nor sunshine ; - flowers which were tended with devoted care and watched with the gentlest love; whose growing beauties were an unceasing delight, and in whose
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hearts were treasures that shed a precious per- fume. They were angels in the household, and had lit up their homes with innocent happiness and sunny hopes. Around their sweet spring- time had clustered the promises of a beautiful summer. But it ripened not on earth; ere its first soft bloom had departed it was ended,
"-gone, as the dew-drop is swept from the bough."
Their homes were darkened. The joys and hopes which had centred in them, born of earth, were doomed to disappointment and death. The cher- ished blossoms have been laid down to decay. While the spring in its growing beauty is full of mementos of these beloved flowers, they have been brought hither and laid away forever. The trees with delicate buds are bending over them ; votive plants are springing on their graves ; Na- ture is putting on a garment of hopeful loveliness -all types of their earthly life, of their immortal destiny. The spring-time ended here, is begun, beyond the flowery portal, in perfect beauty - " for of such is the kingdom of heaven." The new spring, the new flowers teach the lesson.
With how much care and deep devotion the tender plants upon those little graves are cher- ished ! As if they were the kindred of the depart- ed blossoms, or as if the dead below could behold
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their beauty. With oft-returning footsteps has the mother come up hither to watch, and care for, and guard those votive flowers, more beautiful over such graves than the sculptured marble ; and some little blossom or leaf has been carried away, a treasure which awakens sad and holy memories, and calls forth tears, and step by step leads up through better thoughts and hopes to Heaven. Behold, too, how she has brought hither a bouquet of rare and beautiful flowers, to adorn this spot, dearer to her than all the earth beside ; and ere their perfume has wasted or their petals all faded, again and again, with unforgetting love, does she come to renew the offering.
Does this little grave take the place of her beautiful child in her heart? Not that; but the memories which cluster around it, the hopes which there spring up, these are the tenants of that chamber which once held the beloved child. To this spot, the end of that brief day's journey, she followed the lifeless form; and here, where she took her last gaze, is it not meet that it should be a hallowed spot ? Lo, on the tablet is engrav- ed, "She is not dead, but sleepeth." They who with trustful hearts inscribe such words over the departed, cherish something more and better than the dust which is buried there, or the flowers that bloom above it. They bring earth's blos-
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soms to the grave, but in their hearts they twine immortelles.
The buds and blossoms of May have ripened to the more perfect beauty of leafy June. The tall old trees are clothed in their drapery of thick foliage, and the tender spray of their humbler companions waves long and bright in the soft wind. The wild strawberry ripens where the violet has bloomed; the laurel and rhododendron unfold the scales of their large buds ; the rose and the lily and the varied blossoms of vines and flow- ering annuals cluster about the graves and in the borders. Up among the leafy boughs the birds are rearing their happy broods, unmindful of the sleepers below, and their soft notes are heard above the rustling of the leaves. The more joy- ous songsters are away in the waving fields, or the orchards about the dwellings of the living. Only those little warblers whose notes are low and plaintive, or the sad cuckoo, or the thrush who sends his subdued melody out from some thicket, are heard in these quiet groves. And so the solemn revery beneath their shades is broken by no glad, triumphal song, which must be heard, and wondered at, and delighted in, when it bursts upon the ear.
Still and quiet is the life about the grave in
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summer's prime; yet is it life which contrasts strongly with the sleep of death, and seems to have few associations which lead from the con- templation of the one to the other. But the stillness and peace which pervade the place pro- duce an influence that steals forth from the shad- ows and the flowers and the mossy rocks, and subdues the soul to solemn thought and sacred memories. The past returns with many a tender recollection of the beloved and lost, and with blessings on the good, the noble and the revered; and, following them to the grave, thought would fain pass the dread portal to see them in the world beyond. And thus, as summer's golden hours go by, we muse long over the sculptured marble or the flowery grave in sadness, reverence and prayer.
Through the shady avenues winds a slow fune- ral train. The bright beauty of summer, with all its sweet blossoms, has been laid low. But yes- terday she was the centre of a world of thoughts and hopes; beautiful in form and spirit, her look like a sunbeam, her virtues shed a sweet, refresh- ing influence about her. Parental pride and love scarce could desire more, and he to whom she would have been nearer than child or parent, had found in her all his heart's highest hopes and wishes. But now-O, that such agony should
0
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come in the sweet summer of her life and this bright summer of the year !- that beautiful spirit has fled, and that lovely form is brought hither to its rest. Who shall measure the grief of those bereaved ones, father, mother, brother, lover, as they lay her down on this last couch ? The beau- ty of perfect summer is about them ; leaf, bud and blossom droop even over the open grave, and the beauties of the garden of the dead but add to their sorrow.
But now it is past. The last rites are ended, and the bereaved, bowed down by the fall of that beautiful dust, yet cheered by the aspirations of that more beautiful spirit, have looked their last, and departed. Departed -to give place to oth- ers, who come with yet a deeper woe-a twofold bereavement. The matron in her ripened prime, and the fair young girl who just looked onward to a beautiful womanhood, have come together to tenant the last, peaceful home. In the full flush of life, in the bright season of hopes, and amid the harvest of joys, suddenly, mysteriously - providentially, they have been summoned hence, mother and daughter together-united in death by an unutterable love. Followed by a long pro- cession of true mourners, their forms have been laid, side by side, where the tall trees cast a solemn shade in summer, and where the sun lin-
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gers with its warmest rays in winter; side by side have their spirits passed the portal which has opened to them the serener fields and purer skies of heaven. God be with the mourners here and in the desolate home !
To them how is this ground consecrated now ! - consecrated by sacred memories and holy in- fluences. Hither shall they often come; in the music of the trees shall they hear the low-voiced angels singing, and in the golden sunlight see those blessed spirits beckoning them onward and upward to eternal joys.
The oak has grown ruddy; the birch and the maple are shedding golden showers upon the fad- ng turf and the scattered flowers; scarlet and brown are mingled with the bright green of the pine and the hemlock. The hazy atmosphere absorbs the sunlight, and the distant landscape is like a dream. The stillness of the woods is bro- ken only by the unfreqent note of some lingering bird or the whisper of the dying leaves. But to the soul there are voices, O how eloquent and impressive ! breathing in the very silence, and in harmony with the faint song of bird and sigh of leaf,-voices that utter not, yet are full of lessons.
The summer has gone by, the harvest has ripen-
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ed and is gathered. Fit time to lay at rest him who has passed through the summer of life into its golden autumn with rich store of fruits. A sunny life has been his, -sunny with the genial warmth of good deeds and noble purposes ; clouded sometimes by circumstance, misfortune, or sorrow, but shining forth more brightly after the storm and the clouds were past. Beloved by circle beyond circle, from the few who dwelt ever beneath his sunny smile to the many who had experienced his goodness, he is lamented as cut down too soon in his usefulness. Yet is it not too soon, for he yielded precious fruits, and in his progress onward he had gone heavenward, calmly awaiting the summons that called him to his reward in a higher career. We may weep at the grave of such a man, for so much excellence departed, and rejoice in the memory of such an example to humanity. The sad trees cast their mantles on his grave, and the autumn sun sheds a glory about his rest.
There are feastings in the land, rejoicings over the gathered harvests and the blessings of home, and kindred, and love. And there are mourners too, who have left their darkened dwelling and have come hither to the solemn groves, reverently to lay an aged parent at rest. There is a rustling
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of leaves on the ground; deep, sad music among the unrobed trees; a soft requiem in the sighing pines. Long had the aged one lingered, through the mellow autumn into the frosts and snows of life's winter -after the setting of the sun, into the shadows of evening. But the longed-for night has come, and the wearied body sleeps, -the spirit is "at rest with God." The last sere leaf falls from the overbending branch on the turfless mound, as the sad mourners pass silently away. But there are green leaves in their memories.
The sky is overcast, and the wind wails fitfully now; and there comes yet another tenant for the city of the dead ; - no aged form, but in the prime of manhood. It was the spirit that was old, worn down in the battle of life; once daring, reckless, defiant, - then, alas ! chafing and angry, and then crushed and broken. Ay, bring him hither, the weary one, to the couch of long rest. The storms of life are past, and what shall he care for the angry clouds ? - they can but weep; or for the howling wind ? - it will sound his requiem. Lay him down gently, ye few broken-hearted, the cold earth here shall tenderly embrace his ashes, - and oh ! hope and pray that in a far-off haven his spirit shall have found an eternal calm.
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