B1K5 "(Behold the place where they laid Him." \V %«et|iii0itiif. "■They shall bring him unto the grave, and he shall he laid ill the tomb, and the clods of the valley shall he sweet -"Mo him. '^Oh, that Thou wouldest hide me in the grave, that Thou wouldest keep me secret until Thy lorath he past.^^ J. ¥. kii)^, M- ® r. A, HANZSCKEi rit. Class _rili Book.^5LiJful saluta- tion, " well done, thou ^ood and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord." One may see, pe'chanee, the tottorinf', hoary pil>i:rim, bow- ed upon his staif, and with up-turned eyes, imploring, ■" Lord, lot not my gr^iy hairs go down into the grave, until I have told the rising generation of thy mercy and loving kindness." 8 Greenmount Cemetery. Amid this flo'-al bloom and garniture could litile childrea delight to roira, knowing from parental teaching that they are especially dear unto, and constantly in their Heavenly Father's care and keeping, and that he has enjoined to. *' Suffer little children to come unto him, and to forbid them oot, — for of such is the kingdom of Heaven." Hure the inquisitive, tender miud would be prone to ask, " Mother, where is that radiant shore Where we shall meet to part no more, Is it where floweis of the orange blows Where the warm bright sun forever glows?" " Not there, not there, mj child." '*Is it where the feaTherj pilm trees rise And the date grows ripe under sunny skies Is it far away in some region old Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold, And the pearl gleams foith from the coral strand, Is it there, sweet mother, that liappy land*^" "Not there, not there, my child." " Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy ; Etr hath uoi heard its deep sounds of joy; Dreams cannot picture a world so fair, 'Tis beyond the bright clouds. — it is* there. xMv child." Greenmount Cemetery. 9 *• To all ages and conditions is such a hallowed spot in- viting and conifortiog, here can be enjoyed moments of respite from sin and folly, and calm intervals for profitable reflection and itelf-examination." On every hand are ornate monuments and graceful shafts and tablets, chaste in desig.i, and wrought in the sculptor's highest art; upon almost every monument and grassy mound are floral garlands of exquisite flowers and lovely *' immortelle>i," glittering and fragrant with the morn- ing dew: daily beside tliein may be seen lingering and kneel- ing the weeping mourner — perchance some sorrowing mother, with up-turned eyes, and hands clasped convulsively in prayer, lamenting in deep bitterness of woe and refusing to be com- forted. Here can be heard the orphan's plaint and the wi- dow's wail and tiie father's manly lamentation, as in convul- sive utterances he exclaims as did King David : '* Alas my noble boy, that thou shouldst die, Thou who wert made so beautifully fair. That death should settle in thy glorious eye And leave his cold chill in thy clustering hair." How could he mark thee for the silent tomb- And the disconsolate partner in life, of the one that sleeps in death, in frantic anguish finds utterance in sad soliloquy, " The grave hath won thee : Must thy dark tresses to the cold earth be fluug, Will ihou no more with thy sweet smile Come to greet me ?" -"Farewell, 'Tis hard to give thee up, With death so like a gentle slumber on thee, Like a bruised reed. I ana waitinsf— wait ins: — For God to call me like a wanderer home." The wordling can solace himself with that sweetest elegy, 10 Greenmcuxt Cemeteuy. Beneath these riiJifetl oaks, ttmt elm tree's sliad\ "Where heav( s the turl in many a u.ouldeiing heap, Each in his narrow cell forever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. Can storied urn or animated bust, Back to its mansion call the tleeting breath, Can honor's voice provoke the s-ilent dust Or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that earth ere gave, Await alike the inevitable hour. The paths of glory lead but to the grave. One morn I missed hiin on t'le accustomed hill Along the heath, and near hi<=i favorite tree. Another came — Qor yet beside the rill. Nor up the lawn, uor at the wood was he. The next, with dirges duo, and sid array, Slow through tiie church way path me saw him b mrne Approach and read, for thou canVt read the lay, "I7*^S^-^^' Graved on the stone bcneatli \(-n agid thorn, GllEEN MOUNT CE\IKri5RY. 11 No further seek his merits to disclose Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, There they alike in trembling hope repose, The bosoQ) of his father and his GtKl. IN front of the main entrance to Grcenmount, upon a ver- dant, gracefully rounded eminence, stands the chapel, a — Gothic structure, of brown-stone. It is elaborately and or- nately sculptured, presenting a strikingly beautiful specimen of ecclesiastical architecture. The design is from one of the chapels in Westminster Ab- bey, London. GREENMOUNTS OF THE GOOD, BRAVE AND BEAUTIFUL. GRAVE wherever found, preaches a short and pithy les- son to the soul ; and it is well for us occasionally to pass fJjJL an hour in the silence of God's acre, as a species of soul's^ exercise or mental lesson, to remind us of the great aims and objects of a true man's life, and we cannot do better than quote the beautiful reflections of Washington Irving : " Oh, the grave !— the grave ! it buries every error — covers every defect — extinguishes every resentment! From its peaceful bosom spring none but fond regrets and tender recollections. Who can look down upon the grave evm of an enemy, and not feel a com- punctious throb that he should ever have warred with the poor handful of eaith that lies mouidcriDg before him V But the grave of those we loved — what a jdace for meditation! There it is that we call up a Ioiil' r( view the whole history of vir- tue and gentleness, and the thousand endearments lavished upon \iS. almost unheeded in the daily intercourse of intimacy — there it is tdat we dwell upon the temicrness, the solemn, awful tender- ness of the parting scene. The bed of death, with all its stifled 12 Greenmount Cemetery. P'iefs— its noiseless attenda?ice — its mute, watchful assiduities. The last testimonies af expiring love! Tlie feeble, tiutteriog, thrilling! — pressure of the hand. The last fond look of the glaz ing eye turning upon us even from the threshold of existence! The faint, faltering accents, struggling in death to give one more assurance of affection ? Ay, go to the grave of buried love, and meditate ! There set- tle the account with thy conscience lor every past benefit unre- quited — every past endearment unregarded, of that departed be- ing, who can never — never — never return to be soothed by thy contrition ! If thou art a child, and hast ever added a sorrow to the soul or a furrow to the silvered brow of an affectionate parent — if thou art a husband, and hast ever caused the fond bosom that ventured its whole happiness in thy arms to doubt one moment of thy kind- ness or thy truth — if thou art a friend, and hast ever wronged, in Ihought or word or deed, the spirit that generously confided in thee — if thou art a lover, and hast ever given one unmerited pang to that true heart wiiich now lies cold and still beneath thy feet : — then be sure that every unkind look, every ungracious word, every ungentle action, will come thronging back upon thy memo- ry, and knocking dolefully at thy soul — then be sure that thou wilt lie down sorrowing and repentant on the grave, and utter tlie unheard groan and pour the unavailing tear : more deep, more bitter, because unheard and unavailing. Then weave thy chaplet of flowers, and strew the beauties ol nature about tlie grave ; console thy broken spirit, if thou canst with these tender, yet futile tributes of regret; but take warning by the bitterness ot this thy contrite affliction over the dead, and hencelbrth be more fail liful and affectionate in the discharge of thy duties to the living " Greenmount Cemetery. 13 I HE first interment that occurred in Greenmount was that of an infant, December 29, 1839, which was mem- ^ orialized by a beautiful poem from the gifted pen of S. Teackle Wallis, Esq., of the Baltimore bar. GRAVE OF MAJOR SAMUEL RINGGOLD Once inclosed by a fence of Mexican gun-barrels and bayo- nets captured in the Mexican war, now a plain marble slab, bears the inscription, *' Mortally wounded at Palo Alto, May 8, 1845, died at Corpus Christi, May 10, 1846." By his side sleeps the gallant brother, Cadwallader Ringgold, Rear- Ad- miral, U. S. Navy. GRAVE OF COL. WILLIAM H. WATSON, Commander of the Bj,ltim3re Batalliou in the Mexican war; was killed at Monterey. Grave op a Soldibii and Defender of 1813 and 1814, GEN. WM. H. WINDER. A tall obelisk with urn, and a medallion portrait of de- ceased. Gen, Winder, of tlie Confederate Army, was a soa of this hero of 1SV2. Grave of the Founder op Odd-Fellowship in America. PAST GRAND SIRE THOMAS WILDE Y. Thomas Wildey was born in England in 1783. Died iq 1861. Together with two others he established on the •'^6th day of April, 1819, Washington Lodge, No. 1, in the*"city of Baltimore. A beautiful marble monument is erected to his memory in the centre of Broadway, north of Baltimore Street, upon a commanding e-ninence. 14 Greenmount Cemetehy. MONUMENT OF THE GREAT TRAGEDIAN BOOTH, And bis cliildreu, among the latter are the remains of John Wilkes Booth. JonN Wilkes Booth as is universally known, assassinated President Lincoln at the Opera House in Washington, fied to- Virginia, was then captured and shot in self-defence, in aa old tobacco barn. His remains vere clandestinely buried by the U. S. Government, and for a long time the Government refused to betray the spot, or surrender his remains to hifr friends. MONUMENT IN LOT OF ENOCH PRATT. Scotch granite, which is handsomely variegated, stone cap- able of the fruest polish. Monument of JAMES O. LAW, Ex-Mayor of Baltimore. Mayor 0. Law died June 6th, 1847, of ship fever, in the service of the destitute. MONUMENT TO ANOTHER MARTYR, FERGUSON. When the yellow fever raged with such fearful fury in the city of Norfolk, Ferguson, a Baltimorean, at the head of the citizens, toiled day and night, relieving the sick and burying the dead, and at last was stricken down by the merciless pes- tilence. MARBLE MONUMENT OF WILLIAM M'DONAtD, Ornate and Costly MONUMENT OF ROBERT OLIVER, Phoprietor of Greenmount. Here lies the remains of the former owner of this beautiful spot, where as his country scat he spent so many happy hours- of his life. A tall Gothic, ornately sculptured shaft tells the story of the instability of all earthly things, and teaches with fcublime iniprcssivenes? that every path of life however illustri- ous or ob>cuie leads but to the grave. Greenmount Cemetery. 15 GRAVE OF WILLIAM SCHLEY. A scholar and eminent lawyer of the Baltimore Bar. LOT OF BENJAMIN F. GATOR. An exquisite statue of an Angel teaching immortality from the Book of Life. LOT OF HON. THOMAS SWANN, U. S. SENATOR, A massive cross of pure white marble, and an elegant niar- "ble tablet at its side. Here bene-ith the roses that exhale their fragrance and bright flowers rest in the embrace of death the beautiful and good in life. LOT OF HUGH SISSON. Two marble sleeping infants, executed in the sculptor*s highest art, in commemoration of deceased children. GRAVE OF WILLIAM WARREN, A Celebrated Actor. MONUMENT OF WILLIAM T. WALTERS. This is one of the most expensive, and beautifully designed monuments in Greenmount. It was erected by Mr. Wil- liam T. Walters, of Baltimore, over the remains of his wife. It represents a female strewing flowers on the grave beneath. It is of bronze and was designed by Rhinehart, the Baltimore sculptor. MONUMENT OF CAPTAIN GEORGE RUSSELL, Shaft and Anchor. MONUMENT OF JOHN BOYD, Tennessee Marble. MONUMENT OF JOSEPH BOURY. MONUMENT OF R. A. TAYLOR. 16 Greenmount Cemetehy. MONUME^TT OF JOHN G. McDONOGH, FouEder of tie Mcroncgh School for Beys, near Baltimore. Born in the city of Baltimore in 1779. Died in New Or- leans, 1850. The mount consists of a heavy granite base, supporting a marble pedestal 14 feet in height, upon which rests the statue of the deceased, larger than life size. The pedestal contains an inscription by himself, and the rules that he has observed for his guidance in life. Grave op an Explorer, COMMODORE WM. F. LYNCH, U. S. NAVY. Upon this tablet is a sword and anchor; Commodore Lynch commanded the U. S. Exploring Expedition of 1848 to the Dead Sea and River Jordan, Greenmount Cemetery. 17 "META White marble sarcophagus, covered with heavy marble pall, one of the most elaborately executed, and beautiful in •design in Greenmount. GRAVE OF JOHNS HOPKINS, Tke Millionaire and Founder of the Johns Hopkins Hospital and Uni- versity. Lot and \f0NUMENT OF ANDREW M'LAUGHLIN AND DAVID BARNUM. In this lot are two tombs, upon one is a marble sleeping in- fant. Monument of " To our Sister," ELIZABETH ANNE McPHAIL. Marble angel. MONUMENT OF SAMUEL WILHELM. Ornamented with exquisitely wrought marble drapery, vines and anchor. In the same lot, a life-sized figure of a female leaniiag upon an anchor. MONUMENT OF HENRY KNELL, "To OUR Mother," MARY ANN KNELL. Of Italian marble, ornamented with flowers, vines and drapery. LOT OF THOMiS WINANS. Inclosed by granite railing, massive flat vault, covered with heavy Tennessee marble slab. MONUMENT OF ASHUR CLARKE. Tomb and cross, erected by his former pupils. MONUMENT OF GOODWIN C. WILLIAMS. Tall Ionic shaft, with floral capital. 18 Greenmount Cemetery. Monument of WILLIAM BOND, TO WIFE ELIZABETH, Full-sized female. LOT AND MONUMENT OF JOHN WICKS AND HERMAN WOODS. Monument of ANN ELIZA, WIFE OF WM. H. CUNNINGHAM. Angel with trumpet. Monument and Beautiful Crown op LOUISA E., WIFE OF GEORGE W. RHEA, And daughter of Capt. Wiugate. Died Feb. 4, 1873, in the 26th year of her age. " Blest was her latest hour, She died forgiving and forgiven, Earth was no place for her to dwell, Her resting place is Heaven." MONUMENT OF RICHARD MASON, Female Figure. MONUMENT OF JOHN CONTEE, Shaft and Urn. TOMB OF ALBERT SCHUMACHER, High massive granite base, surmounted by tomb. MONUMENT OF NOAH WALKER. "White marble shaft, female with child in arms in niche, lot feurrouuded by massive stoue railing. MONUMENT OF J. COLTON. Female figure and cross. Greenmount Cemetery. 19 LOT OF REVERDY JOHNSON. Grave, with large marble cross. LOT OF ROBERT GARRETT AND HENRY GARRETT. Shaft and tomb. MONUMENT OF GEORGE BROWN. Marble shaft. MONUMENT OF CAVANAGH. Marble figure and cross. MONUMENT OF JOHN C0ATE3. MONUMENT OF HUGH GELSTON Surmounted by an elaborate urn. MONUMENT OF ZENUS BARNUM. MONUMENT OF H. J. ROBERTS. Female seated in a rocking chair. MONUMENT OF THOMAS. Marble base, representing a pile of rocks upon which rests a shaft, surmounted by an urn, embellished with vines spir- ally winding the shaft. MONUMENT OF SAMUEL CAUGHEY. Weeping female and urn. Monument op ANNIE E., WIFE OF VIRGINIUS GADDES3. Marble angel, pointing heavenward. ?0 Greenmount Cemktery MONUMENT OF GEHRMANN. Shaft and female leaning on an anchor, exquisite in de- sign and execution. MONUMENT OF GREEN^WAY. Figure reading from a book, with a dog fondling beside. MONUMENT OF JACOB HORN. Female figure MONUMENT OF A. S ABELL, TO WIFE. PUBLIC MAUSOLEUM. The public mausoleum of Grreenmount is of granite and of the Egyptian order of sepulchral architecture. PRIVATE MAUSOLEA AND VAULTS. VAULT OF GEARY AND WEALE. This is a magnificent vault, it contains a fiuely sculptured Sgure of St. Joseph. VAULT OF D. L. HAMMER3LEY. VAULT OF THE WEST AND DRYDEN FAMILY. This is one of the handsomest in Greenmouut. VAULT OF JAMES STIRRATT. The doors of this vault are nearly all the time open, and in the vestibule miy be seen beautiful statues and fresh flow- ers, over the portal is inscribed in golden letters, memento morl. VAULT OF JOHN H. WEAVER, Undertaker, This is a spacious and elegant vault, decorated with art and good taste, it contains about eighty bodies, among them 13 that of a cliild which has been there seventeen years and irt now in a good state of preservation. Greenmount Cemetery. 21 VAULT OF HENRY PLACIDE. Marble figure and anchor. BOYCE VAULT. VAULT OF JAMES BATES. VAULT OF PHILLIP CHAPPELL. 22 Oreenmount Cemetery. DED I CATI ON OF REENMOUNT was the name given to the country seat of the late Robert Oliver, in the vicinity of Baltimore. During his life, Mr, Oliver spared no expense in beautifying it ; and aided by its natural advantages, he left it, at his death, a highly ornamented and most lovely spot. It was purchased from his heirs by an association of gentlemen, who appropriated sixty acres of it to the establishment of the public Cemetery, whose dedication gave rise to the ceremonial, of which the following pages are the record. The dedication took place on the grounds, in the open air, in a grove of forest trees, on the evening of Saturday, July 13th, 1839. The hour for commencing the ceremonies of the dedication having arrived, the Musical Associationof Bnllimore, who lent their most valuable services on the occasion, sang the following chorale, from the Oratorio of St. Paul : "Sleepers wake, a voice is calling, It is tlie watchman on ther walls: Thou city of Jerusalem ! P"or lo ! the bridegroom comes ! Arise, and take your lamps! Hallelujah ! Awake, his kingdom is at hand, Go forth to meet j'our Lord !" PRAYER, BY REV. WILLIAM E. WYATT, RECTOR OF SAINT TAUL's. Our Fattier in lieaven, we who dwell in iiouses of clay, and are CTUShed before the moth, approach to render homage to Him that inhabiteth eternity. Strangers and pilgrims as we are upon the earth, we would Iny the foundations ot a city of the dead And taught by this narrow field, destintd to be the leceptacle of successive generations, we discern the vanity and frailt}' of our nnture, and we take refuge at the foot cf thy throne, O Most Miglity, Cieator of the ends of the earth, whose judgment? are a great deep. Belore the mountiuns weie biought tbrth,or ever the Greenmount Cemetery. if earth and the worlds were made from everlasting to everlasting^ thou, and thou only, art GOD. Together with the adoring tribute of creatures to their Creator, we otfer thee our thanksgivings, for all the dispensations of thy love and bounty, thy care and providence, thy forbearance and pity. More especially we praise thee for the glorious hope of immortality; and that beyond our bed of corruption, and our sleep in dust, there is a bright world of perfections and privileges, spiritaal and like thyself, everlasting. Great God, we thank thee for all the means and instruments of attiining this unspeakable gift; for thy written word, with its mighty attestations ; for tliy life-giving doctrines; thy strengthening ordinance; thy consoling graces. A-bove al',. we thank thee for sending eternal redemption to us by the blood of thine own incarnate Son. O accept our worship and praise, that thou art reconciling the world unto thyself by Jesus Christ, not imputing their trespasses unto them ; and that in him we have- *' complete redemption." It is thy gracious promise, Lord, who dost guide thy people hi thy strength to thy holy habitation, that if we lean not to- our own understanding, but commit our way unto the Lord, thou wilt bring it to pass. We therefore come bef(*re thee to invoke thy blessing upon the undertaking of thy servants heie assembled, who, according to the example of the patriarchs and thy people of old, are about to set apart " a field for a burying place," when we, and ours, shall be gataered unto our fiithers. The earth is thine, O Lord, and the fullness thereof, and meet it is that we should solemnly dedicate to the blended purposes of religion and charity,. a portion of what thou hast given to our use. Meet it is that here, beneath the shade of the majestic wood, in a holy solitude and silence, they who have fulfilled their pilgrimage, and rest from their labors, should wait in peace ihe summons of the Resurrection morn. Our Father, take this sequestered asylum to thy special providence. Ever spread over it the shadow of thy wings. With gentler dispensation than of old, when sin had driven our fathers from Eden, let angels, though unseen, guard its entrance. Let not the foot of pride or folly, or violence, come near to unhallow it. And although no voice of admonition can reach the dull ear of death, nor prayer avail to change the doom which thou hast here sealed, yet gracious Lord, may each grassy mound, and each marble memorial, utter a thrilling warning to the living, and fill this page of man's history with lessons of wisdom to every heart. When to anyone among us, thy decree shall go forth, "dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return ; " and when the mourn- ing train has hither borne the loved one to the house appointed for all living, and with holy rites we seek at th}' hands consolation and strength ; have thou respect unto the prayer of thy minister- ing servants, and to their supplication, O Lord our God, to hearken to tlie cry of sorrow, and to the prayer of faith, which may reach thy footstool from tliese sepulchres ; and hear thou in, heaven, thy dwelling place, and when thou hearest, forgive. 24 Greenmount Cemetery. God of consolation, may tliy Spirit ever be present to minister to the bereaved whom thy providence shall draw within these sacred enclosures; and vvhile resigned, they bow meekly before thy sovereign, though sometimes inscrutable, decrees, inspire. Lord, the soothing reflection, that, '* to die is gain ; " that here the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest ; that here tempta- tion expires, and each toilsome task is fulfilled, and transient sorrow turned into everlasting joy. When in bitter anguish they shall look into the graves here to be opened as into a fearful abyss, dividing them from all that can render life joyous, O do thou teach them, that that separation shall be short; that quickly shall all the scenes and illusions of time vanish ; and that, in the land of spirits, soon sliall every holy tie be again bound, and severed hearts be forever re-united. All-wise God, in this vestibule of the unseen world, where through the clustering oaks, the perpetual dirge of winds seems the response of awful rites within, inspire us with lessons of heavenly- mindedness and devotion. From yonder stately mansion,* where once was heard the viol and the harp, but henceforth the sanctuary of offices for the dead, let us learn tlie instability of earthly things. From the slow funeral pageant, which entering with touching ritual, within these walls, in the proud mausoleum shall deposit the remains of the professor of rank and wealth, may we all be taught the folly of pride. And when the learned and the mighty shall here say to corruption, " thou art my father, and to the worm, thou art my mother and sister," may the friendless and the poor be inspired with contentment under the brief humilia- tions of their lot; and may they lay if to heart, that every path of life, however illustrious or obscure, ends alike but in a silent, nar- row cell. In the view of the mouldering masses of corruption which shall soon swell this verdant turf, grant, most just and holy God that the madness of profligacy and excess, may be mightily urged upon every conscience. Teach the youthful and the passioned, musing in these avenues of the charnel house, that the ways of guilty pleasure lead to premature ruin, and that the wages of sin is death. Here, let those who, in sottish idolatry of the world, are putting off from day to day the work of conversion to God, discern the danger of procrastination. Teach them the appalling truth, that *' there is but a step between us and death." And while the tombs of the young, and the vigorous, and tlie bold, who have not lived out half their days, disclose the brief memorial of frustrated plans, and presumptuous hopes, may they startle every conscience into greater diligence of preparation for the Master's coming. Here, in this quiet retreat from the turmoil of the world, teach us, O our Father, the fruitlessness of discord, and the little- ness of ambition. Looking into the noiseless chambers of the *The seat of the late Robert Oliver, Esq., to be couvertad i,nto a. chapel lor tlie Cemetery. GUEKNMOUNT CEMETERY. 25 ,.^., ..ero once ^^g^^^ ^^^::^^^^ side, may our hearts be tc ucl c(l ^\ .\7^s;,ii,g\ere the end which disturb the P^jl^^f ^^^^ .'"^: J^i'l 9 may w? shun the vain t^i-:^^ a-rs ::i^ri5^'^hos/things which .« si)iritual and eternal When the wan and tl,e weary cimd of diHease st^^^^^^^^^ beside an open sepulchre, ^nd the v.B.on ^^^^^^l i,^x^oduis and eternal desolations f^'^'f ^.,^;^'\\\„^°;;d and tuy^st^ sustain into his heart, do tliou. ^^'>/;^' ^ th thy roa ana y ^ ^^^ and cheer him. In tbe«.nd.tot it gloom insm ^j^^^^^ ™Lrri'rrieCn^y^lirf„f>nV:;e«^sS .,e..oU,,a„. not another " When holy bonds, cemented under i,.y -I^^^J ^^^^^^^^^ alliances of kindred or f^^^f^^^^P^ vie ^^e "pon the stranded i„g thus upon the shore of ^^eimt , wt ^»/e p ^^^^ bark of the now distant voyager, L > < ; ^^."^^^ >/ ^l,. ^1,-,,1, i once inquiry, " Have the vows and ^^\^/'"^f /,' ',,t, ie,t undcme for assu.nid, been faithful yd.Bcharged , .^'^^^.^f ,^1 , .^ of grateful bis temporal good? Wit dio.d.nu^ ^^ • //rwh o^Mcinains n.)W .ttVetion, bave lenibitteredt u. days Of m w .e^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^ insensate beioi. '-. ^,. ^^i;^ J^i^^i^' , -Jit now isf beyc>nd the ,,hange=.ble state, ^h^ « he m y^.^^ ^,^^j g,,,,t iTMcholmy aid. my 1'= y^'^'. '...^^liUMhese, controlling our ...acious Lord, that -,^1^1^';^^;^;,^^ the spirit of t^::^ r St^U-^; t^'inteieou^ ofsuch as survive. T,..>u Great First (^..use, Fountain -^ .^^'^y ,;^::\::[':i^:i tby gospel, hast brought life ^-n . mm)onaldy ._. he hapless seepm. the pow.-r \>f J;]!';\,^':^^ ,MS<-erl.tin, what would be the relug(. '» , ; ^^ s .^n ' iU da.UneHH and the cemetery ^nd rearing tie ;"".'•. ";,;,,„,,,,vin^ .-lementH Ldoom were the last stage of oui .'•*-'"^.; . \' . „„,, if her(^ an of the b(,dy reveal the utter J-^'-'V/ .J ' // . l.-V l.ti..ns c.f the ir7>n destiny called us to ^banchm m.v . <»^^.^ ■ '^^ ^^,^^, ^„^ „.ave the inl^uit - 'J^ '-;; '"^ ;, ^'n'ould 'the voi<-e (•her shed riend 1 itying uoo, wn. ■ i.niiviiorlnt!; sense of Uicvi.hKMifourlKM.venly inli'Mt"""- ''"'-"". , j,,^ Uiin ;; ti„. K.avo us th. P"'■'!'^^"' '■;":'" ;Vv,.„,"M.r.:,ouu,i, 26 Greenmount Cemetery. heavenly mindedness, to be coufoniied to the likeness of Christ: to live by faith in the Son of God ; that we may die in hope, and go down to the chambers of the dead, rich in all the promises of the everlasting covenant. And O God, who dost now make darkness thy pavilion about tliee, in that day, when the last trumpet shall sound through all the secret cavei of the ocean, and deep recesses ot the earth, and when the voice of the archangel shall call fortlj the slumbering generations of men from the silent abode of ages, may we rise to a glorious resurrection, justified by faith, may we mingle in that great assembly, which cannot be numbered for multitude, with bodiei glorified, affections sublimed, faculties perfected, to bee Thee face t > face, and to expatiate in immortal youth. Our great Mediator, incarnate for m-m, who didst vouchsafe that thy sacred body should repose in the tomb of Joseph, own and bless this our undertaking. In thy name, we now dedicate this field " to be a burying place ; " that, in the bonds of a common faith, they whose remains shall be here consigned to their parent earth, rcay together rest in safety and hope. May the hallowing influences of thy gospel ever abidt, in peaceful sway throughout this awful sanctuary of the dead And, when thou shalt stand at the latter day upon the earth, and the mountains shall quake, and the hills shall melt, may the awakening inhabitants of this city of the dead, through thy merits and intercession, O blessed Lord Jesus, have a building of God, a house not made with hands eternal in the heavens HYMN, BY J. H. B. LATROBE, ESQ., SUNG BY MUSICAL ASSOCIATION. W'e meet not now wliere pillar'd aisles, In long and dim perspective fade; No dome, by human hands uprear'd. Gives to this spot its solemn shade Our temple is the woody vale, Whose forest cools the heated hours; Our infjense is the balmy gale, W hose perfume is the spoil of flowers. Yet here, where now the living meet. The shrouded dead ere long will rest. And grass now trod beneath our I'eet, Will mournful wave above our br« ast Here birds will sinj^- their notes of praise. When summer hours are bright and warm ; And winter's sweeping winds will raise, The sounding anthe^ns of the storm. Greenmount Cemetery. 2*7 Then now, while life's warm currents flow, While restless throbs the anxious heart. Teach us, oh Lord, thy power to know, Thy grace, oh Lord our God, impart: That when, beneath this verdant soil, Our dust to kindred dust is given; Our souls, released from mortal coil, May find, with thee, their rest in Heaven. ADDRESS, by hon john p. kennedy. My Friends— We have been called together at this place to distinguish, by an appropriate ceremonial, the establishment of the Greenmount Cemetery. It is gratifying to perceive, in this large assemblage of the inhabitants of our city, a proof of the interest they take in the accomplishment of this design. To a few of our public-spirited citizens we are indebted for this laudable undertaking, and I feel happy in the opportunity to congratulate them upon the eminent success with which their kibors are likely to be crowned. It is a natural sentiment that leads man to the contemplation of his final resting place. In the arrangement of the world there is no lack of remembrancers to remind us of dissolution. This unsteady navigation of life, with its adverse winds, its sunken rocks and secret shoals, its dangers of the narrow strait and open sea, is full of warning of shipwreck, and, even in its most prosper- ous conditions, awakens the mind to the perception that we are making our destined haven with an undesired speed. Childhood has its dream of destruction ; youth has its shudder at the frequent funeral pageant that obtrudes upon his gambols ; manhood courts acquaintance with danger as the ftimiiiar priee of success, and old age learns to look upon death with a cheerful countenance and to hail him as a companion This theatre of life, is it not even more appropriately a theatre of death? What is our title to be amongst the living, but a title derived from mortality ? That extinction which tracked the footsteps of those who went before us and overtook them, made room for us, and brought us to this inheritance of air and light ; — they who are to follow us will thank Death for their return upon earth. He is the patron of posti-rity, and the great provider for the present generation. We subsist by his labor; we are fed by his hand ; to him we owe all tliis fabric of human production, these arts of civiliz ition, these beneficent and beautifying toils, these wonder- working handicratts and head fancies, that have filled this world with the marvels of man's genius. From Death springs Necessity. and from Necessity all man's triumphs over nature. Look abroad and tell me what has brought fovth this beautiful scheme of 28 Greenmount Cemetery. art which we call the world ; what has invented all this eagioeiy of society; what has appointed it for man to toil, and given these multiform rewards to his labor; why, with the rising sun, goes he forth cheerily to his vocation, and endures the heat and burden of the day with such good heart. It is because Death has taught him to strive against Hunger and Want. Without such strife, this fair garden were but a liorrid wilderness — this populous array of Christian men but some scattered horde of starving cannibals. Again look abroad, anil tell me what is this universal motion of the elements, this perpetual progress from seed-time to harvest, these silent workings of creation, and unceasing engenderments of new forms, — what is this wiiole plan, but a mass of life ever springing from the compost of death, — sensible, breathing essences, melting away like flakes of snow, millions in every moment, and out of their destruction new living things forever coming forth ? Look to our own race. Even as the forest sinks to the earth under the sweep of the storm, or by the woodman's axe, or by the touch of Time, so our fellow men fall before the pestilence, or by tlie sword, or in the decay of age. The dead a thousandfold outnumber those that live: All that tread The globe, are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. In the niidst of these tokens, do we stand in need of lectures to remind us that we are but for a season, and that very soon we are to be without a shadow on this orb ? Child of the dust, answer! Confess, as I know in you" secret breathings you must, that in the watches of the night, when wakefulness has beset your pillow, or in the chance seclusion of the day, when toil has been suspended nay, even in the very eager importunity of business, and often in the wildest moment of revelry, this question of death and his con- ditions has come unbidden to liie mind, and with a strange familiarity of fellovvship has urged its claim to be entertained in your meditations Thus d«ath grows upon us, and becomes, at last, a domestic comrade thought. Kind is it in the order of Providence thit we are,^ in this wise, bade to make ourselves ready for that inevitable day when our bodies shall sleep upon the lap of our mother earth. Wise in us is it, too, to bethink ourselves of this in time, not only that we may learn to walk humbly in the presence of our Creator, but even for that lesser care, the due disposal of that visible remainder which is to moulder into dust after the spirit has returned to God who gave ii. Though to the eye of cold philosophy there may be nothing in that remainder worthy of a monument, and though, in contrast witli the heaven lighted hopes of a Cliristian, it may seem to be but dr jss too base to merit liis care, yet still there is an acknowledged longing of the heart that when life's calenture is over, and its stirring errand done, this apt and .ielieate machine Gheenmount Cemetery. 29 by which we have wrought our work, this serviceable body whereof our ingenuity has found something lo be vain, shall lie down to its long rest in some place agreeable to our livin^ fancies, and be permitted, in undisturbed quiet, to commingle with its parent earth. Tlie sentiment ifc strong in my bosom, — 1 doubt not it is shared by many, — to feel a keen interest in tiie mode and circumstances of that long sleep whicn it is appointed to each and all of us to sleep I do not wi?li to lie down in the crowded city. I would not be jostled in my narro:, house, — much less have my dust give place to the intrusion of later comers : I would not have the stone memorial that marks mv resting-plnce to be gazed upon by the business-perplexed crowd in tlieir every day pursuit of gain, and -where they ply llieir tiicks of custon). Amidst tliis din and traffic of the living is no fit place for the dead. My affection is for the country, that God- made country, where Nature is the pure first-born of the Divinity, and all tokens around are of Truth. My tomb should be beneath the bowery trees, on some pleasant liill-side, within sound of the clear prattling brook; where the air comes fresh and filled with the perfume of Mowers; where the early violet greets the spring, and the sweet-briar blooms, and the woodbine ladens with the dews its fragrance; Where tlie shower and the singing bird 'Midfet the green leaves are heard— where the yellow leaf of autumn sh.ill play in the wind; and where the winter's snow shall fall in noiseless tlikes and lie'in un- spotted brightness; — the changing seasons thus syniboling forth, even within the small precincts of my rest, tliat birth and growth and fall wliich marked my mortal state, and, in the renovation of Spring, giving a glad type of that resurrection which shall no less Burely be mine. I think it may be set down somewhat to the reproach of our country that we too much neglect this care of the dead. It be- tokens an amiable, venerating, and religious people, to see the tombs of their foref^ithers not only carefully preserved, but em- bellished with those natural accessories which display a thoughtful and appropriate reverence. The pomp of an overlabored and costly tomb scarcely may escape the criticism of a just ta^te: that tax which ostentation is wont to pay to the living in the luxury of sculptured marble dedicated to the dead, often attracts disgust by its extravagant disproportion to the merits of its object ; but a becoming respect for those from whom we have sprung, an affec- tionate tribute to our departed friends and the friends of our an- cestors, manifested in the security with which we guard their re- mains, and in the neatness with which we adorn the spot where they are deposited, is no less honorable to the survivors than it is lespectful to the dead. " Our fathers," says an eloquent old writer, "find their graves in our short memories, and sadly tell us how we may be buried in our survivors." It is a good help fo these " short 30 Greenmount Cemetery. memories," and a more than pardouable vanity, to keep recollection alive by monuments that may attract the eye and arrest the step, long after the bones beneath them shall have become part of the common mould. I think "sve too much neglect this care of the dead. No one cant travel through our land without being impressed with a disagree- ble sense of" our inditierence to the adornment and even to the safety of the burial places. How often have I stopped to note the village grave-yard, occupying a cheerless spot by the road-sider Its ragged fence furnishing a scant and ineffectual barrier against the iuv^^sion of trespassing cattle, or beasts still more destructive ; its area deformed with rank weeds,— the Jamestown, the dock, snd llie mullen ; and for shade, no better furniture than some dwarfish^ scrubby, incongruous tree, meagre of leaves, gnarled and un- graceful, rising solitary above the coarse, unshorn grass. And there were the graves,— an unsightly array of naked mounds; some with no more durable memorial to tell who dwelt beneath^ than a decayed, illegible tablet of wood, or if if better than this, the best of them with coverings of crumbling brick masonry and dislo- cated slabs of marble, forming perchance, family groups, environed by a neglected paling of dingy black, too plainly showing how en- tirely the occupancy had gone from the thoughts of their survi- vors. Not a pathway was there to indicate that here had ever come the mourner to look upon the grave of a friend, or that this was tlie haunt of a solitary footstep, benthither for profitable med- itation. I felt myself truly amongst the deserved mansions of the dead, and have turned from the spot to seek again the haunts of the living, out of the very chill of the heart which such a dilapida- ted scene had cast upon me. Many such places of interment may- be found in the country. It is scarce belter in the cities. There is more expense, it is true and more care — for the tribuie paid to mortality in the crowded city renders the habitations of its dead a more frequent resort. But in what concerns the garniture of these cemeteries, in all that relates to the embellishment appropriate to their character and their purpose, how much is wanting I Examine around our own city. You shall find more than one grave-yard enclosed with but the common post and rail fence and occupying the most barren spot of ground, in a suburb near to where the general ofial of the town is strewed upon the plain and taints the air with its offen- sive exhalations. You will observe it studded with tombs of suf- ficiently neat structure, but unsoftened by the shade of a single shrub— or, if not entirely bare, still so naked of the simple orna- ment of tree and flower, as to afford no attraction to the eye,, no solicitation to the footstep of the visitor. Thai old and toach- iog appeal '' siste m^or," is made to the wayfarer from its desolate marbles in vain : there is nothing to stop the traveler and wring a sigh from his bosom, unless it be to find mortality so cheaply dealt with in these uncheery solitudes. We have cometeries better Greenmount Cemetery. 31 than these, where great expense has been incurred to give them greater secui ily and more elaborate ornament ; but these too — «veu the best of them — are sadly repulsive to ihefeelint^?, from the air of overcrowed habitjition, and too lavish expenditure of marble and granite within their narrow limitp. This pres3 for space, the result of an under-estimale, in the infancy of the city, of what time might require, has compelled the exclusion of that rural adornment so appropriate to the dwellings of the dead, — so appro- priate because so pure and natural — the deep shade, the verdant turf, the flower-enamelled bank, with their concomitants, the hum of bees and carol of summer birds I lii^e not these lanes of pon- derous granite pyramid, these gloomy unwindowed l>locks of black and white marble, these prison- shaped walls, and that harsh gate of rui-ty iron, slow moving on its grating hinges I I cannot afi^ect this sterile and sunny solitude. Give me back the space the quiet, the simple beauty and natural repose of the country I The profitable u^es of the Cemetery are not confined to the security it affords the dead: The living may find in it a treasure of wholesome instruction. That heart wiiich does not seek com- munion with the grave, and dwell with calm and even pleasurable meditation on the charge which nature's great ordinance has decreed, has laid up but scant provision against the weariness or the perils of this world's pilgrimage. " Measure not thyself by thy morning shadow, but by the extent of thy grave," is the solemn invocation which the departed spirit whispers into the ear of the living man. The tomb is a laithful counsellor, and may not wisely be estranged from our view. It tells us the great truth that Death is not the Destroyer, but Time; it counsels us that Time is our friend or foe, as we ourselves fashion him, and it warns us to make a friend of Time for the sake ol Eternity. That this instruc- tion may be often repeated and planted deep in our minds, I would have the public ijurial ground not remote from our habita- tions. It should be sealed in some nook &f) peaceful and pleasant .as to beguile the frequent rambler to its shades and win him to the contemplation of himself And though it should not be far from •the dwellings of men, yet neither should it be cheapened in their eyes by bordering too obviously on the path of their common daily out-doings. Screens of thick folinge should shut it out from the road-side, or reveal it only in such glimpses as inight show the wayfarer the sequesterment of the spot, and raise in his mind s. respect tor the reverence with which the slumber of the dead has been secured. There should evergreens relieve the bleak land- scape of winter, and blooming thickets render joyous the approach -of spring Amongst these should rise the monuments of the -departed. Here, a lowly tablet, half hid beneath the plaited vines, to tell of some quiet, unobtrusive spirit that, even in the grave, had sought the modest privilege of being not too curi- ously scanned by the world ; there, a ricli column on the beetling brow of the hill, with its tatitetul carvings and ambitious sculpture, ^ 32 Greexmount Cemetery. to note the resting: place of some favorite of fame or fortune. At many an iaterval, peeriugt through the Bhubbery, the variously •wrought tombs should unfold to the eye of the observer a visible index to that world of character which death had subdued into si- lence and group together under these diversified emblems of his power. There, matron and maid, parent and child, friend and brother, should be found so associated that their very environ* mei ts i-lu)uld communicate something the story of their lives. Every thing around him should inspire the visitor with the senti- ment that he walked among the relics of a generation dear to itg survivois. The sanctity and silence of the place, with its quiet walks, its retired seats beneath overhanging boughs, its brief histo- ries chronicled in stone, and its moral lessons uttered by speaking marble, — all these should allure him to meditate upon that great mystery of the grave, and teach him to weigh the vocations of this atom of time against the concerns of that long eternity upon which these tenants of the tomb bad already entered. What heaitwarnings would he gather in that meditation against the enticements of worldly favor ! How soberly would he learn to reckon the chances of slippery ambition, the rewards of fortune, and the arat'fications of sense ! We misjudge the world if we deem that even the most thought- less of mankind have not a chord in their hearts to vibrate to the solemn harmony of such an atmosphere as this Tliere is no slave of passion so dull to the persuasions of conscience, no worldling so bold in defying the proper instinct of his manliood, but would sometimes steal t.> a place like this to discourse with his own heart upon the awful qutsiion of futurity. Here would he set him down at the base of some comrade's recently erected tomb, and make a reckoning of his own Heeling day and then, with resolve of better life — a resolve which even the habit of his iieedless career, per- chance, has not power to stifle— go forth stoutly bent on its achievement Hit! er, in levity, would jtray many a careless foot- step, but not in levity depait. The chance caught warning of the tomb would attemper the mind to a sober tone of virtue, and long a.terwards linger upon the memory. To this lesort, the heart per- plexed with wordly strivings and wearied with the appointments of daily care, would fiv for the very rel'efofthat lesson on the vanity of human pu' suits which this mute s?ene would leach with an ek.qnence passing human endurance. Such considetat'ors as these lave not been with.mt their weight in pron^pting the enterprise which we are a-semble 1 this day to commemorate Our friends to whom the city is indebted for this design. lia\e Avith great judgment and success, in the se'ection of the place aiid in the organ -zation of their plan, sought to combine the benefit of these moral influences with the external or physical advantages of such an institution. T(>e Cemetery, like those which suggested its establishment, will be maintained under regulations adfipted to tho preservation of every public observance of ie!-pc( t whicij the privacy and the sanetity of the purposes to Greenmount Cemetery. 33 which it is dedicated may require. Indeed, such institutions of themselves appeal so forcibly to the belter instincts of our nature, and raise up so spontaneously sentiments of respect in the human bosom, as to stand in need of litile rigor in the enforcement of the laws necessary to guard against violation Tlie experience of our . people in their usefulness is limited to but few years; yet, brief as is the term, it is v^orthy of observation that no public establishment seems to have excited a more affectionate interest in the mind of the country, or enlisted a readier patronage than this mode of pro- viding for the repose of the dead. Within the last ten years, the , -cemeteries of Mount Auburn and LaureVHill have been construct- ed. They already constitute the most attractive objects to the re- search of the visitor in the environs of the cities to which they belong Scarce an inhabitant of Boston or Philadelphia who does ■ not testify to the pride with which he regards the public cemetery in his neighborhood. No traveler, with the necessary leisure on - his hands, is content to quit those cities without an excuision to Mount Auburn or Laurel Hill; and the general praise of the public voice is expressed in every form in which the home dweller or the stranger can And utterance to pay a tribute to these beautiful im- .pruvements of the recent time. This Cemetery of Greenmount constructed on the same plan, may advantageously compare with those to which I have alluded. It is more accessible than Mount Auburn ; it is more spacious than that in the neighborhood of Philadelphia; and, in point of scene- ' ry, both as respects the improvement of tlie grounds, and the ad- jacent country, it is, at least equal to either. I i