The Legacy Of A Community Cemetery, 1836 Perspective

A PERSPECTIVE, CIRCA 1836, ABOUT THE LEGACY OF A COMMUNITY CEMETERY

REVEREND CLARK TAKES US FOR A WALK THROUGH A PIONEER CEMETERY

PART TWO (IF YOU MISSED YESTERDAY'S BLOG, PART ONE OF THIS STORY, YOU CAN ARCHIVE BACK TO READ IT)

     Even though we think we're pretty well served by the internet, as far as information goes, let's face it, there's a great deal we don't have access to, on any given day, on any given research project. This isn't just the bias of a bibliophile either. There's a treasure trove of important, forgotten information, buried in those old books, thought best these days, to be either recycled or placed on a shelf, to prove to guests, you aren't the shallow character some claim. There is a wealth of amazingly insightful stories contained in many of these antiquarian, rare, and old books, adored in the contemporary condo for their attractive bindings. Makes me crazy, I'm not kidding. For those of us who like to be inspired, and who aren't adverse to the premise of life-long learning, these old books contain stories that are pertinent to contemporary issues. This may seem strange to some others, but regardless, it's true. Just because it's antiquated, doesn't mean it's irrelevant. The information contained in Reverend Clark's book, for example, which we browsed through yesterday, reflects on a cemetery visit in his former hometown, circa 1836, and the cholera epidemic of 1932, from a New York City perspective, that claimed almost half the city's population. This book, published four years later, is still current to this crisis, and it gives a first person account of the cholera horror, and the ceaseless work of the undertakers and their crew, picking up the dead. Reverend Clark's observations are astute with a sense of actuality, such that you feel you are walking along the cemetery pathways in his company.        
     "As I passed along from grave to grave, the names that I read upon the stones called up the images of a numerous group that I had once known. A plain marble slab that lay near me apprized me, that I was treading over the ashes of one whose countenance and character I recollected very distinctly. He was a small thin man, and well known to all the village. Professionally he was an apothecary (druggist), and for many long years had he dealt-out medicine to heal the sickness of others. Though thin and sallow, he had been so long at his post, and was by night and by day surrounded by so many powerful agents to ward off disease, that many supposed that he had discovered the true elixir of life, and could bid defiance to the shafts of mortality. What a commentary did that stone read to me upon the vanity of all such expectations. His medicine availed nothing when God remanded the dust, out of which he had been formed, to its native and inanimate state."
     On the weekend, poking through a number of our favorite antique and collectable shops in the region, I found a fair condition copy of Reverend John A. Clark's text, "Gathered Fragments," published as a third revised edition, in 1836, by William Marshall & Company of Philadelphia. I always look in obscure places, like bottom shelves of cupboards, where old books are often relegated these days. This is good for me, because most customers couldn't are less about old books, and leave these outcasts for me. I always look for books penned by well-travelled, and biographical / journal-writing ministers, and countryside preachers, because of what observations they contain, about experiences and adventures they've had, wherever they've attended their mission and ministerial responsibilities. Even in the District of Muskoka, and the Diocese of Algoma, books like Reverend Clark's are of critical importance to historians, looking for these tidbits of actuality, as experienced by roaming preachers such as the legendary "Tramp," Gowan Gilmor (Rosseau), of the Anglican Church, who walked thousands of miles through the rugged terrain of Muskoka and regions north, to tend his huge flock. Which to the kind natured Gilmor, was just about everyone he crossed paths with! His biography contains a wealth of information about the region in the later pioneer period of the district, and about the people he got to know in small and bigger communities where he stopped to rest, and take charge of a local Anglican Church needing his leadership. Reverend John Clark was doing roughly the same work in the northern, and eastern regions of the United States in the 1820's and 1930's, especially in New York State. He offers some interesting opinions about dying, the celebration of life, mourning, burials and cemeteries. Here are some observations, from a trip Reverend Clark took, prior to 1836, back to the town where he spent his early years of life, but finding that most he knew from those years, had wound up in the local graveyard; the place where he had taken an afternoon stroll.
      "A little farther, and I read upon a splendid monument - the name of one who, in early life, had figured largely in the gay world. Beauty of person, and elegance of manners, joined with uncommon brilliancy of intellect, made her an object of universal attraction. One of the wealthiest young men in the country succeeded in gaining her hand. They lived in great splendour, and for a while their path seemed strewn with flowers; but soon some hidden source of sorrow stole the colour from her cheek, and spread a shade of gloom over her once bright countenance. Common report declared that the cause of her unrevealed trouble was conjugal infidelity on the part of him, who had won and wed her. Whatever that cause was, it drove her to the foot of the cross for blessedness, and in Jesus Christ she found a faithful and unfailing friend. Many years had passed away since I had heard her name pronounced, and when I read it on that proud monument, I could not but exclaim, 'How valueless and unmeaning does all this sculptured marble that covers thy poor dust appear to thee now! And if, through infinite mercy thou art among the blood washed throng around the throne, how loud are thy praises to the Eternal, for that bitter drug mixed in the cup of thy earthly happiness, which made the pleasures of the world pall on thy taste, and led thee to the well of salvation in quest of the waters of life!"
     Reverend Clark's journal continues, "Upon another stone, I read a name that made me feel more solemn than I had before since I entered within these precincts of the dead. The name was Harry C___-. He had been all his life a ceaseless trifler. Possessing naturally great humour, and a talent for keen, sarcastic repartee, he cultivated and cherished this propensity, to the neglect of every thing sober and serious. He could not go to the house of God, nor even to a funeral, without finding something to make all around him laugh. But now, there he lay before me in the silence of the grave! His laugh was over - his jokes were done - the worm was feeding on his dissolved frame, and his soul was in a world where all was sober and serious reality.
     "As I walked onward a little further, I found myself standing over the grave of one whose venerable form and silver locks, I had often seen in the house of God. This aged saint was a living epistle of Christ, known and read of all men. While gazing upon the spot where his mouldered ashes reposed, and lifting up my thoughts to the glorious rest upon which he had entered, I could not but say, 'Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord.' Having at length reached a distant corner of the burial ground, I read on four stones that were ranged close to each other - 'Frederick Lindsley, Esq., who departed this life in the 43rd year of his age.' 'Mary, relict of Frederick Lindsley, Esq., who fell asleep in Christ in the 37th year of her age.' 'Hezekiah, son of Frederick and Mary Lindsley, who died in the eighth year of his age.' 'Mary Anna Lindsley, who died in May, in the 18th year of her age - much beloved in life, lamented in death; her memory will long be cherished on earth, - her many excellencies can be fully known only in heaven'."
     "Ah,' I said to myself, as I read these names with a throbbing heart, "then they are all gone - they are now a family in eternity - I shall meet them no more till I meet them there," wrote Reverend Clark. "I had known this family intimately, and spent many happy hours in their society. Their history was one truly eventful; replete with reverses, and furnishing many instructive lessons to those who ponder the ways of God, and consider the operation of his hands. Mr. Lindsley was a lawyer, and had, at an early age, acquired not only eminence in his profession, but in a distinguished degree the confidence of the community in which he resided. This confidence had been inspired, not only by his accurate and extensive legal knowledge, but by his great integrity of character and uprightness of conduct. He was particularly blessed and happy in this family. Mrs. Lindsley, the partner of his bosom, added to polished manners and a well balanced mind, great amiability and sweetness of tember. She was the mother of two interesting children. The oldest was a daughter, who, at the time that our narrative commences, was about twelve years of age. Mary Anna bore an exact resemblance to her mother in all the delicate touches and interesting features of her character.
     "Mr. Lindsley, among his many other excellencies, was distinguished for his kindness and great hospitality. In him the poor and the fatherless found a friend, 'the blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon him,' and often he, 'caused the widow's heart to sing for joy'. His wife and children he almost idolized. Where their comfort or happiness was concerned, he spared no expense, shrunk from no sacrifices. His home was a little paradise, where all hearts seemed bound together by the rosed wreath of love. All who visited his house went away with the full impression, that if there was a happy family on earth, it was Mr. Lindsley's."
     But Reverend Clark notes, in a retrospective of the family, that, "The voice of sorrow and mourning was now heard in the dwelling of Mr. Lindsley. His only son, a lad about eight years old, had fallen from a neighbouring hayloft, and was taken up dead. Mr. Lindsley was absent on business when this melancholy event occurred. As soon as the intelligence reached him, he instantly hastened home. 'Never shall I forget,' said one who was present on that occasion, and from whom I have derived several important facts in this hasty sketch, - never shall I forget Mr. Lindsley's expression and attitude, as he entered the room, and approached the corpse of his child. His hands were clenched, every feature of his countenance was wrought up into an expression of agony, and his whole frame shook with emotion. He stood and gazed for a moment upon the sweet and motionless face of his boy, and then, as if he could no longer restrain himself, rushed from the room to give vent in private to his feelings'. After the funeral had passed, and the first excess of grief had subsided, this family were visited by the minister of the place, and kindly, but faithfully reminded, that the bereavement which they had sustained, was a solemn admonition from God, urging them to enter upon the business of their everlasting salvation. His words were listened to with seriousness and attention. A change from this time was discoverable in both Mr. and Mrs. Lindsley. The Spirit of God seemed to have touched their hearts."
     Earlier in the text, Reverend Clark overviews a country scene, where a funeral procession is taking place. The scene of course, would have been prior to 1836.
     "To the reflecting mind, a funeral scene is always instructive. It was infinite wisdom that dictated the sentiment, that 'It is better to go to the house of mourning, than to the house of feasting.' It is true that some men can remain unmoved and unimpressed amid the most solemn scenes of death. But they, who look at the relation of things, and gather, from the events transpiring around them, that moral instruction which God intends they shall convey, can hardly fail to have their 'heart made better,' by the solemnities of a funeral scene. I speak now particularly of a funeral in the country.
     "No one that has been bred in the country can have witnessed a funeral in the city without having felt some violence done to the sensibilities of his heart. I have often stood at the corner of some square, upon whose area might be seen, from the earliest dawn even to the midnight hour, bustling thousands, and observed the train of coaches with their sable equipments moving-on upon their melancholy errand, with slow and solemn pace, through this mass of beings, and wondered that it made so slight an impression upon the busy crowd. The funeral train, as it passed, perhaps flung a momentary feeling of solemnity upon the lookers-on; but in an instant the impression was gone. It was like a passing cloud that had darkened, for one fleeting instant, the splendour of the sun, and then was for ever after, lost in the effulgence of his bright beams. There was no fellow feeling between the gay world without and the broken-hearted mourners within those vehicles.
      "A funeral in the country presents a different aspect. When death enters the humblest cottage, the sympathies of the community are awakened; the whole surrounding neighborhood participate in the feelings of the bereaved, and make every sacrifice to be present to pay their last respect to the dead. At the appointed hour of the funeral there may be seen, in all directions, the repose and stillness of a Sabbath season. Men, who on no other occasion are present to witness religious exercises, deem it a debt they owe to society, to attend all the funerals in their neighborhood. Everything was in readiness when I arrived; and they were waiting to form the procession. The burial ground was about a quarter of a mile distant from Robert McEllen's house. Twelve strong-framed, but hoary headed men had been selected to bear the body to the grave; and on each side of the coffin there walked three aged and infirm women as pall-bearers. Behind the coffin followed the children and grand children of the deceased; and in their rear, the promiscuous multitude who had been drawn together, on the occasion, either by curiosity or regard for the deceased. The procession was no sooner in motion, than an aged and venerable man, whom I had always seen at church when I preached at my missionary station in that neighbourhood, joined me, and walked at my side. As we preceded the procession, we were frequently so far before the bearers that we might have, with propriety, engaged in conversation. But I was too deeply impressed with the solemnity of the present scene, and the recollections of the past history of this family, to open my lips. For a short distance we moved in silence; then, in a subdued and under tone of voice, the aged man said, 'Elizabeth has gone to rest'."
     In tomorrow's blog, I want to share yet another story from Reverend Clark's 1836 book, which deals with a child's faith, and a tragic injury sustained in normal housekeeping, and her agonizing demise. The story is more uplifting that this teaser reflects. It does emphasize the very real problem from those citizens of antiquity, who had poor if any medical care.