Baton Rouge tri-weekly gazette & comet. [volume] (Baton Rouge, La.) 1865-18??, 1866-03-08
Communicated.
A Day i'm Baton Rouge; and an
Hour with her Dead

holding the last resting place Of man
whether that spot be consecrated by the
proud mausoleum, with its sculptured cpl
taph, or the grave-sod and waving willows
monument, reared and nourished by
natures hand alone. At such time and
crowd around the heart, as we gaze upon
the narrow space, containing the sleeping
remains Of the present and past genera
tons of man. TITS indeed no ordinary
qualification to learn the noise and hustle
of the mart of commerce, and linger amidst
! the tombs. There is the spot to muse DER
the tide Of the past, and the mutability Of
the future there is the place to "feed good
thoughts in loneliness"-and even the in
| fdel would acknowledge that Hbas is holy
ground. ..5s.
Here may be seen the lofty pyramid,
with its cross bones and eye1esS skull, carved
from the stons of Canova, and bearing a
fearful resemblance to reality; and by its
side a square Of brick and white-washed
stucco, surmounted by an iron cross, dis
closing at once the faith and resting place
of an humber tenant. These sad refiec-
tons were crowded upon our mind, while
we were standing by the grave of the ven
cradle JOHN BUTLER, on the morning of
the Gath of anuary, as his mortal remains
were committed to the earth. We attended
his burial. 1t was clear, calm morning,
clear as the Christians hope of heaven,
and calm as the silent dead around US.
This good old man has at last been gath
cred to his fathers. "Lafe's ftfaJ feger DER,
he sleeps s0e2I.n He has laid down his staff
which supported octogenarian age, and
has reached the Valhala of the faithful,
in the far off regions of the "great Aereatter.'
Yet while the hearts of relations and
friends are bowed down in affection
whilst the shadows of the Angels wing is
passing over them Hope lifts up the head,
and the finger of Deity points them to an
immortality of bliss, only found in Heaven.
The venerable deceased, and the writer,
were like strangers; but all those who
were favored with his acquaintance while
living, speak of him as an "Braezate indeed,
IN ~1sons eoas no gui2e"-the friend of the
poor-the counselor and adviser of the
young.
His was alife of honest industry and he
has left the priceless legacy of a spotless
reputation, not only to large number of
relations, but throughout the entire circle
of his acquaintance; and happily would it
be for us all, should we strive to initiate
those virtues, which have so long been
accorded him, by his acquaintance. In o
word, he lived an honest life, and died in
the full triumph of faith. Az we stood
beside his open grave, amid the fearful
throng, the beautiful lines of the poet
came, uncalled, across our mind =
Sand am glad that he has lived thus long,
And glad that he has gone to his reward
Nor deem that kindly Nature did him wrong,
Softly to disengage the vital cord,
Wkeie his weak hand grew palsied, and hiseye,
Dark with the mist Of age, 1t aods has time TO dte
After the solemn and impressive cere-
mony at the grave was concluded, and the
graveyard had again become silent, we
fingered alone with the quiet tenants of
the tombs, and sat down on the fallen
trunk Of an, aged sycamore, whose shaft
had long defed the stems Of heaven-but,
like the dead, around US, had at last fallen,
and was Wondering back to kindred dust;
and gave our mind up to affection. How
many noble hearts that deserve of mauso-
leum, have here become dust-to beat no
more forever, unmarked by even mound
to point where the hand of affection had
laid them Beneath those trampled clods
lie the tender mother, the fair young bride,
the child of promise, the gray haired ia
Their, the raven locks of the blushing viz
gin. How many walks have had their
terminus here-how many hearts in the
silent hours of meditation and solitude,
travel on the wings of tender emotion to
this spot where the light of their spirits
was shut out forever, and the grave-clod
left them lonely and desolate. We are no
advocate for tears. They cannot call back
the dep arted-they cannot warm up these
silent cold hearts again with the pulse of
life While these saddening thoughts
filled our mind, as we sat alone amid the
homes of the dead, we penned the follow
ing lines, and dedicated them to =
~ EARTg's FORGOTTEN ONES,
WHOSE ''REcoRD IS ON HrGH.-Job, xvi, 1e
They meekly walked the vale of life
With patient, noiseless tread,
Famed for high deeds in earthly strife,
No lustre round them shed.
They blest some quiet, happy home,