Worcester daily spy. [volume] (Worcester [Mass.]) 1850-1888, 1872-06-04
Letter From Boston.
IRON OUR REGULAR CORRESPONDENT
BOSTON. June 9. 1872.

DOSTON, June z, 1872.
Anniversary week is over with its scores of
meetings, its hundreds of speakers, its tangled
web of resolutions, censures, conceits, quarrels,
reverence, gravity, money-getting, faith, reports
of the past and projects for the future In the
Babel of confused tongues" there was something
Of real earnestness; a few flashes of eloquence,
fewer sparkles ofwit; light ballast of common
sense, and prevailing undertone of discomfort
On the last week of May Boston is sort of har
Dor into which a fleet of all kinds of reformato-
ry, religious, and charitable craft come to give
account of their years voyaging, and to reft for
a new cruise. 1t is not harmonious fleet; not
quite all of the ships are well differed or well
manned; and many of them carry troublesome
passengers; they do not all "come into port
| greatly" they can not all find anchorage;
"And o, the froth is very great
AS they swim and eddy to and fro"
Right into the midst of the mental, spiritual
and social turmoil of last week swept gorgeous
and innumerable procession with waving ban
ners, floating plumeS, dancing pennants, with
clothing of black velvet and silver, scarlet and
gold or white and brilliant blue; with cannon.
and horses, and polished bayonets, and bands
was an interval Of silence; the dying notes from
one Hoated into the triumphant strains of the
next; and so, for days and nights, the Free Ma
sons, the militia, and the grand army of the
state, filled the streets and the common with
music, offered gay spectacle to all the idlers
of the week; and brought, perhaps, moment
airy relief and sense Of pleasure into the incoming
of the tired and heated laborers on the great
machines of the anniversary meetings.
The principal exercises of Decoration day are
at the large cemeteries, and there the crowds
gather, the addresses are made, and prayers are
spoken; but nothing could be prettier than the
picture / saw in one of the old grayeyards of the
city where only one or two soldiers are buried.
| The stones to their memory are the only
ones put up there for many years; all the
| others are half-sunken and moss-coyered
the very mounds have disappeared, and
where they were once heaped the grass and
dandelions are smooth and level. And here, on
the morning of Decoration day few women,
still dressed in black, came to the graves where
last years faded flag still dropped and last years
wreath of inlmortelleS still hung; and here came
a few of the Grand Army, who stood with I'M
covered heads, and for moment "listened I'M
demeath the postern green, and laid fresh flow.
ers, and whispered short and soft" And then
from band Of singers hidden by the trees came
| the words of hymn, followed by a strain of
music from military band, and the graveyard
was once more deeertcd. 1t was simple and
touching remembrance, and seemed to belong to
the quiet old place, on whose gate these lines
| 81 MI Ia ga -
"Out through the grave and gate Of death
Ie have passed into the calm"
In this Deighborhood is our garden, a scrap
of place hardly ten feet square, walled in on
TWO sides, and to be reached only by stranger
and somewhat magnificent entrance. Through
a walled quadrangle and an adjoining walled
triangle we reach vast, Yaulcd cellar, cool
and light Here are stored discarded specimens
OF art and antiquity; the once precious posses
sions Of long-dcad societies, and few still val
liable relics, put into this safe retirement until
a new and beautiful house can be built for their
reception and exhibition. In one shadowy re-
cess are crowded plaster casts Of poets and
statesmen, soldiers and rulers dust has dark
ened their hair and settled on their faces, add
| ing to their expression, and giving to some of
them sort Of human pathos and softness
They are huddled together ON the floor and
shelves without order or respect. half dozen
Walter Scots are scattered among colony of
Roman emperors; familiar faces, not repre-.
scntcd at their best look out from every
niche aud corner ; Chief Justice Shaw
looks with kind of surly pity at Lao
eoon' who is writing on the other side of long
olack stoycpipe. A iu-length Venus Just be-
~" lnelh Is clothed in dust, and wears jauntily
an old let hat On the chimney bauos a lorge
medallion oil dark wood, with an extraordinary
head OF Shakespeare carved in high relief. and n
border oil the simplest scroll work A leer
sncering, somewhat remarkable bust of Voltaire
has been rescued from the banshed cro,vd b,,
the German bookbinder, who is the pres,d,ns
genius Of the place, and lifted 10 the deem arch
Of u small dim window, high up in the wall the
place Of honor, and well adapted to the bust.
Wooden portraits in oil, and wild attempts al
landscapes hang here and there on the pillar
that support the roof; American eagles max,
their nests in out Of the way places, undisturbet
by the neighborhood of rebel guns, shells, ant
odd pieces Of rusty, battered armor. An OLD
queen Of Prussia, with great dusty braids Of
hair, stands solitary on high bracket. A
broken Hercules, headless footless, arm,ess
: but still powerful, lies on the aoor below her.
just beyond, Venus stands looking at ths