Bellows Falls times. [volume] (Bellows Falls, Vt.) 1856-1965, 1875-09-03
CHESTER.

ones the marble obelisks which rise ov-
err the grounds consecrated to the rest OF
all, and the dearest objects of life, and
the ever increasing beauty of sepulchered
cities TO which we bear the inanimate
forms of loved ones, all remind us that
in the midst of death we are still in life.
Around these hallowed precincts cor
don of security is stretched. No longer
as of yore are the precious forms of low
ed ones borne to the cold and desolate
hillside, or the sandy plain in the out
skirts of the village, and there left to
moulder and decay unhonored and for
gotten. Beautiful indeed is the reform
which has been wrought in the DISPOSE
ton of our dead. Graveyards are no
longer Stunned by the young as the
source of ghosts and hobgoblins. The
tall, rank grass, which erst was allowed
to run riot over the graves of even the
most cherished forms of life, has been
succeeded by myrtle and ivy, and flower
ing plants, which shed beauty and fra
GRANGE where once all was waste and des-
olation. The final abiding place of these
bodies of clay are no longer selected in
remote quarters and Stunned by the liv-
ing as the abode of death and gloon.
On the contrary. the cemetery is the
spot which receives full share of atten-
ton from men before they die, and from
their friends after they have been laid
away to rest. A wonderful change has
been wrought in public sentiment by the
refining influence of education. Even
the humblest citizen, "after life's fitful
fever" now sleeps in fowery beds, in the
shadow of leafy branches through which
the wind chants requiem to his soul.
In no town in this vicinity has there
been more lavish expenditure of time,
labor and money than in the cemetery
on Main Street, and in this regard it
shows the effects of the combination of
the sculptor's highest art, combined with
the studied taste of the gardener, and
the wild freaks which nature in her wan
ton moods has played among the flowers
and shrubbery of this beautiful resting
place of the dead.
During a recent tour Of observation
through the cemetery, we noticed that sew
eral beautiful monuments and tablets had
been erected since our last visit. One ofthe
most pleasing and elaborate pieces of
sculpture is the memorial erected by
Mrs. M. K. Eaton, to the memory of her
husband, the late Herbert w. Eaton.
1t is in the form of an urn in Chester
granite, and from its chaste and original
design cannot fail to attract the eve of
the visitor. This beautiful tribute wrought
in granite, solid and plain like the life
and character of him to whose memory
it is erected, will crumble to dust, but
in the respect and gratitude of the peo-
pie among whom he lived, a monument
is already raised to his memory, more
enduring than the granite. As we stood
gazing upon the green mound which covers
all that is mortal of one, who in his life
time was our friend, we felt that Just as
he seemed the most needed in the world,
he was taken out of it-that his death
was untimely-tha his column was
broken before the noon-time of life.
Alas that the beautiful buds of hope,
which promised blossoms of rare beauty
and fragrance, should have been so early
withered by the icy hand of death, never
to know glad fruition. Though stricken
down in the morning of existence, the
life of Herbert w. Eaton was beauti-
full poem, for in full accord with the
teachings of the Divine Master, he loved
his neighbor as himself, walked humbly
in the sight of God, and died as he lived
in the hope of a blissful eternity and
his friends have the comforting assur-
ance that he has passed over the heaven
ly Jordan, whose flow makes music with
the dying song of praise, whose light sill
vers the darkness of the valley of the
shadow, and fills the fading vision with
the glory of answered prayer, and the
soul with the reality of that country be-
yond, where the Good Shepherd forever
enfolds his own in the sweet pastures by
the still waters. To his friends, and all
who knew him, the record of such a
man is precious jewel in life's memory
chamber. As we passed out from among
the narrow beds of the silent sleepers.
we thought-what force makes up this
life to any of us. Love, prayer, suffer-
ing and hope here to-day, there to-mor
row, always looking forward to the life
to come.
., IT'S stern and startling thing TO think.
How often mortality stands on the brink
VI ITS grave, without any misgivng-
ana yet IN this slippery world of strife
There are daily sounds to tell us that life
Is dying-and death is life.''
But thanks be unto Him who hath