Mount Auburn Cemetery

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CEMETERY QUESTION Watertown Enterprise March 26, 190[9?] — Feature of Adjourned Town Meeting===Voted Not to Accept $12,000 Offer. — The article relative to the request of Mt. Auburn Cemetery Corporation for a permit to use the Stone estate, East Watertown, for burial purposes, was the feature of the adjourned town meeting last Monday evening. There were many who had opinions on the matter, who did not hesitate to express them, and after arguments on both sides were concluded, the town voted decisively that the corporation should pay to the town a sum of $20,000 for the privilege, and further consent to the passage of legislation permitting the town to acquire sufficient land to widen Mt. Auburn street at the bridge.

When Hon. James H. Vahey arose to make the report of the committee appointed to investigate the matter, all ears were pricked up and listened to Mr. Vahey relate the opinions of himself. Mr. Charles Brigham and Mr. G. Frederick Robinson (the latter [t?]wo also members of the committee). The committee, he stated, had several conferences with some of the trustees and counsels of the cemetery corporation. The committee asked for a larger sum than the $12,000 already offered, arguing that the town had not been treated fairly by the corporation when Mt. Auburn street was widened. The corporation representatives agreed that the town should have the privilege of acquiring the necessary land to complete the widening of the street, but at the last conference held Friday afternoon, flatly refused to pay a cent more to the town than the $12,000.

The committee, Mr. Vahey said, unanimously believed that the town should not grant the privilege at the price offered. The price to be paid the Stone heirs by the corporation for the estate is $35,000, which is at the rate of about six cents a foot. The cemetery corporation, Mr. Vahey stated, is getting on an average, $2.75 a foot for lots, which means, considering that one-third of the Stone estate is devoted to paths and other uses, making it unsalable, that the corporation would be getting approximately 55 times as much for the land as they are paying. The committee believed the price of $35,000 for the land was a just price, but thought the corporation could well afford to pay a higher price than $12,000 to the town.

Selectman Walter C. Stone followed Mr. Vahey, and stated frankly that he was interested in the sale, as he was one of the Stone heirs. He stated, however, that further than that he believed that town should grant the privilege. He said that the selectmen had spent a lot of time considering the matter and consulting the cemetery authorities and had succeeded in raising them for $7,500 to $12,000, which amount, he thought was as high as they would pay. He was sorry, he siad, that the special committee did not see it in this light, but he felt that their report showing that the corporation had refused to pay more than the $12,000 was a compliment to the judgment of the selectmen. Mr. Stone pleaded that the town needed the $12,000 this year, it meaning that the tax rate thereby would

be about a dollar less. Even the finance committee, he said, in their printed report had counted on the receipt of this sum. Mr. Stone suggested that a compromise be made, and the town offer the privilege for $15,000.

Mr. Charles M. Abbott opposed the granting of the permit even at the price of $20,000. He believed that the town should receive a much larger sum. He pictured the possibility of the estate, if not taken by the cemetery, becoming a second Whiting Park, or Otisville, bringing high taxable property to the town.

Mr. J. Winthrop Stone, another of the Stone heirs, and who now rents the land which the cemetery people propose to buy, spoke in favor of granting the permit. Referring to idea that this piece of property might some day be valuable residential property, he stated that it is situated almost between two cemeteries and that the land was not fit for farming. "If God Almighty intended this land for anything," he said, "it was for a grave yard." As to the cemetery being forced to purchase the land sooner or later, he claimed that at the present rate of burial, partly because of the number of cremations, the corporation have enough land to last them sixteen years.

Mr. Charles F. Fitz believed that the town had already too many grave yards and that this permit should not be granted at any price.

Mr. John E. Abbott differed from his son, and favored the $15,000 suggestion, believing that the sum was a fair price.

Mr. Charles Brigham spoke in defence of the report of the committee and rather criticised some of the speakers for not confining themselves to the serious side of the matter.

Mr. Vahey again spoke and this time particularly emphasize the defiant attitude taken by one of the trustees at the last meeting. He ended by amending the motion made by Mr. Stone, changing the motion to read $20,000 instead of $15,000 and adding the clause relative to the widening of Mt. Auburn street. The question was then put to the voters and carried.

Selectman Charles A. York reported for the committee on the purchase of the new truck and told the meeting that the machine had been placed in commission.

Article 12, the drainage question, was indefinitely postponed and article 13 on the acceptance of Adams street was stricken from the warrant.

Under article 14, $2200 was appropriated for the building of Fayette street for a public highway.

The proposal of the selectmen to sell all the unused land at the town farm caused a great deal of argument. Chairman Cunniff spoke in favor of it and Herbert Coolidge, John G. Hegberg, G. Frederick Robinson, C. M. Abbott, James Madden, Chester Sprague, Walter C. Stone and Frank H. Barnes took part in the debate. The whole matter was finally indefinitely postponed.

[?]

THE WESTMINSTER ABBEY OF AMERICA ATTRACTS ITS HUNDREDS OF VISITORS Jan. 18—1903 Boston Sunday Journal MOUNT AUBURN CEMETERY is characterized by Edward G. Sanger, formerly of Cambridge, as the Westminster Abbey of America.

He writes as follows:

"In every land there is some spot where its great men lie buried, and toward which they took in life with satisfaction as their resting place. Not that great men are not entombed elsewhere, but that this central spot is justly regarded as the one famous place where is gathered the noblest dust of the honored dead.

"In England, Westminster Abbey is the Mecca toward which the world makes its pilgrimage, especially among English-speaking peoples. There sleep is stately marble grandeur, English Kings and warriors; and there its great poets and statesmen, they who have truly made England great. As one has rightly said, "They honor their burial place more than they are honored by it,' but so long as Great Britain maintains its supremacy in the eastern world, so long will Westminster Abbey be the proudest spot for monuments to its heroes and benefactors.

"On this side of the water, no single building compares with Westminster Abbey, but in the great cemeteries of America are gathered the dust of her great men. The most famous of these is Mount Auburn, in the city of Cambridge and State of Massachusetts. The city itself is one of the most historic in the land. Here at the very beginning was laid the foundation of Harvard College, which still lifts its head above all her sister universities, justly holding the first rank among American institutions of learning. Here Washington, under the elm tree still standing, took command of ther American army. Here Longfellow and Lowell lived, and here Oliver Wendell Holmes was born.

"On the borders of this city, about four miles from Boston, lies Mount Auburn. Like Jerusalem of old, beautiful for situation, and though retired from the hum of business, yet easily accessible. It does not seem like a cemetery, but rather like a garden, so admirable is its plan and so perfect its keeping. The ground is undulating, its highest point crowned with a beautiful granite tower.

"Here sleep more of America's illustrious men and women than are to be found in any other single enclosure. Notable among these are Edward Everett, Charles Sumner, Henry W. Longfellow, James Russell Lowell, Anson Burlingame, Louis Agassiz, Rufus Choate, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Nathaniel P. Willis, Robert C. Winthrop, Phillips Brooks, William Ellery Channing, Charlotte Cushman, John Lothrop Motley and Jared Sparks.

"Hundreds of visitors every day wander through its beautiful paths and stately avenues, seeking the resting place of those who have added to the world's fame, and drawing inspiration from their deeds while living. To sleep at last amid surroundings like these makes one feel that he would not be forgotten, and is itself an inspriation to a noble life."

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[D?] Mar 7 1903

SUPT. FALCONER CAUSES SURPRISE BY RESIGNING — Head of Bureau of Parks Will Become Superintendent of Allegheny Cemetery. — WILL STAY TO PREPARE EASTER FLOWER SHOW — Work in Such Shape That Schenley Park Can Be Finished Within One Year. — HE IS NOT A POLITICIAN — William Falconer, Superintendent of the Bureau of Parks, tendered his resignation to Director McCandless yesterday. Of all the city employes Superintendent Falconer was almost the only one who was not a politician. He had been retained through all the changes that have occurred. He will become superintendent of the Allegheny Cemetery May 1. Other resignations yesterday were: Marshall McClain, assistant to Superintendent Falconer; John Battles, Superintendent of the Bureau of Highways and Sewers, and John Flinn, Assistant Superintendent of the Bureau of Highways and Sewers. The resignation of Joseph Woods, chief clerk of the Board of Viewers, has been in the hands of Director McCandless for a month.

The resignation of Superintendent Falconer came as a surprise, even to Director McCandless. The Director sent for all the men and asked them to stay until he left office, and they promised to do so. Superintendent Falconer is willing to stay to prepare the Easter flower show, and as long as possible after that. He desires to visit cemeteries throughout the country and secure pointers for making Allegheny still more beautiful.

It is understood that Superintendent Falconer will better his position in a financial way by leaving the employ of the city and that is his only reason. He has left the work in the parks in such shape that another year will complete it and make them as fine as any in the country. In speaking of his resignation last night Superintendent Falconer said:

Will Prepare Flower Show. "I decided to present my resignation at the present time in order that the incoming administration would not be embarrassed in any way in choosing my successor. There is no politics in the matter. I never mingled in politics and never met Recorder Brown to speak to him more than two or three times. I never attended a political meeting. I do not believe that I ever saw Mr. Hays. All my dealings were directly with the Director. Although my resignation will take effect as soon as Recorder McCandless leaves his office I am willing to remain longer if Mr. Bigelow requests me to do so. If he desires I will stay and prepare the Easter flower show.

"Now, don't ask me what I have done since I came to Pittsburg to improve the parks. The credit belongs to Mr. Bigelow. He did it all. I was merely a workman who did his part. Under Director McCandless my relations have always been pleasant. But I give the credit to Mr. Bigelow for the building of Pittsburg's parks. He has the energy, the ideas and the stamina to push the work. The work in Schenley park is in such shape that it can be finished in a year. The grading has all been done, tens of thousands of trees have been planted and are growing finely, and it only remains to ornament the grounds.

Work Is Almost Finished. "The shelter houses are under way, the foundations being up, and many other improvements are also under way. I have been treated very kindly by Pittsburg and its people and now that I am leaving I wish to express my gratitude."

Superintendent Falconer came to Pittsburg under peculiar circumstances. The late A.W. Bennett was his predecessor. Before he died he told Director Bigelow of Superintendent Falconer and already gained a world-wide reputation. It was necessary to have Councils pass a resolution allowing his appointment, as he was not a resident of the city. The resolution passed unanimously. Mr. Falconer came to Pittsburg in 1896 as Super-

intendent of Schenley Park and the small parks about the city. When the Bureau of Parks was established two years ago he was made superintendent. He has made the Pittsburg parks famous all over the country. The flower shows have become famous all over the world and foreign journals have commented on them most favorably.

Graduate of Kew Gardens. After graduating from the Royal Botanical Gardens, better known as the Kew Gardens, London, Superintendent Falconer spent several years in Texas. Here he met Professor Sargent of Harvard University, who induced him to take the position of Superintendent of Botanical Gardens at Harvard. He remained there 7 1/2 years and then took charge of Charles A. Dana's estates, remaining 12 1/2 years, after which he came to Pittsburg.

Superintendent Falconer will succeed John Perring, who retires after being Superintendent of the Allegheny Cemetery for almost 30 years. He will occupy the old Shoenberger mansion after he accepts the new position.

[D?] A Unique Official. News of the resignation of Superintendent Falconer of the Bureau of Parks will be received with regret by the community, which has formed a high estimate of his value as a public official during his seven years' service in Pittsburg. Mr. Falconer was unique among municipal officials in that he was not a politican, that he did not owe his position to political influence and held it solely by conspicuous demonstration of superior qualification for the work entrusted to him. How much of the credit for the beautifying of the public pleasure grounds is due to him the people have judged for themselves. What he has done for floriculture in Pittsburg is familiar to the thousands who have thronged to the Easter exhibition and the chrysanthemum show.

The lesson of his record is of timely interest just now, when an administration under which appointments are to be made solely for competency is entering office. Fulfilled to the letter this would give to the city officials in every position as well qualified and as conscientious in the performance of public duty as Mr. Falconer has proved himself to be. But to secure that muchto-be-desired result it will be necessary to pursue the same policy which led to his selection. The supreme test must be fitness, not politics.

Gazette Mar 17 1903 RESIGNATION OF FIVE CITY EMPLOYES — Falconer Leaves Park Bureau to Go to Allegheny Cemetery. — BATTLES ALSO QUITS — WILLIAM FALCONER, superintendent of bureau of parks. JOHN BATTLES, superintendent of the bureau of highways and sewers. JOHN FLINN, assistant superintendent of the bureau of highways and sewers. MARSHALL McCLAIN, assistant superintendent of Schenley park. JOSEPH WOODS, chief clerk in the bureau of viewers.

The above five employes of the city have handed in their resignations, to take effect when Director J. Guy McCandless of the department of public works retires from office.

William Falconer is one of the leading horticulturists in the country, and resigned to accept the position of superintendent of the Allegheny cemetery. He is to enter upon his new duties the first of May.

Superintendent Falconer said last night that his resignation is not due to politics. His new position will be more remunerative than his present one, which pays $3,000 a year.

Mr. Falconer stated that he had fixed his resignation to take effect simultaneously with the retirement of Director McCandless because he wished to leave the incoming administration free to appoint his successor before April 6.

"There has been no disagreement with E.M. Bigelow," said Mr. Falconer. "I am willing, if Mr. Bigelow wishes, to remain and attend to the Easter show. Mr. Bigelow and I are still the best of friends, and I regard him as the best man in the city for the position of director of the public works department."

BROUGHT HERE BY BIGELOW. Mr. Falconer has been in the city service, first as superintendent of Schenley park and later as superintendent of all the city parks, since 1896. Under his administration there has been a remarkable improvement in the public pleasure grounds of the city.

E.M. Bigelow was instrumental in bringing Mr. Falconer to Pittsburgh. For twelve and a half years previous to coming to Pittsburgh Mr. Falconer was superintendent of the estate of Editor Charles A. Dana, in New York, and for seven and a half years prior to entering Mr. Dana's service he was superintendent of the botanical gardens of Harvard university.

Mr. Falconer is a native of Scotland. He is a close friend of William R. Smith, superintendent of the United States botanical gardens at Washington, D.C., who is also a Scotchman. Mr. Falconer is a graudate of the Royal Botanical gardens at Kew, near London, which belong to the British government. He graduated from the Kew gardens in 1872.

He is a member of a large number of botanical societies of the country and also the American Association for the Advancement of Science, of which he is the oldest member of Pittsburgh. He is president of the Florists club of Pittsburgh and Allegheny, of the Botanical Society of Western Pennsylvania, a life member of the New York Florists club, a life member of the Massachusetts Horticultural society and a member of the American Pomological society.

As superintendent of the Allegheny cemetery Mr. Falconer succeeded John Perring, who retired on a liberal pension after a service of between 25 and 30 years. Mr. Falconer succeeded A.W. Bennet at Schenley park, who was appointed by Director Bigelow to the position upon Mr. Falconer's recommendation.

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Vol. 58......................No. 86.

TUESDAY EVENING, MARCH 17, 1903.

WEATHER INDICATIONS. — Cloudy to-night and Wednesday; probably occasional rains; light variable winds mostly southeast. — At yesterday's meeting of the chamber of commerce it was arranged that the street railway committee of that body should join hands with the special commission on improvement of the street railway service which was appointed by the late city recorder and that the campaign for better transportation facilities should be pushed with more vigor than ever. The work thus far done by the municipal commission has not been in vain. Many of its recommendations have been adopted and the street railway corporation has shown entire willingness to listen to the counsel given by the commission and to act in conformity therewith wherever such action is immediately feasible. The fact remains, however, that, while distinct improvement has been made, the railway service is still in woful condition, the accommodations furnished being wretchedly inadequate to the public demand. The traction corporation, to being with, has not sufficient power for its operations and cannot sesure sufficient power until its new plant on Brunots island is completed. The shortage of power renders it impossible to increase materially the number of cars in service, and as a consequence there is intolerable overcrowding, to say nothing of other inconveniences. No doubt the street railway managers themselves would be glad to find means of speedily repairing all deficiencies. As they seem unable to find those means, there is evidently room for the committees that have been investigating the matter of street railway congestion to do useful work and submit suggestions, which, if not feasible for the street railway corporation, may be susceptible of being worked out through other agencies. In any case too much attention cannot be given to the problem involved, affecting as it does the comfort and convenience of the whole people of Pittsburg and of the surrounding territory. — As anticipated, Thomas S. Bigelow's emphatic declaration in favor of the Greater Pittsburg bill has had an immediate effect upon the persons at Harrisburg into whose hands the bill has fallen since it passed the senate. By some hocus-pocus, the measure instead of being referred to the house committee on municipal affairs, found its way to the general judiciary committee, which embraces in its membership some Allegheny county representatives supposed to harbor intentions hostile to the annexation project. The chairman of the committee, however, now states that he knows of no serious opposition, that, barring some trifling amendments, the bill does not need to be changed, and that its passage in the house is a reasonable certainty. This is encouraging and bears witness to the salutary effect of Mr. Bigelow's plain speaking. The power of the Allegheny county leader is fully recognized at Harrisburg and it is safe to

say that, whatever the little clique of surviving Flinnites may do, there will be no disposition in any other quarter to thwart Mr. Bigelow's wishes, especially since, as regards the Greater Pittsburg bill, those wishes are shared by the great majority of our people.

While matters thus present so favorable an appearance, it is none the less necessary that the agitation in behalf of municipal expansion should be kept warm. The local advocates of the annexation bill must keep at it hammer and tongs and not relax their energies if they are to make absolutely sure of the final enactment of the bill into law. — After several years of nonobservance, the anniversary of St. Patrick is being celebrated in Pittsburg to-day with due formality, and of course with enthusiasm, for the Irish race never undertakes anything in the shape of a public demonstration without throwing its whole soul into it. Nor is interest in the occasion confined to our Irish citizens. The wearing of the green is general, and it is eminently proper as a tribute to a people who have brought their best brains and energy to the upbuilding of the American republic and whose representatives have figured conspicuously in the history of this nation at all times since its establishment. There is no mistaking the value of the Irishman in America. Brave, sturdy, independent, industrious and progressive, he has all the elements that go to make up useful citizenship. On every page of the American roll of fame Irish names are blazoned and services rendered by Irish-Americans to the country of their adoption are recorded. Hence it would be invidious indeed not to join with a heart and a half in the rendering of honors to Ireland's patron saint, and incidentally to the Irish race in America, which has deserved so well of the country. — The resignation of Superintendent Falconer, of Schenley park, is much to be regretted. Mr. Falconer is a man of exceptional ability and international reputation. He is a recognized authority on horticulture, having had lifelong experience in the management of parks and gardens, public and private, and his original researches and experiments have commanded attention on both continents. Mr. Falconer was brought to Pittsburg for the purpose of completing the development of Schenley park, which required the services of a thoroughly skillful landscape gardener. His task is not yet accomplished, but he has carried the work far enough to afford a convincing demonstration of his powers, and at this point it will be most unfortunate if his withdrawal should be permitted. Possibly when E.M. Bigelow resumes control of the public works department he may be able to arrange for Mr. Falconer's retention. It was Mr. Bigelow who brought the park superintendent here and no doubt he will do what he can to avoid losing an assistant whose value he knows so well.

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3721. The nameless grave at Mount Auburn has always interested visitors and is one of the places shown by gu[i?]des. The article from the Union Democrat is written in the stilted style common in many papers of half a century ago, but it is printed as originally published. The second and concluding part will be published next week. —Editor Notes and Queries.

The following story was obtained by a young law student in Manchester, N. H., forty-five years ago, and was published at that time in the Union Democrat, now the Manchester Union. Your query was seen by the young man's sister in Springfield, W., who has preserved [?] narrative in her scrapbook all these years. E.A.K.

Boston Evening THE NAMELESS GRAVE Transcript [A Tale of Mount Auburn] July 22/1905 PART I.

There is no lovelier spot in the world for the repose of the dead, or one more calculated, by the calm majesty of nature, to soothe the troubled spirits of the living, than the cemetery of Mt. Auburn, in the vicinity of Boston. Away from the smoke and dust and tumult of the city, and surrounded by influences that tend to tranquillize the stormy passions, and to call forth the purer and holier emotions of the human heart, no one can visit it without reflecting upon the vanity of human greatness, and feeling a keener sense of the mutability of all earthly things. The silent but awful admonition of the sleeping multitude brings home the solemn truth with greater weight, that, urge on the car of life which way we will, the grave must be its goal at last.

Accompanied by a female friend who was making a tour of the Eastern cities in the fall of 18—, I visited this lovely spot. Some relatives in the city, who were well acquainted with the location of the round, as well as with all the interesting places connected with our Revolutionary history, and who had pointed out to us during our frequent rambles many spots familiar to us in story, but which we had never seen, were our companions. The day was a delightful one, and we felt a relief as we left behind the dense atmosphere of a crows and inhaled the purer breezes of the country air. We wandered around the grounds for several hours, examining the monuments erected by the living as last tokens of respect and love to departed friends.

"Here," said our city friends, as they led us to a plain, gray slab, "is a grave that has caused much speculation and excited a great deal of curiosity. The person was supposed to have been a lady, but no one knows from whence she was brought or who she was. The initials upon the stone do not correspond with the name registered upon the books of the corporation, and the inference is that she has been buried under an assumed name. The authorities say that a person about thirty years of age, but pale and wan, as if deep grief was preying at his heart, came one day to the office and purchased a spot for a grave. He only said that the body would be brought the next day at two o'clock. At the hour appointed a hearse drove up to the entrance to the grounds accompanied by a single carriage containing the gentleman alone who had purchased the grave. It had been prepared as directed, by the laborers connected with the ground, and after the body had been deposited in its last resting-place, this tablet, which a carman brought from the city, was placed over it. The gentleman gazed upon the proceedings with folded arms and lips compressed, that told plainly the agony he felt; but no tear bedewed his cheek— no groan escaped his breast. When the last green turf had been replaced around the slab, and the workmen were gathering their implements to depart, he started as if a sudden pang shot through his heart, and exclaimed: "O God! what more is left for me on earth?" Then recovering himself, with quivering lip, he said to the men who had filled the grave, "I thank you, gentlemen, for your aid," and giving them a sovereign in addition to their fee, he waved an adieu wildly with his hand, entered the carriage hastily, and drove away. No one that we know of has seen him since, and the mystery of this grave will probably remain unsolved; but the story circulates among the young that it is the resting-place of one who fell a victim at the shrine of love; and the lovers, as they meet aroun dit, renew their solemn pledges to each other, and beath an inward prayer that their affections may have a happier issue.

We read the inscription upon the stone. It was a simple verse, but full of sentiment:

She lived unknown, and few could know When Mary ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and oh, The difference to me.

Various comments were made upon the subject by our party, and after having sufficiently indulged our curiosity and hazarded our speculations, we turned away. As we were departing a man of gentlemanly appearance approached us. He was at the period of life that might almost be called old age, but with weather-beaten countenance and iron-like frame that showed his life had been spent amidst scenes of activity and danger. He inquired if we could inform him where a grave was to be found

which, by the description, we knew to be the one we had just left. We pointed it out to him. He approached it, and as his eyes rested upon the stone, he said:

"Poor broken heart; your partner sleeps in the bosom of a Western prairie, but your spirits I trust have met in Heaven."

We asked him if he knew the history of "The Nameless Grave."

"I learned it from the lips of him who laid her here," he replied, "and I myself closed his eyes in the Western wilderness, far away from the home of his fathers."

We requested him to relate the story to us, telling him of the many speculations indulged in by those who visited the spot, and our desire to know its history.

"I am weary with rambling," the stranger rejoined, "and if you have an hour to spare, we will rest ourselves in the shade of this old oak, whilst I tell you all I know respecting it. In doing so it will be necessary first to give you something of my own history, and the manner of my acquaintance with the individual who related the circumstances.

"I am a New Englander by birth, and was originally a clerk in the establishment of one of our distinguished Boston merchants, long since dead. Being faithful to my employer, and winning the confidence of the mercantile community, with whom he dealt, I entered early into business as a shipper on my own account. Although possessing but little more than an unsullied reputation, by careful attention to business I was rapidly amassing a fortune, when the embargo previous to the commencement of the last war and the subsequent disasters to our commerce blighted all my expectations and reduced me to bankruptcy. My old employer, from his own pecuniary embarrassment, was unable to afford me aid, although he would willingly have done so, had it been in his power. So, giving up the hope of repairing my shattered fortunes there, I bade farewell to my native city, and started for the West.

"All the Western States, except a narrow belt along the chain of the Great Lakes, was a wilderness and inhabited by Indians, for the most part hostile to Americans. I engaged in the fur trade, and have continued it up to the present time. As the Western States began to fill with emigrants, the trade advanced in the same direction, until an expedition had lately extended beyond the Rocky Mountains; but it is now almost broken up by a foreign company, that wields a mighty moneyed power, prejudices the natives against us, and by an unequal competition drives us from our just rights and the soil of our own territory. A few seasons since, our company was making preparations for more operations than we had made before; the unusual success of the previous expeditions having furnished us with means of doing so. Men were enlisted, ammunition and stores laid in for a long and hazardous expedition. As we were about setting out, an individual accosted us and asked permission to join the expedition. He was noble in his appearance and in the prime of life; but deep melancholy was upon his brow, and an occasional wildness would gleam from his eye, that told us reason was half-unsettled from its throne. He asked no pay, he said, he only wished to engage in some exciting employment, to drive away mad thoughts; and he beat his clenched fist against his brow, uttering an involuntary groan. We told him our complement of men was full, but as he wished to join we would furnish him with arms and provisions like the rest; that in return he should occasionally aid us in making purchases of the Indians and resident trappers, and if necessary lend his services as a soldier. He readily assented to the conditions and set out with us. Our expedition was a long and dangerous one. We travelled over the Rocky Mountains to the headwaters of the Columbia, where American traders had rarely been before. But the Indians were prejudiced against us by the agent of the British Company and several times manifested a hostile spirit, but the strength of our party and the cautiousness of all our movements gave them no opportunity for surprising us. The individual who joined us was a most efficient member of our corps; no dangerous enterprise was set on foot in which he was not the first to volunteer. He seemed wearied of life and cared not how soon he might be relieved of its burden. A mystery hung about him that our party strove to penetrate in vain. He talked but little and never revealed his name to anyone; but still he was kind and generous; and the deep sorrow that seemed eating at his heart won the friendship and sympathy of all. And whenever 'The Stranger,' as we called him, happened to be mentioned, the wild, boisterous recklessness of the hardy backwoodsmen would soften down; and they would speak of him in tones of unwonted sadness.

"We had finished our trading operations about the commencement of autumn and had commenced our return march with our wagons loaded with packages of buffalo robes and beaver skins and other peltries. We had conducted all our movements with the greatest caution and got far back in safety towards the settlements. For some days previous, however, we had observed straggling Indians hanging about our line of march, seeming to observe our movements. We avoided the woods, keeping as much as possible on the open prairies. One

day's march more would have brought us within the protection of the American outposts. And aware that the enemy (for we had no doubts one was hovering around) would attack us that night if at all, we formed our baggage wagons into a circle, placed the packages of buffalo skins within and having gathered forage from the prairie for our horses, we placed vigilant sentinels upon all sides and laid down upon our arms. The night had nearly passed, and the first faint streakings of the dawn were making their appearance in the east, when an onset was commenced by the savage foe. Quick as lightning we were on foot dealing death upon them from within our camp.

"The Indians evidently did not anticipate so ready a reception, and after two or three desperate attempts to break into our enclosure, they retired, dragging away their dead and wounded. There being no fire within our camps the enemy could only see to shoot by the uncertain flashes of the guns, as we were protected by a breastwork impenetrable to a musket ball. Only two or three of our men were wounded and some of our horses killed. Within eight yards of us a portion of the prairie was overgrown with weeds and high grass in which the Indians concealed themselves as it grew light, and from which they kept up a scattering fire upon our camp. We attempted to dislodge them by shooting at the places from whence the smoke arose, but a breeze that was blowing transversely across the place so dispersed it as to render our aim uncertain; and what was worse our ammunition began to fail, for we had bartered away more than we were aware of in our summer's traffic. It was, therefore, determined not to fire unless sure of our mark and consequently the firing ceased on our part. The day wore on until it became evident that the enemy intended to hold their position until nightfall, and then under the cover of darkness attempt to carry our camp.

"'They must be dislodged in some way before night,' said an old hunter, 'or our scalps will not keep their places another day. We must make an assault upon them and drive them from their skulking place. Some of us will fall, no doubt; but it is better so than to all stay here and to be shot down like dogs.'

"A consultation was held as to the best way of making the assault. We were all armed with rifles and had no bayonets, a weapon indispensable for an attack of the kind we meditated; but there seemed no alternative, and we resolved to make the attempt. It was agreed upon to reserve our fire until the enemy could be seen; and then after the first discharge to meet them with their own weapon—the hatchet. All preparations had been completed and we were about to sally forth when this stranger offered to set the grass on fire in which the Indians were concealed. All stopped short and looked at him in surprise. We who had seen before the headlong fury of the flame driven by the wind over the dry and withered grass of the prairie knew full well, if it was practicable that the enemy would be scattered like the leaves of the forests before the blasts of the autumn; but the utter madness of the attempt made the stoutest heart shrink back, for certain death awaited some of us if we made an onset in a body, yet each chose rather to run his change of life where probably a majority might escape unharmed than to rush alone and single-handed upon inevitable death. We pointed out to him the madness of the attempt.

"'I comprehend the danger perfectly,' he said, 'and am prepared to meet it. If we make an onset in a body more lives than one will be sacrificed with a less prospect of success. You all have something to live and to hope for; my dreams of earthly happiness are done, and I have long desired to find quiet—in a grave. If by sacrificing my life I can insure the safety of you all I would wrap the winding-sheet around me as cheerfully as the drapery of a couch.'

"We endeavored to dissuade him from the undertaking, for we loved him like a brother, and all would willingly have encountered any danger in common rather than by his destruction to be insured of the safety of the whole party; but he remained steadfast to his purpose.

"'Do you all endeavor to cover me as much as possible by your fire, for though I do not expect to escape, yet if I do not succeed in setting the grass afire my life will be thrown away and you remain in the same peril as before. Besides,' he added, 'I would rather not have my body mutilated by the Indian knife.'

"We held our breath in suspense as he rushed forth from the enclosure waving his flaming torch above his head. The enemy seemed to comprehend the movement in an instant, for a half-suppressed yell broke froth from their hiding-place, followed by a general discharge. Still he kept on apparently unharmed to within a dozen paces of the spot, where he intended to apply the torch, and then staggering a step or two fell forward to the earth. An Indian sprang from his hiding-place and, brandishing his scalping-knife above his head, rushed towards him; but he had scarcely left his covert when a discharge of rifles from our men pierced him with a dozen balls, and, bounding into the air with a yell, he fell headlong by the side of his prostrate foe. His sudden fall seemed to stagger the Indians for a moment, and at that time our hero raised himself upon his feet, drew

Great Little WATERTOWN 68a One of Most Venerable Communities in Nation Still Suffers Adolescent 'Growing Pains'

By FRED C. GREEN

It is not often that an oldster gets tangled up with the ailments common to childhood but the fact is that Watertown, one of the most venerable of the nation's communities, has a severe case of growing pains.

When a populataion that has elbowed its way past the 38,000 mark is fitted into an area 4.16 square miles in extent, when its domiciles must share space with the manufacturing plants that make it America's largest industrial town, there is a[?] be bulging at the seams.

The 7300-odd homes that exist are far too few to meet the demand, but about the only way Watertown can expand is upward, which means apartment houses and, in the case of industry, additional stories in the plants, in view of the comparatively small amount of vacant land that remains.

The major headache created by the situation is suffered by the Board of Assessors which, year after year, must find the money which the town meeting appropriates to carry on as good municipal services as can be found.

The assessors begin their task with the proverbial two strikes (Continued on Page Four)

Legislature, is assured against taxation.

The last valuation of the community was $58,766,000. The 1948 tax rate was $42.10, which seems bound to be increased this year, despite the earnest desire of the finance committee to hold it in check. The reason is that the 400 town employes are demanding pay increases.

The assessors take the market value of property as their norm, with location an important factor. Necessarily, land that has been built upon rates a higher value than acreage used for gardens or farming. The matter of whether property is on an accepted street also has a bearing.

In the past four years the assessors have increased the town's valuation by approximately $8,000,000, though that amount includes the value of new property, but there are cases in which present valuations exceed what it cost to erect the buildings.

Recently, a precedent was established when Lawrence Maloney, chairman of the finance committee, invited industry to air its view about the approaching budget. It was the first time that representatives of the manufacturing firms had been given opportunityu to pass judgment on town spending. Those selected to speak were Alden C. Brett, treasurer of Hood Rubber Company; John Harwood, head of Lewandos; Malcolm McNeil, president of the Ark-Les Switch Corporation, and Jesse Mason, president of Haartz-Mason, Inc.

Burden on Plants They were united in agreeing that employes of the town should have a living wage, that industry should pay its share of the greater cost, but that the increased assessment on plants has become burdensome.

McNeil went so far as to say that higher taxes might drive his business out of Watertown; that he had been offered a location in Connecticut and another in the mid-West, whre the bulk of his product is used, both at far lower tax figures. He further informed the meeting that General Motors, which utilizes 27 articles which he manufactures, had gone so far as to send an emissary to his plant to scan the cost sheets, in an effort to work out a lower scale of prices.

Despite the financial hurdle to be surmounted, Watertown's future is

[photograph of Andrew Bradford smoking a cigar] CHAIRMAN OF ASSESSORS of Watertown, Andrew D. Bradford, who heads the annual "treasure" hunt.

[M?]ONDAY, JANUARY 31, 1949

[image of Watertown house] ABRAHAM BROWNE, JR., HOUSE, oldest house in Watertown. Built in 1663, it displays the "diamond" panes typical of 17th Century houses.

not a gloomy one. Thus, it is handicapped for space in which to expand the continuance of the good government it has enjoyed, and the top-notch municipal services provided will make it such a desirable place in which to live—and do business—that taxes will be swallowed as a necessary, though unpleasant, dose.

Since Watertown was settled, in 1630, it has been a community of homes. There still reside here descendants of settlers who built their cabins and later, homestalls under the eyes of some of John Eliot's Indians, who hiked over from what is now neighboring Newton to ladle out some of the abundance of fish that filled the Charles River.

It speaks well for those first arrivals that the history of old Pequosette contains no mention of trouble with the red men. One of the first gestures of friendship that endured is depicted on the town seal —a settler exchanging a loaf of bread for a bass proffered by an Indian.

First Selectmen As time passed, many small farms were operated but excepted for the grist mill, which was the first in the colony, and the necessary blacksmith shop, considerable time was to elapse before manufacturing began. The people were agriculturists, with no thought of the cod fisheries or trade.

The first inland town in Massachusetts Bay since Aug. 23, 1634, Watertown has been governed by a group of men chosen for the office, later to become known as selectmen. Thus history accords Watertown the honor of having had New England's first board of selectment and it can boast of a town meeting that is as old as any in the New World.

Had the town clung to its original area, there would be no crowding today. In 1638, when the bounds were definitely fixed, they included all of Waltham and Weston and most of Lincoln and Belmont.

G. Frederick Robinson, former selectman and unofficial historian of the town, compiled an interesting account of its history at the time of the tercentenary. He titled it "Great Little Watertown," an appelation that is fitting.

Before departing from the early history of the community, two items from the book will be interesting, in view of the present-day problems:

In 1648 the total tax was about one pound per family; the total of town expenditures was 69 pounds and the state tax paid by the community was 44 pounds. At about that time and through many later years, the bridge that spanned the Charles to link the south side with the main body of Watertown, was a source of expense and worry, as well as a standing grievance, because, then, as now, Watertown was the gateway to the territory west of Boston and was forced to maintain the bridge for the benefit of many who merely were passing through. Today, traffic between Boston and points west imposes a terrific burden upon Watertown.

Helped by State In 1760, David Bemis built a dam in West Watertown and erected a

mill for the manufacture of paper. In 1792, while the business was being operated by his sons, Luke and Isaac, fire destroyed the mill. Because of the advantage of a paper mill to the community as a whole, the General Court voted a loan of a thousand pounds to rebuild the factory. Try to get it today!

In 1803, Seth Bemis began the manufacture of cotton warp, so superior to the variety spun by hand that he could hardly supply the demand. In 1807 he turned to the manufacture of cotton duck for sails, a product that had become hard to obtain from abroad. During the war of 1812, when coastwise shipping was all but at a standstill, Bemis sent the duck and other goods overland to Baltimore and points further south in his own wagons, which brought back cotton and tobacco. It is recorded that in 1812-1813 he lighted his factory with gas which he manufactured from coal.

As a good example of labor's gains through the years, it is also in the records that he called his workers to their places at 5 o'clock on summer mornings and 7 o'clock in winter with blasts on a big horn. At 6:30 they were allowed half an hour for breakfast. At noon, threequarters of an hour was allowed and they worked until 7 P.M., except on Saturday, when the day ended at dusk.

The legend is that mill-owners of the period beginning in 1830 took what, at times, became an annoyingly personal interest in their workers and harbored the sincere belief that, especially in the case of women workers, long hours were necessary to keep the community on a safe moral keel.

Later, the Hollingsworth & Whitney paper mill sprang up just outside Watertown Square and grew to where it employed many hands.

Other Forerunners Other forerunners of today's busy scene also were entering the picture, so that in 1837, when Watertown still included Belmont, and had a population of 1719, there were, in addition to the Bemis and Whitney mills, three soap and candle manufacturers. These consumed 300 tons of tallow, 350 tons of barilla, 50 tons of palm oil, 1750 barrels of resin, 375 cords of fuel, 2000 casks of lime and 1000 bushels of salt.

Capital invested in the enterprises totalled $27,000. Also, there were 85,000 boxes manufactured, with a value of $14,000. On the south side of the river, Lewis B. Porter operated shops where laundry and mill machinery was manufactured.

In 1829 a French couple opened a dye house which still stands in the same location and is still operated as Lewandos.

In 1855, Miles Pratt opened his foundry, which later became the Walker & Pratt Manufacturing Company, makers of stoves and heaters.

The Arsenal has been in operation since 1816. When the Civil War began, without authorization from Washington, but with the consent of the Arsenal command-

[image of G. Frederick Robinson wearing a coat and hat] WATERTOWN HISTORIAN and former selectman, G. Frederick Robinson, a well known figure in the town.

ant, the foundry began molding cannonballs and shells to fit guns made at the neighboring ordnance plant.

At the time of the first World War, the Arsenal underwent a great expansion. considerable of which was not completed until long after the armistice. The recent global conflict saw it burgeon again, but this time it went too far, in the opinion of many citizens.

School street is one of Watertown's important traffic arteries and its southerly end, at that time, separated the Arsenal property from the Vose piano factory and other land and buildings. The War Department made no bones about grabbing what it considered necessary, which included land, buildings and street. It constructed an addition to the last structure within the former Arsenal bounds and ran it across School street to connect with the piano plant. Dwellings on the rest of the land were razed to make room for storage.

No Reimbursement Ever since then, traffic has to detour to get onto School street from North Beacon street, which is a part of U.S. Route 20. Nothing has been done toward reimbursing the town.

Chairman Andrew B. Bradford of the board of assessors points out that the property seized by Uncle Sam, under the rights implied by eminent domain, represents a tax potential of $400,000. It is claimed that Hull was taken care of by the government in the matter of land taken, and that Hingham also was rewarded, or, at least, recompensed, but Watertown has been ignored.

There are many outspoken critics of the arsenal. They assert the big plant brings little into the community, because only a handful of its employes live in Watertown. The only town service it pays for is water, of which it uses a comparatively small amount at a reduced price. Water for industrial use in the shops is drawn from the river.

The kickers say that when Frank Ahern, sealer of weights and measures, makes his rounds, it requires three weeks of his time to check on weights and balances used at the plant. They assert that what is done there can be done more efficiently and cheaply elsewhere and that if Uncle Sam would kindly move out, the plant would be ideal for small and diversified industries.

33

his hands across his brow as if to clear his vision, and then waving his torch again for an instant, sped on and dashed it into the dry and withered grass.

"Quick as lighting the flames leaped up, swayed back and forward for an instant with with an uncertain motion, and then swept over the prairie with the speed of wind. The savages gave forth a yell of mingled rage and disappointment, and when the smoke cleared away were seen with scorched and half-naked bodies making off across the plain. Several of our party went out to meet the returning hero and brought him into camp.

"'I have received my death wound,' he observed, 'but I am not sorry. You have treated me with kindness, and I leave you all my blessing. You have more than once manifested a desire to learn the story of my life. I will tell it to you now, but first try to stop the flow of blood for a time that it may not rob me of my breath before you have heard me out. The wound is here,' he continued, laying this hand upon his breast.

"We removed the clothing from the place. The blood was flowing freely from the wound, and it was plain that though his life might be prolonged for a few hours, his mortal race was well-nigh run. All the aid that could be was afforded to the sufferer. We stanched the blood as soon as we were able; gave him some water which he desired, and placing him upon a couch formed from dry grass from the prairie overspread with a buffalo robe, he began the story of his life.

"'My father was a farmer of considerable property in England, and had a life lease of a productive and valuable farm. I was his only son. It was his intention to rear me to the same occupation, and until fifteen years ago I lived at home. Our landlord, a man of liberal and enlightened views himself, believing that an enlightened tenantry were happier among themselves and more profitable to the proprietor, exerted himself to afford the means of education of the children and to diffuse general knowledge amongst them as much as possible.

"'From my frist commencement as a pupil an earnest desire to acquire an education took possession of my mind; and in a very few years I became master of the branches taught in the common schools. I then solicited my father's permission to attend a grammar school kept in a neighboring village for the purpose of acquiring the rudiments of a classical education. He refused me for a long time, saying my education was sifficient for the station I was designed to fill; but at length finding my heart set upon it he yielded his consent. That was a joyful day for me, and a vision of future greatness danced before my eyes and mingled with my dreams.

"'With the humble wardrobe of a peasant's son I set out to place myself under the instructions of a clergyman who had charge of the sons of gentlemen residing in the vicinity, preparing themselves for college. It was a new thing to have the son of a yeoman mingling with them in the higher branches of learning, and they looked upon me with no favor. But the instructor, a man of honor and liberality, would not permit them to treat me with rudeness they desired.

"'After undergoing a satisfactory examination I entered upon my studies, and in a short time, notwithstanding the contempt with which my classmates had regarded me at first, I stood before them all. In two years' time I was prepared to enter college. It was no very difficult task after having gained my father's consent to enter the grammar school to prevail upon him to let me pursue my studies, backed as I was by the recommendation of my teacher.

"'"But," said he, "I see plainly enough it will spoil you for a farmer, and I fear the little I have saved by toil will be squandered by you in endeavoring to keep up the appearance of a gentleman."

"'His scruples, however, being overcome at last, I entered upon my collegiate course. It is unnecessary to dwell upon this portion of my life. My means were not sufficient to enable me to mingle much in the expensive pleasures of my fellow-students; and as a compensation I applied myself more diligently to my studies. At the end of the course it proved no loss, for it resulted with us as it ever will, that those who spend most time in idleness and dissipation hold the lowest place in the rank of scholars.

"'After having obtained a degree I determined to enter upon the study of law and went to the metropolis for that purpose. There was at that time a distinguished lawyer practising in the English courts, who, by superior powers of mind and indefatigable exertions had raised himself from obscurity as low as mine. He had been knighted by George IV. and had held uner him an important post in the British Cabinet. I made application to him and showed him my credentials from the university. He questioned me with vigorous severity, and being satisfied, consented to my studying with him.

"'It was stipulated that after the first year, a small salary should be allowed me in addition to his instruction, for various services he might wish me to perform. Though in many respects a man of fine feelings, ambition had become his god; the pursuit of fame and the enrolment of his name among the aristocracy of the realm, the all-absorbing purpose of his soul. He

had bent all the energies of his nature, and made all the prospects of earthly happiness subservient to the attainment of this end. He had married the younger daughter of a nobleman of distinguished family but decayed fortune, and though her dowry was small, her connection was in every respect honorable and she herself worthy of his love. Nevertheless his own success as a professional man, aided by the liberal salaries he had received in several lucrative public offices, yielded him in the course of a few years, a handsome private fortune. His wife possessed all the traits a man could hope or expect to find in woman; kind, benevolent and pure, and during her life exerted an influence over him like that of a guardian spirit. I need not say he loved her with devoted tenderness, but she died during the period of greatest usefulness, leaving him a widower with a daughter two years old.

""After the shock of his bereavement had passed away, he seemed to renew his favorite pursuite with increased intensity, and the end of his ambitious views were centred in his child. He attended most carefully to her education, and she was every way worthy of his care. She was not the most beautiful girl I have ever seen, but sufficiently so to attract attention at first sight; and her fascinating manners, intellectual and moral excellence, won the admiration and love of all who made her aquaintance. I was in my twenty-second year when I commenced the study of law, and she at that time was nearly seventeen.

"'It happened that I called at the residence of Sir John Temple, for that was the father's name, to settle some preliminaries upon the morning of my entrance as a student in his office, and was shown in by a servant, who, saying that his master would be in soon, left me along in the drawingroom. Whilst waiting there, his daughter came in. She evidently did not know that anyone was present, for she was bearing a vase of flowers; her bonnet was thrown carelessly back, and her rich and flowing tresses were waving loosely about her snowwhite neck. She was somewhat confused at first, but recovering herself, and placing the vase upon the marble mantelpiece, she saluted me, and removing her bonnet, took a seat. I told her I had called to see Sir John. She replied that he was in the library; that she had heard the servant announce my name, and supposed I had been shown up. I answered that the servant said he was engaged for a short time, but would soon be down. We conversed for a few moments before Sir John came in.

"'I had mingled very little in society, and had but few opportunities of conversing with females of rank and education, but I had formed for myself an ideal image of womanly grace, and I felt in a short time that all my imaginings were more than realized in her. Sir John coming in, interrupted our conversation, and his daughter, for from a personal resemblance I was convinced that she was such, immediately retired.

"'The preliminaries were soon arranged, and I entered upon the long and tiring study of the law. For a year or two I was called but rarely from my duties in the office, but as I began to master the mysteries of the profession I was occasionally employed to execute important legal transactions; and as a consequence, sometimes consulted Sir John at his own house. His daughter had in the meantime completed her education, and was mistress of her father's mansion. I was necessarily thrown into her society, and I need not say that she made a deep impression upon my mind.

"'The father's cares and business did not permit him to mingle much in fashionable society, and the retiring and reflective mind of the daughter induced her to follow his example in this respect. Still an heiress and daughter of so distinguished a man could not remain unknown; and many schemes were set on foot by fortune-hunters to obtain the prize. Sir John, imagining his daughter's happiness would be secrued and his own ambitious views realized by obtaining for her a name and rank, looked to gaining a titled suitor to her hand. Oh, how fatally; as many fathers have done before, did he mistake the happiness of his child!'"

Boston Evening Transcript

THE NAMELESS GRAVE [A Tale of Mount Auburn] PART II.

July 29/1905

"There was a young nobleman, by the name of Alfred—, who graduated in the same class with myself. He was a wild and reckless student while in college; of little moral principle, and often conducted himself so disgracefully that had it not been for family influence, he would have been expelled. Immediately after his college course was ended, being allowed free reins by the death of his father, he in a short time, by gaming and other extravagances, deeply embarrassed his pecuniary affairs.

"Finding at length that he had almost irretrievably ruined his fortunes, he suddenly pretended reform, dismissed his worthless associates, and looked around for the purpose of relieving his embarrassments by a

matrimonial alliance. The daughter of the eminent barrister, Sir John Temple, was regarded as affording an excellent opportunity for that purpose; for although his wealth was large, common report had magnified it, and the known ambition of the father, he was convinced, would second his suit. Accordingly he opened a negotiation with Sir John, who overcame his scruples of moral delinquencies by testimonials of reform, for with ambitious fathers titles cover a multitude of sins, and obtained his consent to address his daughter. This having been accomplished, he waited upon her with the greatest confidence of success, and offered himself a suitor for her hand. His character was not unknown to her, and he was the last one whose addresses she would have favored; consequently, although she endeavored to do so without wounding his pride, she firmly declined his offer. Chagrined beyond measure by his unexpected repulse, he resolved to gain his end or be revenged. He waited upon her father, reported his ill success, and declared that some villain unknown to them had stolen her affections. Sir John, naturally irritable and soured in his disposition by recent defeat in the acquisition of some political honor on which he had set his heart, was exasperated against his daughter. He pledged the nobleman that she should become his wife, and returning hom in a state of ex citement he accused her of receiving the addresses of some suitor without his knowledge; at the same time forbidding her to see him, whoever he might be, and commanding her to receive as a suitor the nobleman she had so lately refused.

She denied the accusations alleged against her, and pleaded with tears by the love he bore her mother, not to compel her to receive the addresses of a man whose moral character she detested—declaring that she would rather endure a life of poverty and want, and life down unknown in an unhonored grave, than to tread the marble halls of wealtht the wife of a libertine and a wretch.

Her father was softened by the appeal, and promised to giver her time to reflect. Meanwhile, my probation as a law student was rapidly drawing to a close. My calls at Sir John's house on professional business became more frequent, and I was happy in finding an excuse for doing so; for, though I had not even made the confession to myself, his lovely daughter and made a deep impression upon my mind. Strange as it may seem, Sir John had never suspected that such might be the result, and I was permitted to mingle in the society of his daughter frequently, although it might have easily been seen that it was at the hazard of both her peace and my own. But I was a student, of no family, and poor; she the daughter of a man high in the estimation of all distinguished men —and, viewing the disparity between us, he did not dream it would be forgotten by the ardent child.

The season passed away, and at the sitting of the court I was admitted to the bar. Sir John was deeply engaged in another political contest, and having confidence in my legal knowledge, he entrusted to me the management of an important suit, with the advantage of its fees in case of a successful termination. Most laboriously did I prepare myself for this, knowing well that success at the outset is all important to a successful professional career. The opposing counsel, when they learned who was to oppose the suit, did not even make the usual preparations, thinking a young practitioner could easily be led astray and confounded amidst the intricacies of the law; consequently they were thrown completely off their guard, and the result was a signal triumph on my part. I now considered my career as fairly begun, for two more cases were put into my hands before leaving the court, and in high spirits I called upon Sir John. He was not at home, but his daughter received and congratulated me upon my success. I was gratified that she was sufficiently interested to learn the result so soon, and taking courage from the circumstance, without thinking to consult her father as I ought to have done first, I unhesitatingly confessed my love, entreating her not to think me presumptive, but to give me hope, upon the achievement of professional eminence, to obtain a return of her affections. She was greatly agitated at my declaration, confessed the deep impression I had made upon her heart, but told me of her father's determination to marry her to the nobleman of whom we have spoken before.

"My God!" I exclaimed, "will he consign you over to such a wretch?"

"I will never consent," she answered. "I told my father I had rather die. Although I am pledged to receive the attentions of no one but him, yet I will live single for your sake." And she raised her eyes to mine with a look of confidence and affection that thrilled my inmost soul, and impelled me irresistibly to clasp her to my heart.

At that instant Sir John entered the room. A sudden suspicion that I was the cause of Count Alfred's rejection flashed across his mind like lightning and his face was pale with rage.

"Daughter, to your room," he said, and she hastened away overcome with confusion.

"And now, young man, this is the way you have repaid my kindness. You have entered my house, and, like a viper, stung the bosom that warmed you into life. This accounts for her dislike to my choice of

34

Count Alfred, but I swear he shall have he[r?] now, or I'll banish her from my hous[e?] forever."

I pleaded with him, pleaded as I would not have done for my own life. I depre cated his anger, not on my own account but hers. God knows, if it had been for m[e?] alone, I would have given him taunt to taunt. He forbade me his house. I rented his office immediately and commenced the practice of my profession. Although I executed faithfully whatever was intrusted to my care, and though my business slowly increased, yet my anxiety of mind for the fate of Mary Temple did not permit me to take that active position necessary to insure success. Rumor began to be rife that Count Alfred was to be married soon to the daughter of Sir John Temple, and, driven almost to madness, I bribed a servant of the family to convey a letter to her. I besought her to tell me true if the rumor of her union with the count was unfounded. He brought back answer the next day stating that her father had endeavored to coerce her into the hated match, but though she would willingly undergo any suffering to gratify him, in this she felt she could never yield. The letter was blotted with tears, and closed by pledging eternal faithfulness to me. I wrote again begging an interview with her, and sent it back by the servant. As chance would have it, Count Alfred came around the corner of the street just as the servant was leaving my office, and, suspecting some plot, passed back unseen, where, waiting till the menial came up he took him into a private room in a hotel near by, and partly by promises and partly by threats, obtained possession of the letter. Then bidding him wait below until he called, he melted the wax before the grate, opened and read the epistle, then sealing it anew he called the servant, and giving him a sovereign bade him when he returned with an answer to call again. The servant did as directed, and after the count had read this as he had done the former one, he sent it to me. Mary stated in her letter that she had yielded, with many doubts as to its propriety, to my request; that she would see me once more, since our parting had been so sudden, at a bower in her father's garden that night at twelve, and then she must bid me farewell, perhaps forever. In the meantime Count Alfred called upon Sir John and revealed to him the secret of our meeting, inventing a falsehood to cover the meanness by which he had obtained the information, and declaring that we were frequently in the habit of meeting clandestinely.

"If what you say is true," Sir John replied in a passion, "she shall never enter my halls again. I will disown her before the world and cut her off without a shilling."

"You will be convinced tonight," replied the count.

We met at the hour appointed. The calm, full moon was shining through the latticework of the bower, her silver rays glistening in the dewdrops and sparkling like so many diamonds amidst the foliage of the grape and honeysuckle that twined around it, as I pressed the maiden to my heart, forgetful of everything but the bliss of the moment. It was a tearful meeting on her part. The thought of the risk of reputation that she ran, and the disobedience of her father's mandate, preyed upon her mind. We were engaged in a whispered consultation and vows of eternal constancy to each other when two shadows passed before the entrance of the bower, and, looking up, we beheld Sir John and Count Alfred standing before us. The rays of the moon fell directly upon their faces. That of the count was lit up with a smile of gratified malice; that of Sir John was calm and pale, but the quivering lip and flashing eye betokened the tempest in his soul.

"Take her," he said to me, "but take her with a father's curse. And now begone; you must not trespass upon my grounds."

"O spare me, father," exclaimed the daughter, sinking upon her knees before him. "It is my first transgression."

"Whom does she call?" inquired Sir John. "Her father? I am not her father. She is a stranger within my gates. Here, James," he called to a porter who was attending him, "thrust these intruders without the portal of the garden."

I entreated him to spare his child; declared the fault was mine, and pledged myself to relinquish all hope; but it was all in vain. Sir John was inexorable. Count Alfred himself approached to bear her out, but I placed myself before him, and, drawing a dagger that I happened to have about my person, I bade him approach at his peril. Although armed himself, he shrank back like a cowed hound, for he was as much a coward as he was a villain.

But it was useless to linger, and lifting the inanimate form of the lovely girl—for she had fainted—in my arms. I bore her through the portal, which was locked after us. I carried her to a public house which was near at hand, by no means a reputable one, but I thought not of that, for she was in a death-like swoom. A cordial soon restored her, and she inquired hastily what had been done and where she was. I told her all.

"I must see my father in the morning," she said; "but if he refuses to recognize me as his daughter! O God! where will this matter end?"

I persuaded her to rest, adding that I would call upon her father in the morning, and hoped that all might yet be well. She became more calm and sank to rest upon a sofa where she had been placed. Nature was completely exhausted, but the working of her countenance showed plainly that her mind was ill at ease. I watched by her couch until the dawn, when she awoke. She seemed a moment lost, but, soon collecting her thoughts, she rose and said:

"I must go home; surely my father cannot be so cruel as to cut me off."

I persuaded her to remain until I had first gone to see Sir John, and, having provided her with some refreshments, I hastened away. I rang at his door and received for answer that he was not at home; I tried to bribe the servant to admit me, but it was in vain, and with a heavy heart I returned to announce my ill-success.

"I will go myself," said she. "It is not possible that admittance will be denied to me." And putting on her bonnet she left the inn.

My mind was too much agitated to permit me to rest, so, leaving the inn after her, I passed down an adjoining street until I came to a position where I could watch the door of her father's house unseen. From there I saw her ring. A strange servant answered the summons, and, after staring at her some time in affected wonder, told her that Sir John had gone into the country. She attempted to pass in, but he thrust her back and shut the door in her face. She tried to open it, but it was locked, and then sitting down on the steps she gave way to an agony of despair. Persons going by gazed at her, some with curiosity and some with pity, for they thought her insane. The sight maddened me, and rushing to the spot:

"Mary," I said, "this is no place for you; it is plain that your unfeeling father has cast you off, and on my account. Would to God I had died before bringing this calamity upon your head."

"Do not reproach yourself as the cause," she replied, "nor make yourself unhappy for another's fault. Count Alfred is the one who had done it all. He is the wretch who has shut a father's house against his child."

"Come, then," I said, "and whilst Heaven spares my life, you shall not want. I will toil day and night, and esteem it happiness if I but receive your smile as a reward."

We returned from her father's mansion, never to go back. With difficulty I obtained a boarding-place for her in a respectable private family, for the rumor went abroad that I had ruined the lovely daughter of Sir John Temple, and that her father had disowned her in consequence. Rakes and libertines called me a brave fellow, but all honorable men regarded me with indignation. Mary was unwilling to become my wife, fearing it would make the estrangement between her and her father irremediable. Her jewels had been sent on the following day to the inn where I had carried her at first, but no message had accompanied them. She attempted to see her father several times, and wrote many letters protesting her innocence of the accusation, but all in vain.

The reports that went abroad prejudicial to my character ruined my prospects of success in my profession, and clients that had begun to crowd to my office fell off one by one—until absolute want began to stare me in the face. Many sad consultations were held between Mary and myself; and at length, when all hope of reconciliation with her friends were at an end, she consented to become my wife and embark with me for America. The marriage ceremony was solemnly performed by a clergyman of our mother church; and, being fully attested, was published to remove the stain that rested upon her character in public estimation. Then, having written a last epistle to her father, in which she sought his forgiveness for any undutiful steps she might have taken, we collected the little property remaining to us and embarked. With tearful eyes we beheld the white cliffs of our native land receding from our view, until all we had held dear in early life sunk below the horizon's verge. But we were left to each other, and we felt that was the greatest happiness of all.

Eight weeks from the time we left England, our vessel entered the harbor of New York and moored by one of the wharves of East River. I hastened on shore to seek employment, for my funds were beginning to run low. Bitter disappointment was in store for me, for nothwithstanding my professional skill and the long term of study in my native country, I could not be permitted to practise in the higher American courts until I became a citizen, and that required a residence of five years. I next tried to get employment in a mercantile establishment, but the city was crowded with young men from the country wishing to exchange the quiet labors of agriculture for the dusty and toilsome road of commercial life, and, moreover, the rascalities that had lately been perpetrated by swindlers from the Old World caused the mercantile community to regard all foreigners with suspicion. I went back to the vessel

unsuccessful, and we disembarked. I rented a small, comfortable house, and managed to pay the rent for two quarters as it came due, but after that we were obliged to change our residence of a couple of rooms in a large building inhabited by the poorer classes of citizens. Unable to find any employment in any business adapted to my abilities and education, I was driven at last to work as a common laborer in the street. Even in this I was unable to find steady employment, and all I could earn in addition to what Mary received from the proceeds of her needle, were scarcely sufficient to furnish the necessaries of life.

During the long weary winter that succeeded we were obliged to sell, one by one, the few articles of furniture, etc., that remained to us until finally my law library, which I had retained until the last, was disposed of for half its value to save us from hunger and from cold. Thus we passed a year. Mary was always cheerful, and in the deepest hours of my despondency when adversity seemed to be closing round with darker folds, her soothing words would quiet my troubled spirit and inspire me with fresh hope. Yet I could not but note the paleness of her cheek, and a consciousness that sorrow and privation were gnawing at her heart almost drove me mad. We had no news from home, and as spring came on we resolved to leave New York and try our fortunes in some of the manufacturing villages of New England. We had proceeded on our way as far as Boston when the want of funds and the illness of my wife compelled me to stop; and there, in a strange city, penniless and without a friend, we were left in the open street. I obtained a miserable room and removed our scanty furniture therein. We had not even a crust to eat and in despair I rushed into the street and wandered over the city. As I passed up one of the avenues I encountered a crowd of men elevating the heavy pillars of some building, and almost unconsciously I joined the group. The workmen had spirits furnished for their use, and as they passed around the fatal beverage I drank deep and madly, and as the shadows of evening fell, I crossed the miserable threshold o fmy sojourning place—for I will not call it home—a drunkard. The cup of my wife's misery was then full. She sank upon the bed, and for the first time gave way to a paroxysm of agony and despair. When I recovered myself in the morning shame and repentance took possession of my mind. I swore upon my knees beside her bed, that, come what might, I would never touch the fatal cup again, and then hastened out to obtain food and medical attendance for my wife. It happened that the first physician that I called upon was a humane man, and when he heard my story, procured me the necessary articles of food and medicine and went with me. Every provision was made for her comfort, and the physician departed, promising to call again the next day. A New York paper that he had in his hat happened to fall out unperceived, and was left upon the floor when he went away. Glancing over it, my eyes fell upon the list of advertised letters, in which were two directed to my wife. I instantly wrote to the postmaster to have them forwarded, and, on the second day after they came to hand. They were sealed with black and directed with a strange hand, but bore the impress of her father's arms. I hastily broke the seals and read them to her. The first was written by an attorney who said he was doing it at the dictation of her father on his dying bed: The Count Alfred, having been injured fatally by a fall from his horse, had, in a moment of remorse, confessed the villainous agency he had in alienating Sir John and his child; that Sir John had become convinced that he had done both her and me a deep wrong, for which he asked our forgiveness, and bestowed upon us his parting blessing; that he had made us joint heirs of his property, and desired us to return immediately and enjoy it. A postscript was added by the attorney stating that Sir John died soon after the letter was finished. The other was a bill of exchange on New York for £1000. Mary wept long and bitterly at her father's loss, for despite of his harshness, she loved him with all the fervor of a generous heart, but the recollections of his forgiveness and parting blessing restored her tranquillity of spirit. I obtained a discount of the bill at one of the Boston banks and had her conveyed immediately to as comfortable a place as could be obtained in the city, and the physician who first called upon her, and who was eminent in his profession, continued his attendance; but it was too late. Consumption, the fiend that never loses his grasp, had fastened upon her and in six short months laid her to rest in the quiet slumbers of the grave. But her last days were said to her only at the thought of my bereavement, and she cheered me with the hope of a happier meeting in another world. She sank to rest calmly as the summer sun was setting, with the certainty of rising another day. I buried her in Mount Auburn, under a plain gray slab that bears only the initials of her name and simple verse. The name registered upon the books is an assumed one, and none knows the history of her resting place but ourselves. Near the close

35

of her life she requested the attendance of a legal adviser acquainted with both American and English law, and in a will which I was desired to open at her death, I was left sole heir to all her father's estates. But I could not receive them. Life was bereft of enjoyment and earth of peace. I bestowed all as a donation upon charitable institutions of my native country and started for the West. The rest you know already."

His voice faltered as he approached the end of his narrative, and as he ceased speaking he moved his lips in silent prayer— breathed one sad sigh, and died. Our men were gathered around his couch in breathless attention, their rough natures were completely overcome, and weatherbeaten cheeks that had been strangers to a tear for fifty years, received the falling drops like rain. We buried the stranger in the bosom of the prairie, fired a parting salute over his grave, for we felt that we were paying honors to a hero who had saved our lives at the expense of his own, then driving our wagons over his last resting place to keep the Indians from finding and mutilating his remains, we turned away with sadness. E.A.K.

The lines inscribed on "The Nameless Grave" at Mount Auburn are found in one of Wordsworth's early poems, the name "Mary" being substituted for "Lucy," as written by the poet.

3721.

THE NAMELESS GRAVE

I present here all the facts about the nameless grave at Mt. Auburn which I have been able to gather in and around Boston since the final part of the remarkable story from the Union Democrat appeared in the Transcript. I hope to pursue the investigation further, but think it may interest your readers to have before them all immediately available data, so that they may work on the matter in their own way, if they desire.

The grave is in St. James lot on Cypress avenue and is concealed from view from the avenue by a granite pedestal and cross between it and the avenue. The headstone is of white Italian marble, turned gray by exposure to the elements. It is 14 inches wide, 2 3/4 inches thick, and 16 inches high. On it is simply:

M.W.B. Nov. 21, 1835.

The horizontal slab is of bluish-gray Vermont marble. It is level with the ground and is 2 feet, 3 1/2 inches wide, and 6 feet, 9 inches long. On it appears:

M.W.B. Nov. 21, 1835. She lived unknown, and few could know When Mary ceased to be; But she is in her Grave, and, oh, The difference to me!

St. James Lot was the first public lot in Mt. Auburn. It is ninety feet on Cypress avenue and sixty feet in depth. Anyone could purchase one or more graves there. At the time of this death Mt. Auburn had been open for burials only 3 1/2 years, and the quiet and beautiful Stone's Woods or Sweet Auburn, as it had been known, must have seemed to the agonized lover the most appropriate spot for the resting place of his companion, who "sank to rest calmly as the summer sun was setting" after such a tempestuous day.

The "Original Register of Interments at Mt. Auburn, 1832 to 1862," at page 9, has these entries under the following heads: "Order of Interments. 284. Date of Interments. Nov. 21, 1835. Names of Persons Interred. Mrs. Williams. Late Residence. Boston. Time of Decease. Nov. 19, 1835. Age 35 yrs. No. of Lot. Public Lot." There is also on file at Mr. Auburn the original permit to remove the body of Mrs. Williams from Boston to Mt. Auburn for burial. It reads: "Health-Office, Boston. Nov'r 21, 1835. Permission is hereby granted to carry the Body of Mrs. Williams died in Boston aged 35 to Mount Auburn for the purpose of Interment. Saml H. Hewes. Superintendent of Burial Grounds." It will be noticed that the date of interment is given in the above Register as November 21 and the date of death as November 19. These are evidently errors. In the "Record of the Deaths and Burials, in the city of Boston for the year 1835" in a volume marked "Deaths. January 1833. to Dec. 5, 1836. 26," appear the following entries: "When Deceased. 1835 November 21. When Interred. 22. Names of Persons Interred. Mary Williamson. Year. 35. To What Family Belonging. — Disease, or Cause of Death. Dropsy. Undertakers. Babbet. Where Interred. Mount Auburn." This volume is in the Registry Department of Boston in the Old Court House and the above entries are the official record of this death. The date of decease agrees with the date on the tablets. It was Satruday, November 21, 1835, and the burial was the next day, Sunday, November 22. On the Mt. Auburn Register the name appears as Mrs. Williams and is one of the few cases in that book where the Christian name of an adult is not given. Mrs. Williams is also the name in the permit for the removal of the body.

In the Boston Daily Advertiser & Patriot of Tuesday, November 24, 1835, under "Died," is a list of sixty names, among which is "Mrs. Williams, 35." These names were evidently obtained from the city clerk every few days. He may have had a temporary memorandum of this name as Mrs. Williams, and it may have been erroneously transcribed into his permanent record book as Williamson, or the memorandum may have been Williamson and been erroneously copied by others. At any rate, it is plain enough on the only official record as Williamson. Babbet, the undertaker, appears in Stimpson's Boston Directory for 1835 as: "Babbet Cyrus, undertaker, h. 10 Purchase." This residence was close to Broad street, and as the husband would be likely to select an undertaker from his neighborhood, it is possible that the unfortunate couple lived in that section of the city. By 1839, as appears from the directory for that year, Babbet had moved to 14 Vine street, now Parkman street, in the West End. By 1845 he had evidently retired from business, as his name appears that year without a business. In the directory for 1848-49 his name appears as Babbitt. The directory for the next year, 1849, is the last one to contain his name. He was then still living at 14 Vine street.

It would be extremely interesting if anything like a physician's or undertaker's return could be found. Not only would such return give additional details concerning the deceased, but we should learn the name of the physician described in the story—"the first physician that I called upon was a humane man, and when he heard my story, procured me the necessary articles of food and medicine and went with me. Every provision was made for her comfort and the physician departed, promising to call again the next day." It was through the agency of his New York paper that the news of Sir John Temple's repentance and death finally reached the couple. He was "eminent in his profession" and "continued his attendance" to the last. But to find such a document is impossible. The law at that time required no such certificate, but simply that every householder should give notice to the city clerk of every death happening in his house. The notice in this case was evidently given promptly. If any of your readers could ascertain the identity of the physician from the list of physicians in the Boston directory for 1835, his family might well find among his papers a memorandum of this pathetic case with which he had been made familiar.

The cause of death in the record of the city clerk is given as dropsy, and in the story as consumption. But consumption may well have been the general disease and dropsy its accompaniment and the immediate cause of death.

The tablets could hardly have been placed upon the grave on the day of interment, but that statement is made by the "city friends" who accompanied the young law student and his friend to Mt. Auburn, and is not a part of the story of the man in search of this grave who met them there and told them the history learned "from the lips of him who laid her here."

The story says: "I buried her in Mount Auburn, under a plain gray slab that bears only the initials ofher name and a simple verse. The name registered upon the books is an assumed one and none knows the history of her resting place but ourselves." The letter B in the initials M.W.B. was probably the initial letter of the surname of the husband, and consequently of the real name of the wife. The reputations of both husband and wife having been unjustly ruined in England, they preferred to begin life anew on this side of the water under a new name. The name B— was therefore dropped, and they were known as Mr. and Mrs. Williams or Williamson, which was perhaps the middle name of the wife.

Nothing whatever regarding this death can be found in the office of the city clerk of Boston, whose records of this sort were all turned over to the Registry Department on its establishement in 1849, or in the Health Department, which began its labors in 1873 and was never the official registry for such data, and nothing beyond what is here given can be found in the archives of the Registry Department.

The Mount Auburn Memorial, a weekly published by T.H. and D.F. Safford in 1859-1860, has in the number for September 21, 1859 an article entitled, "M.W.B. St. James Lot, Mount Auburn" and signed L. M.N. It deals with this grave, but describes the tablets as of "dark granite," and even its quotation of the inscriptions is inaccurate. Moreover, it sheds not the slightest light upon the history of M.W. AB. It concludes: "The mystery in which her history is enveloped tends to heighten its interest in the minds of all persons who have any romance or poetry in their composition."

Any further information bearing on this story which I may obtain will be presented to your readers, and any light which any of them can throw upon it will be wel-

comed. If the story be true, then if the will of Sir John Temple could be found in the court records in England, or the will of M.W.B. or the deed of the property to charities by the husband, it would open up the way to practically all the light which an investigator could expect to get on an incident of family history now over seventy years old.

The first step would seen ot be to ascertain from E.A.K. in Springfield, Illinois, the sister of the young law student in Manchester, N.H., who "obtained" the story forty-five years ago, whether it was actually obtained as declared or was a clever piece of fiction written by him to satisfy the natural curiosity of the public at a grave inscribed only with initials and a pathetic verse of poetry—the initials not corresponding with the name under which the body was buried.

Whether this particular story be true or not—and there seems nothing inherently improbably about it—there is certainly enough mystery and pathos connected with this grave to justify anyone in desiring to ascertain as much of the truth as possible. C.R.S

36

March 29. 1902 BOSTON EVENING TRANSCRIPT, SATURD

Puzzle—Find Easter — The Solution — BY WILLIAM BELLAMY — [Author of "A Century of Charades."] — ALTHOUGH Easter is now far more generally observed throughout the United States than it was fifty years ago, it is quite exceptional to find anyone who can tell how the day for its observance is determined. Most good Catholics would probably tell you that it is one of the Sundays of early spring, and would be content to leave the rest to the priest and the almanac. Those better informed might say that it is the Sunday after the full moon next after the vernal equinox, which is substantially correct. But if you were to press them further, and ask how the full moon was determined, they would probably reply that it was a question for astronomers to settle; and therein they would be wrong, for astronomers have had nothing to do with it for the last 300 years. Just as our clocks do not keep time with the sun, but are sometimes fast and sometimes slow, so the full moon as determined by ecclesiastical rules is sometimes before and sometimes after the actual full moon that we see in the sky. But there is this difference, that whereas mean time by which our clocks are regulated is made to conform as closely as it is possible for a uniform measure of time to conform to the varying motion of the sun in the heavens, the ecclesiastical full moon is determined by a rule of thumb, which departs from the average full moon far more than this mean full moon departs from the varying motion of the real moon. The full moon next following the vernal equinox varies from a regular uniform time by less than half a day; the full moon as determined by the Church varies from this mean or average full moon sometimes more than a day and a half, and from the actual full moon sometimes as much as two days.

The first authoritative decree concerning the observance of Easter was made by the Council of Nice in Bithynia in the year 325. The anniversary of the Resurrection had naturally been observed at the recurrence of the feast of the Passover, which was the day of the full moon next after the vernal equinox, according to the Jewish reckoning. Some held that Easter should be observed on that very day, others that the celebration should be deferred till Sunday, the day of the week specially consecrated to the Resurrection. After branding as heretics all those of the first opinion, the Council of Nice rubbed it in, as it were, by decreeing that even when the day of the full moon fell on Sunday, that day should not be observed, but the Sunday following.

The Council of Nice did not formulate any rule for determining the day of the vernal equinox nor that of the full moon following; but at that time no one thought of doubting the correctness of the Julian calendar, which determined the length of the year, or of the metonic cycle, which fixed the dates of the moon's changes. By the Julian calendar, the average length of the year was exactly 365 1/4 days. Of every four years three should consist of 365 days and one of 366, forever. By the metonic rule 235 lunar months made exactly 19 Julian years. In each cycle of 19 years the moon's changes recurred on the same days of the month in the same order. But, as the number of days in 19 years is not divisible by 7, and, moreover, every period of 19 years does not contain the same number of days, three having five leap years while one has four, it is necessary in order to find a cycle after which the days of the week as well as the days of the month on which the moon changes shall recur in the same order, to multiply 19 by 7 and by 4, making a period of 532 years. This is called the Great Paschal, or Dionysian cycle, or sometimes the Victorian period. The dates for Easter were tabulated according to it, and were used by the Church till the time of the reformation of the calendar under Pope Gregory XIII. in 1582.

Since neither the Julian year nor the metonic cycle were correct, in the course of a few centuries their errors began to attract attention. The Julian year was too long by an amount equal to a day in about 128 years. The effect of this error was to cause the true vernal equinox to occur at earlier and earlier dates in the month of March. The metonic period was also too long, but by a less amount, the error amounting to a day in about 308 years. The effect of this was that the true new and full moons occurred earlier than the dates assigned to them in the calendar.

By the time of Pope Gregory, when this reformation, which had long been discussed, was decided on, the equinox occurred about the 11th of March instead of the 21st, the traditional date. It would have been simplest and best to leave it there and adopt a rule to keep it there in the future. But a reformation consisting merely of directions to future generations would have called little attention to Pope Gregory XIII. In his lifetime. It was thought best to make a change that would command immediate attention. This was done by dropping ten days out of the year 1582, by calling the day after the 4th of October the 15th instead of the 5th. This restored the equinox to the 21st of March, and it was decreed that those years whose dates were divisible by 100 should in future be common years instead of leap years, unless they were divisible by 400. Thus, since the reformation of the calendar, the year 1600 was a leap year, 1700, 1800 and 1900 were common years and 2000 will be a leap year. Thus, omitting three days in every 400 years amounts to shortening the year one day in every 133 1-3 years. As before stated, it was in error one day in 128 years. A somewhat more accurate rule would be to omit four leap days in every 500 years. An almost perfect rule would be to omit seven leap days in every 900 years. But we may leave these minute corrections to future generations.

To facilitate the reformation of the lunar calendar, a new series of numbers called the epacts was brought into use. The meaning of the Dominical letter may not be generally known. The first seven days of the year are lettered A, B, C, D, E, F, G. They might just as well be numbered from one to seven, in which case we should have a dominical number instread of a dominical letter. It is simply the letter (or number) of the day on which the first Sunday of the year falls; knowing which we can ascertain the day of the week for any day of the year. Analogously we might suppose the epact to be the number of th day on which the first new moon of the year occurs, but such is not the case. The epact, contrarily, is the age of the moon on the first day of the year. Subtracting this number from 31 we have the date of the first new moon in January, after which the others follow, according to the Church reckoning, at intervals of 29 and 30 days alternately. No account whatever is made of the 29th day of February in leap year, the lunation in which it occurs being counted as thirty days, although really containing thirty-one. Now, as twelve of these lunations are always counted as 354 days, and the year always as 365, it follows that the epact, or age of the moon on the first day of the year, increases by eleven each year. When this increase carries the number above thirty, a whole lunation has elapsed, which is reckoned as thirty days and the epact is the remainder after deducting thirty. The last lunation, however, in every period of nineteen years is supposed to have but twenty-nine days. Deducting this completes the cycle and restores the epact of the twentieth year to the same number as for the first. The cycle begins with a year whose date is divisible by nineteen. This year is the year one of the cycle and the others are numbered consecutively up to nineteen, these numbers being called the golden numbers. Before the reformation of the calendar the epact for the first year of the cycle, if the term had been used, would always have been eight, and their succession, as just explained, would have been 8, 19, 30, 11, 22, 3, 14, 25, 6, 17, 28, 9, 20, 1, 12, 23, 4, 15, 26, 8, adding eleven each year and deducting thirty whenever in excess, until the last, when only twentynine is deducted, bringing back the number eight with which we started. Thus to each golden number belonged a certain epact, which would never change so long as the calendar remained unaltered. But, as already stated, this period of exactly nineteen years was too long by a day in about 308 Julian years, the real moons came round sooner than the calendar indicated. To correct this, after adjusting the epacts to fit the new Gregorian calendar, it was decreed that every three hundred years, beginning with 1800, all the epacts should be increased by one. At least that is the present effect of the decree; it actually reads that eight days shall be added every 2500 years, so that no day must be added in the year 4200, but one in 4300. It is strange that so queer a rule should have been made, but there it is, and no rules for finding Easter are complete unless they reckon with it.

It must be borne in mind that this correction adapts the lunar calendar not to the Gregorian, but to the Julian year, and that any correction made to the Julian years by occasionally omitting a leap day must be applied at the same time to the epacts.

Omitting a day makes the moon one day younger on the days that follow than it otherwise would have been, consequently every time a leap day is dropped, the epacts must be diminished by one. Combining the increase every three hundred years with the decrease three times in four hundred years, we have the following rule, good till 4200:

If the year is divisible by both 300 and 400, the epacts must be increased by one.

If divisible by neither 300 nor 400, the epacts must be diminished by one.

If divisible by the one and not by the other, the epacts must remain unchanged.

Following these rules, tables have been arranged showing for each century the epact corresponding to each golden number, and for each epact the days of the new moons throughout the year. In arranging this last a new difficulty ws encountered, for there are thirty different epacts, and some lunations have but twenty-nine days, so it is impossible to arrange

EASTER DATES FOR TWO CENTURIES

The dates below are those of the full moon. To find Easter, which is the Sunday following, add to the date of the full moon the sum of the small figures placed after that date and after that year. But if that sum exceeds 7 add only the excess above 7.

As there are thirty different epacts, and only nineteen years in a cycle, it is evident that in every cycle there are eleven epacts which cannot occur. For the 300 years from 1900 to 2200 one of the epacts left out is twenty-three, to which corresponds a full moon on the 21st of March. Now if there can be no epact twenty-three, there can be no full moon March 21, and consequently no Easter March 22. So that for three hundred years to come the earliest date for Easter is March 23, instead of March 22 as formerly. Easter last occured on March 22 in 1818, it will next occur on that date in 2285.

Without stopping to explain how the day of the week can be found when the year and the day of the month are known, let me briefly set down the complete rules for finding Easter, so that "any schoolboy" deprived of prayer book and almanac, and confined in a dungeon where the moon never shines, may be able to observe the proper day. We will suppose him to be a Western Christian. For a Greek or Russian, who keep to the old style, the rules are somewhat simpler. Call the year A (1902, for example), its last two figure (02) B, and its other figures (19) C. Divide B by 4, and to twice the remainder add four times the remainder of B divided by 7. Call this sum D. Add 3 to twice the remainder of C divided by 4, and call this sum d. Add 33 to C, divide the sum by 25,