ii8 THE GRANITE MONTHLY.
ground, and turned it over to find the inscription and date. There are only- two letters, *' J. U.," which look as though they had been scratched with a nail.
On a cross-road, I visited what is known as the " Parker Cemetery," because of the tomb which is built here, containing the remains of James Parker, a native of Litchfield, who left a fund for the support of the gospel in the Pres- byterian Society in that place. It is a plain, granite tomb of solid blocks, with a marble column above, on which is inscribed : —
" ERECTED
TO THE MEMORY OF
JAMES PARKER
DONOR OF
THE PARKER FUND
TO THE
PRESBYTERIAN SOCIETY
OF THIS TOWN
WHO DIED NOV. 12 1866
^r 56"
I presume it is safe to conclude that the inscription doesn't mean what it says, namely, that the town died November 12, 1866. There is only one old stone here of any interest, and this is moss grown but little. There is a horrible looking death's head, empty eye sockets, and grinning teeth, and around this are arranged arm and leg bones ! The inscription is : —
��PETER HARVELL,
5 YEARS OLD
1750"
A frightful looking stone to mark the resting place of an innocent child.
The next cemetery I visited is in Londonderry. It is beautifully situated on an eminence, and noble old elms are scattered around and before the gate. I found here the only Masonic emblems I ever saw in an old grave-yard. The stone is marble, and the temple, square, and compass are enclosed in a medallion ; below we read : —
" HENRY MOOR M. A. DEPARTED THIS LIFE FEB. 14 1798 iETAT 34 "
There are a large number of old slate gravestones, but all are upright, and luardly one is moss-grown. They range from 1776 to 1805. I did not see as much as I could wish of this burial place, owing to the following circumstance. I was trying to decipher the epitaph on an old flat stone, which is supported by four columns about a foot from the ground. It is moss grown, dirty, and almost illegible. As I leaned over it, I heard a slight rustle in the grass behind me, a little louder rustle, and then a decided hiss-s-s ! I turned my head to see a large, black snake angrily advancing toward me. I stamped my foot, but he only hissed louder, and came nearer. I tried to strike him, but he reared his wicked looking head so ferociously that I judged " discretion to be the better part of valor," and went out. I learned subsequently that these snakes are the terror of the people visiting the cemetery, a gentleman having
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