Apart From Possessing Some Of The Most Picturesque Scenery
In America, This Spot Borrows From The Glories Of Autumn Tints Of A Fairy
Brightness.
In providing for the repose of the dead, the citizens of all
denominations seemed to have vied to surpass one another.
Scarcely had the
skilful designer, Major Douglas, U.S.E., completed the laying out of the
Mount Hermon grounds, when a strong desire was manifested in all quarters
to do away with intra mural burials. In a very short time, the
Roman Catholics had selected as a cemetery the lovely old seat of the late
Mr. Justice P. Panet, on the banks of the St. Charles, whilst a few years
later the shady groves of Belmont, on the Ste. Foye road, were required
for a similar object. The ornamentation of a necropolis must naturally
be a work of time, trees do not spring up in one summer, nor do lawns
clothe themselves with a soft, green velvety surface in one season, and if
the flowers in Mount Hermon are so beautiful and so well attended to, the
secret in a measure possibly rests with the landscape gardener located at
the entrance, and who professes to furnish flowers for the adornment of
cemetery lots, and to plant and keep them fresh during the summer. The St.
Charles, St. Patrick and Belmont Cemeteries, which do not enjoy in the
same measure these facilities, cannot be expected to possess all the
rustic adornments of their elder brother. One may safely predict that ere
many summers go by, our public cemeteries, by their natural beauty, are
likely to attract crowds of strangers, as Greenwood and Mount Auburn do in
the States. Chaste monumental marbles, on which can be detected the chisel
of English, Scotch and Canadian artists, are at present noticeable all
over the grounds, tastefully laid out and smiling parterres of annuals
and perennials throw a grateful fragrance over the tomb where sleeps
mayhap a beloved parent, a kind sister, an affectionate brother, a true
friend, a faithful lover. How forcibly all this was brought to our minds
recently on strolling through the shady walks of Mount Hermon. Under the
umbrageous trees, perfumed by roses and lilies, tombs, [239] silent,
innumerable tombs on all sides, on marble, the names of friends, kindred,
acquaintances, solemn stillness all round us, at our feet the placid
course of our majestic flood. There were indeed many friends round us,
though invisible, nay, on counting over the slumberers, we found we had
more, though not dearer friends, in this abode of peace than within the
walls of yonder city. Overpowered by mournful, though soothing thoughts,
we walked along pondering over those truthful reflections of Washington
Irving: -
"There is a voice from the tomb sweeter than song, there is a
recollection of the dead to which we turn ever from the charms of the
living Oh, the grave! the grave! It buries every error, covers every
defect, extinguishes every resentment. From its peaceful bosom spring
none but fond regrets and tender recollections.
Enter page number
PreviousNext
Page 257 of 451
Words from 134570 to 135077
of 236821
