Nice Hat, Kid

Someone in this photo is a teeny bit overdressed:

More adorable kids in hats@ Harvard Visual Information Access.

Murder in America

Readers of this blog may be interested in Jill Lepore's most recent piece in The New Yorker: Rap Sheet: Why is America So Murderous?

Please note the reference to the Lydia Beadle gravestone.

Name of the Day

Begat Eggleston

According to the vital records of Windsor, CT, Begat Eggleston was "nere 100 yer ould" when he died in 1674. This seems slightly unlikely to me, in part because his youngest child, Benjamin, was born only 21 years before. Then again, perhaps Begat lived up to his name and kept on begetting until he was nearly 80.

Begat fathered at least 7 children while living in Windsor: Thomas (b. 1638), Marcy (b. 1641), Sarah (b. 1643), Rebecca (b. 1644), Abigail (b. 1648), Joseph (b. 1651), and Benjamin (b. 1653). It is entirely possible that he had other children born when the people of Windsor were living in their first settlement (Dorchester, MA) or their place of origin (Dorchester, Dorset, England).

In Albion's Seed, David Hackett Fischer argued that Puritan parents occasionally named their children by opening the Bible at random and placing a finger at random on the page. I'm not sure whether I believe that, but it would be a good explanation for Begat Eggleston.

Sadly, while Begat had many heirs, he had no namesakes.

"Euphemisms for Death and Murder"

 
Wikipedia has quite an impressive entry on the subject.
 

In Which A Moral Panic Overtakes Us

See here, you whippersnappers. This newfangled fellytone will be the downfall of our society! Before you know it, you young rascals will be ringing up our daughters and whispering scandalous things in their ears, all without parental supervision!

Gone are the days when a gentleman did his courting in his lady's parlor under the watchful eyes of half a dozen relatives. No longer does the accumulated wisdom of the community steer couples as they try to earn each other's commitment. No — it's all gadding about  on those infernal bicycles and going to the moving picture shows. Where will it end?


Photo via Mustaches of the Nineteenth Century. My apologies to the bespectacled gentleman, who may have been a bicycle enthusiast himself.

101 Ways, Part 107: Passed Away

For a brief intro to the "101 Ways to Say 'Died'" series, click here.

"Passed away" is one of the most common euphemisms for "died" in modern American English. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, phrasal verbs such as "pass away," "pass onward," and "pass hence" have been used as synonyms for "die" since the 14th century. The earliest usages refer to the life or soul leaving the body, but by the 18th century, "passed away" definitely meant "died."

Yet, I have not seen very many New England epitaphs that say that the deceased "passed away." The earliest example I can find is from 1866:

It seems possible that "passed away" may not have been in common usage in New England before the 19th century. By the time New Englanders started using the phrase (mid 19th c.?), they were writing shorter epitaphs that often recorded vital dates without any verbs at all.

I don't know why this might be, though. The OED finds the phrase in all the major works of English literature (Chaucer, Shakespeare, etc.) and it's used several times in the King James Bible. Admittedly, most of the Biblical usages refer to physical movement, but there are enough death-related verses that I would expect people who know 101 ways to say died to pick up on them:

• Job 34:20 — In a moment shall they die, and the people shall be troubled at midnight, and pass away: and the mighty shall be taken away without hand.
• Psalms 78:39 —  For he remembered that they were but flesh; a wind that passeth away, and cometh not again.
• Ecclesiastes 1:4 — One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh: but the earth abideth for ever.
• Luke 21:32 — Verily I say unto you, This generation shall not pass away, till all be fulfilled.

I don't know why they chose not to put this on gravestones.

101 Ways, Part 106: Passed Onward

For a brief intro to the "101 Ways to Say 'Died'" series, click here.

Olin E. Webster

d. 1856

Plymouth, MA

OLIN E.

Son of Dr. Ervin & Harriet W. Webster;

passed onward Aug. 28, 1856,

aged 4 years 1 mon. & 20 days.

This transcription comes from Benjamin Drew's Burial Hill. I do not know whether this stone still exists, though I suspect that it may be illegible if it does. Time has not been kind to the marble monuments of Plymouth.

Happy Birthday, Ben!

My brother is 24 today.

101 Ways, Part 105: Left This World

For a brief intro to the "101 Ways to Say 'Died'" series, click here.

Mary Emerson

d. 1784

Pepperell, MA

Be wise to day, tis madness to defer

Erected to Ye Memory of

Miss MARY EMERSON,

only Daughter of Ye,

Revd JOSEPH EMERSON

& Mrs. ABIGAIL his wife,

who in hopes of a better

Left this World June 20th; 1784

in the 33d Year of her age.

Though the righteous be

prevented by death it

Shall be well with him

for wisdom is Ye gray hair

unto man, & an . . .

This is a combination of two themes — leaving the world and exchanging this world for a better:

• #12: Went Rejoycing Out of This World
• #22: Departed From This In Hope of a Better Life
  
• #27: Bid Farewell to This World
• #73: Exchanged This for a Better Life

Don't Light a Torch on Michael Wigglesworth's Grave

Today's Maine Sunday Telegram features a story about Walter Skold, founder of the Dead Poets Society of America. Skold visits the graves of American poets, documenting them and occasionally leaving poems and trinkets.

My favorite part of the article was this anecdote from Skold's visit to Michael Wigglesworth's grave in Malden:

Visiting a graveyard at night can be a dicey proposition and requires special permission. Skold learned that lesson the hard way last year on Halloween when he was nearly arrested in Malden, Mass., where he and his son lit torches at the tomb of the Rev. Michael Wigglesworth, Puritan author of the "Day of Doom."
"Little did I know that there was a little woman who watches over the cemetery and she told the police that there were people performing satanic rituals," he said.

Back from Acadia

Some pictures below the fold, mostly for the benefit of any parents who may be reading this blog.

Acadia National Park

In celebration of my birthday, Pete and I are spending the weekend in Acadia National Park. This is the one weekend in the year during which I cannot go gravestoning without getting suspicious looks and visits from groundskeepers/police/passersby, so we are spending some time in the woods instead. The weather is lovely and the trees are only slightly past their peak.

Happy Halloween!

Thomas Kendel

Wakefield, Ma

c. 1680

Name of the Day

Reverend Mr. Supply Clap

d. 1747

buried in Burlington, MA

Slate on "Gravers"

Yesterday, Slate published an article on people who visit graveyards for fun. Most of the article is devoted to people who volunteer for Find A Grave, who apparently call themselves "gravers."

It's sort of a strange article. The author repeatedly supports his interview subject in the belief that visiting graveyards is something to be embarrassed about. "It's not surprising that Cara feels she needs to make excuses for hanging around a cemetery," writes Adrian Chen, though he never really digs into the cultural assumptions that might make him think that's an obvious conclusion. He has a paragraph or two about Mount Auburn and the rural cemetery movement, but is not very reflective about the place of cemeteries in 21st-century America. Chen maintains an air of good-natured bewilderment throughout and ends by implying that "gravers" should find something better to do with their time.

It's all very silly. Chen is a humor writer and I suppose that this article has some appeal from a "look at these whackos" point of view. Plus, Halloween. Still, it's weak as a humorous piece because Chen discovers that the gravers are actually pretty normal. It's weak as a news piece because it is unreflective and doesn't get to the heart of the matter. Why do people do this? Why do you think it's a weird thing to do? What does that tell you about our society?

In all, harmless, but I might turn the final question back on Chen: "You don't have anything better to do than this?"

Dramatis Personae +1

Let us add

Captain Ponsonby Molesworth

to our dramatis personae.

UPDATE:
Read more about Captain Molesworth over at Boston 1775.

1775 or 1794?

In my recent post about the Daniel Malcom gravestone, I argued that I could conclusively date the stone to the autumn of 1769 based on a description that appeared in the Essex Gazette in November of that year. The implication was that other stones bearing pro-Whig sentiments may also have been erected shortly after the honorees' deaths. If so, stones dedicated to people who died in 1775 would have stood as public monuments throughout the war years.

I have since discovered a gravestone that might challenge this dating: the Charles Pratt Marston stone in Burlington.

Enemies to Their Country*

As dusk fell on October 28, 1769, Misses Ame and Betsy Cuming hurried to lock their modest house against the gathering darkness, hoping that doors and shutters would keep them safe until morning. Alone in their flimsy fortress, the sisters huddled together, “trimbling lick Co[wa]rds,” straining to hear beyond the ordinary sounds of night. They did not wait long. The click of hobnails on cobblestones, the rattle of a cart, and groans of agony announced the arrival of unwelcome visitors. Peering through a darkened window, Betsy beheld a ghastly tableau: a sea of twinkling candles illuminated a moaning man who lay on her doorstep “in a Gore of Blood,” surrounded by a thousand men and boys. As Betsy watched, the crowd “aranged themselves befor [her] door” and positioned the broken body under her window, where they doused it with steaming tar and a flurry of feathers. Betsy did not recognize the sufferer, but feared for her friends and their families. As the armed men melted back into the night, they called “to all the inhabitance to put Candles in their Windows” to show their support for the mob. Betsy watched, helpless, as her neighbors’ windows flashed with blazing assent.