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Markers V

THE JOURNAL OF

THE ASSOCIATION FOR

GRAVESTONE STUDIES

UNIVERSITY
PRESS OF
AMERICA

CONNECTICUT GRAVESTONES.
SUITE #264

36 TAMARACK AVENUE
DANBURY, CT 06811

Markers V

Journal of
the Association for
Gravestone Studies

Edited by

Theodore Chase

LANHAM • NEW YORK • LONDON

University Press of America, ® Inc.

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Lanham, MD 20706

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Printed in the United States of America

British Cataloging in Publication Information Available

"Md. by Thomas Gold: The Gravestones of a New England Carver"
copyright © 1988 by Meredith M. Williams and Gray Williams, Jr.

ISBN (Perfect): 0-8191-6869-6 (pbk. : alk. paper)

ISBN (Cloth): 0-8191-6868-8 (alk. paper)

LCN: 81-642903

All University Press of America books are produced on acid-firee

paper which exceeds the minimum standards set by the National

Historical Publications and Records Commission.

ASSOCIATION FOR GRAVESTONE STUDIES
EDITORIAL BOARD

Theodore Chase, Editor
David Walters, Associate Editor

John L. Brooke James A. Slater

Jessie Lie Farber Richard F. Welch

Manuscripts may be submitted for review to Theodore Chase, 74 Farm
Street, Dover, Massachusetts 02030. Manuscripts should conform, so far as
possible, to The Chicago Manual of Style and may be accompanied by glossy
black and white photographs or black ink drawings, tables or maps. For in-
formation about other Association for Gravestone Studies publications,
membership and activities, write to Rosalee Oakley, Executive Director, 46
Plymouth Road, Needham, Massachusetts 02192.

The editor wishes to thank the members of the editorial board, and par-
ticularly his predecessor, David Watters, for their advice and help in the
selection and editing of articles for this edition of the journal. The editor is
grateful to Carol Davidson for preparing the copy and layout.

Articles appearing in this journal are annotated and indexed in Historical
Abstracts and America: History and Life.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Page

"Md. by Thomas Gold": The Gravestones of a New Haven Carver 1

Meredith M. Williams and Gray Williams, Jr.
Pennsylvania German Gravestones: An Introduction 60

Thomas E. Graves
Early Pennsylvania Gravemarkers 96

Photographs and text by Daniel and Jessie Lie Farber
Ontario Gravestones 122

Darrell A. Norris
Research Report on the Graveyards of Kings County, Nova Scotia 150

Deborah Trask and Debra McNabb
Poems in Stone: The Tombs of Louis Henri Sullivan 168

Robert A. Wright
Seven Initial Carvers of Boston 1700-1725 210

Theodore Chase and Laurel K. Gabel
Contributors 233

Index 235

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Figure 1. Elizabeth Sinclair, 1785, New Haven.
Unless otherwise noted, all stones are attributed to Thomas Gold, and are in
Connecticut.

"MD. BY THOS. GOLD":
THE GRAVESTONES OF A NEW HAVEN CARVER

Meredith M. Williams and Gray Williams, Jr.

In the middle of New Haven, Connecticut, across Grove Street from the
campus of Yale University, lies the New Haven Burying Ground, better
known as the Grove Street Cemetery. It was founded in 1796, and most of
its graves are of the 19th and 20th centuries. But it also contains a substan-
tial number of earlier gravestones, some erected in the cemetery itself, some
propped up against the northern and western walls. These were moved from
an earlier burying ground on New Haven Green, a couple of blocks away,
and make up one of the largest collections of 18th-century stones in Con-
necticut.

Many of these stones, dating from the 1770s to 1800, share a distinctive,
easily recognizable style (figure 1). The carving is simple, linear, and highly
styHzed, yet skillful and refined. The head of the soul effigy is a smooth,
symmetrical oval - nearly round in earlier examples, narrower and more
egg-shaped in later ones. Within this frame, the features are relatively small,
the close-set eyes and narrow, unsmiling mouth conveying a rather worried-
looking expression. The feathers of the flanking wings are rendered as curv-
ing parallel bands, decorated with a pattern of repeated S- or C-shaped inci-
sions. Between the shoulders of the wings, and sometimes touching them, is
fitted the "Crown of Righteousness" typical of Connecticut carving. The in-
scription is usually bordered on each side by a panel containing a foliage
design: a fern fiddlehead at the top, surmounting stylized buds and leaves.
The same design continues across the base, in the middle of which is a
small, neat heart (figure 2).

To find the name of this carver is not difficult. In the former chapel of
the cemetery, now its office, is preserved his single signed stone (figure 3).
A fairly elaborate example of his work, it is the memorial of Caleb
Hotchkiss, killed in a punitive raid by the British in 1779. Below the main
inscription appears "Md. by Thos. Gold."

Figure 2. Detail of Elizabeth Sinclair stone, showing heart design
in bottom border.

a reputable Citizen, and |
la man of Religion.whoj
I was flain. by the enerip|
\; when they inveOed- : 7
land plundered thelbwn
»5of NewHaven.Jiily ^^
I the f^'A) I77Q. in the68 \
l^JYear of Iiis ag'e.

H M^ by-tbofCold '^

Figure 3. Caleb Hotchkiss, 1779, New Haven. Signed by Thomas Gold.
Rubbing by Anne Williams and Susan Kelly.

Thomas Gold was a popular and prolific carver. There are almost 170 of
his stones at the Grove Street Cemetery alone, and his work is strongly rep-
resented in the graveyards of New Haven and Fairfield counties, with sub-
stantial groups as far off as Woodbury in Litchfield County to the north, and
Long Island, New York, to the south. We have counted well over 600
stones that can be safely attributed to him, and our list is not complete (see
Table 1). Moreover, the fragmentary nature of several of these stones sug-
gests that there may once have been many more than now survive. Without
question. Gold was the leading sculptor of this particular area in the last
part of the 18th century.

Surprisingly little has been written or published about Gold. In 1974
Morris Abbott outlined the main elements of his style, in a pamphlet based
on the stones in the Milford Cemetery.^ In 1976, David Corrigan published
a biographical sketch,^ and later provided further information to Richard
Welch, included in the latter's study of Long Island gravestones.-' Perhaps
most important of all, the indefatigable Ernest Caulfield made extensive ob-
servations of Gold's work, and did invaluable research on Gold's probated
stones; his notes were unpublished at his death, but fortunately have been
preserved by James Slater.'*

But none of these researchers attempted an evaluation of Gold's entire
career, or of the variations in his style (such as his excursion into neoclas-
sicism, in his last years). None attempted to identify the influence of the
carver Michael Baldwin on Gold's early career, or the significant influence
of Gold, in turn, upon the neoclassic carver David Ritter. And none at-
tempted to separate Gold's own work from that of possible associates and
imitators. This essay is intended to fill in some of the gaps, and to
demonstrate Gold's place in the history of Connecticut carving.

The Documentary Record

Thomas Gold was not a prominent person in ISth-century Connecticut.
Only a few documents, such as census reports, church birth and death
records, and land and estate records, provide us with sketchy details of his
life and career. He was born in the coastal town of Stratford in 1733.^ He
came from a family of ministers: his father, Hezekiah, was a Congregational

minister in Stratford, and his mother, Mary Ruggles, was the daughter of the
Reverend Thomas Ruggles of Guilford. His only brother, Hezekiah, two
years his senior, led a congregation in Cornwall. Thomas, however, did not
train for the ministry, and consequently did not attend Harvard (as his
father had) or follow his brother to Yale.^ In 1755, he married Anna (or
Anne) Smith of Redding, and lived there at least until the death of his
father in 1761; the latter's will mentions a "son Thomas at Redding."^ Some
time after, he moved to nearby Danbury; from there, in 1772, he moved to
New Haven.^

Gold arrived in the company of a congregation of Sandemanians ~ that
is, followers of Scottish theologian Robert Sandeman.' At the time of his
death, the inventory of Gold's possessions listed "2 vol. Theron," referring to
Letters on Theron and Aspasio, Sandeman's most influential treatise, pub-
lished in 1757.^° Essentially fundamentalists, the Sandemanians rejected the
concept of a salaried ministry. Instead, they established independent con-
gregations led by groups of "elders," basing their services upon the literal
reconstruction of devotional practices described in the Bible. They also in-
sisted that their members give to charity all but the most essential portion of
their income.^^

The Sandemanians discouraged communication with other denomina-
tions. The rift between their church and the orthodox Christian community
is evident in a Connecticut Journal advertisement of March 5, 1773, which
announced "Proposals for Reprinting by Subscription, a Discourse on Jus-
tification by Faith Alone by Reverend Jonathan Edwards, esteemed by the
best judges to be an excellent antidote to many erroneous doctrines
prevalent in the country, both Arminian and Sandemanian." ^^ Moreover,
Sandemanian adherence to scriptural commandments regarding obedience
to rulers would translate, during the Revolution, into continued loyalty to
the Crown, causing further conflict between the sect and its Connecticut
neighbors.^-'

Gold probably belonged to one of the "Dozen Sandemanian Families"
reported by Ezra Stiles to have settled in New Haven in the spring of 1772,
under the leadership of elders Titus Smith and Theophilus Chamberlain,
both Yale-educated ministers.^"* Gold was closely affiliated with Chamber-

lain, with whom he purchased a small lot in 1774, presumably a storefront,
as it was only 30 feet wide and faced the Town Street.^^ In a lawsuit brought
against Sam Spelman of Wallingford, the two men referred to themselves as
"Gold and Chamberlain, Merchants in Company," and a biography of
Chamberlain confirms that he "kept a country store for a short time (in
company with Thomas Gold in 1774)."^^

But about the same time. Gold was also carving gravestones. The 1775
probate record for the estate of Abner Judson (who died in 1774) includes
the following: "Paid to Thomas Gold for gravestones," and the amount: 3
pounds, 18 shillings. ^^

It is quite likely that, like other carvers. Gold supported himself with
more than one occupation. For instance, fellow stonecutter Michael
Baldwin, who was established in New Haven from about 1769, was at the
same time a blacksmith, rate collector, tavern keeper, real estate investor,
and landlord. Baldwin did very well from his combined occupations. In ad-
dition to large land holdings, he left an estate worth 1510 pounds at his
death in 1781}^

In 1777, the Sandemanians rejected a demand by the Connecticut legisla-
ture that they pledge to refuse aid to the British military effort. There is no
evidence that the Sandemanians had actually collaborated with the British,
but they wouldn't promise not to. As a result, many were forced to leave
New Haven for British-occupied New York.^^ Gold may have been one of
the group of Sandemanians who were reported by Ezra Stiles to be
"embarking for Long Island" in November.^"

That Gold did indeed leave Connecticut during the war is at least sug-
gested by the probate record for John Brooks of Stratford, who died in
March 1777 (See Appendix A). The stone Gold carved for him (figure 6)
can safely be assigned to this period, as will be shown later. But Gold did
not get paid for his work until 1788; perhaps the long delay was in part the
result of extended absence from the area.

Gold appears to have returned to Connecticut even before the war for-
mally ended. Probate records indicate that he was paid to carve a stone for
Edward Hawley of Stratford in 1782. He received payment for the stone of
Samuel Willcockson, or Wilcoxson, the following year, and the probate

records document eleven more payments from customers in the New Haven
area, right up until the year of Gold's own death in 1800. Incidentally, the
spellings in these records suggest strongly that his name may have been
pronounced "Gould" (see Appendix A).

After the war. Gold appears to have settled again in New Haven. Land
records of 1789 show a transaction between Gold and Mary MacLean of
Windsor, for "a certain brick house in the city of New Haven," located on
Fleet Street, which extended from the corner of what are now State and
George Streets.^^ This house can be traced back in land records through
Mary MacLean's family; it can also be found on the 1748 plan of New
Haven, under the name of one of her ancestors, John Prout. The following
year, 1790, Gold relinquished one sixth of his claim to "Mary (Sloan) Mac-
Clean,"^^ but he continued to occupy the house. Described as Gold's dwell-
ing in the inventory of his possessions at his death,^^ it was probably his
workshop as well, for it contained "Grave Stones, [valued at] 40 [pounds];"
as well as "2 Hammers, Gimblets and Brush," valued at 2 shillings
altogether; "one Stone," possibly a grindstone, "3 [shillings];" and "Engraving
Tools, 9 [shillings]."

In 1796, Gold also purchased, for 30 pounds, five acres on "ye Oyster
Point;"^ he may have been attempting to supplement his income by engag-
ing in the oyster trade that developed after the war.^ In any event, he sold
the land two years later, at a profit of five pounds.^^

Gold died March 22, 1800, at the age of (flP His estate was valued at
221 pounds, 12 shillings - a relatively small amount, compared with the es-
tate of Michael Baldwin 13 years earlier. Gold was evidently not as active a
businessman, and perhaps he had taken to heart the Sandemanian admoni-
tion not to "lay up treasures on earth." He was survived only briefly by his
wife, who died two months later.^ There is no record of any children, al-
though the 1790 census lists a second white female (possibly a servant) in
the household.^^

Figure 4. Abner Judson, 1774, Stratford. Probated stone.

Early Works -- The Baldwin Influence

The stone for Abner Judson (figure 4), for which Gold was paid in 1775,
is the eariiest existing stone for which a probate record is available. It is the
work of an already accomplished, fully professional carver, and how Gold
came to such command of his craft is something of a mystery. The only
stones that might be described as novice works form a group of about half a
dozen small examples located in Danbury (where Gold lived up to 1772)
and in nearby Bethel. They are all made of a coarse, pinkish-gray local
stone, which was probably cheap, and would have made good practice
material. It was not very durable, though, and weathering has made most of
these stones almost totally illegible.

The best-preserved of this group, the stone for Eliakim Davis in Bethel
(figure 5), closely resembles the Abner Judson stone in design. It is much
smaller, though, and its surface, even before weathering, must have been
very rough. It is dated 1776, and none of the others in the group carries a
date earlier than 1774. If these do indeed represent early works, carved
before Gold moved to New Haven, then he must have lettered them years

later ~ possibly when he got customers for them from among his former
neighbors.

The Abner Judson stone has Gold's typical foliage border, described ear-
her. The soul effigy, however, differs from Gold's usual style. Similar effigies
appear on several other stones of the 1770s, such as the probated stone for
John Brooks, who died in 1777 (figure 6); the stone for Gold's sister Hulda
Curtis and her infant daughter, who died in 1765 (figure 7); and the multi-
effigy stone for the six children of his sister Mary Tomlinson, bearing the
date 1771 (figure 8). The faces, and even more so the wings, of these effigies
strongly resemble the work of Michael Baldwin (figures 9-11). Baldwin was
15 years Gold's senior, and had been an established stonecutter in New
Haven since 1769. It would have been quite natural for Gold to have
modeled his early work on Baldwin's, as much to maximize his chances of
selling his own work as to master the gravestone craft.

V.t'^*^lw

Figure 5. Eliakim Davis, 1776, Bethel.

Figure 6. John Brooks, 1777, Stratford. Probated stone.

Figure 7. Hulda Curtis and infant daughter, 1765, Stratford.

'.,- 'it

. ♦«>^. V. S»i A'rffcipi

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Figure 8. Mary Alice Tomlinson, 1771, and five other Tomlinson children,
Stratford.

There is one other styHstic element that Gold might have derived from
Baldwin: the use of linear drawing and simple, flat planes, in place of three-
dimensional modeling. Not necessarily, though: this simplified, rather
diminished style is typical of late 18th-century carving in general, and there
are plenty of other examples that Gold might have seen. It may have been
the result of economic pressures rather than lack of skill or talent - the
linear style would have been quicker to execute, and therefore more
economical. In at least one instance, as we shall see, Gold demonstrated
that he was quite capable of carving in subtle relief when he wished to do
so.

The association between Gold and Michael Baldwin may have been
closer than mere influence and imitation. Baldwin's dwelling house was on
the Town Street, as was Gold's store.^ Gold carved a stone for one of
Baldwin's sons, who died in 1776. And when Baldwin himself died, in 1787,
Gold carved his stone as well (figure 38).

Figure 9. Ebenezer Silliman, 1775, Fairfield.
Probated stone by Michael Baldwin.

Figure 10. John Miller, 1770, New Haven.
Attributed to Michael Baldwin.

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Figure 11. Job Prudden, 1774, Milford.
Attributed to Michael Baldnin.

But from the beginning, there were distinctive differences in Gold's style,
even when he was imitating Baldwin. Although the general configuration of
the faces might be similar, Gold made his features smaller in proportion to
the head, and almost never put pupils in the eyes. Furthermore, Baldwin
often extended the central septum of the nose downward in a distinctive
loop, almost suggesting a ring between the nostrils (figure 11), a device
never used by Gold. And although Gold sometimes adopted foliage borders
rather like Baldwin's (figures 5-8), they are generally simpler, and less in-
cisively carved.

The lettering styles of the two carvers, though basically similar, also differ
in recognizable ways. In general, Baldwin's lettering style (figure 10) is
broader, more spontaneous, and less uniform than Gold's. Baldwin's charac-
ters tend to be more deeply carved, with more pronounced serifs, so that the
bases of his letters, especially his f s, form triangles. Baldwin's numeral 8's
are twice the x-height, while Gold's stay within this limit. Unlike Baldwin,
Gold often carved his 5's and 3's with exaggerated diagonal slashes. Gold

often inserted a joined and italicized "AD" before the date of death, a
device seldom used by Baldwin. And whereas Gold's italic f s are nearly ver-
tical, Baldwin's slant dramatically forward.

Even more important is a difference in the basic layout of the inscrip-
tions, which results in differences in certain key letters. Both men lightly
scribed parallel rows of horizontal guidelines before starting to chisel the
characters. Weathering has often obliterated these lines, but they remain
quite evident, for example, on Baldwin's slate stone for Job Prudden (figure
11). Baldwin's guidehnes are evenly spaced, so the ascenders and descend-
ers are the same size as the x-height. Gold, apparently to separate the lines
of characters more distinctly, drew his guidelines with shortened spaces for
the ascenders and descenders. Consequently, Gold's g's and y's tend to be
noticeably shallower and stubbier than Baldwin's.

Figure 12. Rebeckah Tomlinson, 1774, Stratford.
Attributed to Michael Baldwin.

Despite these differences, there are a few works, such as the stone for
Rebeckah Tomlinson (figure 12), where it is difficult, if not impossible, to
make a firm attribution to either carver alone. Did Gold and Baldwin work
together, either as partners, or as apprentice and master? Without
documentation, one cannot say for sure.

Early Works -- Other Influences

Side by side in the Grove Street Cemetery in New Haven are the graves-
tones of John and Mary Howell, who died within three months of each
other in 1776 (figures 13 and 14). Since the stones are about the same size,
one may presume that they were carved together, as a pair. Both also dis-
play the typical Gold border, and Gold's characteristic lettering style.

The stone for John Howell is so similar, in every respect, to the probated
Abner Judson stone (figure 4) that it could be attributed to Gold on that
basis. The soul effigy on the stone for Mary Howell (figure 14), however, is
rather different. The head is larger and more oblong, and is surmounted by
a band of stylized hair. The wings do not at all resemble Baldwin's, but are
composed of parallel bands symbolizing rows of feathers, with individual
feathers suggested by repeated S-curves. In this particular example the
wings join under the chin, and are connected by a round, buttonlike knot.
Since all the other details correspond so exactly with those on the com-
panion stone, it seems safe to attribute this one to Gold as well. But it is
evident that he was following other models besides Baldwin in these early
years.

Earlier stones in the New Haven area suggest what these models might
have been. The stone for Elisabeth Willford in Branford (figure 15) is typi-
cal of a number of works by an unknown Connecticut carver active in the
1750s and 1760s. The banded wings of the soul effigy, with their S-shaped
feather marks, and the crown that fits neatly between them, are very similar
to those carved by Gold. Even more important, this carver seems to have
provided the model for Gold's distinctive foliage border. Gold's own
rendering of all these motifs, though, is at once more abstract, more refined,
and more skillful - qualities that are hallmarks of his style.

Figure 13. John Howell, 1776, New Haven.

Figure 14. Mary Howell, 1776, New Haven.
16

Figure 15. Elisabeth Willford, 1758, Branford. Carver unknown.

Another unknown artist, who carved the Roswell and Huldah Woodward
stones in East Haven (figure 16), may have given Gold the idea for the
wings joined under the chin -- or both he and Gold might have been draw-
ing from some other source. In any event, it is plain that Gold, like virtually
every other carver of his time, developed his own style by imitating and im-
provising upon the work of others, and that, in the early part of his career,
he experimented with a variety of motifs.

On the basis of the Mary Howell stone (figure 14), a number of others
dated in the 1770s can be attributed to Gold. Some resemble the Howell
stone in every detail, such as the stone for Gold's brother-in-law Agur Tom-
linson (figure 17). In some, such as the stone for David Perkins (figure 18),
the banded wings appear to sprout from the sides of the head. A few dis-
play unusual variations, such as the elaborate, turbanlike crown that appears
on the stone for Benjamin Douglas (figure 19). And although most share
Gold's typical border, some - particularly some small stones for children -
contain a quite different design: a simple, curvilinear vine-and-leaf pattern
(figure 20). This design, as we shall see later, becomes important in at-
tributing still another body of work.

Figure 16. Huldah Woodward, 1773, East Haven. Carver unknown.

Figure 17. Agur Tomlinson, 1774, Stratford.
18

WTD Perkints'
_.iecl Oc to
]C) in the
■■ of his A^c

Figure 18. David Perkins, 1776, Woodbridge.

Figure 19. Benjamin Douglas, 1775, New Haven. Detail of tympanum.

Figure 20. Elias Parmele, 1773, New Haven.
20

One stone in this style is of particular interest in light of Gold's connec-
tion with the loyalist Sandemanians. Among several memorials that Gold
carved for the Sanford family in Redding is one for Daniel Sanford and his
son Jeremiah, both of whom died in the summer of 1777 (figure 21).
Jeremiah, the inscription reads, "died a Prisoner in New York." It seems
most unlikely that Gold would have been given this commission if he had
been known as a strong supporter of the British. The stone suggests that
Gold's loyalty to the Crown may have been lukewarm at best, and that he
may have retained his personal ties to his American neighbors.

It would also explain why he was able to return to Connecticut as the war
was ending - many other New Haven Sandemanians emigrated either to
Canada or other parts of New England.^^ It might also explain why he was
able to become an even more popular carver there than before. As noted
earlier, there is probate-record evidence of his presence as early as 1782,
when he executed the stone for Edward Hawley in Stratford (figure 22), and
in 1783, when he was paid for the stone of Samuel Willcockson (figure 23).

4%
Figure 21. Daniel and Jeremiah Sanford, 1777, Redding.

The stone he carved and signed for war victim Caleb Hotchkiss (figure 3), is
very much like Willcockson's, and appears to have been done about the
same time. Perhaps Gold made a point of signing that particular stone to
demonstrate his political neutrality, and to advertise to potential customers
that he was "back in business."

These stones of the 1780s display slight but distinct changes in Gold's
style. The lettering remains much the same, except for a wider lower-case y.
The distinctive foliage border is indistinguishable from those carved earlier.
The most noticeable change is in the proportions of the soul effigy: the head
becomes narrower, and so do the features within it. The head and wings
are often set off from the rest of the stone by a deeply chiseled trench. The
crown is more widely flared, and there is the suggestion of a small heart
shape in the center, seeming to echo that in the bottom border. The feather
marks on the wings are shaped like C rather than S. And in the postwar
works, the wings, without exception, start at the sides of the head, and no
longer appear joined beneath the chin. This last is an especially important
change, as will now be shown.

Figure 22. Edward Hawley, 1782, Stratford. Probated stone.

Figure 23. Samuel Willcockson, 1783, Stratford. Probated stone.

Figure 24. Ruth Beard, 1778, Derby.
Attributed to the Derby Carver.

The "Derby Carver"

There are at least 60 stones that can be safely identified as Gold's work
up through 1777 (see Table 1, p. 54). More than 70 others bear dates as
early as these, but are plainly in Gold's postwar style, and presumably back-
dated. In addition, there is still another group of some 48 stones, bearing
dates from 1773 to 1788, which in the past have usually been attributed to
Gold.^^ For several reasons we question this attribution, and believe that
the stones should be assigned to another carver.

The most striking characteristic of the group as a whole (figures 24-30) is
the face shape of the soul effigy. The head is quite round, with a narrow,
almost pointed chin. The eyes, particularly in the later examples, are much
larger, and the nose broader, than the same features in Gold's work. Al-
though the overall effect does not look radically different from the various
soul-effigy forms carved by Gold himself, it is nonetheless distinctive.

Another different motif is a border that appears on several of these
stones (figure 24). Superficially, it looks like the curved vine designs that
Gold occasionally used (figures 20, 31, 32), but comparison shows that it is
far more angular, spiky, and crude in execution.

In one other aspect of design, these stones depart at least partly from
Gold's work. On every stone in this group, from early to late, and without
exception, the wings meet under the chin in a buttonlike knot. The same
design can be found on a number of Gold's prewar stones (figures 14, 17,
21), but we have never found it on any of his stones dated after 1777,

There are also some slight but recognizable differences in lettering style.
The bells of letters such as lower-case p and b, and capital D, are widened
and flattened at the bottom ~ giving them a rather bottom-heavy look.
Capital A tends to be somewhat wider, and has a higher crossbar than is
usual on Gold's stones. Capital H is definitely wider, and its crossbar never
displays the "star" motif that Gold often uses. Particularly distinctive is
lower-case italic h: it is so rounded at the bottom that it could easily be
taken for b.

In general, the lettering in this group of stones seems to be somewhat
sloppier and more prone to error than the lettering on stones that can be at-
tributed to Gold. Not that Gold did not make mistakes. On the stone for

his sister Hulda, for instance (figure 7), he left out the r in "memory," and
made no effort to correct it. Likewise, on the stone for Daniel and Jeremiah
Sanford (figure 21), "his" is misspelled "whis," again with no effort at cover-
up or correction. Nonetheless, the lettering in this special group seems to
have an even higher proportion of errors, combined with a tendency to cor-
rect them with clumsy overwriting, as, for example, on the stone for
Elizabeth Royce (figure 25).

Finally, although probated stones form only a small percentage of the
hundreds of works that can be ascribed to Gold, it is perhaps significant that
not one of them is in the style of this special group. In any event, all the
evidence adds up to suggest that these stones are by another hand.

But we do not know whose hand it might be, and we must acknowledge
that this other artist must have been closely associated with Gold, at least in
the 1770s. The stylistic differences in such elements as lettering are subtle
rather than obvious, and there are several early works by the unknown car-
ver that include such Gold "trademarks" as his foliage border, topped with
fern fiddleheads (figure 25).

Moreover, at least one stone, the stone for Mindwell Rice (figure 26) ap-
pears to have a design carved by Gold, but lettering in the style of the
unknown carver. Conversely, the elaborate stone for Anne Williams (figure
27) has the soul effigy typical of the unknown carver, but it also has the
typical Gold border, and its long inscription seems to have been lettered by
Gold. Our belief is that the unknown carver worked with Gold at least oc-
casionally before the war, but then struck out completely on his own.

This hypothesis is given some support by evidence from geography and
dating (see Table 1). Stones of the 1770s by the unknown carver appear in
a number of graveyards in and around New Haven. In some places, such as
New Haven itself. East Haven, and Wallingford, the unknown carver and
Gold are both well represented. But other graveyards which contain a num-
ber of early Gold stones have few or none by the unknown carver; these in-
clude Stratford, Woodbridge, Danbury, and Redding. And still others con-
tain several works of the unknown carver, but few or no early works by
Gold himself; these include North Haven, Northford, Fairfield, and Derby.

• - w.

f\| In JV/femoi
' P^lizabi:tha

.**-K^'-i' - •«S'%.'SI??,i,. . '

Figure 25. Elizabeth Royce, 1775, Wallingford. Attributed to the Derby
Carver. Photograph by Daniel and Jessie Lie Farber.

Figure 26. Mindwell Rice, 1776, Meriden. Decoration attributed to
Thomas Gold. Lettering attributed to the Derby Carver. Photograph by
Daniel and Jessie Lie Farber.

Figure 27. Anne Williams, 1776, Northford. Decoration attributed to the
Derby Carver. Lettering attributed to Thomas Gold.

IP^-l^^.w^.-:^^:;'.-./ .•:/»

Figure 28. Joseph Hull, 1775, Derby. Attributed to the Derby Carver.

Derby stands out in particular. The Old Burying Ground there contains
half a dozen stones by this carver, and no early stones by Gold at all. One
stone, moreover, the elaborate memorial for Joseph Hull (figure 28), is
among the finest examples of the unknown artist's work. We therefore call
him, for convenience, the Derby Carver.

After the war, when Gold's work turns up in a much wider range of Con-
necticut communities, stones by the Derby Carver appear almost entirely in
New Haven, plus single examples in East Haven and Milford (figure 30).
There are none at all dated after 1788, whereas Gold kept on carving right
up to 1800. Moreover, the Derby Carver's stones of the 1780s are much
more uneven in quality than those carved before the war, whereas Gold's
own work became even more expert and refined.

Figure 29. Wilhelmus Stoothoff, 1783, Brooklyn, New York. Attributed to
the Derby Carver. Photograph by Richard Welch.

There is also some rather special evidence from New York. In the
general vicinity of New York City, there is a small group of stones by the
Derby Carver, bearing dates from 1778 to 1783 (figure 29). In contrast,
there are no corresponding stones that can be attributed to Gold himself
(see Table 1). It appears that although Gold may have gone to New York
during the war, he may not have done any carving there; whereas his as-
sociate - whether or not he was a Sandemanian - not only relocated in
New York, but continued to carve there at least until 1783.

Figure 30. Susannah Miles, 1788, Milford.
Attributed to the Derby Carver.

This is a subject that needs further research - especially in areas such as
New York and western Connecticut where the Derby Carver may have
worked on his own, and where he seems to have had a number of imitators.
Further documentary research might still produce his name, or else incon-
trovertible proof that we are mistaken, and that Gold himself was the carver
of these stones. From the evidence available to us, however, we judge that
virtually all of them are the work of an early associate of Gold, who worked
with him before the war, went to New York during the war to continue carv-
ing independently, and returned to New Haven afterward, ending his career
in the late 1780s.

Postwar Works

As mentioned earlier, probate records place Gold back in Connecticut in
1782. We do not know whether he went straight back to New Haven; there
is no record of his having bought property there until 1789. The probated
stones of 1782 and 1783 are both for citizens of Gold's home town of
Stratford; perhaps he settled there for awhile.

But without question, he became even more active as a carver than he
had been before the war. There are 60 stones of the 1770s that can be at-
tributed to him; from the postwar years, between 1782 and 1800, the num-
ber approaches 600 (see Table 1).

It is evident that Gold's reputation spread more widely as well. His work
of the 1770s is largely concentrated in those communities where he lived
and had personal contacts: New Haven, where he first established himself as
a professional carver; his home town of Stratford; the village of Redding,
where he lived for several years following his marriage; and Danbury, where
he lived before moving to New Haven. But substantial numbers of his
postwar stones appear in many other communities of New Haven and Fair-
field Counties, including Branford, East Haven, West Haven, North Haven,
Northford, Woodbridge, Bethany, Milford, Shelton, and Newtown. They also
turn up over a much wider area, including several across Long Island Sound
in Suffolk County, New York.

The main elements of Gold's postwar style have already been sum-
marized. In general, his work of the 1780s and 1790s shows greater profes-

sional polish and standardization. He no longer carved imitations of
Michael Baldwin, except for occasional footstones (figure 31). He did
design a new and even more graceful curved-vine border design, with
tendrils ending in three leaves or berries; he used it mainly on relatively
small works such as footstones and the memorials for children (figure 32).
On stones of the later 1780s and after, he sometimes used much simpHfied
borders (figure 33), or none at all.

One unusual and rather curious design that appears on a few of Gold's
postwar stones is a pair of joined heads (figure 32), used exclusively for the
double memorials of children. What the source and meaning (if any) of this
device were we do not know; it seems to convey a rather touching sense of
spiritual kinship. Perhaps, though. Gold used it simply to cut down on the
amount of carving needed for two complete images.

Figure 31. Footstone for Alice Wyatt, Fairfield.

Figure 32. Mary Gilbert, 1758, and Rebecca Gilbert, 1776, New Haven.

Figure 33. Lydia Thompson, 1786, New Haven.
33

The lettering on the postwar stones is somewhat more even and uniform,
but continues to be unusually afflicted with typographical errors. The
problem arose out of Gold's customary working procedure: he appears not
to have laid out his inscriptions in advance. Instead, he "wrote with the
chisel," usually starting at a fixed left margin, and adjusting the spacing be-
tween letters and words as he went along. It is a tribute to his craftsman-
ship that the results turned out as well as they did.

Sometimes Gold made a kind of first draft, engraving the inscription
lightly, and then going back over it, to correct any mistakes the second time
around (figure 34). Sometimes, if the lettering was carved lightly, he could
"erase" a mistake by grinding down the area in which it occurred and then
carving over it. But he could almost never conceal the insertion of a missing
letter (figure 35), and sometimes his corrections are embarrassingly crude
(figure 36).

s^k'" ^

a^'Wm^i

Figure 34. Thomas Beecher, 1787, Woodbridge. Detail of inscription.

Figure 35. Mabel Bradley, 1798, Woodbridge.

31.. -A^ V • ,♦,-' ' \ i-

■■:■* V. -' :

Figure 36. Ebenezer Sherman, 1764, Stratford.
35

Economics played a part: the bigger and more expensive stones generally
contain fewer errors. On some of these, all or part of the inscription is cen-
tered, which probably required more advance preparation, and provided
more opportunity to catch mistakes before they were, quite literally,
engraved in stone. But there are exceptions even here. For example. Gold
was commissioned to carve a fairly imposing set of headstones and
footstones for Ebenezer and Esther Hickok of Bethel. It is plausible that
Gold received his intructions in writing, and misread the family name as
"Hiekok." He rendered it thus, in unambiguous capitals, and then had to
amend it, on all four stones (figure 37).

As before the war. Gold carved quite a range of stones, in terms of both
size and complexity of design. The simplest were footstones, and modest
stones for small children. At the other end of the scale were tablets that
were larger and more elaborate than just about any he carved earlier. One
of these is the monument for the carver who originally inspired him,
Michael Baldwin (figure 38). As on other large stones, the usual crown is
replaced by a stylized keystone, so that the tympanum recalls the broken-
pediment form often used in rococo architecture; this is in fact a device that
Gold borrowed from Baldwin (figure 9).

Particularly in Gold's postwar work, certain verses turn up over and over.
Some of these were part of the standard repertoire, such as the verse often
appearing on monuments for children:

Sleep, lovely babe, and take thy rest.

God called thee home because He thought it best.

But in some instances, the choice may reflect Gold's personal taste, such as
the following quotation from Revelations (XIV, 13), which appears, either
complete or abridged, on many of Gold's stones:

Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord. Even so, saith the Spirit,
for they rest in their labors and their works shall follow them.

Figure 37. Ebenezer Hickock, 1774, Bethel.

Figure 38. Michael Baldwin, 1787, New Haven.

And there is at least one verse for which we have been unable to find either
a literary source (other than a general reference to Revelations), or any
other appearance in gravestone carving:

The Woman's Seed Shall Bruise the Serpent's Head,
And Christ Shall raise his Servants from the Dead.

Such examples suggest that Gold may have supplied his customers with
choices in verses as well as in decorations.

In the 1790s, Gold made further slight alterations to his standard soul ef-
figy. The heads become even narrower, the chins more pointed, and they
are often set off from the background by a double outline. Sometimes small,
stylized ears are added. On the wings, there are more crescent-shaped
marks to suggest feathers. Below, the lettering tends to be laid out with
more attention to spacing and centering. The probated stone for Mary
Merwin (figure 39), is a good example of these characteristics.

B&£9HH^HHi

^^^IW^^!^

\\\

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i*iT?rV'

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Figure 39. Mary Merwin, 1797, Milford. Probated stone.

Mary Merwin's headstone and footstone are significant in one other
respect: they are executed in slate. This was a very unusual material for
Connectictut carvers, and Gold appears to have come upon it only late in
his career.

From the 1770s and into the 1780s, Gold, like most other carvers of
central Connecticut, worked almost exclusively in sandstone. We do not
know exactly what his sources were, but there were sandstone quarries in
the New Haven area, plus a number of well-known ones in the Connecticut
River valley. In the 1780s, Gold used not only several varieties of the com-
mon red sandstone, but an unusual yellow form as well (figure 32), relatively
durable, but with an unhappy tendency to discolor.

Then, starting as early as a probated stone for Benajah Peck in Bethany,
paid for in 1787, Gold began working in marble as well. At the time
marble, with its associations with classical antiquity, doubtless seemed both
more elegant and more permanent than sandstone. Several of Gold's
monuments bear inscriptions like this: "Engraved in Marble is the Memory
of Agur Judson, Esqr." (figure 40). Unfortunately for Mr. Judson and for
Gold, marble suffers from our acid climate, and decomposes far more
rapidly than sandstone. Almost all of Gold's marbles are rough, granulated,
and nearly illegible.

Could Gold have known this would happen? Almost certainly not. Yet
the ruin of his marble stones was hastened and aggravated by the particular
kind of stone he used. Furthermore, the nature of the stone was evident at
the time Gold cut it.

We know this from a uniquely preserved group of stones located in the
crypt of the Center Church on New Haven Green. As indicated earlier, the
Green was used as the city burying ground until the end of the 18th century.
Many of the stones were then moved to the new Grove Street Cemetery -
but not all at once. In 1813, when famed New Haven architect Ithiel Town
built Center Church in the middle of the Green, that part of the old burying
ground was apparently still intact. So the foundation walls of the church
were simply built around it, and the first floor raised high enough to form a
crypt beneath. And there the stones of the old burying ground have
remained, in their original positions, ever since.

■'^.Iy'u"-' W'.. -. -'i-'-^KH

<<a''''V;' -..r Ins a,ce'.\

Figure 40. Agur Judson, 1791, Shelton.

Among the more than 150 stones, there are 29 that can be attributed to
Gold (including two probated examples - see Appendix A). Eight of these
are of marble, and since none can have been much over 25 years in the
open air, they look as if they had just been carved. And they are beautifully
crafted. The surfaces are milled to a satiny smoothness; the chisel work is
crisp and even. No wonder Gold was attracted to this material, and was able
(or so the probate records suggest) to charge a premium price for it.

But if you look closely, you can see that the marble Gold used is not
homogeneous. Rather, it is composed of granules in a matrix of less durable
material. It is this matrix which has eroded worst in the outdoor stones,
ravaging the carving, and leaving the surface rough, grainy, and so
downright ugly that one could hardly imagine why the material was ever ap-
pealing -- were it not for the pristine stones in the crypt.

Some time in the 1790s, Gold added slate to the materials in which he
worked. We do not know where he obtained it; neither slate nor marble
were quarried nearby. Michael Baldwin used slate for at least one stone,
possibly backdated 1774 (figure 11). The slate used by Gold is fine-grained
and well preserved, and ranges in color from a light gray-blue to an even
lighter, creamy gray with a slightly greenish tinge. Slate suited Gold's
meticulous style, and in it he executed some of his finest works.

An unusual and revealing example is the stone for Eunice Cook, dated
1794 (figure 41). Virtually all of Gold's soul effigies are basically linear and
two dimensional, with little effort at modeling. This is a remarkable excep-
tion. The wings and crown are typical, but the face is much more realistic
than usual, and skillfully modeled in low relief. On the shoulders, also in
low relief, are delicately carved oak leaves. The design is clearly an imita-
tion of the sophisticated slate monuments carved in the Boston area, and
may have been modeled upon the stone for Gold's father, which bears a
similar face (figure 42). Presumably the stone was a special commission,
made for a customer who wanted a stone of the Boston type, but who for
some reason did not choose to import it. In any event, it demonstrates that
Gold was familiar with cosmopolitan styles, and was quite capable of execut-
ing more sophisticated work if he chose to do so.

FBrfi. ^/(uiiv Wife (^^^

Figure 41. Eunice Cook, 1794, Woodbridge.

Figure 42. Hezekiah Gold, 1761, Stratford.
Attributed to Boston area carver.

'If'

NV" Martha Poni^

ihc Aumhlc CcMiiori ol

f] r. lh.:n:)iicjn
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Figure 43. Martha Pond, 1797, Milford.
43

Figure 44. Martha Miles, 1797, Milford.

Neoclassic Stones

From the beginning of his career, Gold had carved crowned soul effigies
of the typical Connecticut form. But starting with a stone dated 1793, he
began to carve a neoclassic design as well: a cinerary urn in three-
dimensional relief, surmounted by a ropelike swag and two stylized flowers
(figures 43, 45, 46). There is no evidence of experiment or transition - no
cautious attempt to incorporate the new motif into his traditional designs.
He did not even use his trademark foliage border on these stones, but only
a simple band or a beaded edge. The stones are completely of the new style,
with its patriotic associations between the young American republic and its
noble antecedents in ancient Greece and Rome.

Gold did not make a complete switch to the new style: he continued to
carve soul effigies, and he carved both designs in sandstone, marble, and
slate (see Table 2). For example, there is a group of five stones at Milford
whose general proximity to one another, and whose similar inscriptions (all
begin with the curious wording, "Entomb'd is here deposited the Dear
remains of...") suggest that they all formed part of a single family commis-
sion. They include both urn and soul-effigy designs in slate, and a soul effigy
in sandstone (figures 43, 44).

I_A^

^3 \i^M

Sac J'ccI

to tlic nicni(^ry of

Deacon JamivS Giuu-rrr

v^ho departed tins Life

Dec '■ \f /P lyga

m tlic

\ ' ■ )V {\[ hi

He Suftainc fi tiu ',i:> ^ i ' -. ' " ■ ■

Aw Ilia.'liie in:'

unci .U^l^r

4h^

:^^^^:^

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Figure 45. James Gilbert, 1798, New Haven. Probated stone.

%r'^

Sacred

t ' ... ^

Figure 46. Tympanum of James Gilbert stone.

The only probated example of Gold's urn design may well have been his
last commission (figures 45, 46). On February 27, 1800, he was paid four
pounds ten shillings for the memorial of Deacon James Gilbert, and he
himself died a month later, on March 22, The stone is an especially fine ex-
ample of his work, crisply and elegantly carved in slate pale enough to sug-
gest marble. The lettering, both in layout and execution, is notably har-
monious and graceful. If this is indeed Gold's last work, it demonstrates that
his skill and talent remained undiminished right up to the end of his life.

After Gold's death, his brother-in-law Levi Hubbard was appointed to
administer his estate. He was succeeded by two of Gold's nephews, who at-
tended to its final settlement. Apparently Gold had no children, and his wife
died two months after he did.^^ The items of greatest value in the inventory
of his property were his house, valued at 90 pounds, and 40 pounds' worth
of gravestones.^ The house was sold to David Ritter, who belonged to the
third generation of a family of Connecticut stonecutters.^^ Ritter also ap-
pears to have acquired Gold's unfinished gravestones. What happened to
them forms a fascinating postscript to the story of Gold's career.

The Ritter Connection

Despite the large number of stones that can be attributed to Thomas
Gold, there is little evidence of the aid of any associate or apprentice. There
are two exceptions. One is the anonymous Derby Carver, discussed earlier,
who was apparently associated with Gold toward the beginning of his
career. The other is a carver whose name we do know, and who became
significant at the end of Gold's career.

In the Grove Street Cemetery in New Haven, the stone for Lydie At-
water (figure 47), has a tympanum and border that are plainly carved by
Gold. But the lettering, with its shorter proportions and wider serifs, is by
another hand entirely. The same carver attempted some soul effigies of his
own (figure 48), at once more realistic and more clumsy than Gold's elegant
abstractions.

This carver later became much more skillful, in the neoclassic style. But
his lettering remained essentially the same. From his signed works (figure
49) we can identify him as David Ritter, the man who bought Gold's house.

Figure 47. Lydie Atwater, 1784, New Haven. Decoration attributed to
Thomas Gold. Lettering attributed to David Ritter.

Figure 48. Jonathan Cutler, 1776, New Haven. Attributed to David Rltter.

Figure 49. Chloe Meigs, 1788, Madison. Signed by David Ritter.

Starting in the 1790s, David Ritter, like Gold, began carving urn designs,
often surmounted by swags and flowers (figure 50), But there are notice-
able differences in detail between Ritter's and Gold's renderings of the
same basic design. These differences are significant, as will be shown.

At Grove street is a rather mysterious stone for two children of the Ives
family (figure 51). The tympanum is decorated with a pair of typical Gold
soul effigies, but the inscription bears a date in 1801, about a year and a
half after Gold's death. The lettering provides the solution to the puzzle: it
is by Ritter, and the stone is evidently one of those he bought, already
decorated but not yet lettered, from Gold's estate.

It was, of course, customary for carvers to prepare an inventory of
decorated stones, which could later be lettered for specific customers. That
Gold followed this practice is suggested by a decorated but uninscribed
stone in East Haven (figure 52): it is the size of a headstone, but was in-
stead used as a footstone and never lettered.

Figure 50. Elias Carrington, 1800, Milford. Attributed to David Ritter.

Figure 51. Sally Ives, 1801, and Mariah Ives, 1795, New Haven. Decoration
attributed to Thomas Gold. Lettering attributed to David Ritter.

Figure 52. Headstone used as footstone for Mehetabel [last name illegible],
1790, New Haven.

The stone for the Ives children is not the only one decorated by Gold and
then inscribed by Ritter. In the East Side Cemetery at Woodbridge, for ex-
ample, is a handsome slate, decorated with an urn and swag, inscribed for
Amadeus Newton, who died in 1799 (figure 53); another, just like it, in-
scribed for William Hart and also dated 1799, is in the Central Cemetery in
Wallingford. The lettering on each is in Ritter's characteristic style, and
makes such a harmonious combination with the tympanum decoration that
one might suppose that Ritter carved the whole. But if one compares other
urns by Ritter (figure 50) with those by Gold (figure 46), the differences be-
come apparent. Ritter's urns are squatter and less three-dimensional; they
have a differently shaped base, and usually lack sprouts of willow at the
sides, or coiled, ribbonlike swags around the shoulder. Also, the flower blos-
soms on Ritter's swags have only one set of petals, whereas Gold's always
have two concentric sets. Almost without question, the Newton and Hart
stones were decorated by Gold, and were part of the inventory purchased by
Ritter for "recycling" (see Table 2, p. 55 and Appendix B).

Figure 53. Amadeus Newton, 1799, Woodbridge. Decoration attributed to
Thomas Gold. Lettering attributed to David Ritter.

Figure 54. Thomas Gold, 1800. Decoration attributed to Thomas Gold.
Lettering attributed to David Ritter. Signed by David Ritter.

Finally, there are the stones for Gold himself (figure 54) and for his wife,
who outlived him by only a couple of months. Both are of eroded marble -
Anne Gold's has become almost illegible. Ritter actually signed the marker
for Thomas Gold. But again, close examination of the tympanum urns,
despite their poor condition, reveals that they are not by Ritter, but by
Gold.

Conclusion

If for no other reason, the very size of Thomas Gold's output would
make him a significant figure in the history of American gravestone carving.
Without question, he was the most heavily patronized carver in his area,
particularly in the period from the end of the Revolution to 1800.
Moreover, his work documents important shifts in popular taste, as tradi-
tional dark sandstone gradually gave way to lighter-colored slate and
marble, and the traditional soul effigy was supplanted by neoclassic imagery
such as the cinerary urn.

But Gold's work deserves attention on aesthetic grounds as well. Provin-
cial Connecticut gravestones of the last decades of the 18th century are
sometimes rather casually dismissed, not only when measured against stones
produced in cosmopolitan centers such as Boston and Newport, but also
when compared with stones by carvers of earlier generations. But the work
of Gold makes this judgment seem overly severe. His style is unquestionably
spare and economical, sacrificing intricacy of workmanship to simplicity and
ease of execution. The same can be said of much "country" furniture, ar-
chitecture, and other arts of the period. It may result, as we have suggested
earlier, more from economic limitations than lack of skill or talent. But
other criteria are perhaps just as important: coherence and harmony of
design, mastery of craftsmanship, refinement of taste, and individuality of
style. Measured by these standards. Gold's work has considerable merit.
We hope that this survey will awaken interest in an artist hitherto largely
overlooked.

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Explanation of Table 1

The first category is made up of stones in both of Gold's prewar styles. All
are sandstones, and none bears a date after 1777.

The second category is of sandstones that bear dates earlier than 1782, but
are in Gold's postwar style, and presumably backdated.

The next two categories cover the rest of Gold's postwar sandstones, from
1782 to 1800. Some of those bearing dates in the 1780s are probably back-
dated, but precise stylistic distinctions between works of the 1780s and 1790s
are hard to make.

The undateable sandstone fragments not only lack dates, but are in such
poor condition that they cannot be dated by style.

The marbles are all in Gold's postwar style. Most appear to be works of the
1790s.

The slates are all clearly works of the 1790s.

The stones attributed to the Derby Carver bear dates from 1773 to 1778.
Only those of the mid- 1770s have borders in the styles of Gold or Baldwin,
or display other evidence of collaboration with Gold.

Table 2. Neoclassic (urn design) stones attributed to Gold

Bethany
East Haven

New Haven

Newtown

Northford

Wallingford
West Haven

0
1

Woodbridge

Marble

Slate

1
0
2
0

1*
1*
0
2*

Totals

* Includes one lettered by David Ritter.

Appendix A

Probate records of payments to Thomas Gold, from the notes of Ernest
Caulfield, a copy of which is in possession of the authors. Amounts are in
pounds, shillings, and pence. The present locations of the stones are
referred to when known.

David Lattin, paid 1750: "To Mr. Gold" 0-14-6.

(Stratford; stone not found. Also recorded is a payment of 1-6-6 "To Wm
Lampson"; the Lamsons were wellknown carvers in the Boston area. Pay-
ment to "Mr. Gold" may have been for erecting the stone, or a fee to
Thomas Gold's father, the Rev. Hezekiah Gold, for conducting the funeral.)

Kate Leavitt, paid 1760: "To Thomas Gold" 3-19-6.

(Fairfield; stone not found. A rather mysterious record, since there is no

evidence of any Gold stones carved so early.)

Abner Judson, died 1774, paid 1775: "Paid to Thomas Gold for grave
stones" 3-18-0.

(Old Burying Ground, Stratford. Red sandstone, soul-effigy design. The
first existing stone for which there is a probate record.)

John Brooks, died 1777, paid 1788: "To Tomas Gould for Grave Stones"

3-6-0.

(Old Burying Ground, Stratford. Red sandstone, soul-effigy design. The

stone appears to have been carved in 1777, and paid for later.)

Edward Hawley, paid 1782: "To Cash paid Mr Thomas Gould for Grave

Stones" 2-2-0.

(Old Burying Ground, Stratford. Red sandstone, soul-effigy design.)

Samuel Willcockson ("Wilcoxson" in probate records), paid 1783: "Thomas

Gold for tomb Stons" 3-4-0.

(Old Burying Ground, Stratford. Red sandstone, soul-effigy design.)

Benajah Peck, died 1785, paid 1787: "To Mr Gold for Grave Stones" 5-0-0.
(Old Cemetery, Meyers Road, Bethany. Badly worn marble, soul-effigy
design.)

Chauncey Whittelsey, paid 1787: "Thos. Gould" 8-2-0.

(Crypt of Center Church, New Haven, Marble, soul-effigy design.)

John Tappen ("Tapping" in probate records), died 1793, paid 1794: "Nov 2

To Mr Goold for grave stones" 1-16-0.

(Grove Street Cemetery, New Haven. Red sandstone, soul-effigy design.)

Jonathan Fitch, died 1793, paid 1795: "Deer. 1 To paid for Grave Stones to

Thos Gould" 7-16-0.

(New Haven; stone not found.)

Joseph Humaston, paid 1795: "To Mr Gould for gravestones" 1-19-0.

(Hamden Plains Cemetery, New Haven. Red sandstone, broken and mostly
illegible.)

Andrew Smith, paid 1796: "To Thomas Gold" 2-14-0.
(New Haven; stone not found.)

John Smith, paid 1796: 'To Cash paid Mr Thomas Gold for Grave Stones"

9-0-0.

(New Haven; stone not found.)

Stephen Trowbridge, paid 1796: "To Cash pd Thomas Gould for Grave-
Stones" 2-8-0.
(Crypt of Center Church, New Haven. Red sandstone, soul-effigy design.)

Mary Merwin, died 1797, paid 1799: "Thos Gold to one pare of grave

Stones" 3-0-0.

(Milford Cemetery. Slate, soul-effigy design.)

Thomas Mansfield, died 1798, paid 1800: "To Mr Thomas Gould for two
sets of Grave Stones" 7-7-0.

(North Haven. Thomas Mansfield stone is noted by Caulfield as broken,
and is now missing, but stone for Hannah Mansfield [died 1798], possibly his
wife, remains. Red sandstone, soul-effigy design.)

Deacon James Gilbert, died 1798, paid 1800: "Feb 27 1800 to paying Mr
Goold for Grave Stones" 4-10-0.

(Grove Street Cemetery, New Haven. Slate, urn design. Caulfield com-
ments, "Must have been his last -- died March 1800.")

Appendix B

Stones with decoration attributed to Thomas Gold, and lettering attributed
to David Ritter.

Lydie Atwater, 1784, New Haven.
(Red sandstone, soul effigy design.)

Jabez Backus, 1794, New Haven.
(Marble, urn design.)

Sally Ives, 1801, and Mariah Ives, 1795, New Haven.
(Slate, soul effigy design.)

Thomas Gold, 1800, New Haven.

(Marble, urn design. Signed by Ritter. Appears to be one of a pair, along

with stone for wife Anne Gold.)

Anne Gold, 1800, Newtown.
(Marble, urn design.)

Isaac Foot, 1799, Northford.
(Slate, urn design.)

Matthew Dick, 1801, Wallingford.

(Slate, urn design. Appears to be one of a pair, along with stone for

Amadeus Newton.)

Amadeus Newton, 1799, Woodbridge.
(Slate, urn design.)

NOTES

1. Morris W. Abbott, Old Tombstones in Milford Cemetery, or Styles in Steles, (Milford,
Connecticut: 1974).

2. David J. Corrigan, "Symbols and C2irvers of New England Gravestones," Journal of the New
Haven Colony Historical Society, Spring 1976 Vol. 25 no. 1 (New Haven: New Haven Colony
Historiccd Society), p. 13.

3. Letters from David Corrigan to Richard F. Welch, April 30 and May 31, 1982. Richard F.
Welch, Memento Mori: The Gravestones of Early Long Island (Syosset, New York: Friends
for Long Island's Heritage, 1983), p. 60.

4. Ernest Caulfield, unpublished notes and writings, in the possession of James A. Slater,
Mansfield Center, Connecticut.

5. Corrigan, "Symbols and Carvers," p. 13.

6. Donald Lines Jacobus, History and Genealogy of the Families of Old Fairfield, Vol. II (New
Haven: Tuttle Morehouse and Taylor & Co., 1932), p. 53.

7. Corrigan, "Symbols and Carvers," p. 13.

8. Letter from Corrigan to Welch, April 30, 1982.

9. Ibid.

10. Williston Walker, "The Sandemanians of New England," Annual Report for the American
Historical Association, 1901 (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1902), p.
137.

11. Ibid, p. 144.

12. Advertisement, Connecticut Journal (New Haven, March 5, 1773), p.l.

13. Walker, "The Sandemanians," p. 156.

14. From Ezra Stiles manuscripts, quoted in Walker, "The Sandemanians," footnote p. 155.

15. New Haven Land Records, Vol. 34, p. 508.

16. Franklm Bowditch Dexter, Biographical Sketches of the Graduates of Yale College, Vol. 3
(New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1903), p. 107.

17. List of probated stones from Caulfield's notes. Reproduced in Appendix A.

18. Caulfield, unpublished notes on Michael Baldwin.

19. New Haven Colony Historical Society, History of the City of New Haven to the Present Time
(New Haven: New Haven Colony Historical Society), p. 532.

20. From Ezra Stiles manuscripts, quoted in Walker, "The Scmdemanicms," footnote p. 155.

21. New Haven Land Records, Vol. 43, p. 173.

22. Ibid., Vol. 44, p. 81.

23. Probate inventory, recorded April 1, 1800.

24. New Haven Land Records, Vol. 44, p. 81.

25. Elizabeth Mills Brown, New Haven: A Guide to Architecture and Urban Design (New Haven:
Yale University Press, 1976), p. 197.

26. New Haven Land Records, Vol. 48, p. 53.

27. Probate record, recorded April 1, 1800. Gold's gravestone in Grove Street Cemetery, which

records his age at death as 68, is incorrect.
28. Gravestone in Newtown Cemetery.
29. 1790 Census Report for New Haven County, p. 103.

30. New Haven Land Records, Vol. 35, p. 128.

31. Walker, "The Sandemanians," p. 156-157.

32. For example, Corrigan, "Symbols and Carvers," p. 13; Welch, Memento Mori, p. 59-60.

33. Caulfield, unpublished notes. Also gravestone of Anne Gold, Newtown.

34. Probate inventory, recorded April 1, 1800.

35. New Haven Land Records, Vol. 53, p. 409.

Acknowledgements

Much of the background material for this article comes not from published sources, but directly
from individuals. We are deeply grateful to the following members of the Association for
Gravestone Studies, who were unstintingly generous in providing information and advice.

Alice Bunton, of Bethany, Connecticut, for information on the graveyards of New Haven
County and of eastern Fairfield County.

Daniel and Jessie Lie Farber, of Worcester, Massachusetts, for providing photographs from
their collection, and for further information on Gold stones which they have recorded.

Laurel Gabel, for photocopies of photographs in the Farber Collection, and for references to
the Coimecticut researchers listed here.

Jim Halpin of WalUngford, Connecticut, for information on the graveyards of New Haven
County, particularly WalUngford and East Haven.

Daniel Allen Hearn of Monroe, Connecticut, for information on the graveyards of central Fair-
field County, pju-ticularly Danbury, Redding, and Newtown.

Miriam Silverman, Curator of Trinity Parish, New York City, for information on the stones in
Trinity and St. Paul churchyards.

James Slater of Mansfield, Connecticut, for information on the Coimecticut Valley carving
tradition and the Ritter family. Also for copies of the unpublished notes on Gold and Michael
Baldwin by the late Ernest Caulfield.

Richard Welch, of Huntington, New York, for information on the graveyards of Long Island
and the New York metropolitcm area, and for photographs of stones in these graveyards.

Anne WilUams and Sue Kelly, respectively of Darien and Stamford, Connecticut, for informa-
tion on the graveyards in Fairfield and New Haven Counties, particuleu-ly the shore
communities; and for permission to reproduce their elegant rubbing of the signed Caleb
Hotchkiss stone, 1779.

Also, we should like to thank Margaret Wixstead of Redding, Connecticut, for information on
the graveyards of Redding.

Finally, special thanks are due to Abbott L. Cummings of Yale University, for his suggestions
and criticisms of the thesis by Meredith Williams on which this article is based.

Fig. 1. St. John - Hill United Church of Christ, Berks County.

(All photographs by the author.)

PENNSYLVANIA GERMAN GRAVESTONES: AN INTRODUCTION

Thomas E. Graves

Starting with the arrival of the ship Concord on October 6, 1683, a flood
of immigrants from Germany, Switzerland and parts of France began which
would continue until the American Revolution.^ Some of these people
settled in Germantown, others fanned out in an arc surrounding Philadel-
phia which extended from what is now western Bucks to northern Chester
Counties. The religious affiliations of these immigrants were varied, but can
be classed into three main groups: the church groups, mainly Lutherans and
Reformed (the latter now part of the United Church of Christ); the sec-
tarian groups, the so-called plain people including the Amish and
Mennonites; and, numerically the smallest, the communitarians, such as the
society at Ephrata.^ A second wave of German immigration began in the
1830s and continued through most of the century. This wave was even less
homogenous than the first. These later immigrants mixed with the earlier
ones only to a certain extent, with a greater percentage settling in urban
areas or continuing to the midwest. Because of the differences in time, con-
tinental origins, and settlement patterns, one of the accepted definitions of
"the Pennsylvania Germans" includes only those who came in the first wave
of migration and their descendants, including those who moved from Pen-
nsylvania into Ohio, Maryland, Ontario, or other regions.^

This paper will discuss the evolution of the gravestones found in the
graveyards of the church groups of Berks, Lancaster, Lebanon, Schuylkill,
Lehigh and Montgomery Counties (Maps 1 and 2). These counties have the
major historical settlements of Lutheran and Reformed Pennsylvania Ger-
mans. The earliest stones in this rural region date from the 1740s, sixty
years after the start of the German immigration.'' These stones are among
the earliest surviving examples of Pennsylvania German gravestones be-
cause some of the oldest graveyards in Germantown and other urban areas
have given way to urban construction.^ Another reason for the lack of very
early markers is that the earliest markers may have been made out of wood.
Also, the earliest immigrants were the Mennonites.^ The Lutheran and
Reformed congregations were formed later. Lutherans were living in

Map 1. The Pennsylvania Counties included in this study

Map 2. Graveyards visited for this study
62

Germantown before 1700. The Lutheran (1717) and Reformed (1725) con-
gregations, formed at Falkner Swamp, also known as New Hanover, in
Montgomery County, are among the earliest congregations for these
denominations in this country.^ Few pre-revolutionary stones remain in the
yard of the old Trappe Lutheran Church which was built in 1743. Bricker-
ville Lutheran Church in Lancaster County was formed in 1730, Hill Union
Church in Berks County in 1731 (Fig. 1), Muddy Creek Union Church in
Lancaster County in 1732.^ Because of the size of this region, the focus of
the discussion will be on broad cultural trends, leaving out those which oc-
curred within a single community or congregation.

The earliest stones in many cemeteries are often the plainest with poorly
executed decoration and text, but such stones may be found with later dates
if the families could not afford better (Fig. 2). In many graveyards,
however, the fieldstone and roughly executed markers disappear by 1800. A
small, roughly lettered sandstone marker with no decoration from the
graveyard of Zion Lutheran "Red" Church in Orwigsburg, Schuylkill County,
for example, has simply:

lacob . Weis Jacob Weis

Den (7?) Nofember The (7th?) November

1795 1795

Note the phonetic spelling of "November." One of the earliest dated stones
at the Muddy Creek Lutheran Church graveyard is a small stone with a
rough "flat heart" (a heart based on circles) with no downwards indentation
at the top. Inside this heart are the initials "C E L." Over the heart is the
date 1757.

Often these "primitive" stones are shaped like the fancier ones but have
crude lettering; others are finely executed but are small and have minimal
information carved on them. On some graves the headstone is missing,
leaving just the footstone. These footstones must not be confused with plain
or primitive headstones. In Eastern Lebanon County wrought iron crosses
were used occasionally during the second half of the nineteenth century.'
Wooden markers have also been used, but most of these have decayed and
disappeared. Two wooden markers were still extant at St. Jacob's

Fig. 2. This marker starts with a stark "HIER LEGT begraben" (Here lies
buried). In the arch is a tulip, one of the most popular of the folk motifs,
and the date "1746." Above the date are the letters "G" and "B." These let-
ters probably stand for gebomen (born): this person, Andereas Herb, was
born in 1746. He was 13 years, 8 months, and 20 days old when he died.
He awaits the resurrection of his saviour Jesus Christ (UND WARDET DER
AUFERSTEUNG SEINES ERLOESERS JESUS CHRISTI). The last line we can see
above ground says "GESTORBEN DN23..." (He died the 23rd). The top of the
death date (1759) can just be seen on the next line. St. John - Hill United
Church of Christ, Berks County.

(Kimmerling's) Church in Lebanon County when McDonald did his study of
Lebanon County gravestones in 1975.^° Any inscription which might have
been on these stones has long since weathered away. They were upright
boards with the tops cut to follow the style of stone markers. Lewis Miller
made a drawing of the York, Pennsylvania, Potters Field in 1808. In this
drawing there are many crosses which were probably made of wood.^^ A
few wooden crosses are still standing in the Bally, Pennsylvania, Catholic
graveyard.

The most conservative element on Pennsylvania German gravestones is
the textual material which forms the epitaph carved on the face. Typical is
the epitaph on this child's stone:

Hier Here

ruhet im Gott rests in God

Maria Wrenerin Maria Wren

1st Geboren den 14ien Born the 14th

October, 1790 Starb of October, 1790 Died

den 19ien July, 1794 the 19th of July, 1794
(Hill Church, Berks County)

The phrase im Gott does not always appear; however, the rest of the in-
scription is the basic text format for epitaphs on Pennsylvania German
stones into the early twentieth century. The birth date is as important as
the death date and is rarely omitted. The carvers recreated in stone the
German lettering used in German language publications and on fraktur, the
Pennsylvania German illuminated manuscripts. At least one of these car-
vers, Daniel Peterman of York County, 1797-1871, was also a schoolteacher
who produced fraktur.^^

To the biographical kernel, additional information was often added.

Hier ruhet Here rests

Samuel J. Dondore Samuel J. Dondore

Eatte den Husband to

Maria Eine geborne Maria who was born

Strauss Strauss

Geb. den 5 Marz Born on the 5th of March

1845 1845

Starb den 18 Decem. Died the 18th of December

1870 1870

Alt 25 Jahr 9 Mon., 13 T. Aged 25 years, 9 months, 13 days

Text Jesaias 60 V 20. Text Isaiah chapter 60, verse 20.

(Bernville, Berks County)

^'■'■-^■iK^^

^^ If i'\''f£ • -5*^ ljf<S •^'. '^ •*< ^ ^^1

(ir

unrvA

.i\^

'T^

,;\''^'--«

?/^r n

*fi

':vi\

:i<

^s.

f?;

'iVtifi

W'.rn'^

Fig. 3. This stone for Susan Seipel is a mid-nineteenth century example of
use of the rosette, or "hex sign" motif. The epitaph starts with "ZUM AN-
DENKEN AN" (To the memory of). She was born (her maiden name was)
Bhom and was the wife of John Seipel. She was born the 8th of July, 1813.
She lived in marriage 9 years and 4 months and had 3 children and died
the 22nd of February, 1844 aged 30 years, 6 months, and 25 days. St.
Paul's Union Church, Trexlertown, Lehigh County.

Often the person's age will be spelled out to the day. The "spousal" or
"family" biography names the husband or wife and usually one or more of
the following items: the wife's maiden name, the year the couple was
married, the number of children, the number of children of each sex, and
the number of grandchildren (Fig. 3). Any children who died before the
parent and were buried in the same family plot may be listed or mentioned,
but this is not common. If the person was unmarried, the stone sometimes
names the parents. Frederick S. Weiser, in his article discussing the
relationship between the artistic genres of birth and death and their impor-
tance to the Pennsylvania Germans, points out that this form of biography is
also found on Pennsylvania German Geburts- und Taufscheine (birth and
baptismal certificates).^^ In at least one case the same text is contained on
both the birth and baptismal certificate and the gravestone. Weiser calls
the biographical epitaph typical, but in the geographical region examined in
this study the extended biographical epitaphs appear only on a quarter to a
third of the stones. A further connection between Taufscheine and
tombstones is that some families would add the death dates, and sometimes
the marriage dates, to the baptismal certificate.^'*

Verses, sayings, and hymns forming part of the epitaph are generally rare
on Pennsylvania German gravestones. There are, however, micro-regions,
consisting of one or more graveyards, such as St. Paul's Union Church near
Trexlertown, where this form is more abundant. If there is anything in addi-
tion to biographical data, there may be the biblical reference for the sermon
given at the funeral service. Although it is more common in these cases to
head the biblical reference with Text, some stones have Leichen Text
(funeral text). In the Brickerville Lutheran churchyard the term Leichen
Text occurs frequently,

Denkmal Memorial

fiir for

Aaron Nester, Aaron Nester,

Sohn von Son of

Daniel u. Esther Daniel and Esther

Nester. Nester.

Er war geboren den 22. He was born the 22nd of

Juni 1825. Starb den 14. June, 1825. He died the 14th of

Sept. 1857: war alt 32 September, 1857: He was aged 32

Jahre, 2 Mon. und. Years, 2 Months and

22 Tage. 22 Days.

Leichen Text: I Cor. 15, 31. Funeral Text: I Cor. 15, 31
Ich Sterbe taglich. I die daily.

(Hill Church, Berks County)

In Samuel Dondore's epitaph, quoted above, the reference is to a verse
from Isaiah which, in the King James version, reads:

Thy sun shall no more go down,

neither thy moon withdraw itself:

for the Lord shall be thine everlasting light,

and the days of thy mourning shall be ended.

If a verse does appear, it is usually the first line of the listed Bible
reference, as on the stone for Aaron Nester, above, or on the stone for Wil-
liam Faust, whose funeral sermon was based on Job 7, verse 16: "I would
not live always." Sometimes the hymns used at the funeral service are also
listed.^^

Henry Nester Henry Nester

Geboren Aug. 20. 1817 Born August 20, 1817

Starb July 28. 1892 Died July 28, 1892

Alt Aged

74 Jahre. 1 1 mo. 74 Years, 1 1 Months

8 Tage. 8 Days.

(The following lines are inscribed in the
open Bible above Henry Nester's Name)

Text: Johan 14. 19. Text: John 14. 19.

Lieder No. 153. 167. Hymns No. 153. 167.

(Hill Church, Berks County)

The form of epitaph considered thus far is found consistently from
colonial times to the early twentieth century. A different form of biography,
giving the details of immigration, was sometimes used in the late eighteenth
and early nineteenth centuries among the Pennsylvania Germans. Here we
have the epitaph for a Swiss woman (Fig. 4):

Fig. 4. An undecorated stone from the graveyard adjoining the Ephrata
Cloisters in Lancaster County. Elisabeth Keller immigrated here from
Switzerland and joined the cloisters. She died in 1787.

Hier ruhet
ein died der
Gemeindein Ephrata
Elisabeth Kellern
Gebomen im hof, von
Wintersingen
im Canton, Basel.
Geboren Feb. 2.1708
Starb May 24.1787.
Alter 79 Jahre, 3 monate
und 22 Tage.

Here rests
a member of the
Ephrata community,
Elisabeth Keller
Born in the town of
Wintersingen
in Canton Basel.
Born February 2, 1708.
Died May 24, 1787.
Aged 79 years, 3 months
and 22 days.

(Ephrata, Lancaster County)

The features of an immigrant biography include the immigrant's place of
birth and sometimes, although not here, the year of immigration. This form
of gravestone biography was used among the English-speaking population
during the same period.

Pennsylvania German fashion paralleled English tastes in the nineteenth
century in many areas, including, for example, the design and ornamentation
of furniture and domestic architecture. Most of the eighteenth-century
Pennsylvania German epitaphs begin Hier ruhet (Here rests). Other early
stones begin Hier Legt (Here Lies). These headings last in some areas into
the 1870s. Beginning in the first decade of the nineteenth century, the
forms Zum Andenken an (To the Memory of) and Denkmaljur (A memorial
for) were used and became more common as the century wore on. This
change follows a trend seen in English language gravestones away from con-
cern with the physical remains of the dead person toward the memory of
that person - a "cult of the memorial", what AriSs calls the age of the "death
of the other."^^

Zum Andenken an

Abraham Yoder

Sohn von

George u. Maria

Yoder,

Geboren d.l2.Dec.l785:

Verheirathete sich mir

Elisabeth Yerger.

Den 21 Mai. 1809. Zengien

5 Sohne und 6 Tochter.
Starb den S.April 1864.

To the memory of

Abraham Yoder

Son of

George and Maria

Yoder

Born the 12th of December, 1785:

He married

Elisabeth Yerger

on the 21st of May, 1809.

They begot

5 sons and 6 daughters.

Died the 5th of April, 1864.

Alt 78 Jahre, 5 Mo. Aged 78 years, 5 months,

und 23 Tage. and 23 days.

(Hill Church, Berks County) (Fig. 5)

Fig. 5. The marker for Abraham Yoder (d. 1864) has a complete biography
of his married life. See text for translation. St. John - Hill United Church
of Christ, Berks County.

While the heading has changed from "Here Rests" to "To the Memory of,"
the format of the epitaph remains unchanged. The particulars of who the
person was continue to be more important than how those particulars are
presented.

Unlike the major part of the epitaph, the decorative carving on Pennsyl-
vania German gravestones have continued to change and evolve into the
twentieth century. Two sets of patterns have influenced each other while
retaining their own flavor. The first form of decoration is derived from cur-
rent high fashion of the period. Such forms as death's heads, skulls, and
hour glasses appear on highly sculptured stones shaped and influenced by
German baroque and rococo forms and design. The explicit death motifs
are not common, but they stand out prominently among the other stones.
Some of these early stones have decoration on both sides. Others use the
reverse side of the stone for the placement of the religious text. Both Barba
and Lichten illustrate gravestones from the German Palatinate which repre-
sent the kinds of stones with which the early immigrants would be familiar.^^
Included on both the Palatinate and the early Pennsylvania German stones
are ornate floral designs deriving from elite fashion rather than from the
folk art floral motifs (Fig. 6). The majority of early Pennsylvania German
stones are often made from red sandstone and are usually five to seven
inches thick. The baroque forms give way to neo-classical ones as death's
heads evolve into cherubs and angels (Fig. 7). The cherub motif was used
into the mid-nineteenth century. Portraits are rare.

The other decorative tradition relies on the motifs of Pennsylvania Ger-
man folk art. Among the most mysterious of Pennsylvania German graves-
tones are elaborately decorated stones with no textual material (Fig. 8).
Most of these stones are decorated on both sides. They are found in Lan-
caster County graveyards and have been mentioned by several early writers
on Pennsylvania German folk art, often without comment. No one has ever
discovered why they have no text or whose graves they mark, Preston A.
Barba believes that these stones all had inscriptions but that they were so
lightly inscribed that the epitaphs have weathered away.^^ A close inspec-
tion of the markers (usually of sandstone) reveals that the ornamentation is
deeply cut and that on most of them the unmarked areas are smooth with

Fig. 6. Flowers on eighteenth-century Pennsylvania German gravestones
were living, flovnng, and climbing plants. In the mid-1800s, the Victorian
convention of cut flowers became popular. At the bottom of the marker, it
states that the funeral text was taken from 1 Corinthians, verses 15 and 31,
"I die daily" (Leichen-Text: 1 Cor. 15,31. Ich sterbe taglich). St. John -
Hill United Church of Christ, Berks County.

no uneven weathering. However, at the Muddy Creek churchyard there are
some stones which appear to have been carved by the same person and
which do have deeply cut decoration with the faintest remains of an epitaph.
Another carver, for whom the moon was a favorite motif, carved stones
which still have easily readable texts. Some of the stones at Muddy Creek
appear to be by the same carvers as those without epitaphs but have a
name, deeply cut and usually consisting of the first initial and the surname.
John Joseph Stoudt has several examples of these stones but comments only
on their "interesting designs" without discussing their lack of text.^^ Francis
Lichten, one of the early writers on Pennsylvania German folk art, il-
lustrates these stones, like Stoudt, without comment.^"

Were these markers without epitaphs once painted? Did they mark the
graves of suicide victims? Or were they carver's samples? All three
theories have been raised, but we simply do not know the answer, although
the first explanation seems the most likely .^^ There are simply too many of

-^'Ai'-

Fig. 7. A cherub with various fruits, including grapes and an apple. Pre-
1800, but the date is sunk into the ground. St. John - Hill United Church
of Christ, Berks County.

Fig. 8. A carved stone without any text from Bergestrasse Lutheran
Church, Lancaster County. The portrait is bordered by tulips and tulips
sprout from the columns on the side. Date unknown.

these stones to have served merely as samples or to have marked suicides.
Some graveyards, such as that at the Bergestrasse Lutheran Church, have
only a few of these stones. Muddy Creek churchyard has about two dozen,
with a majority of the pre- 1800 full-sized sandstone markers without text. In
Germany some forms of markers were painted, such as those of wrought
iron and those placed inside the church. German wooden markers, at least
in the nineteenth century, had both painted decorations and epitaphs. Did
the tradition of painted markers in Germany date back far enough and did
it exist in the Palatinate early enough to influence the early immigrants to
Pennsylvania?^^ Further research into German scholarship or fieldwork in
German graveyards might supply the answers.

Among the more popular folk art motifs on these stones are "trees of life"
{Lebensbaum), hearts, suns, moons, and stars. Several scholars of Pennsyl-
vania German folklore and religion have theorized on the possible meaning
of these motifs. Stoudt maintains throughout all of his works on Pennsyl-
vania German folklore and folk art that the tree of life, which may have
lilies, roses, or tulips, is a Christian expression of the joy of religious life and
salvation.^^ He bases his conclusion on, among other reasons, the occur-
rence of biblical and religious verses appearing with these motifs on fraktur
and illumination. Among the verses he finds are ones from the Song of
Songs and the Sermon on the Mount. Louis Winkler, in his gravestone in-
stallment in a series of articles on Pennsylvania German astronomy and
astrology, points out that the moon is most often shown with the cusps
pointing either to the right or downwards. These moons are shown to be
waning, "on the decrease," and therefore appropriate, in Winkler's view, for
gravestones.^'* He notes that the half-sun found on some of the stones is
ambiguous, for it could be interpreted as either a rising or setting sun.
Some stones have arcs, either alone or with other motifs such as a heart or a
tree of life. Barba, in what is still the only volume devoted solely to Pen-
nsylvania German gravestones, interprets these arcs as representations of
the Germanic Ur-bogen, the descending arc of the sun at the time of the
winter solstice.^ The winter solstice is a time of death and rebirth, the old
sun dies and the new one is born (Fig. 9).

Fig. 9. A carved stone filled with astronomical symbols but completely lack-
ing in text. The moon is pointing downwards and slightly to the right, rep-
resenting the waning moon. Bergestrasse Lutheran Church, Lancaster
County. Date unknown.

Flowers, similar to those found on fraktur, often appear. Flat hearts are
sometimes seen. Swirling, or curvilinear, swastikas are found. Barba sees
this motif as representing good luck and a means of warding off evil, but he
does not give a specific interpretation of its use on gravestones.^^

Stars and rosettes, designs found on Pennsylvania German barns and
today called "hex signs," are common in some graveyards, almost nonexistent
in others.^^ These motifs also vary with time, being found on eighteenth-
century stones in some cemeteries, such as Brickerville, and on nineteenth-
century stones in others, such as the "Red Church" in Orwigsburg. Ludwig
interpreted rosettes as soul effigies.^ Rosettes are found on gravestones in
most European countries and on stones and monuments going back many
centuries. Objects with rosettes on them have been buried with the dead
since at least the time of Mycenean Greece (1200-1500 EC). Before their
use as "grave goods," these objects were diadems, pendants, and scales.^^
The rosette has had many other meanings and associations over the cen-
turies, especially among the Germanic peoples, who have called the rosette
a Glukstem (lucky star) or Gluckrad (lucky wheel). The six-pointed star was
the symbol of "Frau Sonne" and "Frau Fortuna." As Lady Fortune, operat-
ing the ever present wheel of fortune, the rosette (Fig. 3) is an appropriate
motif for a gravestone, readily associated with the familiar memento mori
device,^

The rosette also has ethnic connotations. Among the Pennsylvania Ger-
mans the rosette is often found with other Pennsylvania German motifs such
as the flat heart and stylized flowers. An increase in the use of rosettes oc-
curred in the 1840s and 1850s, at a time when the German culture and lan-
guage were under attack by the state of Pennsylvania. Templates with the
rosette were popular during the first half of the twentieth century among
both Protestants and Catholics. These templates illustrate the use of an
ethnic identity marker in a mass produced item, the cemetery marker.
These markers were selected by the relatives and then filled in with the
deceased person's name and his birth and death dates. The context in
which rosettes are found on Pennsylvania German gravestones suggests that
this motif may have been used as an ethnic marker.-'^

Fig. 10. The willow was used throughout the nineteenth century among the
Pennsylvania Germans, including the Mennonites. The epitaph reads "Here
rests Peter Lang. Son of George and Elisabeth Lang. Born the 27th of
February, 1792. Died the 30th of August, 1863. Aged 71 years, 6 months
and 3 days." The carver's initials, "C.H.L.," appear in the lower right hand
comer. C.H. Lautenbach of Schuylkill Haven was active in Southern
Schuylkill County for several decades in the mid- 1800s. Zion Lutheran
"Red" Church, Orwigsburg, Schuylkill County.

The decorations used on Pennsylvania German stones changed with the
times, while the textual format and content remained the same. Thus in the
nineteenth century Pennsylvania Germans adopted all the popular grave-
stone designs. This is another area in which the Pennsylvania German
fashions were influenced by English ones. But what was said about the
dead remained constant. Willows appear shortly after 1800 and are found
frequently through the 1860s and occasionally up to the end of the century
(Fig. 10). Doves are common from the mid-century. Flowers, always
popular among the Pennsylvania Germans, take many forms during the last
half-century, both in arrangement and as individual flowers, including the
rose, tulip, and the lily-of-the-valley. These flowers are often cut flowers,
denoting a life cut off in the bud (Fig. 6). A wilted cut flower was some-
times used for emphasis.^^ Eighteenth-century flowers on Pennsylvania
German stones were more often growing vines resembling the common
"tree-of-life" motif, although the "tree of life" reappeared at about the same
time as the revival of the rosette. Wreaths, often used with Bibles, were
popular at mid-century. Other motifs include the upraised hand, open
Bibles, churches, pomengranates, and monuments which enclose the space
of the grave. Open Bibles often contain the funeral sermon and hymn
references. Angels often appear on mid-century stones. Sometimes the an-
gel carries a little figure in its arms (Fig. 11). When the deceased is an
elderly person, this tiny figure is obviously a soul effigy, as shown in prints of
death-bed scenes from the same period.^^

Photographs, either daguerreotypes or more modern processes, appear
but rarely. Most of the early stones which had photographs mounted on
them have lost the photographs, leaving a blank depression where they had
been set. These deteriorated stones can be interpreted only if it is known
that photographs had been used.

The Pennsylvania German Catholic community used the same textual
format for their epitaphs and the same broad spectrum of motifs as the
Protestants. However, a cross was usually added. The major Pennsylvania
German Catholic graveyard, in Bally, Berks County, has the full spectrum of
Victorian designs.

Fig. 11. An angel bearing a soul effigy of Mariah Erb, who was 78 years old
when she died in 1896. TTie epitaph contains the basic kernel of text which
was carried over from German into English during the nineteenth century.
St. John - Hill United Church of Christ, Berks County.

The Pennsylvania Germans had their own version of the mid-century
fashion of imitating typeset lettering. As with the equivalent English stones,
several lettering styles, or fonts, were used on one stone. The fonts used on
these stones, however, are an evolution of German script and type fonts
rather than imitations of English typesetting styles.

Eventually English came to be used on Pennsylvania German grave-
stones. This change occurred at varying times for each community. At Ber-
gestrasse Lutheran Church in Lancaster County, which has numerous
elaborate eighteenth-century stones, the change occurred early, around
1820, after which there is little difference between this cemetery and any
non-Pennsylvania German cemetery. At Orwigsburg's Red Church and at
Muddy Creek German was used to some extent until about 1900. In a few
places, such as Bernville in Berks County, the use of German predominates
throughout the nineteenth century, with some examples as late as the 1930s.
In many communities the change occurred shortly before or during the Civil
War period.

The change in language did not mean a change in content. The epitaph
continued to follow the same patterns outlined above.

In Memory of

Joseph

Son of

Daniel & Elizabeth

Faust.

Born July 30th, 1833.

Died April 16, 1866.

Aged 32 years 8 months &

17 days.

Text Psalm 39 v 8 & 11.

(Zion Lutheran "Red" Church, Schuylkill County)

The spousal biography was also used in English.

Sarah Ann
Wife of

Frederick L. Turpin
Nee Freyberger.
And mother of
Andrew W. Turpin.
Born Dec 15, 1848.
Died March 17, 1870.

Aged 21 years 8 M. 2D.
Text Matth 24:44

(Bernville, Berks County)

One of the early stones to appear in English was an adaptation of the
immigrant's biography, the difference being that instead of Germany or
Switzerland as the place of birth, the woman had immigrated from Lan-
caster to Schuylkill County. The epitaph includes a spousal biography.

Memory Of
Susanna Kelley
Daughter of Qrus and
Catherina Numan who was
born in Numanstown
Lancaster County
Pennsylvania in the year
1770 and departed this
life the 2nd October, 1828
in her 38th year. She was
married on the 22nd
of January, 1808.
May the soul of the
Departed rest in
Peace.

(Zion Lutheran "Red" Church, Schuylkill County)

It is interesting to note that both the place of Susanna Kelley's birth and
death were later made parts of different counties. Numanstown became
part of Lebanon County while Orwigsburg, in Berks County until 1811, be-
came part of Schuylkill. We cannot tell from Susanna Kelley's epitaph if
she migrated before or after the formation of Schuylkill County. Although
we can glean important genealogical and historical information from graves-
tones, we cannot learn everything we should like to know.

The most common epitaph was still a verse used in the funeral sermon,
but now it was rendered in English, as on this stone for Maria Young, who
died in 1907:

Maria Young
Wife of

Joseph J.R. Zerfass
Born Sept. 3, 1843
Died April 15, 1907

Aged

63 Years, & Mos

12 Days

2 Timothy 4:7. 1 have fought
a good fight, I have finished
my course, I have kept the faith.

(Ephrata, Lancaster County)

Once the epitaphs became rendered in EngUsh, more of the common
English language phrases began to appear, such as "Gone but not
Forgotten" on a stone for Daniel Boyer.

Funeral verses were rare in German epitaphs but were used more
frequently in those rendered in English, such as this verse on Mary Beyerle's
stone:

Memory of

Mary,

Wife of

George Beyerle.

was born May 22nd 1823.

Died June 9th 1848

Aged

26 Years & 14 Days

Farewell dear Husband my life is past
My love for you till death did last.
And after me no sorrow take
But love our children for my sake.
(Bernville, Berks County)

The biographical portion remains with the appearance of these English
epitaphs. The biblical reference used for the funeral service is often
omitted, but sometimes both the reference and a verse appear, as on this
stone for Lydia Matz (Fig. 12):

Lydia

Wife of

John Matz

And Daughter of

P. & E. Fegly

Born Nov. 1st 1814

Died April 26th 1875

Aged 60 Y. 5 M. & 25 D.

Text Psalm 23.1

Remember friends when you pass by.
As you are now, so once was I.
As I am now, so you will be,
Prepare for death and follow me.

(Zion Lutheran "Red" Church, Schuylkill County)

:-4-i^

U' <ti

Fig. 12. The stone for Lydia Matz was carved by "C.L." (C.H. Lautenbach).
Zion Lutheran "Red" Church, Orwigsburg, Schuylkill County.

The Catholic equivalent, from Ecclesiasticus 38, verse 23, appears in English
on several Catholic stones in the Bally Catholic church graveyard:

Remember my Judgment for

thine also shall be so.

Yesterday for me, today for thee.

(For example, Charles Rehr, d. 1865, Bally, Berks County)

Of course, the shift from German to English did not happen overnight.
In many graveyards one can see the change in family plots where the early
stones have a German inscription and the later have an English one.^ The
stones may even have been made from the same design blanks and in-
scribed by the same carver. C. Laubenbach of Schuylkill Haven, Schuylkill
County, for example, was active throughout much of Schuylkill County in
the 1860s through the 1890s (Figs. 10 and 12). He carved epitaphs in Ger-
man using the fraktur style lettering and epitaphs in English with non-
German lettering. The change went beyond the language: the German let-
tering style was abandoned when English was adopted, making the change
apparent before one gets close enough to read the stone.

Bilingual stones appeared during the transition from German to English^^
(Fig. 13). Some are pure German-language epitaphs inscribed on blanks
which already contained standard English-language texts such as "At Rest,"
"Father," or "Mother." This form of bilingualism appeared in the 1840s and
died out as German became used less and less on the markers. The last
stones in this form date from approximately 1900.

Of more interest are stones which include both German and English text
within the main epitaph. In the Orwigsburg region of Schuylkill County the
majority of these bilingual stones appeared in the 1840s and 1850s. At
Muddy Creek in Lancaster these stones first appear in the 1850s and survive
into the 1880s. Two forms of these bilingual stones appear. First there is
the stone with the biography duplicated in German and English.

OYER.

s*:^&i^

'^)X^me>c

tiJ^lm !>?lld : ^^

1 1

iC\t'^'

\*#

wt- ^t

Fig. 13. Samuel Boffenmoyer (d. 1880) received a bilingual stone.
Bemville, Berks County.

In Memory of
David Ketner
Born April 29th 1789
Died July 14th 1859
Aged 70 Yrs 2 Months
and 15 Days.

Zum Andenken an

David Ketner

Geboren den 29ien April 1789

Gestorben den Mien Juli 1859

Alter 70 Jahre 2 Monate

und 15 Tage.

(Zion Lutheran "Red" Church, Orwigsburg,
Schuylkill County)

At the Red Church in Orwigsburg both languages appear on the same face
of the stone. At Muddy Creek some of the stones will have the German in-
scription on one side (obverse or reverse) and the English on the other.
Sometimes the second language epitaph is abbreviated, even to the point of
duplicating only the name in German script. This form of bilingual epitaph
seems to acknowledge the ethnic origin of the dead as well as the fact that
not all the dead person's family and friends could still read German. These
"Rosetta Stones" highlight the loss of German as a reading language by
many of the Pennsylvania Germans during the nineteenth century.^

The loss of German started early in parts of the Pennsylvania German
region. The Pennsylvania Germans had to deal with their English-speaking
neighbors on a continual basis. High German was the language used in the
church services. The need to speak English on an almost daily basis had an
early effect in some areas. Henry Melchior Muhlenberg, sent to the
colonies from Halle, Germany, in 1842, noted the need for English-language
sermons in order to keep the people from leaving the church.^^ His son,
Henry Muhlenberg, said in 1805 that he would support a new Lutheran
seminary only if "young men be educated so as to be able to preach also in
English."-'* Many of the immigrants who arrived during the second wave of
immigration in the nineteenth century felt strongly that their German cul-
ture and language should be maintained. These people helped to revive an
interest in German.-'^ German was reinforced in other ways as well. One
was the large number of German-language newspapers and almanacs.'*"

Another was translating the popular "camp meeting" songs into Pennsylvania
German dialect. The dialect versions remained popular through the 1950s
and into the 1960s.'*^ Although there were congregations which dropped
German early, many services continued to be held in German with some
German services lasting through the 1930s. The latest use of German on
gravestones documented so far is a 1933 stone in Bemville. Another con-
servative part of the culture was the Pennsylvania German dialect, which is
still spoken in parts of the Pennsylvania German region today, with some
churches having occasional dialect services."*^ There were strong motiva-
tions and forces from both directions: the keeping and the dropping of
High German and the dialect as the language of church and home.

The second form of bilingual stone is more complex. On these stones
part of the epitaph is in German and part in English. One stone from an
unnamed graveyard in Orwigsburg, Schuylkill County, has the German
familial biography for Elisabeth Orwig in German, complete with the ser-
mon text. Underneath are two verses in English from a funeral hymn.

Denkmal

fiir

Elisabeth

Tochter von Wane u. Elisabeth

Orwig

geboren am 24 Marz 1816

und Starb den 23 September 1843

Alter 27 Jahre 5 Monate 29 Tage
Text: 2 Thimothy 4 Cap V 78

Memorial

for

Elisabeth

Daughter of Wane and Elisabeth

Orwig

Born on the 24th of March, 1816

And died the 23rd of

September, 1843

Aged 27 years, 5 months, 29 days.

Text: 2 Timothy, Chapter 4,

Verse 78.

Well, she is gone and now in Heaven
She sings his praise who died for her
And to her hand a harp is given
And she is a heavenly worshipper

O let me think of all she said
And all the kindness she gave
And let me do it now shes dead
And sleeping in her lowly grave

Other stones have the biography in English, with the sermon reference, the

funeral hymn, or a religious verse in German. These stones are in effect
speaking to two cultures, not just to one culture in the process of learning a
new language.

For the Pennsylvania German the important thing is to bear witness to
the existence of the dead. We learn from a gravestone, for example, that
the name of the deceased was Samuel Buffenmoyer; that he was born on
February 18, 1795 and died on January 24, 1880; and that he lived to be 84
years, 11 months and 6 days old. His remains rest in peace in the Bricker-
ville Lutheran Church cemetery. The verse on his stone reminds us that we
are saved through Christ's sacrifice:

Mein Gott - ich bitt durch My God, I pray by means of

Christi Blut: Mache doch Christ's blood. Make

mit meinem ende gut. my end be good.

He was born, he lived, he died, and we knew him. He looked for salvation
through the Lord. This is what was important in the eighteenth century and
what was still important in the twentieth century.

One can trace the change in artistic fashions related to death as the skull
becomes a cherub becomes a willow becomes a flower. On English-
language stones, the evolution in artistic motifs is paralleled and reinforced
by the verses used in the epitaphs. These verses evolve from Memento Mori
of the "Reader, stop as you pass by" variety to ones stating that the dead
person is resting in Jesus or has gone to his eternal home. A movement
takes place from the 1700s through the 1800s away from the physical repre-
sentation of death (skulls, death's heads, skeletons in art and "Here lies the
body of in the epitaphs) to a metaphorical presence (urns, cut flowers,
hands pointing upwards in art and "Asleep in Jesus" in epitaphs). At the
same time, there is a movement from showing little concern with the
spiritual state of the dead (the death's heads and Memento Mori are all very
physical) toward the belief and knowledge that the dead one is alive and
well in his new heavenly home (gates of heaven and angels taking the dead
heavenward in art, ideas of reaching salvation, making the final journey and
in reaching a new home in epitaphs).'*^ On the German-language stones,
the artistic evolution is very clear, but there is no similar evolution in the

epitaphs. Beyond the switch from Hier Ruhet (Here Rests) to Denkmal fur
(A memorial for), no such textual change paralleling the change in designs
exists on the Pennsylvania German stones. The epitaphs continue to be
concerned with who the person was. Once the Pennsylvania German
gravestones start appearing in English, the attitudes shown among the
English-speaking population start to appear in the epitaphs.

This is not to say that an evolution in attitudes toward death did not exist
among the German-speaking population. It simply becomes harder to
document such changes, if they do exist, using only the gravestones as
evidence. Any changes which did occur never predominated over the
primary object of reviewing the life of the deceased. It would be interesting
to track the texts used for the funeral sermons and the hymns sung at the
funeral services to see if they show any pattern of change over time. It
could well be that which sermon texts and hymns were used changed over
time and that these changes record the evolving attitudes as reflected by the
English-language epitaphs.

Popular printed materials tended to have a conservative influence on
each language tradition. Per Zanger am Grabe. a German-language book of
hymns for the dead first published in 1842, included a list of popular funeral
sermon texts."*^ By at least the 1860s, English-language stonecutters were
publishing booklets, or catalogs, of epitaphs from which patrons could
choose.''^ The more people choosing from such works, the slower would any
change in attitudes manifest itself.

One can also trace the use of ethnic markers. Many of the early grave-
stone decorations stem from inherited motifs of Pennsylvania German folk
art. Some of the later ones may represent a conscious attempt to make a
statement in the face of the mid-nineteenth century culture clash, a stressful
period which can be seen in the bilingual stones. This same stressful period
influenced the codification of plain dress among the Amish and Mennonites
into a uniform and saw the first appearance of gaily painted hex signs on
barns in Berks and Lehigh Counties.'*^ The German language became an
ethnic marker and the strength of the ethnic tradition in local regions can
be measured by how long German was used on the stones.

Finally, the interplay between cultures can be studied, as in the Pennsyl-

vania German adoption of the mainstream, popular art forms. The impor-
tance of EngHsh to a local region can be estimated by how soon the switch
was made from German to English on the stones. The appearance of
English surnames, or those of other ethnic groups, on stones in a graveyard
hints at settlement and intermarriage patterns.'*^

Now, the author should take his cue from John 16, verse 7, found on a
stone in Bernville, Berks County, which says: "It is expedient For you that I
go away."

NOTES

An ezirlier version of this paper was presented at the Annual Meeting of the Association for
Gravestone Studies held at Rutgers University in New Brunswick, New Jersey on June 29, 1985.
I am grateful for the comments made by Don Yoder and by members of the audience at the
original presentation.

1. Russel Wieder Gilbert, A Picture of the Pennsylvania Germans, (Gettysburg, PA, The Penn-
sylvania Historical Association, 1971), p. 3.

2. See Don Yoder, "Religious Patterns of the Dutch Country" in In the Dutch Country,
(Lancaster, Pennsylvania Dutch Folklore Center, n.d.), pp. 6-8.

3. See, for example, Gilbert, op. cit., pp. 12-14, and Frederick S. Weiser, "Baptismal Certificate
and Gravemarker: Germzm Folk Art at the Beginning and the End of Life" in Ian M.G.
Quimby and Scott T. Swank, eds.. Perspectives on American Folk Art, (New York, Norton),
p. 134.

4. The gravestones of Pennsylvania have not received the attention which those of New
England have. Some of the works include Preston A. Bcu^ba, Pennsylvania German
Tombstones: A Study in Folk Art, (Allentown, PA, Schlechter's, 1954); Thomas E. Graves,
"Leibsten Kinder und Werwandten: Death and Ethnicity," Keystone Folklore, NS-2:l/2
(1983):6-14; Graves, Vie Pennsylvania German Hex Sign: A Study in Folk Process, unpub.
Ph.D. dissertation, (Univ. of PA, 1984), pp. 82, 223-225, 377, 425, 481; Frank E. McDonald,
"Pennsylvania German Tombstone Art of Lebanon County, Pennsylvania," Pennsylvania
Folklife, XXV: 1 (Autumn, 1975) :2- 19; John Joseph Stoudt, Pennsylvania German Folk Art:
An Interpretation, (Allentown, PA, Schlechter's, 1966); Weiser, op. cit.; and Louis Winkler,
"Pennsylvania German Astronomy and Astrology IV: Tombstones," Pennsylvania Folklife,
XXII:2 (Winter 1972-73):42-45.

5. Some of the earliest gravestones are in the surviving Mennonite graveyards in Germantown.
The earhest date found on a stone at Axe's burial ground is 1716. This Germantown
graveyard was estabhshed for the Mennonite community in 1692. See Joseph S. Miller and
Marcus Miller, An Index and Description of The Mennonites of Southeastern Pennsylvania,
1683-1983, (Philadelphia, Germantown Mennonite Church Corporation jmd the Mennonite
Historians of Eastern Pennsylvania, n.d.) For consistency, these stones will not be discussed
since the focus of this paper is the gravestones of the Lutheran and Reformed groups.

6. The markers used by the Mennonites during the colonial period were comparatively small
and unadorned. Decorations that did appear include hearts and trees-of-life. The Vic-
torian stones generally followed the trends outlined in this paper, although not the full
range of designs were used. The Meimonite and Amish stones are much plainer because of

these groups' ideas of "plainness," ideas shared by the early Puritans and the Quakers.

7. For the Lutheran congregation, see Frederick S. Weiser, S.T.M., "The Lutherans" in Robert
Grant Crist, ed., Perm's Example to the Nations: 300 Years of the Holy Experiment,
(Hiu-risburg, Pennsylvania Council of Churches for the Pennsylvania Religious Tercenten-
ary Committee, 1987), pp. 74-75. For the Reformed congregations, see John B. Frantz,
Ph.D., "United Church of Christ" in Crist, op. cit., pp. 129-146, and "Historic Churches of
WBYO Land" in the 20th Anniversary Issue of WBYO Wavelength, (published by radio sta-
tion WBYO in Boyertown, PA, 1980), vol. 13, p. 27. The latter publication describes and il-
lustrates many of the historical churches of this region of all denominations.

8. Frances Lichten, Folk Art of Rural Pennsylvania, (New York, Charles Scribner's, 1946), p.
13L

9. McDonald, op. cit. Cast iron markers are mentioned and illustrated by Henry C. Mercer,
The Bible in Iron, (Doylestown, PA, The Bucks County Historical Society, 1961), p. 250 and
plate 392 and Henry J. Kauffman, Early American Ironware, (New York, Weathervane,
1967), pp. 25, 28, but the examples illustrated, with dates of 1747 and 1825, are from New
Jersey. Peimsylvania had a large iron industry, so this form of marker may have been
produced and used there. Iron markers were also used in the mid-nineteenth century by the
Pennsylvania Germans who migrated into Virginia and West Virginia. See Elmer Lewis
Smith, John G. Stewart, and M. Ellsworth Kyger, The Pennsylvania Germans of the Shenan-
doah Valley, (Allentown, Schlechter's, 1964), p. 224.

10. McDonald, op. cit., pp. 18-19.

11. Lewis Miller, Sketches and Chronicles, (York, PA, The Historical Society of York County,
1966), p. 63. Other early graveyards are illustrated on pp. 12, 28 (a Meimonite burial
ground), 109 (Prospect Hill, a garden cemetery).

12. Weiser, op. cit., p. 160. Almost no work identifying individual carvers has been done in
Peimsylvania. The names of nineteenth century carvers are often found at the bottom of the
stone. These names have not been systematically collected. McDonald made a start by
grouping stones by styles. One work which does mention carvers is Smith, Stewart, and
Kyger, op. cit., pp. 224-5, 227. This book is concerned with the Pennsylvania Germans who
migrated from Pennsylvania to Virginia and West Virginia, and the carvers mentioned are
from the Shenandoah Valley and not from the core area of Pennsylvania. This area of re-
search is currently wide open in Pennsylvania.

13. Weiser, op. cit., pp. 134-61.

14. 1 have seen such baptismal certificates in the fraktur collection of the Historical Society of
Berks County. This information is sometimes added in pencil and sometimes on the back of
the certificate, making it hard to spot these additions from the illustrations in the published
collections.

15. Don Yoder (personal communication) remembers seeing one Berks County stone which
listed the hymn sung at the house, the hymn sung at church, and the hymn sung at the
graveside.

16. PhiUppe Aries, The Hour of our Death, (New York, Knopf, 1981), pp. 409-556.

17. Barba, op. cit., 140-151; Lichten, op. cit. For other examples of German markers, see Ernst
Schlee, German Folk Art (Tokyo, New York and San Francisco, 1980), pp. 218-219. For
German wrought iron markers, see Kdx\ von Spiess, Bauemkunst, Ihre Art und ihr Sinn.
(BerUn, Herbert Stubenrauch, 1943), pp. 206-208. See also "Grabdenkmaler" and
"Totenbrett" in Oswald A. Erich and Richard Beitl, Wdrterbuch der deutschen Volkskunde.
1st ed., (Leipzig, Alfred Kroner, 1936), pp. 256-258, 718.

18. Barba, op. cit., p. 170.

19. Stoudt, op. cit. p. 378-80. He illustrates them agam with no comment in Sunbonnets and
Shoofly Pies. A Pennsylvania Dutch Cultural History, (New York, Castle Books, 1973), p.
160.

20. Lichten, op. cit.

21. These theories have been put forward in conversations with, among other people, Tim
Kloberdanz and Don Yoder.

22. Schlee, op. cit. Painted wooden markers are illustrated in Klaus Beitl, Volksglaube. Zeug-
nisse Religiser Volkunst. (Salzburg and Vienna, Residenz Verlag, 1978), figures 46 a-d
(notes on pp. 156-158).

23. Stoudt, Pennsylvania German Folk Art, op cit. Stoudt's whole hypothesis is that all of Penn-
sylvania German art is a manifestation of religious beliefs. This theme runs through
Stoudt's entire book, but readers can consult chapter 4: "Symbol, Image, and Literary
Expression" (pp. 99-118) for brief descriptions of various motifs. His works are very
detailed and well documented. The main argument that has arisen is the question of
whether colonial artists or their clientele knew these religious connections.

24. Winkler, op. cit.

25. Barba, op. cit., pp. 11-12.

26. Barba, ibid, pp. 9-10. See also Graves, The Pennsylvania Hex Sign, op. cit., pp. 444-448.

27. Barba, op. cit.; Graves, T)xe Pennsylvania Hex Sign, op. cit.; and "Leibsten Kinder", op. cit.
Hex signs on barns are found only among members of the church groups of the Pennsyl-
vania Germans. The Amish and Mennonites do not have hex signs.

28. Allan I. Ludwig, Graven Images: New England Stonecarving and its Symbols, 1650-1815,
(Middletown, CT, Wesleyan Univ. Press, 1966), pp. 225-232.

29. C. Schuchhardt, Schliemann's Discoveries of the Ancient World, (New York, Avenel Books,
1979), pp. 177-205. The rosette and other related geometric designs have been traced back
to Sumaria, where these designs were used to decorate pottery.

30. Graves, The Pennsylvania German Hex Sign, op. cit., pp. 422-430.

31. Graves, ibid, pp. 223-225, and "Leibsten Kinder", op. cit.

32. For examples of Victorian motifs on the gravestones of the English-speaking population of
the United States, see Edmund V. Gillon, Jr., Victorian Cemetery Art, (New York, Dover,
1972).

33. For an example, see the Currier and Ives print, "The Mother's Drecun," with the angel carry-
ing the dead baby's soul heavenward, reproduced in Martha K. Pike and Janice Gray
Armstrong, A Time to Mourn. Expressions of Grief in Nineteenth Century America, (New
York, The Museums at Stony Brook, 1980), p. 143. Das Hen des Menschen. ein Temple
Gottes. Oder eine Werkstdtte des Satans. (Reading, PA, Heinrich B. Sage, 1822), fig. 10, and
its English translation. The Heart of Man, A Temple of God or the Habitation of Satan,
(Harrisburg, Theo F. Scheffer, n.d.) shows an angel at the deathbed of a "saintly man" and
another one carrying a Bible as it flies through the air. The small soul effigy is being taken
heavenward via God's words which extend from God's mouth to the effigy. Figure 8 in
these books shows the death of the ungodly man who is cast into eterucil fire by God. In
Figure 10 the angel is pointing upwards; in Figure 8 she is pointing downwards. In Figure 8
the devils and demons await the soul, which has apparently not yet left the body. See also
the numerous prints of angels carrying George Washington heavenward which were
popular in the first couple of decades of the nineteenth century. Two examples are
reproduced in Anita Schorsch, Mourning Becomes America. Mourning Art in the New Na-
tion, (Harrisburg, Pennsylvania Historical and Museum Commission, 1976), plates 19/50,
20/51.

34. Graves, "Leibsten Kinder", op. cit., pp. 9-11.

35. Ibid.

36. Bilingual stones au-e not unique to the Pennsylvania Germans. Halporn, for example, il-
lustrates two stones with a mixture of Hebrew and English texts and one with a Hebrew and
German text. Roberta Halporn, Lessons from the Dead, (Brooklyn, Highly Specialized
Promotions, 1979), pp. 12, 22, 24. As a side note, the German Jews were an important part

of the second wave of immigration from Germany to the United States from 1840 to 1880.

37. Weiser, "The Lutherans," op. cit., p. 75; and Doerries, op. cit., p.77.

38. Doerries, ibid.

39. Ibid., pp. 77-79.

40. See, for example, Louis Winkler, "Pennsylvania German Astronomy and Astrology XVI:
German Language Almanacs," Pennsylvania Folklife, 28:2 (Winter, 1978/79), pp. 18-25.

41. Yoder, "Religious Patterns," op. cit.; and Pennsylvania Spiritual, (Lancaster, Permsylvania
Folklife Society, 1961).

42. 1 have tapes of story-telling sessions held almost entirely in the dialect from as recently as
the Spring of 1987. Concerning the dialect, see, for example, Richard Druckenbrod, Mir
Lanne Deitsch. (Allentown, by the author, 1981); Wilham T. Parsons, "Pennsylfawnisch
Deitsch und Pfalzer: Dialect Comparisons Old and New", Pennsylvania Folklife, 31:3
(Spring, 1982), pp. 117-127; and Claude K. Deischer, "My Experience with the Dialect,"
Pennsylvania Folklife, 23:4 (Summer, 1974), pp. 47-48. Concerning dialect services, see Don
Yoder, "The Dialect Church Service in the Pennsylvania German Culture," Pennsylvania
Folklife, 27:4 (Summer, 1978), pp. 2-13.

43. Graves, "Ch2inges in Attitudes Toward Death as Reflected in the Gravestones of St. David's
Episcopal Church (Radnor, PA)", unpub. MA. paper, Univ. of PA, 1979.

44. Carl G. Herman, DerZdngeram Grabe (Kutztown, PA, 1842). This book has gone through
many reprints.

45.^ Collection of Epitaphs suitable for Monumental Inscriptions from various Sources,
(Harrisburg, John Beatty, Stone-Cutter, 1867). Earlier catalogs of epitaphs may exist.

46. Don Yoder, "Sectman Costume Research in the United States", in Forms Upon the Fron-
tier, (Logan, Utah, Utah State Univ., 1969), pp. 41-75; and Graves, The Pennsylvania Ger-
man Hex Sign, op. cit., pp. 80-83.

47. Of course, all of the other possible ways to learn from graveyards as outlined by Halporn
(op. cit.) are also available to those studying Pennsylvania German gravestones.

1. One of Pennsylvania's many eighteenth-centuiy rural graveyards. Lower
Marsh Creek Presbyterian Cemetery, Fairfield, Adams County.

EARLY PENNSYLVANIA GRAVEMARKERS

Photographs and text by
Daniel and Jessie Lie Farber

The photographs on the following pages are an introduction to the
variety and charm of Pennsylvania's early gravestone art. This group of
photographs is presented as a companion piece to the preceding article by
Thomas Graves. We made the photographs in the spring of 1984.

In June, 1988 The Association for Gravestone Studies will hold its aimual
conference in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, a short drive from several graveyards
rich in fine examples of early carving. We hope that Thomas Graves's ar-
ticle, our photographs and the 1988 conference will stimulate interest and
encourage further research in Pennsylvania gravestone art.

IN THE RURAL GRAVEYARDS OF PENfNSYLVANIA

2. One of several handsome bird carvings in the Fairfield graveyard.
Samuel Reynold, 1758; slate, 18" high.

3. An unusual winged beast carved on a damaged marker in Amish farm
country. John Midlto, 1739, Chestnut Level, Lancaster County; slate, 20"
high.

THERE ARE BIRDS AND BEASTS

4. The two animals on this stone appear to be the carver's primitive at-
tempt to depict the rooster, a symbol of fertility. Rudolph Oberle, 1777,
Hellertown, Northampton County; sandstone, 31" high.

HEARTS AND FLOWERS,

5. Hearts and flowers are used in a variety of ways, here in combination to
depict a tree of life. This lightly incised carving is on a stone inscribed in
German. Elisabet Kunsin, 1794, Littlestovm, Adams County; sandstone, 27"
high.

100

TREES OF LIFE ...

6. This tree of life, cut in high relief, decorates a marker that has no in-
scription. Bergstrasse Lutheran Churchyard, Ephrata, Lancaster County;
sandstone, 40" high.

101

CHERUBS

7. Chubby figures carrying Bibles or branches of ft'uit are found in the
area around Bernville. The stones are inscribed in beautiful, but
deteriorated, German fraktur lettering. Name illegible, 1775, Christ Little
Tupelhocken Churchyard, Bernville, Berks County; sandstone, 38" high.

8. A little face and circles decorate a stone with "M 1811 D" its only in-
scription. M.D., 1811, Muddy Creek Lutheran Church Cemetery, Ephrata,
Lancaster County; sandstone, 30" high.

102

AND WINGED FACES

9. This winged face adorned with hearts and halo is one of many fanciful
effigies carved on gray stone in and around Brickerville. The markers have
been set in concrete. Anna Millerin, 1825, Emmanuel Lutheran Church-
yard, Brickerville, Lancaster County; possibly sandstone, 36" high.

10. A unique effigy in a yard containing other one-of-a-kind designs cut by
the same unidentified carver. Thomas Millroie, 1747, Chestnut Level, Lan-
caster County; slate, 19" high.

103

SKULLS, CROSSBONES

11. Hearts sometimes replace the traditional skull over crossbones, as on
this tympanum carving. Name illegible, 1757, New Goshenhoppen Church-
yard, East Greenville, Montgomery County; sandstone, 27" high.

12. Skull and crossbones in high relief at base of stone. Johan Bngl(?),
circa 1785, United Church of Christ Churchyard, Blainsport, Lancaster
County; sandstone, 45" high.

104

AND CELESTIAL BODIES ...

13. The waning moon and other heavenly bodies are design motifs common
to stones in Muddy Creek and Bergstrasse Lutheran Church Cemeteries.
Their unidentifled carver usually cut only a partial inscription or no in-
scription. No inscription, circa 1800, Muddy Creek Lutheran Churchyard,
Ephrata, Lancaster County; sandstone.

105

ROSETTES IN PROFUSION

14. Floral decorations and rosettes are widely used, the hourglass rarely.
Leonhard Miller, 1794, Emanuel Lutheran Churchyard, Brickerville, Lan-
caster County; sandstone, 39" high.

15a.

106

A>fD A FEW PORTRAITS."

15b.

15 a,b. Wingless faces are rare. 15a. No inscription, circa 1800, Muddy
Creek Lutheran Churchyard, Ephrata, Lancaster County; sandstone, 40"
high. 15b. Salome Eichelberger, 1793, Hanover, York County; slate, 21"
high.

107

CARVING STYLES RANGE FROM PRIMITIVE TO SOPHISTICATED.

16. Primitive marker, possibly a footstone. KD, 1767, New Goshenhoppen
Churchyard, East Greenville, Montgomery County; sandstone, 12" high.

17. Skillfully executed life and death symbols. John Clark, 1776, Chestnut
Level, Lancaster County; slate, 34" high.

108

DEATH MOTIFS ARE USED I^fFREQUENTLY.

18. Mortality symbols: skull flanked by hourglass and candle in holder
with flickering flame (?). George Junt, 1770, Bergstrasse Lutheran Church-
yard, Ephrata, Lancaster County; sandstone, 36" high.

109

MANY OF THE EARLY INSCRIPTIONS

19a. The outer circle of this inscription reads, "KOM STERBLICHER
BETRACHTE MICH" (Come, mortal one, consider me). The inner circle reads,
"WAS ICH B," probably the beginning of, "Was Ich bin, so wirst auch dirch"
(What I am, so you will also be).

110

ARE IN GERMAN...

19b. The reverse of the marker in photograph 19a. Catrina Cromlrin, 1783,
Penryn, Lancaster County; sandstone, 21" high.

Ill

AJVfD MANY EARY INSCRIPTIONS

20. Early stone inscribed in English. This striking marker uses the head
and wings of the effigy to form the traditional eighteenth-century
tympanum-and-shoulder gravestone configuration. Elisabeth Steel, 1749,
Chestnut Level, Lancaster County; sandstone, 21" high.

112

ARE IN ENGLISH.

21. This stone stands in a yard dominated by German inscriptions.
Elizabeth Weidman, circa 1800, Emanuel Lutheran Churchyard, Bricker-
ville, Lancaster County; a gray stone, probably sandstone, set in concrete;
23" high.

113

SOME MARKERS ARE ONLY PARTIALLY INSCRIBED ...

22. Partially inscribed stone with a blank area where one expects to find
further data, a curiosity seen on a number of stones in the area by the same
area carver. Freyen is the feminine form of Frey. H. Freyen, Muddy Creek
Lutheran Churchyard, Ephrata, Lancaster County; sandstone.

23. Stone with no inscription, circa 1800. Muddy Creek Lutheran Church-
yard, Ephrata, Lancaster County; sandstone, 31" high.

114

OR HAVE NO INSCRIPTION AT ALL.

24. Interesting symbolism on one of the uninscribed stones that appear to
be the work of the same Lancaster County carver. Is the sun rising or set-
ting over water, or is it peeking through clouds? Circa 1800, Bergstrasse
Lutheran Churchyard, Ephrata, Lancaster County; sandstone, 39" high.

115

A LARGE PERCENTAGE OF THE STO^fES

25 a,b. Typical uninscribed marker with decorative carving on both sides.
Circa 1800, Muddy Creek Lutheran Churchyard, Ephrata, Lancaster
County; sandstone, 26" high.

116

ARE CARVED ON BOTH FACES.

:JV "■ .t-'('!' i''f-' f'v'f''-

;-»•,, '..,1 ■■> 17.1, ; .J, I. ^1^1

c^'^-

26 a,b. Typical example of a marker decorated on one side, inscribed on the
reverse. The tree of life is similar to others that appear to be by the same
area carver. Rudolf Oberly, 1780, Christ Union Church, Lower Saucon
Tovmship, near Hellertown, Northampton County; sandstone, 29" high on
decorated (excavated) side.

117

NINETEENTH-CENTURY MARKERS ARE DECORATED WITH

27a.

27b.

27 a,b,c,d. Four examples of traditional nineteenth-century symbols, three
with handsome fraktur lettering. Huffs Churchyard, Huffs Church, Berks
County; marble. 27a. Friedrich Sigmund, 1860; 58" high. 27b. Philip
Blumbauer, 1851, 47" high.

118

(

FINE EXAMPLES OF TRADITIONAL SYMBOLISM OF THAT PERIOD.

27c.

27d.

27c. James Cunningham, 1868, 41" high. 27d. James R. Menich, 1862, 30"
high.

119

PENNSYLVANIA'S GRAVESTONE ART

i^^.

^I ■ lis

28a.

28b.
120

IS UNIQUE IN ITS DIVERSITY AND CHARM.

28c.

28 a,b,c. Three unique examples of Pennsylvania's finest gravestone art.
28a. Name illegible, 1750, Christ Lutheran Church, Stouchsburg, Berks
County; sandstone, 33" high. 28b. No inscription, circa 1800, Muddy Creek
Lutheran Churchyard, Ephrata, Lancaster County; sandstone, 40" high.
(For reverse of this stone see 14b.) 28c. Jane Waugh, 1770, Lower Marsh
Creek Presbyterian Cemetery, Fairfield, Adams County; slate, 30" high.

121

EACH CX3T REPFVE8ENT8
DIME INVENTORIED CEMETERY

•• % • •^^ —

Map of Ontario

122

ONTARIO GRAVESTONES

Darrell A. Norris

Introduction

Few facets of nineteenth-century material culture are as evocative as the
gravestone. No other historical artifact matches the gravestone's many ad-
vantages as a cultural indicator. Its merits include widespread distribution,
visibility, durability, relative immobility, and sheer numbers. As an impor-
tant bonus, the age of gravestones is reasonably easy to establish. To these
advantages may be added the gravestone's summary profile of individual
lives, its reflection of contemporary taste and symbolic expression, and,
sometimes, its attribution to a particular carver or manufacturer. Moreover,
the gravestone rarely stands in splendid isolation. Its groupings, from small
family plots to urban necropolises, are rich lodes of spatial meaning. Geog-
raphers have considered ways in which communities of the dead were
planned, sited, named, subdivided, and filled to echo the ideals and norms
of society (Kniffen, 1967; Francaviglia, 1971; Jeane, 1978; Darden, 1972;
Zelinsky, 1975). Few cultural landscape features offer greater scope for the
geographer concerned with North America's past. Despite its morbid and
awkward name, necrogeography has been a lively branch of cultural geo-
graphy.

Yet, even allowing for the excellent work on gravestones and cemeteries
produced by cultural geographers, folk historians, and archaeologists, the
shades of meaning conveyed by the gravestone remain in some respects
unexplored. This deficiency of detailed observation and inference is most
evident in the case of gravestone design, particularly for the period of ex-
uberant design and burgeoning popular culture between the late eighteenth
and early twentieth century. One reason for the limited work on this topic
is that gravestones of the early industrial era pose an immense taxonomic
problem. How does one cope with a repertoire of design expression which
embraced apparently endless variants of form, size, decorative treatment,
verbal inscription, and material composition? The immense iconographic
potential of this repertoire needs no emphasis. The variety is immediately

123

evident in most Victorian cemeteries, and conspicuously absent in the
modern rule-bound memorial garden.

The ordinary Victorian commemoration of death was anything but
egalitarian; it was remarkably expressive and varied (Pike and Armstrong,
1980). And, as much as it celebrated the dead, nineteenth-century burial
accommodated the dispositions of the living. To comprehend the grave-
stone as both a commercially sold object and as a vehicle of Victorian ex-
pression requires a systematic, flexible, and subtle approach to classification
and contextual analysis. Applying such a classification with reasonable con-
fidence in the results obtained requires numerous examples of gravestone
design through time and across space. Most importantly, we need to blend
our understanding of gravestones with information about the people who
commissioned them, those who made and sold them (Wallace, 1985), and
those who died to deserve them.

This essay addresses these themes using evidence drawn from the
Province of Ontario, Canada. Aggregate results are presented based on a
widespread inventory of cemeteries in rural southern Ontario undertaken
between 1975 and 1979 by McMaster University geography students under
my direction. The inventory included over five thousand gravestones
erected between 1800 and 1909. A total of 105 rural cemeteries were inven-
toried. I have selected a number of case studies which illustrate ways in
which gravestone evidence can be integrated with broader aspects of
nineteenth-century society, especially its social and cultural geography.

Previous work focused on Ontario cemeteries and gravestones includes a
small volume of photographs by Carole Hanks (1974), an assessment of
gravestones as a demographic source (Osborne, 1974), recent work devoted
to cemetery design and regulation (Hall and Bowden, 1986), and a special-
ized treatment of the carving of human or divine figures as decorative
motifs (Stone and Russell, 1986). An Ontario Genealogical Society
monograph (Knight, 1973) features some case studies, and Nancy-Lou Pat-
terson (1976) presents a fascinating discussion of the tree-of-life form as an
instance of persistent folk tradition among German-Canadian settlers. As
far as I am aware, however, the literature contains no overview of memorial
practice in Ontario, its ties to New England folk tradition, or its parallels

124

with nineteenth-century developments in the United States.

Ontario

The geographer Peirce Lewis has characterized the Niagara border
region as one of the sharpest cultural divides in North America. His topic
was another sine qua non of material-cultural study, the vernacular house.
Ontario began as Upper Canada, a by-product of the American Revolution
and of the diaspora of Loyalists (Tories) from a lost cause to remote settle-
ment nuclei at both ends of Lake Ontario, in a land wrested from France in
the eighteenth century's other decisive North American conflict. Scrutiny of
Ontario's earliest colonists under English rule reveals a heterogeneous cul-
tural profile; those of Dutch background and other New Yorkers were rela-
tively numerous, as were discharged troops from England's polyglot colonial
army. Before 1812 land-hungry American emigrants leavened the new
society, as did the first arrival of relatively indigent Scots and Irish. Cultural
pluralism and exposure to external influences have always characterized On-
tario. The War of 1812-14 certainly solidified the province's resolve not to
slavishly imitate American culture; Ontario's Classical Revival, for example,
was muted and rarely ostentatious.

But Ontario's frontier experience, commercial development, and external
contacts made for growing similarities with United States social and
economic structure, especially that of the lower Great Lakes states.
Moreover, the rapid growth of population sustained by immigration between
the mid 1820s and early 1850s created a society dominated by Scots and
Irish settlers, mainly Protestants, infused with an ethic of toil and progress
strikingly similar to that of midwestern American farmers. By the time of
Canadian Confederation in 1867, Ontario's people combined a keen na-
tional and British Imperial vision with a pragmatic, sometimes even en-
thusiastic, acceptance of American practice and iimovation. It is important
to grasp this paradox when one examines just about any aspect of Victorian
and Edwardian Ontario society, including memorialization of the dead.

Between 1880 and the First World War, Ontario became increasingly ur-
banized and industrialized, and absorbed significant numbers of European
immigrants in its major manufacturing centers, notably Hamilton and

125

Toronto. As elsewhere in North America, the material ostentation and
security of the Gilded Age veiled growing insecurities and dislocation, in-
cluding the migration of many rural Ontarians to Western Canada and the
United States, the pains of structural or cyclic economic hardship, and the
growing dependency of rural areas on external sources (including flows of
capital, insurance, credit, produce, consumer goods, information, and
people.) Thus rural Ontario's coming of age had actually undermined its
sense of autonomy and cultural identity. Its gravestones are a revealing
mirror of the province's identity in the wider and changing context of
nineteenth-century North American material culture.

Five Roles of the Gravestone

Gravestones are obviously a medium of expression, of communication,
but in Ontario as elsewhere this expression is multifaceted. First, the most
obvious intent of the gravestone is to provide a fitting and durable memorial
to the individual. But this role was almost always associated with a second
purpose, which was to express the presence and position of the family within
its immediate community. At the same time, however, gravestones
proclaimed and celebrated the fact of belonging. Through the collectivity of
the cemetery, gravestones replicated ties based on church membership, eth-
nic background, social standing, and of course place of residence. This third
role of the gravestone was to petrify and endorse the complex social order
of North American localities.

The fourth role of the gravestone transcended local circumstance. Like
Victorian domestic architecture, gravestones reflected shifting currents of
popular taste in North American society. In Portland, Oregon, no less than
in Portland, Maine, death was a catalyst for a vogue or for conformist ex-
pression through memorial art. In its fifth role, however, the nineteenth-
century gravestone signaled the beginning of mass material culture in the
industrial age. As an object of mainly popular, not folk, culture, the graves-
tone involved makers, sellers, and buyers. In fact it exhibited a close paral-
lel to Victorian furnishings, fittings, and fixtures, for these too disguised
standardized forms with a superficial veneer of variety and individuality. It
is essential to keep in mind this inherently commercial role of the grave-

126

stone as one of the first durable consumer goods which combined the illu-
sion of uniqueness with the realities of standardized manufacture.

It is easy to overlook these roles in present-day North America, for the
iconography of the gravestone has been impoverished by the fear and cost
of death and by the regulation of memorial art. For most of us, eternity will
be an undistinguished, compact, high density, even high-rise place of rest.
Occupancy costs, the monumental expense of monuments, and the recession
of family and community bonds have all stifled a repose which once offered
more space, substance, and scope for expression. Thus nineteenth-century
gravestone iconography is equally distant from both its craft (and primarily
folk-cultural) roots and the muted message it characteristically conveys in
twentieth-century mass culture.

Gravestone Form

For cultural geographers, the seminal work on gravestones as cultural ex-
pression is the exploratory statement by Richard Francaviglia (1971).
Francaviglia's classification of nineteenth and twentieth century American
gravestones was based solely on their form. He identified only nine types of
monument, two of which were almost exclusively twentieth-century forms.
This and other disquieting features of Francaviglia's work were criticized by
Jeane (1972) in geography's leading scholarly journal. Nonetheless,
Francaviglia's work remains widely read and, I think, is commonly assumed
to reflect the realities of gravestone design. For example, Harmon (1973)
used a slightly modified version of Francaviglia's classification in a survey of
several thousand Pennsylvania gravestones.

Even the most casual observer of Victorian cemeteries immediately sees
that obelisks, crosses, and elaborately sculpted forms were greatly outnum-
bered by vertical slabs. The form of these slabs was mostly determined by
the design of their top. Francaviglia identified only two such forms: the
Gothic pointed arch, and the round-headed tablet reminiscent of the Mosaic
commandments. In fact, however, vertical slabs took many forms, from the
plain rectangular gravestone to tops with very complex bilateral symmetry.
When Victor Konrad (now Director of Canadian Studies at the University
of Maine, Orono) and I designed a standard inventory form for rural On-

127

tario cemeteries, we began with a reconnaissance of several graveyards,
noting what appeared to be common vertical slab and other monument
forms. The resultant inventory form is illustrated in Figure 1. The more
than five thousand gravestones inventoried by our students were all
categorized using this standard form. In addition to the nine vertical slab
variants illustrated, the form provides for sketches of more detailed treat-
ment of the top and (as we soon discovered) sides of vertical slabs. Com-
puter encoding, recoding, and analysis revealed seven common vertical slab
forms in Ontario between 1800 and 1909 (Table 1).

A.G.S. members will be surprised to note that we did not provide for the
common New England "bedboard" design in our standard inventory form.
As the field surveys progressed after 1975, this deficiency became evident,
and fieldworkers were instructed to carefully sketch this tripartite slab and
its derivative designs. These are identified as New England forms in Table
1, although of course I recognize that such forms were characteristic of the
entire eighteenth-century eastern seaboard and of contemporary England as
well. The form does present us with a sense of the weight and persistence
of Loyalist cultural baggage in nineteenth-century Ontario. The bedboard
stone was, it seems, never dominant after 1800, accounting for no more than
15 percent of the gravestones inventoried in any period of the nineteenth
and early twentieth century (Table 1). Nonetheless, this rather faint
colonial legacy did prove to be remarkably resilient to Victorian faddishness
in memorial design, a feature shared by the Palladian style, also carried
forward from eighteenth-century practice (Table 1, and Figure 1, form a)
05).

Baroque complexity of the tops and sides of the vertical slabs in Ontario
was especially characteristic of the 1830s, no doubt reflecting the renewal of
British immigration and the growing sophistication of the province's early
marble works (Table 1). The plain rectangular slab neatly divides the first
and second half of the nineteenth century, distinguishing the restricted
means of pioneer settlement from the enlarged scope and ostentation of
High Victorian rural Ontario.

The segmental arch (Type a) 07), Gothic (Type 2) 09) and Tablet (Type
a) 08) vertical slab forms are all illustrated in Figure 1, and exhibit a

128

FIGURE 1
Inventory Form, Ontario Cemetery SiB^eys, 1975-1979

Ccaerery Ho.

FORM (Circle one code no.)
a) Vertical Slab Variants

(Noce: Toppled Scones Included)

"irker Ko Year of interment

GRID CELL

00) Other slab varlanc
Please skecch

01)

1 1

02)

r^^

03)

OA)

05)

r^^

06)

07)

r"^^

08)

09)

b) Sear Ground Typea
10)

pulplc

raised top Inscription

c) Obelisks

i) Crosses

14)

17)

slople obelisk

15)

cross-vault obelisk

(T\

18)

6) Other, please sketch
20)

f1 Granite Block 21)

Lettering is 1) raised 2) incised 3) both

Marker is of 0) D.K. 1) llaestone 2) granite 3) slate 4) sandstone 5) other.

I'larker orientation 0) N.A. 1) North 2) Ease 3) South A) West

ftarker height is 0) less than one, 1) 2) 3) A) 5) 6) 7) 8) 9)+ feet

Motif ia 0) absent 1) ^§^ 2) A 3) C^s:^ 4) r^

wiLxow urn

m ^> JtI 7) y

clasp

pointer

''^

lamb

Other: sketcn

i/or descrlb

thistle

NOTE: Sculpted motif capping marker (e.g. urn and obelisk) should NOT be recorded.

Marker uaa suoplied by (name)

of (place)

Rel'p First Name Second Name Month Day Year Age Place o' Birth, Country
(h.w.s.d.)

WTE: Enter a^turlik 15 JllcRlblc, Icav^ blank if absent.

129

FORM

TABLE 1.

GRAVESTONE FORMS, RURAL ONTARIO, 1800-1909
PERIOD

1800-
1829

1830- 1840- 1850- 1860- 1870- 1880-
1839 1849 1859 1869 1879 1889

1890-
1899

1900-
1909

(PERCENT OF GRAVESTONES ERECTED DURING PERIOD)

VERTICAL SLABS

93.8

89.5

90.4

88.2

84.4

74.5

62.4

43.6

45.2

New England Forms

12.8

14.3

9.8

8.8

11.1

6.0

7.1

6.5

5.7

Palladian

10.4

5.6

3.5

3.8

4.3

6.4

4.2

2.8

1.3

Baroque

3.7

10.6

1.6

0.6

0.8

2.4

1.6

0.3

0.9

Rectangular

41.5

44.1

57.9

48.1

13.0

6.9

3.9

6.5

7.5

Segmental Arch

7.3

1.2

5.7

9.7

26.7

10.0

11.0

9.4*

13.1*

Gothic

3.0

3.7

5.4

7.5

7.8

8.8

5.5

3.0

4.4

Tablet

7.3

2.5

1.6

4.5

14.8

26.2

22.3

9.4

4.1

Other slabs

7.8

7.5

4.9

5.2

5.9

7.8

6.8

5.7*

8.2*

OBELISKS

1.8

3.8

4.1

5.5

8.4

15.3

27.2

35.1

24.4

Simple

0.0

1.9

2.2

2.6

4.8

7.6

6.1

4.6

Ornamented

1.8

1.9

1.4

2.5

4.4

8.4

14.6

15.3

8.5

Cross-Vault

0.0

0.5

0.8

1.4

2.1

5.0

13.7

11.3

NEAR-GROUND

3.6

5.5

3.8

4.7

6.1

4.8

11.5

18.0

Pulpit

0.6

1.2

0.0

0.2

1.2

1.3

2.7

8.9

13.4

Scroll

0.0

0.1

0.3

1.2

Raised-top

1.2

4.3

1.6

2.1

1.3

0.4

0.7

2.1

Lawn

1.8

0.0

2.2

2.4

2.2

4.4

1.6

1.3

CROSSES

0.0

0.6

0.3

0.5

0.8

1.4

1.6

2.2

3.4

OTHER FORMS

0.8

0.6

1.4

1.1

1.7

2.7

4.0

7.8*

9.0*

TOTAL NO.
INVENTORIED

164

161

368

628

775

778

837

672

681

NOTE: Values marked with an asterisk include granite blocks not categorized as such in
the original inventory

130

chronological succession of peak popularity between 1860 and 1880 (Table
1). In other words, relatively short-lived /os/i/on was not generally typical of
Ontario gravestone forms until well into the second half of the nineteenth
century. It would be instructive to compare this seemingly late dominance
of popular cultural trends with prevailing practice in upstate New York,
especially during the second quarter of the nineteenth century.

Obelisks in rural Ontario cemeteries suggest a chronological pattern
similar to the three voguish vertical slab forms discussed above-evidence of
early introduction but very late widespread acceptance, confined principally
to the 1880s and 1890s (Table 1). Of near-ground marker types, only the
pulpit marker was widely manufactured and adopted before 1910 in
Southern Ontario (Table 1). Early granite blocks are not specifically
reported in Table 1. Granite markers as a whole comprised 44 percent of
all inventoried gravestones in the 1890s, and 54 percent during the first
decade of this century. Overall, the form of rural Ontario gravestones in
the nineteenth century combines modest persistence of traditional designs
until the 1860s, with characteristic simplicity of form tempered by early but
slow acceptance of key popular styles. From the 1860s on, variety and
changing fashion held sway. The shift to modest near-ground memorials
was notably slow, presumably stalled by widespread acceptance of early
sand-blasted granite blocks and the advent of small (and usually granite)
cross-vault obeUsks deemed suitable for family burials.

Motifs

Gravestones can be distinguished not only by their form, but also by the
presence of decorative or symbolic sculpted motifs. The significance of
these motifs is best known through the work of New England scholars
(Dethlefsen and Deetz, 1966; Tashjian and Tashjian, 1974; Benes, 1977).
Moreover, many contributors to Markers and other publications have
reported the value of motifs as a key clue to colonial carver identification.
My concern is less with the motif as the signature of a carver or evidence of
a local practice than with its value as a reflection of widespread popular
taste and attitudes. The reader is doubtless familiar with the classically in-
spired urns, pedestals, and willows which celebrated American death on

131

newly republican soil-so strikingly different from New England's colonial
gallery of death's heads, spirits, and angels.

Evidence of motif preference in the Ontario survey is fragmentary for the
period prior to 1840 (Table 2). Mourning willows and funerary urns cer-
tainly dominated decorative expression, but it is surprising to discover that
all the most popular motifs in nineteenth-century Ontario are occasionally
encountered among the earUest gravestones erected (Table 2), I suspect
that the dates on several stones may have been incorrectly read by
fieldworkers because of obliteration from weathering.

Through the 1840s and 1850s the willow and urn continued to constitute
the majority of all motifs inscribed (Table 2). As with gravestone form, the
1860s were a transitional decade between simplicity and exuberance of ex-
pression. The Hand of God in perpetual admonition appeared in appreci-
able numbers on Ontario gravestones in the 1840s, and remained popular
for five decades (Table 2). The Bible motif was a common adjunct of the
pulpit marker. The cross was often employed on simple polished granite
blocks, and very commonly used in Ontario's Catholic cemeteries. All other
motifs reported in Table 2 reflect a prevailing sentimental, romantic, and
increasingly secular image of death which characterized the period 1860-
1909. The gentle and, one suspects, intentionally ambiguous hand-clasp is a
case in point (Figure la). Note its remarkable surge in popularity in the
1870s and 1880s (Table 2).

The close of the nineteenth century saw fewer Ontario gravestones
decorated with motifs, owing to their comparatively low incidence on
obelisks. The turn of the century was also marked by increasing incidence
of customized or floral motifs rather than standard symbols evocative of
death, faith, or mourning (Table 2). The low but relatively constant use of
the thistle is of course simply explained by the Scots presence in Ontario.

I think it is especially noteworthy that in the 1860s and 1870s at least two
thirds of all rural Ontario gravestones were embellished with motifs. It
would be instructive to compare this pattern with, say, rural Michigan or
New York. My impression of the latter state has been that nineteenth-
century rural New Yorkers were more ready to accept novel forms than they
were decorative Victorian embellishment. The French historian Aries

132

TABLE 2. MOTIF INCIDENCE, RURAL ONTARIO, 1800-1909

MOTIF

1800-
1829

PERIOD

1830-
1839

1840-
1849

1850-
1859

1860-
1869

1870-
1879

1880-
1889

1890-
1899

1900-
1909

(PERCENT OF RECORDED MOTIFS DURING PERIOD)

Wi 1 1 ow

46.8

55.9

47.4

44.1

23.9

7.3

5.7

2.0

1.6

Urn

12.7

18.6

10.3

7.4

6.6

2.1

2.0

2.9

1.3

Hand of
admonition

5.1

1.7

6.4

6.5

9.8

8.4

8.8

3.8

1.0

Rose

2.5

5.1

7.1

11.0

10.9

8.0

12.0

5.8

4.3

Lamb

2.5

1.7

1.3

2.2

7.3

9.1

4.8

2.6

3.3

Clasped hands

3.8

3.4

1.9

1.7

5.7

14.3

18.8

7.3

3.9

Dove

1.3

1.7

0.0

1.2

4.0

5.2

2.4

4.1

1.6

Wreath

2.5

0.0

0.6

1.9

2.9

5.1

6.6

3.8

2.6

Bible

6.3

1.7

2.6

2.9

4.5

7.0

10.9

10.5

9.5

Leaves

5.1

0.0

2.6

2.2

2.6

2.3

5.3

11.1

18.1

Thistle

1.3

1.7

0.0

2.2

1.2

2.3

3.1

3.5

2.3

Flowers

6.3

5.1

8.3

5.8

5.3

11.5

12.3

16.3

18.8

Cross

1.3

0.0

0.6

1.0

1.9

5.1

5.0

10.8

11.5

OTHER nOTIFS

2.9

3.4

10.9

9.9

13.4

12.3

2.3

15.6

20.2

TOTAL NO.
INVENTORIED

156

417

682

573

457

343

304

PERCENT OF
GRAVESTONES
WITHOUT MOTIF(S)

NOTE: The category 'other motifs' includes a very wide variety of decorative

embellishments. The sample size inventoried is given in parentheses after each of
the following motifs: scroll (45), shroud (38), crown (30), lily (25), shield (20),
gate (19), masonic device (18), angel (17), anchor (16), tree (14), crucifix (13),
fleur de lys (12), obelisk (11), all others (78).

133

Figure la. Illustration of clasped hands motif

(1981) singled out this sentimental Victorian zenith as the most striking fea-
ture of North American memorial practice. Ontario's post-pioneer decades
certainly evoke this zenith.

Height

The height and implicit cost of gravestones made important social state-
ments (Kephart, 1950). Obelisks soared Masai-like in the late Victorian
cemetery, dwarfing the slabs around them. Often obelisks were as clustered
in the cemetery as, in real life, were the prominent families they memorial-
ized. This was especially true of Ontario's small towns and villages.
Around these monumental cores, so evocative of modern downtown
skyscrapers as symbols of prestige, the undulating scale and quality of other
gravestones paid more subtle homage to wealth, persistence, and longevity.
In this hierarchy the infant's tombstone carried the least weight and height.

The height distribution of rural Ontario gravestones changed very little
between 1800 and 1869 (Table 3). The effect of peak obelisk incidence
after 1880 is evident, and (as noted above) this effect persisted into the
early twentieth century, albeit with fewer exceptionally tall markers.

134

TABLE 3. GRAVESTONE HEIGHT, RURAL ONTARIO. 1800-1909

PERIOD

NO. OF
GRAVESTONES

One or
less

Two

HEIGHT IN
Three Four

FEET
Five

Six

Seven or
greater

(percent of

gravestones.

row sum)

1800-29

163

8.0

29.4

35.6

20.2

4.3

1.8

1830-39

158

3.8

26.6

25.9

30.4

6.3

3.2

3.8

1840-49

363

10.2

23.4

25.3

27.3

8.5

1.4

3.9

1850-59

604

8.9

18.9

32.1

25.8

6.5

1.8

6.0

1860-69

747

10.3

19.3

32.4

23.6

5.9

2.4

6.2

1870-79

744

7.5

16.4

27.8

27.0

8.1

3.5

9.6

1880-89

806

4.9

16.4

22.7

24.8

8.4

6.5

16.2

1890-99

662

6.9

12.2

19.9

19.0

16.0

9.4

16.4

1900-09

672

8.1

10.7

16.2

22.8

22.3

10.1

9.8

Otherwise, the impHcit social hierarchy based on the scale of gravestones
seems to have remained remarkably stable throughout the nineteenth cen-
tury in rural Ontario. Whatever relatively egalitarian standing may have
characterized bush pioneers was not strikingly reflected in Ontario graves-
tone height in the 1830s or 1840s.

Materials

Ontario's easily worked Hmestones weathered rapidly. Wooden markers
must have been common in pioneer settings and early family plots on farms,
but have now almost all disappeared. Our survey indicates that slate slabs
accounted for no more than 10 percent of markers between 1800 and 1849,
and were much rarer thereafter. Limestone was used for between one half
and three quarters of all surviving gravestones erected between 1800 and
1890. Sandstone was used for approximately 30 percent of markers surviv-
ing from before 1850, and 20 percent or less thereafter. Granite graves-
tones appeared in appreciable numbers about 1870, comprised more than a
quarter of all stones erected by 1890, and the majority of new gravestones

135

by 1900. A few white bronze monuments appear in the record. (St.
Thomas, Ontario, boasted a subsidiary of the well-known Bridgeport, Con-
necticut, parent company.)

Orientation

The inscribed face of colonial New England vertical slabs commonly
faces west; the interred body faces east, sandwiched between headstone and
(before its later removal) footstone. Early Ontarians tended to modify this
arrangement so that both the inscription and the interred remains faced
east. This practice persisted (Table 4). Exceptions include rural cemeteries
where stones were evidently set to face the roadside or accommodate the
terrain. Gravestones 'facing' in two or more cardinal directions were of
course primarily obelisks (Table 4). The eastern exposure of half or more
rural Ontario gravestones throughout the period studied attests to the
resilience of some established practices within a climate of rapid change.

TABLE 4. GRAVESTONE ORIENTATION, RURAL ONTARIO 1800-1909

PERIOD NUMBER OF FACING

GRAVESTONES

East South West North Two or more

Cardinal directions

(percent of gravestones, row sum)

1800-29

159

54.7

12.6

23.9

5.0

3.8

1830-39

152

55.3

13.8

22.4

6.6

2.0

1840-49

307

62.2

17.3

13.7

2.6

4.2

1850-59

539

60.9

14.7

16.1

4.1

4.3

1860-69

648

61.7

9.7

17.7

2.8

8.0

1870-79

673

56.5

6.7

19.0

2.4

15.5

1880-89

770

50.4

7.3

17.9

1.8

22.6

1890-99

635

48.5

6.1

16.5

2.5

26.3

1900-09

654

57.5

5.4

15.3

3.1

18.8

136

Manufacture

In rural Ontario cemeteries, 15 percent of pre-First Worid War grave-
stones exhibit a recognizable manufacturer's mark. This typically consists of
the firm's name and its place of business, incised at the base of the grave-
stone. Many such marks have been obliterated by weathering, obscured by
soil accumulation, or covered by a concrete base if the gravestone has been
reset. Thus the actual incidence of manufacturer's marks was originally
much higher than 15 percent. Such inscriptions were, I believe, much less
common in the United States.

In Ontario, we were able to identify over 250 distinct manufacturers
operating in 67 urban centers. Some marble works, such as the Hurd and
Roberts company of Hamilton, distributed over a very wide area for a long
period. Others were highly localized and ephemeral. Manufacturer's marks
are most likely to be found on large, elaborate, or unusual monuments, on
memorials shipped beyond the firm's immediate market, and in areas served
by several competing firms (Norris and Krogh, 1976). The median distance
gravestones were shipped was 20 miles; 10 percent of the attributed grave-
stones were shipped at least 75 miles from marble works to cemetery. Per-
haps intensity of competition encouraged Ontario firms to label their
product when circumstances warranted the practice. Some gravestones were
billboards as well as memorials.

Nativity

Among 2380 gravestones for which we encoded nominal information in
full as well as material-cultural characteristics, 22 percent recorded the
deceased person's nativity. Nativity was most commonly reported for
Ontario's first generation immigrants, especially for Irish, Scottish or Ger-
man settlers. English and American Ontarians were rarely memorialized as
such, and Ontario birthplaces are almost never recorded on the province's
tombstones. The record of Scottish nativity typically specified the place of
birth of the deceased, whereas Ontario Irish burials usually indicated the
person's county of origin. This apparent tap-rootedness of the Scots and the
regional identification of Ontario's Irish are, I think, a compelling example
of the degree to which gravestones preserve the predilections of past society.

137

Case Studies

It is impossible to convey the richness and meaning of rural Ontario
cemeteries solely through summary findings. Each graveyard displays a
unique mix of markers, a 'signature' so to speak, based on an intertwining of
local context, burial chronology, and the broader trends discussed above.
The following case studies illustrate ways in which the peculiarities of local
context can be understood with reference to additional sources of evidence.

Eccentric Orientation

Most nineteenth-century cemeteries achieved a replica of social ecology
through the acquisition and allocation of family plots, their progressive oc-
cupancy, and placement of the dead based on marriage or kinship. These
multiple ties were reinforced visually by the design and nomenclature of the
monuments (Young, 1960). But rural Ontarians recognized status in, above
all, the possession of land and the rootedness of families and their progeny.
By these criteria, the Kitchen family had done well. Their large landhold-
ings, near St. George, Brant County, accommodated several branches of the
family by the early 1870s (Figure 2), The Kitchens were usually buried in
family plots in the public cemetery north of St. George. Unlike almost all
other gravestones in the cemetery, the Kitchen family memorials did not
face east. Instead, the Kitchen gravestones were set facing west, toward the
family's landholdings. This intriguing expression of family status was dis-
covered in 1976 by one of my students. Miss Deborah Frame. It says much,
I think, about the importance attached to family burials in past rural
landscapes, and about the ability of prominent families to set, follow, or
defy convention as they saw fit.

A Family Plot

Many Ontario families maintained on-farm burial grounds well into this
century; some are still in use. The Shaver family cemetery, in Ancaster
Township near Hamilton, Ontario, contains 43 tombstones erected since
1825. A nearby public cemetery, with over 100 markers, received its first
burial in 1805. The field inventory of these two cemeteries was completed
by Lynn Dilks and Sherry Bukowski in 1975. Their inventory demonstrated

138

FIGURE 2

Farms owned by Kitchen family, west of St. George cemetery, Ontario.

All yavestones in the cemetery faced east, except the Kitchen bu-ials,

which faced west. (D. Frame, McMaster University, 1977).

139

that, despite the privacy and seclusion of the Shaver family cemetery, the
family's gravestones provided an outlet for innovative taste and a display of
status. The first Shaver obelisk, for example, was erected in 1861, fully two
decades before the first obelisk in the nearby public cemetery. The same
was true of the first Shaver pulpit marker, which dates from 1888, as com-
pared with 1923 for a similar gravestone in the public cemetery. Even the
modest segmental arch vertical slab appeared two decades earUer in the
family cemetery than in its public counterpart, where the first such marker
was erected in 1851. Owing to the cumulative wealth and status of families
which established themselves early in the Ontario landscape, their pioneer
burial grounds could become showcases not of simple burial and conserva-
tive disposition, but of substance and avant-garde taste.

Deathsheds

Rural Ontario cemeteries, like the province's schoolhouses, chapels, and
mills, were likely to be situated away from the postal hamlets and villages
which dotted the landscape. The cemeteries were often, but by no means
always, adjacent to places of worship. Because of their isolation, and often
their desolation, it is easy to forget that rural cemeteries were a part of the
territorial fabric which influenced social intercourse, group identity, and
community life in nineteenth-century society. One can obtain some insight
about the territorial role of the cemetery by linking the location of burial to
the location of prior residence of the deceased (Figure 3). I call the resul-
tant patterns "deathsheds." The examples illustrated were compiled by John
Goss in 1976 from a comprehensive inventory of cemetery interments, which
were then merged with a turn-of-the-century tax roll and contemporary
farmers' directory. The median 'journey to burial' was less than two miles.
The fact that the deathsheds overlapped was due in part to the denomina-
tional character of the cemeteries, and in part to burials of the elderly close
to children who had settled nearby. This is most evident in the case of the
northernmost cemetery in Figure 3, which is situated in the town of
Meaford. Meaford had become the home of many of Euphrasia Township's
rural offspring.

140

FIGURE 3
Deathsheds of twelve cemeteries serving Euphrasia Township, Grey County:
Linked Cases 1898-1914

I I I L

I I

miles

141

Religion

Denominational differences were not limited to where one was buried in
rural Ontario; they extended to the memorialization of death as well. To
explore these differences, Janet Hall and Marjorie Winger inventoried three
nearby rural cemeteries in Haldimand County, on the shore of Lake Erie at
the western limits of the Niagara peninsula. The three cemeteries were
respectively confined to members of the Presbyterian church, the Roman
Catholic church, and the Mennonite faith (Table 5). The memorials for the
latter were, fittingly, plain vertical slabs, of modest and remarkably uniform
height. These Mennonite tombstones, surprisingly, did not lack decorative
detail, but the motifs employed were likely to convey a devout iconography
(Table 5). The range of marker heights was greatest in the Catholic
cemetery, which contained many obelisks. Crosses were the preferred
Catholic motif, whereas unusual and individualized motifs were dominant in
the Presbyterian cemetery. This case study demonstrates not only the im-
print of custom and belief on the micro-geography of the cemetery, but also
the dangers of inferring currents of popular taste from small or denomina-
tionally biased samples of cemetery markers.

Ethnicity and Status

The next case study illustrates group-specific differences in gravestone
characteristics, controlling for any other differences accountable to place,
time, or faith. Using the burial register of a Catholic cemetery in the city of
Welland, as well as surname and other tombstone evidence, Paula Esposito
distinguished three ethnic groups among 77 interments between 1890 and
1919. Italian burials reflected a community which had formed after the es-
tablishment of the Plymouth Cordage Works in Welland, and its relocation
of Italian workers from Massachusetts, who then prompted migration of
relatives and friends from Italy. Welland's turn-of-the-century Slavic im-
migrants typically held low-paid commonly industrial jobs. The British-
Canadian Catholics were well established, often Irish, many of them trace-
able to migratory labor on the Welland Canal in the early nineteenth cen-
tury.

142

TABLE 5

Denominational differences in motif preference:
Three cemeteries in Haldimand County, Ontario, 1870 - 1899

MOTIFS RELIGION

PRESBYTERIAN MENNONITE CATHOLIC

(Percent of gravestones)

Willow

—

Hand of God

—

Clasped Hands

—

Bible

8.3

Lamb

S.3

Flowers, Wreaths

12.5

Cross, Crucirix

All other motifs

41.7

NO MOTIF PRESENT

29.2

TOTAL

100.0

5.1

1.3

16.7

14.1

7.7

23.1

9.0

100.0

4.2

54.1

16.7

25.0

100.0

SOURCE: J. Hall and M. Winger, McMaster University, 1976; based on field inventory of 174
gravestones.

143

;ietyl

The different footholds these groups had achieved within Welland society
are apparent from the memorials to their dead (Table 6). In particular, the
British-Canadians were more likely to pay for decorative motifs, more able
to afford obelisks (or, failing those, granite blocks), and judging from the
mix of lettering employed, more inclined to combine prominently displayed
raised family names with incised biographical detail. The Italian markers
are mostly plain limestone slabs with a brief inscription and little or no
decorative detail. The Slavic markers are no larger than the Italian grave-
stones, but are more varied in form, more decorative, and durable. Ms.
Esposito's study illustrates the interdependence of cultural and
socioeconomic factors in the material expression of ethnic groups as succes-
sive waves of immigrants entered Ontario between the late eighteenth cen-
tury and the First World War.

TABLE 6

Ethnicity and Status: The Japanese Martyrs' Catholic Cemetery.

Welland, Ontario, 1890-1919

GRAVESTONE ATTRIBUTE FTHNiriTY

ITALIAN BRITISH EASTERN EUROPEAN

(percent of gravestones associated with ethnic ^Foup)

HEIGHT
greater than H feet — 33 —

MATERIAL
granite markers 26 44 39

LETTERING
Incised and raised 4 22 —

MOTIF

Motif present 18 39 26

VERTICAL SLAB FORM

Non-rectangular design 40 64 67

SOURCE: P. Esposito, McMaster University, 1975

144

Diffusion and Context

Were remote regions and isolated localities slow to adopt new styles?
Eastern Grey County remained unsettled until the 1840s, yet its adoption of
the tablet marker is scarcely distinguishable from the advent and peak
popularity of this form in our overall sample (Table 7, compare Table 1).
Moreover, Eastern Grey shunned this form quite early, whereas the tablet
marker persisted in isolated rural graveyards within 20 miles of Hamilton,
the province's second largest city (Table 7). In the villages around Hamil-
ton, however, the tablet marker was already widely in use by the 1860s
(Table 7). This was a full decade before the tablet's peak popularity in
Pennsylvania (Hannon, 1973), and two decades before its peak in
Francaviglia's Wisconsin survey, and fully three decades before its zenith in
rural Oregon (Francaviglia, 1971). These results should not mislead the
reader into assuming that the diffusion of gravestone taste was a broad east-
to-west spread, qualified by pockets of urbane innovation and stolid resis-
tance, I am convinced that the answer to these regional and contextual
variations hes primarily in modes of manufacture, pricing, and distribution,
not in patterns of taste. Detailed studies of the records of Victorian marble
works are needed to explore these questions.

Conclusion

I trust that this essay has helped to dispel the perception that Victorian
gravestones have little to compel our interest or study. Granted,
nineteenth-century rural Ontario was no showpiece for the independent car-
ver. Nor were its cemeteries enriched by the large tombs or memorial art
that can be found in urban necropolises throughout the United States and
Canada. Rural aspirations rarely went beyond what could be cut, shipped,
and erected for a reasonable price. Thus status after death was free of the
more flagrant excesses of old money and the nouveau riche in cities. In any
case, by these standards, rural Ontarians were neither wealthy nor inclined
to conspicuous display.

What emerges from this survey of form, decorative detail, and other
gravestone characteristics is a sense of rural Ontarian conservatism unwill-
ing or unable to take full advantage of the repertoire of choice offered by

145

TABLE 7
Tablet (Round-headed) Marker Incidence in Three Ontario Settings, 1850 - 1909

DECADE

SETTING

URBAN MARGINS

Village Graveyards
near Hamilton

URBAN MARGINS

Isolated Graveyards
near Hamilton

PIONEER FRINGE

Grey County

(Tablets as percent of all gravestones)

1850s
1860s
1870s
1880s
1890s
1900s

6.8
36.5
39.6
32.1
21.7
10.0

1.2

8.7

35.8

18.7

13.5

8.7

3.7
13.0
30.9
22.6

1.6

NOTE: Grey County's pioneer settlement phase generally spanned the period 1840-1865;
the Hamilton area was settled between 1790 and 1825.

SOURCE: Field inventory, McMaster University, 1975-77; 201 tablet markers were
sampled in 28 cemeteries.

146

Victorian marble works. It was not until the 1870s that the earmarks of
popular culture were fully evident in the Ontario cemetery. It is, I think,
noteworthy that Ontario's rural domestic architecture exhibits much the
same hesitancy; Gothic was more a matter of cheap adornment than design
before the 1870s, and Italianate villas were likewise largely a post-
Confederation phenomenon. Yet Ontarians did not perpetuate a Loyalist
tradition in memorial art any more than they continued to erect Loyalist
homes. Moreover, their material culture exhibited very little that could con-
fidently be termed Scots or Irish. In the matter of gravestones, houses,
barns, fences, and other trappings of the cultural landscape early Ontarians
exhibited a remarkable ability to achieve distinctiveness through selectivity,
adaptation, and stubborn adherence to 'norms' which had little or nothing to
do with their ancestry. Their imprint is still evident, a middle landscape be-
tween folk-based homogeneity and vacillating currents of popular taste.
Their graveyards are very much a part of this imprint.

Acknowledgments

I wish to thank Mrs. Sharron Paubnan of S.U.N.Y. Geneseo for her invaluable assistance in
deriving final results from the Ontario gravestone computer file. The coding of the records was
supported by the Canada Council in 1978-79, and undertaken by Randy Widdis and Cheryl Hall
Hoffman at McMaster University. Their ability to decipher and make sense of the original in-
ventory forms was a crucial step in this research. I also wish to acknowledge the work of Victor
Konrad, a 1975 graduate colleague at McMaster who collaborated in the design and early trials
of our standcird inventory form. And of course without the hundred or so McMaster student
volunteers this survey could not have been completed. My work on gravestone cmalysis had
been in abeyemce for four years when I joined the A.G.S. Thanks to the members for their en-
couragement, most especially Pat Miller and Gaynell Stone. Thanks too to the Cooperstown
N.Y.S.HA. seminarians and staff who rekindled my enthusiasm for cemetery research. My
patient and congenial secretary, Mrs. Loretta Stratton, coped with the assorted, often chaotic,
drafts of this essay, and as always produced a fine typescript.

REFERENCES CITED

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DARDEN, J.T., "Factors in the Location of Pittsburgh Cemeteries," The Virginia Geographer
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147

DETHLEFSEN, E., and J. DEETZ, "Death's Heads, Cherubs, and Willow Trees: Experimen-
ted Archaeology in Colonial Cemelcries,," American Antiquity (1966), Vol. 31, pp. 502-10.

FRANCA VIGLIA, Richard V., "The Cemetery as an Evolving Cultural Landscape," Annals
(The Association of American Geographers, 1971) Vol. 61 (3), pp. 501-9.

HALL, Roger, and Bruce BOWDEN, "Beautifying the Boneyard: The Changing Image of the
Cemetery in Nineteenth-Century Ontario," Material History Bulletin, (1986), Vol. 23, Spring,
pp. 13-24.

HANKS, Carole, Eariy Ontario Gravestones, (Toronto: McGraw Hill Ryerson Ltd., 1974).

HANNON, TJ., "Nineteenth Century Cemeteries in Central West Pennsylvania," Proceedings,
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JEANE, Donald G., "A Plea for the End of Tombstone-Style Geography," Annals, (The As-
sociation of American Geographers, 1972), Vol. 62, No. 1, pp. 146-148.

JEANE, D. Gregory, "The Upland South Cemetery: An American Type," Journal of Popular
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KEPHART, W., "Status After Death," American Sociological Review (1950), Vol. 15, pp. 635-
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KNIFFEN, Fred, "Necrogeography in the United States," Geographical Review (1967), Vol. 57,
pp. 426-7.

KNIGHT, David. B., "Cemeteries as Living Landscapes," (Ontario Genealogical Society, Ot-
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LUDWIG, Allan, Graven Images, (Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 1966).

NORRIS, Darrell A., and Anne KROGH, "Cemetery Marker Origin: A Key to Market Evolu-
tion," in Djurrell A. Norris and Victor Konrad, Eds. Visible Landscapes of the Past,
(Department of Geography, McMaster University, 1976).

OSBORNE, Brian S., "The Cemeteries of the Midland District of Upper Canada: A Note on
Mortahty in a Frontier Society," Pioneer America, (1974) Vol. 6, pp. 46-55.

PATTERSON, Nancy-Lou, "The Iron Cross and The Tree of Life: German-Alsatian
Gravemarkers in Waterloo Region and Bruce County Roman Catholic Cemeteries," Ontario
History, (1976), Vol. 48, No. 1, pp. 1-16.

PIKE, Mzirtha V., cuid Jcmice Gray ARMSTRONG, >4 Time to Mourn: Expressions of Grief in
Nineteenth Century America, (The Museums at Stony Brook, Stony Brook, NY, 1980).

STONE, Patricia, and Lynn RUSSELL, "Observation on Figures, Human and Divine, on
Nineteenth-Century Ontario Gravestones," Material History Bulletin (1986), Vol. 24, Fall, pp.
23-29.

TASHJIAN, Dickreui, and Ann TASHJIAN, Memorials for Children of Change: The Art of

148

Early New England Stonecarving, (Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 1974).

WALLACE, William D., B.H. Kinney, 1821-1888: Gravestone Carver and Sculptor, (Worcester
Historical Museum, Worcester, MA, 1985).

YOUNG, Frank W., "Graveyards and Social Structure," Rural Sociology, (1960), Vol. 25 (4),
pp. 446-50.

ZELINSKY, Wilbur, "Unearthy Delights: Cemetery Names and the Map of the Changing
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Wf^rni^mmmmp

Springbrook Farm, Grey County, Ontario

149

roinpiled from thr brnt Aatlioiitics .

Map of Kings County, Nova Scotia (circa 1818)

150

RESEARCH REPORT ON THE GRAVEYARDS OF
KINGS COUNTY, NOVA SCOTIA*

Deborah Trask and Debra McNabb

In Nova Scotia most of what is known about life in the late eighteenth
and early nineteenth centuries has been gleaned from scant documents --
diaries, newspapers, correspondence, wills, deeds - and the story they tell is
far from complete. To understand more of this period, we have begun to
investigate Nova Scotia gravestones, combining artifact information with his-
torical records, thereby relating material, maker and location of the stones
with what is known about the people they memorialize and the communities
in which those people lived. This report discusses the findings of research
to date.

A cursory examination of the old graveyards of Nova Scotia reveals that
gravestones pre-dating 1780 are generally made of slate, ornately carved in
the style common around Massachusetts Bay, and in fact, imported from
there.^ Between 1780 and 1840 most stones were made locally by Nova
Scotian craftsmen and can be grouped by area, according to common
characteristics of material and style. For the most part, Halifax stones were
carved in sandstone in very high relief by Scottish stone masons who
originally came to the capital to construct public buildings. A few stones of
this style can also be found in the major towns nearest to Halifax - Windsor
and Lunenburg - where they stand alongside more primitive local carving
of the same period. From Liverpool to Yarmouth there are imported New

* This report originally appeared, in a slightly different form, in Material
History Bulletin 23 (Spring 1986) published by the History Division of the
Canadian Museum of Civilization in Ottawa, and is printed here with the
kind permission of the editor of the Bulletin. The authors wish to em-
phasize that this is to be read as an overview of work in progress. We hope
that their project will be extended to include research in the New York area
for evidence of the sources of Seaman's work, a scouring of North Cumber-
land County for further examples of the work of the Horton Carvers, and a
geological analysis which will pinpoint the sources of their material.

151

England slates (more common and of later date), a few Halifax sandstones,
and an obvious "south shore" style of crude carving on local scaly schist.^
Throughout Cape Breton, as well as Pictou and Antigonish Counties,
eighteenth- and very early nineteenth-century stones are uncommon, but
those that survive are usually sandstone and of formal design. In Cumber-
land and Colchester Counties there are also few early gravestones, and their
style is more folksy. Around the Annapolis River the old stones tend to be
sandstone carved in a style popular along the Saint John River, just across
the Bay of Fundy. In Kings County, Nova Scotia, another distinctly identifi-
able carving style can be found. There are more than 100 stones in this
style ~ a remarkable number compared with other rural areas. This con-
centration is attributable perhaps not so much to survival as to the fact that
this was one of the first English-speaking areas of the province to develop a
local economy which could support a resident gravestone carver.

Our research to date has focused on that area of Kings County, Nova
Scotia, which was set off in the 1750s as the townships of Horton and
Cornwallis. These townships were settled in the early 1760s as part of a
campaign by the Nova Scotia government to attract New Englanders to the
colony. Just a few years before, and after almost one hundred and fifty
years of habitation, the colony's resident French Acadian population had
been forcibly deported and the land lay empty. Between 1760 and 1764
more than 5000 New Englanders took up grants of free land ranging from
250 to 1000 acres in eleven townships of approximately 100,000 acres each,
located along Nova Scotia's southwestern shore, the Annapolis Valley, the
Minas Basin and the isthmus of Chignecto.

Prospective immigrants from the land-hungry agricultural areas of New
England were especially interested in the fertile alluvial farmland in the
heart of Acadia at Les Mines (Minas). The Nova Scotia government parti-
tioned this land as the townships of Cornwallis, Horton and Falmouth.
These townships were to be colonized as block settlements, i.e. each was
granted to a group of families and individuals who were expected to move
from New England to Nova Scotia as a community and to occupy the land,
at least initially, in common. But as the colonization proceeded, forfeitures,
vacancies and the influx of non-grantees led to the settlement of the Minas

152

townships by a diverse group of proprietors. In Horton, for example, three
components can be recognized in the final selection of grantees: 177 New
Englanders, 14 soldiers and 11 placemen.^ Still, most of the grantees - per-
haps 88% - were New Englanders. Male grantees ranged in age between 15
and 66, more than two-thirds were married and brought between one and
ten, but most often four, children under age 21 to the new land. Many
families included one or two sons aged 16 to 21 who were not grantees and
could labor on family farms.

Little of the economic background of the New England settlers can be
known without reconstructing their lives prior to emigration. While it is
very unlikely that the extremely rich or the very poor came to Kings County,
the sparse evidence suggests that the grantees represented a broad
economic spectrum. For instance, such men as prominent Connecticut
landowner Robert Denison, Yale-educated lawyer Nathan Dewolf, and Col.
Charles Dickson (who personally financed a military company for the siege
of Beausejour) came to Horton, but other settlers could not survive the first
few years without food and grain subsidies from the Nova Scotia govern-
ment. Although almost every man called himself a yeoman farmer when he
claimed a Horton share, the New Englanders brought a variety of skills to
the new land. A small number identified themselves as blacksmiths, carpen-
ters, cordwainers, weavers and traders, while others relied on informal train-
ing to build their houses and provide their families with the basic posses-
sions they had not brought with them.

If the origins of the 79 New Englanders who settled in Horton for whom
we have data are typical, members of this largest group of grantees came
from a compact area of southeastern Connecticut focusing on the port of
New London and including the towns of Lebanon, Colchester, Norwich,
East Haddam, Lyme and Stonington. A few others came from communities
along the Connecticut River.

The gravestones which still stand in Horton as memorials to these New
Englanders are different from those found in their hearth areas. In
southeastern Connecticut mid-eighteenth-century gravestones are mainly
granite, with shallow carved angel-head motifs (soul effigies) predominantly
the work of Benjamin Collins, the Manning family and their imitators.'' This

153

style of carving contrasts sharply with the ornate and deeply incised
sandstones of the Connecticut River Valley. Both major Connecticut carv-
ing styles differ considerably from the slate carving styles of Massachusetts
and Rhode Island.^ In fact, the gravestones of Kings County, Nova Scotia,
bear little resemblance to those found anywhere in New England from the
mid-eighteenth century.^

The oldest Kings County gravestones date from about 1770 to 1820. The
earliest are probably "back-dated" - carved some time later than the date
indicated on the stone. From the evidence of the stones, there does not ap-
pear to have been anyone carving gravestones in Horton before the 1780s.
The oldest markers appear to be primarily the creation of two stonecarvers,
working exclusively in sandstone. The first is referred to as the "Second
Horton Carver" because his name is unknown and he succeeded an earlier
carver who worked only briefly in the area.^ The second has been identified
as Abraham Seaman. These attributions have been made following a sys-
tematic investigation of the older burial grounds in Nova Scotia. Pre- 1830
stones were closely scrutinized and grouped in terms of material, shape, let-
tering, image, border, word groupings, and any other visibly identifiable
characteristics. Probate records were then studied for any reference to in-
dividuals paid to carve gravestones. This kind of information is rarely noted
in estate settlement papers. Not every death involved an estate settlement
(especially those of young men, children and many women), and not all
probate records have survived. Thus the identity of the Second Horton
Carver remains a mystery.

Stones attributed to the Second Horton Carver date from 1798 to 1805
(Appendix A).^ He carved crude, sad faces with an elaborate carved "rope"
edge and vining or "bird-track" border. His earliest stones have deep out-
lines around the winged-head image, or no image at all and a plain curved
shape at the top edge (Fig. 1). Later the top edge shape became more
elaborate and he added a plain or beaded bracket around the "Here Lies"
part of the inscription (Fig. 2). There is also a further cutting away above
the head, and often the epitaph "Death is a debt that is nature's due,/Which
I have paid and so must you." He never mastered the depiction of hair. A
curious distinguishing mark of the Second Horton Carver is a tail on the

154

Fig. 1. Benjamin Peck stone, sandstone, 1801, Kentville, Kings County, N.S.
Attributed carver: Second Horton carver, first style. Photo by Dan and
Jessie Lie Farber.

Fig. 2. Eunice Harris stone, sandstone, 1803, Upper Canard, Kings County,
N.S. Attributed carver: Second Horton carver, second style. Photo by
Deborah Trask.

155

.Tis.'Si.^i'ti-* UK ■-•^'" -■'■*•«..,

Fig. 3. James C. & Thomas Griffin stone, sandstone, 1810, Kentville, Kings
County, N.S. Attributed carver: Abraham Seaman. Photo by Dan and
Jessie Lie Farber.

Fig. 4. Henry Magee stone, sandstone, 1806, Kentville, Kings County, N.S.
Attributed carver: Abraham Seaman. Photo by Dan and Jessie Lie Farber.

156

crossbar of the "f ' in "Here lies the body of." Stones with these characteris-
tics are found in all the old burial grounds of Cornwallis and Horton, with
some at nearby Falmouth and Windsor. A few stones for former residents
of Horton have been discovered outside the area. There is one for Charles
Dickson at St. Paul's Cemetery in Halifax, and another for Susannah, wife
of Nathan Harris, at Liverpool.

Field investigation has revealed a second style of carving on stones dated
from 1805 to 1821 (Appendix B).' This carver also used the elaborate
carved "rope" edge, the vining or "bird-track" border, and added a swirl to
the crossbar on the "f ' in "In Memory of," but he executed these decorations
with greater dexterity (Figs. 3 & 4). He generally carved the name of the
deceased in capital letters. His technique is undoubtedly derived from the
earlier style, for there is a clear visible link between the two. He may have
learned the trade of stonecarving from the Second Horton Carver. It is
quite possible that this carver and the Second Horton Carver are the same
person, and these stylistic variations show the evolution of carving skill in
one craftsman.^°

Documentary evidence identifies this carving as the work of Abraham
Seaman. Probate estate papers for three decedents whose stones have these
characteristics record payments to Abraham Seaman for gravestones (Figs.
5, 6 & 7 a,b).^^ Seaman is also mentioned in the journal of Edward Man-
ning, minister of the First Baptist Church in Cornwallis. On April 30, 1818,
six weeks after his daughter Eunice died. Manning recorded: "Saw Mr.
Abraham Seamans, presented bill for Eunice's gravestone, 6 pounds, 4 shill-
ings, but he deducted 1 pound 4 shillings."^^

Abraham Seaman was the son of Jacomiah Seaman of Westchester, New
York.^-' During the American Revolution, Jacomiah's four sons joined Col.
Lowther Pennington's Regiment of Kings Guards, and so became members
of the group known as the Westchester Loyalists.^'' After the war many
Westchester Loyalists received land grants in Cumberland County, Nova
Scotia. Jacomiah and his son Stephen each received a 500-acre grant at
"Cobequid Road," Cumberland County, and later were granted a second
tract near River Philip.^^ Jacomiah probably settled in the township of Fan-
ningsborough (now North Wallace). ^^ In 1788 his son Abraham "of the

157

Fig. 5. Thomas Miner stone, sandstone, 1801, Wolfville, Kings County, N.S.
Attributed carver: Abraham Seaman. Photo by Deborah Trask.

::^«Ka^!-nraiiiili

Fig. 6. Rachel Fitch stone, sandstone, 1808, Wolfville, Kings County, N.S.,
tympanum detail. Attributed carver: Abraham Seaman. Photo by Deborah
Trask.

158

7a.

7b.

Figs. 7 a,b. Ezekiel Woodworth stone, sandstone, 1812, Chipman's Corner,
Kings County, N.S. Probated carver: Abraham Seaman. Photo by
Deborah Trask.

159

township of Westchester, County of Cumberland, yeoman" bought 50 acres
on the north side of the main road leading from Amherst to Cobequid
(Truro), which he sold less than two years later.^^ In October 1794, at the
age of twenty-four, Abraham Seaman of Westmoreland, Cumberland
County, bought a house and a one-acre lot in Horton.^^ The following year
he married into a prominent Horton family and lived there until 1821, when
he moved back to Cumberland County.^^

In the intervening years, Abraham Seaman had amassed considerable
land holdings in Cumberland County. In 1802, Abraham Seaman "of Hor-
ton, Kings County, merchant," bought some land at River Philip. In Sep-
tember of 1806 he bought an additional 1000 acres at River Philip, and the
next month, listed now as a mason, he bought some more land in Horton.
Years later, while helping his brother Stephen settle a land dispute at River
Philip (now Pugwash), he swore that "...in 1806 I went from Horton to Pug-
wash Built a House on the West side of Pugwash harbour the first there
ever..."^° But, as far as we know, he continued to live at Horton. In March
of 1811 he bought dykeland at Horton; in October of the same year he
bought five tracts of land including a half interest in a sawmill at River
Philip from his brother Hezekiah. On all of these deeds he is listed as being
"of Horton."2i

As a landowner, merchant and mason. Seaman was probably involved in
a variety of business activities during the time he lived in Horton. One of
his most enduring activities was making distinctive gravestones for his
neighbors. At least part of the reason Seaman's stones have survived is be-
cause of the material he used. His stones are a high-quality, dense brown
sandstone that seems out of place in a settlement bordering the Bay of
Fundy. It bears little resemblance to the material used by his son, Thomas
Lewis Seaman, when he made gravestones in Kings County during the 1830s
and 40s.^^ The younger Seaman relied more on a porous, reddish sandstone
which seems to be characteristic of the Minas Basin area. The stone has
succumbed over time to water damage, and has become very crumbly. The
superior material used by Abraham Seaman is more like the stone found at
Remsheg (Wallace), Cumberland County. Stone from the Remsheg quarry
was used to build Province House in Halifax, which was finished before

160

1819. The architect Richard Scott bought the land on the Remsheg River
which included the stone quarries in 1814.^^ The deed impUes that the
quarries had been worked previously, but precisely when sandstone was first
quarried there is as yet unknown. If sandstone was being transported from
Remsheg to Halifax, could it also have gone to the Horton-Cornwallis
district? We know that the house built for Charles Ramage Prescott in
Cornwallis township, completed before 1817, has a sandstone foundation
and lintels. Although the brick for the house was made nearby,^'* the source
for the sandstone has not been ascertained. We do not know if Seaman had
access to Wallace sandstone. Until the early Kings County gravestones are
analyzed by a geologist, conclusions about the source of Seaman's sandstone
are tenuous at best.

Still, if Seaman transported his raw material from north Cumberland to
Kings County, this would reveal patterns of trade and perceptions of dis-
tance and travel in turn-of-the-nineteenth-century Nova Scotia. Un-
doubtedly Seaman himself traveled this route regularly to maintain his
family and business connections in Cumberland County.

In addition to material, maker and origins of the people for whom they
were made, the gravestones were examined in the context of the lives these
people lived in Horton. An analysis of the stones according to origin,
religion and place of residence of the decedents, their economic standing
within the group of founding settlers, and kinship ties to each other and to
Abraham Seaman reveals that the only connection most share is the timing
of their arrival in Horton. Almost all extant stones for the period 1770 to
1820 for this area of Kings County commemorate the township's grantees.
Few exist for those who took up residence after all the land in the township
had been granted, even though this group represented a significant com-
ponent of the population. Between 1770 and 1791 at least 177 men and
their families became residents of Horton.^

In that time, restricted access to land resulting from land granting
policies, the accumulative impulses of a handful of the largest landowners,
rising prices and increased pressure of population lessened everyman's op-
portunity to own a farm. As a result, few latecomers ever acquired land.
For the most part they rented property or labored on someone else's farm.

161

There were few alternatives in this subsistence farming community. Almost
immediately, society stratified on the basis of land ownership. Thus when
Hortonians were finally laid to rest, it was those who had taken part in the
initial settling and had obtained free land grants who were in a position to
have gravestones erected in their memory.

The carver of these gravestones was a native of Westchester, New York,
and not of New England and thus his cultural traditions may have been dif-
ferent from those of the people whose memorials he carved. He did not
settle immediately in Kings County when he came to Nova Scotia, and the
fact that he may have transported the material for his work from the area
where he first lived (and continued to own property) raises some questions
about why he moved to Horton. In eighteenth and early nineteenth century
New England, carvers usually lived near a stone quarry.^^ When Abraham
Seaman began carving in Horton, it was the shire town of the most popu-
lated county in the colony (except Halifax) and the first generation of set-
tlers was dying. Had he deliberately located close to his market?^^

Like the Cape Cod cottages and Georgian houses that dot the
countryside, the old gravestones of Kings County seem to be part of the New
England cultural traditions that are stamped on the landscape. As we begin
to examine these artifacts more closely, it is clear that the story they tell is
more complex. Although more research has to be done in this regard, it
appears that gravestones were carved by Abraham Seaman in a style distinc-
tive to Nova Scotia.

Appendix A

Gravestones attributed to the Second Horton Carver.
First style:

Jane Chipman
Nathaniel Thomas
Asa Wickwire

Charles Dickson
Aim Blackmore
Lucy Haliburton

1775 Chipman's Corner

1787 Windsor

1795 "Factory Cemetery", near Jawbone
Corner

1796 Halifax - St. Paul's Cemetery

1797 Onslow
1797 Windsor

162

Hannah Best

1798

Kentville

Joseph Chase Jr.

1798

Upper Canard

Charlotte Curry

1799

Chipman's Corner

Handley Chipman

1799

Chipman's Corner

Eliza Wells

1800

Upper Canard

Joseph Chase

1801

Upper Canard

Nathan Rand

1801

Wolfville

Lucretia Rogers

1801

Wolfville

Benjamin Peck

1801

Kentville

Sabra Peck

1801

Kentville

Second style:

Stephen Post

1768

Chipman's Corner

Margaret Ratchford

1794

Parrsboro

Mary Forsyth

1796

Wolfville

Lydia Fitch

1797

Simpson's Bridge, Maple Street

William Northup

1800

Falmouth

William Freeman

1801

West Amherst

Aima Fitch

1802

Simpson's Bridge, Maple Street

Martha Harris

1802

Upper Canard

Nancy Chipman

1802

Chipman's Corner

Gilbert Forsyth

1802

Wolfville

James Duncanson

1802

Wolfville

Eunice Harris

1803

Upper Canard

Ann Bishop

1803

Wolfville

Caroline Bishop

1803

Wolfville

Susannah Harris

1803

Liverpool

Perry Borden

1805

Upper Canard

Samuel Reed

1805

Wolfville

Appendix B

Stones attributed to Abraham Seaman:

Sarah Whidden

1779

Truro

Simeon Porter

1779

Chipman's Corner

Mercy Bishop

1783

Wolfville

John Bishop

1785

Wolfville

Mary Benjamin

1786

Wolfville

Silas Woodworth

1790

Chipman's Corner

George Oxley

179?

River Philip (broken)

Silvanus Miner

1794

Wolfville

Thomas Watson

1796

West Amherst

William Alline

1799

Wolfville

Ann Miner

1801

Wolfville

Thomas Miner

1801

Wolfville

William Griffin

1802

Fox Hill Cem., Cornwallis

Margaret Brown

1803

Wolfville

163

Mathew Dickie

1803

Chipman's Corner

Edward Church

1804

Windsor

Stephen Sheffield

1805

Upper Canard

Elizabeth Tonge

1805

Windsor

Isaac Deschamps

1805

Windsor

Joshua T. De St. Croix

1805

Bridgetown
Wolhdlle

Obed Benjamin

1806

Henry Magee

1806

Kentville

Patrick Murray

1806

Kentville

John Dickie

1807

Chipman's Corner

Mary Deck

1808

Kentville

Rachel Fitch

1808

Wolfville

Rebecca Alline

1808

WolfviUe

Mary Bishop

1808

Simpson's Bridge, Maple St.

Sarah Woodworth

1808

Chipman's Corner

James C./Thomas Giffin

1810

Kentville

William Skene

1810

Fox Hill Cem,, Cornwallis

Barnabus Lord

1810

Chipman's Corner

Jarusha Dickey

1810

Chipman's Corner

Elias Tupper

1810

Chipman's Corner

Jonathan Shearman

1810

Upper Canard

Betsy Morton

1810

Gagetown N.B.

William/Ann Dunkin

1811/07 River Philip

Catherine Simpson

1811

St. Paul's Cem., Halifax

* Cyrus Peck

1812

Kentville

Lutitia Reed

1812

Upper Canard

Samuel Gore

1812

Wolfville

*Ezekiel Woodworth

1812

Chipman's Corner

Benjamin Jarvis

1812

Church of St. John, Church Street

John/Elizabeth Burbidge

1812

Fox Hill Cem., Cornwallis

John Palmeter

1812

"Factory Cemetery", near Jaw Bone
Corner

Daniel Wood

1813

Upper Canard

Polly Chipman

1813

Chipman's Corner

Thomas Ratchford

1813

Wolfville

Dester Ratchford

1813

Wolfville

Hannah Chase

1815

Upper Canard

Jinnat Dickie

1815

Chipman's Corner

Mercury Cumming

1815

Chipman's Corner

*John Bishop

1815

Simpson's Bridge, Maple Street

Thomas H. Woodward

1815

Wolfville

Holmes Cogswell

1815

Upper Canard

Henry Burbridge

1815?

Fox Hill Cem., CornwaUis

Captain Mason Cogswell

1816

Chipman's Corner

Levena Bishop

1816

Wo fville

Susannah Starr

1817

Starr's Point

Samuel Tupper

1817

Chipman's Corner

John Turner

1817

Wolfville

Rebekah Cumming

1817

Chipman's Corner

Sarah Dickie

1817

Chipman's Corner

Thomas Woodworth

1817

Upper Canard

164

* Eunice Manning

1818

Elizabeth Barnaby

1818

Eunice Forsyth

1819

George Reid

1820

Abijah Pearson

1820

* Timothy Barnaby

1820

Eunice Hamihon

1820

John/Cynthy Moss

1821^

Deborah Cottnam

n.d.

Rebeka Nisbet

n.d.

Mary Calkin

n.d.

Jeremiah Calkin

n.d.

Isaac Graham

n.d.

Thomas Stevens

n.d.

Upper Canard
Chipman's Corner
Wolfville
Wolfville
Upper Canard
Chipman's Corner
Grand Pre
1821/20 Wolfville
Windsor

Chipman's Corner
Simpson's Bridge, Maple Street
Simpson's Bridge, Maple Street
WolMlle
Wolfville

stones known to have been carved by Abraham Seaman.

NOTES

Deborah E. Trsisk, Life How Short, Eternity How Long, Gravestone Carving and Carvers in
Nova Scotia (Halifax: Nova Scotia Museum, 1978) p. 10-14.

Deborah E. Trask. "The South Shore Carver", The Occasional Vol. 9 #2, Nova Scotia
Museum, 1985.

For information on the settlement of Horton, see Debra A. McNabb, "Land and Families in
Horton Township", unpublished MA. thesis, University of British Columbia, 1986.
We are indebted to Dr. James Slater, of Mansfield CT, and the Association for Gravestone
Studies for identifying carving styles in southeastern Connecticut, and to Susan Kelly and
Anne Williams, also of AGS, for their assistance in checking gravestones in Old Lyme and
New London. In relation to this project, the authors have investigated graveyards in
Mansfield Center, Lebanon (Trumbull), Columbia and Windham, Coimecticut. For
specific information on Connecticut gravestone carving, see a series of articles by Dr. Er-
nest Caulfield published in the Connecticut Historical Society Bulletin between 1951 and
1%7, continued by Peter Benes and James Slater from Dr. Caulfield's research, 1975-1983,
particularly: "Connecticut Gravestones VlII", (Vol. 27 #3, July 1962) on the Manning
family; "Connecticut Gravestones IX" (Vol. 28 #1, January 1963) on the CoUins family;
"Connecticut Gravestones XIII" (Vol. 40 #2, April 1975) on the Kimball family; and
"Connecticut Gravestones XV" (Vol. 43 #1, January 1978) on three Manning imitators.
To reduce the styUstic trends of gravestone carving in eighteenth-century New England to
three regional styles is a gross oversimplification. For purposes of this paper, this is
adequate, but for more information on New England gravestone carving, the main texts are:
Harriette M. Forbes, Gravestones of Early New England and the Men Who Made TJiem,
1653-1800 (Boston, MA: Houghton Mifflin, 1927); Alan I. Ludwig, Graven Images
(Middletown CT: Wesleyan University Press, 1968); Dickran and Anne Tashjian,
Memorials for Children of Change (Middletown CT: Wesleyan University Press, 1975);
Peter Benes, The Masks of Orthodoxy (Amherst MA: University of Massachusetts Press,
1977).

A comparison of Connecticut and Kings County carving styles can be found in the old
Cornwallis township burial ground at Chipman's Corner, Kings County, Nova Scotia where
there st£mds a signed Connecticut sandstone (Chester Kimball, New London) dated 1785,
among the locally carved stones.

165

7. Trask, Life How Short, "The Horton Carver" p. 18-19.

8. Ibid., "The Second Horton Carver" p. 20-21.

9. Ibid., "The Seaman Family" p. 71-73.

10. We have considered that Abraham Seaman's father, Jacomijih, who was a mason (see foot-
note 16), might have been the Second Horton Carver, but there is no evidence that he ever
carved gravestones, nor any indication that he was ever in Horton.

11. Kings Comity Probate Records, PubUc Archives of Nova Scotia, RG 48. Estates of Timothy
Barnaby, 1821 ("pd Abr*" Simmons for Grave Stones L5"); John Bishop, 1815 "paid Abram
Seamans 7.0.0"); Cyrus Peck 1812 ("paid Mr. Abraham Seaman Acct in full L4.14.-");
Ezekiel Woodworth, 1812 ("To Abraham Seamans for Grave Stones L3.10.-").

12. Journal of Edward Manning, in Special Collections, Vaughan Memorial Librjiry, Acadia
University, Wolfville, Nova Scotia, courtesy of Dr. B.M. Moody.

13. A.W.H. Eaton, History of Kings County (Salem, Mass.: Salem Press, 1910), p. 814-5.

14. James F. Smith, The History of Pugwash (Pugwash, N.S.: North Cumberland Historical
Society, pubHcation #8, 1978), p. 3.

15. Marion Gilroy, Loyalists and Land Settlement in Nova Scotia (Halifax: Public Archives of
Nova Scotia, publication #4, 1937), p. 41.

16. "I, Jacomiah Seaman of the township of Fannings Burrow and County of Cumberland,
Mason..." Cumberland County Estate Papers, Public Archives of Nova Scotia (PANS) RG
48, estate of Jacomiah Seaman, probated August 8, 1808.

17. Cumberland County Deeds (PANS RG 47) Book D, p. 80 and p. 193.

18. Kings County Deeds (PANS RG 47) Book 4, p. 265.

19. Day Book of Timothy Bishop (1740-1827, Abraham Seaman's father-in-law) covering 1775-
1824, (PANS MG 3) "Abraham Seaman moved to Pugwash November 27, 1821."

20. Sworn statement of Abraham Seaman, 1827, quoted in Smith, History of Pugwash, p. 9.

21. Cumberland County Deeds (PANS RG 47) Book F, p. 44, p. 190, p. 334; Kings County
Deeds Book 5, p. 218; Book 6, p. 223.

22. For more on the work of Thomas Lewis Seaman, see Trask, Life How Short, p. 73.

23. Cumberland County Deeds (PANS RG 47) Book I, p. 86.

24. C.J. Stewart "Brick Investigation Prescott House Nova Scotia" Historic Materials Research,
Restoration Services Division, Parks Canada, Department of Indian and Northern Affairs,
n.d., C.1974, unpublished report.

25. McNabb, "Land and Families in Horton Township" chapter 3.

26. Harley J. McKee, "Early Ways of Quarrying and Working Stone in the United States", Bul-
letin of the Association for Preservation Technology III no. I (1971) p. 44-58.

27. The vast majority of Seaman's stones are located in Kings County, in the area of the old
Horton and Cornwallis townships. A few can be found around the old townships of Am-
herst, Granville, Londonderry and Halifax, although none of his stones is in the Newport or
Falmouth township areas. Nor are there any gravestones in his style of carving found in all
of north Cumberland, except for two in the present village of River Philip.

166

Fig. 1. Ryerson Tomb, complete view

(All photographs are by the author.)

168

POEMS IN STONE: THE TOMBS OF LOUIS HENRI SULLIVAN

Robert A. Wright

Introduction

Louis Henri Sullivan, generally acknowledged as the "Father of American
Architecture," holds a unique position in nineteenth-century architectural
history. Balancing organic and functional principles, he created buildings of
unforgettable originality. Any artist is the product of his or her own time,
either by contributing to current trends or ideas, or by reacting against them
and starting out in new directions. Although Sullivan worked within the
tradition of nineteenth-century Romanticism, he vehemently rejected much
of the architecture of his era because it imitated past styles. Yet he studied
historical styles in order to create an architectural vocabulary that revealed
the psyche of his own times.

Sullivan devoted his life work to the development of an all-encompassing
personal philosophy, which he expressed through both literary and architec-
tural means. Although he remained a serious and prolific writer throughout
his life, he conveyed his ideas more clearly through the grammar of ar-
chitecture. For Sullivan, architecture

is but the condensed expression of such philosophy as is held by the
worker who creates it. It stands for his views... of Nature, of Man as an
entity in nature, of his fellow men, of an infinite pervading and guiding
Spirit... in short, his philosophy of life.^

Many scholars consider Sullivan's tombs as landmarks of his artistic
evolution. The tombs remain in fine condition (in contrast to the fate of
many of his buildings) as splendid embodiments of his spirit. Mausoleum
commissions provided Sullivan with the opportunity to test his design skills
and architectural principles on pure forms. As utilitarian functions were
minimal, he could concentrate on the issues of his artistic development.
Designing tombs allowed him to express his transcendentalist philosophy on
an intimate architectural level. As the architectural historian Garcia-
Menocal has noted,

169

A work of architecture, to Sullivan, was a living entity. In the realm of
the symbolic, a tomb becomes much more than a mere place of burial; it
is a metaphor describing the economy pervading the universe... There is a
vibrant and full life, that of the building, sustained by and existing be-
cause of death.^

An examination of the three tombs Sullivan designed provides a way to
examine the development of his ideas within limited parameters. In order
to do this successfully, one must first investigate his architectural and
philosophical sources, as both were inextricably bound together. Only
through a broad understanding of the influences behind his creativity can
the significance of the tombs be understood and appreciated.

During the late nineteenth century, American architecture was at a pivo-
tal juncture in its development. Many architects, in an effort to evoke the
spirit of a style, carefully observed and followed the rules of past styles, in-
cluding the exact copying of ornamental details. But a few American ar-
chitects were developing a more innovative approach. Although they
received their architectural education in Europe (or an equivalent
European-style education in America), and depended on European source
books, these architects used Western historical sources to evolve new forms.

Sullivan intuitively gravitated toward those architects who advanced a
new style of American architecture. Frank Furness, the youthful Sullivan's
employer in Philadelphia, produced buildings "out of his head," and this ap-
proach was similar to Sullivan's. Furness developed an original, stylized or-
namentation derived from the Gothic Revival, and this was an important in-
fluence on Sullivan's botanically-based ornament.-'

Sullivan's first employer in Chicago, William LeBaron Jenney, em-
phasized the structural aspects of buildings. Jenney's method integrated
other sources besides modern engineering, and he provided a valuable ex-
ample for Sullivan, "by preaching functionalism, embracing romanticism,
and damning mindless eclecticism.""*

America's pre-eminent architect, Henry Hobson Richardson, also in-
fluenced Sullivan, who witnessed the building of Richardson's Brattle Street
Church in Boston, and acknowledged the bold Romanesque Revival mas-
terpiece as a source of inspiration. Later, the monumental forcefulness and

170

simplified form of Richardson's Marshall Field Wholesale Store in Chicago
provided a bold statement for Sullivan to study .^

Leopold Eidlitz, who had collaborated with Richardson on the design of
the state capitol building at Albany, was a distinguished New York architect
who also impressed Sullivan. However, it was not Eidlitz's architectural
style which attracted Sullivan, but his book, The Nature and Function of Art,
More Especially of Architecture. Eidlitz contended that the purpose of study-
ing architectural history lay not in the imitation of actual forms, but in learn-
ing their principles, for

...a monument, like any other work of art, is the expression of an idea in
matter, and that to create a monument, the first step is to apprehend its
idea... the styles of the past would doubtless furnish valuable examples of
given problems solved, to the end that other problems may be solved
upon the same principles...^

Eidlitz's theory of organic forms particularly influenced Sullivan. Studying
nature and using historical sources served similar purposes for Eidlitz; both
were a means to understand design solutions.

The creations of art are subject to the same laws as those of nature...
Natural organisms serve the purpose of teaching the relation of form to
function... Art shall be directed to the creation of an organism which, like
the organic productions of nature, performs a function...

Sullivan was well acquainted with the writings of Viollet-le-Duc. Al-
though Viollet-le-Duc was a French architect of some note, it was chiefly his
widely influential writings which were important to Sullivan, particularly
Discourses on Architecture} Viollet-le-Duc advocated the use of new
materials and techniques, stressing a union between engineering and ar-
chitecture. His rationalistic views emphasized that structural elements
should determine the style of a building.

Architects of the late nineteenth century were deeply involved in
developing a philosophical basis for their work. A brief survey of Sullivan's
philosophical sources will elucidate his ideas about architecture, and why
sepulchral architecture was especially appropriate to convey these inten-
tions. He developed a comprehensive system of belief which encompassed

171

aesthetics, theology, and sociology. Sullivan's intellectual pursuits were
wide-ranging; he drew upon numerous nineteenth-century literary and
philosophical sources.

He praised the positivism of the English philosopher Herbert Spencer,
found in "Synthetic Philosophy" and First Principles of a New System of
Philosophy.^ The writings of Friedrich Nietzsche also captured Sullivan's
attention; both men shared an ardent appreciation of the expressive power
of Wagner's music, highly valuing such monumental examples of individual
human creativity. Sullivan owned a copy of the first English translation of
Nietzche's Thus Spoke Zarathustra}^ Another German, Friedrich Froebel,
influenced Sullivan's thoughts concerning education. Froebel originated the
kindergarten system, stressing the perception of nature as an instructional
means to become conscious of God. The title and contents of Sullivan's
Kindergarten Chats, reflected his familiarity with Froebel's book The Educa-
tion of Man }^ The writings of the French philosopher, literary critic, and art
historian, Hippolyte Taine, also contributed to Sullivan's conceptual out-
look. He was a professor at the Ecole des Beaux Arts where Sullivan at-
tended the architecture program. Taine's essays, "The Philosophy of Art"
and "The Ideal in Art," published in Lectures on Art, stressed the close
relationship between society and art, and the conviction that a nation's cul-
ture would be reflected in its art.^^

It remained for two indigenous American writers, however, to complete
Sullivan's philosophical quest, and to place transcendentalist ideas firmly at
the center of his philosophical system. Ralph Waldo Emerson's Nature and
Thoughts on Art, published in the first half of the nineteenth century,
securely established transcendentalism in America.^-^ Subsequently, Walt
Whitman's Leaves of Grass confirmed Sullivan's own search for a way to
express America's national values.

Whitman's poetic lyricism struck a responsive chord in Sullivan, and his
writings were abundantly indebted to Whitman. Sullivan's essay
"Inspiration," which contained his fundamental beliefs, was written in the
form of a prose poem and reflected many of Whitman's themes. Sullivan
sent Whitman a devotional letter with a copy of "Inspiration." In this letter
Sullivan stated,

172

To a Man who can resolve himself into subtle unison with Nature and
Humanity as you have done, who can blend the soul harmoniously with
materials, who sees good in all and overflows in sympathy toward all
things, enfolding them with his spirit: to such a man I joyfully give the
name of Poet~the most precious of all names.^'*

Sullivan's lofty praise of Whitman revealed his own aspiration to express
poetically the American spirit.

The Rural Cemetery Movement

A central theme of Romanticism was communion with nature for
spiritual enrichment. This concept not only comprised the core of Sullivan's
philosophy, but was also a founding precept of the rural cemetery move-
ment. ^^ Rural cemeteries and Sullivan's architecture therefore shared a
mutual purpose. TTie task of designing mausolea for man-made landscapes
which were created in accord with his own ideas was thus extraordinarily
suitable for Sullivan. Jobs which involved sharing such a close common
premise were rare, and this explains the lavish attention he spent on the
small commissions.^'^

Sullivan reached an appreciation of nature at an early age through many
family outings in the countryside surrounding Boston. On these excursions,
in which his mother skillfully sketched plants, Sullivan was exposed to
botanical drawing. Another early influence, Moses Woolson, was Sullivan's
teacher at Boston English High School. Woolson used Gray's School and
Field Book of Botany to teach studies on plants. The author. Professor Asa
Gray of Harvard, even occasionally came to the school to speak on botany.
The introduction of structural botany was of primary importance to
Sullivan's development of architectural ornament. His ideas and writings
used the model of organic growth.

One vivid early childhood experience particularly illustrates Sullivan's at-
traction to nature. Louis was left to his grandparents' care in 1868, when his
parents moved to Chicago in hopes of improving his mother's health. But
the next year his grandmother died. He was greatly moved by his first en-
counter with death and its accompanying sense of loss. As was the custom,
the funeral service took place at home and was an intensely felt family ex-

173

perience. Yet the solemn and mournful affair was in contradiction to his
feelings, and he sought comfort outdoors:

...a peach tree in full bloom in the garden caught his eye. He hastened to
it as a friend, in dire need. Its joyous presence in the garden gave him
courage, for spring again was singing her great song. The air was vocal of
resurrection and life. Here indeed was resurrection and the life... Thus
near the peach tree in full bloom Lx)uis's tortured mind was stilled. He
accepted death as evanishment, he accepted life as the power of
powers.^^

Sullivan's early feelings concerning death correspond to the ideals of the
rural cemetery movement.^^ The aesthetics of a picturesque landscape
relieved grief and nourished positive feelings. Nature provided a quiet in-
spirational setting for communion with God and fostered the theme of
reunion with the souls of the deceased.

Sullivan embraced the progression of seasons as the primary allegory per-
taining to the cycles of life and death. He employed a poetic writing style to
portray the changing seasons, using a musical analogy to rephrase the
seasonal rhythms of nature. Nature became a symphony, its movements the
seasons.

In his symbolic essay "Inspiration," he wrote:

GROWTH - A SPRING SONG

O, soft, melodious springtime! First-born of life and love!

DECADENCE - AUTUMN REVERIE

...a great life has passed into the tomb, and there awaits the requiem of
winter's snows.^'

Sullivan elaborated on this theme of regeneration in his unpublished
manuscript called Natural Thinking. The section entitled "Man and the
Infinite" declared:

...it is change that makes us conscious of Life and the Flow of Life.. .a
flow so constant in its double aspect that we call one manifestation of it
Growth, and its corollary Death. These various considerations lead us to
look on Life as...an essence so vast, so compelling, so completely integral,
that death disappears; individual Life vanishes; and there remains.. .The
sense of an Infmite that is Complete...It is to this Infinite that all Nature
harkens.^°

174

The same lessons of natural theology were advocated by observers of
Mount Auburn, in Cambridge near Boston, the nation's first rural cemetery.
They did not view death as final, for "in the mighty system of the universe,
not a single step of the destroyer, Time, is made subservient to some ul-
terior purpose of reproduction, and the circle of creation and destruction is
eternal." Mount Auburn established that "a rural cemetery is a school of
both religion and philosophy" and set the precedent for rural cemeteries to
pursue the moral education of the public.'^^ Architecture for Sullivan served
similar didactic purposes.

In essence rural cemeteries were founded for the very reasons Sullivan
valued natural settings. The lessons of nature became crucial to his ar-
chitectural and intellectual thought. All three of his mausolea express the
ideals of the rural cemetery movement, and in fact were erected in
prominent Midwestern rural cemeteries.^^

Ryerson Tomb

Sullivan received his first mausoleum commission in 1887 at the age of
thirty. It was for Martin Ryerson, a wealthy Chicago businessman whose
fortune, derived from the building boom in Chicago, was made through the
sale of lumber, real estate, and later, steel. The firm Adler and Sullivan had
designed four office buildings for Ryerson prior to his death.

The most notable feature of the Ryerson Tomb is its massive solidity
(Fig.l). Sullivan counteracted its formidable bulk and imposing appearance
by employing two methods. First, the huge blocks of blue-black Quincy
granite were highly polished to reflect the landscape. This enables the
mausoleum to join its surroundings harmoniously and visually reinforced
Sullivan's transcendentalist ideas. Second, the tomb's sloping walls and up-
ward thrusting shape create an ascending form which again suggests
regeneration.

The Ryerson Tomb shows how quickly Sullivan had absorbed the lessons
from H. H. Richardson's buildings and had adapted them into an architec-
tural grammar entirely his own. Like Richardson, Sullivan used massive
forms to create a masculine edifice of monumental simplicity. But Sullivan
eliminated Richardson's rustic ashlar walls and replaced them with polished

175

granite, emphasizing the surface (as opposed to Richardson's emphasis on
mass). The severity of mass and surface in the Ryerson Tomb marks the ex-
treme of SulHvan's simpHfication.

In addition to absorbing influences from Richardson, Sullivan was seek-
ing to learn the function of ornament, as he wrote:

I take it as self-evident that a building, quite devoid of ornament, may
convey a noble and dignified sentiment by virtue of mass and propor-
tion...it would be greatly for our aesthetic good if we should refrain en-
tirely from the use of ornament for a period of years, in order that our
thought might concentrate acutely upon the production of buildings well
formed and comely in the nude...This step taken, we might safely inquire
to what extent a decorative application of ornament would enhance the
beauty of our structures - what new charm it would give them.'^^

Thus Sullivan's temporary avoidance of ornament was the result of a con-
scious effort. He realized this self-imposed limitation would benefit his sub-
sequent use of ornament. However, Sullivan did not entirely eliminate or-
nament in the Ryerson Tomb. He designed a small grille for a high rear
window, but it is a minor part of the whole effect. More importantly, a
decorative lockplate, consisting of leaves represented in a naturalistic man-
ner, adorns the bronze gate (Fig. 2). Sullivan had not yet developed his
method for abstracting forms from nature. The leaves do not exhibit his
mature ornamental style, although they convey the sense of fluid movement
characteristic of Sullivan's botanically-derived ornament. The bronze leaves
on the lockplate were an important antecedent to his mature work.^

Richardson was not the only influence on the tomb's design. The use of
historical forms is evident. Egypt's ancient civilization provided Sullivan
with appropriate prototypes for mortuary architecture. He combined the
two sepulchral forms of a mastaba and pyramid.'^ The mastaba, a blocklike
structure with sloping sides and a flat top, provided a base for the surmount-
ing four-coursed pyramid. He used Egyptian massiveness in the Ryerson
Tomb to create an impression of endurance and grandeur.

Contemporary sources of Egyptian-inspired architecture probably lured
Sullivan to its use. Egyptian architecture had already been adopted for a
variety of applications in rural cemeteries. Gateways, sphinxes, pyramids,
and tombs with sloping sides had become an integral part of the American

176

commemorative funerary tradition. Victorian era society strongly valued
moralizing endeavors, and admired the respect for the dead displayed by
Egypt's ancient civilization. Many of Egypt's finest buildings were enormous
funerary structures that exuded a timeless aura. Because of these associa-
tions Egyptian architecture seemed especially appropriate for American
cemeteries.^^

The Monadnock Block of 1889-92 in downtown Chicago, designed by
Sullivan's friend John Wellborn Root, is probably another reason that Sul-
livan decided to use Egyptian forms for the Ryerson Tomb. Root's Monad-
nock, the highest building supported by load-bearing masonry walls ever
built, was the culmination of his life's work. The esteem in which Sullivan
held Root and his work was noted in Sullivan's autobiography. Root died
tragically, at the age of forty-one, before the building's completion, "leaving
in Louis' heart and mind a deep sense of vacancy and loss.. .For John Root
had it in him to be great..."^^

Fig. 2. Ryerson Tomb, lockplate detail

177

Although the Monadnock (1889-92) was built after the Ryerson Tomb
(1887), Root had completed a front elevation of the building in 1885, which
clearly showed its swelling sides and other Egyptian motifs.^ Since Sullivan
and Root shared not only friendship but also close business and aesthetic in-
terests, it is likely that Sullivan was aware of the interesting development of
Root's Monadnock. The sparse use of ornament in the Monadnock, its
simplified massive form, and its upward-thrusting visual movement all sug-
gest Sullivan knew of Root's interest in the monumentality of Egyptian ar-
chitecture.^'

In addition to similarities of form, there is a remarkable similarity of in-
tention between the Monadnock Block and the Ryerson Tomb. Root's
Monadnock design was a visual metaphor for the commercial vitality of
Chicago. Martin Ryerson, one of Chicago's most important businessmen,
greatly contributed to the city's commercial development. Sullivan ap-
propriately designed a mausoleum of commanding presence to represent
Ryerson's achievements.

The arresting forcefulness of the Ryerson Tomb also results from
Sullivan's doctrine of "Form Follows Function." However, this tenet of his
architectural theory has often been misinterpreted because of a mechanistic
twentieth-century bias.^ Although Sullivan did emphasize the importance
of utility, "the conception of functionalism, as set forth by Sullivan... calls for
emotional and spiritual realities as well as physical realities."^^

Sullivan felt that design solutions were to be found in the "essence of
every problem." The "problem" of the Ryerson Tomb design was to express
the quality of monumentality. Sullivan believed that

there should be a function, a purpose, a reason for each building, a
definite explainable relation between the form, and the causes that bring
it into that particular shape; and that the building, to be good architec-
ture, must, first of all, clearly correspond with its function, must be its
image.^^

178

Getty Tomb

Henry Harrison Getty was a business partner of Martin Ryerson and was
familiar with Sullivan's work for Ryerson. When Getty's wife died in 1890,
he hired Sullivan to design a family mausoleum. The Getty Tomb is
remarkably different from the Ryerson Tomb, because Sullivan's style had
evolved considerably during the passing of three busy years of design work.
In recognition of the significance of the tomb, it was designated a Chicago
Landmark in 1971 (Fig. 3). The commemorative plaque in front of the
tomb states:

The Getty Tomb marks the maturity of Sullivan's architectural style and
the beginning of modern architecture in America. Here the architect
departed from historic precedent to create a building of strong geometric
massing, detailed with original ornament.

Sullivan's organic theory provided the basis for the Getty Tomb's crea-
tion. To fully understand Sullivan's ideas concerning its design, two central
questions must be addressed. First, what motivated Sullivan's creative
impulse? And second, how did his creative production take place? The
answers lie in his belief that man was a spiritual being. Sullivan wrote:

... the most profound desire that fills the human soul... is the wish to be at
peace with Nature and the Inscrutable Spirit... the greatest Art Work is
that which most nearly typifies a realization of this... final peace: the
peace of perfect equilibrium, the repose of absolute unity, the serenity of
complete identification.-'^

In short, the creation of the Getty Tomb was a spiritual endeavor.

Sullivan outlined a trilogy of components necessary for creative produc-
tion to occur: Imagination, Thought, and Expression. The sequence began
with Imagination because this contained a vital dormant potential. For Sul-
livan "Man's Powers" unlocked the potential which brought forth the latent
entity into being. In this way, Sullivan created the Getty Tomb out of its in-
organic form. He purposefully chose its block-form to symbolize the inert
matter which was "brought to 'life' by the 'power' of human imagination."^
As Sullivan explained,

179

Fig. 3. Getty Tomb, complete view

180

...[by] the word inorganic is commonly understood that which is Ufeless,
or appears to be so; as stone... But nothing is really inorganic to the crea-
tive will of man. His spiritual power masters the inorganic and causes it
to live in forms which his imagination brings forth from the lifeless... ^^

The block-form of the Getty Tomb is an excellent example of Sullivan's
buildings which used that shape. Throughout his career, the block served as
the basis for further elaboration. His repeated attraction to the block-form
was attributable to his belief that it represented the aesthetic and symbolic
qualities of the male nude form. Sullivan's admiration of the male physique
led to his concept of heroic masculinity. The childhood experience of
swimming naked with his father provided an early event to evoke the image
"of a company of naked mighty men, with power to do splendid things with
their bodies."^ He glorified athletic abilities and the physical accomplish-
ments of men. For Sullivan, "MAN THE WORKER becomes MAN THE

CREATOR."

Sullivan's appreciation of the male form was later rekindled upon his dis-
covery of Michelangelo's work. The nudes of the Sistine Chapel frescoes
awed Sullivan when he viewed them as an architecture student. He felt the
power of creativity and the heroic feats it could achieve. Sullivan sought to
make the creative power expressed in Michelangelo's art the basis for his
architecture.^^

An equally powerful inspiration was provided by Richardson's newly
completed Marshall Field Wholesale Store in Chicago, The simplified form
of the massive edifice ended Sullivan's search for a masculine architectural
icon. Many of his buildings, including the Getty Tomb, owe their block-
form to Richardson's "manly" and "virile" expression of "procreant power"
(Sullivan's terms). Like Michelangelo, Richardson provided Sullivan with a
means to express formally the first step in creative process: Imagination.

The next component of Sullivan's system. Thought, provided an orderly
method for working with the physical materials and provided a logical
means for constructing the tomb. For Sullivan, thought was a rational
process, and consequently was responsible for all engineering aspects.
Therefore, the components of the Getty Tomb were assembled according to
rational building principles.

181

The tomb is placed on a stylobate (base-block) which provides a firm
foundation to support its weight and to balance visually the large cornice.
This cornice is one indication of the precision used to integrate the in-
dividual structural components. Rather than being added, the cornice is
created by an extension of the roof members. The roof is constructed of
three large stone slabs, each gracefully curving upward. In addition to ad-
ding visual delight, the curved slabs channel water away from the masonry
joints. This is an example of a rational, as opposed to a symbolic, applica-
tion of Sullivan's axiom that "Form Follows Function."

Sullivan believed that the arch was not only a structural device, but, more
important, embodied the creative power of man. Sullivan created arched
openings for the tomb's door (Fig. 3) and two opposing side windows. The
arches pierce the mass of the block, prompting a spatial dynamism. The
arch represented for Sullivan the pinnacle of architectural thought; as he
eloquently stated:

It is difficult to conceive the arch as a creation of a single mind; I do not
recall an instance of creative power approaching this in grandeur. To the
reflective mind the arch is a wonder, a marvel, a miracle."^

Expression, the last component of Sullivan's system, provided a contrast-
ing function to Thought by supplying the lyrical sensibilities necessary for
the "perfection of the physical" structure. The choice of material and or-
namental design was a means to express emotions, for Sullivan, a feminine
characteristic. Especially because the Getty Tomb was to memorialize a
woman, it was fashioned in a delicate manner. The tomb is constructed of
pale Bedford limestone, a stone Sullivan selected for its characteristic
transparent shadows. This soft lighting effect creates a sense of buoyancy.
The finely-carved ornamental pattern of the upper half of the exterior walls
also lightens visually the mass of the tomb. The tomb's ornament was
Sullivan's vehicle for beautification.

Since communing with Nature was essential for Sullivan's creative
process, many of the tomb's ornamental designs stem from organic forms.
Through studying the growth of these organic forms, Sullivan claimed that
the "Flow of Life" could be perceived. This "rhythm" was the principle of

182

creation used by the "Infinite Creative Spirit." Nature's system of produc-
tion, once understood, could then be emulated by man. Using this principle,
Sullivan created several original motifs inspired by organic models. The
beaded "stars" of the Getty Tomb are representative of growth patterns
which are found in many sea invertebrates such as starfish. Further
evidence of Sullivan's use of biological forms can be found in the band of
spiral-scroll ornament of the cornice. Cellular divisions within the scrolls
bear a close resemblance to certain sea shells, such as the chambered
nautilus (Fig. 4).

The vegetal motifs of the Getty Tomb resulted from Sullivan's ardent in-
terest in plant forms. His attraction to the principles of vegetative growth
was an effort to understand "the universal power or energy which flows
everywhere at all times, in all places, seeking expression in form, and thus
parallel to all things."^^ He used Gray's Botany and Edmund B. Wilson's
The Cell in Development and Inheritance to learn about plant morphology
and biological growth.

Fig. 4. Getty Tomb, cornice ornament detail

183

Through his botanical studies, Sullivan learned about the cotyledons of
young plants, and these provided another symbolic analogy for his
philosophy. He believed the germ-seed, which contained the nutrients for
growth, represented creative potential: "The Germ is the real thing; the
seat of identity. Within its delicate mechanism lies the will to power: the
function which is to seek and eventually find its full expression in form.'"*^

Beyond providing Sullivan with a source for ornamental design, organic
growth furnished him with the basis of symbolic power. Thus the power im-
plicit in organic growth was for him the guide to the creation of his or-
namental motifs. This was parallel to the manner in which the male nude
provided symbolic power for the block form of the tomb.

In summary, the origin of the Getty Tomb depended on Sullivan's system
of creative production. The trilogy of Imagination, Thought, and Expression
furnished him with a method for designing his art. Exceptional examples of
artistic expression, such as the works of Michelangelo and Richardson, in-
spired Sullivan to strive for a similar level of excellence. In a like manner,
Sullivan examined historical sources which could provide solutions for
design problems. The chief historical sources he turned to were Greek and
Islamic design.

Art reference books supplied Sullivan with elements for elaborating his
organic-design system. Two important source books influenced the
development of Sullivan's botanical ornament: V.M.C. Ruprich-Robert's
Flore Omementale and Owen Jones's The Grammar of Ornament. ^^ The sig-
nificance of these sources Hes in their common approach to historical styles.

Ruprich-Robert, a professor at the Ecole des Arts D6coratifs in Paris,
was a leader of the N6o-Grec movement. He studied a method of abstract-
ing decorative motifs from actual plant forms.'*^ Owen Jones, the prominent
English decorative designer, presented the world history of ornament in one
monumental book. Its last chapter, "Leaves and Flowers from Nature," con-
tained botanical drawings and his conclusion:

... in the best periods of art all ornament was rather based upon an ob-
servation of the principles which regulate the arrangement of form in na-
ture, than on an attempt to imitate the absolute forms of those works...
true art consisting in idealizing, and not copying, the forms of nature... ^^

184

Both Ruprich-Robert and Jones studied historical styles as a means to dis-
cover the artistic intentions of past civilizations.

Through Ruprich-Robert and Jones, Sullivan discovered the basis of
Greek ornamental aesthetics which influenced his compositions of the Getty
Tomb's vegetal motifs. The graceful foliage of the tomb's bronze gate (Figs.
5 and 6) and door reflects the Greek formulation of three principles of
natural growth: "radiation from the parent stem, the proportionate distribu-
tion of areas, and the tangential curvature of the lines."**

The bead-and-reel motif of the door archivolt and the fretwork of the
bronze gate hinge are examples of classical details which appeared
throughout Sullivan's career. Both clearly show his conscious use of Greek
ornament. According to the early architectural historian Montgomery
Schuyler, Sullivan copied the bead-and-reel motif from H. H, Richardson's
porch of Austin Hall at Harvard."*^

In addition to classical designs, the rich ornament of the Getty Tomb
contains other historical motifs. The tracery of the gate medallions is
curiously Celtic in design. The interwoven spirals share both form and feel-
ing with similar designs carved on Celtic cross memorials (Figs. 5 and 6).

Sullivan's desire to break away from the associations of western orna-
ment led to his interest in Islamic sources. His search for an architecture of
unity required the transcendence of western attitudes and traditions. The
ubiquitous presence of Islamic ornament (and its endless variety) was con-
trary to western aesthetic thought. The hierarchical arrangement of or-
namental elements to emphasize an architectural form was absent, indicat-
ing a fundamental difference in purpose. The eastern transcendental em-
phasis on the sublime replaced the western concern for the contemplation
of beauty. According to Keith Critchlow, an expert on Islamic design, Is-
lamic ornamental patterns were, "a means of relating multiplicity to Unity
by means of mathematical forms which are seen, not as mental abstractions,
but as reflections of the celestial archetypes within both the cosmos and the
minds and souls of men.""*^

The Getty Tomb's octagonal pattern shares a number of common af-
finities with Islamic art and architecture. Although Sullivan did not repli-
cate an existing pattern, diaper ornament was used exclusively in Islamic

185

Fig. 5. Getty Tomb, bronze gate detail

186

Fig. 6. Getty Tomb, second bronze gate detail

buildings to produce two dimensional patterns. This mosaic-like pattern
gave a nonstatic emphasis to the surface. Sullivan applied this treatment to
the exterior of the tomb's upper half, which accentuated the door and win-
dows, thereby relieving the heaviness of the cubic mass (Figs. 7 and 8). His
maintenance of the western emphasis on building openings gives the tomb a
resemblance to certain Moorish-style mausolea erected in Morocco, where
the western architectural tradition of featuring portals was assimilated into
Islamic architecture.''^ The geometrical motifs allowed Sullivan to unite his
artistic and architectural talents in the spirit of Islamic thought.

In the Getty Tomb, Sullivan employed architectural features of both
western and eastern historical styles. Classical ornament influenced his
botanical designs while Islamic antecedents supplied the inspiration for the
geometrical patterns. The skillful intermingling of morphological and
geometric ornament enabled Sullivan to achieve a vibrant ornamentation.
Although he used some historical details, they chiefly supplemented his
original designs.

187

■sisSk'^

-'^^,V

S^^f^^^^..:»^4

•i#vt

Fig. 7. Getty Tomb, ornament detail from door archivolt

188

Fig. 8. Getty Tomb, side view

Many of Sullivan's writings discuss his ornamental theory, and affirm the
significant role ornament performs in his architecture. Two years after the
completion of the Getty Tomb a summation of his principles was published
as "Ornament in Architecture.'"^ This close chronological sequence suggests
that designing this tomb helped Sullivan develop fully his ornamental
theory. A brief summary of this essay by the historian of Sullivan's orna-
ment, Paul Sprague, lists the following central ideas:

1. Ornament should seek to express a subjective quality.

2. Architectural ornament should form an integral, organic part of the
entire architectural composition.

3. Ornament should appear to be of the surface, not on it.

4. The qualities of the ornament should be related to the qualities of
the building as a whole.

5. All basic decisions about architectural ornament should be made
when the initial design is prepared.'*^

189

Fig. 9. Getty Tomb, cornice ornament detail

Sullivan used traditional means to implement this theory of ornament.
The Getty Tomb shows that his arrangement of individual motifs within a
pattern, and the placement of these patterns on the tomb, were employed
for conventional purposes: "to mark structural divisions, to emphasize ar-
chitectural climaxes, and to moderate texturally the harshness of stone."^°

Specific examples clearly illustrate each of these points. Both the bead-
and-reel and vegetal motifs demarcate the voussoirs (wedge-shaped units of
an arch) (Fig. 9). The outlining of the lower cornice edge is a further ex-
ample of Sullivan's use of ornament to distinguish building component func-
tions (Figs. 7 and 8). Two ornamental patterns serve to accent the arches:
the concentric bands of the archivolts (Fig. 9) and the octagonal pattern of
the upper walls. All of the tomb's ornament serves to modulate light to
create textural interest. However, because the octagonal motif is the largest
ornament design, and is used to create an extensive pattern, it most
prominently exhibits that function (Fig. 10).

190

Fig. 10. Getty Tomb, octagonal ornament detail

The Getty Tomb was Sullivan's most successful building design in which
ornament and mass are interdependent. Ornament was not used as decora-
tion only, but played an important role in determining the actual building
design. Sullivan calculated carefully the symmetry of the tomb, its propor-
tions determined by the size of the octagonal motif. The number of oc-
tagons creates the 3:4 proportion in the plan of the tomb. The facade has
twelve octagons to a row, while the sides contain sixteen per row (12:16 or
3:4). Two semicircular windows with decorative bronze grilles create
lunettes which are exactly centered on the side walls (Fig. 11). The door is
also precisely centered on the front wall. The window and door archivolts
and their concentric ornamental banding correspond to nodes of the oc-
tagonal pattern. Furthermore, the dimensions of the voussoirs are also
determined by the octagonal measurements.^^ (Figs. 7 and 8)

The complete integration of ornament and mass was a fundamental con-
cern of Sullivan, for "the ornament should appear, not as something receiv-
ing the spirit of the structure, but as a thing expressing that spirit by virtue

191

Fig. 11. Getty Tomb, bronze window grille

of differential growth."^^ The physical method employed to carve the tomb's
ornament strengthens this contention. Described as intaglio, the motifs
were carved out of the stone, contrary to the usual method of relief carving
which projects the ornament into space. Sullivan specifically wanted the or-
nament to lie below the stone's surface in order to unite it closely with the
tomb's mass. With the Getty Tomb, Sullivan achieved his goals of unity and
balance.

The ornament of the Getty Tomb is perfectly balanced, both within its in-
ternal organization and in its harmonious relationship to the tomb's struc-
ture. Emanuel Swedenborg, the eighteenth-century scientist, mystic, and
religious philosopher, advanced a theory of "correspondences," which
provided Sullivan with an ideological structure for ordering the themes that
determined his architecture. Swedenborg believed that "the realms of the
physical and spiritual were part of a transcendent totality," and that creation
depended on the balance of opposing characteristics. Therefore, according
to Swedenborg, "correspondences" existed between the polarized dualities of
wisdom/love, reason/emotion, and masculine/feminine: the formative
forces of the universe.^^

192

Sullivan created correspondences of his own. The pairing of contrary
design traits, such as mass/detail and geometric/organic, allowed Sullivan to
establish a perfect compositional balance. The tomb's massive block-form
was imbued with masculine rational qualities, while its contrasting ornament
embodied feminine emotional attributes. Ornament itself was also designed
according to this idea; vegetal motifs were feminine and lyrical, while the
octagonal pattern was masculine and logical. The reconciliation of op-
posites was viewed by Sullivan as a creative principle conforming to the
generative process of the universe.

The Getty Tomb manifests the culmination of Sullivan's search for an ar-
chitecture of unity. His approach to architecture was predicated on a per-
sonal philosophy which interwove themes of theology, biology, aesthetics,
and mathematics. Sullivan was eclectic, basing his philosophy on a variety
of sources. Theories of masculine power, American transcendentalism,
Greek and Islamic aesthetics, and the teachings of Emanuel Swedenborg all
contributed to the theoretical infrastructure of his architecture. Sullivan's
eclecticism was not indiscriminate, however. He purposefully sought out
ideologies which presented ideas parallel to his own. Concepts from these
various sources were combined into his unique vision, with the primary pur-
pose to explain the creative forces of creation. Sullivan's first building to be
designed via this guiding philosophy was the Getty Tomb. Its exquisite
realization of aesthetic unity caused Frank Lloyd Wright to remark:

The Getty Tomb in Graceland Cemetery was entirely his own; fine sculp-
ture. A statue. A great poem addressed to human sensibilities as such.
Outside the realm of music what finer requiem?^

Wainwright Tomb

The Wainwright Tomb commission resulted from Sullivan's professional
travel. In St. Louis, Sullivan met Ellis Wainwright, a wealthy businessman,
whose family fortune was made through brewing beer. Sullivan designed
the renowned Wainwright Building (1890-91) for him. Its success pleased
Wainwright. When his beautiful young wife died in 1891, Wainwright
turned again to Sullivan. The resulting tomb, designed by Sullivan at the
height of his creative powers, was another masterpiece (Fig. 12).

193

Fig. 12. Wainwright Tomb, complete view

194

Sullivan had integrated eastern and western traits in the Getty Tomb, but
for Wainwright he abandoned western sources completely. The Wainwright
Tomb was strongly imbued with Islamic design elements. Books on Islamic
architecture in Sullivan's library attest to his interest. Islamic architects,
designers, and calligraphers created forms based on the same natural forces
they perceived to be responsible for the creation of all things in the
universe. Islamic designs provided an alternative to western historical
sources, and Sullivan embraced the spiritual unity of the Islamic world as
means to create new forms.

The Wainwright Tomb is basically a domed cube, remarkably similar in
form to a qubba a North African mausoleum. Three circular courses sup-
port the dome, its interior covered with a deep blue mosaic containing at
the center a single golden star. The facade, with its elaborate ornamental
friezes, is derivative of an Islamic pistaq, an imposing rectangular gateway
(Fig. 13). Sullivan successfully integrated two Islamic architectural forms,
the qubba and pistaq.^^

An approach of three steps gives the Wainwright Tomb a sense of gran-
deur. On either side are blocklike forms serving both functional and aes-
thetic purposes. Sullivan designed the blocks large enough to create niches
to accommodate benches. These exedras provide a place for visitors to rest
and contemplate, in keeping with the concept of a mortuary monument.
Sullivan employed these forms to broaden the composition of the tomb and
unify and separate elements. They resemble cupulated structures called
chatris, Islamic in origin, and often accompanying Indian mosque and tomb
entrances.^^

An examination of the tomb's ornamental friezes provides a means of as-
sessing the degree to which Sullivan was indebted to Islamic designs. The
curvilinear forms which accompany the vegetative motifs have lost all west-
ern likeness. They closely resemble the calligraphy found on Moslem build-
ings, yet Sullivan introduced new designs such as the large bulbous motifs he
used in later designs.^^ The vegetal motifs of the Wainwright Tomb were
reduced in size and importance from ornament designs of previous build-
ings. The extensive use of restraining geometrical designs indicated a shift
in Sullivan's treatment of ornament toward an Islamic conception. The rear

195

Fig. 13. Wainwright Tomb, frontal view

frieze is primarily geometrical, with the spiky leaves tightly enclosed within
intersecting circles (Fig. 14). In addition to its practical design application,
Sullivan used the circle extensively for its symbolic connotations. In Islamic
ornament, "the circle surpasses all other geometric patterns as the symbol of

,,CQ

cosmic umty...

The "snowflake" frieze surrounding the door of the Wainwright Tomb is
an excellent example of Sullivan's manipulation of geometric forms. Islamic
artists used a technique in which new forms were created through geometri-
cal subdivision. For example, the subdivision of a circle furnished a system
for the creation of triangles, stars, hexagons, and other geometric shapes.
The plates in Sullivan's A System of Architectural Ornament illustrate a
similar use of the circle.^^

Fig. 14. Wainwright Tomb, side view

197

The ornamental friezes provide the necessary vitality to enliven and unify
the tomb's composition. Curvilinear motifs were used repetitiously to create
an exuberant sense of motion within the confines of the frieze. The motifs,
essential for balancing the massive static forms, symbolize universal
regenerative qualities. Sullivan's efforts went far beyond the tomb's design
requirements, however; he created a different ornamental motif for the
frieze of each of the four tomb walls. These large friezes define the wall
perimeters, while simultaneously accentuating the door and window open-
ings (Fig. 15). Vegetal motifs predominate in the front and side friezes,
containing spiky leaves and bulbous forms. One side frieze features pods
(Fig. 16). Inside the pods are seeds, which played the central role in
Sullivan's system of organic ornament. For him, seeds expressed the poten-
tial for the creation of forms. The seed pods are a visual representation of
this theory; they were at the origin of the flowing vegetal forms of the or-
namental frieze.

Fig. 15. Wainwright Tomb, ornament detail of side window

198

^4 ^^^4^4'

Fig. 16. Wainwright Tomb, ornament detail from side frieze

^i^.r ">^!^*r •'^^fck-^ "T^^.iikC" %-#%c* r rfi.^T'^^ ^T r.>i%*

Fig. 17. Wainwright Tomb, ornament detail of rear frieze

199

Oraament was Sullivan's foremost means of plastic expression. The ex-
tent to which he articulated his ideas visually can be viewed in the tomb's
window treatment (Fig. 17). Here geometry is victorious. Through repeti-
tion, integration, and subdivision, Sullivan achieved a notable design com-
position. The bronze window grille consists of four large ellipses. Within
these are contained three octagons (a shape carried over from the Getty
Tomb ornament). Further geometrical subdivision created ellipses within
the interstices of the octagons, and finally four-pointed "stars" within those
ellipses. The total composition reverberates between the constantly conflict-
ing sensations of expansion and contraction. A decorative frieze was then
employed to enclose the composition, using the same ellipse and "star"
motifs found in the grille (Fig. 18). Via an Islamic design process, Sullivan
had achieved total compositional unity.

Fig. 18. Wainwright Tomb, ornament detail from side window

200

With the greater assertiveness of geometrical motifs, SuUivan achieved in
the Wainwright Tomb a new balance between geometric and organic forms.
This equilibrium directly reflected the aesthetic and philosophical ideals of
the Moslem world. Unity was achieved through the expression of polarities:

Islamic art is predominantly a balance between pure geometrical form
and what can be called fundamental biomorphic form: a polarization that
has associative values with the four philosophical and experiential
qualities of cold and dry - representing the crystallization in geometric
form - and hot and moist - representing the formative forces behind
vegetative and vascular form.*^

Islamic thought provided another framework for the affirmation of
Sullivan's transcendentalist philosophy.

Conclusion

The tombs of Lx)uis Sullivan exemplify the ideas of a man living at the
close of the nineteenth century, Sullivan formulated his Romantic
philosophy from a variety of early personal experiences and literary sources.
Indeed, Sullivan is within the tradition of Emerson, Thoreau, and Whitman.

Nineteenth-century America was trying to establish a cultural identity, yet
people turned to the achievements of Western Europe for inspiration and
models to imitate. Most American sepulchral buildings merely imitated
past architectural styles. Those tombs dotted the rural cemetery landscape.
Sullivan studied and derived useful information from historical example, but
he used it for qualities that paralleled and strengthened his architectural
theories. Sullivan's mausolea elevated American funerary architecture to a
new stature.

His quest for understanding the creative forces of the universe led him to
a transcendentalist philosophy. Although he assimilated the lessons of
transcendentalism and appreciated the values of nature, Sullivan went far
beyond traditional Romanticism. He also embraced a rational methodol-
ogy, for technology and engineering were changing the face of the world.
Sullivan's original architecture reflected his deeply-felt American sen-
sibilities. Lewis Mumford summarizes his significance:

201

Sullivan was perhaps the first mind in American architecture that had
come to know itself with any fullness in relation to its soil, its period, its
civilization, and had been able to absorb fully all the many lessons of the
century.^^

Sullivan's three tombs were important milestones in his development as
an architect. Minimizing the complex considerations of utilitarian use, he
was able to focus his attention completely on pure aesthetics.^^ Because his
philosophy was based on the cyclical progressions of nature, his designing of
mausolea was especially appropriate. For Sullivan organic architecture was
symbolic of the forces in the universe, and indicated the creative powers of
man. He turned to Islamic architecture because it provided an alternative
to historical western sources. The eastern belief that forms were created by
oppositional forces paralleled his own views and provided a conceptual
foundation for his search in achieving design unity. The three tomb com-
missions enabled Sullivan to represent his spiritual quest in physical form.

Postscript

Sullivan died in Chicago in 1924, a neglected and impoverished man.
Thomas Tallmadge, the noted architectural historian, planned Sullivan's
memorial, and financed it through private contributions. Standing near the
Ryerson Tomb, in Chicago's Graceland Cemetery, the monument is a
rough-hewn granite gravestone on which a bronze plaque is mounted (Fig,
19). The plaque is a replica of a Sullivan ornament drawing, #19 from his
System of Architectural Ornament, surrounding a profile of Sullivan executed
by C.P. Seidel (Fig. 20). Tallmadge wrote the epitaph which was carved on
the back of the memorial.

202

neuis «ivR! sulo

Fig. 19. Sullivan gravestone, complete view

tmm nmK\ sot

Fig. 20. Sullivan gravestone, bronze detail
203

1856 LOUIS HENRI SULLIVAN 1924
BY HIS BUILDINGS GREAT INFLUENCE AND POWER; HIS DRAWINGS
UNSURPASSED IN ORIGINALITY AND BEAUTY; HIS WRITINGS RICH IN
POETRY AND PROPHESY; HIS TEACHINGS PERSUASIVE AND ELOQUENT;
HIS PHILOSOPHY WHERE, IN "FORM FOLLOWS FUNCTION, "
HE SUMMED UP ALL TRUTH IN ART. SULLIVAN HAS EARNED HIS PLACE AS
ONE OF THE GREATEST ARCHITECTURAL FORCES IN AMERICA. IN
TESTIMONY OF THIS, HIS PROFESSIONAL AND OTHER FRIENDS HAVE
BUILT THIS MONUMENT.

The year before his death Sullivan had written:

The architect who combines in his being the powers of vision, of imagina-
tion, of intellect, of sympathy with human need and the power to inter-
pret them in a language vernacular and true - is he who shall create
poems in stone... ^^

Appendix: A Catalogue Raisonne of Sullivan's Tombs^

RYERSON TOMB:

Location: Graceland Cemetery, Chicago, Illinois.
Commission: Martin A. Ryerson for his father Martin Ryerson

who died September 6, 1887
Designed: September, 1887
Ornament: October, 1887
Source: Building Budget (Chicago, Illinois), November 30,

1887: "Lets Contracts"

GETTY TOMB:

Location: Graceland Cemetery, Chicago, Illinois
Commission: Henry H, Getty for Carrie Eliza Getty who died

February 24, 1890
Designed: September, 1890
Ornament: October, 1890
Location of
Drawings: Avery Architectural Library, Columbia University,

Frank Lloyd Wright Collection

204

WAINWRIGHT TOMB:

Location: Bellefontaine Cemetery, St. Louis, Missouri

Commission: Ellis Wainwright for Charlotte Dickson Wainwright
who died April 15, 1891

Designed: November, 1891

Ornament: January, 1892

Location of

Drawings: University of Michigan, College of Architecture
and Design. Working drawing is at Burnham
Architectural Library, Chicago Art Institute.
Perspective drawing published in "Inland
Architect and News Record," XIX, May 1892.

NOTES

The author would like to thank Narciso G. Menocal for helpful suggestions upon reading
the first draft of this article. Further thanks are due to Harold Allen and my brother, David C.
Wright, for their careful editing of the article's final draft.

1. Louis SuUivan, Kindergarten Chats and Other Writings, (New York: Dover, 1979), 160. This
is a reprint of the 1947 edition which contained Sullivan's revised manuscript of 1918, along
with other essays by SuUivan.

2. Narciso Garcia-Menocal, "Louis Sullivan: His Theory, Mature Development, and Theme"
(unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Illinois, Champaign-Urbana, 1974), 69.

3. Severad writings explain Sulhvan's indebtedness to Furness. See Paul E. Sprague, "The Ar-
chitectural Ornament of Louis Sullivaui and his Chief Draftsmen" (unpublished doctoral
thesis, Princeton University, 1969). Refer to Part One, Section two: "The Origins of Louis
Sulhvan's Architectural Ornament, the Gothic Revival." For a more detailed examination
of Furness, see James F. O'Gorman, The Architecture of Frank Furness (Philadelphia:
Philadelphia Museum of Art, 1973).

4. Theodor Turak, as cited in Robert Twombly, Louis Sullivan: His Life and Work (New York:
Viking, 1986), 53. For a thorough treatment of Jenne/s architectural theory see Theodor
Turak, William LeBaron Jenney: A Pioneer of Modem Architecture (Ann Arbor: UMI Re-
search Press, 1986).

5. Sulhvan's comments on Richju-dson's Brattle Street Church cu-e in Louis SulUvam, The
Autobiography of an Idea (New York: Dover, 1956, a reprint of the 1924 first edition), 188.
SuUivjm's impression of Richardson's Marshall Field Store appears in Kindergarten Chats,
30.

6. Leopold Eidhtz as cited in Menocal, "Louis SuUivan," 130.

7. /b/d., 127 & 130.

8. The 1875 English translation of Discourses on Architecture and other books by VioUet-le-
Duc were owned by SuUivan. A hst of the books in Sulhvan's personal hbrary is included in
the 1909 auction catalog for the sale of his possessions, located in the Burnham Librjiry of
the Art Institute of Chicago. A number of books touch upon the importance of VioUet-le-
Duc to SuUivan. The most comphrehensive discussion of these ideeis is in Narciso G.
Menocal, Architecture as Nature: The Transcendentalist Idea of Louis Sullivan (Madison:
University of Wisconsin Press, 1981). In addition to noting the inteUectUcd antecedents
VioUet-le-Duc provided for SuUivan, Menocal observes simUarities in their ornament as
well. See the section entitled "Geometry & Ornamentation: Theory & Practice."

205

9. Evidence of Sullivan's affinity to Spencer's writings zire in Frank Lloyd Wright, Autobiog-
raphy (New York: Duell, Sloan & Pearce, 1943, a reprint of the 1932 first edition), 70.
Twombly, 145 provides a condensed version of an 1882 interview with Sullivan.

10. Menocal, "Louis Sullivan," 157.
n. Ibid., 121-124.

12. Menocal, Architecture as Nature, 11-12.
13.7b/rf.,44,146, 192.

14. Cited in Shermjm Paul, Louis Sullivan: An Architect in American Thought (Englewood
Cliffs: Prentice-Hall, 1%2), 2.

15. A growing number of books concerning America's cultural history treat the rural cemetery
movement. An especially good analysis of the Romantic ideals responsible for the founding
of rural cemeteries is found in Jcimes J. Farrell, Inventing the American Way of Death, 1830-
1920 (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1980), 30-34, 102-108.

16. During the five-year period in which the three tombs were built (1887-1892), the firm of Ad-
ler & Sullivan designed approximately thirty buildings. After the completion of Chicago's
nationally acclaimed Auditorium in 1889, a plethora of commissions followed. The Getty
Tomb (1890) was designed during the busiest time of Sullivan's career.

17. SuVlivdia., Autobiography, 111.

18. Among the primary causes for the establishment of rural cemeteries was the attitude that a
natural landscape would provide solace to people suffering from melancholy. See David
Schuyler, The New Urban Landscape: The Redefinition of City Form in Nineteenth-Century
America (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 1986), 40-41.

19. "Inspiration," reprinted in Menocal, Architecture as Nature, 156-167.

20. Reprinted in Maurice EngUsh, The Testament of Stone: Themes of Idealism and Indignation
from the Writings of Louis Sullivan (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1963), 111.

21. Stanley French, "The Cemetery as Cultural Institution: The Establishment of Mount
Auburn and the Rural Cemetery Movement" in Death in America, ed. David E. Stannard
(University of Pennsylvania Press, 1975), 78-79.

22. The tombs of Ryerson and Getty zu^e both located in Chicago's Graceland Cemetery. Sul-
livan undoubtedly was well aware of William LeBaron Jenney's landscape planning for
Graceland, during his employment with Jenney. In fact the Getty Tomb was built facing
Willowmere, the artificial lake Jenney had designed according to the ideals of Romantic
landscape design. This orientation yields a charming reflection of the tomb in the still
waters of Willowmere, showing that Sullivan was aware of picturesque Ismdscape principles.
For an account of Jenney's role in the design of Graceland's landscape, see Walter L.
Creese, 77ie Crowning of the American Landscape (Princeton: Princeton University Press,
1985), 208, 210-211.

23. Sullivan, "Ornament in Architecture" as reprinted in Kindergarten Chats, 187.

24. For a thorough treatment of the Ryerson Tomb lockplate design and its significance, see
Sprague, 115, 123.

25. Barbara Lanctot, A Walk Through Graceland Cemetery, revised edition (Chicago: Chicago
Architecture Foundation, 1982), 20.

26. The following sources include information and analysis pertaining to Egyptian Revival ar-
chitecture in nineteenth-century rural cemeteries: Harold Allen, "Egypt (American Style):
Photographs of Egyptian-style American Architecture" (unpublished exhibition catalog,
Syracuse University, 1984); Richard G. Carrott, The Egyptian Revival: Its Sources, Monu-
ments, and Meanings: 1808-1858 (Berkeley, University of California Press, 1978); and James
Stevens Curl, The Egyptian Revival (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1982).

27. SuUivan, Autobiography, 292.

28. Donald Hoffman, The Architecture of John Wellborn Root (Baltimore: John Hopkins
University Press, 1973), 169.

206

29. At the request of his client, who wished to lessen building costs, Root designed a final plan
which almost completely eliminated exterior ornament. However, Sullivcm probably had no
similar cost constraints for the Ryerson Tomb because of the family's immense wealth.
Two buildings SuUivan had designed previously for Ryerson used Egyptian ornamental
motifs on the facades. This indicates that SuUivan, like Root, was also interested in Egyp-
tian architecture for aesthetic reasons.

30. The distinction between mechanistic and vitalistic sensibiUties is developed by Sprague, 5-
11.

31. Hugh Morrison, Louis Sullivan: Prophet of Modem Architecture (New York: W.W. Norton,
1935), 279.

32. SuUivan, Kindergarten Chats, 46.

33. Ibid., 195.

34. WiUiam H. Jordy, American Buildings and Their Architects: Volume Four, Progressive and
Academic Ideals at the Turn of the Twentieth Century (Oxford and New York: Oxford
University Press, 1972), 105.

35. Louis Sullivan, yl System of Architectural Ornament According With a Philosophy of Man's
Powers (New York: Eakins Press, 1967, a reprint of the 1924 first edition), no page num-
bers, see the section, "The Inorganic and the Organic."

36. SuUivan, Autobio^aphy, 79.

37. Menocal, "Louis SuUivan," 245-246.

38. Sullivan, Kindergarten Chats, 123.

39. SuUivan, A System of Architectural Ornament, see the section entitled "Interlude, the
Doctrine of Parallelism."

40. Ibid., see the section, "Prelude."

41. These major reference books were used internationally by architects for developing orna-
ment designs. SuUivan became famiUar with the books through both his architectural
education and his employers.

42. The influence of the N6o-Grec Movement on Sullivan is described by David Van Zanten,
"SuUivan to 1890," in Louis Sullivan: The Function of Ornament ed. Wim De Wit, (New
York: W.W. Norton, 1986).

43. Owen Jones, The Grammar of Ornament (New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold, 1982, a
reprint of the 1856 first edition), 154.

44. History of Architecture and Ornament (Scranton: International Textbook, 1928), 69. A fuU-
size cast of the richly ornamented bronze door was made and sent to the Mus6e des Arts
Decoratifs in Paris during 1893, and is now stored in the basement of the Louvre in Paris.
Critical acclaim foUowed Sullivan's Paris exhibition emd many casts were subsequently made
for various European institutions. The Getty Tomb door and its award at the Paris Exposi-
tion of 1900 demonstrated Europe2in appreciation of Sullivan's ornament.

45. Montgomery Schuyler, "Architecture in Chicago: Adler & Sullivan," in American Architec-
ture and Other Writings, ed. WUham H. Jordy and Rdph Coe, vol. 2, (Cambridge, Mass.:
Harvard University Press, 1%1), 401.

46. Keith Critchlow, Islamic Patterns: An Analytical and Cosmological Approach (London:
Thames & Hudson, 1978), 6.

47. Menocal, Architecture as Nature, 34, 36.

48. SuUivan, Kindergarten Chats, 187-190. First published in "The Engineering Magazine," vol.
32, no. 5 (August 1892).

49. Sprague, 41-42.

50. Ibid., 164.

51. A detailed description based on actual measurements is provided in Menocal, "Louis Sul-
Uvan," 66-68. Also see Menocal, Architecture as Nature, 35, for the author's diagram of the
ornamentation.

207

52. Sullivan, Kindergarten Chats, 189.

53. Mcnocal, Architecture as Nature, 24-25.

54. Frank Lloyd Wright, Genius and the Mobocracy (New York: Horizon Press, 1971, a reprint
of the 1949 first edition), 95.

55. Mcnocal, Architecture as Nature, 36, 40-42.

56. Menocal, "Louis Sullivan," 71-72.

57. Sprague, 184.

59. Critchlow, 58.

58. Although a number of plates illustrate Sullivan's use of the circle, plate #3 is a particularly
good exjunple.

60. Ibid., 8.

61. Lewis Mumford, The Brown Decades: A study of the Arts in America (New York: Dover,
1955, a reprint of the 1931 first edition), 143.

62. SuUivan wanted the tombs to express perfectly his design ideas. Contrary to normal
mausolea commissions, the Wainwright and Getty names were excluded from their tombs,
as Sullivan wanted the facade compositions to be flawless. SuUivan had incorporated H.H.
Getty's initials in the bronze window grilles, but appeirently this identifying feature was not
sufficient for Getty. The Getty name was subsequently carved into the voussoirs of the door
arch. Early photographs depicting the Getty Tomb before the addition of its lettering show
the superiority of Sullivan's original treatment. See Thomas E. Talbnadge, The Story of
American Architecture (New York: W.W. Norton, 1936), next to page 224, for an early
photograph. EUis Wainwright, a collector of fine art, was more sensitive them Getty.
Wainwright understood SuUivjm's reasons for not including the Wjiinwright name on the
tomb facade, and abided by Sulhvan's design.

63. Sullivan, "Concerning the Imperial Hotel, Tokyo Japan" (Architectural Record, April 1923),
33, cited in Albert Bush-Brown, Louis Sullivan (New York: George Braziller, 1960), 6.

64. Sprague, 395, 402-403, and 409.

208

or ]\\ nrc i?/nIi "'nin Moni

W/HITHOPvI .nC! n //I
VEAtVS ^-V 1 M" 10 Da',

WHO nr,CI.^5rn iumi. v
.v' . I, -' o f;

SHK"; C.<HI It) l',l■^l Ahomc, '■ r.l ' si
WITH. CHUN r !ll ?, 1\1I'>-.K.,1 I oi'JI

w/Ho \'-')U, la/in '■>• '(.tTCi mmr

;i^^^F«5TFE5

Figure 1. Rebeckah Whitmore, 1709, Lexington, MA, Joseph Lamson

Figure 2. Thankfull Foster, 1700, Dorchester, MA, James Foster

210

SEVEN INITIAL CARVERS OF BOSTON 1700-1725

Theodore Chase and Laurel K. Gabel

Boston and its environs in the opening decades of the eighteenth century
was one of the most important gravestone carving centers of the New
World. Joseph Lamson's shop in Charlestown was well established,
providing markers for Boston as well as much of Middlesex County to the
north and west (Fig. 1). James Foster and his son were supplying Dor-
chester and areas south and west with grave markers in their readily recog-
nizable style (Fig. 2), and Boston's leading supplier of gravestones, master
carver and mason William Mumford, was filling orders from his busy shop
in the North End (Fig. 3). Although the combined output of these shops
appears to have been prodigious, not a single signed or initialed gravestone
has ever been found for these well established carvers.

In significant contrast, there are forty-three initialed stones attributed to
seven young men who began carving in Boston during this same 1700-1725
period.^ These men were: NL, Nathaniel Lamson (1692/3-1755); CL,
Caleb Lamson (1697-1760); NE, Nathaniel Emmes (1690-1750); WG, Wil-
liam Grant (1694-1726); JG, James Gilchrist (1689-1722); WC, William Cus-
tin (?); and JN, John Noyes (1674-1749). These men and the stones bearing
their initials have a number of characteristics in common:

a) All seven carvers worked in the Boston area within the same 1700-
1725 time frame.

b) At least six of the seven were of approximately the same age. The
initialed stones represent work done in their 'teens or early twenties,
before they were established carvers and before any payments for
their work appear in probate records.

c) The initialed stones are all slightly different - each stone is unique.

d) Most of the initialed examples are exceptionally well carved - "best
efforts."

e) Many of the initialed stones are in coastal towns outside of the im-
mediate Boston area: Marshfield, Marblehead, Salem, Duxbury,
Barnstable, Quincy, Martha's Vineyard, MA, Portsmouth, NH, Nor-
walk, CT.

f) The initialed stones appear in a short time span of the carver's life,
averaging about seven years (Fig. 4).

211

Figure 3. Ann Mumford, 1697/8, Newport, RI, William Mumford

1710

1720

1730

1740

1750

■ ■ ■■■

■

■ ■«■•■

QQ D

■ ■

■

□ :

■ ai 1

a Q 3 nCQQQQQ Qt

1QC

□

■

■ a

Q Q

Q Q Q

• a

C QQQDTQIQC[DQQ£ i

in r

□

Q QQ, QQQ

Q 'q Q

•■ -H

+ aa aa

aa ■

at ail Q acQCQQQC I

rrtr

a a Qcao c

_ __ _

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tt ±

■ Initialed stone □ Probate account stone Death of carver

Figure 4. Chart of Seven Boston Initial Carvers

212

Joseph Lamson's sons, Nathaniel (1692/3-1755) and Caleb (1697-1760),
almost certainly served as apprentices in their father's shop while still in
their early 'teens. Naturally enough, most of their work bears the imprint
of Joseph's training.

Nathaniel's eight initialed stones^ span the years 1707-1716, when
Nathaniel was between fifteen and twenty-four years of age. The workman-
ship is very accomplished. As with most of the other initialed stones, the
carving often surpasses the standard workmanship of the carver's later years
(Fig. 5).

Caleb Lamson's first initialed stone is dated 1713, shortly before
Nathaniel's last one, and Caleb's initialed stones continue until HZS.-' All
but one were carved while Caleb was between the ages of sixteen and
twenty-four (Fig. 6).

Figure 5. Capt. and Mrs. Pyam Blower, 1709, Cambridge, MA, NL

213

Figure 6. William Grimes, original date unknown - relettered stone,
Lexington, MA, CL

Figure 7. James Paine, 1711, Barnstable, MA, NE

214

If probate payments are any indication, one of Boston's most popular
carvers in the first half of the eighteenth century was Nathaniel Emmes
(1690-1750); payments to him are listed in more than eighty-five estates.
But only two stones bearing his initials have been found'* - both carved when
Enmies was a very young man (Fig. 7). Later, however, as Harriette Mer-
rifield Forbes suggests, he also cut his initials and the date March 31, 1729
on the cornerstone of the Old South Meeting House in Boston. Mrs.
Forbes believes that Emmes lived on Prince Street in Boston's North End
and learned the art of making gravestones from William Mumford.^ The
inventory in his estate shows a mansion house on Prince Street valued at
L266-13-4.*^ Forbes calls both of his sons, Henry (1716-1767) and Joshua
(1719-1772), stonecarvers. Henry did truly outstanding work, some of
which, including a number of signed (not initialed) stones, are in Charles-
ton, South Carolina.^ As is true of all the initialed stones of other carvers,
the stones initialed by Nathaniel Emmes appear several years before he
begins to show up in probate accounts as a stonecarver paid for gravestones.
Later in life, shortly before his death at the age of sixty, Nathaniel Emmes
signed his name and location on the elegantly carved family crest medallion
executed for John Dupuys, 1745, now in the vestry of Trinity Church in New
York City. There is no question that in this case his full signature repre-
sents that of an artist signing his work.

The pair of stones for which William Grant (1694-1726) was paid in 1726
by the estate of Ambrose Vincent has not been found, making the WG ini-
tialed stone for Mary Marshall, 1718 Quincy, our only example of Grant's
work (Fig. 8). The Marshall stone bears a lovely face with wings, much in
the style of Gilchrist, Custin and Emmes, with whom Grant shared the carv-
ing market. Mrs. Forbes gives Grant's date of death as 1726, although there
are some stones in his style carrying later dates. A carver named William
Grant moved from Boston to New York about 1740. Whether this is the
same or another William Grant, we do not know.*

Little has been learned or written about James Gilchrist (1689-1722),
who during the ten or fifteen years before his early death shared the Boston
carving market with others mentioned in this article (Fig. 9). Gilchrist was
paid for gravestones in the estates of Stephen Butcher, Caleb Blanchard and

215

Figure 8. Mary Marshall, 1718, Quincy, MA, WG

216

Figure 9. Benjamin Pickman, 1708, Salem, MA, JG

217

Samuel Tibbs, all of Boston.' None of these stones is still standing. The
ledger of the New England Company, a missionary society known as the
"Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in New England and the Parts
Adjacent in America," contains a receipt dated 20 November 1718 for L6
paid to "James Gillkrist" for "fitting up" Samuel Sewall's tomb "in the new
Burying place in Boston with wrought Connecticut stone, most of which I
have already prepared." A receipt signed by Gilchrist and dated 18 June
1719 shows a further payment of L3 "in part due me." The tomb fitted up
by Gilchrist was the Hull-Sewall family tomb in the Granary, and Sewall
himself was buried there 7 January 1729/30. It still exists but does not serve
as an example of Gilchrist's talent, having been relettered at some later
date.^°

Although there was a second JG (John Gaud) carving in Boston during
this same 1700-1725 period, our study of this carver leads us to concur with
Mrs. Forbes who believed that the stones initialed JG were probably the
work of James Gilchrist. It appears that Gilchrist and Gaud were ac-
quainted and may even have worked together, for there exists a record of
their joint undertaking to fetch a load of slate from the islands in Boston
Harbor."

Kings' Handbook of Boston Harbor, although written 160 years after the
events with which we are concerned, contains a vivid description of Slate Is-
land, which may well have been the source of supply which James Gilchrist,
John Gaud and other Boston carvers used:

Slate Island, comprising about twelve acres and nearly nine and a half
miles from Boston, is difficult of access except at high tide; when reached
the aptness of the name is evident, for its slaty ledges run far out into the
water, their black edges fringed by the light spray. The little beaches are
covered by splinters and slabs of slate, which are ground and beaten to
and fro by the waves, when they surge around these silent shores ...
Around the coast rise the ragged and irregular edges of slate, well nigh
concealed in places by a luxuriant growth of brown sea-weed and masses
of kelp, which seem only floating upon the water's top, though they cling
so closely to the rocks below, give the island an appearance as if hidden
dangers were continually lurking around it ... On the north and west,
towards Grape Island, are low gray cliffs of slate-rock, tier after tier,
standing upon edge, or slanting backward or forward Hke ancient time-
worn and weatherbeaten tombstones. Here schooners load with the
slate; and one may see the quarries, all along, from which they have
taken the material for countless cellar-walls and underpinnings.

218

The earliest stone bearing JG initials is a footstone for the Rev. Edward
Tompson (1705) in the Winslow Burying Ground in Marshfield (Fig. 10).
The Tompson headstone is clearly initialed JN, perhaps indicating some
kind of working relationship between these two carvers (Fig. 11), James
Gilchrist would have been about sixteen years old in 1705. The remaining
seven stones initialed JG occur over the five-year period 1707-1711, when
Gilchrist was between eighteen and twenty-two. ^^ Like many other
stonecutters of the period, Gilchrist very likely had a second trade. In an
account in the estate of Abraham Adams, allowed in December 1717,
Gilchrist is paid for carpentry.^^

^-IFH TIET. TCW. r,Ul,S; TO SIT IN PARLUTTEOT

"i,

Figure 10. Rev. Edward Tompson footstone, 1705, Marshfield, MA
(Forbes plate), /A/^

219

The Boston selectmen's records of 7 September 1714 show that the cellar
under the northeast corner of the Tovm House rebuilt in 1711 (now the Old
State House at the corner of State and Washington Streets) was rented at
L9 per annum to James Gilchrist and a William Custin. Five months later,
on 7 February 1715, the selectmen agreed that Gilchrist was to continue as
tenant, and Custin was discharged from the lease. ^'' These two entries sug-
gest the intriguing possibility that the nine beautiful stones dated between
1711 and 1715 and initialed WC were carved by an associate of Gilchrist,
William Custin (Figs. 12 and 13).^^

The stone for Abigail Allen (1710) in West Tisbury bears the initials JG,
and the stone for James Allen (1714), also in West Tisbury, the initials WC
(Fig. 14). There are also two stones in Marblehead, one for Richard Gross
(1711) and the other for Samuel Russell (1711) (Fig. 15), initialed WC and
JG, respectively. This paired distribution lends further support for our
belief that WC was James Gilchrist's associate, William Custin.

Figure 11. Rev. Edward Tompson headstone, 1705, Marshfield, MA, JN

220

Figure 12. John Edey, 1715, West Tisbury, MA, WC

H:REiy£S BURIED
f BODY OF

IMARY RICKARD
AGED 5:^ YEARS
DECESP AUGUSff ^
28*' 17 12..

Figure 13. Mary Rickard, 1712, Plymouth, MA, WC

221

A search of the Massachusetts Archives provided us with an introduction
to WilHam Custin, for he there appears as a member of the successful ex-
pedition against Port Royal in 1710. This French post in Nova Scotia had
long been a source of irritation to New England -- a center for attacks on its
shipping and the scene of much illicit trading with New Englanders. Cap-
tured by Sir William Phips in 1690, it was returned to the French by the
Treaty of Ryswick in 1697. An expedition from Boston in 1707 proved a
disaster. Finally the British government took the matter in hand and sent
forth a great fleet under Colonel Francis Nicholson consisting of five British
men of war, the Massachusetts Province Galley, a hospital ship, some thirty
troop ships and various smaller supporting vessels. 900 troops were
recruited from Boston, 300 from Connecticut, 180 from Rhode Island and
100 from New Hampshire. The fleet set sail from Nantasket on 10 Septem-
ber 1710, Port Royal was taken, renamed Annapolis Royal and ceded to
England in the Treaty of Utrecht. But one misfortune occurred in the
operation. One of the transports was lost in attempting to pass through the
narrow gut at the entrance of the Port Royal River. Nicholson describes the
incident in his journal of the expedition:

Figure 14. James Allen, 1714, West Tisbuiy, MA, WC

222

Figure 15. Samuel Russell, 1711, Marblehead, MA,/G

Capt Jeremiah Tay in the ship Caesar, assaying first to enter the River
ran to near the Shoar as to ground his vessel, to whom help sufficient was
tender'd, but he not being apprehensive of any danger, did not think fit to
accept of it, and the wind rising with a violent swelling sea bulg'd the
ship. In the evening; Lieut. Col. Ballantine and his Lieutenant with 7.
more got into the Boat and with one paddle thro' great difficulty they got
to Land, where the Boat bulg'd against the Rocks; Seventeen others of
the Company swam to Land; 26 remaining on Board were drowned, vis.
Capt. Tay, his Pilot or Sailor and 23. Souldiers.

William Custin was one of those who swam ashore. Another was Joseph
Lamson, son of the Charlestown stonecutter. Ballantine and the survivors
of his company took part in the action that followed and subsequently
returned to Boston.^^

We have found little further about Custin except a record of his marriage
on 24 December 1714, just before his discharge from the shop lease, to
Abigail Thayer, described only as "resident of Boston."^^ It is possible that
Custin moved away from the Boston area after his marriage and the dissolu-
tion of his relations with Gilchrist. James Gilchrist retained the shop in the
Boston Town House for three years and was then sued by the town

223

treasurer for failure to pay the rent.^^

On 30 September 1715 Gilchrist married Ann (Lambert) Shepcot. She
had been married in 1713 to Sampson Shepcot, but her husband died only
six weeks after the marriage. Ann was administratrix of Sampson's estate,
and only three months before her remarriage she disposed of the "mansion
house" at the foot of Water Street, next to Peter Oliver's Dock, which her
first husband had inherited from his father, Thomas Shepcot, a prominent
tobacconist. James Gilchrist and his wife Aim had a daughter Arm, born 15
September 1716. Gilchrist died 27 August 1722. His gravestone in the
King's Chapel Burying Ground bears a winged skull and a bordered tym-
panum arch in the style of WC, John Gaud and Nathaniel Emmes (Fig. 16).
Our current understanding of the work of these carvers leads us to favor
WC or Emmes as the carver. ^^

Figure 16. James Gilchrist, 1722, Kings Chapel, Boston

224

Figure 17. Ichabod Wiswall, 1700, Duxbury, MA,/A^

There are seven stones, all in Massachusetts, which bear the initials JN,
six of which we can attribute to the carver JN (Fig. 17).-^° Like that of WC,
JN's identity remains speculative. David Watters has developed a thesis,
supported by persuasive circumstantial evidence, that JN was the Boston sil-
versmith John Noyes (1674-1749).'^^ Noyes was a member of the Brattle
Street Church and of the Ancient and Honourable Artillery Company. Wat-
ters has collected a formidable list of JN's patrons who were connected in
one way or another with John Noyes - through purchases of his silver, as
members of the Brattle Street Church, as members of the Artillery Com-
pany, or by connection with other silversmiths and pewterers. The Watters
thesis is disputed by some experts on Colonial silver (Kathryn C. Buhler and
Jonathan Fairbanks), who point out that John Noyes always signed his silver
IN, while the gravestones are usually initialed JN, and who suggest that the
delicate and precise work of a silversmith is incompatible with the tools and
heavy hand required of a stonecarver. At the time the initials I and J were
interchangeable, and in fact one of the JN stones, that of Martha Hall
(1701) in Roxbury, bears the letters IN (Fig. 18).

225

111

FERE LYETi V BODY
OF MMtTlA HALL „
DAUGRTEH OF RICHAR
& ELrZABET=l""XCLD
21. YEARS 8t 2.. H°
V/HO DEPARTED HIS
LIFE TJPONy' TWllf
My OF NOUEMBER
, 17 0 I

Figure 18. Martha Hall, 1701, Roxbury, MA, IN

226

If JN was John Noyes, then he, unlike the other six initial carvers, did not
initial stones when in his 'teens or early twenties, but in his late twenties and
early thirties. There are no known payments for gravestones in Middlesex
or Suffolk County probate records to anyone having the initials JN. John
Noyes was definitely a silversmith at this time, for in 1700 the Benjamin
Bachway estate paid him L5.8.4 for mourning rings. The same estate paid
"William Mumford, the stonecutter's bill in full, L2.5.0," presumably for the
grave marker (Suffolk Probate, 14:142). Mrs. Forbes lists in her notes on
Suffolk probate records seven payments between 1709 and 1720 to John
Nichols, some of them for funeral-related expenses such as making a coffin.
Like Gilchrist, John Nichols was apparently a joiner or carpenter. Nichols
was paid on at least one occasion for a coffin. Was he also a carver? Mrs.
Forbes seems to have considered him as a possible JN. A review of Suffolk
County probate accounts reveals instances where known stone carvers were
paid for funeral related expenses other than gravestones. For example, in
1718 John Gaud was paid for bells, porters and cleaning the house,
presumably for the funeral, while the same account shows a payment to Wil-
liam Mumford for the gravestones. Carver John Holms (Woodstock, CT,
then part of Massachusetts) collected for "making two coffins and a grave-
stone." Nathaniel Emmes is paid for a coffin in 1736, and the Thomas
Dakin estate in 1744 pays John Homer for a coffin and Nathaniel Emmes
for the gravestone. Following her discussion of John Nichols, Mrs. Forbes
asks whether William Dawes, the mason, was "The Stone Cutter of Boston."
Records of the Third (Old South) Church suggest that a John Nichols, a
member of that Church, was Dawes's son-in-law. This connection may not
be significant but it opens another interesting line of inquiry. While we do
not question the possibility that John Noyes, silversmith, was JN the grave-
stone carver, we do suggest that other possibilities exist and that further re-
search may ultimately identify JN more positively.^^

Comparison of the work of these seven initial carvers demonstrates a
striking accord. With the possible exception of JN, the initialed stones rep-
resent the work of young apprentice or journeymen carvers before they have
become established. Every initialed gravestone by these carvers is, with few
exceptions, of a slightly different design. And the stones are, again with few

227

exceptions, extremely well carved — far more carefully executed and
detailed than much of the carvers' later work. These facts suggest that the
initialed stones may have been special projects or, like a young girl's
needlework samplers, intended to demonstrate the carver's range of talent.
In every case the initialed stones fall within a very brief time span, averaging
less than seven years. The documented stones (i.e. those for which pay-
ments are shown in probate accounts) are found only after the initialed
stones cease to appear. Roughly 75% of the initialed stones are outside of
Boston and Charlestown, many of them far from this area. The pattern we
have described - the initialing of selected examples by gravestone cutters in
the early stages of their career -- did not recur in later years in Boston, or,
so far as we know, anywhere else. We can offer various explanations for
this phenomenon.

The initialing does not seem to have been for advertising purposes: the
initials are too discrete and obscure and would hardly serve to identify the
carvers, particularly outside their home areas. However, if an apprentice
worked in a shop or an area where there was more than one craftsman, ini-
tials would serve to identify his particular work. This could have been for
the benefit of his employer. Or it could have been for his own benefit,
either by way of recognition on the part of his employer of a particularly
good piece of work or as a means of identifying something which the young
man had done on his own time. Or perhaps each apprentice had to produce
a certain number of stones - from start to finish ~ before being allowed to
call himself a carver or before leaving the training program. Analogies may
be found in other crafts. Thus a cabinet maker who has a number of ap-
prentices may wish to identify the particularly good work of one of them by
permitting him to initial it. The same practice, we are told, is known in the
silversmith's craft, and may have prevailed in both crafts in the eighteenth
century. William and Mary cane-seated chairs sometimes carry stamped or
punched initials on the rear posts, indicating a division of labor resulting
from piecework or jobbing out. Did a similar practice exist with
stonecarvers?^

This at least seems clear: the practice of initialing selected work was
adopted early in the eighteenth century and followed for a comparatively

228

brief spell by Boston's young stonecarvers as they reached a point of perfec-
tion in their trade. Such a practice was not employed by mature carvers at
work in the same period nor did these young carvers continue to initial
stones after they themselves became established.

NOTES

1. These are listed in Sue Kelly and Anne Williams, "And the Men Who Made Them: The
Signed Gravestones of New England," Journal of the Association of Gravestone Studies,
Markers II (Lanham, MD, Univ. Press of America, 1983), 81, and the Usts which follow in
the footnotes to this cirticle are taken therefrom. We are grateful to Sue KeUy and Anne
Williams for permitting us to use reproductions of their admirable rubbings zmd to Daniel
and Jessie Farber for providing all of the photographs of their work which appear in this ar-
ticle and for the photographs which appear in Figures 2 and 16. The photographs of the
Pyam Blower headstone and of the Edward Thompson footstone (Figiu-es 5 and 10) are
from original glass plates made in the 1920s by Harriette Merrifield Forbes.

2. Stones initijiled NL

Samuel Blanchard, 1707, Andover, MA

Rev. Jonathan Pierpont, 1709, Wakefield, MA

Hannah & Mary Shutt, 1709, Boston

Capt. & Mrs. Pyam Blower, 1709, Cambridge

Mercy OHver, 1710, Cambridge

Mary Rous, 1715, Charlestown

Thomas Sewall, 1716, Cambridge

Ephraim Beach, 1716, Stratford, CT

3. Stones initialed CL

Mary Reed, 1713, Marblehead

Joseph Grimes, 1716, Stratford, CT (signed, not initialed)

Prudence Turner, 1717, M2u-blehead

John Mitchell, 1717, Maiden

John Rodgers, 1719, Portsmouth, NH

Benjamin Allcock, 1720, Portsmouth, NH

Joseph Small, 1720, Portsmouth, NH

Richard & Lydia Webber, 1721, Portsmouth, NH

Margaret Gardner, 1725, Portsmouth, NH

The stone now marking the grave of William Grimes, 1766, Lexington, MA bears the
Lamson carving style and the initials "CL." It is not possible to date the stone since the
original tablet carving has been smoothed down and recarved. It is not included in our sur-
vey.

4. Stones initieded NE
Arthur Mason, 1708, Boston
James Paine, 1711, Barnstable

5. Harriette Merrifield Forbes, Gravestones of Early New England and the Men Who Made
Them 1653-1800, (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1927; reprint. New York; De Capo Press,
1%7), 57-58.

6. Suffolk Probate No. 9495.

7. Diana Williams Combs, Early Gravestone Art in Georgia and South Carolina (Athens, GA:

229

University of Georgia Press, 1986).

8. Estate of Ambrose Vincent, Suffolk Probate, Bk. 24, p. 539. Richard F. Welch, Memento
Mori: The Gravestones of Early Long Island 1680-1810 (Syosset, N.Y. Friends for Long
Island's Heritage, 1983), 51-52.

9. Suffolk Probate No. 3682, Bk. 21 p. 82; No. 4074, Bk. 21 p. 382; No. 3666, Bk. 23 p. 449.

10. George Parker Winship, "Samuel Sewall and the New England Company, MHS Proceed-
ings, 2d. Ser. 67:88. The original ledger is at the Massachusetts Historical Society, S. Sewall
Coll., see p. 83 and see Diary of Samuel Sewall, ed. M. Halsey Thomas, 2 vols. (New York:
Farrar, Strauss and Giroux, 1973), l:415n. Sewall was active in the work of the New
England Company and held the post of Commissioner's secretary 1700-1724 and treasurer
1701-1724. Sewall's first wife, Hannah Hull, died 19 October 1719, and a diary entry for 16
September 1721 (after the death of his second wife) reads: "I set up my Connecticut stone
post in the Elm pasture, in Remembrance of my loving wife Mrs. Hannah Sewall." Diary of
Samuel Sewall, l:xxvii, xxviii; 2:982. For reference to Deane's Pasture (which Sewall called
Elm Pasture), at the west end of the Common, see entry for 8 May 1685, Diary, 1:62, cuid
also the ezu-lier edition of the Diary appearing in the MHS Collections, 5th Ser. 5:73n and
Aimie Haven Thwing, The Crooked & Narrow Streets of the Town of Boston 1630 - 1822
(Boston, Charles E. Lauriat Co., 1930), 168.

11. Forbes, 56. Theodore Chase and Laurel K. Gabel, "John Gaud: Boston and Connecticut
Gravestone Carver 1693-1750," The Connecticut Historical Society Bulletin, (No.2, 1985)
50:76.

12. Stones initialed JG

Rev. Edw2ird Tompson, 1705, Marshfield
Zacheus Barton, 1707, Salem
Thomas Kellon, 1708, Boston
Benjamin Pickman, 1708, Salem
Mary Green, 1709, Boston
Lt. John Mackintosh, 1710, Boston
Abigail Allen, 1710, Martha's Vineyard
Samuel Russell, 1711, Marblehead

13. Suffolk Probate No. 2568, Bk. 20, p. 150.

14. Reports of the Record Commissioners of the City of Boston, 39 vols. (Boston, 1881-1909),
11:215, 240.

15. Stones initialed WC

EUzabeth Sande (1711), Old Burial Hill, Marblehead

Richard Gross (1711), Old Burial Hill, Marblehead

Thomas Lanyon (1711), Granary

Mary Rickard (1712), Old Buryal Hill, Plymouth

Joseph Phippene (1712), Fairfield, CT

William Hanes (1712), East Norwalk Historical Cemetery, East Norwjdk, CT

WiUiam Thomas (1714), Old Burial Hill, Plymouth

James Allen (1714), West Tisbury

John Edey (1715), West Tisbury

16. Massachusetts Archives, 71:755. Francis Nicholson's Journal, Boston Newsletter, 30 Oc-
tober and 6 November, 1710 and Nova Scotia Historical Society Collections (Halifax, 1879),
1:65-66. See also Thomas Hutchinson, The History of the Colony and Province of
Massachusetts-Bay. Lawrence Shaw Mayo, ed. (Cambridge, Harv. Univ. Press, 1936), 2:134-
137; Samuel Penhallow, A History of the Wars of New England, (Boston: 1726), 52-56;
Samuel Niles, "A Summary Historical Narrative of the Wars in New England", Mass. Hist.
Soc. Collections (Fourth Series) 5:311.321; and George A. Rawlyk, Nova Scotia's Mas-
sachusetts - A Study of Massachusetts-Nova Scotia Relations 1630-1784 (Montreal and

230

London: McGill-Queen's Univ. Press, 1973), 117-123. As to Joseph Lamson see William J.
Lamson, Descendants of William Lamson of Ipswich, Mass. 1634-1917, (New York: Tobias
A. Wright, 1917), 28, 42; Mary E. Donahue, Massachusetts Officers and Soldiers 1702-1722:
Queen Anne's War to Drummers War (Boston: New Engleind Historic Genealogical Society,
1980). And as to Ballantine see Clifford K. Shipton, Sibley's Harvard Graduates
(Cambridge: Harv. Univ. Press, 1933), 4:198, especially as to the Wcirdrobe cind extensive
provisions he lost in the wreck of the Caesar.

17. Boston Marriages 1700-1809, 2 vols. (Baltimore: Genealogical Publishing Co., 1977, based
on Reports of the Record Commissioners, vols. 28 and 29), 1:94.

18. Suffolk County Court Records, Massachusetts Archives, No. 14993.

19. Ann's marriages: Boston Marriages 1:47, 58. Sampson Shepcot's estate: Suffolk Probate
No. 3530; 18:210, 244; N.S. 7:305,307. Deed of the mansion: Suffolk Deeds, 29:221. Birth
of daughter: Boston Births 2:114. Gilchrist's death: Gilchrist's gravestone describes him as
having died in his thirty-fourth year, and if this is to be taken as rehable evidence, then he
was bom in 1689 and not 1687 as indicated in Mrs. Forbes's hst and in subsequent Usts of
New England stonecutters. For more about Thomas Shepcot (Shapcott, Shapcoat, Shep-
cott, etc.) see Reports of the Record Commissioners of the City of Boston 39 vols. (Boston,
1881-1909) 1:54,122,156; 7:127,183,215; Suffolk Deeds, 9:285; Suffolk Probate, No. 2817;
15:172. Sampson was a shipwright, one brother-in-law, William Butler, was a shipwright,
another, Jonathan Allen, was a joiner, and it is possible that James Gilchrist as a carpenter
was at some time associated with them.

In his will Thomas left his son Sampson "(if in the Judgment of Sober, honest and
Judicious Neighbors his Master being one he shall well, orderly and soberly bear and be-
have himself, and be a good husband then in such case and no otherwise) LlOO to be paid at
21 and also all my dwelling house, land and wharfe thereunto belonging and adjoining, with
the right of [his daughters] Mentha and Mary to live in half the house as long as they are
unmairried without any trouble, disturbance, interruption, ejection or molestation what-
soever from their brother Sampson. ..But if (according to the judgment aforesaid) Sampson
shall prove an ill husband eind lead a lewd, vicious and disorderly life, then he is to receive
LIO and no more, and the real estate is to be divided between Mary and Martha."

Shortly jifter the death of James Gilchrist, on 11 M£U"ch 1722/3, his widow filed some
sort of petition with the selectmen, but no further record of it appears. Reports of the
Record Commissioners, 8:171. An Arm Gilchrist, described as "single woman" and "spinster"
in the probate papers, died in 1743 and left a nuncupative will, that is, oral instructions given
to witnesses:

"Aim Gilcrest of Boston, single woman, being in the house of Lydia Lewis, widow, sick
juid nearing her end, bid her nurse to fetch two bonds and dehver them to Mrs. Lewis,
and Mrs. Lewis to take all she had and give the remainder to her kinswoman Susy
(whom we believe to be Susannah Hyley)."
Ann left tangibles valued at L130-13-8, cash of L210-9-7 and a note for L6. This may have
been James Gilchrist's daughter Ann. Suffolk Probate No. 7904; 36:324,527-529.

20. Stones initialed JN

Ichabod Wiswall, 1700, Duxbury
Saiah Dolbeare, 1701, Copps Hill, Boston
Martha Hall, 1701, Roxbury
John Cleverly, 1703, Quincy
Mehitabel Hammond, 1704, Newton
Edward Thompson, 1705, Marshfield
John Woodcock, 1718, Dedham

The John Woodcock stone in Dedham listed by Kelly juid Williams is almost certainly
by John Gaud; the initials scratched on the brow of the skull may stand for John the Carver

231

or John the deceased.

21. Da\dd Walters, "The JN Carver", Markers II, 115.

22. Mrs. Forbes's notes are at the American Antiquarian Society. The payments to Nichols ap-
pear in Suffolk Probate Bk. 17, p. 26; Bk. 18, p. 67; Bk. 19, p. 172; Bk. 21, p. 611; Bk. 9, p. 17;
Bk. 21, p. 711; and Bk. 18, p. 432. The payments to Gaud and Mumford in estate of Hannah
Hendley, Suffolk Probate, Bk. 20, p. 447; the payment to John Holms in estate of Joseph
Bartholemew, Suffolk Probate, Bk. 24, p. 25; the payment to Nathaniel Emmes for a coffm
in estate of Alexander Sears, Suffolk Probate, Bk. 33, p. 14; and the payments to Homer and
Emmes in the estate of Thomas Dakin are found in Suffolk Probate, Bk. 37, p. 80. As to the
Dawes family see Historical Catalogue of the Old South Church (Third Church) Boston
(Boston: 1883), 226, 232, 281, 285, 287, 324; and see will of Ambrose Dawes (son of
William), Suffolk Probate No. 2987, referring to "my Brother Mr. John Nicholls."

23. We are indebted to Jonathan L. Fairbanks, Curator of American Decorative Arts at the
Boston Museum of Fine Arts, and Robert B. St. George, a professor of American studies at
Boston University, for the information contained in this paragraph.

232

Contributors

Jessie Lie Farber was a founder of the Association for Gravestone Studies,
a former editor of its Newsletter and editor of Markers I. Her husband
Daniel Farber is an eminent photographer, and his work appears in many
books and articles on gravestones.

Laurel K. Gabel and Theodore Chase are members of the Association for
Gravestone Studies and former officers. Mrs. Gabel is a member of the
Friends of Mt. Hope Cemetery in Rochester, New York. Mr. Chase is
president of the New England Historic Genealogical Society and a member
of the Council of the Massachusetts Historical Society.

Thomas E. Graves holds a doctorate in folklore and folklife from the
University of Pennsylvania. He has taught at The Pennsylvania State
University - Capitol Campus and at Ursinus College. The thrust of his re-
search continues to be arts and belief systems of the Pennsylvania Germans.

Darrell A. Norris is Associate Professor of Geography at the State Univer-
sity of New York College at Geneseo, where he has taught since 1981.
Professor Norris earned his Ph.D. at McMaster University, Hamilton, On-
tario, where he completed his research project on Ontario cemeteries and
was Research Associate for the second volume of the forthcoming Historical
Atlas of Canada. He is also Director of Geneseo's Developmental Impact
Studies Center, a research unit devoted to community-based economic, so-
cial, and demographic analysis.

Deborah Trask is editor of the Association's Newsletter. She is the Assistant
Curator, History Section, Nova Scotia Museum in Halifax, Nova Scotia.
Debra McNabb has her MA in geography from the University of British
Columbia and is Research Data Coordinator for the Canadian Museum of
Civilization in Ottawa.

Meredith Williams is a 1986 graduate of Yale, where she majored in art his-

233

tory. She now teaches EngUsh and studies Japanese in Tokyo. Her father,
Gray Williams, is a freelance writer on subjects ranging from history to
science.

Robert A. Wright graduated from Kenyon College with a degree in studio
art. Further studies at the Visual Studies Workshop in Rochester, NY
broadened his photographic education. He is a freelance photographer and
writer, residing in Madison, WI.

234

Index of Carvers, and of Illustrated Gravestones and their Location

Allen, James, 222
Atwater, Lydie, 47

Baldwin, Michael, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 11,

13, 14, 15, 32, 36, 37, 41, 55

Barnstable, 214

Beard, Ruth, 23

Beecher, Thomas, 34

Beraville, 87

Bethel, 8, 37

Blainsport, 104

Blower, Capt. and Mrs. Pyam, 213

Blumbauer, Philip, 118

Bngl, Johan, 104

Boffenmoyer, Samuel, 87

Bradley, Mary, 35

Branford, 17

Brickerville, 103, 106, 113

Brooklyn, New York, 29

Brooks, John, 9

Cambridge, 213

Carrington, Elias, 49

Chestnut Level, Lancaster County,

98, 103, 108, 112

Chipman's Corner, 159

Clark, John, 108

Collins, Benjamin, 153

Cook, Eunice, 42

Cromirin, Catrina, 111

Cunningham, James, 119

Curtis, Hulda and infant

daughter, 9

Custin, William, 211, 220, 222, 223

Cutler, Jonathan, 48

Davis, Eliakim, 8

Dawes, William, 227

Derby, 23, 28

Derby Carver, 23, 24, 29, 30, 31,

47,55

Dorchester, 210

Douglas, Benjamin, 19

Duxbury, 225

East Greenville, 108
East Haven, 18
Edey, John, 221

Eichelberger, Salome, 107
Emmes, Henry, 215
Emmes, Joshua, 215
Emmes, Nathaniel, 211, 215,
224, 227

Eplirata, 69, 109, 114
Erb, Mariah, 81

Fairfield, CT, 11, 32
Fairfield, PA, 98, 121
Fitch, Rachel, 158
Foster, James, 211
Foster, Thankfull, 210
Freyen, H., 114

Gaud, John, 218, 224, 227

Getty Tomb, 180

Gilbert, James, 45, 46

Gilbert, Mary, 33

Gilbert, Rebecca, 33

Gilchrist, James, 211, 215, 218, 219,

220, 223, 224, 227

Gold, Hezekiah, 42

Gold, Thomas, 1, 52, 56

Grant, William, 211, 215

Griffin, James C. & Thomas, 156

Grimes, William, 214

Hall, Martha, 226

Hanover, 107

Harris, Eunice, 155

Hawley, Edward, 22

Hellertown, 99

Herb, Andereas, 64

Hickock, Ebenezer, 37

Hill Church, Berks County, 60, 64,

71,81

Holms, John, 227

Homer, John, 227

Hotchlass, Caleb, 2

Howell, John, 16

Howell, Mary, 16

Huffs Church, Berks County, 118

Hull, Joseph, 28

Ives, Mariah, 50
Ives, Sally, 50

235

Judson, Abner, 7
Judson, Agur, 40
Junt, George, 109

KD, 108

Keller, Elisabeth, 69
Kentville, 155, 156
Kings Chapel, Boston, 224
Kunsin, Elisabet, 100

Lamson, Caleb, 211, 213
Lamson, Joseph, 211
Lamson, Nathaniel, 211, 213
Lang, Peter, 79
Laubenbach, C, 86
Lautenbach, C.H., 79, 85
Leonhard Miller, 106
Lexington, 210, 214
Littlestown, 100
Lower Saucon Township, near
Hellertown, 117

Madison, 48
Magee, Henry, 156
Manning family, 153
Marblehead, 223
Marshall, Mary, 216
Marshfield, 219, 220
Matz, Lydia, 85
Mehetabel, 50
Meigs, Chloe, 48
Menich, James R., 119
Meriden, 26
Merwin, Mary, 38
Midlto, John, 98
Miles, Martha, 44
Miles, Susannah, 30
Milford, 13, 30, 38, 43, 44, 49
Miller, John, 12
Millerin, Anna, 103
Millroie, Thomas, 103
Miner, Thomas, 158
Mumford, Aim, 212
Mumford, WilHam, 211, 227

New Haven, 2, 12, 16, 19, 20, 33, 37,

45, 47, 48, 50

Newport, 212

Newton, Amadeus, 51

Nichols, John, 227

Northford, 27

Noyes, John, 211, 225, 227

Oberle, Rudolph, 99
Oberly, Rudolf, 117
Orwigsburg, 79, 85

Paine, James, 214
Parmele, Elias, 20
Peck, Benjamin, 155
Penryn, 111
Perkins, David, 19
Peterman, Daniel, 65
Pickman, Benjamin, 217
Plymouth, 221
Pond, Martha, 43
Prudden, Job, 13

Quincy, 216

Redding, 21

Reynold, Samuel, 98

Rice, Mindwell, 26

Rickard, Mary, 221

Ritter, David, 3, 46, 47, 49, 51, 53,

55,57

Roxbury, 226

Royce, Elizabeth, 26

Russell, Samuel, 223

Ryerson Tomb, 168

Salem, 217

Sanford, Daniel and Jeremiah, 21

Seaman, Abraham, 154, 157, 160,

161, 162, 163

Second Horton Carver, 154,

157, 162

Seipel, Susan, 66

Shelton, 40

Sherman, Ebenezer, 35

Sigmund, Friedrich, 118

Silliman, Ebenezer, 11

Sinclair, EUzabeth, 2

Steel, Elisabeth, 112

Stoothoff, Wilhelmus, 29

Stratford, 7, 9, 10, 14, 18, 22, 23,

35,42

Sullivan gravestone, 203

Sullivan, Louis Henri, 169

Thompson, Lydia, 33
Tomlinson, Agur, 18

236

Tomlinson, Mary Alice, 10
Tomlinson, Rebeckah, 14
Tompson, Rev, Edward, 219, 220
Trexlertown, 66

Upper Canard, 155

Wainwright Tomb, 194
Wallingford, 26
Waugh, Jane, 121
Weidman, Elizabeth, 113
West Tisbury, 221, 222
Whitmore, Rebeckah, 210
Willcockson, Samuel, 23
Willford, Elisabeth, 17
Williams, Anne, 27
Wiswall, Ichabod, 225
Wolfville, 158

Woodbridge, 19, 34, 35, 42, 51
Woodward, Huldah, 18
Woodworth, Ezekiel, 159
Wyatt, Alice, 32

Yoder, Abraham, 71

237

Markers I

Edited by Jessie Lie Farber

Markers II

Edited by David Watters

Markers III

Edited by David Watters

Markers IV

Edited by David Watters

0-8191-6869-6

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