l observer these three tombstones, as compared with
all others in the churchyard, seem quite awry. In reality they alone are
meticulously correct, a standing tribute to the exact eye of Joshua
Starr, the potter.

Southward from Samuel Griffin's grave, in the next tier to the east, a
curious use of verse appears upon two stones, whereby Capt. Joseph Jones
and his wife Keziah, both dying in 1799, seem to converse in responsive
couplets. Mrs. Jones avers, majestically,

Within this Silent grave I ly.

To which the hero of the Revolution quite meekly replies,

This space is all I occupy.

The crudeness of some epitaphs gives them a grotesque touch of realism.
Here is one just south of the squared-in Tiffany plot:

Mourn not since freed from
human ills,
My dearest friends & two
Infants still,
My consumptive pains God
semed well,
My soul to prepair with
him to dwell.

Northward of this tomb is a sarcophagus that shows a well laid plan in a
state of perpetual incompletion. Besides serving as a monument of the
dead, the tomb was intended to be a kind of family record. The names of
children and grandchildren were inscribed, and as they departed this
life their names were marked with a chiseled asterisk referring to a
foot-note which pronounced them "dead." Four deaths were so recorded;
then the sculptured enrollment was discontinued. Written still among the
living there remain four names, of those who have been long dead, while
the name of one born after the monument was erected, and survivor of all
the others, was never included in the memorial.

Near the orientated tombs of the Starrs the grave of an infant who died
in 1794 bears this epitaph:

Sleep on sweet babe; injoy thy rest:
God call'd the soon, he saw it best.

A more severe view of the Deity appears upon a gravestone six rows east
of this, commemorating James and Tamson Eaton, who died in 1846. Tamson
was fifteen years old, and, as the verse reveals, was a girl:

This youth cut down in all her bloom,
Sent by her God to an early doom

Tamson's brother James was killed by lightning a few months later, and
the event is thus versified:

What voice is that? 'Tis God,
He speaketh from the clouds;
In thunder is concealed the rod
That smites him to the ground.

Near the driveway and toward the church is the tombstone of Mary
Olendorf, which bears these