Oldal 88 [88]
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with the monotone of the minister, he would drift away upon the
wings of sleep.
In this old church, as in the garden, one’s thoughts go back
into the storied past and recall the days when the great land¬
owners worshipped there. Some rolled up in great six-horsed
coaches with servants and outriders; others came from up and
down the river in pirogue or pinnace or sloop; the more humble
yeomen rode up on horseback, their dames upon pillions behind.
The plain little church must have been gay with bright silks and
satins, plumed headgear and jeweled fans, brilliantly-flowered
waistcoats and pompous wigs.
Many of the old gentry sleep under the mouldering slabs in the
graveyard. ‘The earliest date is that of 1637, in which year the
first church was erected. The tomb of Evelyn Byrd is kept from
disintegration by iron bands. Yet the church yard is no place of
gloom; it is more like a garden than a cemetery.
All that man could select, all that Nature can give, has con¬
tributed to make the Westover garden a bower of fragrant beauty.
But it is neither the flowers, nor the trees, nor the shrubs that
most touch the heart which is tuned to ancient memories. Io dream
of these, there is no more fitting place, where, as the old verse, so
often used on sun-dials in England, has it:
“With the song of the birds for pardon,
And the joy of the flowers for mirth,
One is nearer Gods heart in a garden
Than anywhere else on earth !"
SHERRARD WILLCOX POLLARD.
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