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Virginia’s ChurcHes, Which Cradled Revolution
jzr (Q. iSheltered Early Celebrities
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By GILBERTA S. WHITTLE.
W-itlrn for Tjfte Sunny South
IE comments in the relig
ious and secular papers
from every point of the
compass concerning the
proposed addition to St.
John church, Richmond,
Va., Indicate the breadth
and depth of veneration in
which the historic build
ing Is held. In It germi
nated the seed of revolu
tion. later to bear the flow
er of liberty and Independ
ence, and bequeathed by
sentiment and association to all gener
ations, making each in turn merely the
responsible custodian. It is not only nat
ural, but it is meet and right that the
national voice should be raised In appeal
at the slightest approach of tiro icono
clast’s hand.
To make its historic significance sub
servient to its primary design ns a place
of worship simply because that design
was primary, and the worship of God
anil the solvation of man morn vital than
anything belonging merely to time, and
t" urge tlif sc- considerations as a Justi
fication nf whatever tends to promote
them, is sophistical, since a few thou
sand dollars would erect a building as
available practically as St. John's, while
the wealth of the world could not re-
I‘ ,,ce the sacred, vc-nql'aible memorial.
The sentiment, too, expressed In the
course of controversy that those who
l l,! i Us maintenance have a right
to do with it what their Judgment dic
tates, gives a view of the subject cai
rn a ted to make others entertaining high
er ones tremble for its safety, and ear-
n* stly desire the adoption of some expe-
■ nt by which it may be permanently
secured.
''hhe proposed addition is, indeed, net
one that has been made to the
original structure, another having sup
plied a precedent, and the public will
now have t-> content Itself with the re-
lli-np'n tuat the line lias been drawn
ti 'My and that no subtractions have as
vet lessened its value. The oblong
building, erected between the years of
1739 rind 1741, which echoed to Patrick
Henry's voice, still remains, as does the
antique sounding board which gave back
liis winged words to a breathless au
dience. In 1830, however, a second
structure, similar in shape to the orig
inal one, and running at right angles
from it, was annexed to its center. This
gave to the whole the form of a T, while
tlie presen, addition, designed to ac
commodate an organ, with robing room*
for a vested choir, being on the other
side of the horizontal line, and opposite
tin- : erpendicular one, will change the T
into a cross.
Partially protecting the historic portion
from til'- weather, and replacing an ex-
crescent vestry room which has for
eighteen years disfigured Its side, tlie
annex has something to commend it even
to tlie antiquarian, and is perhaps chief
ly to he regretted because of its projec
tion although raised above them) over
Interesting graves. Most notable among
them is that of the Rev. William Gra
ham, tlie founder of Washington acad
emy, now Washington and Lee uni
versity, the first institution of learning
chartered in Virginia, and at that time,
with the exception of William and Mary
-•‘•'•‘•••'•-a.
■ ' • ■'t " 1 . . . /
h.
college, the only liigh school in the
state. Graham, who died in Richmond
in 1779, was a native of Pennsylvania,
born near the site of the present town
of Harrisburg, and was a classmate at
Princeton of Light Horse Harry Lee.
the father of General Robert E. Lee.
History repeats itself, and In 1781, nearly
one hundred years beore the Virginia
military cadets gathered undying laurels
on the Held of Newmarket, the students
of Washington academy, with Graham at
their head, marched to RockflSti Gap to
defend it against Tarleton’s troops.
AN EARLY REFORMER.
Going to the left and turning the cor
ner of the building, we look upon the
last resting place of Chancellor George
Wythe, member of the house of burgesses
and of the continental congress and
signer of the Declaration of Independ
ence, whose life was to its close inter
woven with the history of Virginia. He
was a vegetarian, and more than a cen
tury in advance of his time, emancipat
ing his slaves and furnishing means for
their subsistence. Jefferson and Bishop
Madison, tlie first Episcopal bishop of
Virginia, studied law with him in Wil
liamsburg. and he afterwards filled the
law chair at William and Mary college,
occupying it until !789, when ‘he was
made chancellor of the high court of
equity and removed to Richmond. His
Williamsburg home, adjoining Bruton
church yard, still stands, and is an ob
ject of Interest to the thousands who
annually visit the historic town; but his
residence on Bast Grace street, In Rich
mond, situated on what was then tlie
highest point in the city, as ascertained
by Mr. Watkins, the town surveyor, has
been pulled down, tlie residence of the
Hon. Beverly Munford now occupying
Its site.
Chancellor Wythe's only child died in
infancy, and sharing his home was a
great nephew, his prospective heir, who,
St. Luke’s Church.
impatient to come Into his Inheritance,
poisoned the coffee being prepared for
breaJtfast. Several of the servants of
the household drank of it, a negro boy
dying, while the chancellor only survived
long enough to summon a neighbor and
alter hLs will, thus frustrating the mur
derer’s design. When his death was an
nounced the bel's of the city were se'
tolling, a procession was formed, and the
Hon. William Munford, his ex-pupil, the
ancestor of the prominent Richmond
family of his name and of branches of
the same scattered elsewhere,delivered the
funeral oration which one John Randolph
had pronounced ‘‘an incarnation of jus
tice.” Nearly 100 years have passed since
then, but Ills grave, shaded by an elm
tree and identified by a piece of iron
driven at the head, is still unmarked—a
mute reproach to the republic whose in
fancy he cherished.
Near the opposite end of the historic
portion. Its branches extending over the
spot upon which Henry stood, was a
sycamore tree, which must have been of
considerable size in his day. Its shade
was injuring the building, however, and
In 1892 it was removed, its roots disclos
ing a human skull, face downward, held
in their meshes. The tree was converted
into souvenirs, which were sold to tour
ists. Not far from it, beneath what was
once the eastern window. Is the grave of
Colonel Edward Carrington, the brother-
in law of Chief Justice Marshall and the
intimate friend of Washington, who ap
pointed him quartermaster general in
1798. when a war with France seemed
pending. In 1775, when the Virginia con
vention met in St. John's, Carrington,
who was a member of it, was unable
from the press to get into the building.
He placed himself, therefore, near this
open window, afterward expressing the
wish, which was respected, that he might
be burled In the spot upon which he had
heard Henry’s electrical outburst. Near
Bruton Church, Williamsburg.
hirti lies John Page, of Rosewell, the
governor of Virginia and ancestor of
Thomas Nelson Page. He was a fellow
student at William and Mary of Jefferson,
and his confidante in his love affair with
Rebecca Burwell, the Williamsburg belle
who has become historic as having re
jected, in embryo, the author of the dec-
Iiratio'.i of Indexiendencej
To the left Is the keeper’s lodge, an ex
amination of the record to be seen there,
with the names of thousands of tourists
crowding its pages, some of whom regis
ter from England, France and Canada,
suggesting the material results to the
city from the presence of this Interesting
landmark.
St. John’s Is situated On Chtirch Hill,
one of the most comanding of the seven
hills upon which Richmond is built, and
overlooks the James at a point where
Powhatjm held his court. Four acres of
beautifully kept grounds surround it.
Into which the dead for more, than a
century and a half have crowded. There
have been as many as four interments In
a single grave, and one cannot set one’s
foot upon a gravel walk without treading
above human remains. From these flow
ers spring with hopeful significance, and
overhanging trees, casting their leaf-ves
ture at God’s appointment, clothe them
selves with new beauty in the springtime
of nature’s resurrection.
BRUTON CHURCH.
Not far from St. John's, as distance is
reckoned in an age of steam and elec
tricity, is Bruton church, Williamsburg,
erected In 1715 on the foundation of a
predecessor built in 1683, and longer in
continuous use than any Episcopal
church in America. Here the tower bell,
engraved as “the gift of James Tarp-
ley to Bruton Parish in 1761,” has tolled
the death of the old year and rung in the
new for more than a century, and the
ancient clock, with nerveless hands ,and
pulseless pendulum, like some centena
rian who has outlived his faculties, un
mindful of the passing hour, stares
blankly Into space. The building, de
signed by Governor Spottswood, is cru
ciform, the exterior being exactly the
same today as it was when Virginia
gave allegiance to George III, and the
church wa.< within the jurisdiction of the
lord bishop of London. In 1840, how
ever, to meet transient conditions, an
inner wall, against which the chancel
was placed, was built, cutting off the
upper portion of the cross and changing
the Interior into a. T.
A plan has now been formed, to mate
rialize as soon as the requisite funds are
obtained, to remove this wall, restore the
pulpit to Its original position, and re
place the crimson draperies embroidered
in gold with the name of Alexander
Spottswood about the royal governor’s
pew, where they hung within the mem
ory of a living member of the congrega
tion.
The vestry, with the rector. Rev. W.
A. R. Goodwin, a nephew of Rev. Robert
Goodwin, the pastor of old St. John,
has associated with them an advisory
committee, consisting of Bishop Ran
dolph. of the diocese of southern Vir
ginia; Rev. Dr. William Huntington, of
New York; nr. Randolph McKim.
of Washington; Rev. J. ,T; Gravatt, of
Richmond, and Rev, I)r. Beverley Tuck
er. of Norfolk. It is hoped that the
work will be completed before the cele
bration in 1907 of tire tercentenary of
the landing at Jamestown, when the
church will wear the same aspect that it
did when the royal governors and mem
bers of tlie house of Burgesses gather
ed there, and Washington. Jefferson,
Monroe. Madison, Tyler, presidents of the
United States, and Benjamin Harrison,
George Wythe, Edmund, Peyton and Sir
John Randolph, Wilson Cary, Chief Jus
tice Marshall, Patrick Henry and a host
of others were among the worshipers.
The south gallery was assigned to tho
students of William and Mary college,
the north to the negro servants, and .It
Is a significant fact, as well as an abid
ing testimonial to the faithfulness of
southern slaveholders, that in 1750 a
larger num v -- of negro baptisms were
entered on ..... isruiton church register
than occurred in tho same length of time
In the entire diocese of southern Vir
ginia, as reported at the council of 1903
During the civil war the rector of the
church. Rev. Thomas Ambler, still living
in Williamsburg, refusing to have the
prayer for the president of the United
States, and its use being insisted upon
by the federal authorities, the sacred
edifice was converted into a confederate
hospital and the congregation assembled
at the rectory for worship.
The three priceless communion sets
were carried by Mr. Ambler to South
Carolina, where they were cared for un
til after the war. Of these the most in
teresting. from an American standpoint,
is the “Jamestown service,” used by the
first settlers, and transferred to Bruton
church when the house of burgesses re
moved to Williamsburg. Next in an
tiquity is the "Queen Anne service,” with
gold-lined vessels and two-handled cup,
presented by herself; While the third,
the fac simile of the one at old Trinity
church. New York, was the gift of George
111. So highly are these relics esteemed
that a fireproof safe has been provided
for the two not in use, the third being
intrusted first to one vestryman and then
to another, that uncertainty as to loca
tion may contribute to its safety. Tour
ists standing outside the channel rail
see these heirlooms from a distance, lest
the passage through so many hands
should efface the inscriptions.
Another heirloom of inestimable value,
CONTINUED ON LAST PAGE.
Deepwater Politics
By May McHenry
SixtH in. the Political Series
a?
pays the lion’s share of the taxes, and
we have a right to a supervisor who will
Pol
■ymW'Z:*
sUsw’iEIASBikj'li
NE day last January, when
the air had a nip to L,
Old Man John Barton
leaned over IjJs barnyard
gate and whistled, ‘‘Maid
of Dundee” softly in a
minor key, as his nephew.
Bob Barton, came along.
Bob was on horseback,
with a freckle-nosed child
child and a basketful of
eggs balanced In front. He
urged his horse close to
the fence, and he might
ind address his uncle In tho
lowered tone befitting the
lean down
confidentially
subject of polities
Say, i ncle John, have you heard the
news? The Hillers are putting up old
Sammie MeNab to run for supervisor
against John Penny.*'
I he old man took off his cap and his
mitten, and ran his fingers reflectively
through his thick mane of fine white
hair.
" e 'L lf ‘t old Sammie run, Bob.
Running for office is one of the inaliena-
bl” rights of the American citizen.”
i he McXabs are workers. Young Sam
is a tiger,” Bob went on. “The fact that
Jehu Penny has had the office four
t') ms running gives them something to
work on. Me ought to have our best man
at the front if we want to beat old
Sammie MeNab. it won’t do to let the
Hillers get ahead of us here. The Valley
look after our interests. Maybe old Sam-
mie would open those ditches along the
road through your meadows and mine,
and maybe he wouldn’t.”
“Don't worry over Old Sammie and
those ditches. Boh; we’re going to keep
the supervisorship right where it is.”
Tlie Old Man announced with decision.
“John Penny is all right. Ho can run on
his record, and that’s more than ail
office-seekers can do. He is out and out
the best supervisor we’ve ever had.
When Judge Brewster was up here last
summer he told me he believed our road
master had not nil equal in the state. Y'ou
tell the boys that! M'lien we have mate
rial of that sort, it is our duty to show
appreciation by keeping it where It will
do tlie most good. Tell them that. Mod
eration is a good thln£ even in holding
office, but the right man in the right
place is better. Tell them that. We must
avoid any friction In our ranks, with
the caucus only two weeks oft. John
Penny Barton is the man, and Har
mony is the word. Bob—Harmony.”
Old Man Barton chuckled as Boh rode
on. “So Robert has been hearing the bee
buzz himself! He hardly knows a road-
scraper from a spring harrow! But fire
and tow! I wonder whfCt Dolly and Sam
will think of It.”
During the next few days all Deepwa
ter was agitated with that question;
what would Dolly and Sam think of it?
Dolly was the only unmarried daugh
ter of John Penny Barton, and Sam was
sole male offspring of the house of Me
Nab. Everybody knew that Dolly had
her quilts pieced, her rag carpet at the
weaver’s, and her wedding clothes made,
ready to marry Sam; and everybody
knew that Sam had the finest new house
on the Hill with the last coat of paint
drying, ready to give Dolly just as com
fortable a home as she had been used to.
While alj the world wondered, Sam and
Dolly got together, according to their
custom on Saturday evening, and tried
to decide what they really did think of it.
“Of course this will make no differ
ence between you and me. Tlipre is no
polities with us,” Dolly said.
“I’m glad you look at It In that sensi
ble way, Dolly,’ Sam replied with a
breath of relief and a reach of his long
arm for her tantalizing, evasive person.
“I didn’t know just how you might take
It, and I—well, lank, Dolly—the politi
cians may fight It out—but you and I—
oh’ yes, Dolly!”
“Cousin Bob tells me you are going
around making speeches for your father,
but I know that is a mistake,” Dolly re
marked severely, as she pushed him
away.
“It is. Speechmaking is not in my line.
Of course. I'll do what I can for the head
of the family, but I’ll not make many
speeches.”
‘Sam McNab! Do you mean you will
fight my pa?"
"Being a Hiller, of course, T will fight
tlie Valleyites and their candidate for su
pervisor. Why, what's the matter?
Didn't you just say that polities makes
no difference with us?”
”1 didn’t say it will make no difference
if you go around electioneering and work
ing against pa. If our parents are run
ning for the same office, you and I need
not take sides. That is what 1 meant,
and you know it. Why, Sam, I do not
see how you can want to take part
hgainst any one 1 care lor!”
“You are just like tile rest of women,
after all," groaned Sam. “Can’t you see
that polities is outside of what a fellow
cares for and all that? Is it a question of
principles of government and—and citi
zenship. At least, that’s the theory.
Private affairs are not in it. They have
nothing to do with the case. As a cit
izen and a voter, 1 have a duty.”
“You have a duty to me, and that
should come first!”
So they went on—Sam arguing from
one point of view. Dollying arguing from
another—until finally tlve young ir»an
slammed tlie front door angrily and went
off with a little pearl ring weighing like
lead in his vest pocket and a heart much
heavier in his bosom.
Dolly, bright-eyed and white-lipped,
swept tempestously into the kitchen
where Old Man Barton was talking ways
and means with John Penny.
“LTncIe John, we must beat those Hill
ers. I will cry my eyes out if we don’t!”
she exclaimed.
“Fire and tow! the child looks half-
minded to cry her eyes out right now,”
commented the old man.
During the two weeks preceding tlie
caucus feeling between Hill and Valley
ran high. Every man, woman and child
in the township, not to mention kinsfolks
outside, took sides in the supervisorship
fight. Parson Mintor postponed his “pro
tracted meeting” In the wise conviction
that after the township election the peo
ple would have more time nnd inclination
to tiiink of their souls.
Caucuses are usually held in the vil
lage of Sweet Valley in the "wareroom"
of Eben Barton’s store, which also serves
as a polling place on election days. When
deepwaterites of the majority—the hope
less minority seldom puts forward any
candidates—met to decide whether John
Penny Barton cr Samuel McNab, Sr.,
should be the candidate for supervisor,
also incidentally to nominate a cojjstable,
squire and school director. Ebon’s store
and the porch and the road in front were
like a crowded corner in the vicinity of
the prize pigs at the county fair.
Voters and pillars of the government
stamped around, slapping each other on
the back and exchanging plug tobacco,
while they discussed the drains through
the Barton place and argued and prophe
sied expansively as to the certain success
of their respective candidates.
At tlie outset the Valleyites scored a
point, although their opponents did not
realize It at the time.
»•••»
As standing chairman of all public
meetings Old Man John Barton stood
at tlie top of the store steps and an
nounced the hour for beginning business.
"And now, gentlemen.” he went on In
his pleasantly oratorical style, “since
for some years it has been customary
for our obliging merchant, Eben, to serve
as clerk and watcher at our eaucusses,
doubtless you will all be willing to trust
to his probity and fairness again. How-
somever, since Eben happens to be akin
to one whose name is on the blackboard
for our consideration, it will, I beiieve,
be more fitting and—ah•— parliamentary
to give him an associate. If tlie action
meets approval I will appoint Samuel
McNash. Jr., as that associate.”
Tlie Hillers received the appointment
with acclaim, and though the young man
objected strenuously, he was pushed into:
the wareroom and seated beside Eben
at the table, where Eben's new derby
hat served to receive the slips of paper
containing the vote of each faithful and
zealous worker for the pa.rty.
Then Bob Barton took Dan Edgar b5'
the arm, and they went behind the store,
where they could permit their faces to
exoand and wreath with silent mirth.
‘That licks ’em!” gurgled Bob with a
few fancy steps of triumph. “There is
their best worker corralled—shut up for
for the afternoon as harmless a blind
kitten. Old Samuel and the rest do the
Ml
CONTINUED ON LAST PAGE.
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