It is often said of those who die before age or disease have abated the natural powers of body or mind that death is untimely. It could be said of Mr. Hardin, at least, that his mental force had shown no sign of decay or diminution. He fell as falls the strong warrior in the full tide of victorious battle. There was no decrepit interval between the end of his career and the end of his life. Is it not a blessed mercy to go thus suddenly down to death, rather than linger a dotard on the margin of life, and by the infirmities of a common humanity blur the picture of one's strength and genius? "May it please the Giver of all good," said John Quincy Adams, "to guard me from the disgrace of dishonoring my last days by loitering too long upon the stage."* "There is a certain dignity," says Henry Mackenzie, "in retiring from life at a time when the infirmities of age have not sapped our faculties." It adds a charm to the story of Him who was God manifest in the flesh that, judged by mortal standards, He passed from earth in the full perfection of all intellectual and physical powers, and to the devotee to-day that glorified face looks down with its manly beauty all unchanged after the lapse of eighteen centuries. Reverently, be it said, that it is fortunate for Mr. Hardin's memory that his intellectual manhood never fell into ruin, but while still shining in meridian splendor was suddenly and irrevocably eclipsed by the shadow of death. Thus ending life is, indeed, not dying-it is spiritual translation. The soul is only a tenant changing houses.

"Then steal away, give little warning,
Choose thine own time;

Say not good night,' but in some brighter clime,
Bid me good morning.'

Memoirs, Vol. IX., page 187.

The Man of Feeling, page 184.

CHAPTER XLI.

CONCLUSION.

OME religionists believe and teach that the good of the soul after death requires that the body rest in consecrated ground. Our English and Scotch ancestors buried their dead in the church-yards of their respective parishes. A similar custom prevailed in some of the American colonies, which has not been interrupted by the great changes on this continent since transpiring. The Protestant, no less than the Catholic, believed-and very largely still believe-that Christian burial can only be found in places expressly consecrated by rites and ceremonies, or hallowed by the dust of kindred and loved

ones.

The pioneers of Kentucky, and the South and West-meeting death untimely on the battle-field-from foes in ambuscade or other frontier peril, or in their beds in their rude and scattered homes, "when their appointed time came," were content to be laid anywhere beneath the sod. Public cemeteries were rare, and practically inaccessible. Churches and their appendant burial places were widely scattered; and so, in default of any other, the early settler selected a spot on his own lands, near his dwelling, which was set apart as a "grave-yard." As members of his family died, they were laid there. It was a soothing thought to the parting spirit that the mortal body would lie in close association with those loved in life. It mitigated the silence, desolation, and gloom of the grave, to reflect that near by slept a father, a brother, or a child-and not far away were the sights and sounds of the old home! The silent sunbeam of the morning first kissed those green mounds in its swift flight to the door ajar in "mother's room," and at evening, the gentle zephyr, straying wearily from the west, crept down in the ivy and whispered lullabies to the dead. A recent author, thus refers to this American custom of private burial places: "In the scattered population of Virginia, churchyard burial became impossible. In its place, grew up the habit of interring the dead beside the homestead. This ground, conse crated by the dust of the family, was the last possession parted with; indeed, it almost always remained in the possession of the kindred to

the farthest generation.

So it came about that for a decent man to

own no acres that might receive his dust was something that appealed strongly to his fellows. It is a social instinct, peculiar to the South

ern States of this Union."*

Somewhat uncared for, and sometimes forgotten, are the dwelling places of these silent families whom death has not divided. But they will need neither obelisk nor epitaph to commemorate their names with a worthy posterity.

On the farm, in Washington county, where Mr. Hardin's parents had settled on coming to Kentucky, in 1788, their bodies had long been laid to rest. Others of his family, dying before him, had been interred in the public cemetery at Bardstown, Mrs. Hardin being the last. By the side of his parents, in a spot marked by evergreen trees (and, of late, by some intrusive locusts, in addition), in an old and neglected field, near the public road from Springfield to Lebanon, a few miles from the former, stands a stone, bearing as its sole inscription: "Ben Hardin, of Bardstown." There his dust now reposes. The memorial stones he had erected to his wife and his children, had been marked with their names only. His own monument was so inscribed, in accordance with his known wishes and simple tastes. Nothing could have been more repugnant to him than an ill-devised epitaph, or a pretentious and insincere posthumous eulogy.

"Some years after his death," writes Mrs. Riley, "a committee of gentlemen waited on my husband, to obtain my consent to the removal of his body to the cemetery at Frankfort, where it was proposed to erect a monument to his memory. I related the circumstance of the promise, and this ended the matter."†

In Westminster Abbey, for several centuries past, England has garnered the dust of her great and famous children, until something of the atmosphere of genius and glory hovers about "the solid pillars, the ponderous arches, the huge edifice with triple tower and sculptured stones, and storied windows." Kentucky has no Westminster Abbey, but, instead, has buried a goodly host of pioneers, soldiers, statesmen, and scholars in her cemetery at Frankfort, the State capital. The cemetery is situated on a slightly undulating plateau, on Kentucky river, where the shore springs abruptly several hundred feet above its limpid waters. If the field of Macpelah, which Abraham bought for a burying-place, was anything like it, the anxiety of Jacob not to be buried in the sands or catacombs of Egypt

Kentucky-a Pioneer Commonwealth, by Professor N. S. Shaler, page 156. † See Chapter XL. Dean Stanley.

was, no doubt, heightened by recalling the soul-comforting peace that lingered around the tomb of his fathers. Overlooking the river and the little city below, and in view of picturesque hills beyond (not unlike those bordering the valley of Hebron), yet these sights seem far away, and the blue heaven above, somewhat closer by! From Boone, the pioneer, to Hart, the sculptor, is a long and illustrious roll of Kentuckians that will be called among men until the Anglo-Saxon race and all it has achieved-like prehistoric man-shall be blotted from the chronicles of time.

APPENDIX.

NOTE A, PAGE 4.

GRANT FROM LORD FAIRFAX TO MARTIN HARDIN IN 1748.*

(NOTE I.)

The Right Honorable Thomas Lord Fairfax, Baron of Cameron, in that part of Great Britain called Scotland, Proprietor of the Northern Neck of Virginia: To all to whom this present Writing shall came, Lends Greeting. Know Ye that for good Causes for and in Consideration of the Composition to the paid and for the annual Rent hereafter reserved, I have given, granted, and confirmed, And by these presents for me, my Heirs and Assigns, do Give, Grant, and Confirm unto Martin Hardin, of the County of Prince William, a certain Tract of Waste and ungranted Land, lying in the Great Fork of the Rappahannock River, Orange County, and is Bounded according to a Survey thereof made by Mr. George Hume, as followeth: Beginning at a large Hickory and Red Oak Corner in a Line of Colonel Francis Thornton, and runs thence with the said Thornton's Lines So. 270, Wt. twenty-eight poles, to one red Oak and Hickory, So. 15o, Et. Forty-two Poles, to a Poplar, So. 48°, Et. Sixty-four Poles to a Red Oak, So. 76°, Et. Forty Poles to two Spanish Oaks, So. 32°, Et. Fifty Poles to one Hickory, one white Oak, and a red Oak Corner to the said Thornton's; thence leaving his line So. 8°, Et. Thirty-six Poles to one Hickory and three white Oaks in the line of another Tract of the said Thornton's, thence with the said Thornton's line So. 40°, Wt. Two Hundred Poles to one Hickory and two white Oaks Corner to the said Thornton and William Green, thence with the said Green's Line No. 70°, Wt. Sixty Poles to Two White Oaks and one red Oak Corner to the said Green and John Weatherhall, thence with the said Weatherhall line No. 40°, Wt. Three Hundred Poles to one red Oak, on a Ridge, thence North Sixty-two Poles to a Chestnut, Oak, and Hickory, at the foot of a Mountain; thence over the said Mountain East Two hundred and thirty-four Poles to the Beginning, containing Four hundred acres, Together with all Rights, Members, and Appurtenances thereunto belonging, Royal Mines excepted, and a full third part of all Lead, Copper, Lime, Coals, Iron Mines, and Iron Ore that shall be found thereon: To have and to hold the same Four hundred acres of Land, Together with all Rights, Profits, and Benefits to the same belonging or in anywise appurtaining, Except before Excepted. To Him, the said Martin Hardin, his heirs and assigns for Ever. He, the said Martin Hardin, his heirs and assigns, therefor, Yielding and Paying to Me, my Heirs and Assigns or to my certain attorney or attorneys, agent or agents, or to the certain attorney or attorneys of my Heirs or Assigns, Proprietors of the Northern Neck, Yearly and every Year on the Feast Day of St. Michael, the Archangel, the Fee Rent of One Shilling Sterling Money for every Fifty acres of Land hereby Granted, and So proportionably for a Greater or Lesser Quantity. Provided that if the said Mar* Transcribed from the original in possession of Hon. Horatio W. Bruce, of Louisville.