PARK AND CC/nCTCRY. 
171 
GREENWOOD CEMEIERY — ONE OF THE LAKES. 
tense activity wliich is only heightened by the con- 
trast with the silent and peaceful alleys of the army 
of the dead. 
Greenwood is singularly favored by nature, the 
ground being just sufficiently rolling and diversified 
by hills and vales to furnish forth a constant suc- 
cession of gentle and sylvan scenes pleasantly 
shaded by large and healthy white oaks, which in 
some instances have reached an exceptional 
size. The lakes and fountains supply the needed 
element of water in the landscape, and in the sum- 
mer the display of flowers is extensive and rich. 
A melancholy interest is attached to the monu- 
ment built by the city of ] 5 rooklyn to commemo- 
rate the 105 unidentified victims of the terrible 
Brooklyn Theatre fire of 1876 — a calamity, the hor- 
hors of which are still remembered with a shudder. 
An interesting and pathetic memorial is the 
Pilot’s Monument, erected by the pilots ofNew York 
in memory of one of their fraternity who died hero- 
ically in the discharge of his duty in a shipwreck on 
the New Jersey coast in 1846. This monument is 
surrounded by emblematic carvings suitable to the 
nautical character of the pilot’s career, and it is 
crowned by a statue of Hope. I’he situation of this 
memorial is on a hill-top overlooking the harbor, 
and it can be seen by every pilot who enters the 
bay. 
Another interesting work associated with mari- 
time life is the Old Sea Captain’s Monument, as it 
is commonly called. This is the tomb of Capt. 
John Correja, a hardy ancient mariner, who built 
his own monument about fifteen years before he 
died. He had his own portrait statue carved in 
marble, and chose to be portrayed in the charac- 
teristic act of taking an observation ol latitude and 
longitude. In the hands of the stone figure is the 
actual sextant used by the old man for many years. 
He stands firmly on his short legs, intent upon liis 
important and delicate task, in the everyday cos- 
tume of a merchant shi[) master; there is to m)' 
mind a world of marine romance in the curious im- 
age of the quaint Sea Captain, long since embarked 
on his last voyage across uncharted seas of night. 
But there is a peculiar sadness about the un- 
timely death of the beautiful young girl, Charlotte 
Canda, that lovely maiden cut off in the flitwer of 
her innocent youth (she died on her 17th birthda)’, 
the victim of an accident), and whose heart has not 
been touched by the old story of her father’s broken 
heart, and his expenditure of his whole fortune in 
the splendid monument of intricately carved Car- 
rara marble, one of the renowned ' works of this fa- 
mous cemetery? Its lace-like filagrees of fines-t 
meshes, its wonders of patient detail, its wealth of 
emblematic handiwork, are beautiful expressions of 
an undying paternal love. No one goes to Green- 
wood without visiting this shrine. No doubt the 
taste of the structure might be criticised, but to my 
apprehension all its convoluted and tangled webs 
of sculptured marble are sanctified by a sacred sen- 
timent which renders it inviolable and exemjjt. 
I own that the cheapest display of affection, if it 
be the real thing, disarms me completely as a critic. 
Cheapest, did I say? Let me retract that word. 
Affection is the one thing on earth which can not be 
that. I have found the meanestandlowliest of burial 
grounds to abound in that sweetest and divinest ev- 
idence of humanity’s worthiness of immortality — the 
loyalty of the living! So eager should we be to fos- 
ter the manifestations of this nobility, so tolerant 
should we be to see with complacency its clumsy 
and groping rituals and tokens, that I can almost 
venture to prophesy the coming of a time when our 
cemeteries will be the most beautiful places in the 
world and the most inspiring. 
