Near the entrance to this path is the grave of a Revolutionary soldier, Capt. Jacob Taylor, died 1788:— Through life he braved her foe, if great or small, And marched out foremust at his country’s call. On this path is the grave of Joseph Bartlett, who died in 1703:— Thousands of years after blest Abel’s fall, ’Twas said of him, being dead he speaketh yet; From silent grave methinks I hear a call:— Pray, fellow mortals, don’t your death forget. You that your eyes cast on this grave, Know you a dying time must have. Near the same place is a curious stone, to the memory of John Cotton:— Here lyes interred three children, viz., three sons of Rev. Mr. John Cotton, who died in the work of the gospel ministry at Charlestown, South Carolina, Sept. ye 18th, 1869, where he had great success, and seven sons of Josiah Cotton, Esq., who died in their infancy. On the southerly slope of the hill, near a pine grove, is a stone to a child:— The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children’s teeth are set on edge. On the stone to the memory of Thomas Jackson, died in 1794:— The spider’s most attenuated thread Is cord, is cable, to man’s tender tie. MARTHA COTTON, 1796. Many years I lived Many painful scenes I passed, Till God at last Called me home. In a long lot enclosed with an iron fence:— F. W. Jackson. obit M. C. H. 23, 1797, 1 yr. 7 dys, Heav’n knows what man He might have made. But we He died a most rare boy. [Illustration: FANNIE CROMBIE.] As young as beautiful; and soft as young, And gay as soft; and innocent as gay. A little farther on in this path is the stone to Tabitha Plasket, 1807, the epitaphs, on which, written supposedly by herself, breaths such a spirit of defiance that it attracts much attention:— Adieu, vain world, I’ve seen enough of thee; And I am careless what thou say’st of me; Thy smiles I wish not, Nor thy frowns I fear, I am now at rest, my head lies quiet here, Mrs. Plasket, in her widowhood, taught a private school for small children, at the same time, as was the custom of her day, doing her spinning. Her mode of punishment was to pass skeins of yarn under the arms of the little culprits, and hang them upon pegs. A suspended row was a ludicrous sight. Mr. Joseph Plasket (husband of Tabitha) died in 1794, at the age of forty-eight years. The widow wrote his epitaph as follows:— All you that doth behold my stone, Consider how soon I was gone. Death does not always warning give, Therefore be careful how you live. Repent in time, no time delay, I in my prime was called away. Nearly opposite this is one on a very young child:— The babe that’s caught from womb and breast, Claim right to sing above the rest, Because they found the happy shore They never saw or sought below.