The Continental Monthly, Vol. 1, No. 1, January 1862: Devoted to Literature and National PolicyVarious
History
The Continental Monthly, Vol. 1, No. 1, January 1862: Devoted to Literature and National Policy
Various
Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; United States -- Politics and government -- 19th century -- Periodicals
I had been sent by my New York employers to superintend a branch of
their business in a southern city. On the evening of a brilliant
Sabbath, as I walked musingly through the cemetery, where thousands of
the city's dead had found a calm and sequestered resting place, my
attention was drawn to a monumental structure, the character and
symbolism of which defied my comprehension. On a grassy mound, in a
grove of oak trees, almost concealing it from observation, rose a
mausoleum of dark stone, which at the first glance I conjectured to
represent a Druidical temple. At the four corners were the carved
resemblances of oak trees, the trunks forming columns for the structure,
and the limbs branching out, intertwining above into a graceful
net-work. The spaces between the trunks--forming the four sides of the
edifice--were simply plain, deep-set slabs. The design could not be
mistaken. It was that of an oak grove inclosing a tomb. But whose, and
why this singular design? There was no inscription to afford an
explanation. Another view added to the mystery. Standing in the middle
of one of the sides, underneath the arch formed by the branching limbs,
was an exquisite female figure of white marble. One foot and the body
advanced, one hand grasping her robe, the other extended pointing into
the distance, her head turned to one side, the lips parted as if
speaking, the countenance expressive of the enthusiasm of love combined
with impetuous resolution, an attire of the most perfect simplicity,
similar to that worn by Roman maidens, and with a plain bandeau around
the head,--the whole presented a figure of perfect symmetry and
life-like impassioned earnestness, as beautiful as it was
unintelligible. I sought through all my recollections of ancient and
modern impersonations--of mythology, history, Scripture, and poetry--but
could find nothing to furnish a solution. The structure and the figure
surpassed even conjecture. Velleda, and Lot's wife, according to an old
picture in the catechism, were the only resemblances I could recall, but
the surroundings evidently did not suit the types.
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