The Odd Fellows Cemetery in Milton Lane is being again ploughed. There have been a few dead people planed in this cemetery, but as those who engage in any enterprise in this town expect direct results, they have been thus far disappointed. There have been no apparent yield; no terrestrial yield; and hence, those who have the cemetery ground in charge have decided to place in it some cereal or vegetable, that will gladden the eyes of themselves and return remuneration while on this mundane sphere. Far be it from the writer’s intention to slur anything connected with the dead. Far be it from his intention to speak anything irreligious or sacrilegious, connected with the “sad last rites;” but we opine and consider, there is too much parsimoniousness connected with anything that has for its design the public good of Milton. Why is not the ground laid at this spot for a cemetery made to look like a cemetery? The management of this enterprise is amply able to make it so. Why are not the lots taken and nicely and properly beautified? To the first question the answer, by inference, must be: Neglect on the part of the managers, parsimony, and all that this may imply. To the second question the answer must be: The stringent conditions that are required, and made obligatory on every lot owner. No trees to be planted; no shrubbery of any kind to decorate or beautify their lots. No wonder people do not want burial lots under such conditions. We may not know when we leave this life, what disposition is made of our mortality; whether our late form is lying under arid soil scorched by a summer sun with no cooling fountain near; but it is refreshing while yet alive, to contemplate the possibility of the casket, when the jewel has flown, reclining beneath shady trees and amid each season’s succession of flowers, where gentle zephyrs mitigate the summer heat and cool the evening air. “Let us cross over to the other side and rest beneath the shade of the trees.”
No tomatoes will be contracted for around Milton; they preferring to plant and take their chances of selling when the time arrives.
It must not be supposed that Prof. James Leonard is idle, nor that he is in any way dilatory regarding his mammoth pumpkin business. He has the ground in order, and is preparing for a big crop his season. It is understood that experiments with this famous pumpkin are rapidly reaching proficiency. A literary gentleman of near Milford, told me on Saturday, he saw one of these mammoth pumpkin vines at Gray’s Ferry. The pumpkin had jumped out of the ground, and what was most startling, the brand “J. P. L.”[i] was conspicuous. It is said the vine is being cared for tenderly, with the expectation of broader developments. Mr. Leonard is now in correspondence with the Agriculture Department at Washington, regarding these seeds. It is understood that Secretary Wilson wishes to get control of them and make a free distribution throughout the States. We hardly think that Prof. Leonard will be willing to give the government control of this bonanza.
Prof. Brooks, of Milford, delivered a lecture on “Scientific Temperance[ii]” at the home of Miss Lillian Cade on Friday evening. This lecture was more particularly intended for teachers than others.
Lewis Benaro was committed to Georgetown jail on Friday, in default of bail for having committed an assault upon Miss Lillian Russell, and threatening her life.
Miss Maggie Ingram and Mr. William McIlvane were married on Sunday evening, the 5th inst., at the home of Mrs. Virgie Holmes in Camden, N. J. Miss Ingram is a former resident of Milton, the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Ingram, a lady highly respected for her many good qualities, pleasing disposition and cultured manners.
Mr. William Chandler, of Scranton, Pa., has been visiting his parents Mr. and Mrs. L. B. Chandler.
James King, a former resident of Broadkiln Hundred, died at Farnhurst on Sunday, the 5th inst. The body was shipped to Milton on the following Tuesday, and taken in charge by S. J. Wilson & Son, and conveyed to the residence of his brother near Overbrook, from whence sepulture was made in White’s Chapel Cemetery on Wednesday. The young man was about 33 years of age, and afflicted with epilepsy from childhood. Naturally smart, he was considered a mathematical prodigy, by his friends and acquaintances.
Easter was not the way we might have desired; but it is passed, and we are content, if not happy. There are times when atmospheric humidity is not desired, nor desirable, and there are some who can relate an experience of Easter night wherein the above sentence can be taken as veracity. Those having the decorations of the churches in charge acquitted themselves well—in fact, Milton ladies always do that, at everything they undertake. We sympathized with them on Monday morning, however, when the fun all over, they were carrying their pretty pot flowers and exotics back to their homes, and yet, “they had done what they could.” It is useless for us to relate the superstitions connected with Easter. Almost everyone knows them, and many of these believe them; and we will let Easter pass for the present.
A pessimist was in town on Tuesday; there are plenty of them now, and it requires all the strategy of our nature combined with common sense to refute their sayings—lamenting the deluge of the world again; and we were compelled to tell him: “You will have it dry enough before the last of August.” A possible fact that he wished to see.
Leroi Johnson[iii], alias “Buzz,” says he is much pleased with the Easter services at the Sunday School. “Buzz” made his debut on that day. He was electrified with the program, and, as he is somewhat of a vocalist himself, speaks appreciatively of everything.
[i] Initials of “Prof.” James P. Leonard
[ii] First promoted successfully by Mary Hunt, a former Massachusetts schoolteacher, scientific temperance was nominally about teaching schoolchildren about the effects of alcohol on the body. In actuality, scientific temperance was much more ideologically bent toward the position of the Temperance movement; it required schools to teach and textbooks to be written saying “that alcohol is a dangerous and seductive poison; that fermentation turns beer and wine and cider from a food into poison; that a little liquor creates by its nature the appetite for more; and that degradation and crime result from alcohol.”
[iii] Leroi Johnson was David A. Conner’s grandson, about four years old at the time this column was written