Chamblee54

The Celebrity Similarity Test is a gimmick concocted by Dr. Dustin Wood at Wake Forest University. The idea is you answer a few questions, and they tell you what celebrity you act like. “Participants may find some questions to be of a sensitive nature; otherwise there are no known risks associated with this study beyond those that exist in every day life.”
The first question is a series of character traits. People are asked to rate these from 1-7, with 1 = EXTREMELY Undesirable, 4 = Neutral, 7 = EXTREMELY Desirable. This is the type of question with results easy to tabulate. Some of the traits are enthusiastic, excited, kind-hearted, caring, calm, relaxed, intelligent, smart, outgoing, sociable, confident, self-assured. Before long, you will be asked to rate, on the seven point scale, “How much do the following terms describe you?”
The seven point treatment is then given statements like I am satisfied with my life, So far I have gotten the important things I want in life, If I could live my life over, I would change almost nothing. The demographic part of the study begins with “Did you answer truthfully on all these questions? Yes – No.” It then moves on to the traditional age, education, and income variables.
PG does not see a lot of television, so he is not surprised not to know who Allison (The Basketcase) is. This is the celebrity PG matches most closely. Of the five most similar, and the five least similar, the only one PG knows is 3rd least similar Madge Simpson. The other four most similar are Meg Griffin, Severus Snape, Bruce Banner/The Hulk, Brian (The Brain). Threeclassic characters that PG resembles are Lucy Ricardo, Darrin Stephens, and Gilligan.

how many pinheads can fit on the wings of an angel? ~ What story is this connected to? One of the headlines: “New Coat Made From Chest Hair” ~ Does anyone else feel like a fat-positive clothing-optional pool party would be awesome? Or is it just me? ~ In a “fat-positive clothing-optional pool party” there would be no judgement and shaming about bodies. This is a good idea. Maybe we could extend this acceptance of our neighbor to include attitudes about race. ~ facebook will not stop oppression ~ It is amazing how they could do all those signs while the cars were parked in the same place, and the shadows didn’t move.
This cartoon hoodie looks a lot like a Klansman hat ~ The invisible hand of the market keeps groping me without my consent. ~ Here is a better chat about the book. The Fox interview might be part of a bizarre marketing scheme for the book. You could make a drinking game out of the interview. You do a shot every time he mentions his Phd. ~ when you give a cussword, do you gift wrap it? ~ a clown sees it all walking home makeup scraped off smile in a bag weight of the world on his shoulders lady by the stop sign pays for everything ~ It’s more fun to blame Jesus.
Dr. Aslan has degrees in Religions from Santa Clara University, Harvard University, and the University of California, Santa Barbara, as well as a Master of Fine Arts from the University of Iowa, where he was named the Truman Capote Fellow in Fiction. ~ 1- I have, almost, always agreed with Abbie Hoffman. … Stay away from needle drugs. The only dope worth shooting is Richard Nixon. 2- Is the syringe half empty, or half full? ~ Can you prove that the Abba turd in “Priscilla” was really the product of Agnetha?
Maybe, just maybe, your ideas are not “right”. As to whether the people around you are your friends. When you say friends, do you mean people you have bonded with, or social media contacts? One advantage of facebook “discussions” is that you can finish what you have to say without being interrrupted. That seldom happens face to face. ~ When I hear of antics of New York politicians, I think of our own characters, like Cynthia McKinney and Newt Gingrich. At least they don’t get caught sending naughty pictures over the internet. For which we can all be grateful.
Are parents and teenagers still fighting over haircuts? ~ This collection won second place in a writing contest. The pictures are from Short Mountain. One comment: “As always, you’ve bookended your writing with unique (and a tad creepy) photos.” ~ Michelle Nunn sponsored an unnecessary post about the ravings of a guitar player. ~ tell the inconvenient truth and they might banish you Maybe productive is a better goal. I suspect the intent of some people is to throw mud. The road to heaven is paved with bad intentions. Yes it does. Being told to ignore it is little help. I wonder how many people will unfriend you because of this. Truth is dangerous.
In the CNN interview, Rachel Jeantel talked about some tweets by Trayvon Martin being “boast, not truth”. This phenomenon may be more widepread than many think. The trouble is, if you call people on it, they call you nasty names. ~ 1- GSV has it’s share of quirks, and. like the faeries, defies easy explanation. 2- My problem with the concept of atheism is the dependence on what I call the belief paradigm. Mankind has evolved into a thinking critter, and many of us are proud of our thoughts. 2a-The question of whether or not you believe in G-d may be irrelevant. Maybe the question should be whether you have a knowledge of G-d, aka gnosis, whether than what you believe.
2b- This belief paradigm is a holdover from the Christian dominance of our culture. Christianism is based on beliefs, rather than practices. When people leave the Christian religion, they tend to look at non religion as being in the same format. 3- Any appropriation of Native American culture in the faeries tends to be rather shallow and improperly used. It is often little better than kids playing cowboys and indians. The same thing goes for new age G-ddess worship. We mean well, but get a lot of things wrong. 4- I was in a discussion once which said there were rave faeries and circle faeries. Circles certainly are less important now than they were twenty five years ago. Part of this is a function of having eight hundred people at a gathering. It simply is not practical to have everyone sit in on a morning circle.
5- Years ago, the Atlanta faeries (few used the R adjective then) wrote a feature about communities for RFD. There was a discussion, which was taped. The three qualities of faeries were said to be listening, honesty, and acceptance. 6- I have never been to a gathering outside the south. I suspect they do things different elsewhere. 7- This will teach me not to look at facebook so often. ~ The faerie world seems to be more about experience than belief. Maybe the issue of believer, or atheist, is irrelevant. While I have never heard this concept articulated, it would seem to be in tune with the faerie feng shui.
There is a culture shock when you go from the everyday world into faerie space. Maybe putting aside the belief paradigm is part of the difference. ~ the road to heaven is paved with bad intentions ~ When I was in high school I worked at a golf course. One day a man missed a putt. He threw his putter down, and shouted “shit, piss, and corruption”. !~ haiku dangerous – embarrass in the morning – hide the evidence ~ ~ Just what we need. Another story about an ass hole.
This is as good a place as any to end the first part of your story. I hope there is more to come. Obviously you survived the next twenty seven years, as did I. Inserting the date into this chapter helps me to gauge where I was in 1986. It was very different from hustling in New Orleans. I am also reading “Significant Others” by Armistead Maupin now. It is set in 1985 San Francisco, which was a third alternate reality. There will be a book report on my blog in the next day or so. I am starting to ramble, and may send an email with details I don’t want to get into the public domain. Anyway, you are off to a good start. The key thing now is to continue to produce.
Are season ticket holders required to buy tickets to the practice games?. ~ what is there to do – probably write a haiku – a cow would say moo ~ poetry warning – embarrass in the morning – video porning ~ existential threat – Israel nuclear bet – Iran Internet ~ It is not the same situation. However, the knee jerk urge to “do something” often has unintended consequences. Also, this is Russia we are talking about. This is a mysterious country. Winston Churchill called it a ” a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.” America has loved to hate Russia for years and years. I sense the old anti communist fervor is being brought out of the closet, pardon the expression. I seriously doubt the IOC is going to do anything, especially with just a few months to go before the games.
The lady said to William Faulkner: I have read Sanctuary four times, and I still don’t understand it. Mr. Faulkner said to the lady: Read it a fifth time. ~ You don’t need a weatherman To know which way the wind blows Bob Dylan ~ “Liberal Media” is a myth. It is concocted by self described conservatives, who think liberal is an insult. There are a few folks on the internet who might call themselves liberal, but they tend to be just as trashy as the self described conservatives. ~ three rules for on site operators: 1 it is none of your business 2 you do not understand it 3 you are not interested
Maybe you can believe in being right and practice being kind. ~ “Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to pause and reflect.” – Mark Twain. ~ This is a thought provoking concept. The problem is where this thinking will lead. ~ “Star policy is not to write about suicides, except when they occur in public areas, as Manley’s did.” ~ Or you could make a game about the infinite capacity for denial. ~ Why did a PFC have access to these secrets? ~ 1- The salaries of our elected officials is tiny compared to the bribes, or campaign contributions, that get them elected. This is much more of a scandal. 2- The fact that our soldiers are fighting to uphold a corrupt Afghan government is ridiculous. The soldier should be playing war games at a base in South Georgia. We have gotten our revenge for 911. It is time to move on. ~ Pictures are from The Library of Congress. ~ Selah

There was a table set out under a tree in front of the house, and the March Hare and the Hatter were having tea at it: a Dormouse was sitting between them, fast asleep, and the other two were using it as a cushion, resting their elbows on it, and talking over its head. ‘Very uncomfortable for the Dormouse,’ thought Alice; ‘only, as it’s asleep, I suppose it doesn’t mind.’
The table was a large one, but the three were all crowded together at one corner of it: ‘No room! No room!’ they cried out when they saw Alice coming. ‘There’s PLENTY of room!’ said Alice indignantly, and she sat down in a large arm-chair at one end of the table.
‘Have some wine,’ the March Hare said in an encouraging tone.
Alice looked all round the table, but there was nothing on it but tea. ‘I don’t see any wine,’ she remarked.
‘There isn’t any,’ said the March Hare.
‘Then it wasn’t very civil of you to offer it,’ said Alice angrily.
‘It wasn’t very civil of you to sit down without being invited,’ said the March Hare.
‘I didn’t know it was YOUR table,’ said Alice; ‘it’s laid for a great many more than three.’
‘Your hair wants cutting,’ said the Hatter. He had been looking at Alice for some time with great curiosity, and this was his first speech.
‘You should learn not to make personal remarks,’ Alice said with some severity; ‘it’s very rude.’
The Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this; but all he SAID was,
‘Why is a raven like a writing-desk?’
‘Come, we shall have some fun now!’ thought Alice. ‘I’m glad they’ve begun asking riddles.—I believe I can guess that,’ she added aloud.
‘Do you mean that you think you can find out the answer to it?’ said the March Hare.
‘Exactly so,’ said Alice.
‘Then you should say what you mean,’ the March Hare went on.
‘I do,’ Alice hastily replied; ‘at least—at least I mean what I say—that’s the same thing, you know.’
‘Not the same thing a bit!’ said the Hatter. ‘You might just as well say that “I see what I eat” is the same thing as “I eat what I see”!’
‘You might just as well say,’ added the March Hare, ‘that “I like what I get” is the same thing as “I get what I like”!’
‘You might just as well say,’ added the Dormouse, who seemed to be talking in his sleep, ‘that “I breathe when I sleep” is the same thing as “I sleep when I breathe”!’
‘It IS the same thing with you,’ said the Hatter, and here the conversation dropped, and the party sat silent for a minute, while Alice thought over all she could remember about ravens and writing-desks, which wasn’t much.
The Hatter was the first to break the silence. ‘What day of the month is it?’ he said, turning to Alice: he had taken his watch out of his pocket, and was looking at it uneasily, shaking it every now and then, and holding it to his ear.
Alice considered a little, and then said ‘The fourth.’
‘Two days wrong!’ sighed the Hatter. ‘I told you butter wouldn’t suit the works!’ he added looking angrily at the March Hare.
‘It was the BEST butter,’ the March Hare meekly replied.
‘Yes, but some crumbs must have got in as well,’ the Hatter grumbled:
‘you shouldn’t have put it in with the bread-knife.’
The March Hare took the watch and looked at it gloomily: then he dipped it into his cup of tea, and looked at it again: but he could think of nothing better to say than his first remark, ‘It was the BEST butter, you know.’
Alice had been looking over his shoulder with some curiosity. ‘What a funny watch!’ she remarked. ‘It tells the day of the month, and doesn’t tell what o’clock it is!’
‘Why should it?’ muttered the Hatter. ‘Does YOUR watch tell you what year it is?’
‘Of course not,’ Alice replied very readily:
‘but that’s because it stays the same year for such a long time together.’
‘Which is just the case with MINE,’ said the Hatter.
Alice felt dreadfully puzzled. The Hatter’s remark seemed to have no sort of meaning in it, and yet it was certainly English. ‘I don’t quite understand you,’ she said, as politely as she could.
‘The Dormouse is asleep again,’ said the Hatter, and he poured a little hot tea upon its nose.
The Dormouse shook its head impatiently, and said, without opening its eyes, ‘Of course, of course; just what I was going to remark myself.’
‘Have you guessed the riddle yet?’ the Hatter said, turning to Alice again.
‘No, I give it up,’ Alice replied: ‘what’s the answer?’
‘I haven’t the slightest idea,’ said the Hatter.
‘Nor I,’ said the March Hare.
Alice sighed wearily. ‘I think you might do something better with the time,’ she said, ‘than waste it in asking riddles that have no answers.’
‘If you knew Time as well as I do,’ said the Hatter, ‘you wouldn’t talk about wasting IT. It’s HIM.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Alice.
‘Of course you don’t!’ the Hatter said, tossing his head contemptuously.
‘I dare say you never even spoke to Time!’
‘Perhaps not,’ Alice cautiously replied: ‘but I know I have to beat time when I learn music.’
‘Ah! that accounts for it,’ said the Hatter. ‘He won’t stand beating. Now, if you only kept on good terms with him, he’d do almost anything you liked with the clock. For instance, suppose it were nine o’clock in the morning, just time to begin lessons: you’d only have to whisper a hint to Time, and round goes the clock in a twinkling! Half-past one, time for dinner!’
(‘I only wish it was,’ the March Hare said to itself in a whisper.)
‘That would be grand, certainly,’ said Alice thoughtfully:
‘but then—I shouldn’t be hungry for it, you know.’
‘Not at first, perhaps,’ said the Hatter: ‘but you could keep it to half-past one as long as you liked.’
‘Is that the way YOU manage?’ Alice asked.
The Hatter shook his head mournfully. ‘Not I!’ he replied. ‘We quarrelled last March—just before HE went mad, you know—’ (pointing with his tea spoon at the March Hare,) ‘—it was at the great concert given by the Queen of Hearts, and I had to sing
“Twinkle, twinkle, little bat! How I wonder what you’re at!”
You know the song, perhaps?’
‘I’ve heard something like it,’ said Alice.
‘It goes on, you know,’ the Hatter continued, ‘in this way:—
“Up above the world you fly, Like a tea-tray in the sky.Twinkle, twinkle—”‘
Here the Dormouse shook itself, and began singing in its sleep ‘Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle—’ and went on so long that they had to pinch it to make it stop.
‘Well, I’d hardly finished the first verse,’ said the Hatter, ‘when the Queen jumped up and bawled out, “He’s murdering the time! Off with his head!”‘
‘How dreadfully savage!’ exclaimed Alice.
‘And ever since that,’ the Hatter went on in a mournful tone, ‘he won’t do a thing I ask!
It’s always six o’clock now.’
A bright idea came into Alice’s head. ‘Is that the reason so many tea-things are put out here?’ she asked.
‘Yes, that’s it,’ said the Hatter with a sigh: ‘it’s always tea-time, and we’ve no time to wash the things between whiles.’
‘Then you keep moving round, I suppose?’ said Alice.
‘Exactly so,’ said the Hatter: ‘as the things get used up.’

‘But what happens when you come to the beginning again?’ Alice ventured to ask.
‘Suppose we change the subject,’ the March Hare interrupted, yawning. ‘I’m getting tired of this. I vote the young lady tells us a story.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know one,’ said Alice, rather alarmed at the proposal.
‘Then the Dormouse shall!’ they both cried.
‘Wake up, Dormouse!’ And they pinched it on both sides at once.
The Dormouse slowly opened his eyes. ‘I wasn’t asleep,’ he said in a hoarse, feeble voice:
‘I heard every word you fellows were saying.’
‘Tell us a story!’ said the March Hare.
‘Yes, please do!’ pleaded Alice.
‘And be quick about it,’ added the Hatter, ‘or you’ll be asleep again before it’s done.’
‘Once upon a time there were three little sisters,’ the Dormouse began in a great hurry; ‘and their names were Elsie, Lacie, and Tillie; and they lived at the bottom of a well—’
‘What did they live on?’ said Alice, who always took a great interest in questions of eating and drinking.
‘They lived on treacle,’ said the Dormouse, after thinking a minute or two.
‘They couldn’t have done that, you know,’ Alice gently remarked; ‘they’d have been ill.’
‘So they were,’ said the Dormouse; ‘VERY ill.’
Alice tried to fancy to herself what such an extraordinary ways of living would be like, but it puzzled her too much, so she went on: ‘But why did they live at the bottom of a well?’
‘Take some more tea,’ the March Hare said to Alice, very earnestly.
‘I’ve had nothing yet,’ Alice replied in an offended tone, ‘so I can’t take more.’
‘You mean you can’t take LESS,’ said the Hatter: ‘it’s very easy to take MORE than nothing.’
‘Nobody asked YOUR opinion,’ said Alice.
‘Who’s making personal remarks now?’ the Hatter asked triumphantly.
Alice did not quite know what to say to this: so she helped herself to some tea and bread-and-butter, and then turned to the Dormouse, and repeated her question. ‘Why did they live at the bottom of a well?’
The Dormouse again took a minute or two to think about it, and then said, ‘It was a treacle-well.’
‘There’s no such thing!’ Alice was beginning very angrily, but the Hatter and the March Hare went ‘Sh! sh!’ and the Dormouse sulkily remarked, ‘If you can’t be civil, you’d better finish the story for yourself.’
‘No, please go on!’ Alice said very humbly; ‘I won’t interrupt again. I dare say there may be ONE.’
‘One, indeed!’ said the Dormouse indignantly. However, he consented to go on. ‘And so these three little sisters—they were learning to draw, you know—’
‘What did they draw?’ said Alice, quite forgetting her promise.
‘Treacle,’ said the Dormouse, without considering at all this time.
‘I want a clean cup,’ interrupted the Hatter: ‘let’s all move one place on.’
He moved on as he spoke, and the Dormouse followed him: the March Hare moved into the Dormouse’s place, and Alice rather unwillingly took the place of the March Hare. The Hatter was the only one who got any advantage from the change: and Alice was a good deal worse off than before, as the March Hare had just upset the milk-jug into his plate.
Alice did not wish to offend the Dormouse again, so she began very cautiously: ‘But I don’t understand. Where did they draw the treacle from?’
‘You can draw water out of a water-well,’ said the Hatter; ‘so I should think you could draw treacle out of a treacle-well—eh, stupid?’
‘But they were IN the well,’ Alice said to the Dormouse, not choosing to notice this last remark.
‘Of course they were’, said the Dormouse; ‘—well in.’ This answer so confused poor Alice, that she let the Dormouse go on for some time without interrupting it.
‘They were learning to draw,’ the Dormouse went on, yawning and rubbing its eyes, for it was getting very sleepy; ‘and they drew all manner of things—everything that begins with an M—’
‘Why with an M?’ said Alice.
‘Why not?’ said the March Hare.
Alice was silent.
The Dormouse had closed its eyes by this time, and was going off into a doze; but, on being pinched by the Hatter, it woke up again with a little shriek, and went on: ‘—that begins with an M, such as mouse-traps, and the moon, and memory, and muchness—you know you say things are “much of a muchness”—did you ever see such a thing as a drawing of a muchness?’
‘Really, now you ask me,’ said Alice, very much confused, ‘I don’t think—’
‘Then you shouldn’t talk,’ said the Hatter.
This piece of rudeness was more than Alice could bear: she got up in great disgust, and walked off; the Dormouse fell asleep instantly, and neither of the others took the least notice of her going, though she looked back once or twice, half hoping that they would call after her: the last time she saw them, they were trying to put the Dormouse into the teapot.
‘At any rate I’ll never go THERE again!’ said Alice as she picked her way through the wood. ‘It’s the stupidest tea-party I ever was at in all my life!’ Just as she said this, she noticed that one of the trees had a door leading right into it. ‘That’s very curious!’ she thought. ‘But everything’s curious today. I think I may as well go in at once.’ And in she went.
Once more she found herself in the long hall, and close to the little glass table. ‘Now, I’ll manage better this time,’ she said to herself, and began by taking the little golden key, and unlocking the door that led into the garden. Then she went to work nibbling at the mushroom (she had kept a piece of it in her pocket) till she was about a foot high: then she walked down the little passage: and THEN—she found herself at last in the beautiful garden, among the bright flower-beds and the cool fountains.
Today’s entertainment is Chapter VII of ALICE’S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND By Lewis Carroll .
The text is courtesy of Project Gutenberg. This is a repost. Pictures are from “The Special Collections and Archives,Georgia State University Library”.

It is with the saddest heart that I must pass on the following news. Please join me in remembering a great icon of the entertainment community. The Pillsbury Doughboy died yesterday of a yeast infection and trauma complications from repeated pokes in the belly. He was 71. Doughboy was buried in a lightly greased coffin. The funeral was held at 3:50 for about 20 minutes.
Dozens of celebrities turned out to pay their respects, including Mrs.Butterworth, Hungry Jack, the California Raisins, Betty Crocker, the Hostess Twinkies, and Captain Crunch. The grave site was piled high with flours. Aunt Jemima delivered the eulogy and lovingly described Doughboy as a man who never knew how much he was kneaded.
Doughboy rose quickly in show business, but his later life was filled with turnovers. He was not considered a very smart cookie, wasting much of his dough on half-baked schemes. Despite being a little flaky at times he was still a crusty old man and was considered a roll model for millions.
Doughboy is survived by his wife, Play Dough, two children, John Dough and Jane Dough, plus they had one in the oven. He is also survived by his elderly dad, Pop Tart.
I am not clever enough to compose the above piece. Credit is hereby given to whoever wrote it. Pictures are from Gwinnett County.The spell check suggestion for Doughboy is Doughnut.This is a repost.

In 2008, a blogger started a series, 101 Ways to Say “Died”. It focused on epitaphs from New England cemeteries. Most of the headstones used were carved before 1825. The series has gone past 101, and is up to 118 now. If you look at the site, you see links to the individual parts. That is the number before the epitaph. Some have been skipped. The VPI site has photographs of many of the headstones used here. HT to Twenty Two Words. Parts one, two, three, and four have been published.
96 To the Memory of Mr JACOB WALKER who respected by the Brave, Beloved of his Country’s Friends Dear to his Relations, while manfully defending the Laws & Liberties of the Commonwealth, NOBLY FELL by the impious hand of Treason & Rebellion, upon the 17th February AD 1787 in the XXXII Year of his Age. Citizen passing drop a tear And dare to imitate the BRAVE.
98 Polly The daughter of Mr. Danl. & Mrs. Vesta Howard. A Boon received Jany. 25 1778.
Remanded by the . . . d. 1784
99 HERE LYE THE REMAINS OF THE REVD MR ROBERT WARD WHO WAS BORN AT CHARLESTOWN SEPTR ye 23D ANNO DOMINI 1694 TOOK HIS FIRST DEGREE AT HARVARD COLLEGE IN CAMBRIDGE ANNO 1719 WAS ORDAINED PASTOR OF THE CHURCH IN WENHAM JANry ye 25th 1721 AND AFTER HE HAD FOR MORE THEN TEN YEARS FAITHFULY & HONOURABLY SERVED CHRIST IN THAT OFFICE HE WAS TRANSLATED TO HIS MASTERS JOY JULY ye 19th 1732 AGED NEAR 38 YEARS
100 In testimony of parental affection & endearing recollection of Miss Sarah Patterson, who bid adieu to earthly scenes, Jan 31, 1819 AEt. 18, & David, who died March 6, 1797 AEt. 2 yrs. & Mary, who died Sept. 22, 1800, AEt. 19 M. Children of Mr. Saml. and Mrs. Lydia Goodhue, He was son of Mr. John Goodhue, son of Dr. Saml. Goodhue, son of Dr. Joseph Goodhue, son of Dr. Wm. Goodhue, who came from Engl. & settled at Ipswich 1645.
102 Here lies the remains of a pleasant babe, Jonathan the Son of Mr. Isaac and Mrs. Mary Woods who was taken by death from his mother’s breasts, Octo. 10th 1769 aged 6 months 3 days.
103 In Memory of Mr. LUTHER N. CURTIS Son of Mr. Eli & Mrs. Clarissa Curtis who was suffocated in the cabin of the schooner Globe Feb. 18 1841, AEt. 21 Years. Scituate, MA
104 Here rests SARAH, wife of ye Revd; S. HOPKINS, & Relict of ye Revd; C. WILLIAMS; an Exemplary Christian, pleasant & lovely in her Life, & lamented in her Death. She left {to go & be with CHRIST,} A sorrowful Husband & 14 Children Febr, 5th AD 1774 AE 48. Favour is deceitful, & Beauty is vain: but A Woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised.
105 Mary Emerson d. 1784 Pepperell, MA Be wise to day, tis madness to defer Erected to Ye Memory of Miss MARY EMERSON, only Daughter of Ye, Revd JOSEPH EMERSON & Mrs. ABIGAIL his wife, who in hopes of a better Left this World June 20th; 1784 in the 33d Year of her age. Though the righteous be prevented by death it Shall be well with him for wisdom is Ye gray hair unto man, & an . . .
106 Olin E. Webster d. 1856 Plymouth, MA OLIN E. Son of Dr. Ervin & Harriet W. Webster; passed onward Aug. 28, 1856, aged 4 years 1 mon. & 20 days.
108 JACOB JOHNSON, JUN. who perished with 41 other persons in Columbia River Oregon on the night of Jan. 31, 1852. by the wrecking of the Steamer Gen. Warren. AEt. 32 yrs. 9 mos.
109 Lucreatia K. dau. of Rev. Wm. S. & Priscilla Douglass, was killed by falling from Cliffs on Newport, Mt. Eden, Me. Aug. 3. 1853. AE 12 yrs. Dead, but not forgotten.
Erected by her Brother J.H. Douglass, in 188
110 Simon Bradstreet, Esquire In the Senate of the Massachusetts Colony from the year 1630 to the year 1673, then Lieutenant Governor to the year 1679, and at last, until the year 1686, Governor of the same Colony by the general and determined vote of the people. He was a man endowed with keen judgment whom neither threats nor honors could sway. He weighed the authority of the King and the Liberty of the People in even scales. In Religion devout and upright in his ways, he vanquished the world and relinquished it on the XXVIIth day of March in the year of our Lord MDCXCVII, and in the IXth year of King William Third, and of his life the XCIVth.
111 Memento mori Mrs ABIGAIL KENRICK Widow of CAPT. CALEB KENRICK left her pleasant habitation in Newton & come to her Daughter Dana’s in Groton, on account of ye civil War;
Sept. 5. 1775 AE 76 was removed by a dysentery to that place where ye wicked cease from troubling
& ye weary are at rest.
112 Memento mori Here lies the Body of Mr. Nathaniel Stone son of Mr. Nathaniel Stone & Mrs. Sybel his wife who died in his Countrys service on Dorchester Hill Octr. 22d. 1776
Aged 17 years one month & 22 days.
113 This Stone consecrated to the memory of Madam JANE ROBBINS consort of the late Revd Dr Robbins who languished from his death 30th June 1799 till 12th September 1800 when in the 60th year of her age She commenced her inseparable union with her much beloved Husband and her God is erected by the Piety of her afflicted children.
Unfading hope when life’s last embers burn, When soul to soul and dust to dust return, Heav’n to thy charge resigns the awful hour Oh, then thy Kingdom comes immortal Power.
114 Here lies the Body of John Bowers the first Born & only son of Mr John Bower and Mrs Lydia his wife who was drouned in a tan pit Augst 24th 1776 Aged 3 Years 3 months & 6 days.
Youth’s foreward slips Death soonest Nips.
115 Memento mori In memory of Aaron Bowers, son of Mr. John Bowers & Mrs Lydia his wife, who was instantlykill’d by a stock of boards Sept 12 1791. AEt 2 yrs & 10 mon Parents dear your idols all take down. Lest God should still upon you frown.
116 Abel Lawrence d. 1770 Groton, MA Memento mori HERE lies Inter’d the Remains of ABEL Lawrence Esqr: son of ye late Col Wm Lawrence & Susanna his wife. Being formed by ye GOD of ye Spirits of all flesh with Superiour intallectual abilities, he was Called forth in Early life to the mannagement of publick bussiness, and acquitted himself with honour. he was for Several years a member of ye General Court, a Justice of ye peace; he was affable in his Disposition when he saw any in Distress he felt for them & was ready to Releive them to the utmost of his power. Beleiving a state of immortality, he endavoured to secure happiness therein, by the Exercise of Repentance towards GOD & faith in Christ. after patiently Endureing a long and distressing illness, he submitted to the Stroke of all Conquering death on the 20th of September AD 1770 Anno AEtatis 41
117 Silas Barron d. 1766 Groton, MA Here lies the Body of Silas Barron, son of Mr. Silasparker Barron & Mrs. Abigail his wife, who died of the 108 Convulsion fit Augt 7th AD 1766. Aged 3 weeks and 1 Day.
118 Mary Eaton, 1817, Haverhill, MA SACRED may this marble long remain, the jut tribute of a huba(n)d’s affection, to the memory of MRS. MARY EATON, wife of FRANCIS EATON ESQ who was hurried from this life by the rapid ravages of a Puerperal Fever, on the 15 day of Feb. AD. 1817. AEt. 31. She left an excellent example in all The various relations of Wife, Mother, Sister, Daughter, Neighbor, Friend, and Christian. 96 To the Memory of Mr JACOB WALKER who respected by the Brave, Beloved of his Country’s Friends Dear to his Relations, while manfully defending the Laws & Liberties of the Commonwealth, NOBLY FELL by the impious hand of Treason & Rebellion, upon the 17th February AD 1787 in the XXXII Year of his Age. Citizen passing drop a tear And dare to imitate the BRAVE.