k in the same order. As they proceed, their ranks
are gradually swelled by a couple of hundreds of 'Seminary' students
(distinguishable by their more mature appearance, their heavier beards,
and their 'stove-pipe hats'), and their walk enlivened by the sight of
numerous ladies, who, by a remarkable coincidence, have also chosen the
hour between five and six as the most fashionable for promenading, the
dames of course usually going _up_ the street as the students are going
_down_, and _down_ as, the students are going _up_, in order to afford
them opportunities to exercise their graces in bowing to those whom they
know, and staring at those whom they do not. For one brief hour, the
quiet street presents the appearance of a crowded city, the pedestrians
jostling each other as they pass and repass; but soon as the hour of six
arrives, all is still again, for youths and maidens are alike engaged in
discussing that meal for which their long walk has served as a whet.

But it was of the dead, not the living, that I was about to speak.
Nearly opposite the college Campus we find Witherspoon Street, named
after that brave and good man who was president of the college in the
days of the Revolution, and one of the signers of the Declaration of
Independence. Following this street a short distance, we come to the
city of the dead. It is situated on an eminence, commanding a fine view
of the surrounding country, embracing the village of Kingston, the
distant spires of Trenton, and the blue range of hills beyond which roll
the dark waters of the Atlantic. In natural advantages it can not
compare with some of our modern cemeteries, but the historic interest
which attaches to it more than compensates for the lack of picturesque
effect.

The first spot to which the visitor is directed, is the inclosure
containing the graves of the presidents of Princeton College. They are
all of the old-fashioned style of 'table tombs,' now so seldom
constructed; a flat slab, stretched on four walls of solid masonry,
covering the whole grave. It was on such a tombstone that, in the old
Greyfriars churchyard in Edinburgh, the solemn League and Covenant, from
which resulted events so important to Scotland, was signed. No 'storied
urn or animated bust' records the virtues of these venerable men,--not
even marble in its simplest form has been used to mark their
resting-place. The slabs are of coarse, grey stone, with long
inscriptions in Latin occupying the