AN TOLD COLONIAL CAPITAL.

When the war was over they were impoverished; their college had been burned,
and their city’s prosperity was forever checked; but they returned to the old
homes, desolate though they were, and there they live quietly, proud of their
history, in an atmosphere somber with the shadows of unforgotten tragedy,
uncomplaining, maintaining as best
they may the honored names of
that prouder past. ,

In old Bruton, or Christ Church,
are many memorials of the long
ago, quaint and curious often, but
coming home to us with the sub-
lime sympathy of the universal
sorrow, whether in the stilted
eulogiums of dead notables
of two hundred years ago,
or the unmarked stone cove .S >.
ering the resting-place of A BIT OF THE DUKE OF Mae craic STREET, WILLIAMSBURG.
the beautiful Lady Christine
Stewart, daughter of a Scotch earl and lineal descendant of Mary, Queen of
Scots. This noblewoman of Scotland married for love alone a young student
from Williamsburg in Edinburgh University, came with him to his American
home, and left descendants, in all of whom is noticeable that personal beauty
which was for so many generations the fatal gift of her race. Among the
ancient memorial tablets in the church is one more recent, in memory of the
Confederate soldiers who fell at the Battle of Williamsburg, closing with this
tribute of simple loyalty: “They died for us.’ The church interior itself has
been so much remodeled since the edifice was erected, in 1715, that it has lost
much of its charm; but Bruton parish is one of the oldest Episcopal parishes in
America, having been organized in 1632. It possesses the font at which Poca-
hontas is supposed to have been baptized in the old church at Jamestown, the
old Jamestown communion service, and two other ancient services of silver and
gold. Outside in the churchyard violets bloom, children frolic among the an-
cient stones, and cattle browse on its grass. History is buried there, and has
become a part of the soil. The sun shines over all as it did generations ago
and has through all the years, and above the graves there broods the restful-
ness of Nature’s gracious calm.

Thus, in this quaint old rural city, a descendant of Puritans and Aboli-
tionists from New England, finding hospitable welcome, recognized with new
force the wide-reaching kinship of English blood; he recalled the days of
that great historic movement in which Williamsburg played so important a
part, and saw more clearly the close relationship of the people of Massa-
chusetts and those of Virginia. They came from the same good stock, they