In the same neighborhood, just without the town, lies the public cemetery surrounded by an ancient wall, built before the revolution, which in some places shows the marks of shot fired against it in the skirmishes of that period.  I entered it, hoping to find some monuments of those who founded the city a hundred and ten years ago, but the inscriptions are of comparatively recent date.  Most of them commemorate the death of persons born in Europe, or the northern states.  I was told that the remains of the early inhabitants lie in the brick tombs, of which there are many without any inscription whatever.

At a little distance, near a forest, lies the burial-place of the black population.  A few trees, trailing with long moss, rise above hundreds of nameless graves, overgrown with weeds; but here and there are scattered memorials of the dead, some of a very humble kind, with a few of marble, and half a dozen spacious brick tombs like those in the cemetery of the whites.  Some of them are erected by masters and mistresses to the memory of favorite slaves.  One of them commemorates the death of a young woman who perished in the catastrophe of the steamer Pulaski, of whom it is recorded, that during the whole time that she was in the service of her mistress, which was many years, she never committed a theft, nor uttered a falsehood.  A brick monument, in the shape of a little tomb, with a marble slab inserted in front, has this inscription: 

  “In memory of Henrietta Gatlin, the infant stranger, born in East
  Florida, aged 1 year 3 months.”

A graveyard is hardly the place to be merry in, but I could not help smiling at some of the inscriptions.  A fair upright marble slab commemorates the death of York Fleming, a cooper, who was killed by the explosion of a powder-magazine, while tightening the hoops of a keg of powder.  It closes with this curious sentence: 

“This stone was erected by the members of the Axe Company, Coopers and Committee of the 2nd African Church of Savannah for the purpose of having a Herse for benevolent purposes, of which he was the first sexton.”

A poor fellow, who went to the other world by water, has a wooden slab to mark his grave, inscribed with these words: 

“Sacred to the memory of Robert Spencer who came to his Death by A Boat,
July 9th, 1840, aged 21 years.

Reader as you am now so once I
And as I am now so Mus you be Shortly. 
Amen.”

Another monument, after giving the name of the dead, has this sentence: 

“Go home Mother dry up your weeping tears.  Gods will be done.”

Another, erected to Sarah Morel, aged six months, has this ejaculation: 

“Sweet withered lilly farewell.”

One of the monuments is erected to Andrew Bryan, a black preacher, of the Baptist persuasion.  A long inscription states that he was once imprisoned “for preaching the Gospel, and, without ceremony, severely whipped;” and that, while undergoing the punishment, “he told his persecutors that he not only rejoiced to be whipped, but was willing to suffer death for the cause of Christ.”  He died in 1812, at the age of ninety-six; his funeral, the inscription takes care to state, was attended by a large concourse of people, and adds: