Legends and Memories of St John's Chapel -
Addressed to R. A. Riddick
by Major John W. Moore 

Part 7 - published in the Windsor Ledger Aug 3, 1899

I was born and reared neighbor,
  At the old Mulberry Grove,
The same place which Colonel Maule
  Did so long ago approve,
When he, as the chief surveyor,
  Had his choice in province wide,
And here it was in ancient days
                             That it pleased him to reside;                           
And so for many years it went
  Under his own name, as "Maule's Grant."

He sold it to the Beverlys
And they held on 'till there came
  That grim old Captain Cotten
He it was who changed the name;
 For he planted two score saplings
Which grew into mighty trees
That withstood an hundred winters
And many a stormy breeze;
And it was so, they won such fame
They came to give the place its name.

When I was in my childhood
  These giants were yet intact,
They were my father's darlings
 And for care they had no lack;
They bore full crops of fruitage then
 And it was a battle drawn
Between us hungry boys and birds
  High above the grassy lawn;
Full oft we perched on top most limb
  I and my black-eyed brother Jim.

Thus the homestead got its name
And became a shrine of love;
Captain Arthur built anew
  In his young mulberry grove
Those walls of brick still face the lawn,
  But the last old tree had died.
The very year the mansion saw
 The incoming of my bride;
Old homestead can you e'er forget
  Those times that are so precious yet.

Not one of the retinue
  Who were sleeping so close by
Had a sweeter face or soul
 Than this maiden then so shy;
She and I would sometimes wander
In the garden where they slept,
  Men and women, many children
Darlings for whom yet we wept;
   All are resting where Love place them
After lives that only graced them.

Surely 'tis a record rare,
   That for these two hundred years,
With all their thronging story;
   Filled so full with smiles and tears,
That all the sons were gentlemen
   And the daughters pure as snow,
The house was thus thrice blessed
   Such escutcheon long to show;
God gives men no higher blessing,
   Sure his help is worth confessing.

Captain Cotten gave his place
To his gentle, youngest son,
   His two brothers and five sisters,
From the homestead all were gone,
   His whole life was a benison
To the country all around,
   For no tale of sad disaster
Came to him but surely found
   A soul so tender and so true
He could not find enough to do.

Many tales of him were told,
  Of his bounty and his love,
How he and Bishop Burkitt
  On long journeys forth would rove,
Into new settlements afar
   Toward the dark and distant West,
But amid so many dangers
   Naught befell their holy quest;
Twas said his wise and witty wife
   Was not o'er fond of such a life.

Never a pair better suited,
All his kindly gentle ways
   Had their counterpart in her
Gay and sprightly in her grace,
  Her archness, wit and repartee
Was a theme for many a year.
   And still she had deep compassion
For all poverty and tears,
  So each was found in allied sphere
Alike to friends & kindred clear.
     
They had only two grandsons,
  And each widowed daughter bore;
These fair pledge of their love
   To the home they knew of yore;
It was a rare and holy sight
   To behold the tenderness
With which then their grandsire watched them
   Growing up to usefulness;
Godwin wore his port and stature
   While both inherited his nature.

Samuel Iredell Johnston was 
Even as a boy so pure
   That his life in after years
Seemed to all then safe and sure;
  So gentle, kind, and true to trust
He won his grandsire's loving heart,
   But his wealthy near relations
Kept them after times apart;
   And thus his cousin Godwin grew
  Each day in favor sweet and new.

His gay father, James Wright Moore,
   Perished ere he reached his prime,
Born and reared down on James river
   In the habits of that clime;
He was fond of sports and pleasures,
  And full of this hunting horn
Woke the echoes miles around him
    At the first faint blush of morn;
Oh cavalier! so early gone.
   From bride & home he just had won.

So it was Godwin C Moore
Won the highest warmest place
  In the heart of his grandfather,
And its fullest, richest grace
  Fell upon him, till its bounty
Culminated when that day
   Chanced upon them when the old man
Would on earth no longer stay;
   And the saint who had walked with God
Life's weary paths no longer trod
  
Then he gave such a blessing
   As spent Jacob poured of yore
On the head of patient Joseph
  Down in Egypt's foreign shore;
So with the homestead of their fathers
  He give to his dear old wife
Who had sweetened his existence
  Through a long and blessed life,
And the double truth then taken
 Was in no wise e'er forsaken.

When the widow's tears were dry 
And old age was creeping on
   She had many a loving talk
With this favorite grandson,
   And she urged him oft to marry
And release her of her cares,
   So he surveyed with the counting
Which in bounty ever bears
    The loviest and sweetest maids
On Carolina hills or glades.

There was joy at the bridals
 Down in Murfreesboro town
The young folks of the county,
   With good friends from those around,
Swarmed the belles and beaux so bravely
  That the old folks yet will tell
What a rarely winsome couple
   Answered to that wedding bell;
Alas how few survive this day
   Of all that throng, so young and gay.