Northern Craftsmanship in a Southern Landscape

Georgia Journal and Messenger, 3 May 1854

Rose Hill Cemetery in Macon, Bibb County, Georgia is rarely mentioned in the same breath as Mount Auburn or Green-Wood. Yet it belongs unmistakably to the same 19th-century garden (or rural) cemetery movement, when Americans began to rethink how the dead should be remembered and where the living should encounter them. Established in 1840 on rolling ground above the Ocmulgee River, Rose Hill reflects the ideals of the movement—winding paths, carefully framed views, and monuments meant to converse quietly with the landscape rather than dominate it. Though regional in scale and ambition, it reveals how those national ideas traveled south, taking root in Georgia soil and producing a burial ground that was at once commemorative, civic, and contemplative. It is within this context—influential and deliberate—that the presence of two marble gravestones signed by a Connecticut maker begins to tell a larger story.

Though Macon had a prominent grave carver in James Artope, many of Rose Hill's early monuments were not carved locally but produced in Northern marble centers and shipped south, not only reflecting the expanding reach of 19th-century stone manufacture and distribution, but also that Maconites had cosmopolitan taste and participated in national artistic trends. Among these are two gravestones bearing the signature of John Ritter, a marble manufacturer working in New Haven, Connecticut, in the mid-nineteenth century. The presence of his work in Macon speaks to the ease with which funerary forms, materials, and aesthetics crossed regional boundaries, linking a Southern garden cemetery to Northern workshops through trade, taste, and shared commemorative language. These signed stones offer tangible evidence that Rose Hill was not a provincial outpost, but an active participant in the broader funerary economy of its time.

Two Daughters of James Hicks Hardaway

Margarett Indiana Hardaway departed this life 23 July 1843 in Macon, Bibb County, Georgia at the age of just 21 years. And it was her death that precipitated the purchase of a lot in the Central Avenue division of Rose Hill Cemetery by her father, J. H. Hardaway. Her gravestone, featuring an elegant border, is possibly the first he commissioned from John Ritter of New Haven, Connecticut.

Sacred to the Memory of
Miss Margarett Indiana Hardaway,
who departed this life,
July 23, 1843,
Æ 21 years & 23 days.

"It is not all of life to live,
nor all of death to die."

And thou art now where sunshine is Immortal,
In the bright regions of eternal joy.

Margarett's older sister died on 8 February 1851. For Ann's memorial, commissioned roughly eight years later, the family again turned to Ritter, this time selecting a stone characterized by a striking Gothic arch.

Sacred to the Memory of
Mrs. Ann Eliza,
wife of Robert Carver,
who died Feb'y 8, 1851,
Æ 36 years, 7 months & [?]

"Blessed are the dead who died in the Lord."

In the bottom left corner of each of the gravestones pictured above is the signature of John Ritter.

J. Ritter
N. Haven, Ct

A Dynasty of Stone Carvers

Connecticut Herald, 1823

John Ritter, his father David, and other members of the family were highly prominent stone carvers of New Haven, Connecticut, and their influence spanned over a century. Beginning in the mid-18th century, early members were known for a distinct folk-art style featuring simple faces with down-curved wings. By the 19th century, the family moved toward more sophisticated marble yards and monumental works.

New Haven was a hub for high-quality marble crafts. Stones were often carved there and shipped down the Atlantic coast to ports like Savannah, Georgia, then brought inland to cities such as Macon. (It's even possible they arrived by steamboat on the Ocmulgee River, which Rose Hill Cemetery overlooks.) Ordering a signed stone from a famous New Haven carver was a statement of status and ensured the finest craftsmanship for deceased loved ones. Signed stones such as the two featured here are conclusive evidence of the coastline marble trade.

After John took over the marble factory from his father, he made it a point to advertise in newspapers up and down the Atlantic coast and employed authorized agents in cities such as Macon to make it easy for local families to order. Ads in the Georgia Journal and Messenger newspaper of Macon even noted that various patterns of Ritter monuments could be seen in Rose Hill Cemetery, using the park-like space as a gallery for his work. This marketing hook proved that the Ritter marble monuments were a recognizable status symbol.

Ultimately, the signature of John Ritter etched into the marble at Rose Hill does more than just document a 19th-century trade route. It serves as a lasting bridge between a Northern workshop and a Southern family’s grief. While the steamboats that once traversed the Ocmulgee have long since vanished, these tangible and elegant stones remain. The next time you walk through a cemetery, look closely at the base of the monuments; you might just find a name that tells a story spanning hundreds of miles and nearly two centuries.

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The Napier Children: a Feared Illness and a Family's Loss

In the fall of 1859, the John Thomas Napier family of Bibb County, Georgia experienced the kind of tragedy that haunted countless 19th-century households: the devastating loss of two young children within a span of less than five weeks. Their story, preserved in stone at Rose Hill Cemetery in Macon, offers a window into both the fragility of childhood in the antebellum South and the elaborate mourning culture that sought to memorialize such losses.

"He taketh his young lambs home."
Gravestone for Eugene S. and Anna C. Napier, both of whom died in 1859.
Rose Hill Cemetery
Image © 2013-2025 S. Lincecum

The Family

John Thomas Napier was born 27 October 1823 in Putnam County, Georgia, the son of Skelton Napier (1800-1866) and Jane Ector Gage (1804-1891). John married Frances Camilla "Fannie" Jameson on 17 May 1848 in Macon, Bibb County, Georgia. Fannie was the daughter of David Jameson (1793-1861).

John and Fannie had at least five children: Eugene Skelton, John J., Anna C., Fannie T., and Robert Lee. I lose track of John J. after 1880, but I can say Fannie T. went on to marry Julius Carl Mayr (1857-1889) and have children of her own. The other three children of John and Fannie Napier died young.

John and Fannie's financial circumstances improved significantly around 1860 when Fannie inherited a substantial amount of property in Houston County, Georgia. This would provide financial stability during a period of profound personal loss as well as dramatic political and wartime upheaval. The family maintained connections to the neighboring counties of Houston and Bibb throughout the remainder of their lives.

The Tragedy Unfolds

In late October 1859, Eugene Skelton, namesake of his grandfather, died of inflammatory croup at the age of 7 years and 5 months. That same day -- in a father's desperate acknowledgment of mortality -- John T. Napier purchased a family plot in the Ivy Ridge division of Rose Hill Cemetery. An act of immediate necessity would, unfortunately, prove prescient.

Approximately a month later, in late November 1859, two-year-old Anna C. (newspapers reported her name as Anna Josephine) succumbed at her grandfather David Jameson's home in Macon. A poignant sentence from Anna's obituary ran in Macon's Weekly Georgia Telegraph:

"Thus by a Wise but mysterious Providence, have these fond parents been called to mourn the early death of two promising children, within but a few weeks, from the same fatal disease."

"He Taketh His Young Lambs Home"

The marble monument commissioned for the Napier children stands as a most elaborate memorial in Macon's famed Rose Hill Cemetery. It features a seated cherub pulling back a heavy, tasseled drape or veil. The cherub was a common motif for children's graves in the 1800s, representing innocence and serving as a divine escort for the young souls.

In Victorian cemetery symbolism, the drape represents the "veil" between the world of the living and the afterlife. By pulling it back, the cherub is metaphorically revealing the "Kingdom of Heaven" mentioned in the inscription at the top of the monument.

The wreath of flowers on the left, tied into the drapery, symbolizes the beauty of life that was "plucked" too soon. The circular shape represents eternity.

"Of such is the Kingdom of Heaven," and "He taketh his young lambs home," are two lines that clearly express the Napier family's faith, and reflect the Victorian understanding that childhood death was divine selection rather than random tragedy.

Though the marble is beginning to "sugar" -- a process where the stone's surface slowly disintegrates into crystals -- the message remains clear.

A gravestone of this type was surely a significant expense. If purchased in 1859, it was possibly bought by Fannie's father. David Jameson was a wealthy planter with an estate valued at over $200,000 in 1860. If purchased later, I suppose John T. and Fannie could've chosen this. The more modest stone placed in the family lot for John T. and son Robert Lee, however, suggests otherwise.

Robert Lee Napier

Robert Lee Napier also died young. He was born 4 January 1868, and died 16 December 1882, just days before Christmas and his fifteenth birthday. Unfortunately, I have yet to uncover Robert's cause of death. Though it's a mystery to me, I can easily imagine it was another tragic heartbreak for this family.

John T. joined his children in the family lot "after a protracted illness" in 1871. Mother Fannie was the last of the burials in lot 6 of the Ivy Ridge division of Rose Hill Cemetery when she died in 1899, reuniting with Eugene and Anna after forty years of separation.

The Scourge of Inflammatory Croup

The disease that claimed Eugene and Anna was one of the most feared childhood illnesses of the 19th century. "Inflammatory croup," also called membranous croup or laryngeal diphtheria, was caused by a bacterium, though this would not be understood until the 1880s. In 1859, physicians (and parents) could only observe the disease's horrifying progression and remain largely powerless to stop it.

The infection attacked the throat and larynx, producing a thick, gray membrane that gradually obstructed the airway. Parents would watch helplessly as their children struggled to breathe, often hearing the characteristic harsh, barking cough that gave the disease its name. Death typically came from asphyxiation as the membrane completely blocked airflow, though the bacterial toxin could also damage the heart and nervous system.

Inflammatory croup was highly contagious and spread rapidly through households, which explains the close timing of Eugene and Anna's deaths. Once one child fell ill, siblings were at grave risk. Families frequently lost multiple children in rapid succession, as the Napiers did, making croup particularly cruel in its efficiency.

Treatment options in 1859 were limited and largely ineffective. Physicians might attempt to create humidity through steam treatments, administer emetics to induce vomiting and potentially dislodge the membrane, or in desperate cases, perform a tracheotomy -- a dangerous procedure with poor success rates. Most children who contracted severe inflammatory croup died, and the disease remained a leading cause of childhood mortality until the 1890s, when antitoxin treatment was finally developed.

The Cemetery as Historical Record

The Napier family plot in Rose Hill Cemetery serves as more than a memorial to individual lives -- it functions as a historical document recording the precarious nature of life in 19th-century America. The elaborate monument to Eugene and Anna stands among hundreds of similar child graves in Southern cemeteries, each one representing a family's grief and a child's brief passage through a dangerous world.

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