ROBERT FULTON.
One of the pleasantest as well as one of the most prominent places in the city of New York is the grave-yard of old Trinity Church. A handsome iron railing separates it from Broadway, and the thick rows of grave-stones, all crumbling and stained with age, present a strange contrast to the bustle, vitality, and splendor with which they are surrounded. They stare solemnly down into Wall Street, and offer a bitter commentary upon the struggles and anxiety of the money kings of the great city. Work, toil, plan, combine as you may, they seem to say, and yet it must all come to this.
Not far from the south door of the church, and shaded by a venerable tree, is a plain brown stone slab, bearing this inscription: "The vault of Walter and Robert C. Livingston, sons of Robert Livingston, of the manor of Livingston." A stranger would pass it by without a second glance; yet it is one of the Meccas of the world of science, for the mortal part of Robert Fulton sleeps in the vault below, without monument or legendary stone to his memory, but in sight of the mighty steam fleets which his genius called forth. Very few visitors ever see this part of the churchyard, and the grave of Fulton is unknown to nine out of ten of his countrymen. Yet this man, sleeping so obscurely in his grave without a name, did far more for the world than either Napoleon or Wellington. He revolutionized commerce and manufactures, changed the entire system of navigation, triumphed over the winds and the waves, and compelled the adoption of a new system of modern warfare. Now he lies in a grave not his own, with no monument or statue erected to his memory in all this broad land.