The following article is from Harper's Weekly, Journal of Civilization, dated June 21, 1862
Farmington, which is shown in the sketches, is thus described by a correspondent of the World:
Farmington, that I write in - that Pope took from the rebels again, and that we now have securely under our left wing - is a mere speck of a log-town, deserted by the seventy-five inhabitants; old, dilapidated, and solitary, situated to the east of Corinth about three miles and a quarter, and to the north of Memphis and Charleston Railroad some two miles and a half. On the big tree at the cross-roads hard by it is written, "To Pardy 29 Miles." The only sign-board left in Farmington reads, "Haynie & Harris." What manner of wares Haynie & Harris wore the disposers of their sign does not signify.
Farmington is not only utterly and absolutely vacated of its inhabitants, but presents the appearance, outdoors and in, of having been in this state and condition behind the memory of men.
Still unmapped, insignificant Farmington did confer me yesterday one of the most delicious hours of my life. I passed it in a little old "God's acre" that tops a neighboring hill. The moment you set foot within this inclosure you are struck with the antiquated and dilapidated fashion of everything around you. The whole area is not greater than a quarter of an acre, and yet I venture to presume that Greenwood or Mount Auburn do not engage and entertain the sensitive to so great an extent as this little rural grave-yard. Old Mortality might find employment here from many hours. I, indeed, either from lack of experiences or the age of the inscriptions, made poor success in his employment.
The fence, of palings that had never known the embellishment of white-wash, has nearly all gone to decay. So also the rude, small sheds that here and there cover from one to half a dozen of the dead. The old-style brick vaults, that once looked tidy and substantial, are falling into ruins and overspread with moss. A deep layer of last year's leaves hides the ground, except where the hardy wild rose or the tenacious evergreen peeps out in testimony of a loving care of the long, long ago. Bushes are numerous, while every ten square contains a lofty and venerable oak. One of these, loftier and more venerable that the rest, occupies the centre of the cemetery, and spreads it vast arms in paternal protection over all beneath them. Some of the graves are surround by a small post and rail frame supporting a roof of shingles. Others are inclosed in plain palings. Most are destitute of designation save a simple wooden stake, while the names of several of the departed are checked on marble tombstones.