The neighborhood is filling up fast. With uncounted numbers of people here already, and more bound to move in, it's a fine place for a walk through history and ever-changing styles — but not exactly "lifestyles." At once both a dwelling and arboretum, this accommodating location belies its mere 19 acres. One of the original gated communities, it's home to town and gown types alike, besides any number of others who made good in a wide range of fields — from education to the ministry, from business to the domestic realm. Occupants of this model neighborhood all coexist peacefully. And (as is sometimes the case) the presence of certain earlier residents prompted some of the later arrivals to move here, too. But then, people naturally seek attractive and stimulating settings, with interesting neighbors. For all that, what better spot than beautiful downtown Princeton — or, as one regular visitor describes it, "the park in the middle of town that happens to have some tombstones in it"? In short, it's "location, location, location" all over again.

Compact as it is, Princeton Cemetery, established in 1757 and bounded by Witherspoon and Wiggins Streets and Greenview Avenue, reflects a range of "death styles (of the loved and famous?)" over more than 250 years. It's also a largely underground Who's Who, described with good reason as "The Westminster Abbey of America."

After all, it's home to one president (Grover Cleveland), one vice president (Aaron Burr, Jr.) and all but four of the presidents of Princeton University (originally known as The College of New Jersey). The cemetery roster includes numerous prominent citizens — from Moses Taylor Pyne, whose Princeton home, Drumthwacket, became the governor's official residence, to the parents of singer-actor and Princeton native Paul Robeson, to Barbara Boggs Sigmund, Princeton Borough mayor from 1984 to 1990.

Among the others here are artists and authors, scientists, statesmen, professors and military figures of all races and ethnic groups. Although the cemetery is owned by Nassau Presbyterian Church, interment has never been restricted to church members and their families. And while many of the names represented here still sound in the area (Bayard, Hodge, Palmer, Skillman, Stockton, Terhune), there's no Princeton residency requirement, either.

Attorney Philip A. Shaver is abundantly qualified to speak about the cemetery — and he often does. A couple times a year he conducts tours of it; the second of two walks, tied in with Memorial Day, occurred Sunday. Mr. Shaver, whose office is near the cemetery, also serves on its committee. Over the years, he has become aware of styles for memorializing the departed. Trends change slowly, he says: "We usually bury our family members the way our families have always done it."

Mr. Shaver credits the movie Schindler's List for the growing practice by mourners of leaving pebbles, or sometimes small change, on tombstones. (It's an ancient Jewish custom.) Increasingly in vogue: a portrait of the deceased, sometimes with spouse, sports car or boat, as part of the memorial.

In lieu of gravestones, rectilinear or gently curved stone benches are catching on. One includes an image of a favorite vacation site: palm trees on a beach and gently lapping waves. The cemetery also attracts those who want to make a statement, Mr. Shaver says, citing "I climbed to the top of Nassau Hall" as one example.

Cremation is gaining slowly as an option, with 30 to 35 percent choosing "cremains," which are buried or placed in above-ground columbariums. With about 200 burial plots sold each year, and a finite number left, the time may come when the only way in is via an urn.

Princeton Cemetery's superintendent, Douglas G. Sutphen, notes the revival of an old trend: More people are buying family plots, rather than space for just one or two. He wonders if that's because the cemetery is approaching sold-out status. And maybe because the whole family will be involved, some of the monuments selected nowadays are "a bit more substantial, maybe higher."

About a half-dozen recent graveside ceremonies have included the playing of bagpipes, Mr. Sutphen notes, and horns have also been heard. Beyond the mounds of floral tributes which are still a funeral convention, some people donate trees and shrubs to the cemetery, even though they won't necessarily be placed at the family plot.

While its name may suggest that Princeton Cemetery is the only burying ground in town, there are a few others. And phone calls for a Robbinsville cemetery with "Princeton" in its name occasionally come to Mr. Sutphen, as do calls intended for Princeton Seminary. Those are usually "one-time shots," he laughs.

Cemetery wanderers can savor graceful old trees arched over grave sites and a few bushes sizeable enough to hide tombstones, along with numerous flowering shrubs and trees. A giant elm, safe so far from Dutch elm disease, holds down the corner of Wiggins and Witherspoon (the oldest section of the cemetery) while sheltering a few tiny tombstones among its roots.

The only claim to fame of one young-whippersnapper tree, a white oak now approaching 30 feet in height, is its family name. This is an offspring of the famous and much-missed Mercer Oak, until 1999 a Princeton Battlefield landmark. George H. Brown , Jr., also a cemetery committee member and tour guide, nurtured the scion from a sapling before it was planted near the Princeton University presidents' plot. An engineer, Mr. Brown makes light of his volunteer horticulture work at the cemetery, although he's responsible for many of its notable specimens.

If Princeton Cemetery needed an icon, a leading candidate would be its huge weeping English beech tree. A kind of visual onomatopoeia for mourning, it suggests a dark-veiled woman bowed by grief. But grief takes many forms in the cemetery — ascetic, aesthetic, both of these qualities, or neither of them. One family's mournful paroxysm of figures and flowers, and even whirligigs, is someone else's department of wretched excess. Both poetry and hyperbole abound here too. They are the stuff of epitaphs. Carved inside a small temple is this inscription about Barker Gummeré (1858-1914): "A noble upright tender-hearted just and generous learned and loyal Christian gentleman. Among men his name was called the synonym of honor. His stately gracious presence a fitting temple made." There's more, but that much alone is "to die for."

Moving on to the flip side of honor, cemetery cognoscenti know that Juan and Kitty Menendez, the parent-victims of brothers Eric and Lyle, rest somewhere in the cemetery. Murder victims' tombstones traditionally are black, Mr. Brown mentions. This is true for both the Menendezes and those here who died on 9/11. Marble as an earlier stone of choice often gives way to longer-lasting granite these days. Starting with skulls-and-bones or winged death's-head carvings, stone styles have changed dramatically over the years. Contemporary funerary fashion leans toward minimalism, with one elegant polished marker displaying just a surname and a single calligraphy character.

Since tombstone trends evolve, why not cemetery signs, too? When the wooden sign identifying Princeton Cemetery disappeared last fall (reincarnation in a university dorm has been suggested), that signaled time for a change. Today's granite marker at the corner of Wiggins and Witherspoon Streets weighs 1,800 pounds. Just try spiriting that away.

Visitors should be aware that free cemetery pamphlets, including a map, are available from the mailbox near the cemetery entrance.

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