from blemish, the walks clean and smooth and graveled.
But that day is gone by. Our descendants have
forgotten us. My grandson lives in a stately
house built with money made by these old hands of
mine, and I sleep in a neglected grave with invading
vermin that gnaw my shroud to build them nests withal!
I and friends that lie with me founded and secured
the prosperity of this fine city, and the stately
bantling of our loves leaves us to rot in a dilapidated
cemetery which neighbors curse and strangers scoff
at. See the difference between the old time and
this —for instance: Our graves are
all caved in now; our head-boards have rotted away
and tumbled down; our railings reel this way and that,
with one foot in the air, after a fashion of unseemly
levity; our monuments lean wearily, and our gravestones
bow their heads discouraged; there be no adornments
any more—no roses, nor shrubs, nor graveled
walks, nor anything that is a comfort to the eye;
and even the paintless old board fence that did make
a show of holding us sacred from companionship with
beasts and the defilement of heedless feet, has tottered
till it overhangs the street, and only advertises
the presence of our dismal resting-place and invites
yet more derision to it. And now we cannot hide
our poverty and tatters in the friendly woods, for
the city has stretched its withering arms abroad and
taken us in, and all that remains of the cheer of
our old home is the cluster of lugubrious forest trees
that stand, bored and weary of a city life, with their
feet in our coffins, looking into the hazy distance
and wishing they were there. I tell you it is
disgraceful!
“You begin to comprehend—you begin
to see how it is. While our descendants are
living sumptuously on our money, right around us in
the city, we have to fight hard to keep skull and
bones together. Bless you, there isn’t
a grave in our cemetery that doesn’t leak not
one. Every time it rains in the night we have
to climb out and roost in the trees and sometimes
we are wakened suddenly by the chilly water trickling
down the back of our necks. Then I tell you
there is a general heaving up of old graves and kicking
over of old monuments, and scampering of old skeletons
for the trees! Bless me, if you had gone along
there some such nights after twelve you might have
seen as many as fifteen of us roosting on one limb,
with our joints rattling drearily and the wind wheezing
through our ribs! Many a time we have perched
there for three or four dreary hours, and then come
down, stiff and chilled through and drowsy, and borrowed
each other’s skulls to bail out our graves with—if
you will glance up in my mouth now as I tilt my head
back, you can see that my head-piece is half full
of old dry sediment how top-heavy and stupid it makes
me sometimes! Yes, sir, many a time if you had
happened to come along just before the dawn you’d
have caught us bailing out the graves and hanging
our shrouds on the fence to dry. Why, I had an