This historic book may have numerous typos, missing text, images, or index. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. 1875. Not illustrated. Excerpt: ... Ours was a churchyard that it would have been a real luxury to be buried in. It inspired one with no horrible, hardly even melancholy ideas. One never thought of skulls or cross-bones, or greedy worms, while looking at those turfy mounds sloping so softly; those mounds that the westering sun always gave his last good-night kiss to before he went to bed behind the craggy purple bill. Were one really dead, stowed, away in one's appointed oak box, it would concern one, no doubt, not a whit whether one were huddled with other oak boxes into some ghastly pit, among the dark benettled grass of some city charnel, or laid down reverently in the fragrant earth, shadowed by some peaceable little gray church tower, such as ours was. But while one is yet alive and one's oak box is as yet not a box at all, but the trunk of some branchy tree, one cannot realize this. Unconsciously we fancy that we shall smell the odorous mignonette and carnations that are revelling in the summer sunshine above our heads, that we shall hear the birds preaching our funeral sermons, and singing their own epithalamiums when spring comes back, that we shall shiver in the snow, and be chilled by the wintry rains. During my meditations, my elbows had grown quite numb with resting so long on the cold stone, and of this I at length became aware. I raised them from their uneasy position, and rubbed them slowly and affectionately. "I wish I were in the churchyard," said I (to myself, as before). "I could sit so comfortably on old Mrs. Barlow's big flat tombstone, and perhaps I might be inspired to compose an. elegy that would make Gray's hide its diminished head. If Dolly were here she would say it was indelicate and unladylike for a grown-up woman to be scrambling over walls. But as Dolly is n...
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