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churchyard, he whose body was not allowed to rest
in holy ground, must be glad that there are those
who still cherish his memory.
Friends, children of men, when I am dead I shall
probably rest in the midst of the churchyard, in the
tomb of my ancestors, for I have not robbed my
nearest and dearest of their means of subsistence
nor lifted my hand against my own life. But
certainly none will come to me at eventide, when the
sun is gone and the field of the dead lies desolate
and lonely, to place in my bony hands the
bright-colored cards.
Nor—which would delight me more,since cards
tempt me little—will any one come with fiddle and
bow, that my spirit, hovering round the mouldering
earth, may be lulled in a flow of melody like
the swan on the rippling wave.
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