Today | News | Books | Recipes Adventure | Science Fiction | Ghost stories | Poetry | Children | History Bookown coin, she did it and she did it well. Just look at that miserable chunk of old sandstone all covered with a lot of da-I mean a lot of untruthful stuff that will keep me at it I don't know how many years yet. If she had known she could not have revenged herself on me worse. She gave all my clothes and a puncheon of good rum to the fool sculptor, and I am just waiting for him to come down here. If he ever does, I won't do a thing to him but make him think he mistook his vocation and ought to have been a boiler maker and stayed safely in one of his iron-clad boilers." As the angry ghost delivered himself of this speech, he somehow took on such a fierce expression, shown more in attitude than feature-since he had no features-that the young man was sincerely glad that he had not been guilty of carving the objectionable stuff on the fast crumbling stone. As they walked along the ghost continued: "Now, take notice that this stone has all the epitaph rubbed out. The name only remains, and that proves that he was a pretty good sort. Here is another where the epitaph is all gone except the date. Now that is a good start, isn't it?" The young man murmured something about it seeming so, though he was entirely in the dark about it. Still he knew enough to keep still and let the ghost tell his story in his own way and in his own time. Many a time he had managed to secure a fine story for his paper from someone who had declared that he had nothing to say by judiciously keeping silence, curbing his curiosity and inquisitiveness, and speaking only when absolutely necessary. He began to feel that he was going to get something tonight not often given to mortals, and he mentally arranged the headlines of the story, for of course he would sell it. Every other experience save one had been made to yield him so many dollars, and it was natural that this strange meeting should appeal to him only as a scoop beyond the power of any mortal to equal. So he discreetly awaited the pleasure of his ghostly companion. He wondered if the pebbles hurt the ghost's feet. He felt a little delicate about mentioning it, particularly as he could have proposed no remedy even if the pebbles did hurt. Soon the ghost stopped by a rather small headstone, and in a reminiscent manner said, between the delicious whiffs of smoke: "I well remember when the fashion for these cherubs went out and fancy monuments with weeping willows on them came in. I had not been dead then very long, and I was wondering which I would get and thinking what a luminous old gump I was not to have made some provision for just such a contingency. By dying suddenly my widow had things her own way, and a pretty mess she has made of it as you see. Well; cherubs went out and weeping women in weeds standing over funeral urns took their places. I had thought that the new ones looked more dignified and were superior, but since then I have come to see these cherubs as they are. Where there are cherubs there is not much epitaph. Have you ever seen these cherubs? No? Well come then, and take a good look at them for they are worth the trouble. Some of them will fill you with envy to think you cannot have one right away to watch over your slumber-I don't think," This last was said with an indescribably waggish leer, and the reporter began to think he was on the right road to a new experience and that this man who had been so long dead still could see the humorous side of it all, and that would certainly be from a new viewpoint. They walked along until they came to one part of the cemetery where there seemed to have been an epidemic of headstones with cherubs on them. The ghost stopped before one of them and said: "Just take a look at this cherub and see the mouth-or rather where the mouth once was-and notice how it is all worn away, that is if the sculptor did not die before he had finished his work. Here is another where the mouth is half gone, and the expression is half a mocking smile on one side and nothing at all on the other. Some have faces round and others have long ones; some smile and others have the lips drawn down almost to the chin in a lugubrious line each side of the face. Just notice this one! The shape of the face is like that of a Bartlett pear with the big end down, and around the head is what the artist fondly believed to be a halo of glory; but it looks more like a bunch of oakum tied to a ruffled nightcap. The oakum is supposed to represent the living flame of sacred fire. And just catch onto the wings! And note the general expression! These things were much admired in those days, and were considered the highest form of expression of poetic thought. I think I even complained just now that none had been put on my headstone, but after all I'm blamed-no blessed glad of it for they are silly and they do grate on my sense of the fitness of things, and they might after all interfere with my passport. Oh, yes; I will tell you about that later. Just now I want to show you around a little, for probably you will never again have an opportunity like this." Here the reporter caused a slight interruption in the conversation by handing the ghost the flask with a quiet grace which completely captivated his heart, that is, the ghost of a heart. The ghost took a few swallows and with a Chesterfieldian bow returned it to the young man and then continued his running commentaries on the headstones. "Now we come to a new departure in cherubs. You see this one is not very well supplied with flesh, and is cut to represent a skeleton's head. I have noticed in many churchyards that it is considered quite the thing to preach sermons to the living on the mutability of human affairs, and therefore these things are put on the stones. I think the most of them are put there out of spite because the person down below had to die. I know quite a number of ghosts who have told me that they left instructions for their own epitaphs. So you see the ghosts get some comfort out of the gruesome warnings, but I doubt that anyone living was ever scared into repentance by them. I know one old fellow who gets so mad every time he hears people up above read his epitaph and laugh at the time-honored words of 'As I am now, so you must be; prepare for death and follow me-'" Here the reporter could not restrain his tongue and he asked if it were possible for the dead lying in their graves to really hear, and know what was passing. The ghost replied: "Oh, yes; we know all that goes on above ground, that is if it interests us enough to make us care to take the trouble to learn. We each find out what we most care about, much as you who are not dead do, and we talk it over at our hour of release." "And that I suppose is between the hours of twelve and one?" "My young friend, you are behind the age. There was a time when people believed that ghosts could walk only at the hour you mention, but there is one night when we can walk from sunset to one o'clock, which you see |