'
'How very odd!' said Stephen, with the concern demanded of serious
friendliness.
'Odd? That's nothing to how it is in the parish of Twinkley. Both
the churchwardens are----; there, I won't say what they are; and
the clerk and the sexton as well.'
'How very strange!' said Stephen.
'Strange? My dear sir, that's nothing to how it is in the parish
of Sinnerton. However, as to our own parish, I hope we shall make
some progress soon.'
'You must trust to circumstances.'
'There are no circumstances to trust to. We may as well trust in
Providence if we trust at all. But here we are. A wild place,
isn't it? But I like it on such days as these.'
The churchyard was entered on this side by a stone stile, over
which having clambered, you remained still on the wild hill, the
within not being so divided from the without as to obliterate the
sense of open freedom. A delightful place to be buried in,
postulating that delight can accompany a man to his tomb under any
circumstances. There was nothing horrible in this churchyard, in
the shape of tight mounds bonded with sticks, which shout
imprisonment in the ears rather than whisper rest; or trim garden-
flowers, which only raise images of people in new black crape and
white handkerchiefs coming to tend them; or wheel-marks, which
remind us of hearses and mourning coaches; or cypress-bushes,
which make a parade of sorrow; or coffin-boards and bones lying
behind trees, showing that we are only leaseholders of our graves.
Pages:
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50