The Red Cloud chief., 1875-10-28
HIRKCONNHL.


miles nofth from u , graveyard
called K~irkconnel, q lovely but most
sequestered spot. OF all the cemeteries
or g~raveyards which I have seen In any
country, to MI this Is the most attract
i've. There is Q weird, inexpressible
look about the place 20 much in keeping
with q graveyard. 1t may be a feeling
OF my OWL, but I never did like q large
cemetery, such Is you may see at Cincin-
matt or Brooklyn. In o large family, q
large church or city, there is of necessi.
ty q certain amount Of arrangement.
The sam is always true OF a graveyard.
The sleepers seem to be more peaceful
when they have had some acquaintance
with esch other. The mingling Of dust
makes US long to lie where VIC have been
known: and where We know some at
least of those WHO intend TO lie beside
us. Kirkconnel is just such a place as
this. A little over half sn acre Of
ground, u family graveyard it seems.
Yet fiOm the beginning Of the fifteenth
century, men and women have been said
to sleep in that quiet little place. And
connecting the past with the present, the
last time ! wa there some three years
ago-a bed had just been made 70. one
of my school fellows; and he too sleeps
sweetly 10 Kirkconnel, among those who
have slept for centuries.
Before narrating the touching tale
which has made KIrkconnel famous. lief
rs visit the place. 1t lies on the left
bank of the river KiItle-this was desig-
mated . river before the Hudson, Niagara
or Mississippi we've heard of-wil:eh
rises far away among these hills to the
north, in Esdalemoor, asd falls into the
Solway Firth. Shor: as its journey may
be, the scenery along its course com
pares well with anything which l have
seen in all my travels. We enter at
the poIter's gate, and pass along
the winding path which overlooks the
stream. That grand residence to the
right, with its red granite like appear.
ance, is called Springfield, and belongs
TO Sir JoEa Heron Maxwell, u foolish
kind of man to be a baronet, but his
princeiy income is sufficient to keep
him. What a magnificent appearance
his house makes. The situation is the
most enchanting which the mind of the
poet could wish, or Of which the. artist
could dream. Following up the bed of
the river for about a mile, We come to a
beautiful meadow, studded here and
there with old oak and chestnut trees.
In the distance the ground rises abruptly,
still green, beautifully rounded, adorned
with trees which now stand between you
and the sky; while in the fertile meadow
cattle are feeding, as fat and fair looking
as those seen by Phaio in his dream.
On the other side of the stream the bank
rises high, and IS covered with trees and
shrubs, all clad in their summer vest
ments.
And now Ne have come TO the little
graveyard, carefully fenced all around;
the tombstones sre scarcely seen; no one
desecrates the place by cutting the grass
and giving it TO the cattle. 1t grows in
the spring time, keers the ground cool
all summer, and when winter comes
down the valley it keeps the sleepers
warm. Tie trees stand around in silence
watching, casting their melancholy shade
on the couch of the silent sleepers. The
bed of the river IS more rocky there than
elsewhere. yet the bubbling is not 80
loud; its voice seems hushed, and the
stream steals past on tip-toe, lest it
should break the slumbers of the dead.
Even the thoughtless living who visit
the place have a feeling of awe creep
over thera, such as we have when visiting
any old dimly lighted cathedral, when
The organ peals forth its unutterable
sounds. But how can / describe Kirk
connela Imagination dare not play
hide-snd-seck there; you must visit it
yourself if you would see the picture.
What a sweet place to lie down when |
u days work is over; nothing to break
the slumbers till the trumpet sounds, and
the din and hustle of business will not
prevent It's first distant peals from teipg
distinctly heard.
On the north side of the graveyard are
the ruins of an old Roman Catholic
chapel, all overhung with ivy. The
family of Springkell use this old sanctu-
airy as a m%ausoleum; End by peering
through the iron grating, CT climbing up
that crumbling corner, you can see how
little difference there is between demo-
cratic and aristocratic dust. Walking
among the tombstoncs you see very
strange devices. Tie skull and -cross
bones have been in great iepute long
ago. There is another old stone with what
might be called wood cut of Adam and
Eve. There is another stone on which is
carved the figure of a female lacing her
self so tightly that her eyes protrude As
"the eyes of Q toad" and under her a
is driving like "Jehu the son of
Nimshi" for a doctor; but il is all in
vain: he is too late. for she died and