National Republican. (Washington City (D.C.)) 1872-1888, 1880-07-03

and ward over the slumbers Of his chief. The
Coylo monument is also q handsome design,
and the Roberts Obelisk in another part OF
| the grounds is q very handsome stone.
Tired Of looking at tho monuments, fearful
| lest tho cenotaphs in frecstoue should again
intrude upon your gaze like the skeleton at
the feast, turning all your solemn joys into
charnel.house fances, you seek the courteous
| superintendent aud learn that the Washing
| ton Cemetery" popularity known as the Con-
grcssional burying.ground, was conseorated as
| q graveyard ia 1901, the trustees being Messrs.
| Tingey, Prout, CoOmbc, Bagdcn and others Of
the old colonial gentry. In 1912 IL was turned
over TO the ycstry of Christ church, Navy.
Yard who still are tho legal association in
charge. These conotaphs are erected By con.
grcssonal appropriation to tho memory only
Of those members or senators who die here in
Washington, and while serving ont their term.
Senator Bowden's is the last that has been
erected, aud perhaps it may continue TO be
the last.
Leaving the superintendenCs Office you
plunge down one OF the shady avenues that soon
carry you into the heart of the cemetery. Old,
time.staincd vaults, with the grassy roofand the
gray granite b'ackened with moss, meet you
at every turn. Stray sparrows dart hither
and thither before you without a Chirp or
twittcr, AS If their merry hearts had been sad
dcncd by the gloom Of the solemn scene. In
the very heart of the metropolis pile Of vel.
low clay arrests your steps. You stand upon
grave long since sodded aud with shudder
look down into the dismal silence of newly.
dug grave-tho still and narrow house that 10
waiting for its tenant You sit down beside your
own graves and watch tho daisies and the red
clover that bloom above them. How still, how
sad, how lonely You cannot count the
daisies that brighten the grass waving over
her pure white breast, for the newly dug grave
WI 81 nd Ia via.
ion. IL brings to mind that cold, gray day in
May, when the rains fell drcarly and the
winds would not cease their wailing aud you
stood by another newly dug grave in which
thoy hid away all that your heart then held
precious. The daisies aud the red poisoning
clover and the long grass cannot conceal the
look of that yellow clay and that new.dug
grave
And further on into the heart Of the ceme-
terry you stroll, with queer feeling at the
heart aud strange moisture in the eye, until
you reach the bluff that oveflaoks the river
You sit down upon grass.grown vault.
lofty maple behind you throws its cool
shadows over the sodded mound beneath
Down at your feet tho river glides on in
graveyard gloom and silence. On its hither
marge the water lilies aud the long grass
grow out Of the green scum aud the black
waters, from whose noisome heart the white
blossoms extract such beauty aud fragrance
The scene is still and quaint and solemn,
but the shadow of that new-made grave
rests upon all. And you turn away up
the mape.inod avenue, past tho moss-stancd
vaults into the street, leaving the dead behind
you to their sad and solemn slumbers with the
worm. Aud square away from tho cemetery
you turn aside for u walking funeral, and lift
your hat roverently rs the bearers pass with
their mOurniul burden, which fearful love has
wreathed in flowers. You know now the
mystery Of that new.dug grave.