The Russellville Democrat., 1883-08-16
A Cemetery Without Grass.


 The sun was slanting to the west as we turned our steps from the busy city of Pueblo, making our way to the cemetery, which lies mile to the north ward. True, our eyes had grown some what accustomed to the dry, sandy waste of country which stretches about this city of Colorado; but we had not thought that the desert could extend within this sacred spot; and the ceme- tery of the east naturally rose in imag- ination. Think of that in spring or summer. and a vision of flowers and living green is presented; in autumn. and there is the gorgeous October fo- iage-even winter seems to lay his hand lightly upon the beauties that surround the quiet sleepers.
 The little mounds were in sight at last. but the grass and the flowers did not appear; on the contrary. the earth with the surrounding sand hills pre- sented q scene so dead that all things seemed hopeless of the resurrection morn. The chief object which called us to the quiet spot was desire 10 see the grave of q Chinaman. The funeral had taken place some two weeks before. The potter field contains the grave, which was easily recognizable by the curious array upon it. It was shaped as the others, no stone, but wooden slab marked the. head and foot; the one at the head bore some Chinese characters, while the other told in English the name and date. Over the head wasGa plate upon which lay roast chiekesR then bowl of rice, some Joss-sticks stuck in the earth. after these a small cup with a kind of nuts, a bottle half buried in the earth. another small cup, and lastly plate with the head of q chicken upon it. and another just over the foot containing q kind of meat. Everything bore the marks of fire, and by the side of the grave were inc re- mains of a fire, in which were frag- plents of Chinese paper and half-burned Joss-sticks. After gazing for time upon these marks of very different civilization, we passed to the other DOT tions of Gods acre. - and found them scarcely less strange than the one just left
 The desire to. in some way, beautify the last resting place of loved ones seems to be so firmly implanted in the human breast, that if one means fails, another is employed. Though not 3 tree nor spear of green turf greeted the |. eyes yet all around were the tokens of loving hands; hands impelled by q motive so sacred, that they will not be gain saved. Here were the tiny mounds, whose brown earth was strewed with playthings, that the little hands had ceased to grasp. There two graves side by side; the surroundings betokening poverty rather than wealth: the one a glittering mass of blue, tue other 8 gleaming red. Upon nearer approach, the blue and the red proved to be glass in tiny pieces. The hills about Pueblo abound ill small stones, which though not valuable are pleasing to the eve. Many of the graves are covered with these stones, nicely fitted together, those of the more wealthy showing that the ornamental stonework had been done by the hands of skilful workman. The sides only were covered with the bright stones, while upon the ilat top was kind of coarse sand in which the name was often traced with stones Many were the ways in which the friends of the sleepers had proved their desire to do what they could.
 The sun was sinking behind the dis tant mountains as we turned from the silent, lone place, leaving the sleeping children with their untouched play things; the wanderer from beyond the sea. with the strange array above him, rich and poor, all resting as peacefully as though beneath the green turf and ihe leafy shade:
 Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing
 beside them.
 Thousands of throbbing hearts where thclrs
 are al rest and forever.
 Thousands of aching brains where theirs no
 longer are busy,
 Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have
 ceased from their igbors
 Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have
 completed their joGrneYl