Weekly commercial herald., 1885-09-18

/ But sightseeing did them nomore good than
Franks forced gayety. They were bothsa
at heart.
'Fhere shall we go nowg' asked Frank
as they came back to the facre. is there
anything else tosee about hereF' He couched
this question in curious German, and ad-
dressed the driver The driver said the
great south cemetery was not far of.
4 don't like cemeteries said Frank
doubtfully
Il do" said Beatrice. So they drove ac-
cording to her wish.
They passed under the great arched en-
/ trance to the place Of tombs. Beatrice. who
was now deep in sad thoughts, looked
neither to the right nor left-and Frank was
| looking only at Beatrice. They walked
straight into the great open space and for
awhile, with the bright May sun shining
down on then, wandered about the forest
Of tombs, which, after the manner Of ell
continental memorial stones, looked untidv
from the withered CT tawdry wreaths which
had been placed on them last All Souls Day
and left to decay at ease. Carruthers was
somewhat disappointed in the cemetery.
Although this was his first visit to Munich,
he fancied he had read or heard that this
He told Beatrice he was disappointed.
perhaps the finest monuments are under
the piazza she said.
They walked across to the broad piazza
which runs round the center space AS
Beatrice had suspected, the finest and most
costly and artistic monuments were against
the wall Some of them were magnificent
works of art, but Carruthers paid th.r1
scant attention. Whether it was the roel.
ancholY surroundings CT the strain whics
at Beatrice's wish lie had put upon himself
to keep their conversation away from the
subject ever uppermost in their hearts. ne
could not tell, but it seemed to him that at
this moment his sorrow was more unen-
durable. more abiding than ever.
"Thism he muttered. "To this it all
comes. The end Of love the end Of ambi.
tion, Of wealth, of poverty, of pain, of JOY.
All come to it, and ether men and women
walk over our graves and wonder who we
were. Beatrice! Beatricer' he cried, in
voice Of exquisite agony 1--WE can live but
once and cur life is wastedp
Bravely as he had borne himself, Carruth-
ers had at last broken down.
Beatrice started. These words were the
first which had been wrung from him which
implied the slightest reproach It only
wanted this to complete her misery. She
bent her head and the tears ran from her
eyes. Then she looked at Frank with pitt
full appealing gaze which went straight to
his heart.
II was a fool-a weak fool" he said.
Forgive me-"
mo, you are wise. Oh, why was ever
born!'
LET us CO., said Frank 81 hate this
abode Of dead mortality"
So with heavy hearts they walked along
the broad piazza toward the entrance to the
cemetery. Somehow their hands met, and
they went hand in hand.
Neither spoke. Carruthers was telling
himself that he was weaker than he thought
that he could not bear the situation longer
He would see Beatrice safe in England. He
would see this man and insure her future
peace. Then he would-he must leave. her.
| To see her, hear her voice, touch her hand,
vet know she could not be his was more
/ than he could ask himself to bear.
| So as they walked down that piazza they
| felt that they were bidding each other a
/ farewell which might well be eternal. No
wonder their hands refused to part.
As they drew near to the entrance they
passed what was to all appearance a shop
with plate glass front opening on the piaz-
za In front Of it were two or three men
and women and several children; the last
named on tip-toe, and fattening their fiat
| Teutonic noses against the glass Frank
also glanced that way and saw such curious
sight that in spite of his preoccupation, be
stopped.
A little way inside the glass was arranged
on banks of evergreens and flowers what
seemed to be dozen dolls, Of various sizes
but all large for dolls, Each was dressed in
smart long robes with tinsel and other deco
rations, and each doll bore large number.
a curious sight! Carruthers drew near and
then the truth flashed upon him. They were
dead babiesl There, each in its little nest of
leaves and flowers, they lay awaiting the
day Of burial
'They are deadr' said Frank, turning to
Beatrice.
eyes. / remember hearing it was the
custom here to let them wait like this; but
l forgot all about it. A horrible custom, is
it notn'
Is it a horrible customl If startling to
strangers is it more horrible than the Eng
lish custom of letting the poor dead thing
Lie for days in an upper chamber, lie there
often until the last sight one carries away
Of the loved one is a sight to be forgotten?
Who has not known those fearful DAYS
which pretede an English funerall The
fearful room with its boxed-up odor of
death striving with those of sweet scented
flowers, eau de Cologne and carbolic acid
1t may seem harsh to bear away the poor
dead clay at once, but not so harsh as the
custom which jeopards health for the sake
of sentiment. .
Is it horrible custom to think Of a loved
one exposed to the eyes of the public? Hor-
rible at first sight to watch women bring
ing children and lifting them up to see what
lies behind the glass. But why should the
dead fear to face their fellow creatures
gaze more than the living' Why should the
living be taught that the sight of death is so
to be dreaded!
But if the sight is horrible to stranger it
is fascinating. Notice all who visit the
Munich cemetery for the first time. If they
peep In at one window of the wartsaal they
will peep in at all. Beatrice and Frank
formed no exception to this rule.
There are several Of these windows. In
the one next the babies they saw the body
, OF all old priest. He lay on his sIanting
bier OF eyergreens, dressed in his best
clothes, MS cold hands holding the crucifx
10 his cold heart. He slept with peace
written on his sweet waxen face Was this
horr1ble9
And SO to the end With ra1ara,,+ a,,as