The Starkville news. (Starkville, Miss.) 1902-1960, 1905-05-12


river, which flows murmuring and hur-
rying to the sea.
Marble headstones and crosses, col
umns and slabs, stand silent witnesses
OF departed joys and hopes, sorrows and
ambitions, and look whittier by contrast
with the dark cedars, close clipped bor-
ders of yew and box, inclosing them,
and the mountains frs. whose spread
ing branches touch the thick carpet of
snow. lying soft and unbroken over
mound and monument.
A road winds at the foot Of the slope,
near the shallow. complaining, beau
tiful river, and paths run in and out
and across the terraces. They are de-
serted, for no one is in the cemetery,
and the snow remains unbroken by foot
prints, while the day is still cold and
Wintry.
TWO timid doves, encouraged by the
Stiffness and silence. sit perched on an
ancient and worn mausoleum, whose
slab states that Justin Cameron went
to his eternal rest, craving forgiveness
for grievous sins, many long years ago
Were they sins Of omission or COM
mission by tempestuous youth?
The birds coo to each other, and prcen-
ing their feathers, complain of the
cold. Possibly they wonder whether
Justin has reaped reward or punish
ment?
The only tracks on the smooth surface
of the glistening carpet, deep and plain,
are those of bright-eyed brown rabbit
as it goes leisurely down a winding
path, stopping occasionally to peer aIx-
iously around, and listen for sounds
which might mean danger.
But the peace Of the majestic dead is
unbroken, by any presence OF tokens Of
the feverish life from under whose bur-
dens they have slipped away. Not
even a wayward wind is abroad to sigh
through the bare branches of brown
rose bushes. planted here and there. be-
fore going to play natures eolean harp,
in the tall trees of pine forest. just
outside the iron gate to the west, where
the sun, in crimson and purple, is sink
ing to rest. in careless smiling indiffer-
ence.
A marble cross, tall and spotless, faces
the glow of the sky against which tower
mountains and peaks now snow-silvered
md sharply defined.
The doves futter down from their
perch on the ancient tomb, and look GU
riously at the lettering cut sharp and
deep in the stone cross, and at flowers
lying fresh and unfaded on the snow
beneath and COO to each other, in COM
nent and speculation.
1T is new. How pretty the tall cross
looks. It's marble is as white as the
snow. How many strangers lie in this
quiet place | am not surprised. 1t is
beautiful Each one has his own soli
tars bed. But many of them are soon
forgotten. See those crumbling monu-
ments by the river
How wrong it is to forget said the
gentle dove, huttering closer and peck
ing at the berries Of a cassia bush
growing close by. I'VE were here when
they gathered around him. l do not
believe the sleeper under this pretty
cross will be forgotten Look at the
sweet-scented flowers lying here. They
are never allowed to fade They said
he was in the heyday Of manhood, and
fair and ambitious The minister who
stood bareheaded and read from his
book in clear, solemn tone. was COM
forting, it seemed to me- He spoke of
resurrection and a meeting again in
eternal bliss. Is that true? Is there a
world in which trouble, anxiety and
separation do not eXist?"
The doyesighed, for she was timor-
Gus. and loving, and always afraid of
hunters and death wounds for herself
Or her mate.
1t was for that reason she loved the
peaceful quiet Of the terraced ceme-
terry on the hill, which was never in
vailed by turbulent youths with shot
guns. and although it was hard to sub
sist there in comfort during the long.
cold winters, at least no terrors as
sailed her. The broken tomb where
JIi5tin Cameron-So anxious fofforgive-
hess a century ago-had been laid to
rest, afforded shelter and protection
from the keen blasts and the sleet-
storms, and she and her companion were
happy.
The river was specially noisy, rln-
ming over the stones and rocks Of its
shallow bed with eager murmurings
Of delight, because the cold had mod