Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1919-05-18

the Falls road near the hamlet
of Potomac. he jotted down
quite number of the names and dates
carved on stones and slabs that stand
about that church. But he did not fin
ish the task. He remembers the cir
cumstances very we'll 1t was a cold
and dark day and biting wind roared
through the naked oaks that are now
clothed in fresh and tender leaves Snow
covered the graves, the foot paths and
the winding wagonway that leads from
the main road through the cemetery up
TO the front door of the little frame
church The Rambler copied epitaphs
until the cold wind made his fingers
numbed his feet.
But he did not write down all the
J.ames and dates there were, and this
has weighed on his conscience ever
since he left off that pious work. To
take the trouble. to walk in the snow
snd to expose ones self to a sharp wind
to copy some names that were the
names OF men and women and not to
extend that courtesy or reverence, or
there seemed like Indifference or neg
lect, and the Rambler does not like
to pick out one or two cpitaphs and
then ignore those above the other
graves that lie around. He feels that
" he does this work for some he should
do 1t for the others. All those that rest
there loved certain persons while they
lived. and perhaps all that rest there
left behind them certain ones who loved
them. Some that rest there may have
been forgotten by those who ought to
remember them with affection and
gratitude. and the Rambler feels that
these are In especial need Of having
their epitaphs copied and printed in
these stories that somebody's thoughts
ray be called back to the quiet place
where lie the bones Of man or woman
who did them service.
X X X X
OF course, the Rambler knows just as
we'll as you do that this Is illogical and
perhaps perfectly senseless He knows
just az you do that the world believes
that it's business Is with the living and
that the dead have no need Of care, and
that II they have they can take care of
themselves. The world looks upon the
dead as dead ones and has beens,"
and there's an end on It! But the RAM
bier knows that the thoughts OF great
many people do visit at little green
mounds. and more would let their
thoughts stray back to some person who
hoo nd no ;uL txt
in their memory were touched. And
that is why the Rambler. when in the
course Of his rambles he comes upon lit.
tie graveyards far out in the country,
jots down the names and dates he finds
there.
You need not tell him nor write to the
editor that 1t Is useless thing to do,
and that no matter how good the senti-
ment may be 1t is poor literature and
perhaps unwise policy to fill up news
paper space with the names OF people
who are in humble graves instead of
in high positions, and who are out
Of the world instead of being in the
public eye. The Rambler knows all
that He admits that there isn't much
sense or logic in 1t. But he intends to
do 1t just the same. A man who is
always governing his conduct by rules
Of logic is a good deal of a bore and
otherwise uncompanionable. Emotion
and sentiment are a part of man for
some purpose, and II his emotion or
his sentiment tend to do no harm to
any other being what is the sense
of crushing them out of a fellows
life? The Rambler has observed that
those gentlemen who are always do
ing things in a logical way and con-
Quoting everything according to the
strict principles of business-which
always means trusting nobody and
very otter means getting the better of
him II you can--do not live any long
er than those Of us who do not bind
and gag our emotions, sentiments.
impulses, or whatever they are, and
they do not get any more milk and
honey out of life than we do. They
may make more money than we do
sometimes and perhaps-but many
of these fellows have no higher in
telligence than is required to add up
q column of figures or compute how
much one owes them at certain
rate Of interest.
And also, generally. they have no