y, to that more enduring home which he had chosen for his clay. It
was in a cemetery, by some strange chance immured within the bulwarks of
a prison; standing, besides, on the margin of a cliff, crowded with
elderly stone memorials, and green with turf and ivy. The east wind
(which I thought too harsh for the old man) continually shook the
boughs, and the thin sun of a Scottish summer drew their dancing
shadows.

"I wanted ye to see the place," said he. "Yon's the stane. _Euphemia
Ross_: that was my goodwife, your grandmither--hoots! I'm wrong; that
was my first yin; I had no bairns by her;--yours is the second, _Mary
Murray, Born_ 1819, _Died_ 1850; that's her--a fine, plain, decent sort
of a creature, tak' her a'thegether. _Alexander Loudon, Born Seventeen
Ninety-Twa, Died_--and then a hole in the ballant: that's me.
Alexander's my name. They ca'd me Ecky when I was a boy. Eh, Ecky! ye're
an awfu' auld man!"

I had a second and sadder experience of graveyards at my next
alighting-place, the city of Muskegon, now rendered conspicuous by the
dome of the new capitol encaged in scaffolding. It was late in the
afternoon when I arrived, and raining; and as I walked in great streets,
of the very name of which I was quite ignorant--double, treble, and
quadruple lines of horse-cars jingling by--hundred-fold wires of
telegraph and telephone matting heaven above my head--huge, staring
houses, garish and gloomy, flanking me from either hand--the thought of
the Rue Racine, ay, and of the cabman's eating-house, brought tears to
my eyes. The whole monotonous Babel had grown--or, I should rather say,
swelled--with such a leap since my departure that I must continually
inquire my way; and the very cemetery was brand-new. Death, however, had
been active; the graves were already numerous, and I must pick my way in
the rain among the tawdry sepulchres of millionaires, and past the plain
black crosses of Hungarian labourers, till chance or instinct led me to
the place that was my father's. The stone had been erected (I knew
already) "by admiring friends"; I could now judge their taste in
monuments. Their taste in literature, methought, I could imagine, and I
refrained from drawing near enough to read the terms of the inscription.
But the name was in larger letters and stared at me--_James K. Dodd_.
"What a singular thing is a name!" I thought; "how it clings to a man,
and continually misrepresents, and then survives him!" And it flashed