nd mutton. The headstones, many of them
laid flat upon the graves, are interesting to us because of their
quaint inscriptions, in which the occupation of the deceased is often
stated with modest pride and candor. One expects to see the
achievements of the soldier, the sailor, or the statesman carved in
the stone that marks his resting-place, but to our eyes it is strange
enough to read that the subject of eulogy was a plumber, tobacconist,
maker of golf-balls, or a golf champion; in which latter case there is
a spirited etching or bas-relief of the dead hero, with
knickerbockers, cap, and clubs complete.

There, too, lies Thomas Loughead, Hairdresser, a profession far too
little celebrated in song and story. His stone is a simple one and
bears merely the touching tribute:--

_He was lovely and pleasant in his life_,

the inference being to one who knows a line of Scripture, that in his
death he was not divided.

These kirkyard personalities almost lead one to believe in the
authenticity of the British tradesman's epitaph, wherein his
practical-minded relict stated that the "bereaved widow would continue
to carry on the tripe and trotter business at the old stand."

* * * * *

One day when we were walking through the little village of Strathdee
we turned the corner of a quiet side street and came suddenly upon
something altogether strange and unexpected.

A stone cottage of the every-day sort stood a little back from the
road and bore over its front door a sign announcing that Mrs. Bruce,
Flesher, carried on her business within; and indeed one could look
through the windows and see ruddy joints hanging from beams, and piles
of pink and white steaks and chops lying neatly on the counter,
crying, "Come, eat me!" Nevertheless, one's first glance would be
arrested neither by Mrs. Bruce's black-and-gold sign, nor by the
enticements of her stock in trade, because one's attention is knocked
squarely between the eyes by an astonishing shape that arises from the
patch of lawn in front of the cottage, and completely dominates the
scene. Imagine yourself face to face with the last thing you would
expect to see in a modest front dooryard,--the figurehead of a ship,
heroic in size, gorgeous in color, majestic in pose! A female
personage it appears to be from the drapery, which is the only key the
artist furnishes as to sex, and a queenly female withal, for she wears
a crown at le