This text is part of:
Table of Contents:
 date. That was all. I put my hand over my face and wept like a girl. They were hastily written, those simple records; but how ominous and how graphic! Could any eloquence have so faithfully portrayed the condition of a plague-stricken city! Shingles for tombstones — no time for marble; for the chisel, a pencil — hastily used: and away — away — away — for dear, dear life! Poor cowardly relatives, make haste — make haste, or the shingle may yet mark where your timid corpses lie! Away! away! away! With tears streaming down my face — no sound, save the sighing of the winds, and the grass and the leaves — no grasshopper, even, and no bird, to tell me that there was life still astir — I slowly, slowly, moved over to the opposite corner of the burying-ground. Sixty--seventy--eighty--eighty-one--two! An open grave! I stopped my enumeration, and went over to it. I was sick and tired, and could count the red graves no longer. I expected to see a coffin at the bottom of the grave; but it was empty. I looked again, and suddenly uttered an exclamation of delight. I seized the shovel, and jumped down into the open grave. I know that the reader will laugh at me — I know that some of you will think that I was mad; but I never before experienced a keener thrill of pleasure, never felt so sudden a love for any living thing, as when I saw, at the bottom of the open grave, and jumped into it to rescue — a mouse! Yes, it was a poor little mouse, that, by some mischance, had fallen into the open grave. I do n't feel
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License.
An XML version of this text is available for download, with the additional restriction that you offer Perseus any modifications you make. Perseus provides credit for all accepted changes, storing new additions in a versioning system.