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survivors, which thus tricks out men's epitaphs when dead, who, in their life-time discharged the offices of life, perhaps, but lamely?—Their failings, with their reproaches, now sleep with them in the grave. Man wars not with the dead. It is a trait of human nature, for which I love it.
I had not observed, till now, a little group assembled at the other end of the churchyard; it was a company of children, who were gathered round a young man, dressed in black, sitting on a grave-stone.
He seemed to be asking them questions—probably, about their learning—and one little dirty ragged-headed
