Full text: The little review (8 (1922), 2)

sight among poor streets, roads, fields, and woods. Large parts 
of its surface have been covered with turf or diversified by 
small artificial mounds and slopes; but the turf is now gray 
and dead; the yellow sand shows through in many places; and 
the square stones, urns, painted iron benches, and unsubstantial 
looking tombs that stand in clusters, are tiny. In making the 
mounds the trunks of many of the trees were buried almost to 
the branches, and these trees look fat, stubby, and short-legged 
in the gray mist. A heavy odour of warm, salty grease hangs 
in the lower air, a suggestive stench from a factory for reducing 
fats somewhere in the neighborhood. There are winding 
macadam roads through the cemetery. 
When I have waited a little while at a place which has 
recently been added for the graves of poor people, the great 
black motor coach, splashed with mud, appears suddenly out 
of the city and enters one of the large stone gates at the south 
eastern corner. There is a stone lodge here, and a bell over 
the gates tolls briefly as the coach comes in. Then the vehicle 
follows a road parallel to a lonely bare wet red-paved street 
outside, in which long dingy trolley cars pass at intervals; and 
comes quickly to where I am. The sand here is entirely bare; 
the few old forest trees are neglected; and the graves lie in long 
close rows. They have no stones, but there are dead rotten 
flowers on some of the newest, fluttering dismally from card 
board frames wound with lead foil and adorned with letters 
of crinkly paper. Some graves have been covered with white 
cotton cloth fastened to the ground by pegs; but that is all. 
Ragged rotten brown leaves lie in the hollows of the sand, 
where brown weeds stand; and wet newspapers are blown about 
by the cold wind. 
In this shabby somber place on the dun earth of the bound 
less lake country, beside the harsh ugly city in which he has 
been an unwelcome stranger, but under the great white sky, too, 
the body of the servant of God is to be laid. 
The coach stops in the muddy road and the escort, all 
Negroes except the undertaker and his agile assistant, descend 
in the mist. Those who are to carry the coffin gather uncer 
tainly, and with the assistance of the undertaker and his man 
take it down. Then an irregular procession is formed, the

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