September 12 + 

This evening we walked through the Churchyard reading tombstone inscriptions. What a lot of men have had wives! + 

I can’t make out what has come over folk recently: the wit, wisdom and irony on the old tombstones have given place to maudlin sentiment and pious Bible references. Then on the anniversary of the death the custom among poorer classes is to publish such pathetic doggerel as the following⁠—cuttings I have taken from time to time from the local newspaper in ⸻: + 

“Her wish: + 

“ ‘Farewell dear brother, Mother, sisters, + 

My life was passed in love for thee. + 

Mourn not for me nor sorrow take + 

But love my husband for my sake + 

Until the call comes home to thee, + 

Live thou in peace and harmony.’ ” + 

Again: + 

“A day of remembrance sad to recall + 

But still in my heart he is loved best of all + 

No matter how I think of him⁠—his name I oft recall; + 

There is nothing left to answer me but his photo on the wall.” + 

Or: + 

“One year has passed since that sad day, + 

When one we loved was called away. + 

God took her home; it was His will, + 

Forget her?⁠—No, we never will.” + 

These piteous screeds fill me with loving-kindness and with contempt alternately in a pendulum-like rhythm. What is the truth about them? Is the grief of these people as mean and ridiculous as their rhymes? Or is it a pitiful inarticulateness? Or is it merely vulgar advertisement of their sorrow? Or does it signify a passionate intention never to forget?⁠—or a fear of forgetting, the rhymes being used as a fillip to the memory? Or⁠—most miserable of all⁠—is it just a custom, and one followed in order to appear respectable in others’ eyes? Are they poor souls? or contemptible fools? + 