There Are Playthings Of Many
Kinds, Woolly Dogs And Lambs, And Little Wooden Houses, Toys Which Must Be
Associated In The Parents' Minds With Those Who Made Their Homes Glad, But
Who Have Gone Into The Grave Before Them.
One cannot but think of the
bright eyes dim, the merry laugh and infantine prattle silent, the little
hands, once so active in playful mischief, stiff and cold; all brought so
to mind by the sight of those toys.
There is a fearful amount of mortality
among children at New York, and in several instances four or five buried
in one grave told with mournful suggestiveness of the silence and
desolation of once happy hearths.
There are a few very remarkable and somewhat fantastic monuments. There is
a beautiful one in white marble to the memory of a sea-captain's wife,
with an exact likeness of himself, in the attitude of taking an
observation, on the top. An inscription to himself is likewise upon it,
leaving only the date of his death to be added. It is said that, when this
poor man returns from a voyage, he spends one whole day in the tomb,
lamenting his bereavement.
There is a superb monument, erected by a fireman's company to the memory
of one of their brethren, who lost his life while nobly rescuing an infant
from a burning dwelling. His statue is on the top, with an infant in his
arms, and the implements of his profession lie below. But by far the most
extraordinary, and certainly one of the lions of New York, is to a young
lady who was killed in coming home from a ball.
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