The opening among the trees was not more than
thirty paces across. At one side was a little knoll--
a natural hillock, bare of shrubbery but covered
with wild grass, and on this, standing out of the
grass, the headstone of a grave!
I do not remember that I felt anything like sur-
prise at this discovery. I viewed that lonely grave
with something of the feeling that Columbus must
have had when he saw the hills and headlands of the
new world. Before approaching it I leisurely com-
pleted my survey of the surroundings. I was even
guilty of the affectation of winding my watch at that
unusual hour, and with needless care and delibera-
tion. Then I approached my mystery.
The grave--a rather short one--was in some-
what better repair than was consistent with its
obvious age and isolation, and my eyes, I dare say,
widened a trifle at a clump of unmistakable garden
flowers showing evidence of recent watering. The
stone had clearly enough done duty once as a door-
step. In its front was carved, or rather dug, an in-
scription. It read thus:
AH WEE--CHINAMAN.
Age unknown. Worked for Jo. Dunfer.
This monument is erected by him to keep the Chink's
memory green. Likewise as a warning to Celestials
not to take on airs. Devil take 'em!
She Was a Good Egg.
I cannot adequately relate my astonishment at
this uncommon inscription! The meagre but suffi-
cient identification of the deceased; the impudent
candour of confession; the brutal anathema; the
ludicrous change of sex and sentiment--all marked
this record as the work of one who must have been
at least as much demented as bereaved.
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