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They
had
pictures
hung
on
the
walls
--
mainly
Washingtons
and
Lafayettes
,
and
battles
,
and
Highland
Marys
,
and
one
called
"
Signing
the
Declaration
.
"
There
was
some
that
they
called
crayons
,
which
one
of
the
daughters
which
was
dead
made
her
own
self
when
she
was
only
fifteen
years
old
.
They
was
different
from
any
pictures
I
ever
see
before
--
blacker
,
mostly
,
than
is
common
.
One
was
a
woman
in
a
slim
black
dress
,
belted
small
under
the
armpits
,
with
bulges
like
a
cabbage
in
the
middle
of
the
sleeves
,
and
a
large
black
scoop-shovel
bonnet
with
a
black
veil
,
and
white
slim
ankles
crossed
about
with
black
tape
,
and
very
wee
black
slippers
,
like
a
chisel
,
and
she
was
leaning
pensive
on
a
tombstone
on
her
right
elbow
,
under
a
weeping
willow
,
and
her
other
hand
hanging
down
her
side
holding
a
white
handkerchief
and
a
reticule
,
and
underneath
the
picture
it
said
"
Shall
I
Never
See
Thee
More
Alas
.
"
Another
one
was
a
young
lady
with
her
hair
all
combed
up
straight
to
the
top
of
her
head
,
and
knotted
there
in
front
of
a
comb
like
a
chair-back
,
and
she
was
crying
into
a
handkerchief
and
had
a
dead
bird
laying
on
its
back
in
her
other
hand
with
its
heels
up
,
and
underneath
the
picture
it
said
"
I
Shall
Never
Hear
Thy
Sweet
Chirrup
More
Alas
.
"
There
was
one
where
a
young
lady
was
at
a
window
looking
up
at
the
moon
,
and
tears
running
down
her
cheeks
;
and
she
had
an
open
letter
in
one
hand
with
black
sealing
wax
showing
on
one
edge
of
it
,
and
she
was
mashing
a
locket
with
a
chain
to
it
against
her
mouth
,
and
underneath
the
picture
it
said
"
And
Art
Thou
Gone
Yes
Thou
Art
Gone
Alas
.
"
These
was
all
nice
pictures
,
I
reckon
,
but
I
did
n't
somehow
seem
to
take
to
them
,
because
if
ever
I
was
down
a
little
they
always
give
me
the
fan-tods
.
Everybody
was
sorry
she
died
,
because
she
had
laid
out
a
lot
more
of
these
pictures
to
do
,
and
a
body
could
see
by
what
she
had
done
what
they
had
lost
.
But
I
reckoned
that
with
her
disposition
she
was
having
a
better
time
in
the
graveyard
.
She
was
at
work
on
what
they
said
was
her
greatest
picture
when
she
took
sick
,
and
every
day
and
every
night
it
was
her
prayer
to
be
allowed
to
live
till
she
got
it
done
,
but
she
never
got
the
chance
.
It
was
a
picture
of
a
young
woman
in
a
long
white
gown
,
standing
on
the
rail
of
a
bridge
all
ready
to
jump
off
,
with
her
hair
all
down
her
back
,
and
looking
up
to
the
moon
,
with
the
tears
running
down
her
face
,
and
she
had
two
arms
folded
across
her
breast
,
and
two
arms
stretched
out
in
front
,
and
two
more
reaching
up
towards
the
moon
--
and
the
idea
was
to
see
which
pair
would
look
best
,
and
then
scratch
out
all
the
other
arms
;
but
,
as
I
was
saying
,
she
died
before
she
got
her
mind
made
up
,
and
now
they
kept
this
picture
over
the
head
of
the
bed
in
her
room
,
and
every
time
her
birthday
come
they
hung
flowers
on
it
.
Other
times
it
was
hid
with
a
little
curtain
.
The
young
woman
in
the
picture
had
a
kind
of
a
nice
sweet
face
,
but
there
was
so
many
arms
it
made
her
look
too
spidery
,
seemed
to
me
.
This
young
girl
kept
a
scrap-book
when
she
was
alive
,
and
used
to
paste
obituaries
and
accidents
and
cases
of
patient
suffering
in
it
out
of
the
Presbyterian
Observer
,
and
write
poetry
after
them
out
of
her
own
head
.
It
was
very
good
poetry
.
This
is
what
she
wrote
about
a
boy
by
the
name
of
Stephen
Dowling
Bots
that
fell
down
a
well
and
was
drownded
:
ODE
TO
STEPHEN
DOWLING
BOTS
,
DEC
'D
And
did
young
Stephen
sicken
,
And
did
young
Stephen
die
?
And
did
the
sad
hearts
thicken
,
And
did
the
mourners
cry
?
No
;
such
was
not
the
fate
of
Young
Stephen
Dowling
Bots
;
Though
sad
hearts
round
him
thickened
,
'
Twas
not
from
sickness
'
shots
.
No
whooping-cough
did
rack
his
frame
,
Nor
measles
drear
with
spots
;
Not
these
impaired
the
sacred
name
Of
Stephen
Dowling
Bots
.
Despised
love
struck
not
with
woe
That
head
of
curly
knots
,
Nor
stomach
troubles
laid
him
low
,
Young
Stephen
Dowling
Bots
.
