“Just re-buried Johnnie!”
Johnnie had always been a trial of a unique description. Was it possible that he had put the laws of nature at defiance and returned to torment his long-suffering spouse? But the explanation was simple. She thought it so simple herself as to admit of its expression, as we have said, on a postcard.
When she had left him among all those ranks of dead, the thought came to her that he was dissatisfied with his resting-place and would prefer to be laid with his ancestors. And so Johnnie was promptly dug up from where he had been deposited with so much pomp, removed across half England, and “reburied.”
If it was true that, like so many ghosts, he was particular about his tomb, I can quite understand his displeasure in this instance. As I have said, I share it.
He lies now just outside the park where he played as a child, under the lee of the little church where he said his first innocent prayers, and his dust will mingle with the dust of his grandsires.
Such a quiet, peaceful spot! Immense cornfields skirt it on the one hand and on the other the great woods.
May I lie in some such hallowed, uncrowded acre!
XXXVII
Irish born as I am, there is something in the breath of Ireland that makes my heart rise. The sound of the soft Irish voices is music to my ear. I forgive the slipshod ways because of the general delightfulness. Distressful country as it is—more than ever, now, alas! the battle-ground of factions—from the moment of our landing joyfully on its shores, to the sad hour of parting, our too rare visits to Ireland have been punctuated by kindly and innocent laughter. Impossible, beloved people! They break the heart of the politician and of the reformer; but how enchanting they are to just a foolish person such as I am, who likes to go and live among them and enjoy them without political bias; who can laugh at and with them, and love them as they are!