Dusting the muslins, doing up the lawn.
“There, in the heat of yonder stifling shop,
Breathing yon crowded graveyard’s fatal airs;
Still trying not the hideous wrong to stop,
Intent on nothing but to sell his wares.
“One morn I miss’d him from th’ accustomed till,—
Another victim had that churchyard slain;
And yet another, and another still;
‘’Twill slay as long as suffer’d to remain.’”
But there are vested rights! these graveyards pay!