And still, in peace, to die.
At least, so speaks the moon to me,
The tombstone of the sky.
DEATH, THE DEVIL, AND HUMAN KINDNESS
The Shred of an Allegory
I
The Undertaker
Curious are the agencies that throw the true believer into the occult state. Convalescence may do it. Acts of piety may do it. Self-mortification may do it.
After reading my evening sermon in rhyme in the house of the stranger, I had slept on the lounge in the parlor. The lounge had lost some of its excelsior, and the springs wound their way upwards like steel serpents. So strenuous had been the day I could have slumbered peacefully on a Hindu bed of spikes.
I awoke refreshed, despite several honorable scars. What is more important I left that house with faculties of discernment.
I did not realize at first that I was particularly spiritualized. I was merely walking west, hoping to take in Oil City on my route. Yet I saw straight through the bark of a big maple, and beheld the loveliest ... but I have not time to tell.
Then I heard a fluttering in a patch of tall weeds and discovered what the people in fairyland call ... but no matter. We must hurry on.