"WILD MAGGIE" AND I SERVED.
MONUMENTS.
IT was my first visit to New York. A few days after my arrival uncle took me to Greenwood, the most beautiful cemetery I ever saw. We visited the many points of interest. As we stood gazing at the fireman's monument, uncle told me the story of his heroism; how in one of the fierce fires this brave man lost his life while rescuing a woman from the flames. Then we spent a long time looking at the monument to Miss Conda, the beautiful young heiress who was thrown from a carriage and killed; and her fortune was built up in this wonderful marble.
The next morning aunt said, "You will go with me to-day to another Greenwood and see grander monuments than any you saw yesterday."
I wondered how that could be. But we were soon on our way. At length we turned into narrow, dirty streets, growing worse and worse. I shuddered at such sights and sounds of human beings, never before dreaming that in grand New York there could be so much wretchedness. I drew closer and closer to aunt, fearing one of the human demons that leered at us would seize me and carry me off.
Such people! such places to live in! Such language! Why, it almost makes my hair stand on end to think of it. Aunt did not seem to mind them. May be they knew her, for every one stood aside for us to pass. "Here it is," she said at length. "Here is the other Greenwood."
"This?" I answered, looking around for gravestones and monuments, and seeing nothing but dreadful houses and miserable objects. "This Greenwood!"
She simply answered, "Yes; come right in and you shall see the monuments."