324: 



THE ILLINOIS FAKMER. 



Nov. 



and away we went through the streets, 

 now nearly deserted, save here and 

 there a traveler like ourself from some 

 of the evening trains. Tired and weary 

 from the week's labor, the city on Sat- 

 urday night lay down to repose, save 

 the orgies of lager and the spirits of rye 

 and corn which like the eternal tires 

 never sleep even in a great city, and 

 from the dens where these demons hold 

 their nightly carousals in a great city 

 the gas flashes up into the streets to 

 show the belated traveler that the in- 

 fernos are still in running order. 



On Sunday mornings the city is a 

 great sleeping hostilrie. You go into 

 the street, there is no sound of ham- 

 mer, no hum of fast revolving wheels, 

 no clanking of great forges, no short 

 breathings of the pent up steam as it 

 leaps from the escape pipe. No roll- 

 ing of thousands of vehicles over the 

 pavements, no hurrying to and fro of 

 business men, no laggard walking of 

 gaping adolescence, no stately promen- 

 ading of wide sweeping crinoline. The 

 news boys pass through quiet streets 

 modestly calling "here's the Sunday 

 papers, with latest news from Charles- 

 ton, the Potomac and from Blunt who 

 is stirring up the Jiyenas in Hark-hand- 

 saw." The milkman comes rinorinor 

 •his bell to notify the servant girl of 

 inilk(?) for coffee. Our morning's walk 

 has taken us out of the long ranges of 

 brick and mortar, and we are in the 

 midst of Kilgubbin, sacred to bad whis- 

 ky, fights and squalor. Here reside 

 the "friends" of those high in office, 

 from this district come the men first at 

 the polls, the first and last to cast their 

 vote, and from among whom the "guar- 

 dians of the nights" are drawn. We 

 take a sad look at the wretchedness that 

 looms up before us and slowly turn our 



steps toward breakfast. Soon the mer- 

 ry peal of bells call the city to worship, 

 when presto, the side walks are lined 

 with well dressed people answering to 

 the call. 



In the afternoon we take the train 

 for Rose Hill, "God's acre," some sev- 

 en miles distant, among the gravel 

 ridges that border the lake. Five coach- 

 es are filled with those who could do 

 homage to the departed. The cemete- 

 ry is on a commanding site, and in a 

 most lovely place. There is just enough 

 of the forest "oak openings," to allow 

 a rich turf of blue grass, with which 

 the whole site is carpeted. The grounds 

 are well laid out and are fast assuming 

 form and comeliness. A large amount 

 has been expended this past summer. 

 Among the improvements is a new en- 

 trance lodge, that will add much to the 

 substantial appearance of the place. A 

 new green house for the propagation 

 and wintering of plants for the several 

 lots is in course of construction. 



Without a visit to one of these cities 

 of the dead we can have but little idea 

 of the large sums expended on them. 

 Here and there are family groups, train- 

 ing the plants or placing flowers on the 

 tombs of the loved and lost. We leave 

 the grounds convinced that the plan of 

 a special train to these grounds on the 

 Sabbath must have a good influence on 

 all those who avail themselves of it. 

 You have the country all to yourself — 

 sordid commerce is not crowding the 

 streets and highways, and a feeling of 

 repose comes over you as the train 

 leaves you to the city of the dead, 

 where we shall all one day go to make 

 a long stay. 



On Monday morning, so soon as old 

 Sol had sent his floods of light over Lake 

 Michigan, the city began to arouse from 



