THE MODERN CEMETERY. 
7 
guished for harvesting a crop of second affection, and 
wind up the stories of the survivals of love and repeti- 
tions of matrimonial experiment by telling of the streets 
upon which the originals of the marble mourners reside, 
with the occupation in which they are engaged, adding 
anecdotes that are apt, and aid the formation of char- 
acter that is picturesque. The portraitures of men and 
women in business clothes the sculptors achieve are 
only too accurate, having not unfrequently the authen- 
tic severity of photography; the hardness discoverable 
in what may be termed, with conventional inaccuracy, 
the living statuary, disappears in the draperies that 
seem exquisitely soft, and to sway with the gentle undu- 
lations of graceful movement. The flowers are as lilies 
and pale roses, the laces all of fairy texture. There is 
a young girl who seems to float over the flowers upon 
Why a Cemetery is So Called. 
Webster says a cemetery is "a place where the dead bodies of 
human beings are buried." But that is all he says, and there is 
not a 5-year-old child in the land that could not tell us as much 
without referring to his " Unabridged." In tracing the derivation 
of the word I find that the root is in an old Jewish word "caeme- 
teria," meaning dormitories or sleeping places Later on the form 
of expression was changed to " requietorium." In that section of 
“Camden’s Remains" which has the heading of “Concerning 
British Epitaphs," I find the following (page 385, edition of 1650): 
“The place of burial was called by St. Paul ‘ semenatoria,’ in the 
respect of a sure hope of a resurrection.” The Greeks call it 
“caemeterion,” which means “a sleeping place until the resurrec- 
tion.” The old Hebrew word for cemetery means “the house of 
the living,” the idea being that death is only a protracted sleep 
that will terminate on the day when Gabriel blows his trumpet. 
Ch icafro Ti'ibiDic. 
gallery in the campo s.a.xto. 
which she walks, angels robed in mist, women’s forms 
almost undraped, but clothed in a radiance of purity 
that shields the loveliness that is sacred, from the gaze 
of the uncouth. There are majestic figures full of no- 
bility, speaking of high courage and generous daring 
and devotion, and of mournful fate and grievous destiny. 
One turns away from the Campo Santo of Genoa with 
a sense of deep experience, touched with sadness, con- 
scious that, though art may be longer than time, and 
adorns with shapes of humanity and suggestions of 
divinity the gates of death, it is not art that can ask in 
triumph, “Where is the sting of death and the victory 
of the grave?” 
Italy, Europe, Asia, America, the continents and 
islands of the sea are graveyards; the earth with all its 
oceans is a tomb, and there is nothing imperishable ex- 
cept the invisible . — Cosmopolitan for March. 
riexican Funerals. 
A funeral is treated with much respect in Mexico. None so 
proud who will not lift his hat to do it reverence. The burial is 
on the day of death if possible, and the priest repairs to the house 
and celebrates divine service for the repose of the departed soul 
upon an improvised altar of flowers and candles. This is in full 
view of passers-by on the street, who respectfully kneel on the 
pavement. Others in the distance see them and also kneel, so 
that for two or three blocks up and down may be seen men, wo- 
men and children on the open street in the attitudes of prayer. 
This, however, more correctly describes the practice of the 
poorer people. The upper strata of society is more reserved in 
its devotions. 
One street in Mexico, near the National Palace, called the 
Calle Tabaqueros, is filled from end to end with coffinmakers, 
whose wares, in different stages of completion, are piled on the 
curb in gruesome confusion The wayfarer who pauses a moment 
to look at the unusual scene is immediately surrounded by the 
tradesmen, who inquire, in voluble Spanish, if he wants a coffin. 
— N. Y. 'rimes. 
