Jasper County Democrat, Volume 7, Number 16, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 July 1904 — MUSING OF THE DEAD [ARTICLE]

MUSING OF THE DEAD

There was the sound of trampling feet above my head and the sharp click of metal against the sod, apd I, a shape, a vapor, resting In my coffin, could distinctly bear the digger at work on another grave beside my own. It had never occurred to me in life that the dead had ears to bear and

eyes to see, and even now there was nothing In the demeanor of my coffined neighbors to uphold me in my present theory.

I was a criminal when they burled me, and my soul seemed left within my body to grovel In the dust of horror and humiliation for a period at least before its further evolution.

It was as if my own contempt for the sublimity of the soul was being mocked by fleshly dissolution. I was forced to witness the filthy degeneration of what In life had seemed to me of paramount importance. Vanity and carnality had been my ruling passions, and all the higher attributes of man, in which the soul took precedence of body, aroused within my carnal mind only a feeling of sarcastic pity. It was for this destroying of a mental self that I was finally heated down and brought to sudden justice. For many years my wild debauches had been carried on with fallen mortals, and men who scorned and loathed me, even they were satisfied to let It go as a thing beyond their Interference. It was only when I won poor Nellie's love that they began shaking their angry heads and pointing their warning fingers at me. But I had wisdom in my evil way. I feigned a reformation that I did not feel and for a time behaved with rigid circumspection. There were days even when the child’s sweet nature almost shamed me In my wicked purpose, but to a heart grown old In sin a woman’s idrtue only adds persistence, and after each brief moment of remorse the old desire crept swiftly back, with tenfold worse intentions added.

And day after day the floweret drooped with the sun of passion beating on it Day by day truth took a weaker hold upon the soul that wavered In my power. Warnings I had in plenty from the friends that loved the girl, and although there was no violence from me at any time they called my deed a deed of crime and lynched me like a common felon.

Whether it was just some did not know, but to me, lying cramped and huddled in this moldy box, there comes at times a realization of my sin that makes the judgment seem most fair and even tempered with that plea for mercy which doubtful jurors often add. Day by day, hour by hour aud minute by minute the scenes and sins, of my life are creeping slowly through my soul, and now, viewed by the light of a disembodied spirit, I find how greatly the sins of the flesh are at variance with the spiritual being. Hope and desire, so all important to the carnal frame, shrink to the meanest form of guilt when viewed through nobler, purer lenses. Like a wornout husk, battered and travel stained, my flesh lies, rotting in this grave, while I, a soul, exist, here, there and all about, able to penetrate the very earth, able to see the heavens above, but totally unable to escape from the dread proximity of my moldering clay of this constant vision of decay in what was once my fondest pride.

And now another silent form is being lowered to my side. I hear the sound of falling sods, the creak of ropes, the tread of feet and wish —oh, coward that I am!—that it might be another soul so doomed that it would bear me company.

They are going now, the mourners at the grave above my head, and almost touching my crumbling feet I see the outline of a polished casket.

No one in all those silent tombs seems wakened or disturbed but me. The advent of another form into the gloom and horror of this place brings not a tremor to the dust of those who sleep so peacefully. But now my soul seems pierced again by one more venomed, rankling dart, and through the power of spirit sight I see the limit of my doom.

There is no soul within this new made tomb, no clay freed spirit to condole with mine, but low beneath the polished boards a sweet young face lies still and calm and seems to mock, my misery. Once more I trace my evil life in all Its willful, sinful ways, and, turning, try to avert my gaze from that which almost maddens me.

This then is justice for the damned! To watch, perforce, while all you love decays, while flesh, once fair, creeps vilely back to dust, and the Immortal soul, denied and scorned, rises from the very grave to torture that which •corned it!

Yes, this is justice, but the after plea, the plea for mercy, is denied me, for here, before my shrinking eyes, my victim lies in peaceful slumber. Powerless was I to harm her soul, though friend and foe alike condemned her, and now, in throes of bitter rage, I recognize a righteous vengeance.