The graveyard of Canada in Flanders is very large.

Here, as in our war graveyards in France, no religious dogma or supernatural hope intrudes upon the little wooden crosses.

"But the graveyard at midnight!" "Well, perhaps he won't hold out for midnightBilly is merely poetic at timesand maybe if we hurry along, we can catch up with him and have it out by the marble works there instead of going clear on to the cemetery.

In the Charter-Street burial-ground at Salem, and in the old graveyard on the hill at Ipswich, I have seen more ancient gravestones, with legible inscriptions on them, than in any English church-yard.

Men and women, whose forms will in a few short weeks be unrecognisable, whose whitened bones will be crushed and kicked aside by the future explorer, who may perchance penetrate the labyrinths, and whose dust will finally be mixed up and undistinguishable from that of the bones and skulls taken from ancient cemeteries and graveyards with which this terrible Golgotha is decorated in Mosaic.

One of the earliest churches in the country, and then standing on one of the greatest estates in Virginia, it was a typical centre of colonial life; and gathered about it, in the little graveyard by the river, were the tombs of noted colonial dead.

But a path leads beyond the graveyard to "a little and a lone green lane", Emily Brontë's lane that leads to the open moors.

This growth, it is said, proceeds more from the graveyards than from conversions from other churches, for most of those who embrace the faith claim to have been rescued from death miraculously under the injunction to "heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the leper, and cast out demons."

Hither so late as 1509 the Rother was navigable, and we find Archbishop Warham on the petition of the people licensing a small chapel there of St John Baptist still in existence, for the use of the inhabitants and as a sanctuary or a graveyard for the burial of those wrecked on the "sea-shore" infra predictum oppidum de Smallhyth.

And chic also, though touching in its sentiment, was a little graveyard behind a fringe of branches which mask a French battery.

On the night of August 2, when I travelled from Paris to Nancy, it seemed to me that France sang La Marseillaisethe strains of it rose from every wayside station and that out of its graveyards across those dark hills and fields, with a thin luminous line on the far horizon the ghosts of slain soldiers rose to sing it to those men who were going to fight again for liberty.

The summer moon is shining So wan and large and still, And the weary dead are sleeping In the graveyard under the hill.

He was my boy that died and is buried in this graveyard above our house.

The graveyard beside it was shaded with large cedar-trees, and near it there was a fountain of excellent water.

He was buried beside his daughter in the little graveyard near his home.