my pipe and found myself gazing on a red-printed dodger: "WORKING CLASS, KNOW THE TRUTH. The workers of Russia have done away with the capitalistic, distroctive, parasitic sistem, which on one hand creates Millionaires and luxury and on the other hobos and misery."
The longest way round is usually the shortest way home, and it occurred to me that the graveyard of Old Swedes Church would be a useful vantage point. I found my way there down the quaint little vista of League street and the oddly named channel of Reckless street. Apparently the same thought had occurred to several other wiseacres, for I got to the gates just as the sexton was locking them. Ignoring the generous offer that the church makes on several signboards—"$10 Reward for Any Person Found Destroying the Church Property" I took my stand at one corner of the churchyard, looking out over the docks and the thousands crowded along the pavements below. Reading the tombstones passed away the time for the better part of an hour.
One sad little inscription runs like this:
LIZZIE
affectionate daughter of
died Dec. 24, 1857
When Christmas bells ring out their chime
And holly boughs and sprigs of thyme
Were hung on many a wall,
Our LIZZIE in her beauty's prime
Lay in our darkened hall.
