stand　peeping　in　through　the　iron　gates　and　rails；　I　can　peel　the
  rusty　metal　off；　like　bark　from　an　old　tree。　　The　illegible
  tombstones　are　all　lop…sided；　the　grave…mounds　lost　their　shape　in
  the　rains　of　a　hundred　years　ago；　the　Lombardy　Poplar　or　Plane…Tree
  that　was　once　a　drysalter's　daughter　and　several　common…councilmen；
  has　withered　like　those　worthies；　and　its　departed　leaves　are　dust
  beneath　it。　　Contagion　of　slow　ruin　overhangs　the　place。　　The
  discoloured　tiled　roofs　of　the　environing　buildings　stand　so　awry；
  that　they　can　hardly　be　proof　against　any　stress　of　weather。　　Old
  crazy　stacks　of　chimneys　seem　to　look　down　as　they　overhang；
  dubiously　calculating　how　far　they　will　have　to　fall。　　In　an　angle
  of　the　walls；　what　was　once　the　tool…house　of　the　grave…digger　rots
  away；　encrusted　with　toadstools。　　Pipes　and　spouts　for　carrying　off
  the　rain　from　the　encompassing　gables；　broken　or　feloniously　cut
  for　old　lead　long　ago；　now　let　the　rain　drip　and　splash　as　it　list；
  upon　the　weedy　earth。　　Sometimes　there　is　a　rusty　pump　somewhere
  near；　and；　as　I　look　in　at　the　rails　and　meditate；　I　hear　it
  working　under　an　unknown　hand　with　a　creaking　protest：　　as　though
  the　departed　in　the　churchyard　urged；　'Let　us　lie　here　in　peace；
  don't　suck　us　up　and　drink　us！'
  One　of　my　best　beloved　churchyards；　I　call　the　churchyard　of　Saint
  Ghastly　Grim；　touching　what　men　in　general　call　it；　I　have　no
  information。　　It　lies　at　the　heart　of　the　City；　and　the　Blackwall
  Railway　shrieks　at　it　daily。　　It　is　a　small　small　churchyard；　with
  a　ferocious；　strong；　spiked　iron　gate；　like　a　jail。　　This　gate　is
  ornamented　with　skulls　and　cross…bones；　larger　than　the　life；
  wrought　in　stone；　but　it　likewise　came　into　the　mind　of　Saint
  Ghastly　Grim；　that　to　stick　iron　spikes　a…top　of　the　stone　skulls；
  as　though　they　were　impaled；　would　be　a　pleasant　device。　　Therefore
  the　skulls　grin　aloft　horribly；　thrust　through　and　through　with
  iron　spears。　　Hence；　there　is　attraction　of　repulsion　for　me　in
  Saint　Ghastly　Grim；　and；　having　often　contemplated　it　in　the
  daylight　and　the　dark；　I　once　felt　drawn　towards　it　in　a
  thunderstorm　at　midnight。　　'Why　not？'　I　said；　in　self…excuse。　　'I
  have　been　to　see　the　Colosseum　by　the　light　of　the　moon；　is　it
  worse　to　go　to　see　Saint　Ghastly　Grim　by　the　light　of　the
  lightning？'　　I　repaired　to　the　Saint　in　a　hackney　cab；　and　found
  the　skulls　most　effective；　having　the　air　of　a　public　execution；
  and　seeming；　as　the　lightning　flashed；　to　wink　and　grin　with　the
  pain　of　the　spikes。　　Having　no　other　person　to　whom　to　impart　my
  satisfaction；　I　communicated　it　to　the　driver。　　So　far　from　being
  responsive；　he　surveyed　me　…　he　was　naturally　a　bottled…nosed；　red…
  faced　man　…　with　a　blanched　countenance。　　And　as　he　drove　me　back；
  he　ever　and　again　glanced　in　over　his　shoulder　through　the　little
  front　window　of　his　carriage；　as　mistrusting　that　I　was　a　fare
  originally　from　a　grave　in　the　churchyard　of　Saint　Ghastly　Grim；
  who　might　have　flitted　home　again　without　paying。
  Sometimes；　the　queer　Hall　of　some　queer　Company　gives　upon　a
  churchyard　such　as　this；　and；　when　the　Livery　dine；　you　may　hear
  them　（if　you　are　looking　in　through　the　iron　rails；　which　you　never
  are　when　I　am）　toasting　their　own　Worshipful　prosperity。
  Sometimes；　a　wholesale　house　of　business；　requiring　much　room　for
  stowage；　will　occupy　one　or　two　or　even　all　three　sides　of　the
  enclosing　space；　and　the　backs　of　bales　of　goods　will　lumber　up　the
  windows；　as　if　they　were　holding　some　crowded　trade…meeting　of
  themselves　within。　　Sometimes；　the　commanding　windows　are　all
  blank；　and　show　no　more　sign　of　life　than　the　graves　below　…　not　so
  much；　for　THEY　tell　of　what　once　upon　a　time　was　life　undoubtedly。
  Such　was　the　surrounding　of　one　City　churchyard　that　I　saw　last
  summer；　on　a　Volunteering　Saturday　evening　towards　eight　of　the
  clock；　when　with　astonishment　I　beheld　an　old　old　man　and　an　old
  old　woman　in　it；　making　hay。　　Yes；　of　all　occupations　in　this
  world；　making　hay！　　It　was　a　very　confined　patch　of　churchyard
  lying　between　Gracechurch…street　and　the　Tower；　capable　of
  yielding；　say　an　apronful　of　hay。　　By　what　means　the　old　old　man
  and　woman　had　got　into　it；　with　an　almost　toothless　hay…making
  rake；　I　could　not　fathom。　　No　open　window　was　within　view；　no
  window　at　all　was　within　view；　sufficiently　near　the　ground　to　have
  enabled　their　old　legs　to　descend　from　it；　the　rusty　churchyard…
  gate　was　locked；　the　mouldy　church　was　locked。　　Gravely　among　the
  graves；　they　made　hay；　all　alone　by　themselves。　　They　looked　like
  Time　and　his　wife。　　There　was　but　the　one　rake　between　them；　and
  they　both　had　hold　of　it　in　a　pastorally…loving　manner；　and　there
  was　hay　on　the　old　woman's　black　bonnet；　as　if　the　old　man　had
  recently　been　playful。　　The　old　man　was　quite　an　obsolete　old　man；
  in　knee…breeches　and　coarse　grey　stockings；　and　the　old　woman　wore
  mittens　like　unto　his　stockings　in　texture　and　in　colour。　　They
  took　no　heed　of　me　as　I　looked　on；　unable　to　account　for　them。　　The
  old　woman　was　much　too　bright　for　a　pew…opener；　the　old　man　much
  too　meek　for　a　beadle。　　On　an　old　tombstone　in　the　foreground
  between　me　and　them；　were　two　cherubim；　but　for　those　celestial
  embellishments　being　represented　as　having　no　possible　use　for
  knee…breeches；　stockings；　or　mittens；　I　should　have　compared　them
  with　the　hay…makers；　and　sought　a　likeness。　　I　coughed　and　awoke
  the　echoes；　but　the　hay…makers　never　looked　at　me。　　They　used　the
  rake　with　a　measured　action；　drawing　the　scanty　crop　towards　them；
  and　so　I　was　fain　to　leave　them　under　three　yards　and　a　half　of
  darkening　sky；　gravely　making　hay　among　the　graves；　all　alone　by
  themselves。　　Perhaps　they　were　Spectres；　and　I　wanted　a　Medium。
  In　another　City　churchyard　of　similar　cramped　dimensions；　I　saw；
  that　selfsame　summer；　two　comfortable　charity　children。　　They　were
  making　love　…　tremendous　proof　of　the　vigour　of　that　immortal
  article；　for　they　were　in　the　graceful　uniform　under　which　English
  Charity　delights　to　hide　herself　…　and　they　were　overgrown；　and
  their　legs　（his　legs　at　least；　for　I　am　modestly　incompetent　to
  speak　of　hers）　were　as　much　in　the　wrong　as　mere　passive　weakness
  of　character　can　render　legs。　　O　it　was　a　leaden　churchyard；　but　no
  doubt　a　golden　ground　to　those　young　persons！　　I　first　saw　them　on
  a　Saturday　evening；　and；　perceiving　from　their　occupation　that
  Saturday　evening　was　their　trysting…time；　I　returned　that　evening
  se'nnight；　and　renewed　the　contemplation　of　them。　　They　came　there
  to　shake　the　bits　of　matting　which　were　spread　in　the　church
  aisles；　and　they　afterwards　rolled　them　up；　he　rolling　his　end；　she
  rolling　hers；　until　they　met；　and　over　the　two　once　divided　now
  united　rolls　…　sweet　emblem！　…　gave　and　received　a　chaste　salute。
  It　was　so　refreshing　to　find　one　of　my　faded　churchyards　blooming
  into　flower　thus；　that　I　returned　a　second　time；　and　a　third；　and
  ultimately　this　befell：…　They　had　left　the　church　door　open；　in
  their　dusting　and　arranging。　　Walking　in　to　look　at　the　church；　I
  became　aware；　by　the　dim　light；　of　him　in　the　pulpit；　of　her　in　the
  reading…desk；　of　him　looking　down；　of　her　looking　up；　exchanging
  tender　discourse。　　Immediately　both　dived；　and　became　as　it　were
  non…existent　on　this　sphere。　　With　an　assumption　of　innocence　I
  turned　to　leave　the　sacred　edifice；　when　an　obese　form　stood　in　the
  portal；　puffily　demanding　Joseph；　or　in　default　of　Joseph；　Celia。
  Taking　this　monster　by　the　sleeve；　and　luring　him　forth　on　pretence
  of　showing　him　whom　he　sought；　I　gave　time　for　the　emergence　of
  Joseph　and　Celia；　who　presently　came　towards　us　in　the　churchyard；
  bending　under　dusty　matting；　a　picture　of　thriving　and　unconscious
  industry。　　It　would　be　superfluous　to　hint　that　I　have　ever　since
  deemed　this　the　proudest　passage　in　my　life。
  But　such　instances；　or　any　tokens　of　vitality；　are　rare　indeed　in
  my　City　churchyards。　　A　few　sparrows　occasionally　try　to　raise　a
  lively　chirrup　in　their　solitary　tree　…　perhaps；　as　taking　a
  different　view　of　worms　from　that　entertained　by　humanity　…　but
  they　are　flat　and　hoarse　of　voice；　like　the　clerk；　the　organ；　the
  bell；　the　clergyman；　and　all　the　rest　of　the　Church…works　when　they
  are　wound　up　for　Sunday。　　Caged　larks；　thrushes；　or　blackbirds；
  hanging　in　neighbouring　courts；　pour　forth　their　strains
  passionately；　as　scenting　the　tree；　trying　to　break　out；　and　see
  leaves　again　before　they　die；　but　their　song　is　Willow；　Willow　…　of
  a　churchyard　cast。　　So　little　light　lives　inside　the　churches　of　my
  churchyards；　when　the　two　are　co…existent；　that　it　is　often　only　by
  an　accident　and　after　long　acquaintance　that　I　discover　their
  having　stained　glass　in　some　odd　window。　　The　westering　sun　slants
  into　the　churchyard　by　some　unwonted　entry；　a　few　prismatic　tears
  drop　on　an　old　tombstone；　and　a　window　that　I　thought　was　only
  dirty；　is　for　the　moment　all　bejewelled。　　Then　the　light