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1"Yabblins! There may be a poorish few not wrong, savin' where they make out the people too good; for there be folk that
2do think a balm-bowl be like the sea, if only it be their own. The whole thing be only lies. Now look you here; you come
3here a stranger, an' you see this kirk-garth." I nodded, for I thought it better to assent, though I did not quite
4understand his dialect. I knew it had something to do with the church. He went on: "And you consate that all these
5steans be aboon folk that be happed here, snod an' snog?" I assented again. "Then that be just where the lie comes in.
6Why, there be scores of these lay-beds that be toom as old Dun's 'bacca-box on Friday night." He nudged one of his
7companions, and they all laughed. "And my gog! how could they be otherwise? Look at that one, the aftest abaft the
8bier-bank: read it!" I went over and read:-- "Edward Spencelagh, master mariner, murdered by pirates off the coast of
9Andres, April, 1854, æt. 30." When I came back Mr. Swales went on:-- "Who brought him home, I wonder, to hap him here?
10Murdered off the coast of Andres! an' you consated his body lay under! Why, I could name ye a dozen whose bones lie in
11the Greenland seas above"--he pointed northwards--"or where the currents may have drifted them. There be the steans
12around ye. Ye can, with your young eyes, read the small-print of the lies from here. This Braithwaite Lowrey--I knew his
13father, lost in the Lively off Greenland in '20; or Andrew Woodhouse, drowned in the same seas in 1777; or John Paxton,
14drowned off Cape Farewell a year later; or old John Rawlings, whose grandfather sailed with me, drowned in the Gulf of
15Finland in '50. Do ye think that all these men will have to make a rush to Whitby when the trumpet sounds? I have me
16antherums aboot it! I tell ye that when they got here they'd be jommlin' an' jostlin' one another that way that it 'ud
17be like a fight up on the ice in the old days, when we'd be at one another from daylight to dark, an' tryin' to tie up
18our cuts by the light of the aurora borealis." This was evidently local pleasantry, for the old man cackled over it, and
19his cronies joined in with gusto. "But," I said, "surely you are not quite correct, for you start on the assumption that
20all the poor people, or their spirits, will have to take their tombstones with them on the Day of Judgment. Do you think
21that will be really necessary?" "Well, what else be they tombstones for? Answer me that, miss!" "To please their
22relatives, I suppose." "To please their relatives, you suppose!" This he said with intense scorn. "How will it pleasure
23their relatives to know that lies is wrote over them, and that everybody in the place knows that they be lies?" He
24pointed to a stone at our feet which had been laid down as a slab, on which the seat was rested, close to the edge of
25the cliff. "Read the lies on that thruff-stean," he said. The letters were upside down to me from where I sat, but Lucy
26was more opposite to them, so she leant over and read:-- "Sacred to the memory of George Canon, who died, in the hope of
27a glorious resurrection, on July, 29, 1873, falling from the rocks at Kettleness. This tomb was erected by his sorrowing
28mother to her dearly beloved son. 'He was the only son of his mother, and she was a widow.' Really, Mr. Swales, I don't
29see anything very funny in that!" She spoke her comment very gravely and somewhat severely. "Ye don't see aught funny!
30Ha! ha! But that's because ye don't gawm the sorrowin' mother was a hell-cat that hated him because he was acrewk'd--a
31regular lamiter he was--an' he hated her so that he committed suicide in order that she mightn't get an insurance she
32put on his life. He blew nigh the top of his head off with an old musket that they had for scarin' the crows with.
33'Twarn't for crows then, for it brought the clegs and the dowps to him. That's the way he fell off the rocks. And, as to
34hopes of a glorious resurrection, I've often heard him say masel' that he hoped he'd go to hell, for his mother was so
35pious that she'd be sure to go to heaven, an' he didn't want to addle where she was. Now isn't that stean at any
36rate"--he hammered it with his stick as he spoke--"a pack of lies? and won't it make Gabriel keckle when Geordie comes
37pantin' up the grees with the tombstean balanced on his hump, and asks it to be took as evidence!" I did not know what
38to say, but Lucy turned the conversation as she said, rising up:-- "Oh, why did you tell us of this? It is my favourite
39seat, and I cannot leave it; and now I find I must go on sitting over the grave of a suicide." "That won't harm ye, my
40pretty; an' it may make poor Geordie gladsome to have so trim a lass sittin' on his lap. That won't hurt ye. Why, I've
41sat here off an' on for nigh twenty years past, an' it hasn't done me no harm. Don't ye fash about them as lies under
42ye, or that doesn' lie there either! It'll be time for ye to be getting scart when ye see the tombsteans all run away
43with, and the place as bare as a stubble-field. There's the clock, an' I must gang. My service to ye, ladies!" And off
44he hobbled. Lucy and I sat awhile, and it was all so beautiful before us that we took hands as we sat; and she told me
45all over again about Arthur and their coming marriage. That made me just a little heart-sick, for I haven't heard from
46Jonathan for a whole month. The same day. I came up here alone, for I am very sad. There was no letter for me. I hope
47there cannot be anything the matter with Jonathan. The clock has just struck nine. I see the lights scattered all over
48the town, sometimes in rows where the streets are, and sometimes singly; they run right up the Esk and die away in the
49curve of the valley. To my left the view is cut off by a black line of roof of the old house next the abbey. The sheep
50and lambs are bleating in the fields away behind me, and there is a clatter of a donkey's hoofs up the paved road below.
51The band on the pier is playing a harsh waltz in good time, and further along the quay there is a Salvation Army meeting
52in a back street. Neither of the bands hears the other, but up here I hear and see them both. I wonder where Jonathan is
53and if he is thinking of me! I wish he were here. Dr. Seward's Diary. 5 June.--The case of Renfield grows more
54interesting the more I get to understand the man. He has certain qualities very largely developed; selfishness, secrecy,
55and purpose. I wish I could get at what is the object of the latter. He seems to have some settled scheme of his own,
56but what it is I do not yet know. His redeeming quality is a love of animals, though, indeed, he has such curious turns
57in it that I sometimes imagine he is only abnormally cruel. His pets are of odd sorts. Just now his hobby is catching
58flies. He has at present such a quantity that I have had myself to expostulate. To my astonishment, he did not break out
59into a fury, as I expected, but took the matter in simple seriousness. He thought for a moment, and then said: "May I
60have three days? I shall clear them away." Of course, I said that would do. I must watch him. 18 June.--He has turned
61his mind now to spiders, and has got several very big fellows in a box. He keeps feeding them with his flies, and the
62number of the latter is becoming sensibly diminished, although he has used half his food in attracting more flies from
63outside to his room.
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