The Rock Island Argus

The Daily Argus.

COURTSHIPS IN GRAVEYARDS.

An Old Grave-Digger Tells How They Love
and Woo at Saratoga,
New York Commercial.

"I don't think there is as much genuine
love-making in Saratoga nowadays as there
used to be years ago," said old Sexton
Palmeston, as he leaned on his spade.
"They all seem to be going for money.
Why. I haven't had four genuine love cases
in the graveyard this year. Now, when
a man is going for money you don't see
him bringing his girl over here."

"How does he act when he is going for
money?" I asked.

"Why he spends his time around the
florists; he heaps presents on her; keeps
her room full of flowers; hands chairs on
the balcony; always stands ready with a
music programme; looks after her mail;
always compliments her clothes, and-"

"And what else?" I asked impatiently.

"Why. the courting-for-money lover even
looks after his sweetheart's table. He even
goes and bribes the head cook to send her
chicken livers en brochette, woodcock and
Spanish mackerel. The cooks always have
these delicacies for guests, provided they
are well paid for them. Oh, he gives his
girl an elegant time, but there's no love in
it."

"But how does the all-for-love young
man go to work?" I interrupted.

"Why, he don't fool around at a dis-
tance," said the old sexton, "with bouquets,
and programmes. and nice breakfasts. He
just quietly walks his sweetheart over to
this graveyard, and, sitting on one of those
benches out under the trees yonder, he takes
her hand. He sits right down and attacks
her heart. He don't fool around
buying flowers for her eyes, :
nor
candies -for
her
tongue,
nor
perfume for her nose; he just gets his arm
right around her heart, and when it begins
to throb, and when her cheek gets red and
warm, he knows that girl is his'n. (Don't
stand so near the grave or it'll cave in.)
Why, that girl would rather have one hour
of our warm grave-yard courting, than 400
years of such iceberg courting as I see
going on over in the States parlors. I've
seen this courtin' goin' on for forty years.
(By jimminy there's a bone! I'm getting too
near that other grave.) I see old gray-
headed men every day riding up here in
carriages who courted their wives in this
graveyard forty years ago. There's R. L.
Stuart. the wealthy sugar refiner."—

"But he's an old bachelor," I interrupt
ed,
Never mind that. I tell you my bench-
es could tell you why he never -got mar-
ried. He loved the girl well enough,
and"

"But who else do you remember seeing
here?" I asked.

"Why, there was Mr. Wilson of the
Mutual life. He used to walk around here
thirty years ago with a beautiful blonde
girl. I can see him now kissing that girl
-but I'm not going to tell all I know.
Andrew H.-Green, he married a girl he
courted in my graveyard. Fernando
Wood used to have a seat here.and Charles
A Dana, he used to know, forty years ago,
all about flirting in a graveyard. Old Gen.
James Watson Webb used to walk the young
ladies up here fifty years ago, and his son,
the doctor, why he could never get along
at all courting Miss Vanderbilt until he got
her away from the stuck up States hotel,
and found himself one day in one of my
seats. I knew Vanderbilt would lose a
daughter that night. I tell you these
graveyard seats mean business every time.
Did I ever have any senators or governors
on my seats? Why, of course. Senator
Kernan courted two girls at once in this
graveyard, and President Arthur knows
where all the best seats are. They needn't
be ashamed of it, either. for Hamilton and
De Witt Clinton used to do the same thing
when they were boys. Boys will be boys,"
continued the old man, as be jumped out
of the grave, "and girls will be girls. Girls
with big hearts like to be loved, and fellows
with big hearts will kiss and love them.
I don't care how straight their parents may
make them sit up and down at the
States,
they will
occasionally get
away and come up here in the graveyard
to act natural, and I'm the last man to
hinder 'em. Why. I often keep these
graveyards open till nine o'clock when
there are genuine lovers enough around to
warrant it. I don't mean flirters. I mean
real, genuine lovers."

But how do the lovers manage down
at Long Branch, and over at Newport,
when they have no graveyards handy?" I
asked.

"I don't know, but they have mating
places somewhere. I 'spect they sit out
in the sand under the bluffs, or sit round
under umbrellas in the pavilions, or get
in dismal corners
in the balconies.
They're got to-by gosh; they're got to!"

That's what the old Saratoga graveyard
philosopher said.