It was Mr. Bulford Boggs, the undertaker, who remained in his chair--he that was known far and wide as “Bull” Boggs. His shop was across the way, and a line of parlor furniture filled its front window. He was a full-bodied man with a prominent nose and a short upper lip, and wore a high flaring collar and side-whiskers, now turned gray, and got soothing draughts of indolence from a big, meerschaum pipe. I remember that his nose and front and calm expression reminded me of a meadow-lark. It did seem to me often that he resented human life. There were times when, as he looked at one, his whole manner thus expressed itself: “What! you living? Good Heavens, man! How do you expect me to get along in business and you living on forever? Why don't you go hang yourself?” Soon Mr. Crocket, who had been working silently on a headstone, rested his chisel and looked at Mr. Boggs. Then he read, with quaint irony, the flattering inscription that he had finished: “It was her turn,” he said. “She was the survivor of three husbands.” He continued pecking at the stone and also at the character of the deceased lady. His monologue was broken by the sound of his mallet, and I remember it went on as follows: “Couldn't even live with herself [whack]. Tried it [whack], an' died [whack].” Mr. Boggs gave a roar of joy as he held his big pipe in his hand. “Reminds me of Harrison White [whack, whack]. He traded me a horse for a family monument, an'--wal, he got it for nothing. That horse began to waste away. Come to find out he was twenty-four years old. The horse got the heaves, an' Harrison got religion, but I got nothing. Come here one day an' offered to pray for me [whack], I told him to pray for the old horse. He gave me up. The old horse died an' so did Harrison. Oh, I've seen 'em come an' go for a good many years [whack, whack, whack]. What do you suppose they wrote out for an inscription to go under his name?” “I heard once, but I've forgotten,” growled the undertaker. . “'He paid the debt,'” said the Judge, soberly, with another whack. “I added something free of charge, an' it was this, 'but not the one due me.--B. Crocket.'” Mr. Boggs, who sat watching the door of his shop across the way as he listened, let out his mirth in heavy bolts of sound. There was to be a political meeting, and the town was filling up with people. Mr. Crocket and his friend went to the open door of the marble-shop and looked at the crowds passing in the main street. Soon the Judge returned to his task, and Mr. Boggs stood looking out of the door. “They've all got to die,” said the latter, cheerfully, as he surveyed the people. “Whenever I get blue I just think o' that an' take courage.”