III
I missed most of the other memorable things in the church that
night, but I saw fleetingly some of the beautiful tombs for which
it is famous; the effigies of the dead lay in their niches,
quietly, as if already tucked away for the night, in the secular
sleep of the dust beneath. The tombs were more famous than they,
and more beautiful, if the faces of some were true likenesses,
but after so many centuries one ought not to require even women
to be pretty.
[Illustration: THE RIVER AT EVENING]
We had not begun to have enough of Boston yet, and after dinner
we went a long walk up the Witham, away from the parapet before
the church, under which its deep tides are always washing to and
fro. In the dimness, after we had got a little to the outskirts
of the town, there seemed shipyards along the river's course, but
at one place there was a large building brilliantly lighted,
which from certain effects at the windows we decided to be a
printing-office on the scale of those in and near our own Boston.
What was our shame and grief the next morning to find it was a
cigar factory, and to learn that cigar and cigarette making was
almost the chief industry of the mother Boston.
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