Aunt Susie, pillar of her rock-ribbed New England church for more than four score years, lay a-dying. A solemn hush pervaded the painfully neat and frugal bedroom, filled now with “brethren” and “sisters” awaiting, mournfully yet expectantly, some last pious revelation from her wise old lips.
The minister leaned over gently. “Aunt Susie, Aunt Susie, can you hear me?”
A flicker of recognition, and the good man continued: “Aunt Susie, in this vale of tears you have seen much of sorrow and suffering, and yet you have always walked with patience and joy and strength. Oh, tell us, Aunt Susie, tell us the secret of this. What has sustained you?”
The voice of the minister ceased; the flock waited breathlessly while Aunt Susie opened her eyes, aglow now with a fierce and holy light.
“Victuals,” she sighed—and lay down in Abraham’s bosom.
A rabbit’s foot will bring good luck,
So do not be without it,
They say. But there is evidence
That causes me to doubt it.
The average person thinks that one
Will bring good fortune to him,
But then the rabbit carried four
And what good did it do him?
–Clarence Edwin Flynn
In Michigan, four headstones stand in a row: #1: Here lies Susan Ann, first wife of John Smith.
#2: Here lies Ellen May, second wife of John Smith.
#3: Here lies Arabella Elizabeth, third wife of John Smith.
#4: Here lies John Smith, at rest at last.
In Massachusetts: Here old Abel Perry lies.
Nobody laughs and nobody cries.
Where he went and how he fares,
Nobody knows and nobody cares.
In Maine: Here lies the body of John Trollup,
Who used these stones to roll up;
When God took his soul up,
His body filled this hole up.