Many years ago, when this disgraceful process was going on under my eyes, I addressed an indignant remonstrance to a leading journal.

I suppose it was deficient in literary elegance, or too warm in its language; for no notice was taken of it, and the hyena-horror was allowed to complete itself in the face of daylight.

I have never got over it.

The bones of my own ancestors, being entombed, lie beneath their own tablet; but the upright stones have been shuffled about like chessmen, and nothing short of the Day of Judgment will tell whose dust lies beneath any of those records, meant by affection to mark one small spot as sacred to some cherished memory.

Shame! shame! shame!--that is all I can say.