In that collection the poet depicted a village cemetery, where on every grave is carved a brief account of the life of the departed who lies within, as set down by himself. The collection brims with biting irony and criticism — the mark of Masters's poetry, and what gave it the fame it won.

... Elsa Wertman

I was a peasant girl from Germany; my eyes were blue, my cheeks rosy, and I was happy and strong.

And the first place I worked was at Thomas Greene's.

One summer day, when his wife was away, he slipped into the kitchen and took me straight into his arms and kissed me on my throat — as I turned my head. As for what happened after that, neither of us knew its nature.

And I cried over what would become of me.

And I cried and cried as my secret began to show.

One day Mrs. Greene said she knew all about it, and would put no difficulties in my way, and so she would adopt it, being barren herself.

(He had given her a farm — the price of her silence!) So I kept to the house, and she began spreading rumors, as though she were the one who was going to give birth.

And everything went as it should, and the child was born, and they were kind to me. Afterwards I married Wertman, and the years went by.

But: at the political rallies, when those present thought I was crying at the eloquence of Hamilton Greene — they were mistaken. No! I only wanted to cry out: He is my son! He is my own son!

... Hamilton Greene

I was the only son of Frances Harris of Virginia and Thomas Greene of Kentucky, both descended of honorable, well-known stock. To them I owe all that I attained:

the judgeship, membership in Congress, leadership in the State.

From my mother I inherited vivacity, imagination, and eloquence.

And from my father, will, wisdom, and logic.

So all the honor is theirs for the services I rendered the people!

... Roscoe Purkapile

She loved me. Oh God, how she loved me!

She left me no chance of escape from the day she first saw me. But after we married, I thought she might soon die and set me free, or that she would ask for a divorce.

Few women die, and fewer still ask for divorce! And I ran away from her, and stayed away a whole year, but she never once complained. She would say: all is well, and he will come back. And indeed I came back. I told her I had been rowing a boat when pirates surprised me near Van Buren, took me captive, and put me in chains, so that I could not write to her. And she wept and kissed me, and railed at their cruelty, their coarseness, their savagery!

Then I was certain that our marriage was a thing decreed in heaven, and that there would be no escaping it except by way of death. And in that conclusion I was right!

... Mrs. Purkapile

He ran away, and was gone from home a whole year. And when he came back he made up a silly story for me, to the effect that pirates had set upon him and chained him so that he could not write to me. I pretended to believe what he said, though I knew quite well what he had been doing — that he was meeting the dress-seller, Mrs. Williams, from time to time, whenever she went to the city — to buy goods, as she claimed.

But a promise is a promise, and marriage is marriage; and to guard my dignity and my character I refused to ask for a divorce, and so I foiled the scheme of a husband who had grown weary of his marriage vow and its duties!