The Ride on the Gravestone

The Ride on the Gravestone By Unknown

Late one evening a certain artisan happened to be returning home from a jovial feast in a distant village. There met him on the way an old friend, one who had been dead some ten years. ‘Good health to you!’ said the dead man. ‘I wish you good health!’ replied the reveller, and straight-way forgot that his acquaintance had ever so long ago bidden the world farewell. ‘Let’s go to my house. We’ll quaff a cup or two once more.’ ‘Come along. On such a happy occasion as this meeting of ours, we may as well have a drink.’ They arrived at a dwelling and there they drank and revelled. ‘Now then, good-bye! It’s time for me to go home,’ said the artisan. ‘Stay a bit. Where do you want to go now? Spend the night here with me.’ ‘No, brother! don’t ask me; it cannot be. I’ve business to do to-morrow, so I must get home as early as possible.’ ‘Well, good-bye! but why should you walk? Better get on my horse; it will carijr you home quickly.’ ‘Thanks I let’s have it.’ He got on its back, and was carried off—just as a whirlwind flies! All of a sudden a cock crew. It was awful! All around were graves, and the rider found he had a gravestone under him!