Livy says, book 48, sec. 10, that Marcus Emilius Lepidus directed his sons

to bury him without parade, and at a very small charge. As he was the

Pontifex Maximus, possessed of wealth, and of a generous spirit, the

promotion of the public good was the only motive. Cheating at funerals was

as common at Athens, as at Rome. Demades, as Seneca relates, book 6, ch.

33, _de beneficiis_, condemned an unprincipled Athenian sexton, for

extortion, in furnishing out funerals. The friends and relatives are so

busy with their sorrow, that they have neither time nor taste, for the

examination of accounts, and, least of all, such as concern the obsequies

of near friends. I was never more forcibly impressed with the truth, that,

where the carcass is, there the vultures will be gathered together, than

in the little island of St. Croix, during the winter of 1840. I was there

with a friend, a clergyman, who visited that island, for the restoration

of his wife's health. She died. Her remains were never buried there, but

brought to this city, and here interred. In that island there is a

tribunal, called the _Dealing Court_, analogous to the court of probate,

or orphan's court, in this country. In less than forty-eight hours, a bill

was presented, from this court, for "_dealing_" with the estate of the

deceased. She had no estate; no act had been done. "True, but such is the

custom of our island--such is the law of Denmark." After taking counsel,

the bill was paid. The Danish Lutheran is the established religion of the

island. The Episcopal lives, by sufferance. A few days after this lady's

decease, a bill was presented, from the officers of the _Danish Lutheran_

church, for granting permission to dig her grave, in the _Episcopal_

ground. It was objected, that no permission had been asked, that no burial

had been intended, that the body had been placed in spirits, for its

removal to the United States. It was replied, "Such is the usage of the

island; the permission is granted, and may be used or not; such is the law

of Denmark."

Shortly after this, a bill was presented, for digging the grave. It was in

vain to protest, as before, and to assert, that no grave had been dug. The

answer was the same; "the grave must be paid for; it will be dug or not,

as you wish; such is the usage of the island; such is the law of Denmark."

In due time, another demand was made, for carrying round invitations, and

attendance upon the funeral. It was useless to say, that no invitations

were sent--no funeral was had. "Such is the custom of the island; such is

the law of Denmark." The reader, by this time, will be satisfied, that

something is rotten in Denmark; this narrative appears so very improbable,

that I deem it right to assure the reader the circumstances are stated

faithfully, and that the clergyman referred to, is still living.

In commending a respectable frugality, in our dealings with the dead, not

only with regard to their obsequies, but in relation to sepulchral and

monumental expenditure, I oppose the interest of our profession, and

cannot be accused of any selfish motive. A chaste simplicity is due to the

occasion; for surely no more illy chosen hour can be given to the

gratification of pride, than that, in which the very pride of man is

humbled in the dust. How often have my thoughts descended from the costly,

sculptured obelisk, to the carnival of worms below!

A well-set example of comely modesty, in these matters, would be

productive of much advantage to the community. The man of common means, if

he happen to be also a man of common sense, will not imitate the man of

opulence, in the splendor of his equipage or furniture. But he will too

readily enter into what he deems a righteous rivalry of funereal parade,

and leave his debts unpaid, rather than abate one cubit, in the height of

his monument, or obelisk. It is not now the custom to bury with the dead,

or deposit with their ashes, as in urn burial, articles of use and value

to the living. We have been taught, that those graves are the least likely

to be violated, in which are deposited little else than mortal remains.

But, in a certain sense, the dead can no longer be said to carry nothing

with them. The silver and its workmanship alone, which are annually

buried, furnish no inconsiderable item.

The outer coffin of Nathan Meyer Rothschild "was of fine oak, and so

handsomely carved and decorated with massive silver handles, at both sides

and ends, that it appeared more like a cabinet, or splendid piece of

furniture, than a receptacle of the dead. A raised tablet of oak, on the

breast, was carved with the arms of the deceased." The arms of the

deceased! Very edifying to the worms, those cunning operatives, who work

so skilfully, in silence and darkness! The arms of the deceased! Matthew

Prior had some shrewd notions of heraldry. He wrote his own epitaph--

Heralds and nobles, by your leave,

Here lie the bones of Matthew Prior;

The son of Adam and of Eve;

Let Bourbon and Nassau go higher.

No. XVII.

My attention has been called, by a young disciple of the great Pontraci,

"a sexton of the new school," to an interesting anecdote, which I have

heard related, in days by-gone, and which has, more than once, appeared in

print. It is, by many, believed, that the remains of Major Pitcairn, which

were supposed to have been sent home to England, are still in this

country, and that those of Lieutenant Shea were transmitted, by mistake.

Whether _he_ or _Shea_ will ever remain doubtful. Major Pitcairn was

killed, as is well known, at the battle of Bunker's Hill. Shea died of

inflammation on the brain. They were alike in size. On the top of the head

of the body, selected by the sexton of Christ Church, as the remains of

Major Pitcairn, it is stated, there was a blistering plaster; and, from

this circumstance, the impression has arisen, that the monument in

Westminster Abbey, however sacred to the memory of Pitcairn, stands over

the remains of Lieutenant Shea. There is not more uncertainty, in relation

to the remains of Major Pitcairn, than has existed, in regard to the

individual, by whose hands he fell; though it is now agreed, that he was

shot by a black soldier, named Salem. Fifty men, at the lowest estimate,

have died in the faith, that they killed Pitcairn. He was a man of large

stature, fearless, and ever in the van, as he is represented by Marshall,

at the battle of Lexington.

He was a palpable mark, for the muskets and rifles of the sharp-shooters.

It is not improbable, that fifty barrels were levelled at his person, when

he fell; and hence fifty claimants, for the merit of Pitcairn's

destruction. Upon precisely similar grounds, rest the claims of Col.

Johnson, for the killing of Tecumseh.

When the flesh has gone and nothing but the bones remain, it is almost

impossible, to recognize the remains of any particular individual, buried

hastily, as the fallen commonly are, after a battle, in one common grave;

unless we are directed, by certain external indicia. In April, 1815, I

officiated at the funeral of Dr. John Warren, brother of the patriot and

soldier, who fell so gloriously, at Bunker's Hill, and whose death was

said, by the British General, Howe, to be an offset, for five hundred men.

Dr. James Jackson delivered the eulogy, on Dr. John Warren, in King's

Chapel. General Warren was buried in the trenches, where he so bravely

fell; and, when disinterred, in 1776, for removal to Boston, the remains

were identified, by an inspection of the teeth, upon which an operation

had been performed, the evidence of which remained. This testimony was

doubtless corroborated, by the mark of the bullet on his forehead; for he

was not a man to be wounded in the back. "The bullet which terminated his

life," says Mr. A. H. Everett in his memoir, "was taken from the body, by

Mr. Savage, an officer in the Custom House, and was carried by him to

England. Several years afterwards, it was given by him at London, to the

Rev. Mr. Montague of Dedham, Massachusetts, and is now in possession of

his family."

These translations of the dead, from place to place, are full of

uncertainty; and hence has arisen a marvellous and successful system of

jugglery and priestcraft. The first translation of this kind, stated by

Brady, in his Clavis, is that of Edward, king of the West Saxons. He was

removed with great pomp from Wareham to the minster of Salisbury. Three

years only had passed since his burial, and no error is imputed, in the

relation. In the year 359, the Emperor Constantius was moved, by the

spirit, to do something in this line; and he caused the remains of St.

Andrew and St. Luke to be translated, from their original resting-places,

to the temple of the twelve apostles, at Constantinople. Some little

doubt might be supposed to hang over the question of identity, after such

a lapse of years, in this latter case. From this eminent example, arose

that eager search for the remains of saints, martyrs, and relics of

various descriptions, which, for many centuries, filled the pockets of

imposters, with gold, and the world, with idolatry. So great was the

success of those, engaged in this lucrative employment, that John the

Baptist became a perfect hydra. Heads of this great pioneer were

discovered, in every direction. Some of the apostles were found, upon

careful search, to be centipedes; and others to have had as many hands as

Briareus. These monstrosities were too vast to be swallowed, without a

miracle. Father John Freand, of Anecy, assured the faithful, that God was

pleased to multiply these remains for their devotion. Consecration has

been refused to churches, unprovided with relics. Their production

therefore became indispensable. All the wines, produced in _Oporto_ and

_Zeres de la Frontera_, furnish not a fourth part of the liquor, drunken,

in London alone, under the names of Port and Sherry; and the bones of all

the martyrs, were it possible to collect them, would not supply the

occasions of the numerous churches, in Catholic countries. Misson says

eleven holy lances are shown, in different places, for the true lance,

that pierced the side of Christ.

Many egregious sinners have undoubtedly been dug up, and their bones

worshipped, as the relics of genuine saints. Though not precisely to our

purpose, it may not be uninteresting to the reader, to contemplate a

catalogue of some few of the relics, exhibited to the faithful, as they

are enumerated, by Bayle, Butler, Misson, Brady and others;--the lance--a

piece of the cross--one of Christ's nails--five thorns of the crown--St.

Peter's chain--a piece of the manger--a tooth of John the Baptist--one of

St. Anne's arms--the towel, with which Christ wiped the feet of the

apostles--one of his teeth--his seamless coat--the hem of his garment,

which cured the diseased woman--a tear, which he shed over Lazarus,

preserved by an angel, who gave it, in a vial, to Mary Magdalene--a piece

of St. John the Evangelist's gown--a piece of the table cloth, used at the

last supper--a finger of St. Andrew--a finger of John the Baptist--a rib

of our Lord--the thumb of St. Thomas--a lock of Mary Magdalene's hair--two

handkerchiefs, bearing impressions of Christ's face; one sent by our Lord,

as a present to Aquarus, prince of Edessa; and the other given by him, at

the foot of the cross, to a holy woman, named Veronica--the hem of

Joseph's garment--a feather of the Holy Ghost--a finger of the Holy

Ghost--a feather of the angel Gabriel--the waterpots, used at the marriage

in Galilee--Enoch's slippers--a vial of the sweat of St. Michael, at the

time of his set-to with the Devil. This short list furnishes a meagre

show-box of that immense mass of merchandise, which formed the staple of

priestcraft. These pretended relics were not only procured, at vast

expense, but were occasionally given, and received, as collateral security

for debts. Baldwin II. sent the point of the holy lance to Venice, as a

pledge for a loan. It was redeemed by St. Lewis, King of France, who

caused it to be placed in the holy chapel at Paris. The importation of

this species of trumpery, into England, was forbidden, by many statutes;

and, by 3. Jac. i., cap. 26, justices were empowered to search houses for

such things, and to burn them.

It is pleasant to turn from these shadowy records to matters of reality

and truth. There was an exhumation, some years ago, of the remains of a

highly honorable and truly gallant man, for the purpose of returning them

to his native land. Suspicions of a painful nature arose, in connection

with that exhumation. Those suspicions were cleared away, most happily, by

a venerable friend of mine, with whom I have conversed upon that

interesting topic. I will give some account of the removal of Major

Andre's remains, in my next.

No. XVIII.

Major John Andre, aid-de-camp to General Clinton, and adjutant general of

the British army, was, as every well-read school-boy knows, hanged as a

spy, October 2, 1780, at Tappan, a town of New York, about five miles from

the north bank of the Hudson.

In June, 1818, by a vote of the Legislature of New York, the remains of

that gallant Irishman, Major General Richard Montgomery, were removed from

Quebec. Col. L. Livingston, his nephew, superintended the exhumation and

removal. An old soldier, who had attended the funeral, forty-two years

before, pointed out the grave. These relics were committed to the ground,

once more, in St. Paul's church-yard in New York; and, by direction of the

Congress of the United States, a costly marble monument was erected there,

executed by M. Cassieres, at Paris. Nothing was omitted of pomp and

pageantry, in honor of the gallant dead.

Still the remains of Andre, whose fate was deeply deplored, however just

the punishment--still they continued, in that resting place, humble and

obscure, to which they had been consigned, when taken from the gallows.

The lofty honors, bestowed upon Montgomery, operated as a stimulus and a

rebuke. Mr. James Buchanan, the British consul, admits their influence, in

his memorable letter. He addressed a communication to the Duke of York,

then commander-in-chief of the British army, suggesting the propriety of

exhumating the remains of Andre, and returning them to England. The

necessary orders were promptly issued, and Mr. Buchanan made his

arrangements for the exhumation.

Mr. Demarat, a Baptist clergyman, at Tappan, was the proprietor of the

little field, where the remains of Andre had been buried, and where they

had reposed, for forty-one years, when, in the autumn of 1821, Mr.

Buchanan requested permission to remove them. His intentions had become

known--some human brute--some Christian dog, had sought to purchase, or to

rent, the field of Mr. Demarat, for the purpose of extorting money, for

permission to remove these relics. But the good man and true rejected the

base proposal, and afforded every facility in his power.

A narrow pathway led to the eminence, where Andre had suffered--the grave

was there, covered with a few loose stones and briars. There was nothing

beside, to mark the spot--I am wrong--woman, who was last at the cross,

and first at the tomb, had been there--there was a peach tree, which a

lady had planted at the head, and whose roots had penetrated to the very

bottom of the shallow grave, and entered the frail shell, and enveloped

the skull with its fibres. Dr. Thacher, in a note to page 225 of his

military journal, says, that the roots of two cedar trees "had wrapped

themselves round the skull bone, like a fine netting." This is an error.

Two cedars grew near the grave, which were sent to England, with the

remains.

The point, where these relics lay, commanded a view of the surrounding

country, and of the head-quarters of Washington, about a mile and a half

distant. The field, which contained about ten acres, was cultivated--a

small part only, around the consecrated spot, remained untilled. Upon the

day of the exhumation, a multitude had gathered to the spot. After digging

three feet from the surface, the operative paused, and announced, that his

spade had touched the top of the coffin. The excitement was so great, at

this moment, that it became necessary to form a cordon, around the grave.

Mr. Buchanan proceeded carefully to remove the remaining earth, with his

hands--a portion of the cover had been decomposed. When, at last, the

entire top had been removed, the remains of this brave and unfortunate

young man were exposed to view. The skeleton was in perfect order.

"There," says Mr. Buchanan, "for the first time, I discovered that he had

been a small man."

One by one, the assembled crowd passed round, and gazed upon the remains

of Andre, whose fate had excited such intense and universal sensibility.

These relics were then carefully transferred to a sarcophagus, prepared

for their reception, and conveyed to England. They now repose beneath the

sixth window, in the south aisle of Westminster Abbey. The monument near

which they lie, was designed by Robert Adam, and executed by Van Gelder.

Britannia reclines on a sarcophagus, and upon the pedestal is

inscribed--"Sacred to the memory of Major Andre, who, raised by his merit,

at an early period of life, to the rank of Adjutant General of the British

forces in America, and, employed in an important but hazardous enterprise,

fell a sacrifice to his zeal for his king and country, on 2d of October,

1780, aged twenty-nine, universally beloved and esteemed by the army, in

which he served, and lamented even by his foes. His generous sovereign,

King George III., has caused this monument to be erected." Nothing could

have been prepared, in better taste. Here is not the slightest allusion to

that great question, which posterity, having attained full age, has

already, definitively, settled--the justice of his fate. A box, wrought

from one of the cedar trees, and lined with gold, was transmitted to Mr.

Demarat, by the Duke of York; and a silver inkstand was presented to Mr.

James Buchanan, by the surviving sisters of Major Andre.

Thus far, all things were in admirable keeping. It was, therefore, a

matter of deep regret, that Mr. James Buchanan should have thought proper

to disturb their harmony, by suggestions, painfully offensive to every

American heart. Those suggestions, it is true, have been acknowledged to

be entirely groundless. But that gentleman's original letter, extensively

circulated here, and transmitted to England, has, undoubtedly, conveyed

these offensive insinuations, where the subsequent admission of his error

is not likely to follow. Mr. Buchanan, on the strength of some loose

suggestions, at Tappan, and elsewhere, corroborated by an examination of

the contents of the coffin, had assumed it to be true, or highly probable,

that the body of Andre had been stripped, after the execution, from

mercenary, or other equally unworthy, motives. This impression he hastily

conveyed to the world. I will endeavor to present this matter, in its true

light, in my next communication.

No. XIX.

After having removed the entire cover of Andre's coffin, "I descended,"

says Mr. Buchanan, "and, with my own hands, raked the dust together, to

ascertain whether he had been buried in his regimentals, or not, as it was

rumored, among the assemblage, that he was stripped: for, if buried in his

regimentals, I expected to find the buttons of his clothes, which would

have disproved the rumor; but I did not find a single button, nor any

article, save a string of leather, that had tied his hair." Mr. Buchanan

had evidently arrived at the conclusion, that Andre had been stripped. In

this conclusion he was perfectly right. He had also inferred, that this

act had been done, with base motives. In this inference, he was perfectly

wrong. "Those," continues he, "who permitted the outrage, or who knew of

it, had no idea, that the unfeeling act they then performed would be

blazoned to the world, near half a century, after the event." All this is

entirely gratuitous and something worse. General Washington's

head-quarters were near at hand. Every circumstance was sure to be

reported, for the excitement was intense; and the knowledge of such an

act, committed for any unworthy purpose, would have been instantly

conveyed to Sir Henry Clinton, and blazoned to the world, some forty

years before the period of Mr. Buchanan's discovery.

Dr. James Thacher, in his military journal, states, that Andre was

executed "in his royal regimentals, and buried in the same." Dr. Thacher

was mistaken, and when he saw the letter of Mr. Buchanan, and the

offensive imputation it contained, he investigated the subject anew, and

addressed a letter to that gentleman, which was received by him, in a

becoming spirit, and which entirely dissipated his former impressions. In

that letter, Dr. Thacher stated, that he was within a few yards of Andre,

at the time of his execution, and that he suffered in his regimentals.

Supposing, as a matter of course, that Andre would be buried in them, Dr.

Thacher had stated that, also, as a fact, though he did not remain, to

witness the interment. He then refers to a letter, which he has discovered

in the Continental Journal and Weekly Advertiser, of October 26, 1780,

printed in Boston, by John Gill. This letter bears date, Tappan, October

2, the day of the execution, and details all the particulars, and in it

are these words--"_He was dressed in full uniform; and, after the

execution, his servant demanded the uniform, which he received. His body

was buried near the gallows_." "This," says Dr. Thacher, "confirms the

correctness of my assertion, that he suffered in his regimentals, but not

that they were buried with the body. I had retired from the scene, before

the body was placed in the coffin; but I have a perfect recollection of

seeing him hand his hat to the weeping servant, while standing in the

cart."

Mr. Buchanan observes, that an aged widow, who kept the toll-gate, on

hearing the object stated, was so much gratified, that she suffered all

carriages to pass free. "It marks strongly," he continues, "the sentiments

of the American people at large, as to a transaction, which a great part

of the British public have forgotten." This passage is susceptible of a

twofold construction. It may mean, that this aged widow and the American

people at large were unanimous, in lamenting the fate of Major Andre--that

they most truly believed him to have been brave and unfortunate. It may

also mean, that they considered the fate of Andre to have been

unwarranted. Posterity has adjusted this matter very differently. Nearly

sixty-eight years have passed. All excitement has long been buried, in a

deeper grave than Andre's. A silent admission has gone forth, far and

wide, of the perfect justice of Andre's execution. A board of general

officers was appointed, to prepare a statement of his case. Greene,

Steuben, and Lafayette were of that board. They were perfectly unanimous

in their opinion. Prodigious efforts were made on his behalf. He himself

addressed several letters to Washington, and one, the day before his

death, in which he says: "Sympathy towards a soldier will surely induce

your excellency and a military tribunal to adapt the mode of my death to

the feelings of a man of honor." The board of officers, as Gordon states,

were induced to gratify this wish, with the exception of Greene. He

contended, that the laws of war required, that a spy should be hung; the

adoption of any less rigorous mode of punishment would excite the belief,

that palliatory circumstances existed in the case of Andre, and that the

decision might thereby be brought into question. His arguments were sound,

and they prevailed.

Major Andre received every attention, which his condition permitted. He

wrote to Sir Henry Clinton, Sept. 29, 1780, three days before his

execution--"I receive the greatest attention from his excellency, General

Washington, and from every person, under whose charge I happen to be

placed." Captain Hale, like Major Andre, was young, brave, amiable, and

accomplished. He entered upon the same perilous service, that conducted

Andre to his melancholy fate. Hale was hanged, as a spy, at Long Island.

Thank God, the brutal treatment he received was not retaliated upon Andre.

"The provost martial," says Mr. Sparks, "was a refugee, to whose charge he

was consigned, and treated him, in the most unfeeling manner, refusing the

attendance of a clergyman, and the use of a bible; and destroying the

letters he had written, to his mother and friends."

The execution of Major Andre was in perfect conformity with the laws of

war. Had Sir Henry Clinton considered his fate unwarranted, under any just

construction of those laws, he would undoubtedly have expressed that

opinion, in the general orders, to the British army, announcing Major

Andre's death. These orders, bearing date Oct. 8, 1780, refer only to his

_unfortunate fate_. They contain not the slightest allusion to any

supposed injustice, or unaccustomed severity, in the execution, or the

manner of it.

The fate of Andre might have been averted, in two ways--by a steady

resistance of Arnold's senseless importunity, to bring him within the

American lines--and by a frank and immediate presentation of Arnold's

pass, when stopped by Paulding, Williams, and Van Wart. His loss of

self-possession, at that critical moment, is remarkable, for, as

Americans, they would, in all human probability, have suffered him to

pass, without further examination; and, had they been of the opposite

party, they would certainly have conducted him to some British post--the

very haven where he would be.

No. XX.

How shall _we_ deal with the dead? We have considered the usages of many

nations, in different ages of the world. Some of these usages appear

sufficiently revolting; especially such as relate to secondary burial, or

the transfer of the dead, from their primary resting-places, to vast,

miscellaneous receptacles. The desire is almost universal, that, when

summoned to lie down in the grave, the dead may never be disturbed, by the

hand of man--that our remains may return quietly to dust--unobserved by

mortal eye. There is no part of this humiliating process, that is not

painful and revolting to the beholder. Of this the ancients had the same

impression. Cremation and embalming set corruption and the worm at

defiance. Other motives, I am aware, have been assigned for the former.

The execution of popular vengeance upon the poor remains of those, whose

memory has become odious, during a revolution, is not uncommon. A

ludicrous example of this occurred, when Santa Anna became unpopular, and

the furious mob seized his leg, which had been amputated, embalmed, and

deposited among the public treasures, and cooled their savage anger, by

kicking the miserable member all over the city of Montezuma.

In the time of Sylla, cremation was not so common as interment; but Sylla,

remembering the indignity he had offered to the body of Marius, enjoined,

that his own body should be burnt. There was, doubtless, another motive

for this practice among the ancients. The custom prevailed extensively, at

one time, of burying the dead, in the cellars of houses. I have already

referred to the Theban law, which required the construction of a suitable

receptacle for the dead, in every house. Interment certainly preceded

cremation. Cicero De Legibus, lib. 2, asserts, that interment prevailed

among the Athenians, in the time of Cecrops, their first king. In the

earlier days of Rome, both were employed. Numa was _buried_ in conformity

with a special clause in his will. Remus, as Ovid, Fast. iv. 356, asserts,

was _burnt_. The accumulation of dead bodies in cellars, or subcellars,

must have become intolerable. This practice undoubtedly gave rise to the

whole system of household gods, Lares, Lemures, Larvae, and Manes. Such an

accumulation of ancestors, it may well be supposed, left precious little

room for the amphorae of Chian, Lesbian, and Falernian.

Young aspirants sometimes inwardly opine, that their living ancestors take

up too much room. Such was very naturally the opinion of the ancients, in

relation to the dead. Like Francois Pontraci, they began to feel the

necessity of condensation; and cremation came to be more commonly adopted.

The bones of a human being, reduced to ashes, require but little room; and

not much more, though the decomposition by fire be not quite perfect. Let

me say to those, who think I prefer cremation, as a substitute for

interment, that I do not. It has found little favor for many centuries. It

seems to have been employed, in the case of Shelley, the poet. However

desirable, when the remains of the dead were to be deposited in the

dwelling-houses of the living, cremation and urn burial are quite

unnecessary, wherever there is no want of ground for cemeteries, in proper

locations. The funereal urns of the ancients were of different sizes and

forms, and of materials, more or less costly, according to the ability and

taste of the surviving friends. Ammianus Marcellinus relates, that

Gumbrates, king of Chionia, near Persia, burnt the body of his son, and

placed the ashes in a _silver_ urn.

Mr. Wedgewood had the celebrated Portland vase in his possession, for a

year, and made casts of it. This was the vase, which had been in

possession of the Barberini family, for nearly two centuries, and for

which the Duke of Portland gave Mr. Hamilton one thousand guineas. In the

minds of very many, the idea of considerable size has been associated with

this vase. Yet, in fact, it is about ten inches high, and six broad. The

Wedgewood casts may be seen, in many of our glass and china shops. This

vase was discovered, about the middle of the sixteenth century, two and a

half miles from Rome, on the Frescati road, in a marble sarcophagus,

within a sepulchral chamber. This, doubtless, was a funereal urn. The

urns, dug up, in Old Walsingham, in 1658, were quite similar, in form, to

the Portland vase, excepting that they were without ears. Some fifty were

found in a sandy soil, about three feet deep, a short distance from an old

Roman garrison, and only five miles from Brancaster, the ancient

Branodunum. Four of these vases are figured, in Browne's Hydriotaphia;

some of them contained about two pounds of bones; several were of the

capacity of a gallon, and some of half that size. It may seem surprising,

that a human body can be reduced to such a compass. "How the bulk of a man

should sink into so few pounds of bones and ashes may seem strange unto

any, who consider not its constitution, and how slender a mass will remain

upon an open and urging fire, of the carnal composition. Even bones

themselves, reduced into ashes, do abate a notable proportion." Such are

the words of good old Sir Thomas.

It was an adage of old, "He that lies in a golden urn, will find no quiet

for his bones." If the costliness of the material offered no temptation to

the avarice of man, still, after centuries have given them the stamp of

antiquity, these urns and their contents become precious, in the eyes of

the lovers of _vertu_. There is no security from impertinent meddling with

our remains, so certain, as a speedy conversion into undistinguishable

dust. Sir Thomas Browne manifestly inclined to cremation. "To be gnawed,"

says he, "out of our graves, to have our skulls made drinking bowls, and

our bones turned into pipes, to delight and sport our enemies, are

tragical abominations, escaped in burning burials." Such anticipations are

certainly unpleasant. An ingenious device was adopted by Alaricus--he

appointed the spot for his grave, and directed, that the course of a river

should be so changed, as to flow over it.

It has been said, that certain soils possess a preserving quality. I am

inclined to think the secret commonly lies, in some peculiar,

constitutional quality, in the dead subject; for, wherever cases of

remarkable preservation have occurred, corruption has been found generally

to have done its full day's work, on all around. If such quality really

exist in the soil, it is certainly undesirable. Those who were opposed to

the evacuation of the Cemetery des Innocens, in the sixteenth century,

attempted to set up in its favor the improbable pretension, that it

consumed bodies in nine days. Burton, in his description of

Leicestershire, states, that the body of Thomas, Marquis of Dorset, "was

found perfect, and nothing corrupted, the flesh not hardened, but in

color, proportion and softness, like an ordinary corpse, newly to be

interred," after seventy-eight years' burial.

A remarkable case of posthumous preservation occurred, in a village near

Boston. The very exalted character of the professional gentleman, who

examined the corpse, after it had been entombed, for forty years, gives

the interest of authenticity to the statement. Justice Fuller, the

father-in-law of that political victim, General William Hull, _who was

neither a coward nor a traitor_, was buried in a family tomb, in Newton

Centre. It was ascertained, and, from time to time, reported, that the

body remained uncorrupted and entire. Mr. Fuller was about 80, when he

died, and very corpulent. About forty years after his burial, Dr. John C.

Warren, by permission of the family, with the physician of the village,

and other gentlemen, examined the body of Mr. Fuller. The coffin was

somewhat decomposed. So were the burial clothes. The body presented,

everywhere, a natural skin, excepting on one leg, on which there had been

an ulcer. There decomposition had taken place. The skin was generally of a

dark brown color, and hard like dried leather; and so well preserved,

about the face, that persons, present with Dr. Warren, said they should

have recognized the features of Justice Fuller. My business lies not with

the physiology, however curious the speculation may be. Were it possible,

by any means, to perpetuate the dead, in a similar manner, it would be

wholly undesirable. Dust we are, and unto dust must we return. The

question is still before us,--How shall _we_ deal with the dead?

No. XXI.

It is commonly supposed, that the burial of articles of value with the

dead, is a practice confined to the Indian tribes, and the inhabitants of

unenlightened regions; who fancied, that the defunct were gone upon some

far journey, during which such accompaniments would be useful. Such is not

the fact. Chilperic, the fourth king of France, came to the throne A. D.

456. In 1655 the tomb of Chilperic was accidentally discovered, in

Tournay, "restoring unto the world," saith Sir Thomas Browne, vol. 3, p.

466, "much gold adorning his sword, two hundred rubies, many hundred

imperial coins, three hundred golden bees, the bones and horse-shoes of

his horse, interred with him, according to the barbarous magnificence of

those days, in their sepulchral obsequies." Stow relates, in his survey of

London, that, in many of the funeral urns, found in Spitalfields, there

were, mingled with the relics, coins of Claudius, Vespasian, Commodus, and

Antoninus, with lachrymatories, lamps, bottles of liquor, &c.

As an old sexton, I have a right to give my advice; and the public have a

right to reject it. If I were the owner of a lot, in some well-governed

cemetery, I would place around it a neat, substantial, iron fence, and

paint it black. In the centre I would have a simple monument, of white

marble, and of liberal dimensions; not pyramidal, but with four

rectangular faces, to receive a goodly number of memoranda, not one of

which should exceed a single line. I would have no other monument, slab,

or tablet, to indicate particular graves. I would have a plan of this lot,

and preserve it, as carefully, as I preserved my title papers. Probably I

should keep a duplicate, in some safe place. When a body came to be

buried, in that lot, I would indicate the precise location, on my plan,

and engrave the name and the date of birth, and death, and nothing more,

upon the monument. If the dryness and elevation of the soil allowed, I

would dig the graves so deep, that the remains of three persons could

repose in one grave, the uppermost, five or six feet below the surface.

After the burial of the first, the grave would be filled up, and an even,

sodded surface presented, as before, until re-opened. Thus, of course,

those, who had been lovely and pleasant, in their lives, like Jonathan and

Saul, would, in death, be not divided. This, so far from being

objectionable, is a delightful idea, embalmed in the classical precedents

of antiquity. It is a well-known fact, that urns of a very large size

were, occasionally, in use, in Greece and Rome, for the reception and

commingling of the ashes of whole families. The ashes of Achilles were

mingled with those of his friend, Patroclus. The ashes of Domitian, the

last, and almost the worst, of the twelve Caesars, were inurned, as

Suetonius reports, ch. 17, with those of Julia.

With the Chinese, it is very common to bury a comb, a pair of scissors to

pare the nails, and four little purses, containing the nail parings of the

defunct. Jewels and coins of gold are sometimes inserted in the mouths of

the wealthy. This resembles the practice of the Greeks and Romans, of

placing an obolus, Charon's fee, in the mouth of the deceased. This

arrangement, in regard to the nail parings, seems well enough, as they are

clearly part and parcel, of the defunct. Rings, coins, and costly chalices

have been found, with the ashes of the dead.

Avarice, curiosity, and revenge, personal or political, have prompted

mankind, in every age, to desecrate the receptacles of the dead. The

latter motive has operated more fiercely, upon the people of France, than

upon almost any other. No nation has ever surpassed them, in that intense

ardor, nor in the parade and magnificence, with which they _canonize_--no

people upon earth can rival the bitterness and fury, with which they

_curse_. Lamartine, in his history of the Girondists, states, that

"dragoons of the Republic spread themselves over the public places,

brandishing their swords, and singing national airs. Thence they went to

the church of Val de Grace, where, enclosed in silver urns, were the

hearts of several kings and queens of France. These funeral vases they

broke, trampling under foot those relics of royalty, and then flung them

into the common sewer." And how shall _we_ deal with the dead?

With a reasonable economy of space, a lot of the common area, at Mount

Auburn, or Forest Hills, will suffice, for the occasion of a family of

ordinary size, for several generations. In re-opening one of these graves,

for a second or third interment, the operative should never approach

nearer than one foot to the coffin beneath. The careless manner, in which

bones are sometimes spaded up, by grave-diggers, results from their want

of precise knowledge of previous inhumations. Common sense indicates the

propriety of keeping a regular, topographical account of every interment.

But it is quite time to bring these lucubrations to a close. To some they

may have proved interesting, and, doubtless, wearisome to others. The

account is therefore balanced. Most heartily do I wish for every one of my

readers a decent funeral, and a peaceful grave. I have tolled my last

knell, turned down my last sod, and am no longer a Sexton of the Old

School.

No. XXII.

Some commendatory passages, in your own and other journals, my dear Mr.

Transcript, seem very much to me like a theatrical _encore_--they half

persuade me to reappear. There are other considerations, which I cannot

resist. Twenty devils, saith the Spanish proverb, employ that man, who

employeth not himself. I am quite sensible of my error, in quitting an old

vocation prematurely. You have no conception of the severe depression of

spirits, produced in the mind of an old sexton, who, in an evil hour, has

cast his spade aside, and set up for a man of leisure. It may answer for a

short time--a very short time. I can honestly declare, that I have led a

wearisome life, since I gave up undertaking. Many have been the expedients

I have adopted, to relieve the oppressive tedium of my miserable days. The

funeral bell has aroused me, as the trumpet rouses an old war horse. How

many processions I have followed, as an amateur! One or two young men of

the craft have been exceedingly kind to me, and have given me notice,

whenever they have been employed upon a new grave, and have permitted me

to amuse myself, by performing a portion of the work.

My own condition, since I left off business, and tried the terrible

experiment of living on my income, and doing nothing, has frequently and

forcibly reminded me of a similar passage, in the history of my excellent

old friend, Simon Allwick, the tallow-chandler, with whom I had the

happiness of living, in the closest intimacy, and whom I had the pleasure

of burying, about twenty years ago.

Mr. Allwick was a thrifty man; and, having acquired a handsome property,

his ambitious partner persuaded him to abandon his greasy occupation, and

set up for a gentleman. This was by no means, the work of a day. Mr.

Allwick loved his wife--she was an affectionate creature; and, next to the

small matter of having her own way in everything, she certainly loved

Allwick, as her prime minister, in bringing that matter about. She was

what is commonly called a devoted wife. Man is, marvellously, the creature

of habit. So completely had Allwick become that creature, that, when his

partner, upon the occasion of an excursion, as far as Jamaica Pond, for

which Allwick literally tore himself away from the chandlery, could not

restrain her admiration of that pretty, pet lake, he candidly confessed,

that he felt nothing of the sort. And, when Mrs. Allwick exclaimed, with

uplifted hands and tears in her eyes, that, in a cottage, on the borders

of such a lake, she should be the happiest of the happy--"So should I, my

dear," said her husband, with a sigh, so heavily drawn, that it seemed

four to the pound--"so should I, my dear, if the lake were a vat of clear

melted tallow, and I had a plenty of sticks and wicks."

Suffice it to say, Mrs. Allwick had set her heart upon the measure. She

had a confidential friend or two, to whom she had communicated the

_projet_: her pride had therefore become enlisted; for she had given them

to understand, that she meant to have her own way. She commenced an

uncompromising crusade, against grease, in every form. She complained,

that grease spots were upon everything. She engaged the services of a

young physician, who gave it, as his deliberate opinion, that Mr.

Allwick's headaches arose from the deleterious influence of the fumes of

hot grease, acting through the olfactory nerves, upon the pineal gland.

He even expressed a fear, that insanity might supervene, and he furnished

an account of an eminent tallow-chandler in London, who went raving mad,

and leaping into his own vat of boiling grease, was drawn out, no better

than a great candle. It was a perfect _coup de grace_, when Mrs. Allwick

drove candles from her dwelling, and substituted oil. The chandlery

adjoined their residence, in Scrap Court; and it must be admitted, that,

with the wind at south, the odor was not particularly savory. Mrs. Allwick

was what the world would style a smart woman, and she was in the habit of

calling her husband a very _wicked_ man and their mansion the most

unclassical villa, though in the very midst of _grease_!

It is quite superfluous to say, the point was finally carried--the

chandlery was sold--a country house was purchased, not on the lake, but in

a sweet spot. There was some little embarrassment about the name, but two

wild gooseberry bushes having been discovered, within half a mile, it was

resolved, in council, to call it Mount Gooseberry. Since the going forth

of Adam from Eden, in misery and shame, never was there such an exodus, as

that of poor Allwick from the chandlery. I have not time to describe it. I

am glad I have not. It was too much. Even Mrs. Allwick began to doubt the

perfect wisdom of her plan. But the die was cast. On they went to their

El Dorado. It was a pleasant spot. It was "a bonnie day in June." The

birds were in ecstacies--so was Mrs. Allwick--so were the children--the

sun shone--the stream ran beautifully by--the leaves still glistened in

the morning dew--there was a sprinkling of lambs on the hills--old Cato

was at the door, to welcome them, and Carlo most affectionately covered

the white frocks of the children with mud. "Was there ever anything like

this?" exclaimed the delighted wife. "Isn't it a perfect pink, papa?"

cried the children. In answer to all this, the _jecur ulcerosum_ of poor

Allwick sent forth a deep groan, that shook the very walls of his

tabernacle.

The mind of man is a mill, and will grind chaff if nothing more

substantial be supplied; and, peradventure, the upper will grind the

nether millstone to destruction. For a brief space, Mr. Allwick found

employment. Fences were to be completed--trees and bushes were to be set

out--the furniture was to be arranged--but all this was soon over, and

there was my good old friend, Simon Allwick, the busiest man alive, with

nothing to do! Never was there a heart, in the bosom of a tallow-chandler,

so perfectly "untravelled." Poor fellow, he went "up stairs and down

stairs, and in my lady's chamber," but all to no other purpose, than to

confirm him, in a sentiment of profound respect, for that homely proverb,

_it is hard for an old dog to learn new tricks_.

"Where is your father?" said Mrs. Allwick to the children, after

breakfast, one awful hot morning, near the end of June. The children went

in pursuit--there he was--he had sought to occupy his thoughts, by

watching the gambols of some half a dozen Byfield cokies--there he was--he

had rested his arms upon the rail of the fence, and had been looking into

the sty--his chin had dropped upon his hands--he had fallen asleep! He was

mortified and nettled, at being found thus, and continued in a moody

condition, through the day. On the following morning, he went to the city,

and remained till night. His spirits were greatly improved, on his return;

and to some felicitations from his wife and family, he replied--"My dear,

I feel better, certainly; and I have made an arrangement, which, I think,

will enable me to get along pretty comfortably--I have seen Mr. Smith, to

whom I sold the chandlery, and have extended the term of payment. He still

dips on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and has agreed to set a kettle

of fat and some sticks for me, in the little closet, near the back door,

that I may slip in, and amuse myself, on dipping days."

I ought to have been warned, by this example; but I had quite forgotten

it. It is very agreeable to be thus welcomed back to the performance of my

former duties. No one, but he, who is deprived of some long-cherished

occupation, can truly comprehend the pleasure of occasionally handling a

corpse.

No. XXIII.

Few things can be imagined, more thoroughly revolting and absurd, than the

vengeance of the living, rioting among the ashes of the dead--rudely

rolling the stone away from the door of the sepulchre--entering the narrow

houses of the unresisting, _vi et armis_, with the pickaxe and the

crowbar--and scattering to the winds the poor senseless remains of those,

who were consigned to their resting-places, with all the honors of a

former age. This, were it not awful, would be eminently ridiculous. For

the execution of such posthumous revenge the French nation has the

precedence of every other, civilized and savage. Frenchmen, if not,

through all time, from the days of Pharamond to the present, remarkably

zealous of good works, are clearly a peculiar people.

The history of the world furnishes no parallel to that preposterous

crusade, carried on by that people, in 1794, against the dead bodies of

kings and princes, saints and martyrs. This war, upon dead men's bones,

was not projected and executed, by the rabble, on the impulse of the

moment. A formal, deliberate decree of the Convention commanded, that the

tombs should be destroyed, and they were destroyed, and their contents

scattered to the winds, accordingly. Talk not of all that is furious and

fantastical, in the conduct of monkeys and maniacs--a nation of

chimpanzees would have acted with more dignity and discretion. A colony of

grinning baboons, as Shakspeare calls them, bent upon liberty, equality,

and fraternity, might have dethroned some tyrannical ourang outang, who

had carried matters with too high a hand, and extorted too many cocoa

nuts, for the support of his civil list; but, after having cut off his

head, it is not to be believed, that they would have gone about,

scratching up the ashes of his ancestors, and wreaking their vengeance

upon those unoffending relics.

This miserable onslaught upon the dead began, immediately after December

20, 1794. The new worship commenced on that day, and the goddess of reason

then, for the first time, presented herself to the people, in the person

of the celebrated actress, Mademoiselle Maillard. St. Genevieve, the

patroness of the city of Paris, died in 512, and her remains were

subsequently transferred to the church, which bears her name, and which

was erected, by Clovis, in 517. The executive agents of the National

Convention commenced their legalized fooleries, upon the ashes of this

poor old saint. These French gentlemen--the politest nation upon

earth--without the slightest regard for decency, or sanctification, or

common sense, dug up Madame Genevieve's coffin, and, to aggravate the

indignity, dragged the old lady's remains to the place of public

execution, the _Place de Greve_; and, having burnt them there, scattered

the ashes to the winds. The gates of bronze, presented by Charlemagne to

the church of St. Denis, were broken to pieces. Pepin, the sire of

Charlemagne and son of Charles Martel, was buried there, in 768. Nothing

remained of Pepin but a handful of dust, which was served in a similar

manner. It is stated by Lamartine, that the heads of Marshal Turenne,

Duguesclin, Louis XII., and Francis I., were rolled about the pavement;

sceptres, crowns, and crosiers were trampled under foot; and the shouts of

the operatives were heard, when the blows of the axe broke through some

regal coffin, and the royal bones were thrown out, to be treated with

senseless insult.

Hugh Capet, Philip the bold, and Philip, the handsome, were buried beneath

the choir. The ruthless hands of these modern vandals tore from the

corpses those garments of the grave, in which they had reposed for

centuries, and threw the relics upon beds of quicklime.

Henry IV. fell by the hands of Ravaillac, the assassin, May 14, 1610. His

body, was carefully embalmed, by Italians. When taken from the coffin, the

lineaments of the face fully corresponded with the numerous

representations, transmitted by the hands of painters and statuaries. That

cherished and perfumed beard expanded, as if it had just then received the

last manipulation of the friseur. The marks were perfectly visible, upon

the breast, indicating the first and second thrust of Ravaillac's

stilletto. The popularity of this monarch protected his remains, though

for a brief space. He was frank, brave, and humane. For two days, all that

remained of this idol of the people--was exhibited to public view.

The exhumed king was placed at the foot of the altar, and a countless

multitude passed, in mute procession, around these favored relics. This

gave umbrage to Javogues, a member of the Convention. He denounced this

partiality, and railed against the memory of Henri le Grand. The

multitude, impressible by the slightest impulse, hurled the dead monarch

into the common fosse of quicklime and corruption; execrating, under the

influence of a few feverish words, from the lips of a republican savage,

the memory and the remains of one, cherished by their predecessors, for

nearly three hundred years. A similar fate awaited his son and grandson,

Louis XIII. and XIV. The vault of the Bourbons was thoroughly ransacked,

in the same spirit of desolation. Queens, dauphinesses, and princesses,

says the historian of the Girondists, were carried away, in armsful, by

the laborers, to be cast into the trench, and consumed by quicklime. In

the vault of Charles V., surnamed the wise, besides the corpse were found,

a hand of justice and a golden crown. In the coffin of his wife, Jeanne of

Bourbon, were her spindles and marriage rings. These relics were thrown

into the ditch--the corpses--not the articles of gold, however debased by

their juxtaposition. Of the French gentlemen it may be affirmed, as of

Madame Gilpin--

"Though on pleasure she was bent,

She had a frugal mind."

An economy, perfectly grotesque, mingled with an unmanly desecration. Even

the lead was scraped together from these coffins, and converted into

balls. In the vault of the Valois no bodies were discovered. The people

were very desirous of showing some tokens of their wrath, upon the poor

carcass of Louis XI., but it could not be found. Abbes, heroes, ministers

of state were indiscriminately cast into the fosse. Upon the exhumation of

Dagobert I., and his queen, Matilde, who had been buried twelve hundred

years, her skeleton was found without a head. Such is said to have been

the case with several other skeletons of the queens of France.

In one of the upper lofts of the cabinet of Natural History of the Jardin

des Plantes, among stuffed beasts and birds, surrounded by mixed and

manifold rubbish, and covered with dust, there lay a case or package,

unexamined and unnoticed, for nine long years. This envelope contained the

mortal remains of a Marechal of France, the hero of an hundred

battles,--of no other than Henry de la Tour, Viscount de Turenne. He was

killed by a cannon ball, July 27, 1675, at the age of 64. All France

lamented the death of this great man. The admiration of all Europe

followed him to the grave. Courage, modesty, generosity, science have

embalmed his memory. The king, Louis le Grand, ordered a solemn service to

be performed, for the Marechal de Turenne, in the Cathedral church at

Paris, as for the first prince of the blood, and that his remains should

be interred in the abbey of St. Denis, the burial-place of the royal

personages of France, where the cardinal, his nephew, raised a splendid

mausoleum to his memory. So much for glory--and what then? In 1794, the

remains of this great man were upon the point of being cast into the

common fosse, by the agents of the Convention, when some, less rabid than

the rest, smuggled them away; and, for security, conveyed them to the

lumber room of the cabinet of Natural History of the Jardin des Plantes.

Having reposed, nine years in state, peradventure between a dilapidated

kangaroo and a cast-off opossum--these remains of the great Turenne were,

at length, committed, in a quiet way, to the military tomb of the

Invalids.

No. XXIV.

Burning dead saints, is a more pardonable matter, than burning living

martyrs--the combustion of St. Genevieve's dry bones, than the fiery trial

of Latimer and Ridley--the fantastical decree of the French Convention,

than the cruel discipline of bloody Mary. Dark days were they, and full of

evil, those years of bitterness and blood, from 1553 to Nov. 17, 1558,

when, by a strange coincidence, this hybrid queen, whose sire was a

British tyrant, and whose dam a Spanish bigot, expired on the same day

with the Cardinal, Reginald Pole. From the remarkable proximity of the

events arose a suspicion of poison, of which the public mind has long

since been disabused.

In this age of greater intelligence and religious freedom, the outrages,

perpetrated, in the very city of London, within five brief years, are

credible, only on the strength of well authenticated history. According to

Bishop Burnet, two hundred and eighty-four persons were burnt at the

stake, during four years of this merciless and miserable reign. Lord

Burleigh makes the number of those, who died, in that reign, by

imprisonment, torments, famine, and fire, to be near four hundred. Weever,

in his Funeral Monuments, page 116, quotes the historian Speed, as saying,

"In the heat of those flames, were burnt to ashes five bishops,

one-and-twenty divines, eight gentlemen, eighty-four artificers, an

hundred husbandmen, servants, and laborers, twenty-six wives, twenty

widows, nine virgins, two boys, and two infants; one of them whipped to

death by Bonner, and the other, springing out of the mother's womb from

the stake, as she burned, thrown again into the fire." Here, in passing,

suffer me to express my deep reverence for John Weever. I know of no book,

so interesting to the craft, as his Funeral Monuments, a work of infinite

labor and research. Weever died in 1632, and lies in St. James,

Clerkenwell. His epitaph may be found in Strype's Survey:

Lancashire gave me birth,

And Cambridge education;

Middlesex gave me death,

And this church my humation;

And Christ to me hath given

A place with him in heaven.

The structure of these lines will remind the classical reader of Virgil's

epitaph:

Mantua me genuit: Calabri rapuere; tenet nunc

Parthenope; cecini pascua, rura, duces.

The short and sharp reign of Mary Tudor was remarkable for burning

Protestant Christians and wax candles. That fountain of fun, pure and

undefiled, that prince of wags, Theodore Hook, was offered, very young,

for admission at the University; and, when the chancellor opened the book,

and gravely inquired if he was ready to sign the thirty-nine articles,

"Yes, sir," replied the young puppy, "forty, if you please." Now, in

contemplation of the enormous consumption of wax, especially upon the

occasion of funeral obsequies, during Mary's reign, it would seem that a

belief, in its vital importance, might have formed an additional article,

in the Romish creed.

I have never thought well of grafting religion upon the selfishness of

man's nature. Nominal converts, it is true, are readily made, in that way.

In Catholic countries, wax chandlers are Romanists, to a man. I always

considered the attempt, a few years since, to convert the inhabitants of

Nantucket to Puseyism, by a practical appeal to their self interest,

however ingeniously contrived, a very wicked thing. And I greatly lauded

the good old bishop of this diocese, for rebuking those very silly

priests, who promoted a senseless and extravagant consumption of one of

the great staples of that island, by burning candles in the day time. He

made good use of his mitre as an extinguisher.

On a somewhat similar principle, I have always objected to every attempt

to augment the revenues of a state by taxing corpses--not upon the

acknowledged principle, that taxation without representation is

inadmissible--but because the whole system is a most miserable mingling of

_sacra profanis_. I may not be understood by all, in this remark: I refer

to those acts of Parliament, which, for the purposes of levying a tax, or

promoting some particular branch of industry, have attempted to regulate a

man's apparel, and the fitting up of his narrow house, after he is dead.

The compulsory employment of flannel, by British statute, is an example of

this legislative interference.

Nothing is more common, in Strype's Ecclesiastical Memorials, than

entries, such as these: "1557, May 3. The Lord Shandois was buried with

heralds, an herse of wax, four banners of images, and other appendages of

funeral honor." "On the 5th, the Lady Chamberlain was buried with a fair

herse of wax." "May 28, in the forenoon, was buried Mrs. Gates, widow,

late wife, as it seems, to Sir John Gates, executed the first year of this

queen's reign. She gave seventeen fine black gowns, and fourteen of broad

russet for poor men. There were carried two white branches, ten staff

torches, and four great tapers." "July 10th the Lady Tresham was buried at

Peterborough, with four banners, and an herse of wax, and torches." "1558,

September 14th, was buried Sir Andrew Judd, skinner, merchant of Muscovy,

and late Mayor of London, with ten dozen of escutcheons, garnished with

angels, and an herse of wax." What is an herse of wax? This will be quite

unintelligible to those, who have supposed that word to import nothing

else than the vehicle, in which the dead are carried to the grave. Herse

also signifies a temporary monument, erected upon, or near, the place of

sepulture, and on which the corpse was laid, for a time, in state; and a

herse of wax was a structure of this kind, surrounded with wax tapers.

This will be made manifest, by some additional extracts from the same

author: "1557. The 16th day of July, died the lady Anne, of Cleves, at

Chelsey, sometime wife and queen unto King Henry VIII., but never crowned.

Her corpse was cered the night following." "On the 29th began the herse at

Westminster, for the Lady Anne of Cleves, consisting of carpenters' work

of seven principals, being as goodly an herse as had been seen." "On the

3d of August the body of the Lady Anne of Cleves was brought from Chelsey,

where her house was, unto Westminster, to be buried--men bore her, under a

canopy of black velvet, with four black staves, and so brought her into

the herse, and there tarried _Dirge_, remaining there all night, with

lights burning." "On the 16th day of August the herse of the King of

Denmark was begun to be set up, in a four-square house. August 18, was the

King of Denmark's herse in St. Paul's finished with wax, the like to which

was never seen in England, in regard to the fashion of square tapers." And

on the 23d, also was the King of Denmark's herse, at St. Paul's, "taken

down by the wax chandlers and carpenters, to whom this work pertained, by

order of Mr. Garter, and certain of the Lord Treasurer's servants." These

herses were, doubtless, very attractive in their way. "Aug. 31, 1557. The

young Dutchess of Norfolk being lately deceased, her herse began to be set

up on the 28th, in St. Clements, without Temple bar, and was this day

finished with banners, pensils, wax, and escutcheons."

The office of an undertaker, in those days, was no sinecure. He was an

_arbiter elegantiarum_. A funeral was a festival then. Eat, drink, and be

merry, for tomorrow you die, was the common phylactery.

"The funeral baked meats

Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables."

Baked meats shall be the subject of my next.

No. XXV.

Pliny, xviii. 30, refers to a practice among the Romans, very similar to

that, in use among certain unenlightened nations, of depositing articles

of diet upon tombs and graves, such as beans, lettuces, eggs, bread, and

the like, for the use of ghosts. The stomachs of Roman ghosts were not

supposed to be strong enough for flesh meat. Hence the lines of Juvenal,

v. 85:

Sed tibi dimidio constrictus cammarus ovo

Ponitur, exigua feralis caena patella.

The _silicernium_ or _caena funebris_ was a very different, and more solid

affair. At first blush--to use a common and sensible expression--there

seems no respectable keeping, between the art of burying the dead, and

that of feasting the living. Depositing those, whom we love, in their

graves, is certainly the very last relish for an appetite. Something of

this was undoubtedly done, of old, under the promptings of Epicurean

philosophy--upon the _dum vivimus vivamus_ principle--and, in that spirit

which teaches the soldier, when he turns from the grave, to change the

mournful, for the merry strain. The desire of equalling or excelling

others, in the magnificence of funereal parade, has ever been a powerful

motive. The eyes of others destroy us, said Franklin, and not our own.

Grief for the departed, and sympathy with the bereaved, were not deemed

sufficient, to insure an imposing parade. Games and festivals were

therefore provided, for the people. Among other attractions, masses of

uncooked meat were bestowed upon all comers. This was the _visceratio_ of

the Romans. This word seems to have a different import; _viscera_,

however, signifies all beneath the skin, as may be seen by consulting

Serv. in Virg., AEn. i., 211. Suetonius Caes. 39, and Cicero de Officiis ii.

16, refer to this practice. It was by no means very common, but frequently

adopted by those, who could afford the expense, and were desirous of the

display.

Marcus Flavius had committed an infamous crime. He was popular, and the

aediles of the people had fixed a day for his absolution. Under pretence of

celebrating his mother's funeral, he gave a _visceratio_ to the people:

Populo visceratio data, a M. Flavio, in funere matris. Erant, qui, per

speciem honorandae parentis, meritam mercedem populo solutam

interpretarentur; quod eum, die dicta ab aedilibus, crimine stupratae

matris familae absolvisset. Liv. viii. 22. A note upon this passage, in

Lemaire's edition, fully explains the nature of this practice.

This was a very different affair from the _silicernium_, or feast for the

friends, after the funeral. Upon such occasions, the Falernian flowed, and

boars were roasted whole. The reader, by opening his Livy, xxxix. 46, will

find an account of the funeral of P. Licinius: a _visceratio_ was given to

the people; one hundred and twenty gladiators fought in the arena; the

funeral games lasted three days; and then followed a splendid

entertainment. On that occasion, a tempest drove the company into the

forum; this occurred, in the year U. C. 569. Through all time, the

practice has prevailed, more or less, of providing entertainments, for

those, who gather on such occasions. In villages, especially, and within

my own recollection, the funeral has been delayed, to enable distant

friends to arrive in season; and the interval has been employed, in the

preparation of creature comforts, not only for such as attended, and

observed the ceremonial of an hour, but for such, as came to the bereaved,

like the comforters of the man of Uz, "every one from his place, and sat

down with him, seven days and seven nights." Animal provision must surely

be required, to sustain such protracted lamentation.

In the age, when Shakspeare wrote, and for several ages before and after,

"baked meats," at funerals, were very common. So far, from contenting

themselves with the preparation of some simple aliment, for such as were

an hungered, the appetites of all were solicited, by a parade of the

rarest liquors and the choicest viands. Tables were spread, in the most

ample manner, and the transition was immediate from the tomb to the festal

board. The _requiescat in pace_ was scarcely uttered, before the blessing

was craved, on the baked meats. It matters little, from what period of

history we select our illustrations of this truth. Suppose we take our

examples from the reign, preceding that, in which Shakspeare was born;

comprehend some other incidents in our collection; and rely, for our

authority, on good old John Strype, who was himself born in 1643. There is

no higher authority. I will present a few specimens from his

Ecclesiastical Memorials: "1557, May 5. Was the Lady Chamberlain buried.

At the mass preached Dr. Chadsey. A great dole of money given at the

church, and after, a great dinner. May 29, was buried Mrs. Gates; after

mass a great dinner. June 7, began a stage play at the Grey Friars of the

passion of Christ. June 10.--This day Sir John, a chantry priest, hung

himself with his own girdle. The same day was the storehouse in Portsmouth

burnt, much beer and victual destroyed. A judgment, perhaps, for burning

so many innocent persons. June 29.--This same day was the second year's

mind (i. e. yearly _obit_) of good master Lewyn, ironmonger; at his dirge

were all the livery. After, they retired to the widow's place, where they

had a cake and wine; and besides the parish, all comers treated." Aug.

3.--After giving a long account of the funeral of Ann of Cleves, Strype

adds, "and so they went in order to dinner." After reciting the

particulars of the King of Denmark's funeral, in London, Aug. 18, 1557, he

adds: "After the dirge, all the heralds and all the Lords went into the

Bishop of London's place, and drank. The next day was the morrow-mass, and

a goodly sermon preached, and after, to my Lord of London's to dinner."

The account of the funeral of Thomas Halley is entitled to be presented

entire: "On the 24th of this month, August, Mr. Thomas Halley,

clarentieux, king-at-arms, was buried, in St. Giles's parish, without

Cripplegate, with coat, armor, and pennon of arms, and scutcheons of his

arms, and two white branches, twelve staff torches, and four great tapers,

and a crown. And, after dirge, the heralds repaired unto Greenhill, the

waxchandler, a man of note (being waxchandler to Cardinal Pole) living

hard by; where they had spice-bread and cheese, and wine, great plenty.

The morrow-mass was also celebrated, and sermon preached; and after

followed a great dinner, whereat were all the heralds, together with the

parishioners. There was a supper also, as well as a dinner." After a long

account of the funeral of the Countess of Arundel, Oct. 5, 1557, follow

the customary words--"and, after, all departed to my Lord's place to

dinner." "Nov. 12, Mr. Maynard, merchant, was buried; and after, the

company departed to his house, at Poplar, to a great dinner." "Oct. 19,

died the Lord Bray; and so he went by water to Chelsea to be buried, &c.

&c. Many priests and clerks attended. They all came back to this Lord's

place, at Blackfriars, to dinner." At the funeral of Richard Capet, Feb.

1, "All return to dinner." "On the 16th, Mr. Pynohe, fishmonger, and a

brother of Jesus, was buried. All being performed at the church, the

company retired to his house to drink." On the 24th, "a great dinner,"

after the funeral of Sir George Bowers. This testimony is inexhaustible.

After the funeral of Lady White, March 2, Strype says "there was as great

a dinner as had been seen." I will close with two examples. "Aug. 3, 1588.

The Lady Rowlet was buried; and after mass, the company retreated to the

place to dinner, which was plentifully furnished with venison, fresh

salmon, fresh sturgeon, and many other fine dishes. On the 12th, died Mr.

Machyl, alderman and clothesworker." After a sermon by a grey friar, "the

Lord Mayor and Aldermen, and all the mourners and ladies went to dinner,

which was very splendid, lacking no good meat, both flesh and fish, and an

hundred marchpanes."

It is certain, that all this appears to us now to have been in very bad

taste; and it is not easy to comprehend the principle, which conducted to

the perpetration of such sensual absurdities; unless we suppose it to have

been the design of all concerned, to felicitate the heir, upon his coming

to possession; the widow, upon the fruition of an ample dower and abundant

leisure; or the widower, upon the recovery of his liberty. This is not the

only occasion, upon which man's features are required, from the extreme

suddenness of the change, to undergo a process of moral distortion,

amounting to grimace. Thus, grief, for the death of one monarch, is rudely

expressed, by turbulent joy at the succession of another. Suffer me to

conclude, in the words of father Strype--"The same day queen Mary

deceased, in the morning between 11 and 12, the Lady Elizabeth was

proclaimed queen: in the afternoon all the churches in London rang their

bells; and at night were bonfires made, and tables set in the streets, and

the people did eat, and drink, and make merry."

No. XXVI.

Among the dead--the mighty dead--there is one, in regard to whom, our

national dealings may be fairly set forth, in the words of Desdemona--

In faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange;

'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful:

She wish'd she had not heard it.

Forty-nine years have passed, since the interment of George Washington.

Forty-nine years ago, "the joint committee," says Chief Justice Marshall,

"which had been appointed to devise the mode, by which the nation should

express its feelings, on this melancholy occasion, reported" a series of

resolutions, among which was the following: "That a marble monument be

erected, by the United States, at the city of Washington, and that the

family of General Washington be requested to permit his body to be

deposited under it; and that the monument be so designed, as to

commemorate the great events of his military and political life." To the

letter, transmitting the resolutions to Mrs. Washington, she replied, as

follows: "Taught by the great example, which I have so long had before me,

never to oppose my private wishes to the public will, I must consent to

the request made by Congress, which you have had the goodness to transmit

to me; and, in doing this, I need not, I cannot, say what a sacrifice of

individual feeling I make, to a sense of public duty."

All this is very fine. The nation requested permission to remove the

remains--Mrs. Washington consented--but that monument! The remains have

slumbered quietly, where they first were interred, for nine and forty

years--and the monument is like Rachel's first born--it is not! There is

something better in prospect. Such, however, is the record thus far. It is

very true he needs no monument. No immortal can say more justly, from his

elevated sphere, to every inhabitant of this vast empire, _si monumentum

quaeris, circumspice_!

This fact, however, so far from taking the tithe of a hair from the

balance of this account, illustrates the national delinquency. It may be

matter of amusing speculation, to contrast the zeal, which prevails,

especially in England, in relation to the most trifling memorials of

Shakspeare, and the popular indifference, in regard to certain relics,

known to have been the property of Washington, and to have been personally

used by him.

All are familiar with the recent excitement, on the subject of

Shakspeare's house--that mulberry tree--a hair of him, for memory.

Washington's library has lately been sold, for just about the price of

four shares in one of the cotton mills at Lowell. A few years since, the

cabinet of medals, struck at different times, in honor of the Father of

his country, and which had become the property of one of his

representatives, was sold by him, for five hundred dollars, and purchased

by an individual citizen of Massachusetts. There are some things,

seemingly so vast--so very--very national--that one can scarcely believe

it possible for any private cabinet to contain them gracefully.

Soon after the destruction of the Bastile, July 14, 1789, La Fayette sent

its massive key to Washington--his political father--as the first fruits

of those principles of liberty, which were then supposed to be bourgeoning

forth, in a _free_ French soil. This colossal key was suspended, in the

front entry, at Mount Vernon. A short time ago, an aged friend, residing

in a neighboring town, and once intimate in the family of Washington, told

me he had often seen that famous key, in its well known position. This

also became the property of Washington's representatives. A few years

since, I saw it stated, in the public journals, that, among other effects,

this key of the Bastile was sold at auction, and purchased for

seventy-five cents, by a gentleman, who had the good taste to return it to

some member of the family.

Eminent men, as they arise, are occasionally compared to Washington.

Points of resemblance, now and then, may assuredly be found; but there

never breathed a man, whose mental and moral properties combined, could

endure a rigid comparison with his. Whoever attempts to run this parallel,

between him and any other, will readily acknowledge the truth of the

proverb, _nullum simile quatuor pedibus currit_. Select the example from

the present, or the past, from our own or from other lands, and inquire,

to which of them all would Erskine, so chary of his praise, so slow of

faith in his fellow, have applied those memorable words, inscribed, in the

presentation copy of his work, transmitted to Washington--_You, sir, are

the only individual, for whom I ever felt an awful reverence_. Of whom

else would Lord Brougham have pronounced this remarkable passage--"It will

be the duty of the historian and the sage, in all ages, to omit no

occasion of commemorating this illustrious man; and, until time shall be

no more, will a test of the progress, which our race has made in wisdom

and virtue, be derived, from the veneration paid to the immortal name of

Washington."

I have not yet met with any gentleman of our calling, who is not decidedly

in favor of the election of General Taylor, or who would not gratuitously

attend, in a professional way, upon Messieurs Cass and Van Buren. We

perceive a resemblance between the first president and the present

candidate, in their willingness to draw long bills on posterity for fame,

in preference to numerous drafts, at sight, without grace, for daily

applause. But we behold, in Washington, the image and superscription, not

of Caesar, but of a peerless mortal--of one, created, verily, a little

lower than the angels--

"A combination, and a form, indeed,

Where every god did seem to set his seal,

To give the world assurance of a man."

No men have done more to bedim the reputation of Washington, than

Jefferson and Randolph. Verily they have their reward. In no portion of

our country has the memory of that great man been more universally

cherished and beloved, than in New England. A sentiment, not only of

reverence for his character, but of affection for his person, was very

general, in this quarter; and manifested itself, in a remarkable manner,

upon the occasion of his death. Nothing could have been more unexpected,

than the announcement of that event, in Boston. I will close this article,

with a simple illustration of the popular feeling, when the sad tidings

arrived. At the close of that year, 1799--I was a small boy then--I was

returning from a ride on horseback, to Dorchester Point--there was no

bridge, and it was quite a journey. As I approached the town, I was very

much surprised, at the tolling of the bells. Upon reaching home, I saw my

old father, at an unusual hour for him, the busiest man alive, to be at

home, sitting alone in our parlor, with his bandanna before his eyes. I

ran towards him, with the thoughtless gayety of youth, and asked what the

bells were tolling for. He withdrew the handkerchief from his face--the

tears were rolling down his fine old features--"Go away child," said he,

"don't disturb me; do you not know, that Washington is dead?"

The reader has surmised, that the worthy old man had sipped at the

fountain of executive patronage. Not at all. He had never seen Washington,

and never held an office civil or military, saving under Hancock's

commission, as justice of the peace, which was accounted a very pretty

compliment, in those days. No. He was nothing but an American, and he shed

those American tears, upon the death of one, whose character and conduct

had filled his heart with sentiments of pride, and love, and "awful

reverence."

No. XXVII.

I am rather inclined to suspect, that man is a selfish animal. A few days

ago, I administered a merited rebuke to a group of young sextons, who had

gathered together, after a funeral, and were seated upon a barrow bier,

before an unclosed tomb. They had been discussing the subject of capital

punishment, and were opposed to it unanimously. They frankly admitted,

that they were not influenced, by any consideration of humanity, but

looked simply to the fact, that, as the bodies of executed criminals went,

commonly, to the surgeons, every execution deprived us of a job. One

observed, that Boston was dreadfully healthy--another remarked, that

homoeopathy had proved a considerable help to us. Several compliments were

paid to Thompson, Brandreth, and Mrs. Kidder. But they appeared to

anticipate emolument from no source, so certainly, as from the approaching

cholera.

I was greatly shocked, and expressed my opinion very freely. I reminded

them of the primitive dignity of the sacristan's office. I should deeply

regret, to see our calling reduced to the level of a mere trade, with its

tariff--shrouds all rising--coffins looking up! We have a fair share of

funerals, and the members of our profession have no just cause for

complaint. Steam has helped us prodigiously. It has been said, that,

comparing the amount of steam travel with the amount of ante-steam travel,

i. e., the present with the past, the relative amount of deaths, from

accident, is about the same. Suppose it to be so; the cheapness and

facility of locomotion, at present, stimulate a much larger number to

move--there is a vast increase of frivolous and pleasure travel--cars are

filled with women, crates with bandboxes, and death is to be averaged over

the integer--I therefore repeat, that steam has helped our profession. If

steam had been known, in ancient Rome, it would have been reckoned a

deity, whose diet, like the sacrifice of Juggernaut, would have been flesh

and blood.

There is a very natural sensibility, on the part of steamboat and railroad

proprietors, to the announcement of disasters, by steam. There is a

wonderful eagerness to persuade the public to contemplate these

catastrophes, with the larger end of the telescope toward the eye. This

also is a great help to our profession. There is really no lack of

business, and it is quite abominable, for thoughtless young sextons to

pray for the advent of the cholera.

We dwell in a region of the earth, seldom touched by this besom of

destruction. Pestilence and famine have rarely come nigh unto us. It would

be impious to envy the denizens of milder climes.

"With gold and gems if Chilian mountains glow,

If bleak and barren Scotia's hills arise;

There plague and poison, lust and rapine grow,

Here peaceful are the vales and pure the skies."

I thank heaven, I was not an undertaker, in London, in 1665, when there

were scarcely enough of the living to bury the dead. When I used to wrap

myself up, in the pages of Robinson Crusoe, how little I suspected, that

Daniel Defoe was the writer of some twenty volumes beside. His inimitable

history of the plague, of 1665, is admirable reading, for the members of

our craft.

At irregular periods, plague, yellow fever, sweating sickness, and cholera

have visited the earth, with terrible effect. Let us take a cursory view

of these awful visitations. A. D. 78, 10,000 perished daily at Rome. The

plague returned there A. D. 167. Terrible plague in Britain A. D. 430. A

dreadful plague spread over Europe, Asia and Africa, A. D. 558, and

continued, for several years. 200,000 died of the plague in

Constantinople, A. D. 746. This plague raged for three years, and extended

to Calabria, Sicily and Greece. William of Malmsbury states, that A. D.

772, an epidemic disease carried off 34,000 in Chichester, England. 40,000

died of pestilence in Scotland, A. D. 954. Hollingshed gives an account of

a terrible plague among cattle, A. D. 1111, and in Ireland A. D. 1204. In

this year a general plague raged in Europe. In London 200 persons were

buried daily, in the Charterhouse yard. A dreadful mortality prevailed in

London and Paris, A. D. 1362 and '7. Great pestilence in Ireland A. D.

1383. Endemic destroyed 30,000 in London A. D. 1407. Great numbers died of

plague in Ireland, following famine, A. D. 1466. Dublin was severely

visited with plague A. D. 1470. Rapin and Salmon give an account of the

plague at Oxford, A. D. 1471, and throughout England A. D. 1478.

The sweating sickness, _sudor Anglicus_, first appeared, in England, in

1483, in the army of Henry VII., on his landing at Milfordhaven. A year

or two after, it travelled to London, and remained there, with

intermissions, for forty years. It then passed over to the continent, and

overran Holland, Germany, Flanders, France, Denmark, and Norway. It

continued in those countries, from 1525 to 1530; it then returned to

England; and was last known there, in 1551. It was a malignant fever,

accompanied with very great thirst, delirium, and excessive sweat. Dr.

Caius called it "a contagious, pestilential fever of one day, prevailing

with a mighty slaughter, as tremendous as the plague of Athens." Dr.

Willis says, "Its malignity was so extreme, that as soon as it entered a

city, it made a daily attack, on five or six hundred persons, of whom

scarcely one in a hundred recovered." Strype says, "The plague of sweat

this summer, 1551, was very severe, and carried away multitudes of people,

rich and poor, especially in London, where, in one day, July 10th, died an

hundred people, and the next, one hundred and twenty. From the 8th of this

month to the 19th, there died in London, of this sweat, 872."

Stowe says that, in the 9th year of Henry VII., 1517, half the population,

in the capital towns of England, died of the sweating sickness: and that

it proved fatal, in three hours. In the year 1500, Stowe also says, that

the plague was so terrible in London, that Henry VII. and his court went

over to Calais. The plague prevailed in England and Ireland, in 1603, and

in London 30,000 persons died. In 1611, 200,000 died of pestilence, in

Constantinople; 35,000 persons died of an epidemic in London, in 1625. In

1632 a general mortality prevailed in France; 60,000 died in Lyons. The

plague was brought from Sardinia to Naples, in 1656, and 400,000 of the

Neapolitans died, in six months. In the great plague of London, of 1665,

described by De Foe, 68,596 persons died. In 1720, 60,000 perished of the

plague at Marseilles.

An account is given, by the Abbe Mariti, of one of the most awful plagues

ever known, which prevailed in Syria, in 1760. In Persia, 80,000

inhabitants of Bassorah, died of the plague, in 1773. In 1792, the plague

destroyed 800,000 persons in Egypt. In 1799, 247,000 died of the plague at

Fez; and in Barbary, 3000 daily, for several days. In 1804 and '5, an

immense number were destroyed, by the plague, in Gibraltar. At the same

place, in 1828, many were swept away, by an epidemic fever, scarce

distinguishable from the plague. Verily the vocation of an undertaker is

anything but a sinecure! But, in such terrible emergencies, as were hourly

occurring, during the prevalence of the great plague of London, such an

operator as Pontraci would have cast aside all thoughts of shrouds and

coffins. In one single night 4000 died. The hearses were common dead

carts; and the continued cry, _bring out your dead_, rang through every

heart. Defoe rates the victims of the plague of 1665, at 100,000.

At present, we have a deeper interest in the pestilence of modern times,

though by some accounted of great antiquity. The Indian or Asiatic cholera

traversed the north, east and south of Europe, and the countries of Asia,

and, in two years, prostrated 900,000 victims. It subsequently appeared in

England, at Sunderland, Oct. 26, 1831; in Scotland, at Edinburgh, Feb. 6,

1832; in Ireland, at Dublin, March 3, 1832. The mortality was great, but

much less than upon the continent. Between March and August, 1832, 18,000

died of cholera, in Paris. In July and August, 1837, it reappeared in

Rome, the Two Sicilies, Genoa, Berlin, and some other cities. Its ravages,

in this country, were far less notable, than in many others. It is very

wise to cast about us, and determine what we will do, if it should come

again, and it is very likely to take us in its progress. But let us not

forget, that it will most easily approach us, through our fears; and

probably, in no disease, are fear and grief more fatal _avant couriers_,

than in affections of the abdominal viscera.

I am half inclined to the opinion of a charming old lady of my

acquaintance, who, after listening to a learned discussion, as to the seat

of the soul--the fountain of sensibility,--and whether or not it was

seated in the conarion--the pineal gland--gave her decided opinion, that

it was seated in the bowels.

No. XXVIII.

The dead speak from their coffins--from their very graves--and verily the

heart of the true mourner hath ears to hear. Gloves and rings are the

valedictories of the dead--their _vales_, or parting tokens, received by

the mourners, at the hand of some surviving friend. This appropriated

word, _vale_, as almost every one knows, is the leave-taking expression

of the mourners; and, when anglicised, and used in the plural number, as

one syllable, signifies those _vales_ or vails, tokens, in various forms,

from shillings to crown pieces, bestowed by parting visitors, on

domestics, from the head waiter to the scullion. They are intended as

leave tokens. Every servant, in the families of the nobility, from the

highest to the lowest, expects a _vale_, not in the classical sense of

Menalcas--_Longum, formose, vale, vale_, but in lawful money, intelligible

coin. This practice had become so oppressive to visitors, in the early

part of the reign of George III., that Sir Jonas Hanway, remarkable, among

other things, for his controversy with Dr. Johnson, on the subject of tea

drinking, wrote and published eight letters to the Duke of Newcastle,

against the custom of giving vails, in which he relates some very amusing

anecdotes. Mr. Hanway, being quietly reproached, by a friend, in high

station, for not accepting his invitations to dinner, more frequently,

frankly replied, "Indeed, my Lord, I cannot afford it." He recites the

manner of leaving a gentleman's house, where he had dined; the servants,

as usual, flocked around him--"your great coat, Sir Jonas"--a

shilling--"your hat, sir:" a shilling--"stick, sir:" a shilling--"umbrella,

sir:" a shilling--"sir, your gloves"--"well, keep the gloves, they are not

worth the shilling." A remarkable example of the insolence of a pampered

menial was related to Mr. Hanway, by Sir Timothy Waldo. He had dined with

the Duke of Newcastle: as he was departing, and handing over his coin to

the train of servants, that lined the hall, he put a crown into the hand

of the chief cook, who returned it, saying, "I never take silver, sir."

"Indeed"--Sir Timothy replied, returning the piece to his pocket, "I never

give gold."

Sir Jonas was an excellent man; and, whatever objections he may have had

to the practice of giving extravagant vails to servants, I think he would

have little or nothing to say, against the practice of giving such vails,

as the dead may be supposed, vicariously, to bestow upon the living, in

the form of rings and gloves. The dead, it must be conceded, seem not so

much disposed to give vails, at present, as they were, one hundred years

ago. In such dispensations, in the olden time, the good man, the

clergyman, was seldom forgotten. Gloves and rings were showered down, upon

the Lord's anointed, at weddings, christenings, and funerals. When a

child, I was very much puzzled, upon two points; first, what became of

all the old moons, and, secondly, what the minister did with his gloves

and rings. If he had had the hands of Briareus, he could not have worn

them all.

An interesting little volume is now lying upon my table, which explains

the mystery, not at all, in relation to the moons, but most happily, in

respect to rings and gloves. It is the Astronomical Diary or Almanac of

Nathaniel Ames, Boston, New England, printed by J. Draper, for the

booksellers, 1748. This little book is interleaved; and the blank leaves

are written over, in the hand-writing of good old Andrew Eliot, who, April

14, 1742, was ordained pastor of the new North Church, in Boston, as

colleague with Mr. Webb, where, possessing very little of the locomotive

or migratory spirit of the moderns, this excellent man remained, till his

death, Sept. 13, 1778. If gall and wormwood are essential to the

perfection of Christian theology, Dr. Eliot was singularly deficient, as a

teacher of religion. His sermons were very full of practical godliness,

and singularly free from brimstone and fire. He was elected President of

Harvard University, but his attachment to his people caused him to decline

the appointment. After this passing tribute, let us return to the little

Almanac of 1748. On the inside of the marble cover the first entry

commences thus: "Gloves, 1748, January." The gloves, received by Dr.

Eliot, are set against particular names, and under every month, in the

year. Certain names are marked with asterisks, doubtless denoting, that

the parties were dead, or _stelligeri_, after the fashion of the College

catalogue; and thus the good doctor discriminated, between funerals, and

weddings and christenings. Although a goodly number of rings are enrolled,

together with the gloves, yet a page is devoted to rings, exclusively, in

the middle of the book. This is not arranged, under months, but years; and

commences, in 1741, the year before he was ordained, as colleague with Mr.

Webb. At the bottom of the record, the good man states how many pairs were

kid; how many were lambswool; and how many were long or women's gloves,

intended, of course, for the parson's lady.

These rings and gloves were sold, by the worthy doctor, with the exception

of such, as were distributed, in his own household, not a small one, for

he left eleven children. A prejudice might have prevailed, an hundred

years ago, against dead men's gloves, similar to that, recorded in the

proverb, against dead men's shoes; certain it is, these gloves did not

meet with a very ready market. It appears by the record, in the doctor's

own hand, that Mrs. Avis was entrusted with fifteen pairs of women's and

three dozen of men's; and returned, unsold, eight pairs of women's, and

one dozen and ten pairs of men's. A dozen pairs of men's were committed to

Mrs. Langstaff; half a dozen women's to Mr. Langdon, and seventeen pairs

to Captain Millens. What a glove and ring market the dear Doctor's study

must have been. In thirty-two years, he appears to have received two

thousand nine hundred and forty pairs of gloves, at funerals, weddings,

and baptisms. Of these he sold to the amount of fourteen hundred and forty

one pounds, eighteen shillings, and one penny, old tenor, equal to about

six hundred and forty dollars. He also sold a goodly number of his rings.

From all this, the conclusion is irresistible, that this truly good man

and faithful minister must have been, if I may use the common expression,

hand and glove with his parishioners. The little volume before me contains

the record of other matters, highly interesting, doubtless, in their day

but of precious little moment, at the present hour. Of what importance can

it be, I beg leave to inquire, for any one to know, on what precise day,

one hundred years ago, the worthy pastor borrowed a box of candles of

Deacon Langdon, or a loaf of sugar of his own father, or ten shillings,

old tenor, of Deacon Grant! Who, of the present generation, cares, on what

day, one hundred years ago, he repaid those three pounds to Deacon

Barrett! Of what consequence to any living mortal can it be, that, on the

thirteenth day of April, one hundred years ago, Betty Bouve came to live

at the manse, as a maid! It is past. The last of that box of candles has

burnt down into the socket, long ago. That sugar has dissolved, and lost

its sweetness. And Betty Bouve! The places that knew her know her no more.

Her sweeping days are over; for time, with its irresistible broom, hath

swept her from the face of the earth, and given her the grave for a

dustpan.

The good old man himself has been called to the account of his

stewardship. "It was a pleasant day," saith Father Gannett, on the

fly-leaf of his almanac, "Sept. 15, 1778, when near four hundred couples

and thirty-two carriages followed the remains of Dr. Andrew Eliot from his

house, before the south side of his meeting-house, into Fore Street, up

Cross Street, through Black Horse Lane, to Corpse Hill." I adopt Mr.

Gannett's orthography, though rather less accurate than applicable.

No. XXIX.

The true value of an enlightened conscience may be duly estimated by him,

who has enjoyed the luxury of travelling in the dark, with the assistance

of a lantern, without a candle. A man, who has a very strong sense of

duty, and very little common sense, is apt to be a very troublesome

fellow; for he is likely to unite the stupidity of an ass with the

obstinacy of a mule. Yet such there are; and, however inconvenient,

individually, the evil is immeasurably increased, when they become

gregarious, and form a party, for any purpose whatever. Such conscience

parties have existed, in every age and nation. A few individuals, of

higher intelligence, dissatisfied with their civil, political, military,

religious, or literary importance, and fatally bent upon distinction, are

necessary to elevate some enormous green cheese high in the firmament, and

persuade their followers, that it is neither more nor less than the moon,

at full. Herod was the great director of that conscience party, that

believed it to be their bounden duty, to murder all the little children in

Judea, under a certain age. The terrible sacrifice, on St. Bartholomew's

eve, was conducted by a conscience party. The burnings and starvings, in

bloody Mary's reign, were planned and executed, by a conscience party. In

no country has conscience been so very rampant, as in Ireland, from the

days of Heremon and King Olam Fodla, to the present hour. Almost every

reader is aware how conscientiously Archbishop Sharp was murdered, in

presence of his daughter, in Scotland.

The widows of Hindostan, when they attempt to escape from the funeral

pile, on which their late husbands are burning, are driven back into the

flames, by a conscience party. It is well known, that certain inhabitants

of India deposit their aged and decrepit parents, upon the very margin of

the river, that the rising waters may bear them away. This is not the act

of a few individuals; but the common practice, clearly indicating the

existence of a conscience party, who undoubtedly believe they are acting,

in a most filial and dutiful manner, and doing the very best thing in the

world, for all parties. Infanticide is tolerated in China. Very little

account is made of female babies there. This has been doubted and denied.

Doubt and denial are of no use. There is a conscience party there, who

believe it to be their duty to their male babies, to drown the females,

unless they are pretty, and then they have a chance for life, in being

sold for concubines. Among the numerous and best modern authorities, on

this point, is Gutzlaff, whose voyages, along the coast of China, were

published, in London, 1834. "At the beach of Amoy," says he, "we were

shocked, at the spectacle of a pretty, new-born babe, which, shortly

before, had been killed. We asked some of the bystanders what this meant;

they answered with indifference, 'it is only a girl.'" On page 174,

Gutzlaff remarks, "It is a general custom among them to drown a large

proportion of their new-born female children. This unnatural crime is so

common, that it is perpetrated, without any feeling, and even in a

laughing mood; and, to ask a man of distinction, whether he has daughters,

is a mark of great rudeness." Earle, in his narrative of New Zealand,

London, 1832, states that the practice existed there.

The insurrection of Shays, in this Commonwealth, in 1787, was a matter of

conscience, beyond all doubt. He and many of his associates believed

themselves a conscience party. After General Lincoln had suppressed the

rebellion, great lenity was shown to the prisoners--not an individual was

executed--and Shays, who died in 1825, at the age of 85, was even

pensioned, in his old age, for his prior services in the revolution.

The revolt of the Pennsylvania line, in 1781, was, I admit, less an affair

of the conscience, than of the stomach and bowels; for the poor fellows

were nearly starved to death. The insurrection under Fries, commonly

called the whiskey rebellion, in Western Pennsylvania, in 1792, was a

different affair. A conscience party resolved to drink nothing but untaxed

whiskey--they conscientiously believed the flavor to be utterly ruined, by

the excise. It is certain, that, when General Washington moved against the

rebels, there was conscience enough, among them, to make cowards of them

all, for they scattered, in all directions.

A conscience party existed, in the early settlement of our country, when

our pious ancestors, having fled to the howling wilderness, that they

might enjoy liberty of thought, on religious subjects, began to hang the

poor Quakers, for the glory of God.

Never before had there been such a conscience party in Massachusetts, as

from 1689 to 1693. It was then Cotton Mather exclaimed from the pulpit,

that witchcraft was the "most nefandous high treason against the Majesty

on high." It was then, that he satisfied himself, by repeated trials, that

devils were skilled in Latin, Greek and Hebrew. It was then, that they

hanged old women, for riding on broomsticks through the air; a mode of

conveyance, which Lord Mansfield declared, long after, to be perfectly

lawful, for all who preferred that mode of equitation.

A conscience party has recently appeared, in this country, which it is not

easy to describe. Every other party seems to have contributed to its

formation. It is a sort of political mosaic, made up of tag, rag, and

bobtail. Some of the prominent members of this party were whigs, but

yesterday; and yet they have put forth all their energies, to elect, as

president, a man, whom they and all other whigs have hitherto opposed, and

denounced, and who, it was manifest, from the beginning, could not

possibly be elected. This man has been accounted, by the whigs, a

political charlatan; and all that he has done, to obtain the support of

this conscience party, such of them at least, as were once whigs, is to

avow certain sentiments, on the subject of slavery, the very contrary of

those, which he has hitherto maintained, most openly and zealously. No

grave and reflecting whig puts any more confidence, in the promises of

this political spin-button, than he would put, in the words of Nicholas

Machiavelli. Nor could this candidate do more to check the progress of

slavery, than every honest whig believes will be done, by the candidate of

their party, who certainly resembles Washington, in three particulars; he

is himself a slaveholder--he is an honest man--and he wears the same

political phylactery, "_I will be the president of the people, not of a

party_."

In consideration of the limit of power, neither of these candidates can do

more than the other, for the object in view, if they were equally honest,

which nobody dreams of, unless he dreams in Sleepy Hollow. If there had

been an anti-cholera party, Van Buren might have commanded suffrages, as

sensibly, by pledging himself to do all in his power, to prevent its

extension. The remaining candidate, it is agreed, would, if elected, have

turned the hopes, one and all, of both whig and conscience parties

topsy-turvy. His election, it is clear, was made more probable, by every

vote, given by a whig to that candidate, whose election was clearly

impossible. These irregular whigs, have, therefore, spent their

ammunition, as profitably, as the old covenanter spent his, who fired a

horse pistol against the walls of Sterling Castle. Such is the conscience

party.

When I refer to the universal consent of the whigs, during the former

canvass for Martin Van Buren, that he was, politically, the very devil

incarnate; and, in making a selection of those, who were the loudest, and

longest, and the most vehement of his antagonists, find them to be the

very leaders of the present movement, in his favor; I am reminded of Peter

Pindar's pleasant story of the chambermaid and the spider; and, not having

my copy of Peter at hand, I will endeavor to relate the tale in prose, as

well as I am able.