A chambermaid, in going her rounds, obse_Dealings with the Dead, Volume 1 (of 2)

bloated, so far from his hole of refuge, that, lifting her broom, she

exclaimed, "Now, you ugly brute, I have you! You are such a sly, cunning

knave, and have such a happy non-committal way with you, that I never have

been able to catch you before; for, the moment I raised my broom, you were

out of sight, forsooth, and perfectly safe, in that Kinderhook of a hole

of yours--but, now prepare yourself, for your hour has come." The spider

turned every one of his eight eyes down upon the chambermaid, and,

extending his two forelegs in a beseeching manner, calmly replied,

"Strike, peerless maid, but hear me! I have given you infinite trouble,

and have been a very bad fellow, I admit. Crafty and cruel, I have been an

unmitigated oppressor of flies, and all inferior insects. I have sucked

their blood, and lived upon their marrow. But now my conscience has

awakened, and I am in favor of letting flies go free. It is not in quest

of flies, that I am here, sweet maid; (and then he seemed perfectly

convulsed;) I am changed at heart, and become a new spider. Pardon me for

speaking the truth; my only object, in being here, is, from this elevated

spot, to survey your incomparable charms." The chambermaid lowered her

broom; and gently said, as she walked away, "Well, a spider is not such a

horrid creature, after all."

I may be thought, in these remarks, to have offended against the

dictum--_ne sutor ultra crepidam_. Surely I am not guilty--my dealings are

with _the dead_. Perhaps I am mistaken. The conscience party may not be

dead, but cataleptic--destined to rise again--to fall more feebly than

before.

No. XXX.

Funerals, in the earlier days of Rome, must have been very showy affairs.

They were torch-light processions, by night. You will gather some

information, on this subject, by consulting a note of Servius, on Virg.

AEn. xi. 143. Cicero, de legibus, ii. 26, says, that Demetrius ordered

nocturnal funerals, to check the taste for extravagance, in these matters:

"Iste igitur sumptum minuit, non solum poena, sed etiam tempore; ante

lucem enim jussit efferri." A more ancient law, of similar import, will be

found recited, in the oration of Demosthenes, against Macartatus, viii.,

82, Dove's London ed. Orat. Attici. _Funes_ or _funiculi_ were small ropes

or cords, covered with wax or tallow; such were the torches, used on such

occasions; hence the word _funus_ or funeral. A confirmation of this may

be found in the note of Servius, AEn. i. 727. In a later age, funerals were

celebrated in the forenoon.

There were some things done, at ancient funerals, which would be accounted

very extraordinary at the present day. What should we say to a stuffed

effigy of the defunct, composed entirely of cinnamon, and paraded in the

procession! Plutarch says; "Such was the quantity of spices brought in by

the women, at Sylla's funeral, that, exclusive of those carried in two

hundred and ten great baskets, a figure of Sylla at full length, and of a

lictor besides, was made entirely of cinnamon, and the choicest

frankincense."

At the head of Roman funerals, came the _tibicines_, pipers, and

trumpeters, immediately following the _designator_, or undertaker, and the

lictors, dressed in black. Next came the "praeficae, quae dabant caeteris

modum plangendi." These were women hired to mourn, and sing the funeral

song, who are popularly termed _howlers_. To this practice Horace alludes,

in his Art of Poetry:

Ut, qui conducti plorant in funere, dicunt,

Et faciunt prope plura dolentibus ex animo--

which Francis well translates:

As hirelings, paid for the funereal tear,

Outweep the sorrows of a friend sincere.

I once witnessed an exhibition of this kind, in one of the West India

Islands. A planter's funeral occurred, at Christianstadt, the west end of

Santa Cruz. After the corpse had been lowered into the grave, a wild

ululation arose, from the mouths of some hundred slaves, who had followed

from the plantation--"Oh, what good massa he was--good, dear, old massa

gone--no poor slave eber hab such kind massa--no more any such good, kind

massa come agin." I noticed one hard-favored fellow, who made a terrible

noise, and upon whose features, as he turned the whites of his big eyes up

toward heaven, there was a sinister, and, now and then, rather a comical

expression, and who, when called to assist in filling up, appeared to

throw on the earth, as if he did it from the heart.

After the work was done, I called him aside. "You have lost an excellent

master," said I. The fellow looked warily round, and, perceiving that he

was not overheard, replied, in an undertone--"No massa, he bad mule--big

old villain--me glad the debble got him." Having thus relieved himself of

his feelings, he hastened to join the gang, and I soon saw him, as they

filed off, on their way back to the plantation, throwing his brawny arms

aloft, and joining in the cry--"Oh, what kind, good massa he was!" Upon

inquiry, I learned, that this planter was a very bad mule indeed, a

merciless old taskmaster.

Not more than ten flute players were allowed, at a funeral, by the Twelve

Tables. The flutes and trumpets were large and of lugubrious tones; thus

Ovid, Fast. vi. 660: Cantabat moestis tibia funeribus; and Am. ii. 66: Pro

longa resonent carmina vestra tuba.

Nothing appears more incomprehensible, in connection with this subject,

than the employment of players and buffoons, by the ancients, at their

funerals. This practice is referred to, by Suetonius, in his Life of

Tiberius, sec. 57. We are told by Dyonisius, vii. 72, that these Ludii,

Histriones, and Scurrae danced and sang. One of this class of performers

was a professed mimic, and was styled _Archimimus_. Strange as such a

proceeding may appear to us, it was his business, to imitate the voice,

manner, and gestures of the defunct; he supported the dead man's

character, and repeated his words and sayings. In the Life of Vespasian,

sec. 19, Suetonius thus describes the proceeding: In funere, Favor,

archimimus, personam ejus ferens, imitansque, ut est mos, facta ac dicta

vivi, etc. This Favor must have been a comical fellow, and is as free with

the dead, as Killigrew, Charles the Second's jester, was, with the

living; as the reader will perceive, if he will refer to the passage in

Suetonius: for the fellow openly cracks his jokes, on the absurd expense

of the funeral. This, we should suppose, was no subject for joking, if we

may believe the statement of Pliny, xxxiii. 47, that one C. Caecillius

Claudius, a private citizen, left rather more than nine thousand pounds

sterling, by his will, for his funeral expenses.

After the archimimus, came the freemen of the deceased, _pileati_; that

is, wearing their caps of liberty. Men, not unfrequently, as a last act,

to swell their funeral train, freed their slaves. Before the corpse, were

carried the images of the defunct and of his ancestors, but not of such,

as had been found guilty of any heinous crime. Thus Tacitus, ii. 32,

relates, that the image of Libo was not permitted to accompany the

obsequies of any of his posterity.

The origin of the common practice of marching at military funerals, with

arms reversed, is of high antiquity. Thus Virgil xi. 93, at the funeral of

Pallas--_versis Arcades armis_: and upon another occasion, _versi fasces_

occur in Tacitus iii. 2, referring to the lictors.

In our cities and large towns, the corpse is commonly borne to the grave,

in a hearse, or on the shoulders of paid bearers. Originally it was

otherwise. The office of supporting the body to the grave was supposed to

belong, of right, and duty, to relatives and friends; or, in the case of

eminent persons, to public functionaries. Thus, in Tacitus, iii. 2, we

find the expression, _tribunorum centurionumque humeris cineres

portabantur_: and, upon the death of Augustus, Tac. i. 8, it was carried

by acclamation, as we moderns say, _corpus ad rogum humeris senatorum

ferendum_.

The conduct of both sexes, at funerals, was, in some respects, rather

ridiculous, in those days. Virgil says of King Latinus, when he lost his

wife,

--------it, scissa veste, Latinus,

Canitiem immundo perfusam pulvere turpans;

which means, in plain English, that the old monarch went about, with his

coat torn, defiling his white hair with filthy dust.

Cicero, in his Tusculan Questions, iii. 26, is entirely of this opinion:

detestabilia genera lugendi, paedores, muliebres lacerationes genarum,

pectoris, feminum, capitis percussiones--detestable kinds of mourning,

covering the body with filth, women tearing their cheeks, bosoms, and

limbs, and knocking their heads. Tibullus, in the concluding lines of his

charming elegy to Delia, the first of his first book, though he evidently

derives much happiness, from the conviction, that she will mourn for him,

and weep over his funeral pile, implores her to spare her lovely cheeks

and flowing hair. No classical reader will censure me, for transcribing

this very fine passage:

Te spectem, suprema mihi quum venerit hora,

Te teneam moriens, deficiente manu.

Flebis et arsuro positum me, Delia, lecto.

Tristibus et lacrymis oscula mixta dabis.

Flebis; non tua sunt duro praecordia ferro,

Vincta, nec in tenero stat tibi corde silex.

Illo non juvenis poterit de funere quisquam

Lumina, non virgo, sicca referre domum.

Tu manes ne laede meos: sed parce solutis

Crinibus, et teneris, Delia, parce genis.

The _suttee_, or sacrifice of the widows of Hindostan, on the funeral pile

of their husbands, was not more a matter of course, than the laceration of

the hair and cheeks, among Roman women. It was undoubtedly accounted

disreputable, for a widow to appear in public, after the recent funeral of

her husband, with locks unpulled and cheeks unscratched. To such extremity

had this absurd practice proceeded, that the fifth law of the tenth of the

Twelve Tables, to which reference has been made, in a former number, was

enacted to prevent it--_mulieres genas ne radunto_.

No discreet matron perpetrates any such absurdity, in modern times. The

hair and cheeks of the departed have, occasionally, given evidence of

considerable laceration, from some cause unknown; but neither the law of

the Tables, nor the pathos of a Tibullus is commonly required, to prevent

a Christian widow, from laying violent hands, upon her cheeks or her hair.

No. XXXI.

The cholera seems to be forgotten--but without reason--for the yellowest

and most malignant of all yellow fevers is down upon us, proving fatal to

the peace of many families, and sweeping away our citizens, by hundreds.

The distemper appears to have originated in California, and to have been

brought hither, in letters from Governor Mason and others. It is deeply to

be deplored, that these letters, which are producing all this mischief,

had not been subjected to the process of smoking and sprinkling with

vinegar; for the disease is highly contagious. This fever differs entirely

from the _febris flava_--the _typhus icteroides_ of _Sauvages_. The

symptoms are somewhat peculiar. The pulse is quick and fluttering--the

head hot--the patient neglects his business, bolts his food, and wanders

about--sometimes apparently delirious, and, during the paroxysms, calls

furiously for a pickaxe and a tin pan. But the most certain indication,

that the disease has entered into the system, is, not that the patient

himself becomes yellow, but that everything, upon which he turns his eyes,

assumes the yellow appearance of gold. The nature of this distemper will,

however, be much better understood, by the presentation of a few cases of

actual occurrence.

I. Jeduthan Smink--a carpenter, having a wife and two children, residing

at No. 9 Loafer's Lane. This is a strongly marked case. Mr. Smink, who is

about five and twenty years of age, has always entertained the opinion,

that work did him harm, and that drink did him good--labors--the only way

in which he will labor--under the delusion, that all is gold that

glistens--packed up his warming pan and brass kettle, to send them to the

mint.

II. Laban Larkin, a farmer--caught the fever of a barber, while being

shaved--persuaded that the unusual yellowness of his squashes and carrots

can only be accounted for, by the presence of gold dust--turned a field of

winter rye topsy turvy, in search of it--believes finally, in the sliding

qualities of subterraneous treasure--thinks his gold has slipped over into

his neighbor's field of winter rye--offers to dig it all up, at the

halves--excited and abusive, because his neighbor declines the offer--told

him he was a superannuated ass, and behind the times.

III. Molly Murphy resides, when at home, which is seldom, in Shelaly

Court, near the corner, easily found by any one, who will follow his nose;

has a husband and one child, a dutiful boy, who vends matches and penny

papers, on week days, and steals, on Sundays, for the support of the

family. Molly can read; has read what Gov. Mason writes about pigs

rooting up gold, by mistake, for groundnuts--her brain much disturbed--has

an impression, that gold may be found almost anywhere--with a tin pan, and

no other assistance but her son, Tooley Murphy, she has actually dug over

and washed a pile of filth, in front of her dwelling, which the city

scavengers have never been able materially to diminish--urges her husband

to be "aff wid the family for Killyfarny, where the very wheelbarries is

made out of goold." Dreams of nothing but gold dust, and firmly believes

it to be the very dust we shall all return to--while asleep, seized her

husband by the ears, and could scarcely be sufficiently awakened, to

comprehend that she had not captured the golden calf.

Let us be grave. I shall not inquire, if Bishop Archelaus was right in the

opinion, that the original golden calf was made, not by the Israelites,

but by Egyptians, who were the companions of their flight; nor if the

modern idol be a descendant in the right line. It is somewhat likely, that

the golden calf of 1848, will grow up to be a terrible bull, for some of

the adventurers.

That there is gold in California, no one doubts. Governor Mason's standard

of quantity is rather alarming--there is gold enough, says he, in the

country, drained by the Sacramento and Joaquin rivers, and more than

enough, "_to pay the cost of the present war with Mexico, a hundred times

over_." This is encouraging, and may lead us to look upon the prospect of

another, with more complacency; though the whole of this treasure will not

buy back a single slaughtered victim--not one husband to the widow--nor

one parent to an orphan child--nor one stay and staff, the joy and the

pride of her life, to the lone mother. _N'importe_--we have gold and

glory! "The people," says Mr. Mason, "before engaged in cultivating their

small patches of ground, and guarding their herds of cattle and horses,

have all gone to the mines. Laborers of every trade have left their work

benches, and tradesmen their shops. Sailors desert their ships, as fast as

they arrive on the coast."

There is a marvellous fascination in all this, no doubt; and as fast and

as far as the knowledge radiates, thousands upon thousands will be rushing

to the spot. The shilling here, however, which procures a given amount of

meat, fire and clothes, is equal to the sum, whatever it may be, which,

there procures the same amount and quality. Loafers and the lovers of

ease and indolence, who are tobacco chewers, to a man, are desirous of

flying to this El Dorado. Let them have a care: an ounce of gold dust,

valued at $12 there, though worth $18 here, is said to have been paid, for

a plug of tobacco. A traveller in Caffraria, having paid five cowries,

(shells, the money of the country) for some article, complained, that

forty were demanded, for a like article, in a village, not far off; and

inquired if the article was scarce; "no," was the reply, "but cowries are

very plenty."

Our adventurers intend to remain, perhaps, only till they obtain a

competency. Even that is not the work of a day; and will be longer, or

shorter, in the ratio of the consumption of means, for daily support,

during the operation. There will, doubtless, be some difference also, as

to the meaning of the word competency. An intelligent merchant, of this

city, once defined it to mean a little more, in every individual's

opinion, than he hath. Like the lock of hay, which Miss Edgeworth says is

attached to the extremity of the pole, and which is ever just so far in

advance of the hungry horses, in an Irish jaunting car, so competency

seems to be forever leading us onward, yet is never fairly within our

grasp.

John Graunt, of whom a good account may be found in Bayle, says, that, if

the art of making gold were known, and put extensively in practice, it

would raise the value of silver. Of course it would, and of everything

else, so far as the quantity of gold, given in exchange for any article,

is the representative of value. As gold becomes plenty, it will be

employed for other uses, sauce-pans perhaps, as well as for the increase

of the circulating medium. The amount of gold, which has passed through

the British mint, from the accession of Elizabeth, 1558, to 1840, is,

according to Professor Farraday, 3,353,561 pounds weight troy; and nearly

one half of this was coined during the reign of George III.

Gold is a good thing, in charitable fingers; but it too frequently

constructs for itself a chancel in our hearts. It then becomes the golden

calf, and man an idolater. How dearly we get to love the chink and the

glitter of our gold! How much like death it does seem, to go off 'change,

before the last watch!

Three score years and ten, devoted to the turning of pennies! How many of

us, after we have had our three warnings, still hobble up and down, day

after day, infinitely more anxious about pennies, than we were, fifty

years ago, about pounds! An angel, the spirit, for example, of Michael de

Montaigne, perched upon the City Hall--the eastern end of the ridge

pole--must be tempted to laugh heartily. Without any angelic pretensions,

I have done so myself, when, upon certain emergencies, the kegs, boxes,

and bags of gold and silver, hand-carted and hand borne, have gone from

bank to bank, backward and forward, often, in a morning, like the slipper,

in the _jeu de pantoufle_! What an interest is upon the faces of the

crowd, who gaze upon the very kegs and boxes; feasting upon the bald

idea--the unprofitable consciousness--that gold and silver are within; and

reminding one of old George Herbert's lines,--

"Wise men with pity do behold

Fools worship mules, that carry gold."

"Verily," saith an ancient writer, "traffickers and the getters of gain,

upon the mart, are like unto pismires, each struggling to bear off the

largest mouthful."

I am glad to see that the moderns are collecting the remains of good old

George Herbert, and giving them an elegant _surtout_. His address to money

is a jewel, and none the worse for its antique setting:

"Money! Thou bane of bliss, and source of wo!

Whence com'st thou, that thou art so fresh and fine?

I know thy parentage is base and low;

Man found thee, poor and dirty, in a mine.

"Surely thou didst so little contribute

To this great kingdom, which thou now hast got,

That he was fain, when thou wert destitute,

To dig thee out of thy dark cave and grot.

"Then, forcing thee by fire, he made thee bright;

Nay, thou hast got the face of man, for we

Have, with our stamp and seal, transferred our right;

Thou art the man, and we but dross to thee!

"Man calleth thee his wealth, who made thee rich,

And, while he digs out thee, falls in the ditch."

The mere selfish getters of gain, who dispense it not, are, _civiliter et

humaniter mortui_--dead as a door nail--dead dogs in the manger! I come

not to bury them, at present; but, if possible, to awaken some of them

with my penny trumpet; otherwise they may die in good earnest in their

sins; their last breath giving evidence of their ruling passion--muttering

not the _tete d'armee_ of Napoleon, but the last words of that

accomplished Israelite, who caused his gold to be counted out, before his

failing eyes--_per shent_.

No. XXXII.

_Making mourning_, as an abstract phrase, is about as intelligible, as

_making fish_. These arbitrary modes of expression have ever been well

enough understood, nevertheless, by those employed in the respective

operations. _Making mourning_, in ancient times, was assigned to that

class of hired women, termed _praeficae_, to whom I have had occasion to

refer. They are thus described, by Stephans--adhiberi solebant funeri,

mercede conductae, ut flerent, et fortia facta laudarent--they were called

to funerals, and paid, to shed tears, and relate the famous actions of the

defunct. Doubtless, by practice, and continual exercise of the will over

the lachrymary organs, they acquired the power of forcing mechanical

tears. We have a specimen of this power, in the case of Miss Sophy

Streatfield, so often referred to, by Madame D'Arblay, in her account of

those happy days at Mrs. Thrale's. _Making mourning_, in modern times, is,

with a few touching exceptions, confined to that important class, the

dress-makers.

The time allowed, for mourning, was determined, by the laws of Numa.

Plutarch informs us, that no mourning was allowed, for a child, that died

under three years, and for all others, a month, for every year it had

lived, but never to exceed ten, which was the longest term, allowed for

any mourning. We often meet with the term, _luctus annus_, the year of

mourning; but the year of Romulus contained but ten months; and, though

Numa added two, to the calendar, the term of mourning remained unchanged.

The howlers, or wailing women, were employed also in Greece, and in Judea.

Thus in Jeremiah ix. 17, _call for the mourning women, &c., and let them

make haste and take up a wailing for us, that our eyes may run down with

tears, &c._

By the laws of Numa, widows were required to mourn ten months or during

the year of Romulus. Thus Ovid, Fast. i. 35:

Per totidem menses a funere conjugis uxor

Sustinet in vidua tristia signa domo.

Numa was rather severe upon widows. The _tristia signa_, spoken of by

Ovid, were sufficiently mournful. According to Kirchmaun de Fun. iv. 11,

they were not to stir abroad in public--to abstain entirely from all

entertainments--to lay aside every kind of ornament--to dress in

black--and not even to kindle a fire, in their houses. Not content with

stinting and freezing these poor, lone creatures, to death, Numa forbade

them to repeat the matrimonial experiment, for ten months. Indeed, it was

accounted infamous, for a widow to marry, within that period. As though he

were resolved to add insult to injury, he, according to Plutarch,

permitted those to violate this law, who would make up their minds, to

sacrifice a cow with calf. This unnatural sacrifice was intended, by Numa,

to frighten the widows. Doubtless, in many instances, the legislative

bugbear was effectual; but it is quite probable there were some courageous

women, in those days, as there are, at present, who would have slaughtered

a whole drove, rather than yield the tender point.

The Jews expressed their grief, for the death of their near friends, by

weeping, and crying aloud, beating their breasts, rending their clothes,

tearing their flesh, pulling their hair, and starving themselves. They

neither dressed, nor made their beds, nor washed, nor saw visitors, nor

shaved, nor cut their nails, and made their toilets with sackcloth and

ashes. The mourning of the Jews lasted commonly seven days, and never more

than thirty--quite long enough, we should think, for such an exhibition of

filth and folly. The Greeks also did much of all this--they covered

themselves with dust and dirt, and rolled in the mire, and beat their

breasts, and tore their faces.

The color of the mourning garb, among the Romans, was originally

black--from the time of Domitian, white. At present, the color of the

mourning dress, in Europe is black--in China white--in Turkey blue or

violet--in Egypt yellow--in Ethiopia brown. There have come down to us two

admirable letters from Seneca, 63, and 99, on the subject of lamentation

for the dead; the first to Lucilius, after the death of his friend,

Flaccus--the second to Lucilius, communicating the letter Seneca had

written to Murullus, on the death of his son. These letters must be read,

_cum grano salis_, on account of the stoical philosophy of the writer. He

admits the propriety of decent sorrow, but is opposed to violent and

unmeasured lamentations--_nec sicci sint occuli, amisso amico, nec

fluant_--shed tears, if you have lost your friend, but do not cry your

eyes out--_lacrimandum est, non plorandum_--let there be weeping, but not

wailing. He cites, for the advantage of Lucilius, the counsel of Ulysses

to Achilles, whose grief, for the death of Patroclus, had become

inordinate, to give one whole day to his sorrow, and have done with it. He

considers it not honorable, for men, to exhibit their grief, beyond the

term of two or three days. Such, upon the authority of Tacitus De Mor.

Germ. 27, was the practice of the ancient Germans. Funerum nulla ambitio:

... struem rogi nec vestibus, nec odoribus, cumulant: ... lamenta ac

lacrimas cito, dolorem et tristitiam tarde, ponunt; feminis lugere

honestum est; viris meminisse: there was no pride of funereal parade; they

heaped no garments, no odors, upon the pile; they speedily laid aside

their tears and laments; not so their grief and sorrow. It was becoming,

for _women_ to mourn; for _men_ to cherish in their memories.

In his letter to Lucilius, Seneca enters upon an investigation, as to the

real origin of all this apparent sorrow, so freely and generally

manifested, for the dead; and his sober conviction breaks forth, in the

words--Nemo tristis sibi est. O infelicem stultitiam! est aliqua et

doloris ambitio! No one mourns for himself alone. Oh miserable folly!

There is ambition, even in our sorrow! This passage recalls Martial's

epigram, 34, De Gellia:

Amissum non flet, quum sola est Gellia, patrem;

Si quis adest, jussae prosiliunt lacrymae.

Non dolet hic, quisquis landari, Gellia, quaerit;

Ille dolet vere, qui sine teste dolet.

Arthur Murphy, in his edition of Dr. Johnson's works, ascribes to that

great man the following extraordinary lines:

If the man, who turnips cries,

Cry not, when his father dies,

'Tis a proof, that he had rather

Have a turnip than his father.

Under the doctor's sanction, for a bagatelle, I may offer a translation of

Martial's epigram:

When no living soul is nigh,

Gellia's filial grief is dry;

Call, some morning, and I'll warrant

Gellia'l shed a perfect torrent.

Tears unforc'd true sorrow draws:

Gellia weeps for mere applause.

It is our fortune to witness not a little of this, in our line. We are

compelled to drop in, at odd, disjointed moments, when the not altogether

disagreeable occupations of the survivors contrast, rather oddly, to be

sure, with the graver duties to the dead. A rich widow, like Dr. Johnson's

_protege_, in his letter to Chesterfield, is commonly overburdened with

help. It is quite surprising, to observe the solicitude about her health,

and how very fervent the hope of her neighbors becomes, that she may not

have taken cold. The most prominent personages, after the widow and the

next of kin, are the coffin-maker and the dress-maker--both are solicitous

of making an excellent fit. Those, who, like myself, have had long

practice in families, are often admitted to familiar interviews with the

chief mourners, which are likely to take place, in the midst of

dress-makers and artists of all sorts. How many acres of black crape I

have witnessed, in half a century! "Mr. Abner--good Mr. Abner," said Mrs.

----, "dear Mr. Abner," said she, "I shall not forget your kindness--how

pleasant it is, on these occasions, to see a face one knows. You buried my

first husband--I thought there was nothing like that: and you buried my

second husband--and, oh dear me, I thought there was nothing like

that--and now, oh dear, dear me, you are going to bury my third! How I am

supported, it is hard to tell--but the widow's God will carry me through

this, and other trials, for aught I know--Miss Buddikin, don't you think

that dress should be fuller behind?" "Oh dear ma'am, your fine shape, you

know," said Miss Buddikin. "There now, Miss Buddikin, at any other time I

dare say I should be pleased with your flattery, but grief has brought

down my flesh and spirits terribly. Good morning, dear Mr. Abner--remember

there will be no postponement, on account of the weather."

No. XXXIII.

I am sad. It is my duty to record an event of deep and universal interest.

On Sunday night, precisely as the clock of the Old South Church struck the

very first stroke of twelve, departed this life, of no particular malady,

but from a sort of constitutional decay, to which the family has ever been

periodically liable, and at the same age, at which his ancestors have

died, for many generations, A. Millesimus Octingentesimus Quadragesimus

Octavus.

It has been a custom in France, and in other countries, to send printed

invitations to friends and relatives, inviting them to funerals. I have

heard of a thriving widow--_la veuve Berthier_--who added a short

postscript--_Madame Berthier will be happy to furnish soap and candles, at

the old stand, as heretofore_. I trust I shall not be deemed guilty of a

like indiscretion, if I add, for general information, that the business

will be conducted hereafter, in the name of A. M. O. Q. Nonus.

I did intend to be facetious, but, for the soul of me, I cannot. It is

enough for me to know that the old year is dead and gone, and that the

hopes and fears of millions are now lying in its capacious grave. Between

the old year and the new, the space is so incalculably narrow, that, if

those ancient philosophers were in the right, who contended, that an angel

could not live in a vacuum, no angel, in the flesh, or out of it, could

possibly get between the two: the partition is thin as tissue paper--thin

as that between wit and madness, which is so exceedingly thin, as to be

often undistinguishable, leaving us in doubt, on which side our neighbors

may be found,--when at home.

I see, clearly, in the close of another year, another milestone, upon

Time's highway, from chaos to eternity. Is it not wise, and natural, and

profitable, for the pilgrim to pause, and mark his lessening way? He

cannot possibly know the precise number of milestones, that lie between

the present and his journey's end; but he may sometimes shrewdly guess

from the number he has passed already. There is precious little certainty,

however, in the very best of man's arithmetic, on a subject like this:

for, at every milestone, from the very first, and at countless

intermediate points, he will observe innumerable tablets, recording the

fact, that myriads of travellers have stopped here and there, not for the

want of willingness to go forward, but for the want of breath--not for the

night, to be awakened at the morning watch, by the attentive host, or the

railway whistle,--but for a long, long while, to be summoned, at last, by

the piercing notes of a clarion, loud and clear, which, as the bow of

Ulysses could be bent only by the master's hand, can be raised, only by

the lips and the lungs of an archangel.

Well, Quadragesimus Octavus hath gone to his long home, and the mourners

go about the streets--a motley group it is, that band of melancholy

followers! Upon this, as upon all other occasions of the same sort, true

tears, from the very well-spring of the heart, fall, together with showers

of hypocritical salt water. Little children, who must ever refer their

orphanage to the year that is past, are in the van; and with them, a few

widowers and widows, who have not been married quite long enough, to be

reconciled to their bereavement. There are others, who also have been

divorced from their partners by death, and who submit, with admirable

grace; and wear their weeds--of the very best make and fashion, by the

way--with infinite propriety.

It is quite amazing to see the great number of mourners, who, though,

doubtless, natives, have a very Israelitish expression, and wear

phylacteries, upon which are written three or four words whose import is

intelligible, only to the initiated, but which, being interpreted,

signify--_three per cent. a month_. None seem to wear an expression of

more heartfelt sorrow, for the departure of Quadragesimus Octavus, during

whose existence, being less greedy of honors than of gain, they were

singularly favored, converting the necessities of other men into an

abundance of bread and butter, for themselves.

In the melancholy train, we behold a goodly number of maiden ladies,

dressed in yellow, which is the mourning color of the Egyptians, and some

of these disconsolate damsels are really beginning to acquire the mummy

complexion: it happened that, as the old year expired, they were just

turned of thirty.

There are others, who have sufficient reason to mourn, and whose numerous

writings have brought them into serious trouble. Their works, commencing

with a favorite expression--_for value received I promise to pay_, owing

to something rather pointed in the phraseology, were liable to be severely

criticised, so soon as the old year expired.

The lovers of parade, and show, and water celebrations, and torch-light

processions, trumpeting and piping merrymakings, and huzzaings, the

brayings of stump orators, and the intolerable noise and farrago of

electioneering; the laudings and vituperatings of Taylor, Cass, and Van

Buren; the ferocious lyings and vilifyings of partisans, politically drunk

or crazy--the lovers of all or any of these things are one and all,

attendants at the funeral of Quadragesimus Octavus.

The good old year is gone--and, in the words of a celebrated clergyman,

to a bereaved mother, who would not be comforted, but wailed the louder,

the more he pressed upon her the duty of submission--"_what do you propose

to do about it?_" I cannot answer for you, my gentle reader, but I am

ready to answer for myself. As an old sexton, I believe it to be my duty

to pay immediate attention to the very significant command--whatsoever thy

hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is no work, nor

device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom in the grave, whither thou goest. If

good old Samuel had been an undertaker, he could not have said, more

confidently than I do, at this moment, whose corpse have I taken, or whose

shroud have I taken, or whom have I defrauded, or whom have I buried east

for west, or wrong end foremost? Of what surgeon have I received a fee,

for a skeleton, to blind mine eyes withal? I have neither the head nor the

heart for mystical theology. I believe in the doctrine of election, as

established by the constitution and laws of the United States, and of the

States respectively, so far as regards the President, Vice President, and

all town, county and state officers: and I respect the Egyptians, for one

trait, recorded of them, by an eminent historian, who states, that those,

who worship an ape, never quarrel with those, who worship an ox. A very

fine verse, the thirteenth of the last chapter of Ecclesiastes--"Let us

hear the conclusion of the whole matter: fear God, and keep his

commandments: for this is the whole duty of man."

Let us try, during the year, upon whose threshold we are now standing, to

do as much good, and as little harm, as possible. I respectfully recommend

to all old men and women, who are as grey and grizzly as I am, to make

themselves as agreeable as they can; and remember, that old age is

proverbially peevish and exacting. In the presence of children, do not

forget the wise sayings of Parson Primrose, who candidly confessed, when

solicited to join in some childish pastime, that he complied, for he was

tired of being always wise. Pray allow all you can for the vivacity and

waywardness of youth. Nine young ladies, in ten, may find a clever fit,

in Pope's shrewd line--

"Brisk as a flea, and ignorant as dirt."

All, that can be said about it, lies in a filbert shell, _ita lex scripta

est, ita rerum natura_. You will not mend the matter, by scowling and

growling, from morning to night. Can you not remember, that you yourself,

when a boy, were saluted now and then, with the title of "proper

plague"--"devil's bird"--or "little Pickle?" I can. Some years ago, my

very worthy friend, the Rev. John S. C. Abbott, did me the kindness to

give me one of his excellent works, the Path of Peace. The preface

contains a very short and clever incident, of whose applicability, you can

judge for yourself.

"Mother," said a little boy, "I do not wish to go to Heaven."

"And why not, my son?"

"Why, grandfather will be there, will he not?"

"Yes, my son, I hope he will."

"Well, as soon as he sees us, he will come, scolding along, and say,

'Whew, whew, whew! what are these boys here for?' I am sure I do not wish

to go to Heaven, if grandfather is to be there."

This is a short tale of a grandfather, but it is a very significant story,

for its length; and calculated, I fear, for many meridians.

Well, here we are, in the very midst of bells and bonfires, screaming for

joy, in honor of the new year, with our spandy new weepers on, for the old

one.

No. XXXIV.

Viewed in every possible relation, the most melancholy and distressing

funerals, of which I have any knowledge, were a series of interments,

which occurred in Charleston, South Carolina, not very many years ago, and

of which, in 1840, I received, while sojourning there, a particular

account, from an inhabitant of that hospitable city. These funerals were

among the blacks; and, as there was no epidemic at the time, their

frequency, at length, attracted observation. Every day or two, the colored

population were seen, bearing, apparently, one of their number to the

place, appointed for all living. Suspicion was, at last, awakened--a post

mortem examination was resolved on--the graves, which proved to be

uncommonly shallow, were opened--the coffins lifted out, and examined--and

found to be filled, not with corpses, but with muskets, swords, pistols,

pikes, knives, hatchets, and such other weapons, as might be necessary,

for the perfection of a deadly work, which had been long projected, and

was then not far from its consummation.

These, I say, were the most melancholy funerals, of which I have any

knowledge. This was burying the hatchet, in a novel sense. In 1840, the

tumult of mind, resulting from immediate apprehension, had, in a great

degree, subsided; yet a rigorous system of espionage continued, in full

operation--the spirit of vigilance was still on tiptoe--the arsenal was in

excellent working order, and capable, at any moment, of turning its iron

shower, in every direction--the separate gathering of the blacks, for

religious worship, had been, and still was, prohibited; for it was

believed, that the little tabernacle, in which, before this alarming

discovery, the colored people were in the habit of assembling, had been

used, in some sort, for the purpose of holding insurrectionary conclaves;

perhaps for the purpose also of muttering prayers, between their teeth, to

the bondman's God, to give him strength to break his fetters.

At the time, to which I refer, the slaves, who attended religious

services, on the Sabbath, entered the same temples with their masters, who

paid their vows, on cushions, while many of the slaves worshipped,

squatting in the aisles. At this time, slaves, _ex cautela_, were

forbidden, under penalty of imprisonment and the lash, from being present

at any conflagration. Under a like penalty, they were commanded to retire

instantly, upon the very first stroke of the curfew bell, to their homes

and cabins. At every quarter of an hour, through the whole night, the cry

of _all's well_ was sent forth by the armed sentinel, from the top of St.

Michael's tower. Such was the state of things, in 1840, in the city of

Charleston.

Melancholy as were these funerals, the undertakers were quite as

ingenious, as those cunning Greeks, who contrived the Trojan horse,

_divina Palladis arte_. Melancholy and ominous funerals were they--for

they were incidents of slavery, the CURSE COLOSSAL--that huge, unsightly

cicatrice, upon the very face of our heritage. Well may we say to the most

favored nation of the earth, in Paul's proud words,--_would to God ye were

not only almost, but altogether such as we are, saving these bonds_.

After taking a mental and moral _coup d'oeil_ of these matters, I remember

that I lay long, upon my pillow, not consigning my Southern friends and

brethren, votively, to the devil; but thanking God, for that blessed

suggestion, which led good, old Massachusetts, and the other states of the

North, to abolish slavery, within their own domains.

Slavery is a curse, not only to the long-suffering slave, but to the

mortified master. This chivalry of the South--what is it? Every man of the

South, or the North, who comes to the blessed conclusion, that, while

others own _jackasses_, _horses_, _and horned cattle_, he actually _owns

men_--what a thought!--will soon become filled with this very chivalry. It

is the lordly consciousness of dominion over one's fellow-man--a sort of

Satrap-like feeling of power--a sentiment extremely oriental, which begets

that important and consequential air of superiority, that marks the

Southern man and the Southern boy,--Mr. Calhoun, diving, like one of

Pope's heroes, after first principles, and fetching up, for a fact, the

pleasant fancy, that _man is not born of a woman_--or the young,

travelling gentleman, full of "Suth Cralina," who comes hither, to sojourn

awhile, and carries in every look, that almost incomprehensible mixture of

pride and sensitiveness, which is equally repulsive and ridiculous.

The bitterness of sectional feeling is a necessary incident of slavery.

Civil and servile wars are among its terrible contingencies. Slavery

cannot endure in our land, though the end be not yet. I had rather the

cholera should spread, than this moral scourge, over our new domains--not,

upon my honor, because the former would be a help to our profession, but

because a dead is more bearable, than a living curse.

Of all the sciolists, who have offered their services, to remedy this

evil, the conscience party is the most remarkable. A self-consecrated

party, with their phlogistic system, would deal with the whole South,

which, on this topic, is a perfect hornet's nest already, precisely as an

intelligent farmer, in Vermont, dealt with a hornet's nest, under the

eaves of his dwelling--he applied the actual cautery; his practice was

successful--he destroyed the nest, and with it his entire mansion. There

are men, of this party, to whom the constitution and laws of the Union are

objects of infinite contempt; who despise the Bible; who would overthrow

the civil magistrate; and unfrock the clergy. But there are many others,

who abjure such doctrines--a species of conscience comeouters--who intend,

after they have unkennelled the whirlwind, to appoint a committee of

three, from every county, to hold it by the tail, _ne quid detrimenti

respublica caperet_. These are to be selected from the most careful and

judicious, who, when the firebrand is thrown into the barrel of gunpowder,

will have a care, that not more than a moderate quantity shall be ignited.

The constitution is a contract, made by our fathers, and binding on their

children. Who shall presume to say that contract is void, for want of

consideration, or because the subject is _malum in se_? Who shall decide

the question of _nudum pactum_ or not? Not one of the parties, nor two,

nor any number, short of the whole, can annul this solemn contract; nor

can a decision of the question of constitutionality come from any other

tribunal, than the Supreme Judicial Court of the United States.

Lord Mansfield's celebrated dictum--_fiat justitia, ruat Caelum_, has been

often absurdly applied, and in connection with this very question of

slavery and its removal. _Justitia_ is a broad word, and refers not solely

to the rights of the slave, but to those of the freeman. The proposition

of the full-bottomed abolitionist--immediate emancipation, or dissolution

of the Union, and civil and servile war to boot, if it must be so--is fit

to be taught, only to the tenants of a madhouse. But there is a spirit

abroad, whose tendency cannot be mistaken. Slavery is becoming daily more

and more odious, in the east, in the west, in the north, ay, and in the

south. Individually, many slaveholders are becoming less attached to their

_property_. There may be too much even of _this good thing_. Slavery would

continue longer, in the present slave states, if it were extended to the

new territories; for it would be rendered more bearable in the former, by

the power of sloughing off the redundancy, on profitable terms. The spirit

of emancipation is striding over the main land, walking upon the waters,

and planting its foot, upon one dark island after another. _Let us

hope_--better to do that, than mischief. Let us rejoice, that, as the

Scotch say, _there is a God aboon a'_--better to do that, than spit upon

our Bibles, and scoff at law and order. It is always better to stand

still, than move rudely and rashly, in the dark. Such was the decided

opinion of my old friend and fellow-sexton, Grossman, when he fell, head

first, into an unclosed tomb, and broke his enormous nose.

No. XXXV.

In looking up a topic, for my dealings with the dead, this afternoon, I

can think of nothing more interesting, at the present time, than _Lot's

wife and the Dead Sea_. I consider Lieutenant Lynch the most fortunate of

modern discoverers. He has discovered the long lost lady of Lot--the

veritable pillar of salt! There are some incredulous persons, I am aware,

who are of opinion, that the account of this discovery should be received,

_cum grano salis_; but my own mind is entirely made up. I should have been

better pleased, I admit, if he had verified the suggestion, which led to

the discovery, by bringing home a leg, or an arm. Possibly, it may be

thought proper to send a Government vessel, for the entire pillar, to

ornament the Rotunda at Washington. The identification of Lot's wife is

rendered exceedingly simple, by the fact, that seventeen of her fingers,

and not less than fourteen of her toes, broken off from time to time, by

the faithful, as relics, are exhibited in various churches and

monasteries.

Models of these, in plaster, could readily be obtained, I presume; and an

application of their fractured parts to the salt corpse, discovered by

Lieutenant Lynch, would settle the question, in the manner, employed to

test the authenticity of ancient indentures. Besides, every one knows,

that salt is a self preserver, and lasting in its character, especially

the Attic. The very elements of preservation abound in the Dead Sea, and

the region round about. Its very name establishes the

fact--_Asphaltites_--so called from the immense quantity of _asphaltum_ or

bitumen, with which it abounds. This is called _Jews' Pitch_, and was used

of old, for embalming; and the corpse of Mrs. Lot, after the salt had

thoroughly penetrated, rolled up, as it probably was found by Lieutenant

Lynch, in a winding sheet of bitumen, which readily envelopes everything

it touches, would last forever. This pitch is often sold by the druggists,

under the name of mummy.

In Judea, with the territory of Moab, on the East, and the wilderness of

Judah, on the West, and having the lands of Reuben and Edom, or Idumea, on

the North and South, lies that sheet of mysterious and unfrequented water,

which has been called the East Sea--the Salt Sea--the Sea of the

Desert--the Sea of the Plain--the Sea of Sodom--and, more commonly, the

Dead Sea. To this I beg leave to add another title, the Legendary lake, or

Humbug water. More marvel has been marked, learned, and inwardly digested,

by Christians, on the subject of this sheet of water, than the broad ocean

has ever supplied, to stir the landman's heart. Its dimensions, in the

first place, have been set down, with remarkable discrepancy. Pliny, lib.

v. 15, says, Longitudine excedit centum M. passuum, latitudine maxima

xxv., implet, minima sex, making the length one hundred miles, and the

breadth, from twenty-five miles, to six. Josephus estimates its length at

five hundred and eighty furlongs, from the mouth of the Jordan, to the

town of Segor, at the opposite end; and its greatest breadth one hundred

and fifty furlongs. The Rev. Dr. William Jenks, of whose learning and

labors a sexton of the old school may be permitted to speak, with great

respect, sets down the length, in his New Gazetteer of the Bible, appended

to his Explanatory Bible Atlas, of 1847, at thirty-nine miles, and its

greatest breadth at nine. Carne, in his Letters from the East, says the

length is sixty miles, and the breadth from eight to ten. Stephens states

the length to be thirty miles, in his Incidents of Travel.

The origin of this lake was ascribed to the submersion of the valley of

Siddim, where the cities stood, which were destroyed, in the conflagration

of Sodom and Gomorrah. This tremendous gallimaufry or hotch potch,

produced, as some suppose, an intolerable stench, and impregnated the

waters with salt, sulphur, and bitumen.

Pliny, in the passage quoted above,--observes--Nullum corpus animalium

recipit--no animal can live in it. Speaking of these waters, Dr. Jenks

remarks--"no animals exist in them." On the other hand, Dr. Pococke, on

the authority of a monk, tells us, that fish have been caught in the Dead

Sea. _Per contra_ again, Mr. Volney affirms, that it contains neither

animal nor vegetable life. M. Chateaubriand, on the other hand, who

visited the Dead Sea, in 1807, remarks--"About midnight, I heard a noise

upon the lake, and was told by the Bethlehemites, who accompanied me, that

it proceeded from legions of small fish, which come out, and leap upon the

shore." The monks of St. Saba assured Dr. Shaw, as he states in his

travels, that they had seen fish caught there.

In the passage quoted from Pliny, he says--Tauri camelique fluitant. Inde

fama nihil in eo mergi--bulls and camels float upon this lake: hence the

notion, that nothing will sink in it. It is true, that the water of the

Dead Sea is specifically heavier than any other, owing to the great

quantity of salt, sulphur, and bitumen; but Dr. Pococke found not the

slightest difficulty, in swimming and diving in the lake. Sir Thomas

Browne, treating of this, in his Pseudodoxia, vol. iii., p. 341, London,

1835, observes--"As for the story, men deliver it variously. Some, I fear

too largely, as Pliny, who affirmeth that bricks will swim therein.

Mandevil goeth further, that iron swimmeth and feathers sink." "But,"

continueth Sir Thomas, "Andrew Thevet, in his Cosmography, doth ocularly

overthrow it, for he affirmeth he saw an ass with his saddle cast therein

and drowned."

Another legend is equally absurd, that birds, attempting to fly over the

lake, fall, stifled by its horrible vapors. "It is very common," says

Volney, "to see swallows skimming its surface, and dipping for the water,

necessary to build their nests." Mr. Stephens, in his Incidents of Travel,

vol. ii. chap. 15, gives an interesting account of the Dead Sea, and

says--"I saw a flock of gulls floating quietly on its bosom."

It has been roundly asserted, that, in very clear weather, the ruins of

the cities, destroyed by the conflagration, are visible beneath the

waters. Josephus soberly avers, that a smoke constantly arose from the

lake, whose waters changed their color three times daily.

The waters of Jordan and of the brooks Kishon, Jabbok, and Arnon, flow

into the Dead Sea, yet produce no perceptible rise of its surface. The

influx from these mountain streams is considerable. Hence another legend,

to account for this mystery--a subterraneous communication with the

Mediterranean--which would surely make the matter worse, for Dr. Jenks and

other writers state, that "the waters lie in a deep caldron, many hundred

feet _below_ the Mediterranean." Evaporation, which is said to be very

great, explains the mystery entirely. At the rising of the sun, dense fogs

cover the lake.

Chateaubriand says--"The first thing I did, on alighting, was to walk into

the lake, up to my knees, and taste the water. I found it impossible to

keep it in my mouth. It far exceeds that of the sea, in saltness, and

produces, upon the lips, the effect of a strong solution of alum. Before

my boots were completely dry, they were covered with salt; our clothes,

our hats, our hands were, in less than three hours, impregnated with this

mineral." "The origin of this mineral," says Volney, "is easy to be

discovered, for, on the southwest shore, are mines of fossil salt. They

are situated, in the sides of the mountains, which extend along the

border; and, for time immemorial, have supplied the neighboring Arabs, and

even the city of Jerusalem."

"Whoever," says Mr. Carne, in his Letters from the East, "has seen the

Dead Sea, will have its aspect impressed upon his memory. It is, in truth,

a gloomy and fearful spectacle. The precipices, in general, descend

abruptly to the lake, and, on account of their height, it is seldom

agitated by the winds. Its shores are not visited, by any footstep, save

that of the wild Arab, and he holds it in superstitious dread. On some

parts of the rocks, there is a thick, sulphureous incrustation, and, in

their steep descents, there are several deep caverns, where the benighted

Bedouin sometimes finds a home. The sadness of the grave was on it and

around it, and the silence also. However vivid the feelings are, on

arriving on its shores, they subside, after a time, into languor and

uneasiness; and you long, if it were possible, to see a tempest wake on

its bosom, to give sound and life to the scene."

"If we adopt," says Chateaubriand, "the idea of Professor Michaelis, and

the learned Busching, in his memoir on the Dead Sea, physics may be

admitted, to explain the catastrophe of the guilty cities, without offence

to religion. Sodom was built upon a mine of bitumen, as we know from the

testimony of Moses and Josephus, who speak concerning wells of bitumen, in

the valley of Siddim. Lightning kindled the combustible mass, and the

cities sank in the subterranean conflagration." In Calmet's Dictionary of

the Bible, vol. iii., article Lot, it is stated, that the Mahometans have

added many circumstances to his history. They assert, that the angel

Gabriel pried up the devoted cities so near to Heaven, that the angels

actually heard the sound of the trumpets and horns, and even the yelping

of puppies, in Sodom and Gomorrah: and that Gabriel then let the whole

concern go with a terrible crash. Upon this, Calmet remarks,--"Romantic as

this account appears, it preserves traces of an earthquake and a volcano,

which were, in all probability, the _natural secondary cause_ of the

overthrow of Sodom, and of the formation of the Dead Sea." Lot's wife in

my next.

No. XXXVI.

The conversion of Lot's wife into a pillar of salt has given rise to as

much learned discussion, as the question, so zealously agitated, between

Barcephas and others, whether the forbidden fruit were an _apple_ or a

_fig_. _But his wife looked back from behind him, and she became a pillar

of salt._ Gen. xix. 26. Very little account seems to have been made of

this matter, at the time. The whole story, and without note or comment, is

told in these fifteen words. It would have seemed friendly, and natural,

and proper, for Abraham to have said a few words of comfort to Lot, on

this sudden and singular bereavement; but, instead of this, we are told,

in the following verse, that Abraham got up, next morning, and looked,

very philosophically, at the smoke, which went up from the cities of the

plain, like the smoke of a furnace. This neglect of Lot's wife is, too

frequently, a wife's lot. Some of the learned have been sorely perplexed,

to understand, why this unfortunate lady has not long since melted away,

under the influence of the rains; for a considerable quantity of water has

fallen, since the destruction of Sodom. But they seem to forget, that

there is no measure of limitation, for a miracle; and that the salt might

have been purposely designed, like _caoutchouc_, to resist the action of

water. The departure from Sodom was sudden, to be sure; but the lady was

clothed, in some sort, doubtless; yet nothing has been said, by

travellers, about her drapery, and whether that also was converted into

salt, or cast off, by the mere energy of the miracle, is unknown.

This pillar of salt Josephus says he has seen; and, though he does not

name the time, it is of little consequence, as, in such a matter, we can

well afford to throw in a century or two; but it must have been between A.

D. 37, and a point, not long after the 13th year of Domitian. Such being

the term of the existence of Josephus, as nearly as can be ascertained.

The cities of the plain were destroyed, according to Calmet's reckoning,

1893 years before Christ; therefore, _the pillar_, which Josephus saw,

must have then been standing more than nineteen centuries. These are the

words of Josephus: "_But Lot's wife, continually turning back, to view the

city, as she went from it, and being too nicely inquisitive what would

become of it, although God had forbidden her so to do, was changed into a

pillar of salt, for I have seen it, and it remains at this day_." Antiq.,

vol. i. p. 32, Whiston's translation, Lond. 1825. The editor, in a note

states, that Clement of Rome, a cotemporary of Josephus, also saw it, and

that Irenaeus saw it, in the next century. Mr. Whiston prudently declines

being responsible for the statements of modern travellers, who say they

have seen it. And what did they see?--a pillar of salt. This is quite

probable. Volney remarks, "At intervals we met with misshapen blocks,

which prejudiced eyes mistake for mutilated statues, and which pass, with

ignorant and superstitious pilgrims, for monuments of the adventure of

Lot's wife; though it is nowhere said that she was metamorphosed into

stone, like Niobe, but into salt, which must have melted the ensuing

winter." Volney forgets, that the salt itself was miraculous, and,

doubtless, water proof.

Mr. Stephens, in his Incidents of Travel, though he gives a description of

the Dead Sea, in whose waters he bathed, says not a syllable of Lot's

wife, or the pillar of salt.

Some of the learned have opined, that Lot's wife, like Pliny, during the

eruption of Vesuvius, was overwhelmed, by the burning and flying masses of

sulphur and bitumen; this is suggested, under the article, Lot's Wife, in

Calmet. "Some travellers in Palestine," says he, "relate that Lot's wife

was shown to them, i. e. the rock, into which she was metamorphosed. But

what renders their testimony very suspicious is, that they do not agree,

about the place, where it stands; some saying westward, others eastward,

some northward, others southward of the Dead Sea; others in the midst of

the waters; others in Zoar; others at a great distance from the city." In

1582, Prince Nicholas Radziville took a vast deal of pains to discover

this remarkable pillar of salt, but all his inquiries were fruitless. Dr.

Adam Clarke suggests, that Lot's wife, by lingering in the plain, may have

been struck dead with lightning, and enveloped in the bituminous and

sulphureous matter, that descended. He refers to a number of stories, that

have been told, and among them, that this pillar possessed a miraculous,

reproductive energy, whereby the fingers and toes of the unfortunate lady

were regenerated, instanter, as fast as they were broken off, by the hands

of pilgrims. Irenaeus, one of the fathers, asserts, that this pillar of

salt was _actually alive in his time_! Some of those fathers, I am

grieved to say it, were insufferable story-tellers. This tale is also

told, by the author of a poem, _De Sodoma_, appended to the life of

Tertullian. Some learned men understand the Hebrew to mean simply, that

"_she became fixed in the salsuginous soil_"--anglice, _stuck in the mud_.

If this be the real meaning of the passage, it must have been some other

lady, that was seen by Josephus, Clement, Irenaeus, and Lieut. Lynch.

Sir Thomas Browne, credulous though he was, had, probably, no great

confidence in the _literal_ construction of the passage in Genesis. In

vol. iii. page 327, of his works, London, 1835, he says--"We will not

question the metamorphosis of Lot's wife, or whether she were transformed

into a real statue of salt; though some conceive that expression

metaphorical, and no more thereby than a lasting and durable column,

according to the nature of salt, which admitteth no corruption." This is

evidently the opinion of Dr. Adam Clarke. In other words, God, by her

destruction, while her husband and daughters were saved, made her a

_pillar or lasting memorial_ to the disobedient. In this sense a pillar of

_salt_ means neither more nor less than an _everlasting memorial_. Salt is

the symbol of perpetuity; thus Numbers xviii. 19. _It is a covenant of

salt forever_: and 2 Chron. xvii. 5, the kingdom is given to David and his

sons forever, _by a covenant of salt_. If this be the true construction,

those four gentlemen, to whom I have referred, have been entirely misled,

in supposing that any one of those masses of salt, which Volney says may

be mistaken, for the remains of mutilated statues, has ever, at any period

of the world, been the object of Lot's devotion, or the partner of his

joys and sorrows.

In vol. ii. page 212, of his Incidents of Travel, New York, 1848, Mr.

Stephens, referring to an account, received by him, respecting what he

supposed to be an island in the Dead Sea, writes thus--"_It comes from one

who ought to know, from the only man, who ever made the tour of that sea,

and lived to tell of it_." If Mr. Stephens will look at Chateaubriand's

Travels, and his fine description of the Dead Sea, he will find there the

following passage: "_No person has yet made the tour of it but Daniel,

abbot of St. Saba. Nau has preserved in his travels the narrative of that

recluse. From his account we learn_," &c.

"The celebrated lake," says Chateaubriand, "which occupies the site of

Sodom, is called in Scripture the Dead or Salt Sea." Not so: it is no

where called the Dead Sea, in the sacred writings. By the Turks, it is

called Ula Deguisi, and by the Arabs, Bahar Loth and Almotanah.

It is quite desirable for travellers to be well apprized of all, that is

previously known, in regard to the field of their peregrination. Goldsmith

once projected a plan of visiting the East, for the purpose of bringing to

England such inventions and models, as might be useful. Johnson laughed at

the idea, and denounced Goldsmith, as entirely incompetent, from his

ignorance of what already existed--"he will bring home a wheelbarrow,"

said Johnson, "and think he had made a great addition to our stock." Mr.

Stephens has preserved a respectable silence, on the subject of Lot's

wife.

The island, which is above referred to, turned out, like Sancho's in

Barrataria, to be an optical illusion. The Maltese sailor, who said he had

rowed about the lake with his employer, a Mr. Costigan, who died on its

shores, was disposed, after fingering his fee, to enlarge and improve his

former narrative. Mr. Stephens does not give the date of Costigan's visit

to the Dead Sea. He, however, furnishes a linear map of its form. This

also is drawn by the Maltese sailor, from memory. All that can be said of

it is, that it corresponds with other plans, in one particular,--the

Jordan enters the sea, at its northern extremity. Probably, no very

accurate plan is to be found, such have been the impediments in the way of

any deliberate examination--unless Lieutenant Lynch has succeeded in the

work. The figure of the Dead Sea, in the Atlas of Lucas, has no

resemblance to the figure, in the late Bible Atlas by Dr. Jenks.

No. XXXVII.

Dr. Johnson said, if an atheist came into his house, he would lock up his

spoons. I have always distrusted a sexton, who did not cherish a sentiment

of profound and cordial affection, for his bell. It did my heart good,

when a boy, to mark the proud satisfaction, with which Lutton, the sexton

of the Old Brick, used to ring for fire. I have no confidence in a

fellow, who can toll his bell, for a funeral, and listen to its deep, and

solemn vibrations, without a gentle subduing of the spirit. I never had a

great affection for Clafflin, the sexton of Berry Street Church; but I

always respected the deep feeling of indignation he manifested, if anybody

meddled with his bellrope.

Bells were treated more honorably in the olden time, and ringing was an

art--an accomplishment--then. Holden tells us some fine stories of the

societies of ringers. In his youth, Sir Matthew Hale was a member of one

of those societies. In 1687, Nell Gwinne--and it may be lawful to take the

devil's water, as Dr. Worcester said, to turn the Lord's mill--Nell Gwinne

left the ringers of the church bells of St. Martin's-in-the-Fields, where

there is a peal of twelve, a sum of money, for a weekly entertainment. I

never shall get the chime of the North Church bells out of my ears--I hope

I never shall--more than half an hundred years ago, my mother used to open

the window, of a Christmas eve, that we might hear their music!

In the olden time, bells were baptized--_rantized_ I presume--and wore

_posies_ on their collars. They were first cast in England, in the reign

of Edmund I., and the first tunable set, or peal, for Croyland Abbey, was

cast A. D. 960. Weever tells us, in his Funeral Monuments, that, in 1501,

the bells of the Priory of Little Dunmow, in Essex, were baptized, by the

names of St. Michael, St. John, Virgin Mary, &c. As late as 1816, the

great bell of Notre Dame, in Paris, was baptized, by the name of the Duke

of Angouleme. Bells were supposed to be invested with extraordinary

powers. They were employed, not only to call the congregation together, to

give notice of conflagrations, civil commotions, and the approach of an

enemy, and to ring forth the merry holiday peal--but to quell tempests,

pacify the restless dead, and arrest the very lightning. Bells often bore

inscriptions like these:

Laudo Deum verum, plebem voco, conjugo clerum,

Defunctos ploro, pestem fugo, festa decoro.

Funera plango; Fulgura frango; Sabbata pango;

Excito lentos; Dissipo ventos; Paco cruentos.

The _passing bell_ was the bell, which announced to the people, according

to Mabillon, that a spirit was taking its flight, or _passing away_, and

demanding their prayers. Bells were also used to frighten away evil

spirits, that were supposed to be on the watch, for their customers. The

learned Durandus affirms, that all sorts of devils have a terror of

bells. This, of course, can only be true of bells, that have been received

into the flock, that is, baptized. Such was the Popish belief, and that

the very devil, himself, cared not a fig, for an unbaptized bell. De

Worde, in his Golden Legend, sayeth "it is said the evill spirytes that

ben in the regyon of the ayre doubte moche, when they here the belles

rongen, and this is the cause why the belles ben rongen, whan it

thondreth, and when grate tempests and outrages of wether happen, to the

ende that the feinds and wycked spirytes should be abashed and flee, and

cease of the movinge of tempests."

Compared with the big bells of the earth--ours--the very largest--are

cowbells, at best. The great bell of St. Paul's weighs 8400 pounds--a

small affair; Great Tom of Lincoln, 9894--Great Tom of Oxford, 17,000.

This is precisely the weight of the bell of the Palazzo, at Florence;--St.

Peter's at Rome, 18,607--the great bell at Erfurth, 28,224--St. Joan's

bell, at Moscow, 127,836--the bell of the Kremlin, 443,772. The last is

the marvel of travellers, and its metal, at a low estimate, is valued at

L66,565. During the fusion of this bell, considerable quantities of gold

and silver were cast in, the pious contribution of the people. This

enormous mass has never been suspended.

There was a bell--_parvis componere magna_--a very little bell

indeed--very--a perfect _tintinabulum_. It made a most ridiculous noise.

An account of this bell may be found, in a pamphlet, entitled Historical

Notices, &c., of the New North Religious Society, in the town of Boston,

1822. It weighed, says the writer, "_between three and four hundred_."

Twelve or thirteen hundred such bells, therefore, would just about

counterpoise the bell of the Kremlin. "Its tone," says the writer, "_was

unpleasant_." The preposterous clatter of this bell was, nevertheless, the

gathering cry of the worshippers, at the New North Church, for the term of

eighty-three years, from 1719 to 1802, when it was purchased by the town

of Charlton, in the county of Worcester; probably to frighten the _evyll

spirytes_, in the shape of wolves and foxes, abounding there, that would

be likely to _doubte moche_, when this bell was _ben rongen_. Not to look

a gift horse in the mouth is a proverb--not to criticise the tone of a

gift bell may be another. This bell, which a stout South Down wether might

almost have carried off, was the gift of _Mr. John Frizzell_, a merchant

of Boston, to the New North Church, _on the island of North Boston_, as

all that portion of the town was then called, lying North of Mill Creek.

On the principle which gave the title of Bell the Cat to the famous

Archibald, Frizzell should have borne the name of Bell the Church. Let it

pass: Frizzell and his little bell are both translated. The tongue of the

former is still; that of the latter still waggeth, I believe, in the town

of Charlton.

The authenticity of the statements in the pamphlet to which I have

referred, admits not of a doubt. The name of its highly respectable

author, though not upon the title-page, appears in the certificate of

nothing, more curious and grotesque, than his account of the installation

of the Rev. Peter Thacher, over the New North Church, Jan. 27, 1720. Upon

no less respectable evidence, would I have believed, that our amiable

ancestors could have acted so much like _evil spirytes_, upon such an

occasion. I have not elbow room for the farce entire--one or two touches

must suffice. After agreeing upon a mode of choosing a colleague, for the

Rev. Mr. Webb, and pitching upon Mr. Thacher, a quarrel arose, among the

people. The council met, on the day of installation, at the house of the

Rev. Mr. Webb, at the corner of North Bennet and Salem Streets. The

aggrieved assembled, at the house of Thomas Lee, in Bennet Street, next to

the Universal meeting-house. A knowledge of these points is necessary, for

a correct understanding of the subsequent strategy. If the Council

attempted to go to the New North Church, through the street, in the usual

way, they must necessarily pass Lee's house. The aggrieved waited on the

Council, by a committee, requesting them not to proceed with the

installation of Mr. Thacher; and assuring them, that, if they persisted,

force would be used, to prevent their occupation of the church.

Instead, therefore, of proceeding through the street, the Rev. Mr. Webb

led the Council, by his back gate, through Love Lane, and a little alley,

leading to the meeting-house, and thus got possession of the pulpit. Thus,

by a knowledge of by-ways, so important in the _petite guerre_, the worthy

clergyman outwitted the malcontents. A mob, to whom an installation, in

such sort, was highly acceptable, had already gathered. The party at Lee's

house, being apprised of the ruse, and perceiving they were _in danger of

the council_, flew to the rescue. They rushed into the church;

vociferously forbade the proceedings, and were "_indecent_," says the

writer, "_almost beyond credibility_." "However incredible," continues the

narrator, "it is a fact, that some of the most unruly did sprinkle a

liquor, which shall be nameless, from the galleries, upon the people

below." The wife of Josiah Langdon used to tell, with great asperity, of

her being a sufferer by it. This good lady retained her resentment to old

age--the filthy creatures entirely spoiled a new velvet hood, which she

had made for the occasion, and she could not wear it again.

In the midst of this uproar, Mr. Thacher was installed. "The malcontents,"

says the writer, "went off in a bad humor. They proceeded to the gathering

of another church. In the plenitude of their zeal, they first thought of

denominating it the _Revenge_ Church of Christ; but they thought better of

it, and called it the New Brick Church. However, the first name was

retained, for many years, among the common people. Their zeal was great,

indeed, and descended to puerility. They placed the figure of a cock, as a

vane, upon the steeple, out of derision of Mr. Thacher, whose Christian

name was Peter. Taking advantage of a wind, which turned the head of the

cock towards the New North Meeting-house, when it was placed upon the

spindle, a merry fellow straddled over it, and crowed three times, to

complete the ceremony." The solemn, if not the sublime, and the

ridiculous, seem, not unfrequently, to have met together at ordinations,

in the olden time. "I could mention an ordination," says the Rev. Leonard

Woods, of Andover, in a letter, written and published, a few years since,

"that took place about twenty years ago, at which I, myself, was ashamed

and grieved, to see two aged ministers literally drunk; and a third

indecently excited with strong drink. These disgusting and appalling facts

I should wish might be concealed. But they were made public, by the guilty

persons; and I have thought it just and proper to mention them, in order

to show how much we owe to a compassionate God, for the great deliverance

he has wrought." Legitimate occasion for a Te Deum this, most certainly.

No. XXXVIII.

The _praeficae_, or mourning women, were not confined to Greece, Rome, and

Judea. In 1810, Colonel Keatinge published the history of his travels. His

account of Moorish funerals, is, probably, the best on record. The dead

are dressed in their best attire. The ears, nostrils, and eyelids are

filled with costly spices. Virgins are ornamented with bracelets, on their

wrists and ankles. The body is enfolded in sanctified linen. If a male, a

turban is placed at the head of the coffin; if a female, a large bouquet.

Before a virgin is buried, the _loo loo loo_ is sung, by hired women, that

she may have the benefit of the wedding song. "When a person," says Mr.

Keatinge, "is thought to be dying, he is immediately surrounded by his

friends, who begin to scream, in the most hideous manner, to convince him

that there is no more hope, and that he is already reckoned among the

dead."

Premature burial is said to be very common, among the Moors. For this, Mr.

Keatinge accounts, in this manner: "As, according to their religion, they

cannot think the departed happy, till they are under ground, they are

washed instantly, while yet warm; and the greatest consolation the sick

man's friends can have, is to see him smile, while this operation is

performing; not supposing such an appearance to be a convulsion,

occasioned by washing and exposing the unfortunate person to the cold air,

before life has taken its final departure."

When a death occurs, the relations immediately set up the _wooliah woo_;

or death scream. This cry is caught up, from house to house, and hundreds

of women are instantly gathered to the spot. They come to scream and mourn

with the bereaved. This species of condolence is very happily described by

Colonel Keatinge, page 92. "They," the howlers, "take her," the mother,

widow or daughter, "in their arms, lay her head on their shoulders, and

scream without intermission for several minutes, till the afflicted

object, stunned with the constant howling and a repetition of her

misfortune, sinks senseless on the floor. They likewise hire a number of

women, who make this horrid noise round the bier, over which they scratch

their faces, to such a degree, that they appear to have been bled with a

lancet. These women are hired at burials, weddings and feasts. Their

voices are heard at the distance of half a mile. It is the custom of

those, who can afford it, to give, on the evening of the day the corpse is

buried, a quantity of hot-dressed victuals to the poor. This, they call

"the supper of the grave."

Dr. E. D. Clarke observes, in his Travels in Egypt, Lond., 1817, that he

recognized, among the Egyptians, the same notes, and the repetition of the

same syllables, in their funeral cries, that had become familiar to his

ear, on like occasions, among the Russians and the Irish.

Dr. Martin, in his account of the Tonga Islands, in the South Pacific,

compiled from Mariner's papers, in his narrative of the funeral of a

chief, states, that the women mourned over the corpse, through the whole

night, sitting as near as possible, singing their dismal death song, and

beating their breasts and faces.

The desire, to magnify one's apostleship, is, doubtless, at the bottom of

all extravagant demonstrations of sorrow, at funerals, in the form of

screaming, howling, yelling, personal laceration, and disfigurement. In

the highly interesting account of the missionary enterprise, upon which

the Duff was employed, in 1796, it was stated, that, at the funeral of a

chief of Tongataboo, the people of both sexes continued, during two days,

to mangle and hack themselves, in a shocking manner;--some thrust spears,

through their thighs, arms, and cheeks; others beat their heads, till the

blood gushed forth in streams; one man, having oiled his hair, set it on

fire, and ran about the area, with his head in a blaze. This was a burning

shame, beyond all doubt. I never forget old Tasman's bowl, when I think of

this island. Tasman discovered Tongataboo, in 1643. At parting, he gave

the chief a wooden bowl. Cook found this bowl, on the island, one hundred

and thirty years afterwards. It had been used as a divining bowl, to

ascertain the guilt or innocence of persons, charged with crimes. When the

chief was absent, at some other of the Friendly Islands, the bowl was

considered as his representative, and honored accordingly. Captain Cook

presented the reigning chief with a pewter platter, and the bowl became

immediately _functus officio_, the platter taking its place, for the

purposes of divination.

In 1818, Captain Tuckey published the account of his expedition, to

explore the Zaire, or Congo river. He describes a funeral, at Embomma, the

chief mart, on that river. In returning to their vessel, after a visit to

the chief, Chenoo, the party observed a hut, in which the corpse of a

female was deposited, dressed as when alive. On the inside were four women

howling lustily, to whom two men, outside, responded; the concert closely

resembling the yell, at an Irish funeral. Captain Tuckey should not have

spoken so thoughtlessly of the _keena_, the funeral cry of the wild Irish,

the most unearthly sound, that ever came from the agonized lungs of

mortal. For the most perfect description of this peculiar scream, this

inimitable hella-baloo, the reader may turn to Mrs. Hall's incomparable

account of an Irish funeral. In close connection with this incident,

Captain Tuckey, p. 115, remarks, that, in passing through the burying

ground, at Embomma, they saw two graves, recently prepared, of monstrous

size, being not less than nine feet by five.

This he explains as follows:--"Simmons (a native, returned from England to

his native country) requested a piece of cloth to envelop his aunt, who

had been dead seven years, and was to be buried in two months. The manner

of preserving corpses, for so long a time, is by enveloping them in the

cloth of the country, or in European cotton. The wrappers are successively

multiplied, as they can be procured by the relations of the deceased, or

according to the rank of the person; in the case of a rich and very great

man, the bulk being only limited, by the power of conveyance to the

grave." When the Spaniards entered the Province of Popayan, they found a

similar practice there, with this difference, that the corpse was

partially roasted, before it was enveloped. When a chief dies, among the

Caribs of Guyana, his wives, the whole flock of them, watch the corpse for

thirty days, to keep off the flies,--a task which becomes daily more

burdensome, as the attraction becomes greater. At the expiration of thirty

days, it is buried, and one of the ladies, probably the best beloved, with

it.

Some of the Orinoco tribes were in the practice of tying a rope to the

corpse, and sinking it in the river; in twenty-four hours, it was picked

clean to the bones, by the fishes, and the skeleton became a very

convenient and tidy memorial. This is decidedly preferable to the mode,

adopted by the Parsees. Their sacred books enjoin them not to pollute

_earth_, _water_, or _fire_, with their dead. They therefore feel

authorized to pollute the air. They bury not; but place the corpses at a

distance, and leave them to their fate. It was the opinion of Menu, that

the body was a tenement, scarcely worth inhabiting; "a mansion," says he,

"with bones for beams and rafters,--nerves and tendons for cords; muscles

and blood for mortar; skin for its outward covering; a mansion, infested

by age and sorrow, the seat of many maladies, harassed with pains, haunted

with darkness, and utterly incapable of standing long--such a mansion let

the vital soul, its tenant, always quit cheerfully."

This contempt for the tabernacle--the carcass--the outer man--strangely

contrasts with that deep regard for it, evinced by the Egyptians, and such

of the Jews, Greeks, and Romans, as were in the practice of embalming.

When that extraordinary man, Sir Thomas Browne, exclaimed, in his

Hydriotaphia, "who knows the fate of his bones or how oft he shall be

buried? Who hath the oracle of his ashes, or whither they are to be

scattered?" he, doubtless, was thinking of Egyptian mummies, transported

to Europe, forming a part of the materia medica, and being actually

swallowed as physic. A writer, in the London Quarterly, vol. 21, p. 363,

states, that, when the old traveller, John Sanderson, returned to England,

six hundred pounds of mummies were brought home, for the Turkey Company. I

am aware, that it has been denied, by some, that the Egyptian mummies were

broken up, and sent to Europe, for medicinal uses. By them it is asserted,

that what the druggists have been supplied with is the flesh of executed

criminals, or such others, as the Jews can obtain, filled with bitumen,

aloes and other things, and baked, till the juices are exhaled, and the

embalming matter has fitted the body for transportation. The Lord deliver

us from such "_doctors' stuff_" as this.

No. XXXIX.

_Non sumito, nisi vocatus_: let no man presume to be an undertaker, unless

he have a _vocation_--unless he be _called_. If these are not the words of

Puddifant, to whom I shall presently refer, I have no other conjecture to

offer. Though, when a boy, I had a sort of hankering after dead men's

bones, as I have already related, I never felt myself truly called to be a

sexton, until June, 1799. It was in that month and year, that Governor

Sumner was buried. The parade was very great, not only because he had been

a Governor, but because he had been a very good man. All the sextons were

on duty, but Lutton, as we called him--his real name was Lemuel Ludden. He

was the sexton of the Old Brick, where my parents had worshipped, under

dear parson Clarke, who died, the year before. He had the cleverest way,

that man ever had, of winning little boys' hearts--he really seemed to

have the key to their little souls. Lutton was sick--he was not able to

officiate, on that memorable day; and no recently appointed ensign ever

felt such a privation more keenly, on the very day of battle. He was a

whole-souled sexton, that Lutton. He, most obligingly, took me into the

Old Brick Church, where Joy's buildings now stand, to see the show. There

was a half-crazy simpleton, whom it was difficult to prevent from capering

before the corpse--a perfect Davie Gelatly. An awkward boy, whose name was

Reuben Rankin, came from Salem, with a small cart-load of pies, which his

mother had baked, and sent to Boston, hoping for a ready sale, upon the

occasion of such an assemblage there. Like Grouchy, at Waterloo, he lost

his _tete_; followed the procession, through every street; and returned to

Salem, with all his wares.

It was, while contemplating the high satisfaction, beaming forth, upon the

features of the chief undertaker, that I first felt my _vocation_. I

ventured, timidly, to ask old Lutton, if he thought I had talents for the

office. He said, he thought I might succeed, clapped me on the shoulder,

and gave me a smile of encouragement, which I never shall forget, till my

poor old arm can wield a spade no more, and the sod, which I have so

frequently turned upon others, shall be turned upon me.

Old Grossman said, in my hearing, the following morning, that it had been

the proudest day of his life. It is very pardonable, for an undertaker, on

such occasions, to imagine himself the observed of all observers. This

fancy is, by no means, confined to undertakers. Chief mourners of both

sexes are very liable to the same impression. An over-estimate of one's

own importance is pretty universal, especially in a republic. I never did

go the length of believing the tale, related, by Peter, in his letter to

his kinsfolk, who says he knew a Scotch weaver, who sat upon his stoop,

and read the Edinburgh Review, till he actually thought he wrote it. I see

nothing to smile at, in any man's belief, that he is the object of public

attention, on occasions of parade and pageantry. It rather indicates the

deep interest of the individual--a solemn sense of responsibility. At the

late water celebration, I noticed many examples of this species of

personal enthusiasm. The drivers of the Oak Hall and Sarsaparilla

expresses were no mean illustrations; and when three cheers were given to

the elephant, near the Museum, in Tremont Street, I was pleased to see

several of the officials, and one, at least, of the water commissioners,

touch their hats, and smile most graciously, in return.

Puddifant, to whom I have alluded, officiated as sexton, at the funeral of

Charles I. What a broad field, for painful contemplation, lies here! It is

a curious fact, that, while preparations were being made, for depositing

the body of King Charles in St. George's Chapel, at Windsor, a common foot

soldier is supposed to have stolen a bone from the coffin of Henry VIII.,

for the purpose of making a knife-handle. This account is so curious, that

I give it entire from Wood's Athenae Oxonienses, folio edit. vol. ii., p.

703. "Those gentlemen, therefore, Herbert and Mildmay, thinking fit to

submit, and leave the choice of the place of burial to those great

persons, (the Duke of Richmond, Marquis of Hertford, and Earl of Lindsey)

they, in like manner, viewed the tomb house and the choir; and one of the

Lords, beating gently upon the pavement with his staff, perceived a hollow

sound; and, thereupon ordering the stones to be removed, they discovered a

descent into a vault, where two coffins were laid, near one another, the

one very large, of an antique form, and the other little. These they

supposed to be the bodies of Henry VIII., and his third wife, Queen Jane

Seymour, as indeed they were. The velvet palls, that covered their

coffins, seemed fresh, though they had lain there, above one hundred

years. The Lords agreeing, that the King's body should be in the same

vault interred, being about the middle of the choir, over against the

eleventh stall, upon the sovereign's side, they gave orders to have the

King's name, and year he died, cut in lead; which, whilst the workmen were

about, the Lords went out, and gave Puddifant, the sexton, order to lock

the chapel door, and not suffer any to stay therein, till further notice."

"The sexton did his best to clear the chapel; nevertheless, Isaac, the

sexton's man, said that a foot soldier had hid himself so as he was not

discovered; and, being greedy of prey, crept into the vault, and cut so

much of the velvet pall, that covered the great body, as he judged would

hardly be missed, and wimbled a hole through the said coffin that was

largest, probably fancying that there was something well worth his

adventure. The sexton, at his opening the door, espied the sacrilegious

person; who, being searched, a bone was found about him, with which he

said he would haft a knife. The girdle or circumscription of capital

letters of lead put upon the King's coffin had only these words--King

Charles, 1648." This statement perfectly agrees with Sir Henry Halford's

account of the examination, April 1, 1813, in presence of the Prince

Regent.

Cromwell had a splendid funeral: good old John Evelyn saw it all, and

describes it in his diary--the waxen effigy, lying in royal robes, upon a

velvet bed of state, with crown, sceptre and globe--in less than two years

suspended with a rope round the neck, from a window at Whitehall. Evelyn

says, the "funeral was the joyfullest ever seen: none cried but the dogs,

which the soldiers hooted away with a barbarous noise, drinking and taking

tobacco in the streets as they went." Some have said that Cromwell's body

was privately buried, by his own request, in the field of Naseby: others,

that it was sunk in the Thames, to prevent insult. It was not so. When,

upon the restoration, it was decided, to reverse the popular sentiment,

Oliver's body was sought, in the middle aisle of Henry VII's chapel, and

there it was found. A thin case of lead lay upon the breast, containing a

copper plate, finely gilt, and thus inscribed--Oliverius, Protector

reipublicae Angliae, Scotiae, et Hiberniae, natus 25 April, 1599--inauguratus

16 Decembris 1653--mortuus 3 Septembris ann--1658. Hic situs est. This

plate, in 1773, was in possession of the Hon George Hobart of Nocton in

Lincolnshire. By a vote of the House of Commons, Cromwell's and Ireton's

bodies were taken up, Jan. 26, 1660--and, on the Monday night following,

they were drawn, on two carts, to the Red Lion Inn, Holborn, where they

remained all night; and, with Bradshaw's, which was not exhumed, till the

day after, conveyed, on sledges, to Tyburn, and hanged on the gallows,

till sunset. They were then beheaded--the trunks were buried in a hole,

near the gallows, and their heads set on poles, on the top of Westminster

Hall, where Cromwell's long remained.

The treatment of Oliver's character has been in perfect keeping, with the

treatment of his carcass. The extremes of censure and of praise have been

showered upon his name. He has been canonized, and cursed. The most

judicious writers have expressed their views of his character, in

well-balanced phrases. Cardinal Mazarin styled him _a fortunate mad-man_;

and, by Father Orleans, he was called a _judicious villain_. The opinion

of impartial men will probably vary very little from that of Clarendon,

through all time: he says of Cromwell--"he was one of those men, _quos

vituperare ne inimici quidem possunt, nisi ut simul laudent_;" and again,

vol. vii. 301, Oxford ed. 1826: "In a word, as he was guilty of many

crimes, against which damnation is denounced, and for which hell-fire is

prepared, so he had some good qualities, which have caused the memory of

some men, in all ages, to be celebrated; and he will be looked upon by

posterity as _a brave wicked man_." Oliver had the nerve to do what most

men could not: he went to look upon the corpse of the beheaded

king--opened the coffin with his own hand--and put his finger to the neck,

where it had been severed. _He could not then doubt that Charles was

dead._

At the same time, when the authorized absurdities were perpetrated upon

Oliver's body, every effort was ineffectually made to discover that of

King Charles, for the purpose of paying to it the highest honors. This

occurred at the time of the restoration, or about ten years after the

death of Charles I. In 1813, i. e. one hundred and sixty-five years after

that event, the body was accidentally discovered. To this fact, and to the

examination by Sir Henry Halford, President of the Royal College of

Physicians, I shall refer in my next.

No. XL.

The passage, quoted in my last, from the Athenae Oxonienses, shows plainly,

that Charles I. was buried in 1648, in the same vault with the bodies of

Henry VIII. and Jane Seymour; and this statement is perfectly sustained,

by the remarkable discovery in 1813, which proves Lord Clarendon to have

been mistaken in his account, Hist. Reb., Oxford ed., vol. vi. p. 243. The

Duke of Richmond, the Marquis of Hertford, and the Earls of Southampton

and Lindsey, who had been of the bed chamber, and had obtained leave, to

perform the last duty to the decollated king, went into the church, at

Windsor, to seek a place for the interment, and were greatly perplexed, by

the mutilations and changes there--"At last," says Clarendon, "there was a

fellow of the town, who undertook to tell them the place, where he said

there was a vault, in which King Harry, the Eighth, and Queen Jane Seymour

were interred. As near that place, as could conveniently be, they caused

the grave to be made. There the king's body was laid, without any words,

or other ceremonies, than the tears and sighs of the few beholders. Upon

the coffin was a plate of silver fixed with these words only: 'King

Charles, 1648.' When the coffin was put in, the black velvet pall, that

had covered it, was thrown over it, and then the earth thrown in." _Such,

clearly, could not have been the facts._

Lord Clarendon then proceeds to speak of the impossibility of finding the

body ten years after, when it was the wish of Charles II. to place it,

with all honor, in the chapel of Henry VII., in Westminster Abbey. For

this he accounts, by stating, that most of those present, at the

_interment_, were dead or dispersed, at the restoration; and the memories

of the remaining few had become so confused, that they could not designate

the spot; and, after opening the ground, in several places, without

success, they gave the matter up. Now there can be no doubt, that the body

was placed in the vault, where it was found, in 1813, and that no

_interment_ took place, in the proper sense of that word. Had Richmond,

Hertford, Southampton, or Lindsey been alive, or at hand, the _vault

itself_, and not a spot _near the vault_, would, doubtless, have been

indicated, as the resting place of King Charles. Wood, in the Athenae

Oxonienses, states, that the royal corpse was "well coffined, and all

afterwards wrapped up in lead and covered with a new velvet pall." All

this perfectly agrees with the account, given by Sir Henry Halford, and

certified by the Prince Regent, in 1813.

Sir Henry Halford states, that George the Fourth had built a mausoleum, at

Windsor; and, while constructing a passage, under the choir of St.

George's Chapel, an opening was unintentionally made into the vault of

Henry VIII., through which, the workmen saw, not only those two coffins,

which were supposed to contain the bodies of Henry VIII. and Jane Seymour,

but a third, covered with a black pall. Mr. Herbert's account, quoted in

my last number, from the Athenae, left little doubt, that this was the

coffin of Charles I.; notwithstanding the statements of Lord Clarendon,

that the body was interred _near_ the vault. An examination was made,

April 1, 1813, in the presence of George IV., then Prince Regent, the Duke

of Cumberland, Count Munster, the Dean of Windsor, Benjamin Charles

Stevenson, Esq., and Sir Henry Halford; of which the latter published an

account. London, 1831. This account is exceedingly interesting. "On

removing the pall, a plain leaden coffin, with no appearance of ever

having been enclosed in wood, and bearing an inscription, KING CHARLES,

1648, in large legible characters, on a scroll of lead encircling it,

immediately presented itself to view.

"A square opening was then made, in the upper part of the lid, of such

dimensions, as to admit a clear insight into its contents. These were an

internal wooden coffin, very much decayed, and the body carefully wrapped

up in cere-cloth, into the folds of which a quantity of unctuous or greasy

matter, mixed with resin, as it seemed, had been melted, so as to exclude,

as effectually as possible, the external air. The coffin was completely

full; and from the tenacity of the cere-cloth, great difficulty was

experienced, in detaching it successfully from the parts, which it

enveloped. Wherever the unctuous matter had insinuated itself, the

separation of the cere-cloth was easy; and when it came off, a correct

impression of the features, to which it had been applied, was observed in

the unctuous substance. At length the whole face was disengaged from its

covering. The complexion of the skin of it was dark and discolored. The

forehead and temples had lost little or nothing of their muscular

substance; the cartilage of the nose was gone; but the left eye, in the

first moment of exposure, was open and full, though it vanished, almost

immediately; and the pointed beard, so characteristic of the period of the

reign of King Charles, was perfect. The shape of the face was a long oval;

many of the teeth remained; and the left ear, in consequence of the

interposition of the unctuous matter, between it and the cere-cloth, was

found entire.

"It was difficult, at this moment, to withhold a declaration, that,

notwithstanding its disfigurement, the countenance did bear a strong

resemblance to the coins, the busts, and especially to the pictures of

King Charles I., by Vandyke, by which it had been made familiar to us. It

is true, that the minds of the spectators of this interesting sight were

well prepared to receive this impression; but it is also certain, that

such a facility of belief had been occasioned, by the simplicity and truth

of Mr. Herbert's narrative, every part of which had been confirmed by the

investigation, so far as it had advanced; and it will not be denied, that

the shape of the face, the forehead, an eye, and the beard, are the most

important features, by which resemblance is determined.

"When the head had been entirely disengaged from the attachments, which

confined it, it was found to be loose, and without any difficulty was

taken up and held to view. It was quite wet, and gave a greenish and red

tinge to paper and to linen, which touched it. The back part of the scalp

was entirely perfect, and had a remarkably fresh appearance; the pores of

the skin being more distinct, as they usually are, when soaked in

moisture; and the tendons and ligaments of the neck were of considerable

substance and firmness. The hair was thick, at the back part of the head,

and in appearance, nearly black. A portion of it, which has since been

cleansed and dried, is of a beautiful dark brown color. That of the beard

was of a redder brown. On the back part of the head it was not more than

an inch in length, and had probably been cut so short, for the convenience

of the executioner, or perhaps, by the piety of friends, soon after death,

in order to furnish memorials of the unhappy king."

"On holding up the head to examine the place of separation from the body,

the muscles of the neck had evidently retracted themselves considerably;

and the fourth cervical vertebra was found to be cut through its substance

transversely, leaving the surfaces of the divided portions perfectly

smooth and even, an appearance, which could have been produced only by a

heavy blow, inflicted with a very sharp instrument, and which furnished

the last proof wanting to identify King Charles, the First. After this

examination of the head, which served every purpose in view, and without

examining the body below the neck, it was immediately restored to its

situation, the coffin was soldered up again, and the vault closed."

"Neither of the other coffins had any inscription upon them. The larger

one, supposed, on good grounds, to contain the remains of Henry VIII.,

measured six feet ten inches in length, and had been enclosed in an elm

one, of two inches in thickness; but this was decayed, and lay in small

fragments. The leaden coffin appeared to have been beaten in by violence

about the middle, and a considerable opening in that part of it, exposed a

mere skeleton of the king. Some beard remained upon the chin, but there

was nothing to discriminate the personage contained in it."

This is, certainly, a very interesting account. Some beard still remained

upon the chin of Henry VIII., says Sir Henry Halford. Henry VIII. died

Jan. 28, 1547. He had been dead, therefore, April 1, 1813, the day of the

examination, two hundred and sixty-six years. The larger coffin measured

six feet ten inches. Sir Henry means top measure. We always allow seven

feet lid, or thereabouts, for a six feet corpse. Henry, in his History,

vol. xi. p. 369, Lond. 1814, says that King Henry VIII. was tall. Strype,

in Appendix A., vol. vi. p. 267, Ecc. Mem., London, 1816, devotes

twenty-four octavo pages to an account of the funeral of Henry VIII., with

all its singular details; and, at the last, he says--"Then was the vault

uncovered, under the said corpse; and the corpse let down therein by the

vice, with help of sixteen tal yeomen of the guard, appointed to the

same." "Then, when the mold was brought in, at the word, pulverem pulveri

et cinerem cineri, first the Lord Great Master, and after the Lord

Chamberlain and al others in order, with heavy and dolorous lamentation

brake their staves in shivers upon their heads and cast them after the

corps into the pit. And then the gentlemen ushers, in like manner brake

their rods, and threw them into the vault with exceeding sorrow and

heaviness, not without grievous sighs and tears, not only of them, but of

many others, as well of the meaner sort, as of the nobility, very piteous

and sorrowful to behold."

No. XLI.

My attention was arrested, a day or two since, by a memorial, referred to,

in the Atlas, from the owner of the land, famous, in revolutionary

history, as the birth-place of LIBERTY TREE; and, especially, by a

suggestion, which quadrates entirely with my notions of the fitness of

things. If I were a demi-millionaire, I should delight to raise a

monument, upon that consecrated spot--it should be a simple colossal

shaft, of Massachusetts granite, surmounted with the cap of liberty. I

would not inscribe one syllable upon it--but, if any grey-headed _Boston

boy_--born here, within the limits of the old peninsula--should be moved,

by the spirit, to write below--

A chambermaid, in going her rounds, observed an enormous spider, black and