"A painful occurrence has come to light in Baltimore, which creates
intense excitement. The remains of the venerable D. Evans Reese, who died
suddenly on Friday evening, were conveyed to the Light Street
burying-ground, and while they were placed in the vault, the hand of a
human being was discovered protruding from one of the coffins deposited
there. On a closer examination, those present were startled to find the
hand was firmly clenched, the coffin burst open, and the body turned
entirely over, leaving not a doubt that the unfortunate being had been
buried alive. The corpse was that of a very respectable man, who died,
apparently, very suddenly, and whose body was placed in the vault on
Friday last."
The _Recherches Medico-legales sur l'incertitude des risques de la mort,
les dangers des inhumations precipitees, les moyens de constater les deces
et de rappeler a la vie ceux qui sont en etat de mort apparente_, by I. de
Fontenelle, is a very curious production. In a review of this work, and of
the _Recherches Physiologiques, sur la vie et la mort_, by Bichat, in the
London Quarterly, vol. lxxxv. page 369, the writer remarks--"_A gas is
developed in the decaying body, which mimics, by its mechanical force,
many of the movements of life. So powerful is this gas, in corpses, which
have laid long in the water, that M. Devergie, the physician at the
Morgue, at Paris, says that, unless secured to the table, they are often
heaved up and thrown to the ground._"
Upon this theory, the writer proposes, to account for those posthumous
changes of position, which are known, sometimes to have taken place. It
may serve to explain some of these occurrences. But the formation of this
gas, in a greater or less degree, must be universal, while a change in the
position is comparatively rare. The curiosity of friends often leads to an
inspection of the dead, in every stage of decomposition. However valuable
the theory, in the writer's estimation, the generation of the most
powerful gas would scarcely be able to throw the body entirely out of the
coffin, with its arms outstretched towards the portal of the tomb; of
which, and of similar changes, there exist well authenticated records.
It is quite probable, that the _Irish wake_ may have originated, in this
very dread of premature interment, strangely blended with certain
spiritual fancies, respecting the soul's reluctance to quit its tenement
of clay.
After relating the remarkable story of Asclepiades of Prusa in Bithynia,
who restored to life an individual, then on his way to the funeral
pile--Bayle, vol. ii. p. 379, Lond. 1735, relates the following
interesting tale. A peasant of Poictou was married to a woman, who, after
a long fit of sickness, fell into a profound lethargy, which so closely
resembled death, that the poor people gathered round, and laid out the
peasant's helpmate, for burial. The peasant assumed a becoming expression
of sorrow, which utterly belied that exceeding great joy, that is natural
to every man, when he becomes perfectly assured, that the tongue of a
scolding wife is hushed forever.
The people of that neighborhood were very poor; and, either from economy
or taste, coffins were not used among them. The corpses were borne to the
grave, simply enveloped in their shrouds, as we are told, by Castellan, is
the custom, among the Turks. Those who bore the body, moved,
inadvertently, rather too near a hedge, at the roadside, and, a sharp
thorn pricking the leg of the corpse, the trance was broken--the supposed
defunct sprang up on end--and began to scold, as vigorously as ever.
The disappointed peasant had fourteen years more of it. At the expiration
of that term, the good woman pined away, and appeared to die, once more.
She was again borne toward the grave. When the bearers drew near to the
spot, where the remarkable revival had occurred, upon a former occasion,
the widower became very much excited; and, at length, unable to restrain
his emotions, audibly exclaimed--"_don't go too near that hedge!_"
In a number of the London Times, for 1821, there is an account of the
directions, given by an old Irish expert in such matters, who was about to
die, respecting his own _wake_--"Recollect to put three candles at the
head of the bed, after ye lay me out, two at the foot, and one at each
side. Mind now and put a plate with the salt on it, just atop of my
breast. And d'ye hear--have plinty o' tobacky and pipes enough; and
remimber to have the punch strong. And--blundenoons, what the devil's the
use o' pratin t'ye--sure it's mysilf knows ye'll be after botching it, as
I'll not be there mysel."
No. XCII.
That man must be an incorrigible _fool_, who does not, occasionally, like
the Vicar of Wakefield, find himself growing weary of being always _wise_.
In this sense, there are few men of sixty winters, who have not been
guilty of being over-wise--of assuming, at some period of their lives, the
port and majesty of the bird of Minerva--of exercising that talent, for
silence and solemnity, ascribed by the French nobleman, as More relates,
in his travels, to the English nation. A man, thus protected--dipped, as
it were, in the waters of Lethe, _usque ad calcem_--is truly a pleasant
fellow. There is no such thing as getting hold of him--there he is,
conservative as a tortoise, _unguibus retractis_. He seems to think the
exchange of intellectual commodities, entirely out of the question; he
will have none of your folly, and he holds up his own superlative wisdom,
as a cow, of consummate resolution, holds up her milk. If society were
thus composed, what a concert of voices there would be, in unison with
Job's--_we would not live alway_. Life would be no other, than a long
funeral procession--the dead burying the dead. I am decidedly in favor of
a cheerful philosophy. Jeremy Taylor says, that, "_the slightest going off
from a man's natural temper is a species of drunkenness_." There are some
men, certainly, who seem to think, that total abstinence, from every
species of merriment, is a wholesome preparative, for a residence in
Paradise. The Preacher saith of laughter, _it is mad, and of mirth, what
doeth it?_ But in the very next chapter, he declares, _there is a time to
dance and a time to sing_. We are told in the book of Proverbs, that _a
merry heart doeth good, like a medicine_.
There has probably seldom been a wiser man than Democritus of Abdera, who
was called the laughing philosopher; and of whom Seneca says, in his work
De Ira, ii. c. 10, _Democritum aiunt nunquam sine risu in publico fuisse;
adeo nihil illi videbatur serium eorum, quae serio gerebantur_: Democritus
never appeared in public, without laughter in his countenance; so that
nothing seemed to affect him seriously, however much so it might affect
the rest of mankind.--The Abderites, with some exceptions, thought him
mad; or, in Beattie's words, when describing his minstrel boy--
"Some deem'd him wondrous wise, and some believ'd him mad."
These Abderites, who were, notoriously, the most stupid of the Thracians,
looked upon Democritus precisely as the miserable monks, about Oxford,
looked upon Roger Bacon, in the thirteenth century--they believed him a
magician, or a madman.
To laugh and grow fat is a proverb. Whether Democritus grew fat or not, I
am unable to say; but he died at a great age, having passed one hundred
years; and he died cheerfully, as he had lived temperately. Lucretius says
of him, lib. iii. v. 1052--
"_Sponte sua letho caput obvius obtulit ipse_."
The tendency of his philosophy was to ensure longevity. The grand aim and
end of it all were comprehended, in one word, [Greek: euphymia], or the
enjoyment of a tranquil state of mind.
There is much good-natured wisdom, in the command, and in the axiom of
Horace--
"_Misce stultitiam consiliis brevem
Dulce est desipere in loco_"--
which means, if an off-hand version will suffice--
Mix with your cares a little folly,
'Tis pleasant sometimes to be jolly.
One of the most acceptable images, presented by Sir Walter Scott, is that
of Counsellor Pleydell, perched upon the table, playing at high jinks, who
compliments Colonel Mannering, by continuing the frolic, and telling him,
that, if a fool had entered, instead of a man of sense, he should have
come down immediately.
My New England readers would be very much surprised, if they had any
personal knowledge of the late excellent and venerable Bishop Griswold, to
be told, that, among his works, there was an edition of Mother Goose's
Melodies, with _prolegomina, notae, et variae lectiones_; well--there is no
such thing there. But every one knows, that the comic romance of
Bluebeard, as it is performed on the stage, was written by Bishop Heber,
and is published in his works. Every one knows that Hannah More wrote
tolerable plays, and was prevented, by nothing but her sex, from being a
bishop. Every one knows that bishops and archbishops have done very funny
things--_in loco_. And every one knows, that all this is quite as
respectable, as being very reverently dull, and wearing the phylactery for
life--_stand off, for I am stupider than thou_.
I have now before me a small octavo volume--a very _bijou_ of a book, with
the following title--_Arundines Cami, sive Musarum Cantabrigiensium Lusus
Canori_, and bearing, for its motto--_Equitare in arundine longa_. This
book is printed at Cambridge, England; and I have never seen a more
beautiful specimen of typography. The work is edited by Henry Drury, Vicar
of Wilton: and it contains a collection of Greek and Latin versions; by
Mr. Drury himself, and by several good, holy, and learned men--Butler,
late Bishop of Litchfield--Richard Porson--Hodgson, S. J. B. of Eton
College--Vaughan, Principal of Harrow--Macaulay--Hallam--Law--and many
others.
The third edition of this delightful book was published in 1846. And now
the reader would know something of the originals, which these grave and
learned men have thought it worthy of their talents and time, to turn into
Greek and Latin. I scarcely know where to select a specimen, among
articles, every one of which is prepared, with such exquisite taste, and
such perfect knowledge of the capabilities of the language employed. Among
the readers of the Transcript, I happen to know some fair scholars, who
would relish a Greek epigram, on any subject, as highly, as others enjoy a
pointed paragraph in English, on the subject of rum and molasses. Here is
a Greek version of the ditty--"What care I how black I be," by Mr.
Hawtrey, Principal of Eton, which I would transcribe, were it not that a
Greek word, now and then, presented in the common type, suggests to me,
that you may not have a Greek font. It may be found by those, who are of
the fancy, on page 49 of the work.
Here is a version by Mr. Hodgson--how the shrill, thready voice of my dear
old nurse rings in my ears, while reading the original! God reward her
kind, untiring spirit--she has gone where little Pickles cease from
troubling, and where weary nurses are at rest:--
Pat a cake, pat a cake, baker's man,
So I do, master, as fast as I can.
Pat it, and prick it, and mark it with C,
Then it will answer for Charley and me.
Tunde mihi dulcem pistor, mihi tunde farinam.
Tunditur, O rapida tunditur illa manu.
Punge decenter acu, tituloque inscribe magistri;
Sic mihi, Carolulo, sic erit esca meo.