Aunt Peggy's funeral was conducted quietly, but with that respect to the
dead which is universal on Southern plantations. There was no hurry, no
confusion. Two young women remained with the corpse during the night
preceding the burial; the servants throughout the plantation had holiday,
that they might attend. At Mr. Weston's request, the clergyman of the
Episcopal church in X read the service for the dead. He addressed the
servants in a solemn and appropriate manner. Mr. Weston was one of the
audience. Alice's sickness had become serious; Miss Janet and her mother
were detained with her. The negroes sung one of their favorite hymns,
"Life is the time to serve the Lord,"
their fine voices blending in perfect harmony. Mr. Caldwell took for his
text the 12th verse of the 2d chapter of Thessalonians, "That ye would walk
worthy of God, who hath called you unto his kingdom and his glory."
He explained to them in the most affectionate and beautiful manner, that
_they_ were called unto the kingdom and glory of Christ. He dwelt on the
glories of that kingdom, as existing in the heart of the believer, inciting
him to a faithful performance of the duties of life; as in the world,
promoting the happiness and welfare of all mankind, and completed in
heaven, where will be the consummation of all the glorious things that the
humble believer in Jesus has enjoyed by faith, while surrounded by the
temptations and enduring the trials of the world. He told them _they_ were
all called. Christ died for all; every human being that had heard of Jesus
and his atonement, was called unto salvation. He dwelt on the efficacy of
that atonement on the solemn occasion when it was made, on the perfect
peace and reconciliation of the believer. He spoke of the will of God,
which had placed them in a condition of bondage to an earthly master; who
had given them equal hope of eternal redemption with that master. He
reminded them that Christ had chosen his lot among the poor of this world;
that he had refused all earthly honor and advantage. He charged them to
profit by the present occasion, to bring home to their hearts the unwelcome
truth that death was inevitable. He pointed to the coffin that contained
the remains of one who had attained so great an age, as to make her an
object of wonder in the neighborhood. Yet her time had come, like a thief
in the night. There was no sickness, no sudden failing, nothing unusual in
her appearance, to intimate the presence of death. God had given her a long
time of health to prepare for the great change; he had given her every
opportunity to repent, and he had called her to her account. He charged
them to make their preparation now closing, by bringing before their minds
that great day when the Judge of the earth would summon before him every
soul he had made. None could escape his all-piercing eye; the king and his
subject, the rich and the poor the strong and the weak, the learned and the
ignorant the white and the colored, the master and his slave! each to
render his or her account for the deeds done in the body.
The servants were extremely attentive, listening with breathless interest
as he enlarged upon the awful events of the Judgment. Many a tear fell,
many a heart throbbed, many a soul stretched forth her wings toward the
kingdom and glory which had been the clergyman's theme.
After he concluded, their attention was absorbed by the preparation to
remove the body to its final resting place. The face was looked upon, then
covered; the coffin lid screwed down; strong arms lifting and bearing it to
the bier. Nancy and Isaac, her only relatives, were near the coffin, and
Mr. Weston and the clergyman followed them. The rest formed in long
procession. With measured step and appropriate thought they passed their
cabins toward the place used for the interment of the slaves on the
plantation.
They had gone a little way, when a full, rich female voice gently broke in
upon the stillness; it was Phillis's. Though the first line was sung in a
low tone, every one heard it.
"Alas! and did my Saviour bleed!"
They joined in, following the remains of their fellow-servant, and
commemorating the sufferings of one who became as a servant, that He might
exalt all who trust in Him.
It might be there was little hope for the dead, but not less sufficient the
Atonement on Calvary, not less true that for each and all "did he devote
that sacred head;" that for pity which he felt for all,
"He hung upon the tree:
Amazing pity, grace unknown!
And love beyond degree!"
While the voices swept through the air, a tribute of lowly hearts ascended
to God.
They had now reached the burial ground; all was in readiness, and the men
deposited their burden in the earth. Deep and solemn thought was portrayed
on every face; music had softened their feelings, and the reflections
suggested by the hymn prepared them for kind sentiments toward the dead,
though no one had loved her in life. The first hard clod that rattled on
the coffin, opened the fountain of their tears; she who had been the object
of their aversion was gone from them forever; they could not now show her
any kindness. How many a heart reproached itself with a sneering word,
hasty anger, and disdainful laugh. But what was she now? dust and ashes.
They wept as they saw her hidden from their eyes, turning from the grave
with a better sense of their duties.
Reader, it is well for the soul to ponder on the great mystery, Death! Is
there not a charm in it? The mystery of so many opposite memories, the
strange union of adverse ideas. The young, the old, the gay, the proud, the
beautiful, the poor, and the sorrowful. Silence, darkness, repose,
happiness, woe, heaven and hell. Oh! they should come now with a startling
solemnity upon us all, for while I write, the solemn tolling of the bells
warns me of a nation's grief; it calls to millions--its sad resonance is
echoed in every heart.
HENRY CLAY IS DEAD! Well may the words pass from lip to lip in the
thronged street. The child repeats it with a dim consciousness of some
great woe; it knows not, to its full extent, the burden of the words it
utters. The youth passes along the solemn sentence; there is a throb in his
energetic heart, for he has seen the enfeebled form of the statesman as it
glided among the multitude, and has heard his voice raised for his
country's good; he is assured that the heart that has ceased to beat glowed
with all that was great and noble.
The politician utters, too, the oft-repeated sound--Henry Clay is dead!
Well may he bare his breast and say, for _what_ is my voice raised where
his has been heard? Is it for my country, or for my party and myself? Men
of business and mechanics in the land, they know that one who ever
defended their interests is gone, and who shall take his place? The
mother--tears burst from her eyes, when looking into her child's face, she
says, Henry Clay is dead! for a nation's freedom is woman's incalculable
blessing. She thinks with grief and gratitude of him who never ceased to
contend for that which gives to her, social and religious rights.
Henry Clay is dead! His body no longer animated with life; his spirit gone
to God. How like a torrent thought rushes on, in swift review, of his
wonderful and glorious career. His gifted youth, what if it were attended
with the errors that almost invariably accompany genius like his! Has he in
the wide world an enemy who can bring aught against him? Look at his
patriotism, his benevolence, his noble acts. Recall his energy, his
calmness, his constant devotion to the interests of his country. Look,
above all, at his patience, his humility, as the great scenes of life were
receding from his view, and futurity was opening before him. Hear of the
childlike submission with which he bowed to the Will that ordained for him
a death-bed, protracted and painful. "Lead me," he said to a friend, "where
I want to go, to the feet of Jesus."
Listen to the simplicity with which he commended his body to his friends,
and his spirit, through faith in Jesus Christ, to his God. Regard him in
all his varied relations of Christian, patriot, statesman, husband, father,
_master_, and friend, and answer if the sigh that is now rending the heart
of his country is not well merited.
Yes! reader, thoughts of death are useful to us all, whether it be by the
grave of the poor and humble, or when listening to the tolling of the bell
which announces to all that one who was mighty in the land has been
summoned to the judgment seat of God.