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Dealings with the Dead.

  DEALINGS WITH THE DEAD.

  BY A SEXTON OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

  VOLUME II.

  BOSTON:
  PUBLISHED BY DUTTON AND WENTWORTH,
  33 AND 35 CONGRESS STREET:
  AND
  TICKNOR AND FIELDS,
  CORNER OF WASHINGTON AND SCHOOL STREETS.
  MDCCCLVI.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by DUTTON AND
WENTWORTH, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.

Dealings with the Dead.

BY A SEXTON OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

No. XC.

My earliest recollections of some, among the dead and buried aristocracy
of Boston, find a ready embodiment, in cocked hats of enormous
proportions, queues reaching to their middles, cloaks of scarlet
broadcloth, lined with silk, and faced with velvet, and just so short, as
to exhibit the swell of the leg, silk stockings, and breeches, highly
polished shoes, and large, square, silver buckles, embroidered vests, with
deep lappet pockets, similar to those, which were worn, in the age of
_Louis Quatorze_, shirts ruffled, at the bosoms and sleeves, doeskin or
beaver gloves, and glossy, black, Surinam walking canes, six feet in
length, and commonly carried by the middle.

Of the last of the Capulets we know nearly all, that it is desirable to
know. Of the last of the cocked hats we are not so clearly certified.

The dimensions of the military cocked hat were terrible; and, like those
enormous, bear skin caps, which are in use, at present, eminently
calculated to put the enemy to flight. I have seen one of those enormous
cocked hats, which had long been preserved, as a memorial of the wearer's
gallantry. In one corner, and near the extremity, was a round hole, said
to have been made by a musket ball, at the battle of White Plains, Nov.
30, 1776. As I contemplated this relic, it was impossible to avoid the
comforting reflection, that the head of the gallant proprietor was at a
very safe distance from the bullet.

After the assassination of Henry IV., and greatly to the amusement of the
gay and giddy courtiers of his successor, Louis XIII.--old Sully
obstinately adhered to the costume of the former reign. Colonel Barnabas
Clarke was very much of Sully's way of thinking. "And who," asks the
reader, "was Colonel Barnabas Clarke?" He was a pensioner of the United
States, and died a poor, though highly respected old man, in the town of
Randolph, and Commonwealth of Massachusetts. For several years, he
commanded the third Regiment of the first Brigade, and first Division of
infantry; and he wore the largest cocked hat and the longest queue in the
known world. He was a broad-shouldered, strong-hearted Revolutioner. Let
me take the reader aside, for a brief space; and recite to him a pleasant
anecdote of old Colonel Barnabas Clarke, which occurred, under my own
observation, when John Brooks--whose patent of military nobilty bears date
at Saratoga, but who was one of nature's noblemen from his cradle--was
governor of Massachusetts.

There was a militia muster of the Norfolk troops, and they were reviewed
by Governor Brooks. They were drawn up in line. The Governor, bare headed,
with his suite, had moved slowly down, in front of the array, each
regiment, as he passed, paying the customary salute.

The petty _chapeau militaire_ had then become almost universal, and, with,
or without, its feather and gold edgings, was all over the field. Splendid
epaulettes and eaglets glittered, on the shoulders of such, as were
entitled to wear them. Prancing horses were caracoling and curvetting, in
gaudy trappings. In the midst of this showy array, in front of his
regiment, bolt upright, upon the back of his tall, chestnut horse, that,
upon the strength of an extra allowance of oats, pawed the ground, and
seemed to forget, that he was in the plough, the day before, sat an old
man, of rugged features, and large proportions. Upon his head was that
enormous cocked hat, of other days--upon his shoulders, scarcely
distinguishable, was a small pair of tarnished epaulettes--the gray hairs
at the extremity of his prodigious queue lay upon the crupper of his
saddle--his ancient boots shaped to the leg, his long shanked spurs, his
straight silver-hilted sword, and lion-headed pistols were of 1776. Such
was the outer man of old Colonel Barnabas Clarke.

As the Governor advanced, upon the line of the third Regiment of the first
Brigade, the fifes of that regiment commenced their shrill whistle, and
the drums began to roll; and, at the appropriate moment, the veteran
saluted his excellency, in that rather angular style, which was common, in
the days of our military fathers.

At that moment, Governor Brooks checked his horse, and, replacing his hat
upon his head, dismounted, and walked towards the Colonel, who,
comprehending the intention, returned his sword to its scabbard, and came
to the ground, with the alertness of a much younger man. They met midway,
between the line and the reviewing cortege--in an instant, each grasped
the other's hand, with the ardor of men, who are mutually endeared, by the
recollection of partnership, in days of danger and daring--they had been
fellow lodgers, within the intrenchments of Burgoyne, on the memorable
night of October 7, 1777. After a few words of mutual respect and
affection, they parted--the review went forward--the fifers and drummers
outdid themselves--the beholders sent forth an irrepressible shout--and
when old Colonel Barnabas got up once again, upon his chestnut horse, I
thought he looked considerably more like old Frederick, hat, queue, and
all, than he did, before he got down. He looked as proud as Tamerlane,
after he had caged the Sultan, Bajazet--yet I saw him dash a tear from his
eye, with the sleeve of his coat--I found one in my own. How frail we
are!--there is one there now!

While contemplating the remarkable resurrection that has occurred, within
a few years, of old chairs and tables, porcelain and candlesticks, I
confidently look forward to the resurrection of cocked hats. They were
really very becoming. I speak not of those vasty beavers, manufactured, of
yore, by that most accomplished, gentlemanly, and facetious of all
hatters, Mr. Nathaniel Balch, No. 72 old Cornhill; but such as he made,
for his excellent friend, and boon companion, Jeremiah Allen, Esquire,
high Sheriff of Suffolk. When trimmed with gold lace, and adorned with the
official cockade, it was a very becoming affair.

No man carried the fashion, as I have described it, in the commencement of
this article, to a greater extent, than Mr. Thomas Marshall, more commonly
known as _Tommy Marshall_. He was a tailor, and his shop and house were in
State Street, near the present site of the Boston Bank. In London, his
leisurely gait, finished toilette, admirable personal equipments, and
exceedingly composed and courtly carriage and deportment would have passed
him off, for a gentleman, living at his ease, or for one of the nobility.
Mr. Marshall was remarkable, for the exquisite polish, and classical cut
of his cocked hat. He was much on 'change, in those primitive days, and
highly respected, for his true sense of honor. Though the most
accomplished tailor of his day, no one ever suspected him of cabbage.

When I began the present article, it was my design to have written upon a
very different subject--but since all my cogitations have been "_knocked
into a cocked hat_," I may as well close this article, with a short
anecdote of Tommy Marshall.

There was a period--there often is, in similar cases--during which it was
doubtful, if the celebrated James Otis was a sane or an insane man. During
that period, he was engaged for the plaintiff, in a cause, in which Mr.
Marshall was a witness, for the defendant. After a tedious cross
examination, Mr. Otis perceived the impossibility of perplexing the
witness, or driving him into any discrepancy; and, in a moment of despair,
his mind, probably, not being perfectly balanced, he lifted his finger,
and shaking it, knowingly, at the witness, exclaimed--"_Ah, Tommy
Marshall, Tommy Marshall, I know you!_" "_And what do you know of me,
sir?_" cried the witness, doubling his fist in the very face of Mr. Otis,
and stamping on the floor--"_I know you're a tailor, Tommy!_"

No. XCI.

Wake--Vigil--Wæcan--import one and the same thing. So we are informed, by
that learned antiquary, John Whitaker, in his History of Manchester,
published in 1771. Originally, this was a festival, kept by watching,
through the night, preceding the day, on which a church was dedicated. We
are told, by Shakspeare--

  He that outlives this day, and sees old age,
  Will yearly, on the _vigil_, feast his neighbors,
  And say _tomorrow_ is Saint Crispian.

These vigils, like the _agapæ_, or love-feasts, fell, erelong, into
disrepute, and furnished occasion, for disgraceful revelry and riot.

The Irish _Wake_, as it is popularly called, however it may have sprung
from the same original stock, is, at present, a very different affair.
Howling, at a wake, is akin to the ululation of the mourning women of
Greece, Rome, and Judea, to which I have alluded, in a former number. The
object of the Irish _Wake_ is to rouse the spirit, which, otherwise, it is
apprehended, might remain inactive, unwilling, or unable, to quit its
mortal frame--to _wake_ the soul, not precisely, "by tender strokes of
art," but by long-continued, nocturnal wailings and howlings. In practice,
it has ever been accounted extremely difficult, to get the Irish soul
fairly off, either upward or downward, without an abundance of
intoxicating liquor.

The philosophy of this is too high for me--I cannot attain unto it. I know
not, whether the soul goes off, in a fit of disgust, at the senseless and
insufferable uproar, or is fairly frightened out of its tabernacle. This I
know, that boon companions, and plenty of liquor are the very last means I
should think of employing, to induce a true-born Irishman, to give up the
ghost. I have read with pleasure, in the Pilot, a Roman Catholic paper of
this city, an editorial discommendation of this preposterous custom.

However these barbarous proceedings may serve to outrage the dignity, and
even the decency, of death, they have not always been absolutely useless.
If the ravings, and rantings, the drunkenness, and the bloody brawls, that
have sometimes occurred, during the celebration of an _Irish wake_, have
proved unavailing, in raising the dead, or in exciting the lethargic
soul--they have, certainly, sometimes sufficed, to restore consciousness
to the cataleptic, who were supposed to be dead, and about to be committed
to the grave.

In April, 1804, Barney O'Brien, to all appearance, died suddenly, in the
town of Ballyshannon. He had been a terrible bruiser, and so much of a
profligate, that it was thought all the priests, in the county of Donegal,
would have as much as they could do, of a long summer's day, to confess
him. It was concluded, on all hands, that more than ordinary efforts would
be required, for the _waking_ of Barney O'Brien's soul. A great crowd was
accordingly gathered to the shanty of death. The mountain dew was
supplied, without stint. The howling was terrific. Confusion began. The
altercation of tongues was speedily followed, by the collision of fists,
and the cracking of shelalahs. The yet uncovered coffin was overturned.
The shock, in an instant, terminated the trance. Barney O'Brien stood
erect, before the terrified and flying group, six feet and four inches in
his winding sheet, screaming, at the very top of his lungs, as he
rose--"_For the love o' the blissed Jasus, jist a dhrap o' the crathur,
and a shelalah!_"

In a former number, I have alluded to the subject of premature interment.
A writer, in the London Quarterly, vol. lxiii. p. 458, observes, that
"there exists, among the poor of the metropolitan districts, an inordinate
dread of premature burial." After referring to a contrivance, in the
receiving houses of Frankfort and Munich,--a ring, attached to the finger
of the corpse, and connected with a lightly hung bell, in the watcher's
room--he significantly asks--"_Has the corpse bell at Frankfort and Munich
ever yet been rung?_"--For my own part, I have no correspondence with the
sextons there, and cannot tell. It may possibly have been rung, while the
watcher slept! After admitting the possibility of premature burial, this
writer says, he should be content with Shakspeare's test--"_This feather
stirs; she lives_," This may be a very good affirmative test. But, as a
negative test, it would be good for little--_this feather stirs not; she
is dead_. In cases of catalepsy, it often happens, that a feather will not
stir; and even the more trustworthy test--the mirror--will furnish no
evidence of life.

To doubt the fact of premature interment is quite as absurd, as to credit
all the tales, in this connection, fabricated by French and German
wonder-mongers. During the existence of that terrible epidemic, which has
so recently passed away, the necessity, real or imagined, of removing the
corpses, as speedily as possible, has, very probably, occasioned some
instances of premature interment.

On the 28th of June, 1849, a Mr. Schridieder was supposed to be dead of
cholera, at St. Louis, and was carried to the grave; where a noise in the
coffin was heard, and, upon opening it, he was found to be alive.

In the month of July, 1849, a Chicago paper contained the following
statement:--

"We know a gentleman now residing in this city, who was attacked by the
cholera, in 1832, and after a short time, was supposed to have died. He
was in the collapsed state, gave not the least sign of life, and when a
glass was held over his mouth, there was no evidence that he still
breathed. But, after his coffin was obtained, he revived, and is now
living in Chicago, one of our most estimable citizens."

"Another case, of a like character, occurred near this city, yesterday. A
man who was in the collapsed state, and to all appearances dead, became
reanimated after his coffin was procured. He revived slightly--again
apparently died--again revived slightly--and finally died and was buried."

I find the following, in the Boston Atlas of August 23, 1849:--

"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 dés inhumations précipiteés, les moyens de constater les décès
et de rappeler á 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, quæ 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, notæ, et variæ 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.

The contributions of Mr. H. Drury, the editor, are inferior to none--

  There was an old man in Tobago,
  Who liv'd on rice gruel and sago;
    Till, much to his bliss,
    His physician said this:
  'To a leg, sir, of mutton you may go.'

      Senex æger in Tarento
      De oryxa et pulmento
      Vili vixerat invento;
        Donec medicus
      Seni inquit valde læto,
      'Senex æger, o gaudeto,
      Crus ovinum, jam non veto
        Tibi benedicus.'

Decidedly the most felicitous, though by no means the most elaborate in
the volume, is the following, which is also by the editor, Mr. Drury--

  Hey diddle diddle! The cat and the fiddle!
    The cow jumped over the moon;
  The little dog laughed to see such sport;
    And the dish ran away with the spoon.

  Hei didulum--atque iterum didulum! Felisque fidesque!
    Vacca super lunæ cornua prosiluit.
  Nescio qua catulus risit dulcedine ludi;
    Abstulit et turpi lanx cochleare fuga.

A Latin version of Goldsmith's mad dog, by H. J. Hodgson, is very clever,
and there are some on solemn subjects, and of a higher order.

How sturdily these little ditties, the works of authors dead, buried, and
unknown, have breasted the current of time! I had rather be the author of
_Hush-a-bye baby, upon the tree top_, than of Joel Barlow's Vision of
Columbus--for, though I have always perceived the propriety of putting
babies to sleep, at proper times, I have never entirely appreciated the
wisdom of doing the very same thing to adults, at all hours of the day.

What powerful resurrectionists these nursery melodies are! Moll Pitcher of
Endor had not a greater power over the dry bones of Samuel, than has the
ring of some one of these little chimes, to bring before us, with all the
freshness of years ago, that good old soul, who sat with her knitting
beside us, and rocked our cradle, and watched our progress from petticoats
to breeches; and gave notice of the first tooth; and the earliest words;
and faithfully reported, from day to day, all our marvellous achievements,
to one, who, had she been a queen, would have given us her sceptre for a
hoop stick.

No. XCIII.

Byles is a patronymic of extraordinary rarity. It will be sought for,
without success, in the voluminous record of Alexander Chalmers. It is not
in the Biographia Britannica; though, even there, we may, occasionally,
discover names, which, according to Cowper, were not born for
immortality--

  "_Oh fond attempt to give a deathless lot
  To names ignoble, born to be forgot!_"

Even in that conservative record of choice spirits, the Boston Directory
for 1849, this patronymic is nowhere to be found.

Henry Byles came from Sarum in England; and settled at Salisbury in this
Commonwealth, as early as 1640. I am not aware, that any individual,
particularly eminent, and bearing this uncommon name, has ever existed
among us, excepting that eccentric clergyman, who, within the bounds of
our little peninsula, at least, is still occasionally mentioned, as "_the
celebrated Mather Byles_." I am aware, that he had a son, who bore the
father's prænomen, and graduated at Harvard, in 1751; became a doctor of
divinity, in 1770; was a minister, in New London, and dismissed from his
charge, in 1769; officiated, as an Episcopal clergyman, in Boston, for
several years; went to St. Johns, N. B., at the time of the revolution;
officiated there; and died, March 12, 1814.

But my dealings, this evening, are with "_the celebrated Mather Byles_,"
who was born of worthy parents, in the town of Boston, March 26, 1706. His
father was an Englishman. Through the maternal line, he had John Cotton
and Richard Mather, for his ancestors. He graduated, at Harvard, in 1725;
was settled at the Hollis Street Church, Dec. 20, 1733; created D. D. at
Aberdeen, in 1765; was, on account of his toryism, separated from his
people, in 1776; and died of paralysis, July 5, 1788, at the age of 82. He
was twice married; a niece of Governor Belcher was his first, and the
daughter of Lieut. Governor Tailer, his second wife.

I should be faithless, indeed, were I to go forward, without one passing
word, for precious memory, in regard to those two perennial damsels, the
daughters of Dr. Byles. How many visitations, at that ancient manse in
Nassau Street! To how many of the sex--young--aye, and of no particular
age--it has occurred, at the nick of time, when there was nothing under
Heaven else to be done, to exclaim--"What an excellent occasion, for a
visit to Katy and Polly!" And the visit was paid; and the descendants of
"_the celebrated Mather Byles_" were so glad to see the visitors--and it
was so long since their last visit--and it must not be so long again--and
then the old stories, over and over, for the thousandth time--and the
concerted merriment of these amiable visitors, as if the tales were quite
as new, as the year itself, upon the first January morn--and the filial
delights, that beamed upon the features of these vestals, at the effect,
produced, by the recitation of stories, which really seemed to be made of
that very _everlasting_ of which the breeches of our ancestors were
made--and then the exhibition of those relics, and _heir looms_, or what
remained of them, after some thirty years' presentation to all comers,
which, in one way and another, were associated with the memory of "_the
celebrated Mather Byles_,"--and then the oh don't gos--and oh fly not
yets--and when will you come agains!

The question naturally arises, and, rather distrustingly, demands an
answer--what was "_the celebrated Mather Byles_"--celebrated for? In the
first place, he was _Sanctæ Theologiæ Doctor_. But his degree was from
Aberdeen; and the Scotch colleges, at that period, were not particularly
coy. With a cousin at court, and a little gold in hand, it was somewhat
less difficult, for a clergyman, without very great learning, or talent,
to obtain a doctorate, at Aberdeen, in 1765, than for a camel, of unusual
proportions, to go through the eye of a very small needle. Even in our
cis-atlantic colleges, these bestowments do not always serve to mark
degrees of merit, with infallible accuracy--for God's sun does not more
certainly shine, upon the just and upon the unjust, than doctorates have,
in some cases, fallen upon wise men, and upon fools. That, which, charily
and conservatively bestowed, may well be accounted an honor, necessarily
loses its value, by diffusion and prostitution. Not many years ago, the
worthy president of one of our colleges, being asked, how it happened,
that a doctorate of divinity had been given to a certain person of
ordinary talents, and very little learning; replied, with infinite
_naiveté_--"_Why ---- had it; and ---- had it; and ---- had it; and we
didn't like to hurt his feelings_."

Let us not consider the claims of Mather Byles as definitely settled, by
the faculty at Aberdeen.--He corresponded with Pope, and with Lansdowne,
and with Watts. The works of the latter were sent to him, by the author,
from time to time; and, among the treasures, highly prized by the family,
was a presentation copy, in quarto, from Pope, of his translation of the
Odyssey. This correspondence, however, so far as I was ever able to gather
information from the daughters, many years ago, did not amount to much;
the letters were very few, and very far between; on the one side
complimentary, and bearing congratulations upon the occasion of some
recent literary success; and, on the other, fraught with grateful
civility; and accompanied, as is often the case, with copies of some of
the author's productions.

Let me here present a somewhat disconnected anecdote: At the sale of the
library of Dr. Byles, a large folio Bible, in French, was purchased, by a
private individual. This Bible had been presented to the French Protestant
Church, in Boston, by Queen Anne; and, at the time, when it came to the
hands of Dr. Byles, was the last relic of that church, whose visible
temple had been erected in School Street, about 1716. Whoever desires to
know more of these French Protestants, may turn to the "Memoir," by Dr.
Holmes, or to vol. xxii. p. 62, of the Massachusetts Historical
Collections.

Dr. Byles wrote, in prose and verse, and quite _respectably_ in both.
There is not more of the spirit of poetry, however, in his metrical
compositions, than in his performances in prose. His versification was
easy, and the style of his prose works was unaffected; his sentences were
usually short, and never rendered unintelligible, by the multiplication of
adjuncts, or by any affectation of sententious brevity. Yet nothing, that
I have ever met with, from the pen of Dr. Byles, is particularly
remarkable for its elegance; and it is in vain to look, among such of his
writings, as have been preserved, for the evidences of extraordinary
powers of thought. Some dozen of his published sermons are still extant.
We have also several of his essays, in the New England Weekly Journal; a
poem on the death of George I., and the accession of George II., in 1727;
a sort of monodial address to Governor Belcher, on the death of his lady;
a poem called the Conflagration; and a volume of metrical matters,
published in 1744.

If his celebrity had depended upon these and other literary labors, he
would scarcely have won the appellation of "_the celebrated Mather
Byles_."

The _correspondent_ of Byles, Isaac Watts, never imagined, that the time
would arrive, when his own voluminous lyrics and his address to "_Great
Gouge_," would be classed, in the _Materia Poetica_, as soporifics, and
scarcely find one, so poor, as to do them reverence; while millions of
lisping tongues still continued to repeat, from age to age, till the
English language should be forgotten,

  "Let dogs delight
  To bark and bite,
  For God hath made them so;
  Let bears and lions
  Growl and fight,
  For 'tis their nature to."

Dr. Byles himself could not have imagined, while putting the finishing
hand to "_The Conflagration_," that, if he had embarked his hopes of
reaching posterity, in that heavy bottom, they must surely have foundered,
in the gulf of oblivion--and that, after all, he would be wafted down the
stream of time, to distant ages, astride, as it were, upon a feather--and
that what he could never have accomplished, by his grave discourses, and
elaborate, poetical labors, would be so certainly and signally achieved,
by the never-to-be-forgotten quips, and cranks, and bon mots, and puns,
and funny sayings, and comical doings of the reverend pastor of the Hollis
Street Church.

The reader must not do so great injustice to Dr. Byles, as to suppose,
that he mingled together _sacra profanis_, or was in the habit of
exhibiting, in the pulpit, that frolicsome vein, which was, in him, as
congenital, as is the tendency, in a fish, to swim in water.

The sentiment of Horace applies not here--

  ------------ridentem dicere verum
  Quid vetat?

The serious writings of Dr. Byles are singularly free from everything,
suggestive of frivolous association. In his pulpit, there was none of it;
not a jot; while, out of it, unless on solemn occasions, there was very
little else. I have heard from those, who knew him well, that he ransacked
the whole vocabulary, in search of the materials for punning. Yet of his
attempts, in this species of humor, few examples are remembered. The
specimens of the wit and humor of this eccentric divine, which have been
preserved, are often of a different character; and not a few of them of
that description, which are called practical jokes. Some of these
pleasantries were exceedingly clever, and others supremely ridiculous. It
is now more than half a century, since I listened to the first, amusing
anecdote of Mather Byles. Many have reached me since--some of them quite
as clever, as any we have ever had--I will not say from Foote, or Hook, or
Matthews; for such unclerical comparisons would be particularly
odious--but quite as clever as anything from Jonathan Swift, or Sydney
Smith. Suppose I convert my next number into a penny box, for the
collection and safe keeping of these petty records--I know they are below
the dignity of history--so is a very large proportion of all the thoughts,
words, and actions of Kings and Emperors--I'll think of it.

No. XCIV.

There were political sympathies, during the American Revolution, between
that eminent physician and excellent man, Dr. James Lloyd, and Mather
Byles; yet, some forty-three years ago, I heard Dr. Lloyd remark, that, in
company, the Reverend Mather Byles was a most troublesome puppy; and that
there was no peace for his punning. Dr. Lloyd was, doubtless, of opinion,
with Lord Kaimes, who remarked, in relation to this inveterate habit, that
few might object to a little salt upon their plates, but the man must
have an extraordinary appetite, who could make a meal of it.

The daily employment of our mental powers, for the discovery of words,
which agree in sound, but differ in sense, is a species of intellectual
huckstering, well enough adapted to the capacities of those, who are unfit
for business, on a larger scale. If this occupation could be made _to
pay_, many an oysterman would be found, forsaking his calling, and
successfully competing with those, who will not suffer ten words to be
uttered, in their company, without converting five of them, at least, to
this preposterous purpose.

No conversation can be so grave, or so solemn, as to secure it from the
rude and impertinent interruption of some one of these pleasant fellows;
who seem to employ their little gift upon the community, as a species of
laughing gas. A little of this may be well enough; but, like musk, in the
gross, it is absolutely suffocating.

The first story, that I ever heard, of Mather Byles, was related, at my
father's table, by the Rev. Dr. Belknap, in 1797, the year before he died.
It was upon a Saturday; and Dr. John Clarke and some other gentlemen,
among whom I well remember Major General Lincoln, ate their salt fish
there, that day. I was a boy; and I remember their mirth, when, after Dr.
Belknap had told the story, I said to our minister, Dr. Clarke, near whom
I was eating my apple, that I wished he was half as funny a minister, as
Dr. Byles.

Upon a Fast day, Dr. Byles had negotiated an exchange, with a country
clergyman. Upon the appointed morning, each of them--for vehicles were not
common then--proceeded, on horseback, to his respective place of
appointment. Dr. Byles no sooner observed his brother clergyman
approaching, at a distance, than he applied the whip; put his horse into a
gallop; and, with his canonicals flying all abroad, passed his friend, at
full run. "_What is the matter?_" he exclaimed, raising his hand in
astonishment--"_Why so fast, brother Byles?_"--to which the Dr., without
slackening his speed, replied, over his shoulder--"_It is Fast day!_"

This is, unquestionably, very funny--but it is surely undesirable, for a
consecrated servant of the Lord, thus lavishly to sacrifice, upon the
altars of Momus.

The distillery of Thomas Hill was at the corner of Essex and South
Streets, not far from Dr. Belknap's residence in Lincoln Street. Dr. Byles
called on Mr. Hill, and inquired--"Do you still?"--"That is my business,"
Mr. Hill replied.--"Then," said Dr. Byles--"will you go with me, and still
my wife?"

As he was once occupied, in nailing some list upon his doors, to exclude
the cold, a parishioner said to him--"the wind bloweth wheresoever it
listeth, Dr. Byles."--"Yes sir," replied the Dr. "and man listeth,
wheresoever the wind bloweth."

He was intimate with General Knox, who was a bookseller, before the war.
When the American troops took possession of the town, after the
evacuation, Knox, who had become quite corpulent, marched in, at the head
of his artillery. As he passed on, Byles, who thought himself privileged,
on old scores, exclaimed, loud enough to be heard--"_I never saw an ox
fatter in my life_." But Knox was not in the vein. He felt offended by
this freedom, especially from Byles, who was then well known to be a tory;
and replied, in uncourtly terms, that he was a "---- fool."

In May, 1777, Dr. Byles was arrested, as a tory, and subsequently tried,
convicted, and sentenced to confinement, on board a guard ship, and to be
sent to England with his family, in forty days. This sentence was changed,
by the board of war, to confinement in his own house. A guard was placed
over him. After a time, the sentinel was removed--afterwards replaced--and
again removed--when the Dr. exclaimed, that _he had been
guarded--regarded--and disregarded_. He called his sentry his
_observ-a-tory_.

Perceiving, one morning, that the sentinel, a simple fellow, was absent,
and seeing Dr. Byles himself, pacing before his own door, with a musket on
his shoulder, the neighbors stepped over, to inquire the cause--"_You
see_," said the Dr., "_I begged the sentinel to let me go for some milk
for my family, but he would not suffer me to stir. I reasoned the matter
with him; and he has gone, himself, to get it for me, on condition that I
keep guard in his absence._"

When he was very poor, and had no money to waste on follies, he caused the
little room, in which he read and wrote, to be painted brown, that he
might say to every visitor--"_You see I am in a brown study_."

His family, having gone to rest, were roused one night, by the reiterated
cry of _thieves!--thieves!_ in the doctor's loudest voice--the wife and
daughters sprang instantly from their beds, and rushed into the
room--there sat the Dr. alone, in his study chair--"_Where, father?_"
cried the astonished family--"_there!_" he exclaimed, pointing to the
candles.

One bitter December night, he called his daughters from their bed, simply
to inquire if they lay warm.

He had a small collection of curiosities. Some visitors called, one
morning; and Mrs. Byles, unwilling to be found at her ironing board, and
desiring to hide herself, as she would not be so caught, by these ladies,
for the world, the doctor put her in a closet, and buttoned her in. After
a few remarks, the ladies expressed a wish to see the Dr's curiosities,
which he proceeded to exhibit; and, after entertaining them very
agreeably, for several hours, he told them he had kept the greatest
curiosity to the last; and, proceeding to the closet, unbuttoned the door,
and exhibited Mrs. Byles.

He had complained, long, often, and fruitlessly, to the selectmen, of a
quagmire, in front of his dwelling. One morning, two of the fathers of the
town, after a violent rain, passing with their chaise, became stuck in
this bog. As they were striving to extricate themselves, and pulling to
the right and to the left, the doctor came forth, and bowing, with great
politeness, exclaimed--"_I am delighted, gentlemen, to see you stirring in
this matter, at last_."

A candidate for fame proposed to fly, from the North Church steeple, and
had already mounted, and was clapping his wings, to the great delight of
the mob. Dr. Byles, mingling with the crowd, inquired what was the object
of the gathering--"_We have come, sir_," said some one, "_to see a man
fly_."--"_Poh, poh_," replied the doctor, "_I have seen a horse-fly_."

A gentleman sent Dr. Byles a barrel of very fine oysters. Meeting the
gentleman's wife, an hour or two after, in the street, the doctor assumed
an air of great severity, and told her, that he had, that morning, been
treated, by her husband, in a most _Billingsgate_ manner, and then
abruptly left her. The lady, who was of a nervous temperament, went home
in tears, and was quite miserable, till her husband returned, at noon, and
explained the occurrence; but was so much offended with the doctor's
folly, that he cut his acquaintance.

A poor fellow, in agony with the toothache, meeting the doctor, asked him
where he should go, to have it drawn. The doctor gave him a direction to
a particular street and number. The man went, as directed; and, when the
occupant came to the door, told him that Dr. Byles had sent him there, to
have his tooth drawn. "_This is a poor joke, for Dr. Byles_," said the
gentleman; "_I am not a dentist, but a portrait painter--it will give you
little comfort, my friend, to have me draw your tooth_." Dr. Byles had
sent the poor fellow to Copley.

Upon the 19th of May, 1780, the memorable dark day, a lady wrote to the
doctor as follows--"_Dear doctor, how do you account for this darkness?_"
and received his immediate reply--"_Dear Madam, I am as much in the dark,
as you are_." This, for sententious brevity, has never been surpassed,
unless by the correspondence, between the comedian, Sam Foote, and his
mother--"_Dear Sam, I'm in jail_"--"_Dear Mother, So am I._"

He had, at one time, a remarkably stupid, and literal, Irish girl, as a
domestic. With a look and voice of terror, he said to her, in haste--"_Go
and say to your mistress, Dr. Byles has put an end to himself_." The girl
flew up stairs, and, with a face of horror, exclaimed, at the top of her
lungs--"_Dr. Byles has put an end to himself!_" The astonished wife and
daughters rushed into the parlor--and there was the doctor, calmly walking
about, with a part of a cow's tail, that he had picked up, in the street,
tied to his coat, or cassock, behind.

From the time of the stamp act, in 1765, to the period of the revolution,
the cry had been repeated, in every form of phraseology, that our
_grievances_ should be _redressed_. One fine morning, when the multitude
had gathered on the Common, to see a regiment of red coats, paraded there,
who had recently arrived--"_Well_," said the doctor, gazing at the
spectacle, "_I think we can no longer complain_, that our _grievances_ are
not _red dressed_." "_True_," said one of the laughers, who were standing
near, "_but you have two ds, Dr. Byles_." "_To be sure, sir, I have_," the
doctor instantly replied, "I had them from _Aberdeen_, in 1765."

These pleasantries will, probably, survive "THE CONFLAGRATION." Had not
this eccentric man possessed some very excellent and amiable qualities, he
could not have maintained his clerical relation to the Hollis-Street
Church and Society, for three and forty years, from 1733 to 1776; and have
separated from them, at last, for political considerations alone.

Had his talents and his influence been greater than they were, the
peculiarities, to which I have alluded, would have been a theme, for
deeper deprecation. The eccentricities of eminent men are mischievous, in
the ratio of their eminence; for thousands, who cannot rival their
excellencies, are often the successful imitators of their peculiarities
and follies.

I never sympathized with that worthy, old lady, who became satisfied, that
Dr. Beecher was a terrible hypocrite, and without a spark of vital
religion, because she saw him, from her window, on the Lord's day, in his
back yard, gymnasticising, on a pole, in the intermission season; and
thereby invigorating his powers, for the due performance of the evening
services. Yet, as character is power, and as the children of this
generation have a devilish pleasure in detecting inconsistencies, between
the practice and the profession of the children of light--it is ever to be
deplored, that clergymen should hazard one iota of their clerical
respectability, for the love of fun; and it speaks marvels, for the moral
and religious worth of Mather Byles, and for the forbearance,
intelligence, and discrimination of his parishioners, that, for
three-and-forty years, he maintained his ministerial position, in their
midst, cutting such wild, unpriestly capers, and giving utterance to such
amusing fooleries, from morning to night.

No. XCV.

I have already referred to the subject of being buried alive. There is
something very terrible in the idea; and I am compelled, by some recent
information, to believe, that occurrences of this distressing nature are
more common, than I have hitherto supposed them to be.

Not long ago, I fell into the society of a veteran, maiden lady, who, in
the course of her evening revelations of the gossip she had gathered in
the morning, informed the company, that an entire family, consisting of a
husband, wife, and seven children, were buried alive.

You have heard, or read, I doubt not, of that eminent French surgeon, who,
while standing by the bedside of his dying friend and patron, utterly
forgot all his professional cares and duties, in his exceeding great joy,
at beholding, for the first time in his life, the genuine Sardonic grin,
exhibited upon the distorted features of his dying benefactor. For a
moment, my sincere sorrow, for the terrible fate of this interesting
family, was utterly forgotten, in the delight I experienced, at the
prospect of receiving such an interesting item, for my dealings with the
dead.

My tablets were out, in an instant--and, drawing my chair near that of
this communicative lady, I requested a relation of all the particulars. My
astonishment was very much increased, when she asserted, that they had
actually buried themselves--and my utter disappointment--as an artist--can
scarcely be conceived, when she added, that the whole family had gone to
reside permanently in the country, giving up plays, concerts, balls,
soirees and operas.

Putting up my tablets, with a feeling of displeasure, illy concealed, I
ventured to suggest, that opportunities, for intellectual improvement,
were not wanting in the country; and that, perhaps, this worthy family
preferred the enjoyment of rural quiet, to the miscellaneous cries of
fire--oysters--and murder. She replied, that she had rather be murdered
outright, than live in the country--listen to the frogs, from morning to
night--and watch the progress of cucumbers and squashes.

Seriously, this matter of being buried alive, is very unpleasant. The
dead, the half-dead, and the dying, were brutally neglected, in the
earlier days of Greece. Diogenes Laertius, lib. 8, _de vita et moribus
philosophorum_, relates, that Empedocles, having restored Ponthia, a woman
of Agrigentum, to life, who was on the point of being buried, laws began
to be enacted, for the protection of the apparent dead. At Athens, no one
could be buried, before the third day; and, commonly, throughout all
Greece, burial and cremation were deferred, till the sixth or seventh day.
Alexander kept Hephestion's body, till the tenth day. I have referred, in
a former number, to the remarkable cases of Aviola and the Prætor Lamia,
who revived, after being placed on the funeral pile. Another Prætor,
Tubero, was saved, at the moment, when the torch was about to be applied.
I have also alluded to the act of Asclepiades, who, in disregard of the
ridicule of the bystanders, stopped a funeral procession, and reanimated
the body, about to be burnt.

A perusal of the _Somnium Scipionis_, and of the accounts of Hildanus,
Camerarius, and Horstius--of Plato, in his Republic--and of Valerius
Maximus, will satisfy the reader, that premature burials were, by no
means, uncommon, of old.

The idea of reviving in one's coffin--one of Fisk and Raymond's "_Patent
Metallic Burial Cases, Air-Tight and Indestructible_"--is really awful!
How truly, upon such an awakening as this, the wretch must wish he had
been born a savage--a Mandan of the upper Missouri--neither to be burnt
nor buried--but placed upon a mat, supported by poles--aloof from the
accursed wolves and undertakers--with a reasonable supply of pemmican and
corncake, and a calabash of water, by his side!

The dread of such an occurrence has induced some very sensible people, to
prefer cremation to earth and tomb burial. Of this we have a remarkable
example, in our own country. An infant daughter of Henry Laurens, the
first President of Congress, had, to all appearance, died of the small
pox. She was, accordingly, laid out, and prepared for the grave. A window,
which, during her illness, had been kept carefully closed, having been
opened after the body was shrouded, and a stream of air blowing freshly
into the apartment, the child revived, and the robes of death were
joyfully exchanged, for her ordinary garments. This event naturally
produced a strong impression, upon the father's mind. By his will, Mr.
Laurens enjoined it upon his children, as a solemn duty, that his body
should be burnt; and this injunction was duly fulfilled.

In former numbers, I have referred the reader to various authorities, upon
this interesting subject. I will offer a brief quotation from a sensible
writer--"According to the present usage, as soon as the semblance of death
appears, the chamber is deserted, by friends, relatives, and physicians,
and the apparently dead, though frequently living, body is committed to
the management of an ignorant or unfeeling nurse, whose care extends no
further than laying the limbs straight, and securing her accustomed
perquisites. The bed clothes are immediately removed, and the body is
exposed to the air. This, _when cold_, must extinguish any spark of life,
that may remain, and which, by a different treatment, might have been
kindled into a flame; or it may only continue to repress it, and the
unhappy person revive amidst the horrors of the tomb."--"Coldness,
heaviness of the body, a leaden, livid color, with a yellowness in the
visage," says the same author, "are all very uncertain signs." Mr.
Zimmerman observed them all, upon the body of a criminal, who fainted,
through the dread of the punishment he had merited. He was shaken, dragged
about, and turned, in the same manner dead bodies are, without the least
sign of resistance: and yet, at the end of twenty-four hours, he was
recalled to life, by means of volatile alkali.

In 1777, Dr. William Hawes, the founder of the Humane Society in London,
published an address, on premature interment. This is a curious and
valuable performance. I cannot here withhold the statement, that this
excellent man, before the formation of the Humane Society, for several
years, offered rewards, and paid them from his own purse, for the rescue
of persons from drowning, between Westminster and London bridge. Dr. Hawes
remarks, that the appearance of death has often been mistaken for the
reality, in apoplectic, and fainting fits, and those, arising from any
violent agitation of the mind, and from the free use of opium and
spirituous liquors. Children, he observes, have often been restored, who
have apparently died in convulsions. In case of fevers, in weak habits, or
when the cure has been chiefly attempted, by means of depletion, the
patient often sinks into a state, resembling death; and the friends, in
the opinion of Dr. Hawes, have been fatally deceived. In small pox, he
remarks, when the pustules sink, and death apparently ensues, means of
restoration should by no means be neglected.

In Lord Bacon's _Historia Vitæ et Mortis_, a passage occurs,
commencing--"Complura fuerunt exempla hominum, tanquam mortuorum, aut
expositorum e lecto, aut delatorum ad funus, quinetiam nonnullorum in
terra conditorum, qui nihilominus revixerunt," etc. But the passage is
rather long, and in a dead language; and my professional experience has
admonished me to be economical of space, and to occupy, for every dead
subject, long or short, as little room, as possible. I therefore give an
English version, of whose sufficiency the reader may judge, by glancing at
the original, vol. viii. p. 447, Lond. 1824.--There were many examples,
says Lord Bacon, of men, supposed to be dead, taken from their beds as
corpses, or borne to their graves, some of them actually buried, who,
nevertheless, revived. This fact, in regard to such as were buried, has
been proved, upon re-opening their graves; by the bruises and wounds upon
their heads; and by the manifest evidences of tossing about, and
struggling in their coffins. John Scott, a man of genius, and a scholar,
furnishes a very recent and remarkable example; who, shortly after his
burial, was disinterred, and found, in that condition, by his servant, who
was absent at the time of Mr. Scott's interment, and well acquainted, it
seems, with those symptoms of catalepsy, to which he was liable.

A like event happened, in my time, to a play-actor, buried at Cambridge. I
remember the account, given me by a clever fellow, who being full of
frolic, and desirous of knowing what were the feelings of persons, who
were hanging, suspended himself to a beam, and let himself drop, thinking
that he could lay hold on the beam, when he chose. This, however, he was
unable to do; but, luckily, he was relieved by a companion. Upon being
interrogated, he replied, that he had not been sensible of any pain--that,
at first, a sort of fire and flashing came about his eyes--then extreme
darkness and shadows--and, lastly, a sort of pale blue color, like that of
the ocean. I have heard a physician, now living, say, that, by frictions
and the warm bath, he had brought a man to life, who had hanged himself,
and remained suspended, for half an hour. The same physician used to say,
that he believed any one might be recovered, who had been suspended no
longer, unless his neck was broken. Such is a version of Lord Bacon's
statement.

In the Gentleman's Magazine, for 1834, page 475, the following account is
given of the feelings, during the process of hanging, by one, who was
restored--"The preparations were dreadful, beyond all expression. On being
dropped, he found himself midst fields and rivers of blood, which
gradually acquired a greenish tinge; and imagined, if he could reach a
certain spot in the same, he should be easy. He struggled forcibly to
attain this, and felt no more."

No. XCVI.

It were greatly to be desired, that every driver of brute animals, Guinea
negroes, and hard bargains, since he will not be a Christian, should be a
Pythagorean. The doctrine of the metempsychosis would, doubtless, instil a
salutary terror into his mind; and soften the harshness of his character,
by creating a dread of being, himself, spavined and wind-galled, through
all eternity; or destined to suffer from the lash, which he has
mercilessly laid upon the slave; or condemned to endure that hard measure,
which he has meted, in this world, to the miserable debtor.

This opinion, which Pythagoras is said to have borrowed from the
Egyptians, or, as some assert, from the Brachmans, makes the chief basis
of religion, among the Banians and others, in India and China, at the
present day; and is the cause of their great aversion to take the life of
brute animals, and even insects. The accidental destruction of any living
thing produces, with them, a feeling of sorrow, similar to that,
experienced, as Mr. Catlin says, by an Indian, who unfortunately shot his
_totem_, which, in that case, chanced to be a bear; that is, an animal of
a certain race, one of which his guardian angel was supposed to inhabit.

Vague and fantastical, as have been the notions of a future state, in
different nations, the idea of a condition of being, after death, has been
very universal. Such was the conclusion from the reasonings of Plato. Such
were the results "quæ Socrates supremo vitæ die de immortalitate animorum
disseruisset." Such was the faith of Cicero--"Sic mihi persuasi, sic
sentio, quum tanta celeritas animorum sit, tanta memoria præteritorum,
futurorumque prudentia, tot artes, tantæ scientiæ, tot inventa, non posse
eam naturam, quæ res eas contineat, esse mortalem." De Senec. 21.

Seneca was born a year before the Christian era. There is a remarkable
passage, in his sixty-third letter, addressed to Lucilius. He is striving
to comfort Lucilius, who had lost his friend Flaccus--"Cogitemus ergo
Lucili carissime, cito nos eo perventuros quo illum pervenisse moeremus.
Et fortasse (si modo sapientium vera fama est, recipitque nos locus
aliquis) quem putamus perisse, præmissus est:"--Let us consider, my dear
Lucilius, how soon we, ourselves, shall go whither he has gone, whose fate
we deplore. And possibly (if the report of certain wise men be true, and
there is indeed a place to receive us hereafter) he whom we consider as
gone from us _forever_, has only gone _before_. Here is, indeed, a shadowy
conception of a future state. The heathen and the Christian, the savage
and the sage concur, in the feeling, or the faith, or the philosophy,
whichever it may be, that, though flesh and blood, bone and muscle shall
perish, the spirit shall not. An impression, like this, swells into
conviction, from the very contemplation of its own instinctive and
pervasive character.

The Egyptians believed, in the abiding presence of the spirit with the
body, so long as the latter could be preserved; and therefore bestowed
great pains, in its preservation. In the travels of Lewis and Clarke, the
Echeloot Indians are reported to pay great regard to their dead; and
Captain Clarke was of the opinion, that they were believers in a future
state. They have common cemeteries; the bodies, carefully wrapped in
skins, are laid on mats, in vaults made of pine or cedar, eight feet
square; the sides are covered with strange figures, cut and painted, and
images are attached. On tall poles, surmounting these structures, are
suspended brass kettles, old frying-pans, shells, skins, baskets, pieces
of cloth, and hair. Sometimes the body is laid in one canoe, and covered
with another. It is not easy to conjecture what occasion these poor
Echeloots supposed spirits could have, for frying-pans and brass kettles.

The faith of the inhabitants of Taheite is very peculiar. They believe,
that the soul passes through no other purgatory, than the stomach of the
_Eatooa_ bird. They say of the dead, that they are _harra po_, gone to the
night; and they believe, that the soul is instantly swallowed, by the
_Eatooa_ bird, and is purified by the process of deglutition; then it
revives; becomes a superior being; never more to be liable to suffering.
This soul is now raised to the rank of the _Eatooa_, and may, itself,
swallow souls, whenever an opportunity occurs; which, having passed
through this gastric purgation, may, in their turn, do the very same
thing. Vancouver was present, at the obsequies of the chief, _Matooara_.
The priest gave a funeral sermon--"_The trees yet live_," said he, "_the
plants flourish, yet Matooara dies!_" It was a kind of expostulation with
_Eatooa_.

Baron Swedenborg's notions of the soul's condition, after death, are very
original, and rather oriental. He believed, "that man eats, and drinks,
and even enjoys conjugal delight, as in this world; that the resemblance
between the two worlds is so great, that, in the spiritual world, there
are cities with palaces and houses, and also writings and books,
employments and merchandizes; that there are gold and silver, and precious
stones there. There is, in the spiritual world, all and every thing that
there is in the natural world; but that in Heaven, such things are in an
infinitely more perfect state." Trade, in Heaven, is conducted,
doubtless, on those lofty principles, inculcated, by the late Dr.
Chalmers, in his commercial discourses; counterfeiters and bank robbers,
marriage squabbles and curtain lectures are unknown; and no angel lendeth
upon usury. In this arrangement, there is a remarkable oversight; for, as
death is dispensed with, our vocation is no better, than Othello's. The
superior advantages of the Baron's Heaven scarcely offer a fair
compensation, for the suffering and inconvenience of removing, from our
present tabernacles; and, for one, I should decidedly prefer to remain
where I am, especially now that we have gotten the Cochituate water.

Such being the fashion of Swedenborg's Heaven, it would be quite
interesting, were he now among us, in the flesh, to have, under his own
hand, a rough sketch of his Hell. As the former is a state, somewhat
better, the latter must be a state somewhat worse, than our present
condition. It would not be very difficult to give some little idea of
Swedenborg's Orcus, or place of punishment. We should have an eternal
subtreasury, of course, with a tariff, more onerous, if possible, than
that of 1846: the infernal banks would not discount, and money, on prime
paper, would be three per cent. a month. Slavery would cover the earth;
and the South would rage against the North and its interference, like the
maniac, against his best friend, who strives to prevent him, from cutting
his own throat, with his own razor.

Among the fancies, which have prevailed, in relation to the soul and its
habits, none, perhaps, have been more remarkable, than the belief, in an
actual _exodus_, or going forth, of the soul from the body, during life,
on excursions of business or pleasure. This may be placed in the category
of sick men's dreams; and probably is nothing else than that mighty
conjuration of the mind, especially the mind of an invalid; of whose power
no man had greater experience than Emanuel Swedenborg. The inhabitants of
some of the Polynesian islands believe, that the spirits of their
ancestors become divinities, or _Tees_. They believe the soul walks
abroad, in dreams, under the charge of its _Tee_, or tutelary angel.

Mydo, a boy, was brought from Taheite, by an English whaler, and died,
kindly cared for, by the Moravians. One morning, he spoke to these
friends, as follows:--"You told me my soul could not die, and I have been
thinking about it. Last night my body lay on that bed, but I knew nothing
of it, for my soul was very far off. My soul was in Taheite. I am sure I
saw my mother and my friends, and I saw the trees and dwellings, as I left
them. I spoke to the people, and they spoke to me; and yet my body was
lying still in this room, all the while. In the morning, I was come again
into my body, and was at Mirfield, and Taheite was a great many miles off.
Now I understand what you say about my body being put into the earth, and
my soul being somewhere else; and I wish to know where it will be, when it
can no more return to my body." Such were the humble conceptions of the
dying Taheitean boy--let the reader decide for himself what more there may
be, under the grandiloquence of Addison--

  --------Plato, thou reasonest well.
  Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
  This longing after immortality?
  Or whence this secret dread and inward horror
  Of falling into naught? Why shrinks the soul
  Back on herself, and startles at destruction!
  'Tis the divinity, that stirs within us;
  'Tis Heaven itself, that points out an hereafter,
  And intimates eternity to man.

No. XCVII.

The ashes of the dead are ransacked, not only for hidden treasure, and for
interesting relics, but there is a figurative species of raking and
scratching, among them, in quest of one's ancestors. This is, too
frequently, a periculous experiment; for the searcher sometimes finds his
progress--the pleasure of his employment, at least--rudely interrupted, by
an offensive stump, which proves to be the relic of the whipping-post, or
the gallows.

Neither the party himself, nor the world, trouble their heads, about a
man's ancestors, until he has distinguished himself, in some degree, or
fancies that he has; for, while he is nobody, they are clearly nobody's
ancestors. In Note A, upon the article _Touchet_, vol. ix., fol. ed.,
Lond., 1739, Bayle remarks--"It is very common to fall into two extremes,
with regard to those, whom Providence raises greatly above their former
condition: some, by fabulous genealogies, procure them ancestors of the
first quality; others reduce them to a rank, much below the true one."
This remark was amply illustrated, in the case of Napoleon Bonaparte:
while some there were, who thought they could make out a clear descent
from the prince of darkness, others were ready to accommodate him with the
most illustrious ancestry. The Emperor of Austria had a fancy, for tracing
Napoleon's descent, from one of the petty sovereigns of Treviso; and a
genealogist made a merit of proving him to be a descendant, from an
ancient line of Gothic princes; to all this Napoleon sensibly replied,
that he dated his patent of nobility, from the battle of Monte Notte.
Cicero was of the same way of thinking, and prided himself, on being
_novus homo_. Among the _fragmenta_, ascribed to him, there is a
declamation against Sallust, published by Lemaire, in his edition of the
Classics, though he believes it not to be Cicero's; in which, sec. ii.,
are these words--_Ego meis majoribus virtute mea præluxi; ut, si prius
noti non fuerint, a me accipiant initium memoriæ suæ_--_By my virtue, I
have shown forth before my ancestors; so, that if they were unknown
before, they will receive the commencement of their notoriety from me_. "I
am no herald," said Sydney, "to inquire of men's pedigrees: it sufficeth
for me if I know their virtues."

This setting up for ancestors, among those, who, from the very nature of
our institutions, are, and ever must be, a middling interest people, is as
harmless, as it is sometimes ridiculous, and no more need be said of its
inoffensiveness.

From the very nature of the case, there can be no lack of ancestors. The
simplest arithmetic will show, that the humblest citizen has more than
_one million of grand parents_, within the twentieth degree; and it is
calculated, in works on consanguinity, that, within the fifteenth degree,
every man has nearly _two hundred and seventy millions of kindred_. There
is no lack, therefore, of the raw material, for this light work; unless,
in a case, like that of the little vagrant, who replied to the
magistrate's inquiry, as to his parents, that he never had any, but _was
washed ashore_. The process is very simple. Take the name of Smith, for
example: set down all of that name, who have graduated at the English,
American, and German colleges, for Schmidt is the same thing--then enrol
all of that name, upon the habitable earth, who have, in any way,
distinguished themselves; carefully avoiding the records of criminal
courts, and such publications as Caulfield's Memoirs, the State Trials,
and the Newgate Calendar. Such may be called the genealogy of the Smiths;
and every man of that name, while contemplating the list of worthies, will
find himself declaring a dividend, _per capita_, of all that was good, and
great, and honorable, in the collection; and he will arise, from the
perusal, a more complacent, if not a better man.

This species of literature is certainly coming into vogue. I have lately
seen, in this city, a large duodecimo volume, recently printed, in which
the genealogy of a worthy family, among us, is traced, through Oliver
Cromwell, to Æneas, not Æneas Silvius, who flourished in the early part of
the fifteenth century, and became Pope Pius II., but to Æneas, the King of
the Latins. This royal descent is not through the second marriage with
Lavinia; nor through the accidental relation, between Æneas and Dido--

  Speluncam Dido dux et Trojanus eandem
  Deveniunt----------;

but through the first marriage with the unfortunate Creusa, who was burnt
to death, in the great Troy fire, which took place, according to the
Parian Marbles, on the 23d of the month, Thargelion, i. e., 11th of June,
1184 years before Christ. Ascanius was certainly therefore the ancestor of
this worthy family, the son of Æneas and Creusa; and the grandson of
Anchises and Venus. Such a pedigree may satisfy a Welchman.

I am forcibly reminded, by all this, of a very pleasant story, recounted
by Horace Walpole, in a letter to Horace Mann: I refer to Letter CCV. in
Lord Dover's edition. In 1749, when Mirepoix was ambassador in England,
there was a Monsieur de Levi, in his suite. This man was proud of his
Jewish name, and really appeared to set no bounds to his genealogical
_gout_. They considered the Virgin Mary a cousin of their house, and had a
painting, in which she is represented, as saying to Monsieur Levi's
ancestor, who takes off his hat in her presence--"_Couvrez vous, mon
cousin_:" to which he replies--"_Non pas, ma très sainte cousine, je scai
trop bien le respect que je vous dois_." The editor, Lord Dover, says, in
a note, that there is said to have been another ridiculous picture, in
that family, in which Noah is represented, going into the ark, carrying a
small trunk under his arm, on which is written--"_Papiers de la maison de
Levis_."

Very few persons are calculated for the task of tracing genealogies;
patience and discrimination should be united with a certain slowness of
belief, and wariness of imposition. Two of a feather do not more readily
consociate, than two of a name, and of the genealogical fancy, contrive to
strike up a relationship. There are also greater obstacles in the way,
than a want of the requisite talents, temper, and
attainments:--"Alterations of sirnames," says Camden, "which, in former
ages, have been very common, have so obscured the truth of our pedigrees,
that it will be no little labor to deduce many of them." For myself, a
plain, old-fashioned sexton, as I am, I am much better satisfied, with the
simple and intelligible assurance of my Bible, that I am a child of Adam,
than I could possibly be, with any genealogical proofs, that Anchises and
Venus were my ancestors. However, there is no such thing as accounting for
taste; and it is not unpleasant, I admit, to those of us, who still
cherish some of our early, classical attachments, to know, that the blood
of that ancient family is still preserved among us.

No man is more inclined than I am, to perpetuate a sentiment of profound
respect for the memory of worthy ancestors. Let us extract, from the
contemplation of their virtues, a profitable stimulus, to prevent us from
being weary in well-doing. By the laws of Confucius, a part of the duty,
which children owed to their parents, consisted in worshipping them, when
dead. I am inclined to believe, that this filial worship or reverence may
be well bestowed, in the ascending line, on all, who have deserved it, and
who are, _bona fide_, our grandfathers and grandmothers. It seems to me
quite proper and convenient, to have a well-authenticated catalogue or
list of one's ancestors, as far back as possible; but let us exercise a
sound discretion in this matter; and not run into absurdity. I am ready
and willing to obey the laws of Confucius, as implicitly, as though I were
a Chinaman, and reverence my ancestors; but I must, first, be well
satisfied, as to their identity. I will never consent, because some
professional genealogist has worked himself into a particular belief, to
worship the man in the moon, for my great Proavus, nor Dido for my great,
great grandmother.

Domestic arboriculture is certainly getting into fashion, and a family
tree is becoming quite essential to the self-complacency, at least, of
many well-regulated families. The roots are found to push freely, in the
superficial soil of family pride. Generally, these trees, to render them
sightly, require to be pruned with a free hand; and the proprietor, when
the crooked branches are skilfully removed, and all the small and
imperfect fruit put entirely out of sight, may behold it, with heartfelt
pleasure, and rejoice in the happy consciousness, that he is a SMINK. If,
however, these family matters, instead of being preserved, for private
amusement, are to be multiplied, by the press, there will, indeed, in the
words of the wise man, be no end of making books.

Ancestors are relics, and nothing else. Whenever the demand for ancestors
becomes brisk, and genealogy becomes a _profession_--it becomes a _craft_.
Laboureur, the historian, in his _Additions de Castelnau_, tom. ii. p.
559, affords a specimen of genealogical trust-worthiness. "In 1560,
Renatus of Sanzay built, with John le Feron, king at arms of France, a
genealogy of the house of Sanzay, made up of near fifty descents, most of
them enumerated, year by year; with the names, sirnames, and coats of arms
of the women; whilst all those names, families, and arms were mere
phantoms; brother Stephen of Lusignan, out of this mighty tub, as from a
public fountain, let flow the nobility and blood of Lusignan to all
persons, who desired any of it."--Again, on page 320, Laboureur
says--"They admitted, as true, all that was vented by certain false
antiquaries and downright enthusiasts, such as John le Maire de Belges,
Forcatel, a civilian, Stephen of Lusignan, and John le Feron, whom I will
charge with nothing but credulity." This, doubtless, is the stumbling
block of most men, who engage in this semi-mythical employment.

Nothing is more easy, than to mistake one dead person, for another, when
corruption has done its work, upon the form and features. There is
something bituminous in time. What masculine mistakes are committed by
experts! Those relics, which have been the object of hereditary
veneration, for thirty centuries, as the virgin daughter of some great
high priest in the days of Cheops and Cephrenes, may, by the assistance of
the savans, with the aid of magnifiers of extraordinary power, be
demonstrated to be the blackened carcass of Hum-Bug-Phi, the son of
Hassan, the camel-driver; who kept a little khane or caravansera near
Joseph's granaries, in old Al Karirah, on the eastern banks of the Nile,
famous--very--for the quality of its leeks and onions, three thousand
years ago.

No. XCVIII.

Thank Heaven, I am not a young widow, for two plain reasons; I do not wish
to be young again--and I would not be a widow, if I could help it. A young
widow, widder, or widdy, as the word is variously spelt, has been a
byword, of odd import, ever since the days, when Sara, the daughter of
Raguel, exclaimed, in the fifteenth verse of the third chapter of the book
of Tobit--"_My seven husbands are already dead, and why should I live?_"
All this tilting against the widows, with goose quills for spears, arises
from the fact, that these weapons of war are mainly in the hands of one
sex. Men are the scribblers--the lions are the painters. Nothing, in the
chapters of political economy, is more remarkable, than the fact, that,
since all creation was divided into parishes, there has never been a
parish, in which there was not a Mr. Tompkins, who was the very thing for
the widow Button. But the cutting out and fitting of these matters
commonly belongs to that amiable sisterhood, who are ever happy, without
orders, to make up, at short notice.

The result of my limited reading and observation has satisfied me
entirely, that there is, and ever has been, a very great majority of bad
husbands, over the bad wives, and of bewizzarded widowers, over the widows
bewitched. When a poor, lone, young widow, for no reason under Heaven, but
the desire to prove her respect, as Dr. Johnson says, for the state of
matrimony, takes the initiative, every unmarried female, over thirty,
longs to cut her ears off.

If there be sin or silliness, in the repetition of the matrimonial
relation, or in strong indications of uneasiness, in the state of single
blessedness, man is the offender in chief.

_Quadrigamus_, signifying a man who had been four times married, was a
word, applicable of old. Henry VIII. had six wives, in succession. Let us
summon a witness, from among the dead. Let us inquire, where is there a
widow, maid, or wife, who would not be deemed a candidate for the old
summary punishment of Skymmington, should she behave herself, as boldly,
and outrageously, as John Milton behaved?

Milton, though he did not commence his matrimonial experiments, until he
was thirty-five, married, in succession, Mary Powell, in 1643--Catherine
Woodcock, in 1653--and Elizabeth Minshull, in 1662. Mary Powell, who was
the daughter of a Cavalier, and accustomed to the gaiety of her father's
house, soon became weary of her solitary condition, with John Milton, who
was, constitutionally, of a choleric and lordly temper. Contrasted with
the loneliness, and slender appliances of her new home, the residence of
her father, at Forest Hill, appeared to her, like paradise lost. So she
went home, at the end of a month, ostensibly upon a visit; and, probably,
gave no very flattering account of the honeymoon. Just about that period,
the King's forces had thrashed Fairfax, in the North, and taught Waller
the true difference, between prose and poetry, in the West; and "the
Powells," says Dr. Symmons, "began to repent of their Republican
connection." Milton wrote to his wife to return. She neither came, nor
responded. He next sent a messenger, who was treated with contempt.
Thereupon Milton immediately proceeded to pay his suit to a very beautiful
and accomplished young lady, the daughter of a Dr. Davis; and Dr. Symmons
is evidently of opinion, that the lady and her family had no objections to
the proceeding, which is fully exhibited, in Milton's Prose Works, vol.
vii. p. 205, Lond., 1806.

Talk not of widows after this. Finding, even in those days of disorder,
that no divorce, _a vinculo_, could be obtained, under existing laws, he
wrote his celebrated works--The Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce, and
the Judgment of Martin Bucer, concerning Divorce. In these works he sets
forth his particular grievance, which the reader may easily comprehend,
from one or two brief quotations--he speaks of a "_mute and spiritless
mate_" and of "_himself bound to an image of earth and phlegm_."

After the fight of Naseby, the Powells appear to have thought better of
it; and Madame Milton returned, made the amende, and was restored in full.
What sort of composition Milton made with Miss Davis nobody has ever
disclosed. Certain it is, that compasionate damsel and the works upon
divorce were all laid upon the same shelf. We are apt to find something
of value, in a thing we have discarded, when we perceive, that it is
capable of giving high satisfaction to another. This consideration may
have influenced Mrs. Milton; and, very possibly, the desire of returning
to the residence of Milton may have been secondary to that of jilting Miss
Davis, which she was certainly entitled to do. I knew an old gentleman,
who was always so much affected, in this manner, by the sight of his
cast-off clothing, upon the persons of his servants, that nothing would
content him, short of reclaimer.

Milton was ever Milton still--_nihil tetigit quod non ornavit_. Take a
brief extract or two from his work on divorce:--"What therefore God hath
joined let no man put asunder. But here the Christian prudence lies, to
consider what God hath joined. Shall we say that God hath joined error,
fraud, unfitness, wrath, contention, perpetual loneliness, perpetual
discord? Whatever lust, or wine, or witchery, threat or enticement,
avarice or ambition hath joined together, faithful or unfaithful,
Christian with anti-Christian, hate with hate, or hate with love--shall we
say this is God's joining?"--"But unfitness and contrariety frustrate and
nullify forever, unless it be a rare chance, all the good and peace of
wedded conversation; and leave nothing between them enjoyable, but a prone
and savage necessity, not worth the name of marriage, unaccompanied with
love." Every word of all this was written with an eye to the object of his
unlawful passion: but the legislature very justly considered the greatest
good of the greatest possible number; and would not turn aside, to pass a
bill, for the special relief of John Milton and Miss Davis.

Selden, in his _Uxor Hebraica_, has proved, that polygamy existed, not
only among the Hebrews, but among all nations, and in all ages. Mark
Anthony is mentioned, as the first, among the Romans, who took the liberty
of having two wives. What a gathering there would have been, in the Forum,
if the news had been spread, that Mrs. Mark Anthony had taken the liberty
of having two husbands! Every body knows, that widows are occasionally
burnt, in Hindostan, on the funeral pile with their husbands. Whoever
heard of a widower being burnt or even scorched, on a similar occasion?

The Landgrave of Hesse, the most warlike of the Protestant leaders, caused
a representation to be made to the theologians, that he must have two
wives, and that he would not be denied. A most rampant and outrageous
protocol was prepared, and handed to Bucerus, for the ministers at
Wittemberg. The substance of this was equally discreditable to the
Landgrave, and insulting to Luther and the holy fathers. The Landgrave was
no gentleman, for he told the theologians, that his lady got drunk, and
was personally disagreeable to him. He calls God to witness, that, if they
do not sanction his polygamy, he will do just what he likes, and the sin
will be upon their heads. He particularly wishes information, on one
point--why he is not as good as Abraham, Jacob, David, Lamech, and
Solomon; and why he has not as good a right to have a spare wife or two,
as they had. He asks for two only.

Luther was deeply troubled, and perplexed. The Reformation professed to
bring back the world to the Scriptures, in which polygamy was expressly
recognized. The Reformers held marriage to be _res politica_, and
therefore subject to the law of the State. The matter became worse by
delay. The Landgrave was filled with fury, and the theologians with fear.
At last, poor Luther and the rest signed a paper, concluding with these
memorable words--"If however your highness is utterly determined upon
marrying a second wife, we are of opinion, that it ought to be done
secretly. Signed and sealed at Wittemberg, after the feast of St.
Nicholas, in the year 1539. Martin Luther, Philip Melancthon, Martin
Bucer, Antony Corvin, Adam John Lening, Justin Wintfert, Dyonisius
Melanther."

The detail of all this may be found, in Hazlitt's translation of
Michelet's Life of Luther, page 251, Lond. 1846. Bayle, article Luther,
observes, that the theologians would have promptly refused to sanction
such a thing, had the request come from any private gentleman--or, permit
me to add, if it had come from the lady of the Landgrave, for a brace of
husbands.

It is my opinion, that great injustice is done to widows. The opinion of
St. Jerome, who never was a widow, and knew nothing about it, that they
should never marry again, is perfectly absurd; for there are some men,
whose constitutional timidity would close the matrimonial highway forever,
were it not for that peculiar species of encouragement, which none but
widows can ever administer. For my own part, I would have a widow speak
out, and spare not; for I am very fearful, that the opposite course is
productive of great moral mischief, and tends to perpetuate a system of
terrible hypocrisy. But let a sound discretion be exercised. I disapprove
altogether of conditional engagements, made _durante vita mariti_.

No. XCIX.

Jonny Moorhead was a man of a kind heart and a pleasant fancy. He came
hither from Belfast, in 1727. He became pastor of the Presbyterian Church
in Long Lane, in 1730.--_Tempora mutantur_--Long Lane, and Jonny Moorhead,
and the little, old, visible temple, and Presbyterianism itself, are like
Rachel's first born--they are not. But in 1744, the good people built a
new church, for Jonny Moorhead; in due time, Long Lane became Federal
Street; and, Jonny's church bore the bell, which had rung so many peals,
and the gilded tell-tale, which, for so many years, had done obeisance to
all the winds of Heaven, upon the _old_ Brattle Street Church. These, upon
the demolition of that church, in 1774, were the gift of John Hancock.
Jonny Moorhead had little comfort from that bell, for he died December 3,
1774, and could he have lived to see that Presbyterian weathercock go
round, in after-times, it would have broken the tough, old strings of
Jonny Moorhead's Irish heart.

About one hundred years ago, Jonny Moorhead, upon a drowsy summer
afternoon, gave out the one hundred and eighty-seventh psalm--the chief
minstrel, with infinite embarrassment, suggested, that there were not so
many in the _Book_--and tradition tells us, that Jonny replied--"_Weel,
then, sing as mony as there be_."

My recollection of this anecdote of Jonny Moorhead will be painfully
revived, when I send forth the one hundredth number of these dealings with
the dead. They have been prepared like patch-work, from such fragments, as
my common-place book supplied, and at such broken hours of more than
ordinary loneliness, as might otherwise have been snoozed, unconsciously
away. I had cast all that I had written into a particular drawer; and
great was my surprise, to find, that the hundredth was the last, and that,
with that number, I shall have sung--"_as mony as there be_."

One hundred--thought I--is an even number--few individuals care to survive
one hundred. When these dealings with the dead had reached the number of
four-score, I had serious misgivings, that their _strength_, to my weary
reader, might prove nothing better than _labor and sorrow_;
notwithstanding the occasional tokens of approbation, from some
exceedingly old-fashioned people, who were altogether behind the times.

Having attained this _point d'appui_, which appears well enough adapted
for the long home of an old sexton, it occurred to me, that I could not
possibly do a better thing, for myself, or a more acceptable thing for the
public, than to gather up my tools, as snugly as possible, and quietly
give up the ghost. But giving up the ghost, even in the sacristan sense of
that awful phrase, is not particularly agreeable, after all. If I look
upon each one of these hundred dealings, as a sepulchre of my own
digging--I cannot deny, that the employment of my spade has been a
particular solace to me. But there are other solaces--I know it--there are
an hundred according to the exiled bard of Sulmo--

                "----centum solatia curæ
  Et rus, et comites, et via longa dabunt."

Other suggestions readily occur, and are as readily, discarded. Parents,
occasionally, experiment upon the sensibility of their children, by fondly
discoursing of the uncertainty of human existence, and mingling deep drawn
sighs, with shadowy allusions to wills and codicils.

For three-and-thirty years, our veteran, maiden aunt, Jemima Wycherly, at
the close of her annual visit, which seldom fell short of six weeks, in
its duration, though it seemed much longer, took each of us by the hand,
and, with many tears, commended us fervently to the protecting arm of an
overruling Providence, and bade us an eternal farewell!

I have always contemplated the conduct of Charles V. in relation to the
rehearsal of his funeral obsequies, as a piece of imperial foolery. "He
ordered his tomb to be erected, in the chapel of the monastery. His
domestics marched thither in funeral procession, with black tapers in
their hands. He himself followed, in his shroud. He was laid in his
coffin, with much solemnity. The service for the dead was chanted; and
Charles joined in the prayers, which were offered for the rest of his
soul, mingling his tears with those, which his attendants shed, as if
they had been celebrating a real funeral. The ceremony closed, with
sprinkling holy water on the coffin, in the usual form, and, all the
assistants retiring, the doors of the chapel were shut. Then Charles rose
out of the coffin, and withdrew to his apartment." Such is the statement
of Dr. Robertson.[1]

Notwithstanding this high authority, it is comforting, even at this late
day, to believe, that a story, so discreditable to the memory of Charles,
is without any substantial foundation. It has ever appeared remarkable,
that Bayle should not have alluded to this curious anecdote. After
bestowing the highest praise, on Richard Ford's Hand Book, for Travellers
in Spain, the London Quarterly Review[2] furnishes an extract from the
work, in which, after giving a minute and interesting account of the
convent of St. Yuste, the final retreat of Charles V., Mr. Ford
says--"_the story of his having had the funeral service said over himself,
while alive, is untrue; no record, or tradition of the kind existed among
the monks_."

There is something, in these drafts upon _posterity_, to be accepted and
paid, by the _present generation_, for the honor of the drawer, resembling
the conduct of a man, who encroaches on his principal, or who anticipates
his revenues.

There is, undoubtedly, a species of luxury in leave-taking. We have
delighted, to contemplate the edifying history of that gray-headed old
rat, who, weary of the world, and determined to spend the remnant of his
days, in pious meditation, took a final and affectionate leave of all his
relatives and friends, and retired to a quiet hole--_in the recesses of a
Cheshire cheese_.

However gratified we may be, to witness the second, or third coming of an
able, ardent, and ambitious politician, it is not in the gravest nature to
restrain a smile, while we contrast that vehemence, which no time can
temper--that _vis vivida vitæ_--ready for all things, in the forum or the
field--that unquenchable fire, brightly burning, beneath the frost of more
than seventy winters--with those sad infirmities of ace--those silver
hairs--that one foot in the grave--the necessity of turning from all
sublunary things, and making way for Heaven, under the pale rays of life's
parting sun--those senatorial adieus--and long, last farewells--those
solemn prayers and fervent hopes for the happiness of his associates,
whom he should meet no more, on this side of the eternal world--those
_esto perpetuas_ for his country! How touching these things would be, but
for their frequency! What more natural, or more excusable, having enjoyed
the luxury of leave-taking, than a desire--after a reasonable interval--to
repeat the process, which afforded so much pleasure, and inflicted so
little pain!

As to my own comparatively humble relation to the public--_parvis
componere magna_--I am of opinion, that I should gain nothing, by
affecting to retire, or by pretending to be dead. As to the former, it may
be as truly averred of sextons, as it was, by Mr. Jefferson, of
office-holders--"_few die and none resign_;" and, in respect to the
latter, I not only despise the idea of such an imposition upon the public,
but have some little fear, that the affectation might be too suddenly
followed, by the reality, as Dr. Robertson, rightly or wrongly, affirms it
to have been, in the case of Charles the Fifth.

I am now fairly committed, for the first number, at least, of another
hundred, but for nothing more. I pretend not to look deeper into futurity,
than six feet, which is the depth of a well-made grave. When I shall have
completed the second hundred, and commenced upon a third, I shall be well
nigh ready to exclaim, in the words of Ovid--

                                      "Vixi
  Annos bis centum: nunc tertia vivitur ætas."

A relation of liberty and equality is decidedly the best, for my reader
and for me--I am not constrained to write, nor he to read--if he cannot
lie cozily, in a grave of my digging--I do not propose to detain him
there--to bury him alive. Dealing with the dead has not hardened my heart.
I am a sexton of very considerable sensibility; and have, occasionally,
mingled my tears with the earth, as I shovelled it in.

In less figurative phrase, it is my desire to write, for my amusement,
till one of us, the reader or myself, gives in, or gives out, and cries
_enough_. I have a perfect respect for the old proverb, _de gustibus_, and
by no means anticipate the pleasure of pleasing every body--

  Men' moveat cimex Pantilius? aut cruciet, quod
  Vellicet absentem Demetrius? aut quod ineptus
  Fannius Hermogenis lædat conviva Tigelli?

There are some readers, for example, who seem to look upon a classical
quotation, as a personal affront. I conceive this objection to be scarcely
equitable, from those, whose hybrid English, it is quite as hard to bear.

There are mortals--offenders in some sort--whom it is difficult to please,
like the culprit who cried _higher_ and _lower_, under the lash, till the
Irish drummer's patience was perfectly exhausted, and he exclaimed--"_By
Jasus, there's no plasing ye, strike where I will_."

No. C.

The sayings of eminent men, in a dying hour, are eminently worthy of being
gathered together--they are often illustrative of the characters of the
dead, and impressive upon the hearts of the living. Not a few of these
parting words are scattered, over the breadth and length of history, and
might form a volume--a _Vade Mecum_, for the patriot and the Christian--a
casket of imperishable jewels.

As an example of those sayings, to which I refer, nothing can be more
apposite, than that of the Chevalier Bayard, while dying upon the field of
battle. "He received a wound," says Robertson, "which he immediately
perceived to be mortal, and being unable any longer to continue on
horseback, he ordered one of his attendants to place him under a tree,
with his face toward the enemy; then fixing his eyes on the guard of his
sword, which he held up, instead of a cross, he addressed his prayers to
God; and, in this posture, which became his character, both as a soldier
and as a Christian, he calmly awaited the approach of death." Bourbon, who
led the foremost of the enemy's troops, found him in this situation, and
expressed regret and pity, at the sight. "_Pity not me_," cried the
high-spirited chevalier, "_I die, as a man of honor ought, in the
discharge of my duty; they indeed are objects of pity, who fight against
their king, their country, and their oath_."

How significant of the life of that great military phlebotomist, who, from
the overthrow of the council of five hundred, in 1799, to his own in 1815,
delighted in blood, and in war, were those wild, wandering words of the
dying Napoleon--_tete d'armee!_

We have the last words of consciousness, that were uttered, by the younger
Adams, when stricken by the hand of death in the capitol--_the last of
earth!_ We have also those of his venerable father, who expired, on the
anniversary of that day, which he had so essentially contributed to render
glorious, so long as the annals of our country shall continue to be
preserved. On the morning of that day, the dying patriot, at the age of
ninety-one, was awakened, by the customary pealing of bells, and the roar
of artillery. Upon being asked, if he recognized the day, he replied--"_it
is the glorious Fourth--God bless the day--God bless you all_."

On the ninth day of July, 1850, another patriot died, at his post, and in
the service of his country, whose parting words will long remain, engraven
at full length, upon the broad area of the whole American heart,--I AM
PREPARED--I HAVE ENDEAVORED TO DO MY DUTY! Here, in this comprehensive
declaration of General Taylor, are embodied all, and more than all,
contained in the long cherished words of the departing patriot--ESTO
PERPETUA!

  "And you brave Cobham, to the latest breath,
  Shall feel your ruling passion, strong in death:
  Such in those moments, as in all the past;
  'O save my country, Heaven!' shall be your last."

The ninth day of July is, with the Swiss, the day of their National
Independence. On that memorable day, in 1836, they fought, and won the
great battle of Sempach, against Leopold, Duke of Austria, which victory
established the liberties of Switzerland.

Upon the anniversary of that very day, just ninety-five years ago,
Washington was signally preserved, from the sweeping and indiscriminate
carnage of Indian warfare, for those high destinies, which he fulfilled so
gloriously. The ninth day of July, 1755, was the day of General Braddock's
defeat--the battle, as it is sometimes called, of Fort du Quesne.
Hereafter, it will be noted, as a day of gloom, in our national calendar.
A great--good man has fallen--in a trying hour--in the very midst of his
labors--a wiser, a worthier could not have fallen, at a moment of deeper
need. From sea to sea--from the mountain tops to the valleys below--from
the city and from the wilderness--from the rich man's castle, and from the
hunter's cabin--from the silver-haired and from the light-hearted, what an
acclaim--what a response, as the voice of one man--has already answered
to that dying declaration--I AM PREPARED--I HAVE ENDEAVORED TO DO MY DUTY!
As an entire people, we know it--we feel it--and may God, in his infinite
wisdom and goodness, enable us to profit, by a dispensation, so awfully
solemn, and so terribly severe.

The spirit of this great, good man is now by the side of that sainted
shade, which once animated the form of the immortal Washington. They are
looking down upon the destinies of their country. Who is so dull of
hearing, as not to catch the context of those dying words? _I am
prepared_--_I have endeavored to do my duty_--AND MAY MY DEATH CEMENT THAT
UNION, WHICH I SO CHEERFULLY DEVOTED MY LIFE TO PRESERVE!

It is finished. The career of this good man has closed forever.
Ingratitude and calumny to him are nothing now. After days and nights of
restless agitation, he has obtained one long, last night of sweet repose,
reserved for those, who die _prepared, and who have endeavored to do
their duty_. He has gone where the wicked cease from troubling, and where
the weary are at rest. No summons to attend the agitating councils of the
Cabinet shall disturb his profound repose--no sarcastic commentaries upon
his honest policy, from the over-heated leaders of the Senate or the
House, shall give him additional pain. Party malignity can no longer reach
that ear. Even the hoary-headed, political Zoilus of the age can scarcely
find a motive, base enough, among the recesses of an envenomed heart, for
posthumous abuse. In view of this solemnizing event, the raving
abolitionist and the Utopian non-resistant may be expected to hold their
incomparably senseless tongues, at least till these obsequies be past.

If I do not greatly mistake, the death of General Harrison and the death
of General Taylor, so very soon after entering upon the performance of
their presidential duties, will not fail to present before the whole
American people, for their learning, a first and a second lesson, so
perfectly legible, that he, who runs, may read.

It perfectly comports with a respect, sincere and profound, for the
memories of these excellent men, solemnly to inquire, if, upon certain
well known and universally acknowledged principles, it would not be as
wise, and even more wise, to select a statesman, whose conduct in the
cabinet had made him preëminently popular, and to place him, with a
sword, in his unpractised hand, at the head of the armies of the
Republic--than to place, in the Presidential chair, a great soldier,
universally and deservedly popular, for his success in war--however strong
his common sense--however inflexible his integrity--however pure and
devoted his patriotism--unless he also possesses that skill, and knowledge
of affairs, which never came to man, by intuition; and which cannot be
acquired, but by the laborious training and experience of years? This is a
solemn question, for the people; and it may well be put, irrespectively of
the public weal, and with a reference, directly, to the happiness, and
even to the continued existence, of those, who may be so unfortunate as to
become the objects of the popular favor. Is there any doubt, that all the
battles, in which General Taylor has ever been engaged, have occasioned
less wear and tear of body and mind, than have been produced, by the
numberless trials and anxieties of the Presidential relation? It is a
popular saying, and, perhaps, not altogether unworthy of general
acceptation, that both General Harrison and General Taylor were _killed,
not by kindness, but by care_.

It may readily be supposed, that a gallant soldier would rather encounter
the brunt of a battle, than such torrents of filth, as have been poured,
professionally, upon the chief magistrate of the nation, from week to
week, by the great scavenger, and his auxiliaries, at Washington. All this
would have been borne, with comparative indifference, by a practised
statesman, whose training had been among the contests of the forum, and
whose moral cutis had been thickened, by time and exposure.

To appear, and to be, all that a chief magistrate ought to appear, and to
be, in the centre of his cabinet, what a mass of information, on a great
variety of subjects--what tact, amid the details of the cabinet--must be
required, which very few gentlemen, who have devoted themselves to the
military profession, can be supposed to possess! If knowledge is power,
ignorance is weakness; and the consciousness of that weakness produces a
condition of suffering and anxiety. Instead of coming to the great work of
government, with the necessary stock of knowledge, training, and
experience--how incompetent is he, who comes to that work, like an actor,
who is learning his part, during the progress of the play.

The crude, iron ore is quite as well adapted to the purposes of the
smith, or the cutler, without any subjection to the preparatory processes
of metallurgy, as talent and virtue, however consummate, without
preparatory training, and appropriate study, for the great and complicated
work of government.

Too much confidence is apt to be reposed, upon the idea, that the
President will be sustained, by his cabinet; and that any deficiencies, in
him, will be compensated, by their wisdom and experience. The President is
an important, component part of the acting government. He is not, like the
august Personage, at the head of the government of England, who can do no
wrong; and whose chief employment is the breeding of royal babies, and the
occasional reading of a little speech. He can do a great deal of wrong,
and must do a great deal of work; and, when he differs from his cabinet,
the more need he feels of practical and applicable wisdom and knowledge;
and, the more upright and conscientious he is, the more miserable he
becomes, under an oppressive sense of his incapacity.

General Taylor will long be remembered, by the people of the United
States, with profound and affectionate respect. His amiable and excellent
qualities are embalmed in their hearts. He fought the battles of his
country, with consummate skill and bravery. He led their armies, in many
battles--and never, but to victory!

A grateful people, in the fulness of their hearts, and amid the blindness
of popular enthusiasm, and with the purest purposes, and with sentiments
of patriotic devotion, rewarded their gallant soldier, by placing upon his
brows, A GILDED CROWN OF THORNS!

No. CI.

The form of a Chinese tomb, says Mr. Davis, in his "Description of the
Empire of China," whether large or small, is exactly that of the Greek
_omega_ [Greek: Ô]. Their mourning color is white. Their cemeteries are
upon the hills. No interments are permitted in cities. No corpse is
suffered to be carried, through any walled town, which may lie in its way
to the place of interment.

The tombs of the rich, says M. Grosier, are shaped like a _horse shoe_,
which, when well made, might pass for a very respectable [Greek: Ô].
Almost immediately after death, says the latter writer, the corpse is
arrayed in its best attire. A son will sell himself, as a slave, to
purchase a coffin, for his father. The coffin, upon which no cost is
spared, remains, frequently, for years, the most showy article of the
expectant's furniture. The body lies in state, and is visited by all
comers, for seven days. The hall of ceremony is hung with white,
interspersed with black or violet colored silk. Flowers, perfumes, and wax
lights abound. Those, who enter, salute the dead, as if he were alive, and
knock their heads, three times, upon the ground. Upon this, the sons of
the defunct creep forth, on their hands and knees, from behind a curtain,
and, having returned the salutation, retire in the same manner.

A Chinese hearse is a very elegant affair; it is covered with a
dome-shaped canopy of violet-colored silk, with tufts of white, neatly
embroidered, and surmounted with net work. In this the coffin reposes; and
the whole is borne, by sixty-four men.

Mourning continues for three years, during which the aggrieved abstain
from flesh, wine, and all ordinary amusements.

As we have had recently, among us, some half a dozen visitors, male and
female, from the Celestial Empire, I am strongly tempted to turn from the
dead, to the living.

I have repeatedly attended the morning levees of Miss PWAN YEKOO, who was
exhibited with her serving-maid, LUM AKUM, Mr. SOO CHUNE, the musical
professor, his son and daughter, MUN CHUNG and AMOON, and Mr. ALEET MONG,
the interpreter. This was certainly a very interesting group; such as
never before has been presented in this city, and will not be again, I
presume, for many years.

Miss Yekoo is said to be seventeen, which appears to be her age. With the
costume of the Chinese, which, in our eyes, is superlatively graceless, we
have become sufficiently familiar, by the exhibition of the living males
and the stuffed females, in our Chinese Museums. Of their music, we had an
interesting specimen, a few years since. Being fortunately deaf, I can say
nothing of the performances of Miss _Yekoo_ and Professor _Chune_. Their
features and complexions are Chinese, of course, and cannot be better
described than in the words of Sir John Barrow, as applicable to the race:
"The narrow, elongated, half-closed eye; the linear and highly-arched
eyebrow; the broad root of the nose; the projection of the upper jaw a
little beyond the lower; the thin, straggling beard, and the body
generally free from hair; a high, conical head, and triangular face: and
these are the peculiar characteristics which obtained for them, in the
_Systema Naturæ_ of Linnæus, a place among the varieties of the species,
distinguished by the name of _homines monstrosi_."

Apart from these and other considerations, it was well for all, who had it
in their power, to avail themselves of an opportunity, which is not likely
to be presented again, for years, and examine, with their own eyes, those
"_golden lilies_," for the production of which this little Chinese
spinster, Miss _Pwan Yeekoo_ has been severely tortured, from her cradle.
She is neither very large, nor very small, for a girl of seventeen, and
her feet are precisely _two inches and a half_ in length. A small female
foot, as it came from the hand of the great Creator, has ever been
accounted a great beauty, since Eve was born. But, to the eyes of all
beholders, on this side of the Yellow Sea, no more disgusting objects were
ever presented, than the horribly contracted and crippled deformities,
upon the ends of Miss Yekoo's little trotters.

The bare feet are not exhibited; but a model of the foot, two inches and a
half in length, on which is a shoe, which is taken off, by the exhibitor,
and put upon the real foot of Miss Yekoo, over a shoe, already there. This
model is affirmed to be exact. As it is presented in front, the great toe
nail alone is visible, forming a central apex, for the foot. On being
turned up, the four smaller toes are seen, closely compacted, and inverted
upon the sole. It is not possible to walk, with the weight of the body
upon the inverted toes, without pain. Miss Yekoo, like all other Chinese
girls, with these crippled feet, walks, with manifest uneasiness and
awkwardness, upon her heels. The _os calcis_ receives the whole weight of
the body.

To sustain the statement, that Miss Yekoo is a "_Chinese lady_," it is
said, that these crippled feet are signs of aristocracy. Not infallible, I
conceive:--not more so, than crippled ribs, occasioned by tight lacing,
which may originate in the upper circles, but find hosts of imitators,
among the lower orders. "We may add," says Mr. Davis, writing of this
practice, "that this odious custom extends lower down, in the scale of
society, than might have been expected, from its disabling effect, upon
those, who have to labor for their subsistence. If the custom were first
imposed, by the tyranny of the men, the women are fully revenged, in the
diminution of their charms and domestic usefulness."

Mr. Davis evidently supposes, that the custom had its rise in jealousy,
and a desire to prevent the ambulatory sex, from gadding about. Various
causes have been assigned, for this disgusting practice. Sir John Barrow,
after expressing his surprise, at the silence of Marco Polo, on the
subject of crippled feet, which were, doubtless, common in his time,
observes--"Of the origin of this unnatural custom, the Chinese relate
twenty different accounts, all absurd. Europeans suppose it to have
originated in the jealousy of the men, determined, says M. de Pauw, to
keep them '_si etroit qu'on ne peut comparer l'exactitude avec laquelle on
les gouverne_.'"

A _practice_, which, at its very birth, and during its infancy, required
the assignment of some plausible reason, for its existence and
support--when it grows up to be a _custom_, lives on and thrives,
irrespectively of its origin, and, frequently, in spite of its absurdity.
The blackened teeth of the Japanese--the goitres of the Swiss, in the
valley of Chamouni--the flattened heads of certain Indian races--the
crippled feet of the Chinese are illustrations of this truth, in the
admiration which they still continue to receive. "Whatever," says Sir John
Barrow, "may have been the cause, the continuance may more easily be
explained: as long as the men will marry none but such as have crippled
feet, crippled feet must forever remain in fashion among Chinese ladies."

M. De Pauw, in his Philosophical Dissertations, alludes to this practice,
in connection with that, formerly employed by the Egyptians, and which he
calls--"_the method of confining the women anciently, in Egypt, by
depriving them, in some measure, of the use of their feet_."

Plutarch, in his _Precepta Connub_, says, that shoes were entirely
forbidden to women, by the Egyptians. "Afterwards," says De Pauw, "they
imagined it to be inconsistent with decency, that they should appear in
public, with the feet naked, and, of course, they remained at home."

The Kalif, Hakin, who founded the religion of the Druses, re-enacted this
law. De Pauw remarks, that the assertion of Plutarch might seem doubtful,
if a decree, prohibiting the manufacture of shoes for women, under the
pain of death, were not found, as it is, in the _Kitab-al-Machaid_, or
bible of the Druses.

Upon my first visit to Pwan Yekoo and her _suite_, in connection with
other visitors, I was not admitted for nearly two hours, after the
appointed time. Ample sleeping arrangements had not been made, for these
Celestials; and, for one night, at least, they had been packed, like a
crate of China ware, in a closet, or small apartment, contiguous to the
hall of exhibition. Yekoo was indignant, and refused to show her "golden
lilies." By dint of long importunity, she appeared, but in no gentle
humor. Indeed, when Yekoo came forth, followed by Lum Akum, I was
reminded, at a glance, of Cruikshank's illustration of Mrs. Varden,
followed by Meigs, with the Protestant manual. They soon recovered their
better nature; and some little attention, paid by the visitors, to the
Celestial pappooses, put them into tolerably good humor.

At the close of the exhibition, we were invited near the platform. It
would be superfluous to describe the Chinese costume, so commonly
presented, in various works. I was especially attracted by the hair of
Yekoo, and Lum Akum, who passes for her waiting woman. I examined it with
my glasses. It was jet black, coarse, abundant, and besmeared with a
stiffening paste or gluten, which mightily resembled grease. Upon the top
of the head a slender, round stick, about the size of a crow's quill, is
attached, projecting _aft_, in marine parlance, several inches, like a
small ring tail boom. The design of this is to support the hair, which is
thrown over it, and hangs, or is plastered, down with the shining paste,
assuming the appearance, seen _a tergo_, of a rudder.

The Chinese, in relation to the rest of mankind, are, certainly, a
contrarious people. In 1833, Mr. Charles Majoribanks addressed a letter to
the Right Hon. Charles Grant, in which he says:

"China may, in many respects, be said to stand alone, among the nations;
not only differing, but, in many instances, diametrically opposed, in the
nature of its laws, customs, and institutions. A Chinese, when he goes
into mourning, puts on white; the left hand they consider the place of
honor; they think it an act of unbecoming familiarity to uncover the head;
their mariner's compass, they assert, points to the South; the stomach
they declare to be the seat of the understanding; and the chief God of
their idolatry is the Devil."

Suicide is no crime, with the Chinese. To receive a present, with one
hand, is deemed an act of rudeness. They never say of the departed, that
he is _dead_, but that he has _gone to his ancestors_. Among the good
traits of the Chinese are to be numbered filial respect, and general
sobriety. In one particular, their legislation may be considered superior
to our own--among the grounds of divorce, says Mr. Davis, they include
"_excessive talkativeness_."

I have been reared, in the faith, that the Chinese are not only a
_peculiar_, but an exceedingly _nasty_ generation. According to Barrow,
and to Du Halde, in his _Hist. Gén. de la Chine_, they are so liable to a
species of leprosy, that, for the purpose of arresting its progress, it is
numbered among the causes of divorce. The itch and other cutaneous
diseases are extremely common. "They seem," says De Pauw, "to have neither
horror nor repugnance for any kind of food; they eat rats, bats, owls,
storks, badgers, dogs," &c. Brand, in his _Reise nach China_,
observes--"Dogs are chiefly employed, as food, by the Chinese, during the
great heat in summer, because they fancy their flesh to have a cooling
quality."

Barrow was private secretary to the Earl of Macartnay, and, in 1804,
published his travels in China, a work of great merit, and which has been
highly lauded, for its candor and fidelity. In proof of my remark, I offer
the following quotation, from that work, on pages 76 and 77. After
alluding to the custom of crippling the feet, Mr. Barrow proceeds--"The
interior wrappers of the ladies' feet are said to be seldom changed,
remaining sometimes, until they can no longer hold together; a custom that
conveys no very favorable idea of Chinese cleanliness. This indeed forms
no part of their character; on the contrary, they are what Swift would
call a _frowzy_ people. The comfort of clean linen, or frequent change of
under-garments, is equally unknown to the sovereign and the peasant. A
sort of thin coarse silk supplies the place of cotton or linen next the
skin, among the upper ranks; but the common people wear a coarse kind of
open cotton cloth. These vestments are more rarely removed for the purpose
of washing, than for that of being replaced with new ones; and the
consequence of such neglect is, as might naturally be supposed, an
abundant increase of those vermin, to whose growth filthiness is found to
be most favorable. The highest officers of state made no hesitation of
calling their attendants, in public, to seek in their necks, for those
troublesome animals, which, when caught, they very composedly put between
their teeth. They carry no pocket handkerchief, but generally blow their
noses into small square pieces of paper, which some of their attendants
have ready prepared for the purpose. Many are not so cleanly, but spit
about the rooms, or against the walls, like the French, and they wipe
their dirty hands, in the sleeves of their gowns. They sleep at night in
the same clothes they wear by day. Their bodies are as seldom washed, as
their articles of dress. They never make use of the bath, warm or cold.
Notwithstanding the vast number of rivers and canals, with which every
part of the country is intersected, I do not remember to have seen a
single group of boys bathing. The men, in the hottest day of summer, make
use of warm water, for washing the hands and face. They are unacquainted
with the use of soap."

I do not disbelieve, that we, occasionally, meet men, who are very dirty,
and remarkably orthodox, and, now and then, a well-washed and well-dressed
villain--but sin and filth are too frequently found to form the very bond
of iniquity. "Great crimes," says Sir John Barrow, "are not common, but
little vices pervade all ranks of society. A Chinese is cold, cunning, and
distrustful; always ready to take advantage of those he has to deal with;
extremely covetous and deceitful; quarrelsome, vindictive, but timid and
dastardly. A Chinese in office is a strange compound of insolence and
meanness. All ranks and conditions have a total disregard for truth. From
the Emperor downwards, the most palpable falsehoods are proclaimed, with
unblushing effrontery, to answer a political, an interested, or
exculpatory purpose."

I beg leave respectfully to suggest to Miss Yekoo, to pay a little more
attention to her teeth, and somewhat improve her personal appearance. The
collections, upon their upper portions, are, by no means, necessary to
prove her Tartar origin.

No. CII.

Death is rarely more unwelcome to any, than to those, who reasonably
suppose the perils of the deep to be fairly passed, and who are permitted,
after a long sojourn in other lands, to look once again upon their own--so
near withal, that their eyes are gladdened, by the recognition of familiar
landmarks; and who, in the silent chancel of their miscalculating hearts,
thank God, that they are _at home at last_--and yet, in the very midst of
life and joy, they are in death!

There has ever seemed to me to be something exceedingly impressive, in the
death of that eminent patriot, Josiah Quincy. He died when the bark, which
bore him homeward was in sight of land--the headlands of Gloucester, April
26, 1775--

  ----Dulces moriens reminiscitur Argos.

Few men, of our own country, have accomplished more, or acquired a more
honorable celebrity, at the early age of thirty-one.

His was a death in the common course of nature. I more especially allude,
at this moment, to death as it occurs, from shipwreck, on one's own
shores, when the voyage is apparently at an end, and the voyagers are
anticipating an almost immediate reunion with their friends.

The frequency of these occurrences revives, at the present moment, the
sentiment of Horace, delivered some eighteen centuries ago--

  Illi robur et æs triplex
    Circa pectus erat, qui fragilem truci
  Commisit pelago ratem
    Primus.------------

We are oblivious of perils past. The tax on commerce, levied by the
whirlwind, and by recklessness, and ignorance, far exceeds the common
calculation of those, who know little, experimentally, of the perils of
the deep; and who go not down upon the sea in ships. Precisely fifty years
ago, it was estimated, at Lloyd's, that one ship per diem, three hundred
and sixty-five ships, annually, were lost, in the open sea, and on lee
shores. And, in Lloyd's Lists, for 1830, it was stated, that six hundred
and seventy-seven British vessels were lost, during that year.

Whether or not it be attributable to that natural eagerness, which
increases, as the object of our heart's desire draws near, and is apt to
abate somewhat of our ordinary vigilance--certain it is, that calamities
of this nature are of no unfrequent occurrence, near the termination of a
voyage, and when we have almost arrived at the haven, where we would be.

About ten years ago, while enjoying the hospitality of some Southern
friends, I became acquainted with a lady, the varying expression of whose
features arrested my attention, and excited my surprise. Whenever her
countenance was lighted up, by a smile, it was for an instant only; and an
expression of solemnity, and even of sadness, immediately succeeded; as
the darkness of an autumnal sky follows the feeble flashes of electric
light.

I sought an explanation of this peculiarity, from an old friend, who knew
this lady well, Mr. Doddridge Crocker, formerly a merchant of this city,
and then a resident of Charleston.

He informed me, that, many years before, he had been a passenger, in
company with this lady and her father, together with other citizens of
Charleston, for New York, on board the Rose in Bloom. They had a
prosperous voyage, until they came in sight of the Highlands. The
passengers proceeded to make their toilets; and arrangements were in
progress, for going speedily on shore. The ship was under a press of
canvas, with a strong breeze. The wind shifted its direction suddenly, and
soon became a gale. The Rose in Bloom was capsized, and lost. The lady,
said Mr. Crocker, to whom you refer, and her father, amid the terrible
confusion, which ensued, clung to some floating article, whose buoyancy,
it soon became apparent, was not sufficient to support them both. The
filial and paternal contest may be easily conceived, each entreating the
other, to retain the only means of preservation. At length, the father
abandoned his hold, and struck out for a floating spar, at some little
distance. His struggles were ineffectual--he sunk, before his daughter's
eyes! We were, ere long, rescued from our imminent peril. The impression,
left upon her mind, was left there forever.

The reader may possibly surmise, that my leading remarks have a particular
reference to the recent shipwreck of the Elizabeth, upon the coast of New
York. This catastrophe, which is imputed to ignorance and miscalculation,
involves the loss of an interesting and intelligent young gentleman, Mr.
Horace Sumner, of this city, and of the Marquis and Marchioness Ossoli,
and their child. One of these sufferers I have known, in earlier days.
Under the quiet, unpresuming roof of her worthy father, Mr. Timothy
Fuller, I have met his daughter Margaret. Few then would have anticipated
her melancholy fate, and fewer still, that she would become an Italian
marchioness!

Let me devote the remaining space, in the present article, to those
unmitigated wretches, with hearts of flint, who rioted and revelled, amid
the sufferings of their fellow-beings. An opportunity will now be
afforded, to stamp this hellish practice, with all the force of the law,