Chapter IV: Part 4

In one of the upper lofts of the cabinet of Natural History of the Jardin des Plantes, among stuffed beasts and birds, surrounded by mixed and manifold rubbish, and covered with dust, there lay a case or package, unexamined and unnoticed, for nine long years. This envelope contained the mortal remains of a Marechal of France, the hero of an hundred battles,--of no other than Henry de la Tour, Viscount de Turenne. He was killed by a cannon ball, July 27, 1675, at the age of 64. All France lamented the death of this great man. The admiration of all Europe followed him to the grave. Courage, modesty, generosity, science have embalmed his memory. The king, Louis le Grand, ordered a solemn service to be performed, for the Marechal de Turenne, in the Cathedral church at Paris, as for the first prince of the blood, and that his remains should be interred in the abbey of St. Denis, the burial-place of the royal personages of France, where the cardinal, his nephew, raised a splendid mausoleum to his memory. So much for glory--and what then? In 1794, the remains of this great man were upon the point of being cast into the common fosse, by the agents of the Convention, when some, less rabid than the rest, smuggled them away; and, for security, conveyed them to the lumber room of the cabinet of Natural History of the Jardin des Plantes. Having reposed, nine years in state, peradventure between a dilapidated kangaroo and a cast-off opossum--these remains of the great Turenne were, at length, committed, in a quiet way, to the military tomb of the Invalids.

No. XXIV.

Burning dead saints, is a more pardonable matter, than burning living martyrs--the combustion of St. Genevieve's dry bones, than the fiery trial of Latimer and Ridley--the fantastical decree of the French Convention, than the cruel discipline of bloody Mary. Dark days were they, and full of evil, those years of bitterness and blood, from 1553 to Nov. 17, 1558, when, by a strange coincidence, this hybrid queen, whose sire was a British tyrant, and whose dam a Spanish bigot, expired on the same day with the Cardinal, Reginald Pole. From the remarkable proximity of the events arose a suspicion of poison, of which the public mind has long since been disabused.

In this age of greater intelligence and religious freedom, the outrages, perpetrated, in the very city of London, within five brief years, are credible, only on the strength of well authenticated history. According to Bishop Burnet, two hundred and eighty-four persons were burnt at the stake, during four years of this merciless and miserable reign. Lord Burleigh makes the number of those, who died, in that reign, by imprisonment, torments, famine, and fire, to be near four hundred. Weever, in his Funeral Monuments, page 116, quotes the historian Speed, as saying, "In the heat of those flames, were burnt to ashes five bishops, one-and-twenty divines, eight gentlemen, eighty-four artificers, an hundred husbandmen, servants, and laborers, twenty-six wives, twenty widows, nine virgins, two boys, and two infants; one of them whipped to death by Bonner, and the other, springing out of the mother's womb from the stake, as she burned, thrown again into the fire." Here, in passing, suffer me to express my deep reverence for John Weever. I know of no book, so interesting to the craft, as his Funeral Monuments, a work of infinite labor and research. Weever died in 1632, and lies in St. James, Clerkenwell. His epitaph may be found in Strype's Survey:

Lancashire gave me birth,
And Cambridge education;
Middlesex gave me death,
And this church my humation;
And Christ to me hath given
A place with him in heaven.

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

Mantua me genuit: Calabri rapuere; tenet nunc
Parthenope; cecini pascua, rura, duces.

The short and sharp reign of Mary Tudor was remarkable for burning Protestant Christians and wax candles. That fountain of fun, pure and undefiled, that prince of wags, Theodore Hook, was offered, very young, for admission at the University; and, when the chancellor opened the book, and gravely inquired if he was ready to sign the thirty-nine articles, "Yes, sir," replied the young puppy, "forty, if you please." Now, in contemplation of the enormous consumption of wax, especially upon the occasion of funeral obsequies, during Mary's reign, it would seem that a belief, in its vital importance, might have formed an additional article, in the Romish creed.

I have never thought well of grafting religion upon the selfishness of man's nature. Nominal converts, it is true, are readily made, in that way. In Catholic countries, wax chandlers are Romanists, to a man. I always considered the attempt, a few years since, to convert the inhabitants of Nantucket to Puseyism, by a practical appeal to their self interest, however ingeniously contrived, a very wicked thing. And I greatly lauded the good old bishop of this diocese, for rebuking those very silly priests, who promoted a senseless and extravagant consumption of one of the great staples of that island, by burning candles in the day time. He made good use of his mitre as an extinguisher.

On a somewhat similar principle, I have always objected to every attempt to augment the revenues of a state by taxing corpses--not upon the acknowledged principle, that taxation without representation is inadmissible--but because the whole system is a most miserable mingling of _sacra profanis_. I may not be understood by all, in this remark: I refer to those acts of Parliament, which, for the purposes of levying a tax, or promoting some particular branch of industry, have attempted to regulate a man's apparel, and the fitting up of his narrow house, after he is dead. The compulsory employment of flannel, by British statute, is an example of this legislative interference.

Nothing is more common, in Strype's Ecclesiastical Memorials, than entries, such as these: "1557, May 3. The Lord Shandois was buried with heralds, an herse of wax, four banners of images, and other appendages of funeral honor." "On the 5th, the Lady Chamberlain was buried with a fair herse of wax." "May 28, in the forenoon, was buried Mrs. Gates, widow, late wife, as it seems, to Sir John Gates, executed the first year of this queen's reign. She gave seventeen fine black gowns, and fourteen of broad russet for poor men. There were carried two white branches, ten staff torches, and four great tapers." "July 10th the Lady Tresham was buried at Peterborough, with four banners, and an herse of wax, and torches." "1558, September 14th, was buried Sir Andrew Judd, skinner, merchant of Muscovy, and late Mayor of London, with ten dozen of escutcheons, garnished with angels, and an herse of wax." What is an herse of wax? This will be quite unintelligible to those, who have supposed that word to import nothing else than the vehicle, in which the dead are carried to the grave. Herse also signifies a temporary monument, erected upon, or near, the place of sepulture, and on which the corpse was laid, for a time, in state; and a herse of wax was a structure of this kind, surrounded with wax tapers. This will be made manifest, by some additional extracts from the same author: "1557. The 16th day of July, died the lady Anne, of Cleves, at Chelsey, sometime wife and queen unto King Henry VIII., but never crowned. Her corpse was cered the night following." "On the 29th began the herse at Westminster, for the Lady Anne of Cleves, consisting of carpenters' work of seven principals, being as goodly an herse as had been seen." "On the 3d of August the body of the Lady Anne of Cleves was brought from Chelsey, where her house was, unto Westminster, to be buried--men bore her, under a canopy of black velvet, with four black staves, and so brought her into the herse, and there tarried _Dirge_, remaining there all night, with lights burning." "On the 16th day of August the herse of the King of Denmark was begun to be set up, in a four-square house. August 18, was the King of Denmark's herse in St. Paul's finished with wax, the like to which was never seen in England, in regard to the fashion of square tapers." And on the 23d, also was the King of Denmark's herse, at St. Paul's, "taken down by the wax chandlers and carpenters, to whom this work pertained, by order of Mr. Garter, and certain of the Lord Treasurer's servants." These herses were, doubtless, very attractive in their way. "Aug. 31, 1557. The young Dutchess of Norfolk being lately deceased, her herse began to be set up on the 28th, in St. Clements, without Temple bar, and was this day finished with banners, pensils, wax, and escutcheons."

The office of an undertaker, in those days, was no sinecure. He was an _arbiter elegantiarum_. A funeral was a festival then. Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow you die, was the common phylactery.

"The funeral baked meats
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables."

Baked meats shall be the subject of my next.

No. XXV.

Pliny, xviii. 30, refers to a practice among the Romans, very similar to that, in use among certain unenlightened nations, of depositing articles of diet upon tombs and graves, such as beans, lettuces, eggs, bread, and the like, for the use of ghosts. The stomachs of Roman ghosts were not supposed to be strong enough for flesh meat. Hence the lines of Juvenal, v. 85:

Sed tibi dimidio constrictus cammarus ovo
Ponitur, exigua feralis caena patella.

The _silicernium_ or _caena funebris_ was a very different, and more solid affair. At first blush--to use a common and sensible expression--there seems no respectable keeping, between the art of burying the dead, and that of feasting the living. Depositing those, whom we love, in their graves, is certainly the very last relish for an appetite. Something of this was undoubtedly done, of old, under the promptings of Epicurean philosophy--upon the _dum vivimus vivamus_ principle--and, in that spirit which teaches the soldier, when he turns from the grave, to change the mournful, for the merry strain. The desire of equalling or excelling others, in the magnificence of funereal parade, has ever been a powerful motive. The eyes of others destroy us, said Franklin, and not our own. Grief for the departed, and sympathy with the bereaved, were not deemed sufficient, to insure an imposing parade. Games and festivals were therefore provided, for the people. Among other attractions, masses of uncooked meat were bestowed upon all comers. This was the _visceratio_ of the Romans. This word seems to have a different import; _viscera_, however, signifies all beneath the skin, as may be seen by consulting Serv. in Virg., AEn. i., 211. Suetonius Caes. 39, and Cicero de Officiis ii. 16, refer to this practice. It was by no means very common, but frequently adopted by those, who could afford the expense, and were desirous of the display.

Marcus Flavius had committed an infamous crime. He was popular, and the aediles of the people had fixed a day for his absolution. Under pretence of celebrating his mother's funeral, he gave a _visceratio_ to the people: Populo visceratio data, a M. Flavio, in funere matris. Erant, qui, per speciem honorandae parentis, meritam mercedem populo solutam interpretarentur; quod eum, die dicta ab aedilibus, crimine stupratae matris familae absolvisset. Liv. viii. 22. A note upon this passage, in Lemaire's edition, fully explains the nature of this practice.

This was a very different affair from the _silicernium_, or feast for the friends, after the funeral. Upon such occasions, the Falernian flowed, and boars were roasted whole. The reader, by opening his Livy, xxxix. 46, will find an account of the funeral of P. Licinius: a _visceratio_ was given to the people; one hundred and twenty gladiators fought in the arena; the funeral games lasted three days; and then followed a splendid entertainment. On that occasion, a tempest drove the company into the forum; this occurred, in the year U. C. 569. Through all time, the practice has prevailed, more or less, of providing entertainments, for those, who gather on such occasions. In villages, especially, and within my own recollection, the funeral has been delayed, to enable distant friends to arrive in season; and the interval has been employed, in the preparation of creature comforts, not only for such as attended, and observed the ceremonial of an hour, but for such, as came to the bereaved, like the comforters of the man of Uz, "every one from his place, and sat down with him, seven days and seven nights." Animal provision must surely be required, to sustain such protracted lamentation.

In the age, when Shakspeare wrote, and for several ages before and after, "baked meats," at funerals, were very common. So far, from contenting themselves with the preparation of some simple aliment, for such as were an hungered, the appetites of all were solicited, by a parade of the rarest liquors and the choicest viands. Tables were spread, in the most ample manner, and the transition was immediate from the tomb to the festal board. The _requiescat in pace_ was scarcely uttered, before the blessing was craved, on the baked meats. It matters little, from what period of history we select our illustrations of this truth. Suppose we take our examples from the reign, preceding that, in which Shakspeare was born; comprehend some other incidents in our collection; and rely, for our authority, on good old John Strype, who was himself born in 1643. There is no higher authority. I will present a few specimens from his Ecclesiastical Memorials: "1557, May 5. Was the Lady Chamberlain buried. At the mass preached Dr. Chadsey. A great dole of money given at the church, and after, a great dinner. May 29, was buried Mrs. Gates; after mass a great dinner. June 7, began a stage play at the Grey Friars of the passion of Christ. June 10.--This day Sir John, a chantry priest, hung himself with his own girdle. The same day was the storehouse in Portsmouth burnt, much beer and victual destroyed. A judgment, perhaps, for burning so many innocent persons. June 29.--This same day was the second year's mind (i. e. yearly _obit_) of good master Lewyn, ironmonger; at his dirge were all the livery. After, they retired to the widow's place, where they had a cake and wine; and besides the parish, all comers treated." Aug. 3.--After giving a long account of the funeral of Ann of Cleves, Strype adds, "and so they went in order to dinner." After reciting the particulars of the King of Denmark's funeral, in London, Aug. 18, 1557, he adds: "After the dirge, all the heralds and all the Lords went into the Bishop of London's place, and drank. The next day was the morrow-mass, and a goodly sermon preached, and after, to my Lord of London's to dinner."

The account of the funeral of Thomas Halley is entitled to be presented entire: "On the 24th of this month, August, Mr. Thomas Halley, clarentieux, king-at-arms, was buried, in St. Giles's parish, without Cripplegate, with coat, armor, and pennon of arms, and scutcheons of his arms, and two white branches, twelve staff torches, and four great tapers, and a crown. And, after dirge, the heralds repaired unto Greenhill, the waxchandler, a man of note (being waxchandler to Cardinal Pole) living hard by; where they had spice-bread and cheese, and wine, great plenty. The morrow-mass was also celebrated, and sermon preached; and after followed a great dinner, whereat were all the heralds, together with the parishioners. There was a supper also, as well as a dinner." After a long account of the funeral of the Countess of Arundel, Oct. 5, 1557, follow the customary words--"and, after, all departed to my Lord's place to dinner." "Nov. 12, Mr. Maynard, merchant, was buried; and after, the company departed to his house, at Poplar, to a great dinner." "Oct. 19, died the Lord Bray; and so he went by water to Chelsea to be buried, &c. &c. Many priests and clerks attended. They all came back to this Lord's place, at Blackfriars, to dinner." At the funeral of Richard Capet, Feb. 1, "All return to dinner." "On the 16th, Mr. Pynohe, fishmonger, and a brother of Jesus, was buried. All being performed at the church, the company retired to his house to drink." On the 24th, "a great dinner," after the funeral of Sir George Bowers. This testimony is inexhaustible. After the funeral of Lady White, March 2, Strype says "there was as great a dinner as had been seen." I will close with two examples. "Aug. 3, 1588. The Lady Rowlet was buried; and after mass, the company retreated to the place to dinner, which was plentifully furnished with venison, fresh salmon, fresh sturgeon, and many other fine dishes. On the 12th, died Mr. Machyl, alderman and clothesworker." After a sermon by a grey friar, "the Lord Mayor and Aldermen, and all the mourners and ladies went to dinner, which was very splendid, lacking no good meat, both flesh and fish, and an hundred marchpanes."

It is certain, that all this appears to us now to have been in very bad taste; and it is not easy to comprehend the principle, which conducted to the perpetration of such sensual absurdities; unless we suppose it to have been the design of all concerned, to felicitate the heir, upon his coming to possession; the widow, upon the fruition of an ample dower and abundant leisure; or the widower, upon the recovery of his liberty. This is not the only occasion, upon which man's features are required, from the extreme suddenness of the change, to undergo a process of moral distortion, amounting to grimace. Thus, grief, for the death of one monarch, is rudely expressed, by turbulent joy at the succession of another. Suffer me to conclude, in the words of father Strype--"The same day queen Mary deceased, in the morning between 11 and 12, the Lady Elizabeth was proclaimed queen: in the afternoon all the churches in London rang their bells; and at night were bonfires made, and tables set in the streets, and the people did eat, and drink, and make merry."

No. XXVI.

Among the dead--the mighty dead--there is one, in regard to whom, our national dealings may be fairly set forth, in the words of Desdemona--

In faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange;
'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful:
She wish'd she had not heard it.

Forty-nine years have passed, since the interment of George Washington. Forty-nine years ago, "the joint committee," says Chief Justice Marshall, "which had been appointed to devise the mode, by which the nation should express its feelings, on this melancholy occasion, reported" a series of resolutions, among which was the following: "That a marble monument be erected, by the United States, at the city of Washington, and that the family of General Washington be requested to permit his body to be deposited under it; and that the monument be so designed, as to commemorate the great events of his military and political life." To the letter, transmitting the resolutions to Mrs. Washington, she replied, as follows: "Taught by the great example, which I have so long had before me, never to oppose my private wishes to the public will, I must consent to the request made by Congress, which you have had the goodness to transmit to me; and, in doing this, I need not, I cannot, say what a sacrifice of individual feeling I make, to a sense of public duty."

All this is very fine. The nation requested permission to remove the remains--Mrs. Washington consented--but that monument! The remains have slumbered quietly, where they first were interred, for nine and forty years--and the monument is like Rachel's first born--it is not! There is something better in prospect. Such, however, is the record thus far. It is very true he needs no monument. No immortal can say more justly, from his elevated sphere, to every inhabitant of this vast empire, _si monumentum quaeris, circumspice_!

This fact, however, so far from taking the tithe of a hair from the balance of this account, illustrates the national delinquency. It may be matter of amusing speculation, to contrast the zeal, which prevails, especially in England, in relation to the most trifling memorials of Shakspeare, and the popular indifference, in regard to certain relics, known to have been the property of Washington, and to have been personally used by him.

All are familiar with the recent excitement, on the subject of Shakspeare's house--that mulberry tree--a hair of him, for memory.

Washington's library has lately been sold, for just about the price of four shares in one of the cotton mills at Lowell. A few years since, the cabinet of medals, struck at different times, in honor of the Father of his country, and which had become the property of one of his representatives, was sold by him, for five hundred dollars, and purchased by an individual citizen of Massachusetts. There are some things, seemingly so vast--so very--very national--that one can scarcely believe it possible for any private cabinet to contain them gracefully.

Soon after the destruction of the Bastile, July 14, 1789, La Fayette sent its massive key to Washington--his political father--as the first fruits of those principles of liberty, which were then supposed to be bourgeoning forth, in a _free_ French soil. This colossal key was suspended, in the front entry, at Mount Vernon. A short time ago, an aged friend, residing in a neighboring town, and once intimate in the family of Washington, told me he had often seen that famous key, in its well known position. This also became the property of Washington's representatives. A few years since, I saw it stated, in the public journals, that, among other effects, this key of the Bastile was sold at auction, and purchased for seventy-five cents, by a gentleman, who had the good taste to return it to some member of the family.

Eminent men, as they arise, are occasionally compared to Washington. Points of resemblance, now and then, may assuredly be found; but there never breathed a man, whose mental and moral properties combined, could endure a rigid comparison with his. Whoever attempts to run this parallel, between him and any other, will readily acknowledge the truth of the proverb, _nullum simile quatuor pedibus currit_. Select the example from the present, or the past, from our own or from other lands, and inquire, to which of them all would Erskine, so chary of his praise, so slow of faith in his fellow, have applied those memorable words, inscribed, in the presentation copy of his work, transmitted to Washington--_You, sir, are the only individual, for whom I ever felt an awful reverence_. Of whom else would Lord Brougham have pronounced this remarkable passage--"It will be the duty of the historian and the sage, in all ages, to omit no occasion of commemorating this illustrious man; and, until time shall be no more, will a test of the progress, which our race has made in wisdom and virtue, be derived, from the veneration paid to the immortal name of Washington."

I have not yet met with any gentleman of our calling, who is not decidedly in favor of the election of General Taylor, or who would not gratuitously attend, in a professional way, upon Messieurs Cass and Van Buren. We perceive a resemblance between the first president and the present candidate, in their willingness to draw long bills on posterity for fame, in preference to numerous drafts, at sight, without grace, for daily applause. But we behold, in Washington, the image and superscription, not of Caesar, but of a peerless mortal--of one, created, verily, a little lower than the angels--

"A combination, and a form, indeed,
Where every god did seem to set his seal,
To give the world assurance of a man."

No men have done more to bedim the reputation of Washington, than Jefferson and Randolph. Verily they have their reward. In no portion of our country has the memory of that great man been more universally cherished and beloved, than in New England. A sentiment, not only of reverence for his character, but of affection for his person, was very general, in this quarter; and manifested itself, in a remarkable manner, upon the occasion of his death. Nothing could have been more unexpected, than the announcement of that event, in Boston. I will close this article, with a simple illustration of the popular feeling, when the sad tidings arrived. At the close of that year, 1799--I was a small boy then--I was returning from a ride on horseback, to Dorchester Point--there was no bridge, and it was quite a journey. As I approached the town, I was very much surprised, at the tolling of the bells. Upon reaching home, I saw my old father, at an unusual hour for him, the busiest man alive, to be at home, sitting alone in our parlor, with his bandanna before his eyes. I ran towards him, with the thoughtless gayety of youth, and asked what the bells were tolling for. He withdrew the handkerchief from his face--the tears were rolling down his fine old features--"Go away child," said he, "don't disturb me; do you not know, that Washington is dead?"

The reader has surmised, that the worthy old man had sipped at the fountain of executive patronage. Not at all. He had never seen Washington, and never held an office civil or military, saving under Hancock's commission, as justice of the peace, which was accounted a very pretty compliment, in those days. No. He was nothing but an American, and he shed those American tears, upon the death of one, whose character and conduct had filled his heart with sentiments of pride, and love, and "awful reverence."

No. XXVII.

I am rather inclined to suspect, that man is a selfish animal. A few days ago, I administered a merited rebuke to a group of young sextons, who had gathered together, after a funeral, and were seated upon a barrow bier, before an unclosed tomb. They had been discussing the subject of capital punishment, and were opposed to it unanimously. They frankly admitted, that they were not influenced, by any consideration of humanity, but looked simply to the fact, that, as the bodies of executed criminals went, commonly, to the surgeons, every execution deprived us of a job. One observed, that Boston was dreadfully healthy--another remarked, that homoeopathy had proved a considerable help to us. Several compliments were paid to Thompson, Brandreth, and Mrs. Kidder. But they appeared to anticipate emolument from no source, so certainly, as from the approaching cholera.

I was greatly shocked, and expressed my opinion very freely. I reminded them of the primitive dignity of the sacristan's office. I should deeply regret, to see our calling reduced to the level of a mere trade, with its tariff--shrouds all rising--coffins looking up! We have a fair share of funerals, and the members of our profession have no just cause for complaint. Steam has helped us prodigiously. It has been said, that, comparing the amount of steam travel with the amount of ante-steam travel, i. e., the present with the past, the relative amount of deaths, from accident, is about the same. Suppose it to be so; the cheapness and facility of locomotion, at present, stimulate a much larger number to move--there is a vast increase of frivolous and pleasure travel--cars are filled with women, crates with bandboxes, and death is to be averaged over the integer--I therefore repeat, that steam has helped our profession. If steam had been known, in ancient Rome, it would have been reckoned a deity, whose diet, like the sacrifice of Juggernaut, would have been flesh and blood.

There is a very natural sensibility, on the part of steamboat and railroad proprietors, to the announcement of disasters, by steam. There is a wonderful eagerness to persuade the public to contemplate these catastrophes, with the larger end of the telescope toward the eye. This also is a great help to our profession. There is really no lack of business, and it is quite abominable, for thoughtless young sextons to pray for the advent of the cholera.

We dwell in a region of the earth, seldom touched by this besom of destruction. Pestilence and famine have rarely come nigh unto us. It would be impious to envy the denizens of milder climes.

"With gold and gems if Chilian mountains glow,
If bleak and barren Scotia's hills arise;
There plague and poison, lust and rapine grow,
Here peaceful are the vales and pure the skies."

I thank heaven, I was not an undertaker, in London, in 1665, when there were scarcely enough of the living to bury the dead. When I used to wrap myself up, in the pages of Robinson Crusoe, how little I suspected, that Daniel Defoe was the writer of some twenty volumes beside. His inimitable history of the plague, of 1665, is admirable reading, for the members of our craft.

At irregular periods, plague, yellow fever, sweating sickness, and cholera have visited the earth, with terrible effect. Let us take a cursory view of these awful visitations. A. D. 78, 10,000 perished daily at Rome. The plague returned there A. D. 167. Terrible plague in Britain A. D. 430. A dreadful plague spread over Europe, Asia and Africa, A. D. 558, and continued, for several years. 200,000 died of the plague in Constantinople, A. D. 746. This plague raged for three years, and extended to Calabria, Sicily and Greece. William of Malmsbury states, that A. D. 772, an epidemic disease carried off 34,000 in Chichester, England. 40,000 died of pestilence in Scotland, A. D. 954. Hollingshed gives an account of a terrible plague among cattle, A. D. 1111, and in Ireland A. D. 1204. In this year a general plague raged in Europe. In London 200 persons were buried daily, in the Charterhouse yard. A dreadful mortality prevailed in London and Paris, A. D. 1362 and '7. Great pestilence in Ireland A. D. 1383. Endemic destroyed 30,000 in London A. D. 1407. Great numbers died of plague in Ireland, following famine, A. D. 1466. Dublin was severely visited with plague A. D. 1470. Rapin and Salmon give an account of the plague at Oxford, A. D. 1471, and throughout England A. D. 1478.

The sweating sickness, _sudor Anglicus_, first appeared, in England, in 1483, in the army of Henry VII., on his landing at Milfordhaven. A year or two after, it travelled to London, and remained there, with intermissions, for forty years. It then passed over to the continent, and overran Holland, Germany, Flanders, France, Denmark, and Norway. It continued in those countries, from 1525 to 1530; it then returned to England; and was last known there, in 1551. It was a malignant fever, accompanied with very great thirst, delirium, and excessive sweat. Dr. Caius called it "a contagious, pestilential fever of one day, prevailing with a mighty slaughter, as tremendous as the plague of Athens." Dr. Willis says, "Its malignity was so extreme, that as soon as it entered a city, it made a daily attack, on five or six hundred persons, of whom scarcely one in a hundred recovered." Strype says, "The plague of sweat this summer, 1551, was very severe, and carried away multitudes of people, rich and poor, especially in London, where, in one day, July 10th, died an hundred people, and the next, one hundred and twenty. From the 8th of this month to the 19th, there died in London, of this sweat, 872."

Stowe says that, in the 9th year of Henry VII., 1517, half the population, in the capital towns of England, died of the sweating sickness: and that it proved fatal, in three hours. In the year 1500, Stowe also says, that the plague was so terrible in London, that Henry VII. and his court went over to Calais. The plague prevailed in England and Ireland, in 1603, and in London 30,000 persons died. In 1611, 200,000 died of pestilence, in Constantinople; 35,000 persons died of an epidemic in London, in 1625. In 1632 a general mortality prevailed in France; 60,000 died in Lyons. The plague was brought from Sardinia to Naples, in 1656, and 400,000 of the Neapolitans died, in six months. In the great plague of London, of 1665, described by De Foe, 68,596 persons died. In 1720, 60,000 perished of the plague at Marseilles.

An account is given, by the Abbe Mariti, of one of the most awful plagues ever known, which prevailed in Syria, in 1760. In Persia, 80,000 inhabitants of Bassorah, died of the plague, in 1773. In 1792, the plague destroyed 800,000 persons in Egypt. In 1799, 247,000 died of the plague at Fez; and in Barbary, 3000 daily, for several days. In 1804 and '5, an immense number were destroyed, by the plague, in Gibraltar. At the same place, in 1828, many were swept away, by an epidemic fever, scarce distinguishable from the plague. Verily the vocation of an undertaker is anything but a sinecure! But, in such terrible emergencies, as were hourly occurring, during the prevalence of the great plague of London, such an operator as Pontraci would have cast aside all thoughts of shrouds and coffins. In one single night 4000 died. The hearses were common dead carts; and the continued cry, _bring out your dead_, rang through every heart. Defoe rates the victims of the plague of 1665, at 100,000.

At present, we have a deeper interest in the pestilence of modern times, though by some accounted of great antiquity. The Indian or Asiatic cholera traversed the north, east and south of Europe, and the countries of Asia, and, in two years, prostrated 900,000 victims. It subsequently appeared in England, at Sunderland, Oct. 26, 1831; in Scotland, at Edinburgh, Feb. 6, 1832; in Ireland, at Dublin, March 3, 1832. The mortality was great, but much less than upon the continent. Between March and August, 1832, 18,000 died of cholera, in Paris. In July and August, 1837, it reappeared in Rome, the Two Sicilies, Genoa, Berlin, and some other cities. Its ravages, in this country, were far less notable, than in many others. It is very wise to cast about us, and determine what we will do, if it should come again, and it is very likely to take us in its progress. But let us not forget, that it will most easily approach us, through our fears; and probably, in no disease, are fear and grief more fatal _avant couriers_, than in affections of the abdominal viscera.

I am half inclined to the opinion of a charming old lady of my acquaintance, who, after listening to a learned discussion, as to the seat of the soul--the fountain of sensibility,--and whether or not it was seated in the conarion--the pineal gland--gave her decided opinion, that it was seated in the bowels.

No. XXVIII.

The dead speak from their coffins--from their very graves--and verily the heart of the true mourner hath ears to hear. Gloves and rings are the valedictories of the dead--their _vales_, or parting tokens, received by the mourners, at the hand of some surviving friend. This appropriated word, _vale_, as almost every one knows, is the leave-taking expression of the mourners; and, when anglicised, and used in the plural number, as one syllable, signifies those _vales_ or vails, tokens, in various forms, from shillings to crown pieces, bestowed by parting visitors, on domestics, from the head waiter to the scullion. They are intended as leave tokens. Every servant, in the families of the nobility, from the highest to the lowest, expects a _vale_, not in the classical sense of Menalcas--_Longum, formose, vale, vale_, but in lawful money, intelligible coin. This practice had become so oppressive to visitors, in the early part of the reign of George III., that Sir Jonas Hanway, remarkable, among other things, for his controversy with Dr. Johnson, on the subject of tea drinking, wrote and published eight letters to the Duke of Newcastle, against the custom of giving vails, in which he relates some very amusing anecdotes. Mr. Hanway, being quietly reproached, by a friend, in high station, for not accepting his invitations to dinner, more frequently, frankly replied, "Indeed, my Lord, I cannot afford it." He recites the manner of leaving a gentleman's house, where he had dined; the servants, as usual, flocked around him--"your great coat, Sir Jonas"--a shilling--"your hat, sir:" a shilling--"stick, sir:" a shilling--"umbrella, sir:" a shilling--"sir, your gloves"--"well, keep the gloves, they are not worth the shilling." A remarkable example of the insolence of a pampered menial was related to Mr. Hanway, by Sir Timothy Waldo. He had dined with the Duke of Newcastle: as he was departing, and handing over his coin to the train of servants, that lined the hall, he put a crown into the hand of the chief cook, who returned it, saying, "I never take silver, sir." "Indeed"--Sir Timothy replied, returning the piece to his pocket, "I never give gold."

Sir Jonas was an excellent man; and, whatever objections he may have had to the practice of giving extravagant vails to servants, I think he would have little or nothing to say, against the practice of giving such vails, as the dead may be supposed, vicariously, to bestow upon the living, in the form of rings and gloves. The dead, it must be conceded, seem not so much disposed to give vails, at present, as they were, one hundred years ago. In such dispensations, in the olden time, the good man, the clergyman, was seldom forgotten. Gloves and rings were showered down, upon the Lord's anointed, at weddings, christenings, and funerals. When a child, I was very much puzzled, upon two points; first, what became of all the old moons, and, secondly, what the minister did with his gloves and rings. If he had had the hands of Briareus, he could not have worn them all.

An interesting little volume is now lying upon my table, which explains the mystery, not at all, in relation to the moons, but most happily, in respect to rings and gloves. It is the Astronomical Diary or Almanac of Nathaniel Ames, Boston, New England, printed by J. Draper, for the booksellers, 1748. This little book is interleaved; and the blank leaves are written over, in the hand-writing of good old Andrew Eliot, who, April 14, 1742, was ordained pastor of the new North Church, in Boston, as colleague with Mr. Webb, where, possessing very little of the locomotive or migratory spirit of the moderns, this excellent man remained, till his death, Sept. 13, 1778. If gall and wormwood are essential to the perfection of Christian theology, Dr. Eliot was singularly deficient, as a teacher of religion. His sermons were very full of practical godliness, and singularly free from brimstone and fire. He was elected President of Harvard University, but his attachment to his people caused him to decline the appointment. After this passing tribute, let us return to the little Almanac of 1748. On the inside of the marble cover the first entry commences thus: "Gloves, 1748, January." The gloves, received by Dr. Eliot, are set against particular names, and under every month, in the year. Certain names are marked with asterisks, doubtless denoting, that the parties were dead, or _stelligeri_, after the fashion of the College catalogue; and thus the good doctor discriminated, between funerals, and weddings and christenings. Although a goodly number of rings are enrolled, together with the gloves, yet a page is devoted to rings, exclusively, in the middle of the book. This is not arranged, under months, but years; and commences, in 1741, the year before he was ordained, as colleague with Mr. Webb. At the bottom of the record, the good man states how many pairs were kid; how many were lambswool; and how many were long or women's gloves, intended, of course, for the parson's lady.

These rings and gloves were sold, by the worthy doctor, with the exception of such, as were distributed, in his own household, not a small one, for he left eleven children. A prejudice might have prevailed, an hundred years ago, against dead men's gloves, similar to that, recorded in the proverb, against dead men's shoes; certain it is, these gloves did not meet with a very ready market. It appears by the record, in the doctor's own hand, that Mrs. Avis was entrusted with fifteen pairs of women's and three dozen of men's; and returned, unsold, eight pairs of women's, and one dozen and ten pairs of men's. A dozen pairs of men's were committed to Mrs. Langstaff; half a dozen women's to Mr. Langdon, and seventeen pairs to Captain Millens. What a glove and ring market the dear Doctor's study must have been. In thirty-two years, he appears to have received two thousand nine hundred and forty pairs of gloves, at funerals, weddings, and baptisms. Of these he sold to the amount of fourteen hundred and forty one pounds, eighteen shillings, and one penny, old tenor, equal to about six hundred and forty dollars. He also sold a goodly number of his rings. From all this, the conclusion is irresistible, that this truly good man and faithful minister must have been, if I may use the common expression, hand and glove with his parishioners. The little volume before me contains the record of other matters, highly interesting, doubtless, in their day but of precious little moment, at the present hour. Of what importance can it be, I beg leave to inquire, for any one to know, on what precise day, one hundred years ago, the worthy pastor borrowed a box of candles of Deacon Langdon, or a loaf of sugar of his own father, or ten shillings, old tenor, of Deacon Grant! Who, of the present generation, cares, on what day, one hundred years ago, he repaid those three pounds to Deacon Barrett! Of what consequence to any living mortal can it be, that, on the thirteenth day of April, one hundred years ago, Betty Bouve came to live at the manse, as a maid! It is past. The last of that box of candles has burnt down into the socket, long ago. That sugar has dissolved, and lost its sweetness. And Betty Bouve! The places that knew her know her no more. Her sweeping days are over; for time, with its irresistible broom, hath swept her from the face of the earth, and given her the grave for a dustpan.

The good old man himself has been called to the account of his stewardship. "It was a pleasant day," saith Father Gannett, on the fly-leaf of his almanac, "Sept. 15, 1778, when near four hundred couples and thirty-two carriages followed the remains of Dr. Andrew Eliot from his house, before the south side of his meeting-house, into Fore Street, up Cross Street, through Black Horse Lane, to Corpse Hill." I adopt Mr. Gannett's orthography, though rather less accurate than applicable.

No. XXIX.

The true value of an enlightened conscience may be duly estimated by him, who has enjoyed the luxury of travelling in the dark, with the assistance of a lantern, without a candle. A man, who has a very strong sense of duty, and very little common sense, is apt to be a very troublesome fellow; for he is likely to unite the stupidity of an ass with the obstinacy of a mule. Yet such there are; and, however inconvenient, individually, the evil is immeasurably increased, when they become gregarious, and form a party, for any purpose whatever. Such conscience parties have existed, in every age and nation. A few individuals, of higher intelligence, dissatisfied with their civil, political, military, religious, or literary importance, and fatally bent upon distinction, are necessary to elevate some enormous green cheese high in the firmament, and persuade their followers, that it is neither more nor less than the moon, at full. Herod was the great director of that conscience party, that believed it to be their bounden duty, to murder all the little children in Judea, under a certain age. The terrible sacrifice, on St. Bartholomew's eve, was conducted by a conscience party. The burnings and starvings, in bloody Mary's reign, were planned and executed, by a conscience party. In no country has conscience been so very rampant, as in Ireland, from the days of Heremon and King Olam Fodla, to the present hour. Almost every reader is aware how conscientiously Archbishop Sharp was murdered, in presence of his daughter, in Scotland.

The widows of Hindostan, when they attempt to escape from the funeral pile, on which their late husbands are burning, are driven back into the flames, by a conscience party. It is well known, that certain inhabitants of India deposit their aged and decrepit parents, upon the very margin of the river, that the rising waters may bear them away. This is not the act of a few individuals; but the common practice, clearly indicating the existence of a conscience party, who undoubtedly believe they are acting, in a most filial and dutiful manner, and doing the very best thing in the world, for all parties. Infanticide is tolerated in China. Very little account is made of female babies there. This has been doubted and denied. Doubt and denial are of no use. There is a conscience party there, who believe it to be their duty to their male babies, to drown the females, unless they are pretty, and then they have a chance for life, in being sold for concubines. Among the numerous and best modern authorities, on this point, is Gutzlaff, whose voyages, along the coast of China, were published, in London, 1834. "At the beach of Amoy," says he, "we were shocked, at the spectacle of a pretty, new-born babe, which, shortly before, had been killed. We asked some of the bystanders what this meant; they answered with indifference, 'it is only a girl.'" On page 174, Gutzlaff remarks, "It is a general custom among them to drown a large proportion of their new-born female children. This unnatural crime is so common, that it is perpetrated, without any feeling, and even in a laughing mood; and, to ask a man of distinction, whether he has daughters, is a mark of great rudeness." Earle, in his narrative of New Zealand, London, 1832, states that the practice existed there.

The insurrection of Shays, in this Commonwealth, in 1787, was a matter of conscience, beyond all doubt. He and many of his associates believed themselves a conscience party. After General Lincoln had suppressed the rebellion, great lenity was shown to the prisoners--not an individual was executed--and Shays, who died in 1825, at the age of 85, was even pensioned, in his old age, for his prior services in the revolution.

The revolt of the Pennsylvania line, in 1781, was, I admit, less an affair of the conscience, than of the stomach and bowels; for the poor fellows were nearly starved to death. The insurrection under Fries, commonly called the whiskey rebellion, in Western Pennsylvania, in 1792, was a different affair. A conscience party resolved to drink nothing but untaxed whiskey--they conscientiously believed the flavor to be utterly ruined, by the excise. It is certain, that, when General Washington moved against the rebels, there was conscience enough, among them, to make cowards of them all, for they scattered, in all directions.

A conscience party existed, in the early settlement of our country, when our pious ancestors, having fled to the howling wilderness, that they might enjoy liberty of thought, on religious subjects, began to hang the poor Quakers, for the glory of God.

Never before had there been such a conscience party in Massachusetts, as from 1689 to 1693. It was then Cotton Mather exclaimed from the pulpit, that witchcraft was the "most nefandous high treason against the Majesty on high." It was then, that he satisfied himself, by repeated trials, that devils were skilled in Latin, Greek and Hebrew. It was then, that they hanged old women, for riding on broomsticks through the air; a mode of conveyance, which Lord Mansfield declared, long after, to be perfectly lawful, for all who preferred that mode of equitation.

A conscience party has recently appeared, in this country, which it is not easy to describe. Every other party seems to have contributed to its formation. It is a sort of political mosaic, made up of tag, rag, and bobtail. Some of the prominent members of this party were whigs, but yesterday; and yet they have put forth all their energies, to elect, as president, a man, whom they and all other whigs have hitherto opposed, and denounced, and who, it was manifest, from the beginning, could not possibly be elected. This man has been accounted, by the whigs, a political charlatan; and all that he has done, to obtain the support of this conscience party, such of them at least, as were once whigs, is to avow certain sentiments, on the subject of slavery, the very contrary of those, which he has hitherto maintained, most openly and zealously. No grave and reflecting whig puts any more confidence, in the promises of this political spin-button, than he would put, in the words of Nicholas Machiavelli. Nor could this candidate do more to check the progress of slavery, than every honest whig believes will be done, by the candidate of their party, who certainly resembles Washington, in three particulars; he is himself a slaveholder--he is an honest man--and he wears the same political phylactery, "_I will be the president of the people, not of a party_."

In consideration of the limit of power, neither of these candidates can do more than the other, for the object in view, if they were equally honest, which nobody dreams of, unless he dreams in Sleepy Hollow. If there had been an anti-cholera party, Van Buren might have commanded suffrages, as sensibly, by pledging himself to do all in his power, to prevent its extension. The remaining candidate, it is agreed, would, if elected, have turned the hopes, one and all, of both whig and conscience parties topsy-turvy. His election, it is clear, was made more probable, by every vote, given by a whig to that candidate, whose election was clearly impossible. These irregular whigs, have, therefore, spent their ammunition, as profitably, as the old covenanter spent his, who fired a horse pistol against the walls of Sterling Castle. Such is the conscience party.

When I refer to the universal consent of the whigs, during the former canvass for Martin Van Buren, that he was, politically, the very devil incarnate; and, in making a selection of those, who were the loudest, and longest, and the most vehement of his antagonists, find them to be the very leaders of the present movement, in his favor; I am reminded of Peter Pindar's pleasant story of the chambermaid and the spider; and, not having my copy of Peter at hand, I will endeavor to relate the tale in prose, as well as I am able.

A chambermaid, in going her rounds, observed an enormous spider, black and bloated, so far from his hole of refuge, that, lifting her broom, she exclaimed, "Now, you ugly brute, I have you! You are such a sly, cunning knave, and have such a happy non-committal way with you, that I never have been able to catch you before; for, the moment I raised my broom, you were out of sight, forsooth, and perfectly safe, in that Kinderhook of a hole of yours--but, now prepare yourself, for your hour has come." The spider turned every one of his eight eyes down upon the chambermaid, and, extending his two forelegs in a beseeching manner, calmly replied, "Strike, peerless maid, but hear me! I have given you infinite trouble, and have been a very bad fellow, I admit. Crafty and cruel, I have been an unmitigated oppressor of flies, and all inferior insects. I have sucked their blood, and lived upon their marrow. But now my conscience has awakened, and I am in favor of letting flies go free. It is not in quest of flies, that I am here, sweet maid; (and then he seemed perfectly convulsed;) I am changed at heart, and become a new spider. Pardon me for speaking the truth; my only object, in being here, is, from this elevated spot, to survey your incomparable charms." The chambermaid lowered her broom; and gently said, as she walked away, "Well, a spider is not such a horrid creature, after all."

I may be thought, in these remarks, to have offended against the dictum--_ne sutor ultra crepidam_. Surely I am not guilty--my dealings are with _the dead_. Perhaps I am mistaken. The conscience party may not be dead, but cataleptic--destined to rise again--to fall more feebly than before.

No. XXX.