Chapter II: Part 2

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 Vitae 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 "quae Socrates supremo vitae die de immortalitate animorum disseruisset." Such was the faith of Cicero--"Sic mihi persuasi, sic sentio, quum tanta celeritas animorum sit, tanta memoria praeteritorum, futurorumque prudentia, tot artes, tantae scientiae, tot inventa, non posse eam naturam, quae 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, praemissus 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 praeluxi; ut, si prius noti non fuerint, a me accipiant initium memoriae suae_--_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 AEneas, not AEneas Silvius, who flourished in the early part of the fifteenth century, and became Pope Pius II., but to AEneas, the King of the Latins. This royal descent is not through the second marriage with Lavinia; nor through the accidental relation, between AEneas 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 AEneas 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 tres 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 curae
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 vitae_--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 aetas."

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 laedat 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 preeminently 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.