CHAPTER XXVI.
Whose part in all the pomp that fills, The circuit of the summer hills. Is that his grave is green. And deeply would their hearts rejoice, To hear again his living voice.
BRYANT.
The funeral, with the usual celerity with which such things are donein our country, was to take place on the next day. Too often the hasteappears indecent, and it may be that in some instances the body hasbeen buried before life deserted it. It would seem that the familyfelt constrained by the presence of the corpse, and compelled toexercise an irksome self-control, and, therefore, desired to hurry itunder ground, as if it would be less likely there to know how soon itwas forgotten.
But in the present case there was no reason why the body should belonger kept. There could be no doubt that life was extinct. It hadlain too long in the water to admit a ray of hope to the contrary.The sooner it was placed in its final earthly home the better forpoor Jane Sill, the widow. Her grief would the sooner be mitigated, bywithdrawing her thoughts from the dead to fix them on the necessity ofproviding for the living. Until the burial the sympathizing neighborstook upon themselves to perform the usual work of the household, suchas cooking the necessary food, &c., and one or another came in attimes to look after the children, to see that nothing was neglectedfor their comfort, and to console the lone woman in her affliction.But this could not last long. It was better it should not, but thatthings should, as quickly as possible, resume their usual and naturalcourse.
When the hour for the ceremony arrived, Mr. Armstrong sent round hiscarriage to convey the mourning family in the melancholy procession,while he and Faith, as the distance was short, proceeded on foot tothe house. It was situated on a sandy beach, near the Wootuppocut, anda considerable company had collected together before their arrival.Poor Josiah's generosity and good-nature had made him a generalfavorite, and his acquaintances had pretty generally turned out torender to him the last testimony of affection it would ever be intheir power to pay. The house was too small to hold all present, sothat besides the relations, very few except females were admitted.Faith entered, but her father, though courteously invited in, and inconsequence of his connection with the accident that caused the death,considered in some wise a mourner, preferred to remain on the outside.Meanwhile, during the preparations in the house, groups without werescattered round, engaged, in low voices, in various conversation.In some, expressions of condolence and pity were let fall for thecondition of the widow and her family; others descanted on thegood qualities of the deceased; others debated on what might be thefeelings of Armstrong, and wondered what he would give the widow. Theywere all acquainted with his generosity, and doubted not of his desireto repair, so far as he was able, the misfortune with which the moreignorant would insist upon connecting him as in some sort, a cause.For this reason, some of them stole sly glances, from time to time,at his face, wishing not to be observed, as if they expected to readtherein his purposes. But Armstrong, his eyes fastened on the ground,and absorbed in his own reflections, was unconscious of the attentionhe attracted. So lost was he, indeed, in his own thoughts, as not toobserve many of the nods and greetings directed to him.
Presently low tones, as of one speaking, were heard issuing from thehouse, and those standing outside gathered round the open door, tolisten to the prayer of the minister. It seems to be taken for grantedthat on such occasions the prayer must occupy some considerable time,whether because a short one would be irreverent to the Being to whomit is addressed, or disrespectful to the sorrowing friends, or becausethe mind cannot sooner be impressed with due solemnity. Hence itfollows that as these prayers are extempore, and the abilities andtaste of those who offer them of different degrees, they are ofvarious shades of merit. Seldom is one made in which the canons ofgood taste are not violated, and some are not compelled to smile whoought to weep. The reverend gentleman who conducted the services,was not insensible to what was expected from him, and determined"to improve" the mournful event to the benefit of the living. Afteralluding to the gratitude his hearers ought to feel at not being thushurried, like poor Sill, without time for preparation, before the barof Judgment, who, however, he hoped, was prepared, and in orderto heighten the feeling of thankfulness, contrasting the light andliberty of life with the darkness of the grave (as if the spirit wereconfined there), he ran through the usual common places, speakingwith an assured conviction, as if the country beyond the grave wereas familiar to him as the streets of the town. With a tediousparticularity he then entreated the divine blessing upon the membersof the bereaved family, mentioning them by name, beginning with thewidow, to whom succeeded the children, two boys, one of four, andthe other of two years of age, followed by fathers, and mothers, andbrothers, and sisters to an indefinite extent, until the complimentwas duly paid to all who were supposed to have any claim to it. Theprayer was closed very much as it began, with a reference to thesuddenness of the death, which was treated as a warning sent for theirbenefit, and a hope that it might be laid to heart, and induce sinnersto fly from the wrath to come. The usual time being now consumed, theminister who had labored hard, and not without sundry hesitationsand coughings to accomplish his task, brought it to a conclusion, andannounced an appropriate hymn. There was something sadly sweetand touching in the homely words and simple tune, sung in low andsuppressed tones, as if they were afraid of disturbing the slumbers ofthe dead.
Upon the conclusion of the hymn, the person who acted as master ofthe ceremonies went to the door, and, addressing those gathered round,said that all who desired might now have an opportunity to seethe corpse. Several accepted the invitation, and among others, Mr.Armstrong.
The coffin was placed upon a table in the centre of the room, witha part of the lid turned back on hinges, so as to leave the faceexposed. The former friends and acquaintances of the dead man, givingplace and succeeding to one another, came, looked, and passed outagain, moving lightly on tip-toe solemnized and subdued by the awfulmystery of death. As they came in and left the house, they could seethrough an open door in an adjoining room the weeping widow in fullmourning, with her little boys on either side, and the relationsseated round in chairs.
All having gazed upon the corpse who wished, preparations nowcommenced for screwing down the lid of the coffin. The sobs and soundsof grief which had proceeded from the room where the mourners werecollected, and which had been, as by an effort, suppressed during theprayer and hymn, now broke forth afresh.
"O, do not hinder me," poor Mrs. Sill was heard to say; "it's the onlychance I shall have in this world."
"I guess you'd better not," said a voice, trying to dissuade her."It's no use; and, then, before all them strangers."
"I will see Josiah," she exclaimed, rising from her seat, and puttingaside the well-meaning hand that strove to detain her. "Who has abetter right to take the last look than me?"
With these words, her crape veil thrown in disorder back upon hershoulders, her eyes red and swollen with crying, and tears streamingdown her cheeks, she advanced towards the body, all respectfullymaking room for her as she approached.
We are not a very demonstrative people. The inhabitants of New Englandare taught, from an early age, the lesson of self-control. They donot wear in their bosoms windows into which any eyes may look. It isconsidered unmanly for men to exhibit excessive feeling, and perhapsthe sentiment has an influence even on the softer sex. The conduct ofMrs. Sill was unusual, and excited surprise; but it is difficult tostem strong passion and it had its way.
She moved quickly up to the table, and threw her arms around thecoffin, resting her cheek on that of her husband, while the hot tearsran in large drops down its marble surface. One who thought he had aright to interfere, whispered in her ear, and took hold of an arm todraw her away, but she turned fiercely upon him.
"Who are you," she said, "to separate me from my husband? Go--I willkeep him as long as I please."
The person, seeing her determination, desisted; and all looked on inmournful silence.<
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"O, Josiah," she sobbed, "who'd have thought it! The best, the kindesthusband a woman ever had. O! how sorry I am for every hard word I everspoke to you. And you so good--never to find fault when I scolded.I was wicked--and yet all the time I loved you so. Did you know it,Josiah? If you were back again, how different I would treat you! Thefire should always be burning bright, and the hearth clean, when youcame back cold from fishing, and you should never, never ask me asecond time for anything. But you don't hear me. What's the useof crying and lamenting? Here," she said, raising herself up, andaddressing those next her, "take him, and put him in his grave."
She staggered and fainted, and would have fallen, had she not beencaught in the arms of sympathizing friends, who removed her into theadjoining chamber, and applied the usual restoratives. This causedsome little delay, but, after a time, the person who had assumed uponhimself the arrangements of the funeral, entered, preceding the fourbearers, whose hats he took into his own hands, to restore them to theowners when the coffin should be placed in the hearse--a plain blackwagon, with black cloth curtains--waiting at the door. The coffin wastaken up by them, and deposited accordingly; after which, they tooktheir places in front of the hearse, while the four pall-bearersranged themselves on each side. At a signal from the director of theceremony, the whole moved forward, leaving space for the carriagesto approach the door. Mr. Armstrong's carriage was driven up, and thewidow and children, with two or three females, were assisted in. Thenfollowed a few other vehicles, with the nearest relatives, after whomcame others, as they pleased to join. A large number of persons hadpreviously formed themselves into a procession before the hearse,headed by the minister, who would have been accompanied by aphysician, had one assisted in making poor Sill's passage to the otherworld easier.
The mournful cortege wound slowly up a hill to the burying-ground--apiece of broken land on the top. At the time of which we write, theresting-place of the departed of Hillsdale presented a differentappearance from what it does now. Wild, neglected, overgrown withbriers, it looked repulsive to the living, and unworthy of the dead.The tender sentiment which associates beauty with the memory ofour friends, and loves to plant the evergreen and rose around theirgraves, seemed then not to have touched the bosoms of our people. Apleasing change has succeeded. The briars have been removed, treesplanted, and when necessary to be laid out, new burial-ground spotshave been selected remarkable for attractiveness and susceptibilityof improvement. The brook has been led in and conducted in tortuouspaths, as if to lull with a soft hymn the tired sleepers, and thenexpanded into a fairy lake, around which the weeping willow lets fallits graceful pendants. The white pine, the various species of firs,the rhododendron, mixed with the maple, the elm, and the tulip tree,have found their way into the sacred enclosure. The reproach ofPuritanic insensibility is wiped out. Europe may boast of proudermonuments, but she has no burial-places so beautiful as some of ours.Pere la Chaise is splendid in marble and iron, but the loveliness ofnature is wanting. Sweet Auburn, and Greenwood, and Laurel Hill arepeerless in their mournful charms.
The coffin was lowered into the grave in silence. No solemn voicepronounced the farewell "ashes to ashes, dust to dust." The ceremonieswere concluded. The minister took off his hat, and addressing thebystanders, some of whom, respectfully imitating his example, raisedthe coverings from their heads, thanked them in the name of theafflicted family for this last tribute of regard. The processionwas formed again, and slowly returned to the house, leaving thegrave-digger to shovel in the gravel and complete his task.
As Mr. Armstrong and Faith walked home together, but few words wereexchanged between them. Each was absorbed in reflection upon the scenejust witnessed. In Faith's mind it was solemn, but devoid of gloom.With the hopefulness of health and youth, gleams of sunshine playedover the grave. She looked beyond, and hoped and trusted.
But with her father it was different. Had it not been for him Sillmight have been alive and well. He had made the wife a widow and herchildren orphans. He had introduced weeping and wailing into a happyhome. But this was a slight calamity, and hardly worthy of a thoughtin comparison with another. The words of the minister, that the victimhad been hurried to his sentence without time for preparation recurredwith a feeling of horror. It was he through whose instrumentality Sillhad been thrust into tormenting but undestroying flames. Better thathe had never been born. Better that he had been strangled in the hourof his birth.
With thoughts like these, this unhappy man, whose heart was the seatof all the virtues, tormented himself. It seemed sometimes strangethat people did not point their fingers at him: that he was notarrested for the murder: that he was permitted to walk abroad in thesunshine. His mind, unknown to those about him, unknown to himself,was hovering on the confines of insanity. Only a spark, perhaps, wasnecessary to light a conflagration. Alas! that one so good, so noble,should be a victim of destiny. But we forbear to intrude further intoreflections alike miserable and insane.
Mr. Armstrong felt more composed the next day, and in the afternoon,accompanied by Faith, went to the dwelling of the widow. They foundher engaged in ordinary family affairs. The duties to the living mustbe respected. To neither rich nor poor does sorrow furnish an excusefor their neglect. Let the mind find something to occupy it, thehand something to do. Thus do we become sooner reconciled to thosedispensations of Providence at which our weakness, and ignorance, andpresumption rebel.
The poor woman received them kindly, and offered chairs. Faith tookinto her lap the younger child from the floor on which it was sitting,gnawing a crust of brown bread, and began to talk to him. The roundeyes of the boy expressed his astonishment, but as he looked into theloving face and heard more of the sweet voice, the alarm he at firstfelt at the approach of the stranger subsided, and he smiled with theconfiding innocence which children return to the caresses of those whoare fond of them.
"Jimmy doesn't know what a loss he's had," said Mrs. Sill.
"Jimmy will grow up to take care of his mother bye and bye, and repayher for some of her trouble, won't he?" said Faith, addressing theboy.
"O, Josiah and Jimmy are my only comfort," said the widow--"now thathe's gone. I don't know what I should do without them, I'm sure."
Mr. Armstrong had called the elder boy, Josiah, to his side, and thelittle fellow had quickly become familiar enough to play with his goldwatch-chain. Seeing it pleased the child, he took the watch and heldit to his ear, at which the countenance of the boy became radiant withdelight. "O, Jimmy," he cried, "it talks."
Mr. Armstrong released the watch into the hands of Josiah, who ranwith it to his brother.
"He will drop it," exclaimed Mrs. Sill, starting forward, taking thewatch from the hands of the disappointed boy, and offering it to Mr.Armstrong.
"Keep it," he said, "for Josiah, to associate me, when he grows up,with his father's death."
"You don't mean to give away your gold watch?" said Mrs. Sill, stillholding it out towards him.
"Yes, Mrs. Sill," said Mr. Armstrong, "I intended it for him: I wouldgive him all I have if I could thereby restore his father to life."
This observation renewed in full force the sorrow of the poor woman.She sank back into a chair, and covering her face with her apron,sobbed and wept bitterly.
Faith looked at her father with an expression which seemed to say--donot refer to the cause of her grief. Armstrong understood the appeal,but he had that in his mind which was unknown to his daughter, andafter a pause he proceeded.
"I have more property than I deserve, and what better use can I putit to than give it to the deserving? You will find in that," hecontinued, handing a paper to the widow, "what will entitle you toa little income during your life. I hope it will enable you to takebetter care of your children."
Mrs. Sill took the paper mechanically, and gazed upon without openingit or imagining the extent of the gift. She kept turning it round andround in her fingers, as if not knowing what to do with it.
"Everybody knows you're a kin
d man, and as generous as you're rich,Mr. Armstrong;" at last she said, "But I guess I shant want anythinglong in this world."
"I hope you may live long yet," said Mr. Armstrong, "for the sake ofthe little boys."
This allusion recalled her more to herself, and without looking atthe paper she put it into her bosom. "I'm sure I thank you with all myheart, and shall always try to do my duty by them," she said.
Here Mr. Armstrong rose, and Faith, putting down the child, thatseemed loth to leave her, spoke in a low tone some parting words ofconsolation.
"I'm sure you're very good; I'm sure I'm very much obleeged to you,"was all Mrs. Sill could say.
On their way home Faith spoke of the promising appearance of thechildren, and of what the hopes of the mother must be on theiraccount.
"It is true they are all that are left to her," said Mr. Armstrong,"and what hopes she has of earthly happiness must be built on them.But who can look into to-morrow? A few days ago, never dreaming ofmisfortune, she exulted in the enjoyment of her husband and littleboys. The first is taken away, and none know how soon the latter maybe. So joys and sorrows are mingled together. At this moment she ismore miserable for having been happy, and so great is the misery, itoutweighs all the happiness of former years. Such is the nature ofpain and pleasure. A pang of the former, an instant's acute agony, maybe equivalent to hours of what is called enjoyment. We are so made. Wemay hope for happiness: we are certain of sorrow. We must seekafter the one: the other is sure to find us. When I look round, whatevidences of wretchedness do I see! Alas, it is indeed a fallen world,and the ground is cursed for man's sake."
"You take a gloomy view, father," said Faith. "Look beyond. Are we notpromised a happier time when the bliss of Eden shall be renewed?"
"Yes, and the time will come. Not only prophets and apostles havehad it revealed to them, but grand souls among the heathen have dimlydescryed its dawning from afar. But what unimaginable scenes of horrormust first be? What doleful _misereres_ must first ascend to cloudthe brightness of the heavens and dim the joy of the blest! Long, longbefore then, your and my remembrance, Faith, will have perished fromthe earth. You will be then a seraph, and I--. If there be ever aninterval of pain, it will be when I think of your blessedness, andyou, if angels sometimes weep, will drop a tear to the memory of yourfather, and it shall cool his torment."
What could the grieved and alarmed daughter say? She spoke in gentleand loving tones. She combated by every possible argument thesemiserable fancies. She entreated him for her sake as well as his own,to cast them off. He listened to her without impatience, and as ifhe loved to hear the sound of her voice. But he shook his head witha mournful sadness, and his melancholy remained. As may well besupposed, the dark cloud that had settled down upon his mind was notthus to be dissipated. Faith, though troubled, did not despair. Shetrusted the impression of the late calamity, to which she attributedmuch of his unhappiness, would in time wear off. Meanwhile, shecommended him to the kind protection of that Gracious Being who isloving to all his works.
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