Chapter 30

4 _Cit_. We 'll hear the will: Read it, Mark Antony.
_Cit_. The will, the will; we will hear Caesar's will.
_Ant_. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it;
It is not meet you know how Caesar loved you.

_Julius Caesar._

There is usually great haste, in this country, in getting rid of the dead.
In no other part of the world, with which we are acquainted, are funerals
so simple, or so touching; placing the judgment and sins which lead to it,
in a far more conspicuous light than rank, or riches, or personal merits.
Scarfs and gloves are given in town, and gloves in the country, though
scarfs are rare; but, beyond these, and the pall, and the hearse, and the
weeping friends, an American funeral is a very unpretending procession of
persons in their best attire; on foot, when the distance is short; in
carriages, in wagons, and on horseback, when the grave is far from the
dwelling. There is, however, one feature connected with a death in this
country, that we could gladly see altered. It is the almost indecent
haste; which so generally prevails, to get rid of the dead. Doubtless the
climate has had an effect in establishing this custom; but the climate, by
no means, exacts the precipitancy that is usually practised.

As there were so many friends from a distance present, some of whom took
the control of affairs, Mary shrinking back into herself, with a timidity
natural to her sex and years, the moment her care could no longer serve
her uncle, the funeral of the deacon took place the day after that of his
death. It was the solemn and simple ceremony of the country. The Rev. Mr.
Whittle conceived that he ought to preach a sermon on the occasion of the
extinguishment of this "bright and shining light," and the body was
carried to the meeting-house, where the whole congregation assembled, it
being the Sabbath. We cannot say much for the discourse, which had already
served as eulogiums on two or three other deacons, with a simple
subsittution of names. In few things are the credulous more imposed on
than in this article of sermons. A clergyman shall preach the workings of
other men's brains for years, and not one of his hearers detect the
imposition, purely on account of the confiding credit it is customary to
yield to the pulpit. In this respect, preaching is very much like
reviewing,--the listener, or the reader, being too complaisant to see
through the great standing mystifications of either. Yet preaching is a
work of high importance to men, and one that doubtless accomplishes great
good, more especially when the life of the preacher corresponds with his
doctrine; and even reviewing, though infinitely of less moment, might be
made a very useful art, in the hands of upright, independent,