and-bye. Shall we be potted with quick-lime
in a general mess—as at Naples; shall
we be thrust into places where we must
offend and injure the survivors whom we now
profess to love—as in most English towns;
shall we be horribly and indescribably put
out of the way, after forms and appearances
have been complied with—as in London; or,
shall we condescend to follow the example
of any other nation; not hesitating even if
it be one whose paganism we may depise, or
another whose superstitions we may at once
fear and ridicule? Shall we take pattern by
any people whose morals we slander, our own
being so faultless? Shall we for once be
humble enough to observe what is done in
other places, and then consent to lay the
remains of our departed friends in some spot
where they may continue to prolong our
tender affections, and keep our hearts soft and
unpetrified, instead of becoming a dangerous
nuisance, and a pest?

The more a town is crowded by the living,
the less room is left to spare for the dead.
Usually, when a place is thrifty, and its
population increases, it spreads with them in
due proportion. The mass of dust and ashes
cannot be piled beyond a certain height,
without enlarging its circumference. But
there are many towns so circumstanced that
they cannot spread.

"I wonder how they manage here for
churchyards," said I to myself, as I was taking
an inspective stroll about the streets of a
strongly fortified town in no part of the present
British Empire. Every spot was occupied;
streets, public buildings, and the open spaces
necessarily required, left not a patch of ground
appropriated for interments; though Englishmen
might have found room, had it still been
subject to their rule. " No sign of a churchyard
to be seen! Curious! What, then, do
they do with their dead?"

I continued to search along the principal
streets in vain. Passing through the gates of
the town, at which young, blue-coated, red-
pantalooned conscripts were apprenticed as
sentinels, and over the bridges, on which
horses and asses are forbidden to trot, on pain
of a fine, I was in the country, outside the
fortifications. Not far removed were
extensive suburbs, regularly built, with tall
chimneys, and large manufactories established
by the English, with timber-yards, canals, and
bakers' shops, full of great loaves a yard long,
and places where one can lodge on foot or on
horseback, though I prefer a night's lodging in
bed. The main street was the one to follow. At
a Magazine full of odd curiosities, fitted up on
purpose to amuse such of the straggling English
as have eyes, I looked in at the window, to watch
a lady in a bob-tailed jacket suiting herself
with a smart pair of wooden shoes of the first
quality; but before she had decided, a
pattering and clattering was heard, which I
knew must come from a large party of those
females who conspire to starve the carriers
by an Anti Shoe-leather League. Looking
round, there was the very thing I wanted—a
funeral.

It was headed by the priest, at a good stiff
pace. The mourners followed, a numerous
assemblage; the men by themselves, and the
women with their shoes by themselves, all
decently and warmly clad; earnest and serious,
though their step would not have kept time
to the Dead March in Saul, as we usually
hear it performed. Their rapid progress
seemed odd, and I was beginning to think it
disrespectful to the deceased; when it came
to mind that we now and then despatch our
departed friends by Express Trains; and no
great harm done either.

Why did they move so quickly? Because
the distance of the cemetery from the town is
so laudably great; and, because time is a
matter of measurement in which there cannot
be cheating. No day contains more than a
certain number of hours; no life has more
than a limited number of days. The duty
of interment ought not to set aside, but to
dove-tail nicely with, the other duties of
life.

The cemetery was some way beyond the
wooden shoe-shop; and, not having pressing
business to transact, I reached it leisurely.
Entering, not the funeral gates, but a little
side-door next to the sexton's cottage, I found
myself in a large quadrangular space, laid out
on a very simple plan, and in great part filled
with the little domains and narrow tenements
of those who have ceased to require more
space here below. The outer portion of the
area, adjoining the low inclosing wall, was
divided into narrow freeholds, inscribed with
words to the effect that the ground is to remain
for ever unbroken, except by the family whose
members repose there. Lasting monuments
of marble and stone are appropriate in these
permanent possessions, especially as they do
not exclude the further decorations of growing
flowers, and wreaths, and bouquets, as
tokens of friendship, affection, and
remembrance. The central portion was mostly
filled by occupants not à perpétuité, but with
a reasonable time allowed for their dissolution.
Here, consequently, the memorial tablets
were almost all of wood. Those dropping
nearly to decay would indicate that the bodies
beneath them had, likewise, advanced in the
same natural course of yielding up their
elements to nature. In a sunny portion of a
further part of the cemetery, the English lie,
all interred together.

Even if what we call natural feeling is the
same all the world over, (which some have
doubted,) the modes of expressing it certainly
vary exceedingly among nations. What is
only conventional propriety among one people,
is thought almost ludicrous by another. Here,
a heart-shaped tablet is used to denote true
cordial love. Some, too, will allow opinions
and matters of faith to creep out, which
others would conceal. Thus, after " Here