John Graunt, of whom a good account may be found in Bayle, says, that, if the art of making gold were known, and put extensively in practice, it would raise the value of silver. Of course it would, and of everything else, so far as the quant.i.ty of gold, given in exchange for any article, is the representative of value. As gold becomes plenty, it will be employed for other uses, sauce-pans perhaps, as well as for the increase of the circulating medium. The amount of gold, which has pa.s.sed through the British mint, from the accession of Elizabeth, 1558, to 1840, is, according to Professor Farraday, 3,353,561 pounds weight troy; and nearly one half of this was coined during the reign of George III.

Gold is a good thing, in charitable fingers; but it too frequently constructs for itself a chancel in our hearts. It then becomes the golden calf, and man an idolater. How dearly we get to love the c.h.i.n.k and the glitter of our gold! How much like death it does seem, to go off 'change, before the last watch!

Three score years and ten, devoted to the turning of pennies! How many of us, after we have had our three warnings, still hobble up and down, day after day, infinitely more anxious about pennies, than we were, fifty years ago, about pounds! An angel, the spirit, for example, of Michael de Montaigne, perched upon the City Hall--the eastern end of the ridge pole--must be tempted to laugh heartily. Without any angelic pretensions, I have done so myself, when, upon certain emergencies, the kegs, boxes, and bags of gold and silver, hand-carted and hand borne, have gone from bank to bank, backward and forward, often, in a morning, like the slipper, in the _jeu de pantoufle_! What an interest is upon the faces of the crowd, who gaze upon the very kegs and boxes; feasting upon the bald idea--the unprofitable consciousness--that gold and silver are within; and reminding one of old George Herbert's lines,--

"Wise men with pity do behold Fools worship mules, that carry gold."

"Verily," saith an ancient writer, "traffickers and the getters of gain, upon the mart, are like unto pismires, each struggling to bear off the largest mouthful."

I am glad to see that the moderns are collecting the remains of good old George Herbert, and giving them an elegant _surtout_. His address to money is a jewel, and none the worse for its antique setting:

"Money! Thou bane of bliss, and source of wo!

Whence com'st thou, that thou art so fresh and fine?

I know thy parentage is base and low; Man found thee, poor and dirty, in a mine.

"Surely thou didst so little contribute To this great kingdom, which thou now hast got, That he was fain, when thou wert dest.i.tute, To dig thee out of thy dark cave and grot.

"Then, forcing thee by fire, he made thee bright; Nay, thou hast got the face of man, for we Have, with our stamp and seal, transferred our right; Thou art the man, and we but dross to thee!

"Man calleth thee his wealth, who made thee rich, And, while he digs out thee, falls in the ditch."

The mere selfish getters of gain, who dispense it not, are, _civiliter et humaniter mortui_--dead as a door nail--dead dogs in the manger! I come not to bury them, at present; but, if possible, to awaken some of them with my penny trumpet; otherwise they may die in good earnest in their sins; their last breath giving evidence of their ruling pa.s.sion--muttering not the _tete d'armee_ of Napoleon, but the last words of that accomplished Israelite, who caused his gold to be counted out, before his failing eyes--_per shent_.

No. x.x.xII.

_Making mourning_, as an abstract phrase, is about as intelligible, as _making fish_. These arbitrary modes of expression have ever been well enough understood, nevertheless, by those employed in the respective operations. _Making mourning_, in ancient times, was a.s.signed to that cla.s.s of hired women, termed _praeficae_, to whom I have had occasion to refer. They are thus described, by Stephans--adhiberi solebant funeri, mercede conductae, ut flerent, et fortia facta laudarent--they were called to funerals, and paid, to shed tears, and relate the famous actions of the defunct. Doubtless, by practice, and continual exercise of the will over the lachrymary organs, they acquired the power of forcing mechanical tears. We have a specimen of this power, in the case of Miss Sophy Streatfield, so often referred to, by Madame D'Arblay, in her account of those happy days at Mrs. Thrale's. _Making mourning_, in modern times, is, with a few touching exceptions, confined to that important cla.s.s, the dress-makers.

The time allowed, for mourning, was determined, by the laws of Numa.

Plutarch informs us, that no mourning was allowed, for a child, that died under three years, and for all others, a month, for every year it had lived, but never to exceed ten, which was the longest term, allowed for any mourning. We often meet with the term, _luctus annus_, the year of mourning; but the year of Romulus contained but ten months; and, though Numa added two, to the calendar, the term of mourning remained unchanged.

The howlers, or wailing women, were employed also in Greece, and in Judea.

Thus in Jeremiah ix. 17, _call for the mourning women, &c., and let them make haste and take up a wailing for us, that our eyes may run down with tears, &c._

By the laws of Numa, widows were required to mourn ten months or during the year of Romulus. Thus Ovid, Fast. i. 35:

Per totidem menses a funere conjugis uxor Sustinet in vidua tristia signa domo.

Numa was rather severe upon widows. The _tristia signa_, spoken of by Ovid, were sufficiently mournful. According to Kirchmaun de Fun. iv. 11, they were not to stir abroad in public--to abstain entirely from all entertainments--to lay aside every kind of ornament--to dress in black--and not even to kindle a fire, in their houses. Not content with stinting and freezing these poor, lone creatures, to death, Numa forbade them to repeat the matrimonial experiment, for ten months. Indeed, it was accounted infamous, for a widow to marry, within that period. As though he were resolved to add insult to injury, he, according to Plutarch, permitted those to violate this law, who would make up their minds, to sacrifice a cow with calf. This unnatural sacrifice was intended, by Numa, to frighten the widows. Doubtless, in many instances, the legislative bugbear was effectual; but it is quite probable there were some courageous women, in those days, as there are, at present, who would have slaughtered a whole drove, rather than yield the tender point.

The Jews expressed their grief, for the death of their near friends, by weeping, and crying aloud, beating their b.r.e.a.s.t.s, rending their clothes, tearing their flesh, pulling their hair, and starving themselves. They neither dressed, nor made their beds, nor washed, nor saw visitors, nor shaved, nor cut their nails, and made their toilets with sackcloth and ashes. The mourning of the Jews lasted commonly seven days, and never more than thirty--quite long enough, we should think, for such an exhibition of filth and folly. The Greeks also did much of all this--they covered themselves with dust and dirt, and rolled in the mire, and beat their b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and tore their faces.

The color of the mourning garb, among the Romans, was originally black--from the time of Domitian, white. At present, the color of the mourning dress, in Europe is black--in China white--in Turkey blue or violet--in Egypt yellow--in Ethiopia brown. There have come down to us two admirable letters from Seneca, 63, and 99, on the subject of lamentation for the dead; the first to Lucilius, after the death of his friend, Flaccus--the second to Lucilius, communicating the letter Seneca had written to Murullus, on the death of his son. These letters must be read, _c.u.m grano salis_, on account of the stoical philosophy of the writer. He admits the propriety of decent sorrow, but is opposed to violent and unmeasured lamentations--_nec sicci sint occuli, amisso amico, nec fluant_--shed tears, if you have lost your friend, but do not cry your eyes out--_lacrimandum est, non plorandum_--let there be weeping, but not wailing. He cites, for the advantage of Lucilius, the counsel of Ulysses to Achilles, whose grief, for the death of Patroclus, had become inordinate, to give one whole day to his sorrow, and have done with it. He considers it not honorable, for men, to exhibit their grief, beyond the term of two or three days. Such, upon the authority of Tacitus De Mor.

Germ. 27, was the practice of the ancient Germans. Funerum nulla ambitio: ... struem rogi nec vestibus, nec odoribus, c.u.mulant: ... lamenta ac lacrimas cito, dolorem et trist.i.tiam tarde, ponunt; feminis lugere honestum est; viris meminisse: there was no pride of funereal parade; they heaped no garments, no odors, upon the pile; they speedily laid aside their tears and laments; not so their grief and sorrow. It was becoming, for _women_ to mourn; for _men_ to cherish in their memories.

In his letter to Lucilius, Seneca enters upon an investigation, as to the real origin of all this apparent sorrow, so freely and generally manifested, for the dead; and his sober conviction breaks forth, in the words--Nemo tristis sibi est. O infelicem stult.i.tiam! est aliqua et doloris ambitio! No one mourns for himself alone. Oh miserable folly!

There is ambition, even in our sorrow! This pa.s.sage recalls Martial's epigram, 34, De Gellia:

Amissum non flet, quum sola est Gellia, patrem; Si quis adest, jussae prosiliunt lacrymae.

Non dolet hic, quisquis landari, Gellia, quaerit; Ille dolet vere, qui sine teste dolet.

Arthur Murphy, in his edition of Dr. Johnson's works, ascribes to that great man the following extraordinary lines:

If the man, who turnips cries, Cry not, when his father dies, 'Tis a proof, that he had rather Have a turnip than his father.

Under the doctor's sanction, for a bagatelle, I may offer a translation of Martial's epigram:

When no living soul is nigh, Gellia's filial grief is dry; Call, some morning, and I'll warrant Gellia'l shed a perfect torrent.

Tears unforc'd true sorrow draws: Gellia weeps for mere applause.

It is our fortune to witness not a little of this, in our line. We are compelled to drop in, at odd, disjointed moments, when the not altogether disagreeable occupations of the survivors contrast, rather oddly, to be sure, with the graver duties to the dead. A rich widow, like Dr. Johnson's _protege_, in his letter to Chesterfield, is commonly overburdened with help. It is quite surprising, to observe the solicitude about her health, and how very fervent the hope of her neighbors becomes, that she may not have taken cold. The most prominent personages, after the widow and the next of kin, are the coffin-maker and the dress-maker--both are solicitous of making an excellent fit. Those, who, like myself, have had long practice in families, are often admitted to familiar interviews with the chief mourners, which are likely to take place, in the midst of dress-makers and artists of all sorts. How many acres of black c.r.a.pe I have witnessed, in half a century! "Mr. Abner--good Mr. Abner," said Mrs.

----, "dear Mr. Abner," said she, "I shall not forget your kindness--how pleasant it is, on these occasions, to see a face one knows. You buried my first husband--I thought there was nothing like that: and you buried my second husband--and, oh dear me, I thought there was nothing like that--and now, oh dear, dear me, you are going to bury my third! How I am supported, it is hard to tell--but the widow's G.o.d will carry me through this, and other trials, for aught I know--Miss Buddikin, don't you think that dress should be fuller behind?" "Oh dear ma'am, your fine shape, you know," said Miss Buddikin. "There now, Miss Buddikin, at any other time I dare say I should be pleased with your flattery, but grief has brought down my flesh and spirits terribly. Good morning, dear Mr. Abner--remember there will be no postponement, on account of the weather."

No. x.x.xIII.

I am sad. It is my duty to record an event of deep and universal interest.

On Sunday night, precisely as the clock of the Old South Church struck the very first stroke of twelve, departed this life, of no particular malady, but from a sort of const.i.tutional decay, to which the family has ever been periodically liable, and at the same age, at which his ancestors have died, for many generations, A. Millesimus Octingentesimus Quadragesimus Octavus.

It has been a custom in France, and in other countries, to send printed invitations to friends and relatives, inviting them to funerals. I have heard of a thriving widow--_la veuve Berthier_--who added a short postscript--_Madame Berthier will be happy to furnish soap and candles, at the old stand, as heretofore_. I trust I shall not be deemed guilty of a like indiscretion, if I add, for general information, that the business will be conducted hereafter, in the name of A. M. O. Q. Nonus.

I did intend to be facetious, but, for the soul of me, I cannot. It is enough for me to know that the old year is dead and gone, and that the hopes and fears of millions are now lying in its capacious grave. Between the old year and the new, the s.p.a.ce is so incalculably narrow, that, if those ancient philosophers were in the right, who contended, that an angel could not live in a vacuum, no angel, in the flesh, or out of it, could possibly get between the two: the part.i.tion is thin as tissue paper--thin as that between wit and madness, which is so exceedingly thin, as to be often undistinguishable, leaving us in doubt, on which side our neighbors may be found,--when at home.

I see, clearly, in the close of another year, another milestone, upon Time's highway, from chaos to eternity. Is it not wise, and natural, and profitable, for the pilgrim to pause, and mark his lessening way? He cannot possibly know the precise number of milestones, that lie between the present and his journey's end; but he may sometimes shrewdly guess from the number he has pa.s.sed already. There is precious little certainty, however, in the very best of man's arithmetic, on a subject like this: for, at every milestone, from the very first, and at countless intermediate points, he will observe innumerable tablets, recording the fact, that myriads of travellers have stopped here and there, not for the want of willingness to go forward, but for the want of breath--not for the night, to be awakened at the morning watch, by the attentive host, or the railway whistle,--but for a long, long while, to be summoned, at last, by the piercing notes of a clarion, loud and clear, which, as the bow of Ulysses could be bent only by the master's hand, can be raised, only by the lips and the lungs of an archangel.

Well, Quadragesimus Octavus hath gone to his long home, and the mourners go about the streets--a motley group it is, that band of melancholy followers! Upon this, as upon all other occasions of the same sort, true tears, from the very well-spring of the heart, fall, together with showers of hypocritical salt water. Little children, who must ever refer their orphanage to the year that is past, are in the van; and with them, a few widowers and widows, who have not been married quite long enough, to be reconciled to their bereavement. There are others, who also have been divorced from their partners by death, and who submit, with admirable grace; and wear their weeds--of the very best make and fashion, by the way--with infinite propriety.

It is quite amazing to see the great number of mourners, who, though, doubtless, natives, have a very Israelitish expression, and wear phylacteries, upon which are written three or four words whose import is intelligible, only to the initiated, but which, being interpreted, signify--_three per cent. a month_. None seem to wear an expression of more heartfelt sorrow, for the departure of Quadragesimus Octavus, during whose existence, being less greedy of honors than of gain, they were singularly favored, converting the necessities of other men into an abundance of bread and b.u.t.ter, for themselves.

In the melancholy train, we behold a goodly number of maiden ladies, dressed in yellow, which is the mourning color of the Egyptians, and some of these disconsolate damsels are really beginning to acquire the mummy complexion: it happened that, as the old year expired, they were just turned of thirty.

There are others, who have sufficient reason to mourn, and whose numerous writings have brought them into serious trouble. Their works, commencing with a favorite expression--_for value received I promise to pay_, owing to something rather pointed in the phraseology, were liable to be severely criticised, so soon as the old year expired.

The lovers of parade, and show, and water celebrations, and torch-light processions, trumpeting and piping merrymakings, and huzzaings, the brayings of stump orators, and the intolerable noise and farrago of electioneering; the laudings and vituperatings of Taylor, Ca.s.s, and Van Buren; the ferocious lyings and vilifyings of partisans, politically drunk or crazy--the lovers of all or any of these things are one and all, attendants at the funeral of Quadragesimus Octavus.

The good old year is gone--and, in the words of a celebrated clergyman, to a bereaved mother, who would not be comforted, but wailed the louder, the more he pressed upon her the duty of submission--"_what do you propose to do about it?_" I cannot answer for you, my gentle reader, but I am ready to answer for myself. As an old s.e.xton, I believe it to be my duty to pay immediate attention to the very significant command--whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom in the grave, whither thou goest. If good old Samuel had been an undertaker, he could not have said, more confidently than I do, at this moment, whose corpse have I taken, or whose shroud have I taken, or whom have I defrauded, or whom have I buried east for west, or wrong end foremost? Of what surgeon have I received a fee, for a skeleton, to blind mine eyes withal? I have neither the head nor the heart for mystical theology. I believe in the doctrine of election, as established by the const.i.tution and laws of the United States, and of the States respectively, so far as regards the President, Vice President, and all town, county and state officers: and I respect the Egyptians, for one trait, recorded of them, by an eminent historian, who states, that those, who worship an ape, never quarrel with those, who worship an ox. A very fine verse, the thirteenth of the last chapter of Ecclesiastes--"Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: fear G.o.d, and keep his commandments: for this is the whole duty of man."

Let us try, during the year, upon whose threshold we are now standing, to do as much good, and as little harm, as possible. I respectfully recommend to all old men and women, who are as grey and grizzly as I am, to make themselves as agreeable as they can; and remember, that old age is proverbially peevish and exacting. In the presence of children, do not forget the wise sayings of Parson Primrose, who candidly confessed, when solicited to join in some childish pastime, that he complied, for he was tired of being always wise. Pray allow all you can for the vivacity and waywardness of youth. Nine young ladies, in ten, may find a clever fit, in Pope's shrewd line--

"Brisk as a flea, and ignorant as dirt."

All, that can be said about it, lies in a filbert sh.e.l.l, _ita lex scripta est, ita rerum natura_. You will not mend the matter, by scowling and growling, from morning to night. Can you not remember, that you yourself, when a boy, were saluted now and then, with the t.i.tle of "proper plague"--"devil's bird"--or "little Pickle?" I can. Some years ago, my very worthy friend, the Rev. John S. C. Abbott, did me the kindness to give me one of his excellent works, the Path of Peace. The preface contains a very short and clever incident, of whose applicability, you can judge for yourself.

"Mother," said a little boy, "I do not wish to go to Heaven."