given by a whig to that candidate, whose election was clearly impossible. These irregular whigs, have, therefore, spent their ammunition, as profitably, as the old covenanter spent his, who fired a horse pistol against the walls of Sterling Castle. Such is the conscience party.
When I refer to the universal consent of the whigs, during the former canvass for Martin Van Buren, that he was, politically, the very devil incarnate; and, in making a selection of those, who were the loudest, and longest, and the most vehement of his antagonists, find them to be the very leaders of the present movement, in his favor; I am reminded of Peter Pindar’s pleasant story of the chambermaid and the spider; and, not having my copy of Peter at hand, I will endeavor to relate the tale in prose, as well as I am able.
A chambermaid, in going her rounds, observed an enormous spider, black and bloated, so far from his hole of refuge, that, lifting her broom, she exclaimed, “Now, you ugly brute, I have you! You are such a sly, cunning knave, and have such a happy non-committal way with you, that I never have been able to catch you before; for, the moment I raised my broom, you were out of sight, forsooth, and perfectly safe, in that Kinderhook of a hole of yours—but, now prepare yourself, for your hour has come.” The spider turned every one of his eight eyes down upon the chambermaid, and, extending his two forelegs in a beseeching manner, calmly replied, “Strike, peerless maid, but hear me! I have given you infinite trouble, and have been a very bad fellow, I admit. Crafty and cruel, I have been an unmitigated oppressor of flies, and all inferior insects. I have sucked their blood, and lived upon their marrow. But now my conscience has awakened, and I am in favor of letting flies go free. It is not in quest of flies, that I am here, sweet maid; (and then he seemed perfectly convulsed;) I am changed at heart, and become a new spider. Pardon me for speaking the truth; my only object, in being here, is, from this elevated spot, to survey your incomparable charms.” The chambermaid lowered her broom; and gently said, as she walked away, “Well, a spider is not such a horrid creature, after all.”
I may be thought, in these remarks, to have offended against the dictum—ne sutor ultra crepidam. Surely I am not guilty—my dealings are with the dead. Perhaps I am mistaken. The conscience party may not be dead, but cataleptic—destined to rise again—to fall more feebly than before.
No. XXX.
Funerals, in the earlier days of Rome, must have been very showy affairs. They were torch-light processions, by night. You will gather some information, on this subject, by consulting a note of Servius, on Virg. Æn. xi. 143. Cicero, de legibus, ii. 26, says, that Demetrius ordered nocturnal funerals, to check the taste for extravagance, in these matters: “Iste igitur sumptum minuit, non solum pœna, sed etiam tempore; ante lucem enim jussit efferri.” A more ancient law, of similar import, will be found recited, in the oration of Demosthenes, against Macartatus, viii., 82, Dove’s London ed. Orat. Attici. Funes or funiculi were small ropes or cords, covered with wax or tallow; such were the torches, used on such occasions; hence the word funus or funeral. A confirmation of this may be found in the note of Servius, Æn. i. 727. In a later age, funerals were celebrated in the forenoon.
There were some things done, at ancient funerals, which would be accounted very extraordinary at the present day. What should we say to a stuffed effigy of the defunct, composed entirely of cinnamon, and paraded in the procession! Plutarch says; “Such was the quantity of spices brought in by the women, at Sylla’s funeral, that, exclusive of those carried in two hundred and ten great baskets, a figure of Sylla at full length, and of a lictor besides, was made entirely of cinnamon, and the choicest frankincense.”
At the head of Roman funerals, came the tibicines, pipers, and trumpeters, immediately following the designator, or undertaker, and the lictors, dressed in black. Next came the “præficæ, quæ dabant cæteris modum plangendi.” These were women hired to mourn, and sing the funeral song, who are popularly termed howlers. To this practice Horace alludes, in his Art of Poetry:
Ut, qui conducti plorant in funere, dicunt,
Et faciunt prope plura dolentibus ex animo—
which Francis well translates:
As hirelings, paid for the funereal tear,
Outweep the sorrows of a friend sincere.
I once witnessed an exhibition of this kind, in one of the West India Islands. A planter’s funeral occurred, at Christianstadt, the west end of Santa Cruz. After the corpse had been lowered into the grave, a wild ululation arose, from the mouths of some hundred slaves, who had followed from the plantation—“Oh, what good massa he was—good, dear, old massa gone—no poor slave eber hab such kind massa—no more any such good, kind massa come agin.” I noticed one hard-favored fellow, who made a terrible noise, and upon whose features, as he turned the whites of his big eyes up toward heaven, there was a sinister, and, now and then, rather a comical expression, and who, when called to assist in filling up, appeared to throw on the earth, as if he did it from the heart.
After the work was done, I called him aside. “You have lost an excellent master,” said I. The fellow looked warily round, and, perceiving that he was not overheard, replied, in an undertone—“No massa, he bad mule—big old villain—me glad the debble got him.” Having thus relieved himself of his feelings, he hastened to join the gang, and I soon saw him, as they filed off, on their way back to the plantation, throwing his brawny arms aloft, and joining in the cry—“Oh, what kind, good massa he was!” Upon inquiry, I learned, that this planter was a very bad mule indeed, a merciless old taskmaster.
Not more than ten flute players were allowed, at a funeral, by the Twelve Tables. The flutes and trumpets were large and of lugubrious tones; thus Ovid, Fast. vi. 660: Cantabat mœstis tibia funeribus; and Am. ii. 66: Pro longa resonent carmina vestra tuba.
Nothing appears more incomprehensible, in connection with this subject, than the employment of players and buffoons, by the ancients, at their funerals. This practice is referred to, by Suetonius, in his Life of Tiberius, sec. 57. We are told by Dyonisius, vii. 72, that these Ludii, Histriones, and Scurræ danced and sang. One of this class of performers was a professed mimic, and was styled Archimimus. Strange as such a proceeding may appear to us, it was his business, to imitate the voice, manner, and gestures of the defunct; he supported the dead man’s character, and repeated his words and sayings. In the Life of Vespasian, sec. 19, Suetonius thus describes the proceeding: In funere, Favor, archimimus, personam ejus ferens, imitansque, ut est mos, facta ac dicta vivi, etc. This Favor must have been a comical fellow, and is as free with the dead, as Killigrew, Charles the Second’s jester, was, with the living; as the reader will perceive, if he will refer to the passage in Suetonius: for the fellow openly cracks his jokes, on the absurd expense of the funeral. This, we should suppose, was no subject for joking, if we may believe the statement of Pliny, xxxiii. 47, that one C. Cæcillius Claudius, a private citizen, left rather more than nine thousand pounds sterling, by his will, for his funeral expenses.
After the archimimus, came the freemen of the deceased, pileati; that is, wearing their caps of liberty. Men, not unfrequently, as a last act, to swell their funeral train, freed their slaves. Before the corpse, were carried the images of the defunct and of his ancestors, but not of such, as had been found guilty of any heinous crime. Thus Tacitus, ii. 32, relates, that the image of Libo was not permitted to accompany the obsequies of any of his posterity.
The origin of the common practice of marching at military funerals, with arms reversed, is of high antiquity. Thus Virgil xi. 93, at the funeral of Pallas—versis Arcades armis: and upon another occasion, versi fasces occur in Tacitus iii. 2, referring to the lictors.
