The Sun.
London, England, 1852-09-21 00:00:00

THE SUN,

heraldic pomp and pr,we. which certainly cannot
benefit the dead. It i- undeniable that almshouses
may, in a sense, be more permanently beneficial to
society than statues or monuments. "In a sense,"
we say—but in a sense which we revt2r find
consistently or logically carried out—in th 9
same sense in which all income or pro-

_ ..
perty beyond what its possessor absolutely needs for
personal use might be confiscated for the good of the
poor. A public funeral can only be condemned upon
principles which would equally forbid the pur-
chase of a picture or a work of art. We de-
fend, therefore, the decision to honour the remains
of the Duke of Wellington with a public funeral,
both upon the natural fittingness and right of
the thing, and also for its practical tendencies.
A public funeral is an exceptional thing, and the
Duke of Wellington was an exceptional man. The
" Iliad" ends with funeral celebrations, and such a
career as the Great Duke's demands an epic termi-
nation. The solemn drama of his life would halt
without it. Honoured and titled in life, it were in-
consistent that he should not receive the nation's last
tributed to exalted worth—
His saltem accumnlem donia.
ground
We can do no more ; but this is the very
upon which we do thus much. Perhaps we shall be
told that it is the man that dignifies the hearse—not
the hearse the man. A nobody, even though a duke,
acquires no honours or respect by being encased in a
sarcophagus of basalt ; whilst there are those who
would glorify plain deal boards. We know it. But
it is not because a man is above all honour that his
countrymen are released from the duty of showing
him any. Great deeds dignify more than titles; bat
we have hardly yet arrived at that supersensual state
of society which can dispense with prizes and re-
' wards. A public funeral is the only legitimate cone
plement of Strathfieldsaye and a dukedom. And
it relieves, while it expresses, the popular sentiment.
If we venerate, we must express our reverence
in external actions. The late Sir Robert
Peel was
a purist in the matter of posthu-
mous—he absolutely prohibited everything
funeral. But the universal feeling has
likea hpounboluiers
proved too strong for personal taste—the individual
prejudice has been overruled—popular gratitude and
veneration are irrepressible—and our cities are be-
coming studded with statues of the man who, by an-
ticipation, discouraged any outward recognition of
his worth. It is enough, then, to say that, since the
1 popular voice is in such matters irresistible—irresisti-
ble as the impulses of the heart, apart from the logic
of the head, always are—is is better to accept than to
repress the national sentiment, and to do, with becom-
ing solemnity, that which, whether we like it or not,
will be done irregularly and informally. The public
feeling will always find some mode of expression, and
it is the duty of the State to give it a fitting one. We
cordially hail, therefore, the formal resolution which
has been adopted by the Crown to honour the memory
of the Duke of Wellington with a public funeral. All
that the British people can do in this matter it ought to
do, and the country has determined to do its best.
Were it nothing else, the Royal determination shows
a graceful sympathy with the unanimous wish of the
people. " Unanimous," we have said—yet we must,
perhaps, recall the word. It is hardly possible to
expect hat the decision will not meet with some
cavils. The occasion is too tempting for that prig-
gism which apes philosophy at the expense of deny-
ing man's moral constitution, and for that false
economy which cannot see that there are times when
profuseness itself is the truest and wisest economy.
Moreover, there is so much in British funerals, as
usually conducted, which is absolutely revolting, that
I we cannot be surprised at sensible people being pre-
judiced against any magnified form of what, even in
its simplest aspect, is barbarous and repulsive. We
do not want our hero's funeral turned into an alle-
gorical fete with Fames and Victories, and tinsel tro-
phies, and muslin transparencies; nor do we desire
a display of the undertaker's vulgarity of
mountains of black feathers, with a velvet
packing-case, miscalled a hearse. We trust
that the arrangements about to be determined
on will be creditable to the advanced taste and sense
of propriety of the age. In such matters we ought to
have made some progress since the death of Nelson.
We want something higher at work than Mr. Dow-
biggin's chief upholsterer, or the costumier of a
minor theatre. We are about to bury a Christian
and a Captain ; and although English processions are
a proverbial failure, the present occasion affords a
rare opportunity of not only retrieving our aesthetic
character, but of devising a ceremonial which shall
tell on the hearts of its innumerable and sympa-
thizing spectators. The Army, the Court, the Se-
nate, the University—all claim the Duke of Wel-
lington as their head—all must be represented in the
procession ; and if the detestable black cloaks
and abominable hat-bands are dispensed with
—if every official person attends in his ceremonial
dress—something rich, imposing, and truthful may,
or rather must, be the result. British funerals are
ordinarily offensive, because they are got up in the
most vulgar and tasteless spirit, for the sole purpose
of making an undertaker's bill; but they might be so
arranged es to form the most becoming and affecting
of ceremonials. We cannot doubt, however, that the
same spirit which ordered a national funeral tor the
nation's greatest man will take care that it shall pre-
sent nothing repulsive either to artistic taste or to
Christian feeling. St. Paul's already possesses me-
morials of military heroes which make us blush for
our countsy, , but let us hope !hat the obsequies of
our Gres'est Captain will be the beginning of a new
and better mode of bestowing public honours upon
the dead. But further, whatever arrangements may
he made, we claim for the British people their full
share in their last tribute to their hero. 'The funeral
which is announced is to be " public"—not a show
to be got up for the gratification of the privileged
holders of Lord Chamberlain's tickets—not a
display to be confined to the aristocratic quartier—
but one in which peer and artisan, City and Court,
are alike to participate. A public funeral which
does not traverse the public haunts of men,
is a self-contradiction. A procession requires space;
and we trust that nothing grudging or partial, either
in the details of the ceremonial or iu the spirit in
which the public are to be asked to share in it, will
mar that unanimity of sentiment which has so sig-
nally attended the nation's loss. The Duke of Wel-
lington, though born and festered an aristocrat, was,
after all, the man of the people—raised to his great-
ness, and sustained in it, by the public voice. He was,
in the highest and truest sense, the most popular man
of his age ; and in all that remains of him the people
have the first right. Already his ashes are taken pos-
session of in the name of the English commonwealth
—the Duke of Wellington belongs no longer to his
own kindred—his country has received him to herself.
We have charged ourselves with a high commission—
let us see that we fulfil it honourably to him whom we
try to honour, and becomingly to ourselves ; and it
may be that, among the myriads who shall witness
the Great Duke's obsequies, their splendour may
kindle in some hearts the desire to emulate, if not the
eeds, yet the patriotism and the loyal fidelity to duty,
of the Duke of Wellington.

thatAF saUwpeNubaElriecituftioAawe'
L OF LORD NELSON.
enabled from authority to announce
the great Duke or I
will be accorded to the remains of
Wellington, it is deemed neither inap-
propriate nor ill-
titard ' "
the
of England, Lord Nelson, It
and present occasion, to offer
the reader an account of
the obsequies of the naval hero
Greenwich
tTIt is derived from the Annual
Register for the year
it has been copied by ail
the biographer; of the
Gevirceteoar f Trafalgar.
The Great Hall a
Hospital
open for the ad-
eheebetbueeechich contained
Sun-
day, the sth of January, 1806, thrown was on san-
rp:ahyliacl tohesreoe,twh
had been. onfusion and
longim-
petuosity waiting for
admission, was such as was perhaps
tpmheietssub(i)o°sdiiity;olofttotueh e crowd,
equalled. It
was calculated that upwards of 20,000 persona were
un-
able to gain admission. On the second and third
the crowd was equally great; but some troops of Horsed
-
Guards having arrived to assist the volunteers, the in
eress and egress were effected with more regularity, i
though not without many persons suff-ring severe in_ i
jury. The arrangements for the solemnity were as fel-
low:—ln the funeral saloon, high above the corpse,a
canopy of black velvet was suspended, richly fes-
tooned with gold, and the festoons ornamented with
the chelenk or plume of triumph, presented to his
Lordship by the Grand Seignior. It was also
decorated with his coronet, and a view of the
stern of the San Joseph, the Spanish admiral's ship,
already quartered in his arms. On the back field, be-
neath the canopy, was emblazoned an escutcheon of his
arms, the helmet surmounted by a naval crown, and en-
riched with the trident and palm branch in saltier—
motto, " Palmim qui meruit ferst;” also his shield. or-
namented with silver stars, with the motto, " Tris juncta
in uno;" and, surmountirg the whole, upon a gold field,
embraced by a golden wreath, was inscribe I in sable
characters the word " Trafalgar," commemorative of the
proudest or his great achievements. The Rev. Mr.
Scott, the chaplain of the Victory,. who, in consequence
in a n elebelic is.
of his Lordship's last injunctions, attended his remains
a helmet surmounted the moment of his death, sat, 114 the chief mourner,
from
fringed with air at the head of the coffil. At the foot
of the aip,Aestal covered with black velvet, richly 1
1 the chelenk, a mile it° black and yellow, and supporting '
o by a naval crown, ornamented with
and his Lordship's
rtriunaphal plume, with models richly gilt,
mourners Were shield, gauntlet, and sword. Ten
emplaced, three on each side of the chief,
With each corner of the coffin, all in deep
1,,,n
bk. scarfs, their heir full powdered
' manoduronnineg,at
atiners elevated on staves, mid
in bags.
emblazoned with
ship's arms and various quarterings of his Lerd-
the great
bar-
ing its heraldicappropriate motto,
dignities, each bear-
covered with:black, enclosed the fu-
towards the coffin, five motto, were suspended
en each side. A railing in
ft:erre l osfaal crescent,oon fr
om
which, from right to left, the 8 ball , by the ellipsis of
receded. Beth the hall and bale
ricitotators approached nnd
rounded at the tops by rows of silver sconces, entirely stir-
wax lights, and between each two sconces, each with
an escutcheon of
his Lordship's armorial dignities. The
aquatic part of
the procession took place on Wednesday, Bth. The
entrance of the several City companies the
into their barges