The Sun.
London, England, 1863-09-23 00:00:00

MY FIRST FUNERAL !

Described by Charles Dickensin the New Number of the
,
Uncommercial," as attended by himself when aged
Seven or Eight. As it were—Little David Copperfield
in attendance at the funeral of poor Peggotty's deceased
husband, the late Barkis, then—"just gone out with the
tide 1"
VERY COMFORTABLY BURIED !—My first funeral,
a fair representative funeral after its kind, was that
of the husband of a married servant, once my nurse.
She married for money. Sally Flanders, after a
year or two of matrimony, became the relict of
Flanders, a small masterebuilder ; and either she or
Flanders had done me the honour to express a desire
that I should " follow." I may have been
.seven
or eieht years old ;—young enough, certainly, to
feel rather alarmed by the expression, as not know-
ing where the invitation was held to terminate, and
how far I was expected to follow the deceased
Flanders. Consent being given by the heads of
houses, I was jobbed up into what was pronounced
at home decent mourning (comprehending some-
body else's shirt, unless my memory deceives me),
and was admonished that if, when the funeral was
in action, I put my hands in my pockets, or took my
eyes out of my pocket handkerchief, I was per-
sonally lost, and my family disgraced. On the
eventful day, having tried to get myself into a
disastrous frame of mind, and having formed
a very poor opinion of myself because I
couldn't cry, I repaired to Sally's. Sally
was an excellent creature, and had been a good wife
to old Flanders, but the moment I saw her I knew
she was not in her own real natural state. She
formed a sort of Coat of Arms, grouped with a
smelling-bottle, a handkerchief, an orange, a bottle
of vinegar, Flanders's sister, her own sister, Flan-
ders's brother's wife, and two neighbouring gossips
—all in mourning, and all ready to hold her when-
ever she fainted. At sight of poor little me she
became much agitated (agitating me much more),
and having exclaimed, " 0 here's dear Master Un-
commercial!" became hysterical, and swooned as if
I had been the death of her. An affecting scene
followed, during which I was handed about and
poked at by various people, as if I were the bottle
of salts. Reviving a little, she embraced me, said,
" You knew him well, dear Master Uncommercial,
and he knew you ;" and fainted again : which, as
the rest of the Coat of Arms soothingly said, "done
her credit." No ee, I knew that she needn't have
fainted unless she liked, and that she wouldn't have
fainted unless it had been expected of her, quite as
well as I know it at this day. It made me feel un-
comfortable, and hypocritical besides. I was not
sure but that it might be manners in me to faint next,
and I resolved to keep my eye on Flanders's uncle,
and if I saw any signs of his going in that direction,
to go too, politely. But Flanders's uncle (who
was a weak little old retail grocer) had only one idea,
which was that we all wanted tea, and he handed
us cups of tea all round, incessantly, whether
we refused or not, There was a young nephew of
Flanders's present, to whom Flanders, it was
rumoured, had left 19 guineas. He drank all the tea
that was offered him, this nephew—amounting, I
should say, to several quarts—and ate as much plum
cake as he could possibly come by; but he felt it
to be decent mourning that he should now and then
stop in the midst of a lump of cake, and appear to
forget that his mouth was full, in the contemplation
of his uncle's memory. I felt all this to be the fault
of the undertaker, who was handing us gloves on a
tea tray as if they were muffins, and tying us into
cloaks (mine had to be pined up all round, it was
so long for me), because I knew that he was mak-
ing game. So when we had got out into the streets,
and I constantly disarranged the procession by
tumbling on the people before me because my
handkerchief blinded my eyes, and tripping up the
people behind me because my cloak was so long, I
felt that we were all making game. I was truly
sorry for Flanders, but I knew that was no reason
why we should be trying (the women with their
heads in hoods like coal scuttles with the black side
outward) to keep step with a man in a scarf, carry-
ing a thing like a mourning spy glass, which
he was going to open presently and sweep the
horizon with. I knew that we should not
have been speaking in one particular key-
note struck by the undertaker, if he had not been
making game. Even in our faces we were every
one of us as like the undertaker as if we had been
his own family, and I perceived that this could not
have happened unless we had been making game.
When we returned to Sally's, it was all of a piece.
The continued impossibility of getting on without
plum-cake ; the ceremonious apparition of a pair of
decanters containing port and sherry and cork;
Sally's sister at the tearable, clinking the best
crockery and shaking her head mournfully every
time she looked down into the teapot, as if it were
the tomb; the Coat of Arms again, and Sally as
before ; lastly, the words of consolation administered
to Sally when it was considered right that she
should " come round nicely :" which were, that the
deceased had had " as comfor-ta-ble a fu-ne•ral as
comfortable could be !" Other funerals have I seen
with grown-up oyes, since that day, of which the
burden has been the same childish burden. Making
game. Real effitetion, real grief and solemnity,
have been outraged, and the funeral has been " per-
formed." The waste for which the funeral customs
of many tribes of savages are conspicuous, has at-
tended these civilised obsequies ; and once, and
twice, have I wished in my soul that if the waste
must be, they would let the undertaker bury the
money, and let me bury the friend.

A FINE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAL—Mr.
Morrill, of Headington Hill, Oxford, died on Satur-
day week last. He was for many years master of a pack of
harriers, and afterwards hunted the old Berkshire country
with a splendid pack of foxhounds. He was a thorough
good sportsman, an excellent horseman, a most hospitable
man, a truly liberal landlord, and a kind friend. In his
social and domestic character his conduct was irreproach-
able. Mr. Morrell met with an accident more than a year
age, which brought on a serious illness. He and Lord
William Lennox were driving in the former's open oarriage
near the fatal Clayton tunnel at Brighton, when they met
a lady and a gentleman being run away with in a pony-
carriage. Mr. Morrell immediately ordered his coachman
to turn, and trot steadily on after the runaway vehicle.
After going about half a mile, they overtook it, and, finding
the pony, which had been stepped, was trying to "nego-
tiate a bull-fincher," as Melton men call it, Mr. Morrell
and his companion descended from the carriage to assist the
lady out. After walking a few paces, Mr. Morrell fell on
his hands and knees, accounting for tho fall by saying that
he felt that his legs, having been wrapped up in a railway-
rug, became what is usually called "asleep." After assist-
ing the lady and gentleman, arranging the harness, and
offering them a seat in his carriage, Mr. Morrell complained
that he had hurt his right leg, about an inch below the knee.
Lord William took him to a cottage, obtained a sponge,
washed the wound, which was about the size of a florin, and
both drove home in excellent spirits. Little was thought of
the accident ; but, in a few days, carbuncles showed them-
selves, and the wounded part became greatly inflamed. Mr.
Burrows, of Brighton, than whom a more talented surgeon
does not exist, was called in, and, with great care and skill,
so far brought about a recovery that Mr. Morrell was en-
abled to return to Headington Hill by the Ist of October.
During that month, though lame, Mr. Morrell was able to
enjoy coursing and shooting to a small extent. The anni-
versary of his marriage day and Christmas were kept up in
the old English way, and every hope was entertained that,
before the spring set in, he would be able to attend Epsom
and Ascot. With his usual liberality, he invited a party to
Salt Hill for the Ascot meeting, but was unable to accom-
pany them to the racos. He then returned home, more
unfavourable symptoms showed themselves, and, after a
lingering illness, he expired on Saturday, the 12th instant.
Mr, Morrell leaves a widow and one child to mourn his
loss ; but the loss will not be confined to his relatives ;
every one, high and low, in the county of Oxford, will
deeply lament the death of one who had so endeared him-
self to all classes. The Rev. D. Everett, Mr. Morrell's
brother-in-law, remained with him during his illness to the
last moment. It was only about a fortnight before Mr.
Morrell's death that he expressed a wish to see his old
huntsman, Clark, who now lives with the Duke of Beau-
fort. Clark lost no time in going over to Headington, but
his former master was too ill to see him; and he returned
to Badminton, sad and sorrowful at the idea that never more
would he behold one of the kindest employers and best
huntsmen in England. Mr. Morrell's exploits in the hunt-
ing-field, we are reminded by the Court Journal, were re-
corded last November by his friend, Lord Wm. Lennox, in
the " Sporting Review and Magazine."
NEW TENOR AND NEW BARITONE,—M. Bataille,
a baritone of good promise, has appeared in " Le Caid,"
at the Opera Comique. M. Pilo, a young tenor, has made
a good appearance in Mehul's " Joseph," at the Theatre
Lyr ique.

MADAME VIARDOT, we understand, is coming to
London early next year, to give some performances of
Gluck's "Orpheus,"

SECOND EDITI6TV-.

SUN OFFICE, HALF-PAST 4 o'CrocK.

SPORTING INTELLIGENCE.—This Day,

(BY ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH,)
RICHMOND RACES—Tins DAY.