The Sun.
London, England, 1866-11-07 00:00:00

THE FUNERAL OF MR. SNIDER.

JACOB SNIDER, jun., the American inventor, died
in London on Thursday, October 24th, 1866. The
circumstances attending his career as a patentee of
an important invention are elsewhere detailed.
They have elicited several editorial and other articles
in the columns of the London Times and other in-
fluential journals. His funeral took place on Wed-
nesday last, at the Kensal-green Cemetery. It was
at one time intended to have it occur in accordance
with American custom—with a procession on foot,
walking from the house of the deceased to his grave.
But, in consequence of the brevity of the notice,
this was abandoned, and the usual English custom
of a few mourning carriages was observed. A
number of American friends attended at the ceme-
tery, and others came with the funeral cortege.
Among these we noticed Mr. CLARK, of Phila-
delphia, Mr. GERALD RALSTON, Rev. C. W.
DENisoN, Mr. E. CURTIS, Mr. TATUM, Mr. J.
CURLEY, Mr. CHADBOURNE, &c., &c., who were
accompanied by kind English acquaintances, the
physician of the deceased, also Mr. LEONE GLUK-
MAN, Mr. F. F. LIDDALL, and others whose names
we were unable to. obtain.

The services were conducted by the Rev. Mr.
STEW ART, in a most appropriate manner. He was
followed by the Rev. C. AV. DENISON, who de-
livered an address, which we have been requested
by the friends of Mr. SNIDER to insert in our
columns.

ADDRESS OF TILE Env. C. W. DENISON..

My Countrymen and Friends,
We are assembled on an occasion of no ordinary
interest. In accordance with a custom prevalent
in some parts of America, I return you the
thanks of the mourners here present for
your kind assistance in burying their dead.
You have performed for them a neighbourly act,
and which they will always remember. One of the
wishes of pilgrims and strangers, as they meet each
other on the sands of the East, is this—" May you
die among your kindred !" It seems to them, in
those far-off deserts, as if they could offer no
kindlier wish. But when such a death as this is
denied us—when the voices of strangers are heard
around our dying pillows, and the hands of stran-
gers close our eyes for the last time—it is soothing
to the departing spirit to know that we shall have
a Christian burial. Our countryman, whose mortal
remains lie in this open grave before us, died among
strangers, in a strange land ; but it is a consolation
to be able to state that he was the recipient of many
acts of Christian kindness in his dying moments,
and we ourselves are witnesses that he has received
becoming Christian rites as he is lowered
to his last sepulchre. His afflicted family
across the broad Atlantic may well be
comforted with the assurance that his end
was peace, and that his countrymen in London
assembled at his grave, in company with sympathis-
ing friends of other nations, to mingle their tears
together in this consecrated spot, and offer their
united tributes of respect to his memory. Those
who knew him best all testify to the geniality of his
character, to his patience in the prosecution of his
plans, to his child-like simplicity in his personal in-
tercourse, and to the cheerful resignation with
which he endured the trials peculiar to his position.
His death was sudden and unexpected. Though
weighed down with a heavy burden of mental sor-
row, a victim of neglect and cruel disappointment
at the hands of those on whom he had conferred a
benefit, a sufferer from that worst of all diseases,
the hope deferred that maketh the heart sick ; he
was still courageous, still laborious, still plan-
ning inventions for a future he was , destined
never to see. Only a few hours before his
death he informed a friend at his bedside that he
had a new secret with regard to a great principle
of national defence, more important than any he
had yet discovered. "I will tell you the secret to-
morrow," said he, ig when: you call to see me."
That morrow came, and that friend came with it to
that bedside again ; but the man who laid upon it
was dead. His secret was dead with him ; and,
to-day, we consign it, as we consign him, to the
darkness and silence of the grave.
Let us look down on the coffin that covers him.
All motionless now is the once active brain so lately
fruitful of inventions. All throbless now is the
generous heart that felt so much and so truly
for mankind. All nerveless 'now is the
hand that wielded with such consummate skill
the most delicate implements of mechanical
science. Look down upon him. Here lies
the man, cold and stark in death, whose
inventive genius is at this moment moving thou-
sands of machines, and tens of thousands of living
men, to complete and furnish a weapon of defence
for the honour and hainess,..the prosperity and
liberty of the people of England. He who lies so
low in the ground at our feet was the constructor
of that delicate spring which gives not only em-
ployment to busy
multitudes, but that will secure
the triumphant march of armies, as they vindicate
the cause of constitutional government, and equal
rights, and, educated freedom, throughout the civi-
lised world. Of such a man, thus dying, thus
buried, at a time when the war of opinion is being
waged as it never was
before , we may
well quote, in
an English burial-ground, the words of one of Eng-
land's most gifted poets :
" How sleep the brave, who sink to rest
With all their count'
's wishes blest !
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Shall oft frequent their hallowed mould,