Elizabeth-Town gazette. [volume] (Elizabeth-Town, N.J.) 1818-1821, 1819-12-21
THE SKETCH BOOK.

The fourth number of this popular work has an
peared 1t contains three articles--The Muta-
biity of Literature, Rural Funerals, and the
Spectre Bridegroom. From the second of these
Sketches, the following closing remarks are Sc
lected.-Daily advertiser.
81 have dwelt upon this beautiful and
rural custom, decorating the graves Of
friends with flowers because, as it is one
Of the last, SO it is one ofihe hottest Offices
of love. The grave is the ordeal Of truly
human affection. 1t is there that the d.
vine passion of the soul shows its superior
ity TO the instructive attachment of the
brute, for the love Of the animal must be
continually refreshed by the presence Of
its object, but the love of the human soul
can live on long remembrance
The sorrow for the dead is the only
sorrow from which we refuse to be di-
vorced. Every other wound We seek to
heal--every other affliction to forget; but
this wound would we consider duty to
keep open--this affliction we cherish and
brood over III solitude. Where is the
mother that would misiiaxiy forget The in
fant that persisted like a blossom from her
arms, though every recollection is a pang !?
Where is the child that would willingly
forget the most tender of parents, though
to remember be but to lament Who, even
in the hour of agony would forget the
friend over whom he. mourns? Who, even
when the tomb is closing upon the remains
nf hnp 10 nnnc lnua4 he foal. -.
heart, as it were, crushed in the closing Of
its portal, would accept consolation that
was to be bought by forgetlulness mo,
the love which survives the tomb is one Of
the Doblest attributes of the soul.-If it
has its woes, it has likewise its delights;
and when the overwhelming burst OF grief
is Gained into the gentle tear of recollec-
tion-when the sudden anguish and the
convulsive agony over the present ruins
of all that we most loved, is .softened away
into pensive meditation on all that il was
in the days of its loveIiness who would
root out such sorrow from the heart
Though it may sometimes throw passing
cloud even over the bright hour of gaiety
or spread a deeper sadness over the hour
of gloom; yet who would exchange it
even for the song of pleasure, or the burst
Of revelry ? No, there is voice from the
tomb sweeter than song.-There is re-
collection of the dead TO which we turn
even from the charms of the living. Oh
the grave the grave lit bnries every
error; covers every defect exlinguish-
es every resentment. From its peaceful bo-
som springs none but fond regrets e. tender
recollections. Who can look down upon
the grave even OF an enemy, and not feel
a compunctious throb, that ever he should
have warred with the poor handful of
earth that lies Wondering before him!
But the grave of those we loved
what place for meditation Then it is
that we call up in long review the whole
history of virtue aud geutleness, and The
thousand endearments lavished upou us
almost unheeded in the daily intercourse
Of intimacy; then it is that we dwell up
on the tenderness Of the parting scene
the bed Of death, with all its stifled grieis,
its noiseless attendants, its mute, watchful
assiduities; the last testimonies OF aspiring
loye--the feeble, fluttering, thrilling, oh!
how thrilling pressure of the hand--the
last fond look of the glazing eye, turning
upon us even from the threshold of exist
ence--the faint faltering accents strug-
Cling in death to give one more assurance
Of affection.
Aye, go to the grave Of buried love,
and mediate | There settle the account
with thy conscience for every past benefit
unrequited--every past endearment unre-
garded, Of that departed being who can