The miners' express. (Dubuque, Iowa) 1849-1854, 1850-09-04
Memory OF the Dead.

A friend of ours, whose soul is alive to tender
emotions, has furnished us with the following
selection for publication. 1t is from the beauti-
full article in lrving's sketch book, entitled Ru.
raj Funerals.
"Sorroao for the dead, is the only sorrow from
which we refuse to be divorced. Every other
wound would we seek to heal--every other af.
fiction forget; but this wound we consider it a
duty to keep open--this affliction we cherish
and brood over in solitude.
Where is the mother that would willingly for
get the infant that persisted like blossom from
her arms, though every recollection is like a
pangs Where the child that would willingly
forget the tender and beloved parent, 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 over the remains of her whom he most
loved-when he feels his heart as it were crush
ed IN the closing of its portals would accept of
consolation that must be bought by forgetful-
ness? No, the love that survives the tomb is
one OF the noblest attributes of the soul. If it
has its woes, it has also its delights, and when
he feels the overwhelming burst of grief is calm
ed by the gentle recollection-when the sudden
anguish and the convulsive agony over the pres
ent ruin OF all that we most loved, are softened
away into meditation on all that it was in the
days Of its loveliness-who would root out such
sorrow from the heart Though it may some
times throw passing cloud over the bright hour
of gayety, or spread deeper sadness over the
hour of gloom, yet who would exchange it even
tor the song of pleasure or the burst of revelry?
No, there is voice from the tomb sweeter than
song. There Is remembrance of the dead to
which we turn even from the charms of the liv-
ing. Oh, the grave! the Craze! it buries eve-
ry error, covers every defect, extinguishes eve
ny resentment. From its peaceful bosom spring
none but fond regrets and tender recollections.
Who can look down upon the grave even of an
enemy, and not feel compunctous throb that
he should have warred with the poor handful of
earth that lies beneath him.
And the grave ofthose we loved-what place
for meditation There it is that we call up in
long review, the whole history Of virtue and gen.
tleness, and the thousand endearments lavished
upon us almost UNDECIDED in the daily inter-
course of intimacy. There it is that we dwell
upon tenderness-the solemn, awful tenderness
of the parting scenc-the bed of death, with all
its sti1ed grlcf-its noisless attendants-its mute
Watchtul asslduities-the last testimonies of ex-
piring love, the feeble, huttering, thrilling-oh!
hoW thrilling, the pressure of the hand, the last
fond look Of the glazing eye, turning to even
from the Threshold of existence-the faint, fall
tering accents, struggling in death, to give one
more assurance of affection.
Ay, 60 to the grave of buried love, and medi-
tate! There settle the account with thy con-
science for every past benefit unrequited-
past endearment unregarded-of that departed
beng, who can never, nerer return to be sooth-
ed by any contrtion. If thou art child and
hast added sorrow to the soul or furrow to the
brow of atfectionate parents; if thon art hus-
band and hast ever caused the fond bosom that
ventured its whole happiness in thy arms, to
doubt one moment thy kindness or thy truth
If thou art friend, and hast ever wronged in
thought, or word, or deed, spirit that gener.
ously contided in thee,-if thou art a lover, and
hast ever been guilty of deceiving that one who
now lies buried beneath the ground on which
you tread, or hast ever designed.y given one
pang to that true heart, which now lies cold and
notionless beneath your feet, then be sare that
every unkind look, every ungracious word, eve
ry ungentle action, will come thronging back
upon the memory, and knocking dolefully at thy
soul then be sure that thou wilt lie down sor-
rowing and repentant on the grave, and utter the
lnheeded groan, and pour thy unavailing tears
more deep, more bitter because unheard and
Then weave chaplet of flowers, and strew
he beauties of nature about the grave-console
ny broken spirit if thou canst, with these ten
Ter yet futile tributes Of regret, but take warn
ng by the bitterness Of this, thy contrite afflic-
ion over the dead, and henceforth be more faith
ul and affectionate in the discharge Of thy duty
owards the living H.