The Irish standard., 1888-11-24
CURIOUS SUpERSTIT|oNS.
A Hearse- Driver Talks-What Peo-
Pile Do When They Meet a
Funeral Procession.
QUEER BUT TRUE NEVERTHELESS

| Some Will GROSS Themselves, Others Turn
and Walk in an Opposite Direction
Walk Between the Carriages.
The crude and absurd superstitioDs OF
the dark ages have by no means fallen
into inocuous desuetude amid the en-
lightenment of the nineteenth century
and every day some evidence may be
seen among the most cultured and ad-
vanced people of their fealty to the old.
time faith in good and bad omens.
Who eyer heard Of wedding On Fri
day, and yet Friday may be as warm
aud fair as brides heart could desire.
How many people enjoy being the thir-
teenth member OF banquet, though
the famous Thirteen club have proved
the fallacy of death or any misfortune
falling upon the person who enjoys that
distinction. How many people like to
enter upon new career Or begin an
important piece Of work on Friday,
even though the Immortal Columbus
did set sail upon his memorable voyage
ON one Friday and discovered the won
derful new world on another. How
many ladies will stoop and pick up a
pin in the street with delicately gloyed
hands If the head is toward them, or if
being obliged to return for something
forgotten after leaving the house will
sit down for a minute before they 90
again. The most skeptical disbeliever
enjoys seeing the new moon over his
right shoulder better than his left.
But of all supers' itions, those per-
tanning to the burial of the dead are
most numerous and Inconsistent The
writer interviewed a city hearse driver
on the subject, aud elected some cur
;ous information concerning the unac.
countable things people do when they
see funeral procession en- route fOl
the cemetery. The driver was gray
hal,ed son of Erin in dusty suit OF
professional black and faded black
derby. and with an equally rusty and
professionally do1eful expression OF
countenance on his rough, red face,
beneath which there lurked merry
twinkle in the shrewd gray eyes and a
droll twitch in the corners of the mouth.
"My friend, how long have you been
engaged in this extremely hilarious
professional
Nigh on to fourteen years" with a
tip of the faded hat.
"And dosen't it make you feel SER
ious to be driving dead men and women
about the city all the time?"
Indeed, no; not half so serious as it
would he to driving live men about who
are always in a dickens of hurry to
get somewhere before they get some
where else, and would be worrying about
catching trains and boats, and cursing
if the carriage was blockaded; and as
for the womenl All, the dead are
speechless: they are aisy to please and
they give no orders and make no words.
I'm as happy with my dead load as a
lord, and don't think anything about
what do for them"
You must see some interesting
sights upon your solemn pearch?'
''Sure there's plenty to see; but, you
know, I'm not always watching out.
l am driving the hearse. The strangest
thing of all notice is how many peo-
pie are afraid to cross funeral pro-
cession. They will wait and wait, in
carriages and on foot, until the last
coach passes, no matter how big hur-
ry they are in. Then lot Of silly old
women are afraid to count the carriages
ina procession for fear they'll die some
time. If there was anything very
dangerous in that l guess the under.
takers would die good many times.
Sometimes women drop down on their
knees when they see procession COM
ing and cross themselves. too, only
they do it SO quick and on the sly.
Why, I've known women to kneel and
cross themselves just going past an
undertaker's door, as they thought they
had death all ready boxed up in some of
the cofins. And some men spit three
times, and some'take off their hats and
keep them off until the procession
passes, and others turn AID walk with
the procession little ways. and men
and women both will cut mighty short
corners when they think they are going
to meet a funeral, and walk around the
block scared and trembling, While here
I've been driving the dead for fourteen
years, and haven't died once, and am
as we'll and happy as an alderman, with
nivar trouble in the world, barrin'
that I'm poor. You don't get any tips
drivjn' the dead, you know, and they
don't pay you five OF ten dollars to find
their street and number. and help them
up the steps along il the edge of the
NOR mornin B Il. ,..