The Grenada sentinel. [volume] (Grenada, Miss.) 1868-1955, 1889-02-23
~ the Grenada SENTINEL.
,irE OLD CHORIsTER's FUNERAL
IA ATALE OF NEW ENGLAND.
BY A NATIVE.

M "a one accustomed from his youth to the
iemn ceremonies peculiar to the burial In q
# nntry village e,nothing seems more displeas-
and unsatisfactory than the hurried fu-
2x AL of one who has, unfortunately for
s. 3I5 5nself been called to death in crowded
~ He misses the countenances OF the
@mpathizing neighbors and friends who
ES1ther near 1.-THE church-yard at home. He
NIistened in vain, and with painful
sl.nse of something lacking for the solemn
fSaling of the bell. The heavy Nurse,
ffn ned In its costly folds, the train OF rich
u 1S,red carriages, the beauty of "Greenwood,"
Mount Auburn" and "Laurel HILL" may
Itch his eye more with their splendor; bu'
hen his heart Is in sorrow, it longs fol the
less snowy, but, to him far more welcome
associations of the New England village
life may choose the tireless flow OF ACTIVITY
Ind energy in a bustllng city for its home'
Nut Death always calls the mourner to the
2ountry burial ground, and to is funera'
bcenes.
There is som ething in the long train that
moves on foot from the house of mourning
he file of men who silently step from their
anks, two on each side. to take their turn IN
bearing the bier on their shoulders-the muf-
ed tread of those who mourn in sympathy
With the friends of the dead-the hushed gaze
III the children, who turn their curious eyes
INTO the deep grave before them-the scatter
{bg of the straw on the coffin-lid, by the OLD
hxton, and his silently and respectfully un-
overing his white hair and furrowed fore
cad. to give the pastor signal that all is now
pady for the benedictlon-the following slow
I'm of many friends. back to the house of al
#8iction that the mourners might not seem to
themselves to be so utterly alone-in all
fhese there is somethi ing of such peculiar in
4erest, that one can know and understand it
aonly by feeling it when his eyes have been
filled with the mourners tears
Besides this general superior appropriate
I1ess OF country funerals, there are often those
81 unusual interest," that strikes even those
VI mccustomed to such scenes with their solemni-
~. There Is great difference between dying
Then all around know 1t, and many are soT-
sxpwful, and going to ones grave where not
me man in Thousand who are hurrying by
Iain the busy ebb and flow of life, knows whose
fhneral train is passing
N II Is to scene of this kind we would lead you
n our simple tale Our village llesin the Burk-
shire valley OF Massachusetts, 1t never has
been notable for anything in particular, and
o description of it would not be likely to in
sSterest you much. The battle-ground faces on
the highway, close beside the church. Its
white slabs tell most of our village history in
their simple records of the men who lived in
#it, and have now passed away. The church
lis of the old form, built very high within.
yThe columns wich support the roof branch
t,, opnhn n1 whose
curves so run into each other that there are
mo plain spaces left in the ceiling. The voice
#Of the preacher reverberates grandly on the
ear from among the deep galleries Two rows
#Of gothic windows open on each SIDE through
(which in summer. comes tn" hum Of the
wind, rustling through the willows by the
#graves. They have lately frescoed and pain
led it within. and the eff ct is certainly very
1Etrange, though, l suppose, more beautiful,
4 Ut seems awk ward, however, for the present
80 to twine garlands around the dusty col
#umns Of the past.
# 1t would make one laugh If a young travel
Ter should fling flowers and wreathes on the
4 Venerable sepulchre Of Aaron; yet all this
profusion OF ornament with which the pres
# ent generation cover the grandeur the little
WAlCh 10 IN sSoiSSiS ieo' i'oito-
lous. The scene to be related, however, trans
pired before this alteration, though not many
yeais ago.
M Deacon Samuel Burton lay on his dying
#bed. He was an old, grayhaired man, and
Twas to be gathered to his fathers, SO far as
IMMORTAL eyes could see or read the future be-
II fore the rising OF another sun.
III Mr.. Burton had been an active and infuen.
tial man In the da US of his LIE. OF action. One
of the firmest pillars Of the church aud SC.
81 ciety at large he was loved and respected by
n all who knew him. He was one Of those old
fashioned men whose associations are all in
n the past whose ray of life-scenes to be
(8brightened by memory rather than hope
81 with the twilight radence OF joys long past
III rasher than with the dawning Of others ye,
III to come. His disposition was not, however
Il tinctured SO much with the spirit Of conser-
A vatism as to render him morose and child.
n sish, when old things were quietly suffered to
4 pass away, in order to make room for new
j not 30, by any means; but his heartstrings
Il were closely twined around the associations
4 that hallowed the remembrances Of his ear
y lier years. Prominent among other things In
his mind, was deep affection for the ole
style Of church music. II you would wake
that old man 10 newer life, II you would see .
brighter light flash from his faded eye, II yor
would bring happier and more joyous ex
preston over his roughened countenance
you had only to strike, in his hearing, such
tunes q old Ocean," Mortality" or "Aman
da." Tho old man would rise, with the mu.
sic, till his bent form almost straightenet
o0oin and the tea rs would sta rt in your eyei