Morning journal and courier. [volume] (New Haven [Conn.]) 1848-1894, 1891-12-05

when this brief but comprehensive colo
guy may be heard:
'Wass a matter, coden Cousin Jack,
youl"
Thee cosn't guess whose dead, you"
mo, no, coden Jack; who ee ar
| Jacks Billy's dead, you. Hawl (hole
| in the 'mine-pitchO went oaff about un n
smash un all to seats"
Thee doesn't say soi'
| for uni'
All is now hustle in the little shop.
| The measure for the "box' has been
/ brought with the aid of "strop" or
string; or the undertaken secures it by an
extraordinary series of professional man
/ euvres about the person of the ''paird-
ner," who as cautiously admits certain
| comparisons regarding his own stature
and that of 'un" who was Smashed all
| to seats"
Then the sleepy prentice" is bundled
out of bed and hurried off the Praze, Hell
| ston or Penzsnce for the coffin handles and
plate, the latter always being huge-ena-
| meled affair more than a foot square The
| lad, shivering with fright, first proceeds to
| the house for the requisite lettering. Then
the dreariest trip on earth is taken by this
| Cornish boy. 1t is often from ten to twen-
| ty miles and return. Nine times out of
ten his route is across bowling moors, over
dangerous paths that literally wind about
pitfalls, or through six-foot lanes where
| the thorn-trees prod and lance him saw
agely. Dark and drear is this trip for any
human. Grewsomely dark and dresr it
| always is for this Cornish prentice, for it
| always rains in Cornwall, and the wind
| forever RACES over the rock-strewn pepin-
| sula so fercely that even the gravestones
are anchored and propped that the sign
posts of the dead may not be blown away.
| lneIpressibly dark and drear it is to this
Cornish lad with the wrath of the
Smashed un" for his only company.
The contry undertaken will complete his
"box" by the next evening. 1t is always
the same in Cornwall-of pine, stained a
rich, dark cherry, with two heavy handles
on each side, the huge enameled plate on
top, upholstered with carpenters shsvings
and cheap white muslin, and provided
| with stout rope handle, like that on an
emigrant chest, at the head and foot.
There are no hearses in this land No
carts, wagons or carriages are ever seen
here at a funeral, unless it be at one of
some member of noble family
The delivery of the coffin for 'slayin'
out" has therefore been for generations a
matter of importance and rude ceremony,
and always by hand. From the universal
dread of these people to come in any man
ner of contact with anything pertaining
the dead, ''carryin' the box" is attended
with some mystery and more difficulty
Usually the undertaker's old cronies, who
know that liquor and perhaps shilling
besides, is at the end of the journey, are
engaged. These, four in number, with
| the "box" on timbers between, and with
the joiner at their head, set out on their
lugubrious journey, which is often one of
many miles.
On arrival at the place of destination
| the 'box" is set down some distance from
/ the house. In accordance with long Gus
/ tom, he enters alone and announces his
| mission. Through just as old a custom a
short period of waiting is then the rule
This ceases as abruptly as it began; when
| the undertaken always asks of the widow,
"Well, jimmy, hast ee got any lickerl The
/ chaps out theirs a little 'fraid" She will
| plenty" He then repairs to the thirsty
| helpers, with the remark, "No fear boys,
long o. Jack. Jinny's got plenty licker::"
| and they will as cheerily reply: "All
| rOight, Tommy, We can stand un nowl'
These matters, essential from time i'm
| memorial, being once adjusted, they are
| followed by a great amount of officious
| measurement; for from first to last every
| possible opportunity for simple impress
Il I
| times the "heading" of the little stairway
| is removed. Perhaps the "bo1" must 90
| in through the second-story window. But
| nothing more terrible could happen than
| to have the "box" come into the house in
any other way than feet first" That
would be an unqualified and absolute pres
age of further death in the same family,
| or to neighbors who We're watching" with
| the family.
In Cornwall watching" with the dead
/ is universally called "settin' oop with Co
| den Jack" Friends and relatives always
| go to the house of mourning and enliven
| the family with memories of other similar
| occasions; of the most marked character
| istics of the deceased; and, all else failing,
| revive the countless uncanny death le-
| gends and superstitions of Cornwall.
These gatherings, however, are never held
/ in the room with the dead. The single
| living room of the Cornish household is
| utilized, and it would not be Cornish
home if the funeral "saffron-cake" and an
| abundance of liquor Were not provided.
BY word of mouth the hour, which is
set by the undertaken, of departing for the
| parish church-for although nearly all
| Cornish folk ara Wesleyan Methodists, ev-
cry Cornishmsn is finally buried with the
| Church of England service-hss been
made known far aud near. Thousands of
folk, all in black, gather to escort the dead
and mourners. Here again the Importance
of the undertaken is observed. He has &C.
| lected a voluntary choir from the crowd
| He appoints the eight "bierers" or bearers.
He brings two chairs from the house and
sets them in the highway. The coffin is
| deposited on these. Then he arranges the
"bierers" and the curious "coffin-ta "
This consists of two polished hectagon
sticks, four feet long, and round at the
ends; and four stout linen napkins" /" two
| feet wide and three yards long. Two of
these are passed through the rope handles,
one at each coffin-end, knotted, and the
sticks are passed through these knots, pro-
viding supporting handles for "bierers," )"
two at the head and two at the foot. Four
other "bierers," two on each side, assist in
carrying the coffin, by passing two nap
kins under the coffin, and the ends up
| through the side handles; for it should be
remembered that the burden must be lite
rally carried often for many miles, and
never once set upon the ground; although,
from another ancient custom, chairs will
be seen set outside every house along the
funeral way.
A dirge is sung while the mourners are
being disposed in due order. Then the
undertaken reads the fret two lines of that
most lugubrious and solemn of all Wes-
leysn hymns
| where'er we go. Ehere'er we be-
| Were marching to the sraye!-
which is the signal for wailing on the part
of the mouInsrs, weird and plaintiye
chanting by the choir, though no others
are allowed TO lift their voices, and for the
slow and measured departure of the dole
full cortege.
All along the way the undertaken is
proudly conducting his functions He Sc
lects helpers who relieve the regular
''bierers," though the latter must always
be in their places when passing a village.
And it would not be Cornish funeral If
he did not command the choir TO sing
"Where'er We Co." as every hamlet or
little collection of houses was approached; /;
If every person orertAken upon the way
did not join the cortege and accompany It
for some distance; If any one coming to-
wards the procession did not instantly
turn backwards on its discovery; If the
choir did not use its utmost powers as the
parish church was finally reached; If the
cortege failed to halt respectful distance
from the church-door until the ''passon"
and sexton had made their appearance,
wholly outside the entrance, to receive it;
If all the women did not wall and weep
during the entire service; If the '.passon," !"
sexton and undertaken were not paid for
their services, at the grave, in coin, in the
| Dresence of the entire multitude: If hun