changed; they broke into
loud lamentations, and he became the best of husbands, best of men:
his lightest words were sacred. Robert Martin now remembered that "poor
Dick" had stood and looked into that little church-yard and said, "If
you outlive me, Bob, bury me in this spot; father lies here." So Robert
Martin went to the church-warden, for leave to do this last sad office.
The church-warden refused, very properly, but the brother's entreaties,
the widow's tears, the tragedy itself, and other influences, extorted at
last a reluctant consent, coupled with certain sanatory conditions.

The funeral was conducted unobtrusively, and the grave dug out of sight
of Gosshawk. But of course it could not long escape observation; that
is to say, it was seen by the clerks; but the directors and manager were
all seated round a great table upstairs absorbed in a vital question,
viz., whether or not the Gosshawk should imitate some other companies,
and insure against fire as well as death. It was the third and last
discussion; the minority against this new operation was small, but
obstinate and warm, and the majority so absorbed in bringing them to
reason, that nobody went to the window until the vote had passed, and
the Gosshawk was a Life and Fire Insurance. Then some of the gentlemen
rose and stretched their legs, and detected the lugubrious enormity.
"Hallo!" cried Mr. Carden, and rang a bell. Edwards, an old clerk,
appeared, and, in reply to Mr. Carden, told him it was one of their
losses being buried--Richard Martin.

Mr. Carden said this was an insult to the office, and sent Edwards out
to remonstrate.

Edwards soon reappeared with Robert Martin, who represented, with the
utmost humility, that it was the wish of the deceased, and they had
buried him, as ordered, in three feet of charcoal.

"What, is the ceremony performed?"

"Yes, sir, all but filling in the grave. Come and see the charcoal."

"Hang the charcoal!"

"Well," said the humane but somewhat pompous director, "if the ceremony
has gone so far--but, Mr. Martin, this must never recur, charcoal or no
charcoal."

Mr. Martin promised it never should: and was soon after observed in the
church-yard urging expedition.

The sad company speedily dispersed, and left nothing to offend nor
disgust the Life and Fire Insurance, except a new grave, and a debt of
nine hundred pounds to the heirs or assigns of Richard Martin.

Not very far from this church-yard was a publi