blies,
grand marshal at funeral processions, the only true yeoman of the
body, over which he exercises a dictatorial authority from the moment
that the breath has taken leave to that of its final commitment to
the earth. His ministry begins where the physician's, the lawyer's,
and the divine's end. Or if some part of the functions of the latter
run parallel with his, it is only _in ordine ad spiritualia_. His
temporalities remain unquestioned. He is arbitrator of all questions
of honor which may concern the defunct; and upon slight inspection
will pronounce how long he may remain in this upper world with credit
to himself, and when it will be prudent for his reputation that he
should retire. His determination in these points is peremptory and
without appeal. Yet, with a modesty peculiar to his profession, he
meddles not out of his own sphere. With the good or bad actions of
the deceased in his lifetime he has nothing to do. He leaves the
friends of the dead man to form their own conjectures as to the place
to which the departed spirit is gone. His care is only about the
exuviae. He concerns not himself even about the body, as it is a
structure of parts internal, and a wonderful microcosm. He leaves
such curious speculations to the anatomy professor. Or, if anything,
he is averse to such wanton inquiries, as delighting rather that the
parts which he has care of should be returned to their kindred dust
in as handsome and unmutilated condition as possible; that the grave
should have its full and unimpaired tribute,--a complete and just
carcass. Nor is he only careful to provide for the body's entireness,
but for its accommodation and ornament. He orders the fashion of its
clothes, and designs the symmetry of its dwelling. Its vanity has an
innocent survival in him. He is bedmaker to the dead. The pillows
which he lays never rumple. The day of interment is the theatre in
which he displays the mysteries of his art. It is hard to describe
what he is, or rather to tell what he is not, on that day: for, being
neither kinsman, servant, nor friend, he is all in turns; a
transcendant, running through all those relations. His office is to
supply the place of self-agency in the family, who are presumed
incapable of it through grief. He is eyes, and ears, and hands, to
the whole household. A draught of wine cannot go round to the
mourners, but he must minister it. A chair may hardly be restored to
its place by a less solemn hand than