Review.

ART. VIII.-The Duties of Consolation, and the Rites and Customs appropriate to Mourning. New-Bedford, 1825. pp. 16. A. Gerrish, jr.

WE are desirous of doing something to second the suggestions of this sensible little publication. It contains opinions and reasonings, which seem to us highly interesting in themselves, and calculated to be greatly useful. That it will do any thing to change the customs to which it refers, or in any considerable measure to affect publick sentiment in relation to them, we cannot reasonably expect. For nothing is so obstinate as the long established customs of society, in matters of this kind. Fashion, which is so everlastingly mutable in trifles, becomes permanent here, and makes the wisest her unresisting slaves. It seems to many persons little short of sacrilege, to question the propriety of what the world has sanctioned for ages, or to propose the abolishing of those outward signs of respect for the dead, which all nations have made it a study to exhibit. And yet, as they had their origin in a state of barbarism, and have been generally far most imposing and excessive among semi-barbarous people; we cannot be without the hope, that the opinions of civilized nations may be gradually enlightened, and the prescriptive standard of fashion be at length changed for that of reason and truth.

The pamphlet before us draws our attention to two points in relation to the subject of affliction and mourning. We shall do little more than follow the same train of remark. And concerning the first point, which has regard to the manner and spirit in which the duties of consolation may be discharged; we enter fully and most heartily into the views of the writer. His hints are few, but they are powerful. They would do away that forwardness and loquacity of comforters, which is sometimes a greater burden than the sorrow itself. They would leave the pious office of consolation to near and confidential friends, from whom a few words of tenderness and sympathy are more soothing, than all the

long and formal harangues of those, who crowd to the house of sorrow, and talk because they think they must. There is a prevalent mistake in this matter. We feel strong sympathy in a neighbour's sorrow, and would do all in our power to relieve it. Our own heart prompts to it, and our religion enjoins it. We go, therefore, hastily to the sufferer, and pour out our whole stock of religious instructions and trite aphorisms, and think to drive away sorrow and bring in peace, by our much talking. The unhappy mourner is thus beset and thronged by one after another, who harass by their importunity, leave no time for his mind to become settled and calm, no leisure for that quiet and solitary devotion, which is the best of all comforters, and are thus likely to produce weariness and numbness of spirit, rather than the peace of thoughtful resignation. All this proceeds from a sad mistake, and is as ineffective to the purpose as it is common. The house of mourning is no place for any but intimate and near friends. The office of consolation is not for the indifferent and the stranger, but for those whose friendship and piety give them ready access to the troubled heart. And even such, if they would not irritate rather than heal the wound, must address themselves to it, says our author, with great discretion and delicacy, and with tender and respectful piety.

'It is indeed a part of the discernment and delicacy that are required on these occasions, to remember that all human conso lation is feeble, to be modest and unobtrusive, to refrain, in many cases, from the formal undertaking to console the sorrow, that must have way and perhaps ought to be indulged; to yield for a while. to the grief of the afflicted, to share rather than to check or blame it, and by assiduity rather than officiousness, by gentleness rather than loquacity, by the indirect influence of our presence and sympathy to soothe, though we cannot assuage the bitterness of grief.

'True sympathy is respectful. There is nothing more venerable, in its estimation, than genuine grief-there is nothing more holy than unaffected sorrow. It is touched with awe as it enters the house of affliction, and its words are few. With the mourner, it sits down in silence, or uses the gentlest utterance of kindness. It feels instinctively, that all noise and bustle should shrink away from the presence of bereavement. True sympathy will also show a considerate respect for grief, by not urging unseasonably the topicks of religious instruction. There comes a time, indeed, when they should be brought forward and applied with godly simplicity

and faithfulness. But in the first rush and bursting of grief, the mind is not prepared for them; it is either too much occupied or too much overcome to give them admission.'

And if there is ever a time when cold and formal phrases of piety. dealt out as words of course, are intolerable, it must be when they are addressed to a mind, that is alive with all the sensitiveness of grief. The sympathy that is fit and useful, then, needs to be tenderly pious; the themes, the consolations, the hopes of piety must not be strange to it; the fortitude and reliance of piety must not be wanting to it, amidst these scenes that shake to their foundation all earthly hopes.' pp. 2-5.

To the external symbols and ceremonies of mourning, the writer makes several objections, under his second division. The first mentioned, is that of wearing mourning apparel.

'The truth is, these trappings of grief seem to me indifferent and childish, where there is real grief; and where there is not, they are a mockery. If the mourning garb were of a coarser texture, like the ancient sackcloth, there might be something perhaps to plead for its intrinsick fitness; but as it is, it differs from another garb only in colour, and gratifies the pride of appearance, the love of dress, scarcely less than any other apparel.

But the principal objections against the custom of wearing mourning apparel, are, that it is useless, inconvenient, and expensive. For, what use does it serve? To remind me that I am in affliction? I do not need any such memento. To point me out to others as a mourner? I do not wish to be so pointed out. Shall the sable garb be adopted then, because it is grateful to my feelings because it is a kind of solace to me? I can gain no consolation from it.

If, then, the custom is useless, it is still more objectionable, on account of the inconvenience and expense. It is inconvenient, because it throws the care of purchasing and making clothes, upon a family, at the very moment, when on every account, it most needs seclusion and quietness,-when, worn out with care and watching and sorrow, it needs retirement and relief. That the expense

presses heavily upon the poor, is a matter very well known, and I believe, generally regretted. If, then, there is a custom in the community, which is no real benefit, and is a real burden, it would seem a clear inference that it ought to be discouraged. If there be any who fear that they shall be too soon forgotten among men, when they are gone, let them be reminded that it depends upon themselves, not upon the habiliments of their friends; upon their character, not upon their obsequies, whether they shall be remembered. "The memorial of virtue," saith the Wisdom of Solomon,

"is immortal. When it is present, men take example of it; and when it is gone, they desire it; it weareth a crown, and triumpheth forever." pp. 6, 7.

The argument on this point is forcible and just, commending itself to every man's sober sense and deliberate conviction. It may be said, indeed, that while any one is pleased with the thought, that he bears with him, in his mourning habit, a constant remembrance of a departed friend, which reminds both himself and others, that his affection is not forgotten, the indulgence is innocent, perhaps salutary. As to the abuse of these external symbols, by those who comply with custom but are not mourners at heart,-it is disgusting and revolting; yet, in truth, it does no harm, further than to give another proof, that the best and most innocent things are liable to the most unhappy abuse. When, however, we have made the exception of this one class, which is probably not a very large one, we find that the great majority are injured, rather than benefited, by the custom in question. In every case where there is a numerous family connexion, it is clear, that a large proportion are mourners only in form; and is not the equivocation of dress in some sense a moral equivocation? Is not every thing, done or said merely for form's sake, an injury to the moral sensibility, especially in a case of great solemnity? They may not, indeed, think of the matter at all in this light, or give any interpretation to this act; but is not this temptation to do a serious and significant act thoughtlessly, the occasion of great evil? May it not extend to other cases, if allowed in one? May we not possibly trace to this, among other causes, the strange insensibility which prevails to the most striking and meaning forms of religion?

But to pass by this hint,-which, to pursue it properly, would require a pamphlet by itself,-other evils grow out of it, sufficiently great to prove the inexpediency of continuing this custom. Its needless expensiveness is an objection,—a consideration which has much to do with the comfort of life, and not a little with its morality. In many circles, indeed, this is a matter of trifling moment; but far otherwise with the majority. And why in any case, should a family, in all its branches, at the house of heavy bereavement, be distracted and hurried with the preparations of dress, and the gloomy chamber of death be turned into a busy workshop, and made

to resound with the shocking frivolity of talk about mourning ornaments and becoming weeds? Why should the soul, which God has called to prayer, be summoned away to these unnecessary thoughts about the body? Why should the profitable meditation on death and eternity be interrupted,when, perhaps, it was just beginning to work the regeneration of the immortal spirit-by these ill-timed services for time and fashion? These questions belong to all cases; there are others in which we should ask further, why to the load of grief should be added that of debt? When the worthy man, whose utmost industry in his calling but affords a decent competence, has been bowed down by the stroke of God's afflictive providence, why should there be added to this trouble a sudden expense, which shall straiten and harass. him for years, which shall fill him with such anxiety to pay his debt, that he loses all the profit of the affliction, and its whole purpose to his soul is defeated. The custom goes down to the poorest in society; and they must beg or borrow ' respectable mourning,' who are in the extremity of want; who need, greatly and pressingly, both the instructions and consolations of affliction, but are rendered unable to receive either, by having all their time, care, and ingenuity, absorbed in the search after, and the talking about, crape veils and new shoes; whereby their vanity, perhaps, is fed, while their graces are unimproved. It is, indeed, a general objection to this custom, that it tends to promote a foolish and extravagant vanity. That most ridiculous of all classes of pride, the pride of personal appearance, is nourished by it. The gracefulness of costume gives a complacency, which stills the sobs, that ought to have been hushed by religion; and many, who under other circumstances, might have been thinking of serious things, are tempted to think only of themselves.

There is great objection, on this ground, to ever putting a mourning dress upon children. It is to them but a new dress, with an extraordinary opportunity to exhibit it; and they generally hear so much about its being 'becoming,' that they very naturally think its exhibition to be one chief object. And why should we thus turn an opportunity for the most useful impressions, into an occasion for cherishing a pernicious vanity? A child's grief at longest, is short; why hasten its removal by this needless display of unaccustomed