THE
morning of the day on which the farmer was to be
buried was rendered remarkable by the uncommon
denseness of an autumnal fog. To Mrs Mason's eye it
threw a gloom over the face of nature; nor, when it
gradually yielded to the influence of the sun, and
slowly retiring from the valley, hung as if rolled
into masses midway upon the mountains, did the
changes thus produced excite any admiration. Still,
wherever she looked, all seemed to wear the aspect
of sadness. As she passed from Morison's to the
house of mourning, the shocks of yellow corn,
spangled with dew-drops, appeared to her to stand as
mementoes of the vanity of human hopes, and the
inutility of human labours. The cattle, as they went
forth to pasture, lowing as they went, seemed as if
lamenting, that the hand which fed them was at rest;
and even the robin-red-breast, whose cheerful notes
she had so often listened to with pleasure, now
seemed to send forth a song of sorrow expressive of
dejection and woe.
The house of the deceased was already filled with
female guests; the barn was equally crowded with
men; and all were, according to the custom of the
country, banqueted at the expense of the widow ami
orphans, whose misfortunes they all the while very
heartily deplored. Mrs Mason's presence imposed
silence upon the women; but, in the barn, the
absence of Sandy, who ought to have presided at his
father's funeral, was freely descanted on, and the
young man either blamed or pitied, according to the
light in which his conduct happened to be viewed.
Various reports concerning him were whispered
through the throng; but of his actual situation, all
were evidently ignorant. Amid rumours so various and
contradictory, none knew what to believe; all,
however, agreed in lamenting, that so respectable a
man as the farmer, having two sons grown up to
manhood, should nevertheless have his head laid in
the grave by a little boy. The poor child, on whom
the office of chief mourner thus devolved, looked
grave and sad; but he was rather bewildered than
sorrowful, and in the midst of the tears which he
shed felt an emotion of pleasure from the novelty of
the scene.
At length Mr Gourlay rose, and all was hushed in
silence. Every heart joined in the solemn prayer, in
which the widow and the orphans were recommended to
the throne of grace. The bier was then lifted. From
the garden, to which she had retired apart from the
crowd, Mrs Mason viewed the solemn procession,
which, as the rocks reverberated the dismal note of
the church-bell, tolling at measured intervals,
slowly proceeded to the destined habitation of the
dead. Casting her eyes upon the rustic train who
followed, she could not help contrasting the outward
circumstances of this solemnity with those that had
attended the last event of a similar nature in which
she had been interested. She had seen her noble
master conducted to the grave in all the splendour
befitting his high station. Many were the lofty
plumes that adorned his stately hearse; rich and
brilliant were the banners and trophies that waved
over it. Horses and their riders clad in all the
insignia of woe (the horse and the rider being equal
strangers to the sentiment), had lent their imposing
influence to the spectacle, while a long train of
empty carriages, distinguished by coronets and
armorial bearings, gave notice to the gazers, that
the dust which was about to be consigned to worms
was of high and illustrious descent. But there
neither friend nor neighbour were to be seen. There,
with the exception of a few faithful servants, all
the actors in the solemnity were engaged in
performing a part in which they had no interest.
Here all were interested. The hoary-headed elders,
who had the place of honour next the corpse,
thought, as they looked at it, on the unblemished
life of him who had been so long their associate in
such duties; and wept for the man in whom they hoped
their children's children would have found a friend.
The distant farmers, who had bought and sold with
him, paid the tribute that was due to his character
and integrity; while those with whom he had lived in
the constant intercourse of kindness and good
neighbourhood, betrayed, in their countenances, the
sorrow of their hearts.
She continued to gaze after the mourners, till an
angle of the wall of the churchyard intercepted her
view; soon after all was still. The last toll of the
bell died away upon the distant hills, and gave
place to a silence particularly solemn and
impressive. It denoted the conclusion of that
ceremony which returns dust to dust. 'Where now,'
thought she, 'are the distinctions of rank? Where
those barriers which, in this world, separate man
from man? Even here sorrow embalms the memory of the
righteous alone. When selfishness is silent, the
heart pays its tribute to nought but worth. Why,
then, should those of lowly station envy the
trappings of vanity, that are but the boast of a
moment, when, by piety and virtue, they may attain a
distinction so much more lasting and glorious ? To
the humble and the lowly are the gates of Paradise
thrown open. Nor is there any other path which leads
to them, but that which the gospel points out to
all. In that path may the grace of God enable me to
walk; so that my spirit may join the spirits of the
sanctified—the innumerable host, that ' out of every
tribe, and nation, and language, shall meet together
before the throne of the Eternal, to worship, and
give praise, and honour, and glory, to Him that
liveth for ever and ever.'
From these solemn meditations Mrs Mason was called
to witness the reading of the farmer's will. He had
performed the duty of an honest man in making it
while he was in perfect health ; wisely thinking
that if he deferred it till the hour of sickness he
might then neither have the ability nor inclination
to give his mind to worldly cares.
To his wife he bequeathed a free cottage in the
village, and an annuity which he considered equal to
her wants. To each of his younger children he left
the sum of forty pounds, and to his eldest son the
farm, burthened with the above provision for the
rest of the family. In case the elder son should
choose to go abroad, or enter into business, the
farm was to go to the second, and the elder to have
only a younger child's portion. By a clause in the
will the widow was to retain possession of the farm
till the Candlemas after her husband's death. So
much more consideration had this humble cottager for
the feelings of a wife than is often shown in the
settlements of the rich and great!
The minister, who read the will, addressed himself
in finishing it to the friends and neighbours who
were present, and proposed that they should
alternately lend their assistance in managing the
business of the harvest for the widow and her
family. The proposal was readily agreed to by the
men; while Mrs Mason, on her part, cheerfully
undertook the superintendence of the household work
and dairy, until her cousin should be so far
recovered as to be able to resume the task.
As soon as all the strangers were dismissed, Mrs
Mason informed her cousin of the arrangements that
had been made, with which she appeared perfectly
satisfied. Depressed by grief and sickness, she
still considered her recovery as hopeless, and
submitted to her fate with that species of
quiescence which is often a substitute for the true
spirit of resignation.