and solemn farewell upon their grave; the husband or the father will dig
the pit that is to hold them, beneath the nearest tree; he will himself
deposit them within it, and the wind that whispers through the boughs will
be their only requiem. But then they pay neither taxes nor tithes, are
never expected to pull off a hat or to make a curtsey, and will live and
die without hearing or uttering the dreadful words, 'God save the king.'"

_A Presbyterian Church in Cincinnati._

"It was in the middle of summer, but the service we were recommended to
attend did not begin till it was dark. The church was well lighted, and
crowded almost to suffocation. On entering, we found three priests
standing side by side, in a sort of tribune, placed where the altar
usually is, handsomely fitted up with crimson curtains, and elevated about
as high as our pulpits. We took our places in a pew close to the rail
which surrounded it.

"The priest who stood in the middle was praying; the prayer was
extravagantly vehement, and offensively familiar in expression; when this
ended a hymn was sung, and then another priest took the centre place and
preached. The sermon had considerable eloquence, but of a frightful kind.
The preacher described, with ghastly minuteness, the last feeble fainting
moments of human life, and then the gradual progress of decay after death,
which he followed through every process up to the loathsome stage of
decomposition. Suddenly changing his tone, which had been that of sober,
accurate description, into the shrill voice of horror, he bent forward his
head, as if to gaze on some object beneath the pulpit, and made known to
us what he saw in the pit that seemed to open before him. The device was
certainly a happy one for giving effect to his description of hell. No
image that fire, flame, brimstone, molten lead, or red-hot pincers could