undertakers, we must admit that we are of no more use on earth than
scavengers. All the good we do is to bury people's dead out of sight.
Speaking as a philosopher--which an undertaker surely ought to be--I
should say that our business is merely to shoot rubbish. However, the
rubbish is human rubbish, and bereaved parties have certain feelings
which require that it should be shot gingerly. I suppose such
sentiments are natural, and will always prevail. But I fear that
people will by and by begin to think that pomp, parade, and ceremony
are unnecessary upon melancholy occasions. And whenever this happens,
Othello's occupation will, in a great measure, be gone.

I tremble to think of mourning relatives considering seriously what
is requisite--and all that is requisite--for decent interment, in a
rational point of view. Nothing more, I am afraid Common Sense would
say, than to carry the body in the simplest chest, and under the
plainest covering, only in a solemn and respectful manner, to the
grave, and lay it in the earth with proper religious ceremonies. I
fear Common Sense would be of opinion that mutes, scarfs, hatbands,
plumes of feathers, black horses, mourning coaches, and the like,
can in no way benefit the defunct, or comfort surviving friends, or
gratify anybody but the mob, and the street-boys. But happily, Common
Sense has not yet acquired an influence which would reduce every
burial to a most low affair.

Still, people think no more than they did, and in proportion as they
do think, the worse it will be for business. I consider that we have
a most dangerous enemy in Science. That same Science pokes its nose
into everything--even vaults and churchyards. It has explained how
grave-water soaks into adjoining wells; and has shocked and disgusted
people by showing them that they are drinking their dead neighbors.