A funereal pace being maintained, the mournful procession progressed but slowly; but as the grave, though on the extreme confines of the yard, was no great distance from the stable, it shortly arrived thither. As it drew up at the brink of the grave, Zedekiah’s grief became excessive; and several minutes more elapsed, to the manifest irritation of Abigail, before he could finally resolve himself to consign the poor broom to its last home. Then, having stripped it of the horse-cloth, he lifted it carefully from Abigail’s shoulder, and lowered it into the grave.
The solemn moment of final separation had now arrived; and Zedekiah, to all appearance, felt it severely. But after one passionate outburst, his composure gradually returned; and he proceeded, in a whining tone, and with a stern expression of countenance, to utter his last farewell, in these words:--
“Ashes to ashes, And dust to dust! If death don’t keep thee, The devil must!”
The funeral thus despatched, the afflicted chief mourner, pursuant to the arrangement already set forth, was obliged to tear himself away from the grave, and enter on the design enforced on him by Abigail. Resolved to carry that design into execution, he forthwith accompanied Abigail, who was heartily weary of mourning, and glad to escape, to the kitchen, and prepared to order himself as she should direct.
But both he and Abigail were unexpectedly interrupted in their project. As the latter was deliberating, according to her custom on such occasions, how they could best proceed, they were confounded by the entrance of Shedlock.
His face was as pale as death; his eyes were almost starting from their sockets; and he appeared, at first sight, to be hardly able to stand. His two domestics gazed on him with a feeling of awe; and the communication that he was about to make to them, and which we shall have to record hereafter, was not calculated to compose them.
Providence always watches over its votaries. Asleep or awake, the heart that strives against evil, whether in its own erring nature, or the world around, may lean safely on its presence, and depend on its protection. And, if we view the matter truly, we shall find, on reflection, that we all continually recline on this influence, even when we seem to act under our own prompture. Pause on the unfathomable mystery of our nature! The muscular frame, glowing with health--the wonderful mechanism of the senses--the sight, that reflects on the hidden fabric of the mind, which knows not its own seat, the form and pressure of outward images--the hearing, that conveys to the same untraceable centre the slightest sound--the memory, that records and recalls the past--the active, profound, and undying thought--all may be paralysed in a moment. At what time, then, and in what enterprise, can we rely confidently on our own resources? If never, we are as secure from harm in our sleep, when its approach cannot be seen, as in the wariest period of healthful action.
