going to say—­leave society to take care of itself.  No; that is just what we should endeavor to prevent society from doing.  The world is growing too wise for us gentlemen.  Accordingly, this Interments Bill, by which our interests are so seriously threatened, has been brought into Parliament.  We must join heart and hand to defeat and crush it.  Let us nail our colors—­which I should call the black flag—­to the mast, and let our war-cry be, “No surrender!” or else our motto will very soon be, “Resurgam;” in other words, it will be all up with us.  We stand in a critical position in regard to public opinion.  In order to determine what steps to take for protecting business, we ought to see our danger.  I wish, therefore, to state the facts of our case clearly to you; and I say let us face them boldly, and not blink them.  Therefore, I am going to speak plainly and plumply on this subject.

There is no doubt—­between ourselves—­that what makes our trade so profitable is the superstition, weakness, and vanity of parties.  We can’t disguise this fact from ourselves, and I only wish we may be able to conceal it much longer from others.  As enlightened 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