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Rh The matter-of-fact solemnity, the careless gravity, of those whose employment it is to furnish the coffin, &c.—the customary compliment of "Such a fine corse!" as if the appearance of the dead were their own doing—the importance attached to the trimmings of the shroud and the nails on the lid—the professional pleasantries, ay, pleasantries! handed down from time immemorial—the utter indifference of their proceedings—all natural enough when we think how familiar the spectacle is to them at which our own blood grows cold; but all which is absolute torture to the eye and ear of the survivor.

Francesca took her last look at the muffled figure in the long and narrow coffin, the death-clothes hiding the head, and only allowing the mouth, nose, and brow to be seen, on which were now impressed the ghastly tints of livid decay; and then left the room, sick and shuddering. Yet again she yearned to see that beloved face, even though changed and loathsome. Good God! how dreadful a penalty exacted of mortality, to think that we must turn with unconquerable disgust from all that was once so dear, and with that affection strong in our hearts as ever! And yet the revolting triumphs over the spiritual and the tender feeling. With a hasty step she re