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I now began to
observe the friends and immediate connections of the deceased. In all,
there were only seven or eight women, including his wife. There were
four boys and no daughters; for, alas! I forgot to inform the reader
that his fallen daughter was his only one; a fact which, notwithstanding
his guilt, must surely stir up the elements of our humanity in
mitigation of his madness.
This house of mourning was, indeed, a strange, a solemn, and a peculiar
one. The women sat near the bed upon stools, and such other seats as
they had prepared. The wife and his two sisters were rocking themselves
to and fro, as is the custom when manifesting profound sorrow in
Irish wake-houses; the other women talked to each other in a low tone,
amounting almost to a whisper. Their conduct was marked, in fact, by a
grave and mysterious monotony; but after a little reflection, it soon
became painfully intelligible. Here was shame, as well as guilt and
sorrow--here was shame endeavoring to restrain sorrow; and hence the
silence, and the struggle between them which it occasioned.


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