My Uncle's Funeral Was Decent, But Private, I Knew There Was Nobody
That Respected His Memory; And I Was Determined
That none should be
summoned to sneer over his funeral wines, and make merry at his grave.
He was buried
In the church of the neighboring village, though it was
not the burying place of his race; but he had expressly enjoined that
he should not be buried with his family; he had quarrelled with the
most of them when living, and he carried his resentments even into the
grave.
I defrayed the expenses of the funeral out of my own purse, that I
might have done with the undertakers at once, and clear the ill-omened
birds from the premises. I invited the parson of the parish, and the
lawyer from the village to attend at the house the next morning and
hear the reading of the will. I treated them to an excellent breakfast,
a profusion that had not been seen at the house for many a year. As
soon as the breakfast things were removed, I summoned Iron John, the
woman, and the boy, for I was particular of having every one present
and proceeding regularly. The box was placed on the table. All was
silence. I broke the seal; raised the lid; and beheld - not the will,
but my accursed poem of Doubting Castle and Giant Despair!
Could any mortal have conceived that this old withered man; so
taciturn, and apparently lost to feeling, could have treasured up for
years the thoughtless pleasantry of a boy, to punish him with such
cruel ingenuity?
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