A Greek Funeral.

A GEEEK FUNEBAL .

( From the Roving Englishman in Turkey . ) He was the brother of a saint , and his friends were rich ; so they dressed him in his best , and they put his turban on his head ( for he was of the old school ) , and they bore him to the tomb upon a bier , and coffinless , after the custom of the East . I joined ' the procession as it swept chanting along the narrow street ; and we all entered the illuminated church together .

The archbishop strode solemnly up the aisle with the priest , swinging censers before him ; and with the odour of sanctity exhaling from his splendid robes . On went the procession , making its way through a stand-up fight , which was taking place in the church ; on through weeping relatives and sobered friends , till , at last , the archbishop was seated on his throne , and the dead man lay before him stiff and stark . Then the same unctuous individual , whom I fancy I have observed taking a part in religious ceremonies all over the world , being yet neither priest nor deacon , bustles up , and he places some savoury herbs on the breast of the corpse , chanting lustily as he does so to save time .

Then the archbishop takes two waxen tapers in each hand ; they are crossed and set in a splendid hand candlestick . He extends them towards the crowd , and seems to bless it mutely , for he does not speak . There is silence ; only disturbed by a short sob which has broken from the overburdened heart of the dead man ' s son . Hush ! It is the archbishop giving out a psalm : and now it begins lowly , solemnly , mournfully at first—the lusty lungs of the burly priests seem to be chanting a dirge . All at once they are joined by the glad voices of children , oh ! so clear and so pure , sounding sweet and far , rejoicing for the bliss of the departed soul .

^ They cease ; and there comes a priest dressed in black robes ; he prostrates himself before the throne of the archbishop , and carries the dust of the prelate ' s feet to his forehead . Then he kisses the archbishop ' s hand , and mounts the pulpit to deliver a funeral oration . I am sorry for this ; he is evidently a beginner , and twice he breaks down and gasps hopelessly at the congregation ; but the archbishop prompts him , and gets him out of this difficulty . A rascally young Greek at my elbow nudges me to laugh , but I pay no attention to him .

Then the priests begin to swing their censers again , and their deep voices mingle chanting with the fresh song of the children ; and again the archbishop blesses the crowd . So now , the relatives of the dead man approach him one by one , crossing themselves devoutly : they take the nosegay of savoury herbs from his breast , and they press it to their lips . Then they kiss the dead man ' s forehead . When the son approaches he sobs convulsively , and has afterwards to be removed by gentle force from the body .

So the relatives continue kissing the body , fearless of contagion ; and the chant of the priests and choristers swells through the church , and there lies the dead man with the sickly glare of the lamps struggling with the daylight , and falling with a ghastly gleam upon his upturned face . Twice I thought he moved , but it was only fancy . The archbishop has left the church , and the relatives of the dead man are

bearing him to his last home without further ceremony . It is a narrow vault just outside the church , and the Greeks courteously make way for me—a stranger . A man jumps briskly into the grave , it is scarcely three feet deep ; he arranges a pillow for the head of the corpse , then he springs out again , laughing at his own agility . The crowd laugh too . Joy and grief elbow each other everywhere in life—why not also at the gates of the tomb ?

Then two stout men seize the corpse in their stalwart arms , and they lift it from the bier . They are lowering it now , quite dressed but coffinless , into the vault . They brush me as they do so , and the daylight falls full on the face of the dead .