THE "EARTHLY TABERNACLE." 7 6 7 



Sir Henry Thompson, of England, wrote enthusiastic articles for 

 the leading journals, and an earnest- controversy was kept up for 

 some time. The result has been discussion all over Europe and 

 America, the establishment of cremation societies, and the build- 

 ing of crematories, for the new method differs greatly from the 

 ancient fashion of burning on funeral pyres. The pyre, however, 

 is still in use in India and other parts of the world, reaching its 

 utmost extravagance in Siam, where bodies of the royal family 

 are burned in gorgeous and elaborate temples built of wood and 

 inflammable materials, but adorned and decorated, painted and 

 gilded, to exactly represent their finest architecture. 



There are many things to commend cremation aside from the 

 pretty Indian fancy that fire, the purifier, completes the deliver- 

 ance of the soul from its long-time prison of flesh, and by the 

 smoke and ascending heat forms a path on which the spirit as- 

 cends to its home in the skies, or, as one tribe has it, the soft, 

 warm chariot conveys the released and purified soul toward 

 the sun. 



We, of course, scoff at this, but there are potent arguments 

 that should influence even our profound wisdom — sanitary rea- 

 sons, the health of the living; economical reasons, the much- 

 reduced expense ; even sentimental reasons, the possibility of pre- 

 serving the remains from desecrating touch. Most powerful of 

 all in its favor is the prevention of premature burial. All these 

 are on the side of cremation, and against it is but one — sentiment. 

 It seems more beautiful to lay our friends to rest, softly pillowed, 

 shrouded in satin, inclosed in rose-wood, covered with flowers, and 

 of anything beyond we refuse to think. We erect the imposing 

 marble, set out the blossoming plant, and carry flowers to the 

 spot. The cemetery appeals more strongly to the sentiment than 

 does the crematory. I find no fault with sentiment, but I say it 

 will more appropriately cling around an urn containing the pure 

 ashes of what was once a loved form than about the unmention- 

 able and unimaginable horrors covered by our flowers. 



Moreover, it is to be regretted that we can not rise to the 

 height of Christian philosophy attained by one we call "heathen," 

 and embodied in a poem, some lines of which are quoted above, 

 with a few more of which I will close : 



"Loving friends! be wise, and dry 



Straightway every weeping eye. 



What ye lift upon the bier 



Is not worth a single tear. 

 • «...» 



Cease your tears, and let it lie ; 

 It was mine, it is not I." 



