Dealings with the Dead, Volume 2 (of 2)

In Short

This collection of essays offers a window into the mind of a "sexton of the old school," a narrator who treats death not merely as a finality, but as a lens for viewing history. Through anecdotes of colonial Boston, character sketches of eccentric figures, and ruminations on social customs, the book documents a world in transition. The narrator’s voice is sharp, erudite, and deeply skeptical of modern pretense. It survives as a curio of nineteenth-century regional reflection, preserving the atmosphere of a bygone era—complete with cocked hats, long-vanished landmarks, and the peculiar, enduring human tendency to prioritize vanity even in the face of the grave.

The Story

The narrative arc is not linear but circular, orbiting the graveyard as a fixed point from which all human activity radiates. The narrator begins by painting a vivid portrait of Boston’s early "aristocracy," focusing on the sartorial splendor of a past age—scarlet cloaks, velvet breeches, and towering cocked hats. These physical relics serve as placeholders for the men who wore them, men whose lives were shaped by the customs of a provincial capital that was rapidly evolving. As the narrator moves through his recollections, he shifts from the formal to the anecdotal, recounting the sharp wit of figures like Dr. Byles, who navigated the tensions of his time with devastating, often irreverent, humor.

The focus eventually widens to examine the character of the community itself. Through the story of the Presbyterian pastor "Jonny" Moorhead, the narrator captures the transition of Boston’s geography—where "Long Lane" becomes Federal Street and old churches are demolished, symbolizing the loss of a simpler, more cohesive religious life. This leads into a darker exploration of human nature, contrasting the public morality of the city with the "fiendish spirit" of "moon-cursers" and wreckers who haunt the coastlines, waiting to plunder the dead.

The narrative reaches its most reflective state when the sexton considers the domestic and personal lives of his subjects. He tackles the complexities of widowhood, the mercenary nature of courtship, and the strange, performative grief of those who fan a husband's grave to hasten his drying earth. He weaves in historical figures like Peter Faneuil, stripping away the celebratory gloss of funeral orations to look at the man behind the charity. Finally, the narrative turns toward the modern age, lamenting the rise of spiritualism and "rappings," which he views as a dangerous departure from reason. He concludes by observing that the "fashion of these things passeth away," noting that whether it is the folly of the duelist, the pride of the fortune-hunter, or the credulity of those seeking ghosts, the fundamental human character remains unchanged. He leaves the reader with a sense of resignation: while the names on the stones may weather and vanish, the impulses that drove the living—greed, love, vanity, and faith—are the same forces that will continue to fill the churchyards of the future.

How It Unfolds

The vanishing elite The narrator opens by cataloging the elaborate, antiquated attire of Boston’s long-dead gentry. He muses on the symbolism of these artifacts, using them to ground the reader in a concrete, historical reality.

The wit of the pulpit He introduces Dr. Byles as a representative of a sharper, wittier past, using his caustic responses to neighbors and public figures to illustrate the social dynamics of the city.

The changing landscape The narrative shifts to the physical erosion of the past, marking how churches and streets were renamed and rebuilt. This serves as a metaphor for the inevitable erasure of personal history.

The moral landscape The sexton pivots to darker subjects, comparing the historical "moon-cursers" of the coast with the deceptive behaviors of the living. He argues that cruelty and selfishness are persistent, despite the veneer of civilization.

The private life of the public man He examines the character of Peter Faneuil, balancing the town’s laudatory public records against his actual private correspondence. This highlights the gap between public legacy and personal reality.

The final vanity The closing chapters address the modern obsession with spiritualism and the enduring human struggle against mortality. The narrator concludes that society’s preoccupation with the afterlife remains a distraction from the moral responsibilities of the present.

The People

The narrator, a "sexton of the old school," acts as the book’s moral compass. He is a man who has spent enough time among the buried to lose his patience for the performative anxieties of the living. He is critical of the "fortune-hunters" of his day and holds a deep, scholarly disdain for quackery, whether in medicine or spiritualism.

Dr. Byles stands out as the primary historical figure, a man of quick intellect and biting wit. He is not a hero of traditional virtue, but a man who uses humor to puncture the hypocrisy of his neighbors. He wants to maintain his own dignity in a society that he finds increasingly shallow.

Peter Faneuil appears as a figure of genuine substance. Unlike the "flatulent" orators who praise him, the narrator seeks to understand the man through his letters. He finds a figure of real, if stern, charity—a man who gives because it "oozed from his heart," not for social acclaim.

Miss Bungs represents the narrator's more satirical observations. She is a woman defined by her obsessive, cynical belief that every man is a fortune-hunter. Her story serves as a cautionary tale of how suspicion can isolate a person, turning their life into a long, guarded performance against imaginary enemies.

Levi Ames serves as the tragic, if misguided, antagonist of public order. As a burglar who is lionized by the public and coddled by the ministry, he represents the narrator’s frustration with a society that chooses sentimental sympathy over moral clarity.

In Its Own Voice

"Of the last of the Capulets we know nearly all, that it is desirable to know."

The narrator reflects on the obscurity of the past while comparing Boston's vanished aristocracy to well-known figures of literature.

"I have seen one of those enormous cocked hats, which had long been preserved, as a memorial of the wearer's gallantry."

This observation highlights the narrator's preoccupation with physical objects as the only remaining evidence of a person's life and courage.

"In the hour of death, his agony, at the thought of parting from me, was immoderate."

This line is pulled from the narrator’s account of a widow who, while mourning, is already concerned with the speed at which she might be permitted to remarry.

What It's Really About

The central theme of the book is the tension between the transient nature of human life and the persistent, unchanging nature of human ego. The narrator argues that while the fashions, customs, and technologies of society evolve—from the "cocked hat" to the "spiritual rapping"—the underlying motivations of malice, vanity, and charity remain constant. The book functions as an argument for historical perspective; by looking at the "dealings with the dead," the reader is encouraged to see through the current distractions of their own era. It questions the utility of funeral orations, the validity of modern medical and spiritual claims, and the sincerity of public charity. Ultimately, it poses a quiet, haunting question: what will remain of us when the fashion of our time has passed, and we are merely names in a register?

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the slow, deliberate pace of nineteenth-century essayists will find a familiar companion in this book. It is not a plot-driven narrative, but rather a series of strolls through a graveyard of memories, guided by a narrator who is both curmudgeonly and deeply observant. If you appreciate the prose styles of the mid-1800s—rich in allusion, slightly formal, and fond of digression—you will find the tone comforting.

However, the modern reader should be prepared for the book's limitations. The narrator’s world is narrow, reflecting the specific social and racial attitudes of a Bostonian in the mid-19th century. His asides on slavery, his dismissive comments regarding the "Indian doctress," and his general air of elite superiority are products of his time and may feel jarring or insensitive to contemporary sensibilities. Furthermore, the sheer volume of names, dates, and historical references can be dense; this is a book meant to be savored in small doses rather than consumed in a single sitting.

What stays with you is the narrator’s dry wit and his persistent, honest inquiry into why we behave the way we do. He effectively strips away the performative mourning of the Victorian era to reveal the messy, often selfish reality beneath. For those interested in the history of New England, or simply in the art of the cynical, well-crafted essay, the book offers a rare, intimate look at how one person found meaning in the silent company of the past.