The little room where we sat was hot and overcrowded, and the thought was
running in my mind continually. "Poor, restless Wallencampers! and how
happy Mr. 'Lihu is not to have any connection with his funeral."
When the procession was about to start for the burying-ground, the
request was made to me that I would blow the horn, even as the bell is
usually tolled on such occasions, for it would seem inappropriate for one
of the Wallencampers to do so, they all having been related to the
deceased.
At such a time, I could not refuse, though the emotions with which I
crossed over to the school-house to perform this grim duty, were of a
nature best known to, and appreciated by, myself. My terror of the
Wallencamp horn had waxed daily. I believed that there was nothing in the
whole world of inanimate things on which I would not sooner have
attempted to sound a funeral dirge. Though capable of some variety of
expression, it had never yet been seduced into emitting any sound in the
least indicative of the designs struggling in the mind of the blower. The
human was paralyzed before it--a mere machine to blow into it and let
come what would. And, now, for the first time in my experience, it took
on a jubilant strain.
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