ce of
the fire, the skin bursting open in several places, and a thin fluid
trickling out which adds fuel to the flames. The face shrinks and
vanishes under our eyes, an unpleasant smell of burnt flesh permeates
the air, and in a little while all is over, and the Brahmins gather the
ashes and scatter them on the waters of the sacred Ganges.

Who can wonder that a stranger, witnessing such a ceremony, experiences
in his own breast questions and surmises such as these: Is this, then,
all? Where is the Fakir who mortified his body by all kinds of torture,
who struggled and suffered in order to become acceptable to the gods?
Was there nothing more than that shell, consumed before our eyes? Is the
man who spent half of his life-time gazing into the boundless realm of
space and yearning and longing for the unknown, the infinite, no longer
in existence? Was his longing only a mockery, or was it a foreshadowing
of that which is to come? What would life be if all terminated in the
pyre or in the grave? To what purpose, then, all noble endeavors, whose
aim and object only relate to the uncertain future? The deepest
premonitions of the human soul, and the most beautiful hopes of the
heart, how far are these from the thought that all our feelings, our
loftiest ambitions,--in one word the best part of our being,--can be
annihilated in a crematory! The Fakir whose body was now reduced to
ashes had lived in the faith of his immortality, had worshiped the
deities of his people, because he knew no better, but was he on that
account less welcome in the everlasting mansions?

Formerly the wife was burned alive on the pyre of her husband, but this
practice has been abolished by the English government, although it is
still said to be adhered to secretly in the interior of the country.
That woman is considered very fortunate who can enjoy the privilege of
"sati," that is, be burned alive on the funeral pyre of her husband, for
thereby she secures unquestionable happiness in the next world. So
strongly can religious enthusiasm, even in our days, influence a
sensible and civilized people. We generally suppose cremation in India
to be an imposing ceremony, such as a great pyre, intense heat, which
keeps a devout congregation at a proper distance, etc. Such is not the
case, however; for, leaving out the mourning relatives, it may better be
compared with the hilarious soldiers around the camp-fire roasting the
booty of a nightly raid,--a shote or