and all hurled into nothingness by the
blow of one bitter enemy.

"As he had lived, so they carried him to his grave, arrayed gorgeously
in his coffin, lying in high state, not by the sacred altar of a church,
but in the Grand Opera House, which had so long been the centre of his
magnificence. Buried in flowers snow-white, as if gathered for the tomb
of a vestal, glittering with gold, with clouds of perfume floating over
him--in all the pomp of a monarch he was taken from New York, and
carried for a last resting-place to Vermont.

"I wish it had been otherwise. Living as he did, dying as he did, with
the ruin of so many lives involved in his fate, that last journey should
have been taken in simplicity and quietness. The lesson his death
conveys is too solemn for display, too mournful for anything but
stillness. The elements of a great man left Vermont only a few years
ago; New York has sent back the ruins. Let them rest in peace."

Sisters, I did not think it possible that Cousin Dempster could get so
fearfully earnest; his conversation has filled me with thoughts too
solemn for careless utterance. In this man's death I hear a cry for
merciful consideration--a solemn warning--a protest against the headlong
speed with which this generation is trampling respectability under foot.
This man's death is a subject of gossip now, when it should be a subject
of mournful regret.

I do not speak here of the man who killed him, or the cause of his
death. One is a subject that no lady would care to discuss. The other is
in the hands of the law, which should be a sanctuary for the accused.
The evidence has been heard thoroughly, and a jury has decided on it,
merciful or not, its verdict is final.

But for Cousin Dempster, I should not have made this death the subject
of a report, but some things that he has said startled me. Is it true
that the alienation and separation of married people has become so easy
and so fashionable? Can a husband and wife live apart months, years, and
still keep up a pretence or the reality of affection, and be honored as
respectable? I, for one, have no patience with such things. To me,
marriage is a beautiful institution.

Do not smile, sisters; I am not thinking of the great Grand Duke now. In
fact I am not thinking of myself at all. Cousin Dempster's earnestness
has impressed me with apprehension and melancholy; he places this
subject before me in a new light.

The man who is dead was in the ful