each console stood an urn of beautiful but severe design. The materials were various: many were of marble of different kinds, the majority of some transparent material. As the thunder rolled above my head, and the lightning-gleam reflected from the polished surfaces revealed the medallions cut in relief, I began to understand, and was filled with a solemn awe.
With some difficulty I found my way back to the parlor, where Utis had just succeeded in restoring the working of the electric light, which appeared to have been paralyzed in some way by the action of the storm. When the ladies had retired. I told Utis of what I had seen. He simply remarked,—
"Though that is called the 'Guest-Chamber,' I ought not to have left you to stumble on it by yourself, and that, too. under such peculiar surroundings. It must have been left open by some chance to-day."
He then proceeded to explain to me their manner of disposing of the dead. For nearly seventy centuries cremation had been practically the only method in use, it having more and more commended itself to the common sense of mankind. "Instead of permitting the remains of our beloved dead to return, as inevitably they must, sooner or later, to their original elements, by a slow and hideous process, we restore by far the greater part to nature by the rapid action of fire, the type of purifying energy. Instead of hiding them away in nooks shunned by all, in recesses where imagination shuns to dwell, we carefully preserve what is practically indestructible of their frames in an honored place in the homes they once loved and brightened. As you must have carried away an un-
