INTRODUCTION.
TO preserve some trace of departed loved ones is a longing of the human heart. It is an instinct that prophesies of immortality. Our friends have left us, but we feel that they are not wholly gone. Their presence seems to linger about us with a hallowing, sacred influence, as a conviction of continued being, and as a hope of anticipated reunion. The ancient Egyptians embalmed their dead, and for long years retained their presence. At an early period monuments were erected, of costly and enduring character, to perpetuate the name and deeds of the illustrious departed. But time has made a mockery of these monuments, in that, while the structures remain, the memory of those for whom they were erected has utterly perished. The tombs in the vicinity of Jerusalem, the massive pyramids near Cairo, are without tenants. The names of the builders are, in many instances, unknown. The Roman poet aptly said of the work which he had written, "Exegi monumentum perennius œre;" and his works are in the hands of students long centuries since monuments, tombs, and epitaphs have passed away. The written page embalms our friends more perfectly than the physician's art with costliest preparations. It preserves, also, not so much the memory of the physical form and features, as of the
