But all these things have passed, as a tale that is told.  They have floated down the current of time, even like the broken masses of ice that are borne so rapidly down our river, and have passed into the broad ocean of eternity.

On the banks of that stream, where the pale face first crossed to hold a council with his red brethren, stands a flourishing village, reared by the hand of civilization, and offering many facilities to the industry of its virtuous and well disposed inhabitants.  It would be pleasant to tell a tale of the times of old, of the deeds of the days of other years, of the Indian that paddled his light canoe upon our river; but this is not the purport of the story.

It is to scan the different scenes as they lay spread out before us, upon the map of busy life.  The day had closed, dark, dreary and cheerless.  The rain and sleet were driven furiously before the wind, and the child of want shrank from the biting blast, as stern necessity drove him forth to meet the peltings of the winter storm.

There was a social gathering at a large, elegantly finished and furnished hall, splendidly illuminated with its brilliant gas lights, diffusing a lustre upon gorgeous trappings with which they were surmounted.

The streets resounded with the rattling wheels of omnibusses, cabs and various vehicles, as they bore the gay and fashionable part of the village to the splendid hall.

Soft music charmed the ear, and floated in sweet melody through the apartment.  Beauty was there, with rosy cheek and brilliant eye.  Fashion displayed her most tasteful arrangements, and each one seemed vieing with the other in elegance of costume.  All looked like the enchanting scenes pictured in fairy tales, and one might almost suppose Alladin’s wonderful lamp was still extant, performing its mysterious spells, and casting a supernatural lustre over the gay group that assembled, to dissipate the cheerless gloom that reigned without, by mirth and hilarity.  And they joined in the mazy dance, and spent the hours of night in joyous revelry.  A sumptuous entertainment was prepared, and everything provided to satisfy the votaries of pleasure.

But as the lively music sounded from that splendid hall, it stole upon the

  “Cold, dull ear of death,”

for, but a few rods distant, lay a female, little passed the meridian of life (who had lived in the same village, and trod in the pathway of life with them many years), wrapped in the shroud of death, and next day to be borne away to the tomb, and shut out forever from all the scenes where she had once been an actress.  But now she would look out upon the world no more.  Her eyes were closed in death, and her ear heard not the wild music that was stealing through her otherwise silent chamber.

All of earth had passed from her vision.  Life, with its stern, cold realities, or its light toned revelry, could awaken no response in her inanimate form.