"The death of Doctor Holmes," said Charles Eliot Norton, "marks the close of an epoch in American literature. He was the sole survivor of the five great New England authors, and he has no successor. This group was a remarkable one. They grew up, as it were, together, and are the product of our New England life in the first half century. Their writings were contemporaneous, and they were bound in the closest ties of friendship. Emerson, Longfellow, Whittier, Lowell, Holmes--no other section of the country can show such a group." "Boston without Doctor Holmes!" exclaimed another friend. "What will it be like? There has been but one 'Autocrat,'--there will never be another!" Yet not only Boston--the whole world mourned the departure of Oliver Wendell Holmes. Within his domain his genius was imperial, and his bright cheery nature endeared him to all humanity. It seemed fitting that Nature herself should weep on the sad burial day of one whose life had embodied her sunshine! The wind mourned, the rain fell continuously, as loving hands bore into King's Chapel, upon Wednesday, October 10, all that was mortal of our famous poet. The simple funeral rites began just at noon. The casket, upon which rested wreaths of pansies and laurels, was borne up the aisle to the wailing organ strains of Händel's "Dead March in Saul." Rev. Edward Everett Hale led the sad procession, reciting in his clear, sympathetic voice, "I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord; he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live." All the seats upon the middle aisle were reserved and occupied by the poet's immediate family and intimate friends, members of the Massachusetts Medical Society, representatives of Harvard College, and delegations from the numerous other societies of which the poet and physician was a member. A beautiful wreath of laurel hung from the south gallery, marking with mute eloquence the vacant pew of the dead poet. The Chapel was filled with a notable assembly, representing the best life of Boston--its intellect, culture, and heart. And probably never at one time had the ancient church held so many venerable personages. Rev. S.F. Smith, the author of "America," and Rev. Samuel May of Leicester, the only surviving classmates of Doctor Holmes, were present, in spite of the inclement weather. Judge Rockwood Hoar, fast nearing the fourscore milestone, Doctor Bartol, Mrs. Julia Ward Howe--all the great poet's friends and contemporaries were there to pay their last tribute. After the reading of passages from the Bible, and a prayer by Rev. Edward Everett Hale, a selection from Mendelssohn's "Elijah," "Oh, rest in the Lord," was sung by Miss Lena Little, followed by a chant, "The Lord is my Shepherd," and a hymn, "O Paradise," by the choir. Then the strains of the "Dead March" again rolled from the organ, and the funeral procession left the Chapel.