Roses that briefly live, Joy is your dower; Blest be the fates that give One perfect hour; For, though too soon you die, In your dust glows Something the passer-by Knows was a rose. "Velvet-soft in this," Mrs. Spofford continued, "her voice had a ringing gayety whose strange undertone was sorrow when reciting, 'Bend Low, O Dusky Night.'" On Saturday she seemed still her old self, but on Sunday afternoon she became unconscious, and on the morning following came release. So peaceful was the transition that to the watchers it was as if she only passed from sleep into a deeper peace. The lines of the late Father Tabb might almost seem to have been written to describe that fitting end: Death seemed afraid to wake her, For traversing the deep When hence he came to take her, He kept her fast asleep. And happy in her dreaming Of many a risk to run, She woke with rapture beaming, To find the voyage done. The funeral service was held three days later. Friends had sent masses of flowers, and among them she rested, never more beautiful, with only peace on the still face. An incident slight, but at such a moment touching, marked the removal of the casket from the house. As it was borne down the steps a superb golden butterfly flew on just before it, as if it were a visible symbol of the rich spirit now "loosed upon the air." The committal was at Mount Auburn, where her grave is beside that of Mr. Moulton. A beautiful Celtic cross marks the spot where rests all that was mortal of one of the sweetest and most genuine singers of all her century. [Illustration: LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON'S GRAVE IN MOUNT AUBURN, CAMBRIDGE, MASS. _Page 275_] The letters of sympathy sent to Mrs. Schaefer were many and spontaneous, full of individual feeling and of a sense of personal loss on the part of the writers. "I shall always feel grateful for the privilege of Mrs. Moulton's friendship," wrote the Rev. Albert B. Shields, then rector of the Church of the Redeemer. "One of the kindest friends I ever had," wrote Professor Evans, of Tufts College; "no one that I have known had a greater capacity than she for making close friends." "No one loved your mother as I did," was the word from Coulson Kernahan, "and her passing leaves me lonelier and sadder than I can say." Mrs. Margaret Deland spoke of her "nature so generous, so full of the appreciation of beauty, and of such unfailing human kindness." Mrs. Spofford, so long and so closely her friend, said simply: "I miss her more and more as the days go by. I miss her sympathy, her comradeship.... She was inspiringly good and dear to me; and her love will go with me to the last." * * * * * Such extracts might be multiplied, but they are not needed. The affection she felt and inspired must live in the hearts of her friends, and such letters are almost too tender and intimate to be put into cold print.