From the text, "She is not dead, but sleepeth," Rev. George A. Thayer paid a just and beautiful tribute to the spirit passed from our midst. To few, he said, could these words of Jesus be so fittingly applied. Though seemingly dead, she would live in ever-increasing power in the influence she had exerted over other lives. If, from cities and villages far away, from lonely farm-houses, all could to-day be assembled within these walls who had received help and strength from her, large indeed would be the concourse. More truly of her than of most might it be said that she had "joined the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence." It would be well could we all imitate her example in cultivating a love of religious reading, and that habit of religious meditation and communion which was the source of her strength. Her leading characteristic was conscience, an all-dominating power of conscience. Whatever she felt it her duty to do, that she did, at all costs. He closed by reading Bryant's THE CONQUEROR'S GRAVE. Within this lowly grave a Conqueror lies, And yet the monument proclaims it not, Nor round the sleeper's name hath chisel wrought The emblems of a fame that never dies,-- Ivy and amaranth, in a graceful sheaf, Twined with the laurel's fair, imperial leaf. A simple name alone, To the great world unknown, Is graven here, and wild-flowers, rising round, Meek meadow-sweet and violets of the ground, Lean lovingly against the humble stone. Here, in the quiet earth, they laid apart No man of iron mould and bloody hands, Who sought to wreak upon the cowering lands The passions that consumed his restless heart; But one of tender spirit and delicate frame, Gentlest in mien and mind, Of gentle womankind Timidly shrinking from the breath of blame: One in whose eyes the smile of kindness made Its haunt, like flowers by sunny brooks in May, Yet, at the thought of others' pain, a shade Of sweeter sadness chased the smile away. Nor deem that when the hand that moulders here Was raised in menace, realms were chilled with fear And armies mustered at the sign, as when Clouds rise on clouds before the rainy East-- Gray captains leading bands of veteran men And fiery youths to be the vulture's feast. Not thus were waged the mighty wars that gave The victory to her who fills this grave. Alone her task was wrought, Alone the battle fought; Through that long strife her constant hope was stayed On God alone, nor looked for other aid.