Still, in spite of the interesting nature of our conversation, I could not repress my melancholy, and was so depressed that my companion offered the consolatory remark, “That though I was parted from my beloved ones so long as I remained in my own probationary state, they were not deprived of the power of knowing my whereabouts, and were probably rejoicing at the fact that I had been placed in a sphere of action which could not fail to assist my attempts to perfect myself for the higher life.” I was conscious of finding a little consolation in the Principal’s arguments, and remarked that it would have been some additional comfort to me if I could have known where my dear ones were buried, so that, though deprived of their society, I might at least do honour to them by visiting and adorning their last resting place. The Principal did not exactly grasp my meaning at first. When she did, she was horrified. “Is it possible,” she cried in amaze, “that you can contemplate with equanimity the prospect of being laid in the ground to rot in repulsive putrefaction? to be the prey of vermin; to pollute the earth, air, and water around you; and to be the source of death and disease to those whom you have left behind? It is too horrible to think of!” “Why, what would you have us do?” I enquired blankly. “You wouldn’t have us kept above ground, would you?” “I would have you decently cremated, as we all are when we die. How can you expect to be healthy in mind and body, surrounded by the miasmatic emanations of putrifying corpses? It was demonstrated to New Amazonian satisfaction centuries ago that it would be impossible to rid the land of fever and pestilential diseases until this principal source of water pollution was removed. We still have pictures of ancient graveyards, and I can very well imagine what they were like. The hoary, venerable looking church; the funny upright slabs of stone or marble marking the place where several bodies were undergoing the putrefactive process; the pretty flowers and the picturesque trees; the little brooklet, which winds its rippling way through or past the churchyard; its water, looking pure and limpid because it has percolated its way through the dead and decaying remains of your ancestors, and bearing no easily discernible evidence of the deadly impurities of which it is the conveying medium; I see them all, and can even follow the little brooklet as it feeds the waters of a larger stream, and finally becomes a component part of some great river, from which the water supply of one of your immense manufacturing towns is obtained. Very interesting as a picture, no doubt, but when you quietly contemplate the calm endurance of such a horrible state of things—Faugh!”