Wiping a light froth from his lips, the failing senator, with a friend under each arm and a half-dozen volunteer pall-bearers following, solemnly left the chamber to the sound of a dozen busy pens drafting resolutions of respect. A moment later Senator Moffitt walked into the hall, dexterously caught the presiding officer’s eye, and said: “Mr. President, it is my mournful duty to apprise this honorable body of my distinguished colleague’s continued existence. Born of poor but thoughtless parents and educated as a blacksmith; gifted with a penetrating intelligence which never failed in the darkest night to distinguish a five-dollar piece from a nickel, yet blessed with an impartial soul which loved the humbler coin as well, in proportion to its value, as the nobler one; blessed with a benevolence which relieved alike the rich man and the poor—the one of his coin, the other of his character; reared in the principles of religion and giving to the worship of himself an incredible devotion—this great man moved among the property of his neighbors, a living instance of the power of personal magnetism and the strength of political attachment. He was a generous man: one-half of all that he took with his right hand he bestowed upon his left. He was a respecter of Truth, and did not profane her with his lips. He was a patriot: other nations might be more powerful in arms, or more glorious in history, but America was good enough for him if he could get it. Withal, he had a tender heart acutely responsive to indigestion and closely identified with the political history of this state. Mr. President, I move that when the senate adjourn to go to luncheon it do so out of respect to the memory of Henry Vrooman. True, he is no deader than he was when he began to die ten years ago, but, sir, a memorial adjournment may have a deeper and better significance than is visible in a mere conformity to fact: it may entoken a pious people’s readiness to submit to a tardy bereavement.” Senator Moffitt’s motion was peremptorily and contumeliously declared out of order, and that erring statesman dejectedly took his seat a sadder and a nicer man. It saddens to add that he solaced himself by consuming the public stationery in composing the following discreditable epitaph: Step lightly, stranger, o’er this holy place, Nor push this sacred monument aside, Set by his fellow-citizens to grace The only spot where Vrooman never died. 1888. THE END Transcriber’s Notes: - Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). - Blank pages have been removed. - A few obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected, otherwise deliberately inconsistent or inventive spelling has been left as is.