the autopsy that more than one instrument must have been used to produce the apparent wounds, and that their direction indicated that they must have been inflicted from behind and were struck downward from above. After the autopsy had been completed the friends of the deceased were permitted to take charge of the remains, and they were removed to an undertaker's establishment within a short distance of his former residence. The process of embalming was successfully carried out, the features being reasonably life-like, and their natural character well preserved; and the body, having been clothed in a suit of broadcloth, was placed in the elegant casket that had been prepared for it. This was of metal, overlaid with French walnut, and heavily mounted in gold, ornamented with silver flowers. Upon each end of the surface filling the two spaces beside the plate, were two large wreaths of gold wheat, intertwined with roses and set off with silver pansies. At close intervals around the top of the casket were heavy gold knobs, and along each side of it a continuous heavy rail of silver was mounted in lieu of handles. The ends of this were decked with heavy gold and silver tassels, the whole effect being very rich. On the massive and elaborately chased silver plate, in the center, were the simple words in English text: PHILIP PATRICK HENRY CRONIN, BORN: August 7th, 1846. DIED: May 4th, 1889. A SISTER'S GRIEF. The first stage of the journey to the tomb was now commenced. Under escort of a number of friends the casket was taken to the Armory of the First Cavalry, on Michigan avenue. Here it was placed upon a catafalque, which had been erected in the center of the vast hall. It had no more than been placed in position, however, when a gray-bearded man, dressed in a gray overcoat and low-crowned hat, stepped to the front and demanded the opening of the casket. "Why?" asked the attendant. "I am his brother-in-law, and his sister here desires to see him." He pointed, as he said this, to a lady of above middle age, gray haired, and wearing a black bonnet and sober, gray shawl, who stood at his side. She was weeping freely, and pressed a handkerchief to her face. The casket was partially opened when a number of the committee of arrangements appeared and ordered the attendants to screw it up again. "Why should the casket be opened?" he asked. "This lady is a sister of the deceased and desires to view the remains," replied the stranger. "Well, I don't know you and don't know whether you are his brother-in-law or not. Where is Mr. Conklin?" At this protest the attendants again commenced to screw up the casket. "I am John Carroll," said the stranger, with dignity. "I came here to-day with my wife from St. Catherines, Ont. I don't know Mr. Conklin or anything about him. If I wanted to insist, I could take charge of the remains and conduct the funeral myself, but all I ask is to let his sister see the body."