The funeral was appointed at ten o'clock A.M. of the 8th. Rev. Chas. Hammond delivered the funeral sermon. The remains were taken to Mount Hope Cemetery; from whence we returned to Isaac Post's, where we tarried over night. We engaged a travelling coach early the next morning, and started for Newark, thirty miles east of Rochester. We arrived at my brother David's about three o'clock P.M. The children all met us at the turn of the lane: all were delighted to see us. We took them in the carriage with us; little Georgie, who was about seven years of age, was wonderfully struck with the appearance of our deep mourning, and said, "Grandma, what makes you all dress so black? Did anybody die?" Mother replied, "Yes, dear, your uncle Calvin died." He replied, "Oh dear, that's too bad." After dinner we all went to sister Maria's, a distance of one mile, taking the children with us. When David and his family went home, little Georgie wanted to stay with us, which he did, and played with little Charlie Smith until bed-time--when they retired and apparently slept well all night. The next morning Georgie felt sick. My brother Stephen harnessed up his horses, and we took him home. They went for the doctor immediately, but he died before twelve o'clock that day. His funeral was on the 12th day of the month. Two Methodist ministers officiated. It was a singular coincidence that two Universalist and two Methodist ministers selected the same Bible text, the same funeral hymns, and the same tunes, at the services in New York, Rochester, and Newark. In my affliction I had not noticed this until mother spoke of it, and said it was evident that the same guardian influences had controlled on all these three occasions, distinct as they were in time, place, and circumstances. It was probably meant that we should recognize and feel the presence of the unseen friends, who thus signified their sympathy with us in our grief. Lizzie, Katie, and myself started for New York on the morning of the 13th, leaving mother and Maggie with David and Elizabeth, who had suffered such a sudden bereavement. I abstain from speaking of the private friendships which grew out of so much opportunity for acquaintance and intercourse with so many out of the best classes of New York society (in the true sense of the word). I am proud as well as happy to have enjoyed such high and precious and ennobling friendships, many of which are not wholly severed even by that death which only makes our friends invisible for a time to our mortal eyes, since a thought, a wish can still bring to me those signal sounds which are as their voices. I will indulge myself here only with a page or two about two semi-angelic women, Alice and Phoebe Cary, who have now risen into the completeness of their angelhood.