“We will now propose a toast to the ladies, and I wish to include our guest of honor, the Princess Shep, from Egypt. This noble lady has left her sarcophagus at the Museum of Art for this occasion, and it is our desire that she be installed in the seat of honor at the head of this table and afterward at the end of the hall where she can see the dancing and hear the speeches, and also hear the epitaphs such as are put upon our graves. This lady has been dead over five thousand years, and has seen much in that time of which we are entirely ignorant. Permit me, ladies and gentlemen, to present the Princess Shep, to whose most marvelous state of preservation we must do honor.” The Princess Shep. At this point he led the Princess, who was greatly hampered by her windings to a chair much higher than the others, and seated her there with much ceremony, at the same time gallantly lifting one of the little brown hands to his grinning mouth. As soon as she was seated the master of ceremonies rapped sharply for order, and then said: “Ladies and gentlemen, we have several friends from Derby, Conn., and part of this evening’s entertainment will consist of hearing them recite their remarkable epitaphs, and so allow me to introduce the ladies first. I have the honor of presenting Mrs. Desire Kimberly, relict of Mr. Israel Kimberly, who exchanged this life for immortality August 21st, 1794, age 28.” Saying this he took the hand of a small ghost, who arose to her feet, and stood bashfully, like a child at school examinations. The tall ghost said: “Mrs. Kimberly will repeat her own epitaph, and I will say here that in spite of its length—its very unusual length—she has managed nearly half of it already.” The lady began in a strident voice and repeated the verses, while the reporter took surreptitious notes, holding his book under the table cloth, for he felt just a little delicate about letting them know he was among them taking notes, but on the other hand he knew that he could never remember anything that had dates, or verses. He desired to be absolutely correct about this epitaph, so he took down as she repeated: “Sacred to the memory of Mrs. Desire Kimberly, who exchanged this life for immortality, August 21st, 1794, age 28.” As she said this one woman near the newspaper man said to the one on the other side that she thought it entirely unnecessary for her to go over all that rigmarole, as the gentleman had just said it. The other lady in blissful ignorance of this byplay continued with her epitaph. The rest was the poetry. “Here she bids her friends adieu, Some angel calls her to the spheres; Our eyes the radiant saint pursue, Through liquid telescope of tears.” She sat down with murmurs of applause all around. The master of ceremonies took his stand again and said while he waved his hand: