I, who write this, am a dead man. Dead legally--dead by absolute
proofs--dead and buried! Ask for me in my native city and they will
tell you I was one of the victims of the cholera that ravaged Naples in
1884, and that my mortal remains lie moldering in the funeral vault of
my ancestors. Yet--I live! I feel the warm blood coursing through my
veins--the blood of thirty summers--the prime of early manhood
invigorates me, and makes these eyes of mine keen and bright--these
muscles strong as iron--this hand powerful of grip--this well-knit form
erect and proud of bearing. Yes!--I am alive, though declared to be
dead; alive in the fullness of manly force--and even sorrow has left
few distinguishing marks upon me, save one. My hair, once ebony-black,
is white as a wreath of Alpine snow, though its clustering curls are
thick as ever.

"A constitutional inheritance?" asks one physician, observing my
frosted locks.

"A sudden shock?" suggests another.

"Exposure to intense heat?" hints a third.

I answer none of them. I did so once. I told my story to a man I met by
chance--one renowned for medical skill and kindliness. He heard me to
the end in evident incredulity and alarm, and hinted at the possibility
of madness. Since then I have never spoken.

But now I write. I am far from all persecution--I can set down the
truth fearlessly. I can dip the pen in my own blood if I choose, and
none shall gainsay me! For the green silence of a vast South American
forest encompasses me--the grand and stately silence of a virginal
nature, almost unbroken by the ruthless step of man's civilization--a
haven of perfect calm, delicately disturbed by the fluttering wings and
soft voices of birds, and the gentle or stormy murmur of the freeborn
winds of heaven. Within this charmed circle of rest I dwell--here I
lift up my overburdened heart like a brimming chalice, and empty it on
the ground, to the last drop of gall contained therein. The world shall
know my history.

Dead, and yet living! How can that be?--you ask. Ah, my friends! If you
seek to be rid of your dead relations for a certainty, you should have
their bodies cremated. Otherwise there is no knowing what may happen!
Cremation is the best way--the only way. It is clean, and SAFE. Why
should there be any prejudice against it? Surely it is better to give
the remains of what we loved (or pretended to love) to cleansing fire
and pure air than to lay them in a cold vault of stone,