eir enemies to the burning lake.

"The intelligent and humane began to doubt the necessity of such
dreadful and needless torment for every conceivable misdemeanor, and it
was modified, and eventually dropped altogether. Education finally
rooted out every phase of superstition from the minds of the people, and
now we look back and smile at the massive and magnificent structures
erected to the worship of a Deity who could be coaxed to change his mind
by prayer."

I did not tell the Preceptress that she had been giving me a history of
my own ancestry; but I remarked the resemblance with the joyous hope
that in the future of my own unhappy country lay the possibility of a
civilization so glorious, the ideal heaven of which every sorrowing
heart had dreamed. But always with the desire to believe it had a
spiritual eternity.

CHAPTER IX.

I have described the peculiar ceremony attending the burial of youth in
Mizora. Old age, in some respects, had a similar ceremony, but the
funeral of an aged person differed greatly from what I had witnessed at
the grave of youth. Wauna and I attended the funeral of a very aged
lady. Death in Mizora was the gradual failing of mental and physical
vigor. It came slowly, and unaccompanied with pain. It was received
without regret, and witnessed without tears.

The daughters performed the last labor that the mother required. They
arrayed her body for burial and bore it to the grave. If in that season
of the year, autumn leaves hid the bier, and formed the covering and
pillow of her narrow bed. If not in the fall, full-blown roses and
matured flowers were substituted.

The ceremony was conducted by the eldest daughter, assisted by the
others. No tears were shed; no mourning worn; no sorrowful chanting. A
solemn dirge was sung indicative of decay. A dignified solemnity
befitting the farewell to a useful life was manifest in all the
proceedings; but no demonstrations of sorrow were visible. The mourners
were unveiled, and performed the last services for their mother with
calmness. I was so astonished at the absence of mourning that I asked an
explanation of Wauna.

"Why should we mourn," was the surprising answer, "for what is
inevitable? Death must come, and, in this instance, it came in its
natural way. There is nothing to be regretted or mourned over, as there
was in the drowning of my young friend. Her life was suddenly arrested
while yet in the promise of its fruitfulness. The