THE MODERN CEMETERY. 
59 
upon as a serious limitation to the food-growing of 
the country. After condemning the earth-to-earth 
system and burials in the sea, he said the object of 
cremation was to destroy the organic constituents 
of the body as soon as possible, and thus prevent 
the evil effects of the gases of putrefaction on the 
health of the living. That it was possible to carry 
out cremation efficiently, reverently, and without 
nuisance, had been proved by the establishment in 
this and other countries of crematoria, where many 
bodies had been burnt. One of the advantages of 
cremation was, that the body after death could, 
in the course of a couple of hours, without nuisance 
to anyone, be eonverted into three or four pounds 
of white ashes which were absolutely innocuous. 
The most serious objection that could be urged 
against cremation was, however, that which pointed 
out the danger of the destruction of evidence which 
might, at some future time, be utilised for the dis- 
covery of crime. As a matter of fact, there was 
practically no danger in the loss of traces of possi- 
ble crime by the practice of cremation, because it 
had always been a rule, both adopted by the Cre- 
mation Society of England and in foreign countries, 
that no body should be cremated unless the most 
clear and satisfactory evidence could be adduced 
that nothing in the nature of foul play had occurred. 
It was most important that efficient means should 
be taken to prevent the spread of the disease to the 
living, and this could only be done by the process 
of disinfection. He knew of no disinfection which 
could be relied upon to satisfactorily perform that 
function except great heat. All thinking men de- 
plored the great waste of money taking place in con- 
nection with funerals, and he believed that if cre- 
mation became popular there would be a saving of 
expenditure, amounting annually to a very large 
sum. 
For those who have witnessed the ghastly spect- 
acle of a modern funeral, no description of that bar- 
barous rite is necessary. Who has not seen it all — 
the darkened room, stifling with its mingled odors 
of flowers and disinfectants; the somber, hideous 
casket; the awful ceremony of screwing down the 
lid over the beloved face; the black army of pall- 
bearers; the long, slow, mournful journey to the deso- 
late, disease-breeding cemetery; the damp, dark, 
yawning pit, the lowered coffin, the sickening thud 
of the earth as dust returns to dust. Oh! could the 
most savage race invest death with more terrors than 
this frightful custom of the civilized world? Then 
follows the long process of decay, the darkness, the 
gloom, the weight of the earth upon that dear 
breast, the grave-worm slowing eating his slimy 
way into the flesh which has thrilled under our 
warm kisses? — God! are we not cruel to our dead? 
Compare with this the beautiful ceremony of 
cremation. A snowy cloth envelopes the dead. A 
door swings open noiselessly, and the iron cradle, 
with its burden clothed as for the nuptial bed, rolls 
through the aperture and disappears in a glory of 
crimson light, as a dove sails into the summer sun- 
set skies and is lost to view. There is no smoke, 
no flame, no odor of any kind. Nothing comes in 
contact with the precious form we have loved, but 
the purity of intense heat, and the splendor of great 
light. In a few hours, swiftly, noiselessly with no 
repulsive or ghastly features in the process, the 
earthly part of our dear one is reduced to a small 
heap of snowy ashes. All hail the dawn of a newer 
and higher civilization, which shall substitute the 
cleanliness and simplicity of cremation for the com- 
plicated and dreadful horrors of burial ! — Ella 
Wheeler Wilcox. 
There has been considerable difficulty with re- 
gard to the disposal of the remains of Mr. Kerr, 
who accompanied his brother-in-law. Lord Dunra- 
ven, at the yacht race last year. He was cremated 
and it was the wish of his widow that his ashes 
should be placed in an urn and deposited in a niche 
in the wall of St. Saviour’s church, Belgravia, where 
her husband had been in the habit of attending di- 
vine service during his lifetime. This request, how- 
ever, met with many obstacles; among others, the 
statute based on sanitary grounds which prohibits 
intramural interment of remains. Of course, no 
sanitary objections could be raised to a handful of 
ashes in a small urn, but, nevertheless, the statute 
was in the way and the matter was finally taken in- 
to court, where a decision has been given to the ef- 
fect that the urn containing the ashes may be dep- 
osited under the floor of the church, but not in 
the wall. 
Those who visit the boulder-marked grave of the 
poet John Boyle O’Reilly in Holyhood Cemetery, 
Boston, will find in position the stone from the 
wall of the Dowth (Drogheda) Church, on which 
thirty-four years ago he scratched his initials with a 
nail. It was once the poet’s wish to be buried in 
the church-yard at Dowth, where he was born, but, 
as this could not be, his wife secured the stone in- 
dented with the letters of his name, and it has been 
let into the great rock above his grave. The initials 
“J. B. O’ R.” can be plainly read, but the date ’6o 
has been almost effaced. The medallion executed 
by John Donohue, his sculptor friend, has also been 
placed in position. The medallion is thirty-six in- 
ches in diameter and shows the poet’s head and 
shoulders. The representation is more than life 
size. The face is shown in profile. The poet could 
not have been buried in a spot more after his own 
