HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT. 
xxxvii 
which exonerates her of all blame, except for oyer-credulousness, 
sensitiveness, and a weak fear of me, who would have died a hundred 
times rather than harm her. I entreat you as my last request, not 
only not to speak, but not to think unkindly of her. 
Never seek to defend my memory at any suit to her discredit— 
only you can assert, for I consulted you before we were married, and 
you know it, that I never cared, much less knew, or inquired any 
thing about her property or troubled her about it. 
Remember, always, that I love her beyond any thing on earth. I 
would even ask you, if it ever be in your power, to protect and assist 
her as my beloved widow. ***** 
Fare you well, old friend; think sometimes of old days, and your 
friend, 
Henry Wm. Herbert. 
The general directions for the funeral (which had an 
attendance of the highest respectability) were faithfully 
obeyed. The corpse was taken to “ the Cedars,’’ and here 
the picture of desolation, caused by the sudden stoppage 
of all “ Frank Forester’s ” little plans of comfort and use¬ 
fulness, seemed sad indeed. Here it was that he had 
hoped to entwine the jessamine of amiability and the lin¬ 
den of conjugal affection among the cedars of glory which 
tower to the skies. But now, under a clouded aberration, 
of his usual life-hearty intellect, our own well-beloved 
“ Frank Forester ” had thrown himself into the arms of 
Death, as if irresistibly impelled by the chastening rod 
of a sorrow which was more than he could endure:— 
“Dear, beauteous Death! thou jewel of the just, 
Shining nowhere but in the dark! 
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, 
Could man out-look the mark! ” 
As the deceased gentleman was himself the son of a 
minister in the Episcopal communion, and well knew that 
the rubrics of the “ Book of Common Prayer ” forbid any 
