Miss Stuart's death seems to close one of the chapters in the history of this city, and to break the last connecting link with its past.The world moves so quickly that the simple days and modest amusements of our fathers and grandfathers have already receded into misty remoteness.We look at their portraits and wonder vaguely at their graceless costumes.We know they trod these same streets, and laughed and flirted and married as we are doing to-day, but they seem to us strangely far away, like inhabitants of another sphere!
It is humiliating to think how soon we, too, shall have become the ancestors of a new and careless generation; fresh faces will replace our faded ones, young voices will laugh as they look at our portraits hanging in dark corners, wondering who we were, and (criticising the apparel we think so artistic and appropriate) how we could ever have made such guys of ourselves.