“What an awful thing!” said Belch, as the other sat down before the fire.

“Frightful,” said Mr. Condor, placidly, as he lighted a cigar, “but not surprising.”

“Who do you suppose did it?” asked the General.

“Impossible to tell.  A drunken brawl, with its natural consequences; that’s all.”

“Yes, I know; but it’s awful.”

“Providential.”

“What do you mean?”

“Abel Newt would have made mince-meat of you and me and the rest of us if he had lived.  That’s what I mean,” replied Mr. Condor, unruffled, and lightly whiffing the smoke.  “But it’s necessary to draw some resolutions to offer in the committee, and I’ve brought them with me.  You know there’s a special meeting called to take notice of this deplorable event, and you must present them.  Shall I read them?”

Mr. Condor drew a piece of paper from his pocket, and, holding his cigar in one hand and whiffing at intervals, read: 

“Whereas our late associate and friend, Abel Newt, has been suddenly removed from this world, in the prime of his life and the height of his usefulness, by the hand of an inscrutable but all-wise Providence, to whose behests we desire always to bow in humble resignation; and

“Whereas, it is eminently proper that those to whom great public trusts have been confided by their fellow-citizens should not pass away without some signal expression of the profound sense of bereavement which those fellow-citizens entertain; and

“Whereas we represent that portion of the community with whom the lamented deceased peculiarly sympathized; therefore be it resolved by the General Committee,

“First, That this melancholy event impressively teaches the solemn truth that in the midst of life we are in death;

“Second That in the brilliant talents, the rare accomplishments, the deep sagacity, the unswerving allegiance to principle which characterized our dear departed brother and associate, we recognize the qualities which would have rendered the progress of his career as triumphant as its opening was auspicious;

“Third, That while we humble ourselves before the mysterious will of Heaven, which works not as man works, we tender our most respectful and profound sympathy to the afflicted relatives and friends of the deceased, to whom we fervently pray that his memory may be as a lamp to the feet;

“Fourth, That we will attend his funeral in a body; that we will wear crape upon the left arm for thirty days; and that a copy of these resolutions, signed by the officers of the Committee, shall be presented to his family.”

“I think that’ll do,” said Mr. Condor, resuming his cigar, and laying the paper upon the table.

“Just the thing,” said General Belch.  “Just the thing.  You know the Grant has passed and been approved?”

“Yes, so Ele wrote me,” returned Mr. Condor.