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his head the kindly eyes looking away from the dead Kensett lying below. Some thoughtful hand sent flowers from Lamp to his best friend and also from his old friend Baker both of whom are in Europe. The services at the church were simple and in excellent taste and a feeling of the profoundest sympathy pervaded the people gathered there, all his personal friends. At the close of the services nearly every one came to look upon his dead face and many men were overcome. Mrs. Ward, Dr Parmelee's daughter whom I have always understood Kensett loved, and if report be true was beloved by her once, lingered a little while about his coffin, stooped and picked up a flower that had fallen to the floor and laid it on his heart, leaned over and smoothed his hair upon his forehead and turned sadly away, who knows with what regrets and tender memories. Towards the last a poor negro came to look at him, some one I dare say that he had been kind to. We took him to the Cemetery in [[L?]] St and he was put into a receiving vault until it should he decided where he is to be buried - and that is the last of Kensett's bodily presence whose spirit is with me more than ever before. When I got back home thoroughly chilled through I found Weir here and soon Eastman Johnson came in and we sat and talked of Kensett until nearly dusk when Johnson went home. Weir and Gifford dined with us and Kensett was with us all the time and has not been absent from my mind today. This morning Gertrude and I went up to his studio to see Mrs. Kellogg whom we fortunately found there and with whom we talked for half an hour. She gave me some of the flowers from his coffin and I shall keep them among my treasures. Then we came home and I went to work upon a little picture I am painting in his memory. I began it before he died but I have never touched it since (and it has nearly all been painted since his death) that I have not thought of him constantly. It is looking out over a quiet but shadowy sea