The McCook tribune. (McCook, Neb.) 1886-1936, 1897-07-30

ness, and one on which even at this
distance of time do not care to dwell.
/ was deeply attached to my wife; In
deed, she was my first and only love
in the sense in which the word Is gener-
ed but little against the forward march
of the Destroyer. For three months We
fought against him, but he came on as
surely and relentlessly as the tide. and
at last the end was upon us. Before her
death her mind cleared, as the sun
often does in sinking, and she spoke
to me SO sweetly, and yet so hopefully,
that her tender words almost broke
my heart. And yet it was a happy
death. / have seen many people die,
completely borne up across the dark
gulf upon the wings of child-like faith.
All her fears and griefs were for me,
for herself she had none. When at
last she had kissed her boy and babe
him farewell-thank Heaven he was
not old enough to understand what it
meant-and said her last word to me,
she sent for Fanny and kissed her too.
Goodbye, my love-" she said; you
must look after Godfrey and the boy
a sudden idea struck her, she took the
girls hand and placed it in mine.
"You will just suit each other" she
said, with a faint smile, and those were
the last words she spoke.
Fanny colored and said nothing. l
remember thinking afterward that
most women would have cried.
And then the end came and left me
broken-hearted.
1t was the night after the funeral,
and l was walking up and down my
little study, struggling against a dis
tress that only seemed to further over
whelm me the more tried to bear UP
against it, and thinking with that help
less bitterness that does come upon
us at such times, wrapping us, as it
were, in a mist of regret, of the many
little things l might have done to make
my dear wife happier while she lived,
and of the ~irreparable void her loss
had left in my life. 1t vas we'll for her,
! was sure Of that, for what. can be
better than to sleep? But in those
days that certainty of a future in
dividual existence, which l have now
been able through my discoveries to
reach to, was not present with me. 1t
only doomed as a possibility at the end
of an untraveled vista. She vas
gone, and no echo came from
where she was. How could Lknow
that l had not lost her forever?
Or, even if she lived in ONE dim
heaven, that l too should make my
way thither, and find her unchanged:
for remember that change is death!
1t has all passed now. 1 am as sure
as [ write these words that at no dis
tant date l shall stand face to face
with her again, as | am that the earth
travels round the sun. The science
that has unalterably demonstrated the
earth's course has also vindicated that
Unborn instinct Of humanity so much
attacked of late days, and demonstrated
it's truth to me beyond the possibility
of doubt. But l did not know it then.
81 shall never see her again, never"
I cried in my agony, land I have moth
ing left to live for!!'
Perhaps you will not" said a quiet
voice at my elbow, 'but you have your
child and your work left to live for.
And if there is anything in your dis
covery, you will see her through all the
ages"
1t was Fanny, who had come into
the room without my noticing it, and
somehow her presence and her words
brought comfort to me.
ITO BE CoNrITUED.i