Among the many reminiscences came the one sad story of the father's death.
In one of the darkest, sternest hours of my childhood he had held out to
me the kind, paternal hand, and welcomed me to the protection of his own
roof, and the story of his death deeply interested me. It was in substance
this:

The family had returned from some festive scene on Christmas eve, and the
father, leaving them to stable his horses, was so long absent as to
arouse anxiety. They sought him everywhere, but found him not. After a
night of untold suspense the morning revealed to them the shocking sight
of his dead body lying in the corner of an adjoining lot, his face smiling
and peaceful in death, his arms folded and limbs outstretched. He had been
cruelly gored by a creature he had fed and fostered, cherishing it as a
pet among his domestic animals, and it had turned upon him as many
so-called human creatures repay those who have protected and loved them!

They knew not whether his wounds or the intense cold had been the final
cause of death, but such was the sad dawning of their Christmas day, and
so, amid the joy of my reunion with those dear friends, came the sad
thought that--

Ever amid life's roses
Will the sombre cypress be twined,
And wherever a joy reposes,
A dream of sorrow we find.

I feel it due to the various government officials at Washington to give
them an expression of gratitude for the great facilities afforded me in
the way of permits to canvass in the many public departments, knowing
their strict rules and rigid restrictions in this regard.