In March were received the letters containing that final record of
his life, which took from the hearts of those who loved him best
the intolerable bitterness, because it told that he had not only
dreamed his dream--_he had attained his Vision._

It was a short, full life journey, and a joyous, undaunted heart
that traversed it. Almost the most beautiful of its attributes was
the joyousness.

He was "glad of Life because it gave him a chance to love and to
work and to play."

He never failed to "look up at the stars."

He thought "every day of Christ."

Sometimes towards evening in dreary November, when the clouds hang
heavy and low, covering all the sky, and the hills are solemn and
sombre, and the wind is cold, and the lake black and sullen, a
break in the dark veil lets through a splash of glorious sunshine.
It is so very beautiful as it falls into the gloom that your breath
draws in quick and you watch it with a thrill. Then you see that
it moves towards you. All at once you are in the midst of it, it
is falling round you and seems to have paused as if it meant to
stay with you and go no farther.

While you revel in this wonderful light that has stopped to enfold
you, suddenly it is not falling round you any more, and you see it
moving steadily on again, out over the marsh with its bordering
evergreens, touching with beauty every place it falls upon, forward