humanity and universal brotherhood, whose tears as they passed the bier
of the dead singer were the earnest and the best tribute to him who sang
for all. What greater blessing hath man than this? What stronger
assurance can there be of happiness in that life where all is weighed
in the scale of love, and where love is triumphant and eternal?

Sleep, my brother, in the perfect joy of an awakening to that happiness
beyond the probationary life. Sleep in the assurance that those who
loved you will always cherish the memory of that love as the tender
inspiration of your gentle spirit. Sleep and dream that the songs you
sang will still be sung when those who sing them now are sleeping with
you. Sleep and take your rest as calmly and peacefully as you slept when
your last "Good-Night" lengthened into eternity. And if the Horace you
so merrily invoked comes to you in your slumber and bids you awake to
that sweet cheer, that "fellowship that knows no end beyond the misty
Stygian sea," tell him that the time has not yet come, and that there
are those yet uncalled, to whom you have pledged the joyous meeting on
yonder shore, and who would share with you the heaven your companionship
would brighten.

ROSWELL MARTIN FIELD.

BUENA PARK, January, 1896.




Contents of this Little Book