April 20.—Grandfather dictated a letter to-night to a friend of his in New York. After I had finished he asked me if I had mended his gloves. I said no, but I would have them ready when he wanted them. Dear Grandfather! he looks so sick I fear he will never wear his gloves again.

May 16.—I have not written in my diary for a month and it has been the saddest month of my life. Dear, dear Grandfather is dead. He was buried May 2, just two weeks from the day that he returned from New York. We did everything for him that could be done, but at the end of the first week the doctors saw that he was beyond all human aid. Uncle Thomas told the doctors that they must tell him. He was much surprised but received the verdict calmly. He said “he had no notes out and perhaps it was the best time to go.” He had taught us how to live and he seemed determined to show us how a Christian should die. He said he wanted “Grandmother and the children to come to him and have all the rest remain outside.” When we came into the room he said to Grandmother, “Do you know what the doctors say?” She bowed her head, and then he motioned for her to come on one side and Anna and me on the other and kneel by his bedside. He placed a hand upon us and upon her and said to her, “All the rest seem very much excited, but you and I must be composed.” Then he asked us to say the 23d Psalm, “The Lord is my Shepherd,” and then all of us said the Lord’s Prayer together after Grandmother had offered a little prayer for grace and strength in this trying hour. Then he said, “Grandmother, you must take care of the girls, and, girls, you must take care of Grandmother.” We felt as though our hearts would break and were sure we never could be happy again. During the next few days he often spoke of dying and of what we must do when he was gone. Once when I was sitting by him he looked up and smiled and said, “You will lose all your roses watching over me.” A good many business men came in to see him to receive his parting blessing. The two McKechnie brothers, Alexander and James, came in together on their way home from church the Sunday before he died. Dr. Daggett came very often. Mr. Alexander Howell and Mrs. Worthington came, too.

He lived until Saturday, the 30th, and in the morning he said, “Open the door wide.” We did so and he said, “Let the King of Glory enter in.” Very soon after he said, “I am going home to Paradise,” and then sank into that sleep which on this earth knows no waking. I sat by the window near his bed and watched the rain beat into the grass and saw the peonies and crocuses and daffodils beginning to come up out of the ground and I thought to myself, I shall never see the flowers come up again without thinking of these sad, sad days. He was buried Monday afternoon, May 2, from the Congregational church, and Dr. Daggett preached a sermon from a favorite text of Grandfather’s, “I shall die in my nest.” James and John came and as we stood with dear Grandmother and all the others around his open grave and heard Dr. Daggett say in his beautiful sympathetic voice, “Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” we felt that we were losing our best friend; but he told us that we must live for Grandmother and so we will.

The next Sabbath, Anna and I were called out of church by a messenger, who said that Grandmother was taken suddenly ill and was dying. When we reached the house attendants were all about her administering restoratives, but told us she was rapidly sinking. I asked if I might speak to her and was reluctantly permitted, as they thought best not to disturb her. I sat down by her and with tearful voice said, “Grandmother, don’t you know that Grandfather said we were to care for you and you were to care for us and if you die we cannot do as Grandfather said?” She opened her eyes and looked at me and said quietly, “Dry your eyes, child, I shall not die to-day or to-morrow.” She seems well now.

Inscribed in my diary:

“They are passing away, they are passing away, Not only the young, but the aged and gray. Their places are vacant, no longer we see The armchair in waiting, as it used to be. The hat and the coat are removed from the nail, Where for years they have hung, every day without fail. The shoes and the slippers are needed no more, Nor kept ready waiting, as they were of yore, The desk which he stood at in manhood’s fresh prime, Which now shows the marks of the finger of time, The bright well worn keys, which were childhood’s delight Unlocking the treasures kept hidden from sight. These now are mementoes of him who has passed, Who stands there no longer, as we saw him last. Other hands turn the keys, as he did, before, Other eyes will his secrets, if any, explore. The step once elastic, but feeble of late, No longer we watch for through doorway or gate, Though often we turn, half expecting to see, The loved one approaching, but ah! ’tis not he. We miss him at all times, at morn when we meet, For the social repast, there is one vacant seat. At noon, and at night, at the hour of prayer, Our hearts fill with sadness, one voice is not there. Yet not without hope his departure we mourn, In faith and in trust, all our sorrows are borne, Borne upward to Him who in kindness and love Sends earthly afflictions to draw us above. Thus hoping and trusting, rejoicing, we’ll go, Both upward and onward through weal and through woe ’Till all of life’s changes and conflicts are past Beyond the dark river, to meet him at last.”

In Memoriam

Thomas Beals died in Canandaigua, N. Y., on Saturday, April 30th, 1864, in the 81st year of his age. Mr. Beals was born in Boston, Mass., November 13, 1783.

He came to this village in October, 1803, only 14 years after the first settlement of the place. He was married in March, 1805, to Abigail Field, sister of the first pastor of the Congregational church here. Her family, in several of its branches, have since been distinguished in the ministry, the legal profession, and in commercial enterprise.

Living to a good old age, and well known as one of our most wealthy and respected citizens, Mr. Beals is another added to the many examples of successful men who, by energy and industry, have made their own fortune.