“And what kind of horse is that?” demanded Smith.
“It’s a horse that stops before a beautiful piece of scan’ry when the tourist ain’t got the sense to appreciate it,” sweetly replied the driver without looking around.
The travelers sailed on August 25th, reaching New York ten days later, much refreshed but without having received the physical benefits expected.
II
A few weeks later Kern plunged into the campaign of 1906 with his usual vigor, contracting a cold which his weakened physical condition made it impossible for his system to throw off. He began to lose weight, his voice became chronically husky, and after a thorough examination his physician whispered the ominous word—tuberculosis in its incipiency. But with his usual determination he prepared to battle for his life. He had devoted too much of his time to his political activities to have accumulated money, and at the age of fifty-seven his determination to get well, strengthened by his passionate desire to be of further service to his boys of six and seven, he set out for Dr. Von Ruck’s sanatorium at Asheville, North Carolina, about three weeks before Christmas. His letters of that period reflect his intense love for his family. All thought of worldly honors were put aside and his one hope was to be spared for a few years more with his wife and children and in their service. A separation even under less unhappy circumstances was always hard, and it was with a heavy heart that he resigned himself to the inevitable exile. As Christmas approached the pain of the separation was accentuated by the knowledge that he could not share in the home festivities. The day after Christmas he wrote home:
“On yesterday afternoon I received the box and was greatly rejoiced to have the pictures of you all and to have your several letters. The book was pleasing, the cigars good, and the trousers welcome. Christmas passed off all right and we had a great dinner. I send you a menu card. You mustn’t think we have that sort of a meal every day, but we do pretty well—get plenty of eggs and milk, corn bread and buttermilk. On Christmas evening the young people here—patients—turned themselves loose, singing, playing and raising cain, and you wouldn’t have thought this much of a hospital. Yesterday was a beautiful day. I was out most of the time.... I had a long letter from Judge Hackney. It was full of sympathy and affectionate in character and I was deeply touched by it. Also had a similar letter from my old friend, Dan Simms of Lafayette. Had Julia’s letter and enjoyed it very much. I have your pictures ranged around my room, so that it looks a good deal like home.
“It is cloudy to-day but pleasant. I walked a long ways this morning, and am going for another walk this evening.... I am anxious to hear how you got along on Christmas, and whether my dear litle ones were pleased with what Santa Claus did for them. I am uneasy to hear of dear little Billy’s continued sickness with cold. Don’t you think you had better consult a doctor about him? It seems too bad to keep him in the house all winter. I am getting to be a great believer in fresh air, and I can’t believe that it is good for a child as full of life as he is to keep him in a hot room all winter. Let him have fresh air and sunshine whenever possible.
“I am feeling very well to-day and the doctors say I am doing nicely, though they can’t give me much definite information yet. I have the same routine every day, and while it is a little monotonous sometimes the time slips by pretty rapidly. I am glad Christmas is over, and hope that next Christmas we may all be together and be well. It will be a happy day for me when I can be with my dear ones again, and be strong enough to work and make up for all this lost time. Tell John, Jr., that I enjoy his letters very much. He writes just like a man. I know I am going to be very proud of him. Tell Billy that he doesn’t write quite as plainly as John, but that I read his letter over and over again just the same. With lots of love for all of you, I am, as always, your husband, papa, father and daddy.”
During the three months that he was there he endeared himself to all who came in contact with him by the sweetness of his disposition, and even the physicians were impressed with his reluctance to being a burden to them. He passed his time following the doctor’s instructions. He read much light literature from the library of the sanatorium and wrote long letters home, not forgetting individual letters for the children. His rare gift of entering into the thoughts of childhood is illustrated in his letters to John, Jr.
“My Dear Little Man: