"We both drink from the same cup, Emma," said he.
Another hymn, a benediction, and the sufferer began to grow weak, as if, indeed, his work was done.
"I am going now, Emma," he whispered. "I'm sorry you can't come with me. In the fall you'll come."
Then there were no more connected sentences, but incoherent syllables of prayer, and whispers of saintly hope, "In the vale—the vale—home yonder—good-by," and at six o'clock that Sabbath evening the gentle-spirited Horton fell asleep in Jesus.
Thus perished a martyr to freedom and equal rights, as sincere and pure a man as God ever welcomed "through great tribulation" to the immortal pleasures of His presence.
To the tender consideration of her friends, never so numerous as now, and to the merciful consolation of Almighty God, who never pitied her as He now pities her, we commend the weeping widow, and pray that she may long live to share the honor of her martyred husband's fame.
THERON BROWN.
Monson, Mass., May 27th, 1874.
A. E. Horton, Esq.