Among the congratulations of that day was a large scroll, signed by Mr. Gladstone, the Duke of Argyll, Lord Monck, and some eighty others whose names are widely known. It was a graceful tribute from England to a son of America, who had done perhaps more than any other living man to bring the two countries and the two peoples together.
That golden wedding was the fit coronation of a life of wonderful activity, and all the kindred who met under that roof were grateful for the past, and full of hopes for the future.
But God's ways are not as our ways. Before many months the clouds began to gather. The next summer, when the family were all at their country home, sickness cast its shadow over their dwelling, which grew more grave till November 23d, when the leaves were falling from the trees before their door, the mother of this large household breathed her last. Two months later the eldest daughter, who was also the eldest child of the family, followed. These repeated blows fell heavy on the affectionate heart of the bereaved husband and father, and when to these were added other sorrows still, it seemed as if the clouds were piled one upon another till they darkened all the horizon. The winter was a gloomy one, from its loneliness and its many causes of sadness. But with the returning spring the grass grew green again, and the trees put forth their leaves, and it seemed as if the new life of nature must put life into the heart of man: and when he removed to the country, and began to drive about as of old among the familiar haunts, the beautiful scenery for a time delighted his eye, and the change of air brought a touch of the old spirit, as if perchance his strength were about to return. But it was only a momentary flush, and he soon took to his room, where, as he looked from his windows, and saw the sun going down over the hills beyond the Hudson, it could only remind him that for him the sun of life was about to set forever. Fair was the world without but desolate was the home within, since she who had made its brightness was gone; and here on the 12th of July 1892, the end came.
It was a beautiful morning, and the windows were open, through which the soft summer air floated into the chamber of death, where his three brothers, all that were left of his father's family, with those of his own household, were round his bed, watching the dear pale face. Thus surrounded and beloved to the last, he ceased to breathe.
Two days later a large company from the country round and from the city gathered at Ardsley, and stood on the lawn and the slopes that lead up to the noble trees that shade the dwelling, as Bishop Potter read the blessed words, "I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live."
The next day we bore him away from his home, and from the great city where he had passed his busy life, back to the quiet valley where he was born, and laid him down in the shadow of the encircling hills.[A] "Bury me there," he had said, "by the side of my beloved wife and by my father and mother." The earth closed over him, and all his struggles and his sorrows were buried in the grave.
The man is gone, but the work remains, a work that multiplies itself, for when once a leader and explorer had opened the way, others were swift to follow, so that now there are no less than ten cables stretched across the Atlantic, and every hour of day or night, "when men wake and when they sleep" (for even in the hours of silence the heart is still beating, only a little more slowly), the pulse of life is kept moving to and fro. The morning news comes after a night's repose, and we are wakened gently to the new day that has dawned upon the world. That which serves to such an end; which is a connecting link between countries and races of men; is not a mere material thing, an iron chain, lying cold and dead in the icy depths of the Atlantic. It is a living, fleshly bond between severed portions of the human family, thrilling with life, along which every human impulse runs swift as the current in human veins, and will run for ever. Free intercourse between nations, as between individuals, leads to mutual kindly offices, that make those who at once give and receive, feel that they are not only neighbors but friends. Hence the "mission" of submarine telegraphy is to be the minister of peace. The first message across the deep was "Glory to God in the highest; peace on earth, good will to men," and the first news it brought was that of peace in China. And when again the sea had found a tongue, its first glad intelligence was that the great war between Austria and Prussia was ended. Thus at its very birth was this new messenger baptized in the name of Peace, and consecrated to a service worthy of its name.
"Man marks the earth with ruin: his control
Stops with the shore: upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deed."
Not all! The wrath of man adds to the fury of the elements. To strew the sea with wrecks is the work of lightning and tempest: man's nobler office is to restore what nature may destroy.