The dear ones left behind—O foolish one and blind.
A day, and you will meet—a night, and you will greet.
This is the death of death, to breathe away a breath
And know the end of strife, and taste the deathless life,
And joy without a fear, and smile without a tear,
And work, nor care to rest, and find the last the best.
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Death-rate Reduced—See Improved Conditions. Death, Religion in—See Religion to Die By. DEATH, SPIRITUAL Says a writer in the North China Herald: One of the facts that ineffaceably cut into my memory during my first winter in New-*chwang was the finding on one morning about New Year's time thirty-five masses of ice, each mass having been a living man at 10 o'clock the preceding night. The thermometer was a good bit below zero. The men had just left the opium dens, where they had been enjoying themselves. The keen air sent them to sleep, and they never wakened. The freezing was only the external manifestation of a spiritual benumbing that long before existed within (Text.)
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Death Swifter than Justice—See Justice Delayed. DEATH, THE CHRISTIAN'S For centuries the world has admired the calmness and fortitude of Socrates in the presence of death, but if Socrates died like a philosopher, Patrick Henry died like a Christian. In his last illness, all other remedies having failed, his physician, Doctor Cobell, proceeded to administer to him a dose of liquid mercury. Taking the vial in his hand, and looking at it for a moment, the dying man said: "I suppose, doctor, this is your last resort?" "I am sorry to say, governor, that it is." "What will be the effect of this medicine?" "It will give you immediate relief, or—" The doctor could not finish the sentence. His patient took up the word: "You mean, doctor, that it will give relief or will prove fatal immediately?" "You can live only a very short time without it," the doctor answered, "and it may possibly relieve you." Then the old statesman said: "Excuse me, doctor, for a few minutes," and drawing over his eyes a silken cap which he usually wore, and still holding the vial in his hand, he prayed in clear words a simple, childlike prayer for his family, for his country, and for his own soul, then in the presence of death. Afterward, in perfect calmness, he swallowed the medicine. Meanwhile Doctor Cobell, who greatly loved him, went out upon the lawn, and in his grief threw himself down upon the earth under one of the trees, and wept bitterly. Soon, when he had sufficiently mastered himself, the doctor returned to his patient, whom he found calmly watching the congealing of the blood under his finger-nails, and speaking words of love and peace to his family, who were weeping round his chair. Among other things, he told them that he was thankful for that goodness of God which, having blest him through all his life, was then permitting him to die without any pain. Finally fixing his eyes with much tenderness upon his dear friend, Doctor Cobell, with whom he had formerly held many arguments respecting the Christian religion, he asked the doctor to observe how great a reality and benefit that religion was to a man about to die. And after Patrick Henry had spoken these few words in praise of something which, having never failed him in his life before, did not then fail him in his very last need of it, he continued to breathe very softly for some moments, after which they who were looking upon him saw that his life had departed.—The Youth's Companion.
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DEATH, THE RING OF
The whole world hates death. In Madrid,
the Spanish capital, in one of its beautiful
parks, stands a statue of its patron saint,
about whose neck hangs a rare and valuable
ring set with pearls and diamonds. It is
never stolen, for nobody wants it. The rea-
