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378
The Story of the Atlantic Telegraph
·
Henry M. Field
368
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.
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