January 6th. (in Memoriam.)
A year ago to-day we laid away our precious Elliott. I feel anew the sword of grief that pierced me in that gray, foggy dawn at Zürich, when I realized that I must get up and do something that was undoable. Countless millions know the complete revolt of humanity against the laying of one’s own in the earth. The beautiful Mass at the Liebfrauen Kirche was strength to my soul. Pater Braun’s handsome, earnest face, as he spoke Elliott’s precious name in prayer and supplication, the light playing around the pulpit, and the beatitudes in mosaic against gold—all are graven on my heart. I could only read through tears the words Beati qui esuriunt—Elliott’s life history. And that peaceful hour with him afterward, in the flower-filled room, when we felt that it was only his afternoon rest we were watching over! When they came to cover his face forever I was so uplifted that I could turn those screws myself, instead of leaving it to hirelings to shut the light away from those noble features.
Oh, that loving heart, that crystal brain, with its power of original thought, that gift of industry! How far Elliott might have gone on the road of science! Others will discover and progress, but he, so fitted to lift the veil, has slipped behind it. Oh, my brother!