cure that which
countless numbers seek and strive for directly, and every time so
woefully fail in finding.

There comes to my mind in this same connection another princely soul,
one who loved all the world, one whom all the world loves and delights
to honor. There comes to mind also a little incident that will furnish
an insight into the reason of it all. On an afternoon not long ago, Mrs.
Henry Ward Beecher was telling me of some of the characteristics of
Brooklyn's great preacher. While she was yet speaking of some of those
along the very lines we are considering, an old gentleman, a neighbor,
came into the room bearing in his hands something he had brought from
Mr. Beecher's grave. It was the day next following Decoration Day. His
story was this: As the great procession was moving into the cemetery
with its bands of rich music, with its carriages laden with sweet and
fragrant flowers, with its waving flags, beautiful in the sunlight, a
poor and humble-looking woman with two companions, by her apparent
nervousness attracted the attention of the gate-keeper. He kept her in
view for a little while, and presently saw her as she gave something she
had partially concealed to one of her companions, who, leaving the
procession, went over to the grave of Mr. Beecher, and tenderly laid it
there. Reverently she stood for a moment or two, and then, retracing
her steps, joined her two companions, who with bowed heads were waiting
by the wayside.

It was this that the old gentleman had brought,--a gold frame, and in it
a poem cut from a volume, a singularly beautiful poem through which was
breathed the spirit of love and service and self-devotion to the good
and the needs of others. At one or two places where it fitted, the pen
had been drawn across a word and Mr. Beecher's name inserted, which
served to give it a still more real, vivid, and tender meaning. At the
bottom this only was written, "From a poor Hebrew woman to the immortal
friend of the Hebrews." There was no name, but this was sufficient to
tell the whole story. Some poor, humble woman, but one out of a mighty
number whom he had at some time befriended or helped or cheered, whose
burden he had helped to carry, and soon perhaps had forgotten all about
it. When we remember that this was his life, is it at all necessary to
seek farther why all the world delights to honor this, another
royal-hearted elder brother? and, as we think of this simple, beautiful,
and touchin