ossible, and not to
be an intolerable trial to those about me! Worth living for,--isn't it?

An athlete, eager and glowing in the race of life, transformed by a
thunder-bolt into a palsied and whining cripple for whom there is no
Pool of Bethesda,--that is what has befallen me!

I suppose you read the shocking details of the collision in the papers.
Catalina and I sat, of course, side by side in the cars. We had that day
met in New York, after a separation of years. She had just returned from
Europe. I went to meet and escort her home, and, as we whirled over the
Jersey sands, I told her of all my plans and hopes. She listened at
first with her usual lively interest; but as I went on, she looked me
full in the face with an air of exasperated endurance, as if what I
proposed to accomplish were beyond reason. I own that I was in a fool's
paradise of buoyant expectation. At last she interrupted me.

"Ah, yes! No doubt! You'll do those trifles, of course! And, perhaps,
among your other plans and intentions is that of living forever? It is
an easy thing to resolve upon;--better not stop short of it."

At this instant came the crash, and I knew nothing more until I heard
people remonstrating with Kate for persisting in trying to revive a dead
man, (myself,) while the blood was flowing profusely from her own wound.
I heard her indignantly deny that I was dead, and, with her customary
irritability, tell them that they ought to be ashamed of themselves for
saying so. They still insisted that I was "a perfect jelly," and could
not possibly survive, even if I came to consciousness. She contradicted
them energetically. Yet they pardoned, and liked her. They knew that a
fond heart keenly resents evil prophecies of its beloved ones. Besides,
whatever she does or says, people always like Kate.

After a physician arrived, it was found that the jellying of my flesh
was not the worst of it; for, in consequence of some injury to my spine,
my lower limbs were paralyzed. My sister, thank Heaven, had received
only a slight cut upon the forehead.

Of course I don't mean to bore you with a recital of all my sufferings
through those winter months. I don't ask your compassion for such
trifles as bodily pain; but for what I am, and must forever be in this
life, my own heart aches for pity. Let yours sympathize with it.

I thought to be so active, so useful, perhaps so distinguished as a man,
so blest as husband and father!--for you must kno