O! James Whitcomb Riley! This Man From Down On The Farm--one-while your constant Companion, in work most Congenial, all-while your Faithful Friend--rejoices. and is exceeding Glad, That All Is Well With You! For no one knew, better than you, the Wisdom, the Beauty, of Death! No one the more fully realized the Folly, the Futility, of human Grief! You firmly believed, that he, who follows The Christ; that he, who, in all Humility, bears the Cross; that he, who, in all Gratitude, wears upon his unworthy brow, the imprint of the Kiss Divine!--the Kiss of Forgiveness Complete--you firmly believed, that he ought to be brave enough, strong enough, to meet the Call, whensoever, wheresoever, it may chance to come. You firmly believed that the Call always comes at the Right Moment: that Incompletion Here, finds its Completement There: that every human Life holds--like the Palace of Aladdin--its unfinished Window: that the finite mind, hampered by its mortality, is a clog to any Completion, to any Earthly Perfection. Therefore, feeling, believing, as you did Here, now knowing, as you must _know_ There, this Man rejoices, and is exceeding Glad, That All Is Well With You! O! James Whitcomb Riley Your Nature-on the surface--was Simple, Honest, Open, Direct. It was all of that but--it was More! It was deeper than Tears! It was wider than Laughter! It was more profound, more subtle, than either your spoken Word. or, your written, your printed Thought. You were infinitely better than the Very Best that you ever did! High Praise, but True! Your nature was strangely Complex: There was the Man! There was the Poet! There was the Mystic! The Man could be known--and was--of all men. The Poet could be read--as he was--and he understood. He could Sing--as he did--Songs which caught the Hearts of the People--from the Cradle to the Grave! The Mystic!