And now comes the saddest event of my life. On the 11th day of November, succeeding, my wife passed away. The previous 21st of March was her eightieth birthday. A short time before that date while at St. Petersburg, Florida, I received from my daughter Elizabeth a letter stating that she intended to have some friends spend an evening with my wife to have a birthday celebration, and requesting me to write some verses and also to send a new silk dress pattern to be presented to my wife on the occasion. I had a premonition that the sad event that later transpired in the fall was not far off. I wrote as cheerfully as I could under the circumstances and sent my daughter a check with which to purchase the silk dress pattern, and the following verses I composed as well as I could with my defective sight. They were read on the occasion, and those present assure me that my wife was cheerful and enjoyed their visit very much: My Dear Wife:-- Elizabeth, our daughter, writes to me That she intends to have some friends to tea; She says she can't invite them all, Because our house is much too small, But she selected just a few, The ones she thinks are dearest most to you. She intends to celebrate, for mother dear, The birthday of her eightieth year, And she requests that I shall write to thee, What she is pleased to call some poetry, And that because I can't be there She'll read it from my vacant chair. She also writes, that while your health is good, That very lately she has understood That you are suffering some distress, And I must buy for you a new silk dress, And send it there together with the poetry, That she could have them both in time for tea.