And history will record that no good reason could be given why these certain Red Cross officials were _not_ there; and history will further record that the reason must be understood as that in the case of Another when, on a similar occasion, no Pontius Pilate and no politicians were there, but “many women were there beholding from afar.” And finally history will again record that, centuries after the doer of “petty politics” shall have been forgotten, the doer of humane deeds will shine as a fixed star in humanity’s firmament, diffusing her beneficent rays upon the millions, in generations as they successive come and go. XCIX Clara Barton saved too many lives to count. Worcester (Mass.) _Telegram_. The lives he had saved were enough to gain Heaven’s chiefest diadem. CLARA BARTON. God’s plans are known only to Himself. He alone knows what plan He is working out. CLARA BARTON. The grave is but a covered bridge, leading from light to light through a brief darkness. LONGFELLOW. The paths of glory lead but to the grave. GREY. FROM LINCOLN’S FAVORITE POEM Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud? Like a swift-fleeing meteor, a fast flying cloud, A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, He passeth from life to his rest in the grave. WILLIAM COLLINS. CLARA BARTON’S LAST RIDE On her last ride from Glen Echo, Maryland, to Oxford, Massachusetts, Clara Barton went by the Federal Express. She was accompanied by her three friends, Stephen E. Barton, Doctor Julian B. Hubbell and Doctor Eugene Underhill. Every consideration was shown her by her personal friends and the railway company. Because of the fog on New York Bay and certain formalities to be imposed by the New York City authorities, an embarrassing delay was menacing the party. To circumvent the delay the party ignored the advice of the railway authorities to take another route from Jersey City, and continued on to New York. At New York, to make connections with the outgoing train, the party transferred themselves to a covered express wagon. It was nearly midnight. The streets were wet and slippery from the fog. The busy throng of human beings were in their slumbers. The streets were bereft of all things living, save now and then a belated traveler; and silent, except the tread of his footsteps on the sidewalk. The party’s destination, Oxford, must be reached at a certain hour. There must be no delay. The driver was urged to hurry. He became impatient and, turning to one member of the party, asked: “Whom have you got in this box anyway?” Then came the reply: “It’s the body of Miss Clara Barton.” “You don’t mean the Civil War Nurse, the Red Cross woman!” “Yes, that’s the one.”