In common with several thousand fellow citizens the writer would convey to President George E. Martin, and to his wife and family, an expression of the deep and heartfelt sympathy that is felt by all of us in their recent deep affliction, the loss of the daughter, Ruth, who left us a year ago a beautiful and happy bride to dedicate a new home and household in another state.  For the moment, however, the words that we would speak are choked by our own emotions and sympathies.  So we can merely say, “God bless you in the present hour, soften your sorrow, and sanctify it to future blessing and exaltation.”  For today we print the following sketch written by a bereaved father, which speaks for us all and mingles with our common feelings:

       Kearney, Neb., June 17, 1921.— Dear Mr. Editor:  You asked me to write an obituary of my daughter.  I do not know how a conventional obituary should be written.  Death has not hitherto invaded my family.  The following account of Ruth's life is as I see it:
       Ruth E. Martin was born February 22, 1898, at Dawson, Nebraska.  She was the second daughter of George E. and Alice K. Martin.  She spent the early years of her life in eastern Nebraska.  In January, 1915, she came with the family to Kearney, Nebraska, graduating from the high school of this city in May, 1916, and from the State Normal school in 1918.  On June 23, 1920, she married John T. Nicholas and made her home in Torrington, Wyoming.
       They tell me Ruth died on June 13, 1921, at one o'clock.  To me, that is wrong, though it is true that her life now is not what it had been up to that not to be forgotten hour.  As I write these words, the summer sun streams in brightly, silently, in straight rays that penetrate, purify, and give life.  Ruth is a part of that because she loved it and to some degree became like it.  Her voice comes to her daddy's heart through the full throated lilt of that meadow lark whose glorious singing she loved and copied.  Wherever children's prattle is heard she moves in all but physical existence, for she was one of them and loved them well.
       The tiny infant's cry makes Ruth's presence imminent, for she strove to turn back from the very grasp of Death to attend a wailing baby's need.  She gave her life that her own daughter Ruth might live.  Wherever gracious mercy is shown the erring or the needy, I shall ever see evidence of the most abiding grace of her life.  Whenever hateful things show their ugly heads, I shall see her calm, calculating gaze routing the agents thereof as of yore, or if the case demand, I shall hear her voice, filled with ringing scorn, sear their burning hearts.
       She does not await a problematic, mysterious translation at some uncertain future one of time.  To watchful love, she is now present, potent, endowed with Elysian life that shall not fade.

GEO. E. MARTIN      

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