Now more than ever it seems rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul aloud
In such an ecstasy!
To me, though he was but a stranger, these lines, as he murmured them,
were, since I knew his secret, infinitely pathetic; to his poor wife
they must have meant anguish.
The next morning I called at the hotel to see how Mr. Measure was and
to bid him good-bye. He re-expressed his gratitude for the night's
entertainment, and said he should die with that music in his ears. I
reproved him for talking of dying soon with such certainty.
"Dying men," he said, "can prepare for death with more courage,
composure, and acceptance than those who watch them, and I have no
doubt that you are sorrier for me than I am for myself. Not that I want
to die, but I know I must. I won't be insincere about it. I know I am
going to die very shortly after reaching home, because I have the means
of death always with me. I know that my trouble is incurable and that
it is getting worse. Would you have me a burden on those around me? My
mind, as I grow weaker, will be less clear, less trustworthy; would you
cherish decay?"