--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Anderson, Edward H. collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 8 number: 11 published: 1905-09 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Edward H. Anderson, "An Incident of Every-Day Life," *Improvement Era* 8, no. 11 (September 1905): 823–826.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera0811unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera0811unse start_page: 823 end_page: 826 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1905-09) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera0811unse publication_year: 1905 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1905, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # An Incident of Every-Day Life AN INCIDENT OF EVERY-DAY LIFE. BY EDWARD H. ANDERSON. Another death at the hospital! The nurse said it was James L. Peck. * He came from somewhere out near Mill Creek, but no one seemed to know much about him. He was not old, and though he had been sick for months, and in the hospital for some weeks, he was one of the patients that did not himself expect to pass away. For want of better connections, an undertaker was 'phoned for, and, with an eye to business, he communicated with the United States Surveyor General, in whose service, it was learned, Peck had been engaged for over nine years, until he was taken so sick, in October, 1904, that he had been compelled to ask for a leave of absence. This was granted, without pay, and extended, two or three times, by the Commissioner of the General land office. The last extension was to expire July 31, 1905. "No; The government does not provide for the burial of its employees, in case of death," said the officer to the under- taker. "We have helped individually in some cases, but it will not * James L. Peck, civil engineer and draughtsman, born in Pennsyl- vania, March 25, 1850, died after a lingering sickness, at the Latter-day Saints Hospital, Salt Lake City, June ly, 1905. He entered the Gov- ernment civil service,and was engaged October 14, 1895, in the office of the United States Surveyor General for Utah, then under General George W. Snow. He remained in the service under Generals Blair and Anderson, until his death. Prom his savings he had purchased a little home and farm near Mill Creek, Salt Lake county, which his family now own. 824 IMPROVEMENT ERA. be neces3ary in this case, for he had property enough for that." On several occasions, when friends from the office had visited him, Peck had expressed the hope that on the expiration of his leave he would be back at his desk again. He was an engineer of splendid ability. Until his sickness began to wear on him, none were brighter. When the plats bore his initials, there was no need for the chief to worry further about the calculations, — the areas were perfect, if J. L. P. was marked thereon. "Peck is dead." "Peck is dead," flew from 'phone to 'phone, on the night of July 19, 1905. First to the chief clerk, then to all the clerks who could be reached. "He died at the hospital, this afternoon, and will be buried tomorrow afternoon at 2 o'clock. Poor Peck, he is better off!" Promptly at two, at the funeral chapel, a little company had gathered to pay their last respects. Ten of the nineteen present were from the office. The wife and three children were present. The bishop had been asked to conduct the service, but there were no singers, and in fifteen minutes it was all over; for little was known of him who lay dead, and there was not much to say. His work, his toil, his devotion to duty, were mostly hidden in the government townstip plats. Six of his fellow clerks carried the casket to the hearse. Several little hand boquets of flowers, and a wreath of white car- nations, inscribed, "From friends in the office," lay upon it; then the hearse and the family carriage set off to the cemetery at a rapid gait. People looked up from the busy street and said: "Somebody dead!" and passed on about their tasks unmoved. The cemetery lies upon the hillsides, northeast of the city, overlooking the whole green valley. There are lovely lawns and flower-beds, at the entrance. There are green lots, marble head- stones, costly monuments, trees and foliage, but this procession bore up, and up, until the scorched mountain areas lay all about still up the barren hills. There are only single-grave lots here; long rows of wooden headboards stretch up in tiers, separated only by narrow, sunburned spaces where the June-grass lies scorched of the sup, and the gray sage tells its tale of thirst. ^A INCIDENT OF EVERY-DAY LIFE. T 825 At length, at the extreme end of one of these tiers, the pant- ing horses halt. The open grave is ready. The casket is taken by four office friends from the hearse. The flowers are laid aside, revealing the word "Father," in shining letters, on the casket lid. Then the four friends let down the sealed wooden box into parched mother earth, amid the children's and the widow's sobs and tears. A friend is asked to pray: "We dedicate, God, this grave, as the resting place of our friend and fellow workman. May his body rest in peace; may this place be sacred to his name and memory; may he arise with the just on the resurrection day, in Jesus' name. Amen." While the workmen, in seeming lack of both sentiment and feeling, shovel the earth into the open grave, I turn to read the names on the line of wooden headboards. Here is one on whose spot of earth the flowers are scarcely faded, whose grave is trodden upon by the friends who show res- pect to his nearest neighbor! Whose name? Joseph H. Ward!* * Joseph Harvey Ward, missionary, teacher, poet, printer; son of George and Huldah Hicks Ward, born near London, Ontario, Canada, August 16, 1842; died in Salt Lake City, Utah, July 15, 1905. He joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in May or June, 1873, and came to Utah in 1876. In 1880-1 he performed a mission to Ontario, Michigan and Ohio. He baptized nine persons, among them his mother. In 1888, he left for a mission to Europe, traveling in Great Britain, Germany and Switzerland. It was here he learned the German language. He wrote frequently for the Deseret News and on his return published The Hand of Providence, Gospel Philosophy, and Ballads of Life, writing also for the Juvenile Instructor. Since 1897, he has frequently contributed short articles for the Improvement Era. He founded, and for sixteen vears edited and published, the only German paper in Utah, The Salt Lake City Beobachter, a weekly German organ for the American Rocky Mountain region, under the motto "Prove all things; hold fast that which is good." He struggled hard to maintain his publication, did much good with it, but was poorly repaid. When he died, the simply equipped plant —the cases, type, and forms — was all he owned. He was a man of blunt speech, possessed a bright intellect, was somewhat erratic in action and judgment, but had a keen apprecia- tion of the poetic, and was true as steel to the faith. 826 IMPROVEMENT ERA. editor, publisher, author, poet, only five days dead! And so he lies here! last, and perhaps ten thousand children sang Only Sunday the words of his songs; and the organs of a hundred Sabbath Schools will peal forth, next Sunday, in memory of the pioneers, his "Utah, the Queen of the West." And he lies here! So quickly are we ready to return? But before the door of the carriage closed, standing with these thoughts in my mind, I grasped a clear and full glimpse of the scene about me. The salt sea, shining in the hot sun of the west; the cool canyons of the Wasatch; the gray, barren, rough pinnacles of the nrajestic Cot- tonwoods; the Jordan, winding its sluggish way to the lake; the city, a thousand feet below, hidden in the shade of its ten thous- and trees, with its people's pleasures, struggles, ambititions, and schemes! After all, what could be more appropriate and beautiful than a final heritage here, overlooking these scenes? And here, and so, rest my friends, the engineer and the poet! As in life they modestly towered over many, so in death they sleep above us all. Strangers in life; in death, neighbors, their narrow homes side by side! One of the clerks turned and said: "Of what use is effort and struggle for knowledge and ability, with such an end? And well may one ask: "Shall the house of talent, the temple of keen and educated intellect and great ability, so end, and rest unrecognized, neglected and forgotten?" But it is only seeming neglect and forgetfulness. I have hope of everlasting life. The personal earth-struggle which ripens the soul with rich experience is recompense even for such an end: for grass, and trees, and lawns, and flowers, and costly monu- ments, and stately pomp, and weeping multitudes, in their turn, shall pass away; but the rich scholarship of the soul lives on with it forever. The carriage rolled quickly down the slopes, and we were soon lost in the city's crowds, rush and routine. Salt Lake City, Utah.