Dear Brother Winters,—This is the most sorrowful letter I have ever written to you or any one else for publication. I lost my dearly beloved wife on the morning of March 12th, 1893, at twenty-five minutes past five, through pluero-pneumonia, after six days of great suffering. I fondly hoped the Lord had given her to me to smooth my steps to the place appointed for all living. She was a model minister’s wife, and one who adored the doctrines of God her Savior in her walk, like, and conversation. The morning she died I telegraphed to brother James Etheridge that she was dead and at our meeting it gave every one of them quite a shock. They all knew they had lost a kind and…