Tribute to Dr. Wells found in the Odd Fellow's Lodge above Yoga Space

ADIEU!

The day is gone; the evening spent; the time for the dawn of the morrow is close at hand; I am experiencing a melancholy moment, and a spirit of frank friendliness impels me to do in death that which would have been a pleasure to do in life: say something in grateful appreciation of the kindly counsel, parental advice and mutual help always extended by the sincere heart and willing hand of a great and good man to the soul oppressed regardless of sex, color, or creed whatsoever. And I do this feeling the impulse of hundreds of loved ones 'round about me who have been the beneficiaries of this benevolence--a self-imposed munificence that could always point to grand and greater things when dark despair would not be subdued.

By training he knew only the human phase of every question. Ere he reached his majority he realized that to pity distress was but human; to relieve distress was Godlike, and the fruits of his effort to alleviate suffering humanity was best appreciated by that vast concourse who, with bowed heads, heard the ritualistic ceremony that marked the ending of the temporary abiding place of one who was universally loved.

I would so love to know his faults--if any he had--that I might bury them beneath a pyramid of benign condescensions that would irradiate his spotless character as the star of hope for that long caravan of travellers who are to follow on the lonesome trail that leads across the Great Divide.

"Dr. Wells is dead!" and there was a hush. Articulate sound seemed difficult.  Words failed of expression.  Silence was the only response.

His death is a loss to his own--a loss that cannot be measured in meaningless words, but through the county and state none but the Recorder of Time will ever know the countless prayers in solemn silence offered when the sad intelligence was flashed that he was no more.

I knew him as a loyal Christian, a prominent citizen, a fellow townsman. He loved his country, his state, his county, his town, his neighbor, his family and his home.  He tried so hard to maintain his home, even after the Grim Reaper had called to her reward the faithful and dutiful wife--the affectionate and loving mother--he tried to maintain that hospitable open-door policy of former years, but all in vain.

He blazed the trail of every path in old Prince George's, and each lead to something better. Every mile-post stands as a shaft today to his unselfishness.  The influence of his peculiar personality will continue to reverberate the many institutions of the county in which he was a prime factor.

I can see the wistful look across the hills of Fort Lincoln as he leave home for the land of sunshine and flowers--indeed a magnificent and deserved setting for the transformation of the new life--eternal in the Heavens.

Friend? Yea, more than friend, Farewell!

H. ANGLIN
Hyattsville, MD.
March 8, 1924