JJM 
 
 oy: 
 
 Cbree Orations 
 
 -BY- 
 
 >v v 
 
 3no. OP. flrctamkr, CC. D., 
 
 OF THE 
 
 niintKapolis Bar. 
 
 MINNEAPOLIS, MINN.: 
 
 DREW «Sr CO., 
 
 1899. 
 
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 THREE ORATIONS 
 
 BY 
 
 
 JNO. W. ARCTANDER, LL. D. 
 
 OF THE 
 
 MINNEAPOLIS BAR. 
 
 Copyright 1S99, 
 
 by 
 
 Jno. W. Arctanoi:r. 
 
 MINNEAPOLIS, MINN. 
 
 DREW & CO., 
 
 I899. 
 
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 17TH OF MAY ORATION 
 
 DELIVERKD AT THE CELEBRATION OF 
 
 THE NORSEMEN'S SINGING SOCIETY, 
 
 In Harmonia Hall, Minneapolis, 
 on May 17TH, 1895. 
 
 "There was a time when Norway's fame was proudest 
 tale on farthest shore. To be a Norseman was to be a 
 hero none conlcl conquer, and who was proof against 
 all chains of slavery. Yea, soft and silken chains of 
 woman's charms on him were spent in vain. 
 
 The men were Vikings free. The maidens' bosoms 
 swelled with love and longing for a wild and war-like life. 
 
 See, this was Norway's dawn. 
 
 No serfs were there. 
 
 Free men where'er you turned, who dared to look 
 their king in eye. and tell him earnest words, which 
 grated on his ear. 
 
 Away from hearth and home, a free, wild Viking life, 
 with battle and with storm, with joy and victory. 
 
 With pride and swelling hearts we see their stormy 
 tracks marked out on roughest sea — to greenest vale 
 of Ireland, to sunny shores of France, to gates of Rome. 
 to Citv on the Straits of Bosporus. 
 
 t Norway's Independence Day, i 
 
 1 
 
 ; 
 

 I 
 
 Where Norsemen came, there valor, strength and vic- 
 tory did follow in their wake, but also death to enemies. 
 
 As mountain stream of Norway's land hurls foam of 
 spray down wildest dance of cataract, so these old heroes 
 of a hardy race, in wildest dance of warlike deeds struck 
 terror to the human heart, where Norway's ships were 
 sighted. 
 
 This was our Norway's summer day, the day of life 
 and daring Viking's deeds. 
 
 I') ut night must come. 
 
 It came — a long and dreary night, — as only you will 
 find in lands of midnight sun. 
 
 A winter's night, with months for hours of its dark 
 and dreary desolation. 
 
 Storm clouds, black and blasting, swept the land. 
 
 With chains of serfdom on their wrists the men of 
 Norway lay for years — for nearly four times hundred 
 years — at feet of Danish kings, who ruled and ruined 
 men and land with iron rod. 
 
 In thraldom free ideas cannot thrive. The eye grows 
 dull, the brain innocuous, and will of man becomes a 
 
 muscle merely. 
 
 And some fine day, if long enough it last — this blast- 
 ing tyranny, dead is each deed-creating faculty. The 
 spark in human heart, by heaven lent to man, goes out. 
 as fire goes out in flow of water. 
 
 The serf becomes an animal with no desire but that 
 of animals. 
 
 You well might think Ihat servitude of centuries 
 
 
 
In France the banner of most sacred liberty was lifted 
 
 i 
 
 * 
 
 — o 
 
 \ 
 
 would bend the Norseman's neck, — that life was dead A 
 
 and dwindled into nothingness through dreary night of r 
 
 Xorseland's winter. a 
 
 w But this was not to be. A 
 
 a As sometimes, in the land of mid-night sun, in coldest 
 
 f winter night the northern lights will dazzle brighter 
 
 than the light of day almost, so do we find in darkest 
 winter night of Norseman's life, such northern lights, as 
 rising up of Herluf Hyttefad against the tyranny of Sec- 
 ond Christian, the crudest of all the cruel Danish kings, 
 may well be called. a 
 
 And as the northern lights with glorious gleam give f 
 
 promise of the day that once was there and once again J 
 
 will come, so did those rays of light and love of liberty 4 
 
 give hope, that once again the sunlight of the freedom f 
 
 fair of Norway's race would throw its glowing gleam on J 
 
 fjord and crags. 
 
 \ And when it comes, how strong and sweet will be 
 
 4 the day of wakening, as in the valleys of the far-off 4 
 
 f Northland, where yesterday in chains of snow and ice f 
 
 x saw bound the glens and dells, today finds greenest 
 
 i meadows with their many-colored flowers called into life A 
 
 f by one day's summer sun. f 
 
 a It came--the day of light and sunshine bright for a 
 
 f Norway's rockbound shore. 
 
 ) 
 
 # high. 
 
 A In all of Europe's lands the murky thrones, in dark 
 
 A est middle ages reared and raised, were tottering and 
 
 ! _■ . 1 
 
• 
 
 ! 
 
 (5 
 
 -• 
 
 I 
 
 trembling and crumbling into dust. The God-anointed 
 kings in pantry and in attic hid, or to the densest forests \ 
 
 fled. 
 
 The new ideas of the Nineteenth century had come 
 to sit in judgment on people's rights against their crown- 
 ed heads. 
 
 The sacred notes of hymn of liberty struck terror 
 \ to kings' hearts, but harmonies, from heaven sent, took 
 
 root in hearts of younger generations. 
 
 It is the youth in every age that grasps with daring 
 hand the standard of the future hope of liberty. a 
 
 One day it was, as if a stone of large dimensions had 
 suddenly been dropped, by superhuman force, in midst 
 of ocean. 
 
 
 ; 
 
 You have observed, I know, when smallest boy a 
 
 pebble throws in pond or lake: — From deepest bottom i 
 
 bubbles rise, and on the sheet of water soon a ring is f 
 
 formed, quite small at first, — then larger, — then another j 
 
 ring, and so it goes from ring to ring. They grow in I 
 
 i 
 
 strength and width and size, until at last the sheet entire 
 
 is one vast ring of waves, that dash against the farthest a 
 
 shore. ^ 
 
 
 It is tlie waking of the dormant forces of the dee]), 
 who slumbered have for centuries. 
 
 The pebble of the little boy struck home and touched r 
 
 their sleeping brows and woke to life and (\vvd the dor- 
 mant forces of the sea. 
 
 a Thus la\ in dawn of Nineteenth century the sea of 
 
 f human race. 
 
 ) 
 
i 
 
 
 5 
 
 * 
 
 The pebble was the battle cry of libert) . 
 
 It fell into the sea of human hearts, and forces, slum- 
 bering for centuries in deepest layers of humanity, were 
 wakened up and forth were called to life and deed. 
 
 Norway's rocky shore lies far away. Ts washed bi- 
 polar seas. 
 
 The wave took time to reach the rock ribbed coast; 
 but it had gained in force and strength with distance that 
 it came. And when it washed that rocky shore, the 
 sacred hymn of liberty sang through the glens and dells 
 and struck against the time-worn crags, and thousand- 
 voiced the echo screamed and woke to life and liberty a 
 race the world had thought was dead. 
 
 In brightest summer day of May they met on Eids- 
 vold hill, the chosen of a people's will, and planted there, 
 with careful hand, this sprig, that now has blossomed 
 out in full grown tree of liberty. 
 
 It stands there now, with stem so stout, with crown 
 so green and grand, with flowers rich of bloody red. of 
 white and blue, as tricolor, with fruits as sweet as song. 
 
 And in its shade a happy race proclaims to gazing 
 world that liberty can thrive on rocks and crags as well 
 as in the richest soil, when manhood stand abreast and 
 guard the tender plant from stormy blasts of king's 
 attack, as well as mob's assault. 
 
 Let hopes be sent by us tonight, on wings of heartfelt 
 wish, to Norway's shores for future growth of Norse- 
 men's liberty, for sunshine and for happiness of brightest 
 
 summer day for Norway's men and Norway's land, from 
 now till dav of doom. 
 
 i 
 
 ! 
 
 4 
 
8 
 
 That Lord of Hosts may keep His hand protectingly 
 and strong above our Norway's rocky shores and bless to 
 new activity its new born liberty. 
 
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 ORATION ^ 
 
 DELIVERED MARCH i8TH, 1S96, AT THE RIER OF 
 
 Jacob Fjelde, the Sculptor, 
 
 NORWEGIAN TRINITY CHURCH, MINNEAPOLIS 
 
 
 „3eg ffal faa l>oo til \>aa Cle ^uOionumentetS WrbetbS* 
 fomtte§ ^e^ne at teepee en 2aiirbcerfran§, bunben meb Gorges 
 4 3?arber, \)aa Jacob gfielbed 3kare. ^ 
 
 Ten er fimbel, cnfcl og bramfri, fom b,an bat felt), ben f 
 
 £>ebena,ana,ne i leoenbe £ioe. \ 
 
 Ten er fin og gart, fom oar l)au3 oarme rtcie ^unftnerfjcel. $ 
 
 Ten er l0fterici, font oar bjan* SiD iblanbt o§, for ben er f 
 
 £hinftnertong,eme3 tfrone. 
 
 Ten torn fent til (jam, ,Vhinftnerfronen, men ha ben fom, 
 
 om ben bnnbet meb 9iorge3 garber, fom ben fifte ©tlfcn fra 
 
 b,an« gamle gcebrelanb. 
 
 f 3a, 5a! ba, Jacob gjclbe, for S M\, b,oab $)u bar tcenft I 
 
 af rige, ftore ^unftnertanfer! J 
 
 i got 9llt, l)0ab Tn f)ar btjgget og formet meb Tine trofafte, i 
 
 f cvrlitie Shin finer tjcenber! ^ 
 
 Ja! for XHtt, boab Tu bar libt; for gjennem CibelfemeS, 
 $ SabitetS oct ^tybenS lutrenbe Jlbflanuner bcroeb fig Tin Sjffl 
 
 ti( Vt0rrc fooiber, til isibberne, boor Tu faa be ftore *\iinftner= 
 a fnner og tolfeb bem for 00! 
 
 ^ Tat, forbi Tu albrig fbcg Tit ttuuftuertulb! 
 
 ; 
 
 t 
 
* 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 —10 
 
 C: albrig ffjoemmeb Gorges "?caon i Ublcenbige 
 . lib! 
 : : i roarl. for ^illebet af bam, 
 
 Ijin anben ttorc norffe ftiinftner, fen bar StotgeS v ?Jaon til be 
 : rlranbe! 
 
 J 4 ; :r Tine f;'":e ftarffter, icm Tu faa trofaft oiebe bett= 
 n $crr{! 
 
 i .{, forbi, fog 09 elenbig, Xu i!!e funbe flippf Wetelen, 
 jh i'cerf nob ber fulbbragt, oa 1 I ; - DH 
 ..rbeibe er bleoet or en bragent fom bar famiet 
 
 om en Mfefag, l)er boerer i fit c 2*ftei cm en 
 
 ^ c.:mlingen~ og £ningen* Bolrinbing for bet norfte itolf i 
 
 * Omenta! 
 
 Cct faa f^aroel, Tu Darme trofafu Bjcel 
 $ Din Ungbome Sjcerligbeb! vrra Xine faberlofe Bmaa! 5 arDc ^ 
 
 T:ne mange 3>enne: . benne s £d, fom nu, omenb 
 
 filbe, bar Uxrt at ffatte Tit $eerb! 
 
 :roel fra bet norffe i-tolf i Slmerifa, fom ibag jtaar 
 forrigfulbt oeb Tin 3?aare! 
 
 .roel fra gamle }Jorge, fom meb 3orgene Verier 
 for .ng fenber Tig fin ftilfen! 
 
 .roel og <>v. 
 

 THE LAST ORATION 
 
 Rendered into English. 
 
 In behalf of the Ole Bull Monument Association I 
 beg the privilege to place on Jacob Fjelde's bier a laurel 
 wreath wound with Norway's tricolor. 
 
 It is simple, modest and unpretentious, as he was 
 in his lifetime. 
 
 It is fine and tender, as was his own warm, rich artist's 
 soul. 
 
 It is full of promise, as was his life among- us, for it 
 is the crown of the kings of art. It comes late to him. 
 too late, this artist's crown, but then it is wound in the 
 colors of old Norway, as a last greeting- from his father- 
 land, the land he loved so warmly till his dying day. 
 
 Thanks, then, Jacob Fjelde, for all you have thought, 
 of rich and grand artistic thoughts. 
 
 Thanks for all that you have builded and formed with 
 your faithfully honest artist's hands. 
 
 Thanks for all that you have suffered, for from the 
 purifying flames of need and suffering your soul arose 
 to greater heights, where you saw artistic visions bright 
 and beautiful, and faithfully interpreted them to us. 
 
 Thanks because you never once were untrue to the 
 ealline of vour art. 
 
 ! 
 
 ! 
 
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 —12 
 
 Thanks because you never disgraced the spotless 
 escutcheon of old Norway. 
 
 Thanks for your last great masterpiece, the likeness 
 
 of that other great Xorse artist, who carried Norway's 
 tame to farthest shore. 
 
 Thanks because, sick and suffering, you could not 
 drop your chisel till this, the grandest effort of your 
 life, was completed. 
 
 Thanks because your last great work has gathered 
 the Xorse clans here in one great National enterprise 
 which promises us a beautiful sunrise of greater har- 
 mony and unity among your countrymen dwelling in this 
 great land. 
 
 And now farewell, you true and faithful soul. Fare- 
 well from the love of your youth; from your little or- 
 phan children; from your many friends; from this our 
 great city, that now at last appreciates your worth. 
 
 Farewell from the Norsemen of America who today 
 stand mourning at your bier. 
 
 Farewell from old Norway who, with pearls of sor- 
 row in her eyes, sends you her last greeting. 
 
 Farewell forever! 
 
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 OEATIOIT 
 
 DKLIVEREI) IN 
 
 I.ORING PARK, MINNEAPOLIS, 
 
 W —AT— 
 
 The Unveiling of the Ole Bull 
 * Monument, 
 
 IwCAJlT 17TH, 1897, 
 
 \ 
 
 J J 
 
 A TO AN AUDIENCE OF OVKR 2^,000 PEOPLE. 
 
 j * 
 
 Mr, Governor, Mr. Mayor, Ladies and Gentlemen: 
 i You have all heard, I know, of the Norse Vikings A 
 
 f t of old who plowed the treacherous seas and valiantly f 
 
 placed them on his country's brow. 
 
 He garnered untold treasures and brought them to 
 
 steered for foreign shores, there to win fame, fortune and 
 I fair women. 
 
 Leif Erickson, the intrepid Norseman who discovered 
 a the Xorth American continent four hundred years be- 
 
 A fore Columbus first dreamed of a land toward the set- 
 
 ting sun, was one of them. f 
 
 r . * 
 
 a Even the Nineteenth Century has its brave and dar- » 
 
 ^ ing Viking. His name is Ole Bull. i 
 
 Like the Vikings of old, he boldly sailed his ship to * 
 
 a foreign ports. \ 
 f He won well-deserved laurel wreaths of faine and 
 
 d ne garnereu uruoiu treasures ana nrnugnr cnem to 
 
 f his native shore, there with them to rear temples in f 
 
 
 
 J 
 
J 
 
 * 
 < 
 
 It— 
 
 which the cult of the National spirit of his fatherland 
 could be for all time maintained. 
 
 He robbed sunny France of her fairest lily and 
 brought her to Norway's mountain cathedral, there to 
 share his throne as the uncrowned emperor in the realm 
 of music and song. 
 
 And when all Europe, from Cape Finisterre to the 
 Siberian frontier, lay conquered at his feet, he, like his 
 great prototype, Leif Erickson, steered west, toward the 
 new world, to the great republic beyond the seas. 
 
 His tour was a triumphal march from Sandy Hook- 
 to (iolden Gate: from Montreal to Xew Orleahs. 
 
 :,'; ;'r :-c 
 
 Those of a generation, now fading fast away, who 
 have sat under the magic spell of his mighty bow can 
 tell you the secret of his power of conquest. 
 
 It was not his thorough school, for he had none. 
 
 He often said that his master on the violin was "the 
 mountains of Xorway." 
 
 He had bent a listening ear to the mysterious songs 
 and melodies of the weird nature of Xorway. 
 
 He had gazed deeply into the hearts of this strange, 
 melancholy race of sturdy Xorsemen, dwelling in the 
 shadows of the eternal snows. And the secrets which 
 he thus had learned he set to music. 
 
 All those of us who had the privilege of listening to 
 him. will readily, with vivid emotions, recall the moments 
 when he lured from out the deepest recesses of his vio- 
 lin the soft.soothing. sympathetic strains of sadness, sor- 
 n w and suffering. 
 
 : 
 
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i 
 
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 —15— 
 
 The notes fell from his bow like a shower of white 
 flowers into our ears, into our hearts, into our souls. 
 
 They clogged the trickling stream of blood from 
 open heart wounds. 
 
 They covered with the beauty of their downy softness 
 the ugly scars of lacerated souls. 
 
 The beatitude of peace, of loving rest, of soothing 
 harmony stilled every aching nerve. 
 
 Our hearts did beat in sympathetic time for the sor- 
 rows of others, the surest, sweetest cure for heart-aches 
 of our own. 
 
 :|c :|: :•: 
 
 To us from Norway's shores, his greatness is his 
 smallest claim for favors. 
 
 We love him most because in all the solemn hours 
 of his greatest triumphs he hoisted high above his head 
 our Norway's flag with that same spirit which animates 
 the Briton to plant the Union Jack on every shore where 
 British ships have never touched before. 
 
 When highest honors came to him he never failed to 
 paint in warmest colors, in a language understood by 
 every human heart, the pine-clad mountain shores of 
 Norway, its deep and winding fjords, the wild roar of its 
 mountain cataracts, the soft sweet ripple of its rivulets, 
 the scented perfume of its forest pine, the duets of its 
 nightingales, the virgin and eternal snow on thousand 
 mountain peaks, its long and lonesome, dreary, 
 dreamful winter nights, the summer glories of its mid- 
 night sun. the song and story of this strange race of 
 sturdy, stubborn yeomanry, of fair and blue-eyed maid- 
 
 
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t 
 
 
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 —16— 
 
 ens, the strife and struggles of this hardy people, its battle 
 with the winds and waves, its battle for existence and its 
 still more exalted battle for independence and for free- 
 dom, until all Europe, yea, until all the civilized world 
 turned its sympathetic eyes toward the little mountain 
 kingdom close up under the eternal snow, of which it 
 hardly had heard mention made before. 
 
 Ole Bull was the ambassador of Norway, not only to 
 the courts of Europe, but to the hearts of all the civilized 
 nations, with no royal mandate forsooth, on parchment 
 sealed and signed, but by the higher authority of the 
 impulse of his own noble, manly heart, and by right of 
 that all-absorbing love he bore his native land. 
 
 He left the gates of entrance to the outside world ajar 
 for others of his race so that when, later on, the great 
 Norse poets, Bjornson and Ibsen, had a serious and 
 earnest message to deliver to the nations of the world 
 they only had to follow in his beaten path and, thanks 
 to him, at once met hearty welcome and open ears. 
 
 5jC 9fg SfS 
 
 Norway for centuries had been a province under Den- 
 mark, when, in 1814, a few chosen spirits set it free and 
 made an independent Nation of it. 
 
 Centuries of servitude will curb the neck and dull 
 the thoughts of any race, however sturdy it may be. 
 
 The forces which have slumbered during the long 
 vcars of dependence must be awakened to new life be- 
 fore a new-made Nation can successfully assert itself. 
 
 ( )le I hill felt intuitively that in order for Norway to 
 regain its old time glory it was necessary to awaken its 
 
 
 ', 
 
17- 
 
 Xational spirit which had been slumbering for centuries, 
 and he set about this work at once. 
 
 He spent a fortune which his violin had made for 
 him, and what was more, some of the best and most vig- 
 orous years of his life in building up a Norwegian Na- 
 tional stage, Norwegian National music, Norwegian Na- 
 tional literature, in short, all that was National in Nor- 
 way: with the constant purpose thereby to enable his 
 native land one day to take its proud place among the 
 independent Nations of the world. 
 
 He became the standard bearer of what was called 
 "the young Norway." the standard bearer of all that 
 stood for patriotism, for hope, for the promises of the 
 future. 
 
 It has been said, and truly said, of Norway's greatest 
 poet, Bjornstjerne Bjornson, "that to mention his name is 
 equivalent to hoisting the Norwegian flag," but with as 
 much truth might it well be said that whenever, during 
 the 50's and 6o's, Ole Bull's name was spoken in Nor- 
 way it was in effect like hoisting Norway's flag and the 
 Stars and Stripes of free America, side by side in sweetest 
 unison. 
 
 5 
 
 Because through his great art Norway's fame went 
 to farthest shores; because of what he has done to 
 make Norway truly great and free and independent, we 
 Norwegian Americans have raised him tin's statue. We 
 have raised it here in America because, faithful son of 
 Norway as he was. he learned to love the people of this 
 great Republic. 
 
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 -18— 
 
 When kings in vain did sue for favors, fellowship 
 and friendship at his hand, he cast his lot among us, and 
 oast it here because he loved our institutions; because 
 lie was proud of our free government; because he felt at 
 home among a free people. 
 
 1 [e once said: 
 
 "Next to being born in Norway. 1 deem it the great- 
 est honor ever bestowed on me that I have been per- 
 mitted to become an American citizen." 
 
 We have built this statue here as an object lesson to 
 coming generations: That those make the best adopted 
 citizens of this Republic who love their native country 
 most. 
 
 * * * 
 
 The 17th of May was Ole Bull's great festive day. 
 
 On that day of all days did his violin sing proudly 
 as on no other occasion, the beautiful songs of Norway's 
 old grandeur; of its new-born liberty; of its hopes; and 
 of its future. 
 
 In his old age he became young again on that day. 
 His face beamed. His heart bubbled. Why should it 
 not? Tt was Norway's independence day! 
 
 1 feel certain that today in the sunny land where now 
 he dwells, and where they will have given him a violin 
 "with sunrays for strings," he is timing that violin now 
 preparatory to singing on it the praise of Norway's lib- 
 ( rty day. 
 
 And if. from his lofty stand, he can see us gathered 
 around his statute, on Norway's festival daw ! am certain 
 
 t 
 
 * 
 
* 
 
 I 
 
 —19 
 
 that the beautiful smile, which took the world by storm, 
 again lightens up his countenance. 
 
 Methinks I see him nod approvingly, as if he said: 
 
 "You have understood me correctly, my friends. It 
 is in free America I wish to see my features first im- 
 mortalized in the eternal bronze, and it is on Norway's 
 liberty day I prefer all people to first gaze at them." 
 
 * % :•; 
 
 Through Norway's nature, as through the life of its 
 sons and daughters, there runs a thread of sadness and 
 of sorrow. 
 
 Even in their gladdest moments, when their joy is 
 
 wildest, you will always hear, if you listen carefully 
 enough, a suppressed sigh. 
 
 In all of Norway's National music you will always find 
 an undertone in the minor key; sober, earnest, gruff, 
 sometimes wild and despairing as the wail of a lost soul, 
 sometimes like a glittering tear, but always sad and sor- 
 rowful. It forms the theme of all their melodies. 
 
 So, in the midst of this our joy, there must, forsooth, 
 come a shadow over our glad faces. 
 
 He who created yonder masterpiece, soon to be un- 
 veiled to the public gaze, is not with us today. 
 
 It was the ambition of Jacob Fjelde's life to be per- 
 mitted to create a statue of Ole Bull, lie once sat un- 
 der the spell of his bow, and he felt that in moulding the 
 mighty contours of the figure of this great patriot he 
 could give the world a truer conception of ln's own great 
 
 J 
 
 J 
 
 * 
 
 
■^ f — 
 
 
 
 20 
 
 genius than ever before had been vouchsafed him. 
 
 His wish was granted. 
 
 When told that he could proceed with this statue he 
 set about it with feverish haste. 
 
 Xever have T seen in his eye such a gleam of hope. 
 
 i 
 
 ! 
 
 of happiness and satisfaction ; but at the same time there A 
 
 was there a queer glance which spoke of anxious and 
 nervous apprehension. 
 
 It was as if he had a premonition that this was to be 
 his last great masterpiece, and that he must work on 
 without rest while it was day, for soon the night would 
 come "when no one can work." 
 f When the rarest work of his genius was completed — 
 
 x when the last finishing touches had been tenderly made 
 
 He laid down to rest. . . . The rest from f 
 
 ; 
 
 ; 
 
 which no one awakens. 
 
 But his work will live, and that you all may greet the \ 
 
 benign face and grand figure of Fjelde's hero, Ole Bull. j 
 
 I now, in the name of the Ole Bull Monument Associa- 
 tion, request the young lady, to whom this honor has A 
 been granted, to let the veil which has hidden Ole Bull f 
 from our view fall, that all the world may see him and 
 do homage to his genius. 
 
 
 • 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 020 142 377 6 •